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joelmillerisapunk · 3 months

Text

a sweet arrangement

sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Masterlist ♡ Sugar Daddy Masterlist

Wordcount: 3,374

Summary: You sign up for a sugar daddy app. What's the worst that could happen?

Warnings: 18+, fingering, oral (both m&f receiving), light bondage, reader might have pullable hair (i dont rememeber if i took it out) quick mentions of slut, baby, sweet baby, sweetheart, darlin

Notes: tysm @saradika-graphics for the dividers. I was cheated on over the weekend, and I wrote this as a "I wish I could be here" instead of being sad." Just another rich!daddy fantasy

You've been feeling financially stretched lately, and after hearing about the concept of sugar daddies and sugar babies from a friend, you decided to give it a try. You sit on your bed and hesitantly create a profile on a popular app, describing yourself as a young, independent woman looking for a mutually beneficial arrangement. As you sit scrolling through, you can't help but feel a sigh of reluctance escape your lips. You never expected to find yourself on a sugar daddy dating app, but life has a way of surprising you sometimes.

After a few moments of looking around the site, a notification pops up. It's a message from a user named "Contractor_Guy."

Curiosity piques, and you open the message, hoping it's not some creepy come-on. To your surprise, it reads:

"Hey there. I don't usually do this sort of thing, but I figured it's worth a shot. My name's Joel. If you're interested in getting to know me, send me a message back."

Feeling intrigued, you reply:

"Hi Joel, I'm not sure what 'this sort of thing' is, but I'm curious now.”

The response comes quickly.

Contractor_Guy: "Haha, 'this sort of thing' is something I usually avoid. But hey, it's a new day, and who knows what it might bring?"

You: Hopefully luck! But seriously, what exactly are you avoiding?"

Contractor_Guy: "Haha, well that's a bit of a long story, darlin.”

You: "Oh, I don't mind a long story. I've got some time to kill. Besides, I find it intriguing that someone like you is on a sugar daddy app.”

Contractor_Guy: "Well, my last experience wasn't the best, and I'm just being cautious this time around.

But, here's the long version. I met a girl a few years back, and at first, things were great. We clicked, and the relationship was mutually beneficial. I was able to provide for her in a way she couldn't for herself, and in return, she was there for me when I needed emotional support. As time went on, she started to change. She became more demanding and less appreciative. It got to the point where she would expect extravagant gifts just for a simple text or phone call. I realized that she was only interested in my money and not in the relationship we'd built."

You: "I'm sorry to hear that. It's not easy to find someone who's genuine and appreciates what you have to offer."

Contractor_Guy: "Yeah, it was a tough lesson to learn, but I'm hoping to find someone different this time. Someone who appreciates the little things, too, not just the material things."

You: "I think that's a fair expectation. We all deserve to be appreciated for more than just our wallets. So, Joel, tell me more about yourself. What do you do for a living?"

Contractor_Guy: "I'm a contractor. I do mostly residential construction and home remodeling projects. What about you? What do you do when you're not scrolling through dating apps?”

You: "Lol, I'm usually at work. I'm a graphic designer, so I spend most of my days in front of a computer. It's not the most glamorous job, but I love what I do."

Contractor_Guy: "A graphic designer, huh? That's pretty impressive. I've always been more of a hands-on guy myself. But I must admit, there's something intriguing about a woman in the arts.”

You: "And who doesn't love a man who can wield a hammer and a chainsaw with equal ease?"

Contractor_Guy: "Oh, I'm definitely good with my hands darlin' ;). ”

You: "Maybe one day you'll show me just how good you are with your hands."

As the conversation continues to flow effortlessly, you both exchange numbers and agree to meet for a coffee date tomorrow. Before signing off, you send a playful message with a picture attached

You: "Well, I'm off to begin the countdown to our coffee date. I'll leave you with this little teaser. ;)"

Insert a picture of you posing confidently in a cute outfit, with a mischievous grin on your face.

Contractor_Guy: "Wow, that definitely has me counting down the hours! I can't wait to see you in person."

With that, you end the conversation eagerly anticipating your first in-person meeting with the intriguing contractor.

The two of you meet for the first time at a trendy coffee shop downtown, and you can immediately sense Joel's charm and confidence. You can tell he's done this a time or two. He offers to buy you a drink and pulls out the mattest black credit card you have ever seen to pay with. He guides you to a table in the back corner, and you both engage in light conversation, discussing your interests and goals. Joel is clearly intrigued by you, and you feel a spark of attraction towards him as well.

"So, tell me more about yourself," Joel says, his eyes locked on yours.

"Well, like I said on the app, I'm a freelance graphic designer," you reply, “It's not the most stable job, but I love what I do."

"I can imagine," Joel says, a hint of admiration in his voice. "I've always been a fan of the arts. But I'm sure you understand the struggles of making ends meet as a freelancer. That's why I'm interested in this arrangement."

"I do understand," you agree, your mind already contemplating the potential benefits of such an arrangement. "It would be nice to have some financial stability while still being able to pursue my passion."

"Exactly," Joel says, his tone firm but understanding. "And in return, I'd like you to be my companion when I need someone to spend time with. We can go on dates, attend social events, or just relax at home. I value your company, you're easy on the eyes and brain, and I believe we would make a great team."

"I think that sounds fair," you say, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "I'm looking for something similar - someone who understands my situation and is willing to help me out."

Joel offers to take you to his place for a glass of wine, and as he leads you to his car, the conversation shifts to the details of the arrangement.

"Now that we've established the terms," Joel says, his voice low and serious, "I want to make something clear. I'm going to support you financially in any way you could ever dream of or want, but there's one condition."

"What's that?" You ask, your curiosity piqued.

"I want access to you whenever I please, however I please," Joel says, his eyes meeting yours. "I want to be able to use you for my pleasure whenever I want. Are you comfortable with that?"

Your heart races as you consider his request. You know what he's asking for, and you're not sure if you're ready for that level of intimacy. But at the same time, you can't deny the excitement coursing through your veins.

"I need some time to think about it. This is a big decision."

"Of course," Joel replies, his tone understanding. "Take all the time you need. But remember, this is the condition of our arrangement."

As Joel drives you to his mansion, you can't help but feel a mixture of excitement and trepidation. This is unlike any arrangement you've ever been a part of, and you're not sure what to expect. As you follow Joel upstairs, your heart races in anticipation. He leads you into a large, dimly-lit room, its walls adorned with black velvet and soft, glowing lights. A large bed dominates the center of the room, surrounded by various toys and restraints.

"I want to show you what I mean when I say I want access to you whenever I please.” Joel says, his voice thick with desire.

Joel leads you over to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a seat on the edge, patting the space beside him. "Come here, sweetheart," he says, his voice soft and inviting.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do. But the curiosity and excitement pulsing through you win out, and you find yourself sitting down next to him. Joel's hand reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. "You're so beautiful, you know that?" he says, his gaze intense.

You feel your entire body get warm at the compliment, your heart racing faster than ever before. "Thank you," you murmur.

Joel's hand begins to trace a path down your arm, sending shivers coursing through your body. "I want to make you feel good, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and husky. "I want to give you pleasure like you've never experienced before."

Your mind is racing as Joel's hand continues to explore your body. You're not sure what to do, but you find yourself leaning into his touch, your body craving more.

"I want to show you something," Joel says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He stands up and walks over to a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed. He opens it, revealing a variety of toys and restraints. Your heart races as you take in the sight. You've never seen anything like this before, and you're not sure what to make of it. Joel walks back over to you, a blindfold in his hand. "I want to show you how good it can feel to let go and trust someone," he says, his voice soft and soothing.

You hesitate for a moment but something about Joel's words and the look in his eyes makes you feel safe, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. He gently places the blindfold over your eyes, cocooning you in darkness. You can feel his hands on you, guiding you back onto the bed. You trust him, and you let yourself relax into the feeling of his touch.

Joel's hands continue to explore your body, tracing patterns and circles that send shivers of pleasure coursing through you. You can feel the bed shift as he leans over you, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to make you feel so good, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice barely above a whisper. Your breath hitches as his hands continue to wander.

Suddenly, you feel something soft and silky against your skin. It's a scarf, and Joel is using it to gently bind your wrists to the bedposts. You gasp at the feeling of being restrained, but the sensation is not unpleasant. Instead, it heightens your senses, making you more aware of every touch and caress.

Joel continues to explore your body, his hands moving lower and lower until they reach the waistband of your pants. He pauses for a moment, waiting for your consent. "May I?" he asks, his voice low and husky. You nod, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He slowly begins to slide your pants down your legs, his hands lingering on your skin as he goes. You can feel the heat of his touch, and you find yourself arching up towards him, wanting more. Finally, your pants are off, and Joel's hands are free to explore your body in earnest. He caresses your thighs, your hips, your stomach, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You can feel yourself growing wet, your body responding to Joel's touch in ways you've never experienced before. You moan softly, your hips bucking up towards him. Joel takes the hint, his fingers finding their way to your wetness. He begins to explore you, his touch gentle but firm. You gasp at the sensation, your body quivering with pleasure. His fingers move in slow, deliberate circles that send shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. You find yourself moaning louder and louder, your hips bucking up towards him as you chase the feeling of release. Finally, you can't take it any longer. You cry out as the orgasm washes over you, your body trembling with pleasure. Joel continues to touch you, his fingers gentle as they bring you down from the peak of pleasure.

Slowly, your breathing returns to normal, and you become aware of your surroundings once again. The blindfold is still over your eyes, and you're still bound to the bed. But you feel safe and content, your body still humming with pleasure. He unties the blindfold, and you blink your eyes against the sudden brightness of the room. He's standing above you, a wicked smile on his face. "Did you like that, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

"Yes sir," you get out with a hoarse voice.

Joel's gaze travels down your body, taking in the sight of you spread out on his bed, still bound to the bedposts. "Mmm, such a good girl already," he says, his voice full of satisfaction. "I have so much more I want to show you."

He walks over to the wooden chest at the foot of the bed and rummages through it, pulling out a variety of toys and restraints. Joel turns back to you, a pair of handcuffs in his hand. "May I?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

“You may."

Your heart racies with excitement as Joel cuffs your hands above your head, replacing the soft, luxurious ribbon, and securing you back to the bedpost. You test the restraints, finding that they hold you firmly in place. Your heart is racing with excitement, your body tingling with anticipation. He walks back over to the chest and pulls out a vibrator. He turns it on, the buzzing noise filling the room. You watch as he approaches you. He traces the vibrator over your body, teasing you with each touch. You arch up towards him, wanting more. But Joel is in control, and he takes his time, drawing out the anticipation until you're nearly begging for release."Are you ready for more, darlin’?"

“Yes please,” your breath coming in short gasps.

"Good girl." He traces the vibrator lower, teasing your clit with each pass. You moan, your hips bucking up towards him. But he pulls the vibrator away just as you're about to come.

You whimper in frustration, but Joel just smiles. "Patience, baby, patience," he says.

He continues to tease you, bringing you to the brink of orgasm again and again, but never letting you fully come. You're writhing on the bed, your body begging for release when Joel leans down and whispers in your ear. "Do you trust me, sweetheart?"

You nod, your heart racing. "Yes, I do," you whisper.

Joel smiles, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He leans down and captures your lips in a passionate kiss. You moan, your hips bucking up towards him. You're ready for whatever comes next.

Joel breaks the kiss, his eyes locked on yours. "I'm going to take you to the edge, sweetheart," he says, his voice low and seductive. "And then I'm going to bring you back again. And again. And again. Until you can't take it anymore."

Joel's hand moves back to the vibrator, tracing it over your clit once again. This time, he doesn't stop. He continues to tease and pleasure you. Suddenly, Joel pulls the vibrator away once again. You whimper in frustration, but before you can protest, he's replaced it with his mouth. His tongue expertly teases your clit. His hands roam your body as he brings you to the brink of orgasm once again. This time, however, he doesn't stop. He continues to lick and suck at your clit, his fingers entering you and curling against your G-spot as he pushes you over the edge.

