#glitter snot

[loisfreakinglane]

TAGGED BY @queenofattolia to do a couple picrews! here and here

CLASSIC liv on both counts

AND I TAG ANY AND ALL OF YOU but i'll specifically call out @rooftoptag @mermaidsirennikita @bluetiefling @saint-cecilias @tchallaas AND @bemybabymp3

[dogydayz]

this is the only thing i have to say

[imwritesometimes]

having dial of destiny on dvd would fix me

[lexirosewrites]

Slick Sundayyyyy

A/b/o Mafia au where alpha Eddie is the leader of a very important underground drug ring or something, named hellfire, and they use a gay bar as a front. Eddie’s all unhinged, has killed people, will kill again, everyone except his immediate group are absolutely terrified of him, he’s got the Corroded Coffin gang and Nancy and shit on his side,

plot twist- Eddie finds out that Stevie, the cute omega that’s been flirting with him for about a month when Eddie is bartending, is actually an assassin from a high end cartel hired to kill him. Cue him and his group drugging and kidnapping Steve, torturing him for information, except Steve is really good and must be highly trained because he doesn’t crack,

and about a week in Eddie is watching the news because staying up to date is really important in his line of work, and sees a missing persons report for a kindergarten teacher, Steve Harrington, and they all realize they fucked up, because if Steve really was part of a guild, they would have kept him out of the news, and the informant actually gave them the wrong person,

so now Eddie has to grapple with the fact that he kidnapped and tortured a completely innocent kindergarten teacher that he had a crush on (and maybe that betrayal influenced how bad the torture got), and now Steve knows too much so he either has to join them or die, and of course Steve spent a week being brutally tortured so he’s got a lot of trust issues and trauma, because on his end he just wanted to spend his Saturdays flirting with a cute guy and unwinding from being covered in glitter and snot and then said cute guy who Steve was about to ask on a date ends up committing heinous crimes against humanity against Steve’s body and he’s never been a well rounded person anyways, was on medication and therapy to help him be a normal person because of a fucked up childhood, and this has fucked everything up,

Anyways eventually Eddie earns his forgiveness and BAM crazed murder couple

and what if i cried about steve being tortured and feeling so broken and betrayed because he was finally happy and having fun only to be scared of everything, utterly terrified of the person who offers him comfort🥲

[giuliettagaltieri]

Swarm of Bees

Pairing: Fiancé!Gojō x Fiancée!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru gets a taste of his own medicine.

Warning: angst, arranged marriage, age gap, hints of dacryphilia, Gojō is a bully at heart.

Word Count: 1596

3 of 9

There are many things that Gojō Satoru hates.

One, the higher ups of the jujutsu society.

Two, when people say “No offense, but…” And proceed to insult him.

Three, people who get in his way.

And four, when he is not getting the attention he deserves.

In the past few years, Gojō has been working as a teacher in the Jujutsu High.  He still leaves for missions, it was only expected as he is the strongest sorcerer.  But he stays in the school quite often compared to when he was a field sorcerer.

And quite frankly, he expected more visits from a certain someone.

But he never got them anymore.

Shoko would often put out her cigarette to drop her face on her palms whenever Gojō talks about this.  And he cannot understand why she does that.

From time to time, he receives gifts from you.  But no more letters.  Nothing that adds a personal touch from you.  Just food.  As if you’re sending them so he won’t forget you existed.

But if he were to be asked, forgetting you was impossible as your time to be wedded comes closer and closer.

And now, you are celebrating your 20th naming day.

You turned into a beautiful young lady.  Truly worthy of him. 

But much to his aggravation, it seems like many took notice of your change too.

Men from different clans were hovering over you. 

Greeting you, complimenting you about the simplest of things.  It made something inside him itch and it bothered him to no end.

They only liked you now because you turned out to be a well-polished woman.  They did not see you with snot on your nose as you wailed after scraping your knee, which he absolutely had no involvement whatsoever or when your face bubbled like a squirrel when you did not get your way.

“You’re pouting.”  Shoko comments as she sips on her glass of champagne.

The celebration was at its peak.  The musical ensemble was playing a lively tune and gossips and giggles were filling the floral air of your estate house.

And you, the center of the event.

Almost every pair of eyes were on you.

Gone was the shy little lady of your house.  You are now a woman who is ready to take her first steps into society.  You were like a fresh fruit, ripe for the taking.  Had it not been for Gojō’s presence, many insolent men would have asked, no, begged for your hand right then.

Your hair glittered with every turn of your head.  Your painted lips curving up to a perfect smile whenever a gentleman compliments you.  Yet the innocent smile is always paired with the haughty spark in your eyes as you decline their offer to dance.

It was the fourth time that you declined an offer in the same hour.

And Gojō Satoru cannot stand to watch such blatant disrespect any longer.

Both Shoko and Nanami follow him with their watching eyes as he makes his way to you.  Their feet are ready to move as soon as the man makes a fool of himself or starts a fit in the middle of your perfect evening.  Or both.

They were at the edge of their seats when Gojō clears his throat to catch your attention.  The two of them watch very closely for any sudden movement from any of you.

But like fluid from the most graceful of waterfalls, you rise from your seat, standing on the tip of your toes to lean on Gojō’s chest.

All breaths halted at your action, including the man you were smiling up to.  His crystalline blue eyes watching you, almost calculating your every move.  But you smile slyly at him as your fingers trace his jaw and your lips find his cheek.

“I am delighted to see you.  But I am terribly sorry Gojō-sama, I would have to decline.”  Your thumb caresses his cold cheek.  “My dance card is full for the evening.”

Like a nymph, you slide away from him to accept the hand of a young man who was waiting for you.  And Gojō can only watch as you are being guided to the center of the floor.  

And you danced so beautifully.

The itch turned into a burn.  And Gojō had to sit the entire evening with such sensation nesting in his chest, almost clawing out into a form of aggression.

Whenever your dance partner spins you or their gloved hands wander closely to your bottom, Gojō has to quell the urge to pummel them to the ground.  He did not quite understand the urge to do so.  But after having the feeling for the rest of the night, he has come to terms with it.  Given up on trying to understand the impulse and just settled with the idea that every man who speaks with you is disrespecting him.

And you.

Oh, he is so cross with you.

How dare you fill in your dance card without reserving even a single dance for him.  Have you forgotten that you are betrothed to him?  Or do you just fancy the little game you are playing?  Acting as if he is not around.

The clock hand tells that the night was no longer young.  But you were still being twirled around in the middle of the dance hall.  It was your final dance for the evening.  And by the slight delay in your steps, he is well aware that you are exhausted from dancing for hours.

By the time the last note travels through the air, Gojō was already on his feet and marching towards you. 

You took no notice of course as you were smiling brightly at your dance partner as he bowed to place a kiss on your gloved hand.

But before his lips could touch you, Gojō Satoru unceremoniously grabs you by your midriff and carries you like a mannequin being set up for display.

Your startled squeal catches the attention of every person in the room and they watch as you wrap your arms around your fiancé’s neck in panic.

As the man carries you and disappears behind the doors to your garden, the chatter resumes but now, soft smiles are gracing the lips of every attendee.

They have been granted the front row seats to watch your game of push and pull with the strongest sorcerer.  Some of them have been watching ever since before you learned to walk.

It brought them great joy to see the man finally taking an action to claim you as his woman.

You, on the other hand, have your heart beating wildly on your chest.

Have you pushed too far?

Has your act of refusing his offer to dance been too much of a blow to his pride?

When Gojō places you down, you also pull your arms back to your sides.  You do not want to meet his eyes.  No, not at all.

“Sit.”

You still instinctively look up at him though.  “Huh?”

He gestures to the bench behind you.  “I said, sit.”

Immediately, you pull at your dress to smoothen the fabric as you sit down.  You did not appreciate how the act made you even smaller compared to his full height.

Your fingers twiddle with each other to release some of the budding nervousness in your chest.

“I-I am terribly sorry if I upset you, Gojō-sama.”  You stammer.

There you are.

A smirk finds itself on Gojō's lips.  You haven’t changed one bit.  You were only brave when there were other people around but you are the same shy little girl that he knew the moment you were alone.

He kneels before you to look you in the eye.  “Upset me? Whatever do you mean, my love?”  His tone was dark and dangerous despite him smiling playfully at you. 

You wanted to cry.

And his smile widens when your eyes turn glassy just as your lips wobble.

He just watched your suffering, willing yourself to hold back the tears.  Just as you thought you'd break, he clicks his tongue and digs through the poof of your gown to take off your sandals.

And as he expected, blisters covered your dainty feet.

“How were you dancing so beautifully with such discomfort.”  He says with his voice grim.

You can only watch him as his hands work on healing your wounds.

At times like this, you feel the safest.  As if nothing in the world could harm you.

And without much thinking, your hands cup his cheek.  And Gojō looks at you with still a tiny frown by his eyebrows.

