#possessed by spirits again. i guess

[sunnfish]

[ID: a digital drawing of feminine Tashiros from Sasaki to Miyano in different outfits. They are all in different poses and have different expressions; from left to right, a plain kimono in a standing pose and neutral expression, a short maid uniform holding a peace sign and winking, a long maid uniform with a simple smile and holding up one side of the skirt, a white and blue sailor uniform smiling brightly and waving, an ornate kimono shown from the back in a cutesy pose, and a black and red sailor uniform holding a bat with an incredulous expression. The drawings are all just lineart of varying colors, slightly overlapping next to each other. The artist’s signature “sunnfish” is written in blank space between the figures. /End ID]

(Based on this poll by @dirtbra1n)

Hi

[aerithisms]

i think the weirdest 2013 discourse brained doctor who take i've seen is people who came back to watch capaldi era, realised it's good and that they really like the twelveclara dynamic, identify all the things that are compelling about it but then say "moffat doesn't know he did this though." bc they can't budge from the position that he's a hack so they have to convince themselves it's, like, only accidentally good

[as-rare-as-trees]

Repost of a Wang Yibo in watercolor I did in 2020 taking ispiration from my favourite photoshoot of his

[raven-master]

tumblr loves messing up the quality but guess who got herself a drawing tablet and an obsession with dnd

[stellerssong]

i am sending you a star for the heians fic. what did i miss. please gush about the heians.

did you miss anything in the heians fic? i don't think you missed anything in the heians fic. or if you did miss anything in the heians fic i don't know if it is anything that is necessarily of interest to anyone but me? y'all, i went in way too hard on this fic. the amount of research i did would infuriate and dismay you. and in all fairness i was being metaphorically swung around by the ankles and thwacked against a wall at work at the time of writing it, so i kind of had nothing else to do but get a little annoying about historical references, but. y'know. @ me maybe make it about samurai next time or like something people care about.

oh, here's a thing i guess—i kind of liked my rendering of the one historical poem presented in full in this fic, Michitsuna no Haha's poem of the barred gate. in Edward Seidensticker's translation:

Do you know how slow the dawn can be when you have to wait alone?

and in Sonja Arntzen's (superior) rendition:

Sorrow, sorrowing when one sleeps alone the time until night opens into day, how long it is perhaps you now know it too.

like DAMN Sonja. that hits DIFFERENT. but at the same time having decided to not commit to the 5-7-5-7-7 meter throughout because i'm too fucking lazy i wanted to keep the flow of the poetic exchanges less formalized and more conversational as they would have felt in real heians time, i wanted to compress the feeling Arntzen captured into something a little pithier like Seidensticker's version. (but less stupidly phrased. "how slow the dawn can be"? like my mans, surely "how slow the coming of the dawn" makes more fucking sense.) hence:

How long and chill the night when one must sleep alone—perhaps you understand it now!

and yes, i lost the "opening" imagery that plays on the barred gate, and yes, maybe i added in some meteorological allusions that weren't in the original, and no, i still don't speak any japanese and am just going on vibes, SORRY I KNOW THAT MAKES ME JUST LIKE ARTHUR WALEY WHICH IS DISGUSTING OF ME, but idk. all things considered, at the very least i think mine reads a leetle nicer than Ed's.

and additionally, here's a secret: i kinda fucked up my shinden-zukuri architecture in the first section frankly. there's no real reason why the lady of the house would be hanging out in the hisashi alone in the middle of the night while her ladies-in-waiting are asleep in the moya. i guess you could handwave it like "ohh she stayed up waiting for Kaneie ohhh she couldn't stay in the inner room with all those people ohh Desire was simply doing some fuckshit" but like. get real. be serious. why would she have a brazier out there? why would she call it "my rooms"? (i guess there's an argument to be made that by "my rooms" she's referring to her entire wing of the house but still.) she's practically NAKED hanging out out there fully dressed in multiple layers with the screen slightly cracked. UNACCEPTABLY whorish behavior.

fucking intolerable. i'm humiliated. this is worse than the poems not scanning in a language i have never studied and do not speak. Sonja Arntzen is en route to my house to visit unspeakable horrors upon my person at this very moment. and it's like noooo, Sonja, please, i'm not even a heians scholar, spare me and i'll help you hunt down Royall Tyler instead!! but she doesn't care. she just. doesn't. care.

[yueguis]

hello, i am tues and i love yuegui! this little carrd has all the other details about me! wahoo!

[mssorceressupreme]

Working Late Pt. 2 | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: Your boss does not take lightly to people flirting with his favourite employee, and wants you to know you're his and his only.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, boss/employee, possessive!fred, teasing, jealousy, office sex, fingering, dom!fred, sub!reader, p in v, penetration, coming, overstimulation, praising ———

It was another energetic day at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and you were in high spirits. The shop was packed, the air buzzing with chatter and laughter as customers marvelled at the shelves bursting with magical novelties.

You’d felt like dressing up today, slipping on a short but tasteful black dress that cinched at your waist and flowed just above your knees. It was modest but cute, perfectly suited for the carefree atmosphere of the shop.

Fred had already complimented you earlier in his usual teasing manner, a smirk tugging at his lips as he’d said, “Trying to steal all my customers with that dress, are you?” You’d rolled your eyes playfully punching him, but your heart had fluttered all the same.

Today was no different than any other day, however that changed when the afternoon took a turn, a familiar voice catching your attention.

“Is that… Y/N?”

You turned to find none other than Oliver Wood standing before you, looking as dashing as ever in a red fitted jacket and his signature confident grin.

“Oliver!” you exclaimed, genuinely pleased to see him. “It’s been ages!”

“It has,” he said, his eyes sweeping over you with unmistakable appreciation. “You’ve… changed. Hogwarts didn’t do you justice.”

A faint blush crept up your neck, and you laughed softly. “Well, I guess we all grow up, don’t we?”

As you chatted, his flirtation became more apparent. He leaned closer when he spoke, his compliments growing bolder. “I always knew you were lovely, but Merlin, you’ve really turned heads now.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Fred watching. He was helping another customer, but his gaze kept shifting back to your interaction with Oliver.

His playful demeanour had vanished, his expression unreadable. He didn’t interrupt, but his gaze lingered, sharp and brooding.

When Oliver finally left with his purchases, you turned to Fred, hoping for a witty remark or a teasing jab, but he was already busying himself with a display. He hadn’t said a word, not even a glance in your direction.

The rest of the day was tense. Fred barely acknowledged you, answering your questions with curt nods or single-word replies. It was as if he’d built an invisible wall between you, and it stung more than you cared to admit.

"Hey Freddie, a customer wanted to inquire about a stock refill. When are the next batch of Puking Pastilles arriving? They're currently all sold out and-" You approached him while the customer you were serving continued browsing, awaiting your answer.

"Next week." Fred said, a little too bluntly before walking away, avoiding your gaze as he did so.

You nodded slowly, approaching the customer with a forced smile though you were a bit hurt by Fred's bluntness, "The next batch will arrive next week, Monday I believe, best come early before they sell out again miss."

"Sounds perfect love, I'll be here first thing next week then!" She chimed before leaving with her two kids.

During a lull in the crowd, you approached George who was stationed behind the cash register. The interaction with Fred still lingered in the back of your mind. “Is Fred… okay?” you asked hesitantly.

George looked up from the register, his usual grin in place. "Fred? Seems fine to me, why'd ya ask?"

"He's just...it's like he's avoiding me. Have I done something wrong?" You tilt your head, looking at the ground trying to recall any mistakes you might have made.

“Nah you're doing alright. He’s probably just being a git, as usual. Don’t let it bother you eh?"

But it did bother you.

Fred’s cold shoulder gnawed at you, and the more he ignored you, the more determined you became to get a reaction.

An opportunity presented itself when you passed by him in one of the narrower aisles.

As you squeezed past, you brushed against him deliberately, letting your skirt graze his thigh and pressing just enough to make it unmistakable. Smirking, you swayed harder against one particular spot in his trousers.

Fred inhaled sharply, his hands reflexively gripping your waist for a brief moment before you stepped away.

You didn’t look back, but you felt the heat of his gaze as you continued to the other side of the shop, humming as you strolled away.

As you returned to the register to finish a sale later, you noticed a folded piece of parchment resting on the counter. Your name was scrawled on it in Fred’s familiar handwriting. You unfolded it, your heartbeat rapidly increasing upon reading the words:

“My office. Now. – F”

The knot in your stomach tightened as you made your way upstairs. Merlin, what did he want now?

You pushed open the door to find Fred sitting behind his desk, a glass of whisky in his hand. His eyes were dark, his usual humour replaced by something colder, more commanding, almost scary but not quite.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and firm.

You stepped closer after shutting the door, your pulse racing. Standing in front of his desk now, you waited, unsure of what to expect.

“Sit on my lap,” he ordered, leaning back in his chair, his eyes never leaving you, following your every move.

You hesitated for a split second before obeying, perching lightly on his lap. His hands came to rest on your thighs, firm but not rough, as if he was testing the boundaries.

“Who said you could flirt with customers?” he asked, his tone laced with jealousy.

“I wasn’t flirting,” you said quickly, your voice soft. “I was just being polite. Accommodating him.”

Fred’s jaw tightened, and he let out a low hum of disapproval. “Accommodating? Is that what you call it?”

His fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt, brushing lightly against your skin. “You’ve got some nerve, you know,” he murmured. “Walking around in this dress, brushing past me like that…”

Your breath hitched, your cheeks burning. “I didn’t mean to—” A white lie.

He cut you off with a soft chuckle, though it lacked humour. “Didn’t mean to, hmm? Then what was that little stunt earlier? Testing me, were you?”

You didn’t know how to respond, his intensity leaving you flustered and unsure.

Slowly but sensually, Fred began caressing your inner thigh, stroking softly and inching his way up to your clit, but not quite touching it. Though only a simple gesture, you felt a rush to your core, finding yourself throbbing and wanting more of his touch.

"You shouldn't have started something you can't finish love." He cooed into your ear.

You bit your lip, "I can finish it.." confident in your head, but a whisper came out, you felt weak under his touch like this.

"Oh really?" Fred raised a brow, "and how do you plan on doing that?" He was amused by your counter, a smug smirk appearing on that devilishly handsome face of his.

You sat there silently, avoiding eye contact him, unsure of how to respond. To be honest, you were inexperienced, you hadn't been this close to a man, in well, forever.

He chuckled lowly, one hand creeping up your skirt again, his fingertips tracing the hem of your panties causing you to involuntarily move forward.

Your body tenses, you held your breath as he continued. His fingers find your clit, circling it through the fabric of your now soaking panties. You let out a whimper in response to his touch.

