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surftrips · 3 months

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SHAPESHIFT | CLARISSE LA RUE

pairing: clarisse la rue x female!reader

summary: clarisse wonders if you know just how much she likes you.

word count: 2.1k

author's note: this is the first part of a two part series i'm writing based on jenna doe's songs: shapeshift + pink slips. this is from clarisse's pov and the second one is from readers' :) lmk if you want to be tagged in part 2 <3

i. i think you have a type, and it's not me

Clarisse has been watching you from the second you arrived at camp. Since you spent every day doing more or less the same thing, she was able to pick up on your routine pretty fast. Two sugars in your coffee every morning. A walk around the lake in the afternoon. Archery practice before the sunset.

She felt weird going to practices at the same time as you, but she couldn’t help herself. Whenever she got a chance to sneak away from her siblings in the Ares cabin, she always found herself back in your presence. However, the thought to approach you like a normal person had never crossed her mind. Clarisse is the kind of person that needs to be in control, and talking to you one-on-one would mean letting her inhibitions take over, so she always made sure to keep her distance.

Once or twice, Clarisse had seen you on dates with another camper. At first, she thought you were just having a picnic with the girl from Aphrodite, until the two of you began holding hands. The next day, Clarisse saw you in the other girl’s sweater, which made her so sick she avoided you for an entire week.

The Aphrodite girl (her name, Clarisse later found out, was Stacy) began showing up with you more often. Stacy wore bows in her hair and pearl necklaces, whereas Clarisse’s mascara was always smudged and accessories that didn’t double as weapons felt wrong on her. For the first time, Clarisse wondered why she couldn’t just be like all the other girls. Or at least, a girl you would pay attention to.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying. Clarisse tried to make her penchant for you as obvious as possible, while actively hiding it from the rest of camp. This proved to be difficult because at the same time, she also didn’t want to get too close to you because, well— what would she even say to you?

Her flirting consisted of winking at you during Capture the Flag or from across the dining hall. She had an ongoing list of nicknames of what to call you when no one else was around, but those moments were few and far between. Once, she even went as far as brushing away a stray piece of hair that had fallen on your face. There seemed to be nothing left for her to do except put bows in her hair or maybe paint her nails, and the thought of doing either of those things made her almost as sick as seeing you and Stacy together.

Between her and the Aphrodite girl, she knew which girl you would choose. Had chosen.

ii. mold me how you want me to be

Still, that was not going to stop Clarisse. She had never backed down from a fight before, and this was no different. Even if Stacy didn’t know it, she had become Clarisse’s number one enemy, even more so than that Percy Jackson kid that had recently shown up at camp. It just wasn’t fair that she had been watching you for so long and here comes Aphrodite’s daughter out of nowhere to sweep you off your feet.

Since Clarisse knew your routine by heart, she devised a plan to get you alone. She decided that she would finally make a move, and then you could pick for yourself who you wanted to be with. Easy enough, right?

At night, Clarisse lay awake in bed thinking about you, Stacy, then you and Stacy together. Though she didn’t want to go there, her brain wondered what the two of you were doing at that very moment. Her thoughts ranged from tame, to slightly more unhinged. Like, were you lying underneath the stars on your picnic blanket? Or was Stacy doing your makeup as she straddled your lap?

Clarisse didn’t pray often, but ever since she met you, she had taken to silently wishing you would acknowledge her. Each time she saw you with your arms wrapped around Stacy, she yearned to know what that would feel like. Not that she thought you would come near her with a ten-foot pole. Stacy is sweet, like bubblegum or strawberries from the fields, and Clarisse is the opposite. If you tasted her, she might make your gums bleed.

Before you, she was never the kind of girl to care about her appearance. Gods, she was the daughter of Ares, they weren’t known for their beauty but their strength and power and when it came to those categories, Clarisse knew that she had Stacy beat.

And yet, Clarisse would change just about anything about herself if it would make you like her more. In your hands, she would turn into putty, moldable clay to take the shape of your ideal lover. Hell, she would change her name if she thought you didn’t like the sound of it.

iii. kill anyone if you ask me to

A few weeks later, the Ares cabin and yours happened to be on the same team for Capture the Flag. It was the closest Clarisse had been to you ever since you began dating Stacy. The proximity to you was killing her, but she had to stay focused—on winning the game and your heart.

Putting aside her wandering thoughts, Clarisse barked out instructions to the campers. When she got to your cabin, she assigned you and your half-siblings to be the second line of defense for the flag. Clarisse figured this way, she could keep you out of harm’s way. Also, this was her one chance to talk to you without Stacy hanging off your body and she wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass.

After the first conch blew, Clarisse went on high-alert mode. Her team had lost the last game to Luke and Annabeth’s team, but she was not going to accept defeat this time. Her eyes darted back and forth between blind spots in the forest and you and the flag.

As she absent-mindedly waved her new spear around, Clarisse heard soft footsteps behind her. She whipped her head around with her weapon aimed in the air, preparing to fight whoever had approached her.

“Shit, Y/N, you scared me.” It was just you. Wait– it was you.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to,” you responded, your hands in front of you.

Clarisse almost couldn’t believe her eyes. Did someone poison her earlier and she was hallucinating right now? Okay, keep it cool.

“Is something wrong?” Clarisse managed to ask after composing herself, realizing that you had moved away from your post.

“Uh, no. I- um… heard about what happened to your spear last week, and I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” you smiled nervously.

“Why?”

“Why…. am I sorry?”

Clarisse wanted to slap her hand across her forehead. Why did she say that? She meant to ask why are you talking to me right now? What did I do to deserve this? But she didn’t know how to word that in a way that wouldn't make you think she was crazy.

When she didn’t respond, you began backing away. “Look, I’m sorry if this is a sensitive topic. I just felt bad, is all.”

“No!” Clarisse began panicking. “I didn’t mean it like that- just, why are you talking to me now? We’ve never had a real conversation before.”

“Does it matter?” She expected you to be confused, but the look at your face seemed more amused than anything.

“No, I guess not,” Clarisse couldn’t help but smile. Gods, why was she so awkward? Anyone else, she would’ve been perfectly fine, but in the last few minutes, her mouth had gone dry and her legs felt as though they would give out at any second.

“Great,” you beamed in return. Clarisse’s eyes catch yours and the two of you stare at each other in content for a minute. Or at least, you are. Clarisse is convinced an Aphrodite kid has changed her pupils to hearts. “I haven’t seen you around lately,” you broke the silence.

“What do you mean? I’m always around,” Clarisse stammered for an excuse.

“Well, sure. It’s a small camp.” You seemed to be enjoying seeing Clarisse fumble for words. “But I used to see you all the time. At breakfast and archery.”

Clarisse ignored the implications of your comment. “Oh, I guess we just started going at different times then. You know you’re always with Stacy now—”

At the mention of your girlfriend’s name, your face contorted into something strange and unfamiliar to Clarisse. But before she could figure it out, a noise behind you caused the two of you to turn around abruptly.

“Y/N, watch out!” Clarisse shouted at you, but it was too late. Someone had dragged you backwards, knocking your weapon out of your hand. You struggled to free yourself, but whoever was holding you had revealed a dagger and you didn’t want to risk accidentally cutting yourself.

“If you know what’s best for yourself, let her go.” Clarisse breathed furiously, pausing between the last three words in her sentence. You couldn’t see who was restraining you, but you could feel their heart rate quicken at the sight of Clarisse’s spear getting dangerously close.

“And what if I don’t?” they responded. You knew that they were just putting on a front, you could feel their chest heaving up and down on your back. Clarisse seemed to know this too, she’s always been able to sense fear in people— mostly because she is the one that invokes it.

“I don’t think you want to find out,” she grinned, a wicked smile on her face. The next second, her spear had jabbed into the camper’s side, causing them to let go of their hold on you. You dropped to the ground.

“Shit!” the camper swore, rubbing their ribcage. “You’re not supposed to actually hurt me!” You could see their face now, one of Hermes' kids you’ve seen hanging around Luke.

“Now, what’s the fun in that?” Clarisse laughed. “Besides, the spearhead is blunt. You’ll be fine, drama queen.”

The kid scrambled away, leaving behind the dagger they had previously threatened you with. Clarisse ran over, instinctively putting her hands on your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You began to stand up, but Clarisse pushed you back down.

“Clar, come on, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Let me just get a look at you,” she insisted, ignoring the way your nickname for her made something in her stomach flip over. You relented, knowing it was useless to argue with her. You allow her to scan your body for any signs of harm. Clarisse took her time, unsure of when the next time she would be this close to you again. Most of your body was covered by your armor or clothes, so her eyes drifted toward your exposed arms and the area where the kid had touched you.

Hesitantly, she reached for the side of your stomach. “Are you sore? Did they leave a mark?”

“No, I don’t think so,” you shook your head, lifting up the hem of your shirt to see. You heard Clarisse’s breath hitch. “What? What’s wrong?” You were fully sat up now.

“N-nothing!” Color rushed into Clarisse’s cheeks, causing her to turn her head away suddenly.

You giggled, her reaction not going unnoticed. “Thanks for saving me, tough girl.”

“Of course.” Clarisse pulled you up on your feet. “Anything for you, pretty girl.” The words slipped out of her mouth before she could register it. The two of you stared at each other again, it seemed as though eye contact was your main form of communication at the moment. And right now, Clarisse’s eyes were sparkling with something familiar, almost like how Stacy looks at you—

“Oh my god, babe! Are you okay?” Speaking of the devil, Clarisse rolled her eyes at the sight of your girlfriend running up.

“Stacy! How’d you know something was wrong?” You were pulled into a stifling hug, the air thick with floral perfume.

“Silly girl, I am the daughter of Aphrodite. I have a heightened sense for these things,” Stacy pulled her arms away and gave you a once-over, presumably to check for injuries, before smothering you with kisses.

Clarisse coughed, once, and then again a little louder. “Oh!” Stacy turned toward her. “Clarisse, I didn’t see you there.”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for her,” you said, sensing Clarisse’s uneasiness.

Now, Stacy’s face contorted into something strange. Shamelessly, Clarisse took pride in being the cause of it.

“Well, thank you,” she responded tersely. “Come on, let’s get one of the Apollo kids to look at you.” Stacy pushed you away before you could protest. You offered Clarisse a weak smile before turning around.

Clarisse sighed, maybe if she had been a daughter of Aphrodite, she could shapeshift into someone you walked away with— not from.

That night, she prayed to Ares for the first time in months.

#WHERE ARE ALL MY SAPPHICS #WOMEN LOVERS #WARNING: YEARNING #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #percy jackson series #percy jackson #pjo #dior goodjohn #dior goodjohn x reader #clarisse la rue imagine #pjo x you #clarisse la rue x you

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shinjisdone · 6 months

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When You Have An Secret Admirer - And Everybody Thinks It's Them (1; Heartslabyul)

A love letter was left at your door and now you are searching for that 'secret admirer' - everyone wants to help you out...but have their own reason for it. Yet now, it seems like there are quite a few misunderstandings on campus...and everyone thinks they have finally found that secret admirer.

Spin-off of the first 'secert admirer' series + form of headcanons

note: reader is gender-neutral but mostly mentioned in 2. pov; a series of everyone being mistaken for the secret admirer. headcanon will follow each char. own thoughts on the situation.]

"Hey...you think he could be the famous admirer of the Ramshakle prefect?"

2; Savanaclaw

3; Octavinelle

Ace Trappola

The first time Ace has heard of such whispers was when he was with you out in the hallways.

Students on the other side whispering amongst themselves, a clique subtly pointing at him...and eavesdropping on their suspicions...

"...You guys think its Trappola? He's always hanging around with the prefect ever since day one..."

Man, Ace was so close to spitting out his drink.

Did he just hear this right? Wait, wait, whoa, whoa, wait! He...didn't hear that just now, did he?

"Yeah, can't be anyone else. Have you seen how he looks at them?"

Oh no, he did right.

...Ha! Haha! Seriosuly? No way, does just...everyone in campus believe such crap? Haha, it can't be...

Though he tries to brush it all off, Ace quickly ushered you away from the hallways and anywhere where there wasn't a single soul. He couldn't bare to hear more.

But, seriously? Nah. No, no, no waaaay could...could Ace pull such cringy, gushy stuff. No one could seriously think he would even write a love letter, right?

Pfff, no. Ace isn't the type to even be capable of getting some notes for alchemy class right, or, or to get some flyin' mirror from somewhere, let alone steal roses from his own dorm. Have you seen how angry Riddle gets?

Totally in denial. Well, he is not that oh-so-great secret admiiiireeer, so what is there to deny? Nothing, that's what!

There are certainly a bunch of students that doubt he would and could do that...but others only believe it more.

The trickster Trappola. Your best friend who always looks out for you, always sticks with you even if he gets himself in trouble and seems to always look at you a certain way...

After all, guys tease those they like, right?

The whsipers get louder and louder throughout the week and Ace is visibly getting uneasy. You note and tell him how more fidgety and sweaty he seems recently but he brushes it all off with a scoff and a joke as usual.

He tried to think of a way to end this gossip...or at least escape it. But Ace will not ever think of avoiding you just for some stupid rumors. He is your friend, your best friend and he isn't gonna be a chicken and disappear into thin air just some idiots cannot tell the obvious - that Ace just isn't that romantic.

Would you like him to be more romantic...?

Alas, one day in the dorm, a few students approach him and directly ask him if he is the admirer. They may not have evidence but considering how the ace of hearts hangs around you like a leech, there is no other way that he doesn't like you.

Ace cracks an nervous grin and shrugs it all off despite pearls of sweat running down his face and tainting his jacket. Pff, whuat? Crazy such a claim, crazy he says! How deeply wounded he is by this suspicion!