You cry out, your body shaking with pleasure as you come hard against his mouth. Joel doesn't stop, his tongue continuing to torture you as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. As you come down from your orgasm, you gasp for breath, your body still trembling with pleasure. Joel's gaze is intense as he watches you, his face flushed with arousal.

"That was so, fucking good," you manage to gasp out, your voice still hoarse from your orgasm.

Joel smiles, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm glad you thought so," he says, his voice low and seductive. "But I think it's your turn now."

"My turn?" you ask, your eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yes," Joel says, his smile widening. "It's time for you to return the favor.”

You feel a pang of nerves flood your body. “But I'm still all tied up.”

Joel smirks, leaning in. He grabs the hollows of your cheeks, forcing you to look at him, “ I never said you needed to be untied, did I.”

You swallow hard, your mind racing with the implications of his words. Joel releases your cheeks, his gaze traveling down your body. "You're going to make me very happy tonight, sweetheart. Just remember - I want access to you whenever I please, however I please. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," you reply, your voice full of submission.

Joel's smile widens, and he reaches down to unfasten his pants. He steps out of them and his boxers, revealing a hard, thick, ready erection. He climbs onto the bed, his legs straddling your chest. "Now, I want you to take me into your mouth," he says, his voice firm and authoritative.

Your heart is racing as you obey. He brings it up to your lips, and your tongue darts out to lick the tip. You can taste the hint of salt and musk, and you find yourself growing aroused again. You open your mouth wide to accommodate his size. He tastes so good, so intense, and you can't get enough. You begin to move your head, your mouth sliding up and down his shaft. Joel gasps, his hips bucking up towards you.

Suddenly he grabs your hair and holds his cock to the hilt, filing up your entire throat, blocking your airway. You try to gasp for breath as Joel holds you down on his large throbbing cock but it's no use. Your head is swimming with pleasure and arousal, and you're not sure if you can take anymore. Just then Joel releases his grip on your hair, allowing you to breathe again. You take the opportunity to pull away, gasping for air. Joel smirks down at you. "Such a good little slut for daddy already," he says, his voice full of praise. "Daddy wants to see more. Show me how much you want me."

You nod, your heart racing with anticipation as Joel pulls away and undoes your restraints. When he's back on the bed, you take him back into your mouth, your hands roaming his beautiful, full thighs. You begin to suck and lick at his cock, your tongue exploring every inch of him. You can hear Joel growing more aroused, his breaths coming in short gasps.

You feel a hand on the back of your head, guiding you. Joel is thrusting into your mouth, his cock sliding in and out. You moan around him, your hands reaching up to cup his balls. He's tensing, his hips bucking harder with each thrust. Suddenly, he lets out the most primal groan you've ever heard, his cock swells in your mouth. He thrusts into you one more time before coming. You can feel his warm come filling your mouth, and you swallow it down eagerly. Joel groans, his hips stilling as he rides out his orgasm.

You pull away, gasping for air and Joel collapses onto his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You can see the satisfaction on his face, and you feel proud of yourself. You've never done anything like that before, and you're not sure how you feel about it. But there's a part of you that's excited, that wants to do it again.

You're both panting heavily, your mind still reeling from the intense experience you've just shared. Joel's gaze is locked on yours, his eyes full of admiration and desire. "You were amazing, sweetheart," he says, his voice a low rumble. "I can't wait to show you more." A wave of excitement washes over you as Joel reaches out and gently strokes your cheek, his fingers lingering against your skin. "I want to make this arrangement work, darlin," he says, his voice soft and earnest. "But I need to know that you're in this for the right reasons."

Your heart races as you consider his words. You know what he's asking, and you're not sure if you're ready for the level of intimacy and commitment this arrangement requires. But at the same time, you can't deny the excitement coursing through your veins, the thrill of being desired and pursued by someone like Joel. You nod, your heart racing with both excitement and trepidation. "I think I'm ready to accept your condition," you say, your voice low and hesitant. "But I need to know that you're in this for the right reasons, too."

Joel's eyes meet yours, his gaze intense and serious. "I promise you, I want nothing more than to care for and support you, both financially and emotionally," he says firmly. "And I expect the same companionship in return."

You take a deep breath, your mind racing with the implications of your decision. But there's a part of you that's eager to explore this new world, to find out what it means to be truly desired and cared for by someone like Joel.

"Okay," you finally say, your voice full of resolution. "I want to make this arrangement work too."

Joel's face breaks into a smile, his eyes filled with relief and joy. He pulls you into a warm embrace, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "Thank you, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice full of gratitude. "I'm going to make sure you never regret this decision."

---

Thanks for reading ❤️ let me know if you'd like more from these two

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #daddy!joel miller #sugardaddy!joel miller

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rendy-a · 1 year

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Hi! I saw that your requests were, so don't mind me dropping in^^

I constantly see Malleus/or Sebek x Reader fics where they give reader a rock or smt for the dating ritual and reader is clueless- ye non of that.

Reader is the definition of Goblin core or just Goblin in general, the moment Malleus/or Sebek presents the rock, they run to Rumshackle to get their pretty rock and later reader is like "have a rock of love... My love for you"

Can I request something similar as a scenerio for Malleus and Sebek? (If you don't feel like both, then plz do Malleus)

Thanks!

Thanks for dropping by! It does feel like a fae would be one to gift something strange and mundane as an important gift. Here is your request of getting an unusually random item from the fae boys as a romantic gesture. Hope you like it!

It wasn’t every day that one got courted by a fae prince. You’d become somewhat of a legend among the first-years for taming the fearsome dragon prince. When your dear Malleus happened to approach you while in a group, all the other students would freeze up, but you’d just smile at your sweetheart and wait to hear what he wanted. It was usually to present you with some sort of gift. You’d become used to receiving gifts, sometimes of immense value, as an everyday occurrence. You’d just smile at the jewels or such and wish your boyfriend a happy day before going back to your business.

Your friends, though, they were always eager to check out what you’d been gifted and bemoan their own luck at not receiving such riches. “Ah,” sighs Ace, “my last birthday, I got socks. Look at what you get for it just being Tuesday!” Ace lifts the bejeweled…whatever…and moans again. Sometimes, no one was quite sure what the gifts were, but each gem-encrusted piece gave off an air of sophistication. You consoled Ace good-naturedly while also mentally planning a visit to see Lilia later and ask for more information on…whatever this was.

Lilia was always more than happy to invite you in and hear more about his ward’s courting progress. “Ah, a gilded corset cover. How nice.” Lilia smiles at you knowingly. “I’m sure you were happy to add this to your ballroom staples for your future in Briar Valley.” You pictured it; men and women dressed in elaborate clothes, decorated with such things as bejeweled corsets. Well, you tried to picture it before shaking your head and leaving that in the category of ‘things you’d figure out later!’ You returned the short fae’s smile, “Ah yes. I’ll just store that away with my other ballroom garments and accessories.” You flash him a tight smile and he chuckles at you before handing you a book. “Thought you might be interested in this. Many old fae customs and traditions in there. For, oh I don’t know, someone looking to learn more, so they don’t have to go chatting up their grandpa every time they get a private gift.”

You’d smiled at him gratefully and accepted the book. You were glad to read up on the culture of Briar Valley and found it quite fascinating. There were even a few notes specifically on dragon fae. In retrospect, you had recognized a few of the things mentioned in Malleus’s behavior already. It felt good to be in the know for once instead of always running to Lilia for help.

You were especially glad to have that knowledge before receiving the gift you’d gotten today. You were hanging out with your friends in the Basketball Club, listening to Ace brag about things he’d actually done (scored 2 baskets from the 3-point line) and things he’d only imagined (breaking past Jamil). That was when you noticed a sort of hush had fallen across the gym. You closed your eyes and felt a sort of sensation, like electricity or a storm brewing, that you knew meant your sweetheart was nearby. So, it was no surprise to you when you opened your eyes and turned to find Malleus at your side.

You smiled up at him warmly and greeted him. He returned your smile and greeting with a soft fondness that was characteristic of your relationship. “Dearest Treasure, I have today a boon for you.” Saying this, he pulls from the air a branch and holds it out to you. You gaze at the leafless twig and back up to his nervous expression. He waits patiently but cautiously for your response. A great grin spreads over your face and you accept the branch. “Oh Malleus,” you say, barely containing a tremor in your voice, “this, this is wonderful. Thank you, it was just what I was dreaming of.” You beam up at him and show your branch to your friends.

“It’s just a stick,” you hear Ace whisper to Floyd. Malleus’s mouth tightens a small bit and Jamil notices. He immediately goes into full blown retainer panic mode. “A stick of great quality! Your Highness, I have never seen a stick of such fantastic proportion before. Surely it is the greatest stick of all.” Malleus preens at the praise. Floyd tilts his head and only comments, “I don’t see it. Land-dwellers sure are strange.” You give your confused friends a small laugh before grabbing Malleus by the hand and leading him from the gym.

You lean your head gently on his arm as you walk, smiling happily at your branch. “It is a particularly nice branch, isn’t it?” you ask with a smile. Malleus gives a contented hum from deep in his chest, “So what do you intend to do with it?” he asks carefully. You look up at him surprised, “Why put is around my bed of course. What else would I do with it?” He laughs merrily, pleased by your response. Yes, you know what this is. The first branch of many that you will use to construct a dragon’s nest. You can’t believe you’ve just received a proposal from a dragon. You pull your treasured branch close to your heart and smile on.

It was a rock. A round sort (but not perfectly round), with a crack running along one side exposing some glints of the interior. It was most certainly a rock. “It’s a rock,” Grim offers, “If you can’t eat it, what good is it?” You look over at your companion disapprovingly, “Plenty good. Plus, you eat rocks all the time, so I don’t think you should be one to judge.” He gives you a disdainful look, “Only the good smelling ones.” Then he wanders off, leaving you alone in your Ramshackle room with the rock.

You smile and wander around the room, trying your special rock in many different places. You finally settle on the mantle in front of the mirror, where you’d see it every day when you got ready. It really was a nice rock. You turned it around to look at it closer. The crack along the seam appeared as a flaw at first, until you noticed how its jagged shape resembled that of a lightning bolt. Through the little lightning bolt gap, a few green sparkles of the interior layers were visible, peridot, you thought. It was perfect.

You remembered a conversation you’d had with Sebek long ago on books he’d read. You’d asked him for some of the stories from his childhood and he’d told you a tale he read as a small child about a brave bird that walked to the ocean to find a pebble for its beloved. It sounded like something you remembered from your own world, and you told him so. He smiled and said that this was an old traditional tale in Briar Valley. Now, you understood what sort of tradition it had created. Smiling at your pebble, you set yourself to your own task.

“Here’s a pretty rock,” Deuce offers it to you. You examine it carefully before tossing it back on the ground, “No, that’s nice but it’s not the right rock.” Ace walks over to a pile and picks up another, “How about this one?” You look at him and roll your eyes, “Ace that’s just a regular rock.” He tosses the rock down in frustration, “That’s a regular rock, this is a regular rock, your super special rock is just a regular rock; Prefect, they are all just rocks!” You frown but continue to scan the ground below you. “You don’t have to keep coming along if you don’t want to.” You knew that to most people, it would seem like a pointless endeavor. Finally, Ace heaves a large and exasperated sigh. “No, I’m coming. I just don’t get it is all. How about this one. If you turn it just right, it almost looks like a heart.” You smile and obligingly look at the rock, already knowing it wasn’t YOUR rock. “It’s nice. Why don’t you keep this one?”

