#but it looks strange to post it with the split here so its just the full img lol

[welcometoteyvat]

"Come on. Everyone's waiting for you."

[r4trave]

MIKU MIKU BEEEEAAAAAMMMM

[chuluoyi]

✎ sick days

- gojo satoru x reader

who holds the fort when you fall sick? of course, it's your lovesick husband and baby!

genre: fluff, fluff, fluffff. basically, your baby is adorable, gojo is your husband and not only is he lovesick with you, he humors your baby so much it’s making me— sighs

note: based on this post! hi hi chu is back from vacation and here’s another dad!gojo fluff indulgence and we stan domestic men okay🤭

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

It's plain sight that Gojo Satoru is a highly attractive individual, and now that he has a son, it's fair to say that he’s the hottest dilf on the block.

With one hand twirling a famous brand of flu medicine box and the other propping his baby son at his hip, he garnered curious eyes, even in drugstore near his home.

“Hmm, why is it so cheap? Suspicious…”

Satoru let out a light hum, studying the orange and pink boxes, as well as glancing at the other purple box with bold labels claiming its effectiveness in halting cold symptoms, and then looked at his son.

His baby's big, crystal blue eyes blinked in wonder at the vibrant colors, and he reached out with grubby hands towards them. “Bwah!”

Suddenly, he got an idea.

“Hey, kiddo. Which do you think is better for mama?” he asked the baby, gesturing at the all three medicine on the rack with his jaw. “You choose.”

As if on cue, the little ball of fluff that was his son immediately reached out for the purple box, the more expensive out of all three displayed before him. Without missing a beat, he also seized both the orange and pink boxes in quick succession, holding them close to his chest.

Satoru broke into a hearty laugh, a wide grin split his face, as he affectionately tousled the boy's head with pride.

“That's my boy! Splurging is allowed—after all, we're rich!”

When the first signs of cold manifested in you, Satoru was already worried. He had warned you to take more rest, but typical you, you brushed it off as a mere fatigue.

And when this morning, you woke up to sudden coughing fits and hot-and-cold spells, which ended up with kicking him out of your shared bedroom in fear of spreading the virus, like the doting husband he was, Satoru promptly headed to the pharmacy with your baby in tow to get you some help.

"Oh my, sir, your son is so adorable!" the female cashier gushed when he got over to pay, finally voicing what other customers thought in their heads. He could sense the discreet glances from those around him even now.

As the baby clung to his shirt, Satoru tightened his grip on him and responded with a self-assured grin, ensuring those nearby heard his words, "Of course he is! My wife is pretty as heck too, shame she's down with fever today."

"Aww! Such high praise, you must adore your wife!"

"Mm-hmm!"

Ah, so he still has a wife. The other customers went about their day, some disappointed that the dilf was still evidently devoted to his wife. They could only wonder just who could the lucky woman was.

Moving on— after the short trip to the drugstore, Satoru went back home. He promptly checked on you in your master bedroom, inquiring, "Hey, how are��"

But he immediately halted upon seeing you nestled so comfortably under the blankets, sleeping soundly. For a moment, he simply stood, blinking and observing your serene slumber.

Strange that something inside him both softened and lurched at the sight. You were just that precious in his eyes. Stupid as it was, he was quite miserable to go through the day without your nagging and nitpicking. And above all, he never liked seeing you in any kind of discomfort—it made his protective instincts soar.

Hence his thought— there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, even if it means sacrificing heaven itself.

“Myah!” A hard shove on his arm and his baby’s babbling snapped him out of his trance. Satoru shifted his baby to his other hand, let out a questioning hum, and affectionately pinched his mochi-like cheeks.

“Hmm? You can’t be hungry, I—oooh,” a sheepish expression of realization appeared on his face, his blue eyes widened slightly as his baby glared at him. Then, chuckling like the goofball he was, Satoru patted him on his head to appease his grudge, “I haven’t fed you since this morning, eh?”

“Fwah!”

“Pfft! There, there… Me is sorry~ Now let me whip something up for you and mama, yeah?”

Now, he wouldn't claim to be the best chef, but he could certainly cook to save himself. Rolling up his sleeve, he went to the kitchen after leaving and stuffing his baby boy with a pacifier on his high chair.

“Hmmm, baby food for the minion and… congee? Yeah, congee should be good.”

Next task was feeding his already seething baby after he mixed together his baby food. He was a fussy eater—mostly with him, but surprisingly not so much with you (apparently, that's just his way of showing who he favors between his parents, heh). But when he managed to get the food in, with every spoonful, his son’s smile gradually widened, and so did his happiness.

Satoru thought then that he was the cutest thing he had ever created. His son was clearly a mini-him, but his reactions were definitely so you.

“Is it tasty? It is, isn’t it?” he cooed with baby voice, earning a delightful giggle in response from his son. Pushing his luck, he added with a suggestive grin, “Papa is the best, isn’t he?”

“Bwah...” The joyful expression on his baby's face faded instantly, dissolving into an unamused pout, prompting Satoru to righteously click his tongue.

“Why are you so against me?!”

After he was done with his fill, Satoru picked your baby up to the master bedroom to bring you something to eat. Seated on the opposite edge of the bed, he silently adored your sleeping form once again.

Right at that moment, the baby in his arms wriggled, reaching out for you. Acting on a sudden impulse, he put him on the bed, facing you.

“Now, go to mama, would you?” he whispered gently, grinning and giving his bum a light pat. “Go!”

Your son was also Gojo Satoru’s son, therefore he was an adept crawler even at barely seven months old. With remarkable agility, the little soldier steadily moved towards you, his diapers jiggling with each motion. He stopped right in front of your face, clearly recognizing you as his mother.

And your husband swore that even his logic-driven heart melted at the sight of your cute baby suddenly leaned in and clumsily smooched your nose.

Simply just the two most treasured loves of his life.

“Mm?” you let out a soft grunt, feeling the dryness in your throat as you cracked your eyes open, surprised to find yourself face-to-face with your baby. “Oh… why are you here? Don’t get too close…”

“He’ll be fine.” Satoru picked your son up, placing him on his knee and steadying him with one arm. Having moved next to you on the bed, he brushed hair from your forehead. “What about you, hmm? Feeling better?”

Your eyebrows creased into a frown. “Yeah, I think, but more than that, Satoru, I’ve told you, don’t let him—”

“Yes, yes, sweetheart. He won’t get sick, look, he’s as healthy as he can be~” and to make a point, he turned his baby over and lightly smacked his bottom, prompting a whimper from the little one and a gasp from you.

“Don’t spank him!”

“Ehh? Then can I spank you instead?”

“Satoru, you’re a little piece of—!”

Just you and him, as well as the little treasure that was your son. This little family was enough reason to live. To win.

And Gojo Satoru once again thought, that being the strongest didn’t really mean that much anymore because with his world in his hands, nothing else matters.

Epilogue

“You’re so silly, why did you buy so many?” you grumbled at the sight of three different brands of cold medicine your husband displayed in front of you. “One is enough, do you want me to overdose?”

Satoru snickered. “Don’t blame me, blame your kid. He’s the one picking all of them.”

You totally didn’t get what he meant at all, but yeah, your husband was the silliest human ever and that’s that.

“Hey, don’t you think it’s a bit smelly here?” Satoru suddenly asked, wearing a quizzical expression.

You took a sniff of the air, glancing at your baby blinking innocently and sitting calmly on your husband, and a realization struck you. “Uh, Satoru...”

Following your gaze, as if sensing an omen, Satoru hastily scooped up his son, letting out a bewildered gasp as he felt a slight wetness where the baby had been sitting on him.

“Did he just poo on me?!”

[heliosunny]

Hi, hi, hi!

I know he's not from Honkai but I saw that a long while ago you did a Neuvillette post. So I was wondering if I could get a Neuvillette Lucky Egg?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Neuvillette x Reader

You had never believed in luck. If you did, your life wouldn’t be what it was now—stuck in a tiny apartment with your childhood friend, Melis, who made sure to remind you of every single bad decision you’d ever made. She wasn’t cruel, exactly, but she had a way of making you feel like an idiot.

So when you saw the Lucky Egg Dispenser at the back of a convenience store, promising "A once-in-a-lifetime blessing!", you almost walked past it.

But something about it made you stop.

It looked old, the paint chipped around the edges, but the golden lettering still shimmered under the fluorescent lights. A sign above it read:

"One egg per person. No refunds. Your fate awaits."

It was probably a scam. A cheap plastic trinket inside, or some useless charm. But before you could talk yourself out of it, you fed a few coins into the slot and turned the crank.

Clunk.

A round capsule tumbled into your waiting hands. The plastic casing snapped open, revealing—

An egg?

It was smooth, cool to the touch, and a pale blue color, almost pearlescent. Strange, but… oddly pretty. You turned it over in your hands, half-expecting a hidden button or compartment, but it was just an egg.

Three Days Later

The egg sat on your nightstand for days, untouched. Melis had scoffed when she saw it.

"Really? You wasted money on that?"

You ignored her.

Something in you didn’t want to throw it away.

Then, on the third night, you woke to a soft crack.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you turned toward the sound and saw the egg trembling, thin fractures spreading across its surface. You barely had time to react before the shell split apart, breaking open like a delicate flower and something small tumbled out, landing in the nest of blankets you’d unknowingly made around it.

A child.

No—a dragon.

He looked human, mostly, but too otherworldly to be mistaken for one. His silver hair curled softly around his face, and from his head sprouted two smooth, curved horns. A long, sinuous tail flicked behind him, twitching as he adjusted to his new surroundings.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head—his purple eyes locking onto yours.

"You" he murmured, his voice like distant thunder.

The little dragon boy—because that’s what he was—blinked up at you, his eyes filled with something… old. Too knowing for a child. And yet, he was small, barely bigger than a toddler, his limbs still weak from hatching.

His tail flicked, curling slightly around your wrist where your hand had instinctively moved forward. His warmth seeped into your skin, gentle but noticeable.

"You’re the one who called me here" he said.

"I… I just got an egg from a machine. I didn’t—"

Your heart pounded. This was insane. But the weight of him, the warmth of his tiny body, the way his delicate claws curled into the fabric of your shirt—

He was real. And cute? Extremely cute.

And now he was your responsibility.

The First Day

By morning, you had accepted two things:

You had somehow acquired a baby dragon.

Melis could never find out.

So far, you were lucky. She had left early for work, grumbling about her awful manager, and you had time to figure things out.

Your new… companion had been surprisingly quiet. He sat on your bed, watching you with eerie patience as you gathered whatever food you had—some bread, a few leftover scraps from last night’s dinner.

"Do you eat?" you asked awkwardly, holding out a piece of toast.

He stared at it, then at you. Then, very deliberately, he leaned forward and bit your wrist.

"Ow—!" You yanked your hand back, but he barely broke the skin. It wasn’t an attack, more like… an experiment. His small fangs left the faintest indentations before he pulled away, licking his lips.

"Strange" he murmured. "Your energy tastes different than before."

Your what? You stared at him, but he only blinked, as if you were the one being weird.

"I require no food," he finally said. "I only need you."

The Second Day

By the next morning, he was taller.

Noticeably so.

The clothes you had scrounged together for him—a too-big hoodie and some old shorts—fit better now. His limbs were longer, more proportional. His horns had grown slightly, and his tail swayed behind him with more control.

"You… grew."

"Yes." He looked at you, unbothered. "I told you. I only need you."

What did that mean?

The Third Day

You had a problem.

Not just because your mysterious dragon child was now nearly a teenager overnight, his voice deepening slightly, his presence too much for your small apartment—

But because Melis was starting to notice.

"You’ve been acting weird," she said over dinner, narrowing her eyes. "And why is the place so damn warm? Are you messing with the thermostat again?"

"I haven’t touched it" you lied smoothly, forcing a smile.

Neuvillette—he had given you his name the night before—was hidden in your room. But even then, you swore you could feel him listening.

Melis huffed. "And where’s all the food going? I just bought groceries, and half of it’s gone! I swear, if you’re sneaking in some loser boyfriend—"

"I’m not."

She leaned forward, glaring. "Then what the hell are you hiding?"

Before you could answer, a faint sound came from your bedroom.

Melis’s eyes snapped toward the door.

And then—she stood up.

Your heart stopped.

"What was that?"

She took a step forward.

"Nothing," you blurted out, moving to block her. "Just the wind. Or—"

Melis reached for the doorknob and it swung open on its own.

Neuvillette stood there.

Not as a child. Not even as a teenager.

But taller now. Older.

His horns had grown sharper. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, his pupils slit like a predator’s. He tilted his head, looking at Melis like she was something insignificant.

Something inhuman curled in his voice when he spoke:

"You should not be here."

Melis froze.

And for the first time since you had known her—

She looked afraid.

The morning felt strange.

You had woken up groggy, expecting to hear Melis grumbling about the bills, the temperature, or whatever new complaint she had for the day. But instead—silence.

It wasn’t until you shuffled into the kitchen that you noticed the note on the counter.

I’m leaving. Don’t bother looking for me.

The handwriting was hers.

It wasn’t that you’d miss her exactly. She had been exhausting, always watching you like you were one bad decision away from ruining your life. But… leaving without even saying anything? Without fighting first? That wasn’t like her.

You stared at the note a little longer. Something felt off.

But you had work. You didn’t have time to dwell on it.

The moment you left, Neuvillette stirred from where he had been lounging on the couch.

You had grown more comfortable with him—enough that you no longer questioned how much he had changed, or rather, how fast he had changed.

Your strange little friend was gone. It had been easy to remove them, even easier to mimic their writing. You hadn’t suspected a thing.

But… there was something missing.

Even as he sat there, waiting for your return, he felt restless. Hunger, but not for food.

For strength.

Something called to him beyond the walls of your home, something old and brimming with power. He followed it.

He hadn’t expected to find a dungeon.

The entrance was tucked away in the city, hidden beneath the ruins of an abandoned building. The air shimmered with faint, magical energy—ancient, untouched.

The moment he stepped inside, something stirred in the darkness.

A goblin—small, filthy, and sneering.

It laughed when it saw him.

"Hah! A lost little human?" It bared its crooked teeth. "You won’t last a second, boy—"

His claws tore through the creature’s throat before it could finish its sentence.

Warmth flooded his body, like a surge of raw energy. The moment the goblin died, something deep within him awakened. His strength sharpened, his magic expanded, and for the first time—

He understood.

This place was meant to be his.

One by one, the creatures fell.

They thought him weak. Human-like.

They were wrong.

Each battle only made him stronger. Magic pulsed beneath his skin, ancient and limitless. The dungeon itself seemed to acknowledge his strength, bending to his will as he carved his way to the top.

And when he reached the end, when the last beast knelt before him, trembling—

Neuvillette smiled.

He was no longer just an intruder here.

He was the ruler.

And when he returned to you, stepping through your front door like nothing had changed, he was stronger than you could ever imagine.

Dinner felt… strange.

You weren’t sure when it had started, but something about Neuvillette was different now.

It wasn’t just his appearance—though that was the most obvious. He looked fully grown, his body lean and strong, his movements refined. His silver hair was longer now, and his once-uncontrolled tail was nowhere to be seen, no horns, either.

If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he was entirely human.

You swallowed another bite of food, trying not to stare. He wasn’t looking at you anyway—just calmly sipping his drink, completely at ease.

"You work every day" he said suddenly.

"Yeah? That’s normal."

"And what do you do?"

That was an odd question. You had talked about work before, but maybe he was just curious.

"Nothing exciting. Just a regular office job." You shrugged. "It pays the bills."

"I see." His gaze lingered on you, thoughtful. "And the machine? Where did you find it?"

"Machine?"

"The one that brought me to you."

Oh. That machine.

You leaned back in your chair, thinking. "It was at a small convenience store near my office. It looked kind of old, like no one had used it in years. Why?"

"No reason."

You were deep asleep when he left.

The world outside was quiet, the streets bathed in the dim glow of streetlights.

Neuvillette moved silently, his presence blending seamlessly with the shadows as he arrived at the convenience store. The Lucky Egg Dispenser sat in the corner, just as you described.

From a glance, it seemed ordinary.

But when he raised a hand to feel its power, he felt nothing.

No energy. No magic. Just cold, lifeless metal.

His brows furrowed. But then-

A system board flickered to life in front of him, glowing with strange, shifting symbols.

[NAME: NEUVILLETTE] [RANK: ???] [LEVEL: 62] [TITLES: DUNGEON RULER, ???, ???]

So this was the truth behind his existence.

This machine wasn’t just luck. It was something more—something that had brought him to you for a reason.

But what was that reason?

The board flickered again, shifting—

And then, a new line of text appeared.

[NO ADDITIONAL EGGS AVAILABLE]

So… there wouldn’t be another.

There wouldn’t be another like him.

That meant one thing.

You were his.

And there would be no one else.

----

The whispers echoed.

"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry."

The voice was distant, layered with something ancient, something aching. It wasn’t just words—it was a feeling. A pull deep within his very being, like something forgotten was trying to resurface.

The darkness in his dream twisted—

He woke up. His body jolted upright, breath uneven, sweat clinging to his skin. His heart pounded, the lingering sensation of the voice still curling around his mind.

"Neuvillette?"

His head snapped toward you. You were sitting beside him, your brows furrowed in concern.

"Are you okay?"

You were here. That was all that mattered.

Forcing a smile, he wiped the sweat from his brow. "It was just a dream."

But deep down—he knew it was more than that.

----

Neuvillette had grown stronger, but it still wasn’t enough.

The moment you left for work, he sought more. More power, more understanding—more of what he was meant to become. He followed instinct, the same strange pull that had led him to the dungeon before.

But this time, it led him to water.

A large, secluded lake, untouched by the city's influence. The air here was heavier, richer with something old.

A creature surfaced. A strange otter, sleek and dark-eyed, watching him intently. The creature did not flee. It did not fear him. Instead, it gave a small chuff and turned, swimming toward the center of the lake.

Then—it dived and vanished.

Neuvillette stepped forward, the water lapping at his ankles. Then his knees. Then his waist—

Then, with a final step, he let himself sink.

The water welcomed him.

He found the ruins at the lake’s bottom, hidden beneath the shifting currents. Stone pillars jutted from the depths, covered in carvings that glowed faintly when his fingers traced them.

The moment he touched them, something awakened.

A pulse—deep, rushing power.

And then the water moved. It bent at his will, swirling around his arms, surging through his veins. He lifted a hand, and the currents obeyed. He pushed outward, and the lake trembled.

The sheer force of his ability sent a wave rolling across the surface—too large, too noticeable.

Figures stood on the shore now. He had revealed too much.

It was time to leave.

The house was quiet. Neuvillette sat, fresh from his bath, dressed in a loose white shirt and dark slacks. His hair was still damp, strands falling over his shoulders as he leaned back against the couch.

He was waiting. But the night stretched on, and you did not return.

Not until much later, the door creaked open.

You stumbled inside, your movements slow and unsteady, the unmistakable scent of alcohol clinging to you. Your pupils were blown, your gaze unfocused. Behind you, a man lingered in the doorway.

"Who—"

The man’s smile faltered. "Oh, uh—hey, didn’t know you had a roommate."

His hand was still on your waist.

"I’ll take them now."

The man hesitated, then forced a chuckle. "Come on, I was just—"

Neuvillette moved. Faster than the man could react, he wrenched you from his grasp, pulling you into his arms.

The man stepped back, startled. "Whoa—relax, man. I was just making sure they got home safe—"

"Leave."

"Tch. Whatever, dude." He turned, muttering under his breath as he left.

Neuvillette watched him go.

Then, once you were settled, breathing softly against his chest—

He followed.

The man was still muttering when Neuvillette found him.

He hadn’t gone far—only to the lake’s edge, kicking at the dirt, grumbling about “weird possessive freaks” and “wasted effort.”

He didn’t notice the water stirring.

Didn’t see the way the waves rose.

A sudden wave surging forward. The man barely had time to scream before it dragged him under.

Neuvillette stood at the shore, watching, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

The man thrashed.

Neuvillette lifted a hand.

The water tightened.

Bubbles surfaced, erratic at first—then fewer. Slower. Until, finally—

Nothing.

With a flick of his wrist, the water carried the body further—deep into the lake’s heart, where no one would find it.

At least, not until it was too late.

Three Days Later

"Did you hear?"

You paused mid-sip, blinking. "Hear what?"

Your coworker leaned in, lowering her voice. "They found a body. In the lake. Some guy—totally eaten up. They think he drowned a few days ago."

You set your cup down carefully. "That’s… awful."

"Yeah." She made a face. "I mean, what kind of freaking fish do we have in there?"

----

The weekend arrived with an unbearable heatwave. You had spent the afternoon outside, running errands beneath the scorching sun. By the time you got home, you were practically melting.

"Neuvillette, I’m back!" You called out as you kicked off your shoes, holding up the bag in your hands.

