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comfortless · 4 months

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Pygmalion!König and Galatea!Reader………. 😖 What do you think?

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, light angst. self harm, implied animal death (not done by König or reader), fluff, König is horrible and by that i mean yes— he fucks the statue, outercourse, unprotected piv, implied mutual loss of virginity.

notes: lovely Salome did something similar to this already! 💖 however. yes. i am thinking about it and well…. take this out of my hands.

König has never had anything that could properly be called his own.

He walks the city entirely alone, no wife at his side to paw at his chest and bless him with adoring glances. His only steadfast companions are the grit slipping into his sandals as he walks, head held high even as the shadow of a boy begging on his knees for any semblance of love eternally tethers itself to him.

A glance lingering too long at the appeal of a soft face, the brush of his calloused fingertips against a pornai’s bare stomach before deciding that no, he didn’t want something so simple.

He merely slips a few apologetic drachma into her waiting palm and sets her free of him.

A warm body would never be enough, it was the heart that he starved for. To bed some poor creature that would never properly love him would be worse than the greatest of tortures in his mind.

It wasn’t a simple affair to find a lady to marry, either. Foreign soldier that he was, he had no right to some politician’s pretty daughter, court her properly and sweep her away to a bed that’s only ever been a harbor for lonely, twisted bitterness and blood.

Most turned away the moment he passed by: frightened glances that rightfully accused him of immense violence, shushed whispers of “barbarian” passed from soft lips before the sand beneath their fretful feet shifted and their shapes had disappeared from view entirely.

The ceaseless loneliness carves a burning ache somewhere within the expanse of his chest, something he knew he would never truly be free of, not until it rotted it’s way out of him in full.

It only seemed to quiet in moments he shed blood for this foreign country; burying his sword in some poor man’s gut was the closest he could get to sheathing a part of himself inside another, to touching a heart, seeing lips part in a gasp as their world becomes entirely consumed by him.

Just as the many days prior to this one, he grips the hilt of his blade, letting the metal dig into his palm, his knuckles bone white, as he makes his way back to the empty shack deemed a home.

Streets quiet and crowds disperse with each of his silent footfalls— not one of these smaller men or fearful women dares to look him in the eye. The only thing that does, the only eyes that ever lock to his, are those peering out from the harbor.

The figurehead guarding her expertly crafted ship has always called to him.

Her beauty was remarkable, from the curl of her hair to the patient look in her eyes. Her hands clasped before her breasts in silent prayer as she looms over the darkened depths of the sea beyond the soil, calling him to board, to venture away from this place that his left him in such an acute state of misery.

He swears he hears it then, a mere whisper on the wind, urging him in featherlight comfort to lie down his sword and take up the chisel and hammer.

It’s only when he pauses to look the gentle face of the figurehead over once more that he finds himself resolute in what he must do.

— — —

When he took to crafting her it was born of this desperation; hazy moonbeams cutting through the shade of his shack for hours before he would reluctantly pull away from a beautifully carved hand or the soft but stiff curve of a neck to retire to the straw-stuffed mattress at the corner of the room.

She was beautiful, a representation of all of the sweet, effeminate softness he would marvel at from afar. The swell of plush breasts, curved hips and silken thighs, eternally parted by her stance, the sweet face that could make any man feel entirely weak…

His hands tremble when they rest upon her form, unsure of just how such splendor could have come from his own coarse palms.

Weeks of scarce sleep only seemed to further his devoted madness. Though the warring dulled the ache and sated his blade, the longing seemed to only grow far more prevalent.

He yearned when they were apart, dreamt of coming home to her less lifeless and only demure smiles and hurried kisses the moment he would return to her. He would always come back.

Upon her completion, he took to courting her proper. Though she could not in any way reciprocate or reject his advances, he believed wholeheartedly that the cushiony love that had blossomed within his aching, neglected heart must be mutual.

Gifts were strewn at her cold feet, some gilded and shimmery, some soft with an abundance of colorful petals: offerings for a silent goddess that kept a part of his soul hidden away deep inside the pristine marble that she was carved from.

When he wraps her neck in a necklace with a sparkling beryl amulet attached, his hand does drift to the swell of her breast beneath the woolen chiton.

It’s hard and cold, but his groping becomes as incessant as the kisses he presses to her jaw, to her cold lips, tongue leaving a warm path down to her neck before he finds himself committed to having her.

He’s careful when he disrobes her, slowly revealing the mounds and curves and softness of her imitation of human flesh.

Dropping to his knees, his tongue laps at the ivory depiction of smooth lower lips, spearing between each silken ridge until he imagines her eyes squeezing shut as she cries out for him, rolling her perfectly sculpted hips to coat his tongue in waves of vulgar honey.

He moans into her cunt, drools and sucks at the mimicry for as long as it takes to find her thighs drenched in his saliva and his cock aching horribly between his thighs.

He rises to slot himself between her legs, pushing forward with a keening whine that dissipates into a relieved gasp. The feel of her pressed against him; the smooth ridges of her makeshift flesh running over his stiff, leaking cock is akin to finding divinity.

His hands rove over her breasts, thumbs pressed against her eternally pebbled nipples as he kisses her, each sloppy and filled with years of need.

It is pure bliss, almost as though he is burying himself to his hilt inside of her pulsing cunt.

He would fuck her better than any man— not a single other could match the strength of his affections nor his hapless willingness to please.

If he could have carved a proper hole between her legs, not a drop of his seed would be wasted on thin sheets or spilled into his palm, she would be filled, womb brimming until some loving god or goddess blessed her with child.

His pace quickens to the point of frantic, feverish hands drifting to her hips as he mouths at her breasts instead, hissing out praises for how good she feels against him, how his heart bleeds to feel her nearer.

There is so much heat between her thighs now he could swear it burns like the cold mist of the Underworld itself; the fuzzy heat pools from his navel and further as his muscles begin to tense and leave his thoughts a haze and his lips parted in a silent, worshipping cry.

It’s only when he envisions her tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, back arching as she drags her nails over his shoulders and whines through her own damnation that his cock throbs in repetition as his eyes roll back. His heavy sack arrives at her mound as his seed spills from him, cascading down to paint the thighs of his silent lover, smeared pearly and glistening over her labia as he rubs his cockhead against her with an agonized groan.

His forehead finds her shoulder, warm breath replacing the coldness of her skin as he wraps his arms around her perpetually beckoning form, lovingly trailing kisses from her clavicle to her ear where he whispers a breathless, “I love you.”

It’s only after he’s finished wiping away the evidence of depravity from her that he feels the first wave of shame, sharp and feathering from his chest that leaves his jaw set and throat tight.

What lowly man envies the warmth others experience with far less gratitude? König has never seen himself as pathetic, no matter how commonly he’s been sent off and kicked like a stray.

She’s the only thing that’s brought him any sort solace in a world that’s left him starved, but also a cruel mirror casting a reflection of his own nature.

Pulling the thin blanket from his mattress, the statue is soon swallowed up in her entirety, all guilt and pity-drawing attestation neatly hidden away behind rippling sable fabric; her form silent and waiting as it would remain eternally.

None of this is enough.

———

König has never found himself fond of prayer, never felt the need to partake in the festivals and ceremonies. His luck in battle was only a mere measure of skill, of a body so brutal and immense that most trembled before him, not born of any benevolent gift. There was no need to kneel, to bestow offerings upon the altars. If the people turned away from him, then surely any god or goddess would be even more inclined to do so.

Only… his mindless wandering has led him here, to Aphrodite’s altar whilst the festival of Aphrodisia plays on everywhere around him. The people invoke and dance, abundant offerings brought forth as the scent of timber burning and bold floral incense floods his senses. Blood and flowers already riddle the stone, a stark vibrancy of color that lures him closer, commands him to kneel.

He doesn’t have a thing to offer to the goddess, not so much as a petal, but if the pull were not just the first signs of a withering mind…

The glimpse of hope he’s offered is not taken for granted.

Thick fingers curl over his sharpened blade, dragging his palm against the steel until it stings almost sweetly. If she could accept the blood of a goat then surely, his could be no more polluted. Beads of crimson revel and dance along his forearm before dropping down onto the stone.

And he does pray.

It is not a vulnerable prayer, one that bares him in full, but only a wish— a longing for warmth, to have her share his breath, to admonish his shame and live free with the one thing that has never given him anything but safe harbor.

He unveils her when he returns, knowing that this is the closest he will ever come to love.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes against her cheek, leaves a kiss there before dragging himself away to disrobe and pull himself back into bed.

When the weariness takes him, his sleep in dreamless and calm. If any blessing were bestowed upon him at all, the surely that would have been more than enough. A night without turning, without visions of a darkened grave devoid of anything to haunt him.

He only begins to stir when the mattress dips at his side, a soft palm pressed to his chest, stroking along the loose curls of auburn there.

“König..,” a voice calls out, more gentle than any he’s ever heard.

He wakes to find her, leaning over him with the sweetest glimmer in her eyes, wide and fascinated. Her touches only trail further up to his face as he tries to silence the rapid beating of his heart, the stinging born of adoration in his own pale blue eyes.

“I missed you,” she whispers, moving to curl at his side, her hands cradling either side of his jaw.

König is utterly stifled and so terribly smitten, the most he can manage is a quiet huff of breath as he rolls onto his side to take this sweet, unreal woman into his arms. Dreaming or waking, it mattered not, if he were given only the night or a lifetime with this beautiful little creature it’s still more than he has ever had.

His head dips to press a chaste kiss to her soft lips, only finding a warmth there that had never been the many times he had kissed her prior. His palm runs along her side, feeling ever perfect dip and curve, all heated and so very alive.

She only falls apart beneath his touch, already quivering and softly gasping even from such a gentle kiss. The thought that this little dove has been longing for him just as much makes his heart bleed. He whispers his apologies against her temple, for his frustrations, for his doubt in their love, for all of the temptations and hatred that plagued his mind before she came to be.

She only answers with eager touches, grasping at him as she murmurs her own perceived shortcomings. If only she knew that she could never do wrong, that she was what’s saved him and that nothing could shatter that.

When her tongue slips past his lips and his breath grows heavy, there’s little else he can concentrate on than the throbbing pillar between his legs, the scent of her around him, under him when he guides her onto her back.

Thanking the goddess could wait, he’s far too focused on the one that’s willingly climbed into his bed.

One hand splays at her side forcing him upright as the other trails over her breasts, a satisfied groan leaves him as he feels her softness, fighting back to urge to squeeze and pinch until she cries in pleasure, howling out like those at the altar he had encountered only earlier.

A nipple is snared between his thumb and index, twisted gently beneath each pad, her back arches…The wetness of the dew slicked flower between her legs brushes against him and he whines like a starved dog finally presented with the aroma of a meal.

His hand falls from her breast to her hip, encouraging her to buck the source of her own need against him— take anything she needed. If she were to pull a blade and carve a hole in his own chest he would only let her, the taste of this heated bliss and the look that she gives him, enchanted and curious, is more than he has ever deserved.

Only does he pause when he parts her thighs, and her stare becomes more curious, searching him for any reason as to why he would even stop.

“We have done this before. Are you afraid now?”

No, he wants to tell her, that before was not the full extent of it. Instead he only laughs, peeling away just enough to fit his head between her legs, mouth only a small measure from her weeping cunt.

“I want to taste you.”

With a whispered plea from her lips, he raises her hips, mouthing and suckling at her until she shivers and sings against the cushions. He groans against her when she does come, her hips stuttering in his grasp as she drives further against him.

He hisses in his mother tongue when he pushes the backs of her thighs up, grinds his leaking tip against her until he swears he really will fall into madness if he doesn’t fuck into her immediately.

The ache in his chest that his been so prevalent for so long is finally smothered out the very moment she tugs him down by his shoulders and pulls him into a frenzied kiss. She encourages him in each lapse, murmurs how long that she’s waited, how starved she’s been for him while hidden away.

He nearly sobs when his tip snags against her entrance, so divinely wet, pulsing and begging just as he is. When he penetrates her, the breath is punched from his lungs, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of her within reach as she wraps around his shaft as though her cunt was made for him.

His little dove only covers him in kisses in turn as he mumbles obscenities into her flesh, revelling in her tightness, in the way her body fits so perfectly against his, mutually carved by the gods to fulfill one another. His professions of love come in abundance as she fits her legs over his narrow hips, crying out from his sudden depth as his cock jumps against a spot that leaves her writhing.

Though it’s almost painful to keep himself restrained, he tries his best not to rut into her like a mindless animal, even when he feels her constrict around him as another orgasm leaves her cunt drooling and pulsing. He doesn’t give her time to recover, however… forced to lie in wait for so long, it’s nearly taken out on her as he spears into her as she moans and babbles her praises against his chest.

He’s lost to the empyrean as his muscles finally pull taut, crying as he buries his head into her shoulder and pumps his come into her, shaking as he wraps her up in his arms and clutches her close as he melts against her.

Spent and sated, König holds her tightly against him as they pant and share sweet words, secrets and giggles from her that make every moment of dolor before this night seem insignificant.

She slots her fingers between his own, compliments his damaged face and the worships his body with brushes of her lips and tongue just as he does her. He does not leave her empty, warms her heart with words he’s kept trapped in his throat for months, guides her gently as she perches over him to descend back onto his cock, his thumb stroking her stomach as he tells her over and again just how much he loves her, compared his feelings to that of Orpheus, how he would suffer anything all for her.

A pleading “Stay” is uttered as she falls limp against him, stroking along her back as they come down for the second time that night.

The last thing that leaves her lips before sleep takes her is the most saccharine she’s said that night, a simple, “I love you.”

It’s the only thing that he’s ever truly longed for.

———

They marry after the voyage back to his homeland, his head clouded during the entire trip of seeing her swell with his child in time, a home built with her in mind for the two of them, of lying flowers at her feet just as he had before.

His blade lies neglected in the little glade they had chosen, taking up only a hammer and his own hands as he works tirelessly to provide for his wife, the dove that looks at him as though he were not a dog but a king.

