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cinnamorollcrybaby · 3 months ago

Note

Had a thought: reader has a hand-print bruise on their arm — like they stumbled and were caught or pulled out of the way of a curse or smth and the helper accidentally left a bruise when they grabbed reader. Jjk men see it b4 reader can / thinks to tell them so they just see a clearly-handprint bruise with zero context 🙃

Hand Print

Tags: Drabble, Fluff, JJK men getting angry, JJK men getting protective 🫦, smut (Suguru’s, Choso’s, and kinda Sukuna’s), dark content on Mahito’s, mdni

Incl: Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Choso, Toji, Sukuna, Mahito

SATORU

You had forgotten it even happened. Silly, clumsy you — nearly falling while exiting the subway onto the station platform. Thankfully, that good samaritan was right behind you.

His hand clasped onto your upper arm tightly as he pulled you back up to your feet to find your balance. You didn’t even give it much thought-! You thanked him and went on about your day.

Satoru’s six eyes can immediately spot the bruise before you’ve even taken off your coat after getting home.

“Baby —“ Satoru’s voice was bone chilling when he spoke. He’s normally got such a happy tone, but when he uses that baritone that comes out during fights, you’re frozen out of fear.

“Wha..?” You weren’t even able to get your words out before Satoru has your arm up in the air. His eyes wandering over the bruise that was wrapped around your upper arm.

“Who the fuck touched you?” His heart is slamming into his ribcage. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knew enough. You were hurt, and he wasn’t there to protect you.

He wishes he could extend his infinity out to you at all times, but even he has limits unfortunately.

“Satoru- My arm-“ You whine while your lofty boyfriend with his abnormally long limbs is nearly holding you up by your wrist. You looked pitiful — dangling from his grip.

“Who.” He demands again, and those stormy blue eyes meet yours. His mind is racing — thinking of who he’s going to kill. Will he snuff them out like a cigarette with his infinity? Or maybe he blow a whole in them with hollow purple. Maybe he could figure out a new technique to rip them in half on an atomic level.

“It was an accident!” You cry as you try to pull your arm aways from his unrelenting grip. “I was about to fall off the subway, and this guy grabbed me so I didn’t fall and break my neck.”

Satoru’s face stays cold, and his eyes look back at the obvious handprint bruise on your arm. Judging by the way it’s awkwardly positioned, he knows you’re telling the truth.

“Oh! Well baby, why didn’t you just say that?” Your entirely too happy boyfriend is immediately back with a coy grin as if he wasn’t just fantasizing about murder. “You got to be more careful when getting off the subway, silly goose.” His finger lightly thump you on the forehead.

SUGURU

You’ve always been so clumsy your entire life: tripping over your own feet, bumping into the corners of tables and walls, accidentally stubbing your toe, the list goes on…

You were racing down the broken escalator at the mall to try to get to your favorite store before it closed for the day. You were just so focused on getting to your destination that you weren’t paying attention to ahead of you.

You barrel straight into this guy who miraculously grabs onto you and the railing before both of you take a nasty fall. The two of you pant in each other’s arms for just a moment before you’re backing away — professing your deepest apologies for not being more careful. The guy just awkwardly smiles and waves you on, knowing you were probably trying to get to a specific store.

You didn’t even think about the little incident afterwards. You have so many “near misses” in a day that you just completely black them out.

Suguru’s lips are clasped to your neck, giving you sloppy kisses right on the sweet spot of your neck.

“Fuuuck, pretty girl… can never get tired of this pussy.” He groans softly into your ear. Both of you are so lost in each other, feeling your essences mix with each time his massive cock slips into your clammy entrance. You’re practically sucking him in at this point — greedyyy.

“Sugu- Ah~!” You’re breathy as your hand reaches up to clasp the pillow behind you. The way your pussy flutters around him as you’re nth orgasm is about to take over has him nearly seeing stars.

Nearly.

His eyes normally focus on you while he fucks you until you’re nothing more than a puddle in his arms, but right now, that damn bruise has his attention.

“What fucking monkey touched you?” He asks in a low growl before he’s pinning both your arms above your head. He slips his cock out of you — eliciting a frustrated whine from edging you.

His eyes are too busy scoping out the rest of your body. How did he miss the fresh bruise that was so blatantly displayed on your arm.

“Sugu..” You whine — still mindless and cockdrunk. Your thighs part as you try to seduce him back between your legs.

“Hey.” He snaps his fingers in front of your eyes. “I need my girlfriend right now — not my slut. Who touched you?”

“What are you talkin’ about?” You lazily whine as you look over towards your arm, and you think for a moment of how the bruise must’ve gotten there..

“Which fucking monkey touched you?” He grits again. His temper is only building. How were you unable to remember who touched you?

“Hmm.. oh! I was running down those broken escalators at the mall, and I nearly sent me and this guy down the entire flight. Thankfully, he was able to grab us both.” You’re finally able to recount the memory to Geto.

Your poor stressed boyfriend pinches the bridge of his nose. He instantly knows that you’re telling the truth because this is just so damn like you.

“What have I told you about being aware of your surroundings? Now you’re going to make me have to punish you.”

Great! Now you’re not getting to finish at all tonight! :(

NANAMI

It was another normal Sunday evening in your home. The lights were turned down low, and the curtains were drawn so the golden hour sun could pool into the kitchen and dining room. You and Ken were listening to your playlist while cooking dinner together.

Cooking dinner with Nanami wasn’t like some normal, ordinary task. Cooking with him was almost as intimate as having sex with him — the way his hands so carefully massaged into your hips. Your back was pressed flush against his toned chest, and his chin was either resting on yours or resting on your shoulder.

He wasn’t dead weight either. Nanami could cook his ass off. You were the one who needed the extra help, so right now, Nanami was guiding your hands on how to perfectly and evenly chop zucchini.

His eyes grazed over your hands, taking in your form to see if he needed to correct you in any way. That’s when he saw the bruise peaking out from underneath your shirt sleeve.

Nanami’s hand is quick, and he swiftly disarms you so you don’t accidentally cut yourself before he tugs your arm sleeve. His usually calm face slowly twisted into a scowl.

“Who did that to you?” He asks lowly with an intimidating glare. Of course, he’s not mad at you, but he is mad that someone touched his wife.

“What…?” You ask with a small pout, not knowing what he was talking about in the slightest. You had clearly forgotten about that nice stranger who pulled you back onto the sidewalk when a car decided to ignore the pedestrian walking symbol. They had saved your life.

“The name of the person who grabbed you.” Nanami demands as he gestures to your marked up wrist. “Now.”

“I- wait, Ken… That’s not what it looks like…” You try to explain with a small frown.

“Then please, do tell me what it is before I go find them for myself.”

When you explained to him that the person who grabbed you actually saved you from severe injury, Nanami let out a sigh — partially of relief and partially of stress.

He brings your wrist up to his mouth before he places light kisses around the bruise. “You have to be more careful, darling… I need you here with me.”

CHOSO

Yuji was the one to grab you harshly and pull you back, creating that nasty bruise on your arm. He really didn’t mean to grab you so hard!! He just forgets his superhuman strength sometimes.

You were about to run into someone while at the school. Yuji was just trying to be a good brother-in-law and protect you. He was nearly in tears when he saw the huge handprint on your arm.

“Please don’t tell Choso. He’ll kill me if he finds out! Please! Say you swear!” He pleads as he clasps his hands together and grovels at your feet.

You tried reassuring him that his brother wasn’t going to kill him, but Yuji wouldn’t rest until you promised not to tell.

“Hi baby.” Choso greets you as usual, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple as he casually strolls towards the bathroom to shower. He’s glistening with sweat from training with Yuki and Todo all day.

“Mm! Wait for me!” You call out, trailing behind him like a horny dog (it’s okay girl me too). Choso happily waits for you in the shower. His dark hair comes down to his shoulders as he lets his hair down and steps into the hot water, immediately rinsing his body of the filth and grime.

“Missed you, baby.” He hums as he slowly corners you against the shower wall. His hand gently cups your chin to press a passionate kiss to your lips.

You softly giggle as you feel something already poking at your leg. “So sensitive~” You tease as you go to wrap your hand around his length.

Choso quickly grabs your arm, going to pin it above your head. He wanted to touch you first. You’re always taking care of him. He wanted to return the favor.

When you softly hiss in response due to him pressing on your bruise, he freezes. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No- no, you did nothing.” You try to reassure him with a wave of your hands. Your bruise catches his eye.

“Did I- Did I do that?” He immediately asks as he takes your arm and cradles it gently into his oversized hands. His face slowly shifts to a guilty pout.

Your eyes widen as you realize your poor boyfriend doesn’t understand the concept of human bruising. He truly thinks he grabbed you so hard that your skin immediately started to bruise.

“No, nonono, baby, you didn’t do that. ‘s okay.” You go to reassure him, gently holding your hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb over the small tattoos under his eyes.

“Then… who did?” His voice shifts to a less panicked one, and his gaze hardens slightly.

Your heart skips a beat as you realize just how quickly he can turn on that more dominant, powerful side of him. “Uh.. well.. it was an accident.. We shouldn’t go on a witch hunt or anything like that…”

“Right. Who grabbed you so hard that they left a mark on you?” He doesn’t relent, towering over you with such an unamused gaze. His eyes are angry while staring at you.

“You have to promise me you won’t hurt him, Cho. It was really an accident. He was trying to save me.”

Choso stays quiet. He’s learned not to make promises that he can’t keep, and all of his thoughts are about how he was going to hurt this mysterious guy who laid a hand on you.

“Choso… It was Yuji. He was trying to keep me from running into somebody! He didn’t mean to hurt me-“

Your boyfriend’s face shifts to one of surprise. He didn’t expect Yuji to be the culprit of the bruise on your arm. His eyes flick over to the bruise, and he lets out a hefty sigh.

“Sometimes… older brothers have to be the one to teach hard lessons…”

“Choso, it was an accident.”

TOJI

“Mmm.. shit…” Toji hums before he goes in for another bite. You watch him with a playful gaze. He always gets so hungry after a completed hit, and when the job takes more than one day, he misses your cooking almost as much as he misses you.

“Toji, slow down. No one’s going to take your food from you.” You gently chide with a laugh. Little three-year-old Megumi is in his high chair, eating like an animal because he’s mimicking daddy.

You’re happy that your husband appreciates your cooking because you did nearly die while trying to get the ingredients to make this stupid dinner.

You were in the parking lot of the grocery store with Megumi in your arms, and while walking towards the store’s entrance, a car nearly backed over you and the small child in your arms.

Thankfully, a stranger was behind you, and he was fast enough to yank you and Megumi back away from the car. It was honestly a miracle that you and Megumi made it completely unscathed.

Well, almost unscathed. You did have a pretty nasty bruise on your hip where the stranger grabbed you with such strength.

“Look at what kind of table manners you’re teaching your son.” You continue on while wiping Megumi’s face clean with a baby wipe. The small child whines and tries to break free from your grasp.

“Can’t help it, doll. Your cooking’s too good.” Toji finally lifts his head up from his plate, and with almost lazer focus, he immediately notices the bruise on your hip due to your shirt hiking up a bit since you’re bent over dealing with Megumi.

“What the fuck happened?” He immediately asks, gesturing his fork towards the bruise on your hip. “Did some fuck touch you?”

You look at him with a hint of confusion for a second, but as soon as you look down and see the bruise, you immediately remember the event that transpired earlier today.

“I-“

You don’t even get the next word out before Toji’s on you, lifting your shirt up to see the perfectly drawn out handprint bruised into your pretty skin. The scar on his lips twitch in frustration, and your heart begins to stutter — understanding exactly what it looks like.

“Toji-“

“What the fuck happened?” His voice is a low grumble as he eyes you closely. He’s itching to hear a name — someone to kill for touching you like that. Only he gets to touch you there.

Your words are choked up in your throat, misunderstanding Toji’s possessiveness for anger towards you. You can’t even think of what to say before your son speaks up for you.

“Mama and I saved by a man!” Megumi shouts, looking up at his dad, even your toddler understood the gravity of the situation.

“Saved?” Toji questions as he shifts his gaze over to Megumi with a raised eyebrow — still angry but albeit a little amused.

“Yeah! Car almost hit mama and me! The man grabbed us to save us.” Your toddler explains it as if it’s a fond memory for him.

Your eyes meet Toji’s, and you nod your head slightly, agreeing with your son. “I was going into the market, and a car nearly backed over Megumi and I. The guy grabbed us up before it completely hit us.”

Toji takes a big breath, and his large palm finds the back of your head, guiding you to lie on his chest for moment. He just needs to he close to you after the gymnastics his brain just did.

“Christ, mama. Don’t worry me like that.” He mumbles lowly before pressing a kiss onto your forehead.

“Daddy, ew! Gross!”

SUKUNA

It was time for nightly worship for you and the other concubines, except here recently, it’s only been you attending nightly worship. The concubines had been dropping like flies recently… like actually dropping dead.

Why would Sukuna need concubines when you were already his most devout follower? Not to mention, he immediately made up his mind once he felt your precious cunt for the first time — so fucking tight and wet, begging to be bred by him — he didn’t need anyone else. You were the solution to all of his problems. Hell, he might even give you his heir one day.

He was sat in his throne with a mere red and black silk robe covering his monstrous body. One of his hands was occupied with a chalice of… well, you don’t really want to know what he was sipping on.

His other oversized hand was tenderly resting on your head. His palm was as big as your head, covering the crown completely, while you had your chin propped up on his thigh — on your knees in front of him. This was his favorite sight. He could really appreciate your beauty when the other concubines weren’t making so much racket. It was the right decision to have them disposed of.

You’re so pliant with your head in his lap. He finds it amusing how comfortable you look before him — as if he isn’t the literal incarnate of evil. He almost finds you adorable like a small kitten.

“What are you thinking about, woman?” He asks, surprisingly breaking the silence between you two. He’s the type of man to value the quiet, and he hates small talk, but he can’t help but want to hear your voice.

“Hm?” You hum lazily, being broken out of your daydream. Your eyes meet his as you look up at him. “I’m just thinking about bedtime… It’s been an eventful day.” You answer softly before a yawn escapes you, earning a small snicker from Sukuna.

“You shall retire in my chambers tonight. Go dispose of your clothes and slip between the sheets. I’ll be in there in just a moment.” He pats your head, signaling you may get up now.

Scurrying off to Sukuna’s chambers, the King of Curses narrows his eyes. He could’ve swore he just saw a bruise on you, and it’s definitely not one that he left…

Once he was inside his chambers, his eyes rested upon your small, frail body. You looked so cute, curled up in his massive bed. He slips his robe off, revealing his sculpted body. He looks like more than a king. He’s no less than a god.

Slipping between the sheets so he can finally feel your flesh against his, Sukuna can’t help but check. One of his hands captures your arm, and he looks at it. A deep scowl forms on his face as he sees the mark of another on you.

“What fool dared to touch you?” He demands, blood pressure already rising.

“What-?” You ask a bit confused, but you’re quickly reminded when Sukuna presses down on the bruise, making it worse. He’s sick in the head, thinking that if he can’t remove the bruise from you, he’ll just make his own mark right on top of it-

“Ow-! Kuna-!” You whine as his thumb presses down firmer. “Why are you- oww! please! I’m sorry, my lord! The gardener was just trying to save me from tripping and falling-“

His hand releases. “The gardener, huh?” He muses before making a few hand symbols. You’ll never see that gardener again. He should’ve known better than you touch you. You watch Sukuna with a slightly fearful look, and Sukuna feels his stomach twist with detest.

“Don’t look at me like that. It displeases me.” He frowns when he notes your fear does not simply vanish. Releasing a tense breath, he carefully brings your arm up to his mouth, and he presses a gentle kiss to the darkening bruise on your arm. “I had to make my own mark. I forget how fragile you mortals are… I… apologize.”

MAHITO

His eyes were wide and filled with utter rage as he saw the bruise displayed on your arm. He didn’t know how to cope with these new… emotions. Mahito didn’t believe he could feel a thing such as jealousy until you came around, his pretty pet. you just didn’t know it yet.

His foot was tapping violently against the ground as he tried to think of a way to bring it up casually in front of the others. He didn’t need Kenjaku on his case again for “falling for you”… whatever that fucking meant.

“Did you have a run in with the sorcerers, pet?” He finally asks as you and Jogo are playing Mahjong.

You look down at your arm at the blue and purple bruise that was welping up on your skin, and you nod your head at Mahito’s question.

“One of them got me good… He barely touched me though, so it caught me off guard.” You finally respond, and Mahito feels his very soul light on fire. Another man dared to touch you? You? His pet?? Even worse, it was a sorcerer.

“Did you kill him?” Mahito asks as he has to place his hands underneath his thighs to keep from reaching out to grab you up. Last time he did that, Kenjaku threatened to swallow him up like an uzumaki, but he can’t help it. He constantly feels an overwhelming urge to just touch you. If he could, he’d merge your soul with his so you’d be bound to him for life.

“No… he got away before I could finish the job.” You pout as you place your next tile down on the playing board.

“What did he look like?” Mahito’s heart starts to race. The thought of killing the guy who dared to touch you is intoxicating. He wants to hear the man cry and beg for mercy. He wants to coat himself in the man’s blood then fuck you until you cry.

