#like was i expecting people to be interested in what kind of mask they make

[fenharels-chewtoy]

I get being a fan of Solas but you gotta appreciate Lavellan herself too. She’s the other half of the ship and part of what makes Solavellan so fascinating to me. Sure, you can play Cadash or Adar or Trevelyan and get something interesting but there’s something so compelling about Lavellan as the Inquisitor.

All Inky’s can be kind, caring, compassionate, but it takes a special level of strength to be kind after losing everything. Lavellan is taken from her old life, turned into a religious symbol for her oppressors, and stripped of her identity and culture. There is an undeniable alienation she experiences, both from the shemlen, and then from her own beliefs (and her People/Clan) as she goes through the events of the game; she learns that the history she worked so hard to study and preserve was built on the backs of slaves, that her gods were tyrants and slavers, and that Fen’Harel’s name was ruined through millennia of propaganda and perpetuated lies. She is changed from her time as the Inquisitor and from falling in love with Solas—mentally, physically, and spiritually. She fell in love with the god, with the monster, her people were taught fear, and as the stories go, Fen’Harel’s touch leaves you forever marked.

The Dread Wolf’s name is not worshipped in reverence; it is invoked in fear, in anger—it is a curse, reviled, and spit like the most corrosive of poisons.

But that isn’t who Lavellan falls in love with. Just like the Inquisitor, Fen’Harel is a title and mask worn by a broken man forced into a role he didn’t want.

She was taken, twisted, turned into something she didn’t want, but she did not let it break her. The world had taken so much from her time and time again, yet they continued to demand. She gave up her home, her life, eventually her friends, and even the very organization she dedicated everything to. Forced to make decisions that shed as much blood as it saved. The rest of her life was spent in pursuit of a man looking to end the world, long after she’s already saved it once before. She holds her head high and bears the weight of the world like she was Atlas himself. The Inquisitor bends and bows, but never does she break. Despite this, despite it all, she still remains kind. And Solas? Sweet, gentle Solas. His heart is still so kind but he’s hardened it.

A romanced Lavellan wants to help Solas, to save him from himself. She sees the mask for what it is and knows the man—the spirit—hiding behind it all. Wisdom, taken from his home, turned into a weapon and then a symbol—a god. Forced to fight for what is just, Fen’Harel breaks under the trauma wrought upon him and by him.

He is weighed down by duty and service—to Mythal and to his People. The world was broken by his actions, and he seeks to rend another to restore what was sundered.

Wisdom was lost, turned to Pride. It hides under the guise of Fen’Harel because he believes it is not what the world needs.

The Evanuris claim that Fen’Harel is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, when he was a weapon forged by their own hand.

Lavellan chooses to walk the Dinan’shiral with Solas. Maybe for some, it is because they, too, believe the Veil must come down, and the world restored to its natural state. But, as loredrinker said in their fantastic post, it may be because of connection. They see that Solas is suffering; that he’s been alone. This path would break what was left of the gentle Wisdom underneath it all. The Path of Death, he called it.

She said so herself: “I will save you.”

She walks the Dinan’shiral, not as Solas does, but parallel to him. She does not walk it expecting to reap death, but to stop it. They’ve both experienced loss—lived through horrors no being should ever experience. Leaders, symbols—burdens taken on by shoulders that shouldn’t bear them alone.

And Lavellan will not allow Solas to bear this alone. As she had done with her friends in the Inquisition, she is offering him connection. She will ease his burden if he would let her. Despite the isolation she no doubt feels, she makes sure none of her friends ever feel alone. She supports each of them, gives them a shoulder to lean on, and takes their pain as her own because that’s just who she is.

I will bear this weight with you. You are my heart. We walk this path together. Pain, terror, a terrible future, but you do not have to go alone.

And in the end, the wolf finally takes it. And oh, what a relief it must be after all this time. Millennia, suffering. Alone, lonely, on a path he set for himself, believed to end in eternal isolation. After all, Solas’ worst fear is dying alone.

But no. This is not your fate, vhenan. Ar lath ma.

[howlonomy]

Now I want too see the design of the new mask how did clover affect how it looks did kanakos experiences affect how she designed the mask. Did both of them try too stay as close too the original as possible/try too use some of the old mask in the new mask as a symbolic pice.

new mask is a mix of both!! let go of the past, embrace the future

[joelsmeadow]

Forbidden Fruit [Part 1] - Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

Summary: he's been watching you for longer than he can remember, thinking he's too old for you, too dangerous. It's easier to keep people at arm's length, and he isn't the roughened lover he used to be. Turns out you don't care much for what he used to be.

Warnings & Contents: age difference (unspecified, can be as large or small as you'd like) | unsafe sex | Vaguely misogynistic language (not from Joel) | past Reader x Tommy mention | dirty talk | praise | pet names | size difference implied IE Joel's hands are larger than Reader's | unprotected PIV | Enthusiastic consent | Fluffier than expected | creampies oops | guaranteed happy ending

Note: I got this out before episode two dropped. There are no spoilers here, just old man Joel being loved.

Word Count: 3.8k. || Part Two Here

- x. -

Joel knows that deep down, he's not the good guy that he tries to be in Jackson. That no amount of hard work and somewhat begrudging neighbourly behaviour will truly ever mask what he really is. 

He does a damn good job hiding it, though. Looks almost unassuming with his greying curls, the crows feet forming round his eyes, the glasses he wears more often than not. 

Then there's you. God knows how much younger than him - does it really matter, when he's pushing sixty and you're clearly not - and full of life. 

He sees you around and just one look at you gets him half hard; you don't even have to fucking do anything, just be wandering past and give him a friendly wave, a half smile. 

He finds his eyes glued to your ass more often than not, given your standard attire of a pastel plaid shirt and jeans does nothing to hide your figure. He feels like a dirty old man each and every fucking time, but he can't help it. Especially when you wander past to get ready for a patrol, an honest to god cowboy hat perched on your head, a lasso and a gun on your hip. 

It makes some deep buried dark and depraved part of him wish he was still the cocky, confident bastard he once was. The kind who would have no problem whatsoever with talking to you and getting exactly what he wanted. Age has made him hesitate, though, and so he sort of just contends himself with trying to be as subtle as possible with his stares. 

He'd be lying if he said he thought of anything else when he fucked his own hand each night, though. 

Imagining you. How you might look spread out beneath him. On top of him. How you might sound with his name on your stupidly pouty lips, which he absolutely hasn't made note of or anything. 

Joel likes to think he's completely subtle in his interest in you, thinks he might just be burning up inside with his own desires and need, until Tommy calls him the fuck out for it one night. 

They're in the bar long after closing time, just the two of them, perks of Tommy being on the governing council, Joel guesses, and two or three glasses of whiskey deep. 

"Don't know why you don't just go after her, y'know." Tommy takes a long sip of his drink. Gives Joel a smirk that he never thought he'd see again, given his younger brother is all settled down now, married with a kid and whatnot. 

"You know damn well why not." Joel snipes back, refills his glass with a narrowed gaze. "'M too old and I'm too fuckin' dangerous. She'd probably break or something." 

Tommy just laughs. But it's more like his old laugh. The slightly dark sound that Joel hasn't heard in years that makes him goddamn certain his brother knows something he doesn't. 

"What?"

"Nothin'," Tommy says, tossing another cube of ice into his glass, swirls it around. "Don't blame you for lookin'. Girl's got a sweet ass, and damn, she can ride, too."

There's that tone again, the one that says he definitely knows something. More than knows something. So Joel gives him that look he does that always inevitably has Tommy spilling the beans. 

"And how d'you know the girl can ride, huh?"

Tommy snorts, drags a hand through his messy black curls. 

"Wasn't always with Maria, ya know. Back when I first came to Jackson... girl can handle her way around a saddle. Ain't half as cocky when she was gushin' all over my cock in a hay bale. Tell y'somethin, never seen a prettier sight than a cockdrunk woman." 

He downs the rest of his drink before he shoots Joel a crooked grin. 

"And trust me on this one too - she loves her an older man."

Joel doesn't want details. Doesn't care much about something that happened six or so years ago. 

What he does take from the conversation stays worked into his head over the next few days. He's just thinking he might make some excuse to leave his office early, to go home so he can either drink himself senseless or fuck his own fist until he has some semblance of self control again. 

He's still debating which it'll be when someone knocks on his office door; he looks up, about to tell whoever it is to fuck off, and instead stops. Because there you fucking are, your hair pulled off your face, still windswept. Dressed in a pastel purple and blue plaid shirt, another pair of jeans that should be fucking outlawed and worn cowboy boots. 

“Hey, Joel.”

Vaguely, he wonders if this is the first time he’s actually registered you saying his name; he likes the way it sounds in your voice.

“Hey. What can I do for you?” He can’t help but sense some sort of mischief, wonders whether Tommy has decided to interfere, again, in something he has no business in.

“Oh, uh, Tommy said you were the one to go to if the barn door got caught again?”

Joel registers what you’re saying, can’t help but listen to the way his brother’s name sounds in your mouth, as if he’s looking to see if there’s any hint of any sort of affection in it, but he finds none.

He also thinks his goddamn brother is full of shit, because he knows damn well that Tommy is just as capable of fixing the stupid barn door. But Joel is nothing if not an opportunist, and he sees exactly what’s being offered here – an opportunity.

So he gets up out of his chair, pockets his glasses, and gives you a nod.

“Sure. Let’s go get that fixed up before dark.”

-            X     -

You’re aware of the sheer size of the man beside you as you help him lift the barn door back onto the track it usually slides in. He must be at least sixty, and yet he’s so big and broad that it doesn’t quite show. That doesn’t mean you’re oblivious to the greying curls, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. You’re not blind. Maybe you’re just fucked up, because you’ve always preferred older men, at least, since the outbreak.

Maybe it’s some convoluted thought that someone older might be able to keep you safe. As if you aren’t a damn good shot yourself. As if you aren’t entirely capable of keeping yourself safe.

You haven’t been as oblivious to his stares as he thinks. No, Joel Miller is not a subtle man, not anymore. Never has been.

That, and you’ve seen a similar look on his brother’s face, once upon a time. The kind of look that says they want to devour you. To do things to you that’ll make your toes curl.

Like you haven’t been watching Joel since he first set foot in Jackson. Figured maybe you were too young, too out of range of his usual type, whatever the fuck that was.

And then you’d noticed him watching you, dared to perhaps hope, but never make the first move. Until now.

“Thanks for the help,” you say as you test the door, pull it open and closed to make sure it isn’t stuck again.

“’S fine,” Joel answers, shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Walk you home?” You offer, and the hint of a smile curves his mouth.

“Don’t know that I’m the one who needs a chaperone to walk round after dark.”

You laugh lightly as he falls into step with you regardless.

“Ah, Joel, nobody would be stupid enough to lay a hand on me.”

You don’t entirely believe that, but confidence is certainly part of it, and the last thing you want is for him to think you’re someone weak and scared.

“Why, you got some scary ass husband or somethin’ I don’t know about?” Joel asks, and you can hear the hint of jealousy in his tone, even if he thinks you won’t; it lights up something in your belly that trails all the way down to your core.

“Pff, no. No husband. No boyfriend. Just me, and apparently I’m scary enough.”

You give him time to take all that in, but that means you arrive at his house far too soon with very little progression in conversation. You’re almost feeling disappointed when he speaks again.

“Comin’ in for a drink?”

Joel isn’t sure where that confidence came from. Maybe the way you’ve confirmed there’s no significant other in your life. The almost flirty way you’ve spoken to him. The way you had seemingly no issue getting up in his space as you fixed the barn door.

He notices, too, the way your eyes flicker with something like triumph at the offer, before you just nod, follow him up the steps and into the house.

-            X     -

Joel watches the way your lips curve around the glass tumbler, and he really thinks he should be more focused on his own liquor consumption at his age more than the way it looks, but he can’t help it.

Unbidden, his mind gives him a picture of your lips wrapped around something else entirely, and for the first time since Tommy shared his little bit of “wisdom” about you the other night, he resents his brother for it. Because of fucking course his goddamn brother would have had the balls to just make a move. So why doesn’t he?

As he’s pondering this, he’s oblivious to your gaze, focused on him over the rim of your glass. They’re so alike, and yet so different, the Miller brothers. You haven’t quite worked out what makes Joel tick yet, can sense a sort of brooding, shut off darkness in him that you aren’t entirely certain you’d like to see unleashed.

What you do know, though, is that you’ve caught his eyes on you more than once. That you want him, even if it’s only for one night, that you don’t care if he shreds your heart to pieces after, so long as you get one single night where you can see what it’s like to be his.

And so while he’s still lost in thought, you down the rest of your drink and cross from your chair to his, straddle his lap and tap him lightly on the cheek.

“Hey, still with me?”

Not a lot takes Joel by surprise; he wasn’t sure what to expect when you moved, but to find you in his lap is definitely unexpected. He puts his half-finished drink to the side and just looks at you for a second, tries to will his cock into behaving, but it’s too late, he’s already hard as fuck, uncomfortable in his jeans with you pressed against him, and you both know it.

“What’re you doin’, sweetheart?” He manages to get out, because he’s got to be sure you’re not just fucking with him, or making some poor decision fuelled by liquor, even though he doubts the single drink has even touched the sides.