Ace is honest and says, hey, he ain't the admirer. He ain't the romantic type either, he's just looking out for you, you know? Like the good classmate that he is.

A few believe that he is incapable of doing such acts and that it wouldn't fit his character at all. Though, that does not deter many to think that he does hold some feelings for you with how he is acting...

It just makes him more nervous.

Deuce Spade

Deuce coughed and cleared his throat the first time he heard such rumors at his club. Jack offered him water.

H-H-H-Huh??? WH-Wh-What, him? Him, Deuce Spade being your secret admirer?! Why would anyone think that?!

Genuinely baffled and surprised at this conclusion a few of his classmates came up with. How could he, Deuce, ever...be considered something close to a secret admirer?

But once he hears a few 'theories' his face is blooming a bright and deep red.

Constantly at your side? Protecting you in the smallest of ways like a hero? Giddy like a kid in a candy store when he gets praise from you? The thought of an ex-delinquent protecting and caring for someone being the ultimate proof that he is in love?!

L-L-L-Love?

H-Hold up! That can't be right! Deuce cares for you and you are his bestie but...! It isn't, it can't be...!

Too dumbfounded and embarrassed to do anything in the beginning. The thoughts and rumors of him even having feelings for you and people believing him to have done the things the admirer did, are constantly swirling in his mind. Day and night.

It's all getting too much...until only a handful of people approach him and ask.

Others back up in fear. "Hey, man, watch out! If you say anything wrong about his partner, the delinquent guy will beat you black and blue!"

WHAT

DELINQUENT GUY? P-P-PARTNER?!

Well, they are right, if someone were to hurt you, he would beat them up.

BUT ITS NOT ABOUT THAT RIGHT NOW.

With the biggest blush on his face and back straight as a candle, Deuce seems like an upright, studious boy who loudly corrects them, saying it's all not true! Y-You are just his best f-friend!

The gossip affects him so much that he comes running to you, lips in a nervous but tight line, eyes as big as a deers and face blooming like a rose.

"I AM NOT YOUR SECRET ADMIRER!"

Unwittingly he blurts out but softly tells you of the rumors right after. He just doesn't want there to be a misunderstanding.

He fiddles with his fingers, quietly continuing; "Because, uhm...if I did like you like that...I'd be more direct with you than that admirer could ever be."

Cater Diamond

Eh, what? Cater? And being a secret admirer?

Hah! That is almost cute and flattering! But, uh...well, a bit embarrassing, too...

Some argue of how he always calls you 'cute' or wants to take selfies with you...but he does so with everyone.

Yet Cater has a tendency to call you his 'favorite, cute juniour' just like Trey.

Cater is one actually able to laugh it all off genuinely - but at the same time he does not deny any of these claims. Yeah, you are super cute and have they seen these pics? They must have with how many hearts they got on Magicam~

He isn't gonna go around telling people that he fancies you but he is sure to casually tell them, no, he isn't the admirer. Very flattering (and bold) that you assume that though!

Will straight up go to you and say the obvious. He is not, in fact, your dear, darling admirer but that doesn't mean he doesn't admire you at all~

Trey Clover

Uhm???

Trey laughed sheepishly, hiding his blush under his hat.

This isn't...That's not right!

Everytime he'd hear a whisper, he unwittingly gets nervous. The thought of him doing the admirer's deeds...and even worse, people believing him to be them!

It's stress and drama he didn't ask for.

Although it is kinda a nice thought...while the actions of the admirer, the gifts and confessions of love are too embarassing for Trey, the thought of him making you fluster and blush is nice...

Very nice.

With a sigh, he shakes the thought of. He isn't them. No matter how much he wishes he was.

So with a sheepish grin and a bit of a stutter he clears his name. Riddle would have his head if he did any of these things!

With a ruffle of your hair he confesses. Don't worry, he isn't lovesick. He just likes you normally.

Riddle Rosehearts

SPITS OUT HIS TEA

Excuse him?! What did he just hear?! Doesn't matter if it was not meant for him to hear, off with your head! ITS OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!

So...absurd! There's no way such gossip is being spread in his dorm, is it?! Riddle already once had an awful reputation. There's no need for one made out of lies!

...Even if the image of him writing love letters and handing you gifts does fit him...Riddle would never steal from his own dorm!

He would never cause such a wreck as that "secret admirer" has. It's insulting to compare Riddle to them, lest even think he IS them!

Though he hears of the rumors, no one has the gall to approach him. That doesn't stop his anger as he gets more and more agitated everytime he even hears your name slip off someone's lips.

"The Housewarden totally favors them, after all..."

"He invites them to Unbirthday parties all the time."

"And acts like a gentleman then!"

Red, red, red. Riddle's face blooms in a deep crimson but it isn't blood rushing to his head in anger, it is a blush of embarassment.

Each one of them is right.

He cannot take his feelings being dangled in front of his face like that. It's all so, so true but he shall never admit it.

Riddle will have to clear his name it seems for all of this to stop.

It's difficult - not many believe him considering how agitated he becomes at the topic, at the mention of you.

Yet he managed to calm the crowd...all there was left was to tell you the truth as well.

"Im sure youve heard of it," he began dryly even as he tried to hide his blush. "But you know me and I would never callously break the rules like that just to...confess. No."

He then turned to you, his voice firmer and eyes softer. "If I wanted to court you, I'd do it in a way you deserve."

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #gender neutral imagine #twisted wonderland x reader #heartslabyul #heartslaybul x reader #riddle rosehearts #ace trapolla #Deuce spade #Trey clover #cater diamond #secret admirer

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twisted-writing · 2 months

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To the point of exhaustion (part 2)

——————————————————————

For @naroshinozaki

Who asked: Could you please do the fainting trope, but with the vicedorm leaders?

Have a nice day and take care of yourself!!!

( ↀДↀ)✧

———————————————————

POV: Third Person

Characters: Vice dorm leaders, Dire Crowley (mentioned), gender neutral!reader

Pairing: Vice dorm leaders x gender neutral!reader (separate)

Warnings: angst, mentions of being overworked, fainting, lack of sleep, Dire Crowley slander

Note: For this I’ve decided to exclude Ortho.

Word Count: 979

—————————————————————

It was yet another unbirthday party in Heartslabyul and Trey Clover, the dorm’s vice dorm leader would normally be enjoying the celebration with everyone else in the dorm but instead, he was in his bedroom cuddling with y/n.

“I’m sorry that you’re missing the unbirthday party because of me, Trey.”

“Don’t worry, there will be plenty more of them.” He assured them in a soft tone. “You just focus on getting the rest you need.”

They had confessed that they hadn’t been getting as much sleep, due to the headmaster and the way he piled more and more onto their plate and how overwhelming it was for them and how close they were to burning out.

And how all they wanted was just to sleep. Even if it was just for a few minutes.

And Trey had decided to give them that.

It was clear that the headmaster certainly wouldn’t.

“Don’t worry, Riddle assured that he’ll make sure that there’s something for us when you wake up.”

“Thank you, Trey. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

——————————————————

“…Ruggie?”

“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?”

“Yeah. What time is it?”

Ruggie checked his phone briefly for the time. “It’s four p.m.”

“You let me sleep all day?!”

“Yes. You could hardly stand. You needed the rest.”

“But what about the lessons? The assignments I missed?”

“You can borrow my notes. As for the assignments, you don’t have to worry, Crewel and Trein will let you make them up.”

“But the headmaster…”

“He had to go one day without his free therapist. The world has come to an end.” Ruggie’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “He’ll live. I care more about you and your health and I know that you would be hungry when you woke up.” As if on cue, y/n’s stomach growled and Ruggie handed them the food he had come back with from the cafeteria. “The ghosts were more than happy to make this for you. Your favorite.”

The hyena felt his cheeks turn pink when suddenly kissed his lips. “What was that for?”

“That was thank you, for being the best boyfriend ever.”

“Yeah, well, I love you.”

“Love you more, Ruggie.”

————————————————————

“Are you feeling better, my pearl?”

“Yes, I am, Jade.” It was currently after hours in the Mostro Lounge, the smooth jazz was playing softly and with the ambiance of the Lounge, it created the perfect atmosphere for y/n to relax. Especially after the week they had, no one deserved it more than them. “Thank you.”

When his pearl had arrived at the lounge, looking quite dead on their feet, as if they would faint at any moment, Jade wasted no time in leading y/n to their favorite seat in the lounge, he had gently coaxed the reason why they were so exhausted.

The headmaster, it seemed, did not know the meaning of restraint.

Jade would not hesitate to remind him.

“Of course.” He gave y/n one of his rare smiles, not the kind of smile that was used to intimidate, but the kind that gave him a softer appearance. “I would do anything for you.”

He would let Azul deal with that.

———————————————————————

“Thanks for letting me hide out in Scarabia, Jamil, and for letting me borrow your hoodie. I just needed some peace and quiet for once, you know?”

Out of everyone, Jamil knew what it was like to feel overwhelmed and under pressure. Being the vice dorm leader of Scarabia and having to watch over Kalim was not an easy thing. “Yeah, I get it. Trust me.” At least with Kalim, he allowed Jamil some time to himself and let him do things that would let him unwind.

Unlike the headmaster.

It was why y/n had made their way to Scarabia.

And it was during one of the rare times where Scarabia wasn’t having a party so they could spend time with Jamil, at Kalim’s assurance that everything was fine, and that today was a relaxation for everyone in the dorm anyway.

And if anyone needed to relax the most, it was y/n and Jamil.

“Don’t worry. We can just be lazy and not have to worry about anything.”

————————————————————

Underneath the big tree in the woods behind Night Raven College, on a picnic blanket, y/n and Rook sat together, enjoying the breeze, the shade from the tree, and the occasional chirp from the birds as they flew overhead.

“How are you feeling, mon cher? Better?”

“Yes, I’m feeling better, Rook. Thank you. I really appreciate that you set this up for me.”

The vice dorm leader of Pomefiore kissed y/n’s hair. “Your health and safety matters most to me.”

“Vil doesn’t need you for anything?”

“Roi du Poison told me that we can take all the time we need. And I plan to spend the entire day spoiling you.”

Rook’s smile widened when y/n’s giggled reached his ears.

——————————————————————————

Father, will y/n be all right?”

In Diasmonia’s lounge, y/n slept peacefully on the couch with the fire going in the fireplace. “Of course, Silver.” His smile was tight. “They’ll be fine.”

“The headmaster overworked them too much. Do you think he knows? Or that he just doesn’t care?”

Lilia was sure that it was both. “I’ll deal with him later. Right now, I’m going to make sure that y/n recovers.”

“You really love them, father.”

“With everything that I am.”

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tubbytarchia · 4 months

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Actually I'm gonna need a little insanity thread for all the rancher things I love as I watch their POV for the first time. I'll publicize this when I'm done with ep5

TLDR: Heavens, it is a long list. I cannot tldr this

Them running around in circles, completely lost after their first deaths whilst also not expressing even the slightest bit of anger (esp Jimmy because you know)

Them expecting the other to know how to build but neither of them can

Tango building a box of a house and Jimmy being absolutely smitten by it continuously

Tango praising Jimmy with full genuinity for bringing back... a bucket of water

Them cradling one little chicken like its their offspring before they can get more

Jimmy standing behind the door, calling for Tango in order to surprise him with cows.... god help my heart

Tango declaring them as team ranchers to immediately admit he might not be a very good rancher. This is good and cute because I love to see them struggle yet have unbridled support towards each other

Jimmy being cornered by Joel and Etho so Tango leaves to save him (or so he says at least!)

Jimmy ushering Tango into their house as Tango yells for help due to his hunger and being chased by mobs, and then Jimmy giving him two melon slices because that's all he has (They are so pathetically poor which only accentuates the wholesome and cute factor)

Jimmy accidentally picking up Tango's baked potato and then handing it back to him so they can eat together while Tango basically foams out the mouth because he's so hungry

"Welcome home honey"

Them celebrating being able to feed themselves to any degree

Tango all "I built that wall, it's ugly, continuing the trend" only for Jimmy to immediately proclaim that he likes it

Jimmy catching on that Tango can be a great builder actually and confronting him about it like he's just been cheated on

Tango blocking their entrance to prevent more cows from leaving for Jimmy to then admit that he was the one that broke the door, oops

Tango watching Jimmy escort two goats from a distance "he's doing great"

Them in total confusion wasting way too much time trying to figure out how to get goat horns as they're huddled in their house with said goats strolling around (and them continuing to get butted casually as they go about their normal activities) before eventually choosing to waste much more time by trying to do the same thing outside

Unrelated but Pearl of all people being the first person to come to them with genuine help rather than to fuck with them like everyone else

In the face of all their struggles, the thing that seems to bring the absolute most joy to Tango and Jimmy by this point is obtaining a silly little goat horn

The fact that they both got the exact same goat horn!!!

"I need stuff for tools, and I need stuff for Jimmy"

Tango defending their base's looks despite proclaiming to be a bad builder, because god, I want him to be doing that just because of how much Jimmy praised it

Nobody replying to their goat horns, but THEM replying to each other!! (They also toot at each other later when frantically looking for each other agh!!)

This time Tango interrogating Jimmy as if he's been cheated on because Jimmy went into the deep dark without his approval

"The R survived"

"Tango snap out of it; Tango's having a moment" *Tango yelling and groaning and grunting and laughing continuously*

"Tango, Tango, let's think about this. Let's think about this!" "Hold me back" "Tango, listen to the horn" Jimmy calming his deranged husband aw

Tango burying his head in a corner refusing to look at his beautiful ranch in complete ruin even as Jimmy coaxes him

Jimmy and Tango kind of begrudgingly accepting Scar trying to be nice but Jimmy still valiantly defending the foot tower before it burned to the ground

Their son/daughter :( (Tango refers to the Warden as a she one episode and a he in another. Their child was an icon...)

