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baddestbittyontheblock · 1 year ago

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alessia russo fic recs (1)

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

🍓。·ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡🍒。·ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡🍓。·ﾟ♡ﾟ･🍓。·ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡🍒。·ﾟ♡ﾟ･🍓

�� ✿ make me yours my love (cause you’re nobody to me, yet somebody to me) alessia russo x reader | fluff (tooth-rotting fluff)

𓂃 ✿ remember that night? alessia russo x reader |

-part 2 to i’ll wait forever

𓂃 ✿ return alessia russo x reader |

-in which; alessia broke up with you three years ago to focus on her career, breaking your heart completely, eventually you see each other for the first time since your breakup once you join the lionesses for a last minute call-up- and there's a whole lot of unresolved feelings.

𓂃 ✿ the end alessia russo x reader |

-one with alessia russo where the reader suffers a career ending injury

𓂃 ✿ sleepless nights alessia russo x reader |

-when lessi can’t sleep without any kind of physical touch but r gets hot easily & when they’re on holiday r can’t sleep if they cuddle but less can’t sleep when they don’t touch

𓂃 ✿ will you love me 'til the end of time? alessia russo x reader |

-alessia leaves for aresenal, she leaves behind manchester- she leaves behind you.

𓂃 ✿ you belong with me (i belong with you) alessia russo x reader |

-moments of lessi and her girl (you) through the years

𓂃 ✿ meanie alessia russo x reader |

-headcannons about meangirl less as a gf!

𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |

-lessi would be the type to love the fact that she had a wag girlfriend because she could finally designate her waves and kisses to someone in the crowd.

𓂃 ✿ countdown alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ time management alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ co-dependency. alessia russo x reader |

-surprising lessi with multiple cheek kisses at a time

𓂃 ✿ good morning sunshine alessia russo x reader |

-reader being an early bird but less having none of it, whenever she wakes up without reader she goes downstairs asap and just is whiny that she can't get her morning cuddles

𓂃 ✿ alessia day alessia russo x reader |

-tooth rottingly soft self care days with star girl

𓂃 ✿ i'm tired of lovin' from afar (and never being where you are) alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ 'cause you used to be a part of me (now you're only somebody) alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ you don’t have to be sola (you don’t have to be here alone) alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ head over (tar) heels. alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ Falling for me... literally? alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ We're a team. Always. alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ "come to bed" alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ poke alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ twelve alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ alessia x leah x reader blurb alessia russo x reader | leah williamson x reader

𓂃 ✿ evening alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ in safe hands alessia russo x reader |

-the fans are speculating on the nature of your and alessia’s relationship. when the rumours come to a head, it begins to put pressure on you both. (goalie!reader)

𓂃 ✿ white lies alessia russo x reader |

-five secrets alessia could keep (and one she just couldn’t)

𓂃 ✿ are you flirting with me alessia russo x reader |

-Things that Alessia Russo is good at: football, looking like a goddess, taking your breath away by simply existing.

Things that Alessia Russo is bad at: staying upright, flirting.

𓂃 ✿ price tag alessia russo x reader |

-When Manchester United sign you for big money, it takes you a while to settle in. Luckily you have Alessia by your side to help you overcome your worries that you’re not worth the price they paid for you.

𓂃 ✿ fangirl alessia russo x reader |

-alessia old tweets reappear of her crushing one the reader

𓂃 ✿ sleepwalking alessia russo x reader | a little angsty

𓂃 ✿ possession obsession alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ thirst tweets alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ cookie clicker alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ love lasts alessia russo x reader |

-They had won the euros, you watched as some of them cried and others celebrated but all your focus was on her.

𓂃 ✿ silenzio bruna alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ lessi's sunflower alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ drunk in love alessia russo x reader |

-fell in love with drunk lessi and it became a fic

𓂃 ✿ number one fan alessia russo x reader |

-you play football and she comes to all your games.

𓂃 ✿ jumpscare alessia russo x reader |

-Would it be possible for you to do a fic where the reader goes for one with alessia but a really scary one?

They can be going to the escape room as a date or as friends that have been secretly in love with each other?

𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |

-DANCING IN THE KITCHEN WITH LESSI WHILE ITS RAINING OUTSIDE

𓂃 ✿ ‘cause all that you are (is all that i’ll ever need) alessia russo x reader | some angst and some fluff

𓂃 ✿ Alessia fic alessia russo x reader |

-Mapping out your lover's features while they sleep in your arm, smoothing your thumbs down their cheeks, throat, collarbones, chin and nose.

𓂃 ✿ teasing alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ butterfly alessia russo x reader |

-Brody Armstrong once said: "When you meet someone for the first time, that’s not the whole book. That’s just the first page" and she’s totally right. When you first met Alessia you didn’t know that quote, you could barely speak let alone read but over the years, when got older, you started to understand it. The day you met her, the first page was written and your story began. Now, Alessia and you have been together for 9 years, 3 of them married and it‘s still not finished.

𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |

-house hunting in saint albans with Less, finding the right house and then r and less just having a moment at the front door where Less just is quiet and looking at the interior r hugs her from behind and Less is a bit homesick and stuff but r invites tooney and joe round without less knowing to make her feel more at home

𓂃 ✿ i know that you love me (even when i lose my head). alessia russo x reader | fluff

𓂃 ✿ the striker and her wingman. alessia russo x reader

-nervous lovestruck lessi >>

𓂃 ✿ the wrangler alessia russo x reader | leah williamson x reader

-less and Leah and reader thruple blurb. both the blondies are injured but being their stubborn selves refuse to take it easy and non football player reader is like pulling her hair out trying to wrangle these two ADULTS who are being like whiny children and refusing to do what she asks

𓂃 ✿ kiss me through the phone alessia russo x reader |

-a face time with alessia would be like whilst she’s in Australia and the readers at home because of work. Full of fluff and them just happy they get to talk to each other after a hard day, saying how much they miss each other

𓂃 ✿ passenger princess alessia russo x reader |

-Alessia and reader are in a relationship and come into training arguing about something that the team can’t figure out

When asked reader simply replies with “I’m NOT a passenger princess”

𓂃 ✿ 1 - but she loves me, she loves me. alessia russo x reader |

-series masterlist

𓂃 ✿ finalist alessia russo x reader |

-World Cup fluff. Alessia has no idea you're on your way to Australia to surprise her before the final.

𓂃 ✿ 2 - why the hell she love me alessia russo x reader |

-series masterlist

𓂃 ✿ not meant to be alessia russo x reader |

-in which; alessia's girlfriend is always there for her. always.

𓂃 ✿ intruder alessia russo x reader |

-when you wake up to a strange noise you begin to freak out. So you wake up your girlfriend and you both go to speculate. Who’s in your guy’s home?

𓂃 ✿ chance encounters alessia russo x reader |

-you and Alessia meeting in Ibiza and she’s got the hots for you but you play hard to get? but a cute happy ending where they eventually get together

𓂃 ✿ alessia blurb alessia russo x reader |

-After coming home from work/a long trip, finding your lover sobbing on the couch/in bed after a hard day, wiping away their tears with soft touches and gentle words--trying to convince them it's okay, and that you're there for them now.

𓂃 ✿ everyone thinks that they know us (but they know nothing). alessia russo x reader |

𓂃 ✿ toilet paper party alessia russo x reader |

-some tooth rotting gf lessi fluff to try and cure all of our post game depression, with a dash of supportive best friend and arsenal icon lotte wubben-moy ofc

#woso x reader #woso #woso imagines #engwnt #engwnt x reader #lionesses #lionesses x reader #alessia russo #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #arsenal wfc #fic recs

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delulu-sushi · 11 months ago

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Mikey-Kun Wedding/Proposal HC!!!

Sry I haven't posted recently ;(. Requests r open!!! (Feel free to ask for any anime, I'll see what i can do) Future Motorcycle racer Mikey ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Enjoy!~~~~~~~~~~~~

✧ From the moment he saw you, he knew he wanted you to be his, his Sano

✧ After you guys have been together for a good while, he'll definitely start thinking about marriage and having a family

⋄❥ Although tbh, he would talk about it all the time, every year

✧ The first thing he'll do is slowly try to incorporate talks of marriage and family to see your reaction, he wants it to be a surprise

✧ When you answer with a smile, he knows, you're ready

✧ He will go to Mitsuya the next moment to get EVERYTHING ready - the man hasn't even proposed yet. He takes Mitsuya's opinion on color, designs, etc. bc ur Mitsuya's #1 consumer

✧ He will be super fidgety and start internally screaming when it's time to propose, but he knows you won't hurt him

✧ He loves you so much don't reject the baby boi

You make him the happiest man in the universe

❧ He calls all his friends to boast the new "Fiancé" status, and makes sure you're there to see his reaction

❧ He will immediately start planning the whole wedding scene and talk about it with you -> Late night bed talks

❧ He will start calling you "Wife" in his head, and blushes a little every time

❧ Midnight rides to all your favorite places

❧ He wants an extravagant Wedding to make it the most memorable day of your life

❧ He doesn't release the engagement to the public, and doesn't like gathering attention to his personal life. Fans are one thing, media is another.

❧ He will travel the world with you, enjoying your last months before becoming wife and husband

You went from his companion to princess to queen to empress to goddess, you're his everything

❥ The wedding is extravagant, and he makes you feel like a diamond

❥ A lot of white, but some hints of blue and purple

❥ LOTS of dessert, he has a dorayaki on the cake

❥ He looks his most handsome, hair combed how you like it, and a tailor maid outfit by Mitsuya that you absolutely adore. You feel proud that this is your man

❥ The moment you enter, his eyes land on you immediately, and he can't stop staring. The way your dress embodies your heavenly beauty, the way your hair enhances your face, and how the hickey he gave you last night peeks out a bit, despite the make up artists' best efforts to hide it

❥ He never leaves your side. He's not clingy, but he wants to spend every moment with you.

❥ Everyone is happy for you two.

❥ He sheds a tear when you get married and happy cries when you two are alone

❥ He has the first dance with you, in a beautiful garden, under the moonlight, lights shining on the two of you

❥ He records the entire thing and shows it to your kids when they are getting married

He's your world

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Kinda wrote this half-asleep... Would you guys like me to write this as a scenario?

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itsphoenix0724 · 2 years ago

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Falling Stars (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Az feels like his throat is closing when he sees you in your Starfall dress, and he can't seem to get a word out to you. At least, until you're both more than a few drinks in.

Warnings: SMUT, semi-public sex, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Hello everyone! This is not my best work so I apologize, but I tried to really focus on the dialogue in this one. I hope you enjoy it regardless! Also if anyone wanted to submit any ideas/suggestions of what they would like to see more of my ask box is always open. As always constructive criticism is welcome.

Azriel was going to die.

You looked mesmerizing in your Starfall dress. The blue silk bodice hugged your figure just right, and delicate blue lace made up the bottom layered in tiers that matched the strips that fell off of your shoulders. Your leg peaked out of the high slit, and some of your hair was swept up behind you with combs encrusted with sapphire and diamond. You looked like a goddess of old, wrapped in starlight, and gracing unworthy mortals with your presence.

He was convinced you were trying to kill him.

Azriel had wanted to drop to his knees and worship you, or at the very least tell you he thought you looked beautiful. He actually thought beautiful was too simple of a word to describe you. However, when you made eye contact with him across the room his throat felt like it was closing in. The only thing he had been able to do was send you a tight smile and a nod before throwing back the rest of his liquor and refilling the glass. He didn’t know why he couldn’t talk to you tonight–the two of you could talk for hours. Watching your face fall at his piss-poor greeting felt like another stab to his already weak heart. You had moved to mingle around the party, and the number of male eyes on you only had him shooting back more liquor and sulking in the corner.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was not going as you planned.

Mor had sat with you for hours selecting a dress designed to bring Az to his knees. You had chosen this dress not only because it made you feel confident, but because you thought Az would love it.

You picked his exact shade of blue after all.

You had walked into the party with the grace of a queen, and the confidence that you could bring a kingdom to its knees. But the only thing Az did was send you a forced smile and then run off and hide.

Mor had tried to reassure you–she said Az always got weird during parties. Something about there being too many people, but he seemed to be socializing just fine.

For some reason, he was giving you the cold shoulder.

You could feel the confidence dwindling and poured yourself shots of the strongest liquor you could find. Fine, you decided, two could play this game. If he was going to pretend you didn’t exist you could do the exact same thing.

You made your way to Cassian and Nesta, looped arm in arm with Mor, determined to have a good time. Cassian let out a loud wolf-whistle and Nesta smacked him on the arm blocking him on his path to hug you first before wrapping you in her arms. Drinks were poured for the four of you and you celebrated the falling stars the best way you knew how.

Getting rip-roaringly drunk and enjoying the time with your friends.