“What’s it look like?” You can feel how hard he is, can’t help but rock into him slightly, taunting, teasing, because God forbid you actually want this.

“Makin’ a real poor decision?” Joel regrets saying it as soon as he does so, and it shows on his face; luckily you ignore him.

“You want me to stop?” you ask instead, your hands at the buttons of the flannel shirt he always wears, a well loved dark green thing that you think sets off the olive tones to his skin perfectly.

He shakes his head so fast he almost feels dizzy, because there’s no way in hell he wants you to stop, but he wants you to understand what you might be getting yourself into.

“Fuck, no,” he almost growls it out, leans in to press a kiss to your bare collarbone where your shirt has fallen. “More just… I'm an old man, darlin', but I've never been good at bein' gentle."

You just laugh, because you don’t want gentle. You don’t want young and sweet and inexperienced. You want whatever the hell is lurking behind his tired gaze.

Still, he doesn’t move until you lean in first, press those pouting lips against his, part them so he can taste liquor and strawberries on your tongue. It’s not until you grind down against him again and moan into his mouth that he reacts.

Then whatever control he has left (which isn’t much) snaps, his hands pushing up your shirt; glad he had the foresight to build a fire when you got in, because the last thing he wants is you shivering for any reason that isn't good, isn't at his hands. 

You figure he isn't moving fast enough, help him shed your layers of clothing one by one until you're in his lap in just your emerald green panties, and fuck if Joel doesn't think the colour looks good on you.

His hands are wandering, up from your hips, slowly, cupping your tits and rubbing his roughened thumbs across your peaked nipples. You almost wish you could get him naked, but the most he'll allow is a few buttons of his shirt undone. Not that you're about to complain, so full of want for him that you'll take whatever he gives you.

You can feel the fabric of your panties getting damper with every hungry, open mouthed kiss, your little moans muffled as he slowly draws circles with his thumbs around your nipples, humming when he feels you react.

"Sensitive, huh?" His dark eyes stay fixed on yours as he pinches your nipples gently, making your back arch slightly. "Yeah you are, aren't you, sweetheart?"

You just nod, grinding yourself down against the thick length of him, your hands finding his belt buckle.

He doesn't stop you, too preoccupied with playing with your tits, the way you lean into his touch. Your hand unzips his jeans, frees his cock from the too tight confines, and slowly strokes, drawing a low groan from his chest.

Fuck, but you know what you're doing, slow practised strokes from base to tip, gentle twists of your wrist when you reach the thick head of him, spreading the precum that drips heavily along his length.

"Fuck, sweetheart, don't make me cum before I've got you there-" he warns, and you laugh, not at him, but because you're so fucking pleased that you're having that much of an effect on him.

He shuts you up effectively though, slides one rough hand into your panties and almost immediately finds your swollen clit, rubs circles on it with his thumb, smirking at how soaked he finds you.

"Christ. Don't even need t'get you ready for me, do I?"

You shake your head, but he does it anyway; nobody can say he isn't merciful, Joel thinks, as he slides his index and middle finger into your wet heat, drawing a filthy sound from you as he curls them deep.

He kisses you again, rough and needy, thinks about how if he was five, ten years younger he'd pick you up, carry you to the nearest horizontal surface and fuck you into it. The thought makes his cock throb painfully, but even this is enough, having you in his lap, writhing on his fingers...

You're aware of his mouth on you; on your throat, your collarbones, your nipples, then he moves his fingers a little more and you're aware of nothing beyond your own pleasure, your cunt weeping onto the thick digits as he continues to move them, not stopping until he's absolutely certain you're through it.

"So fuckin' pretty for me, baby. You want to come sit on my cock now?"

Slowly, slowly, he slides his fingers out, enjoys the dazed look on your face as you nod; your ruined panties are dragged down, tossed aside, then you're there, intimately close as he lines himself up, catches the tip of his cock at your soaked entrance.

He lets you sink down onto him with little to no guidance; groans when your hips meet far sooner than he expected. 

"Fuck, there's a good girl-"

You make a sound of assent, wriggle in his lap to get comfortable, only serving to make his cock twitch inside you and drag another pretty little sound out.

"You like how it feels?" He knows you do, can tell by the way your pussy tightens around him, trying to pull him in deeper, but he wants to hear you say it, almost needs the ego boost.

"Y-yeah," you breathe out, then, "Joel-"

His name is drawn out, a half plea for something that he isn't quite sure about.

"What d'you need, honey?"

"Need you to move," your voice is almost demanding, somewhere between pleading and insistent, but you'll get what you want regardless.

Joel keeps his hands on your hips, giving you some semblance of control still, but he starts to move, slowly rocking his hips up as you rest your forehead against his.

So maybe it's not what he first pictured, not what he'd have done to you ten years ago, but it doesn't quite matter to him, not when he can feel how wet and tight you are around him, hear every single pathetic little noise you make for him.

Your fingers drag through greying curls, tugging lightly; you're rewarded with another low groan, more like a growl, as his hips snap upwards sharply against yours. You don't get to savour that victory, too preoccupied by the suddenly rougher pace.

"Fuck, Joel-" You gasp and he laughs, tightens his grip on your ass to bounce you on his cock just that little bit harder, faster, hitting all the right places inside.

"That's it, good girl," he presses greedy, open mouthed kisses to your throat, keeping up the pace, feeling you tightening around him and knowing without a doubt that you're close already, so worked up for him that tipping you over the edge will be almost easy.

"Such a tight, sweet little cunt, baby, made to take my cock, weren't you?" The filthy words pour out before he can stop them, but you're responsive to those, too, clinging to him, moaning as his cock hits your sweet spot again and again,  getting you closer; you try to hold it off, don't want this to be over yet. But God if it isn't difficult.

Joel can feel you trying not to cum, can feel you holding yourself back.

"C'mon, sweetheart, go ahead and cum for me.  Y'really think this is gonna be the only time I give you my cock, sweet girl? Fuck, gonna keep this pretty pussy full of me til you get sick of it."

You gasp a moan, because there's no way in hell you could ever get tired of this, of the hint of roughness and the burning passion with which he handles you. 

Regardless, once he gives you that permission, even though you didn't need it, your resolve breaks; he presses in deep, grinds his hips against yours so the coarse curls at the base of him brush your over-sensitive clit, and then you're gone, spots in your vision as you cling to him, your cunt fluttering and throbbing around the thick cock splitting you open as your release drips down him, soaking his lap. 

Joel groans, almost cums right there, because he can count on both hands and feet how long it's been since he made a woman cum so hard, felt a pussy spasm around his cock and gush fluids into his lap.  Fuck, if he doesn't love it.

"Not gonna last much longer, sweetheart," he warns, voice low and rough as he rubs circles on your back, trying to get you through it whilst holding back his own release.

"Please-" Your voice is hoarse, eyes wide and pleading as you look at him, not bothering to finish your sentence and instead leaning in to kiss him.

It's the kiss that pushes him over the edge; years of rough, emotionless encounters, against walls. Bent over surfaces. And here you are, younger than him, softer somehow, kissing him like he's someone good and deserving.

He knows he should pull out of you but it's too late, his cock aches and twitches inside you as his release fills your still fluttering cunt, breaking the kiss only so he can rest his head on your shoulder and try to breathe.

Then your hands are in his hair again, stroking through the soft curls, getting him through the aftermath of his climax with the same gentle touch he gave you.

"Joel," you whisper his name and this time it's not a plea, not an impassioned moan, just your voice being gentle as you continue to stroke his hair.

"Hm?" He's content to just stay like this, actually, even if his joints are starting to protest. He'll deal with that later for another five, ten, fifteen minutes of this with you.

"You don't fuck like an old man." Your voice is soft. Sleepy. Like he's fucked any fire inside you out of you, lulled you into a sense of safety.

Joel can't help it. He laughs, a proper laugh that barely anyone gets out of him these days.

"Guess not, huh."

He feels his softening cock slip out of you, wraps his arms around you and tucks you against his chest.

"Can we do this again?" You dare to ask, because you're feeling sleepy and stupid and high on him, on the feeling of his seed slowly dripping down your thighs as he presses little kisses to your head.

Joel looks down at you for a moment, understands you don't mean right now, but in a sort of ambiguous future way.

"Yeah, sweetheart. Whenever you want. You want a blanket or something?"

Because inexplicably he's worried that you might be cold, as if he's only been watching you to think with his cock and doesn't actually, possibly, maybe care.

You shake your head and nuzzle back into his chest.

"Can we just stay like this for a minute?" You ask instead, and Joel nods, because he really does need to catch his breath, and even if his knees are protesting, he doesn't give a damn, because you're nice and warm in his lap and you fit there just right, like you were made to fit there.

"Yeah, baby. As long as you want."

It won't occur to him until maybe a week or so later, when you're picking strawberries in the greenhouse, that that should have been the moment he realised he was a total, utter goner.

[hismercytomyjustice]

Ngl I really enjoyed Via’s arc in Sinsmas. She is just SO MUCH like her father that it both delights and hurts me lol.

Their relationship is an interesting take on struggling to try to break the cycle of abuse/neglect.

Stolas grew up with his father not even knowing his name or showing him a shred of affection. He was a means to an end, a tool. The only way he’s ever received any kind of acknowledgement from his father is by doing his duty. Mastering his powers, entering into an arranged marriage, and producing an heir.

You can just so clearly see how he is trying SO HARD to give Via a different life. He wants them to be a family. For her to never doubt her parents love her. To be the father he never had.

To the point he shoves his own wants and needs so far down that he is barely holding on.

Via going from accusing him of not loving her to realizing that he loves her so much that he forced himself to play the role of a good father and husband. To the point he destroyed himself for her…

And that realization just devastates her.

Stolas getting involved with Blitz was the culmination of decades of forcing himself to be the person everyone else expected him to be. He feels he can’t be loved, but he can be useful. And maybe if he’s useful enough, people will care about him.

The reason his connection with Blitz is so strong is because both of them feel that way. The difference is that Blitz was able to create his own found family (tho it took him ages to realize it lol) while Stolas has always been alone. They’re two sides of the same coin. And while Blitz has spent the past few years healing, Stolas has been descending further into darkness because he doesn’t have that same support.

Via has absorbed so many of his insecurities. Especially the fear of not being loved or wanted despite Stolas trying SO HARD to be the perfect father to her. But he’s not. He can never be because he forgot the old adage of “put your oxygen mask on first before helping anyone else.”

I think that definitely can come across as him being neglectful of her. But to me it speaks to his desperation to be such a good father to her that he tries to hold himself to IMPOSSIBLE standards.

He doesn’t fail Via because he doesn’t care. He fails her because he keeps setting up these unrealistic expectations for their relationship. He massively overextends himself and puts his own wants and desires on the back burner so often that his life is imploding around him out of his control.

He doesn’t miss the stars with her because he doesn’t care. He misses them because he’s struggling to put his life back together after finally taking some initiative for himself. He’s trying to deal with the fallout of wanting a divorce from Stella, but he’s waited so long and he’s so overwhelmed by it all that the date slips his mind. And the instant he realizes what’s happened, he drops everything and goes looking for her.

Via keeps watching him make these promises he struggles with or fails to keep and doesn’t realize until she finds all of the happy pills how much he’s overextended himself for her sake. And because she’s her father’s daughter, she immediately thinks she’s at fault. She thinks he would be happier if he hadn’t forced himself to play house all these years for her sake.

She’s not wrong. If he’d separated from Stella years before, they’d probably all be better off. But he didn’t because of his sense of duty. Stolas’s problem is that he never advocates for himself until he reaches his literal breaking point. By then, the damage is more of a tsunami than a ripple because now his meticulously crafted house of cards is falling down around him faster than he can pick up the pieces.

Via is right that he would have been happier, but not for the reasons she thinks. He did it because he loved her, not out of obligation for her. And also because he is deeply broken and flawed.

Via’s dealing with a lot of complicated emotions too. Her father was willing to sacrifice himself for his affair partner, which she initially believes means he’s picking Blitz over her. But really it’s just Stolas trying to save the only other person in his life who understands him and who maybe cares about him.

How could he live with himself if he let Blitz die?

And it’s not like Stolas has time to sit down and think of a rational plan. He rushes to the trial because Blitz is literally about to be decapitated. And then he saves him the only way he knows how. I think part of him was also convinced that, as much as he loves Via, she might actually be better off without him because he is a wreck. He’s convinced he’s ruined his life and the lives of everyone around him.

I think this is why he doesn’t fight Stella much for custody of Via. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he genuinely thinks Stella is a more stable parent than he is and that Via will be better off with her as a result. The man also lacks a backbone too tho because his self worth is -9000.

But then Stolas doesn’t get executed. And the consequences of his actions hit him like a ton of bricks once the adrenaline and panic wears off. He saved Blitz, but at what cost? And, based on his statement in Sinsmas, it sounds like he would’ve done it all over again if given the chance. Because he’s the one who let Blitz use his grimoire even though he knew it was wrong. Because Blitz was in danger of dying because of him. And because he has a very strong sense of morality and justice too.

