#away from strategies ( ooc )

[manufactoredxbyxdesign]

[Worst match I ever played in DBD was the one where a Rebecca aggressively chased my STARS Wesker around the map so hard I temporarily forgot I was the fucking killer]

[nanamiskentos]

MY STRATEGY ✤ 呪術廻戦

SYN. ➤ You're a man-eater, and he's just a light snack. A.K.A how you're just driving these sorcerers wild. ૮ • ﻌ - ა

𝐉𝐉𝐊 ➤ Getō, Sukuna, Chōsō, Tōji, Hiromi, Naoya, Gojō, Kashimo

cw ─ MDNI. afab!reader, màting préss, oràl (m), food play (?), drunk séx, semi-public séx, bàckshots, breéding kínk, proposals, créampié, bathtub séx, jealousy, wall séx, ooc naoya, reader is called a slút, cowgírl, pràise kink, big díck gojo, face sítting, oràl (f), múnching

wc. tba

呪術廻戦 NOTE ( author says ) someone requested a jealous!naoya fic so i just incorporated it in this 😭 and as a returned reward for me, i decided to add kashimo so we actually won 😁

➤ GETO SUGURU

"Fuckin' soaking all over me, darling. I'm really g-gonna' –"

Frankly, much of this evening has become a blur for Geto but he can faintly remember seething at those useless cunts over at the temple, and at the stack of paperwork piling up on his desk (yeah, apparently running a cult involves a lotta' bureaucracy).

He had thrown aside the heavy violet gojō-kesa, rummaging away for a faded, dark hoodie and thick cargo pants. He remembers knocking at the door of your apartment, and doing his best not to fall to his knees when you sweetly answered the door, pulling him in by the hand.

And somehow, between that blurry haze and him desperately kissing his girlfriend like his very life depended on it, Geto had found himself a happy, happy man, with your pretty ankles twitching around his shoulders. Pressing deeper into you, so your thighs were knocked straight up against your chest — pressing right into the fat of your tits as he slapped his hips right up against yours in the meanest mating press possible.

Your hands are in the mood to wonder too, it seems. Trembling ever so slightly for the surefire hits that Geto delivers when his rummaging, girthy cock thwacks! into you, over and over.

But your nails are running over the traditional dragon design that licks and curls up his left arm, trailing over his upper bicep where the ink tapers off over his back. A tattoo, something from his early days, often hidden underneath the draping robes he dons at the temple.

"Thaaat's my good girl," Geto murmurs, running his tongue behind his teeth, jostling himself closer to you so he could sip at your pretty mouth once more. Slick strands of saliva glistening between your lower lip and his, violet eyes narrowed as he feels your pussy clench around him in such a dizzying way.

"M-missed you so bad, Sugu', all day." You're whining, cunt twitching and quivering, releasing dribbling puddles of slick all over the fresh bedsheets.

Geto just chuckles, nipping his teeth over the juncture of your collarbone, leaving a faint, bruised mark that is certain to bloom into pretty petals, "I know, think ya' might have missed me jus' a bit too m-much, hmm?" Dipping a fat thumb to roll at your clit, "Pretty pussy was already sticky n' wet for me when I got here."

How sweet. Geto's practically swabbing every inch of your insides with his cock, and yet, the mere mention of him knowing about your lovely fingers spreading yourself apart and playing with yourself has you flushing so beautifully. God, Geto thinks to himself, if he doesn't marry you, he might really just die.

"Look at ya', wish I could take a photo," Geto murmurs, and you can hear just how much he truly does love you. Your (mildly suspicious) enigmatic boyfriend with his titan-steel thighs, and choppy dark hair is whispering sweet nothings in your ears, professions of loves that you know will make him fluster and blush all the more sweetly later on, "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen in m' whole life."

Raking your nails past the hypnotising dragon tattoo, to claw at his rippling biceps. Crimson lines blooming in your wake, as crescent edges leave their mark in a way that makes Geto groan. "Gonna' cum for me, baby? Can f-feel ya' sucking me up, god."

The rhythmic clenches of your pussy, the sheer, powerful arc of clear fluid spraying over Geto's groin and drenching his cock are enough to make the man moan, loudly, and not giving a single fuck at who hears. He's only burying himself further into you, driving himself right home with each spattering drivel and swivel of his hips into your glorious heat.

"Good g-girl, takin' it all for m' like a champ."

➤ RYOMEN SUKUNA

"What the fuck has gotten into you? Been in the cellars again, have we? Now, what did I say about that, eh?"

It's rare to hear Sukuna so bewildered, but the fact that the King of Curses is allowing you to manhandle him, to push his beefy, four-arm form into your private chambers is sign enough that he's indulging you.

"Wanna' kiss you, 'Kuna." You murmur, catching your husband's faint look of surprise, russet eyes widening as you yank his shoulders down. Planting your lips to his, muffling whatever snarky comment was sure to leave his fanged mouth, "Didn't like how she was looking at you."

Sukuna pulls back, if only to briefly trace his tongue along the side of your neck, down those fine crimson robes he so loved to see you in, "Who?"

"That courtesan." You shudder as gleaming fangs nip at your soft skin, shoving Sukuna closer towards the plush, vast expanse of your shared bed, "She was all over you, 'Kuna."

"Ah, that's what this is. My lil' Queen is jealous," Sukuna's back hitting the mattress, looking far too priggish and self-satisfied with your envy, "They're courtesans, brat. They pour our wine, flitter around like gnats, it's all a part o' the job description."

And because Sukuna truly can't resist himself, riling you up even further, "Besides, are you really surprised they're makin' stupid eyes at me, heh? I mean, look at me, I'm allll muscle and – mmph!"

In the short time that Sukuna took to gas himself up and rile up his pretty wife, you had already managed to snake your hands into the loose waistband of his wide pants. Clawing the fabric down absurdly broad, muscled thighs and undoing the thick, black knot holding his garments together.

A gentle peck on the upper-stacked of his two sculpted cocks has Sukuna suddenly glaring right down at you. All four eyes suddenly glazing over, "This is the game you wanna' play, brat? Really? 'Cause I can – fuck!"

You're pressing the flat of your tongue, the textured muscle right against the thick vein that runs along the underside of his absurdly long, girthy shaft. Ensuring that the second of his cocks doesn't feel left out, beginning to pump it slowly in the other hand.

"S-shut up, and let me do this." You're muffling around the smooth, taut skin at the very tip, beaming red and weeping the more you lave at it, "Wanna' taste you, 'Kuna."

"Heh, if I ever say no to that . . there's a knife in that wooden chest over there. I'd want you to use that on me, 'cause I'd hafta' be out of my damned mind to —"

There's a faint frazzled jump, a whine, colouring Sukuna's tone and you can tell that he's doing his best to muffle the sound. Determined to keep at least some dignity for himself, dark claws come to settle in your hair. Keeping that same steady pace to bob your pre-stained mouth up and down on the upper of the two shafts.

"Ouh, I was gonna' send those courtesans away, you k-know, if they were makin' my wife upset," Sukuna snickers, both cocks engorged enough that you really have to put in an effort to stretch both your hand and your mouth over them, "But if t-this is what I get outta' it, then they might jus' stay."

You glide your mouth away from Sukuna's cock with a loud pop! Giving your husband an unimpressed stare as he flounders, scowling, "Okay, m' sending them away. Was o-only a joke."

You can taste salty beads sinking into your tongue, and if you angle your head just right, you can press your head down enough for blush-pink hairs to tickle at your nose. The scent of him, the taste, the feeling of his hot n' heavy inches weighing on your tongue — you can feel a hot pulse beginning to jump up between your legs.

When it rains, it pours. When Sukuna climaxes, it. . also pours.

You know that there is no way you could possible envelop that much of his seed, but you lick gently at the spurting ropes of white, thick and opaque release. Feeling splatters paint all over your chin, your chest and the edges of those gorgeous robes Sukuna gifted you for your name-day.

"Wanna' climb on, brat?" Sukuna's peering down at you, and you can take some satisfaction in the flustered blush that he is furiously trying to hide, lolling his head away from your line of sight to little avail, "Still got another cock if ya' wanna ride. Gotta' fill ya' up so the whole estate can know that what my wife wants, she gets."

➤ CHOSO KAMO

Yeah, so introducing Choso to the idea of Friday night drinking? Probably not your most. . strategic decision. But after a gruelling day of training, and an even more excruciating day of self-restraint and not throwing yourself immediately at your boyfriend, you figured a good bottle of red, two glasses and a quiet evening on the wooden deck were well-earned.

So, now, here you are, perched in his lap, watching that wine-kissed flush bloom across his pale, clammy cheeks. His hazel eyes roam over you, shy, as berry-red stains his lips, and you lean in to sip the taste right from your favourite source.

Oh, and you're both utterly naked, training robes discarded in crumpled piles on the outdoor deck. Normally, you'd be a bit concerned that someone could turn the corner and find you perched over Choso's bare thighs, but the hour has grown late and you're on the far end of campus.

Thus, there's only one other massive factor to really consider here. And massive, well, that's an understatement of the century.

Choso's surprisingly relaxed like this, milky thighs flexing as he props you up, pulling you closer to him, but what really grabs your attention is the gleaming, red shaft that must be agonising by now, prodding right at your core. Right where you're balanced over the fat tip.

"No-one is gonna' walk past right?" Choso's blinking, dark lashes so long that they almost brush his lower brow as he flutters his eyes up.

You giggle, tilting the wine glass in your hand so more wine spills over the rim, dribbling down your bare form. And Choso, ever the greedy one, follows the slow trickle, laving his searing lips over your skin, right down your collarbone and over your breasts to lick up every last drop.

"Nah, and if there is gonna' be anyone, it'd be like. . a curse that got past the curtain." You're hiccuping, tracing faint lines over the edge of Choso's jaw, "And we'd have bigger problems anyway."

Your eyes are trailing downwards, to the curl of dampened, dark hair right over the base of his thick cock, and Choso scoffs, "You're about to say something lecherous, aren't you?"

"Wanna' give me a bigger problem, then, Cho' ?" Batting your lashes ridiculously at him, but even the half-curse can't resist how his heart is pounding, leaning in to plant a sweet curse on your lips.

"Are you sure?" Choso's gentle hands rolling over your spine, softly ghosting over your bare back that pebbles in the cool night air. Mahogany air tickling at your cheek as he situates large, soft palms over your waist. Swivelling you around so his impressively carved line of abdominal muscles are pressed against your back, and his breath ghosts are your ear.

"Gonna' be a biiiig stretch, sweet thing." Choso murmurs, planting a tender kiss at the nape of your neck, and god, he was not joking for the sheer girth often manages to catch you unaware each time.

But he's eager to help out, thick fingertips trailing over you to paw at your slick folds, spreading them apart even wider. He's murmuring something and you strain to here it, but you think that he's gasping, "I think I'm gonna' cum. Early, again."

You giggle, knowing that he flushes a vibrant shade of strawberry-red each time that he busts his load in you this early. For that faint, mere kiss of your arousal and your cunt's pretty walls against his cock is enough to make the half-curse shudder and swear as he spills glossy fillings right up in you.

"It's okay, Cho', you can – inside, you know."

"R-really, lovely? Inside, yeah?" Choso doesn't need further encouragement because he's already groaning, and you're already feeling wads of buttery cum drip down your thighs, feeling your hips twitch and shudder as the half-curse is determined to make up for this. Running his fingers along the side of your clit in a determined V-line, flicking gently over the swollen nub.

You're dazed, feeling the sudden build-up from your own orgasm creep up over you. The wine going straight to your head and making every cell in your body so tingly, and sensitive.

Watching with faint fascination at how fucking filthy this all is, the sopping leak of Choso's creamy cum dribbling out from under you, mingling with the blood-red drizzle of the wine still plastered to your thigh. A faint, pale shade of pink that has you aching to swipe your fingers through it, bringing it to your lips. And it has Choso groaning, cock hardening alll over again in you.

"You're going to be the death of me, sweet thing."

➤ TOJI FUSHIGURO

"Yeahh, arch ya' back for me like that, beautiful."

And fuck, Toji swears that if he had not been ass-naked, and there had been a ring in his back pocket right now, he would have whipped it out to propose to you, right then and there. Because, god, he's so truly in love with you, and the way that your pussy is a killer.

Capable of rendering an assassin dumbstruck, slack-jawed as he does his best to attach himself to reality once more. But all he can feel is the tight slick of your cunt clenching once more around him, the plush of your ass bouncing back to meet the base of his wide cock. Skin slapping so filthy and sticky against the trail of dark hair pattering down his abdomen.

Two wide palms searing into your skin, scooping him right up so his deliciously long cock can curve and glide right through your pussy. Bullseye! Right onto that sweet spot that makes you keen, and claw and whine, "Toji – right there, fillin' me up so good."

And you always know the right things to say because that rough, lil' scar on the upper corner of Toji's mouth is twitching, fighting off the dopey, love-struck grin that plasters itself on his face. Fighting the rising blush that threatens to make itself visible on his back, neck and ears.

He's a grown man, for fuck's sake! But never has he ever felt something so disarmingly charming and incredible as this, caging you in his arms as he pounds his hips into you, slap! slap! slap!

"We should get m-married, right? Right, doll?"

Toji doesn't even realise what he's babbling, too intent on feeling every inch of your walls, every sticky divot that he can press his inches into but god, he means every word that's falling from his slack lips, "M-marry me, doll. Gon' get ya' a diamond ring, anything ya' ask for, just say the word to ol' Toji here."

At first, the buzzing in his ears is so loud, so goddamn obnoxious that he cannot make out what droopy, muffled words are falling from your glossy, beautiful lips. But he strains his ears to catch them over the sound of his hips pistoning themselves against your skin, strands of translucent gloss stringing and snapping.

"W-wanna marry you too, Toji!"

For all of Toji's hard work in the sweltering gyms in the shitty basement of his apartment complex, his vast, muscular arms suddenly lose their strength. Everything in his broad, heavenly carved body turning into jitters, heart dangerously leaping up into his throat at just how much he loves you.

There, he said it. And now, he thinks he'll never be able to stop.

Emerald eyes not even sure where to focus on, the bounce of your tits that he can spy from underneath your glorious arch, the soft bounce of your ass against him, or the beautiful curve of your spine, "Loveee ya' doll, gonna' give you the whole package, I swear."

Each phrase puncuated by the heavy thwack! of his weeping tip against your cervix, pressing right up against where he's hoping his seed will take, "Gonna' make ya' my wife, my gorgeous wife." Sweeping a muscled arm beneath you to find your sensitive clit, pressing right at the sensitive bud, "Gonna' fill this pretty pussy up so good, wanna' see you allll round and g-glowing for me."

"Fuck, I'll even pay that s-shitty clan a visit, eh? Make 'em hand over the family ring, just so I can see it on ya' finger." God knows that those little shits don't need it, that pretty band of emerald that Toji can already see in his mind's eye, gleaming on your ring finger as he presses gentle kisses to your hand.

The very vision of you with your belly round, gleaming like the fuckin' sun itself, has Toji shuddering, planting his knees further into the mattress so he can jostle you even closer for a good fill. His wife, yeah, she'll get only the best.

Groaning as he feels wrinkled skin tighten, before thick ropes of sloppy, pearly cum shoot out from his angry tip. Overflowing in droves as he continues to buck his hips against yours, watching as your squelchy, puffy folds take up every single drop.

"I'm all yours, doll. I mean it."

➤ HIROMI HIGURUMA

"This was what you wanted . . angel?" Your husband coos, spreading his thick thighs (deliciously dusted with fine, dark hair) further apart, so you can slot comfortably in-between. So you can press your naked back to his bare chest, letting the warm water of the tub gently soothe that miserable ache in your bones.

"Mhm." You sigh, letting your head rest back against glistening, creamy skin, "Been so long, 'Romi. You're always soo busy with work, baby."

The man behind you sighs, rubbing gentle hands down your pebbled arms, pressing soft and loving kisses to your neck, "I know, and m' sorry. Wish we could find more time like this, my love."

You can hear the apologetic tone in his voice, frowning at the idea that he must believe that you're truly upset with him, your beautiful and wide-eyed husband, "I'm jus' glad you're now, and. . .uh." You shift back slightly, hoping that he gets the hint from where you're pressing up against him.

"Aw, angel's all needy now?" Hiromi laughs against the shell of your ear, "Ah, I shoulda' known you were gonna' start squirming like this. Gorgeous lil' thing."

You feel his large hands wrap around you, exploring and wandering your chest. Pinching, flicking and softly caressing the sensitive skin, his large nose brushing against your neck, "Bet you want me to go even lower, am I right?"

"Please."

Your husband never lets you down, never leaves you dissatisfied, for his quick fingers are already dancing over your abdomen before dipping in between your legs. You squeal at the sudden contact, the damp pads of his thick fingers brushing against your folds, and the water lurches in the wide tub.

"Careful, now. Otherwise, we're gonna' have to clean up the mess after," Hiromi chuckles, but he seems just as eager to let his fingers explore you. To play you masterfully, nipping at every nook and cranny of where you're most sensitive.

He's even gasping in faux-surprise, baritone chuckle giving way to a marvelled rasp, "And so wet already? Barely even touched ya', and your pretty cunt's all slippery for me."

"What can I say?" You slick back a little against his chest, head falling lower as you squirm to help him find the right angle, "It's never as good when I do it with m-myself."

Hiromi's sudden grunt amuses you, your stoic and clever lover suddenly envious from the mere mention of him missing the sight of you pleasuring yourself, "Always gotta' play some games, don't you, angel?"

He doesn't wait for your stuttering response, a wide finger already breaching past your glossy entrance, brushing against your inner walls as heat licks greedily at your groin, "S-soo good already, baby."

"Jus' be patient, and let me do more," Hiromi mutters, his lips pressing to the juncture of your neck. Another finger joining the first, your walls clenching down on the welcome intrusion. He begins to set a steady pace, pistoning the digits in and out, and again, in and out of your pussy in a way that makes breathy whines fall from your open lips.

"Gorgeous." And it's his honest, love-struck praise that makes you flush, a rough thumb brushing over your needy clit, gentle swipe proving that sometimes less is more, "Spread 'em a bit wider for me, love."

And you comply, thighs shifting wider, muscles trembling with the bulk of Hiromi's fingers smearing your slick arousal back and forth over your folds. A soft and breathless whimper escaping as the pleasurable ache deepens, "Wha –"

The trembling, excited question beginning to fall from your lips, just as Hiromi slips his fingers out of you, prompting a whine that's quickly silenced by him pressing the sweetened digits past your lips, "Had to stretch m' wife out there, now taste."

You gasp around his fingers, feeling something far heavier, and wider prod at your entrance from behind, keening as Hiromi lifts you ever so slightly higher so the flushed mushroom-tip of his cock can easily slip into your cunt, curving deliciously up into your pussy.

So perfectly snug as your husband stifles a loud moan, bucking his hips up, water pooling over the edges of the bathtub, "We're gonna' be making that m-mess, angel, so hold on."

➤ NAOYA ZEN'IN

Oh, you are so in for it now. For you've never seen your petulant husband like this, never this riled up, not with such a wild and burning edge. The short walk from the feast hall to your private chambers felt like a blur as he hadn't even spared a second glance back, dragging you from your seat on the finely-woven tatami mats.

"Tch', keep up," Naoya's snapping, golden eyes darkened with a heavy haze that you suspect the sake may have played a role in. His long, dark lashes flicker against flushed, peachy cheeks as Naoya grips your wrist with a hand that's searingly warm.

He doesn't even glance back to see if anyone still lingers in the dim hallways, no, he does not even care. And Naoya's not quite sure why you suddenly do, "Oh, so now you wanna' see if someone's around? Didn't care sooo much when you were practically draped over that man's lap like a slut, right?"

One hand roughly swinging the screen door open, and another stroking over your pulse, pushing you in. And well. . you would be lying if you said that this didn't fill you with some form of glee. That this hadn't all been a part of your plan for the evening to provoke the Zen'in heir, to get some reaction from your husband,

But god, you certainly had not expected this. Hadn't expected Naoya to press the full weight of his toned form against yours, to have you right up there against the wall with no shame. His clever hands are skimming under your verdant robes to scoop strands of slick, heavy arousal between thin fingers, all while sharp fangs nip at the shell of your ear.

"So, my wife was just that desperate for attention. . wasn't she?" Naoya's scoffing, batting amber eyes at you as his tone takes on a bratty, raspy pitch, he sounds ruined. "Were ya' just really so needy t be fucked, like this? Couldn't even wait 'till the feast was over, and now m' gonna' have to explain this to everyone, yeah?"

Naoya's always oddly chatty when he's running his hands over you, mouth running wild and desperate. His fingers have torn away beautiful, new emerald-green silk robes, pinching and tweaking your swollen clit between clipped nails. Scoffing and snickering when you buck your hips into him, whining his name.

"Ha! As if m' gonna' let you have this easy, you think I'm just gonna' give you my cock now, like you weren't just whorin' yourself allll over that sorcerer's lap – heh, he must've been thinking it was all the wine." Naoya snarls, already tugging at his own dark haori, and the thin waistband of his pants, "He should have asked me then, I coulda' told him just how cock-drunk my wife gets when she's lookin' for my attention."

What your husband has lacked for in wide girth, he makes up for in length, and he takes some (really fucking annoying) egotistical pride in knowing how to wield those inches. He's using his warm hands to hold your thigh up — to run the angry, pink tip down your dewy cunt. Hissing when the tip snaps on your weeping entrance.

