#shall i ring for tea

[tmleia]

his

in which he needs to rethink his ways of letting it be known that you are his.. -a bit suggestive at the end, fluff!!!

neuvillette never was one to display public affections, though he couldn't help but grasp onto your hand as you walked through the court of fontaine. he saw the way people couldn't keep their gaze off you, looking as if they'd want to eat you alive. so in conclusions, he always had a hand on yours hoping people would take the hint. unfortunately for him, many people thought of this as a friendly gesture. “e-excuse me?” a man said, interrupting you and your lover as you shared brunch. “I just wanted to tell you that you're gorgeous..” he said, completely ignoring the squinting judge sitting across from you.

you smile sheepishly, “thank you, sir..” awkward silence follows after. your lover continues to stare at the flushed man. “would you perhaps like to grab a coffee ton-” “they will not.” neuvillette interrupts the man and proceeds to take a sip of his freshly brewed tea. the persistent fellow narrows his eyes at him and says, “how are you to make decisions for them?”  neuvillette raises an eyebrow at this in confusion. he’d thought it was quite obvious you were his lover. before he could respond, you speak up, “hes my husband, sir” you say as you put your left hand up, showing the shiny right that matched your lovers. your husband flushes, he’ll never get used to you calling him that. He reaches under the table to cradle your hand. “ indeed i am, so if you'd kindly-” the man had already dashed off before he could finish his sentence. he sighed and gazed at you softly, “it seems as if the ring on our fingers dont state clearly enough that you are mine, hm?” you giggle at him, “it seems so..” you say while staring at him lovingly. “shall i find a alternative way to show my claim on you, my dove?” neuvillette whispers suggestively. your ears burn and you stutter, “neuvillette!”

published 9.25.23

[tender-rosiey]

off-guard — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: what happens when the trio follow their teacher once again? will they end in another maid cafe or find some very worthy tea? 👀

“okay, this is the plan: we will follow gojo-sensei to see just what the hell is up with that guy.”

megumi sighs, “last time we did that—the results weren’t exactly ‘pleasing’, itadori.”

yuuji huffs, “I beg to differ!”

“paintbrush is moving! I repeat! paintbrush is moving!” they hear nobara say through the walkie talkie.

yuji and megumi look at each other before nodding and stealthy following their teacher. each one is wearing his respective disguise of wigs and huge glasses.

meanwhile nobara, with a disguise of her own, is following gojo closely, who seems to be going into a certain café. she grumbles before whisper-yelling into the walkie-talkie, “where are you guys?!”

“we’re here, calm down!” megumi huffs.

itadori nods, “yeah! we’re going to get our cover blown like this.”

the three glare at each other before focusing once again on the moving paintbrush. the moment he opens the door, they notice his gaze searching for someone specific.

nobara covers her mouth so she doesn’t audibly gasp. does he perhaps have a lover? if so then she shall welcome the tea with open arms.

nobara, itadori, and megumi are lined outside the window of the café which makes them, undoubtedly, look suspicious. so, to save grace, megumi drags them inside into a table far from gojo who seems to have sat alone.

there is a hint of melancholy yet excitement in his eyes. each of the three prop up the menus to conceal their faces further.

nobara eyes gojo before speaking up, “who do you think he is waiting for?”

“maybe a lover?”

“or a friend,” megumi mumbles, but he rules out that possibility quickly. gojo looks nervous or at least as nervous as he could.

there is the light tapping of his feet and the way his eyes snap to the door every time the bell rings only for his eyes to brim with disappointment when it isn’t the person he is waiting for.

barely a minute passes by, but nobara and yuuji are getting impatient and nobara snaps—as quietly as she can— “where is that person?!”

“just when are they going to arrive?!” itadori joins in.

megumi sighs in the background, “we’ve been here for 2 minutes guys, please.”

their wait ends fairly quickly when they hear the excited gasp of their teacher, who stands up abruptly before eagerly waving at someone, “y/n! sweets! I am here!”

they look towards the door at the same time and they are met with a sight to be seen.

you, someone that was so pretty that yuuji passed out, are waving back at satoru before skipping over to him.

he wastes no time in wrapping his arms around you and peppering your face with kisses, “you look as pretty as ever!”

“and you’re as flirty as ever, satoru,” you pet his hair softly, “how have you been?”

he sighs, happily, before responding, “I’ve been fine, but I feel even better after I saw you,” he slowly pulls back so he can pull your chair out, “have a seat, m’lady,” he winks, “we have a date to go through.”

you roll your eyes before sitting, “isn’t chivalry dead, satoru?”

“then I must be a ghost,” he hums before sitting down as well.

“I would believe that, honestly,” you chuckle at his offended face before pointing at the top of his head, “you have the white hair and everything.”

the two of you soon get lost in your bickering and conversation. meanwhile, megumi is smacking the shit out of itadori so he wakes up and nobara is gaping at how pretty you look, “how is she even real?!”

megumi spares poor itadori, who finally woke up, before looking nobara, “I really don’t know why she would settle down for someone like him.”

itadori nods, “literally, out of everyone.”

but nobara sighs with a smile which gets the two boys’ attention.

she looks up at her teacher conversing with you, “but they look pretty in love; I mean look at the way they’re looking at each other.”

the boys turn their heads to look at the both you and they have to admit: nobara’s right. both of your eyes speak a magnitude of feelings and all of them are as gentle as a cloud.

it seems that you’re both so preoccupied by the other that you forgot everyone around you.

there is also the way gojo is holding your hand and rubbing circles on it as you talk. he is smiling so contently and so quietly like the only thing he wants to hear is you.

no wonder he didn’t notice them. he is so absorbed in you.

and the way the feeling is mutual just makes them feel very happy for their teacher even if he is annoying as hell sometimes. it’s nice how the both of you are so openly infatuated with the other.

megumi stands up before pulling itadori by the scruff, “let’s go, they need some privacy.”

Itadori struggles as he is dragged away, “why am I always treated like this?! what about nobara?!”

nobara glares at itadori before megumi stops to look at her.

she raises her fists, “don’t you even dare—“

a loud screech is heard from her as megumi drags her and itadori back to jujutsu high. a lot of passersby are staring, but megumi has seen way too much in his life to care at this point.

on the other hand, satoru is sipping his drink as you watch the kids getting dragged away, “these are your students?”

he nods excitedly before grinning, “yup! so, what do you think about them?”

“they certainly take after you,” you snicker and he narrows his eyes at you, leaning forward so his face is directly in front of your own.

“and what’s that supposed to mean?”

you shrug pushing him away with your index finger to his forehead, “it means whatever you think it means; you’re a smart guy.”

he tilts his head, a smirk instantly plastered on his face, “oh, two can play this game.”

meanwhile, in jujutsu high, the first years are sitting in their beloved classroom.

itadori pulls out the camera, “I got pictures!”

nobara snatches it, “great job itadori!” and megumi gives the boy a small thumbs up.

they browse through the many pictures he had taken and the one that catches their attention the most is a photo of you two smiling at each other, so lost in the other’s eyes, so in love.

but nobara quickly gets over it and continues browsing through the photos.

“itadori, did you get the picture?” nobara whispers to itadori and he nods eagerly.

she takes a hold of the new obtained treasure, a photo of gojo beaming without being a smug bastard, and smirks, “we’re going to get so rich after we sell this.”

“I also got this,” megumi says as he shows off a photo of gojo, somehow, getting attacked by a squirrel with you trying to help him despite laughing your ass off.

nobara gasps, “when did you even get this?!”

“a couple of moments after we left? squirrels hate him for some reason.”

nobara cackles, an evil glint in her eyes, “blackmail, baby!”

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copyright © tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or I will send the trio after you

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Prologue

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The cupcake is smashed. Pink icing and gaudy star-shaped sprinkles coat the interior of the box, and the pastry itself has devolved into crumbs. You just stare at it. It had cost you seventeen dollars. It was expensive, yeah. But you’d spent the last three months walking past it every morning and afternoon in the bougie cafe’s windows. You’d waited. You’d wanted.

And it was destroyed. Completely. The perfect swirl of the buttercream was no more. The single, delicate flower made of frosting had lost half it’s petals. You weren’t sure how you could eat it. The wrapping had been warped, but maybe a tea spoon would work?

You let your head fall into your hands, a sob wracking your shoulders. And then less than a second later you swallow down the feeling, and stride over to your shitty apartment’s tiny kitchen. You grab a lighter, a plastic wine glass and the bottle of white wine Molly had given you earlier today. You hadn’t told her what happened yet, but she could tell something had. She’d gave you the wine, a hug, and the promise to always be by your side.

Despite today’s circumstances, despite this week’s circumstances, despite this decade’s circumstances, you were going to have a good birthday getting black-out drunk.

You weren’t going to let yourself sink into one of your funks. Even if it was the worst day of the year by far. Even if it was the second worst birthday of your life.

You just don’t. It’s not allowed.

Your phone rings. Sliding it out of your pocket, you stare blankly at the name on the screen. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Malcom. One of George’s friends. You reject the call, block the number, and slide your phone back in your pocket. See? Dealing with things like an adult. Not throwing a temper tantrum, not crying, not… well, destroying your life in an epic meltdown. You’d had a few of those. Still, despite your obvious erraticness, you hadn’t been fired this year. Yay!

You told yourself you were getting better, even as the universe seemingly conspired against your happiness. You were kind of convinced it was.

Turning, you play with the cap on the wine, walking over to your old ratty couch and falling into it. The beast groans at the contact, but you pay it no mind. The thing was probably older than you, and you were celebrating your twenty-first today.

You were an orphan in Gotham, it was not your first time drinking. Molly had dragged you to so many awful parties over the years. But this wine was probably the fanciest you’d ever been given. Scratch that, definitely was. You pour yourself a glass, stick the birthday candle half-hazardly into the largest chunk of cupcake, and grab the remote.

The only true comfort you can get on this day. A woman, a reporter. She speaks, but you can’t really hear what she’s saying. You chug down a glass of the wine, apologising in your head to Molly, and then pour yourself another.

It takes a few minutes, but your muscles relax, and her words tune into focus.

“Today’s memorial, is once again sponsored by the Wayne foundation.”

Yeah, because they’re the only charity organisation in the city. The family of billionaires were debatably the only good ones in existance. Debtable because you weren’t sure if they were good enough themselves. As an orphan who’d known the cruelty of the system yourself, you were a mix of bitter and grateful towards them. Sure, they’d been the only thing that kept you out of true poverty. You were still an awful bitch about it.

You always had been the jealous type. The other kids who got better backpacks or toys or whatever had you seething with fury. The multitude of orphans Bruce Wayne risen out of poverty were not safe from your envy. It didn’t matter if you were… Well, a little bit, just a teeny-tiny-tiddly-little bit… obsessed. Obsessed with them. Kind of manic about it, actually.

You were working on it. Today was a bad day, and you were a little too raw. So, like every little dumb animal on the planet, you went straight to your creature comforts. You pretended you were a roman eating and drinking on their chaise lounge, watching their magnificent entertainment.

Delusional. Your sofa was falling apart at the seems, your cupcake was debris and your entertainment was a memorial service. Wine was good, though.

Gotta focus on the good parts.

You watch the TV screen, the reporter’s voice drifting in and out of focus. There was a family photo of the Waynes and their family friends, all in perfect suits and dresses and pearls and fancy watches. You’d bet that those little accessories were worth more than a year of your rent.

And you lived in fucking Gotham, both the most expensive city to live in, and the worst at the same time. A miracle, truly.

Anyway, they were all stunningly beautiful, even some of the guys. God knows how much the internet went on about Richard Grayson’s long eyelashes. You’d always been enamored with Dick’s good looks. Even Damian Wayne who had only turned nineteen a few months ago and was three years younger than you was already being fawned over by the tabloids.

Gotham’s newest young rich bachelor. Bitterly envious, that was you. You didn’t like that emotion, though, so you turned your attention to others. Namely, delusion.

You let yourself get swept up in daydreams. Of having a rich family, of one so close knit as the Wayne’s. Of having a handsome, loving, kind partner. You don’t let yourself dream about your real family, of a George that was faithful.

You just don’t.

Maybe someone like Tim Drake. Loyal, everyone who knew him described him as loyal. His romances with Bernard Dowd and Stephanie Brown were famous. There were hundreds of papparazzi photos of him with big bundles of roses and a sweet look on his face. You thought someone like Tim Drake would probably be like one of the heroes in your romance novels. Something silly like a meet cute in an airport, or maybe a bookstore or a cafe. He was pretty famous in Gotham’s niche hipster coffee scene, right?

Yeah, you could see it now. Some dumb but cute scene where you get confused and accidentally take his order. You get the same drink, and bond over your shared love of caramel syrup. Like he didn’t live on the opposite side of the city from you, and you probably couldn’t afford whatever fancy shit he drunk. Italian coffee beans versus… well, you didn’t actually know what you bought. You knew it didn’t taste very good, but it was dirt cheap.

What were you doing? Ah, yes, silly daydreams about romance.

But even as you think of Tim, Dick Grayson was so pretty, and he’d had his fair share of partners too. Someone with such an angelic face had to have a personality to match, and the media agreed. Of course you didn’t really know what he was like, this was all just fantasy. Other than numerous tabloid interviews and television, which suggested he had a kind heart and a love for bad jokes you truly knew nothing about the guy. Still, he’d be the golden retriever trope, you think. Or the knight in shining armor, saving his heroine from one of the many disaster’s plaguing Gotham and confessing his love in one big final act. His meet cute would be the airplane one. The blue of his eyes, it makes you think of the sky. You’d take his seat, but he’d be super sweet about it. Like he didn’t have a private jet, and would never be caught on economy.

