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[krishna1983]

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[thegnomelord]

Ok, so I loved your dragon reader/ dragon price fic. The detailed courting rituals got me thinking about how different members of TF 141 react to a s/o who has different courting rituals than them.

The one rolling around in my mind rn is Gaz (which I'm pretty sure is a harpy or bird hybrid of some kind) with a dragon reader.

So Gaz tries to court reader through a more fancy version of pebbling. But, instead of giving cool rocks and sticks, it's gemstones and weapons. Yknow, expensive/fancy things that Gaz thinks the reader might want to add to his hoard.

Btw do you have an anon list? If so, is 👑 anon available?

I don't have an anon list yet but you're welcome to be 👑anon!

It's cool to think how they'd try to court you. I hc that werewolves, and Johnny by extension, are really straightforward. Like sitting way too close, hands roaming over your body, trying to lick into your mouth and going "Hey wanna make more of us?"

Ghost, the poor thing, is completely fucked bc he was human before becoming a wraith, how the Hell is he supposed to know? Que him going through Wikipedia articles and watching documentaries of your species courting and mating (having to rub one out imaging you and him in that position ofc) and just stumbling through the whole courting thing.

CW:NSFW

But Gaz? Oooh Gaz—

Safe to say he's fallen ass over tits for you.

It's the way you take care of them, of him, of the monstrous strength used to defend them turning velvet soft when Gaz needs emotional support that has his harpy hindmind demanding to lock you down before a competitor snatches you away.

Only problem — you're not a harpy. And Gaz has no idea how courtship works, as when he asks Price about it (under the guise of just being curious) the old fart just gives him an amused look and tells him to figure it out.

Though harpies and dragons are two different species, he figures there must be some similarities, so he figures to listen to the old fairy tales about your kind and looks for the shiniest thing he can find, because Harpies court by giving gifts and dragons like to hoard and both of them like shiny stuff right?

You're confused like Hell when one day you wake up to find a silver ring with a shiny amethyst sitting on your windowsill. You know for a fact it's not yours as the instinct to catalogue every item in your hoard is as old as the draconic blood running through your veins and you'd remember if you had it.

When you make sure it's not stolen and no owner can be found, (because who'd wear that type of ring in a military base?) you decide to keep it, failing to notice how the way Gaz's pupils get bigger when you put the ring in your pocket.

It is a nice ring, the shine of the gemstone tickling your brain in a pleasant way. The military doesn't allow dragons to have large hoards, most of the items you've gathered over the decades and centuries safely hidden in vaults, but it feels good to have a small hoard in your den.

You expect this to be a one off event. But. No. Every few weeks you find a new thing on your windowsill, from gems to guns to additions to weapons you've expressed you'd like to get. Each new thing leaves you scratching your head, annoyance growing bit by bit as there's never enough scent on the items to track the culprit down and it's not like you can turn the base upside down looking for them (again).

You're unsure how to feel; it's obvious someone is trying to court you, but it definitely can't be Price because no dragon would go about it like this. But you have to admit it's nice to be desired, regardless how odd the method may be.

Then you notice how Gaz has started acting. . . different. He'll ruffle his feathers and flutter his wings more than usual when you two are alone, purposely stretch more often to make your eyes naturally draw to him, sticking to your side as he talks about everything and anything under the sun.

You're also not a fool. You can figure out it's a harpy's way of trying to show off, but without any open hostility you can only assume he's trying to court you. And you let him, you like his presence and the sound of his voice, the way he gives you a lopsided smile and the way his dark feathers shine like onyx gems when the light hits them juuust right and the way he flushes and stutters when your tail wraps around his leg.

Then one late evening when you're doing paperwork you catch sight of something behind your window in the corner of your eye. Like a flash you're opening the window, your clawed hand gripping Gaz's hand before he can scatter.

Gaz's wings spread out wide, a surprised squawk leaving him as he looks into your slitted eyes. "Uh-, I, eh- Hi?" He says, gulping, his newest gift, a very shiny ruby, held in his hand. But what draws your eye are his dark feathers.

You let out an amused snort, "Hello." You purr, leaning in so your faces are close, enjoying the way he flushes from the proximity. "So you're the little thief that's been visiting me."

Gaz's feather puff up to make his silhouette twice as big, his eyes narrowing, a hurt and angry look spreading across his features. "I'm no thief!" He says, insulted that you'd suggest he can't get you gifts on his own. "I-"

"You are," You hum, reaching out your other hand to hold his jaw, and even with his anger he feels his mind croon at how softly you touch him. "You're in the process of stealing my heart."

"Oh." Is the most intelligent thing he can come up with, his pupils blowing wide like he'd just seen the shiniest thing in his life. "Oh."

"Yes," You shrug and pull your hand back to yank one of your scales out of your shoulder, giving it to him as you take the ruby. "Keep this safe for me, yeah?" You hum and then you let him go, going back to your work while he's left dumbstruck, clutching the scale close to his chest.

When it finally settles in his head that you'd just given him a gift, that you'd reciprocated, and given him a shiny gift, oh he's treating that scale like it's the most precious thing in his world. He keeps it close to him, cooing to it in the privacy of his room, keeping it on his pillow so he can fall asleep with your scent in his nose.

He also doubles down on the gifts, but now he's very open about it, to the point you'll have him randomly come into your office to give you something shiny or another weapon, preening so prettily when you praise the thing he's brought back, nuzzling into your neck and fluffing up his feathers. His heart swoons when you show him the small hoard you've made with all the things he's brought you, and you end up spending the entire evening with him cuddled up to you, chirping happily.

"Hey, can I see that scale I gave you?" You ask after a couple of weeks, curious to see how he's treated it.

"Uh, sure." Gaz can swear his heart's beating like a war drum as he watches you inspect your scale, checking for scratches or cracks.

But you find none, it's still as shiny as the day you'd given it to him. Maybe even shinier.

You smile and before he can do anything you pull him close to you by a hand on his hip. "Very well done, little thief." You hum, kissing him. Gaz melts against you, not even your lips able to muffle the happy chirps and croons that escape his chest.

You spend the next few months getting familiar with each other's bodies, lazy evenings spent with your clawed hands preening his wings, Gaz steadily melting into the bed with every brush of your fingers. Kyle taking a few extra minutes in the morning to rub his face between your wing, chirping and crooning.

Harpy mating season comes around and you're caught off guard when you come to your room to find your covers and pillows and entire wardrobe on the ground, turned into a makeshift nest with a very naked, and very horny, Gaz sitting in the middle of it.

His eyes are hazy but he knows you're there the second your scent hits his nose, the most desperate sound you've ever heard leaving his lips, bruised from how hard he'd been biting them to reign his noises in, to keep them only for you.

"Mate-" Kyle whines, shuffles in the nest that has the pretty gems he'd gifted you strewn amongst the fabric, "-need you, please- I-"

One more needy sound is all it takes to have you tumbling naked into the nest in record time, deep guttural purrs answering his pleased coos. He presses flush against you, seeking out your mouth, whole body burning up and his thighs shaking, his cock rock hard.

"I got you, pretty thief." You rumble, pulling him into your lap, his wings spreading out and feathers puffing up, as if he needs to make himself look even more desirable. "What do you need Kyle?"

"Need you," Kyle whines, pawing at your own erection, desperate fingers shaking as he strokes you, "Please- hurts, I need- mate."

You shush him with sweet kisses, your hand sliding down to very carefully stretch him open while avoiding injuring him with your claws, your mind purring at how willingly he opens up for you, wings and limbs shaking as he whimpers against your lips, his mind steadily leaking from his cock.

"You're alright," You calm him when you pull your fingers out, positioning him so your cock head rests against his entrance, not missing how Kyle preens at your strength. "Going to breed you right, gonna take care of you."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Kyle moans are loud as you steadily push your cock into him, his walls clamping down on every inch of your length. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank- mate." His claws dig into your shoulders, clutching you tight as you bottom out in him, his hole clenching you in sync with his ragged breathing.

"I'm here," You hum, barely able to think, "Just relax, let me take care of you." You say, feeling him relax into you, and with deep purrs and lots of praise you begin to fuck him, moving him like a fleshlight on your cock, letting him moan and groan and scream his heart out uncaring who hears it, your ancient blood singing at the thought of his noises being a testament to your abilities as a mate.

Then the tight heat and the scent and just Kyle has your mind forgetting how to think, your body moving on it's own to show Kyle he'd picked a good mate.

[faithums]

…shopping with jjk men—> ੈ✩‧₊˚

✎ synopsis: what happens when you decide to agree to go shopping with these boys, but shopping doesn’t exactly happen…

<suggestive in some parts> <fluff> <crack> <subtle angst>

inclu. gojo, nanami, megumi, choso, yuji, toji, inumaki, geto

╰┈➤ gojo satoru

of course he takes you to a bougie mall just so show off his wealth. what can he say; actually wait, he does know what to say- he calls himself a ‘philanthropist’ (putting that lightly) because he once gave a kid on a playground a half eaten krispy kreme. he takes you in all of the shops, bombarding you with a plethora of new designer items, he really does too much…

“Saturo-,” you couldn’t really speak coherent words as your boyfriend was currently picking out several different items of jewellery and placing them infront of you. They were all so beautiful; silver plated with diamond crusted attachments, which glistened in the reflection of the glass chandelier. He had dragged you to a very, expensive jewellers, and was insistent of you- well him- making a purchase.

“Shush. You’re getting at least one thing.” He quickly shut down your rebuttal as per without hesitation. Then carefully, he lifted your wrist up, dragging the enticing metal over it, tracing the subtle contours of your forearm. The sudden cold contact made your breath hitch slightly, but the worst thing was the price… You were shocked- to say the least. Why did the woman in-front of you let him behave in this childish way.

“What the hell.” A whisper spilled from your lips, “Saturo this is extortionate, I can’t have this. It’s just daylight robbery- I’d be too scared to wear it out.” Small protests were made but he just kept on and on, yapping to the sales clerk beside him about the insurance of the pulchritudinous bracelet. The fact that it had insurance was a crime in itself.

“‘Nnnnnd that’s what… like two ish grand? Okay okay. Bare with-,” Gojo’s arms were slung into his pockets, rummaging for his wallet. He is so nonchalant- too nonchalant about this… Sooner than later, the transaction had been completed and you had another bag in your hands. The hummed to himself as he watched you struggle to hold like what, 10 ish (maybe more) bags. It was funny, you could tell which ones you’d brought yourself, as you had some PRIMARK bags, yet some Tiffany & Co. bags (i wonder who brought which ones…). It was nice to treat yourself, but him spoiling you most days- you felt somewhat guilty.

“Saturo. Can I get you anything in return? If there’s anything you want, I mean- I know I don’t have as much as you bu-,” your ramblings were cut short by Gojo’s immediate response.

“Hm. I can only think of one thing if I’m honest,” he pondered suspiciously, putting his hand on his chin like a childish idiot.

“What.” You replied with a smile creeping up your cheek as his arm slithered around your waist; taking some of the weight from the bags in the process.

“Backshots.” He grinned smugly.

A grimace formed on your face, knowing full well what would happen when you two returned home. After all, if gratitude can be free- then backshots it is.

╰┈➤ nanami kento

a gentleman, through and through. his patience shines when he is with you: helping you declutter your thoughts, calming you down. he takes time for you, and especially with you. he loves seeing you immersed within the clothes you surround yourself in, not interested in anything but you. he really is a gift too pure for this world…

Nanami promised to take you to the mall today, so here you were. The morning sun cascading down your neck, it heating up your skin ever so subtly, creating a comforting warmth. You found yourself strolling hand in hand with him. The air still alive with possibilities and the hun of excitement.

The boutique stood out like a beacon of elegance admits the bustling mall, it’s exterior adorned with intricate wrought iron accents and tall, gleaming windows that showcased the latest fashion wonders like prized jewels in a treasure trove. Upon entering, a wave of opulence washed over you, enveloping you in a cocoon of luxury (that you wished lasted a lifetime).

As you navigated through the labyrinth of silks, your fingers grazed over sumptuous fabrics, each touch eliciting a sense of delight. No wonder Nanami decided to take you here. It’s very fancy- to say the least. The ambiance was one of sophistication and refinement, yeah, this is Nanami territory.

You decided to chose out a dress, on Nanamis behalf (he said it was ‘his treat’), so now you’re stood before a full-length mirror examining yourself and if this was nice, or not…

The soft, velvety fabric of the black king dress was dripping down your figure, you couldn’t help but feel a path of uncertainty fluttering within the depths of your heart. The dress, with its sleek silhouette and subtle shimmer, represented the shop at its peak. Yet you gazed at your reflection, doubts crept in like shadows in the moonlight.

Your fingers traced the delicate embroidery adorning the bodice, the intricate patterns seeming to dance beneath your touch. You shifted uneasily, the fabric clinging to your form in a way that felt both foreign and unfamiliar. A flicker of insecurity danced in your eyes as you searched for reassurance within the depths of the mirror- yet none was found.

Beside you, Nanami, your Kento. He stood tall, with an unwavering presence, his eyes utterly fixated onto you, which sent a warmth flooding through your veins. His gaze offered solace admits the storm of hesitation that raged within.

“Hey,” he murmured softly, his voice smooth like honey, a melody that washed over you like a gentle breeze. “You look.” He stopped, looking you up and down again, “stunning.” To which you blushed at his words.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, “I’m not too sure if it’s right for me.”

His gaze softened, he cupped your cheek. His touch was like a balm to your wounded spirit, his presence a source of strength in your moment of vulnerability. “It’s not about the dress,” he replied, voice filled with sincerity, “it’s about how you feel when you wear it. And right now, as far as I’m concerned, you look. Breathtaking.”

His words, like a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty, anchored you to reality. With a tender gesture, you leaned forward, pressing a delicate kiss to Nanami’s cheek, a silent token of gratitude for his unwavering love and encouragement.

╰┈➤ fushiguro megumi

this boy. he is clueless. utterly clueless. he doesn’t know the first thing when it comes to basic shopping- you’re surprised he can even get dressed: speaking of getting dressed. you’ve taken him to get new clothes because the little freak basically lives and breathes in the same 3 hoodies all of the time. so now you’re helping him try on clothes in the back changing rooms of a shop…

You were currently egging your anxious boyfriend on to get new shirts, joggers, coats, anything. Just clothes. He desperately needed new ones. He’s been living in literally the same ones for the entire time you’ve been dating.

“I swear to god Megs. If you don’t come out of this shop with at least a hanger I’ll kill you myself.” Your warnings didn’t seem to bother him as he only hummed in response. You both began looking, rummaging throughout the clearance racks. Scouring and mapping out the highs and lows of the shop until your hands had found themselves tugging on a specific item of clothing you would die to see him in it.

“Fushiguro. Come here right now,” you said, condescendingly, walking over to him, slowly closing the distance between you. “Look at this.” You handed the shirt to him. Waiting for a reaction, but instead you just got an inconspicuous raise of an eyebrow, inspecting the shirt.

“What about it. It’s literally just a normal black shirt?” He questioned you and your antics as something had to be up… “You know I don’t need any more black t shirts.”

“I don’t care you’re trying this on or else I’ll. uh. I don’t know but I’ll do something,” you rebutted his faffing about and basically dragged him to the changing room cubicle at the back of the store. You nudged his arm, indicating that you hadn’t got all day, even though he seemed to think otherwise.

A few minutes had passed and no signs of life had emerged from Megumi’s cubicle. “You okay in there?” You replied hastily, and got a meek reply of: “No.”

“No? The fuck does he mean no.” You mumbled under your breath, “babe what’s wrong?”

“Is it supposed to be this tight?” And with that the curtain dividing the two of you opened, revealing Megumi with the worlds most tightest compression shirt on, which looked as if it had been tailored for him especially.

Your jaw was practically on the floor, it was a fight to stop your mouth from falling in awe. He looked so- good. But ‘good’ puts how he looks too lightly; so let’s go with irresistible. The faint outline of his abs peaking from under the restriction of his shirt, his body’s contours moving as he fidgeted. “My my Megumi. Bend me over and do me dirty, you look nice,” you announced to him.

“Nice? After you say that, nice is what you come up with?” He deadpanned with a subtle smirk

“Thought it was suitable.” You smiled. “Giving my big girls vocabulary a rest for today. I mean, keeping my eyes on you is like a chore.” You chuckled then sighed, and on queue your eyes did again search from his veiny arms to his slightly turned head (with the smallest hint of blush visible).

“Shut up.” He protested whilst rolling his eyes.

“When we get back home I want a fashion show.” You declared, whipping your purse out already, determined to buy this for him.

╰┈➤ kamo choso

choso is the most oblivious person when it comes to the basic things in life. ask him you’re going for a girls night and he will insist on coming with you, but then you will have to explain to him and let him down gently that he can’t go. but today you’ve dragged him to the mall and now he doesn’t have a clue what’s what…

Dragging Choso into Sephora wasn’t exactly on your list of typical couple activities, but you couldn’t resist the urge to splurge all of your hard earned money on crap you didn’t need (who doesn’t!) and besides you were overdue a makeup shopping trip. As you began to peruse the aisles, you can’t help but to notice a group of young girls, no older than ten, browsing and gawking at the Drunk Elephant section nearby.