When their home is built after many weeks of tedious work during day and bedding her beneath the stars each night, König only then thinks to pray his thanks to the foreign goddess who gifted his salvation to him with little more than a scrape from his palm. All the while his true goddess leans over him to tickle his cheek with flowers he had plucked for her only moments prior, covering him in a fragrance so sweet it only seemed befitting of herself.

She giggles and sighs when he pulls her down into the grass to roll over her, blanket her in kisses and gentle bites to her throat.

The beryl amulet around her neck catches the glimmer of the sun above as she sifts her fingers through his hair and tells him that the gods already knew he was grateful, that his worship of her was already telling enough.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #cod fanfiction

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

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Winter's King 16

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I didn't sleep very well but I'm here.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you move North, the sunlight fades sooner and rises later, the nights cooling with each mile. Nearly a fortnight on the road, and you return to the service of the queen. Bryce escorts you between the carts, gesturing in passing to his comrades, other times letting past another body on their own mission. You reach the front of the train where men with swords pace and keep watch over the surrounding lands.

“Evenin’,” Bryce greets the guards outside the queen’s tent and they grumble back. The weariness of travel has overcome many of the travelers.

You dip your head down and approach the tent flap. Before the card can pull it back for your entrance, it sweeps open from the other side. You step back as another figure falters before you. The king keeps hold of the silk and his eyes skim over you. He tilts his head and moves to hold the fabric open, beckoning you through with his large hand.

“Your highness,” you murmur.

His jaw squares but he says nothing. As you enter, the fabric falls heavily behind you. The king’s expression lingers in your mind, his silence even more. The tick in his cheek was hard to miss and you can hear his heavy footfalls as he stalks off.

Within, the queen sits on a bench, playing with the tassel of her belt. Her father, Lord Dustan, stands to the side, arms crossed as he makes small steps back and forth. He tuts and chews his thumb.

“Your husband does not behave as son-in-law,” the duke gripes lowly, “he would have let Debray fall to those vandals. He cares only for his frost lands.”

“Father, he is only eager to be home. As much as I dread the cold, I cannot help but feel as such. I tire of this endless road,” Queen Jazlene yawns into a cupped hand.

“Ah, but you must be a loyal wife. What of mine? What of your mother? She was alone in the castle.”

“And you rode out to save her, didn’t you?” Jazlene prompts.

“I am a lord of the summer lands, I am past my warring days,” Dustan snarls, “he would risk my flesh on an uprising he could crush with his left hand. He tests me!” The duke circles around as he jabs his finger in the air, “I deserve more dignity, more respect. I delivered him his kingdom.”

“Yes, father, he is a frigid man,” Jazlene bemoans, “as icy a husband. He does neglect us both.”

“Neglect?” Dustan faces his daughter, “does he not see to his contract?”

She frowns and bats her doey eyes as she looks away, “it isn’t that he doesn’t fulfill his duty, it is only... how might I get an heir if I lie with my husband only once in a moon?”

“Does he mean to deceive us? A son will bind us. A son is what we need. Does he think the summer lands will follow a king who does not sow his seed?”

“I do not know, father. I... I have tried all I can think of.”

“Mm,” the duke hums darkly, “that won’t do at all. Not at all. When I married your mother, she was swollen with you almost as soon as the vows were said. No, no, it won’t do. I will have word with the king, make certain he does not treat my daughter, his queen, so coolly.”

Dustan stop and twiddles his fingers. You try to imagine him confronting King Geralt. Surely it is bluster for the sake of his daughter.

“...we are ruined without an heir...” he mutters.

Jazlene sits forward on the bench, “ruined, father? I am queen--”

“Yes, yes, you are queen, but a queen has her duty too,” Dustan insists, “and it cannot be done with a negligent king. Leave it to me, daughter. The next I see the king, I shall handle our business. As I have ever done. Do you believe in me? For I did deliver you a fine marriage, didn’t I?”

“Yes, father.”

The duke goes to his daughter and rubs her shoulder. He leans in and you shrink against the tent wall, making yourself small.

“Should it prove poor judgment,” his whisper scratches from his lips, “I will figure a way out.”

He kisses her hair and turns to march out. He takes not notice of you though that is expected. Jazlene sighs as the flap falls and she leans back on her hands, swaying her leg.

“Ah, the maid,” she cheeps, “you will fetch hot water for my feet. They ache.”

“Yes, your highness.”

She grins, a catlike expression and sits up straight, “yes, that is right. I am a queen and soon, the king will be certain to treat me as such.”

You flit off to your duty. As you emerge, your chest stirs with unease. Something about their conversation has you unnerved. Though they said nothing outright, it feels as if there is more laced between the words. The queen and her father hardly sound as allies to the king.

You try to wipe the apprehension from your mind. You are but a maid and not so well-versed on noble matters. It isn’t your place to unpiece their declarations or untangle their riddles. You are to get the water to sooth the daughter of Debray’s feet, it may yet save you a box to the ears.

⚔️

You shiver as the cart bounces over the hard ground. You count a month or so since your departure from the capital though the days blend in a fog. The gradual creep of the chill has advanced upon the part, slowing the wheels, and sending the riders to pause and cover their horses. You keep the fur cloak over your lap as you lean into the corner of the cart though Bryce seems enlivened by the atmosphere.

The dim sky harkens the crossing of the intangible barrier between the summer and winter lands. Sprawling plains and rounded feels give way to rocky passes and jutting mountains, interspersed with lumpy tundras speckled with patches of mud. Several times, your soldierly escort has had to help yank free the wheels from some rut or another.

“Are we there?” You ask through as chatter, blowing into your hands. “The Hinterlands?”

“Mm, by my guess, we are at the Fox’s Tail. You see, it is the little strip of land where no man lives, summer or winter,” he explains, reaching to scratch his beard. You envy the warmth it must give to his cheeks. “Isn’t so cold yet, mouse, better brace yerself.”

You nod and look ahead at the grey, brown expanse. There are dustings of frost but not snow, only on the distant caps of rugged mountains that shadow the horizon. You hug yourself as Daisy’s breath plumes in misty clouds around her head.

“Why does no one live here?” You ask.

“There are no trees, no grass to feed the livestock or game,” he shrugs, “it is barren...” he sucks his teeth and thinks, “there was a war. Hundreds of years ago, maybe more. The summer folk spilled upon the winter lands, some squabble over a slain lord... they put salt to the earth. They did not only want vengeance on the living, they wanted their descendants to suffer for their misdeeds. Starve out an entire people.”

He snorts and shakes his head, “what the summer people didn’t understand is that the winter skinned do not stay still. They move with the winds. You’ll see, mouse. You haven’t done the last of yer scurrying.”

You huddle down as another cold breath sweeps through the air. You’re not used to it but you will be. That’s how it always is. You just have to take what you get and make it work. You can’t complain for what you have; a warm cloak, a cart, and a kind companion.

⚔️

Your teeth chatter as you hold closed the front of the fur cloak, the hood over your head as you walk the frozen earth. More often than not, you’ve left the prized cape in your cart for your return. It is too heavy to wear while serving the queen but the weather permits you no mercy. It is far too bitter to forgo the extra layer.

Bryce is unbothered in his mail and the simple fur trim the collar of his wool cloak. He only seems to thrive in the dipping temperatures, stoking a fire for your nocturnal return so that you may sleep in its warmth. His constancy keeps you from mourning the lost summer sunshine.

He stands behind you as you cross to the queen’s tent, now raised with several layers to insulate the walls. You enter as you do every night, unnoticed as Queen Jazlene mindlessly stares into the pages of a book. She’s grown quiet these last weeks as the travel wears on her, even her wardrobe showing the effects.

You feel a gust from beneath the tent wall and step away from it. You watch the queen, huddled beneath a blanket on a stool, shaking as she tries to warm her hands in each other. She wears several satin cloaks layered over each other but the fabric is too sleek to garner much heat.

She puffs into her palms and groan.

“Damn this cold,” she mutters, then sits up, “maid, tea!” She demands, “Something warm! Anything!”

You utter a small “your highness” and spin away to your task. You step out into the cold and go off to find a fire and a pot. The queen has some berry tea in her chests.

You acquire a cup of steaming water from a cluster of servants around a flame. You linger for a moment to absorb some of the fire’s haze then set back toward the royal tent. As you near, a shadow nearly collides with you. You keep the cup balanced as you scramble around the figure. The torch light catches the king’s golden eyes as they meet yours.

“Your highness,” you murmur.

He grunts as he stops fully. He stares down at you wordlessly. You cannot read his expression as shadows dance around his features, flickering various emotions across his face. He bows his head and presses on. You turn to watch him go as concern rolls up your throat.

In those last weeks, months you believe, you’ve not seen much of the king. You’ve wondered after his elusivity. At first, you thought it might be due to the combat at Debray, perhaps he was disheartened by the last act of resistance. Then you surmised it might be evasion of his own wife. Alas, you could not guess and fathomed it was not your place to do so.

This brief encounter further perplexes you. You can’t help but question if it is you. You recall the last day in the capital, the grit of his voice casting you out. Go. The memory ripples through you.

You think much of yourself. It wouldn’t be anything to do with a paltry maid. You focus on the hot water in your hand and continue on to the queen’s tent.

You enter and wrap the dried berries and leaves, steeping them in the steaming water. You hover over the cup, waiting for the water to deepen in hue and cool enough to drink. When you bring it to the queen, you feel her gaze upon you.

“Your highness,” you hand her the cup.

She hesitates to take it, only doing so after deep consideration. She holds the tea in one hand as her other tugs on your cloak. She makes an ugly noise.

“And where did you find this, maid?” She sneers. “Hmm, I sit her in my summer garb and you wear a bear’s skin?”

Your lips part and you raise your shoulders. You look at the tent wall and frown. You poke your hand outside the cloak and touch the soft fur.

“Your highness,” you look down at the cloak then at her trembling grasp on the cup. “Would you like it? You look awfully cold.”

“Yes, I want the damn cloak!” She yanks it hard, “I am the queen and you did not think to offer me a proper cloak? How stupid are you.”

You bow your head and reach to unbuckle the cloak. When it is loose, you shrug it off and hand it over. You will find a spare blanket. There must be some left among the luggage.

She shoves the cup at you and stands. She swings the cloak around her and hums as she pulls its snug around her figure. She sits again and rubs her chin against the fur.

“Much better,” she says, “I’ve been suffering this damnable place for far too long.”

She takes the tea back, spilling a drop on your hand. You back away, the liquid cooling and sending a new chill through you. You cover one hand with the other and clutch tightly, locking your jaw against the tremor that crawls up your spine.

The queen slurps from the tea and makes a face. She sneers, “I want wine,” she pouts, “how long must I be deprived? Wine!” She snarls down at the cup, “but I must drink this bile. Oh, but the king bids it,” she raises her voice mockingly, “you must obey your husband.” She shakes her head and takes another gulp, “at least it is warm. At least--”

She holds the cup away from her suddenly as her face twists. She drops it and recoils, panic washing over her. She keels forward, holding her skirts out of the way as she spews onto the rug spread over the hard ground. She wretches loudly, spasming with the horrid sounds snagging in her throat.

The smell of her vomit permeates the tent. She stays bent over her lap as she pants. You come forward and offer her a handkerchief to wipe her mouth. She sits up and gulps tightly, her features drawn. She pats her lips.

“Well, clean it up,” she turns her feet away from the puddle between them. “Stupid maid.”

She pokes a sharp nail into your arm and you wince.

“Your highness, are you unwell?” You ask, “shall I fetch a physician? Or some ginger?”

“No, you stupid cow, I am not unwell,” she flicks her fingers at you before waving away the stench of her bile. She stands and walks away from it, her hand settling on her middle. She faces you and smiles broadly, “I am carrying the king’s son.” Her face darkens as she wrinkles her nose, “I told you, you twit, to clean that up. You best do so before I make you eat it.”

You nod and bend your neck, “yes, your highness, I will fetch water.”

“I don’t care, just do it,” she snaps and rubs her stomach. She lets out a shuddery groan and turns her back to you. You watch as she draws tight the cloak and sways with a trill, “I will be a true queen now. He cannot deny me any longer.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #winter's king #the witcher

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

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shy reader calling steve a pet name for the first time and he just short circuits 💖 like she calls him stevie and he forgets that robin ever used to call him that to tease him it just sounds like the most beautiful sweet thing youve ever said to him before

Steve’s brain was already fuzzy, ‘cause you’d come in half an hour before the end of his shift, smelling sweet, like mint and cherries, summer dress kissing at your thighs. You’d leaned over the counter, shy smile, eyes fond, kissing him when Robin wasn’t looking.

He’d hummed in pleasure, chasing your lips, always wanting more when it came to you. Steve would happily call himself a greedy, greedy man if it meant he could keep you to himself. So you granted him one more, mouth parting just slightly and he heard it, that little hitch of your breath when he got ahead of himself and let his tongue sweep over your lips.

His brain was white noise, static. You looked too pretty. How dare you? Didn’t you know what you did to him?

Your shy smile and flushed cheeks told him no, you didn’t have a clue. And god, wasn’t that even worse? Steve wanted to eat you up.

And then— and then!

“Stevie?”

The boy swallowed, throat thick, eyes blinking at you, dreamy, unfocused. His heart was thundering in his ears.

You said it again, voice soft, unsure like you were starting to doubt yourself at his silence. “Steve?”

Steve startled back to life, cheeks pink with pleasure, with affection, his hands finding yours over the countertop. He huffed out an almost laugh, an embarrassed noise, ‘cause he could feel the heat on his face, the tips of his ears. He felt like a freshman with his first crush - he always felt like that looking at you.

“—did you hear me?” You were frowning a little, brows crinkled as you wondered what you’d done to earn the dopey, lovesick gaze Steve was giving you. Not that you minded, but it made you flush, shy and a little overwhelmed with all the attention. “What’s wrong?”

“What’d you call me?”

You burned. “What? Nothing.”