He moves to toss it but then appears to reconsider and pockets the unusual-shaped rock; it was a neat rock. You don’t say anything but smile to yourself. That was Ace’s rock; sort of average looking but when you twisted it right, it was a solid heart. You didn’t need Ace’s rock though; you needed your rock. Just like Sebek had looked until he found one that perfectly represented himself, you’d look until you found one that fit you just right. That was the point of it all. To journey as long and far as the penguin of legend and find a representation of yourself to offer to your partner.

You didn’t know how long it had taken Sebek to find that perfect rock, but you knew he’d have never settled for less than the best. He’d have climbed a mountain and traveled great distance; anything it took. So…you’d just have to do that as well. One day, you smile to yourself, you’d be able to return the gesture and offer back a rock, and with it, your entire self to him. Then you’d place the rocks on a mantle together, maybe in a little cabin of your own in Briar Valley and live happily ever after.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader

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hausbabylon · 8 months

Text

bundle of luck

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

A/N: Oh how I wish I could take with me every single cat I see :(

Word count: 2,626

Warnings: None, just fluff for a change!

After another lovely date with Natasha, you find a stray cat resting peacefully on the porch of your house.

The scent of Natasha's perfume wafted into your nostrils as soon as she placed her signature black jacket over your shoulders, giving you a light squeeze as a small display of affection.

You always swore there was no way the burning sun would eventually fade away and be replaced by gray clouds in a matter of a few hours, but by now you should have learned that such a thing was possible, for this was another occasion where you didn't bring your own jacket, and consequently, Natasha was lending you hers.

While such an action caused you to melt right there and then, completely touched by her charm and attentiveness, it was also true that it made you feel a pang of guilt. The last thing you wanted was to be a bother when these past five months she had been anything but a total dream of a woman for you.

The first time, you completely refused and she, between giggles stated that a 11°C weather was like hot summerfor a tough Russian woman such as herself. So the next three times you just thanked her and rewarded her in one way or another, like giving her a cold beer after dropping you off at your place, a drink you started buying just to have an excuse to invite her inside.

This day was no exception, of course. After she lent you her jacket and gave you a pleasant ride on her motorcycle to drop you off safe and sound, you said to her, "Would you like a beer? As a gesture of thanks for the jacket and the ride... and another wonderful date, of course," although at this point, both of you knew perfectly well that this was more than a thank you gesture.

"You know I'd never turn down a beer, moya lyubov," she replied, but what the redhead meant was 'you know I'd never turn down spending at least a few more minutes with you’. She never said it directly, however, something inside you always knew how to read between the lines. Maybe that's why your relationship with her lasted so many years later, but that’s another story to tell, now we're talking about the beginning.

"Come inside, then," you smiled at her.

"Oh, my goodness!" She exclaimed, her face lighting up even more and her smile expanding from ear to ear. She had her attention set to a fixed point behind you, and when you turned to see what was the cause of it, it didn't take you a second to mirror the action of the older woman.

A cat that looked perhaps a year old, whose color was an elegant beautiful black, was sleeping peacefully on the top tier of the porch of your house. The way it was curled up in a ball did not allow you to observe if there was a collar around its neck or not.

"I think it's best if we leave, let's not disturb them," Natasha whispered, and you couldn't help but let out a laugh at her suggestion.

She remained serious.

"Oh, you're telling me not to enter my own house so I don't disturb this unknown cat?" You teased, a playful grin forming on your lips as you glanced at Natasha.

“Uhm, yes,” she snorted, as if what you asked was the most obvious thing in the world.

You couldn't complain, you always felt a sort of twist in your stomach every time your outings with Natasha came to an end and it was time to say goodbye, so you happily agreed to put your helmet back on and go wherever she wanted.

You were both getting on the motorcycle, when in the corner of your eye you noticed a small shadow moving. The cat was stretching after waking up from that peaceful nap.

"Change of plans," the redhead laughed, and removed her helmet, then got off her motorcycle.

With the most cautious steps possible, she walked in the direction of the little cat, which had its green eyes already open as it preened its right paw.

After sensing the presence of a stranger, any other cat would have gotten up and run away in a matter of seconds. However, this cat simply looked up and walked towards Natasha, sniffing her outstretched hand and then rubbing against her as if she were its lifelong owner.

"Awww, hey there, little one," she murmured in a gentle tone, as she kneeled. The cat, displaying a never-seen-before trust, allowed Natasha to scratch it behind its ears.

You couldn’t stop smiling as you watched this ‘tough Russian woman’ interact so tenderly with the cat.

As Natasha continued to pet the black cat, she commented, "You're quite the charmer, aren't you?"

You approached her and kneeled down beside her, extending your hand towards the cat. It smelled you briefly and subsequently rubbed its head against your hand, just like it did with the redhead.

It purred softly, as if to express its gratitude for the warmth and kindness you and Natasha were showing towards it.

“Oh my, what a precious little thing!” You exclaimed, as you pouted, feeling your heart melt with tenderness.

You had cats most of your life, but that changed when you moved to this new city nine months ago. The last cat you had in your previous home stayed temporarily with your best friend Kate, and her golden retriever Lucky had become your cat's best friend in no time.

As soon as you stabilized, you brought him back to your side, and you noticed that he stopped eating, and constantly meowed in desperation whenever he heard Kate's voice or Lucky’s barks on the phone. So you decided to do the most generous act of love for your dearest companion, and respected his wishes to stay with Kate and Lucky the dog.

You were a firm believer that cats chose their owners, and the fact that this unknown black cat came into your home, and above all, was so affectionate towards you and Natasha, was a sign that there was a reason why it had come into your life.

"Do you think they have an owner?" you asked, feeling your heart melt as you caressed each one of its cheeks with your thumbs. It had its eyes closed, and you could swear it was almost smiling, a sign that your affection was deeply appreciated.

Natasha carefully examined the cat's neck, and her fingers confirmed what you suspected, there was no collar. "Doesn't look like it," she replied, her gaze still fixed on the cat. “We should adopt them,” she added, as if she has this power of reading your thoughts.

You often wondered if she was really able to read your thoughts, for she had an amazing pulse to tell you what you were thinking. She, likewise, also believed that you possessed that ability, and you loved that smile she would display every time she let you know that you said just what she was thinking.

Many factors made it indisputable that you had found your person, and you felt it when you observed how lovingly she was treating this little cat. She loved animals, what more could you ask for?

"Nat, there is nothing I want more than to do this with you," you declared. As your relationship with her progressed, you lost count of how many times you answered her with that same sentence.

"So what are we going to do, share custody like we're a divorced couple?" Natasha laughed, and it automatically rubbed off on you, making you laugh along with her.

"Yes, we can have a custody agreement," you teased, pretending to mull it over. "You get weekends and Christmas, and I'll have weekdays and New Year."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. "Hmm, I don't know if I can handle only seeing our little furball on weekends! We’ll discuss that in court!"

You chuckled, shaking your head, “No, but seriously, you get one week and every Friday we drop the child off at each other’s house. How about that?” You proposed.

Natasha grinned, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the lips, "Sounds like a plan,” she paused. “Oh, I’m not supposed to kiss you! We’re divorcing!” She joked.

"Right, right,” you nodded in agreement. Even though you were trying so hard to play serious, you couldn’t stop smiling. “Divorce proceedings concluded. Now, how about we go to the vet for a quick check-up?

Natasha grinned and nodded. "Absolutely, it's time for some serious co-parenting."

Very gently, the redhead took the cat in her arms, to which the two of you gave multiple caresses during your 'custody discussion'. You, on the other hand, entered your house to quickly grab your car keys and opened your garage, making way for your girlfriend to enter with your new companion.

As you approached your car, you unlocked the doors, opening the passenger one for Natasha to get into the vehicle with the cat securely in her arms.

The car ride was better than expected, the cat appeared anxious but Natasha made sure to reach in to comfort and stroke it, so there wasn’t any sort of inconvenience beyond its occasional meowing.

Once there, you and Natasha were told to wait around fifteen minutes for the vet to be available. When your turn came, a kind and gentle soul, greeted you all with a warm smile, taking the little one carefully and then instructing you to wait outside.

After half an hour or so, the veterinarian returned with the cat, who appeared to have shinier hair and had a red bandana around its neck, indicating that it had received a bath.

"Wow, poor thing, didn't cause a lot of trouble?" Natasha asked, as she took the cat back into her arms and briefly sniffed its fur, making you giggle.

"She's very well-behaved," the veterinarian replied.

"She?" The redhead and you said in unison.

"That's right, she's a female," she confirmed.

"Detka, do you have any idea how rare female black cats are? There's always a higher chance it's male!" Natasha turned to you, her green eyes taking on an immediate gleam as she looked back down at the cat in her arms.

“It seems like we have a very special lady with us now,” you commented, caressing the cat’s chin. “Our lucky charm.”

Natasha nodded in agreement, and turned her attention back to the vet, “And how is her health?”

"She appears to be in good health overall," she began. "I gave her a bath treatment to get rid of fleas, and applied an anti-flea pipette, which should be applied every month," she continued, to which both of you were paying cautious attention. “She had also had internal parasites, and she's quite malnourished. But the good news is that these issues can be treated. We'll start with a deworming medication to address the parasites. Additionally, I'll provide you with dietary recommendations to help her regain her strength. She's also due for some vaccinations to keep her protected."

After expressing your gratitude to the veterinarian and making an appointment for the next checkup in two weeks, you and Natasha split the bill evenly, each covering your share of the expenses.

The next step was to head to the nearest pet store, in order to provide everything your new cat would need in both of her new homes. You picked out two litter boxes, one for each home, making sure they were spacious and easy to clean. For food and water, you selected two sets of bowls, and made sure to stock up on the special recovery food the vet had prescribed… of course you couldn’t resist grabbing several treats and toys to keep her entertained and spoiled.

As you pushed the shopping cart filled with items, you smiled widely when you spotted the heartwarming scene through the car window. There, in the passenger seat, Natasha sat patiently with the cat nestled comfortably on her lap, peacefully asleep.

The bond between Natasha and the cat was something that you knew would grow stronger with every passing day, and it was evident that this adorable addition to your lives had found a special place in Natasha's heart.

Once you returned home, you wasted no time in setting up the new living space. The litter box was strategically placed, and the bowls were filled with cat tuna and fresh water respectively. The scent of the food immediately drew the attention of your new little friend, for she eagerly approached the bowl, and devoured her meal in a matter of seconds.

Fortunately, the prescribed deworming pill, carefully hidden in the food, went unnoticed as she happily ate. Natasha and you exchanged smiles, relieved to see her enjoying her first proper meal in her new home.

“While I was in the car waiting for you, I was thinking about some names,” Natasha said, sitting cross legged on the floor as she simply observed in awe how the black cat enjoyed the food she was provided.

You turned to her, "What names did you come up with?" You asked, as you imitated her action of sitting cross legged on the floor.

"I remembered a creature in Slavic mythology named Liho, and I think it suits her, what do you think?” Natasha proposed.

You repeated the name softly, trying it out. It had a unique and gentle ring to it, just like the cat herself. "Liho," you said with a smile. "I like it. It's perfect. Does it have a meaning?"

“Liho is the embodiment of evil fate and misfortune,” she explained.

Your laughter rang through the room at Natasha's explanation.

"Liho, the embodiment of evil fate and misfortune? Come on, Nat, look at her!" You pointed at the cat, who was now drinking some water. "How can she be evil? She's an absolute sweetheart!”

Natasha chuckled at your response, understanding that her choice was unconventional, "I wanted to name her something not too obvious, something contrary to her. Liho just felt right, like she's going to defy all the superstitions."

You smiled, noticing the thought and care Natasha had put into the name. She indeed had a unique reasoning behind it, "I get it. Liho it is, our little bundle of luck."

Every Friday, as promised, you remained true to your playful ‘custody agreement’. You and Natasha would take turns dropping off the cat at each other's houses.