Tango expressing that he's proud of Jimmy for having stayed alive so long and Jimmy replying "It's all down to to you. Hey, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you"

Maybe Jimmy really didn't have a water bucket on him but it was so funny of him to casually turn to Tango whilst on fire and go "can you put me out?"

Jimmy being comically kidnapped??? (Actually being put into gay baby jail instead) And asking Tango to help save him

"You're still here? It's over. Go home. Go." (insert a bunch of crying emojis)

Other stuff: I think by virtue of Jimmy being a real tall guy, his character is usually depicted as taller than Tango's if not significantly so. As such... Tango calling Jimmy "little man" tickles me greatly and sounds like a very fond pet name

Briefly brought it up earlier but goddd. I will absolutely hc that Tango only became proud and defendant of his work because of how much Jimmy liked what he built. And Jimmy always being there and calming Tango in his crazed outbursts <3 Tango is such a goddamn creature isn't he

And the uhh... Tango dying quickest out of anyone because of a creeper, to then express that he was proud of Jimmy for doing well even though he got them killed the first time around, and then Jimmy unceremoniously dying to an Enderman to end their series for good... As funny and poetic as it is, god, the canary curse fuckin hurts!! And yet there were hardly times that Tango showed disdain towards Jimmy, and then never genuinely. He knew their series could end quick with Jimmy as his soulmate and even when their positivity faltered, their support towards one another never did

For having read all this (or maybe just glancing and scrolling)... some unfinished rancher doodles just for you that I made while watching their POV

#team rancher #rancher duo #I am not okay #trafficshipping #blabber

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manicpixiefelix · 2 months

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 19.

Summary: We follow Oliver Quick in the aftermath of that night in the bathtub. In the days that follow, however, and the Arts Collective dinner drawing ever closer, you seem unusually upset. However, once he meets your mother at the party, a lot of things start to make an unfortunate amount of sense.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; masturbation, fantasies and memories of bathtub activities, pervert/enabler dynamics. Also reader's mum is in this chapter so we have warnings for implied child neglect & family trauma, as well as reader talking negatively about themselves a lot.

A/N: 8997 words. OLIVER POV and a huge chapter to sink your teeth into. goes many places, and we finally get to meet at least one of the reader's parents. i believe this is what the kids call 'conflict' in a narrative. Also the reader's parents now officially have names; Pearl & Andreas. Also nana's name is Bijou. let me know what you guys think ! <3

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Every time Oliver closes his eyes, one of about seventeen million different, lewd images pops into his head of either you or Felix. It seems his mind literally will not allow him to think of anything else, which is fine when he's alone in his room - your room, your bed - but less than ideal when he's sitting across from the two of you over breakfast. Nothing about the way either of you interacted with him was at all different from any other morning. Part of him feels like he's going crazy when you give him a sleepy smile and drop a kiss onto the top of his head in passing on the way to get yourself breakfast.

"Morning Ollie," mumbled affectionately, like it always was from you.

Though it should be noted that Oliver isn't often at breakfast before you and Felix. Both of you are reasonably punctual, and usually seem far less tired than you both seemed to be, so that at least pointed to what happened last night not being a dream. That, and Felix grinning at him as he sat down, placing a mug in front of your setting at the table, and held his own.

"How'd you sleep, mate?" With mirth shining in his eyes; he knows. What he knows and how much, Oliver isn't sure, but there's no way he'd be smiling like that otherwise. What does it mean for him if Felix knows? Where do they go from here?

"Bit restless," Oliver hears himself saying, and trains his eyes on his breakfast, feeling the heat creeping up his cheeks already. Felix makes an apology that sounds completely insincere, and punctuates it with a loud yawn, stretch, and groan. Eyes drawn to Felix, the response almost Pavlovian, and most certainly desperate, all Oliver sees is the pleased little smile Felix wears, still watching him. In the next moment it's gone, turned on you as you place a plate of food in front of him and then at your own place, settling down beside him, as you always do.

The talk over breakfast seems to be the same as it ever was. Plans for the day, with you sighing and declaring that after spend the day before in the garden, you'd be doing quite the opposite, and leisuring in the library, watching something yet to be decided if anyone wanted to join you. He could have sworn there was something pointed in your eyes as your gaze swept over the whole table, landing on his briefly. But then the conversation was moving on, and Oliver had to act like he had any room for decent thoughts in his head at that moment.

Breakfast has become unappealing. He already misses the taste of your blood.

He has to excuse himself, despite having barely eaten half of what he'd served himself. Everyone else enquires after him, asking if he's okay, and he hopes the smile he wears is good enough to stave off further questions.

"Just not hungry this morning is all."

He wishes he'd been as lucky as you, wishes you'd drawn blood; a scab he'd pick forever, a reminder of how thoroughly you'd gotten under his skin. Something in him burns to be scarred by you, marked by you both, a want so violent that you're reduced only to instincts. Bite and touch can be one in the same.

Oliver wasn't stupid. He knew what had been happening. It had been hard enough before last night with this game you'd been playing, the show you'd been putting on. A thrilling chase, tension stretched thin, waiting for Felix to finally make a move to prove that he wasn't just stringing Oliver along. The things he's seen you and Felix doing, the noises he'd been hearing -

Back in his room, he doesn't even realise how hard he's breathing until he slams his door shut, slumping against it, his heart racing.

He never thought it would have been you who broke the rules of this game you've been playing. But now Oliver's left picking up the pieces of his understanding, trying to figure out what the fuck it all meant. He locks his door frantically as he recalls something Venetia had once said to him on one of the few nights he's joined her for a cigarette outside before he would head up to the study -

"Felix hasn't needed since he was ten years old," Venetia's eyes flash with something more than amusement in the moonlight, "he was a desperately needy little brother growing up, clinging to me if mother wasn't clinging to him." The two fingers not holding her cigarette curl into a half fist. With a sly smile, she cocks her hip and leans against Oliver, "he wants, though."

A strange spark of desire arks through Oliver at her words, her knowing, teasing tone, like the flare of a starting gun, a confirmation of what he knew he'd already been working towards. It was nice to hear nonetheless. He tries to act like it doesn't effect him.

"Don't you all?" He glances at Venetia out of the corner of his eyes, tone smooth and unwavering, "you Cattons are the kind of creatures who all seem to want." Then, wetting his lips, "that's what that butler is for after all, and Y/N?" Venetia smiles broader, faint laughter escaping between her teeth.

"Oh, we all want, Ollie," with unrestrained condescension, "but so does most everyone; I know you want, I've seen your eyes. But we Cattons always get what we want, that's the difference you can sense."

"I get what I want, Venetia, I just have to work for it," he says eyes flashing as he looks at her through his lashes. Charming Felix's sister was more habit than actual desire, but he wasn't above using underhanded tactics to win over the Cattons as a whole. Even in the moonlight, he catches sight of Venetia's faint blush. Again she laughs, but her gaze drifts over the grounds.

"Then my brother's mutt must not like you that well," she mused, and takes another drag from her cigarette, "if you still have to work for what you want." The remark catches Oliver off guard for several reasons. After a moment he has to confirm that it's you that she's talking about; Venetia's look says obviously, "haven't you noticed that they can't want for themselves?"

Curled up on his your bed, hand wrapped around his own cock in what's become something of a ritual since he'd arrived and you'd begun playing this game with him, he wonders, not for the first time, if Venetia was right. It seemed as though you'd confirmed as much the other night, that you simply loved him, perhaps even wanted him, because Felix was so fond of him. Even when you'd first slept together you'd danced around the idea of what you'd really wanted, even as he pressed, insisted.

He picked up early on - and told you as much - that you want to be wanted, but Venetia's words had shaken even that belief, or at least, it's origins. At times it seemed like Felix was the kind of creature who fed on the adoration of others, who's to say that you simply wanted to draw people into his orbit, to feed his ego, rather than for your own satisfaction. After all, Oliver couldn't imagine you without Felix, anyone who was drawn into your warmth would find themselves eventually in Felix's light.

And Felix was impossible not to love.

Did that explain last night? Were you afraid you were losing Oliver? Was it simply to keep that spark of desire in his chest burning bright? Except if you knew why he'd been in that bathroom in the first place, surely you could have intuited that his desperation for Felix hadn't waned.

His free hand goes to his own throat, fingers catching in the metal chain that rest there, tangling up the same way yours had last night. Cold, sharp pressure against his throat, he squeezes his eyes closed and sees Felix's head tipped back, steam curling, sweat and water clinging to his gorgeous skin as he gasps and moans and -

"Good boy," the memory of your voice in his ear. A mess of memories from the night before, of the lewd sloshing of Felix's bathwater caught up in the eroticism of the moment, leaving Oliver's imagination to run wild. The memory of how your breathing became stuttered, the way you'd shuddered, getting off to Oliver whimpering your best friend's name in your ear as he came. Were you too thinking of Felix, or getting off believing that Oliver was?

Can't want for themselves.

Except there had been a look in your eyes, in your smile, that dangerous, thrilling thing that lit you up as you licked his spend from your fingers like you were relishing the taste of him. Self satisfaction, a kind he'd never seen on you before.

Perhaps Venetia was wrong. Perhaps he could make you want him for your own sake. Perhaps you had already started.

The fantasy warps again, this time to something entirely new, flickering back and forth between debauched depictions of you and Felix, both coveting him for your own.

"My Ollie," possessive echoes of what he hopes to one day hear, until he's conjured an image of you both, lavishing him with affection without sparing each other a second glance. Wanted by both in your own right, "our Ollie," but still wanted as a collective. Loved by your shared love, not just by extension.

Then the fantasy returns to just last night. The fantasy returns to watching Felix and desperately hoping the man was thinking about him while making those noises. The fantasy returns to you, pressed against him, hand slick with Felix's bath water and both getting off to the idea of him. The fantasy returns to the taste of your blood on his tongue knowing his cum was on yours.

The fantasy returns to you both getting off to him.

Oliver finishes embarrassingly quickly. Again. As he does most days here; there's no shortage of memories to pull from, you and Felix have made sure of that. It's also why he finds very little shame in the act anymore; surely you both know that his mind wanders to you like this, why else would you continue to put on such a show when he still hasn't made a move. After cleaning himself up, and still not quite sure what to make of your intentions last night, he decides to put that from his mind for the time being, and enjoy the day he has with you at least.

In the library, it's you, and Felix, and a box set of Classic Doctor Who; the fourth one, Oliver's pretty sure, judging by the scarf. The smile you both give him is nothing but warm and completely innocent. Oliver grins back easily, and takes a seat. It feels the same as it always has. Like nothing has changed.

But Oliver learns quickly that they have.

That night, he finds you in the lilac study in only your underwear. Underwear too nice to be worn by pure chance. Feigning innocence you tell him you can change if you're making him uncomfortable, but that it's a warm night. It's no warmer than any other night has been thus far.

"Does Felix know you're in here with me, dressed like this?" Oliver leans in the doorframe, arms crossed, unashamedly gazing over your body. Instead of a real answer, all you do is grin, raising your eyebrows at him, as if in challenge. So this is for Felix's benefit too, Oliver thinks, perhaps showing off his willingness to share you, trying to coax Oliver into making the first move on the man as a way to continue using his most beloved toy? Wanting you, and by extension, wanting Felix.

For a moment, Oliver marvels about how easily you're able to catch and manipulate his focus according to your every whim, it seems. Who are you outside of the showmanship? Is there a real person under there? Maybe he should walk away, ponder this on his own or ask you in the light of day when you still at least pretend around the others and each other.

"I thought they were cute," is what you finally say, sitting forward, "I'm quite fond of blue," you add, snapping the waistband of your underwear against your hip. Blue like Oliver's always wearing, blue like his damn eyes, blue like he once told Felix was his favourite colour. Fuck. Fine, he's just a man after all, and a lesser man probably couldn't even hold out as long as he has against you and your gorgeous fucking body in the lamplight, and that look in your eyes.

It's not as intense as it was the night before, but he still gets you off through your underwear, and at his foolish encouragement, you leave a bruising hickey on his neck. Before you part ways for the night, you walk with him to his door, which rather unnecessary, just to let him know there's concealer in his shade in the top drawer on his side of the bathroom.

"You planned this all then?" He smirks at your nerve to be so casual about this all, pressing you against his door.

"You give me too much credit," you teased, gaze flicking from his eyes to his lips, "call it wishful thinking on my part," and you both know he doesn't believe you, but he still kisses you, grinning.

He tries to use this shift in the dynamic to find out more. Perhaps the physical intimacy meant you would be more open to emotional intimacy, even even he hears Felix in the back of his mind.

The day after he'd enquired about your father's work, the day after he'd pressed his ear to Felix's door from the bathroom and heard you sobbing about your parents, Felix himself had pulled Oliver aside with a tight smile shortly after breakfast.

"Ollie, I'm sorry I didn't mention it earlier mate, but about yesterday; we try not to bring up Y/N's mum and dad much around here."

"I'm sorry, I didn't -" Oliver tried, but Felix waved him off easily.

"No, I know you didn't know, you didn't mean anything by it," he assured warmly, but as he went to leave, Oliver couldn't help himself.

"Why?"

Felix stops. For a very long moment there is absolute silence. Stillness. Felix's smile doesn't reach his eyes when he turns back. There's a practiced easiness to him, something about it rehearsed and unfamiliar compared to the levity with which he usually carried himself.

"Because they don't have a kid."