Dying in Blitzo’s place was a spur of the moment decision and once the dust cleared, Stolas realized how everything he’s tried to do to keep his shit together has fallen apart at the seams and now everyone knows it.

All Via can see when she looks at him now is that he’s hit rock bottom because of her. Again, not true. But Stolas has tried so hard to give her this idyllic family life, thinking that was the best thing he could do for her. Not realizing that she could see the cracks forming. She just didn’t understand why there were cracks until now.

I don’t think Via actually hates him. I think she hates herself. Convinced she’s the reason he’s hit rock bottom. Why couldn’t she see how much he was suffering? Why would he suffer so much for her? So she’s taking herself out of the equation, just like he tried to with Blitz. If she’s not in his life anymore, maybe he’ll stop killing himself to try to make her happy. Maybe he’ll stop being so miserable.

I think a big part of their arc together has been her going from thinking of Stolas as this perfect and larger than life figure to seeing him start to crumble and now getting a peek behind the curtain and realizing how much of that wasn’t real. And it scares and upsets her that her dad isn’t the perfect person he’s tried to be for her. He’s broken and hurting and she doesn’t know what to do to help because he’s spent her whole life focusing on her.

Not to say that he’s done that well. He genuinely hasn’t. He’s overcorrected so hard that he’s fucked her up in a completely different way because he’s overextended himself. He pushed himself until the illusion of a perfect happy family cracked along with him. He’s also made it difficult for her to know how to help him because he’s sheltered her so much.

I think this sometimes makes Stolas come across as selfish. He seemingly “ruined” his marriage and his relationship with his daughter for Blitz. But really it was just the pendulum swinging wildly in the opposite direction. He was so starved for happiness and connection that now he’s trying to live two separate lives and it’s just not possible and he’s falling apart even faster.

Stolas was so desperate for affection and to be of use that he lets Blitz have his grimoire, under the impression Blitz is attracted to him because Blitz literally tried to seduce him to get it. He also does all of the dirty talk because he thinks Blitz likes it.

I think he initially sets the terms for the grimoire usage because he thinks it’s a price Blitz is more than willing to pay because he showed up trying to seduce him. I think he l also just really wants an excuse to see/spend time with Blitz too. It doesn’t even cross his mind that Blitz might want anything other than sex from him. He’s once again playing a role based on what he thinks is expected of him.

It’s not until Stolas discovers he’s starting to develop feelings for Blitz that he realizes their arrangement is wrong. And the moment he realizes it, he immediately tries to make amends. He hopes Blitz will admit he has feelings for him too, but is willing to step away if not. But he also cares about him so much, he makes sure to give him the Asmodean Crystal so he can freely make the choice.

Meanwhile he has no idea Blitz will just view this as another person trying to abandon him or look down on him. Because Blitz struggles with self worth too and believes the only way people will care about him is if he can be useful. Blitz has a deep seated fear of abandonment while Stolas fears no one could ever love him just for himself. He offers Blitz the crystal to let him know his feelings are genuine and to gauge Blitz’s too.

All of this is to say that I think Via and Stolas will reconcile, hopefully sooner rather than later. I think Via needs some time to process who her father actually is vs who she thought he was. And both of them need to be able to forgive themselves/grant themselves some grace so they can finally meet each other in the middle like Stolas has finally managed with Blitz. Stolas needs to accept Via is grown up now and he can’t shield her from the negatives of the world forever. Meanwhile Via needs to understand everything doesn’t have to be so black and white.

[htaesan]

　ᅠ ✿　ᅠ WHERE NO ONE KNOWS ME 　　────　ᅠ ( lee heeseung )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀after a long day of relentless fame, you find yourself in the comfort of a small cosy coffee shop, only to be met with a barista who treats you like any other person. in his quiet kindness, you find something worth living for again𑁋a place to be unknown, and maybe the start of something more.

　　　ᅠ 이희승 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 1.4k ⠀ genre fluff meet cute barista au non idol au ⠀ contains mentions of food ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net

　　　ᅠ note ᅠ from ᅠ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈 ! ᅠ i.. have no idea how i managed to pull this off amidst having like 10 reports to write but i pulled through !! happy birthday @flwrstqr, this is for you !

　　　ᅠ ＞︿ 　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

THE city lights blur around you as you step out of the car, pulling your mask over your face. You sigh, taking in the view around you—everyone is busy with their own lives. Some are walking, hand in hand with their partner; some are on the phone, talking to someone on the other side with no care in the world; and some are enjoying a stroll through the city’s nightlife. Ordinary, simple, tranquil. 

And that is all you want. 

Your schedule has been busy these past few months—brand deals rushing in like a massive flood, photo shoots every other day, interviews here and there, paparazzi and flashing cameras everywhere you go, people recognising you and taking videos of you anywhere. You didn’t expect it to turn out like this. You didn’t expect that your debut album, filled with songs which lyrics you heartfully wrote and melodies you intricately built, would blow up almost instantly over the course of three weeks. And the hype hasn’t died down, even after six months. It just got bigger and bigger. 

It’s not like you don’t like it—your fame is what you rightfully deserve after all the sleepless nights working to make sure your debut is as perfect as possible. But now, you’re tired, and it’s like your life isn’t yours anymore. 

You take a deep breath, eyes glued to the café in front of you. It looks cosy, tucked into one of the only quiet streets of the city. The warm glow radiating from its windows pulled your interest. You walk towards its entrance, realising that this place is near your apartment, but you’ve never had the time to visit. Not until now. 

You push the café door open, the warm air bursting against your face. You scan the small space—there’s a few customers, but so far, none of them are paying attention to you.

You gulp. You can’t let your guard down just yet. 

You approach the register, lowering your cap down as you instinctively prepare to lower your voice—an attempt to mask your well-known identity, even though the entire country already knows who you are just from one look at your eyes. 

From the other side of the counter, the barista is cleaning a mug. He looks a little too stylish—perhaps a little too good looking to be working in such a tranquil place. He perks up at your presence, and you immediately look at the name tag pinned against his apron. 

Heeseung. 

“Welcome,” he says, his smile polite and his voice calm. You narrow your eyes at the black-haired man in front of you. 

He didn’t let out any gasp of recognition, and there wasn’t any frantic energy radiating out of him. 

You pause. 

This is new. This is weird. 

“What would you like to order?” he asks, fingers ready to key in your order into the iPad in his hand. 

You clear your throat, ordering a drink and a dessert for yourself, your voice steady but alarmingly cautious. 

“A caramel latte and a pavlova, please.”

“Alright. Name?”

The world goes silent for a minute. You look around rather anxiously. For a moment, you think everyone’s listening. 

“Elle,” you lie. 

You watch as Heeseung raises a brow at the way you’re eyeing him, but he doesn’t do anything about it. He keys in whatever you’ve told him, then he nods at you before turning to make your order. 

You linger at the counter for quite a while before retreating to a table at the corner of the café, away from everyone else. 

It’s weird. Why is he treating you like any other person here? Doesn’t he know who you are?

You sink into your chair, letting the cushions embrace you. You lean against it, letting the exhaustion settle in. The day’s events rush to your head, and it makes you feel like you’re spinning. 

And it makes you question Heeseung too. 

Every second you’re outside, you have to keep your guard up, in case of anything. You can’t really do what you like, afraid that it’d make you face ridicule. You have to make sure you’re always donned up, and you have to make sure you’re following all of the other ridiculous rules society sets upon you—you never know when people are watching. 

But why isn’t Heeseung treating you like everyone else does? Why doesn’t he treat you like you’re the most perfect person on earth? Why isn’t he analysing your every move, waiting for some kind of mistake that he could bring you down with?

“Excuse me,” Heeseung’s voice rings through your ears, and as you eyes flutter open, you don’t realise you’ve been dozing off. He gives you a polite smile, a tray with your drink and your dessert in hand. 

“Here’s your order, Elle,” he says, setting down the mug and plate on the table. “Enjoy.” 

You sit there, frozen as you don’t know what to do.

Then, as he’s about to turn to leave, the question that’s been lingering around in your head leaves your mouth without you realising. “Do you know who I am?”

Heeseung pauses. “Yeah.”

“Who am I, then?” you ask, and albeit the awkwardness, you meet his eyes.

“You’re Y/N,” he replies, his voice quieter this time. 

Your chest tightens. 

“Then… why aren’t you acting like everyone else?”

Heeseung gives you a small smile, and you feel goosebumps jolting through your body. “Because you’re you. You’re a celebrity, you’re a talented singer, and you’re beautiful—I admit that. But I don’t see why I have to make you uncomfortable over those facts.”

Your eyes widen, and something begins to stir in your chest. 

When you don’t reply, Heeseung’s smile shifts from something more genuine back to his polite, customer-service smile. He turns and walks away, leaving you watching him in a complete daze. 

Your heart is hammering against your chest, more violently than you expected it to. 

When was the last time someone ever saw you as just a person, not as a celebrity?  

You take a glance at Heeseung, who’s back to his work behind the counter. Suddenly, you notice everything—the way his sleeves are rolled up at just the perfect angle, the way his brows furrow when he’s focused on making another drink, and the way his black hair falls on his forehead, and the way he looks just… perfect. Cute, even. 

You remember his small smile, and the way it tingles you in a way you’ve never felt before.

Your fingers tighten around the warm mug. 

For some reason, this fuzzy feeling that’s filling up your heart feels rare. 

You don’t even realise you’ve finished your latte, and that your pavlova is completely devoured. You’re too lost in thought to even realise how much time you’ve spent in the cosy little café.

Quickly, you take your things and pull your mask up to your nose. For some reason, you hesitate as you approach the counter. 

But then, some kind of nervous energy rushes through you, and you quickly scribble a note on the napkin you’re holding. 

Thanks for your kindness. It made my day. 

You hand Heeseung the money, slipping the note with it. 

Heeseung immediately notices the napkin. He looks down, his eyes scanning the words.

When he looks back up, your eyes meet, and you give him a small eye smile. “See you next time,” you say softly. 

And for the first time in a long while, you actually mean it. 

Heeseung watches you walk out the door of his café, the small bell hanging on top of it chiming as the door closes. He leans against the counter, fingers tracing the edge of the folded napkin. Once you’re out of his sight, and the café settles back into its usual rhythm, his focus turns to the note. He unfolds the napkin, his eyes scan the neat handwriting. He chuckles—there’s something just adorable about it.

Thank you for your kindness. 

He smiles. 

It made my day. 

The quiet smile on Heeseung’s lips grows larger. His mind replays the memory of you: how you looked so at peace, sipping the hour away at the corner of the café that he worked hard to establish. He remembers looking at you, and in the midst of admiring how pretty you actually are, he realises that you’re different from what the media made you out to be. Quieter, maybe. Softer. More beautiful, definitely. Less of the dazzling, perfect, and untouchable figure he sees on the billboard everywhere he goes. Instead, you’re more… human. 

His gaze flickers to the door, where you stood a few moments ago. 

Would you come again?

He dearly hopes so. 

― © htaesan, 2025.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

[ohmygraves]

it started off as a prank.

soap and gaz were fooling around, really. nothing too serious, not expecting much from it. hell, the account was in soap's phone. ghost didn't even know anything about it.

the two created a tinder account for the lieutenant, just to see what kind of people would be so inclined to message a masked man like him.

photos were taken candidly, most of it from soap's own stash (don't ask). something more serious was cropped from group pictures, from either the bar or during a mission. gaz thought of the introduction, with little embellishments to make it more ridiculous. the goal was to see how many would swipe right to the scary, masked lieutenant.

of course, the sergeants were surprised to see so many match notifications, to the point that soap's phone would just erupt with notification sounds, even during briefings. safe to say, the poor scot got in trouble, and ended up turning off the notification for the app.

most of the matches seems to be coming from a place of lust, a lot of requests of one night stands or fuck buddies (what is it with people who liked masked men, the two thought). many seemed very forward and to the point with what they wanted. it was ridiculous trying to scroll through the first messages and reading them one by one.

but then there's you.

you: hello, i feel like i've seen you before. are you staying at the base near (location)?

soap and gaz thought your first message was interesting. it could be that you knew the lieutenant somewhere, or had seen him at least once. you seem to be a real person too, judging from your profile. photos of you indicated as such.

gaz wanted to call it quits, ghosts you just like every other match that they received, but soap wanted to take it a step further, even if gaz was completely against the idea. bickering for a while, soap ended up sending a text, and that's how you started talking to "ghost".

ghost: yeah. do i know you from somewhere?

soap had expected it to be a flirting attempt, though he was surprised to see an actual answer.

you: oh, i think i've seen you a few times outside of the base.

you: i frequent the café nearby ^^

oh, you're so cute and innocent, soap kinda felt bad for lying now.

ghost: i see

ghost: perhaps i'll see you sometime too? ;)

soap got addicted to posing as ghost. the two of you texted back and forth during his break, sometimes even at night. soap stayed up and missed some sleep just for some elaborate joke that kept going and going, and gaz was just tuning into the drama too.

everything was fun at first, not everyday the scot got to roleplay as the lieutenant, especially since the man was such a dry texter. it was funny trying to come up with an awkward reply or even just flat messages when talking to you. you were just so nice and oblivious to it though.

soap nearly lost his marbles when you asked to meet up in the cafe near the base, and asked when it was possible. you knew that soldiers frequently are given a leave, so perhaps "ghost" would love to meet you when he had the time. the scot was sure that he went too far this time, earning "i told you so" look from gaz even when he's clearly also enjoying the shenanigans.

they decided that it's finally time to come clean to the man in question.

ghost, of course, was furious. not only that this was a violation of privacy, soap and gaz had wasted a random person's time because of some elaborate joke that went too far. now they even want to meet with him too.

soap thought that the only way to fix this was just to inform you as well. it was only fair as you're also affected by this. hell, he didn't even know that his "casual" flirting (which was a loose term considering ghost's texting habits that soap adapted for this roleplay) would be enjoyed by someone, even getting the lieutenant a date too. the scot insisted that you two still meet anyway, and that he would be there too to apologize.

ghost, of course, was definitely against it. he had been dragged into this against his will, and it's not like he had the time too. why would he entertain the two sergeants who got him into this mess—

but perhaps just a cup of tea with a beautiful person like you would be nice... perhaps...

reluctantly, ghost agreed to the date, letting soap talk to you to set up a time and place. while looking at your pictures and the past conversations, he didn't seem to mind that he's now on some sort of a blind date...