On those days, you would pack a bag for Liho, making sure it contained her food and a selection of toys to keep her entertained. The cat, ever adaptable, quickly grew accustomed to the weekly transitions, and her sweet demeanor made the process a piece of cake.

It had become a cherished habit to feel Liho's weight on your feet during cozy movie nights, or to find her perched on the windowsill, her inquisitive eyes watching the world outside as you and Natasha cooked dinner together whenever she visited you, or viceversa.

Over time, Liho's transformation was notorious and drastic. With consistent care, her health steadily improved. Gone were the days of malnourishment, for she had gained weight, and her black hair shimmered with vitality. All thanks to the love and dedication you both poured into her recovery, an unavoidable response to the way she had effortlessly wrapped you both around her little paw from the moment she had first appeared on your house's porch.

And it was a matter of time for Liho to have just one home, for you and Natasha decided to take the next step after a year, and decided to move together.

And it was also a matter of time for a new member to join your family as well…

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #scarlett johansson #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel

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cerise-on-top · 3 months

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Hiii! Have a great day!

How about Ghost, Valeria, and Price with a close friend who is a professional boxer? Imagine asking them to practice/train with you n stuff

Unrelated, what's your favorite color?

Hello! Thank you! I hope you have a great day as well! My favorite color would be either a nice purple or a nice pink! I just really love both colors, so it's hard for me to choose!

Price, Ghost and Valeria with a Boxer!Friend

Price: He’s not a boxer per se himself, but he can bust out a few moves if he needs to. He’s had his own boxing matches with the enemy from time to time, so he can definitely pack a very mean punch if he wanted to. Thinks it’s very cool that you’re a professional boxer and definitely supports you however he can. As he knows plenty of people, he can probably arrange a friendly match between you and someone he knows so you can get some practice in with all kinds of people. However, you’re more than welcome to ask him for some sparring as well, he’ll laugh but won’t turn you down. But beware, he won’t go down easily either. He’s a captain, he has his pride and wants you to know that he’s not just some goon you can pick off and defeat just like that. And he will give it his all. He’s fairly bulky and, due to his profession, can take quite a lot. Might fake mock you from time to time, asking you if that’s really all that you’ve got. Doesn’t hold back in the slightest, the fact that you’re his good friend doesn’t matter too much to him at that moment. While he sort of does hope that you’ll win, he won’t make it easy for you. Price has very quick reflexes and could dodge you somewhat easily, but you will be able to get a good hit or two in as well. Very proud of you when you do beat him, regardless of whether you’re able to do so on your first try or if it took you several times. After every match with him he’ll take you out for a drink, one that is on him, and gives you pointers on how he thinks you could do better. He just really wants you to thrive and do well as a boxer so you can rise almost effortlessly. He knows it’s hard, but he’s with you all the way and will support you however he can.

Ghost: He used to box for fun when he was a bit younger. It definitely wasn’t too long ago, so he still knows how to box somewhat well. Ghost is a bit stronger than Price physically, so taking a punch from him would definitely hurt, but that’s just him showing you that he loves and appreciates you: By not holding back in the slightest. He can take a lot, so I’m wishing you good luck as you train with him, it’s definitely not easy taking him down. You can train with him just about whenever he has the time, though, he really doesn’t mind. In fact, he quite likes it when you ask him to train with you, it makes him feel as though he’s a trusted friend of yours. He may not be as quick as Price, but his reflexes are still cat-like. Sometimes, he has to spar like that with Soap still, so he still knows what he’s doing since the sergeant is very persistent in matters like those. Ghost is quick, focused and his punches are very calculated, he can take down and defeat just about anyone crossing his path. Besides, you’re a professional, surely you won’t go down so easily when it comes to someone who shouldn’t be on your level, right? Gives you pointers as well during your matches. He means well, but he also just wants to piss you off and break your concentration like that a bit. However, a fight with him is entirely fair. Ghost knows the rules and knows them well, so he won’t do anything out of the ordinary. Besides, he’ll check up on you after the match, regardless of who won out of the two of you. You are a good friend of his, you should be doing well at all times, Ghost can take care of himself too, after all. Like Price, he’ll take you out for a drink or two afterwards. However, if he’s not on deployment, he’ll try to go to some of your matches as well, when he can. He’d love to see you in action against a proper opponent.

Valeria: She’s probably tried to hire you since you’re very good at what you do, but you said no every time, so she gave up eventually. While she will still hint at wanting you to work for her, she can understand why you’d say no, your job is much more honest than hers, after all. Valeria has a certain appreciation for your boxing, thinking it to be rather cool. You can defend yourself in close combat, if it comes down to it, so she really doesn’t have to worry about you as much as other people. Like Price, she knows plenty of people. In fact, if you want to go up against some celebrities, she could probably pull some strings and have something arranged. It’s amusing to her, watching two people beat each other up in the name of sports. Will watch your matches as well when she can, you are her dear friend, after all. You can ask her, too, to fight you, and she likely won’t say no to that. If she has the time, that is, and is in the right mood for it as well. She doesn’t have nearly as much experience boxing as Ghost or Price do, but she can hold her own if it comes down to it. While she may not be as powerful as the other two, she will turn a match of regular boxing into kickboxing. She knows she shouldn’t, but as soon as it looks like you’re about to win she’ll do whatever she can to turn the tides. Her kicks are very powerful, so it’s not like she doesn’t know what she’s doing either. You need to nag a lot at her for the both of you to have a proper match without kicking on her behalf. If you’re having a regular match then it’s not that unlikely for her to just lose. She doesn’t have a lot of experience in the field of boxing since she prefers ranged weapons over melee. She’ll sulk a bit if you do beat her, but won’t hold it against you. If anything, she might challenge you out of her own will again just so she can beat you at some point. Such a thing is important to her.

#cod #cod x reader #john price #john price x reader #price x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #my mother used to be a kickboxer when she was young but I never got into any of those things myself #my mother also used to be really good at skiiing as a child. she won medals and trophies. we don't have those anymore though #on another note my cod document is now over 120k words long with 272 pages #that's just incredible to me I never would have imagined I'd ever write this much for a silly lil fandom #not too long ago I hit 100k words I remember that. it's just really unbelievable to me. I never would have thought I'd get back into writin #at least not to this extent. but it's still somewhat fun. writing I mean. even if it also can be super exhausting #anyway those are my two posts for the day I'm gonna go back to playing Stardew now

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thejujvtsupost · 6 months

Note

Heyo! Got a little sfw/fluff request about Geto and Gojo x reader (no established relationship) and maybe could end with the both of them confessing if it's alright 👉👈

Something in like Satoru and Suguru's school days and Gojo is always the popular one and Geto is kind of overlooked/compared with Gojo's beauty but the thing is Gojo doesn't like that people always shrug off his best friend then one day reader is in class with a few girls chitchatting and the boys pass by the class and overhear the conversation you were having and get curious (cause they know you through Shoko) and the girl group was talking about their favorite things in guys and most of them would say things they like about Gojo and when it was your turn to answer, you just said you really liked Geto's eyes when he smiles and kinda go on a rent about things your really like about Geto (actions, physical, personality, etc) and the rest is up to you :>

Thank you so much!!!

No Time Like the Present

Lmao not me releasing this before I fixed my formatting hahahaha 💀 Jfc. Anyway, sorry for the delay anon!

Notes: F!reader, College setting, reader and characters are 18-19, sort of unintentional confessions, eavesdropping, not unrequited love, reader is shy, Shoko & Gojo making bets, you’re both oblivious disasters.

“C’mon man, she’s been staring at you for weeks. No way she doesn’t like you.” The halls were empty while they roamed and wasted time. This conversation has been coming up more and more frequently. He never believed Gojo.

Geto knew his best friend was highly desired at their college - he didn’t blame anyone. But there were time (just this time, actually) when he wished he wasn’t in Gojo’s shadow.

Gojo didn’t get the vibe that you wanted him. Sure, you were friendly; even on the way to actual friends, but that was a totally different feeling. No, he didn’t need his technique to know your gaze was always on his best friend. Both of you were painfully obvious and absolutely oblivious to each other. As luck would have it though, Gojo knew where your class was and decided he’d create a little mischief - Wouldn’t it be a coincidence if you randomly bumped into each other?

Things were about to change for Geto.

Hearing your voice from your nearby classroom made him shoot Gojo an accusatory glare and felt his heart lurch. Gojo didn’t even bother with the look and dragged him to the wall to eavesdrop wait for you.

“This is weird, we’ll catch up with her later at Shoko’s-” he was cut of by Gojo obnoxiously shushing him.

“Shut up and listen!” He said with a whisper shout, his eyes were wide and he was gaining a bigger self satisfied grin by the second.

Fine. Whatever it’d take to make Gojo leave before you saw them.

You were sitting with two other girls, a blonde and a brunette.

“I think he’s dreamy! Those eyes, I wish he’d take his sunglasses off more often!" The blonde didn’t bother to hide her open admiration. Geto really didn’t want to hear you gushing over his best friend…

The brunette let out a sigh, “yeah he’s dreamy, but have you seen how hot he is? Those abs!”

Then they were looking at you expectantly for your contribution. “I think he’s nice… but I really like his friend more.”

“You mean Suguru Geto? He’s pretty hot too.”

“Yeah.” You felt your face flush. “It’s not that he’s hot, well he is. He’s so strong and tall and his smile is so- ugh that’s not the point!” Your friends started giggling at your expression.

“I think he’s also really kind and considerate… he’s been helping me with my homework, we’ve been studying together lately and he’s so smart! Funny too, the other day he said some lame joke about Gojo and I couldn’t stop laughing, I even snorted. It was so embarrassing! He knew it was lame and kept going though, my sides were hurting.”

That didn’t make sense to Geto, he thought your laugh was cute. “But he’s such a good listener too, he remembers the small stuff that I wouldn’t expect him to know. He knows how I like my coffee and we’ve only studied at a cafe twice.”

“Uh oh, someone’s got a crush!” They were teasing you, Geto couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. He wished they hadn’t stopped your rant, though.

Geto had his body smushed as close to the door as possible, your blush was adorable and a huge boost to his confidence. Gojo was snickering and texting Shoko, there was an ongoing bet between them about how long it’d take for you guys to get together.

“It’s not like that! I mean, he wouldn’t go for someone like me anyway. Every time I think about asking him out I remember he’s way out of my league and I’m just me…”

Geto felt his heart squeeze. Just you? He loves likes just you. If anything you’re the one out of his league!

Your class ended not ten seconds later before Geto could formulate a better plan, you smiled brightly when you noticed him next to Gojo. Thirty seconds just wasn’t enough time to prepare everything he wanted to say; all he knew was that if you were feeling shy, he was going to ask you out as soon as he could. Anything to make you happy.

Starting right now, since there was no time like the present…

Thinking about making a request? Check my bio to see if they’re open! <3

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taintedtort · 1 year

Note

hey hey hey~y guess who again?you made it perfectly clear with how happy you are and it makes me even happier that you reacted that way!ehe~e.

i promise i will wait for every one of your works, but i suddenly got an idea while reading one of your works!one about sleeping headcanons.and the idea is, maybe you will be interested to write how reader and characters do each others hairs?like, reader making a character some sort of hairstyle/adding accesory to them and character does so in return.hope my description makes any sense.and as for characters, with Aether, Albedo, Ayaka and Shenhe???

and if its hard to write this request for you, then dont worry!but can you imagine how nice it would be to braid Aether's hairs???and Ayaka being separeted from worlds simplest pleasures certainly deserves little "girl time".no???also i wish you goodest of lucks!