The first few inches has you keening into him, not caring about how this is the man that you profess to love on some days, and vow to poison with arsenic on others.

Naoya's patting your cheek with short taps of his manicured hands, bullying his cock further into you, "Hey, wifey. Pay attention now, look d-down. This is what ya' wanted, right?"

And you do look down, gulping at the sight. His veined cock being enveloped by your swollen, puffy folds. And each time that your husband teases and draws his cock out in heavy strokes, well, it comes out glistening and creamy. And it's clear that Naoya is amused by your dazed giggles and sighs, but even he isn't above the sheer pleasure that your pussy gives him, shaking his head of sandy, soft hair.

"Ouh, take a look at that, she's l-loud tonight, isn't she?"

And you profusely flush, hearing the pap! pap! pap! echo through your quarters, the slick thwacks! of his cock sliding in and out of your heat as you mewl. And Naoya almost, just almost, looks fond of you, his wife, pressing a shaking thumb to the pad of your lower lip, pressing down as you nip sharp teeth around flesh.

"Pretty, p-pretty lady," Naoya babbles out, probably without even realises that he's paid you an accidental compliment, loose strands of flaxen hair brushing against his forehead as he leans in to press a filthy kiss to your lips, "Wanna' go one more time on the bed? O-or how 'bout the hallway? Everyone can hear how I make ya' scream."

➤ GOJO SATORU

"Oouh, you just make everything so much better for me, baby." Gojo's laugh rumbles from his bare chest, snowy lashes fluttering over creamy, flushed skin as he presses his back further into the plus mattress.

You sigh, and it's a happy, content sound that makes something awfully soft settle in Gojo's chest. You're pressing soft kisses to his reddened, twitching mouth, melding yourself to his lips.

"Now, c'mon, off!" You tug at the black silk wrapped around his eyes, curling your fingers into the smooth fabric to just yank it down. Your eyes meeting Gojo's lazy, pleased gaze as you do. He's just so smug like this, knowing that he's got you naked in his arms. You can see his jewel-blue stare appreciatively run over your bare form, his favourite sight in the entire world. A veiny hand pulling at the curve of your ass, pushing you further on top of your fiancé.

"And to think I was in such a bad mood earlier, baby," Gojo murmurs, tapping his muscular thighs. A silent indication for you to hop right on, hovering your dripping core right over his angry, weeping tip. "Thought I was gonna' have the worst day ever, the higher-ups fuckin' with me and all. But how could I ever forget m' pretty baby waiting at home?" Each sentence delivered with a soppy, sweet kiss to your smiling lips.

"Thaaaaat's it, there we go," Gojo snicker as you slowly lower yourself over his considerable, fat inches. And the strongest is just so amused, watching you bite your kiss-stung lips, struggling to keep the wanton moans in, but you're not letting him off that easy. For the second, the very second that your hips meet the base of his groin, slick seeping into that thatch of white curls, you're giving him a thick squeeze.

"F-fuck!" Gojo wheezes, white strands of hair falling back against the pillow as he does his absolute best to not lose the last semblance of iron composure. But the way your gorgeous, tight cunt is wrapping him good, he fears the game is long over before it even began.

Yeah, he considers himself a pretty lucky man.

"Ya' good, 'Toru?" You giggle, threading your fingers through tousled, frosty strands, feeling Gojo practically purr from underneath you. He's cracking a stormy eye open, pressing his mouth into a thin line, "Yeah, girl. Never been b-better."

See, Gojo Satoru was a. . .practical man. Well, no, scratch that. He was the strongest, but when faced with your dizzying, maddening grip — he feared that there was no power or technique on this planet that would be able to help him.

"Have you gotten bigger, 'Toru?" You plant your shaking hands on his broad chest, nose scrunching as you stifled a weak sniffle at the sheer magnitude of the delicious stretch. Trying to keep your head smart on your shoulders, but god, it's just soo difficult when you can feel every veined-inch throb and pulsate in the gummy walls of your pussy, his second-favourite girl.

Gojo just squeezes his eyes shut, knowing that if he were to crack cerulean eyes wide open, the sorcerer would immediately bust a fat load at the sight of his wife's naked form, and that's not to mention the magnetic pull of his gaze to your chest. He's gasping as you begin rocking forward, setting your own comfortable pace that already has him seeing stars, "Wha', bigger?"

"Yeah, s-so much bigger, each time – each time, I swear." You're mewling, words tumbling right into each other. And that, that mere sight of you struggling to accomodate to wide girth of him. . .well, that is almost enough to have Gojo busting a thick wad of seed into you.

Shaking fingers come to pinch at the fat of your ass, gently tapping it for good measure, "Don't say stuff like that, wifey. M' already s-sensitive." Gojo's huffing, admiring the way that you roll those killer hips faster now, gliding around his thick cock in gooey, filthy circles, and taking every inch of him so well.

You laugh in uneven, frayed bursts — trailing a single finger down the handsome line of his jaw, feeling his pulse jump underneath for he's so in love. "So much better than that stupid m-meeting, right?" Arching your back just a little more on top fo him, so the probing curve of his cock is brushing gentle kisses on your insides, swabbing over that rough patch of nerves that has you suddenly gasping and keening.

Gojo threads a quivering hand at the nape of your neck, so you can feel the cool band of his wedding ring brush at your skin. Bringing you down for a messy kiss, all so sloppy and desperate, "Y-yeah, so glad I left early, heh. Just knew I was needed here, c'mon, baby. Arch for me a b-bit more."

He feels dizzy, lightheaded and he know he must look a whorish mess. His staff uniform already scattered somewhere on the floor, having been discarded in a desperate trail on your way to bed. Dark blindfold having slipped under his face, and ice-white hair dishevelled in raked tendrils. Sticky strands of his pre-cum and your glossy arousal pulling away with each slap! slap! slap! of your pelvis against your hips.

"Think ya' can go a bit f-faster, baby?" Gojo runs his large, warm hands over your chest. Cupping your tits with calloused palms, and pinching them in a way that makes you squeal, "Or how 'bout this? Just move back a lil', yeah, up. So I can feel you here."

Here being in-between your thighs slapping against his, your swollen clit absolutely aching for his attention. And Gojo, duly, delivers. Rubbing furious, tight circles over where you needed the most, sending you hurtling head first into a dazzling orgasm that has you shaking in his beefy, muscled arms.

The rapid, pulsing clenches of your pussy have Gojo seeing visions of wedding vows and golden rings, amplified only by how his own ground-shaking orgasm washes over him and runs him senseless, your tight walls milking him dry for all he's worth.

Thick, glossy ropes of white seed shooting out of his tip, steaming and searing as they fill you right up, pressed right up against your cervix. And in such greedy volumes too, for you're leaking sticky cream all over your aching, shaking thighs.

"You should keep going, sweets, ride m-me as much as ya' can," Gojo gasps out, feeling the overstimulated sensation of your cunt clenching as you writhe on top of him, "If you can make me cry, m' gonna' marry you tomorrow."

➤ HAJIME KASHIMO

". . .What did you just say?" You gape at the teal-haired sorcerer, eyes wide as Kashimo suddenly seems to find the floor far more interesting than you. His heel dragging against the ground, scuffing the pristine white of his boot.

Kashimo just clears his throat — once, twice, then pointedly looks anywhere but you. How adorable, you think, watching as he turns away from you, tugging his cream martial robes apart. "Do not make me say it again, dove."

"Baby, if I didn't hear you right the first time, then. . ."

"Just sit on my face, please."

You're grinning, far too sweetly for the medieval sorcerer to keep his cool, "Say less, 'Jime." Almost cooing at the vibrant red flush climbing up Kashimo's back.

It's a once-in-a-blue moon spectacle, the bratty warrior genuinely conceding defeat for his wants. No smug, fanged grin nor insufferable gloating. So, as you watch him practically collapse onto your bed, limbs sprawled and cyan hair pooling around his head in a tangled mess, you clench your thighs subconsciously, already feeling a bit light-headed.

There's a gangly lurch in your steps, a sway to your balance as you're peeling your panties away from damp thighs. Stepping out of your underwear so you can inch just a bit closer, watching as Kashimo's eyes widen. Turquoise eyes, the same disconcerting shade as his glossy hair, widen — glazing over with something far more familiar to you. The same look in Kashimo's eyes when there's a battle that he has to win, and this endeavour warrants no less ambition in him.

"Come here, girl, let me – ouh," Kashimo's voice has hardened into a needy rasp, his eyes not leaving your mound even once, pupils trailing after a single droplet of slick tearing down your thigh. He's hastily slamming his arms forward, wrapping your thighs up in his tight hold.

Laving his sharp, pink tongue over that droplet and groaning, eyes fluttering shut for a split second before he's mouthing soft kisses over the gentle, plush flesh. Catching any more stray strands of slick before the main meal.

But there's a very slight hesitation in your movements, the faintest uncertainty as you hover with aching muscles over Kashimo's torso. Gnawing on your lower lip, contemplating whether you should actually —

"What's wrong, little dove?" Kashimo frowns, scarred hands reaching out to hungrily envelop your thighs, dragging your sopping cunt closer to his chin.

"Are you sure you want me to, uh, –" You're gesturing to his face, trying to convey that you're suddenly having second thoughts about suffocating the sorcerer with thighs around his head, and Kashimo seems to glean your thoughts, clicking his tongue, "Silly, aren't you? Jus' sit, I have you."

"What if you don't want to – . ."

It is a rare thing to see Kashimo smile, a genuine grin without the promise of bloodshed or storms afterwards, but he's snickering now, eyes hazed over with an even rarer fondness. Sharp, toothy fangs peaking out from underneath cherry-lips, "I cannot even tell you how much I want you to just let me have a taste, right now."

And god, he certainly was not exaggerating for the very minute your aching cunt met his lips, Kashimo was drinking you in like a man starved. Teal lashes fluttering closed over his blissful expression, those magenta-lightning marks at the corners of his eyes crinkling as he stifles back a heady moan, "Mmph. . holding out on me with this. How did I go s-so long without – "

You don't even hear the rest of his desperate, pussydrunk words. World already turning into a bright mush of vibrant colours and sounds around you, streaks of blue and lightning-hot white across your eyes. The slick, filthy sounds of your sopping heat dripping over Kashimo's chin, dribbling down onto his neck.

The very tip of his long tongue prodding at your entrance, already slipping past your pussy's ring of muscle, "Fuuuck, 'Jime, feels so, soo good." Unsure on where to even place your jittering hands, settling to run them past the hem of your top. Slipping the fabric off and away, so you can cup your tits, and grip the sensitive flesh.

You see Kashimo's eyes crack open, and a faintly muffled whine reaches your ears, murmured encouragement of just how much he's enjoying the sight being groaned into your wet, glistening pussy, "Soakin' allll over me, little dove. Heh, tryna' drown me?"

You buck your hips over his face with greater force, feeling the bridge of his sharp, handsome nose brush against your clit as you squeal, "Shh, shh, m' already c-close."

"Already?" Kashimo's tastebuds determined to soak every drop of you in, as though you were the sole thing in this world quenching his thirst, "Always t-take suchh good care of you, right? You gotta' s-say that I do – that it's m-me making ya' feel like this."

"You, y-you, 'Jime, only you." You whine, knowing exactly what Kashimo wants to hear, what you truly believe, how he's the only being able to coax such mind blowing pleasure from you. The only one to have you perched over his mouth, gliding yourself back and forth over his glossy, swollen tongue.

"Good, heh." And you suddenly fear that you had grown too complacent, to willing to believe that this would not be another one of Kashimo's battles.

Because the sorcerer's gaze is suddenly all the more focused, laser-sharp with his eyes on the prize, your tacked clit throbbing for attention from his lips. That look when he's capable of going multiple rounds to prove that he can win, and will win. You briefly wonder if there will be any sensation left in your twitching legs by the time Kashimo is done.

"We can do this all n-night, little dove."

[25flavors]

‖ ♥︎ 》 the fuck do you mean lucario can’t learn blaze kick in violet?!

[phantomwithbreakfast]

DANNYMAY DAY 15: Stars

Day 14 • Day 16

⟢ I played it smart. Alright? I took a sketch from a few months ago—or… I don’t know exactly when I drew this one—and I just colored it. Time saving! So now, I’m only running one freaking day behind. No, it’s not a crop top. I didn’t know how the folds of the hoodie would fall if it was floating like that, lol. (More under the cut)

Genre: Angst / Hurt / No Comfort • TW/CW: PTSD — Depression — Identity Loss — Emotional Distress — Medical Trauma (non-graphic) • Aftermath of Scarred For Half A Life (my phic) — Just my Danny, the stars, and what’s left of him • AU — OOC • Rate M

Danny liked the stars.

No—he loved them.

There was something about the quiet hush of the sky, the endless stretch of velvet black pricked with distant, shimmering lights. They felt like hope, once. A future. A promise. The universe was out there, and he used to believe—really believe—that one day, he’d be among them. NASA. Astronaut. The whole suit-up-and-fly-away dream.

Danny Fenton, future astronaut—NASA’s next big shot.

He used to close his eyes and picture it—helmet snug around his head, fingers wrapped around the controls of a shuttle, weightless and free, watching Earth shrink to a marble behind him. He would have built the engine himself. Engineered the future. Calculated trajectory. Solved for the impossible. He had notebooks—had, because they were probably in the trash now—filled with sketches and plans. Rocket diagrams scrawled between geometry homework and ghost-fighting strategies.

He still smiled when he flew above the clouds, phasing just high enough that the cold air bit at his skin and made his fingers tremble. The wind didn’t matter. The ache in his chest didn’t matter. When he was up there, alone in the dark, the stars were close enough to count.

And sometimes—just sometimes—he forgot.

Forgot what had been done to him. Forgot the collar. The white rooms. The smell of ectoplasm. The way his screams never echoed back. Forgot how she looked at him like a test subject. Forgot the way he begged her, Mom, please, it’s me—

He forgot.

But it never lasted.

Because then he’d remember. The stars were fucking lies.

He wasn’t going to reach them. Not now. Not ever. They stole that from him. Ripped it out of him like they did everything else. Phantom was back, sure, but the dream—the human dream—was gone. NASA didn’t accept broken things. And he was so broken.

His hands shook when he reached toward them. He used to pretend they were close. That if he just stretched enough, just a little more, he could touch them. But now?

Now his hands were too scarred to stretch that far.

The stars didn’t feel like hope anymore. They were witnesses.

They watched when he was on the table. They watched when she carved him open. They watched when he stopped screaming because it hurt less to go quiet. They were there when he forgot what his own voice sounded like, when his body trembled from withdrawal—not from drugs, but from the lack of pain.

And now, they mocked him. Beautiful. Untouchable. Just like everything else he wanted.

A breeze whispered past him, brushing through his pitch white hair, and he realized—he didn’t know if he was smiling anymore. His lips were curled, but it didn’t feel happy. It didn’t feel like anything, honestly.

Just muscle memory. A hollow reflex.

He hovered above Amity Park, staring at the stars with an ache stitched so deep into his bones that even vivisection hadn’t reached it. It throbbed under his ribs—quiet, constant. A craving, not just for the stars themselves, but for the boy who used to believe he could touch them. For the dream that wasn’t laced with ectoplasm and restraints. For the version of himself that didn’t tremble at the smell of antiseptic or jolt at the flicker of overhead lights. He wanted that ache to fill him, to drown out the numbness, to remind him he was still someone. Still human. Still Danny.

But even that hurt felt distant now.

“I was gonna touch you one day,” he whispered as he watched the stars, his voice splintering halfway through. “I was gonna be something.”

But they didn’t here him. No one did. Not even the fucking stars.

His hands dropped to his sides.

And Danny… Danny kept floating there, motionless and small, a glowing silhouette lost against the sky—half dead, half hoping, all hollow. Craving the pain that used to make him feel real.

And still… the stars kept shining—distant, perfect, untouched—while he stayed broken beneath them, bleeding out on the inside where no one could see.

⟢ Not part of the main phic, just a small one-shot taking place in the same universe.

[beggamoth]

To Wed A Dragon

summary | Viserys I Targaryen, being geopolitical genius he is, arranges a marriage between his dangerously serpentine second son Aemond and a wildling of pure First Men blood: the elusive Omega daughter Daemon left rotting in Runestone. It’s all bread and circuses and targcest.

pairing | alpha!!aemond targaryen x omega!!reader with implied social anxiety

parts | 1 2 3

tags | TW!!! OMEGAVERSE!!! not proofread. slowburn (sort of). very chopped english. consists of aemond’s journals. yes, this man journals and draws in margins while giggling and kicking his feet. I accidentally OOCed him so hard I made him a teenage girl. we all kinda forget that he’s technically in his late teens and his frontal lobe is still developing that’s where all dumb decisions are coming from

wordcount | 2,5k

any kind of feedback is highly appreciated!

7th Moon of 127 AC.

I have been promised a wife.

No, not offered - that would imply a choice of any kind, a market stall romance, where I pick a ripe fruit and bite until I get to the sweet pulp, or simply refuse. I was assigned to her as one might be assigned a steward, a bannerman, a new dagger for ceremonial guttings.

And not just anyone, but the current Lady Royce.

The only daughter of Daemon Targaryen and the late Rhea Royce. The Vale's very own afterthought. They put it as unsullied, unspoiled. Apparently, undefeated in the art of vanishing into walls. She has spent her entire life in the Vale, which is to say she has lived as a shadow among shadows. I was told she is ‘clever’ and very ‘fond of reading’ which is what they always say about women who have read too many books to be safely married off.

Other than that, there are no reliable sources of information about my future wife. She has made no public appearances outside Vale. There are no scandalous rumors, no bards’ songs written about her, and not even a small locket portrait.

Nothing. This should be concerning, but instead I find it invigorating. Mystery is the one luxury my station rarely affords. Everything else—titles, dragons, destinies—I inherited or conquered. But this?

This is a locked door. A dark corridor. A question without an answer.

I would’ve been offended but this. But truly—what is nobility if not the art of being unapproachable?

Aegon called it a “divine punishment.” Almost wept while five fingers deep in his goblet. Said I was being shipped off to “fuck a deer in the mountains” as though he hadn't bedded worse in Flea Bottom and paid for that.

As if he understands.

A wife unseen is a strategy untold. She might be a beast or beauty. Insipid or shrewd. Unbearable or invisible. She might very well despise me—and so what of it?

Let her tremble behind stone. I will come. I will look upon her. And I will know how to shape her.

______________________________________________________________

10th Moon of 127 AC.

I have met her.

Lady [name] Royce—named like some tragic mythic heroine who throws herself into rivers over men who aren’t worth the drowning—exists.

She has limbs. A face. Breath. She arrived to the Keep three days later than she was supposed to, swaddled in the gray wool like mourning incarnate with unremarkable bronze brooch with the ornaments of her house, with exactly four retainers, two books, and one expression—inconvenienced disdain.

I reached for her hand to plant a chaste kiss at the back of her palm under the watchful eye of the court, but she recoiled. Openly. As if I had poison on my lips.

And curtsied. Too low. Then, as if it would suffice for the proper greeting, she curtsied again, until her skirts dragged on the ground.  

And immediately walked away, no, fled – as if she’s caught a stomach bug. No ‘hello’, no ‘My prince’, she’s just run away with a face of someone preparing to be run over by a cart but hoping it’s a fast one, while her handmaids followed her.

During her first day in the Keep I safely assumed she was:

Unfriendly: She barely looked at me, and when she did, her expression resembled that of someone inspecting spoiled meat. A rather tragic display of poor manners and poorer breeding.

Haughty: She kept her chin raised and her answers curt. When I asked whether she fancied poetry, she responded with: “Not when it rhymes.” Barbarism.

Possibly slow-witted: Her replies to the simple questions always come late, like a letter lost in the post. When I asked if she’d had a good journey, she said: “There was a dead stag on the road. The crows had eaten its eyes.” What in the Seven hells was I supposed to do with that?

Actually—and this I came to realize by the second day—She isn't stupid or arrogant. She's anxious. =Pathologically so. The kind of anxiety that makes you forget how to sit like a human.

She is always clutching her sleeves. Always two seconds late in responding, like it takes her tremendous effort to collect thoughts nervously scattering across her skull. She flinches when addressed directly. She chews the inside of her cheek so often I suspect she may one day bite it off entirely

She annoys the fuck out of me.

And yet—

There is something bewitching in how terribly bad she is at all of this. Like a creature raised underground, suddenly dragged into torchlight, blinking like it’s about to be punished for existing

And I am to marry this... conundrum.

Not even a wild thing. Wild things fight. She doesn’t even seem to think she’s supposed to be real, let alone have some claws.

There’s something irritatingly compelling about it.

I’ve seen men get severely maimed with more grace than she handled a compliment.

She is not what I wanted. She is not what I imagined.

But what I gain is all that matters: Runestone. A keep of my own. Vassals. Land. All mine to command.

A proving ground. A canvas.

If my lady prefers living as a shadow among shadows instead of handling the most basic of human interactions, which is less than a bare minimum for the lady of her station, then I’ll gladly take the burden of ruling in her stead.

This marriage is not a joining of hearts, but of worth. I will become Lord Consort of the Vale’s oldest house and let Daemon spit venom over it.

Let the Lord of Fealbottom rot in Rhaenyra’s little soap kingdom while I, the second son, the maimed, the marked, the maligned—rule.