He emerged from the other room, his expression unreadable as always, but his gaze immediately flicked to what you were holding.

"Ice cream?"

You grinned, pulling out one of the containers. "Figured you'd like something cold. Want to try?"

Neuvillette took it carefully, staring at it as if it were something foreign. But after a small, experimental bite—his pupils dilated slightly.

"…It’s pleasant."

"That’s it? Just ‘pleasant’?"

He hummed, taking another bite, letting it melt slowly on his tongue. His expression remained composed, but you noticed the way he leaned ever so slightly into the sensation, as if savoring it more than he let on.

A rare sight.

You chuckled, opening your own and sitting beside him.

"Guess I’ll take that as a win."

It was later in the day when it happened.

You were standing. Walking. Moving through the house with no real thought, no resistance, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

There was something you needed to do.

Something important.

The bathroom door was open. Steam curled from within, the scent of fresh water pulling at you.

You stepped inside.

The moment your foot hit the tile— The trance broke.

You blinked, the haze lifting from your mind. Your breath hitched slightly as you realized you were standing in the doorway, fully clothed, about to step into a warm bath—with Neuvillette sitting in the tub.

His sleeves were rolled up, his silver hair cascading over his shoulders. He was waiting.

And he looked surprisingly unfazed.

"…What am I doing?" you muttered, shaking your head.

Neuvillette tilted his head slightly. "You wanted to shampoo my hair."

What?

"I… wanted to—" You stopped yourself.

That didn’t sound right. That didn’t even feel like something you had decided. But there was no sign of deception in his gaze, no indication that he was lying.

It was weird.

The heat had left you sluggish, and thinking too hard about it made your head hurt.

You exhaled, rubbing your temples. "…Whatever. Just—move over."

Neuvillette did, watching in quiet satisfaction as you stepped forward, kneeling beside the tub.

Your fingers combed through his hair, lathering the shampoo, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp. His lashes fluttered at the sensation.

You didn’t see the slight curve of his lips. Didn’t notice the way his fingers twitched—resisting the urge to pull you in completely.

----

Your office was always a mess of rushed deadlines and overworked employees. The company thrived on exploitation, squeezing everything it could from its workforce before discarding them like broken tools.

Today was no different.

"Did you see the latest report?" One of your coworkers, Kael, whispered as he slid into the seat beside you. His hands trembled slightly, holding a file.

You sighed, not even bothering to look up from your screen. "Which one? They dump a new crisis on us every hour."

"The dungeon." His voice lowered further. "The one that just appeared."

That caught your attention. You finally glanced at the report in his hands.

A massive fluctuation had been recorded at a previously empty lot on the outskirts of the city. A dungeon had emerged overnight, far more dangerous than expected. The first wave of hunters and warriors sent to clear it had suffered heavy casualties. The survivors reported unusual conditions—monsters that grew stronger after each battle, as if they were learning.

But the company didn't care. They just sent in more people.

"How many deaths so far?" you asked quietly.

Kael hesitated. "Too many."

You stared at the screen, unease curling in your stomach.

Something about this didn’t feel right.

Far beneath the dungeon’s surface, Neuvillette stood in the heart of his domain.

His gaze swept over the carnage left behind—the remnants of another failed attempt. Weapons lay shattered, armor broken, bodies scattered across the cold stone.

He stepped forward.

The air hummed around him, the essence of the fallen swirling into his being.

Another level gained.

"Foolish," he murmured. "They send their people to die… yet they do not realize they are only feeding me."

He exhaled slowly, his body adjusting to the newfound strength.

He was still growing.

And soon—

He would be unstoppable.

----

You barely made it through the front door.

Every muscle in your body ached, exhaustion settling into your bones like lead. You dropped your bag, kicking off your shoes with little care as you stumbled further inside.

The damn company had kept you overnight. Again.

Piling up more work, more pressure, more demands—until you were left wrung out and barely functioning. You were too tired to even be angry. All you wanted was sleep.

"You're late."

You managed a weak chuckle. "Tell that to my boss."

He stood near the couch, arms crossed, gaze sweeping over your disheveled form. You could feel his displeasure—palpable, simmering. But before you could say anything, he stepped forward, placing a hand on your forehead.

Warmth—no, energy—seeped into you, flowing through every aching limb, easing the tension in your body. It was like stepping into cool water after burning under the sun.

You barely had time to register what he’d done before sleep pulled you under.

Neuvillette watched as you finally rested. Your breathing was slow, steady, free of the exhaustion that had plagued you moments ago.

How many times had they done this to you?

How many times had you come home like this—drained, miserable, struggling just to stay upright?

"This world does not deserve you"

If it was unworthy of your existence—if it continued to break you down—

Then he would rebuild it.

Piece by piece.

A second dungeon appeared—then a third, then dozens more, blooming across the city like festering wounds. What was once a rare phenomenon became unstoppable, warping the landscape into a nightmarish battleground.

From the depths of each dungeon, Neuvillette’s forces emerged.

Creatures of the abyss—twisted beasts, eldritch horrors, dragons that roared with primordial fury. They poured into the streets, overwhelming police, military, and the so-called “heroes” who thought they could reclaim what had already been lost.

The city fell apart within days.

And through it all—Neuvillette watched from above, his eyes as cold and endless as the ocean’s depths.

The world had tried to break you.

Now it was his turn to break the world.

---

You woke up in a different place.

The suffocating weight of exhaustion was gone, but something felt off. The air smelled of rain, fresh and crisp, yet there was an eerie silence outside.

You sat up.

The room was luxurious, but unfamiliar. You swung your legs over the bed—only for the door to open before you could take a step.

"You're awake."

"Where… are we?"

"The outside world is no longer of concern to you. This is our home."

No longer of concern?

You moved toward the window—only to feel an invisible force halt you mid-step.

"There’s no need to leave," Neuvillette murmured. "Everything out there is beneath you now. You only need me."

His fingers brushed against your cheek.

"And I will never let them take you from me again."

"Neuvillette, stop this."

Your voice was firm, but your hands trembled as you pushed against his chest.

"I don’t need protection. I don’t need you to tear everything apart for me. I’m okay."

"Okay?" he echoed, as if the word was foreign to him. His hands trailed up your arms, "You were never okay. They drained you. Used you. You just didn’t realize it."

You shook your head, frustration building. "Even if that’s true, it doesn’t mean you get to decide for me!"

He sighed.

"You don’t have to decide anymore."

Before you could react, his hand cupped the side of your neck—then he bit down.

A sharp sting bloomed where his teeth sank into your skin. You gasped out of pain, but he didn’t let go—not until he was certain his mark was there to stay.

When he pulled back, his lips were tinted red.

"Now, even if you run…" He brushed a thumb over the wound, smearing the blood. "I will always find you."

Your vision swam, the pain dulling into something hazy, sluggish. He was doing something.

"Sleep" he whispered. "It’ll hurt less that way."

Your body betrayed you before your mind could protest, the exhaustion swallowing you whole.

Even in sleep, you weren’t safe.

Soft lips traced the curve of your throat, pressing lingering kisses against your skin. The warmth of his mouth sent shivers through your unconscious body, his breath hot against each fresh mark he left.

His hands moved with deliberate reverence, tracing the shape of your collarbone, your shoulders, the delicate lines of your pulse.

"Mine" he murmured between each press of his lips.

[marisoil]

𝑫𝐎𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

summary: post-rumbling, reiner decides to pay you a visit. somewhere along the night he realizes he wants more than he’s allowed himself to have.

an: first ever time writing a oneshot this is wild!! thereʼs not enough canon-verse fics on here. ily reiner plz have my kids.

genre: fluff

word count: 2,040

the walk to your little house feels like a pilgrimage, the quiet paths are different now, quiet like everything else in this strange peace, but his feet know the way. every step bringing him closer to you feels like something that’s his alone, something he’s stolen from whatever fate has decided for him. as his feet drag along the asphalt, he feels it, that old feeling he’d buried deep, kept under the lock of duty and war and shame. he canʼt his finger on it, partially because he isnʼt used to feeling it and the other reason being his unease at embracing the ferocious ardency heʼs inclined to feel for you and you only. it feels something like want, like yearning. thereʼs a hunger that lies dormant in the depths of his stomach for your presence, he craves it. it’s become something primal. when you’re not there, it’s like you’ve left a sunken space in him that he can’t fill. the feeling is so strong it drives him delirious, his mind tricking him into seeing you everywhere in everything all at once.

he’ll catch the faintest whiff of something sweet and saccharine, and he turns too quickly, thinking for a split second that you’re there, only for reality to empty itself into disappointment. it’s maddening, truly. he should count himself lucky that you look at him with adoration, not hate or disgust. it's a wonder to him, really, the way your irises sussurate with an adoration he cannot quantify, as if he could never disappoint you. it clutches his sternum in a brutal, unrelenting grip, he feels the weight of it in his throat, an unfamiliar pulse. being tethered to the horrifying vastness of your adoration for him is both a sufferance and a delight.

each time your eyes cut into him, something feral stirs, absurd in its magnitude. it is not want; it is collapse, an insatiable entropy dragging him toward visions fabricated entirely of you, a universe where only your form exists. he craves the things he can't have, for things he knows he doesn't deserve. he aches for the wreckage of your voice, the way a certain word escalades from your throat. his name resting on the tip of your tongue. reiner.

he knows he's being greedy, but can he be blamed? he wants your presence beside him, filling the air with something honest when the night unspools the seams of everything he’s hidden from himself. he wants the sound of your footfall, the solace of your soft hands soothe over the wounds he’s long since tried to veil. it’s all he can do not to scream for it. your very existence fills his senses until there’s no room for anything else. he’s greedy, he knows that. but it feels less like a sin and more like the only truth left when he reaches for you.

reiner finds himself hesitating just outside your door, his hand hovering in the air as he gathers his breath, eyes fixed on the warm glow spilling from your window. he’s been here before, he’s seen that same light, the one that makes your home feel like something from a memory he’s never had, but tonight, something feels different. maybe it’s him. maybe it’s just the need to see you, to feel something warm and alive again. the front porch was adorned with little plants in mismatched pots, vibrant green against the earthy wood. it suited you—warm, welcoming, a sanctuary. his breath hangs in the air, and for a second, he almost turns back. he almost turns back, almost lets the fear swallow him but he can’t, not after all this time, not after all the misery he self-inflicted upon himself all for the sake of loving you secretly. so, he raises a hand, knocking softly.

soon enough you open the door and there he is, broad and tired, standing on your doorstep as if he were exactly where he was meant to be. for a moment, you just look at each other. you stand there with the light falling around you in soft, warm colors, a subdued inhalation of surprise escaping your lips and reiner has to remind himself to breathe. there’s something so simple, so uncomplicated about this, about you in the doorway, framed by a house that feels alive with your residence. you don’t know what he sees in you, standing there in your small, homey world, but you can see it on his face, that hint of awe barely masked by his usual serene demeanor. then his expression shifts, softened by a small, familiar smile.

“i figured iʼd check in on you,” he says, voice a little lower than usual, “i wanted to see how you were settling in.”

you smile, “thatʼs sweet of you.” stepping aside, you motioned for him to step inside, “come in and see for yourself! i’m pretty proud of the place, actually.”

as he steps over the threshold, you notice him looking around, his gaze catching on the simple things—the plants in their little mismatched pots, the scarf you left over the back of a chair, your books stacked on shelves that barely hold them all. it’s all you, every inch of it, and he never wants to leave.

“oh i love it here,” you beam, almost shy, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the way you look in this moment, pride and warmth written across your face. “it’s just…it’s mine and i’ve never had that before.”

he only nods. “it suits you.”

you brighten. “i don’t have tea,” you tell him, “but i do.have hot chocolate. i know, technically itʼs not in season but this is my house and i get to do what i want sooo..?” you grin, eager to be a good host.

“hot chocolate sounds perfect,” he says, laughing softly to himself with a specific bliss only you can evoke within him. as you moved around the kitchen, pulling out mugs and heating the milk, reiner lets himself relax, sinking into the cozy couch. you hummed softly to yourself, how at home you seemed here, in this space youʼd made. and for a fleeting moment, he imagined coming here every evening, finding you here, waiting for him. it was silly but it made him giddy.

you finish and bring the hot chocolate over, handing him a chipped mug filled with the warm, rich drink, and he takes it. you settle beside him, watching as he takes a sip, his eyes closing as the sweet liquid pools into his mouth. it was rich, sweet, with just a hint of something extra—cinnamon, maybe? it was unexpected, and he smiled to himself. it tastes like you, somehow, although he doesnʼt yet have evidence to back that statement up. he wonders if you know how good it feels just to sit here, to be near you, to let himself soften in your presence.

“thanks.”

the night wears on and a gentle drowsiness settles over you. fighting back a yawn, glancing at the clock, realizing how late it’s gotten and he’s already reaching for the mugs on the table.

“let me help you with those,” he says, gesturing to the mugs on the table.

“oh,” you say, a little flustered, “you don’t have to—”

but he’s already at the sink, sleeves rolled up as he rinses the chocolate stained mugs, his movements practiced like he was made for a life of domesticity. the sight of him washing your dishes, his large hands so gentle and careful, tugs at something deep inside you. he’d be a good father, you think suddenly, your heart skipping a beat at the thought. he has that quiet strength, that steady patience, the kind of man who’d hold a child like they were made of glass. he turns, catching you watching him, and you can feel the blush creeping up your cheeks.

“what?” he asks softly and you shake your head, shrugging. “nothing.”

he walks back over, stopping just a little closer than before, closer than friends should be. you rise from your reclined position on the couch, his eyes follow you. he’s not sure what to do with the tension hanging between you, but he knows he can’t look away.

“reiner,” you whisper, voice barely audible, your eyes soft and warm as they meet his. you rise just slightly on your toes, fingers reaching for his hand where it lingers behind your ear, drawing it down and entwining your fingers with his. his heart stutters as he feels your grip tighten. you lean in, your lips brushing against his in a kiss so soft, so tender, that he feels something in him unravel, something he’s held tightly for so long finally slipping free. you part slowly, his breath hitches, lips still tingling from your kiss, and he instinctively darts his tongue out to wet them, savoring the lingering taste. a faint sweetness coats his mouth, the subtle warmth of chocolate mingling with the softness of you. it’s rich and a little bitter, melting slowly on his tongue, leaving him wanting more of the quiet indulgence that you’d just shared.

and then, without warning, he feels the tears start to fall, warm and wet against his cheeks, spilling over before he can stop them. he tries to pull away, tries to hide it, but your hands are there, steady and sure, cradling his face as he breaks, his shoulders shaking with the force of emotions he can’t contain.

you pull back, eyes wide, a flicker of panic crossing your face as you take in his tears, the way he’s falling apart in front of you.

“reiner?” you whisper, voice filled with worry. “are you okay? did i do something wrong?”

he quickly shake his head no, tries to find the words, but all he can manage is a choked sob, his voice thick and broken as he tries to speak. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “i just…i never thought iʼd feel this way.”

your expression softens, and you pull him closer, your arms wrapping around him as he clings to you, letting himself be held, letting himself fall apart in your embrace. he clings to you, burying his face in your shoulder as the tears continue. there’s relief in the way you hold him, in the warmth of your arms wrapped around him. he feels himself melt into you, surrendering to the comfort, and embracing the way he’s laid himself bare before you.

“i don’t want to go back home tonight.”

you smile, a warmth in your gaze that sends a shiver through him. “then stay,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath.

and in that moment, he knows he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

[koojks]

a/n: HI. i've ultimately decided to split this part into two, mainly because it's taking me longer than i originally thought (thanku work and college. sigh.), but also because I JUST WANTED TO POST THIS. so i hope thats ok with u all <3 i've almost finished the second part to.. well this part? but i hope it doesn't disappoint you!! so yeah :) the next part will also be written, and a direct continuation of this chapter!! and out so much sooner, yay :). also thankyou all so much for enjoying not ideal. it makes me so happy <333

wc: 4.1k

The evening is warm, sunlight filtering through sheer curtains in golden ribbons, painting the room in soft, pretty hues. The distant hum of traffic drifts in from outside, mixed with the occasional echo of voices from the street below. It all blends together into a strangely calming backdrop as you sit in front of the mirror, makeup brush held loosely between your fingers.

There’s no rush, no pressure.

Not yet, at least.

You still have time before everyone meets up for pre-drinks, before the night really begins. Before you’re crammed into loud clubs, laughing over overpriced drinks, and listening to terrible remixes of otherwise great songs.

For now, the moment is yours.

Your playlist hums softly from the speaker, a familiar song you’ve heard a thousand times plays, one that you never seem to get bored of. It’s the kind of music that fills you with excitement and confidence as you continue getting ready for your night out. You take your time applying mascara, careful not to smudge it, something that happens more often than you'd like.

Your room is a comforting kind of chaos. A an open wardrobe with half its contents strewn across the chair, from the aftermath of outfit trials. a half-finished iced coffee sitting forgotten on your bedside table, and the faint scent of vanilla perfume hanging in the air.

Outside, the city feels alive. But in here, it’s just you.

Eventually, you slip into your final outfit, one that feels right, comfortable but flattering. You smooth the fabric down and turn to assess yourself in the mirror. A moment of silent approval.

You look good.

Not for anyone else, not for the sake of attention or validation. But for yourself.

You find there’s a quiet, confident power in feeling good in your own skin.

You pick up your phone absent-mindedly and skim through your messages, finding nothing new. You scroll through your texts with Taehyung from the day before, confirming your plans to meet up earlier than the others so he can practice his awful gaming skills before Jimin inevitably challenges him again tonight.

That man has a serious competitive streak, but losing to Jimin? It brings out the worst in him.

The night already feels predictably familiar, in the best way.

Jimin will show up early too. Taehyung will be dramatic when he loses again, and you’ll witness the same bickering you’ve seen a hundred times. Then, the rest of the guys will roll in one by one. The music will get louder, the energy will rise, and it will all unfold as it usually does

Jungkook said he was passing, not really a surprise. You didn’t expect anything else. You assume he’s with someone tonight, just a guess.

Maybe that girl. The one you pieced together he left for during movie night.

You don’t really care.

In fact, it makes things easier, the less you have to deal with him; his mood swings, his sharp tongue, the better. You still don’t get him, not really, the way he goes between hostility and indifference, how he’ll engage with you one minute and then make it clear that he finds you insufferable the next.

He’s weird.

he’s not important.

Once you finish getting ready, you take a moment to tidy up your room, just enough to make things easier for future, drunk-you to find your bed later. You sling your bag over your shoulder, grab your keys, and step out into the warmth of the evening.

The last remnants of daylight stretch across the sky, casting a soft glow on the pavement. The streets hum with the familiar energy of the city, couples strolling hand in hand, clusters of students making their way to bars, and the occasional dog leisurely walking with its owner.

You weave through it all, headphones in, your playlist setting a steady rhythm beneath the city’s pulse.

As you continue your walk, you pass by a new café, one you’d mentally bookmarked after hearing Namjoon rave about their coffee. You think about dragging him there soon, letting him ramble on about blends and brewing methods while you nod and watch the world pass by through the window.

This city is full of these small, familiar places that hold different memories, woven into the fabric of your friendships, each corner steeped in experiences, some happy, some bittersweet.

It’s grounding, in a way.

You’ve not even been close to taehyung and his friends for too long. A few months really. You met him over the summer break, completely by chance at some gathering through mutual friends. But somehow conversation came easy with him. He was welcoming in a way that made you feel like you belonged. Before you knew it, you were spending more and more time with him and his friends. And when the new semester had started, they felt familiar. Like a safe space, all bar one, that is.

The recognizable street stretches ahead as daylight begins to softly fade into the horizon. Things grow quieter. Faint conversations drift from open balconies, a few cars pass by, but it’s peaceful, quiet, a stark contrast to the liveliness just a few blocks away.

You slow your pace as you near Taehyung’s place, shifting the weight of your bag over your shoulder. His flat sits at the end of the street, a row of houses converted into apartments, all occupied by students. A little worn, but full of character. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t stand out, but still feels like home.

You step up to the building, glancing automatically toward the windows at the front of the house. The curtains are usually wide open, but tonight they’re drawn shut. You can just make out the faint glow of the living room light behind them.

At first, you think nothing of it. He’s probably in his room, maybe doing something else.

You pull out your phone, unlocking it as you reach the door. You almost walk in automatically, what else do you do? You've never had to knock before. It feels weird, awkward. Taehyung is usually just... there.

You check your messages, nothing.

Very out of character for him, especially considering he’s the one who made the plans. Sure, it was just yesterday, but Taehyung’s reliable. He doesn’t just bail last minute.

You shift on your feet, frowning slightly. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, he could’ve lost track of time, or maybe he’s just being annoying.

You tap your phone idly, deciding to send a text.

you: i’m outside

Seconds pass.

