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mochie85 · 11 months

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Laced Intentions

One-Shots Masterlist Complete Masterlist

Summary: You try to seduce your new lover with lingerie that he can't resist. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: 3.2K Warnings: SoftDom!Loki, jealous Loki, hand works, slight degradation, rough seggs, lots of thrusting, fluff, happy ending (as always). A/N: Thor, Steve, and Bucky make a brief appearance. This fic was inspired by a TikTok I saw by Delacruz Collections. Check out their store. Or their TikTok. GIF of the actual set after fic. Dividers: @firefly-graphics

You needed to hurry. Loki had texted you saying he would be home soon, and you had to finish getting all the little straps tightened and make sure that everything was secured. Tonight was going to be the night.

You and Loki had just started this relationship and have yet to do anything more than heavy petting and heated make-out sessions. You knew it was because he was cautious around you. He was scared that he didn’t know his own strength. He could get lost in the moment and unknowingly hurt you.

You told him that it was ok. You trusted him. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you purposely. Even so, you wouldn’t mind it being a little rough. Especially if he was the one commanding you and your body. But he wouldn’t relent.

You’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way his eyes devour every inch of your body. Licking his lips and rubbing his neck. You knew he ached for you. Just as much as you craved him.

He said so himself one night, as you straddled his lean frame and pushed him down on your bed. You had his hard dick in your hand, stroking him up and down, as you rubbed it against your needy clit. The pulsing veins on his hard cock kissing your wet lips, tantalizing your release. “…f-fuck…don’t stop, pet,” he panted. His eyes rolled back as his head sunk further into the pillow.

“Baby…I need you inside me,” you whimpered as you continued to stroke him closer and closer to his release.

“Oh, gods! I want nothing more than to be inside you,” he said, his eyes closed from the exquisite torture you were giving him. He didn’t see you line yourself up over him. His leaking tip, red from need, eagerly crying to be inside you.

But Loki was quick. In an instant, he pinned you down on the bed before you could sink yourself onto his throbbing length. Both of your hands were suspended above your head in one of his strong grips. He continued to grind himself against you, making you cry out his name.

“Ah, ah, ah. Naughty little thing. I told you we can’t.”

“But you said-” he kissed you fiercely, making you forget the rest of your words as he expertly made you cum from his grinding alone.

You sighed at the memory. Loki is such a passionate lover hiding underneath false notions of your fragility. You rolled your eyes at your many attempts to seduce him and convince him that you are not as fragile as he thinks you are. You can take whatever he wants to give you. And God did you wish he would give it all to you!

So when you first saw this lingerie masterpiece of sex and eroticism, you were left speechless. You clenched your thighs just imagining what Loki would do to you when he saw you in it. Green satin straps and ribbons were constructed and held together by gold hooks and clasps. The garter and cuffs were attached by a dainty gold chain, leading back to a central choker on your neck. Each strand was decorated with small baubles of crystal that sparkled under the light, connecting all the pieces to you. You only hoped that the links would survive his rough hands. It was rather pretty and you’d hate to see it broken.

You looked at yourself one last time in the mirror before you heard the latch of the front door. He was finally home! You put on your silk robe, leaving it untied so he can see a peek of what was underneath, and you walked out of your bedroom.

The clack of your heels echoed in the hallway, announcing your arrival. The first person you spotted was Loki. His eyes met yours and then traveled down your body in the most ravenous way possible. The beer he was about to put against his lips, forgotten. As were the words in his mouth. You stood at the threshold, surprised to see that Loki wasn’t alone. It was only now you registered the other voices and laughter you heard only seconds too late.

The room went quiet as you noted the other people in the kitchen. Steve, Bucky, and Thor, each with their own pizza box in front of them, had gone quiet. Watching you in shock. You were thankful you had put on your robe, at least, even though it was still open. Everyone could see what you were wearing underneath.

Oh fuck, you thought. Well, there’s no point hiding now. Smiling with fake bravado, you greeted Loki home. “Welcome home, handsome,” you said giving Loki a chaste kiss on his lips. “I didn’t know we were having company over. I’ll go change.” You smiled and turned to walk away.

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Gentlemen,” you smiled and nodded.

“Bye Y/N.” The trio said in unison as you walked back into the bedroom to change.

Brief silence overtook the room as the men’s eyes darted between a stunned Loki and where you escaped to. “Listen, if you don’t go in there right now…” Steve pointed to your bedroom. “I will personally take Bucky’s arm off and beat you with it!” Steve threatened.

“Or, you know…I could go in there.” Bucky offered, earning a snarl from Loki’s lips.

“Leave! Now!” Loki ordered.

“Right. See ya tomorrow,” Steve said with a casual salute.

“Pfft! Knowing my brother, he will most likely take all night, and all day tomorrow too.” Thor laughed as he gathered his pizza box and a six-pack of beer.

Bucky just laughed, punching Loki in the shoulder. “Let’s go to Sam’s. That guy doesn’t have a sex life.” He said to the others.

Loki stood there, still trying to process what he saw, as each man clapped his shoulder in parting. The creak and latch of the front door closing brought Loki back to his present mind.

He stalked down the hallway, following the subtle hint of your perfume. He inhaled deeply, your scent driving him mad.

The first thing he saw when he opened the bedroom door was your robe, discarded on the bed. He followed your gentle humming into the closet where you stood looking through your sundresses. Loki quietly walked in, blocking your escape. He noted your skin, radiant and perfect, complimenting the shiny satin of the straps holding you together. Loki’s eyes followed the gold chain that dripped from your neck down to the garters and matching cuffs they hooked onto.

“That was quite a show parading into the room like that,” he said in your ear. His whispered breath tickled you, making you shiver.

“I didn’t know we would have company. Let me just pick a dress and I’ll join you shortly.”

“Will you continue to wear this underneath?” he teased, knowing full well that everyone had already left. His breath fanned the side of your face. His fingers ghosted over the ribbons, tracing them down your hips.

You craved his touch, patiently waiting for him to connect to your body. “Touch me, please” you prayed.

“Oh, and why should I give in to your requests, kitten? You’ve been awfully naughty.” His hands continued to eclipse your body. You could feel the heat from his palms traveling up and down, tracing the many straps and where they lead to. You closed your eyes at the sensation. The anticipation. Loki was a master at building you up.

“I…I didn’t know…this was only meant for you,” you whined.

“I think you did know,” Loki scoffed. “I think you wanted to make me jealous.” His voice got deeper. More dangerous. “So jealous that I would have to claim you. Is that what you want, darling? For me to claim you in front of the others? So desperate to have my cock inside you that you would parade yourself in this seductive little number so that I might take action. You should’ve seen the way Barnes was looking at you.”

“Loki, I-”

“Hands up.” He commanded and you obeyed quickly, holding on to the bar that hung all your clothes. Loki kicked your heels apart, spreading you open, and making you bend at the waist. He placed himself behind you. His palm spanked you on your right side making you scream out and moan. It didn’t hurt. It never hurt with Loki.

“You were so brazen. Only I get to see you like this. Do you understand?” he charged as you heard the buckle of his belt loosen, the zipper of his pants being opened. He grabbed your hair gently and pulled you back to him.

“I was only trying to surprise you. I didn’t know they would be here!” you moaned as you fought hard not to bite your lip. His fingers finally caress the pulse point of your neck, trailing down to the valley of your breast. His hands got caught in the chains and you can hear the soft clink of them breaking in his grasp.

He cupped your sex, making you mewl to his touch. “This is mine, and mine alone!”

“Yours…” you sighed.

“Again!” he said dipping his agile fingers inside you.

“Yours…sir,” you said barely above a whisper. Loki closed his eyes, savoring your submission.

“Oh, you are sinful!” Loki said, his resolve breaking. “I try to be good. I try to protect you from me. But you seem hell-bent on breaking me don’t you, kitten?” His lips crashed into yours. He sucked on your lower lip as his fingers continued to work your clit.

You pushed back against him, feeling his hard erection against your back. “Please…Loki…sir.”

Loki grunted in defeat. He took a deep breath and looked straight into your eyes. “If we do this, kitten, I can’t promise that I’ll be gentle. I’m scared I won’t be able to stop once I have you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can never hurt me, Loki.” You tried to shine your love through, showcasing how much trust you had for him.

He turned you to face him, capturing your lips in a strong but zealous kiss. He spoke in between teeth and tongue, your breath mingling with his, “If it gets too much, tell me.”

“It won’t be too much,” you tried to reassure him.

“You will tell me!” he growled, backing you out of the closet and into your bedroom.

“I’ll tell you. I promise,” you assured, looking deep into his ocean eyes.

“Good!” With that one word, he picked you up by your upper things and carried you towards the bed. You wrapped your legs around his waist as his fingers toyed with the garters gripping your thighs.

“This is beautiful, kitten,” he breathed. His cock struggling in between your pressed bodies. His teeth found purchase on the skin of your shoulder. “All wrapped up for me like a little present.” He threw you, almost carelessly, on the bed. You preened at how easily he was able to manhandle you. How effortlessly he was able to manipulate your body. You watched him take his shirt off, exposing the hard planes of his abs. The definition of his lean muscle guiding your eyes down to his exposed cock.

You felt the bed dip when he knelt in front of you. He pumped himself, once. Twice, before he teased your entrance with his stiff girth. “Loki, please. Don’t tease me.”

“Like the way you teased me with this?” he pinched the gusset of your thong and let it go, snapping the fabric on your overstimulated folds. It stung with painful pleasure as you cried out. He pushed the gusset to the side as he eased himself inside you. First, his massive tip, pulling it in and out. Teasing you relentlessly of what’s to come. Then, inch by inch, he sheathed himself inside you. Filling your walls.

Loki lost his sanity. To finally be inside you. Inside your warmth and your passion. To be surrounded by your scent and your moans, he couldn’t handle it and he was slowly going feral with each inch he fed your eager cunt. When he bottomed out, you cried as his pelvic bone rutted against your sensitive nub.

“You feel so good, pet. Better than I had ever imagined,” he said breathlessly as he started thrusting. His fingers curved around your supple thighs, bruising marks of purple and blue. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. Each gasp of air only fueled your desire for him even more. He felt so good.

So. Damn. Good.

With each stroke he would take his tip to your entrance, stretching you, and then push back inside. Loki filled you like no one has done before, and most likely never will.

“Awe, my poor darling-” thrust. “What’s the matter?” thrust. “Have I rendered you speechless?” thrust. “I thought this was what you wanted?” You nodded your head, whimpering like an untouched virgin.�� He spread his thighs further apart on the bed, pushing your knees closer to your chest, to receive him deeper. He held your shoulders down, your body sinking into the silken mattress, keeping you immobile and unable to escape the onslaught of his hard cock.

“You’re going to be good for me, right kitten? You’re going to take all of me in.” He commanded, his voice barely above a whimper. Loki was going to lose it soon and he knew it. You felt so good around him. All it would take was a few more strong thrusts and he would scream out your name to the heavens.

With his new position over you, he started diving faster. More aggressive. He pushed himself further inside you. Down to his hilt, sheathing himself inside your heated folds. “Loki!” you yelled out. You grabbed hold of his arms, your nails digging into his skin leaving half-moon marks. You squeezed his cock tighter, and you were rewarded with the deepest, most beautiful, feral sound coming from his lips.

“Ah- fuck! That’s it pet, squeeze me. Gods, you feel so good. I might just have to leave myself inside you. -heh- Would you like that, kitten?” thrust. “Want to be my cock warmer?” thrust. “Keep me cozy all night?” thrust.

You simply nodded your head. You knew Loki asked you a question, but you couldn’t make sense of anything right now besides the feel of his hard length stretching you open, over and over again.

“I asked you a question, darling,” he said grabbing your chin and squeezing your lips to pout. “I made you into a little cock-slut haven’t I?” thrust. “Can’t seem to think at all can you?” thrust.

“…Loki…” you called out with each slam of his hips.

“That’s all right. As long as it’s my name you’re calling out. My name that you’re begging for.” Loki looked down at you. Your skin was aglow from the beads of sweat and pleasure. Your hair was a crown above you tangled in a mess. And your lips had captured one of his fingers still holding onto your chin, sucking it down to the webbing of his hand.

With a pop, he took his finger out of your mouth and drew it down your neck, leaving a cold trail on your heated skin. “I’ll have use of those talents later, my dear.” Loki laid his weight on top of you, caging your head in between his arms. His sweet lips sucked hard on your salted skin leaving you crying out for more. Your hands were left clawing his back as he grunted and moaned into your ear.

“I…I…can’t…Loki…youfeel…m’soclose…” you were incoherent. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t talk. The only thing on your mind was his name. “…Loki…”

“Cum for me, kitten. Cum with me,” he growled in your ear. Your whole body tightened up. You dug your nails deep into his back and screamed your release as he slammed himself down on you hard. He grunted his pleasure in your ear, releasing a savage growl that shook your body beneath him. The euphoric wave wouldn’t stop. Loki remained still, but you could feel him throbbing inside you, coating your walls, sending you spiraling into delirious bliss.

He remained on top of you, unable and unwilling to move away from your exquisite sex. The first thing you felt after coming down from your high was Loki’s soft lips on your neck. You turned and captured them with your own, pulling his weight further down onto you.

“Are you all right, darling.” He whispered tentatively. “Did I hurt you at all?”

“Wh-what do you mean? I feel so good, baby. You feel so good!” you said smiling.

“Was I too rough? I must’ve been. I can see my marks all over your neck.” Loki lifted himself off you and he found your lingerie shredded and clawed to pieces around your sheets. “Oh, darling. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I was worried this would happen. I didn’t mean to hurt you…” Loki started rambling.

“Hey, hey, hey.” You tried to quiet him down. “Loki, look at me! I’m not hurt. I feel wonderful.” You held his worried face in your hands and soothed his hair out of place. “Did you enjoy it?” you asked, and he nodded his head. He laid next to you, spooning you.

“Every second. Every thrust,” he said, burying his nose in your hair. “I just want to stay wrapped in your warmth forever. I don’t know why we waited so long.” You laughed at his admission. You lay there in his embrace, replaying the sinful moment in your head. Smiles on both your faces as you stole kisses from each other.

Until you remembered something. “Come on. The guys are probably sick of waiting for us,” you said trying to get out of bed.

“They left a while ago,” he finally confessed. Loki aggressively pulled you back onto the bed and into his arms. “I told them to leave as soon as you walked back in here to change,” he declared, straddling over you, pinning you back down on the bed.

