#i feel like i definately could have done more with this but this is just off the top of my head | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ckret2 · 23 days

Text

Chapter 51 of human Bill Cipher is once more the Mystery Shack's prisoner: Dipper and Mabel try to figure out what the Axolotl's poem means; Dipper gets the hang of astral projection; and... whatever's going on up there happens.

####

Ford and Dipper came back into the shack through the gift shop; Ford didn't want to risk crossing paths with Bill. While Dipper went into the house, Ford went down—returning to the safety of his subterranean study.

Once Ford had put on the old black trench coat he'd worn during his multiversal travels and gotten comfortable at his desk, he pulled out Journal 5 to document the events of the last few days. In a cheap ballpoint pen, he wrote, I've lost my #1 Grunkle pen (and favorite coat) to the waters of Lake Gravity Falls. And then, deciding this didn't adequately express his feelings, he drew a small frown. That coat had served him well for decades, and he'd really liked that pen. It did write excellently, and it had reminded him of his gniece and gnephew.

He spent three pages documenting the eclipse—what happened, what readings he'd taken, what he and Dipper observed—and then another four pages talking about Bill. What he'd told them, why Ford had dismissed it; his claims about a trans-dimensional axolotl distorting gravity with its migration; the statue, the rescue, the breakdown.

The act of writing always helped Ford clarify his thoughts and untangle mysteries; it wasn't until he was writing that he realized the limbs Bill had said he couldn't feel were the ones that had broken off the statue.

He listed the rules of the chess variants he could remember Bill inventing. He drew Bill huddled in front of the board, grim, tear-streaked, exhausted; and then scratched out his face, embarrassed at the thought of immortalizing such a raw moment for his private viewing.

He wrote, There's still a slim possibility that the entire "eclipse," start to finish, was Bill's masterfully-orchestrated scheme to make us pity and trust him; but it's unlikely. Although Bill is fiendish enough, he isn't currently powerful enough, and his lies certainly aren't elaborate enough. If he could pull off such a byzantine ruse, then he could just as easily escape—and if he can escape, why hasn't he? Bill may be insane, but he's never been THAT irrational.

And so, even as twisted as Bill's idea of "friendship" is... for the very first time, I'm convinced that he was telling the truth all along when he said he wants me as his friend. It's not an act. He risked his life to save someone who's an active threat to him.

And at the end of it all—though I'm grateful to be alive in spite of my own stubbornness—do I like him any better for it?

Ford leaned back and shut his eyes, sifting through the inner tumult of anger and old hurt that defined most of his memories of Bill, looking to see if anything had changed.

There was a sore, tender spot in his emotions, a place beginning to rot with remorse; when he prodded at those emotions, he found that it was shame over his own harsh conduct of the last couple of days. But he was only ashamed of how cruelly he'd acted; he wasn't ashamed that Bill was the one he'd done it to.

Outside of that tender spot—regret over his own behavior—nothing else had changed.

No. I still hate him. I'm grateful to be alive, but I hate him. He hasn't undone anything he did to my family and me, and he never will. Forgiveness can't be purchased with favors.

I'm only relieved at the certainty of it. Bill has committed an act that can't possibly be a lie. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's shown me the truth; and the truth is he'd rather see me alive than dead. Whatever other lies he may tell, I can hold on to that fact.

Bill's miserable eyes peered out at Ford between the scribbles he'd drawn across his face. It was truly a pity that Ford had to hate him. Pity that Bill hadn't been somebody better. He could have been better.

Ford couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed that he'd filled four pages talking about the monster he'd already wasted so many more on. Bill had been right about him: You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. The only thing Bill didn't understand was that hatred and obsession weren't mutually incompatible.

####

"Hey, Dipper," Mabel said, unfolding the living room sofa bed.

"Hey, Mabel," Dipper said, passing through living room on his way to the stairs. He climbed up to the attic.

He came back down from the attic. "Mabel. Why's Bill asleep in your bed."

"He really needed a nap," Mabel said.

"Okay but why on your bed?"

Mabel pouted. "Dipper, do you realize he's never slept on a real bed? Ever?"

Dipper tried to imagine sleeping on a couple couch cushions on the floor every night. "Yeah, okay, that does kinda suck." Even if it was Bill's own fault he wouldn't sleep in the living room.

By unspoken mutual agreement, having a Bill in the bedroom followed the same law as finding a centipede in the bathroom. The law was "that's the centipede's bathroom now." So once the folding bed was set up, they sat on it to serve as their hang-out spot for the evening and caught each other up on what they'd done the last couple of days.

After Dipper & Co. had left, Grenda had come over to take advantage of the low gravity to retrieve the kite that had been stuck in a tree near the Mystery Shack since last summer (it was, tragically, too tattered to salvage), and then they'd gone over to Candy's house to photograph each other performing feats of impossible strength. (Mabel would be sending some pictures to their parents to confuse them, and adding the rest to her summer scrapbook.) She'd spent the next day breaking the trampoline world record until Soos came outside and said gravity was probably too low for it to be safe to be up in the air anymore, if Bill's warnings about being off the ground when gravity hit zero were true; at which point Mabel had hung around inside air-swimming until she suddenly slammed against the ceiling, and then the ground. She was fine. She just had a couple of bruises. She showed Dipper her bruises.

In return, Dipper told Mabel about how their quest had gone: the checks for micro-rips, Bill's increasingly frantic warnings, the lake—

("You got to see a bajillion magical axolotls and I didn't?!")

—the cliff, the Axolotl, Dipper's near-death experience, and what he now knew about his out-of-body dreams.

"Seriously?" Mabel hissed, eyes bugging out. "And he had us looking up lucid dreaming books! What a jerk!"

"I know! He could have just ignored the whole thing, we didn't even think it was anything but dreams."

"And I'd thought he was being so helpful, too! Like he was really trying to make up for giving you 'nightmares'!" Mabel laughed in disbelief and flopped down on the flimsy mattress. "All that because he just didn't want us to know how it was really his fault? Biiill, ugh."

His fault. Dipper hesitated, wondering whether he should tell Mabel what Bill had said about Mabel's Fault; then decided against it. Bill had probably been telling the truth when he'd said he only wanted all the credit for Weirdmageddon.

But—Dipper did tell her about Bill saving their lives. He would have felt like a liar if he hadn't—like he was trying to trick his sister into thinking Bill was worse than he already was. He hoped Ford wouldn't mind; but how could he not tell Mabel?

"He could have just let you die and didn't?" Mabel turned that over in her head, processing this sudden shift in Bill's behavior. "Wow. I'm impressed."

He also told her about their previous encounter with the Axolotl. Considering the other lies Bill had told recently, anything he said about them meeting the Axolotl was dubious at best; but Dipper could remember the Axolotl, so maybe some of it was true, even if Bill had twisted as much as he could. ("The Axolotl said hi, by the way." "Aww. Tell him hi back!" "Yeah, I... don't know how to do that.")

Dipper laid out his journal between them on the folding bed, and Mabel read over the couplet a few times. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches from within birch trees'..."

"It's got to be talking about Bill," Dipper said. "Equilateral triangles have three sixty-degree angles. I just don't know why the Axolotl wanted to talk to us about him."

Mabel frowned at the lines. "I think... I remember meeting him too," she said.

"You do?"

"Kinda. Like in a dream," she said. "We were in some kind of futury space race car. And he had a really comfortable beanbag chair."

"Yes! I remembered the beanbag chair, too!" And he hadn't mentioned it in his journal. "This is great! Talking about it must... must cause us to remember, somehow. Maybe since the universe where we met the Axolotl doesn't exist anymore, our memories of it are... detached or something? Psychically floating around between dimensions until we try to remember them?" He took in Mabel's skeptical frown and shrugged. "I don't know!"

She scrunched up her face. "Ugh. Last summer's first-grader time travel was complicated enough. This is like college-level time travel. Maybe we can ask Bill how it works?"

She said it so easily, like she thought it was actually a good idea. Right after she'd heard about the lucid dreaming thing, too. "I don't think he'd help." Dipper lowered his voice. "He really didn't want Grunkle Ford and me to find out about the Axolotl—and he kept telling me not to think about what the Axolotl told me. He's trying to cover something up."

"Oo-oo-ooh." Voice dropped to a whisper, Mabel said, "Do you think it's some kind of Space Axolotl conspiracy?"

"It could be," Dipper said. "All I know is he was trying to tell us something important about Bill. Some kind of prophecy, or... maybe a warning...?"

He trailed off. Mabel had stopped listening to Dipper. She was rereading the couplet Dipper had written, moving her lips like she was murmuring under her breath—but whatever she was saying, it was much longer than the couplet Dipper had written down. Distractedly, she said, "Do you have a pen?"

"Yeah, here." Dipper quickly handed over the pen he kept in his vest.

Mabel clicked it, went to the bottom of the page, and wrote: A different form, a different time.

Dipper sucked in a sharp breath as the words snapped into place in his mind. "That's it! That was the last line! What else do you remember?"

"That's it," Mabel said. "It was free form poetry with a bunch of rhyme pairs."

"I don't think free form poetry rhymes."

"Pbbbt." Mabel blew a raspberry and shoved Dipper's face. "Whatever! You know what I mean." She pointed at the last line. "Do you think the poem's about why Bill's here? He time traveled to the Mystery Shack in a new body..."

"Exactly! Bill must be back here for a reason. He's got all those powers—or, used to, anyway—and he knows more about the multiverse than anybody on Earth... Maybe there's some kind of big threat coming, and Bill's the only one who can stop it, and—and the Axolotl wanted us to know...?"

"I like the sound of that," Mabel said. "That'd basically make him a hero, right?"

Dipper grimaced. "I mean. I guess? But we're talking about Bill. If he does help us stop a threat, it'd be like if a serial killer picked up a hitchhiker and killed him, and then it turned out the hitchhiker was an even worse serial killer."

"That still sounds kinda heroic to me."

"Pfff, okay." He looked at his journal. "But... what is he here to do?"

Mabel considered what they'd already written. "Maybe we can use him to spy on our enemies through birch trees!"

"Thaaat's probably not it."

"No, I think I'm on to something. I can feel it."

There was a lot of empty space between his couplet and Mabel's line. "There's more we're missing, though. Maybe the rest of the poem describes the threat? Or what we need to get Bill to do?"

"I can't remember anything else, though."

"Me neither."

They stared at the page together, waiting for something to come to their blank minds. Mabel looked at the fish tank. "Hey, Primrose! Do you know anything?"

The pet axolotl in the tank ignored her serenely.

Dipper said, "'Primrose'?"

"Yeah, last summer Grunkle Stan said her name is Freakface, but I thought she deserved a cuter name. She's primrose color!"

"Ford says he originally named him Nikola."

Mabel gasped. "Nikki..."

Dipper twisted around to look at the axolotl. "Do you know anything? Do you... get messages from the Axolotl's heralds, or anything...?"

Nikola slowly opened his mouth, and slowly closed it.

Mabel said, "Hey. The Axolotl's one of those dimension-crossy time-travely guys, right? He probably wouldn't have given us a prophecy in the wrong timeline and then made us forget it unless he knew we'd remember it in time in the rightdimension!"

"I guess," Dipper said uncertainly.

"So we don't need to worry about it! We'll remember it when we need to."

"Unless this timeline's going to branch, and the only one where we survive is the one where we put all our effort into trying to remembering—"

"Shhh!" Mabel put a finger over Dipper's mouth. "Uh-uh. No college time travel. We'll be fine!"

Dipper pushed her over. "Okay, but we should at least try a little to remember what the Axolotl told us."

"What if we work on it separately?" Mabel propped herself up on an elbow. "Instead of just sitting around thinking about it. And whenever we remember a line, we can tell each other and see if it makes anything click."

"That might be faster," Dipper said, stroking his chin. "We're already remembering different lines."

"Yeah! And that lucid dreaming book said something about focusing on a problem before you sleep so you can figure it out in your dreams! We can just work on it in our sleep and we'll remember it all in no time!"

Dipper laughed. "What? No way, I think lucid dreaming is just one of those made up pop psychology things. I didn't get it to work at all." Either it didn't work or Bill had deliberately recommended a terrible book.

"I did! I can remember like... eighty percent more dreams. And I can tell when I'm dreaming a lot more often!"

"Huh." Or, maybe Dipper just wasn't doing it right. "Maybe I need to start over from step one. Do you know where the book we were using went?"

"Over here!" Mabel had set a couple library books on the end table next to the sofa bed; she pulled out the second one, which had a glittery pink bookmark with a cat on it stuck two-thirds of the way through. "Just don't lose my bookmark."

"Thanks." He'd reread the first step before bed. "We should probably be getting ready for bed anyway, huh?"

"Seriously?! It's barely bedtime!" And when the adults weren't watching, official bedtime was an hour and a half before Actual Bedtime.

"I'm exhausted. I just hiked up and down a mountain and faced down death."

Mabel pointed at Nikola. "You faced down a big salamander."

"Close enough."

They went upstairs, brushed their teeth, went to their bedroom...

And stopped in the door. Bill was still asleep. "Oh. Right," Dipper said.

He was curled into a ball on his left side, facing the wall, covered with only the zodiac blanket and his borrowed/stolen top hat sitting on the side of his head. He didn't use a pillow; he'd pushed Mabel's pillows and dolls behind himself to form a squishy makeshift fortress.

"Please don't wake him up," Mabel whispered. (She'd already set up the folding bed for herself; she'd clearly planned on this.) "He's had a really really hard time the last couple of days, and I think he needs as much sleep in a real bed as he can get, and it's just for one night, and I'm sure he'd rather sleep than do anything evil—"

"He said something, didn't he?"

Mabel paused. "Yeah. I think seeing his body really messed him up."

Dipper sighed. "We were trying to keep him away from it." He didn't want Mabel to think they'd forced him to stare his own death in the face. "But he did that... eye thing and looked through the trees, and..."

Mabel nodded.

Well. Dipper couldn't kick him out now. For Mabel's sake.

As children, occasionally when they got hotel rooms with a bed too few, their parents would stick them in one bed with a barrier of pillows in between them. At age thirteen and without two crabby parents trying to get them to just go to bed after a long plane flight, they unanimously vetoed that plan. Dipper decided against asking Stan if he could sleep in Ford's unoccupied bed, both because he suspected Stan would just go upstairs and drag Bill out of the room and because he didn't want Stan to think he was scared of Bill. He wasn't scared of Bill. Not anymore. He could handle one measly night in the same room as him. Anyway, somebody had to make sure he wasn't unsupervised in their bedroom all night, right?

Dipper and Mabel quietly set a floor mirror and old lamp next to Mabel's bed, draped a sheet between them, taped on a pink poster that said "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" and was covered in stickers of triangular objects, and decided Dipper was adequately shielded. If Bill did get up during the night, he'd probably trip through the sheet and wake half the house before he got anywhere near Dipper.