Nothing.

You knock at the door. It feels weird.

Your frown deepens.

Just as you consider calling him, your phone buzzes.

Taehyung: shit.

Taehyung: Fuck, i’m still out.

You inhale sharply, tightening your grip around the phone, glaring at the screen.

you: so you invited me over and you just AREN’T HERE????

Taehyung: okay but in my defense, I thought I’d be back by now.

Taehyung: i swear i won’t be long.

You roll your eyes. Great. Wonderful.

Now you have to wait outside like an idiot until he gets back or-

The sound of the lock turning catches your attention.

A slow, creeping awareness settles in your chest that the other person that lives here is home. As the gap in the door widens just enough for a figure to step into view. Dark hair, broad shoulders, familiar build.

Jungkook.

Standing in the doorway, towel slung over his bare shoulders, and a look that suggests he’s just as surprised to see you as you are to see him.

Every assumption about tonight shifts.

The silence stretches in the doorway. You should have known. Should have accounted for the one variable that always seems to throw your calculations off.

But you didn’t.

Jungkook stands there, Hair damp and pushed back, droplets trailing down the cut of his collarbones, inked arm on complete show, subtly flexing. His brows lift slightly, equal parts confusion and amusement, like he’s waiting for an explanation.

You don’t owe him one.

Your grip tightens on your phone. “You’re here?”

Jungkook scoffs, shifting his weight against the frame. “I live here?”

Right.

The plan had been so simple. Go to Taehyung’s. Beat him at Mario Kart. Drink. Go out. Jungkook had said pass in the group chat. You assumed that would mean he wouldn’t be here. But he is.

And Taehyung? No where to be seen. of course.

The realization settles like a weight in your chest. Your prediction for the night was off. Completely. You hate when things don’t go how you’d expect them to, it just messes with your brain.

But It’s fine, you can deal with this.

You exhale, straightening. “Taehyung invited me over early.”

Jungkook blinks, exhales a short, dry laugh. “Yeah? Well Taehyung isn’t here.”

“No shit,” you mutter, shifting awkwardly. You avoid eye contact, because it’s better not to look at him right now. It’s too awkward. And it doesn’t help that he’s standing there half-dressed. Who answers the door topless, anyway?

You could leave. You know that. It wouldn’t be weird. no one would judge you for turning around and walking away. Well, maybe the guy standing in front of you would, but then again, he seems to judge you for breathing. Yet, for some reason, you stay rooted to the spot like an idiot, caught in the unspoken weight of the situation.

It’s just you and him.

Jungkook doesn’t look like he’s about to tell you to get lost, though. Instead, he exhales through his nose, rubbing the towel against his hair before slinging it over his shoulder again. He steps back, tilting his head towards the inside of the apartment. “Come in. Wait if you want.”

…right.

You pause for a moment, before stepping inside anyways, the warmth of their place wrapping around you instantly as Jungkook closes the door. It’s quiet, too quiet. No music, no lingering sounds of a game or a movie. Just the muffled sounds of the city, barely heard through the windows.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything as he pads toward the hallway, presumably to his room. Leaving you standing awkwardly in the living room. It’s different. for a place all too familiar to you, the energy is so concentrated, so tense.

“You could’ve shut the door on me.” you call after him, pulling off your jacket and draping it over the armrest of the couch.

He turns around briefly and looks at you, before he continues walking. “Could’ve.”

The silence that follows when Jungkook goes into his room is heavier than it should be. It lingers, it’s felt. Pressing against you as you stand there, unsure of what to do with yourself.

You don’t belong here.

Not alone, at least. Not without Taehyung to balance out the atmosphere. Usually when you’re here, it’s loud, filled with the chaotic voices of your friends. music playing, conversations overlapping. You’ve never stopped and focused long enough to realize how the space really feels. How it smells like a mix of cologne and detergent. How the lighting casts a warm tone across the room .

Without others, everything feels different.

Your fingers tap against your thigh as your gaze drifts, scanning the apartment you’ve been to more times than you can count, yet never quite paid so much attention to.

The living room is undeniably lived in, but not messy. Taehyung’s style is evident in the colorful throw pillows, the decorative candles, the carefully picked prints the are plastered on the walls. Jungkook’s presence, however, is quieter, more subtle. The black gaming controller resting on the couch. the weights that sit by the door, the faint scent of whatever body wash he uses still clinging to the air from his shower.

Your gaze catches on a framed photo sitting on the shelf near the TV.

You hesitate before stepping closer, drawn to it for some reason, despite yourself.

It’s a picture of the two boys, candid, arms slung over each other, mid-laughter, real grins plastered on their faces. Jungkook looks different. His hair is shorter, his eyes sparkle. Younger, or maybe just.. lighter. His shoulders aren’t weighed down with whatever makes him so guarded now.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring until a voice cuts through the silence.

“Didn’t take you to be someone that snoops.”

You jolt, slightly, turning to find jungkook standing in the living room, leaning against the wall.

He’s changed into a loose black t-shirt and sweatpants that hang low on his hips. showing off the band of his boxers. Dark strands of hair still damp, and curling slightly at the ends. The scent of his cologne now present, something clean, sharp, familiar in a way that makes you hyper aware of the fact that you two are alone, again.

You blink. “I was just looking.”

Jungkook follows your gaze, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. That was a while ago.”

There’s something in the way he says it that you can’t quite place.

You tilt your head, studying the photo again. “Never seen you smile like that.”

He scoffs, rolling his shoulders as he steps by you, moving toward the kitchen. “Maybe i don’t have a reason to.”

The weight of the statement lingers, but before you can think too much of it, He’s in the kitchen, opening the fridge.

“Drink?”

You nod briefly.

He redirects his attention to opening two bottles of beer, and you exhale slightly, moving to sit on the sofa. The clinking stops, and a few seconds later, jungkook reappears into your sight, stepping back into the living room.

He doesn’t say anything as he extends the drink towards you, gaze fixed somewhere behind you, like it’s nothing. Like he’s trying not to acknowledge your existence too much.

You stare at him briefly before taking it off him. “Thanks.”

He just nods.

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The faint hum of the air-con fills the space, the low buzz of city life filtering in through the window. You take a sip of your drink, the cool bitterness grounding you, giving you something to focus on other than the weight of Jungkook’s presence beside you.

There’s something hanging in the air between you and him. Something quiet but heavy, a feeling neither uncomfortable nor easy.

Just. there.

Lingering in the spaces where words usually go.

Tonight feels different. The usual sharp remarks and teasing comebacks are missing, replaced by a silence that feels… uncertain. There’s still the weight of past arguments, old words left unresolved, but for once, neither of you is filling the gaps with sarcasm. Jungkook glances at you briefly before looking away just as fast. It’s subtle, but you notice, because for some reason recently, when it comes to him, you always seem to notice.

He’s sitting at the other end of the couch, one arm stretched over the back, fingers tapping absentmindedly against his beer bottle. He looks relaxed, but you can tell it’s forced. The way his shoulders are just a little too stiff, the way he seems like he’s holding something back. Jungkook has always been good at keeping things buried, pretending things don’t bother him. But tonight, something is different. It’s small, but it’s there.

You’re not sure how to feel about it. The quiet between you isn’t normal, but it isn’t exactly bad either. It’s delicate, like it could change at any moment, and you’re not sure if you’re more nervous or curious to see where it leads.

You shift slightly, the couch creaking under your movement. Jungkook is staring into the distance, but you can feel that his mind is elsewhere. You consider saying something lighthearted, but instead, the words that come out are different.

“You always this much fun to hang out with?”

Jungkook lets out a small breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. It’s barely there, but you catch it. He finally turns his head to look at you, dark eyes sharp yet unreadable as he raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t know I was supposed to be entertaining you.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “You invited me in. Least you could do is talk.”

For a moment, he just watches you, gaze unreadable. There’s something weighty about the way he looks at you, something quiet yet deliberate. Then, out of nowhere, he says, “You look different.”

Your fingers pause on the rim of your drink. The comment catches you off guard, Making you feel confused, aware.

Jungkook doesn’t clarify right away. His eyes flicker over you again, subtle but searching, before he takes another sip of his beer. There’s no teasing to his voice, no signature smirk or sarcasm. Just observation, cool and calm. “The outfit,” he adds after a beat, voice softer now. “It suits you.”

It’s not just the words, but the way he says them. Jungkook isn’t one to toss out compliments easily, especially not to you. There’s no playful edge, no challenge in his tone. Just something steady. Something sincere.

And you have no idea what to do with that.

The usual rhythm between you feels off now. The back-and-forth teasing, the careful space you keep between each other, it doesn’t seem to fit anymore. Not in this moment. You tighten your grip on your drink, casting your gaze elsewhere. “Thanks.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It just… exists. Not heavy, not suffocating, but present. You steal another glance at him, catching the way his jaw tenses like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. Jungkook has always been careful with his words, measured in a way that makes it hard to tell what he’s really thinking. But tonight, there’s a hesitation you don’t recognize.

Your eyes drift across the room, landing on the shelf beneath the TV. Stacks of DVDs sit in a messy row, a collection of action flicks and psychological thrillers. But among them, something unexpected stands out.

You lean forward, squinting. “No way,” you murmur, amusement slipping into your voice. “You own Studio Ghibli movies?”

Jungkook, in the middle of taking another sip, pauses slightly. His gaze sharpens. “So?”

“So,” you say, turning to him fully, a grin tugging at your lips. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s something else in his expression, something almost guarded. “Just because I like something doesn’t mean I have to announce it.”

He doesn’t sound defensive, just honest. And for a second, you wonder how many other things he keeps to himself, buried under that quiet, unshakable exterior.

A beat passes before you shift. “Wanna put one on?”

Jungkook hesitates a fraction too long before exhaling through his nose. “Yeah. Fine.” But the usual resistance in his voice isn’t quite there.

You watch as he moves toward the shelf, fingers skimming over the cases with a careful slowness. He picks one, hesitating briefly before turning back. There’s something in the way he avoids your gaze, just a little.

“Haven’t watched this one in a while,” he admits, voice lower now, like he’s sharing something, an action he's not entirely comfortable with.

You don’t push. Just nod and settle back as he starts the movie. The opening score fills the quiet room, familiar and warm. From the corner of your eye, you catch the way Jungkook’s shoulders ease, the sharp edges of him rounding out, even if it’s only slightly.

Minutes pass in a comfortable quiet, both of you paying attention to what's playing on the screen. Then, Jungkook shifts. At first, you think he’s just adjusting, but he isn't. He stands up and disappears down the hall.

You frown slightly, your gaze following him. Before you can ask where he’s going, he reappears, something small held between his fingers.

Your lip balm.

The one you’d left here before. The one he told you he threw away.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything as he holds it out. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in the way he hesitates.

You stare at it, then at him. Slowly, carefully, you take it from his hand, your fingers brushing his for just a second. The warmth of him lingering against your skin for longer than it should.

“Thought you threw this away.”

Jungkook exhales, dropping back onto the couch, eyes fixed on the screen. “Yeah. Well.”

That’s all he gives you. No explanation, no extra words.

But somehow, it says everything.

The moment lingers between you, something unspoken yet understood. Before you can fully process it, the sound of the front door unlocking cuts through the silence.

Taehyung’s voice fills the apartment before he does, loud and carefree. “I’m back, losers.”

And just like that, the spell is broken.

You feel your shoulders tense slightly, snapped back into the present like you had almost been pulled out of something fragile. Jungkook didn’t move, but his expression changed. His face hardened. His guard, that was almost down a few seconds ago, was now firmly back in place.

Taehyung was already making himself at home, kicking off his shoes and walking into the living room. Grin wide, energy buzzing.

He flops onto the couch between you and jungkook, stretching out his legs with a satisfied sigh.

“alright,” he exhaled dramatically.

“Tonight is going to be so fucking good. Everyone is on their way. Jimin’s already tipsy from what I’m aware. Which means he’s going to be a menace before we even leave. Hope you’re ready,”

Jungkook didn’t react.

But you could feel the weight of him near you, presence still heavy in the room, albeit silent. He just listened, posture stiff, face sharp. Tugging absentmindedly on his lip ring. A habit you had started to notice he did when he was thinking about something he didn’t want to say out loud.

Taehyung was seemingly oblivious, too caught up in excitement to notice the stark shift in energy. “You better not bail halfway through the night.” He said, nudging your knee with his own. “we’re going all in. I wanna see you wasted by at least-” he checks his watch dramatically. “-midnight.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “No promises.”

Jungkook exhaled sharply.

And then stood.

The motion was slow, like he had only moved because he’d decided he was done with this conversation, with whatever had settled in the air.

Taehyung watched him with mild curiosity, eyes following him. “Where are you going.”

Jungkook stretched briefly, rolling his shoulders before responding, voice flat. “To get ready.”

Taehyung blinked. “For what.”

Jungkook looked at you, no emotion on his face before diverting his attention. eyes reaching Taehyung’s. “I’m coming out.”

Taehyung let out a short laugh, caught off guard. “since when?”

Jungkook was already half way down the hall as he replied. “Since now.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Didn’t give either of you anything before disappearing into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Taehyung stared at the hallway for a moment then turned to you, face showing utter confusion. “What the fuck was that.”

You let out a breath, shaking your head. “I have no idea.”

Taehyung still looked baffled, his gaze flicking back towards Jungkook’s closed door before landing on you again. “Like, what? I wasn’t even going to try and convince him to come tonight. He’s too fucking stubborn.”

You shrugged, trying to seem unbothered, But the difference in his demeanor has seemed to shake you more than you’re willing to admit.

Taehyung huffed, leaning back against the couch. “Man is so weird.” He turns towards you more now, expression less teasing. “Anyway. Sorry for being late. I forgot i had this lecture, and then i was hungry-”

You shook your head, interrupting him. “It’s fine. I hope you know hate you now though.”

He smiles for a moment, before studying your expression. “So.. how was it?”

“What?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Hanging out with him.”

You just sighed quietly, messing with the hairband on your wrist. “It was fine. He spoke to me, so.”

Taehyungs lips curled, amusement flashing in his face. He stretches his arms out, letting them rest along the back of the couch.

“I told you. He’s not so bad.” His expression was still light. easygoing, but something about the tone felt pointed.

He didn’t push or pry. Just let the words sit between you before turning his attention back to his phone, scrolling through messages, back to being his normal self.

But something about the way he said it this time, made it linger a bit longer.

Jungkook wasn’t so bad.

You weren’t sure why that felt like something worth thinking about.

previous / next / masterlist

taglist: @somehowukook @diame93 @golfjoon @wdym-ree @jkrailme @laross860 @ttipa @rrosiitas @yikes-ukiyo @jjeonjjk7 @isjwshaidsk @minniejim @jimintopiaaaa

[immortalmrwavell]

Getting The Job

(Original story posted November 7th 2021. Original story title “Better Life, Cop Life”) This story has been mildly Updated!

Recently Eric’s life had been going down the drain. First he split up with his boyfriend Jake after discovering he was cheating. Then he lost his job due to staff cuts. And to top it off he then lost his old apartment since it was all in Jake’s name. Now his ex was living in their old place with the guy he cheated with while Eric was struggling to find a new job while living in the cheapest apartment he could find. As he applied for shitty job after job he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to deserve all this? Was it all some kind of cruel universal joke?

As he was job hunting, one of the positions that popped up was a job at a small clothing shop called “Threads for Life”. The description of the job itself was extremely vague but he assumed it would just be retail. Working a till and serving customers etc. So he applied.

Surprisingly they were the first to get back to him about his application and in such a short time frame as well. They emailed asking for him to come in for an interview. Of course Eric accepted. Why wouldn’t he? The only weird thing was how close this shop seemed to be. It was just down the road from his old apartment and still rather close to his current one but he could swear he’d never seen or heard of the shop before. He just chalked it up to him being unobservant and forgetful.

On the day of the interview Eric found the shop just where it was said to be. Even after seeing it though, nothing clicked. He could’ve sworn it wasn’t here before. He shook the odd feeling off however as he stepped up to the front door perfectly on time and looking his best.

Upon entering he was greeted by a middle aged man who introduced himself as the owner of the establishment, Tony. The two exchange greetings before Tony ushered Eric to follow him. Eric expected to be taken immediately to an office but instead Tony simply walked through the many isles of clothing with him while chatting casually about the shop and its history.

Before Eric had assumed this to be a simple clothes shop. One that sold shirts, pants and all the rest like most other shops. And it did. But something Eric was quick to notice was how most of the clothes seemed to be matched together in outfits. Rather than being separated into different sections, almost all the clothes in the shop had already been prematched. There were plenty of casual combos like t-shirts and jeans or shorts and tank tops however as they moved from aisle to aisle there were a very noticeable amount of clothes that seemed more like costumes.

Some were more understandable like suits. But a lot of the others?… Eric took note of medical scrubs, fireman uniforms, motorcycle gear, handyman clothes, police uniforms, cowboy costumes, construction clothes and so much more. Eric also couldn’t help noting that none of the clothes seemed to be marketed towards women. He supposed the shop specialised in men’s attire specifically. Still he couldn’t help but find the layout of the store to be… strange.

“Soooo… Eric was it? Before I can give you a job. I want to ask you a couple questions.” The owner said as he sat down on a cushioned stool near the back of the shop, prompting Eric to do the same.

Eric of course agreed to this as questions were standard procedure for almost any interview so he was ready for it..

“Okay first question then. Growing up, did you ever have any dreams of who you’d eventually become? What job you’d want to strive for? What kind of man you’d want to become?” Tony asked.

It was a strange question for sure but Eric still pondered it for a moment before answering. “Well I don’t think I was ever dead set on anything but I remember wanting to be something along the lines of a fireman… or a police officer maybe?”

Tony nodded, seeming pleased with that answer. “Okay then second question. Are you content with the current direction your life has taken or would you still like to fulfill that childhood dream if you could?”

Eric chuckled at the bizarre question. “Well… my life hasn’t exactly been going in a good direction recently. If I could change some things I would. But if you’re asking me whether I’d wanna become a cop then… I just don’t think I have what it takes.” He gestured down at his body. “I’m thin and lanky. Don’t really go to the gym that much and I’m not all that good with confrontation. To be honest I just don’t think I have the right mindset to be a cop you know?” Eric huffed before looking back up at the owner. “And no offense but what does that have to do with me working here?”

Tony didn’t answer at first. He just smiled before standing back up again. The owners eyes glanced around the store, mainly at all the costumes and then turned back to Eric.

“Alright. I think I can give you a job.”

Eric was surprised when he heard that. All he’d done was answer two silly questions. He tried to query as to how those questions even mattered but Tony simply asked Eric to follow him. Confused as ever, Eric did just that.

The pair made their way back down the isles of outfits. They passed by the suits, doctors scrubs and all the other costumes yet again. Only the weird thing was now that Eric was getting a closer look at them, he started to notice how real the costumes looked. They weren’t just silly fake costumes you’d wear to a party. They were the real deal! Actually looking as though they belonged to real firemen and real doctors. Even the tradie outfits looked dirty as if they’d been used for actual tradie work.

Tony stopped in front of the police uniforms. Eric was quick to notice just how real those looked as well. Not just uniform but genuine looking police badges as well. Not to mention the radio, utility belt and even a body cam that all looked completely real. As if they’d been taken directly from actual cops and put on display.

“Pick one.” Was all Tony said.

“What? Seriously?” Eric was baffled. This had to be some kind of joke right?

“Oh come on. Humour me a little. Pick one out.” Tony urged, patting Eric on the back. “Though if I were you I’d certainly pick that one.” The shop owner pointed out a specific uniform amongst the selection. Eric didn’t really see why it’d matter which one he chose as they mostly looked the same anyway.

Eric sighed. “Fine, I’ll pick that one then. Now what? Want me to go try it on.” He joked only to be met by an affirming nod from Tony.

“Changing rooms are just over there.”

Eric raised an eyebrow at the man but decided what the hell. He took the uniform off the rack along with the equipment. Tony then picked up the large black boots and placed them on top of the uniform in Eric’s hands. Eric shook his head as he turned and walked off towards the changing rooms.

He shut the blue curtain behind as he stepped into one of the stalls. It was a fair bit bigger than he’d expected it to be. Eric sat the uniform down on the bench before striping himself down to his boxer briefs. After setting his own clothes to one side, he began to get dressed in the police uniform.

First thing he did was pull on the pants which he found to be rather baggy. He sat down to prevent them from falling as he grabbed the shirt, pulling it on and buttoning it up. He made sure to tuck it into his pants before grabbing the utility belt and strapping firmly around his waist. He still couldn’t believe it had a real taser attached to it and everything. Lastly Eric slid his feet into the heavy black boots which were clearly a couple sizes too large.

