1- @Bluewmist on Twitter / 2- Roly Poly is Taken on Twitter / 3- About Time (2012) by Richard Curtis, image from Mita Park on Unsplash / 4- Sherri Turner on Twitter / 5- Cold Solace by Anna Belle Kaufman / 6- The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green
Inspired by Sirsackballington GDA Mark AU. You know me, Im a sucker for any media with adoptive father trope (bonus points if he never planned to become a father)
I just adore the idea of Mr "brought order to chaos in prison" being terrified of 3 kids. And I mean, they all have superpowers, so there's a reason for the stress 🧂🧂🧂
✮⋆˙ Pairing: Mereoleona Vermillion x Female Reader
☾ Summary: you're in a mission with the Captain of the Crimson Lions and you can't stop stuttering around her. Mereoleona's practical brain can't understand why...Until she does.
The Black Bulls base is your chaotic sanctuary. Always have been.
Magna’s latest explosion showers glitter (don’t ask) instead of debris this time, Grey squeaks and transforms into a steaming teacup mid-step, Gauche meticulously polishes a picture frame while muttering sweet nothings to Marie, Charmy’s woolly sheep are inhaling a mountain of sandwiches beside her.
It’s Luck who crackles with blue lightning, vibrating like a live wire and flies over your head, though. "Come on! Fight me!" He zips towards you, eyes wide with manic glee.
You don’t flinch. With a lazy flick of your wrist, the air thickens, humming with potential. A miniature vortex swirls playfully around your fingers, spitting tiny, teasing bolts that dance with Luck’s charge in a shower of harmless, sparkling crackle-fizz. He throws his head back and laughs, pure, unadulterated joy. "Yeah! That’s the stuff!" He beams, bouncing. Your grin matches his. Luck’s magic and childish energy feels like the excitable, slightly destructive little brother you never knew you needed.
Vanessa, draped elegantly over the back of the sofa nursing a bottle of wine, watches with a fond, tipsy smile. "Play nice with our little storm cloud, Luck." she whispers, her gaze warm and knowing. That’s the rhythm of your life here. Despite technically being older than most of them, you’re everyone’s little sister. Gordon whispers protective charms into your cloak’s hem when you leave, Gauche slides you a Marie cookie with a grunt if you yawn, and even Yami’s grunted "Don't die" carries a weirdly paternal weight. Vanessa treats you like her favorite, slightly chaotic protégé.
Life is a whirlwind of exhausting missions – retrieving grimoires from mischievous pixies, calming mana beasts with indigestion, exploring ruins that tickle your magic. It’s home. Pure, unadulterated, noisy home.
Until this very day where Julius Novachrono’s himself shimmers into existence via communication magic on the living room table, his youthful face unusually grave.
"Black Bulls," his voice resonates, quieting the usual din. "Critical mission. A newly discovered dungeon in the Forsaken Realm holds an artifact vital against the Eye of the Midnight Sun. Given the danger, you’ll partner with the Crimson Lion Kings."
A murmur ripples through the room. Crimson Lions? Fuegoleon’s squad. A pang of sympathy hits you. Their captain had been in a coma for months. "Makes sense." you murmur to Vanessa. "They could use the muscle." She nods, swirling her wine thoughtfully.
✮⋆˙
Arriving at the dungeon’s foreboding entrance, you expect Leopold or a stern vice-captain to lead the mission, since captain Yami wouldn’t be coming. Instead, a tall figure stands before the Lions, radiating such intense mana the very air crackles and warps. Crimson hair, wilder and brighter than Fuegoleon’s, cascades down her back like a molten bronze. Piercing blue eyes sweep over the assembled knights – not just assessing, but commanding. Corded muscles shift under practical leathers, hinting at strength. Pure strength. But it wasn’t just the power; it was the fierce, untamed beauty of her – a wildflower blooming amidst scorched earth – that punched the air right out of your lungs.
Mereoleona Vermillion. The Uncrowned Undefeated Lioness herself.
Your brain short-circuits. Heat floods your face, a blush so fierce it feels like twin suns igniting on your cheeks. Your palms grow clammy, and a traitorous little flutter erupts deep in your belly. You stare, utterly transfixed, the chaotic energy of the Black Bulls fading into a distant hum beneath the roaring static in your ears.
A soft, utterly delighted giggle erupts beside you. Vanessa leans in, her breath warm and wine-scented against your ear. "Oh, dear," she purrs, voice dripping with amusement. "Look at that blush! The little storm princess has a crush…" She nudges you playfully, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
You stammer, trying desperately to wrench your gaze away, but Mereoleona’s eyes sweep over the group and land squarely on you. It’s only a second, but it feels like an eternity. Your blush deepens impossibly, spreading down your neck. "V-Vanessa! Shut up!" you hiss, your voice embarrassingly high-pitched. You focus intently on a fascinating crack in the ground as Yami and Mereoleona exchange orders.
The dungeon is a nightmare – shifting rock, groaning traps, and mana that writhed like trapped serpents. You throw yourself into the work, channeling your storm magic to blast debris, scout with swift winds, and create air bridges. You’re competent, focused… until she speaks.
"Stormcaster." Her voice, a low growl that vibrated pleasantly in your chest, cut through the dungeon's groan. She pointed towards a crumbling archway. "Can your winds hold that long enough for Magna to reinforce it?"