[sst4rdst]

synopsis : your family arranged your marriage to childe, the eleventh harbinger of the fatui, due to financial hardships, and now you are bound to him as his spouse. pairing : childe x reader (no gendered pronouns used for reader) warnings : yandere themes, unhealthy relationships. author's note : got a little carried away with this one oops, sorry, it might happen again.

[ scaramouche version ]

you don’t remember when your life stopped feeling like your own. perhaps it was the moment your parents sat you down in the dimly lit drawing room, voices careful, measured, lips curling around words like duty and family as if trying to soften the inevitable blow. perhaps it was when the contract was placed in front of you, thick parchment with ink that had long since dried, sealing a fate you had no hand in choosing. or perhaps it was even earlier than that—before you knew his name, before you knew what it meant to be given away.

the tsaritsa’s harbinger. a man with a name spoken in equal parts fear and reverence. childe, they called him, though his real name was something softer, something ill-fitting for the bloodied path he walked. ajax, a name you only learned later, spoken in rare moments of vulnerability, whispered like something fragile, something not meant for you to hold onto. but it didn’t matter what he was called—only that he belonged to the fatui, only that he was dangerous, only that he was yours. 

or rather, that you were his.

you had met him only once before the wedding, a meeting arranged in the grand halls of your estate, where everything smelled faintly of desperation, of your family’s dwindling fortunes masked behind ornate furnishings and forced smiles.

he had arrived unannounced, without the pomp and spectacle one might expect of a man of his standing, dressed in dark fatigues that contrasted the opulence surrounding him. his presence was suffocating, not because he was outwardly cruel or unkind, but because he was too much. too confident, too self-assured, too at ease in a situation that had unraveled your entire world.

and then there was the way he looked at you.

it wasn’t love—not in the way fairy tales spoke of, not in the way little girls dreamed of when imagining their futures. it was something else entirely, something far more unsettling. interest, amusement, possession. a hunter’s gaze locking onto prey, not in an overtly threatening way, but in a way that left no room for escape. his smile had been easy, practiced, charming in a way that made you wonder how many people had fallen for it before you.

and then, in a voice dripping with amusement, he had said, “i hope you won’t make this too difficult.”

difficult. as if you had any say in the matter. as if you could change the outcome by sheer will alone.

the wedding had been swift, devoid of sentiment, the kind of affair that was meant to cement alliances rather than celebrate love. you had been dressed in the finest silks, adorned in jewelry that did little to disguise the hollowness in your chest.

the ceremony itself had passed in a blur—an exchange of vows that meant nothing, a kiss that barely grazed your lips, a hand placed against the small of your back that was just firm enough to remind you that there was no turning back.

and now, you are here. his home, your home now, though the word feels foreign on your tongue. the estate is grand, a testament to his wealth, to the power he holds within the fatui.

it is quieter than you expected, devoid of unnecessary extravagance, yet there is something undeniably suffocating about it. maybe it’s the knowledge that you are alone here, trapped in a life you did not choose. maybe it’s the weight of his presence, a constant, inescapable force lingering just out of sight. you barely see him during the day, but you feel him.

a brush of fingertips against your wrist when he passes by, a weighty gaze that follows you even when you pretend not to notice. he does not demand your affection, does not force his presence upon you, but his patience is not born of kindness. no, it is the patience of a man who enjoys the chase, of someone who knows that time is on his side.

"you’re unhappy." his voice cuts through the silence one evening, casual, conversational, yet laced with something heavier beneath the surface. he leans against the doorway, watching you with that same unreadable expression, head tilted just slightly. "i expected that much, but i have to admit, i thought you’d have warmed up to me by now."

there is no malice in his tone, no anger—just curiosity, as if he is studying a puzzle he has yet to solve.

you swallow hard, gripping the edge of the chair you sit in. "what do you expect, childe?" the name tastes foreign in your mouth, too personal, too familiar for a man who still feels like a stranger. "you bought me like a commodity. what reaction were you hoping for?"

for a moment, he says nothing. then, he laughs. it is a soft, breathy sound, something genuine, something that unsettles you more than outright cruelty would. "bought?" he echoes, amused, pushing off the doorway and taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. "that’s not entirely fair. i didn’t buy you—i saved you. do you think your family would have lasted another year with their debts?"

his words sting because they are true.

"would you have preferred another husband?" he muses, stopping just before you, close enough that you can see the shift in his expression—the flicker of something darker beneath the easy smile. "a greedy noble twice your age? or maybe some merchant with wandering hands? at least i’m young. at least i care about what’s mine."

you bristle at the implication, jaw tightening. "i don’t belong to you."

childe hums, reaching out, fingers brushing the curve of your jaw—gentle, but unmistakably possessive. "no," he concedes, "not yet."

it is a warning. a promise. a game he fully intends to win.

the room feels smaller with him this close, the space between you insignificant, irrelevant, nonexistent. you don’t want to move, because moving means acknowledging the tension, means playing into the game he’s laid out before you, and yet, staying still is somehow worse. because he watches you like you are already his, like your resistance is nothing more than a delay, a brief inconvenience to a victory he is certain of.

his fingers linger against your jaw, a featherlight touch that betrays the force lying dormant beneath it. you know what he is capable of. you know the stories, the whispers of what the harbingers do to those who oppose them. and yet, there is no outward malice in his touch—only patience, amusement, a quiet kind of satisfaction that makes your stomach twist into knots.

"you don’t have to like me," childe murmurs, tilting his head slightly, as if examining you from a different angle, searching for a crack in your resolve. "not yet, anyway. that part will come later."

the audacity of it makes your breath hitch, your fingers curling against the fabric of your sleeve. you should snap at him, push him away, do something to make it clear that you are not a willing participant in whatever twisted fantasy he’s weaving. and yet, the words stick in your throat, because, deep down, you know they wouldn’t change a thing.

childe isn’t the type to be swayed by defiance. if anything, he welcomes it.

his hand finally falls away, as if he’s indulged himself enough for now, as if he has already won something just by standing here, just by making you react. he takes a step back, not far enough to give you relief, but enough to make you realize how much closer he had been than you’d allowed yourself to notice.

"get some rest," he says, as though this is just an ordinary conversation between spouses, as though there isn’t an entire chasm of resentment and fear between you. "you look exhausted."

and then he’s gone, leaving you to unravel in the silence, heart pounding, hands trembling, the ghost of his touch still burning against your skin.

you do not see him for days after that. or rather, you do not speak to him. his presence is everywhere, woven into the very fabric of this house, a constant reminder of the reality you now inhabit.

servants move with quiet efficiency, always polite, always distant. you learn quickly that they do not see you as their patron, not in the way that should matter. their loyalty lies with childe, and though they treat you with the respect your position demands, you know that none of them would dare disobey him for your sake.

it is suffocating. and yet, a strange sense of relief settles in the absence of his direct attention. you begin to navigate the estate cautiously, taking solace in the gardens where the air is fresher, where the walls do not feel quite as close. you avoid the grand halls, the spaces where his presence is strongest, and for a brief moment, you convince yourself that this life, while miserable, is at least bearable.

then the gifts begin. at first, they are small. a necklace draped over your vanity, delicate silver with a deep blue gemstone, the color eerily reminiscent of his eyes. then, a silk shawl, impossibly soft, folded neatly at the foot of your bed.

the gestures are not extravagant, not enough to make a spectacle of, but they are persistent. unrelenting. you do not thank him. you do not acknowledge them. but you know that he is watching. and you know that he is waiting.

the inevitable confrontation comes late one evening, when the house is quiet, when the world outside is blanketed in darkness. you had thought yourself alone in the sitting room, curled beneath the glow of the fireplace, trying to lose yourself in a book you barely comprehend. but the air shifts before you hear his footsteps, the faintest change in pressure that sets your teeth on edge, that tells you that he is here.

"you don’t like the gifts."

his voice is light, conversational, but there is something beneath it—something sharp, something dangerous. you do not turn to look at him, keeping your eyes fixed on the pages before you, fingers curling against the binding.

"you don’t have to give me anything."

a chuckle, low and amused, as he steps further into the room. "that’s not what i asked."

you finally glance up, and there he is—leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable save for the glint of amusement in his eyes. it is infuriating, the ease with which he exists in this space, as if he hasn’t uprooted your entire life, as if he belongs here.

you inhale slowly, measured, keeping your voice steady. "what do you expect, childe? that i’ll wear your gifts and suddenly fall at your feet?"

his lips twitch into something that is not quite a smirk, not quite a frown. "no," he says, and then, after a pause, "but it’s a start."

you want to scream. you want to throw the book in your hands at his face, want to shatter the illusion of patience he so carefully maintains. but you do none of those things, because you know, deep down, that he is waiting for you to break.

and so, you turn back to your book. ignoring him was a mistake.

before you can react, he is there, closing the distance between you in a single step, his hand gripping the arm of the chair, leaning down just enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your temple. "you can pretend all you want," he murmurs, voice soft, almost gentle. "but you’ll have to talk to me eventually."

your pulse hammers against your ribs, but you force yourself to remain still. "and if i don’t?"

he hums, as if considering it, before his fingers brush against yours—not harsh, not forceful, but firm enough to remind you of what he is here, even if you try to ignore him.

"then i’ll just have to try harder," he muses, his grip tightening, just barely. "you’re my one and only, after all."

it is a claim, a reminder, a leash tightening around your throat. and no matter how much you struggle, you know that he will never let you go.

[sexydoffyman]

Weird request but how would TF141+König and Alejandro react to meeting an orphan around 15 years of age who's like extremely talented in engineering, mathematics and physics, like they could build a rocket if they had the materials ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It can be HC, whatever you want! I was thinking maybe said orphan got in trouble with the government for unknowingly building some sort of weapon, maybe it was stolen? Twist that however you wish.

Just ignore this ask if you wanna <3

A KID?

genre: action

characters: König, Simon Riley, John MacTavish, Alejandro Vargas, Kyle Garrick

A/n: expect a lot more mistakes. Also thinking this needs a second part.

It’s been 6 years now since the war began. You were left stranded. All by yourself. Left on your own by everyone. Living was hard, but you pulled through. You learned how to do a lot of shit since you were there only with yourself for some time. Building stuff. That was your biggest interest.

You were constantly making things. New weapons mostly. You were always moving, never staying in one place for too long. You got brutal throughout the years you were alone. You took the uniform of a dead soldier. To blend in. You were mistaken for a recruit and pulled inside a helicopter by a military dude.

The military was a great provider of food and healthcare. So you just went along with everything they threw at you. Your knowledge of building shit helped out a lot. And even when some dude figured out you were a kid he let you stay.

The same dude put you in a task force with a man he trusted. You were cautious of everyone in there, but at least you had some people who you could trust a bit.

You picked up how things work from the years of pretending to be a soldier. Pretending to be an adult was getting easier and the task force you were assigned to found a place in your heart.

“There’s gotta be a way.” You finally snapped out of thinking about life before the war. You thought that the military would be a great cover. But now all your hope of making it out alive hit zero. You were stuck and with gas slowly filling the room that you and the others were in you knew your chances of survival were low.

You sat in the corner of the room. You had given up a few minutes ago already. The others were still trying to figure something out.

Suddently you felt something inside of you snap. You were not gonna die today. It must’ve been the panicking of the rough men infront of you that made you have that feeling. You started to search for a solution.

You found a small vent. It was too small to fit a grown man in, but you were not a grown man. You took off your gear and crawled into the vent unnoticed by your team.

You finally got to use the skills you gained. You crawled through the vent and dropped down from the ceiling right on the other side of a door that the rest of your team was trying to open. You managed to get inside some kind of an electrical system. You cut some wires and reconnected some other ones. The door opened with a space in between the doors just a centimeter big.

Grabbing a metal piece from the electrical you prayed the door open. You were met with the looks of your crew. You looked down and put your hand above your forehead to block your face. By now all of them realized that you weren't of age.