You think Damian Wayne could play a good romance lead as well. From what you’d seen, he seemed to have a terrible personality, which was perfect for any modern romance. A classic enemies to lovers, with some bickering. Maybe he’d have secretly loved her the entire time, and maybe there’d be a good grovel at the end. So, appreciating his character, he’d have to have a meet ugly. Probably get stuck in an elevator with him or something, and he’d get to display his keen intellect and argumentative nature.

You swirl your wine, nodding your head. Brilliant ideas today, you should talk to Molly more. She’d definitely appreciate your wisdom. She wanted to be a screen writer one day, and all this would be very helpful. She was going to college for it. You couldn’t afford college.

Maybe you were drunk. Maybe you were a genius. It was hard to tell, so you take another sip. That’ll help you figure things out.

“As always, the Wayne families’ faces are morose as they celebrate the late Jason Todd.”

And as always, you felt an odd connection with the dead man. Your lives had both technically ended the same day, in the same grand calamity. Sure, you were still technically alive. Kicking about. But everyone you loved dying in one fell swoop, right in front of your eyes? You felt more like a ghost these days.

Weren’t you supposed to be fighting those sorts of thoughts off? Whatever, it was too much effort anyway.

Your slight obsession with the Wayne family had been initially started by Jason Todd. You hadn’t been thinking about him as much recently with George in your life, but he swung right back into place as soon as George left your life. Like a magnet, or more likely, a compulsion.

But now you were brought right back to the morning after. Seeing the entire city grieving the day after you’d lost your family, your first thought had been ‘Good, I’m not the only one,’ and then you’d stopped being an idiot and realised the city was mourning Jason Todd, heir to the Wayne name. Sure, there’d been hundreds of others who’d died, but that was Gotham. Your family had gotten a plaque filled with tens of other forgotten names, Jason had gotten framed photos hung around the city.

Today, his photo was once again surrounded by thousands of bouquets. Peonies, roses, daffodils, lillies, a rainbow of petals that almost covered his memorial stone. It reminded you of your sad-ass cupcake. When the camera zoomed out, you could see your smaller set of poseys against one of the thirty towering monuments, the tiny names crammed into the rock. Your families name was on line fifty-two, near the bottom. You could only afford the flowers once a year, but you visited once a week at least.

There were other flowers. Other offerings. Other candles. Jason’s dwarfed them all.

You sometimes couldn’t tell if you hated the dead man or were hopelessly in love with him. Obviously it didn’t matter. Even when he was alive he was out of both your league and your tax bracket.

Still, you were absolutely certain of it, Jason Todd would beat up George Lancaster. So fucking bad. To a bloody pulp. He’d be eager to do it, as well. You could hum and haw about how you thought violence was bad but he’d see right to the core of you.

The part of you that wanted George Lancaster to suffer. And he’d do it with a kiss and a promise that he’d make it slow. He’d save you from all your monsters, and he’d do it eagerly. And that was the fantasy of it all, wasn’t it?

You lift your glass, in celebration of your dead parasocial imaginary boyfriend. You hoped he wouldn’t be jealous of your new living parasocial imaginary boyfriends. Hiccuping out a laugh, you swallow down another gulp.

And even then, of course you wanted Bruce Wayne as a father. As someone who has seen the worst of the world, and would protect you from it. As someone who would wipe away the tears, who would save you from your own self. And you wanted Cassandra as a sister, someone to groan over guys with and steal clothes off. You wanted the close relationships they shared with Barbara Gordon and Stephanie Brown, with Duke who’d only recently come into their fold. You even wanted their dog you’d seen in photos, the cat that Damian posted on his instagram, the fucking cow they kept for god knows reason inside the estate. You wanted everything, every part of their lives. You were a jealous person, but more than that, you were a greedy person.

You glance at the clock.

11:57.

You shakily open the candle packet, picking a green one out. That had been Sam’s last favourite colour, but he switched them so often it was hard to remember. You stab it into the pink frosting. Julie always chose pink for her cake. Chasey loved flowers, particularly poseys. The flowers had looked like posesys before they’d been crushed.

You light the candle. It’s tiny flame flickers in the dark room, the warm light overpowered by the cool from the television. You peek back over to the clock.

11:58.

And Mum always made her wish at midnight, because she believed that was when it was most likely to come true.

What would you wish for? You never did, because you never knew what you wanted to wish for. Everything you wanted, everything you could’ve wanted, was gone. It couldn’t come back, it was impossible.

11:59.

You look at the TV, at the blinding forms of the Wayne family. Of their graveyard, with the manor in the background. It’s as impossible as everything else. But that’s what they represent for you, isn’t it?

Something hopeful. Something impossible.

You wanted impossible.

12:00.

You lean over the messy cupcake, and blow the candle out. It disappears in one blow, and you sink back into the couch. You take a few crumbs from the cupcake and sneak them past your lips. In your drunkenness, you probably get more on the couch than in your mouth.

You let your eyes flutter shut, and because only you can, you give yourself the comfort of lies. You imagine loving embraces, whispered platitudes. You imagine that today was a good day, that you’d find yourself tomorrow happy. That you wouldn’t wake up with a hangover, that you wouldn’t have a shitty job, an evil ex, and mountains of debt.

That you’d have people who loved you, who could ease the pain.

And you don’t even care who they are.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[fyodior]

DONT YOU UNDERSTAND?

★ pairing: husband!fyodor x reader

★ cw: DARK CONTENT AHEAD!! 18+, MINORS DNI. noncon, drugging, forced breeding, lots of breeding/pregnancy talk, vaginal sex, not enough foreplay, fyodor is evil!!

★ notes: breedtober fic #?? sorry the fics have been coming out so late, thank u for ur patience ily all <3

want more of breedtober?

DISCLAIMER: i do not condone noncon in any way, shape, or form. this is just fiction with no reflection of real life. please refrain from leaving hate comments, and just unfollow/block. or simply scroll away. thank u!

Dizzy – you’re so fucking dizzy. The room is spinning, your vision is dark and fuzzy around the edges, and you have no clue if you’re sitting or standing up currently. Because, worst of all, every part of your body is numb. You can’t move.  

All you can see is the normally gentle, sweet face of your lover that’s now marred with an expression one can only describe as evil.

You want to reach out, ask him what’s wrong, what’s happening, but you can’t. All movement and speech have been rendered impossible, due to the teacup that lay shattered on the ground, bathed in the liquid that made you like this.

It was completely normal, a routine at this point, to sit in the living room with Fyodor in front of the lit fireplace sipping tea out of teacups from his beloved collection of fine china. The tea varied – chamomile, earl gray, mint, oolong, just plain green. And the activities often varied as well. Sometimes teasing and laughing over a card game, sometimes long, difficult discussions about the future with stoic faces, and sometimes just comfortable silence. The night before you had been discussing marriage and children. But it was always just you and Fyodor with cups of tea.

This had been a night like every other, though conversation remained at a minimum. Jasmine tea as the fire roared a little hotter than usual. What differed was how the tea started to make you feel. It was slow enough that you wouldn’t push away the cup or become unable to drink the whole serving, but fast enough that once it came on, you couldn’t stop it – it was too late.

And now you lay limp in Fyodor’s arms as he laid you down on the chaise lounge you had been resting on with your cup of tea – the one had fallen to the ground once your strength had started to fade.

“W-wha-” you manage to get out, your vocal cords and lips fighting against whatever was paralyzing them.

“Shhh,” Fyodor soothes, petting your hair as he hovers over you. “This is for the good of our family, my love.”

Your slack face slightly contorts into a look of confusion as your fuzzy mind tries to make sense of his words, barely noticing the way he tugged down your pants until his fingertips circled around your clit lightly. Somehow you could feel that. You attempted to jerk away from the touch, but your body once again failed you.

“Oh, my love, don’t you remember?” he tuts before spitting on his fingers and prodding at your hole. He had little interest in foreplay right now. “Don’t you understand? How you saying you ‘didn’t want kids anymore’ was completely unacceptable.”

It suddenly starts to click, even in your fucked mind. The way Fyodor’s jaw tightened, and smile faded during your discussion last night when you admitted that you didn’t see kids in your future. You had paid little mind to his disappointed “oh”. But clearly, he hadn’t let go.

One finger pushes past your still tight ring of muscle, making you grunt. “In case you don’t, in case the drug has addled your conscience too much, I shall explain.” Another finger sinks in. “We will be having children. At least three, to be exact. You will be getting pregnant, and hopefully tonight.” His fingers pump in and out of you, faster and faster, scissoring apart to stretch you open. “Even if that means rendering you useless and unable to resist me."

Tugging his own pants down, he spits in the palm of his hand before gripping his half-hard cock, pumping it a few times. “I considered just pulling you ass up for easiest access, but I want you to see me – to watch what happens when you disobey my wishes so severely.”

Since you’re completely dead weight, Fyodor has to manually spread your legs wide in order to slot himself between them, his grip tight underneath your knees. Then his lips are on your as he leans over you, the kiss forceful since you’re unable to reciprocate – not that you would’ve anyway.

The leaky tip of his cock as he revels in your inability to fight back is proof that he’s enjoying this immensely, the sick bastard. You want to scream out, thrash against him as his length slides into your cunt in protest of how unfair this is, how he can’t just decide to get you pregnant, but you can’t. You’re completely stuck just… taking it. Until his balls are pressed all the way against your ass, the puff of hair at the base of his cock tickling against your clit.

And somehow, you can feel it on the inside. You can feel the sting and burn as he pushes in and stretches you out, but can also feel… the pleasure. Maybe it’s the way your slack jaw falls open further at his first thrust, your body twitching, but Fyodor can tell. The way your body is forcing you to feel good against your wishes.

You grunt pathetically with every single thrust, legs hanging loosely around his waist and tongue lolling out of your mouth with drool pooling out of the corner. Fyodor is going mad with how much he loves this, how quickly he’s getting off from just using you without your permission. His violet eyes shine fiercely and the sick smirk on his face only grows as he fucks you harder and harder.

"Going to look so pretty pregnant, my beautiful doll,” he coos, massaging the soft fat of your tits. “So round and so full of my babies, so swollen you can barely walk, can’t even see your feet. You’ll need your darling husband’s help to even walk down the stairs,” he babbles, clearly just talking to himself.

“Do you like it, pretty? The way I’m just using you? It turns you on, doesn’t it? You and your body are mine, you know. I own you. And I own the right to use you however I please, to make you whatever I please.”

Of course, Fyodor had always been a bit possessive, always liked to call you his, but never to this caliber. Never to the point where you thought he’d do something like this.

His thrusts get faster and faster with every sick and twisted sentence, and though your hearing was fuzzy too, the wet sounds of skin on skin echoed through the room. Too wet to only just be his precum… were you wet? From what he was doing to you?

The orange light from the roaring fireplace illuminated Fyodor’s face in the most terrifying way, highlighting his sharp features, and igniting his eyes and sweat that had begun dripping down the sides of his face.

He leans in close, whispering into your ear. “Are you ready for my seed, doll? Ready for me to cum so deep inside you your womb is forced to take all of it?”

You’re able to shake your head a bit, and Fyodor clicks his tongue.

“You’re ready because I say so.”

You can’t feel it, but by the way his eyes roll back and his hips stutter, cock throbbing inside you, you can tell he’s cumming. Filling you up with the seed he promised to get you pregnant with.

After pulling out, he kisses you deeply.

“Before we go again, I will fetch you some more tea, my love. It seems you’ve regained some ability to move, and I can’t have that.”

[verinarin]

Romcon Fluff | Ratio accidentally drinks your Love Serum ?!? | Tried to make this into a oneshot but I think it needs 2 more chapters, wdyt shall I continue?

Ruan Mei You accidentally made Veritas fell in love with you and he dislikes this festering feeling you have brought to him

support me on ko-fi ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Ruan Mei is one of your closest friends, yet you rarely meet her since most of the time she’s off somewhere pursuing her lifelong pursuit of divinity, yet she never missed gifting you presents for your birthday.

You smile as you carefully untie the silk ribbon on your present, you can’t help but guess whatever is inside is a bottle of perfume because you could already inhale the sweet scent before even opening the intricate wooden box

Once you lift the lid it reveals a beautifully carved glass vial filled with a lavender-coloured liquid, you carefully examine the shimmering liquid in awe, it smells so sweet like a cherry blossom cake, you notice a light blue envelope inside the box

You carefully place the vial back to read open the envelope, there’s a beautifully written letter addressed to you, her sincerest friend

“Dearest friend of mine, Happy belated birthday. Now I have prepared this gift of mine long before your birthday but since I’m currently in the middle of nowhere I have deduced that It’ll reach your doorstep approximately 2 days late and for that, I apologise,” you smile as you read her letter, ah she’s still the same

Upon reading the 3-page long heartfelt letter Ruan Mei reveals that she has been making this rejuvenating serum for you since earlier this year, she said she used your DNA and modified it so for your birthday she gave you an enchantment serum of some sort

She said to pour it into a hot beverage and not too much since it’s a highly concentrated serum, so you decided to brew a cup of tea while you text her thank you. Okay so a little bit goes a long way, you slowly pour the serum into the tea when all of a sudden the bell into your apartment rings, it shakes you and accidentally makes you pour a lot more than you intended to

You quickly flip the vial and close its lid, you silently curse as you put the vial back and rush towards the door, you open the door with a pout on your face, now when you see the person behind it makes you more annoyed than before, Veritas Ratio in the flesh

“Why haven’t you been answering my texts and even my calls ?, your lack of response is going to cost us both substantial damage,” ah yes your assigned partner for the annual Intelligentsia Guild research showcase, where you and the narcissistic prick in front of you are assigned together by the committee

“Damage ?, I was just enjoying my birthday. Our research is not going to somehow dissipate into thin air if I enjoy some time for myself,” you groan, you want to slam your door into that handsome prick’s face, but you can’t because he’ll sue you

He scoffs while looking down on you, without any hesitation he slides into your apartment, at this point you want to just pounce over him, but thankfully you’re in a good mood because your tea is waiting for you-

That entitled motherfucker—

When you turn your body you see him blissfully sipping on your tea, like he’s entitled to it, “Hmm this tea is exquisite, the colour is stunning too where did you get this from ?” he asks as he swirls the cup, your cup

“Veritas Ratio that was my birthday present ?!!” you yell as you storm towards him, you try to pry his hands away from your tea but sadly he’s way taller than you, “Well then I need you to tell the person that gifted you this tea to tell me where they acquire such complex tea blend,”

You’re fuming, you swear that there’s smoke coming off your head like some sort of chimney, he notices this and weirdly he thinks you’re cute, he can’t believe that his heart just skipped a beat when you pout at him, what an unusual feeling

“Stop pouting, you’re making my heart palpitate faster than usual,” Veritas groans which surprised you, what the hell was he saying ?