“I’m afraid you’ve unleashed something in me, dear,” he said as he took one of your discarded ribbons and tied both your hands up with it. “Now, I did say that I was going to see to that mouth of yours, didn’t I?”

“Does Loki know you have a key to his apartment?” Bucky asked Thor.

“Of course he does. He’s my brother. He’s the one that gave me this key.” Thor said trying to act nonchalant.

“Come on guys. Grab the beer, and let’s go. I don’t want to miss the game.” Steve tried to hurry them. Thor opened the doors and all three men walked in looking for the forgotten twelve-pack that was left on the counter.

“Oh, Loki! Oh, fu-baby don’t stop. Don’t stop! Yes. Yes. YES!”

The three men paused hearing you scream from your bedroom. Steve blushed a strawberry red and walked right out the door.

“I just learned my lesson! Never come here uninvited.” Thor said shaking his head. He pocketed his key and followed Steve.

“Lucky bastard!” Bucky chuckled as he grabbed the beer and locked the door.

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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Studious III (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

In an attempt to help you understand his recent behavior, Prince Aemond you his diary to read. What will you find within?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: non-graphic smut, perhaps Aegon's best commentary yet, more Aemond being an awkward idiot

Author's Note: The diary is being split into two part, which means this will turn into a six part series. Enjoy!

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious III

Aemond’s diary was magnificently bound. The cover was made from supple, well-tanned black leather, which had likely cost a fortune by itself. The pages were so precisely cut that you had to run your finger across the edge several times for your nail to catch. And the paper itself was smooth and rich, far finer than any you had ever written on.

The benefits of being a Prince, you supposed.

You considered for quite some time whether to start reading Aemond’s diary – gods, he had given his diary, that gesture of trust would take more time to fully process – at the beginning or at the first ribbon. More than a dozen of them, each made of fine green velvet, were laid throughout the pages marking what he most wanted you to read.

Reasoning that the beginning was the most logical choice, you opened to the first page:

The 1st day in the first moon of the year.

It is after midnight that I am writing this, the very first moments of a new year. The Maesters believe it will be another year of summer, but time will tell.

The Small Council has begun making preparations for autumn, so the Crown will be ready the moment word arrives from the Citadel that winter is approaching. I have asked Grandsire to include me in these preparations so that I may learn how…

You looked away from the page, wiping the sleep from your eyes.

It wasn’t that it was boring, exactly. But it was pretty typical – nothing that revealed anything new about Aemond. Though you supposed the fact that he began a new diary on the first day of the year, rather than whenever you filled the journal you were using – as you did – said something about how regimented he was. Orderly.

Still, with each word, your gaze was drawn to the green ribbons. To the passages he most wanted you to read.

You suspected they were all passages relating to you.

So, with the promise that you would eventually return to find out what, exactly, he wanted to learn about the Crown’s preparations for winter, you grabbed the end of the first ribbon and let the pages fall…

The 16th day in the third moon of the year.

The betrothal has been settled. Finally.

I doubt I could have endured another miserable day of sitting in Grandsire’s study, listening to him read each of the letters sent by lords from throughout the realm, desperate to pawn their daughters off to a Prince of the Realm. Though I suppose I should be grateful he had already whittled the list down to only the two-score ladies he found the most politically advantageous.

Aegon told me that more than a hundred letters arrived. So, it could have been much worse.

Every letter was nearly the same, listing the family’s wealth and assets along with their daughters ‘accomplishments.’ In truth, calling them such seems far too generous. What does a scrap of embroidery or a reasonably well-played song truly accomplish, other than a few fleeting moments of mediocre beauty? It always fades.

Besides, every highborn lady is trained in the same skills, so they are hardly exceptional.

You frowned, looking up from the journal and at the dozens of examples of your own embroidery scattered throughout the room – including on the blanket you laid under. True, they were not always perfect, but you were proud of each and every one of them.

Then there was your little lyre, sitting by the sun. You hadn’t had the chance to play since coming to the capital, and you realised in that moment that you truly missed it. Once, it had been second nature to pick it up immediately upon waking and pluck nonsensically at the strings as your maids readied you for the day.

Those songs – if they could be called songs at all –were always your favourites. Wholly unique creations of your mind, never transposed, never to be played the same again. Briefly, you almost stood and retrieved the lyre, just to see what your hands would create in this moment.

But that would require setting down Aemond’s diary.

You looked back down at his words and frowned again. It took no small amount of time and effort to develop your skills. In fact, you were quite proud of what you had accomplished. No one was born knowing how to embroider or play music.

Neither was anyone born knowing how to wield a sword or ride a dragon.

Your frown faded at that thought, as you imagined how Aemond would look if you said that to him. The memory of him in the library when you snapped back at him, looking like a befuddled fish, returned to you. It was so enticing that you called for one of your maids to bring your diary, a pen, and ink.

Turning to the first blank page, you noted the date of Aemond’s offending entry and wrote out exactly how you would rebuff him if he had said such a thing to you.

Perhaps, when you were done reading, you would tell him.

The lady we chose – my betrothed now, I suppose – is the only one that could possibly be called ‘exceptional,’ even if only among her unimpressive peers.

I almost dismissed her, for the letter written by her father was almost entirely unremarkable.

She is accomplished, as all highborn ladies are. Her father wrote that she crafts beautiful embroidery, plays some instrument or another moderately well, and is an able conversationalist. I believe there was also something about flowers – she likes them, or grows them, or enjoys arranging them?

But none of this is truly remarkable. Indeed, as Grandsire read, I admit I was not giving him my full attention. Why would I? I had heard the same words at least a dozen times already.

And then – ‘much of her free time is spent in the library, and she can rarely be found without a book somewhere on her person, even if it is just a miniature concealed within her sleeve. She is quite brilliant, if it is not too presumptuous of me to say so.’

That I had not heard before.

You preened slightly as you read your father’s praise. While your mother admired your dedication to your studies, she also worried that your intellectual pursuits would frighten your suitors away. ‘No man wants a wife smarter than he is,’ she once said.

Your father, however, had encouraged it. Once, you went to his study to show him a new book you’d found, only to overhear his steward expressing his concerns about how much the new library acquisitions were too costly. Your father dismissed him and his ‘concerns.’

And it seemed the investment in your education paid off if it caught the attention of a Prince.

It piqued Grandsire’s interest as well. After he finished reading the letter of introduction, instead of moving on to the next girl, he turned to Mother and asked for her opinion – of both the lady and her family.

Mother did not have overwhelming praise, but neither did she have any complaints. They are not the most powerful ally, though they will strengthen our position adequately enough. The Lord and Lady are friendly, if a bit dull, so it would not be an annoyance if they were to visit King’s Landing after the wedding. And they are pious – her parents have made many journeys to Oldtown and the Starry Sept.

You picked up your pen to again write a rebuttal but stopped. It wasn’t a particularly kind assessment… but it wasn’t inaccurate. You loved your parents, but even you could admit they were ‘a bit dull.’

The miniature portrait that arrived along with the letter shows that her appearance is agreeable, is somewhat plain. Though I suspect that she will wish I could be called the same. Indeed, she will be lovely standing next to me. And Mother says she will look very fine in either green, black, or even red.

It is a good match – politically and strategically, of course.

And if she truly does enjoy reading so, if she is ‘brilliant’ as her father says…

Perhaps marriage will not be so bad.

I am under no illusions that this is, or ever will be, anything more than a political arrangement. An obligation on both our parts. I know that I am neither suited to nor deserving of love.

I have negotiated with Mother and Grandsire that her chambers will be far from mine. Within the Holdfast for her safety, but far enough away that she will not be forced to see me more than our duties require.

By both her father’s and my mother’s accounts, she is kind. I am not.

A political arrangement. That is all it will be – all it must be.

But I hope that in choosing her, I can find some companionship in the arrangement. At the very least, perhaps we can discuss our favourite books.

Any offence you took at being called ‘plain’ was overshadowed by the aching in your heart at seeing how little Aemond thought of himself.

Yes, he was scarred. But he was still achingly handsome.

As far as you knew, he had done nothing that would make him undeserving of love. Surely everyone was deserving of love. At least, that is what you were always taught by your Septa.

He had said some unkind things to you, but now… after reading his note, you knew they must not have been meant as such. He was trying to be kind. He just didn’t know quite how.

The urge to throw the diary aside and run to him immediately threatened to overwhelm you. But he asked that you read, so you could know and understand him. And you were not finished yet. So, after taking a moment to clear your head by writing out a list of your favourite books, you turned to the next marked page.

The 9th day in the fifth moon of the year.

The man who painted that portrait should be flogged. Publicly. Or hanged, perhaps. For he has done to my betrothed the gravest injustice.

She arrived today. And I have been forever changed.

There is no creature more beautiful in the world. Not even Sunfyre is as radiant as her. And that imbecile of an artist – if he can even be called such a thing – made her look plain.

I shall burn that portrait immediately, and locate a true artist. One who is capable of capturing her loveliness.

Though it may be that such a thing is impossible. For it is not just her appearance that is so enchanting, but indeed her every aspect.

Her voice is more beautiful than any other sound or music I have ever heard. And she speaks with such elegance and intelligence! The reports were true – she possesses a brilliant mind. There was so much I wanted to ask her, to discuss with her, but I found myself unable to say any of it.

The words were so clear in my mind, and yet my mouth would not move. I do not even know if I actually greeted her, or if I only thought to do so. I must have, or else Mother would have scolded me. I wonder what I said…

You laughed slightly. He had only said two things to you that first day. When you rose from your curtsy in the courtyard, the first time you had looked into his eye, all he had said was your name.

He had been entirely silent the rest of the day.

Then, as you exited the welcome feast later that night, he looked into your eyes again. Finally, after a moment of furious blinking, he had said your name again and then turned abruptly to leave.

The first of many times he had done so.

You had thought he simply hadn’t wanted to speak with you, but it seemed you were very, very wrong.

From that very first meeting… he liked you.

It was almost humorous how quickly he gave up on his declaration that your marriage would be nothing more than a ‘political arrangement.’

No, it was more than just humorous – it was hilarious. And more than a little flattering.

Stoic Prince Aemond, who since losing his eye had been as cold and unfeeling as stone, was practically smitten with you!

Suddenly, you realised that you were smiling so wide that your cheeks were beginning to burn, and in your delight, you had apparently kicked your legs about – your blanket now lay on the floor. But you didn’t care. You were blushing so much that you were perfectly warm, even in your flimsy nightgown.

And as you read further, your blushing did not stop.

The 10th day in the 5th month of the year

I spent nearly the entire day in her presence, and it has made me ever surer of my initial assessment – my feelings.

She is wonderful.

I was worried that, this morning, she would be different. That I would wake and find that my mind had played tricks on me yesterday, and she was not as beautiful, or sweet, or kind as I first thought. But, to my unending delight, she is all of it and more.

Mother and I met her and her own Lady Mother in the Royal Sept early this morning. When plans for the wedding were first being made, I did enquire about the ceremony being held not there, but in the Grand Sept. However, the request was firmly denied.

Grandsire gave me various explanations – that the expense was too great, that her family would be able to remain in King’s Landing for only a short time due to the coming winter, that the Grand Sept would be too busy preparing for the coming harvest celebration, and any number of other foolish things. I appreciate that he tried to shelter my pride, but it was unnecessary.

I know the real reason.

I am a Prince, but I am the third born. The second son. And my betrothed… she is the fifth born, if I remember correctly, although the eldest daughter.

I – we – are not worthy of the honour of being wed in the Grand Sept.

Perhaps if her family were more powerful, maybe one of the Great Houses…

Why do I even care? Being Wed in the Royal Sept is still an honour, and the gods will watch over us no matter where we say our vows. But still, I want it.

I want it for her.

I want to see her face alight as she enters the Sept and sees not only its magnificence but its each and every alcove filled with hundreds of people all there for her – for us.

We will both have to settle for the lesser beauty of the Royal Sept and a few dozen witnesses in place of the hundreds she deserves.

You would have loved to be wed in the Grand Sept – to have been given that great an honour.

But you had never considered it until reading Aemond’s words. And though you tried to make yourself share in his regret, you were unable to truly feel it. Nor could you feel any offence at his comments about your own importance and that of your house.

All you felt was a pang of sadness that Aemond considered himself so unworthy, as did his family, it seemed. After the sadness faded, there came a blossoming warmth in your chest, that he wanted it not for himself, but for you.

You picked up your pen to write something, but couldn’t think of what to say. That you wished he wasn’t a second son? That he was just as important as his elder brother, or his sister, the heir?

In the end, you simply wrote: ‘Thank you. Perhaps we can visit the Grand Sept soon. Together.’

At least there will be a suitably grand celebration after the ceremony.

Gods, am I actually looking forward to the feast? I hate feasts.

I hate the crowds, the overloud music that somehow does not drown out the din of the drunken guests gossiping like fools. I hate being forced to sit and watch while the people that claim to be noble and dignified gorge themselves like rats on obscenely rich food and repulsively strong wine. I hate all the cowering girls that approach me only because their fathers want to secure an advantageous marriage, who Mother always tries to make me dance with – oh, that’s it.

I will not have to listen to the music or the gossiping. I will not have to watch the crowd or dance with any girls who look at me as if I am some creature of the night.

It will just be me and her.

And the some three hundred guests mother has invited. But it will be bearable, so long as I can sit next to her, talk to her, dance with her.

Yet he never said a word to you at the feast, and danced with you but once.

‘I would have danced with you all night,’ you wrote. ‘If you’d only asked.’

Oh yes, I think I will like this feast very much.

She will as well, I am sure. With every detail Mother told her as we showed her the Great Hall for the first time, she looked so happy, so excited. She is not afraid of me – she is excited to marry me!

Though she did not speak to me beyond greeting me when I arrived… Perhaps it is a fault of mine, for I do not believe I spoke to her, either. I wanted to, but again, I could not find the words.

Of course, now that I am alone, I can think of a thousand things I want to say. A thousand things I want…

After dinner, I escorted her to her new chambers. We were chaperoned, of course, by our mothers. But even with their eyes upon us, when I brought her to that door… I wanted to follow her through it.

I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to touch her. I wanted… gods, I wanted all of it.

But it is not lust.

At least, not in its entirety. I would be a damnable liar if I did not say the very sight of her – of her sparkling eyes and the glimpse of her breasts the dress she wore today granted me – had me thinking sinful, unbecoming thoughts. I admit I am grateful my jacket disguised any evidence of where my mind was as I said goodnight.

I think I said goodnight – didn’t I?