And Oliver has no idea what to say to that, what he could possibly mean by that, so he lets Felix leave.

So when he starts to ask more questions, he careful about them. But he can't seem to catch a break. He gets confirmation that you and Felix have known each other since you were ten, and you're more than forthcoming about your life since then, but for all intents and purposes, you didn't seem to exist before then.

Tensions are running high the day before the first event, for you especially it seemed, even though you'd made it clear you wouldn't be in attendance. When he overhears you speaking with Elspeth, he hears something in your voice he'd never thought possible; despair.

"Do you have to host them in my garden, Elspeth?" You sounded like you were on the verge of tears. The matron of the house's voice is soothing as she reminds you that it's one of the most beautiful spots in the Estate. Your garden? "But every time she's in there she breaks my statue -"

"No she doesn't," Elspeth tries to dismiss, but you huff a surprisingly petulant whine.

"She does! Twice now! The seeds, there should be six, and I know it's her, Farleigh told me -"

"I won't let it happen again, pet, I promise."

"She knows it's mine, I know it, she's doing it on purpose -"

"It won't happen again."

Oliver doesn't know enough about your issue with the Arts Collective that is coming over, or whoever this specific member is that has you so upset, so he has to bide his time to get the answers he wants.

And he's not getting them from you. Clearly.

You're withdrawn during dinner. No-one else comments on it; it's like they all understand whatever it is you're going through, and only Oliver's left out of the loop. Not even Felix seems particularly worried, and that's the bit that surprised Oliver.

In the lilac study, much later, Oliver finds you in your pyjamas, sitting on the windowsill. When he asks if you're okay, you bark a humourless laugh.

"By all accounts," you give a thin-lipped smile, fidgeting with the unlit cigarette between your fingers, "I should be completely fine." It's not even close to being believable. When he sits, chin gently coming to rest on your knee as it hung down the back of the sofa, you sighed, dropping the act and lighting your cigarette. 'It's nothing," you mumbled after a moment, dropping his gaze and taking a draft of your cigarette.

"It's not nothing," Oliver assured softly. Looking up at him, the barest frown creased your brow.

"I never went through the kinds of things you had to," you admit softly, unaware of the cogs suddenly turning in Oliver's mind, "my life is," you laughed without even a hint of humour, "blessed," but the word comes out bitterly. With your free hand, you reach out to run your hand through Oliver's hair, pushing it back off of his forehead, "you don't need to worry about me, Ollie." Shame pulses through Oliver all at once, his lie weighing heavily on his consciousness. He leans into your touch, lets his eyes closed, terrified you'll see the guilt there.

"I do worry 'bout you," he pushes, voice faint and demure, his eyes still closed. He lets the words hang in the air, lets you turn them over in your mind, won't overplay his hand. There's the sound of the cigarette sizzling, then a long, deep sigh from you.

"You don't know me, Ollie."

It's strange to hear you say it, hear you finally admit it. Oliver hasn't been imagining things, you've managed to evade his attempts to genuinely get close to you. Part of him wants to scream, wants to shout well whose fucking fault is that, wants to holler with some kind of vindication. Instead, he kisses your knee, and whispers that he'd like to.

"You'll get there, I'm sure," you tell him with what he's sure is an attempt at warmth, once more carding your fingers through his hair, "spend enough time with Fi and you won't have a choice." It comes as a surprise to hear the forlorn notes in your voice. But then, as quickly as they were there, they'd disappeared, and you start telling him about the guests that would be in attendance at the dinner the following night.

"Why do you know all this if you aren't going?" He's struggling to retain any of the information you've dumped on him - whose married to who, who are the artists and who are the appreciators, the scandals each have been attached to - but it seems to come so easily to you. You're on your third cigarette when there finally comes a lull in the conversation.

"So I can tell you?" You gave him a confused little smile, but he still doesn't understand.

"But what if I wasn't going?"

"But you are," you frowned a little, confused smile becoming more forced, as if his lack of comprehension almost pains you, "why wouldn't you be?" Oliver blinks, "I always knew I wasn't going, but I always knew you would, and I -" you shrugged a little helplessly, "I know things. Now you know things." This time your grin is genuine, as if pleased to be able to help him in your own way.

"Does any of this really matter?" He doesn't mean for it to sound as blunt as it comes across, but thankfully you don't seem offended. Instead you bark a laugh, leaning back against the windowsill and casting your gaze to the navy sky outside.

"They seem to think so," you groaned, as if you'd been subjected to these people and their egos one too many times, "and they love to feel like they matter. Taking the time to know people makes them feel like they matter, at least that's how I was raised." It's a crack, the barest hint to your past that Oliver will ruminate on for days to come. He remembers very sharply how you'd blurted out that you weren't meant to matter. Slowly but surely he's piecing together a picture of your past. So far, he's not liking the image it's coming to form.

So he steers from dangerous conversational territories.

"'s that why you let Venetia talk to you the way she does?" It's not hostile or judgemental, he makes himself sound as genuine as he's able. A thoughtful hum escapes you while you keep looking out across the Estate's gardens, "like you don't mind if she's mean because you know that at least she feels good about herself around you?"

"I adore Venetia despite her sharp edges," you say softly, "and she and I both know this, but she's..." looking back to Oliver, your smile is sad as your mind drifts to Felix's sister, "insecure," voice low, you give a tired shake of your head, "if I knew how to draw lines in the sand, I'm sure she would have crossed it long before now."

"All these Cattons need to be wanted, don't they?" Oliver grins widely, leaning back and reclining on the sofa, watching you crack a genuine smile.

"Why do you think they keep me around?" You joke, but Oliver takes this moment and locks it away in his mind for further pondering, along with all the other revelations you'd afforded him. At least you look brighter when you leave then when he'd walked in. The last thing you tell him is to be punctual to the garden the following night; Elspeth thinks highly of punctuality.

"Am I not going to see you before dinner tomorrow?" Oliver frowns, also standing.

"Oh," you stall by the door, something awkward in your tone, "I'll be around at breakfast, and maybe lunch, but I'm probably not going to be much company or conversation."

The next morning, Oliver finds your words to be true. At breakfast, your gaze is glassy, your movements robotic. Pamela appears to have overslept, but Oliver seems to be the only one who even notices. There's a strange air in the house. Farleigh's more terse than usual, while Felix and Venetia seem to have glued themselves to your sides, the two of them chattering quietly between each other despite how you don't even appear to be aware of their presence.

Over lunch, you too are missing from attendance, as is Pamela once more. Elspeth spends a good portion of the meal trying to encourage her children to adopt a lighter mood. Neither cooperate with her request.

"This might be the best you get from them," Farleigh glanced at Felix and Venetia wearing near identical pouts, both focusing entirely on their lunch, "unless you're planning to surprise us all with dropping a house on the wicked bitch of the -"

"Farleigh, please," Elspeth cut him off sharply, "don't call her that." Farleigh's sharp gaze flicks to his aunt, but his mouth stays shut, "it's one night, can you please just be civil?"

"One night for her," Felix says pointedly under his breath.

Oliver is at a complete loss. Trying to think back on all the guests you'd told him about, he can't for the life of him recall which they might all be referring to. It bothers him enough that once lunch is finished, he looks for you; he'd like a little more warning if he really was to be walking into some kind of lion's den that evening. When he asks Felix, all he gets is a sighed 'study' and little else.

The study door is locked, so he knocks. On the other side, he hears a sigh.

"Go away, Ollie."

How had you known it was him? But that was a question for another time.

"I have a question about tonight -"

"I don't want to think about tonight, just go away, enjoy yourself -"

"I need to know more about the guest list; there's someone who seems to really bother Felix, Venetia, and Farleigh, but I can't remember who it could be that you told me about." He lets himself sound desperate, sound a little helpless and lost; you'd gone so far out of your way to make him feel at home here, he knew you'd -

"Um," after a moment, the door creaks open. Barely. Peering out, you don't look quite right, "it's- um, I think -"

"'re you alright?" Genuine concern wells up in him, but you pull back when he reaches out for you.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine, I'm just- fuck, Ollie, I'm high; what are you, my -" but you cut yourself off with a soft, angry swear, as if mad at yourself for reasons well beyond Oliver's understanding. Gaze unfocused, you frown deeply as you lean heavily against the doorframe. Oliver bit back further concern, taken aback by your relative hostility, "there's this curator that really gets under their skin," you recall after a moment, unable to meet his gaze, "last I checked she was about Elspeth's age; Pearl L/N."

Oliver doesn't remember you even mentioning a Pearl last night amongst all the rest of the guests.

"What's she done that's so bad?" But his words curiously cause your expression to scrunch, "do you not like her either?" You shook your head so hard you almost lost your balance; this time you don't shy away from Oliver when he holds your shoulder steady, "what'd she do?"

"She's just vapid," your voice is so small; there's so much you're not telling him in this moment, Oliver can tell, "you don't need to make her feel like she matters, she knows she does," you swallow thickly, looking at the doorframe, "but if you compliment the work of Bijou L/N in her general area I'm sure she'll jump at the chance to tell you how she sold her Aurora triptych for the same amount that her mother's first house cost." You advised bitterly, lip curling, "she loves hearing herself speak," you spat as an afterthought, immediately trying to slam the door as if you'd forgotten Oliver was even there.

Catching the door, he asks once more if you're okay, and you finally look at him, pain in your eyes like he's never seen before, tears, unspilled, turning your gaze glassy.

"I do hope you have a good night," despite the sadness in your voice, you sound sincere, and Oliver lets you close the door once more.

As he's getting himself ready for the event, Oliver finds himself musing over the information he'd gotten from you. It's no surprise the Catton siblings aren't a fan of this woman; he can't imagine they enjoy being in the presence of someone who craves the spotlight even more than either of them do.

Your advice about an early arrival paid off at least, as Oliver finds himself in the fairy garden with Elspeth in her lavender gown, as always being an incorrigible gossip. With very little genuine care for her own daughter, Elspeth's gossip finds a home amid disparaging remarks. If he carefully files Venetia's insecurities and less noticeable flaws away in the back of his mind, he does so only in case of emergency. Despite their disagreements, Felix clearly loved his sister too; how Oliver would use the information Elspeth gives him to his advantage would remain to be seen, but he reasoned it was good to have.

When finally he's given the chance to comment on Pamela - indirectly, every possibly sharp remark was wrapped in layers of silk at Saltburn - Elspeth's guilt is unmistakable. So Oliver does what he does best; he tells Elspeth exactly what she needed to hear. He drives a wedge in her memories of the woman she'd kicked out, shut the door on the guilt and the thought of return, soothing the Catton matriarch in the process. Sometimes it really was shockingly easy to make the Catton Family Players dance.

"You know it's very good of you taking Y/N the way you did," Oliver adds for good measure, "eleven years I think they said?"

"Oh," Elspeth's brow creases for just a moment as she thinks back, "I suppose it has been that long, hasn't it?" There's a faraway look in her eyes, but Oliver sees an opportunity for information you and Felix were always rather evasive about.

"I would have thought it would be strange," Oliver offers, his tone carefully neutral, but of course light, "having so many people here all the time; Y/N, Farleigh, Pamela, me. You're very generous, very kind." Elspeth gives a gracious smile at the compliment, eyes shining in the twilight. The same grace with which Felix accepts Oliver's soft spoken compliments when it's just the two of them.

"Saltburn was built for company, Oliver dear, nothing strange at all," she tells him in earnest, "James and I have always welcomed our loved ones with open arms, and I am proud to have passed that sentiment on to my darling children."

"Venetia certainly seems fond of Y/N."

Something about Elspeth's expression tightens for the barest moment, and she takes a sip of her wine with a hum that almost sounds like an agreement.

"Y/N seems to believe as much," she says with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, "and I suppose she hasn't run them off yet, though I suspect their loyalty to Felix has far more to do with that than whatever apparent kindness my daughter has afforded them."

"I'm sorry...?" Oliver tips his head to the side, confusion masking his intrigue.

"Lord knows I try not to judge my darling children and their friends, so I of course would turn a blind eye to their youthful trysts and experimentation, but really Venetia's been using the poor pet in bad taste for years now, treating them like a dog; you've seen the way she antagonises them, I can't imagine what she's like behind closed doors, nor why Y/N puts up with it!"

"You haven't tried to stop it?"

"Felix has come to me about some of the things Venetia's apparently said, but he seemed more miffed than anything, said Y/N wasn't at all bothered," Elspeth sighed, shaking her head, "I think they pity her, honestly."

"Sounds like Felix and Y/N have pretty inseperable, and you obviously care about them a lot too."

"Felix has always been wonderful at making friends," Elspeth gives a sweet smile, casting her fond gaze at Oliver for a moment, "but Y/N was this tragic, little thing; the first time they met us their parents enquired about whether James and I would like to host them for the Summer, of course I wasn't even aware I was talking to their parents when the offer was made, but Felix had taken quite a shine to them so of course we were more than happy to agree. Then," she gives such a dainty shrug, expression fond and blithe, "they called again as schools were breaking for Christmas, something about how fond Y/N had grown of us all; after that they didn't even have to call."

"So they've been coming back here all this time?"

"Oh the children would often holiday elsewhere during the break, but Y/N was almost always with Felix, wherever he was," she smiled wide, mind alight with memories of your shared youth, "their parents have always afforded us a generous stipend for allowing them to remain with us and Felix so consistently through the years, so it was never any trouble or burden to take care of them."

A long pause follows, and Oliver lets himself mull over all he'd learned, fascinated by it all. But he keeps coming back to one thought;

"You didn't know you were talking to their parents?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You said back when you and Felix first met Y/N, you hadn't known you were talking to their parents?"

