#and the FLOWERS so crisp i can smell them
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a/n: my comeback in the form of a disorganized half silly half poetic felix. thing. inspired by him looking divine enough to lick after walking the runway.
warnings: lix is a little mean and condescending, fem!reader
your lips are on his before he makes it through the door, a sweet smell from the roses crushed between the two of you erupting into the room. you’d been all but waiting at the door since he left for paris, too busy with work and life to take him up on his invitation to join him, though it hurt more than it should have to see him there without you.
“you looked so good, still do, oh my god,” you say against his lips, kisses complimenting every word.
“thank you, darling,” he pulls away to set the flowers down, and there’s so many. what were you even going to do with all of that? a problem for later, you decide, instead prioritizing entering his personal space once again.
you take his face in your hands, gentle as to not smear the careful swipes of makeup there - that would be a task for later. it seemed like he didn’t have the opportunity to change and shower before he came home to you, and in your head it had more to do with his desire to see you than the timing of his flight following the after party. you take in the browns brushed across his eyelids, the gentle flush of blush highlighting his cheekbone, the shininess of his eyes as he lets your eyes feast on the delicacy of his features. he’s dressed smartly in a crisp white button-up shirt and high-waisted black slacks that sat around his waist and curved perfectly around his ass. you brush one hand through his wavy, iridescent hair and it’s so feather soft that you can barely feel it passing through your fingers. specks of glitter fall out of it like angel dust and the urge to call him pretty passes through the forefront of your thoughts. you don’t think you will ever get tired of telling him how beautiful he is.
“never cut your hair again,” you demand, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck and twirling the strands between your fingertips. “you look like an angel, lix.”
“okay,” he grins, nuzzling his hand into your palm. “you might have to work it out with the stylists on that, though.”
“i’ll fight them with my bare hands,” you’re completely serious, and fondness takes over his features when he sees the sharpening of your brow and the set of your mouth. “if they bring a pair of scissors near you they’ll face my wrath.”
“down, baby,” he chuckles and removes your hands from his face, holding them in his and keeping you close. “let me get out of these clothes and i’ll let you tell me all about how you’re going to dismantle the stylist empire, alright?”
“no,” you whine, and you’re almost embarrassed at how needy you sound. you were desperate for him, sure, but you weren’t a child. “wanna stare at you forever. everyone else got you for so long, now you’re mine.”
“i’m yours,” he echoes, love and affection dripping off of his words like syrup. “but in five minutes, i’ll be yours but wearing a hoodie. how does that sound?”
“fine,” you relent, releasing him completely so he could scamper away at the chance he was given. he was smart like that.
five minutes, he had said. it took you about one and a half to lose patience and pad over to the bedroom. the door was open, all thoughts of privacy gone after you had reached the first year of your relationship.
you find him in his boxers, wiping his shoulders with a damp towel and you pounce, trapping him underneath you on the bed. your hips are lined up with his from where you’re straddling him and you can feel his cock jump with interest against your core.
“this is surprising,” he starts, and you have snark waiting on your tongue about how he should have expected this before he continues. “i thought you would have come in earlier, at least i had time to get undressed.”
“lix, you’re just so beautiful,” embarrassment rushes to your cheeks as you duck your head, ashamed and delighted at having your desperation for him verbalized like this. “can you blame me for wanting you?”
“of course not, darling,” he soothes you with fingertips to your forehead, brushing off tufts of hair that fall back into place right after. “i want you just as much.”
“good,” you grind down on him, savoring how he hisses at the contact. you get a moment of satisfaction before he switches, flipping the both of you over in one practiced move. you end up beneath him, your wrists pinned over your head and his thigh wedged between yours.
“but i think you may benefit from learning a bit of patience, hmm?” he ghosts his lips over your cheek, running the top of his nose against yours. his hands leave your hands to wander over your sides, running up the hem of your shirt and towards your breasts; you weren’t wearing a bra, so he had easy access to your nipples and he took full advantage of this.
the sensation isn’t enough, heat already pulsing in your core at just the look of him. you try to buck your hips up against his thigh but the angle is all off and you give up in frustration after a few attempts. you hated and loved when he got like this - teasing, controlling, edging on condescending. it was so unlike him in any other way that it sent sparks of excitement tingling up your spine.
“giving up so easily?” he smirks, and even that is soft around the edges in a confusingly adorable way. you never know what he wanted, and that made it even more fun. did he want you to act desperate or be patient?
you voiced as such, and he tutted and moved to get off of you with a shake of his head. his hands leave your shirt and you grasp for him, nails scrabbling against his bare chest and leaving lines of red in their wake. he pauses, leaning over you like a fallen deity and you almost falter, but the need to get one over on him wins over.
“if you don’t touch me, i’ll just do it myself,” you reach one of your hands towards your shorts, fully intending to go through with your word. it wasn’t much of a threat, but you knew it would work on him. or well, you hoped it would.
“but darling, i am touching you,” he moves his thigh, still flush between your legs and you jolt. of course he would get the angle right. “you’re this worked up and you haven’t even told me what you wanted from me yet.”
“you know what i want,” you mumble, fire rushing to your cheeks again at having been outsmarted by him again. you should be used to this by now, but it ignites feelings inside of you as if they were the first time you were experiencing them, time and time again.
“i want to hear you say it,” he purrs, falling back against you and pressing a soft kiss to your jaw. “i want to hear how badly you want me. i want to know what you were thinking about when you were touching yourself while i was gone.”
you want to deny his words, want to tell him that you didn’t think of him at all, but you knew he would see right through you. you loved him with every aching beat of your swollen heart, you couldn’t deny anything even if it was just to keep up the dynamic he had started.
“i thought of you inside of me,” he pinches your side and compliments it with a nip to the shell of your ear, his breath hot on your skin. not good enough, he says with his actions. “nothing else feels like you. i couldn’t finish without you- ah.”
your breath is pushed out of your chest as he begins to kiss down your neck, his lips finding every sensitive spot on your skin like he was tracing a line that he had drawn on you.
“t-thought about the first time we had sex, when i knew i wouldn’t fuck anyone else for the rest of my life,” you might have been laying it on a little thick, but you knew he would fall for it. he might have teased you for being possessive, but he returned every inch with a mile, even if he was better at hiding it. he groans against you, tightening the hold he had around your waist, and you knew you had him.
“flatterer,” he says, less of a tease and more of a statement. he rewards your efforts by slipping his hand into your shorts, rubbing at your pussy through your panties. you had a second to worry about the wetness that had been collecting there, but it fizzled out with the pressure of his fingertips.
“wanted you to be here, to keep me full all day,” you were babbling now, saying anything to keep him going. as slow as he was being, you had no doubt that he would walk away just to keep up the act he had put on tonight. he was stronger than you in that way, one step ahead just by sheer force of will. “was hearing your voice in my head, telling me how good i was, how good you felt.”
“my darling is always good,” he murmurs, pushing aside your panties to slide his fingers against your clit. you never understood how a man who couldn’t tell the difference between a fruit and a vegetable was such an expert in your anatomy, but you weren’t one to complain, at least not about that. “even when you’re being a brat, you’re good.”
too soon, he removes his fingers from your core, wiping them against your shorts and shushing you when you open your mouth in protest.
“i’m not going anywhere,” he assures, staying close as he kneels over you. “just let me get you undressed, unless you want to stay like that?”
“dick,” you narrow your eyes, “i’m not going to answer that.”
“do you want my dick or am i a dick?” he pauses his hands, shorts and panties halfway down your thigh from where he had pulled them and you huff out a laugh.
“you’re hilarious,” you deadpan, kicking your foot to urge him to keep going as you lift your shirt off to quicken the process. you needed his dick inside of you like, yesterday. preferably.
he pulls off his own briefs and they float to join yours on the floor and you can finally see his cock, half hard and pink and flushed and perfect.
god, everything about him was perfect.
you spread your legs a bit, smiling when his hungry eyes land on your pussy, now fully on display. you could see the fight in him fizzling out; for all his talk, he was apart from you for so long, and as strong of a man he was everyone had a weakness.
he crawls back over you, stroking himself until he’s fully hard and leaking. he braces himself with one hand by your head, the veins on his arm popping at the exertion of keeping himself held up, the other hand guiding his cock into your folds to swipe against the wetness that had built up there.
“c’mon, lix,” you turn your head to press a kiss to his wrist, the delicate flesh feeling fever hot against your lips, and you can feel him trembling. “i’ve unintentionally edged myself for days, take me.”
“what did i say about patience?” he grunts out, but there is no bite in his words and despite their implication he presses the head of his cock against your hole.
you can’t help but tense up in excitement, the one thing you’d been craving for several nights finally within your grasp. he ducks his head to kiss you, mumbling a relax, baby against your lips and at once your body melts into the mattress.
when he finally slides into you it’s like coming home, the feeling of two imperfect pieces slotting together to create a masterpiece. everything else in the world fades away and it’s just him, the feeling of him inside of you and on top of you, his face taking over your vision and his scent invading your nostrils like a drug.
on another day he might have spent hours taking you apart with his mouth, teasing you with his fingers in ghosted touches and playful dancing. on another day he may have prolonged the game, made you recite every single thing you wanted him to do to you before doing it. but today, he stays like this for a moment, buried inside of you and panting into your neck, savoring the feeling of your tight heat around his aching cock. when he starts moving it’s like fireworks are bursting beneath your eyelids, sparks shooting out every time he hits your spot.
you try to match his thrusts with your hips, lifting up to meet him halfway, but you end up exhausted after just a few moments. his movements were getting more intense, quicker and harder until he was fucking into you without abandon and you couldn’t keep up even if you wanted to. this is what you were waiting for, the wildness of his body and the sharp possessiveness glinting in his eyes, the teeth he bared before sinking them into your neck and the harsh grip he kept on your waist.
you both finish fast, but what else could one expect from two beings completely obsessed with each other? time was fickle in the face of the two of you together, every minute felt like an hour. and besides, now that he was home you could do this over and over.
he fucks you through your orgasm, whispering i love you’s and my darling’s into you as he follows you soon after. he ends up collapsing against you for a moment, and the breath you lose is worth you feeling his chest heaving with exerted breaths and the way he nuzzles into whatever patch of your skin he can find.
“lix,” you mutter out, totally spent even though this may have been the tamest sex the two of you have had in a long while.
“hmm?” he scootches over to the side and gathers you in his arms, holding you like you’re something precious.
“do you still want to teach me about patience?”
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He Chose You (P. 4)
Lucifer/Reader - Lucifer picks you to be his baby mama. Rated E
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12
You’re resting against the trunk of a tree at the top of a little hill.
It’s picturesque — the hill is gentle, sloping down to a field of tall yellow-green grass. You can smell it, wafting up with the pollen from golden flowers. The sky above is alive with pinks and oranges bleeding into yellows and whites. A symphony of coos, chirps and pitter-patters of tiny things skittering around have an oddly calming effect as you settle back and allow yourself to exist.
Eyes closed, you hear the sound of something larger than a mouse rounding the tree trunk.
“I got it!” A feminine voice breaks the calm.
You don’t have to look to feel the other person at your side. They lower themselves to the ground, knees brushing against yours when they cross their legs to sit next to you.
You don’t have to look, but you do.
There’s a woman with you now, with hair so long and blonde it’s almost white. Her chin, lips, nose, and eyes are delicate and soft.
She’s not wearing any clothes, and you can see faint scars and wrinkles against the uninterrupted expanse of her skin.
“It’s so pretty, I’ve never seen one so red.” The woman is happy to see you, speaking with all the familiarity of a sister.
She presents an apple to you, taken from behind her back like a surprise.
It is red. Red like an oversized ruby, or a still-beating heart full of blood. All except for the missing chunk made by delicate teeth, yellow-white meat peeking through.
You accept her offering without a word. Even when it’s imperfect, you’re mesmerized by the fruit.
“I took a bite. I’m sorry.” She gazes at you, eyes flinty. “Does that bother you?”
You shake your head vehemently, holding the apple between your hands as if it’s the most precious thing in the world. “No, of course not.”
The woman’s lips quirk up into a satisfied smile, growing bigger when you lift the apple to your mouth and bite into it. The taste is extraordinary — sweet juice bursts against your tongue when the crisp flesh gives under your teeth with barely any resistance.
You savor the first bite out of necessity but soon you’re ravenous. You can’t get enough.
Your companion exhales gently through her nose and looks up at the colorful sky. She seems to relish in the breeze that passes by, making the leaves above you rustle and the tall grass ahead blow back quietly.
The apple is almost gone when she looks back at you, teeth showing as she grins. “Careful there!”
She giggles, reaching out to tap the hand of your hand in warning. It’s all playful, even when you pout and draw back.
“You’ll eat the seeds if you keep that up.” She says. “Something might take root and grow if you do.”
Her words give you pause, but only for the length of four or five heartbeats. The core of the apple is no less refreshing and before you know it, you’re holding the stem.
“Thank you.” You tell her earnestly.
The stem rolls in your palm, until it appears to wiggle and your brow furrows. In the back of your mind, you think you should be more startled to see it moving on its own. But when it grows pink-gray and ringed, and you realize it’s a worm, you simply place the flat of your hand on the ground below and watch it find its way into the dirt.
Sudden warmth against your cheek has you looking back up. The woman is inches from your face. Her eyelashes are dark and long and you could count them if you wanted.
The woman kisses you without a word, hands coming up to cup the back of your head. Surprise does spark up your spine as her tongue darts behind your lips. It’s as if she’s drinking deeply from you before she lets go.
“Forgive me. I wanted another taste.” She giggles again. “It’s even sweeter than I remember.”
Your face burns. You open your mouth, ready to ask the questions burning the tip of your tongue before the thud of footsteps sound from behind you.
She frowns, light leaving her eyes as she glances behind your shoulder. “Oh I was hoping we’d have more time.”
Her eyes cut across to yours. “Wake up before he sees you!”
———
A wave of pure, unadulterated nausea swept over you as soon as you opened your eyes. You laid still for a long moment, trying to reign in the urge to vomit before you deemed it safe enough to observe your surroundings.
A vague sense of confusion surfaced through the malaise when you realized that you were in your living room. There was a carmine blanket tucked around you, and with moderate difficulty you raised your head to see that, yes, a fluffy pillow was resting under your head.
Your reality conflicted with the still-present smell of tall, wet grass and a chill from the summer breeze against your skin.
With ridiculous care, you turned your head back into the pillow and muffled a whine. You couldn’t recall feeling a hangover of this caliber ever before in your life.
‘Wait.’
You weren’t hungover. Well, maybe you were but not from alcohol.
Your neighbors had invited you to dinner, then drugged you.
Already sick, you forced yourself to breathe deeply before shifting on the couch and pulling up the blanket. Despite confirming that your body was still clothed, you found yourself shaking.
It didn’t make sense to you how anyone could do this regardless of their intentions. You could not fathom why two people willing to harm you in one way hadn’t done more than that.
Your relief was short-lived, as dull and diluted as it was, when you twisted to lay back down and came face-to-face with:
A black glove, some aspirin and a glass of water sat on your coffee table.
You blinked rapidly.
There was a small business card in stark contrast to the otherwise colorless ensemble. It was thick stock, white, and flashing fancy golden script:
Lucifer Morningstar
Your stomach dropped as an unnaturally white face with glowing yellow and red eyes flashed in your mind.
The hallucination you’d seen last night — his image faded from your mind and you were left drifting in a blank, black void.
No thoughts.
———
The headache and nausea were considerably lesser when you woke up again.
Looking at the items on your coffee table — ‘glove, aspirin, water still there’ — you looked at each one and for one, strangely hopeful moment you didn’t see a card.
Oh no, it had just fallen on the floor.
———
Lucifer Morningstar
It was an odd business card, with its little red, white and gold designs on the edges. Fireworks, you eventually guessed. The ‘i’ in both first and last name were punctuated with them as well.
As you’d popped the aspirin in your mouth and downed the water, you flipped the card over. You could feel your eyebrows rising to your hairline at the hastily written message on the back:
Proof you weren’t dreaming.
Please Call Me
1-666-666-6669
Pacing was out of the question. Your limbs were still unsteady no matter how much you willed them to function.
You were trapped on the couch trying to accept what your brain had been screaming at you since you awoke for the fifth time.
How much time had passed?
Heaven and Hell were real, and so were God and the Devil.
And the Devil had paid you a visit.
———
The indent you’d made into your stupid, hand-me-down sofa was probably permanent now that you’d spent who knows how long just rotting there.
Contemplating, processing, fearing.
Fleeting memories of tantrums you’d thrown as a child paralyzed you. Moments in your life that you’d already regretted so much they kept you up some nights — randomly, provoked by nothing — piled up in your brain. Each one harshened that sinking feeling inside your body. This kind of horror was the kind a person feels right before they die.
How long have you been judged from above for your wrongs?
Were you already doomed to Hell? Is that why Lucifer himself wanted ‘to meet’ you? Did he make it a personal habit to visit each lowly sinner and taunt them?
God was real, so did everything actually happen for a reason like so many said?
Why did bad things happen to good people?
Was your dog in heaven, waiting for you and you’d already disappointed her by getting a one way ticket in the opposite direction?
———
You figured out that the ringing in your ears was actually your phone’s alarm when the natural lighting in your apartment was almost gone.
You managed to get to it on the other side of the room half-stumbling from your seat.
“Hello?” You rasped.
“… So you finally decided to answer your phone.”
———
It took you banging on the door and shouting against its old, glossy surface before Cass Farrow cracked it open.
A myriad of expressions crossed her painted face before she opened the door fully. When she faced you, she smiled.
“Honey! It’s been days! We didn’t wanna bother you but we were worried! It’s good to see you up and about!”
The way she acted, as if nothing was wrong, as if the world had turned upside down, had you balling up your fists. Your ragged nails delved into the skin so deeply you could feel the sting of blood.
“I-I need…” You couldn’t stop the copper taste of saliva filling your mouth.
You would not throw up. “I need to speak to your boss.”
Cass blinked owlishly at that. “My what?”
‘Why? Why? Why are you shocked?’ You shouted in your mind.
“Oh honey,” The low tone did nothing to soothe you, only raise your ire. “I don’t know what —”
“The Devil!” Your raised voice made the elderly woman jump. “Or Lucifer, or Baphomet — whatever the fuck you call him! I need to talk to him.”
You scrambled to grab the business card you’d stashed in your pocket.
“You had him in your apartment, so I know he’s in there somewhere.” You said while waving it in Cass’s face frantically.
It was deja vú when Mrs. Farrow eyed the card and her face paled considerably.
“Oh.”
———
Lucifer wasn’t ‘home’. At least, he wasn’t in his personal Airbnb via the Farrow residence.
However, Cass waved it away. “He’ll think it’s you or about you or something to do with you and come running.”
Trying to push yourself and demand she tell you more proved to be too difficult. All you could do is stand with your arms crossed, waiting while the (clearly practiced) worshiper combined a series of dried plants in her hands.
Cass gathered them up and laid them carefully on a side table before fiddling with the furnace and a long lighted match.
The fire blazed to life instantly from the little flicker it had begun as when Cass threw the plants in. It rose higher, and higher, until it had disappeared past where you could see behind the lintel.
You had it in you to be stunned when Lucifer appeared from out of those flames. He was perfectly pristine and intact when he stepped out, hunching slightly to avoid his top hat bumping into the smoke chamber.
The devil was as you remembered him, but also worse in that you couldn’t reassure yourself that his visage was merely a product of your fucked up, overly-imaginative little brain.
He was so… white.
His skin was practically blinding as freshly-painted walls hit by a sunbeam.
Lucifer stepped into the room with a flourish. “I came as soon as I coul-”
‘Fuck.’ You’d been spotted.
And there went Cass, out of the living room to hide away in her smelly kitchen.
“You’re here!” Lucifer cajoled, theatrics on full display as he beheld your presence.
The top hat came off, held in his hands as he graced you with a bashful smile like he was some gentleman caller and not Not-Satan.
“I-I didn’t expect to see you here waiting! But I’m so glad you are. Did you get my card? I thought about just leaving the glove because the card can seem so impersonal —”
“I just got fired.” You blurted out.