You began to blush again, but it was of a different sort of bashfulness than before. For this wasn’t innocent compliments about your beauty or your wit. It was…

As much as Aemond tried to deny it, it was lust. He lusted for you.

It was a sin. You should have been disgusted. Offended.

Yet, you weren’t.

For you would also be a ‘damnable liar’ if you tried to say you hadn’t lusted for him either. Perhaps not before the wedding, but you had certainly desired him since.

But you certainly couldn’t write that down. So instead, you wrote that he had not said goodnight. He had looked like he might, but he only nodded slightly and left.

Is it truly a sin to list after the woman who is to be my wife? Or does it remain a sin until we are actually wed? I shall have to ask Eustace on the morrow.

Still, it is not only lust. For she is not only beautiful. She is kind, sweet, intelligent, and so, so good.

I fear I may love her.

Or, at the very least, it would be very easy to love her. And harder still to not.

I do not want to love her.

To love her would be to condemn myself to a life of perpetual misery, for I know she could never love me in return.

Nor would I want her to. No one should be forced to love someone like me – someone so broken and hateful.

Perhaps it would be kinder for both of us if I called off the betrothal. I am sure Grandsire could find a way to dissolve the arrangement without causing damage to her reputation. If my own must take the blame, I would gladly do it.

Something else was written at the end of that line, but it had been so thoroughly crossed out that you could not decipher it.

I cannot. I have known her little more than a day, but I know I must have her. Not just physically, but… I need her in my life.

She is the first light I have felt in many years, and perhaps it makes me the most selfish person alive, but I simply cannot go back into the dark.

So, the day after tomorrow, I will marry her.

Tonight, I will pray that tomorrow ends quickly. Perhaps I will attempt sleeping all the way through it, and hope I dream of her.

You felt a cracking in your chest. A hurt deeper than you had ever known. And it was not only for you, but for Aemond. For both of you.

‘I need her in my life.’ And yet almost as soon as you were wed, he left you.

In those first two weeks, you only ever saw Aemond in an official capacity. Was seeing you for only a few hours every day, wherein the both of you were almost entirely silent, really enough for him?

Of course, it wasn’t. He would not have come to your chamber again that night if it was. He would not have kissed you when you lay together or touched beyond what was required by duty. He would not have approached you again and again, even when he consistently angered you or made a fool of himself.

It took him longer than you wanted to that first time, and how he did so was almost always unexpected, but…

Aemond had made a habit of leaving you, but he always came back.

The weight of that realisation and the warmth and lightness it brought to your chest could not be lifted by even the largest of dragons. So, you did not ponder it any further, nor did you write anything down. There was, at once, too many things to say and yet not enough words to express them properly.

So instead, you turned the page so hard it nearly tore.

The 11th day in the 5th moon of the year.

Today did not pass quickly.

In fact, today may have actually lasted an entire year. Or at least it felt that way. I shall have to ask the Maesters to look into it.

Gods, if I make such a pathetic excuse for a joke in front of her, she will call off the wedding herself. Humour has never been my domain. But she does so like to laugh…

I will improve, as I hope my attempts to speak to her improve with time and practice. Or perhaps I can find a book on the theories and practices of comedy in the library. Unfortunately, I doubt such a book exists for talking to one’s wife.

With a small smile, you made another entry in your journal, noting each time he had made you laugh since the moment you met. True, he was not the funniest man you had ever met – not even close. But he had made you laugh more than a handful of times.

You thought he’d like to know it.

While I cannot say that today was the worst of my life – I do not imagine any day could be so terrible to usurp that title – I struggle to identify anything good I can report.

I did not sleep at all during the night. My mind was too occupied by thoughts of my betrothed. By the things I should have said to her these past two days and how she looks when she smiles. Gods, I do not think there is much in the world I want so much as to make her smile.

Did she think of me at the same time? Did thoughts of me keep her from sleep?

You had, in fact, had trouble sleeping. Though you could not say that it was because you were thinking of Aemond. Instead, it was mostly your worries that kept you awake, wondering whether the King and Queen liked you, if your dress would fit, and dreading the possibility of your misspeaking during the wedding ceremony.

Your thoughts of Aemond were few, and they, too, were mostly worries. But, then, he had said fewer words to you than you could count on your hands, so you were all but convinced he had not liked you. The fear that he would call off the wedding had loomed over your like a stormcloud.

And it was not an unfounded fear, apparently. Although his reasons for considering doing so were far different than you would have thought.

It was not only my mind that kept me awake but… other parts of me as well. When the hour grew very late, my thoughts drifted not to the wedding itself or the feast that will follow, but to the bedding.

Mother has insisted on a private bedding and no drunken escorts, after seeing how miserable Helaena’s ceremony made her. My poor sister didn’t emerge from her chamber for days afterwards, and Aegon was no help. He was drunk for an entire week after the wedding – or at least he was when he was at the Keep, which was rarely.

At least I have that. Finally, I will be alone with her.

I must stop considering it, or my body will again react to these sinful thoughts. For they are sinful – I asked Septon Eustace, and he confirmed that such thoughts remain sinful until we are wed. So, I will try and avoid them until that time.

There was a blotch of ink next to that last paragraph, which bled into the following pages through the small hole that had been pierced through the paper. As though…

The image of Aemond stabbing his pen into his journal in frustration came to you, making you smile. You picked up your own and wrote, ‘Some craftsman worked very hard to make you such a fine journal. It is quite rude of you to treat it with such brutality.’

I did not get to see her for more than a few moments today. She was late to dinner, as were both our mothers. They had been all but consumed by the preparations for tomorrow. They mentioned flowers and streamers, music and foods, and many comments about hair, jewels, and dresses that I simply did not understand.

And her damn father seemed more than happy to indulge them, asking so many questions about each detail that I was never once able to speak with her. Why he is so interested in ladies’ things, I do not know.

Everything else that happened today is hardly worth writing about. I rose early, trained until midday, briefly met with the tailor that made my wedding clothes and sat in on court.

Now, I take comfort that this damnable day is nearly ended, and I must wait only a few hours longer until we are wed. With luck, the sleep which eluded me last night will find me tonight, and I can pass the hours remaining in sweet dreams.

You remembered how you felt at dinner the day before – when Aemond was not there. The way you had felt his absence as though it were a missing limb. He had felt that way about you after less than two full days of knowing you.

If only you had as well. It would have saved much awkwardness and pain on both sides.

There was going back now. So, you read on.

The 12th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I am wed. We are wed. I am married – to her. To my wife.

She is my wife. She will be with me now, always. But… she is not here now.

Oh gods, why did I leave her room? I should have stayed there with her, or taken her back here. Fuck!

Several sharp, scrambling lines covered the rest of the page. Not even an attempt at language – just an expression of anger.

It was almost funny to think of. While you were lying in your bed with your skirt still hiked up around your waist, wondering if that would be the rest of your life, Aemond had been at his desk striking through the journal with his pen like it was a sword.

At least he knew he had been in the wrong?

I will start at the beginning, for I will go mad if I think too long about what I have just done – and what I should have done.

Today did not go exactly as I had planned.

Sleep again did not find me this past night. I simply laid abed, my mind racing and my cock hard. I just thought of her and longed for her and prayed that the sun would finally fucking rise.

Eventually, it did.

And not a moment later, servants came to dress me. I fear I may have been quite rude to them, but I was tired, and the wedding clothes felt much tighter than they did yesterday. I was left alone then to eat my fill before the official breakfast celebration, where I would be too busy receiving the guests to actually eat. But I could not– my stomach was roiling with nerves. I barely drank any of my tea, either.

I wondered what she was doing at that moment. If she was feeling what I was.

You had vomited from your nerves. Twice.

Your mother said it was only by some miracle that your dress was spared.

But there was no chance you would tell Aemond that.

I am almost grateful that Mother insisted on following the traditions of the Reach. For if I had to wait for the ceremony at midday with no distractions… I do know if I could have endured it.

Though, I do not know how I endured the breakfast either.

Every single person in the realm with even a drop of Hightower blood was there, all of them using the wedding as an excuse to curry favour with either the King, Mother, or Lord Hobert. The same as the other guests from the Reach and the few that came from the other kingdoms.

And then there was her family. Or at least the men of her family. Her father is one thing, but she has seven brothers! Seven! Though they were all perfectly polite, I am certain that they would be happy to kill me if I ever hurt her.

If I ever did – which I swear by all the gods I would never do – I would gladly let them. I’d even ask them to take their time and make it hurt.

There was also a great number of her cousins – who would also kill me if I hurt her. I lost count of how many there were, exactly, but it is enough to make a small army. Each of them brought gifts that were clearly meant for her, even though they were presented to me.

Aegon says I should simply be happy I received so many fine gifts – including two dozen swords and even more daggers – but I cannot stand being used like that.

At least my wife – my wife, my wife, my wife – only had to endure the company of the women in her family and not so many people who are practically strangers. I hope she liked her gifts and that she enjoyed her morning. The breakfasts are not a tradition where she is from. I do hope they did not displace any of her family traditions.

You did enjoy your breakfast ceremony. It was unusual at first, and you had to rely on the Queen and distant cousin who had married into the Reach to inform you precisely what you were meant to do.

And now, you were insatiably curious about the gifts from your brothers and cousins. Aemond had not told you about them…

‘Where have you hidden my presents, you rogue?’ you wrote in your journal.

Then, at last, the ceremony.

I remember very little of it, to be completely honest. But I shall never forget how she looked, or how the midday sun lit her in gold as she finally walked through the doors of the Royal Sept.

Writing this may damn me, but I do not care. She was is more beautiful than the Maiden.

Even when she is nervous, which she undoubtedly was. She never smiled entirely, but I could see one playing at her lovely lips.

Oh, and her voice when she swore her vows! I wish I possessed some kind of magic to capture that sound in a bottle, that I may listen to it whenever I wished.

Then I kissed her.

There was another blot of ink, as though he had hovered his pen over the page so long the ink dripped.

I do not possess the words to describe what I felt then.

Rumour has claimed that my heart shrivelled and died after that night on Driftmark. If that is true, then her kiss was a miracle from the gods, for it brought that dead thing back to life – back to such life that I felt I could do anything if she only wished me to.

Even as tears of something like joy began to fall from your eyes, you laughed, remembering what your eldest brother had said about that kiss, ‘It was the most awkward thing I’ve ever seen –I had to watch all our brother’s bedding ceremonies.’

If I had my way, I would have done away with the rest of the ceremony and the feast then and there. I just wanted her, and I didn’t want to wait. But the moment I pulled away from her, Eustace started praying again, and I just had to stand there in front of dozens of people, looking at her and allow myself thoughts that, as of that moment, were no longer sinful.

Thankfully, my wedding clothes were not as tight as I thought. For if they had been, Aegon would have surely teased me for being so obviously eager for my wife – my wife, my wife, my wife.

I was so very eager – damn it all, I shouldn’t have done this either – that I only danced with her once at the feast. If I held her in my arms a moment longer, I would not have been able to resist kissing her again or dragging her away to my chambers long before it was proper.

You almost wished he had dragged you away. Although, considering how the bedding went, perhaps not.

So, I left her to the dancefloor and the many men – and Helaena – that also wanted a turn with her. I remained at the head table, not eating or talking to anyone. Not that there was anyone to talk to. Mother and Grandsire were making rounds, Aegon was chasing women, Helaena was dancing with my wife… the only one at the table with me was the King. I have nothing to say to him.

I do not know if I sat there for five minutes or five hours, but finally, Mother called for the bedding. I did not hesitate.

I actually meant to take her to my chambers, but we ended up in hers. I do not know why. Perhaps… I think I just wanted to see them. Two nights, I left her at that door, aching to go in with her.

Tonight, I did.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Something heavenly? But it was just a room, like any other. Though, I did spy two books on her table. One was a fine but worn copy of the Seven-Pointed Star. Perhaps I will commission a new one for her, bound in her favourite colour.

What is her favourite colour? She is my wife, but I do not know. I should know. I should ask.

But I don’t know if I can ever face her again.

I don’t know what I did wrong. It didn’t feel wrong. It – I’m getting ahead of myself.

When we entered her bedchamber, I froze. I was looking at her bed – where I would take her maidenhead. Where we would hopefully produce our heir. And I just froze. Froze and prayed.

I prayed for knowledge, for the Seven know I have no idea what to do with a woman. I can’t even talk to her. How am I supposed to –

A small spot of angry, squiggling lines.

When I was done praying, which I think took an embarrassingly long time, she was standing before me, her head bowed. She might have been praying, too.

I asked if she wanted my help to remove the various pins and pearls in her hair. Mother and Helaena have both complained that they become uncomfortable after a while. And I know that losing their maidenhead is already uncomfortable enough for women, so it seemed the right thing to do.

Besides, she has such pretty hair. I wanted to help her. To touch her and to run my hands through that hair.

But she said no. She did not want my help.

She was so nervous that I could see her trembling as she shook her head. I did not want to make any more so, so I did not insist further.

Nor did I want to move about her room without her express permission, for I know I would not wish a stranger to snoop around mine.

Can I be called a stranger if we are married?

I did feel the temptation to go to that table and look at the other book there. I suspect it is her diary, for there was no title on the spine, and I believe there was a thin strap holding it closed, as the pages have grown worn. It even looked as though other pages or notes had been tucked inside.

She keeps a diary, just as I do. Just as I am doing now.

Is she writing in hers as well? At the very moment?

If she is, I fear whatever she writes will not be very kind to me.

While she was removing her hairpins, she made a noise. She was trying to hide it, but it was so godsdamned quiet in that room that I could still hear her. It was soft, almost like a whimper.

That one little noise almost pushed me over the edge. Perhaps it wouldn’t have it if I hadn’t been hard for hours, but… I couldn’t wait any longer.

I had planned to remove her clothes myself. It was to be tender and romantic. But I heard that noise, and then she came back to stand beside me, and I saw her loose hair and the barest hint of her breasts, and all my plans vanished.

So, like an idiot, I told her to get on the bed. Fully clothed. And she obeyed! My sweet, innocent wife, who does not know any better, got on the bed with her fucking shoes still on!

I love her. I really do. So, so much.

That’s probably the most ridiculous thing to make me realise it, but that was it.

It wasn’t her fault anyway. I’m the one that told her to lie down. So if either of us is an idiot, it is me.

But I didn’t want her to think I was an idiot, so I didn’t undress either. Instead, I just unlaced my trousers enough to set my cock free. I stroked myself a few times to ensure I was ready – Orwyle said it would be easier if I was as hard as possible.