Hours passed, and the buzzing feeling in your head was getting significantly stronger. Everything tingled from the tips of your fingers to the ends of your toes, and almost everything someone said to you seemed hilarious. You had danced practically the whole night and had kicked off your heels about half an hour ago. Still, no matter what you did you couldn’t shake the feeling of the Shadowsinger’s cold shoulder all night. You had caught his shadows swirling around your ankles multiple times before they slunk away like disciplined children crawling back to their master. The fact that he was standing in the corner watching you but still hadn’t said anything to you was infuriating.

You wanted some kind of reaction from him tonight, and you’d be damned if you didn’t get one.

You had decided enough was enough, and worked your way through the crowd before coming to a stop directly in front of Az himself.

He truly was a gorgeous male. He wore a black silk shirt with the top couple of buttons undone and simple back trousers. His hair wasn’t as messy as usual like he had styled it a little, but it was still falling into his eyes. Two blue siphons were still strapped to the back of his hands.

“Well,” You started, plucking the glass of whiskey out of his hands before draining the rest of the contents. Molten gold eyes tracked the movement of your throat, and a small flush rose to the tips of his ears. You realized you had your opening as you moved to further crowd his space, “have you been enjoying Starfall by yourself in this corner.”

Az seemed slightly stunned. You weren’t normally this bold and straightforward. You always spoke with a quiet calming voice, but now there was a bite behind your words.

“I’ve been enjoying the party.” He murmured back to you, trying very hard to keep his eyes trained on your face so they wouldn’t dip to your chest.

That endeavor failed very quickly.

His eyes trailed down to your cleavage and all he could think about was licking away the sheen from the party that appeared on your skin. When he saw the smirk on your face he immediately knew he had been caught looking.

“Why have you been ignoring me all night?” The buzz you were experiencing felt like straight courage running through your veins. You wanted answers out of the male standing in front of you.

You were going to get them too.

Azriel attempts to smother the guilty look on his face, but you catch it anyway as his eyes drift back down to the floor. “If I’ve done something to upset you, you should just tell me instead of ignoring me. You’re a grown male-act like it.” Az has it in him to at least look alarmed, eyes jumping straight back up to your face. This is not at all how he wanted this night to go. He shakes his head at you, before hearing the music dip to a low waltz. He musters up all the courage he wishes he had at the beginning of the night,

“You haven’t done anything. I’ve been an immature male all night, please, let me make it up to you.” The Spymaster extends his hand to you and you eye it for a moment intending to leave him hanging in suspense. After letting him squirm you accept his hand and he leads you onto the dance floor. The music isn’t much of a dance song, more designed to be a slow sway than an elaborate waltz. Azriel draws you close to him, one warm strong hand resting on the small of your back, and the other holding your hand leading you into the music. When you two fall into a comfortable rhythm he leans down to whisper in your ear. “You look exquisite by the way.” Az enjoys the bashful look that crosses your face and the light blush that dusts your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you hum–the close proximity to him almost makes you feel drunker, “so..are you going to tell me why you’ve been brooding all night.” You offer him a small smile, you won’t pressure him to talk but you want to know. You find you have your answer when Azriel’s stare rakes hungrily over your figure. “Oh. I see.” You can’t help but send a sultry look up at the Shadowsinger.

You’ve caught your prey, you think you’ve earned the right to toy with it a little.

“Perhaps I’m being selfish and imagining you wore this shade of blue just for me.” Azriel’s hand drops from yours, moving to join the other around your waist as yours loop around his neck. You look up at Azriel from under your eyelashes and his intestines feel like they’re tying themselves into knots.

“I think your ego might need a bit of a check spymaster,” you reach down, drawing one of his hands up the curve of your waist and over your breast before stopping to rest it over your fluttering heart. His eyes almost devour you as you move his hand, pupils going dark with desire. The blue siphon is in perfect alignment with the neckline of your dress, and Az can not stop staring. “Although I must say, they are a perfect match.” Your admission feels like an electric shock straight to Azriel’s bones.

Everything in his body locks like a lion waiting to pounce.

You meet his eyes and something charged runs through the both of you. You both know what you want, and the heated gaze Azriel levels at you already has a wetness pooling between your legs.

When Az’s eyes dart to the door leading out of the ballroom in question, you only nod in answer.

His hand on your back as he guides you out feels like a hot brand against your skin. Azriel leads you into a small bathroom in the hallway, and the minute the door closes behind you both he has you pinned flush against the door. You feel like all the air has been sucked out of the room as you and Azriel stare at each other. You feel one of his hands train up your exposed leg before you hear the click of the lock for the bathroom door. He drops his head to press kisses against your thundering pulse, and you can feel his nose brushing against the curve of your jaw.

“Do you know what you’ve been doing to me all night,” Az growls into your ear, one hand firmly planted on the curve of your ass.

The hard thing pressing against your thigh tells you exactly what you’ve been doing to him all night.

You don’t feel like waiting anymore and drag his lips down to meet yours in a heated kiss. He tastes like bourbon and night-kissed air. It’s addicting. Strong hands wrap around your waist and give a firm squeeze to your ass that makes you gasp out a moan. He uses this opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your whole body feels like it’s dissolving under his touch as you reach for his belt, the only thing on your mind was getting him out of his pants as quickly as possible. He runs one hand along the column of your throat, thumb stroking along your bottom lip.

“Are you ready to be a good girl for me?” His dark voice rasps into your ear. You nod up at him and his golden eyes are almost completely black with desire. He growls as he flips you around and presses you against the sink, and you moan as your chest rubs against the cool marble. You feel his hands hoist up the back of your dress, and you look up to see his devilish smirk in the mirror. Your eyes trail over to his hands and see the scrap of blue lace running between his scarred fingers. “Did you wear these just for me?” That cocky smile makes your knees go weak, and you send a silent thanks to Mor for insisting that you wear the matching underwear tonight. “I like seeing you in my color sweetheart,” he sends you a wink as he tucks your underwear in his back pocket, “I think I’ll hang onto these.”

That might be the hottest fucking thing you’ve seen.

He teases you with his fingers and sighs before bringing them up to his mouth and licking them clean. You taste so fucking good, but he needs to get inside you soon before he explodes in his pants. He vows to spend hours between your legs another time as payment. He moans gospel around his fingertips, and while you’ve never been a religious female you might start praying to the mother tonight.

“You’re so fucking wet and I’ve barely touched you yet.” His eyes shine with an arrogance that makes you want to wipe the smirk off his face. His voice drops to a softer tone and he stares straight into your soul through the mirror, “Are you ready for me, or do you want me to prep you first?”

“I’m ready.” you’re writhing against the sink. You need him inside your right goddamn now or you might start crawling on him like a cat. You moan in relief when you hear him unbuckle his belt and remove himself from his trousers. From this angle you can’t see him fully, but you know he’s big if his wingspan has anything to say about it. He plants one hand on your lower back as he uses his other hand to guide himself into you. You feel the first inch slip in and then it stops, you look up at Az in confusion and his eyes meet yours in the mirror as one hand comes around to play with your nipples.

He leans his body down to press kisses into the skin of your neck before murmuring into your ear, “Beg for the rest darling.” Flame rises to your cheeks and you pull your eyes away from the mirror, but Az pulls you back so that you’re looking at him. You try to move backwards just to draw a little more of him into you. Unfortunately his grip on your waist is like steel. You’re not going anywhere. You swallow what little pride you have left and meet his eyes in the mirror.

“Please Az. God fuck me please.” That seems good enough for him and he slips himself the rest of the way inside of you. Az lets out a moan that makes your toes curl against the tile and your grip harden on the marble sink.

He fucks like a beast.

Hard and rough thrusts as one hand toys with your clit in a way that makes you feel like one of the stars you hope you’ll have enough time to see tonight.

Even if you miss it you can’t say you’d be that upset with the way the Illyrian is moving inside of you. An orgasm rips through you, tumbling through the night sky burning hot and bright before fizzling out and starting again. Az is relentless in your pleasure, pulling you to that edge again and again before he reaches his peak himself.

When you feel his thrusts start to get sloppy you know he’s close, so you start to fuck back against him. Az lets out a moan of appreciation at your efforts, and you earn a bite mark on your shoulder.

He finishes with a roar that shakes the mirror and you’ve never been gladder for the blaring music and waves of people to cover the two of you. He pulls out before gently wiping away the mess he’s made of your inner thighs before pulling your dress back down.

You gently stand with Az’s assistance and he rubs circles in your spine as apology for keeping you bent over for so long. That small act alone makes liquid gold run through your veins, and your whole body leans into the affection. Azriel opens and closes his mouth not quite knowing how to find the right words.

After all, what do you say to the female you love after you fucked her in the bathroom? He considers a few options– We should do this again sometime, please don’t say you want nothing to do with me after this, and I’m not normally the kind of male who fucks females in bathrooms. But you’re looking at him with honeyed eyes, and you understand what he’s trying to convey to you. So you reach up and kiss him again, hands running through the silken strand of raven black hair.

“We can talk about it later Az. We don’t have to figure everything out right now.” He nods greatufully and before you both exit the bathroom he pulls you into a bone crushing kiss he hopes conveys what his words cannot.

You leave the bathroom and rejoin your family to watch the stars together. No one can tell what happened in the bathroom at least until Cassian calls out to Azriel.

“Hey Az! What the hell is sticking out of your back pocket?” Both of your cheeks heat and your guilty eyes immediately dart to Mor who gives you a knowing glance and tips her wine glass in salute. Cassian does nothing more but wink at his brother as Az shoves the scrap of lace further down into his pocket and yanks you closer to his side.

Your friends will no doubt torture you for this later but wrapped in Azriel’s arms on the most beautiful night of the year you don’t seem to mind so much.

#acomaf #acotar #acowar #acosf fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #acotar imagine #smut #acofas

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thelastofhyde · 1 year ago

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i. sea-day 1.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. as the ship sets sail, you search for help. at the bar, you encounter a familiar stranger. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, sunshine!reader, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much )<3 chapter warnings. alcohol, mentions of class/wealth themes, implications that the reader has underlining mental health issues, convenient plot-devices that would only ever happen in a rom-com bc this is fun silly fiction baby!, joel suffers from acute insuferable-bastarditis :( word count. 3.7k hyde’s input. let's all hold hands and agree to ignore the fact both parts so far have opened on the reader panicking in a bathroom, okay? maybe she's a stressed girlie with a flare of ibs, you don't know her life. feeling a little insecure abt this chapter and lowkey don't wanna post it, but i promise the actual fun begins in chapter two, where we finally get to see tourguide!joel in action. previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

“What time did you say you boarded?”

Your mother’s voice travels from where your phone lays, abandoned upon the bed, all the way into the decadent bathroom.

Eyes moving a mile-a-minute, as if you're rushing to take in every jaw-dropping detail.

There’s the sink area, a double-vanity that’s centred with an array of lotions and soaps, and overlooked by an overwhelmingly large mirror that makes up half the wall, lined with a golden hue of light. A shower, with glass curtains and enough room to fit your whole wardrobe in it. Then, there’s the bathtub you’re already envisioning yourself sinking into. Marble lines the floor, and the outer wall is made up of three window panes, gifting you a view of pure blue, the sea and the sky melting into one another across the horizon. It’s making you nauseous, this looming feeling of imposter syndrome the interior brings you.

You don’t belong in this, a fancy room designed for fancy people.

An iteration of your name, back on the bed, drags you away from your own troubled reflection.

“Seven,” you call out, inching your way back into the main area of the suite.

“In the morning?!” She’s just as shocked as the first time you answered her question, fifteen minutes ago, and the second time, seven minutes ago.

Humming in approval, you give a sweeping gaze over the plush carpeted floor, the wall-mounted television displaying the cruiseship’s logo, the king sized bed that’s calling out for you, seducing you with the promise of a mattress that won’t be stabbing at your back the whole night. As if on queue, there’s a sharp pain in your lower back, a lasting reminder of the hostel you’d found little rest in last night.

“Well, there goes my jealousy!” Lacklustre replies aside, your mother continues her ramblings, used to filling the void of conversation with the sound of her own voice. “Can you imagine? Me, awake at that time? You’ll be glad you’re travelling on your own, honey.” Usually, you admire the positive spin your mother tries to bring to life. Your being alone upon this trip, however, is not a topic you want her to address, much less find the good in. “I mean, I don’t think even your sister-”

“I think they’ve made a mistake,” you cut her off, eyes zeroing in on a pair of glass doors. Snatching the phone off the bed, you turn off the speaker and press it to your ear just in time to hear your mother’s confusion, questioning what you mean. Focus on those doors, you slowly make your way over to them. “The room,” you clarify, fingers curling around a handle to unlock it, prying the doors apart. A wave of salty fresh air, hits your face as you step out onto wooden decking. You find yourself upon a balcony, facing off into the deep blue distance. To your left, there’s two sun loungers and a glass coffee table, mounted by two champagne flutes and a simple welcome note sprawled out in black ink. “I think they’ve given me the wrong room.”

It’s the next best thing to a reasonable explanation you can find, no chance on earth you were ever listed to stay in such a suite. No, a room like this is meant for a wealthy businessman and his uptight wife to overindulge themselves on gold-trimmed furniture and a fur-lined bed for a week, in which they do everything but address the lipstick stains that keep lining his collars or the chauffeur who keeps himself parked between her legs.