“What’re they going here? Haven’t they just come out of the womb or something?” Choso whispers, his curiosity piqued by the sight of such young customers in a makeup store.

“Hm. Oh. Yeah no, they’re just ogling at the viral products, which in fact won’t do anything for their non hormonal skin. That’s normal in makeup shops Chos,” You reply casually, not necessarily caring as you’ve heard of many stories like this- although these kids are supposed to be brutal.

You focused your attention to the products infront of you, “hmmm, I do need a new setting spray.” You picked the bottle up, seeing if it matched the one on your phone. Choso chirped in.

“Setting Spray? Is it like… a magical mist that sets the mood for your makeup? So is it when you’re angry, you do angry makeup.” He asked obliviously.

“What do you mean by angry makeup-,” you cut yourself off before you got distracted, “Not quite love…” you dismissed his naive behaviour with a loving smile.

You hadn’t really taken in how tall he was, stood next to you it was as if there was a skyscraper. He’s just too attractive. You admired in silence, as he cluelessly picked up an eyebrow gel and scraped a bit on the back of his hand- then went on to complain how his hand was sticky.

Some time had passed and the Sephora ten year olds were slowly approaching the section you were stood in. It had clicked what you both were blocking with your figures… Retinol. These Sephora kids bloody loved this stuff, even though it is way way too damaging for their skin, they think they’re Einstein and don’t want to be disproven.

“Chos let’s go.” You grabbed his cold, pale hand to avoid this inevitable conflict. But he was interested in the thing you needed to distance yourself from… “Retinol? Chos, do you really need that?” You advised him.

“I think I’ll get it, just trying it won’t hurt- will it?” He asked, his dark eyes staring lovingly at you.

“Most likely not.” You laughed at the entire situation to yourself, you did not expect to see your boyfriend in a queue for Sephora to buy retinol. It was very humouring.

All seemed quiet until this little girl approached Choso and demanded for what he hand in his hand to ‘be hers’. He just stood there, puzzled.

“No.” He said bluntly, and this child did not stop screaming. It was like Choso had pulled a fire alarm. As long as that kid doesn’t get its way then it doesn’t matter.

He ended up purchasing the retinol, which is so weird to think about… ‘As long as it keeps him happy’ you thought.

╰┈➤ itadori yuji

he’s always thinking about his stomach, then jennifer lawrence, then you. so it’s ideal that he starts off his afternoon by feeding the first and third most important things in his life, by taking you straight to the food court…

“You’re paying.”

“WHAT?” He practically shat himself when he heard this, “WHY?”

“Maybe because when we go for food. You order the entire menu. Every. Fucking. Time. Yuji.” You said, sternly, as in ‘I’m happy to be here sternly- but if you make me pay I’ll kill you sternly.’

“It’s not my fault that I’ve got like six stomachs or something! I just think it means I’ve got a good ability to digest food quicker,” Yuji yapped on and on, trying his hardest to justify his case as he talked to himself.

“Whatever makes you sleep at night babe,” you leaned into his shoulder as he pulled you toward him via the waist as you two walked to the food court.

The rich aromas of sweets and savoury attacked your senses, as he guided you to the birthplace of gluttony. It oozed of pride in its branding, as when you stepped through the door- the ostentatious architecture made itself present, the waiters all in their matching regal uniforms, there must’ve been a fountain somewhere deeper in the restaurant as the smell of spring water came apparent.

Yuji took one look at you and your reaction to the extravagant establishment and you both knew what would happen next.

“Fancy a wagas?” Yuji stated, fine dining wasn’t his style, you knew this, this man cannot sit still- let alone be waited upon.

“Couldn’t think of anything better babe,” you smiled, as he gave the top of your head a chaste kiss, briefly rubbing his face against your hair as he said previously that he ‘liked the smell’. “Babe if you’re smelling my hair again I think I might cry. This is literally the third time within the past half hour.”

“You’re only allowed to cry when we’re sat at a table with food infront of us. Now come on, I’m starving,” he gripped your hip and escorted you out of the posh building as you two rendezvoused to the nearby Wagamamas.

A bit of time had passed and you two were tucked into your meals, which were delicious. And Yuji had the audacity to ask (like the cheeky sod he is): “Can you actually start crying so we can get a free meal? The staff look like they’d take pity on you.” And in response you threw an edamame at his smug face.

“Get lost you gannit. You’ll be crying when you see the bill,” a cacophony of laughter emerged from your lips as you had just cursed the upcoming tab which was about to be placed in-front of Yuji.

“You’re lucky I love you.” Yuji’s once cute and naive smirk disintegrated from one of happiness to pure horror when the total cost from the check was in eyeshot. 

╰┈➤ fushiguro toji

this mf cannot afford to even go into a mall (let alone buy something in it). he’s often spotted cavorting around mcdonald’s waiting until somebody’s order has been called up, pretends to be said person, takes the food and dips immediately. whilst you watch with horror from the back of the room. or sometimes, he has told you he would be at work, so when you decide to visit your local mall (to treat yourself whilst he’s away) and see him begging for money outside of it alls he can say is “gotta make money somehow doll,” with a grin and he thinks he can get off scot free? yeah, absolutely not.

n/a…

╰┈➤ inumaki toge

this man thinks he’s so hard core, thinks he’s the silent but deadly type: when in reality he looks like a weirdo lingering behind people acting like that one man emoji (🧍‍♂️) . and now he’s followed you upto the store in the mall with all of the jelly cats piled in it…

You and Inumaki were walking up the stairs of the shopping centre, when you caught a glimpse of a particular bag with a specific logo on it… Inumaki hand tensed around the mound of flesh which was there originally, now his hand was clenching around the air, you had ran off in the distance somewhere as you’d seen something you’d been wanting for a while.

“Ohmy godoh. my gof-,” your thoughts were disorientated a little, and your breath wasn’t catching up with your train of thought; but you couldn’t help but run after this woman with this bag. You needed it. And when you had finally caught upto her you politely said, “Excuse me, you know your bag? Where did you get it from? I cant seem to find a store where they sell them?” And the woman responded, a bit confused as you were enquiring about a paper bag, but you got the location of where you needed to go.

Inumaki had been left in the dust at this rate, frantically panicking as he was trying to find you, but he saw a glimpse of you from across the other side of the mall and b-lined for it. (A very funny sight to witness.) But you were too absorbed with what you had in your hands, not just that- but what was all around you.

You were in a store which sold soft animals, but the best news was that it’s sold JellyCats, you had wanted these teddies for a while, but there were no local shops which had them. The air smelt clean and crisp, juxtaposing the once stuffy, smelly, BO infested mall air, the place was magical, it was as if a part of your childhood was taken away and kept here.

Once Inumaki had found you again, he had found himself inside of the store as it had caught his eye, as he knew you would be inside of there. He walked upto you again, relived at the sight of you- however you seemed to be to infatuated with the teddies and not himself. So, the once pristine fluffy teddy in your hands got absolutely clarted by Inumaki’s fist.

“Toge what the hell are you doing you freak.” You joked, knowing he has called you far worse over text. “You cannot just punch all of the teddies.” You exclaimed between slight giggles. You shook your hand as you continued to browse the aisles, careful not to pick up any more victims for Inumaki’s playful punches (which were meant with full intent with the sheer vigour of how he clarted them).

You had been looking for this specific JellyCat which has a brown elephant, you’d had your eye on it for a while now, and low and behold. There it was, sat on a shelf by itself, it was practically begging for you to pick it up and re-home the cute thing.

However, there was a kid coming to toward it. “For gods sake,” you let out a slight groan, your paces speeding up ever so slightly in attempt to beat this child at reaching it before yourself. When suddenly Inumaki appears from literally thin air, snatches the elephant from the shelf, and hands it to be- and to top it off- the kid is given a gift too. The gift of Inumaki whipping out the ‘L’ hand sign.

“Toge…” you sighed and smiled lightly yet victoriously. You ruffled his hair, “Thanks babe.”

╰┈➤ geto suguru

i swear geto is the same as having like scary dog privilege. you lead the way and he lurks, when in reality he’s just made you walk infront of him because you’ve elbowed him as he made a snarky joke about the a weird guy walking past. doesn’t even make sense. anyway, now you’re leading him to the sweet shop at the end of the mall…

“Fudge?” Geto sighed, “really? Out of everything you’re going to get fudge.” (Geto does not like fudge. Whatsoever.)

“Yeah. I am. What’s got your knickers in a twist Sugu?”

“It’s vile.”

“You’re vile.” He rolled his eyes, even when you were in-front of him you could just sense it.

The sweet shop made itself closer and closer until the luminous neon lights were reflecting from the walls, and your face- making it appear pink and blue. As you and Geto step into the sweet shop, the air iss thick with the scent of sugar, like a warm embrace from a long-last friend. The vibrant array of sweets and treats dazzle your eyes, each confectionary a colourful masterpiece in its own right.

You turn to Geto, excitement bubbling within you as you’d been craving something sugary all day. “I’m starvingggg,” you whined, unable to contain your enthusiasm.

“No you’re not.” He quipped.

“Shush. Let me try one,” you said as you reached for a sample, and it was like you’d been transcended to a realm of peaceful tranquility. “Want one?” You offered to him.

“Nah, I’ll stick to the classics” you grin at his choice, admiring his steadfast dedication, even though he acts like an old man sometimes.

“Cant argue with you for that babe,” you reply, selecting a few more treats for yourself. “After all, why mess with perfection? Even though fudge is still top tier.”

He chuckled, the sound wand and genuine, as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close. “Exactly,” he murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Sometimes, simplicity is the sweetest indulgence of all.”

“Ooo. Get you and your fancy quotes, where are you reading them from then?” You ask, then pop another sweet into your mouth. He just smiles warmly.

As the two of you are walking out, there seems to be something which catches your eye: it reads ‘fudge flavoured condoms’. You felt your eye twitch. “Suguru. I want to die what the hell is that.” And to which Geto followed to where you were indicating toward and just laughed hysterically.

“Want me to buy some?” He asked with a sly smile.

“Absolutely not.” This was humiliating. Safe to say that you won’t be running back to fudge anytime soon.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

I Think They Like You

Summary: The rest of the camp have had enough of you and Astarion dancing around each other, never daring to confess so they decide to give the both of you a little nudge in their own ways.

Astarion watches from his corner by the campfire as you go around to each member of the group, handing them a gift with your signature bright smile. He scowls when Karlach heartily laughs at something you said, slapping your shoulder a little harder than intended which causes you to stumble forward, unprepared for the barbarian’s strength. He scowls even harder when Wyll’s hand lingers on yours a little too long for his liking and Halsin touches the small of your back, thanking you for your thoughtful gift.

“If you scowl any harder those lines will be permanently etched into your face,” Shadowheart appears next to him.

“Thankfully I am a vampire spawn who will remain forever young,” Astarion rolls his eyes in response, folding his arms across his chest. He doesn’t miss the flower in Shadowheart’s hand and a tinge of jealousy blooms in his chest. You’ve given a gift to everyone but him, and teasing words to try and worm an answer as to why lie on the tip of his tongue. Deep down, he wonders if you’ve purposely not given him a gift. Maybe you don’t deem him as worthy of one, he can think of plenty of reasons why you’d deem him as such, but a small piece of him clings tightly to the hope that you’re just waiting for the right time to give him his gift. After all, like what you told him once, ‘save the best for last’ right?

He continues to observe you as you unload a pack full of magical gear for Gale, going through each item with him. Shadowheart snorts when she notices how hard Astarion is gripping his own arms, excusing herself with a ‘just talk to them already’ and heads to her tent.

Once you’re done presenting your gift to Lae’zel, you glance around the camp, looking for the silver haired vampire whom you had yet to give a gift to and find him slouching against a tree, hiding away from the others. His ruby red gaze pierces through you as you make your way over, excited.

“Astarion!” You hop over, plopping down next to him.

“About time, darling. I was wondering when you’d finally give the best gift to your best party member,” his signature smirk plays across his face with confidence but his eyes say otherwise.

“Saving the best for last. Besides, I figured that you’d like to receive your gift once the others have settled down enough to not bother you about it,” you smile at him.

“Best for last huh,” he murmurs, a small genuine smile on his face. “Of course mine is the best gift,” he says with far more confidence.

“The best gift for the best companion,” you grin, turning around to reach into the pack and pull out a dagger, holding it out to him.

“I noticed that you lost one of your daggers in our previous fight, so since I was the one who started the fight I felt responsible for it and decided to get you a new dagger!” Your eyes shine. “Since we needed supplies, I went to the market, happened upon a blacksmith, saw this dagger and…uh…thought it looked beautiful. So I bought it,” you smile sheepishly. He looks over the dagger, noting how it was a far better dagger than his previous one and wonders how much you had to fork out to purchase it. A quick glance already told him it wasn’t a cheap purchase in the slightest, and the rubies inlaid in its hilt only skyrocketed the potential price of the dagger.

“I…”

He looks up at you, raising an eyebrow. “Yes dear?”

“The dagger reminded me of you,” you mumble, feeling the heat spread from your cheeks to the tips of your ears.

“Oh? How so, dearest?” He purrs. “Am I as beautiful as the dagger? As dangerous as it?”

“Its silver hilt reminded me of your hair and the rubies reminded me of your eyes,” you scratch the back of your neck, looking at the ground in embarrassment. “That’s it, really.”

Astarion blinks. The dagger had caught your eye because its colour combination reminded you of his hair and eyes? He leans in closer to you, wondering what you saw when you looked at him. Did you only keep him around for his good looks? You hadn’t bedded him yet, maybe this was his chance to prove his usefulness in that regard.

“Then I suppose I am as beautiful as this dagger,” a coy smile plays on his lips. “That is quite the compliment, dear.”

You laugh, “beautiful and deadly. I’m glad you like it.”

“Of course I do, darling. Now then, to repay you for your…gift –”

“Ah, sorry! I just remembered I have to help Gale prepare tonight’s dinner, see you later!” You quickly jump to your feet and scurry off, trying to hide your embarrassment. His lips had been so close to yours, ruby red eyes staring intensely into your soul and you feel your cheeks grow warm at the thought of it. Had he wanted to kiss you? You’ve never really thought about romance so this territory was extremely unfamiliar to you. Shaking your head, you throw yourself into dinner preparations, trying to rid yourself of these thoughts and miss the way Astarion’s face falls at the sight of you running away.

“Astarion,” Halsin greets him from behind.

“What are you doing here, druid?” He scowls, tucking the dagger away safely.

“I simply came to check up on a friend,” the druid replies calmly.

“Friend.” Astarion snorts. “We’re not friends, we’re simply travelling companions.”

“So you keep telling yourself. I have noticed that you’ve started to grow closer to everyone as of late, especially Y/N.” The druid sits himself where you had been sitting not too long ago.

“And how does that concern you?” Astarion spits back.

“Do you, perhaps, have feelings for them?”

“Of course not!” Astarion snaps a little too quickly.

Halsin simply smiles in return, “I think they like you. Talk to them about it, I imagine they will be just as surprised as you are to find out that you return their feelings.”

“Clearly they have good taste,” Astarion rolls his eyes, “falling for the most handsome person in camp.”

“I mean it, Astarion. Tell them how you feel, I believe new and wondrous experiences await the both of you,” Halsin places a hand on the vampire’s back and gently pushes him towards you. Astarion turns around, baring his fangs at the unfazed druid but walks over to you anyways, thoughts swirling in his mind.

Was Halsin right about you? He didn’t want to look like a fool should he confess. He liked the relationship the two of you currently had, with the stolen glances, the soft smiles, the gentle touches. He genuinely enjoyed all the times you would sneak into his tent for some peace and quiet, picking a book from his stash and reading by his side until your eyes could barely remain open. Then you’d excuse yourself, stumbling out of his tent whilst yawning all the way and he’d quickly leap to his feet to guide you to your tent before you could face plant into the dirt. He didn’t want to lose all of this, ever .

“Hey, Astarion.” Your shy smile washes some of his concerns away. You put down the knife and turn to face him, gaze searching curiously. “What can I do for you?”

Of course that was your first question. You were always far too helpful for his liking, always far too eager to come to the aid of others, even if it meant delaying your main mission of removing the tadpole. He hated how you always threw yourself with reckless abandon into danger to save others, resulting in him needing to do extra work just to ensure you came away from the fight alive. For some reason, it always fell to him to extract you from that fight you couldn’t win, it was always his feet that led him to you, always his daggers that embedded themselves into the gullet of your enemies, always his bloodstained hand that stretched out to you, pulling you to your feet. Always that giddy feeling from the smile you gave him and only him whenever your hand lingered on his .

“Hello, darling. I was wondering…if we could talk. In private,” he swallows, fingers playing with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Oh, of course!” You turn to Gale, completely missing the knowing look in said wizard’s eyes. “Gale, can you –”

“I can finish the preparations by myself, don’t you worry. Go ahead,” he waves the two of you off far too quickly for Astarion’s liking.