"Well, no," Elspeth says, and takes a moment to think carefully about the past, about her next words, "but we were at a business event, I suppose they wanted to remain somewhat professional." Her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. There's something there, something more. Something about these memories has softened the matriarch, even more than discussing her own daughter.

"Well I know they love you," Oliver tells her, though he's only rarely heard you and Felix talking about the family, "and I know they're grateful to you, and your husband, and all you've done for them, the care you've shown." And there it is, that faraway softness, that hint of maternal love that almost looks foreign on her.

"We haven't done all that much," Elspeth admits gently, soft smile gracing her features, "just what anyone would do, I think."

"More than what their own parents did, it sounds like."

Elspeth's expression falls, her gaze dropping to her hands. She takes a long sip of her wine.

"They're lovely people, really, please don't take what I've said as any kind of inducement on them as people, I think you'd actually find them quite charming," she says, almost forcibly cheerful, "they're exuberant, fascinating people; they've been wonderful friends to myself and James for quite some time, long before we welcomed Y/N into our home, actually," she laughs a little, looking back up, apparently having shaken her just moments ago, "I will say it was quite the surprise to find out they had a child just the same age as Felix." It's an evasive answer, one Oliver doesn't want to let her get out of but doesn't quite know how to turn the conversation back. The silence is not uncomfortable, but Oliver is still grateful that it's Elspeth that breaks it once more.

"He's never been particularly fond of them," Elspeth somehow gives him an in without Oliver even needing to pry further. Her tone is dismissive, like her son's distaste is simply childish, "but Felix has always been loyal," she smiles warmly once more after shaking her head, "I really do think you'll like them; so much of Y/N comes from them."

"I'll like them?" Oliver frowned with confusion, to which Elspeth nodded, reiterating the sentiment, "you think I'll meet them?"

"Of course, darling, they're coming to dinner tonight," she shakes her head after a beat, seemingly correcting herself, "well, their darling mother. She was at Oxford with James, studying Art History, if I do recall -" but she's cut short as Duncan announces the arrival of the first guests, and Elspeth stands, smiles, slipping comfortably into the role of the perfect hostess.

Oliver feels like he almost understands. Like he's right on the edge of putting all the pieces together. There's too much new information, too many social rules he still doesn't know; part of your discomfort was almost definitely related to your mother being here, and that vapid curator Felix hated -

"You are going to need this," Farleigh presses a glass of champagne into Oliver's hands. He seems more irate than usual, but unusually, it doesn't seem to be directed at Oliver. As the guests begin to filter in, they stand side-by-side at the edge of the garden. Farleigh looks like he belongs there, long and elegant, hand in his pocket and his own champagne glass poised delicately in his grip as he glowered at the others.

"Not a fan of the Arts Collective either?" Oliver enquires, carefully taking a sip.

"Tell me that isn't Fredrika's boy!" Comes a call from across the garden, and Farleigh plasters on a smile as he nods and tips his glass to the gentleman who'd gleefully identified him. They both hear him exclaim to some others he was with, "look how tall he's gotten!" But thankfully the man makes no move towards them, choosing instead to blatantly discuss Farleigh, and-or his mother, with little regard for the man himself.

"They've always been kind to my mother," it's the most diplomatic and genuine Oliver's pretty sure Farleigh's ever been while speaking to him. Still, his discomfort does not seem to ease.

"So I suppose there's just a few bad apples then," Oliver muses, "Y/N warned me about Pearl." It takes several seconds of silence for Oliver to finally give Farleigh his full attention. There's a curious look in his eyes, one Oliver hadn't quite been expecting.

"Did they?" He says very carefully.

"The woman sounds like a pain," Oliver says easily, trying his best to ignore the sudden strange vibe that has picked up around them, "but I assumed all these rich folks have an ego on them, so she must be some kind of something since they barely mentioned their own mother and I know they're not fond of her either."

"You are an idiot," Farleigh looks like he can't even believe the words coming out of Oliver's mouth. There's that lost feeling again, like everyone knows some kind of secret that he's not allowed to, like they all want to keep dancing around the truth, afraid of giving him real answers. Farleigh shakes his head in disbelief, an unsettling, quiet anger in his eyes, "you are a fucking idiot -"

"Oh my god, wow!" Comes a bright voice from far closer than Oliver had been expecting, "I'm getting flashbacks, Elle, are you getting flashbacks? Doesn't he look just like Freddie making that face?" Farleigh, beside Oliver, freezes.

When Oliver turns, he sees Elspeth approaching him with a painfully familiar woman on her arm, saying that this is the one I was telling you about; Oliver -

Oliver recognises your mother by her smile. It lights up her whole face, so comforting, so warm and full of affection as her gaze lingers on him.

"Oh, Oliver, I'm sure you're darling, but I must say hello to Freddie's youngling," she enthuses with a laugh. Farleigh looks like his body is three seconds away from engaging in some kind of fight or flight response.

"I see you remember Farleigh, my nephew," Elspeth points out, and the woman wraps Farleigh up in a hug that he does not reciprocate.

"Of course," she gleefully identifies, and Farleigh makes an uncomfortable noise to the affirmative. When she lets him go, she doesn't do so entirely, holding him at arm's length for a moment as she looks him over, "you are such a marvel, darling, every time I see you!" Glancing over her shoulder at Elspeth, she wears a charmingly teasing smile, "never tell James that his sister got all the good genes," and Elspeth, despite the backhanded compliment, seems only endeared by this woman's antics. Finally she lets Farleigh go, stepping back and continuing to size him up, sparkle of mirth in her eyes, "how is your mother, darling?"

"Elsewhere," Farleigh answers shortly.

"Of course, is she still in New York?"

"For the time being," it seems to be enough for her for now, letting him go. Then, she turns her attention onto Oliver, letting Elspeth make the introduction.

"And this is Oliver, a dear friend of my Felix's who's staying with us for the Summer," Elspeth rests a warm hand on Oliver's shoulder, but the woman forgoes propriety to also hug Oliver tightly.

"Oh wonderful to meet you, Oliver - Ollie, can I call you Ollie? Do they call you Ollie?" She says as he awkwardly hugs her back, running on autopilot. Oliver makes some kind of noise, he's sure, but apparently your mother takes that as an affirmative. Pulling back, she smiles with such genuine warmth it's almost jarring to think about what he knows of her, "oh Ollie, so lovely to have you here, it's so good to see beautiful, bright, fresh faces as fans of the arts; you are a fan of the arts, I take it?"

"I suppose," he offers awkwardly, to which your mother gives a laugh. It doesn't sound like laughter should, there's something a little mean about it, something condescending.

"Darling boy you're with the Arts Collective, at Saltburn of all places; one would think to do their research before attending an event such as this -"

"Wine and cheese in the garden were we get high -?" Farleigh's snide aside that hopefully only Oliver hears as he mutters it under his breath is cut off by Oliver's quick apology.

"It's my first Summer here; I'm a fan of the arts but I thought it would be best to set expectations low considering the calibre of guest. I'm not much of an artist but that doesn't hinder my appreciation," he bullshits quickly, and your mother's eyes light up, taking the bait entirely.

"Nice save," Farleigh mutters under his breath while your mother all but swooned at Oliver's humility.

"Oh! Then I do apologise, dear, I'm glad to have you here, glad to see not all hope is lost for the youth," she shook her head with a fond exasperation, "your friend Felix has never taken much interest unfortunately," she chuckles, "one of his very few flaws, I'm afraid."

"I'm also friends with Y/N," Oliver adds quickly, and immediately feels Farleigh's hand on the small of his back, voice in his ear - don't.

"Sorry darling, I don't know who that is," your mother sounds completely and utterly sincere; nothing in her smile or her body language betrays it as a lie. Despite Farleigh's warning, Oliver pushes.

"Your kid, Y/N," he can feel Farleigh actually grabbing onto the hem of his jacket, voice a snarl now - stop.

"Ollie, dear, I don't have any children," she says with what appears to be complete earnestness. Oliver blinks quickly, stepping back, faintly apologising.

"Sorry, I must have gotten some wires crossed," he says weakly.

"Are you feeling alright?" She puts her hand to his forehead, sweet concern written all over her face. God, she looks so much like you, he really thought - "can we get darling Ollie some water?" She snaps her fingers at one of the servers insistently, rudely, directing Oliver to sit down. He did so, and Farleigh took a seat next to him, wrapping an arm around Oliver's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," Oliver hears himself speak almost automatically, "I don't think I caught your name." Immediately the woman's expression morphs into a pantomime of apology, offering her hand.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so used to being known at these things - god, listen to me I must sound like I have such an ego, sorry, Ollie, darling," the woman's smile reeks of practiced perfection, "I'm Pearl L/N." Everything stops for a very long few moments as Oliver shakes her hand and processes this news. He blinks a few times, and Pearl laughs airily in the twilight, "oh, maybe he does know me; look," she tips her head to Elspeth, "the boy's starstruck." He's liking her less and less and the moments go on; he can see exactly what the others' problem is with her.

"Sorry, Pearl L/N?" Quickly retracting his hand, he tries to remember what you'd told him mere hours ago, "are you the same Pearl L/N who managed to sell Bijou L/N's Aurora's to..." he trails off, having no actual idea of where the paintings had gone, but banking on what you told him about Peal enjoying the sound of her own voice. As anticipated, she looks frankly delighted, throwing her head back as an uncannily familiar laugh echoes from her. In his peripheries, he sees the approving look Elspeth is giving him.

"My word, yes, they're still up at The Met," she tells him, "I suspect it will be a cold day in hell before they're taken down; they paid more than my mother paid for the house she painted them in."

"Your mother -?"

"I'll take care of him," Farleigh cuts him off with a cold smile to Pearl. It's enough to distract the woman, who coos fondly.

"Oh you really are Freddie's, she must be so proud of the man you are, Farleigh."

Farleigh gives a jerky nod, robotically thanking her for the compliment, and she swans away to greet some of the others who've just arrived.

"Sorry, I thought... she just reminded me so much of Y/N," Oliver mumbled. Farleigh extracts his arm from around Oliver's shoulders, something dangerous in his eyes as he watches the woman, now talking and laughing and socialising with such exuberance and ease.

"You are a fucking idiot," Farleigh bites out venomously, not even looking at Oliver. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest. They both watch for a moment as Pearl takes the arm of another guest, coaxing them and the group they're with to sit over on the picnic bench.

"Can you stop calling me that if you're not going to tell explain to me why?" Oliver finally snaps back, turning to level a glare at the tall gentleman beside him. Farleigh meets his unimpressed look with one of his own, gazing into his eyes as if his next words were of the utmost importance.

"Why exactly do you think that Y/N L/N has a problem with Pearl L/N?"

Oliver feels like a fucking idiot. All the pieces are finally in place, and the picture, Oliver realises, is much bleaker than he'd realised.

Farleigh looks back at the picnic table. The general chatter has died down now, and it seemed that catching up between members of the collective was in order. But his focus was captivated by the woman with your smile. Your mother. Everything familiar about her started to make his skin itch. Everything about you started to make a lot more sense.

There was an effortlessness to how she dazzled the collective, pouring affectionate praise onto the artists as they shared their creativity and triumph, offering support and suggestion to other curators and appreciators like herself who found themselves looking for advice.

Charming, exuberant, fascinating, just as Elspeth had told him she's be. Oliver just remembers hearing you weep about how, in the eleven years since you'd been welcomed into Saltburn, she'd never once asked about you.

"I'm in talks with the Vatican about doing a documentary on the Sistine Chapel," Pearl tell the collective airily when it's finally her turn to share. Chin in one hand, the other picking at the statue at the back of the table that's just behind her, Oliver remembers the argument you'd had with Elspeth just yesterday, "but it's been such a runaround," she groaned, reaching up for one of the stone seeds the sculpture was trying to eat, "so many legal meetings and all this red tape; I've got a meeting with the pope and several high ranking members of the clergy to see if I can get their blessing and bypass all this nonsense. I swear Michaelangelo would be rolling in his grave if he knew the effort one must put in nowadays to appreciate his work." A meeting with the fucking pope?

"Pope Benedict the Sixteenth?" Elspeth says with disbelief, the gaggle of women scattered around the garden echoing the sentiment.

"Has there been another one instated while I wasn't looking?" Pearl smiles, teasing edge to her tone that's uncomfortably familiar, but then there's a faint crack, and she looks up guiltily. Or at least, she looks exactly the way a guilty person should look.

"Darling, you do that every time," Elspeth laughs lightly, while the woman puts the stone seed down on the table before her.

"Surely it hasn't been that many times," she responded, though Farleigh's voice is in Oliver's ear.

"That's the third."

"Fine, let me get you another one," the woman offers, "a proper nymph for this darling little fairy garden, something pretty and fitting, not this..." She looks up at the statue, at the myth of Persephone gleefully eating what seeds are left, at the figure with your unmistakable likeness, "strange, sad little thing," she laughs, before adding that the garden itself was beautiful, and that Elspeth had to get her in contact with the landscape artist. Elspeth, surprisingly, suggests that they should head inside since it was swiftly approaching dinner.

Felix and Venetia are already sitting at the table, a mostly empty bottle of wine on the table between them, both cups far less than full. Farleigh takes the seat opposite Felix, and pulls Oliver down to sit across from Venetia. Neither of the siblings speak, but both are looking at Farleigh as if they can divine some secret message from his wordless expression alone.

"No, I take it back," Pearl's voice fills the dining room, drawing all attention as the others filled in around her. The way she's looking at Felix and Venetia is so painfully endeared; if Oliver didn't know any better, he'd say their glares in her direction were cruel, "Elle, I think Cattons are just cursed to have beautiful children," sighing with a teasing, faux disappointment to Elspeth as she passes behind the siblings to take her seat, she greets them both warmly.