You can already picture such a pair now, storming over to some poor, unsuspecting deckhand, red on both their faces as they begin to berate him over the fact they're in a cabin the size of a cupboard, with a communal restroom and a bunk barely fit for one person.

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

“No,” it’s an answer you reluctantly give, more than aware of how ridiculous it sounds. “It’s… nice. Perfect. Too perfect, like I should feel lucky to stand in it, nevermind live in it for the next few days.”

It’s with caution that you glance over each shoulder, taking note of the seemingly never ending row of balconies that line the ship, a sizable gap between each one. Guts twisting a little at the thought, you peer ever so slightly over the right edge and are greeted with views of more balconies. Beyond that, there’s only blue. Waves crash into the ship’s side and bounce off in white foam. You renew the distance between you and the ledge, unable to stop yourself from glancing both ways, confirming there’s no neighbouring balcony that finds itself occupied.

Then bend down, clasping a hold of one of the champagne flutes.

You take your first sip like it’s a crime, wearily, eyes darting back and forth, waiting to be caught in the act and dragged out of this room, down to whatever poverty loft you really belonged in.

Or, maybe they’d just toss you overboard, rid themselves of any possible hassle. People go missing all the time at sea, right? People go missing all the time on cruises. You’d just be another blip in the system, an error that can be overwritten with a simple-

“I can hear you thinking through the phone, sweetie.”

You take another sip, and let a weight fall off your chest, dragging in a breath large enough to make up for the moment or two you’d stopped breathing. “I’m just… tired. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine. No big freak out on it’s way, again.”

“Honey, you know how me and your father feel about you calling it a freak-” she must be able to hear your eye roll through the phone, cutting herself off before she can keep going. “Just, try and enjoy this trip, okay? Maybe you’re in that room because where you’re supposed to be. Maybe you’ve been awarded some free upgrade, like that time your dad got bumped up to business class!”

Bless her for trying, though she may fail. It’s enough to bring a smile to your face.

You swallow back what remains of the bubbled liquid.

Through the phone, you hear a door burst open and the entrance of a loud, excited little voice. Something akin to granny rings down the line, and it’s enough to have you frozen where you stand, bones rigid and unable to move. Something seems to smack into the microphone, a rustling of fabric as you envision your mother making room for little limbs on her lap.

“Hey, my little munchkin! How was soccer?” You can’t make out what the voice tells your mother, heart too busy beating louder than any drum, inching its way further up your wind pipe and threatening to choke you on it. “Guess who I’ve got on the phone?” The tiny voice squeals out your name, bile joins your heart inside your throat. Maybe this is how you find out you get seasick. “Do you wanna say hi-”

“Mum, I, uh… I’ve gotta go,” you’re eyeing the remaining glass on the table, the rising bubbles enticing you to hurry up, drink it before it goes flat. “I should go find the help desk, get this room thing sorted out.”

“Just a second, let E-”

“I’ll call you later,” you hang up.

You’re left with just the raging waters below, a caw from seagulls up above. Eyes slipping shut, you pull in a deep breath and push out a silent plea for that sting in your eyes to be from the salt in the air, not a set of unfallen tears. A few more breaths and it feels safe enough to open your eyes again, glancing down as your phone vibrates in your hand.

Two texts, each from your mother.

09:38 - She says hi, and that you better bring her back a cool souvenir. 09:39 - Doctor Anderson says she’s showing improvement and they’re finally starting to get somewhere. Just thought you’d want to know x

Giving in to temptation, you snatch up the champagne glass, bring it up to your lips and- pause, interrupted as you make eye contact with a man one balcony over. He’s older, a well-rounded gut fit into a light blue shirt and tailored trousers. With a rolex on one wrist and set of bright white teeth smiling right at you, there’s no mistaking he belongs in one of these suites.

You wonder what he thinks of you and your frayed sweater, no jewellery on your wrists.

He nods, politely, and raises his own glass towards you. A silent cheer, a recognition that you’re both here, living life in luxury. You meet it, raise your own glass, and try to smile as brightly as him.

Then knock back your second drink and saunter back inside.

“Miss, there’s been no mistake.”

In spite of it being an excuse to hang up, you stay true to your word.

Come early noon, you’re standing within the help centre. Against all odds, accidental nap and wild goose chase upon the ship deck be damned, you’ve found what you were looking for.

Or, well, an older woman with sweet smile on her face and a squinted nametag pinned to her chest found it, pointed you in the direction of the ship’s atrium. What you’re looking for is the Purser’s Office, dear.

“See? The booking under your name lists you as part of our excelsior guests.” The desk clerk turns her screen towards you, acrylic nail pointing at your booking information. Sure enough, in bold letters, your full name accompanied by a golden badge at the end. Excelsior Status, checkmarked and approved by the cruise. “This grants you access to one of our excelsior suites and all private excelsior lounges.”

In all honesty, you’re tuning her out a little.

You don’t mean to, sincerely, but you’re just so caught up in reading both your name and excelsior suite, over and over and over again, that you forget to really listen, mind running just a few seconds behind the speed of her mouth.

When you finally process what she’s saying, all you can manage is dumbstruck look on your face and a muttered, “oh.”

Paper rustles as your hands wring, the pristine pamphlet you’d been flicking through to fill the time as she’d searched up your details now rumpled, thin white cracks of paper peaking out beneath printed ink.

“I also see that you’ve added the excelsior tour package onto your booking, though I’m willing to change that for you, if you’d prefer signing onto one of our team tours instead.” Confused by her offer, you glance down and read over the pamphlet’s title- All-Aboard Tour Trips, Fun for all the Family! “Would you like to hear what your current tour package grants you?”

“If,” as if you’ve not embarrassed yourself enough with your cluelessness towards your own booking, your voice cracks under the pressure of being used, more squeak than actual intelligible words. You swallow back the lump of shame in your throat and push through. “If you don’t mind, please. This, uh- The ticket, it was a gift, so I’m just a little out of the loop of what’s been booked for me.”

“Not at all! So, the excelsior tour package gives you access to your own private tour-guide, for all seven stops we’ll be making on this cruise!” Already, you feel a little queasy at the thought. A private tour, no one but you and some stranger. It’s not exactly your dream scenario. “Your guide’s purpose won’t just be to walk you through all the memorable sites, but to curate your visits to your liking, helping you explore foreign land with a familiar taste. Where the tours in team are restricted to allocated timeslots and a set route of sites to visit, having a private tour-guide grants you the privilege of exploring where you want, for however long you want. The private tour also provides more time for you at each stop, as your timeslot to board will be the latest available, making your whole trip less of rush and more of a thrill.”

The clerk, without a doubt in your mind, is quoting a script she’s already said hundreds of time- word for word, beat for beat. Yet her voice is animated, her smile is kind, and you admire her a little for getting through it without a single laugh at the corniness of it all.

You, however, fail the challenge, glancing off to your side and biting back a giggle that you hope she takes no note of. The last thing you want is for her to mistake the laughter as directed towards her.

Weighing your options, you nervously ask, “but, you could change me over to a team tour?”

She says of course, with a smile that doesn’t waver, and the tension in your shoulders lessens, the ice cold feeling of inconveniencing her melting away at her warmth.

Her nails clack as she types away on her keyboard. A double click and then, a hiss. She’s no longer smiling, a grimace taking it place. “I’m sorry, but all of our tours are fully booked.”

“Oh. That’s- It’s okay.”

“But, I could add you to the waiting list! If there’s any cancelations for any of the stops, you’ll be the first to know. This won’t affect your excelsior tour package, so either way you’ll have some kind of guide.”

With nothing to lose, you figure why not and let her throw your name in the metaphorical hat.

Mid-typing away, eyes glued to her screen, you watch as her brows shoot up. “Oh, while I’ve got you here, there’s one more thing. With our excelsior guides, it’s customary that they meet with you on the first night, to touch base on simple things, like your interests or any goals for this trip, and to plan out tomorrow’s official first stop, which is in Santorini. Your guide has left you this, detailing where you’ve to meet him.”

With renewed hesitation, you grab at the folded note she slips over the desk. It’s small, with half an inked fingerprint burnt into the top left corner.

As you thank her for her help and bid her goodbye, she interrupts you before you can turn to leave.

“I know private tours can seem daunting but, you’re in good hands. Joel will take care of you, he’s our top-rated guide.”

The note remains folded as long as you can control your curiosity, which appears to be only until you’re back on the deck, sun shinning directly in your eyes and forcing you to squint as you read over faded blank ink.

10 pm, the Tipsy Byson bar.

Below that, in a bolder blue ink, wear something green for me to find you, JM.

You’re awfully overdressed, and painfully aware of it.

The Tipsy Byson is nestled between the arcade and the casino, a balance of childlike shrieks harmonizing over outraged yelling of men cheated out of their hands. Brown wood lines just about every inch of the place, from the walls, to the tables, to the bar. There’s an outrageously large Stars and Stripes flag hanging on the wall, and memorabilia of all things Texas Roadhouse. The place is themed, down to the cowboy hat that sits atop the bartender’s head, and clearly everyone is aware of this, decked out in scruffed up boots and worn out denim vests.

Everyone but you, dark green silk clinging to you in the shape of a laced-back midi dress, dainty black heels tucked into the footrest of the barstool you occupy.

It’s the only green thing you brought and- wear something green for me to find you- you’d had no choice.

It was a quarter to ten when you got there, earlier than you were requested, but a gentle buzz of something shooting through your nervous system left you impatient, unable to wander the ship’s halls any longer.

It was fine, you figured, gave you a chance to get a drink, cool your nerves a little. Sticking with the theme of green, you’d yelled over the line music for a midori sour, please, and even cracked a little smile at the cute bartender.

By twenty past ten, you’re still alone, no tour-guide in sight, and your glass is empty, a sole ice-cube all that remains. You order another glass, given him another smile, and return your eyes to the entryway as you sip back the taste of the dewy melon goodness.

The doors opened, your hopes rise and- a couple walks through the door, adorably dressed in matching jackets.

Another sip.

The doors open again, this time you watch as a few women walk in, party hats and bachelorette signs dripping off them.

Half your drink, gone again.

Two, three, four more times the door opens and you watch as strangers filter in and out, pretending you don’t notice the way some of their eyes linger on you, sticking out like a sore thumb.

It’s as you throw back the last sip of your cocktail, eyes catching the time- 22:36-, that you watch a grin overtake the bartender’s face.

The door shuts with a slam, buried beneath the layers of stomping feet across the dance floor and the twang of a country song, yet you hear it all the same, twisting in the stool.

A man stands by the entry, salt-and-peppered hair a little tousled and a scowl etched into his forehead. He moves like water, slipping through the cracks in the crowded bar with minimal effort. All the while, eyes seem to follow him, the occasional head turning in his direction. He spares no glances, to anyone.

Instead, he’s staring right at you.

And heading your way, frown and all.

There’s something in his face that feels familiar, and you swear that this is not the first time you’d stared into those eyes. Broad, scruffy facial hair, his irritation as some drunk girl slams into him so palpable, you almost taste it on your tongue.

You mumble something to the bartender, a request for another drink, a parched feeling stirring in your loins.

He’s inching closer, and closer, and closer- and, only as he’s a mere three bar stools away from you, do you realise who he is.

You’re in the way.

Signore Miller.

The rude man from the airport!

God, you can’t wait to see what this is about. He must recognise you, must feel the shame licking at his wounded ego, driving him to come over, apologise, beg for forgiveness to a stranger he unnecessarily berated.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” It’s not Signore Miller that speaks, nor is it you. It’s the bartender, arms crossing over his chest, smirk widening on his face. “Thought you said last season was your last!”

“You know me,” his eyes are still glued to you, an intense stare, even as he replies. There’s so little space between you now, you manage to notice the wrinkles in his flannel shirt. You choose to ignore the fact it’s green. “Ain’t no good at stayin’ away from the things I hate.”

“Wasn’t what you were saying at the staff party last year, Mr. Blubber-face. Took two whiskeys to get you crying ‘bout how you were gonna miss the cruising life.”

Another midori sour lands your way, yet you don’t even manage a single sip of it before he’s opening his mouth.

“Well look at you, all dressed up with nowhere to go,” his eyes still pierce into your own and, this time, it is you he’s talking to.

You’d have half the mind to throw your drink on him, if it weren’t for the fact you’re too busy taking a stabilizing gulp out of it, a sweetness to counter-attack his sour persona.

“Excuse me?!” You final sputter out, face burning too hot and pride too scorned to begin to feel even more out of place.

He seems unfazed by your outrage, turning away from you to acknowledge his friend behind the bar at last. “Do me a favour, Luke, don’t give her too much to drink.” Condescending tone perfectly intact, Signore Miller doubles down on your initial impression of him: an absolute asshole. “Last thing I need is to spend all day draggin’ around some prissy hungover diva.”

