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ozzgin · 1 month

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Can I have yandere Aka Manto x Reader? I see you write Japanese myths, cuz why not?

Yandere! Urban Legend x Reader [Aka Manto]

You never know when you're going to meet your soulmate. It could be on a beach at sunset, on the last bus home, in the elevator of an office building...Or in a public bathroom after you just finished your business. Nevertheless, this urban legend monster has its eyes on you now.

Content: gender neutral reader, urban legend, part horror part comedy, gore!, monster romance

"Are you deaf? It's occupied!" you shout one final time, giving the door a swift kick to emphasize your presence. That's what you get for using a public restroom. Your coworkers had convinced you to try out another bar after the company dinner, and you might've had one too many cocktails. Thankfully most of the drinks were watered down, although it is exactly because of this detail that you're now hovering above a toilet seat with a full bladder. On a Friday night, in the partying neighborhood of the city, so it could explain the persistent stranger - possibly even drunker than you - who keeps rattling the lock of your stall.

To your horror, the handle begins to turn, and you hear a click. You scramble to get up and secure the door, but it's too late. With your pants halfway down, you gawk at the bizarre individual squeezing his way in: a tall figure wearing a red cloak and a mask. "What the Hell?" is all you can mumble to yourself, awkwardly gathering your garments in order to preserve your remaining ounce of dignity. Out of all the things to happen tonight...Alright, calm down. It's most likely a crackhead. You cast your eyes down and focus on the floor tiles, with patterns strategically chosen to hide as much grime as possible.

Pretty. Almost too pretty to kill. He might just take his time with you and savor the moment. Of course, you'll have to answer his question first. With bureaucratic efficiency, he pulls out two rolls of toilet paper and extends them to you. "The red one, or the blue one?" he asks with theatric gravity. What in the Avon samples Hell is this, you think, fidgeting nervously and avoiding any eye contact still. If you ignore him, he should lose interest.

A minute passes in heavy silence. His ghastly arms begin to tire, so he lowers them with a disappointed creak of the joints. "Y-you have to pick one", he insists. Damn it! Perhaps you've been told what to do if approached by mischievous spirits like him? Ignorance means you keep your head, though he was hoping for a gory night of entertainment. You can almost feel the intense stare coming from behind the eerie mask. The tension becomes unbearable, so you finally decide to push your luck. You will not spend the night stuck with a deranged pervert looming over you in a public bathroom.

Without further delay, you shove him aside and open the door. He lets out a surprised hum, observing your daring gesture and almost expecting you to run for your life. To his even greater shock, however, you stop to wash your hands with a relaxed whistle, completely unbothered by his presence. What happened to the fear, the terror, the dread? You peek at his reflection in the mirror, and your lips curl in a mocking grin. Maybe it's the alcohol finally hitting your nervous system, but all you see right now is a pathetic charlatan who tried to intimidate you with literal toilet paper. A good-for-nothing scoundrel interrupting the innocent from their much-needed bathroom break.

In fact, the more you consider your situation, the more your chest puffs with outrage and bravery. You pay your taxes, you help the needy, and this is how your civic deeds are rewarded? By having your stream cut midway? Unbelievable. Unacceptable. No other soul shall suffer your fate tonight. "Wretch!" you cry out, turning towards the aggressor and continuing your demands: "Evacuate the premises at once!"

You might not understand it yet, but your act of defiance has sealed your fate. The hooded monster smiles, relishing the words that have closed the gap between your fragile body and his blasphemous claws. You have spoken to him; thus, he can do with you as he desires. And yet, his murderous fingers hesitate. Your entrails should be splattered across the rarely polished porcelain by now. What's holding him back? He tilts his head in contemplation, but any intention to ponder his feelings is quickly discarded once a loud shriek pierces his ears.

As it turns out, someone else had been using the neighboring stall and was alerted by your little argument. Their finger is pointed at the cloaked creature, features twisted in disgust and fear. "Can't you tell we're busy?" The mysterious man inquires sarcastically. On second thought, this should be enough to satisfy his cravings.

With a snap of the fingers, the frightened bystander is torn apart by invisible hands right before your very eyes. Their limbs detach with surreal ease, and blood splatters everywhere in hot, sticky bursts. In your petrified daze, you are reminded of nature documentaries: blurry snippets of sharks trashing their victim around, fleshy chunks coming undone from the violent handling. Within seconds, the bathroom is quiet again. The walls and ceiling are drenched in fresh blood, and occasionally, fat droplets collapse into a puddle with resounding echo.

It all falls into place. The hooded creature claps its hands, startling you back into awareness. "That's what it was!", he says with enthusiasm. He approaches you with quiet steps, cushioned by the meaty remains coating the floor. He places one hand over the mask, removes it, and gives it a shake as if to clean off the crimson fluid. You involuntarily gaze at his face, taken aback by the handsome traits. Is this the appearance of a ruthless ghoul who butchers mortals for amusement? You wouldn't believe it if it wasn't for the hot trickle of foreign blood trailing your skin.

"I think I've fallen in love with you", he confesses with a wide, saw-toothed smile. You feel a clawed finger tracing your cheek affectionately. "Well? What're you so silent for? You were quite cheeky a moment ago!" he continues tauntingly, gripping your chin and forcing you to look up. "Or have you seen what happens when you misbehave? No, no, darling, I'd never! There are other ways in which I can ruin you."

You're suddenly very cold. With dry lips, you eventually open your mouth to speak: "I'm not leaving here, am I?"

"You could, but that would make me very upset."

#forgive me anon I tried to be serious but the temptation of the piss stalker was too great #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere monster #aka manto #aka manto x reader #japanese urban legend #yandere headcanons #monster x reader #yandere monster x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #horror #horror x reader #monster x human

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idkfitememate · 5 months

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little thought came into mine!

what if Otter!creator and Boar!creator meet each other?

Both of them will just be look at each and then nod, as if their understand each others exprience or or bonding with each other, I mean this is a other person! other person in your era/world, would anyone be wasting this? hell no, so yeah, Even tho theres two creators, mean doubles chaos and mischief, and their besties now. (Their kinda like Sun and Moon duo)

Otter anon🦦

‘Damn Fontaine is nice.’

That was the only thing on the boars mind. Completely oblivious to the people rushing away from their painted form.

Just walking around… eating some flowers… drinking from fountains… having a good day.

Naturally this random boar in the city was causing some problems for the people, especially since the melusine and meka seemingly refused to attack or get rid of it at least.

Unfortunately, Furina and Neuvillette were the only ones available, and they didn’t want to leave their ˈbābē behind… so off they went.

“This is work unfit for a god!” “Of course.” “Why are there no guards on duty able to take care of this issue?” “I am unsure, Lady Furina.” “This is ridiculous.” “It is.” “I’m so sorry you are forced to see this, ma raison d’être.” “As am I, ma raison de vivre.”

This small back and forth banter continued until they reached the boar, which was sitting on its haunches watching Coppelia & Coppelius spin gracefully across the floor.

“Aha! There you are you scoundrel! How dare you desecrate the peace of my beautiful nation!” As Furina continued to rant on and on, Neuvillette noticed that the boar only stared at their darling otter.

And they continued to stare at them.

‘How come you got to be pampered!?’ - Boar

‘Cause I’m fucking adorable, look at me!~’ - Otter

‘That is such bullshit man…’ - Boar

‘Well, nice to know we’re not alone?’ - Otter

‘…. Yeah. It is.’ - Boar

‘ :3 ‘ - Otter

‘ :) ‘ - Boar

The otter jumped off their place from Neuvillette’s shoulder - causing both Sovereign and Archon to jump and make noises of shock - and ran to the boar, both nuzzling each other.