With that Eric stood up to take a look in the mirror. He looked ridiculous. The uniform was far too big and baggy on him. He looked like he was playing dress up more than anything. He slid his hands into his pockets as looked at himself a little more, amused by the uniform. Though as his hands dug around in the pockets, he realised something was in one of them. It was small and metallic. Eric pulled it out to reveal a name tag with “J. Desmond�� engraved on it. Jokingly Eric decided to pin it to his shirt for a laugh.

Eric shook his head again at how silly this all was. Why had Tony made him put this one anyway? With a shrug he was just about to start taking the uniform off, not wanting to look stupid when he stepped out of the changing room. But before he could even start unbuttoning the shirt, he began to feel…weird. Like a warm wave of pure pleasure began flowing over him. A wave so incredible that he almost didn’t notice his body starting to change.

His upper body was first to see a transformation. His back widening significantly as his flat chest began to bubble and swell into two thick hefty pecs. Pecs that grew larger until they started to strain his shirt slightly. The same shirt that’d been hanging loosely off his frame moments ago now starting to fill out at an alarming rate. Especially as his shoulders bulged to the size of cannon balls while his traps grew to match. His waist grew larger but tighter at the same time as fat melted away in place of pure raw muscle. Showing itself even more so in the form of abs. They weren’t chiseled washboard abs, they were thicker and softer than that but still impressive all the same.

But his arms. They were what really caught Eric’s attention. Partly thanks to the cop shirt he was wearing being a short sleeve which gave him a full view of their transformation. He got to watch as veins pulsed across his skinny twig-like arms as though they were being pumped full of unseen energy. And then with pain or warning they started to swell. His previously non existent biceps began hulking into reality as the muscle beneath his skin inflated. It should’ve been impossible. Seemingly gaining mass from nothing. But his eyes witnessed it all. His forearms expanded rapidly while his hands cracked and thickened. His biceps continued to balloon with power and size until they stretched his sleeves. Only then did they finally stop. His veins subsided as his arms reached their new colossal size.

His upper body might’ve been massive now but his lower body was getting ready to catch up. Eric’s waist and hips had already widened enough for the waist of the cop pants to fit securely. Now it was his legs turn to catch up.

In seconds they put on an unbelievable amount of sheer muscle mass. It was as though someone had plugged an air pump into his legs and started filling them up. But it wasn’t air. It was pure real muscle. Eric couldn’t help but groan a little as his pants began to feel tighter. He leaned against the wall of the cubicle for support as his thighs and calves continued to bloat thicker and more powerful by the second. The once baggy cop pants now fit him like a glove. But it wasn’t just his legs. His backside started to swell as well. His once average butt growing into a juicy muscular bubble ass that strained against the back of his pants perfectly. Not to mention his feet cracking and lengthening similar to hands. Growing multiple sizes until they fit perfectly inside the black cop boots he had on.

When the next change kicked in, Eric’s eyes widened as one of his hands instinctively flew towards his crotch. Grabbing his bulge tightly as even that began to swell and grow. His eyes began to roll back as his cock snaked down one his legs, growing girthier in the process. Meanwhile his balls followed suit as they bloated into fat heavy nuts full to the brim with cum.

His body was complete but his head still had to change. A stinging sensation came over his face as it started to morph. The shape of his head and all of his features altering dramatically until he was unrecognisable from the man he once was. His new look being much sharper and masculine in a way that would’ve screamed high school jock had he been a little younger. All the while the light stubble he’d always carried grew into more of a short well kept beard while the messy mid length hair he adorned shortened into faded crew cut.

“Fuuuuuck…” Eric groaned as the transformation subsided at last. There was a clear difference in his voice. It must’ve been altered with the rest of his body. He found himself looking back into the mirror with amazement. No longer was he that scrawny pale figure of a man he’d seen reflected all his life. Now he was… buff. Really buff! And hot as fuck!. It was unreal. The uniform that was more or less falling off him moments ago now clung to him as though he were made for it. He couldn’t stop himself from running his hands up and down his torso, feeling a set of strong abs hiding under his shirt before drifting back up to squeeze his power new pecs through the fabric. He never thought he’d actually have fucking pecs but here he was now! Groping and kneading them.

In all the excitement his cock began to firm up. Eric could feel the blood rushing to his crotch as his growing erection created a clear outline in his pants. He smirked as he brought both hands down towards his crotch. Gently he rubbed his hands across the length of his dick through his pants.

Eric looked back into the mirror before bringing both arms up into flex. His already hard cock twitched at the sight of his biceps bulging, threatening to rip his sleeves in the process. The strength he felt flowing through his arms… No, his whole body was intoxicating! With his left hand Eric proceeded to grasp and squeeze his right bicep. It seemed impossible, like he was living in a lucid dream!

Just then Eric thought of something he’d always wished he could do. He’d never been buff enough to do it before. But now? He lowered his arms to his sides, stood up straight before flexing his chest. His pecs bounced. Eric’s eyes widened in amazement at the sight of his new muscle tits jumping underneath the shirt. He bounced them a few more times before cupping them again with a sense of pure wonder flowing through him. “These feel fucking amazing…”

Once he’d finished admiring his pecs, Eric remembered something else that’d grown. He turned his back to the mirror and looked behind. His cock twitched extra hard this time as he caught sight of his muscular new cop butt straining against his uniform pants. He couldn’t help himself. Before long his greedy hands were reaching back and grasping at his thick bubbly ass. “Oooohh fuuck.” He growled, feeling just how hefty they were. “My ass is fucking huge!…” Eric murmured aloud, lost in the pleasure. So lost in fact that he didn’t even notice Tony peering through the curtains. Watching with a horny gaze as Eric squeezed and groped his fat new ass. Even watching as Eric went as far as to place his hands just under his ass cheeks and start jiggling them, dumbly laughing as he did.

Eric felt his cock pulsing and bucking uncontrollably as he played with his cop butt. So much so that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Soon enough he spun back around to face the mirror again before unzipping his pants. Tony continued to creep in on the show while Eric shoved a hand into his underwear, struggling to free his erection. With a little effort however Eric was able to let out a satisfied sigh as his girthy python sprung free. The thing must’ve been around 9 inches long and insanely thick. It was every man’s dream cock.

A slapping noise could be heard from the changing rooms as Eric began smacking his cock against his hand while he admired it. Every smack sent a pleasurable shiver through his body. He had to stroke it. He was just able to wrap his hand around its full girth before he started to pump. It had to have been at least three times more sensitive than his old cock as Eric couldn’t stop cursing while he pumped it.

He began to jerk faster as he looked over his new body in the mirror again. His handsome bearded face and buff body. How thick his legs were. How buff his arms had become. How massive his chest had grown. Just looking at it all reflected back at him allowed him to jerk off furiously. He then looked down at his cock. He loved seeing it. Soooo thick and excited as some precum started to drip from the tip. With how sensitive it was and intensely he was pumping it, Eric could tell he was gonna to blow any moment.

He turned to his left, getting a perfect side view of his body. He couldn’t help but fixate on how much his ass stood out. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching his free hand back towards it again. Before long he was groping his ass and jerking his cock all at the same time. The new cop was having the time of his goddamn life!

“Fuuuuuuuccck!” That was enough to send him over the edge. Tony, who was still watching, saw Eric's ass clench and his cock erupt with an enormous load. One so big that it shit cum all over the benches adjacent to the new cop as well as his old and now ill fitting clothes. His cock continued to buck and twitch for a good few moments afterwards. Shooting a few more times as it covered the floor in front of him with cum.

“See. I knew you’d like that one.” Tony finally made himself known as he pulled back the curtain.

Eric whipped around, still panting a little. “Fuck I… my deepest apologies sir… I couldn’t stop myself.” He tried to reason.

“No need to apologise Officer.” Tony smirked as he glanced down at Eric’ softening cock, still dripping cum. “Most find it hard to contain themselves after what you just went through. So no need to worry. I’ll even get it cleaned up for ya.” The store manager smiled innocently.

“Officer?…” Eric repeated what the other man had said to him as though it weren’t the truth. It sounded weird and off putting to hear someone call him that. So why did it sound so right at the same time?

“Well you are a Cop now. Officer James Desmond to be precise, so you better get used to hearing it.” Tony nodded towards the name tag that was pinned to Eric’s shirt.

Hearing that name triggered something inside Eric. Memories of being Cop flooded his mind along with a bunch of other unfamiliar memories. He still remembered who he used to be but now he had a whole new life filling his head that made his old one feel like a fleeting dream. A new life as Officer James Desmond.

“Thank you sir. You have no idea how grateful I am for all this…” James stated, his new manners kicking in right away. Immediately after he tucked his fat new cock back into his pants before pulling up the zip. “But I’ve got to be back at the station in half an hour.”

“No worries Officer! I completely understand. You head off and I’ll be sure to get all your ball batter cleaned. Might take me a while though.” Tony joked, earning a chuckle from James.

“Heh sorry sir. Got myself a pair of bull balls down here.” James gave his crotch a quick squeeze. “Well I’m off. If you ever need anything don’t hesitate to ask for me down at the staton.” He said, passing by Tony as he exited the changing cubicle.

“Oh don’t worry I will.” Tony replied, giving James’ ass a smack as he passed. He continued to watch James’ ass shake as he sauntered away up until the sexy new cop reached the front door.

James hopped into his car, not even noticing it’d been morphed into a cop car, before starting up the engine. As he drove towards the station he couldn’t help but daydream about plunging his cock into some other hot cop’s ass or having another cop fuck his new bubble butt. Surely some of his buddies down at the station would be down for some fun. According to his memories he seemed to recall catching his own partner checking out his ass a couple times…

Back at the shop. “Another life bettered and another hot stud on the streets. A pretty good day I’d say” Tony sighed to himself with a smile before turning back towards the changing room. Looking over at the huge mess of Cop nut he now had to clean. “Well… best get to work.”

[eliaah]

you called them “your husband”

characters: yami sukehiro, fuegoleon vermillion, nozel silva, william vangeance, & jack.

tags: fluff , multi characters x fem reader

a/n: i forgot to add william in my last post so here's my apology for him shjsksksks, i'm so sorry that i forgot him 😭

🍁 YAMI SUKEHIRO

The tavern is lively tonight, filled with the usual rowdy crowd. After a long mission, there’s nothing better than unwinding with a drink in hand, especially with Yami by my side. We’re sitting at the bar, close enough that our shoulders brush together every time one of us moves. It’s a small comfort, a reminder that he’s here, and that I’m safe.

The Black Bulls are scattered around the tavern, celebrating in their usual chaotic fashion. Magna and Asta are arm-wrestling in the corner, while Finral is attempting to flirt with a group of local girls, much to Charmy’s amusement as she devours her feast. The laughter and chatter create a warm, buzzing atmosphere that feels like home.

Yami leaned in closer to me, his deep voice rumbling softly in my ear. “You did good out there today. Not bad for someone who’s usually stuck doing paperwork.”

I smirked, nudging him with my elbow. “I’m more than just a pretty face, Captain.”

He chuckled, taking a swig of his drink. “Damn right you are.”

The comfortable banter between us had always been there, but tonight felt different. Maybe it was the adrenaline still coursing through our veins, or maybe it was just the warmth of the tavern and the closeness we shared.

As I take a sip of my drink, a group of regulars from the tavern comes over, striking up a conversation. They’ve clearly had a few too many, but their curiosity gets the better of them. One of them, a burly man with a grin that shows off a missing tooth, looks between Yami and me.

“So, what’s the deal with you two?” he asks, his voice slurred.

I feel a mischievous smile tug at my lips as I lean back in my chair, deciding to have a little fun. “Oh, he's my husband.” The words come out before I can fully think them through, but once they’re out there, I don’t regret them. There’s a split second where everything feels like it’s frozen in time—like the whole tavern is holding its breath.

Yami, who had been in the middle of taking a drink, nearly chokes. He looks at me with wide eyes, his expression a mixture of shock and amusement. The rest of the group looks between us, unsure if they should laugh or back away slowly.

“Husband, huh?” Yami finally says, setting his drink down and wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s trying to play it cool, but I can see the redness creeping up his neck and to his cheeks.

I give him a cheeky grin, tilting my head slightly. “Yeah, you got a problem with that… husband?”

The word feels strange on my tongue, but it also feels right. And by the way Yami’s looking at me, I can tell it hit him just as hard. He leans closer, his face just inches from mine now, and I can see the playful glint in his eyes.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one.” he says, his voice low and teasing. But the way his lips quirk up and his ears turn a little red gives him away. He’s as flustered as I am.

“I’d like to see you try.” I shoot back, my heart racing faster than it should. There’s a charged energy between us, something more than just the usual teasing banter.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the noise of the tavern fading into the background. His face is so close, and all I can think about is how red his cheeks are—how red mine must be too. It’s ridiculous, really. We’ve been together for a while now, and yet, this simple word, “husband,” has both of us acting like nervous teenagers.

Yami’s the first to break the silence, laughing softly as he pulls back slightly, his grin widening. “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

I roll my eyes, though I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Yeah, yeah. You know you liked it.”

He gives me a look that’s half amused, half something else—something warmer. “Maybe I did.” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost serious.

There’s a moment where neither of us says anything. Then, as if realizing how sappy things are getting, Yami suddenly grabs his mug, downing the rest of his drink in one go. I laugh, the tension breaking as easily as it had formed.

But even as we go back to our usual banter, teasing each other about anything and everything, I can’t help but notice how his hand occasionally brushes against mine or how his gaze lingers just a little too long.

And when the night finally ends and we head back to the base, Yami pulls me close, his arm around my waist, and whispers in my ear, “G’night, wife.”

My heart skips a beat, and I look up at him, seeing the same flustered expression on his face.

“Goodnight, husband.” I whisper back, feeling my face flush once more.

We walk the rest of the way in comfortable silence, both of us trying to hide our smiles in the darkness of the night.

🍁 FUEGOLEON VERMILLION

The grand hall of the Vermillion estate is quiet tonight, a serene stillness settling over the room. The warm, golden glow from the fireplace bathes the space in a comforting light, making the shadows dance along the walls. Fuegoleon and I are nestled together on a plush couch, wrapped in a peaceful silence that feels as intimate as any conversation. His arm is draped over my shoulders, fingers gently playing with a strand of my hair, and I find myself leaning into him, savoring the rare moment of calm.

The day had been long, filled with duties and obligations that left little time for us. But now, with the world outside feeling so far away, it’s just the two of us. This, I think, is my favorite part of the day.

I tilt my head to look up at him, admiring the way the firelight softens his usually stern features. “You know,” I begin softly, a playful tone creeping into my voice, “I could get used to spending my evenings like this.”

Fuegoleon looks down at me, a curious smile playing on his lips. “And what exactly would that be?” he asks, his voice warm.

“With my husband.” I reply, the words slipping out almost too casually, though the impact of them is anything but.

For a moment, everything seems to pause. Fuegoleon’s eyes widen slightly, the word clearly catching him off guard. He blinks, processing what I just said, and I can see the faintest hint of pink rising to his cheeks. Despite his usually composed demeanor, there’s a flicker of something more vulnerable in his expression, something that makes my heart swell.

“Husband.” he repeats, almost as if he’s testing the word on his tongue. His voice is calm, but there’s a softness in it that wasn’t there before. I can tell that he’s flustered, though he’s trying to hide it behind that noble composure.

I smile up at him, feeling a bit giddy at his reaction. “Yes, my husband.” I say, a little more firmly this time, enjoying the way the word makes him react. “That’s what you are, after all.”

Fuegoleon lets out a soft, almost nervous laugh, the sound so unlike his usual self that it makes my heart skip a beat. “Well then,” he begins, his voice gentle but tinged with a warmth that makes my cheeks flush, “if I’m your husband, then that must make you… my wife.”

Now it’s my turn to feel flustered, the weight of his words sinking in. There’s something so intimate, so precious about hearing him call me that, and I can feel my face heating up in response. But it’s not just the words, it’s the way he says them, with such sincerity and affection that it makes me want to melt into the cushions.

He notices my reaction, and a soft smile spreads across his face, his eyes filled with a rare, tender warmth. Fuegoleon shifts slightly, his hand cupping my cheek as he leans in closer. “My wife.” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, but filled with so much emotion that it makes my heart flutter.

I lean into his touch, my own smile widening as I meet his gaze. “I think I like the sound of that,” I murmur, my voice trembling slightly with the overwhelming rush of affection I feel for him.

His thumb brushes gently across my cheek, and for a moment, it feels like the entire world has narrowed down to just the two of us. “And I think I like calling you that.” he replies softly, his eyes never leaving mine.

Fuegoleon leans down, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead, the gesture so full of love that it takes my breath away. As he pulls back, his gaze lingers on mine, and I can see the soft blush that still colors his cheeks. It’s a rare sight to see him this flustered, and it makes the moment all the more special.

“Husband.” he says again, the word almost reverent, as if he’s savoring it. “I promise, I’ll always do my best to be worthy of that title.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back, not wanting to miss a second of this moment. “And I’ll always be here by your side.” I whisper, my voice filled with all the love I feel for him.

He pulls me closer, wrapping me in his arms, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my own. As we sit there, the warmth of the fire and the comfort of his embrace surrounding us, I realize that this—right here, with him—is all I’ll ever need.

And as the night drifts on, and the flames in the fireplace begin to die down, Fuegoleon’s hand remains intertwined with mine, a silent promise that whatever the future holds, we’ll face it together, as husband and wife.

🍁 NOZEL SILVA

The grand hall of the Silva estate is elegantly decorated for Nozel’s birthday. Soft lights and floral arrangements create a warm, inviting atmosphere, and the guests mingle with drinks in hand. Despite the festive mood, Nozel stands somewhat aloof, his usual stern demeanor reflecting his indifference towards birthdays. Yet, he appears subtly touched by the effort around him.

As the evening progresses, a series of heartfelt messages are shared in Nozel’s honor. When it’s my turn, I step up with a blend of excitement and affection, feeling both nervous and eager to speak.

Nozel looks at me with his usual calm but curious gaze, and I begin.

“Happy birthday, Nozel. I know you often think birthdays are just another day, but I wanted to take this moment to tell you how much you mean to me. Your strength and dedication are truly admirable, but it’s your kindness and support that touch my heart the most. I’m incredibly grateful for every day we spend together.”

The room is silent as everyone listens, clearly moved by my words. Nozel’s expression softens, a rare, tender smile gracing his lips. The crowd watches with anticipation.

I take a playful breath and add, “And, since it’s your special day,” I continue, “I guess I should mention… I’m glad to be with you, my husband.”

A collective gasp echoes through the hall, followed by curious whispers. “They’re married? When did that happen?” The room buzzes with surprise.

Nozel’s face turns a deep shade of red, his usual calm composure replaced by an endearing fluster. I can’t help but chuckle, enjoying the playful chaos I’ve stirred.

After the applause, Nozel approaches me with a sheepish but affectionate smile. “Did you really have to drop that bombshell in front of everyone?” His voice is gentle, tinged with a mix of embarrassment and fondness.

I look up at him, my cheeks flushed from both the excitement and his reaction. “I just thought it would make your birthday more memorable.” I tease with a wink.

Nozel’s blush deepens, but his eyes soften as he gazes at me. “I appreciate that.” he says, his smile widening. “It’s nice to know you care enough to tease me like this.”

I squeeze his hand playfully. “Even if it’s just teasing, I wanted to remind you that you’re deeply loved and appreciated. I hope it made you smile.”

Nozel’s expression turns even more tender, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You certainly succeeded in making me smile. And... I have to admit, I’m starting to like the sound of ‘husband’.”

As the evening continues, our playful banter becomes a sweet part of the celebration. Nozel, embracing the nickname, uses it with a fond smile. His initial embarrassment fades into a comfortable affection, and he begins to tease me back with a charmingly flustered grin.

When the soft strains of music fill the room, Nozel extends his hand with a gracious smile. “May I have this dance, my wife?”

I nod, feeling my heart flutter with happiness. As we move to the center of the room, Nozel’s hand is gentle but firm, guiding me with care. After a few moments, he leans in and kisses the back of my hand, his eyes full of warmth.

“I’m glad to have you by my side,” he murmurs softly. “And I’m grateful for every moment we share, teasing or otherwise.”

I smile up at him, feeling a deep sense of contentment. “And I’m glad to be with you, husband.”

As we continue to dance, surrounded by the soft glow of the candles and the cheerful hum of the celebration, the night transforms into a moment of genuine connection and affection, making it a birthday to remember for both of us.

🍁 WILLIAM VANGEANCE

The flower shop is a haven of tranquility, its shelves bursting with colorful blooms and sweet fragrances. William and I are browsing, searching for a special flower to celebrate our relationship. As I sift through the flowers, my excitement builds, knowing this day is about cherishing our bond.

Spotting the elderly shopkeeper, I approach her with a warm smile. “Excuse me, I’m looking for white orchids. They’re for my husband.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes light up with a gentle smile. “White orchids, you say? We have a lovely bouquet in the back. Let me get it for you.”