“Oh, um, he had pink fluffy hair, and a jujutsu tech uniform on with red sneakers.”

“You ran into Sukuna’s vessel, Yuji Itadori???” Kenjaku perks up from the newspaper he was reading, and he immediately stomps over to you, needing more information.

“Yuji Itadori…. I’ll kill him.” Mahito mumbles to himself before breaking out in a small laugh. The thought of it— it’s so euphoric.

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noctuaism · 5 months ago

Text

When it’s time for his daughter to get her vaccinations it’s Satoru who almost starts crying more than his daughter. Your daughter is notably more composed than your husband who looks at your daughter like she’s about to disappear on spot.

“Do we have to do this?” he asks for what you think is tenth time. “I can protect her. I’ll keep my infinity on and then she won’t have to worry about bacteria or viruses or boys.” He says the last one with a shiver like it’s the worst possible thing on the list.

“Yes she has to get her shots,” you say, not bothering to look up at him. You already know he’s pouting. Instead, you keep your eyes on your daughter, secured to the car seat between you and Satoru. Gently you run your finger over your daughter’s cheek. She gives you a wide, toothless smile that has your heart clenching. It was hard to believe that she was just in your belly just over two months ago. She was growing up so fast. “And no you can’t keep your infinity up forever, you’ll burn your brain out.”

The man continues to mutter anxiously, only worsening your own anxiety. You hated seeing your baby cry no less than he did.

“What if I hollow purple—” he starts again and you send him a withering look, feeling a little bad when he gives you an anxious look. Fatherhood is possibly the only thing that has ever made Gojo Satoru second guess himself. You reach over and gently squeeze his hand, both an apology for the harsh look and for reassurance, and watch as his face softens. He squeezes your hand back before taking his turn at entertaining your little baby.

The rest of ride to the hospital is filled with your baby gurgling joyfully at her father as he makes silly faces at her.

When you finally reaching the hospital, you thank Ichiji and drag Satoru away before he can give the poor man a hard time. Satoru holds the car seat in his hand, the shades on the carrier drawn over to protect your baby from the Sun. You hold the hand that isn't occupied with the carrier, squeezing it for reassurance, as you make your way into the building.

Times seems to fly from there, from the moment you approach the front desk and finish filling out the forms to finally hearing your family name being called.

The nurse gives the both of you a soft, reassuring smile seemingly accustomed to the anxiety of new parents. As she leads you to the back of office she reassures the both of you that this appointment would be quick and easy. She gives a practiced debrief of the vaccines your baby would receive. Satoru takes it upon himself to be a little obnoxious with the questions he asks and she shows no irritation towards him, taking everything in stride.

3 shots. This would not be easy.

You really didn't want to hear your baby cry. You turn your head to your husband who has an unusual, grim look on his face. You try your best to remind yourself that this was for your daughters health and wellbeing. The quicker this was done, the faster the both you could go home and take care of her.

After being seated in the room, the only thing left to do was wait for the doctor. The loud crying of babies from the other room left you feeling uneasy. You watch as Satoru takes her out of the carrier to hold her up in his arms. You soften at the sight. Your two loves.

It reminds you that despite all the fears that Satoru had shared with you about fatherhood, he fell into the role quickly and with little stumble. He was as good at being a Father as he was at anything else. You lay your head on his shoulder, watching your daughter's eyes flutter in the warmth of her father. You wish she'd be this small forever. You think you could fall asleep like this, despite your surrounding. To the feeling of Satoru's lips on your forehead and your daughter tucked safely in his arms.

The little moment is broken by a short knock on the door and doctor's head peaking into the room. You sit up straight preparing yourself. The doctor briefly introduces herself as she makes her way in followed by a nurse.

"I trust that you understand what this entails," she says. "I can go over it again if you need."

"How bad is this going to hurt her?" Your husband asks, his voice taking on a serious he usually doesn't show. You watch as the nurse sets out the three syringes onto the table, each with a translucent cap.

"I will not lie to you, Gojo-san, this will be uncomfortable. The faster we get this done, the easier it will be on her." Her voice is calm. "However, I also cannot say what side effects may occur or may not occur at all." She gets up to wash her hands in the sink before putting on some gloves. "Please place her on the exam table."

"I might have to hollow purple this place."

"What was that, sir?"

"Nothing."

Satoru gives her the fakest smile you've ever seen on his face while gently laying your baby down. He gently smoothes her unruly, white hair and doesn't let go of her hand. You join him at his side, running your hands down her arm, watching as she turns and bends to look at you. Her gummy smile reminds you so much of Satoru, so full of joy and happiness. You really carried her for nine months for her to be a carbon copy of her father.

"Okay, we're gonna count to three and administer one to each thigh," you nod, steeling yourself. "One, Two, Three..."

Your daughter wails and the shots are done just like that. The doctor and the nurse work quickly and efficiently, caping the used needles. Her piercing cries hurt your heart and you take her into your arms rocking her, trying your best to calm her down. Satoru, on the other hand, looks as though he wants to throw hands with the doctor, the glare behind his dark glasses is harsh.

"I know, baby, I know," you cajole, trying to get her to stop crying. Her crying continues for a while and you give your husband a little helpless look. He catches on quickly and gently takes her from your arms, taking his turn at rocking her against him.

"We're never doing this again," he says. Your daughter finally starts to calm a little. Tears continue to stream down her face but she no longer wails in pain. You wipe her face with your hand, smoothing your hand on her cheek. Your throat feels tight.

The rest of the time from the hospital back to your house is a blur. Your daughter sleeps safely in her nursery having been lulled to sleep from all the crying and some milk.

The both of you are sat on the couch in the living room. The baby monitor placed on the coffee table in front of you. Satoru is in your arms, his head buried in your neck. You sat in his lap, gently combing your hands through his hair. You had two babies to take care of.

"I hated that," he says, a little whiny. "Can we never do that again?"

"She's gonna have to get more no matter what we do."

"If I get rid of every vaccine produced ever and the companies making them, we'll never have to do this again." The statement is ridiculous and is enough to make you laugh which has him whining into you neck again.

"I'M SERIOUS DON'T LAUGHT AT ME." Which only serves to make you giggle harder. You place a kiss on his forehead.

"You're a good father you know," you say, directing the conversation in another direction instead of the doom of pharmaceutical companies at the hands of Gojo Satoru. "She's lucky to have you."

"Of course she is, I'm THE Gojo—" you place your hand over his mouth cutting his bragging short. You take your hand away once you're sure he's not gonna say anything silly. And before he has a chance to lick it.

"I'm being serious."

"You really think so?"

"I know so."

You think back to the conversation you had before your daughter was born. The one where Satoru had spilled his heart out, confiding his fears of being a bad and absent father. You remember being in a similar position as you are now, seated in his lap and running a hand through his hair. You felt him squeeze your waist in the same way, one that told you that despite pretending he didn't need it, even the strongest needed comfort.

"I love you, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Thank you for everything."

"I love you too, toru."

Your lips lock in a soft, gentle kiss. He was your everything and more. The silence between you both is sweet and comfortable as you bask in each other warmth.

Silence, however, never lasts long in the Gojo household. Especially when it comes to Gojo Satoru.

"So what do you say about practicing for our second?"

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #had me crying while I wrote this ngl #im actually so soft for him #yall dont understand hes my everything #i love him you guys #gojo x female reader

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fanaticsnail · 11 months ago

Text

My Favorite

(Image Source: Artist: Inpolariis)

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,114

Summary: Sir Crocodile has founded a league of highly trained assassins named "The Choirs" - all coded after the nine choirs of angelic influences. You are his favorite: his prized "Seraphim" who's ferocious brutality is only outmatched by your incredible beauty. Not truly knowing if your affection is all an act to continue being paid a wage in berry, he has not made a move of his own aside from calling upon you to sit on his knee of an evening, and have you utter praises into his ear. It is only when the two other members of the Cross-Guild begin flirting does he find his limit being tested. Will he bend, or will he break?

Themes: Boss!Crocodile x Assassin!Reader, lap princess, Croc is in love with you, begrudgingly in love, mutual pining, “I don’t want to fix him, I want to make him worse”, wealth, Cross-Guild dynamics, partial Buggy x Reader, partial Mihawk x Reader, sign language, afab!reader.

Notes: This fic is dedicated to the wonderful @discordantwritings who wrote a beautiful Benn Beckman fic recently. I had to return the favor with some Cross-Guild content, although it became quickly a Sir Crocodile fic. Based on this prompt, because it has a hold over my very soul.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @carrotsunshine @cinnbar-bun @writingmysanity @gingernut1314

The broad right hand of the brutish Sir Crocodile massaged his temples beneath his thumb and index finger. He began rotating them in an attempt to rid the swelling migraine caused by the crackled whines pouring from the lips of his clown companion. Barely paying attention to the whinging words strung into messy sentences, his ears pricked and spine tingled at the knowledge there was another presence within the hollow chambers of the Cross-Guild meeting space.

Bringing his hand away from his temple, his smirk broke the displeased position of his lips, as his eyes rose to meet with the yellow hue of the gaze of the swordsman. Mihawk narrowed his eyes, no longer processing Buggy’s words as he attempted to locate the source responsible for the expression change of the larger gentleman in front of him.

“-And I wasn’t the one responsible for that screw up, so I shouldn’t be the one paying for it. Really it should go to the one with the most berry. Who was it again? Between the reptile and the hawk, who has the most-.” Buggy’s voice halted as the shadows split to reveal your presence, stalking closer to the largest man in the room with an aura of silent danger.

Mihawk reached for the hilt of Yoru, ready to strike your approaching silhouette: armored and cloaked in the darkest black to blend within smoke and shadow. Your hood concealed your face, your facial mask shieling all but the intensity of your eyes smeared in darkened war paint. You made no sound; no tap, no whisper as you wordlessly approached Sir Crocodile.

“Returned so soon, my Seraphim,” his voice purred, leaning back in his chair while placing a thick cigar between his teeth, “Did all go according to plan?” You wordlessly bent your knee, bowing your head to the large gentleman to whom you entrusted your implicit loyalty. His smile drew further up his scarred face, the purple hue of his eyes dancing with a dangerous twinkle at your wordless confirmation.

“Good,” his voice praised you, reaching for his lighter lying atop the table. You rose to your feet, quickly reaching for the golden object, flicking open the lid and igniting the flint to spark its flame. Sir Crocodile leant forward, holding his eyes firmly on yours as your concentration was fixed on the task of lighting the tip of his cigar.

He narrowed his eyes, noticing a small smear of red atop the darkened warpaint and streaking down your face mask and onto your leather breastplate. He sighed, reaching into his left hand breast pocket and fishing out a silver handkerchief and passed it to you within his index and middle fingers.

“Is it yours?” he asked, gesturing to the blood congealed and spattered against your uniform.

“No, sir,” you whispered with no vocal tone depicted within your silence. He hummed in response, narrowing his eyes as he scanned your body further.

“Are you unharmed and unmarked?” he asked, his left brow raising in question. You stiffened your shoulders, arching your chin within the air and confirmed with a simple utterance of: “Yes, sir.”

“Very good, my Seraphim,” he complimented further, inhaling a deep lungful of the nicotine laden cigar smoke, exhaling through his nose. Buggy did not know what to make of this interaction, feeling completely and utterly ignored as Mihawk and Sir Crocodile’s eyes and attention remained fixed on your statuesque figure clad in cloak, leather and dark plated armor.

Leaning forward, Sir Crocodile ushered you to stoop forward to receive the next whisper of a command parting from his lips for your ears alone.

“I have laid out a new uniform for you to wear,” he uttered intimately, reaching up his left hand with his golden hook threatening to touch your shoulder. “See to it you are bathed, perfumed and clad in the ensemble within the hour,” the tip of his hook brushed with the rivets of your shoulder plate, dragging down your bicep to the inner crevice of your elbow, “And I will have you sat as my trophy upon my knee for the evening, my Seraphim.”

At that final utterance, he withdrew his hook from your arm and focussed once more on your eyes now depicting a darkness within usually withheld for victims beneath your concealed daggers.

Bowing to your boss, eyes now closed, you rose from your deep and respectful stoop and paid no mind to glance at the other two members of the meeting space. If Sir Crocodile found no reason to introduce you to these men, you did not deem them important enough to care who they were. Silence followed you as you trailed outside of the room, resubmerging yourself within the shadows and hastily making your way to the suite gifted to you by your boss.

“Baroque Works employee, Crocodile?” Mihawk uttered, his eyes fixed on the exit you withdrew from.

“A thing of the past, Hawk,” His smirk not leaving his face for each deep inhale of his cigar, “I no longer put my faith in an amassment of bounty hunters to get their hands dirty for my berry.” He took the butt of his cigar from his teeth and pushed the ignited end against the glass tray with his thumb. “No, my faith is no longer spread to the many, but to the few.”

“How many o’ them you got?” Buggy’s nasally voice chimed in, his brow furrowing and lips curling back in an uneasy smile, “Like twenty or thirty?”

“I have nine,” he confessed, eyes now bored with the conversation and lip curling down into an arrogant snarl, “And that one,” he gestured to the door with his chin, “Is my favorite.”

“Why?” Buggy asked, his voice cracking in a small apprehensive whine at the end of his question, “What does that one do that the others don’t?” Sir Crocodile’s lips curled into a darkened grin, his teeth revealed in the light.

“You will see.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

After bathing and cleaning yourself of the debris and carnage of the last assignment, you glanced at yourself in your large, ornate mirror. Looking over the new uniform set aside by your boss as it clung to your body, you couldn’t help the pull of a shy smile at the corner of your lips.

Of all of “The Choirs” founded and financed by Sir Crocodile, it was no illusion that you were absolutely and without a doubt his favorite. Your titles held your specialist skills as covert assassins within your roles; each skilled with a unique ability to complete your tasks to the utmost quality.

Principalitie, Archangel, and Angel were charged with gathering information and relaying it from a great distance. They were to look like civilians; innocent and coy with the ability to blend into a crowd seamlessly.

The Devil-Fruit users; Dominion, Virtue, and Power, were charged with carrying out tyrannical punishment and wrath without care for the casualties they caused under the utterance of a single command from your hook-handed leader.

Cherubim and Ophanim, the two of the higher in the chain of command, followed your explicit instruction in covert operations taken either together or separately. They were your trusted confidants, you could even call them your friends if it were not too bold to say so.

You, his ‘Seraphim’, were silent and embraced by shadows with such flawless success that it was rumored you were born in them. You were lethal with your daggers, your skill with a blade a sight to behold before life was drained from your intended target. The last thing they saw as their breath was claimed by your hand, was the ferocity in your blown pupils and lengthy eyelashes beneath the dark warpaint smeared atop your eyelids.

Glancing over your features once more, the pale white of the dress held stark contrast to the dark armor you adorned almost an hour prior. While your armor kept all of your features hidden to the world around you, the anonymity shielding you from emphasis on your features; this dress left little to the imagination.

The deep hook of the backless dress clung low to your hips in an ovular shape, bodice dipping down to above your navel with a thin band of fabric dancing above your cleavage to suture the bust shut with barely any support. The length of the dress halted little below your hip bone on the left-hand side, the right hand side down to the ball of your ankle to allow for the straps of your gold heels to be revealed with each step you took against the floor.

Your mind begins to wander the longer you stare at yourself in the mirror. This was the most provocative and scandalous item your boss had ever asked you to don. You almost allowed yourself to rush to the conclusion that your boss harbored more than simple favoritism for you, you assumed you were wearing this ensemble to impress a guest with your presence on his lap.

Silence was nearly impossible with the gold-dipped base of your heeled shoes. Each step you took after exiting your suite echoed in a foreign clack that you were unaccustomed to creating with your foot-falls.

Immediately upon entering the large celebratory area of Sir Crocodiles casino, you scanned the perimeter of the room for your boss to begin your new role for the night: the princess sitting upon his knee and doting on him with small caresses and whispers of praise within his ear. This was not a role you were exposed to often, but one you did well enough for him to continue asking for you after the first night you played it.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you did not harbor affection for your boss. Nothing ever transpired between you after you had finished this role for the nights he asked you to fulfill. No brush of lips meeting yours, no writhing while sprawled out beneath him against the green fuzz of the gamblers table. He would bow his head in gratitude to you, his eyes blinking shut out of respect, and dismissing you without a further word.

Adoration, respect, loyalty, and your wage is what bound you to that man. At each moment he spent with you on his lap, or performing a deadly task for him, your desire grew. You knew, without a semblance of a doubt, that you would cast aside your wage with an instant for the luxury of remaining by his side. You loved him, and it was the only thing that truly frightened you.

After concluding your brief scan of the room, you noticed Sir Crocodile was yet to make an appearance to darken the tables with his brutish figure. However, you smiled upon meeting the eyes of ‘Ophanim’ dressed in a simple waiter's uniform, with her sleeves rolled to her elbows and shaking a steel container filled with ice, syrups and hard liquor. She shot you a wink, gesturing with her chin to wait with her at the bar.

An honest smile sprung to your lips as you grasped the barstool within your hands, taking a seat atop it and hooking your left knee over your right; the slit of your dress revealing the entirety of your left leg to your thigh.