‘Yo you gotta leave tho cuz their gonna kill you’ - Otter

‘… I’m not shocked, talk to you later?’ - Boar

‘Hell yeah! Bye bye!’ - Otter

‘Bye dude!’ - Boar

After a couple of seconds of staring, the boar shook off their hilichurl mask and pushed it towards the shiny otter. Doing the same, the otter took off their hat and placed it on the painted boar’s head. The boar snorted before pressing their snout to the otters head, causing a giggle like chitter to erupt from their throat. The boar then wandered off, walking towards an exit from the city.

The otter picked up the mask and wandered back to a gobsmacked Neuvillette and Furina. Quickly being picked up by the dragon, both hydro users looked at each other as the otter snuggled in his grip with the mask.

“What… just happened?” “I am… unsure, Lady Furina.”

Boar!Creator 🤝 Otter!Creator

Chaos is the only true form of affection

They visit on weekends, and parents share custody. On weekends both are in Mond under Vento’s care and during the week they’re in Fontaine under Furina’s care. ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱

#genshin impact sagau #sagau x reader #sagau #x reader #x gn reader #gn y/n #yandere x reader #yandere x you #Boar!Creator #Otter!Creator #anon <3 #asks <3 #Otter anon <3

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artiststarme · 25 days

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Steve had spent his entire life trying to be perfect. He tried to be the perfect son with sports and popularity, he even tried his best with his grades which was evident until his first major concussion. He tried to be the perfect friend to Carol and Tommy H., even the basketball teams and other jocks, by providing free rides, parties in his house, and being a listening ear for their teenage drama. He even tried to be the best Steve he could be after the popularity faded and the demons from the shadows of Hawkins emerged. Nothing was ever enough.

He wasn’t a good enough son that deserved not to be ignored or neglected by his parents. He wasn’t a good enough student to be allowed to get into a good college or even a local community one. He wasn’t a good enough friend to the people in High School and that’s why they left him.

Through everything though, he thought he was a good person afterwards. He helped the kids the best he could, he protected them with his life, and he would do anything to ensure the survival of everyone in the Party. He knew he was good at that.

Or he thought so until he saw Eddie wasting away in a hospital bed with handcuffs on his wrists and blood soaking through the bandages on the mauled skin of his chest. He tried his best to be a good friend that could support the Party until Dustin broke his heart into splinters for something he couldn’t predict.

“You were so jealous of Eddie that you gave him the most dangerous job?! You knew how harmful the demobats were and you sent him there for a reason! That’s why you didn’t let him go with you, you wanted Eddie to die!”

After all he’d done to be good, to be the person people could count on, to be perfect; he still wasn’t enough. The kids still looked at him as the mean boy of the town and if the kids did, what did the others think?

Did Mrs. Byers still see him as the teenage dirtbag that got into a fight with her son and got him arrested?

Did Hopper still see him as the scoundrel that drank underage and threw parties that upset the neighbors in Loch Nora?

How did Nancy see him? She was the person who actually saw him at his worst, the one who opened his eyes to his failures. Did she still see him as the guy that he never wanted to be?

Steve had worked so hard his entire life to be what everyone else always wanted him to be. He hid so deeply beneath fake masks and facades that he didn’t even know who he truly was anymore, he didn’t know if he ever had.

All he knew was that after their latest run-in with the Upside Down, he went home to an empty house. He ignored the broken glass and the damage caused by the earthquake. He only focused on the fact that everyone else was currently with their families. His parents were who knows where doing who knows what but they were together, the only family they had ever wanted.

Robin was at her place with her family, her parents probably doting on her after worrying for so many days. They’d let Steve in but he didn’t want to intrude more than he’d already had. Nancy and Mike were with their parents, Jonathan, Will, and El were with Joyce and Hopper, Lucas and Erica were with the Sinclairs and Max, and Dustin was with Mrs. Henderson and Mews II. Even Eddie in a pain-induced state of unconsciousness was with Mr. Munson.

Despite all of his efforts to be perfect, to be deserving of love and pride, Steve was still alone. He’d worked for years to be someone worth loving, hell, someone worth tolerating, and it still wasn’t enough. All he had were his friends in the Party and after his talk, nay the lecture, from Dustin, he wasn’t even sure he had them. If he didn’t have them, what did he have?

Depression, PTSD, chronic debilitating migraines, night terrors, and scars?

What was the point of anything if that’s all he had? Did he really want to stick around to find out just for things to worsen like they always did?

After years and years of trying to be perfect, Steve realized he never truly would be. The night he got back to his house after watching the rest of his friends reconnect with their families, he packed up the Beemer and left Hawkins in the rear view.

He was sick of the expectations, the disappointments, and trying to reach a standard he could never sustain.

He left his heart behind wrought with guilt at leaving the Party without any notice and leaving before he knew Munson would be alright but he had no choice. If he didn’t have the kids, he had nothing and that was something he couldn’t face.

#Steve hasn’t had an existential crisis in awhile #stranger things #might as well have one today #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson

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drchucktingle · 1 year

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bud in a lineup

interesting thoughts of chuck today i would like to share in thread. it is no secret i have always found inherent queerphobia and ableism in the trot of folks saying ‘well how do we KNOW chuck is actually queer and neurodivergent he could be some scoundrel hidden away under mask'

i have talked on this many times as buckaroos probably know, gettin riled up about gatekeeping and all that. but today chuck was thinking on specific part of this argument (which often comes from progressive and liberal buds, strangely). part of: we cant trust a MASKED PSEUDONYM

over my years seen so many comments saying ‘listen bud i want to believe chuck is who he says and is truthful about his queerness and autistic trot but i just cant because he has hidden his identity and wears a mask’ and to that i say this...

if i did not use a pseudonym or wear a mask, exactly what tests would you use to determine if my way was neurodivergent? would my face show you? would my voice? what about queerness? would you chart my relationships on a graph? have me fill out a survey of inner thoughts?

the assumption that queerness and neurodivergence are things you judge about others by looking at their face without some pink mask, or voice without an accent, is a deeply queerphobic and ableist notion. yet i have seen this many times. ‘HOW DO WE KNOW? WE CAN’T SEE HIS FACE’

anyway buds just something to think on. perpetuating idea that these are things you can pick out of a lineup is silly. if i was to take of my pink bag and stand before you your perception of how valid or invalid my neurodivergence is would change ZERO PERCENT

and like chuck has said before, maybe we should just not be judging whether or not others identities in these realms are valid or invalid anyway. maybe gatekeeping buds in need of a home or a path to expression is harmful, mask or not. okay buds that was my thought LOVE IS REAL

#chuck tingle #tingleverse #autism #actually autistic #love is real #queerphobia #ableism

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calmcoldevening · 1 year

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Your relationships with boys (slashers x reader)

Michael Myers

♡ This guy looks like a big black cat. He does whatever he wants; he acts according to the first dictate of emotions, therefore, if he wants something, he will achieve it, no matter how unrealistic the goals may be and no matter how difficult the fulfillment of these desires may be.

♡ At first, he does not like your affection much, or rather, he simply does not understand it because of his understated empathy (if he has it at all). Later, he begins to realize that you treat him in a special way: you cook food, let him sleep with you, bathe, if necessary, treat his wounds - therefore, over time, he begins to show you some timid actions.

♡ He often does what the voices in his head chant to him, so if he wants to touch you anywhere, he will do it; it's better not to resist if you don't want new bruises on your neck and wrists.

