#it was completely out of character for them both

[dior-luxury]

i’d like to say first that i adore your writing! it’s just absolutely lovely to read everything you write o(^▽^)o ♡ thank you for your work! if you don’t mind, i’d like to leave a request!

could i get some domestic fluff about babysitting with the twst characters? like helping leona babysit cheka (and any other character you’d like to write for who has a younger relative…or maybe just insert some random kid for whoever you pick lol) and the whole experience gets them thinking about the future and perhaps having a family of their own?

Babysitting With Them

( ✧ ) ────── parent stories . fluff - f!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] dormleaders . riddle . leona . azul . kalim . vil . idia . malleus

- [𝐩:𝐬] Fluff/Domestic Fluff . Babysitting . Future Family Themes. Mild Chaos/Cute Chaos . Soft Moments/Emotional Introspection . Mentions of Children . Parenthood Imagery/Future Parenting

Note: Thank you so much for enjoying my writing!! (≧◡≦) It's funny how I two of the same requests that have the same theme Lol, so I just decided to combine them both ( ´ ▽ ` )

Riddle Rosehearts

When Professor Trein approached Riddle with the task of watching his twin grandchildren for an afternoon, Riddle felt a surge of pride and immediate stress. “A demonstration of responsibility,” the professor had said with a knowing glance. Of course, the twist was that you’d be watching them with him.

He'd barely made it to the faculty quarters with the twins before they began running in opposite directions, giggling. One made a beeline for a bookshelf while the other tried to unbutton Riddle's blazer. You calmly scooped one up with a laugh and offered a distracted Riddle a reassuring smile. “We’ve got this.”

“Indeed,” he said, although his voice cracked slightly.

The afternoon was a test of patience, creativity, and teamwork. The twins were mischievous but not unmanageable, especially with your steadying presence. You suggested a tea party—“Just like in Heartslabyul, Riddle”—and helped set out little plastic cups, cookies, and juice. The twins delighted in it, making Riddle the "tea king" while you were “his queen,” to which Riddle flushed a bright pink but didn't correct them.

He even loosened up. At one point, you caught him kneeling beside a stuffed bear, seriously asking if it took sugar in its tea, and your heart melted.

Later, when the twins were napping in a sunlit corner of the lounge, curled up with stuffed animals, Riddle sat beside you on the couch, sipping lukewarm tea you both forgot to drink. He was unusually quiet.

“You were great with them,” you said, brushing a crumb from his sleeve.

He looked at the sleeping children, eyes soft and thoughtful. “I always feared I’d be too strict. That I’d repeat my mother’s mistakes. But... I felt something different today.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, and he hesitantly took your hand in his.

“I think… if it were with you… a future like this wouldn't be so terrifying,” he whispered. “Perhaps even… something to look forward to.”

And for a moment, the world was quiet—just the hum of a peaceful room, the steady rhythm of children’s breaths, and the quiet, blooming thought of someday.

Leona Kingscholar

You'd never seen Leona more alarmed than when a magical mirror blinked open to deliver a very energetic Cheka into his dorm room—complete with suitcase, plushie, and an extremely chipper "UNCLE LEOOO!"

Apparently, Crowley thought it a wonderful learning opportunity for Leona to engage with family during the school’s "Interpersonal Growth Week." And Crowley, in his infinite wisdom, roped you in as Leona’s "emotional support."

Cheka tackled Leona’s legs with a hug, and the big bad lion grumbled something unintelligible, already looking exhausted. You knelt to greet Cheka with a wide smile and a friendly high-five, which the little lion cub enthusiastically returned.

The next few hours were chaos wrapped in a sugar high.

You tried crafts—Cheka glued everything to the table. You tried games—Cheka turned hide-and-seek into a full-blown stealth mission that almost broke a vase. Leona had all but collapsed on the couch, arms crossed over his eyes, muttering, “I need a nap from this nap.”

But then—magic.

The three of you ended up outside in a sunny corner of the savannah-like lounge. Cheka chased butterflies while you helped Leona set up a blanket and snacks. You fed each other bits of dried fruit while pretending you weren't watching Cheka try to roar at squirrels.

Leona eventually laid down, head resting in your lap as he watched the sky.

“You’re good with him,” you said, fingers brushing through his hair.

“Tch. I just didn’t want him breaking anything.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

He huffed but didn’t deny it. Instead, he turned his head slightly, golden eyes catching yours. “You’re the one who’s a natural. Think you’d survive if we had a few of our own running around?”

The way he said it was casual, but there was weight behind the words. His gaze didn’t waver.

Your heart did a little somersault.

“I think we’d survive,” you replied, smiling. “And you’d be better at it than you think.”

Leona snorted softly. “Maybe. As long as they don’t wake me up before noon.”

“Deal. I’ll be the morning parent. You handle bedtime.”

He smirked. “Bet I’d be great at bedtime stories.”

That night, Cheka finally fell asleep with you reading to him while Leona lazily played with the boy’s hair. The warm glow of the dorm’s lighting, the distant buzz of cicadas, and Leona’s hand resting on yours as he watched his nephew drift off—it all felt like a fleeting glimpse into another life. A quieter one. A better one.

Later, after Cheka was tucked in, Leona didn’t say much. He just leaned into you, holding you a little tighter than usual, his voice a low murmur against your hair:

“I wouldn't mind this. With you. A pride of our own.”

Azul Ashengrotto

It all started when a local couple from the Coral Sea sent a formal request to the Mostro Lounge. They were in urgent need of a sitter for their precocious little mer-child, Mira, during a diplomatic visit to the surface. Azul, ever the businessman, couldn’t resist an opportunity to help—especially with you involved.

“This is strictly a professional arrangement,” Azul said, straightening his tie as he paced the Lounge. “We’re simply... fulfilling a need. With compensation. Nothing more.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “So, you’re not looking forward to spending time with an adorable tiny sea-creature and me?”

He flushed to the tips of his ears. “I never said that.”

The moment Mira arrived, everything spiraled beautifully out of Azul’s control. The little one was all curious tentacles, gleaming eyes, and boundless questions. She immediately took a liking to you, tugging your hand and asking if you were “Mr. Azul’s princess.”

Azul nearly choked on his own breath.

You spent the afternoon in the VIP room of the Lounge turned “child-safe zone,” crafting with enchanted water paints, building pillow forts, and watching Mira “swim” in circles around the furniture. Azul tried to stay aloof at first, but Mira eventually suckered him in with wide eyes and a tragic, “I need someone to be the sea king in my game!”

He relented with a sigh that masked a small smile. “Very well. But only because the realm demands it.”

You watched as he donned a makeshift crown made of napkins and posed dramatically while Mira shrieked with joy. Your heart swelled at the sight—Azul, so often rigid and serious, pretending to grant royal decrees while holding a glitter-covered wand.

Later, when Mira was curled up on a plush bench, dozing peacefully with your coat wrapped around her like a blanket, Azul sat beside you, strangely quiet.

“She reminds me of myself,” he said softly. “Always watching, always asking questions. Curious. Smart.”

“She’s sweet. And she adores you.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Temporarily, perhaps. Children change quickly.”

You nudged his shoulder. “She didn’t see the business mogul. She saw someone kind and gentle. Someone safe.”

He looked down at his gloved hands. “I never imagined myself with a family. I didn’t think I was built for that kind of softness. But with you here… it doesn’t seem so foolish.”

You reached out and laced your fingers with his, resting your head on his shoulder.

“It’s not foolish at all.”

He squeezed your hand in return, and together, you watched Mira sleep—Azul’s heart caught somewhere between fear and hope, wondering for the first time if maybe, someday, he could create a world where a child of his own wouldn’t have to hide who they were.

Kalim Al-Asim

It was supposed to be a simple favor—watching one of Jamil’s younger cousins for the afternoon while the rest of the Asim family attended a formal banquet. You and Kalim were already spending the weekend at the Scalding Sands estate, so it seemed like no big deal.

That is… until little Layla arrived.

A tiny whirlwind in a flowing dress, Layla was the human embodiment of a sugar rush. She immediately tackled Kalim in a hug, shrieking, “COUSIN KALIM!” as he caught her mid-spin and lifted her into the air like a carnival ride.

“Kalim, she’s going to launch herself into orbit,” you laughed as Layla shrieked in delight.

“She’s light as a feather!” Kalim grinned. “Come on, let’s play palace adventure!”

The next few hours were a technicolor blur of activity. Kalim turned the entire courtyard into an elaborate obstacle course. You both took turns being “guards” or “thieves” as Layla declared herself “Queen of the Flying Carpets.” There were glittery sticker crowns involved, you wore one. Kalim wore four. He looked fabulous.

Kalim was born for this. He matched Layla’s energy effortlessly, spinning stories, making her laugh, and doing every silly voice. You helped bake cookies together (well, tried—Layla mostly just poured sugar in everything while Kalim pretended not to notice). At one point, Layla sat in Kalim’s lap while he played a lullaby on an oud, her little eyes drooping as she leaned into him, totally at peace.

When she finally fell asleep in a cozy mountain of cushions, Kalim looked at you with a warmth in his eyes that was deeper than usual. Not just sunshine—something realer, steadier.

“You’re amazing with her,” you whispered.

He smiled wide but soft. “So are you. She really likes you, y'know.”

He paused then, eyes flicking toward the sleeping child, and his smile grew quieter. Thoughtful.

“Hey… do you think someday, we could do this again? Not for someone else. Just… us.”

Your breath caught at how gentle his voice was. How unguarded.

“With our own little one?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, reaching for your hand. “I used to think I’d never be still long enough for that kind of life. But with you… I think I could be. I want to share all this joy with someone. With a family.”

You leaned into him, head against his shoulder as the warm breeze swept past, carrying the scent of cardamom and sugar.

“I’d love that, Kalim.”

He kissed your forehead, the weight of the moment grounding even someone like him.

“Then let’s make it a dream to reach together.”

Vil Schoenheit

It began, like all beautiful disasters do, with Crowley.

Apparently, a child from the local village—eight years old, precocious, and obsessed with “divas”—had written a very passionate letter asking to spend a day with the “fabulous Vil Schoenheit.” It ended up in the headmage’s hands, and of course, he passed it along to Vil with a wink and a “learning experience in mentorship and patience.”

Vil wanted to say no.

But you, of course, smiled and said, “Come on, it might be fun.”

That was how you ended up babysitting a tiny fashion-obsessed firecracker named Sera, who insisted on calling Vil “Miss Vil” and who immediately begged to do makeovers.

“She’s got spirit,” you whispered with a grin as Vil exhaled, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Admirable spirit,” he muttered. “With a worrying love of neon eyeshadow.”

You helped set up a little “studio” in Pomefiore’s drawing room. Vil arranged the mirrors, the light, the seating—because of course he did—and then the three of you got to work. Sera wanted you to do her nails (purple sparkles, no exceptions), while Vil demonstrated eyeliner techniques and gently corrected her brush strokes.

“You must treat your face like art,” he explained patiently, holding her hand as she tried to line her eyes. “Not a battlefield.”

She beamed up at him, utterly starstruck.

Later, she demanded a “runway walk,” so you all spent an hour in the Pomefiore halls, strutting like queens to invisible music. Sera wore one of Vil’s silk scarves as a cape and declared the two of you her “royal beauty parents.”

And Vil—Vil actually laughed. Not the elegant, posed kind, but a real laugh, from the chest.

That evening, with Sera curled up between you on a chaise, happily snacking on sugar-dusted pastries and humming to herself, you noticed Vil watching her. His hand gently smoothed back her hair, his movements soft and careful.

“She’s going to remember this,” you whispered.

He glanced at you, his voice quiet. “So will I.”

You leaned into him, warmth in your chest.

“You were incredible with her,” you said.

He hesitated for a moment, then looked at you with something unguarded in his gaze—no pretense, no performance.

“I used to think children would be... interruptions to my life. But watching her today, seeing her confidence grow just because someone believed in her?” His voice dropped. “I think I’d like that kind of legacy. To build someone up. Guide them. Shape them into someone proud and whole.”

You reached for his hand and laced your fingers together. “You’d be amazing.”

“And you,” he said, brushing your knuckles with his lips, “would be the heart of it all.”

And in the soft silence that followed, with the glow of the setting sun catching in the gold of Vil’s hair, the two of you quietly let the idea take root.

Idia Shroud

Idia’s nightmare began with Ortho cheerfully saying, “Big Brother! You’ve been chosen to babysit my friend’s little sister while their family visits a Space-Tech Expo!”

Idia’s soul left his body right then and there.

“Wh—What?! I—I don’t know how to interact with mini-humans! I barely manage with regular humans—!”

“It’s okay! Y/N will be with you!” Ortho said brightly, clearly having planned this. “Think of it as a co-op quest! With NPC cuteness!”

That’s how you both ended up in Idia’s room, where the lighting was turned to “soft ambient galaxy mode” and a six-year-old girl named Nari was stomping around in your oversized headphones and calling herself “The Boss Monster.”

Idia was frozen at first—tucked in his gamer chair like it was his only line of defense. But you gave him a warm look, handed him a second controller, and said, “C’mon, let’s introduce her to ‘Fantasy Brawl X.’” The game was co-op, cartoony, and had a character that looked suspiciously like Idia with fire hair.

Nari was hooked.

She squealed when she figured out how to make her character jump. Idia mumbled quiet instructions that she somehow understood perfectly. And you, of course, kept the energy balanced—cheering, helping Nari when she got stuck, and giving Idia little confidence boosts every time he muttered, “I’m gonna mess this up…”

You even caught him smiling when she called his gaming skills “SO COOL, like a real boss!”

Hours passed, filled with giggles and glowing screens. You made microwave popcorn and juice box “potions.” Ortho peeked in once and whispered “Level Up!” at Idia, who turned pink and kicked him out.

When Nari finally nodded off on a beanbag chair, hugging a plushie of Idia’s favorite mech character, the room went quiet. The only sound was the hum of LED strips and the soft soundtrack of the paused game.

You turned to find Idia staring at her—his expression unreadable, for once not hidden behind his hair.

“She... wasn’t scared of me,” he said quietly. “She called me cool. Even though I’m... me.”

You moved beside him, laying your head against his shoulder. “That’s because you are cool. And kind. And you gave her a space to just be happy.”

He hesitated, hands fidgeting.

“I didn’t think I could ever picture something like this,” he whispered. “Me. In a family. That’s, like, the opposite of my anime origin story.”

“But…?”

He sighed, almost smiling. “But… if it were with you… maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad ending. Or maybe... a good beginning.”

You kissed his cheek, and his hair turned a shade of glowing pink so fast it lit up the room.