[margin sketch]

A hastily drawn caricature of Lady [Name] Royce:

Big owl eyes. Tiny, shivering mouth. Hands raised in eternal half-apology. Speech bubble reads: “Um-m”

Labeled: “Lady [Name] of House Sorry.” ____________________________________________________

10th Moon, Continued — Post-Dinner Entry, written by candlelight and righteous indignation

Tonight was our first shared meal. A private dinner. Intimate, ceremonial, profoundly awkward. Mother insisted we “get to know each other in peace,” which in practice meant a room stuffed with tapestries depicting obscene amount of naked people and exactly two servants who might as well have been executioners for all the tension in the air.

The table stretched between us like a battlefield. She took the other end, as though the space between us could be colonized by silence.

And yet—I could feel her watching me.

Not like a maiden watches her betrothed with shy interest, nor like a courtier observes a prize to be won.

No. It was far stranger.

She glared.

Unblinking. Grim. Purposeful.

Not coquettish or bashful. Not hateful. Just... a stare with weight. Like she was trying to solve me with her eyes and growing very disappointed at the result.

She did not touch the roast. Only picked at a barley cake with tragic resignation.

When asked about the Vale’s northern passes, she said, “They’re cold,” and refused to elaborate.

When asked if she had ridden a dragon before, she said, “No. I don’t like heights or animals who can potentially swallow people.”

When I told a rather clever anecdote about the dying words of a Qohor philosopher, she snorted.

(Not laughed. Snorted. Like a stable boy who’d just heard a fart joke.)

At one point, I attempted civility. I leaned slightly forward and said, in my most gracious tone:

“You keep glaring at me. Do I offend your sensibilities?”

She blinked slowly, as if just now realizing she had a face and it was doing something.

“Oh. Sorry. I wasn’t really thinking.”

What a maddening sentence. She was thinking. I could see the cogs turning, rusted and bristling. But what she meant was: I didn’t realize I was looking at you like you’re a centipede with two legs and blindfold.

An academic approach to the topic of glaring.

In lesser men, like Aegon, the intensity of her stare might’ve provoked fear or flight. But I am a dragon in a man’s skin. I do not run from a pair of eyes that might blink too rarely.  

Still, it is worth noting that she never looked at the servants. Never glanced around the room. She stared at her plate. Her sleeves. Me. As if attention, once given, must be locked in place like a punishment.

I suspect—this is a theory—she is not afraid of people. She is afraid of being seen.

The idea that someone might observe her, interpret her, assign her value. That is the horror.

And that is fascinating.

[margin sketch]

Lady [name], hunched over a plate. Above her: thought bubble that reads “Can’t believe I’m being perceived again.”

Caption: “The Hostage Dines.” ____________________________________________________

11th Moon of 127 AC, in the still hours when even the gods avert their eyes. With a lot of ink stains and deliberate (?) misspells.

Let us address something.

I had hoped. I had, despite all reason, assumed that Daemon’s bloodline—despite its tendency to act like spilled wine on a very stained tablecloth—would leave some visible trace in her.

I imagined silver hair. Violet eyes. High cheekbones and that half-feral Targaryen toothy smirk that says: yes, my family tree looks like a wheel and I’m proud of that.

Instead—

Well, she is not ugly. Lady [name] Royce is—by the standards of men who notice such things—comely. That is the word I choose because it is aggressively neutral. A word with all the erotic tension of day-old porridge. She is not beautiful, not as Aegon defines it (bosomy and all giggles and blushes), nor is she striking like Rhaenyra was at her height, all molten gaze and battlefield charisma.

No.

Instead—

Earthy. Common.

That breed of plain-featured beauty. Broad of brow and warm of eye. That particular kind of non-Valyrian softness that makes people think they’re being comforted when they’re being lied to.

It’s not her fault, of course. She did not choose to be born looking like this. But this is offensive.

I should be marrying a Targaryen goddess. A silver-haired priestess of flame. Not some rustic scribbler’s daughter who looks like she gets nosebleeds when overwhelmed.

I can already see the court’s laughter, though it simmers behind tight lips.

“The one with the eye and the temper? He wed the girl with the library tan and the commoner eyes.”

Do they think I’ll breed heirs with that blood? Do they think my sons will come out brown-haired and morally grounded?

I REFUSE.

If she does not carry my look, then at least she must carry my will. I will Targaryen her by force of proximity. Let her birth children whose dragonblood will run hot, not earthbound Roycelings who get nosebleeds when the bathwater is above lukewarm.

This is not what I wanted.

I had envisioned myself with a Valyrian bride to mirror me—a pale mirror, a prophecy’s consort. Someone who looked like she could breathe fire if you slighted her. Not a girl who apologizes to bread when she doesn’t finish it.

And yet—

I keep looking at her.

Why?

What game is this, where the prize repels you but still draws your gaze?

Is it that she defies me? Or worse: refuses to be impressed?

No matter.

I am Targaryen. She will conform. Or she will vanish into my shadow, and history will remember only me.

[margin sketch]

A tiny baby with his eye-patch and a mop of fluffy brown hair. The baby is saying: “Why don’t I have a dragon, Papa?”

Caption: “A legacy.” ____________________________________________________

12th Moon of 127 AC, the day of our official engagement — marked by ritual, pageantry, and something that I did not, could not, prepare for.

Today, the engagement rite was held.

In the Old Way, by scent, not just ceremony—Targaryen blood honors both gods and our ancient ways. This was not the wedding, no. But the marking—the exchange of scent to seal intention. It is binding in the eyes of dragonkind. A public declaration of private futures.

There was no music or septons. Viserys was wheeled in for the optics. I, Aemond, took my place beside the girl I will wed.

She wore black and brown. Of course she did. The Royce colors. Iron and bronze. And she looked… still. That’s the word. Still like a storm caught in wax. Hair plaited back, hands tucked into her sleeves.

The ritual was simple.

She leaned toward me first.

AND THEN—

The scent hit.

Maple. And something… else.

Something I cannot name.

Warm. Wet. Red, but not angry red.

Something like—

Like the throb before a wound breaks. Like blood still inside the body, waiting.

No. That’s wrong. Not blood. Not war.

Like want, made into vapor. The slow bloom of hunger where it ought not be. Sweet without being cloying. Ancient. Animal.

It hit the back of my throat and I staggered slightly—not visibly (never that)—but enough that I could feel my knees note the offense.

And my eye—

The pupil blew wide. I felt that.

Like a child’s.

Like a beast’s.

I did not speak for five full seconds.

My mouth may have opened. I refuse to confirm.

She looked at me—looked, not glanced, not fled—and there was a question in her face. Not smugness. Not curiosity. Some kind of half-formed panic. Like she had given too much away on accident.

But still,

It is tradition, after the Omega offers their scent, for the Alpha to reciprocate.

I leaned in, closer than I’d allowed myself to be near her since the very beginning. I saw the gentle slope of her nose. The twitch of her left eye, like a rabbit scenting predator.

I don’t know how I smelled to her.

I do not care.

I Do. Not.

But she swallowed, slow and hard, and her hands gripped the hem of her sleeves until the fabric strained.

Good.

Let her feel it, too.

Courtship begins now. Daily presence. Shared meals. Ritual observation. We are to be seen together. We are to be seen.

She left before the rest. Of course she did. Like a frightened bird who’d perched too long on the wrong windowsill.

But the scent lingers.

Gods.

It’s in my hair. My sleeves. My mouth. I want to name it. Categorize it. Find a metaphor.

I cannot, for all my experience and vocabulary. It is not wine. Not fire. Not snow or rain or steel.

It is her.

And worse—

I think I want it again.

[margin sketch]

A sketch of [name] Royce with her face deliberately oversimplified like a caricature, with swirly lines around her.

The title “The Smell???”

[g1rld1ary]

you never disappointed me ; luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

part one part two part three part four

➻ synopsis: charles beckendorf wants to go out with silena beauregard more than anything. one problem: she's not allowed to date until her shrewish older sister does, so he and percy come up with a plan. (10 things I about you AU)

➻ word count: 2783

➻ warnings: swearing ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader

➻ this'll be a few chapter so this is p1!!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Charles Beckendorf arrived at Camp Half-Blood when he was fifteen years old. It was a wonder he’d lasted out in the mortal world so long with his significant stature, height enough to attract monsters, but Percy — his tour guide — guessed it was probably his more reserved nature which had kept him under the radar.

“Thank God it’s you showing me around,” Was one of the first things he’d said, “When you start things like this it’s usually all the kiss-asses that greet me.” With six schools under his belt, Percy knew what he meant all too well.

“Nah man, we’re chill. And if we get this done quick then you can meet my friends, we know how to have the real fun here.”

And so they embarked on their tour, Percy dutifully pointing out all the most important places around camp. First was the Dining Pavilion, where they met Grover as he chewed on some of the tin-can remains of lunch. Then came Thalia’s Tree, under which Annabeth was drawing out a map that Charles didn’t understand in the slightest but Percy explained was a strategy for capture the flag. After that they walked past the sword fighting arena, where they caught a glimpse of Luke in the middle of a fierce duel. They both passed quickly, and Charles got the distinct impression that you weren’t supposed to interrupt Luke when he was fighting.

As the two got to the lake, Percy explaining it was where most people hung out when they had the time, Charles faltered in his steps. Percy looked back to where he was frozen and followed his sightline to Silena Beauregard and rolled his eyes.

“Who is that?” He breathed.

“Don’t even bother, bro,” Percy replied. “She’s off limits. It’s a well known fact that the Beauregard sisters aren’t allowed to date — they’re only here over the summers and their dad is crazy strict about it for some reason.”

“But she’s so—”

“Self-centred? Shallow? Silena is all looks no substance, dude. You can do better.” Percy ushered him away but Charles was still daydreaming about the beautiful Aphrodite girl.

The tour was just finishing up by the Climbing Wall when they first saw you. You held the camp record for it, and so had been delegated the responsibility of teaching the younger kids. Today though you’d had to rescue a cocky bastard from getting obliterated by lava, singeing the fabric of your camp shirt all over your left shoulder, and you were not in a good mood.

Just wanting to get back to your cabin for a change of clothes and some ambrosia, you were certainly not in the state of mind to stop and chat with a new camper. So when Percy and Charles came along blocking the whole fucking path, you didn’t hesitate to yell “Move!” Pushing past them in a huff. You wouldn’t usually be so rude, but you were pretty sure your shirt was fusing into your skin which was so not what you needed. Plus, they were in the way. Beckendorf’s bicep was warm from where you’d shoulder-checked him with your injury.

“That’s your dream girl’s older sister,” Percy snorted, used to your disagreeable personality.

“That’s Silena’s sister?” Charles asked incredulously, “But she’s…”

“A shrew? Yeah. I’d watch out for her, and kiss your dreams of going out with Silena goodbye. Now c’mon, I’ll show you to your cabin.” Charles followed mindlessly, still thinking about the two Beauregard sisters.

When people thought of you, the consensus was pretty much this: Silena Beauregard’s older sister, and the most heinous bitch at Camp Half-Blood, a title you were extremely proud of. Whilst you really didn’t think you were that bad — in fact, you considered your actions quite reasonable — younger campers cowered away when you marched through camp and the older ones rolled their eyes when you spoke. Just the way you liked it. It wasn’t exactly unusual, camp had all sorts of kids living there, not everyone was going to get along, but it was pretty unexpected for you as a daughter of Aphrodite.

You didn’t get along with most of your siblings, despite all your efforts as one of the elder campers. You thought it was ridiculous that they wouldn’t participate in camp activities, regardless of the reason. What good was having all that beauty if it was wiped off the face of the earth by a monster? There were a hundred rumours flying about to explain you and your attitude, the most popular being that you were the secret lovechild of Aphrodite and Ares, which explained your affinity for fighting and permanent bitch face. You knew better. For one you shared too many of your dad’s traits not to be his child. Plus, Aphrodite had a long history of being associated with war in Ancient Greece which everyone at camp just conveniently forgot in favour of writing her children off as useless and vain. You hated it, and you refused to be who they wanted.

Even your favourite sibling was the polar opposite to you. Silena was a few years younger than you, and by all accounts was the model of a perfect Aphrodite child. Gorgeous, of course, and usually kind and patient. In your opinion, she was kind of annoying and self-absorbed, but you chose to believe she meant well so you could keep tolerating her. You didn’t know how the only two blood-related siblings in your cabin could be so different from one another, but it had been that way since you were fourteen and she was twelve.

You had made it back to your cabin, and your shoulder was all bandaged up after your shower. You were just flipping through The Bell Jar, your latest novel, when Silena came stomping into the cabin, waving a letter frantically through the air. You could assume what it was about.

“This is so unfair!” Silena whined, “Daddy doesn’t even know Ethan!” Ethan was the new boy Silena had been obsessed with recently, writing incessantly to your father in an attempt to get him to take back the no dating rule.

“What, can’t go swap spit with the vermin of the earth?” You exaggerated a pout. She sneered at you in the mirror.

“Worse. Now he’s saying I can’t date until you do, so now I’m going to die a stupid old virgin because of you!” You rolled your eyes and sighed.

“Have you ever considered there’s more to life than finding a boyfriend? Or, big shock I know, maybe I’m just not interested in the sweaty, uninspired pigs that are supplied here?”

“You suck!” She huffed, turning on a kitten heel and barging out of the cabin.

“You suck!” You mocked, turning back to your book. You knew Silena was really pissed at you for being so stubborn, but you hated the thought of changing your opinions over a man of all things.

Silena, in her frustration, was wandering around Camp Half-Blood to let off some steam. Charles, fresh from a kayaking lesson, spotted her across the beach and scrambled to catch up to her. Remembering what Percy told him about her not participating in many of the camp’s activities, he came up with the idea to offer his help to finish a project in the forges to get Chiron off her back. Silena seemed surprised but happy enough to agree, and Charles was ecstatic.

“She’s agreed to go to the forges with me!” He told Percy excitedly, and Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Do you even know how to weld?”

“Well, no, but I will!” As much as Percy liked the new kid, he was definitely a handful.

Charles’ first session with Silena didn’t go exactly as he’d hoped. She showed up already looking bored, and not keen to start off with a simple sword as he’d proposed. Soon he gave up with any welding, choosing instead to try and get her know better.

“If you’re not really into this we could try something else? I saw someone welding some metal flowers, you know, for like a date?” That caught her attention.

“Are you asking me on a date?” At his shy nod Silena couldn’t contain her slight laugh. “That is so cute! What’s your name again?” Charles told her quietly.

“Well, my Dad’s just changed our family rule — I can date when my sister does.”

“That’s great! So all you’ve gotta do is find someone who’ll date her!”

“One problem, Cameron-”

“Charles.”

“My sister is, like, totally antisocial?”

“Yeah, but people jump out of planes and stuff all the time! It could be, like, extreme dating!”

They both looked across the forge where you were working, fixing up your favourite sword after an Ares kid had done quite a number on it. You had on both your signature outfit and expression — long, practical jorts with your camp shirt tied in a knot and a dangerous bitch face.

“The oversized look is out, Beauregard, didn’t you read last month’s Vogue?” Ethan was hovering around you, trying his hardest to get a rise out of you in front of his friends.

“Run along, dickwad.” You refused to blow up at him, knowing it would only be used to make you look hysterical and unbalanced later. Plus, Ethan would get bored sooner or later and find someone else to taunt.

As Charles recounted this story to Percy later that night at the bonfire, all Percy could do was groan.

“Charles — Charlie — I really wanna like you, man, but this is probably the most stupid thing you could have done. I know they’re hot, but it’s not even worth getting involved with one Beauregard sister, and you’ve just gotten yourself tangled with both — and not in the way that most guys dream about.” Charles flushed at the innuendo.

“I think you’re wrong about Silena, I think she’s worth it. I just have to figure out how I can set her sister up with another guy.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Percy laughed, hitting Charles’ knee twice before turning away to talk to Annabeth. Charles spent the rest of the night trying to hatch a plan.

Early the next morning he got Percy on board, albeit very reluctantly. Percy brought Charles over to every single guy he could think of in your age range, begging them to take you out. The responses varied from a nervous shake of the head to Travis Stoll laughing in both boys’ faces.

“Why would I go looking for a kick in the balls?” He asked, still wheezing from his initial outburst.

They found themselves once again at the bonfire, both disheartened. Percy at having wasted a day all for this new guy he barely knew, and Charles that he was no closer to getting a date with Silena. Finally, somewhat eager to get this distraction over with, Percy came up with an idea.

“What about you just pay someone to go out with her?” He asked, and Charles considered the idea for a minute, it wasn’t half bad.

“I have literally no money,” He settled on finally, and Percy rolled his eyes.

“So you get someone else to do it for you,” He suggested, and Annabeth joined the conversation with suspicious interest.

“Like a backer?” She asked, at Percy’s nod she bit her lip, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, guys, it seems like it could really backfire on you. I mean, what if she finds out? I heard she once tied a camper to the lava wall just for looking at her wrong.”

“She won’t find out! I mean she only has to date so Silena can, it doesn’t have to be a long term thing. She goes on enough dates for it to qualify, then they break up while it’s still casual and I can go out with Silena!” Charles explained excitedly, but Annabeth still looked skeptical.

“Plus, if we have a backer, none of the blame will go to my man Charlie here,” Percy added helpfully, which swayed Annabeth a little.

“Okay, well be careful,” She said, leaving for the dining hall to be distanced from the plot.

Percy thought the answer to who the backer would be was pretty obvious. Whilst most of the boys at Camp Half-Blood wanted to sleep with Silena, Ethan White was both rich and desperate enough to agree to it. Plus when Percy Jackson was telling you you’d look great with a girl, you generally listened.

All that was left was to find someone to set you up with. The boys used the bonfire to scope out their options, but it wasn’t looking good. For one, you didn’t even show up to bonfires if you could help it, and it was anyone’s guess what you did instead. Rumours said blood sacrifices but Percy was almost completely sure that was a lie. Truthfully you were sitting up on the roof of the Aphrodite cabin, enjoying the peace and quiet of the camp when no one else was around.

They were about to give up, Percy trying to find the right words to let Beckendorf down easy, when they saw Luke. Luke, with his brooding eyes and his cigarette, sitting on his own at the bonfire with headphones connected to a mortal mp3 player. Luke, who had never quite been the same since he returned from his quest — rumours swirling about the horrors he’d faced that he refused to speak on.

“I think we’ve found our man.”

It was easy to convince Ethan to get on board, he was so overconfident in himself and his looks he would never suspect that Percy or Beckendorf had any ulterior motives. It was equally enjoyable to watch Ethan try and approach Luke to get the plan in motion. Percy and Beckendorf were sitting with Percy’s friends on the beach the very first time Ethan spoke to Luke. He was all macho confidence, still trying to play the tough guy. Luke looked up at him from his place sitting on a rock, barely moving his head to give him any attention. The moment of eye contact meant Ethan knew Luke had seen him speaking, and the abrupt walking away communicated his absolute lack of interest. It took a gargantuan effort from Percy not to burst out laughing then and there.

The second conversation went a bit smoother. Ethan had a metaphorical tail between his legs, temporarily giving up his ego to be the smaller person in the conversation. That got Luke’s attention, having known Ethan and his antics for years at that point. And then Ethan explained his plan. Luke couldn’t contain his laughter — a sound Camp Half-Blood was rarely graced with anymore.

“Yeah sure, Sparky,” He laughed, almost wheezing in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“Look,” Ethan stressed, “I can’t take out Silena until her sister starts dating — their Dad is super strict and has this rule—”

“Touching story, not my problem.” Luke moved to put his earbud back in when Ethan stopped him.

“Could it be your problem if I provided generous compensation?” Luke had forgotten Ethan’s mother was filthy rich. He looked him dead in the eye.

“You’re going to pay me to take out some chick? How much?” He asked, entirely disbelieving.

“Twenty bucks” They both looked down at you on the volleyball courts, spiking a ball into a girl’s stomach with so much force she keeled over on the ground. You had the decency to look mildly apologetic while the opposing team glared at you.

“Fine. Thirty.”

“Let’s see,” Luke smiled something devious. “If I’m taking her out it means leaving camp. That’s a lot of risk I’m pursuing for you, plus the costs of taking to her somewhere — the movies maybe. And you know inflation lately, let’s say seventy-five bucks.”

“This isn’t a negotiation, burnout.”

“Fifty bucks and we’ve got a deal, Fabio,” Luke countered, knowing he had the upper hand. He had nothing to lose. Reluctantly, Ethan forked out a fifty. All that was left was for Luke to get you to go out with him, how hard could that be?

[aventurineswife]

Aww, no more Yor!Reader? Well, I guess it would have been overdone eventually. 😅

How about I share an idea instead about Reader acting as a lawyer/legal consult for Aventurine? (Bouncing off of my friend’s recent obsession with lawyer characters lol.)

So, Reader is a lawyer studying the laws of various worlds. Their work laptop is full of legal texts and documents, which they use to keep track of information gained and help make sure Aventurine doesn’t step too hard on someone’s toes. coughsunliketopazonbelobogcoughs

Reader is also partially the reason why Aventurine was able to get away with attacking the Astral Express — by taking his and Ratio’s witness accounts of their “meeting” with Sunday and the power of the Order being forced on Aventurine to brainwash him on threat of death within 17 hours. (I know I saw a post pointing out how Sunday basically broke diplomatic immunity by doing this, tho I can’t remember who. 🫠) Who can say for sure that Aventurine threatening to detonate a Stellaron wasn’t the result of (him struggling against) the Order influencing him? Reader can even point out that if the Family tried to go after Aventurine, Sunday’s actions coupled with the Family’s lying about death being impossible in the Dreamscape would be grounds for a counter lawsuit.