♡ This boy is crazy about sweets, especially chocolate. You should replenish your stocks of goodies at least once every three days, otherwise Michael will start behaving like an unsatisfied teenager.

♡ Please feed him at least twice a day (breakfast and dinner will be enough), we don't want the story of eating other people's dogs to repeat, right? And, oh my God, he eats like as many as seven healthy men, which is most likely due to his huge size. If earlier you could easily cook spaghetti and eat it for two or three days in a row, now one such pan flew away in one evening.

♡ And yet, no matter how hard Myers tries to deny it, he is pleased with your presence. When he is in the same room with you, the air is noticeably discharged, it becomes lighter and somehow softer; Michael begins to breathe more calmly under his dirty white latex.

♡ The guy has a very high pain threshold, so you shouldn't be surprised when he appears on your doorstep covered in blood, and under a blue jumpsuit you will find several stab wounds or bullet marks; he doesn't take much care of himself.

♡ Did you have a pet? Forget about him. As soon as Michael sees any cat or bird in your house, he will certainly get rid of it; the guy is extremely selfish, he does not want to share your care with someone else.

♡ Michael is the owner. Did you go to the store and someone gave you a lingering "Kitty-kitty" or hit you on the ass? Expect Michael to come home three times more drenched in blood. This scoundrel got what he deserved; even in his coffin, he will remember with fear the day he was born.

♡ He likes it when you wash his hair or just mess with it when he appears in front of you without a mask; Mike fucking likes it when you massage his scalp, especially considering the migraines from constant voices.

♡ His mom (or rather, her ghost) speaks well of you and sometimes tells her son how to behave in a particular situation, so you have a better chance of avoiding awkward moments.

♡ A massage before going to bed, if he sleeps at all, would be very useful; his shoulders are too tense after years in Smiths Grove and frequent murders.

♡ Only from your mouth "Mikey", oh, this affectionate nickname, sounds acceptable to him; Myers feels a strange calmness and warmth in his heart.

♡ He likes your style of music; the last time he heard you turn it on on your phone was when you were cooking dinner late at night, thinking Michael wasn't around.

♡ Sometimes he brings you some nice things; his mom says that girls like it when they are given gifts.

♡ You are constantly, well, or almost constantly, being watched, that's a fact.

Bo Sinclairr

♡ A walking time bomb.

♡ Because of his frequent mood swings, you don't know what to expect from a guy, so be prepared for anything.

♡ Bo loves cookies made by your hands very much, it reminds him of the time when mom was still alive and in her right mind.

♡ No matter how it sounds, he likes it when you're in his clothes; big hanging T-shirts on your innocent body attract his animal gaze.

♡ His clothes are your clothes.

♡ Bo is pleased at the thought that you like to help him at the gas station; lately you have become quite familiar with tools and have learned something about the design of cars.

♡ You often have to stop the verbal sparring bordering on fists that arise between the Sinclair twins; Vincent is very grateful to you for this, he does not like to quarrel with his brother.

♡ If he feels bad, he will just pick you up in his arms (whatever you do, he will just pick you up from that place, whether it's cleaning, drawing or cooking soup) and take you to your shared bedroom; he will sit down and put you on his lap, burying his nose in your shoulder or hair; he can sit like this from five minutes to several hours (he will let you go, for example, if you start jumping out of his arms, feeling the burnt smell from the first floor).

♡ And yet, no matter how stubborn and uncontrollable he is, he tries to be gentle towards you. You don't know, but he often watched couples coming to Ambrose and watched for a long time how this or that guy treated his girlfriend. The behavior has always been different, strange in its own way, but Bo realized that mostly guys hug their partners, kiss them and give gifts. He tries to imitate them, at least in the manifestation of physical contact; he also tries in every possible way to cheer you up during sad periods (for example, during menstruation; these days he is especially attentive to you and every changed spectrum of your mood; sweets? no question; hugs? will it be done; hold it on your hands like a little princess girl? everything for you, honey, just don't cry)

Thomas Hewitt

♡ At first, he really didn't know how to behave. Your relationship was strange: he is a huge maniac with a chainsaw, and you are a victim who somehow magically liked this big guy. At the very beginning, it was fulfilling your basic needs: food, security, sleep. Gradually, when you got a little used to his oppressive aura, he allowed himself to touch you: shoulder, hair, neck — it doesn't matter, just ordinary physical contact!

♡ He likes your cheeks so much. Especially when you blush and start muttering something resentfully under your nose to hide your embarrassment. He finds it extremely charming.

♡ One of the difficulties was that Tommy didn't talk much, if at all. That's why you started communicating with your own sign language. Need to bring something? You are playing a kind of pantomime. A monosyllabic answer? You stretch out your hands in front of him and give each of them a simple answer (yes/no, at home/on the street, etc.) and Thomas chooses left or right, it turned out to be very convenient. Sometimes it even happened that he took your small palm with his huge one and began to write something similar to letters on it with his finger; they were uneven; he often wrote words by ear, but this did not prevent you from understanding him.

♡ His mom didn't approve of your relationship (at the beginning). In her opinion, you were too strange, slow and timid; it would be difficult for you to live in this house. But gradually she got used to your company and even fell in love with you, damn it! You became her daughter-in-law. "My Tommy is a good boy; don't hurt him like the kids at school; take care of him."

♡ With uncles, everything turned out to be scarier, they were terrible perverts. That's why Tommy tried to be there for you all the time and protect you (a knight with a chainsaw, cool).

♡ As for the mask: he blushed terribly when you asked if he could take it off, started pulling the edge of his apron or abruptly went into the basement. After a while, he finally took it off and was surprised when you kissed every inch of his skin.

♡ The guy really likes to spend time with you. I especially like to leave the house in the evenings and lie down with you on the prickly grass a little away from the house so that neither Hoyt nor Monty can hear you. You lie with your hands tightly clasped in a lock and fingers interlaced; the grass scratches the exposed parts of your body, which sometimes makes you squirm, rubbing the earth into one of the most worn T-shirts; you look at the blue sky with pale pink sunset stripes, watching the white-sided moon light up in the distance. Thomas could start to wheeze softly, which meant his laughter when you told one of the funny stories of your childhood. Just always wait for him before the next walk; we don't want your ankle to get caught in one of the massive bear traps, right?

♡ Sweetheart, he loves you so much!

♡ Thomas loves your soft palms with slightly cracked fingertips from the heat and drought! Your hands smell of soap, with which you constantly wash dishes in the kitchen, as well as grass and cinnamon after recently cooking some simple cakes. He's never eaten anything tastier in his life! (in truth, even old Hoyt appreciated them: "Not bad for such a city girl," although you saw that he continued to stare at your ass).

♡ He likes it when you lie on his chest. He starts purring with pleasure. You can hear his measured beating, leaning your ear against his chest; now he is without an apron, in only a loose shirt and loose trousers, which you instructed him to put on before going to bed if he wants to sleep with you in an embrace. Thanks to your presence, Thomas has begun to sleep better.

I just drank my tea and thought about these sweet boys. Well they're so cute and pretty so i like to write about them. And have a nice day <3

#slashers x reader #fanfic #drabble #michael myers x reader #michael myers #michael myers rz #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface x reader #they love you so much

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yaekiss · 8 months

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#Mailroom Open!　─ Hello Qi! I hope I am able to get this letter in before the cutoff 😖 May I send a love letter to yan!Jing Yuan, and have him address a Foxian!reader w gn nicknames?