Fred then finds the sweet sensitive spot on your neck, attaching his lips and sucking. His free hand reaches up and massages your tits sensually while the other hand continues with your clit.

"Let me show you love, let me take care of you..." He nips at your neck a few times before continuing, "By the time I'm done, the whole store will know my name and that you're mine."

You let out a soft moan as Fred uses two fingers to slide your panties down, the cold air hitting the exposed skin under your skirt.

His pants were now wet, both from you, and his precum. You felt a bit embarrassed that you soaked his pants but he was alright with it, in fact, he loved it.

"I don't want to see anymore flirting in my store, especially not with you." Fred's voice was deep, hoarse and almost possessive.

He presses two fingers inside of you, stretching you before flexing his fingers. You whined in response to his long slender fingers, panting heavily as he begins to work them faster inside of you, stretching you more.

Fred works on your cunt and you feel yourself growing hotter, more desperate for him. You arch your back, one arm is wrapped around his nape and the other gripping the table for support.

You fidget slightly, occasionally twitching due to the pleasure, "Fred...I'm getting close..." You whine.

The tight feeling in your core continues to build up, begging for a release soon. You get louder and louder as Fred continues fingering you, slightly faster now. "Fred!" You moan, you're getting extremely close.

Your back arches again, toes curling, and your left fingers practically are digging into his desk.

"Fred...I'm gonna....I'm gonna cu-" Your orgasm burns, erupting in your cunt and your mind explodes with ecstasy, sending a wave of pleasure over you but Fred doesn't stop, he continues.

"Fred please-" You whine, feeling overstimulated, your breathless and feeling another orgasm coming up.

"Merlin, you're so perfect love." He praises, watching you at his mercy, breathless on his lap.

Hearing him praise you like that, made another orgasm come round the corner. He really knew how to push your buttons, in the all the right ways possible.

"I can't take it! I'm getting close again...Fred! Please-" You whimper, as he picks up the pace again.

"Go on, come for me love. I want to hear your pretty moans, love it when my name slips from that pretty mouth of yours." He praised again, and you let loose.

Your walls throbbed, pulsing incredible fast, another pleasurable wave rushed over your body. "Oh God! Fred!" You moaned, before your head fall against his shoulder weakly.

He planted a sweet kiss on your forehead, before carrying you bridal style, getting up from his seat and placing you on his desk.

You sat up straight, facing him, your knees on both sides of his hips and he stood between them.

"You did amazing love." Fred praises, his hands sliding on your thighs, parting them and keeping your legs open for what's to come. His shirt was half unbuttoned, pants soaking, and fluffy hair slightly tousled.

"Please Fred...I want you inside me." You plead, glancing up at him with doe eyes.

He groaned softly upon seeing you in front of him, half naked on the table, and he was about to fuck you. He wanted you so bad, he needed you.

"Alright darling." He hums, unbuttoning his belt, letting his cock spring free.

Your eyes grew wide, you'd always assume he was big, but Merlin, he was packing. You felt yourself grow excited upon seeing him, biting your lip unconsciously.

He wraps a hand around his cock, guiding it to your entrance before pressing into you. The tip of his swollen head easily slides against your wetness, sliding with ease into your eager body.

At the intrusion, you tighten, "Merlin, Fred!" You moan, whimpering as he slides out then presses his hips against yours as he slips his cock all the way inside you, deeper than before.

"Mhm you feel so good around me love, so tight for me." He hums, moving faster, leaning forward to give you a kiss. You kiss him passionately but sweetly, sliding your tongue against his bottom lip while he keeps the same pace thrusting into you.

Your arms rest on the table for support, you tilt your head back whimpering at the pleasure of your hips colliding and feeling Fred inside you.

He keeps his hands planted on your hips, "Fuck, you feel so good Y/N, you're perfect you know that." Fred moans.

"I'm yours Fred..." You wince, "all yours..."

"And I'm yours, no one is going to change that." Fred responds, leaning in for another kiss. "Shit- I'm getting close..." He thrusts harder and faster, his climax quickly building up.

"Gonna release on your stomach love, that all good?" He breathlessly asks, to which you nod as a reply, unable to speak as you feel yourself reaching your climax too.

You don't last any longer, your body tensing as an orgasm erupts through you. You try to speak but only a whine escapes, throwing your head back, you lay on the desk, bare, exposed and breathing heavily.

Fred's hips rock harshly a few more times before slipping out, releasing on your tummy, every last drop coming onto your tummy. "Merlin..." He groans, throwing his head back, his broad shoulders rising and falling.

He removes his hands from your waist, proceeding to help clean you up and adjusting your dress properly. Picking you up, he carries you bridal style and lays you on the long leather couch in his office.

"You can take the rest of the day off if you want love." He leans down, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I don't mind working..." You remark, "get to flirt with more people..." Your tone was teasing, smirking to get a reaction out of him.

"Flirt with them and I'll take you right then and there in front of them." He retorted, playfully.

You stand up, walking towards Fred, who was getting changed into something...cleaner and more decent, "So territorial." you spoke, helping him with his tie.

Fred tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Can't have them thinking they have a chance.”

“Please I might as well wear a shirt that says 'Taken by Fred Weasley'...” you joked.

"Not a bad idea..." He hummed, looking down at you while you finished off with his tie.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile, "You know I only have eyes for you Fred Weasley, no one comes close."

“That's my girl,” he said, his tone softer now but still edged with authority. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was as possessive as it was tender, leaving you breathless. "My perfect girl."

When he finally pulled back, his eyes held a glint of satisfaction. “Now, get back to work,” he said, a teasing smirk returning to his lips. “There’s more where that came from.”

As you reached the door, you glanced back to find him watching you, his gaze warm now but still with a flicker of desire.

"I'll join you downstairs shortly." He winked, and you felt your cheeks heat again as you shut the door behind you, your heart raced as you returned to the shop floor, acting as though nothing had happened upstairs.

___

"Bloody hell, where were you two?!" George, finishing a sale, waved a customer goodbye before turning to you and Fred.

"We had some business to take care of." Fred answered for you guys, placing his hand on your lower back.

George scoffed, a knowing look flashed in his eyes, darting back and forth between you, "Yeah alright sure, business."

"Well I'm off on a date with Angelina, can you two handle the shop for the few hours?" George continued.

"What do you take me for? A slacker?" Fred replied, "Pft of course we can handle it, now go have fun." He ushered his twin away, and George, confused, grabbed his belongings and waved us goodbye, turning back occasionally to make sure the store didn't crash down under Fred's control.

"Round 2?" Fred whispered, a teasing undertone once George was out of sight.

You playfully hit him, chuckling, "We have a shop to run Weasley!"

He laughed softly, giving you a quick peck on the cheek before getting back to work.

[bejeweledinterludes]

who ya gonna call?

OR dean’s a ghost. he’s haunting you (but you are not complaining).

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : ghost ! dean x established fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 1.7 k.

「 content / warnings 」 : smut— again, more to come in the next few weeks too so BUCKLE UP, dean is a ghost, reader is very much aware. can’t tell if i love or hate this one tbh.

you have new messages from the author ! ↓

with the great @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth (aka god)’s permission, i let my freak flag fly here (but when do i not, let’s be real). think spn s2 ep1 ; in my time of dying for this one. and if any of you say “well actually ☝️🤓 this wouldn’t make sense becuase of xyz” just know i am a horny woman and tumblr is my outlet. but inspo is from @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth’s the swayze method of course. thank you very much for letting me run with this!

this is also my gift for 500 (+40 !;$3:!33&?!?!2?2(3&3&) followers, along with all the love on my touch starved ! dean fic thank you all so so so very much! part 2 for that should be out at some point <3

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

even though he hunted them, dean had to admit— being a ghost had its perks.

of course, dean had been one before— multiple times, actually. first when he got in that car crash with sammy and his dad, another when he busted out a bunch of locked up spirits in some old-ass house, and the other being more recently.

as in, now.

dean needed to stop doing stupid shit like this— but honestly? sometimes, being there, yet not being seen was pretty damn awesome.

dean had stalked you and sam all day— not that he thought you knew he was there, but you could almost… sense it. while digging through spellbooks, you’d looked at the spot he was (invisibly) standing in once or twice, furrowing your brows like you actually saw him. but you shrugged it off, thinking it was your mind playing tricks on you when the motel curtains blew a little like there’d been a small gust of wind. nothing was there, right?

no.

dean was there.

he was here now, too.

dean had been here for a while now— as soon as you and sam gave up for the second night in a row of not finding a single thing to help his… not-living dilemma, you’d gone back to what was yours and dean’s shared motel room (sam had gotten his own on the other side of the motel. and any guesses as to why?).

maybe it might’ve been seen as creepy, but dean enjoyed just watching you. didn’t matter what, or when. you’d pretended not to notice more often than not, but now dean could watch without any fear of you realizing.

well.

yet.

dean was now currently following you out of the steam-filled bathroom, your socked feet padding on the motel room’s carpet while in one of his shirts. you wore them frequently, but that didn’t stop the way a little pang of possession shot through his chest every time he saw you.

you slipped under the covers of your own comfortable blanket (because pro hunter tip: bring your own bedding to shitty motels), letting out an exhale you didn’t know you were holding in.

dean just sits and watches you for a little, perching himself on the side of the bed. damn, even with that worried, concerned look on your face, you were still gorgeous.

and you were worried. loving dean winchester had its perks, but fuck if it didn’t hurt every time he ‘died’. this was worse, too, because you knew he was a ghost— and the thought of him out there somewhere alone somewhere made your chest ache.

“wish you were here,” you whisper half into your pillow without even thinking about it, eyes on the window next to the bed.

dean’s heart broke a little at that. because he was here.

so even though he knew you wouldn’t be able to hear him, feel him— he shifts fully on the bed and scoots right up next to you, spooning you like he always did most nights.

suddenly, you were much colder than you’d been before. you squint at the window. it was only cracked a little bit for air. and for a second, you thought you felt something, weight surrounding you as if dean was really, truly actually there—

“‘m right here,” he whispers your name in your ear, his own chest hurting with the longing to just comfort you. “hell, you really think dyin’ would get you ridda me?”

then you gasp, and dean can feel the way your body tenses. but why in chuck’s name did you—

wait.

did you hear that?

you’re both silent for a moment, until you finally find the words to speak— surprisingly, the only thing that comes out of your mouth is:

“dean?”

dean mentally smacks himself upside the head.

ghosts’ emotions made them more powerful— so much so that humans could notice.

turns out, you had that effect on him.

big surprise, right?

“yeah, it’s me,” he whispers again, settling more next to you, afraid that if he spoke any louder, the bridge he’d somehow fostered might dissipate.

“jesus christ,” you breathe out a sigh of relief, still in your position on the bed while you can almost feel his breath on your ear. “have you— you’ve been here the whole time?”