The unusually flat face contorted into an anguished expression. “You… you lost your job…?”
“Because of you.”
“B-because of me ?!” His already youthful tenor of a voice raised some octaves. “What —”
You pointed a finger in his direction. “Yes! You !”
“You appeared out of nowhere and fucked up my entire worldview. I've had existential crisis-es… cris-ies? I don’t fucking — I’ve had life-altering spirals before but that was fucking nothing compared with this!”
“And now I’m out of a job and I’m alone in a city I don’t fucking know with cult-worshipping neighbors because I can’t go back to where I was and you’re just standing here like you have no idea why I’m upset!”
You hadn’t expected to get this far. You hadn’t expected to go on a tirade at all, really. Distantly you felt tears sliding down your cheeks and the frantic beat of your heart in your ribcage.
Shame, guilt and fear began toiling deep inside you.
Lucifer had been backed against the wall, hands raised placatingly and expression mirroring your own internal panic. It quickly turned into concern as he took in your sorry state of being.
“Please, no.” He reached out for you and you retaliated by jolting out of reach. “Oh please don’t… I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I never… if I’d known…”
He was reaching into his coat and pulling something out before your sight cleared. It was a handkerchief with the red moniker L.M. on one corner.
The King held it out to you like a peace offering. Or a white flag.
The force with which you snatched it out of his hands was unnecessary but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
“You said you picked me. What did you mean by that?” You mumbled into the handkerchief.
Lucifer’s mouth screwed up into a frown, brow creasing. “We don’t have to talk about that —”
“No.” You made eye contact, watching him squirm. “We need to talk about it. Explain it. Now.”
“Ahh… ok, yes, um…” He fiddled with the bow tie at his collar. “Well, like I said before, I wanted to wait until we got to know each other because… because it’s kind of a big deal.”
Your stern frown implored him to continue.
Lucifer winced. “It’s sort of a-a favor I wanted to ask of you. And I thought that if we talked about it over time maybe it wouldn’t sound so monumental… but actually, now…”
The fidgeting worsened, and his nimble fingers had graduated to fussing with the clasps down his front. Eventually, Lucifer yanked his jacket down to straighten it.
“So, I’ve been around for a really, really, really, really long time.” The Devil started. “And I’ve kind of been on my own for *like* ever and that’s fine, whatever, can’t complain. Normally it’s all about warding off boredom.
“But! Lately, it’s been harder and harder to just —” He made a fist and punched down onto the palm of his other hand to elucidate. “— Just, ahh, not be bored? I guess?”
“And it’s been interfering with all the shit I gotta do. I mean I have no-oo motivation, none at all, and it’s becoming a big problem. The other Sins have actually noticed. Like Satan? You know, we talked about him when we met — yeah, he came up to me not too long ago, saying —”
Your heart stopped as Lucifer’s eyes went completely red, blazing in his skull like magma and accompanied by long horns protruding from his head.
His voice took on an unearthly, gravelly quality as he, presumably, mimicked Satan:
“‘We’re worried for you, man. Ozzie says you haven’t been returning his calls. Levi and Bee miss you on their outings but you always say you’re busy. Whatever’s going on, you know you can talk to us, right?’”
Lucifer was back to normal in a millisecond. “And I do know that. I do! But as much as I wanna take them up on it, I just feel like none of them will really understand what’s wrong. I don’t even understand it. Or at least I didn’t until it came to me out of nowhere, like lightning.”
He mimed being zapped in the head.
“Visits and parties with my brothers are fun and all, but they end... And I find myself all alone more often than not.”
Lucifer sighed deeply.
“I don’t really have anything to live for,” He stressed. “Except for myself and…”
“That’s not much.” He snickered mirthlessly.
You swallowed. The anger, frustration, exhaustion and still-present fear were blanketed by an uncomfortable bout of sympathy.
Sympathy for the Devil.
‘Oh shut the fuck up you.’
“Don’t you live for the suffering of mankind or something?” You sniffled, trying to regain your metaphorical footing in the conversation and, in turn, regenerate that anger you’d been consumed by not a minute ago.
Lucifer looked from the ground to you, the gleam in his cherry-red eyes fighting to come back to life.
“Aha! No, no. That’s-that’s a Bible thing, right?” He groaned, pulling down the brim of his hat in exasperation. “Ugh, I still don’t know why Heaven insists on that overblown press kit! It’s so fucking old! And inaccurate!”
Lucifer commiserated with you. “Too much involvement from human hands, too. Ya know? I mean people use it to justify some of the most insane shit I’ve ever seen!”
He cleared his throat at your blank expression.
“Anywho-oo. What was the question again? Oh! Oh, do I live for the suffering of man — no! No, I don’t. In fact, where I’m from? Being in the middle of that suffering shtick gets old real fast. I’ve stayed away from it for a good while now and really I’ve never been better.”
The blond topped off his statement with a smile, showing those razor teeth while also trying to come across as easy-going and candid.
A beat passed, in which you felt your lips form a thin line.
You couldn’t stop yourself.
You snorted.
Lucifer looked at you as if you’d lost your head as your snorts turned into full-blown laughter. Until he, of course, wanted to fit in like he knew exactly what was going on.
“Hahaha, yeah…” Hell’s king chuckled nervously. “I am pretty funny, aren’t I? Ha ha… ha.”
Shaking your head ‘no’, you tried to reign in the body spasms.
“So when you say you ‘picked me’, you mean you want me to… what? Be your therapist?” You asked. “The Devil needs a friend’s shoulder to cry on? What?”
Lucifer fixed you with the first look of genuine annoyance you’d seen (directed at you) from him.
“No.” He harrumphed. “I need a baby.”
*
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Guilty Pleasures ( chapter two )
18+ 3.8k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, lite somnophilia, breaking & entering, petty theft, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 2/4. AO3 link. CH I. CH 3
Homelander is the most powerful man in the world, and all he wants is to be yours.
After spending the majority of your evening and the following morning anticipating being fired, walking into work the next day feels like traversing a thinly frozen lake, each step webbing out in precarious cracks.
Clearly you’re not the only one who thinks so: you clock a handful of surprised looks from coworkers who’d attended the meeting and took note of the tension between you and Vought’s golden boy.
Maybe they’d taken bets on whether or not you’d be coming in this morning.
There’s no sign of Homelander on your way in. Not that you were expecting him–yesterday was the first time you actually saw him in person–but you still find yourself on the lookout. It’s hard to say whether you’re anticipating or dreading him. Part of you is still expecting to open your door and find a letter on your desk politely informing you that they’ve determined you aren’t a good “culture fit” for the company, and that your probation has been terminated.
After all, who in their right mind would take your side over Homelander’s?
You push open your office door, and sure enough, there is a letter waiting for you, but not in the way you expected. You stand in the doorway, staring in quiet incomprehension. The envelope, crisp and bright white, is propped up in a bed of rich red roses sitting in a pretty vase upon your desk. You glance behind you before you step inside, closing the door behind you, and approach the desk cautiously. You pluck the paper out of the bouquet, taking a moment to smell the flowers–they smell as good as they look–before you carefully rip open the envelope, tearing the small american flag sticker that sealed it.
Inside, there’s only one word on the folded piece of paper, scrawled in surprisingly elegant handwriting.
Truce?
You can’t help the incredulous little bark of laughter you give at that. It’s not even an apology. It’s a demand that he expects a gratuitous bundle of flowers will help you swallow, like taking medicine with a spoonful of sugar.
“You’re ridiculous,” you say quietly to the letter, setting it down on your desk. You give the roses one last sniff, testing one of the soft petals between your fingers. You wonder if what you said actually got through to him.
Homelander has no real reason to smooth things over with you: you’re no one. He’s posed no risk to himself by coming after you. He could no doubt have you fired by complaining that your marketing tactics don’t align with his brand. It’s hard to imagine Vought denies him much.
Yet he is apparently negotiating peace. It’s not nearly enough, but it is a start.
Or maybe it’s just more than you expected.
You sit, idly tapping the letter against your desk. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still think him handsome. Homelander wasn’t the first man to ogle your tits while you gave a presentation, but he was certainly the first to fluster you like that when he did. His sly smile had made you want to slap him, but there was a questionable little part of you that thought about kissing it better afterwards.
Taking in a steadying breath, you slip the letter into your desk drawer and adjust the flowers to the side, admiring them a moment before you pull out your laptop.
If Homelander can behave himself enough to let you do your job without public humiliation, you can afford a truce. You don’t need to forgive or condone him to be civil, or even to continue having your own private fantasies. A little guilty pleasure now and again never hurt anyone.
You can’t know that Homelander is observing you throughout this internal conversation, watching through several layers of steel and concrete, his parted lips curving into a slow smile as you accept his offering. You can’t know that you haven’t just acknowledged a truce, but an invitation.
No, you can’t possibly know what’s to come.
Two days later, you diligently change the water that the roses in your office sit in. They’re doing well, the crimson buds having unfurled into a splay of velvety petals. You pinch one between your thumb and forefinger and stroke it absently. Homelander has continued to be a scarcity, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t seen him. Quite the opposite: you spend most of your working hours either looking at or thinking about his face to the point where it’s starting to follow you home each day.
That’s what you tell yourself when you think of him outside of work hours, anyways.
It’s been long enough now that you wonder if the flowers were the end of it. He was simply covering his ass with a half hearted gesture that slightly resembled an apology so that you could both comfortably drop the subject. That was entirely fine by you so long as he actually did improve his behavior.
A familiarly brisk knock at your door catapults your heart up against the cage of your ribs like a spooked hare. It’s the exact same beat, you’re sure of it. You stay quiet, half expecting to be barged in upon, but when nothing happens, you move from your desk and open the door yourself, intentionally blocking it with your body.
Sure enough, Homelander stands tall on the other side. He flashes his signature smile while your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Can I help you?”
“I think I’m the one who can help you,” he says brightly, that spread of teeth downright wolfish. He lifts a handful of papers that have been stapled at the corner, gesturing for you to take it.
Still wary, you take them from him and shift, wedging your foot to keep the door firmly in place while you flip through the pages. Your brows furrow as you recognize chunks of your own presentation. Understanding dawns when you realize that he’s annotated them.
“You read my presentation,” you say, unable to mask your surprise.
“Obviously. It’s my image on the line, right? Got some notes for you, but I have to say: y’mostly nailed it,” he says, reaching out to rest a gloved hand on the doorway.
“Mostly?” You echo, quirking an eyebrow at him as you look up from the pages.
“Yeah, mostly. Again, I have some minor notes,” he says, wiggling his other hand in a vague gesture. “But I figure I owe you praise on a job mostly well done.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Crossing your arms, you abandon your stern foothold on the door in order to shift your weight, your incredulity showing in every inch of your body language. “What you owe me is an apology.”
Homelander’s grin softens into a smile that’s no less challenging. “Looks to me like you’ve already been enjoying my apology,” he says, leaning slightly to gaze past you, to the bundle of roses sitting prettily on your desk.
You briefly glance over your shoulder, but your expression remains impassive. Unimpressed. “That? That isn’t an apology. An apology would include the words I’m sorry.”
He scoffs a dismissive laugh, swaying back to look away, but you persist.
“I’m serious,” you say, luring his ocean blue gaze back to yours. “I want you to say to me ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation. It won’t happen again.’ “
The two of you hold each other’s gaze with all the magnitude of two gunmen in a duel, hands steady over your proverbial pistols.
To your surprise, Homelander does not fire back. He raises a dainty white flag.
“I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation,” he says, words slow and measured. You watch his tongue flash over his bottom lip, wetting it attractively. You fight to not let your eyes linger on it. “It won’t happen again.”
You swallow, suddenly finding thought and speech an impossible task. You weren’t prepared for such raw, ready obedience from him, nor the intensity in his gaze that follows it. He reminds you of a charmed snake–docile so long as he is transfixed.
“Good,” you say, the word half a sigh. Homelander’s lips part and he breathes in like he’s caught wind of something particularly delicious smelling. “I accept your apology, and I appreciate that you took the time to do this,” you say, gesturing with the documents in your hand. “I’ll go over them and get back to you.”
He reaches out, bracing his hand on your office door. You half expect him to push it open, but he merely holds it there. “We could go over them together,” he suggests slyly.
“No,” you say, clearly disarming him. He looks as though he’s forgotten the meaning of the word. “I’m in the middle of another project at the moment.”
The leather of his gloves creaks faintly in your ear as he flexes his grip on the edge of the door. While what you’ve said is true, it’s also serving as a test. Words and flowers are pretty things, but only actions always speak the truth.
“At the moment,” he repeats, gears visibly turning in his eyes. “So… Later?” He extrapolates, displaying an uncharacteristic tentativeness alongside his obvious displeasure at the taste of rejection. You even see a glimmer of hope in the mess of his expression..
He did pass the test. You suppose you can reward him for that.
“Another time,” you say, giving your door an exploratory push. He relents, his hands sliding down the length of it before falling away as he takes a half-step back. “How about tomorrow on my lunch break? 1:00 o'clock sharp.”
He splits into a smile that looks more genuine than any of his you’ve seen before. “Aaalrighty-roo. Sounds gooood to meeeee,” he says, drawing out his vowels more the closer he gets to actually having to leave. At your silent, amused stare, he claps his gloved hands together with a muffled thump! and takes a few more steps backwards. “Yooooou’ll see me… tomorrow.”
Your smile pinches along with your brows. What a strange way to phrase it. “See you then,” you say, watching as his face is eclipsed by your closing door. You wait a beat and then let out a thin thread of breath from your pursed lips, resting your weight on the door.
Looking down at the papers in your hand, you push off from the door and head to your desk, flipping through them.
Such a strange man, you think, carrying the notes to your desk. You set them down next to the vase of roses and try not to think too much about the unconscious smile your lips keep settling into for the rest of the day.
Homelander’s got you hook, line and sinker. He’s certain of it. He lingers on the other side of your door just long enough to watch you through it while you settle, a charmed smile set on your lips. He can already imagine how those lips would feel against his own, how they’d taste. He swallows thickly and looks around before he departs, already plotting his next move.
The two of you have a date tomorrow, and in order to be at the top of his game, he’s going to have to do a little additional research. Knowing your work was a good first step. The next one will be learning about you.
Following you home is the easy part. It ultimately feels chivalrous to do so once he realizes you walk home even at this time of year, when the sun sets long before the work day ends. He drifts above you, cocking his head curiously. No wonder you walk. The streets are packed as tightly as sardine cans, and your apartment garage isn’t much better. The claustrophobia of it all serves as a stark contrast to the openness of Vought tower.
The interior of your apartment provides an even sharper juxtaposition to his penthouse. It’s tidy, but the comparatively low ceilings and minimal floor space still make it look cramped. Somehow, you simultaneously have too much and yet not much at all, the confinement of a downtown apartment making what minimal affects you do own seem crowded together.
That only becomes more apparent once he’s inside, slipped in through your balcony after sleep has taken you. Why would you bother to lock your balcony when you live on the 8th floor? It works out perfectly for him.
In all fairness, your living room feels cozier once he’s standing in the center of it. Your walls are lined with an assortment of art pieces and photographs, and the shelves are well stocked with books and knick-knacks. You have a decent film collection displayed on your media console, and he can’t help but snoop through it, bending at the waist, examining through the rows. He cocks his head.
Odd. You’d think an employee of Vought would have at least a few VCU films. He runs his index finger along the spines, slightly adjusting them flush as he goes. Pursing his lips, he straightens up and looks at the closed cabinets on either side. The left one yields an untidy assortment of electronic odds and ends, cords and the like. Nothing of much interest other than an indication that while you like to keep up appearances, you aren’t quite as together as you’d like people to think.
It’s on the right side, however, he finds what he’s really looking for.
“Bingo,” he whispers, smiling to himself as he scopes out your little hidden collection of Vought hero flicks. Specifically, his films. He’s less interested in the handful of others you own (Queen Maeve: Her Majesty, Black Noir: Insurrection, Lamplighter: The Bright World, etc) and more so in the fact that you have nearly his entire catalog tucked away.
Nearly. You’re missing his eighteen part miniseries, Homelander: Brightest Night.
At least that gives him something to gift you.
Closing the cabinet, he meanders about the rest of your apartment. You have some plants in varying states of decay, with only a few cacti looking to be in decent shape. Either your work keeps you too busy to properly mind them, or you just like the idea of them more than the reality. It tells him that you’re looking–and failing–to fill a void in your life. You want to feel less alone in your home, you want to nurture something. You just haven’t found the right something yet.
Striding into your kitchen, arms folded behind his back, he peers through the cheap wood veneer of your fiberboard cupboards, unveiling an unusually broad assortment of mugs. There doesn’t seem to be any particular theme: holidays, locales, characters, and a menagerie of patterns.
He hums softly, pivoting out of the kitchen and down the hall, his steps preternaturally light. He listens for the beat of your heart as he draws near, tunes it in alongside the shallow cadence of your breath. Deep asleep. Good.
The walls are lined with pictures of you and others. Friends or family, he can’t say, but you look to have an abundance of both. He rarely sees himself in photos that aren’t promotional material. He pauses to straighten a picture frame, and finds himself so viciously jealous of the man sharing the frame with you–his lips pressed to your cheek, your laughing smile so genuine he can nearly hear it–that he almost knocks it to the ground.
Running his tongue along his teeth, he continues on.
Your bedroom door is open. He slips in silently, pausing just through the doorway. Your bed's a queen, too big for just you. You’re sprawled comfortably amidst pillows, limbs splayed in just such a way that he can easily imagine fitting himself in the empty spaces between them. He can smell the lingering burn of the candle you’d lit when you got home. He picks it up off your dresser, reading the label: Cup ‘o Joe.
Eugh. He never cared for coffee, and the artificial sweetness surrounding the note is cloying. Your perfume, on the other hand, he doesn’t mind. He notices the bottle alongside a few other of your things and puts the candle down in favor of that, popping the cap off. The smell hits him before he sprays it: vanilla first, then amber and something more woodsy. It’s less impressive by itself than it had been on you.
Still, it’s yours. You chose it for yourself.
Slipping off one of his gloves, he lightly sprays into the inside of it before he sets the bottle back down, recapping it. It won’t be the same, but he’s driven by the compulsion to spirit away any little pieces of you that he can. Just enough to satiate himself until he can have you properly.
That’s when he sees your blouse from today in a careless heap at the top of your laundry basket next to your dresser. Licking his lips, he tests the feel of the garment between his bare fingers. He’s always been sensitive to fabrics, and while the blend of this one is fairly cheap, it’s been worn and washed enough that it’s soft against his skin. He grabs a handful of it and lifts it to his mouth, brushing it along his lips, under his nose, and he deeply inhales your lingering scent mixing with the fresh pump of perfume.
He bites back a moan, screwing his eyes shut. His cock gives a dull little throb. Fuck, the spell you’ve cast on him makes him ache just for the smell of you, makes him salivate. He swallows it back, letting out a rough little breath as he reluctantly puts the shirt back down. Under it, he spies a little flash of something black and lacy. His stomach clenches, and he’s reaching for it before he can stop himself, fishing the black panties out of the heap and twisting the fabric between his fingers.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He can’t afford to overindulge. He won’t be able to control himself if he does, but he also can’t bring himself to put the little slip of fabric back down. He imagines he can almost taste where your sweet cunt had been pressed to it. Christ, he’s practically drooling. Out of sheer impulse, he yanks down the zipper of his pants with a quiet hiss of metal against metal and hastily pushes your underwear into his cup, biting down hard on his lip. He grinds once against his hand, savoring the feel of the fabric against his cock.
He’ll enjoy them far more than you’ll miss them.
Zipping himself back up, he carefully pulls open your top dresser drawer. He curiously pushes the contents around, mindful not to overly disturb, and his knuckles bump something solid. He shifts one of your bras–another near painful pang of arousal at the reminder of your breasts–aside and finds, to his delight, what any good marketing department would describe as “a large purple massage wand.”
A vibrator. He chews his bottom lip briefly, turning it over in his grip. An exciting find on all fronts. It’s smooth and decently hefty, good quality. You deserve even better. You might be capable of indulging yourself with this, but he could make you scream. You’ll never need a silly little toy again. Not when you have him.