Malleus Draconia

The request came from Lilia.

“I need someone to watch one of the castle’s younger wards while I run errands in Briar Valley,” he said, flashing a mischievous little grin. “You’re good with children, right? And Malleus could use a bit of… exposure to the chaos of mortals.”

Before you could even process what you were agreeing to, you were left with a wide-eyed little fae girl named Aris—no taller than your hip, with bright moss-green hair, tiny horns, and a suspicious amount of energy for someone who literally glowed when she got excited.

“She’s precious,” you whispered.

“She is terrifying,” Malleus replied gravely, watching her zip around your legs with the glee of a creature who’d just discovered sugar.

You had both agreed to spend the afternoon in a quiet glade outside of Diasomnia, where the ancient trees arched high above and the air sparkled faintly with fae magic. Malleus, always fond of serenity, conjured floating lights and flowers that opened at a touch. Aris, of course, immediately declared this was her “kingdom” and that you and Malleus were her “knights.”

Malleus blinked, bewildered. “She… promoted me?”

You laughed. “Congrats, Sir Horns-a-Lot.”

To your surprise, Malleus took his new title seriously. He let Aris ride on his shoulders, gently cradling her little legs with those long, careful fingers. He answered every one of her endless questions about dragons, thorns, and whether he could breathe fire ("Only when properly irritated, young one").

You played tag. You helped make flower crowns. Malleus, despite never doing any of this before, adapted like he'd been waiting for a moment like this his whole life. Watching him kneel in the grass with Aris, guiding her tiny hands to shape a flower into a glowing orb of magic, made something deep in your chest ache in the best way.

When the afternoon faded to dusk, Malleus conjured little floating flameflies and told Aris a fae lullaby. She curled up between you both on a picnic blanket, humming softly, eyes half-lidded, her fingers tangled in Malleus’s cloak.

He looked down at her with something unreadable in his emerald eyes—something warm, gentle, almost reverent.

“She reminds me of the younglings I used to watch from afar,” he murmured. “Always distant. Always curious. But never mine to protect.”

You slid closer, brushing your hand against his. “But she’s here now. And she feels safe with you.”

“She calls me her knight,” he said quietly, a small smile ghosting his lips. “No one has ever said such things to me—not without fear behind it.”

You leaned your head against his arm. “She sees you the way I do.”

He turned toward you, his expression soft.

“Do you think,” he asked, his voice nearly a whisper, “that one day, we could have this? A little one. Not by duty or politics, but… something born of us? Of love?”

Your breath caught, your fingers curling around his.

“I do,” you said, certain and full of emotion. “With all my heart.”

Malleus looked up at the stars, glowing brighter against the indigo sky. And then he closed his eyes, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“If this is what the future holds,” he said, “then I have never been more eager to walk toward it.”

In the hush of twilight, with Aris sleeping peacefully between you and the fireflies dancing in the air, Malleus dreamed—not of grandeur, not of ancient destiny, but of a quiet life filled with laughter, tiny footsteps, bedtime stories, and you.

[pukefactory]

•☽────✧˖°˖ SUMMER SIDE ˖°˖✧────☾•

(COMMISSION)

★ Summary: A Short Story Containing 5 Instances Where Salesperson ENA Couldn’t Stop Talking, Plus 1 Instance That Left Her Speechless With You

★ Commissioner: @namosaga

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Short Story, SFW

★ Word Count: 1357

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

Instance 1: The Dream Where You Died Was Not That Funny, Actually

She wakes you up by screaming.

“BLOOD! THERE WAS BLOOD COMING OUT OF YOUR STUPID HEAD!”

Your eyes creak open like rusted metal, and you’re instantly blinded by morning sun. Or possibly ENA. She’s standing on your bed, stomping in place like she’s summoning thunder, both hands flailing.

“You DIED,” she hisses, stabbing a claw-finger at your chest. “Your little meat balloon body POPPED like a sick novelty party favor and I held your lungs like they were STUFFED ANIMALS! That’s not even the bad part!”

You sit up. “…There’s a worse part than that?”

“YES!” she howls. “I had to give a speech at your funeral!”

“…Oh GØD.”

“I—what’s the word—bombed. I BOMBED! Half the guests were mannequins! The other half were your enemies!”

She drops to her knees on the mattress, wild-eyed and trembling, her salesperson side bright red and twitching.

“I opened with a pun, and I couldn’t stop talking. I even told them about your socks! The mismatched socks!”

You reach for her mitten hand. “It was just a dream—”

“You had frog stickers on your toes!” she wails.

You sigh. “ENA, I’m not dead.”

She immediately gasps like it’s the best news she’s heard all year. “Oh thank goodness, I didn’t finish the eulogy. I thought I was going to have to improvise!”

Instance 2: The Time You Got Lost, and She Tried to Calm You Down (Poorly)

You’re in the Department of Melancholy again, but this time it’s not by choice. You think the elevator took a wrong turn somewhere around The Division of Dry Cleaned Nightmares.

The air is thick with old perfume and long-distance phone calls. You’re shaking, clinging to a broken office chair, and ENA is squatting beside you like a concerned bird. Her hat is crooked.

“Listen to me, listen,” she says quickly. “I’ve calculated your odds of survival, and it’s not… it’s not good.”

“ENA—”

“But,” she barrels forward, “if you do get consumed by the walls, it’ll be very symbolic. A martyr for the Department’s emotional renovation budget.”

“I don’t want to be a martyr, I want to go home!”

“That’s what I’m saying! Look, if you get absorbed into the décor, you become part of the building. You are home.”

You start to sob.

“Oh no,” she groans. “Oh no, I said the wrong thing again. I am literally bad at comfort. Don’t cry, you’ll summon the Complaint Forms!”

Despite everything, you laugh. A horrible, hiccupping noise. She immediately brightens.

“See! You’re laughing! Progress!”

Instance 3: When You Asked Her What She Thought of You

You hadn’t meant it seriously. It was a lazy question. Something tossed out over lukewarm coffee in a Casino break room, after a long mission and too many hallucinated oranges.

“What do you think of me?” you asked, smiling.

She blinked. Both triangles in her eyes swiveled like they were on rotating axes. Her expression twisted into something unreadable.

Then she launched into it.

“Oh, you’re a mosaic of contradictions. A fever dream in a soft shirt. You smile when you’re scared, and you joke when you’re broken. Your laugh sounds like broken glass trying to flirt with jazz.”

“…Thank you?”

“You’re an investment with too many volatile returns. I’m always waiting for the bottom to fall out—except it never does, and it drives me insane. I can’t predict your emotional market trends.”

You blinked at her.

She pressed forward like a runaway train. “You once complimented a brick wall. You talk to vending machines like they’re people. You say you’re fine, but you flinch like you’re not. And I’ve memorized the angle of your hands when you lie.”

You stared at her. She smiled, bloodshot and too big. “Also, you’re very cute when you eat grapes.”

You spit your coffee across the table.

Instance 4: Her Commentary During a Near-Death Scenario

The floor beneath you exploded mid-jump.

ENA grabbed your wrist just in time, hauling you over the collapsing bridge of kaleidoscope glass, both of you screaming all the way down. You hit the ground hard enough to black out for a second.

When you came to, ENA was hovering over you, babbling.

“Oh thank the fiscal gods, your bones are still in you! Are you alive? Semi-alive? Not dead? Don’t say ‘undead’, I don’t have the tax forms for that!”

You groaned.

“Oh, look at you, all ‘wounded chic’. Your bruises match your aesthetic. Do you want to be carried or dragged? Say the word. Either way, I’m filing a workers’ comp claim on your behalf.”

“…Carried.”

“Wonderful choice, sweetheart!” she sang, scooping you up like a goblin in love. “You’re light as emotional baggage!”

She sprinted toward the exit, cradling you against her chest.

“Good news: we almost died. Bad news: the boss fight’s next. Better news: I found a coupon!”

You didn’t know whether to scream or kiss her.

Instance 5: When You Tried to Say ‘I Love You’ First

You were going to say it. You’d practiced in a mirror. You even wrote it on a napkin once like a high schooler with a death wish.

She’d just finished monologuing about economic collapse in the Wishing Pools, her eyes glittering in the sunset sludge. You looked at her, and your heart hiccupped.

So you tried.

“ENA, I—”

“Oh no, you’re going to say something vulnerable, aren’t you?” she interrupted instantly. “Quick, let me distract you with facts! Did you know the moon isn’t real in six out of nine districts? Did you know I have seventeen things I hate about love and seventeen more that I despise slightly less?!”

“ENA—”

“I do like you, though!” she blurted. “Like, tremendously. In the way a virus likes a host. Or a sales rep likes their highest spender. Or a shadow likes its source!”

“ENA—”

“You make me feel unemployed! Emotionally! Like I don’t have a job except thinking about you and eating cosmic leftovers!”

“ENA—”

“I drew a doodle of us once and then cried because it looked too happy!”

You grabbed her by both shoulders. “Let me finish!”

She froze.

“…I love you.”

There was a beat of silence. Then—

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”

She screamed so loud the wishing pool cracked.

The One Time ENA Didn’t Say Anything At All

It wasn’t dramatic.

There was no blood, no kaleidoscope collapse, no haunted furniture or genies that demanded emotional vulnerability as payment. Just a Tuesday. Or something approximating it.

The two of you were alone on a carousel of broken creatures.

You’d looped the same small path for hours, circling past walls painted like casino receipts, past rooms that pulsed like living things. But this spot was safe. Quiet. You could hear the sound of her breathing if you closed your eyes.

You were sitting beside her on a cracked countertop. She was watching the ceiling like it might sprout wings and fly away.

And you said, without thinking, “You know, I think you’re my favorite place to be.”

It was quiet. She didn’t say anything.

No monologue. No pitch. No metaphor about feelings being financial disasters. Not even a muttered joke about architecture or celestial real estate.

Just…Silence. Her red side blinked once. Her yellow side stared.

Then, slowly, like it was a decision she had to make with her whole body, she leaned her head against your shoulder. Her cheek rested warm and strange against your arm. Her clawed hand crept over yours, threading your fingers together without ceremony.

You turned to her, and for once, she didn’t meet your eyes like they were puzzles or riddles or treasure maps. She just breathed. Softly. You could feel it. The tremble in her frame. The weight of something unsaid. You didn’t need her to say it. You just held her tighter.

And maybe later, she’d start talking again. About the sky, or the market, or your haircut. Maybe she’d compare you to a broken toaster or a business plan gone rogue. Maybe she’d panic again the next time you tried to kiss her.

But for now? Now she was quiet and that said everything.

[written-in-knife]

Hi! Can I request a platonic relationship with Crowley or Crewel? For example, they adopt a reader (officially on paperwork, or emotionally) and suddenly the reader just falls through some portal and ends up in another world. And Crowley/Crewel just *dad panic, -1000 nerve cells*. At the end all is well and they reunite!Another point, you didn't ask for it, but I'll say it (sorry). Put two tags in your fanfics "TWST × reader" and "Twisted Wonderland × reader" (put both at once) so more people will see you!

Watching and Waiting

Parental!Crewel & gn!Reader

Fluff, slight angst, hurt/comfort? a single sentence of a little hurt/no comfort at the very end sorryy

Word count: 4049

That tip does actually really help and I will do that from now on, thank you! I really love the idea of the staff pseudo-adopting the main character, but I'm OBSESSED with Papa Crewel. And to demonstrate, I'm going to get completely carried away with this prompt! HERE WE GO!

When it came to the student body of Night Raven College, Crewel had a certain level of fondness for all of them. He was strict, of course, he wanted nothing but to see them succeed, but there was a little bit of pride he took in every class. Diligent juniors who'd been with him for a handful of years at this point, most of whom exceeded his every expectation and the rest who at least performed the required tasks with the skills he'd taught them. Flighty but extremely talented sophomores who managed to impress him at every turn in one way or another. Even the freshmen, a group of troublemakers to be sure, but malleable, sharp minds that just needed to focus up to learn the material and they'd be well on their way to excelling in his class.

Then there was you.

Crowley had called a staff meeting to explain the situation to the teachers once you and Grim had proven yourselves worthy to become two halves of a whole student. Trein had asked if there was an active search on figuring out a way to send you home to your own world, and Crowley responded with a very flippant yes that left a sour taste on everyone's tongue. Once it was announced that you had been placed in Class A, Crewel's homeroom, he silently vowed to keep an eye on you. Just that. A magicless student in a magic academy in a world they were not at all familiar with felt to him very much like a wounded puppy being circled by vultures. He wouldn't treat you any differently, of course, you were simply a few steps behind and needed someone watching your back whether you knew the eyes were there or not.

So he watched. He watched as those friends of yours extorted you when you were at your wits end with Grim, he watched you struggling with Grim. He watched you in the second-hand uniform with hastily stitched repairs that was at least a size too big and getting bigger on you as you were not being provided with enough money to feed yourself and Grim AND repair your dorm. He watched as you tried to make Ramshackle habitable, and he watched as you over-extended yourself to put an end to Riddle Rosehearts and Leona Kingscholar's overblots. And when he watched you in the nurse's office just laughing off your injuries the day of the Spelldrive tournament, Crewel decided he was done watching.

It started small at first. He'd discussed with Trein about what subjects you were struggling in, not surprised to hear they were all magic based subjects, then held you back after class to offer to tutor you in those subjects under the guise of wanting all his pups to succeed. Which he did, of course. You agreed to the after school tutoring, which Grim very loudly refused to attend. Every other day after school, you met up with Crewel his classroom to tackle some subject or other more in depth while he graded assignments, and before you left, he would hand you a large container with food in it.

"This is cutting into your dinner time, is it not?" He explained when you asked about it. "I'm not a monster, I wouldn't expect you to go without eating all night."

"You don't have to go out of your way, Professor." You sighed, too hungry to deny the free food.

"Hardly. It's leftovers from last night," a lie, but you didn't need to know that, "I won't miss them."

Crewel caught you back up in your subjects fairly quickly, you were a diligent student. As the days went on, he watched some life return to your face until he could no longer find that ravenous look deep behind your eyes. He started setting a portion of his salary aside and bringing it to Sam, telling him to keep it for when you came by to purchase anything, giving him a little extra to not tell you where it was coming from. He felt a little swell of pride in his chest when he heard you bragging to Ace and Deuce about your grocery run being paid for. He was comfortable with this, happy enough not watching you wasting away and seeing you beginning to thrive in this school. He knew you could hold your own after handling two overblots, so he knew you could handle yourself against the Octavinelle trio when they came for your dorm. And of course you did. He felt that swell of pride again, stronger than he felt for his other students. Then again, his other students didn't have to fight nearly as hard as you did. Before he left for the winter break, he left a parcel on your doorstep that contained a thick pair of gloves, a fur lined hat, a cashmere scarf, and an old brown fur jacket of his. He worried it may not fit, but he refused to leave you to freeze while he was gone. He left a note in the box on top of the items.