Immediately as you began to open your mouth to converse with your fellow “Choir” about her latest mission, your eyes were thrust into an amassment of lengthy cerulean hair. The person seemed to ignore you as their voice informed your friend of his order of a fruit-forward and harsh liquor cocktail with an insane amount of complex ingredients. The products he asked for sounded as if it would split and separate, with the immediate souring of creamy liquid with the acidic elements.

Grimacing with your lips curled in disgust, the individual turned to meet your disapproving gaze: his eyes widening and breath hitching in his throat. A large, rotund red nose lay central to his features, his dark vest cinching his waist beneath a white shirt and dark trousers. He looked as if he was not comfortable wearing the assortment, as if it was a mask he was given to wear akin to your arrangement set aside by your boss.

“You are fucking gorgeous,” he stumbled over his words, the syllables falling from his lips quicker than he could silence them within. Immediately your grimace upturned into a smile, forcing a laugh to flee from you at his unbridled compliment. You arched your left brow up, leaning in close to the individual in front of you and tightening his dark tie with your right hand.

“You are very easy to look at, yourself,” you purred in return, assuming your flirtatious role with ease. You darted your gaze between his two teal eyes, a coy smile now pursing your lips together innocently, “And who might you be, bright eyes?” Your question had his heart swelling, his cheeks filling with a boyish fluster.

“B-Buggy,” he wheezed, gulping back his words and grunting out a small cough to mask his uneasiness. “Captain Buggy D Clown,” he attempted to meet his elbow atop the bar, missing the polished wood entirely and instead stumbling under the uneven distribution of his weight. As air met his elbow with the heel of his palm capturing his chin, he flew his head down and met it against the wood with a harsh thump.

Wincing in empathy, you immediately reached forward and claimed his cheeks within your palms and raised him back up to his former stature. You brushed his shoulders, readjusted his collar and checked over the rising swell atop his left temple.

“Honey, can we get some ice please?” you asked your colleague who attempted to halt her laugh behind her palm, nodding as she retrieved the frosty cubes and placed them within a checkered tea towel. She passed it to you and shook her head, you nodding your thanks at her for the object and immediately reaching for the blunt-force trauma the blue-haired clown brought upon himself.

“Are you alright Captain Buggy?” You asked him, holding your hand against the towel and pressing it firmly against the rising bruise. He clasped his left hand around your right, leaning into the touch you were providing him and closing his eyes.

“I like the way your tongue makes my name sound,” he confessed in a breathy gasp. You again found yourself laughing at his words, the melodic ring of your voice stirring something dangerous within the purple hues of Sir Crocodile’s eyes. He continued watching your interaction with Buggy from his place darkening the threshold of the entrance to his casino.

“What happened, Clown?” A voice called behind him, the curve of a pale shirt clinging to the back of a dark-haired individual you could barely see. Buggy apprehensively turned away from you and lulled his head towards the man with a snarling expression.

“It’s her fault,” he gestured to you with his thumb, “She was sittin’ on that chair all innocent-like, as if she doesn’t look like walking sex.”

“Hardly walking if she’s sitting,” the man called over in a bored and disinterested tone, without sparing so much as a glance in your direction. You found him intriguing, but you decided to match his energy and remain aloof to his comments yourself.

Turning away from the two men beside you, you began moving your hands in a flurry of wordless gestures to your coworker as discreetly as you could.

‘Where is he?” you asked her, watching her hands flicker in response as she continued to attempt to uphold her own persona as bartender.

“Approaching slowly,” she managed to signal to you, before she placed a glass of wine in front of the broody aloof gentleman beside the clown. The corner of his lips ticked at the corner, a whisper of gratitude depicted on his face as he turned to face you with the crystal glass rising upwards.

The small widening of his honey-coloured eyes told you all you needed to know within his gaze. Your head cocked to the side, your eyes wide and feigning innocence to the best of your abilities.

“My, my,” he commented, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body from your decorated toes to the follicles of your styled hair, “I do see why you would be the cause for such a stumble.” He expertly brushed the blue-haired man away from you, extending his right hand forward to seek out your own and collecting your four fingers within his grip.

He raised your hand to his lips, his mustache tickling the knobbed joints of your knuckles before his lips brushed against your flesh. Your eyes turned sultry, not once either of you breaking your eye contact against one another.

Unable to control the rapidity of the thump within his chest and the dry lump forming in his throat, Sir Crocodile began a stalking approach towards you. How dare they fawn over you. You: his favorite of his Choirs. His angelic muse and harbinger of brutality.

He knew you would make heads turn with the uniform he laid out for you, but he did not anticipate the primal urge swelling beneath him to pull you into himself and shield you away from their eyes. He wanted you all for himself, in any capacity you were willing to give it to him. He didn’t care that you were paid berry to serve him, it felt real enough for him.

“Dracule Mihawk,” he uttered against your flesh, withdrawing from his stoop and arching his back to puff his barely shielded chest to you, “And you are, my darling?” Before you could answer with your name, you felt a warm graze dancing up your spine. His breath tickled against your skin, tingling your spine beneath his lips as they pressed intent and longing to your flesh.

On any other occasion, you may have been alarmed by such attention from an individual without seeing their face. The cologne dancing with the whisper of his last cigar floated with each kiss against your skin, informing you exactly who was giving you such a touch.

He had never offered you this unbridled affection in the past, not allowing himself to give into his craving for you, and you not willing to test your place serving under him. This touch felt natural, his lips continuing to press into you, as you continued to hold your gaze on the eyes of the dark-haired man in front of you.

Sir Crocodile’s lips found your left shoulder, his purple eyes pulling the swordsman’s attention away from you to meet with your boss as he continued to map his lips up your neck to your jaw. His left forearm circled around your front, the golden hook firmly secured against his wrist collecting your chin beneath the smooth surface. He turned your attention away from Mihawk to look into his eyes through lowered eyelashes.

He leant forward, drawing your lips against his by the gentle tilt of his hook against your chin. Darting his tongue out to stroke yours, his nose brushed against your own as he circled his jaw to deepen the embrace. Your hands clutched the base of the stool you were sat atop to anchor yourself down for fear of floating to the roof. The hum of his lips in joy had a small moan pull from your lips the longer he was joined against you.

You felt his right hand brush against your bicep, curling his firm grip around it as he pushed his chest flush with your own with a gentle turn of your body. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes immediately falling to your rapidly swelling and kiss-bruised lips, slightly smudged paint falling below the perimeter of your bottom lip. Tapping your chin with his hook, your eyes darted from your own gaze against his lips to meet with his purple eyes.

“My Seraphim,” the rumble of his voice and the small smirk of his lips had your attention hyper fixed and hanging on his every word. You held your gaze firmly affixed to his, watching as he turned away from you and greeted the men in front of you with the nod of his head and the small utterance of their names.

“Mihawk,” the rumble of his voice rubbing within his throat had your spine tingle with anticipation, “Buggy.” He turned back to meet your orbs that had not yet broken from his face, but raked your gaze over his face with half-lidded lashes. Your eyes continued to float in a daze against his lips and flittering back up to meet his gaze.

He extended his right hand in a gesture for you to take it, you reacting immediately by placing your hand within his larger palm to encircle his digits around it. You allowed him to pull you away from your former position atop the barstool, your heels clicking against the floor as he escorted you to the desired table for the night. Now in the shroud of seclusion, he leaned down and uttered a small apology in your ear.

“Forgive me,” he began, taking his seat within the plush armchair and patting his left knee with his right. Without hesitation, you gracefully placed yourself atop his thigh with the small flick of your hair, crossing your left knee over your right and arching your back.

“What sins am I forgiving, sir?” you asked him, feeling the dangerous caress of his hook brushing against your spine and collecting a small portion of your hair within its curvature. Your boss took in a deep breath through his nose, expanding his broad chest beneath his suit jacket. His exhale had a small quake to it, his eyes closing as he basked under your attention.

You reached your hands and began to dance your fingertips against the hem of his collar. Although this was a routine you had practiced with him over man a night on his lap, this touch felt almost forbidden as his brows furrowed.

“I should not have kissed you like that,” he uttered in a voice below a hushed whisper, “You deserve better than something so public. I desire you-... -for you to be treated as a seraphim I know you to be.” His vocal catch had your attention completely focussed on every word, your body leaning itself further as your hands halted their movement.

“I am not a seraphim, sir,” your lips were now almost brushing with the shell of his ear, your hypnotic perfume, intoxicating and mesmerizing the larger gentleman the longer your presence remained atop his lap. He angled his head away from you, exposing the side of his neck to reveal the rapidity of his heartbeat displayed against his pulse.

“And what are you, if not a seraphim,” he whispered darkly, allowing to be disarmed by your presence as he leant into your touch, yet away from the descent of your lips upon his ear.

“I am your seraphim,” you confessed as your lips grazed against the sensitive flesh of his cheek, his dark hair tickling against your eyes.

Sir Crocodile was glad he had withdrawn you to a secluded portion of his casino at this moment. He truly did not desire for the other two members of the Cross-Guild to notice how much of a grip you truly had around his heart, but refused to break away from your display of unrestrained physical affection. He knit his brows together, furthering their descent down his face as he processed your words.

“Because I pay you to be,” he uttered, leaning away from your touch and forcing the mask of his arrogance back onto his features. He dropped the hook from your hair, reaching his right hand into his left breast pocket to locate a thick cigar and his golden lighter. Placing the bitten end between his teeth and clamping down on it, he drew the flame up to his lips and attempted to ignite the end.

“I will return my wage to you,” you uttered quietly after swiping the golden lighter from his hand and reigniting the flame, “I have no need for it when you take care of me so well.” His eyes held an aloof boredom to his expression, refusing to meet with your face as you lit his cigar for him.

“And if my wealth was taken from me?” He questioned before inhaling the smoke from his cigar, exhaling it away from your face, “If I was to go to prison once more, what then?” Your eyes narrowed, your lip curling up to reveal your displeasure at the question.

“I would claw tooth and nail to free you from your confinement, sir,” you confessed, reaching your left hand forward and collecting his chin beneath your thumb and index finger, turning his jaw for his eyes to meet with yours once more, “And although living in luxury is a welcome experience, I would stand by you regardless.” His eyes depicted his craving for your words to be true, although not believing it yourself.

He began to open his mouth to speak, silenced by your words cutting through the air like your daggers meeting with the jugular of your foe.

“You have my loyalty, my blades, and my body at your disposal,” you leant forward further, darting your eyes between focusing on each of his. “Should you order me to jump, I will ask how high. Should you ask me to kneel, I will fall to my knees,” you continued, your grip holding more firmly against his chin, “Should you wordlessly aim your finger at an enemy, I would be a channel of your wrath as I claim their lives for you.”

Allowing a few moments of thick silence to swell between you, you felt the scrape of his hook trailing itself against your spine, hovering over the soft point of your rib and pressing his point firmly into your flesh.

“While your words are as beautiful as you are,” he whispered, looking down at the plunging neck of your dress and back up into your eyes, “They are as decorated by the impact of my wealth as your body is in that dress.” You narrowed your eyes at his comment, taking the expression as a challenge.

Shrugging away from the point of his hook, you rose to your feet between his legs and slowly drew your hands up to the thin straps on your shoulders. You hooked your thumbs beneath the material and began to slowly slip the material over your shoulders and down your biceps. Sir Crocodile’s eyes widened, immediately reaching his right hand and left forearm to halt your hands from revealing more of your flesh to him.

“What are you doing?” His growl should’ve had your actions stuttering in any other setting, but his rasp had your heart beating in desire in place of fear.

“I have already informed you that I will be returning my wage to you,” you cocked your head to the side, arching your back towards him and looking down at him under your lustful expression, “Why not start with the dress you claim to despise so much.” The rise of his fluster depicted in his eyes at your words had a smirk drawing up to decorate your lips.

“What has someone like me done to deserve such devotion from you, my seraphim?” he whispered, his right hand elevating the strap of your left shoulder and securing it firmly in its prior place. You followed suit with your right strap, securing it firmly against your shoulder and leaning further into his welcome embrace.

He leant his torso closer to you, his broad forearms circling over your own with his fingertips brushing against your skin. You began to open your mouth, confessing your adoration for your boss further upon the tip of your tongue before crudely interrupted by the presence of the blue-haired clown followed behind by the broody gentleman from earlier.

“Are we playin’ cards yet, Croco?” Buggy’s voice hitched as he met with an intimate moment shared between you and Sir Crocodile. Your boss’ hands caressed your skin, pulling you against his torso as he aimed his disapproving gaze over your right shoulder.

He growled at the interruption, his voice holding more feral animosity than he felt he should. You drew your hand up to claim his cheek in the palm of your right hand, looking down at him with your eyes holding your unspoken answer of lustful adoration at him. His breath hitched as his gaze met with yours, prompting his right hand to grasp the flesh of your back firmer within his spread fingertips.

“I recall you having barely enough berry to survive the last time we played, Clown,” Mihawk’s aloof tone called from beside him. Neither you nor Sir Crocodile paid either man any mind, too wrapped up in the intimate moment you were sharing holding one another.

You removed the cigar from Crocodile’s teeth in your left hand, stooping forward and claiming his lips beneath your own. Your nose brushed against his, the kiss as hastily departing in severance of the connection as it did in its descent. He arched his chin up, chasing your retreat with his eyes closed.

“Shall I get the table ready, sir?” You asked him in a subtle whisper, relishing in the small hum of pleasure falling from the lips of your boss. His eyes split slowly open, remaining half-lidded as he lulled his head on his neck to glance at you. The silver mark splitting his face danced in the illuminance of the soft bar light, his striking features appearing more chiseled under its glow.

“Please,” he spoke slowly, his tongue darting out and danced as the ‘L’ passed his lips. You raked his hair back over his scalp, replacing the fallen strands in their rightful place, while leaning down once more with a smirk.

“Right away, sir,” you purred at him while returning his cigar to his teeth, watching as he bit the tip with a small snarl. Turning and walking away to collect several items to place atop the green felt for your boss to engage in a game of cards with his two unlikely colleagues, eyes fixed on your back as you exited the secluded area.

“Who is she?” Buggy’s shocked voice cracked out the stuttered question also plaguing Mihawk’s mind. Sir Crocodile relaxed in his chair, inhaling the cigar smoke deeply into his lungs and holding it. Upon it exiting from his lungs, he confessed the place you held within his heart with the utterance of two words.

“My favorite.”

#one piece #x reader #opla fic #opla #one piece live action #buggy #mihawk #captain buggy #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #op sir crocodile x reader #op sir crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #cross guild #cross guild x reader #sir crocodile wins #boss x employee

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brokerplushsg · 1 month ago

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Screw it, here is the list of all the Block Tales Parody accounts that I know of currently.

So for those not in the unofficial Block Tales Tumblr parody discord server run by @redzania, I have been accounting for every Block Tales Parody Askblogs on this site and today because why not, I've decided to post the list of all the Block Tales Parodies me and the server had been able to find so far. (I belive we got most of em so if ur Parody is not on here, pls tell me!)

Reblog this list if ya wish to help promote le fellow Parodies and maybe even drop a few asks into some! :D Especially ones that are New and have Low traction to help them actually appear in the search bar as well as general interactions too :D

Tbh it would also be wonderful if this inspires you to make parodies of your own, especially for characters with no parodies yet lol /nf

Should note a disclaimer that all the notes written for le ask blogs are not 100% accurate as even tho I am the unofficial accountant, I am not an algorithm or any kind of robot in general and thus not looking and recording every blog 24/7 so it might not be the most accurate- 😭

If u want me to update or change something, lmk! :D

Anyways, here is all the Parodies mentioned below! :D

PS: skim through the screenshots above for more info before exploring and dear mods/muns, sorry for le notification lol

Caves:

Supreme Ant

@the-best-queen

Roadtown:

Accountant Jim

@accountantjim

Mount Blackrock:

Banished Knight

@the-banished-knight

@thelonelyblackrockknight

Blackrock Castle:

Knight

@most-loyal-knight

Kitchen Chef

@blackrockskitchenchef

Cruel King

@my-cold-personal-tragedy

@blackrocks-king

@artic-king

Rugged Rainforest:

Venom Wizard

@our-forest-willrise

Turipolis:

Mayor Thaniyel

@mayor-of-turitopulis

@mayor-thaniyel

@askvenomswapthaniyel

Sacred Hollow:

Woodsman

@askwoodsman33

Greifer (All 9 of y'all should group up and form the sickest gang ever)

@mayors-son

@w0rlds-c00l3st-gr13f3r

@th3-gr13f3r

@ask-mayorau-brad

@asktoxicgriefer

@bloodied-gardens

@gr1ef3r-ask-blog

@gr13f3rpwnzn00bs

@aftermath-grief

Telamon's Manor:

Hax

@hax0r-gh05t-xd

Dream World:F'Ella

@Funk-Faction

Your Bombing Pal

@your-bombing-pal

Greed

@tixhoarder

Solitude

@solitairefrom-blocktales

@theembodimentofisolation

Fear

@fearfulpurple

@benevolentindigo

@anonymous-hyacinth

Hatred (For the literal embodiments of hatred, Yall are all so nice 😭)

@the-scourge-of-everyone

@ask-builderman

@ask-hatred-and-guilt

@hatenfelidae

@buildingabetterfuture

Reoccurring:

Red Noob

@knightlyredtwin

Blue Noob

@knightlybluetwin

Noobador

@numberoneuncle

Kyoko

@kyoko-the-adventurer

Jerry

@jerryfromblocktales

Conductor Noob

@conductornoob

Purple Noob

@purpleswordslashes

Green Noob

@poisonous-green-mace

@greenbeingmean

Others:

Players

@tutorialterryanduhhhummm

@undertaleknockoff

@collectorofswords

@averagemoth

@waitin4more

@purpleishmedication

OCs

@celestrpblog

@that-greenie-guy

@theewanderingwizard

@seethewe

@mintyshinigami

AU worlds

@plushandthewildones

@theblocktaleroleplay

Crossovers

@reddheirwinginquries

@the-doctorsoffice

@angelicallyresurrecting (Ngl idk if you are even a rp askblog so sorry if u ain't 😭)

Alright, some of yall may be asking why I have decided to do all of this labor; Well, like I said, I wanted to introduce others to RP blogs to increase interactions and awareness that these accounts all exists lol, and to reassure le mods that they aren't the only ones in the Parody Block Tales Tumblr Multiverse™, so yeah, shoutout to everyone here, and know that you are seen. :)

[Also, here is BUX for reaching all the way to the end!]