Homelander moves to put it back in the drawer, but–
“Fuck!” He hisses when the button catches on his finger, and suddenly the damn thing is buzzing.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chants mentally, jabbing at the buttons in an attempt to silence it, but pressing the same ones only makes the accursed device louder. In a frantic move, he grips the neck and squeezes. There’s a soft crunch beneath the silicone, and as abruptly as it had begun, the buzzing ends. His heart is thudding heavily in his chest. He listens to the silence, to you.
He looks over his shoulder. No movement. Your breaths remain shallow.
Christ.
So much for leaving no trace. He slips the busted toy back amidst your underthings and snatches his glove off of your dresser, tucking it under his arm. He hones his attention on you as he approaches your bed, assuring himself that you really are still asleep. He stands there for a while, admiring the part of your lips and the haphazard splay of your pajamas and where they cling to your body.
No bra.
His bare hand flexes. Being so close is too much of a temptation. He wets his lips with a quick slide of his tongue and bends down. He ghosts his fingers just over your cheek, not quite daring to touch. He can smell the faint remnants of your toothpaste on your breath, your shampoo, and beneath it all, you. It's intoxicating, it's…
Your brows furrow slightly in your sleep and you make a soft noise, interrupting his thoughts. He wonders if you’re dreaming–dreaming of him, perhaps. He’d like to think so. He’d like to think that you’re just as affected by him wanting you as he is, and that’s the real reason you invited him to lunch. He saw it in your eyes when he echoed your words, the thrill that went through you. He could have gone to his knees for you in that moment and had you in giving himself to you.
Desperate for just a taste, he kisses ever so gently between your brows, his own breaths matching the cadence of yours. Divine. You're divine. So effortlessly perfect and so aware of your own power. How could he not want every part of you?
He means to leave it there, to walk away with nothing but the slight salt of your brow on his lips, but the pull is too great. He's greedy, drunk on the smell and the taste of you, on the feel of your panties pressed up against his cock, and he can't stop himself from sampling your lips against his.
It’s the barest hint of touch, and yet the contact lances electricity through him like he’s been struck by a bolt of lightning. Your lips are soft, soft, soft. He knew they would be. Everything about you is so fucking soft. It takes everything in him to pull away, standing back to his full height.
He's aching, yearning so intensely he could rip the covers away and take you just like this, shake you awake, declare himself and have you. Would you scream, or would you have that same look of affronted understanding of him? You see him in a way few are ever brave–or stupid–enough to dare.
Not yet.
He won’t spoil the game. He agreed to play by your terms. As far as you’re concerned, he’ll do precisely that. You’ll be none the wiser in regards to his little reconnaissance mission–anything could have happened to your vibrator–and the two of you can play your little game as if you stand on equal footing.
Sucking in a silent breath, Homelander leaves alone, but not empty handed.
He’ll make very good use of his little trophy tonight.
( chapter three )
#i have no self control ENJOYYYYY#praise me it's shocking i finished this so quickly#although it's not really finished bc i'm stretching it into 3 parts but#couldn't help myself i needed him to be a little weirdo#next chapter is already started tho and shouldn't take long!#ALSO I MADE THIS GIF#i'm so happy lol#my writing#homelander x reader#homelander x you#homelander fanfiction#homelander#plus size reader
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water’s edge | 02
₊˚.༄ pairing: crown prince!gojo satoru x f!reader | setting: modern royal au | official playlist
₊˚.༄ summary: in a world where titles define their fates, gojo satoru, the crown prince of japan, and his wife-to-be, face a tempestuous court of deception and schadenfreude. as they waltz on the edge of ruin, can their love endure the treacherous waters that threaten to pull them apart, or will the whims of the enigmatic chrysanthemum throne prove strong enough to drown them both?
₊˚.༄ author’s note: did i really just punch out a 12.9k chapter? 😅 thank you again to the loml @angstbot2000 for beta-reading! sorry for the wait everyone and thank uou for the sweet messages! again, reblogs are highly appreciated.
₊˚.༄ masterlist
Flashback: Shinjuku Opera City (a week after the jubilee gala)
Click. Beep. beep. beep Your wristwatch mimicked a ticking time bomb right now. You breathe once to make sure you were still, for all intents and purposes, alive. The smell of the Sauvignon blanc laid in front of you was so heavenly, its grape-like aroma tempting you to take a sip but you couldn’t, afraid that your body will just reject it in its current state of shock. You must have had a few too many earlier, your commoner palette not exactly used to the refreshing and crisp taste of white wine directly sourced from the rolling hills of Pouilly-Fume, and you must be hallucinating all this in your drunken stupor. Yes, all this was a hallucination, some sick naive dream you conjured after sharing a passing glance with the prince of the nation. It had to be, otherwise, why does it feel that your body has shut down? You were unable to move. Unable to speak. Unable to think.
And you were adamantly sure that you had also been rendered unable to breathe.
“…Huh?” That probably sounded stupid to your unlikely companions, well, normally it isn’t that stupid if you haven’t said that every five minutes or so during this fateful encounter. “This is a mistake. You really want me to-?”
“-Yes,” he said immediately, his mother nodding alongside him. His finger glided across the rim of his scotch glass. He took it neat, of course, the Crown Prince is a man of good taste. “I can ask my people to help you move your belongings to a more dignified residence tomorrow morning.”
The empress frowned at Satoru’s backhanded comment about your way of life. “Satoru, you’re scaring her,” she whispered worriedly to her son.
“If she’s smart, sure,” Satoru hisseed under his breath. If he was going to propose to you and consequently marry you under his parents’ orders, he was going to do it his way. “Look, Ms…?” he trails off, your name escaping him.
“(Y/N),” you provided. “My name is (Y/N).”
He makes a soft ‘tch’ sound which goes unnoticed since you were too preoccupied in shaking away the haze of thoughts in your mind dimming your ability to think. He continues, “As I was saying. Ms. (Y/N),” he puts emphasis on your name, etching the loathsome sound of it into his mind. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
What did he mean by that? “Excuse me?”
“I know I said that I was just a fan when I sent you those flowers after your performance tonight but, I guess you could say I’ve become an admirer of yours.”
This was all scripted, and Satoru, despite having had a memory good enough to memorize has a good his entire family tree including the collateral branches before he even graduated from primary school, found the words getting stuck in his throat and he trailed off, his mind was filled to the brim with nothing but the face of the woman he is unwillingly betraying in the name of protecting his status.
But wasn’t this what she wanted when she threw herself at the emperor’s feet that night? She was selflessly allowing him to go through with this despite knowing that every false tender word that he says to you would be a dagger to her heart, that every moment spent with you instead of her would make her cry a river of tears.
It feels as if this entire thing was a circus he had been forced into because his crown was hanging dangerously off the edge of the tightrope above him. Forced to perform, forced to act, forced to smile so that he wouldn’t feel the sting of the whip his father, the ringleader, had in his hand. Wasn’t that something Satoru has always done? How was this any different from all the elaborate ruses he’s been ordered to perform? Gojo involuntarily looks behind his seat, craning his head back, hoping to see the familiar figure of the love of his life standing exactly a meter away from him, just as she’s always faithfully done, but that was all wishful thinking; Himiko had been removed from the duty of accompanying him tonight.
“I don’t think I’m just a fan,” he continues, turning his attention back to you, the words confessing his so-called love being uttered stoically. You stop him right there, the amount of bewilderment in your heart at a fatal maximum. His hand finds his pocket, searching for the godforsaken ring he is about to present to you. “And I—“
“—You’re just curious, Your Royal Highness,” you dismissed his so-called feelings with a shake of your head. “You’ve never been with someone outside your circle, and you’re curious about what it would be like to be involved with a commoner like me.”
When the words leave your lips, a stretch of panic washes over your face. Did you just disrespect the prince and the empress by doubting the sincerity of his words? Or did they disrespect you by treating you like a moron? Were you just supposed to believe that Prince Satoru had feelings for you? Your mind was spinning, and you were feeling a migraine aura beginning to form at your peripheral vision. You had to get out of there. Quickly moving the chair back so that you could stand up, you bow contritely to excuse yourself from the room. “Ms. (Y/N), please wait!” the empress sighs exasperatedly when you leave the private dining room of the high-class restaurant, your heels clicking against the marble floor as you hurriedly see yourself out.
Perhaps, they were being too hasty for you to say “yes”, too secretive about their true intentions. If they were to even have a chance of convincing you to marry Satoru, they have to let you in on the truth. Luckily, despite her age, the empress catches up to you just as you are about to hail a cab which was proving to be difficult since it was now past eleven o’clock and even the busy skyscraper district of Shinjuku was starting to look deserted.
“Ms. (Y/N),” she breathes, stopping just a few feet from you. “Please hear me out. I’m sorry, this was a mistake…”
“It's fine, Your Royal Highness, I know the Crown Prince doesn’t like me the way he says he does. I may not be as highly educated as you but I’m not an idiot.”
The empress looks on sadly. “Well,” she sighs, standing next to you. “I knew you would figure it out sooner or later. Still, I’m really sorry for what happened back there.”
You don’t respond for a long while, contemplating what to say; the air between you is one of awkwardness and something’s gotta give, otherwise, you and the empress would be standing in the middle of the empty street like total fools. You are the first to break, “Your Highness. Why me? And what’s this really about?”
Why on earth were you chosen over so many other women in Tokyo’s most affluent families to become Prince Satoru’s wife? You expected that this so-called dinner would be nothing more than a courtesy call to thank the prince and the empress for visiting the last night of your show. One could only imagine the emotional whiplash you felt when the prince suddenly offered for you to become his wife which was totally unexpected considering you have never spoken a word to one another before. Just what kind of a messed up Shakespearean romantic tragedy did you wind up in? This entire thing felt like a work by some deranged author who’s had one too many to drink while writing this poisoned manuscript of a love story.
“It’s exactly as the prince said,” she says succinctly. “The prince isn’t getting any younger and he’s in need of a wife. That’s what I would have told you if you were one of those shallow high society women I’ve had the displeasure of meeting.” The empress bitterly thinks about one specific girl that is so loathsome and vile that she has forcibly brought Satoru on the brink of total destruction. Last week’s fiasco with the emperor was a warning shot, and knowing her husband, there won’t be a second time.
You frown, not liking it when people are purposefully brought down to compliment another. “I’m sure that’s not true,” you mumbled, not really knowing what to say.
“But it is,” the empress insists. “People who are born with everything have this tendency to think they are above everyone else. Maybe that was what caused the prince to become this way, because his own mother was born from nothing,” she chuckled.
Knowing that the prince was the only son she will ever be blessed with, having had him at the age of forty-one, she overindulged Satoru by giving him everything, and bending to his every will. So, Satoru grew up confident that he’d only have to point at a storefront window and his mother would get it for him, otherwise he’d throw a tantrum. Maybe that’s what’s going on — all the scandals, all the controversies — was this another one of Satoru’s tantrums because they refused to allow him to have a relationship with, much less marry, his chief-of-staff?
“Nothing? I thought Your Highness, well before you married His Majesty, was an heiress to a car company. I don’t think you should lump yourself in with us.” Those who were truly born from nothing, you thought to yourself.
The empress puts a hand over her mouth as her shoulders begin to shake as she giggles. “Is that so?” she laughs, reaching into her coat pocket, in search of something. Finally, she feels the familiar feel of the trinket she keeps with her day and night.
You expected her to pull out something more valuable than a five yen coin, and it looked like it’s an old one, judging by its rough and rust-stained edges. “See this?” She carefully places the coin in her hand as if it were a precious item. “This was the first ever money I ever had to my name at only eighteen years old. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it even now,” she smiles wistfully as memories of her youth, albeit a simpler time away from the intrigue of the imperial court. She gently places the memento in your hand.
It was so light, it barely weighed a few grams yet it held so much of the empress’s heart in it, like a personal diary that has kept her company throughout the years, or perhaps it was a compass that led her to the path that resonated with her true self- the girl of only eighteen that had the look of a dreamer in her eyes, or maybe it was an anchor that served to keep her feet firmly planted on the humble ground in spite of her exalted status as the emperor’s consort.
You studied the coin. “Only five yen?” Even you, a musician whose finances are scattered to the wind, could make more than five yen in less than an hour. You were confused. Was this another one of their tricks to get you to say yes? No, it couldn’t be, seeing as how the empress seemed so genuine now, almost like the conversation you were having was like a mother and daughter having a heartfelt chat.
The empress nods. “I was a store clerk at a music shop when I was young. It was the only way I could save up and go to college. Of course, this was all before my father invented that powerhouse of an automobile when he was tinkering around with a few of the customer’s cars in the mechanic shop he ran.”
Listening intently to the empress’s story, a sense of solidarity seemed to grow between you and her. “And this was your first salary? Hard to believe music shops pay so little back then.”
“No, no. That was a tip I received from a customer when I returned her wallet. She left it in the shop and I ran after her. Of course if I were a thief, I would have taken off with it, but it was completely empty.” That caused you to laugh. Who knew that the empress who always carried herself with poise and dignity had such a deadpan sense of humor? “So, she gave me the only coin in the wallet to thank me. A five yen coin. Since then, I’ve kept this with me at all times. Call it an old lady’s sentimental ramblings, but this is what keeps me from letting all this get to my head.”
You nod in understanding. But what did this beautiful story have to do with marrying Satoru? The empress senses the question before you could even form words to ask it.
“What I’m saying is that Satoru was my outlet,” she sulked. “My second chance. So I gave him everything his little heart could ever want. And as a mother I know it was wrong of me to raise him to think he’s above everything and everyone.” She didn’t actively do that, though. Satoru just developed that toxic kind of thinking somewhere down the line. “I’m sure you’ve heard the nasty things they say about my son.”
The atmosphere suddenly turns sullen. You remembered how you watched in horror when Prince Satoru appeared on your TV screen the morning after the jubilee gala. You normally saw the prince attending royal functions such as groundbreaking and ribbon-cutting ceremonies, and while you are aware, just like everyone else in the country, that Satoru had his own share of misfits, you dismissed it as the actions of a rebellious young adult. You never thought for one second that you would see the prince battering a man until he was closer to death than a rat caught in a mousetrap outside of a shady gambling den in an unsavory district in Tokyo.
“I’m pretty sure the press is stretching the truth at times.” That was the right thing to say, you didn’t want to badmouth her son in front of her.
She scoffs humorlessly. “I’m not asking you to defend him. What I’m asking of you is to help him.” She takes your hand in hers. “Ms. (Y/N), this marriage may start out as a publicity stunt, but you could turn into something better than that.”
Maybe you’d fall in love with the prince, and maybe he could open his heart to love another again, someone who was healthier for him than Himiko. While the disbelief in your face was clear, the empress’s words give you a sense of hope but again, being excused from this narrative was what you wanted more than anything. “I think you overestimate my power, Your Highness. What you are asking of me will only end badly, I’m sure of it. It’ll be a disaster for everyone.”
Looks like there was no convincing you. A lot seems to be going on inside the empress’s head and you sympathized with her anxiety, but this was something you couldn’t do. You have been what people call a “pushover” your entire life, but the subject of your marriage is critically non-negotiable.
“I understand,” the empress is now resigned to her son’s fate. It seems, after all that song and dance in front of the emperor, it was all futile in the end. At this rate, this time tomorrow, the son of the empress’s unwilling mistress would probably be declared heir apparent and she would be powerless to stop it.
“I’m sorry, it’s just my mother taught me that marriage is sacred and that I should never mess around with it. You could have asked me for anything, Your Highness, and I would have said ‘yes’ in a heartbeat.”
“Your mother seems like a very wise woman,” the empress smiles softly. “And she’s very lucky to have you as her daughter.”
You stiffened at that. “I…I wouldn’t know if she feels that way, really.”
A wave of confusion crashes over the empress. What did you mean? “Sorry?” she clarifies. You hesitate to let her in on your own pain and you feel a slight prick of guilt poking your heart. She had been so vulnerable tonight, so open with you about her grief while you guarded yours in a titanium safe. She decides not to push the subject further and instead places a hand over yours comfortingly before turning to leave.
A thought occurs in your head and everything seems to slow down. The cars passing by the main avenue of Nishi-Shinjuku seemed to be running at 10 mph instead of the road’s minimum 20 mph. The billboards towering over you have momentarily lagged like some fatal error occurred in the LCD screen.
…This was wrong, you shouldn’t even be thinking of this.
...What would make you any different from a bloodsucking gold-digger?
…Don’t run after her.
She wouldn’t want you to do this. It would kill her if you did this. But haven’t you killed her many times before? What would make this time any different? Absolutely nothing. Your mind is made up.
…
“Your Highness, please wait.”
6:12 AM.
You didn’t know that the smell of flowers could be so vile and revolting.
Sat in the middle of a room with about a hundred bouquets of flowers from a multitude of well-wishers, at six in the morning on the day of your wedding, you gaze up at the huge mural of your new residence in the imperial palace. The pupils of your eyes followed each image on the vast painted ceiling which, compared to your tiny Tokyo apartment, felt like the entire sky altogether. Your eyes follow the image painted by Kanō Eitoku depicting life in the old seat of the imperial system, Kyoto, each blink of your eyes, you hone in on a new aspect of the mural: the mountain of Ryūgatake, the old imperial palace which you were told still existed today, the grasslands surrounding the ancient capital, and the people of Kyoto as they go about their daily lives.
If only those people could speak and were not just plastered images on a lifeless cement canvas to keep you company, maybe you won’t feel as lonely having had to wait for your wedding day to roll by without your husband-to-be by your side.
Sighing, you fall against the carpeted floor, your hands clutching a greeting card from one of your friends who gushed about how you had suddenly become a princess-to-be overnight and how you must be so happy to be engaged to such a handsome man that is prince Satoru Gojo. You hold back your tears, your fingernails digging into the vellum card.
You’ve given up calling the Imperial Household Agency to connect the line to Satoru, they come up with a different ruse each time. “Please, I need to speak to the Crown Prince,” you would sniffle into the line’s speaker desperately.
“His Royal Highness is busy right now in his office.”
“My apologies, Ms. (Y/N), but Prince Satoru is unavailable right now due to [insert name of engagement which is perfectly-timed with the wedding consultations he’s supposed to attend with you here].”
“Prince Satoru is currently away to inaugurate the new building for [insert any imperial charity foundation here].”
But you know all those so-called reasons for his absence were lies, excuses to keep their future consort from overthinking where her distant fiancé could be. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen Himiko around either, that alone should be enough to answer the lingering questions in your head about Satoru’s whereabouts. It wasn’t as if you could suddenly act like some jealous spouse when 1.) You aren’t married yet. 2.) You are the trespasser in their relationship. 3.) You are simply a bandage solution to clean up the prince’s image, someone who had unknowingly been at the right place at the right time. You are well aware of where you stand in the grand scheme of things; that kiss as you drove out of the palace compound that day should have been a good enough reminder that you will never truly be your future husband’s better half.
That title, the one you unwittingly stole from a woman you’ve never even met before, is something you can never truly call your own. You were no different than the typical other woman who would wear the legal wife’s wedding dress like some thief.
Yet how is it that you know all of these things like scripture but you still spent the entire night crying over a man who finds it physically impossible to be in the same room as you? Why did it hurt so much when you saw your fiancé shield his girlfriend from the autumn chill the same way you hoped he would shield you from the many challenging questions during that press conference? Why does it feel like a dagger had been plunged into your chest when you saw Himiko kiss Satoru so tenderly, and your husband-to-be returning the gesture with equal fervor?
You lay on your side, the velvet texture of the carpet somehow providing you some semblance of comfort. What would your retainers say when they come into this room and see the crumpled form of their future empress on the floor, her knees hugged to her chest as she tries to make sense of everything that has happened these past few days? You imagined that they’d probably think you were crazy, and Satoru would probably jeer at the thought of having a simpleton as a wife.
You were only a girl of twenty-three summers, you should be enjoying your twenties by doing the things that you love with the people you love. These sunny days of youth pass by in the blink of an eye, but in your case, you have been totally robbed of it, now being primed to become not just a princess but a wife too. While the former is certainly an intimidating role, the latter is just downright petrifying for someone as young as yourself.