“‘course i have,” dean almost sounds offended when he answers back, voice still low as his arm snakes around your waist. “where else would i be?”

you don’t answer. because now that you though about it, it did make sense. you almost wanted to ask why he didn’t say anything earlier—but instead, you whisper back:

“how are you doing that?”

dean’s brows furrow a little— until it clicks.

you felt his arm around you.

which meant you could feel him.

damn.

like he said.

this ghost thing had its perks.

“dunno,” dean honestly replies before pressing a kiss onto your cheek— and the way your eyes fluttered shut told him you felt that, too. “but i’m damn glad i can.”

“i’m dreaming,” you whisper more to yourself than anything as dean’s other hand trails down the curve of your waist through his shirt— and if you kept your eyes shut, it was like he was actually there.

but hell, he was.

“nuh uh,” you feel the warmth of dean’s breath on your ear again and his hand lingering on your hip when he presses himself completely against your back. you dared not to open your eyes, in fear of seeing nothing but darkness and empty sheets— because with you not looking, it was all the more real. “ya feel that? ‘s all me. ‘cause ‘a you.”

“fuckin’ hell,” you whisper again, pressing yourself right back into him as if—

no.

he was there.

you can feel the familiar roughness of dean’s hand slipping under the band of your underwear like he’s done a million times before— well, actually, this was a little new. because his hands were cold, not hot. but whatever.

“missed ya like crazy,” dean whispers again, fingers gently dragging across your already wet folds— because when were you not wet for dean winchester. “guess you did, too, huh?”

“always miss you,” your voice comes out breathier than you wanted it to, but that’s the effect dean had on you, too. he always made you cum like a horny teenager— too soon and too loud. but then again, you did the same for him. “always need you.”

god, what the hell were you saying? you’re a grown-ass woman—telling a man what, exactly?

well, you don’t know, because your thoughts are interrupted when dean’s skilled— albeit now ghostly fingers start rubbing. you tip your head back involuntarily, letting out a rougher exhale, because if this was a dream, you were gonna enjoy every second of it.

“dean,” his name rolls off your tongue before something between a whimper and moan escapes your throat as his fingers go a little faster. a tiny, annoying voice in your mind tells you that this really isn’t the best idea, but you don’t really care.

because dean kinda made you forget about everything else.

especially when his hands were involved.

“shhh,” dean’s not really shushing you though, because his tone is coaxing. the kind that says “i got you.”

but he still says that out loud, anyway.

so you relax more into dean— or rather, nothing behind you. you don’t think, because dean’s got you. he always does, even in the afterlife. and because if you thought about it too hard, you were afraid the tension building in your tummy would go away. you were afraid the oh-so familiar feeling of his fingers rubbing your clit would cease to exist.

you feel something cold on your neck, too— and it sends a jolt down your spine, adding to the bouts of pleasure only dean could seem to orchestrate for you.

you can’t moan as loud as you want to— because the old lady in the room next door had already given you a look when she saw the six-pack in your hands the other day. but then again, that’s when dean was in his meat suit. still, you didn’t need another look.

“oh, de,” you bury half your face into your pillow again, choking out a breath of dean’s name, eyes still shut and letting out a broken noise as the burning in your lower torso was getting more intense.

dean was enjoying this way too much, he thought. but then again, he always liked seeing you like this— even more so when it was because of him. when he actually died, he’d definitely turn down the sorry-ass reaper or death, or whoever was taking him to wherever he’ll be ending up just to make you cum, over and over.

that seemed like a good way to spend eternity.

and he wished at that moment that he could properly fuck you— but that was for when he was back in his body. so he could feel you, too.

you wished you could touch him— feel him more than what you were now, but your brain was starting to become fuzzy, your legs and what seemed to be every nerve in your body tingling.

dean felt it, too. he didn’t really know how, but it was something he’d learned over time. your pretty face scrunched up even more, and the sounds you let out were sounds you only made when you were close. you tried to talk— but all that came out was his name.

“dean— baby, please—”

he never had to ask you to beg for him. never had to ask to say his name, or for you to tell him that you’re his.

you always just did it.

“‘s okay, ‘s okay,” dean whispers your name in your ear, feeling you shiver against him. because right now? who was he to deny you? the woman who gave him anything and everything he needed— wanted. yeah, no way. “just go ahead.”

with that, he increased the pace of his fingers further while letting your hips continue buck on his hand— and the sounds you let out when you finally let yourself tip over the edge was almost enough to make dean lose it right then and there, too.

maybe there were a couple downsides to this though— because dean couldn’t lick his fingers clean of you right now. and he was hard. was that even a thing?

he could barely focus on his own thoughts right now, though— because your eyes were still shut, mouth parted and legs twitching as he lay pressed up against you.

but the first thing you said?

“just you wait ‘till you get back in your body, cowboy.”

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you have one ( 1 ) new message from the author ! ↓

felt wrong to post this on easter (yesterday) SORRY LMFAO i’m not even christian or anything like that but! faith now beating the monday scaries one smut fic at a time 🙂‍↕️🙏

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @bittersweetfig @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina @mahi-wayy @viarasvogue @tinas111 @0ccvltism @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @lunaleah @saintfaux + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added / taken off, please let me know! <3

[the-moons-tears]

His siren

Brant x f!siren!reader (spicy but not full nsfw) Wuwa

Evening! This was the top voted prompt from the poll sorry it took so long I had many tests to take and study for 🫠

I’m so ready to pull for him omgggg

Preview: he continued, “I must believe it to be true, as I can’t stop thinking about whether you feel soft to hold, to kiss…”

Scales shimmered in the moonlight, jingling on a rope from the rhythm of waves that jostled the ship. “Siren” scales, so the old man that sold them claimed to the curious sailor. They were so enchanting where they hung in the corner of a large bay window in Brant’s quarters. The light reflected off them, casting the scale’s color along the walls and other items that captured his interest. A myth, he told himself, but ended up paying for the trinket anyway. Sometimes he could swear a certain jostle would cause the scales to create a melody as they touched. The sounds would return in his dreams, so much so that the urge to search for this “myth” became too much. It wouldn’t hurt to look, as the sea often hid many secrets. Glancing again at the scales, drink in hand, he thought of an idea. If he wanted to find something in the sea, he’d have to offer something in return.

You cursed as you stared at your reflection from atop the rock. The waves weren’t the best source of a mirror, but you could still tell where the healing wound was on your beautiful but not so flawless anymore tail. You were missing more than seven scales. Seven! They took ages to grow back, and they were missing all in one spot from a fisherman’s spear throw that happened to strike true. The embarrassment you felt was huge, although there were no other sirens around to make fun of you for it. The worst part was that you couldn’t find your missing scales. You liked to keep them, make jewelry from your own beauty by putting it in your hair, on your ears, or to your breast coverings, but after scraping the sea floor and coming up empty handed, you gave up on looking.

It frustrated you. Clearly you underestimated the old man’s sight as you swam closer than usual under a boat. You guess he had seen your shadow and immediately thrown his weapon. It hurt of course, and you panicked, swimming quickly downward and out of sight, bleeding from your tail as seven precious scales floated up to the surface.

Sighing, you turned away from the water, resting your head on your palm. The air was nice, something you couldn’t feel under water. The small retractable gills under your jaw helped filter oxygen through water, but having another set of lungs allowed you to breathe air like a human above the sea. Often you’d think about the human’s and their activities on the ocean. Pirates were the most interesting to you. You’d heard that in the distant past, pirates used to hunt for your kind, keeping them as treasures among their hoards of wealth. Crazy as it might have sounded, you were curious about their treasures. Pirates seemed to have the same taste in all things that glittered under the sun as you did. Would it be so bad to be a pirate’s beloved treasure that they tended to be so possessive over?

In exploring the shipwrecks that had sunken to the depths, you always found the captain, clad in gold and shimmering gems that were still in those skeletal hands. They all seemed to love their treasure, dying covered in it with their ship. A fascinating attachment to their material things you thought. Some even had gems embedded in their teeth, many of those teeth hanging around your neck as decor now.

Your fingers ran over the sensitive barred flesh where your scales were missing, annoyed at the absence of the hard sheen that coated the entirety of your tail. The beautiful fins attached to your back and tail end flopped on the rock, much like an annoyed cat thumped its own tail on the ground to let it be known they were frustrated.

What could you do to lift your spirits? Spirits?…drinks…Sometimes when rummaging through sunken pirate treasure, you’d find closely sealed bottles that hadn’t broken under the pressure of the water, containing some dark colored liquid that made you feel hot and funny. You really liked those when you drank them on your rock, and since they were pretty hard to find, you usually kept them for rare occasions. This seemed like a very important occasion you reasoned with yourself, and quickly retreated back into the depths to gather a bottle to bring back up.

After several minutes of turning your fingers red trying to get the damn cork off, the bottle popped, little drops of the liquid flying out. The tang of it hit your tongue nicely, and soon the bottle was almost gone. You kind of forgot about your scale dilemma, singing to yourself your favorite songs that the sea had taught you.

In the middle of your one siren performance, you heard a familiar chime. It was too distant to come from your own scale made trinkets, but you knew the sound well. They were yours. Shaking your head from the heat of the drink, you set down the now empty bottle haphazardly. You were going to get those scales back. The sound of your body crashing into the water was muffled by the waves bashing up on cliffs and rocks, your water dynamic form cruising through the deep. You could hear the sounds underwater, the uncanny magic of your own scales calling out to you. There, they were hanging from a string above a ship. Swimming closer to the surface, you noticed other shimmering items beside your scales, glittering like the gold and jewels found on pirate captain remains. Your eyes gleamed with want, so quickly you dive deep before dashing upward with your tail, preparing to make the leap above.

Brant wasn’t planning on making contact with a siren, even seeing the shadow of one drawn by the sound of what was hopefully its scales would be enough to satiate his curiosity. The last thing he wanted to do was take a mythical creature captive for his own gain. Holding out the scales on a string, he let the wind do its work, moving the shards against each other to create the sound that haunted his dreams. The myths seemed to lead him to believe that siren’s were quite possessive over their things, often vain with carefully put together visages to attract sailors. Brant didn’t know if it was true, all he knew was that the song enchanted him, though no voice came from the scales.

Looking down in the waters, he saw it, a human-fish like shadow that moved fluidly. It disappeared just as quickly, retreating to the depths. A smile spread on his face, and his hand almost went to drop the scales, returning them to their owner, but before his fingers could fully loosen, a giant splash of water came from below. The sound prompted him to look quickly, quickly enough to see you, a beautiful real creature coming up to him, eyes locked with the string that had the same colors as your tail. Your momentum sent you tumbling into his, your giant tail over his legs with you on top of his chest.