"A small reward for your hard work this semester. Enjoy your holiday, you earned it. D. Crewel"

When he came back from the winter break, he was disappointed to find your school uniform in worse condition than when he left, a jacket sleeve hanging on for dear life, poorly patched holes in the knees, one of your shoes peeling away from the soles. He refused to let that go on any longer than it needed to, bringing you to Sam's himself to get you fitted for a new uniform. When you tried to insist that you could pay, Crewel insisted that it wasn't necessary, citing that he couldn't have any of his pups looking less than their best for the upcoming culture fair. When you tried to bring up the winter clothing he'd left you, he brushed off your thanks with a wave of his hand.

"We can find something more suitable to your style before your next winter." He insisted as he gently adjusted your tie. "I couldn't have one of my best freshmen freezing to death while I was gone, could I?"

Despite being caught up to the other students in your subjects, you still came by after class, more often to gossip over whatever meal Crewel had brought with him than to study. You told him about what happened over the winter break, and how the Octavinelle trio actually ended up helping you out. You told him about Ace and Deuce showing up after everything had been resolved, how they got there by train and boat and foot because they had been so worried about you. You kept him up to date about how your dorm, finally at least clean and presentable, had been offered up for the SDC group headquarters. He occasionally had gossip for you, making you swear not to spread anything around before he would tell you anything. It was usually student gossip that was being spread around anyways, some spat in Savanaclaw, an Ignihyde student locking down a portion of the school website to blast photos of another student doing something embarrassing, and so on. He wouldn't admit it to a soul in the world, not even you, but you were swiftly becoming his favorite. Remarkable grades for someone who didn't even know the Great Seven at the beginning of the school year, the admirable bravery and kindness it took to stop five overblots in their tracks, you were impressive. That feeling of pride in his chest eventually never left.

When the Ferrymen came to remove students and take them to Styx, when he heard two of his students were injured, he sprinted down to the nurses office, feeling a bit shameful in the amount of relief he felt that you were not in one of the beds. When you did show up to check on your friends, he patched up the few scrapes you did have and insisted you didn't do anything rash. He knew how much you'd grown to care for Grim, but you had to leave this to the faculty. He was already boiling with rage at the injuries Ace and Deuce had sustained, if Crowley wouldn't handle this, he'd figure out a way to handle it himself. He should've realized that would be your mindset as well. He was furious when he heard you'd gone off with Rook and Epel to find everyone that had been taken, but more than that, he was afraid. He was afraid you wouldn't come back, and all he could do was wait and watch. When you did eventually come back, Crewel had an entire lecture planned for you, explaining how reckless and irresponsible it was to go running off with Rook and Epel to find Styx like that, how you could've been injured or worse, how he expected better from you. You took it like a champ, fully expecting the lecture before you even went after Rook in the first place. But you were safe, everyone was safe, that's all that mattered to you. You could sit through one lecture. When Crewel finally ran out of steam, he stepped forward and put his hands on your shoulders, getting you to look back up at him.

"I'm glad you're safe, pup, but don't you even think of doing something like this ever again."

"Okay, Dad."

You both froze, but for different reasons. You couldn't believe you slipped up and called a teacher dad, you were extraordinarily embarrassed. Crewel on the other hand was putting a name to exactly what that feeling of pride in his chest is every time he sees you succeed. You may not be his by blood or by law, but you are his. He ruffled your hair and sent you away with an order to rest up after your adventure.

You still came by his office after school, raving about a good grade on a history test or complaining about Grim and Ace getting you and Deuce in trouble in Vargas's class. It felt much lighter than when you first joined him in his office at the beginning of the school year, you had been so tense back then. You eventually took to calling him Dad on occasion, mostly when you were teasing him about something or other. He'd never imagined himself as a father, but he supposed at some point he had decided you were his kid, even subconsciously. It was probably the day he'd decided to stop watching, as soon as he closed that distance in his mind, you became his child. He wouldn't admit it out loud to you, or anyone for that matter, but he did consider you to be his family at this point.

In the meantime, Crowley had been actually, finally, working on a way to send you home, mirrors now lining his office, portals in the frames to different places in Twisted Wonderland, a few that go beyond but not correctly. Not to your home. Crowley had confided in Crewel that he wasn't sure he was going to find you a way home before the end of the school year, not sure what to do with you since they couldn't keep you on campus. Crewel offered up his home in half a heartbeat, more than willing to keep watching over you over the summer should it come to that. They were discussing the logistics of it in Crowley's office when you came into the room, stepping off to the side by the wall when you realized they were speaking, waiting your turn. You were standing in front of a large, full body mirror that nearly reached the ceiling in height when the door slammed open again, shaking the walls, Riddle scolding Kalim for opening the door so recklessly as the rest of the Housewardens filed in behind them. They all got a front row seat to watch the large mirror at your back teeter back and forth for a second, then topple forward and on top of you before you could even realize to dive out of the way. The mirror shattered when it landed flat on the floor, no sign of you underneath. Despite that, Crewel ran to it, enlisting Leona to help him lift it, desperately hoping to find you injured but alive. Find you there. But the only thing below the frame were the splinters of glass, now just reflecting the room instead of a swirling portal.

You were gone.

Crewel nearly throttled Crowley to get any information about that portal that he could. All Crowley could provide was the number he'd written on the back of the frame, a three, and suggested there may be others with that number. Other mirrors had recognizable names on the back, Clock Town square, Fleur City waterways, Scalding Sands outskirts. A few also had numbers, three ones, a five, two busted mirrors with a four on the back and the word dangerous, two had apparently been so uninhabitable that he tossed the mirror out entirely. He explained that he wasn't sure where the numbered mirrors led, they were not familiar lands to him. The ones all led to the exact same spot in a field of flowers he'd never laid eyes on, nor had you upon bringing one back, the five led to the inside of a locked room with lettering inscribed in the walls that you didn't recognize from your world. Three had led to a bustling city street. Crowley had led you through it once during his investigations. You recognized the area, but it was wrong. The way you'd described it was that it looked like three major cities from your world had been mashed together, and the lettering on the signs was unlike anything you'd seen. It wasn't home, but it had given Crowley the idea that he'd been getting close. Crewel sent the Housewardens out of the office at the explanation, and no one argued with his tone, the group of them too shaken by watching their friend disappear before their eyes.

"Bring them back." Crewel snapped as soon as the door closed behind the students.

"I'm sure they're fine, Divus, they even said themselves that it was similar to their home--"

Crewel grabbed him by the lapels on his jacket and dragged him back over to the shattered remains of the mirror. "Similar is not good enough, Dire." He snarled at the man. "You swore you would send them home, not abandon them in another unfamiliar place. Now, it is my pup that is lost as a result of your negligence and you will bring them back here, or so help me, I will--!"

"Alright! Yes, I will work on getting another portal open to them, but it will take time." Crowley agreed, if only to soothe over Crewel's rage. "It took months to find something that resembled their home the first time, and I haven't managed it again."

"Then I guess you had better get started."

The waiting was by far the hardest part. Every day for the first two weeks he would stop by Crowley's office to make sure he was working towards getting you back and to see if there were any developments. There were none. He was there in that office every day he didn't have classes, trying desperately to open the right portal. He and Crowley had told the Housewardens not to say anything to anyone yet, not wanting to worry the friends Crewel had watched you make. After the first two weeks of waiting, they could no longer keep it from Grim. Surprisingly enough, after telling him the news, Grim decided to stick close to Crewel in his free time. He's quieter now that you're missing, knowing he can't do anything. And Crewel said nothing. Azul and Riddle offered Crowley their help in creating portals to try to bring you back, Crewel almost had to threaten him to let them help. Eventually, when news finally spread about the reason behind your disappearance, Malleus came by to offer his assistance as well. It had been four weeks at this point, the five of them working together had managed to open eight new portals to places they didn't recognize, getting rid of every portal that led to another place in Twisted Wonderland to make room for the portals to other worlds in case one of them led to you and they just didn't realize it yet.

The waiting was agonizing. Crewel would, more often than not, end up sleeping at his desk in his office after staying too late with Crowley making portals and having to stay up longer to grade assignments. His office felt so quiet without you inserting yourself every day, he'd gotten so used to grading papers while you talked to him about your day that it was now hard to focus on it in the silence. But he had a duty to all his other students. So he kept teaching, training his other pups correctly lest they stray in his absence. But even the students noticed the change. He was quicker to anger, more harsh in his grading which they didn't think was possible, less tolerant of even the smallest mistakes. Trein had to pull him aside one day, five weeks after, to tell him he needed to take a break, that students were confiding in him about Crewel's behavior. He knew how he was acting, he knew how exhausted he was, but how could he be expected to stop when he knew you were out there somewhere? His kid was missing somewhere so far out of reach that finding them was, at this point, down to a shot in the dark, how could he be expected to take a break?

Six weeks had gone by with no sign of the portal you'd gone through. Riddle had dropped his appearances down to just the weekends, Azul had stopped coming entirely while claiming that he had to focus on the Lounge, Malleus returned every day like clockwork to try to find his dearest friend, but even he was starting to lose hope. Crewel still spent every waking moment that he wasn't fulfilling his role as a teacher on finding you. He had to drag Crowley back into the search a few times, and they'd fought about it more than once. Crewel, exhausted from lack of sleep and daily accumulation of blot, would shout at Crowley for not caring nearly enough that one of the students was missing, not caring enough to put his all into finding them again, how it was just like him to think his problems were solved once you were out of reach. Crowley would argue back that he was doing all he could, but he couldn't drop everything to look for one student when there were hundreds more to look after. They were in the middle of one of their arguments when Riddle stepped out of one of the portals, a medium sized vanity mirror they'd hung on the wall.

"Excuse me, Headmaster?" Riddle called out, causing the men to stop shouting long enough to listen. "You said it was a city street corner, correct?"

"Neon lights and the smell of the ocean, yes." Crowley nodded, crossing his arms.

"I believe I found it."

The two men glanced at each other quickly, silently agreeing to set aside their differences for the moment, and rushed forward to the mirror, letting it pull them through to the other side. They stepped out and landed on a cracked sidewalk atop a hill, neon lights reflecting off the puddles on the road, cars rushing past. Looking back, it seemed their portal had manifested in the window of a shop, the display inside blocking anyone in the store from seeing them suddenly appear in the street.

"This is it." Crowley confirmed before turning to go back through the portal. "I'll go see about getting a search party together and we can--"

Crewel didn't wait for him to finish, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting your name down the street. There was barely any chance you stuck around on this road for six weeks, but he had to try. He didn't notice Crowley step through the portal again, and he paid no mind to the people watching him shouting your name like a mad man. He had to try. They'd found the connection, they'd come this far, you were within reach again, he couldn't just give up now. He wandered down the street, still shouting your name. The sun was setting on this unfamiliar world, he didn't want to risk not being able to find the portal home again for fear of not being able to lead you to it, but he couldn't just give up now. He ran a hand through his already messy hair in distress, eyes darting frantically around at the faces that were passing him by. Where would you have gone if you left? He didn't want to even entertain the idea of the worst having happened. The sun had disappeared below the horizon and his voice had gone hoarse from yelling when he heard it. He wasn't exactly sure what it was over the sounds of the cars rushing past and over the puddles in the road, but it made ears perk up. He looked around again, spinning around to try to find where it had come from when he heard it again, across the street. Your voice.

"Dad?!" You shouted over the rush of the cars, absolutely beaming when he finally made eye contact.

"Pup!" Crewel nearly collapsed in relief, he could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"Hold on, I'm coming to you! Just stay there!" You shouted back, bouncing in place for a moment before disappearing into the crowd.

He felt the anxiety take hold again once he couldn't see you anymore, but you looked fine. Healthy, not injured, fed, even from a distance he could tell you were okay. He took his moment alone to thank the Sevens for that, if nothing else.

"How did you find me?!" You asked through a laugh as you emerged from the crowd and approached him.

You met his hug with equal fervor as he pulled you tight against him, the relief of having you within arms reach shattering any remaining decorum his sleep deprivation had left him with. He didn't hold you long, however, pulling you back by the shoulders to examine you. He was right. Healthy, not injured, not starving. A little dirty, bags under your eyes, but those could be fixed. You were safe, and that was all that mattered.

"We've been looking for you for weeks, Pup." He admitted, shoulders sagging under the weight of the relief. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm alright. I tried to get back through the portal but it must've closed behind me." You chuckled as you showed him your knuckles, cuts scabbed over now. "I got pissed off and punched it. I'm just glad I didn't get arrested for breaking the window, honestly."

"You and me both." Crewel shook his head, thinking it just like you. "The mirror shattered when it hit the floor, that's why you couldn't get back. You don't look like you've been sleeping in alleys, at least."

"No, I found a shelter to stay at, and I've been coming back here every day to wait for someone to come get me." You explained quickly. "I'm so glad you came."

"Of course I did." He sighed, putting a hand on top of your head. "I wasn't about to leave you here."

"Thanks Dad." You said quietly, stepping forward to hug him again. He held you close, rubbing your back as he did. "Can we go home now?"

"Yes, Pup. Let's go home."

Upon your return to Twisted Wonderland, while you were greeting Riddle and Malleus who had just been waiting for you to emerge, Crewel finally realized he could put words to the worry he was feeling during the waiting.

He didn't know how he was supposed to say good-bye to his child once Crowley finally found the right connection to send you home.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

[pineconepie]

Here's the yanmom drider from a poll I did a while ago!

CHARACTERS: Anevra, Reader/You

WARNINGS/TAGS: Parental yandere, forced infantilization, baby-talk, animal death (hunting), abduction, semi-obedient reader, non-sexual nudity, bathing, escape attempt

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

Your torch flickers weakly, squinting through the darkness and the rain, trying to make sense of your surroundings. It's hard to see anything when you can't even see the sky.

You knew it was a bad idea to be exploring in these dark hours, but you needed to try and find shelter before night fell for real.

Your eyes finally pick out what looks like the entrance to some kind of cave.

Well, not like it's ideal, but at least you won't have to worry about getting any wetter, right? Besides, maybe the storm will calm down, and you'll be able to get home soon.

It's a spacious cave, and all you can hope is there isn't anything horrific to greet you inside. Your boots squeak against the rock floor as you walk carefully deeper in. It's pretty cold in here, though at least it's much drier than outside.