You ran into the room to grab your gear while your team gave each other a disgusted glance. “We need to get out of here ASAP,” you said as you walked away from the room. Price grabbed you by the shoulder to stop you. You turned to him with your mask on now.

“How old are you?” he was looking at you worriedly while he said that. You didn’t know what to answer and so after a few stutters you answered “Classified” This only made them feel more curious.

It has been days since that mission and nobody brought up the fact that you were a kid. You did notice that Price stopped shouting orders at you and started just saying them in a normal calm tone. Soap was making more small talk with you than usual. Ghost was staying closer to you, knowing you might not be able to fend off an enemy. Gaz was making sure to double-check your gear.

When you teamed up with Mexican special forces and met Alejandro you were given tasks that you’d be on with multiple people.

When you were stranded from the team, finding your way to a spot they could locate you at, you met another dude. Austrian and huge. Big dude. He was your enemy, but it didn’t take him long to find out that an adult dude would have a little more strength than you did. He forced your mask off and found out that you were in fact a kid.

Instead of killing you, he spared you. Helping you locate your tram instead of them having to look for you.

Would you survive the next missions? That you don’t know. But you do know that you don’t have to worry about pretending to be an adult.

[aventurineswife]

I just got an idea, the hsr men (you're choice) with a reader who is like Miyo from the Netflix anime my happy marriage

Echoes of a Heart Unseen

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Miyo Saimori (from My Happy Marriage) based Reader, Comfort, Self-worth, Emotional healing, Tenderness, Insecurity, Gentle encouragement, Character development, Slow burn.

Warnings: Mild emotional distress (insecurity, self-doubt), Sensitive themes (self-worth, past trauma), Heavy themes of emotional growth, Gentle romantic undertones.

Aventurine leaned casually against the door frame, his eyes watching you with interest as you timidly set about preparing a meal for him. There was an elegance to your movements, even in your silence, something that drew his attention despite himself. He wasn’t used to people who lacked a strong sense of self, but there was something undeniably captivating about the quiet resilience you carried.

He had always prided himself on reading people—their fears, desires, and the lies they told themselves. Yet, with you, it was different. Your shy demeanor and hesitant actions spoke volumes of a painful past, one that had made you doubt your own worth. He couldn't quite place why, but there was something about you that awakened a strange sense of protectiveness within him.

“You know, for someone who claims to be… timid,” he remarked with a playful smirk, “you certainly know how to command attention with that cooking.”

You flinched at his words, lowering your gaze to the dish you were preparing. It was a quiet act, one that spoke of years of practice, but he could see the insecurity in your shoulders.

Aventurine took a slow step forward, his voice softening just a fraction. “I don't know what kind of cruel world you've lived in, but it’s obvious to me that you're capable of far more than you think. Don’t you realize how much of a gift it is to make something so beautiful with your own hands?”

His words were layered, calculated, but they lacked the usual mockery. For once, he wasn’t gambling with words; he was being sincere. The compliment, though simple, left you speechless, and he found himself intrigued by the way your eyes flickered with uncertainty, like a bird unsure whether to take flight.

“You don’t have to be silent all the time, you know," he added, his smile a little softer. "There’s strength in your silence, but there’s also power in your voice, should you choose to use it."

You looked up at him then, hesitation swirling in your gaze. He’d seen the way you shrank from confrontation, how you seemed to keep your distance from anyone who might get too close, but he saw something else too—something he had never let anyone see: your quiet fight.

Aventurine extended his hand, his fingers brushing against the edge of the table, almost like a dare, but one that seemed to speak more of a challenge to himself than to you. “The question is, will you be willing to take that step?”

For once, his words weren’t a game. There was no mask, no manipulation—only a gentle invitation to someone who seemed so used to being unseen, unheard, and unappreciated. You were so much more than what you allowed yourself to believe, and for the first time in his life, Aventurine was unsure whether he wanted to manipulate that or protect it.

The quiet hum of the Astral Express filled the air as Sunday stood by the window, looking out at the stars. His wings fluttered ever so slightly, an expression of inner turmoil that only he could understand. You stood beside him, a quiet presence that he had come to appreciate in the time you’d spent together.

You were not like the others; you never seemed to expect anything from him. There was a softness in your demeanor, a kind of timidity that reminded him of a part of himself he had long buried. You lacked the confidence that so many around him carried, but Sunday knew better than anyone that there was strength in the quiet ones—the ones who didn’t shout for attention but instead stayed in the background, offering support in their own way.

"You’ve been awfully quiet today," he murmured, his voice like a gentle breeze. He didn’t need to ask why; he could sense the weight you carried. It was something about the way you moved, how you kept your head low and your gaze averted.

You hesitated, your fingers nervously twisting a small piece of fabric in your hands, but Sunday didn’t push you. He waited patiently, the calmness of his presence offering a silent invitation for you to speak when you were ready.

“I—I just feel like I’m not good enough,” you confessed softly, almost too quietly for him to hear, but he caught the tremor in your voice. "I don’t know why I feel this way, but sometimes I feel like I’m just… a burden to everyone around me."

Sunday’s gaze softened, and for the briefest moment, you saw the vulnerability in his eyes. He had always been the one to hide his own pain, to bury it beneath layers of idealism and grand ideas, but in that moment, it felt as though he saw something in you that mirrored his own struggles.

“You are not a burden,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You matter. More than you realize.”

He stepped closer, though he didn’t touch you, his presence felt like an embrace. “Sometimes, the world makes us believe that our worth is defined by what we give, by what we can do for others. But that’s not the case. You are valuable just by being you.”

You looked up at him, your gaze meeting his, and there was something in his expression—something beyond his usual composed demeanor—that spoke of his own battles with self-worth.

“You are more than enough, and no one should make you feel otherwise,” he continued, his voice a whisper now, meant only for you. “You’re not alone, not while I’m here.”

His words, so quiet yet so certain, gave you something you hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. The faintest flicker of confidence began to stir in your chest, like the first breath of wind before a storm. It was small, but it was real, and it was yours to nurture.

The world around you often felt too loud, too harsh. People rushed past without a second glance, their voices carrying burdens of words you didn’t quite understand, much less have the courage to speak. Yet, the silence around you was different when you were with him.

Argenti was a man of honor, clad in armor that shimmered with an almost ethereal light, his eyes glowing with conviction and purpose. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to him. His presence was like a steady flame in a cold room—comforting, reassuring. He was everything you weren't: strong, confident, self-assured. It made you feel small and fragile, but at the same time, he never treated you as if you were anything less than worthy.

You had been struggling lately, the scars of your past still fresh and raw. The years of emotional neglect and the unspoken words of doubt that echoed in your mind every time you looked into a mirror made it hard to believe in yourself. You were still that person who had been beaten down by life, who thought of herself as a burden to others, as nothing more than an invisible shadow.

But with Argenti, things were different.

"Are you troubled, my dear?" His voice was soft, a stark contrast to the strength in his posture. His gaze was warm, understanding, though he said little. He never pushed you to speak, never demanded more than you were willing to give. Instead, he waited, patiently, allowing you the time to gather your thoughts.

You sat on the stone bench, your hands clasped in your lap, your heart racing under the weight of his stare. "I… I just… I feel like I’m not enough. That everything I do… doesn’t matter." The words spilled from you, as if they had been trapped inside for so long that they could no longer remain hidden.

Argenti knelt in front of you, his armor making a soft clang as it settled. He reached out, his large, gloved hand gently lifting your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes shimmered with a tenderness you had never expected to see in someone like him.

"You are enough," he said, his voice firm, unwavering. "You are a work of beauty, not because of how others see you, but because of the heart within you." His thumb brushed over your cheek, the touch so soft it almost seemed unreal. "You may not believe it now, but there is strength in your quiet, in your gentleness, in your ability to care even when others have hurt you."

You felt the knot in your throat tighten, the tears threatening to spill. You didn't deserve his kindness, yet here it was, like a blanket wrapping around you, soothing the very parts of you that had been broken.

"Your past does not define you, nor does the way others treated you. What matters is the path you choose now." Argenti’s words were like a balm, healing wounds you had long forgotten you carried. "You have the power to become the person you want to be. And I will walk beside you, guiding you, protecting you, if you will let me."

His words felt like a promise—a promise that he would never leave you, never abandon you like so many had before. There was something in the way he looked at you, something that told you he saw you for who you truly were, not for the brokenness you thought you held.

"I… I want to believe that," you whispered, the uncertainty still lingering in your voice. "But I'm so afraid of being wrong."

"You are not alone," Argenti said, his voice a low, soothing hum. "We are all afraid. But it is in overcoming that fear that we find our true strength."

With those words, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. You weren’t perfect, and you never would be. But in Argenti’s presence, you could begin to accept that you didn’t need to be. All that mattered was the journey ahead.

[babextoken]

Slow like Mold in the Vents in the Wall

✧・┈・chapter 1

pairing: vessel x fem!reader summary:  you're running from something (and your) and find yourself as the lone girl on staff at one of the few video rental stores left in the area. everyone sees you as good coworker, if not a bit of a wallflower, expect for one. Ves sees right through your mask. And you hate him for it. wc: 1.9k head's up: series, slowish burn, enemies to lovers, coworkers, plus size reader, nerd!vessel, rude!vessel, hitting on people at work, reader and ves are a bit unlikable, slightly jealous!vessel, gatekeeping, Taylor Swift slander (it was for the plot, I'm not interested in entertaining this), tragic reader backstory, idiots who aren't in love YET a/n: I am both terrified and excited to share this. it's a mix of requests, my own thoughts, and my own ways of working through things while keeping that boy in a situation ♡ 𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ Situation Enjoyers™: @lifemod17 @glitterghost @inv3ga-sustenna @adenobabe  @jeriiicho @milk--bones  @myaudiocommentary  @horsebiologist @intake-of-breath @fruitsandcheese @killed-by-thegods @goosepond69 @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @lynzeequitlollygagging @thatxxjiyong-ssi  @cloudy-soul @daddysaidbringthethunder  @evisnotok @cheomain @chaosandchaos @object-of-my-desire @dreamer-lost-in-wonderland @blvckmvgicwoman @canopies-of-gold-and-evergreen

recommended listening:

Vessel’s talking again. About nerd shit. Always with the nerd shit.

It started as a chat about video games. Sure, fine. Then it became video game soundtracks. Bit out there for some, ok. But then it veered to music. The question is posed, again, (because most zone out) about what kind of music Ves likes and makes on the side. But it only got worse. Everyone saw the change happen in slow motion; Vessel’s brows shot up, his dimples deepened, the normally soft spoken, stoic demeanor he had turned almost frantic. The music theory professor was in…and all because a sweet plump little thing beside him piped up saying, “An 11/8 time signature? That’s not even a real fraction!” 

Vessel didn’t know you yet. He saw you come in for your interview and onboarding but didn’t bother to approach you. Welcome you to the video store. At first he thinks you’re fucking with him. Busting his balls for the time signature thing, but you’re persistent. 

“No, seriously, how would that even sound? Come on, explain like we’re back in music class.”

The sheer glee radiating off this man could power a small country. He takes on a matter-of-fact but kind tone as he claps out the beats and explains what one could accomplish with such an interesting and complex and… It all fades out. You’re listening, yes, but you’re not retaining. The fact that you watched him go from a quiet participant in this little conversation you were cornered in to someone who was confident and expressive was, honestly, really hot. He’s tall enough that you have to lift your head a bit to look him in the eye, making you feel a bit like you’re being lectured. Guided. If the thought-police are real, they should put you away now because this is…really fucking hot. 

But Ves is none the wiser. He’s now moved on to name dropping bands that excel at weird time signatures and that even though math rock and progressive metal both utilize it they’re actually, in essence, quite different and that—

“You know, honestly,” you look around and whisper almost conspiratorially, “I don’t know any of the bands you just mentioned but—”

Vessel interrupts you, as nerdy boys on a roll are want to do. “Well, yes, that’s to be expected, but just because they—“

You raise your chin and your hand to stop him. “Hold on, I wasn’t done.” His face falls. Damnit. He’s done it again. He’s info-dumped too close to the sun to a new coworker, much less a GIRL. “I was going to say that maybe you could help me…expand my musical horizons,” you say with a tiny smirk. 

“Right! Right, yeah! Pull up your Spotify then and I’ll add some stuff for you.”

Years of being rejected allowed you to mask your disappointment. You shouldn’t be looking for a date at work and especially not at your brand new job. What you don’t realize is that Ves is masking, too. He won’t even give himself the chance to IMAGINE you’re dropping hints about a date. Instead of asking for clarification or, god forbid, explaining yourself further, you sheepishly take your phone out and let him start saving playlists and albums to your library. He hands your phone back, looking smug. 

“There we are…a much needed upgrade. Looks like you needed it…'This is Taylor Swift.’ Come now,” Vessel titters. “Listen to something that pushes the envelope.”

“Hah. Wow, alright.” You scoff with a humorless laugh. 

Oh. 

Cringe. 

Goddamnit. 

Vessel barely realizes now his sarcasm was NOT detected at all. He chuckles nervously and pats your shoulder. “Lighten up. Joking. I’m joking.”

“I actually meant we should spend some time together,” there’s a subtle emphasis on the phrase as your eyes roll back in exasperation, “and talk about it more. Get to know each other. Seems like we dodged a bullet then, hm?” 