“What the hell are you implying ?!”  you scan his face, somehow this man who is well known to be rude and disrespectful is blushing profusely, what the hell happened here ?!

“You !, can you stop looking that beautiful basking underneath the sunlight it bothers me, I hate it,” he can’t believe he just said that out loud, what the hell is happening with him

“H-huh ?!?, what the fuck is wrong with you Veritas, I rather have you yell at me for fucking up some calculations than whatever this is,” you shriek feeling slightly disgusted and oddly flattered ?!?

“Well do you think I have the slightest idea what made my mind suddenly throw out my rationale out of the window and replace it with you instead ?!,” okay this is starting to freak you out because this feels too real, way too real is this a dream, please be a dream

You start to lightly slap your face to snap yourself out of this horrific nightmare, “This is no dream, I suggest you start to be responsible over this,” he leans forward and reaches out to your hand, he presses it towards his beating heart, he’s serious about how fast it was palpitating-

“W-what do you mean responsible ?!?, for what h-huh ?,” you try to pull your hand away but to no avail, it’s like he glued it down on his firm chest

“For these festering feelings that I don’t enjoy having nor experiencing, it must’ve been the tea I drank because before this I was quite normal when it comes to staring at that captivating face of yours. No, I mean that horrid face of yours that someone enchanted when illuminated by the sun,” Oh nous, it can’t be that tea can it ?

Oh !, Ruan Mei what the hell did you gift ?. Veritas could see your face reduce to a state of emotionless, “Don’t ignore me fool !,” he mutters as he now guides your hand to rest his head against your palm

“S-stop acting weird,” you stutter on your words, your confidence has been drained and now you’re left with red-tinted cheeks, how frustrating

“Can’t help it, I just want you to notice my presence,” he mumbles against your palm, slightly kissing it while talking, Oh my nous, Ruan Mei needs to fix whatever this is or at this rate, he can’t perform his task as your research partner

“Okay okay I need to somehow make an antidote for you,” you take a deep breath trying to think of something, but how can you when he’s there watching you with those puppy eyes

“Please do because, to be frank, I’m extremely uncomfortable with the way I just want to kiss that pink lips of—“ before he can continue you slap his mouth shut with your palm

“Shut up !!, don’t utter any more nonsense, just get out of here and don’t come back until I find a way to fix whatever this is,” you quickly push him towards the door, he’s adamant about staying by making things harder for you

“Can’t I just wait here and assist you? I might miss you if you kick me out, I mean no of course I wouldn’t miss your brilliant mind what am I saying of course I’ll miss you,” this man needs to be stopped, you can’t handle the contradictions that he’s spewing

“What do I need to do for you to get out !,” you huff as you wipe away your sweat, this man weighs like those sculptures he makes

“A kiss on the lips should suffice,” he smirks, why did he smirk?!?, never mind that you can’t deal with this nonsense anymore, you quickly drag him by the collar and press your lips together within a second you pull away from the kiss leaving him happily dumbfounded, you took this chance to hurriedly push him out the door and lock it

What the hell just happened ?!?

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

The Viscount is set on finding a wife this season, and you are trying again for your second season. While Anthony is dealing with trials between Edwina and Kate Sharma, you are dealing with trials of your own. Benedict Bridgerton is ever present in your life, but your pursuit to find a husband must come first. Society is ever so exhausting.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season Two

Chapter Nineteen - Together again

You had sat your mother down when you got home. She called for tea, and you sat down beside her, wondering how you were going to tell her the news. Your poor mother had been stressing out since she revived the letter from your uncle, your father's brother, about taking back his money to support you both while in London.

"Mother, I... Our situation may have come up with the Bridgerton's earlier, and I have recieved a very generous offer from them." You start slowly.

"Are you to wed one of them?" She sits up in her seat, looking at you eagerly. Of course she would assume that.

"Um, no."

She looks rather deflated with your answer. "What is it then?"

"The Viscount has offered to take me under his wing and set me a dowry aside. We don't need to rush to find me a husband. Anthony will look after us. Violet had offered to help find a suitor."

Your mother now looks elated. "Oh, darling, that'd wonderful!" She hugs you.

You smile. You feel like a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

"Oh, this is wonderful! I must send the Dowergess something in return. My gratitude to that family will be forever endless."

You chuckle at how excited your mother is. You haven't seen her this cheerful in quite some time. It felt good to see her smile again.

"Flowers! I shall send her an abundance of flowers!" Your mother rises from her chair and goes off in search of a maid who she can send down to the flower shop. You roll your eyes with a smile.

Things were looking up again.

A couple of days later, you're at the Bridgerton house. It's as lively as you remember it being last year. Eloise was practising some dancing with Gregory while Violet watched on. Gregory didn't seem to mind dancing with his sister, but Eloise seemed to mind quite a lot. You knew how she felt about this whole thing.

Benedict was sitting on the couch nearby. You were sitting opposite him, watching them the two siblings dance.

"I do not think she is very good," Hyacinth says, coming over to sit with you.

"I believe she can hear you," Benedict says to her in response.

"I can hear you," Eloise confirms.

"Ow! Watch my feet!" Gregory looks up at his sister after she steps on his foot.

"Might we be done?" Eloise asks.

"If you are to catch the queen's eye after that interruption, you must be perfection." Violet states.

"I believe it was the interruption that was perfection," Eloise sighs.

"Shocking that Eloise Bridgerton was not named the season diamond, was it not?" Benedict says casually.

At that exact moment, Anthony comes strolling in. "Was anyone else aware that dear Colin has decided to add Albania or some such place to his itinerary as he gads about the world?"

"How wonderful it must be to travel," you say softly.

"I rather prefer the comfort of the countryside," Benedict comments.

"I do miss the country."

Benedict looks up from his sketchbook, of which he has been working very hard on, to look at you. "Then you need to come to our family estate."

You find yourself looking away shyly. He's still disappointed he didn't see you all summer.

"How lucky for him that he can simply decide to do that," Eloise remarks.

"Joining us for tea, Anthony?" Violet asks.

"Uh, I'm afraid I must pass. Too many calls on my funds today. Now that the season has started, I need to fill your coffers at the modiste and oversee the hiring of extra staff. And your ring. When you get the chance, I need it."

You look at Anthony silently. He was serious.

"The fields by Ferryhallow. I was thinking we might hold off on leasing them due to the hard frost." Anthony continues.

"I beg your pardon?" Violet looks at her eldest son.

"The frost hardens the soil, saps it of nutrients," he explains. "That is very well, but you requested my ring?"

"Father's betrothal ring."

"Did someone catch your eye at the presentation, Brother?" Benedict asks with a grin.

"I thought all the young ladies looked beautiful," Hyacinth chimes in.

"Not particularly. And all the young ladies looked the same. Like young ladies. I'd simply like to be prepared for when the opportunity presents itself," Anthony clarifies.

"The opportunity?" Violet asks.

"I've already compiled an index of the season's eligible misses and arranged interviews."

You look at Anthony in disbelief. He was serious. Those poor ladies.

"Interviews!" Violet chuckles. "Dearest, I shall be more than happy to give you my ring when you find someone with whom you are very much in love. Besides, it is in safekeeping at Aubrey Hall."

"Very well."

Violet slides up to the sofa Benedict is lounging on and looks at him. "See that he is quite well."

"Me?" Benedict asks, looking up at her.

"I'm not in need of coddling," Anthony says from across the room. "I assure you all, everything is in order."

Anthony checks his pocket watch and then takes his leave rather quickly. Everyone watches him go in silence. You turn to look at Benedict once Anthony is gone, and he just sighs, looking back at you.

Anthony Bridgerton was a stubborn fool.

Later that afternoon, while Eloise went to the market with Penelope, an endeavour you were not invited to take part in, you spent the hours with Benedict in his makeshift studio. He called it a studio, but it was merely a room he came in to sketch quietly away from his family.

You liked that about Benedict. The way he finds comfort in his own little bubble. He cared very little for society and all its trails. He was more tranquil.

You watch him sketch away, his attention deep into the pages in the book. Last year, he granted you the privilege to come see his hobby. He shared his work with you, and you complimented it. Even now, you had had no idea just how much you had impacted him and his art.

He rubs gently at the charcoal on the page, smudging it carefully. You watch with great interest as he examines his work. He pulls a slight face. While he decides if he likes it or not, you admire him.

Benedict Bridgerton is handsome, kind, funny, and gentle. He has an eye for detail and a smile to charm any lady who is lucky enough to witness it.

He would have no trouble finding a wife of he wanted to.

The thought makes you look down at the table quietly. It would be so easy for him to find a perfect match. Someone who compliments him and would look after him. You are not so lucky.

Though you hope to catch someone's eye at the ball tomorrow night, you won't hold your breath. You're not a pretty Bridgerton.

"Are you alright?"

You look up and meet his beautiful blue eyes. You swear you've never seen a shade like them before.

"Yes. Sorry. I've just been thinking."

"I can see that," he chuckles.

You smile softly and turn your eyes back to his book so you won't have to look at him again. "Do you ever plan on getting married?"

"Has mother put you up to this?" He teases.

"No, I just... You'd make a good husband."

"Is that what you've been thinking about?" He chuckles. "If I can help it, I'll remain a bachelor."

"I see." You sigh softly. You shouldn't be surprised. You won't mention marriage again to him.

Benedict watches you for a moment and then turns the page in his sketchbook. He sketches away quietly, glancing at you every so often. You don't even notice, too caught up in your thoughts again.

You were so beautiful when you were loat in your mind. No. You were beautiful all the time. Benedict hoped you knew that.

He did the best he could in a short span of time, taking in as many details as possible. You were a vision in his eyes. When he was sat fired with the sketch, he put his book down on the table and slid it over to you, nudging you out of your thoughts.

You look down at the book and see the sketch of you looking back.

"Benedict... you're so talented."

He chuckled softly. "I just want you to see yourself the way I do. I know how important it is to you that you find a husband and look after your mother. You'll find someone."

You look into those beautiful blue eyes and for just a moment with that he would be the one.

You look away. "Thank you."

Benedict also finds himself looking away. Perhaps he had been a little too forward there. However, he doesn't regret telling you what he thought.

You only sit there a few moments more before excusing yourself and heading home. It felt a little strange staying there for any longer.

Benedict sat alone in that room, unable to draw anymore. His mind was preoccupied now.

He wished you had stayed.

When you got home, your mother noticed how quiet you were. She watched you retreat upstairs alone. You wanted to call out to you and check you were alright, but she didn't.

You stayed up in your room for the rest of the afternoon. Only coming down for dinner. Your mother didn't ask why you had become so quiet. You would tell her if you wanted to.

It wasn't until you finished dinner that you spoke up. "Mother?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm going to make you proud. You know that, don't you?"

Your mother smile. "You always make me proud."

You smile back. You knew she meant it. Despite everything you and she had been through with losing your father, losing the country house, your uncle backing out of looking after you, you still had each other and you would make her proud. Every single day.

"I'm going to look after you," you tell her.

"You don't need to worry about me."

"I always do."

You both smile at each silently.

You swore to yourself there, and then that this year, you would do better. This year, you will find your place in the world.

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd -

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen - @berrnuu - @charmainemaclendon - @pinkpantheris - @krismdavis

@biancamde - @ifgslsofbsodbf - @kniselle - @berarenado - @grassclippers - @bwormie - @avengersgirllorianna

[cloudcountry]

Ooooooooh Sebek... yes please, I would like a dark chocolate swirl pound cake and a bubble tea please please? I leave the details in your very capable hands.

you didnt select a cup so i'm just giving you the mostro lounge one!!

an order of romantic fluff with sebek zigvolt!

The breeze is cool against his face as Sebek leaves his dorm, standing tall as he marches towards Ramshackle. He passes under the streetlights with determination, dressed in full uniform to fight back against the chill of the night. He’s never been good with the cold, but you called for him, and so he shall come.

The porch creaks and the crickets chirp as he steps up to your front door, sparing a glance at the star speckled sky above. The inside of Ramshackle seems so warm now, and he doesn’t know if it’s you or if it’s just because of the light inside.

Sebek raises his fist and knocks three times, clasping his hands behind his back as he waits for you to open the door.

You do so almost immediately after he knocks.

“Sebek!” you beam, brighter than the sun’s rays and far warmer too, throwing yourself into his arms.

The soft fabric of your pajamas feels foreign against his uniform and he fumbles, lips pinching together and face burning pink.

“Why are you up so late!? Humans like you need lots of sleep!” he scolds.

Despite this, he doesn’t let you go. Instead, he adjusts his hold on you, coaxing your legs around his waist so he can lift you up properly. You take advantage of the new position almost immediately, resting your head on his shoulder as you giggle.

“I wanted to spend time with you.” you tease, “It’s a Friday night, love. You could stand to let loose a little.”

Sebek grumbles something you can’t hear under his breath but still carries you inside, holding you up with one hand as he shuts the door with the other. You swing your legs as he carries you to the living room, laying you gently on the couch. It strikes you, how gentle he’s being. If Ace or Deuce were here, he would have thrown you like always.