Maybe you can just build yourself a fire and hunker down.

You take out supplies from your backpack and set them on the floor, lying down on a blanket as a makeshift mattress.

Then you take a long drink from your canteen, wiping some of the moisture away from your face with the edge of your sleeve.

Using the little fire left from your torch, you lift it to take in your surroundings more better. There's a lot of large cobwebs stretching throughout the cave... but you know most spiders are generally peaceful creatures, right? As long as you don't provoke one... You look down at your own hands and realize how badly they're shivering.

As you rummage through your backpack to find something else to help warm you up, you hear a skittering noise. But it has to just be the echo of your own movement off the walls, right?

Something is thrown in your general direction, making you yelp. It's the carcass of a dead animal, but you don't get time to analyze what it is, because now you're terrified about who just threw that... or rather, what threw that.

The skittering noise again. And this time, it doesn't sound like an echo at all. Rather, you're almost completely positive it's coming from somewhere in this cave.

Then you see her.

At first, she just happens to look like an extremely tall woman, one with short light brown hair and blue eyes.

But then you see her multitude of legs and realize why this cavern looks so huge.

She looks just as shocked as you probably do. Then she brings her hands to her mouth. "A human!" Her voice sounds surprised, but happy. She almost lunges forward towards you, crawling on several of her long spindly spider legs. She looms over you, examining you. The size comparison between you both makes her seem at least three times taller than you.

You stay frozen in place, staring back at her. This can't be real... You're just exhausted and dehydrated and need some sleep. But that can't happen if your body refuses to allow you to close your eyes for a minute, too paralyzed by fear.

"I cannot believe my luck! After centuries, here I was thinking that I'd never have children to dote upon!" She places her hand to the side of your face. "What a blessing you are!"

Despite everything, your curiosity wins out over your caution. "Why... umm... why aren't you trying to eat me?" You hope that doesn't put ideas into her head.

She looks absolutely appalled. "Why would I ever think about doing such a thing?"

"Well..." You motion towards her extra eight legs and to the dead animal carcass still laying on the cavern floor. "Don't driders eat humans?"

"A lot of them do," she admits, "but not me! I've always adored humans! You all are just so small and cute!" She gently strokes one finger against your cheek. "Look at you! You're so small!" She suddenly stops and pulls away. "Where are my manners? My name is Anevra. Oh! But I suppose humans don't call their mothers by their name typically." She smiles warmly at you. "So how does Mama sound?"

This is ridiculous, you decide. This has to be some kind of twisted dream that your sleeping mind created. Your brain must just love seeing how much it can torment you, even if you aren't conscious.

"Mama?" you echo, feeling unsure of what else you should say.

"It rolls off your tongue nicely." Anevra's voice is smooth and warm, as is the expression on her face.

With how big she is compared to you, you can't tell if she genuinely thinks you're a child or not, but you don't really want to stick around long enough to find out.

The longer she looks at you expectantly, the more pressured you feel to do or say something, anything. Perhaps if you go along with what ever this is, you can find a way to escape, since you have an idea she won't let you leave willingly.

She leans in close, her face only inches away from your own, so close that you can see her eyelashes. "I bet you were scared, all alone outside by yourself in the rain. Don't worry, sweetling, Mama's got you now." She lifts you off the cave floor as easily as picking up a feather, then sets you into the crook of one of her arms. "It'll be okay now," she whispers.

Her extra legs guide your arms around her neck. When she's satisfied that you won't fall, she crawls back into the darkness of the cavern, where there are more cobwebs.

"I know that when I was younger I'd get comfort out of cuddling," she comments softly. "Are human children similar?"

"...miss, I am not a child," you finally say.

Anevra laughs, a soft sound echoing against the walls. "What a funny little thing you are!" She rubs her large hand over your head. "Of course you are. Why else are you so little compared to me, hmm?"

"Because I'm a human, not a drider!" You wiggle against her grasp, which just seems to make her grip harder onto you. Her strong embrace feels like it could snap your bones if she pressed any tighter.

"You are definitely my baby," she continues. "You don't have to be so shy about it."

With nothing else you can do, you decide to try and go along with her delusions. Maybe once she gets comfortable with you, she'll let her guard down, and then you can make a run for it.

It doesn't take very long for you both to reach a chamber deep inside the cavern system, but you weren't really sure how to keep track of time when all you could see were shadows and webs.

There are more spider-like aspects to her dwelling than before, with thick webs covering parts of the walls and ceilings, acting almost like decoration.

"Do humans normally shiver so much?" she murmurs, almost to herself.

You look down at yourself, just now realizing how you can barely keep your body still.

Whether it's from fear or coldness, you can't tell, though. It was colder deeper within the cave system, so that could definitely be a factor. Plus, now that the shock from meeting Anevra is starting to wear off, the chill is sinking in.

"Cold," you reply through chattering teeth.

"You poor thing." She brushes her knuckles against your face. "Let me wrap you up in a cocoon."

Before you can protest, you feel webbing wrap around you as tightly as a blanket. She holds you close to her chest like a precious gemstone. You can hear her heartbeat against your ear. Your struggles just cause you to get wrapped up even further. And she's looking at you with such maternal adoration. How could someone so dangerous seem so sincere?

But eventually you get exhausted from trying to fight, and she hums pleasantly in satisfaction.

"Hush, my little one." She presses a kiss to your forehead. "Now that I have you safely wrapped, you can rest your weary head against me all you'd like." She traces her clawed finger across your cheekbone.

...

When you wake up, everything is quiet, save for the distant sounds of wind howling and rain pouring down into the cavern.

As soon as you can get away from Anevra, the better.

However, when you squirm, you realize you're still wrapped in webbing. Then you start to struggle.

You hear a familiar skittering sound. It echoes off the walls until Anevra shows herself. She tilts her head at you. "Good morning, little one!" she greets enthusiastically. "What are you doing?"

"Can I come out now? I'm no longer cold or tired," you inform her.

"No! Not yet!" she insists. "I still want to hold you!"

How frustrating. But maybe there's something you could try to convince her. If it doesn't work, hopefully she won't react violently towards you.

"I wouldn't be going anywhere else," you promise. "I just wanted to... uhh..." It feels silly to say this next part, but it might just work. "...be able to hug you with my own arms," you finish quietly.

Luckily for you, Anevra reacts exactly as you hoped she would. She covers her mouth with her hands, eyes practically sparkling as she squeals with delight.

"Oh, you're such a darling little thing, you know that? You're simply too precious for this world."

She unravels you from the cocoon with great care, as if you'd break at any second.

But once you're free from the webbing, you try to jump down, only to be pulled into another embrace by her. Though it's less constraining than the webbing was. Still, it doesn't change the fact you're being held against your will by a drider.

You reluctantly wrap your arms around her midsection. You hope that you're being convincing, because all you want to do is get out of here.

She pets the top of your head. "Aren't you just the sweetest baby? Hmm? Mama loves you so, so, so much!" She punctuates each word with a kiss on your forehead.

Now that you think about it, maybe you'll have to plan this more well. After all, you don't know the layout of the big cave well at all, not to mention how dark it is and the fact she is probably fifty times more strong and fast than you are.

Perhaps if you spend some time getting used to the layout of the cave, you'll be more prepared to make your escape.

For now, all you can do is play along. You let her dote and coddle, as annoying as it is, because hopefully in the end, your efforts will prove to be worthwhile.

Anevra sets you on the ground for a minute while she scours the cave, muttering things to herself under her breath.

"What are you doing?" you ask after a little while.

She turns her attention back to you. "Oh, I'm sorry! Here I am ignoring you!" She shakes her head. "Mama is just a bit distracted, that's all. I'm trying to find suitable food for a human. And after that, I'll bathe you by the hot spring. Does that sound okay, sweetling?"

"Hot spring?" you repeat, confused. "There's a hot spring here?"

"Yes," she answers happily. "This cave is much bigger than it looks."

She starts a small fire nearby using logs and sticks, presumably collected from the outside, then places a flat rock on top.

You can hear your stomach grumble as she cooks a slab of something, though you're not quite sure what kind it is. It's still so hard to see in this dim lighting.

Once it's finished cooking, Anevra leans over to you, holding the meat up to your face.

"Can you feed yourself?" she asks gently. "Or do you need Mama to do it for you?"

"I can do it myself." As embarrassing as it is, you don't think you could bare her feeding you like a helpless infant. So you gingerly take the food from her claws and begin to eat. It tastes surprisingly good, but maybe your hunger is causing your tastebuds to favor everything edible. Either way, you're thankful to fill your aching stomach. Despite everything, Anevra's warm smile feels genuine.

After you both finish eating, she offers her hand to help you stand up, which you cautiously accept.

You walk down several long passageways, illuminated by the light of a lantern, until you reach the hot springs. There are steam clouds floating around the water and in the air, making everything moist.

She hums as she begins undressing you. For a moment, you're freezing again, but she grabs you from under your armpits and places you into the hot spring. The warmth hits your bones like an electric shock, and you melt against the rocks.

"Good baby," Anevra murmurs to you.

As she begins washing you, your mind goes numb for a moment. But you're startled back into focus once her fingers comb through your hair and scratch against your scalp.

"So tiny," she marvels aloud, "so small. Fragile and cute." She plants a kiss to your temple. "All mine."

Your body feels numb and limp from the warmth, despite the weirdness of the situation. The water smells faintly of lavender. Your eyes flutter shut, and for a blissful moment, you're asleep and peaceful.

Nothing exists, nothing worries you, and nothing bothers you. Just the sensation of weightlessness, like you're floating in a cloud.

Suddenly, you jolt back awake as you feel Anevra pulling you out of the water. She dries you off with a cloth, then grabs a shirt and shorts. They look handmade, though they're pretty big, enough to hang loosely around your frame.

The two of you settle into silence as she guides you back into the depths of the cavern.

...

Each day begins roughly the same. You wake up, have breakfast, try to get familiar with the layout of the cave, have dinner, and bathe in the hot spring.

Anevra is always watching, her gaze hovering over you, protective yet possessive. Even so, you try your hardest to keep your emotions neutral. You can't risk showing how upset and uncomfortable you are by her behavior.

Your opportunity comes to you one night, as she's sleeping. Most of her legs stretch out, and you lay carefully in the crook of one of her arms. When you sense that her breathing has become steady, you wiggle away slowly.

However, once you free yourself, you see that Anevra hasn't moved at all, still deeply asleep.

Good.

You creep as silently as possible to the entrance of the cavern system. Luckily for you, the sunlight shines down into the opening. Makes sense it'd be daytime, she must be nocturnal.

Everything's fine.

Until it isn't. And that happens the second you step outside and realize you have no idea where the fuck you are. The landscape around you is barren and unfamiliar, and you don't recognize any landmarks. At this point, it seems like your best option would be to retrace your steps, or at least attempt to, before you ended up lost in this place.

You're walking for about half a mile when you finally turn around.

And instantly regret doing so.

There stands Anevra. She's smiling, but you can feel the malice radiating off of her. Her face is eerily blank of expression, aside from the grin plastered on her face, unnaturally wide and bright. As though she were forcing herself to remain cheerful for you.

"Aren't we silly today?" she asks. "Going on an adventure, are we?" Her tone is calm, but you sense danger lurking behind her words.

She doesn't give you a chance to reply before lifting you off the ground and carrying you back inside.

"I'm so very disappointed in you," she says, wrapping you in a layer of thick webbing. "Mama told you many times never to leave the cave, especially by yourself. You disobeyed me." With every word, the webbing grows tighter. "It looks like you need to truly learn how to depend on me before I can trust you again." She cradles your cocooned self like a swaddled infant.

"Please! Let me go!" you exclaim. "I didn't mean to scare you!"

Anevra clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "You didn't listen, sweetling. Mama's not angry, though. You just need to learn how much you need me."

[buckets-and-trees]

No Way Out

Characters/Pairings: mean Alpha!Bucky x curvy Female!Omega!Reader Word Count: 5.9k Summary: Your first time witnessing a council meeting under Bucky's new regime. He sends a clear message about how things will go. (not a stand-alone read)

Content/Warnings: omegaverse; reluctant attraction; power dynamics; manipulation; threats; semi-violent murder; explicit smut: exhibitionism, cock-warming, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, unprotected vaginal intercourse and insemination, oral (female receiving), cum appreciation; beefy Bucky (is a warning)

Author Notes: Been a few months since the last part, but I couldn't let Alpha April pass without tossing you back into this verse and its cruel White Wolf now, could I?

Previous: Entanglement | Series List

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

The massive doors to the council chamber swing open, and all eyes turn to you and Bucky as you enter. The room falls silent, the previous murmurs of conversation dying instantly. The council chamber is imposing with its high vaulted ceilings, ornate woodwork, and a large oval table dominating the center. Around it sit two dozen men and women.

You recognize most of the faces - regional leaders, mayors, the city council for the capital, military leaders, heads of major industries, and a few of your father's most trusted advisors. Some were loyal to your father, others were known opportunists, and a few are new faces - Bucky's people, no doubt. Their expressions range from surprise to curiosity to barely concealed hostility as they take in your presence. 

Bucky's hand remains firmly at the small of your back as he guides you toward the head of the table. There are two chairs there - one slightly larger than the other. The symbolism isn't lost on you or anyone else in the room.

At Bucky’s side, you keep your head high and shoulders squared despite the scrutiny of those assembled. The tension in the room is palpable as Bucky pulls out your chair first. The gesture appears courteous, but you understand it for what it is - a display, establishing your position as his omega while simultaneously marking you as subordinate.

"As some of you may have heard," Bucky begins without preamble once you're both seated, his voice carrying effortlessly across the chamber, "my omega and I have completed our bonding ritual. She will be joining our council meetings as an observer for the foreseeable future." 

Murmurs ripple through the assembled council members. You catch snippets of whispered conversations - "didn't waste any time," "strategic alliance," "what does this mean for us?" - before Bucky silences them with a sharp look. 

"I expect her to be afforded every courtesy befitting her station," he continues, his tone leaving no room for argument. "She knows this territory and its people. Her insights will be valuable as we move forward with our integration plans."

You notice several council members exchange glances. You keep your face schooled in a stoic expression. You are navigating this dynamic and figuring out exactly what the extent of your position - or your station as he put it - really will be. You suspect you are both tool and asset, a prop and a resource. 

Bucky begins the meeting with a territorial status report. Various council members deliver updates on security, resources, infrastructure, and economic matters. You listen intently, mentally clock which council members that are new representation seem competent and which ones appear to be merely parroting what they believe Bucky wants to hear. Among all - old and new - you note which ones seem genuinely concerned about their people's welfare and which ones are merely posturing. You're familiar with most of their districts, having visited them with your father during his governance tours.