Then she lifted her skirts. She was undoubtedly a maiden, but her mother must have told her something, as I didn’t have to ask her to do everything. Though I did have to let her know that I needed her legs open – she had them shut tight.

When I got on the bed, I kissed her again. But it didn’t feel the same as it did in the Sept. Then, her lips were soft against mine. She pressed her lips back against mine, if only slightly.

This time, she was utterly still. Her lips were cold.

I don’t think – she didn’t want me to kiss her. Or she was afraid to, or…

Another drop of ink.

She was afraid of me.

I couldn’t look at her anymore. She isn’t supposed to fear me. She is my wife. I thought she wouldn’t look at me… like everyone else.

So I stopped trying to make it romantic. I just did my duty.

But the female anatomy is more complex than I had assumed. I looked at her – I do not know a polite word for it – and I admit I was unsure how to proceed. When I was with that wh other woman –

What fucking ‘other woman?’

You felt your face heating with rage as you read the beginning of that sentence over and over. The idea that Aemond – your husband – had been with another woman and was thinking about her after your wedding night was infuriating beyond belief.

Even after he insinuated you were unintelligent, or insulted your beloved robe, or walked away from you again and again, you had never been this angry.

You had more than half a mind to toss the godsdamned diary in the fire, storm into his rooms, yell at him a good deal, and demand answers from him directly. But when you stood and approached the hearth, you could not do it.

Aemond had trusted you with his diary, including this. He had marked this entry specifically as one he wanted you to read. Perhaps he simply hadn’t remembered what he wrote – no. He was too meticulous, this man who had started his diary precisely on the first day of the year.

He knew exactly what he wrote and wanted you to read it anyway.

So, after sitting back on the couch, you did.

When I was with that wh other woman, I did not look at her. Not there. I did not want to. But I regret that now.

I reached out to feel her, to try and find – I don’t know if it’s the whole thing, inside and out, that is the ‘cunt,’ or if it is just the hole – to try and find her entrance. That’s a better word.

She didn’t like it. She pulled away from me.

I thought it might be because my hands were cold, but I have never felt cold, so I warmed them before continuing. Which she did let me do! We actually apologised to each other at the same time. It was almost sweet. Or it would have been if I wasn’t such a fucking idiot.

I tried to go slow when entering her. I really thought I had gone slow. It certainly felt slow.

When I was all the way inside her, it felt like – she felt like…

Several drops of ink.

Warm. She was warm, like sitting only a few feet away from a fire.

And soft, softer than anything I’ve ever felt before.

I don’t know how to describe how – her tightness. Not so much that it was difficult to enter her. I didn’t have to force my way in. I never would. Yes, there was some resistance at first, but after a moment, it was just right. Perfect, even.

How could she be so different from the whore? When Aegon brought me the Street of Silk and presented me with a line of women he had selected himself, he said it didn’t matter which one I picked. ‘A cunt is a cunt,’ he said. ‘You must simply choose which drapes you prefer.’

They are not the same.

Is it just because I love her? Because I actually wanted her, as I didn’t want the whore?

You didn’t think any sentence containing the word ‘whore’ could you make you smile. This one did. According to Aemond, you were better than a whore – you were perfect.

And he loved you.

He hadn’t been cold and distant that night because he didn’t want to lie with you, but because he wanted to so badly that he forgot his senses.

As your smile grew, you buried your face in the diary, grounding yourself in the smell of parchment and dried ink.

A few moments ago, you were ready to storm into Aemond’s chamber and unleash your anger upon him. Now, he once again had you giggling like a silly little girl. What power did he hold over you that allowed merely his words to have such an effect on you?

One word floated through your mind like a leaf on a breeze. A dangerous word, one which frightened you far too much to give voice to. Even if only in your mind.

Instead, you swallowed it and laid the diary back on your lap.

I thought that feeling… that she might feel it too. The euphoria that came with release meant that – that it meant something. That maybe I was mistaken when I thought she was afraid of me.

But when I went to kiss her again, she did not look as happy as I felt. She still looked afraid. Afraid and confused, like she was expecting more. Like I was not enough.

I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t face that look and what it meant. I can’t live in a world where she fears me. Where she does not want me as I want her.

I said that this marriage would only be a political arrangement, but I don’t want that anymore. I want more. I need more.

So, I left. I just… left.

If I were a man, I would go back there now. I would apologise and tell her that I loved her. That she is the most beautiful creature in the world and that I will do anything to make her happy.

But I am here, writing in this stupid fucking diary because I am too much a coward to face her.

I can’t just avoid her forever. She is my wife. I must see her again.

Thank the gods that we are not being sent on a royal progress. Not until we know for sure that the summer will last the year. But I will still see her. Tomorrow. She will be at court, at my side as my wife. And at dinner with the rest of the family.

Gods, what am I going to do?

Another stab in the page, this one not as fierce as the last.

I need help.

I’m sure Aegon is still at the feast if he hasn’t…

Not tonight. I am two days without rest, and I do not think I can restrain myself if Aegon makes untoward comments about her.

Tomorrow, I will ask for help. I have no other option.

I must see her smile again.

You ran your hand over the page, over the words that broke your heart again and again. As if in response, the pain in your stomach started once more. You reached for your teacup, only to find it empty.

Aemond’s diary fell from your lap as you sat up and leaned across the table to reach the teapot. It, too, was empty. “Damn,” you whispered.

Another pain came, accompanied by a sharp pang of hunger. Looking over to the window, you found the sun more than halfway across the sky. Had you really been reading for so long?

You wanted nothing more than to keep reading, but you knew hunger would only worsen the pain of your moon’s blood and possibly make you more likely to do something foolish, like go to Aemond before you had finished the diary.

So, you picked the journal up from the floor, marking your place with one of the green ribbons you had set aside, and stood.

Aemond’s words – his truths – would still be there after you ate and drank and perhaps called the Maester for something to ease your pain. For now, you would take some much-needed time to think through all you had read. All you had learned.

And you would write. While reading, you too often became caught in his words and neglected your own.

Aemond gave you his truth, so you would give him yours.

But after more raspberry tea. And a meat pie. And some tea cakes.

After all, he made you wait. Now it was his turn.

1K notes · View notes

whalesforhands · 6 months

Text

the gojo-geto household’s playtime!

“Would you like another cup of tea, Mr. King?”Nanako’s voice is pitched far too high, an attempt to act a flair of elegance to her words as crumbs of the cookies Tsumiki had baked linger by her lips.

“Oh, with pleasure, Princess Of Green Bunnies.” You watch with amusement as Suguru tips his cup down towards the girl, trying his best to move his admittedly larger frame around without knocking anything over. Your hands gently wiping Nanako’s face when she leans in closer towards you momentarily.

“Mama—“ She coughs, sputtering in her next words. “Mrs. Queen! I am perfectly fine!” She’s whining up at you as you only silently pat her head.

“Can we eat now?” Megumi— No, Prince of The Animal Kingdom, impatiently drums his fingers against the plastic table, staring down at the potato chips and corn snacks before him. Tsumiki tuts, lightly smacking her little brother’s hand. “That’s rude, Prince! We have to wait for the Princess of Stitches to give us the signal.”

Mimiko nods. “Thank you, Princess of Strawberries…” A shy tilt of her head towards her plushie before she clanks her plastic spoon against the plastic teacup.

“Ah! Mimi has an announcement!”

“I wanna eat…”

“Gumi, be patient.” A ruffle of his hair from the long-haired man to sate him.

“I want to thank you all for coming…”

There’s a trudge, before from within the large pile of pillows and blankets, emerged the domineering figure of he who cannot be exorcised, he who rises from the dead, he who kidnaps children and swallows them whole!

The Banished Demon King Who Rules Over the Banished Bad Guys!

(Also known as simply, in Megumi’s complaints of the too long title, The Demon King.)

Gojo Satoru’s boisterous laugh is heard as he uses his tall frame to tower over the tea party, the gasps of shock and horror music to his ears. “My, my! A wonderful tea party!” With a rude step forward, he plants his foot upon the play table, albeit with a bit of care as to not rattle it too much, ego and confidence radiating off of him.

“But it seems my invite got lost via the carrier pigeon!” He places a melodramatic hand to his forehead. “You tiny lot wouldn’t be so cruel to not invite me, would ya?” The glitter upon his paper crown glints underneath the lights as his eyes search the puffed up faces of his daughters and uninterested one of his son.

“You were never invited, cruel monster!” Several plastic utensils are thrown at him as he deflects them with his ‘evil magic’. (He turned Infinity on momentarily before turning it off again.)

You only watch with a pleasant smile next to Suguru, just happy to be a part of this whilst lightly clapping along. Geto’s stare moves to watch you, lips quirking up at the sight of you. He chuckles when he spots a bored Megumi at your other side, sneaking bites of the snacks now that the girls were distracted.

(Megumi wanted to play his console, but everyone voted for this first, so he did too, to the twins and Tsumiki’s delight.)

Satoru’s blanket that acted as his all-menacing cape is unwrapped from around him as three gazes of unwavering determination face him. “I see…” A glint from those sunglasses hiding the ever mischievous pair of blue. “Then I suppose a kidnapping is in order to placate my evil desires! WAHAHAH!”

You don’t even have time to react before you’re scooped up into a pair of arms, the half-eaten biscuit still in your hand as you’re thrown over your husband’s shoulder, his long legs carrying you away and out the door into the living room, cackling all the way as you begin to put on airs.

(This was not in the script.)

“Oh no~!” You let out a gasp for dramatic effect as you’re carried further and further away. “I’m being kidnapped by the evil king! Save me!” The smile on your face completely going against your words, finding it hard to get into character.

“Our Queen has been kidnapped by the evil curse! Oh no!” Nanako raises a foam sword as Tsumiki fixes the ribbons in Geto’s hair. “Quick, we must have an emergency meeting plan to save her!”

——

Gojo settles you down gently on the nearby couch, humming lightly as he sneaks a kiss from your lonely-looking lips. “Gotta play it up a bit, honey. You don’t mind, right?” His once discarded blanket is now upon your shoulders, lightly and messily knotting it to act as ‘binds’. “And so you won’t get cold.”

“How sweet of a Demon King.” You lean forwards to peck his forehead, swooning at him as starry blue eyes meet yours, nuzzling his face against you with a grin on his face.

“Special treatment for my loveliest Queen, of course—“

“Halt right there, evil doer!” Tsumiki has taken charge of the party. “You haven’t won yet, since you forgot our secret weapon!”

“Papa!” Nanako and Mimiko push forward a very compliant Suguru, his hands raised as the sparkly ribbons and bows in his hair attract the demon king’s attention.

“Hello~” Geto only simply waves with a smile on his face.

“Evilllllll BLAST!” His fingers glow red before immediately flickering out, Geto taking the ‘hit’, clutching his heart as he makes a show of stumbling around, before dropping to the ground conveniently right next to you.

“He defeated the King! He’s too strong!” Nanako is gasping in defeat for her siblings, falling to her knees as she acts troubled.

“This curse has more plans!! I eat children who don’t give their daddies enough love today!!!” Gojo gives a sneaky pat to the prone Geto on the ground next to you before he turns to face his defeat.

“Order of Sorcerers! Plan B!”

“RAHHhh- Ow! Hey!” He’s getting pelted by an onslaught of toy bullets as an arm is held up in front of him to defend himself, stray bullets bounce against his face and off of his sunglasses, falling to his knees as he’s sniped from a distance.

Megumi.

Mimiko rings the bell in signal as Tsumiki hands out the next orders. “Megumi has temporarily stunned the monster!” A thrust of her sword upwards towards the ceiling. “All troops! CHARGGEEE!”

“Since when did princes use guns?!” Satoru is adamantly taken aback, holding both hands in the air in surrender as the twins held his legs down in place, Megumi pointing the toy gun menacingly at him as Tsumiki held a pillow up over her head in victory.

“Admit defeat and set our Queen free, monster!”

And they descended upon the poor man like ants to a fallen ice cream scoop, running at him as they poked him with their foam swords, bludgeoned his face with pillows, as he squealed, simply letting himself get overwhelmed and laying in defeat as he continues to get pummeled.

They’re distracted. This is your chance.

“Are you tired?” Your voice is gentle as your head hovers above his, looking down into his lovely copper-amethyst gaze as black ribbons of his hair splay out against the carpeted floor.

He really does look like something out of a fairytale. You’re surprised he wasn’t asked to play a princess.

“My back is a little sore...” Well, hunching over a tiny plastic chair all day isn’t very healthy. “But I’m mostly fine, dear.” He makes it a point to keep his already soothing voice low, tinged with gentle reassurance and eyes blinking slowly up at you.

(He still has the very important role of keeping the roleplay alive, after all.)

“And how is my gorgeous Queen doing?” The act is temporarily dropped when a hand reaches up to cup your cheek, grazing over the skin as his stare holds your own, the background noises fading into nothing as he takes this moment entirely for himself.

“Kiss me?” A plead that you can’t deny.

You relent, a lean downwards that allows you to press a kiss to the man’s forehead, easing his stress and begetting the softness of his eyes, before pulling away.

“Mm. Good… But I prefer somewhere else…”

A loud crash.

“The monster has fallen!” Nanako arises victorious, socked feet standing upon Satoru’s prone body, heels digging into his chest whilst her twin sat upon his stomach as he feigns death on the ground, Tsumiki patting the defeated man’s arm and Megumi poking his face with a stray bullet as the grown man fights to keep the ‘dead’ act as a smile is a laugh away from twitching onto his face.

masterlist

Notes:

“Daddy! You can’t put the word ‘evil’ in front of everything and call it a day!” Mimiko has a small pout on her face as she looks up at the light-haired man, star-shapes carrots on her fork as she regards the figure with a narrowed stare.

You and Suguru both had to console the defeated demon king quite a bit, despite the fact that he had voluntarily taken up this role.