Emphasis on Reader partially being why Aventurine got away with his gamble. Even without Reader being Aventurine’s lawyer, the IPC’s got a fuck ton of money. 😅 Reader being there just makes things a lot faster and more convenient.

Reader’s pissed about Aventurine gambling his life like that, tho. 💀

“I TOLD YOU TO BE CAREFUL WHEN DEALING WITH [ACHERON] AND WHATAYA DO?! YOU GET FUCKING HAM-SLICED AND YEETED INTO A BLACK HOLE!!!!! 💢💢💢”

“Objection! Gambling with Your Life is Not a Legal Strategy!”

Summary: You find yourself grappling with the aftermath of Aventurine’s latest reckless escapade—one involving ham-slicing, black holes, and intergalactic legal battles. As his ever-resourceful and exasperated legal advisor, you’re left to clean up the mess while Aventurine, the ever-smug gambler and IPC executive, teases you with his charm. Beneath the banter, a glimpse of sincerity from Aventurine leaves you questioning whether there’s more to him than his reckless bravado.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Crackfic, Lawyer!Reader, Dubious Morality, Fluff and Angst, Overworked (and probably underpaid or not) Reader, Banter and Wit, Slow-Burn Romance (implied), Reader Yelling at Aventurine (deserved tbh).

Warnings: Mild language (Reader vents a lot), Legal jargon overload, Brief mentions of violence and manipulation, Reader and Aventurine arguing, Crack-level absurdity in legal scenarios, Aventurine's traumatic backstory hinted at but not deeply explored.

A/N: Thank you for your understanding 🙏💖 and I hope you like this! This may be a bit ooc and I mostly have forgotten a lot of things so yeah🧍‍♀️

You glared at Aventurine from behind your laptop, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you typed out yet another damage control memo. The smug blond executive lounged across from you in his plush office chair, one leg draped lazily over the armrest. His perpetual grin was as infuriating as ever, even with fresh bandages peeking out from the collar of his shirt.

"Really, darling," he drawled, twirling his peacock-feather earring, "I think you're overreacting. Things turned out splendidly, didn’t they? I'm still here, the Stellaron didn’t detonate, and Sunday's little 'dream empire' has a massive PR disaster on their hands. All thanks to your impeccable legal wizardry, might I add."

You slammed your laptop shut with enough force to make him flinch. "Splendidly?! You were HAM-SLICED, Aventurine. HAM. SLICED. And then YEETED INTO A BLACK HOLE! Do you even comprehend how many laws of physics, ethics, and basic sanity you violated in a single day?"

He chuckled, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But you saved me, didn’t you? My charming legal champion, swooping in with airtight arguments and enough loopholes to make the Family’s lawyers cry."

"Don’t you dare flatter me right now." You jabbed a finger at him, your other hand pointing to the stack of legal briefs on your desk. "Do you know how hard it is to defend you when you keep pulling stunts like that? I had to argue in front of three intergalactic tribunals that Sunday's Dreamscape Order literally brainwashed you into threatening a Stellaron detonation!"

Aventurine leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "And you did it flawlessly. Honestly, I should hire you full-time. Leave that dusty legal research behind and become my personal strategist. Think of the fun we’d have!"

"Fun?" you repeated, incredulous. "FUN?! Watching you gamble your life away every other Tuesday isn’t my idea of fun, Kakavasha."

His grin faltered for the briefest moment at the mention of his real name, but he recovered quickly, standing and striding over to your desk. "You know I can’t resist a good gamble," he said softly, his voice unusually earnest. "It’s who I am. But having you there… knowing you’ve got my back? That’s the only reason I can keep playing the game."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. "That’s… disturbingly sweet," you muttered. "But it doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re reckless, irresponsible, and—"

"Charming?" he offered with a wink.

"Infuriating," you finished, swatting his hand away as he tried to steal one of your pens. "Now sit down and let me finish drafting this counter-lawsuit. If Sunday or the Family tries to come after you again, I want them buried so deep in legal hell they’ll be begging for the black hole treatment."

Aventurine laughed, a genuine, unguarded sound that made your chest tighten in a way you refused to examine. "You’re one of a kind, [Name]. I don’t deserve you, but I’m keeping you anyway."

"You don’t have me," you shot back, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck. "I’m just here to make sure you don’t get sued—or sliced—again."

"Of course," he said smoothly, settling back into his chair with a self-satisfied smirk. "But I’ll win you over eventually. It’s only a matter of time."

You rolled your eyes and reopened your laptop, trying to focus on your work. But as you typed out another legal argument to shield Aventurine from his latest bout of insanity, you couldn’t quite suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

Maybe he wasn’t entirely unbearable.

[justa-fanfic-writer]

– Obedient little boy

Obedient Law, Law acts like a Lovesick dog, OOC Law, I had a make-out session with canon and threw them out the window, and Male Reader is on their makima phase.

Trafalagar Law x Male Reader

Summary: The straw hats never knew that Trafalgar Law could be so... obedient? While the other heart pirates were already used to it but they all were still uncomfortable with it, but You and Law don't give two fucks–

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The Thousand Sunny sailed smoothly under the bright blue sky, the waves gently lapping against the ships as the Straw Hat Pirates and Heart Pirates were gathered for a meeting. The two crews had teamed up again for a joint mission while Law was thinking of making a strategy. The rest were mingling and shared stories or just doing their own business.

But there was one thing that no one would have anticipated, and it was about to leave the Straw Hats in complete utter shock.

Trafalgar Law, the stoic and usually serious captain of the Heart Pirates, stood at the side of the deck, his gaze fixed on you-his boyfriend, and the one person who had him wrapped around your finger. You, with your sweet yet almost sickening smile, approached him with a look that made Law's heart race. The Heart Pirates exchanged uneasy glances, knowing exactly what was coming, while the Straw Hats remained blissfully unaware.

You stopped in front of Law, your smile widening as you spoke in a voice that dripped with honey.

"Law, why don't you sit down and be a good boy for me?"

The command was soft, but it had an immediate effect. Without hesitation, Law obediently sat down on a nearby crate, his usual serious expression melting away into one of quiet submission. The Heart Pirates, already used to this strange dynamic, shifted uncomfortably but remained silent. However, the Straw Hats were utterly stunned.

"W-What the...?"

Sanji stammered, his cigarette nearly falling from his lips.

"Is this real?"

Usopp whispered, his eyes wide with disbelief,

Even Zoro, who rarely showed surprise, raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the sight of Law being so compliant.

You didn't seem to notice–or care– about the shock you were causing. Instead, you flashed that same sweet smile and, without missing a beat, settled yourself on Law's lap. The move was so casual, so natural, that it almost seemed as if you had done it a thousand times before which, in truth, you probably had.

Law's arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, and he looked up at you with an expression that could only be described as adoring. The tough, battle-hardened captain of the Heart Pirates was nowhere to be seen; in his place was a man completely and utterly devoted to you.

You reached up and gently patted his head, your fingers threading through his dark hair.

"Such a good boy, Law"

You cooed, your voice soft and affectionate.

"You're my very good boy, aren't you?"

Law's cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn't try to hide his reaction. Instead, he leaned into your touch, practically melting beneath your gentle praise. The sight was enough to send shivers down the spines of anyone watching but for entirely different reasons.

The Straw Hats were in various states of disbelief and discomfort. Luffy's mouth hung open, completely stunned by what he was seeing. Nami and Robin exchanged glances, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned, while Chopper hid his face behind his hooves, clearly embarrassed.

Jinbei and Brook, tho? Well, let's just say Brook had his jaw wide open while Jinbei was looking at the other direction, hoping to be distracted by the view.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Heart Pirates, though maybe accustomed to this odd display of affection, still couldn't help but feel a little weirded out by it. They had seen their captain in countless dangerous situations, facing down enemies without fear, but seeing him like this– completely submissive to you–was something they would never fully get used to.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against Law's as you whispered.

"My perfect little puppy"

And then You kissed him, long and slow, your fingers still gently stroking his hair.

Law had responded immediately, his arms tightening around you as he returned the kiss with a passion that belied his usually reserved nature. It was as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist for him–there was only You, and he was completely lost in your touch.

The Straw Hats could only watch in stunned silence as the kiss continued, the air around them thick with an uncomfortable tension. When You finally pulled away, a satisfied smile on your lips, Law was left breathless, his eyes half-lidded and filled with adoration that you might as well could also see the hearts on his eyes.

You chuckled softly, giving him one last affectionate pat on the head.

"Such a good puppy"

You murmured, and Law practically purred in response, his contentment radiating from him like warmth from the sun.

The silence is LOUD

By this point, the Straw Hats were actually on the verge of gagging. Specifically, Sanji as he had turned away, muttering something about how quote on quote on that. "Love should be beautiful, not this... this weird show!" As Sanji felt like gagging as he stuck his tongue out.

Usopp looked like he was about to actually pass out, and even Luffy was scratching his head, trying to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

The Heart Pirates, though trying to maintain their composure, were clearly struggling to keep their cool. Some of them were muttering under their breath, while others just looked away, pretending to be interested in anything other than the sight of their captain being so utterly... domesticated and love sickened...

As for You, you simply smiled, completely unfazed by the reactions around you. You knew exactly how much you affected Law, and you relished in it. Leaning back slightly, you allowed Law to wrap his arms more securely around you, his head resting against your shoulder as he basked in your presence

It was clear to everyone now– no matter how strong or serious Trafalgar Law might appear to the world, when it came to you, he was nothing more than an obedient, lovesick puppy

And this nightmare of an event was something none of them would never ever forget ever.

And while Male Reader and Law are still in the background still making out–

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Made this because I had a dream with law being an obedient boy, AND I LOVE ME HOT MEN WHOS OBEDIANT FOR YOU, AND YOU ONLY SO BARK BARK WOOF WOOF BITCHES.

[sanguinesmi1e]

DPXDC Scum Villain Self-Saving System crossover prompt:

Dash Baxter's Self Saving System

Danny Phantom exists in the DC universe. . . as a TV show. Robin grew up watching Danny and identifies strongly with the young hero. It’s fun escapism! One night after patrol while ranting online about how stupid Phantom Planet is as a finale, how many dropped plot threads there are, how so much of the rich worldbuilding is just throwaway lines that are never explored again, Robin triggers the Transmigration System and gets isekai-ed into Amity Park. 

Now Robin is trapped in the role of Schoolyard Bully Dash Baxter and must fix the plot and avoid OOC behavior in order to return home.

Which Robin is it? I can see this going several ways: 1) Tim Drake: Already canonically a huge nerd and would absolutely hate being stuck in the role of mean dumb jock. Would manage to become best friends with the everlasting trio as soon as he got the OOC function turned off. Tucker would love geeking out with Tim over tech, and Sam would pick up on his gothic Bat vibes. He transmigrates because a combination of sleep deprivation, untreated injuries from vigilantism, compromised immune system from lack of spleen, and an unhealthy dose of caffeine cause him to keel over and die like Shen Yuan. With Dash’s natural athleticism and Tim’s ingenuity he could either cobble together or get his hands on some anti-ecto weaponry and become Hunter to Val’s Huntress. Would definitely trigger a whole new plotline around clones. Meanwhile back in Gotham Batman is going off the rails after a second Robin dies on his watch. 2) Jason: Gets isekai-ed during the explosion in Ethiopia. His revival is predicated on him completing the plot in Amity Park. UTRH is subverted by his quest to get back to Danny/bring Danny to Gotham. He's learned better coping strategies from Jazz. Sneaks into Fentonworks and steals a bunch of weapons immediately. Shoots Spectra in the face with the Fenton Bazooka the second she shows up. He'd love having Mr. Lancer for English. 3) Dick: Recently took up the mantle of Nightwing and broke away from Bruce. Does not enjoy being a teen again in high school (with normie parents! ugh!!). Actually doesn’t have a difficult time adjusting to Dash’s social life since he’s a natural leader and very charismatic, and unlike Dash isn't cruel and violent. Absolutely has a difficult time adjusting to Dash’s physique because it is *not bendy enough* and he keeps on pulling muscles. Returns to Gotham to discover Jason’s death and calls in a favor from Danny to find his brother’s wandering spirit. 4) Stephanie: Trans Dash Baxter with Stephanie’s personality actually sounds amazing. I think she’d still pursue Jazz like Dash did, but with a much higher rate of success. Not sure if it would be fair to drop someone as hot as a trans version of Stephanie in Amity though, she would become the main character and everyone would forget the ghost boy. 5) Damian: not sure where I’d go with this, but it could be fun. He’d probably stab Vlad, which I would enjoy. Might also stab Star and Paulina, which would get him nerfed by the System. Would probably first seek out Vlad to obtain weaponry comparable to Huntress' and manipulate him into believing they shared a common goal, then betray him at a key moment. He has lots of experience dealing with megalomaniacal rich men from his time with Ra's and the League. Would get on great with Dani. 5) Jarro: Please please please someone write this I have no idea how, but it would be hilarious and Jarro would be seriously weirded out by having a human body. Whether this is a ship or platonic relationship depends on the pairing I think.

[vampsywrites]

just a scratch

synopsis: while out on in the forest, you were busy foraging for healing herbs. everything was going well until you ended up getting hurt. and despite your best efforts to conceal and downplay your wounds, you end up failing miserably once you faint right in front of the entire clan.

characters: tarsem, tsu'tey + son! spider, aged up! neteyam, aged up! ao'nung x reader (all seperate)

tags: tsahik! na'vi! reader, hurt/comfort, warnings for blood, injuries, cuts, fainting, self-indulgent prompt, arguments, brief mentions of past trauma (tsu'tey), really overprotective mates, possibly ooc

son spider best spider, neteyam is about to have a stroke bc of his stubborn ass mate, ao'nung is an annoying shit but he's your annoying shit.

It was just a scratch.

A faint trail of blood marked a delicate line across the expanse of your torso, a disquieting contrast against your azure skin. A burning sensation flared up on your sides and yet, in spite of it, you pushed yourself off of the tree's trunk, grabbed your basket of herbs and trudged back towards your village.

At your sudden movement, the scratch stung harder, sending a searing hot, white pain up your torso. Gritting your teeth, you bit back a hiss of pain.

You were fine. It was fine. You had probably just pulled it when you stood up.

As you approach the village, you notice how a few of your people turn and gasp at your state. A cool shiver ran up your spine as you drop your gaze—Was it that bad?

Then comes a startling onslaught of dizziness that engulfs your consciousness. Before you could comprehend what was happening, your cheek meets the coarse texture of the earth beneath you, a jarring impact that sends your basket tumbling from your grasp. With a grunt, you strain your head up to see the herbal leaves scatter about.

As you fall, a wave of panic ripples through the crowd. Faintly, you register multiple pairs of hands coming to your aid, hoisting your limp body onto a woven mat.

"Call for the Olo'eyktan!"

TARSEM

"If we strike from here, the trees will provide us with ample cover," Tarsem remarked, his fingers gliding across the aged parchment of the map, tracing the landscapes with a keen eye.

Warriors and spotters encircled the table, their gazes fixed on his every move, minds soaking in every detail of the strategy unfolding before them. It was due time they began planning for their next attack on the RDA bases, it had been months since then.

Before the next words could be uttered, the room was thrust into chaos as a young girl burst through the door, her arrival punctuated by ragged breaths and a wild panic etched across her face. The warriors instinctively parted, creating a path through the sea of bodies, granting her passage toward Tarsem.

"Ma Olo'eyktan!" she panted, her voice trembling as she clutched his forearms tightly. "The Tsahìk was discovered unconscious deep in the forest. The healers are calling for you!"

"What?" Tarsem's expression tightened, a flicker of worry crossing his eyes. He swiftly surveyed the assembled warriors and spotters, his tone strung but composed as he addressed them.

"Continue the preparations," he commanded. "But be ready to adapt the plan if necessary. I will go and check on my mate. Until I return, Osek, you will be in charge."

Osek, a respected warrior renowned for his leadership abilities, nodded with a solemn expression. The rest of the group echoed their understanding, their voices hushed with concern. With the meeting taken care of, Tarsem turned his attention back to the young girl.

"Take me to her," he murmured, ears flat against his head as his posture turned rigid.

The young healer, with her face flushed and brows furrowed, nodded. Taking his hand, she began to lead Tarsem out of the tent, her steps matching his swift pace as they traversed the winding paths of the settlement.

As they ventured closer to the outskirts of the settlement, the ambient noises of the bustling camp faded away, replaced by the serene symphony of nature. Approaching the clearing where you had been laid to rest, Tarsem's steps grew cautious as he gently parted through the small crowd of healers, making his way towards your side.

"Ma'yawne," he whispered, his voice affectionate yet worried at the same time. The Na'vi knelt down beside you, brushing your damp hair away from your face. His gaze, a pool of tenderness, drank in the sight of you lying on the woven mat.

"What has happened?" Tarsem questioned those around you, only for them to shrug. They were just as clueless as he was.

Tarsem sighed, his frown deepening as he took in your appearance once more, noting the dizziness in your eyes and the pallor on your cheeks. However, it was the deep, crimson gash marring your side that captured his attention the most—a wound he guessed was inflicted by either a sharp branch or an encounter with Pandora's many wild animals.

"I…I am alright," you murmured, your voice a fragile reassurance, as you ran a hand over the wound, hissing at the touch. "It is not as deep as it seems. A few bandages will suffice. Return to your duties. The warriors need you."

"Nonsense," Tarsem shook his head, moving to tuck his arms beneath your back and knees. "I cannot leave you like this," he insisted, his voice firm yet gentle. "Your well-being is of utmost importance. The meeting can wait. Right now, you need proper care."

The look in Tarsem's eyes left no room for argument, reaffirming that his mind was made up.

Heaving a sigh, you gave in and nestled into his embrace, placing your weary head atop his chest, finding solace in the rhythmic beat of his heart. With ease, Tarsem carefully stood up with you in his arms, cradling you against his chest. Your mate began carrying you back towards the settlement, calling out for a few of the more experienced healers to follow along.

Once you had arrived in your shared kelku, he set you atop a hammock, staying close to your side but making sure to clear the way for the healers who would attend to you.

Turning your head back, you smiled up at him. "Thank you, Tarsem."

Tarsem simply hummed and lowered his head, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of your temple, lips a feather-light caress against your skin.

"Of course, yawne," he murmured, his voice a hushed vow. "I will always be here for you."

NETEYAM

"Kiri, it's nothing," you sighed, pushing yourself off the hammock, arms trembling. "I swear to you, I feel much better now."

Kiri clicked her tongue disapprovingly, shaking her head as she pushed you back down. "I am not even finished with your bandages, and the healing paste hasn't taken effect yet. You must rest, tsmuke."

You wrenched a hand into your disheveled hair as you let out a frustrated sigh.

"The herbs I gathered earlier—moonflower, healing rose—they're all gone, they lay wasted on the ground," you lamented. "We need to restock our supplies before the ambush in two days. It's absolutely crucial. Without fresh provisions, we'll be ill-equipp—"

"I will have the trainees gather the herbs, and I will inform Neteyam about your injury so you can rest easy. I am very sure he will understand," Kiri interrupted your rambling, her tone firm as she began wrapping bandages over your torso. At the mention of your mate's name, a pang of apprehension shot through you.

Oh Eywa, how would Neteyam react? He was already so protective of you, and this injury would no doubt only amplify his vigilance. You won't be able to leave the house for a month without him tailing after you like a second shadow.

"There's no need to involve Neteyam," you hurriedly interjected, forcefully pushing Kiri aside as you mustered the strength to stand on your feet, despite the pain. "I'm fine."

Before you could take another step, the tent curtains were abruptly thrown open, and a figure rushed in. A pair of amber eyes widened with concern as they locked onto your limping form.

Neteyam.

As he approached, his typically composed and reserved expression cracked, revealing the deep worry etched on his face.

It seemed like he ran all the way here. The Na'vi was in a frantic haste, sweat cascading down his furrowed brows while beads of perspiration clung to his jawline.

"By Eywa, what happened?" Neteyam's voice quivered with panic as he reached out, hands trembling slightly while he steadied you.

You tried to muster a reassuring smile, but the pain coursing through your body made it difficult. "Neteyam, I… I'm fine," you managed to say, your voice strained.

"No, you are not fine." Neteyam's distress was palpable, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly. "Look at you!"

Now he could properly see the swelling and gash on your torso, haphazardly covered by the unfinished leaf bandages clinging to your skin. A surge of horror washed over his face as he beheld the sight, eyes blowing wide open. Quickly, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to conceal the extent of your injury.

"'Teyam," you attempted to calm him, shaking off his iron grip. "It's not as bad as it looks. It's just a scratch."

"A scratch?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "What are you talking about, syulang? That is no a scratch. Why are you even up? You need to rest."

"I have responsibilities to fulfill, Neteyam," you huffed, stomping your feet in frustration, your actions mirroring those of a stubborn child. "You, of all people, should understand that."

Neteyam's tail lashed by his feet, a clear warning tinged with a touch of anger. Protective instincts, ingrained deep within, surged forth like a tempestuous storm.

"Do not argue with me," Neteyam's voice turned firm, his tone low. "I understand your position as Tsahìk is demanding, but this stubbornness will not aid your recovery. Do you really think you can heal in such a state?"

His stern words struck you hard, causing you to flinch involuntarily. The weight of his concerns settled heavily upon your heart, and yet your unwavering determination refused to give in to his protectiveness.