“Thanks Gale!” You chirp and let Astarion take the lead, looping your arms through his.

He brings you to the outskirts of the camp where the trees block out potential eavesdroppers and shelter the both of you from any noses sticking into the business he had with you. For once, Astarion has no idea how to begin, nor any inkling of what to say. He has never prepared a script for this kind of situation before, and silently curses Halsin for doing this to him.

“If it’s something you’re not comfortable saying, you don’t have to force yourself to do it,” you break the silence, but make no inclination to move. Instead, your eyes are focused on him, watching him, checking up on him.

“I…” Astarion can’t believe himself. For the first time ever, he’s lost for words. His signature silver tongue, silenced by…you of all people.

“I have…” He tries again, to no avail.

“Ilikeyou.” The words rush out and immediately Astarion regrets it. Everything in his body screams at him to run, to leave this place far far behind, to banish all memories of you from his mind but he remains rooted to the spot, his undead heart thundering in his chest.

You stare at him, and he shifts from one leg to another, gaze fixed on the ground. Then you realise you’ve been staring at him for way too long and quickly clear your throat, causing his head to snap back up.

“I…” You feel your cheeks flame up again, but if Astarion has already laid it all bare, it’s only fair you do the same too. So you take a deep breath to steady yourself, look him in the eye and say the words.

“I like you too.”

His eyes widen and then he smiles, genuine happiness clear on his face. A wave of relief crashes into him and he takes a step forward, taking your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m glad you return these feelings of mine, darling. I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if you had rejected me, not that the thought ever crossed my mind.” He cups your cheek with his cold hand, his long slender thumb brushes over your warm skin.

“I’m glad you return my feelings too,” you whisper breathlessly, placing a hand over his. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he leans in close, lips mere inches away from yours. He looks to you for permission and you close the distance despite the uncertainty filling your chest, lips touching. He kisses you with practised ease while you fumble and he pulls away, amusement colouring his face.

It’s a good look on him , you think to yourself. You ought to create more opportunities for it in the future.

“Your first time kissing someone, love?” He chuckles.

“Well…what do you think?” You shoot back.

“It’s not bad, but you have a lot to learn if you ever want to be as good as me,” he smirks. “Don’t you worry darling, we will have a lot of chances to work on your kissing.”

With that he closes the gap once more, hungrily kissing you deeper. A new kind of warmth blooms from his chest, enveloping his cold body and spreads to his fingertips. He likes this feeling, Astarion decides. He likes feeling you in his embrace, he likes holding you like you’re the last thing in this world. He likes the feeling of your love for him washing over him.

He likes – no – loves you.

[adnauseum11]

Short Takeoff, Vertical Landing (John Price x Reader)

John gives you a gift and you explore your understanding of the man.

3.1k words (longer than I normally like, my bad)

CW: swearing, sex (MDNI - 18+ only)

This is shameless slice of life smut - you've been warned!

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U series, the Masterlist is pinned to my blog.

Feedback welcome!

Ao3

It takes a moment for you to compute what John’s words really mean, most of your higher brain function temporarily offline. Your body is still humming with the remnants of pleasure, making sitting up a languid affair. John’s pulling something out of his bedside drawer that is very much not shaped like a condom, to your partial dismay.

You crawl across the bed on slightly unsteady limbs and push your hair back, its disheveled state threatening to obscure your view of the handsome man in front of you. He’s holding out a flat, long box to you and you know instantly it’s jewelry. You hesitate, your experience with previous boyfriends and jewelry not typically good ones. The item in question almost inevitably not to your taste and something generic a salesperson has sold them. You quietly dread having another random piece you’ll be obliged to wear. Unfortunately, John reads you like a book.

“This was for Christmas but I fucked that up. If you don’t like it, we can change it.”

His deep voice is calm, but there’s a sudden tension to the set of his shoulders that gives him away as he holds the box out to you. If you didn’t know him so well you likely wouldn’t have noticed the slight shift in his stance but whatever is in the box in his hands means something to him. His willingness to interrupt sex for this should have tipped you off to that, but you freely blame the orgasm you’ve already had for being slow on the uptake.

The slim box is heavier than you expect, and you flick your eyes up to John’s face, the full weight of his attention settling on you again. You subconsciously hold your breath as you open the lid, the light of the room slowly revealing strands of luminous pearls gently forming a wave in the cradle of the box. The two long strands are held together with what’s obviously a vintage rectangle clasp, the aged silver and small diamonds sparkling amongst the gently rolling pearls. The breath you’ve been holding leaves your lungs in a surprised rush.

“Oh my god – John.”

“You like it?”

“I love it, this is exactly my style. Oh, this is gorgeous! It must have cost you a fortune!”

John doesn’t comment on the cost, a slow smile replacing the carefully blank expression he’s been wearing since you took charge of the box.

“Thought of you when I saw them. I’m glad you like them, darling.”

He’s about to say something else but changes his mind, reaching out to cup your jaw for a kiss instead. You clock the shift and run your fingertips over the pearls lightly, enjoying the feel of the cool smooth globes for a moment while you consider the man in front of you. You slowly piece together his request for your dress from earlier with the unspoken words he’s just swallowed and look down at the pearls in the box.

“Should I wear them?”

You know that’s the right question when his pupils dilate, his fingers spasming along your jaw as a full body shiver runs through him. You lift the necklace carefully from the box, handing him the empty container back. Without looking he tosses it, sending his cell phone and spare change flying from the impact. He doesn’t flinch, his eyes locked on you as you settle the pearls around your neck, spinning the clasp so it sits against your nape. The cool spheres brushing against your skin raise goosebumps again, your nipples tightening. You wonder what you must look like, perched nearly naked on the edge of the bed in nothing but a bra and the pearls he’s bought you, your hair a post orgasm mess. You’re about to run your hand over it self-consciously but John steps into your space, tilting your head back as he bends to kiss you again.

“You’re stunning; I love that I get to see you like this.”

You aren’t expecting that kind of tender admission from the aroused man in front of you, and it makes the breath catch in your throat, your hands wrapping around his wrists. John swallows the soft hiccup of breath, kissing you hungrily as he cups the back of your head. The sweep of his tongue over yours with the hint of your taste still discernable unlocks something in you. Suddenly you find yourself rising up on your knees to kiss him back, John’s appreciative groan giving you a jolt of empowerment. Your hands scrabble over his shoulders, sinking your fingertips into the heavy muscle as you press against his solid frame. John’s deft fingers undo your bra, breaking away from your mouth to tug it off your arms. The pearls make a soft sound as they clink together with your movements, sending a shiver down your spine.

The planes of John’s stomach jump as your hands land on his lower abdomen, fingers trailing through the dark hairs there. They work their way under the band of his pants, shoving them down his shifting hips as his mouth drops to seek out the line of your collarbone. He nips the rounded corner of your shoulder before kicking off his pants and boxers, his erection bobbing against your hip. Your fingers find him automatically, wrapping around the hard length of him and stroking, his hiss of pleasure ghosting across your neck. The gentle rattle of the pearls as your arm moves back and forth is seductive, bracing yourself with a palm in the centre of John’s chest, the dark hairs crinkling under your palm. You give him a gentle shove with your fingertips and when that doesn’t register you remove your hand from around his length, placing both palms on his chest to direct him into bed. John allows himself to be moved, landing nearly in the middle of the bed, his eyes locked on you with an intensity that makes your belly quiver.

His gaze follows the sway of the pearls over your breasts as you crawl up his body, sliding your palms up the hair of his thick thighs to cup him, forcing a jagged exhale out of his lungs. The head of his cock is flushed a deep red, a matching colour working its way over his throat and chest. His stomach pulls taut as he watches you bend over him, stroking him firmly, foreskin pulling back as you wrap your lips around the tip. John’s groan of pleasure rumbles through his body, his fingers landing in your hair. You open your jaw take as much of him as you can, making a few enthusiastic passes before pulling back and swirling your tongue around the head, tracing with the flat of your tongue. John flexes his hips, chasing the sensation with a guttural moan that only encourages you to wreck him further, your eyes landing on his blissed-out face.

The pearls trail through his dark body hair, making a mouth-watering contrast between the cool luminous globes and the heated flesh in your grasp. You return your attention to the tip of his cock, lapping your tongue over the underside while you fondle his balls. As his hips arch again you open your jaw and let the rise send his length down your throat, the stretch making your eyes water. His choked gasp and the press of his blunt fingernails into your scalp telegraph his pleasure at your unexpected action.  You hold still for a moment, your body fighting the invasion, your gag reflex fluttering around him before you pull back. The salty taste of his pre-cum coats your tongue and the shuddering deep groan you pull from him as you ease off goes straight to your pussy, a low throb starting to build again between your legs.

“Fuck, that feels so good.”

The low reverberation of his voice rolls down your spine and you flex your fingers against his hip in response, encouraging him to repeat the action. The naked desire in his voice makes you want to rub your thighs together and purr so you do the next best thing and moan around his tip, forcing a sharp gasp out of his lungs. His control is slipping, you can tell by the way his hips buck upwards, not even and measured as before. His length slides down your throat again, the quivering muscles wrenching an unguarded moan from his chest. The pearls draped over your skin start to collect against your throat and you realize he’s gathering them in his fist. You follow the unspoken direction and ease off, long strings of saliva connecting you for a moment after he slips from your mouth.

“Condom, now.”

He releases the necklace to let you lean over and fish a condom out of the drawer and you follow the order without argument, wiping your face in the process. Your willingness to be ordered around ends abruptly with a smack to his hand when he tries to take it away from you and take over. You end up straddling his wide thighs to pin him down with your weight, knowing that John only stays flat on his back because it’s what you want. He lets you roll the condom down his hard length and press him up against his abdomen so you can scoot forward over his hips. His breathing is laboured, your hands on him making his muscles contract as he fights to lay still as you settle over him. His eyes are dark and intense, locked on you as the pearls sway over your body with your movements, the gentle roll of them over your skin like a caress.

“Fuck me, you’re gorgeous.”

John breathes the words as you kneel over him, reaching behind you to wrap your fingers around him again, guiding him to your slick entrance, focused on lining yourself up. You answer him with a heated kiss, your attention on the stretch as you lower yourself, spearing your aching pussy on his tense body. Your palm rests on the steady planes of John’s chest, his head thrown back and the muscles of his neck corded as you slowly start rocking your hips, working him inside until he’s fully seated. He hisses as you rise over him and sink back down, setting a slow and steady pace with a pleased purr. The weight of John’s gaze lands on you again, his hands hovering over your hips as you move, the pearls rocking back and forth over the tight buds of your nipples. The heated drag of his cock through your silken walls has your nails biting into his chest in pleasure. John groans but doesn’t try to shift your hands, his attention fully on you as his hips rock up to meet yours.

“You like seeing me in things you’ve picked out?”

The words fall out of your mouth without any forethought, the part of your brain normally tasked with assimilating information overwhelmed with delicious sensation. The slight rise of John’s hips grinds his public bone against your clit with each downward stroke and your brain goes fuzzy with each lingering contact, shivers running up your spine.

“Yes, yes just like that, bloody hell.”

His hands finally land on your hips, squeezing you as he urges you on, trying to speed you up. You resist, twisting slightly as you rise pulling a low groan out of him, your hands wrapping around his wrists to steady yourself. You slide down his length again, clenching around him as your grind down, biting your bottom lip. There’s a severe look on John’s face as he curses again, your breath coming in shorter pants as you move over him.

“Why that dress?”

John answers that nagging question with the same bald honesty he’s answered everything else you’ve asked of him today, his eyes falling to the spot where your bodies are connected, his fingers dimpling your hips with his grip.

“Don’t think I’ve stopped thinking about you in that dress since you turned up in it.”

You continue your steady pace, John’s flushed face impossible to look away from. There’s devotion etched there, and your heart squeezes painfully in your chest, feeling too large for your ribcage.

“When you were away? Did you ever think of me in that dress?”

“Every night. Love, please.”

This is as close as you’ve ever heard John beg for anything, an echo of his words from this morning. His desperation sends a thrill through your belly, speeding you up, the pearls clacking together against your heated flesh. You can feel John’s cock jerking deeply inside you, bumping against the sensitive patch of flesh that resides there and it weakens your thighs, your body wanting to go pliant against him.     

“John- “

“I’ve got you.”

He understands immediately and grips the globes of your ass as you drape over his heaving chest, your breathy panting muffled against the base of his neck. He braces his feet against the bed and fucks up into you, his grip spreading your cheeks as you moan into his ear. You can barely hear his muttered curse over the rush of blood in your ears and your own wanton noises, unable to stop yourself as John chases his pleasure now, his grip bruising. You nip at his thick shoulder, your teeth razing over his skin, his low rumbling moan vibrating through you as his blunt cock relentlessly buries itself in your slick pussy. The tightening coil of pleasure builds at the base of your spine, your muscles clenching around him as he buries himself and holds still, his hands shifting back to your hips.

“Sit up, love, I want to see you.”

You follow John’s order mindlessly, dragging your palms over his chest to press yourself back up, biting your lip when John twitches deep inside you, meeting his heated gaze. To your surprise he sits up too, the thick muscles of his abdomen flexing and pressing against you as he settles inches from your face, his legs going akimbo behind you. His big palms land on the tops of your thighs, squeezing your flesh in encouragement.

“Bounce, love.”

Again, you follow his direction without any compunction, and immediately your nails dig into the tops of his shoulders as this position offers more friction against your clit. A gasp is torn from your throat after the first experimental rise of your hips, and soon you land on a rhythm that has the frame of the bed groaning. The pearls are trapped between your bodies, the soft clinking nearly inaudible as the tension in you builds quickly, the angle making your toes curl and your moans climb in volume. John’s strong hands steady your sides, his body jerking up into you with each bounce, the walls of your soaked pussy bearing down on him tightly. His eyes are inches from yours, and you’re transfixed and unable to look away, his pupils blown.

All it takes is a firm smack on your ass to tip you over the edge, the jolt enough to make you clench around him, your nails raking over his back as you try desperately to ground yourself against the sudden cresting wave of your orgasm. A keening cry escapes you, your inner thighs trembling with strain as you try to clamp around his hips, the rhythmic pull of your slickened walls dragging a primal sound of out John’s chest before he tips you onto your back. His demanding thrusts send sparks shooting up your spine, catching the back end of your orgasm and drawing it out. You can feel the thundering of your heart in each extremity, your hands wrapped around John’s biceps as his hips jerk into the soft flesh of your body, the wet slap replacing the groaning of the bedframe. John’s thrusts quickly lose their rhythm, your leaking pussy pulsing around him tightly, drawing a broken sound out of him. He jerks into you deeply, making tiny little thrusts as he cums hard, his forehead landing on your shoulder as he groans loudly.

You stay locked like that, desperately trying to catch your breath for a few long minutes, John recovering quicker than you. You wordlessly protest when he tries to disentangle himself, tightening your limbs around him with a groan.

“I love you but I’ve got to get rid of this condom, darling.”

The low rumble of his voice in your ear convinces you to relax your hold on him and he extricates himself gingerly, leaving you sprawled the wrong way on the bed, too relaxed to bother moving the right way round. Finally, your heart rate slows and you marshal yourself to sit up, propping yourself on an arm. The pearls drape gracefully over your body as you move, swaying with you. John is at the sink when you meet his warm gaze across the room.

“You alright, love?”

“mhm, just needed a minute.”

John watches, half amused as you wriggle out of bed, making your way on wobbly legs to join him in the bathroom to pee. He leaves and returns with the case for the pearls, placing it on the counter by your elbow as you wash and dry your hands.

“John?”

You ask as he turns back to the bed, tugging the duvet cover with the wet spot off the duvet and tossing it towards the laundry hamper. The case for the pearls closes with a click as you return them to their place and you nudge the box into it's new spot beside your perfumes lined up on the counter.

“Hm?”

John’s proclivity for order and neatness distracts him from answering you and you smile affectionately as he wrestles the duvet back into a fresh cover. Once he’s satisfied you climb into bed, watching the curve of his spine as he bends to collect his cell and change from where they have scattered.

“What should I know about Kate before our dinner?”

He straightens and replaces the objects in his hands on his bedside table, crawling into bed and spooning you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he rolls you on to your side. You offer no resistance, sighing softly, feeling deeply content and drowsy, your fingers tracing over his forearm.

“Well, to start she’s American, and a very good poker player. Impressive poker face.”

From your position you can’t tell if he’s joking or not but you let his words roll over you nonetheless, the rise and fall of his voice soothing. Exhaustion from the highs and lows of the day are pulling you under before you can learn what part of America she hails from, or ask any more questions about the mysterious figure in John’s life.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms

@itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch @magsmagic

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[king-bumis-armpit]

Hey! If you are still looking for maiko prompts.

You could write a sour zuko finding out that Mai and kei lo broke up. I like imagining ways for him to find out and what his reaction would be.