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galebrainrot2024 · 11 months ago

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Oh boy this one is a little salacious and indulgent. Anyway, we're back!

Summary: Inspired by the image below, gender neutral and unnamed Tav and Gale get a moment alone without their companions. Sexually explicit, denial, mutual masturbation, restraint, voyeurism, oral sex

Read on Ao3 | Master List | NSFW18+

Gale strides to the throne, running his fingers over the spines of the books, admiring the unique craftsmanship. “A bit self serving, if you ask me. Anyone who’s well read wouldn’t require such a gaudy display for their supposed knowledge.” You can’t help to roll your eyes in response and he gives a cheek grin. “Am I wrong?”

The rest of your companions returned to camp while you and Gale scourged the wizards tower, looting what you were able and taking the moment to yourselves. It wasn’t often you had time privately and away from the others. Now, here you were - isolated and contained together.

You watch as the sunlight whispers through the large paneled windows, kissing Gale’s skin and feel yourself spark to life, the tendrils of need licking up your spine. Your cheeks flush, tempted as you watch his fingers continue to run over the books, admiring their skill… you swallow hard.

As he drapes himself into the chair and leans back cooly, you feel gripped with the desire to please him, to get down on your knees in front of him and bring him to the zenith of pleasure. To worship him. He reads the lust on your face and slouches a bit cockily, raising a brow and flicks his wrist to conjures a mage hand in a flash of purple hue. He studies the hand for a moment before tossing a wicked grin your way, his pupils blown wide. When Gale speaks, his voice is low - “Are you alright, my love? Your cheeks are looking rather… flushed.” Gale rests an elbow on the arm of the chair and looks at you as if you were his prey, leaning back in the chair languidly and brushes his bottom lip with his thumb. His legs spread as if in invitation, the familiar mischievous glint evident in his gaze. You feel the tingle of your shared arousal course through your veins and your breath hitches. “It’s not often we find ourselves with such privacy. Might I suggest we take advantage of this gift of serendipitity?”

“What did you have in mind?” You breathe, though your body already seems to know the answer. The voracious urge consumes you, the need to entwine your limbs, the carnal ache for the delirium of bliss by his hands.

“Ah,” he chuckles darkly, raising a brow and leans forward. “Quite a few things, and none of them require this…” he gestures to your body, “extensive armor.” He clicks his tongue and the mage hand extends towards you, brushing through your hair. The movement sends a shudder down your spine. Your lips part as the fingers brush the hollow of your neck and skims your hems, begging to unlace and unbutton the fabric that stands between your naked form and Gale.

The erogenous heat fills your center and he watches you come undone, feeding off your desperation as the mage hand deliberately undresses you. The fingers work unhurried, the throbbing between your thighs growing with every light caress and brush. You shudder and try to shoo the hand away when it then grips your wrists together, Gale’s darker appetites seeping through. You gasp, surprised by the firm, sudden moment. He clicks his tongue again, “it’s unlike you to be uncooperative, my love…” the hand tightens around your wrist and he conjures another to begin to undo the rest. You feel your knees buckle and your lips part, wanting.

Whenever Gale was in this mood, you couldn’t resist pushing back against his hubris and the fixation with making you squirm. To deny you pleasure and inch you closer to the edge without quite giving into you. It is a game, and you will not be the first to yield. You feel your heart thrum wildly, this the first time you’ve been alone since the night in the astral plane. Your eyes drink Gale in, the way his robes cling to his form, highlighting the half formed arousal beneath the robes. It makes your mouth water, wanting to taste every inch of him. You again try to work against the hand and are met with resistance. Another manifests in front of you, tracing idle patterns between your thighs before it continues disrobing you. The air is cold against your bare skin as your armor falls away, leaving you standing stark in only your undergarments.

Gale rests back, his head tilted against the chair and you see him stir to life, his eyes frenzied with insatiable need. Gale licks his lips and a smirk dances at the corners of his mouth as he manipulates the hand with deft twists, and you stand dumbfounded - goosebumps rise across your body from the cold and your nipples stand alert. The hand brushes up your torso and up your chest, barely tracing your neck. You shudder and Gale leans forward hungrily. “Is something the matter?” His voice is thick with lust and he bites the tip of his finger as he uses the mage hand to caress your body. You feel the fire bloom within and your core pools with frenzied longing, squirming as the hand finds its way between your thighs. You hear yourself whimper and a plea falls from your lips. Gale leans forward more, his legs spread wide as he rests on his knees.

Your eyes lock on one another, profound craving and an almost punishing thrill of what was to come charging the air between you. Your underwear betray your sweet arousal and the hand barely brushes over your clothed sex. You inhale through your teeth, “Gale please…”

Gale leans back again, one of his hands snaking between his thighs to hold the evident bulge under his robes. “Please what?” He asks, his eyes flicking to the arousal between your thighs and you hear him groan. The wait is exquisite. “Use your words, darling.”

You try and as you do, the mage had around your wrists tightens and begins to push you forward and you oblige. Gale’s legs seem to spread wider as you approach and he leans back, beckoning you. As you approach, your body undulates with torturous need, the arousal between your thighs severe. He flashes his brows and flicks his gaze to the floor before him. You fall to your knees, and he leans forward, taking your chin in his hands and brings his lips to yours. The kiss is lecherous, his tongue forcibly parting your lips to roll over yours. You whimper and moan, squeezing your thighs together and another hand materializes. The hands spread your legs and work one thigh each, your hands still restrained by the first.

When Gale pulls out of the kiss you are both breathing deliriously, his black pupils revealing his craving for more. He stands in front of you and disrobes, the thick bulge in his briefs begging to be freed. Your body responds, lips parted and mouth watering. You lean forward and lick across where his briefs meet his lower torso. His hand holds the back of your head as you do this and a guttural moan escapes him.

Your carnivorous excitement takes over and you grip his briefs with your teeth, pulling them down his body. He laughs darkly, “Very good…” he purrs and you look up at him, eyes wide and eager. Gale sits back in the chair and you are entranced - he releases your wrists and the hands caress your lower body. With your hands freed they find their way to Gale’s thighs and you grip them tightly as your lips graze along in tandem. You can sense the hands massaging your butt, the source of your arousal as if to encourage you to please him.

His pulsating erection demands to be sated and you eye him, your tongue flicking higher and closer to the source of his pleasure. You hear him moan, his hand still lithely guiding your head between his thighs. The saliva in your mouth pools yet before you are able to take him, he pushes your head away. You whimper and feel the hands beginning to massage and pleasure you, your eyes flutter and you hear Gale sigh as he watches you.

Gale’s hand guides you forward now, succumbing to you and you meet him eagerly, your grip firm on the arms of the throne. Your lips wrap around the tip of his erection and saliva pools downward onto his shaft. He grunts and you roll your tongue over the sensitive tip and he squirms as you take him deeper into your mouth. Gale rewards you with a groan and thrust, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat deliciously. You suck as if famished, your voracious thirst for him fueling the skill of your mouth and tongue. The grip on the back of your head tightens and he begins to push harder into your mouth and you feel the hands between your thighs increase their tempo and firmness. You moan against his cock and the vibration makes him twitch, his body slick with sweat as you take him and indulge. You lick across his shaft and fondle the bridge between his ass and penis which causes him to writhe beautifully. You smirk and use your hand to grip the base of him, bringing your lips to meet your hand as you work him.

Gale comes undone, the grip in your hair sending you reeling and the hands torment you, bringing you closer and closer to bliss. Each time you feel yourself close to release, the hands pull back and you cry out desperately, your mouth full of Gale as he retreats. You suck harder, frantic, seeking the full flavor of Gale’s arousal. He is salty, warm in your wet mouth and his movements begin to grow more urgent, volatile. Your jaw aches and tears form at the corners of your eyes and your saliva covers his throbbing erection as he bucks into your mouth. You relax your throat, allowing him to plunge deeper into you and he moans louder, the sound anguishing music as he continues his retreat from your pleasure.

You pull back and you feel Gale’s hand resist and he groans, almost in frustration. He tries to press you back to him and you resist, you grip him tightly with your hand and you gaze up at him as you lick across his shaft. His lips fall open and his head tilts back. Suddenly, you feel a hand manipulate you aggressively, so close to allowing you release that you fold your entire mouth over Gale and he cries out in animalistic pleasure, plunging into your mouth as the hands work you. “Oh fuck…” he grips the back of your head almost too hard, his cock slipping deep into your throat and you moan as the warm, sticky cascade of his climax shoots into your mouth and you suck violently, tasting every part of his pleasure as he allows the hands to bring you to your own rapture while you taste the fruit of your labor.

He collapses into the chair and you onto his lap, resting your head on his thigh - both of your breathing is ragged and shallow, the calm settling between as your breath comes back to you. He brushes his fingers through your hair and across your cheeks and you look up at him. He is flushed and grins, almost sheepishly as you say: “You are full of surprises,” you murmur and kiss thigh before pulling yourself up to kiss him.

It is slow, tender, and you see him thrum to life again. You raise a brow and he shrugs before murmuring, “Well… we have time for a bit more, wouldn’t you agree?”

498 notes · View notes

novaursa · 5 months ago

Note

good evening I saw that you were still taking requests

I had an idea where fem!targaryen is Aegon's twin sister, she was sent at the same time as Daeron to Oldtown She was always extremely close to her twin brother but his character didn't match the court.

She looks a lot like Daemon, a bit of a rebellious princess and her grandfather sent her to their house to help her recover. but arriving in Oldtown she created a more than close bond with her uncle Sir Gwayne.

If we could have the complexity of their relationship, like the first time their outlook on each other changed, first kiss but they are still consumed by the fact that it's not right

They would have a very close relationship, Gwayne is someone who is very teasing and even a little arrogant. They would probably marry under the old and new gods like Targaryen and for many years no one else knows except Aegon

then when Aegon was made king, Alicent contacted her brother again but at the same time would hear about several children with white hair and purple eyes who would be in Oldtown, she would immediately think of bastards but she would never have thought of her brother and her daughter

Otto and Alicent would be angry and even disgusted by Gwayne's behavior but when they return to King's Landing they are welcomed wonderfully by Aegon who is more than happy to see his nephews and nieces again 🫶🏼👀

A Flame in Exile

- Summary: Your mother and grandsire have sent you away to Oldtown. You were too unruly like your uncle Daemon, they said. But Gwayne never shied away from fire.

- Paring: niece!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The wind bites at your face as the ship draws closer to the towering spire of the Hightower. You shiver slightly, though not from the cold. Oldtown is a world away from the Red Keep, and though you’ve heard much of its grandeur and history, the thought of calling this place home sits uneasily within you. Yet, the unease is nothing compared to the aching emptiness left by your separation from Aegon.

Your twin. Your other half. His tear-streaked face is burned into your mind, his voice—trembling and desperate—echoes in your ears. "Please, don’t leave me," he had cried, clinging to you with a desperation that had nearly broken your resolve. His arms wrapped around you so tightly that it felt like he was trying to fuse your very souls together, as if by sheer force of will he could keep you by his side.

But your mother had intervened. Alicent’s voice had been cold and firm, like steel wrapped in velvet, her eyes flashing with something you couldn't quite place as she pried Aegon’s arms from around your neck. "Do not make a scene, Aegon," she had hissed, her grip on him as unyielding as her will. And then, with one last pained look, you had been pulled away, ushered towards the ship that would take you to Oldtown, to the Hightower. To your new life.

Even now, as you stand on the deck, the memory haunts you. Aegon, your other half, left behind in the Red Keep, with no one who truly understands him. The thought that you are the only one who ever did brings you little comfort, for what use is understanding when you are not there to provide it?

You glance down at Daeron, your little brother, standing beside you. His wide eyes are filled with awe, and a hint of fear as he stares at the looming city before him. He is too young to understand the full weight of what has been done, but you see the uncertainty in the way he clutches at your hand. You squeeze his hand in return, offering what little comfort you can, though the gesture feels hollow.

The ship finally docks, and the crew is quick to lower the gangplank. As you descend, you are met by a small party of retainers, dressed in the colors of House Hightower. At their head stands Gwayne Hightower, your uncle, and eldest son of Otto Hightower, your grandsire. His presence is commanding, yet there is a warmth in his gaze that eases some of the tension coiled within you.

“Welcome to Oldtown,” Gwayne greets, his voice smooth and gentle, with a hint of the formality you’ve come to expect from a Hightower. He bows his head to you first, acknowledging your status, before turning to Daeron with a softer expression. “Prince Daeron, it is an honor to have you here.”

Daeron blinks up at Gwayne, unsure of what to say, but Gwayne’s easy smile seems to relax him. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” Daeron finally replies, his voice small but polite.

“And you, Princess Y/N,” Gwayne turns his full attention to you, his grey eyes meeting yours with a curiosity that is hard to miss. “It has been many years since we last met, but I can see the blood of the dragon runs strong in you. You have grown into a fine lady.”

You offer him a nod, not trusting yourself to speak just yet. His words are kind, but you see the caution in his gaze. You are a stranger to him, a puzzle to be unraveled. And in this moment, you feel more alone than ever. Yet, there is something in Gwayne's demeanor that draws you in—an undercurrent of understanding, as if he too knows what it is to be caught between duty and desire.

“We have prepared quarters for you both within the Hightower,” Gwayne continues, gesturing to the towering structure behind him. “Your retainers will find all the accommodations they require as well. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to ask.”

You incline your head in thanks, finally finding your voice. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne. Your hospitality is appreciated.”

As you follow Gwayne through the streets of Oldtown, Daeron trailing close behind, you cannot help but marvel at the city around you. It is a place of ancient history, where every stone seems to hum with the weight of the ages. The Citadel looms in the distance, a symbol of knowledge and power, while the Starry Sept stands as a beacon of faith. Yet, despite the grandeur, you find no comfort here. This is not your home. And though Gwayne’s presence is steady and kind, you know it will be some time before you can truly trust him, or anyone else here.

When you finally reach the Hightower, you are led through its winding corridors to your chambers. They are lavishly appointed, far more luxurious than anything you expected, but the opulence feels cold, impersonal. You cannot help but think of the warmth of the Red Keep, of the fire-lit chambers where you and Aegon would hide away from the world, finding solace in each other’s company.

Once you and Daeron are settled, Gwayne excuses himself, leaving you alone with your brother. Daeron, still so young, looks to you for guidance, for reassurance. And though you ache to give it to him, you feel the weight of your own uncertainty pressing down on you.

“Do you think we’ll be happy here?” Daeron asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You look down at him, his innocent face so full of hope, and force a smile. “We’ll make the best of it,” you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. “We have each other, and that is what matters.”

He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and you pull him into a hug. But as you hold him close, you cannot shake the feeling that something has been irreparably broken. You are no longer whole, no longer tethered to the one person who understood you completely. And as you close your eyes, you wonder if you will ever feel at home again.

As the night falls and the Hightower grows quiet, you sit by the window, staring out at the city below. Somewhere out there, in the vastness of this world, is Aegon, your twin, your other half. You hope he is safe, hope he knows that you did not want to leave him. But hope feels fragile in the face of the reality you now face.

In the distance, the Starry Sept’s bells toll, their mournful sound carrying on the wind. You wonder if Aegon can hear them too, wherever he is. You wonder if he is thinking of you, as you are thinking of him.

And as you drift into an uneasy sleep, you cling to the memory of his tears, of his desperate pleas. For they are all you have left of him now, and you fear that, without them, you may forget what it feels like to be whole.

The days in Oldtown have blurred into a monotonous routine, a far cry from the vibrant, if chaotic, life you once knew in the Red Keep. The city, with all its ancient grandeur, has become a gilded cage, and you find yourself suffocated by the very walls meant to protect you. Daeron, though still young, has adapted better than you expected, throwing himself into his lessons with the maesters. You, however, remain adrift, seeking solace in the only companionship that has begun to mean anything in this new life—Gwayne Hightower.