\\\______\\\\________\\\

To my dearest Scoundrel,

You are quite the terrible influence my dear general, are you aware of this? How am I supposed to resolve this trade agreement with our fellow Xianzhou flagships in a timely manner, when you have more or less conditioned me to take naps during most hours of the day?

Truly despicable of you really. And on top of that, your "parting gifts" you left on me are still very tender; very distracting from my work. Efficiency and diligence, I fear will be strangers to me during this trip.

Regardless, I hope you are doing well and are not causing to much trouble for the commission during my absence. (Please try to not stress Fu Xian too much, I don't need further distractions from her blowing up my phone because of your shenanigans.) Maybe if you are on your best behavior, I might even give you a reward. Perhaps even something of your choosing if you are especially well behaved~.

Before I sign off and leave you to return to my work, I have sealed a gift for you. Consider it...my own unique "parting gift" to you until I return to you. Which I know in our vast lifespans will be over before you know it my beloved.

-Sincerely, your sleepy vixen

(Enclosed in a small red and gold box, is a simple blue collar with golden accents and filigree with a note that says "wear it until I come back ;)" )

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Jing Yuan, no gendered terms for reader, Jing Yuan calls you "my tranquility", unhealthy obsessive relationship from Jing Yuan, lightly implied drugging, mentions of reader topping and edging Jing Yuan, quick mention of biting and blood, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: You have quite the roster of guards at the door of your hotel room huh? Looks like nothing's going to slip past them if they were chosen by Jing Yuan himself! ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

As you return to your temporary quarters after sitting through a particularly arduous trade meeting, you’re alerted by your guards assigned to you (by none other than Jing Yuan) about a suspicious delivery left for you while you were away.

Inspecting the box, a laugh escapes you when you catch the ink paw prints of a lion stamped haphazardly on both sides of it. After explaining that this was a personal delivery from the Xianzhou Luofu’s Dozing General, it seemed to dissolve any remaining apprehension your guards had and they handed the box over to you. Thanking them for dutifully carrying out their work, you step into your room.

Your room is spacious, ridiculously so. Why would one person need such a massive room for themselves? It’s the kind that only a general could manage to procure. The open sliding window leads to a balcony that showcases the bustling lively environment of the streets below and a cool evening breeze fills the room. Settling down on the edge of the bed, you set the box in your lap.

Upon opening up your delivery, it seems that Jing Yuan had prepared a pair of gifts in return for you. The first of two is an intricate small glass spray bottle set within a satin-lined box. The small tag tied around it says, “Some of the fragrance that I often use. For you to spray on your pillows when you sleep. :3”

Spritzing a fine mist onto your wrist, the scent of your lover wafts from the area; not too strong such that it’s unpleasant for your keen sense of smell, nor too faint that it’s hard for you to pick up. The fragrance is soothing and familiar, a thoughtful gift that will no doubt improve the quality of your sleep, as evident from the yawn it draws out from you.

The second gift you retrieve from the box is a soft sleep mask in your favourite colour. Sliding it over your eyes, you find that the fabric is smooth against your skin and the mask manages to completely block out all light, fully blacking out everything. The elastic strap isn’t overly tight but secure enough that it ensures that the mask doesn’t slip off too easily. Perfect for tossing and turning.

Finally, laid at the bottom of the box, is the reply from Jing Yuan, concealed in an elegant envelope. The quality is top-notch and flawless, and it’s sealed securely. Running your hand over the envelope, you feel the crest of the Cloud Knights embossed lightly on the surface. You break the seal and remove the letter contained within.

His handwriting is steady and dignified, each and every brushstroke on the page graceful. At the end of his letter, is his own name seal, stamped in red ink. Jing Yuan’s reply reads:

“For my dreamlike haven,

My apologies, it seems that Mimi got its paws on the box while I was out of my office and left a couple of paw prints on the sides. Sigh, you should’ve seen how much ink I had to clean off the surfaces, truly troublesome. Perhaps it knew that the box was meant for you and wished to leave something for you as well, haha!

I have to admit, Mimi is not the only one missing you, my tranquility. I find myself looking over to my side to ask for your wise input on things, only to realise that you’re away. Fu Xuan laughs at me whenever I do this. :(

It's just not the same to take afternoon naps without you by my side. Nothing is as comforting as your warmth in my arms, or for me to jokingly complain about the tips of your furry ears tickling my nose when we cuddle together. My slumbers are no longer restful when I can’t spend them with you, my tranquility.

The things I would do to have you next to me again. Are the marks and scratches I left on you still visible, my tranquility? Judging by how the ones you left on me are fading, I assume my parting gifts left on you are doing the same. Would you let me mark you up again, and won’t you extend the same generosity to me too? I yearn for your searing touch, my tranquility, for your fangs to pierce my skin and bring forth the vivid red beneath. Whenever I close my eyes, the only thing I can see is you, as if you linger in my every thought and dream.

Speaking of dreams, it seems that lately, my dreams have taken quite a raunchy turn. The starring role for all of them is obviously, you, my tranquility. You’d have me pliant and satisfying your every whim. In one, you had me bent over my office desk, fucking me hard as I rocked back against you. In another, you were edging me mercilessly, over and over again, until I could do nothing but beg helplessly for my release. That look you had in your eyes still sends a shiver down my spine. I’m hoping that soon, you can help turn these dreams of mine into reality.

Additionally, thank you for the collar, my tranquility. I’ve taken the liberty of adding a charming little bell at the front of it, I think you’d find it quite endearing. (And perhaps deserving of a reward? :3)

Do take care of yourself, or else I might just have to come and do it myself, haha. I’ll try to be on my best behaviour but no promises! I miss you dearly, my tranquility, come back to me soon.

Your rascal of a general,

- Jing Yuan -

P.S. Remember to use the fragrance on your pillows and the sleep mask!”

Rising from your seat on the bed, you pack everything back into the box before stepping into the shower to… cool off after reading Jing Yuan’s letter. In the bathroom, you find yourself relaxing as the water patters on your skin. Your ears flicker slightly whenever they pick up noise from beyond the locked door. A shout from the busy streets below, a soft sigh and the tinkle of a bell, the water splashing onto the floor around you.

Whilst clothing yourself, you lift your wrist to your nose and sigh when the scent of Jing Yuan has expectedly, (begrudgingly), been washed off. However, when you return to your bed, the scent of him still lingers, one that wasn’t here before.

Your heightened foxian senses can just about make out where it’s concentrated the most, and it points towards your pillow. It’s saturated with the smell of him, to a disconcerting degree. Lifting it up, you’re greeted with the sight of the usual red ribbon he has tied around his hair.

The world falls silent around you.

He was in your room.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 7 months

Note

*Ghost A appears*

Ghost A:Wazzupp! You must be the new temporary student I was hearing about! My pal, Prefect wanted to gift you this since you staying here for a short amount of time. Hope you like em'! *gives Rollo a plastic covered basket of goods with orange and red decorations around it, with a tag that reads 'For Rollo, from Prefect =)'*

He’s so mad and friendless :((

Like Fire, Hellfire.

He startled slightly at the ghost's appearance, taking a tentative step back from the spot it occupied. Not that it would have mattered--there was no corporeal form to them. The ghost was a staunch thing, face round and nose bulbous... and, most importantly, far too friendly for Rollo's liking.

"The temporary student... Yes, I suppose that would be me," he stated evenly, careful to not let his contempt slip through his facade.

"Hey, I got the right guy on my first try! What are the odds, huh?"

"Pretty good, considering that I'm the only person wandering about campus in a completely different uniform than the others," Rollo grumbled under his breath.