“Are you upset with me?”  You ask with your voice barely above a whisper.

“That depends.  Are you done with your ruse?”  He cocks an eyebrow and you nod shyly.  “Then we’re good.”

“Will you dance with me now?” 

When you smile at him so softly, how can he say no?

But to your surprise, the man grabs you by your waist, lifts you up until your now healed feet are stepping on his shoes.

You hastily tried to get off but he tightens his hold on your waist.

“Stay.”

It was a simple command but you find yourself surrendering all that you are to him.

Your hands find themselves resting atop his shoulders and with the echoes of the music spilling to the dim garden, Gojō Satoru makes you feel as if you too were honored throughout heaven and earth, simply because he had you in his arms and he was swaying you to the faintest of melodies.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

[axelaqua]

legitimately a tragedy that this is a bot because now some gay kid who reblogs glitter snot photos and old kitchenaid magazine ads can’t have this url

[nmyphomania]

╰┈➤ ❝ [Kinktober Day 2: Oral Facials] ❞

Summary: You decide to give Zuko some head before you two fuck essentially.

Warning(s): F! Reader, messy Blowjobs, Oral sex (m. receiving), throatpie, tiddyfuck, cum eating, needy zuzu, cum facial, face-fucking, praise, cock-worship, throat kissing, messy guys you already know.

WC: 1.8k+

•𑁍•

With your eyes squeezed shut in a slight discomfort, his bulbous tip stilled over the ghost of your gag reflex; of course swallowing at this point would bring another violent gag to hit you once more. A few glittering beads of tears now stuck in the creases of your outermost corners of your eyes, a long train of bubbled spit and snot ran down from his base to drip on your cleavage messily. You were on your knees before him on the ground, left hand wrapped around the third of his cock that wasn’t currently down your throat. An impromptu cough jerked your head to back up off of his length, drool shooting rapidly from the back of your mouth.

“C’mere, you’re doing great. Just take it slowly.”

Zuko’s reassuring voice cut through your ears as you tried to ease your coughing back down to a minimum, a painful rasp shook your vocal chords with each contraction of your larynx. The hand that was still tightly pulling at his glazed over cock twisted upward to thumb around the head of his flushed dick. It took a moment before you decided to go back down on him again, swishing a tongue about in the warmth of your mouth creating a reasonable wad of saliva that was spat out on it; again you swallowed every inch to warm yourself back up.

Those pretty lips engulfed everything Zuko had, slickened with the product of a running nose and an overworked mouth. He threw his head back placing a hand at the back of her head to situate her head in place, to slowly push deeper into her mouth. He eased himself in to not scare you away, circling his hips around to find a new angle to fixate on. God, he looked amazing above you. Adonis lines that expressed the ways straight down his pelvis, leading to the place you wanted him most. He looked like a work of art, head bent backwards and one of those strong arms that wrapped around the back of your head.

Every last pant slowly turning into a breathy moan that escaped his lips went straight down into your pussy, you were on the verge of finishing just from giving him head. It throbbed and ached every time your thighs rubbed up against each other, in all movements you made to get closer or to get more comfortable.

Zuko grunted as he pulled out, leaving his tip for her suckle at longingly. A wince from a jolt of pleasure sparked throughout his body, she suctioned roughly on the crest of his cock causing him to look down into her eyes desperately. She had a look of raw sexual desire stained in her eyes, gazing directly into his own needy golden irises throating him down into her convulsing orifice. Your hand went to the sides of his hips to thrust him forcibly into wherever you could drive him further.

“Fuck. I don’t mean to mess up your hair but…”

He ran his hands through the texture of your hair, dragging it to very back to stubbornly grip your head back to prepare you for his forthcoming movements. With a loud complaint, your throat suddenly was filled to the brim with his all, the breath in your lungs knocked out of you. Yet you withstood his unexpected surge of aggression, taking all of his assaults licking at the back of your throat past your uvula.

Moans from below him reverberated up the nerves of his body unforgivingly, continuing to deep stroke in past her plush lips. A fire ignited in the pit of his stomach feeling the brink of an orgasm unraveling steadily with each stroke, a heady scent of his own precum rendered him careless and greedy. He could feel both the way her head thudded repeatedly back onto the flatness of his open palms, and that internal pressure building up in his throat wildly.

You whined against him, feeling your jaw going numb. An audible choke spewed out droplets of snot and bubbles popped, your spit had already left a mess over the majority of your pretty face.

Zuko honestly loved it at how messy you get yourself trying to please, it was, endearing, disregarding the clean up afterwards. Here he was, now reduced to a wanting, standing disorder, eagerly chasing for an excellent edge. She tried to accommodate for his need by going to squeeze at his balls, further inducing the intoxication of gratification washing over his mind.

He lurched forward to lean on the bed to support his failing standing position, bringing her own head with his body back to rest against the solid material of the mattress. Never once did the pale surface of his pelvis falter in hitting up on her nose with each and every thrust and burrow of his cock into the opening of her throat. She relaxed her jaw, the lock of her mouth engulfing him loosened to provide some comfortable breathing room countering his maneuvers.

Chokes, gurgles, moans, keens, all of the more satiated his overbearing hunger for lust just a little bit more each time. Sounds of all kinds that she made whilst swallowing and taking any straying inch that made its way in her worked throat, sent shockwaves caressing up and down the heights of his spines. In turn, reckless words of praise tipping over the softest of lips sweetly. Mouth falling slack-jawed, the precipice of a satisfactory, stringy orgasm, teasing just behind the head of his sex had him demanding for that hot release down in the tunnels of her throat.

“Just like that, right- there.”

Voice now dropped to a slight, more intimate mutter, the man above you decided to give back some control to you. Repositioning yourself to align correctly back up with his throbbing, now reddish-purple tip owing to his lust clouding his entire being. Rolling his head side to side to tend to the ache in his neck from holding it down for so long, your mouth felt so cool compared to the staggering heat of his arousal. The hand placed at the back of your head retreated from its placement, caressing along the curve of your jaw to prompt you to look him in the eyes as he’d cum.

Gold outlining at the basis of his lidded eyes, looked as though it virtually glowed from the haziness apparent in your own eyes. Once a hand of yours grappled onto the very base of his length, it withdrew prior to you going to suck at it some more. Reacting quickly, eyes were squeezed shut, mouth fell open a little more to catch his thick spurts for a finish. Strands of a translucent white flew all over to coat over the skin of your face sporadically, landing in your hair, mouth, eyebrows, some even manage to seep in between the fine hairs of your eyelashes. Zuko humped into the makeshift fissure in his own right hand, letting all kinds of moans fall from the depths of his chest.

Your own eyes fluttered open carefully to not let any trails of his finish to burn into your eyes, looking up at him. Cupping your breasts together, your fingertips delved into the fabric of your dress to pull it off of your body, they bounced softly at the loss of restriction from your clothing. Going to lick at a droplet of cum sliding down the frame of your face, your knees supported your body as you sat up on them to cradle his dick in between the tightness both breasts created.

She squeezed at the supple flesh, sliding his spit-lubricated rigidness in between them erotically. Her nipples played in the middle of her fingers as she moaned discreetly, placing her ‘o’ shaped mouth back onto his cock. Zuko’s head spun, at both your beauty, but also at your vulgar behavior presented during times like these. He felt beat every single time you asserted your actions over him, and it affected both his love for you and his dick.

A gravelly chuckle at your display rumbled deeply in his chest. You both were hopeless.

A bubble of saliva trailed down in the small opening between her chest, descending upon his tip to slicken the skin up a lot more. She pulled and pushed down, rubbing and slapping his erection on the softness of her breasts. Lathering all of her concoctions of her own mixed ministrations to soak his all to slide his sex all over her erotically. Faint appearances of red roused into her skin from the solid impacts of him hitting her flesh.

He couldn’t resist but to sigh at her sweet attentions to his dick, licking, sucking, and fucking it all through the orifices she produced by pushing her breasts up and on it. At one point, one of her perky nipples popped onto the top of his tip, just flick out her tongue to lap at the precum that accumulated over her sensitive nub.

Zuko was so deathly close to blowing his load all over the expanse of her face from the woman licking long, hard stripes up along the base to travel to the tiny hole of his tip. Reclaiming him in her mouth again, she confidently pulled his length back into her heat to really urge another orgasm out of him. His legs quaked slightly, feeling as though he was about to buckle in on himself at her mixture of treatments toward him. Tugging inch by inch to plow in the back of her throat, moving around what she could in her neck to create a moving feeling inside. An audible moan excused as a gasp was produced from her quick movements, tilting her head from side to side each time she connected her lips back against his front. Swallowing down every single hit at the back of her mouth with such ease, it happened to make Zuko nearly gag a little at how good she took it.