From the moment you arrived, Gwayne has been a constant presence, hovering at the edges of your life in Oldtown. At first, you found his attentions burdensome, a reminder of your exile from King's Landing. But over time, the sharp edges of your resentment dulled, replaced by a begrudging acceptance of his company. Now, months after your arrival, Gwayne’s presence has become something you not only expect but anticipate. His arrogance, his teasing remarks—they no longer irritate you as they once did. Instead, they have become a strange kind of comfort, a link to a life that feels farther away with each passing day.

On this particular afternoon, you find yourself in one of the Hightower’s many courtyards, the sun hanging low in the sky. The air is cool, the first signs of autumn creeping in. You sit on a stone bench, watching as the shadows stretch long and thin across the cobblestones. Gwayne is beside you, his usual smirk in place, though his eyes are softer than usual.

“You know,” he begins, his voice light with mockery, “I never thought Oldtown would see the day a dragon would be caged within its walls.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Caged? You speak as if I’m some kind of beast, Gwayne.”

“Aren’t you?” he retorts, though there’s no malice in his tone. “You have the blood of the dragon in you, after all. And from what I hear, more of Daemon’s fire than Viserys’s... whatever it is he has.” He leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “That’s why they sent you here, isn’t it? To keep you away from your dear twin. To keep you from burning down the world.”

You bristle at his words, even as a part of you knows there is truth in them. “And what would you know of such things?” you snap back, though there’s little heat behind it. “You Hightowers are always so certain of yourselves, always so sure of your place in the world.”

Gwayne laughs, a low, rich sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “We are sure of our place because we make it so. That is what my father taught me. But you… you are different, aren’t you? You don’t fit neatly into anyone’s plans, not even your own.”

His words sting because they cut too close to the bone. You are different, an anomaly in your own family. Not quite the dutiful daughter Alicent hoped for, nor the rebellious one like Daemon that Viserys once admired, you have always straddled a line that leaves you belonging nowhere. And here, in Oldtown, that difference is magnified, a glaring fault line that Gwayne seems all too eager to point out.

But today, something is different. The way Gwayne looks at you, the way his voice lingers on your name—it’s all sharper, more intense. He’s leaning in closer, the space between you shrinking with each passing moment, until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. The tension between you crackles like lightning before a storm, dangerous and thrilling.

“Why do you do that?” you ask suddenly, your voice softer than you intended. “Why do you always bring up my uncle? Why do you always remind me of why I’m here?”

Gwayne’s smirk falters, just for a moment, before he straightens up, the teasing mask slipping back into place. “Because it’s the truth, and I’ve found that you prefer truth over the pretty lies most would tell you.”

You can’t argue with that, but it doesn’t ease the knot in your chest. “It’s a bitter truth,” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

“Perhaps,” he agrees, his tone shifting, becoming more serious. “But it’s the truth nonetheless. You are fire, my lady. Wild and untamed, just like Daemon. And it scares them—all of them. My father, your mother, the king… they don’t know what to do with you.”

“And you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do I scare you, Gwayne?”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for the first time, there’s no arrogance in his gaze, no teasing light in his eyes. “Yes,” he says quietly. “But I find that I’m drawn to the flame, even knowing I might get burned.”

The admission hangs between you, heavy and charged. The world seems to narrow down to this moment, to the space between you and Gwayne, a space that feels both too vast and too close. You can see the conflict in his eyes, the way he fights against something he doesn’t fully understand. But then, so do you.

“I should go,” you say, the words an echo of what you think you should say, but not what you want.

Gwayne’s hand reaches out before you can move, his fingers curling around your wrist with a gentle pressure. It’s a small touch, but it ignites something within you, a spark that quickly flares into a dangerous blaze. His touch feels like the first real thing you’ve felt since you left King’s Landing, since you left Aegon behind.

“Stay,” he says, his voice a soft command, a plea wrapped in steel. “Just for a little while longer.”

You know you shouldn’t. You know this is wrong, forbidden, and dangerous. The Seven would condemn it, your family would disown you, and yet... there’s a part of you that doesn’t care. A part of you that craves this, that wants to feel alive again, even if it means stepping into the flames.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look into Gwayne’s eyes, seeing the same conflict mirrored in his gaze. And then, slowly, you nod.

He pulls you closer, his hand moving from your wrist to your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch. For a moment, neither of you moves, the world suspended in a fragile balance. And then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss.

The contact is electric, sending shockwaves through your body, waking something within you that has been dormant for too long. You respond without thinking, without caring, your hands moving to his shoulders as you press closer to him. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more desperate, as if you are both trying to fill the void that has been gnawing at you for months.

When you finally pull back, breathless and trembling, Gwayne’s eyes are dark with something you’ve never seen before. “This… this is madness,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion.

“Madness,” you echo, your own voice shaking. “But it’s the only thing that feels real.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, the weight of what you’ve done pressing down on you. You should feel guilt, shame, regret—but all you feel is a strange kind of relief, as if a burden you didn’t know you were carrying has been lifted.

Gwayne’s hand still rests on your cheek, and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch lingering. “We can’t do this,” he says, but there’s no conviction in his words, no real intent to stop.

“I know,” you reply, though you don’t mean it. You both know the truth—you will do this again, and again, until you’ve burned through all the self-control you have left. It’s inevitable, like the pull of the moon on the tide.

But for now, you just sit there, in the fading light of the courtyard, your hands still intertwined, the air between you charged with a promise of something more. Something dangerous, something forbidden, but something that, for the first time in months, makes you feel alive.

It's a night that feels suspended in time, where the old gods and new alike seem to hold their breath, watching, waiting.

You stand beside Gwayne, your heart pounding in your chest, each beat a thunderous drum in the stillness of the room. The decision to marry in secret, away from the eyes of the court and the judgment of the realm, was one made in the quiet moments between stolen kisses and whispered confessions. It was born out of a love that neither of you could deny, a love that defied the rules of blood and duty, a love that could only be sealed in the shadows.

The septon who stands before you is not one from the grand Starry Sept of Oldtown. He is an ostracized man, a septon fallen from grace, his robes frayed and worn, his face lined with the scars of a hard life. But his eyes are sharp, and there is a solemnity in his bearing that speaks of a deep connection to the gods, both old and new. It is this man that Gwayne sought out, a man who would not only marry you in secret but who would bless this union under the eyes of both the Seven and the Valyrian gods—an acknowledgment of the blood that flows in your veins, the fire that binds you to your ancestors.

The chamber is small, tucked away in the bowels of the Hightower, a place known only to a few trusted souls. The only witnesses to this union are the flickering candles and the ancient stone walls that have stood through centuries of history. And here, in this hidden place, you are about to make a vow that will bind you to Gwayne for eternity.

Gwayne turns to you, his eyes soft and filled with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. The man who once teased you with sharp words and arrogant smirks now looks at you with a love so profound it feels like it could consume you both. He reaches out, taking your hands in his, his grip firm and warm. The callouses on his palms are a testament to his life as a warrior, but the way he holds you is gentle, reverent.

"My love," Gwayne begins, his voice steady but thick with emotion, "before the eyes of the Seven, and in the presence of the Valyrian gods, I take you as my wife. You are my fire, my light, my salvation. In you, I have found not just love, but a purpose, a reason to be. I vow to protect you, to cherish you, to stand by your side, no matter what trials we may face. From this day until my last, you are mine, and I am yours."

His words send a shiver through you, the weight of his vow settling deep in your heart. You can feel the truth of them, the way they resonate with the very core of who you are. When you speak, your voice is soft but unwavering, carrying with it the depth of your own love and conviction.

"Gwayne," you begin, your eyes locking with his, "you are my heart, my strength, my true companion. In a world that seeks to tear us apart, you are the one who has always stood by me, who has seen me for who I truly am, and loved me all the same. I vow to stand with you, to fight for us, to love you with all that I am. We may walk a dangerous path, but I choose it willingly, because I choose you. Now and always, I am yours, and you are mine."

The septon steps forward, his voice low and gravelly as he intones the ancient rites. "Before the eyes of the gods, both new and old, I bless this union. By the light of the Seven and the fire of Old Valyria, may your love be eternal, may your bond be unbreakable. What is done here in secret, let it be known in the hearts of those who bear witness."

He raises a small vial, pouring the contents—a mixture of oil and salt—into a shallow basin. The scent of it fills the room, sharp and cleansing. He dips his fingers into the mixture and anoints your foreheads, first Gwayne’s and then yours, marking you with the symbols of both faiths. The coolness of the oil against your skin is grounding, a reminder of the gravity of this moment.

"By the authority granted to me by the gods," the septon continues, his voice carrying the weight of the ages, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You are bound by blood, by love, and by the will of the gods. Go forth as one, in strength and in unity."

Gwayne pulls you to him then, his hands cradling your face as he kisses you deeply, passionately, in a way that speaks of all the love he has kept hidden from the world. The kiss is a sealing of your vows, a promise made flesh. You melt into him, your hands gripping his tunic as you pour every ounce of your heart into that kiss, into this moment that is yours and his alone.

When you finally part, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you share the silence of the moment, the weight of what you’ve just done pressing down on you. There is a quiet reverence in the room, a sense that something sacred has just taken place, even if it is a secret that must be kept from the world.

Gwayne doesn’t release you, his hands still holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go, as if by doing so, this moment will shatter. His eyes search yours, and what he finds there makes him smile, a rare, genuine smile that softens the edges of his features. “You are mine now,” he whispers, a note of wonder in his voice. “And I am yours.”

“Always,” you whisper back, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “No matter what comes.”

The septon quietly gathers his things, his presence now a shadow in the background, but before he leaves, he pauses at the door, looking back at you both. “May the gods watch over you,” he says softly, and there’s a hint of sadness in his voice, as if he knows the dangers that lie ahead for two who dare to love in defiance of the world.

And then, he’s gone, leaving you and Gwayne alone in the dimly lit chamber, the only witnesses to your union now the flickering flames and the silent walls.

Gwayne takes your hand, leading you to a low table where a small feast has been laid out, simple but thoughtful. The food and drink are symbols of the life you will now share, a life that must remain hidden in the shadows, but one that is no less real for it.

You sit together, the silence between you comfortable, each of you lost in your own thoughts. When Gwayne finally speaks, his voice is quiet, but there’s a fierceness to it that makes you look up.

“We will find a way, my love,” he says, his hand reaching out to cover yours. “No matter what, we will find a way to be together.”

You nod, squeezing his hand in return, your heart swelling with love for this man who has become your everything. “Yes,” you agree, your voice filled with the same determination. “We will.”

The night stretches on, and eventually, Gwayne rises, pulling you into his arms once more. He leads you to the bed that has been prepared, and as you lie down together, the weight of the world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by vows spoken in secret but no less sacred.

In the quiet darkness, Gwayne’s fingers trace the outline of your face, his touch tender and full of love. “Sleep, my wife,” he murmurs, his voice a balm to your soul. “For tomorrow, we begin the rest of our lives.”

You close your eyes, your head resting against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm that lulls you into sleep. And as you drift off, you know that no matter what the world might say, no matter what the future holds, you and Gwayne are bound together by something far stronger than duty or blood. You are bound by love, a love that defies the gods and the world alike.

And that, you think as sleep finally takes you, is all that matters.

The night outside the Red Keep is eerily still, as if the very air is holding its breath, waiting for something momentous to happen. Inside the queen’s chambers, the atmosphere is equally tense. Alicent Hightower sits at her desk, a single candle flickering beside her, casting shadows on the stone walls. Her hands tremble slightly as she unfolds the letter she has just received, the familiar sigil of House Hightower stamped in red wax at the seal. She has been waiting for this letter, though she dreads what it might contain.

Otto Hightower stands nearby, his hands clasped behind his back, his face an impassive mask. His eyes, however, are sharp, watching his daughter closely as she reads. The silence in the room is oppressive, broken only by the soft rustling of the parchment as Alicent’s eyes scan the contents.

As she reaches the end of the letter, her face pales, and her breath hitches. Slowly, as if the action costs her all the strength she has left, she lowers the letter to the desk. Her hand lingers on it for a moment before she crumples it in her fist, the delicate paper crinkling loudly in the quiet room.

“What does it say?” Otto asks, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

Alicent doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stares down at the crushed letter in her hand, as if by squeezing it tightly enough, she could somehow undo the words it contains. But no amount of denial can erase what she has read. Finally, she raises her eyes to meet her father’s gaze, and the look she gives him is one of profound unease.

“He’s coming to King’s Landing,” she says, her voice low and strained. “Gwayne. With… his family.”

Otto’s brows knit together slightly, though his expression remains carefully controlled. “His family?” he echoes, the words heavy with unspoken questions.

Alicent swallows hard, a sense of dread settling deep in her gut. “Yes,” she whispers, her mind racing as she considers the implications. The rumors she has heard, the whispers that have reached her ears in recent months, suddenly take on a new and terrifying significance.

She looks back at her father, her voice trembling as she asks, “Have you heard the whispers, Father? The rumors coming from Oldtown… about bastards walking the halls of the Hightower? Children with silver hair and purple eyes?”

Otto’s gaze narrows, a flicker of something—concern, perhaps—passing through his eyes before he schools his features once more. “Rumors, nothing more,” he replies, though there is a carefulness to his tone now. “Gwayne married a noble lady, a match arranged by our family in Oldtown. It was a quiet affair, nothing that would draw too much attention. The children you speak of are likely theirs, legitimate, though the Hightowers have chosen to keep their names and details discreet, to avoid unnecessary scrutiny.”

Alicent’s heart hammers in her chest, the dread in her stomach deepening into something closer to panic. She stands abruptly, pacing the length of her chamber as she tries to make sense of the situation. The image of those children—silver-haired, violet-eyed—flashes in her mind, and with it, a terrible realization begins to take root.

“The only woman who could give birth to children with those features,” she says slowly, her voice thick with fear, “is a Targaryen. A woman with the blood of Old Valyria. And the only one who has been close enough to Gwayne… is her. My daughter.”

Otto remains silent, his eyes following his daughter as she paces. He understands the gravity of her words, the implications of what she is suggesting. But he is also a man who has spent his life navigating the treacherous waters of court politics, and he knows better than to give in to panic.

“Alicent,” he begins, his voice firm but not unkind, “we do not know for certain. These are only rumors, whispers in the dark meant to sow discord. We cannot act on mere speculation.”

But Alicent is not so easily reassured. She stops in her tracks, turning to face him with a look of desperation. “And what if the rumors are true? What if she has given Gwayne children? What if those children come to King’s Landing with him? What then?”

Otto exhales slowly, his mind already working through the possible scenarios. “If the children are indeed of Targaryen blood,” he says carefully, “then we must ensure they are seen as legitimate. We must present them as the offspring of Gwayne’s marriage, no matter the truth. If they bear the look of Valyria, it will only serve to strengthen their claim as trueborn heirs of House Hightower.”

Alicent shakes her head, the fear in her eyes now mingled with a deep, gnawing guilt. “But what of her, Father? What of my daughter? If it becomes known that she has married her own uncle, that she has borne his children… it will be seen as a scandal, a sin in the eyes of the Seven.”

Otto moves toward her then, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “We will deal with it as we must,” he says, his voice resolute. “We have always been able to navigate the complexities of power, and this will be no different. But for now, we must be calm. We must wait and see what Gwayne brings with him to King’s Landing. If the whispers are true, we will control the narrative. We will ensure that whatever happens, our family remains strong, untarnished by scandal.”

But Alicent can’t shake the image of her daughter, the girl she sent away so many years ago, now grown into a woman whose life has taken a path she never anticipated. A path that has led her back to the very heart of the storm that Alicent herself helped create.

As she looks into her father’s eyes, she sees the determination there, the cold pragmatism that has always defined him. And she knows that whatever happens, Otto Hightower will do whatever is necessary to protect their family’s legacy. But as for her… Alicent is no longer sure where the line between duty and love lies. And the thought of what might come to light when Gwayne arrives sends a fresh wave of dread coursing through her.

Because deep down, Alicent knows that the rumors are more than just whispers. They are the truth, a truth she has tried so hard to deny. And that truth is coming to King’s Landing, wrapped in the guise of her brother’s family—a family that should never have existed, yet one that now threatens to unravel everything she has fought to preserve.

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a warm golden light over the sprawling courtyard of the Red Keep. The air is heavy with anticipation, the kind that prickles at the back of your neck and settles uneasily in your stomach. Dowager Queen Alicent stands with her father, Otto Hightower, at her side, their eyes fixed on the great gates that lead into the heart of King’s Landing. Today, Gwayne Hightower returns to the capital, and with him, the secrets that have festered in the shadows of Oldtown.

As the gates creak open, the first thing Alicent notices is the Hightower banners, fluttering proudly in the breeze. A small company of knights and retainers rides in, their armor gleaming in the late afternoon sun, followed by a carriage flanked by more soldiers. But it is the figure on horseback at the head of the procession that draws her attention, making her heart skip a beat.

Gwayne Hightower rides in with all the confidence of a man who has nothing to hide, his expression calm, almost defiant. But it is not just his presence that sends a chill down Alicent’s spine—it is the woman who rides beside him. Her daughter, the princess she sent away so many years ago, now a grown woman with the unmistakable look of her Valyrian heritage. Her silver hair, cascading down her back in loose waves, catches the light, and her purple eyes, sharp and discerning, seem to pierce through the crowd.