As she heads to retrieve the flowers, I glance back at William. He’s standing a little ways behind me, his face slightly flushed and a soft smile on his lips. He seems genuinely touched by my casual use of “husband.” and it makes my heart flutter.

William steps closer, his voice tender yet playful. “You really didn’t have to call me that in public. It’s… unexpected.”

I turn to him, my eyes filled with affection. “I wanted to. It feels right to call you that, even if it’s just a playful term. It’s a small way to show how much you mean to me.”

William’s cheeks are tinged with pink, and he looks at me with a mix of surprise and warmth. “Well, I have to admit, it’s quite endearing. It’s not something I expected today, but it certainly made me smile.”

The shopkeeper returns with a bouquet of pristine white orchids, placing it gently on the counter. I take the bouquet, feeling its delicate beauty. As I hold it close, I feel William’s hand brush against mine, and he leans in slightly.

“Thank you for choosing these,” he says, his voice soft. “They’re perfect, just like you.”

I blush, feeling a deep sense of joy. “I’m glad you think so. I wanted to do something special for you. Even if it’s just a small gesture, it means a lot to me.”

William’s smile grows, and he reaches out to gently tuck a white orchid from the bouquet into my hair. His touch is tender, and his eyes are filled with a loving gaze. “This flower suits you perfectly. It’s a symbol of how much you mean to me.”

I feel my heart race at his sweet gesture. “Thank you. It’s beautiful, and it makes this moment even more special.”

As we leave the shop after purchasing, hand in hand with the bouquet between us, William’s gaze is soft and affectionate. “I have to say, I’m not embarrassed by the nickname. It makes me happy. It’s a reminder of how lucky I am to have you in my life.”

I smile, feeling a warm blush on my cheeks. “I’m glad you like it. It’s just a small way of saying how much I love being with you.”

William’s smile deepens as he gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “And I love every moment we share. You’ve made today unforgettable.”

Walking together, the bouquet of white orchids between us, the day feels magical. William’s gentle touch and the warmth of our shared moments make everything feel perfect, and I feel deeply connected and cherished.

🍁 JACK

During a lively festival, Jack and Yami are locked in a heated cooking competition. The atmosphere is electric, with people cheering and enjoying the festivities.

Jack and Yami are both in the middle of preparing their dishes at their respective stalls. The crowd is watching intently, and the rivalry between the two is adding to the excitement of the event.

As Jack is focused on his cooking, he suddenly starts arguing with Yami about the best way to cook a dish. Their bickering gets louder and more intimidating. Trying to intervene and bring some calm, I step in.

“Alright, you two, enough already!” I say, trying to be heard over their arguing.

Jack turns to me, looking slightly frazzled. “What’s the matter?”

I roll my eyes playfully. “You’re making a scene, Jack. You need to focus on your cooking and stop fighting.”

Jack’s eyes widen in shock, and he tries to respond, but I cut him off. “And as much as I adore you, you really need to stop being such a loudmouth. I suppose that’s just how my husband acts.”

The entire area goes quiet for a moment, with everyone turning to look at us. Jack freezes, his eyes widening in shock. Yami bursts into laughter, clearly enjoying Jack’s reaction.

“Husband?” Yami calls out, laughing. “You two are married now?”

Jack’s face turns bright red, and he looks around, clearly flustered. “W-what? No, it’s just—”

I give him a teasing smile, enjoying the effect of my words. “Just a slip of the tongue, Jack. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Jack tries to regain his composure but is clearly struggling. “Yeah, sure. Just a slip of the tongue,” he mumbles, trying to hide his embarrassment.The crowd starts chuckling softly, enjoying the unexpected turn of events. Yami continues to tease Jack, while Jack tries to focus on the competition, though his flustered state makes it difficult.

As the festival winds down and we finish packing up, Jack approaches me with a slightly nervous but hopeful expression. He pulls out a small, neatly wrapped box from his bag.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. “I, uh, brought you something.”

I look at the box with curiosity. “What’s this?”

“It’s nothing special,” Jack replies quickly, trying to downplay it. “Just a little something I thought you might like.”

I open the box to find a portion of my favorite food, carefully prepared and packed. My heart warms at the sight.

“This is really sweet of you. Thank you.”

Jack scratches the back of his head, looking a bit embarrassed. “Yeah, well, you mentioned you liked it a lot, so I figured... you know.”

I smile, reaching out to give him a gentle hug. “It means a lot to me. Thank you.”

Jack smiles back, a hint of pride in his eyes. “Don’t mention it. Just... don’t expect me to call you ‘wife’ all the time or anything.”

I laugh, holding the box close. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

As we walk away from the festival, Jack occasionally glances at me, clearly pleased by my reaction. The playful teasing from earlier is replaced with a comfortable, warm feeling between us. The evening ends with us enjoying the food Jack made, sharing stories and laughter under the stars, with the sweet memory of his thoughtful gesture adding a special touch to the night.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

Here's a continuation of my "Arthur becomes Emrys's familiar" au since that's what won the poll!

You can find part one of this au here!

A quick recap if you didn't see my previous post: the basics of this au are that Arthur performed a ritual with the help of the druids to lift a curse that was placed on Camelot by Morgana, but in doing so, he bound himself to Emrys, the god of magic, as his familiar and servant. Because of this, Arthur can now physically see Merlin's magic as strands of golden dust and can hear messages telepathically given to him by Merlin. Merlin, meanwhile, tried to stop Arthur from performing the ritual and is now just desperately trying to keep his magic a secret from Arthur, who misinterprets the magic he sees swirling around Merlin as a threat from Emrys to keep him complacent.

Alright, now that I've finished the recap, onto the new stuff!

After Arthur spent a few months in Camelot under Emrys's control and seeing the threat of magic everywhere around him, he felt like he was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Emrys still hadn't even told him what his plans for Arthur were, which led Arthur to believe that the god no doubt had some heinous plan that would be torturous for Arthur. After all, what other plan could the god of magic have for the king of the land that had eradicated his worshippers for decades besides pain and death?

The longer Arthur waited for Emrys to reveal anything about his plans or to give Arthur some terrible order that would set in motion Camelot's downfall, the more nervous and paranoid Arthur became. Because did it seem like the buzzing in his head was getting louder each day, or was that his imagination? Was Emrys slowly taking control of his mind without Arthur even knowing?!

All Arthur knew for certain was that Emrys wanted him alive to do his bidding. Now that Arthur could see Emrys's magic, he could see how the golden dust strengthened his armor, enhanced his weapons, and attacked his enemies. On certain occasions, it even protected Arthur's loved ones.

(Arthur swore that he was never as close to a heart attack as he was when he saw those golden strands of light bind themselves around Guinevere and roughly pull her from her chair. Arthur had thought for a terrible moment that Emrys had found some fault to punish Arthur for, and the horrible god was taking it out on his wife. However, Arthur was relieved beyond words when he saw an arrow hit the back of Guinevere's chair, where she had been sitting only a second before. Emrys wasn't punishing him through Guinevere, he was saving Arthur's wife. Why would he do that though? Did the god also need Guinevere alive for his plans?)

Merlin had also been acting strangely after the ritual. Arthur could see that Emrys's magic curled itself tightly around Merlin, like a large snake poised to strangle its prey. Arthur knew that this was a ever-present threat from Emrys, that if Arthur took one step out of line or disobeyed in any way, Merlin would be the one suffering for it.

Since the ritual, Merlin had been even more fidgety than usual, if that was even possible. It was like something was causing him an unusual amount of anxiety. Arthur just knew that Merlin's constant state of discomfort was because of the magic surrounding him, perhaps Merlin could sense the danger that was always around, even if the other man couldn't see it? Still, Arthur didn't want to tell Merlin about the magic constantly surrounding him, it would give poor Merlin a heart attack! His loyal manservant always looked scared, just for a split second, when magic was even mentioned, and Arthur didn't want to give Merlin the fright of his life by telling him that he was now being targeted by the god of magic because of Arthur's actions.

Emrys truly was a wily and devious god! Of course the nefarious god of magic wouldn't put Arthur's burden on Arthur's shoulders alone. No, it was the way of magic that it targeted the innocent, threatening people that had nothing to do with the ritual in the first place! This curse was Arthur's to bear alone, but of course Emrys would not abide by that!

Arthur tried to keep his cursing out of the god in his own thoughts to a minimum, just in case Emrys could hear his thoughts, which was entirely plausible given their mental connection. Eventually, it all becomes too much for Arthur. He fears that he'll be ultimately used as a tool to aid Emrys in the destruction of Camelot, so he makes plans to secretly give the crown to Gwen and resign all of his power. He still has to physically stay in Camelot, who knows what evil Emrys would rain down upon the kingdom if he realized that his pawn had left, but at the very least Emrys couldn't manipulate Arthur into ruining Camelot of Arthur wasn't in charge of Camelot.

Merlin, having spent ten years convincing Arthur that he's a great king and will lead Camelot into the golden age as its king, hearing that Arthur is planning on abdicating the throne in order to foil Emrys's plans: YOU FUCKING WHAT?!

Merlin, during all of this, has been using his connection with Arthur as sparingly as possible. He knows how much of a toll this who "familiar" thing has been for Arthur, and he wants to make it as small of a burden as possible, only giving Arthur life-saving and non-invasive commands.

But Merlin absolutely will NOT allow Arthur to give up his throne, to throw away their destiny, over a threat that isn't even really a threat! So, with a heavy heart, Merlin decides to use his "Emrys voice" to give Arthur a stern talking-to.

Merlin was hoping for his mental lecture to come off as a parent gently guiding a child away from making a terrible mistake, but on Arthur's end, he has a pissed off and sleep deprived deity shouting at full blast inside his mind about "abandoning his destiny" and "not trusting in fate".

For Arthur, it's the most terrifying thing he's ever experienced, and he can see the golden threads around Merlin flashing brightly around him when his manservant comes to wake him the next morning. Arthur gets the message: he has displeased Emrys, and Emrys is only going to give him one warning before Merlin bears the punishment for Arthur's disobedience. And however much Arthur wants to ensure that Camelot is protected from Emrys's plots, he cannot lose Merlin. So, Arthur calls off his plans to abdicate, in accordance with Emrys's commands.

(Arthur hates it like nothing else in the world. Not even following Uther's orders made rage and frustration flare up in his chest as it did now. Emrys knew exactly where to apply pressure to make Arthur break, and the villainous god had done exactly that.)

However, Arthur's attempt at abdication and Emrys's subsequent rage still did not answer Arthur's question: what plans did Emrys have for him? For what purpose did the evil god need Arthur alive and on the throne for?

Arthur wouldn't get any answers until the next battle against Morgana. Arthur's army was poised to battle against Morgana's Saxon hoarde in the morning, but Arthur couldn't get any sleep. Arthur knew that it was imperative for him to lead from the front lines as a strong and noble king, fighting alongside his loyal knights. However, Arthur couldn't shake the doubts rising in his mind. He was the familiar to the god of magic now, how did he know that he would not be forced by Emrys to betray Camelot in the heat of battle? Surely Emrys would be favoring Morgana in this battle?

So, in the privacy of his tent, Arthur knelt down and prayed for the first time since the ritual. Arthur had tried every other possible way of communicating with Emrys, but their mental connection either seemed to be one-sided or Emrys was ignoring all of mental messages for him. However, Arthur knew that Emrys couldn't possibly resist hearing what made a Pendragon so desperate that he would humiliate himself in such a way to the god of magic.

That night before the battle, Arthur prayed for Emrys to please help him protect his home and his knights. Arthur told Emrys that regardless of Emrys's feelings toward Arthur, his knights were good men who deserved to live to see another sunrise. Arthur begged for Camelot's innocent citizens to be spared from Morgana's wrath.

To Arthur's shock, he heard Emrys respond through their bond. His voice was softer than Arthur had ever heard it. In fact, the voice was so soft and gentle, Arthur swore that it sounded like Merlin's voice for a split second: I will be with you.

Arthur felt only slightly comforted by that. It could have been a sly trick from Emrys to get Arthur to lower his guard before the battle, but for some reason, Arthur didn't think that it was.

During the battle itself, Arthur is surrounded by complete chaos. At one point, he surrounded by at least eight enemies, having been cut off from his knights. He readies himself to either cut down his opponents or go down fighting when, all of a sudden, the strings of golden dust that had been knocking enemy soldiers off their feet rushed towards Arthur. Arthur braced himself, but when the light touched Arthur, it simple diffused itself into his skin, like it did at the end of the ritual that landed Arthur in this whole mess.

However, this time, the golden light that clung onto Arthur's skin didn't simply fade. Instead, it grew brighter and brighter, nearly forcing Arthur to close his eyes against the luminosity of it! After the light had grown to a blinding glow, it flew off of Arthur's skin with a blast, violently knocking away any Saxons that it hit. When Arthur's sight cleared and he looked around, he could see that all of Morgana's front lines, encompassing at least a thousand fully-armed Saxons, had been decimated by the blast.

Arthur stood alone, still separated from his men, and looked all around him with awe and horror in equal amounts. He could still feel the golden light on his skin, a slight tingling sensation that made the hair on his arms raise. Did... did Arthur just perform magic?! Had he blasted away all of those soldiers?!

Oh god, this was Emrys's plan all along, wasn't it! To turn Arthur into some power-hungry sorcerer corrupted by magic!

As Arthur's panic worked its way deeper into his chest and up his throat, Emrys spoke to him once more: That was my doing, Arthur, not yours.

With hysteria still gripping his chest, Arthur tilted his head to the heavens and shouted: "Give me more of an explanation than that for once you bastard! I need answers!"

And, shockingly, Emrys responded to him: I merely used you as a conduit for my magic. I was channeling my power through you. Be at ease, young king, for you are no sorcerer.

(Merlin, hidden nearby, mentally gives himself a pat on the back for both sounding sufficiently god-like and successfully channeling his magic through Arthur to make it drastically more powerful for the first time, since he was saving that particular ability for a real emergency, like that Arthur getting surrounded by angry Saxons. He'd wanted to avoid freaking Arthur out with that ability, but he'd take a panicked Arthur over a dead Arthur any day.)

After they return to Camelot victorious, Arthur is morose once more. How can his loves ones even be safe when they're in the room with him if Emrys could turn him into a living magical weapon at a moment's notice?!

(And one time skip and a dramatic magic reveal later, followed by a tense and emotional confrontation between Merlin and Arthur, Arthur would be pissed beyond words that he'd been made into a servant FOR HIS OWN DAMNED SERVANT!

Once Arthur works through his anger towards Merlin, he realizes that the whole ridiculous situation does make for some fun banter though.

And if Merlin's able to save Arthur from a fatal wound after Camlann thanks to their magical connection, then the prophecy would just say that they were truly two sides of the same coin: each a king and a servant to the other.)

Phew! That was a long post! Well, I hope that everyone enjoyed this au idea! I'll see you all again soon!

And, as always, thank you so much for reading through my ramblings! :D

[landograndprix]

╰┈➤ ❝ desire • l.n c.l ❞

part one - part ii

➪ Charles hasn't paid much attention to you after your daughter was born but a certain Brit does.

➪ Everything seems to be going right and life seems amazing, at least to the others..not for you.

➪ established relationship mom!reader x dad!Charles x lando

➪ this came to me as I was running a high fever, stop judging me..i also needed a charles fic here, No lando in this one yet, Charles ain't a real good partner and google translate is my bestest friend

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charlesgirlies

liked by 456 others

charlesgirlies Charles and Zoë in y/n's story today 🥰

view all 189 comment

cahlossainz oh

chilisainz oh my god I'm dead 😭

↳ bott_ass bestie same

charles16 she needs to keep feeding us dad Charles please!!

leclerc_16 volunteering to be his baby mama

lanlan Zoë is just the cutest little bean 🥰

↳ charlesgirlies she is! 🥰

lanlan lil cutie like her mom :)

charlesgirlies and her dad!

charloslesainz y/n living my dream life 😭

landoscar I just know zoë has Charles wrapped around her finger

yukisan didn't know y/n and charles were together let alone have a kid 😂

↳ clsixteen have you been living under a rock? It was a big scandal when they were seen together 5 years ago?? 😭

yukisan I'm new so i dont have all the lore, just thought they were friends because they both come from Monaco 😅

leckerkcharles y/n the predator and her victims

mrsleclerc love that there's still people in the comments being mad about them dating 💀

↳ carlandooo for real it's been 5 years people and charles is not little sauber Charles anymore 🤡

charlesgirlies people be acting like y/n is 40 years older than charles

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y/nusername

📍 Sicily, italy

liked by charles_leclerc, noellepicard and 369,989 others

y/nusername babes big day out 🏖

tagged: noellepicard, manon_roux

view all 1,111 comments

noellepicard she's a little mermaid 🧜🏻‍♀️

charlesssss I can't, she's the cutest 😭

charles_leclerc princesse ❤️

↳ charloslesainz stop it, he's such a girl dad imma throw up

hamilt44n man is made to be a dad honestly

manon_roux lucky to have the prettiest girls in the world with me 🥰

↳ joris__trouche je n'ai pas reçu mon invitation? (i didn't get my invite)

y/nusername probablement parce que je n'en ai pas envoyé :) (probably because i didn't send one)

joris__trouche comportement inacceptable (unacceptable behaviour)

charles_leclerc Joris est une des filles maintenant 😂 (joris is one of the girls now)

y/nusername Je devrais lui acheter une mini-jupe et des talons hauts pour nos prochaines vacances :') (should buy him a mini skirt and some high heels for our next vacation)

manon_roux j'aimerais voir cela se produire 🤣 (i'd love to see that happen)

joris__trouche j'aurais l'air sexy et tu ne peux pas le nier (i'd look sexy and you can't deny it)

sharl16 no idea what they're saying but I agree 😭

landoscar her little feeties 🥺

leclerc_16 am I the only one who finds it strange that they haven't been together this summer break?

↳ carlosleclerc they were bestie, they spend time together with friends in Monaco last week..they're both on their girls and boys vacation..pretty normal

leclerc_16 oh I've missed that part..still something feels off

carlosleclerc I mean y/n gave birth to their daughter not that long ago and its probably not the best idea to fly with a new born/baby all around the world. I'm sure they're fine..

leclerc_16 mmm you're probably right, would hate to see them split up though

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y/nusername posted to their story

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y/nusername

📍 Monte-Carlo, Monaco

liked by arthur_leclerc, pierregasly and 327,888 others

y/nusername juste toi et moi à l'infini, petite fille 💗 (just you and me to infinity, little girl.)

view all 1,222 comments

noellepicard 😍

yourmumsuser mes anges ❤️ (my angels)

charloslesainz 'just you and me' doesn't sit right with me lmfao

↳ thurthur my god it's just a caption 💀

landoscar for real they're always reaching for things

thurthur they always trying to start shit and it's getting annoying and repetitive

clsixteen never seen such a cute kid 🥰

francisca.cgomes need to meet her soon!

↳ y/nusername your always welcome!

bananaclerc cutest little bunny 🐰

manon_roux mon lapinou ❤️ (my bunny)

joris__trouche mon petit monstre ❤️ (my little monster)

↳ hamilt44n stop this kid is so loved 😭

sainzleclerc feeding the delulu fans with that caption

↳ charlesgirlies it's literally just a damn caption!!!

sainzleclerc I know but the crazy charles girlies haven't seen them together in a while and don't forget Charles hasn't mentioned zoë in a while.. things add up in their heads 🤡

charles_leclerc mes princesses ❤️

↳ y/nusername 🥰

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y/nusername posted to their story

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Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife @harrysdimple05 @minkyungseokie @pretty-little-bunny382728

Lando taglist: @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10 @bored-brunette2

let me know if you want to be taken off the taglist

[yuesya]

“… The hell is this?”

Zenin Naoya looks out into the ruins of an empty city that seems like something straight out of one of Mai-chan’s favorite post-apocalypse films, and frowns hard.

KrrrgkHSSS-!

“Quiet,” he snaps, and stomps down, twisting his heel.

Beneath his feet, the tricky cursed spirit responsible for teleporting him to god-knows-where groans pitifully one last time, and then falls silent. Naoya would like nothing better than to put it out of its misery immediately, but given that he currently has no idea where he is and the cursed spirit is the one responsible for bringing him here… well, if need be, he’ll need to force it to bring him back, somehow.

Naoya sighs, and returns his attention to his surroundings again.

… He’s still in Japan, that’s for certain. A lot of buildings look halfway-to-completely destroyed, but there are still street signs written in Japanese that Naoya can make out.

But it’s quite strange. Because such devastating destruction on this scale is something that people would notice, and Naoya has not heard anything about any cities being leveled by cursed spirits or curse users recently.