The human’s chest had a very strange mark along it, and touching it let your fingers feel a bit of a hum, like the sensation of a current. The skin was soft and warm, but what attracted you most were the sparkling trinkets adorning him. There were shining circles that punctured his ears, and a big square like piece on his waist. Your hands went to fiddle with it, to which the man made an embarrassed yelp, trying to slide away. The weight of you on top held him down, your tail a bigger weight due to your years in the sea. Before you messed with it more, you heard a slight clink on the deck right beside his shoulders. Quickly your hand shot out to grab the string of scales, your scales.

“Beautiful siren, do you speak?” The human man below you voiced, a wide incredulous smile gracing his handsome features, like this encounter was the most magical thing that ever happened to him. Holding your scales close, you eyed him up and down narrowly. This man was not the one that attacked you, so how did he have them? In the end, you thought, it didn’t matter as long as you got them back. Your movements caused the many decor pieces on you to jingle, catching light on your already graceful form. His eyes sparkled, widening when you respond,

“I am familiar with many human languages.” You brought your hands up, adjusting your wet hair now that you were above water. When he looked as if to carry a conversation, you turned sharply, hearing whispers. The pirate under you was cautious, telling the crewman and others who were attracted to the strange sight to back up as you sat there unhappy at the people interrupting your time with your handsome new fascination. A short girl with pink and violet hair shooed the crowd away with the help of a box, knowing a creature like you probably didn’t want that kind of distraction when you were focused on the thing, or man, of your interest. Mythical creatures deserved respect. The annoyance faded quickly, as your attention returned to the man you had below you. Leaning down, your chests touched as your hand fidgeted with one of his earrings. “Do you have many of these shining things? I want to see them.”

“Yes, our fool’s troupe has many wonders! I…never expected they would grace the sight of a mythical siren. Captain Brant at your service miss…” He paused, allowing you to tell your name. you told him, the origin sounding foreign to the rinascitan man. The captain seemed theatrical, a fiery personality that you hoped kept some shiny treasures. Your hand left his earring to reach for his hat, holding it up and inspecting it. You didn’t know what it was, but copied how he wore it. Brant laughed lightly in disbelief at your curious behavior, but you were getting a little impatient. You wanted to see the hoards of pirate treasure that must have been stowed away somewhere.

As Brant sat up carefully, you threw your arms over him, causing him to steady you both a little awkwardly, one of his hands supporting your side. His warmth was very attractive to you, a contrast to the waters that were often very cold where there wasn’t much sun. “Do siren’s drink?” The captain sounded surprised, the smell of alcohol defined now that you were so close. You couldn’t tell what he meant, too focused on the strange anatomy of the man below you, and how his warm hand felt on your hip.

The gills on your neck had retracted into your skin to suit your lungs breathing in oxygen outside of water. Brant’s clothes were soaked, sticking to him from where you landed on him, which was almost his whole body. Accounting for tail length, you would have beaten his height by many inches if you laid side by side to compare. Brant took a breath before speaking to let you know he was going to lift you up. “Alright, let’s get you up then.”

Brant adjusted his hand on your waist, the other hand coming under your tail to position you more in his lap. With your arms around him as added support, he lifted you up before using his long legs to get a stance on the deck. Your shimmering tail hang low with the lustrous fins almost touching the wood deck, but the pirate captain made it seem like no big deal. His expression was curious, the texture of your tail certainly something new to him. The hat on your head was still secure as he walked down stairs in the giant ship, briefly pausing to put his back to the doors to his quarters.

The smell of the sea was still present even in the room. Jeweled trinkets hung from different places, and different vases had gold almost woven into the ceramic. There were chests, open and full of necklaces and fabrics. Closest to you, was a little moving creature. It looked like the other ceramic things, but it was filled with water, and gave a little bark like an animal when you were carried in.

“I figured you can’t be out of water too long, so I had one of my crewmates bring a tubpup down full of seawater. You don’t mind if I set you in it do you?”

You nodded, still taking in the different aspects of the room, eyes landing on the bed like structure covered in intricately designed pillows and metalwork of the frame. You also noticed several bottles laying around, asking, “are those bottles that have the dark liquid? They make you feel warm.” Brant glanced at them as he lowered you into the water, hands slipping away from you.

“So you do drink wine! Where would you get things like that in the sea?”

“Many sunken ships have tightly sealed chests which have ‘wine, and they are quite good, although the pressure makes most of them break, making them a rare find.” Watching closely, your eyes followed Brant’s movements to grab two glass cups and the bottle of what you now knew as wine. He brought them over, setting them down before pulling a chest full of gems over. Your finger went in quickly, pulling out a handful of sparkly things. A jeweled necklace with rubies like his eyes, earrings that were wire wrapped around polished peridot gems, and a silver cup with embedded citrine gemstones.

Coins fell from your handfull into the tub, metal reflecting off your scales while Brant poured the dark wine into the two glasses. The shimmer caught Brant’s eyes, and he moved closer to look. Your tail hung out of the tub a bit, too long for the whole tub to fit, but it wasn’t uncomfortable for you. His eyes sparkled with curiosity about your scales, the glistening seeming to entrance him the same way when he had your string of scales. Handing you a glass full of your favorite drink, he took a sip of his own and rested his arm on the top of the tub, simply looking at your tail and uniquely strung together jewelry. The seven missing scales were tied to a string you wore, probably to be taken off later for some other purpose.

His hat was still on your head, so he figured you quite liked it. Your cup was empty before he could fully take you in, and you handed it to him for him to fill it again, your lower fins moving contently under the water in the tub. After handing you a second glass, the captain asked softly, “would it be intruding to ask your permission to touch your tail?”

Lifting much of your tail out of the water, you let the larger fins and scaled parts land practically in his hands, making him have to move his glass away so as to not drop it from the sudden weight. The iridescence was fascinating, and the rays from outside cast an ethereal glow on your already luminous form. His calloused hands ran over your scales gently, fingers tracing the pattern they made to protect the flesh beneath. Tilting the glass all the way up, you downed your second large glass, small murmurs coming from your throat.

“Captain Brant, do you sing well?” You sighed out, fins flexing and moving in his grasp. Gently putting your tail back in the tub, he drank the rest of his own share, fingers wiping a stray drop from his lip to answer, “I have my fair share of practice in it. Being on the sea would be a little dull without a song wouldn’t it? I enjoyed the song your scales sang to me particularly before I returned them if I could be so honest.”

“Mm yes, what folk songs do you know that pirates sing? I have never heard any before.” You watched him down a third glass before standing, bowing and turning his back to you. Suddenly he broke out into character, recounting a story he had heard, which then turned into a folk tale you began to quickly like. His theatrical voice and playful tone had you smiling and raising another glass to his wild whimsy. The wine had made you both tipsy, you giving a little hiccup as you started singing the chorus with him after hearing him sing it before.

The behavior was wild and full of merry joy, Brant decorating you with more jewels like a character he described in another story. The festive bonding between the siren and pirate captain lasted for an hour or two more, until you both sang yourselves to near sundown. Being the treasure of a pirate was the best, you thought as you nearly fell out of the tub, your head swimming from the wine. Brant was on the floor beside it laying over soft fabrics, clothes still damp. Adjusting the hat on your head, you climbed over, falling onto him with the rest of your tail landing with a thump on the floor. Your head sought to bury itself into his neck as your hands searched for warmth from his body.

Brant grunted, cheeks flushed from wine and the proximity you shared. His words slurred as he spoke, “beautiful siren, is it true you can enchant sailors to fall in love at first sight?”

Pulling back to peer down at him, you noticed with the boldness the wine gave you how kissable a pirate looked. His lips were wet, and his mouth slightly parted, chest rising heavily as he looked up at your form. “I…” he continued, “I must believe it to be true, as I can’t stop thinking about whether you feel soft to hold, to kiss…”

His eyes were sparkling, holding adventure and a desire for things unknown to him, like the woman above him. Sitting forward from his flat down position with you on him, he tilted his face up, his hands coming where you guided them, up the small of your back and below your shoulder blades. With slow, teasing motions, you peeled the billowy shirt and jacket down, revealing glistening skin where the water hadn’t dried from your encounter.

“I have no such magic, captain…” you whispered back in a subtle tone, encouraging him to keep going. Your hands lightly ran over the black mark over his chest, feeling the hum it made as well as the fast beating heart underneath. He sighed, pleased at how your hand danced on his skin, coming up to tilt his jaw. His eyes open briefly to catch you smiling, before pulling you closer, closing the distance between you. Those lips were indeed soft, warm as every part of him was.

Pushing him back down, you used the movement to open his mouth, allowing your kiss to turn heated. The tang of wine hit you as your tongues met, Brant giving a small whimper like grunt beneath you. His hat had fallen off the the side, forgotten in your desire for more of him. It felt strange, to want something other than shiny things and trinkets. A siren and a pirate intertwined on the floor. His hand was feather light along your curves, gentle and careful in his caresses, dipping down to your side to feel the scales again.

“Brant…” you whispered against his lips, words slurred by the burning heat of the wine in your bodies. His eyes glimmered when his name fell from your mouth, fingers twitching at the syllables. His breath was hot, lips pressing into your neck, jingling the jewels and strings of gold and silver. Time passed slow, and you were sure you’d come to find other treasures he was hiding besides gems and pearls, helping him sing in other ways. Being with a pirate didn’t sound too bad.

[mintyys-blog]

The mark and the variants with a reader that is similar to all might, always being the one who carries the world on their backs, willing to put others first before themselves and always being reckless and throwing their life on the line (especially if the Mark's find out about all might reader injury and how the have a limited time in their buffy form ;3)

HEADCANONS | variants with a s/o who is like all might

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: injury

Mainstream Mark

• Admires you to a fault. You’re like the embodiment of everything he wants to be as a hero—but it also scares him. He knows what it’s like to keep pushing until you break, and he hates seeing you do it to yourself.

• The day he finds out about your injury and time limit, he snaps. He can’t believe you’d smile and keep running into danger while literally burning yourself out.

• After that, he’s always lingering nearby, timing your fights, ready to intervene the moment you weaken. You jokingly call him your “backup”, but he just holds you tighter every night.

• “You can’t carry everything forever… so let me help. Please.”

Viltrumite Mark

• Thinks you’re insane. Heroic? Selfless? Always fighting to the point of collapse? In Viltrumite culture, you’d be a joke—and yet, watching you… he starts to understand why humans admire you.

• When he finds out about your condition, he’s furious—but not at you. He’s angry at the world for using someone like you up.

• “They don’t deserve you. You’re wasting your power on people who’d let you die without blinking.”

• He starts pushing you toward a selfish kind of love, whispering that the galaxy doesn’t need a martyr. He needs you. Alive. His.