You pulled off with a popping noise followed by a petty string of saliva, cupping his cock in between your supple breasts and using a free hand to contract her hands around firmly on his sex.

His eyes shot open and a silent gasp inflated his lungs back up to full capacity. She lowered herself back on just the tip to settle in on his warm orgasm for a second time. It shook up whatever was within him, drained out from his body entirely. Thoughts, words, her name, all playing at the very ending of his tongue.

All that he had to empty from his body, pushed out into the confines of her mouth, filling the heat of her face with his off-white semen. She effectively drank up every single drop wordlessly, and finally came off of him with a relieved gasp.

Sluggishly, Zuko picked her up from the ground beneath them both, to carry her by her thighs and gripping her ass to hold her up properly. Their lips hovered before each other as Zuko smiled at her in playful annoyance.

“What am I going to do with you love?”

•𑁍•

Tags:

[noosayog]

wc: 500

content/warnings: arguing, slamming doors, angst, cheating(?)

part 5. directory here.

--

"Hold on," you hear him chasing after you. You pick up the pace, sidestepping rowdy groups and the wall of Atsumu's teammates.

You’re able to get to your door, fumbling with the keys. You’re yanking the door open when he catches up. 

"Just hold on one fuckin' second," he says when he grabs ahold of your arm with enough force to topple you backwards. 

"What, Atsumu? Just let me go!" You're mortified to find hot tears welling up. You forcefully shake his hands off to press the heel of your palm against the offending eye.

"You're misunderstanding the situation," he starts.

"Misunderstanding?" you parrot.

"Yeah, just let me explain." He presses, stepping all up into your personal space.

"Fine then," you yell back. "Let's hear this explanation."

"We didn't, I didn't do anything."

You remain quiet, expecting more, but that's all Atsumu seems to have to say. That was the extent of his explanation. You kick yourself for even expecting anything more out of someone like him.

"So what," you grit out, lowly, slowly. "After a series of incidents in which you played no role in, you found yourself in bed, a girl sitting on your lap, making out with you? You did nothing and it all just happened?"

"Well, I-"

"Save it, Atsumu. And get the fuck off of me."

"Just hear me out-"

"I did. And you had nothing. So go away. Go away and stay the fuck away." The sheer volume and force of your words push him further from your door until it takes one final shove to push him out the door and out of your space. You slam the door and bolt every lock shut.

Outside, Atsumu slams his fist frustratedly at the door.

"Fuck!" you hear him yell.

You beeline straight to the bathroom to wipe the stupid glitter you have on your eyes, blush you have on your cheeks, and gloss you have on your lips. A sick part of you thinks that despite that whole fiasco, Atsumu never even made a comment about how you looked. You scrub harder until your cheeks and eyelids turn red, then dive straight under the covers. The tears are falling freely now and you press your face into your comforter to muffle the sobs, knowing that if they are even a decibel louder, Atsumu could probably hear them through the walls.

You can't help but replay the scene in your mind. Seeing Atsumu and someone else lock lips on his bed, the very same one he had pried some of your most closely held secrets in late night conversations on, made you sick. Did he even notice that you owned that same top that girl was wearing? The same one that he had badgered you about wearing on your official first date? The one that you mustered all your courage up to wear for him when you decided you could trust him? The mix of tears and snot stain your blanket and the sniffles become convulsions when you feel the bile rising up in your throat. You throw your covers off and run to the toilet to vomit the contents of your stomach out, wondering how it could be possible that him breaking your heart could hurt you more than when he gave you a concussion.

[makethatelevenrings]

Angel by the Wing // Thirty-Five

Chapter Warnings: discussion of emotional abuse from a parent, abandonment, crying, pregnancy as per usual

Series Masterlist (Mobile Masterlist)

There’s radio silence for three days.

As much as he didn’t want to, Bradley had to leave to meet his new squad before they began training in a few days. So he brought in the big guns.

“Move,” Sofia barked as she shoved past him and into the house. The dark haired woman made a beeline for the bedroom where you were curled up on the mattress that was suddenly too large now that Jake was gone. Skipper chirped at the sight of his second favorite person and settled on the pillow next to your head. He gratefully accepted Sofia’s gentle scratch under his chin as she climbed onto the bed.

“Hi,” she announced. “We’re not going to wallow in bed, you lump.”

“Go away.” Your voice was muffled by the fabric of the pillow. “I’m not in the fucking mood.”

The pillow was ripped away from your head and you met the glittering dark eyes of your best friend. Sofia tossed your pillow across the room and loomed over you. For a petite pint-sized individual, you could see why she was so terrifying to the military personnel that she strong armed into getting their vaccine appointments. Folks think that Natasha was the feral one of the couple thanks to her propensity for getting into high speed jets, but Sofia was the one who one told a three-star general to fuck off when he tried to get her to break HIPAA.

“I’ll be home at five-thirty,” Bradley said from the doorway. “Please don’t make me bail you out of jail.”

Sofia answered him with a wicked grin before she settled in next to you on the bed. Her slim fingers slid over your head and started to pass through your hair. You pressed your cheek against the mattress and shut your eyes at the soothing ministrations. Three days of silence and three days of you just going through the motions. Today was your first day off since the fight and now you were confronted with the crushing realization of everything. It didn’t help that you woke up to a voicemail from your mom and threw your phone across the room, which prompted Bradley to call Sofia.

“What’s going on, momma?” Sofia cooed. You turned to face your friend and one look at the concern on your face had your face crumpling in seconds. Sofia swept you into a hug as you shook with sobs. Your hand fisted in the fabric of her worn t-shirt and you felt guilty for a moment for staining it with your tears. Sofia rid you of that guilt in seconds by rubbing your back and whispering assurances.

“I fucked it all up. I fucked it all up again,” you wept. “Every goddamn time.”

“No, no, honey. What’s going on?”

You pushed away from her and untangled yourself from the blankets so you could grab your phone and play the voicemail. Your mother’s voice made you cringe as she treated everything so fucking blase.

“We already turned your room into an office but if you insist on acting like this, we can remodel it for you and the baby until you get on your feet. I need you to understand that you’re being stubborn right now and that’s not a good sign of a mother. I hope this child turns out just like you so you can understand what we’ve had to deal with. You’re being unreasonable, thinking these boys will do the right thing. Just come home and we’ll figure it out.”

You swiped out of your messages and swallowed the rising tide of bile and snot that bubbled up in your throat. Sofia stared at your phone in silence and you had no idea what was running through her head. A hiccuping sob escaped you and you dropped your phone onto the bed so you could bury your face in your hands. Sofia tugged your wrists away from your face and then guided you to sit back down on the bed. She kneeled at the edge of the bed and clasped your hands tightly with hers.

“That was the biggest load of horseshit I have ever heard,” she said fiercely. “You are going to be such a good fucking mom, do you hear me? Your mother is a cunt and I’m not afraid to say it.”

“She would leave when I messed up,” you whispered. “She would get so angry and scream about how she had to do everything and then she would say that she was leaving our family and finding someone who cared. And she did. She would just walk out the door. I don’t know where she would go, but she would be gone for a few hours and I…I thought she would never come back. A-And my dad didn’t care. I hardly saw him because he was always at work and when he was home, he fell asleep on the couch.

I would do the dishes wrong or forget to move the laundry over and she would just walk out. When she came back home, I promised to never do it again and she’d tell me that I learned my lesson and she would never actually leave me but she still did. And…and Jake just fucking…walked out.”

Your shoulders slumped down at the end of your sentence, as if you were a marionette and all your strings were cut. Sofia wordlessly pulled you in for another hug and you collapsed into her.

“Everyone leaves me and it’s always my fault.”

“No. No, don’t you dare say that.” Sofia shushed you gently and inhaled deeply, forcing you to match her breathing. Your sobs subsided into little hiccuping coughs and then into shaky, stuttered breaths.

“It’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault. Your mother is an adult. She made the choice to leave because she wasn’t a good parent. Jake left because he’s emotionally constipated and can’t have a mature conversation to save his life. That’s all. That’s the only reason. It wasn’t anything you did or said.”

You knew she was right but, at the same time, you couldn’t believe her. Why would you have a pattern of people walking out of your life if not for you? Your mom, exes, and now Jake. It was all because of you.

“I can practically hear you trashing yourself in your mind,” Sofia warned. “Stop it. No. Bad. Stop talking about my best friend like that.”

Despite the fresh tears quickly drying on your cheeks, a giggle escaped you at her words. She grinned and pulled away from the hug so she could see your face. She cupped your face in your hands and smiled.

“You are going to be the most amazing mother because I know for a fact that you are an amazing friend and boss and person. And while I don’t have experience in this area, I’m sure you’re a damn good lay too.”

Another startled laugh escaped you and her grin grew wider. “Alright, momma. Let’s get up, get dressed, get some food in you, and then we are going to do some errands. Go to some boutiques. Buy cute baby clothes. And we are not going to cry unless it’s about how teeny tiny baby shoes are, okay?”