But it is not just her presence that shocks Alicent and Otto—it is the way she and Gwayne sit side by side, unashamed and unafraid, as if daring anyone to question their union. Behind them, four children trail on smaller horses, their features a striking mix of Hightower and Targaryen—silver hair, purple eyes, and faces that mirror the legacy of both bloodlines.

Alicent’s heart sinks. The whispers, the rumors, they are all true. Her worst fears have materialized before her very eyes. She can barely breathe as she steps forward with Otto, her voice trembling with barely contained fury.

“Gwayne… what have you done?” Alicent’s voice is sharp, almost a hiss, as she locks eyes with her brother. “How could you be so reckless? So shameless?”

Otto steps forward as well, his usually composed demeanor now laced with anger. “This… this is an abomination,” he declares, his voice low but filled with authority. “You bring shame to our house, Gwayne. And you—” he turns to his granddaughter, his voice tightening—“you have brought dishonor to your name and to the memory of your father.”

But before either of them can say more, there is a sudden movement, a blur of silver and gold as someone rushes past them. Alicent barely has time to process what is happening before Aegon, now king and clad in his royal finery, sweeps forward. His face lights up with pure joy as he closes the distance between himself and his sister.

“Sister!” Aegon exclaims, his voice filled with delight. Without a second thought, he pulls her into a tight embrace, laughing as he buries his face in her hair. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”

You return the embrace just as fiercely, the years of separation melting away in an instant. Aegon’s warmth, his familiar scent, it all feels like home, like a piece of your heart has been returned to you. When he finally pulls back, he keeps his hands on your shoulders, his eyes scanning your face as if to reassure himself that you are truly there.

Aegon then turns his attention to the four children standing quietly behind you and Gwayne, their wide eyes watching the scene with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. His face softens as he approaches them, kneeling down to their level.

“And who are these fine young dragons?” Aegon asks, his voice gentle as he ruffles the hair of the eldest boy, who looks so much like his mother.

“They’re my children,” you say softly, pride evident in your voice. “Your nephews and nieces.”

Aegon grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief and affection. “I see they take after you, sister. They have the look of Targaryens—strong, bold.” He then looks up at Gwayne, his smile never wavering. “You’ve done well, Uncle.”

Gwayne inclines his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Alicent’s face drains of color as she watches the scene unfold, her worst fears confirmed. She steps forward, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. “Aegon… did you know about this?” Her eyes bore into her son, searching for any sign of deceit.

Aegon straightens up, turning to face his mother with an expression of calm amusement. “Of course, Mother. Did you truly think my sister and I would not stay in contact? We’ve always been close. She wrote to me often from Oldtown. I knew everything.”

Alicent’s hands shake, her nails digging into her palms as she struggles to contain her emotions. “And you… you approve of this? Of this union?” Her voice breaks on the last word, the full weight of what has happened crashing down on her.

Aegon’s smile only widens, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “Approve? I rejoice in it. They’ve done nothing wrong. They’ve followed their hearts, and that’s more than most in this wretched world can claim.”

Otto’s face is a mask of stone, but his eyes burn with anger and frustration as he steps forward. “This is not just about following one’s heart, Aegon. This is about the sanctity of the family, of the realm. A marriage like this… it will bring scandal, division. It goes against everything we’ve worked to build.”

But Aegon only laughs, a sound that echoes in the tense courtyard. “What scandal? The Seven Kingdoms are mine, and I will decide what is scandal and what is not. My sister and Gwayne are married, and their children are legitimate in my eyes. That is all that matters.”

He turns back to you and Gwayne, his expression softening once more. “Come,” he says, extending his hand to you. “Let us go inside. You’ve been away from home too long.”

Without waiting for a response, Aegon takes your hand and leads you toward the entrance of the Red Keep, Gwayne and the children following closely behind. The knights and retainers part to let you pass, their faces a mixture of shock, confusion, and respect. As you walk, you feel the weight of your family’s judgment pressing down on you, but with Aegon at your side, you feel an unshakeable sense of confidence.

Alicent and Otto remain rooted in place, watching as you and your family disappear into the castle. Alicent’s face is ashen, her eyes wide with disbelief and horror. She opens her mouth to say something, to call out to her son, but no words come. The truth of what has happened, the reality of the situation, is too overwhelming.

As the doors to the Red Keep close behind you, you can feel the walls of the castle seem to close in, suffocating in their familiar embrace. But there is also a strange sense of liberation, of triumph, in walking beside Gwayne, your husband, with your children in tow, and the support of the king himself.

Whatever the future holds, you know that this moment—this homecoming—will be the beginning of something new. Something that, for better or worse, will change the course of your family’s history forever.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hord #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower #gwayne x y/n

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months ago

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Ian McDonald's "The Wilding"

I'll be in TUCSON, AZ from November 8-10: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Ian McDonald is one of those absurdly brilliant novelists that just leave me wondering the actual fuck he manages it. How does he cover so much ground, think up so many compelling characters, find so many gracenotes, conjure up so many complicated emotions?

McDonald burst on the scene in the late 1980s, with the 1988 novel Desolation Road and then his 1989 Out On Blue Six, a slick, stylized cyberpunk-meets-Orwell tale that overflowed with beautiful prose, technomysticism, and sly jokes that hid sneaky truths that hid even more sly jokes:

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/01/20/out-on-blue-six-ian-mcdonalds-brilliant-novel-is-back/

By my count, McDonald has now published twenty books – mostly novels, but a couple short story collections (and the most amazingly demented, Tom-Waits-inflected teddybear murder comic imaginable, 1994's Kling Klang Klatch):

https://irishcomics.fandom.com/wiki/Kling_Klang_Klatch

McDonald's work is truly globespanning. While he's made his mark on the Martian soil, and overtaken the moon with the Luna trilogy (his definitive rebuttal to Heinlein's Moon Is a Harsh Mistress) he is widely adored and much-awarded for the glittering, futuristic versions of Brazil (Brasyl), Tanzania (the Chaga series), and India (River of Gods).

Indeed, McDonald's imagination has roamed so far over the Earth and the solar system that it's possible to overlook his fantastic reimaginings of Ireland, the land where he was raised. There's his Philip K Dick Award-winning 1991 novel King of Morning, Queen of Day, a swirling, mythopoeic novel of Celtic mysticism:

https://www.baen.com/king-of-morning-queen-of-day.html

And then there's 1992's Hearts, Hands and Voices, which is lowkey one of the best novels I have ever, ever read – a scorching science fictional allegory for The Troubles, but with the gnarliest biotech weirdness you can possibly imagine:

https://archive.org/details/heartshandsvoice0000ianm/mode/2up

McDonald's books cover so much goddamned ground, but one feature they all share is a prose styling wherein every sentence is at least 20% poetry, a fraction that somehow, impossibly, rises to as much as 150% in certain especially shiny passages.

Like this passage, which opens The Wilding, McDonald's new horror novel that marks his first return to Ireland since 1992:

Autumn lay on the great bog in silvers and tans, late purples and duns.

The sun rose above the tall ash saplings and feral sycamore. It called the birds into full voice. Stabbing shrills, tumbles of notes, the flutes of dove-call, frantic ticking hisses, song upon song. In hedgerows and copses, among the pale foliage of the birches, in the weave of deep willow and the bramble fastnesses, each bird called and was heard. In this season the peatland held the day's warmth through the night and on the bright, clear mornings rivers of mist formed, filling the subtle hollow places in the exposed cuttings, the bogs and fields. High sun would dispel it but at this hour half of Lough Carrow lay mist-bound. Each blade of grass hung heavy with dew, the clumps of sedges were already browning, the bracken curling and crisping.

A pair of horns lifted above the willow scrub and out-grown ash hedges of the Wilding. Polished tips caught the low sun and kindled as bright and keen as spears.

https://www.gollancz.co.uk/titles/ian-mcdonald/the-wilding/9781399611503/

Oof.

I would drop everything to read Ian McDonald's grocery lists but after that opening, I wasn't going to put this one down, and I didn't, reading the whole thing on yesterday's flight home from my gigs in Atlanta this week.

The Wilding is (I'm pretty sure?) McDonald's first horror novel, and it's fucking terrifying. It's set in a rural Irish peat bog that has been acquired by a conservation authority that is rewilding it after a century of industrial peat mining that stripped it back nearly to the bedrock. This rewilding process has been greatly accelerated by the covid lockdowns, which reduced the human footprint in the conservation area to nearly zero.

The story's protagonist is Lisa, a hard-case Dubliner who came to the bog to do community service after a career as a crime syndicate driver for hire, a woman who never met a car she couldn't boost and pilot in or out of any tight situation. After years in the bog, she's ready to start a new life, studying Yeats at university, indulging a late-discovered love of poetry that has as much to do with her redemption as her years in the wild.

Lisa's last duty before she leaves the bog and goes home to Dublin is leading a school group on a wild campout in one of the bog's deep clearings. It's a routine assignment, and while it's not her favorite duty, it's also not a serious hardship.

But as the group hikes out to the campsite, one of her fellow guides is killed, without warning, by a mysterious beast that moves so quickly they can barely make out its monstrous form. Thus begins a tense, mysterious, spooky as hell story of survival in a haunted woods, written in the kind of poesy that has defined McDonald's career, and which – when deployed in service of terror – has the power to raise literal goosebumps.

There's a lot of fantasy that deals with Celtic mythology, including McDonald's own King of Morning, Queen of Day, but the vibe of that stuff tends to the heroic and romantic – sure, there's the odd banshee, but in the main, it's mischievous wee people, pookas, and leprechauns. More fey than fear.

But Irish mythology in its raw form is terrifying. The monsters of Irish storytelling are grotesque, mean, remorseless, and come in every shape and size. Some authors have done well by going back to the bestiary for the deep cuts. When I was a kid, I must have read John Coyne's Hobgoblin fifty times (mostly because it was about D&D, which I was obsessed with). I haven't read this one since I was about 12, and I have no idea if it'd hold up today, but it left me with a deep appreciation of the spooky multifariousness of monsters who dwell in Ireland's bogs:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hobgoblin_(novel)

The Wilding is a suspense novel, which means there's no way to really sum up the plot without spoiling a lot of the affect, but suffice to say that McDonald brings large swathes of deep Irish lore to the surface, and it had me reading as fast as I could and wanting to put the book down and hide.

What a writer McDonald is! The fact that this is the same guy who wrote last year's stunning secret-history/solarpunk/uncategorizable wonder that was Hopeland beggars belief:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/30/electromancy/#the-grace

Read you some Ian McDonald novels, is what I'm trying to say. This one is only available in the UK, if that's not where you are, consider mail-ordering it. Looks like they've got stock at Forbidden Planet for £19 plus £18 shipping to the US. Worth every penny:

https://forbiddenplanet.com/424306-the-wilding-hardcover/

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/25/bogman/#erin-go-aaaaaaargh

#pluralistic #books #horror #science fiction #ireland #fantasy #gift guide #reviews #climate #rewilding

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carmyberzattosjournal · 3 months ago

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Entry 24: Property of: Darling

Screenshot credit: @neverscreens

Bearblr Promptober Day 24: Haunted House

Summary: Carmy's girlfriend's schedule has switched temporarily, and he hates the loneliness. So she joins him at the restaurant for one morning and leaves him a parting gift. Fluff.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of trauma, mentions of The Devil, mentions of Mikey, comfort, fem reader who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns Carmy takes care of Nat, feat. Nat. (1503 words)

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

12 Oct 2024

Radiator update: still fucked. Life update: Darling came to The Bear.

“Oh, this place is a little creepy,” she whispered as we entered. She swept her gaze around the front of house, the slatted ceiling, the wilting florals in the small, handmade vases on the four-tops from the night before.

“Creepy?”

“Yeah. It feels. Uh…” She gathered her coat together in the front and crossed her arms over it. “I don’t know, a little haunted?”

“Probably Mikey. He would haunt my ass to spite me.”

An uncomfortable grin slowly spread on her features. She covered her mouth with her hands. “I really shouldn’t be laughing…”

Doctors aren��t the only people who use dark humor to cope with pain.

“Come on, kitchen’s back here.” I beckoned her to follow me.

Her schedule changed for a few weeks while one of the other surgeons was on paternity leave, so she needed to be at the hospital for second shift, which meant that she’d be at home alone while I needed to be at work, I’d go home to an empty apartment all evening, and then she’d get back home when I was on my way to passing out. The first day, it didn’t bother me too much (her schedule change started on a Monday); by the time Thursday rolled around, the fucking loneliness hit me. It was so fucking quiet in the apartment. How I existed in that silence for so fucking long, with nothing more than echoes from my past, ghosts of The Devil, of Mikey, of the gardens at NOMA to keep me company, to play endless loops in my head, I have no fucking idea.

But it’s probably part of why I’m fucking psycho.

I needed, more than anything, to listen to Darling tell me about her day, about Monique, about the shitty families that annoyed her. I needed to hear her giggle and snort at my stupid jokes, and I needed her legs across my lap while I worked out those knots in her calves. Fuck me, I needed her in my lap mumbling sweet little things into my mouth while her hands danced over my skin, wove into and tugged on my hair. Morning sex was fulfilling as ever—even if she was practically shoving me out of bed to keep me on time after because somewhere in these several months, my brain must’ve latched onto sex equaling sleep—but sex is not what I’ve been starved of. Lack of sex isn’t the roiling, screaming, hollow in my being that involuted and metastasized into the monster, the animal that chewed away and retched out the good parts of me as undigested lumps; it was lack of intimacy. I can protect myself with my armor, but I can’t hug anyone while wearing it. And under that armor, I atrophied into this mess.

God’s a sadist. We’ve established this.

“Pretty boy?”

My head snapped up from the marble counter towards Darling. Warm smile on her face. She was pointing to my left, out of my view. I followed where she was gesturing and found Nat there, looking like she hadn’t slept in a fucking week, holding a stack of manilla files. Her hair was a frizzy fucking mess secured to her head in some way, she had no makeup on, her eyebrows were half-missing, she had these purple-green shadows under her eyes, her lips were chapped. Wrinkled t-shirt, fleece jacket.

My stomach sank through the floor. She hadn’t looked like that in a thousand years. I didn’t even know what was wrong yet, but I needed to fix it. I needed to fucking fix her. Her hair was such a mess, did she even brush it? Who the fuck did this to my sister? Why does she look like that?

“What-what’s wrong?” is all I managed.

She held up a hand. Spoke with her eyes closed. “Emily colicked all night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Mikey—I’m fine, I promise, I just miss him. I’m just gonna secure the schedule with Richie, and then I’m gonna go back home—"

“Home, yeah, please. For fuck’s sake, get some rest,” I said. I skittered around the counter and took the files from her. “What are these?”

“Documenting and accounting for Cicero, just put them in the filing cabinet, top drawer, left side.” She rubbed her forehead. “I need. Coffee.”

“Did you eat?”

“It’s not your job to worry about me, Carm—”

“Nat, fuck you. Did you eat?”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “No. I did not.”

I went to put the files away. Got back in the kitchen and set about making Nat her favorite omelet. She went to the office, saying something about “turning into a lump” until Richie got there. I got into the flow of dicing peppers and forgot Darling was even there until I felt her hands around my waist and her gentle warmth press into my back. Thank fuck I was used to her pulling adorable shit like this at home—I knew to put the knife down because my eyes would drift closed of their own accord, and, still without my input (this woman has my body on a switchboard, I swear to Christ), my head would loll back to rest on her shoulder. She swayed us lightly on the spot. Hummed. Pressed her lips to my neck.

“I think it’s so sweet how you two take care of each other,” she whispered.

Fuck me, that was dangerously close to fucking me up. My core tightened with a familiar heat, and this pleasurable prickly sensation buzzed along my inner thighs and low in my back, weirdly enough. At work. I’m at work right now, pretty girl, you can’t go whispering things in my ear. I need to survive another 10 or so hours without you, and if you’ve fucked me up this bad, I’m just going to cause problems for everyone else. You have to be at the hospital today, too, so it's not like I can go home and rail you senseless to get it out of my fucking system.

“Call me later, hm?”

I nodded. “Mmhm.”

Was it planned? Did she plan to make a wreck of me? Certainly seemed like a possibility based on the smirk she had on her angelic features as she waved goodbye and exited the kitchen. I nearly overcooked the eggs thinking about the way her hips swayed as she walked away. That had to be on purpose, too, right? Was I imagining things? Was Darling teasing me?

My head continued to spin 20 minutes after she’d left. Felt like I was on a boat or had just started going down in a particularly fast elevator. Sug was slumped over at the desk, head on her arm, looking more like a half-molten wax sculpture than an entire person, but she offered me an exhausted smile when I brought her breakfast over to her.

“Aw, you also made me coffee, Bear,” she cooed. Then blinked. Rubbed her eyes. She pointed at her neck. “Uh, you have, uh…”

A lipstick print?

She grabbed her fork and sliced off a bite of omelet. “You might wanna get that off before Richie gets here. Or Syd. They’re gonna have a field day.”