“Baby,” Steve coaxed softly, a wide, bright smile stretching slow over his lips, like he couldn’t keep it at bay. His heart felt like it was fit to burst out of his chest. “No, c’mon, say it again.”

You blinked, eyes on the ceiling like Steve would forget if you looked away long enough. A gentle tug at your fingers brought you back, a calloused thumb pressed kindly to your palm. You gazed at the boy from under your lashes, watching the way he grinned.

He was too lovely.

“You gettin’ sweet on me?” He asked, no, teased.

“Steve,” it was an almost whine, shy and petulant, lips pushed into a pout ‘cause Steve loved to get you riled up for him, only to soothe you back down with the softest touches, whispered words and lazy kisses.

“No,” he frowned, all dramatic. “I liked it when you said it the other way.”

So you relented, nose crinkled and you tried not to grin, ‘cause it would only make the boy worse. You leaned in instead, pushed up onto your tips toes so you could meet him over the counter top, your own hands sneaking bravely up his forearms. You traced the lines of muscle there, lean and strong, upupup until you could push your thumbs to the soft skin in the crease of his elbow.

His smile faltered, pink lips parting, cheeks growing more rosy with each pass of your hand. “You mean Stevie?” You asked him, the picture of innocence, all wide eyed and quiet as you spoke.

His breath left him in a rush, spearmint gum and cherry cola. He nodded, jaw lax ‘cause of course he was thinking about you calling him that in bed, with his mouth between your thighs, his co—

“You know, you told me you hated it when I called you that,” Robin interrupted by slamming a pile of returned cassettes on the desk between you both.

Steve jumped, cursing, a glare sent his friends way as you pulled back, mortified at being caught distracting Steve from work. You smiled weakly at Robin, guilty, but she grinned at you, winking to let you know she was only here to grind the boy’s gears, not yours.

…

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #emmy rambles #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington blurb #steve baby blurb

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mandiemegatron · 4 months

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One Piece has made "putting your prized, favourite, iconic hat on your s.o. as a form of claim, protection, comfort, promise, etc" now one of my favourite comfort/romance tropes.

Now apply this to the boys and their hats 🤭💕

I am SO sorry this took so long to finish but I got hit with a wave of sad and really needed my boys comfort 🥺💖 this was such a cute idea, I just couldn't not finish it !

ミ★ 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘗𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘗𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘏𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘠𝘰𝘶! 𝘍𝘦𝘢𝘵. 𝘓𝘢𝘸, 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘗𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘯 ♡ ★彡

Law ;

This man didn't let anyone touch his hat. Even when it came to wash day, he was overly protective the entire time you washed it, breathing over your shoulder with wide and concentrated eyes. It was like he was waiting for you to make one wrong move so he could sweep in and show you "how it's done," though every single time, you always cleaned it with love and warmth. The action caused Laws heart to feel like it was in a vicegrip, torn between ripping his beloved hat from your hands and watching you wash it with such soft motions. He always found himself holding his hat to his face when he got to his office, his spotted hat hiding his burning face from the outside world as he breathed in the clean smell, the fabric smelling like laundry detergent and the gentlest whiff of your perfume. He secretly loved it.

It was a rough battle. Most of the Heart Pirates walked away unscathed, but you, with your terrible luck, walked away with a gnarly gash on your arm. Law had sat you down in the infirmary, his hands almost rough as he looked you over, a deep set frown on his face as you tried to wave him off. "It's just a slice, Captain," you murmured, not wanting to show him any signs of pain. He grunted in response, making sure you didn't have any other cuts to your soft skin before setting to work on your injured skin. You went to bite out a retort but fell quiet as he uncharacteristically plopped his hat on your head, the action stunning you and lulling you into a soft silence. When he was done, he ripped his gloves off and tossed them aside, humming to himself as he stared at his handiwork before grinning down at you and taking his hat from your head. He smoothed out your flyaways with a comment of, "If I knew it was that easy to keep you quiet, I'd have done that ages ago." You didn't sleep well that night, tossing and turning while thinking of how soft and warm his hat felt. You idly wondered if his arms would make you feel the same.

You were winning, for the first time ever, probably thanks to the alcohol running through all five of you. Card games were a big thing on the Polar Tang, and it didn't matter how bad you sucked at them, your best friends and your Captain always made sure to drag you along to play. "If I have to play, then so do you," Law would retort every single time you tried to refuse. You sat at the small round table, you and Ikkaku the only ones still wearing most of your clothes. Shachi and Penguin were down to their boxers, with Law in his spotted jeans and topless, though his prized hat still sat atop his head. "I'm coming for that hat," you bit out, slapping a card down with a laugh. "Draw four, mofo!" Law only rolled his eyes as he picked up four cards with a "Tsk," before groaning out, "Pass." You let out a triumphant laugh as everyone else placed a card or drew, bringing it back to you. You grinned and slapped down your last card, pointing at Law with a wide grin as you laughed, "Hat, please!" He had the most cards, which made him the loser and with a loud sigh, he took his treasured hat from his head and gently placed it on your head. Your eyes met and he grinned as your cheeks bloomed into red, his tattooed fingers reaching out to pull at them jokingly. "You look so stupid right now," he chuckled out, ignoring the pointed looks the other three were giving you two. "Yeah, but I'm your stupid, and you love it," you bit back before you could stop yourself, causing all three boys to burst out into laughter. You shared a look with Ikkaku, who simply gave you one in return that said, "I told you so!"

Shachi ;

This man was the living embodiment of 'Sharing is Caring', and share he did! There was nothing Shachi loved more than watching your face burn brightly whenever he plopped his orca hat onto your head. Every time, he'd grin and press a bashful kiss to your cheek before walking off, either tying his hair up or tossing his old green one on, just to feel less naked. Every chance he got, he'd throw his hat onto your head and it would pull you out of whatever trance you were in, whether you were reading or cutting veg for dinner prep, the stunned look on your face always caused his heart to swell. He knew it was real love when he put his hat on your head and you frowned, pulling it away from your head with a comment of, "This fuckin' stinks, Shachi, I'm gunna wash it for you." No one ever offered to wash his things ever, and your little acts of love truly made him fall harder for you every damn time. When you came back a few hours later, coming up behind him and placing the orca hat back onto his head, he turned in his seat and grinned up at you, pulling you into his lap and covering your face in a million kisses. "It smells like you!" He laughed out, your own laughter mixing with his at his actions. When he pulled away to smile lovingly down at you, you knew then and there that you'd love him forever, pulling him into a real kiss that caused Penguin and Uni to burst into loud, "OOOOOHHH!!!"s, knowing in the back of your head that you just inadvertently caused Shachi to owe them both money.

It was terrifying, watching your beloved crew get beaten down by these Pirates. You fought as hard as you could, to the point you had angry tears streaming down your face as you somehow fought back two men who were too strong for you. In a cheap shot, you were hit from behind and fell to the ground. You vaugely heard your name be screamed out, your eyes squeezing shut as you waited for the final blow only for nothing to come. You stared up as nearly sobbed as you saw Shachi and Law standing in front of you, both their swords impaling the two men you were fighting, watching with wide eyes as the pirates fell to the ground, dead. Law ran off, shouting for his other crew members as Shachi turned and fell to his knees, bringing you to his body. You sobbed openly, clinging to him tightly as he pulled you from the ground and lifted you in his arms. Everything around you two fell away into silence as he stared down into your watery eyes, a deepset frown on his face as he bit back tears of his own. Gathering you into a safe space, he ripped his hat from his head and placed it on yours, pulling it down to cover your eyes as he rasped out, "You'll be safe here. I'll be right back." Luckily, Bepo was nearby and protected you from any leftover men who staggered too close to you. When the fight was finally over, with the enemy dead and bleeding into the ground, you were pulled into a tight embrace, knowing by touch it was Shachi and you clung to him in response. Penguin, Ikkaku and Clione kept asking if you were okay, only to fall silent as Shachi glared up at them, holding you tighter to him as a sign for them to fuck off. When they finally did, you looked up at your bloodied and injured boyfriend and bit back another sob as he slowly got out, "I'll never let anyone hurt you, ever." You gave a heavy nod and hid your face in his neck, not bothering to hide your tears as he continued, "I'll always protect you. Always."

Waking up next to Shachi every day was a blessing and a curse, considering the part-fishman was a living furnace. On cold nights and days, it was a blessing waking up toasty and warm in his arms, his hat squished between your heads. (He really needed to stop falling asleep with it on.) On the days it was too hot on the sub, it was a mission to pry yourself from your grasp, almost struggling to breathe as he would only pull you closer and hold tighter. Even during chore time, he'd be clinging to you and would pout everytime you ripped your hand from his, both your palms already sweaty. "Please babe, you are killing me," you nearly sobbed out, your boiler suit tied around your hips as you paused doing dishes to fan yourself with a handmade paper fan. Shachi was dressed similarly, though his arms were tucked around your waist tufhtly, his face pressing soft kisses to your shoulder and neck. "Mm, but you're so tempting," he purred out, nipping at the side of your neck that caused you to shiver. You simply pulled away and glared at him, ignoring the goofy grin on his face as he made grabby hands towards you. "You better stop," you hissed out, shaking your fist at him only to stop as he plopped his hat onto your head and walked away pouting. "FINE, but only because you asked sooooo nicely..." You only rolled your eyes and went back to washing dishes, knowing you'd have to make it up to him in the showers later.

Penguin ;

This man was not a sharer. At all. You had to BEG the guy to try on his hat, to which he only let you wear it for a hot second before ripping it off your head and stuffing it back onto his own. You'd always pout, tugging on his boiler suit like a child begging their parents for something in the store, and he'd give a heavy sigh and reply, "No, now stop asking," though his tone was always playful and never hurtful. You'd often ask why he'd never share his hat with you, and he'd always respond, "It takes away from my dangerous and mysterious nature~" with a wiggle of his fingers in your face, causing you to burst out laughing. He loved hearing you laugh, and even though his answer never changed, it always pulled laughter from you. It wasn't hard for him to fall for you, your bright smile and loud laugh causing him to hide his burning face further under his namesake hat. How could he hide his love for you if you were wearing his hat?!

Penguins heart fell as he watched Bepo carry your unconscious body into the infirmary, rushing in after the mink only to be stopped by Shachi at the door. He tires to pull away, but Shachi holds tight, only shaking his head as the doors snap shut. "No, no no, let me go Shachi, they can't be alone, they need me-" Shachi only held tighter, murmuring lowly to his best friend, "They're in the best hands on the entire Grand Line. Just be patient." Penguin roughly pulled away, glaring at Shachi and trying to open the door again only to be stopped as Bepo walked out, a solemn look on his face. Penguins heart shattered, and he fell to his knees, pulling his hat low over his face as he silently sobbed into it. Bepo and Shachi shared a long look, frowns on both their faces as they bent down to comfort Penguin as best they could. When Law finally emerged from the infirmary, the three boys lifted their heads and sighed a breath of relief when he finally spoke. "They'll be fine. They got hit hard during the fight, but they'll pull through -" Penguin didn't even let him finish, pushing past him and immediately going to your side. His heart fell through the floor, seeing your bruised skin that wasn't hidden under bandages. Pulling a chair beside your bed, he ripped his hat from his head and gently tugged it onto yours before gathering your hand into both of his. He silently wept into the back of your hand, ending up falling asleep at some point. When he finally woke, your hand was slowly running through his messy hair, a tired but loving expression on your face as his eyes met yours. He shot up and held your face in his palms, uncertainty all over his face until you croaked out, "Just kiss me already, stupid." He didn't think twice, leaning down and capturing your lips in his own as gently as he could. He pulled back when you winced, pain in your eyes as he stared down at you. "You look like shit," you joked out, causing him to give a broken laugh of his own. "You look worse," he barely got out, holding your hand in his again. You simply grinned in response, commenting lightly, "At least I got your hat." He gave his own grin in response and leaned over to kiss you again, slowly removing his hat from your head to stuff onto his own. "Yeah, yeah. You're lucky I love you."

Thank you SO much for this ask, I hope this was okay! I wanted to add more but after writing that almost angst with Peng, my heart just would NOT let me write anymore 😭😂 thank you for always being a solid mutual, I love seeing you in my inbox and my notes !! I hope you all enjoyed this little blurb 🤭💖

If yall want me to add to any of these, please let me know ! 💖💖💖💖

#mandies mumbles ; headcanons / blurbs / ect...#answered ask #freelyhappycycle #ok to rb #one piece #heart pirates #trafalgar law #shachi #penguin #this was SO much fun 🤭🤭💖💖💖#if you see any mistakes - no the fuck you dont 💖💋#no beta we die like men #one piece fic #op shachi #op law #op penguin

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marthawrites · 9 months

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Congrats Martha!! 🎉🎉

Could I request Rhaenyra x reader with the prompt “Spread your legs for me, I want to see all of you” pretty please?

Thank you 😍

Absolutely, Fae my darling! I hope I brought your prompt to life and gave it justice! 💖

Honeyed Promises

Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 2.8k+

About: While visiting your great uncle, Lyman Beesbury, at King's Landing, you weren't expecting secondhand stress to affect your lord husband so. Princess Rhaenyra takes notice and is happy to steal moments away with you.

Includes: Unhappy political marriage, mentions of verbal fighting, and smut. Featuring reader's first sexual experience with a woman, oral sex, vaginal fingering, and scissoring

Note: Hello lovely reader ❤️ This is my very first time writing a wlw fic - ahh! It's a complete honor to do it as a request for Fae! Story takes place during Rhaenyra's marriage to Laenor. It is implied she hasn't had children yet. Reader is nondescript. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Little had changed since your last visit to King’s Landing when you were a young girl. The Red Keep, in all its sprawling glory, loomed just as large as you remembered. A rarity, you were beginning to understand – for things you thought grand as a child were all but normal to you, now. The Keep was a being of its own, however. Almost a living, breathing, sentient thing. For an outsider its walls seemed to morph into the dark; changing, shifting… holding onto its secrets like the dragons its Kings bonded with.