"I know why you're worried," you sighed, gently placing a hand over his chest, hoping to soothe him. "But I cannot remain here while important tasks await me. There is work to be done!"

Neteyam heaved a sigh, pushing you back down. His hands, roughened by countless battles, reached out to tenderly cradle your face. With a gentle motion, his thumb traced delicate circles onto your cheeks, the soothing caress speaking volumes of his love. His intense gaze then softened, those golden eyes losing their fiery edge as he allowed his anger to dissipate.

"I know you have an unwavering sense of duty, sevin," Neteyam murmured, the endearment rolling off his tongue like silk, a term reserved only for you. "And I love that about you. But sometimes, the best course of action is to prioritize your own well-being," he continued, peering deep into your eyes.

His warm, tender affections began to gradually chip away at the walls of your stubborn resolve. Though you initially resisted, deep down, you couldn't deny the truth in his words. Neteyam always knew how to get you to back down.

A bitter sigh slipped from your lips, laced with a hint of snark that thinly veiled the vulnerability simmering beneath.

"I hate admitting defeat," you grumbled, your tone tinged with reluctance, "But fine, you win. I'll rest."

As your words reached his ears, the corners of Neteyam's mouth curved into a grin, a blend of relief and amusement dancing in his eyes. In that moment, he couldn't resist the urge to draw closer, resting his large hands on your waist as he leaned in to press a tender kiss against your lips.

"Thank you, yawne," he chuckled softly.

TSU'TEY

(context: spider is your adopted son; although i decided to hint at him being an avatar in this scenario, you may also choose to perceive him as human instead.)

"Call for the Olo'eyktan!"

As you lay upon the bark floors of the Hometree, your mind spun, dots of black tainting your vision. With a low whimper, you attempted to raise yourself from the ground, only for a pair of hands to push down on your shoulder. You watched as your son's face came into view, twisted into a panicked expression as he took in your injury.

"Ma? Hey, hey, stay with me," Spider rasped, tenderly running his hand over your damp forehead. Eyes narrowing, you found yourself struggling to focus on his face, barely catching the look of worry in his eyes, and the lines of fear etched on his brow.

"Spider…" you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible. "I-It's okay. I can get up."

He shook his head, his grip on your shoulder tightening. "No, Ma, you need help. You can't push through this on your own."

You wanted to protest, to insist that you should be able to endure such trivial injuries, but your body betrayed you, the pain overwhelming and disorienting. As a healer, unlike your son and mate who were seasoned warriors, you weren't used to such levels of pain.

The stinging on your torso intensified with each shallow breath, making it difficult to form coherent thoughts or speak. Noticing your distress, Spider hurriedly reached a hand up to his communication device, paging for his father.

"Dad? You there?" Spider's voice cracked, laden with worry. "It's an emergency."

A familiar voice crackled through the communication device, filled with concern. Tsu'tey spoke, the rush of wind howling in the background. He must have been out on a ride with his ikran. "Ma'Itan, what has happened? Is everything alright?"

Spider's voice trembled as he responded, his distress palpable. "No, Dad, it's not alright. Mom is hurt. She fainted while gathering herbs, and she's in pain. There's a gash on her side. I…I don't know what to do."

Tsu'tey's heart plummeted, his entire being consumed by an overwhelming fear that gripped him to the core, seeping into the depths of his being. Reacting swiftly, his grip tightened on the reins of his Ikran, abruptly pivoting its course back toward Hometree. In the midst of his panic, he nearly forgot to respond.

After a momentary silence, his voice broke through, steady but laced with urgency. "I am on my way. Just keep her stable."

Spider nodded, ending connection before he moved to cradle your head in his hands. "Hang in there, Ma. Dad is coming. Just hold on a little longer."

As your consciousness wavered, the world around you seemed blurred and distant. Tremors of pain pulsed through your body, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on your son's voice. Soon enough, your strength fails you, and your eyelids grow heavy. Everything around you fades away, and your consciousness slips into oblivion.

.

As you gradually regain consciousness, the world before you seemed shrouded in a haze, the remnants of your unconscious state still clinging to your senses. Blinking away the drowsiness, you found yourself within the confines of a dimly lit tent, its earthy aroma intermingling with the soft flickering glow of a nearby fire.

"Tsmuke," Neytiri says softly, her voice filled with both relief and worry. The tenderness in her voice offering you solace, like a soothing melody in your ears.

"Thank Eywa," she grins, running her hand up your cheek. "Do not worry; you are safe now."

Before you could respond, a firm arm wraps around your center, tugging you into a sitting position. Spider frantically pulls you up and into his tight embrace, face twisted in relief as he sighed deeply. "Hey, Ma. I'm so glad you're awake."

"My brave boy," you hummed, a bittersweet warmth erupting in your chest as you pressed a tender kiss on his forehead. The familiar scent of the forest clung to him—a reminder of his untamed spirit as a warrior who roamed the jungles with no fear.

At that moment, your gaze shifted to Tsu'tey, who anxiously hovered by the entrance, tail whipping by his feet. Sensing the tension in the air, Neytiri quietly left the healing tent, granting you a moment of privacy. With her departure, Tsu'tey finally lifts his head and catches your gaze, taking it as a sign to approach you.

"Yawne," He calls out for you, his voice trembling like the leaves of a quivering tree. It's a plea and a rebuke, all at once, his tone a blend of protectiveness and affection.

Spider then releases you from his hug, allowing his father to take his place. Tsu'tey kneels down and moves to hold you, embracing you so tight that it was as if he was trying to merge your souls together, desperate to ensure your safety.

"What were you thinking?" Tsu'tey grumbles into your hair, "I have told you many times to never venture out into the forests alone. You know better than to endanger yourself."

Sighing, you leaned into the embrace of your mate, finding comfort in his presence. Your cheek finds rest against Tsu'tey's collarbones, the rough texture of his beaded necklace grounding you in the familiarity of his touch.

"I did not know the cut was that bad. I had a lot of work to attend to, so I thought I could handle it," you admitted, your voice weary.

As you nestled against him, Tsu'tey found his anger melting into something warmer, something softer. He draws you back slightly, hands cupping the sides of your face as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice now a caress against your skin.

"I know your work is important to you," he grunts. "But you must prioritize your safety."

"Tsu'tey—" you started, only to be interrupted.

"I cannot bear the thought of losing you. I have lost too much over the years," Tsu'tey took a moment to pause, his gaze searching the depths of your eyes for understanding. He needed you to understand. "This cannot go on like this. You must promise me that you will be more careful."

The vulnerability in his voice tugged at your heartstrings. A wave of guilt washed over you as you realized the fear you had awakened within him, causing old scars of his to resurface. With a sigh, you closed your eyes.

"I did not mean to frighten you. I will stay safer. I promise," you muttered, moving away from his embrace. "But things like this are inevitable. There will be times when you and Spider won't be by my side to protect me."

Tsu'tey and Spider exchanged glances, their expressions filled with concern. Without uttering a word, Tsu'tey enveloped both you and Spider in an embrace.

"We will come for you," he declared firmly. "No matter what. When you need us, we will be there."

AO'NUNG

As your consciousness flickered in and out, you became vaguely aware of the commotion around you. The panicked voices of your clan members and the urgent footsteps only added to your disorientation. And yet, amidst the chaos, a singular phrase pierced through the fog of your mind with an undeniable clarity.

"Call for the Olo'eyktan!"

That sent a chill down your spine, and you knew that the situation had escalated beyond your control. With great effort, you managed to open your eyes, the vibrant blue hues of the sky and the crashing waves on the shore seeping into your vision in strained fragments.

It did not take long for, Ao'nung to arrive. He emerged from beneath the waves, propelled by his skimwing beneath him. A frown was etched onto his face as he waded through the shallow waters, gliding across the waves with unmistakable urgency.

Upon reaching the shores, he swiftly dismounted from his skimwing, leaping onto the sand with ease. Pushing through the growing crowd that had gathered around you, he cleared a path to reach your side.

Lifting you off of the mat, he cradled you against his chest. "Yawntu?" Ao'nung's voice cut through the haze of your mind, "Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

With utmost care, your mate then shifted your body to the side, his gaze fixated on the deep cut marring your torso. The gash, painted in a vivid crimson, created a sharp contrast against the mesmerizing azure of your skin. The sight of it made his jaw tense, frustration evident.

"I-It is just a minor wound," you managed to utter through gritted teeth, your mind clearing as pain began to pulse through your body.

"Tsireya has already been called...She will help, but for now, I need your help in cleansing this," you murmur, gesturing to your bloodied side.

With a disgruntled nod, Ao'nung hoisted you into his arms and ordered the crowd to disperse. Once the people had departed, he began to take steady strides towards the water.

As the water levels reached the height of his chest, he shifted his position to support your head in the dip of his arm, allowing most of your body to be submerged beneath the rocking waves.

"I knew I should have come with you," he sighed, his voice barely heard above the salty swirling winds.

After a few seconds of struggling to find your voice, you managed to respond, though the words emerged with a subtle undertone of discomfort. "'Nung, it's only a cut…I think I just scraped myself along against a tree."

"Ah, yes, just a scrape against a tree," Ao'nung scoffed wryly, his mouth curling into a mocking sneer as his fangs peeked out from his lips. "I didn't know trees had razor sharp branches."

Cupping water in his hand, Ao'nung began to wash the upper parts of your cut that wasn't submerged. As the sting of saltwater made contact with the rest of your open wound, a sharp hiss of pain escaped your lips. This caused him to furrow his brow, concern swimming in those looming teal eyes.

"The pain seems to suggest otherwise," he noted, a heavy dose of sarcasm dripping from his lips.

"Funny," you replied, rolling your eyes in response.

Despite his biting remarks, his actions betrayed him, revealing a tenderness beneath that arrogant façade. His fingers moved with an uncharacteristic grace, tracing the contours of your cut as he delicately cleansed it, each touch a testament to his natural instincts as a mate to alleviate your discomfort.

It was a softness that you had grown accustomed to, but you knew that if any of the warriors caught a glimpse of their rugged chief in such a nurturing and affectionate state, their jaws would hit the ground so hard, you'd think Eywa herself had caused an earthquake.

As Ao'nung tended to your wound, he used his other hand to gently turn your head, guiding your gaze to meet his. Confused, you raised your brow. "Yes? What is it?"

"I will accompany you to your forages from now on. And I will not take no for an answer," he declared, his voice flat and void of any mirth.

And there it was.

"Ma Ao'nung," you cooed, your voice a velvety caress that was laden with both affection and understanding. "You worry too much about me. I am not as fragile as sea glass, you know."

A flicker of raw emotion danced across his irises, momentarily unraveling his stoic guise before he swiftly masked it with a dismissive scoff. "You should know by now that I won't let anything happen to you," he grumbled, ears tucked back as he meets your eyes.

"You may not be as fragile as sea glass, but you are precious to me," he says, voice a gravelly murmur. "I know you're strong, but that doesn't mean I will stop worrying."

With an amused click of your tongue, you leaned back against him, enveloped in the comforting warmth of his embrace. The gentle lapping of the ocean against your skin provided a soothing respite, easing your troubles away as you allowed him to dote on you.

yawne - beloved

syulang - flower

tsmuke - sister

yawntu - beloved one/loved one

sevin - pretty

kelku - house

[kururreal]

“have i not loved you enough, my sweet﹖”

𖢷 ۪ ࣪ ﹙☆﹚ ࣪ ִ HEADCANONS ‹3

culture courting! ooc. don’t kill me pls.

❪ ENMA YUUKEN .ᐟ ❫ 𓍢ִ໋🤍

I. The word "shy" is often used to describe Japanese individuals, and this perception may stem from their traditional cultural practices. Those unfamiliar with Japanese customs might find the Japanese way of life to be rather restrained and conservative, with a strict moral code that could be seen as somewhat antiquated to outsiders. This cultural backdrop contributes to the characterization of Japanese people as being shy and reserved.

II. Yuuken is not dissimilar from others in his nervousness when it comes to courting you. He hesitates to make any significant moves, fearing to cause you discomfort, as he finds the prospect unbearable. Doing so would make him a disappointment to his ancestors, a situation he strives to avoid at all costs. Yuuken's nervous demeanor can be seen as a result of his concern for your comfort and the fear of causing any distress or unease. His wariness is motivated by a deep sense of responsibility to uphold his family's honor and avoid bringing shame upon his ancestors. This trepidation is a testament to his respect for cultural norms and his desire to approach the relationship with sensitivity and consideration.

III. Yuuken adheres to the cultural teachings that discourage excessive public displays of intimacy, as this behavior is deemed improper within Japanese society. Although it is generally frowned upon, those who witness such acts tend to remain polite and look away, attributing the lack of proper understanding to the situation. Despite this, Yuuken is influenced by his upbringing and mentality as a Japanese guy, and continues to follow the traditional standards of courtship while navigating the boundaries of public display of affection.

IV. Yuuken strongly believes that demonstrating genuine care and love to someone special involves expressing it through tangible actions and deeds. Spending quality time together, displaying unwavering support for one another's aspirations, and being unafraid to voice heartfelt sentiments and display affection are all crucial components of his approach to cultivating a meaningful connection. Furthermore, he acknowledges that being open-minded, adaptable, and flexible is essential since every individual is unique and has distinct needs, preferences, and expectations. Ultimately, Yuuken's strategy to court someone revolves around authentically conveying affection through his words, body language, and actions.

V. Japanese youth are raised with the principle of respecting their elders, which can contribute to their shyness and difficulty in expressing their feelings, particularly when it comes to matters of love. The strong emphasis on collectivism and group dynamics further reinforces this behavior, as younger individuals may find comfort in acting as part of a group rather than expressing their emotions individually. Consequently, Yuuken may require some external encouragement, such as moral support or a nudge to bolster his confidence, in order to openly declare his love for someone.

VI. Younger individuals in Japan, who are too shy to initiate a date with someone they like, often turn to a popular dating strategy known as "gokon" (合コン) or "group date." In this setup, the male typically invites his male friends, such as Ace and Deuce, and you invites your own companions. Ideally, there is an equal number of his friends and your friends participants, fostering a more relaxed and inclusive atmosphere, thereby minimizing any potential awkwardness or feelings of being left out.

VII. It is highly probable that Ace and Deuce will tease Yuuken, adding a touch of jest to the situation. Furthermore, there is the possibility that you may lack companions to enlist for their involvement in the group date. In light of these circumstances, Yuuken is likely to instead choose to express his love through actions. In Japanese culture, words of endearment hold little value without corresponding behaviors that genuinely reflect those sentiments. Therefore, he may demonstrate his affection by praising your qualities, sending heartfelt messages, or offering thoughtful gifts.

VIII. Despite the differences in expressing love between Japanese culture and the Western world, the underlying foundations share a common understanding. Both cultures recognize that love is nurtured and reinforced through consistent everyday actions over time. The sentiments themselves are universal, but the Japanese perspective emphasizes the power of actions over words in demonstrating affection. This nuanced difference in expression highlights the significance of tangible actions in strengthening and nourishing the bond of love in Japanese culture.

The courtship rituals in the Queendom of Roses would undoubtedly be distinctive, imaginative, and unconventional. The whimsical and imaginative atmosphere of this realm would lend itself to creative expressions of affection. As a result, each courtship encounter would be like a surprise, adding an element of spontenuity and uniqueness to the experience!

Courtship rituals can differ drastically between the various kingdoms within Wonderland, and the key to successfully courting a partner in this realm is to display confidence, imagination, and a touch of eccentricity. In the Queendom of Roses, unusual gestures and unconventional approaches are highly valued, so don’t be afraid to embrace your uniqueness. When searching for a suitor, seek someone who can handle your fiery demeanor and provide some intellectual stimulation as well. In the Queendom of Roses, partnerships are viewed as a delicate balance between power and wit. Once you find your ideal match, do not be hesitant to pursue them boldly.

The second step in the courtship process in the Queendom of Roses is crucial - the proposal! In this whimsical realm, a well-thought-out proposal typically goes beyond a simple "Will you marry me?" and is instead seen as an opportunity to showcase one's devotion, creativity, and unyielding loyalty. A truly successful proposal in the Queendom of Roses should demonstrate your ability to think outside the box, surprising and delighting your partner with a unique and memorable proposal!

The proposal, in the Queendom of Roses, is an unparalleled affair. Rather than a traditional approach on one knee, the suitor is more likely to orchestrate an extravagant and theatrical spectacle, featuring hidden riddles, intricate scavenger hunts, or even a thrilling escape from the Queen’s guards. It’s not merely about asking for their hand in marriage; it’s about demonstrating one’s willingness to go to any length and handle a dash of the Queendom of Roses brand of madness.

“what about dating?” Oh dear, you are quite impatient aren't you? Dating is the third step, dear. In the Queendom of Roses, dating isn't like those traditional candlelit dinners and hand-holding. No, dear, it's an intricate dance of wit, riddles, and games. Here, they believe the courtship period should be a time to test one's mental acuity, cunning, and ability to keep up with their maddening pace. So, when you begin to date in the Queendom of Roses, keep things lively. Forget about those romantic dinners and movies. How about a thrilling scavenger hunt across the kingdom instead? And instead of a romantic picnic, imagine a tea party with pastries that may or may not be laced with poisonous surprises. Remember, the key to a successful Queendom of Roses relationship is to never, ever get monotonous or dull.

In the realm of Queendom of Roses, the art of courting consists of a precarious equilibrium of allure and insanity. It would likely start with Yuuken sending enigmatic riddles and challenges to assess your shrewdness and ability to keep up with his erratic actions. Once he found a suitor he deemed worthy, he would plan a splendid exhibition of his affections. Perhaps a sumptuous feast where he would make a toast to your impending union, or a soiree filled with games meticulously designed to unveil the compatibility between you and him.

But beyond all that, he'd let his madness guide him. After all, what's courting without a bit of insanity?

❪ RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS .ᐟ ❫ 𓍢ִ໋❤️

I. Riddle would meticulously adhere to the courtship practices of the Queendom of Roses. He would generously bestow gifts and symbols of his affection upon his suitor, each more peculiar and unexpected than the previous. He would organize opulent festivities in their honor, complete with a plethora of whimsical and unforeseeable entertainment. Every moment spent together would become an exercise in preserving his reputation for being "mad" while simultaneously showing his loyalty. And as his suitor responds in kind, they would be accepting the challenge to match his madness, thereby proving themselves worthy of becoming his companion in love and insanity.

II. In this step, Riddle would keenly observe you, diligently studying your personality to ensure that it somewhat resonates with his. Bear in mind that the first step is to select someone who can endure your spirited nature and offer a healthy challenge in return. The Queendom of Roses firmly believes that a partnership should be a delicate balance of power and intellect. You might notice Riddle's gaze lingering on you for longer than others, causing you to wonder if you have accidentally broken a rule. However, fear not, for it's merely riddle meticulously searching for a flawless suitor, and he suspects that you may fit the bill!

III. The next stage, as viewed through Riddle's lens, holds great excitement. There is an opportunity to test your devotion and resilience in the face of his challenges. However, from your point of view, it may seem like he despises you! He propels you towards outlandish scenarios beyond your wildest dreams. He assigns you tasks with objectives that seem inexplicable or impossible to achieve. In addition, he exhibits increased harshness, even meting out punishments for minor transgressions. Confronting a shapeshifter is merely one of the many trials he presents. Every predicament is meticulously orchestrated to unveil your depth of dedication, loyalty, and ability to withstand. He Clearly, he doesn't want a submissive partner, but rather someone who can stand their ground and meet his challenges head-on. These tests are not just his way of having fun, but also an essential part of his evaluation process.

IV. After a week filled with various events and dramatic episodes, Riddle would finally assess that you possess the qualities he seeks in a suitor. He would then regard you with a look of satisfaction, and begin to become increasingly intimate with you. This housewarden can be quite perplexing, isn't he? The third step, dating, unfolds with him inviting you to extravagant parties and tea parties. These occasions are usually teeming with excessive activities and chaos. Riddle thrives in this constant whirlwind of nonsense, and follows rule three to the letter: never be bored. How does he manage to maintain this perpetually tumultuous lifestyle?

V. To sum it up, being courted by Riddle is an absolute whirlwind. It requires a healthy dose of creativity, innovative thinking, and a willingness to embrace the realm of pure insanity that defines the Queendom of Roses. Get ready for a relationship unlike any other!

❪ ACE TRAPPOLA .ᐟ ❫ 𓍢ִ໋❤️

I. RIDICULOUS I HATE HIM I I HOPE HE DIES

II. Don't worry about that. Based on his personality, there is a 50% probability that Ace would follow a more conventional approach in courting. However, due to his unique nature and desire to stand out, it's likely that he would incorporate his own creative flair into the courtship process, aiming to make the experience truly special and memorable for his chosen suitor.

III. The first step in Ace's plan to win your heart is to grab your attention. He might begin by presenting you with a small, eye-catching gift. Then, he'd gradually start to get closer to you, learning more about your interests and desires. He'd actively seek opportunities to spend time with you, whether in a group setting or one-on-1 scenarios. The amount of time spent together largely hinges on your level of interest in him. Ace would also become increasingly physical, if you're open to it, offering hugs and light teases as a way to express his feelings and possibly provoke a reaction from you.

