Shen Jiu (looking at the child clearly identical to him that Yue Qingyuan brought to the Sect one day without any explanation to anyone): ... being a flatterer won't get you anywhere
Shen Yuan (who flattered Yue Qingyuan with shining eyes to get an adoption, who flattered Mu Qingfang to get medicines that didn't taste bad, who flattered Qi Qingqi so that she would give him sweets, who flattered Liu Qingge to get a piggyback ride while hunting a not-so-dangerous beast, who flattered Shang Qinghua into writing bedtime stories for him): Are you sure about that? Because that's what brought me here :)
aka, Shen Qingqiu's unacknowledged son (according to the entire sect. Shen Jiu is VERY SURE that this is not his offspring, but no one believes him) becomes the favorite apple of his martial uncles' eyes, behaving like a sweet and adorable baby with pinchable cheeks and sweet little voice lisping from his growing tooth, but when he is alone with Shen Jiu (due to Yue Qingyuan's attempts to get Xiao Jiu to recognize his son) becomes the worst piece of shit, with the most cutting answers, intelligence and worthy cunning much older than his age— and even if Shen Qingqiu is VERY sure that he never put his seed in anyone, in fact, when that kid acts like a clever, manipulative little shit getting everything he wants from his martial uncles and making everyone in the sect worship and care for him, he might just accept that he's his kid without even asking where he came from.
@kittycatpaw11 made me this delicious drabble of Killer cuddles, so I made Dust cuddles in return!
No pronouns for the reader are used.
Enjoy! <3
Dust x Overworked!Reader
Words: 854
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The front door slams with such force that could've woken the dead with its earthquake-adjacent rumbling. Your hand lingers on the door knob as your eyes close, not even bothering to glance around at your home's interior.
Everything hurts.
You can't think.
Your head feels numb.
But how can something so numb throb with such agony?
You will yourself to summon what little scraps of strength you have left, taking a deep breath in through your nose. The aroma is familiar, home. But it fails to cut through the fog.
Then you breathe out.
You feel disorganized. Messy. Scattered.
Your body aches with a dull pain you can't understand. Tension builds wherever room allows, clogging your muscles with a deep-rooted exhaustion.
You hardly even register stumbling into your room, collapsing onto the bed sheets, hands rubbing your tired eyes.
The bed feels nice. Finally some familiarity.
Through your desolation, you fail to notice the newfound figure appear in your room until you hear a distinct and suspiciously purposeful shuffle near the bedroom door.
You turn over onto your side.
Ah, it's just Dust.
Hood obscuring his face, Dust takes in his surroundings, head snapping to face where you lay. His hands have a light coat of dust, but apart from that, he appears relatively clean. At least he had the decency to brush off his jacket this time before showing up; because you know he sure as hell didn't change clothes. He always wears the same jacket every day.
With a tired blink, you twist onto your back, eyes snapping shut once more. You'd usually throw him a smile, greeting, or some kind of acknowledgement, but... You're too tired to give your all right now.
Please, you just need some sleep.
...
A couple of quiet moments drift by. So quiet that you almost start to wonder if Dust is still here until—
Plop.
—a weight plops directly next to you, ruffling the sheets and dipping the mattress.
Okay, sure. Whatever.
As you readjust your body to accomodate for the dip, something prods your shoulder. A gloved, boney finger. Poking, testing.
Then it pokes again.
And again.
What's his problem? You usually acknowledge him when he comes home, sure, but come on. The dude's always got an attitude no matter the hour, but the second you go even a little quiet, it's a problem?
Your shoulder receives another poke. Then another.
And another.
Then your side is prodded.
You roll over, facing away from the increasingly-annoying skeleton, arm blocking your side. You're too ticklish for this shit. And you are not in the mood for tickles. You'd throw his bum-ass across the room in a heartbeat if the thought even dared cross his thick skull.
Aa soon as you roll over, the weight behind you suddenly leaves, disappearing out of thin air. As if it was never there in the first place.
Then the mattress dips. Right in front of your chest.
You can't help the slight jump that skips through your muscles, eyes fluttering open.