Not a single soul save for the empress went to check up on you last night, the only people you were expecting to keep you company today are the hairdressers and makeup artists to prepare you for the wedding. Of course, the austere members of the Imperial Household Agency are also set to make an appearance in your chambers today probably to make you sit through another briefing session on court etiquette. You glance out the window, it was barely light out due to the winter equinox when nights are longer than daytime, and somehow that made you even more sad than you already were laying down on the floor of your room, desolately alone.
A knock at the door awakens you from your trance and you sit up, arranging your hair neatly and pulling on your shoes. Sighing, you make your way towards the door and see someone who you do not quite expect. He momentarily shifts his attenton to the battalion of attendants behind him, nodding to them. “Leave us alone.”
“Your Majesty, good morning,” your breath hitches in your throat as you hastily bow your head before the emperor who seemed to be more anxious about this day more than you, seeing as he is already dressed in his three piece suit and slacks ensemble with the Collar of the Supreme Order of the Chrysanthemum hanging between his lapels.
The emperor was an enigmatic figure who mostly kept to himself, his chamberlain and main staff often joking amongst themselves how the emperor was really a recluse who had only been born to become the sovereign ruler of a nation by an unfortunate stroke of fate. Your future father-in-law hums in acknowledgement and you are left to wonder if this is where Satoru gets his aloof nature from. “Good morning, (Y/N). May I come in?” he asks as if this entire compound wasn’t his.
“Of course, Your Majesty.”
He eyes the many bouquets in the room, sighing heavily as he does, the guilt of putting you in this impossible position weighing on him. He admits that he jumped the gun when the empress offered to have Satoru marry someone who could brighten up his public image from the many blemishes it incurred during the night of the jubilee when he and Himiko were seen together, causing trouble in the casinos of the infamous Kabukichō red light district.. To have you bear the weight of becoming a lamb to the slaughter with this marriage was just downright cruel, knowing that his son will certainly make it his life’s purpose to destroy you, but what choice did he have?
It is the crown that makes the choice for him, he’s been told by his own father.
“Listen, do you have the slightest idea of what you’re about to go through?” the man whom you would call your father-in-law in just a few hours asks flatly.
Of course you do, Satoru has already given you a taste of what your marriage is going to be like. You solemnly nod “I think so,” murmuring softly, crestfallenness is evident in your voice. “Satoru has made it clear.”
The emperor purses his lips as he fumbles with a tulip that had been nestled in one of the bouquets in your chambers, “Well, it’s good that you know. I know my son and I am not here to tell you that everything you’ve seen these past couple of days will get better,” he eyes the telephone, one you haven’t even placed the phone back onto the handset in hopes that Satoru would call you. “In fact, it’s only going to get worse from here.”
You frown, crestfallen. “How so?” you asked, your hand gripping the fabric of your dress. “Are you saying that this is just the beginning?” Truthfully, you were fine with this being the beginning, only if you could have the reassurance that all this will come to an eventual end. But it seems now that this was going to be life as you know it, with a husband who gags at the sight of you and has the innate ability to treat you like you were his personal bedwarmer and doormat.
“Yes,” the emperor says gravely, a dark look crossing his features. “So if you’d like to back out now, now is your only chance. Satoru has made enough messes, a canceled wedding will barely do anything to his reputation at this point.”
He’s right; these past days have only proved that Satoru is probably granting you a way out, maybe that’s why he has done nothing else but to ignore you as a final act of mercy if you ever decide to bail. One tiny kiss on the cheek is nothing when he starts to go missing in the middle of the night to attend to his mistress’s beck and call, when he starts to bring home his mistress for dinner to actively spite you with their relationship, or when he, god forbid, starts fucking in her in your marital bed while you’re away on some royal function.
You could live a full life without him, having barely even known him save for his proclivity to emotionally torment you, but it feels wrong to just…up and leave after all that song and dance in the press opportunity.l Shaking your head, the emperor’s offer is refused insistently.
“I’m not going to give up on him, I won’t give up on our marriage before it even begins,” your eyes bore into the emperor’s own. You’ve promised yourself and the empress that you’ll see this through, if Satoru is going to make your life a living hell, then, you’ll just have to take all his blows like a champ.
“I don’t doubt your willpower, (Y/N). I’m just saying that this might be even more difficult for you than you think,” the emperor warns. “Satoru doesn’t just push back, he’ll run over people who get in his way.”
“Your Majesty, it’e alright. I’ll manage somehow.” you mumbled. “The empress and I made an agreement that if I marry Satoru, I…” you trail off, not really wanting to reveal more than you should, the emperor waits for you to continue, his eyebrows furrowed together.
What would you get if you married Satoru if not unnecessary suffering? And even then, that didn’t sound like a good deal, the emperor thinks to himself. You could have gone on happily with your life, blissfully unaware of the trials of being married to the white-haired prince, you probably would have continued climbing the career ladder before finding someone to settle down with, maybe you’ll have a few kids along the way, and Satoru would also be blissfully unaware of a certain (Y/N) (L/N) existing on this plane of reality with him.
Why were you so committed to marrying him?
“I’d be able to…” you stutter. There was no use hiding it now but maybe you could conceal the truth a little longer, if not for your sake, but for the empress — no, a grieving mother — who met you in a hotel café that night with the weight of the world on her shoulders and asked you to keep the details of this transactional union a secret. “I would…”
The emperor raises a hand to stop you, though he is mildly perturbed at your hesitance to open up to him, he decides that whatever you and his wife were keeping from him does not concern him or the throne and that it is simply a thing that should be left unsaid. He really didn’t want to pry into the details of the contract you agreed to, and since you seem to have already made up your mind, all he could do now is hope that you do not give up so easily on his son the same way he did, and that this choice to marry Satoru would not backfire on you or the imperial system in the long run.
“Stop. I understand,” the emperor nods, his shoulders seemingly slumping in defeat as he is unable to convince you to cut it and run from the horrible fate you were speeding towards at a hundred miles an hour. Maybe Satoru was right to make you out to be an idiot, the emperor frowns. “But…don’t say I didn’t warn you, and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you all the best.”
And just like that, the wedding pushes through as scheduled, having declared before the father of the groom that you weren’t one to give up so easily, or…maybe it’s just your blind optimism talking.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you settle into an ornate curtsy, your foot gracefully tucked behind the other, your hand postured in a cordial handshake with His Majesty. The emperor’s pupils dilate, his mouth runs dry and he feels like something in his body had momentarily stopped working or had broken entirely — he knows that trademark act of obeisance so well — you’ve perfectly captured the image of a younger version of his wife who had perfected royal protocol in just under a year when they got married. She must have sought to teach you everything she knew or rather she was forced to learn by herself when she was in your position in an act of true esprit de corps. And for a moment, he finds himself surrendering to your doe-eyed but unmistakably poised charm, and he starts to become more convinced that you were a worthy future daughter-in-law.
He shakes his head, swiftly snapping him out of his trance, now was not the time for these things. The emperor nods back to return the gesture before turning to leave, just as your attendants are about to arrive to get you ready for the ceremony. “We’ll see you in the cathedral, then, (Y/N).”
But as soon as he is halfway out the door, he turns back to look at you one last time as (Y/N) (L/N), for the next time he will see you, you will then be (Y/N) Gojo, his first daughter-in-law, the first royal bride in centuries who neither hails from a family of politicians nor influential persons alike, the icon of a new chapter for the imperial family.
He sighs, turning back around to face you, having almost forgotten the task he’d been entrusted with by his wife. “I almost forgot. Ijichi,” he calls to his faithful grand steward who is waiting outside your chambers to bring forth a rather special gift he and the empress intended to present to you after the ceremony but he figured now might be a good time. The tall, lanky and sickly-looking spectacled man known as Ijichi bows before you which leaves a strange feeling festering within you, he was carrying a navy blue felt case that seemed so valuable that he had been compelled to wear gloves to prevent his bare hands from touching the fine fabric.
The emperor motions to open the case and your face pales when you see what is inside. “This is intended to be worn by the Princess Royal on her wedding day but since I don’t have a daughter to give that title to, the title will now belong to you.”
The tiara in his hands is a hefty thing, molded entirely from the most of valuable of silvers, it resembled the Queen Mary Fringe Tiara that had been worn by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II on her wedding day, with an abundance of baton diamonds dotting every conceivable nook and cranny. It takes some time for you to adjust when it is placed upon your head, it only weighed a modest 1.7 kilograms, it was much lighter than the many tiaras the family keeps hidden away in the imperial vaults but for someone like you, it is an awfully heavy thing not just in the literal sense but also in the figurative side of things.
As of this moment, you weren’t just an ordinarily forgettable face in a crowd anymore.
“Carry the weight.” The emperor’s voice is commandeering. He steps back, scanning how the tiara looks on you from afar and though it looked awkwardly placed on your head with how you are struggling to balance its weight, you still managed to carry it adequately. “Now…you’re one of us.”
8:55 AM.
“Need some help?”
Satoru looks up to inspect the reflection on the mirror and a sad smile crosses his face when he sees the familiar figure of Himiko leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest as she gazes at her beloved getting ready for his wedding day. “You don’t have to be here.” He begrudgingly fumbles with his collar, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he professes, despite having immeasurably hurt you these past couple of days instead.
Himiko shakes her head. There was no use in grumbling about it now when just on the other side of the palace, Satoru’s unworthy bride-to-be was being pampered by her many ladies with manicures, foot massages, and practically anything to make you happy while she, the prince’s true love, was condemned to watch him be cruelly given away to someone else. There was a sense of finality with how hundreds of palace staff rushed through the hallways carrying all sorts of wedding paraphernalia to decorate the Chowaden reception hall and the courtyard to welcome the wedding guests.
Satoru frowns when her hands find his collar, she skillfully untangles the ribbon medal and readjusts the silver emerald-studded necklace that came with it.
Please…just one more minute…one more minute with you, Satoru closes his eyes as Himiko’s thumbs tentatively rub his chiseled cheek as if she were memorizing every bump and every curve of his skin before someone else tries to claim that they know every bit of Satoru inside and out. She knows it will never be true, no one can ever know Satoru the way she intimately knows him, not even if he was going to marry another woman. It may be possible for you steal everything from her — the emperor and empress’s favor, the public’s warm approval, the ring that had been fitted to accommodate the size of her finger before it was given to you — it may have been easy for you to pull the rug from underneath her, but it would be difficult — no, impossible — for you to ever claim ownership of Satoru.
He was hers and she was his, Satoru leans against Himiko’s touch, sighing woefully. “I’ll make her pay, I promise. I’ll break her, destroy her again. And again. And again until nothing’s left of her,” he recites the promise, punctuating the words with a kiss every time, as if they were having an illicit wedding of their own, and his words were a marriage vow — the only one that he will honor with every fiber of his being. Himiko bites her lower lip before she slowly nods, appeased.
“But Satoru, marrying her is the only way for you to be restored as heir apparent. Either way, we can’t win without doing this your father’s way.” Her hands leave his collar and she sadly gazes out the window, her narrow eyes glazing over the ancient ginkgo tree at the center of the palace’s vast atrium which was now shedding their green leaves to take on the tell-tale yellow hue as autumn draws near. She always loved the view of the palace courtyard from above, especially in this room where she and Satoru spent many nights proving their love for one another.
Gojo frowns at her melancholia, he comes up from behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “I’ll think of something, I promise this won’t last longer than it needs to,” he kisses her cheek, nuzzling it with his nose tenderly.
“I don’t mind waiting, Satoru, I’d wait for you forever, and as much as we both hate her, we need (Y/N),” she spits out your name as if it were rat poison in her mouth. “So, let’s just play along. It’s not like we’re not used to meeting in deserted parking lots at midnight, right?” She offers him a half-smile, reminding Satoru that their entire affair has always been illicit in nature.
It’s not like she was accepted by his parents to be their son’s future consort. They’ve been through this before, hundreds of times rather, even before you came along. They’ve had to deal with so many forces ripping them apart over the past three years from the oh-so-omnipotent emperor who hardly wields any political power to his neurotic wife whom she has called, on several occasions, a bitch.
And yet, together they remained as it has always been, with Satoru cradling Himiko in his arms as he peppers kisses up her neck, sucking at the soft flesh, his hips flush against hers. He does this in front of the window for any unfortunate passerby to see. Hell, Satoru was hoping you’d walk by and see this heartbreaking display and maybe you’ll just run home in your wedding dress with your tail between your legs.
“We don’t have to get used to it, Himiko,” he mumbles into her neck, inhaling her sweet perfume, the one he liked the most. “One day, we won’t have to hide anymore,” he kisses her cheek tenderly, caressing the bone of her wrists which still bore faint marks from the handcuffs that had been wrongfully placed on her with his thumb. “And people can say whatever they want about us, and it wouldn’t matter because I will have been the emperor by then and you, my empress.” He presses their foreheads together, the tips of their noses barely touching in a moment of silence.
After a long while, Satoru lets go of Himiko, his eyes scanning hers as if he were searching for answers hidden deep within her soul. “What is it?”
“I just wish you hadn’t stepped in back there.” It was a thought that kept him awake these past agonizing nights. “Maybe if you just stayed out of my father’s office, this wouldn’t have happened. I was alright with you visiting me in my jail cell, you know.”
“As if I’d ever let that happen,” she sighs when he pulls away to fasten his cufflinks, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened at the loss of his touch. She kisses his cheek, looking at his reflection through the mirror, her eyes alight with adoration. “I promised I’d always be your ally, didn’t I?”
When she and Satoru first met three years ago in the selection for his chief-of-staff, Himiko Zenin, despite coming from the affluent Zenin clan, lagged behind compared to her contenders who aced the exams that tested their knowledge on the law, constitution, history of the imperial system, royal protocol, foreign languages and other aspects that may prove useful for the prince’s right hand. But there was one thing that she had that all the other applicants didn’t have, and she demonstrated that perfectly when Satoru unexpectedly dropped by during the final interviews to speak to each of the candidates himself.
Satoru stared at Himiko with a bored expression that day, his being devoid of any emotion. “Ms. Zenin, it seems you did poorly in all of the exams,” he glances at her file which should have been tossed in the bin by the time she placed last in the jurisprudence exam. “And you’re affiliated with one of the more morally ambiguous families in the country. Looks like today’s just not your day, huh?”
It was true. Having Himiko Zenin as his chief of staff was dangerous from the get-go. The Zenin clan’s head back then during the time of the selection was on trial for graft and corruption. But, there was something Himiko had that all the other applicants did not. At the time, he couldn’t quite put a finger on it but now, after years of selfless service to him, Satoru realizes that it was the ferocious loyalty that hid underneath her then perfectly ordinary shell which he personally refined into the gem of a woman she is now, and she never swore allegiance to the crown but rather to him, Satoru Gojo.
“But, I’ll indulge you,” he reclined against his chair that day, his arms crossed. “Why should I even consider you as my chief of staff? What can you offer me that the others before you cannot?”
Her answer to that question instantly won him over and in that instant, Himiko’s life had changed forever. “Whatever you ask of me, Your Royal Highness, I’d give my very life for you.”
Satoru turns away from the mirror, his lips instantly on hers. His hand dangerously hovered over the hem of her dress. “S-Satoru, what are you doing?” she moans into his mouth as Satoru moves both of them to the bed, he climbs atop of her as she lay on the mattress, her locks splayed over the silk sheets. She knows what he’s doing, this was almost like a film she has seen many times before; this was how tense conversations with Gojo go with him impatiently parting her legs, their hands desperately discarding their clothes until they are left utterly bare before one another.
He wanted to destroy you the same way you destroyed what he had with Himiko. This anger translated into his rough pace. He roughly jostles his hips against Himiko’s, her arms wrapping around him as he buries his cock inside her, his lips covering her milky flesh with dark-purplish bruises, marking her as his.
Call him a sadist but he hopes that Himiko would change into a dress that could flaunt her marked skin so that when you fearfully look around the cathedral, warily searching for her, your heart would break at the sight of the countless hickeys on her neck and collar. He wanted to see you cry the first of the many tears you will shed for the crime of marrying him.
“Satoru…!” she cries out as the luscious feeling of his girth pistoning in and out of her. He grunts as he feels him inch closer and closer to his high. “Mmph—‘Toru,” she whines when he reangles his hips, plunging deeper into her, his arms locking behind hers as he violently chases his release. He’s so close. “I love you, I love you…-a-ah!”
A symphony of pleasured groans falls from his lips, his very being uncoiling as he cums. His hips involuntarily keep thrusting as hot spurts of his cum drips down Himiko’s entrance, mixing with her own release. Himiko frowns as Satoru clicks his tongue at the soiled sheets beneath their connected forms. He groans as he pulls out, sinking into the warmth of her embrace, his still hardened cock poking her inner thigh. “Promise me you’ll only love me?” she whispers as her fingers absentmindedly play with his white hair.
“I promise,” Gojo murmurs into the crook of her neck as he lulled to sleep by her soft, even breaths. “I promise it’s only you…no one else.”
11:45 AM.
Only half an hour left. A crowd of, from what you have heard, 70,000 have gathered on the strip of the main road that the bridal car will pass en route to the cathedral.
“It’s true,” your maid of honor who people refer to as Ieiri says, showing you her phone which showed the many tweets from news agencies, famous personalities and normal people alike about how excited they were to witness your wedding day. There were countless social media posts consisting of yours and Satoru’s official engagement picture and many have taken to hosting their own live-streaming sessions of this monumental day.
“Everyone’s so excited. I wish my wedding would be this big,” one of your bridesmaids sighs dreamily. You manage a small chuckle at her, maybe if she knew of your plight right now, she would probably be eating those words alongside the many petit fours she’s been munching on this past hour. “Look at all those people,” she continues scrolling through her phone.
“It’s the first televised imperial wedding so obviously, it’s a big deal, Riko,” Utahime laughs. “Not to mention, it’s the first time a member of the imperial family would be married in a Western-themed ceremony.” For everyone to see.
One of your newly appointed helpers enters the room, and jogs over to you as quickly as she can in her heels, she has a small jewelry box delicately decorated in an ecru gift wrapper in her hand. “Ms. (Y/N), this is from the prince. His butler told me to give this to you.” You’ve been sad all day and your ladies-in-waiting heave a sigh of relief when they see a hint of a smile on your face, even if it did hold a bit of apprehension.
“Really? For me?” You stand up to accept the small token, careful not to ruffle your wedding dress too much as per the dressmaker’s instructions since the fabric used to construct the piece was susceptible to crumpling. Momentarily setting your phone down on the vanity table mid-text, you graciously accept the wedding gift. Maybe Satoru was starting to warm up to you and that he is now chipping away at the wall he built between the two of you. You hoped that by sending you this gift, this would be the start of something new and better with your husband.
But given how things are, that would be impossible. This was probably just a gift he sent to appease you after many days of effectively acting like you don’t exist.
You open the box and your ladies chatter around you excitedly. “It’s so pretty!” the youngest of your bridesmaids, the daughter of the Japanese ambassador to France apparently, marvels at the pair of earrings. Briefly smiling at her, you then turn your attention to the small letter that was neatly slotted between the groove of the box’s padded interior that held the earrings in place. His handwriting was so conscientiously beautiful that it almost looked like a computer-generated font, there wasn’t a hint of clumsiness in each stroke.
“To (Y/N),
I’m sorry about these past few days. This won’t make up for it, but, I’d like to join you in wishing for a successful marriage together.
– HRH Satoru Gojo”
Your heart slows at the cold closing. He had omitted the words “love” and “sincerely” before his name, but you expected that. If scraps of affection are all you could ever hope to get out of him, you have to learn to deal with it sooner or later; this was your life now, you will always be second to the love of his life. It must have taken everything out of him, and it must have caused an argument to erupt between him and Himiko, to send you this and you understand that he’s also having a difficult time with how things are now but it mattered so much to you to see him try. Regardless if this gift was given to you freely or not, you couldn’t refuse it, even if every voice in your head was screaming at you, reminding you of the horrific scene you saw that day when you caught your fiancé kissing another woman out in the open immediately after you announced your engagement.