You were immensely grateful for Sofia Trace’s presence in your life. She dragged you around San Diego to small little boutique shops and slapped down her credit card with a pointed reminder that she was going to be an aunt and it was her God-given right to buy her future nibling some “cute ass baby clothes, damnit”. You found a few items that you purchased yourself, your fingers pressing against the buttery-soft fabric as you realized just how small this baby was going to be.

Sofia dropped you back at the townhome a few minutes before Bradley was set to come home which gave you a chance to start on dinner. Usually it was Jake who cooked dinner with you helping, but now you were at a loss as to what to make. You settled on some basic spaghetti and sauce from a jar. The water began to crest and boil when the front door opened.

“Hi,” you greeted quietly as Bradley made his way into the kitchen. He offered you a small, tender smile and you hated this. You hated this gap that suddenly appeared between you two. Jake’s absence felt pretty damn hard between both of you.

“Hey.” He eyed the bags shoved in the corner of the living room and bent down to scratch Skipper under the chin. “Good day?”

“Yeah, Sofia went a little overboard with the baby clothes but hey, we’ll need it. Dinner’s almost ready. It’s nothing fancy. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for, sweetheart,” he said gently. Your lips pulled down and your brows creased. He crossed the room and tugged you into a hug. He felt the way your body trembled slightly and he pressed you closer, tucking your face against the column of his throat.

“I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I know it’s hard to be with me,” you whispered. His grip on the back of your head tightened minutely and he shook his head.

“No, baby. No. We’ll figure this out. We’ll get him back.”

“Don’t say things you can’t guarantee.”

Bradley huffed out an indignant snort. “You doubt me? I’m very persuasive. I’ll drag him back here kicking and screaming if I have to.” He pulled away so he could see your face and brushed some sweaty strands of hair out of your face. You blinked up at him with glassy eyes and he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m not leaving, angel. Not now, not ever. I promise.”

“Pretty sure I just said you can’t say things you can’t guarantee.”

For a startling moment, Bradley thought about the days when he was a kid, fresh off the bus and full of energy after a day of school. He would bound up the steps of the small house they had in Virginia and open the door to find his mother bent over the kitchen counter and sobbing into her hands. Carole always tried to hide her tears from him but he caught her a few times like this. She would brush away the tears, stand up straight, and launch into asking him about his day, but he always knew. Bradley could only remember his dad in the abstract, fuzzy details of childhood memories and stories told to him by others, but he could feel his loss acutely, both in his own life and in the pain reflected by his mom.

He wouldn’t do that to you. He couldn’t. That was his kid you were carrying.

But he felt the loss of the smart-mouthed blond in this small kitchen. Bradley needed to get Jake back, for the both of you. For the three of you, he corrected himself. This baby was just as much Jake’s as his, as far as he was concerned.

His family had been fractured once before. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

“I miss him too,” he admitted. “So I promise, angel. We’ll be a family. Just like we’re supposed to be.”

He could see the sliver of hope shining in your eyes and he counted it as a victory. Bradley nudged you towards the bags as he grabbed a spatula. “Show me what you got, sweetheart.” You lit up and began digging in the bags to pull out the tiny clothes. “Okay, so, since we don’t know the gender, I tried to go for neutral clothes. But also fuck gender roles, right? I found this adorable little duck onesie and fucking hell, bear, look at how small it is.”

Tag List: @mizzzpink @xoxabs88xox @dreaminglandsworld @khaylin27 @loveforaugust @atarmychick007 @itsmytimetoodream @krismdavis @emma8895eb @startrekfangirl @hangmandruigandmav @lunamoonbby @sihtricswife @jstarr86 @drakelover78 @abaker74 @hardballoonlove @nerdgirljen @primroseluna @espressopatronum454

[the-s1lly-corner]

TADC cast x fairy!reader

Hey anon I totally didnt accidentally post your ask before it was done being written and deleted it in a panic I promise that did not happen, if you happen to see this

Anyways

Uhuh

I never actually watched peter pan or any of the tinkerbell films(?????) So uh uh uh!!! I am yappin about stuff I'm not qualified for!!

CAINE:

OOOOOH!! He thinks you look so so cute and pretty! You guys fly together and talk, I think that's nice! Absolutely does call you tinkerbell

Probably adds a quiet and sped up "trademark" when he calls you that

Is tinkerbell trademarked? I... actually dont know how trademarking works... I know how copyright works but uhuh

He makes you a garden in the digital world, makes it huge with the most exotic plants he can think of! ...some probably dont actually exist in the real world

POMNI:

Depending on if you're normal sized or on the shorter side, I think she would find comfort in knowing that theres another short person around... does not enjoy the dust you leave behind when you start flying, though, it feels like glitter... feels very

Gritty...

RAGATHA:

Honestly I love the idea that ragatha grew up on fairly tales

Princesses, monsters, snot course, fairies! So I think even if she doesnt remember her life in the real world, she finds a comfort in being around you!

Oh she thinks you're so so pretty... I think she would keep some of your dust and out it in some jewelry. Like a locket,.. I think thatd be cute esp if you two are together

She doesnt even wanna use it for anything, assuming the dust has actual properties that effect stuff.. she just thinks its pretty

JAX:

I hope you guys all know that when he calls you tinkerbell he doesnt mean it as a cute endearing lovey dovey couple name. At least not fully. Nah at least some of it is him messing with you

I think he harvests your dust and throws it at people

Pocket sand!/ref

Definitely makes fun of your height if you're short. You dont even have to be the shortest. In fact I think he might even exaggerate how short you are. Might even say you're shrinking

All in good fun, of course

KINGER:

Ah... a ruler and a "magical" creature... just like in the story books!

Probably treats you as if you were a real fairy, even though he likely knows you're not..

"My radiance," became you shimmer and glow thanks to your dust and "magic"

You know how some people write people absolutely fawning over beautiful mythical creatures that theyve just discovered?

That's kinger with you

GANGLE:

ZOOBLE:

Oncr again I am presenting the hc that zooble was into supernatural and mythological stuff before they got stuck in the digital circus, so they would definitely hold at least a little interest in your digital body... though I dont think they would like your dust, either, since it can get stuck in between their limbs and joints and crevices and

Ieufjgkgmgmv

You know?

Probably hits you with those lil handheld vacuum cleaners before you even enter their room

Nope, no dust today!

Its nothing against you personally, it's just so uncomfortable for them..!

Also thinks you're really pretty! Makes art for you and probably incioperates your dust into the art!

I think I mentioned this idea in... I dont remember if it was a winged reader or a bird reader or both.. but I said she incooperates the readers loose/fallen feathers into art gifts, like how people used to put the hair of their deceased loved ones in jewelry

Same thing here but of course you're not deceased!

[inkykeiji]

Do you think daddykuna is the type who would spank you in public bc he likes humiliating you? Or would he think your cute ass is for his eyes only so he only does so behind closed doors?

oh my gosh a delicious question!!!

character: sukuna x fem!reader warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, public spanking, humiliation, dacryphilia, daddy kink, general toxicity words: 809

okay so i think sukuna is like, heavily into humiliating you, so i 100% think he’d spank you right then and there, in stark fucking daylight, no matter where you are. little girls who act like brats must be treated like brats, must be punished like brats, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. and that’s what he tells you, in that infuriatingly blasé lilt, the beginnings of a smirk toying with the left corner of his mouth. 

but daddy! you’re whining, a thick shield of tears already glazing your eyes, rolled into drops by your rapid blinking and catching in your lashes, glittering so delicately as they anxiously flutter. not here! not now!

yes, here. yes, now.

you can hear the amusement and pride staining his voice; just faint notes of it infused in his words, but evident nonetheless as he takes you over his knee in the middle of a busy park on a sunday afternoon, your thrashing and wriggling not hindering him in the slightest.

he’s irritatingly unperturbed as he flips your dress up and yanks your panties halfway down your thighs, the motion simultaneously smooth and sharp, entirely unaffected by your pathetic little whimpers and choked out apologies, nails piercing his skin as your fingers curl and tangle and tug at his shirt.

it’s your own fault; you know it is, he’s saying as one large hand kneads one of your asscheeks, priming the area, collecting curious glances. you shouldn’t have misbehaved, prancing around in a manner that ensured the skirt of your dress fanned out wide and rippled, just enough to gift him with teasing glimpses of the dainty lace molded to your skin. 

you shouldn’t have acted like such a stubborn fucking brat when he had warned you, calm and cautious, not to play with daddy, if you hadn’t wanted everyone to see your sweet little ass, he’s telling you over your half-stifled sobs of humiliation, chest stuttering against his strong thighs, muscles flexing beneath you as he plants his feet, readjusts his hips, places a heavy hand on the small of your back and presses down hard, pinning you in place. that must’ve been what you were aiming for, right? you wouldn’t have behaved in such a way if it weren’t, right?