Gojo regrets buying those toy guns. They actually hurt quite a bit.

nvy’s aftertalk:

sorry guys i was playing minecraft and studying lol

#dyf au #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #satosugu x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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powderblueblood · 4 months

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FOUR TIMES YOU WERE STRUCK INCAPABLE OF IMAGINING YOUR LIFE WITHOUT EDDIE MUNSON

(+ one, of the many, where he felt the same about you)

part of the hellfire & ice universe eddie munson x f!reader, reader is nicknamed lacy, you know the drill, minors dni only warnings are for fluff and eddie and lacy being cute and in denial word count: 2k tagging @chiefbonkpruneegg happy birthday pal <3 enjoy this nonsense

TRACK ONE: LET'S STICK WITH TELEVISION FOR TWO HUNDRED, ALEX

You and Eddie balance on either side of Ronnie Ecker's couch like faithful gargoyles, armed with soup and homework. Ronnie's caught the worst end of some green-gooed virus, so you two have taken it upon yourselves to deliver the necessities; tomato soup with extra hot sauce ("To snot out the demons," quoth Eddie) and history homework. But something on the television sucked you both right in, Poltergeist style, as you entered the Ecker trailer. Some hot young thing called Alex Trebek, captaining the maiden voyage of a brand new Jeopardy.

"You know who would kill on this show?" Eddie says, settling himself on the armrest to Ronnie's sniffling left.

"Guh, who?" Ronnie asks, huffing the steaming vapors of the spicy tomato soup like it's paint fumes.

You're pitched on the other armrest, pointing the rolled up history homework toward the screen. "What is the White H--US Treasury, are you fucking stupid?! Have these people never seen a twenty dollar bill before? What is the White House!"

You toss a glance over to Ronnie and Eddie for reassurance, just in time to catch them sharing a look. A good ol' Lacy know-it-all look. "Oh, shut up. as if I have more useless information rattling around in my brain than--"

Both you and Eddie snap at the TV in unison, "Who is Elvis Presley!"

Your turn to share a look. Game on? Game on.

It rolls on like that for a couple of categories, Ronnie sipping her soup straight from the container between you, hiding a smile as you and Eddie gradually bark louder and louder. Who are the Marx Brothers! What is 'break a leg'! Who was Napoleon!

"What, you're paying attention in History all of a sudden?"

"I'm a solid C student thanks to you, baby."

It occurs to you suddenly and begrudgingly and all at once; Eddie's right. You would kill on this show. But more than that, you want to wipe the floor and wring Eddie Munson out like the mop that he is.

"The greeting which opened each episode of Alfred Hitchcock Presents."

"What is," both of you, in perfect Hitchcock tonality and without missing a beat, "Gooooood eeeeevening."

TRACK TWO: LIKE IF BECKY SHARP WAS FRIENDS WITH A BIG GOOFY HOUND DOG

Your first honest-to-god paycheck from the Bookstore was a fat wad of tens and singles plus change and it was handed to you in a brown paper bag. Invest this wisely, said Ivana, so of course, you followed your heart and your hard earned cash directly to the thrift store.

The front bell ding-a-lings and you walk through the door holding your moneybag aloft like the biggest, blue ribbon winning-est gourd at the county fair. You are proud as hell, because you did this! On your own! This isn't your daddy's money, this isn't the result of a once-toyed with idea that you might make a really good cat burglar, this was yours all yours!

"Put that down already! It's like you're wearing a sign saying mug me!" Eddie, bringing up the rear, yanks your arm back down by your side.

You laugh, mirthful and Hepburnian. "More like try me! I'm a working woman now, Eddie! I can hold my own! I can buy boots, guilt free, no strings, no blood money!"

"Uh-huh. consider that glass ceiling of having an after school job well and truly," he picks up a lamp from the scarcely populated homewares section, mimes slow-motion smashing it, "shattered!"

"Plus!" you cheerily pivot on your heel, a spring in your step that cannot be unsprung, even by Eddie's welcome to the real world, jackass flavored attempts. "Who would ever dare try and rob me when I've got a big, tough guard doggy like you three feet behind me at all times?"

Eddie's eyes narrow, like he's not all the way peachy keen on how you've pointed out your inseparability. But. He doesn't deny it either. A broken-stringed tennis racket bops you on the head.

"You owe me gas money."

"Shut up, please. I am shopping."

TRACK THREE: BUSTER MOVES

We'll always have the movies.

You sit, glassy-eyed, in your regular seats at the Hawk as The Cook starring Buster Keaton ticks along on the screen ahead of you. This Keaton retrospective, which you had been looking forward to for weeks, which you had been threatening to drag Eddie to for weeks, is going down a little... bland.

Not even that over-the-shoulder gaze that has Keaton beaming lasers of lust right into Virginia Rappe's skull adds any spice. You don't even bring up the whole scandal with her and Fatty Arbuckle, which would ordinarily be fertile territory to plow through with Eddie as a rapt audience.

In fact, you don't even tell him to kick his feet off the seats.

You've zoned out, because you still have the chill of the penitentiary's visiting quarters under your skin. Your dad and his cruelty that the bulletproof glass couldn't dull. The usual escape to the movies bit isn't doing the trick.

Then, you feel shaggy waves tickling your shoulder.

"I can do that."

"What?"

Directly in front of you, Buster is giving it his best Salome, his dance moves all angles. This display of pure deadpan goofiness was what made you obsess over Keaton in the first place, falling head over heels for a man who kicked it long before you were born.

And to your immediate left, you have Eddie Munson in your ear, telling you, "I can do that."

"No you can't," you say, and it doesn't sound like half the challenge it usually would.

Then, in a jolt that makes the whole row of rickety theater seats shake, Eddie's on his feet and stripping off his jacket. And before you can utter some totally perfunctory what're you... he's hot footing it down the steps to the splash zone, the front row, of the screen.

"You know I've seen this movie a million times?" Eddie says, projecting his voice right out like he's performing a one man show. Munson: Meditations on Dumbassery. You sit upright, glancing around to double-triple check that you're definitely alone in the screen. And you are-- Hawkins doesn't have as much a taste for the non-talkies as you do. And you were pretty sure that Eddie didn't either, and yet...

"Are you serious?" you ask, a laugh starting at the back of your throat.

"Does this look like a call and response? Let the maestro work, please," Eddie chides you over his shoulder, turning his back and hopping in place like a boxer about to take the ring.

And then, all of a sudden, he's... dancing? Sort of? Well, he's certainly moving his body, but it's nothing like what Buster's doing, and it's nothing like anyone's ever possibly done and not been hospitalized for, because the way his limbs are moving is borderline inhuman and you are laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing in a way that feels like Eddie reaching right through the fog of your horrible, dissociative feelings and bringing you back into the light.

You toss popcorn at him and he totally fails to catch it in his mouth, his face lit up in shades of black and white by the projection.

"A million times, huh?"

Eddie, breathless, shrugs, "Alright, I lied. But you laughed."

Point to Munson.

TRACK FOUR: LIBERATING MY MAGAZINES

It was a favor that he'd agreed to before you even offered to buy him breakfast after, a favor that didn't need sweetening up. As his van rolled into Loch Nora, Eddie's brows knit a little bit-- and you wondered how much of him regretted saying yes so hastily.

"On a scale of one to felony..."

Your house hadn't been sold yet. Repossessed, sure, but not sold. It stood there, darkened and quiet and gathering dust and the sheer sight of it being the only house on your street with an overgrown lawn made your chest feel tight. You bet the neighbors had something to say about that. You bet the neighbors had a lot to say about you. Curtains were no doubt twitching when you and Eddie pulled up in front of your old driveway.

"It's fine. It's my stuff, anyway."

About a half hour later, Eddie drops a pile of slightly-weather beaten copies of Rolling Stone bearing your name and old address onto a table in the diner, the remnants of your now-cancelled subscription.

"You gotta wonder what they're putting in that new print format that kept those things from totally composting."

"Thank god they didn't! I need to finish that Tom Wolfe serial or I'll die," you declare as he picks up a menu and you rifle through the pile. "Order whatever. It's on me."

Eddie snorts. You're still carting around that dwindling brown bag of cash. "You don't have to do that."

"No," you say, eyes darting around to anywhere but his face, "but I want to. For helping me to liberate my magazines."

"Lace. I'd happily liberate your magazines without the promise of pancakes," his mouth twists into this little grin you can't help but think of as sweet, "but they do help."

"Order enough to keep us here for a while," you say, and pass him a Rolling Stone.

The next while passes silently between you two, passing issues back and forth until one of you picks out something the two of you can fight about. Eddie twists his rings around when he's reading; you gather this from the looks you keep sneaking.

It feels eerily relaxed. Slightly domestic. And by the end, over-caffeinated with the way you two are soundlessly cackling over an imagined world where the cover of Springsteen's Born in the USA isn't an ass shot, but a full-frontal dick shot. "But where does he put the flag?!"

It's one way to kill a Saturday.

SECRET SONG: SWAPPING NOTES

In the relentless waves of the morning crush to get to his next class, he almost misses you-- just like he'd like to almost miss this next class. But then, there you are with freshly-manicured nails digging into his elbow.

For whatever reason, you've taken it upon yourself to make sure that Eddie Munson doesn't skip! At least, where you can help it.

"Yoohoo! Spanish is this way," you say, reorienting him in the right direction in that insistent little way that you do. Eddie's pretty sure that if he sat on you, you'd snap, yet he lets you completely manipulate his clearly superior physical strength anyway.

"We're not in Spanish together!" he tries, a last ditch to get you to turn around so he can ditch.

"No, but French is juste par là so you are pas de chance, my friend!" you tell him with a stare that says I've been tracking your movements like a hunter, dumbass. See my big spear? From that gargantuan folder you're clutching, you dig out a paper. "I have that thing you wanted me to look at."

"Sssshut up, I don't need everyone to know," Eddie flushes. It's not homework he begged to copy from you for once. It is actually this comparative essay that he actually thinks he might not have completely screwed up. But he kind of wanted a professional not-screwer-upper-of-homework's point of view, so... that's why your little red pen marks are all over it.

"Why, whose reputation am I sparing?" He sees your point. You are basically walking arm in arm with him. You. "But, y'know, I was right about you! The thought is there, the execution just needs a little fine tuning."

"So it was..."

"Not amazing! But not awful. I've done my edits and you can just copy as per-- but absorb them, please, okay? Learn something?"

Eddie's head rolls back on his neck with this petulant groan and he almost clocks a freshman at elbow level, shaking his arms in total frustration. God, now you were giving him homework on top of his homework? He should have just paid you to do the homework!

"I hate when you want me to better myself! Shit!"

"Well!" you say, in that bright, adorable, annoyingly-self satisfied way, "I wouldn't do it if I didn't see potential, so suck on that."

#published by powder #e. munson by powder #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x oc #edlacy #blurbs #need to stop tagging things over 2k as 'blurb'#anwayy your honor i LOVE THEMMMMM this is just silly and fun #cba making a banner i'm too tired #hai brainrot #l. doevski by powder

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fanaticsnail · 23 days

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Straw-Hat Masterlist

Navigation Masterlist Here

Monkey D. Luffy:

Bachata (Dance Series) (one-shot)

Gyrating, thrusting, swaying and grinding. Where did the straw-hat captain learn to dance in this way? The crew, holding many a whispered conversation regarding the captain's sultry movements, finally is approached head-on by the quartermaster of the Going Merry. Flushed cheeks, gasped breaths and soft smiles ensue as the captain aims to teach her a few of his moves.

Run Away With Me (one-shot)

After being left after a night of passion by her marine lover, sorrow eclipsed the hardening heart of the owner of the library. The librarian, after swearing off sea-baring men, is physically swept off her feet by a mischievous, straw-hat wearing captain who woos her with his undivided support of her dreams of romance.

Australian Luffy (HC Drabbles)

Just some silly dialogue with Aussie slang from Monkey D "Loz"

Ravenous (NSFW one-shot)

Luffy is hungry, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. He doesn’t care where it happens, how it happens, or what exactly happens - all he cares about is the who and when. The who is you, and the when is right now and until his hunger is fully satisfied.

Roronoa Zoro:

Blade Song(Dance Series) (one-shot)

The Straw-Hat pirate crew finds themselves amongst a fire-side, sea-front celebration. Swaying, gyrating and twirling occurs with all but one of the crew. The swordsman, never truly learning how to dance in such a way, regrets his miseducation as soon as he sees the object of his pining dancing within the arms of the blonde chef.

Flowers (one-shot)

Men are known to only receive flowers once in their lifetimes, and they are not even able to see them. The Straw-Hat botanist desires to rectify this for one member of the Straw-Hat pirates, the tri-sword wielding First Mate.

Gua-Sha (one-shot)

Slightly fixated by the dragging of the smooth rock against his crewmen's cheeks and jaw, Zoro immediately pipes up and welcomes the opportunity to have his face massaged to relieve any built up tension and pressure behind it. Pining always from afar, Zoro hopes this small moment would bring the two closer together.

Something Like That (request) (one-shot)

A traveler finds themselves accidentally crashing an exclusive event at Baratie, celebrating a foreign holiday with unusual customs. Pulling you away from your evening meal, your eyes met with the hazelnut gaze of a green-haired swordsman. A sprig of emerald leaves, pearls of flowers and a ribbon hung above your heads - what is this? why is he leaning down to press his lips atop your own?

You Deserve Better (Pollen!One-Shot NSFW)

Zoro has inhaled pollen while lost and away from his crew. His crew return from a day of celebration and tease him for is senseless navigational skills. But you notice something's wrong with him. He's hot. So, so hot. And he needs your help to combat his illness. You want to help him so badly, why won't he let you get Chopper? And why was he holding you like that?

I Don't Sound Like That (request) (one-shot)

You and Zoro have grown closer over the past few weeks. Being invited to rest and study beside him in his hammock, you reflect on your journey travelling with your crew aboard the Going Merry.

Blackleg Sanji:

Bar Shift (4/4 Series)

An all-rounder, front of house manager finally acquires the first day off she's had in a very long time. Sanji, the ever faithful "work-husband" makes her breakfast just in time for Patty to break the news to her that her peaceful day off is to come to an end. Covering the bar shift for one of her staff members, shenanigans and mutual pining ensues.

Waltz (Dance Series) (one-shot)

The chief negotiator and relations expert of the Straw-Hat pirates attempts to teach her captain how to perform a waltz to woo the upper class in a formal setting. She finds joy in movement, but Luffy himself was found to be truly incapable of performing the dance to an adequate level. At lunch, she notices how Sanji holds himself; his posture strong and rigid as he effortlessly glides around the table. She asks him to dance, and he truly surprises her.

3, 2, 1 (request) (3/3 Series)

Sanji notices some interesting etchings against the Going Merry's Chronicler's Journal. Questioning her, she informs him the 'x's and numbers are indicating his amount of cigarette breaks per day and the duration they are taken.Brainstorming ideas on how to achieve the same rush of adrenaline, endorphins and breath control in a healthier way than nicatine addiction; the chronicler, in her genius, suggests they share kisses and bold embraces for the duration of his many breaks: all kept under the strict limit of the egg-shaped timer.