"Prefect didn't tell me you had a killer sense of humor on top of the fancy-lookin' clothes!" Ghost A laughed heartily, setting a hefty covered wicker basket into Rollo's arms. "Here ya go! Knock yourself out!"

He summoned a tight smile. "You have my thanks. Please send them my regards as well."

"Will do, kid!" The ghost gave a salute. He then slowly vanished into thin air, becoming one with the whipping autumn winds. "Hasta la vista...!"

Rollo tensed, opting to wait a full 5 minutes to ensure the pesky presence was gone before he pulled back the cloth covering his basket and inspected what was hidden underneath. Various items were shoved inside: a candle, stationary supplies, a few meal coupons, a sleeping mask... The Prefect had even taken care to dress the basket up with shredded tissue paper in warm colors, little plastic flowers in the same shades sticking out.

For Rollo, from Prefect =), read a little tag attached to the welcoming gift. Enjoy your stay at Night Raven College!

Rollo sneered at the sentiment. Enjoy himself? Here? At a school teeming with scoundrels and sinners? Surely they had to be making a joke in poor taste.

But then why go to the trouble of preparing this...?

A worrying thought gathered in the back of his mind. Something vaguely warm and fuzzy, a similar high that many mages chased. Not magic, but the warmth of an outstretched hand.

Companionship, connection.

His stomach lurched, sickened by the concept. He furiously batted it away with a scowl. Not them, not the mage sympathizer.

They were a fool to offer an olive branch, to attempt to make friends with him. As though we could ever see eye-to-eye.

Rollo could picture it now: their silly face contorted in a lazy grin, calling out to him from afar. Eyes gleaming so brightly. Waving as they drew near. Closer and closer, to clasp his hand in theirs.

"Let's be friends, Rollo!" they'd say insistently.

He found himself frowning--or rather, trying to.

“… How troublesome.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #Rollo Flamme #twisted wonderland interactions #twst interactions #Ramshackle Ghosts #Reader #self insert #disney twisted wonderland #Rollo at the Writing Desk

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mindnumb-opus · 2 years

Text

Cowabunger

#oc #original characters #Masked scoundrels #BoneHead #Tmnt #Rotmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #superheroes

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moontheoretist · 4 months

Text

"It was true that Anders had been changed by his union with Justice. But Justice had begun to change him even before that, from the moment of their first meeting.

Back before Kirkwall, before Hawke, in Blackmarsh near Amaranthine, where the Veil had been stripped tissue-thin by dark magic, Anders and his companions had been thrown into the spirit world, and there they had found Justice.

Anders had, on occasion, encountered other friendly spirits in the Fade. But those were like shy woodland creatures, fleeting about, silent and inscrutable. Intelligent in their own way, but preoccupied with matters in which human beings played little part.

Justice was different. Imposing, undeniable, like something out of a storybook. Like something out of Anders's own childhood dreams, when he had drifted to sleep in petrified silence each night during his first lonely months in the Circle.

From the beginning, Anders had felt a sort of silent awe in Justice’s presence. But with time, he realized that what he felt, more than anything, was shame.

He could see, now, his own veneer of carelessness, of casual disregard, for what it was. A protective posture. Armor against the world. He had long ago learned that selfishness was something to hold onto when cruel experience made believing in anything else too painful. Selfishness meant that he was permitted to save himself, even if he could save no one else.

But in Justice's presence, all of this, everything of his former life, suddenly struck him as pale and wanting.

There were, Anders knew, certain beliefs that he had always held onto, in a locked away, guarded part of his heart. That the vulnerable would someday find the strength to unite against their oppressors. That their oppressors would be cast down and face atonement. And in Justice, these ideas suddenly stood before him, given form and voice. They suddenly seemed not only possible, but necessary.

For his part, thrown into the mortal world and confined to the decaying body of Kristoff, Justice could not help but take note of Anders as well. It first struck him as odd that a person who burned with such a painful longing for righteousness was regarded by his mortal companions as little more than a charming scoundrel. Then came the realization that this was intentional on Anders's part - a disguise. Then, the realization that the disguise was not for others' sake, but for that of Anders himself.

He noted this, for example: Anders liked to speak about the Circle's cruelties, or the templars who now hunted him, in an attitude of annoyance, glibness, arrogant superiority. Always masking pain, masking anger.

When Justice finally named those things in earnest - You were a helpless child when you were taken and caged. They should never again be allowed to lay their hands on another mage as they did you - Anders looked at him in real fear.

He was afraid because he knew what this would mean: to acknowledge that feeling, to face it, to give it weight. He knew where his desire for retribution would lead him.

That part - the endgame of all of this - was never in doubt.

But even back then, when Justice was still Kristoff and not yet Anders, his presence at Anders's side was a source of strength, almost intoxicating. When they fought the templars who had come to recapture Anders, Justice did not hesitate to deliver the killing blow. He seemed to regard the act as unquestionably right, as no more blameworthy than removing a dangerous weapon from the hands of a child.

Anders envied this certainty, fed off of it, felt emboldened by it, and desired it for himself.

[...]

Justice was able to recall the first moments of their union in a way Anders could not. Feeling the different weight and motion of a living body around him, overcome by the blinding flare of a living consciousness, colliding with the surge of conflicted emotion that Anders carried within him, and, finally, merging with the mirrored longing for justice already present there. More painful than Kristoff, more bewildering, but more ecstatic as well.

For Anders, it was different. Unconsciousness, panic, a sense of absence, of his body suddenly becoming foreign to him. The experience of possession. He was lost for some time, even as Justice worked solicitously to help him find himself again, to lead him back to the surface.

In the days and weeks that followed, Anders found that all of the old parts of him were still there - memories, desires, fears, faults. But something had cracked open inside him. He had a sensation as though his innermost heart were suddenly bared to the world, raw and unprotected."

~ unison by zerodignity

I dislike people who prefer Awakening Anders and sneer at DA2 Anders, not because I dislike Awakening Anders (I didn't play it, so I can't say I dislike him), but because they miss the point of his character, just like the writers of his did. Anders is not a "bipolar terrorist" that was destined to blow up the Chantry in a misguided act of heroism that is actually a villainy. Anders is a person who commits something unthinkable because there was nothing else left. He tried for 7 years to change the fate of the mages and the only thing he got in return were more oppression, abuses and injustice. If he didn't do what he did, if he didn't remove the status quo forcibly, there would be no foundation to build mage's future on. His action was necessary. He didn't start the war, as it was started by the Templars themselves when mages voted for independence from the Chantry, but it had to be done to show that mages have enough of the status quo, that the change needs to happen. Anders before Justice was a man who hated Templars and desired justice, but never could actually pursue it, because his survival was far more important at the time. He acted the way he did, because it was easier, it was a convenient mask to hide behind, so he didn't have to face the reality of his own feelings. Justice changed all that. He allowed Anders to be truly himself. And albeit I mourn his ending in which he lives happily with the Wardens (which was retconned for the sake of DA2), Anders needed this change in himself. He needed this realization that his own survival is no longer the most important, and that he finally can put his anger to good use.