The last one who’d attempted to do such a thing had been swiftly torn to pieces by Shiki-sama. Their decapitated head –which remained alive and animated, somehow– currently still hangs over the Disciplinary Pit. There was a marked decrease in the number of people who dared to test Shiki-sama’s patience following her new addition to the Pit.

Naoya has never been cast into the Pit before, and he has no desire to change things on that front. Not just because the new addition to it is creepy, but also because if Naoya was cast into the Pit, then it would mean that Shiki-sama was disappointed in him. Couldn’t have that happening now, could he?

… Shiki-sama wouldn’t throw him into the Pit if he was late coming back from a mission, right?

Naoya pauses, and scowls. This was–

…!

The young man whirls around.

There’s –there’s some strange cursed energy that suddenly appeared out of nowhere, apropos of nothing. Thick and roiling, all bloodthirst and malice, overwhelming and cloying in such a… in such an unrefined way. Naoya remembers Shiki-sama releasing her cursed energy, less a distinct weight pressing down upon an individual and more just the simple surety of you are going to die, and although this cursed energy that Naoya is sensing is… considerable… it still does not hold a candle to his clan head.

But it is definitely unnatural, and not the sort of thing that your average sorcerer can deal with. Most people are weaklings, and as such must look to those who are strong to protect them. People who are powerful, unstoppable forces of nature –like Shiki-sama. Toji-kun.

(And one day, Naoya will also be amongst them. He knows he will be. It’s why Shiki-sama chose him as her heir, isn’t it?)

Naoya locks the cursed spirit beneath his feet in a trap-barrier, then bolts for the source of the unsettling cursed energy. Special Grade, definitely. Was it responsible for the destruction that Naoya saw in his current surroundings?

Naoya rounds the corner and–

“Hah?”

… What the fuck?

Fushiguro Megumi is the source of this vile cursed energy? And he’s… fighting Maki-chan? Wait, why does Maki-chan have burn scares all over her body? And who’s the pink-haired boy jumping into the fray, too?

The sight is so surreal that Naoya finds himself staring at the sight for a moment, dumbfounded.

But the details click together swiftly enough; that’s not Megumi-kun’s energy that Naoya is sensing, and Megumi-kun isn’t fighting using any of the techniques that Toji-kun had taught him. Megumi-kun also has a wide, deranged grin splitting his face –which is not an expression that Naoya thinks Megumi-kun would ever be caught with.

That’s not Megumi-kun.

… There’s something possessing Megumi-kun?

Holy shit. There’s still someone this suicidal out there? Didn’t they realize that Toji-kun would absolutely murder them for this?

Cursed energy swells, and rises. A different cursed energy signature –one that does not belong to the combatants, or to Naoya. One that causes the surrounding temperature to drop drastically, and between one moment and the next, there is a gargantuan, towering wave of ice that sweeps out–

–primarily targeted at Maki-chan–

And Naoya moves.

[ohdeerfully]

omg hi! I love your writing! I had an alastor x reader request for an idea I can’t get out of my head! Imagine him and the reader secretly pining for each other as besties but just can’t admit it to each other (or themselves lmao). So alastor talks to Rosie about it and she is so shocked that he likes a girl! And after some time the reader decides to go ask Rosie for advice due to her being alastor other bestie and she kinda plays matchmaker for them!

Thank you for reading this and I hope you like the idea! No worries if not tho 💖

hi love! i split this into two parts (second part is already written and posted!), i hope that's okay! reader is also i love mutual pining its so yummy

thanks for the request!

Mutual Dilemma (i)

Alastor x Reader part i part ii TW: none!

join my discord!

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Alastor knew plenty of things about himself and those around him—this was something of a skill he gained throughout his time in Hell as an Overlord. His all-smiles personality, at least to those that didn’t take the ‘myth’ of the Radio Demon seriously enough, earned him plenty of trusting acquaintances that provided him with constant, easy information. He was always confident in this way of things.

But you—just some seemingly ordinary demon at the Hazbin Hotel—you confused him. You made him unsure of himself. When it came to you, there were so many unknown, confusing emotions that made his mind and body swirl with discomfort. There was only one thing he could accept within himself as truth–

He hated you. 

He hated you simply for the fact that he didn’t understand you, and you made him doubt himself. Alastor was so used to picking apart the inner workings of those he came across, but everytime the two of you interacted he always found his mind lost and unable to think as if he were a drunk man. Maybe you were doing it on purpose to taunt him; you were placed here by Heaven itself to torture him.

Truthfully he wanted to avoid you at all costs in order to preserve what was left of his sanity, but as time passed it became increasingly difficult as you were aggravatingly involved with the various hotel matters. You had quickly become close friends with Charlie Morningstar herself, so where she was you were likely nearby… so it was nearly impossible to not see you everyday considering his own duties to the hotel.

Currently he had sat himself on an eccentric red armchair in the lobby, hands politely folded over his lap as he observed the conversation in front of him—Vaggie, Charlie, and you were discussing some plan to attract more residents to the hotel, sitting cross-legged by a low table. The group would rarely turn to him for any input, but that matter didn’t really bother him—he was never much help, anyway.

Every now and then Alastor would catch your eyes tentatively look away from the spread of papers on the table to take a peek at him, and each time he would stare back in his usual manner; a spreading, malicious grin and slight tilt in the head, which always made you shoot back to attention to your task. He wasn’t sure why you kept looking, though, but he just chalked it up to the typical sense of fear and anxiety demons usually felt in his presence.

He didn’t fail to notice the light pang in his chest each time he caught your eyes—a weird, twisting feeling of emotion that he couldn’t recognize. He wanted nothing more than to tear those eyes of yours right out for even looking his way since they seemed to be the culprit of the discomfort; but, at the same time, it was like a mysterious force held him incapable of laying a hand on you and cursed his body with even more of those strange feelings at the mere idea of you being hurt.

It was something he never really cared to explore too deeply within himself as he was content with simply believing it would pass with time. 

◈

You, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to explore the strong emotions that you actually were able to recognize as love; or, something similar… love was a strong word to use when referring to the Radio Demon of all creatures in Hell.

Still, it hurt your soul to see the complete and utter lack of care towards your existence in general that he seemed to hold for you. He played friends when it mattered, which was particularly in cases like this when Charlie, Vaggie, him, and you were all trying to plan something—with mostly Charlie doing the work, you were kind of just her yes-man—but otherwise he seemed to just… avoid you. Ignore you unless it came with some benefit.

Everybody knew how the Radio Demon went about relationships, and you weren’t any less wise, but it still hurt. You could convince yourself to be happy with just a friendship with the guy, but even that was impossible when any opportunity you had to get closer to him was met with that deranged grin. You couldn’t find yourself afraid of it, though, because alongside the swimming malice in his crimson eyes there was also a hint of… confusion or doubt, like a child learning something terrifying or life-changing. Of course, maybe you were just delusional.

Charlie’s hand brushed against your arm, and you realized you had just been staring blankly at the small spread of papers on the black wooden table in front of you. You blinked a few times, startled by the sudden tug into reality, but smiled once you realized what you had been doing. You sheepishly apologized before asking her to repeat her question.

“Actually…” She said slowly while holding her knees with her hands and rocking backwards. “It’s pretty late… you seem tired. Let’s call it a night?”

“Are you sure?” You asked, stifling a yawn. You hadn’t even noticed exhaustion creeping upon you, but it seemed to swing in full force when she mentioned it. “I know this is important to you.”

“And the comfort of my guests is more important!” She stated proudly, standing up alongside her girlfriend. She held out a hand to you, which you took gratefully. You grimaced at the stiffness in your legs as you stood and placed a hand against your back as you craned your spine to crack it.

“Alright,” You sighed after Charlie urged you to get some sleep again. You waved her goodbye before her and Vaggie left the room, leaving you… and Alastor. He was getting up from the armchair just as you turned around, and you quickly tried to think of something to say, desperate for a conversation. Why was your heart beating so fast? You were going to embarrass yourself.

“You better run along, now,” Alastor said when he noticed you lingering. His voice being directed at you made goosebumps run up your arms. He had his hands folded together behind his back and he bent slightly at the waist to loom over you. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint our dear princess now, would we?”

“And you?” You asked back. You knew he didn’t really sleep, you were just hoping to make conversation. He narrowed his eyes slightly down at you.

“I’ve planned a trip to Cannibal Town,” Alastor explained with closed eyes, straightening himself to stand to his full height. He opened his eyes again to peer at you—it made you nervous to be the subject of his bright red gaze. “I have a dear friend I’ve been meaning to see.”

You nodded absently in response, Rosie’s face immediately coming to mind. You were good friends with her, and knew of the mutual connection the three of you had. You wondered briefly if you should go to her about your latest troubles. Before you could think of anything else to add to the current conversation, he bid you goodnight and briskly left the room. He seemed unnaturally hurried in his pace, but you didn’t think much of it. He had a tendency to just be a bit weird.

A breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding escaped your lungs after the large entrance doors creaked shut. You opted that yes, you were going to go talk to Rosie—tomorrow. You were growing more and more aware of just how tired you were as you stood in the silent room. Plus, maybe it would do some good to sleep on your emotions.

◈

Alastor couldn’t comprehend the mixture of emotions in him; he was mad, frustrated, but all at the same time… endeared by you. How could he feel so much disdain and hatred for someone, yet still have some feeling of care for them? He had been able to at least reach the conclusion that he did care for you, but that didn’t explain the pit in his stomach he got every time your gaze met his.

Rosie would know, surely, or at least be able to give some insight to why he was so conflicted. She was much more in-tune with emotions and mentality and all the type of stuff that Alastor had always been so quick to push away from his care. Plus, she was the only demon in Hell that he could even open a fraction of his mind to.

It was a quick trip to Cannibal Town, his legs carrying him faster than usual. He had given a suave wave and pleasant smile to the various cannibal ladies that always swooned by his presence; something that he had never really thought twice about, but now images of you and your own smile flashed in his mind’s eye when he waved. His eyes narrowed subconsciously at the experience.

The door to Rosie’s Emporium was soon being pushed open by his hand, and he lightly stepped in, hanging his coat up on a nearby rack. It didn’t take long at all for Rosie to realize she had a guest—and even faster for her to realize who the guest was.

“Alastor!” She said cheerfully. They shared a quick embrace before she beckoned him to sit with her at a table against the wall, already prepared to start talking. She knew he only showed up when he needed something.

“My, it’s been a minute,” She observed, leaning her head on her hand. It had really only been a week at most, but Alastor decided against contradicting her.

“Truly, my darling,” He simply agreed. “I have a question.”

“Well I didn’t doubt it.”

Alastor hummed, leaning back in the chair as he tried to form a coherent explanation. How was he to describe a situation he couldn’t even begin to understand himself? Rosie was ghostly silent as she waited, her pearly teeth only slightly peeking between the light smile on her lips.

“That one demon at the hotel—a mutual friend of ours—the one that's always hanging out with Charlie and–”

“I know them,” Rosie cut him off with a waving hand, urging him to get to the actual point. There was a new, sneaky curl in her grin as he spoke with a nearly undetectable stammer in his otherwise smooth voice.

“Well… for the longest time now, it’s like I feel… weird, around them. A weird feeling in my gut that I’ve never felt before. It enrages me, and I want nothing more than to just kill them and get it out of my mind, but, at the same time…” He trailed for a moment. He felt a little embarrassed, truthfully though he would never admit it, that he was practically rambling on about some random demon. He felt like a middle school boy.

Rosie’s hand had found its way to her mouth as he spoke, blocking what Alastor assumed was either a shocked open mouth or a wide smile she didn’t want to share. She inhaled sharply, composing herself, before placing her hand back onto the table.

“Well, I’ll be. I never thought I’d see the day that the Radio Demon…” She paused for a moment and pursed her lips, carefully thinking about the next few words as if what she was going to say would blow his mind into a million pieces. Alastor furrowed his brows and tilted his head to the side expectantly and confused.

“Alastor… do you have… a crush on them?”

A comical record scratch effect sounded from Alastor’s cane as his shoulders stiffened and smile tightened all at once. He looked almost offended at the idea, but at the same time there was an odd look of uncertainty in his expression.

“What? No.”

Rosie laughed aloud at the shocked and almost angry looking expression on his face, ears flattened to their fullest extent as he struggled to maintain his cheerful demeanor. His mind wasn’t exploded into a million pieces, but his whole self-perception was definitely damaged.

Alastor, although upset, thanked her for the help, excused himself, and stood quickly to leave.  He was thankful that Rosie was understanding and didn’t try to convince him to “talk it out” or anything. The only thing she said was an invitation to lunch at a local shop the next day if he wanted to talk to her more—she would be there just in case.

Truthfully, Alastor had already started suspecting the romantic feelings building inside of him before Rosie confirmed the idea; he had just refused to fully acknowledge or even begin to accept them.

He, Alastor—The Radio Demon—had no room in his soul for trivial things like romance. Even in life he had refused to pursue the experience. So why were you suddenly an exception to this? Why did you make his heart boil with a confusing mixture of love and hate; why did your presence make his chest feel heavier and why did you, of all creatures in Hell, make him nervous? Not even the strongest Overlords that had gone against him made him nervous. 

Alastor walked back to the Hotel at a snail’s pace, dreading the return and dreading the sight of you. Now that his suspicions of emotion were confirmed by Rosie herself, he wasn’t sure how his nerves would react. Would he finally snap in frustration at how you affected him and just kill you? Part of him hoped to, but another felt ill at the mere thought.

It was late when he got back, and to his luck you were evidently asleep. He paused for the briefest moment as he passed your hotel room door, eyes trailing over the knob before he caught his senses and hurried to his own quarters. 

The familiar tranquility of his personalized, swampy room with twinkling fireflies and light cricket noises helped him clear his mind as he found a cozy spot to sit and ruminate. Maybe he would go see Rosie for lunch tomorrow.

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part ii

[heretical-cogitations]

Barkhammer 40k Part 1

Part 2 for primarchs 12 - 20

Big E and his 18 dogs, banned from all dog day cares in their local area.

Big E owns one of those dog walking belts, his dogs are his personality.

no one knows where he finds these dogs.

Split into 2 parts because dear lord its a long post

We have (based on vibe and my knowledge and opinion of dogs):

1 - Lion - Wire fox terrier (imo it looks like him)

Devoted and protective.

Lion is a bit of a guard dog and can be snappy.

He wasn't socialised very well as a puppy so can be a bit territorial with the others.

He went missing for a bit came back completely fine like nothing had happened.

2 - urm this is the only surviving picture

3 - Fulgrim - Borzoi

Intelligent, elegant, gentle and independent.

A true diva and just a bit cursed

Noticed there are quite a few paintings of them that just fits...

A lady of quality - A Borzoi on a chaise longue, 1913, William Frank Calderon (can see a Maltese working well because of the long white hair lol)

4 - Perturabo - Yorkshire terrier - very grumpy

yappy and has an unhealthy small dog complex

speaks for itself, ankle biter, growls if an unwanted snoot gets too close.

really doesn't like rogal, might have accidentally been sat on once....

5 - Jaghatai Khan- Saluki

top speed of 42 mph - a beautiful and speedy dog

requires a lot of exercise and the most prone to zoomies

loves loves loves open grass fields, is a very smiley dog.

6 - Leman russ -pomski... (HEAR ME OUT)

On all levels but physical his is a wolf

was raised feral until big E found him on his at the side of the road and hit him with a "You're coming home with me." scooped the lil guy up and that was that.

playful very playful, jealous of the bigger dogs but overall the most playful and friendly with other dogs

7 - Rogal Dorn - Giant Schnauzer

a very reserved doggo here.

Very careful around and midful around the smaller dogs especially perty since he sat on him.

Guard dog through and through spends a lot of time looking out the window

8 - Konrad Curze - Afghan hound

a beautiful dog but dear god you would thing he is a demon the way he stands in dark rooms and the only thing you can see is his reflective eyes.

doesn't like being groomed at all but has to have it done anyway

one of the last additions to the family was was raised by the others.

Runs and barks a lot in his sleep if often comforted by the others and Big E.

9 - Sanguinius -cocker spaniel

such a sweet and smart boy, gets a lot of compliments like Fulgrim but he is more conventional and well behaved... most of the time

Him and Horus get up to a lot of mischief, so does him and Fulgrim, and so on and for some reason big E doesn't notice his little angel is the common denominator...

10 - Ferrus Manus - doberman pinscher

another reserved dog, spends a lot of time being bugged by Fulgrim.

Likes to collect strangely shaped sticks and branches (fulgrim steals)

Another protective one and he is very well behaved but won't hesitate if needed.

11 - друг

друг

[littlejuicebox]

Swollen

Summary: This is another addition to my multi-part Dadstarion series. Tav is heavily pregnant and craving touch from Astarion. He's such a good husband, he happily obliges... but not without making it a bit of a game, of course.

Tags/Warnings: Smut 18+, daddy kink, pregnancy is mentioned but I wouldn't call it a pregnancy kink... just an acknowledgement of the belly, Astarion has a foot fetish, light edging, light brat-taming, light spanking, Astarion being a tease what is new

Notes: HAPPY DADSTARION DAY! This started as a gift I was writing for @tragedybunny and took far too long for me to complete! Also, hello tumblr. My first posted piece in a while. I've finished moving and hope to get back into the swing of things here. Hope everyone has been well!

Word Count: 4K

-----

Her feet hurt, her back hurts, and she’s incredibly horny. 

The strange contrast isn’t lost upon Tav in the slightest, but the pregnancy hormones have her libido at an all time high. Seven months in with the twins, a stomach stretched almost to its limits, and yet she cannot get enough of her husband. She craves his touch, the feeling of his skin pressed against hers, the sensation of his cock splitting her open. She hears the whispers of encouragement and adoration that push her towards release in her dreams and longs for the moans of his own ecstasy as he follows her into oblivion. 

Tav is, more than ever, addicted to Astarion. Not that he seems to be complaining. 

But unfortunately for Tav, Astarion is still working in his office at this very moment. It’s midday; she has at least a few more hours until there is any opportunity to find her fix. 

After a quick shower and change into her robe, Tav convinces herself that she can be patient. Her feet are swollen, anyway, after her morning in the park with Gale — the three year old is taking a well-earned nap — so she will simply elevate them and wait for the inflammation to go down. After that, dinner preparations and putting their son to bed. And after that— finally— some well earned mommy and daddy time. 

Tav props her legs up on a pillow, closes her eyes for just a moment and… 

She is stirred awake by the feeling of strong hands gripping the soles of her feet. 

When her eyes flutter open, Astarion, appearing before her with the top buttons of his shirt undone, smiles and affectionately squeezes her feet once again. “Everything alright, little love?”

Tav hums a yes and then brushes a few strands of hair from her face as Astarion continues to massage her feet. She moves to prop herself up just slightly, aided by a few pillows behind her back. Her robe spills open, revealing swollen breasts to match her swollen stomach. Astarion blatantly admires the view, eyebrow arching with interest, as she gathers the fabric back together and tightens the belt with a sigh. 

“I must have fallen asleep for a moment,” she says, allowing her eyes to close again as she focuses on Astarion’s hands kneading the flesh of her sore soles. Gods, the magic of this man’s hands— and not a spell in sight. “Is Gale still napping?”

Astarion hums a yes in response. “We stopped early with the ledgers today — it’s Pascal’s wife’s birthday so I told him we would resume tomorrow. I was hoping to catch you two for lunch but by the looks of the kitchen you’d already eaten. So I made a quick bite for myself and then came looking for you.”

Tav groans, imagining the state of the kitchen, which she left in shambles. The maid won’t be back in until Monday morning. “I’ll clean the kitchen later, I just—“ 

“No need, love. I already tidied it. We can leave what remains for tomorrow,” Astarion cuts in before lifting her foot and placing an affectionate kiss on the outer edge. 

“For once in your life, just rest, woman. Would you like me to leave you so that you can go back to sleep?”

She shakes her head and then smiles softly. “No, I’d like for you to keep doing what you’re doing.”

Astarion chuckles, his eyes flickering across Tav’s face and then glimmering with mischief. He glances back down at her chest, now covered, and hums, his head tilting to the side. 

“Which part, darling?” He asks as he begins squeezing and massaging her calf with his long fingers. “This?” 

He continues kneading a few more times before he stops and moves to kiss Tav’s ankle. He lingers for a moment and then trails a few pecks along the side of her foot. She watches as his lips brush against her sole before he takes two toes into his mouth and sucks them lightly. He keeps his eyes trained on her face as his tongue swirls around the digits, causing her to squeal and squirm. Finally, he releases her toes with a sly smile. 

“Or that?”

“Both,” Tav responds, causing Astarion to rumble a chuckle in response. 

“You’re so needy, darling,” he teases, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips, the heat of his breath grazing against her toes. “But very well, if you insist. How could I say no to my very pregnant wife?”