And I’m always a fan of stories where Mai runs away when zuko is banished, or try to smuggle herself into his ship.

Anyway, have fun!

Put a Ring on It

Part 2 is out now: read it here.

Summary: Kei Lo buys an engagement ring. Zuko freaks out. 

“I’m thinking something gold and traditional.” Good, Zuko thought bitterly. At least Mai will hate it. He had well and truly lost her. He had lost her to another man.

Author’s Note: This idea was given to me by a lovely anon! If you have any Maiko fic ideas that you want me to write, send them my way! And thank you, if you already have <3

Gene Luen Yang wants me to believe it took Mai and Zuko 3 years to get back together. Ha! I spit in your face, good sir. This fic will do it in one! (I’m kidding, I’m kidding… mostly. I hate the comics but I’m sure Gene’s a decent fellow.)

This fic takes place 8 months after the events of Smoke and Shadow, vol 3. It’s canon compliant up to that point, and canon compliant with Korra, but I know nothing about the comics that chronologically happen in between so it might contradict those. For the purpose of this fanfiction, marriage proposals in the Fire Nation are the same as modern proposals with an engagement ring. 

Also! Happy (late) Mother’s Day to all the moms out there! You’re the best!!

Zuko made his way quickly through the rain, hood pulled tight over his head. He was out with only a few plainclothes guards today, hoping to maintain some anonymity. It was only a week until the Feast of the Mother of Faces, and Zuko had yet to find a suitable gift for his own mom. He wanted to get her something especially nice since they had been apart for so many years. He was pretty sure his last gift to her was a macaroni necklace, and figured he had to at least up his game from that.

His uncle had given him some recommendations of places to shop, and the first of which was a small but well-known jewelry store in the Caldera. As he slipped inside, he noted that the place was nearly empty except for the store clerk. His guards would be watching the door from a tavern across the street, and were instructed not to check in unless he spent over an hour in the building.

The spectacled shopkeeper looked up at his arrival, “Can I help you find anything, sir?”

“I don’t think so?” Zuko replied. “I’m just browsing for a Feast of the Mother gift.”

“Ah,” the man nodded in understanding. He gestured to the wall to Zuko’s right. “We have a lovely selection of necklaces and pendants that might be suitable. Prices are listed on the tags. Let me know if you have any questions or if you would like me to remove any items from the case.”

Zuko smiled and gave the man a slight bow. This was shaping up to be easier than he expected. He looked through the glass at the different options. He noticed some that were similar to pieces he recognized from his childhood. There was one in particular, a gaudy and ruby-encrusted flame, the size of his fist, that reminded him of something his father would buy. Best to stay away from those. There were some cloth chokers, similar to one that Katara occasionally wore when she was in the fire nation. He wasn’t quite sure they would be his mother’s style, but perhaps he should send a memo to Aang. (For a monk, who swore off material things, that kid sure bought a lot of gifts for his girlfriend. The thought made Zuko smile.) 

Then, he caught sight of a delicate silver chain. Most women in the Fire Nation preferred gold, but Zuko knew one woman who hadn’t. 

— —

“Silver matches my knives, Zuko. The aesthetic of it all is very important to me.”

Zuko snorted. They had decided to explore the numerous palace basements, and had come across one of the many treasuries, nearly all of it gold. Mai had immediately protested the lack of her favorite metal.

“Well gold is the emblematic color of our nation, so most of the royal jewelry is gold. You’re going to have to get used to it eventually.” Zuko blushed when he realized the implication of his words.

“Oh? Why is that?” Mai asked, fixing him with a satisfied smirk. 

His cheeks were burning, but he decided to play it cool. “I plan to put a golden crown on your head one day… if that’s alright with you.”

Mai kissed his cheek, and then his nose, and then his lips. “I think that’ll be alright. One day. But I really would prefer silver.” 

He cupped her cheek with his palm and guided her in for another kiss. That was the last room they managed to explore that day.

— — 

And even though they were no longer together, Zuko thought about her more than he cared to admit. He leaned in to examine the silver chain. It carried a small charm, about the size of his thumbnail. The charm itself was also silver, fashioned into the shape of a plum blossom. A wine colored garnet– again, a favorite of Mai’s–  was nestled in the center of the flower. Zuko felt his heart seize. It was perfect, but not for the person he was supposed to be shopping for. 

He contemplated buying it anyway. Maybe he could stop by Mura’s after this and place an order for a bouquet. Surely his mom would want flowers. And if Mai was there, he could give her the necklace. What’s a gift between friends? 

The sound of the door opening broke his reverie. The rain had gotten heavier since he entered the shop, and the new customer had practically flung himself into the building, allowing the door to slam behind him. 

The shopkeeper seemed slightly irritated by this noisy appearance, but nonetheless asked him the question he had asked Zuko. “Can I help you find anything, sir?”

The man removed his hood, and Zuko felt his muscles turn to ice. It was Kei Lo.

“Oh yes please!” He gave a good natured smile, all cheerfulness and boyish charm as he swaggered up to the counter. The universe was taunting Zuko. Of course he couldn’t buy a ridiculously expensive present for Mai. She had a boyfriend. She had made that quite clear when he last saw her eight months ago.

“What are you looking for?” the man asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Zuko noticed how Kei Lo shuffled, seeming nervous. “I– I’m here to buy an engagement ring.”

Zuko was going to be sick. He was going to throw up. Right on the floor. Right in front of the store clerk. And right in front of Mai’s soon-to-be-fiance.

“Congratulations!” The storekeeper seemed to have fully gotten over irritation and beamed from ear to ear.

“Thanks!” Kei Lo said sheepishly. “I haven’t asked her yet, but we’ve talked about it before so I’m confident she’ll say yes.”

Zuko took several deep breaths and forced himself to quietly turn and face the display case once again. Kei Lo obviously hadn’t noticed him yet, and he knew that any interaction between them would be a disaster.

“Have you discussed ring preferences?” the older man asked.

“No, but I’m thinking something gold and traditional.” Good, Zuko thought bitterly. At least Mai will hate it. 

As the two walked over to the ring cases and discussed the pieces, Zuko’s thoughts began to spiral. How had this happened? He had well and truly lost her. Mai, his soulmate, his best friend, his plum blossom. He had lost her to another man. Except…

Except he hadn’t yet! Kei Lo hadn’t asked her yet. He could buy his own engagement ring from a different shop and ask her right now! Or he could run there and ask her without one. 

“Prince Zuko!” He heard his Uncle’s voice in his head, echoing the wisdom of the past. “You never think these things through! You had no plan! You could have died!” Then he said something about ice and chasing the avatar. The exact words were hazy, but the sentiment was clear. He was too impulsive. 

He needed to wait and collect more information. Then he could form a plan and– and then what? If Mai wanted to marry Kei Lo, then he knew he had to support her. He wanted her to be happy more than he wanted his own happiness. But when he spoke to her in the Dragonbone Catacombs she herself admitted that she didn’t like Kei Lo as much as she had liked him. He cursed himself. He had driven her away and broken her heart twice! Now she was scared to trust him. But if he could just convince her to give him one more chance, he could fix it. He had learned how painful it was to live without her, and he would not repeat his mistakes.

His heart ached to imagine Mai in a wedding dress at someone else’s side. Even as a kid, when he pictured his wedding, he pictured Mai as the bride.

— — 

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” Little Azula tugged at their mother’s sleeve. “My friend Mai is here and we want to play a game with Zuko! Please! Ty Lee is sick, so we need another person.” Zuko rolled his eyes. He considered Mai to be a shared friend since they all used to play together at Ember Island, but lately Azula had been calling her “my friend Mai.” It made him angry and he didn’t know why.

Ursa patted her daughter’s head. “I think that’s a great idea. What do you think, Zuko?”

He crossed his arms. He remembered what happened last week with the apple. But if Ty Lee was sick then Mai was alone with Azula. What if his sister was teasing her? Or telling her lies about him? He needed to intervene. “Sure. I would love to play with you Azula.” His tone of voice did not match his words, but his sister didn’t care.

“Good!” Azula grabbed his hand and marched him into the fountain garden. Zuko knew that this couldn’t possibly end well.

Mai was sitting under a tree, twirling a knife. She looked up at their approach and raised an eyebrow, “I thought you went to get mochi.”

Azula shrugged. “I changed my mind. I want to play a game.”

Mai looked at Zuko with great trepidation. He couldn’t blame her. Last time Azula said those words, he had tackled her.

“No firebending this time, Azula,” he ordered.

“Of course not,” Azula agreed. “We’re going to play wedding. I’ll be the officiant and you two will be the couple.”

It took all of Zuko’s discipline to not stare at Mai and search her face for a reaction. He heard her sigh, and he felt his stomach drop.

“Well,” Azula prompted. “Come here.” She made Mai and Zuko stand facing each other while she launched into a monologue about the rich culture of the Fire Nation. She went on for a while and Zuko was so bored that he almost forgot to be embarrassed. When Azula wasn’t looking, he noticed Mai yawning. He bit his lip to keep from laughing. “And naturally,” Azula carried on. “Fire bending comes from the breath. In order to symbolize the joining of flames, the couple will now share a breath and share a kiss.” She looked at them expectantly.

“Azula, I don’t think we should do this,” Zuko protested.

His sister smirked. “Why not? You don’t want to kiss Mai? She’s not pretty enough for you?”

Zuko saw red. “Mai is really pretty! You take that back right now!”

“If she’s so pretty, then kiss her!”

Mai cleared her throat. Pink dusted her cheeks, but aside from that her expression remained neutral, “Can’t we just pretend?”

“What do you mean?” Azula asked. 

Mai shrugged. “Like this.” She leaned slightly closer to Zuko and kissed the air. 

“That looks ridiculous,” Azula said.

“That’s weird. I thought you said you were better than Ty Lee at everything.” Mai’s words made no sense to Zuko, and apparently they made no sense to Azula either.

“Well yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

Mai smirked, “I bet Ty Lee would be able to pretend. She’s more creative and she has a better imagination.”

Azula was irate. Zuko knew first hand that people were not allowed to be better than her at anything. “I have an idea,” she replied. Zuko shuddered, that was Azula’s scary voice. “Next time, Ty Lee can be the bride. I bet Zuko would kiss her.”

For once, Mai’s facade cracked. Her face scrunched up and Zuko was afraid she was going to cry. “No!” Zuko cut in. “I don’t want to play this game with Ty Lee.” Azula huffed, but Mai looked up at him hopefully. He took her hands and kissed the air like she had. “I now pronounce us husband and wife.”

“Hey!” Azula pinched his shoulder. “That’s my line.”

Thankfully he was spared a confrontation by the arrival of his mother. “Zuko! Azula! It’s time for dinner.” She caught sight of Zuko and Mai’s clasped hands and smiled. “You’re welcome to stay too, Mai. I can send a servant to your mother to let her know.”

Mai politely declined, and Zuko was sad to see her go. That night, he thought for the first time about what his wedding might be like. He imagined hands entwined with own, slightly colder than his. They were soft except for the side of her index finger and thumb where she gripped her knives.

— —

Zuko caught himself staring at his own hands, and tried to shake off the memory. Since that day, he couldn’t help but picture Mai as his bride. It was almost involuntary. But if she had truly grown to love Kei Lo, then he would have to get over it. His mouth tasted like ash.

Zuko pulled his hood down, to the point where it hung in his face obnoxiously, and he walked over to a display case of bracelets that was closer to the rings. He tried to appear nonchalant as he looked over the merchandise, but he listened to the other two men intently.

Kei Lo was in the middle of speaking. “I walked into her shop one day on a whim. She was so beautiful. I asked her out on the spot and the rest is history.”

The older man smiled. “How lovely! I met my husband at work as well. He came in to buy a gift for his grandmother and he kept coming back. Eventually, I asked him out because I was worried he would bankrupt himself spending so much money here.”

Kei Lo laughed. “Wait, he bought something every time he came in?”

“Yes,” the shopkeeper shook his head. “I think he felt guilty for wasting my time. But we’ve been together for thirty years at this point and I don’t consider any of them wasted.”

“Wow! My girl and I have only been together for seven months.” Kei Lo replied. Zuko huffed. That was wrong. He and Mai had been dating for nine months at least according to what he learned from Ty Lee. Kei Lo really should know that.

“What’s her name?” the shopkeeper asked. Zuko shuffled close still, pretending to admire the bracelets in the sale section. Unlike the others that were behind glass, these hung from artful stands. He allowed his fingers to graze a band of beaded obsidian.

“Her name is Machi,” Kei Lo answered.

Zuko spun around, but his sleeve had caught on the stand and the entire thing toppled over, making a terrible noise and scattering bracelets across the floor.

“I– I– I’m so sorry,” Zuko’s face burned hotter than the sun. 

Kei Lo looked at him stunned. “Zuko?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes went wide. With the scar and the name, he put it together. “Fire Lord!” He bowed at the waist, and– for a moment– Zuko was worried the man would lose his glasses. “My deepest apologies. Had I known it was you I would have helped you pick something out for your venerable mother–”

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Zuko reassured him and the older man rose from his bow. “I’m sorry. I knocked over your display stand and the bracelets–” Zuko righted the stand and began to gather the fallen items, but the shopkeeper would not have it.

“Oh no!” He rushed over to help. “You do not need to clean my shop, Lord Zuko. Thanks to you, my husband and I were finally married under the law.” 

Zuko smiled, “I’m glad. But still, let me help you. It was my fault after all.”

Kei Lo clapped a hand on the shopkeeper’s back. “I’ll help too.” 

The three of them quickly subdued the mess. The shopkeeper noticed a few damaged pieces which he took to his back room for repairs. Zuko made a note to send the man compensation. 

While the store owner was removing and cataloging the damaged pieces, Zuko and Kei Lo were left alone. Kei Lo broke the silence. “So… How’s Mai?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko answered honestly, and the awkward silence descended once more.

Zuko felt relief course through his body. After making a fool out of himself, he could finally take it in. Mai and Kei Lo had broken up. Kei Lo was engaged to someone else. Kei Lo thought that Zuko and Mai were talking.

The first part was wonderful news. Zuko felt it was safe to assume that Mai had dumped Kei Lo. When he released Kei Lo from the prison, the man had made it abundantly clear that he was with Mai to stay. Besides, the thought of Mai sending him on his way made Zuko very, very happy. The only potential concern was that the breakup had happened a long time ago, at least seven months. And, in all that time, Mai had made no effort to see him. For all he knew, she could be with someone else too.

“Umm…” Zuko did not know a subtle way to ask what he wanted to know. “Have you heard if Mai is with anyone right now?”

Kei Lo shook his head. “To be honest, I’m surprised she’s not back with you. She was normally so… neutral, I guess. You know how she is. But when she talked about you, a light would enter her eyes. She would go on and on…”

Zuko felt a spark in his chest. “Really?” He could hear the pathetic hope in his own voice. “She seemed so hesitant to trust me again. I thought she hated my guts.”

“No,” Kei Lo smiled wistfully. “I take it you don’t know how we broke up.”

“To be honest, I thought you were proposing to her.”

Kei Lo let out a raucous laugh. “HA! Agni, that’s why you bumped into the bracelet stand. Were you spying on us?”

Zuko laughed along sheepishly. “Kind of. I really did come here to get something for my mom, but when I heard your request… Part of me wanted to run to Mai right then and make a grand declaration.”

“I would have paid to see that. Front page news: The Fire Lord’s Shocking Proposal.”

“Yeah,” Zuko rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a good thing I didn’t.”

“Well, I was going to say that after all the stuff with the Safe Nation Society, Mai and I had a talk. I told her that if we were going to keep dating, I needed to know that she was over you. She has this one portrait of the two of you, and she keeps it in her dresser. I told her to get rid of it or I was gone. She made her choice.”

Zuko remembered that painting. He had one very similar to it in his own room that he kept on his desk. His was in ink and hers was in color. 

And then he remembered that he should probably express some sympathy for Kei Lo. “It seems like it all worked out for you in the end though. I wish you and Machi the best.”

Kei Lo nodded. “Thank you. I’m so glad I found her. I was really upset when Mai and I broke up, but it all seems so trivial now. For what it’s worth, I think you should reach out to Mai. See if she still has that painting.”

“I think you’re right.” The two men shook hands. If Zuko had learned anything from this experience, it was that he didn’t want to wait anymore and risk Mai moving on completely. He needed to find her and apologize and beg for her to come back. 

When the store owner returned, Zuko purchased the plum blossom necklace.

Endnotes: I’m open to writing a part two where Zuko gives Mai the necklace if people would be interested. (I mean, I might anyway even if you all aren’t, lol.) But I wanted to get this out close to Mother’s Day since I made up the Fire Nation version of Mother’s Day for this fic. And, a big HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY to all the moms!!!

Also, I couldn’t get into it in the story, but Kei Lo is that guy who falls for his barista, right? He went on like one date with Mai and then decided she was his reason for living. So I thought it would be hilarious if that’s how he met his next girlfriend! And then he could ambiguously say that he met her at the shop where she works which is also how he met Mai. Anyway, it was a funny head canon that made me laugh.