"Someone. Someone Help Me" (NSFW Pollen!Drabble)

"Thank You" (NSFW Pollen!One-Shot)

Sanji has inhaled pollen. There is nobody around to help him and he is a desperate, pleading, subby mess.

Your Flirty Chef (one-shot)

Sanji has been working hard lately, your flirty chef no longer as present as you’d like him to be. You both have some unspoken flirtation between you, hopefully something to shatter by moulding him beneath the touch of your hands.

Kiss the Cook (one-shot)

Sanji was gifted an apron from Nami after returning back from town. Every member of the crew aside from Zoro and you have followed the embroidered instructions written on his chest, and he wasn't happy about the lack of kisses from you. You finally relent and give him what he wants.

Sanji x Reader x Zoro:

Eyes Meeting (NSFW part 1)

Lips Brushing (NSFW part 2)

Sanji is in a relationship with the ships chronicler. Zoro accidentally stumbles across them engaging together in intimacy. As soon as his eyes meet with the chronicler's, he is enchanted by their beauty in their bliss.

Soul King Brook:

Parts You Left Behind (one-shot)

You are the ship’s counselor aboard the Polar Tang. Giving your captain the permission he desires to behave idiotically with the two Nakama captains, you give yourself permission to behave with similar unbridled stupidity. The Soul-King Brook has your romantic attention: you love his energy and decide to reciprocate his flirtations, no matter how crass and distasteful they come across.

Misc and Multiples:

Get Well Soon (Drabble one-shot)

You're sick, and they do their best to support you through it. Zoro, Sanji, Mihawk

Mistletoe (one-shot) (Straw-Hat holiday special)

The botanist aboard the Going Merry shares a cultural tradition with her crew; introducing them and reeducating them on the importance of mistletoe and the mischievousness of her playful lips. Every single member receives a kiss from the botanist; all welcome to her sharing her culture with them.

The Selkie and the Sailor: Mini Fic Drabble (One-Shot)

A mythical creature has rescued the captain of the straw-hat pirates from drowning in the sea. As her eyes meet with the crew, she is immediately taken with one of the sailors: Zoro, Sanji, Luffy

Kiss their cheek (Drabble one-shot)

It was a simple reaction, an impulse you felt organic and out of your control. Their cheek was right there, and the swell in your chest and spike of adrenaline prompted you to lunge forward and capture their cheek beneath your lips. How do they react to such a soft touch? Do they shy away, or do they respond in kind? Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Law, Kid

Recovery (one-shot)

You are in a recovery cot in a hospital willing to accommodate you, resting as your body heals from your latest battle. Expecting to recover alone, you are pleasantly surprised to find yourself within the company of the person you craved the most. Zoro, Sanji

Competency, Stupidity, Duality (One-Shot)

They can't help what attracted them to you. No matter what you did, they simply couldn't get enough of you. Their emotions finally catch up with them, and they confess their adoration for you. Kid, Zoro, Killer.

#one piece #x reader #zoro #roronoa zoro #luffy #monkey d luffy #sanji #blackleg sanji #brook #soul king brook

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ladybirdswritings · 6 months

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Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary - It’s your first day on the job, and Miguel doesn’t make it easy for you. Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

next chapter

four

Only a day. You’ve only been here for one day and it’s the best job you’ve ever had. Katerina isn’t bruising your ankles with wire each time your posture slips, no sprained feet or bloody toes. Just soft work… morale. You can tell why this place needs it after your interview.

Miguel O’Hara, also known as suffocating, broody, handsome, infuriating prick in a chair as you’ve named him. You had only a moment to cope with the fact that it was the CEO who’d be picking apart at your answers. Before you could even attempt and soothe yourself at the very high possibility that said CEO was scruffy and gray; Latino Adonis opened the door.

Why do you know he’s Latino? You googled it.

Your face stuffed with stale cereal and your hair in an old bonnet made of silk to preserve its straightness. 4 AM, the glow of your phone making your eyes squint rather tightly together as you scrolled through photo after photo of two big auburn eyes and a straight line for a mouth. Expressionless, cold. None of it compares to the real experience.

He’s Mexican and Irish, he’s single, he only dates red heads and blondes (this building is filled with them) it looks like and he has a daughter, though you couldn’t read much more on that before it was time to grab your coat.

It seems suffocating, his presence. Like the scent of jasmine flowers sprouting in your skin. You have so many questions, perhaps you’ll entertain them to another google search later tonight. It isn’t as if you’ll be spending any more time with him apart from that mortifying interview he punished you with.

So, another search can’t hurt… right?

You shake away the obsessive thoughts with a huff as you pull another pink ribbon from your bag. Step one of morale? Warmth. What color is more warm than pink? Light ribbons like the ones in your hair. You’ve been gathering décor with a company card all day and god, it feels so good to shop. You’ve been living off of your depleted savings for a year and it’s all but afforded you cheap cereal and spring water. Though none of this décor is yours, at least you can admire it for the short amount of time you’ll be here.

This floor, his floor has much work to be done. It’s the gloomiest, the most vacant, and the one you’ll start with first. You’ve already hung a garland kissed with snow and smaller pink ribbons upon the desk, Cindy helped you with stocking the fridge full of eggnog and peppermint creamer. Now? You’re busying yourself with this pathetic tree. It’s alive, but barely. On its last stem. You didn’t have it in your pretty heart to toss of it, so you tasked yourself with wrapping green garland round the stem to make it appear fuller. Maybe, just maybe if you drown it in enough ornaments and pink bows— it’ll look alive again.

You make quick work of the garland, using a door stopper to help keep the tree upright. When that awful, bent wooden stem is all gone, you manage the lights. The front desk ladies spare you glances of curiosity, the same way you do at Mr. O’Hara’s door. He’s been locked away all day, not leaving once. Maybe he’s busy… maybe he hates everything. The latter seems more true.

It takes you another hour and change for the lights. Though the tree is sad, it’s nice and tall, tall enough for the need of a ladder. Twlelve strands and you’re satisfied, sparkling warm gold. The ornaments then, and then you have to-

“Um… miss?”

You peek your head from behind a branch to see the red head from the front desk looking concerned. Her embroidery reads: Mary Jane.

“Miss, sorry to interrupt but your shift ended thirty minutes ago. You’re okay to go home.”

The branch pokes you in the face as you push it further to the side, managing excellent tip toed balance on the small ladder. Evidence you were a ballerina, once.

“Oh it’s okay! I’ll go home once I finish. And don’t worry, I don’t expect any overtime for this. I just want the tree to look perfect.”

You mean that. If it doesn’t? It’ll itch at your skin for the rest of the night. Just like every imbalanced pirouette, just like every failed plié.

Mary Jane only offers a nod and wince before scurrying off with her bag. You don’t see the rest of the office leave or the lights dim as you’re too busy working on the back of the tree. You’ve begun to tinker with the bows, you’ll add those first before you find some ornaments. They blanket the front and sides of the tree, now to manage the back. You tie them as you go, placing them upon the bed of emerald like north stars, still balanced effortlessly on your tip toes.

Though you’re not done, it looks lovely. You’ll blanket white pearl and ornaments tomorrow, but the ribbon and gold shimmer is enough to warm even the coldest of hearts.

You’re immersed, so immersed you don’t hear that dreadful oak door open. You don’t hear the Italian leather clicking against the shiny tile. You don’t hear the huff of breath and tug of a silk tie. No. But what you do hear?

“Díos mio… ¿Qué carajo es esto!?”

You can’t stop the grinch before he steals your Christmas tree with a tug at a bow snuggled in its blanket of green. This tree, this graceless tree must despise him or rather, you back because it moves to topple over.

“No no no!” You exclaim with a gasp, still tucked away from his sight. Your hands shoot out to stable the tree before it destroys itself. You do, but at the cost of your balance.

The ladder slips from under you, and graceful as your fall is, you’re still falling. Closer and closer to a cracked skull until an arm slips round your stomach tight, stopping you from dying at the cost of pink ribbon.

God…

Your breaths are heavy, filled with a lovely scent which you can’t even admire because you’re far too suffocated with the fact that you almost went splat.

Him.

Mr. O’Hara breathes out in exasperation, running his eyes over your body to check for any broken bones or bumps, you assume. When he’s satisfied, he lets you go. His arm is bigger than your head, and a coldness bites your midsection once it’s gone.

You turn swiftly, your eyes wide as they scan over your tree. You sigh in relief, it’s mostly perfect still.

Your shaky hands shoot out to straighten a bow that’s been turned and a branch that snaps off when you try and fix it too. Your index and thumb immediately pinch at the place between your brows as stress etches its way into your soft features. Maybe it’s not so perfect anymore.

You turn to him, the broken branch clasped tightly in your fist. Your eyes are wide and your jaw is tense.

His eyes are cold, emotionless. Your chin is upturned so you can face him.

“Take this shit off.” He commands, voice chillier than than December snow.

Oh you’re angry.

You’re angry because he’s taken your beautiful tree and destroyed it by snapping off a perfectly snug branch. And now? Now he’s telling you to toss away all the ribbons you’ve spent hours preparing?

You take a breath, voice deep and barely in control of your own frustration. The stem of the branch digs tightly into your palm.

“No.”

His jaw ticks.

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart.”

You blink, exhaling through your nose as you allow your eyes to fall closed. A shake of your head and you turn, ignoring his tower of a presence all together as you angrily stuff the branch back into the tree, desperate to fix it.

You feel the tears poking at your eyes but you do as you did when Katerina used to mortify you in front of your classmates. You bite your tongue so hard it bleeds. The tears don’t fall.

“Are you trying to lose your job?”

You ignore him again. The way he talks to you, it reminds you of her. Her if she was good looking, warm even in December and smelled delectable. Regardless…

“The tree is supposed to welcome people-”

“People not children.” He interrupts.

“Wouldn’t your daughter like to admire something like this?” You snap back before you can stop yourself, with a sarcastic tilt of your head.

Oh…

Oh… big mistake.

His jaw draws together so tightly it might just snap. His eyes narrow to slits, hands to fists and body to tension.

You don’t think he even has it in him to say more words than simply,

“Out.”

You immediately comply, scooting past him and grabbing your pink duffel bag from where it lay at the base of the tree. You leave your tote of ribbons lonely, only dead set on going home. That look, you’ve seen it before. When Katerina found out. It runs a chill up your spine.

Your Ugg boots, old and lined with matted fur and frayed pom poms practically stomp their way out of the devil’s den. Into the glass elevator and down to the first floor. You’re grateful to see that the snickering girls have left. It’s only you and him in this big, lonely skyscraper.

You whistle louder than you ever have for a cab and one brakes so quickly it makes your head spin. Even in pink ribbons and pom pom boots, you must look furious.

A huff as you make your way inside and tell the scruffy man where to go, mind preoccupied with the fact that you’ve most likely just lost your new job on the very first day you’ve had it…

🏷️’s: @laysmt @needybitez | chap 4 song 🎧:

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italoniponic · 7 months

Text

𝓑𝓲𝓽𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓒𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂 - mini-project

Flower Feelings

| Notes: this is based on a request by @that-one-fanperson about a Reader who leaves flowers on some of the boys desks without telling them or just leaving a note. I wrote for Silver and Azul (as the request) and Epel as my own choice. But I liked this so much that I might write for some of the others as well? (I made this for Ortho but in platonic format~) For this one we’ll have Idia, Kalim, Ruggie and Cater :D

Idia Shroud, Kalim Al Asim, Ruggie Bucchi, Cater Diamond x gender neutral reader / headcanons / fluff / flower language / crush to lovers / use of “you” pronouns / part 2 of "Flower Feelings"

Idia was in shock. Complete shock. At the same time, he was terribly confused. Precisely the day when his presence was mandatory in the classroom and the first thing he finds on his table is a white daffodil with its yellow trumpet and a branch of mint with a note. “Narcissus: respect, unmatched love, introvert; Mint: virtue.” A surprise item combo, no doubt about it;

Only Cater bothered to ask whose flowers they were — although he himself had an intuition of who might have put them there. The poor otaku, on the other hand? Perhaps more than finding the plants themselves it was the fact that he was approached about it that made him annoyed. Why couldn’t the classmate be a normal NPC who doesn’t vocalize his questions directly to the person in the scene? If it was Idia in his place, he would have kept the question to himself;

Truth be told, walking down the stairs and hallways with the daffodil and mint in hand — he pitied simply stuffing them in his coat or throwing them away because they looked so pretty — didn’t help much. Idia wanted to hide his presence from people, but the bright-colored flower and refreshing-smelling green herb made him stand out from the general crowd. But he was won over by the aesthetics of both plants, put in the worst of the double spell attacks;

And, well, Idia had discovered a while ago that narcissus was his favorite flower. Oh, and mints were cool too. These discoveries were due to the time Idia was spending with you lately. What started as a mere bump into the comic book store because you were fascinated by the use of flower language in manga has turned into you talking more often — virtually and in person — and turning into friends;

Idia didn’t even expect to connect with you so much at first, but here he was thinking more about flowers and how companies should pay to use you as a reference in SSR groovy event cards. He would never admit out loud that he had fallen in love with you. Madly, profoundly. If only he was lucky enough that you were the one who left the flowers for him;

In fact, if Idia wanted a miracle from zero, Olympus granted this opportunity. You two met on the way from the Mystery Shop, you making your way back while tying a blue ribbon in a large bouquet with two similar but distinct flowers in color — one part was red, the other was a purplish blue. You were so focused on making the bow that you ended up bumping into Idia;

It was a mess of petals and nervousness. No one was around to try to understand if the worst was Idia having an internal attack for holding you in his arms or you, who weren’t expecting to meet him so early that day. It took a while for any coherent word to be uttered by either party;

Then, in the end, Idia pulled himself together — what was he? A shy shoujo male lead by any chance? — and tried to strike up a conversation. Well, he just pointed at the crumpled bouquet you were holding and muttered something that you could only understand as a question. The situation proceeded to be complete chaos because you simply put the bouquet in his arms and ran away;

Idia stood still, shocked and panicked, reaching out pathetically forward in a vain attempt to reach you. Did all this really happen? He took a look at the bouquet, slowly recognizing the flowers arranged there. They were salvias. You had seen it a month ago in a manga — it must have been where you got your inspiration from buying them;

Suddenly, Idia remembered that at that time he had discovered the meaning of the types of salvias that appeared on that same manga cover and was going to share it with you if he hadn’t accidentally forgotten. But as he pulled out his phone and checked the meaning of the salvias, your panting voice spoke next to him: “Blue salvias mean ‘I’m thinking of you’... and red, that you’ll be ‘mine forever’...”;

The fright Idia took that day can only be described as something of epic proportions, to say the least. You suddenly appeared, having rushed headlong back to confess yourself properly and the deep meaning of the salvias you had delivered into his hands. “I d-don’t know... if my heart can take any of this...,” Idia said, hiding his face inside the bouquet. You were happy to notice that, similar to the salvias, his hair was a mix of vibrant blue and pink.