IV. Once Ace has gotten to know you better, he'll take the initiative and make the first move. He understands that it's crucial for him to display his genuine interest as well; it can't always be a one-sided affair. With a clear understanding of you, he'll start flirting with you, but he won't be shy about it. He'll be upfront and bolder in his approach, wanting you to know exactly how he feels and hoping to ignite a reciprocal interest within you. He’d start by making subtle advancements, like touching your arm while talking or sitting next to you closer than usual. If you’re responsive, he may attempt to make more significant moves, like trying to hold your hand or find excuses to get into physical contact with you. Depending on your reaction, he might even lean closer to whisper flirtingly into your ear or surprise you by wrapping an arm around your waist.

VI. After the initial flirtation, Ace would transition to Step 2: making sure you understand your importance to him. He would demonstrate his care through small gestures such as checking in on you when you're feeling upset, offering comfort and reassurance. He would want to make sure you feel safe and confident in knowing that you could always count on him. In addition, he would shower you with a memorable time, taking you out for a wonderful date and treating you like royalty. During this time, he would also subtly highlight his strength and reliability, strengthening your connection. Once he feels comfortable enough with you, he’d start expressing his feelings more openly. He would become increasingly more touchy and flirtatious, he might even start calling you with endearling nicknames. He's not shy, so he’d probably just end up wrapping an arm around your waist without even realising it

V. Lastly, Ace would employ his favorite tactic: good-natured teasing. As a typical teenage boy, his pride is too great for straightforward confessions. He would tease you here and there, leaving you in a state of curiosity and wonder. And why does he do this? Simply because it's amusing to him. He knows that you never know what someone is going to say or reveal about themselves when they're in a more relaxed and playful mood, and teasing is the perfect tool. Have you ever heard of the phrase "pulling pigtails"? Ace's tactic isn't just a form of playful banter or a way to rile you up—it's a way for him to learn more about you. He's interested in seeing how you react to his teases and what kind of person you are. Teasing, in his mind, is a quick and easy way to get a glimpse into your true nature. It's a game he enjoys playing, and he hopes you'll play along. But be warned, his teasing can be quite relentless!

In the vast expanse of the Shaftlands, the courtship customs are influenced by the myriad cultures and climates found within its borders. Nevertheless, a common thread runs through all of them: a deep rooted appreciation for chivalry. Traditional values such as a gentlemanly demeanor and romantic gestures typically feature prominently in courtship rituals, with men expected to take the lead. As a first step, small tokens or gifts are often presented as symbols of affection or interest. These gifts can range from small trinkets or flowers to more meaningful tokens that reflect a deeper thought or understanding of the recipient's interests or personality. Such gestures serve as a way to express interest and begin the initial stages of courtship, with men often looking to impress and capture the attention of those they are courting.

Respect for the partner's parents or family, especially the elders, often plays a significant role in the Shaftlands courtship rituals. While the culture encourages independence and self-sufficiency from a young age, families hold great importance in the lives of Shaftland individuals. Once you're in a serious relationship with a Shaftlands partner, expect to spend a considerable amount of time with their parents, also known as the Schwiegereltern

The final step to a courtship in the Shaftlands is often spending quality time together through shared activities and conversations. However, it is worth noting that the Shaftlands are a vast country with diverse climates and many regions with distinct cultures. As a result, the specifics of the courtship process can vary greatly depending on the locale and cultural traditions. Some regions may place more emphasis on courtship rituals and symbols, while others may prioritize getting to know each other through shared experiences.

In Vil's country, courtship is approached gradually and thoughtfully. The good news is that there are no strict dating rules in the Shaftlands, making it a rather flexible environment for pursuing romantic connections. However, bear in mind a few key points when navigating the world of love in Shaftlands. Unlike the passionate and fervent dating culture in the Queendom of Roses and Sunset Savanna, Shaftlands individuals favor a more measured and rational approach to dating. Rather than fiery and intense encounters, initial dates and even a handful of subsequent dates are likely to be kept casual and focused on building a strong foundation of understanding between partners. Don’t expect the first date—or even the first several dates—to have a strong romantic flair. Instead, the goal is to engage in relaxed, unpressured activities that allow you and your partner to grow closer on an emotional and intellectual level. This approach ensures that when and if the relationship moves towards a deeper commitment or the introduction of intimate elements, it will be based on a strong foundation of mutual respect and comprehension.

While casual dating may be the standard in the Shaftlands, it is generally assumed that both parties will not be seeing multiple individuals simultaneously. Engaging in such behavior is viewed as offensive and disrespectful unless both parties have explicitly agreed upon it from the onset. Monogamous relationships are the preferred and expected norm, and any deviation from this practice without clear agreement can lead to hurt feelings or broken trust.

The process of transitioning from casual dating to a serious relationship in the Shaftlands can be a gradual one, as rushing into committed partnerships is not a priority. Relationships here often progress at a more measured pace, developing slowly and naturally over time. Consequently, patience is key, and the dating period should be viewed as an opportunity to thoroughly get to know your partner and assess the compatibility of your connection. By taking the time to truly understand one another, you can ensure that when the decision to enter a committed relationship is made, it is done with confidence and clarity.

this is getting too long (°▽°)

❪ VIL SCHOENHEIT .ᐟ ❫ 𓍢ִ໋💜

I. If Vil were to court someone who holds a special fondness for nature, she might plan an outing to a lovely garden where they can bask in the beauty of the natural world together. On the other hand, if her suitor is artistic and values refined aesthetics, she might arrange a visit to an art gallery, where they can spend the day admiring the skill and beauty of the creative expression. In essence, Vil would tailor the first date to cater to her suitor's unique interests, creating a memorable experience that reflects their individual tastes and passions. In summary, Vil would take the time to understand her suitor's preferences and interests, and plan the first date accordingly. This could mean going on a nature walk in a beautiful garden for someone who appreciates the beauty of the outdoors, or exploring an art gallery and admiring the creative expressions for an artistic individual. By catering to her suitor's unique preferences, Vil would aim to create a memorable and enjoyable experience that sets the foundation for a meaningful connection.

II. Vil, being a busy individual, would approach the dating process with a deliberate and measured pace. She would carefully arrange dates during her free time, taking care to be on her best behavior and ensure that she presents herself in the best possible light. In the event that the initial date went well, as she is confident it would, she would plan additional dates but still maintain a slower pace. Vil has the habit of making her partners wait to assess their patience and level of effort. If she believes they are worthy, she will gradually open her heart more and more, eventually granting them the privilege of being considered hers. In essence, Vil is a person who holds high standards and values individuals who can demonstrate patience and dedication. She is not one to rush into relationships, but rather takes her time to evaluate her partners and their commitment. Only if someone can prove their worth and devotion would Vil consider letting them into her heart.

III. When it comes to your date with Vil, it is crucial to arrive on time. She values punctuality and expects her date to respect her time. However, in the event that an unexpected situation arises and you find yourself unable to make it at the agreed upon time, be sure to notify her promptly. Otherwise, she might perceive it as a lack of consideration for her schedule and effort. Showing up late without a valid reason can make you appear unreliable and disrespectful of Vil's time, so it's essential to be mindful of the agreed-upon time and plan your arrival accordingly. If an unforeseen circumstance arises, promptly communicate this to Vil and provide an explanation to ensure a smooth and respectful start to your date.

IV. Following a successful first date, Vil would move on to a second date and continue spending time with her suitor. However, it is important to note that she sets the pace and does not easily give herself to her partner. She wants them to prove their worth and seriousness by meeting her particular standards. During dates, Vil maintains her usual strict and composed demeanor, avoiding any signs of clinginess. She expects her suitor to respect her and show that they are not taking her for granted or assuming victory just because they have gone on a few dates. In order to win her heart completely, they still need to continue courting her. In short, despite going on multiple dates with her suitor, Vil will not immediately become overly affectionate or dependent on them. Instead, she expects them to continue courting and demonstrating their commitment and respect for her values and standards. She will not be easily won over and will remain discerning in her assessments of her partner’s intentions and dedication.

VI. Upon reaching the third step, if her suitor continues to impress her and does not let her down, Vil would start to open up and show vulnerability more. She would share her dreams and secrets with them and gauge their reaction. If they do not use this information against her, she would become more affectionate and offer a kiss on the cheek as a token of her growing feelings. However, she would not completely give herself away just yet, as she still expects her suitor to work for her affection and earn her trust completely. Despite her initial cold exterior, Vil is discerning and demands genuine, lasting efforts.

V. In the fourth step, Vil would begin to invite her suitor to events and parties, but still as a friend. She would continue to observe their behaviour and manner in public settings, keeping them on probation even then. However, if she is satisfied with their conduct thus far, her treatment towards them will become more special and affectionate, with hints dropped to indicate that they are making progress in winning her over. Despite these signs of softening, however, her suitor must still maintain their patience and keep up their efforts, as this is not the time to become complacent. If they have managed to stay in her good graces up to this point Vil would further demonstrate their growing closeness in public, such as holding their hand while walking or allowing them to enter her personal space. It’s possible that she might even allow them to address her by her first name at this stage. However, all of these actions are dependent on the suitor’s behaviour and continuing efforts to make her feel secure and valued in their relationship.

In the scorching lands of The Scalding Sands, "dating" typically takes a different form. The primary intent is to get acquainted with someone, with the ultimate goal of marriage in mind. Public displays of affection are not common, and it is uncommon for couples to meet alone. This is because of the cultural norms and societal restrictions that govern relationships in the region. Couples often meet under the supervision of a family member or chaperone, and the process of courtship involves more formalities and traditions compared to other regions.

While arranged marriages are still common in The Scalding Sands, a newer trend is emerging, particularly in urban areas. Young people are now more likely to express interest in a potential partner to their parents, who will then facilitate the marriage. This process allows for young individuals to explore less serious relationships, enabling them to gain a clearer understanding of what they seek in a life partner. Once they feel ready to settle down, they can communicate this information to their parents, who will then embark on finding a compatible match.

Some couples in The Scalding Sands may have already been secretly dating before revealing to their parents that they would like to marry. The approach to the marriage process can vary depending on the region and the familial perspectives. This secrecy could be due to the traditional norms around the topic of dating, where families may not approve of couples seeing each other before an official agreement has been arranged.

In The Scalding Sands, the concept of 'dating' is culturally taboo and often met with disapproval. If a couple is caught in a private setting, it is considered a sin or crime known as 'khulwa'. The consequences of engaging in khulwa can be severe, including punishments such as flogging and imprisonment. If sexual relations are involved, the penalties can be even more severe, potentially leading to death through execution. This strict cultural stance reflects the region's conservative values and deeply ingrained beliefs about premarital relationships.

In The Scalding Sands, dating tends to be a covert affair and finding romance in this highly conservative kingdom can be challenging, but not entirely out of reach. Expats should bear in mind that dating in the traditional sense is not practiced; instead couples come together when it's time for marriage. Parents play a pivotal role in deciding which partner is appropriate, and a person's say in the matter can vary based on their family's adherence to tradition. Additionally, due to the conservative nature of the culture, public displays of affection are not generally accepted, and physical contact between unmarried couples is strictly prohibited. Therefore, dating in The Scalding Sands is often limited to secret meetings or conversations in private spaces, where couples must exercise caution to avoid disapproval or punishment.

In addition to the previously mentioned points, it is important to note that it is both morally and legally wrong for unrelated individuals who are not married to spend time together in The Scalding Sands. As a result, those seeking a romantic relationship should exercise caution and creativity. Despite the progressive changes in the Kingdom, which now allow for entertainment such as music, movies, and theaters, thus allowing for more public interaction, dating, sexual relations, and romantic relationships are still highly stigmatized and seen as taboo.

In The Scalding Sands, due to the taboo nature of dating, the first dates are typically held discreetly. If both individuals reside in the same compound or have access to one, they might opt to spend their first date at the movies or a restaurant within the compound. Since the societal rules are more lenient within the compound, this is a comfortable choice for couples. Select restaurants in major cities also offer private cabins and exhibit a relaxed attitude towards gender mixing. Reaching out to your circle of fellow expats is a great way to discover suitable date spots, as they often know of locations with a more lenient approach.

In The Scalding Sands, it is not legally permissible for unmarried couples to share the same space. As a result, it is not customary for men to drive women to and from their homes. It is also not advisable to adhere to Western dating rituals, such as giving gifts, hugging, and other forms of physical intimacy. At the conclusion of the date, if there is a bill, men will typically pay for it, and they might find it offensive if a woman offers to contribute to the cost.

❪ KALIM AL - ASIM .ᐟ ❫ 𓍢ִ໋💛

I. Kalim, being raised in a traditional merchant family with a lineage of wealth and prestige, grew up in a privileged and sheltered environment. With his elevated social status, Kalim was well-aware of the importance of expressing his interest in someone. He adopted a straightforward approach, either through compliments or directly telling them of his feelings, without resorting to beating around the bush. Back in his homeland, there were numerous ways to express interest, such as gifts, flowers, food, and even whispering sweet words to someone's ear. Unmarried, unrelated individuals could not spend time together, as elders sought to preserve purity and innocence before marriage. This segregation was seen as a means to preserve purity and innocence, and it was believed to reinforce family values and traditions. While relationships were discouraged before marriage, once two people wed, they were expected to devote their lives to their spouse and children. In The Scalding Sands, the cultural emphasis on family was reflected in its views on dating and intimate relationships.

II. If you have feelings for someone, it is crucial to be discreet about it. Gifting presents and such gestures is still allowed, but families and elders would prefer not to know about it. They might force a marriage and deal with all the boring formalities otherwise. To initiate a romantic pursuit, the first step is to let the person know you're interested. Kalim would use a variety of methods to express his interest, such as giving gifts, whispering sweet words, or even simply telling them. Additionally, he would utilize eye contact, physical touch, and other subtle gestures to make a statement. Eye contact, physical touch, and being close to someone all serve as indicators of Kalim's investment and interest in them. They convey that he wants them and can't keep his hands off them. This non-verbal communication can be a powerful way to demonstrate affection and build attraction. While the elders and families might prefer to remain unaware of these romantic pursuits, Kalim's actions make it clear that he has his sights set on his chosen person.

III. The second step in the traditional pursuit of romance is a significant one, signaling mutual interest. It's often a declaration of feelings, and it culminates in asking for a kiss. However, the timing of this step can vary; it doesn't have to happen immediately. The process can progress at one's own pace. Making such a gesture acts as a bold declaration of liking someone, essentially saying, "I like you, and I want to show that I like you." It serves as a mutual test, and if the person responds by kissing back, it indicates shared feelings. Conversely, if a person pulls away, it implies a lack of interest. Body language can be a reliable indicator. A person who isn't into you may create emotional distance through actions like moving away from your touch or getting too close. They might show confusion or bluntly state their disinterest. However, someone interested in you will do the opposite. They may smile, lean into your touch, or even become shy if the feelings are reciprocated. You can discern these signals.

IV. In The Scalding Sands, dating is not a widespread practice. When two individuals realize they have feelings for each other, their families step in to arrange the marriage as soon as possible, but the timing can vary. The arrangements for the marriage typically begin once mutual interest is established. In Kalim's case, if he senses the other person shares his interest, he would promptly start the process leading to a marriage proposal. Before what Westerns refer to as "dating", Kalim would approach the person's family to ask for their hand in marriage. This process is not rushed, and it generally follows a pattern where you get to know the person and spend time together before making the proposal. By doing this, he makes a strong statement, basically declaring his intention to be with the person, which carries significant weight given the traditional values of the region.

VI. Kalim's formal marriage proposal would include gifting and some sort of public announcement, adhering to traditional customs. However, typically, it's a family member who seeks permission from the other family. Kalim could ask for the person's hand in marriage directly or have a family member do so on his behalf. A gift or offering would be given as a demonstration of his ability to provide. It's important to note that some families might prioritize monetary value over material gifts, but generally, offering gifts or money serves as a common approach for marriage proposals in Kalim's culture. The act of asking for someone's hand in marriage is indeed a very formal affair, steeped in tradition. It typically involves the giving of gifts and some form of public announcement, symbolizing both respect and a declaration of intent. It is also worth noting that in Kalim's culture, it is often a family member, rather than the individual himself, who makes the request to the other family, whether it be to seek their blessing or to ask for their hand in marriage. Giving a gift, or more often, money, serves as a crucial gesture of goodwill and a demonstration of one's ability to provide and support.

V. This phase is often considered the last step before officially getting married. Instead of referring to it as "dating," in The Scalding Sands' culture, this period is more focused on spending time together to determine how compatible the couple is, especially in the context of a future marriage. It's a crucial time for assessing compatibility and preparing for the commitment of matrimony.

VI. Kalim would be generous by showering you with luxurious jewelry and other extravagant gifts. He would also try to spend as much time with you as possible, potentially being a little clingy due to his desire to keep you all to himself. Kalim might take you on wonderful dates like going to festivals or parties, or even stargazing or taking you on a magical carpet ride. He would devote all his attention to you and likely shower you with sweet compliments. Kalim would go all out, spoiling you with expensive jewelry and exclusive items. He'd want to spend every moment with you and might be somewhat possessive, not wanting anyone else to get close to you. He'd plan exciting dates like attending festivals or parties while also offering special experiences like stargazing or a magical carpet ride. Throughout it all, he’d shower you with his undivided attention and compliment you in the sweetest ways.

i cant write “x reader” properly i’m so sorry

“courtship” has slowly lost its meaning

[miowyaa]

Hello! Welcome!

Let's try this, can I request Lucifer om with uhhh let's say reader that acts the way he acts with Diavolo? Like the lapdog of the lapdog, you catch my drift? 😭

Wasn't sure if you write for both hc and oneshot but whichever is fine by me as long as you're comfortable.

Ty! Take your time, drink water <3

A lapdogs lapdog; Lucifer x gn!reader

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, I havent been playing Obey Me for a good year now and the only content I consume of it are from fanfics, so my bad because everyones likely OOC.. This is also my first shot at writing headcannons, so hopefully they arent too bad. Enjoy!! (Also, the Samuel pfp? LMAO)

I’m so sorry that this is incredibly late, I’m not sure when I’ll be posting the others because I’ve had a butt to of schoolwork recently.. sorry guys.. requests r still open but I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get to them!

CW: extreme ooc lowk, thats it, if you spot any lmk <3

The person who finds it the funniest has to be Diavolo himself, seeing his closest confidant having someone who is as naggy as themselves cracks him up everytime. He probably starts using you as a way to slip out of unwanted conversations with Lucifer.

Oh, he wants to talk about numbers and strategies or whatever? Is that [name] I see in the distance??

The man himself, Lucifer, may find it endearing on a good day. But more often than not, he is NOT having a good day. For the longest time since you got there, he found it annoying how your DDDs wallpaper was set to a blurry picture of him. What are you, one of Asmodeus’ fan girls?

Once Belphegor was freed, he started plotting with Satan. Initially, you were apart of this hate group because well, you’re Lucifers #1 fan. You should be into everything associated with him.

You were soon kicked out after their plans were interfered with, wow a door that teleports you into some void for a whole day? Haha, I wonder how you got in there first. Lucifers never fell for one of their tricks, but he wonders when you’ll figure that out.

Anyways, imagine Mammon punching the wall because he’s upset you don’t dote on him the same way, lol

When he was choosing an exchange student, he didnt except for them to start developing a budding relationship. Sure, maybe he found you especially annoying at times, the cream puff explosion to the countless other incidents, he doesnt doubt that if he were anyone else you probably wouldve been long gone. But it would be after all those incidents, he would scribble away in his office- the picture of your lingering smile plays over and over again in his mind like a broken record player.

He pictured you tripping down the stairs with files in hand, and he smiled. Whether it was out of adoration or just cruel amusement was unknown but he's never been the best at discerning his own emotions. Yet he doesnt let anyone but you linger in his office, sure sometimes one of his brothers comes in there to ask for something, but they rarely go out of their way to spend their time with it, and that's usually just how he likes it. The first few times you sat in the armchair pushed into the corner of the room, he’d sneak dubious glances at you every now and then, keeping his silence. Today, he just accepts your presence, your sleeping body sprawled out on the armchair as if you dont have a care in the world, feels natural to him- in fact, when you arent there, Lucifer finds it hard to keep focus. 

As much as he may try to deny it, he’ll always have a certain fondness for you that no one else can claim nor replace.

© miowyaa | please do not steal, repost, or translate any of my work.

[easy-there-leftovers]

I See You, Darling (4)

[Astarion x reader] A little longer than usual, I hope that’s fine for all of you :,DDD I didn't want to cram too much into the post though, so the segment at the end might be continued in full detail, or maybe not! Let's see.|Word count: 2.9k.|

Content Warnings: Mentions of cooking, handling knives, blood, allusions to sex, a few ooc characters, reader being a dumbass and wahtnot.

Part 3 here!!

Masterlist here!!

A party is being held at the camp in the heroes’ honor, which greets you with a lively crowd that you’ll hopefully meet again soon. And with a gathering this large, you’re bound to garner attention. But with a constitution as poor as yours from the night before, a round of drinks is the last thing you want. 

Alternatively: A bloodless human tries to balance respectfully participating in a drinking party, while also not drinking at all. 

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

The sun rises, the warmth of its rays gently waking you in the absence of the campfire’s flames. The soft chirping of the birds greet you a good morning as your eyes slowly open, ready to greet the day as a new opportunity arises.

Is what would have happened in a more idyllic scenario. Instead, you bolt awake with a pounding headache, worse than any hangover could possibly feel like, and quickly rush to get up. By the sheer brightness of the light that burns your newly opened corneas, it is far later than when you usually wake. And breakfast still hasn’t been made. 

“Well, good morning sleepy head.” One of your companions, Gale, says as he fixes his belongings. Readying himself for the skirmish that was about to take hold later on in the day.