The man- Luke- scoffs back a laugh, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Quit teasin’ the poor girl, ‘fore she runs for the hills and ruins your five-star rating.”

An uncomfortable feeling creeps down your spine. It’s cold and alarming, and has your straightening your back, sitting a little tenser in your seat, realization rising in you like the dawn.

It can’t be.

He can’t be-

He’s stepping all in your space, face leaning down till his mouth is at the level of your ear. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even come close to it, yet there’s goosebumps littering your arms and hairs standing at the back of your neck.

Like touching a live wire, his proximity feels electric.

“Best be on that deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’ll be dockin’ without ya.”

“Wait, you’re-”

“Joel, tourguide. At your service.” He’s pulled back, just to thrust his hand in your face. By the time you reach to shake it, he’s retracting it, that grating quirk in his lips moving higher up his cheek. “Oh, and do yourself a favour. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. Santorini ain’t the place for dainty heels like those.”

You knock back the rest of your drink moments after he leaves, only to find Luke’s already placed a fourth glass at your side.

“Our little secret,” he faux-whispers, pressing a finger to his pursed lips. “Besides, you look like you could use it.”

Signore Miller.

Joel, tourguide.

Joel Miller.

He’s already making your trip unbearable, and it’s hardly begun.

+ extra hyde. sorry if that was a little boring it was a necessary part to get the ball moving, i promise chapter two gets right into it. again, updates to this fic happen every other friday! i'm bad at describing spaces, so if anyone is curious to know what reader's suite looks like, here are some reference pics:

taglist. @auteurdelabre

#joel miller series #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut #joel miller fanfic

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parvulous-writings · 1 year ago

Note

no idea if nail polish exists in the 5e world, but it does now. how about a chill day for the companions where everyone does their nails? or is tav/durge doing the painting for everyone?

Summary: Camp has a nail day!

Warnings: Minor spoilers for Shadowheart's various arcs, same for Karlach. One swear word.

Notes: if it doesn't exist, it sure as hell does now! Also apologies that this took so long - New year is a busy time at work, and I've got a minor injury with my hand, so I'm working as fast as I can, but it's a little slower than normal!

I've included all the recruitable companions, besides Minthara, who is not included purely because I cannot accurately write for her just yet!

My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

Not my image

Time on the road where everyone is able to relax is very scarce commodity, so when it does crop up, you're always the first to suggest grabbing it by the horns and making the most out of the day - not by training, or planning your next moves, but typically with something more laid back.

You're camping close to Rivington when you get the first day-long break in weeks, so that morning you venture into town to have a quick browse of the stalls; perhaps you can find some food that will remind the various Baldurians in camp of their home? As you're starting to make your way back to camp, something catches you eye - a nail polish kit, going for quite cheap. You can hardly restrain yourself from buying it- you already know that it will bring a lot of much needed joy into camp.

Astarion is quite intrigued when you announce the spoils you've returned with. For too long he's craved petty vanity again; and even if he can only get it from painting his nails, he's willing to grasp at that chance. "What's this?" He hums, peering over your shoulder, trying to get a good look at all the colours that the kit contains, as well as the equipment. The first thing he does, given the chance, is start tending to his nails - cleaning under them, pushing back the cuticles, trimming and filing them into shape, the works. He spares no time making sure that everything is as he envisions. Sure, the colours he eventually settles on may not match the rest of his armour, but his new manicure matches his more comfortable clothes, so that's good enough for him.

Gale is... Unsure if this is the right kind of thing for your journey. "We have many more pressing matters to worry about, besides our appearances." He practically grumbles to you. "Might I suggest actually focusing on planning our next move?" It doesn't actually take a lot to convince him to sit down and let him do one hand of nails on him. You paint his nails a lovely shade of dark navy blue, which looks black in the shade, but blue when hit by light. You start speckling dots of white here and there to make them mirror the night sky, when Gale tells you he'd like to do his other hand himself. Of course, you let him, and about twenty minutes later, he's back to proudly show you his work. It's a lot shakier than the side you had done, but he looks so proud of himself for being able to emulate your skill even a little bit, you don't even nitpick in a teasing way. When it inevitably starts to chip away, he's absolutely devastated, but doesn't say anything until you all get an opportunity to rest properly again.

Justiciar!Shadowheart instantly dives for the black varnish. Nothing more, and nothing else. She doesn't dwell on it, but in some vain way, she feels like she's carrying a part of her goddess' revered darkness with her, even if it will chip away eventually. That just reminds her that everything on this plane is fleeting, and finite, always eventually consumed by loss. Selunite!Shadowheart adds a little more colour to her nails - dots of white, or purple are incorporated, intricate little designs that pay homeage to both her life as a Sharran, and her family heritage as Selunites. She takes great pride in the designs she makes, and often spends a very long time making sure that they are just like how she imagines in her head.

Lae'zel doesn't particularly like painting her nails - she feels it takes away from her aura of formidable warrior. She will, however, sharpen her nails on a regular basis - just as a back-up plan if she loses her weapon, or perhaps gets caught by surprise and needs to scratch out some eyeballs.

Karlach pre-upgrade loves to watch you do your nails. As in, she will actively sulk if you don't let her watch, or have some tiny level of input. She'll huff and pout, but eventually goes to sit elsewhere with a quiet "fine, whatever.." Post-upgrade Karlach is so eager to have her nails done, she's bouncing back and forth on her feet. She can't decide on a single colours - especially not by herself. "They all look so pretty!" She exclaims, waving her hands about in glee. So, unable to make a decision, she takes her favourite colours, and has all of them on her fingers - repeating a similar process on her toes with her second favourite colours. "This is the best thing we have ever done! ... Besides beating the shit out of Thorm... so, the second best thing!"

Wyll tidies his nails - similar to Astarion. He wants them to be a much nicer shape than they have been up to this point - makeshift files had not been too kind on his nails, and he was tired of catching them on things. He takes great care in shaping them and removing any chips or quicks - it's an activity he takes great pride in, and he'll happily do the same for you if you ask him to! As for colour, Wyll likes to go for a clear coat, purely for protecting his nails; though he has been known to paint his nails black, for dramatic effect. He loves his nails - not to the point that he preens them at any given moment, but enough to give them the time and care they need to keep healthy.

Halsin doesn't particularly like the idea of polish. Sure, it looks pretty, but he'd rather not wear it himself - there are other ways, he's found, that you can change the colour of your nails. (When you ask him what he means, or even to just elaborate a little bit more on how he knows this, he simply replies with "I once had a... Somewhat rebellious streak in my youth.") So it's likely that the only thing that he uses in this particular kit is the file and buffer - which looks absolutely tiny in his hands, it's quite funny.

Minsc doesn't do his own nails - at all. He won't even file them, he just either bites them or they snap off (usually it's the former). Instead, he takes care of Boo's claws. "Now, now, my friend. Do not call me strange - if I do not care for Boo's mighty claws, then who will? The paws of justice must be well cared for!" Insists that every few days he must re-file and re-buff Boo's nails, and will not take no for an answer. He also tries to convince you that Boo is trying to tell you the same, but by the way the little rodent's head shakes when he sits on Minsc's shoulder tells you otherwise.

Jaheira almost laughs when you suggest doing her nails. She wants to them herself, but, eventually she does ask you to help her. "It seems I'm a little out of practice.." She chuckles. "Perhaps some company wouldn't be so bad... If your offer still stands, of course." She LOVES having green nails. Sage green is her favourite, but she likes all of them really. Sometimes, if she's feeling particularly happy, she'll let you paint little golden leaves on her thumb - but that can be a rare occasion, because she doesn't want such skill to always go to waste.

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thetorturedbuckydepartment · 7 months ago

Text

chapter four: who else decodes you?

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER THREE: IN THE BLINK OF A CRINKLING EYE

warnings: language, self doubt, self deprecation, mentions of Bucky’s past, allusions to sex and masturbation, talks about fatphobia and internalised fatphobia

word count: 3.5k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000

A/N: ALRIGHT we are so back! this was one of my fave chapters to write omg hope u guys like it too -- there's a lot of mixed feelings in this one. as always, please let me know if you want to be added to a taglist and any thoughts by liking / commenting / reblogging! it really makes my day! :)

You quickly run your hands through your hair to tame the flyaways that have magically appeared as you wait for Bucky to open the door. When he does, he leans against the doorframe, eyes taking in your outfit.

“Are you ready to go?” You ask, pointing a thumb behind you and adjusting the maroon purse on your shoulder. Steve’s asked you to come along to drinks tonight at some bar downtown, and you struggled for a few hours with what to wear and ultimately decided on the shirt Bucky had given you the other night while drunk tucked into some comfy flared dark red denim jeans and layered with a loose, translucent shirt in black. Golden hoops adorn your ears, and your favourite necklace (your initial in a swirling golden font) swings from your neck.

You decided to keep the makeup light, not knowing how shitfaced you’re all going to be getting, and you certainly did not plan to be the designated driver tonight. A cherry red stain adores your lips, and Bucky can’t look away. He is entranced at the way you are wrapped in his favourite colour, wearing his shirt, and smiling like you are a galaxy, and he is a mere enamoured astronomer, eager to explore.

Eager to explore indeed. The curve of your hips and swell of your breasts entice him, and he’s so close to extending a hand and pulling you into him, letting the both of you getting lost to time and space and anything that isn’t the two of you. There is nothing more he wants than to kiss you so hard the red from your lips is the imprint of his, not another product you put on as a part of your pedantic routine. He wants there to be a splash of purple to your attire, on your neck and in places nobody else can see because he feels the feral urge to mark you as his, and he stands there, drowning in his lust. It clings to him like a second skin, sticky and unavoidable, and you, none the wiser, pout to get his attention.

What can he do? He’s eternally curious about you. He wants to know what it feels like to have you on his lap, mouth so close he can taste your kiss and swallow your moans as he makes you feel so good. He wants to know what you sound like, what you look like. Do your eyes roll back or do you flutter them closed? Does your voice drop a few octaves when you inch closer to that high or do you go completely silent, letting the pleasure take over? All he knows is that he might die if he doesn’t get to look into your opal eyes when he comes undone himself, because how is he supposed to resist the goddess of temptation painting herself all over your skin?

And you’re so painfully unaware.

But alas, he knows why you’re so decked up, and deep down he’s hurt that it’s not for him. You blink at him a couple times, seeing as he’s yet to respond.

God, does he have to look so good tonight? Even in sweatpants? How the fuck am I going to survive being a few shots deep in front of him? You think, your heart speeding up.

“Hello, Earth to Bucky. Is everything okay?” You tilt your head a little to the side, meeting his bright blue eyes. He shakes out of his stupor and clears his throat, appearing downcast. You can tell the next words out of his mouth are not what either of you want to hear.

“I’m not going.” He omits certain details of the outing on purpose, knowing Steve’s intentions. In fact, Steve’s been talking his ear off about you ever since you got to know the both of them. He’s sick of it. But he thinks that Steve is a good match for you — an Avenger, a man without a sordid past that haunts him, and certainly nobody on the streets will hug their children tighter to them at the sight of Captain America. He is a hero amongst men, the very antithesis of Bucky.

He’s never said it out loud to you, because every second he boards that metaphorical train, you always do your best to take him back off it. You always talk him down, telling him he’s just as much of a saviour as anyone else on the Avengers team. He’s just as worthy, but deep down he fears it. The day of the invisible flip switch, when you hear more and more about what he did as the Winter Soldier, and you’ll grow to resent him. Resent the evils he’s birthed on this Earth in the past few decades, his cold-cut cruelty. You always tell him it’s not his fault, that it wasn’t him, not the Bucky standing in front of you right now. But why does he have these memories? These nightmares of ruthlessly killing everything that was deemed an obstacle to the mission drilled into his head.

So how can he be so selfish, as to deny the sweetest, warmest, kindest woman he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing, a man who truly deserves you? How can he be so selfish as to trap you with all his baggage, making you hold your love over your head in outstanding devotion, all because he craves your touch?

There was a before you, and there is an after you. There is no reconciliation of the two parts of him, there is no going back. But adaptation is essential, and he is a master of it.

“What? How come? Are you feeling alright, Buck?” You press the back of your hand to his forehead like a super soldier can catch a cold. His skin is warmer than usual, but you somehow miss how he’s blushing because of you. And your touch.

Bucky could swear up and down that it’s the cure to every fucking ailment in the whole world and every version of it. All it takes is one brush of your skin against his and all his worries disappear. Even as you embark on a date with Steve, for a split second, he could swear it’ll be you and him, one day. Someday.

Warmth floods his soul when you bite your lip. “You’re running a bit hotter than usual…you sure you’re okay? I can cancel on Steve, I’m pretty sure I only got an invite because of you anyway. We can—“

“No!” Bucky all but shouts, startling you. You retract your hand an inch, wondering if you’ve offended him. “No, I— I’ll be fine. I think my room’s just warm. You go, have fun tonight, okay? I mean it. You work too hard, doll. You need a break every now and then.” You smile, so sweetly Bucky almost feels like he’s about to become a puddle on the floor.