- 🦊 anon

prompt ✧ doing their hair

characters ✧ aether, shenhe, ayaka, xiao, kazuha, wanderer

warnings ✧ gn!reader, none!

a/n ✧ hello again! i added a few more characters if that’s alr? (i also saw your sweet words in my inbox, thank you) ALSO ALSO i’m writing a part 2 for them doing your hair so if you wanna look for that it’ll be up a few days after this

AETHER

✧ he loves letting you do his hair. honestly his arms get tired after a while because it’s so long, but when you do it he just gets to sit back and relax. he wont ask you to do it first, but if you insist you want to he‘ll let you. doesn’t mind going out of his usual hairstyle either, he just lets you play around with it. do whatever you want: high ponytail, claw clip, flowers, colorful clips, etc.

"you want to do my hair? sure, why not."

SHENHE

✧ her hair is very long and sometimes she doesn’t feel like managing it, so that’s where you come in. you gladly offer to brush out and rebraid her hair. she wouldn’t stray far from her original hairstyle, but she may let you do something different with it— no guarantee she‘ll wear it out though. not a fan of clips, her hair is too thick for them anyway. she does very much enjoy your fingers running across her scalp though.

"you’ll brush my hair for me? if you insist."

AYAKA

✧ she thought she wouldn’t like it at first because ayato used to do her hair when they were younger, but she soon figured out that was because he wasn’t gentle. your fingers carefully swept through her hair while pulling it up in her usual ponytail. she ended up closing her eyes without even realizing. when you finished you could tell she was disappointed, so you just continued to play with it. she sat there feeling like she was in heaven. you end up having to do her hair at least once a week.

"would you mind playing with my hair again? please."

XIAO

✧ was reluctant at first. his hair is short so he doesn’t bother doing anything with it and he doesn’t understand why you would want to play with it. you’d have to explain that you think his hair is super soft and that’d it’d be relaxing for him before he agrees. once he feels your nails run across his scalp he’s down. instantly melts against you and might doze off. that gives you the chance to put cute clips in his hair that he’d normally never let you do.

"you think it’s soft? really?"

KAZUHA

✧ he was happy you asked! he had no problem with you putting his hair in braids or adding colorful accessories, he was just glad you were having fun. he wouldn’t get embarrassed when you’d finish one hairstyle before pulling back and snickering a little before starting another. he liked that he was able to make you laugh, even if it was because he looked silly. he’d sit and talk to you, or listen to you talk, and it would overall just be a cute activity.

"having fun?"

WANDERER

✧ you’d have to time your approach right in order for him to let you anywhere near his hair. honestly it was better to not even ask, just run your fingers through his hair after he gets home and flops next to you with a huge, tired sigh. because he’s so tired, the sensation feels heavenly and he’d let himself indulge. if you started tugging at it like you were putting it in a ponytail, he’d pull your hand off, so you have to resist your urges. but i think if you beg enough while he’s in a good mood, he‘ll let you do something with it.

"fine! do as you please. archons, you’re so needy."

#reader insert #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #x reader #fanfic #gender netural #gn reader #xiao x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #shenhe x reader #ayaka x reader #aether x reader #genshin headcanons #my 🦊 anon #taintedtort #tortrequests

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hugmeimtouchdeprived · 2 months

Text

COD Bakery AU

I can't, for the life of me, come up with names/titles for anything I write (tips and suggestions are more than welcome!)

Content warning: None (I don't think?), other than that this is very, very self-indulgent :)

Also that I'm just not going to have a specific plan for this, just writing when I feel like I need to write something fluffy and not stress about it (although I do have some minor plots in mind, but we'll see!)

Pairing: Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x fem!reader

The first time he comes in is in autumn, early September.

You’re putting a freshly decorated cake in the display case when you hear the bell chime above the door, notice the tall figure approaching the cash register.

And boy oh boy, does he leave you speechless for a moment.

Tall and muscular, with a slight tan like he’s just come from a vacation or something, messy mohawk on his head, dark shirt tight around his muscles. You can tell those aren’t just for show, either.

“What can I get for you?” you just manage to get the words out as you walk up to the register, pen and paper in hand to take his order.

“I’m lookin’ to buy something for my mam,” he responds, looking at the cakes and pastries on display, as if he’s examining each and every one. “What’s this one? A strawberry cheesecake?”

“Strawberry and lemon. The one next to it is blackcurrant and white chocolate,” you point at the white and blue cheesecake. The man nods.

“A couple slices of both of the cheesecakes, please,” he smiles at you. You tell him the total and start putting his order in a white box, making sure to keep them upright.

“Is there a special occasion?” you ask, trying to fill the silence.

He shakes his head. “Nae, just been gone for work for a couple months, mam’s been worried sick. Wanted to bring her sort of a peace offering,” he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Ah. Well, these should calm the storm, then,” you chuckle, tying a ribbon around the box before handing it to him. “I wish you luck. Hope she likes sweets.”

He laughs. God, how can a person be so attractive? It’s not fair, the way his blue eyes twinkle as his lips curl upwards.

The man takes the box, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. Enough to make your heart flutter slightly. He gives you another smile before leaving.

The second time you see him is only a few days later. You’d almost forgotten about him; it was mostly his looks that had caught your attention. Otherwise, he seemed to be just a regular customer amongst the others. You don’t even know his name.

You’re joined by your boss this time. An older man, who inherited the bakery from his parents a decade ago. The bakery is fairly small, with only one other employee working there besides you and the owner. You prefer the days when you’re either working alone or paired with Ava.

Ava, only a couple years older than you, is sweet. She does most of the baking when she’s in, but always encourages you to bake and decorate things, especially if you express even the slightest interest in trying something new. Always giving you tips and complimenting the things you make.

Your boss, Brent, is the opposite. You can tell he’s not used to actually having employees, used to working alone for most of that decade he’s been in business. You and Ava were both hired mostly because the business started to eventually take off, way more than Brent had anticipated, so he hired the two of you to keep up.

“What the hell is that?” he asks, looking at the apple pastries you’re currently sprinkling powdered sugar on top of.

“The apple pastries you asked me to make yesterday,” you respond quietly.

“Looks like shit.” Brent has never been one to hold his tongue, always finding something to complain or whine about. You and Ava often compare him to Gordon Ramsay, except even he’s actually nice to his employees, from what you’ve heard.

Besides, Brent has openly admitted to not even enjoying baking; he’s only here because it’s what he has left of his parents, which is admittedly admirable. But the man bakes only when he has to, otherwise making you or Ava do it.

You just nod your head at his insults; sometimes it’s just best to roll over and show your belly, so to speak.

“Smells good in here,” a voice comes from behind you, behind the cash register.

Both you and Brent turn at the same time, seeing the same Scotsman from a few days ago.

“Looks good, too. Those for sale yet? I’d like to have one,” he continues, pointing at the pastries in front of you. Brent rolls his eyes at you and waves his hand, motioning for you to take care of it, before disappearing in the back room again.

“For your mum again?” you ask with a smile on your face.

“Nae, just for me this time. And a coffee, for here, please.”

You go about charging him for the order, before sending him off to take a seat wherever he’d like, that you’ll bring everything once it’s ready.

You place the pastry onto a plate with a dollop of whipped cream on the side, pour the coffee into a cup and bring it on a tray to the man, setting everything in front of him on the table.

He pays and takes a seat near the large window at the front of the bakery, with a direct view of the small kitchen behind the register. The bakery used to be someone’s home ages before it became a business, with a bit of a yard at the front with outdoor seating in summer and a few parking spaces. Perks of being located more on the outskirts of the city.

Unlike many other bakeries and cafes, the kitchen isn’t hidden somewhere where customers can’t see; it’s right behind the cash register, so customers can easily see whatever is being made or decorated.

“Mam really loved the cakes, by the way,” he tells you before you can turn and walk away. “She really wanted me to bring her here sometime, had to sneak out of the house just to come today.”

“Why not bring her today?” you ask curiously.

“Eh, she can be a lot sometimes. I can too, so I thought you wouldn’t want to deal with both of us,” he explains with a laugh.

You take a quick look at his attire. Not to ogle or anything, it’s just hard not to steal a glance at the stranger. It looks like he was going for a run, you assume that was his excuse for his mum.

“I’m Johnny, by the way,” he finally introduces himself. Johnny. So that's his name.

You tell him your name in turn, which he repeats under his breath. You like how it sounds coming from him, with that accent.

“Well, as much as I’d like to continue chatting, I have to get back to work. Hope you like it,” you tell him, motioning towards the pastry in front of him before returning to your duties, before your boss can get a chance to complain.

Johnny’s eyes linger on you as you work, hustling behind that counter, trying to keep up with everything even as a large group arrives just as you’re pulling two cakes out of the oven and trying to get two more in.

He enjoys moments like this, even if he’s not one to go out for coffee very often. Prefers his coffee in the quiet of his own apartment, or sometimes at his mother’s house if she insists he come over when he’s on leave.

Johnny even gains the courage to leave his phone number on the receipt for you, when you inevitably come to clear the table after he’s left. How could he not? You’re too pretty for your own good in his eyes, too good to resist. Plus, this way he doesn’t feel like he’s pressuring you into anything; you can just toss the receipt into the trash if you’re not interested.

It's such a shame that it’s your boss who ends up clearing the table when Johnny eventually leaves, eyeing the receipt and the number and the “Text me! -Johnny” scribbled onto it before discarding it himself, not giving you a chance to see it.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!🌷

#Also I'm obsessed with soap recently #so that's why this ended up being a soap fic #but i really wanna write for ghost and gaz at some point #bakery au #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x you #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #john mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #johnny soap mactavish x reader

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airas-story · 16 days

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I'm a sucker for angst ironstrange especially amnesia!Tony (and usually happy ending at the end) please make more lol <333

So this is a continuation of the Confabulation Complication. There will probably be either three or four parts depending on the route I take. We have not yet gotten out of the angst.

“Boss?” FRIDAY interrupted. “Miss Potts is requesting access.”

Tony glanced at the wall of windows. They were blacked out and he couldn’t see Pepper, but that meant that Pepper couldn’t see him either. “Tell her I’m busy.” And he was. He’d had FRIDAY gather all of the pertinent footage of the past five years and was skimming through it.

There was a possibility that he’d lost and confused memories from before then, but Tony could handle that later.

Things that had happened in the tower or the compound were easiest to find, followed by things that had happened while he was in his armor.

But there were far too many things that hadn’t happened in either of those situations. He was irritated to realize that he’d spent more time with Stephen—Strange? Tony wasn’t sure—in his sanctum than in Tony’s space. He had almost no data points to tell him how to react to Stephen.

Then again, Tony could just avoid being around Stephen. He could completely skip out on that particular complication.

He could just avoid everyone for that matter, because he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be around most of them.

Some things he remembered weren’t too far off. He remembered JARVIS dying, he remembered Ultron. He very much did not remember Thor picking him up off the ground by his neck or Steve throwing his shield at Tony’s chest and sort of wished he didn’t know about either incident now.

“Boss,” FRIDAY said. “You’ve been in here for three days. Miss Potts is getting worried.”

“Tell her I’m fine. Just getting caught up on my past history.”

He’d watched the break up with Pepper first. The first one. It had been… well, it had been almost exactly as he remembered it. It left a sick feeling in his chest and he’d had FRIDAY give him a presentation of their relationship in the time since.

He’d analyzed the footage desperately. They were good together, right? Not perfect, but that was an entirely unrealistic expectation. But good. He glanced to the side where he’d saved the video of Pepper pulling him into his arms in the aftermath of Ultron and JARVIS. The compassion and love on her face was real and his own expression when he looked at her was somewhere between desperate love and aching need.

That was real.

He didn’t remember it, but it was real. It was good.

“Miss Potts suggested that you may have better luck talking it out with her.”

Tony shook his head immediately. He wasn’t ready to face her. She didn’t deserve to have to deal with a fiancé who didn’t even remember loving her. That was why he was doing this, so he could find the pieces of history that would show him how to love her again.

Or at least how to pretend until it was true.