Throughout it all, you're acutely aware of Bucky beside you. His presence is commanding, his attention laser-focused on each speaker. When he asks questions, they're precise and probing, revealing a depth of understanding about territorial governance that surprises you. You'd expected a warlord with brute force, not this strategic mind that seems to grasp the complexities of civil administration.

"The agricultural sector in the western region is still underperforming," reports a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses. "There’s been a notable decline the last two years, but there’s a marked different in production since you came to power - numbers are down fifteen percent from the same month last year."

"Causes?" Bucky asks sharply.

"We believe it's a combination of factors. We have reports of labor shortages, continued drought conditions, and equipment failures," the man replies. "Additionally, there is some resistance from local farmers to the deliver on the quotas," the man explains, shuffling through his papers nervously.

You notice how he carefully avoids mentioning that the "resistance" is likely passive protest against Bucky's regime. The western region had been particularly loyal to your father. 

Bucky's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "And what solutions are you proposing?" 

"We've increased water rations for irrigation and implemented penalties for farms that don't meet their quotas. We’re sourcing new equipment in some cases. We're also bringing in workers from the northern territories to address the labor shortages."

You feel a flare of indignation. The western farmers are already struggling, and penalties will only worsen their situation. Before you can think better of it, you shift slightly in your seat. Bucky notices immediately, his eyes flicking to you before returning to the council member.

"And how are these northern workers being compensated?" Bucky asks. "Are they being given fair wages and adequate housing?" 

The thin man shifts uncomfortably. "They're being provided with basic accommodations and standard compensation packages for migrant workers." 

You recognize the euphemism for what it is - exploitation. Your father had worked hard to eliminate such practices. 

Bucky leans forward slightly. "Adjust the compensation to match local rates and ensure proper housing. We need those workers content, not brewing resentment. And the equipment - I want a detailed inventory by the end of the week of what's needed." 

The man nods quickly, clearly surprised by the directive. 

"As for the quotas," Bucky continues, "I want them reassessed based on current conditions. Punishing farmers for factors beyond their control is counterproductive." 

The meeting continues with reports from other regions. Throughout it all, you mentally catalog the information, noting discrepancies between what's being reported and what you know of these areas. You're particularly concerned about the reports from the eastern mining communities where production is supposedly up, but there's no mention of the respiratory ailments that historically plague those workers without proper safety protocols. 

When the discussion turns to security matters, the atmosphere in the room shifts noticeably. Rumlow steps forward from his position near the wall where the STRIKE team members stand at attention. 

"We've neutralized three resistance cells in the past week," he reports with cold efficiency. "Seventeen arrests, five casualties during apprehension. Intelligence suggests two more cells operating in the southern district." 

Your stomach clenches at the casual way he mentions the deaths. You wonder who these "resistance fighters" were - ordinary citizens pushed to desperate measures, or truly violent insurgents. Under your father's rule, public protests had been permitted within reasonable boundaries. Now, any dissent is labeled as terrorism.

"Details on the casualties?" Bucky asks, his voice neutral.

"Three armed combatants, two collateral during a firefight in a market square," Rumlow responds without hesitation.

You feel a chill run through you. Civilians. Dead in a market square. You keep your face carefully blank, but inside, your mind races with images of the bustling southern market you've visited many times.

"Interrogations?" Bucky asks. 

"Ongoing," Rumlow replies with a slight smirk that makes your skin crawl. "We've extracted some useful information already. Names, safe houses, potential targets." 

"And the southern district cells?" 

"We're tracking them. Should have locations within 48 hours." 

"I want the weapons traced," Bucky orders. "And I want to know who's coordinating these cells. They're too organized to be operating independently."

"Yes, sir. We're pursuing several leads."

Bucky nods, seemingly satisfied. "Good. And remember our approach - surgical precision. Civilian casualties undermine our objectives." 

You feel a flicker of surprise at his words. It's not the ruthless response you expected. 

"Sir," Rumlow acknowledges, though you detect a hint of disappointment in his tone. 

As the meeting progresses, you notice several council members glancing at you perhaps wondering where your sympathies lie. You keep your expression carefully neutral, though inside your thoughts race. 

The Mayor of Oakridge reports on about infrastructure concerns in his district, Bucky shifts slightly in his seat beside you. His large hand slides onto your thigh under the table, the heat of his palm burning through your skirt.

Keeping your expression neutral despite the unexpected touch, you continue to focus on the presentation. But then Bucky leans in close, his breath hot against your ear.

"Come sit on my lap," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding. "I want you warming my cock while we finish this meeting."

Your body goes rigid, eyes widening at his words. You turn your head slightly, certain you must have misheard him. But his expression is deadly serious, his eyes dark with expectation. There's no hint of teasing or arrogance in his face—just the clear command of an alpha who expects to be obeyed without hesitation.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you glance around the table. At least eight more representatives still need to speak. 

His fingers tighten on your thigh, not painfully but with unmistakable dominance. “Omega,” he growls quietly.

You feel heat flood your cheeks, there is no room for argument. The expectation in his eyes is clear—this is a test of your obedience, perhaps even a reminder of your place after he granted you the concession of attending this meeting.

With your heart in your throat, you slide from your chair as gracefully as possible. All conversation stops as you stand, and every eye in the room turns to you. The silence is deafening as you move to Bucky's chair. He pushes back slightly from the table, making room for you on his lap. 

You perch sideways across his thighs, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity despite the humiliating position. Your movements draws many curious glances, but enough of the men and women around the room remain focused on the mayor's report. Your legs feel like jelly as you stand, smoothing your skirt in a futile attempt to prepare for what's to come.

Bucky pushes his chair back slightly from the table, creating just enough space for you to take the place he wants. His attention remains focused on the report while also monitoring your actions. 

You glance down at his lap uncertainly, and Bucky gives you a subtle nod of confirmation. His eyes flick down to his groin then back up to the speaker who continues explaining their infrastructure needs. With trembling fingers, you reach for his zipper, carefully sliding it down to avoid making noise. The sound seems deafening to your ears, but the council meeting continues around you as if nothing unusual is happening.

His cock springs free, already mostly hard. You wrap your hand around his impressive girth, giving it two slow strokes, feeling it stiffen further in your palm. Bucky's breath hitches almost imperceptibly, the only indication that he's affected by your touch.

Moving with as much grace as you can, you shift to stand between his legs and the table. Your hands reach for the hem of your skirt, and Bucky assists, pushing the fabric higher up your thighs. In one swift motion, he hooks his fingers into your panties and tugs them down. You step out of them, and he pockets the delicate fabric.

With his cock fully erect between you, Bucky guides you as you carefully lower yourself onto his lap, feeling the blunt head of his erection press against your entrance. Despite the anxiety of your situation, the humiliation of it, your body responds to his touch, and you're still wet enough from when he played with you in the car that he slides in with minimal resistance. You bite your lip to suppress a gasp as he fills you completely, stretching you around his considerable girth.

Bucky's large hands grip your hips, adjusting your position. Then one large hand smoothes up your spine, and he guides you forward until you're leaning against the edge of the table, your forearms resting on its polished surface. The position forces you to bend at the waist, allowing him to see over you to the council members continuing their reports.

Which is when you register that the room finally has become silent, and all eyes are on the tw of you coupled together. 

"Continue with your report, Mayor Harrison," Bucky says, his voice remarkably steady despite being buried deep inside you. 

"The southeastern bridge requires immediate structural reinforcement," the mayor continues, his voice strained as he determinedly stares at his papers. "We estimate costs at approximately—"

The tension in the room is palpable as you sit impaled on Bucky's cock, trying desperately to maintain your composure. The council members' expressions range from shock to discomfort to poorly concealed fascination. Some avert their eyes, focusing intently on their notes or the table before them. Others stare openly, either unable to look away or deliberately watching to gauge your reaction.

Shame burns through you, but so does desire, both hot and consuming. This public display goes beyond anything you could have anticipated. It's a clear power move by Bucky - demonstrating his complete dominance over you while simultaneously establishing his authority over the council. The message is unmistakable: he can do whatever he wants, to whomever he wants, whenever he wants.

Your muscles clench involuntarily around Bucky's thick length as humiliation and unwanted arousal battle within you. Part of you wants to disappear, to melt into the floor, but there's nowhere to hide.

And there’s an undercurrent of something else there inside you, too. 

As the next dignitary begins his report, you begin to grapple with the dark, primal thrill that’s also coursing through your veins—the same electricity you felt when Bucky first claimed you in the town square after seizing power. You remember the hot shame that had flooded you then, but also the unexpected thrill of being the focal point of his dominance, the object of his desire amidst his conquest.

Then again at your bonding ceremony, when he'd claimed you before the assembled dignitaries, his mouth hot on yours, his hands possessive and demanding as he marked you publicly as his. You'd felt it then too - that forbidden pleasure in being displayed as his prize, his most valuable possession.

Then again at your bonding ceremony, when he'd claimed you before the assembled dignitaries, his mouth hot on yours, his hands possessive and demanding as he marked you publicly as his. You'd felt it then too - that forbidden pleasure in being displayed as his prize, his most valuable possession.

And now, as you sit impaled on his cock, the power dynamics are undeniable: you, the conquered omega, servicing your alpha while he conducts business as though you're simply an extension of his throne.

The meeting continues, your body responding to every subtle shift of Bucky's beneath you. You manage to maintain an outward appearance of composure, though inside you're a storm of conflicting emotions. Occasionally, Bucky's hand move to your hip, adjusting your position slightly when you begin to tremble.

Finally, as the last council member concludes their report, Bucky speaks up, his voice carrying effortlessly across the chamber. 

"That will be all for today's general council," he announces, his tone brooking no argument. His hand squeezes your hip firmly. "Except for..." His finger points to several faces around the table. "Martinez, Davis, Williams, Campbell, Richards, Cho, Price, Jackson, and Franklin. The rest of you are dismissed."

There's a moment of confusion as those not named gather their materials and leave, casting curious glances at those who remain. The door closes with a heavy thud, leaving you, Bucky, and the nine named council members alone in the suddenly silent chamber. 

The tension thickens as the remaining council members exchange nervous glances. You recognize each face - Martinez from Trade, Davis who managed Military Resources, Williams from the Eastern District, Campbell who oversees Transportation, Richards from the Treasury, Dr. Cho from Health Services, Price from the Southern District, Jackson from Energy, and Franklin from Communications. A perfect cross-section of your father's government.

Bucky's hand slides up your back, firm and possessive, until it reaches your neck. His fingers wrap around the nape, not squeezing but holding you in place as he addresses the room.

"I imagine you're wondering why you're still here," Bucky says, his tone conversational despite the tension thrumming through the room. His fingers trace idle patterns on your hip as he speaks.

"You nine share something in common," Bucky continues, his voice eerily calm. "Each of you provided information, access, or assistance that made my takeover of this territory possible." 

A wave of horrified realization washes over the faces of those assembled. Some pale visibly, while others shift uncomfortably in their seats. You feel a cold shock run through your body as you process his words. These nine people—trusted advisors and officials—had betrayed your father, betrayed their territory... betrayed you. 

"Some of you acted independently," Bucky explains, his fingers still tracing patterns on your skin. "Others coordinated. But all of you decided that your personal gain outweighed your loyalty." 

Your body is rigidly tense as the implications sink in. These were people your father trusted enough with pieces of his territory, with governing his people, stewards you had worked alongside. People who had smiled to your face while secretly undermining everything your family had built. These nine people—respected officials you've known for years—had helped Bucky overthrow your father's government. Had delivered you into his hands.

"Sit up straight, Omega," Bucky commands, his voice in the quiet chamber.

You comply immediately, straightening your spine while remaining impaled on his cock. The movement causes him to shift inside you, and you bite your lip to suppress a moan.

"I want to thank each of you," Bucky says, his voice deceptively pleasant. "Your assistance made my conquest considerably easier." 

The council members shift uncomfortably, exchanging nervous glances. Some look relieved at what sounds like gratitude, others more wary. None of them will look at you. 

"That said," Bucky continues, his tone hardening, "your actions demonstrated something troubling about your character."

Martinez starts to speak. "Sir, I assure you our loyalty—"

"Is for sale," Bucky interrupts. "You betrayed the man who trusted you with power and position. You betrayed his daughter," his hand squeezes your hip for emphasis, "to me. While I benefited from your treachery, I'm not foolish enough to trust traitors."

A cold silence falls over the room. You can see the realization dawning on their faces as they begin to understand this isn't a meeting of appreciation. 

"So I've arranged this little demonstration," Bucky says, his hand sliding up to grip one of your breasts over your clothing, and your breath hitches. 

"I'm going to fuck my omega now," Bucky announces, his voice echoing in the chamber. "Right here, in front of all of you who thought it clever to betray her father and deliver her to me."

A collective intake of breath fills the room. Several council members shift uncomfortably in their seats, still unable to meet your gaze.

Bucky’s metal hand slides up from your breast to cup your jaw, turning your face toward his. His eyes lock with yours, something unreadable in their depths before he turns back to address the council.

"I want you all to see exactly what you've done – who you've betrayed and to whom."

Bucky simultaneously stands while manhandling you easily with his preternatural strength, pressing your torso flat against the table in front of him. He withdraws his cock, then thrusts slowly back in. Once, twice, groaning on the third thrust that he draws out even more slowly. 

Your body betrays you, growing wetter around his cock as the reality of being displayed like this — being used as an omega in the most traditional, primal sense — awakens something you've tried to deny. The sheer audacity of it, the public nature, the way every person in this room now understands exactly who owns you — it's horrifying and intoxicating all at once.

You did like it before - both times - and you like it now. 

"I want no misunderstandings about who holds power here," Bucky says, establishing a steady rhythm as he moves you on his length. "No confusion about my control."

Your cheeks burn with humiliation as fucks you, but your body ripples with pleasure. The fabric of your skirt bunches around your waist as Bucky's hands grip your hips firmly.

Bucky's thrusts grow more forceful, the table unforgiving beneath your splayed body. Your fingernails clutch at the polished wood as you try to anchor yourself. The shame burns through you, but so does the pleasure, both sensations intensifying each other until you can barely distinguish between them.

You can feel the attention in the room on you as Bucky's pace increases. The council members' expressions range from horrified fascination to shamefaced avoidance. Some stare at the table, others at the ceiling, but they can't fully escape the sounds of skin against skin, the wet noises of Bucky's cock moving inside you.