#anders was right #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age #dragon age 2 #anders #justice #oppression #revolution

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c-e-d-dreamer · 3 months

Text

You Are Not the Kind of Boy (Who Should Be Marrying the Wrong Girl): Part One

A/N: happy happy @sjmromanceweek! Don't you just love the first date of... (checks notes) being ruined by your older sister's lover bursting into her wedding? It's how all the great first dates start! 😉 I hope everyone enjoys this Elucien sequel to But I'm Only Looking At You! You don't have to have read the Nessian part to understand, but you do need to know that Cassian ruined Nesta and subsequently Elain and Feyre before this fic's timeline. This is the first of three parts I'll be posting for Romance Week 🥰

Read on AO3 // Next Part

Three Months Ago

The music drifts through the large, arching doorway, the sound light and lilting as its melody fills the room. It wraps around Elain's limbs, floating above into the high ceiling and the chandelier hanging there. Elain can't help but hum along quietly to the familiar tune, even as she tilts her head to admire the painting displayed before her. It's a beautiful landscape, light brushstrokes of white perfectly capturing the clouds in the sky, dots of color in the foreground to mimic wildflowers.

“My lady.”

Elain nearly jumps out of her skin at the sudden voice, even as the familiarity of that tone sends goosebumps cascading down her arms. She turns her head to the gentleman now standing beside her. His fitted waistcoat is a deep green color, the intricate gold stitching exactly the type of luxury Elain expects from a Duke's son. Still, the color compliments his red hair, the strands left loose to hang around his face. Even with the fox mask he's chosen to don for the evening's festivities, there's no mistaking him.

Lucien Spellcleaver.

He keeps his hands tucked neatly behind his back, his eyes firmly forward on the painting before them. But Elain doesn't miss the way his fingers seem to flex, the bob of his throat as he swallows, and she certainly doesn't miss the way a smirk tugs up the left side of his lips at her continued attention. Since making Lucien's acquaintance and through their continued interactions, Elain has begun to suspect he's more scoundrel than lord, all teasing smirks and snarky remarks. He finally turns to meet her gaze, his eyes practically glinting beneath the light of the chandelier, one russet and one gold.

“You look lovely this evening,” Lucien tells her, Elain swearing he sounds almost breathless as he says it. “That color suits you.”

Elain is glad for her own mask to hide the blush that crashes across her cheeks, but she ducks her head nonetheless. “Thank you, your Grace.”

She turns back to the painting, if only to break the intensity of his stare, the spell that seems wrapped up in that gaze, curling around her chest like a golden thread and tugging her into him. Perhaps, if she stares hard enough at the painted wildflowers, her face will stop being the same shade of pink as her dress. Thankfully, Lucien seems content to simply stand beside her, barely a hairsbreadth keeping their arms from brushing together.

“Thesan has good taste,” Lucien breaks the quiet to comment. “Clear from this evening's masquerade as well. Are you enjoying the festivities, my lady?”

“Yes. I have particularly enjoyed the music.”

“And yet I have not yet seen you grace the dance floor.”

“Perhaps, I am still waiting for the right partner,” Elain dares to say, turning back toward Lucien only to find his stare already pinned on her.

His hand reaches forward in the space between them, his fingers skating down Elain's arm before curling around her wrist. Elain just barely swallows down the gasp at that simple touch, her heart beginning to pound between her ribs. She feels frozen, unable to move or look away as Lucien pulls her hand closer to him, as his fingers unfold her dance card. She watches him scrawl his name, expects him to drop her hand once he's finished, but instead, he merely lifts her hand higher, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. His lips linger against her skin far longer than is proper, a fire practically burning in his eyes, but still Elain doesn't move, doesn't breathe.

It's only when Lucien finally releases her hand, when he finally steps away and vanishes back into the ballroom and amongst the ball’s guests, that Elain releases a quiet, gasping breath. She runs her hands down the skirts of her dress, trying desperately to calm her thundering heart, and when she looks at her dance card to see which dance Lucien has claimed, she finds his name written in large, looping letters diagonally across the entire booklet.

A scoundrel indeed.

~ * * * ~

Today

The carriage jerks beneath them, jostling lightly as the horse tugs them down the road. The silence is suffocating, the air tense and thick enough in the tight space that Elain feels like she could choke on it. She keeps her eyes firmly out the window, watching the shops, the houses, the people that the carriage passes.

She doesn’t dare to look at the other faces of her family, least of all her mother. The ire radiating off of Eleanor Archeron is palpable and stifling and has Elain’s whole body tensing in anticipation. And it’s not even directed at her. Nesta’s fingers are twisted tight enough in the skirts of her dress that Elain can see the white knuckles even in her periphery. Elain’s own fingers twitch with the desire to reach out, to squeeze Nesta’s hands in soothing comfort, but there’s no saving her older sister from what’s coming, not after what’s happened, what Nesta did.

Elain still can’t even wrap her head around it. She had known, of course, that there was something between her sister and Cassian MacLeod. He had practically followed Nesta around wherever they went, and Elain can still remember the night their mother had thrown a stack of letters from him into the fire, can still remember hearing Nesta cry through the wall their bedrooms share. But she never thought Nesta would do this, never thought she’d take things so far so as to lay with a man unwed.

The carriage finally pulls to a stop, and the footman has barely pulled the door open before Feyre is rushing out, clearly just as desperate as Elain to escape the cloying mood trapped within the carriage. The rest of the family clambers out in stoic silence, and finally, with a soft sigh, Elain slips out of the carriage. Nesta hesitates at the bottom of the front steps, so Elain steps around her, giving her sister the moment she clearly needs and following her parents inside their home.

But once they’re all inside, once the front door has closed with a too loud snick the echoes like a death knell, all hell breaks loose.

Elain supposes there is some benefit to them having to dismiss their staff. There’s no one to see the rage burning across their mother’s face as she whirls around on Nesta. No one to hear the slap that rings out in the front hall as the back of Eleanor’s hand strikes across Nesta’s cheek.

“You stupid girl,” their mother seethes, already raising her hand again despite Nesta’s flinch. “What were you thinking?”

“Mama, please. I didn’t—”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Everything I have done for you. All that work I put in. And for what? For you to spread your legs like a common whore, and for some filthy factory rat of all things?”

Feyre steps closer to Elain, looping their arms together as they stand tensely, awkwardly, while everything unfolds, but Elain can’t watch the way their mother explodes around them a moment longer. She swallows hard and averts her gaze, focusing on the shadows that stretch across the floors and walls from the sun spilling through the windows.

“I hope you’re happy,” their mother continues. “You’ve always been a disappointment to the Archeron name, and now, you have thoroughly ruined it. You’ve ruined us all. You’ve ruined your sisters. Is that what you wanted? Perhaps, you can teach them the proper ways to pleasure a man for when they end up on the street trying to rub pennies together.”

The words are enough to draw Elain’s attention back, to spear straight through her chest. Despite the cruelty of their mother’s words, there’s no denying the underlying truth to them. Elain doubts the Mandrays will keep quiet about what happened this morning, that word will quickly burn through the ton like a wildfire. She’s sure that the next time they go to the market, everyone will stare, will look down their noses, will whisper and gossip about the Archeron girls.

She’s sure that no respectable gentleman will want to go anywhere near them.

That thought has Elain’s heart twisting tightly in her chest, pain blooming surely enough that it takes everything within her not to press her hand against the ache. It has her stomach roiling until she thinks she might be sick, until the taste of bile starts to tickle the back of her throat. She thinks of Lucien, of the way he had danced with her all night at Thesan’s masquerade ball. Of the way he called on her almost every day before her mother sent the staff away and put an end to any and all callers. Of the way he found her in the market just the other day and teased her about her ribbon selection.

Lucien. A Duke’s son. Someone who will need legitimate heirs, and not someone whose honor will forever be questioned.

Eleanor lets out a long sigh, holding her hand to her head as if this whole conversation is tortuous and sickening to her. Their father, doting as ever, rushes forward. He curls an arm around his wife’s waist, murmuring gentle words before he leads her away up the stairs.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Feyre demands as soon as they’re alone.