Sinister Mark

• Thinks it’s hot. No, really—he’s weirdly obsessed with how far you’re willing to go for others. You’re the sun in his dark, twisted little world.

• But when he discovers the limit to your powered form? His obsession turns violent. He starts sabotaging your missions just to keep you safe. He’ll kill anyone who tries to push you too hard.

• “If you can’t stop hurting yourself… I’ll stop everyone else.”

• He becomes possessive, always smirking, saying things like, “What good is being a symbol if you’re dead? Stick with me, and you’ll never have to break again.”

Full Mask Mark

• Quietly watches you. He rarely speaks, but he’s always there when you fall. You pretend you’re fine—bloodied, exhausted—but he knows. He knows you’re dying a little more every time.

• One day, you collapse mid-battle before your time limit’s up, and he just snaps a villain’s spine without a word.

• Afterward, he forces you into hiding. No arguments. He’ll sit by your bed like a silent warden, brushing hair from your face, eyes unreadable.

• You once asked if he was angry with you. His only answer?

“You are the only light I see. I won’t let it go out.”

Omni Mark

• Judges you hard at first. He sees your sacrifices as foolish—human fragility dressed up as nobility.

• But when he learns the truth of your condition, something in him cracks. Because now he sees you not as weak, but as limitless in spirit.

• “You’ve already done more than most Viltrumites ever could… Why are you still trying to save them?”

• He tries to convince you to stop. If not for yourself, then for him. He’ll take care of the world. You don’t have to die for it.

Lensless Mark

• Unhinged approval. You’re his favorite kind of chaos—a beautiful, self-destructive mess wrapped in heroism. He flirts with you mid-battle, even as you cough up blood.

• When he finds out about the injury and time limit, he loses it. “So you’re telling me… every time I watch you fly off, it could be the last time?”

• Cue toxic levels of clinginess. He’ll start fights just to keep you close. Keeps joking about “locking you up for your own good”—you think he’s joking.

• “You say you’re carrying the world? Well guess what, sweetheart—I’m carrying you. Deal with it.”

Mohawk Mark

• Loud. Protective. Explosive. You’re the only thing that makes him slow down. He calls you “Hero” in that half-teasing, half-reverent way that masks how terrified he is.

• The moment he finds out about your injury and limited time in your powered form, he loses it. “You’ve been going all-out like that for HOW LONG?!”

• His temper flares like wildfire—at you, at your enemies, at himself for not seeing it sooner.

• He hates how you smile through it. That “I’m fine” mask makes his blood boil. He’d rather you cry, scream—anything but lie to him with your eyes.

• “You’re not the symbol of peace. You’re my person. Let someone else be the hero for once. Just let me take the damn hit.”

Shiesty Mark

• Too slick for his own good. Flirts like breathing, always calling you “muscle babe” or “Captain Heroic” with a smirk.

• You’d think he wouldn’t take your injury seriously—but the moment he learns you’re dying every time you power up?

• Gone is the smugness. His voice gets quiet. Still teasing, but softer, like he’s mourning you while you’re still alive.

• “So that’s the game, huh? You give your life away one second at a time while the world claps for it.”

• He starts pulling strings, making deals, stealing tech—anything to stretch your time limit or heal your injuries.

• “I ain’t gonna lose you, sweetheart. I steal everything I want… and right now, I want you breathing.”

Maskless Mark

• Raw. Honest. Intense. Without the mask, everything he feels is written across his face—and what he feels when he sees you push past your limits is pain.

• He never says it outright, but he starts stepping in early during battles, taking hits you normally would.

• He studies your body language like a science—he knows exactly when your strength dips, when your breaths shorten, when the time limit’s creeping up.

• When you finally explain the truth, he just stares at you—shocked, devastated… and then angry. Not rageful like others, but hurt.

• “You smile like nothing’s wrong. But I’ve been watching you fall apart this whole time, haven’t I?”

• From then on, he’s your shield. No negotiations. He’ll bleed before he ever lets you hit that limit again.

• “Let me be strong for you. You’ve done enough. You’ve done too much.”

[phyrestartr]

If We Had Lived (Divine Favour) | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader

W/C: 3k #SFW, fluff, mentions of past abuse, heian sukuna, typical kitsune shapeshifting, jp mythology, morally grey reader, DRABBLE

tags: @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah @memedealer-exe @f0th3rr @boretheral @cicithemess @paastaboi @someone0vx

--

“Sit still.”

“I'm sitting fucking still, fox.”

Sukuna did not sit still. He shifted and huffed, not unlike an annoyed, restless bull locked up in a pen–only, he was far from being in a pen and could leave whenever he so wished. 

Yet, he stayed. He endured the torture you, his prized possession, put him through for the sake of making good impressions or whatever. But the harvest festival was hardly a big deal–the last time the king was bestowed a gift of any value was when he found himself the owner of a beautifully annoying fox that hid in his garden for a fucking eternity. A prize like that was unlikely to be given again. What else could possibly excite the man who had everything?

Your tails swished behind you dramatically as you shifted on your knees, tilting your head to look over the work you'd done with cleaning and manicuring his nails and hands. Thankfully, you left callouses in place. Not that he thought you'd be so cruel as to remove them, but you certainly had the ability to, considering how soft your own hands were. 

“How much more?” Sukuna grumbled.

Your eyes flicked up to his for a moment before returning to your task. “I've hardly finished one hand.” 

The king scowled as a child might as you continued gently pushing at his cuticles with the slim, soft stick of an orange tree, carved specially for this occasion. Sure, he was the one who demanded you to turn your self-preening onto him, but still--

Your soft, warm touch cupped under his jaw and lifted his pouty gaze to meet yours. “You asked this of me,” you reminded. “If you've changed your mind, I've other tasks to attend to.” 

Sukuna’s lip twitched in an ugly, childish snarl. “You'll stay here and finish your job.” 

“Very well.” You leaned up toward him and kissed the spot between his brows before sitting again. But Sukuna followed you, bowing his head to chase a proper kiss that you gave freely, the kind spirit you were. “Then you will have to sit still.” 

“Tch.” But he obliged to the best of his abilities. “Already gonna have to sit still for hours while those damn peasants show up and dump scraps at my feet,” he sighed, pulling up a knee and resting an elbow on it. 

“My, a kingly thing is complaining about fealty?” You wondered, sarcastic yet cripplingly honest. “While I understand your unwillingness to do anything but fight and kill, you must remind those beneath you of your status.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “Yeah? Then why isn't my kyuubi doing just that?” 

“I am no king,” you said. “I am simply the servant of one, no? Given to him as a mere offering, yet kept alive for his amusement.” 

“Huh. Guess you know your place.” Sukuna shifted, and he noticed you pick up the pace, tending to him a bit quicker lest the restless beast lose his patience and leave with the job incomplete. He wouldn’t leave, not when he hungered for your attention and touch more than anything else the pathetic world could offer him–only something from the divine plane could satiate him. 

“Mh.” You raised his hand and pressed his knuckles to your lips, then against the soft plushness of your cheek. “My place is by my king’s side. It will forever remain that way.” 

–

You left his side. You left him, your pious saviour, your sworn king, your chosen mate, in favour of–what? Freedom? Adventure? Men? Women? What was it? 

Thunder echoed in Sukuna’s chest as he paced. He’d swept through towns, destroyed any houses you might have been sequestered in, searched vacant shrines and the like, but never caught a glimpse of your ebony tails nor your decorated kimono. It drove him mad. How had he not noticed? Did the harvest festivities really engulf his mind? Sure, they were more eventful this year, what with clansmen attempting revenge in the name of their fallen brethren, but it’d only been a week of problems–nothing challenging, nothing that really, truly required his full attention. And still–

“Sukuna-sama,” Uraume called, interrupting his buzzing thoughts. 

“What?” The king snapped, turning on his heel to face Uraume standing at his chamber door. “If this is about anything other than my fucking fox, then–”

“Please, come,” they said. “I believe I’ve found an explanation.” 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. Uraume sounded calm, not that they ever sounded particularly frantic, but they seemed…happy, maybe? Some weird kind of content, perhaps. It wasn’t something Sukuna was used to seeing on their placid face, though it’d become more common ever since you entered their lives and made yourself at home. The frost sorcerer had a soft spot for you. Sukuna couldn’t blame them. 

“Pray tell what the fuck the explanation is,” Sukuna grumbled as he followed his subordinate, arms all crossed and tensed. 

“I’m certain I’ve found the whereabouts of your beloved.” Uraume slid open the door leading to the gardens in the back and walked on. “In the absence of (Name), I decided to tend to the gardens myself. In doing so, I found something quite peculiar–a hidden grove of sorts.” 

Sukuna’s fury morphed into prickling, fiery intrigue. “Bullshit. I’ve been all over this fucking garden with that fox. I know the ins and outs.”

“Then it would not surprise me if he indeed kept this a secret from you.” 

Sukuna grumbled. “He knows better.”

“I don’t believe it’d be intentional,” Uraume said, “but I believe his instincts may have influenced him to secure a quiet, safe place for the future.”

The king relaxed. Electricity sparked weakly in his fingertips first,then throughout the rest of his body when everything started falling into place–you wanted all eyes to be on him, you didn’t want anyone to look at you during the festival. Your cheeks had grown fuller, your body more plush, your desire to snuggle and snooze went through the roof. Could you have been–?

Uraume stepped toward a thicket of trees in the far corner of the garden–one that Sukuna indeed had never bothered with, considering it looked full of trees and foliage and definitely not a spot to meander on your shared morning walks–before ducking under thick branches and pushing aside flimsy bushes. 

Sukuna followed with a little more brute force, nearly ripping the pesky foliage out of the way and half-considering decimating the trees that dare whip him in the face with a cluster of leaves. But you’d probably get pissy if he did that. A pissy fox was fun, but also withheld sex, and that was a no-go for Sukuna these days, considering his concubines just weren’t doing it for him as of late. 

Sure enough, Uraume’s words rang true. The grove was small and cozy, letting in warm dappling sunlight while shielding itself from the prying eyes of the outside world. In the very corner of the garden and the evident centrepiece of the grove, stood an immense weeping willow, one with a formidable trunk and thick, gnarled branches reaching up to drape long curtains of green like cascading waterfalls around itself. Truly, it felt like a separate little world would be hidden in there, behind swaying vines and rustling leaves. 

“You gotta be shitting me,” Sukuna muttered, stepping past his right hand to push aside the foliage, revealing a black fox curled up in the hollowed trunk of that very tree. 

You didn’t stir when he approached. Something uneasy curled in Sukuna’s gut, but once he sat himself in front of the mouth to your little den, he spied the steady breathing shifting your small form, and calmed–until he saw something else wiggling against you, chirping and squeaking with pathetic, fragile voices. At first, he thought it was some sort of parasite sucking you of your lifeforce, but he realized too quickly that what he beheld were two, tiny kits, both covered in fluffy brown-black fur, both keenly aware of the presence of a curious new man sitting before them. 