Vessel stands there for a bit. Why did she want to wait until another time to talk about this?  Surely she’s just saying this because it’s like when you see an old friend and say “let’s get coffee” and then you never do and…wait. WAIT. “Do you…surely you don’t mean a…a date!” Vessel’s cheeks are stained maroon now from the sheer thought of a DATE. “This really did it for you? Hearing me drone on?”

Your face scrunches as if to say “dude, yes, obviously,” because to you it is obvious. Why not him? Yeah you just met him (and you’re at work. Please do not forget you’re at work) and he seemed fairly safe and nice, but maybe a bit of a gatekeeper-type? Or just a sarcastic jerk. All you know is that now you’re turned off a little. And Vessel’s just gawps at you. Thank god everyone else left to do closing duties when it was clear you two were having a one-on-one. No one needed to see you taking a joke too seriously and Vessel dropping the ball and probably missing out on one of those “for the plot” opportunities. It’s awkward now. Both of you had questionable dating history so no one really knows how to gracefully end the conversation (or have one, it seemed). And maybe you’ve got the right idea by just nodding and pursing your lips saying, “well…good talk,” and walking away to choose some tapes for your Staff Recommendations. 

Thus began the "Great Ignoring." It wasn’t to the point that you called in sick when you knew you were working with him, but you certainly felt a pit in your stomach. But you kept your head down and just worked. That’s why you were here. To start over. And do "The Work," as they say. 

It wasn’t like you wanted to be sent away last year when this big adventure started. Well, “sent away” was an overreaction (or at least that’s what you were told. Must be true then, yes?). You were “encouraged to seriously consider” taking time off and “enjoying a break.” And when paired with a queasy smile, it translated both literally and perfectly into “get yourself together, bitch, and do it far away. Come back when you’re normal.”

Fine. Like a child sent to her room, you huffed and pouted as you planned your mini vacation that instead turned into you completely upending your life a county over. No big deal! But beginnings are overrated. Finally getting some distance between a certain ex-boyfriend and a life you were comfortable with does not evoke feelings of “fresh starts.” It’s a death within and of itself. The physical move was easy. You didn’t own much. Such is the nature of breaking off an engagement that was over long before you even left. Long before the first emotional blow was struck. Family and friends offered more than you thought you deserved—money, secondhand furniture, food, the number of “a guy.” It was too much for you. The kindness didn’t cancel out any of the cruelty, and the small cruelties were magnified. 

Vessel gatekeeping “superior” music should have been the equivalent of a gnat in your general vicinity. You know it’s there, it’s not bothering you immediately, but when it does you can wave it off. No. For you it was worse. It was coming home knowing mom was mad at you. It was facing the tribunal. Or at least that’s how it felt. Normally he just ignored you, which gave you great comfort and dread. Comfort because “ok, he has no reason to bother me,” and dread because “ah shit the other shoe is about to drop and it’s gonna fucking suuuucckk.” 

“Hey are you listening?”

Fingers snapping drags you out of your haze. 

“Jesus. Come on, please tell me you actually sorted the new releases." Vessel, looking tired as usual, leans against the counter with his arms crossed and waits with bated breath for your answer. It was the dreaded closing shift with him. 

You return his tired gaze with a blank one, proffering your hand towards the fully stocked end cap boasting “New Releases? More like New Favourites!” 

The heaviest sigh comes out as he throws his head back, exposing his neck. You’d been here only a month but you were already keenly aware of Vessel’s body. You’d seen him do this multiple times a week. When a customer was difficult. When the regional manager had some asinine quota. When you…well…existed? But that got you acquainted with the delicate column of his throat. The strength of the sides sloping into his traps. Despite him icing you out, he was still hot.

“Yes, V. It’s stocked.”

“S’all you had to say. Taking my 15. Cheers.”

“Hey, on your way out can you take out th—“ but he’s already gone, “…trash?” You sigh heavily. “Fucker.” 

Not two minutes later, a lone guy comes in. He gives you a polite wave when you welcome him in, seems nice enough. Probably the kind of guy who knows exactly what he wants, he’ll pay, and that’s it. But he lingers for a bit at the Staff Recs with a big grin. He picks up one of yours, the third of a wacky but popular horror franchise. 

“This one yours?” He asks with a quirked up grin. 

You laugh softly and do a little bow. “That it is. And I’m not going to apologize for it.”

“Oh you shouldn’t.” He shakes the box as he refers to the movie saying, “this subverts tropes as much as it regurgitates. People should apologize for shitting on it!”

“Exxaaccccttttlllyyyy,” you exclaim. 

Finally. Someone who matches wits. You enjoy an animated conversation with about the franchise, the rumored reboots, other franchises…it’s refreshing. You barely realize Ves has come back from his break. He squeezes by you at the register mumbling, “lucky there isn’t a line right now.” But you ignore it. You have a handle on this. As you’re finally ringing up the guy, he mentions a series he thinks you might enjoy. And when you tell him you’d never heard about it before he gives you a smirk and leans forward as he takes his receipt.

“Maybe we should get together sometime…could get the box set. Takeaway even?” He winks. “Be seeing you.” He does a quick nod behind you, and you realize it was to Vessel, who was sulking in the corner of the little checkout boat.

“Oohhh let’s get together and talk about it…you’ll have to tell me all about it…I don’t know aaaannnnyythiing about anything,” he mocks. “You get off on that, don’t you?”

“What? Stimulating conversation about media? Yeah. It’s my kink.”

“Smart ass. No! Playing dumb.”

If looks could kill. But Vessel doesn’t care. He returns your icy gaze. “You’re just jealous.”

He scoffs and looks away, cheeks burning. “What’s there to be jealous of? You two aren’t actually going to meet up. Just like when you pulled that shit with me. Honestly…”

“Hah! No. You’re the one who fumbled that. You insulted my taste.”

“And you’re the one who took a joke wrong. And had the audacity to hit on me within your first two weeks here.” You swallow hard. He had a point. Here’s the other shoe dropping, but you weren’t going to run. Or fawn. 

“I deserve that. I’m sorry.” You nod and lower your eyes. 

“It’s…” Vessel seems shocked. Unbeknownst to you, Vessel has received maybe 3 genuine apologies in his whole life, each from family. “All’s forgiven.” 

A sheepish smile pulls at your lips.  “I’m going to take that trash out, yeah?” You say referring to the trash you had wanted him to take care of. He doesn’t protest and even thanks you. 

As you’re tossing the garbage in the alley, you realize immediately…you’re not alone. 

[jeonstellate]

my future in your eyes

mingyu still holds onto you, even after all this time.

๑彡 kim mingyu x gender neutral!reader

๑彡 divorced!au/ex-husband!au, post-break up!au, exes-to-lovers!au — fluff

๑彡 paragraph format — 1.1K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 title is taken from zack tabudlo’s as you are.

๑彡 if anyone's interested, here's a link to a prequel of sorts: forever by my side :]

Kim Mingyu is a man of confidence.

Not that he uses his confidence to swindle strangers, as the dictionary suggests the title means. Rather, he exudes confidence — regardless of what he does.

There is always an air confidence around him. He can be in clothes that don’t fit the event’s theme and he’ll still seem perfectly dressed. He can be barely conversant in another language and he’ll still sound like he knows what he’s saying. He can just be standing there, doing nothing, and he’ll still appear like he’s doing something right.

Some people mistake his confidence for arrogance. Most find it admirable. But, in truth, Mingyu hardly cares.

Especially if his so-called confidence vanishes whenever you are in the vicinity and within his line of sight. Just like now.

He sees you in a table with Seokmin. Your back is towards him but he recognizes you, anyway. Despite the distance, he has no problem witnessing how animatedly you talk with your common friend.

It’s almost like he is back in college: you and Seokmin in one row, him and Minghao a few rows back. He can almost hear Minghao state matter-of-factly, "You’re staring," like he often does back then.

Really, all that’s different is Minghao’s currently preoccupied being the groom to comment on his staring. (There are definitely more things that are different now, but he doesn’t want to even begin thinking about them.)

Seokmin catches his stare. Not soon after, specifically before Mingyu can even look away, he sees him leave the table. Seokmin throws him a familiar meaningful look before disappearing into the dance floor.

Truth be told, Mingyu’s confidence comes naturally. It isn’t something that he purposely channels. It’s just always there . . . unless you are involved. Then, suddenly, he has to painstakingly gather the confidence to be near you.

"Is this seat taken?" He tries his hardest to mask his awestruck look with one of kind politeness as he waits your response.

He almost forgot how to breathe when your eyes lock into his. "You may sit if you wish," you offer him a small, polite smile. "I don’t think he’ll be back anytime soon."

"Thanks." He effortlessly returns your gesture before situating himself on the chair your common friend abandoned. "How are you enjoying the party?"

"Really well, actually. I didn’t expect to recognize a lot of people from college." Your eyes don’t leave his as you answer. He tries not to stare back too intently, to look within your eyes to see something . . . anything. "And you?"

Mingyu waits for a beat, gathering enough confidence to say what he wants to. "Better now that you’re here." With me.

He lets out a barely audible embarrassed laugh. He has half a mind to take it back, but quickly changes his mind when he sees you biting your lower lip — an obvious attempt to stop yourself from laughing.

A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. There’s pride in knowing he’s still able to make you laugh, despite it being your first meeting in literal years.

You look down in a presumable attempt to calm yourself down. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, though, as he refuses to lose you from his sight. As such, he immediately notices the sudden shift in your expression.

"You’re still wearing it." Mingyu follows your line of sight — and ends up looking at the source of your comment. His hand on the table, specifically the band of gold adorning his ring finger. "Our ring."

Our wedding ring.

You and Mingyu married soon after graduating from college. It had been a blissful marriage, one that filled a home with nothing but love and support.

Your divorce was on the basis of irreconcilable differences. It was a mutual decision, for the interest of your career paths diverging too far. There was never a bad blood.

"Ye— yeah." Mingyu stutters involuntarily. He clears his throat before continuing, "It’s a great conversational piece."

Although the divorce has been finalized years ago, Mingyu still plays the faithful and loving husband role in front of strangers. He uses the ring on his finger to his advantage: may that be to wordlessly signal that he’s already taken or to gain the favor of a potential sponsor.

Likewise, even if he knows the ring might be a disadvantage, he refuses to take it off — nor to purposely hide it from sight. The same way he never tells a stranger that he is no longer tied to someone else.

"Does it work?" You ask in wonder.

"We are conversing now, aren’t we?"

You chuckle, "Touché."

Mingyu wants to tell you that he hasn’t taken the ring off since you slipped it on his finger during your wedding. Not even after your divorce has been finalized all those years ago.

He wants to tell you his ring finger is thinner near his palm because of his adamant refusal to take his wedding ring off once in a while. Not willing to separate from the only physical reminder of your marriage, not even for a second.

He wants to tell you the ring is more than a conversational piece. He wants to tell you it’s his lifeline, something he can’t bear to lose. But he doesn’t.

Instead, Mingyu uses all the confidence he has gathered to ask you a simple question. "Dance with me?"

He offers you the hand adorned by his wedding ring. He tries not to show the uncertainty he feels by masking it behind a smile.

He almost lets out a relieved sigh when you place your hand on top of his. But he stops breathing momentarily when he catches sight of the sole jewelry adorning your hand.

"You’re still wearing it," Mingyu echoes your comment breathlessly. "Our ring."

He snaps his eyes back to your face, just in time to witness your smile widen. "Yeah," you say. "It’s a great talisman to ward off potential suitors."

He leads you to the dance floor, silently marveling at how your hand still fits perfectly with his. "Does it work?"

"It’s very effective," you assure him. "Although I don’t think it works well against ex-husbands."

Another slow song starts playing right when you reach the dance floor. You and Mingyu unconsciously claim your respective hand placements during your first dance — and for any waltz you danced after.

Then, suddenly, it’s like you traveled back in time.

Mingyu pulls you closer, a ghost of a smirk is at the edge of his lips. "I think it works well attracting ex-husbands."

[stayinlimbo]

We Become We

pairing: husband!lee minho x reader genre/warnings: friends to lovers, marriage of convenience, fluff, poor attempts at me trying to be funny, mc's gender is not specified word count: 1.02k note:  i am not dead yay. i tried my best since i haven't had time to write for almost a month so please take this as a peace offering ♡

Marriage. It’s an interesting concept, isn’t it? 

You’ve always thought so, at least. Two people agreeing to sign a legal document and tethering their lives to each other for whatever reason, be it love, societal expectations, familial pressure, financial security, etc. 

Yours happens to be a man named Lee Minho. The same man you’ve been friends with for as long as you can remember. The same man who asked you to marry him for a reason you didn’t get to learn until he was already down on one knee. 

(“I’m sorry, you want me to WHAT?” “Marry me. Please, I need health insurance.”

“Okay, yes, sure, whatever; now please get off the floor. People are staring.”)

Lee Minho, who, after dragging you to the courthouse and legally becoming your husband, finally elaborated on how his job would pay him more and cover both of your health insurances if he was married. So really, in his words, he was “doing you a huge favor” by marrying you. 