“Call me, though? And if you’re staying behind I guess I’ll tell you where I’m going. It’s this bar called The Lover, it’s about a ten-minute drive away from here. Just to be safe. But call me if you feel unwell, okay? I come right here, to you.” And that accent.

Bucky’s never considered him to have a penchant for certain ways of speaking, but your charming English accent has him absolutely feral. He’s never heard his name said like this before, with such an infatuating lilt. He’ll do anything if you ask. Walk to the ends of the Earth, kill everyone you dislike. He’d do it, happily and madly. If you keep saying his name like that.

Every day, it’s getting harder and harder for him to hide his infatuation with you. Especially when he hears you at night, all by yourself. A low buzzing, a quiet murmur of something he’s certain is his name passes your lips, and he’s fucking losing it. He’s always fucking losing it at night, he’s surprised all he did was sleep that night he got drunk and you were with him. In his bed, right next to him. Chest rising and falling, breaths leaving you so sweetly. He doesn’t remember most of what transpired between you two that night, but he knows it was the best sleep of his life. To hear your heart, to feel the expansion and collapse of your thoracic cavity, it gave him peace, it quietened the nightmares, filling his head with frivolous dreams of you. Running through a field of flowers the colour of your eyes, in a beautiful sundress. Maybe it was a picnic, who knows. All he knows is he wants it. He will get on his hands and knees and beg like a pathetic man for it, to feel that stability and sense again.

Your hands had been so warm, gripping on tightly to his vibranium arm like it doesn’t bother you. You always do that, after the initial awkwardness between you two had dissipated. You told him that you were nervous, unsure of how he feels about people touching it. You’d asked him. You’ve shown him a level of pride and respect he hasn’t felt from anyone new since the ‘40s — asking for his permission and ridiculous questions like if it’s waterproof.

He’s completely fucked. Utterly, and thoroughly fucked. To your face he simply nods, wrapping you in a hug and then letting you go, rather reluctantly, hands trailing around your waist. He doesn’t miss the effect it has on you, hearing your tiny sharp inhale brings all the life back into his body.

It’s a small, wordless declaration of reciprocity.

He takes it.

He thinks about it for the next two hours, lying in bed and unable to sleep. What if you need him? What if he’s fast asleep and his nightmares leave him so disoriented that he can’t come to you? He doesn’t know how drunk you are. Maybe Steve’s messily making out with you in the alleyway, hands trailing all over you. Maybe you’re clutching him to you twice as hard, hiking your thigh around his waist and letting him—

A knock on his door jolts him. Friday informs him it’s you, and he jumps out of bed and almost trips on his way to the entrance. You’re here. That means your night doesn’t end with Steve. It doesn’t have to end with him, but you’re not into Steve. Or maybe it was the best two hours of your life, and you’re here to spill all the details to him, because he supposes you two are the best of friends.

“Hey,” he smiles casually, trying to not let his emotions show. But you seem so confused and lost in thought, that it answers every question, every doubt in his head.

You may not like him, but you don’t like Steve.

“Did you know it was a date?” You stare at him straight in the eye, looking one precariously placed sentence away from your heart breaking. Your arms are crossed and your lip stain almost completely gone. But to him, you’ve never looked more beautiful. But he’ll probably think it again, once you’re in your pyjamas. And again tomorrow.

“Yes. He’s been going on about it for about a week or so, now. He finally plucked up the courage to tell you, to ask you out, I suppose. Did he do anything stupid?” You take another step forward, and another, pushing Bucky back into his room, trying to keep distance. If it closes, he’ll kiss you. He won’t be able to resist, especially not after you just lick your lips to wet them.

“Buck, be honest with me. Was it a bet…or a dare?” You search his eyes, begging for the naked truth, no matter what damage it could do to you. He sees yours fill with tears, and his heart aches in tandem with your own. He’s desperate to rid of you of those horrible feelings, knowing the toxic weeds that spring forth from the seed of misunderstanding. He just has to get to you before the first rain of heartbreak season.

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous, we’re grown men. We aren’t sitting around making bets on people, especially not so cruelly. If we ever did, I give you full permission to shoot all of us, and rip my other arm off without any anaesthesia. I promise, there was nothing else involved. Steve’s interested, he wanted to ask you out on a date, he did.” You look down and nod, and he wishes you’d meet his eyes again. You’ve grown so confident in doing that, and he’s become addicted. There is a drug called You, and it courses through his veins 24/7. It’s a wonderful, gold rush, but with it comes a maroon pain awaiting to embrace him when the highs fade, in moments like this. When you stand between his warm hands so unsure, as if there’s any place Bucky can fathom being that isn’t here with you.

“Okay. Sorry, I know you guys aren’t like that…but I can never be sure.”

Bucky nods, remembering the horror story that was your first ex-partner, who had only been using you to make them a quick penny. “So what happened? If you’re comfortable sharing, of course.” He pries. He wants to know. Why you’re here, when you could be in Steve’s bed, the both of you lost and entangled in a haze of lust and longing. He wants to know if you’ll admit it, confess like your knee-jerk reaction did to him a few hours ago. The same something bubbles in both of your chests, and even though he knows he shouldn’t do it to you, all he wants is you. All he could ever want is you.

“Well… I got there. I asked where everyone else was, because I was under the impression it was a group thing that I was invited to, because we’re so close. He said it was just the two of us, and it was a bit awkward, but I pushed past it. We talked for a while, and he’s really funny. I laughed loads, I had a couple of drinks. Then at the end of the night, he kissed me.” You stare at Bucky’s lips as you say that last part, because they were the only thing in your mind when it happened. You want to feel his lips on yours, not anyone else’s. That’s one thing that’s been made crystal clear to you. “And it was…strange. He’s not bad at it— I just didn’t expect it, and then I rejected him. Nobody popped out to say it was a prank, though I suspect someone saw us and it’ll probably be all over the internet tomorrow. He was nice about it, and then we both came home. Separately. I’ve just been feeling strange about it, so I came to talk to you. I just wanted to know. Thank you for being honest.” You smile, finally letting your shoulders relax and the breath of agitation leave you.

“You look so pretty tonight,” he all but whispers, brushing a strand of hair back from your face, cupping your cheek.

“How come you never dress up this much when we go anywhere? I’m not complaining, you’re beautiful either way, but it must feel nice.” His thumb strokes against your carefully placed blush and highlighter as you lean into him, faces so close that any distance left burns away at the both of you. Of course, you just assume it’s all one-sided as it often has been in your past, so you keep yourself under tight lock and key. You cannot even begin to imagine the types of feelings he harbours for you, and the way they are a twin flame to your own heart. Even the muscles in your chest are identical, beating away for the other, as if every blood cell that enters and leaves is inscribed with the other’s name. You wouldn’t have it any other way, too swept up in red rose of now to think about the bed of thorns that awaits in the future.

“Well you don’t make me feel like I need to. Not that the others do, but all my life, I’ve just…” You hesitate for a split second, wondering if you should be saying this, but then remember it’s Bucky. The one person you know for sure isn’t going to make you feel stupid for what leaves your mouth. “I’ve always felt that I need to stay performing. Wear makeup, make sure my hair is always neat and styled right, that my clothes are orchestrated and not just the first thing I throw on in the morning, because God forbid people think I’m lazy. Then they’ll think that’s the reason I look the way I am — because I’m lazy and have no desire to change. And then they write me off as disgusting, and nobody likes me. Nobody will bother to understand all my various ailments and limitations, or my genetic makeup that’s made me the way I am.

“You don’t make me feel like that, like to exist is a performance that I have to put on in front of you. I feel like I can just be, because you understand me. It might sound silly, but it feels like my brain is completely and intricately encrypted, and you’re the only one who knows how to decode me. Plus, you didn’t run away after I told you about the sex scandal I left behind in England, or treat me any different. That’s a bonus. I quite like you, you know.” You smile yet again, after your confession, tilting your head in adoration. And then, you see it. His gaze flicks to your lips, and in that moment, you know. You know that this may not be as one-sided as once thought, that there is someone else who is interested in you, in that romantic way you’ve been conditioned to crave.

“One more question.” Bucky is fighting for his life to not kiss you, eyes on your lips as you speak, barely processing what you’re truly saying. And how can you deny that? When you’re alone, in your room, with nothing but an ache between your legs and a memory of the one man who truly understands your machinery, you imagine his face lovestruck with desire. And you see it, painted clear as day. There is desire. There is something.

But you’ve sworn to yourself to never make the first move again, to save yourself unnecessary disappointment and ridicule. If there’s one thing that has been made obvious tonight, it’s the fact that whatever is here, is shared. If it is a fire, he is the match and you are the spark. If it is a magnet, he is the magnetic field and you are the iron. He knows it in your tiny inhale, you know it in his tiny treacherous stare at the parts of your body you would’ve deemed unattractive.

But he must become bolder, and braver. You sense something, but you feel that it may not be something great. You are no stranger to this either, your personality entices and intrigues, but your looks seem to never be able to keep them around.

You wonder if this will be a short fling, where he looks at you one day and decides you’re better off as just friends. Because after all, you could be the sweetest person on Earth, but that doesn’t change men’s hungry eyes, or their lack of appetite when they pass over you. So, you decide to keep it to yourself. You’ll stoke the small flames, but should not expect a bonfire. You should be realistic.

Bucky is beautiful. You’re sure several SHIELD agents have their eye on him, and all of them are ten times more gorgeous than you could ever dream to be. So why would he want you? When he could have anyone he wants — why pick you? There’s nothing you could give him that someone prettier couldn’t. You push the negative thought away, pulling yourself back into this conversation you’re having with him.

Wants and needs can be tended to later.

You nod, urging him on. “Why don’t you like Steve? He’s, like, the poster boy of the perfect man.” He’s everything I’m not, Bucky thinks. He’s not you, you scream in your head.

Your smile evolves into a shit-eating grin, hellbent on teasing him, and you’re desperate to push the negative thoughts away. Bucky’s affections for you may last a week, but you sure as hell are going to enjoy all of that extra attention, and it seems a ghost of confidence has temporarily possessed you.

You bite your lip before replying.

“I prefer brunettes.”

NEXT PART

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #x plus size reader #marvel

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afyrian · 2 months ago

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ch. 1 - corner of my mouth m.list

taking in a deep breath, you wipe your hands against your apron, the clay smudging against the canvas fabric. the floral design covered by the clay and slip smudged against your hands. looking down at the creation you've made, your eyes narrow. something about it seems off to you. the size, the shape, something about it doesn't seem right.

this evening has been filled with the constant uncertainty of the project. whether it was the sketching of the piece or the clay not coming to the right consistency. none of it was working out to be in your favor from the beginning to this very moment. running your tongue along your teeth, you shake your head, stepping back from the wheel.

you take a few steps back, looking at your shelves of pottery. the mix of colors and designs linger in your head, resting there are you garner inspiration. just as you start pursing your lips, the back door opens slowly, a familiar voice following, "n/n, you still awake in here? thought i'd bring you some dinner-"

osamu walks in with a smile on his face. his sentence cutting short when he sees you standing in the middle of your studio. you have papers strewn about your counter, designs scattered throughout. and on your wheel remains an unfinished project, something osamu's seen far too many times by now.

"hi osamu.. sorry about the mess.. i don't even know what time it is, really," your shoulders raise, an adorably sweet shrug remaining on your shoulders.

it had only been a couple months since you started dating and he's already seen you at your lowest. the dead of night, clay on your face and through your hair. however, feeling mildly embarrassed by him seeing it all has not dissipated. "it's alright, but it's nearly eleven and i figured you hadn't eaten yet if you were still here. so, i brought some leftovers from the shop," he raises up a brown bag, the smile somehow staying strong.

"i have no idea what i would do without you 'samu," you let out a soft sigh, one that's no longer filled with frustration.

"you'd probably keep a lot more instant ramens here than you'd care to admit," osamu raised an eyebrow, stacking some of the papers to push them off to the side and setting down the brown paper bag.

for a second, you want to punch his shoulder, but you're quickly reminded of the clay still covering your hands. watching as he pulls out containers full of delicious food. you can feel the saliva in your mouth build as the smell fills your studio, the smell of clay dissipating to the food's dominance.

staring at the food, your gaze keeps returning to the wheel. inspiration starts to build while you look at the noodles swirled together, the toppings resting perfectly atop the broth. "i have a microwave, would you mind reheating it in a minute? i have so many ideas, i need to form this clay," you look back at your boyfriend, eyes searching his.

food has always been his love language, so offering to reheat it sends a string of pain up his spine. osamu shakes his head, bringing his hands up to your face. staring into your eyes, he gives you a soft smile. "no, you don't have to reheat it. you work on your pottery and i will feed you like a greek goddess in an old painting," leaning up, he kisses your forehead.