Dipper went to sleep with a baseball bat in his hands.

####

"Okay," Bill said, hands on his sides, "what am I looking at here?"

The feral band members of Sev'ral Timez turned toward Bill, eyes reflecting in the dim light. They were squatting around Bill's petrified corpse like a pack of apes examining a sleek black monolith.

"Hey girl," Creggy G. said.

"Hey," Bill said. He looked down at himself. His onyx black feet hovered over the ground and the yellow glow from his exoskeleton illuminated the clearing. "Lemme cut to the chase, is this gonna turn into a raunchy dream? My corporeal love life is about as cold and dry as Antarctica, I keep hoping one of my dreams will get a little hotter and wetter—"

"Nah, G," Deep Chris said. "Mr. Bratsman got us fixed."

"Aw."

"We're here to pay you reverence for freeing our minds from the chains of the conventional," Greggy C said, gesturing to Bill's corpse. Leggy P was kneeling and bowing to it and Chubby Z was posing for it. "We want to help free you like you tried to help free humanity."

Bill's eye narrowed. He tapped a finger against the edge of one brick as he considered this offer. Finally, skeptically, he said, "Fine. I'll bite. Why should I think you can help me?"

"Because we can give you the understanding your heart's been missing, girl. You're just like us," Chubby Z said. "A horror never meant to exist, born of a dream to construct the perfect golden idol, forced to dwell within an unnaturally-fabricated human shell."

Bill tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm with you so far."

"We want you to join us," Deep Chris said. "Cavort with us in the silvan night, G. Shun the harsh light of the spotlight for the healing salve of moonbeams. We'll get drunk on the sweet fermented summer berries, uncaring of how the brambles prick our flesh. We'll dance in a frenzy of ecstasy and only sleep when the morning sun lifts the dew from the flowers and the sweat from our skin. It'll be straight Dionysian, boo."

"We can kiss the hot trees," Creggy G said.

Bill grabbed his shoulder. "Oh, you're the human that keeps making out with birch trees! I knew your face was familiar!" He paused. "So... are there any eligible ones around here?"

"Sure, girl, just downstream."

"If I'd known, I would've polished myself first."

"Say you'll join us, Bill girl," Deep Chris said. The band crowded around Bill to either side, posing around him—the backup dancers for the star singer. "You'd be one of us."

"We're already exactly the same," Creggy G said, holding up a mirror so that it reflected his and Bill's faces beside each other. In Bill's human face were two empty white eyes with pinprick pupils and pale blue irises, exactly the same as the eyes of the Sev'ral Timez boys.

He sat up with a gasp, hands flying to his face. There were still green boughs at the edges of his dreaming vision, blending into the wooden boards of the Mystery Shack's attic. Before sleep had fully fled his mind, he seized up the zodiac blanket draped over his body and stared into his embroidered eye.

The eye stared back at him. Through it, he could see his horrified sleepy face, and his normal slitted yellow eyes. His connection to the blanket's eye disappeared as he finished waking up.

He heaved a sigh of relief and flopped back down. He'd been lucid, but he hadn't been in control of that dream. He still needed practice.

He rolled toward the light of the window, groped around beneath it until he found his journal, grabbed up his crayons, and flipped pages blearily until he found the first blank one. He started writing down his dream, pausing only briefly as he tried to figure out how to translate "Sev'ral Timez" before settling on a sufficiently goofy way to misspell "several times" in Plaintext.

He made it halfway down the page before he stopped. Hold on. This wasn't his beautiful journal. These were not his beautiful crayons. He checked the cover and grimaced in displeasure when he saw a pine tree rather than a hand. Dipper's journal. Bill ripped out the page, ate it, and set the journal and Mabel's crayons back on the table under the bedroom window.

"What was that," Dipper asked, "some kind of Morse code?"

Bill yelped and twisted around. Dipper's soul was hovering above Mabel's headboard, watching over Bill's shoulder.

"Hey! Back, foul ghost!" Bill snatched up Mabel's pillow and swung it at Dipper.

"Ow—Hey! How did you hit me, I'm in the mindscape—"

"I said back!" Bill swung again, chasing Dipper off the bed. "Back into your fleshy tomb!" He climbed off the bed, stumbled into Dipper and Mabel's trap, tripped through the sheet and probably woke up half the house.

He yanked the sheet off and flung the pillow at Dipper by its corner. "Now get back in your body, go to sleep, and leave me alone."

"I don't know how to get back in it. I just wait until it happens by itself," Dipper said, floating irritably over his sleeping body, arms crossed. "Why do you think I just wander around every time I have this dream?" He paused. "Right—it's not a dream, is it."

Bill sighed heavily. "Try putting your body on like..." He almost said like an exoskeleton, remembered his audience, and amended himself: "Like it's clothing. I usually start with the hands. Just like putting on gloves!"

Dipper looked at the cold fingers wrapped tightly around the baseball bat. "How do I put hands on like gloves? There's no opening or—"

"Just try it, would you?" Bill sat tiredly on the edge of Mabel's bed.

Dipper shot him an irritated look, but pressed his ghostly hands against his fleshly ones, passing through the skin until one set of fingers rested inside the other. A fingertip twitched.

Bill gestured with one hand, continue. "Now the sleeves."

"I know how to get dressed." Dipper laid down in his body, forearm into forearm, shoulder into shoulder—until he was wholly back inside. He sat up, awake. "Huh."

"There, see?" Bill said. "And if you want to take it back off, just do the same thing in reverse. Like degloving your body from your soul!"

"Did you have to phrase it like that?" Still, Dipper tried it, peeling out of his body from the fingertips up. He left his body sitting upright as he hovered over it.

Bill chuckled tiredly. "Lookit your face, staring at nothing. Stupid looking."

"Shut up." He slid back into his body, more quickly now that he knew what he was doing.

"Great," Bill said. "Now that you know how to get back in your body, never do that again." He flopped back onto Mabel's bed and rolled over to face the wall. "It's a pain in my base having you wander around all night."

"Then you should've thought of that before you ripped my soul out of my body," Dipper grumbled. "Can you reattach me to my body?"

"Sure, easy." He lifted a hand to point down at his regrettably human form. "Not like this, though. Wanna help reattach me to my body?"

"Never in a million years."

"Then come back in a million years. There's nothing I can do for you until then." Bill dragged Mabel's zodiac blanket back over himself. "So sorry. Go to sleep. Leave me alone."

Dipper bet Bill could do it and was only saying he couldn't to try to trick Dipper into helping him. But he lay back down—clutching his bat again—and shut his eyes.

After a moment, Bill asked, "Where's Mabel? Sleepover?"

"Sofa bed in the living room."

"Right."

And then there was silence.

Several minutes passed. Dipper nearly fell back asleep. He heard Bill climbing out of bed and creeping across the room; but the footsteps didn't approach Dipper's bed, so he didn't open his eyes.

A few minutes after that, Dipper heard him come back, walking more heavily. He cracked open an eye to see what Bill was up to.

He was carrying Mabel, who was still asleep; his arms were trembling from her weight, but even at that Dipper hadn't known Bill was that strong. With a quiet grunt, he set her on her bed, then haphazardly tossed her sheet and zodiac blanket over her. He picked up his top hat from the bed and put it on; and then he wandered off, footsteps quiet as a ghost, and Dipper heard the creak of the door as he left the bedroom.

That was a lot nicer than Dipper had expected from Bill. Maybe he did care about Mabel in his own way.

Mabel rolled over and latched on to one of her dolls. Dipper shut his eye and fell back asleep.

####

(My favorite part of writing this was Bill dreaming about Sev'ral Timez saying the most absurdly flowery things imaginable. Anyway, let me know what y'all think about this week's chapter! And reminder that I MIGHT skip next week or the week after because the next couple chapters need heavier editing than usual.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #sev'ral timez #(a tag i have never used before and will probably never use again.)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

1K notes · View notes

inu-mxki · 9 months

Text

roronoa zoro x gn!reader

reader gives praise + pet names / slightly steamy / zoros a simp

“missed you today,” you mumble against his mouth.

zoro thinks you’re heaven bottled, straddling his waist, kissing him like you’ve been starved. he sits back, enjoying your undivided attention and flurry of soft, deep kisses. his large hands gently squeeze at your sides, then move to your thighs, kneading the soft, plush skin.

he’s in love with you. zoro is completely and unequivocally in love with you. he’s drunk on your lips, your body, your voice. everything. you fill his senses and bewitch his mind. even the scent of your hair left on his pillow has him burying his nose into the plushness to get more of it. he’s obsessed. he’s so sure of it, and yet it’s so foreign and strange for him.

zoro is no stranger to desire. he knows how it feels to want something so badly you’d kill for it, but never has he felt a desire quite like this one. it’s not a desire to win, or to be the greatest, or to serve. it’s vulnerable and fragile. it’s consuming and overwhelming. it’s more more more.

and that’s all he can think when your lips finally part, your eyes looking down at him like he’s never done a bad thing in his life. like he’s precious. innocent. loved. missed. wanted.

“i love you,” you whisper to him, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw before pressing a gentle kiss there. he pulls you closer, if possible, his strong hands gliding up your t-shirt to rest on your bare back. he presses his lips to your neck, earning a satisfying sigh from you, so he sucks lightly.

“i love you,” he mutters into your skin, goosebumps forming along his defined arms as your nails begin to scratch at his scalp. close just isn’t enough. he buries his face into your shoulder, nuzzling there.

such a big man and yet, for you, he’s melted butter.

“you worked so hard today,” you tell him, kissing the shell of his ear, “you’re so good, baby. so good.”

he relishes in the praise. he wants it so bad. from the moment you joined the crew, he’d been jealous of any praise you gave to anyone else. especially the idiot cook. how he longed to have you tell him he’s done well, that he’s good, that you’re proud.

zoro doesn’t know when he turned into such a melt, but you just have that affect on him. you make him feel like he can be vulnerable in your presence.

“thank you,” he breathes, squeezing you tighter.

“do you want me to rub your shoulders?” you ask him softly, pressing little kisses to the side of his head. he could stay here forever and a day.

“you don’t have to,” he says, voice rough from how tired he is. you chuckle lightly.

“i want to,” you tell him honestly, pushing him off with great difficulty, “let me take of you, ‘ro.”

he’s so thankful to whatever fate bought you to him, shuffling around so he’s sitting between your dangling legs, your hands rubbing gentle but firm circles into his muscles. he groans when you hit a certain spot, so you stay there, every now and then kissing the crown of his head.

he’s just not worthy. he doesn’t understand how he managed to get this hallelujah. how, out of everyone, he’s the one you devote your time to. he’s the one you drunkly confessed to one night after a successful fight, kissing him before pulling yourself away and mumbling how sorry you were and that you understand if he didn’t feel the same.

how ludicrous.

it was his bed you clambered into and never left. it’s his mouth you kiss good morning and kiss goodnight. it’s his hand you squeeze under the table. it’s his face you search for in the crowd.

and he’s so fucking thankful. there’s a God. there must be.

“never leave me,” he finds himself saying out loud, your movements stopping, hands resting against his shoulders. he feels you move, and then your lips against his ear.

“what a silly thing to say,” you speak softly, sending a shiver down his spine as your hands begin working at his tired muscles again, “i’m not going anywhere, ‘ro. please don’t worry about that.”

he closes his eye. trusting you. relaxing back into your embrace. if you’re destined to always be at his side, always sleep beside him, to rub his shoulders and kiss his skin, then he’s sure, more than ever, there’s someone Holy looking down on him. he should be more accommodating to that thought. maybe it’s time he actually thank whoever they are.

hell, he might even start praying.

i do not own one piece or anything associated with it

#zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro one piece #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece zoro #one piece oneshots #one piece fic

4K notes · View notes

7brownsuga7 · 5 months

Text

Fright night

Toji x fem reader

Word count: 1k+

Genre & warnings: short drabble, smut - minors DNI. Orgasm denial, age gap, toy play, cum play, size kink, daddy kink, choking, squirting, overstimulation, sub fem, dom Toji, explicit language and scenes,

Summary: Toji fucking you while the whole neighbourhood celebrates Halloween.

Note: this was supposed to be published for Halloween Kinktober lfmao better late than never. Enjoy <3

You had told yourself that you would stop fucking Toji. You knew it was wrong because he was way older than you, and he was the complete opposite of the morals your parents had for you. But you always found yourself back in his arms, with his dick comfortably inside you.

It was like his dick was specifically made for you. He was huge to say the least, but you took him so well and that’s why he enjoyed fucking you every time. Only he could fuck you, and he’s made sure of that. Not because he won’t allow it, it’s because you know no one else can make you feel how he makes you feel.

You were home alone on a Halloween night. The day getting darker by the hour and you were honestly scared. You’ve never been one to like being home alone, yes the freedom was great, but on a Halloween night where strangers are lurking and knocking at your door, you’d prefer to have company. Especially since you’ve recently had a horror marathon, you felt wary being alone.

So you texted him to come over. You hated that you folded so quickly but in this moment you didn’t care. And within a few minutes he was leaning against your doorframe with a knowing smirk on his face. And now you’re under him as his cock penetrates your tight cunt.

You brought him into your home, a bit of tension lingering between you two, more from you as the last interaction you had was you telling him you’re done fucking him.

Toji on the other hand was nonchalant about the whole situation and sensed the tension from you, but didn’t care because he knew you would always come back to him. You were his girl, even if there wasn’t a label between you two and no one knew what went on behind doors, you would always find your way back to him, and him to you.

Toji enjoyed fucking you, matter of fact he was practically growing insane. Given that he’s a little more older than you and has had a lot more sexual relations, you were the one that has the man going feral just from the thought of you.

“Darling if you keep on gripping on my dick like this I won’t be able to move any further” he coos in your ear while he feels your pussy clench around his cock, causing his movements to be restricted.

“Daddy you’re too big I can’t” you whimper as you feel him inside of your stomach. No matter how many times you guys fuck, you’ll never get used to his size.

You never realised how big he was until he was inside of you, stretching you out. Despite your wetness helping ease the pain and tension, you would always feel so full of him.

He notices your slight discomfort and strokes the side of your face before he reaches over and grabs the small black box he gifted to you for your birthday. Opening it and discarding the box on the floor he hands you the small device, his cock still buried inside of you.

“Now be a good girl for daddy and take this dick” he gives you an alluring smirk that has you clenching around him again as you watch him hover over you in all his glory.

His shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor, leaving his defined torso to be exposed to your wandering eyes. His messy hair frames his face, and his dark eyes watch your frame as he holds his position inside of you.

He admires how your pussy tightly wraps around him, your juices glistening around your folds and on his dick.