Thank you again to the anon who suggested this! I hope I didn’t make it too silly. I love putting our dramatic boy in ridiculous situations. Also, I plan on writing your other idea as well at some point, but this one demanded to be written immediately <3

PART 2!

[thescarletnargacuga]

I’ve been waiting for this moment….

Human au where it’s Caine and Pomni’s anniversary, but somehow, someway, they can’t give each other the gifts they want, so they trade their most important item so that they could buy a gift for their spouse…..(basically gift of the magi if you know what that is)

A/N: I am familiar! It's a classic romantic dilemma!

GIFT OF THE MAGPIE

A HUMAN SHOWTIME ONESHOT

WARNING: none

~~~

Pomni double checked her calendar. Her and Caine's wedding anniversary was tomorrow. She needed to get him a gift! But what? It wasn't a landmark anniversary, so it didn't have to be something super fancy. Neither one of them were really materialistic. She stood thinking as Caine entered the room.

He kissed Pomni on the cheek. "I gotta run. Love you!" On his way out the door, a light chime came from his pocket. At first he checked his phone, but then remembered he had something in his other pocket. He took out a beautifully engraved, gold pocket watch and reset it. "Oops, forgot I had it wound."

A light bulb went off in Pomni's head. She knew exactly what to get him. She went down to the jewelry store and browsed their chains. "Do you have anything for pocket watches?"

The jeweler arches a brow. "Pocket watches? Bit old fashioned, but yes, I believe we have a few related accessories. Let me check." A few minutes later, he brought out a few different chains. Some made of gold, some made of platinum, all very shiny.

"I'll take that one." Pomni picked out a simple solid gold chain. It would go well to match the antiquated watch Caine had bequeathed from his grandfather.

~

Caine had time for a quick stop before going to work. A local antique shop that always had interesting bits and baubles from time gone past. Pomni wasn't much of a jewellery wearer but there was one thing in particular that she treasured. A simple silver necklace with a magpie charm. She loved magpies.

In his search to find other magpie related gifting ideas, he found out that the necklace Pomni owned was part of a set. A very old and rare charm jewelry collection that included a bracelet and a set of matching earrings.

The antique shop was kind enough to reach out and do some networking for him to help find a missing piece. All they could get was the bracelet. It was in astonishingly good condition for it's age. It looked brand new.

~

Pomni went to pay for the chain, but her card was declined. She nervously tried a different card. Declined. She knew funds had been tight this year, but she didn't realize she was already out or overdrawn. She put away her useless cards and apologized.

Before she walked out, the jeweler mentioned that they accept trades. She felt the magpie charm around her neck. She couldn't possibly... Then she thought of the look on Caine's face when he would receive such a well meaning gift. His watch was everything to him.

She took off her necklace and gave it to the jeweler.

~

Caine gawked at the cost of the antique bracelet. It was FAR more expensive than he had anticipated. He knew he didn't have the money. He tried to haggle the price, but the shopkeeper wouldn't budge. The bracelet has been difficult to find and purchase legitimately. The price was the price.

Caine only had one item in his possession that could possibly counteract the cost of the bracelet. He took out his grandfather's pocketwatch and set it on the counter. How often had he really used it? Pomni receiving the gift of a lifetime was more valuable to him.

It still hurt when the antique shopkeeper accepted the watch.

~

The next day, Caine and Pomni took their morning slowly, cuddling in bed long after dawn. Only to be interrupted by Bubble getting the morning zoomies and trampling them both. After that wake up call and coffee, it was time to present their gifts.

Caine gave his first. "You're going to love this. You know your magpie necklace..?"

Pomni felt her bare neck. "Uh...yeah?"

"Well, I found another piece of the set."

Pomni gasped. "You...you what?" She opened her box to see the pristine antique bracelet with magpie charms. She teared up. "Oh my god...Caine. This is amazing, but... I don't have the necklace anymore."

"Wait, what?"

"I traded it for your gift. It was expensive and my cards were declined and-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay." He pulled her into a hug. "You can still wear the bracelet."

"But it's just one piece again. Square one. That's not fair to you."

"That's fine. It doesn't undermine the gift. The magpies just migrated." Caine joked.

Pomni huffed, wiping a tear. "They did. Thank you. Here. This is what I got you."

Caine opened his box and his heart sank. "A pocket watch chain...thank you, Pomni. It really needed one. There is just one problem. I don't have the watch anymore."

"WHAT!?" Her shout startled Bubble.

"I traded it for the bracelet. Turns out those old magpies cost quite the penny. It was all I had to get it for you."

"That was your-!"

"I know." Caine said softly. "I didn't really use it that much anyway. It needed a good home with someone willing to take care of it." He put the bracelet on her and held her hands. "I would give up my last dime, the very shirt on my back, for you. The most valuable thing in my life, is you."

Pomni threw herself and Caine and kissed him hard on the lips. "I love you."

Caine smiled and kissed her again lightly. "I love you too."

"....we're getting that watch back." She said determinedly.

[ilovechuuy4]

ˊ "I thought you were leavin' me.?" ˋ

٭✰.Fyodor D. X GN! Reader.✰٭

A/N: erm, ty to my bsf for giving me ideas when I had none (I just didn't want to do any of my drafts) I was making this while the pole was going on:3 HAPPY BIRTHDAY FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY!!! ✰٭

→ Description; It's Fyodor's birthday and you wanted to surprise him

↣ Fyodor is the type to not get nor want birthday parties anymore but when he gets them from close people, he enjoys them a lot ✰*

It was around 4pm, you and Fyodor were out 'nd about walking around Yokohama until a REALLY important thought popped inside your head. You hadn't forgot but, you were so caught in having a nice day with Fyodor it was just resting in the back of your mind. It was Fyodors birthday! You looked at Fyodor and then back at the ground, you felt bad if you left your boyfriend but, you really wanted to surprise him for his birthday.

You looked Fyodor in the eyes with soft worried eyes placing a kiss on Fyodors lips. "I got to go my love, promise you I'll meet you at the house" You spoke slowly before colliding your lips with his one more then skittering off in the crowded streets of Yokohama, Fyodor looked so disappointed when you left him alone in the streets.

You walk around the stores grabbing foods to cook, cake, sweets, everything you think you would think Fyodor would appreciate. You also decided to get him a gift, you weren't sure what to get him since he isn't the most open when it comes to things he likes most it's always "you" or "church" which obviously doesn't give you anything!

You sigh as you walk around until you find a jewelry shop, men's womens, etc. Everyone was shopping there so you decided to take a peek. You walk in, gently colliding shoulders with a lot of people, it was pretty crowded. A few minutes of glancing and looking, you spot a beautiful ring, it was a silver ring with a small piece of topaz, it was the exact color of Fyodor's birthstone, so maybe he would like it?

You slowly picked up the box and looked at the ring more closely, you could definitely get something ingraved on the inside, maybe the date of yall's anniversary? Yea, that's good. You pick up the ring and head to the check out counter, you had the ring to the worker and ask them to ingrave that anniversary date, which they happily did for you.

You watch as it is engraved and then the worker told you the price, which made you choke on your own so it, 200 dollars?! But, you decided it was worth it since it was Fyodor's birthday. You take out your credit card and pay. You walk out with all the bags of different foods and sweets and the ring and make your way home, and hopefully you could get this all set before fyodor is home. When you arrived home, luckily for you, Fyodor wasn't home.

You quickly put away all the cold items, along with the red velvet cake for fyodor's birthday. You decided to make beef stroganoff, you got all the ingredients ready and started to cook. It had taken around an hour and thirty minutes. It was weird, fyodor wasn’t home yet so, you plate the beef stroganoff over noodles along a piece of garlic bread and broccoli.

About thirty minutes go by and then you hear the front door doorknob jingling and rattling, Fyodor was finally home! You quickly warm up the lukewarm food and place it down on the dining table. You rummage through your bag to grab the present you bought for Fyodor placing that on the table too. You skitter around to get every thing ready, quickly grabbing the cake from the fridge as well, putting it on the center of the table. You watch as the front door opens and a tired, slightly annoyed Fyodor walked in. You knew exactly why he was upset.

"Surprise?" You said softly a soft sorry look on your face as you said it. Fyodor looks at you then at the table with the gift and food, the annoyed expression slowly faded and turned to a soft smile. “Oh darling, thank you so much.” Fyodor spoke as he hugged you tightly, his arms wrapping around your waist. He plants a soft kiss in your forehead before he speaks again, “Let’s eat that delicious food now, yeah?” He said smiling as he let go of you and took a seat at the table, and you quickly follow suit.

Y’all both pick up the forks and start eating, occasionally talking and sipping on the white wine that you prepared along with dinner. It took around 20 - 30 minutes for y'all to finish since y'all spoke to each other, but eventually y'all were finished. You quickly stood from the table and grabs the small bag off the kitchen counter, handing it to the black haired man with a soft yet bright smile. "Here I got you a gift, honey." You said with that same bright smile while handing the small bag to Fyodor.

Fyodor takes the gift with shaky hands, "You know you didn't have to get me a gift, I know you get me a gift every year but still my love" he spoke lovingly, even if he complained so much about you getting him a gift, he really did appreciate it. "I know, but I enjoy seeing the look of joy on your face every time." you responded as you watched Fyodor open the present. As Fyodor slowly opened the present, you watched in utter joy, you really hoped that Fyodor liked the present. Fyodor pulls out all of the tissue paper you had stuffed in the bag which was a lot, you didn't have any wrapping paper so it was the best option.

Your soft e/c eyes follow the boney hands of the Russian man as he reaches in the bag and pulling out the small box, which causes him to look up from the bag at you, one of his raven colored eyebrows cocked. He just shakes his head with a soft smile as he looks back down at the small box. His slim fingers slowly open the box as he sees the beautiful silver ring with the beautiful topaz gem, he slowly picks up the ring from out the case and looks at it, his violet colored eyes lighting up and filling with love as he sees the inside of the ring with y'all's anniversary date, he looks at you and back at the ring.

Your lover wasn't the one to cry when receiving gifts, he never has. But it seems you hit a nerve as his beautiful eyes started turning glossy and the clear tears drip slowly from them. "Fyodor, darling? What's the matter?" you said a frown of worry on your face. The Russian looked up from the ring and at you, "y/n, honey,i really love it you don't even know how much I do." he said as the glossy clear drops continue to fill and drop from his eyes. He stands from the chair he was sat in and embraces you tightly, his arms around your waist. He plants a slow, tender, and loving kiss on your lips and holds it. The taste of wine still on his lips from dinner as he slowly pulls away. "I really thought you were leavin' me you know?" He spoke as he sighed, keeping you in that tight embrace.

[punderdome]

WIP Wednesdays!

The Fine Print Chapter 5: The Wedding Night

“I translated Astarion’s scars for him.  How bad was my translation?”  Tav had originally translated the Infernal contract on Astarion’s back months prior, explaining what the Rite of Profane Ascension entailed and what sacrifices needed to be made.  It made for grim conversation at Grymforge.

“Do you truly wish to know?” In an instant, her blood ran cold.  What had she overlooked then for Astarion and his former slave master Cazador?  

“What did I miss?” She asked Raphael, dreading what she was about to learn but leaning into the chance to understand.  

“You got many of the aspects of the Rite of Profane Ascension correct, but Astarion did not know many of the finer details.”  Raphael explained.  She nodded for him to continue.  “Your translation of Cazador’s agreement with Mephistopheles correctly deduced that he would consume all seven thousand spawn in body and submit their souls to Cania.  You had grave misunderstandings of the final powers Cazador would gain as Vampire Ascendant.  Astarion wanted to know what he stood to inherit if he were to undertake the Rite himself.”

“Astarion told me that he won a second translation from you in a round of Lanceboard at Sharess’s Caress.”  Raphael’s resulting grin was ravenous.  

“He felt you were omitting something, so he called me that very same night you provided him with your original work.”  She sighed.  She should have expected Astarion to have a multitude of sketchy deals she wasn’t welcome to know about.  It didn’t make her feelings of embarrassment any easier to swallow.  He had never mentioned to her that he didn’t trust her translation. 

“And what deal did you make with him?” she inquired.

“I would provide all the details of the Rite carved into his flesh in exchange for secrets.  Fifty was the number we negotiated, with more valuable information having a higher price.”  Raphael smiled down at her, and she immediately knew what kinds of secrets he wanted.  Her favorite color was boreal blue.  She preferred silver.  The wedding gifts Raphael presented her were fruits from his contract with Astarion.

“My preferences?” she challenged, hoping to indicate that she wasn’t incredibly stupid, despite the multitude of failings surrounding her Infernal reading comprehension that suggested the opposite.

“And more.”  Raphael purred back to her.  “I wanted my wife to be comfortable.  Of course he was not above a little light thievery in service, but he was able to negotiate a good price on certain items.”  He raised an eyebrow, waiting to see if she would infer his meaning.

Her eyes rapidly scanned the corridor around them as she fought internally for what Astarion may have stolen from her.  She snapped back to Raphael.  “How many of my clothes did he take?”  The gown she was wearing fit too perfectly to be some sort of coincidence or guessing game.

“Most were returned.  You will find your wardrobe here to be well stocked.”  His voice was calm and casual, but Tav immediately found the implication violating.

“Most?” she demanded.

“Most.” Raphael confirmed.

An absolutely horrifying thought crossed her mind of Astarion stealing her smallclothes and gifting them to Raphael.  Oh Gods, worn or unworn?  She really didn’t want to know but she suspected one was more likely.  Her eyes went wide, and Raphael chuckled.  She knew he could see what she was wrestling with in her mind.  His devilish glee confirmed that she was correct.

[josephquinnswhore]

At Her Mercy

Pairing: Simon “ghost” Riley x Fem! Reader

Summary: you’re needed to help guide the task force 141 group, when you meet ghost, it would tear open your wounds.

Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warning: mentions of murder, childhood abuse, physical violence, ghosting, heartless reader, typical cod violence, child death, bit of physicality between ghost and reader. Ptsd. No happy ending.

Note: I have a lot of requests and I’m sorry I just have so much Simon brain rot I need to get this out of my system. Sorry this is angsty. May be open for p2 idk lol.

You try not to linger around the grave too long after having sat here for 23 minutes, the longer you sat the longer it usually was harder for you to walk away. You couldn’t afford that attachment today; you had a plane to catch. Time didn’t stop for you, the world didn’t stop spinning and you knew you’d have to trudge through the metaphorical mud you often got stuck in again once you’d left; leaving was always the hardest part.

The clock on your wrist didn’t slow for you, the hands tick with each passing second you spent knelt into the unkempt overgrown grass at the cemetery. The headstone was old, in desperate need of a pressure wash to restore it’s original state. The arch shaped stone seemed to stand strong in the structure itself, your fingers had swiped the cobwebs off the top and base of the stone, clearing any critters that tried to make this memorial their home.

You knew you shouldn’t have purchased a whole bouquet of flowers, the bunch of red and orange flowers sat at the base where you’d carefully placed them upon your arrival, a mix of his favourite colours. You’d even purchased him a small gift, a hot wheels car, a red mustang with white stripes across the bonnet. He had always loved cars, playing with them and working on them; he mentioned a dozen times he’d wanted to be a mechanic, now along side him in his coffin; lie his dreams. A life unfulfilled and cut short at no fault of his own. It had been 10 years and 7 days; December 18th was the day your semi-normal but functioning life was stripped away; the day he was taken from you.

“Sorry I couldn’t come see you last week kid, I know I always make sure but things got-complicated. Hope you’ll forgive me.”

Things were definitely complicated. You were contacted by General Shepherd, you knew of him; being he was in charge of several units across the United States Military, including your section. He had a lot of contacts and if you worked for him; there was nothing about you he didn’t know. He directly had asked you to come and command the task force 141 team, alongside a man named Captain John Price.

-

“John Price is a good man and a damn good Captain.” Shephard stated, hanging off his last word on the laptop he’d called you on, his face could barely look at the camera.

“But?” You question impatiently.

“We fear he may’ve gone soft on the men here. We could use your..” he trails off, looking for the right word to use. “Resourcefulness and ruthlessness.”

“Do you think I’m ruthless, General?” You deadpan. His face pixilated as the wifi on your end fails to keep up.

“I’ve heard many a stories about you, Captain. Plane leaves in two days. John Price will meet you upon your arrival.”

“Copy that. I’ll be in touch General.” You shut your laptop screen, the call automatically ending as it meets the keypad.

-

You check your watch once more, the action becoming more frequent as the minutes passed, knowing you were cutting it close to missing the plan which left in half an hour to your new workplace.

“Sorry kid I better get going. I miss you everyday, still keep you near to my heart.” Your fingers trace the small ‘m’ letter necklace, the simple silver letter was attached to a small-link chain. Something that spent more time by your bedside table than around your neck these days-something you were ashamed to admit. The small trinket was one of the few items you owned of his, you tried to keep his memory alive as your brain often forgot what he looked like, the sound of his voice and laugh. The day you received this gift was one you’d remember until you died. You pull your mask up to cover the bottom half of your face, reaching underneath your eyes, closing yourself off and your vulnerability.

-

Christmas Day was always hectic in the household; spending time with your husbands family, his brother and wife, your nephew who was practically your own son.