“Would you like me to put it on you?” Riko asks. “I’m sure the prince will be happy to see you wear these.”
“You really think so?” you wince when your helper struggles to find your earlobe piercing. “I didn’t know he could be so sweet.” That’s obviously a lie; you know full well Satoru could be sweet, it just pained you to remember that he’s capable being sweet to another deliberately causing you immense grief. Your helper stiffens slightly. She has seen him become sweet before, albeit to another, but she didn’t have to divulge any details and accidentally ruin your wedding day.
She nods shyly, succeeding with the first diamond earring and then the other. She steps away from the mirror. You looked radiant. “Y-yes.”
Noticing her discomfort, you expertly steer the conversation elsewhere. “I see. Well I should probably return the favor.”
You’ve gotten Satoru a wristwatch you and the empress had personally had commissioned by a famed watchmaker that could rival the craftsmanship of a Rolex. It just arrived last night and well, given your current mental state then having taken the brunt of Satoru’s ire the past few days, you couldn’t bring yourself to wrap it. Momentarily deciding if you still had time to have one of your helpers buy some wrapping paper, you realized it would be cutting it too close so you hastily scribbled on a blank dedication card you randomly plucked from one of the bouquets you received. Luckily, some of them had extra cards.
“To Your Royal Highness,
Please don’t apologize, I’m sorry too for being pushy lately. Thank you for the gift, I’ll be sure to take good care of it. Happy wedding day, and I’m looking forward to better days together!
Wholeheartedly yours,
(Y/N) (L/N)”
Reading through it one last time, you affix your name at the end. “You guys are so sweet,” your youngest bridesmaid gushes as she presses a button on the room’s telephone to request for a butler. “I’m sure the prince will love it.”
“Whatever ‘sweet’ means.” You grimace, your unease getting the better of you. A few moments later, a butler peeks into the room. You bound over to him, placing the present in his hands. “Could you please give this to Prince Satoru?” you asked him and the butler looks slightly bewildered at your choice of words. If it was an order, you could have just said so. Perhaps you were still getting used to the idea of having people waiting to attend to your every beck and call.
“Right away, ma’am,” the butler replies obediently nonetheless. “Also I ran into His Majesty’s chamberlain just a while back and he asked me to remind you of the time. Everything’s ready,” he informs you just as he turns to leave in the direction of the palace’s east wing where Satoru's private chambers are. Upon hearing that, the bridal entourage starts to get ready to leave ahead of you, they’ll be going to the venue with a separate convoy from the bride’s since you’ll be driving through some of Tokyo’s major avenues en route to the cathedral.
You watch as they file out of the room in their cream dresses, each one of them, despite having known you for only a little less than half a day, pull you into a bone-crushing hug wishing you well. “Congratulations, (Y/N).”
“Thank you,” you kindly smiled at each one of them as they left.
When you are left alone to your devices, you take one last look at (though you could hardly recognize yourself) the mirror, swallowing harshly, your hand absentmindedly playing with the locket which you continued to wear, ignoring the gracious advice of the Imperial Household Agency’s grand steward to set it aside for today’s festivities as it was uncustomary for royal brides to wear articles of clothing and accessories that did not hold any relation to the imperial family.
Only thirty minutes to go ‘till everything changes. Wait no, that was grossly inaccurate. Everything changed the split second you laid your eyes on him. Since then, everything seems to be a jumbled haze like some sort of psychedelic trance that just won’t end. Reaching for your phone one last time, you hastily search for a particular contact number, your finger hovering over the call button. No, there’s no point, you sniffle softly. Calling her would only make things harder than it already is and backing out of this now is out of the question.
Another knock is heard on the door, but it isn’t as insistent as the first few ones as everyone was starting to get a bit frustrated at you. Did they think you were stalling for time? “Just a minute,” your voice wavers. You just received a new text message from the number you were planning to call.
“We’ll be moving her in a few hours. Will send you her new room number when we get there.”
Bringing the phone to your lips, your heart makes somersaults in your chest when you receive the news. The sacrifice you were still yet to make has already paid off and your ledger of personal favors crossed out with a red marker effectively completing your transaction with the empress. Without even giving you time to text a quick “thank you”, another urgent knock is heard on the door. “Ms. (Y/N), I’m very sorry to interrupt but, we should get going now.”
“I’ll be right there,” you said again, quickly typing another message on your phone: “I wish I was there with her. Please hold her hand for me.” The second it goes through, you quickly shuffled towards the door, your head bowed in apology. You hold your breath as you balance the tiara on your head hoping that it won’t fall as it hangs precariously off-center on the crown of your head, your eyes trained on the ground as the door slides open. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries, I’m pretty patient. Ijichi, on the other hand? Not so much.”
His voice is feather-soft and melodious like a harp string being plucked delicately so that it produces a clear and deep bell-like sound, the very language he chooses to speak with is devoid of neither a shrill nor sharp word unlike the fusillade of orders you’ve been mercilessly bombarded with this entire day. Walk like this, speak like that, don’t do this, and most certainly never do that, you must have gone through a decade’s worth of rules and regulations to follow during the ceremony and even after you’ve said your “I do”’s. Still, you found solace knowing that Satoru is slowly warming up to the idea of cooperating with you, and has even found it in his heart to give you an olive branch of sorts which was now hooped through your earlobes, sparkling under the light like a clear drop of water from the sky.
At first, you naively think it’s him. Did Satoru really come over to see you? While that seemed uncharacteristic of him, the very thought of him voluntarily visiting you planted a sense of relief in you regardless. Maybe he wanted to settle things before the ceremony, to be upfront with you about his intentions in this marriage, how the two of you will be towards one another going forward, and if your luck holds out, maybe he’d finally let you in on his acts of impropriety with Himiko.
But, you would recognize Satoru’s indifferent timbre anywhere, this voice was far too different and seemed much kinder and softer than your fiancé’s.
You slowly open the door to greet your guest, confirming your suspicions as you meet the gaze of a man you haven’t met before. He seems severely unfamiliar.
No, wait. That can’t be it, he may seem unfamiliar but he’s definitely recognizable. In fact, you’ve seen him a few times before, standing feebly next to your fiance during the emperor’s birthday broadcast. Then, it clicks. Wasn't this…?
“Crown Prince Suguru?” you blinked. He’s the only senior member of the imperial family that you’ve never been officially introduced to. Of course, you are on speaking terms with the emperor, the empress and of course, Satoru, but never the prince that idly lingered in their large shadows.
The raven-haired man chuckles deeply at your shocked expression. Clearly, you didn’t expect to meet him under these circumstances, and that caused you to accidentally refer to him as the Crown Prince when that title only belonged to Gojo. He looks at you endearingly, finding you intriguing.
So this was the woman his younger brother is to be married to. Suguru has heard a lot about Satoru’s docile bride-to-be, in fact, he received news of the engagement while he was in Rome, the last leg of his first solo tour in Europe. People were so quick to label it as a pivotal point in the history of the Japanese monarchy and that you are the symbol of change, specifically, they likened you to a camellia blooming in a sea of chrysanths, a breath of spring in the imperial family’s everwinter – alluring in every sense of the word. But, alluring isn’t exactly a word he’d use to describe you seeing as you’ve only just met but, right now, he found you to be so adorably cute that he might just start to believe the things they say about you on the news.
“It’s just Prince Suguru. Satoru’s the Crown Prince.” The gentle correction makes you so flustered that you feel blood rush up to your ears, a tell-tale sign of your abasement. “But you could just call me Suguru.”
“Oh, right, my mistake,” you rub your eyelid, growing embarrassed. “Prince Suguru,” you stressed his correct title, remedying your earlier mishap. Despite you being in heels, you can’t see past him, given that he towered over you so easily so you stand on your tallest tiptoes, trying to peek over his shoulder. “You haven’t happened to see Mr. Ijichi, have you? He was right outside the door a few minutes ago.”
Suguru buries his hands in his pockets. “He just left, you’re welcome,” he winks at you, having sent Ijichi on his way when he accidentally stumbled across him furiously tapping on your door as he was making his way to his car.
Ijichi was…difficult to get along with — he’s short-fused, demanding at some times, and he is what people could call a stickler for the rules — Suguru isn’t doesn’t really want to say nasty words about his father’s grand steward and he’d give credit where it’s due since Ijichi is not just efficient when it comes to running the imperial household but he is also fiercely dedicated to every member of the imperial family.
Still, he couldn’t count the many times Ijichi had to scold him for all the mischief he caused while he was growing up even if his life depended on it. The worst scolding he got from the older man was when Suguru went missing on his fifth birthday, having snuck out of the banquet hall with at least ten pieces of bread stuffed in his pockets with every intention to feed them to the many ducks in the imperial garden’s ponds.
“What?” your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, you were going to get an earful later. “You mean he went ahead without me?”
“It’s alright. You’ll see him later, sure he’s probably going to talk your ear off but he means well, trust me,” Suguru flashes you a reassuring smile.
You look at him, your lip curled into an uneasy grin. “That doesn’t sound like fun,” you bemoaned, having had enough reprimands to last you until your next life. “So, with Mr. Ijichi gone, forgive my bluntness, but am I right to assume that Your Highness will be the one to bring me to the cathedral?”
Suguru accommodatingly holds out his arm for you to hold onto. “You assume correctly,” he says warmly. You expect him to hurriedly lead you down the steps leading to the palace’s main driveway, but he does something entirely different. “Are you ready to go or do you still need more time?”
That was the first time anyone in a kilometer-wide radius has asked you what you want to do instead of telling you what to do.
Suguru watches every small change in your expression. He figured that you must be pretty tired of people treating you like some robot, training you to blindly obey every order perfectly. The jet black-haired prince has only known you for two minutes and his heart is already disintegrating for your current predicament of feeling completely and entirely alone. If he could alleviate your troubles even with just a small act of kindness by engaging in polite conversation with you and actually listening to what you have to say instead of talking over you like most of your etiquette coaches have done all day, then, he’ll gladly tune in to listen to you even as you read through an entire book of sonnets if you ever felt up to it.
Being validated comes a long way, and if anyone understands your plight, it was him and even if he didn’t understand, he’ll do everything he can to try regardless.
“I-I’m ready,” you nodded hesitantly and Suguru doesn’t walk ahead right away and allows you to set the pace as you walk past the line of attendants that bowed to you and the prince as you made your way to the imperial family’s very own Toyota Century convertible which had been custom-made for you.
The open top roof gave onlookers access to see their future empress as the motorcade departs from the Kōkyo Imperial Palace and follows a 4.6-kilometer route that will travel to the St. Mary’s Cathedral, the seat of the Roman Catholic archdiocese of Tokyo. Neither you nor Satoru were practicing Catholics yet, the imperial family has decided that a Christian-themed wedding rather than the ancient Buddhist matrimonial ceremony that is usually done away from public view would make the imperial system appear more accessible to the people.
Suguru helps you into the car, gently arranging the train of your gown so that it doesn’t get all wrinkled. “Thank you, Your Highness” you whisper to Suguru who squeezes your free hand as if to say “you’re welcome”. The car’s engine hums to life the minute the two of you are settled in the backseat. “W-what am I supposed to do now?” you asked, readjusting your grip on your bridal bouquet.
The prince lets out a humored snort, having forgotten that this was your first official function. Showing you the correct way to wave and the right angle to face and bow to the crowd, he watches you closely, allowing you to struggle for a bit before stepping in to help with some encouraging words. “Just keep smiling and waving. It’s just like being onstage, you know.” At the center of the motorcade, six police cars patrol every side of the convertible forming a ring of protection just in case someone in the crowd with ill-intentions would try to harm either you or the monarch next to you.
Countless people erupt in happy cheers at the sight of you and Suguru, some are simply content with waving while others are holding up flowers and tossing them to the front of the crowd barriers in jubilation. “It feels a little more intense than just being onstage,” you mumbled, your eyes landing on a little girl sitting in her mother’s arms as she waves a little Japanese flag in her hand which looked like she made it in her arts and craft class. You awkwardly wave at her, chuckling when she happily waves back, delighted to see you directly looking at her.
“Well, you’re doing great.” He inches closer to you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist while the other guides your hand, gently angling it in a more prominent position so that you look a little more assertive. “Like this,” Suguru helps you wave in a more continuous manner, teaching you to center the motion by keeping your elbow mostly stationary and allowing only your wrist to subtly move from side to side. “And keep doing what you’re doing. Make eye contact with them; make them understand that you see each and every one of them.”
Suguru watches you bow and wave to the spectators with a proud smile on his face; the motorcade has now reached the Shinjuku area and is nearing its destination of Bunkyo-ku where the cathedral is and even still, the crowd doesn’t appear to thin out. Suguru feels like he’s watching history unfold before his very eyes. He wonders if Satoru had purposefully chosen a commoner to conjure up a classic “love conquers all” romance of his own wedding day, if he did, then Suguru must congratulate him for a job well done. No one has ever come out to see a member of the imperial family in this sheer number, he daresay, not even the empress on her wedding day or His Majesty on his coronation day.
But with you, this day is nothing short of a revolution.
“Your Highness, you’re staring.” Suguru hums, confused, before realizing that he’s been looking at you funny. “You’re still staring,” you said succinctly.
“Oh, sorry.” Suguru says awkwardly and you couldn’t help but let out a slight snort. “What?” he cocks his head in your direction. You were laughing, though brief, the very sound of it brings a smile to his face. “It was about time though. We’ve been in this car for more than fifteen minutes now and that right there is the first genuine act of happiness I’ve seen you make,” he remarks. He was starting to think that you were incapable of smiling which he found a little unsettling since brides aren’t exactly despondent during their wedding day. Of course, what would he know? His little brother had gotten married ahead of him.
You crinkle your nose in mock displeasure. “That’s kinda mean and probably the last thing I’d say to someone I just met…with all due respect, Your Highness.”
Suguru grins at your tiny jab at his character, and to think that he nearly bought into the whole “as demure as a butterfly” thing they said about you in the papers. Make no mistake though, he sees how elegantly ladylike you are, but he also sees how you are so effortlessly spellbinding with your wit translated into a few short but sweet words. No wonder Satoru fell for you and even gave up his vice-like romance with his chief-of-staff to marry you, he thinks to himself. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry that was a bit uncalled for.”
“Oh— Your Highness, I was just joking.” You waved to the crowd of people on Suguru’s side of the car, grimacing when you see a few schoolboys, probably university students with how tall and mature they looked, pretend to blow you kisses. Indulging them, you subtly return the gesture flustered beyond all measure. Everything feels so public now, and you are left wondering about how you could survive the rest of your life like this.
“…I knew that.” Choosing momentary silence, Suguru finally decides to chip away at the facade you were putting up. He could see it in your eyes, you were a cross between scared and unhappy which is clearly normal for someone who is marrying into the oldest monarchy in the world. You weren’t at all what the members of the Imperial Household Agency said of you when you were out of earshot: a sorry excuse of a future empress who is privileged in every way but can’t find it within herself to stop her endless complaining. “Just trying to make you smile, that’s all.”
Shouldn’t your future husband be doing that? You sighed. Oh right, he was probably busy comforting Himiko. She probably needed him now more than ever after everything you’ve done to torment her. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Suguru,” he corrects kindly. “If you’re going to marry my little brother, you could, at least, drop the troublesome title when you’re talking to me.”
Little brother? How have you never heard of this before? You knew Satoru had a brother, but you never thought Suguru would be the older one out of the two of them. If that was the case, then, why didn’t he get the title of “Crown Prince”?
“Weird, huh?” He breaks you out of your trance, as if he heard the question swirling around in your head. “Why is Satoru the Crown Prince and not me?”
“Are you psychic or something?” you playfully teased, slowly growing more comfortable with the jet black-haired prince that sported an Apollo-like smile - warm, and inviting. “Where’d you learn to do that?”
Suguru shrugs. “Why? Whose mind do you want to read?”
Satoru’s, you smiled sadly. Maybe by unraveling the inner machinations of your soon-to-be husband’s mind, you could learn to meet him halfway by understanding him a little better; no person is born inherently cruel and while you had your doubts, you know, in your heart, that Satoru is no exception to that rule. “No one in particular.”
“Ah, well, I expected that.” He grinned at how guarded you are, reclining against the plush seat of the car to rest his stiffening back for a minute. The convoy is about ten minutes away from the cathedral now.
You offered him some consolation though, grateful for this light-hearted chat. “Let’s just trade answers next time.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
Himiko thought this day would be horrible but it turns out it isn’t as bad as she pessimistically thought. If she only knew that this was how the love of her life’s wedding would go with him still inviting her to his bed before he gets hitched off, then, maybe she shouldn’t have been so awful towards you who never stood a chance against her. Competing with you would be like making a rival of a rat; it would be unnecessary trouble. Still, even if she had all but won against you (as if you were worthy enough to even become her opponent), that didn’t stop the Zenin clan’s little darling from causing a little trouble today.
Her eyes flutter open to reveal Gojo’s handsome slumbering face, utterly spent from their lovemaking session, their naked forms still entangled together under the cotton-percale sheets. She stretches her supple body luxuriously, and pulls away from Satoru’s embrace earning a small “mmph” of disapproval from her lover. Giggling, she plants a soft kiss on his chiseled cheek.
“Your Highness?” Someone says from behind the door. Taking one last look at Satoru’s sleeping form, she walks leisurely to answer it, clad only in the prince’s shirt which ran above her knee.
Leaning against the door, she answers for the prince, a detestable act similar to a cardinal sin. It was forbidden for a mere servant to speak for any member of the imperial family. In the past, in the Japanese empire’s golden age, a servant who took the words out of their master’s mouth would have their tongue swiftly sliced off. But Himiko is not a servant, nor is she subject to the rules as long as the prince was around. “His Highness is asleep.”
On his wedding day? The butler nods stiffly. “I see. Ms. Zenin, can I trouble you with this? The prince’s fiancé has sent him a wedding gift.”
Himiko doesn’t answer for a long while and a tense silence fills the room. “Fine, but have you done what I asked?” she relents opening the door, the butler’s face turns red at the sight of her lack of modesty. “Having you run my errands isn’t cheap, you know.”
The attendant bows his head, “Yes. She’s currently wearing it right now, last I saw.”
“Good. I’ll be taking this then.” She shakes the box to get a feel of what’s inside, not that it would be anything of high value though given its cheap sender.
Curiosity gets the better of her and she succinctly opens the gift, her eyebrow quirked. A watch. Very typical. She notes how it’s made out of silver and she scoffs harshly. Even if she didn’t chuck it into the trash, Satoru would have done it himself since he prefers gold pieces over silver and he most certainly wouldn’t want to touch anything that was from you given how he loathed the very idea of you.
The attendant gulps when he sees Himiko harshly discard your gift. “Ms. Zenin, don’t you think that giving her that would be taking it too far? You know how the Crown Prince feels about those earrings. If he ever were to find out that it had gone missing…”
She turns her head in the direction of the bed where Gojo was currently tossing and turning in his sleep. “Then, I’ll tell His Highness that his chief butler,” her eyes were aglow with cunning as the butler trembled slightly at her murderous gaze. “Is a thief who stole from the imperial vaults, and if you ever decide to rat me out, who do you think the prince will believe? A nameless no account like you or me?”
It slowly registers in the attendant’s mind that he had been utterly played when Himiko asked him to give those earrings to you via an under the table agreement, it’s not like Satoru prepared a wedding gift for you anyway thinking that showing up to the accursed wedding in itself is a generous gift already. “…You used me…!” he whispers angrily, not wanting to rouse the prince.
Himiko shrugs nonchalantly. “And you were stupid enough to be used for a few banknotes. Now get lost, I’ll just inform His Highness of your voluntary resignation tomorrow morning.”
She closes the door on the rattled servant and saunters back over to the bed, slipping back under the sheets. Satoru sleepily notices the bed dip with her weight, and unconsciously snuggles closer to her, his arms wrapped around her form. She lovingly strokes his disheveled hair alternating between twirling his locks in her index finger and massaging his scalp as if she hadn’t just ruined a man’s life two minutes ago. Her hands reach for the phone on the nightstand and she scrolls through her feed watching a video of the bridal car pulling up to the cathedral.