I popped over to the bathroom to take a look at it. It looked like a tattoo. There was a perfect lipstick print right over the tendon on the side of my neck in a color somewhere between pink, maroon, brown, and red. Blue-leaning instead of orangey. Warmth bubbled in the pit of my stomach, not that dissimilar to arousal, but this one was of a lower intensity. It was comforting. It soothed me more than it riled me up.

Fuck, it looked fucking gorgeous. It was so symmetrical, so neat, had perfect edges, no smudges. It followed the angle of the muscle as it crawled up my neck. The color wasn’t jarring or bland. Most of all, it was from Darling. It was hers. She might as well have written a “property of” notice and tied it around my neck. So, Richie and Syd and Tina and Marcus were going to see it—so what? They see my tattoos, do they not? They see the adornment I chose to put on my skin so others would see; they can see this one, too. No, you don’t understand, all of you—I belong to her. Not you. Not this restaurant. Not Cicero. Darling. I belong to Darling, and all you fucks are just gonna have to get used to it.

Sug, with her mouth full. “Carm, this is so good. Thank you.”

“Modified Syd’s recipe,” I replied automatically, heading back over to the office. “I left out the potato chips because I doubt your stomach would’ve liked them at this hour.”

“Mmhm.” She looked up at me. Her eyebrows crashed together. “You’re not gonna… take that off?”

The lipstick print?

Good question. “The color suits my eyes,” I said.

#cb journal #bearblrpromptober #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto #the bear fanfiction #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy x reader #the bear #carmen berzatto fluff #Nat is Carmy's mom and I will hear no arguments #Carmy is Nat's firstborn #you know I'm correct

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bayoubashsims · 6 months ago

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The Goth-Crumplebottom Family Wedding, 1927

In the fall of 1927, two of SimCity's oldest families were joined together in holy matrimony with the marriage of Gunther and Cornelia Goth. The union of these two powerful families signify a new era for the clan, with talks of philantrophical endeavors and the development of new towns under the Goth Enterprises and the Crumplebottom Foundation.

The dashing groom, Gunther Goth (27), is a land developer for the family company, while the beautiful bride, Cornelia Crumplebottom (25), is the heiress of the Crumplebottom canned prunes. The event was held in the town of Moonlight Falls, where both families reside.

The colors purple and violet dotted the event whether in the roses that decorated the party or in the outfits of the attendants. The wedding reception was held later that evening, where many of the local families of Moonlight Falls attended as well as SimCity's other influential families, such as the Landgrabbs and the Capps.

See guest list

The wedding was attended by (clockwise):

The Groom's Side

Victor Goth (58): The father of the groom, the President of Goth Enterprises

Samuel Goth (55): The brother of Victor Goth, the Vice President of Goth Enterprises, and Best Man

Frida Goth (33): The elder sister of the groom

Minerva Goth (82): The paternal grandmother of the groom, advisor and silent partner of Goth Enterprises, from Midnight Hollow

Gretle Goth (55): The mother of the groom and the chatelaine of Abundant Richness, the family estate

The Bride's Side

Agatha Crumplebottom (18): A cousin of the family from Henford-on-Bagley and Bridesmaid

Agnes Crumplebottom (18): The younger sister of the bride and Bridesmaid

Simon Crumplebottom (57): The father of the bride and the President of the Crumplebottom Canned Prunes Company

Beatrice Crumplebottom (23): A cousin of the family and ward of the Crumplebottoms and Bridesmaid

Belinda Crumplebottom (16): A cousin of the family and ward of the Crumplebottoms

Bianca Crumplebottom (9): A cousin of the family and ward of the Crumplebottoms

Elmira Clamp (32): A cousin and former ward of the Crumplebottoms and a librarian

Ian Arneson (7): A cousin of the family and ward of Elmira Clamp

Prudence Crumplebottom (56): The mother of the bride, the head of the Crumplebottom Foundation

The Servers

BACK ROW

Hilda Almeria (Maid of the Goths)

Nurse Dorothea Danvers (Nurse of Minerva Goth)

Xiao Zheng (Butler of the Goths)

James Higgins (Footman of the Goths) FRONT ROW

Yvette Fouchier (Maid of the Crumplebottoms)

Nanny Tempeste Tilani (Cook of the Crumplebottoms)

Amsel Gough (Butler of the Crumplebottoms)

Alfred (Footman of the Crumplebottoms)

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imvu-dumpster-fires · 2 days ago

Text

if you drag someone's kids into your imvu/internet drama you're worse than the person you're bitching about sure, talk all the shit you want about the person, but leave the fucking children out of it, they have no hand in this and they didn't do anything to deserve the drama

#gojo speaks #domain expansion: anon ask #imvu #imvu drama #domain expansion: imvu post #hollow purple list

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rawmeknockout · 1 year ago

Note

pls can I get a lonely cassette!reader being taken in by soundwave???? i need that man carnally and i need to be inside his boobs even more 💥💥💥

The city is burning. It's been on fire for days, the skyline you loved nothing but smoke and ash, and there is no relief in sight. Metal melting into itself and the surroundings, buildings merged together, until it looks like a great beast crying in agony. Fighting to pull itself out from it's own destruction. Your cassette-player is among those trapped under the rubble, squeezed beneath concrete and metal. Perhaps it's fortunate, then, that you know he's dead. You were his only companion, and now you're alone. It gives you comfort knowing he's not the one in your place.

There is no one coming to save you. The Decepticons and Autobots have torn Cybertron apart, your home just collateral among the list of casualties. It had filled you with rage when you saw the way they would cast anything in the way to achieve victory, but your anger is hollow now. You're not even sure you can feel anything at all. All you can think about is where you will find energon next.

There are no more relief stations near you, no more safe encampments that can take you in. All neutral parties, all crisis servants, have been pushed to the very edges of Cybertron where there is still just a bit of energon to mine. It wouldn't matter if you could get to them, anyway. Most have picked their side and will push recruitment if you come looking for aid, ensuring you will be safe if only you will be their fodder.

And you can't leave your home. Even when it is unrecognizable, the bright city lights long since blown out. This is where you want to be, the only place for you. You slowly duck and trudge between buildings, dirt settling in your joints and making the ache of your frame worse. You scan for any sign of energy, a leak of oil even, but it is bare here.

So lost in your HUD, you don't hear the clink of pedes on concrete, the glitching of your processor getting worse and more obstructive by the cycle. You try tapping at settings on your helm, but the static clears minimally. A giant blue mech stands in front of you when your vision clears of errors. You jump back, stumbling over your pedes to stay upright, and lean back to take in the intimidating bot before you.

His face is covered and his visor is red. So red against the white and blue of his paintjob. The blue gleams beautifully under the muffled sunlight, just barely able to break through the ash covering the sky. He must be important, or was. You could have never afforded a polish so uniform and bright. His chest is a window into a docked and rather comfortable looking cassette. You could laugh from how fortuitous this oasis is.

The purple of his insignia almost misses your awareness, but it is an ugly symbol and it hurts your optics to look upon it. You should be angry, but there is nothing. Perhaps this meeting is Primus' mercy, no matter how cold.

The large mech kneels in front of you, his helm still looming above your own, as his servo comes to rub dirt away from your faceplate. You don't shy away, despite the true dirtiness being in his allegiance. It's nice to feel a friendly touch. You eye his tapedeck enviously, like you want to rip the mech out of there and settle in its place. It's a horrible feeling that leaves a pit of shame in your tank. The fear and grief has turned you into an animal hungry for any sign of salvation.

The intimidating mech pulls from his subspace a wrapped packet: energon rations. Meager and half-eaten, it wouldn't be the best you've ever tasted, but you're grateful for the pity. It's hardly two bites before you're done. Despite the quality, it's the sweetest energon that's ever touched your glossa. Lubricant tracks down your cheekplates.

And despite it all, you want to live. A feeling that builds in your chassis and sings in your spark. You want to live, you want to leave this place. You don't care what you have to do. All you want is to tear free of the rubble and rip yourself from the metal melting down around you.

"Inquiry: Free to dock?" You grasp the opportunity with firm servos.

#asks #txt #reader insert #transformers #reader imagine #transformers idw #tf idw #transformers mtmte #tf mtmte #soundwave #tf soundwave #idw soundwave #mtmte soundwave

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temozarela · 11 months ago

Text

-> spectating

GOJO X GETO X READER MDNI, smut, masturbation, dubious consent, rough sex, anal sex, tears, bottom gojo, top geto

whoever decided to play seven minutes in heaven with three people owed you. no, they really owed you

WORD COUNT: 2k

ao3 version

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It had been Gojo’s turn to spin the bottle, and when the green glass neck had pointed at you, your cheeks had burned with embarrassment. No, maybe anticipation. Perhaps you had been shy in the spotlight of his amused gaze. It didn’t matter, because when the bottle had spun again and pointed at Geto, you wanted to bury your head in your hands. They weren’t exactly quiet about their sex life, and since The Incident of 2015, you knew that a third party wouldn’t deter them from their goal. So there you were, palms pressed against the door behind you as you leaned against the wall, the two men already lip-locked. Cucking the worst people you knew hadn’t been on your to-do list but seemingly God endorsed spontaneity. You guessed he also endorsed plain cruelty. Gojo whimpered against Geto’s lips as the buttons of his shirt were undone, the white linen crumpling on the floor. His torso was toned… No fuck that, he was ripped. His biceps and abs rippled with each frantic pull at Geto’s body, his stomach hollowing with each desperate breath. Pink blossomed over his pale chest, matching the rosy nubs of his nipples. In any other circumstance, you may have teased him for the way his upper body curved in a gentle hourglass. Girls would kill for that figure, you thought begrudgingly. Then Geto’s Hawaiian shirt was lost and your mind buffered. Nipple piercings. Geto had nipple piercings. They were gold and gorgeous, barely exposed to your wide eyes before they were being pulled and pinched between Gojo’s fingers. He was even bigger than Gojo. Gojo was lean, but Geto was built. There wasn’t an inch of tanned skin that wasn’t stretched by bulging muscle.

Gojo tipped his head back and moaned breathily as Geto peppered kisses down his throat. It occurred to you then that they had barely acknowledged you. However, their bad etiquette disappeared from your mind as Geto sucked at Gojo’s milky neck, leaving red and purple bruises as he went. The room you were in was suddenly filled with wet smacking noses as his lips and tongue worked at the pristine skin. With mild dread and overwhelming anticipation, you noticed that Gojo’s long fingers were working at his own belt. As soon as it was thrown to the floor, his black jeans bunched around his ankles and he was left in only his tight, blue boxers. You couldn’t even pretend not to see the massive mountain in the fabric. Everything began to feel far too real as your lustful stare honed in on the wet spot at the summit. Geto pulled away and assessed Gojo’s crotch. It was then, the man spared you a distracted look.

“If you get off to this, I won’t blame you.”

His voice was low and smooth. It wasn’t an instruction, nor was his tone forceful, but you sank to the ground. Once Geto had returned his attention to rubbing his thumb over Gojo’s clothed tip, you felt under your skirt for your panties, not able to take your eyes off them. When your fingers found the lacy fabric, you slipped them under it. Soaked. A spike of pleasure rippled through you as you experimentally rubbed your clit. Fuck. Gojo moaned sluttily as his boxers were pulled down his long legs. Fuck. His cock sprung up, his tip touching his stomach. Fuck. You hadn’t seen many cocks before in your life, maybe one or two in person, but you knew he wasn’t small. The head was pink, so glossy with precum that it looked like it was carved from rose quartz. Your fingers had returned to subtly spreading your slick up and down between your folds, resisting the urge to jolt every time your fingertip brushed your sensitive clit. Geto’s jeans were next, his boxers pulled down with them. He was smaller than Gojo in length, but thicker and- fuck, his tip was pierced. Their naked bodies collided with a slap, their hands roaming, grabbing, scratching, and pulling as they sloppily made out. If you weren’t so absorbed with the way their cocks twitched and rubbed together as their hips absentmindedly thrusted in an animalistic frenzy, you may have noticed Gojo’s whiny pleads as Geto’s palms slid lower and lower down his back. Your fingers had sped up on your clit as Gojo bit down on Geto’s shoulder.

“Please, please, fuck! Suguru, please-” Gojo whimpered, clawing at Geto’s back as he licked the bite mark on his shoulder almost apologetically. “Pleasepleaseplease, I wanna cum-”

“Patience, Satoru,” Geto cooed as his finger prodded Gojo’s opening, “Good things come to good boys who wait.” That must have been the moment when he pressed down on Gojo’s hole, because Gojo trembled. Geto pulled back his hand to spit on his fingers before returning to their previous position. You watched, breath held, as Geto slipped a finger in. Gojo wailed, cock jumping at the intrusion. And you? You were dripping onto the cold tiles below you.

It must have been seven minutes by now.

Watching Gojo be stretched by Geto’s fingers was erotic, to say the least. You had never seen Gojo so submissive. If you had it in you, it would’ve made amazing bullying material. Another finger went in, and Gojo buried his face in the crook of Geto’s neck, moaning like a bitch in heat with each movement of the digits inside of him. Soon enough, Gojo must have been deemed loose enough, because Geto slammed him against the wall next to you. Startled, you shuffled back, hand still nested inside your panties. Though the assholes didn’t acknowledge it of course, because Geto was now positioned at Gojo’s entrance and pushing in.

It was far too much excitement for one night, a voice at the back of your head reasoned, but was drowned out by the mantra of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck’ which echoed from every corner of your mind like a tornado siren. Gojo’s blunt nails clawed against the wall as crystalline tears began to drip down his flushed cheeks. The pinkness of his under-eyes only emphasised the startling blueness of his azurite irises, the tears glinting in the low light like diamonds. A familiar burning in your lower body caused you to tip your head back, your eyes fluttering shut against your will as you attempted to stave off your orgasm. Next to you, the wet slaps of the boys’ bodies got faster, Geto’s low grunts and Gojo’s whorish mewls and cries fuelling your imagination as your back arched. You edged yourself, tearing your hand from your panties at the last minute. Then, you opened your eyes. One thing you realised, was that you weren’t prepared for the sight in front of you. You hadn’t realised that they’d changed positions, and this was so much more… intense. Gojo now had his back to the wall, long legs wrapped around Geto’s string hips and arms around his shoulders. One hand had found purchase in Geto’s hair, pulling the ebony strands with strength which might have made you wince if you weren’t so turned on, the other hand was leaving fresh, red lines across Geto’s shoulder blades, droplets of ruby blood welling up in his wake. You might have felt sympathetic for Geto, if his teeth weren’t buried in Gojo’s trapezius as he snarled against the sore flesh. Amongst the moans and vicious sounds of skin-to-skin contact, a faint shuffling noise was coming from where Geto had set a punishing pace, fucking Gojo into the wall and moving him up and down the wooden columns. At a closer glance, Gojo’s cock was bouncing with every thrust into the air. He was so wet. Precum was dripping from his slit like a leaky faucet, creating a loud schlick noise as Geto’s hand worked his cock in time with his thrusts as he abused his prostate and sensitive shaft simultaneously. Your hand was back on your clit before you knew it. Fuck waiting for those two. You tried to set your pace with Geto’s powerful thrusts, but it made you over-sensitive, so you slowed down, leaving the abuse to the other two.

“Suguru, fuck! Fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!” Gojo screamed, his grip on Geto’s shoulders leaving red marks. He humped the air uselessly as Geto released his grasp, effectively edging him.

Geto grinned, his expression edging on animalistic. “Now, what did I say about patience?” He sped up his thrusts, almost out of malice as Gojo whined, shaking his head.

“I wanna cum- ‘Guru! Please- fuck! Lemme! I’ll be good!”

Gojo’s cheeks were wet with tears as Geto laughed, reaching to cup his face with one hand. In return, Gojo seemed to give him his best puppy eyes. With his eyes shrink-wrapped in tears, he almost looked adorable, you thought. There was definitely a ‘please, sir’ thrown into that stare, but maybe a ‘daddy’ too, if you looked hard enough. It came across that then Geto decided to be merciful as he reached with his other hand to massage the base of Gojo’s cock, his thumb tracing a prominent vein at the bottom of his shaft. With the hand cradling Gojo’s face, Geto tapped his red, bitten lips with his thumb, slipping it inside when Gojo ever-so obediently opened his tongue and stuck his tongue out.

“I have a feeling they might get fed up and open the door soon…” Geto cocked his head, slowly fucking Gojo’s mouth with his thumb as he jerked him off in ernest, “As much as I’d like them to see you like this…” He mused, “I’d hate to leave our witness disappointed.”

You straightened up a little at some sort of acknowledgment.

“Yeah, don’t leave me traumatised and blue balled.” You muttered, tracing circles around your clit, stalling.

Geto hummed in acknowledgment, “You hear that, Satoru?” He whispered, looking into Gojo’s half-lidded eyes, “It’s the least you could do.”

Geto removed his thumb from his mouth, licking the excess of saliva which dripped from the appendage. His pace of his hips and hand sped up and Gojo moaned, mouth wide open as he clumsily gripped the sides of Geto’s face, leaning forward to lethargically lick into the other man’s mouth in what, you guessed, was an attempt to make out. After sucking on Geto’s lower slip he leaned back again, a mixture of their saliva dripping from his glistening lips.