Sukuna tensed when they approached him. Their chubby bellies knocked their weak, stubby legs off balance, but they persevered best they could, bumbling their way through trampled leaves and grass, and finally reaching the crossed legs of the king. Tiny paws papped at his pant legs before they hazarded climbing the formidable mountain before them And despite Sukuna’s hesitation, he hastily held their butts before they fell off of him like the stupid, dumb babies they were. They were his stupid, dumb babies, after all. Best to take care of them. 

“It appears he went somewhere quiet to nest,” Uraume hummed, sounding far too pleased as they watched the king handle fox kits. “Perhaps the festival was too stressful.”

“Tch. Could’ve shot the runts out inside,” Sukuna mumbled, half-heartedly annoyed. “Coulda said somethin’.” 

“He could have,” Uraume agreed, an air of ‘but what’s done is done’ clinging to their words. 

Sukuna sighed. “What a pain in the ass.” His eyes flicked to you again. He expected you to wake up, to snap at him like the feral thing you were. He expected you to calm after recognizing him. Maybe he expected you to curl up in his lap, too. Or did he just want that?

But you stayed sleeping. Content and safe under the shelter of your lover and the stalwart embrace of a weeping willow. Perhaps it was thanking you for your kind care with the way it soothed your soul and kept you hidden away. Sukuna wouldn't doubt it for a second. The garden acted differently ever since you claimed it as your own. 

“Shall we take them back?” Uraume asked.

The king thought for a long moment, sifting through selfish desires and rational decisions before coming to his conclusion: “Leave ‘em. He'll probably throw a damn fit if we interfere. You know how gods are–annoying and irrational as hell when they don't get their way.”

His subordinate smiled. “Very well.”

–

Winter’s first frost came, and you returned to his side. 

You woke him with a classic move–standing on his chest and staring at him expectantly until he woke up and gave you attention. You didn’t do it as much anymore, not ever since you found yourself in the midst of a thousand responsibilities and daily quests, but every once in a while, like when your lover would return from long journeys, you’d pester him endlessly for pets, scritches and kisses. 

But this time, once his heavy eyes opened, he not only saw you standing atop his chest, but a chubby pup caught in your maw, too. 

Sukuna blinked away his grogginess just as you gingerly placed the babe on his collarbone, tucking him underneath the king's chin. One of his large hands flew up to ensure the kit (his kit) didn't slip off when you let go and trotted away with purpose. 

“Fox,” Sukuna grumbled, displeased with your hasty retreat. Thankfully, you trotted back up to him a handful of moments later and placed a second ball of fluff on his chest before settling down beside him and watching. 

“Tch. Took you long enough,” the king huffed as he tried his damndest to be careful and gentle with the little ones. “Was about to drag your sorry ass in here myself.” 

I see. If you were so desperate for my company, you could have simply requested it, you countered. 

Sukuna sucked his teeth and huffed. “Like it woulda been that easy.” Nothing was that easy with you–and Sukuna liked it. If you gave in, if you tended to his every fleeting want and need, you'd be too boring, frankly. 

It is unlike you to not try. You shifted and wormed your way into his arms and half onto his chest, right beside the two snoozing kits you'd worked hard to bring up while Sukuna was off fighting, killing and maiming. But that was expected; servants and bedded beasts were to stay and make a home, weren't they? 

“Tch. I let you have your way for once and this is how you act?” Your partner admired your foxen features and traced his fingertips along your snout, between your eyes, to the top of your little skull before scritching behind your ears. You leaned into the touch, eyes falling closed with the meagerest offering of affection.

Shall I praise you and bow at your feet once I am able? You teased. 

“Bending over'll do the trick.” Sukuna smirked when you huffed. “How long you gotta stay as a shitty mutt anyway?” 

Until they wean. I'm not certain as to how long that will take.

“Not even a guess?” 

Perhaps another week or so. You turned your nose to the two small fluffs and groomed the tops of their heads. They're becoming more independent. More willing to explore. I take that as a good sign for their development. 

“Huh. Good.” A strange coil relaxed in Sukuna's chest, and he braved petting them with a single finger again. “‘N how long ‘til these two learn to play human?” 

Not for some time, but I will help them until they master it themselves. You nipped at Sukuna's hand as a third rose to come pester you. You should not pray for them to be human too soon. They will terrorize you. I have seen such chaos before. 

Sukuna grinned. “Ho? You forget who their father is?” Your sigh echoed in his mind, and his smile split wider. “I can handle anything.”

–

Kazuya and Genji took too much after you and your mischievous heritage. 

Too often Uraume would find them in baskets of produce, happily munching away like they were supposed to be in there. Other times, they'd be caught stealing shiny jewelry or knick knacks from the king's concubines and servants. They'd sometimes even take Sukuna's clothes and run amok with them, using them as toys or completely shredding them. 

You, he who had birthed and raised them, were swift when it came to correcting them. You were, of course, the prime example of a kitsune, and therefore found their treasure stashes, foretold of their destructive crimes, and knew when they'd be off to steal food. You were like them, once, after all. 

And maybe that's why you had a peculiar pep to your step. Once the boys found their devious personalities, you bothered lifting your tails from the floor. No longer did you let them drag and droop like limp noodles hanging from chopsticks. You seemed…prouder. Livelier. Perhaps being amongst your own gave you a sense of belonging, of hope. 

Belonging, huh? Tch, what a load of shit. Sukuna mused as he rested his cheek against his fist, lounging while he watched you wrangle the twins from his spot under a shady tree. Spring was here, and that meant the runts were now terrorizing the great outdoors. 

More accurately, they were following you around like two tiny shadows, too eager to waddle after you as you moved along the paths, sowing seeds and pruning withered leaves as you went. The tots picked up whatever your tending cast to the ground, and they held each thistle, leaf and twig close in tiny, pudgy hands like they were rabbit's feet. Strange little things.

He lost sight of you and the bumbling babies eventually, but your light chatter flitted through the brush and kept him company for a time. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot accompanied your walk as you came back around, closer and closer and–through the garden itself? Wait–

“RAH!” A little voice cried before a littler body launched onto Sukuna. 

“Ha?” The king quirked a brow and looked at the little thing biting and kicking at his arm like a spastic cat. “What the hell is this?” 

“He's trying to play with you,” you said as you wandered back into view, voice airy and light. “They wrestle.” 

Sukuna held his arm up to get a better look at the runt nibbling on him. “This is supposed to be playing? Damn thing's acting feral.” 

“Because he's young.” You settled down beside your lover, adjusting your robes and such to ensure they cascaded and pooled around you attractively. “One day, he'll ask you to teach him how to fight. How to use cursed techniques.” 

Sukuna's expression almost softened. “Huh. That so?” 

“Mh.” You smoothed Kazuya's hair back as he settled in your lap, choosing peace over violence, unlike Genji. “They are yours. I've no doubt they'll have the same hunger for strife and knowledge.” 

They are yours. The words nearly made Sukuna sick; they weren't his per sè, they were a result of his relentless attempts to tie you down and make you stay with him no matter the cost. They only shared half of his genetics, they didn't rule his every thought nor own half of his heart. That all belonged to you.

But then why did he feel…trepidatious? The way he once felt too long ago when he knew nothing of the world and met too many cruel hands from the moment he opened his eyes. Maybe because these little ones were that age, able to run around and cause problems where they ought to not. Maybe because messing with the wrong person might not end with them slaughtering he who had the audacity to harm them, but with their young lives being lost. 

Ah. That must have been it–the petulance of his own kind pissed Sukuna off to no end. The thought of extensions of himself being looked down on brought about creeping waves of disgust and distaste. Humans were the ones who thought themselves godly enough to kill Sukuna. Humans were the ones who thought themselves mighty enough to enslave and breed a divine beast. The little ones were destined to share humanity's ire, and it pissed him off. It really pissed him off.

“Yeah,” Sukuna decided, shaking his arm to test Genji's ability to cling onto him. “I'll show ‘em a thing or two. Can't have humans beating the shit outta some godlings just for fun.”

“Well, if one were to try, I'd kill them myself,” you cooed like it was the most romantic thing in the world. “Level their village, light the sky ablaze.” 

“Now you're speakin’ my language,” Sukuna said, grinning. 

[getaapologist]

A Haven with Two Faces

Emperor Geta x married!reader

Warnings: adultery; mentions of sex (brief); 18+ only

A/N: Just something I became possessed by and wanted to write out before the idea left me. Image below is credit to @inseparabiles and taken from this brilliant post mentioning Geta's lips

The dress was chosen just for his satisfaction. Stones sewn in, glittering rubies. Crimson. Shining. Spilling. Urgent and alarming. A warning. Red silks. As if bathed in blood. A vision, a fury. The red thread of fate. It wound tighter and tighter, cutting off circulation, threatening to take the hand with it as it breaks skin.

The gods certainly had the capacity to be cruel.

The lust burned like Prometheus fire. There was no thought of a husband, or rules, no thought given to adultery and its grave punishment. You would submit to it to keep these hands gripping your flesh, his soft lips on your skin. How you wished he would give in. A bite to break skin. Possession. A great seizing of flesh with no intention of letting go. The neck held close, fangs sunken in, eyes sharp like a wild animal. 

They could march you down to the river and fill your pockets with stones, accuse you of being a sorceress, stealing the vitality of one of their Emperors, and you would look up at Geta and smile as you waded in.

If only you had met him first. If only. And he seemed to agree, finding every opportunity to send your husband away on another campaign. He had watched your husband beg to be allowed to remain, to have an opportunity to start a family. Laughed in his face, sent him anyway. As if he would allow him to impregnate you. And each time, Geta hoped some error would allow him to fall in battle. If your husband did not return, you could be his, always. A widow in title, but not in spirit, for your soul was long ago wed to his.

It started with a glance. Playful, coy, if also a little nervous. It wasn’t every day you were invited to a party at Palatine Hill. It was your fresh, new husband who had really been invited, though Geta didn’t know that. Not at first. And even once he did know, it did not seem to be as much of a deterrent as it should have been. The same could be said of you.

And then it became a habit. A need.

“You wear this to provoke me, I know it,” Geta accused, his lips at your neck, hands searching lower.

“It is too open, Geta, we will be seen,” you warn, still clinging to him, not pushing him away, as heated and voracious as he was.

A cruel laugh. “What if your dear husband finds us here, buried in each other?” 

It should fill you with dread, it should make you second guess it all. But it doesn’t. “You would have to kill him to keep this secret.”

He growls, and it settles into your bones. “Do not tempt me.”

“I do not wish to leave you again. I cannot bear it.”