Instead, he crouches next to you, and presses his hand against the side of your face.

“Warm.” he whispers, and he looks so angry when he says it that you start to laugh.

His protesting rings loud and clear through the dorm and the peaceful night.

-> sebek's humans . . . @v1vsie @identity-theft-101 @rosalianel @dove-da-birb @edith-is-a-cat

[mydadleft471]

Carian Tea And Bitter Medicine

Summary: You've fallen ill and Messmer is deeply worried for his wife. Over the coming days, you slowly recover.

Spoilers for Elden Ring and Shadow of the Erdtree. No warnings other than talk of throwing up. (yuck)

This was a request from @writing-fanics! I'll link it here if you want to see the post. This was super fun! I love writing for the red-haired snake man (clearly that's literally all my blog is lmao). Thank you for requesting and I hope I did it justice!

As always, thank you all so much for reading, liking, commenting, and reblogging! It means the world to me and I'm so happy I've gotten back into writing!

Messmer had barely left your side for the few days. He was worried sick. No matter how much his servants and healers told him you’d be alright with some rest and medicine, he couldn’t seem to believe them. He thought you were dying, and he could only sit idly by while you suffered. Watching you writhe felt like a stab wound, searing and sharp, right to his chest.

You, his darling wife, looked terrible. A sheen of sweat covered your body even in your lightest nightgown, yet you stayed wrapped in blankets. Chills would wrack your body one minute, and the next you’d be pushing at the blankets because you were overheating. You’d refused almost all food except for a light broth, though it still threatened to come back up. Water wasn’t any easier, and your condition had seemingly gotten worse. Your skin was pale and your eyes didn’t shine like they usually did.

Messmer tried to keep himself busy to drive away the thoughts that plagued his mind. He’d fetch you a cold washcloth and lay it delicately over your forehead, or help you sit up when you’d request a drink of water. You were too weak to lift anything, so he’d carefully tip the glass back enough for you to take small sips.

You’d been confined to the bed for five days due to your sickness. Each morning he’d wake and hope to see you better and healthy once more, but it hadn’t happened yet.

He didn’t sleep well last night, jolting awake in response to any sound you’d make. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he saw you trying to sit up. He hurried to your side immediately, helping you.

“What bothers thee, wife?”

“I just wanted some water. I didn’t want to wake you. I know you haven’t been sleeping much these past few days.” You croak out.

“It bothers me little,” he says while moving to fetch you a glass of cool water. “How dost thou feel this morning?”

“I’m actually hungry, so I’d assume that’s good.”

“I am so very happy to hear that, beloved. Whatever thou wishest for, it shall be done.” He smiles for the first time in days.

“Right now,” you gesture towards him, “I’d love some water.”

He sits beside you on the bed and moves it towards your lips. Your hand finds his and, though shaky, you help tilt the glass back. After a few sips, you tap his wrist and he returns the glass to your bedside table.

“Thank you, husband.” You shoot him a weak smile and his stomach flips. Marriage did little to dull the butterflies you gave him.

“What dost thou desire for breakfast?”

“I don’t mind, really. If we have any left, I’d love to have some of that delicious spiced Carian tea Rellana gifted to us.”

“Of course, beloved.” He gently guides you to lay back down. One of his serpents nips at the blanket and brings it over you. You pat its head in thanks.

“Wilt thou be alright for a short while?” His heart twists uncomfortably thinking about leaving you alone, even if it is just to request food for you.

“Yes, my love. You never stay away for very long.” 

“It pains me to leave thee.”

You grab his hand and squeeze weakly.

“I know. But I’m hungry.” As if on cue, your stomach growls.

“I shall return shortly, my wife.” He kisses your forehead and makes his way towards the door.

Outside, he’s pleased to see a dozen of his most trusted knights. When you fell ill, he ensured you’d be safe from any outside threats. His men were fiercely loyal to both him and his beloved wife.

Noticing the creaking of the door, Fire Knight Salza bowed in greeting.

“How is our Lady, my Lord?”

“She is slowly recovering, though still sick.”

“Shall I send for a servant to bring her food?”

“Yes. She’s requested Rellana’s specialty Carian tea.”

“Ah, a personal favorite of mine. I’ll see her desire fulfilled, my Lord.”

Messmer nods and returns to you, shutting the door swiftly. You’re still laying down on the bed, the covers pulled over you. He sits on the bed and smooths a few rebellious strands of hair down.

“I probably look awful.”

“Never.”

You roll your eyes. “You always were a poor liar, Messmer.”

“I shall never utter a word of disgust or mocking towards thee, beloved.” Even like this, you were beautiful to him.

“I know.” You bring a hand up to cup his cheek and he moves forward, sighing into your touch.

“If I must describe thee, I would say thou lookest sick. Nothing more.”

“How sweet of you. I’m sure if I looked in a mirror, it would shatter.”

“Nonsense.” He kisses your knuckle. “I shall hear these false notions no longer.”

“Fine. But I could probably use a bath.”

“If that is thine desire.”

“Only if you bathe me.” You playfully wink at him. His face reddens.

“Dost thou know no decency?”

“No,” you reply, giggling. “Not around you, at least.”

A sudden knock at the door distracts him. He releases your hand and rises from the bed.

“Enter.” His voice sounds so different when he speaks to anyone but you.

A servant comes in with a small tray of food. They gently set it down on the table beside you and bow to you both before leaving as quickly as they came.

You push yourself to sit up. Messmer moves to help you, but you refuse and slowly get up on your own. He shakes his head at your stubbornness, but he’s happy to see you regaining some strength. Just yesterday you could barely lift your head.

You look over the tray of food and see a bowl of steaming broth with some noodles, a vial of medicine, and your Carian tea. Messmer brings the tray closer to you and you move to pick up the bowl of soup. You feel the worry radiating off of him at the prospect of you burning yourself.

“I’m alright, my love. Just a little weak.” 

You take an experimental sip of your broth and nausea doesn’t immediately make you want to spit it out. Pleased, you continue to take small sips and bites. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, and soon, the bowl is empty. Messmer looks ecstatic that you’ve managed to eat something. 

“How dost thou feel?”

“Fine, actually. Can I have my tea?”

“Medicine first, beloved.”

“Yes, sir.” You tease. He bites his tongue and gives you a look.

He grabs the small vial and takes the cork off. It smells horrible.

“Tell me, does this concoction taste as badly as it smells?” His nose crinkles in disgust and his serpents hiss and recoil.

“Unfortunately.” Taking the vial and tilting your head back, you pour it all into your mouth at once and swallow as quickly as you can. The bitterness coats your tongue and almost burns. You will yourself to not gag and your face scrunches up in displeasure. You can’t wait until you’re better so you no longer have to taste this.

You gesture towards your tea and Messmer hands it to you. You drink some and the bitter taste of medicine slowly recedes to a soothing spice on your tongue. 

“Would you like some?” You gesture towards the tea.

“No, beloved. I would not steal thy favorite tea from thee.”

“You can steal my medicine.” You smile at him from behind your cup.

“I wouldst rather drown.” You laugh.

“Me too.”

“Thou art braver than I.” He refers to your medicine. He places the empty bottle back on the tray and his serpents eye it warily.

You finish your tea and set it down with the rest of your dishes. Messmer moves the tray back to the table for a servant to take away later. He smiles, happy that you’ve finished everything brought to you today. You seemed to be getting better, and for that, he was grateful. Some color had returned to your smooth skin and your eyes seemed more alert.

“Would you come hold me?” You shoot him a pleading glance.

“Thou knowest my weakness, wife. I shall never say no to thee.”

“You just did.” He gently scoots into bed beside you.

“Hmm?” He tilts his head.

“You said you wouldn’t steal my tea. You technically said no to me.” You pout.

He shakes his head, drawing you closer in his arms. His serpents wind protectively over you and you sigh, content.

“I am afraid thou art taking mine words too literally.”

“Maybe.” You mumble into his chest.

“Sleep. Exhaustion clings to thee.” He strokes your hair.

He expects a response from you, and a witty one at that. Perhaps something about how he’s confusing exhaustion for not bathing regularly. But he looks down and you’re fast asleep, tucked into him. He wonders if the Carian tea puts one to sleep. If so, he needs to have a plentiful supply.

His darling wife is getting better, and it did not even require him to pray to Mother. He will dwell on the implications of that later.

[ataraxiaspainting]

There is an Uproar.

Yan Gojo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Satoru thinks you simply haven’t come around yet.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, threats of kidnapping, delusional Gojo, and manipulation.

Word Count: 3.2k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Six Forty Seven by Instupendo

Money, Money, Money by ABBA

Choke - Acoustic by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Me and the Devil by Soap&Skin

Breezeblocks by alt-J

Feeling Good by Micheal Bublé

Claus by Los Tres

Bleed Magic by I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

This Could Be Us by Rae Sremmurd 

Do I Wanna Know? by Arctic Monkeys

“You're like a half-tamed creature, still shy of the bridle. 'Except you enthrall me, never shall be free.' But freedom is an illusion, anyway.” – Nenia Campbell, Fearscape

*~*~*~*

Satoru came to your door with gifts again; mochi, bubble tea, bouquets of roses, keychains, jewelry, books… everything you could ever ask for he either had in his hands or would quickly get for you by whatever means necessary.

It’s a shame really that you refuse to show your true feelings for him, especially after all he has done to make you happy. But he can be patient when he wants to be, and so with a not-yet-broken heart, at least fifteen gift bags wrapped around both his clenched hands, and a chuckle he rings your doorbell twice. He could hear some shuffling from inside and a shout of coming.

The voice was high-pitched and cheery from the sound of it. His eyes lit up then as he smiled widely. But as soon as the door opened, his smile slightly faltered as his gaze met eyes he had never seen before.

The woman in front of him was not you. What was she doing in your apartment?

His first thought was to assume she was an intruder, someone who broke into your home, stole your belongings and money, hid you in a closet or under cement, and is pretending to be you for the time being. Well, he can’t be fooled so easily if that was the case. But he then chose to let the woman speak before coming to conclusions. Though she was wearing your cute Hello Kitty hoodie and utterly adorable My Melody headband and had one of your pore strips on her nose. She obviously knew you in some way, and so he in turn needed to know her.

The woman waved at him and slowly looked down from his face to the many presents in his hands. Her head turned then, a huh accidentally coming from her lips.

��Hello miss,” Satoru tries his best to be polite and not have any bias towards her, but it is indeed hard to do so. It is hard to not have any bias and not entertain the idea of snapping her neck, because he does not know her and she is not you. He does not recognize her from any of your friend groups, and it took everything in him to not sneer and glare at her and demand to know where you were.

“Hey,” She seems to try her best to be polite too, trying to hide her confusion behind a small smile. “Can I help you?”

Satoru nods, trying to put on an eager and friendly front. He then gestures towards the gifts in his hands and chuckles. He fakes almost dropping one for dramatic effect. It seemed like it worked because the woman gasped and then sighed in relief as Satoru caught it in time before it could fall on the floor.

“I am looking for [First], I thought she would be here.” The stranger nods, her smile becoming more prominent. As a result, his own became more prominent too, though his was fake. “I’m her boyfriend. Wanted to surprise her, you know?” 

He is technically not lying. He’s right if anything. Once you stop playing hard to get and fall into his arms, he’ll officially be known as such. He’s right, if only you stopped pretending to be so disinterested.

“Ah, I see!” The woman answers, her eyes inviting and curious. He sighs, faking a small sob and groan. She looked concerned then.

“If only she was here, I always love seeing her smile!” He closes his eyes, trying his best to look sadder than a kicked puppy. “I suppose she’s not here right now…”

With how the girl steps to the side, her hand gesturing towards the apartment hallway, Satoru knows that his plan worked.

*~*~*~*

“I’m Eve, her roommate, nice to meet you!”

“The same to you.”

“So how long have you two been together?”

“A long time, we’ve been together since our high school days!”

“She sure is lucky to have such a devoted boyfriend, huh?”

He laughs at the compliment, his back crouched a bit downward at an angle so he could be more comfortable walking about. Eve chuckles at his casualness.

“You sure got her a lot,” Her tone is sweet, another piece of proof to reassure Satoru that she trusts him fully. Until you eventually show up from wherever you have gone and start spewing lies, she will continue to be that way. You seem to not have good taste in roommates, it seems because Eve is far too naive for your safety. “Like a lot. Do you come here often? I just moved in so…”

Satoru doesn’t pay attention to her questions as he fantasizes about the day when you move into his place and you sleep next to him and wake him up with good morning kisses. A beautiful ring will adorn your finger one day, and you will enthusiastically anticipate his arrival from work while adorning the makeup he favors and styling your hair to his liking.

It was a small, cramped apartment, one definitely not worth how much money you rent it for. “I never get tired of how cute [First] makes this place. With both her presence and how she decorates everything. She has good taste.” He goes into the kitchen area, still having his arms hooked by the strings of the many gift bags, and looks around at the scented candles, dried flowers, and baked cookies on the table. “[First] made these, right?”

“Yeah,” Eve really is stupid, isn’t she? If he were a burglar she would be dead on the spot. How could she possibly protect you from any danger? He would obviously be a better housemate than her. 

Satoru leans towards the kitchen table and snatches a cookie from the cooled baking sheet, biting into it and chewing loudly. 

“Delicious, right?” Eve asks, giggling. She does not seem scared at all and seems to have no boundaries whatsoever.

He agrees, quickly devouring the entire confection and licking his fingers clean. “She’s always been a good baker. There’s a good recipe she knows for pie too. Maybe I’ll ask her to make it for me sometime…” He hums as he sets all the gifts down on the back coffee table. “She sure is a catch, wouldn’t you say? Her baking is one of the reasons I was so attracted to her in the first place.”