You turn on the device and immediately hear the vibrations sound through the room. It isn’t your first time using a vibrator, in fact you mostly always use it so you can relieve some of the tension his dick creates.

You instantly suck in a deep breath as soon as you place it to your clit.

“Keep it on your clit until I say so” he demands as you nod, barely capable of putting any words together. You can feel the pleasure creeping up to your stomach as you continue to hold the vibrator to your clit.

He takes this as his chance to continue his thrusts. He begins slowly despite his need to go faster.

“Fuck baby you feel so good” he coos, watching himself go in and out of you.

He pushes his cock further into you until he can’t anymore. He stops his movements to just watch his cock inside of you. Your breathing quickens as you feel more of him enter you. You follow his gaze and see that he hasn’t even got all of him inside of you yet, despite it feeling like he has.

“Damn, my dick won’t go all the way in” he chuckles.

You shake your head, beginning to close your legs, “It’s too big” you whimper. He uses one hand to separate your legs again.

“Shh, I know baby I know” his cock moves inside of you again until he’s at a steady pace.

You’re a whimpering mess as his cock penetrates you. Your mind is clouded by the pleasure and feel of him inside of you and you can already feel the pressure of your orgasm begin to build up.

The vibrator is mindlessly discarded next to you on the bed as you close your eyes and start heavily breathing.

“I said keep it on your clit” he slaps your inner thigh causing your eyes to open.

With the vibrator back on your clit and your orgasm approaching as quick as ever you lay there wondering why you ever thought of calling things off with Toji, especially when he fucks you as good as this.

“Good girl”

His hand makes its way to your neck as he slightly chokes you. He knows you’re close and he knows you’re weak when it comes to his hands around your throat.

“Toji I’m gonna cum”

“Not yet, I’m not done with you” he holds both of your legs back while his thrusts become more quick.

“Daddy please, I-I can’t I-“ your words fade into nothing. Your senses are at an all time high as you can feel him and his touch everywhere, inside you, on your legs and now back on your throat. His grunts sound around you and you can smell his musky scent. It’s all too much to bare.

“Hold it for me” he kisses you with eagerness as you whimper.

You try your best to hold it in but with every thrust you become weaker and weaker. The vibrator is yet discarded again, lost in the bedsheets.

“Toji please”

He ignores your pleas and decides to praise you with a, ”well done baby”. Which itself is enough to send you over the edge.

After a while, he grabs your face forcing you to face him. A cocky grin is plastered on his face when he says, “You gonna cum on my dick?”

You nod eagerly, your juices already have coated his cock, but when you let go you’re not even shocked that you’ve managed to squirt.

Your toes curl and legs shake as you repeat his name over and over. You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, still trapped in the midst of your orgasm you’re slowly beginning to get more weak and tired.

That was one thing about Toji, he showed no mercy. Even when you begged for it, he loved to see you in this state, completely fucked out, all because of him.

Despite your orgasm, Toji still continues with his rough thrusts. One hand keeps your leg up while the other massages your breast.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep it on your clit?” He gestures to the discarded vibrator that lays next to you.

You’re still coming down from your orgasm, breath returning to its normal pace. His hand returns to your face as he slightly squeezes your cheeks with his large hand.

“Come on be a good girl”

You comply, vibrator back on your sensitive clit. You squirm uncomfortably as you start to feel overstimulated. Your breathing starting to increase along with his thrusts. Your legs begin to tingle and stiffen, and your grip on the bedsheets tighten.

Your juices coat your sheets as you squirt again. Your hands fly to his pelvis in an attempt to stop him but that only encourages him to continue.

Tears escape your eyes and roll down your temples, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. Your hands still rest pathetically on his pelvis, looking like a decoration to his happy trail.

You can tell he’s nearly close as his pace slows and breathing turns into low grunts.

When you feel his cum fill you up, you let out an elated sigh. His cock twitches as he pulls himself out of you, his cum oozing out of you. He guides your fingers towards your pussy, encouraging you to play with the liquid that continues to spill out.

“Good job”, his lips caress your collarbone. When he’s littered wet kisses to your skin, he eventually leans up, his cocky smirk back on his face when he says, “aren’t you glad you called me?”

1K notes · View notes

writersdrug · 25 days

Text

Thinking about Simon with a goth! gf, and introducing his team to you.

Warnings: cursing, very slight nsfw, pda

Typed this up on my lunch break, not thoroughly proofread, ending is meh but it's been rotting in my brain so I had to push it out. Feel free to send me asks about this headcannon, I'd love to write more about it! <3

Simon insists on dragging his team to the nearest pub after a particularly rough day, offering to buy then a round of whiskey. They are all reluctant at first, complaining about aching backs and heads, and Price saying that the missus was expecting him.

Then Simon mumbles something about how his girl would've loved to meet them.

"Yer wha' now?"

"My girl."

Suddenly, Gaz's headache is gone. "Must've just been dehydrated, I suppose." Soap's back feels much better, after being able to sit in the car for just- five minutes, now. And Price? Apparently, the missus was at a dinner raffle for her charity- thing, and he'd just now remembered.

So, drinks and a quick bite at the pub you worked at. It was settled.

Simon leads them in shortly after parking the truck. The other three quickly scan the room for anyone who stands out. As Simon brings them to a booth in the back, they all take a seat, heads on a swivel for some pretty thing to come bouncing over and latch herself onto him.

"Gonna hit the head." Simon says. "I'll put our drinks in- she'll bring 'em over, she'll be done with 'er shift soon."

As he leaves, Soap, Gaz, and Price all sit there in a few moments of observatory silence. It's much harder to sample the crowd, they realize, since there's apparently no dress code for the servers. Johnny eyes each person like a hawk, until he sees a potential pick.

"Tha' one." He says, nodding towards a busty, long-legged blonde. Price and Gaz follow his line of sight to her as she leans against the bar, playing with her hair and laughing at something her friend says. Her bootcut jeans and frilly top accentuate her curves, and it's obvious that every man in her vicinity is ogling. "Twenty on 'er. Seems like he'd be into swimsuit models, eh?"

Gaz humms, scrunching his nose disapprovingly. "Nah, mate- too simple."

"Feck is simple 'bout 'er?"

"I mean for Simon." Gaz corrects Soap. "Don't think he'd want someone so... ditzy- no offense to her." He adds. "I think he wants a girl who can hold her own, in the physical and the figurative sense. Someone..." he narrows his eyes, searching through the crowd of people. "Like her."

He discretely points to a woman across the bar. She's playing darts with a few people, and hits the bullseye perfectly just as Soap and Price look her way. Her tank top and cargo pants show how defined, yet lean her muscles are. She looks like she could last a few decent minutes in a brawl. "I bet on her."

"Well I'll raise ye forty - I ken LT wants someone more... passive."

"Forty it is, then. I'd love to have you pay my bill tonight."

"If I may..." Price chimes in, leaning against the back of the booth with a smug look, arms folded over his chest, "I'd love to get in on this little game o' yours, and walk away with eighty pounds t'night - because you're both wrong."

Soap smirks. "And how's tha', Cap?"

Price smooths his fingers over his mutton chops. "Well, for starters, I'm a bit ashamed o' you boys. Neither of those girls actually work here, do they? Mm?"

Gaz groans, letting his head drop against the wall behind him. It takes Soap another moment, but then he remembers Simon saying this was where you worked. The whole point of them going to this specific pub was because you'd already be here, on the clock.

"Shite..." he mumbles.

"Alright, sir." Gaz says defeatedly. "Lay it on us."

Price leans his elbows on the table and points his finger straight ahead; Gaz and Soap both follow it to the bar, where a sweet-looking girl is punching orders into a server tablet. She has long, silky, red hair, and a petite frame. She smiles so kindly at every patron who speaks to her, and when she makes their drinks, she is quick with it, still engaging in conversation as she shakes the mixer with a powerful arm. Despite the crowd, she seems to be managing fine on her own.

"Her." Price says, tucking his hand back onto the table. "Y' see that face? The way she talks to 'em all? How she's soft and tough at the same time? Imagine that birdie tucked under his wing, eh?"

Soap and Gaz can imagine it. She's a cute little thing, a social butterfly, it seems - the perfect polar opposite to Simon that just might be the perfect fit.

"And I know he's got a thing for redheads." Price adds.

"Piss off, how d'ye ken tha'?" Soap grumbles.

Price shrugs. "Call it intuition."

Simon comes around the corner, carrying several glasses of neat whiskey. "Sorry-" he says, setting a glass in front of Price, and handing out the others as he sits down on the end of the booth. "She's on 'er way now."

"No worries." Price says, trying to hide his smirk. "Didn't know y' were into redheads, Simon."

Simon pauses, looking down at the table in confusion - then he chuckles. "Yeah, s'pose I am. How did y' know? Did she come by already?"

Price laughs. "No, son. We were just sayin'-"

"Hey baby!"

You turn the corner and lean down, squealing as you throw your arms around Simon's neck and kiss him. The other three look on with shock, and Soap is about ready to throw this random woman off of Simon, until he holds you just as tightly and kisses you back.

Price's smirk falls right onto the table when he realizes that he is just as wrong as the other two.

You're Simon's bird. Simon's raven. Black, styled hair, with black lipstick that is currently smudging Simon's chin. You have a choker - no, several chokers, wrapped around your neck, as well as a tiny corked bottle filled with red liquid that makes Soap and Gaz nervous, dangling from a chain. Long, black-painted fingernails, with small spiderwebs decorating the tips, caressing his face and the back of his neck. Your arms and legs are covered with torn fishnets and small tattoos, and you're wearing a black number with a corset, paired with studded Doc Martin's.

You finally pull away and look at the rest of them. "Sorry- nice to finally meet the lot of you." You say, shaking each one of their hands. Your eyes are striking, with full, dark lashes, eyeliner, and red contacts. Gages and a bull ring, too. Soap feels a shiver run up his spine when he looks at you head on, and Gaz hasn't picked his jaw up off the floor since you came around.

"Erm-" Price clears his throat, "pardon us- call me John. This is Kyle, and Johnny." He gestures to the other two, still watching you with a mix of curiosity and awe.

"I've heard so much about you. It's good to put names to the face." You say with a smile, shaking the other two's hands. Gaz manages to smile a bit, but Soap has the same shocked expression plastered onto his face.

Simon has a love-drunk, black-smudged smile on his lips as you sit down in his lap. "She's been wantin' t' meet you all for a while, now. Sorry I kept 'er a secret."

"To be fair, I'm usually hard to find." You say, grabbing a napkin and wiping the lipstick off Simon's face. "I'm either here, at class, or roaming around and people-watching... at night, of course. People are more interesting when it's dark out." You traced a fingernail along his jugular as he stared up at you.

"John 'ere knew you were a redhead."

"How?! Oh my god- are my roots showing?"

"Nah, luvie, he's just observant. 'S our job." Simon places a kiss to your forehead. You smiled, leaning into the kiss.

"Oh, kitchen's about to close. You wanna split a burger, Si?"

"Sure, get what you like."

"'S no onions ok?"

"Fine w' me - chips?"

"You know it." You giggle, making a show of squishing his cheek and biting it. You turn to the rest of his team with a smile. "You boys hungry?"

Price is the first one to speak, taking a heavy breath in, causing Soap and Gaz to finally snap out of their trance. "Erm- whatever you get, we'll do the same. On us tonight."

"Oooh, you sure?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. Simon looked at Price curiously.

"You positive, cap?"

Price nodded. "Lost a bet."

Simon looks even more concerned. You pat his shoulder and stand up. "I'll go punch it in, be right back." You give him a peck on the cheek, and begin to walk away - Simon's attention returns to you as he hooks a finger in the chain choker around your neck and tugs you back.

Soap, Gaz, and Price all watch, stupefied, as you land back in Simon's lap with a giggle. He grabs your chin between his thick fingers and kisses you on the lips, shamelessly letting his tongue slide past your teeth and squeezing your thigh. You laugh into the kiss, letting him devour you for a moment, before tapping his cheek and breaking away.

"I got fifteen minutes to put everyone's order in, Si."

"That's plenty of time, dove."

"Yeah, but then kitchen will get mad for doing it last minute, and I don't want-"

He chuckles, gently shoving out off of his lap and smacking your rump through your skirt. "You're fine, go on."

You smile, then disappear behind the booth, boots thudding against the hardwood floors.

Simon looks back at the three of them - Soap is staring between you and him, a blush covering his face. Gaz immediately turns to look at the wall, scratching his chin, and Price is gazing into his whiskey, though there's a lingering surprise in his eyes.

"So- what bet?" Simon asks, adjusting his hips; Soap notices his hand reaching down to palm at the fabric over his groin. "I don' remember bettin' nothin'."

"We weren't bettin' on ye pullin' her out ye pockets, LT." Soap comments, trying to avoid Simon's eyes. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out forty pounds, slapping it onto the table.

"It makes sense..." Gaz, chimes in. "With your whole skeleton look, she fits you."

Simon slowly smiles, understanding what they had bet on. "Oh... I see. Lemme guess - you thought I's with someone more... simple? Lile that blonde at the bar, is tha' right?"

"Tha's what I said!!" Soap exclaims, dropping his fist to the table. "You got te give me credit fer pointin' t' a swimsuit model first, aye?"

"Oh- because every bloke on earth is shallow enough to care about swimsuit models." Gaz scoffs. "I at least picked someone who didn't look so bloody helpless." He gestures to the girl playing darts with her friends. "You don't even know if the other girl's a model."

"Well, one can imagine..."

"Feel as though I's the closest..." Price mutters under his breath, making the other two glare at him.

"Ye were not."

"Get off your high horse, cap-"

"Well- try this." Simon leans on his forearms with a smug look on his face. "My bird? She's a model, and she's a black-belt in Judo, and-" he looks at Price- "she's a natural redhead."

They all look between Simon and you, as you stand behind the bar and punch their orders in, laughing with the other redhead. Their eyes would drop onto the table if they were any wider.

"You sly dog-" Gas comments with a chuckle.

"I don' believe ye." Soap says, crossing his arms. "Wha' kind o' model?"

"Lingerie."

Price chokes on his whiskey.

"Bullshit." Soap snaps. "Pictures or ye lyin'."

"Nah." Simon sighs, leaning back in his seat and daking a sip of his whiskey. "Not the ones I have, at least. But pick up the last "Bloodletting" magazine, and she's there."

They all sit there, a bit dumbfounded, watching you walk back to the booth. How on earth did someone like Simon land someone like you?

Simon's full of surprises, even in his personal life.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost headcanons #simon riley headcanons #simon ghost riley headcanons #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod headcanons #ghost blurbs

670 notes · View notes

celaenaeiln · 6 months

Text

Dick Grayson's talent for manipulation literally brings the world to its knees.