He lifts his head to look into your pleading eyes. “My heart, you know it cannot be that way, not yet.”

“Convict him of something, send him away, just please, I need more than these stolen moments. I can only fend him off so many times, Geta.”

He hides his face, his emotions, in the skin of your neck. “Tomorrow he departs for Persia. A lengthy campaign. I will call on you as I please.”

You halt his hands, gripping his wrists. “It is so awful that I wish for him to fall. I make for a terrible wife, don’t you think?” you laugh bitterly.

“I will not hear of it,” He orders, his hand gripping your chin, forcing your eyes to his. He looks down at you with sorrow. “You belong to me, not him, in body and in soul. You know it in your heart. You feel it the same as I do. When you spoke your vow beside him, you were saying it to me.”

Unable to help the swelling of emotions, like a great wave, you hide your quivering lip against his, submerging yourself in his affections to galvanize you for the moments you’d inevitably have to spend without him near. 

You felt as if you were Venus, and he Mars, forever cursed to be bound to another, forced to find your way to each other in secret. When would Vulcan entrap the pair of you with his metal net, expose you to mockery and ridicule? And punishment.

“If you were my Empress, you would want for nothing,” Geta whispers into your ear as he plunges into you, his brows drawn together in concentration as he holds you up, his touch firm but gentle. He’s always careful to not leave a mark. “I would shroud you in the finest silks and jewels. You would be worshipped so thoroughly. Mine.”

As you sit at the table, dress righted, hair smoothed down into place, your husband bumps shoulders with you, a drunken smile on his face. You feel a bit sad for him. He was not mean, or cruel. He did not deserve this violent betrayal. But it was how things were.

“Get lost? I know the palace is so large. Perhaps next time I’ll join you.” 

His implication is not lost on you, and it sends a flush to your face, your neck, though not because of thoughts of him dragging you off somewhere private. It is for all the stolen moments you spent looking up into Geta’s deep amber eyes. But your husband certainly doesn’t know that.

Geta steps around the table, clasping a hand to your husband’s shoulder moments before he reclaims his seat at the head of the table, beside his brother. Flaunting his power to himself. His eyes fall to you, a practiced expression obscuring the affection in them.

“Do not drink too much, wife. I leave tomorrow, and I would like to enjoy you before then.” The words spoken against your ear do not inspire the clench of your thighs as Geta's do.

You offer a small placating smile to your husband and you shoot a concerned glance to Geta, your eyes leaving his shining form as quickly as they could, to not arouse suspicion.

“I have prepared a treat for all of you,” Geta later announces, grinning, the look not unlike how he looks at you, right before he hides himself beneath your skirts. But it’s not directed at you. “Fine soldiers deserve fine celebrations. Come, join me in the courtyard. Ladies, you must forgive your husbands, for they deserve a little gift before we send them far away,” he winks, as smooth as ever. As if he wasn’t doing this for a single, selfish reason.

The look he sends your way tells you that this is his way of keeping you reserved just for him. This is how he protects you tonight. And soon, he can have you to himself.

When your husband finally came home, he did not seek you out. There was a loud clattering and the sound of a chair scraping the floor as it was righted. Drunken footfalls echoing, tired, whiny groans as he made his way into his room. You turned back over once his quiet snores started from the other side of the wall, fingers tracing the band of the ring in your palm. 

A gift. From Geta. And with it came a promise. A promise you hoped he could keep.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello Miss Raven! I hope you're doing well. I wanted to ask.. About the new Vil's Birthday Grooovy. I'm curious about your thoughts since you make analysis for cards as well 😭

I'm so surprised when I just saw it-

I do write the occasional analysis for card illustration (which you can read here and here)! But I usually mark what is and isn't an analysis with tags. Most posts where I discuss card art + groovies are just opinion pieces! What is going ON at Twst HQ… 😭

On one hand, yeah, if you're going to do a sleepwear themed line, it makes sense to have... feet out. It's not like there weren't other scenarios where it made sense to have exposed feet. Leona has them out in his school uniform outfit all the time, the Scarabia dorm uniforms have sandals, the Beachwear boys and Silk Adorned boys had sandals as well. I think the difference for me is that in most of these cases, the footwear was not visible in their card art. The only exceptions are the initial artwork for Beachwear Floyd and Lilia + Silk Adorned Vil--but even then, they weren't egregious because Floyd's feet are blurred/out of focus, Lilia's are off to the left of the art and not front and center, and Vil's toes were cut off in the shot. Not the case for Relax in Room Floyd and Vil 💦 They're... very much there in full, centered and pretty detailed. It's a new angle for Twst, so it's very jarring.

Vil is a character that has extensive routines, which do involve yoga. So... in-universe, this composition for his groovy makes sense for him. The pose could have been something else for sure, but 💦 I'm sure some people must like this...? (Otherwise why would Twst make multiple of these?) But it's definitely not for me.

Feet aside, I was very shocked by. The Vil boobage 💀 It's not that his physique is different than what I thought it was (he takes care of himself and is clearly fit), I just... I DUNNO, IT'S SO DARING TO HAVE'M OUT LIKE THAT. (<- possessed by the spirit of Rollo) I know it's not the only time; his Luxe Couture outfit was low-cut too (and even his Beans Camo was pretty tight) sbdkhyuasareora I'm not used to it, I guess...

The suddenly detailed teeth, dramatically scattering the (fake) money, fucking expression… IT REAALLY iS THE SAME ENERGY 🫣

SO MANY TIMES… *clenches fist like Arthur*

I checked again and I think the count is closer to 4?? Ace and Trey I can kind of excuse since their feet aren't in the center of their artworks, but Floyd and Vil traumatized me OTL

Yeah, I've seen many Kakegurui jokes around Azul's Clubwear groovy... (One of them is right above this ask!) abhlafbaefiygriygina NOT IDIA ACTING LIKE A FUCKING DEVASTATED ANIME CHARACTER WHEN HE'S LOST AT A CHILDREN'S CARD GAME. I can practically hear his wailing and Azuk's gloating... Guys, calm down 💀 It's MONOPOLY. ... Side note, how the heck is all of Idia's hair fitting into that hood. Does the inside of that hood warp space and time or something???

Aaaahhh 💦 Thank you for checking in on me! I didn't want to make a big deal of it; the announcement was just meant to be a little bit of a blog update + explanation of where I'd be for a while--but I appreciate all the well wishes people have been sending in. Trying to not think too much about the areas they operated on! I think when I do, the discomfort flares www

[2-dsimp]

Any of the guys with a pregnancy kink?

On the father, the spirit, and the son, pregnant people are fine as fuck. I always be looking respectfully.

- 🤰

【The H.S.M Scenarios; Pregnancy kink edition】

—————;———-;———

Cw: MDNI NSFW 🔞 Fem reader, pregnancy kink

————;—-;————

“Atta girl, taking in every single drop like a good mommy~ Just lay back on me wife. I wanna get that cute tummy of yours all plump n full of me again and again—Fuck!”

Nokka the husband, this guys a no brainer. He’s so confident in his seed that he doesn’t even need a pregnancy test to check if he had knocked you up with his baby. But Your husband will let you do so if only to prove that his elite sperm had done its job well. in making his wife’s belly swell up beautifully with his potential son. And hence the moment you started showing a baby bump, your meager time alone at home would diminish. As this man is constantly on you like white on rice. He’s rubbing your belly possessively with his big hand. Watching football while having you warm his cock. Of which he complained got so rock hard that it was borderline uncomfortable for him to even sit wearing his baggy sweats. All because of how his wife was lookin too damn irresistible in that pregnancy glow. (And just in general… this man’s a bonifide caveman simp for his wife)

“Awe my poor player 2~ is our little player 3 acting up too much? Don’t worry! I’ll tell em to take it easy on you mkay mamma? Just spread them legs wide for me so that lil bugger can get the message”

Soma the Zombie, always dreamed of having a team of professional gamers to carry on his legacy of being number one in the world. He often joked around saying that 3 kids wouldn’t be enough. Since he’d never get enough of seeing that radiant glow you’d possess when you’re heavy with his child. And ever since he got infected his obsession with keeping you full got even more demanding. The Zombie had his tentacles that sprouted from him squeezed and kneaded your breasts for any source of milk to suckle on. while his thick gelatinous tendril cock squirmed itself inside your well used cunt. His suckers messaged against your love cannal trying to cease the baby’s incessant kicking by giving them a taste of their own medicine.

“B-but sunshine won’t this u-upset our little starshine? N-no? Then I guess it’ll be f-fine. Just don’t p-push yourself too hard, I only w-want you to f-feel good my love”

Moros the Torturer, would be considering himself blessed to even be able to have such happiness in raising a child with you. He’d always make sure to cater to your every need during your pregnancy. You’ve got a craving for baked goods? He’ll bake enough for a whole football team. Need a deep tissue massage? The Torturer’s on the case, after consulting with Koji the medic what would be the best spots to soothe for his pregnant darling. You’d have to be the one to try and initiate any sort of intimacy to get his gears going. Since he’s a timid gentle giant who’d cry if under the impression that he somehow hurt you. By delving his thick uncircumcised cock so deep inside your wet snatch that its fat tip was kissing languidly against your cervix. With each gentle but jerky buck of his semi inexperienced hips. His scarred hands would always subconsciously find themselves on your stomach. As he’s just so grateful at how now he’s got two stunning guiding lights that’ll brighten up his day.

[awakenedevildays]

Omg that not alot just forever fic literally changed the trajectory of my life ive been giggling kicking my feet sliding down the wall in slomo twirling my hair I LOVE UR WRITING STYLE😓🫶🫶🫶

What about a Halloween / autumn inspired fic I'd love that!!

Ur amazing mlll xx

The compliments literally made my week! Thank you for them and for requesting, hope you'll enjoy it 🩷

「Halloween」 Stiles Stilinski x F!reader

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

"A friend of mine is having a Halloween party this weekend, do you want to come with me?" you ask breathlessly after breaking the make out session you two are having in an empty classroom. He grunts in annoyance at the interruption but doesn't let it discourage him as he keeps kissing you even after. "Mh- Stiles?" 

"Yeah," Stiles replies distractedly between kisses. "Yeah that sounds cool." His index fingers hook into your belt loops and pulls you closer to him from where you're sat on the teacher's desk, him comfortably snuggled between your thighs.

"Did you even hear a word I just said?" you ask with a chuckle before pushing his face away from yours, your hand squishes his cheeks until his lips pucker up in a funny way.

"Of course I did! halloween party this week end, got it" He says and removes your fingers from his face to kiss your swollen lips again, and again. 

"Great! We could- do- a couple costume- let me talk!" Your hands push his chest away from you enough to catch his attention. "Hellooo? You with me?" 