Your roommate nods. Satoru considers taking his leave now, but he has never been in your apartment during the day before. 

He may as well stay a while. It will be fun, he tells himself.

So, he walks into the living room and starts reading the titles of books on the shelving next to your writing desk. A lot of horror and romance books from the looks of it. Classic little you.

He then looks over to your computer. 

“So sweet, like a cupcake,” He touches the top of the laptop, his fingertips tracing the many rainbow stickers that cover it. You really are just the best, aren’t you?

Before he could open it though, he could hear keys jingling. You’re here.

“I’m back–” As if you were a sort of lightbulb running out of power, your cheerfulness declines smoothly and steadily, being quickly replaced by a cute sneer.

Satoru lets out a loud laugh. He adjusts his stance, placing a hand on his waist.

“Ah, [First], honey! Welcome back, I brought you some gifts!”

Instead of responding, you turn to Eve, your scowl turning into a simple frown. Advancing swiftly, you approach her, closing the distance with eyebrows ascending in sudden understanding. Eve, on the other hand, responds by tilting her head to the side, resembling a perplexed canine, in clear bewilderment of your abrupt outburst.

Gently, you grasp her hands within your own.

“Eve, I forgot to tell you something important.” You point at Satoru with a shaky finger. He simply chuckles in response, amused with how quick you are to hide your excitement. “Whatever you do, don’t let him in.”

Eve lets out a sound of surprise. “Huh, what, why?”

Your gaze meets Satoru’s and you look like you could hardly breathe.

“He is a stalker; he is always lying to people and saying that we are dating and are head over heels in love, but don’t believe him one bit.”

His eyes dart across the room as he loses eye contact with you and Eve. All the while, as his head darts from side to side, he pouts, puffs up his cheeks childishly, and leans back slightly against the wall, not too oblivious but subtle to his amusement. His face is a mask of innocence and confusion, trying to appear like he is not aware of what is going on–when he is very much aware of it and is silently enjoying it.

He loudly sighs and rolls his eyes, his hands sliding to his face as he brings them up to cover his sunglasses and mouth. He is trying to hide a smile, the act of which is just too much for his face to handle. He keeps shaking his head in dramatic disbelief and he turns to the side to lean against the wall harder as he puts his head down, shaking his head in exaggerated betrayal. 

Satoru tries his best to not laugh again, it would ruin his marvelous performance.

He is the most captivating person in this room, you and Eve must be hung up on his every action and word, you two cannot look past his incredible acting.

Nobody is capable of acting to the degree that he is, his performances are legendary and his acting skills are unparalleled.

He is simply the best there is and ever will be. If there were a competition in this room to win an Oscar for best acting, he is certain that he would be taking that home. There is nothing on God’s green earth that can get in the way of him delivering these lines and excellent movements. He is so talented and so experienced, who could ever deny his skills?

“Gojo,” You say coldly. “Get out.”

He expects you to see the gifts, how heartbroken he is, and finally admit that you are just as much in love with him as he is with you. Instead, he could swear for a moment that he could hear crickets, before realizing that it is the wick of the candle on your kitchen table burning. As he surveys you and Eve he notices that he is getting no reaction.

“Babe.” When you don’t respond to the nickname, he snuffs a huff. “Stop pretending, okay?”

He thought that he was killing that acting.

He can’t believe that no one is buying his performance. He’s got the attitude, he’s got the swagger, he’s got it all, but neither of you are falling for it. This is just insulting. He knows he’s great, he knows he is delivering the performance of his life but for some reason, neither you nor Eve can see it! He is in absolute shock.

So, Satoru walks up to you and grabs your face.

He looks at Eve and she doesn’t look at him, she looks at you. That is fine, as long as he can still talk to her and you everything will be alright in the long run. Everything is going to be okay, he tells himself.

“Eve, can [First] and I have a few minutes alone?” Her eyes race to every corner of the room and slowly but surely make their way to the gold coins in his free hand. Multiple emotions spread across her face; confusion, greed… consideration. “It will only be for a sec, okay?” 

With a measured pace, Eve approaches his outstretched palm, her eyes fixated on the glistening gold. Her gaze mirrors that of a ravenous crow or a parched man deprived of water for days, or sustenance for weeks. Quivering hands accept the money, and in silence, she retreats to her room, closing the door behind her.

“Come on, drop the funny games,” Instead of directing your gaze towards him, your eyes fixate on the entrance of Eve's bedroom. The door is adorned with a vibrant pink poster of a popular musician, adorned with splashes of colorful paint. Inwardly, he reassures himself that this situation is acceptable. After all, the two of you are now in a private and secluded space. 

There is no longer anyone to hinder you from expressing your genuine emotions towards him. Surely you will finally admit them. Then you will eventually move to his place and stay there, happy and loving towards him at long last. All in due time, because Satoru can be patient when he wants to be.

“Get the fuck out. You sick–”

But now he does not want to be patient. He just wants to hear those words leave your pretty lips.

“Ah, ah, ah, watch your language, sweetie.” He interrupts you, placing a finger on your mouth. 

The mere expression on his countenance carries ample weight to silence your profanity-laden tirade.

He only perceives the captivating, extraordinary, flawless woman whom he is obligated to assist. You possess an excessive amount of independence - too unbound, unwilling to embrace his assistance, his presents, his finances - there exists a rationale why partners watch out for one another. Are you not aware of that? 

“That’s better.” He smiles and you start faking a shiver. “You really can listen when I finally put my foot down, huh? You can be stubborn with other people, you know, just not with me.”

He possesses strength - you lack it. You are so small compared to him. 

He possesses a keen understanding of the streets, while you lack that astuteness. The dress you have chosen to wear is excessively revealing. 

“Now, now, don’t cry. Shh, shh, shh. It was the only way I could see you, with how much you love to play hard to get.”

One can only imagine the number of individuals whom you captivated during the brief period you ventured outside today.

He possesses intelligence, while you lack it. You may believe otherwise, and you indeed excel in certain areas, such as your meticulousness in personal hygiene, which he acknowledges with humility, and your skill in baking, as well as your expertise in creating a cozy and plush bed. However, numerous matters elude your knowledge, such as selecting the right candidate in the upcoming election, performing a tire replacement, or operating a debit card. He is strong, while you are not. He is drawn to you for not being - captivated by your feminine allure; the way your body gently curves, your delicate touch, the fragrance that surrounds you, the melodic tone of your voice, and above all, your complete vulnerability when confronted with danger.

“Now, open your gifts. I did carry them all the way here after all.”

When you finally surrender, he will assume control over every decision you make. 

From selecting your attire to choosing items at the grocery store, he will dictate how you interact with other men and even how you smile. He believes you are incapable of handling even the simplest tasks. Additionally, he takes pleasure in instructing you on matters you are expected to be ignorant about. It's quite endearing, isn't it? 

He views you as his possession and will never, under any circumstances, let you slip away.

At his place, he has so many pretty outfits for you to choose from. A lot of aprons and cute dresses. All the while he downs a beer or seven with his friends and jokes about how nice you look cleaning. You'll listen to him rant about anything that comes into his mind, taking it all with a smile. It is not unusual for him to lay awake at night imagining what life would be like with you as his wife. First, he needs to show you your position as his wife and get rid of this misguided sense of independence you seem to be clinging to. What a dumb girl you are. It was meant to be, wasn't it? You are meant to be his girlfriend and eventually his wife, and you will by any means Satoru has to take.

He does not care what he has to do as long as the result is you finally giving in and loving your place in his arms. It is what you were made for. It is what he was made for.

So pretty. So stupid.

“Now, now. Stop crying, you’ll only ruin your makeup.”

*~*~*~*

On that particular evening, Satoru once again paid a visit to your apartment. However, instead of observing from a distance, he ventured further into the room and settled beside you as you lay in bed, rousing you from your slumber. The bed groaned as it shifted under his weight, and he swiftly covered your mouth to prevent any outcry.

Without hesitation, he gently hushed you, his other hand tracing the contours of your cheek and collarbone with his lengthy fingers. As he did so, he rhythmically caressed your neck, humming a tune that only he knew. In response, tears welled up in your eyes, but he promptly brushed them away. His initial hand soon abandoned its position on your mouth, ascending to tenderly stroke your hair.

"Don’t touch me," You rasped, observing how the moonlight cast an ethereal glow on his body and hair while obscuring his face in darkness.

He simply shushed you again and you could hear him breathing deeply through his nose and mouth.

He sat on his knees beside you. You could hear murmurs from him about how pretty you were, and you didn't know whether he was telling you or telling himself. Your hands clench the sheets in fistfuls. You let out a whimper. You close your eyes and grit your teeth, hoping this is just another bad dream.

He keeps murmuring fantasies. You don't open your eyes. You breathe through your mouth because you can smell his cologne with your nose. It is so strong, suffocating.

You eventually open them when the anxiety is too much, and you stare at him, wide-eyed, at the ceiling above his shoulders and head, at your cute vanity and glittering gold and silver jewelry and pastel clothes. Was that why he liked you so much because you were feminine and utterly defenseless in the face of a real threat? You think of an escape plan, of running to the bathroom grabbing your razor, and screaming at the top of your lungs.

“Such a beauty you are,” He whispered in your ear, his voice still so sticky. “So cute. A doll that only belongs to me. All that’s left is for you to finally accept because I know you want to, don’t you?”

You can’t stop him.

As the silence lingers, you find yourself yielding to the role of his girlfriend. Tear stains dot your pillow and mattress, remnants of your emotional turmoil. Satoru's praises now echo within you, as you surrender to his caresses. Your gaze shifts towards the window, where a few distant stars twinkle in the sky, veiled by a cloud that drapes the crescent moon like a bridal veil.

“So good. I just knew I wouldn’t have to take more… drastic measures.”

He snaps a picture on his phone for later.

[lady-stormbraver]

@lovesodeepandwideandwell your tea post brought up a very important tea question:

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 5

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare

Dreamcasting: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits)

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Arranging her household had been quite the affair.

Linnea had barely awoken before someone was knocking at her door, and it had proved to be multiple someones. She had hastily dressed as three veiled servants had bustled through her sitting room, laying out food and drink, and had left a woman in their wake who carried a portable writing desk and looked at her with a keen, sharp eye.

“The High King has appointed me to oversee your household, if it pleases you, my lady. I am Adabes.”

Linnea nodded, trusting that Gil-galad would have chosen someone suitable. She took a deep breath, offering Adabes a smile, and motioned to the chairs in front of the fireplace. “Please. Be welcome. Would you like anything? I seem to have…plenty.”

If anything, that was an understatement. The servants had left multiple platters of bread, cheeses, and fruit, as well as a large ewer of hot tea. It was enough to easily feed a dozen people.

“Thank you, no. I assume you will normally take your breakfast with the High King, but, as it is your first morning here…”

Adabes trailed off, raising a brow at her in question. 

A question…or, perhaps, an opportunity. A choice was before Linnea: she could attempt to gloss over all of the things she didn’t know yet, or she could be honest and let Adabes see that there was still so much that she was uncertain about. Adabes could be a valuable ally in the court if she chose to be - if she felt that Linnea had earned her trust and her loyalty. 

“You did right,” Linnea said. “Thank you. I admit, the King and I have not yet spoken about our daily schedules. But I would like to join him, yes.”

Adabes nodded. “It is the King’s habit to rise at dawn and to spend an hour in contemplation before breakfasting in his rooms,” she said. “I shall advise his servants. Is there any particular food or drink I should ensure is provided for you?” 

She was about to say no, that she would be fine with whatever Gil-galad was already eating, when she recognized another opportunity in front of her. Her mother had been fond of saying start as you mean to go on, and if she didn’t express any preferences, that might be taken as a pattern. She did not intend to be a passive queen, considered to have no opinions at all. 

“I enjoy a strong tea in the morning,” she said. “And fresh bread. Our weaving shop in Eregion was across from a bakery, and we would often buy the first loaf of the day from their ovens.”

Adabes inclined her head. She was well-schooled; Linnea suspected that she wouldn’t have displayed any sort of reaction, even if the request had been unreasonable. But there was nothing to indicate that in her voice. “I will see to it,” she promised. “As for the matter of personal attendants - will you require assistance in the morning? Bathing, dressing, and such?”

Linnea had seen the bathing room last night when she had prepared herself for bed. Not only did it have its own hearth for heating water, but the water itself cascaded down one wall, a natural rock formation that the palace must have been built around. It fell into a shallow pool built into the floor where it could be easily scooped out, a luxurious convenience. 

The idea that she might need help with taking a bath…      

Mornings in the shop had been quiet and purposeful; her father liked to go to the bakery while she and her mother dressed themselves for the day and made tea. By the time he returned, they were all ready for a quick breakfast of hot rolls before settling themselves at the looms. On occasion, they would pay a musician to come and play or sing while they worked; otherwise, conversation had been minimal. Customers would come in to browse the finished fabrics; clothiers would come to barter, but the days had passed peacefully. 

Clothiers. She had no idea how her wardrobe might shape up. Perhaps she would need help; Gil-galad likely had a body servant helping him, with how elaborately he dressed. And the Valar knew she’d never paid much attention to her hair, save for ensuring it did not tangle in the threads of the loom. Someone to deal with that would be welcome.

“Yes,” she said, finally answering Adabes. “I believe I would like an attendant.”

Adabes made a note on the paper in front of her. “I will see to it,” she said again. “Now, the High King has informed me that you wish to visit the city? You are in need of clothes and such?”

“Yes.” Linnea nodded emphatically. “I - I have some things from Eregion, but I do not believe they are…suitable.”

If she’d been hoping for a reaction from Adabes - a hint as to whether she was offending propriety already in the simple blue dress she’d donned earlier, her hair loosely braided back - she was disappointed. Nor did she see the confusion that Gil-galad had displayed at the idea that she would wish to go herself rather than have them come to her; Adabes simply nodded yet once more.  