“I’m very  sorry for waking up late. It won’t happen again.” You bow your head low for a moment before he waves you off.

“Oh come now, we all have our off days. Besides, I think the rest would agree with me when I say what you made for us last night was more than enough to last us ‘til morning.” His statement is punctuated by the lively sounds of the others training. Ready and well rested for whatever may come.

You look around. None have seemed to mind your temporary absence, so you endeavor to double check with everyone leaving and ensure that they had a sound strategy with the necessary materials and weapons should there be a need for failsafes. You remind them of certain notes that some of them have informed you about but failed to share with the rest of the group. 

‘While goblins typically go down faster than other opponents, they have no sense of honor nor pride which gives way for them the opportunity to use more underhanded tactics. But they also aren’t very bright, so you can convince the others to let them infiltrate the camp and eradicate them from the inside out.’

As the rest disperse, finalize their plans and check their supplies, your favorite character approaches you much like he usually does every morning. Only this time, you see that he looks very pleased. A more vibrant spark in his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Thank goodness you’ve finally woken up.” He looks at you, in the same way an old friend of yours would when they’re seconds away from telling a joke. 

The look fades soon enough though as he breathes out. You wonder if it’s because the joke isn't funny anymore, or if he never had a punchline to begin with.

“You looked a little ill last night, but you’ve certainly recovered.” Recovered isn’t the word you would use to describe your current state of feeling almost half dead, but you don’t bother correcting the details.

“And you look particularly vibrant today, Astarion.” The itch of your neck intensifies as you return a pointed look at him as he frowns.

“Oh, of course! Now, don’t be so upset. I will admit that I got a little carried away, I apologize.” He pauses. The frown remains on his face for a while before it is erased with his usual expression of confidence. 

“But let’s not fall out over this.” He moves to stand closer to you, taking your hand to his as he nears it to his lips as he continues. 

“We need each other.” 

And whether its done purposefully or not, you see his fangs peek out from his mouth and a shiver courses through your body.

You slip your hand out of his own in a panic and interject. 

“I know that much already, and I trust you not to let what happened last night happen again. I also apologize for not noticing sooner and dealing with the situation better.” You hold your head down a bit to apologize but quickly meet his gaze gain. “But I do need to know what we’ll have to feed you from now on.”

The look of confusion, and perhaps even shock that was once swimming in his eyes dissipates before you can notice them when he swears upon his resolve. “No innocents, you have my word. After all, you know what I am now. I can fight with all my weapons–” He grins, allowing you a clearer view than what you had earlier. “Teeth included.”

“And if I happen to drain the occasional bandit during a fight, what's the harm? They’re just as dead.” He makes a very compelling argument, at least to your standards.

You sigh, satisfied for now. You’re confident that none of your party members would end up at the mercy of his fangs, and you’re more than sure they would be able to overpower him more than your attempts did. But the same sentiment cannot be shared for possibly important, plot driving, characters that you might meet later on.

So you propose something to strengthen your trust that the unlikely will stay the unlikely.

“Look, I’m–” You breathe in, almost as if you're trying to suck back whatever courage washed over you back in as you steeled yourself for what you were about to say next.

“I’m not against you feeding from me, but!” You punctuate the last syllable as you see his grin growing wider. “We need to discuss things beforehand. No prowling over me while waiting for me to wake up or to sink your teeth into.”

The proposal greatly delights him, as is evident in his response. “Of course! That sounds eminently reasonable. I shall wait patiently until you suggest we… dine together. But until then: no more late-night surprises. You have my word on that.” 

After that, he makes a joke about feeling ‘peckish already,’ and quickly gathers the rest of the party to leave on their adventure.

You promise them a feast when they came back as the victors that they are. What you forgot, after what felt like weeks in the real world, was the crowd that would come filtering in to celebrate their heroes’ achievements as well.

————————————

When you saw the tieflings from the grove traveling alongside your companions, you knew they had come to celebrate. And you blanched at the thought of the provisions they’d be seeking to pair with their drinking. It’s been so long since you went through this event, and you no longer recall if they even ate anything during the party.

You look at your bubbling cauldron–– a bigger one as you had anticipated a few acquaintances accompanying them–– but you wager that at least a little extra things to nibble on won’t hurt to have. You still have quite the amount of camp supplies in the trunk, but you keep it reserved for the camp’s use only. So you smile at your returning comrades and alert the others that stayed behind for your reason to leave and that they can begin eating dinner. 

While others told you it wasn’t necessary, the rest just nodded with a smile and yelled that they’d wait for you to return. You return quite too quickly though, all the while informing them why you’re keeping the communal chest in your tent as you spy the child that tried to steal and swindle the group a few days prior approaching with the rest.

They have a laugh and you quickly proceed with your plan to find at least a few consumable berries and nuts or seeds to accompany the drinks later on. 

But foraging for said consumables near dark is a choice not for the faint-hearted. You came to realize this when you heard the low grumble of a large animal, thankfully far from your form. You turn to look behind you, taking great care to do so as slowly as possible so as to not alert the mysterious creature.

In the clearing, you spot a rather dark looking bear and you feel a cold sweat begin to form on your temple. Hands, growing wet in the dangerous situation you’ve placed yourself in. This wasn’t the same as being drained to death by a vampire, that, you could at least reason with. But a wild animal? With your lack of magical prowess and lesser knowledge of connecting with nature and the wild, you would be finished if it were to follow you.

The small pouch of nuts and wild berries stayed holstered on your waist, but the bear’s eyes that were previously low on the ground are now trained on you. Almost as if it were caught doing something it wasn’t supposed to be. 

You freeze. You forgot what the basic policy was around brown or black bears and therefore couldn’t do much about your current predicament. There shouldn’t be a bear around this area, not unless they had traveled from far away, or that this bear was one of your future companions.

And while the latter isn’t impossible, you most certainly did not want to gamble your life on a possibility. So you tried to compose yourself, returned the gaze of the bear with a shaky and careful nod, and turned back to return to camp. Figuring that the amount of tidbits you gathered would have to suffice.

 When you return, the company you shared seems to be in high spirits. Some more than others. But conversation was plentiful and you smiled as the tieflings cheered for your comrades. You quickly got to work and began to chop the nuts into thinner pieces. Something you learned to make the appearance of something look more abundant than it really is.

While you were chopping away unfortunately, you nick your finger along the way and silently curse. Unfortunate, but not an unforeseeable outcome given the booming drums of the bard that plays oh so nicely with your bloodless state. You quickly, but neatly, arrange the provisions on two small platters, and position them near the larger gatherings. 

“Flitting around like a hummingbird as always, I see.” A familiar, but not immediately recognizable voice greets you as you pass them. You turn and you see an unexpected acquaintance with a bottle in their hand and an incredibly charming grin.

“Dammon! How lucky of me to run into you.” You genuinely were elated to see him. You didn’t see much of him later on in the game, and being able to interact with him beyond the opportunities given to you was certainly nice.

“I could say the same. Though you’re as lively as you usually are.” There’s no malice in his tone, only an innocent observation, yet you feel embarrassed to have been seen scuttling about like a bug.

“I– promise I’m more organized. I just didn’t expect us to be having any guests.” He takes notice of how you push your fingers into your palms repetitively, a small action that soothes you.

“I think you’ve done more than a fine job already. The celebration is for you all, and it was us who planned to come and might’ve put your friends on the spot.” He later takes notice of the cut on your finger as well.

“Speaking of,” He gingerly grasps your hand, looking to you for permission, but you’re too confused to respond with anything he can understand. “Shouldn’t you be taking it easy for the night? You’ve done enough. And if what happened at the grove tells me anything about you, I’m sure they’ll survive even if you settle. Just for a bit.” 

He leads you nearer to the water and produces a small washcloth to clean a bit of your finger as you respond. “The grove? They did that on their own. I just um, take notes.” You sit on a fallen tree, your head still fuzzy, as you observe his crouched form. Inspecting the cut as he cleans it. 

A curious interaction. Not one that you’d expect from an non-romanceable NPC, but an interesting one nonetheless. And it would seem that someone had found it equally as interesting, if the way he scrutinizes you had anything to do about it.

He chuckles in turn. “If modesty is how you like to live, then I won’t impose.” He smiles and gets up as you continue your conversation. You don’t recall if the tiefling has ever had this much screen time, but his voice is rather lovely so you don’t complain about it.

You end up discussing quite a bit, but you focus on what can be done about your party. Specifically Karlach as you worry for the future and you’d like to have answers for her when he isn’t around during your journey. He doesn’t have much idea of what else can be done, but he does mention that he should have something by the time you meet him again in Baldur’s Gate.

You do remember that you might meet him a lot sooner, but you don’t mention it explicitly. You do, however, advise him to be extra careful around the oxen as they can be rather unpredictable this time of year.

As you continue, you notice his eyes flit up every now and then. Like something was catching his attention ever so often. You ask him about it and he actually laughs at your genuine inquiry. “It looks like I was wrong. Your friend there looks like he’d like his turn for your company.”

You turn around and you don’t immediately eye anyone looking in your direction. You were never the subtle type, so you looked around, blatantly searching for someone. It was a bit odd to see.

Your eyes do eventually train on his, but he doesn’t necessarily look like he wants to talk to you. Sure, he’s scowling away, though that’s not out of the ordinary at all. Besides, he has a bottle of something that you hope is helping him relax.

Still, perhaps Dammon saw something you didn’t so you politely thank him for his company and excuse yourself.

You greet the others that regard you as you walk past them. Declining the offers to drink and excusing yourself politely when you were asked to stay a bit. 

As you approach him, a tiefling tries to strike up a conversation with him. With a bored look, he dismisses them and turns to look at you. He takes a sip, sneers, and begins his rant now that you’re situated in front of him.

“I hate it. This is awful.” 

“The…wine?” He looks at you as if he should be mad, but a hint of amusement surfaces past the expression anyway. 

“There’s that, but I’m talking about the tieflings. We killed some goblins to save the others. The tally of lives didn’t change much. But what do I get for my hard work? A pat on the head, and vinegar for wine.” He looks down the neck of the bottle, swirling its contents before handing it out for you to take.

You look at the bottle, then him, warily. Modern alcohol is already a wonder to you, and this medieval mead could only do so much worse. Still, you take the bottle, and take a very small sip.

It’s a heavy, rich, red. Dry and sharp. You make a small sound of shock as you keep the liquid in your mouth. Offering him an awkward smile and a nod as you do.

“Ugh, see what I mean? Awful.” 

“All I want is a little fun. Is that so much to ask?” You would think that after an entire day of fighting whatever was out there he’d be tired. Apparently not. 

You sigh, ready to reprimand him and that he should just enjoy the night, but you stop when you feel his unburdened hand reach out to you. Eyes, boring into your own as he propositions you.

You’re here. Face in the grasp of a character you’ve longed to romance with what little time you’ve had away from your scholarly pursuits. Yet meeting him in strange, yet not all too unfamiliar, territory stirs uncertainty within you. Because while he doesn't have a knife at your throat like he did when your character first met him, it certainly does evoke the same sentiment.

‘To, “make me his”, is that right?’ While the idea is tempting, that statement alone can have various interpretations. And you didn’t want to hedge your bets on the one that made your heart race for all the wrong reasons.

Thankfully, he releases his hold on your visage. Only the gods know how much his touch alone can influence you, and you struggle to stand upright.

“I’m– very,-- truly, sorry, but don’t you think you have the wrong person? I mean,” You gesture to yourself with both hands, a cut visible from the labor in the few hours prior to the large festivities going on.. “Uh…in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in a position to make any um, lucrative offers.” 

 He looks at you, a familiar expression graces his face. He leans his weight on one leg, and you struggle to recognize what his body language is conveying. This is one of those instances you wished you had the dice roll mechanic of the game at your disposal. 

“Why, that hardly matters, darling. What matters is that you’re here.” He takes a sip from his bottle, the very same that he allowed you to partake from moments prior. Only this time, without the sneer at the aftertaste as he continues.

“But then again, what’s a sinner to do when faced with the very embodiment of chastity?” A smile graces his face, but it’s one that is all too perfect. As if he’s rehearsed the same song and dance enough to save him lifetimes.

“Let’s wait until things quieten down. Once the others are asleep we’ll find each other.” 

You have no idea what to expect. Well, you do, but you’re not very sure if this is necessary. You’ll just have to find a way to continue the story without having to go through with this. For now, at least. 

“We’ll see about that, Astarion.” 

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, @tiannamortis, @aoirohi, @sarkara211, @jane-3043, @h3110-dar1in9, @h3ll0k1ttyl0ver333, @mimziethealien, @squichymochi, @sharabay, @furblrwurblr, @dork-of-the-universe, @thedevilssinner, @fuckalrighty, @queenofthespacesquids, @perseny, @goldenplutus, @h4nluv, @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer, @auszimbo, @maruichio, @iamsexytrash, @craig-mywifeisdead-boone, @grimissleepy, @fandomsfanman, @bitchyzombienacho, @r1kk, @ancuninstar, @izuoyarmin, @gracemisconduct, @kiinokochii, @marina-and-the-memes, and @life-is-hard-m8 for asking to be tagged!!

[twasmayfield]

my funny valentine.

description: so it's the late 1950s and everything's going well for you. a loving husband, two kids, and an apartment that looked like it came out of some catalog. but when your husband suddenly left, you somehow found your way into doing comedy.

warnings: afab reader, the marvelous mrs maisel au, a bit ooc of bradley and natasha, swearing, mentions of kids, my bad attempt at jokes, mentions of an affair/cheating, idk your (ex) husband kinda sucks, lmk if i missed anything else.

a/n: this kinda got away from me, whoops. erm mrs. maisel au !! one off fic (unless you want more), see more at waiting room !!

Ever since you were a child, you’ve always planned ahead.

When you were six, you knew deep in your heart that you wanted to major in Art History like your mother. At age thirteen, you found your signature haircut and hell broke loose if your haircuts down the line didn’t look like it. And on the day after your fourteenth birthday, you sat your parents down and told them that you wanted to attend a private, famous college upstate—the kind politicians sent their daughters to for etiquette training, or to find a husband. You did both.

You met your husband, Victor, at some party you couldn’t even remember now. You were seeing some tall, blond guy that went by ‘Chad’ or ‘Tom’ or any name that sounded like a frat boy, and hung off his arm with a bright, but tolerated, smile like a trophy wife while he ignored you and talked football strategies to guys who looked like they would’ve loved to be anywhere but here. And your husband swept you off your feet, pulling you away from the human embodiment of a hyena if it found itself wearing a suit, walking down Wall Street.

Victor took you to see shows, art galleries, and the occasional sneak outs after curfew to drink at bars. The kind of activities where you’d switch things around a bit if your mother asked what the two of you did. One time, he took you to some guy named Bradley Bradshaw’s comedy routine. “People call him ‘Rooster,’” he’d say, almost going on a spiel while you wondered if you did well on your last quiz.

The guy they called ‘Rooster’ was funny. In a ‘deadpan, airing out everything that happened in my life’ kind of way. He talked about the Navy, his godfather, that one time he crashed his said godfather’s motorcycle purely out of spite. Victor laughed at every joke and you smiled behind your glass.

The two of you got engaged during your last year, married a few months after graduation, your son born soon after, and your daughter a year or two later. “Three before thirty,” was drilled into your head like it was an ancient script passed down by every woman you knew and your mother—which was funny because she only ever had two kids; you and your brother.

Ah your brother. He was the booksmart and analytical one of the family—practically your father’s twin. The one who found himself working for the military straight out of college, either crunching numbers or doing some high-tech shenanigans—you loved him, but you couldn’t be assed to ask what his job actually was. You and your mother often dissociated yourselves when the conversation around the dinner table turned into a chatter of schematics and blueprints.

Charlie was three, soon to turn four in the coming months. He looked more and more like his father each passing day and you hoped he didn’t inherit Victor’s odd limp when the weather got cold. The boy never stayed still, always cried in the mornings when he’s being handed off to your mother for babysitting, and he bit people when and if they took too long. But he was mostly a happy child when placed in front of the television with his usual bowl of cereal and milk, watching the reruns of some puppet show.

Isabelle was on the halfway mark to being a year old. Round, chubby cheeks that made her look like an angelic cherub. She was a cherub—just not when you wanted her to be. And especially not on the nights when she was sick. Your mother kept telling you that her head’s starting to look like a bowling ball; you told her that she’ll grow into it. You wished that that would satisfy her enough, but you wandered in on her measuring the baby’s head with tape one morning and you walked back out quietly, not wanting to get a headache so early in the morning.

Your husband wanted to be a comedian.

That’s what he dreamed of every hour of the day while he worked at a company that only hired him because of his dad. And you supported him through multiple late nights a week with warm lasagna in a Pyrex held tightly between your hands while you sweet talked the owner into changing his slot so he wouldn’t be stuck waiting until midnight when the crowd’s all drunk and tired out.

What a happy, fun family dynamic.

The night was hectic.

The usual guy who was in charge of the bar disappeared off to God knows where, leaving someone named Natasha to man the entire cafe from behind the bar. The warm lasagna and your attempts at sweet talk didn’t seem to sway her into changing the slot, causing your husband to groan while the newcomer on the stage started his rendition of crudely playing the bagpipes. And by the time Victor’s turn rolled around, the crowd was half dead and half barely paying attention to whoever was on stage now. And he fumbled. Bad. Absolutely bombed his set. Even the guy who was asleep in a booth at the back knew it. At least that’s what he told you anyway, you just jolted down notes like you always did.

Victor complained about the barely noticeable holes in his sweater, his late time slot for the night, and kept going on about how the audience was basically dead during his set on the car ride back home. He complained and complained and complained to the point where the cab driver looked over in the mirror while you ignored the look and half tuned out your husband’s complaints, scribbling down the jokes that should’ve landed in a tiny notebook that you carried around during nights when he did his routines.

“You told me to do that joke.” He called out from the bedroom.

You scrunched up your face in front of the bathroom mirror, fixing the last hair roller into your hair. “I told you to rework it a bit.”

“Well, I did,”

“No, you didn’t. You basically copied word for word from our conversation from the cab.” You walked out of the bathroom, seeing him stuff his clothes into a suitcase. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t look up, zipping the suitcase shut. “I have to go.”

“I have to leave.” He finally looked up, seeing you stare at him in confusion in your nightgown with your head full of hair rollers. “You. I have to leave you.”

“That’s my suitcase.” You pointed out in a fit of confusion. “You’re leaving me with my suitcase?”

“Wait, really?” Victor looked over the laying suitcase on the bed, looking back at you. “I’m—I’m not happy.”

“And I am?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to do this. I’m not good at things like this.”

You almost bitterly laughed, “things like what? Leaving me?”

“I’m not happy,” he sighed out, hand gesturing to the bedroom. “I’m not happy with this.”

“We can change the wallpaper if that’s what you want, you don’t have to leave.” Your voice turned soft, almost pleading.

“I’ve been having an affair.” A beat. A pause. A moment to gather back in the air that was knocked out of you. “I thought it was just a phase, but it’s been going on for a few months now…”

Your voice was calm, but you couldn’t tell if that was because you were so surprised by the news or something else. “With who?”

“Margaret.”

“Your secretary? I gave you two kids, and you’re leaving me for a girl who couldn’t figure out how to use a sharpener?”

“It’s not about her. And it was a new sharpener!”

“All she had to do was push!”

The argument that lasted a whole five minutes was barely an argument; more like two debate champions trying to squash one another. Ping-ponging between topics that finally cracked and spilled open, you watched as your husband of five years left the home you two promised to spend together until death. With your fucking suitcase.

Rain rolled in outside, the droplets hitting the windows hard as the dark sky crackled with thunder. You would have chuckled—maybe even laughed—at the irony of the dark and gloomy weather mirroring how you were feeling if you weren’t still hung up over the fact that you just found out that your husband had been cheating on you with a co-worker and left you alone all in the same night.

Wine bottle to your mouth, your eyes looking over at the shelf full of plates and glassware, trying to figure what used to be on the now empty shelf in the middle.

Your fucking Pyrex.

Your mother often told you that the subway at night was scary.

She was right, of course, but in the current state of things, even the scariest thugs of New York City somehow scooted away from you in the almost barren carriage. You wanted to tell them that you weren’t like this. That you were a prim and proper housewife from the Upper West Side. That this was just a very bad night that you never once thought was going to happen. But instead of opening your mouth and saying anything and everything you wanted to say to save the public’s opinion of you, you just chugged the remaining wine that was left in the bottle.

The rain stopped when you arrived at the cafe you spent most nights at, jolting down jokes your husband made that either hit with the audience or didn’t. You sluggishly walked down the stairs, droplets of rain running off your fingertips. You had one mission and it was to get your Pyrex back and leave. Of course that was hard considering that the waitress who was working there looked bored and barely cared. The conversation was cut short as soon as she’d gotten exasperated with your insistence of telling her to check the back that she left to check it out for the glass container that you were clearly attached to.

“So this is it, huh?” You said absentmindedly as you somehow stumbled onto the stage in your fit of drunken haze. With your back to the crowd, your eyes wandered to the multitude of different colored flyers stuck on the wall. “This is what you were working towards, Victor?” You almost scoffed at the absurdity. Was he funny? Sure, but that was before you found out he was doing someone else’s routine a few weeks back. Some famous guy’s act, but the name was currently lost on your tongue and you didn’t make any efforts to think about it right now.

“Who’s Victor?” A voice asked from the crowd, murmurs following after.