Nesta crosses her arms across her chest, glancing away from her sisters and swallowing hard. “I didn’t know he was going to do that. I didn’t… I didn’t know he was going to ruin us all.”

“But why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Feyre,” Nesta snaps, her voice exasperated. “It’s not like I asked him to do that. He’s an idiot.”

“But you care about him, and I’m quite sure he cares for you. I saw—”

“It doesn’t matter anyways.”

“Who will marry us now?” Elain whispers, cutting off her sisters’ arguing, her eyes beginning to burn with the familiar heat of tears.

“Elain…” Nesta begins, her voice gentle, but it’s as though she doesn’t quite know what to say.

Elain knows it’s silly, knows that her sisters never quite felt the same or understood, but she had looked forward to what her future could hold. She had looked forward to finding a husband. Ideally, a love match, but she would also be happy with a man who was simply kind. She had looked forward to tending to a house, to being the mistress of a manor. She had looked forward to being a mother.

And most recently, Elain couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to be a duchess. Imagine small, running feet and shocks of bright, red hair. Imagine a certain Duke’s son with a child on his shoulders and offering her that roguish smile of his. Imagine his arms around her as securely as the night at Thesan’s masquerade ball.

Elain scrubs at her cheeks, at the tears sliding down across her skin, and turns on her heel. She ignores Feyre calling her name, making her way up the stairs and to her bedroom. She closes the door firmly behind her, crumpling into her vanity chair and sniffling quietly. The ribbon she had gotten earlier in the week still sits there, and almost absentmindedly, Elain traces along it with her finger.

If she closes her eyes, she can still perfectly imagine that day, can still remember walking through the market, the sights and the sounds of the ton soaring on the late summer breeze around her. Lucien had all but followed her into the ribbon shop, offering another of his roguish smiles and a flourished bow. He hadn’t been fazed when Elain teased him about a gentleman in a ribbon shop, insisting he was merely looking for himself, in need of something to tie back his hair with.

There was no stopping the lightness that flooded through Elain’s chest, the warmth that twined around her heart, the quiet laugh that was pulled past her lips, as Lucien held up different ribbons and asked for her opinion on each one. Elain had settled on the ribbon with gold stitching and suns woven into the lace, telling Lucien it complimented his hair and eyes well. In retrospect, perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised when the exact same ribbon had been delivered to her the next day.

Elain’s fingers curl tightly around the ribbon, frustration beginning to spark through her veins. It burns away any numbness, any anguish, over the events of the day. It’s unfair. It’s entirely and completely unfair, and Elain refuses to tolerate it for another moment. She will no longer sit idly by. If this is to be her life, her future now, then she at least deserves to do one last thing.

With a quiet huff, Elain pushes back up to her feet, her determination solidified and her resolve hardened. She throws open her wardrobe doors, digging around the back until she finds a dark colored cloak, pulling it on and making sure the hood covers her hair and casts her face in shadow.

It’s with slow, deliberate carefulness that Elain pulls open her bedroom door, making sure the creak of the wood can’t be heard. She glances both ways down the hall, ensuring it’s all clear before tiptoeing her way toward the service stairs and following them down to the kitchen. The kitchen is quiet and dark, just as Elain expects, no one in the family stepping foot down here even with the staff dismissed. It makes it all too easy to unlatch the back door and slip out of the manor all together.

The sun has already started to set, strokes of pinks and oranges and purples painted across the sky above, blending with the wisps of clouds. The entire world is washed in soft light, glinting off the leaves and flowers. The light and late afternoon breeze turns the field just behind the manor into a rolling sea of gold, turns the willow tree Elain can see a little further ways up into a glittering fountain.

Hiking up her skirts to avoid getting mud on the hem, Elain begins her trek through the field. She keeps to the trees rather than the main road, tucking her chin down so the shadow cast by her hood hides her face any time she passes by anyone else. But soon the large, gravel pathway comes into view, winding up to the large estate that looms before her.

Three stories worth of tall windows stretch far to Elain’s left and right. The center of the estate juts out slightly further than the east and west wings, columns and beautiful arches only adding to the elegance. With the light of the fading day hitting and reflecting off the white bricks, the entire estate seems to glow as though it’s an embodiment of the sun itself.

Elain takes a moment to breathe deeply, to roll and square her shoulders. The walk here has done little to soften the resolve that hardened her spine, that fire of determination still blazing through her veins. But there’s no denying the spark of nerves low in her gut, the flutter of butterflies in her chest. Still, if Elain’s future is to be what everyone says it will be, if everything she’s ever wanted really is no longer within reach, then Elain intends to take this one thing that’s just for her.

With a decided nod, Elain makes her way up the gravel pathway toward the estate, veering off to the right before she reaches the front door. Lucien had mentioned how he loved to watch the sunset over the water from his room, so she’s quite sure that means his rooms must be in the western wing.

As Elain winds around the side of the estate, trying to figure out how she’ll identify which window is Lucien’s, she finds the man in question lounging in the grass beside the lake’s edge. He’s dressed casually, merely a pair of pants that hug the thick lines of his thighs, and a simple, white shirt tucked into the waistband, the laces around the neck loose and teasing a sliver of golden skin and collarbones. His red hair hangs around his face and shoulders, strands dancing in the breeze and whispering across his cheeks.

He has a book opened in his hands, and he doesn’t seem to hear Elain as she steps closer, so she awkwardly clears her throat, drawing the attention of those beautiful russet and gold eyes.

“Elain,” Lucien exclaims, closing his book and scrambling up to his feet. “How are—I heard about what happened. With your sister.”

“Word certainly travels fast around the ton,” Elain sighs, fiddling with the skirts of her dress. She was hoping Lucien wouldn’t know, that she would still have the benefit of ignorance on her side if only for tonight.

Lucien steps closer to her, his hand raising up into the space between them before he hesitates and drops it back down to his side. “And are you alright?”

The question takes Elain by surprise, and for a moment, she can do nothing but blink up at Lucien in confusion. She should have known. Should have known that Lucien was too much of a good man to judge her, to cast stones the way she’s sure the ton and its gossip machine have been doing as soon as the Mandrays stepped out of that church.

“As well as I can be,” Elain finally answers. “Now that my season is ruined. Now that I’m ruined.”

“You’re not ruined, Elain,” Lucien assures her, a frown tugging down his lips.

“You’re being kind, but you don’t need to lie to me. I’m not stupid. I mean, what sensible man will want to marry me now?”

“I’m sure there’s a man who would be very honored to call you his wife. Quite confident in fact.”

“Stop being kind,” Elain huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. “But it’s alright. I’ve accepted it now. It’s actually why I’m here.”

“All you have to do is say the word,” Lucien tells her, taking her hands in his own. His touch is surprisingly warm, surprisingly gentle the way his fingers curl around her own. “And you know that I will help you. Happily.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Elain steps closer still to Lucien, biting her lip and peering up at him from under her lashes. “Because I could use your help. Now that the whole ton will think I’ve laid with a man just as Nesta has, I figured I might as well make it a reality.”

“Elain,” Lucien begins, taking a step back from her.

“I just want one thing for myself. One thing that I want, that I choose, that can’t be taken from me.”

“I get that, I do, but I do not want to be the one that ruins your honor. Don’t you think it best to wait until you are wed?”

“You aren’t listening, Lucien. My honor is already ruined, and no one is going to marry me.”