“Your guards await your pleasure,” she said. “Your escort from Eregion has been chosen to continue in your service, excepting Commander Arondir. Is there aught else I might arrange for you now? I understand that - “ she cleared her throat delicately - “that you are still…settling in.”

Oh, that was a true statement if she’d ever heard one. And she needed to talk to Gil-galad more, to find out what he expected of her as well. The previous evening, they had lingered at the Tree, but conversation had not been foremost on the agenda. Her lips tingled, remembering what had been, but she stopped herself from pressing her fingers to her mouth. Adabes was still there, after all.

“Not now,” she murmured. “Thank you. I am sure that in the coming days, I will be able to decide more. Are there ladies of the court, should I consider introductions? Are there gatherings I should attend?” 

Adabes actually smiled that time, and it made Linnea sit up and pay attention.

“My lady,” Adabes said quietly, “Lindon has never had a queen to organize such things. The ladies of the court, those who are not part of it themselves, have been left to their own devices. Your presence is very welcome.”

There was no intrigue in her voice; there was no hint of deception in her eyes. Could Linnea take her words at face value? It was hard to contemplate - stepping back out of her own shoes, she would not fault anyone for finding the entire situation strange, for being less than welcoming to this new Sindar Elf that had waltzed into their city, into their palace, running around with their High King’s ring on her finger. 

But Gil-galad was well-loved. He had ruled for over a thousand years. Perhaps it was not so strange to think that his people would wish him well, would be glad that he had found happiness, however unconventionally it might have come to him. 

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I appreciate knowing that. And I thank you for your service. I am sure I will come to rely on you. In fact…”

She paused, struck by an idea - another way to show, and earn, that trust.

“...do you have any clothiers you would recommend?” 

Adabes smiled again.

By the time Linnea had been ready to leave, there had been a list. And the list told her that she would indeed come to rely on Adabes in the years to come. 

It had been divided by district, with the names of the shops and the owners all neatly lettered. It had noted which goods she was likely to find pleasing at each establishment, what prices she should expect, and if the shopkeepers were prone to haggling. It was a masterwork of organization; she could not have wished for a more helpful guide.

And payment had also been provided, in the form of a gold cuff bracelet that fitted around her wrist. It was slender, easily hidden beneath her sleeve, but Gil-galad’s seal was picked out on it in diamonds, making it clear that the bearer was royal.

Present this to any merchant in the city, Adabes had said. They will settle accounts with the palace.

There was so much to take in, Linnea was hesitant to buy anything that first day; she wanted to simply look at everything, and then begin making her choices. And all the while, she kept her eye out for a jeweler - that would need to be a return trip, as she had refrained from bringing any of her fabrics with her for trade. But there were several promising options, and she made note of their locations as they walked. Her guards made no complaint; Landir and Hellathas simply trailed her obediently, positioning themselves outside of each shop she chose to stop by.

Her first visit had been a wine shop. She hadn’t quite believed that the bracelet would work, and had desired to test it. Eregion had used a similar system, but Lord Celebrimbor’s servants had been known to most of the city’s merchants, and so no tokens had been required. But Lindon was much larger, and busier, and so she had shown her bracelet when her cup had been brought to her, brimming with a light, floral white. 

And not only had the bracelet elicited a deep bow - and there had certainly been no request for any other payment - but she had, in fact, had to decline the gift of an entire cask of the wine. Settle accounts, indeed. But the test had proved successful, and so emboldened, she had begun working her way through Adabes’ list. 

The sun was setting as she exited yet another clothier. Although she hadn’t wanted to buy much that day, she was still conscious of needing to make some sort of a start. But if there was one thing she knew, it was fabric, and she had found nothing thus far that she had been able to say yes to. 

She was about to call an end to the day and bid them return to the palace, when a small doorway caught her eye across the square.

The shop was in good repair, although modest. The sign outside proclaimed it was another tailor, and through the windows facing the plaza, she could see bolts of fabric in muted colors - greys, soft lavenders, heathered blues, deep greens. Colors she had not found many of in Lindon, and colors that appealed to her own style.

One more stop could not hurt.

She walked quickly across the plaza, opening the door and peering into the dim interior of the shop. “Hello?”

There was no sound, and she stepped fully inside, leaving the guards on the other side of the door. The shop was well-appointed inside; there was a full shelf of fabrics against one wall, bolts of all types and colors. More of the softer colors she’d seen through the windows, but also pale blue satins, white velvets, gold silks - the fabrics of Lindon that she’d already grown accustomed to. She wondered why it hadn’t been on Adabes’ list; part of the reason she’d thought to end the day was because she’d worked her way through all the shops in that particular district.

“My lady?”

Linnea turned, startled.

A young, thin Elf woman had come from the back of the shop, and was eyeing her nervously, twisting her fingers together. Her hair was long and brown, also thin, and her eyes were large and green in her pale, narrow face. She was dressed modestly, in a simple gown of dull green that nevertheless complimented her eyes, and as her fingers moved Linnea saw the gleam of a plain gold wedding band.

“Forgive me,” the woman said, the words coming out in a rush. “I was - my child, he is - forgive me, my lady, how can I serve you?”

Linnea held up a hand. “Be at ease,” she said gently. “I saw your fabrics through the window. I merely stopped to browse.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Are you - would you - can I bring you something in particular? Are you looking for dresses, or a cloak, or…”

Linnea laughed, softly, and offered the Elf a wry smile. “Everything, I fear. I am recently come from Eregion and I - ”

She had meant to say, I did not bring much with me, or perhaps I will need new gowns that are more suitable for Lindon. But she was stunned into silence by the woman’s reaction. 

The seamstress slumped to the floor, her skirts pooling around her, and buried her face in her hands. Soft sobs came from her, and her shoulders shook. 

Linnea froze.

Carefully, she approached the weeping woman, and knelt down beside her on the floor. She didn’t even seem to know that Linnea was there, caught up in her own pain; she continued to cry, and the whimpers were increasing in volume and becoming more ragged. As if a dam had been held together by a single stone that had now become dislodged, and all of the built-up pressure was finally being released.

Linnea gently laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I am so sorry,” she murmured. “I am not sure what I said to cause you such hurt, but I deeply apologize. Would you like me to go?”

The woman moaned softly, and finally dropped her hands. She was still gasping out sobs, but Linnea’s words - or the touch - seemed to have brought her back to herself, at least somewhat. She blinked, clearing the water from her eyes, and managed to shake her head.

“Forgive me, my lady,” she hiccuped. “It is - it is nothing of importance. Please, just allow me a moment and I will be able to show you whatever you wish.”

Linnea raised a brow. “I hope you do not take me for such a fool as to believe that,” she said - still gently, so as to remove any bite from her words, but a firm reminder that she was not, in fact, a fool. “Nor such a heartless beast as to be able to ignore someone who is clearly as much in pain as you are. I am in no hurry. Take the time you need to recover yourself.” 

Slowly, the woman nodded, almost as if against her will. She looked down again - and her large eyes widened even further, and the color drained from her face.

Linnea followed her gaze, and cursed inwardly. Her hand was still on the woman’s shoulder, and her sleeve had ridden up to reveal the bracelet around her wrist. And even in the dim twilight of the shop, the diamonds of the royal seal sparkled. 

And besides that, there was the ring, sitting proudly on her index finger. That shining star, of the same design as the seal, the pearl at its heart. The King's star. The shape itself left no doubt as to the one who had given the ring to her.

“My lady.”

It was sheer horror that tore from the woman’s throat, and she scrambled up with such force that Linnea’s hand practically flew off her shoulder. The moment she regained her feet, she bent into a deep curtsey, staring at the floor, visibly shaking.

“Your Grace,” she whispered. “I - please, I beg your forgiveness. I am not worthy of royal patronage, there are many other tailors that would be pleased to serve you. I can suggest - “

“Stop.”

Linnea stood, and took a deep breath. The woman obviously knew who she was; whether it was the bracelet, the ring, or something else, she was no longer an anonymous customer. And just as before, with Adabes, this was an opportunity for her to show the kind of queen she meant to be.

Start as you mean to go on.

“Stop,” she repeated, more gently that time. “I will not give you my forgiveness, for none is required. And I shall be the judge of who is worthy of my patronage - and I tell you, I have seen many clothiers today, and your shop has been the first with fabrics I feel I can wear. And whatever else I may be, I am a weaver, and my name is Linnea.”

The seamstress slowly looked up. 

Even more slowly, she straightened from her curtsey. 

“I am Eressie,” she whispered. “My lady. Your Grace.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Eressie. Now - will you tell me what caused your upset? For I would hate to repeat such a thing unknowingly.”

“I…”

Her eyes flicked over Linnea’s face. Linnea drew herself up, trying to look stern without being frightening - the last thing she wanted to do was to frighten Eressie again. She must have succeeded, at least somewhat, for the woman’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“It was…when you said Eregion,” she muttered. “My husband fought there. And he - he did not come home, my lady.”

The pieces fell into place, and Linnea’s heart went out to the poor woman. To have lost her husband was sorrow enough - but she had mentioned a child. 

And ice crawled through her veins at the thought of the same happening to her. Ereinion was King, he was a warrior - who knew when he might have to go forth again? There would always be a risk that she would find herself in Eressie’s shoes, grieving for her husband while attempting to console their children at the same time for the loss of their father. Trying to comfort herself with knowing that it wasn’t forever, that they would all meet again in Valinor, but also knowing that the years and the centuries would stretch an eternity until that day.

She shook off the cold, and inclined her head, closing her eyes briefly in respect for Eressie’s grief. “I am so sorry,” she said softly. “He awaits you in Valinor, but I know that must be little solace now. Especially with a young one.”

“The High King said the days of war were over,” Eressie whispered. “We thought - we thought it was safe to have a child, that the army would not fight again for many years.”

There was nothing Linnea could say that would ease the woman’s pain. Nothing would have eased hers, if she had been the one mourning. And with the loss so recent, perhaps Eressie did not want relief; perhaps she wanted to feel her grief. 

Linnea herself had barely had time for grieving - there had been so much, and grief had, at times, been buried beneath the joy of newfound love. Her heart could not weep - at least, not for sorrow - when Gil-galad was holding her hands in his, when he was looking into her eyes and giving her that soft smile. But on the road, alone in her tent, there had been more than one night where she had crammed her hand into her mouth and cried into her pillow to keep anyone else from overhearing. Perhaps there was a dam in her, too, more solid than Eressie’s but one that would, eventually, break.

But she would have her betrothed to comfort her, when that time came. She would have Ereinion’s strong arms around her, his shoulder to rest her head against.

“I lost my parents,” she murmured. “In the siege. A piece of the city wall crushed our shop. I grieve with you, Eressie. And you have my sorrow for your loss.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

It was the barest whisper, and she sensed that Eressie’s regained composure was as fragile as the thinnest glass. She considered asking about the fabrics again, perhaps offering a distraction, but dismissed the thought in the next moment. No - the sun was setting, and just as with the sunrise, a new dawn would bring a fresh start.

“I will return tomorrow morning,” she said, keeping her voice soft. “I should like to see fabrics for dresses, and any finished gowns in grey, green, or blue. Perhaps lavender, if it is not too bright. After that, we should proceed to nightclothes, undergarments, cloaks, and such - and all should be suitable for court. I trust you are aware of the fashions?”

“I - yes, my lady, I - “

“Good. At first light, then.” 

Without waiting for an answer, Linnea turned and headed towards the door. She had done what she could; the rest would wait until tomorrow. Nothing could replace Eressie’s husband, but creating the entire wardrobe of a queen would at least consume time and thought. It was something.

Her hand was on the door latch when she heard the tiny breath of a reply.

“At first light. Your Grace.”

Come to me when you return, melethel. If you wish it.

Gil-galad had folded the note and tucked it beneath the vase on the table by Linnea’s hearth. He hadn’t picked the contents himself, of course - the High King did not go strolling through fields gathering wildflowers - but he had given careful instructions, and those who had collected them had followed his commands exactly.

Roses. Lilies of the valley, fragile and beautiful. Sweet peas, delicately fragrant. Cornflowers, providing spots of strong blue color in the rest of the predominantly pink and white bouquet. It was small, unassuming; he already knew, even after a handful of moments, that Linnea was not one for ostentatious displays. But he wanted to do something, to show her that he had thought of her that day. 

He had told his guards he was retiring early, and he hadn’t missed the smiles they had tried their best to hide as he closed his door. 

And so, he waited.

It was peaceful as the sun set; it was a chance to catch up on the various things he had to read, letters he needed to answer, along with enjoying a glass of wine. He had never minded solitude, especially as the days of his reign mounted - those moments had only grown more precious. But as he read, as he wrote, one ear was listening for any noise from the stairs down to Linnea’s rooms.

The queen’s rooms.

In his heart, she already was. However long it took before their wedding and her coronation, she already wore the crown. 

The sunlight had faded and the stars had come out, shining dimly, before he heard her door open and close. Her steps walking across the room - yes, she was almost at the hearth…

A soft clink. The crinkle of paper unfolding. 

He could not hear her reaction, but he pictured it in his mind, flattering himself by assuming that his note would make her smile. The paper in her elegant hands; perhaps she would read it again and smile more, the bow of her lips drawing wider.

Another crinkle. Was she refolding it? Then more steps.

Steps coming closer.

Steps beginning to ascend the stairs.

Gil-galad rose from the desk, trying to calm the fluttering in his stomach as he walked from his study into the main room. And he had just reached the hearth, when she appeared in the arched opening that led down to the staircase.

Just as he’d pictured, she was smiling. 

He let his eyes drink her in. He hadn’t seen her since the previous evening when they’d parted after returning from the Tree, and it felt like it had been far too long. She was still dressed simply - but she could have been wearing sackcloth and still been stunning. 