"Children," Elspeth prompts, sharp look in her eyes like she's embarrassed by their lack of grace, both Venetia and Felix nod in greeting, her name coming out as a robotic mumble.

"How lovely are they," Pearl sits, fawning over the Catton siblings to the other guests, who all chatter in faint agreement. As expected, however, Oliver finds he can hear Pearl's voice over all the others, even though she sat herself across from Elspeth, at the other end of the table, "Elle, really I'm in endless awe of you and James, Saltburn has never looked so spectacular as it does under your care, I'm sure my home would go to ruin if Andreas and I ever attempted having a child, let alone raising one half as lovely as you've managed; twice!"

"Pearl," Elspeth told her, voice loud enough that it too carried, "I'm sure that if you had a child, they would be -"

"Oh you're just being kind, Elle, don't waste your breath on hypotheticals."

Across the table, Felix looks like he's about to cry.

Oliver feels... unexpectedly hollow. Every word Pearl speaks reminds him of the state he'd seen you in that afternoon.

"I hate her," Venetia snarls, loud enough for only the four at the end to have heard. There's something about this moment, looking at the siblings and their cousin so completely united against this common enemy, that finally makes Oliver realise and believe just how deeply they all cared for you. Even Farleigh was regarding him in solidarity.

Somehow Pearl still hadn't noticed the black cloud that hung over the other end of the table, or perhaps after eleven years she was used to ignoring it. At least the rest of the collective didn't seem too bothered by it, making bright conversation amongst themselves and leaving the furious youth to stew in their collective anger.

"Why didn't you tell me Pearl was your mum?" Oliver heads immediately to the lilac study. The door opens right as he's about to knock, like you'd heard him coming; you look better than you had that afternoon, but his words have your expression falling.

"I'm sure she didn't see it necessary to tell you I'm her child either," you snapped back, hostile. Oliver goes quiet. You crossed your arms, gaze dropping to the ground, "exactly."

"I don't know you," voice faint, Oliver steps back. Finally it starts to hit him, everything that's happened, everything he'd learned and witnessed and heard. The ache begins in his chest and blooms as he looks at you and tries to reconcile all he now knows. How had he not realised that in all the time you'd spent together, you'd never even given him your last fucking name? "I don't know who you are."

"I don't owe anyone anything -"

"Especially not yourself, right?" Oliver cuts you off, at war with himself when he sees the hurt in your eyes. Still, he can't stand by and let you talk like this, let you become a secondary character in your own damn life, "don't owe yourself the chance to believe that someone cares about you, wants to know you, to make you feel like you matter? I want to know you, I want to I love you," the words sound so raw, and he aches, shudders with each deep breath in, "but there is something wrong with you."

There was no anger in your eyes when you'd closed the door, nor any kind of betrayal. Oliver wonders if that would have been easier to stomach than the guilt, the look of apology. You agreed; you believed he was right. Regret begins to claw at his gut the moment he stumbles back, towards his room; he should have waited, given himself time to think, to process before going to you. Fuck, he really shouldn't have gone to you knowing the state you were in.

Oliver is hollow with want, despite his outburst, desperate to be close to you. But there's no way he can come back from this tonight. All he has is the people who care about you. If Oliver had learned one thing tonight, it was the Catton children and their cousin all did love you, each in their own way.

And Venetia Catton was smoking outside his window in a see-through nightgown.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick smut #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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tearskillstardust · 2 months

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🐚 GOLDEN INSIGNIA... neuvillette

— summary; it is never wise to find yourself at the shores during evenings, but when little neuvillette does, what happens to leave him pondering?

— third person pov. fem! reader. reader implied to be the mermaid.

neuvillette had always been most beautiful, even as a child.

such was his beauty and innocence that women would look at him and giggle gently, speaking to his mother in a hushed, secretive yet a mischievous voice nonetheless—

'what did you eat during your pregnancy to have such a beautiful son? beware, should our guilty minds ever bear the thought of stealing him away!'

all while little neuvillette remained in pure bliss as he explored the world, scenery upon scenery revealing to him like a rose bud blooming open. he was just as curious in those younger years, always flittering as he found another scenery or trinket to marvel at.

perhaps his most vivid memory remains from centuries ago, when he could still enjoy the innocence of childhood, and could bear to truly smile without the slightest display of any form of restraint.

the sea had been most welcoming, loud and bright in its frolicking beauty as it attempted to touch the sky. the sky was still a bright shade of yellow, though even then he knew what a pretence it was. a few hours in—and it would fall again, yellow to red to black, until no shade was left and it turned yellow again.

seashells lined the shore, their surfaces beaming like faux pearls as neuvillette followed them. otters always sunbathed at these times, for they knew no human would be sufficiently relaxed to venture to these parts of the beach. they never minded children—nobody did, especially one so calm and ethereal as him.

it was then that he, lost in the pearly beauty of a shell, raised his head to behold the most striking sight he had ever seen. a sight that would never repeat, not in his life that stretched centuries—a young mermaid.

she was half within the sea and half on the sand, softly tugging at her long midnight shaded hair, picking out clams and shells that seemed as stars against her hair as she tossed them aside with a huff. while neuvillette would have loved to object the ease with which she deemed all those pretty shells useless, the gleam of her silver scales and bright eyes was one that left him staring.

the jewels adorning her body gleamed brightly under the dying sun's soft sunlight, compelling him further to move closer to the girl. she seemed lost in her own world, without any care as she moved out to take an otter in her lap.

it was rude to stare—and perhaps the only rude thing the child had ever done in his life, or would grow up to do, but such was his trance that it did not break until she turned, eyes widening like a deer caught under headlights.

they maintained eye contact.

none flinched as the otter scurried away.

she gestured him to come closer.

neuvillette moved with great difficulty—steps feeling heavy against the sand, perhaps the ocean was pulling him away from what could be deemed as the ocean's innocent treasure. he was no pirate though—one look and he would be gone, poof into the air!

at least, he thought so.

the beautiful mermaid turned towards him fully, and catching the doe-like look of her features, he relieved himself from worry. she was naïve, at least this much he knew. stopping a safe distance before the beautiful girl, he gazed down at her before bowing softly, like a gentleman.

'pleased to make your acquaintance, lady.'

she looked at him up and down, before curiously placing her thin tipped finger against her rosy lips.

'i'm no lady, though.'

he nodded, as though it was common sense. 'i can see that. you're a mermaid.'

she giggled, as though a joke had been cracked. 'no silly! i'm a girl, i mean!'

he maintained his serenity before nodding gently, though it came off more as being uninterested to the young nymph, making her even more interested.

'you seem quite young yourself. are you a boy? a human boy?'

he tilted his head slightly, 'why? boys of other races come to meet you too?'

her eyes widened, as though he had uttered a secret that must not have been shared before she pressed her index finger tightly against her lips, telling him to maintain silence.

she gestured him to bring his ear, as he reluctantly did so, still distrusting of the mysterious girl.

'don't mention boys in front of the ocean! my father can hear it, and he doesn't like it when i talk to human boys!'

'you talk to other human boys?' he wasn't sure where that came from.

'can i not?'

he shrugged, 'it's not safe.'

she smiled. 'that's why i do it.'

for a moment, both remained silent. the boy regarded the mermaid, the mermaid regarded the boy.

he finally sat next to her, picking up a precious shell that caught his eye. white from the outside with a rainbow like tint to its surface, there seemed to be an insignia of sorts on its inside portion, golden in shade. the insides darkened further from white to grey to black until it all came together to swirl at its tip, symmetrically folding.

'pretty.' he said, admiring the symmetrical shell.

the mermaid smiled, in her similar playful manner, always appearing as though she knew a secret that you don't. neuvillette was immune to such acts of seduction, lest should he fall prey to their tendencies. however, this one seemed... too manipulatable for her own good.

she spoke softly, 'you're very pretty, too.'

'so are you,' he said, before rising, deciding the encounter was more than enough time pass. 'i'll get going now—'

'you're going?' she asked, voice surprisingly desperate.

he nodded in confusion, 'any problems?'

she regarded him for a moment, before sighing and looking towards the sand with a sad look. 'i don't have anyone to speak to down there... you're the only human boy who's as young as i am.'

'it's not safe for humans and mermaids to interact. besides, you're better off protecting yourself from selfish eyes.' he said, slowly backing away with the shell in his hand.

'you're going to take that shell too?' she asked, gaze suddenly displaying a wild possessiveness.

the sun had hidden now, the ocean turning pitch black, the shade of the sky. where the mermaid sat, it glowed with a strange sparkle, reminiscent of the stars that were reflected in the ocean's infinite waters. her own eyes seemed to glow with an eerie light.

'no, you can keep it if you'd like—'

'no.' she was quick to say, as she slowly inched towards the ocean water once again, leaving behind a trail of dust. she broke eye contact with him—never even turning once before her midnight hair pooled just above her waist and her irises hid behind the pale of her lids.

she suddenly twisted her neck, facing him with an expression suggestive only of complete autocracy, suddenly shifting from a mermaid to a queen ordering her subject, voice deep and rich with melody as she spoke—

'do not separate it from yourself even once.'

and while young neuvillette had never been good at following orders, a queen was better off when listened to compared to when she was not. pocketing the shell and staring at the ripple of the water's surface as she disappeared as swiftly as she came, he turned away too.

and as he climbed the rocks lining the sea beach to return to the city, he wondered to himself—how likely was it for a natural golden insignia to form on a shell?

even now he wonders, as he looks over at the ocean, churning loudly with the essence of salt and melancholy. he ensures the shell is hidden from the common eye within the deeper layers of his coats, but the one who ought to see, sees it nonetheless.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette #neuvilette #neuvilette genshin #neuvillete x reader #genshin fluff #mermaid!au #mermaid!reader

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ladythornofrivia · 4 months

Text

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Seven)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: lady greenstar’s ceremony is all but merry, and the offer that could change the course of her life forever.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, obsession, reader is neutral; neither a green or black supporter, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

a/n: sorry it took forever to write the chapter! It’s finally here! Woo! Reader’s backstory is finally revealed! Woo! If you enjoy, please leave a comment.

Chapter Seven: The Price of Heart

On the proclamation from the Iron Throne, King Viserys granted a ceremony and anointed a young maiden to unite both factions, Blacks and Greens, and renamed her as Lady Greenstar, a star that befell and shook the cores of Westeros, to which have known for causing disruption and awakened in the realm.

Apart from previous accomplishment on saving Princess Helaena and Prince Jacaerys, Lady Greenstar, a newcomer to Westeros, has its gaze is as deadly as a thorn. Upon a gaze of a maiden, men’s hearts fickle in delight, and women’s hearts enraged with fright. And among others, she is nothing but an air of mystery, but her appearance is no more than averagely simple and unimpressive (claimed by Mushroom). Lady Greenstar, whose maiden name is unknown, the time of Viserys’s reign may have yet to be remain, as Lady Greenstar is in an absolute self-merry and encourage the nobles and commoners alike to a celebrate at her unimportant arrival at a tedious ceremony.

~Your POV~

The nightmare hadn’t stopped.

You want to destroy—set ablaze everything into ashes.

In a soundless blight rising in your chest, you managed to gather yourself in the midst of ceremony. You wanted to scream. Heating anger risen within you; you are nowhere near happy with the proceedings. You just wanted to go home, anticipated that this no more than a fever dream, a weirdly filter episodic moment that is meant to be unseen.

Unable to gaze upon the crowd, despite your head is held high, your roundish headpiece wrapped atop your tucked hairstyle; your hairline styled and slicked back, yet your longish manes flowed and adorned your figure, clad in a floor length ivory gown, your arms heavies a wide bishop sleeves, but your forearms are fitted, ends of your v-pointed sleeves rested on the back of your hands. Your bodice, from bust to waist, the ivory corset is encrusted in pearls and gold embroidery, aligned and patterned with black and green stones as your long skirts in mermaid-shaped flowing, not strictly.

Bowing to Blacks and Greens, the ever so watchful gazes on the crowd are perplexed, yet so many spectators are grateful for your deeds. Some women’s gaze directly lanced at your direction with envy, perhaps displeasure of King Viserys’s announcement. As for men, however, it’s unreadable for you, but with unknown gazes may have yet proceed to either have notable rancor or the deepest of illest intentions.

In Westeros, you knew that you could trust no man. For now, trusting the Targaryens is your only option, a sole bargain, a wager to your existence. Nothing has ever come to simple or as festive. All you wanted was to stay in the sidelines, watching the events unfold, not to be a part of one. The real question is: who sent you here, and what was the real purpose? Of course not, you’re just a simple and honest modern woman—or at least what anyone thought of your outward appearance, which prevailed by the designed precision of Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra’s plan of softening image.

You weren’t meant to be here.

The scream emerged.

All eyes snapped away from your direction. One man grabbed—dragged away and pointed it’s knife at Princess Helaena’s throat at the centered floor, the guards had their swords up, as one of them demanded for the man to release the princess.

“None should accept a woman as a knight on the throne,” the man spattered, yellow teeth gleaming, his voice grating with delight, continuing to drag the princess away bit by bit.

“Mother,” Helaena pleaded quietly, the knife pressed onto her ivory skin, trying not to flail.

“It’s either the cause for the great nobles, or the cause of the war.”

Alicent is frightened for her daughter’s fate.

And so, you watched, palm clenched and unclenched. Hands behind your back, your body veiled with a silver sparkling cloak, but one hand seized the spare knife—your knife you had in your clutched purse, moving with caution as you descend the steps without anyone spotting your intentions.

“Let her go,” you said, before turning your eyes to theirs.

Soothe the realm.