"I heard every word" The boy grins widely and places his hands on your waist, gently holding you. "I was just trying to stock up on enough kisses that will last me until the end of the school day." The fake sappiness in his tone makes you roll your eyes.

"boo loser!" You answer and fist his shirt with your fingers to bring him back closer to you, you peck him again.

He chuckles at your reaction and allows you to pull him back, his hands moves from your waist  into the back pocket of your jeans and leans a bit over you to speak next to your ear. "What do you think about skipping the rest of our classes?" Stiles mumbles as he leaves kisses on your cheek and jaw.

"we really shouldn't" you answer and, sadly, put and end to your make out session by getting down from the desk, despite Stiles whines and attempts to keep you there.

"I can think of a million reasons of why we should," he protests as you get off the desk. "We have no work due in any classes, the teachers have been pretty boring today and now we have economy with the Coach. You want me to go on or have I made my point?" Stiles says as you grab your purse, and his wrist, to leave the classroom and begin to walk down the empty hallway together.

"Stop being a baby and focus on the costumes. I was thinking of the usuals: angel and devil?" you chose to ignore his complaints.

Stiles intertwines his fingers with yours and follows you easily, keeping up with your pace. "And I guess I would be the devil." He says throwing a wink at you and you snort as response.

"You? please! I would be the devil."

"You? No way. You're too cute to be the devil." 

"And you're too innocent." you bite back.

He lets out an offended gasp. "Excuse me? do you remember I was possessed by an evil spirit like- a year ago? You can't stand a chance!"

"You can't alway bring that up as a way to win Stiles!" 

"Yes I can! I was literally the perfect vessel for something evil. You can't beat that!"

"Oh my god okay. Let's just change the costumes, what about...Sexy nurse and patient?" 

It was his turn to smirk this time. "Shouldn't you find it sexist?"

"Shouldn't you find it hot?" you bite back. 

"That depends' would I be the sexy nurse? in that case ye-"

"Put your sarcasm away for a second, Stilinski." 

"You act like you don't know me," He giggles to himself, "but seriously, how about something more original. We can't just go with clichés come on."

"What did you have in mind?" you ask as you stop in front of your locker just when the bell rings and signals the start of the next lesson. 

He shrugs. "I don't really have anything specific. I just don't want something too cliché like a nurse and a patient..." He trails off, "...what about princess Leia and Han Solo?" he asks with fidgety fingers and red cheeks and you immediately catch what he's implying. 

"mhh I wonder why..." you trail off as you close your locker with books in hands.

He lets out a nervous chuckle and rubs the back of his neck. "No reason!" He tries his best to keep his expression as neutral as possible, but the red ears and agitated fingers betray him.

"what a coincidence though... just a few days after watching Return of the Jedi you conveniently get the idea to dress up like in that movie." You rest your shoulder against the lockers and gaze up at him with a smirk.

He stutters a little. "What? it's a pretty cool movie, and- uhh... I thought the outfits were iconic and stuff...yeah... " he says, the excuse sounding less and less believable with each word.

You put the books in your purse. "Which outfit did you find iconic then? say it." Your arms are immediately crossed in front of your chest with a winning expression on your face.

He groans annoyed, "What?! Is it a crime to think you would look hot in Leia's slave costume?" He asks mildly offended.

"ha! I knew it!" you point an accusatory finger at him that he gently swats away.

He lets out a flustered laugh and blushes even more, running a hand through his messy hair under your amused eyes. "Okay, okay. You got me. But can you blame me? You would look so hot."

Your thumb raises to his face to wipe off the lipgloss you accidentally left on his lips. "Thank you baby, but I'm afraid I would freeze my ass off in that costume, what about Morticia and Gomez?"

His eyes light up at the suggestion. "Fuck yes, I'm in!" He sighs almost dreamily at the thought and you can't help but think he would be a great Gomez, considering how he behaves daily with you.

You giggle with your hands now in his hair to fix the messy state they're in (absolutely not your doing). "I'll buy our costumes tomorrow, kay?" 

He hums in agreement and basks into the feeling of your fingers in his now... 'presentable' hair, at last you tried. "Goodbye Y/N in the Leia's slave costume, you were brighter than the whole sky." he sighs 

You laugh out loud and slap his shoulder lightly, "shut up!" 

He chuckles in response, not even trying to defend himself or avoid the playful slap. "I am allowed to have dreams!" your boyfriend playfully pulls grabs your cheeks to look at your face better. "Is someone getting flustered?" 

"haha. Before acting so cocky you should see if you would be able to handle the sight." you sass back to try regain your confidence. 

"oh trust me, I would be able to handle the sight." Stiles replies with a hint of cockiness before pecking your lips. "In fact, I wouldn't mind if it was an every day sight."

Even if Stiles doesn't notice, you take it as a challenge and you chose to not reply at that, only shake your head at his antics. "Come on, let's go to class, maybe the coach will shut you up for good."

He groans at the comment but follows you in the correct classroom. "If we had stayed in that class you could have silenced me in another way, that's too bad." He says in "fake" disappointment as you both enter the classroom.

"Oh my god what is wrong with you today?!" 

The night of the party you're in the bathroom when you hear your front door slam shut, "babe I'm here! Where are you?" you hear his footsteps approach your bedroom and you shake your head at the way he enters in your house undisturbed without even knocking.

"In the bathroom! And for the record, I let you get a copy of my keys for emergencies only." You shout from behind the closed door and you hear your boyfriend huff as he walks into your bedroom, the bathroom's door is the only thing between you two now.

"You should define what is an emergency for you." He replies. "And I never asked for a copy of the key, I just did it"

"... is that suppose to make it better or...?" You ask as you look at yourself in the mirror on last time, the costume is.. something: your chest is covered by a golden bra with multiple metal-like rings that goes around your chest and back, paired with loincloth-style, red skirt supported by the gold waistband with the same decorations as the top and around your neck sits a collar with a small chain that dangles between your breasts. Well... this is humiliating and... hot? Fuck, Stiles turned you into a nerd and you hate it.

"Just a clarification... Are you done in there Morticia?" he jokes from outside and you brush your hair one last time, you love him but there is no way you would have bought the wig too. 

"In a sec!" you breathe out, you're kind of nervous about his reaction.

"Okay! Hurry up I'm excited to see! Do you remember that yesterday's was coach's birthday, right?" He says from his laying position on the bed and you take a deep breath before opening the door of the bathroom slowly.

"We threw eggs at his house yesterday nigh, you should have seen his face when he opened th-" He snaps his head up to meet your gaze and his jaw drops at the sight.

You suddenly feel shy in front of him and you fidget with your hands as you wait for him to say something. "Do you... like it?" you ask with anticipation.

It seems like the entire word was stolen from his mouth, his brain was not functioning anymore at the sight of you. "I-" is as all Stiles is able to say as he sits up on the edge of the bed to get a closer look at you and his eyes roaming all over your body.

"Please say something I feel really stupid right now," you giggle nervously and your boyfriend's mouth opens and closes repeatedly like a fish. 

"I-uh...I think my brain stopped working." He swallows and gulps loudly, the words, the numerous compliments he wants to throw at you are all stuck are stuck in his throat and it's difficult for him to speak right now.  You grin proudly and do a slow twirl around to make him see everything, careful not to flash him considering the fact you're not wearing anything underneath the skirt... it's not like you're actually planning on making you or Stiles leave this room tonight so why bother ruining the fit. "Fuck." He stands up from the edge of the bed and walks towards you with long strides.

He stops just a few inches away from you and gazes down at your figure. "You look so gorgeous" he breathes out and a hand goes to hold one of your hips, the sudden need to touch you is making his fingers itch uncomfortably as his eyes stay fixed on the golden rings around your chest.

You let out a genuine laugh and take him in too, he's clad in the iconic striped suit Gomez wears, with a cute bow tied around his neck and hair slicked back neatly. "You look really good," you compliment him with a smirk and you receive a bewildered look as response.

"Me? I look good!? Look at you! I'm pretty sure I'm hallucinating right now this can't be real." He scoffs and takes a step back to admire you all over again, "fucking hell, you look unreal." 

"Where did the cocky Stiles of a few days ago go?" you ask sarcastically as you walk towards him again, your hands on his chest to push him back until the back of his legs hits the mattress. 

He lets out a huff as he's shoved backwards onto the bed, he bounces on it a couple of times and then looks up at you as you stand in front of him. "Gone. Gone, forever. He won't ever utter a word againohmygod" He almost promises in a groan when you straddle his lap.

You nod satisfied in a thought-so manner and adjust your position on his thighs. "Now, do you want me to change into the Morticia costume and go to the party or-" 

"The second option. Whatever that is I don't care, we're staying here tonight." he answers firmly and his hands immediately go to your hips under the skirt. 

You nod in amusement, "that sounds perfect," you lean in to kiss his lips but he sadly interrupts you, gesturing to your costume with timid eyes.

"... is there any chance you could keep this on?"

"Well I bought it for a reason, didn't I?" You ask as you untie the bow at his neck and he literally moans.

"Just when I thought you couldn't be anymore perfect." 

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

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[ephemeralinstance]

The future of the Veil

Since there may not be another game, I guess it's up to us to imagine what might happen with the Veil in the future. I've seen suggestions that maybe Solas (and Lavellan, if they're together) might be able to bring the Veil down very slowly and gradually over time, without harming anyone. And I do like that idea! But I also like the idea that the Veil stays up, and instead of taking it down Solas (maybe working with Lavellan) finds ways to transform it; so that rather than being a wound on the world, it becomes truly a way of protecting the vulnerable. Maybe the Veil can be changed so that it is easier for friendly spirits who want to join the physical world to pass through. But meanwhile the most vulnerable spirits are still safe behind the Veil, protected from those who would harm them. The Veil becomes the reason why no spirit will ever again be forced into physical form or twisted against its purpose, so mages can no longer do to spirits what Mythal did to Solas himself all those years ago. Maybe the Veil can be changed so that magic can pass through more easily, allowing some of the ancient magics to be reawakened. But meanwhile the Veil still prevents any individual mage from drawing too much power, so no mage will ever again gather the kind of power that the Evanuris had. Maybe the Veil can be changed so that over time it's easier to access the power of the Fade, and therefore mages become more commom and prejudice against mages decreases. And meanwhile the enchantments on the Veil have been changed to protect the spirits passing through it, so mages are no longer at risk of demon possession, and they can work peacefully with spirits as the Nevarrans and Rivaini seers do. Obviously, I have no idea how any of this would work or whether it's possible within the lore! But we can imagine whatever future we want. After all, despite everything the Veil was clearly an incredible feat of magical skill and power: I like the idea that one day Solas will look back, and instead of seeing the Veil as just another regret, he will think of it as his life's work and his great gift to the people of Thedas.