Bucky grips your shoulder and pulls you back against his chest, one arm wraps possessively around your waist while the other goes to your throat. His lips brush against your ear as he speaks. "Look at them," Bucky commands, his voice a low growl at your ear before his hot tongue licks at the sensitive spot just behind your earlobe. "Look at the people who sold you out." 

You force your eyes back open, meeting the gaze of each council member in turn. Some look away immediately, unable to bear your scrutiny. Others meet your eyes briefly before dropping their gaze in shame. Only Price from the Southern District holds your gaze, a defiant tilt to his chin despite the obvious discomfort in his expression.

"You all thought yourselves so clever," he remarks, his pace unrelenting as his cock fills you over and over. "Trading information for promises of power, for guarantees of safety. Did any of you stop to consider her fate? The woman who would have been your leader one day?"

Martinez shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "We were assured no harm would—"

"Silence,” he has no need to shout. His power in this room is absolute. 

"Did you think I wouldn't remember?" Bucky continues, pumping in and out of your cunt. "That I would be foolish enough to forget exactly who played what role in betraying their territory?" His voice drops lower, more menacing. "In betraying my omega?"

His words send a shock through your system. My omega. Not just the territory's former heir apparent or the governor's daughter, but his omega—as though your betrayal personally offended him, as though you had belonged to him even before he conquered your lands.

"What you fail to understand is the gravity of your betrayal." His voice drops lower, more menacing. "This isn't just any omega you handed over to me. This is my omega."

The possessiveness in his tone sends a shiver through you. There's something different in the way he's speaking now, something that wasn't there before.

"You thought you were simply delivering a territory, offering up a political pawn," Bucky remarks. "But once I set my sites on her, she was going to be mine.”

His hand tightens your throat, not squeezing but holding you firmly against him as he speaks. Your own hands move up instinctively to cling to his bicep, encouraging his ownership. "I would have conquered this territory regardless. Your assistance merely hastened the inevitable.”

His voice drops to a dangerous whisper that somehow carries throughout the silent chamber.

"Let me be absolutely clear," he says, his rhythm never faltering as he continues to fuck you. "Your lives mean nothing to me compared to hers."

The declaration hangs in the air, shocking even you. The council members' faces drain of color as the implication sinks in.

"I may allow you to maintain your positions while you remain useful," Bucky continues, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. "But make no mistake—your continued existence is not guaranteed."

His words send a ripple of fear through the assembled council members. You can see it in their faces—the irrefutable comprehension that their calculated betrayal has placed them in a far more precarious position than they anticipated.

His pace increases, his thrusts becoming more forceful as he nears his climax. You're helpless to stop the pleasure building within you, your body responding instinctively to your alpha's dominant display.

"Can you smell how wet she is," Bucky growls in your ear, loud enough for everyone to hear. "How her body knows exactly who she belongs to? Claimed and bonded not once, but twice."

You whimper at his words, the humiliation of having your display warring with the undeniable pleasure coursing through your body, the forbidden thrill in being watched, and the satisfaction in their own fear. Your inner walls clench around him involuntarily, drawing a satisfied groan from his lips.

With a final, powerful thrust, Bucky buries himself deep inside you, his body tensing as he finds his release. You feel the hot pulse of his seed filling you, marking you from the inside in this most primal display of ownership. Your body trembles on the edge of your own climax.

Bucky's hand slides from your throat to grip your jaw, turning your face to the side so he can claim your mouth in a bruising kiss. His tongue invades your mouth, dominant and possessive, as his hips pump more slowly, emptying every last drop of his seed into you. 

When he breaks the kiss, he addresses the council once more. "Consider this your final warning. Your only value to me is your continued competence in service to this territory. Fail in that, or show even a hint of further disloyalty, and you will find an untimely end of service.”

Bucky withdraws his cock from your cunt, and you whimper, distraught at being denied your own release. 

"You're all dismissed," he says coolly. "Except for you, Price. You stay."

The council members scramble to gather their materials, eager to escape the tension-filled chamber. They all avoid looking at you as they file out.

Price remains seated, his face a mask of defiance despite a flicker of fear evident in his eyes. He was always one of your father's more outspoken critics, often challenging policies in council meetings. 

"You seem to have something to say," Bucky remarks, his pace slowing but not stopping as he addresses the man. "I saw it throughout the entirety of our meeting.”

Bucky takes a seat again and pulls you back into his lap. He pushes your thighs wide, encouraging your legs to fall on either side of his knees, leaving you open to him. 

Bucky's fingers slide between your folds, still slick with his release, and begin to circle your swollen clit with deliberate, measured strokes. His ministrations send jolts of pleasure through your oversensitized body, causing your hips to buck involuntarily against his touch. 

“Get on with it, Price."

Price's jaw tightens, his eyes darting between Bucky's face and his hand working between your thighs. He straightens his shoulders and meets Bucky's gaze with a cool stare of his own.

"I've been loyal to this territory for twenty years," Price says, his voice steady despite the charged atmosphere. "I supported your takeover because the former Governor’s policies were weakening our defenses and economy. The southern district suffered most under his leadership." 

Bucky's fingers continue their relentless attention between your thighs as he listens, making it difficult for you to focus on Price's words, but you work to concentrate. Your breathing becomes more ragged as pleasure builds within you.

"Is that so?" Bucky asks, his tone deceptively casual - you feel the display through your bond. "And your solution was betrayal rather than advocating for change through proper channels?"

Price's eyes flicker to your cunt momentarily before returning to Bucky. "The proper channels were closed to us. The southern district's petitions were repeatedly ignored." 

You want to protest, to defend your father's administration, but a particularly skilled movement of Bucky's fingers sends a particularly strong wave of increased pleasure through your core. 

"And yet," Bucky responds, his voice hardening, "my intelligence indicates you never filed a single formal petition with the governor's office. Not one in the past five years." 

Price's face pales slightly, but he maintains his composure. "That's not true. I personally delivered multiple petitions—" 

"Save it," Bucky cuts him off, his fingers still working between your thighs. "I have copies of every petition filed in the last decade. Your name isn't on any of them." 

Your breath catches, not just from the pleasure building between your legs, but from the realization of how thoroughly Bucky had studied your territory before he ever set foot in it. He'd known the inner workings, the political alliances, the weaknesses to exploit. He'd been gathering intelligence for years, not months. 

Price's expression shifts, a flicker of panic crossing his features before he regains his composure and defiance. "There were unofficial channels—"

"Rumlowe," Bucky calls out calmly, not taking his eyes off Price. The STRIKE team leader steps forward from his position near the wall, his expression impassive. "Show Price what happens to those who lie to my face."

Price's eyes widen in alarm as Rumlowe approaches, drawing a wicked-looking combat knife from his tactical vest. "Wait—you can't—"

In one swift, practiced motion, Rumlowe is behind Price's chair, the blade pressed against the man's throat. Price's hands grip the armrests, his knuckles white with terror.

"Tell me the truth, Price," Bucky says, his voice dangerously quiet. "One last chance."

Price's eyes dart frantically around the room, searching for mercy he won't find. "I... there were no petitions," he admits, voice shaking. "The southern district was actually thriving, but I wanted more power, more—" 

Bucky gives a nearly imperceptible nod. 

The blade slices cleanly across his throat, blood immediately spurting forward in a crimson arc. A choked gurgle escapes his lips as his hands fly up instinctively to the gaping wound, but it's already too late.

You gasp in horror, your body involuntarily tensing, but Bucky's fingers only increase their pressure against your clit, circling faster as his other arm locks around your waist to hold you firmly in place.

"Eyes on me, Omega," Bucky growls in your ear, his voice low and commanding. "Focus on what I'm giving you."

Your gaze snaps to his, unable to disobey. 

Your eyes locked with his, you only hear as Rumlow and another STRIKE member drag Price's limp body across the polished floor of the chamber. Bucky's fingers never stop their relentless attention on your clit, the horror of what you've just witnessed somehow intensifying the sensations coursing through your body. Your hips buck involuntarily against his hand as the pressure builds to an unbearable peak. 

"That's it," he growls, his voice dark with satisfaction. "Let go for me." 

The orgasm hits you with devastating force, tearing a cry from your throat as waves of pleasure crash through you. Your body convulses in Bucky's firm grip, inner walls clenching desperately around nothing as your body shudders with aftershocks, your mind caught in a haze between pleasure and horror.

As your breathing begins to steady, Bucky lifts you from his lap with ease, handling your body as if you weigh nothing. He turns you to face him, then guides you to sit on the edge of the polished council table. His hands remain on your hips as he positions himself between your spread thighs, the evidence of your coupling still glistening on your inner thighs. 

With deliberate slowness, he places one hand on your sternum and pushes you backward until you're lying flat on the cool surface. The position leaves you vulnerable, exposed, as you stare up at the ornate ceiling of the chamber where your father once governed. 

Bucky looms over you, his powerful frame blocking out the light, casting his face in shadow. His eyes, however, remain piercingly bright . 

"I hope you understand your position now," Bucky says, his voice low and resonant as he traces a finger along your inner thigh, collecting the mixture of your fluids. "And the true nature of this new regime."

His words hang in the air between you, weighted with significance. This isn't just about your body or your pleasure—it's about power, control, and the new order he's establishing. It’s cruel, yet measured as you saw him handle the formal meeting with the full council with unquestionable competence. 

He moves back, settling into his chair once more, but instead of pulling you onto his lap again, he lowers himself until his face is level with your exposed cunt. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of your combined spend glistening on your folds and thighs. 

"Beautiful," he murmurs, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh, making you shiver despite yourself. 

Without warning, he leans forward and puts his mouth to your cunt, his tongue laving a broad stripe through your folds, gathering your combined release. The sensation is so unexpected and intense that your back arches off the table, a strangled moan escaping your lips.

His hands grip your thighs firmly, holding you in place as he devours you, his tongue alternating between long, languid strokes and quick, precise flicks against your oversensitive clit. 

"Mine," he growls against your flesh, the vibration sending shivers through your core. "Every part of you belongs to me now." 

Your hands clutch at the edge of the table, desperate for purchase as he methodically takes you apart with his mouth. The room that just witnessed a cold-blooded execution now bears witness to an intimate moment. The dichotomy is jarring – death and pleasure, power and submission, all converging in this chamber that once represented order and governance.

Bucky's tongue works relentlessly between your thighs, his hands spreading you wider as he feasts on you. Your second climax builds faster than the first, your body still sensitive from his earlier attention. When it crashes over you, it's more intense, more consuming. You cry out, unable to hold back as your thighs tremble around Bucky's head. He doesn't relent, working you through the waves of pleasure until you're gasping and squirming from overstimulation.

Only then does he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he rises to his full height. His eyes, dark with satisfaction and something deeper, more possessive, roam over your disheveled form sprawled across the council table.

"That's what loyalty to me earns," he says, his voice a low rumble. "Pleasure. Protection. Power. You will do well not to forget it, Omega.”

“Yes, Alpha,” you breathe. 

He helps you sit up, his hands surprisingly gentle as he adjusts your clothing, smoothing down your skirt and tucking stray hairs behind your ear. The tenderness is jarring after the brutality you've just witnessed, the public claiming, the execution. You're still trembling, your mind reeling as you try to reconcile the different facets of the man before you. 

"Come," he says, offering his hand to help you off the table. "We have other matters to attend to." 

You place your hand in his, allowing him to guide you to your feet. Your legs feel unsteady, and he seems to sense this, wrapping an arm around your waist to support you. The room still smells of copper and sex, a potent reminder of power asserted and lives ended. 

As you walk toward the door, you notice the blood has already been cleaned from the floor, no trace of Price remaining. The efficiency is chilling - as if he never existed at all.

You can’t help but wonder what else will be wiped away, wiped out, just as that dissenter and liar was today. 

more to come...

There's more story for you and Alpha!Bucky, but I'm desperately excited because this is the final piece that I wanted to share for this verse before introducing you to other alphas in the world of Fine Line. You're not ready. 😏

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[ganondoodle]

( OC, Eadrya, they/them, water demon )

"Oh don't look at me like that, is this the first time you've drawn blood or what? do it again! had a nice sting to it-" (Eadrya to Shargon, likely the first time Shargon's ever dared to fight them instead of fleeing immediately like his life depended on it ... bc it did)

finally gave Eadrya their deserved post character arc design (instead of doing what i should be)

since i know my handwriting isnt always readable, heres a short an overly long explanation of the context (oops)

(recap, the demon world was invaded and is believed to be destroyed, Eadrya lost a fight for the first time in their life to a celestial and survived by sheer luck and kindness of a little fishing village in the human realm, which kind of broke their pride and kickstarted their arc- (here i drew the lady in charge of the village before, though Eadryas design here is also a little out of date again ..)

-skipping alot in between that and the end of their arc bc that would jsut be too long for this post)

Eadrya helped other Lords and Shargon (with Midas and Idri) escape from a trap set by hunters but was captured themself, since it was the first time hunters managed to catch a Lord they 'researched' alot about demons using them .. by torturing them (demons are not considered sentient by people at large)

they managed to escape but were hunted down immediately, even Eadrya with their immense magic overproduction and abillity to recover was too drained (both literally of their strength -since the most effective way to hurt/immobilize a demon is draining them of their magic/blood faster than they can recover it- AND mentally) to easily avoid them and instead turned to killing, making them relapse into their old bloodthirst which lead to them spiraling into thinking that it is all they are ever good for and they will never be able to change-

Thor (with Idri) were on their way to free them after being informed of Eadryas capture ( Thor is Eadryas best and only friend ) but when they arrived it had already escalated so far that they went after killing Thor as well, now firmly believing Thor was never their friend but was simply trying to tame them out of fear of their power (not completely wrong ..). despite Thor with his two hearts being able to give Eadrya a second chance they decide to go for killing him twice, unintentionally missing the second time but doing enough damage for Thor to .. essentially fall into a near death condition; thinking they actually killed him everything starts to fall apart further as they realize over time they have changed after all but it is too late now-

Eadrya then flees into a snowy mountain range far away and lives there in complete isolation for several months (as a sort of .. self punishment and convinced of that being the best choice for everyone, they are a danger, they have no one left anyway etc trying to cope with it all) and thus grows out their fur (yes they always had fur, just short and slick like a seals fur) which they keep even after reuniting with Thor and everyone else later down the line

(the golden rope they wear in the picture was made by Thor during the time he was recovering and searching for them with the solar pirates (long story..), its not a good quality but he tried his best ... the two beads on it symbolize Thors two hearts (thunder and fire, blue and red)- Eadrya treasures it dearly)

so funnily enough, despite looking much wilder now they are actually much better in their self control and general health :P

[dearmyloveleys]

whc2 used the character that haunts the narrative trope and fucking delivered — a rabid (relatively spoiler free) 4am review

Ending off of S1, albeit (extremely) sad, I wasn’t expecting the S2 script to include much of Suho. The original webtoon had made it clear that Suho would be a passing memory for Sieun. It just so happens that Jihoon and Hyunwook had so much chemistry they rewrote the course of what would have been.