And, in all honesty, he really was. No, you didn’t have a ring to show off your new husband’s weird skill at finding loopholes in company policy, and you’re like thirty-five percent sure the two of you are committing some kind of marriage fraud, but does it really matter when you can finally start using the hot water in your dingy apartment without worrying if you’ll have enough money to fund your crippling caffeine addiction? The government will have to drag you kicking and screaming before you resort back to mankind’s cruelest form of torture: cold showers. 

Not to mention that marriage didn’t even change your relationship with Minho. And why would it? You’re still you, and he’s still him. He gets on your nerves just the same, maybe even a little bit more after he decided to frame your marriage certificate in his living room and send a photo to all your mutual friends. You’ll never forgive Minho for laughing at your helplessly panicked state when the group chat wouldn’t stop exploding with messages and incessant calls. 

You’re still his best friend that resides in his apartment four out of seven days of the week while he inhabits yours for the other three. Maybe that’s why, two weeks after your “wedding,” when it was time to renew your lease, Minho suggested with a simple shrug of his shoulders that you move in with him since “you’re here all the time anyway.” 

You’ve really got to learn how to say no to him because now you wake up next to your best friend/roommate/husband in his one bedroom, one bathroom apartment at the crack of dawn with a light pressure on your chest and fur in your face when his cats decide you need to wake up right now to feed them. 

Not to say you don’t like the new arrangement! No, that would be the furthest from the truth. 

Sure, you didn’t appreciate your skin care routine being interrupted by the unexpectedly high-pitched scream Minho let out when he saw you in a face mask for the first time, and what kind of person still has their phone’s brightness turned up all the way before bed? But who else would willingly tolerate your deliriousness before your morning coffee or indulge in your pleas to cook your favorite food three days in a row? 

Living with Minho has only made the purely platonic feelings you harbor for him grow stronger.

That’s what the fluttering in your chest means every time you see him, right? The reason for the smile that grows on your face when you hear the distinct jingling of keys at the front door?

Yeah, that must be why heat spread across your cheeks when he handed you his phone to text one of his friends back, because since when did the heart emoji make an appearance next to your pinned contact name?

You just care about each other, that’s all. It’s normal to want to make sure he arrived at work safely and ask how his day is going during your lunch breaks. It’s normal to start receiving back hugs before bed—a comforting weight as Minho’s chin rests on your shoulder while you apply the rest of the products to your face. 

It’s natural to have doubts about the nature of your relationship during an evening walk, acutely aware of his fingers lightly brushing against yours as you silently study his features illuminated by the soft glow of the scattered streetlights. What if he meets someone else and falls in love with them and wants a divorce and– oh. 

Has he always looked at you like that? With his gaze softening as it locks with yours? With the corners of lips lifting into the gentlest smile you’ve ever seen? With all the stars shining above you finding a second home in his eyes? A look so loving that it takes your breath away and you can’t tell if you’re about to laugh or cry in relief. 

And when you return home to get ready for bed, the familiar feeling of hands wrapping around your waist and a careful pressure resting by the crook of your neck quells the remnants of your worries.

It’s you and Minho. Minho and you, just as it always has been. Just as it’s always meant to be.

The distance between your bodies on the bed becomes nonexistent when you curl yourself into his side, laying your head on his shoulder and intertwining your legs with his as he immediately, unhesitantly, adjusts his arm, his fingertips finding purchase on exposed skin and roaming across the span of your back. A kiss to the top of your head is the last thing you feel before the gentle lull of breathing and the rise and fall of his chest begin to soothe you to sleep. 

…

Ah, marriage—what an interesting concept. Two people agreeing to sign a legal document and tethering their lives to each other for whatever reason, be it love, societal expectations, familial pressure, financial security, etc. 

You love your husband, and you’re beginning to think he loves you too. 

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist: @linospuddin @linocz @spicyhyunn

[charliedawn]

Sorry if this sounds odd but what if the nurse was secretly a succubus? I’m so fascinated by them i find them so cool <3

(Warning: 18 + stuff.)

Michael Myers:

Michael would remain utterly stoic, his mask hiding any potential reaction. Your seductive tricks would likely bounce off his cold, emotionless demeanor. If you tried to drain his energy, you’d find his near-supernatural willpower a tough barrier to crack. Michael might just tilt his head curiously before silently walking away—or turning violent if he felt threatened.

But, he wouldn’t let you starve.

He would wordlessly drag a victim to you, drop the victim at your feet, and walk away without any further interaction. Whether you appreciate his effort or not wouldn’t matter to him—he’s done his part.

And if he decided to feed you personally ? He wouldn’t care about the implications or emotions behind the act—if feeding you would solve a problem or make you leave him alone, he’d do it without hesitation. No romance, no words, just cold practicality. Once it was over, he’d leave without a second glance, but if you tried to drain too much energy, you’d find his supernatural endurance nearly impossible to break. *wink wink* 😉

Jason Voorhees:

Jason might be confused or wary of you. He would not really be happy with your seductive nature because it would likely remind him of the promiscuous teens he associates with his trauma. If you got too close or seemed threatening, Jason would either hide if he likes you or strike without hesitation.

Jason, fueled by his moral code however, might feed you people he deems immoral—campers, partiers, or anyone disrespecting Camp Crystal Lake. He’d silently lead you to a group of potential victims, then let you do the work.

Jason would be hesitant and confused to be feeding you himself if he decided that was the only solution. He’s deeply traumatized and has a complicated relationship with intimacy, but his protective instincts might compel him to help if he thought you were genuinely starving. Once he agreed, he’d be gentle and cautious, but don’t expect much passion—Jason sees feeding you as an act of mercy, not desire. If you pushed him too far emotionally, he might retreat, unsure of how to handle it.

Jason *whimpering while doing it because he thinks it’s wrong and he will go to hell for that.*

Pennywise:

Asexual King. Pennywise wouldn’t be interested in you as a succubus and you wouldn’t be interested in him because as a succubus you know when some people have absolutely no sexual drive—from which you feed. He would be interested in the others’ reaction to you though. He would however provide you with victims to keep you alive. He would even watch to see how you do it for his own morbid curiosity.

Penny:

Penny’s reaction would depend on his hunger level. Initially, he might find it amusing, perhaps even try to charm you back in his awkward, giggly way. But if he felt you posed any threat, his jovial demeanor would shift to cold menace, and he’d remind you that he’s no easy prey.

He’d likely however stumble upon a victim while giggling and casually offer them up to you. Because you know…supernatural freaks gotta stick together.

But as he doesn’t have actual human emotions or a normal constitution—he wouldn’t be able to feed you.

Freddy Krueger:

(Not Freddy gif. But that would 100% be his reaction.)

Freddy *running with his arms wide open while being held back by every single other slasher in the group* : "BABY CAKES ! LEMME AT THEM ! COME TO PAPA !"

Yeah…Freddy would be excited and lose his pants the moment he sees you. Freddy would literally jump at the opportunity, treating it as a twisted game. He’d taunt and flirt relentlessly, teasing you about how you’re "lucky" to get a piece of him. Freddy would revel in the idea of giving you what you need, not out of kindness but because it feeds his ego. However, if you tried to dominate or outsmart him, he’d quickly turn the tables, reminding you he’s a predator too.

Freddy would enjoy the idea of feeding you, especially if it involved mutual torment of a victim. He’d probably bring you someone he’s already torturing in the dream world and take sick pleasure in watching you work. Freddy might even joke about “sharing a meal” and try to make it a fun, sadistic bonding moment.

Bo:

Bo would likely be cocky, assuming he could handle your charms and would even try to one-up your seductive energy. He’d flirt shamelessly, but the moment he realises your intentions, his temper would flare. Bo doesn’t like being manipulated, and he’d turn violent to show you that you picked the wrong man to mess with.

"Yeah ? Ya want me ? Get on yer knees, bitch. I ain’t givin’ ya shit until you are fuckin’ cryin’ and beggin’. Now be a good slut and lemme see if ya really are as good as ya look."

He’d likely tease you at first, leaning against a counter or chair with that devilish grin, his Southern drawl dripping with mockery.

"So, darlin’, you’re tellin’ me you need me to survive? Ain’t that a hell of a thing."

He’d act like it was your lucky day, smirking as he sauntered closer, but the gleam in his eye would betray a deeper curiosity. Bo would see this as a game—a way to show off, to make sure you knew he was the best you’d ever get. When the time came, he’d take control, slow and deliberate, making sure you understood exactly who was in charge.

However, there’d be an underlying caution. Bo doesn’t trust easily, and he’d be watching your every move, ensuring you didn’t drain too much or try to manipulate him. If you dared tease him or get cheeky, he’d respond in kind, leaning in close with a grin that promised both danger and excitement.

"Careful now, sugar. You bite off more than you can chew, and I might just have to remind you who’s really feedin’ who."

Norman Bates:

Norman would be both captivated and horrified. His mother’s voice in his head would scream warnings about the succubus’s sinful nature, filling him with guilt for feeling tempted. Depending on your approach, Norman might either fall under your spell or snap and turn violent in a fit of moral outrage. He would feel incredibly awkward about the whole situation. If he decided to feed you, it would likely be after some intense internal conflict and a lot of "Mother" yelling at him in his head. He’d probably offer someone he viewed as sinful, but afterward, he’d feel guilty and regretful.

The poor man would be terrified at the idea of feeding you himself however, torn between temptation and guilt. His mother’s voice would berate him for even considering it, but he’d be unable to resist if you pushed hard enough. The experience would leave him shaken, filled with shame and confusion. He might avoid you afterward or lash out, blaming you for his conflicted feelings.

Brahms Heelshire:

Brahms would be flattered and excited at the idea of feeding you himself, though he’d try to mask his enthusiasm with feigned reluctance. He’d see it as a way to bond with you and make you dependent on him. However, his possessive streak would flare if he suspected you of feeding on anyone else. "You don’t need anyone else—you have me ! NOW COME HERE !"

No hesitation. He WANTS to feed you.

Arthur Fleck:

Arthur Fleck would approach the situation with hesitance, torn between his insecurities and his desperate need to help. His voice would crack, sounding both apologetic and uncertain, as though he was unsure if he even deserved to be in this position.

"Alright...Let’s see here. I apologise…if I do not fulfill your expectations," he’d murmur, offering a half-hearted, nervous smile, trying to disguise how vulnerable he felt in this moment. "It has been a long time…and if I am doing this, it is only to keep you alive."

Arthur’s usual self-doubt would cloud his actions, unsure of whether he could actually satisfy whatever need you have. His movements would be awkward, as though he was out of his element, clumsy but trying so desperately to ensure he didn’t disappoint.

While he might act like he’s doing it only out of necessity, deep down, there would be a part of him that wants to be needed, to feel important in someone else’s eyes. As he goes through with it, his brow would furrow slightly, unsure if he was doing it right, and there would be a vulnerable, almost childlike quality to the way he’d handle it, like he’s still learning how to interact with others in an intimate way.

He might look at you occasionally, searching your face for any sign of approval, though his gaze would quickly shift away if he felt self-conscious. His voice would falter again, though softer now, almost like a whisper.

"…Did I do okay ? Are you satisfied ?"

The Joker:

Once Arthur Fleck becomes the Joker, those same words would take on a darker, more twisted edge. His previous nervousness would be replaced by a chilling calmness, his newfound confidence creeping into his tone. The weight of his transformation would be obvious—his smile now sinister, his eyes sharp with a dangerous gleam. His voice would still carry a semblance of the original words, but it would be dripping with sarcasm and an unsettling amusement, as though he were playing with you, testing your reactions.

"Alright…Let’s see here," he would say, his lips curling into that iconic grin, the words laced with mockery. His eyes would flash with a manic glint as he observed you, amused by the situation. "I apologise…if I do not fulfill your expectations. It has been a long time and if I’m doing this, it’s only to keep you alive."

There’s a subtle but dangerous twist now to his voice—a sense of authority and power, the hesitation gone. Instead of the unsure, almost apologetic Arthur, Joker is brimming with cruel confidence, enjoying the twisted nature of what’s happening. He would say it as though he was doing you a favor, but at the same time, there’s an undercurrent of amusement at how much control he has over the situation. He might even chuckle softly under his breath, finding the absurdity of it all hilarious.

His smile would stretch wider as he leans in closer, eyes never leaving yours, as if daring you to protest or make a move. He might even take some sick pleasure in the tension of the moment, letting the silence drag on before he finally breaks it with another twisted laugh.

With Joker, the need to "keep you alive" isn't a selfless act; it’s a calculated move, part of his chaotic world view. He doesn't do things because they’re necessary—he does them because it amuses him, because he can. He sees this as another game, another way to mess with you and watch the consequences unfold.

"You should thank me," he’d add, voice laced with mock sweetness, his grin widening even further. "But then again, you’re probably not the type to appreciate a true gift, are you ?"

[justasecretflower]

Shark bait men as boyfriends 🦈🤍

Part one / part two

A/N- I feel like nobody will know shark bait on here but I really wanted to post anyway..

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊ ₊˚ ‿︵

Rhin

- oh he’s sweet.

- super kind and caring, he’s very domestic. He likes to be soft with you, he likes you wearing his clothes (canon), he likes you being all sweet with him, even if it’s cheesy.