She boredly watches you step out of the car with your hand looped through Suguru’s arm shyly waving to the thousands happily anticipating this glorious day while your bridesmaids help you with your wedding gown’s train so it doesn’t snag across the concrete steps. It takes about five minutes for the cathedral’s towering doors to open and she smirks when she sees you slowly make your way inside, completely oblivious to the fact that your groom is not at the end of the aisle where you expected him to be and is instead still soundly asleep next to her.
The silence that follows is indicative of the horrific scene that greeted you and Himiko switches off her phone, settling back into the pillows contentedly. Serves you right, (Y/N), she smirks.
12:30 PM.
Funny how you think that you’re immune to awful things that happen to other people…before it happens to you. There’ve been hundreds of stories like this before, but you never thought that you’d find yourself in the long list of unfortunate jilted brides. Your hands tremble as you hold your bouquet of white calla lilies and baby’s breaths. Surely you must have gone blind or something or this was all some sick dream, you desperately search the cathedral room with abject horror in your eyes. It couldn’t be…you take an uneasy step toward the witness as your wedding guests whisper amongst themselves, their hearts filled to the brim with condolences for you.
Something in you jeeringly mocks you as if to chide you for living too long in the forest of your fantasy, dodging every pocket of reality’s sunlight as it shines through the many trees you’ve cultivated with your delusions that this…whatever the hell this is…could miraculously work out in the end. That you stood a chance against all the cards that were catastrophically stacked against you, and that he could give you even just a scintilla of respect if it was truly impossible for him to ever learn to love you.
“Suguru,” you instinctively clutch his hand as if by him squeezing your hand back, you could miraculously be put together again. You were so heartbroken that you didn't even realize that you just called him by his name, forgoing the mention of his venerable title. “…I-I…” you gulp as you feel the dreaded words lodge deep in your throat, clogging your airways with uncried sobs.
“Oh, (Y/N), I’m so sorry…”
“…Where’s Satoru?”
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REBLOGS AND INTERACTIONS IS WHAT KEEPS AUTHORS GOING SO SHOW SOME LOVE ✨💕 mwah! see you all in episode 2.5!
#fic: water’s edge#gojo smut#jjk#jjk angst#geto suguru#gojo satoru#jjk x you#gojo x reader#gojo x reader angst#gojo x you angst#geto x reader angst#geto x you angst#jujutsu kaisen angst#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#geto suguru x reader#gojo satoru x reader angst#geto suguru x reader angst#gojo x reader smut#gojo satoru x reader smut#jjk imagines#gojo angst#geto angst#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jjk gojo#jjk geto#gojo satoru angst
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ellie trying on those pheromones perfumes ? like those sex ones 😭😭
thought abt this days ago.. guess I manifested this ask in a way!!! MDNI ✰ . . not a full smut but highly suggestive. could be a smut tho if someone asks, wink wonk.
ellie knowss she doesn't neeed a fancy elixir or a spell to woo you over any day, however. to rouse you up further than usual? now that's an experiment worth her adherence.
spritz, spritz– goes the pumps of a perfume bottle, the only perfume ellie will ever meet palm to plastic with. the only time her plender gap will ever taste the chemicals and hints of rosy luxury. now, intentionally forgetting she even puffed some of that shit on, she just relaxes. she waits. lounging upon your shared bed, attired in a tight ribbed tank that sports an eye–candy viewing of her muscles, mhh, and a pair of loose plaid boy shorts. forearms press arrant to her ribs, extending down to her pelvis– controller in hand. her eyes pore over that large television screen blaring with a multitude of hues, totally mind bent to the game she plays.
then, you roll in. languid after a full shift of working, you plop down. face to cotton, you take a whaff in of freshly washed sheets, nose smudged against the cushiony material. next, you scurry over like sludge and pulp into a sweat puddle atop your girlfriend– knee tucked between hers, crotch plane and dimpling against her firm thigh, nosedived into the angled nook of her scruff. you take another whiff, wait, where did the lovely scent of her perspiration go? all that buries a hole in your nose is something rosy, a sapid rose smell. a flare of sensations unlocks in your loins. for an aphrodisiac has aquilined your mind– and your cunt, to its rein. caught under a spell. you crisp your tone, "babe, why do you smell like a flower shop?" that, ignites the memory back in ellie. yet she fiddles innocence, husking with a chuckle, "huh, dunno' what you mean." you frown, brows declined, "m'not dumb, els, why the fuck do you smell so good. you legit never touched perfume in your life." tapping a small button, ellie pauses the game, veering her head slightly to gape at you. on comes a ridiculous question, "d'ya not like it?"
els knew what adventure she donned upon her skin the moment her knuckles bent on that perfume nozzle, she knew how it might having you purring wanton with both lips. might, cause she's definitely a tinge of skeptic. so it was no surprise when you rollicked your butt on the crests of her pelvis, forcing threadbare kisses on her gracious pink lips, flushing your knuckles of pigment as you press them into her hips– laughing like a whinnying unicorn when ellie dandles plushy volumes of your ass in her grippy digits, whacking her wrist back to land short–timed blows to ripple on the pigment plentiful cheek, no doubt sore. a playful makeout. her own hoarsey chuckles vibrate on your lips, her kisses sweeter than honeydew squeezing when she purses. you continue a giggle, struggling to peel the band of her shorts due to the applied friction pinning it down, "ellie! c'monn.. m'wanna take your shorts off–" she counters, "why baby? tell me why.." and breaks off into a chuckle as well, as her question was fraudulent. the answer lingers hard on her brain. you whine, "baaabee.. i wanna eat your pussy.." and she just muses, cooing, "ohh, you do? yeah? lick this pussy up n' make ellie cum? ohohohh~" a deeper laugh murks her melody, "think ellie really wants that baby, needs that slutty little tongue– mhmm.." she accentuates her own name with airy speech, ardent on your mid–face. her clammy hands imprinting a hot compress to your ass–crease slowly slide out and travel the rump, pressure tender as milk given when she cups your waist gently. antsy as a sex spell can make one, you slowly begin to mooch your hips down her thighs, only for her tender grip to turn– sharp, lodging you in place.
"excuse you, did i tell you t'go down there?" a picky grin pricks her cheeks, teeth bore. you reply bumbly, "but– you said– uh!" another slap enlists to your cheek, hitching a stone in your larynx. she reprimands, strictly in such a dewey smooth voice, "nuh–uh, gimme' a show first, show me how you'll play with my pussy, on yours."
(pic by me)
#ellie williams#⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks#ellie williams smut#ellie williams x reader#ellie tlou#ellie x reader#lesbian#sapphic#ellie williams x fem!reader#ellie williams fic#ellie williams concept#ellie williams drabble#ellie williams blurb#ellie williams headcanons#ellie smut#tlou ellie#ellie the last of us#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie x fem reader#ellie williams fanfic
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Pavitr x reader 😍😍🙏 or spider verse characters HEADCANONS EITHER FHANK U🩷🩷🙏🙏
PAVITR PRABHAKAR RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS
- how he is in a relationship (pavitr prabhakar x gn!reader, fluff hcs)
a/n - my fav new character!! i’ll always be a miles lover but pav is so cute and i absolutely adore his personality.
- he spoils you so much. buying you flowers without a special occasion, takes you on romantic dates, the whole shebang. if you ever mention wanting something, he’ll buy it immediately (or as soon as his wallet will allow).
- he’s an optimist in the greatest sense. he lifts your spirits and always makes sure you know that he believes in you 100%.
- you met his family soon after you started dating because he decided that they absolutely needed to meet the person making him so happy. if you’ve been dating for a while, you’re incredibly familiar with them because his favorite place to hang is his room.
- he’s often not the best listener because his solution for everything is to just fix the problem, but he tries his best. throughout your relationship, he has worked on the parts of himself he didn’t know needed to be worked on and truly tries to better himself for your sake.
- pav is an absolute drama queen. he makes the biggest entrances and cries during romcoms, though you find him trying to wipe away the tears so he can feel “macho”. it’s really endearing.
- he knows all of your favorites and buys them for you frequently. your house is stocked with your favorite drinks, snacks, and candies because of how often he gives you gifts. it’s his love language, what can you say?
- you may like this or you may not, but he’s definitely a morning person. he likes morning jogs, breakfast, and the crisp air that “only smells right” in the early hours. he pulls you out of bed early most days because he just wants to enjoy the daylight.
- when he takes you swinging, he shows off and does tricks while you’re clinging to his body. he’s doing flips and dips and spinning in the air as you’re desperately trying to keep your vision from swimming.
- he will always treat you as an equal, no matter what. you’re appreciated as a person and as his partner, and he will never let you feel less than amazing.
- in his opinion, home-cooked meals are the best medicine. meaning, of course, that whenever you’re feeling sick or down, he’ll bring you food either he or his aunt cooked.
- trust is the foundation of your relationship. you trust him with everything in you, knowing that he is will never do anything to hurt you, and he knows the same.
#solar eclipse.#pavitr prabhakar x reader#pavitr prabhakar#spiderverse pavitr#pavitr x you#pavitr x reader#atsv pavitr#pavitr x y/n#atsv#atsv x reader#atsv fic#spiderman atsv#atsv fluff#atsv fanfiction#atsv x you#across the spiderverse#spider man: across the spider verse#spiderverse x you#spiderverse headcanon
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Could you write a fic with a writer who’s just found out that the guy she’s seeing really isn’t what she thought he was and she’s feeling really down about it/him and Jamie comforts her?
hope this is what you were looking for😊 thanks for the ask!!
we could be so good
It’s a sad drive from the restaurant to Jamie’s house. You walk straight in and crash on the couch.
“That bad, huh?” Jamie says.
You nod. “We’ve been going out for over a month, and it’s like a switch flipped. He’s a complete prick.”
Jamie awkwardly pats your head. “I’m sorry love.”
“How could I be so- so- blind?” you continue. “I should’ve known he was too good to be true. I fucking hate dating and I never want to fucking do it again.”
“You’ve been with a lot of shit blokes,” Jamie muses. You’re both silent, thinking back on all the guys you’ve dated over the past eight years.
He snaps his fingers. “Ronald Spencer.”
You sigh. “Ah yes. Ronald Spencer. The absolute love of my life. Fuckin’ shame we met so early in life.”
Jamie shrugs. “You were pretty mature for a pair of five year olds. ‘Course, I’d already had two girlfriends at that point, so I was way ahead of you.”
You wrinkle your forehead. “Okay, you were eight. You had three years on us and he broke up with me because you scared him away.”
“It’s my job to take care of you, and I think you could’ve done better. Speaking of-” Jamie gets up off the couch. “You want a snack?”
“Ooh, yes please.” You follow Jamie to the kitchen and hop up on the counter. He rummages through his cupboard and pulls out two bags of crisps and a chocolate bar.
“Told Roy these were for you so he wouldn’t throw them away,” he tells you. “Fucking mental, that one. Went through me whole house and got rid of so much shit.”
Jamie hands you the prawn cocktail chips, keeping cheddar for himself. “Don’t tell Coach.”
You zip your lips as he sits on the counter next to you.
“Oi.” He knocks his shoulder against yours. “Forget about that fucking nutter, yeah? You can do better.”
You shrug and say, “Don’t really think so at this point. Maybe I’ll just move back to Manchester.”
Jamie whips his head around to look at you. “Fuck. No. This house is too fucking big and too fucking quiet. Plus, I save so much money on house sitters.”
“Like you need to save money,” you snort.
“I’m serious,” Jamie insists. “The fuck would I do all alone here?”
You give him a strange look. “Um, I don’t know, bring a girl ‘round? Go out at night instead of watching telly with me? Not listen to me complain about shit dates?”
“Or,” he suggests, “I could not do any of that and we could go on un-shit dates together.”
You laugh. “Un-shit? That’s the best you could come up with? Wait- what?”
Jamie’s words finally register.
It’s silent except for the crinkle of the chocolate wrapper. Jamie hands you half and you snap it into smaller pieces.
“Yeah, I mean, might as well shoot my shot now, right? Not to be fucking weird, but I’ve had a crush on you for ages. Since we were kids. Like I said, didn’t want to make it weird ‘cause, like, we live together. Didn’t want things to be awkward. Or for you to fucking move back home. I mean c’mon love, with your mum? Wouldn’t do that to you.”
You smile. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Jamie parrots.
“Yeah, okay. I guess- I think I always figured we’d end up here. I liked you since I was six and you kicked a football through the window, then picked all those flowers to apologize. I kept every article that was ever written about you. I dunno, I thought either we’d figure it out in our thirties or maybe just be weirdly platonic for the rest of our lives.”
Jamie cocks his head. “That’s weirdly specific.”
You shrug. “Am I wrong?”
You’re not.
Jamie says, “So…” as he swings his legs.
You turn to look at him. “Yes?”
“Can we like, kiss? Because I’ve been thinking about it for fucking years.”
“My breath smells like crisps,” you warn.
“Don’t care,” Jamie replies as he hops down from the counter. He pulls your legs to hook around his waist as he tilts your chin downward.
“Is it too early to say I love you?” he murmurs.
You wrap your arms around his neck and smile. “I think it’s the perfect time.”
#jamie tartt x reader#jamie tartt fanfiction#jamie tartt imagine#jamie tartt x y/n#jamie tartt x you#jamie tartt#ted lasso
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Believe.
CW: ANGST. A lot of angst </3 no proofreading because i cried while writing it
Fem!reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley.
“Do you believe in alternative universes, lieutenant?” You ask Ghost, while the both of you lay in the grass, his large hand holding yours.
“What?”
“I was watching this movie the other day, and there were like an infinite amount of universes. So an universe where I would be your lieutenant.” You say with a slight chuckle.
A light squeeze in your hand. “That would be quite the sight.” Ghost answers, and while you can’t see his face, as your gaze is on the moon, the tone of his voice tells you he has a smirk on his face.
“Alternative universes, huh?” Ghost repeats.
“Yeah. What universe would you want to live in?”
“Depends, what would my options be?”
You let out a groan, you just explained that there could be an infinite amount of universes out there. “Think big.” You urge him. “You know, an universe where you’d work at Starbucks.”
That remarks rewards you with a laugh from Ghost. Not a polite, fake laugh, but one of those laughs that comes from his stomach. “Can you imagine?” He snickers. “I’d be fired on the first day for killing a customer.”
The image pops up in your head. Your lieutenant not wearing his usual army uniform but a Starbucks apron, an annoyed look on his face as some woman goes off ranting about some sort of discount. Him trying to get a straight face when he tries to explain that a military discount does in fact not apply when you’re dating a marine, but he keeps his temper in check with the first customer, only to completely lose it when a man comes up when he calls out a drink for Debra. The male customer going off about how he didn’t order a Venti pumpkin spiced latte, about how stupid the barista’s at Starbucks are. It is in that moment, in that universe that Ghost decided he didn’t need that goddamn job.
The thought of it alone is enough to make you snicker too. “Shit you’d make the headlines.”
Ghost stays quiet for a brief moment. “Would that mean there’s an universe where my father..” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but you know what he means. Your heart aches for him, an empty sensation in your chest. During one drunken night Ghost confessed all that had happened in his childhood. The words spilling out of his like a drunken waterfall. Word after word flowing out of his mouth, leaving him a drunken, crying mess.
When you tried to bring it up the next day he waved your worries away. The fact that he brings it up right now.. It hurts.
“Yeah.” You mutter as you fixate your gaze on the moon. “That universe does exist.”
“Huh.” Ghost lets out a soft sound. “I hope that version of me is happy.”
Your hand squeezes his tighter, as if you want to never let go, as if you want to heal his inner child with every ounce of love you have in you.
His voice breaks the silence. “What do you think the version of us who didn’t join the military would have as a job?”
You need to think for a moment before you can answer his question. The army had been your life the moment you had joined, all your friends were in the army, some of them being close enough to you to be considered family, Ghost being one of those people.
“I think I’d be a teacher.” You eventually say. “You know, I’ve always enjoyed teaching people, and I have a lot of patience.”
Ghost laughs at your answer. “You? A lot of patience? I’ve heard you yell at Soap for fucking up a recipe.”
“In my defence.” You start your protest. “He was frying a goddamn egg and burnt the whole thing to a crisp. You have to be a complete moron to do so.”
“And you think kids won’t be complete morons?” Ghost questions.
“That’s different.” You try to save your skin. “But maybe not a teacher. Maybe I’d be more fit to be an artist, or a florist or something.” A soft sigh follows your words.
“Ya know. I could see you be a florist.” Ghost answers you. “I could see you tend to flowers, make bouquets. Coming home smelling like a thousand and one different flowers.”
The idea alone brings a smile on your lips, maybe that would’ve been a life you would have enjoyed. “What about you?” You ask Ghost.
“A mechanic.” A sense of pride in his voice. “I might not be the best driver there is.”
“That’s an understatement.” You chime in.
“Shut up.” Ghost mumbles. “As I was saying. I’m not the best driver, so I’d have to learn to fix my car myself, and you know, one thing leading to another, and before you know it, I’d be a mechanic.”
You can’t deny that the idea of Ghost being a mechanic does seem right to you, he’s smart enough to learn things like that, not afraid to get his hands dirty.
But of course you can’t let the opportunity to bully your lieutenant slide.
“Even if there are an infinite amount of universes, I don’t think there is a single one where you’d be a good driver.”
“Oh I swear to God.” Ghost groans. “I wreck three cars and all of the sudden I’m a bad driver.”
You close your eyes as warm, wet droplets fall on your face, the rain feels refreshing and you’re in no mood to leave the grass, being too comfortable on your back, Ghost laying next to you, your fingers intertwined.
“This would mean that there is an universe where I would be a dad.” Ghost mentions. You want to turn your face, look at him, but the rain would make it uncomfortable, so you decide against it.
“I think you’d make a wonderful dad.” You say with a soft voice. The image of Ghost being a father filling your mind.
The big, scary, buff lieutenant being a dad to a little girl, trying to get her ponytails as neatly as possible.
The big, scary Ghost sitting at a pink table that is way too small, pretending to drink tea, holding up is pinky as he does so.
Ghost going to a fair with his little girl on his shoulders, winning a big stuffed unicorn for her at a shooting game.
Softie Ghost who has to first back the tears when his little girl leaves for the first day of preschool.
Big dad Ghost holding his girl tight after her first break up, wanting to break a neck someone breaking her heart.
The big, scary, buff lieutenant holding his baby boy for the first time. A tiny baby being held by those large hands.
The big, scare Ghost roughhousing with his boy, letting the kid win. Loud groans filling the living room as he admits defeat.
Ghost going to a fair, his little boy holding his hand before he tries to teach his son how to shoot.
Softie Ghost, clenching his jaw and trying to hold back the tears when he prepares his sons lunchbox for his first day of preschool.
Big dad Ghost, silently cheering on his son as he musters up the courage to ask his crush to prom.
“Yeah. You’d make a wonderful dad.” You repeat yourself.
You can tell by the way Ghost squeezes your hand again that your words mean a lot to him, and you can’t blame him, given his own childhood.
“You’ve never answered my first question, Simon.” You say, as the reality of the situation starts to settle in.
“If you could choose any universe, which one would you like to live in?”
It stays quiet for a moment, before you open your eyes, turning your head to look at him, blood splatters painting your face red, as your mind tries to convince you that it is just the rain, and you know that if you close your eyes again, you’d believe it. You can tell by his raspy breath that it is getting harder for Ghost to cling on to life.
“I think.” He starts, as the bullets fly around you, the bullet wounds in your lower abdomen and chest are starting to hurt more and more, and you can no longer ignore the burning sensation they bring. No matter how much you try to focus on your conversation.
His head turns to face yours. “I think I would like to live in the universe where I would take you out for dinner after this mission.”
A soft, sad smile forms on his lips. “Or I would like to live in the universe where you would come home from your florist job, and I would be at home waiting for you, our little boy and girl being ecstatic that you’re home again.”
He squeezes your hand one more time, it takes him all the strength that he has left. “I’d like that.” You whisper. “I think I would love to live in that universe too.”
You’re lucky enough that he can hear those words before the light leaves his eyes. If only you’d both be living in another universe. If only this universe would give you both another chance. Your eyes shift to your hand, your fingers still intertwined with Ghost’s as you wait for your death to come.