The men flabbergasted at your appeased state. “What?”

“Did I stutter,” you said, ambling, the cloak floated a little. “You’re ruining the King’s celebration. Do you want to be executed? You’re in the presence of Targaryens.”

“I won’t lay rest until I see no woman standing beside the Iron Throne. I won’t serve by the likes of you!”

Shaking your head as you said, “Who said it’s about me?”

The man uttered no response but a heaving breath, near Helaena, furrowed with concern.

Unblinking, your head tilted to the side. “You want me, right?”

The man carefully laid his eyes on you.

“You don’t want the princess,” you resumed, drew nearer. “You want me.”

Soothe the realm.

Your eyes indicated to one of the guards to hold him down, but none succeeded on reading your body language. Looking at your side, Queen Alicent’s widened eyes glazed with warning, a reminder to soften the image. Prince Aemond still abide, his violet eye gleamed, his eye stated something more, wanting more of the anticipation of what you’ll do next.

“Let her go, and I’ll give you what you want,” you negotiated.

“What makes you think I could negotiate with such a pathetic woman?”

“Because I’m not a liar,” you declared, hand stretched. “Release her.”

After moments of hesitation, Princess Helaena has been freed into your arms, shaking. You lightly shoved her towards Alicent as you walked onward without looking elsewhere.

And before you knew it, a knife stabbed behind your belly.

The gasps ensued as the fight broke out, leaving the Blacks and Greens emerged with apprehension, still safe and guarded.

Turning around, the knife you held plunged into the backstabber’s throat, but missed—instead it became a slight deep scratch on the cheek and his hand smacked against your cheekbone. Falling down, you pulled yourself back up again and knocked him out unconscious and rushed to Helaena’s side again and escorted her out, leaving the guards to assign fate to the intruders.

The fate became crueler; the man separated you and Helaena, shoving Helaena aside the intruder hooked you by the arms, trapped. When another opponent came, you lifted yourself in the air, and punted the opponent’s chest with both of your feet, leaving you and the large man collapsed. Rolling back, you gathered yourself again and escorted Helaena back at the corridor.

A young boy screamed—Prince Lucerys—his arm being yanked through the crowd. Briskly, you aid to their side, shoving the crowd apart, you casted your cloak—aiming at the foe, and lanced the man’s neck, trails of blood exploded, smearing the young prince’s face and placed him back Rhaenyra’s side.

A tall figure suddenly shielded you; the knife flew at your direction; Aemond deflected the attempted shot with his spare dagger. Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra rushed altogether—guards protected all and ushered back into the corridor, leaving you breathless.

The pain has been numbed due to the shock implanted.

Far back at the pillar, you watched Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanging with altercation while you find yourself leaning on the stoned pillar with your left hand clutched your bleeding waist beneath the white dress.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Rhaenyra stated in shaky breath.

“Of course not,” Alicent seethed. “King Viserys should’ve thought of bringing Lady Greenstar to the Iron Throne to soothe the realm before the commotion erupts.”

“I hadn’t known,” Rhaenyra argued back, cradling Lucerys in her arms.

“You did this. Lady Greenstar warned that this would happen. A private ceremony should’ve been suffice.”

“We need Lady Greenstar to unite both factions—father suggested to that.”

“Your ideas may influence others, but you’ll never influence with me from the misguidance of your indulgence.”

“I have made no declarations and decisions—it is my father who has done it so!”

Bellows of altercation continued as Prince Jaecerys stood nearby you, given you an awkward tight-lipped expression with his hands laid rest upfront.

Blacks and Greens watched two ladies quarreled with venom as your chest heaving. Gazing below onto your hand, the gold ring sparked on your fourth finger; you brought it up to your lips and kissed it.

Everything will be alright, a gentle voice reminded.

Lidded eyes hazed as the hand placed on your back shoulder; Princess Helaena walked over to your side and consoled you with diminutive smile.

Instead of returning the offer, you patted Helaena’s hand your half-lidded eyes in a suggestion that everything is alright. The concentration in your mind has been misplaced that Helaena began to tie your strands to tiny braids. You’ve inspected everyone. So far, it went smoothly—you’ve found no wounds, but when your eyes meet Green sons, your head inclined to a subtle bow. While Prince Aegon bowed back with his smugness, Prince Aemond is as elegant and unreadable. His eye still lay onto you as you faced back, watching the princess and the queen.

Altercations and debate went ongoing.

The aggravating pain hadn’t ceased.

“Stop,” you groaned.

The abrasion struck you so hard that you let a long groan, your head hung back, relied on a cold pillar.

“Lady Greenstar,” Jacaerys said.

“I’m fine,” you assured, eyes watery. “I’m fine.”

Daemon, no doubt, is suspicious. Shielding Helaena with your might, you held onto her spare hand.

The quarrel wasn’t far from over as you sauntered, the belly scorched again, pinching your nerves and coiled your stomach to a point of punishment you couldn’t withstand.

The cough unleashed, veiling the spots of blood.

Someone…

And collapsed onto your knees, trembling with cold sweat, fell onward.

“Lady Greenstar,” Jacaerys called aloud, as he caught you into arms, soon follow by your feet, your body weakened, slipped away.

“You’re safe now,” you said, darting at Aemond, offering him your sweetest expression laid on your lips.

Gradually, your eyes fluttered with slow blinks, choking. Then your vision faded to nothing.

~Aemond’s POV~

“My Queen, Lady Greenstar has collapsed,” Criston announced.

Queen Alicent and Lady Rhaenyra halted, and veered back to your lifeless body in Jacaerys’s arms.

Both women’s anger replaced with fear. “No…” Rhaenyra uttered.

“Take her to the Maester at this instant. We can’t afford to lose her,” Alicent ordered.

All the while, Aemond, the king’s second son, is devastated, powerless and hopeless as the life slipped between your parted lips. Piqued as he was eyeing on the golden ring rested on your fourth finger.

~Your POV~

What the hell was that?

“The life flashes before your eyes,” it said.

Your head snapped to the noise.

“Poor little woman, who’s life has been tormented one after the other,” a voice rang into your ears in a darkened void. “A life of a woman is no ordinary, but will soon be free.”

“Who are you?”

“My, you’re just a thing of beauty. A shame that comes price with it—ever so ethereal but with a demonic spirit residing in you since your childhood, all but bad luck,” it taunted. “You have killed and tortured the mundane, both men and women, especially in your days where you were trying to save your dying lover—born a thief and a liar—the evil men have taught you well.”

“What the hell do you want?”

“I want to make an offer, an offer to which it might entice you. Right now, your very soul is on the bridge between life and death.”

“I know that!”

“Of course you knew. But you didn’t believe that we exist.”

“All are anything but real.”

The voice’s rang into your ears with its taunting laugh. “But if you wish to remain alive and well, I offered you choices, one which the cost of your life to be rekindled. One which you cannot turn your back into—and I offer you this; stay in Westeros and serve the realm, serve the dynasty and find a new purpose and bond. Even if it means of forgetting your dead lover. Or, the Gods will offer a sweet and merciful death—your pathetic and tragic life will soon meet its end and face your maker.”

“I want to go home,” you objected.

“Going home is no longer an option; if you go there, chances are your death will be as quickly repulsive and vile; death is near at your doorstep as soon as your consciousness blurred.”

“What do you mean?”

“The men from your former clan are hunting you down. They have found you. You thought running away from a syndicate after burning everything to ashes would be simple.”

“Why Westeros? Why send me there? Who sent me here?”

“Those questions are irrelevant; time is ticking.”

“At what cost?”

“The price you’ll pay, it’s either your eyes, ear or mouth. Or I will decide for you.”

Goosebumps flooded over you, heart struck with quiver.

“I can’t,” you whimpered. “I can’t!” Fell onto the ground, hands veiled your face, walls you’ve built tarnished as your cries echoed through the void, cried longer than you should’ve.

“Sweet summer child,” it cooed. “Time is running short. The elder man of Hightower wants to burn your body.”

Another shiver ran.

“I know everything. Submit yourself to me, and I shall grant the desire—the offer I gave you—your life will start anew. What do we say to the God of Death?”

“Not today.”

“Good!” the voice rang, enchant. “I knew you have come to made your decision.”

The green light sprang and ran into your heart—your voice reached high into bellows and wails. Nails digging into your chest firmly, nails dragged with blood, already on the floor, knees on your chest. Ears rang in high-pitched noise; ears bleed as nose, and mouth drained in red flow, crying in agony.

“Don’t worry, child, you’ll soon meet the fate that you’ve been longing for,” it said. “You’ll find your purpose here. The history of Fire & Blood, alongside yours, will be rewritten.”

In that moment, you knew the unknown being wasn’t lying.

Taglist: @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @taintedlovesworld @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @herathedreamer @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @nananeptune @domithebomi @moonseye @valeskafics @faesspace @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @popsycles @naiaaramena @aleemendoza2425-blog @letmehavemyfictionalmen @aracelipf @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @wolfdressedinlace @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @jmii722 @colored-tr-panels @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216

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muddyorbsblr · 4 months

Text

slipping between future and past [SAS secret santa 2023]

View the full SAS Secret Santa 2023 Masterlist here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: You give your friend a few pointers on what to know about Yule, and come across a familiar looking stranger in your bookstore.

Pairing: Loki x Reader/OC Talia Williams

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers, please leave I'm asking nicely); unprotected p in v sex; cunnilingus; magical restraints; language; possibly wonky interpretation of time travel & timeslipping; possibly wonky understanding of Yule [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship; still written in 2nd Person POV like my other 'x Reader' stories, but this time Reader has a name and it's "Talia Williams"; this is a secret santa request for @acidcasualties

Dick-tionary: smut starts at "the feel of your hands being brought" and ends at "as he marked your skin"

It was uncharacteristically slow today in the bookstore, barely a handful of people walking in, browsing for a few minutes, and then promptly exiting when they see that you didn't carry the middle school dystopia book series all the kids were raving over. It was a colossal waste of their time and yours, considering there would have been less effort had they just taken even a cursory look at the sign by the door.

You didn't carry children's books. Classics, Myths, and Romance only.

Of the number of people that walked through the doors that you could count on your two hands, you could only count those that actually made a purchase with one. Half of one.

The sound of the door chimes brought your attention to the entrance again, seeing your friend Ariadne bounding into the front area of the store with a frantic look in her eye. "Talia," she panted, headed straight for you. "Babes, I need your help. Are you busy? You got a customer back there?"

"Nope. Just me," you called out, stepping out from behind the counter. "What's wrong? What do you need?"

"Okay so…you know that guy I'm seeing?"

"Uhh…I think so? Lee, right?"

"Leif. Think trees, Babes. Anyways, he wants me to meet his family and apparently they're super into the ancient Norse traditions, so I need a crash course on how they celebrate Christmas." She paced back and forth by the table that held the New York Times bestsellers that you did hold stock for, picking up a copy of the stalker dark romance duology. "His sister likes to read, you think she'll appreciate this?"

You immediately rushed over to her, grabbing the book and nearly slamming it back down on the stack. "You gotta let them crawl before they walk. Let alone sprint," you explained, giving her Beautiful Bastard instead. "This should be a good enough in between, just in case she's not into guns being shoved up anyone's vagina--"

Up where?! she shrieked, grabbing the first book again, along with the sequel and the book you were handing her. "Okay I'll take that for his sister, and these two for me."

"This is exactly why we're friends," you quipped, ringing up her order. "Now about that other thing…you do know that just because I own a bookshop, it doesn't mean that I know everything about everything, right?"

She rolled her eyes at you. "Yeah, but I also know that you live for all these myths and folk tales, so I bet you know a thing or two about Viking Christmas."

"Alright fine. Find a chair and settle in," you said with an overly dramatic wave of your hand. "First things first, it's not called 'Viking Christmas', it's called 'Yule'. Immediately if you wanna get on his family's good side, you say Good Yule because it shows that you did at least a customary Google search before you stepped foot on their property." You handed her a small notepad and a pencil. "You're gonna wanna write this down."

When her scribbling down stopped, she perked up with a question. "Do they have a Santa Claus?"

"Yes and no," you answered her, prepping two cups of coffee and handing one over to her before plopping down on your own seat in the reading nook, your favorite one in the entire shop. "Santa Claus is what we call who the Brits refer to as 'Father Christmas'. The Brits got that from 'Yule Figure' from the Viking mythology and Mr Yule Figure himself is...Odin."

"Wait wait hold up." She shot up her hand like a kid asking questions in class. "So Odin is Santa? He goes around little Viking kiddies' neighborhoods and slides down the chimney to give them wooden axes and swords?"

"Hmmm not quite. The whole making a list and checking it twice to give the good little boys and girls presents on Christmas is...not quite how the Vikings do it. Instead they engage in something called the Wild Hunt, where Odin aka Big Yule Father Kahuna calls on his posse of gods and plays a game of non-consensual hide and seek with the living souls. So us being the 'living mortals', we have to find a safe enough hiding place that Odin and Thor and the rest of the Norse gods don't find us, because if they do…they drag us to the Underworld."

"Okay first of all, yikes." Ariadne made a big show of shuddering in her seat over what you just told her. "Can't it be something a little bit less morbid? Like if Thor finds you he drags you to his den of iniquity and has his wicked way with you?"

"I mean it's all myths and folklore anyway," you shot back with a small shrug as you finished off your coffee. "So maybe when the big girls are off in their own corner, we can smut it up and pretend that if someone other than Odin finds us, we can get some happy fun times." You both broke out into giggles at your wording. "And when we're telling the story to the smaller kiddos, we say that the gods only go after the naughty kids. Keep with the spirit of Christmas and all that." You wagged a finger in her direction, giving her another suggestion. "Or in the case of meeting Leif's family, just think which one's gonna have him more devastated, your soul getting dragged into the Underworld or your body getting dragged to Thor's man cave."