“Hey, hey! I give up, put me down!” The boy giggled through his fit of laughter, short brown hair brushing the floor as you held him upside down.

“Gotta say the word otherwise you don’t tap out!” You manage through your own burst of laughter, his parents watching on with their own smiles, your husband watches you with a fondness and hope for your own children someday.

“Mercy! Mercy!” The boy squeals, finally. You set him down on the carpet gently, once he stands his cheeks are red and freckles are visible now more than normal.

He walks to the heavily decorated Christmas tree, bends down and precisely plucks a small, messily wrapped gift and hands it to you with a shy smile. The yellow Christmas lights shine in his blue eyes as he watches you expectantly, waiting for you to accept the gift. The first thing you notice is the outrageous amount of tape that secured the wrapping paper, the second was his messy hand writing that had scribbled your name, with a love heart next to his, you tear off the note and secure it in your pant pocket, too valuable not to keep.

“Do you think you can help me open it? I might need your big muscles to help unravel all this tape. Whaddya say?” He grins, nodding, helping you claw at the tape he had fervently taped last night after his parents had finally lent him some money he’d been begging for weeks.

Once the paper is gone, it’s exposed. The small white cardboard top that covered a black velvet box; the brand of a well known jeweller splayed in a cursive font on the box in silver. “This is so sweet!” You hum, completely delighted before you get the chance to even open the gift.

“Just wait till you open it! I think it’s neat.” He boasts proudly. You open the box, a small silver letter ‘m’ shines back at you, casting your reflection in the cursive letter. Before you can question him, he’s already starting to explain.

“It’s for Mercy, it’s something that reminds me of you when you’re not here. We always have so much fun playing together and I hope you like it.”

The tears in your eyes are fluent, your mouth is wet as you fill to the metaphorical brim of the cup with emotion, about to overflow. “Like it? Are you kidding, I love it. I promise we’ll come see you more often okay?”

“Yeah, that would be so neat!”

-

The memory replays as you’re sitting in the taxi to the Military airport, a junction that’s privately owned and used by few occupants that require urgent travel. The plane is being boarded with flight crew when you arrive; the army plane was one of many you’ve seen before; the dark grey would be a blip in the perfectly blue sky, like the little boy on your mind; his absence was your loss; your dark grey blip.

“Captain, please, let us take care of your luggage. Board the plane swiftly as we are on time and due to depart in 10 minutes.” You offload your giant luggage bag to a low ranking worker, his uniform clear indication he was what the higher ups call a shitkicker, or rookie. They were generally to stupid-or immature to be anything more than a servant, someone to fetch and do basic physical training until they were filtered out; booted or into the military as a low ranking soldier.

“Thanks kid.” You offer the younger man, kindness wouldn’t hurt with the rookies, you’ve been there and were there for two years-they were a necessity in the industry, without them there would be no new soldiers, no people to do the dirty work, like cleaning the toilets and washing the bedsheets.

The inside of the plane was nothing fancy, while it’s seats were mildly stiff and there was a lingering smell of cigarette smoke you didn’t complain, it was better than being seated where the low ranking soldiers were strapped, in the back of the aircraft with the luggage and whatever cargo they were shipping to the next location.

“Anything to drink, madam?” You look up to meet the eyes of a tired stuartess.

“Got any whiskey?” She nods politely and you pull the plastic tray down that’s attached to the seat in front.

“How would you like that made madam?” She’s pouring from a glass bottle, by the look of the honey coloured liquid, it was expensive.

“On the rocks, prepare me a second. Better make it a double.” You grab the drink, throwing it back and swallowing it in one go, the bitterness burned going down your throat, followed by tones of malt and honey.

You hand the glass back to the middle aged woman, she prepares you a double as you ask and you set the cup in front of you.

“If you need our assistance please don’t hesitate to ask, enjoy your flight.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Your voice is rough, the whiskey was harsh on your throat, despite the sweet after taste, it was harsher than you were used to, the ice adding a coolness that made your teeth sensitive with every sip of the liquid.

You pull out a small baggie from your top right pocket of your dark uniform, two small white rounded pills sit at the bottom of the small ziplock plastic bag. You fish out the pills, your fingers a decent size too big for it to be an effortless task. Getting disgruntled and sick of waiting another minute, you tip the baggie upward and crane your neck back into the seat, the two pills falling from the bag onto your tongue. The powdery residue on your tongue is bitter and unpleasant, you don’t take another second to pick up your glass and swallow the pills.

After a few years of using the sleeping pills, you’ve gained a small tolerance, it takes close to 15 before your eyelids start fluttering, the loudness of the aircraft starts to drown out, all the emotion from the gravesite seems to fade away as you fall out of consciousness, you would enjoy the peace as it came; no nightmares, no pain, just blissful ignorance.

You wake just as the plane lands on the runway, the loud screeching of the rubber tyres hitting the tar at great speed. To speed up the process of waking up, you gulp down the last of your whiskey, the beverage barely relieving the dry mouth the pills had caused you on a daily basis. You clear your throat and lick your lips, looking around at the view outside of the moving scenery as the plane circles around to its final stop, where two military grade unimogs full of soldiers await your arrival.

You adjust your black mask, the material clings tight to your chin as it drapes down your neck. A man approaches you as you walk down the giant ramp of the aircraft, the noise ceasing as the engines come to a halt, the blades rotating slowly as they realise their journey has ended. The man stands a few inches taller than you, his brown mutton chops frame his face, blue eyes piercing you with a friendly look that makes you uneasy, the crows feet around his eyes are a knowing sign of his stress. You don’t even want to get started on that stupid hat.

“John Price, Captain John Price. Nice to finally meet your acquaintance.” You shake his extended hand firmly. Believing all you need to know in a person is all in the handshake; take Price for example, he’s firm, friendly, a business man, his hand doesn’t linger for longer than it needs to.

“You can call me Mercy. Glad to finally meet you Captain Price. Shepherd hasn’t informed me much of your men, I hope they’re up to standard.” You begin to walk to the truck, Price has his men load your luggage into the back.

“I firmly believe they are, Captain.” He holds the door open for you to sit in the backseat, an unusually kind gesture for someone you just met.

“Guess we’ll see about that.” You deadpan bluntly. You had seen your fair share of failures in your time, leaders who weren’t harsh enough on their men, who didn’t correct their mistakes or claimed to be a family unit. You hated that dynamic, you weren’t here to build a family or make friends. You were placed here to help the men of this task force with their dedicated mission and get the fuck back to your own unit, you had your own men that relied on you.

“Hope you don’t mind the introductions will be made off base this evening.” You raise an eyebrow, turning to the man beside you.

“Is that so? Where exactly will this off base location be? Is the area secure, will you have men patrolling the area?” These are all necessary questions and this man had looked at you as if you had two heads, which answered your questions for you.

“We can have it arranged Ma’am.” You hum in distaste.

“It would want to be arranged, I don’t leave base unless I know myself and my men are safe. I’m sure you understand Captain.” You already showed no fondness to the man who was supposed to be leading a task force, how incompetent were the men he were in charge of if the Captain himself didn’t pre-organise this off base meeting.

The base was small, a dozen buildings, one awfully large one in which you would assume was medical. One in which you would hope is medical. The trucks come to a stop, you’re grateful for your mask that filters the dust in which stops you from inhaling the swirling storm of dust as you open the door. Your boots leave an indented footprint on the beige dust, the grass growing in patches and the buildings invaded with overgrown weeds that haven’t been touched in what you’d assume were years.

“If you’ll follow me ma’am, I’ll show you around base.” You pull out the small notepad and pen, scribbling down how someone needs to hire a damn maintenance man to clean the weeds and mow the grass.

You come to the largest building which is attached to the other smaller ones in a large D shape. As you walk in, the room is outdated and the stench makes your nose scrunch in disgust under your mask.

“Captain what the fuck is that obnoxious smell?” Price turns to you, slowing his pace to match your own as you look into the windows of the old, outdated rooms, trying to figure out where the smell is coming from.

“This is the mess hall, we used to have people cook for us but they were all fired when the government stopped extra curricula funding.” You frown, speeding your pace through the dirty halls of the building.

“Why hasn’t it been cleaned, or demolished?” You finally exit that part of the building. Price doesn’t have an answer for you. You write some notes in your notepad about the foul stench and lack of use for that building, writing demolish with question marks and drawing a big circle around it.

“This is where we sleep, we have a dozen men on base at the moment, myself and 3 others are the task force 141 team you’ll be working closely with, your room is this one right here.”

You come to a stop, room 5F. He hands you the key, putting a spare in his pocket. Your luggage is sitting outside the door already.

“Keeping the spare key for any particular reason?”

“For emergencies only, we’ve had an incident where someone had a heart attack and locked themselves in. He passed away before we could get to him. Just a precaution, that’s all.”

The room is stuffy when he opens the door, the single bed is topped with a 4 inch mattress and one old flimsy blanket and a flat pillow, you’re grateful you brought your own bedding.

“If you need anything give me a buzz, I’ll text you the address of the bar tonight.” He gestures to a small piece of paper on the wall, sticky taped on all four sides. Written Prices name and mobile number.

“Right. Thanks.” You drag your luggage in from outside the door, the wheels are loud on the floor as it squeaks. You begin to unpack your things, deciding to put up the image of your nephew on the bedside table, having cropped out your ex-husband from the image to show the two of you, an image from your last birthday you spent with him.

-

“I want a corner piece please, please!” The boy pleas, his love for the crispy par burnt edges of your birthday cake were his favourite. You slice him up a large piece, swiping your finger in the delicious yellow frosting that topped his oversized piece. You lean into him and wipe it on his face, earning a groan of protest from him as he retreats from you.

“I’m trying to eat it, not wear it!” You laugh, cutting your family each a slice of the cake your brother-in-laws wife had made. The sunflowers were handcrafted with such delicacy you were saddened to cut into them-let alone eat them.

“Alright, alright, I guess I can leave you unbothered. But just for the moment.” You push his arm with your own gently in a playful manner.

To your surprise, he pulls out a sunflower from beside the seat he sits on, you set the cake down and grasp the flourishing flower, inspecting the beauty and vibrancy of the perfectly bright yellow petals, it had been picked perfectly. Tears pricked your eyes as you held the flower.

“God kid, you know how to make me cry dontcha?” He grins, his mouth full of chocolate mud cake, “good tears, right?” You smiled at your nephew and he smiled back, “right.” Unbeknownst to you in that moment-your brother in law had snapped an image.

-

A picture you held dear to your heart, and now bedside. You manage to pull yourself away from the image-a painful memory in which all of him had become, yet you had to preserve as there was no one left that would do so. You refused to let his memory die.

You pull your mask down as you near the sink, a crusty mirror hangs above it, barely clear enough for you to see yourself as much more than a blur. You reapply the black paint to your face as some unwelcome tears had fallen and dropped down your cheeks, ruining the pigment of the paint. You brush your teeth, turning the tap on to see a musty brown coloured water before it turns clear, note to self, don’t drink the water unless it’s bottled.

You apply some deodorant before pulling your mask back upward, your hot breath is once again trapped in the confines of the mask as you close yourself off. Your phone vibrates on the bed and you check it’s a text from Price confirming the location of the ‘meeting’. More like a typical military piss up, these men will find any excuse to drink.

Price: “Bar at 112 West Highland Road. Neon green sign out front, be blind to miss it.”

You: “Got it. Be there soon.”

-

The bar was quieter than you expected, sure it had a few typical rowdy drinks, but nothing like any of the chaos you’d experienced in America. It doesn’t take long for you to spot Price, your eyes scanning every face in the room as if you’ve got facial recognition in your brain, just in case you need to remember. Price stands from his seat, 3 other men sit with him, one is significantly larger than the rest, he’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans, the rest you don’t see as he’s turned towards the bar.

You stand tall as you approach them, people moving out of your way as you barge into their shoulders roughly.

“Glad you could join us tonight. This is the rest of the team, Gaz, Soap and Ghost.” He points to his men and you shake the hand of Gaz first, “nice meeting you Gaz.” He’s got a bright smile that you find hard not to reciprocate.

“I’m John McTavish but you can call me Soap, ma’am.” You raise an eyebrow, two johns? Seriously? You shake his hand, “I’ll keep that in mind, Soap.”

The last man you approach is large, he’s tall and a black baklava with a skull print covers his face. His hoodie is pulled up and a black substance covers his eyes, his blonde lashes untouched as they poke through, his blue eyes are piercing as they stare through you. “Ghost eh, interesting. I like the look.” He looks you up and down before nodding. “Appreciated Captain.” He sets his drink down on the bar and you take a seat in between him and Soap, there feels something familiar about his accent, those beaming blue eyes and blonde eyelashes, but you chalk it up to him being British. “Call me Mercy.”

“How’d ya come up that callsign?” Soap inquires. You exhale deeply, this was going to be a long night.

“Before I answer any damn questions, I need a drink.” The bartender took your order, within the minute you had the drink sitting in front of you, pleading for you to drink it so it could take your pain away for you, deal with the guilt and memories you found to traumatic to continue to think about.

You take a sip and smack your lips. “It was an inside thing between my nephew and I, the name kinda just stuck.”

You finished off your drink and slid it back to the bartender who gave you a refill as you asked. “You got family back home then?” Gaz questions.

Thank god for the refill. “Negative. All deceased.” The men went quiet and you sip on the liquid, it warms you from the inside out, taking away the guilt and stripping you down to where you had no emotion on the topic. They murmur apologies and you feel ghosts gaze on you, his eyes felt dark and sinister, like he was distant from his physical body, he didn’t really feel there.

“You ever marry?” You grit your teeth, your jaw is clenching so hard you can almost feel your teeth grinding. The mention of your husband boils your blood, but also breaks your heart into a million shards.

“Still married, technically. Piece of shit ghosted me when things got hard, haven’t seen him since. First thing I’ll do if I ever see that sorry bastard is serve him the divorce papers I’ve been carrying for half a decade. Cant change my last name without the divorce being finalised.”

You throw your neck back as you finish off your second glass of whiskey. Your bladder feeling full from the beverage, your mind hazy and spinning already, the talk of your husband is making your head ache. You pull of your ID and card, throwing it onto the bench for the bartender, “excuse me a moment while I use the restroom, prepare another drink for when I get back would you?”

The bartender watches you hesitantly and mutters, “sure.”

-

The bartender tossed your cards back to the bench in front of you, attempting to sit them where you left them, seemingly throwing it too far as your ID rolls off the bar onto the floor beside your stool legs. Soap mutters, “fuckin idiot.” As he picks up your card, setting it back upright in front of your drink, noticing the last name, he does a double take. He thinks his eyes are deceiving him when he sees your last name- Riley. This surely is just a coincidence, right?

“Eh Lt, you seen this lass’ last name, might be a relation to you.” Ghost turns to soap, irritated by his shenanigans, but glances towards the card anyway and can’t take his eyes away from it. He sees you- her. His wife. It’s her face and her name, how did you get this? His wife hated the military, war and fighting, she would never join it, let alone become a Captain of her own army.

He felt his blood boiling, the alcohol in his blood seemed to fuel the fire swirling in his stomach. How wife was killed that night along with the rest of his family- it made him sick to his stomach having to think you could try and come into this talk force and betray him.

“You alright Simon?” Prices voice is unheard, the noise of the bar and the photo of his wife’s face brings back too many painful memories for him to focus on the reality. Memories that plagued his nightmares- of you and him.

-

“What do you think Si?” She twirls in the blue sundress for him as her hair falls over her shoulders, he can only smile at the sight of her, her beauty was immeasurable to him-incomparable. He had never felt this way before about anyone. In that moment, he remembers how perfect he thinks she would’ve looked swollen with his child.

His hands snaked their away around her waist, pulling her into his body. “You know I think you look fuckin’ perfect baby, always perfect.” She rolls her eyes at his compliment.

“This is a serious matter you know! It’s a wedding, people will be taking pictures that last many lifetimes, you look so handsome and I have to match it.” He remembers cradling her face, forcing her to look him in his eyes, “you look better than I ever could, baby.”

She smiled but shook her head, “no one could ever be more handsome than my husband.” She rubbed her hands up and down his white long sleeve button up shirt, smoothing out the collar which barely had a wrinkle in it post ironing.

“What’d I ever do to deserve you hm?” His voice was a quiet whisper, she’d worked through previous hardships, his struggles and scars she had kissed better and even attempted to stitch up when he’d come home because he blatantly refused to let anyone else touch his body. She had been there through the worst of it, helped him through his family troubles, stayed after he applied for the military and stayed up during the nights he had nightmares, his ptsd was severe for months on end when he first signed up.