Part 1 post

My absolute favorite trait about Dick aside from his craziness is his ability to control every single person in existence. The best part is, he's so clever in the way that he does it that people almost never notice.

Bart Allen

"Oh! Ahh..you're trying to get my DNA sample. You need my spit! Ha! That's such a Dick Grayson thing to do."

Bart knows!! Dick's brilliantly sly okay. Honey catches more flies that vinegar? He takes it so far that breaks he the ceiling with it because by the time he's done, people don't even know they've been manipulated. And if they do, then what can they do about it? He always wins.

With friends and family he does it to make them feel better without being so overt and discomforting them.

Justice League: Road to Dark Crisis

Jon came to him when he was feeling lost and upset and Dick set up the perfect conditions to encourage him and pick him up. He's just so good at doing what he's doing but he does it for all the right reasons.

But the extent Dick can go trick and manipulate someone is off the charts. A virtuoso.

In a Titans comic, Dick literally spent MONTHS acting depressed and weak after Donna, Wally, and Garth were kidnapped to another dimension by a villain just so he could trick the villain into thinking that his career was over and bring him into the same dimension so Dick could take him down.

He fooled everyone.

Teen Titans: The Silver Age TBP 2 Part #1

"Batman taught me how to be a totally convincing actor! So if the only way you could send me here with your ring was if I filled my brain with evil thoughts, I just faked it! My facial expression was pure evil-but my mind remained pure good." MONTHS.

He planned, pretended, and calculated every single fiber of his own mind and body until the whole world was fooled by his acting. He tricked an interdimensional being who had psychic access. That means he was so extraordinarily manipulative, he can control his own thoughts inside his head to trick someone else. Voldemort's legilimens has nothing on Dick's talent.

Like Bart, sometimes his allies are aware of this like with Selina-

Gotham City Sirens Issue #23

Selina's literally having a mental breakdown trying not to fall for Dick's manipulation and tricks.

But even if they know he's manipulating them, they still are forced to fall for it anyway.

Gotham City Sirens Issue #23

"Damn it."

Like a goldilocks mad scientist - he does it just right.

His acting is just so on point that he outschemes the schemer.

When the Crime Syndicate (Superwoman, Ultraman, Owlman, Power ring, etc) arrive on Earth to take it over when Dick is Batman, Dick needs to do something fast. But to make things worse, there's a being that's so powerful, that both the Crime Syndicate and Justice League combined have a snowball's chance in hell of defeating him.

So what does Dick do? He runs the game.

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

"Of course he had a plan the whole time. He's Batman. He always has a plan."

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

He tricks everyone.

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

And in the end, the Justice League wins and Dick saves the world.

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #52

I love how they characterized Owlman as a snake because that would make Dick a mongoose since mongoose eats snakes. And do you know what Mongoose represent in folklore? Action, adventure, boldness, fearlessness, impulsiveness, independence, optimism, rebellion, resistance, resourcefulness, speed, adaptation, agility, quickness, intelligence and wit. All characteristics that define him.

He plays the world like a chessboard, always five steps ahead.

He always has an ace hidden up his sleeve.

His thoughts are always masked behind a disarming smile.

He has mastered the art of manipulation.

And that's while he's outright fighting. His subtlety is just so seductive.

Take a look at the way he smoothly evades answering in this panel -

Grayson Issue #9

He's so smooth. She's constantly on the watch but she instantly fell head over heels for his charms in a half a heartbeat, that's just how good he is.

Grayson Issue #10

He's a master manipulator who knows exactly what to say and how to act to always end up winning.

It's seriously such a shame that one of his greatest skills and talents isn't talked about more because this man?! Flawless.

He's the spy everyone on TV wishes they could be. He's the type of spy people read about in history books and marvel at the ease, grace, and legendary story he leaves behind. He's the spy that everyone knows and dreams of in their fantasies.

Nightwing (2016)

And oh how they so are.

He can just get people to do whatever he wants.

There's a reason why Batman's only contingency plan against Nightwing is "Let's hope he fucks up." Because with his intelligence, skill, power, charisma, and raw talent - he's goddamn unstoppable.

#manipulative dick grayson #dick's honest to god terrifying for what he can do #so thankful he's on the good side because the world doesn't stand a chance with him on the bad #dick grayson #nightwing #bart allen #dc impulse #jon kent #super boy #selina kyle #catwoman #dc titans #owlman #robin dick grayson #crime syndicate #justice league #spyral #batman dick grayson

1K notes · View notes

cozycottagetarot · 1 month

Text

Random Things About Your Person

From Elle: Pulled This One From The Drafts... wasn't going to post it but maybe there's something useful in it for someone. It's a chill one ✌️

Notes:

Definition of 'Your Person': At this point, I'm not sure how I personally define 'Your Person', so I guess I'm leaving that up to you're interpretation. For now, let's just say someone you'll have an impactful connection with.

Reading Layout: This reading is done in a brain-dump style where the info is just bullet as it came to me and less organised.

Dividers From X

Reading Masterlist | Patreon | Paid Readings -- Open 🥂

PILE 1

This person is such a loving and nurturing person… they could even help heal your inner child. If you want kids then this will transfer over to how they parent and it's very heartwarming.

They give off ethereal vibes. Very in tune with their intuition or have a strong sense of knowing

They could be your 'perfect match'

Someone you 'grow old' with or could envision yourself 'growing old' with

They could have a diverse friend group or their friend group is very important to them.

Night and the moon could be super important. They could be born at night, you meet at night or you communicate with them through your dreams.

They’re very abundant. Regardless of how much money they make, they just have such a rich life that you can see they are without want.

They’re very calming. They could calm your nervous system.

You’re going to have a very passionate/intimate relationship

There could be a 1-3 year age difference between you two (this is more so if you're interested in age differences... I don't why but I ended up reading those here)

They’re trustworthy and reliable

A very strong, gentle and protective person

PILE 2

Could live by the water or be very emotional.

They’re your heart, your everything. It might be hard to deny your attraction to them… but not physically. More so like a knowing once you meet this person that they play a significant role in your story

'Lionheart'... Regal energy

Lots to learn from them... So much that I actually wrote it twice lol

Kind of exotic… very beautiful

They don’t bark, they bite

They're someone who makes things happen

Very quiet…. It makes me think of something that I saw that goes along the lines of "You're harmless, not peaceful. If you’re peaceful you’re capable of great violence" or something like that. This is not meant to say that they're this aggressive/violent person. I feel like it's quite the opposite really.

I kept seeing this image of coming across a wounded animal, a wolf to be exact. You can see they've been in a fight/injured and are on guard. They're not going to hurt you but you can see that they are alert and will attack if you show you mean harm. A case of survival...

I feel like they hold the key to your happiness in a way

Something angelic about them… it could be their mind too

3 to a 8 year age difference (this is more so if you're interested in age differences… I don't why but I ended up reading those here)

An unexpected meeting

Beauty in darkness. Easily stressed or anxious. It feels very tense compared to pile/group 1

They’ve overcome a lot… flexible at a cost

One of you is further ahead in life than the other

Protective of their energy. Loyal, ambitious.

Overstimulated frequently or easily

PILE 3

They may be big on naps. Like napping together is their love language

They may be a little weird

Grumpy x sunshine vibes

Whimsy or connected to their inner child, youthful vibe

Very calm and peaceful

You two could be polar opposites but you work well together.

Their appearance can change a lot... I think more so through them willingly changing it. Really, don't be alarmed if you come home and they look completely different. I feel like they're mischievous and would get a kick out of your reaction

You could have a 2-6 year age difference (this is more so if you're interested in age differences… I don't why but I ended up reading those here)

They've managed to maintain a positive disposition despite the hardships they've faced

They could give off a met you in a past life vibe

Either good at helping you relax or they easily get stressed out but then can just as easily relax themself

Could be very creative or artistic... muse energy

Could like to take their space/time alone.... but could get lost in their head if not careful.

"Living in alignment" could be important to them... they may have a set of personal values or principles they really like to adhere to.

#pick a card #pick a pile #pick a card reading #pac reading #pick a picture #pick a pile reading #pick an image #free tarot reading #tarotblr #pick an image reading #cozycottagetarot #cozycottagetarot readings #pac tarot

896 notes · View notes

p1utofairy · 8 months

Text

PAC: “cause every little thing that we do, should be between me & you.” 🕯️💭✨

• what are your person’s dirty thoughts about you?

disclaimer ✩: 18+ mature themes. thank y'all for 1K omg <3 y’all really fw with lil ol’ me?! ily ily ily. 🥹 here’s a lil sumn sumn to celebrate. 🥂 p.s. take what resonates, leave what doesn’t. enjoy!

pile 1 ⭐️ —

“you don't need me, please believe me. this ain't easy, you know i've been feindin'. let me unleash my demons on you.”

“innocent” is what i’m hearing pile 1. your person will underestimate just how much of a hold you have on them lol initially they’ll think that you’re more of the submissive type, but oh are they in for a treat! you hold your cards close to your chest, so it’ll surprise them when this other side of you comes to the surface. i’m hearing “classy in the streets but a freak in the sheets” LOLLL. oh i’m also picking up that some of you may be inexperienced (or may not have as much sexual experience as them) but it won’t come off that way to them...they’ll just think that you’re playing coy and teasing them. your person will be eye-fucking you a lot, i can see them sitting across from you just looking you up and down…locking in on your legs — they’ll really love your legs. “you’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you. you’d be like heaven to touch.” just started playing in my mind. awww your person is very sensual 😩 and as much as they want to have you…they’ll be patient. they want to make sure you feel comfortable. all i need by lloyd just came to mind, “get up on it. i’m so horny and i want it. so get up on this, get up on the dick.” LMFAOOOO ik i said they'll be patient but i’m ngl they'll be internally tussling with themselves because they’re used to just getting what they want and people falling for them at the drop of a dime, but you make them work hard for it. i can see you two having a heavy make-out session before they drop you off home and then you pull away and you're like BYE 😘👋☺️ and they'll just be sitting there with their mind racing a mile per minute like FUCK?????? lmfaooooooooooo my gosh you will rile them up so bad pile 1. i feel like there will be a height difference between you two or an age gap. they could be older than you! you give them butterflies <3 they think they’re making you soo nervous/giddy inside (and they are) but you hide it a little better than they do. after every interaction with them you’ll feel all mushy inside hehe and you’ll be able to tell that you make them nervous. they’re just blown away by how beautiful, hot and how well-put together you are. i can see you talking and they’re just watching your mouth move like 👁️👁️ LMFAOOO bye pile 1. they’re feenin’ for you.

pile 2 🪡 —

“i just wanna live in a fantasy. i think we deserve it, right? top all the memories. i’ve ever made in my life.”

oouu this is my pile that doesn't take shit from nobody, okayyyy! hi pile 2 welcome to your reading <3 i can already tell that your person loves how you carry yourself. you do not allow many people to have access to you, and when you do, people can’t help but feel special inside because you have such a ✨big✨ presence. you may not take your person very serious at first. they have youthful/playful energy while you have a very disciplined and mature demeanor. that’s what will make them so attracted to you; how you're always on your shit…there's no cutting corners with you, you do not have time for the games and they will respect that. there's something about your lips that they love. you might have a defined cupid’s bow like rihanna or maybe they just like how cute and soft they are; especially after they just got done kissing you. i see them teasing you and slightly biting your bottom lip after they pull away from the kiss 🥵 ugh don’t count them out pile 2. they might have youthful energy but they're a pro when it comes to seduction lol you both are similar in a sense — you both want something serious and passionate with a hint of playfulness. they'll loveeeee watching you get ready! like i can see you standing in front of a mirror, in a rush to make yourself look presentable and they're just laying back on the bed…giving you the look. just ready to POUNCE. whew pile 2! this person’s love language might also be physical touch, cause they’ll be fighting the urge to squeeze your ass or constantly have their hand on your lower back. you’ll secretly love all their physical affection though hehe.

pile 3 🔪 —

“out of breath, take it slow. i wanna feel it in my soul. yeah, i know you love it when i’m on top. gotta keep it going, baby. don’t stop.”

heyyyy pile 3 🤗 i’m immediately hearing that you have a way with words. you know exactly what buttons to push to get your person aroused mhm! your person knows your worth just as much as you do, they’ll put you on a pedestal and treat you with so much care and devotion. they may have a worship kink? i see a bedroom setting — lightly-dimmed, candles lit, red rose petals on the floor and they’re slowly taking your shoes off for you…their hands trailing up your bare legs slowly 🥵 OKAYYYY pile 3! the sexual attraction is strong in this one wow. that scene from the wolf of wall street where naomi (margot robbie) and jordan (leo dicaprio) are on a date and naomi is giving him the fuck me eyes while saying “aren’t you married?” is coming to mind. now i don’t feel like there’s any third parties/cheating involved…you two just might be into role-playing. like i can see them booking a spontaneous getaway trip for the two of you & y’all just slut each other out and explore each other’s wildest fantasies the whole time 🤭 you both know how and what will make the other person tick; i can see them teasing you a lot in public. a lot of dirty talk in your ear, hand on the back of your neck gently squeezing and kisses. they were never really like this in their previous relationship(s) but you bring out a whole different side of them. agora hills by doja cat just started playing, “kissing and hope they caught us, whether they like or not. i wanna show you off. i wanna show you off.” THEY REALLY DO, PILE 3. they can't believe they bagged you…every-time they look at you they’re in awe.

#pac #pick a pile #pick a card #love pac #love reading #intuitive reading #pick a card reading #tarot #tarot pac #tarot reading #pac reading #energy reading #p1utofairy

2K notes · View notes

arabellasleopardcoat · 21 days

Text

To Conquer (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Incest is common amongst Targaryens, Daemon assures you. Unfortunately, Alicent got to you first.

Warnings: Mentions of sex. Cursing. Arranged marriage. Periods. Daddy issues. Religious guilt. One death aside from canon ones (Daemon murders a man)

A/N: In which I rewrite the scene of my first encounter with incest in a book. If you get it, you get it.

YOU NEVER dared call Alicent mother out loud. But in your mind, she was.

The woman who had birthed you had passed away the same day you had been born. Out of her womb you had been pulled, alongside your twin. He had not survived the day.

Queen Aemma Arryn was a mere name to you, a woman who existed in paintings and shadows, a ghost that lurked on the Red Keep. Your father never once spoke of her too you, too consumed by guilt and grief. In fact, he did his best to never speak to you at all.

You were an uncomfortable reminder of the crime he had committed. Robbing a woman of life so a man may live. It hadn’t even worked in the end. Your brother had faded from this world, nothing of him remaining.