Kalim thought it was strange to find a small flower bouquet on his table. It was flowers that he had never seen, its yellow petals open like umbrellas and the core was a deep red like his eyes — it almost looked like a little sun! The card that came with it said “Coreopsis: means always cheerful.” At first, Kalim thought it was a gift from Silver, but the friend himself din’t know where the coreopsis had come from;

Kalim was amused by the prospect that the situation had now become a mystery. He put all the coreopsis in the button holes of his sweater and went in search of answers around the school. Since the ghosts hadn’t seen who left the flowers, Kalim eventually went to the most competent person in the botanical subject he knew…;

No, it wasn’t Jamil. Flowers attract insects, so the Scarabia vice-leader tried to live with as few plants nearby as possible. But you didn’t have that problem so much — not that Kalim knew. So he came radiant in Ramshackle, like the morning Sun, and asked you about the flowers;

Kalim didn’t seem at all suspicious of your nervous and apprehensive behavior, even when you ended up unintentionally showing the same coreopsis that he had on his clothes. Kalim was simply fascinated by those flowers and their joyful meaning. And of course, their cute appearance;

Kalim’s positive, energy-filled air didn’t fail to cheer you up. Exactly the reaction you wanted from him. You two ended up distracting yourselves by talking about flowers, arrangements and many other things — as was usual between you — and in the end, it was when Kalim returned to Scarabia that he realized that he didn’t ask if you would know who left the flowers on his table;

That evening, Kalim arranged the flowers in a pot of water, despite the fact that it was already half wilted, and placed them near his window. He had a certain hope that the Sun would help it to pull itselves together a little bit. But as he faced the starry night from his dorm room, he had another thought. It would be so cool if you were the person who left these flowers. He would be even happier if it could mean something more;

A few days passed, and Kalim found himself walking around the school alone in a certain afternoon. Then he found you in the woods, sitting thoughtfully on the grass and with a different flower in your hand. If Kalim hadn’t known that it was probably a flower, he would have thought that you were tightly holding a very crumpled white handkerchief;

His sudden appearance ended up surprising you again. A little awkwardly, you invited Kalim to sit next to you — which he gladly accepted — and showed him the white carnation you had grown in your garden. Kalim thought it was amazing how that flower’s petals looked like his hair, a strong white like ivory;

“White carnation...,” you swallowed hard, trying to control your nervousness. It was only to speak a few words, you couldn’t even be sure that Kalim would understand your feelings. “... it... means innocence, a pure and sweet love. L-like you.” You then looked away, purposefully inattentive to his reaction;

What a pity, honestly. Kalim had such a cute expression of understanding, then an flustered embarrassment and all this turned entirely into pure joy. Kalim didn’t even know what to do. If he would scream to the world how happy you made him, if he should call Jamil to prepare a party in Scarabia to celebrate or if he could call the magic carpet for you two to fly through the skies;

What really happened was this: Kalim put the white carnation on you, resting the flower on your ear, and gave you a kiss on the cheek. “This is the best gift I’ve ever received and the most precious treasure I'll ever have,” Kalim said, with a light, sweet smile on his lips. You ended up laughing together, sharing this precious and humble moment.

Ruggie knew that someone other than Rook must have discovered that he used dandelions in salads and tea for his own consumption, but this was the first time anyone was teasing him about it. Well, “teasing” was one way to put it. All he found on his table that morning was a handful of dandelions and a few sprigs of coriander, all tied by a bow with a card on the side;

The hyena-boy took the card with a scowl, but soon the bad mood gave way to confusion because he read positive things written on the paper — that is, the meanings of those plants. Dandelions meant “fidelity and joy” while Coriander meant “hidden worth”. Who had actually done that, Rook Hunt?;

Since Ruggie wasn’t the type to throw any food away, he brought the coriander and dandelions to Savanaclaw’s kitchen and prepared a small snack with the leftovers from lunch. As he shredded the leaves from the herbs, an intuition that this event may had nothing to do with the hunter bothered him more and more;

By the time Ruggie finished it all and was already enjoying his humble meal, sitting on the dorm porch and gazing out at the sparsely vegetated landscape, he had already decided that you were the one behind it all. At least, from the people who worked with gardening, you would have all this special care to leave him an explanation about the plants. But to what end?;

Ruggie was versed with nature in regard to the properties of plants and their culinary use. Grandma Bucchi used to say that “if you are lucky enough to find something edible, don’t let it slip out of your hands.” However, he understood the decorative meaning and value of flowery messages as much as he understood you — in short, not much. But it was different from things he wasn’t normally used to;

Your way of being was simply fascinating to Ruggie. Your concern with plants and your care in cultivating them only contributed to his impression that you would have an easy time caring for other people as well. Sometimes Ruggie would catch himself imagining you on his land, playing with the children he cared for on the grass, and making crowns of stems and flowers of all kinds. It wasn’t a bad vision;

He carried that thought as he headed to the classroom 2-B, early that morning. Ruggie had woken up with the Sun and, on another way, it was to find out if you were going to leave anything else on his desk again. It wouldn’t hurt to try. But luck did smiled on him that day because you were right there where he wanted;

You were concentrated, arranging on his table a bouquet full of small flowers that looked like bowls, variegated in pink, blue and red, and you had a real letter in hand — not a simple note like last time. From the classroom’s door, Ruggie whistled and frightened you with the announcement of his presence. He couldn’t contain a laugh;

It was inevitable Ruggie would ask what you were doing. But as you were taken by surprise, no coherent sentence would form in your mind. Then it remained only to hand over the paper in your hands to him. Ruggie took the letter and began to read your words, presumably about the bouquet flowers;

“Morning Glory: if it’s pink, it means love, romance and gratitude. If it’s blue, it means strong emotions, infinite love. If it’s red, it means a strong heart. But above all, this little flower that dies at night and reborn with the Sun is all the love and affection I feel for you that is renewed every day.” And your name was written at the end. It was simple writing, not exactly a poem. But conveyed your feelings completely;

You saw that Ruggie felt awkward after reading, a mixture of embarrassed and flustered because you went to all this trouble to give a gift to someone like him — who didn’t understand the language of flowers at all. However, as Ruggie approached you and left the paper on the table, he had a docile smile under his slight red checks. “First food, now your own heart, huh? You’re spoiling me too much, aren’t you?,” Ruggie teased and you both laughed.

The day had dawned as usual for Cater. He washed his face, got ready to give the best smile he could before breakfast, and started taking some pictures of his daily morning routine — #morningtuesdayslowkeysuck. But when Cater eventually came into the classroom and took his eyes off his phone, he found something quite different on his desk: a hibiscus flower;

Cater knew that hibiscus flowers were very common in tropical places and precisely for this reason it was a flower widely used in beach photos. Even without knowing why some anonymous person would leave a hibiscus on his desk, Cater took the flower, put it in his hair and took a photo. When he sat down, he then noticed a small note that was under the flower that said “delicate beauty”. What is the meaning of that flower?;

Cater spent the day pondering about the hibiscus. That one was an especially interesting type, its petals were white with yellow edges and the inside had a powerful pink, almost beet-red. It really matched his aesthetic. Whoever gave him the hibiscus really appreciated his style — that’s what Cater thought as he crossed paths with you in the hallway;

You took a picture together with the hibiscus and Cater couldn’t help but notice that you were a little happier than usual. You said goodbye and he tried to disguise that he wanted to ask you the reason for your smile. Whether it was for the flower — since you loved gardening — or whether it was for having met with him... which ended up taking him on a little tangent;

Was it you who left the flower on his desk? You were the person he talked to the most lately and your little hobby gave you plenty of opportunities. Were you comparing Cater to a hibiscus? Especially with that bicolor that represented the fact that he hid a little bit of himself sometimes, parts that sometimes you noticed before he could stop it;

It was what motivated Cater to meet you one day at Ramshackle while you tended to some vases to spruce up the dorm’s porch. He caught you humming a little tune to yourself, arranging some pretty little flowers. They looked like purple daisies, if Cater dared to use such a blunt description when it came to your flowers;

Cater had a particular admiration for the way you took care of your garden. Your care was reflected in the plants’ overall beauty and that would be enough to make you an influential profile in Magicam. On the other hand, Cater liked to be one of a few for which you showed your progress even when your vase or flowers had some defect;

You finally noticed Cater behind you, and without much planning, you showed him the pot of asters you were growing — and was actually thinking of giving it to him as a gift. Cater gave a big, genuine smile with your gesture, then asked the meaning of the asters in your hands;

“Well…,” you took a deep breath, uncertain, but regaining your courage. “They mean delicacy, loyalty, unpredictability, contentment and... they’re a symbol of love too, can you believe it?”. At this, you passed the small vase into Cater’s hands, hoping he would understand what you meant by those words. And, oh geez, he understood;

Few things can make Cater truly speechless and your confession made it onto the list. Cater couldn’t even describe what he was feeling. He would have been more sure if he had gotten lost and found a field of talking flowers. Although, he would have rejected those flowers’ feelings — no matter how beautiful their petals or their voice — because there was already someone in his heart;

“You really break me sometimes...,” Cater covered part of his face with the back of one of his hands but his smile was still quite visible. “That’s one of the things I love about you.” He left the vase on the floor and took your hand, the most beautiful flower anyone could give him.

| Special notes: I'm planning to do more of these in a very far-away future but yeah, we never know lol also, OMG I missed writing something for Kalim and Idia. Even for Ruggie. Cater was easy and fun to do too, I confess. This is so fun to me~ |

#twisted wonderland #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #kalim al asim #kalim al asim x reader #ruggie bucchi #ruggie bucchi x reader #cater diamond #cater diamond x reader #twst x reader #gender neutral reader #twst imagines #twst headcanons #twst fluff #flower language #flower feelings series #cherry's writing #bits of cherry

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tellmealovestory · 7 months

Text

Crochet Sweater

Summary: You started a new hobby and your first project doesn't come out the way you hoped.

Warnings: A few lines of suggestive dialogue.

Spooktober Masterlist

“It’s finished!” You exude excitement as you skip up to Eddie carrying a black bag stuffed with orange tissue paper that crinkles every time you swing it back and forth in your hands.

“Took you long enough,” Eddie teases, grimacing when you slap his chest playfully. “Ouch, lady! You wound me.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics because you clearly didn’t. Shoving the bag into his arms you wait with bated breath as he pushes aside some of the tissue paper to peer inside. His eyebrows meet in the middle of his forehead, lips turning down into a frown and your stomach twists and turns like a pretzel.

“It’s a Christmas sweater?” he asks with confusion. “Little early for Christmas presents isn’t it? Only October last I checked.”

“What? No,” you say. “It’s the sweater that Freddy Cougar wears from that movie you won’t stop talking about.”

“Cougar? You mean Kreuger?”

You shrug your shoulders and scrunch your face up. Cougar, Kreuger it’s all the same to you. It’s a horror movie villain and you refuse to watch horror movies because you get scared easily and despite Eddie’s promises that he won’t let anything happen to you you still refuse to go to the movies and see it with him.

“Huh,” Eddie says, pulling the crochet sweater fully out of the bag. The tissue paper crinkles again and he carelessly tosses the bag to the floor, his confusion only growing when he sees it fully.

All he had told you were the colors were red and green so naturally you had chosen colors that were bright and cheery. A bold green, almost neon like something the Grinch’s fur would be covered in. A red that was cherry colored, the color of ribbons and bows strung up on porches during the holiday season.

Holding it up to his body he doesn’t even try to hold back his laughter that bursts out loud and hard until his shoulders are shaking and he can barely breath. One sleeve is far longer than the other, covering his rings that rest on his fingers, the other only about a quarter long. It’s wide, but short and as you stare at it and then him you’re mortified.

“Oh…”

It’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. In your defense it was your first attempt at a new hobby, but still…

“You don’t have to wear that,” you blurt, reaching out for it to take it back and shove it in the bottom of a dumpster in a part of town that no one goes to, but Eddie is quicker than you, pulling it out of your reach as he slips it over his head.

Dear god it’s even uglier on him and he’s a man that could pull anything off.

Your face hurts from how hot it’s burning, but Eddie seems to be having the time of his life. Using the arm that has the longer sleeve he flops his hand about in the air and grins like a mad man. There’s a sliver of midriff showing where you didn’t get the measurements quite right and when he turns around and spins like a ballerina you can see some of the yarn you used already unraveling near the back and the bottom.

“Eddie. If you care about me at all you’re going to take that thing off and burn it in the backyard.”

“Naw. Gonna wear this on our next date. Make everybody in this town jealous. Hey, you ever thought of making one for yourself? We could wear matching sweaters on date night.” He wiggles his eyebrows like he’s come up with the best idea in the world.

This time when you slap his chest you make sure to add a little more force so it hurts.

“Gonna sleep in this. Gonna wear it till it falls off. Gonna make sweet, sweet love to you in this,” he says, eyebrows dancing higher and that’s the final straw.

“Oh my god,” you mutter, face burning hotter because only Eddie would think of saying something like that. “I swear to god if you plan on wearing that while we’re making out the only person you’re gonna be making love to is yourself.” You say putting air quotes around the last few words.

His boisterous laughter is the last thing you hear before he’s enveloping you in his arms and the ugly sweater, mouth covering yours as he kisses you. “I really do like it,” he murmurs against your lips.

You want to call him a liar because how could anyone love something that ugly? But before you can get a word in edgewise he’s kissing you again making you lose your train of thought.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson #my writing

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assortedseaglass · 5 months

Text

🌟Christingle | Yuletide🌟

Billy Taylor x Reader

Summary: Billy gets flustered when you help with make Christmas decorations for the Halcyon.

Content: Drabble, Fluff

Yuletide Masterlist

Not for the first time that day, Billy Taylor swore under his breath.

“Sodding oranges,”

It seemed a waste to Billy; George getting all these oranges just so the hotel could use them as decoration. It was a waste too, that his afternoon was spent cutting them into slices while the other bell boys were down the pub. But Christmas was the Halcyon’s busiest period and his mother needed him to help wherever he could.