Because it’d be true again, right? He’d fallen in love with her before, surely he’d fall in love with her again?

He had to. Because this was Pepper.

“Tell her I’ll see her soon,” he said.

He could tell FRIDAY didn’t like the answer, but he had no doubt that she passed it on.

He turned back to the footage of the past he only remembered distorted pieces of.

A spark of light to his left interrupted his scanning and Tony looked over to see a portal opening a few feet away.

Tony froze. The sight of a portal opening into his lab was familiar and the way his stomach flipped with pleasure was entirely instinctual. The nausea that followed was a more appropriate response. He very much did not want to deal with seeing Stephen. He couldn’t bring himself to react though as the portal opened and Stephen stepped through.

Tony’s averted his gaze immediately. He couldn’t look at Stephen. It’d just confuse him.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asked.

“Miss Potts called me,” Stephen said. “She asked me to come convince you out of your lab.”

Tony swallowed hard. Pepper played dirty. “Well, you tried. You failed, but you tried. You should probably head back out, now. Tell Pep I’ll be out once I’ve figured out—”

“You’re not going to get your memories back watching footage,” Stephen interrupted. “That’s not how it works.”

Tony clenched his jaw. “I’m not trying to get my memories back.” Not really, at least. His quick dive into confabulation had already told him it wouldn’t be that easy. Sure, he hoped it would spark something, bring back the memories that would make everything make sense again—not that he’d gotten lucky, yet. No, he wasn’t trying to get his memories back, but he could train himself off of the footage, could at least pretend to be the person people expected.

He’d always been good at that.

And hey, fake it til you make it. Tony’d always been good at that too.

It didn’t help much with Stephen, who Tony had abominably little footage of. From the corner of his eye he saw Stephen shift, moving closer.

Tony stiffened.

“Tony, I know that you’re confused—”

“You don’t know anything, actually,” Tony retorted. “I’m fine. Give me a week and no one will be able to tell the difference.”

Stephen didn’t answer immediately; the silence was strangely alarming. “What is that supposed to mean, Tony?”

Tony waved at the footage. “I’m relearning what people expect to see. It won’t be—”

“Tony,” Stephen sounded vaguely horrified. “That’s not in any way healthy. Pretending to be someone you’re not—”

“Is what I’ve done most of my life,” Tony said shortly. “I know how to mask, Stephen. Now, you’ve tried your best, but I’m not in the mood to be convinced out of here.”

Stephen let out a tired sigh. “Tony. You’ve been in here three days. Your fiancé—” Tony flinched, ”—is worried about you. I, as your friend—“ Tony flinched again, “—am worried about you.”

“Yeah, well take your worry somewhere else. Like I said, a week, and then—”

“And are you going to do that with me?” Stephen demanded. “Is that all I’m going to get from you from now on? The person you think I expect to see?”

Tony whirled to face Stephen, frustration spiraling out. “What else am I supposed to do, Stephen? I don’t… I don’t even know if I really know you. The you I remember… The you I remember loved me.” God, why did everything have to go so wrong? “The you I remember would have kissed me in that hospital room, self-imposed rules about kissing be damned. The you I remember would…” He swallowed. “I don’t know if I even know you, yet. I remember kissing you. I remember teasing you whenever I managed to make you blush. I remember curling up with you in the sanctum and just… enjoying each other’s presence as though we didn’t need anything from each other but each other. And that’s all a… that’s all a lie. I don’t… I don’t know you.”

And it hurt. It hurt that Tony had versions of a life that didn’t exist inside his head. It hurt that he wanted it so much when he knew he wasn’t supposed to. It hurt to know that there was no chance he’d ever have that.

“You know me, Tony,” Stephen said quietly. “We may not have kissed, but you certainly teased me plenty. You’ve spent hours working in the sanctum, just spending time with me. You’ve—”

“Stop,” Tony demanded. “Stop. I don’t know you. I’m not sure I want to know you.”

Stephen flinched back, hurt crossing his face. “I’m your friend, Tony.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair, the rough gesture tugging at snarls that probably needed to be brushed out. “You don’t get it, Stephen. I’m in love with you. But it’s all a lie.”

Everything was.

#ironstrange #pepper/tony #tony stark #stephen strange #amnesia and confabulation #real things but I'm taking liberties #part 2 #soooo long #oh well

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 3: Blood Moon]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @ipostwhatifeel @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @serrhaewin @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @blackdreamspeaks @anditsmywholeheart @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @elsolario @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring @minttea07 @trifoliumviridi @deltamoon666 @mariahossain

Let me know if you’d like to be added! 💜

“I wish you could join us,” Nico says, almost sulks, snow catching in her hair. She’s riding a gorgeous white mare that the Duke of Hightower purchased for her. He’s in no hurry to gift you a horse. King Viserys—epochs ago, on your wedding day, on the blood-orange July afternoon when you looked into Aegon’s glassy, shadow-ringed eyes and knew exactly what sorts of demons you’d be sharing your life with—once promised you an Andalucian for each child you gave your husband. He hasn’t mentioned it since. It’s slipped his mind, most likely; that’s what happens to the king’s notions that concern the Greens. They stumble around in his skull for a while, find a window, jump from the ledge and free-fall into oblivion.

You smile up at Nico with your feet planted firmly on the ground like fertile roots and a hand resting on your belly. Five months along, over halfway there, farther than you’ve ever been before. The season is winter, but you feel like spring. You feel like blossoms unfurling, like ivy scaling walls of frozen stone. “Next year, with any luck.”

“But what if I’m with child by then?”

“Then you’ll get to return the favor and gallantly wave me off as I gallop into the distance, a vision of Boudicca herself.”

“Didn’t that story end with mass murder and suicide?”

“Nico, not everything needs to be said out loud.”

She laughs, raucous and jarring. Horses’ ears go back; crows take flight from stripped trees. It’s Christmas, and that means it’s also boar hunting season. The feast tonight will require a boar’s head to be served—a tradition that dates back to ancient Norse pagans, to faiths of earth and thunder and sea—and the court has assembled to procure one, the men armed with spears, the women riding along to cheer them on, hounds braying and circling agitatedly, servants sprinting around with jugs of wine. “Alas,” Nico says. “I cannot help it. I am Italian.”

Then she reels her mare around and trots off to join the hunting party. Once not so long ago, you had no true friends here. Now you have at least one. Two, if you count Aemond…although you can’t decide if Aemond is a friend. Sometimes he feels like less, other times much more. He grows close and then is far away again, a tide that’s always a few hours from receding. You watch Nico depart with hardly any heartache. Your relative incapacitation will be finished soon enough, your position vindicated. The clock is ticking.

Daeron compliments you as he canters by on Tessarion, heavy hooves leaving impact craters in the snow: “Princess, that’s a lovely gown.” Lavender, purple, the color of royalty, a declaration of your own worth. That’s not something you can rely upon others giving you. You’re between worlds at the moment: neither fully Navarran nor English, not an outsider nor a future queen.

“Thank you, brother. Good luck!”

Daemon reins up beside you, peering down with glittering dark eyes. When anyone ventures too close to Caraxes—whether horse or human—he snaps at them like a wolf. Surely there is no beast better suited to its master. “I think you’d look better covered in red. Isn’t that the color of your people, Navarre?”

“Prince Daemon,” you purr, one hand still on your belly, your victory in progress. “Enjoy the hunt. I know you get restless when you haven’t murdered anything in a while.”

He should quip back, but he doesn’t. He just grins, his gaze locked on yours; and his grin stretches wider until it sends a bolt down your spine like cold lightning. You have the sudden, dreadful impression that there’s a joke you aren’t in on. “You have no idea.”

Caraxes squeals and jerks back his head as Vhagar shoves between you, massive withers and haunches making space where none existed before. Caraxes nips Vhagar’s shoulder, drawing blood; Vhagar snorts in reply, a low rumble like a storm. Caraxes retreats, ears flattened, but Daemon pitches you one last crooked smirk as he leaves, a threat, an oath.

“Perhaps we should serve Daemon’s head at dinner,” Aemond says.

“He certainly looks like a pig to me.”

“You aren’t too disappointed, I hope. To have to stay behind.”

You smile, petting Vhagar’s silky muzzle. She has a white blaze down the front of her face, white stockings like patches of snow on rich spring soil. “It’s temporary.” What was Aemond like on my wedding day? You try to remember. All you can conjure is a vision of him staring at the floor as you linked your trembling hands with Aegon’s and the priest spoke, as if the match was so ill-fated he could not bear to witness it. It took you a year to learn that he didn’t disapprove of you after all. Something else weighed on him that day, something else dragged down his eyes like an anchor moors a ship.

Aegon passes you both on Sunfyre. “I’ll bring you back something, wife!” he vows, swaying drunkenly in the saddle, his chaotic silver hair shagging in his eyes. Fortunately, Sunfyre seems aware of his rider’s limitations; his steps are lithe and cautious, almost timid. His coat is a river of gold beneath grey skies. When Aegon urges the horse to go faster, Sunfyre ignores him.

You turn back to Aemond and raise an eyebrow. “Make sure he doesn’t break his neck?”

“As always.” And then Aemond is gone too.

The king will not join the hunt. He is getting too old for it—although no one would say that aloud—and Queen Alicent, ever-sacrificial, is staying behind in the palace with him, overseeing preparations for the feast. The other royals vanish into the forest: Daeron and Nico, Aemond and Aegon, Daemon and Baela and Rhaena, Jace and Luke, trailed by the rest of the cast of characters, Blacks and Greens alike. Joanna Montford was replaced by Agnes Stafford, who was replaced by Sibylla Beaufort, who was replaced by Cecily Chaucer. There is no shortage of young women whose fathers are rabid to push them into the bed of the man they call the heir to the throne. A servant brings you a cup of apple cider, and you sip it as snowflakes melt into the fur of your coat.

“It’s not personal,” Rhaenyra says. You whirl to see her and Syrax; they have appeared like ghosts, both pale and ethereal, both fearsome without being malevolent. “Prince Daemon’s taunts, I mean. Any of our antagonism. Distrust that swells into hated.” Her hair is long, loose, strands of ivory in the wind. Her eyes—clear water, cool and stoic—flick down to your belly and then back up to your face. She’s a lot like Aemond, you think, seeing the extent of their resemblance for the first time.

“It feels very personal.”

“I could have liked you in a different life,” Rhaenyra counters, like parrying swords. “You have just enough ruthlessness in you. A river, but not a sea. You thirst for freedom. You wear chains called obligation. But when my father named me heir, he painted a target on my back. Even if I renounced my claim, there would always be men willing to take up arms for me. I would always be a threat to Alicent and her children. Just by breathing, just by having blood hot in my veins. Either I will be queen…or I will forever be at the mercy of the Greens. Would you trust your life to the Duke of Hightower, if you were standing between Aegon and the throne?”

“No,” you admit. You can barely bring yourself to trust the Duke now…and you’re on his side.

“And so we are destined to be mortal enemies.” Rhaenyra shrugs; no great loss, she means. “I only wanted you to know that it would have been just the same if you had been sent to England from Portugal, or Sicily, or Castile, or Bohemia, or Genoa, or Naples, or France, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s not about who you are. It’s about what you’ve married into.”

And then she takes off on Syrax, joining her uncle-husband and her eldest sons in the forest, dissolving into a gnarl of branches like tangled threads. You retreat back inside Westminster Palace to do what you do best: watching, wondering, waiting for the future to decide to arrive.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the hunting party returns hours later, Prince Aegon is empty-handed. He’s also soaked to the skin. Water drips from his face, begins to freeze in his hair. He shivers and gripes as servants throw blankets over his shoulders and usher him away towards his bedchamber to be warmed in a bath cloudy with herbs and steam and rose petals. Cecily Chaucer hurries after them, her lovely brows knitted together with girlish concern. Of all Aegon’s mistresses, you like Cecily the best. She’s insatiable; she keeps him so busy that he rarely totters into your bed to paw at you before being reminded that you have been temporarily exempted from your marital duties.