His ring sparkled on her finger. 

She didn’t speak immediately, but she crossed to him at the hearth, keeping their eyes locked together. He waited there, watching her and marveling at her quiet grace, until she was close enough to touch. 

Slowly, he reached for her. And she came to him, his arms going around her waist and her hands resting on his shoulders. Her chestnut hair was bound in a long braid, and he felt the softness of it brush his hands where they spread against her back.  

Linnea’s face tipped up, and he saw what she wanted in her crystal-blue eyes, and it was something he was very, very willing to give her.

He kissed her softly at first, a few brushes of his lips against hers. Then more, longer - he was learning what she liked, what made her shiver in his arms. Not that she was neglecting him, oh no; she was learning too, responding to him and giving just as much as he was. And even more than the touch of her hands, the taste of her mouth was the feeling that she wanted him; she was pressing her body against his tightly, urgency threading into her kiss. 

It had been the same the previous night, at the Tree. The same fire had licked at his very bones, stoked by kiss after kiss, tempting him to make his offer again. 

Say it, melethel. You have but to ask it of me. You will be mine by sunrise, and I will be yours.   

But he had swallowed the words. He had already told her it was up to her; she had heard him when he had said that if she asked, they would have married right then and there. It was her choice, and she had agreed that they could take time to get to know one another. He would not pressure her to change her mind.  

Their wedding - and the wedding night - would come soon enough. 

He felt Linnea sinking back down onto her feet, and he loosened his arms as their lips separated. She was smiling as he opened his eyes, and he lifted his hand, gently trailing his fingertips down her cheek and over the side of her neck.

She shuddered, and a tiny oh escaped her.

For a moment, concern flared in him that she hadn't liked the touch - but in the next, he processed the soft sound, and he realized that it was quite the opposite.

So he did it again. Slower, that time, letting his fingers deliberately linger on her skin, even as he held her gaze. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment and then reopened, and they were dark and hazy - the look of desire that he'd already come to know.

She wanted him.

For all his offers of now, his heart sped up thinking about it. Of course, he knew what their wedding night would entail, but it was far different thinking about it with Linnea. She deserved everything he could give her, every bit of pleasure; yes, they would learn over the years together, but he wanted even their first time to be perfect.

How best to ensure that, given his non-existent practical experience, was a thought for later. 

He let his hand grow still, filing away in his mind that she enjoyed being touched this way, and leaned down to press his forehead against hers. Their duties would mean that these moments would become precious, too - and he found he very much did not mind the thought of her joining his previously solitary time.

“Thank you for the flowers,” she whispered. “They were lovely to return home to.”

Home.

He finally lifted his head and opened his eyes, releasing her. “I am glad you liked them,” he murmured. “Did you enjoy your day of visiting the city? Were you able to find what you need?”

A shadow crossed her face. Her eyes lowered to the floor, and instantly he was on alert. Lindon was safe, nothing could have befallen her there, but -

“I found a dressmaker,” she said softly. “A widow. With a child. She lost her husband to the siege.”

He let out a sigh, partly of relief, and partly of sorrow. Gently, he took Linnea’s hands back in his, running his thumbs over the backs. “There is always a cost,” he murmured. “It was no light decision. But that does not change the price.”

“Price,” she repeated. “And what if it is you that has to pay it?”

That was the darkness on her face, then. Now he understood the urgency in her kiss. Desire, yes - but also fear, fear that she would lose him to a battle someday, to an enemy’s sword or lance or arrows.  

“Melethel,” he said quietly. As he did so, he tightened his hold on her hands, pulling them slightly to make sure she would look at him. “We cannot know what the future holds. Our enemy is at large; we prepare for war, and eventually, it will come. As King, I must lead. And it may be that one day that cost will be mine to bear. But for today, and for all the days to come, I will not surrender our joy for shadows that may never fall on us.”       

Ereinion. Come.

That image flashed in his head again, of Linnea relaxing in front of the fire, growing heavy with their child. Another joy that awaited them.    

“Nor will I,” she whispered. “Sevil i veleth nîn. Whatever may come.”

“And you have mine.” He raised her hands, pressing them against his heart. “I cannot promise you that we will never be parted. But that you have my love, now and always - that I can, freely and gladly.”

She leaned against him, sliding her arms around him and holding him tight, and he did the same, resting his cheek against the top of her head. For several long moments, he just held her, offering the comfort of his touch and his body - and cherishing it, treasuring the feel of her against him.  

“Come,” he murmured finally, his lips brushing her hair. “Let us speak of more pleasant matters. I understand you will join me for breakfast each morning?”

His intent had, indeed, been just as he had said: there was joy, and what might not ever be did not belong here, now. And it appeared to work; Linnea took a deep breath, offering him a small smile as his arms loosened. “Yes. Unless, of course, you object.”

He laughed, crossing to the sideboard where a flagon of wine awaited, as well as two empty goblets. “Object? To my queen’s company?” he teased gently, as he poured for them both. “My lady, I would spend every moment of the next five centuries with you, and count myself the most fortunate being in all of Arda.” He turned, picking up the glasses, and handed her one. “I will delight in your face being the first one I behold when the sun rises.”

Her cheeks turned pink, and he realized what he’d said. And how it could be interpreted.

She raised the glass to her lips and sipped, with a knowing smile. And when she lowered it, her answer was a soft, loving purr with no shadow on it at all.

“Then I shall see you every morning, my lord.”

He had to take a breath at that, at the sheer jolt of desire that that image conjured up. This was not the ring; this was his own mind, picturing her coming slowly awake in his bed, her chestnut curls tousled from sleep. Her skin glowing against the sheets - her bare skin. Her smile, lazy and satisfied in the aftermath of pleasure, her body tangled with his. 

Soon. 

Continue to Part 6

[rae-writes]

all for you...

Dazai x twin!reader

wc : 1.k

warnings : angst, ambiguous ending, major character death [not reader or Dazai], blood, implied prior emotional/physical/[light] sexual abuse

synopsis : "I don't want to play this part but I do, all for you"

a/n : I...apologize for this

“Well now…this is quite the mess to clean up…” 

The splattered blood on the wall had begun to drip, sliding down the wood slowly and splashing onto the floor with faint ‘pit, pit’ echoes. There was an eerie, ringing, silence to the air and a tension that felt suffocating.

Something shifted when Mori turned to look at the two children who just witnessed the murder— they were no older than fourteen. 

“You twins are my witnesses…from now on, I will be the new boss of the Port Mafia, and the two of you…will stay by my side.”

Fukuzawa Yukichi and Mori Ogai sat at a small, cherry-wood table that was decorated with a glass china set for the tea they were talking over; it would’ve been a rather amusing sight, if the conversation topic hadn’t been so serious. 

While they both performed their positions as head of their respective organizations diligently- and extremely well- it was no secret that they were each getting higher up in their years. They thought it best to discuss who would potentially be taking over once they were retired together, as it would help maintain their mutual agreement between said organizations. 

“Your best candidate is Doppo Kunikida, is it not? I was fairly certain it was him who was acting in your stead whenever you could not.”

You and Chuuya stood directly behind Mori, with a small handful of your subordinates a couple of feet away; similarly, Fukuzawa had Kunikida and Dazai behind him, with the rest of the agency’s core members on standby. The two heads didn’t really need them here, as they could very well handle themselves against one another, however by this point, it was more or less a tradition. 

“That is correct. What about you? Surely you’re going to pick from your pool of executives, aren’t you?” 

There it was. That nauseous dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. It sunk into your bones, forcing a cold sweat to the surface of your skin as, instinctively, your flight or fight response tried to take over. 

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

The sounds around you grow muffled so suddenly it makes your head spin and the scenery melts down into a memory of the executive meeting held a week ago.

“Do not mistake my words. I will continue as the Port Mafia’s head until it is apparent I am no longer able to fulfill my role; even then, my presence will not just disappear. This is my home and the organization I’ve dedicated my life to. I’m simply implying that we will need a suitable replacement when that time comes.” 

Rae glanced at Chuuya, finding him to be exactly who Mori was looking for. There was no one else in the room, or even the entire Port Mafia for that matter, who would be better suited to take over the position as boss. 

“And Dazai Osamu shall be just the person to do so.” 

No matter how sickening the feeling of fear and dread can be, anger will always be the secondary emotion. Even if that anger doesn’t last, it festers somewhere deep inside someone and builds until it’s crawling throughout their whole body— and suddenly it’s controlling them. It’s what takes over their mind like a parasite until it’s moving their legs, their fingers, their hands; until it acts on all those…scenarios in a person’s mind that were never meant to be born- that were only supposed to stay as impulsive thoughts. It’s then that the entire world a person experiences can be flipped upside down and drowned in the raging tides their anger brought. 

It was that anger that had your body moving on autopilot while you just…watched. Like you were a prisoner in your own mind, watching something on the tv screen. 

Your feet took a few steps forward before your hand was reaching for Mori’s teacup and slamming it on the edge of the table, shattering the glass. It left one big shard in your grasp. Your free hand had come up to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the long strands of black hair before yanking, forcing him to look at you with an exposed neck. 

When his red-purple hues met yours, your movements became your own. A gasp tore from your throat as you took in the sight in front of you, ragged breathing making you tremble. It was now that you were able to consciously think about your actions. 

And you thought about Osamu. 

You thought about everything he had to go through— everything Mori forced him to go through. 

You thought about that shine he had in his eyes that dulled over the years, only returning when he’d escaped Mori and the Port Mafia. You thought about the night he left, the way he cried over Odasaku and the way he cried about not wanting to leave you; you’d never seen him cry before. You thought about the hope in his eyes as you helped him leave and the genuine smile he’d given you two years later when you saw him again in the Agency. 

You thought about Mori’s sick, twisted version of affection— or ‘love’ as he called it sometimes. About the way he treated the two of you. The way he talked, manipulated, used, touched the two of you. 

As you gazed into the eyes of your tormentor- the man who was planning to drag your brother back to the darkness that had already consumed you- all that was swimming in those devil eyes was some warped version of pride; of satisfaction. 

His voice echoed in your mind, words he didn’t even need to voice aloud because he’d engrained them into you, seeping disgustingly- permanently- into your core. 

‘If I cannot have Osamu, I will gladly have you instead, my precious Y/n.’ 

With steady hands, though a trembling heart, you forced the broken piece of china into the flesh of Mori’s neck. And with a chilling cry, you dragged it across the entire expanse of his throat; his blood was now coating your face. 

It would’ve been a rather amusing sight- the horror plastered across everyone’s faces…if the situation hadn’t been so serious. 

“He…he was going to ask Osamu to be the next boss…and I couldn’t— I wouldn’t let him. Not you, Osamu.” Your voice cracked as you looked over at your brother, heart clenching when he looked at you with such…mortification. “Anyone but you.” 

And Osamu thought back to you. 

He thought back to all those times your eyes darkened in rage whenever Mori did something to him. He thought back to how you’d always yell at Mori for hurting him, whether physically or mentally. He thought back to the nights you promised him you’d help him shove down that darkness Mori festered in him. He thought about the promise you made him when he left the mafia: the promise that you’d be the one to kill Mori for what he’d done to the two of you. 

As he gazed into the eyes of his twin sibling- standing with blood on their face after just repeating the cycle, all for him- he could see the fear of what you’d just done. The determination to be better than Mori...and the love. Love for him. 

He should’ve known, his heart screams. He should’ve known this would happen, that you’d snap. He should’ve stopped you, he should’ve talked to you, he should’ve been there for you, because now—

. . .

After a haunting moment of ringing silence, the only person who dares to move is Chuuya Nakahara; the redhead kneels, sliding his hat off as he bows his head, “All hail the new Port Mafia boss, Dazai Y/n.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Crewel taking care of a puppy found in the street and return it to the owner.

This interaction could have easily turned into a long fic (which I unfortunately don’t have the time for) so 😅 I’m afraid I had to cut it short! Luckily I was still able to sneak in some 101 Dalmatians and Cruella references.

If he doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will.

It happened on a rainy afternoon in the Foothill Town.

Umbrella open like a flower, Crewel made his way down the street. In his other hand was a fragrant bag full of high-quality tea leaves begging to be brewed into a nice warm cup.

Sheets of mist fell upon the rooftops, tracing shapes in a shimmering silver. It was chilly—not a concern for him, as he was outfitted in his signature fur coat. He was careful to take light steps to avoid splashing rainwater onto his well-tailored clothes.

A faint light cut through the gloom. It snagged on his periphery, drew his eyes toward it.

He came to a complete stop.

There, displayed in a boutique window, was a mannequin in a floral petticoat and a white ruffled skirt layered like a tiered cake. It was posed provocatively, legs propped up on a chair and body tilted back, hand on the hip. Scrawled on the glass pane was a shockingly scarlet message, as if scribbled by a drunken woman in her bright red lipstick: It should be fun!

“What a marvelous display,” Crewel mused. My compliments go to the designer.

The rain continued to fall like an icy shroud around him. The circle of golden light spilling from the lit interior of the boutique was his safe haven from the weather.

Surely it wouldn’t hurt to take a look—perhaps when I’m down browsing, the rain will have let up.

He headed for the door, swinging it open. His entry wad announced by the ringing of a bell, followed by soft scampering across the floorboards.

As Crewel made to close his umbrella, something quickly brushed by his pant leg.

He looked—and startled.

A Dalmatian pup had bolted in, its fur sopping wet from the outside. It skidded to a stop before him and aggressively shook itself off, sending a fine spray of water in all directions… and on Crewel’s tailored slacks. He blinked, but found himself crouching down to its level.

What do we have here, a lost pup?

The boutique owner cursed from behind the front counter. “Sir, please curb your dog!”

“It’s not my…” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t bring himself to protest.

The Dalmatian, ever so fearless, gave a friendly bark. It nuzzled against his leg, staring up at him with large chocolatey eyes.