He hissed suddenly, sucking his thumb between his lips. “Bloody hell,”

A small giggle came from the kitchen door and Billy stood up at once, always ready to be of service.

“Everything alright?” Silhouetted by the corridor’s harsh light, you stood watching Billy, a friendly smile on your face. The white apron of your maids’ uniform was bunched between your hands, holding something in great quantities that you didn’t have enough hands for.

Billy rubbed the back of his neck. Ever since you’d started at the Halcyon, you’d made Billy nervous. With your bright smiles, shared glances during Skinner’s inspections and gentle demeanour, Billy couldn’t help but be enamoured by you.

“Yeah, oh yeah, fine.” He nodded and sat back down, pulling the front of his jacket straight and trying not to fluster as you pulled a wooden stool up to his workstation.

He wasn’t a complete stranger to girls. He’d danced with a few occasionally, and attempted to flirt at the pub, but as far as everyday interactions went, Billy’s experience was almost nil. Pretty young women came to the Halcyon all the time, under the watchful eyes of their mothers and husbands. But they either looked down on him, as one of “the staff”, or he was admonished by Garland or his mother as he watched a skirted bottom shimmy away for just a moment too long.

When you’d arrived, he was excited and terrified in equal measure. A pretty girl to talk to who wouldn’t pretend he was invisible and, even better, to work alongside in close quarters. A pretty girl who, most likely, already had a young man and wouldn’t think twice about daft, green, forgetful Billy Taylor.

With a clatter, you emptied the contents of your bunched apron onto the table. Jars and jars of cloves.

“For the Christingles,” you said, answering his glance at them. “Forgot to take a basket to the pantry.” You leant over him, the skin of your wrist brushing his, and took a few oranges from his pile. Billy flushed pink and glanced back at his work slicing the fruit. You didn’t notice. “It’s a waste, isn’t it?”

Billy looked up at you, smiling. “You’re telling me! I’d never even tried an orange until a year ago and here we are cutting them up for decorations.” Billy said, watching as you began adorning your orange with cloves. When you were done, you tied a red ribbon around it’s centre and curled the ends with the blade of a paring knife. You set it down next to you and took another orange in hand. Billy watched as, instead of decorating it, you began peeling it and placed a segment in your mouth.

Through your mouthful you asked, “What have they got you making then, Billy?”

“Garlands for staff kitchen. Not even for the guests. Bloody hell!” He dropped the knife and orange and sucked his thumb.

In an instant, you took his hand in yours. “D’you cut yerself?” Your mouth was still full of orange segments.

“Nah, no,” Billy coughed. “It’s the juice. I’ve a cut on my thumb and the juice keeps irritating it.”

“Over here,” you stood up, not letting go of his hand, and pulled him over to the sink. Running the faucet, you checked its temperature, “not too hot, not too cold,” and placed his hand underneath it.

Billy sighed in relief as the acidic sting dissipated.

“Tell you what, Billy,” you began patting his hand dry. “Why don’t you do the Christingles, and I’ll do the garland? The cloves won’t irritate your hands then.”

Billy was about to voice his agreement when you lifted his hand to your mouth and kissed his thumb. “All better!”

“Blimey.” He stood stock still as you walked back to the table and swapped his tray of orange slices for your jar of cloves. Coughing awkwardly and once more straightening his uniform, Billy made his way to sit beside you, a little closer than last time.

He took up the cloves and began piercing the skin of the orange. As he did, the sweet oil of the fruit filled the air. You inhaled deeply beside him.

“I wish they were cheaper,” you said with a smile. “I’d eat them everyday if I could.” You popped another segment into your mouth and Billy chuckled.

“You better hurry up and finish eating before cook catches you.”

“He won’t miss one orange.”

“No,” Billy finished another Christingle. “I’ll leave the ribbons to you. But I worry you won’t be able to stop yourself.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you nudged him playfully. “I’ve already stashed one in my coat for later. Open up.”

“You what?”

“Open up!” You were holding an orange segment before his mouth, waiting expectantly for him to do as you asked. Hot nervousness prickled the back of his neck and in between his legs. Tentatively, he opened his mouth and the sweet, acidic taste of the lemon set his taste buds ablaze.

“Thanks,” he swallowed hard. “Can feed myself though.”

You laughed and peeled off another segment, popping it in your own mouth. “I know,” you blushed a little. “Just thought you wouldn’t get the juice in your cut again, that’s all.”

“Oh right,” Billy laughed that time, a little unsure of himself. “Thanks.”

“S’alright.”

An uncomfortable sort of silence fell between the two of you as you worked. You finished your orange and got back to slicing the others ready for drying. Billy worked through a jar of cloves and onto the next as he prepared the fragrant Christingles.

“Sorry if that was inappropr-”

“What are you doing Christmas Ev-”

You spoke at the same time. “You first,” said Billy.

You shifted in your chair and blushed again. A glimmer of pride shone in Billy’s chest.

“I’m sorry if that was inappropriate, Billy. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” Billy hurried to reassure you. In truth, it was both inappropriate and uncomfortable, but Billy found he didn’t mind at all. “It was helpful.”

You nodded with a small smile and cut another slice of orange. “And you Billy, what were you saying?”

“Oh, erm. Just, just what are you doing on Christmas Eve? Family plans..” his question trailed off awkwardly. Hopefully.

“Nothing really, probably just help mum get the veg rea-”

“DoyouwanttogotothecarolserviceatSaintPaul’swithme?” It came out as one, wild word. Billy took a deep breath and readied himself to ask again when he was interrupted.

“Yes.”

He blinked in shock. “You what?”

“Yeah, I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, right, ok,” Billy began picking up and putting down various things on the table. Oranges, ribbon, clove jars, knives, entirely unsure of what to do. “Right, brilliant.”

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @ellrond @cyeco13 @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @humanpurposes @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @anjelicawrites

#ewan mitchell #billy taylor #the halcyon #ewan mitchell x reader #billy taylor x reader #hilde's twelve days of christmas

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obscurecharactershowdown · 10 months

Text

Obscure Character Showdown FINALE

[image ID: the first image is of image is of No Significant Harassment, a shadowy figure standing behind a sleeping pink-red, fox-like creature. their green hands seem to be holding up the floating creature. the second image is of Granger, a girl with green eyes and short, wavy or curly black hair. in her hair is a red hat or ribbon. she's wearing a black turtleneck sweater, blue overalls, and a green coat. end ID]

No Significant Harassment

[NSH has beaten Akama (The Idiot (1951)), Libby Day (Dark Places), Sally Swing (Betty Boop), Shrimp (The Upturned), Oopsy Bear (Care Bears (2007 series)), Hikaru (Hikaru ga Shinda Natsu), and Diggory Graves (Hello from the Hallowoods)] They're just a silly little guy. A jokester. Significant harassment if you will. Anyway, a more in depth run down: They're a city sized supercomputer built by a Buddhist adjacent society to figure out how to transcend the 'Great Cycle' (semi-metaphorical cycle of death and rebirth) in a safer way than the previous method (submerging oneself in the 'void sea' which is a mysterious golden liquid that dissolves whatever it touches). Despite being built for this express purpose NSH never really shows a pressing interest in ascension, even cracking jokes about those who are still looking for a solution. Whether this is due to indifference, dislike of, or humor to cope with being unable to ascend is not clear and really up to interpretation. Example: NSH: I wish them super good luck in that endeavor. How is it going to happen? Have the overseers gnaw through bedrock until their entire can crashes down in the void sea? BSM: Please be respectful when speaking of the Void Sea. Grey Wind, where did you hear this? CW: I really shouldn't say. He's going to attempt some sort of breeding program. Thought you might want to know. NSH: Haha with the slimers, lizards and etceteras? Surely the answer was in a lizard skull all along! He's very flippant, but does care very intensely for those close to him. NSH: Moon? It's me again. NSH: I do not know if you are receiving these. Please signal in any way you can. NSH: I need to talk to you. I need to know you're okay. NSH: … NSH: Its difficult for us to assist you over this distance. NSH: Even more difficult for us to do anything in the midst of these tantrums. NSH: Were going to try everything that we can. NSH: Just hold on a little longer. (Context for previous convo: They genetically engineered a super organism of a slugcat (the species you play as in Rain World) to help reset his coworker/sibling after her collapse and restart her systems. He was so desperate to fix her that he accidentally messed up the slugcat's (Hunter) genetic code and as a result it became riddle with the Rot (relatively similar to aggressive cancer) :( which parallels his other coworker/siblings condition who also has the rot. ) He canonically uses he/they pronouns too! Nonbinary swag! NSH has major internet troll vibes. He has sent a data pearl of "something distasteful" to his neighbors on several(?) occasions and causes chaos. If he had access to the wider internet he'd probably be an influencer So…yeah! Vote NSH this website likes the allure of heavy machinery and stuff like that so… there you go. Kind of a blorbo. End post.

Granger

[Granger has beaten Chopfyt (Oz), Wolfman (Darkwood), Gaap Goemon (Mairimashita! Iruma-kun), Forest Friend (Gris), Turnip (Chicory: A Colorful Tale), Gary (Faith the Unholy Trinity), and Stag Malinay (Krystar First Fragment)] so granger is the main character of the indie game "NeverHome" Chapter one, which is only $1 on Steam, is called NeverHome: Hall of Apathy. if ur a fan of young protags being put in RPG maker horror games, then this is the game for you!! so granger is just that… she wakes up to find herself in a strange, hostile world. she, along with the friends she makes, must solve the various puzzles before them while creatures are out to kill them… and along the way they can uncover the secrets of these never ending halls… her dynamics with the cast is also super fun… each character gets their moment or moments with granger. and what's so cute is that there's unique art for each pair that highlights the fact you cant get through these halls alone!! she also has her own theme song!! here!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_vwtmIj5cw it's called cyclical tragedy AND HERE IS AN ANALYSIS OF THE THEME!! MUSIC THEORY!!! written by my good friend @HIEMIOLA "cyclical tragedy" embodies the protagonist, granger, through the music theory behind the track and ties itself back into the main track as well. to begin with an overview of the track, the key is D minor and hte time signature is 3/4. the piece begins with a broken minor third starting from the tonic. that is, it begins on the main note and moves along the main chord, D to F. the next set of notes are C to E, which is shifted down a step. the phrase repeats again, this time D to F, then G to E, which is an inverse movement from the original sequence. even in this first part, we could tell that the protagonist begins from square 1 with a simple pattern, then tries it again when it works. however, the inverse breaks that expectation of repetition, thus showing the diverse variations of solutions she comes up with using just the tools she has (the two notes moving in thirds). just like the game, she is given a handful of objects as well as a knife to defend herself and solve the mysteries of the world she exists in. with her creative uses of the items given to her, she continues on her way through the plot. we will keep moving. the melody begins. true to the title of the track, the melody cycles around the same beginning note, D, that she always returns to at her square 1. this is a nod to the save states she is allowed to keep to make sure that we the players don't lose the game, but it also references the health bar that appears as a circle around her avatar. the melody, mapped out, is also moving in an up-down wave movement across the sheet music. granger is creative with the knife she has and the quest items she obtains throughout the story, but she is not entirely reckless. rather, she knows when it is time to return to the safe rooms to rest. to time her returns requires skill because she must run to cover without being caught by varying her path so the enemies don't corner her as she tries to return to the room. most of the time, she is successful, shown through the consistent return to the beginning note. let's keep going. i would like to turn your attention to the main theme briefly. in the bass notes, you can hear arpeggios and outlined chords. this makes up the bulk of the accompaniment in the main game theme. [mod note: the rest of the essay, and some more propaganda, is continued under a cut because tumblr will not process more text than this in an indent. sorry to split it up, please continue below for the rest of the essay and additional propaganda (including art) !]

the third variation of granger's theme also has arpeggiated chords in the accompaniment while the melody features broken chords. at this stage, the pattern switches to eigth notes instead of the quarter notes at first. with greater movement and heightened senses, she runs throughout world and befriends other people, thus interacting further with the environment. while she isn't exactly someone we would call open, she is respectful to the people she first meets and has no problems with asking them for help when she needs it. because of her openness to working together, she speeds up her progress by asking for aid at obstacles that would be too difficult for her to overcome on her own, such as asking a teammate to break things, move things, or reach into smaller holes. fusing the main theme elements with her own theme marks this step as the inciting incident that sets her on the path to escape from this world. we'll continue.

continuing the same part, we hear some secondary fifths. i'm not entirely sure if this is what you call it, but it is a nod to the parallel key, D major. depending on what theory class you take, this could also be considered the other half of the key. i dont know how else to describe it, but i digress. these are glimpses to different dialogue options she could take, glimpses to a different key or a different ending. because this game only has one chapter ending so far, we are unsure of what other paths granger will end up in; we only know that there are certainly other endings she will experience, only to begin the cycle again when the save state is loaded for players to reach another ending. both A major and G major are chords that signify different choices that may lead her elsewhere only for her to return back to the tonic or main note, D. despite this, she keeps going, as will we.

at the midpoint of the track, we see a quick shift in patterns. instead of upward leaps in the notes, the melody falls in stepwise motion. true to the plot, this is another turning point of the game when she is forced to make a choice: continue or stop. after facing the spoiler event, her once determined personality is challenged as she struggles to keep herself and her team together. despite being the headstrong protagonist who spearheaded solutions, even now she finds herself doubting and taking smaller steps, smaller risks.

even after all of this, she rises to the challenge as the melody returns to its beginning sequence. true to a protagonist she gets up again despite the events that transpired and keeps her team moving in their lowest points. the thirds return as she finds more objects to solve more puzzles to open more rooms to save more friends. this repeating part of the track only solidifies her resolve as the piece ends with a broken chord in the main key, her key, of D minor. despite everything that transpired, she stayed true to herself."

the game is also so, so charming with the art, music, and story made by the same person… its so clearly loved and full of passion!! i love listening to the game's ost on occassion!! since it's all on youtube!

ok one last thing thing!! on may 8th, the game hit 100 downloads (on both steam and itch.io). you can see the creator of the game celebrate that with this lovely drawing of granger: https://twitter.com/NeverHome_Game/status/1655761270694633472

so at most, only a bit over 100 people have played the game… id like to say that makes it obscure!!

anyways granger and neverhome!! we love to see our protagonists put in horrific situations and isn't she super cute with a lil bow on her head? she is my daughter…

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#obscurecharactershowdown #obscure poll #finale #no significant harassment #rain world #granger neverhome #neverhome #long post

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