“He fell into a stream,” Nico informs you, in equal parts disapproving and amused. “Aemond and Daeron fished him out like a trout.”

Your eyes scan the group: shaking snow from their hats and their coats, congratulating each other on obstacles jumped and animals killed, Prince Daemon accepting applause from his fellow Blacks for being the attendee to slaughter the requisite boar. A good omen for their side, surely. Servants carry the gigantic, bloodied carcass off to be prepared by the cooks. But one face is missing from the crowd. “Where’s Aemond?”

“Oh,” Nico recalls as she yanks off her gloves by the fingers. “He has something for you.”

“For me?”

“In the courtyard,” she says. Daeron approaches to collect her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, his large blue eyes bright and adoring. He’s gentler than his brothers, more content, less complicated. And he’s proud of being a Targaryen. He’s growing out his white-blond hair; it’s already longer than Aegon’s. “I think you’ll find it…” Nico grins mischievously. “Perfectly bearable.”

You trudge out to the courtyard through the mounting snow, cold wind tearing at your hair and clawing pieces of it out from under your hat. Aemond is the only other person there…and he’s elbow-deep in a colossal black-furred monster. There is a pile of entrails on the snow beside him glistening like rubies, garnets, rosalines, wine. Servants ferry away bowls full of offal: a lung here, a rope of intestines there.

“What is that?”

Aemond stands and waves at it cavalierly, drops of blood flinging from his leather gloves. “A bear.”

“What am I supposed to do with a bear?”

“It’ll make a fine rug for your bedchamber. You can place it by the fireplace and lie on it on cold nights. Read your books, do your embroidery.”

“It was bold of you to assume you’d be able to find me a Christmas present on Christmas day. Not much room for error.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present.”

“Then what’s the occasion?”

“Congratulations.” He glances at your belly, rounded out like ripening fruit with his brother’s child. A stain of blood like fever rushes into his cheeks. He blushes very rarely, and only ever around you. No one else seems to know that he’s capable of it. “For being over halfway there. It must bring you great relief.”

“Yes, I suppose the Duke of Hightower won’t get to ship me back to Navarre now. In a crate, like an animal that couldn’t be tamed.”

“What a waste that would be.”

You shrug, stepping closer, though mindful not to squash any bear organs beneath your shoes. “I wouldn’t mind being sent home if there was anything for me to go back to.”

Aemond stares at you, alarmed. “You haven’t grown attached to anything here? In nearly a year and a half?”

“Well…there are a few things,” you say, smiling at him. Aemond smiles back. His long silvery hair is secured in a single thick braid, his gaze curious. You try not to imagine what is under his eyepatch; that strikes you as something he wouldn’t want you to think about.

“Vhagar,” Aemond teases.

You laugh. “Yes, mostly Vhagar.” You look up at the grey sky, thick with clouds like steel. “But I miss my family. I miss the heat, the mountains, castles and cathedrals the color of golden sand. I miss riding horses and sparring with my brothers. I miss being understood, being loved. In Navarre I was alive. But in England…ever since I arrived here…it’s like I’m locked up waiting for someone to let me out. But the prison is my own flesh.”

Aemond studies you. “It’s not for much longer,” he says at last, soft and solemn. “And I would change it if I could.”

“In any case, I really can’t go back, I think. It wouldn’t be like it was before. My siblings are marrying and spreading out across Europe. My parents are getting older. And if my husband discarded me for being incapable of producing children, no one else would ever want me. I’d never have my own household. I’d be doomed to be a spinster, forever dependent upon the charity of my parents or my siblings. Either that or in a nunnery. Although, truthfully, Navarre has some beautiful nunneries.”

“You’d make a terrible nun.”

“Because I’m too vicious or too lustful?”

“Vicious, without a doubt. Lustful…I don’t feel qualified to speak on.”

“Depends on who’s in front of me, I suppose.”

You contemplate each other across the gutted bear carcass, snowflakes filling up the space between you instead of words. Again, Aemond’s cheeks flood red. When he wrings his hands together, you notice that they’re shaking. His hair is sopping; beads of melted snow pool along the edge of his jaw, slither down his throat. He could catch his death out here.

You go to him, pull off a glove, and press your bare palm against his forehead and then his cheek: the scarred one, the ruined one. “You’re burning up, Aemond,” you say, worried. “Are you alright—?”

“Fine.” He shies away from your touch. But then, without thinking, he moves to tuck an escaped lock of hair back underneath your hat. As his thumb grazes your face, you feel the warm stripe of bear blood that he inadvertently marks you with. “Goddamn, I’m so sorry—”

“No, that’s perfect.” You smile up at him. “You know I secretly favor red.”

“Princess?” Nico calls from the doorway, and you cross the courtyard to meet her. “You’re still out here? You’re missing a riveting game of Tric-Trac—” She cuts off, her eyes going wide as they skate across your cheeks. “Sweet Jesus, how’d you get blood all over your face?”

You glimpse back at Aemond as you answer. “Carelessness.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re weaving ribbons the color of evergreens into Nico’s hair when he comes into your bedchamber, carrying a long thin box made of pink ivory wood.

“Oh, marvelous!” Nico trills, clapping her hands. “What’s inside?”

“Poems, I hope,” you say.

“I hate to disappoint you,” Aemond replies placidly. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, the rest flowing freely. He’s wearing a dark, rich, jade-like color, just like Nico is, just like the Duke of Hightower and Alicent and Daeron will be. Someone has probably even stuffed Aegon into something green. You are the lone nonconformist in a deep purple like the skin of a plum. In truth, you can’t win. People will gossip no matter what you wear. Red makes them think of what Daemon calls you, of the wasted blood you’ve spilled. Green makes them speak of how you’ve yet to serve their faction properly. Black is out of the question. At least when they see you in purple, your name gets to live in the same sentence as the word royalty.

“Well?” Nico prompts eagerly. “Open it!”

You look at her, apologetic. So does Aemond.

“Oh,” she realizes, then sighs theatrically. “Alright. I understand. I’ll deport myself now. Ciao.”

Only when she’s closed the door behind her does Aemond open the box. The lining inside is crimson velvet. It cradles a sword. You gasp and lift the weapon out of the box by its hilt, then pull off the scabbard. It is lightweight, silvery, perfect. You can see your own reflection in the polished steel. There are shallow engravings down the length of the blade: mountain ranges, twisted oak trees, bridges and cathedrals, the flag of Navarre. You can only see them when you tilt the sword to catch the rage-orange glow from the fireplace.

“I had it custom made for you,” Aemond says, abruptly nervous. “So it wouldn’t be too heavy or too long. The hilt should fit your grasp precisely. I took one of your gloves for measurements.”

“A thief.” You marvel at the sword, twirling it a few times. The blade cuts through the air, soundless, seamless. “Aemond, this is…this is so far beyond what I deserve. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“It’s part pleasure, part necessity. You might actually need to protect yourself one day.”

“It’s a shame I’ll only be able to bully you with it under the surreptitious cover of darkness.”

“Just until Aegon is king. He wouldn’t care, I don’t think. He wouldn’t forbid you from training.” He gestures to the blade. “And the engravings are—”

“All things from home.” You beam at him. “From Navarre.”

“That’s what the common people call you, you know. The Princess from Navarre.”

You glide the sword back into its scabbard and return it to the box. “They must hate me. For failing to secure the succession.”

“I wouldn’t assume that.”

You take the pink ivory wood box from Aemond’s hands and place it in the chest at the foot of your bed, your preferred spot for squirreling away valuables. And then you lift out Aemond’s present: a vast tapestry that he helps you unfold to reveal the design of.

“It’s incredible!” he exclaims. “It must have taken you ages!”

“Well, all I’m allowed to do currently is needlework, so I’ve done a lot of needlework. I made one for Aegon too, although I’m not sure what his hobbies are besides drinking and fucking Cecily Chaucer. So his tapestry is mostly landscapes.” You point to various scenes on Aemond’s. “There’s King Arthur and Guinevere…and Sir Lancelot, arriving to ruin them. There’s Beowulf battling Grendel’s mother. There’s Robin Hood…there’s the Rollright Stones and Stonehenge…and in the middle is Saint George slaying a dragon. I made the dragon black, with little white whiskers if you look very closely. And I’ve named him Daemon.”

“They’re from the stories I told you,” Aemond says quietly, examining the tapestry. “On that afternoon back in July. When we took Vhagar out together for the first time.”

“It must have been memorable.” You smile. “And then the border is ivy and roses, mostly green, of course…except for one little red rose I added down here in the bottom corner. And that’s—”

“That’s you,” Aemond says. “Red like Navarre.”

“Yes.” Your voice is suddenly wistful, a little sad. “You’ve made me like the sound of that word again.”

“What? Navarre?”

You nod. “Hushed, gentle…” Reverent? Awed? Protected? Cherished? “Like a prayer. Like a poem.”

You help Aemond refold the tapestry, avoiding his eye. The only sounds are the crackling of the fireplace and the muffled echo of violins and lutes through the palace halls. Outside the window hovers a blood moon, a ruby in onyx, a drop of fury in an ocean of void. He takes his Christmas gift back to his own bedchamber, and then he returns to escort you to the feast.

“Oh, darling,” Alicent says when you sit down beside her at the high table. There are sprigs of holly in her hair, but her dark eyes are glazed and melancholy. They often are. Sir Criston Cole—a knight whose family are vassals of the Duke of Hightower—is her shadow, peering watchfully around the Great Hall. “Be sure to eat plenty of boar…and bread…very good for the baby. But no fish! And not too many vegetables. Here, let me get you some of your apple cider…” Alicent waves to a servant, and they promptly fetch you a full cup.

King Viserys gives you a distracted nod but no other acknowledgement. He is deep in conversation with Jace; Luke is gawping, mildly disturbed, at the severed boar’s head that adorns the table, cherries shoved into the sockets where its eyes were this morning. Rhaena offers you a kind, demure smile. Baela glares at you as she sips her wine. She’s the most war-worthy of any of the Black children; you imagine that Daemon will have a sword and armor waiting for her when the bloodbath begins. Surely she’d inflict more damage than either of Rhaenyra’s docile, dark-haired sons, like skittish lapdogs always looking around for someone to tell them where it’s alright to sit. Baela’s Arabian, Moondancer, is small but remarkably swift and agile. She’s the best jumper of any of the royal horses.

Far from the table, in the midst of dancing nobles, Daemon and Rhaenyra are enmeshed in whispers and caresses: he tilts up her chin, she grasps the small of his back. You feel a yearning, a hollowness beneath where your ribs circle your heart and lungs like a halo. Without thinking, you glance to Aemond. He’s been looking at you too; he pretends he wasn’t and begins sawing through a slab of boar meat with a serrated knife. Daeron is asking him about sparring techniques. The Duke of Hightower is parading Aegon around the hall to pay his respects to the nobility of Southern England, men who will kill and be killed for him one day before too long. Aegon is bleary-eyed and bungling, tripping over his own feet; the Duke is practically dragging him around from his scruff like a kitten.

“Sweetheart, will you dance with me?” Queen Alicent asks Nico, who immediately leaps up from her chair.

“Of course, Your Majesty! It would be my pleasure. It’s a shame that the king cannot join us. It must be difficult having a husband so much older than you are. Nearly your father’s age!”

Everyone at the table stops what they’re doing and gapes at her.

“Oh,” Nico begins haltingly, mortified. “Oh dear. I should not have said that. I cannot express the depths of my remorse.”

King Viserys booms out a laugh, and then Nico is smiling again. “Go on,” he tells her. “Enjoy the festivities. Keep the queen entertained when I cannot.”