“You deserve me Si, more than anything you deserve me.”

-

“Ghost?” Soaps hand was on his shoulder, shaking him out of his hazy memories of his old wife.

“Need a minute outside.”

As he pushes through the large crowd, he finds you already outside, smoking a cigarette that blows large clouds through the cool night air. You pull down the bottom of your mask, not wanting to be exposed to the larger man. He towers over you, something about his size and silence is both terrifying and has you feeling safe.

“Don’t like people seein’ your face?” You’re surprised when he asks, having not said much to you this evening.

“No one but myself has in a long time.” He leans up against the brick wall, standing too close for your liking beside you.

“You ever get sick of it?” You turn to him, squashing your cigarette underneath your boot, the red light fizzling out on the damp cement.

“Sick of what exactly?” You turn to him, an arm on your hip.

“Bein’ a snake, pretendin’ to be someone you’re not.” This makes you frown, your impatience coming in at an all time high, blood pressure rising as this man insults you.

“If you’ve got something to say, Ghost, I suggest you spit it out.” You snap accusingly, pointing at his chest as you stand tall, keeping eye contact and not intimidated by what he’s doing. You take a step closer and he comes off of the brick wall, standing a foot in front of you.

“You’re the enemy, have to be smarter than to use an ID of someone who is dead!” He snarls, his voice is booming as he swings at you, his fist connects with your stomach and it sends you sliding backwards on the wet cement. You exhale, steadying your breathing after the hit. You lunge towards him, ducking at the last second to avoid is hands trying to grab you, you kick as his knees and one falters, nearly bringing him to the ground, you had quickly figured out his weakness.

He levels himself on his leg, watching you with a look so furious in his eyes you want nothing more than to erase the look from your mind, if you had to accomplish that with violence-so be it.

He pulls out his knife from his boot, you scowl as he does so, “fucking coward, fight like a man!” You yell at him, he ignores you and charges like a raging bull, heavy footsteps slow in comparison to your nimble movements which allows you to narrowly avoid the knife he aimed to plunge into your ribs.

You pulled out your own knife, “wanna fucking okay dirty hm? Come on then you fucking prick! I’m not scared of you, I eat shitheads like you for fucking dinner.” You’re eyeing each other off, circling like predator and prey, although no one knows who is which yet. The rain makes it difficult to see, the drops falling onto your mask make it more difficult to breath through. Through the scuffle part of your hair had fallen out of its plait, the strand of hair irritating and blinding you as it sits in front of your eyes.

“Fuck it.” You growl lowly, tearing off your mask as you cut it with your knife, all while avoiding a blow from Ghosts forward attack, you pull your hair backwards and tuck it behind your ear.

The man freezes in place, his movements stop entirely, the knife falling from his hands, clattering onto the wet sidewalk. As he sees her-you, his wife. Your face is more matured, it’s grown into its features and you have a sternness he doesn’t recognise, eyes as cold as stone as you watch him fall apart before you. He notices a giant scar along your nose that has never been seen before.

“It can’t be, you’re dead, you died-“ he trails off, eyes wide as he watches you like a Hawk.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You growl, confused and still pent up from the fight.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t mutter a single word, he barely finds the strength to lift his hands to the bottom of his baklava and pulls it off his face, revealing himself for the first time in over a decade. He felt himself crumbling, so vulnerable and exposed to the world, his world-you. His wife and the woman he loved so much-loves.

You stutter for a moment before your face hardens again, you storm forward and shove him, your fists hit his chest so many times you can’t count, he doesn’t react, he just stands like a punching bag for you to let out your Pent up anger. You pull away from him, the thought of touching him and him touching you, made you nauseous.

“You piece of shit! You left me! For better or worse my fucking ass!” You pace the sidewalk, kicking the trash can as a decades worth of emotions come crashing down on you. “You weren’t even there for the funeral Simon! Have you even visited them? Since they’ve died, have you? I see Joseph whenever I get the chance.”

Tears are falling down your face at the thought of him, your nephew Joseph.

“Don’t talk about him.” Simon growls, obviously still a soft spot for him. You roll your eyes, “I thought you were fucking dead with them! When I ran through that house and didn’t find you I thought they’d taken you to fucking get back at me! I chased every piece of intel for years on end trying to find you.” He steps towards you, his big chest heaving. The street lamp above you shines above him, his face looking more scarred and handsome as ever.

“I killed every damn one of those motherfuckers and you were still nowhere to be found. I dedicated the past decade of my life trying to find you and you’re in the fucking military, alive and fine.”

You slap him across the face at his accusation.

“If you think this is me fine Simon Riley, you’re stupidly fucking mistaken. Now get the fuck out of my face! I’m your Captain, you’re dismissed! Get the fuck out of my sight.”

You storm away from him, sheathing your knife into your leg harness. Once you were far away enough and sure he couldn’t see you, you slipped on your mask and sobbed, uncontrollably against the wall of a building in the street, forgetting about the bar, the team and the ID you’d left behind. Screw all that, in the morning you were going home. The rain poured on you, your uniform heavy on your skin as it sticks.

You mindlessly walk until you reach base, not realising how far you’d walked until you ended up standing out the front of your room door with the key in hand ready to unlock the door. You exhale and close the door, removing your mask and grabbing a fist full of wipes to clean the smudged black face paint that had dropped down your neck from the rain and probably your tears. Fuck Simon, you couldn’t stay here, not when he was a constant reminder of the pain, your past was too much to have to relive everyday. The death, blood, the screams, the way he abandoned you.

You sit on the chair beside your desk, grabbing the photograph of you and Joseph before your emotionally exhausted body begins to slump over the desk, eyes fluttering shut before you can remember to take your pills.

-

You’re preparing Joseph’s things for a bath, his clothes laid down on his bed, his green towel and toothbrush on the bed. You’re about to call him up when you hear the front door bust open.

“Kill every last one of them, I want no survivors. Riley has to pay.” It’s a foreign voice you don’t recognise, the fear of something happening to your family and realising this is the end as they fire the first gunshot. The screams of your brother in law shake the foundation of the house as gunfire rings through the walls, his wife begging through her sobs for these men to stop, “we’ll do anything, please!”

Her pleas are ignored and she too is gunned down, silence fills the house, you sneakily hide in the bedroom closet in Joseph’s room, the door thankfully making no noise as you close the door shut, the old hinges working a charm for the first time ever. You can barely see anything through the tiny cracks of the closet door, the moonlight coming through the window is the only thing you see.

You hear footsteps running down the hall to your direction and you try to even your ragged breathing, you hear more footsteps running up the stairs, the thundering noise beats in your ears. You hear him crying, sobbing as he calls for help, for you to help him. You’re frozen, trembling in place as the kid stands there alone with a gun pointed to him in his own bedroom.

“He’s just a kid, can’t we leave him?” One man says, the other sneers at him, “boss said all of them, especially the kid.”

“No please!” Joseph begs before he’s gunned down, his blood splatters into the closet cracks and onto your face, you flinch and your eyes are wide as your nephew is ruthlessly murdered in front of you. You were too much of a coward to help him, you are compliant in his death.

The man walks closer to the closet, hand rattling on the closet door knob like he’s going to open it, then the sound of police sirens can be heard coming down the street, they’re coming fast and the red and blue lights are seen through the window, illuminating the room and the dead body but feet away from you.

“Hurry up and let’s get out of here. I ain’t goin to prison!” The hand releases the doorknob and trips over Joseph’s body, running downstairs as they escape the consequences.

Your body is trembling, stuck in a back and forth rock of trying to self sooth but to no avail. Your brain replays the scene over and over, him begging for your help and being shot by a couple thugs in a targeted attack.

“M sorry joey.” Is your mantra, you’re repeating it over and over, what starts as a soft whisper becomes a chant that attracts the police.

“Hey, we got a survivor over here!” The officer calls to his colleagues, trying to pry you from the closet. “What’s your name?” His voice is drowned out by your ears ringing, your dissociated state accompanied by the incoherence nonsense that leaves your lips, “mercy.” You mumble, mercy. That’s what you wanted, hoping the muttered word would stop the pain, stop the cruelty and stop the joke.

But it didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

-

Your eyes shoot open as you’re gasping for air, the scream that leaves your lips is one of genuine terror, your arms are thrashing and shoving the weight you feel on your arm as someone’s hand.

“It’s me, it’s just me.” You recognise his voice, Simon. Your heart is thumping and you sit up from your spot on the chair, pacing the small area in the room that Simon didn’t occupy.

“You have em too?” Your neck snaps around to Simon, glaring at him through your tears and wet face. “Of course I have them, I hear their screams and see Joseph killed in my head over and over on reply, as if it happened yesterday.”

Simon stumbles backward, shocked by your confession. “You- you saw him..” you rubbed your hands over your eyes. “Yes.” Confirming what Simon would never want to hear from you. You watched your nephew die.

“I don’t want you or need you in here Simon, I need you to leave.” He shuffles on his feet, his eyes torn between you and the photograph of you and his nephew on the table you’d just been cradling.

“If you ever want to talk-“ you cut him off with a scoff, irritated by his presence.

“I don’t. Now get out, I’m fine. I’m not here to make amends with you and sure as hell not trying to be your wife again, Simon. You were a shit husband, now please, get out.” You sigh, sitting on your bed, completely exhausted.

Simons heart shatters at your words, every wall he’s built comes crumbling down at his feet, he’s now left truly alone. The hope of you had kept him going- now what does he have? He simply nods, wanting to respect your needs, when he reaches the door you call his name, he’s hopeful when he turns around to see you barely a foot away when you hand him an envelope.

“Sign the divorce papers Simon. Please.”

It feels like his heart has been stomped on the for third time tonight, you were trying to sever the last connection he had to you, his last name. The only proof he had that you were ever his, that his family existed at all; he holds the papers tight in his hand and walks out of your room, leaving you to take out your pills and swallow them dry, having a sleep that’s uninterrupted by those plaguing nightmares, those pills, your poison, you were at her mercy and Simon was at yours.

[krishna1983]

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[fragaria-imagines]

hi hi hi!! could i perhaps request merold with an easily flustered reader? like, he could hold their waist for a few seconds and their brain is already crashing lol (I'm so down horrendous for this guy it's honestly embarrassing help me) as for the format, either bulleted headcanons or a written out scenario type of thing works! whichever seems fitting <3

Ahhh thank you anon! I decided to do both headcanons and a short scenario for this question, I hope you like it!

Merold thinks your shyness and how easily flustered you get is absolutely adorable, and would 100% take advantage of that to the fullest.

He’s already a huge tease to begin with, your bashfulness would only encourage him to tease you tens fold.

He has a habit of wrapping his waist around you and talking to you directly in your ear, when you’re both out in public because he thinks teasing you especially when you’re in public is the funniest thing ever, since you can’t chastise him or reprimanded him as you usually would, especially if you’re in a professional setting with all the lords.

He loves seeing you trying to maintain your composure and level headedness whilst his hands are roaming around your body, in an attempt to rile you up and fluster you.

Because of how easily flustered you get, you easily melt under his touch, but he loves it when you put up a fight and resist his teasing, it makes it all the much sweeter when you finally cave in to your desire.

Often times Merold would shower you in expensive gifts, going to fancy restaurants, buying you designer clothing, and jewelry made of real silver and gold, the whole nine yards, he doesn’t care, he lives to spoil you.

He’s not good at expressing himself with words, so buying you gifts are a much easier way to convey his love to you, and whilst you appreciate it, there sheer amount of gifts he has bought you, has definitely flustered you more than once, especially when you see the price tag on some of those items, flustered can’t even begin to describe what you felt…

You and Merold were both invited to the Fragaria Ball, which the Strawberry King held yearly whenever he was in a festive mood, and what’s more, everybody in the Strawberry Kingdom was invited to come. With the looming threat of SEED these past few months, there was less and less balls being held, which made this night even more special, as it was the first one to be held in over six months, and you planned to enjoy this night’s festivities to the fullest.

“M-merold please! Lord My Melody is right there…!” You stuttered out in embarrassment, as Merold’s hand trailed the back of your dress.

Or more specifically, it was your plan to enjoy the night to the fullest, but it looked like Merold had other plans for tonight, as it hadn’t even been five minutes since you two arrived, and he was already teasing you.

“What’s wrong Y/N? I’m just having some fun, there’s no harm in that is there~?” Merold whispering in your ears, sending shivers down your spine as your blush started to deepen. You could almost feel the smirk on his face from watching you lose your cool, but before you could chastised him further, you saw that Lord My Melody and Lady My Sweet Piano, were walking towards the two of you.

Merold quickly plastered a bright smile onto his face, when he saw Lord My Melody and Lady My Sweet Piano making their way towards you both.

“Good evening my lord! Are you enjoying yourself?” Merold asked sweetly, acting as if he wasn’t in the process of unzipping your dress, just a few moments ago.

“Why good evening to you too, Merold! I’m having a great time, it’s been a while since the last Fragaria Ball, hasn’t it, Piano?” My Melody answered cheerfully.

“Mehhh Baaaa. Nn menhh a-baaa bahhh-h, baaa!!” My Sweet Piano answered (which roughly translates to: “Yes, it surely has been quite a while! Oh, but it feels like only yesterday when we were both crowned in this exact palace… oh what a day that was!”) dreamily, as she reminisced about the past.

However, before you could ask her what she meant by that, My Sweet Piano broke out of her daze, furrowing her eyebrows at you in concern, taking notice at how flushed you were.

“Baaa Baaa Mehhh?” (Are you alright Y/N? You look a little flushed)

“Thank you for worrying about me Lady Piano, but I’m— f-fine…!” You said, barely able to make out the last word as Merold decided at the last second to remove his hands from your back, and instead wrap his arms around your waist, successfully sending you into a frenzy. If the blush you had before was red, then the one you had now was crimson.

You could barely catch your breath, let alone stand up straight, as you felt your knees about to give out any moment from now.

“She’s fine, Lady Piano, just a little bit under the weather” Merold said, paying no mind to the frantic state you were in, as he subtly squeezed your hips mid sentence. You let out a squeal of embarrassment, desperately trying to hide your face behind his shoulders so the lord’s wouldn’t see just how flustered you were.

A part of you knew you shouldn’t give in, and that he was only trying to get a reaction out of you, but as he let out a loud laugh at your pitiful display, you knew you were in for a long night.

[hunterbunter3000]

sweetheart collects little trinkets she finds on the field and around base (sometimes steals things she likes, nothing big) to gives to the boys (and laswell), the boys treat them like collectibles and get pissy when someone tries to take them. they often show them off to each other to see what they have. the trinkets range from rocks/stones/pebbles, small keychain accessories, flowers etc. to bullet shells, bones, teeth??? etc.

sometimes they get handmade trinkets (where sweetheart makes something outta the trinkets she finds) price has a handmade fishhook made outta a broken safety pin, massive metallic bead and a metal feather earring stud,he put it on his hat and gets all happy when someone mentions it, soap got a bracelet made outta random beads and some string (maybe some bone), gaz has a pin made outta a bottle cap that she got from a night of drinking, the bottle cap is from gaz’ a fav alcohol drink, ghost got bones in a jar with a little skull ornament on the side, the list can go on, they are all impressed by her craftsmanship but are heavily concerned where she gets the more morbid and obscene materials from

the boys will defend their trinkets with their life and refuse to trade (St, gave me it, fuck off and get your own)

IM KICKING MY FEET RNNNN THIS IS SO ADORABLE 😍😍😭😭💖💕 I love how everyone came together and said "Yeah Sweetheart is a weird goblin and we love her" LMAOOO

May I add on to the trinkets just a bit--

The kleptomaniac collector and scavenger of things will find the best items on the battlefield istg-- everytime she kills the enemy, she always picks on their gear and scavenges around to find anything she likes. Soap and Roach honestly help her find things (like a coin with a bullet hole in it, or a finger. Maybe an ear or an antique cup from an abandoned home) and give to her so she can make something out of it

She gets so excited when she finds old flasks because she can fix em and give them to Cap or Graves (as much as she hates him, she always thinks of him) and she gets SUPER excited when Krueger comes back to the base after being out of the country and gives her rare findings (like a crystal bowl or an old pocket watch! He did steal a real diamond before for her, that was a fun day HA)

Laswell honestly looks forward to her crafts because her wife loves them (I have a headcannon that Laswell and her wife have emotionally adopted Sweetheart AHAHA) Sometimes her wife would give Laswell rocks and feathers that she found at home so Laswell can give it to Sweetheart (she's so giddy everytime)

Once the week is almost over, they have SSS (Sweetheart Scavenger Sundays) and the guys show what they have LOL Horangi would even FaceTime Rodolfo and Alejandro to show off what Sweetheart sent them (Alejandro has a necklace that's laced with silver and gold teeth and human finger bones, a handmade knife sheath made out of rabbit skin, and a tiny house made out of tank metal. Rodolfo has a carved wooden bunny, a lucky gecko tail key chain, and a pouch full of silver coins)