You weren’t a stranger to politics. But, you were a stranger to the volume of aristocrats which surrounded the Targaryen dynasty. Lyman Beesbury, your great uncle, served as master of coin on King Viserys’ small council, and before him, King Jaehaerys, and was as deep into politics as a man of a smaller House could be.

A great honor.

Uncle Beesbury extended an invasion to his nephew, your lord husband, to attend a royal affair at the capital. He gladly accepted. Using it for not only an excuse to get out of Honeyholt for a while, but also to catch up with family, the long journey felt worth it.

Your marriage had yet to bear fruit. Little love bloomed between you and your husband. It was a marriage of duty rather than love, and it showed it more ways than you two cared to admit. If only you could swell with his child to put an end to all the talk of furthering the bloodline.

Each passing day at King’s Landing showed you a different side to your husband. Whatever he and his uncle conversed about in private soured his mood, and his harsh tongue somehow grew harsher towards you. No matter how you tried to soften him with gentle touches, tender words, and initiating marital affections, he was unsatisfied and dour.

“Your lord husband seems quite the ray of sunshine, my lady,” princess Rhaenyra whispered to you one night during dinner. Her voice lilted with sarcasm and her violet eyes dazzled with amusement when she met your gaze. She held it with confidence. With a softness. Knowing.

“Is it that obvious, princess?” You asked with some of her same amusement. “He was so excited to come here. I thought he’d be happier than…,” you waved your hand in a sweeping gesture, adding, “this.”

She smiled softly. “Have you had the chance to explore? There are many wonderful things here to distract you from tetchy husbands,” she said and tipped her goblet towards you, sipping to hide her smirk.

“Perhaps on the morrow I will,” you said, heat and butterflies filling your blood at her tone and implication. Could the princess be… flirting? Your heart quickened a tick. Surely you’re mistaken. Your bedtime stories of suave knights must be getting to you.

“I’ll gladly show you around. I too could use a distraction from the small council.”

She didn’t touch you, but the way her gaze lingered from your neck, up to your lips, and down to the exposed swath of your chest, made gooseflesh pebble your skin as if she had.

Nearly a week went by and unfortunately Rhaenyra had yet to keep true to her word. You couldn’t blame her, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. Each day passed with a sting. The only thing that made it better was the conversations you were able to steal at dinner. The lingering looks, the briefest of touches, Rhaenyra reaching to brush away dust from your gowns… you thought your heart might truly leap from your throat when she wetted the corner of her napkin with her mouth to clean a drop of sauce from your chest.

And, all the while, she sat by her husband, Laenor Velaryon, and you sat by your lord husband; the men either uncaring or none the wiser to the simmering attraction and tension between you and the princess.

The following day, after a particularly curt argument in hissed voices, you stomped away from your lord husband and left him in one of the numerous corridors. You didn’t stop your angry pace until you were standing in the gardens. Unchaperoned, unguarded, and completely alone. Just how you wanted to be. Heavy gray clouds began to gather over the castle. It didn’t deter you from wanting to make the most out of the remaining blue sky.

Your mood lightened by the minute. Flowers, shrubs, and trees bloomed everywhere. Heady scents filled your nose and it made you yearn for home. King’s Landing was lovely. But, to you, there truly was no place like home.

Akin to your married name, you quietly followed a trail of honeybees until you found their hive. Deep and hidden in the gardens, you wanted nothing more than to simply stay there for the remainder of the day. Perhaps even the rest of your stay. Honeybees were busy and gentle creatures. As long as you didn’t disturb them or their hive, the working girls were unbothered by your presence.

Finally, with one final whisper of goodbye to the bees, you left the secret spot and began to make your way back to the Keep. Raindrops started to fall and you knew a full on downpour wasn’t far behind.

Then, right there in your path, stood Rhaenyra. Her head was tipped back, her eyes were closed, and her palms were open up towards the sky as if in prayer. You felt like you were interrupting something sacred. Excitement jumped to your throat and before you could stop yourself, you asked, “princess…?”

She turned to look at you with partially lidded eyes. “What ever are you doing out here right now?” She asked with genuine confusion.

“I needed a breath of air. My husband, he…”

Before you could finish she held a hand up and offered a small shake of her head. “Needn’t worry to explain, then,” she said, appearing to come back to herself. “If the storm didn’t brew out of nowhere, and if I knew I’d run into you, I’d insist on taking you astride Syrax with me,” she said as she stepped into your space, eyes bright and dark alike. She freely reached for your hands and grabbed both of them. “There’s nothing quite as thrilling as dragon flying.”

This is more thrill than I’ve felt in a long time, you wanted to say. You wondered if the words flashed across your face. Briefly flustered, you smiled. “I, uhm… thank you, truly, princess. But I much prefer the ground.”

“That’s because you’ve never tried being in the sky,” she said, voice soft, so soft, as she leaned into you. “You cannot deny something so quickly if you haven’t tried it…”

Desire, excitement, and wonder filled her pretty eyes. Violet, and silver, and always donned in the loveliest gowns, you understood how the rumors of Targaryens being closer to Gods than men traveled all over the Seven Kingdoms. She was close enough that you felt her breath tickle your face. Smelled the oils of her skin. Something electric pulsed between your almost pressing bodies. “This is the closest I’ve been to a dragon and I am positively thrilled,” you whispered in reply, gently squeezing her hands.

“Sweet girl…,” she cooed as she tilted her head and pressed a delicate kiss to your waiting lips. Whatever pulsed between you before thrummed to life like a wardrum, now. You returned her kiss and that’s all she needed. Both her hands cupped your face as she deepened the affection, savoring the smoothness of your lips. Your tongue.

Just then the sky opened and emptied warm rain on the city. Within moments you were both soaked. Shock led to laughter as you both ran to find cover. Rain water dripped from your nose as you looked at Rhaenyra with renewed delight. “It came out of nowhere!” You said once in the dry safety of the Red Keep’s walls.

“Which part?” Asked the princess, mischievousness alighting all her features. She pulled you along, now, looking over her shoulder and daring you to keep pace with her.

Challenge accepted.

Arm in arm, you kept pace with Rhaenyra and paid little mind to any onlookers who might be giving you curious glances. She was light and quick on her feet and you were beginning to have a hard time keeping up with her. Still, the light air of playfulness danced around both of you.

An ornate door was guarded by a single man and the princess was quick to say, “you may be relieved from your post for now, ser.” He offered a bow before turning to leave. She opened the door and latched it once you were both inside. Locking it, she turned to face you with a smirk that had you giddy.

“What of your husband, princess? And mine?” Despite it only being the two of you in her private bedchamber, you whispered.

“Laenor and I have… we have found common ground with a pact, you see. He would be happy that I found joy and thrill in chasing you. No one will know of our kiss. That, I promise,” she said, mirroring your tone, as she traced the backs of her fingers along your jaw. Your neck. Whispering them over your collarbone. “As for your husband? Well… I haven’t even seen him kiss your cheek since you’ve been here. Such a shame.”

Your heart was doing flips in your belly. Your lord husband never made you feel like this. Not even on your wedding night. “Th-this–,” you started, uncharacteristically stammering, “–I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve only ever been with my husband.” Heat warmed your cheeks and you hoped she didn’t see it.

“That’s okay,” she purred. “Let me show you, my lady.” Her eyes searched yours. As soon as consent passed between you, she began to help you out of your wet gown. You helped her out of hers, too, and before too long you stood in front of each other in only your chemises; thin material doing little to hide your bodies.

Now on her bed, your curious fingers trembled over her skin as you explored her body. Your lips shuddered atop her flesh as you grazed tentative kisses along her. Your breath caught in your throat when she did all the same, and more, to you. She was so soft, and so warm, and so unlike anything you’d experienced before. Her hands on any and every part of your body had you melting further into her mattress. “Can you.. Can I…,” you said dreamily. “Can I feel your skin on mine?”

Grinning like a cat, Rhaenyra pulled your chemise over your head. She tugged hers off too. Leaning down, she balanced her weight atop you as she crashed her mouth to yours in the neediest hungriest kiss you’d ever experienced. Your breasts squished together, and your bellies, too, and it was the single most exciting thing you’d ever felt. “Can I finish taking all your clothes off?” She asked, half breathless, one hand snaking down to the ribbons of your smallclothes.

“Yes,” you panted. “Please,” you begged.

Having neither the will nor the want to keep you waiting, she obliged. She tugged the ribbons open before sliding the final garment down your legs. Kneeling on the edge of the bed she looked from the center of your body to your face, violet eyes dark with desire. “Spread your legs for me. I want to see all of you.”

A wave of shyness washed over you. Now, you were praying doubly that she didn’t see the blush of your face. Your legs parted with hesitation; butterflies roared from your scalp to your toes. It shouldn’t be embarrassing. It shouldn’t make you timid. But the intimacy, the lewdness, made your teeth sink into your bottom lip.

Rhaenyra watched all the while. Despite the clawing arousal in the pit of her own belly she let you go at your own pace and made no move to hasten or startle you. “Men often don’t appreciate the true beauty of a woman,” she said, low and gentle. “But I am no man and you are beautiful. Be a good girl and open them further. It will be worth it, I promise.”

Her words struck a chord in you. Before you fully realized what you were doing, your legs spilled open to expose the fullness of your eager cunt. It glistened with your arousal. The pink at your very center begged to be touched. To be spread. To welcome whatever Rhaenyra might bless you with. “Will you also take yours off?”

“Soon,” she answered all too quickly, already leaning forward between your parted thighs. “But first I want to kiss this pretty cunny.” And she did. She kissed the tender flesh at the inside of your thighs, your mound, your budded pearl. Her smooth mouth kissed again and again until you were squirming beneath her, and it was then, and only then, that she traced her warm tongue up your slit.

Your breathy gasps turned into a choking mewl at the sensation of her tongue. “Gods…!” You looked down at her and burned even hotter at the sight. “Please don’t stop, princess. Please don’t stop.”

Rhaenyra licked and lapped again and again, making no move to stop even as you shuddered beneath her. You were too warm, too lovely, and too responsive for her to even consider stopping. When she eventually ceased her licking, she instead sucked on your clit until she felt your entire cunt convulse and throb. Your sounds of pleasure were everything she imagined and more. As soon as you relaxed from your first peak she slid two fingers into your empty cunny. Working her tongue and digits in tandem, she gave you another climax. The natural tang of your body gave way to the sweetness of orgasm, and with that taste on her tongue she finally crashed her mouth to yours once again.

You whimpered into the affection, smiling and purring like a spoiled cat. “You’ve got a magical mouth, princess,” you said dreamily.

“How do you like your taste?” She asked, kissing you again, slower, deeper.

“Like I want more,” you said. “Let me taste you. You can guide me along. Show me how to make you feel good like you just did me.”

She giggled into your neck. “I know a way to make both of us feel good at the same time. Do you trust me?”

You nodded, the darkness of your eyes glittering with desire.

Rhaenyra discarded her smallclothes and positioned herself between your legs. “Relax and let me show you how to hold your legs, yes?” She spread yours a little wider while moving one of her own beneath your leg. She spread her other one wider and hooked it over your waist.

It was an odd position, one you’d never been in before, but one that immediately sent your blood soaring. She rolled her hips once. Once. And that’s all it took for you to feel the slickness of her cunt slide against your own. If you thought her mouth was magical it was only because you hadn’t yet felt her cunny against yours. You gasped sharply. “More,” you croaked, eyes black with lust.

“Move your pelvis with me,” she said thickly, lust darkening her features just as much as yours.

You happily obeyed. Your pleasure was her pleasure, and hers, yours, as you both rolled and ground your hips and pelvis in a delightfully obscene rhythm. Moans and whimpers were accented by the slick echoes of your centers. Your breasts started to bounce with the effort; both of your hands pressing and digging into any soft flesh it could find. You felt drunk. High. Buzzed on the saccharine scents of her skin and your combined arousal.

The shared pace grew firmer, quicker, sloppier. Sweat sheened your bodies. You both chased your high on the other’s cunt. You tumbled into orgasm first, white hot fire exploding out from your belly to every nerve of your body. Rhaenyra quickly followed.

You both rode it out slowly. Intensely. Savoring every second that passed between you.

When your limbs finally managed to untangle, she collapsed beside you and smiled. After a few moments of breath catching, she asked, “which was your favorite, my lady?” Her words breathless, her tone playful.

You hummed in thought. “I don’t quite know… I think I’ll need a reminder again, just to be sure.”

“I think we can arrange that,” she said with a laugh.

“Can we do this again?”

“As many times as we can sneak away together, I am happy to explore with you.”

You laid together for as long as you could, until the golden hour summoned you to the day’s final meal where you both said next to your husbands; relaxed and sated.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

To be added or removed from the taglist, hit me up!

Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @dreamsofoldvalyria @bel-bottoms @fan-goddess

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra smut #rhaenyra fic #wlw #request

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mostlymarvelsstuff · 1 year

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🧠❤️‍🩹🫂 with natasha. reader has been gone on a mission for a few months. only a couple weeks into the mission, reader is forced to cut off communication with the avengers, leading to them being MIA for months, tho nat never gives up hope that reader will come home. after a couple months of struggling to complete their mission, reader makes it back to headquarters. they’re finally reunited with natahsa who just holds them close out of relief and cries into their shoulder. both reader and nat finally find comfort, only in each others embrace.

Authors note: hope you enjoy! 💖

Word count: 577 Marvel Masterlist Nat Masterlist

You sigh as you look down at your phone, a few messages from your girlfriend still go unanswered from last night and you can feel a pit form in your stomach. Regretfully you rip the battery from the back before tossing it into the nearby dumpster. You pry the SIM card out next and let it fall to the pavement below where you stomp on it for good measure.

“Y/l/n, you ready? We can’t risk lingering too long.”

You think back to two weeks ago, before the mission, and how you and Nat had been so happy. Now she was undoubtedly worried about last night's unanswered texts and your sudden absence was only going to increase that worry. You wish you could tell her what was going on, that you were ok and had to do this for your cover and own safety, but you knew saying that would go against protocols. Plus she’d want to get involved.