Your carefully constructed focus shattered. Your tongue felt thick and clumsy. "I... uh... y-yes! I mean... absolutely! The wind pressure... um..." You gestured vaguely, your words dissolving into incoherent mumbling under the weight of her intense blue gaze. Your face felt like a forge.
Mereoleona’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. It wasn't quite anger, but a profound impatience with… whatever this was. The next time she barked an order – "Disperse that dust cloud ahead!" – your attempt at professionalism crumbled into another flustered stammer. A muscle ticked in her jaw. This wasn't the fear she commanded; it was something irritating.
As twilight painted the cavern camp in deep violets and golds, the tension inside you was a coiled spring. You were helping Asta gather firewood (mostly preventing him from "gathering" vital support pillars) when a large, warm hand closed firmly around your bicep.
"Hey. You."
Before you could gasp, Mereoleona steered you effortlessly away from the firelight’s glow, deeper into a shadowed alcove formed by jagged obsidian rocks. She pinned you against the cool, rough stone with one hand braced beside your head, caging you in. The scent of her – woodsmoke, ozone, sun-baked earth, and sheer, untamed heat – enveloped you, dizzying, potent.
"Alright." she stated, her voice a low rumble that echoed in the small space. Her proximity was overwhelming, her gaze locked onto yours like twin sapphire that could likely kill you in the place. "What the hell is your problem?"
You shrunk back, your heart hammering against your ribs. "N-nothing! Captain Vermillion! Everything’s fine! Just… mission focus!" The words tumbled out in a breathless, unconvincing rush.
She leaned in slightly, her intense gaze unwavering. "Cut the crap. You trip over your words and turn the color of tomatoes every time I look at you. Spit it out. Scared? Intimidated? Because if you are," her voice held brutal pragmatism. "you're a liability here." It wasn't cruel, just devastatingly honest. Terrifying.
Panic clawed at your throat. Denial was pointless under that fierce scrutiny. The truth, bottled by sheer mortification, exploded out. "I-I think you're incredibly pretty!" you blurted, squeezing your eyes shut as if bracing for a fireball.
Silence.
Cracking one eye open, you saw Mereoleona staring at you, her head tilted slightly. Profound confusion etched lines onto her usually fierce features. Pretty? The concept seemed genuinely alien, as if it hadn't crossed her mind in a century. You realized, with a jolt, that most people were probably too busy trying not to wet themselves to notice.
The confusion lingered, then slowly… shifted. Her gaze changed. It was no longer just piercing interrogation; it was a slow, deliberate assessment. It traveled down your face, lingered on the frantic pulse in your throat, traced the lines of your rumpled robe, taking in your form with an intensity that stole your breath anew. It wasn't lewd, but it was undeniably, appreciative. The heat in your cheeks became an inferno; you were certain you were radiating light.
A slow, almost imperceptible smirk touched her lips. Not unkind, but utterly, devastatingly confident. A little fang showing up in the corner of her lips. "Hmph," she grunted. Her voice was still low, but the edge of irritation had vanished, replaced by something warmer, richer. "Well. You're not exactly… unpleasant to look at either."
Your brain flatlined. Not unpleasant? From Mereoleona Vermillion? The gruff compliment made you feel like a teenager. The world tilted, butterflies erupting in your stomach.
"Now," she murmured, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that resonated deep in your bones, vibrating through the stone at your back. "Let's settle this."
Before your scrambled thoughts could grasp what she meant, she closed the distance.
Mereoleona didn’t ask, she conquered.
Her lips met yours – firm, demanding, and searingly warm. Like a breaker against rock. No hesitation,—just her mouth claiming yours, a release of every spark that had arced between you since that first glance. Your body locked, breath trapped in your lungs for one stunned heartbeat. Then pure heat exploded in your chest sending warm waves flooding down your belly. Her calloused hand scraped up your jaw, rough pads catching on your skin, fingers pressing hard beneath your ear to tilt your head back. For her. The taste of her—woodsmoke and wild honey—seared your senses. She pressed closer, a wall of heat and muscle pinning you, the hard line of her body against yours stealing your balance. A ragged whimper tore from your throat, swallowed instantly by the fierce pressure of her kiss. You arched into it, the world narrowing to the slide of her lips, the bite of her grip, the intoxicating furnace of her closeness.
And then, your treacherous knees gave out. Completely. You melted into her, legs dissolving like spun sugar. The kiss broke as her arms instinctively tightened around your waist, hauling you upright against her, preventing a humiliating collapse onto the dungeon floor.
You stared up at her, wide-eyed, breathless, mortified beyond words. Your lips tingled. Mereoleona looked down at you, that faint, captivating smirk still playing on her lips, though her eyes held a spark of something dangerously close to amusement. She didn't laugh, but the fierce intensity had softened into something more… intrigued.
She steadied you, her hands lingering on your hips for a heartbeat longer than necessary before releasing you to find your footing against the wall. Her gaze held yours, blue fire meeting your dazed stare. Then, with a final, unreadable glance that promised… something… she turned.
"My tent." she stated, the words crisp, devoid of obvious flirtation, yet carrying the weight of a challenge that sent fresh shivers down your spine. "It’s open. If you find your courage, Stormcloud."
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