you should’ve known better than to mess around with daddy, especially in public. you should’ve known that he’d take it seriously, instantly—no matter where you are, no matter who can see, no matter what may follow.

each slap is harder than the last, harsher than the last, echoing louder and louder with every collision of his palm against your skin. every impact shoves another pitiful little sound from your chest, lodging in your throat, clawing at the back of your teeth, and aw, don’t smother them, baby; we want to hear you. 

it’s excruciatingly embarrassing, the eyes of bystanders and onlookers slicing into your bare, exposed skin, gazes and glares and gaping depositing trails of scorching pins they glide over your body, slow and scrutinizing.

it’s inescapable, the absolute agony their attention bestows upon you, your puffy, salt-stricken face nuzzling awkwardly into your daddy’s ribs, desperate for some semblance of protection.

please, daddy, please, daddy, please, daddy, you’re weeping out, pleads strung together in a steady stream of drool. stop, daddy, stop, daddy, stop, daddy!

you know he won’t, you know he’d never, not one to go back on his word once he’s solidified it, but you just can’t help it, entreaties pouring from your lips instinctively, uncontrollably, as natural as the snot oozing from your nose and tears blurring your vision. 

you can feel his cock, hot and hard and throbbing against your tummy, but you know your sobs and whines and yelps are only half the exhilaration.

because sukuna loves showing off, sukuna gets a serious kick out of displaying what’s his; what he owns, what others can’t have, can’t touch. those looks of disgust and disbelief, of envy and enrapture, send a sick thrill surging through his veins, because there’s one thing they all have in common.

awe. 

it’s the most divine feeling, makes his flesh tingle in the most delightful way as everyone admires him, admires his strength, admires his terror, admires his things—how powerful he is as every smack! rings out among the space, how pretty you are as your cries chase after the resounding sting. 

it’s grotesque. it’s gorgeous. they can’t tear their gazes away from it.

possessiveness emanates off his body in dense waves, their domineering presence polluting the atmosphere and leaving it stifling—you can look, but don’t even think about touching. 

their murmurs only amplify their stares, the gasps and whispers and grumbles, saturated in incredulity and audacity, in outrange and offence, only feeding his insatiable ego, bloating it with an intoxicating arrogance, ever-growing hubris gorging on their attention.

[emmyrosee]

would you ever do a follow up to the Katsuki getting his nails done fic? Like maybe he comes over and starts debating with reader about the color? I really love that one! It was so sweet and funny 🥹😂

NO BC THIS DOES HAPPEN-

----

"Either you give me crackled nails, or I walk."

Katsuki has been bothering you about getting crackled nail polish topper for weeks now, ever since he started buying his own colors for you to paint.

The design has been coming around as the ads on his phone become more geared towards nail polishes and nail care, and even now as he sits cross-legged on the bed across from you, he's still pouting and ranting about the top coat designs. "They're bad ass. Why don't you have it already?"

“Excuse me for not being able to shell out money for crackle nail polish topper,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “Now if you move your nails one more time, I’m going to slice your fingers with the damn cuticle scissors, then no one’s gonna be happy.”

“Promise me you’ll order crackle topper.”

“Ask your mom, she bought you all the other nail stuff!”

“You leave the hag out of this, I thought this was a safe space.”

You laugh and gently flash him a smile, his face features soft and comfortable as he watches you clean his nails and laugh at his expense. Katsuki isn’t quite what you thought he would be; he’s a lot more patient and simple than he lets the facade show. He talks fondly about people and listens to you about anything and everything, gospel or filth or joy or dismay.

Katsuki is nice. You’re still getting used to it.

“Have you thought about what color you want?” You ask, reaching behind you for your own suggestion of color.

“I have…”

“Okay. What?”

In his hands, he holds out a deep, rich blue, almost black and teetering the line of purple. There’s small flecks of glitter, and you must confess, the color is stunning and would sit beautifully on his skin.

But you can’t let him know that.

“No.”

“The fuck you mean no?”

“We’ve already done enough blue.”

“Oh pardon-fucking-me,” he grumbles. “Didn’t know we hit our blue quota, won’t happen again chief.”

You snicker, and hold out your own color. A nice, deep emerald with a matte effect, that you’ll top off with a matte coat. Again, stunning against his skin, showing a nice compliment to his currant eyes.

But his face curls in distaste.

“Green.”

“What’s wrong with green?”

“It’s green! Like snot.”

“It’s emerald! If your snot is that dark, I’ve got to take you to the damn hospital.”

“Blue.”

“Green.”

“Blue.”

“Green!”

“Crackle top coat!”

It’s gonna be a long night.

[sixpossumsinatrenchcoat]

Start Again

An In Stars and Time postgame retrospective that revolves around everyone's favorite star. Bigtime "secret ending" spoilers below the cut!!!!!

It’s the oldest story in the book. Evil squirms up from the shadows. A hero rises to quell it. She goes on a journey, gathers allies, gathers strength. The party climbs the tower. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They face the villain. They—

[you give up you GIVE UP YOU DON'T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE]

The most infuriating part is—

Well, no. The most infuriating part is the colossal cosmic insult of your existence. Having to know that there’s some snot-nosed little fetus who can count his deaths on two hands toddling around wearing your face like a party mask. Trying and failing and hiding and lying and grinding your nose in every blinding stupid thing you’ve ever done.

The fact that your pathetic little protege clocks you on their first guess is just the icing on the cake.

(“A gentleperson never tells,” you drawled, when Siffrin asked you who you really were. “Why don’t you take a guess?”

But of course the stupid little freak could never just be normal about something. They only stared, unblinking, drowning you in the black hole of their silence. Galaxies scattered and shattered and bloomed while you waited for an answer.

“Um,” they said at last. “Well. You’re… me, right? You’d have to be.”)

Of course. Of course!! You’d have to be!!!! Who else could be such a pathetic blinding shambles of a total blinding failure of a—

Ha ha!! Ha ha ha!!! Oh, the irony!!! Oh, the theatre of it all!! What else could you do but laugh!!!!!

*

* * *

* * * * *

* * *

*

[you breathe in, and out]

For a few months, it feels like your little family will be together forever. Traveling by foot or covered wagon; fording rivers and cresting mountains and chasing the sun past the horizon… How could anyone tire of this?

But Vaugaurde isn’t frozen anymore. Change is a part of life. So, one by one, they do.

When Mira gets the letter inviting her to consult on the experimental re-org of the House of Dormont’s academic curriculum, Sif hugs her, beaming, and tells her that she’s going to be amazing.

When Odile admits that she needs to pay a visit to her father—(“alone, please; the old bastard wouldn’t know what to do with you kids and all your feelings”)—Sif smiles and nods and scurries off to “rustle up some dinner” before returning, more than six hours later, with an entire glittering midden of freshly caught trout.

They don’t really fall apart until Petra announces that it’s time for Bonnie to enroll in an actual school.

“They’re twelve,” she says fiercely, glaring around the campfire as though anyone had been dumb enough to argue. “Travel is informative, but it won’t give them a sound foundation. They need perspective. Context. Maths. And none of us are qualified. Don’t argue, you already know that it’s true.”

Of course Isabeau is quick to agree—mostly because she’s right, but also because he’d prefer to keep his head attached to his shoulders, thank you very much.

Siffrin, of course, is all smiles. They smile and nod and smile and nod and agree at every turn, always smiling smiling smiling. And then they disappear for six days without leaving a note.

Isa tries not to worry. He even mostly succeeds. Sif gets skittish sometimes, but they always come home in the end.

###

It’s the middle of the night when a very warm body with very cold hands wriggles into Isa’s sleeproll. There’s a slow exhale, the smell of wet stone and warm sugar. Isa’s toes curl in his socks. This is his favorite part.

“Mmh,” he hums gratefully, and then yelps when Siffrin slips their hands under his shirt to warm their icy fingers on his belly.

Sif doesn’t answer right away. They just breathe into his shoulder, shivering. Then: “I don’t want them to go.”

Oh, yeah. “Yeah.”

“I was alone, before,” Sif says quietly. “I guess forever. As long as I remember.” They fall silent for a moment, hesitant. “It was. Worse.”

Isa hooks a knee around them and pulls them in closer. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles.

“Now, or before?”

“Mh… Dunno. Both?” Isa’s past self flashes in his mind, gangly and twitchy and totally ruled by fear. Even half-asleep, he can’t help cringing. “…You wouldn’t have liked me before.”

“I would’ve liked you,” Sif says scornfully.

“I was. Rrrrreally quiet.”

“Are you stupid?”

Pffft. Fair. “Sif?”

“Mh?”

“Do you wanna buy a caravan?”

Sif pulls away just enough to shoot him a baffled stare.