“Yeah, lets go”

A few months have passed since then, and Fury has classified your team as MIA, much to Natashas dismay. She was adamant you were out there somewhere. Either completing your mission under the radar, being held captive by Hydra, or were on the run due to the mission going sideways. If it was up to her she would have had agents sweeping the area for you as soon as you went quiet, and now she would have had more than a three man team keeping their eyes open for any sign of you.

Fury even turned down her request to look for you herself, claiming a lost team wasn’t an Avengers level emergency. Needless to say, that pissed her off. She didn’t care about that. She just wanted to make sure her girlfriend was safe. Still, she refused to give up hope on you. Despite not seeing the proof she knew you were out there, she just hoped you’d come back to her soon.

“Hey Romanoff!” Tony suddenly calls out, “Get your ass to the helicopter pad! Your girl’s there!”

She bolts up from her spot on the couch, moving so quickly that Clint had nearly been run over when she passed him by. She moves so quickly through the hallways that all the other agents scatter to get out of her way. By the time she makes it to the helicopter pad the medical team had already cleared you and sent you on your way. She's only met by an amused Maria.

“She's headed for your room. Probably there by now”

Natasha spins on her heels and makes her way to her room, nearly knocking her own door off its hinges as she barges in. The excitement she feels when she sees you is indescribable, her heart pounds against her ribcage and your form becomes blurry as a few tears roll down her cheeks.

“Hi Natty”

You let out a small ‘oomph’ as her body collides with yours and you immediately wrap your arms around her in a tight embrace. She tucks her face against your neck and soaks in your presence, your scent, just everything you.

“Hi detka(baby)” she greets, voice cracking slightly as a few of her tears land on your skin, “I missed you so much”

“I missed you too” you admit a few tears of your own falling, “I'm sorry I was gone so long"

"I knew you'd come back, and you're here now. That's all that matters"

Taglist: @wandaromamoff69 @mmmmokdok @nataliasknife @natashasilverfox @when-wolves-howl @danveration @naomi-m3ndez @sheneonromanoff @sayah13 @likefirenrain @nighttime-dreaming @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @readings-stuff @chaoticevilbakugo @crystalstark02 @wackymcstupid @xchaiix @iaminluvwithnat @lovelyy-moonlight @blackwidow-3 @mistressofinsomnia @that-one-gay-mosquito @yomamagf @yourfavdummy @justarandomreaderxoxo @scoutlp23-blog @whoischanelle15 @lissaaaa145 @eline03 @wizardofstories @imthenatynat @marvelonmymind @fluffyblanketgecko @bitch-616 @dakotastormm @zoomdeathknight @rayeofmoonlight

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x y/n #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel

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delcakoo · 2 years

Text

coffee run༉‧��˚. yang jungwon

request: “hello! hope you are doing great 💖 can i request a jungwon scenario where he falls for someone a couple years older than him but the person doesn't realize his feelings and treats him as a child? he does things to be seen as a man like protecting and gets jealous of older guys? It would be so cute 🥺 happy ending please”

⍣PAIRING ! barista!jungwon x gn!reader

⍣GENRE ! coworkers/friends to lovers, fluff

⍣WC ! 1.9k

⍣WARNINGS ! mention of smoking + alcohol, if i’m forgetting anything lemme know

a/n: hi anonnie ! thank you once more for your request, i loved this idea and really enjoyed writing it even though i did struggle a lot for some reason </3 you didn’t specify the gender, so i stuck with gender neutral reader ! i hope you enjoy barista won c:

saturdays. anyone who works in retail dreads saturdays. it’s the most busy day of the week, which means annoying customers complaining and trying to bargain prices, arguments and people asking for your manager at least once an hour, and a whole lot of stress for all the employees. so when you find yourself walking into the mall where your cafe job was located at 8:30 on a saturday, you sigh.

just by looking at how many shoppers there were, you knew it was going to be a long, long day. on the bright side, you were working with heeseung and jungwon, your two favorite coworkers.

heeseung was a year older than you, and you had to admit he was quite mature for his young age. you wouldn’t be surprised if he got promoted to manager soon, as he always seemed to know exactly what to do in bad situations.

meanwhile, jungwon was two years younger than you. he felt like someone you had to take care of because of the age gap, and he was much more playful and less serious compared to heeseung. either way, they were both fun to work with (and they were hot, but that’s just a bonus) so whenever you got scheduled for the same time as them, you knew work would be much better than usual, even though it was still disappointingly, a saturday.

the duo in question had arrived at the cafe before you, cleaning up before opening time. heeseung washed down the counter, while jungwon sweeped under the many tables and chairs thoroughly. “so, what’s going on with y/n?”

jungwon’s heart starts beating at the sound of your name, pausing his sweeping for a moment. “i don’t know, they still treat me like a kid. i’m starting to lose any hope i had left.” the younger boy has liked you since he began working at the cafe four months ago, and while he has tried to offer hints of his attraction to you, you seem to always pass it off as harmless, friendly compliments.

one time, you’d even called him your younger brother, and he felt like crying right then and there as heeseung sent him a pitying glance.

heeseung sighs, “i know they feel something towards you too, i can tell. you just gotta step it up a notch,” jungwon looks up at his elder, his broom coming to a stop once more, “show them you aren’t just a kid, won.”

he gulps, “i’m not very good at being bold, what should i do?”

before heeseung can respond, the bell above the door jingled as you walk in, smiling at the two boys as they both nod in your direction in greeting. “hey! ready for the saturday chaos?” you watch as they both glance at each other, exchanging an unreadable expression. you decide to ignore it, walking behind the counter to tie on your apron.

heeseung huffs bitterly, “as ready as we can be, i guess.” after rigorously wiping down the last side of the countertop, he throws the used cloth to the side.

jungwon nods, putting down his broom, “there’s a sale over at H&M too, we’re dead.”

you gasp, “seriously? good god.” you look up, checking the clock near the entrance. “oh, it’s 9:00, are we all set?”

“i think so, i can take cashier.” heeseung ties his apron around his waist before walking to the front of the shop, flipping the door sign from closed to open.

“i can do serving, and help our baby make the drinks!” you grin, squishing jungwon’s cheeks between your hand, puckering up his lips. heeseung watches, facepalming internally. when you let go of the boy's cheeks, he only coughs awkwardly. jungwon knew at that moment that he could not take any more of this. before his thoughts could drift any further though, the doorbell jingles again as people start flooding in. mornings were always the busiest.

immediately, heeseung begins taking orders as you help jungwon with making the drinks. most was coffee as usual for the mornings, but there were always the few odd orders along the way.

about an hour later, the customers have slowed down as a young man walks in, smoking. with no other people to deal with, you, heeseung, and jungwon all exchange an annoyed glance before you decide to take charge and call him out. “i’m sorry sir, we do not allow smoking in our shop. in fact, it’s not allowed in any parts of this mall.” you passive aggressively smile at him.

he scoffs in amusement, while the other rolls his eyes. “yeah? what are you going to do about it?” at closer inspection, you notice his eyes are slightly bloodshot, and he’s standing rather unsteadily.

you turn your head to your coworkers worriedly, “he’s definitely under the influence of something, we need to call security.” you whisper, heeseung nods, running into the back to use the phone.

by the time you’ve turned back around, the man has thrown his cigarette to the ground, and began progressing much closer to you, and you realise how he towers over you rather threateningly. he suddenly lifts his hand, making you step back in fear.

luckily, in the blink of an eye, jungwon had walked over and stood in front of you protectively, holding the man's wrist that was raised in the air. while he may be shorter and less built than the older male, he is rather confident in his abilities if worse comes to worst. he didn’t learn martial arts for nothing, after all. “sir, please remain a respectful distance from our employees.” his voice had dropped an octave, and his usual soft expression had become wrinkled with rage as he drops his hand.

once you’ve calmed your breathing, you try to process what had happened. you were so used to jungwon being all smiley and childish, always making you laugh, and showing you silly new tricks for making drinks faster. it felt strange seeing him so.. scary looking. “are you okay, y/n?” he asks worriedly.

you gulp, nodding. “yeah, thank you, won.” well that’s an upgrade from baby or wonnie, he thinks. even if this definitely wasn't the way he planned to change your view on him, he was still happy about it. luckily, before the intoxicated man could do anything stupid, two mall cops walked in right as heeseung emerged from the back. thankfully, they quickly escorted the man out of the shop as you both explained to heeseung what had happened.

besides the fiasco in the morning, the rest of the day was going rather smoothly. you and jungwon are having a great time making the drinks, while heeseung seemed to be busy luring tips out of the female customers. “look at him go,” you scoff, watching a girl place a five dollar bill in the tip jar.

jungwon feels jealousy run through him as he follows your gaze. if only he could be as bold as his hyung. “we get like 30% of that, i’m not complaining.” he replies, tightening the lid of another coffee before sliding it across the counter. “order number thirty two!” he calls.

“true, still surprised those girls fall for his dumb fake smile.” you say once he returns, watching him check the order chart before beginning a new drink.

jungwon glances at you, “do you like him?” he asks bravely.

if only he knew who you’ve begun to like. “what? no way, where’d you get that idea?”

the boy shrugs hesitantly, “i don’t know, just thought you like older guys.”

your eyes widen, “i wouldn't mind a younger guy, it really doesn’t matter to me.” you’ve busied yourself making a cappuccino for the young man who's waiting in one of the booths, and you can’t help but feel his stare even from the back of your head. he was quite good looking, you think as you place the lid onto the cup.

you don’t know why, but you find yourself glancing over at jungwon. no, even if what you feel for him is real, he would never like you back, he’s just a friend from work. jungwon seems to have noticed your side-eyeing, “y/n, you good?” he calls, waving a hand in front of you.

snapping out of your thoughts, you nod. “yeah, yeah sorry. i’ll be back.” you show him the finished drink you made and he nods in understanding, watching as you walk over to the counter. “order thirty three!”

when the man walks up to the counter, you take a closer look at his features. he really was handsome, probably a few years older than you. you grin when he offers you a polite bow, “thank you. say, how many drinks do you think i’d need to buy before asking for your number instead?” he comments smoothly. jungwon whips his head around, the drink he was making becoming completely forgotten.

meanwhile, you’ve decided you have nothing to lose. if you want to get over your slowly growing feelings for your younger coworker, this was the way to go. “hmm, i don’t know, what do you plan to do with said number?”

the man smirks, “i suppose we could arrange the details over text,” he says, watching you take the cup back and begin writing your number along it with the pen that was normally used for writing down orders. jungwons frowns, and heeseung definitely sees as well, sighing disappointedly.

after you wave goodbye to the man who seemed to be the last customer, heeseung breaks the silence of the empty shop. he knew that if anything was going to change, he needed to give you both time alone. “it’s lunch break, i’m heading out.” heeseung calls, and you all say your goodbyes as he walks out. before he left though, you notice the strange shared look between him and jungwon once again. they were both acting really weird today, you think.

you turn to him, “hey, are you okay wonnie?” back to that nickname, he shakes his head.

it’s extremely difficult for him to meet your eyes, but he does, “am i a little brother to you?” he’s not going to let you slip through his fingers that easily. he thinks of heeseungs advice, if he gets rejected, at least he can say he wasn’t a coward.

your lips part, and while you’re dumb, you’re not that dumb. you have an idea on what’s happening, “no,” you reply, “maybe you were when i first met you, but you’re not anymore.”

jungwon is surprised by your response, but nevertheless, takes the hint, stepping towards you slowly. the two of you have never been so close, and he can’t help but feel his heart stammer nervously, unlike his confident, masked expression. “then what am i, y/n?”

you swallow, feeling the hard wall of the counter behind you as he corners you. “what do you want to be, jungwon?” you steer the question back to him, staring right into his eyes.

he licks his lips, “should i demonstrate?” you’ve never nodded faster in your life, eyes closing as he pushes his lips to yours, softly moving against you. when you kiss him back, he sighs in relief, purring as you move a hand up to his hair, rubbing his head gently. when you pull apart, you both smile like idiots.

“how long?” you had to ask, taking his hand in yours.

jungwon feels heat rush to his cheeks, ears turning a crimson red as he scratches his head shyly, “like.. since i started working here.”

you laugh, pushing his shoulder teasingly, “you’re so lame.”

he gasps, “oh yeah? who was flirting with our customers earlier?!”

“oh right, maybe i should text him back.” you wiggle your brows, watching him roll his eyes in annoyance.

he leans down, pecking your lips once more. “sure, you can ask him if he has first date ideas,” he grins, “for us.”

the end! thank you again for requesting anon c:

perm taglist: @duolingofanaccount

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sungbeam · 1 year

Text

𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

boo seungkwan x gn!reader

1.3k words, established relationship au, childhood friends 2 lovers, proposal au, fluff, super soft

a/n: for the love of our beloved boo 💖 im still obsessed w this photo of him

Boo Seungkwan asked you to marry him beneath the shade of an orange tree.

The two of you had only been about ten years old, but back then, ten years old was everything. You were two peas in a pod, forever and always. He had been pushing you on the tire swing attached to one of the sturdier, low-hanging branches, as he always did. You kicked your legs up, a grin splitting your face.

"Why are only older people allowed to get married?" he asked later that day, as the sun set across the pasture. It was one of those days where the sun's sinking broiled across the sky in vibrant rivers of orange and yellow, before bruising into deep shades of purple. You had your backs against the trunk of the orange tree, your knees pressed to your chest, and Seungkwan's hand just touching yours on the damp earth.

You gave a small shrug. "Dunno. Why do you ask?"

From the other side of his body, he raised his hand and showed you a coil of flower stems, intertwined into a miniature ring. He held it in between two pinched fingers, floating in the space between your bodies. "Wanna get married?"

Around fifteen years later, Seungkwan pulled his car up the long, winding dirt road up to the orange grove. You sat in the passenger seat, your chin settled on your arms over the open window as you gazed out at the pasture that had filled your childhood with joyous memories. In the distance, you could already make out the largest, oldest orange tree at the far end of the field, its branches plump with globes of ripe orange fruit. And, of course, the old tire swing still hung from one of its arms, drifting gently in the cool breeze.