“That’s not true. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Elain, I—”

Before Lucien can finish speaking, Elain crowds back into his space and surges up onto her toes, crashing her lips against his. It’s a bit awkward, merely a press of lips, but excitement still cascades through Elain’s entire being, fueling her and begging for more. After a moment, Lucien starts to relax, his hands moving to cradle her jaw before they’re sliding down her neck to her shoulders, gently pulling her away.

“Elain…”

“Don’t you want me too?”

“I can assure you that’s not the issue here.”

“Lucien, please.”

Lucien sighs softly, lifting a hand to push up and through his hair. “How can you ever expect me to say no to you when I would gladly do anything for you?”

“I don’t,” Elain tells him matter-of-factly, pressing her body fully against his until her breasts press against his chest, their hips aligned flush together.

“Fuck,” Lucien mumbles beneath his breath. “If we… just promise that after, we can talk. Properly. About this.”

“Of course.”

It’s a lie. Elain has every intention of leaving after tonight, of walking away from Lucien completely. No matter what she wants. No matter the way her heart quakes and shutters at the idea. But she simply can’t stomach it, the idea of dragging Lucien down with her. She could never mar his future with the dark, roiling clouds that are now firmly casted over her own.

After tonight, Elain will ensure that she doesn’t stand in the way of everything that Lucien deserves, that’s his birthright as the son of a Duke.

But Lucien doesn’t need to know that.

—

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rileythelonelyalien · 2 years

Text

Dottore x GN! Reader

A/N: Hello! this fic was slightly rushed lol, I hope you enjoy this fan fiction , it hasn't been proofread so far so if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes i do apologise !!!

this is a Fluff Dottore fan fiction that is about a small interaction with the clones , this does have a 3.1 spoiler , maybe???(i mention the name of one of the dottores clones used in the game).

You were waiting for prime dottore outside his lab. He had told you to wait outside his lab as he still had some unfinished business to do. You let your legs hover above the ground as you sat on a bench nearby , humming to yourself as you began to observe your surroundings, finally taking into account the decor that was used just outside his lab. You smile to yourself as you know this could not have been done by Dottore himself, it looks too stylish and chic , he would never care for such things.

In this time that you were spending to take in the interior design you caught a familiar tinge of blue hair , the same hair that belonged to your lover. However as you turn to face him you notice this isn't the current dottore who is still in the lab. He wore a different mask and he stood across from you , almost as he was apprehensive to approach you. He continued to stand across from you , in an effort to ease some tension you give him a soft smile and wave at him. This seemed to work in encouraging Dottore to ease up and be more comfortable in approaching you , as he gets closer , you shuffle up on the bench you were sitting on and pat the space next to you , maintaining your smile. In response you get a sharp toothed grin from him as he promptly sets himself beside you.

Before you realise , he is already playing with your hair , it almost seemed like he was examining it entranced by your features. It was almost as if he was trying to admire all of you and give all of you attention , he just so happened to start with the hair. You let out a chuckle as you find this behaviour frankly to be quite adorable. As soon as you let out an indication of joy , his crimson eyes lock onto yours , his fascination clearly evident. His hand moves from your hair to your chin gently bringing your face closer to his as he continues to maintain eye contact. ‘What was that you just did? Do it again!’ his silence had been broken, you nervously break eye contact with him. ‘I- uh what do you mean?, do you mean me laughing? I- i can't just do that on demand’ you assumed that was what he was asking for. His lips pressed together almost as if he were in deep thought , you maintained still in his grasp. However unbeknownst to you his other hand had already begun to slither downwards , picking out the places that would be your weak spot and soon enough ; an attack ensued. He had managed to deduce all your ticklish areas and took this advantage , being attacked in such a way you couldn't help but burst out with laughter as you tried to grab the hand that was tickling you. As you squirmed and laughed uncontrollably in Dottore’s arms his smile once again exposed his unusually pointed teeth. He too let out a lowly chuckle as he revelled in your laughter , truly it sounded just as good if not better than the screams of his ‘patients’.

Unfortunately this moment was cut short as the sound of heavy and angry footsteps was coming your way , soon enough you heard another familiar voice shouting ‘ NUMBER 6 WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU RUN OFF TOO?!’. Just by hearing this you could tell it was Dottores favourite clone , the omega build, the clone he relies on the most. The clone with you currently stiffened, as he looked around to make out where the other Dottore was. Alas it was too late for this clone to escape once again as the other dottore had emerged into the hall you were waiting in. ‘AH ! there you are number 6 you are definitely a scoundrel , although i don't remember being so rebellious at this age ’ he talks out loud to himself as he approaches Dottore , the sixth one according to the other dottore. He opens his mouth to scold the clone when he catches you , within the clone's arms, he goes quiet and averts his eyes between you and Dottore. A sigh escapes his lips , you were preparing yourself to get scolded by him too but then he sits himself on the other side of you and turns to face you and the other clone. ‘How Come our darling was finally out of the primes iron grip and you were about to have them all to yourself? , i think not’ and with that said a mischievous grin tugs at his lips as he gets closer to you and brings you into his arms.Although they were clones they were all unique versions of Dottore each showed different traits of the prime Dottore , most traits of which you adored, and they were warm just like he is. As you get pulled from the apparent sixth clone you hear him let out a whine of disapproval. You can feel Dottores' breath against your skin as he pulls you in closer , you manage to catch him mumble to himself ‘Oh i have waited too long to hold you like this ,it feels even better than i imagined it to be’. With such an unexpected comment being made you could feel your face getting warmer as you became bashful , in an attempt to ground yourself you lean into Dottore’s chest burying your face into his body. You feel his chest vibrate as he laughs to himself as he muses at how much he finds your peculiar behaviour so amusing, in an endearing way.

In the comfort of his arms you begin to drift away into sleep , desperately trying to fight it but unfortunately the harder you fight the more exhausted you feel. Soon enough you had completely lost yourself to the land of unconsciousness. By the time you brought yourself back you had no idea how long you had fallen asleep for , you were still within the same dottore clones arms so must have been not that long , right? You pull yourself up and you hear Dottore whisper to you ‘ oh , you're awake , don't worry my love I have kept you safe in my arms whilst you rested’ he left a chaste kiss on your forehead , a symbol of his affection. You smile at this to yourself. However as you move your head up you see that there are many more Dottore’s here looking at you inquisitively. All in varying ages and made within different periods of the doctors research , yet they all share one thing , their affection and love towards you. You manage to break free from the dottore holding you in his arms as you sit up to properly absorb your situation , you are surrounded by different variations of your lover who all yearn for your affection and attention. In a moment of spontaneity you offered the dottres a deal , since you figured they all had jobs to do given to them from the original Dottore. Thus you struck a deal , they shall all go back to work but you’ll give each of them a kiss. As soon as you had uttered those words all the clones enthusiastically lined up in front of you , expectantly waiting for the promised kiss. You couldn't help but smile at the sight.

Just as the first clone leaned down in order for you to be able to smooch them the lab door burst open.

Silence takes over the hall.

Prime observes his clones all lined up , and as he follows the line it starts with you , just what on earth were his clones plotting whilst he was busy? Then it clicked ‘SCRAM ALL OF YOU , DON'T YOU HAVE WORK I'VE ASSIGNED TO ALL OF YOU ? SHOO , ONLY I'M ENTITLED TO THEIR KISSES , SHOO SHOO GO ON NOW’ his voice booms , bewildered you watched as all the clones leave disappointment and frowns painted in each and everyone one of their faces. You couldn't help but feel just a little bit sorry for them.

#dottore x reader #genshin impact #dottore #genshin dottore #genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin fandom

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