She wrote down some more notes on her little notepad before standing up, brimming with excitement. "Okay I think that's all I need. Hopefully…"

"Babes, you're there to meet the family, not get gatekeeper gamer boy levels of interrogated on what you know about Yule. As soon as you don't say 'Merry Viking Christmas', you're in the clear."

She squealed, rushing over to wrap her arms around you and give you a tight squeeze. "Thank you thank you! You just saved me from looking a total ditz meeting his family. I have a really good feeling about this one, you know?"

You gave her a squeeze back, happy that she was finally in a relationship that felt stable enough to start on that family she'd always wanted.

Maybe one day you could be so lucky with your own love life.

"I'm really happy for you, Aria. Let me know how it goes when you get back, okay?"

You worked on wrapping up the book she intended to gift Leif's sister as she asked you another question. "What about mistletoe? Do they have that in Yule?"

You scrunched her nose and shook your head at her question. "Yes and no again. Yes, they've assigned meaning to the plant but no, you don't kiss under it for fear of spending the next year all alone. They believe it to be a symbol for fertility, so it's been known for couples to hang it above their headboards so that their holiday fun times might lead to a child. It's also seen as a symbol for new life or resurrection because there's another folktale that says that Loki fashioned a weapon from the mistletoe plant to kill Baldur, and Frigga's tears turned the white berries red and resurrected her fallen son. Which if you ask me is a steaming pile of horse shit that's almost more ridiculous than how Siegfried was felled in the Nibelungenlied, but that's a story for another day."

"Hold up, but isn't Loki also a son of Frigga?"

You shrugged. "Who knows what's real and what's not at this point? These tales are thousands of years old. All we know right now is that Thor's real and he's friends with a billionaire that made a fancy iron suit and a soldier from the 40s that doesn't even look like he's hit his mid-20s. And that he dated an astrophysicist. Tell you what, if I ever meet him, I'll ask him myself. Maybe I'll even ask him what exactly goes down in the Wild Hunt if they still do it in this century."

"Ooh, if he walks into the store please text me?" You gave her a questioning look. "What? He's my hall pass. Leif knows all about it. Natasha Romanoff's his."

You handed her the gift-wrapped book. "Pinky promise, I'll tell you as soon as a 6'4 muscular Barbie looking dude from Asgard swinging a hammer and summoning thunder and lightning walks into my shop. Maybe I'll even text you if the Black Widow herself walks in so that Leif would owe a favor or two."

"Hey, it could happen," she quipped, sticking her tongue out at you like you were back in the sandbox. "We're in New York, after all. And Avengers Tower's just a ten minute walk away. You never know, you know?"

"Right," you breathed, waving her off as she neared the door. "Merry Yule."

"Merry Crisis," she shot back, blowing you a kiss as she stepped into the cold New York night.

You started cleaning the store so you could close up for the night when a new voice pierced through the quiet.

"I appreciate your refusal to believe that hokum about the mistletoe, darling. It warms my cold Jotun heart knowing that it's safe in your brilliant hands."

Large hands found themselves at your waist before your new visitor's arms wrapped around you from behind, your body going frigid at the action. "Who--?"

"Oh no..." He immediately released you from his hold, allowing you to come face to face with a towering man with onyx curls and a devastatingly handsome face that seemed vaguely familiar. "I must have gone back too far this time." He took a step toward you, his hands twitching in your direction as if he wanted to go back to where he was just a few seconds ago. If you were being honest with yourself, you wouldn't object. "Sweetheart, who am I to you?"

"What? This time?" You raised an eyebrow at him, confusion coating your words. "You trying to tell me we met before? Because trust me I'd remember meeting someone that looked like you."

"Who am I to you? What do you know of me?" he asked again, his brows upturned at the center of his forehead, his expression reminding you of a baby kitten pleading for affection.

"Not much," you admitted. "You look like the guy that tore up a hole in the sky and rode some space chariot while leading an alien army that laid waste on the city that I call home...and the guy that went up against Iron Man and his friends, including that big green scary monster looking dude."

He hung his head, looking down at the ground as he let out a long sigh. "I don't just look like that guy, darling, I--" He exhaled sharply before composing himself again. "I am that guy. Well, I was. And Banner's honestly not that terrifying once you get to know him." He looked at you again, seeing your hand and beginning to look emotionally deflated. "I went too far back."

"You know who else you look like?" you asked him, a smirk playing at your mouth as you reached for the chain around your neck, showing him the ring that hung in its center, closing the distance he put between you. "You look like my future husband."

The relief was written all over Loki's face as he eyed the ring he'd given you, a brilliant smile gracing his features when he pulled you into his arms and laid his lips on yours. You melted into the kiss, pressing yourself against him as the god's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer.

"My darling little mortal," he mumbled against your lips. "Somehow managing to fool a trickster god, for any amount of time, is a feat in and of itself." He kissed you again, lifting you off the ground and spinning you in a circle when you put your arms over his shoulders.

"Well you said it yourself, I'm brilliant," you answered him back when you pulled away, your fiancée keeping your feet off the ground. He adjusted his hold on you to hold you up by a single arm, making you giggle when he started walking toward the front door and made your keys materialize in his now free hand. "What're you doing, Mischief?"

"You're finished here for the night," he stated simply, all the lights turning off, along with the doors locking closed, and the sign in front flipping to "Closed" to indicate you'd retired for the night, with a simple wave of his hand. "I'm taking you home, little mortal. Close your eyes."

A breeze flew by your face and the next thing you knew your back was pressed against the familiar wooden column of your kitchen area. Loki crushed his lips to yours in a desperate kiss, both of you moaning into each other's mouths as he pressed your chests together, hands traveling down the sides of your body to wrap your legs around him.

The feel of your hands being brought above your head despite the god's hands still roaming and grasping at your thighs had your eyes snapping open, breaking the kiss with a little squeak from the back of your throat as you looked up. A thrill shot up your spine seeing a thick glowing ring of Loki's seiðr fastened around your wrists and keeping you tethered to the column behind you.

"I could not decide whether to reward you or punish you for getting the better of me earlier, my love," he rasped, latching his lips to your neck and sucking a bruise into your skin. He smirked against you when you started whimpering and arching into his touch within seconds. "So I shall do both."

You let out a whiny sound that had him lightly grasping your chin, running his thumb along your bottom lip to coax it into a pout. He kissed you again, nipping at your bottom lip before pulling away. Then another ring of his seiðr appeared at your hips, keeping them flush against the column as both rings began to lift you up, your feet soon leaving the ground until he was eye level with your pelvis.

He made a motion with his hand and suddenly you felt a breeze all over your body as he bared you to him, your clothes disappearing in a flash of green.

"Loki…" you whined, squirming under his predatory gaze as another ring of seiðr went around each of your legs, just above your knee, and opened you to him.

"I've not been home in ages, my darling mortal," he rasped, not taking his eyes off of your arousal as he licked his lips. "And I am famished." He took a step closer to you, lightly running his fingers up your inner thigh.

"Let--Let me down, then," you said shakily, feeling your walls quivering and clenching around nothing as he traced up your inner thigh again, only this time with the tip of his nose before pressing a tender kiss to your skin. "I can fix us something to--"

"Oh no, sweet Talia." He kissed you right below your belly button, groaning into your skin. "I do not crave food, my love." He continued to press kisses to your stomach, faintly chuckling when you tried to close your legs and his restraints kept you from moving even an inch. "Your reward is that I will not deny you any ounce of pleasure tonight. I have longed for you too much to deny you much of anything."

He moved his head lower, and you let out an obscene moan of his name as he ran his tongue along the length of your slit before slowly circling your clit.

"Your punishment…" he breathed, pressing slow lingering kisses and laving his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. "No touching."

"Loki, wait--Oh f-fuck!" The room filled with your moans as he proceeded to alternate between long licks at your entrance and close his lips over your clit for what felt like a blissfully torturous eternity. He kept his word on not denying you anything as he brought you over the edge over and over again.

Your throat was raw from your constant moans and screams of his name and various expletives, already having lost count of how many times you came for him when he slid two devastatingly long fingers inside you and curled up, brushing against the spot that had you seeing stars. "One more, sweet girl," he mumbled around your clit, the vibrations from his voice already bringing you to the brink of orgasm yet again.

He moved your legs to rest your thighs on his shoulders, moaning against you when your entire body tensed as you came for him again, your pussy quivering against his mouth as he lapped at your release with languid strokes of his tongue. The restraints around your wrists and hips moved you down the column until your face was level with his, a weak whimper slipping from you when you saw how his lips glistened with your juices.

You barely registered the sound of the zipper as he kissed along your chest, biting and sucking more bruises into your skin. He lined himself up at your entrance, sliding into you in a single effortless thrust and eliciting a staggered sigh of relief from the god. "I've m-missed this," he whimpered between thrusts. "Missed you." Thrust. "My precious mortal." Thrust. "My wife." Thrust.

He threw his head back, letting out a decadent moan when you clenched around him after what he'd just called you. It had you desperately longing for your wedding day. Desperately aching to touch him. Just desperate for him.

"Please…" you whimpered, feebly fighting against the restraints again. When the rings holding you to the column finally disappeared, you could only let out a sharp exhale, your hand immediately clawing into your fiancée's back, the other weaving into his onyx curls.

Loki pressed you harder against the column, driving himself deeper inside you, his hands roaming and grasping wherever he could, as if he couldn't get enough of you. Couldn't touch you enough. He slanted his mouth over yours, moaning into the kiss when your tongues tangled together and you could taste your release on him. He adjusted his hold on you, letting out another muffled obscene sound into each other's mouths when the motion caused you to bounce on his cock.

Once he held you securely in his arms he started walking you further into your home, each step making you bounce on him and further weakening you in his embrace. He eased you down onto your bed, breaking the kiss and rendering you completely speechless watching his clothes melt away and baring his godly physique to you.

All you could do was breathe his name as he moved to hover over you again, pressing his lips to your cheek as he picked up the pace. He wrapped his hand around your knee, raising your leg to wrap it around his waist so he could drive into you harder. When you felt his fingers rubbing over your clit, the only sound that came out of you was a sharp moan, your body weakly arching against his hand before squeaking out, "I can't--"

"Just one more, dear heart. For me," he grunted, latching his lips onto that spot between your neck and shoulder as he kept on rubbing tight circles on the over-sensitized nub. Your legs shook and your walls convulsed around him, bring him to his own release as he marked your skin.

Once you both came down from your high, you felt his seiðr wash over you as he pulled you into his arms, putting the covers over you both with another wave of his hand. "I gotta be honest with you, sweetie, that felt a little pent up," you exhaled, a tiny part of you finding it unfair that he'd already resumed his regular breathing as if he didn't just fuck you senseless.

Damn Asgardian endurance.

"Because it was, precious mortal," he told you simply, tracing his finger along your cheek. "How long has it been since last you saw me?"

"Three months…give or take a week?" You braced yourself, already dreading what he'd say next.

"I have not seen you for over a year, my love," he confessed, pressing another kiss to your lips. "At least not like this. Every time I had seen you, you were yet to know me. There were worlds where you even outright feared me, scurrying away once you'd realized where you recognized me from. When I got to your shop earlier, I nearly believed I landed in another iteration of that world."

Suddenly your 'prank' from earlier left a sinking feeling in your stomach. "Loki, I'm sorry, I didn't know." You wrapped your arm around him, pressing yourself even closer to him if that were even possible, resting your head on his shoulder. "I just thought it'd be a bit of fun--"

"You have nothing to apologize for," he reassured you, brushing the tip of his nose along your own before softly kissing the spot. "But I have missed you terribly. Getting to hold you, to love you. To simply be here with you and enjoy a moment with my wife."

"Future wife," you pouted. "We're still in the planning phase, sadly. I take it the last time you saw me was sometime in our…future? I'm sorry this still gets confusing for me." He nodded his answer, pressing his lips to your forehead. "Well then the timelines better fucking behave because I refuse to let you go anywhere. I get that you're a big powerful hero now, and knowing that you're out there making sure that everyone's safe and gets to come home to their families? I couldn't be prouder. But you should get to come home, too." You pressed a kiss to his chest, just over his heart. "Preferably for longer than a quickie with your fiancé."

His brows furrowed, shaking his head at your sentiment before pulling you to lay on top of him, chests pressed together with his arms wrapped around you in a tight embrace. "I've come from a time where we were married and I called you my wife. Regardless of our pending ceremony, that is what you are to me now and what I will call you moving forward. No more of those semantics."

You nudged his chin with your nose, a giggle escaping you when he pulled you up to capture your lips in a soft kiss. "Tell me about it. The future…"

"When I found you, you were a force to be reckoned with. Planning your friend Aria's wedding--"

"Ah, so she and Leif really are headed for the fairytale happy ever after?"

"No no, you were planning the wedding in Asgard." You eyes widened at the new information. "She was set to marry Thor."

"Wait she what?!"

A/N: I'm so excited to participate in this year's Secret Santa again! This has been so much fun to write for both times around, and hopefully the story did justice to the request 🥹💖

The request from @acidcasualties:

secret santa 2023 taglist: @joyful-enchantress @mochie85 @holdmytesseract @sailorholly @lady-rose-moon @superficialdomina @cultofcarter @coldnique @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @smolvenger @loz-3 @catsladen @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @divine-knight-hand @quirkiest-turtle @glitchquake @nyxlaufeyson @fandxmslxt69 @holymultiplefandomsbatman

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki x female reader #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #muddyorbs writes #sas secret santa 2023

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