Seungkwan parked the car where the road ended. He had been planning this picnic for a long time coming; you and he hadn't been back to this place for years now, having been occupied with your own constantly moving adult lives. And yet, he had managed to keep ahold of you—thank god, he had.

As he killed the engine to his car, he smoothed down the white button up he wore. Outwardly, his movements were natural—inwardly, the box in his pocket seemed to burn right through his skin.

"It'll be golden hour soon," he said to you softly, a smile gracing his face as he watched the strands of your hair dance across your forehead as you gazed out. He knew you felt it, too—the nostalgia. That creeping, sweeping sensation trekking down his nerves until he felt warm and fuzzy. Or maybe his chest hurt from youth long gone. But there was no time like the present to remedy that.

You lifted yourself from the window, that wistful expression still etched into your face. You met his eyes, and he nearly melted. He would never not be enamored by your every movement, your every stare. "Well, we better get going then, love."

Blanket, picnic basket—all the necessary items were withdrawn from the trunk. While you held the folded square blanket under your arm and Seungkwan with the basket, the two of you ventured into the green-gold sea of grass toward the edges of the orange grove, entwined hands swinging between your bodies.

"Wow, it's beautiful here," you said, voice barely audible. You'd hate to disturb the pure tranquility in the air.

Seungkwan gave a nod, allowing himself to get sucked into the landscape. He tilted his head back, inhaling deeply. "It is. Isn't that the rock you tripped over when we were, like, seven?" He chuckled, pointing to a rock fixture to the side of the path.

You made a face at the rock as you passed, then bumped his shoulder with yours. "Hey! I had banged-up knees for weeks!"

"Aish, what're you complaining about when I pushed you everywhere in that wheelchair?" He made a feigned noise of disappointment while shaking his head.

That made you smile. "You refused to let me use Chan's crutches."

"He probably broke them," he rolled his eyes. "I wasn't about to let you hurt yourself more from wrecked crutches."

"I'm telling Chan you said that."

"I dare you," he quipped, nose flicking up into the air. "I'm not afraid of him."

You giggled, and the sound made his heart pitter-patter like he was a teenager in love again. Then again, he wasn't so far off from then. It was strange how after all this time of being in love with you, he hadn't gotten used to the feeling. Everyday, you gave his heart a warm thrill. You were a reminder of how beautiful it was to be alive and by your side.

When you reached the foot of the orange tree, you and Seungkwan swiftly laid out the blanket, then set everything atop it. Before digging into anything, however, you walked over to the tire swing and tested the integrity of the rope, the rubber. You swept the tire seat clean from cobwebs and dirt and dust, delicately lowering yourself onto the inner ring.

Seungkwan didn't even need to be asked.

He came up behind you and grabbed either side of the tire, pulling it back a little, then letting it fly down the slight incline. "Wow, I didn't think it'd actually still hold."

"Woooo!" You cheered as you swung in the setting sun.

Seungkwan had definitely been right earlier—golden hour had approached swiftly.

He fidgeted as he continued to gently push the swing into motion for you. He had a plan—of course, he had a plan.

And when the two of you sat atop the blanket a handful of minutes later, your knees were pressed to your chest and Seungkwan's hand lingered close to yours.

He swallowed the thundering of his heart, his eyes set on the burning sunset in the distance as if even the sky were telling him that it was now or never. "Remember when I asked you that one time why only older people get married, or something like that?"

You passed him a curious, sideways smile. "Yeah. I still don't know the answer."

"Well—" he stammered, the hand on his other side struggling to dig the box out of his pocket as subtly as possible, "—do you think we're old enough yet?"

"Old enough? To get married?" You and Seungkwan had had lots of discussions about marriage before, but never had he brought up this one instance again. "I mean… I think we are. I think we're old enough to have experienced enough of life ourselves to determine when we're ready to share it with another."

Seungkwan closed his eyes as a small laugh fell from his lips. "Why are you so good at articulating these things, hm?"

You beamed, leaning forward onto your knees to peer at him with your cheek pressed to your kneecaps. "Maybe I've thought about it a lot."

Yours and his eyes met then, as the sun gave its final send off.

Seungkwan internally cheered as his fingers caught onto the ring from the pried-open jaws of the ring box.

He cleared his throat; why was it getting congested? Why now why now why now? "Then Yn Ln—" he forced stability into his voice, then presented the ring, held it between you two, "—will you marry me?"

Your breath caught in your throat. The ring—white gold band, diamond center and surrounded in petals of clear-cut stone like a blooming flower—glistened in the fading daylight. You exhaled your answer, inhaled it, breathed it out again: "Yes. Yes. Yes!"

And as Seungkwan fumbled to slide the ring onto your finger with shaky hands; as you clung onto him until he fell back onto the blanket; as the sky dimmed to periwinkle evening; you and Seungkwan were reminded of a beautiful life beneath the shade of an orange tree.

svt m.list

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#kflixnet #caratwritersclub #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan x reader #seungkwan x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen oneshot #seventeen drabble #seungkwan drabble #seungkwan imagine #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan oneshot #seungkwan scenarios

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storyofmychoices · 2 months

Text

Couples Skate

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist]

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley (F!OC) Book: Open Heart Word Count: ~600 Rating/Warnings: general, pointless fluff A/N: Thanks for the request @thosehallowedhalls 💖

Synopsis: Olivia takes Bryce ice skating.

"I thought you said you knew what you were doing?" His tone hovered between a question and a statement, his amusement evident.

"I said as a child I enjoyed ice skating." She brushed the loose strands of red hair away from her rosy cheeks, taking care to release those stuck to her Chapstick-coated lips. "It's been a while." She readjusted her hat, standing tall as she regained her composure. She stepped away from the railing at the side of the rink, letting the sharp blades of her skates glide across the ice as she once more attempted to skate. She breathed easier as she slid successfully across the glassy surface. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was coming back to her. She had her balance and moved with growing ease. As she circled the rink, she came to an almost too abrupt stop before him.

"See—" Her infectious smile spread wide across her features. "I told you I could do it! Just like riding a bike."

"If you say so," he extended his arm, drawing her closer. "You looked beautiful, by the way."

"Thank you," Olivia tipped her head in pride. "Now, your turn."

"Oh—" His hand rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm okay here."

"Come on," she laced her fingers with his. "I'll be there the whole time."

His brow arched, teasingly he replied. "Is that supposed to comfort me?"

"Hey!" Her hands pressed against his chest as she playfully pushed him away, causing them both to wobble on the slippery ice. "Ahh!" She regained her footing just in time to steady him. "See. I've got you."

"And I appreciate that, but I'm fine here," Bryce offered, reaching for the side of the rink.

"You're telling me that super surfer and cardiac surgeon extraordinaire Bryce Lahela is afraid of ice skating?" She teased, her gaze sweeping over the space. "If the children can do it, so can you."

"And as lovely as the children are, that's more your element," Bryce noted, hoping to distract her.

"You're not getting off that easily. One lap!" She decided, offering her hand again. Her smile faltered slightly, "Besides, I thought you wanted to come?"

"I came for the legendary hot chocolate you promised," he replied with a smirk.

"Well, there's only one way to secure yourself a cup of that delicious hot chocolate. The one with the extra whipped cream and cinnamon on top—" She guided him forward gently. "One lap, and if you still want to leave, we can."

"Okay," he agreed hesitantly, letting go of the railing. "Lead the way."

Slowly, the pair rounded the ice—once, twice, thrice—their confidence and laughter growing with each pass.

As they completed lap after lap, Bryce's initial apprehension melted away. It wasn't surfing by any means, but it wasn't as bad as he expected. With Olivia by his side, he'd happily skate through the night, even if the children surrounding them were faster and had more than a few tricks to show off.

"Enjoying yourself?" She bumped him gently.

"With you?" He squeezed her hand softly. "How could I not?"

She pressed a lingering kiss on his cheek. "Wanna get that hot chocolate now?"

"It can wait," he replied to his own astonishment. "I think I'm getting the hang of this."

"Easy now," Olivia warned. "Don't get too cocky. I'd hate to see you embarrass yourself in front of the adorable children."

"You know I'd even make falling look good." He wagged his brow.

"Why don't I doubt that," she teased, "but let's see if we can both stay upright."

"I think that can be arranged.... for now!" With a wink and a devilish grin, he guided them forward, the pair gliding across the ice, hand in hand, an unforgettable couples skate.

If you made it this far thanks. This is just some pointless fluff of these two enjoying a date early in their relationship.

@choicesficwriterscreations

#bryce lahela #bryce lahela x mc #bryce lahela x oc #bryce oph #open heart #playchoices #choices #choices game #olivia hadley #bryce x olivia #brylivia #lovealexhunt #oph bryce #fan fiction #open heart fan fic #march2024 #storyofmychoices #lovealexhunt writes

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jazzythursday · 2 months

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Last Line Tag Game

Hi! I was tagged by @aphroditestummyrolls to share the last few lines I wrote with you all. To be honest I meant to get to this a while ago, but there's one scene in Heart Of The Country that has been giving me trouble and I was hoping to salvage enough of it for a snippet eventually… which I haven’t quite yet. Taking a break from it for a moment to share some of my Wylan torture/whump wip that I haven't talked much about on here. This scene is part of a Jesper pov chapter about half way through the story:

“Jesper.” The way she says his name gives him pause, and he turns back to her wearily, feeling the weight of every day of this week catching up to him all at once. He sags against the countertop, trying to pass it off as a lean—though she knows him well enough to tell the difference—and sighs. "Talk to me."

"This is talking, we're talking right now." He taps restlessly at the granite of the countertops, attempting a smile even though his face feels like a rubber band about to snap. “You’ve been gone for a long time, Nej, you’ll forgive a man for wanting to catch up. Maybe I’m just curious about all your exciting adventures at sea.”

“My adventures at sea involve a lot of waste management and trying to keep my knives from rusting from saltwater. It isn’t particularly glamorous.” She smiles kindly at him, sympathetic but without pity. “I’ve missed you too, Jes, but you know that’s not why I came.”

How could I forget? Jesper could no sooner do so than he could lick his own boots while they were still laced. No, it’s no use putting this off, filling the silence where an empty space sits loudly where another person should be, but he’d tried. He’d missed Inej terribly while she’d been away, as he always does, and it had been easy to slip into friendly conversation and banter just as they would, were this simply another one of her usual visits—like they really are just catching up. It is wonderful to see her, in any case, and it had been nice to pretend, selfishly, that things were normal, if only for a minute.

“Tea?” he offers dully, though the jig is long up by now, and feels a pang at how the word sits wrong in his mouth. Wylan is the one who usually offers tea, who always has their friend's favourite biscuits and herbal blends on hand, slipping into the practised role of hosting like a well worn coat while Jesper chatters away—but they’ve only got Jesper for a poor replacement now, little good he is at it.

“What happened, Jes?”

“It didn’t seem like anything at the time,” Jesper says, after a long beat. “You know we still do work for Kaz, when it suits. It was just—it was like any other job.”

Inej nods, she perches opposite him on the kitchen table, sweeping her long braid over her shoulder to wrap around her hand, combing through the ends as she listens.

There had been nothing especially interesting or dangerous about the job at all. Thinking back on it, it was comparatively boring, a surefire win—and it had been—a veritable success, until it wasn’t.

Tagging @oneofthewednesdays @sparrowmoth @sunfl8wer @waterloou and @sixofcrowdaydreams (but no pressure! 💖)

#also just realised this is my first time writing Inej ahh #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #six of crows #wesper #shadow and bone #jazzy writes

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

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Dirty Work 16

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Hi.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson leaves you to wash up the porcelain. You sigh in relief at having space to breathe. You can't decide if he's testing you. You suspect this might be him keeping an eye on you, just as he had before. Still waiting for you to mess up irrevocably.

Thursdays entail a tidy of the second floor. With the carpenter in and the unexpected distraction, your schedule is delayed. You begin your canvas of the upper floor, dragging broom and vacuum along as you go through every room.

You stop before the study and knock. There's no answer. You try again and rap on the wood. Again, nothing. You enter and find it empty.

You wipe down the surfaces, dusting and shaking out the curtains before you run over the carpet and drapes with the vacuum hose. You proceed into the library but there isn't much to do there. You stop as you find your bag waiting in the chair behind the writing desk. You can't recall bringing it up but you must have.

You finish up and ease the door shut as you return to the hall. You hear a low drone, only realising it's a voice as you open the half-bath on the other side. You try not to overhear as Laufeyson's words grow clearer the closer you get. You hide in the bathroom, collecting the towels to replace. You put then in the hall and go down to the linen closet.

"Yes, tomorrow," his insistence pierces through, "I know, I know, we will talk. I... I'm sorry for all that."

He's quiet and you take that as your cue to retreat. You shouldn't be listening. You hang the fresh towels and gather the used ones to take down to the laundry room. As you come back up, Mr. Laufeyson emerges from his room, no jacket over his pressed button-up, as he rolls his sleeves to his elbows. His eyes flit up as you tiptoe along the hall and he nods as you pass.

"Have you gotten to the study?" He asks.

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Great, I will require privacy," he states.

"Mr. Laufeyson," you take the broom from against the wall and roll the vacuum towards his room, you pause before you can get there.

There's a click in his throat as his gaze shrouds you, "don't worry, you will have no unseemly scenes from me, today."

The allusion to your unfortunate foray under the bed sets your cheeks alight. You wince and reach for the handle, biting down on your tongue. You push through slowly and set the broom inside. As you turn back, he remains just outside his study.

"A joke," he assures as he presses the door inward, "or an attempt."

He shrugs and disappears. You suck in your cheeks and think. Is he being nice or is he mocking you? You wish he would go back to be the stoic, strict man with the cold words. You're used to spite and while you long for warmth, you're comforted by the familiar.

Too much thinking, you rebuke yourself. Just get on with it.