You're greeted by a rather flat-expressioned Dust, a mere foot away from your face.
You stare.
He stares back.
Then his hand comes up, squishing your cheek between his pointer and thumb.
Your eyebrows furrow.
"What's your problem?"
"you're ignoring me." Dust's voice is plain.
You roll your eyes.
"You never talk to me when you get home, anyway. I don't see the issue."
"that's different."
"Oh, is it now?" Your tone raises more than you intend it to.
Dust ticks a brow bone.
This is stupid. You shouldn't even be upset—but fuck, you're tired. You don't want to talk about anything. You just...
You just want to close your eyes in peace. For a few minutes.
Your eyes shift down to the bedsheets below, voice barely audible.
"...Sorry."
Dust just stares. Blankly.
His eyelights peek out from within the hood's darkness, locked onto your features unmovingly. They seem to pierce through your barriers like daggers, searching your face for answers to a question he doesn't ask aloud.
Dust slowly blinks. Once.
A quiet sigh leaves through his nose. Then an arm loops around your waist.
Before you can audibly question him, Dust scoots up a few inches, making space for your head as he brings you to his chest. His other hand comes to rest on the back of your head, gloved fingers tangling in your hair.
Your eyes widen. Dust never initiates cuddling.
Your body goes completely still, as if the slightest wrong move could scare him off. Like he's a fussy cat finally sitting in your lap; too much movement could piss it off, causing it to jump in an instant, the fur left behind the only proof of its presence.
You feel the outline of his ribs through his sweater as you're pulled in close, until their sharpness begins to fizzle. They lightly buzz from beneath the fabric, before that sharp edge softens, as if a body were forming overtop in real time.
This new surface possesses a strange warmth. It's softer. Cozier. Comforting.
The hand tangled in your hair gives your head a small pat.
"never play poker."
"What?" Your voice is muffled by reluctance and fabric.
A quiet chuckle shakes his chest as Dust closes his eyes, giving your body a gentle squeeze.
Pairings: Mother Gothel x Witch!Reader (Live Action Tangled)
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Warnings: Poisoning/hallucinogenic herbs/drugs, captor/captive, magic/ witchcraft, magic/power drain, bondage, emotional manipulation, mind reading, pet names
‘Mother knows best’.
You've heard it so many times by now that it haunts your dreams and chases your every waking moment.
The woman who captured you is old enough to be your mother but you, far old enough past the point of calling her by sweet titles reserved for small children.
You were happily, if though, secretly, engaged to be married.
However, that was…you're not sure the length of your time here now in this tower and you wonder if your fiancée has left you for another woman. Love waits for no one, even when circumstances are far out of your control.
You wondered at first what this woman wanted from you. Money, you first thought. Then it was perhaps the land that was left to you; a decent sized farm with heads of cattle that could all go for a pretty price.
Very quickly you came to realize that this woman who came to you in the night; who stole you away to bring you to this tower, wanted nothing that was yours in the material sense. Not even money was this woman's treasure.
She wanted you.
All of you.
She had left you chained up and bound for days when she first brought you here. You couldn't move an inch. She sat in her chair and watched you for what seemed like hours at a time. When she would feed you; hold your chin and push food in through your pursed lips, you would very quickly slip away into a fitful sleep.
You knew she was giving you something; a concoction of semi-poisonous and hallucinogenic herbs.
She wanted you to comply.
The same routine, over and over again until you woke up once with a different feeling. You felt light headed; drained. She had taken something from you deep within.
Energy and power were no longer yours alone.
You had made sure to never tell anyone, not even your fiancée. You had found out later in life about the power you contained; a sense of energy that flowed from your fingertips.
You could make the winds bend to your will. Water curve to unusual streams. Your appearance could grow into anyone but your own.
And somehow, some way, this woman had found out about the magic you possess.
That's what it was, plain and simple.
Magic.
Or, as others who were deathly afraid of powerful women, witchcraft.
And this woman, your captor, was draining you of all you had.
Listless and lifeless until you could barely move yourself without her help. That was when she unbound you. Chains and rope fell away and you had no inkling of even thinking of trying to escape.