“Fuck, Suguru…” Gojo whined, fucking faster into Geto’s hand, “Oh fuck, I think…” He swallowed, “I think I’m gonna-”

Geto shushed him, his thumb moving to rub the tip of the other man’s cock. Gojo’s legs trembled, his moans getting higher in pitch and volume as his back arched. Your own pace sped up as you rubbed your clit, the noise of the copious amount of slip dripping from you was almost embarrassing. With a final twitch of his cock, Gojo squirted over his own abdomen, his seed dribbling over the contours of his abs. Then, Geto sped up, and so did you. You were the first to cum, clenching around nothing as your clit throbbed and swelled. Then Geto, whose thrusts slowed as he pumped Gojo full of his spend.

When they were done, Gojo swore loudly.

“Fuck! My back!” He scowled, stretching stiffly.

Geto laughed.

You adjusted yourself, albeit awkwardly, as you stood, attempting to erase any evidence of the fact you had just gotten off to the most obnoxious couple in the friend group.

“Not even a warning?” You spare them a withering glare, and they freeze comically. Gojo scratched the back of his head sheepishly whilst Geto just smiled, slyly.

“What? Are you complaining?” Geto teased.

Your cheeks felt warm, “No.”

Gojo looked up from where he had started wiping cum from his inner thighs and chest, “No?” He grinned.

Geto narrowed his eyes as he looked at Gojo, “Is that my shirt?” Gojo winced.

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Leaving that room was the single most awkward thing you had ever done. It had been over twenty minutes. Twenty. You weren’t scared for Gojo and Geto, since everyone either knew what had happened, or didn’t want to. No, everybody wanted to know what you had done. You weren’t exactly proud of it.

You had leaned over to Gojo before you left the room, your voice a hushed whisper.

“Can you just say we had a threesome? I don’t want people knowing that I got off to you two.”

“Ha! Sure.”

#gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #jjk gojo #satosugu #jjk geto #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jjk smut #smut

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imtryingbuck · 7 months ago

Text

Worthy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC!Theo

Summary: Bucky has to marry a woman who surprises him more and more as their story goes along.

Word count: 3,399

Warnings: angst. swearing. Dot. fluff. Bucky tells reader how he lost his arm. Cheating mentioned, miscarriage mentioned.

Masterlist Series Masterlist

When he woke up that morning he laid there watching Theo sleep peacefully, his fingers gingerly stroked up and down her back as she laid on his chest. The morning sun cut through the slit in the curtain landing on her bare arm in an orange purple hue. Those few minutes with him lying there with her in his arms, the whole house silent he had never felt more at peace.

Then he remembered the conversation the night before.

How any person could harm a child is lost on him. How any father let his own child be harmed in such ways that she told him makes him question humanity.

Bucky knew one thing though and that was he was going to make every single one of them pay.

Wanting to do something sweet for her he slid out of the bed carefully to not to wake her up he did his morning routine and headed downstairs going into the kitchen to make her breakfast in bed, coming to a stop when he walked past the living room where he saw someone sitting there.

Dot.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you James"

"We have nothing to talk about, get out of my home"

"Why is your whore of a wife-"

"Call her that one more time I swear to God Dolores I will kill you" His voice low showing her that he was not messing around.

"Do you love her?"

"That's none of your business."

"Does she suck your cock as good as I did?"

"You were shit at it and we both know that"

"That's harsh. Do you know she's been passed around like some cheap whore?"

He blinked once, twice, thrice. What was she talking about? Did she know about what had happened to Theo?

"You didn't, did you?" Dot laughed at his facial expression.

"W-what are you talking about?"

"I got an envelope through my letter box and well let’s just say she's a filthy whore" Dot shrugged, leaning down to pull her bag on to her knees she pulled a large brown envelope out and placed it on the coffee table.

Looking up at Bucky she cocked her eyebrow up "It's all in there"

"Who sent it you?"

"I don't know, listen I know that she's asked her father to let you divorce her why don't you get him to and you can marry one of his other daughters then I can be your mistress"

How?.. what?..

"You seriously have no shame do you? I don't love you Dolores. I don't want you or any of Michael’s daughters other than Theo."

"You'll change your mind once you've read this" tapping the envelope. Though Theo had told him everything last night he couldn't help but be a little bit curious to what was inside, so before his brain could register what was happening his feet carried him over to the coffee table, snatching the brown envelope from under Dot's hand he sat down and opened it.

Inside contained photos of a naked Theo, in most of them she was looking away from the camera but sure enough in every one of them there were bruises and open cuts on her body. There was a list of all the names of the men that had raped her, his stomach churned when he read some of the names. Some of the names, he knew them.

So lost in what he was reading he had no idea that Theo was walking down the stairs, nor did he have any time to react to Dot climbing on his lap before she was kissing him. He was frozen in place only snapping out of it when he heard the door creak.

No, no, no, no, no.

Running after Theo his heart in his throat when he sees her taking her clothes out of her side of the wardrobe, the hollow organ sitting in his chest breaking when he sees a few tears slid down her cheeks.

"A-Angel it wasn't what it looked like" He stutters out truly meaning the words, he didn't even kiss Dolores back. He couldn’t not now he had a wife. He wouldn't do that to her.

"It is fine Mr James"

He swears he was going to have a heart attack as she calls him that. "No it's not, please stop and listen to me so I can explain"

It's like he isn't even in his own body but watching from the side lines, the rest of the conversation is lost on him and when he finally snaps back into reality he sees her leaving their room to go back to her old one. He had no idea how he could fix this with her especially not after she had trusted him enough to let him know about her past, not when he felt the scars that cover most of her body. Not when he touched them so easily, not flinching away from them or looking at them in disgust.

Not when he spoke those words when she was asleep.

"Buck what's going on?" Steve questioned voice full of sleep.

Bucky had woken him up not knowing who to turn to. "Dolores"

"What's she done now?"

Bucky told him everything about what had happened minus telling him what was in the envelope or what Theo had told him the night before. It wasn't his place to say anything.

"Fucking hell. Is Theo okay?"

"Steve I just told you she left our room to go back to hers"

"Did you not try and explain it to her?"

"I did but she wouldn't listen. I don't-"

"What the fuck have you done James?" Wanda stands in the doorway, eyes full of pure hatred as she looks at her best friend.

"Wan-"

"I'm not going to ask again."

"I-nothing I swear"

"So Theo didn't just see you kissing that whore? Are you seriously calling my friend a liar?"

"I didn't kiss her!" he shouted "And you seem to forget she's my fucking wife Wanda!"

Rolling her eyes she went to say something but closed her lips again, shaking her head she left as quickly as she came.

"I think she's mad" Steve says trying to lighten to mood earning him a warning look from Bucky.

Over the next week Bucky tried to get her to talk to him and all he received was 'It's okay Mr James' or a head shake. Wanda and Nat had kept their distance from him too, when Nat had found out she pulled a gun on Bucky. She lowered it when he didn't flinch or pull his out on her, she knew he was telling the truth about him not kissing Dolores back. Dolores kept coming back to the house even though Bucky told the guards to make sure she's not let in, which was making the brunette furious.

Bucky had sent Nat a text asking her to come down into the office, needing to talk to her and since both redheads had been upstairs with Theo it was his only way of getting Nat to talk to him. The other day he had gone up and knocked on Theo's bedroom door he was greeted by a still very angry Wanda, who wasn't believing him or Nat, she slammed the door in his face that hard he even flinched.

"What's up?" Nat asked as she strolled into the office.

"I-Is Theo okay? Is she eating? Sleeping?"

"Buck she's fine, me and Wanda are looking after her"

"It should be me"

Sighing, Nat sat down in the seat across from him. "Buck she did walk in on you and that thing kissing-"

"I didn't kiss her back Natasha! I swear-"

"I know and that's why I didn't shoot your dick off" she raised her eyebrow and smirked "You've just got to give her some time Bucky, it's one thing after another and she feels-" Nat quickly cuts herself off.

"Feels what?"

"Nothing, just give her some time"

"Feels what Natasha? Please, please tell me"

"She feels like she isn't worthy to be loved"

Bucky's face dropped, it was the exact expression that both her and Wanda had on their faces when Theo whispered it to them. "W-what?"

"She said it's okay and that she's accepted this life an-and-" shaking her head she knew it was wrong to be telling him the things Theo had whispered to them in secret, but she believed Bucky when he said he never kissed Dolores back.

"And? What?"

"I-I think you should talk to her Bucky, I've already said to much"

"Wanda won't let me"

"Grow up James. Like you keep saying she's your wife. Go!"

Jumping up out of his seat he ran to the door before turning around to jog back over to Nat and placing a kiss to her head which earned him a smack. Running up the stairs he stopped outside of Theo's bedroom door to catch him breath. Knocking beforehand he walked in the room.

"Get out James!" Wanda shouted.

"She's my wife Wanda, I need to talk to her."

"No-"

"Wanda it's okay" Theo interrupted Wanda, who looked at Theo with a look as if to ask her if she was sure, she nodded and helped Wanda stand.

"Hurt her one more time James I won't hesitate to kill you" Theo shut the door behind her friend and turned to face Bucky, gulping and twiddling her fingers she waited for Bucky to say something.

"T-Theo I'm so sorry for what you saw but it wasn't what it looked like, Dolores kissed me as I was reading something she gave me b-but I swear Angel I didn't kiss her back!"

"It's okay-"

"No it isn't! Stop saying that it is, please. Please scream at me or-or hit me please just do anything other than say it's okay"

"I won't hit you" She frowned with a slight head shake "My father won't agree to a divorce unless you ask Mr James-"

"I don't want a divorce Theo"

"B-but the scars..."

"They don't bother me Angel, fuck I've got my own, look" pulling his shirt down enough so she could see the scars on his chest/shoulder "I have them too so who am I to judge?"

"Oh-l, I will continue being your wife and you can date that woman from the other day but you will h-have to sleep with one of my father's daughters so you can have an heir, I pro-"

"Theo-"

"I promise I'll stay out of the way, jus-"

"Theo-"

"Just please promise me that I won't get hurt by none of your men" This time she doesn't get cut off by him and when she finds the courage to look up to him her heart tugs when she sees the tears gathering in his eyes.

"You-um-you think I wou-no Angel, no to all of that! I only want you I don't want Dolores, I don't want any of the brats your father calls daughters, if I am lucky enough to have children you will be the mother. None of my our men will ever lay a hand on you, I will never let anyone hurt you again, I won't hurt you again. That I swear and promise you until my last breath"

Though she heard every word he spoke, took in every word he spoke she couldn't help but question "Why?"

And though he had his reasons, mainly because he didn't want to end up like his father, he couldn't stop the words from spilling out. It was so much easier when she was asleep on his chest, right next to his beating heart. "Because I love you"

He hated the way she flinched at those words.

"W-why?"

"I know it's way too soon to be feeling these kind of feelings, believe me I do but I-I do Theo and that's the truth. I love you. You are worthy of it Angel, it isn't just me that loves you Wanda and Nat do too, even the guys do. Please let me show you, please don't think you're not worth love or affection because you are-"

A loud sob cuts him off. He doesn't wastes any time in moving closer to her and wrapping his arms around her trembling body. "I'm sorry" he whispers over and over into her hair.

"I-I-I'm not good eno-enough for you James or anyone"

"You're enough. Theo, you're enough"

What happens next shocks the both of them.

Theo leans on her tiptoes and places her lips to his.

Her first ever kiss.

Bucky knew he shouldn't do it because she's got tears streaming down her cheeks, she's confused, she's emotional but fuck she's kissing him. He can't stop himself from kissing her back.

Pulling away from one another slightly out of breath Bucky rested his forehead against hers, smiling at her when she looks up at him.

"Wa-was tha-that okay?" Theo asked shyly.

"It was perfect Angel"

"It wa-was my first kiss" she admitted a light blush coating her cheeks.

"Really? Baby it was perfect"

Theo goes to open her mouth closing it quickly at the noise from outside her door.

"Shut up! I'm trying to list-ow Nat my head!" Sam hissed a muffled cry after a bang on the door startles Theo.

"You shut up. Did she just say a first kiss? Holy shit did they just kiss?" That was Nat's voice.

"Both of you shut up!" This time it was Steve's voice being heard.

"Do you think they're kissing again? Oh god what if they're having sex and we're just listening like creeps!" Wanda's voice turned to panic when she thought that the couple in the room could be doing something that she really did not want to be listening in on.

Shaking his head Bucky had to force himself not to laugh, leaning to whisper into Theo's ear "I bet they're leaning against the door, should I open it so they fall in?"

"No, they might hurt themselves" She whispered back trying really hard not to laugh.

"I bet they're kissing" At hearing Sam's failed attempt to whisper slip through the door Theo looked at Bucky and nodded, giving him the go ahead to open the door. Giving her a gentle kiss on her lips, and another, and another before finally sneaking over towards the door. Hand slowly going to the door handle he looked at Theo and winked.

Sam was the first one to fall in, Nat landing on top of him, Steve on top of her and Wanda landing on the blonde.

"Ow fuck! Nat get off you're fucking heavy! Ow ow stop hitting me!"

"Steve's on me you dickhead!"

"Wanda's on me so I can't move-ow shit what is it with you women hitting people?"

"You've just basically called me fat Steven!"

"Are you guys finished? Me and Theo would like to get past you"

"Help us up then please!" Sam begged.

"Why were you listening to us anyway?" Bucky asked completely ignoring Sam making grabby hands to him.

"Who-what-we-never" Steve stuttered out trying to get Wanda off of him gently not wanting to tear the stitches open.

"Who-what-we-never" Bucky mocked. "We heard you"

"No you didn't, you're just imagining things Bucky" Sam says "I've accepted my fate by the way guys not that any of you care"

"What are you talking about?"

"Well Natasha none of you are getting up off me so l lay here on the ground being squashed to death by my so called family"

Everyone apart from Theo rolls their eyes at Sam's dramatics, Theo tries to move forward to help Wanda off Steve when Bucky's hand stops her. "Leave them, come here."

"But they need help"

"Nope, they'll figure it out soon" picking Theo up he smiles when she squeals, Bucky walks them over to the door and quite literally steps over the four bodies of his friends on the floor.

"Oh that's so fucking cold man"

Taking Theo into the living room he placed her gently onto the couch, there was a small bar sitting at the back of the room Bucky made his way over to it pouring a drink for himself he asked Theo if she wanted one she shook her head, no.

They sat in comforting silence before Theo broke it.

"James... can I ask you something?"

"Of course"

"W-what happened to your arm?" She knew he had a metal arm, at first it startled her not expecting it but now finding it pretty and unique.

Taking his glass, he knocks the rest of his drink back. "My father, piece of shit as you've already probably picked up on. My ma was pregnant with her third kid but miscarried when she was around four or five months." The memory of his mother stumbling down the stairs bottom half covered in blood, her hands shaking and tears rolling down her face. Martha running around ordering the other maids to grab things or to take him and Rebecca upstairs, makes his heart beat a little faster.

Clearing his throat "My ma had found out my father had a mistress. I'm not a doctor but I think that's what caused my ma to lose the baby. Anyway ma needed sometime away as she was really struggling, she went to my aunt's house in Louisiana for three weeks. My father brought his mistress into the home, he actually picked her up after we dropped ma off at the airport" chuckling, he loosened his tie "Three weeks of having to hear obvious fake moans and me looking after Becks because my father gave all the maids three weeks off so they wouldn't tell my ma." Getting up he walks over to the bar he pours himself another drink. Sitting back down he continues.

"The day came for when my ma was coming home, we was on our way to get her from the airport and the prick and his whore was arguing, if I remember correctly it was because she wanted him to leave my mother but he kept saying he wouldn't do it, she grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it towards her, he managed to get the car stable but then she did it again. It was pouring down so the roads were slippery" Taking a deep breath in "Then the car rolled off down the road and went straight down a ditch. I put my arm out in front of Rebecca, my arm got pinned. They both got out, and were actually more bothered about getting their story straight than trying to get a twelve and eight year old out of the car. You know Tony Stark? Well he was in the car behind us, he was the one who rang for help. I begged the fire fighters to get Becks out first but th-they didn't... I woke up in the hospital six days later and my arm was gone"

"James… I’m so sorry"

"Don't apologies Angel, please. It is what it is"

"D-did you ever tell your mother what happened?"

"Yeah, when I woke up I told her straight away. Broke her heart even more. They separated for about two years and for some reason she got back with him, I was so pissed at her but then I found out it wasn't because she loves him but for the money"

"That's... I-"

"I know ah, but yeah Tony was working on prosthetics and a few months later he met up with my ma and next thing I know I'm being fitted with this" he turns his arm around to show her "I had to get it upgraded a few times"

"It's pretty"

"Pretty? You really think so?"

"Yes, is it heavy?"

"At first it was but I'm used to it now so"

"C-can I touch it?"

"Of course"

"Do-do you feel anything?"

"I do, not very often though" Bucky sat there watching Theo's finger slowly move up and down on his arm, it felt like she was trickling a feather up and down the metal prosthetic.

Later that night Bucky had Theo back in his their bed, after sharing a few more kisses and shy blushes from Theo, they let sleep over take them.

Bucky slept peacefully for the first time in just over a week now that he had his Angel in his arms.

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