🧹

Just after noon, you decide to take your break early. You usually wait until at least one but moving and bending and sweeping has left you lightheaded.

You go downstairs and refill your water bottle. You find your way to patio, the sunlight forming rings in your vision. You see the untouched pitcher, the ice melted and the water no doubt warm.

You leave your bottle and take the pitcher. You refresh it and come back out to footfalls on the steps. You look up as Ronan climbs onto the patio, a sheen of sweat across his face and arms, dampening the chest of his shirt and the edges of his sleeves. You smile as you set down the cold water.

"Just topping up," you say.

"Great timing," he sets down the lunch bag in his left hand, resting his other on the back of an iron chair, "do you mind?"

"Uh, no," you look at your water bottle, "actually, I could just go inside--"

"Wouldn't mind the company," he pulls out the chair and sits, "solitary work, I was chatting with the birds."

"Oh," your cheeks pinch.

He laughs at himself, "not really but I was tempted."

He tugs back the zipper and flips up the top of the bag. You lower yourself into a chair and play with the cap of the water bottle. You flip the nozzle up and down, watching the sparrows chirping wildly in the vines.

"Nice day," he remarks, "glad I get to work in the shade though."

"Hm, yeah, it must be nice to work outside," you agree and turn the water bottle nervously. You don't want to be rude and run off but you were looking forward to a quiet moment alone.

He pours himself a glass of water as you chew your lip. You stare off at the green expanse and lean your elbows on the table, still clutching the bottle tightly. As the silence settles, a rumble erupts from your stomach, squeezing your insides painfully. You look down meekly and lean back, drawing your arms back to fold your hands in your lap. You hope he didn't hear it too.

"You know," he says as he rustles a wrapper, "I've been known to pack too much." He takes half the sandwich and slides the other towards you, "wanna help me out?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't--" your stomach roars as if trying to drown you out.

"Really, I can't eat it all myself. Working out in the sun, I'll make myself sick."

"I'm okay, that's really nice of you--"

"I'd hate for it to go to waste," he insists, "you don't like ham and cheese?"

"No, I-- I don't mind it but..." you rub your arm, once more pressing on the bruise hidden under your sleeve, "that's... lovely, thank you."

You sit forward, not wanting to argue. Besides, you are starving. Your head is starting to pound and your stomach is knotting around itself. You accept the sandwich and carefully lift it up, nibbling on the corner.

"I brought some nuts, you think that chipmunk would like some?" He muses.

You can't help but smile, "probably."

"He doesn't really like me. I don't think I've ever heard one of those things growl before," he reaches in the bag and takes out a small container, "maybe you could try."

"Oh, uh..." you blink down at the plastic, "I guess... I mostly work inside."

"Ah, yes, it is a very nice house," he comments as he peers over at the brick, his eyes narrowing slightly as he stares then squares his shoulders and refocuses on you, "and your boss... he keeps you inside?"

"Well, no, I uh, I just... have stuff to do," you take another small bite.

"Mmm," he hums, "he keeps you busy."

You nod and shrug. The work can't be as hard as his. You don't think you could aim a hammer.

"Don't worry, I know his type. Up in their castles, they hate to brush shoulders with anyone outside their court," he scoffs, "you're a strong woman for putting up with it."

"I... he isn't...I'm not..." you don't know what to say without flat-out lying. Mr. Laufeyson might not be very amiable but he is still your boss. "It's just a job."

His eyes drift against and his thick brows twitch. He slowly raises the sandwich and takes and bite, the tension slowly leaving his posture. You glance back as a trickle runs down your spine.

You peek up to where his eyes had lingered. The curtains seem to flutter but it's too far away to tell for sure. You face the table again and gulp down the layers of bread, lettuce, and meat.

Ronan isn't so bad. It'll be nice to have someone else around for a while. Especially, someone who doesn't reprimand your every breath.

🧹

The end of the day nears and you look over your list. You've caught up on a few things planned for tomorrow even. You want to be able to catch up after whatever Mr. Laufeyson has planned. He'll be expecting as much.

You'll stay until Ronan is done for the day but in the meantime, you have a few last hanging threads to tie off. You go to the door to the study and knock. Almost as soon as your knuckles tap, a response sounds, “come in.”

You obey and twist the handle. Mr. Laufeyson sits and examines what appears to be a scroll, diligently polishing the brass ends with a cloth. You don't question him, you know better than that. Even so, you are curious.

“Um, Mr. Laufeyson, there are few notes I got from the carpenter–”

“Ah,” his brows rise as his eyes flick towards you. His hand stills as he keeps a slight bend in his neck, “Roman, was it?”

“Ronan, I think, uh,” you hover around the other side of his desk, “he has a few suggestions here. If you'd like to review–”

“Suggestions?” He tilts his head.

You take the prompt and look at the page, “um, okay, he recommends replacing the whole floor of the gazebo as the wood is rotting around the broken pieces and the moss has compromised the integrity.”

“Do it,” he sighs and sets the scroll down as he sits up completely.

“And the pillars, if he does just the one, it won't match the rest…”

“Tell me, does he do tear down? I'm starting to think we may as well be rid of the damned thing.”

“I could ask,” you frown.

“I was being facetious,” he sniffs, “though I'm sure you're all too eager to have another chat with that man.”

“Hmmm?” Your crinkle your brow.

“Did you enjoy your lunch?” He wonders.

You blanch. Had he seen that? And by what chance? Was it him stirring by the curtains?

“The sun was nice,” you say, “I wasn't out very long.”

“No, no, you should have breaks,” he says, “you work very hard, don't you?”

You blink. Is he saying something between the lines?

“I'll have my lunch in the kitchen tomorrow–”

“I am not trying to confine you,” he interjects brusquely, “you act as if I am a dictator. I never said you can't have a break. Nor did I say you shouldn't enjoy the sunshine–” he huffs and shows his palm in exasperation, “we are not arguing, alright? I am conversing with you.” He puts his hand down as it forms a fist, “I am simply checking in.”

You stare at him blankly. Your nerves swirl as you fidget. You can't stand this. The words being left unsaid as he pretends. Your heart pumps behind your ears as you feel it all spilling over.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” your voice quivers, “about yesterday…”

“Yesterday? Why, that was your personal day,” he says coyly.

“Look, uh, I know you heard… some things and I just wanna clear it up. It was nothing.”

“I don't know what you mean,” he squints, “it was only dead air. A misdial, I assume–”

“Then why–” you stop yourself and shake your head. “Nevermind.”

“Go on,” he urges, “why…”

You look away and rock. You've gone too far. You should know to just shut up.

“Why are you being so… nice?” You eke out as you dare to glance at him.

His irises flash like glittering emeralds. He slowly reclines and plants his elbow on the armrest and brings his fingers to his chin. He gives a thoughtful hum.

“I'm not nice?” He asks.

“Well, no, I didn't mean--f-forget I said anything,” you clasp your hands behind your back. “It's only…” you sputter and search for a way back but you can only go forward, “you made me tea.”

His eyes flit to the ceiling and back to you, “I did.”

“Why?” You ask.

“It's tea,” he throws his hands up and reclines against the chair, “just tea.”

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoes tritely, “what else would it be?”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I shouldn't have said anything.”

“If you didn't like the tea, you could just say,” he continues, further throwing you off.

“It was good, I just…” you tug at your cuffs, “may I go?”

“Go?”

“The carpenter is leaving and it's almost five–”

“Yes, go see him off,” he snips, “and run along.” He scowls and taps his fingers on the desk in agitation, “as well, to show how nice I can be, I will allow you to sleep in tomorrow. I will not require you until noon.”

“Noon, yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Mm,” he grumbles and spins his chair away from you.

You shrink down and drag your feet across the room. You don't know why you asked. Why did you blurt all that out? You're so dumb. You should just have taken it for what it was and kept quiet.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #au #maid au #series #dirty work #avengers #thor #mcu #marvel #ronan the accuser

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dameronalone · 1 year

Note

helloooo 😊 i come offering a prompt, if you feel so inspired:

“You flirt in the most awkward situations.” “You know you love it.” i was thinking Poe for this, but if you think it fits better or want to try it with someone else, please feel free.

Thank you! 😁💖

please I love it dkfjsjhd

rated t for danger | poe dameron x gn!force-sensitive!reader

In their defense, the First Order wasn't supposed to be here yet. They were. Stormtroopers had their blasters aimed at you and Poe before you could even take three steps, had the pair of you in cuffs and tossed in the back of a transport without delay.

"Well this is just wonderful," you mutter, eyeing the troopers across from you as you pull at your binders.

"Yeah, so much for an alliance with us," Poe agrees, a tone of bitterness creeping into his voice. You know he is more disappointed than most; their mission to meet with the monarch of this little world had been Poe's pet project from the beginning.

"Think it was a trap the whole time?" Poe asks, leaning towards you.

"Shut up," one of the two troopers snaps, modulated voice unable to disguise their annoyance.

"Scum," you offer.

You bite back a grin as the air turns a little frigid.

"What did you say?" the second trooper asks.

"It's shut up, scum," you explain, raising your eyebrows. "Or did you feel like passing up a chance to insult Resistance fighters?"

Poe murmurs your name, concerned, as the first trooper rises to their feet and steps closer. Whatever they were planning on doing to you, they don't get a chance.

You kick your leg out, sweeping their feet out from under them, plastoid helmet making a horrendous clack on the durasteel flooring, and you lunge, bound hands outstretched towards the second trooper. You manage to knock his blaster out of his hands, and slam his head back against the wall.

Stumbling back to Poe, you hold your hand over his binders and focus and - the binders come loose with a click. Poe's eyes are wide and full of wonder and awe, like they always are after you use the Force. He opens his mouth, but he doesn't get a chance to speak, because you shove him to the side, and dive in the opposite direction, having sensed a blaster bolt that slammed into the wall where Poe's head was.

You can hear shouting coming from the cockpit, and, leaving the other two troopers to Poe's capable and dangerous hands, you slip up closer to the barred window separating the two sections of the transport.

"What-! What's going on?" the driver is yelling, but you take a breath, center yourself, and reach with your hand again.

"Everything is just fine," you tell him, voice eerily calm.

"Everything is fine, it's good," the driver repeats, instantly calming.

"You don't have to stop driving."

"We don't have to stop. Don't have the time to."

Satisfied that the driver isn't going to cause anymore problems, you turn back to see Poe tying the two, now unconscious stormtroopers together. You step closer and he reaches for your hands, undoing your binders, and you give him a smile once your freed.

"We can either ride this to the end, or this is our stop," you say, and Poe tilts his head, thoughtful.

"Well, we need to know what the First Order is doing here."

"We could follow?" you offer, and Poe nods. Before you can step away to open the back door, Poe clears his throat to draw your attention.

"That was very attractive, by the way," Poe says, still holding your hands in his, and caressing your knuckles. You roll your eyes.

"You flirt in the most awkward situations," you tell him, mildly exasperated, and pull away, reaching with your hand and the Force for the inner locking mechanisms of the door.

Poe slides up next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

"You know you love it," he mutters, eyes crinkling when you glance back at him. You can't help smiling, or leaning in to kiss him quickly.

"I know I love you, there's a difference, flyboy," you say, grinning, and shove the door open before he can play at being offended. There is still work to be done.

#requests #campingwiththecharmings #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x gn!reader #dameronalone reader fic

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imagine-you · 5 months

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writin' you a letter and I don't know where to start part 1 of 3 [steve harrington/reader]

summary: You think leaving Hawkins will be a painless and easy farewell, but when you reconnect with Steve Harrington the night before you're set to leave town, you realize there's something still left in Hawkins you'll miss. You decide to write Steve a letter and when he writes back, you can't help but feel thrilled to reforge your connection with him. It's easy to fall in love with Steve, but when you fall out of touch again, you think you're officially done with him once and for all. Years later, you're visiting your parents in Hawkins for Christmas, when a deputy pulls you over and you realize maybe Hawkins and Steve aren't done with you. word count: 1.5k author's note: this was meant to be a oneshot, but I had a family emergency this week and I couldn't finish this. but the thought of not posting anything depressed the hell out of me even more than I already am, so here's part one. so much thought and love has gone into planning this fic, so to entice you a bit more, part two involves letters and longing while part three involves deputy!steve and reconciliation. I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas. 💖

part one / part two / part three

Most people your age either dreaded the news that they would have to leave their whole life behind or find it exciting to wipe the slate clean and start all over. You supposed you felt it was bittersweet to leave Hawkins, but you were interested in seeing what life in Chicago had in store for you. Your dad had lost his job in Hawkins, since most businesses were either going out of business or abandoning the town in favor of greener pastures. Most businesses were heading for bankruptcy either because Hawkins now had a public image as a hellscape or because Starcourt Mall was set to open its doors in a few months, sweeping in to snatch away sales and customers.

Your father had been offered a job at your grandfather's company and your mom was ecstatic at the thought of having more money to spend. You didn't feel like leaving Hawkins was the worst thing that could happen to you, but you still felt like you were leaving behind a few loose ends.

You had never had many friends. Not since you hit junior high and suddenly everyone was concerned with whether or not they were 'cool.' You figured by the time you hit ninth grade and you could only count one or two people in the cafeteria who probably wouldn't give you shit for sitting with them that you had fallen short of the popularity standard everyone else had set.

So, while you didn't mind moving away from Hawkins, you would mourn the easier times you had when you were a kid and it seemed like everyone was your friend. When everyone got an invite to the birthday parties and everyone got a card for Valentine's day. When you played tag with future cheerleaders and basketball players on the playground and shared popsicles in the park on hot summer days.

You supposed nostalgia was to blame for why you had talked yourself into attending Tina's Christmas party. Everyone would be there, or so Tina liked to boast, and since you practically had one foot out the Hawkins door, you could make yourself say goodbye to the best memories from your past and rid yourself of anything tethering you to the place where you grew up.

You felt out of place as you walked into Tina's house. There was a keg stand and raucous laughter and dancing and cheering. You were so out of practice socializing with so many people around that you froze inside the doorway, not sure where to start.