His mouth his back around Tav’s foot in an instant, his tongue teasing against her toes. She gasps in response, her face flushing crimson at the… raw intensity with which he is worshiping her feet and the consistency of his gaze trained upon her face. The slickness growing between her thighs is, frankly, even more embarrassing. He’s done this before, every once and a while, but perhaps with not quite as much vigor. 

Astarion hums when he releases Tav’s toes for a second time, his lips pressing a trail of kisses against her calf as he quickly spreads her legs open. He’s soon on his stomach, his face just in front of her mound, robe expertly undone by one dexterous hand. 

He trails one hand up the inside of her thigh, his touch tingling along her flesh on his way to spread her folds and admire the wetness of her cunt. His mouth hovers not more than an inch away, lips curling up into a smug smile as he views the glistening arousal he’s coaxed from her. His breath brushes against her clit. So close, and yet so far. 

And entirely purposeful. 

Tav attempts to reach down between her own legs and touch herself, to relieve the nagging need at the apex of her trembling thighs. She groans in dismay and drops her hand, gripping the sheet when she realizes the swell of her abdomen is now too large for her to reach her own drenched folds. 

But gods, she needs relief. 

“Astarion,” she huffs, her voice tipping up into a whine as kisses are trailed along her thigh. “I know what you’re doing and I’m not in the mood for teasing.”

Astarion lifts his lips to chuckle in delight at her little predicament. His head tips up; she can barely see his eyes, shining with mischief, over the swell of her abdomen. 

“Darling, I usually have to physically restrain you so that you cannot touch yourself while I’m playing with your pretty cunt like this,” he purrs, a silver eyebrow cocked as his eyes lift and drag across her barely-clothed body. “This is a delightful development on my part.” 

“Astarion, I swear, if you don’t—“ Tav interrupts her threats with a strangled moan as two of his fingers easily slide into her walls. Her hips eagerly buck in response. 

“What you were saying, darling?” Astarion asks, cockily, as the flat of his palm presses against her clit. 

Tav is barely able to stifle the wanting cry that begs to escape her lips as she struggles to speak.

“What was that?” He teases again, as his fingers slip in and out of her entrance, the lewd sounds of her slickness filling the bedroom. He removes his fingers and trails them up to her clit, pressing down and rubbing forcefully, causing a shocked whine to shoot from Tav’s mouth. He chuckles. “I’m afraid I can’t understand you over all the moaning and whining, love. Did you want something else?”

“No,” Tav finally manages to gasp out through ragged breaths, her hips rolling against Astarion’s fingers as he slides them back inside. 

Astarion hums a contented sound from the back of his throat, entirely pleased with her response. “There’s my good girl. Now, how about you relax and let daddy do all the work, hm?” He asks, his eyes focused on Tav’s arousal dripping itself onto his fingers, beckoning his tongue to taste. 

Tav is left with no choice but to obey the command, and simply nods her head before tossing it backwards as she focuses on the pleasure building between her legs. She moans when Astarion’s lips lock against her flesh and cries out as his tongue slides along her clit. He smirks along her drenched cunt, his tongue lavishing the familiar trails of pleasure that he’s memorized after years of study. 

He takes his time, tracing around her overly sensitive nub in expert circles. He hooks his fingers to stroke along the sensitive spot that makes her toes tingle, grinning when he feels them, strewn over his shoulder and curled up in pleasure against his back. He flicks his tongue in the way he knows she prefers, listening to the muffled cries of pleasure that escape as she attempts to keep her voice down and avoid waking their toddler. He misses the way she used to scream for him. 

But she can still scream for him, can’t she? He’s certain he can make her cry out just the same. 

Astarion licks a final strip against Tav’s clit and then pulls back, his fingers still sunk deep within her, all the way to the third knuckle. He roams his eyes over his little love, up to the curve of her abdomen, stretched taut with the result of their coupling. His heart fills with pride as his free hand moves to rest atop her swollen stomach while his eyes wander and settle upon her face. Her mouth is agape, but there’s no sound coming out apart from a soft gasp or ragged breath every time he slides his fingers in and out of her eager entrance. 

Quite a shame, really. She makes the most beautiful noises when she doesn’t hold back. 

Tav’s eyes open, her face flushed and lids drooping with lust. She’s frustrated, he can tell, by the removal of his tongue. Her lips are dropping into a pout; her only response is a huffy whine. 

Astarion clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Now, now, patience, little love,” he chides, lightly, removing his fingers from the wetness of her folds and licking the slickness from them with a hum, all while ignoring the disappointed groan from Tav. “I’ll give you what you want… you just have to give me what I want first.”

Her eyebrow lifts. “And what is that, exactly?”

He grins playfully and presses himself up to standing. On the way to the door, he unbuttons and shrugs off his shirt. He quickly clicks the lock closed and spins around before lowering his trousers. 

Tav is watching him closely; he makes a show of sliding his bottoms down and freeing his cock. His length is twitching with anticipation, begging to plunge into her depths and spill its seed. And hells, she’s a tempting picture. Almost impossible to resist. The thought alone causes a drop of pre-fluid to bead at the head of his cock; he drops a hand to stroke his length. His mind fills with the urge to stuff Tav full and thrust into her until she is sweaty and dripping with his sticky spend. Until it is leaking from her hole and onto her thighs, spilling into the sheets beneath her. Until she smells only of sex and him. 

But he can wait a while longer, if only to make her just as desperate as he feels. If only to pull those pretty little pleas from her mouth. 

“For a start, use those beautiful hands of yours to cast a silence spell for me, won’t you, my love?”

Tav flushes but obliges, her fingers waving to cast a spell she’s performed hundreds of times before, though perhaps not recently, and certainly not in this context. A shroud of silence surrounds the room, insulating them from anything outside the four walls around them. Astarion smirks as he stalks toward the bed, the corners of his lips pulling up in a vulpine smile, eyes dark with lust but glinting with rougery. Quite like the vampire that used to slip into Tav’s bedroll at night. 

He has Tav right where he wants her, and he knows it. He’s no longer a vampire, of course, but perhaps the animalistic, predatory side of him never truly left. He’d always been one to toy with his food, back then in camp, hadn’t he? 

“Now then, darling,” Astarion purrs as he slides back onto the bed and assumes the position he’d been in moments before, his face nestled between her legs. He smiles smug, fingers spreading her folds, wetness seeping from her entrance. “How about we see if I can still make you scream?”

“You are an arrogant bastard, Astarion An–” Tav huffs, a sharp gasp interrupting her chastisement as Astarion’s tongue presses against her clit. Astarion chuckles in response, the sound causing vibrations to pulse against her sex and she gasps again, her hand instinctively coming to cover her mouth. 

Astarion growls in disapproval, extending his own hand out to yank hers from her face, fingers threading through hers to keep them there. She will scream for him; he will continue his efforts until she does. He presses more insistently into that bundle of nerves, swelling now, the result of his ability to play her body perfectly. Tav bucks and a fresh bit of slickness covers his chin. He dips his head lower, tongue sliding against her slit and down further to lap at the oasis between her legs. 

She always tastes divine. 

His lids flutter closed as he inhales the heady aroma of her arousal and tastes the musky sweetness of her sex. His cock throbs at the familiar combination. He laps eagerly and then returns his attention to her clit, using his free hand to plunge two fingers into her entrance and curl, landing on the spot that makes her cry for him. Tav bucks in response, her hips lifting up and against his face, silently pleading for more.

Silently.

Oh. She’s remaining quiet on purpose, isn’t she?

That won’t do. 

Astarion lifts up and away from Tav, his eyebrow arching in somewhat of a challenge. He unconciously licks at the slickness on his lips as he huffs, “Must you insist on being a brat?”

Tav’s eyebrow lifts in return, her gaze steady as she stares back at him, straining to keep her chest from heaving. “What? You thought this would be easy? That I would be easy? Not the first time you’ve miscalculated, my love.” 

“Really,” Astarion says as his eyes narrow, the hand that had been threaded through Tav’s fingers pulling away. He grips into the plushness of her ass, holding her firmly in place. “Don’t pretend I didn’t have you screaming for me in the Elfsong with nothing more than my tongue, Tav.”

“It’s been so long since then, I can hardly remember— ah—!” 

Astarion laves her clit with renewed vigor, his fingers pumping in and out of her entrance in rapid time. His hand grips into Tav’s flesh, holding her against him and minimizing the movement of her hips. His tongue swirls around and around in steady circles, fingers curled to press back against the spot that makes her gasp with every thrust. He can sense she is holding back, in the trembling of her thighs and the movements of her hands, firmly fisted into the bed sheets. He can also tell she’s not far from reaching her peak.

But far enough. 

He can keep her on the edge, like he used to quite frequently, when the taste of her blood was made better by the taste of her wanton anticipation. Back when he would latch onto her neck and suckle more for comfort than sustenance, keeping himself on the edge just as much as he’d kept her there. 

More, perhaps, in truth. 

Astarion rolls his hips at the thought, stiff cock dragging along silken sheets, and lets out a moan of his own. No longer thirsting for blood, but the memory of the intense, desperate thirst and the feeling of utter satiation still causes his desire to flare. 

Nothing and no one has ever or will ever satisfy him as much as Tav. That much is certain. 

Astarion almost gives in and lets Tav come. Almost gives in to the desire to taste her ecstasy in the only way he can, nowadays. Almost. But just before her thighs are about to clamp around his head, he remembers the game at hand. His pride wins out. He slows his fingers and reduces the pressure from his tongue, grinning when he hears Tav whine. 

“You absolute bastard!” Tav hisses, fist pounding into the mattress. 

He chuckles, fingers lazily dragging in and out of Tav’s entrance as he lifts his head up to once again peer over the swell of her abdomen. His eyes lock onto her exposed chest, tits swollen and stretched, skin glistening with sweat. He licks his lips; he can taste nothing but her. He trails his gaze upward, to the sharp, narrowed eyes glaring down at him and smirks as he slowly lifts himself onto his knees. 

“Is that really any way to speak to the father of your children, my love?”

“Is this really any way to treat the mother of your children, darling?”

Astarion pouts, a fake jut of his lower lip before his expression pulls up into a smile, just a bit arrogant, but mostly sweet. “You know what I want, darling. Stop being stubborn. Just give it to me, and I will give you what you want, hm?” 

“You’re going to have to try harder, then, Astarion,” Tav responds, her eyebrow arching again. She lifts her chin in another bit of a challenge. “Or perhaps you just aren’t as skilled as you once were, hm?”

Astarion’s eyes flash something fierce. “Now, now, darling. I know you don’t mean that. Take it back.”

“Make me,” she replies, the challenge a clear invitation as her face flushes in anticipation, eyes shimmering with desire. 

Oh, so that is how it’s going to be, then. 

He’d been much gentler with Tav, in her first pregnancy, far too unsure about the safety of such activities. But this time around, and after much assurance from both Tav and Shadowheart, Astarion has grown quite used to being a bit more… typical in his activities with his wife. He’s rolling her onto her stomach in an instant, pillows dragged lower to cradle her abdomen, fingers digging into her thighs. 

“Is this what you want, darling? For me to take you from behind and make you scream for me?” he growls, skin flushing hot as he tempts himself with the same words he’s using on Tav. His engorged cock is begging for attention. 

But not yet. 

Not until she gives him what he wants. 

Let it be soon.

“Yes,” Tav responds, voice raspy, no longer able to keep still as her desire takes over. She presses herself back against Astarion, the length of his cock sliding temptingly along her folds. 

“Beg, then,” Astarion demands, one hand trailing up her thigh to sit on the curve of her ass. He lifts his hand and smacks down, reveling in the sound of Tav’s delighted keen. But after that, further fucking silence. Tav continues to roll back against him, trying to tempt him into giving her what she wants. 

Naughty thing. 

He smacks the side of her ass again, harder this time, ripping a startled moan from her throat. His cock begins to leak pre-fluid at the sound of her voice mixed with the rocking of her hips. He’s becoming quite desperate, himself, his ears turning hot, cock throbbing, heart thudding in anticipation. 

Perhaps a bit more enticement, then. 

He presses the tip of his cock forward, almost losing control and thrusting to the hilt when he feels the warm suction of her walls. Tav whines when he pulls away and then holds steady, just pressing the tip of himself into her with barely-there thrusts. He purrs, “Won’t you beg for me, darling? Three little words, that’s all it takes.”

A moment of silence. He trails his fingers across her flesh, over the curve of her ass, up the side of her spine, igniting goosebumps in his wake. He rolls his hips languidly, his cock just filling the very entrance of her hole with each pass. 

And then finally. 

Finally. 

“Please fuck me.”

The plea comes out muffled, Tav’s face pressed into the sheets beneath them. Astarion’s cock jumps. He uses the last of his willpower to pull his tip from Tav and slide instead along her slick folds, coating himself in her arousal. He’s won. And yet, he cannot resist the urge to tease her just a bit further. 

“Mm… what was that, dear? I can’t quite hear you past the pillow.”

Tav lifts and turns her head, her eyes wide and desperate. Face flushed red, sweat glistening down her cheeks. She murmurs her second plea, almost a whine, nearly breathless, “Please fuck me… daddy.”

His cock aches. 

Oh, she knows exactly what she is doing. Little devil. 

Without another word Astarion slams himself into her entrance, immediately taking her to the hilt. Tav’s head rears back as she moans, loudly, at the sensation of being filled. Astarion’s length throbs and threatens to spill on impact. He watches Tav, her eyes still turned toward him as she begins to press back into him again. 

“So very eager, aren’t you, love?” he asks, as his hips begin to roll in time with her movements. Before long, he is picking up the pace and she is following. Her walls clench around him in a steady rhythm. His arm wraps around her waist — not a particularly easy feat nowadays — fingers searching for her clit. He finds the nub and begins working it insistently; Tav emits high keens as he rubs his fingers into her clit. “Do you want to come, darling?”

Tav whines when Astarion thrusts into her quite sharply, hips canting at a near-supernatural pace. The plushness of her ass bounces with each thrust, cushioning the impact of his harsh movements. “Yes!”

“Then won’t you come for me?” Astarion coaxes in a coo, groaning as he feels Tav clench and pulse around him, signaling her imminent release. He adjusts his hips just slightly, aiming for the spot inside her walls that makes her come undone, and knowing he’s found it when she lets out a sound that is something of a whining scream. He grins. “There we go… let me hear you, my sweet.”

Another roll of his hips and Tav is gone, her head tossing back as she braces herself on all fours, no longer able to match Astarion’s movements. Her cunt wraps around him eagerly, pulsing against the engorged length of his cock. She reaches a near-whistling shriek midway through her orgasm and the sound quickly causes Astarion’s resolve to shatter. He utters some sort of incoherent praise as his cock swells and then twitches while he loses himself inside her greedy walls. 

He needed this. She needed this. It had been far too long. 

The two are bound together, each riding the aftershocks of release. Both heaving with exertion and coated in a thin layer of sweat. Finally, Astarion runs a hand up to Tav’s waist, settling gently. “Everything alright, my love?”

Tav nods her response and then groans, chuckling softly. “I think… I think I’m going to need help rolling back over, Astarion.” 

Astarion laughs as he removes himself from Tav, arms moving to support her as she rolls onto her back with a labored huff. She ends the Silence spell with a lazy wave of her hand and yawns. Her eyes flutter closed as a hand trails down to her abdomen and rests upon her bump.

“I’ll need you to start making use of that spell more often, darling,” Astarion murmurs as he presses a kiss into her forehead with a smile. His poor little love is already drifting back into the nap he’d pulled her from. 

“Mmm…” she agrees, already half asleep, her other hand instinctively searching for his. He laces their fingers together as he lays down beside her, pulling the covers over them both, intent on joining her for a nap. Best to get their rest while they both can. 

In a few more weeks, sleep will be nothing but a memory. 

[spr1ngpvrinbunny]

꒰ა William Afton x Reader – Your Personal Springlock Suit (Inspired by Mangle/Toy Foxy) ໒꒱

✮⋆˙ Notes: This can be edited at any time, so be careful! Also enjoy btw! And I would greatly appreciate it if you could reblog for me to support.^^ I should have split it into different posts, but welp- I decided to put it all in one post, hahah I'm just silly. And here is the post about headcanons for the William x reader AU if you haven't read it yet.

💖 A Gift Only William Could Give:

William isn't the type to express love conventionally. Instead of flowers or jewelry, he gives you something much grander—a custom-built springlock suit, made with you in mind.

He sees himself in Springbonnie, Henry in Fredbear, and now, you in a beautifully eerie, intricate fox animatronic—a design that reflects your duality of elegance and hidden danger.

"It's not just any suit, love," he murmurs, tracing a gloved hand over its sleek yet delicate structure. "It's yours."

🦊 Why Mangle/Toy Foxy?

He knows you love vintage, coquette, and cottagecore aesthetics—but also that you hide something darker beneath all that charm.

Mangle has that same duality—a once-beautiful, elegant design turned into something broken, unsettling, and unpredictable. It's perfect.

Your suit is a gorgeous nightmare: lace-like patterns engraved into the metal, soft white and pastel tones, yet with razor-sharp precision. A killer hidden behind a delicate mask—just like you.

Maybe he even lets you have some input. "You want pearls on the endoskeleton joints? Hah… you're a strange little thing, aren’t you?"

🔧 The Suit’s Unique Features (Because William Would Add Extras Just for You):

Springlock Mechanism – Of course, because William wouldn't let you have a suit without that thrill. It’s dangerous, but that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?

Lightweight & Sleek – Unlike bulkier models, yours is refined, made for graceful movement. Almost… predatory.

Aesthetic Details – Subtle engravings, a satin bow, delicate plating—so it looks innocent, even when it’s far from it.

A Voice Modulator – He programs it himself, tuning it to sound eerily sweet but with an edge of static distortion. A voice that can be either soothing or unnervingly eerie.

Extra Sharp Teeth & Claws – "What? You like to look harmless, don't you?" He smirks, clearly entertained. "Well, I know better, dove."

🩸 How He Feels About It:

There's something deeply possessive about this gift. No one else gets something this personal from him. No one else gets to be a creation of his own hands.

He enjoys watching you admire the suit, the way your fingers trail over its intricacies, the small smile on your lips when you notice the tiny, hidden details he added just for you.

If you’re ever inside it, he gets this look—part admiration, part something else. A mix of pride and the unsettling knowledge that you belong to him in some way now.

"Wear it for me, darling," he murmurs one day, his silver eyes gleaming. "Let's see how well it fits, hm?"

⚠️ The Duality of Meaning:

On one hand, it’s a gift. Something handcrafted with you in mind. A mark of affection, in his own twisted way.

On the other… it’s a claim. A reminder that William Afton made you something—something that ties you to him, in ways deeper than just words.

You’re not just anyone to him. You’re his—his partner in crime, his personal Mangle, his perfectly designed contradiction.

🩰🎭✨ Your Role as “Celeste” – The Storytelling Puppet Fox (Alt Mangle Persona)

(A performance of elegance and danger, curated by your twisted darling William Afton.)

🦊💖 Alt Name: Celeste

William dubbed you “Celeste”, like a celestial body—glowing, mysterious, unreachable. The name sounds like a lullaby whispered through a speaker.

“You’re not just another animatronic,” he murmurs while fine-tuning the wires along your delicate spine. “You’re a star on strings, my little puppet.”

🎀🧵 Your Role: The Puppeteer, The Storyteller

Your job isn't to sing or serve pizza. You're the curtained mystery, the one who tells tales on stage—narrating tragic fairy tales, gothic ghost stories, or love ballads, all while controlling little shadow puppet props and mini animatronics behind lace-lined curtains.

Your voice—tuned through a distorted modulator—drips like honey over crackling old vinyl.

Sometimes your stories feel too real. Too personal. As if you're retelling things only you and William know.

"Once upon a time, there was a man who stitched monsters into soft shapes, and a fox who learned to smile with broken jaws..."

✨🎭 Visuals & Vibes

Your suit has coquette, vintage, and Victorian puppet vibes—a blend of rococo and pastel gore:

Porcelain-white metal plating with rose gold trim

Soft, almost silken ribbons that dance when you move

A ruffled lace collar around your neck with William’s initials embroidered in silver thread

One eye is a glowing gold lens, the other cracked glass with faint pink spark static

You move with fluid grace—elegant like a ballerina, but jarring like a marionette, head twitching gently with each movement.

Your tail ribbons can twist into puppet strings or ribbon traps—both beautiful and a weapon.