The puppy earned a low laugh from Crewel.

“Diving into doors when the opportunity arises, drying yourself off on me… Hmph, you’re a scrappy one. I can’t say I dislike that. Come here.”

Crewel carefully scooped up the shivering creature in his arms. With a curt nod and an apology to the shopkeeper, he retreated to a quiet corner of the boutique, shielding the puppy in his coat. It pawed against his vest and tracking mud onto the fabric. Crewel sighed—he’d have to get the entire suit dry-cleaned later.

“Let’s have a proper look at you,” he muttered, bringing the Dalmation out again.

It was a small thing, dotted like every other dog of its breed. Notably, a large black spot swallowed its left eye.

Up close, he could tell it was no stray. No, this dog was far too full-bodied and muscular to be getting by on only scraps. Its fur, too shiny and trimmed.

… That, and there was a telltale crimson band around its neck. A collar, a metal tag glinting in the store’s bright lights. Patch, it read, male. When Crewel grasped it and turned it over, the tag yielded an address and phone number.

“Ah, that must be your owner,” Crewel tutted. “How naughty of you to make your escape. Shall I bring you back there?”

Patch responded with a hapless grin and a slobbery kiss. He began to go in for a second lick, but the attempt ended in a loud sneeze.

The boutique owner casted them a dirty look.

Crewel rolled his eyes but provided a polite “We’ll be on our way.

He stepped outside, umbrella out again. Crewel regarded his canine companion fondly, ruffling its head.

“Come along, you little rascal. We can’t return you to your owner in this sorry state.

“My apartment here on Sage’s Island is small, but it can temporarily accommodate one puppy. I’ll run you a bath and clean you up before then. A hot meal is also in order—this weather is awful.”

Patch yipped enthusiastically at his newfound friend. Whether he understood what was happening or not was debatable, but he seemed happy either way.

“I’ll take that as I have your permission to proceed.” Crewel draped his coat over Patch, holding him close.

They would brave the storm together, man and man’s best friend.

[nocasdatsgay]

To Be Marked as Yours

Pairing: Neris | Rating: T | Word Count: 1813

Summary: Nesta refused a bite mark from her mate when they wed. But seeing her sister’s fresh mark has her questioning that decision.

Warnings: Omegaverse, Omega!Nesta/Alpha!Eris, Inner turmoil (Nesta’s worrying) Biting marks, Eris using his High Lord commands.

Part 1 | Part 2| Read this on AO3 | Read below

For Day Five of @acotar-omegaverse-week Marks

Gen Tag: @mybestfriendmademe @hieragalbatorixdottir Borders by @tsunami-of-tears

Nesta was staring. She could hear the voice of her mother harshly scolding her in the back of her mind even still. But she couldn’t look away. She was having tea with her sisters in Valaris. A monthly tradition once she agreed to marry Eris, so they could visit. They had skipped the month prior due to Elain’s mating ceremony. Now Nesta was staring at her, the mark on her neck to be precise.

Thoughts were rushing through her mind. She’d never seen a fresh mating mark. When they first saw Feyre after she turned fae, hers was concealed and when she saw it later, it was healed. But Elain’s. Elain’s was deep red, teeth markings over her scent glands. Nesta glanced at Feyre, her eyes going to the faded mark on her neck. Then her eyes dropped to her hands.

Nesta didn’t have a mating mark.

She refused it, telling Eris she would not be branded like a cow. She remembered him asking coldy what she would have them mark the marriage with instead. When he struck down the idea that the marriage agreement from the Night Court would suffice, she asked for rings.

“It’s what humans do,” She said.

He scowled but returned a week later with glistening red bands to go on their respective ring fingers.

“How will anyone know this is a mating ring?” He muttered when he walked away, still looking at it on his hand next to all the other rings he wore.

Guilt twisted in her stomach. She wore a high neckline to hide her lack of a mark outside of the Forest house. The ruby dress she wore today for tea had one. At home it didn’t seem to matter. The Autumn Court didn’t care or were too afraid to voice their opinions.

Nesta wanted to ask so badly if Elain wanted the mark. Or if her mate had forced it on her. Did it hurt to receive it? She was told it didn’t if it was during a heat. Elain had always been regular, it was possible even now she planned her ceremony right before it.

“Nesta.” Her gaze snapped up to Elain’s. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she blinked and took a sip of her tea.

It was not lost on her how Feyre and Elain exchanged a look. If they were communicating silently, she tried to not show she cared. They all finished their tea like nothing had happened. That afternoon, Nesta sequestered herself to her freshly cleaned nest, with a book and a pile of Eris’s shirts she hid from the maids.

“You’re unusually quiet today.” Nesta glanced up from her book. Her mate stood at the door, not entering. “Did you fight with your sisters at tea?”

“No,” she curtly replied. She deliberately did not grant him entrance. “I just thought you’d appreciate the silence.”

“You know I can feel when something bothers you,” he replied smugly. “And you’re here. You may as well tell me now.”

“You are what is bothering me. I’m trying to read.”

He hummed. “Shall I have Cassandra bring your dinner here?”

She pretended to think on it. With a sigh she flipped her page and replied. “No. I’ll be at dinner.”

He nodded and left the doorway without an argument. She closed her book with a huff. Then she pulled one of his shirts up to her face, annoyed and thankful that he let her be.

At the next breakfast tea with her sisters, Nesta was staring again. Only now Elain’s mark had healed to a faint ring, looping up past the sleeve of her dress onto her neck. Unlike last time, however, Elain didn’t dismiss her stares.

“It healed nicely, don’t you think?” Elain said, so soft in that airy tone of hers.

“Yes,” Nesta replied and without much thought asked, “Did it hurt?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “I suppose? Only for a moment when I received it. Did yours hurt?”

Nesta felt her face flush. She could feel the stare from Feyre next to her, no doubt watching her reaction intensely to see what she’d say.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to discuss.” She finally answered.

“Nesta.” It was Feyre who reached over, placing a hand on her forearm. Her blue eyes held such concern, Nesta was taken aback. “You know you can talk to us. If something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong,” she shrugged her shoulder to get Feyre’s arm off of her.

“Just know we are here for you Nes.”

She wanted to scoff but instead swallowed down her urge to run or to be worse. The tea went by quicker than planned and when Nesta returned home, she stomped through the halls. When she found her mate lounging in their sitting area, she decided to be blunt the moment he looked up at her.

“I want you to mark me.” She turned her head, baring her neck. “Just do it and get it over with.”

“Why?” He put his book aside and sat up fully on the couch.

“Why?” She glared. “I am obviously a disgrace of a wife- mate, whatever the terms are.” She added with fluster. “So do it. Mark me.”

Eris’s features became dark, so much that fear crept into her stomach. He stood, towering over her and his power rolling off of himself in waves of heat.

“Who said that to you?”

“No one-“

“Someone did. Tell me now.”

She felt the magic wash over her. She only felt a High Lord’s command once before and for Eris to use it- tears welled in her eyes from shame. She fought it for a moment, tilting her chin up and steeling herself.

“It was myself. I said it.” She let the tears fall, spewing truth like it was venom. “Do you not notice the high collars on my dresses I wear outside of court? To the hide my shame? To hide that I am a coward who cannot submit to her husband fully?”

There was heavy silence between them for a moment. Nesta tensed, fighting back her sniffles as she watched Eris carefully. He was good at hiding his emotions like she was. The stern look on his face only faltered when he finally spoke again.

“Do you want it? Tell me yes or no.”

She winced; another command to answer truthfully.

“No.”

“Then it’s not up for further discussion.”

His features soften to that laced with sadness. Nesta was uncertain of what to do. She felt the magic of the command leave her.

“You commanded me,” she whispered.

“Would you have spoken truthfully if I didn’t?” His voice cracked, eyes laced with silver. “I will burn those dresses. I thought you preferred them because they were close to human fashion. If you only wear them to hide a lack of a mark then they are not needed.”

“Why are you not angry?” Nesta yelled. She didn’t understand. “I will not bear your mark!”

“But you already do.” He grabbed her hand and held it up, the red ring flashing under the fae lights. “This is my mark. You accepted it and you wear it.”

“But this is-“

“Human. Yes.” His grip loosened slightly. He pulled her hand up and kissed the tips of her fingers. His voice was softer when he added. “But it is you. This is the only thing you’ve asked of me. I’m not going to take it away from you.”

Amber eyes stared back into her own. She could feel the love he sent her though their shared bond. She shoved back her tears.

“The other courts will talk.” She said softly.

“They always talk.”

“What if they think less of you?” Because I won't submit. Her mind finished where her voice could not.

Eris pulled her to him. Her knees felt weak from the scent of him.

“I do not care what the other courts or high lords think.” He gently tilted her chin up with his free hand. “You are my mate and I love you. The rings are proof enough if they wish to see a physical representation of it.”

Rarely did they utter the words to each other, so when Nesta said them, her voice cracked a little. “I love you too.”

Eris then swept her off her feet into his arms, making her yell at the sudden movement.

“I think we should retire for the night,” he smirked carrying her down the hall. “I do owe you an extensive apology for commanding you earlier.”

“That you do.” She added sternly, “And you better not ever do it again.”

“Are you threatening me, love?” He grinned and he nudged open the door with his foot.

“Would it be me if I didn’t?” She smiled.

The next time Nesta saw her sisters, she wore an off the shoulder gold dress. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she approached but she held her head high. Both Elain and Feyre’s eyes went to her neck. Then Feyre yelled out, pumping her fist in the air.

“I knew it! Nesta, you just won me so much money.”

“Excuse me?” Nesta stopped, glaring at Feyre.

“Rhys swore Eris would make you take his mark. I told him he didn’t know how stubborn you were. I told him!”

“As if Eris makes her do anything,” Elain giggled.

“I’m right here!” Nesta’s face had flushed and she turned her glare to Elain. “You both made bets on me?”

Elain shrugged. “You’ve been mated for so long, I didn’t think the mark was an issue. You were acting odd the last two months. I suspected you might be pregnant. So I lost that bet.”

Nesta scoffed, so uncomfortable with her sisters bombarding her. “I should go back home; you both are insufferable.”

“You also wear a ring,” Feyre teased. “They don’t know what that is on your hand. But we do.” She guestered between herself and Elain.

“Then why didn’t you just ask? Or say something?” Nesta snapped.

“We asked you the last time we saw you if something was bothering you!” Feyre put her hands on her hips. “You got defensive!”

Nesta couldn’t argue with her on that, she paced for a moment in a small circle. “By the mother, can we just have our tea?”

Elain let out a laugh that rang throughout the little garden they were sequestered in. Nesta sent her a glare but neither pushed it further. When they finally sat down, Elain eyed her as she poured the tea.

“So what made you finally stop wearing high collars?”

Nesta huffed. “I’m going to need a stronger drink than tea if we are going to have that discussion.”

Feyre, ever the prepared one of the three, pulled out a bottle of whiskey from a pocket realm and winked at her. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

[cottonlemonade]

When You’re On Your Period

word count: 575 || avg. reading time: 2 mins.

pairing: Komori x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

You had no idea how to position yourself. Laying flat hurt, on your side hurt, on your tummy hurt, fetal position, upside down, somewhat diagonally, nothing helped. You rolled out of bed and waddled over to the window, opening the blinds to watch the twinkling city lights. Your boyfriend snored softly and mumbled something behind you, his arm reaching out to your side of the bed, undoubtedly attempting to squish your soft tummy for comfort like he always did but when he didn‘t find you, he sleepily sat up.

Spotting your silhouette dark against the moonlight he let out a yelp - with your hair down and in an oversized shirt you looked like a ghost.

Komori cleared his throat and lowered his voice an octave and a half to regain some manliness. “Babe?“

“Hm?“, you hummed miserably and turned to him.

“Gorgeous, why are just standing there? Come back to bed.“ To underline his point he patted your pillow.

“Can‘t sleep.“, you pouted.

“Demons?“

You nodded.

He sighed and scooched out of bed to join you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. You leaned back against him, covering his hand on your cursed stomach with yours.

“What can I get you? Hot bath? - Heating pad? - A massage? - Medicine? - Snacks?“

You shook your head each time but hesitated at the last one.

“You want snacks?“

“… Maybe? But it‘s already midnight. It‘s way too late for food.“

“Says who? Did you learn nothing from Lord of The Rings, babe? Do we have to watch it again to remind you? There is breakfast, yes -“, he changed his voice to get into character, “but what about second breakfast?“

You giggled as he went on, “What about elevensies? Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Din-“

“One of these days I will lock you out of every single one of our streaming services. Your obsession is going too far.“, you chuckled. He gasped dramatically and hugged you tighter, muttering into your neck, “You wouldn‘t dare!“ and gave you a kiss.

You looked out into the night together for a moment, before he gave you a gentle quizzical squeeze, “So, snacks?“

“I‘m feeling… chicken wings…“, you said, squinting thoughtfully.

“Then chicken wings we shall have. Go put on some shoes, babe.“ He pressed another kiss to your cheek and let you go, walking over to your dresser where he had his own drawer, and pulled out some socks.

You added a comfortable sports bra to your ensemble and grabbed a pair of slippers, following him excitedly.

He had his fingers entwined with yours on the middle console of the car, raising your hand to his lips every so often as he drove.

Starry eyed you fought back tears as he listed your order perfectly, from memory, to the bored worker at the drive-through.

You pulled into the almost empty parking lot, the paper bags smelling heavenly of greasiness and salt, ready to appease the demons causing the cramps.

As you divided the food amongst you he was busy fumbling with the phone holder on the dashboard. It was customary that you would watch a show or a movie while eating in the car. He sat back eventually, looking really satisfied when the title card appeared and an all too familiar soft spoken monologue began. He grinned and winked, “What? You haven‘t locked me out of the streaming services yet.“

art: @s-dotte on Twitter