“Like… a storefront.” Isa’s been thinking about it since Sif disappeared. Probably he could do a better job explaining if he wasn’t at least 80% asleep. “For clothes? But. It moves.”

What he means is, Our family lives all over. What if we could too?

Fortunately, Siffrin is a peerless genius and almost-always knows what Isa’s trying to say. “Oh. Yes.”

“Love you so bad,” Isabeau mumbles.

“...Sorry.”

Isa flicks them on the ear.

“(Ow.)”

“M’not sorry,” Isa mutters.

“I know.”

“So don’t be either.”

“Okay.”

“Mrmhhh,” Isa grumbles. “Lying?”

Sif snickers. “Only sort of. Or, I mean—I’ll try.”

“Don’t leave me behind.”

“I won’t.”

“And then I won’t either.”

Siffrin doesn't answer, but he can feel their smile against his shoulder.

###

(When they’re both a little more awake, he walks Sif through the whole pitch.

“See? See?? That way, I could work with artisans all over the continent! I’d been hoping to collaborate with more designers from Ka Bue; they’ve got a totally different aesthetic when it comes to textiles and, and silhouettes, and— And it’s advertising, too! Showcasing my stuff to folks all over Vaugaurde!”

“Hm,” Sif hums, frowning. “Is this just so we can see everyone whenever we want? Without it seeming needy, or… pathetic?”

“Yeah, of course!! What else!!”

Sif’s eye creases fondly. “Yeah. Of course. What else.”)

###

The caravan was a good idea. It’s not just a way to see their family more. It’s a way to see everything. To carry their home around on their backs, like a cozy little snailshell for two. A snail duplex. And besides! Sif has always been Isa’s favorite model.

###

By the time Isabeau is finished making adjustments to the signature set for his new line, the sun’s already set.

Sif frowns down at one long, drapey sleeve. “I don’t know. I feel a little… obvious?”

“I think you mean glamorous!!!”

“Possibly,” Sif concedes. “I think they sort of feel the same.”

Isabeau laughs. “You know—and heads up, ‘cause this might blow your mind—but a lot of people want to be seen.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true!! Some people even want to look cool!! Or rad!!! Or cute!!!”

“Can’t relate.”

“Only ‘cause you look so cool already,” Isa assures them. “So you don’t even hafta think about it. For most people, looking that cute is hard work!!”

“Sounds fake,” Sif sniffs. “But I guess you’d know. You do have an a-cute-ly honed sense for this stuff.”

“Pfffh—HAH!!!! Yeah!!! Yes!!! And—And as soon as I can buy a new sewing kit, you’ll be looking just as sharp! Ehh???”

“I guess that’s something we have in common,” Siffrin snickers. “We could both use some new material.”

Before Isa can come up with a retort, there’s a sharp knock on the caravan’s front window.

The both of them flinch around, surprised. They’re kind of in the middle of nowhere. And it’s already past dark.

Isabeau hesitates. “Umm…”

“We’re closed,” Sif hisses.

“Ohh, I’m not a customer,” the stranger says sunnily. “Not really my style—no offense meant, of course. No, I’m just looking to make some change.”

“Hey, no problem!” Isa’s already leaping into action, slipping out of Sif’s reach so he can pull open the till. He’s never had it in him to turn anyone away. It’s extremely inconvenient, and also one of his best qualities. (Siffrin loves him so much.)

“Wow, that’s sooo~ nice of you,” the stranger purrs. They’re willowy and lean and almost alarmingly good-looking, with laughing eyes and one bone-white braid swinging past their knees. Their long, flowy skirt has been Crafted to shimmer subtly, like sunlight over morning dew; and their cropped shirt is strung across their back with an intricate web of spidery threads. Flecks of seaglass clink from the chains on their shoulders and the rings on their fingers, drawing attention to the criss-cross of vivid burn-scars striping their hands and arms. “I do hope I’m not interrupting. I’d just hate to be an inconvenience.”

“No trouble!” Isa tells them cheerfully. “What are you looking to break? A tenpiece, or—”

A silver coin plinks against the counter.

“Oh,” Isabeau mumbles, a little off-balance. “Uh. I’m not sure we have anything smaller than a halfpiece…”

He glances toward Sif for confirmation—Siffrin forgets a lot of things, but they’re very, very good at keeping track of an inventory. But when he sees the look on their face, he can’t help flinching. Siffrin has gone utterly still. Unmoving. Unblinking. It looks like they’re not even breathing.

“S-Sif?” Isa whispers. Then he blinks and suddenly Sif is already behind him, having flicked across the caravan in such a violent blur of motion that he never even saw them move. (They do that sometimes. But not usually when there’s anyone looking.)

“You,” Sif breathes.

The stranger bats their eyes. “Oh, Stars, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Do I, perhaps, bear some resemblance to—”

“Stop that.” Sif has come a long way, but they’re still pretty jumpy about touch. So Isa almost does a spit-take when they vault over the counter and hit the stranger, hard, square on the shoulder. “Why are you doing that? What’s wrong with you? What took you so long???”

Before Isa can step between them, the stranger lets out a tinkling little giggle. “Ohh, Stardust. You were always soooo~ dramatic. It’s been no time at all!”

“Six months!!”

“Barely a blink of an eye!”

“I thought I’d never see you again!!”

“Aww,” the stranger purrs. “Were you, perhaps, worried about me?”

“Yes!! Obviously!!!”

“But of course I wasn’t going to disappear forever. I super duper promised! Besides…” They roll the coin between their fingers and then, in a startling blur of motion, pull another from behind Siffrin’s ear. (Sif’s lucky coin, Isa realizes. The one he helped them Craft to a brooch so they could wear it over their heart.) “We are bonded, after all.”

They have the gall to wink at Isabeau when they say it.

“You’re—huh??” Isa sputters. “What?? Sif???”

Sif looks embarrassed. “That’s… not exactly how I’d put it.”

(So it’s sort-of how they’d put it????)

Of course Isa knows that there are things Sif doesn’t tell him—things that Sif doesn’t tell anyone. But a secret bonded partner is a pretty big thing to leave unsaid. “Um????”

“It’s not romantic,” Sif says, defensive.

The stranger smiles slyly. “It’s a little bit romantic.”

“Hah!” Sif scoffs. “In the—the literary sense, maybe!!”

“Like a beautiful stageplay!”

“A Poterian tragedy.”

“But tragedy is always sooo~ romantic.”

“UM,” Isabeau says, a little too loud. “I—don’t really know what’s happening. Which is fine!! Totally fine!! But it sounds like you guys have some stuff to catch up on, so maybe I should… give you… some space? Do you want space? Should I not give you space?”

“Teehee! Be careful, now! Keep thinking that hard and you’ll sprain something!” The stranger leans across the counter to pat him on the shoulder. “Take a hike, big guy. I’ll take them from here.”

“You can’t talk to him like that,” Siffrin snaps.

“Yeahhh, I’m pretty sure I can.”

Sif shakes their head. “He doesn’t know that you’re—um. You know. So it’s… meaner? I think.”

To Isabeau’s surprise, the stranger actually seems to consider that. “Oh. Hm. I’ll… think about it.”

Sif nods at them before turning to Isa. “But—yes. We do sort of need to talk. And space would maybe help. Sorry. Is it okay?”

“Of course!! I’ll just, um, get out of your hair!!!”

As Isabeau sidesteps past them, Sif catches him by the hand and squeezes. “I really will explain. I just sort of wasn’t sure I was allowed? Or I already would have.”

Isabeau relaxes a little. “Okay. Um. I love you.”

This time, it’s unmistakeable. For just a second, the stranger’s face goes taut with fury.

“Please leave now,” Sif says quickly. “But, um, yes. Talk to you soon.”

###

…There’s a long silence.

Isa doesn’t want to listen in, but there isn't really anywhere to go. It's a moonless night, almost lightless, and this part of the country is crisscrossed with narrow streams of deep, fast-moving water. Isabeau has many talents, but he still can't breathe underwater. And it would be pretty stupid to survive the King only to trip into a river and drown. So he can’t help hearing when the stranger clears their throat.

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” they mutter darkly.

“Okay.”

“I was just planning to make some friends first. And then grind them in your stupid ugly face. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“But it turns out that, in spite of my scintillating wit and ethereal beauty, people find me immensely unlikeable. Me!! Can you even imagine?”

“Yes,” Sif says promptly. They take a moment to think it over before adding, “Easily.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” the stranger sniffs. “Really, though! I thought hardship was supposed to build character! But it’s almost like countless eons of torment actually made me worse!”

“Um,” Sif says. “Yeah.”

“And then when you still wouldn’t stop bugging me—“

Isabeau chokes on a breath.

Unexpectedly, Sif does, too. “—Wait, what?”

“What do you think?” the stranger demands. “All that wishing, wishing, wishing!! Yanking on my brain all day and night like a needy toddler! I mean, really! Get a hobby or something!“

This time, Isabeau can’t just bite his tongue. “Sif!!” he gasps. “You were doing Wish Craft???”