🎊 The bells - with a Dark Twist 🦊💀

The Sound of Playful Mischief: When you move, there's a delicate jingle that accompanies every step—a soft chime from the small bells on your fox ears, lightly hanging next to the ribbons tied into perfect bows. The sound isn’t loud, but just enough to catch attention, especially from the children around you. You use this to your advantage, of course. With each subtle head tilt, the bells tinkle, and you tilt your head just enough to give off the vibe of innocent playfulness. When you want to soothe the children, you gently rock your head back and forth, allowing the soft jingle of the bells to calm their nerves. They think it’s a charming, playful gesture. But it’s much more than that. Luring the Unwitting Victims: The children, enchanted by your coquette charm, follow you like little lambs to the slaughter. The chimes from your fox ears are a gentle lullaby, and when you turn your head, your ribbons flutter and dance like the strings of a marionette. It’s easy to get them to follow you, to pull them closer with your soft, melodic voice. “Do you want to see something magical?” you’ll ask, your voice like honey, laced with a subtle undertone of danger. As they follow you, their curiosity grows, and they find themselves in a corner, perhaps near a secluded Safe Room, where they’re unaware of the trap you're preparing for them. Your ribbons unfurl in the background, ready to ensnare them. The bells chime again—just loud enough to make them turn around. You’re there, your marionette-like movements almost hypnotic, drawing them closer as you whisper your stories—dark, twisted fables.

🎀 The Trap Set and the Dance Begins: Once they’re close enough, the ribbons entwine like puppet strings, wrapping around their ankles and wrists, pulling them closer to your carefully set trap. As the bells ring one last time, you smile—a soft, almost childlike smile—before you make the final move. “Just a little closer... this will be our secret,” you coo, your voice sweet and inviting as you lead them into the inevitable. The trap snaps, and with one swift motion, they’re immobilized in your delicate web. But you don’t show any remorse, only a satisfied look on your face, the ribbons now pulled tight as the chimes from your ears stop ringing altogether. You’ve done your job. 💋 William’s Reaction: William, ever the observant one, watches your little games with mild amusement. He can see through the sweet innocence and knows you’re capable of anything. Yet, he finds it adorable how you still manage to keep that mask of innocence up—especially when you’re around the kids, always sly in your actions. “Do you enjoy playing with your prey like that?” he’ll ask, voice dark and teasing, as he watches you untangle your ribbons after you’ve caught one of the children. You chuckle softly, giving him a quick wink, before responding with a soft, eerie giggle. “It’s just part of the game, William... it’s all for fun.” He’s intrigued by the duality in your nature—so sweet, so innocent, yet so dangerous. It’s like a game of cat and mouse, where both of you are the cat. 💖 The Aftermath: When the day’s work is done, and you and William retire for the night, you let down your guard. The bells on your fox ears become silent, and your puppeteer persona melts away. But the intensity between you two doesn’t fade. You’re a perfect match in every way—both hiding your true natures, but finding comfort in each other’s presence. “Shall we play again tomorrow?” William teases, as you rest your head on his chest, the ribbons of your outfit trailing along the floor. You smile softly, your voice quieter than usual. “Of course, William. Always.”

🔮🪡 Abilities & Features

Voice Imprint Playback: You can mimic voices you hear—especially William’s. He installed it so you could repeat his whispers back to him like an eerie lullaby.

Memory Marionette Mode: With a switch, you can project vintage-style shadow plays on the curtain behind you—reenacting events from the past, twisted into fairy tale metaphors.

Mechanical Whispers: You can emit a low, siren-like hum that entrances children (and low-key disturbs the animatronics).

Silken Entrapment Mode: Your ribbons, while decorative, have hidden coils—strong enough to wrap around anything. (William made that... just in case.)

Puppeteer Extraordinaire 🎀🩰– With Two Sets of Hands:

In your Celeste persona, you’re not just telling stories—you're performing them, each move intentional, elegant, and haunting. With your uniquely designed set of hands—two on each side—you have full control over not just the puppets and storylines, but the narrative itself.

🦊💀 Double Hands, Double the Control

One Hand, One Story: Each of your arms is a set of two—one side for narration, and the other side for the puppetry. As your limbs move in graceful, synchronized arcs, they draw the audience into an ever-deepening story.

Your right hand controls the primary storytelling, moving the veil of the curtain, pulling ribbons, and gently swaying your head side to side to enhance the rhythm.

Your left hands—one behind your back and the other on your front—hold two marionettes: one to reflect the tragic hero, the other to reflect the villain. They fight against each other in a waltz that mimics the real struggles of life—tangled up in strings, but always moving in rhythm with you.

🎭🎤 The Dance of Control

The Show Begins: When you pull the curtain, the audience is greeted with a sweet, soft glow of your body. As you raise your arms, the two sets of hands sway in harmony, each perfectly synchronizing like delicate clockwork. You spin around, and your marionettes—miniature versions of William and yourself—flap their tiny limbs in sync with your every move, as if you're both the master and the dancer.

The Puppets Talk: Each puppet mirrors the narrative with its own independent life, mimicking what you say, moving their tiny mouths in sync with the lyrics of the tale you weave. One puppet—perhaps representing your true self—sings a soft ballad of love, while the other—dark and twisted—sings a twisted song of betrayal.

Every movement you make is reflected, amplified by the shadows and eerie twinkling of your ribbons. The audience cannot tell where the real you begins and where the puppets end.

The Secret Dark Twist: The audience never knows, but at the very last moment of your performance, the puppets turn on one another—the hero falls into darkness, and the villain raises their arm. You smile softly, knowing full well that you control the strings of not just your marionettes—but everything.

💋✨ Cuddling with Puppets After the Show

Once the show ends, William sneaks backstage, where you sit cross-legged on the floor, carefully folding the strings back into their cases, always managing to make it look like a sweet, innocent action.

“You were perfect, darling.” He caresses your head as you look up at him with a playfully mischievous glint in your eyes.

He can’t help but smirk, his fingers running through your soft ribbons, feeling the subtle pull of strings like some dark version of a fairy tale come to life. “Maybe next time... you should play a villain, too, Celeste. I think you'd be brilliant at it.”

“Is that an invitation?” You quirk your head, your soft voice trembling with an edge of playful danger. “I’d love to pull your strings sometime, William... just for you.”

🎀💋 Magical String Twists

When you're alone and teasing William, you sometimes tie his hands with your extra ribbons, pulling them around the curtain and making him move—creating a twisted dance between the two of you.

“I’ll make you a puppet, too,” you whisper, weaving an intricate web of silk thread around his fingers.

William lets out a quiet chuckle, watching you as if he loves this dance. The two of you perform together in this secret space, your lips brushing, breaths growing heavier as you become lost in the twisted fantasy.

💌🖤 Silly, Intimate Moments Between You & William

You love “testing” his reactions by reciting new love stories aloud on stage—stories clearly inspired by the two of you.

He watches from the shadows, arms crossed, trying not to smirk like a schoolboy.

“You’re telling lies up there,” he grumbles afterward.

You just smile. “I only lie in metaphor, darling.”

🩷💄 And Yes—You Sometimes Embarrass Him Mid-Performance

You sneak in a line like: “And the fox kissed the monster with a ribbon made of sugar and secrets…” And then blow him a kiss from stage, even if he’s just trying to adjust wires backstage.

Sometimes, you pin a bow on him mid-repair.

“My lovely assistant~” you tease.

He deadpan stares. “I built you. I’m not your assistant.”

But he wears the bow until the shift ends.

🎡🎠 Secret Room Stories Between Just You & Him

At night, when no one’s watching, you both sit backstage where you were built—your legs over his lap, voice softly narrating ghost tales while he holds a screwdriver between his teeth and fiddles with your gears.

He never admits it, but he finds your storytelling voice comforting. You’re the only one he lets lull him to sleep like that.

“Tell me the one about the fox who fell in love with the villain again,” he whispers one night, forehead against yours.

You purr through your speaker: “She never fell. She danced down, on strings made just for him.”

🎀⚙️ Bonus: You Record Secret Love Messages for Him

Inside your chest compartment is a hidden vintage tape player he installed, where you store recordings just for him:

Soft confessions

Dreamy messages like: “If I were real, I’d hold your hand all day.”

Static-laced laughter that makes his chest ache in ways he’ll never admit to Henry.

💭🎀“ℳ𝒶𝒹 ℊℯ𝓃𝒾𝓊𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉ℴℴ ℯ𝓂𝒷𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒶𝓈𝓈ℯ𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝒶𝒹𝓂𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓉”~~

💌 William Afton x Mangle-Inspired!Reader – Flustered Sketchbook Shenanigans & Full Romantic Headcanon Bundle

(all the romantic chaos, giggly-madman energy, and the pastel-coated psychotic love—so I’m giving you a whole deluxe vintage/coquettecore + animatronic fursona love affair pack right here. Hold on to your bows and bloodstained gloves because this gets tender, unhinged, and so very you and him.)

🎨 His Hidden Sketchbook of “Silly Things”

William has a beat-up, leather-bound sketchbook he keeps very well hidden. You'd think it's filled with schematics or sinister blueprints—and it is, for the most part.

But in the very back pages? It’s all doodles. Little cartoon versions of himself as a goofy Springbonnie-esque character, and you—an adorable, stylized version of your elegant but eerie Mangle-inspired self.

In these drawings, you’re always up to something: peeking from behind corners, tugging on his coat, pretending to bite his ear (with exaggerated sharp cartoon teeth), or sitting in his lap with a smug grin while he blushes like a schoolboy.

💗 “I-It’s Just Anatomy Practice, alright?”

If you ever catch a glimpse of the book and tilt your head in confusion, he’ll instantly snatch it back and mutter some excuse like: “That’s... experimental anatomy design. For lightweight endo-joint articulation. Nothing else.” But his ears are turning scarlet red. He’s flustered to the core.

Deep down, he’s mortified at the idea of you knowing just how sweetly smitten he is. These aren’t the mechanical designs he’s known for—this is personal, full of warm fuzzies and hearts that he’d never ever admit he drew.

🫧 Giggles Like a Teenage Girl in Love (Alone)

Picture this: William, alone in his workshop at 2AM, hunched over a cluttered desk. The lights are low. There’s the quiet hum of machines in the background.

He’s sketching another cartoon of you—this time you’re kissing his nose while he turns completely red and steam shoots out of his ears like an old-school animation.

And then… he giggles. Actually giggles. A soft, fluttery, uncontrollable sound that bubbles out before he can stop it. He slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

“God—what is wrong with me,” he mutters, but he’s smiling so hard it hurts. His cheeks are warm, his heart’s racing. He's completely gone.

📖 His “Persona” is Weirdly Accurate

His sketch version of himself is tall and lanky with buck teeth and a big red bowtie. He always draws himself either flustered, smug, or “dramatically swooning” over cartoon-you.

Your Mangle persona? A chaotic yet elegant little fox with frilly bows, a flicking tail, and big mischievous eyes. You’re always one step ahead of him in the sketches.

One drawing has him holding a bouquet of wires instead of flowers, and you’re rolling your eyes—he’s labeled the bouquet “for my little static sprite.”

💘 He Daydreams Mid-Build

He’ll be working on an actual project—tinkering with a gear system or programming your custom voice lines—and then he’ll just stop, staring off with a dreamy look.

“What if she called me darling and then bit my ear again…” he mutters out loud. Cue immediate pause, blinking at the wall. “What the hell am I saying—pull it together, William...”

He cannot get you out of his head when he’s in this mood. It makes him distracted but weirdly productive, because now he’s building new features just to impress you. It’s romantic, in an unhinged engineer sort of way.

🔐 You Catch Him One Day... and He PANICS

You walk into his workspace a little earlier than he expected. He doesn’t hear you at first—he’s humming softly and sketching a comic panel where his cartoon self is being tackled by you in a pile of hearts and wires.

When you say, “Whatcha drawin’?” he jolts like you just hit him with a taser.

“NOTHING.” He slams the book shut so fast it nearly catches fire from friction. He stammers, red-faced, hiding it behind his back. “J-just… animatronic jaw calibrations.”

You raise a brow, clearly not believing him. “So the jaw calibrations need little hearts and a blush filter now?”

He just buries his face in his hands. “I hate you,” he mutters. You lean in and kiss his temple. “No you don’t.”

🎀 Eventually, He Shows You One—Just One

After some gentle teasing (and maybe a kiss or two), he finally lets you see one page—his favorite, actually.

It’s a little doodle of him holding your hand, the two of you in your animatronic forms dancing in a swirl of music notes and ribbons. His cartoon eyes are big and sparkly, yours are mischievous and glowing.

You can’t help but beam. “This is adorable. You’re adorable!”

He groans and hides his face behind your shoulder. “I was trying to be cool, damn it.”

🌷 Vintage/Coquettecore Secret Love Language

You two communicate in hidden glances and code phrases disguised in poetic vintage style. Things like:

“Would you mend my cuffs, dearest?” = I need you close.

“You’re quite the thorn beneath my rose today.” = I want to kiss you until the madness stops.

You leave each other handwritten letters folded into the lining of coats, or sewn into plush animatronics like little time bombs of affection.

William has hand-stitched a little lace-trimmed napkin with your initials, and it’s always in his breast pocket. You, meanwhile, wear a small antique locket. Inside? Not a photo—no, a scrap of his old schematics, smudged by his thumbprint.

💀 Bloodstained But Romantic Rituals

After every “event,” when the mess is taken care of, the two of you sit behind the Safe Room door like it’s a confessional.

You rest your head on his shoulder while he absentmindedly traces your hand, still sticky with crimson.

“You know,” he hums softly, “it’s deeply unfair how good you look with blood on your cheeks.”

You both clean each other like it’s a ritual. Warm water in a porcelain bowl. Gentle dabs with a silk cloth. Hands in silence, eyes speaking everything.

And then he’ll kiss you—on the knuckles, on your temple—like you’re something holy. You’re both monsters, but together? You’re divine.

🧵 Fursona Dates in Character

You two absolutely dress up in your custom springlock suits: Springbonnie and your Mangle-inspired one. It becomes a thing.

He acts overly exaggerated and dramatic in his Springbonnie voice, calling you “my darling chaos vixen” while you giggle and twirl your fluffy tail.

You’ll sit on his lap, noses pressed together in costume. His arms wrap around your middle, metallic squeaks mixing with soft laughter.

The two of you will slow dance in the workshop in full animatronic form. The music? Some old 1950s waltz record with soft vinyl static.

“Don’t step on my paws, mister bunny.”

“No promises, sweetfang.”

📒 William’s Sketchbook and His Crumbling Dignity

He draws your fursona and his in ridiculously cute cartoon panels. Full chibi mode. Big sparkly eyes. Hearts everywhere.

His favorites:

You tackling him with glittery hearts spilling out of your ears.

Him giving you a wrench bouquet while sweating nervously.

You both curled up on a coiled cord like a nest, asleep and tangled together.

When he draws, he’s muttering to himself. “Ugh… no, that line is too soft. She’s soft, but not that soft… Okay but maybe the tail fluff needs a sparkle here—”

If you surprise him mid-doodle? His whole face turns red. He slams it shut like a teenager caught drawing hearts around your name.

🫀 Intimate, A Bit 16+, But Still Classy

William is oddly reverent about touching you. He treats your waist like it’s breakable porcelain.

His favorite spot? The dip at the back of your neck, where he likes to rest his hand or mouth. He always whispers something right there.

You sometimes straddle his lap, still in costume, and he chuckles low, “Is this roleplay now, vixen? Am I being hunted?”

You: “You should be so lucky.”

There’s this intense moment before kisses where both of you hesitate, eyes locked—just to feel the danger of it, the thrill of knowing how wrong and intoxicating this is.

🧠 Mind Games and Little Power Plays

Sometimes you kiss him right after saying something really dark.

“He screamed at the end, you know. Like a songbird.” (You tilt his chin up and kiss his jaw while his eyes gleam with madness.)

He’s always trying to see if he can make you break character first during those blood-cleaning sessions.

“Oh, I missed a spot, sweetheart—right here…” (He leans in and kisses just beneath your eye.)

You’ll play along. “You trying to distract me, darling?” (You press your mouth to his ear, biting just hard enough to make him grunt.)

🖋️ You Catch Him Daydreaming

One day you walk in, and there he is—hunched over, giggling like a schoolgirl, sketching a comic strip where cartoon-You is dragging cartoon-Him around by the ear with a ribbon.

He doesn't even hear you at first. He’s so in love, so deep in it, he’s GONE.

You step behind him and rest your chin on his shoulder. “You draw me prettier every time.”

He squeaks. (Yes. He actually squeaks.)

“Wha—?! I—I didn’t know you were—! This is not—! UGH!”

You giggle and kiss his cheek, and he melts like cheap wax under heat.

[saiintvalentiine]

hello. this is a messy execution of this post where i mused about the nature of c!Wifies and the fourth wall. im havin fun wit it. its not cleanly edited so sorry for any errors! might expand on the idea some time....... also mild spoilers for the maze by professor biggy. enjoy! divider

Word count: 866

It happens again. He's himself, then he's split, then melded, then himself again. It happens sometimes. It just does.

This time, his hands feel wrong. He flexes them over and over. The calluses are layered on top of each other, like two patterns that don't match and have been poorly stitched together.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you?”

“Don't ask that,” Wifies mutters, a knee jerk reaction. “They're listening.”

“What are you talking about?”

It's like a shock. Wifies's whole body jerks and he looks up and it's Parrot above him, Parrot who's giving him a suspicious look.

Parrot. Not—

“Sorry,” Wifies says, though the word tastes stale in his mouth. “Am I on the floor?”

“Yeah,” Parrot drawls, crouching down so they're closer to being eye to eye. “You sat down.”

“I had a dizzy spell,” Wifies says. The lie is fresh, breezy, god, who is he—

It's times like these where he wonders if it would've been better to have never known, to have remained unaware while scuttling through bedrock mazes. To have remained a fragment and not become the fractal.

Parrot presses a hand to Wifies's forehead, frowning at him like he's being stubborn. He cups Wifies's chin and tilts his head up, eye to critical eye.

“You’re not warm but your pupils are blown,” Parrot says. “You said you feel dizzy?”

“Yeah. I have dizzy spells or onset vertigo sometimes. Not too often, but sometimes.”

“You haven't had one in the time I've known you.”

“It's not that common. I used to have them more, but I got better.”

That's an understatement. As the other clones died, their stories coming to a close, Wifies would feel their fractal return to him. It was non-stop returns for weeks after the original Wifies was killed, and he was stuck in bed with a head that felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and a body that kept crying out for pains that didn't exist anymore. As the world ran out of clones, he was finally able to begin living.

Death to survive. Maybe that's a trend with the fractals. Maybe that’s what he’s meant to represent.

“Dude,” Parrot hisses, grabbing his face with both hands. “Your pupils just shrank so fast.”

“I'm fine,” Wifies insists, pressing his strange-wrong-sewn hands into Parrot's shoulders and pushing him back. “This is normal when I'm bouncing back from a spell. I promise.”

“I don't know if I believe you,” Parrot says, pushing himself closer. “You look sick.”

“Parrot,” Wifies says, fingers curling into Parrot's sleeves. “Seriously. Stop. Stop it.”

“You're worrying me.”

To get a taste of what you've never had is a blissful thing. He misses it. He had it. He doesn't have it here. He tries to bite his tongue, but a quiet part of himself has been made brave and now—

“Get off of me,” Wifies grits out, pulling his shield from his inventory and using it to knock Parrot back.

Parrot falls into a roll and Wifies feels bad for a split second until the dizziness returns. This is— someone just— Wifies gasps and falls back, sky spinning above his head. In the rooms. Someone in one of the rooms. A sand trap. Two in a row is cruel. Why would He write it like this? He tries to breathe through the feel of grit that isn't there and Parrot is yelling-not-yelling in that way he does when he's trying to show his feelings in a stupidly stoic way instead of just being honest with himself.

Lord.

“You're making it worse!” Wifies yells at him, blindly waving his shield at where he thinks Parrot is. “You're making this worse, stop it.”

“You didn't need to give me a shiner,” Parrot grumbles, making his way to stand over Wifies. He can see where the edge of the shield hit the corner of Parrot's eye, a bloom of red that threatens to grow darker and darker.“Would you have stopped otherwise?”

Parrot says nothing. He wouldn't.

“Your pupils are huge again, by the way,” Parrot says instead.

“I just want to get through this peacefully, Parrot. I've done this a bunch,” he sighs, blinking slowly at the wavering image of Parrot. “Go get yourself a healing pot for your eye.”

“When did you get so strong?” Parrot mutters, but rises anyway.

In his absence, Wifies drops his shield and forces his muscles to relax. Without Parrot around, his mind clears to the memories.

“Fuck,” he says, and rubs his eyes until his face stings all over. “Fuck, fuck.”

Chuck. He hopes Chuck got away. He was being honest when he said that even if he died, he wanted them to survive. It surprised him how badly he meant it. He wanted Chuck to live.

He can't think about Chuck for too long. Lingering on a fragment isn't hard, or painful, or even something he dislikes doing, but this one—

He sits up. The vertigo is there but he doesn't care. He thinks about a clone stuck in a room too far away from spawn to be saved. Somehow, that hurts less.

There are no funerals for tools. He knows that. It's easier that way.

He stands up.