You turned, startled as you winced when your eyes caught the spotlight, hand moving to your face to block it out. “Victor’s my husband,”

“We can’t hear you!” Another voice yelled out.

“Oh sorry,” you started, taking the microphone from its stand, straightening the cable out before you could continue. “Victor’s my husband. Well ex-husband now, I guess.”

The crowd below grew with unease, some of the patrons looking at you with confusion and distaste. You couldn’t blame them really—you would have wrinkled your nose at someone too if they were currently as wet and disheveled as you were. The remnants of droplets from the rain outside dripped from the tips of your hair, your very expensive coat practically falling off your shoulders, revealing your sheer nightgown underneath—clearly you didn’t plan on going out tonight.

“So my husband left today,” you started, taking the microphone from its stand, straightening the cable out before you could finish your thought. “I just found out that he was cheating on me—” you added, “with his secretary.”

Some guy at the back let out a loud cheer. “Thanks. Thank you very much.”

“Now, usually, I wouldn’t be so… Well, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel right now, but I do know that I would feel a little bit better if the secretary he cheated on me with knew how to use a pencil sharpener.” You sighed. “I visited his office a few days ago, and I just watched in amazement as she poked and prodded the damn machine like it was something dystopian—surely they teach you how to use pencil sharpeners in college, right?”

“And—and,” you continued on, pacing around the small stage as you waved your hand in the air, “he took my suitcase.”

An awkward cough. An amused snort. A small laugh.

The crowd below warming up to whatever crisis you were starting to unravel out on the sticky beer slicked floor they called a stage. You sat yourself down on the stool, running a hand through your hair. “Not his big manly suitcase that he used whenever we went on vacation—my suitcase. The small pink carryon suitcase that could—maybe—fit five dresses and two pairs of heels,” you counted off your fingers, “and a hard hat if I really tried.”

“And what do I know about being the perfect wife? I’ve only given him two beautiful children—sure our son is back in his biting phase, and our daughter’s head looks more and more like a bowling ball each passing day—I kept our home clean, and had warm meals ready on the dinner table when he got back from work. I supported him when he tried pursuing this somehow unattainable dream of being a comic. But what do I know? All you men confuse me.” You gestured to your unfortunate outfit, voice dry. “Usually, this is considered being overdressed for a night out in the Village, but my mother would die of shock if she saw me dressed like this.”

You paused, blinking slowly. “Sorry, I’m a bit drunk right now. Everything I had counted on is gone. And this room just feels like a waiting room for purgatory.”

Natasha walked out from the back, wiping her hands clean on a rag and noticed you spiraling on stage. A look of intrigue and fascination on her face while you continued on your rant. You got back up, pacing on stage.

“I loved him.” The women in the audience looked at you, their eyes somehow full of wonder.

“And I showed him I loved him.” The men in the audience let out loud cheers.

“Let me tell you, I was a great wife. I was fun!” You stuck the microphone back on its stand, hands now on your hips. “I planned theme nights. I dressed in costumes. Okay, sure my French accent could use some work—my mother never taught me French, okay?—but that’s not a reason to leave, right?”

“I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I’m losing him to Margaret Welch. Margaret fucking Welch!” Natasha, now amused, leaned against the bar. “That’s her name, by the way.” You let out a tired huff, “I’m going crazy now. I’m gonna be known as the crazy divorcee from the Upper West Side.”

Bradley sidled up beside Natasha, “who’s that?”

“You know that one aspiring comic guy’s wife? The one with the lasagna?”

“That’s her?”

“Apparently.” Natasha looked around. “You should pull her off before she gets in trouble.”

Bradley flashed her a smile. “As you wish.”

The small yank on your arm was subtle and you made no move to tug yourself away from the person’s grip—oh hey, he looked familiar. The adrenaline and energy that once filled your body now depleted entirely, and you let yourself be pulled down to the stage and to the bar where you plopped down on a stool, tired.

“Nice set,” Natasha said, pushing a glass towards you.

You knocked your head back, swallowing the liquid. “Sorry, I’m not a comic.”

Bradley sat beside you. “You sure? ‘Cause you definitely got the chops.”

You snorted, pushing yourself off the bar and back to standing. “Definitely not. This was just an unfortunate mistake.”

You made your way back to the door before you turned back. “You have my Pyrex?”

Bradley and Natasha stared at each other in confusion. The waitress that went in the back to search for the damn thing disappeared. And your entire body was close to turning into lead.

“Never mind.” You shook your head and waved it off, pulling on your coat.

Bradley and Natasha watched as you walked out, turning to look at each other when you disappeared from their view. Without even saying a word, they both knew what the other was thinking.

You were going to be a star.

[leafnyx]

141 + Graves x Male reader general relationship H/C’s

SFW

(Sergeant reader)

Warnings: Probably ooc, internalized homophobia

Also sorry if the writing is weird, I wrote most of this a while ago and just finished it

(Also the writing gets a bit lazy near the end)

John Price

- He knew your strength when he accepted you into the 141, you were highly liked by all of your past captains, but he wanted to check himself if you were a good fit

- Price watched you train your first few weeks in the team and damn was he impressed

- Even after he knew you were good enough to be in the team, he didn't stop watching you

- He was immersed in how you trained, your smooth body movements, the way you could take someone down within a few seconds during sparring

- You caught him staring a few times, and he immediately turned away, his cheeks flushing red from embarrassment

- After a while he figured out he probably had feelings for you but he dismissed them, after all he's your captain and he's atleast a few years older than you

- He tried to distance himself from you, only talking when necessary for a mission

- When you brought it up to him, he would just simply reply that he's busy with work or he's stressed or literally any other excuse he could come up with on the spot

- After a while it would become decently obvious that he likes you

- He would continue watching you train, but this time try to be more secretive, it was still very obvious

- He would probably wait for you to make the first move

- Once you talk to him about it, he would immediately tell you that there's better people out there than him, that he's probably too old for you, ext.

- You continue to insist that you like him, and he would eventually accept, since he does like you back

- He would not want to tell anyone that you're dating, atleast not for a bit while you're getting used to it, after a while he might be more open to telling the rest of the 141

- You would sneak into his office during times where he was working alone and just hang out with him, talking about your day and anything that your able to talk about

- During a mission, the two of you had to share a bed in a safe house, suffice to say that after the mission was completed Price could not fall asleep without you by him

- He would ask, embarrassed, if the two of you could share a bed and you would quickly agree

- He would be fine being big or little spoon, though he would enjoy little spoon more since after a whole day of leading he would just want someone to lean on

- He would enjoy any moment of time the two of you could spend together since he's very busy

- Whenever he could he would make breakfast for you and leave it out on the counter with a sticky note with your name on it

- Everyone was trying to figure out who left the food for you while you just enjoy it quietly, knowing it was your boyfriend

- Price wouldn't be a big movie fan but he would be fine with watching a movie if it made you happy

- He would end up getting really into it though, pointing out any mistakes, cheering on the characters

- Especially if it was a war movie, he would talk and talk about any strategies the characters could use and explain what they did wrong and how they could have fixed it

- He would also love listen you you read out loud, his head laying on your thighs as he drifts off to sleep

- He would tell the others that he doesn't have favorites but they would quickly see how he always chose you to go with him or how he gave you the easier punishments when you messed up

- I feel like the rest of the 141 would pick up on you guys relationship very quickly, but they wouldn't really say anything about it, just watching how everything goes and waiting for you guys to tell them yourselves

- Except for Soap, he would constantly be making comments

- He wouldn't be a big pet name guy but he would definitely be calling you love constantly

- He would also give the best massages, they would leave you walking away feeling like a new man

John 'Soap' Mactavish

- When he first saw you he would immediately know he likes you

- He loves everything about your looks, how your uniform fits on you, your facial expressions, ext.

- And when he begins to talk to you he would love your personality too

- He would use every excuse possible to talk to you

- When your on base he would come up to you constantly and start making crappy jokes just to get a reaction out of you

- When on a mission he would talk to you on coms while things are going slow

- Though his dumb banter though, he would try to find out things about you like your past or even your favorite food

- And he would remember every bit of information you give him

- He would confess to you while you were out drinking with the 141

- It would just be some off handed remark about how hot he thinks you are and that he likes you and then he would just move on to the next thing he wants to say

- It would leave you and the rest of the 141 shocked

- You would tell him about it the next morning, him having completely forgotten about it, but he wouldn't try to deny anything, he would just agree with what he said the previous night, albeit a bit embarrassed that he just let it slip

- imborredandwanttolookatthings

- And once you tell him that you like him back he would be so happy

- Like picking you up and spinning you around happy, no matter how tall you are or how much you weigh

- He would immediately begin to brag to everyone about how the two of you are dating

- He would immediately shut up if you don't like it though

- Soap would try to spend even more time with you now that you're officially dating

- The guy would be following you around constantly like a lost puppy

- Unless he has something to do, if so he would be whining and complaining the whole time until he can see you again

- When on missions he would beg for Price to let the two of you go together anywhere

- He would be decently protective of you on missions, like he knows you can 100% defend yourself and kill anyone in your way but he's just worried

- If you got hurt during a mission he would immediately take you to get patched up after you finish all the important stuff

- He would then cling to you somehow even more

- until you fully recover

- He would loveee to cuddle, like Price he would be fine with being either the big or little spoon but prefer little

- In the end it's whatever you want though

- He would do anything for you

- If anyone tried to flirt with you he would simply just glare at them until they leave

- Either that or he would purposefully come over and hug you, calling you all sorts of cute nicknames hoping for the person to get the fact that the two of you are dating

- Would love pet names

- Sugar, Sweetheart, Love, Punpkin, you name it, he will call you by it

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

- Would just view you as another member of the team at first

- He wouldn't really notice anything special about you until the two of you begin to talk

- You two go on a mission together, at some point you just have to wait for who knows how long for people to arrive

- The two of you begin to talk and get to know each other

- This is when he starts liking you

- After the mission ends, he begins to hang out with you more

- Whenever he sees you on base he's come up to you and start a conversation

- He enjoys watching you train the new recruits

- He'll be standing off to the side of the field watching you, when you notice him he'll just wave to you cans continue shamelessly watching

- He's a very easy person to get along with, since he's very calm and chill most of the time

- He'd confess to you by getting you flowers and asking you out on some sort of romantic date

- When vou accent. he'll be ecstatic but try his best to

- When you accept, he'll be ecstatic but try his best to seem calm about the answer, though his insane happiness is very obvious

- He'll dress his best for the date, wanting it to turn out good

- When he sees you, in your fancy clothes, he immediately gets flustered but tries his best to hide it

- He will treat you like a king the whole time you guys are out on the date, opening doors for you, pulling out your chair, ext. Even if you tell him he doesn't have to, he enjoys treating you well

- He will listen to you talk patiently, not speaking up unless you tell him to or to let you know he's listening, he just enjoys hearing you talk

- But if you don't like talking very much, he'll take complete lead of the conversation, but still ask you thinks to get to know you better

- For the next few days after the date, he'll immediately start blushing whenever he sees you

- He would warm up to physical affection quickly, giving you hugs randomly

- He would also be fine with big or little spoon but prefer being the big spoon

- He'll run his fingers through your hair when the two of you are hugging or lying together

- If you have long hair he would loosely braid it, finding the repeated motions calming

- Overall a very calming presence

- Usually

- Sometimes he can get out of hand, if he ever does just kiss him and he'll shut up immediately

- When on missions he wouldn't really protect you, he would look out for you definitely but he trusts you to protect yourself

- If you ever tell him you need help though he'll do anything he can to help you

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

- When you're first introduced to the team, Ghost doesn't really care about you

- He'll make no effort to talk to you unless needed, it takes a while for him to warm up to new people

- He will only really get close to you after a few months of you being on the team and a few missions together

- Then he'll begin to talk to you once in a while

- He'd admire your work and how well you are able to get the enemy down and taken care of

- He wouldn't know that he's developed a crush on you until someone points it out to him

- Like he'll be talking to Soap about how good you are at your job and stuff and Soap will literally have to yell at him that he has a crush on you and even then he'll deny it

- But he'll be thinking about what Soap said and after a week or two he'll realize that he does actually have a crush on you

- But he won't act on it, atleast not for a while

- Like Price, I think he would wait for you to tell him you like him

- When you do he would seem very calm, but under the mask he's a blushing mess, very happy

- When the wrong of you start dating, he doesn't outwardly tell people but at the same time doesn't mind if people find out

- He isn't a big physical touch person but if you like it he'll learn to be okay with it

- He would be the big spoon, hugging you with a firm grasp

- It would take a while for him to feel comfortable enough to take his balaclava off in front of you, but when he does it means he truly trusts you

- If you compliment his face or even say something remotely positive about it he will melt

- He loves putting his face into your hair while the two of you are snuggled up together

- Not really a pet name guy

-But he would make a nickname for you from your name

Phillip Graves

- At first Graves didn’t really notice you, you were just another rookie in the shadows

- But as you moved up the ranks, becoming a Sargent, he began to recognize you

- He watches you train often, but plays it off as just him watching the team as a whole practice

- But everyone knows he’s just there for you

- You know that he liked you when he begins to banter with you over comms (playfully)

- He’ll make jokes and play fight back and forth

- And he’ll also try to hang out with you more at base

- But he refuses to acknowledge or admit to himself that he likes you

- I mean he’s a guy, and he would like another guy that’s gay, and he’s not gay

- Or atleast he refuses to believe it

- He was raised religious so he doesn’t have a good view of the lgbtq+ community

- He finally confesses when he’s drunk as hell at a party after a successful mission

- You accept the confession, also being drunk, and it leads to the two of you sharing a bed for the night

- When he wakes up in the morning he’s completely mortified

- You have to try and calm him down or he will freak out

- He tries to run for the door but you stop him

- After a while of talking, he finally admits to you, and to himself, that he likes you

- After that he feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulder

- He’s much more relaxed and focused on his work

- He often calls you to his office just to have you there

- He’s very touchy and physically affectionate

- Says he hates being the little spoon but that’s a complete lie

- He loves it

- He loves being able to relax in your arms, not having to be big or having to be the one in charge

- After you two get together he would probably trust you even more on the field

- Though he would like having you near him

- He likes taking baths with you, it calms him down

-LOVES pet names

-He calls you any and every pet name imaginable

-Mostly like foods and stuff like pumpkin, sugar, etc.

[bootsukki]

warnings: suggestive? ooc tsukki idk, league of legends pro!tsukishima x fem! reader sooooooooooo.... part 2 with smut? hehe (haven’t played lol in a long time but….)

the finals of league of legends worlds was reaching a fever pitch and no one could believe that a team full of rookies had made it to the final stage.

it all started at high school where hinata shoyo, kageyama tobio, yamaguchi tadashi and tsukishima kei had joined the gaming club with 0 expectations. the reality was that the club, created by three third-year students, had nothing until they arrived. alongside sugawara koushi, the only third year interested in league of legends, they reached the unimaginable: winning trophies in amateur championships, moving onto higer-level leagues until they were spotted by one of the greatest organizations in the history of japan's gaming: karasuno's gc, leading them to the international stage.

after a clutch semifinal match, tsukishima kei—newest, most uncharacteristically smug face in the professional scene—was brought to the interview stage for some post-game questions. tsukishima had a lot of fans but also a lot of haters. he was well-known for his sharp comments on stream and his calm and calculated style that made him one of the best junglers in the world.

during the interview, he was calm as usual, deadpan even, while he answered questions about strategy, his playstyle and his future goals.

"so, tsukishima, you're officially one game away from taking the world championship which is amazing, considering this is your first year playing professionally at the level—do you have a specific motivation that's been pushing you to win?"

for a second, tsukishima's usual bored expression gave way to a smirk and everyone was caught off-guard by his sudden shift in expression. he turned to look at hinata, his teammate, friend and adc and smirked, again.

"actually, yeah", he drawled, folding his arms. "if we win, i'm expecting the cute girl at the analyst desk to give me her number"

the crowd erupted with laughter, cheers and gasps as his teammates—who'd been watching from the sidelines—started clapping and jeering. it had all started at a joke one night, about tsukishima having this big fat crush on you since he first saw you in another competition, checking your socials and always liking your posts and although tsukki was not one to keep his comments to himself, they didn't expect such a statement from him.

the camera cut to the analyst desk, where you were currently seated along your (male) co-workers who were laughing at you and trying to keep their composure to keep working.

the crowd cheered as kageyama tobio made his way towards the trophy, nearly jumping in excitement as his hands grabbed the worlds' trophy.

the whole team had made an incredible finals, winning against their enemy team after five excruciating games. in the final game of the series, they pulled of a dramatic win after making their way towards the baron nashor and killing their enemies. the whole team stormed through the enemy base to secure the worlds championship and the crowd went wild as the nexus exploded, signaling their victory.

tsukishima allowed himself a rare grin as their teammates tackled him in a giant celebration pile on the stage and as he grabbed the trophy, he knew this was probably the best day of his life.

as the celebrations died down and the stage had been empties of fans, they made their way backstage to pick up their things and rest for a bit before they had a mandatory after-party with other teams and people from riot.

"tsukki", yamaguchi nudged him. "sooooo...."

"so?"

"she's going to be at the after-party, you know? (y/n)."

tsukishima rolled his eyes, trying to play it cool. "yeah, okay."

"aren't you going to say something?"

"what is there to say?"

"oh, c'mon!" yamagushi smirked. "that you have the biggest crush on her, duh."

"shut up."

"okay, okay!" yamaguchi laughed. "i'm just saying, maybe this is your best chance to talk to her."

tsukishima grabbed his things and made his way towards the car that was taking them to the hotel wjen his phone buzzed, and he saw a twitter notification. it was a dm from you.

@y/n: so, i guess you earned that number. want to collect it in person?

tsukishima felt a little heat creep up his neck. he smirked.

@tsukishima_jg: see you at the party.

the party was in full swing and almost everyone had made their way towards it. executives from riot, players, interviewers and other people were inside the large local riot had rented for the occasion. music thumped in the background and laughter echoed into the room as everyone celebrated to victory and the end of the season until january. tsukishima had been hanging back for most of the night, nursing a few drinks and watching the chaos, aka hinata trying to show his dance moves, unfold. that was, until he spotted you walking into the room after leaving it for a few minutes.

he had been watching you and although he had been confident enough to say that he wanted your number on stream, his nerves were catching up to him.

you looked stunning, confidence radiating off of you as you made your way through the crowd, trying to find something to drink, but, as you turned, your eyes locked on his and you forgot about your desire for a drink, heading straight towards him.

"you've been avoiding me", you teased as you stopped in front of him, tilting your head.

"i don't avoid people", he replied, taking a short sip of his drink.

"can i try it?"

tsukishima raised an eyebrow and nodded, letting you grab the straw. you swirled his drink and drank for a second, a soft "hum" leaving your lips, looking straight into his eyes. "i didn't take you for a man who likes sweet drinks."

"i'm full of surprises."

"are you as sweet?"

tsukishima smiled.

"maybe", he said, voice low and teasing. "you want to find out?"

"maybe." you said, "i came to give you your prize"

"worth the wait"

you laughed, shaking your head. "is that why you played so well? thinking of this moment?"

"i've been thinking of more than just this moment."

"hm, you're bold for someone who spent the majortiy of his game glaring at the rivals."

"boldness pays off." he stepped closer, the space between your bodies shrinking. "you don't seem to mind it."

"maybe i don't," you countered, holding his gaze. "although i have to say, i was expecting something a little more impressive after all that talk"

"oh?" what were you expecting? a grand speech? romantic gesture?"

"i don't know," you said, pretending to think. "begging for my number? you did call me out in front of millions."

"begging's not my style," he said, leaning in just slightly, voice dropping an octave. "but if you want to make me work for it, i don't mind."

"you talk big game, tsukishima. are you this smooth with every girl?"

he shook his head, hand brushing against yours, the warmth of his skin making you shiver just a bit. "so? about your number... are you giving it to me?"

"depends," you said, voice quieter now, confidence faltering slighty under the intense gaze of his brown eyes. "what are you going to do with it?"

he chuckled, "you'll find out. that is, if you're braver enough to answer my calls."

you blinked, caught somewhere between fluteres and impressed and he leaned just a bit closer. "in the meantime, though," he murmured, "maybe i should make up for calling you out on live stream."

before you could respond, his hand slipped lightly to your waist, pulling you a little closer, his lips brushing against your ear but before he could even say something, he felt your hand getting inside his pocket, taking out his phone.

"unlock it"

tuskishima's finger tightened slightly on your waist, leaving his drink in a table and taking his phone from your hand, unlocking it and giving it back to you, watching you save your contact information.

his eyes flicked to your lips, smirk returning briefly before it melted into something else entirely.

"can i kiss you?"

you nodded and without another word, he closed the distance between you, leaning down to crash his lips into yours, his hands sliding to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

the kiss was raw and passionate, the kind of kiss that leaves no room for uncertainty. one of his hands came up to cradly your jaw, tilting your head just right as he deepened the kiss and you smiled, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.

the heat of his body pressed against yours, his lips moving with a mixture of precision and need. when he pulled back just sightly to catch his breath, his forehead rested against yours, his glasses slightly askew, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

"well..."

you laughed softly, placing a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat at an alarmingly fast rate.

"is that good for an apology?"

you pulled back enough to look him in the eyes, a sly smile curling on your lips. "i think you're going to have to do more than just a kiss"

"i better get to work, right?"

"right" you pulled away, taking his drink and chugging it completely "my room is 279."