Against all odds, you had. You had clung to life, the Maesters would later say. Fought tooth and nail to stay in this world. And somehow, it hadn’t been enough. Your father avoided you like the plague, but Alicent, guilty, scared, lonely Alicent, did not. She was all you had.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Despite your dramatic entrance to the world, and your eventful first few months of life, your life had turned out to be quite lackluster. There were no exciting adventures or claiming of dragons, much less a moniker attached to your name like there was to Rhaenyra or Daemon. You wondered why this, out of all things, had to be different.

The robes looked graceful enough on you, you supposed. Your father had called you a true Valyrian beauty, the very image of your mother. You knew it wasn’t true. King Viserys didn’t remember her. How could he, if he had done his best attempts to erase her? He had replaced her at once, and he never once spoke of her again. At least, not with you.

His presence in your life could be defined with one word: Absence. But he had thought it fair to reappear when he needs you to do something for him. The least he could have done would have been asking for your input about the wedding.

If you had been asked, you would have chosen a traditional wedding ceremony, with a Septon and a hand fasting. You would have worn a Targaryen cloak… To be exchanged for another Targaryen cloak. No. Perhaps it had been for the best, not to desecrate such a beautiful ritual with this nonsense.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling of not being really married. You didn’t like it. And you liked the man who was waiting for you on the other side of the door much less.

“Are you done, niece?” The knock on the door forced you into action, once again. You reached into the basin, watching the cool water shift under your fingers. There was something about the cold that cleared your head, helped you think. You took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

Alicent had told you that you should obey him in all things. That you had to do your duty, just as she had done hers. But you had seen the fear in her eyes when you were getting ready for the ceremony, and how her hands had grasped at you desperately during the feast. It had taken Ser Otto’s intervention to make her let go of you.

Your bedtime stories had not prepared either of you for this. When you were a young girl, plagued by night terrors, she would sit at the foot of your bed and pretend to read your destiny.

“One day, you will fly to the moon wearing spiderwebs as wings.” She would squint at your hand, making a show of reading the lines there.

“Tell me more!” You would squeal, fears forgotten. Despite not being the motherly type, she would always indulge you. Perhaps, because she saw herself in you. Another little girl, her mother dead, her father defined by his lack of presence.

“It says here…” Alicent would tickle your palm. “That you will grow up into a beautiful, beautiful princess who will marry a handsome lord. He will love you very much.”

Out of all the lies you had been told, it was your favorite. Each night, you would ask to hear it again and again, and think, tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will be all grown, and the lady of a great castle. My father will love me then.

It had been a consolation you had clung on through all your childhood. You were a princess, worthy of being appreciated by your future husband. He would love you, you knew. You would build something together, something only yours. You would raise your children to be better than you, following Alicent’s example. You would be happy.

You had never realized how much she had clung to that thought too. Her frustrated dreams for herself had been turned into hope for your future. Alicent had spoken them into the night like an enchantment, as if she could bring them to life by repeating the words over and over. So you could have what she hadn’t had. Like all parents wished.

What both of you had imagined wasn't this. You wanted to scream from rage.

“Just a bit more.” You said, your resolve hardening. The faith of the Seven dictated that laying with a relative was a sin, the same for laying with a man who was not your husband. They barely recognized Valyrian wedding ceremonies.

Had you really married him? Your High Valyrian was sloppy. Your mother had not taught you much, and your lessons had often been interrupted because of Aegon. Out of all your siblings, Aemond had been the most proficient one. He had not been present at the ceremony, being judged too young to attend.

It had been your parents, Daemon, Aegon. An intimate ceremony, just as they liked. Could your father betray you so? Give you away as a whore to appease his brother?

You opened the table’s drawers. Daemon’s bathing room was unfamiliar to you, but he must have used something to shave and you would find it. You riffled through various oils and soaps before finding the blade you were seeking.

With your non-dominant hand, you bunched the robes up. Bracing yourself, you used your other hand to slit your upper thigh. At first, you didn’t draw blood, despite feeling the sting of the blade. Your grip was too shaky. But your determination didn’t waver. Your father had asked too much of you already, there was no power in the world that could force you to share your Uncle’s bed.

Your second attempt was much more successful. Despite having tensed the muscles of your thigh anticipating pain, it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Blood rushed out. You grabbed a rag and rubbed it on it. You examined it, coldly. No matter how Valyrian, you bled red, like any Andal.

You schooled yourself into faux embarrassment before you spoke.

“Could you… Husband…. Could you fetch my mother?”

Despite your calculations, you make the mistake regardless. The noun slips from your tongue, unprompted. A slip. The first of many to come. The temperature dropped in the room, Daemon’s anger a near palpable thing.

“Your mother is dead, niece.” He stressed the last word in a way you didn’t like. Despite the door separating the two of you, you could tell his mood had shifted from bad to something much worse. You feared what he might do to you, were you to backtrack in your plan. “Whatever Alicent has been teaching you, you should know you are not hers.”

“Queen Alicent.” You corrected, annoyed. How did he dare criticize the way she had raised you, when there had been literally no one else around up to the task. How did he dare speak down to you, as if you were a simpleton? You fought to keep your tone steady and stomped on the anger bubbling up. “I have… lady troubles.”

“Lady troubles?” Daemon asked, sounding puzzled.

You pondered the merits of skirting around the issue. You weren’t in the mood to enter a euphemism’s discussion, and so, decided to be more graphic.

The bloody rag was held gently between your fingers when you opened the door. No more words were needed. Daemon cursed and went to get your mother.

HE DOESN’T dare ask at first. Daemon understands that women’s bodies work different from his own. He has never bedded one in her moonblood, and doesn’t intend to start with you.

Despite your beauty, Daemon felt oddly disappointed. He had hoped, with you being fully Rhaenyra’s sister and not half, like his younger nephews, that you would be similar to her.

You weren’t. You lacked her fierceness and the respect for your heritage. The only thing Valyrian about you was your looks. You didn’t even have a dragon of your own, and were so damn timid, he might confuse you with a mouse rather than a Princess.

Because of that same reason, he let you be during your moonblood. While Daemon didn’t object to some blood, he doubted you would be the same. Bedding unwilling maidens wasn’t his thing. He preferred his girls willing, be it from the promise of coin or delirious from their own lust.

Somehow, he was getting the feeling you weren’t going to be the second type anytime soon. Every time he attempted to kiss you, you squirmed away, as if he were initiating something sinful and not simply trying to kiss his wife.

“Seven Hells, would it kill you to remain still?” He asked as you nervously avoided his grip on your waist. “I am not trying to initiate anything. I know you are still on your courses. Stand still. I command it.”

“I… I…” You had looked at him, all hesitant eyes. Alicent had done scarcely any things right when raising you, but at least she had instilled you obedience. But blood couldn’t be denied, and every so often your Valyrian nature reared its head. Mostly, playing against Daemon rather than in his favor. Little dragon that you were, you weren’t keen on following orders.

Ah, but bring you a Septa. Then you were jumping out of your seat to offer the damn woman your chair and observing her earnestly for non-verbal cues, tending to her every need like a commoner. Ridiculous.

“The Mother obeys the Father, from what I understand.” Daemon kept his tone matter of fact. He wasn’t certain that the Seven Pointed Star said that, but it sounded right, and it suited him, so he spoke the words with as much conviction as he could muster. In truth, Daemon had never opened the damn book in his life. A waste of time. The Septons he knew were a bunch of cunts and their followers weren’t any better.

“Maidens are supposed to be demure.” You protested. “Not indulge on indecent displays.”

“You are not meant to be a maiden any longer.” He grabbed you by the waist regardless, coaxing you to stroll next to him. “And wives obey their husbands.”

While you remained unconvinced, you allowed him to lead you around the Red Keep’s gardens. He kept a constant stream of chatter, using all his best lines, but you answered in monosyllables. Not only did Daemon wish to cultivate a better relationship with you, but he also wanted to flaunt his new bride. It was only fair that the other cunts here got a look at Targaryen superiority. Kept them from being too uppity.

Like everything else in this marriage, though, that too proved elusive. Soon, whispers began to circulate about his virility. One of your maids had a loose tongue, it seemed. The whole castle was snickering about it not even a week later. You, like usual, were oblivious.

In a fit of anger Daemon would later not be proud of, he got all the little chits whipped. But their attitudes about your moonblood made him begin to suspect something was amiss. A fortnight of bleeding seemed… Strange. While he was never particularly interested in women’s bodies beyond fucking them, something had to be wrong. An inquiry with the Maester proved him right. Apparently, over a week was unusual, a fortnight near impossible.

That night, he sat on the foot of your shared bed, watching you fret around the room. Daemon had asked for shared chambers, thinking it would bring the two of you closer. With his constant exiles and marriages, and the fact that Alicent had coddled you during your whole existence, you were a stranger with a familiar face. He had hoped to entice you by appealing to your curiosity about marital duties. Safe to say, it didn’t work.

You had put up barriers. Both metaphorical and physical ones. Right now, you were at it again. Laying down a towel on your side of the bed and a pillow in the middle of it. As he watched you, he found himself struck by the beauty of your hands. They were firm and precise in their movements, fixing down the towel and then neatly delimiting your side of the bed with the pillow.

You were wearing the most hideous nightshirt know to man, more adequate for a Septa than a newlywed. Slightly bent over, fluffing up your pillows, Daemon noticed that it was as white as fresh snow. Now that he thought of it, all your shifts were. And yet, none of them had ever been stained. Nor had the towel you placed on the bed and loudly proclaimed it was to avoid leakages. An effort to make yourself more unappealing, perhaps?

Somehow, the realization didn’t anger him. Instead, it made him more curious. Was this your way of rebelling? Were you scared? What went on behind your eyes, inside that skull of yours?

“Wife.” Daemon finally spoke, when you were starting to kneel for your nightly prayers. You paused, kneeling gracefully. You looked up at him, all curious eyes and nervous smile. “Have your courses always been this long?”

This time, he watches your reaction closely. During these past days, Daemon has not pressured you about it. But now, he waits on bated breath.

Your eyes widen. The hands you have clasped in prayer get even tighter pressed together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t… These are womanly concerns.” You are a terrible liar. He would laugh, were it not such a cruel thing to do when in the face of a little fool.

“I insist.” Daemon arches an eyebrow at you. You squirm on your knees like there are ants on your shift. You are visibly distraught. Does it pain you, pious girl that you are, to be committing a sin?

“Yes, they are.”

Another lie. He had asked some of the fools in Viserys’ employment. Yours didn’t last more than a week. But Daemon finds all the twitching you are doing entertaining, and so, decides to give you more rope to hang yourself.

“And yet, your father promised that you were fertile.” He drawls, cruel amusement almost leaking into his tone. He can’t help the way his lips twitch. This is too entertaining. It’s like toying with a mouse before eating it.

“I… I am.” You weakly defend yourself. Your face is looking more distressed by the second. And is that..? Oh, wonderful, you are starting to sweat a little.

“No, you are not. You are either lying about that, or about your moonblood.”

“I am not!” You protest, finally getting up from your kneeling position. A shame. You looked positively delicious in your predicament.

“Yes, you are! But I am giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Which one are you lying about?”

“I am not.” You look about to flee the room, so Daemon gets up and places himself on your path. You flinch a bit, but stubbornly refuse to admit the truth. His amusement at your attitude is starting to turn sour. Not only it is unflattering that you are making up excuses to avoid bedding him, but they are so stupid half the court is laughing at him behind his back about it. And you, absolute fool, can’t admit it.

“Wrong answer, niece.” He steps closer, trying to intimidate you. “I know the truth.”

“You do?” You startle. You take a step back, nearly tripping on the hem of that ugly nightgown. Daemon reaches to steady you, his grip on your arms punishingly. You twitch, as if sensing that you are caught in the maws of a hungry beast that could pounce at any moment.

“You are not on your moonblood. You can't be every single day of the moon!” He shakes you a little, making you yelp. But then, the most astounding thing happens. Because instead of going very still, as the frightened bird that you are, you shove him hard.

“What would you know!” You scream at him, pointing one finger at his face. Daemon wishes to say he is unbothered by your hysterics, but instead, he grabs your accusing hand and tugs it. The delicate bones shift inside his hand, threatening to snap, and you're left with no choice but go towards him or break your finger.

Wisely, you choose the second. You are breathing hard, and looking up at him in righteous indignation.

“Brute!”

“I asked your maids.” Daemon smirks at you, something ugly appearing on his face. In truth, whatever you see spooks you because you deflate a little. “So? Shall you tell me the truth? Or must I find it myself?”

He makes it as if to lift your shift. You bat his hand away, hard. Interesting enough, you harden then.

“What else is there to know? Beyond that I am not on my moonblood?”

“We can start with why you lied. Or why you don’t wish to lay with me.” Daemon suggests, gripping you tightly so you cannot escape. He brings his face closer to yours.

Your eyes are wide. Your face is frozen into a terrified expression, like you are realizing all your lies are catching up to you.

“I didn’t want you to force me.” You say, voice barely a whisper. Who do you think he is? Some sort of monster? Your depraved half brother, perhaps? Daemon had already heard the exploits that one was up to. Jerking off in a window, of all things.

“Force you! If I wanted to force you, I could already have.” Daemon rolls his eyes. You were not trained in any sort of combat, and you were the kind who had her head in the clouds more often than not. You were not a match for him. If Daemon wanted to force you, he just had to pin you down or pull out Dark Sister.

You stay quiet, perhaps coming to the same realization. You have gone to bed next to him for nearly two weeks, only in thin shifts. Every day, you have woken up untouched. Doubt starts to cloud up your face, as if you are noticing how vulnerable you truly have been and how well Daemon has behaved.

As if he were going to be deterred by a little blood. He was a true Targaryen. It was in his house’s words. Plenty of maidens bled when being split open on his cock. Your moonblood would not be very different.

Daemon decides to appeal to your more… Hightower side. Perhaps that would get you to yield to him. He uses his more Otto-like tone, trying to sound as cunty as possible.

“It’s your duty.”

You shake your head, frantically.

“We can’t. It's not right. You are my uncle.”

Your words are spoken with such conviction, he has to fight the urge to scream. That was your problem? You? A daughter of the house of the dragon, complaining about incest?

“It is not unprecedented. Our whole line begins because Aegon the conqueror had his sister wives. And then, Maegor married his niece, too.” Daemon’s words are sharp. He lets go of you and starts to pace the room. Good Gods, what had Alicent done to you? Had she twisted your mind so, you now thought marrying him was wrong because you were related?

“And their marriage was cursed. No child was born out of their union.” You reply, with an ugly smile. He wants to slap it out of your little face. Smug little girl, thinking she knows everything about the world.

“Jaehaerys married his sister, the Good Queen Alyssane. They had plenty of children.” He insists, trying to get you to notice the flaws in your argument. Everyone knew that the only way to preserve the Valyrian bloodline was by marrying other Valyrians. Otherwise, the magic in their blood would dilute, and they would no longer be able to claim dragons. It was common sense.