#ghost x you#ghost x reader#angst#cod x reader#call of duty#cod mw2#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod mwii#cod fanfic#fanfic#fandom#fanfiction#ao3 fanfic#ao3fic#ao3 writer#ao3#fanfic edit#fanfics#call of duty modern warfare#modern warfare 2#mw2#heavy angst#no comfort
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A Flower With Petals of Flame: Part one (Eris x reader Rhys's sister)
Warnings: Injuries and murder and mentions of trauma
I'm so excited this one won the vote! So as Y/n returns to the world of the living, she has to decide whether to save the male who caused her, and her mother's murders, or save him.
Part two
Tag list: open
I screamed as I fell to the ground, my head fuzzy and my stomach churning.
What had happened? I had been walking along, trying to form a plan for…
I take a deep breath, the crisp air and smell of roses pushing into my nostrils. I look at the small grass clearing that makes me tense, memories of terror flitting through my head.
This was the Spring court. Somehow- somehow I was back among the living. Landing right back where my and my mother’s lives had been taken from us.
“Please! Please spare my darling girl!” My mother cries as she’s shoved to the ground, the little lords or spring preparing their weapons, the high lord of spring holding a giant ax as he watches.
I look to Tamlin with tears in my eyes, pleading with him, “Tam, please. Please don’t let them hurt us.”
He looks away, ashamed.
It wasn’t him who was about to lose his life though.
I snap back into reality, hearing voices in the distance. My first instinct is to climb into a tree, wait for them to pass.
But I can hear the angry tones, and I force myself to be silent as I slip through the trees to see where the commotion is coming from.
“Look at this, the High Lord of Spring, on his knees before us.” A cruel male voice said, and I peeked through the foliage to see Tamlin on his knees before a bunch of men, snarling with an arrow in his leg and shoulder.
They looked as if they were laced with faebane.
I wasn’t breathing. He was kneeling there, just as my mother and I had before him and his family.
I could just leave him there, to his fate. Let him die the way he had let us die.
But… my feet wouldn’t move.
I had only just been brought back to life, and I was already about to get myself killed again.
The only thing was that I wasn’t the same weak girl who had died here before.
I searched about, quickly finding a large, heavy rock.
And threw it right at the leader of the group, striking him right in the temple.
“Leave him alone.” I said, lowering my voice in an attempt to hide my identity. I could have used my magic, but that would have been even more telling than my voice.
The males unsheathed their sword, looking for where my voice had come from, and Tamlin stilled.
Please, please don’t recognise me.
“Show yourself you wretch!” The male whom I had hit with the rock snarled, spinning around.
I shifted so I was better hidden. I had no weapons, and against three males who each had at least two weapons…
I should have come up with a better plan.
“How about you show your face you coward!” He continued to shout, but I just smiled as I saw the red haired male who appeared behind him.
Watching as Lucian killed the leader, Tamlin throwing off the two males that were holding him down, I couldn’t help but notice how much they had changed, how different they were then I had seen them last. Lucian had a metal eye now, his face holding more trauma than it had when I knew him.
Tamlin… Even as he killed the last of the males, looked tired and broken. He looked as if he was already half dead.
I watch as they look at the dead males, with coats of bone white, the color of Hybren.
But the king of Hybren is dead.
So who were they following?
I hold my breath, all thoughts on pause as Lucian eyes land on my hiding spot, his metal eye whirring.
Mother above, could he see me?
“Would you like to come join us, or were you planning to wait until we were distracted?” Lucian asked, the words cautious and sharp.
I tense up as Tamlin looks my way too.
I bit my lip, I could run away, and I could surely outrun Tamlin.
But maybe not Lucian.
Taking a calming breath, I step out into the small clearing, were both males stood there, shock keeping them both silent.
“Hi?”
#a court of frost and starlight#a court of mist and fury#a court of silver flames#a court of thorns and roses#acomaf#a court of wings and ruin#acotar#acowar#reader x eris#eris vanserra#eris acotar#azriel acotar#acosf#rhysand sister#lucian#acotar lucien#y/n#eris x y/n#spring court#acotar tamlin#tamlin#rhysand's sister#rhysands's mom#hybren
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LOVE VOMIT [n.] — the term when you become too full with your feelings too quickly and too frequently that you end up spitting everything out before even getting the chance to digest. this happens to you more often than you’d like to admit— every quarter, actually, ever since starting college. but what can you do when the prospect of falling in love is just too good to say no to? what can you do when maybe the next desert might actually stay inside your system this time?
or, wherein you fall in love with a different guy every season but fail to notice the one that’s been looking at you the whole year.
PAIRING. choi soobin x female! reader (ft. the rest of txt x reader).
GENRE. slice of life, romance, humor, mild angst, SLOWBURN, college! au, orgmate! soobin, pining to the highest degree, multiple love interests, featuring some members of seventeen, enhypen, and le sserafim.
WARNINGS. swearing, drinking, annoying org jargon, both mcs are pathetic, unrequited feelings.
WORD COUNT. teaser: 429 | full fic: est. 25-30k.
RELEASE DATE: late june to early july.
NOTE. i said i was going to post the preview at the end of the week but i got too excited 😭😭 this may be a soobin fic but. u see. i am in love with all five of them so YOU will also fall in love with all five of them i don't make the rules.
i also wanted to jump back into my comfort zone of writing ordinary college life tingz, especially now that i actually have 2 years worth of experience to draw reference from. anyhow, send me an ask/dm to be addded to the taglist. preview under the cut!
THE TIME IS SPRING. A soft musk in the air, freshly bloomed flowers lining the sidewalks, and the start of a new semester. There’s something gentle about springtime, reminiscent of crisp blankets straight from the dryer with lavender seeping into its cotton folds and sunlight leaking through pleated sheer curtains. The season is for cherry blossoms and picnic baskets, outings and first loves. You’ve always associated these things with spring, however none of these sensibilities are present tonight.
Instead of clear skies and bright sunlight, the view through the diner windows is lit up by artificial lights and signages in the middle of a March evening. There’s no lilac nor daisies in the air, but cheap beer and the savory smell of fried chicken. It’s noisy, it’s loud, and it’s far from the gentleness of spring, but you’ve never felt more alive at this time of the year.
‘Why did you join Shutter.TXT?’ reads the sheet of paper sitting on your table. You’re all smiles as you listen to the answers of those sitting at your table, mindlessly nodding along after being three glasses in. Tonight is an orientation-slash-welcome party for the organization you impulsively joined upon entering the university.
Because photography is my passion...because I want to explore other fields…because, because, because.
The answers carousel around the table, and honest to god, you stopped listening at some point because it’s getting repetitive. You don’t understand the purpose of this activity. Why else would you join a club for photography, videography, and editing if not for photography, videography, and editing?
“Are you kids having fun?”
You perk up. The empty smiles you’ve been giving suddenly becomes brighter, your eyes crinkling at the corners. Spring came belatedly tonight, and it came in the form of your extremely pretty senior suddenly appearing behind your seat and you’re instantly all the more conscious about your posture when he leans down to check in on your group. He cranes his head to look at you with a smile. “Is it your turn?” he asks. The back of your neck is burning.
“Ah, yes,” you cough, clearing your throat to introduce your name. “I major in public administration. I know it’s pretty far from my discipline, but I decided to join Shutter.TXT because I didn’t want to be constrained in one field throughout college. I’m sure this organization will make my university experience a lot more exciting and interesting.”
Lies. You joined because of the very face that’s smiling at you this very moment.
“I look forward to working with you.”
love vomit.
© hannie-dul-set, 2023.
#tomorrow x together x reader#txt x reader#choi soobin x reader#txt soobin x reader#soobin x reader#tomorrow x together au#txt au#choi soobin au#txt soobin au#soobin au#tomorrow x together scenarios#txt scenarios#choi soobin scenarios#txt soobin scenarios#soobin scenarios#tomorrow x together fanfic#txt fanfic#choi soobin fanfic#txt soobin fanfic#soobin fanfic#choi yeonjun x reader#choi beomgyu x reader#kang taehyun x reader#hueningkai x reader
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What each RE8 lady smells like
Okay, yes there have been jokes going around about Alcina smelling like lavender and the girls reeking of blood and death, but… These are my head canons for how I think they smell. Let’s get into it!
Alcina:
Definitely wears very nice perfume in my opinion. Not too much, just a very light spritz of it.
I also think she might smell like roses. She does wear three of them on her dress, so… Why not? Plus, it does seem pretty romantic.
She obviously does smell a bit like cigarette smoke, but I don’t think it would be too overwhelming. Just a hint of it.
She might also have the faintest scent of alcohol on her because of how much wine she drinks. She does run a winery too so that might have something to do with it.
Donna:
I think Donna smells like flowers.
She loves to garden and tend to plants so it makes sense that she would smell of them.
I also think she smells like fresh herbs and delicious Italian food when she cooks.
She loves to read, so I think she also smells of books and paper. She probably likes to sit in a cozy nook nestled in between a pile of old books and the smell just kind of surrounds her. It’s pleasant and not overpowering.
She might also smell like cedar and other woods when she’s working on dolls.
Miranda:
I don’t think Miranda wears perfume. She finds it distracting.
I think that you can often smell the faint burn of antiseptic on her after she has finished her work in the lab.
She also loves to drink tea, so I think she might have a slight herbal smell like old grey or white tea.
Her home also smells of different kinds of tea and it kind of just clings to her.
Maybe she smells like traditional Romanian dishes when she cooks.
She is very obsessed with hygiene and cleaning, so I think that she would also smell of light soaps.
Bela:
Like her mother, I think Bela wears nice perfumes.
For some reason, she strikes me as smelling of vanilla and warm spices like cinnamon.
Basically, anything in chai tea: Cloves, cardamom, cinnamon, star anise… You get the picture.
She smells like fall. Just very comforting scents. However, I don’t think she smells like apples or pumpkin. I just don’t get that vibe.
I think that she also might smell of old parchment and books considering how much time she spends in the library.
Cassandra:
Cass loves to be outside and go exploring. I think she would smell very earthy.
She smells like the forest, so maybe she has a pine tree scent going on?
I also think that she smells like freshly fallen rain. It’s an invigorating scent and it’s kind of refreshing.
I think she would like crisp and clean smells, so I think that she likes the smell of peppermint.
Obviously, with how much time she spends in the dungeon, that musky aroma starts clinging to her after being down there for a while. But I think she likes to freshen up once she’s done so she can kind of keep that part of her life distanced.
Daniela:
I think that Dani has a very sweet scent, like sugar cookies or birthday cake. It matches her personality.
I think she also wears perfume, but she likes to steal Bela’s and wear it instead of the ones that Alcina gave her.
She is so bright and happy. I think she might also smell like citrus or other summery scents.
Maybe a hint of cocoa butter. I think she likes to moisturize and keep her skin healthy.
Dani likes to soak and take nice long baths. As far as how she smells right after freshening up, it depends on what soaps she has available, but she’s not picky.
Masterlist
#re8#re8 village#alcina dimitrescu#lady dimitrescu#alcina dimitrescu x reader#alcina dimitrescu x y/n#lady dimitrescu x reader#lady dimitrescu x y/n#cassandra dimitrescu#re8 shitpost#y/n is stupid#re8 incorrect quotes#bela dimitrescu#daniela dimitrescu#mother miranda#mother miranda x reader#donna beneviento x reader#bela dimitrescu x reader#cassandra dimitrescu x reader#daniela dimitrescu x reader
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Meeting your lich boss
General Plot: You get a new job working for a very strange man
Lich (Lauden) x female reader
Part One, Part Two
Word Count: 2k
W: sfw monster fluff, descriptions of domestic abuse and old injuries eventually in part two, so you might not want to start this if that bothers you, yandere behavior
“These are…all…the files?” you asked the woman who hired you, Sherry, as she piled a bunch of folders on your desk.
“Yup this is it,” she said flashing you a sympathetic smile, “the last girl wasn’t much help so they are a mess. We’re lucky what we do have doesn’t have gum stuck to it.”
She put a hand on yours.
“Don’t take anything Mr. Heron says personally,” she reassured you, “he’s good looking, but he’s a dick.”
This wasn’t the first time one of your new coworkers had said this about your boss Lauden Heron, CEO of Heron Consulting. You were his new secretary after the last one had been chased out in tears. Apparently Lauden wasn’t a nice man.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you assured her. You were an experienced secretary. You’d worked with one of the most well known, discerning CEO’s in the area, Gloria Errolt. She was a titan in the shipping industry, energetic, and had put you through your paces. Now you were a confident, professional who could handle any situation set in front of you no matter how challenging.
Sherry glanced at her watch.
“Oh, I’d better make myself scarce, he’ll be here soon,” she said, then looked at you apologetically, “I’m sorry…I mean…”
You waved her away and gave her a placating smile.
“I’ll be fine, Sherry,” you assured her.
She winced at you, but nodded and scampered away.
You flipped through the files, quickly organizing them by date and urgency based on what you had already learned from Sherry about Lauden’s accounts. You were a really good secretary and had them quickly in perfect order.
As the doors to the executive suite opened, you hopped up to greet your new employer.
“Good morning Mr. Heron,” you beamed, sticking out your hand, “I’m (Y/N), your new secretary. I look forward to working with you. If there is anything at all I can do to make your life more streamlined please let me know.”
The man in front of you was huge with broad shoulders stuffed into an immaculately tailored designer suit. His blonde, almost white, hair was cropped and slicked into a neat coiff. He was good looking as Sherry had said, but you noticed his skin was far paler than you were used to seeing. It almost looked a bit gray. He looked down his straight nose at you with disdain in his ice blue eyes. You were confused for a moment as he almost seemed to be sniffing the air like he smelled something foul.
“You?” he asked flatly, raising an eyebrow.
You frowned and pulled your hand away, smoothing your pencil skirt.
“I assure you I come with the best qualifications,” you explained, “I graduated from (Y/C) and worked for Gloria Errolt for five years. I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”
He thought for a moment, but his eyebrow didn’t lower.
“Yes, I suppose I do know Ms. Errolt,” he said, his voice deep and crisp.
You picked up a notepad from your desk and a pen.
“I’m here to streamline your workflow,” you said, “so I’ll need to know the personal appointments you need me to manage. Your former secretary didn’t leave me any notes on your preferences. So I’ll need to know how you take your coffee, as well, and a few other things, but baby steps. You have an appointment this morning so I can’t take too much of your time.”
He blinked at you as if no one had asked him this before. What had his last secretary been doing?
“Personal…appointments?” he asked.
You waved at him.
“Oh you know, wife I need to buy flowers for, kids I need to remind the nanny to pick up from school. Work and life overlap, I have to manage all of that for you for things to move along smoothly,” you explained, “I saw all of your appointments on your calendar, but nothing about your family. We can’t expect you to remember your wife’s birthday, can we?”
You chuckled nervously, trying to lighten the mood with a little joke, but Lauden’s mouth was a flat line.
“No.” he said as if that meant something.
“No…? What?” you asked, your pen hovering over the pad of paper.
“No,” he snapped, sidestepping you and marching into his office, slamming the door behind him.
You blinked after him. Your coworkers were right, he was kind of a dick.
It took you a few hours to strategize your next meeting with your boss. You’d worked with flighty CEO’s before. They all thought they were eccentric geniuses and had to be handled with kid gloves. Lauden’s attitude did nothing to put you off, you only needed to figure out how to approach him.
You knocked lightly on his door, carrying the stack of files you’d carefully reviewed, highlighted and tabbed where he needed to sign. Ignoring his disgruntled glare as you entered without being invited you shuffled around him, carefully laying out the files by which was more important.
“You will need to complete these this morning so I can send them off this afternoon,” you told him, then pulled out your pad, “and I’ll need to know your regular club to make reservations for lunch.”
Gloria had taught you that every CEO had lunch at a private club where they could schmooze with their peers. He examined the files, his mouth opening slightly.
“You did all this?” he asked, thumbing through the papers.
“Is there a problem?”
You looked over his shoulder for errors, but everything seemed in order.
He frowned.
“It’s all organized…and labeled.”
That sounded a bit like an accusation but not a complaint so you ignored it.
“Your regular club?” you prompted. You couldn’t let CEO’s get lost in their own thoughts. They had a tendency to be flighty and needed to be redirected or you would never get them back on task.
“No.” he grunted.
You looked down at him.
“You prefer to eat at your desk?” you asked, surprised.
“I don’t eat,” he hissed and your eyebrows went up.
“Ooookay,” you said, jotting that down on your notepad, no family, no food.
“You know, sir. I’m extremely discrete. You don’t have to worry about me sharing any of the details of your personal life, I’m here to make things easier for you.”
“Get out!” he snapped.
You folded your notepad in your hand and marched back to your desk. He was a tough cookie, but you were going to figure him out. You’d figured out Gloria and you’d get him too. You were a really good secretary.
The next few weeks you enacted your plan of being the world’s best secretary, but you couldn’t help but notice some strange things about Lauden.
One, he appeared to have no family or friends. He didn’t make or take any personal calls. He never texted anyone and as far as you could tell he didn’t even have a personal email account. No one came to visit him and he never met anyone for lunch. He simply worked through the hour as if it were any other. You knew he went straight home after work because you organized the car service that took him there.
The second strange thing was he didn’t eat. Not in a health nut sort of way, picking over calories and drinking loads of water. He didn’t consume anything...at all. You never saw him drink a cup of coffee or even eat one of the little candies you kept on your desk. You’d asked him if he preferred coffee or tea so you could stock some and he just ordered you out of his office.
Third, when Lauden did actually address you it always seemed like he was sniffing you. Occasionally you’d glance down to see him leaning into your sweater while you arranged his daily documents on his desk. You’d tried to drop hints to see if he had some problem with certain smells, but he never picked up on them. You finally stopped wearing perfume, afraid it was bothering him.
After two weeks of hard work he wasn’t any nicer to you. He ordered you out of his office as an answer to 70% of your questions, but you still plugged along, arranging his appointments and organizing his documents, doing your best to make his life easier.
Lauden thought he was going mad. You were the best secretary he’d ever had and you smelled like sugar cookies. Everywhere you went you trailed the sweet smell of sugar and vanilla behind you. It was all over his desk. In every hallway. There wasn’t a place he could go in the office to escape it.
He hadn’t eaten a sugar cookie in hundreds of years but his mouth watered every morning when you bent over his desk with his papers for the day. It was driving him insane. He wanted to fuck you then eat you.
It was unusual for many reasons. After he’d surrendered his mortal corpse and a virgin sacrifice to the dark god for eternal life he hadn’t really had a sex drive. His senses had dulled with death and his cock was one of the first things to go cold. But with you around he spent eight hours with an almost constant erection. You didn’t help wiggling around in those tight little pencil skirts.
Additionally, you weren’t his usual type of meal. He liked to suck the life force from twisted victims who really deserved their bodies to be shriveled and desicated before their eyes, while they still lived. Only after death to find themselves trapped in the limbo of a void in his chest.
He had thousands of wailing souls floating around in him begging for the mercy of release, but as long as he lived that would never happen and he could torture them for their misdeeds. He thrived off of their pain. You were too sweet to be a satisfying conquest. It would be like killing and eating a baby chick. He would never stop hearing your sad wailing inside of him and the idea was crushing.
He did his best to keep you away from him. He would have fired you if you weren’t so damn good at your job. You knew everything he needed before he anticipated it and his productivity had tripled since Sherry had hired you.
The secretary before you had no idea how to use a cloud based appointment platform that provided him with your carefully written meeting notes fifteen minutes before his appointments directly to his phone.
She’d barely been able to use a word document, but somehow you’d managed to link the database you’d created for expenses to Quickbooks to streamline the reporting process with accounting.
That was just the start.
You were a really , really, really good secretary and now that he’d had a few weeks with you, he realized the truth…he couldn’t live without you.
#monster romance#monster lover#monster fluff#monster x reader#monster x human#yandere fluff#male yandere#yandere x reader#x reader
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Born To Die.1 (Jason Todd x reader)
The reader and Jason were friends for a long time before Batman took him in. You and him only had each other and the streets of Gotham.