It would simply take too much energy that you couldn't spare.
She would dote on you and you had to ask yourself why. She had taken all she could from you and yet, she still seemed interested. Maybe it was nothing more than a sick game for her; a predator playing with its prey before the kill.
Curled up on the hard floor beneath you, she would kneel there and keep you company in the darkness. Her hand would sweep your forehead and she would whisper soft words to you and sometimes, not so often, you would hear her laugh as she talked about herself and the plans she had envisioned for the two of you.
If you could see your reflection in a mirror then, you knew the tips of your ears and your neck would be a flush of pink.
She was so tender and borderline sweet that it made your stomach churn and it was hard to even keep the measly broth she would slip into your mouth down. You were fighting many battles at once and you knew, as her hands wandered and she petted you like a well-trained animal, that you were very quickly losing whatever fight you believed you had left.
Maybe, you were just now merely her plaything in her hermit-like life. Up in this tower with no one and nothing; a villain of her own making.
“Mother…”
She had waited so long for you to call her that; the broad smile looked painful as it stretched out her lips and those ice blue eyes peered deep into your soul. You wondered if that was how she was taking your power. Her eyes alone were a weapon.
She moved closer to you, hunched down so that she could look right into your eyes on your level. You took in her face, her features. You memorized her face and saw something familiar within her.
She was just like you.
This was a power grab.
“I’m glad you’ve finally found your voice.”
Her response wasn’t exactly cold but it wasn’t one that came across with open arms. She was holding you still in a position where she was ever so slightly intimidated by your power.
“How weak are you…Mother?”
Your words fall from your chapped lips with a snide; a bit of venom dripping from them. From one witch to another, you knew something was up with her.
Her power was draining or she was losing it. Possibly both.
It was the worst realization for a witch to come to terms with that surely, your power would be no more.
“Obviously not weak enough if I have you bound and locked away in this tower with none of your friends or family…your lover to come and get you. That must be fun, hm? Keeping her your little secret. The world isn’t nice to our…kind.”
You felt and heard the inflection in her tone and saw the glint in her eye; like the sun hitting an icicle. She was toying with you and playing with your heartstrings.
You understood that she was both a witch and someone whose preferences veered ‘unsavory’.
“You would really help me, Dear. Surely, you could see and feel that. The two of us? Do you even know how powerful we could be if we worked together? Do you understand that? Forget your silly little farm and your silly little life…forget that woman you’ll secretly marry…you should, if you were smart as you are pretty, join me.”
You do your best to lift your head a little higher despite the full-body drain. She wants your answer and she wants it now. How long has she kept you alive just to ask for your surrender?
“Is this…what you mean when you say that you know best?”
You watch as her hands come up, out towards you. You feel her fingers and the palms of her hands as she cups your face. Her smile spreads once more and the look in her eye changes over to something on the border of admiration.
It sends a shiver down your spine.
“Oh, Sweetheart…you have no idea the things we could do together…for each other…”
You look into her eyes until you can’t bear it anymore; turning your face as you try to slip away from her hands cupping your face. You can’t break from her, emotionally and physically. You’re far too weak and she literally has you in the palm of her hands and wrapped around her little finger.
She has you and you know it, she knows it.
You have to comply to stay alive if even for a little while longer to resist her and resist her plans.
The turn of your head slowly turns into a slight nod of agreement and with that, you hear the soft cluck of her tongue against the roof of her mouth in pleasure.
You had made a deal with her now to be her little plaything; a source of power she could use to her own whims.
You feel her hands slowly pull away from your heavy head but not without the tips of her thumbs brushing against your lips. You hear a low laugh from her throat; heady and knowing what this sort of touch does to you.
She knows you inside and out and it’s then, as her thumbs trace your lips, you realize she has been inside of your head.
She knows the thoughts that you’ve slipped into as your head grew heavy from her poisoning. Thoughts that were filled with her and you. Thoughts that you should have reserved for you and your fiancée.
She had made you weak in power and body but knew that you were someone easily weak in the mind.
“Perfect,” you heard her whisper under her breath as her left thumb slips past your lips, “you’re ready to be mine.”