“All of them turned out very… queer.”

“My parents..!” But you interrupt him before he can finish.

“Exceptionally queer, too.”

Daemon feels his face heating up. No one before has managed to infuriate him so. He wants to shake some sense into you. His hands itch for something to punish you with. Impudent little thing, daring to suggest his parents had been queer!

Queer! The queer one here was you! A Targaryen who opposed incest!

“Listen here, you awful little…”

“Stop that. Stop insulting me, by the Seven. You won’t change my mind.” You raise one of your hands, in the universal halt sign. “I will never share your bed.”

At that, Daemon thinks actual steam must be coming out of his ears. Never. As if. You would change your mind, he knows it. No one can resist him for long. He is experienced, charming, and handsome. A prince and a true dragon. What more could anyone want?

He would make you regret your words. He would show you. Under all your repressed, Hightower ways, you were a dragon. Targaryen blood ran thick. Daemon would have you eating out of the palm of his hand before you could realize. Before, he hadn’t really been trying. But now? He was ready for war.

“Come here.” He orders. You stare at him, and do not move. “You will disobey me in this, too?”

You step closer, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I wish to make a deal.” Daemon says. You cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to bed me if you don’t want to. But you will have to give me something in exchange.”

“What?” You tap your foot against the floor, impatiently. Yet your face, as always, betrays you. His offer has made you lower your guard, interested in what he has to say. Probably because you are seeing a way out of this whole issue.

“I want you to let me be as affectionate as I wish with you.”

“Fine.” You snarl at him, trying to look fierce. But you are too new to this game of pretending for Daemon to not see through your mask. You are confused.

He steps closer. He gathers you into his arms, and hugs you.

At first, you tense. Your arms remain glued to your sides, body stiff in his arms. Daemon enjoys the feel of it regardless. You smell like innocence, sweet and young. Your body is soft and feminine, nothing like the hard muscles of his first wife. He allows himself to relax into you.

Eventually, your body sags a bit. You relax into the hug.

“I wish… I wish….” You start speaking, face hidden in his shoulder. Daemon doesn’t let go. His gut tells him that whatever you are going to say, it is important. “I wish I wasn’t ashamed. And that… In our wedding ceremony, I would have liked to know what was being said.”

Daemon’s heart aches. His poor little Hightower, denied of her birthright. And then, a giant grin spreads on his face. Here it was. The opportunity he needed.

“I will teach you.” Daemon whispers, against your hair. He kisses it. It’s a lovely thing, an icy blonde that doesn’t fit your warm personality. Now that you are not fighting him, he is starting to notice you are very sweet natured. “I promise.”

“You will?” You look up at him, wary. “And what will the price be?”

Daemon chuckles.

“No price.” He caresses the bridge of your nose, tracing your features. You seem bashful at the attention, and it is so adorable, he can’t help but kiss you.

You startle. All coltish, you nearly elbow him in your haste to move away.

“What are you doing? We said no bedding!”

“I know.” Daemon smiles at you, indulgently. Now is the time to tread carefully, less you spook, and he ends up losing all his progress. “I just want to kiss my wife. Affection, for the sake of it. Kissing doesn’t need to lead to anything.”

You nod. You don’t seem convinced. But he soon discovers your hesitance comes from something else.

“I have never kissed anyone.” You whisper, almost ashamed.

“Then let me teach you that too.” And he is leaning in, and capturing your mouth with his.

“I GOT you something.” Daemon suddenly says, one morning. You lift your gaze from your book, an historic account about the doom of old Valyria, and watch him with curious eyes.

Your husband is carrying a bundle of cloth on his arms. He is back from his usual shenanigans in the city. Betting and drinking, but no longer any whoring, he assures you. The Lord of Flea Bottom is no more, or so he says.

It is quite early. You have just broke your fast with your mother, after the two of you did your morning prayers together. It is a ritual you find great comfort in, despite Daemon doing his best to discourage you. He doesn’t like that you worship the Faith of the Seven.

He has grown slightly more tolerant of Alicent as time goes by. You cannot say the same for her. Despite the fact that Daemon treats you well, she still can’t seem to get over the fact that he is Daemon Targaryen, the same man who had terrorized her father, courted her best friend and possibly murdered his last wife.

The bundle of clothes moves in Daemon’s arms. You place your book down, and creep closer, wondering about its contents. It’s then that you hear it. A soft, quiet mewl.

A grin spreads across your face. You cross the distance between the two of you, and watch as a small paw reaches out from the cloth, flexing its tiny claws. It is covered in white fur, the cushions on the bottom of it a soft pink.

“A kitten!” You say, delighted. You take it from Daemon and cradle it against you. The kitten can’t be older than a few weeks. His eyes are already open, a cloudy gray that takes your breath away. It’s love at first sight. “Oh, husband, thank you!”

“I saw it when I was coming back this morning. Thought you would like the damn thing.” Daemon says, gruffly. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I will name him… Quicksilver!” You say, cheerily. It makes his lips twitch a bit, unable to hide his amusement. This week, Daemon has been helping you practice your High Valyrian by reading a more recent text, accounting the times of King Aerys.

The language practice has brought the two of you closer. You are no longer as resentful or scared of him as you once were. You spend nearly all your evenings with him, pouring over gigantic tomes written in the language of your ancestors. Daemon patiently corrects your pronunciation, teaching you the right way of rolling the vocals, and how to accentuate your consonants.

You would have never thought you would enjoy learning so much. He is a very compelling teacher, clearly passionate about the subject yet stern enough to make you do all your assignments before their due date. Daemon is patient and encouraging, willing to explain things to you over and over again until you understand them fully.

The kitten yawns, showing a row of tiny white teeth and a pink tongue. You coo.

“Tiny but fierce.” Daemon smirks. “The Seven preserve us all.”

“How pious.” You tease, and Daemon steps closer. He grabs your waist and pulls you in for a kiss, Quicksilver still in your arms.

Despite having kissed him many times before now, you feel as weak to his advances as you had felt the first time he had kissed you. Daemon kisses like he is conquering, nipping at your lower lip until you open for him, and taking complete ownership of your mouth. His hands grasp at your nape, holding you against him. There is no escape from his kisses, and it fills you with a thrill you had never expected to feel before. Daemon wants you. He desires you, as a man desires a woman. There is no headier feeling than that.

At first, you had thought he was lonely. Why else would he ask for affection, when he was able to ask for anything else from you? That night, when he had found out you had been lying to him, Daemon could have asked for anything, done anything to you. Not a man in the realm would have judged him for it.

His behavior after that only seemed to confirm it. When the two of you were in public, his hands would linger on you, as if fearing you would leave his side. When someone told a funny joke, his eyes would seek yours before laughing, making sure you were still there.

It was an urge you understood too well. Abandonment was something you had learned to fear as well. Your mother had left you unwillingly. Your father and sister had both been eager to wash their hands from you. You guessed Daemon’s life had been a bit like that, too. From what you had heard, his mother had passed when he was a child. Your father had grown tired of him. And your sister… Well. That had been his fault.

When you grew up like that, you clung to every kindness, to every slice of warmth you could get. It was no wonder Daemon clung to you as hard as he did. It was difficult to live like that, not knowing what kindness feels like, grasping desperately to any scraps of it until you can almost piece together what the real thing feels like.

Despite having all reasons not to, Daemon’s attention never turned suffocating. Perhaps, you too, were starved for affection. You had gone your whole life with no positive male attention, being overshadowed by your sister and forced into almost a Septa-like life by your mother. His touches were never beyond the proper attention a man would show his wife in public. It felt almost… fatherly.

As a child, your father had never sat with you, or listened to anything you said. Daemon, instead, seemed to pay close attention to everything you did or told him. He sat for hours with you, pouring over myths and historical accounts, correcting your pronunciation of High Valyrian, teaching you the meaning behind old rituals.

It was as if a door had been opened for you. One you could use to glimpse inside his mind, and your father’s and even Rhaenyra’s. You understood now much more about how they behaved, and why they did. You didn’t necessarily agree, but you understood.

Some confusing feelings had begun to arise with all this new information stuffed into your head. You liked Daemon’s attention. He was charming, and it made you feel good about yourself, being able to keep someone as worldly and cultured as him interested in you. It made you wish, sometimes, to have been his daughter instead of King Viserys’. But at the same time, the way you felt and the things you did with him weren’t the kind of things you imagined daughters feeling for their parents.

When Daemon kissed you, as he did now, you felt your stomach swoop. His skilled mouth made your skin tingle, and all your hairs stand up on edge. It made you feel ashamed of yourself. You weren’t supposed to feel such things for your uncle. No matter how Valyrian, it was just not right.

What made you feel even more ashamed was the fact that sometimes, when he kissed you for too long, the place between your legs would get slick with arousal. You wanted him too, you realized, with the utmost horror. You wanted him like a woman desires a man. A wife desires her husband.

It is then the game starts. Daemon kisses you, and you kiss back, eagerly exploring his mouth and learning how to play his game. You make out with him for what feels like hours, until you feel drunk from his kisses and become as pliant and soft as clay being molded in his hands. It is then that you let him touch you a bit more, push the boundaries your previous truce has set. His hands grasp at your hips, his lips mouth at your neck. And when the edge of your shift starts to ride up, or his lips trail too close to the neckline of it, you jolt out of your stupor.

Shame licks at your spine, grabs tightly at the back of your head. Makes you stiffen under him, body set into a hard line. How can you be so wanton? Why do you behave in such whorish ways? You struggle then, overcome by the embarrassment you feel at your own behavior.

Daemon tries to subdue you. Sometimes, you fold, other times you spend the night tossing and turning on the bed, trying to get the upper hand. Sometimes, he wins, and pins you down on the mattress. But instead of forcing you, he kisses you again and the game begins anew.

You spend the nights like this. Kissing and struggling with anxious violence, until it has begun to replace the act of love. You can tell Daemon enjoys your struggles, the feel of your buttocks against his clothed crotch. You can feel the weight of him against your hip, burning hot and hard.

Eventually, he tires and heads out. You don’t know if he pleasures himself then, or if he just ignores his arousal until it goes away. You prefer the second when it comes to yourself. For hours, you stare at the ceiling, willing the heat in your blood to go away. Sleeps evades you, yet when it does not, it feels even more torturous. You dream of him, of the act, conjuring lewd positions and thoughts, until morning comes, and you feel like you have not slept at all.

This precarious balance could never last. You are not good at the court’s games, having been a wallflower most of your life. You are a stranger to waging tongues, and malicious comments, but Daemon is not. He is doomed to always be the center of attention, this husband of yours.

Someone notices that almost three moons after marriage, you are still a maiden And someone remembers Daemon’s lack of children with his first wife. One plus one makes two.

He comes to find you in the Royal Sept, as you are lighting candles with your mother. He grabs you briskly by the arm and drags you away, the match still alight between your fingers.

“Have you heard?” Daemon asks, breathless. It is clear that he has rushed to you. “What they are saying about me?”

You shake your head.

“How would I?” You are, after all, as isolated as you were before the wedding. Your only companions are Quicksilver, Daemon, your mother, and your siblings. And Aegon is at that terrible age, where he behaves like a little deviant. The others are too young to provide true companionship, Helaena stuck on her imaginary worlds and Aemond not quite a boy, not yet a man.

“They say I am impotent. That your womb has not quickened because I have not taken you. Because I am unable to.” The crude words Daemon speaks make your eyes widen. You have grown protected from the nastier side of court life, forgotten as you were. You cannot believe how someone would dare comment on a married couple’s bedroom activities, which are meant to be one of the more sacred things to happen between man and wife according to the Seven. Much less, how someone would dare to utter such poisonous slander.

“We know it’s not the truth.” You place your hand on his arm, trying to soothe his wounded pride. Daemon is, above all, impulsive. You fear he is about to do something rash, even if you do not imagine yet what.

Isn’t it enough that the two of you know the courtiers are in the wrong? You have felt the press of his member, hard against your hip, in the nights the two of you struggle. You have felt his hips rutting against yours, as his kisses mapped unknown constellations on your shoulders. What does it matter if Daemon hasn’t taken you? How can these people dare interfere, or even mention what the two of you do or do not do?

Shame, once again, grips you in its clutches. You feel your face warm at the thought of how these strangers must view you. Queer. Twisted. You wonder if they blame his inability to perform on your blood ties. If they think the Seven are cursing your marriage, just as they had with the ones of King Maegor.

“It isn’t.” Daemon says, coldly. He walks away, a tense line on his shoulders, and you walk back inside the Sept.

Alicent is still lighting candles. You sense that there are not enough of them to make a difference for what is about to happen.

That night, a disgruntled looking Harwin Strong wakes you up. He tells you how he is there to supervise your packing. You are leaving the city, he explains, to your bewilderment. Effective immediately.

As you place your dresses inside some linens, and ready Quicksilver, you manage to coax the story out of him.

Daemon had been at his usual haunt in Flea Bottom, betting on some cockfights. You could picture the scene clearly. Daemon, lazily counting his winnings with that infuriating smug look he got when he was proud of himself. An angry patron, getting up and on his face after losing to him.

“Maybe that cock will work for your wife!”

The whole establishment erupting into laughter. Daemon, cold smile on his lips.

“Go to your manse, and arm yourself. Because I am going to kill you tonight.”

After that, there was little he could say in his own defense to King Viserys. It had been a premeditated act, in front of multiple witnesses. No way of denying it, or trying to shift the blame.

You stood outside the city gates, observing Caraxes. He looked as done with Daemon’s antics as you felt. In front of you, stood the world.

Daemon strode by, being dragged by Ser Harwin. He was chained, but managed to look as carefree as any free man.

“You know the rules.” Ser Harwin said, unchaining him, before turning towards you. There was a bit of sorrow in his brown eyes, perhaps feeling pity for you. “Farewell, Princess.”

“Where to, Lady Wife?” Daemon asked, cheekily. There was no hint of remorse on his face. It seemed exile reinvigorated him like nothing else.

Your lips pursed into a thin line. You didn’t want to leave. It was scary, the thought of being away from home. The times you had been outside the Red Keep could be counted with the fingers of your hands alone. And what were you to do, friendless in the big world that opened in front of you?

You wanted to punish him. If he was giving you a choice, you were going to give him a lesson.

“To the North. Perhaps that hot blood of yours will fare better there.”

“ARE YOU sure?” You ask him, all pleading eyes. Daemon nods, already sitting inside the hot spring. You are strangely fearful of the warm water, perhaps, having already grown used to the cold of the North.

“If this scalds me alive, I will come back to haunt you.” You warn, turning to face away before beginning to undress. Daemon can’t help but let his eyes linger on your body, despite knowing how indignant it would get you were you to notice. He has promised to avert his eyes, after all.

Naive as you are, you never check to see that he actually does.