Then again, it’s not only because of the og webtoon characterisations that led me to believe Suho wouldn’t be mentioned a lot in S2. It’s because as much as sieun and suho clearly had a close relationship, what S1 never did was have sieun narrate his inner thoughts and emotions. Hence in fact, all of us viewers, were never privy to Sieun’s feelings apart from the incredible emotive acting on Jihoon’s part — we are never completely sure how deeply Sieun felt for Suho. Which is why I was so pleasantly surprised at how the writers made efforts for Sieun to recall Suho in every episode, and Beomseok, in frequent scenes.

Right off the bat in S2E1, we see Sieun have war flashbacks to S1 with Beomseok and Suho. Both Beomseok and Suho? Fuck yeah. We need to remember that both were close to Sieun and of course, impacted Sieun emotionally.

As the season progresses, it’s made clear that the writers prioritise featuring Suho and Beomseok, rather than have them appear in one off scenes. Beomseok always returning in flashbacks and of course, the dream sequence with Sieun in the boxing ring. We see clearer than ever now what morals and fatalistic viewpoints separate Sieun and Beomseok, even though they are both lonely souls hidden beneath everything.

We don’t even need to talk about Suho — Sieun physically and mentally cannot forget about him. Sieun continuously writes his feelings out on text messages which he then sends to Suho’s number, suffers from insomnia because of Suho, and is endlessly reminded of Suho when he fights.

It’s not easy to write a compelling “ghost that haunts the narrative” trope without it being too sappy, but god, the way WHC2 did it for both Suho and Beomseok was compelling and believable. Because of course, Sieun cannot simply forget about either of them. These two will eternally be locked into his reflexes — which the directing and script cleverly includes and remembers.

[wolfnanaki]

Do not argue with trans Bridget deniers.

Gotta make something clear to Guilty Gear fans, specifically fans of Bridget.

The newest episode of Dual Rulers has just came out, and has a beautiful, heartfelt moment where Bridget discusses her transition with Unika. In Bridget's previous appearance, both she, the narrator, and other characters refer to her as female, in both English and Japanese. It is no different in this episode.

Despite it being yet another moment of Bridget looking at the camera and telling the audience "Yeah I'm a trans girl," there are still people trying to misconstrue the scene to deny her transness and claim again — wrongly — that she's still a man.

There's no point in debating these people. Not just because they're blatantly wrong losers who routinely misinterpret canon, cherry-pick quotes, and ignore everything contradicting their words. Not just because it's an exhausting waste of time.

But because all of that obfuscates the actual goal.

If canon is what mattered, they would have to take the complete canon — including Strive and Daisuke's own words ever since Bridget was added — into account. But canon doesn't matter because all of them routinely present Bridget's backstory and motivations wrong on purpose.

The goal isn't to deny Bridget's transness. The goal is to deny transness.

When they say "Bridget is a man," they're not trying to deny canon because it's impossible to do that now. They know she's a trans woman. And they're calling her a man.

So just block and ignore them.

[monstersholygrail]

Nooooo puppy was close to win 😢

For real, in the poll it seemed like Puppy Hybrid Salesman was going to win for the longest time. I wasn’t expecting him to be so far in the running considering I don’t think he’s been introduced to yall yet. He’s lowkey a new character joining the mix. Then for awhile there he was tied with Minotaur Boss.

My friend and I were talking about how interesting it would be if Minotaur Boss and Puppy Hybrid would’ve ended up being tied. That would mean they’d somehow both end up winning the egg hunt. And together they’d fuck you till your brain turned to mush.

But it would be an incredibly fascinating dynamic. With Minotaur Boss being so tall and dominant and Puppy Hybrid being a submissive and pleasure top.

Minotaur Boss would try to control the situation right out of the gate. He’d wanna touch you, tease you, and drive you over the edge so many times you lose count but he’d want it done on his terms. Meanwhile Puppy Hybrids concern is only getting you. He doesn’t care about drawing it out or even making you work for it.

Puppy Hybrid just wants you to use his cock till he’s writhing in overstimulation. But if you ask if you can cum again he won’t deny you. He’s so eager to make you feel good that it completely overrides all of Minotaur Boss’ attempts at control and the boss doesn’t like that.

Being shared between them would be such an overwhelming but delicious experience. There’s no doubt with Puppy Hybrid’s speed he’d claim the prize (you) before the boss. He’d be demanding your pleasure immediately and even you’re shocked by how fast you cum on his tongue. But just as you’re beginning to get used to his methods, Minotaur Boss would push him aside and start doing things his way.

You’d be disoriented but slowly you’d get used to writing and begging Minotaur Boss for more. Then as soon as there would be another opening, Puppy Hybrid would slip right in, replacing the boss at front and center. You’d be so lost to the pleasure that you’d start begging Puppy Hybrid for more.

Minotaur Boss would be fuming and Puppy Hybrid would laugh saying you never need to beg for him. He’ll always give you what you need.

It would be a constant back and forth leaving you no room to catch your breath or get used to the different sensations. In a way it only seemed to make your orgasms that much more intense. And by the end of it they were left totally find while you’re reduced to nothing but a puddle of your mixed releases.

[boy-pussyyy]

things task force 141 have heard their gen z nurse say (pt 1)

characters: simon riley (ghost) and price

warnings: mpreg and medical inaccuracies. crack treated seriously (I think I'm using this tag right). no romance with any of the men. gnc reader.

I'm subjecting you all to my brain worms. fyi this isn't my usual style of writing.

price and ghost

the first time they had seen you angry was certainly a memorable one.

they didn't think much of you when you were first introduced. fresh out of school, quiet, and kept to yourself.

Price had no complaints. so as long as you fixed his men up, it was good enough for him.

So when he found out that Ghost had popped his stitches for the third time, Price had sent for you to fix it. again.

The Captain was insistent that he give it a rest and waited till his wound had closed before starting with P.T.

Ghost, on the other hand, did not.

It had been a grueling twenty minutes of you fruitlessly trying to convince the man that if he didn't let the wound heal completely, he'd be back here again with an infection before the week was out.

You'd already been having a bad day, but the final nail in the coffin was when you realised everything you'd been saying to the man had gone in one ear and out the other.

Huffing, you rose to your feet, chair jerking back with a screech. "Lieutenant, I swear to fuck— if you don't stop popping your stitches, I will draw you pregnant!"

Of all the expletives, they'd expected to hear from you... that hadn't been one of them.

Both men blinked owlishly.

"I mean it." You shot him a withering look. "I'll draw you pregnant with the fattest tits known to man that they'll give Gandalf's big naturals a run for their money."

The men seemed to have a silent conversation between them:

Can she do that?

She'll most definitely try.

What are big naturals?

I'm scared to ask.

Ghost broke the silence first. "Lass, I do not think that—"

"Don't test me, Lieutenant. I've done it before and I'll do it again."

Neither one of them wanted to call your bluff.

And so Ghost let you redo the stitches with no complaints, and made sure not to excert himself lest he find a drawing of his likeness outrageously pregnant pasted all over the walls of the base.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

other versions: johnny and kyle

ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

[doodler16]

viv just made a tweet that said, "hey guys, just a reminder. stolas is still alive! and if that upsets you, good, lol? just be normal." and GOD she pisses me off so bad.

1) why can't she just shut the hell up when someone makes fan content that doesnt effect her or her shows success/popularity what so ever? is she just genuinely that insecure knowing that people are starting to REALLY not like stolas, (because in every episode he appears in, it becomes more and more obvious that he's a creators pet), that she has to say something that's passive aggressive and completely unneeded? to put this in perspective - imagine if someone like goose or tracy made a comment like this?

2) this is EXACTLY what i mean when i say that the fandom is great at making dark fiction unlike other fandoms that treat it as call-out post worthy, but only if that dark fiction gets your dick hard.

angel being raped by val? awesome! angel being hypnotized into being raped by vox? even better! merchandise of val and his rape buddy for valentine's day? epic!

ozzie being called out for fully being prepared into letting his best friends lover die? let's throw a like to a fan and treat it as gospel to make another fan feel like shit, for wanting to explore the messy unbalanced dynamics of royals/citizens and mlm angst, who's main couple that took over the shows premise, is nothing BUT messy unbalanced dynamics of royals/citizens and mlm angst! (it's because fizzozzie has to be a perfect ship in comparison to stoliz that makes the most merch money because they're a "wholesome ship" and we can't have any critical thinking from our own fanbase challenge that, despite the having glaring flaws of codependency in both episodes they're focused on. worth mentioning here, but someone made a post here that said, "these shows aren't about standing up to the royals, it's about submitting to the right one," and that describes those two bird bitches to a t.

stella icon spotted? uh oh, im the creator of her and made her an unlikeable abusive bitch to make a guy who coerced the man character of one of my shows into sex every month, look better in comparison! which is rape btw! better say something mean to them on main, because they're not as popular and can't do anything if they're harassed by my standom!

charalastor fan? fuck you. fan of my fat villians? fuck you, no sexy pinups, i hate money if it's not coming from a place that validates only what i like. i won't even make merchandise of angel dust, the guy who's been the most popular and well known character for nearly a decade now! im getting bored of that toy, i need a new mean fictional slut to play with - the one that brings me the most negative attention is just a bonus!

3) "just be normal." viv, you hired someone with a rape fetish to storyboard scenes for the character who's entire conflict is that he's being raped, and someone who ships rick and morty romantically, to do visdev work on oops. rules for thee, but not for me!

i can't wait until everyone looks back at the way she acted 10 years from now, and sees how the way vivziepop has publicly acted has aged just about as well as spoiled milk in the california sun. but i still NEED hbomber guy to make a tommy talerico styled video on her, the only thing that could challenger her power is a universally beloved straight white funny internet man.

Vivziepop expanded said thoughts regarding her bluesky tweets (whether it makes her look better or worse is up to you guys):

Then there’s her liking Dani Draws (and other users) tweet as the icing on the cake.

[pukefactory]

•☽────✧˖°˖ TROPICA FOOD COURT ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA X Reader You Both Find A Vending Machine Full Of Strange Drinks

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

☆ You spotted it first: an ancient, flickering vending machine tucked behind a crooked lamp post, buzzing suspiciously. The buttons were labeled with things like “Quantum Slush,” “Elixir of Partial Success,” and “Liquidated Memories.” ENA immediately stiffened at the sight, her Meanie side scoffing, “What kind of idiot puts a death trap in a box and sells it for three fake quarters?!” Her Salesperson side, chipper and delighted, started patting down her pockets. “If we play our cards right, we could unlock a fantastic business opportunity here!” she beamed, completely missing the point. You were halfway between concern and excitement yourself.

☆ ENA insisted on letting you pick the first drink, citing it as “user testing.” She even pulled out a fake clipboard, nodding sagely. “This is most categorically doable. Your liver is simply a business expense.” When you hesitated, she leaned down, smiling crookedly, and whispered, “What’s the worst that could happen? Ha ha. Don’t answer that.”

☆ You chose something relatively tame-sounding: “Mildly Unpredictable Tea.” The can hissed open and a bunch of multicolored bubbles floated out instead of liquid. ENA immediately leaned in, trying to “capture the aromas for professional analysis,” only to accidentally inhale one. It popped inside her nose, making her entire left side turn a luminous blue for thirty seconds while she shrieked, “I AM TRANSCENDING STUPIDITY!!”

☆ Her Salesperson side tried to play it cool. “Ahem, minor cosmetic rebranding is normal after product testing.” Her Meanie side immediately clapped her hands over her face and shouted, “MY CELLS ARE COMMITTING TAX FRAUD!”

☆ When it was ENA’s turn to pick, she deliberately chose the most ominous can: “Hot Chocolate, but Worse.” You begged her to reconsider. She did not. The can exploded the second she cracked it open, spraying both of you with a gooey, magma-thick brown liquid that smelled faintly of despair and burnt toast. “THIS IS HELL’S FLAVORED SLUDGE!” she barked, staggering backward. “I’d call it… an acquired taste,” Her Salesperson side added, wiping her eyes and giving you a sticky thumbs-up.

☆ At one point, you noticed that some of the cans had strange little “effects” icons printed on the sides — wings, hourglasses, melting clocks. ENA, squinting at one of the labels, whispered like it was a state secret, “If we drink the wrong one, I might turn into a pyramid scheme.” You deadpanned, “You already act like one.” Meanie screamed, “HEY! MULTILEVEL MARKETING IS A SYMPHONY OF SUCKERS!!!”

☆ You and ENA sat cross-legged in the grass, lining up a few more “experimental beverages” in a row like a tasting event. She made you swirl the cans, smell them dramatically, and describe the “bouquet.” When you hesitated or said they smelled like “wet sidewalk,” Salesperson would encourage you with a very businesslike, “Wonderful, let’s put that in the customer review section!” Meanwhile, Meanie muttered darkly about how “the sidewalk smells better than this rotgut slop.”

☆ At some point, ENA drank a “Lemonade of Emotional Honesty” and instantly folded in half, grabbing her face. “I hate meetings! I hate empty promises! I hate soup that’s too hot!!” she wailed in a confession avalanche. You gently patted her back while she continued shrieking into the dirt about grievances you hadn’t even known she had, like the way clowns tie their shoes.

☆ One drink (“Essence of Charisma”) actually worked. After a few sips, ENA stood taller, glowed slightly, and started rattling off the most absurd sales pitches you’d ever heard — effortlessly persuasive. “Have you ever considered investing in the cyclical futility of your own desires?” she asked an old mailbox. You had to physically drag her away before she sold it a timeshare in the afterlife.

☆ Eventually, you both collapsed under the vending machine’s neon haze, surrounded by half-drunk cans, sticky clothes, and the faint suspicion you were no longer in the same dimension you started in. ENA, lying beside you, lazily spun a can in the air and murmured, “Maybe tomorrow we’ll sell drinks like these ourselves.” Then, Meanie immediately snapped upright to yell, “AND WE’LL PUT A HUGE WARNING LABEL THAT SAYS ‘YOU WILL BECOME STUPIDER’ BECAUSE IT’S TRUE!!” You laughed so hard you almost choked on your own unfinished “Liquidated Memories” soda.

[lyrenminth]

Release

Adults only; mature content.

Summary: After having a stressful day, Justin decides to seek relaxation and you are there for him.