(TW drug use)
Cold nights were the worst. You weren’t sleeping outside or anything but the kitchen floor of your job wasn’t the coziest. Speaking of warm, there was more warm next to you last night, where did Jason go? It wasn’t abnormal to wake up without him. Hell, you’ve spent more mornings without him then with, but no matter what you always ended up sharing the day by lunch time. You took a few steps outside before the familiar smell of smoke ran through your nose and you let your nose guide the way. There was a long path that trailed behind the buildings your job was in, heading to the usual spot you whistled to calmly grab his attention.
“It’s not even 8 am is it? Already at it?”
You joked, what better way to warm up? He passed it over to you while you mumbled a thanks.
The crisp air was awakening.
“You working today?”
“No,” you paused, taking a hit. “I know what we should do today though.”
“And what’s that?”
“Holy shit, Firefly… you’re insane.” Jason chuckled, looking around at the empty green house.
He questioned you robbing a magical treehouse,
“I’ve seen the women who owns them she doesn’t need all of them… and shes a criminal.”
“These won’t hurt you will they? You don’t know what she could have in these plants.”
You laughed,
“Yes, this tired women laced her beloved plants.”
Stretching your hand forward touching the large flower bud planted in the middle of the greenhouse. Your finger tips felt warm as the plant shared its energy to you.
“This is one way to make it through the winter.” Said Jason, taking stems and roots of various plants and throwing them into his bag.
If I get sick this winter I’ll die.
You let go of the plant, feeling full of life again. You excitedly let out a shout of energy.
“Her plants have something to them, man.”
“You’ve been here before? Without me? That’s dangerous.”
Not really, you replied.
You shivered, weak against the wind. Gotham city’s pollution was out of control and non frozen greenery was impossible to find. You curled up closer to yourself while sitting on the floor. Homelessness as a plant being who needs the sun and warmth to thrive has some ugly moments. Taking one last weak sad breath, you shriveled down into your unconscious.
After a while of freezing, a tall being with fiery red had come across your inhuman rotten looking body. Don’t ask how you knew, but you knew she knew you needed her help.
“Finally awake are you?” A deep gorgeous voice questioned from the shadows. You sat up from wherever you had been laid down and looked around. A green house, full of the craziest plants you’ve ever seen. The strongest energy you’ve felt.
“Who are you?”
“Don’t worry about it. You were dead on the streets of Gotham before I took you here. You should be thankful.”
“Why do I feel so strong?” You honestly asked. Her green skin was a give away that you could be honest with her.
“Because, darling, there’s no plants like my own. Where are your plants, hm? How did you let yourself freeze and die like that?”
“I’m stronger then her. It wouldn’t matter.” You said shortly.
“Uh” he said doubtfully, “alright”.
This women can survive winter and, well, you can’t. So you need her plants. As many as you can get. Prop lifting is the act of stealing plants by taking a piece of their stems, and planting the stem to grow your own plant; ‘propagation’ is the act of making one plant multiple.
“I need a Greenhouse.” You sighed
“If I could give you a greenhouse I would.”
“Means a lot,” you laughed, “Thanks.”
Even though you rolled your eyes, you can’t lie and say Jason isn’t a sweetheart at the whole plant thing, because he’s the best, most thoughtful, best friend anyone could ask for. Continuing picking the stems of colorful, glowing, exotic plants, when next thing you knew a plant reached out and grabbed your wrists and ankles holding you in place. Firstly, you looked towards Jason to see he was caught too.
Here we go. Your eyes glowed white, and skin glowed a fluorescent green and light pink. Connecting to the plants to calm them, freeing you and Jason instantly. Jason ran in-front of you as protection, but, no offense, you didn’t need it in this situation. Pulling Jason away you faced the one behind the attack. Poison Ivy. You didn’t know much of her criminal history, just that she saved you once. Even though that ended up meaning nothing.
What separates you and The Poison Ivy is that you’re an empath in a way. You survive on the energy of other life, just by living in it. (Or living in a perfect world at least) You can manipulate the energy from others into whatever energy you want, with practice. You don’t have that much practice. You did the one thing you’re good at. Sleep. Poison Ivy fell forward with her plants.
“We gotta go.”
#batman#jason todd#jason todd x reader#dc robin#batman and robin#robin x you#jason todd x y/n#dc universe#batman x reader#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson#robin#teen titans#dc titans
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OK, REQUEST TIME!! MushroomFae!Reader with Jade and Trey pls? I've had this in my mind for so long and I really want to see how others interpret the Mushroom Fae aesthetic. I already have an OC for this concept and they're my precious baby, but hmmmmmmmmmm, your writing is just so good I couldn't resist.
Trey And Jade With A Mushroom Fae Partner
{not proof-read}
oooooooo~ interesting! Damn now I gotta do my research
I’m pretty sure I didn’t use pronouns btw!
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♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬
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Trey, like everyone else in Twisted Wonderland, knew if the existence of fae and their varying forms. He just never thought he’d fall in love with one, let alone form a romantic relationship
He absolutely loves your mushroom cottagecore aesthetic. You look so cute and peaceful and—mans clutching his chest just looking at you in your normal attire
He likes it when neither of you want to go outside, be it for weather reasons or the like. Just doing domestic things with you like baking or tidying up the place makes him feel all fuzzy
Speaking of baking, pastries. They always taste good and look aesthetically pleasing. Sometimes he feels bad for eating them because of the amount of time you put into making them
When weather isn’t a problem, outside dates are very common place between you two and he enjoys the crisp breeze with you beside him
Flower picking and flower crowns are a must whenever you’re outside together. You absolutely had to teach him how to make them but they’re absolutely adorable
Eating outside on dates in a staple in your relationship. You always pick out the nicest, less busiest days and prepare food in advance. The smile on your face every time is worth the prep
Trey doesn’t mind showing affection to you and vice versa but there’s a time and a place for such things. He doesn’t want to be mean, like push you off or reprimand you kind of mean, but he will gently remind you of where you are and to just wait for later
Pre-relationship, he absolutely didn’t understand your courting customs. All he knew was that he had a lot of colorful rocks, flower crowns that never wilted, and mushroom terrariums that never rotted. Post-relationship, any and all of your gifts has a special place in his heart. They’re always in display somewhere in his room
He may not fully understand fae customs yet but he knows that he loves you fully. That isn’t going to change any time soon
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Jade knew of the existence of fae, their stories reaching to the furthest depths of the Coral Sea. He never thought he’d actually meet one, let alone get together with one so it was a surprise to say the least
When he found out about your mushroom aesthetic, he swooned. Literally. When you showed off your room and clothing and ornaments you could see the love struck look on his face. Congratulations, you’re this eel’s new favorite person not that you weren’t before
Although Jade loves going outside, low energy days can be quite common. He doesn’t mind them as they give him a chance to relax with you
Please make mushroom dishes with this man I’m begging. They look good, smell good, and taste good. He’s just happy that you don’t grow tired of them like certain someones and you actually make him your own as well which he adores
Speaking of outside, you’re an official member of the mountain lovers club and no you don’t have a say in this. He absolutely takes advantage of this and uses club time as dates for you both
Flower picking is something he knows you enjoy and will indulge in your little activity. He finds himself loving it a little more than he initially thought
Foraging is common on your outside dates and an activity he enjoys a lot with you. You mainly pick mushrooms and he’s always fawning over them and sharing and exchanging info with you
Of course of all your foraging, the edible ones get turned into dishes for your outside date picnics. He finds those times with you the most relaxing
Jade is very subtle with his affection but encourages you to show off your love for him however you see fit. So long as he’s not on a job for Azul, he’s allowing you to smother him. Just be warned, he will get payback…
Pre-relationship, he understood courting gifts as sea folk do something similar so he caught on fairly quick and gave you his own courting gift in the form of colorful rocks, coral, or seashells. He loved your courting gifts. Terrariums that act like mini forests, never wilting flowers, and rocks that shimmer and shine in the light. He actually considered playing dumb for a while just to see what else you’d give him. Post-relationship, nothings really changed…just the quantity—
Jade loves you and mushrooms and you’re a two-in-one deal for him. He can just barely grasp the norms of fae culture but he doesn’t need to in order to know he loves you dearly
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♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬♣️🐬
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#twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland x male reader#twst x male reader#heartslabyul#octavinelle#trey clover#trey clover x gn reader#jade leech#jade leech x gn reader
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Sorry for bothering but can I request please a fanfic of Kent x reader where reader always sends gifts to Kent when he is hurt or to cheer him up since the reader is shy to talk to him directly she sends it anonymously. One day the reader plucks up courage thanks to the advice of Enid and Yoko and decides to send him a love letter and slip it under his door since he could not bear to see Kent's face if he rejected it at that moment. Thanks a lot for everything you do and I hope you are having a nice day UwU
Gardenias
A/n: I hope you like it and I hope I did the Idea Justice. Reader is a Flower Nymph so her powers relate to nature.
Gardenia's signify secret love but also say 'You are lovely'
Pairing: Kent x Fem!Nymph!reader
Also reader has no description just called beautiful. Also pointy ears.
Warnings: Kissing (is it one I don't know)
Dawn was in its phase, the fresh smell of dew on the grass and the crisp spring air hitting your lungs just right made you smile and close your eyes at the peacefulness. An embroidery hoop was resting in your lap with a piece of white fabric that had waves and different species of fish on it, You were halfway through the main ocean wave in the centre of the fabric your fingers skillfully making patterns in the fabric with the needle. Whenever Kent gets hurt or sad you always make him a gift to see his eyes light up even more and the smile to be brought back on his face. That is why you are making him a buch of embroidered symbols that will be turned into badges that he could wear on his uniform because he had somehow aquired a black eye during the poe cup.
Only your two best friends, Enid and Yoko knew of your creative talents, so when Kent got his first gift that was a woven cup holder in the shape of sewead they knew it was you and were always convincing you to profess your love for him but everytime you came in contact with him you couldn't speak to him only growing flowers that fell to the floor when you ran away.
Kent was always confused at why you were scared of him because he thought you were one of the most beautiful people to walk through nature with a flower crown always in your hair and your school uniform that was modified to a sage green where the blazer had different flowers embroidered on the sleeves. He loves you but with your skitterish nature whenever he is around makes him wonder if you don't like him back.
A shadow cast over you, which by the long hair and the built frame you immediately knew it was Kent so you quickly grew flowers over your project in hopes that he wouldn't see it.
"Y/n, What are you doing up this early"
"Watching nature change from day to night, flowers waking up and birds to start filling the air with the song"
"Huh"
Kent sat down next to you finally glad he could talk to you without you running away. The yellow sunlight was shining on half of your face where the pink crown you picked out today was higlighted on your skin.
"Have you always been this poetic"
"Only in the mornings"
He smiled to himself at how at peace you seemed in the middle of nature with no one around but he noticed how when he arrived you started to fiddle with the hem of your skirt and how your breath was getting slightly shallow.
"Are you okay?" He asked peering at you with concern but you only hated that even more.
"Um yes, uh, please excuse me"
You picked up your basket and the bundle of fabric you had in your hand and ran off back to the school where you ran into your dorm that you shared with Yoko. Enid was sleeping over and you woke them up as soon as you ran into the room as a frenzy. "I messed everything up" You slid down the door and mumbled it into your hands the flowers on your crown were wilting because of your sadness.
Enid and Yoko shared a look but they both came and sat next to you and wrapped their arms around your shaking shoulders. "What happened"
"I was making him a gift to cheer him up after he got the black eye in the poe cup in my favourite field and he showed up I said a few words to him, he called me poetic but then my anxiety got the best of me and I freaked and ran back to Nevermore"
Enid nuged your shoulder with her own. "He obviously likes you as no one in their right mind would wake up this early and he called you poetic"
Yoko placed her hand on your knee. "N/n why don't you write him a letter, tell him how you feel"
"But what if he laughs and rejects me when I give it too him"
The three of you sat in silence thinking of what you could do when Enid Suddenly gasps "You could slide it under his door and leave a clue that his secret lover is you"
"That actually might work"
"Hey!"
The three of you collapsed into laughter trying to stifle it so you didn't wake anyone else up but that failed and you were all just laughing forgetting what was so funny in the first place. Yoko was the first to sober up and pulled you up, leaving a giggling Enid rolling around on the floor. "You are going to write it now and we will come with you after so you can put it under his door, after lessons"
Yoko pushed you towards your desk that was filled with plants and flowers and ripped an old page out of her old diary and brought over your books that had flowers pressed in between the pages. She dropped them on the table with a thud, you picked out a gardenia and placed it into the note after you had written it.
"It is done"
"We are acting like you sold your soul to the devil"
"Enid, not the time"
The three of you snuck over to the boy's dorm room, you and Yoko being quiet while Enid was humming the mission impossible theme. You would have laughed if you weren't filled with anxiety at the worse possible outcome this idea could have. Ivy was winding itself around your arms and into your hair as your heart was racing faster and faster as you were getting closer to your destination. Once you were outside his door, you spun round to the other two where Enid was bouncing on her heels in excitement while Yoko was trying to keep her from making too much noise.
"I don't think I can do this"
Yoko ripped the letter out of your hand and slid it under the door and pulled you and Enid outside with no hesitation.
"Now we just wait"
And wait you did, you went into the greenhouses to distract yourself until dinner where you would find out if Kent got your love note.
Kent walked into his dorm that he shared with Ajax when a folded up piece of paper with a white flower attached to it caught his eye. He knelt down to pick it up when he saw his name in perfect calligraphy with ink. He immediatley knew it was from you as you were the only one still using a quill and Ink to write instead of a pen. He unfolded the note with gentleness afraid to break it.
Dear Kent,
This probabbly won't work but to Enid and Yoko's insistence I have Finally decided to do this.
I love you
I love how you always seem happier after you have been swimming, the sparkle in your eye when Divina mentions a memory of something you two did when you were kids. I love how you talk to me in lessons even when I never said a single word to you because I was scared. I was scared of embarrassing myself in front of you even though my flowers seem to be able to do that on their own.
I Love you Kent.
You don't have to love me back, If you don't just set fire to it and don't mention anything.
Your Flower
Love, Y/n.
Kent stood up with a smile on his face and ran out of the room, running past Divina who came to collect him for dinner, she stared at her twin brother like he had lost his head but just shrugged and walked back to Bianca and Yoko, who explained everything to them. Once the two sirens were caught up they grabbed Enid and Ajax and watched the events play out from afar.
He ran towards the green houses where he knew you would be at during this time. When he got there he leant against the glass door frame admiring your focused face as you nursed a plant back to life with a spray bottle in your hand. The light reflected through the glass and projected a rainbow on your hair which held an array of flowers and leaves, the flower crown you were wearing was gone, the way flowers grew from your hair and Vines wrapped themselves around your arms and torso made you look ethereal in his eyes.
Making his presence known by clearing his throat which startled you and in a reaction you sprayed water in his face.
You cringed. "I am so sorry" You tried to wipe his face with your hands but vibes started to grow around your hands. You flushed in embbarassment and tried to hide your hands behind your back but he gently grabbed a hold of your wrist and lifted it up and pressed a kiss to your palm.
"You don't have to hide"
Kent lowered your hand and pulled you closer to him and he placed his other hand cradling your face where he felt the point of your ear and the Gardenia that grew just above his hand.
He smiled softly at you and before you know it he was leaning down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. He lifted his head but was stopped by you tugging him back down engaging you both into a passionate, love-filled kiss all of your hidden emotions were poured out into this kiss. You both pulled away from the kiss panting but you rested your forheads on each others and stared into the others eyes, neither of you wanting to break this moment.
However that moment was broken by a squeal from an overly excited werewolf who couldn't contain her Joy that her best friend had finally confessed her love.
#wednesday#kent x reader#wednesday tv show#wednesday tim burton#wednesday x reader#flower nymph#x reader#Wednesday Kent
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What Do The Sully Family Smell Like?
Tags: Headcanons, Sully Family Scents
Warnings: None
Characters: Jake, Neytiri, Kiri, Lo’ak, Neteyam
Signature scents of the Sully family/what I think they’re attributed with.
I thought it’d be kinda fun to write like unique scents they have and while this isn’t an x reader, it’d be kinda funny in a diff setting if idfk reader is like “neteyam do u use strawberry scented shampoo😲” or some shit LMAOAOA
* ˚ ✦ Read below the cut
╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-╰┈➤ ❝ [11/12/22] ❞
Jake Sully
Jake smells like Cinnamon.
For a spicy man, he gets a spicy scent fr
Nah but I feel like Jake smelling like Cinnamon is super comforting
He’s just got that super homely dad vibe
Cinnamon is spicy, sweet, and warm yet enticing all in one, which I feel like perfectly portrays Jake
Also, how cute would it be when his children snuggle up with him and get instantly calmed by his scent?? 😭😭
Like if Tuk can’t fall asleep it’s guaranteed she will if you put her in Jake’s arms OFHWFEGWEIJ
This is also biased because I love cinnamon. Fav scent for my fav sully 🙏
… … … … … . . ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ,, ⌲˘͈ᵕ˘͈
Neytiri
Neytiri has an old earthy scent.
And I don’t mean like dirt, I mean the way flowers and aged trees smell.
She looks and smells like what you would expect of a Na’vi from the forest.
Similarly to her mate, Neytiri has a woody scent to her.
But ‘old earthy’ can encompass a lot of things.
Neytiri smells like the definition of what it means to be Omaticaya; grass, herbs, running water, a crisp breeze, you name it.
I like to think that wherever home is it’s with her, because she quite literally carries a part of it with her.
Her scent is also super comforting to the family.
Whenever the kids are missing the Omaticaya, cuddling with Neytiri is a way for them to relieve their homesickness.
As for Jake, Neytiri is simply a reminder of all the things he fell in love with when coming to Pandora.
Like the earthly scent she has to her, she really grounds everyone.
… … … … … . . ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ,, ⌲˘͈ᵕ˘͈
Kiri
Kiri is deffo a sage girl 🤭
Like her scent, she’s strong and leaves an impression.
It’s herbaceous and woodsy like her parents, yet bitter.
Yknow, for her sass LMAO
Okay maybe I’m just giving everyone tree smells but like u can’t blame me 💀
I feel like Sage also really suits Kiri because you definitely often see it in the spiritual community
Kiri knows what herbs are good for healing, is deeply spiritual, and is strongly connected to Eywa
So I feel like it’s no brainer that Kiri would smell like sage, a scent that’s associated with spirituality, yk?
… … … … … . . ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ,, ⌲˘͈ᵕ˘͈
Lo’ak
OOO HE’S A SANDALWOOD AND VANILLA BOY
A deep, woody scent like the rest of his family
But it’s also floral and balsamic, yknow?
Lo’ak’s vibe definitely matches his scent since it’s sweet and soft like him, but is also alluring and charming.
He’s a copy paste of his father so of course he smells pretty homely and comforting too
He has a very warm and saccharine scent to him, but the sandalwood is a deep contrast to show how his personality can also take on a wild form.
(I also just love vanilla)
… … … … … . . ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ,, ⌲˘͈ᵕ˘͈
Neteyam
Neteyam exudes a scent of pine trees.
If Lo’ak’s scent has a vibe to it that’s a copy paste of his father, then Neteyam is a copy paste of his mother.
Literally just smells like home.
We all know that Neteyam is good with kids since he has siblings, and Tuk is the youngest.
If Neytiri’s not available to comfort her children after their relocation, you know Neteyam’s scent is the next best thing that soothes them.
He smells sharp, sweet, and refreshing, which I think is fairly accurate to Neteyam’s character.
#↳˳☁️;; ❝ headcanons ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗:#headcanons#headcanons avatar#headcanons avatar 2#avatar headcanons#avatar 2 headcanons#avatar#avatar 2#avatar the way of water#avatar 2 the way of water#jake sully#avatar jake sully#neytiri#neytiri sully#neytiri te tskaha mo'at'ite#avatar neytiri#kiri#kiri sully#avatar kiri#avatar kiri sully#lo'ak#lo'ak sully#avatar lo'ak#avatar lo'ak sully#scents#scents headcanons#neteyam#neteyam sully#avatar neteyam#avatar neteyam sully
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