He watches as you remove your furs, and unlace your dress. It has taken him quite some effort to get you to feel comfortable enough to be naked in his presence. There might come a day when you are desensitized to nakedness, but Daemon guesses you are still far away from it. He has to keep trying.

You are worth the effort, though. His precious niece, sweet as the Maiden herself and twice as pretty.

“Dragons don’t burn.” He answers, absentmindedly. You are only wearing your chemise and your hoses, and as you lean down to remove those, he gets a perfect view of your cute rear.

“Perhaps. But I am no dragon.” You pull the chemise over your head, unaware of the fact that you are being watched. Daemon drinks in the sight of your naked legs, strong yet delicate, leading up to beautiful hips and a soft back. As you pull your hair up, he notices how the muscles of your arms and back move in a graceful combination that can’t be anything more but a natural gift. He spends a few seconds mesmerized by you, before you start to turn around and Daemon remembers he is supposed to be averting his eyes.

He fixes them politely on the other side of the hot spring, careful to not let you catch him looking out of the corner of his eyes. You are becoming sloppy in your old age, he scolds himself. Daemon can't help it. Lately, he feels more like the boy he once was than the man he is. His attempts at seduction are fumbled, he gets carried away by his passion, a single one of your smiles can render him tongue twisted.

Everything that you do is charming. The slight sway of your hips as you walk, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, but most of all, your personality. Freed from the cage of Alicent’s judgmental stares, you seem to be growing into yourself. Life on the road seems to suit you, despite your fearful nature. Surrounded by strangers, you no longer feel the weight of being judged for imaginary sins.

“You are. Just one with a more…. Fragile constitution.” How he wishes to be able to turn back time, sometimes. Gather the girl you once were into his arms and soothe all the old hurts. Raise you the right way, give you all the attention you had desperately needed and watch you bloom into an impressive woman. You were already a creature of impossible beauty. How much better could you have been, if they hadn’t stunted your growth?

You were too much of a Hightower, Daemon himself had thought once. But Alicent had thought you not Hightower enough, and she had tried to mold you into one, keeping you well away from what she thought of as queer customs.

Who had told you weren't a dragon? And how had they made that awful lesson stick, until you felt adrift, and belonged nowhere?

The sudden sound of water shifting, and you hissing makes him jolt out of his contemplation. Daemon turns his head the barest bit, managing to catch sight of your hips sinking into the water, and the shape of one of your breasts. There is one puffy nipple crowning it, hard and proud and begging to be bitten. He fights the urge to pounce on you, and instead remains sitting on his side of the natural pool and tries to relax into the warm water. Patience is of the essence in seduction, after all. You need to come to him convinced it is your idea.

“Ready.” You say, sounding a bit too close. He turns and there you are, right in front of him. You sit on the shallower end, water covering you to nearly your collarbones. Daemon playfully reaches out with his foot and touches your leg, making you jump. He laughs.

“It isn’t so bad, is it?” Daemon’s voice still carries a bit of mirth. He can’t help it, you have such cute reactions.

“No. Almost like a warm bath.” You fan your face with your hands. Seeing you lose your composure a little, Daemon feels a bit guilty about pressuring you to enter the pool. It’s true you are not as used to extreme heat as he is. He rushes to your side, uncaring of his own nakedness.

“Too hot?” He asks you, wiping away a stray drop of sweat before it can get into your eyes. You mumble something incoherent, so he presses a hand to your forehead. He doesn’t want you to swoon from heat exhaustion, out of all things. But your temperature is normal. It is then he realizes your eyes are fixated on his chest.

Ah. Poor thing. Daemon can feel his lips stretching into a proud smile. Finally, succumbing to your lust. He should press his advantage, but he finds himself hesitating to do so. Despite how appealing he finds you, he understands that you are different. A being that walks the world of the divine and the mundane that skirts the two but was not made for the more carnal things.

Instead, he commits the sight to memory, for when he decides to touch himself. Perhaps tonight, even. It is something he has been doing more and more often. Daemon has found intercourse with whores is nowhere near as fun as laying on the bed, with you by his side, and tugging at his cock until completion.

He is never quiet about what he is doing. Soft grunts and moans fill your chambers each time he does. You pretend to be asleep, but Daemon can tell you are listening. The next day, you turn fevered with lust. It is you who kisses him, who rakes her claws along his back.

There is no consummation yet. But it is becoming clearer than once fully freed from the judgment of your family, there will be.

You sway slightly. Daemon opens his arms, and lets you curl into him. He guides the two of you into a sitting position, placing you firmly on his lap. Your hair falls into a mess of curls thanks to the humidity, up do barely resisting. He fixes it for you, tightening the ribbon keeping it up. Then, he starts massaging your neck and shoulders.

The pleasure of your bare skin under his hands is undescribable. It’s a luxury he has worked hard to get, and for that, tastes even sweeter. Your sweet little face is scrunched up, in a rare show of pain and pleasure. Daemon wonders if it is the face you would make when he spears you open on his cock.

An annoying hardness begins to make itself known in his groin. He feels like a mere boy, getting excited about the smallest touch. You are driving him mad. And Daemon is enjoying every second of it.

Almost as if listening to his inner monologue, you shift on his lap. Something seems to be bothering you. You can’t get comfortable, and you squirm on his lap more than a seasoned whore. Daemon can pinpoint the exact moment you notice what you are squirming on. Your eyes go wide and you freeze. An embarrassed look takes over your face.

He fights the urge to laugh, wrapping his arms more firmly around you and encouraging to rest against his chest. Daemon could spend years like this. Denial is a fun game. Months have passed, and he has yet to grow tired of it, of taking away your innocence little by little.

You lean in. You give him a playful little smile, and you bite, hard. The pain from your teeth blooms on his shoulder, making his cock throb.

“Impudent little thing.” He chastises, softly. “I should spank the defiance out of you.”

You laugh. You have come to realize that he is not as much of a brute as everyone painted him to be, and that he is too soft to make good on his threat. Ever since your argument, Daemon has never hurt you. He likes you too much for it. He wouldn’t force you to bed him, nor would he willingly do anything to upset you. Not even if you announced you didn’t want him touching you ever again.

Was this what love felt like, he wondered? Being happy with just sharing the same air you did, watching you play with your cat, being honored that he was trusted enough to feed the damn thing?

It probably was. But hell, if he was going to let it stop this corruption of your innocence. No. Instead, Daemon grabbed you by the shoulders and bit down on the hollow of your throat, playfully. You made a small sound, like a caught animal. He could tell you were getting ready to succumb to pleasure once more. His hedonist little wife, always ready to be put in a kiss drunk state. You turned liquid in his arms when it happened, going lax over him.

Daemon could tease you some more. Or… He leans in, breathing in your scent, before blowing a giant raspberry by the side of your neck. You shriek in laughter, squirming on his lap. Water is sent flying everywhere. He peppers your face and neck in kisses as you do, laughing st your squeals and squirming.

“Daemon.” You say, after a while, when the both of you have calmed down. Your head rests on his shoulder, expression hidden.

“Little niece.” He whispers, and you tremble at the endearment.

“I have decided something.” You whisper back. Somehow, your voice feels loud in the cave of the hot spring, nothing but the soft murmur of water being heard.

“You have?” Daemon asks, heart thumping in his chest as if he has just taken to the skies in Caraxes. He pulls you out of hiding, lifting your head towards him.

“I want to marry you right.” You say, shyly. You look deeply embarrassed. “Under my faith. So we can…” You trail off, averting your eyes.

“So we can..?” Daemon asks, feeling a triumphant grin spread over his face.

“Have a child.”

And oh, it is the most wonderful thing he has even heard. He will buy you a cloak, and a couple of ribbons for the hand fasting. He will find the two of you a home. Daemon says all this, as he presses his forehead against yours. Not even his conquest of the Stepstones felt as sweet.

599 notes · View notes

muwapsturniolo · 3 months

Text

✯Suave✯

Summary: Chris goes into Ulta with his brothers and ends up meeting a girl

Warning: nothing really

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Chris was irritated.

Nick decided to drag him out of bed and have him go to Ulta with him, and because neither of them could drive, Matt was also dragged out of bed.

Together they make the trip to the orange and pink store.

They walk in and are immediately met with “Daydreaming” by Harry Styles, and a girl in their face. “Hi! Welcome to Ulta! Could I help you find anything today?” The three brothers are a bit shocked at how enthusiastic she is considering it’s 11:30 am.

“Umm…no?” The girl nods and walks away, but not before saying if they need any help to come find her.

"She is a bit too enthusiastic this morning," Nick states.

“Nick what the hell are we in here for?” Matt asks rubbing over his face. They definitely feel out of place in this store. Three guys in a store filled with a bunch of girls and makeup?

They stand out.

“I needed new skincare and I didn’t want to order it!” Chris rolls his eyes before following Nick around the store. As they are walking around, Chris sees a girl dancing with whom he assumes to be her coworker. They are next to a brand that reads Lancôme, getting down to the new song over the speakers. He smiles softly and chuckles to himself. With him watching her dancing, he accidentally bumps into Nick. Nick quickly becomes irritated, “Go walk around! Stop following me like a toddler!” Chris and Matt huff before walking away from Nick.

Matt ends up in the hair section while Chris walks over to their fragrances.

He smells a few, scrunching his face up and immediately putting them down. “Did you need any help?” He jumps and turns around in shock. His eyes land on a girl in black flared pants and a pink bell sleeve blouse. Her makeup is done to perfection and her curly fro is out and extra defined.

it's the girl who was dancing.

Her name tag reads Y/N.

“Umm…I’m not sure.” She cracks a soft smile and motions to the fragrances. “Well let’s start off with this. Are you shopping for someone else or yourself?” She walks a bit closer and Chris can smell the perfume she's wearing.

She smells of vanilla.

“I’m going to be honest, my brother dragged me in here. I’m just looking.” She laughs a little bit and Chris can feel his knees buckle.

“I see, well if you ne-Could you help me pick out a fragrance?” He spits out suddenly. She’s a bit caught off guard at the switch-up, but nods anyway.

“What scents do you like?��

“Umm… maybe like woodsy and spicy?” His statement sounds more like a question, but the girl runs with it. She shows him a few fragrances, which he shakes his head at. He begins to feel bad, feeling like he's wasting her time. He just finds her pretty and wants to find an excuse to talk to her.

“Sorry for being difficult.” She shakes her head at his apology.

“No no! You’re not being difficult at all! Finding a fragrance you like can be a bit difficult, I get it.” He nods and they continue. “Ok, so this is the Versace Eros. It has a bit of citrus scent since it has Italian lemon, but it’s more spicy than anything-” he zones out and focuses on her face.

She has on a full face of makeup but she looks gorgeous. He finds himself loving the blush she has on as well as her lipgloss. "Hello?" He snaps back into reality and apologizes. "Sorry," he takes the tester strip and hums.

“I think we’re getting closer. Can we smell a few more?” The girl nods and shows him a few more. “What's your favorite fragrance?” He suddenly asks.

“For me or for men?”

“Both.” She thinks for a few seconds before showing him the Burberry Goddess. “I’m a sucker for vanilla fragrances.” He smells the fragrance and eyes her, “is this what you're wearing?” She nods and he smirks.

"Well, you smell great." his flirtatious smile makes her turn away from him, her face getting hot. He chuckles and looks at the multiple Burberry fragrances behind the glass.

“Does Burb-I’m helping a guest in Fragrance.” She cuts him off by speaking through her earpiece.

“Did they need your help?” He asks her, not wanting to hold her up for a cologne he doesn’t even need. “Yes, but I don’t want to get on register. So please keep talking.” He laughs at her words.

“Ok well, what’s your favorite fragrance for men?” He continues the conversation.

“I love Paco Rabanne and the YSL fragrances!” He nods before looking to his right. “How about the Dior suave?”

He notices her lips pursing as she tries not to laugh, “what?” He questions in confusion.

“It's sauvage.” She corrects.

He runs his hands over his face in embarrassment “Jesus Christ I sounded like a dumbass.” She chuckles before shaking her head. “You’re not the first person I heard pronounce it wrong...plus that was cute.”

To avoid facing his embarrassment and her seeing him blush, he turns and sprays the tester strip. He ends up liking this one the most and nods. “I think I want this one.”

She frowns at his pick. Chris notices the frown on her face and quirks a brow.

“What? you don’t like this one?” He holds up the tester bottle.

“Honest opinion?”

He nods, “Don’t tell my manager I swore but, I fucking hate that fragrance. It’s so basic and overhyped! Almost every guy I know wears it. Have some originality. I would hate if the guy I was talking to wore it.”

Chris can’t help but joke with her, “What, so you wouldn't like if I wore it?"

“i-i mean i don't think it would smell bad on you." she nervously states. she was never good when it came to flirting, always awkwardly responding.

“Well, I want to make sure when I take you out I'm wearing a cologne that smells appealing to you."

She fights back the smile that wants to form on her face. before he can say anything to him, Chris continues.

"How about this. I’ll buy one of the fragrances you recommend for me if I can get your phone number.” Chris is a bit shocked at his own words. He'd never flirted this much in his life, but it's something about her.

Y/n stares at him with unreadable eyes.

She’s had guys ask for her number while at work but most of the time their girlfriends are with them, or they are shopping for them. She usually turns them down and goes straight to the backroom to gossip with her coworkers about it. But Chris was different, he didn't just flat out ask for her number, he technically asked her out.

Without saying anything, she walks away from him.

Chris stands in fragrance, baffled and scared. He rushes towards his brothers who are still in the hair section.

"We have to leave right now!" Chris urges. Both Nick and Matt look at him confused. "what wh-I flirted with one of the workers and she walked away from me after I asked her out! I came on pretty hard and I'm scared she's gonna tell her manager I'm harassing her!"

"You're such a fucking idiot!" Matt can't help but laugh at the whole situation. "Yes I'm an idiot! Matt stop laughing or I swe-" Chris is cut off by someone tapping his shoulder. He turns around and sees Y/n. he stares with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing.

"I think you would like this one." She holds up a red box, the words on it reading Ralph Lauren. his eyes land on the box before he looks back at her, "So you're not going to yell at me for harassment?"

"Harassment?"

"You walked away and I thought you were going to tell your manager or something that I was harassing you. I was trying to flirt."

She giggles at his anxious thoughts, "No. I just don't handle flirting well so I tend to look uncomfortable. And I walked away to get the keys for the fragrance lock. Did I not say that?"

Chris shakes his head, "No you straight up walked away." Now she looks embarrassed. "Sorry, I thought I told you what I was doing. I must have replied in my head." Chris relaxes at her statement and smiles. She notices the two other boys behind Chris and straightens up,

“Were you all done shopping?” it's almost scary how fast she switched back to her customer service voice. "Yeah, are you able to check us out?"