"you don't have to do that, you're probably tired and-"

"trust me, it's okay, n/n. i am absolutely fine with helping you. besides, i can always call off work tomorrow and we can spend the day resting together," he brings his hands back, grabbing your favorite dish and some chopsticks, the wooden utensils resting comfortably in his hand.

your shoulders drop, a sense of peace rolling over you. sitting back down on your stool, your hands run up and down the piece again, taking a sponge and adding more moisture to it. osamu pulls up a stool and sits beside you, making sure he's not hovering over the piece with food resting precariously above it.

your eyes stay focused on the clay, to forming a slightly wave design. imprinting a few areas for fingers. your gaze flickers to osamu, watching as he brings the chopsticks up to your lips. opening your mouth, the umami flavor follows the soft texture of the cooked veggies, a few noodles mixed within. you want to close your eyes, savor the flavor that osamu's created for you.

and yet you try to stay focused on the process. "you like it?" osamu questions, voice low, making sure he's not interrupting your focus.

"yes, more than you know. i don't understand how someone can create something so wonderful.." you give him a smile, trying to keep your eyes on the clay despite your want to meet his gorgeous, grey eyes.

he gives you another bite of food, feeding himself in between your conversations, "you don't? when you own the most popular pottery shop in the city, you don't know how someone can create something so wonderful? i love you so much."

the moment the words leave his mouth, you fully look up from the clay. “you said it-”

“no, i didn’t… i don’t know what you’re talking about. you want some more food?” osamu shrugs, taking a bite of some onigiri.

you shake your head, biting your lip. nearly bringing your hands up to your mouth out of surprise, “no, you can not take this back. osamu miya, you said you love me. and i definitely heard it so you’re not taking it back now.”

osamu sets down the food onto your counter. letting out a sigh, he keeps his eyes on yours. there’s a nervousness running through you. no one had ever been as close to you as osamu has been. so to hear him say the very words that you’ve been thinking of since you met him, sends your heart racing. “so, let’s say i did say it. what would you say to that?”

“i’d say, i love you too,” you smile at him, hands hovering the clay, “now, could you give me some more dinner, i’m starving.”

osamu shakes his head, rolling his eyes. leaning forward, he gives you a gentle kiss on the corner of your lips. his are sweet against your’s, like he’s recently had one of the leftover desserts onigiri miya now sells. one of his hands reaches up and caresses your cheek, feeling rough against the softness of your skin. “i feel like you’re only with me for my cooking…”

“gosh, i was hoping i could last longer before you figured it out.”

a/n: so… a kneading kiss is back?? i missed writing mbb sm taglist: @causenessus @osakis-gf @eggyrocks @brkfclub @marisabel14

@bbybibi @etoiile @miyamoratsumuu @girlokarina @gsyche

@cherrypieyourface @zephestia @acowboykisser @whosmarjj @gumiiiiezzzz

@guitarstringed-scars @19calicos @savemebrazilhinata @phoenix-eclipses @theycallmenanamisgirl

@softpia @certaindreampost @miiyas @bakery-anon @nekozaki

@applepi25

#☆ a kneading kiss #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #hq #haikyuu fanfic #hq x reader #hq fanfic #osamu miya x reader #haikyuu osamu #osamu miya #miya osamu #osamu x reader #osamu miya fluff #osamu miya x y/n #osamu miya x you

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adamsmasher · 1 year ago

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Okay it's after 1am and I've had a lot of wine so obviously it's time for a late night wall-of-text post, but this time it's less likely to piss off your weird uncle or whatever because once again, I gotta talk about the best $4.99 a month I've ever spent.

Please, if you haven't yet, I'm begging you to look into all of the incredible content available on the Dropout.tv streaming service (formerly known as College Humor) . Not only did Whose Line Is It Anyway's Wayne Brady say that the Dropout crew are the only ones doing improv comedy on the same level as Whose Line, but they were also one of the only studios/streaming services allowed to work during the writers' strike because their contracts went above and beyond industry standards. (And, from my own observations, Dropout LOVES hiring queer, trans/nonbinary, and BIPOC performers + crew. Obviously I don't know much about the industry, but they seem like one of the most inclusive companies in Hollywood.)

"Alex, thanks for the recommendation! What shows do they have that you think I'll like?" Oh, you're asking me to gush about my favorite tv shows? Don't mind if I do!!!

Are you D&D curious, but took one look at actual play shows like Critical Role and thought "6 hours an episode? and there's like 750 episodes or whatever? oh baby not my adhd ass..." Don't worry, me too (sorry CR I love you I promise). But Dropout has a show called "Dimension 20" where comedians play Dungeons and Dragons with emotional, immersive storytelling, gut-busting laughs, and spectacular set design that makes you forget it's a fully improvised series controlled by the roll of the dice. They even did a miniseries perfect for D&D beginners called "Dungeons and Drag Queens" where absolute novices and Drag Race royalty Jujubee, Monet X Change, Alaska Thunderfuck, and Bob the Drag Queen embark on an adventure full of mystery, intrigue, and stupidity. I mean, Alaska plays a muscle-bound, axe-wielding, caveman-grunting Orc named Princess, what more could you want? Plus, the primary game master Brennan Lee Mulligan is so easy on the eyes. Oh, you're not into dorky ginger dudes? How about Aabria Iyengar, a 6 foot tall goddess who's equally as nerdy as Brennan but loves basketball. that's right, if nothing else, there's eye candy for every person in every season.

"Oh, why aren't there any good game shows on TV?" you wonder, wishing that the Game Show Network could come up with something that isn't a lame remake of a free-to-play phone game. Well how about Game Changer, "the only game show where the game changes every show (except for [...] Game of Games, Taskmaster, and a few others that have come to light AFTER [Game Changer first aired]. That's right, [the] players have no idea what game it is they're about to play. The only way to learn is by playing, the only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning." And yes, I did sit there and watch the beginning of an episode to make sure I was accurately quoting Game Changer host (and Dropout CEO) Sam Reich's description of his flaghship game show that has THREE separate spin-offs. (for context, he only mentions the other shows that copied his in the one episode I pulled up to get an accurate quote. could you imagine how uncomfortable it would be if he said that every episode? hah!)

Are you more of a traditional Whose Line fan? Look no further than Game Changer spin-off Make Some Noise, where contestants act out "improvisational prompts that [they have] never seen before, isn't that right contestants?" ("We won't know if we've seen them before or not until we see them!" Brennan insists every time he's on...)

You like musicals but wish they were less... ya know, scripted? Check out "Play It By Ear", a fully improvised musical! (you may be familiar with its primary cast members Jess McKenna and Zach Reino from the podcast that inspired it all, "Off Book: the Improvised Musical Podcast with Zach and Jess")

Or maybe you're more into trivia, cuz you're a total nerd like me (and every single performer that's ever appeared on dropout.tv). How about "Umm, Actually" where contestants are given an incorrect statement and have to buzz in to correct it - but you have to say "Umm, Actually" first!

Straight up, you can't go wrong on Dropout. Please, check it out. They're nearly doubling the amount of original shows they have in 2024, and no other streaming service is doing it like them. If I haven't convinced you yet, get the 7 day trial and give em a chance. There's no referral code I can give you that gives me some sort of kickback or whatever, I genuinely wrote what looks like a thousand word essay about Dropout at 1am just because I love them so much.

youtube

#dropout.tv #umm actually #dimension 20 #make some noise #game changer #brennan lee mulligan #aabria iyengar #for a late night wine-fueled rant on a broken keyboard i think this went well #actually i feel so guilty about my CR dig because i loved Exandria Calamity so much so please dont yell at me #also google said quiddie is exactly 6 feet i hope i did her justice

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goddessinnerglow · 20 days ago

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Become Your Best Version Before 2025 - Day 8

Mastering Time Management

So, remember how we talked about building better habits yesterday? Well, today let's talk about something that goes right along with that, mastering your time. Because let's be real, even the best habits need time to grow!

Can we be honest for a moment? I know you're trying so hard to fit everything in. Between work, family, trying to have a social life, and now these new habits we're building… it can feel pretty overwhelming, right?

But here's what I've seen work for so many people (and I bet it'll work for you too!). Instead of trying to squeeze more into your already busy day, it’s about finding little ways to make your time work for you, not against you. You know, like that time you spend scrolling through your phone while waiting for your coffee to brew? That could be your new mini-meditation spot!

Want to try something with me? Just grab your phone or a piece of paper. Now, let's look at your day, we're going to do a quick energy check. When do you feel most awake and ready to tackle things? Maybe it's first thing in the morning, or maybe you're a night owl who comes alive after sunset. Write down your two most energetic times of day. These are your power hours, and they're perfect for those new habits we talked about yesterday.

Next, let's look at your current schedule. But here's the twist, instead of focusing on tasks, we're focusing on gaps. Those small moments of time that often get lost watching random YouTube videos. Found them? Great! These are your potential habit homes.

Now for the fun part. Take that habit you chose yesterday and let's give it a proper time slot. Not just "sometime," but an actual appointment with yourself. Want to start reading more? Maybe that's your new 15-minute activity right after lunch. Want to exercise? Pick one of your power hours and claim it.

Here's a super practical way to make this work: Connect your new habit to something you already do every day. We call this habit stacking, and it's a game-changer. After you brush your teeth? That's meditation time. Right after you grab your morning coffee? That's when you write your to-do list.

Let's also talk about protection, your time needs it! Start using the magic word: "no." When someone asks for your time during your designated habit slot, try saying "I have a commitment then." Because guess what? A commitment to yourself is still a commitment!

Ready to make this happen? Here's your action plan for tonight:

Write down your two power hours

Spot three potential time gaps in your day

Pick one gap and assign your new habit to it

Set an alarm on your phone for this time

Put your habit supplies in plain sight (workout clothes out, book on your coffee table, journal by your bed)

And because tomorrow is a new day, here's your morning mission: When that alarm goes off, give your new habit just five minutes. Just five! It's not scary, it's not overwhelming, it's just five minutes of investing in yourself.

This isn't about perfection, it's about progress. As you implement these strategies, pay attention to what works for you and adjust accordingly. Remember, good time management supports your goals; it shouldn't feel like another burden.

See you tomorrow for Day 9 of our journey to become our best selves before 2025!

♡ ☆:.｡ Keep glowing, babes! ♡ ☆:.｡ With love, Goddess Inner Glow.

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windienine · 11 months ago

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on soul of sovereignty, ysmé the exalted, and gender presentation.

so! soulsov. soulsov and gender identity.

on my second playthrough (a livestream with friends), somebody pointed out that ysmé scanned to her as trans woman. i asked why, and we ended up in a conversation that lasted long into the night and notes for an analysis post i'd make at some inchoate point in the future.

that inchoate point is today!!

below the cut are some explorations into ysmé's character, her past, and potential intersections with gender identity. spoilers for the prelude ensue. if you're planning to play the game yourself in any capacity, i gently urge you to do that now before reading further. :)

I. YSMÉ, PRESENTATION, AND SPECTACLE

Ysmé is a practiced mage whose highly idiosyncratic use of artisanry (constructive magic) as a body mod is vital to how she chooses express herself as a person. She's out to become God and/or die trying.

We get introduced and reintroduced to Ysmé a whopping seven times throughout the prelude alone. In order, we are presented with her:

as a thief, stealing from a church,

as a sickly damsel, at the Lamplight,

as a treasure-hunter, when her guise starts to falter,

as a crazed mage, when she holds Loïc at gunpoint,

as a spooky ghost, when she is stabbed,

as a goddess, when she ascends,

and, finally, as a tired and scarred woman in the epilogue.

In many of these circumstances, how she appears to others is something she gets to dictate. Most notably, this factors into her choice to take the guise of a frail, sickly maiden` to better court the goodwill of Loïc (who she's already designated as a mark for this kind of act)

and when she later reveals her "true self" in the middle of the Hollow Temple to awe and frighten him. Here, she's in her full clowngirl glory! You can tell that she's spent time poring over every little flourish of this outfit, down to her nails matching the color of her facepaint. It's tacky, it's maximalist, it's sensual, it's a little unsettling, and boy is it everything. This is Ysmé qua Ysmé, and she makes sure you know it with the impact this one scene makes.

Even when we see her put together a look as a literal goddess, we get so much ostentatiousness that points exactly to what kind of person she wants to be seen as!

Two faces, one beneath the other, victory beneath a pulled-aside mask of tears. Fuller lips, fuller lashes behind a mask of smudged makeup. Eyes on her tatas because who the hell is there to tell her not to. She gets scene after scene where we get to see that she curates every single aspect of her appearance, and as someone who takes on many of the signifiers of a stage performer, she cares deeply about the kind of mask she chooses to wear.

Nothing here is accidental. Everything about how she genders herself is purposeful!

II. GHOST YSMÉ... (HEAVY SIGH) AND ALSO LANGLAIS'S ACCOUNT

The first time we see a version of Ysmé who isn't carefully curating her presentation using glamours, it's when she is quite literally dead. Along with wild hair and a body made of ghostly flames, she has a broader, straighter build than she had in any of her past guises (plus a gaping stab wound.)