You could tell Justin wasn't having it. He told you about an earlier meeting he had with the Spanos about hiring A-level players, and for how he was grumpy all day, the results weren't on his way. When he was in such mood you didn't say anything at all. He would come to you when he was ready, so you just went with your routine anyway.

Justin would soften eventually, his short answers would get longer, and his frown would ease hearing you talk with your mom or watching your shows on T.V.

By night, you were reading on the bed waiting for him to come out of the shower. You were giggling at some character when he came out wearing a towel around his hips, the V lines disappearing under the black towel. You took a moment to appreciate how big and masculine he was.

Also, you noticed he was tired.

Instead of heading to the changing room, he went straight to you and uncovered your body, pushing the sheets aside. "What...?" you asked, a little confused. When he grabbed your legs to spread them, you felt a throb in your core. "Justin...?" he has never done such a thing and you were equally confused and turned on. He dive in between your legs, opening them to fit his wide shoulders, inhaling your scent. "Fuck yes" he groaned, his voice sending shivers down your spine. He rubbed his face there and you couldn't stop a giggle, still holding the book in your hands. He smiled at you for a few seconds before going back to his rubbing. " After a shitty day, I wanted to do this" he confessed. His hands caressed your legs, and reached for the waistband of your panties. "Keep reading your book, honey" he ordered, putting your panties down your ankles. "Don't mind me" your felt his breath there, warming your senses. You tried to close your legs, but he held your legs apart. "Justin..." you whispered.

"Keep reading" he kissed your lips, and you jolted. Your eyes tried to focus on the reading and the letters were there, but you couldn't understand so much about it. When it's hot tongue opened your folds and he groaned in pleasure, you felt yourself clenching around nothing. He started licking your vulva in long lazy strokes, his stubble prickling your sensitive skin. His long fingers opened your folds, to have a better view of your clit, the tip of his tongue was making circles around it, and you moaned, forgetting completely about the book. The tingles were all over your skin, and your hips started moving looking for the perfect angle.

He growled and you felt one thick finger in your entrance. His tongue was merciless, and your couldn't stop trashing, wanting to stay away but at the same time, wanting to get closer. It was maddening. His finger was inside you, creating a hook and touching a spot inside your vagina that was too much.

"Mmm it feels so good" you said, feeling the orgasm coiling on your belly. "Like that, yes, yes" he pleasure you, following the same rhythm. "Oh, Justin yess"

You grabbed his hair, pulling him closer. He became more enthusiastic at your eagerness, and the sight of him thrusting involuntarily to the mattress sent you over the edge. You felt so livid and feather-like, a wave of relaxation crushed you so hard you forgot how to breath for a few seconds. You went limp, trying to gather your brains.

He was kissing you neck, lips and jaw before nesting himself between your legs. He rested his weight on his muscular arms. You felt his erection on your legs, and gaining strength you reached between your bodies to touch him, he was hard and hot, gorgeous as always. He was yours and yours only.

You guided him to your entrance, his blue eyes never leaving yours as he pushed inside you, you received him easily, loving how full he made you feel. Both moaned, and smiled like two horny teenagers. When he started moving, deep and slow thrusts, your wrapped your legs around his hips, matching his rhythm. He hid in face in the curved of your neck, you heard him pant and groan. You ran your hands through his back, feeling the muscles moving and rippling with each thrust.

"Ooh, baby" you called, clenching your walls around him. He picked up his pace, harder and faster as he reached his orgasm, his breathing heavy. You hugged him, wanting to melt with him. He smelled so good, and the sounds he made made you wetter.

He rolled over to avoid crushing you, his arm looked for you, bringing you closer to his side. He kissed your forehead, still panting a little.

"Well, what's was that?" you asked, running your hand over his chest in a soothing motion.

"I had a bad day" he said, simply.

"Hum...you should have more of those" you joked. He pressed his lips and pinch your ribs, knowing you were ticklish. "No!" you laughed, trying to get away.

"I keep thinking about coming home and eat your sweet pussy" he confessed, and somehow, the tip of his ear were red. Justin, everyone. "I'm satisfied to say the least"

"At least you forgot about your problems for a little" you said, getting sleepy. You could feel his heartbeat under your hand.

"You make it easier" he murmured. "Go to sleep"

"Don't tell me twice" you yawned. "Best oral ever" you said without thinking. He laughed and you felt it.

"I love you" he said, so low you almost didn't hear it. You could just looked at him through your heavy eye-lids smiling lazily until you felt asleep.

[miyamiwu]

this is very untimely, but the fact that Xiao Yueqing died by the shore, of all places, made me realize that Lin Ling now completely parallels Mo Sha.

Before TBHX debuted, I wrote a meta about how Nice and Mo Sha are like Light and Shadow because of their shared themes and was ready to ship them if they did have chemistry in the show…but I dropped that meta and threw it out the window when it was revealed that Nice is actually Lin Ling, and the one in the PV against Wreck is theorized to be og Nice

Then episode 4 happened, and now Lin Ling shares more similarities with Mo Sha than og Nice ever did:

Both of their beloveds are dead

Both of their beloveds are associated with the moon (with Mo Sha, it’s implied in this PV)

Xiao Yueqing died by the shore, and in Mo Sha’s character PV there’s also a segment about a beach

Lastly, both their hero designs have black, white, and gold

WHICH COULD ALL MEAN NOTHING!

Just thought it was interesting...

[pinkcottoncandyss]

FINALLY TALKING ABOUT MY AU!! Anyway! I'm going to make 2 posts to explain this story! This post will explain about before the apple incident:) I hope you guys like this story!

Notes

This AU was made with the intention of merging the story of the original Undertale with Dreamtale, so many characters that were previously not relevant in Dreamtale are here!

Dream and Nightmare's designs were changed because it simply didn't make sense to have two Sanses in the AU (no hate on Joku)

I'm going to use a LOT of drawings already made (I'm lazy)

Anyway, going to the story:)

In the beginning of everything... On a small, lonely planet orbiting a small, lonely star.. Nim resided sadly. She didn't know if she had always existed or if she had been created at some point, but god, she was alone. She had no company, she wondered every day if it had been a horrible joke by the universe, if she was born for the entertainment of someone bigger. After so many millennia, she began to cry, from her tears, great oceans were created. She was so alone, without company, without anyone... she would go crazy there. But one day, she noticed that inside the water there were little bases of vegetation there. She was delighted to discover that it had come from her! She could create life!

Suddenly, overnight she was no longer alone. She created great forests and beautiful animals that loved her, but she was thinking of something bigger. This is how the first monsters were created, one of the first children of the goddess who were created in her image. The monsters were made entirely of magic, looking even more like their mother. Nim, despite this, wanted more, but with each life she created, she used her own vitality to do so, which is why humans were born so weak. The goddess was already weak when she created humans, unlike monsters, they were weak, fragile, did not live long! This created great fear between both species.

Humans lived away from monsters and their own mother, they were afraid of monsters, and soon this fear turned into hatred and anger. It wasn't long before war broke out, thousands of lives were taken and Nim couldn't directly interfere due to her health. She decided to make a drastic decision, she sacrificed the rest of her life to create Alora and Aller (Dream and Nightmare).

The poor children were meant to lead monsters and humans when they came of age. They were neither monsters nor humans, they were the very materialization of Nim's feelings! Powerful elementals who should together make decisions that would be completely impartial and fair.

Nim immediately turned into a tree as soon as this happened, giving the responsibility of the twins into the hands of Toriel and Asgore, both parents who had lost their son in the war. They saw Alora and Aller as a chance to redeem themselves with Asriel

(No, I haven't designed Asgore yet, just Toriel for now)

Anyway, the twins grew up happily without knowing the responsibility they carried at the time, the kingdom of monsters was built around the tree that Nim became. That tree bore two fruits; golden apples and black apples. The golden apples fulfilled a consumer's desire, but at a price (Think of Gimmi from Miraculous, but with the exception that the consequence would not only apply to the world, but you would be directly affected by it, for example; You have a terminal illness and eat the apple wanting to cure your illness, a new illness will be put in its place :D) and the black apples revealed your inner self, were widely used in criminal trials.

ANYWAY!!! The humans did not accept defeat and, driven by greed, planned an invasion of the monster kingdom, where they would kill everyone and conquer the tree for themselves, At first the plan worked, they killed Toriel, Asgore and almost everyone in the castle, However, they didn't count on Alora convincing Aller to both eat the apples to stop them

When Alora ate the apple, their greatest wish was to escape from that place, and so they was turned into stone, but Aller wished in his heart to have strength, strength to stop them and so it happened, exchanging his own sanity for power. He defeated them all and cut down the tree his mother had become.

Aller had hatred in his heart, he saw everyone he loved die in front of him while his cowardly twin turned to stone, leaving him alone in despair. He made a decision that day, he would make humanity pay for their sins

For the next 500 years, Aller pretended to be a god, telling half-truths to the leaders of the human kingdoms and causing war after war so that they would destroy themselves. He COULD have ended humanity if he wanted, but that wasn't enough to calm his hatred, he wanted to torture them and make everyone feel what he felt. If Alora had woken up a little later, humanity would have been completely extinct and Aller would have succeeded in his plan

Here is a design that I made for him a time ago:) He's copying Toriel's pose, cute

Some curiosities and my inspirations, why not?

I was inspired for Aller's design by the following characters; king of nowhere (centaur world), mystic flour (cookie run kingdom), a sheep (he's a "wolf in sheep's clothing") and Selene, goddess of the moon

Alora was inspired by Grillby, Pure vanilla (cookie run kingdom too, but it's most notable in his design after Aller is defeated, I'll show it soon), and in his own newborn form from the original AU

Daydreamtale is heavily inspired by Steven Universe, you can see certain similarities in the story

I apologize so much for any grammatical errors, I'm using the translator to write this lmao

I hope you guys like it⊂⁠(⁠(⁠・⁠▽⁠・⁠)⁠)⁠⊃ Then I want to make some posts just to explain about Aller and Alora's personality! Any questions please ask, I love interacting with you all

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i've threatened to post yet another sotr opinion, so here i go: lenore dove is a great and valuable character, but her romantic entanglement with haymitch felt completely unnecessary and tacked on. there was something about the two of them that kept bothering me as i read, but i think i was Feeling Everything Too Much to stop and pick things apart. having sat down and dissected my thoughts with bestie though, i've identified my four biggest gripes; their relationship is (a) repetitive, (b) useless, (c) clashes with the core themes of the story, and (d) undercooked.

(a) the main trilogy does "dystopia with a sprinkle of romance" perfectly (though i've certainly debated the inclusion of romance before, i'll pretend i don't hold those stances for the purposes of this post.) romance here is both useful in the sense of giving us a feel for who each character is wrt their view of it and, in general, is as good a vehicle for character development as any (especially given that we're dealing with teenagers here.) in tbosas, the romance takes a much darker and more twisted turn, though it plays a similar role—it illustrates the rottenness-to-the-core of president snow. neither the trilogy nor tbosas would be the same if the focal relationships were to be taken out, they're absolutely integral to both arcs. and yet... it gets to a point. is there not another means of accomplishing everything above? is there not another way to explore the characters' personalities, motives, values, etc.? can't they have a different driving force? wouldn't it have been perhaps smarter and, arguably, more fun to go beyond what's expected of a book within the ya genre?

(b) tying into what i've hinted at in the above paragraph—the four books that came before sotr all depended upon their focal romances to drive the story forward & hammer the point in. sure, we could've gotten a glimpse of snow's cycle path mind by other means—there was sejanus, there was dean highbottom, there were others who snow has fucked over in pursuit of his own ends. but nothing could've quite captured his rancidness, i think, that the way his obsession and attempted possession of lucy grey did. we're all familiar with villains who miraculously change around that one person, who dote on their specialest little boy/girl, yet that wasn't the case here. snow's [redacted] for lucy grey did not absolve him, did not change him, did not halt him in becoming who we know him to be at a rapid pace. as for the romance in thg, i don't think i can say anything that hasn't already been said before & much better besides. the girl on fire and the boy with the bread, we all know how that went. we all know what their love for one another made happen. & with that in mind, what did lenore dove and haymitch's romance accomplish? what did it do? did it alter the trajectory of either of their lives? ...no. did it change anything? ...no. would the story have been 100% the same if they'd only been friends? ...yes. would the story have been 100% the same if lenore dove had, god forbid, not even existed? ...yes. "oh but nico, why must a relationship be useful? why must it serve a purpose? can't we simply be in love?" why, yes! in real life! unfortunately, this is a story, and at that one where every single detail matters. every detail must serve a larger purpose, or else its value is automatically diminished (prime example.) and at times, i'd argue the value of the entire work may be diminished by the inclusion of an extraneous, frivolous plot point (though i wouldn't go that far here.)

(c) perhaps the most offensive aspect of the whole thing—its existence alone completely clashes with, in my view, one of the core themes of the book: friendship. sotr speaks of the biggest in-game alliance between the tributes thus far (and ever since.) again and again it emphasizes the "kad se male ruke slože" of it all (roughly, "many hands make light work.") unlike the tributes in katniss' time, they all approach each other. they talk. they make promises. haymitch isn't afraid to ally with louella on the train, and it doesn't take much at all for him to see loulou—a girl who is no one to him, nothing—as something precious to protect. not to mention ampert (no really, i won't, i'll get upset.) his and maysilee's entire arc is so, so beautiful and touching—his perception changing, the admission he had been wrong about her, the journey from refusing to ally, to doing so begrudgingly, to calling her a friend and a sister. even wyatt found his place in haymitch's heart. friends, friends, friends, it's all about friends. haymitch in the present timeline could've been that sad lonely drunk wreck just as believably after losing them. just as believably if lenore dove had been his friend (i hesitate to say only a friend—a friend can't ever be only.) haymitch has really lost so much, so many, and there is something about the pedestal lenore dove is put on—when it comes to these losses—that i can't get behind. would he have been any different, really, if she'd been spared? would all that misfortune not find him if she had been spared? no. no, i don't think so. therefore... two plus two.

(d) and finally, the total nail in the coffin—it wasn't even that good. we're thrown in medias res of their romance & we're meant to take suzanne's word for it. we're meant to do this from the get-go and throughout, because—in a book that can be summed up as So Much, All The Time—there was really not a moment to spare for haymitch and lenore dove. their romance was given no time to develop—and how could it have? how could it have, when the characters were hardly in physical proximity of each other for more than a page and a half total? he fed her the gumdrops and i felt nothing but a passing sadness, because all i could think about was ampert, was maysilee, was wyatt, was loulou, was anyone and everyone whose haymitch gave his all for & still couldn't save. we didn't need this romance subplot to begin with, and it wasn't even good.