She walks them over to the salon register and signs in with her numbers. “Can I get a phone number?” The boys tense and eye each other.

“Do we have to?”

“No, that’s perfectly fi-it would definitely benefit you! You would earn points which is money off later and you get your coupons with a free birthday gift!” Y/n glares as one of her coworkers approaches them. The boys can see the annoyance of y/n face and watch the interaction. “Layla, do me a favor and stay out of my transaction.” Y/n snips back.

"I'm just trying to he-I’ll sign up,” Chris states. “Good!” The coworker looks at Y/n with a smug look on her face. “I’ll be sure to let Jenna know your loyalty percentage went up.” She walks away.

Y/n mimics her, mumbling under her breath. “I’ll be sure to let Jenna know! Fucking bitch.” A snicker catches her attention and she turns back towards the boys, a look of fright on her face. She forgot they were there and they might tell her manager about her vulgar language. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to do all-Girl you’re good. I probably would have cussed her out. I hated working retail.” Nick states waving her off. She visibly relaxes at his words.

“You guys don’t have to sign up by the way.” Chris shakes his head, “We don’t want you to get in trouble with Jenna.” His voice has a joking tone and she smiles softly.

Chris gives his phone number, signing up for the loyalty program.

Seeing her manager walk buy, she does the pitch.

“Did we want to sign up for the Ulta card? You would get 20% off and double the points. You were pre-approved and it says it would take off $90.” Nick goes to decline for Chris but he speaks up, “I’ll do it. Might as well save.” He does the signup and gets the Mastercard.

“Alright, you were approved for the Mastercard. You can use it anywhere such as a gas station, a grocery store, or even online, and still get double the points here.” She wraps up the transaction and packs their bags.

She grabs a pamphlet that has all the info about the card and quickly writes on it.

She hands Matt the bag and gives Chris the pamphlet. “Have a nice day, and thank you for shopping at Ulta.”

The boys thank her and start walking out the store.

As they are walking out Chris looks through the pamphlet, he sees a phone number in the corner and a little note.

“Wear the polo on our date.”

He chuckles to himself and climbs into the car.

“Thanks for dragging me out of bed Nick.”

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Random idea I came up with that I fell in love with 😭 I work at Ulta so this was a breeze to write. I fr wanna make this like a plot that yall can send in requests for! Let me know what yall think and send in requests if you think about anything!!!

TAGLIST🍑

@bernardsgf @bernardsleftbootycheek @blahbel668 @mattfrfr @gdsvhtwa @sturniolo-aali @lily-loves-struniolos @kynda-avery @causeidontlikeagoldrush

@st7rnioioss @carolinalikesthings @mattslolita @suyqa @xxloveralways14 @pepsiimaxx @judespoision

@ivonchetooo1239 @imaslut4kehlani @that-general-simp @m4stermindd @itzdarling @gigisworldsstuff @adoreindie @braindead4l @pettydollie @chrissgirlsstuff @alexis007 @ratatioulle @yamamasjumpercables @luv4kozume @sturnioloslurps @kqyslyho3

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris girl #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo x reader #matt girl #chris sturniolo fluff #sturniolo fluff #fluff

656 notes · View notes

prythianpages · 11 days

Text

Just A Girl | Eris x Rhysand's Sister

series masterlist | summary: Your father throws a ball in your honor. When Beron belittles you, you decide to show him what you're capable of, catching the attention of his firstborn.

word count: 2K

a/n: Hi guys! It's been a hot minute since I've written anything and I feel rusty lol (kinda like when you stop riding your bike and have to relearn type of feel.) Anyway, this is entirely based off no doubt's just a girl bc I felt like it gave off Rhys's sister vibes and then I thought why not incorporate this into an au I had planned for an Eris x Rhys's sister one shot??

“When I’m High Lord, I’ll go–”

“I’m sure you’ll go far,” you interrupt, a half smile playing on your lips as you look up at the first born of Spring. With his luscious blond hair, striking green eyes, and well-defined jawline, he's undeniably a sight to behold. Unfortunately, his personality doesn't match his looks—dull yet somehow arrogant and miserably misogynistic.

You don’t have it in you to spare him a moment longer, especially not when his overbearing pride is becoming overwhelming for your senses. You push past the desire to call upon your abilities and manipulate his emotions into something more humbling. He is not worth exposing your powers.

With a pat on his shoulder–too harsh for his liking– you add, “and I really hope you stay there. It was nice speaking with you, Heathen.”

“It’s Heath.”

You give an uninterested hum before making your way to the refreshments table, desperate for something to soothe the tension between your brows. A silent prayer is sent to the Cauldron that no other male approaches you with a lame attempt at conversation. If they are interested in you, they should at least be able to hold a good one. One that doesn’t incorporate any microaggressions toward you.

Fortunately for you, it is your brother who approaches you next. He takes your–what was it? fourth or sixth, you can’t remember– champagne flute from your grasp with an effortless ease. A glare settles upon your features as you watch him chug it before fixing your gaze straight ahead, to the dais where your father and mother sit.

Your father occupies the grand throne, while your mother sits beside him in a smaller, less ornate chair. The Lady of the Night Court—magnificent and burdened with countless responsibilities—receives none of the praise that is lavished upon your father. Despite her contributions to your court, she is not held in the same regard… simply because she is a female.

It leaves you to wonder what your destiny is.

Rhysand looks at you with sympathy, and you realize that in your moment of vulnerability, you've let your mental shields slip. “Please, save your breath,” you mutter.

Sensing Cassian and Azriel approaching, you flash them a small, relieved smile. “And please, stay by my side,” you say, your eyes scanning the room where multiple pairs of eyes are fixed on you. You feel so exposed and though it’s no surprise, it leaves you unsettled. When your gaze meets that of one of Autumn's sons, you quickly look away and strengthen the shield around you.

“I could use my scary brother privileges right now.”

“Who are we scaring, princess?” Cassian asks, flexing his muscles as he pretends to adjust the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows.

Azriel lets out a snort, but his keen eyes are already scanning the room, easily locating the Autumn male. The red-haired male immediately cowers under his cold, hard stare.

“No one.” Rhysand replies, shooting them both a warning look. He then turns to you and you don’t need his daemati abilities to know what he’s about to say. “y/n–”

“Don’t you think I know exactly where I stand?” You interrupt him with an exhausted sigh.

Tonight was a celebration–a ball to honor you and all you’ve done for the Night Court during the war. When the war started, you were twenty-three and deemed too young to participate. Though, at that age, Rhysand had already completed the bloodrite and was esteemed a formidable warrior. You were fortunate that your father allowed you to train and even more so that he allowed you to join the Night Court council.

You quickly mastered the politics of war and the intricacies of the Prythian courts. Midway through the war, your father entrusted you to visit the war camps and delegate on his behalf. There was no doubt that it was a privilege you were granted due to your powers. Still, you embraced it eagerly and tonight was the night you would officially be recognized as an emissary.

But of course, many–especially the sons of the High Lords–confused tonight as your debutante ball. You were in your third decade, after all. While your brother was recognized as a fierce warrior and heir, you were regarded as a highly sought out bachelorette.

Lucky you.

“I am meant to be pretty and docile,” you continue, gesturing to yourself.

The dress you wore was far from your usual preference. The bodice, adorned with intricate beadwork and sequins, featured a sweetheart neckline that teased a glimpse of your breast—but not too much. The skirt of the gown was voluminous, made of layers of soft tulle that shimmered delicately with every step as the light caught the scattered sequins. It was a beautiful black ball gown, crafted by your mother's talented hands. Yet, you much preferred dresses that clung to you like a second skin, revealing more of your figure.

To put it frankly, you felt quite suffocated in this gown. And you rather not even get started on your makeup. You were transformed into a perfect painting of a sweet and innocent princess. Not the daring and powerful female you knew yourself to be.

“Desirable but not too attainable.”

“However, that does not mean I need to be consistently tortured by dull conversations and hungry stares from controlling males,” you finish, crossing your arms against your chest with a scowl. “No one has even asked me about my role in this court.”

“Oh, yeah. How is it being an emissary to the Night Court?” Cassian asks, earning a smack to the back of his head from Azriel.

“Just splendid,” you reply with a sarcastic smile.

“You played a significant role in establishing peace between Spring and the rest of the courts after the war. I’m sure your efforts will not go unnoticed,” Rhysand assures you.

“Perhaps I played my role too well. Heathen has seemed to have taken an interest in me.”

It’s as if he heard his name being called, for the blonde male’s gaze meets yours across the ballroom. He winks at you with that stupid, cocky smirk of his. A grimace crosses your face. You had been hoping your conversation from earlier would deter him. It seems it has only spurred him on.

“He’s... pretty,” Rhysand starts, but then trails off, struggling to find a compliment for Heath. “Pretty full of himself,” he finally manages, shooting you an almost apologetic glance.

Both of you erupt into laughter.

“It could be worse,” Azriel comments after a moment, a futile attempt at making you feel better. “It could be the heir to Autumn. As the by-product of growing up under Beron’s cruelty, I hear he’s pretty ruthless. Might even turn out to be crueler than him. At least Heath isn’t as bright…”

“Ouch,” Cassian says with a playful wince, almost feeling bad for the Spring heir.

Your eyes find the male in question. Eris Vanserra. His vibrant red hair makes him and his siblings easy to spot in a crowded room. Surprisingly, Eris hasn't made any attempt to approach you tonight. Unlike his brothers. Instead, he stands by his mother's side. She appears uncomfortable and weary, her arm linked with his as she rubs her swollen, pregnant belly.

As you focus on him, you feel a mix of anger and concern. “Somehow, I doubt that,” you voice your thoughts out loud, following the trail of emotions. Your eyes land on the recipient of his anger. Beron. The High Lord of Autumn stands amongst the other High Lords, engaged in conversation with your father.

Sensing your gaze on him, your father looks up from where you stand. He holds a hand up, summoning you and your brother.

“Time to shine,” Rhysand says, holding his hand out to you.

“Ah, my son,” your father greets with a smile as you and Rhysand come to a stop before him and the other High Lords. He then turns to you, violet eyes alight with pride that has your chest swelling with warmth. At least your father recognizes your worth and you don't dare to wonder if he'd see you the same if you weren't blessed with your power.

“My daughter, the guest of honor," he introduces, reaching for your hand to pull you to his side. You offer a polite smile and curtsy to the High Lords. “Y/n has done a lot for this court and all of Prythian. Tonight is a means to show my immense gratitude and present her with the official title of lead emissary of the Night Court.”

It is the High Lord of the Winter Court who speaks first, offering a slight bow of his head. “I look forward to continuing working with you, Lady y/n.”

“A wise and thoughtful member of the Night Court.” High Lord Thesan says with an amiable smile, the High Lords of Day, Summer and Spring sharing his sentiments.

However, the same cannot be said for the High Lord of Autumn. His lips curl in distaste, the thought of having to interact with a female tasting sour on his tongue. He had tolerated you before but only due to the war.

“You expect me to welcome her to my court to discuss important matter?" Beron huffs. "She’s just a girl.”

You don’t speak. You don’t even make a sound. But the look in your eyes…the look in your eyes was downright murderous.

Memories begin to flood your mind of you being berated and undermined. The box in which you had locked away your emotions can no longer contain them. A wave of anger and frustration begins to surge forth...

Rhysand knew exactly what was about to happen, his hand silently reaching out for yours. To hold you back.

But it was too late. Your mind was like a wall of steel. Impenetrable.

All you saw was red, your wings bursting forth from your glamor, unfurling behind you. They tore through the seams of your dress, provoking gasps. Swiftly, your magic mends the fabric, accommodating your true form.

Tendrils of darkness emanate from your outstretched hands, weaving through the air like sinister ribbons. Your gaze, unwavering and intense, remains fixated on Beron. With each movement of your fingers, the room plunges deeper into shadow. The once-illuminated space is now consumed by a thick veil of darkness. Even Azriel’s shadows, accustomed to the darkness themselves, cling onto him like a second skin.

As the last glimmer of light fades into oblivion, the ballroom becomes a chamber of obsidian night. With a mere thought, you tap into the emotions swirling within the hearts of those present. Careful to be subtle upon the intrusion as you do not want to expose the true extent of your abilities.

You summon only the most negative emotions like a maestro orchestrating a symphony. Screams erupt, drawing your lips upwards. You can feel resistance against your power and whether it is from your father or brother or even one of the other High Lords, you can’t tell.

Gathering all your pent up frustrations, you use it to fuel your strength, wanting to hold onto this moment of mayhem just a bit longer. It is only when you feel Beron’s heart racing, feel the trace of fear threatening to dim the fire in his veins that you let go.

In the blink of an eye, your tendrils of darkness disperse, succumbing to the resistance. The faelights adorning the ballroom shimmer to life once more and the moon’s light seeps back into the room. It casts an ethereal glow over you, revealing the calm and cool expression on your face. Yet, your eyes remain seething with the fury of a dark, raging storm.

Beron's scowl deepens at your display. He parts his mouth in disbelief, looking towards your father, who says nothing. Beron then looks back at you.

For once in his miserable life, he is at a loss for words. Pride swells in your chest and you push against the talons raking across your mind, wanting to bask in your small victory.

“I’m just a girl,” you finally say and then give a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders before turning to leave.

Reveling in the animosity radiating off of him, your smirk deepens as you recognize a faint trace of humiliation somewhere among the fire of his wrath.

The assembled crowd parts before you, their gazes a mixture of disdain, shock, and fear. You keep your head held high and eyes focused straight ahead. Dread begins to settle in, the onset of a headache from overexertion threatening to break your composure.

Still, you carry on, feigning nonchalance. The only sounds echoing through the room are the hushed whispers and the sharp click of your heels against the marble floors.

Yet, amidst the sea of wary onlookers, one figure stands apart.

Eris.

The heir to the Autumn court is leaning casually against the wall near the exit doors, his mother nowhere to be seen. The corner of his lips are upturned into a smirk, amber eyes alight with amusement and curiosity and perhaps, even something more.

Your steps threaten to falter as your eyes meets his. He looks back at you, holding your gaze with a searing intensity, it sends a shiver down your spine. He looks at you in a way no one ever has...as if he can see you for you who you really are.

Because you aren’t just a girl.

You’re the daughter of the Night Court. A shining star. A force to be reckoned with and one he finds himself irresistibly drawn to.

series masterlist

a/n: I honestly don't know how to feel about this one. I guess it's kind of a prequel to my upcoming one shot. Also, you can't tell me Eris wouldn't find anyone besting his dad like reader did in this hot lol

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

#acotar imagine #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acotar x you #eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris fanfiction #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x y/n #eris vanserra x rhysand's sister #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #eris vanserra fanfic #eris! his star au #eris vanserra #eris acotar

432 notes · View notes