It's our first hint that Ysmé's use of "glamour" goes beyond just a change of outfit and hairstyle. For friends more observant than I was on my first playthrough, this was the first "wait hold on is this an art style thing or is Ysmé being telegraphed as transgender, here?" moment.

There's one other named character appearing in the prelude who already has his own idea of who Ysmé is prior to the plot, and that's Langlais-- a police officer pursuing Ysmé at the behest of the Church of the Builder.

He quickly demonstrates himself to be pretty repugnant.

Regarding Ysmé's skill with artisanry, he remarks:

From context clues laid out in the wider text, "artisanry" is a magic based around weaving physical matter out of nothing. It is used in construction, art, and the production of goods, generally at a slow, measured pace, making one object at a time. Constructs made with artisanry are meant to be durable. It seems to be the main form of magic taught within the Mosaic, and its creation-based theming seems appropriate to the Builder writ large.

Ysmé's favored use of it (weaving entire new outfits and tools out of thin air, trading durability for speed and flexibility) is considered non-standard and low-brow-- "illusions" that are deceitful or childish in nature. Loïc has been mislead, he warns.

Langlais feels justified in treating Ysmé like some backyard nuisance that needs reining in and Loïc like a wuss for flinching at the sight of a gun, despite him having taken a demonstrably very real bullet from Ysmé's demonstrably very real (if spontaneously generated) handgun just the day before. It all clashes from what we've seen and the inferences we're meant to draw about how Ysmé uses magic--

however temporary, however breakable, Ysmé's "illusions" are to be taken seriously. I think that the way in which she chooses to modify herself should be included here, along with the possibility that that's not exactly an intended use case for artisanry.

In addition, when initially interrogating Loïc, he refers to Ysmé like this

implying that he believes that "Ysmé" is some sort of fake name or alias.

III. BODY DYSMORPHIA

The scene after Ysmé comes down off of her holy high and wakes up ass-naked in god-knows-where, having been assigned to do god-knows-what by the Voice of the Sovereignty, holds a lot of interesting implications for Ysmé in particular.

We get this remark from her internal narration:

Okay, so this is generally the first thing she does when she wakes up. Before doing anything else with her day, she uses artisanry to change her appearance. There are plenty of reasons why this could be the case (vanity, status as a wanted criminal, etc.), but the emphasis on it in this scene makes me believe the text is indicating that Ysmé might suffer from dysphoria and/or dysmorphia.

We get a good look at her in the very next CG, along with the one after, showing us an Ysmé with a different appearance than any of the guises we've seen before...

Ysmé, without any glamours or illusions being sustained, is an androgynous figure, akin to her ghost form. Still quite pale, still a skinny little thing, but the entire cut of her face and all of her body proportions are pretty different than, say,

any of this, in scenes where she's in full control of how she gets to look using magic.

Frankly, she looks like "mysterious elven prince" material, and it contrasts quite a bit with how she presents herself in the temple especially.

For now, I'm not going to go into any supplemental materials like the sketches and paintings featured on GG's blog, but they play with Ysmé's presentation on the regular there as well.

The conclusion I feel like I'm supposed to draw from all of this is that Ysmé is a transgender woman who uses her unique skill for artisanry to change her appearance to whatever she feels suits her. She is not necessarily comfortable being seen or seeing herself without a glamour on, but in this scene she is too spent to do anything about it.

IV. HAHA HEY GG WHERE ARE YOU GOING WITH THIS

BUT, that is not where the game ends. The prelude leaves us on a stinger.

A lone figure stands over an altar, praying to the Builder that His lost children, swayed by the Devil, may yet find their way.

The camera then pans over a figure that looks nearly identical to the Ysmé we saw a scene ago (albeit without any scars), right down to the soul-stealing blue eyes, fancy hair part, and really good clavicles. They open their eyes in response to the prayer.

So far, we've got very little context for this. It appears to take place in the same church as the opening scene where Ysmé is caught stealing, but we don't know who this person or the figure in the church is, and we don't even know if this is happening concurrently to the prior scene or if this is a flashback.

It's still of interest, I think. Something that didn't catch my eye the first time around and that I still didn't quite process until I saw the isolated CG on GG's blog:

Hey, check out that carved idol (presumably of the Builder himself?) right in the center of the goddamned church-- a familiar cut of the jaw, and a familiar hair part. Ysmé doesn't just look the part of a prince, she quite literally looks like an incarnation of the Mosaic's creator deity, who is exclusively referred to using masculine terms.

If the person in the end CG isn't Ysmé, then who is it? Why do Ysmé and this person both heavily resemble the Builder?

I could draw all sorts of conclusions about this from the text as written so far, but the one that feels most relevant here is this: if Ysmé is indeed "meant" to look like the Builder, if she was made to serve a very distinct purpose, if she was at some point meant to serve as a living vessel for His will,

wouldn't that put any decision by her to trans her gender in a very narratively relevant light?

Wouldn't that put her decision to leave the Mosaic and seek the Sovereignty in a very different light?

Wouldn't that mean that the story that she told Loïc on the way to the Hollow Temple (fleeing a religious family to serve a higher purpose-- even if it's just for herself) was technically true, after all?

If nothing else, it would put into perspective why a Church lapdog such as Langlais has been ordered to pursue her, along with a fully mobilized police unit in tow.

This pretty quickly takes a flying leap into the realm of speculation on my part, but I'm sure there's some connection between all of these similar elements and I'm interested in how it plays into Ysmé's character.

V. LOÏC, AND CONCLUSIONS

Let's jump back to that scene of Loïc and Ysmé waking up together.

None of this seems to come as much of a surprise to Loïc, who gives her the cloak off his back for modesty and regards her kindly despite the kind of day she has just put them both through. There's never any demand from him for her "real" name, no demand that she explain herself further, and certainly no shock about her appearance.

I'm inclined to agree with Loïc's read of the situation, here.

Ysmé is demonstrably a pretty poor liar. The dying ingenue act doesn't have much in the way of substance to it-- certainly not enough to buoy her through several conversations and a mutant wolf encounter with Loïc on the way to the Hollow Temple-- but the speech she gave in the forest about wanting something better for herself, a second chance away from a controlling family

struck a chord with Loïc. Despite it having been woven into her ongoing wicker basket of lies, there's a glimmer of something true, there. Ysmé wants the capital-S Sovereignty-- and lowercase-s sovereignty over her future and what she gets to make of herself.

Judging from her seeming unfamiliarity with the outside world, it might not be something she's ever had before.

None of her presentations by themselves comprise a complete snapshot of who Ysmé is as a person. However, they are different parts of the elephant, so to speak-- there is flicker of truth in each of them. After seeing several, Loïc decided that the fuller picture they form isn't one of the kind of person who would doom humanity.

He doesn't truly know her, yet, no. However, I think he has decided what he has seen of her paints a picture of a lonely, long-suffering, malcontented queer lady who, indeed, as mentioned by the pastor (?) figure in the first CG...

... has a heart. More alike to his own than different, even. In every form she's taken, she's revealed a little more about who she is and who she would like to be seen as. (For the record, I also feel like there are a few parts of the text that imply Loïc is his own flavor of trans and/or queer, but that's a much bigger leap and would deserve its own post)

I'm not sure how much all of these inferences will be backed in the final release. In Loïc's words,

Thank you for reading!

(your honor, i love her.)

#soulsov #soul of sovereignty #victor text #character analysis #ah. gender. this game is full of it.#this kind of rambles but i hope you get something out of it #<333

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kiwibirdlafayette · 3 months ago

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"what, or who exists in the darkness of the cave below the iron mine?"

little theory post/story behind this paintin i did! If ya haven't seen it yet feel free to look first and drop a cheeky rb i'd a appreciate it a ton <3

I'm convinced mumbo is doing a Lore (tm) with his magic mountain row and I'm also a really big fan of the planets/realms that make up the seasons having a pre-existing history to them (along the same lines as like Doc uncovering the prophecies in mural form in the Perimeter last season)

It kinda starts with Big Ron. I'm a really big enjoyer of the fan theory that Big Ron owns the predecessor/perhaps original Grumbot (that features in the promo for the merch store) The guy Mumbo plays in that ad spot to me isn't cMumbo himself, but is Ron, someone's who's lived on the mountain prior to the arrival of the hermits in-universe. I'm gonna come back to this

Then there's the lab. The poster Mumbo designed and showed at around 5:00 in this video was another sort of thing that spurred the idea around Jimmy, specifically the parts about human trials, preservation and the bit at the end about "soon we will be living forever." The emphasis he puts on the build about the lab spilling toxic waste onto the farmland below already tells me that these dudes are into some shady business practice, like vibes alone. I doubt they're following any sort of scientific moral code.

Then Jimmy. I'm still sort of waffling about on how he exists in the history of this universe but ultimately, him and Lizzie were both already here, maybe deities, maybe just well respected people (side note: I have a concept about Lizzie being goddess who raised Magic Mountain from the sea, hence why she's revered in the city where Joel lives but that's a whole nother post I'm not near knowledgeable enough to elaborate on just yet). Seablings? Seablings. Most important part is that Jimmy lived on Magic Mountain Row or somewhere on/in the mountain, canary already somewhat apart of him

Back to Big Ron. Like, for a guy who- focuses so much on outdated tech I find it super interesting that he has artificial intelligence, which. ok either he worked for the lab or invented proto-grumbot himself, and maybe shared that tech with the lab people. (next side note: I've seen the namemc spoilers from this morning I'm gonna assume that's lab guy Mumbo has made a skin for but for the sake of its not existent in videos yet I won't be commenting on it ok i digress back to Jimmy)

Let's say the these shady scientists are at a standstill in their process. They've got the archival tech down, but this immortality thing is hard to crack. So what do they turn to? Probably the magical being living in the town. Under the cover of night, the canary is captured. He's forced into some test tubes, feathers plucked, experimented on for who knows how long and they break him. But they get closer, and the end justifies the means. There could be others as well, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if others get looped into the mix

And then, at some point the authorities find out and these experiments are condemned. The Lab is condemned and the scientists are ordered to release the test subjects, and most of them are, but not Jimmy. He's too important. They need him kept somewhere safe to come back to. Working with Ron, and proto-Grumbot, they trap him inside a soul lantern, and in a "say anything and you're dead" kind of deal with the Boulder Bros (maybe the owners of the iron and gold mines) Jimmy's immortal soul is bound to be stuck forever in the iron mine, silenced from singing for his sister's help.

Years later, cMumbo arrives. I like playin around with the idea of it being like a Stardew-esque thing where Mumbo is either returning to a town and Ron is related to him somehow, and while living at that little house at the top, is working for Ron and running errands for the other shops, including stocking the iron shops at the mines that the shopping district developed around. But Ron gives him one clear instruction- stay in the light. Don't go past the stationary minecart at the edge of the darkness.

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

Mumbo for all that he is, heeds Ron's warning for the longest time. But like anyone curiosity starts to get the better of him. He can never tell if he's hearing things, but once in a while between the sounds of conveyor belts, and iron drills he starts to hear whispering. A faint whistle coming from the darkness beckoning him closer, to peek into what lies beyond. Talking to Jill and Bob at the oddities shop, he's able to sneak and convince a little story out of them, and after some hesitation sell him a magic soul torch, with the warning not to let anyone else see it.

On a restock run, he takes it with him secretly. And once his job is done, he makes his way deeper into the mine until he happens upon a soul lantern- a slight blue glow coming from within- sitting on a stone pedestal. Everything is telling him to turn back, that this is an awful idea. But, stupid ideas have always been his thing, and he opens the lantern, and lights it with the torch from Jill.

Pants.

The fire inside spurs to life in a roar, and he panics, dropping the soul torch at his feet, still burning a bright cyan. As he turns to run out, the canary song he hears bits of rings with a power he's never heard before and a flurry of yellow feathers fills the cavern. He makes it back into the light, frantically picking up the shulkers and stumbles into the mine elevator. He slams at the buttons as the bird calls reverb and howls through the mine, now more desperate than ever to get out. No amount of force on the carriage work, as every component of the mine machinery has hissed to a halt, acting as if possessed by something that doesn't want him to escape.

Something that needs him to understand what he's just released.

As he begins to falter dropping his head to his chest, the canary song fades into the already eerie silence, and soon all Mumbo can hear is the weight of his breathing, and the sound of his heart pounding through his ribcage. Biting at his thoughts, he shakily uses his free hand to shuffle himself back around to face the mine entrance.

The door of the lantern at the front creaks open, releasing a small bit of smoke out towards the minecart. From the darkness, a wisp of blue smoke pierces through the veil to meet the other trail of smoke. Mumbo sees a faint golden glow appear, only to realize its wings. As they come more into view, Mumbo's redstone stained eyes are met by deep brown ones that reflect the gold of their wings as a face appears in the shadows, followed by the rest of them, dressed in tattered and coal dust stained clothes. He holds out the soul lantern in his calloused right hand. The fear in the person's eyes look him down almost as if he recognizes him.

Mumbo doesn't dare speak.

And neither does the canary.