- he gets jealous even if he doesn’t seem like he’s the type to. Which usually ends up with him leaving scattered love bites in a fit of rage then getting embarrassed about it and telling you to cover them.

- he’s super smart. Loves to give you tons of fun facts.

- sometimes wants to just live a normal life with you, away from war with the orcas, away from the kingdom, just to be free of stress with a ring on your finger, a cute house with a nice garden and all of the alone time in the world.

- he’s a nice in between of GW and Lee. He’s sweet like Lee, but a bit tough like GW, but not too tough where he’s a total overly confident, tough boy-douche most of the time.

- btw he’s total dad material..just throwing that out.

GW

- he acts like he doesn’t enjoy your physical affection (he’s LYING!!!)

- his face is fully flush while he’s calling it ‘stupid’ as well!

- he secretly enjoys alll the affection you give him

- now, as for him, his love language is probably acts of service.

- he fights over you, shows you he loves you by being productive and helping with stuff you could’ve easily done and saying “human, I can just do it better.”

- everyone can see he’s soft with you, even if he denies it.

- its like the ‘bad boy with a soft spot’ trope.

- late at night you two cuddle, he’s very cold, but he has a firm grip on you, so it’s futile to try and get away from him.

- he doesn’t leave ‘love bites’ he leaves full on nasty bite marks. All purple or red with the outline of his sharp teeth,

- he protects u no matter what.

Tiggy

- oh no.

- rip you

- he’s gonna have you in bed all day.

- this man is freaky deaky…

- but, he’s also best friend material.

- he’s your best friend and boyfriend.

- super funny, will definitely be the type to have you wheezing at 3am and trying to be quiet so the others don’t hear the bursts of chaotic laughter,

- gives you some of his bracelets! So you can match!

- on the contrary to GW, he loves physical affection and showing it off, will be on your lap, you on his lap, borderline making out with you in front of the others, slaps on the butt accompanied by a snicker and a small “sorry..”

- quality time is his love language! He just adores hanging out with you. Face masks and a movie or running around the palace annoying people he just likes being near you.

- you guys share clothes. He takes your oversized hoodies, you take his. It’s mutual.

- he nuzzles you a ton.

- like, cuteness aggression.

- overall, good boyfriend, can’t keep his hands to himself though..

Lee

- I don’t really like Lee, personally.

- he’s too forgiving. He forgave and defended the doctor that tied mc up and forced them to drink that the potion of lust…

- that’s just me..anyway to the headcanons now.

- he’s wholesome, picnic dates and putting flowers in each others hair, dancing in his room and making little forts.

- anytime anywhere he’ll sneak a little kiss, if it’s in public, albeit a little flushed but he’ll still sneak a small kiss on the cheek or finger tip.

- he’s really interested in games of all types, and learning. So he likes learning about random facts with you, and playing new games he got or made up.

- super energetic, he’s like a ball of energy that transfers over to you.

- he gets flustered easily.

- he hates fighting. Even if you were like “the sky is pink” and he’ll be like “yeah!”

- ‘me and my girl don’t argue she tells me to shut up and I do.’

Akhelios

- he’s very confident.

- he expects you to praise him 24/7. Ah yes mortal, more praise, more affection.

- in turn he will shower you with jewels, clothes, rooms in the castle.

- he never quite loved someone like you, be patient.

- yes, he does have kids and such. But he’s never actually cared for someone that wasn’t him. It’s a foreign feeling

- he loves you oh so much though

- he just has a weird way of showing it.

- he likes cuddles. He’ll cuddle you in front of whoever.

Stryker

- he’s extremely misunderstood.

- he misses his late wife more than anything. So when you come around looking like her he’s tripping.

- he’ll start out gently trying to push you to be like them. Her pjs, what instrument she played, her favourite foods.

- you naturally pulled away, and he feels this.

- he has a lot of self-reevaluating to do, and learns that he needs to love you for you, not for the soul of his late wife.

- he learns about you, what you like to do, what you like to eat, what you find interesting.

- it’s refreshing.

- falling in love again after losing his wife is scary. But nonetheless he spoils you. He gifts you insane gifts, he gives you massages, kisses, praise.

- he just might be the best boyfriend / husband on this list ngl.

- I know many people don’t really like Stryker because of him seeing mc for his late wife but give him a break..it’s a lot to process and he was sick in love.

- now, he’s fully in love with you, who you are.

- it’s sweet:(.

Tags

[yuechicake]

i find mhin's relationship with the other cast members fascinating, so i'm compiling my thoughts here in regards to how mhin discusses the others!

what is most prominent in regards to kuras is how highly mhin talks about him--a rarity, considering their usual acerbic tone. what makes kuras so different is how much mhin likes his kindness and goodwill. mhin values goodness and the sanctity of life as a scientist themself, but at the same time, they're wary of kuras's ulterior motives and thus can't let themself get too close to him--such altruism is frightening because it's simply too good to be true, and might mask other, more sinister intentions.

vere is someone who mhin speaks about with unrestrained vitriol, and there's no reluctant compliment or cool observation to be found. what mhin despises about vere isn't just the attempt on their life (though they aren't above personal grudges), it's vere's blatant disregard for others and his selfish actions that have no justification other than "he wants to act this way." vere's actions reinforces mhin's own notions about monsters, so what you see with vere is what you get--of course vere has done something terrible enough to warrant containment by the senobium. mhin has no pity for him, and assumes the worst of vere by default.

mhin is fond of leander for the same reason they're fond of kuras. they're slightly smitten by the idea of leander as the people's savior, and they're probably smitten by leander in general, as i think mhin is more susceptible to charisma and the persona of a good samaritan. at the same time, i think they also enjoy that leander is persistent and isn't put off by mhin's prickly demeanor. it might seem like a contradiction, but they enjoy when people try to get close to them despite how they act. it's a taste of the connection and vulnerability they long for, even if they will still deny it to themself at the end of the day. it's also why they're so quick to put distance between themself and leander, by immediately dissuading any notion they're part of the adderstones.

though all of mhin's relationships are interesting, there's something fascinating by how they view ais and the insight it gives to their mindset. ais, in mhin's own words, hasn't "done anything yet"--which means they're waiting for him to slip up and prove himself to be the monster mhin thinks he is. they expect ais to disappoint them and suspect he's the same as vere deep down. mhin's vitriol for monstrosity might be rooted in self-loathing, but it's interesting how they believe it to be inherent, not learned, which is why they're already bracing for the worst case scenario. what mhin hates about monsters the most is their disregard for others, when mhin has been shown to be someone who cares deeply about other people.

perhaps mhin wants ais to act differently, but they'll resent ais all the more for not choosing to be anything but a monster in the end. he can't be anything but his nature, so it'll be their fault for having any hope ais would be different, as possessing a monstrous nature only ever has one outcome. it's also possible there's some resentment if mhin's own monstrosity is inherent, while ais chose to make a deal with ocedeus, so mhin would despise ais for choosing to be monstrous instead of walking away, like mhin is unable to. at the same time, i wonder if mhin is ever jealous of ais and vere for their lack of restraint, when they're so cautious all the time in comparison.

[shizuturnspages]

UR WRITING IS SOOOOO YUMMY I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!

can i pls get a yan ayato with a foreigner reader (preferably from mondstat :D)🫶

Awh, I'm so glad you love my writing 🥰

A Bloom Far From Home

Synopsis: You’re a foreigner in Inazuma, visiting from Mondstadt, seeking something new, a fresh adventure. You didn’t expect to meet someone like Kamisato Ayato, the Head of the Kamisato Clan, a man of power, grace, and intrigue. But your presence captures his attention in a way no one else’s ever has. His politeness is captivating, his charm undeniable, and it doesn’t take long before you find yourself in his grasp—whether you want to be there or not. Pairing: Yandere Ayato x Foreigner Reader of Monstadt

The first time Ayato saw you, he knew. This one was different. You were foreign—obviously so—your clothes marked with the free-spirited cuts and colours of Mondstadt, your manner too relaxed, too genuine. In a sea of careful masks and etiquette, you were a wildflower from across the sea, untamed and breathtaking.

It wasn’t long before you caught his attention in more ways than just appearances. You laughed too freely. You spoke your mind without a second thought. You trusted people far too easily in the dangerous world of Inazuma.

It was adorable.

It was stupid.

It was dangerous.

And it made Ayato want to lock you away before anyone else even thought about stealing you from him.

You had arrived in Inazuma for some "soul-searching," you told him once, smiling brightly over tea. Ayato smiled too, ever the perfect nobleman, but his mind was elsewhere—imagining you caged like a delicate bird, imagining your voice reserved only for him, your trust given solely to him.

You thought the Kamisato Clan’s head was kind. You thought he was generous to offer you a place to stay in the estate while you "found your footing" in this unfamiliar land. You had no idea he had engineered every meeting, every encounter, every kind gesture to lead you right into his waiting hands.

It began with small conversations, his voice calm, his smile always a little too smooth. He was interested in your stories, the way you spoke of Mondstadt’s freedom and its light-hearted ways. He envied that freedom, though he would never admit it aloud.

He’d find himself lingering near you, just to hear you talk about the winds of Mondstadt, about the songs of the Anemo Archon, about the lush landscapes and the open skies. He loved the way your eyes would light up as you described the place you came from, a place of joy and lightheartedness, a place that was so different from Inazuma.

“You speak of Mondstadt as if you left your heart there,” Ayato observed one evening as you sat together in the garden of the Kamisato Estate. The sunset painted the sky in hues of pink and purple, but it seemed to pale in comparison to the way you spoke of your homeland.

“It’s not that,” you responded, your voice light but a hint of longing in your tone. “I love it here in Inazuma, but there’s something about Mondstadt that feels like home. I guess I’m just homesick.”

Ayato’s smile faltered for just a moment, but it quickly returned. “It’s rare to see someone so… openly attached to their homeland,” he remarked, leaning in closer, eyes sharp with unspoken intent. “But I suppose that’s part of what makes you so… intriguing.”

You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his gaze making you feel as if you were standing on the edge of a precipice. There was something in his eyes, something dark that you couldn’t quite place. But Ayato was always polite, always composed. So, you laughed it off, turning your gaze back to the garden.

“I just enjoy the freedom that comes with being from Mondstadt,” you explained, trying to keep the conversation light. “The winds, the way the city feels like it’s alive. I guess I’ve always felt like I could go anywhere, do anything.”

Ayato’s eyes darkened for a brief moment, his fingers tightening around his tea cup. He had always admired freedom in others—after all, it was something he could never afford himself. But hearing you speak of it so casually, as though it was a given, stirred something possessive within him.

“And yet,” he began, voice low and almost gentle, “here you are, far from home, in a land that demands so much. Do you not fear losing yourself in this place? In a place where everything can feel like it’s out of your control?”

You looked at him curiously, but before you could respond, Ayato was already standing, moving around the table with a fluid grace that only added to his intimidating presence.

He crouched down beside you, his fingers brushing lightly against your wrist in a way that felt too intimate for just a passing moment. “You are so far from home, yet so close to me,” he whispered, his voice laced with an unspoken promise. “Would you not stay here? Let me show you what it means to be with someone who can truly understand you, who can offer you the same protection that your homeland offers, if not more?”

You pulled your wrist back instinctively, though Ayato’s gaze never wavered. His expression remained soft, almost tender, but his eyes… his eyes betrayed something darker, something that made your heart race in a way that left you uneasy.

“I’m just visiting,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “I don’t plan on staying long.”

Ayato smiled, a smile that sent a chill down your spine. “No. I don’t think you’ll be leaving anytime soon.”

The days that followed were a blur, a mixture of polite conversations and intense, almost unnerving glances. Ayato began to subtly, and sometimes not so subtly, insert himself into your daily life. The little things—he would show up unannounced at places you frequented, offer you gifts from his personal collection, and insist on walking you back to your accommodations.

It wasn’t just his presence that became overwhelming, but his attentiveness. His ability to read you as if you were an open book. The way he’d ask questions about your past, your family, the friends you left behind in Mondstadt, and how he seemed to absorb every detail. It was as if he were collecting pieces of you, as if you were already his, and he was merely biding his time until he could claim you fully.

But it was when you tried to push back, to assert your own will, that you saw the cracks in Ayato’s composed exterior.

“I’m not staying forever, Ayato,” you told him one evening, feeling the weight of his gaze like a heavy stone on your chest. “I have my life back home. My friends. My family.”

Ayato’s expression hardened for the briefest of moments, his lips pulling into a thin, tight line. “But you belong to me now,” he said softly, his tone unyielding, though his voice didn’t raise in anger. Instead, there was something even more dangerous in his calm words. “Whether you want to or not, you are mine.”

His fingers brushed against your cheek, the touch soft, but the command in his voice unmistakable.

“You may think you can leave, but I’ll make sure you never do.”

The days turned into weeks, and the sense of unease in your chest grew, but Ayato never once showed any signs of backing down. You had become a part of his world now, and the more you tried to pull away, the closer he came. He was a storm—calm on the surface, but beneath it, something dark, something possessive, constantly simmering.

In the end, you realised that Ayato was not the man who would let you go. Not when you were his, no matter how far you tried to run.

He would make sure of that.