They love all of her gifts, even though they're weird and sketchy as fuck, but it's thoughtful! And don't touch them or ask to have it or they will give you the side eye

[ginjones]

Dreamling for the Holidays! Happy whatever you celebrate Everyone!

Christmas shopping, for Hob at least, is now a relaxed affair. It starts on the first Saturday of September, when damp leaves flutter in their burnished hues, and finishes in the zephyrs grey gales of November. This year, gift buying is punctuated with a stroll through Hyde Park, then coffee with Sarah and Marlow the dog; a brief scoot to the New Inn to fix rotas, then back to the flat for dinner and scotch and Byron’s Hebrew Melodies- ‘She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies’.

Christmas shopping is categorically not the cataclysmic disaster it was two years ago when, only a month into his fledgling power as Hope of the endless, he had naively sauntered down Oxford Street in December and was immediately bombarded with the hopes and wishes of several thousand people. From a cursory glance at their aura-space, it became clear that the majority were hellbent on receiving the most expensive version of whatever had piqued their Pavlovian response. It was all a bit sad really. A hopeful celebration reduced to consumer fodder.

 In the thrum of the crowded street, Hob had found himself omitting a quiet, internal light which searched vacantly for direction. It found none. Pulled between his function to obey the will of the people and disinclined to offer his gift to the undeserving, he had panicked, abandoned his shopping, and ran to the marginal safety of the nearest pub.

It was an experience not worth repeating.

He had seen Dream in these recent months. Usually on gilded evenings where they would walk the hillocks of Hamstead Heath, their pathway illuminated in the jewelling light of early autumn. They would talk about Hope and how Hob was feeling and Dream, in his somnolent tones would tell him stories about the heavy burden of purpose; the arduous confines of duty. Then, when Hob would place an arm around his shoulder and sigh warmly, when he would send a little of his hope out into the world around them, Dream would smile at the change in the air and talk about presence and creation and magic. And everything, once more, would seem like a gift.

It was on one of these walks that he got the idea, and the signature white box was the easiest to find.

He had found it on Ebay of all places. It wasn’t as expensive as he had imagined but expense, of course, had not been the point. The gift itself, had been harder to track down. He had found it at last in a rundown antique shop near Columbia Road. A tiny little thing, mottled with the faint impressions of distant fingerprints, its paintwork faded, its silver motif browning with age. He held it up to the light and every one of its stories solidified and sang out. It was perfect. In pencil drawn font, the price read £12.

The shop owner, Sebastian Rossi, had not been home to visit his sister in 8 years. She grew tomatoes in her garden and played backgammon on Sundays and called Sebastian ‘piccolo leone’ even after all these years. Hob smiled at Sebastian and gave him £50.

He had hidden the gift in his flat for weeks on the off-chance Dream might make a surprise visit. He did in fact, several times, and Hob had been mindful to divert his attentions away from the little white box and the gift it contained. Hob had found, much to his chagrin, that his daydreams were still very much on display despite his ascension to endless. It was however, much easier now to simply hope them away, when Hob could physically see the threads of thought forming. Pass a hand over the opalescent swirl and sweep it gently from the air, fold it up and tuck the remnants away in his pocket.

Gift giving was not a tradition when he was growing up. Gifts, or any items not made for the sheer purpose of living and surviving, were few and far between. Instead, gifts came in the form of the first blush of springtime, when winter frost melted, and wild garlic bloomed. Or in the first mouthfuls of summer fruits and plentiful game, that made children plumper and bellies full.

Between 1851 and 1858 Hob, fresh off a successful investment in Singer sewing machines, had rented a house in Regent’s Park and employed the services of two maids. He had enjoyed treating them to the fancier linens when Boxing Day came around and would dutifully send out for orders of pink lace and taffeta.

And now here it was finally. Christmas Eve 2022 and Dream was sitting in the warm light of his living room, the only entity in existence who could make a battered couch look like a regal throne. They had spent the last few hours curled up together, reading silently. Dream, a copy of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. Hob, The Black Tudors by Miranda Kaufmann.  It was a pastime they had both come to enjoy, especially as Hob’s power blossomed and their thoughts could interlink in a stream of words, allusion and metaphor. It was like reading two books at once although at first, the whole concept had been baffling. As the last page was turned, Hob placed the book down and went to fetch the gift from the cupboard in the kitchen. Returning back, he placed the little white box in Dream’s hands and curled up next to him.

“That’s for you.” Hob said, draping an arm over Dream’s shoulders and pulling him in closer.  “It’s just a little thing. I know you don’t celebrate Christmas or Yule or whatever, but I just thought you deserved something. So…”

“A gift for me?” Dream answered, in a soft tone that sounded like the ebb of the sea on a clear, crisp day. His finger traced over the golden embossment on the top of the box. “Pandora” he continued; confusion etched on his features for the briefest of seconds before Dream’s face lit up from within at the story beginning to form. He looked back to Hob and then, in a display of feigned dramatics, opened the box tentatively and peered inside. With careful movements, as if what lay inside was as precious as hope itself, Dream picked up the little dove ornament with its decorative band of silver stars and laid it gently in the palm of his hand.

“Got it in an antique shop.” Hob said “Like I said, it’s just a silly little thing but it’s supposed to represent…”

“You,” replied Dream in wonderment.  “The only thing that remained in Pandora’s box…”

“Was Hope.” Hob finished, smiling.  “The silver stars are you though. I wouldn’t be the man I am today, the…being I’m becoming without your guidance.”

They were quiet for several moments. Dream had closed the box carefully, almost reverently, and held it along with the ornament tight to his chest. The world outside would tell its own stories in the pale moonlight of Winter. December skies are often clear and somewhere, in the unfathomable stretch of night, mortal men would glimpse the celestial journey of a shooting star.

“It is perfect.” Said Dream.

I am too busy now to write much so I just wanted to go out with a bang and dedicate this to @moorishflower and @landwriter who are leagues above me in ability and storytelling. Thank you for all the amazing content that has inspired me to work harder and write better! x

[diamondluxesugar]

Gifts and Being Spoiled - Non Allowance

Let’s discuss Gifts.

I’m not talking about $30 for a pedicure or a Starbucks gift card and tumbler. I’m talking about the jewelry, the cars, the thousand dollar bags and shoes, the stocks and bonds, the gold and silver bars, kinds of gifts. Unless you’ve grown up accepting gifts or have made enough money to buy these things for yourself, it may make you feel uncomfortable. Who wouldn’t? We’re talking about receiving thousands of dollars worth of gifts.

Hell, this is something that even the most experienced SBs have had to work to become accustomed to, and even now gifts of a certain caliber can make a lady a little bit nervous. The easiest way to become comfortable with receiving luxury gifts is by desensitizing yourself to the cost.

Note: this is not desensitizing yourself to just start swiping your credit card for whatever purchase you want. This is to remove the feelings of doubt, shame, and insecurity that surround owning expensive items while those around you may not yet share in your wealth.

One exercise I did was write down every single thing I wanted to purchase. I broke it into the following categories: useful, nice, frivolous.

The useful items are things I would use on a consistent basis. Think computer, KitchenAid mixer, exercise bike, spa passes, etc. These will be more tailored to your own needs.

The nice items are things that don’t make or break any given experience, but would be fantastic to have and would increase my quality of life. Think multiple pairs of running shoes, a $300 outdoor hammock swing, new matching bedroom set, etc. Once again, these are more tailored to your needs.

The frivolous things are anything else. Think of the Chanel bags, the jewelry, shopping spree at Bloomingdale’s. Items that won’t make it break your experience of life.

Throw literally everything you can on this list and include the prices. When you see something on TikTok, add it to the list. When your coworker is talking about that sous vide, add it to the list. Big or small, just add it.

At this point you’ll have an idea of what you like and want, and how your SD can best gift you. Maybe you aren’t a clothing girl, but will go crazy in the homegoods section. Your gifting doesn’t have to look like mine, and that’s okay. This is your time to be spoiled!!

This brings me to my second thought: using your belongings.

It can be nerve-racking and ostracizing being the only girl with real gold in your ears. You may want to leave your good items in a safe or only wear them on special occasions.

Don’t.

Shoes and bags and jewelry and clothing is meant to be worn, not to sit in a dust bag for admiration. Your exercise bike is meant to be used. Running shoes are meant to be worn down. Don’t be afraid to use your gifts, because you’ll appreciate them more and will become used to using your most expensive items.

The last thing I would like to leave you ladies with is simple: Gratitude. Be grateful for the gifts that come into your life. Be grateful for the person providing the gifts. Be grateful for the journey of becoming a woman who has the capacity to receive. It’s okay fantastic to thank your SD/SBF for gifting you with something. In fact, most of these men are surrounded by people that use and take from them. Say thank you and mean it and watch how your experiences change.

Happy Sugaring ✨

[etheirysnoir]

lfrp — yiuno.

[ lore / writing / answers / gpose / aesthetics ] — Updated 2024.09.14

An adventurer by day, and an assassin by night—Yiuno Reine is an enigmatic Viera who walks along the blurred line of light and darkness. From the politically righteous Grand Companies to the unknown depths of the Eorzean underworld, Yiuno will work for anyone for the right price, especially if the job aligns with his personal agendas. However, the dangerous secrets that have slept within him for so long will become the key to the fate of the world… once more.

— basics.

NAME. Yiuno Reine. ALIASES. Yiune Rei (alter ego), Sigrid Rindr (birth name). AGE. Unknown; appears to be in his early twenties. RACE. Veena Viera. GENDER. Male; He/They (Yiuno). “Female”, She/They (Yiune). SHIP STATUS. Single, for now. ORIENTATION. Demiromantic Asexual. ALIGNMENT. Chaotic Neutral.

— appearance.

HAIR. Born silver-white, which he normally keeps short. Changes hair colors and styles often due to personal circumstances and line of work. As Yiune, he wears bobcut wigs. Dislikes long hair. EYES. Originally born with blue eyes, Yiuno now has heterochromia—blue right, green left—ever since the coup d’etat in Ul’dah. Has larger irises compared to common male Viera, with long eyelashes. Red markings accentuate the corner of his eyes, with a beauty spot under the left. HEIGHT. 6 fulms and 1 ilm (186.5 cm). PHYSIQUE. Considerably tall for a male Viera with a gracefully lithe frame. Sometimes mistaken as female even when he’s not in Yiune guise. No visible wrinkles, scars or tattoos. CLOTHING. Usually seen in an assortment of suits or military uniforms, consisting a combination of trench coats, shirts and ties, and dress shoes. For casual wear, Yiuno favors hoodies, high-neck sweaters, and survival boots. As Yiune, he may go for more daring designs, such as high-silt dresses or low-cut tops, and over-the-knee heel boots. ACCESSORY. Due to his circumstances and line of work, Yiuno often avoids having telltale items that may easily blow his covers. However, he does wear a leather-bound necklace with a wind-aspected crystal—a gift from his twin sister, Yiuna, with quite a story behind its origin.

— personal.

PROFESSIONS. To the public’s eye, an average adventurer and humble alchemist wandering from place to place. To those more acquainted with the arcane arts, a treasure hunter of ancient and dangerous artifacts. In the underworld, a ruthless assassin who pretends to be a beautiful ‘courtesan’ and seduces his targets into Death’s embrace. HOBBIES. Reading and research, people-watching, training (usually by himself, sometimes with others), traveling. LANGUAGES. Multilingual, due to his wandering lifestyle. Rumored to have knowledge in various ancient verses. RESIDENCE. Unknown; he has numerous safe houses scattered around Eorzea if he needs to stop by for a moment’s respite. BIRTHPLACE. Unknown; rumored to be somewhere in Blindfrost. RELIGION. Yiuno is an apatheist—he doesn’t give a shit about gods. PATRON DEITY. Halone, the Fury. He has to write something to register with the Adventurers’ Guild, and this was the first one that came to his mind. FEARS. “If I tell you… I will have to kill you.”

— relationships.

FAMILY. It’s complicated, and all will be revealed in due time. For now, Yiuno is searching for his missing twin sister, Yiuna. DISCIPLES. Sora Amariyo, Aisa Yoto (Lewis), Ilya Rehw-Jord (@captainqster). PETS. He owns an albino chocobo named Sören, which also acts as his constant traveling companion. He has a collection of minions he uses as scouts and diversions on his missions. He can also summon familiars that take on the shape of dark-feathered owls.

— traits.

extroverted / in between / introverted

disorganized / in between / organized

opinionated / in between / receptive

calm / in between / anxious

disagreeable / in between / agreeable

cautious / in between / reckless

patient / in between / impatient

outspoken / in between / reserved

leader / in between / follower

sympathetic / in between / apathetic

optimistic / in between / pessimistic

traditional / in between / modern

hardworking / in between / lazy

cultured / in between / uncultured

loyal / in between / disloyal

faithful / in between / unfaithful

— plots & hooks.

SHARLAYAN.

Krile Baldesion. One of Yiuno’s regular clients, who often calls upon his expertise as a treasure hunter and curse breaker both, to handle jobs deem too dangerous for any gleaners to tackle. In exchange for his assistance, Yiuno exploits Krile’s position as an esteemed Sharlayan scholar to gain access to the Noumenon, where he can conduct his own research for the information he seeks. The question is: what is he looking for amongst the dusty, ancient grimoires of forgotten past?

ARCANE HUNTER.

Yayake Yake. Though a dutiful receptionist who works at the Thaumaturges’ Guild, this seemingly polite Dunesfolk has a sharp sense for those with great potential for arcane arts. She has tried and failed to recruit Yiuno to join the guild on countless occasions, with only requests in reclaiming artifacts of the black to seduce the unwilling man back to Ul’dah each time. While this seems like an inconspicuous relationship, there is definitely more than meets the eye. Why does Yayake single out Yiuno from amongst numerous promising candidates of black magic? Why does she have such high regards for his talent and skill? What else does she know about this brooding Viera—and what is she hiding about him?

ANCIENT CITIES.

Remnants of the Great Flood. Though Yiuno would often introduce himself as a mere treasure hunter when prompted on his martial prowess, if one is observant enough to pick up the signs, they would notice that some things just don’t add up. Most of Yiuno’s regular clients have affiliations with guilds of arcane arts. He’s usually tasked to find and reclaim ancient artifacts from fallen civilizations known for their knowledge in magic. He has a curious familiarity with the three factions in the Magi War: the Floating City of Nym, the Weeping City of Mhach, and the Lost City of Amdapor. Just what kind of connections did Yiuno have with the Sixth Umbral Calamity?

DUALITY.

An enigma of many faces. Many adventurers would’ve dipped a toe or two into the Eozean underworld during their long journeys; those enticed by the promise to fulfill their desires would exchange their virtues for riches, sinking themselves into the violent hellscape beneath the façade of peace and prosperity. Toxic masculinity ruled this chaotic world with brute strength, while they exploit femininity to charge their own libido. However, not all women are willing to bow down to such prejudiced savagery—Yiune Rei is an assassin who seduces her male targets with her beauty before she seals their fate in the silence of the night (or so the rumors say). Very few would live to learn about the shocking truth of this graceful lady of death… for “she” is actually a man under the glamorous mask. What compels him to exact his own brand of justice in such an unorthodox way? Is there more to this curious killing spree under the bleeding moon of Etheirys?

NOT ON THIS LIST? More ideas can be found in this post, Contacts Wanted.

— ooc info.

18+, NO MINORS.

Yiuno’s lore contains very dark and mature themes, and these are crucial in his characterization and development as a person. On the same note, I’m also not keen to work with adults who are sensitive to various triggers, to err on the side of safety. I’m a very busy person, and my empathy for others is fairly limited after a long and stressful work day.

NO IN-GAME RP.

I have a demanding full-time job and I live in the JST (GMT+9) time-zone. Aside from schedule restrictions, I mainly play on Japan DCs due to latency issues. It’s difficult for me to arrange in-game meetups, and I’m too busy with real life to manage alts on other data centers. I’m also uncomfortable with many aspects of in-game roleplaying, which I find them too stressful and not fun to deal with.

NOVEL-STYLE WRITING.

Discord or Google Docs are most preferred. Also open to other long-form writing platforms suggestions and I’m happy to give them a try. That being said… I don’t expect my partners to be a bookworm as much as I am, but please have the basic courtesy to provide enough content in your IC replies to keep the story moving. Neither Yiuno nor I can read minds; metagaming is frowned upon in roleplays, and I’m sure we both want the collaboration to be a fun and fruitful experience.

PATIENCE IS A MUST.

I am unable to respond immediately due to time-zone differences. Your active time is my working or sleeping hours, and vice versa. Real-life commitments take priority over a shared hobby, which is a rule I will respect you for and expect the same in return. I’d need some time to come up with quality replies, too.

DO NOT MIX IC & OOC.

While I’m willing to impart bits and pieces of Yiuno’s backstory for the purpose of planning ahead in OOC discussions, it should be universally understood that you should never mix OOC knowledge with IC development without my explicit permission. Always keep communication channels open—not only to make sure everyone is on the same page with the RP, but also to build good rapport along the way.

NEED MORE INFO? Do check out tags related to Yiuno (included in the beginning of this post) to get a better feel of this character before coming to me.

INTERESTED? You may contact me via Tumblr DM for further discussions. Discord handler will only be given to those who are genuinely keen to enter this collaborative effort together.