Your decision was made for you when a girl you didn't even recognize passed by you and handed you a cup of punch.

"Gotta get in the party mood! Turn that frown upside down!" She kept walking, falling into the arms of a guy who was evidently waiting for her across the room.

You considered the punch before downing the drink, wincing at the amount of vodka in it. You hadn't even been aware that you were frowning, so if this helped you loosen up a bit and make the best of your last night in Hawkins among people you used to call friends, then you would rely on a little liquid courage. You set your sights on a game of beer pong that was happening across the room and decided to start there.

You found yourself drifting from one group of people to the next, mentally saying your farewells while you soaked up the last vestiges of nostalgia Hawkins still held for you.

By the time the clock struck midnight, you were leaning against the wall, nursing a glass of water while you watched people dance to Christmas music. The song changed from one to the next and you perked up at the opening notes of your favorite Christmas song coming out of the sound system.

"Wanna dance?"

You startled, not even realizing that someone had approached you. When you turned to look, you were surprised to see that it was Steve standing there, considering you. You hadn't talked to Steve in what felt like years but you must have said 'hi' to him or nodded at him occasionally at school. There was a time in your life when Steve was your best friend, but those days were long gone and now you were standing next to a stranger.

"What?" You asked, at a loss for any other way to respond.

"This is your favorite, right?" He reminded you, gesturing towards the speakers where the song was pouring into the room. Darlene Love was begging her baby to please come home for Christmas and you couldn't deny that the song had a hold on you. The idea of dancing with Steve among all the other couples while listening to the song felt exhilarating.

"You remember that?" You hadn't had an actual conversation with Steve since you were eleven years old, but the fact that he would remember something like your favorite Christmas song touched you. You might not be having playdates or inviting each other to your birthday parties anymore, but maybe you still meant something to him.

"Yeah," he answered, shrugging his shoulders like it meant nothing. "So, you wanna dance or keep holding the wall up? Because I'm pretty sure the song's halfway over and you're gonna be sad if you miss it.

You rolled your eyes, barely resisting the urge to reach out and pull on Steve's hair like you would have if you were still kids. You figured at the very least you might as well dance with Steve. Tonight was your last chance for farewells and a dance with Steve Harrington sounded like the perfect way to end the night. You nodded your head in answer and Steve took your hand. You felt a fluttering in the pit of your stomach that had you hoping it was dark enough that Steve wouldn't realize how flustered you were feeling.

Steve pulled you towards the dancing couples and turned, tugging on your hand until you were pressed against him. You felt a dizzying sense of déjà vu and a memory rushed unbidden to the forefront of your mind.

"What?" Steve asked, sounding suspicious. "Why are you smiling like that?"

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped your mouth as you leaned forward to rest your head on his shoulder. It was easy to fall into step with Steve, like you had been doing this little dance for years, swaying together and orbiting each other. "Remember that awful party our parents made us go to? We were five or something and the only kids there and Mrs. Lee thought it would be adorable if she taught us how to waltz."

Steve groaned and shook his head. "I needed to ice my feet that night because you kept stepping all over them. You couldn't get the timing right."

"Me?" You scoffed, helpless against the smile that was still tugging at your lips. "You elbowed me in the eye and I had to take my very first school picture all bruised," you said before bringing a hand up and gesturing at your face.

"Well, on the bright side, at least we've both gotten better at dancing," he offered, his mouth tilted to the side in a hopeful smirk. "You haven't tried to crush any of my toes yet."

"There's still time," you joked, pretending to pick your foot up with the intention of bringing it down on Steve's left shoe.

"Alright, alright," he sighed, reeling you back in. You hadn't even noticed that you had drifted away until you were suddenly aware of Steve's heartbeat echoing through your body and the feel of his breath against the shell of your ear. "So, this is goodbye? I heard about your dad's job."

"Yeah," you answered, fluster swiftly twisting into melancholy. You hadn't even realized there was anything in Hawkins that you would actually miss until that very moment. "We leave tomorrow."

Steve let out a low whistle, pulling away until he could get a good look at you. "You ever gonna come back here?

You shrugged your shoulders. "I don't know," you told him, mind spinning from having all of Steve's focus on you. "I don't know if I'll ever have a reason to."

Steve hummed in thought before he pulled you forward again, but it wasn't to continue dancing, since the song had already ended. Steve's arms wrapped around you and it took you a second to realize Steve was hugging you. And then before you could even think to reciprocate, he was pulling back, a small, wistful smile on his face. "Don't forget all about us in Chicago, alright? We’ll miss you here."

And then he was walking away, leaving you speechless and confused.

That night, you were curled up on your mattress that was left lying in the center of your room so you could get one last good sleep in Hawkins before you left. You pulled your blanket tighter around you, your mind on Steve and the childhood feelings you had felt for him bubbling up and threatening to overwhelm you.

Maybe Hawkins held nothing for you, but you couldn't help but think that Steve Harrington sure did.

part two

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #reader insert #christmas fic #imagine #my fic

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bi-bats · 1 month

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i completely forgor about the massage prompt, immediately trying to hunt down the 2 (?) snippets you posted for it!!

that and identity porn college au completely have my heart (is the college au still a love square?)

Identity porn college au is still a love square!!!

another snippet of that au:

Surprisingly, when Tim’s hand flew up to his face, he found his mask was still there. “You — You didn’t take it off.” Hood didn’t move, but his tone sounded like he was rolling his eyes. “No, I didn’t.” “Why not?” “Because I’m not that kind of asshole,” he drawled in a tone that indicated he did know he was some kind of asshole.

And as for the massage one: I found them both!! here's the first one and here's the second one!! which is good bc I could NOT remember what I already posted of it and I would have posted something I already shared 😂

putting it under a read more bc it gets a little NSFW 💖

After a few more passes of that, Tim moves back to his shoulders, and Jason can’t decide if he should sigh in relief or beg him to go farther. In the end, it’s decided for him. Tim moves from his shoulders down the sides of his spine, moving his thumbs in long sweeps, warm and just far enough past gentle that he can feel it, and the drag of his skin on Tim’s thumbs should be uncomfortable, but he’s always liked a little bit of pain with his pleasure. His hand reaches the base of Jason’s spine and his fingers spread wide, digging into Jason’s hips, his thumbs pressing into the spot right above his boxers, and— “Jesus fucking christ, Tim, please tell me you still want to fuck.”

#batsasks #bibatrambles #☁️eidoloony

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lackadaisy-headcanon-supply-unit · 1 year

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Hi hi hi! It’s awesome to see Lackadaisy fan content writers coming on Tumblr! Could you write some general romance headcanons for Nico Savoy?

Can’t wait to see what you guys do in the future! 💕💕

The finest of choices, my friend 💖

•As established by canon, Nico doesn't do well with the concept of romantic commitment.

•That means his only real relationships are flings that last a couple of weeks, sometimes four. His record was three months.

•He's left a decent trail of broken hearts, and no one knows whether his own is so much as dented from it all.

•Of course, as a hired hijacker and member of the Marigold, you can't exactly say he's fallen in with a "good" crowd. Most of his romantic liaisons have been meet-cutes in those circles and in back alleys, from deadly gunslingers to the lovely ladies populating the houses of ill-repute.

•He'll definitely make it feel like more than a short infatuation, however dubious it is at its core. He probably doesn't even realize he does so.

•He's aware that he's a smooth charmer, that's for sure. A real Dom Juan who spares no drop of golden charisma or expense, especially in the beginning. He goes all in, knowing what he wants and unafraid to show it. It's that confidence that dazzles his conquests and sweeps them off their feet before they know it.

•Evening dates—when he's not on duty—include fishing in secluded spots down by the river or a good old bar brawl and subsequent wrestling match in the Marigold. He favours the raw rush of life to fancy dinners and tight-necked upper-class parties.

•Unfortunately that means his private life and his work life often weave and intersect, and that any of his current romantic affiliations end up involved with the Marigold's business in one way or another.

•If they can handle a gun decently well, it makes for even more fun. There have definitely been some interesting couple's nights out, that's for sure.

•If it wasn't obvious, Nico's romance rarely flourishes outside the cover of darkness. Managing to find him during the day is already a feat unto itself.

•It's hard to know what he really thinks of love in general. The normally brash and abrasively honest Nicodeme Savoy always plays the same seduction game, wins it and lets his victory wane with his affections. It's hard to see what really goes on behind that mind of his.

•Maybe Serafine knows. Maybe one day, a partner of his will find out, too.

•All his romantic flings are certain of is that it's worth making the most of their partnership while it lasts. Despite the eventually heartbreak, sweet memories of a rumbling laugh and Cajun drawl, the brooding amber gaze and the dreamy fireflies and passing boat lights glittering over the surface of the Mississippi stay deeply engraved, forever.

•Sharing even a few days with him feels like a sharp shot of spiced-up booze, difficult to get out of one's system and lingering like a curse.

•And just like alcohol, the addiction is often hard to do away with for good.

#🦉mod iphiko #I love Nico with all my heart he's just so #these kinds of requests make me feral in a very good way #so thank you #lackadaisy #nicodeme savoy #nicodeme lackadaisy #nico savoy #headcanon home brew #headcanon

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gothidecorem · 10 months

Text

Okay, so in my original idea, this was supposed to be spicy but I can’t get the dumb adhd brain to get past this spot. So, here is my short little Chris Shiherlis blurb.

Warnings: uh, language I suppose. Does Chris himself count as a warning? Spoilers for sure if you’ve never seen Heat. (Also switched a couple events around)

Tags💖: @valmare @sakar-rad

The walk back to the condo from the coffee shop was brisk, but needed. The wind blowing across the ocean, moonlight illuminating what the streetlights couldn’t touch. After a day like today, all that I wanted to do was relax on the deck & listen to the ocean before bed. After what seemed like an eternity trying to fumble for the right key, I finally made my way through the door and into the kitchen to make some tea. Grabbing a mug from the cupboard, I turn around and immediately lose grip, dropping it to the floor, spotting a figure laying in the living room. The sound of porcelain shattering startled the figure, jolting up abruptly.

“Damnit Chris. Good thing it wasn’t my favorite mug or you’d be buying me a new one.” I joke, grabbing a broom & sweeping up the pieces.

“When is Neil gonna get some furniture?” He asks, making his way to the bar. I reach up to grab another mug to make him a cup as well.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” After starting the kettle finally, I excuse myself and head to the bedroom to change into some comfier clothes. I also call Charlene to see what’s up. After a few rings, she answers. “Chris is at my place. What’s wrong?”

“Husband and wife stuff.” She says, venom hanging on every word.

“Cut the crap, Charlene.” I say, laying on my bed.

“You’re one to talk. As if my husband hasn’t been seeing you behind my back. Don’t think I don’t know what’s been going on.”

“Yeah, maybe in the daydreams in your head. I’ve told you time and time again there’s nothing going on between us.” The woman doth project too much.

“Go ahead and keep lying to yourself, honey. I-“

“No, you listen. Don’t act like you don’t go around cheating on Chris. Or do I need to remind you about the whole hotel situation. Yeah, that’s right, Neil told me everything. Don’t continue to project onto him & I to make yourself feel justified in being a bitch.” I’ve always tried to play nice for Chris & Neil’s sake but I’ve never liked the woman. Never have and definitely never will for the way she treats those around her.

“Yano what, you can have him. I’m done talking to you.” She said, abruptly hanging up the phone. Nerves on high alert and anger already boiling, I let it take over and launch my phone at the wall. The moment it crashed, there was a faint knock & the door slightly cracked open.

“Just wanted to let you know the tea is ready. I finished making it for you.” Chris slowly walks in, two mugs in hand. Joining me on the floor by my bed, he passes me the tea. The burn of the tea feels nice, easing the aggravation.

“So what happened?” I ask, pulling the blanket down for us to share.

“Not enough steaks in the freezer.” He said nonchalantly, sipping on his tea.

“With what you guys do, I doubt that.” I mumble under my breath, “unless she’s also a gold digger.” To the untrained eye, it would’ve gone unnoticed, but a flicker of shock flashed in his eyes. “Don’t act surprised, Shiherlis. I’m not oblivious.”

“Vegas & the Super Bowl cleaned me out.”

“Everyone has their vices, some costing more than others. You don’t deserve half the shit she puts you through because of that though.”

He sets his cup down, full attention on me. “What do you mean by that?”

“I hope I’m not the one breaking this to you, but you realize she has something going for her on the side, right? Neil caught her sneaking around at that seedy motel near downtown.” He slumps down, putting his head in his hands. “This whole time she’s been trying to pin the blame on me, on us, saying we’re sneaking around but the whole time she was just-“

“Seriously? She’s been saying that shit to you this whole time?” He says, quickly sitting back up.

“Since the day we met. She’s never liked me and the feeling is mutual. Sorry-“

“Don’t be, I get it.”

The truth is, while there may not be anything but friendship between him & I, I’ve had feelings for him since soon after he and I met. Those feelings haven’t gone away, they’ve just gotten stronger the closer we got. Neil warned me not to get too wrapped up, especially with the job.

“There’s no point. That’s the cold truth of the business. Have no attachments, allow nothing to be in your life you cannot walk out on in 30 seconds flat if you spot the heat around the corner.”

“You took me in, didn’t you?”

“You’re a special case & you’re not here all the time. You know where to find me and I know where to find you if shit hits the fan.”

Chris’s head falling on my shoulder shook me out of my thoughts. He looked so at peace with the way the moonlight hit his face, blond hair falling down. Brushing it out of the way, attempting to help him feel as calm as he looked, he sat up again & stared me down. It was a little hard to read just what emotions he had on his face.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have played-“ he cupped his hands around my face, pulling me in for a kiss. The kiss didn’t last more than a couple moments, and before I knew it he was scrambling backwards.

“Sorry, I didn’t…I wasn’t thinking-“

“Don’t be sorry, Chris, just do it again.”

#chris shiherlis #heat #heat 1995 #val kilmer #chris shiherlis x reader

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