As Nico and Queen Alicent descend to join the dance, you remain where you are, where you always are: on the outskirts, inside the glass bowl. But not for much longer, you think gratefully, running your palm over the swell of your belly. You eat as much as you can, but you don’t have much of an appetite. Your hips and ankles ache, your body forever adjusting to a never-before-known burden; there is torsion like a sailor’s knot in your lower spine. When the discomfort refuses to abate, you excuse yourself from the table and make slow, meandering laps around the fringes of the Great Hall, draining cup after cup of apple cider as servants bring them to you. The Duke of Hightower casts you a stern warning of a frown before he resumes wrangling Aegon. Aemond, still at the high table talking to Daeron, follows you with one intent blue eye.

“You can’t honestly believe he’d make a good king,” Daemon says, materializing out of the crowd like a bat at twilight. Enormous Scottish deerhounds—Christmas gifts from King Corlys and Queen Rhaenys beyond England’s northern border—trail after him, growling at you. Daemon flicks his strange, deep-set eyes towards Aegon. “He’s a drunk. He’s an embarrassment. He has no athletic prowess whatsoever. I’m sure you can confirm that from firsthand experience.”

“I can confirm that he hasn’t murdered his first wife yet, surely an attribute by anyone’s calculation.” You watch the Duke tow Aegon from one exchange to another, and for the first time, you wonder what sort of man Aegon would have been without the weight of the throne on his back.

“But of course, it wouldn’t actually be Aegon ruling if the Greens won. It would be Otto…and Alicent…and Aemond.”

Daemon puts great emphasis on this last name. You turn to him, startled.

“Oh, forgive me, have I said something that gets under your skin? Or…rather…into it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Daemon grins, baring his teeth like fangs. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “Tell me, would you happen to know who Otto is planning on marrying him to? I’ve heard rumblings.”

“Someone with parents who have ample soldiers and equipment with which to mutilate you, surely.”

“Helene of Austria.”

“Helene?” The breath evaporates from your lungs, vanishes like brief winter daylight. “The daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor?” It’s an immensely powerful match. It’s a match so ambitious it has rarely even been suggested. You summon triumph to your voice, an arrogant glint to your eyes. “This is very bad news for you.”

“And for you too, I think.”

He knows, you think, terror-stricken, aware you aren’t doing enough to hide it. That I desire my husband’s brother. That I want Aemond. That maybe I even love him. You try to fling some flippant retort at Daemon; you cannot find one, it’s like scratching your fingertips along the bottom of an empty box. Victorious, he swigs his wine and begins to saunter away, panting Scottish deerhounds on his heels. And then you call after him: “It didn’t get you far, did it?”

Daemon halts mid-step and slowly—very slowly—turns back to you. “What?”

“All that Targaryen blood. All that bone-white hair and ferocity, charisma and swordsmanship. King Viserys still chose to reject you as his heir. He still doesn’t trust you to advise him. He still denied you his daughter’s hand in marriage, and you were spineless enough to let him. You left her alone to suffer first. With a husband who couldn’t satisfy her, with a lover who could only give her bastards. And now you expect the world to forget who you’ve always been: reckless, savage, deeply selfish. All those things you stalk around here so proud of are worthless, because you’ll never have what you really want. You’ll never have the throne. And neither will Rhaenyra. You are the same as I am, Daemon. I am an asset and yet a curse to Aegon; you helped win the North for Rhaenyra, but the South will never yield to you. They will fight you with everything they have, every man and horse and blade. But there is one difference between us. When I bear Aegon a son, my curse will be lifted. You will never stop endangering Rhaenyra, her cause, her inheritance, her children, her life. And if she burns, it will be at least half because of you.”

You’ve never seen him truly angry before, you realize now; you’ve never seen him without the undeniable upper hand. His grip rests on the hilt of his sword. “I should—”

“Go on,” you dare him in a fierce whisper, your fingers closing around his wrist. “Slay Aegon’s wife and child in front of all the court. It’s the kindest thing you could do for the Greens. Make yourself more enemies, win us more friends. Everyone suspects that you are a beast already. Prove them right.”

Daemon rips his hand out of yours. “Happy Christmas, Navarre,” he hisses. “If fate is just, it will be your last.” And then he storms away from you, Rhaenyra meeting him at the other end of the hall and speaking with him there—conspiring? inquiring? scolding?—in urgent whispers.

Nico pushes through the throngs of dancing nobles to reach you. “Are you alright?” she asks, a palm laid on your shoulder.

“Fine.” Helene, you think, rubbing the aching curve of your back with one hand, sipping apple cider with the other. They’re both trembling. Beautiful, wealthy, coveted Helene.

“Are you sure? You don’t look good. What did that bleached weasel have to say…?”

But you can’t hear her, because the pain in your spine is now reaching like poison through veins to spread across your belly, to tighten, to clamp down, to gnash with steel teeth like needles, like knives. Your cup tumbles out of your gasp, spilling apple cider across the floor. You yelp in pure shock at how unexpectedly the pain comes. And then you begin to understand what it means. “No,” you plead in a whisper. You stagger backwards until you hit the wall. “No, no, no…”

“What?” Nico asks frantically. People are beginning to notice; heads spin in your direction. Tears are springing from your eyes. Blood is snaking down your legs, slick and hot on the velveteen inside of your thighs. Soon they’ll all be able to see it: your agony, your ruin. The Greens, the Blacks. The Duke of Hightower, Prince Daemon.

Nico doesn’t understand. You don’t know how to tell her. I’ve killed another child. I’ve failed again. You can feel Aegon crawling back into your bed. You can see letters from your mother—so proud at last, so full of praise—shredding themselves into dust. And then it flashes like cannon fire in your mind, not just the loss of an heir but the loss of a life: a name that will never be given, a voice that will never be heard, steps that will never leave imprints in sand or soil or snow.

I have to get out of here. How am I going to—?

An arm circles around your waist, strong, shielding, taking as much of your weight as it can. “Walk with me,” Aemond says. And then he half-carries you through the nearest door and down a passageway, Nico struggling to keep up, chatter exploding at the feast you left behind.

As soon as you cross the threshold into your bedchamber, as soon as you are out of sight of ill-intentioned observers, you collapse to the floor. Your palms and knees bruise against wood; a wail tears from your throat. “Not again,” you sob. “Aemond, I can’t do this again, I can’t—”

Nico says: “Are you sure it’s a…?”

Aemond is kneeling on the floor beside you. He’s helping you pull back the hem of your gown. You see it on his face before you see it on your own skin: there’s blood, a lot of blood, too much for it to be anything but lethal to the child. It’s all over his hands and his clothes; it’s all over the floorboards.

“Oh God,” Nico moans, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh…oh my God…”

“Get the physicians,” Aemond tells her. “Speak to no one else. Go now. Go!”

Nico rushes out of the room. You can’t stop sobbing. The pain is excruciating, not waves but one continuous, saw-toothed twisting, a feeling like being gutted, like you’re a slaughtered bear and someone has their fingers raking around inside your womb.

Aemond is trying to pull you to your feet. “Come on, I’ll help you get into bed—”

“Aemond, I can’t.”

“Yes you can—”

“I can’t!” you cry out, weeping helplessly. Then he stops trying to lift you and instead sinks down to join you on the floor. You clutch wildly at him—at his forearms and his shoulders and his long silvery hair—and he doesn’t flinch away. He draws you into him, his hands staining you with blood everywhere they land. You don’t care; you don’t want him to stop. You bury yourself in the warmth of his chest, his arms around you like the border of the moon, like a ring.

“Shh,” he soothes through your hair. “Shh, shh. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t leave me. Please stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Aemond says, his voice hoarse. “Of course I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Scenes like fragments of a dream, things that later you aren’t sure were real:

The physicians and midwives delivering your dead child, Aemond tilting a cup of strong wine against your lips. Your ladies washing blood off you with dripping rags as Aemond stands with the physicians in the doorway. They think you’re asleep, but you’re not; you’re not awake either. You’re halfway here and halfway not. Parts of the room are foggy, others are as clear as glass, as still water. A physician is telling Aemond that the child was a boy, perfect in every way except the one that matters most. He doesn’t breathe and never will. Too early, too small, beautiful and doomed.

“Don’t tell her that,” Aemond is saying. “Don’t tell her anything unless she asks.”

Now it’s later—two minutes, two hours, it doesn’t matter—and he’s dragging someone into your bedchamber. They’re fighting him, they’re trying to cling to the doorframe so he can’t force them inside.

“Get in there,” Aemond growls.

Aegon replies: “I don’t know what to say to her, what the hell do I say—?”

Your husband is at your bedside, undoubtedly miserable but not in a way that makes you feel like he sees you. There is the scent of wine and sweat drenched with perfume, lemon and lavender. “I’m sorry,” you murmur like a faint wind.

“It was not your fault, wife.” Aegon’s eyes are bloodshot, his shoulders hanging low and limp. “It is a great tragedy, but it was not your fault.” And then he glances at Aemond to make sure he’s done the right thing.

Now your husband is gone, and Aemond is holding a cool cloth to your forehead. He speaks in little more than a whisper. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Just send me back to Navarre,” you say weakly. “I can’t do this. Talk to the Duke. He’ll get the marriage annulled. I know he will. He can find another wife for Aegon, another alliance. He’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I’m ruined. I’m worthless. Just send me home.”

“You are home,” Aemond insists.

You watch the firelight as it flickers over him, smooth skin, brutal scar. “What happens next?”

“You’ll try again.”

“There’s no point, Aemond.”

“Look at me,” he commands, cradling your face with his hands. “You’ll try again. And again, if you have to. But you will have children. I know you will.”

His voice is breaking. His eye is glistening, tortured. This is how the father should be. This is how Aegon should be. “Aemond, why are you so hurt by this?”

“Because you are suffering,” he says. “And because they’re pieces of you.”

You lose sight of him, float for a while, return again thinking of Aegon and the Duke of Hightower and Daemon and Rhaenyra. “No one here really knows me. No one loves me.”

Aemond is standing beside your bed. “Nico loves you.”

You gaze listlessly up at him and say nothing.

“Aegon loves you, I believe,” Aemond continues, but he won’t meet your eyes. “In his own way.”

Still, you look at him. Still, Aemond doesn’t look back.

Say it, you think, desperate, aching, tears biting in your eyes. Say that you love me too. Even if it’s just as a sister, an ally, a friend. Please, Aemond, just fucking say it.

He doesn’t say it. Maybe he leaves, maybe you are submerged in unconsciousness, maybe both. The memory dissolves around the edges until it is a pool of star-flecked obsidian like the night sky.

But this next part you know with certainty was real, because it is something you can touch, like a millennium-old relic from Egypt or Athens or Babylon. You wake in the morning to find three items on your nightstand: a cup of apple cider, a cup of strong bitter wine for the pain, and a single piece of parchment folded and tied with a red ribbon. You blink confoundedly at it for a while as muted winter sunlight seeps in through the windows, not being able to make sense of it. And then you open the parchment. Aemond has written at the top of the page in his hectic, uneven letters: Ivy. You read his words and all the anguish that went into them—smudges from his own fingerprints, wayward drips of black ink—like falling down the rungs of a ladder.

Scream into me, I’ll be the jar for your fury; I’m starving

for anything that tastes like you. I’ve been counting the lines

on your knuckles, the boards of the floor, wondering if you’ve

figured out that I’d wear fractures and bruises like amethysts

if it means you’d touch me. For seventeen months you’ve been

the ivy on my walls, vines like the needle-width legs of a spider

carving out my past, every last notch and shadow—splitting ribs,

scraping marrow—until there’s no part of me left that can remember

a time other than this, your voice and your wit and the scraps of you

I’ve stitched into me. Ask me what I burn for and I’ll whisper like

the dawn: you growing over my skin until I’m covered, tendrils

twisting down to the bone, everything I was before