“I wasn’t!!”

The stranger peers around the caravan to give Isa a judgmental glare. “I thought you were giving us space. Not very honest, are you? Is that a new personality you’re trying on? Being a big sneaky liar? Because, if I can be honest, it doesn’t really suit you.”

Isabeau blanches. “Y-You guys were being really loud!!! And I thought we agreed—“

“It wasn’t Wish Craft!!” Sif cuts in. “I was just— If I saw a shooting star, or a pretty leaf or something, I just… hoped I might see them again! That they’d get to keep their promise, get a chance at something better! That’s all!!”

“Aw, Stardust~~” the stranger coos. “What are you, like, obsessed with me?”

“No!! I just feel horrible about it!! Obviously!!”

“Well! Well… good!! I mean. You did steal my only chance at happiness.”

“I know!!”

“And condemn me to live out my days as the punchline to a really mean-spirited joke.”

“Obviously!!!”

“And you’re literally soooo embarrassing. Can you even imagine? No, really, think about it! Having to watch all the worst mistakes you’ve ever made play out in the third person, over and over and over again?”

“Yes!! I pretty much constantly imagine it!!!!”

“Teehee,” the stranger giggles prettily. “Well! To be honest, I came looking because I wanted to make you feel bad. But it looks like you’re doing a pretty good job of it all on your own! Nice work, Stardust!”

“No it isn’t,” Isa groans. “Sif, we’ve talked about this! Beating yourself up doesn’t help any—“ A beat too late, the neurons finally connect. Stardust, the stranger said. Where has he heard that before? “Waaaiiiit. Wait a second… You’re that star, aren’t you? Loop, right?”

He’s not expecting to see both of them flinch.

“Stop,” Sif blurts out, the word clipped with panic. “That’s not— You don’t know what you’re—”

“Yup!!!!” the stranger says brightly. “Haha!!! That’s me!!!! Everyone’s favorite star!!!!! I’m a person now!!!! Isn’t that just a shocking turn of events!!!!”

“Um. Uh. Yyyy….yes?”

Siffrin turns to the (former) star, looking pained. “That’s— Are you sure? You don’t have to—”

“HA HA HA!!!!!” Loop almost screams. “What a fascinating notion!!! But, just for the sake of argument, consider this counterpoint: eat shit and die!!!!”

“I just don’t think it has to be like this,” Siffrin mutters.

“Well!! You wouldn’t, wouldn’t you!! You don’t have to think about anything!!!! You don’t even need that eye!!! You can just go limp and let everyone lead you by the nose toward the next stupid blinding monument to your achievements!!!!”

Siffrin listens calmly, nodding. Then they ask, “Will you travel with us?”

“Wh-What???” Loop sputters.

“Uhhh,” Isa says. “...What?”

“We’re on our way to pick up Bonnie. And then we’re meeting Odile outside Dormont. Mira’s giving a speech.”

“Okay???” Loop says defensively. “I still don’t see—”

“You said you couldn’t make friends,” Sif explains. “But I don’t think it’s ‘cause w— ‘Cause you’re unlikable. People are just… confusing. Mostly. Our friends are… less hard.”

“B-But,” Loop stammers. “But—even if that was true, the last thing they’d want is another weird little freak hanging off their coattails.”

“They don’t mind,” Sif says firmly. “They keep saying so. And you’re not even little. Why are you taller than me?”

Kind of a weird question, if you ask Isabeau, but the former star just snorts. “Must be all that character I built. Maybe it leant me a little more ~gravitas~.”

They startle violently when Siffrin reaches out and takes their hand.

“Please,” Sif says seriously. “It was so unfair. All of it. But it doesn’t have to be like that forever. Not completely, anyway.”

Loop flicks him off like a spider and flashes a bright, glassy smile. “Ohhh~, Stardust. You really don’t get it, do you? It’s much too late for that sort of thing. I’m already ruined, hehe! I can’t ever go back.”

“So go forward.”

Loop’s pale eyes widen. Seemingly against their will, a nervous giggle slips out of them. “H-Haha… Just like that, huh?”

“Only if you want,” Siffrin shrugs. “But... well. I do.”

###

“…Sif?” Isa mumbles, when they’ve finally turned in for the night. He’s pretty sure he only sounds a little bit pathetic. “Um… how do you know them? And why do you know a star? And why do they look so different?”

Siffrin sighs. “If they’re not telling, I shouldn’t either. But. Um. I guess I can probably say that… we’re from the same country.”

“What!! Really??” 

Sif nods. 

“Like the King???”

Another nod.

“Is everyone from your country some kind of… weird eldritch demigod?”

Siffrin’s face shutters. “I wouldn't know.”

Oof. Yeah. Obviously. Is Isabeau ever going to learn to stop putting his foot in his mouth? “R-Right. Um… duh. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Sif sighs, softening. “Sorry. I’m just. A little overwhelmed. It’s… a lot to take in.”

That makes sense. Isa feels that way, too, and he only ever met Loop once. “Um. Um… Y-You don’t have to answer right now; I totally get it if you need some time to clear your head, but… I guess I was just wondering… You don’t have any more secret partners, right? I-It’s okay if you do!!! As long as you’re still mine, too. For as long as you want to be, I mean. It’s just… It might be nice to know…”

Sif’s smile softens. They reach up and curl one hand around the back of Isa’s neck, pulling him down till they can bump his forehead with theirs. “Like I said. It’s really not like that. (I don’t think.) But, no. No more. …That I remember.”

It’s not the most reassuring thing that Isa’s ever heard, but he’ll take what he can get.

this story is technically part 3 of a series, but it's more of a triptych than a trilogy! (i.e. all existing chapters stand on their own, but exist as pieces of a larger picture). if you wanna read the rest before i wrap the last chapter, feel free to swing by AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52448152/chapters/132681694

[barbex]

happy friday! gotta go with fenders hehe, maybe the prompt of “Will you look at me?”

Thank you for this @dadrunkwriting prompt! Here comes the fenders fic.

---

"Are you here to gloat?" Anders kneels between the meager piles of his belongings, deciding what he can take with him and what he should just leave behind.

"I am not," Fenris says.

"Why not?" Anders' fingers clench into his mother's pillow. "You saw what happened, I lost control, just like you said I would. You were right, I am an abomination and a monster." He wonders how he can talk like this, with his voice so strangely detached, even though he's falling apart inside.

Fenris opens and closes his mouth several times before he speaks. "You are not a monster."

What little reserves of control kept holding him together, they're gone now. Anders buries his face in his hands and cries. Big, ugly sobs that make his stomach hurt. "Don't do this, don't be nice to me out of pity. I don't even know why you're here, why do you care?"

"Will you look at me, Anders?"

"Why?" But still, he raises his head, not caring for the snot and tears on his face. He looks at Fenris, startled by his expression. He expected anger, or disgust, but not... this. The way Fenris looks at him is gentle, full of worry.

Again, Fenris seems to fight for the right words, starting and stopping several times. "I saw you lose control of your demon, your spirit, but you got it back."

"I almost killed that girl!" His vision swims as more tears fall.

"But you didn't. You stopped."

Anders grabs his hair and pulls. "Only because you and Hawke — if I had been alone..."

Fenris takes his hands and untangles them from his hair. "In Tevinter, I have seen mages do terrible things, deliberately. They were cruel and vicious, not because they were possessed, but because they could." He keeps holding Anders' hand. "You, I have only seen you use your magic deliberately for good and righteous causes."  

Anders doesn't know what to say. He wipes his face clean with his sleeve, acutely aware that Fenris still holds his other hand in his. 

"I see that difference now."

A snort does terrible things to his snot problem. "After today? After I almost...?"

"Almost means you did not do it," Fenris says. "Look at me, mage."

As if Anders could look away.

"I trust you. You are not an abomination."

"But, what if, one day, it becomes too much? What is Justice changes, and I lose control of him? What if I change him so much, he turns into a demon?" His chest feels too tight.

Fenris takes a long breath. "If you ask me to, I will strike you down if your spirit turns into a demon."

Anders pulls Fenris' hand to his chest, letting the warmth of his hand calm him. "Do you promise?"

With wide eyes, Fenris nods. "I promise." 

This close, Anders sees golden spots glitter in the green of Fenris' eyes. He blinks, moving a little closer. "Thank you."

"Anders," Fenris whispers. 

Anders kisses him, just barely, just a gentle brush of their lips and then quickly leans back. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me."

Fenris doesn't move, his eyes flicking between Anders' eyes and lips. "Again."

"Another kiss?"

Instead of an answer, Fenris closes the distance and kisses him. This time it's a real kiss, hot, hungry, dizzying. 

Catching his breath, Anders brushes the hair from Fenris' face. "Fen, have you never been kissed?"

Fenris' hand slides behind Anders' neck. "Not like this, no." And he kisses him again.

[wannab-urs]

Dirt

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Summary: A twist on a scene from saltburn with our dear boy Dieter

Warnings: alcohol and drug use, semi-public sex, dieter being a fucking freak, no use of y/n, reader is undescribed except for being AFAB and able to pull Dieter by his hair.

A/N: Thank you to @sp00kymulderr for the idea of Dieter in this scene… I hope I did it justice, love. Thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @pr0ximamidnight and @atinylittlepain for the beta reads 💚

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist

He’s fucking hammered. He doesn’t remember ever being this drunk before in his entire life. Everything is spinning and tilted on its axis a little, as if the world itself had shifted 20 degrees clockwise.

You’re waiting for him outside and he’s so fucked up, he doesn’t even think he can get it up. Even for you, his perfect girl. Nothing a little coke can’t fix for him, though.

Dieter grabs the gilded mirror off the wall, cresting waves and seabirds in molten gold, a bit pretentious to him. He doesn’t think they’ll even notice it’s been moved. He lays it on the bed and digs the little baggie out of his robe. He’d gotten lucky when he chose to steal this robe from Farleigh – two 8 balls and a veritable pharmacy of pills stuffed into the pockets.

Dieter dumps the whole baggie on the glass and haphazardly scrapes it into a line. He dips his nose to the cool glass and pulls the powder into his nose. Staying bent over the mirror, he watches his pupils blow wide before a line of snot falls over the image of his face. He wipes his nose on his sleeve as he stands.

Not thirty seconds later, he’s tripping over himself to get outside. To get to you, his golden idol on a pedestal. His goddess. He worships you. You’re waiting for him. Have been waiting. He’s kept you waiting. Fuck. He hopes you’re still there. Hopes you haven’t floated away in the breeze.

It’s cloudy out, but the sun pierces the haze. Everything feels like it has an aura and it all hurts his eyes so bad he can hardly see. It’s okay though. He could find you anywhere.

He stumbles across the yard, over the little stone bridge, and into the meadow beyond. And there you are. The aura around everything else dims in the face of your beauty. Your aura shines golden and glittering in the weak sunlight, bare back pressed to the stone behind you. You make everything less beautiful.

Dieter falls to his knees before you, perched on your throne of dirt and stone. He prostrates himself before you, nose digging into the freshly upturned dirt. He feels the ghost of your fingertips over his curls and tilts his head up to face you.

You smile down at him knowingly and tug him by his hair into your lap. He relishes the sting, the way you pull him to you always. He nuzzles his face into your thighs, kisses your mound, your belly, dips his tongue into your navel.

You release him and he quickly strips his robe and the boxers he’s wearing underneath, baring himself to you. You drag him back down to you, letting him bury his face in your chest. He loves the feel of your skin against his cheek, under his lips, between his teeth. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue. You shift beneath him, pushing him down where you really want him.

Dieter presses his belly into the dirt and drags your legs over his shoulders. He buries his tongue in the wet heat of you. Laps up your earthy flavor. You’re better than anything his imagination could ever conjure. Perfect in every way.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, rolls it gently between his teeth. Your fingers wrench his hair and he groans into you. He plunges his tongue back inside you, lapping up your slick, letting it coat the scruff on his jaw. He pushes a thick finger into you, his tongue drifting back up to your clit. He rolls your bundle of nerves in circles with his tongue as he strokes your inner walls. When he feels you fall apart, he draws back, sucking your juices off his knuckles as he shuffles to his knees.

Dieter grabs the meat of your thighs and wrenches your legs further apart before he drags you even further onto the dirt. Your head now pillowed in the softness of fresh soil, he drags his fingers through your wet cunt. When his hand is dripping in you again he wraps a fist around his cock and jerks himself until he’s fully hard. The coke is wearing off and he doesn’t have much time left.

He sheathes himself inside you, all the way to the end of you. To the end of him. He’s so connected to you it’s like you’re truly a part of him, an extension of him. You squeeze him so tightly he nearly comes on the spot.

His thrusts are harsh, sharp and stuttered and hurried. As if he’s afraid someone will catch him with you or as if this reality could crumble at a moment’s notice. He holds you tight to him, rutting into you like a pig ruts into the dirt. He claws at you, trying to hold you tighter. Trying to pull you completely into him.

He comes with a strangled, half feral cry. Something primal and broken and a little wrong.

He pulls out and rolls onto the grass beside your grave. There’s dirt in places he didn’t know it could even be in. Tears form in the corners of his eyes and roll in slow, hot tracks down his cheeks. He takes a shuddering breath and begins to sob, rough and so raw it hurts his throat.

The drugs have long since worn off. His head hurts from the come down, from the crying, from everything. It’s all a bit too much.

He crawls on hands and knees back up to your headstone. He wraps his arms around the cold, unforgiving slab of marble. Presses his face into it the way he used to imagine pressing it into your chest. His tongue darts out to trace the engraved letters and they are rough and cold. Not anything like he’d always imagined you’d be. Soft and warm and wet.

He sits atop your body, six feet below and encased in mahogany. Loving Sister and Friend your headstone says. He doesn’t know about all that. You were quite nasty.

Only the rich could afford to be as filthy as you were.

You’re in the dirt where you belong, he thinks.

[danosrosegarden]

just breathe - edward nashton x gn!reader ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{contains: lots of mentions/descriptions of past trauma/edward's childhood mixed with some fluff/comfort.}

{note: this piece was a paid commission, and i have permission to share it publicly. find out more about commissioning a piece from me in my pinned post.}

When Edward was a child, he hugged himself to sleep.

The echoing chatter of the children he shared his room with rippled throughout the four walls, though they were all supposed to be quiet, asleep. Perhaps the more they talked, their breath clouding out from their mouths in chalky puffs, the more warmth would find its way into their small, trembling bodies. Warmth in connection. Warmth in a friend.

Edward did not take part in these midnight, star-speckled conversations. He was fetal-positioned on top of his tough mattress. He wrapped his arms around himself, focusing on the sound of his jagged breathing. In and out. In and out. I am, I am, I am.

Though Edward sensed something deep and dark and impending and dreadful about himself ever since he was young, he was still his own friend. Which set of murky green eyes did he recognize more than his own? What labored, tired breathing did he know better than his own? Who did Edward Nashton know better than himself?

So there he’d lay. His arms would be wrapped around himself and his gangling limbs would be shaking and there would be pinpricks of tears poking at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill at any moment.

If there was one thing Edward could not do to soothe himself to sleep, it was cry. The other children would hear him. He was not a quiet weeper. His nose would fill with bubbling snot and his breathing would become even more troubled than before and the children would laugh. They would laugh until rivers of tears trailed down their cheeks. They would laugh until their stomachs twisted and tangled. They would laugh and laugh and Edward would feel the burning hot shame sizzling throughout his bloodstream. He couldn’t cry. It wasn’t an option.

He must remind himself of this now, as he sits curled up into your side as you run your fingers through his hair and he listens to the sound of your soft, shallow breathing. He may not be the child he once was anymore, but Edward still feels him clawing and scratching inside of him. Don’t cry, Edward. Stop it, Edward. Shut up, Edward. Stop it. Stop it. STOP IT.

He feels the swell of his heart and the tears gloss across his eyes as you bend your head to kiss him on the cheek. Affection was simply not for him; he resigned himself to this fact very young. So when you gift it to him so readily, tied in a soft, velvet bow and glittering wrapping paper, he just doesn’t know how to react.

The tears dribble down his cheek silently at first. He tries as hard as he can to quiet himself and wipe the tears as inconspicuously as possible. But your skin is touching. Your hearts are beating in sync. You are tied together, intertwined in a way some people–children like Edward used to be–can only dream of having one day. You can feel his chest rising and falling in serrated heaving, and you cock your head to see him hiding his face, skin splotched with red clouds, in his hands.

“Eddie? What’s the matter?”

How’s he supposed to explain it? How’s he supposed to convey the frosty nights of bitter, lonesome cold he spent wishing that somebody would swoop in and save him from his own blackened heart and screaming soul, his fingers aching from the chill air and the hairs in his nose frosting together? How does he even begin to express how thankful he feels that he has you now, somebody willing to kiss his scars and cuddle with his sharp-clawed monsters? How does he start?

He can’t find the words. He can’t find any words, in fact, as a pathetic, warbling grumble-cough erupts from his throat. You peer at him with a concern-injected frown as he wipes his eyes over and over, the skin of his cheeks growing ever more red and scratch-marked from his hoodie sleeve.

But he doesn’t need words. You scoot closer to him and nestle into his side, planting a soft, gentle kiss on his chapped lips.

“It’s okay,” you soothe. “It’s alright.”

For the first time in his life, a constant fight for survival, a fight to keep the darkness at bay…he begins to believe it.