#its a little all over the place but fuck it no beta we die like men #hermitcraft #hermitcraft season 10 #fan theory #hermitcraft theory #mumbo jumbo #lafakiwi writes #lore analysis #jimmy solidarity #fic oneshot #didnt mean to write a oneshot but. here we are #disclaimer these are all my thoughts from a ramble i did on stream about two weeks ago if there are any similar ideas to other posts-#can we please be nice and its a same thought same brainwaves moment i no wanna fight ab it

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punderdome · 6 months ago

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The Fine Print

Ok, so this is the first of many things for me: this is my first fic, this is my first time writing romance (no I do not count whatever weird smut I tried to write at 13) , and I've literally never posted on Tumblr, so you're going to have to just help smooth the edges a little. I would love any amount of help, but here is my first chapter and it's a good thing it's SFW

Major edit: The exposition (Chapter 1) should read a little bit differently now and a lot clearer. Huge thanks to @bitethedevil, @a-true-neutral, and @mslanna for help with tons of different things like writing structure, POV, and tumblr in general. I was able to start many of their corrections for Chapter 2, but I went back and gave another round of polish for Chapter 1.

Read on AO3: [Chapter 1]

Synopsis:

Rapidly running out of options, Tav signing Raphael’s contract was the only way to free herself from the tadpole and defeat the Elder Brain and save her love from his eventual ruin. She should have paid closer attention to the wording of the contract before she signed it. Now, Tav gets more than she bargained for, and the devil has come to collect.

Chapter 1: The Devil's Den

The Devil’s Den. She had met with Raphael many times before but was never filled with this much dread. He was some sort of evil cambion bard, verbose but not foreboding, versed in iambic pentameter not ill-omen. He was rhymes and lullabies, cherries and sulfur. He seemed like he should be a character in a play whispering out his dastardly plans to the audience while standing on stage right.

The desperation of the Illithid voice in her mind raged and howled as she walked across the balcony to the ornate door carved with the likeness of a devil. The rage shivered down every vertebra one after the other, demanding to be heard. She refused it.

“What are we doing here?” Gale demanded. “You can’t honestly want to make a deal with the devil.”

Tav eased him gently, running her hand down the Karsite scar on his chest. “He helped Astarion understand the Rite, he might have other information at a price we’re willing to pay.” She knew what he wanted the last time they visited: the Crown of Karsus. Gale’s latest obsession.

“You know what he wants,” Gale pounced. “He wants the Crown.”

“And my Prince requires rescue.” Lae’zel reminded him firmly. “The perfumed trickster inside will provide us the means to rescue him for only a small price.”

Gale’s jaw clenched firmly. Ascension. She knew Gale thought that would solve all their problems. In his mind they would be together for eternity, wanting for nothing, infinite in power. Gale had dreamed of what Goddess that Tav would become. At night, when they lay together, he told her of his imaginings of her as the Goddess of Regrowth. The Goddess of Winter. The Goddess of Snow. She was all of these goddesses, currently residing in flesh in his mind, and he wanted her to pick one. He would trace the path of her white scales on her human form and regale her with stories of how much they would shine when she was with him in Elysium.

“This deal will only spell trouble for all of us,” Gale countered. “You will save your people from the Grand Design only to doom them further.” Tav could feel the pinpricks of the Emperor’s eager agreement to her paramour, but she did not care to remind him mentally that he never gave a shit about Lae’zel’s people or any of them at all.

Raphael’s prior deal had been tempting. They would gain the tools needed to defeat an Elder Brain and would finally be free from the looming dread. The Grand Design would be over. Raphael even promised to throw in a lavish dinner at the House of Hope at the conclusion of their adventure, allowing her band of mighty heroes to celebrate their victory in style.

Gale couldn’t ascend. Gale couldn’t have that power.

Gale couldn’t leave her.

She took a quick look behind her and saw the panic on his face. He was trying to hide it behind a mild scowl and his glorious beard. Tav knew Tara hated that beard, but she melted every time the lips within went to her neck and the bristles tickled. He quickly shook his head in warning not to knock at the door.

Tav didn’t want to lie to Gale, but she knew the terrible row they would have if she told him the truth. She had come to read Raphael’s deal, and likely, sign. Their terrible predicament would have a path to resolution. A path to redemption , Raphael had called it. Forceful eviction of their other tenant. She had purposely left Wyll and Karlach back at camp, knowing how disapproving they would be of what was about to occur. She wanted to have left Gale back as well, but he forcefully demanded that wherever his beloved went, so he too would go. So, she reluctantly agreed to drag him along to a meeting that would break his heart and destroy his dreams. The dread pooled deeply in her abdomen. This was the only way to be free of the tadpole - or it was the only way that relieved the guilt at her lack of faith.

Lae’zel stood proud, eager for her to knock on the door and grant her the path to Prince Orpheus’s freedom. When Tav hesitated, she urged her on. Enter. Go.

Tav could feel the sweat on her palms. She took a deep breath and whispered silently to herself. You know Infernal. He won’t be able to trick you with hidden loopholes. She researched Cania and Hellfire magic at the university, though sorceresses were often not accepted in academic circles. Her research was about to be put into practical use, though she wished the stakes weren't so high.

Gale’s face had drifted from furious into stony. His rage had hidden but not extinguished behind his eyes. He knew they were there about the Crown, despite whatever story she tried to tell him.

Tav ignored his gaze and placed three firm knocks on the door.

She had to do it. Gale would just have to deal with the consequences.

“Come in,” the deep voice purred from behind the door. Tav opened it and entered.

“Ah, my most cherished client.” Raphael’s face was smug. He was wearing his human guise and gave a grand gesture of welcoming with a smile. “Please, please, come partake of the Devil’s Den where we have no shortage of sins to enjoy.”

Raphael strode to his desk, crossing his legs as he lounged in an ornate chair behind it. He gestured again to three ornate chairs opposite him. Tav seated herself in the center, but both Gale and Lae’zel elected to stand.

“Now tell me,” he purred. “What can I do for my most favored client?” He cocked a brow and leaned back, relaxing into the silence.

Tav wasn’t going to be put on the back foot so early into a negotiation. She leaned forward and rested her head in her hands. “I thought you always claimed to be a good host.” Raphael’s eyes narrowed before widening again with a smirk. He snapped and a bottle of wine appeared with four goblets. He waved and a mage hand poured and served each glass. Tav took hers but the the mage hand had to leave the other two in front of Gale and Lae'zel. Tav and Raphael each took sips from their own goblets, but the ones before the other two were left deliberately untouched.

“I imagine you are not just the famished coming to feast, but there is a reason you have come knocking at my door.” Raphael countered, now that his abilities as host could not be challenged.

“We have come to deal,” Lae’zel finished for her. “We have come to negotiate for the Orphic Hammer.” Raphael’s brow lifted quickly and his smug smirk brightened. Tav stiffened, and she thought she could audibly hear Gale turn to her in betrayal and anger. What she had wanted to hide from him was now completely out in the open. She was going to accept the devil's deal. Tav tilted her head slightly to Gale and saw his face completely red and his hands shaking. His eyes were forced closed. Tav winced at how much this must be hurting him.

“Aha!” Raphael exclaimed triumphantly. “Are you now?” His voice held a cocky musicality. He always knew they would come knocking at his door, and as much as it hurt to admit it, he was always right.

“Yes, Devil. We have come to negotiate for the Orphic Hammer," Lae'zel repeated, becoming more annoyed and impatient at Raphael's lazy interactions.

Raphael turned to Tav directly, still holding her goblet and asked again. “You are the only one with whom I wish to make a deal. Are you here to make a deal with me?” Smugness radiated off of him. Tav paused, and Lae’zel gave her a look that was surely going to result in Gith expletives if Tav wasn’t forthcoming.

She swallowed and refused to look back at Gale who was likely trying to summon multiple Scorching Rays into the back of her skull.

“Yes, Raphael, I am here to make a deal for the Orphic Hammer.” Tav spoke plainly, knowing that any attempts at subterfuge would result in a much more complicated contract to read when the actual signing came.

Gale immediately stiffened, and she knew she there was no way to deny that she had lied to him on several occasions. She knew him well enough to understand that his fears were contorting and consolidating into a verbose rage that probably would require a dictionary the morning hence. He stormed out of the Devil’s Den to return to camp without another word spoken between them. Tav hadn’t wanted him to be here for this, and she felt a heavy pang of sadness that he had decided to join.

“My Little Mouse,” Raphael started, the excitement in his voice palpable. “Then I believe we should get started with the contract I prepared.” He snapped his fingers and a pitch black piece of parchment appeared in his hands. Even in his human guise, his grin widened and his eyes glowed. Tav felt like she could feel flickers of his cambion gaze break through his glamor. He handed her a document aglow with the fiery runes of an Infernal contract.

“I had this prepared for you, in hopes you would return.” Raphael rolled up the scroll and passed it to her. She unfurled it, starting to read the runes within. The infernal script danced in front of her as she tried to parse its meaning, but this wasn’t her first time reading and translating Infernal language. She rolled it out fully over the desk to get a better scope of what legalese awaited her. Raphael leaned over, amused at her reading. Her fingers traced firmly over the runes, reviewing the translations.

“Do you require assistance?” Raphael taunted. He leaned back in his chair again, waiting for a reply.

“No.” She didn’t need his help. He would have demanded additional clauses if she agreed to any additional services. Raphael would never do anything for free. The devil always received what was owed to him.

Lae’zel was waiting eagerly but impatiently. Her armored boot tapped against the wood floors of the Devil’s Den. Tap. Tap. Tap. Orpheus. Tap. That energy seemed to radiate from her impatience.

Tav blinked and took a deep breath, hoping Raphael wouldn’t notice the momentary lapse of focus. His brow raised slightly, before he relaxed again, appearing disinterested. The language was intentionally complex, written to confuse rather than educate. She took her time and traced each rune. She occasionally sipped at her goblet while ruminating on the meaning held within the runes. They were sharp and jagged and angular - nothing like her Common language writing which was looping and gentle. As with all Infernal text, the true meaning was held deeply within.

Raphael’s smile widened as she persisted. His Mouse was a clever one.

“Shall I translate?” Raphael taunted. They both knew that he had to be honest in their dealings, but every moment of weakness would set her back some sort of irrational and irritating demand of his.

“Raphael, I am only taking my time.” Tav breathed in and out deeply, internally trying to regain some sense of control over the accursed document while remaining calm in front of the accursed devil. The distracting foot taps from her Githyanki colleague were not helping.

“Of course, my dearest Mouse, we have all the time of the Hells.” Raphael sat back and continued to drink his wine. He studied her with uncomfortable concentration as she continued to read.

“Crown for Hammer… Unable to invade mortal realms…” Tav started to roughly translate aloud as she read her contract. Raphael raised an eyebrow but didn’t say another word as her monologue continued. “Soul collateral… Tavara Aureum.” Tav looked him straight in the eye, though she was numb from so much horrible legal writing. “Why just my soul?”

Raphael checked his nails uninterested in her question. “Why would I want the others?”

“Are they safe from you if I fail?” Tav responded nervously. The Little Mouse was fatigued and nervous, and Raphael found this state delightful.

“Would you like them to be collateral, my darling?” he responded again, still uninterested in her concerns.

“No,” Tav responded firmly. Lae’zel gave an affectionate and approving noise, though it seemed more like a tut than a hum.

“Very well.” Raphael finished falsely examining his nails and continued to watch his favorite client read. She paused at the bottom of a page on some sort of footnote referencing an appendix. Oh Gods, how many appendices did he include?

“Something wrong?” Raphael challenged. The Mouse bit.

“No,” Tav fought back. She thought back to all of her wizard colleagues who disregarded her because of her innate sorceress gifts of winter and storms. Ignorant sorceresses could not study Hellfire. Dragon Children were too spoiled to be able to truly understand Hellfire. Raphael clearly believed in the same fashion that Little Mousies could not understand his writing.

There was one clause that caused a multitude of rereadings. She had a hard time deciphering it and didn’t know its meaning. “Pater….” she almost tried to sound it out, the rest of the word huddled in her chest, locked in ice. “Pater…” she repeated again. It was part of a line, a subclause for Raphael’s duties to her. He had agreed to protect her something something pater something.

Tav could do this by herself, and she definitely didn't want his help. He was not going to translate, and he was not going to read it to her like she was a child.

Raphael watched her intently. Lae’zel’s foot tapped impatiently.

“Give me the quill, I’m ready to sign,” she declared triumphantly.

Wordlessly and with an unreadable expression, Raphael handed her a quill and ink. Lae’zel’s eyes burned through her as she signed the contract. The resident devil clasped his hands in joy before snapping and handing Lae’zel the Orphic Hammer.

“Thank you,” Tav deadpanned, fatigued and still frightened of Gale’s reaction.

“Thank you, Devil.” Lae’zel didn’t bother waiting for a response before heading back to camp. She was out of earshot before Raphael responded to her. Delight was a new look on his face that she had never seen before.

“You are most welcome, my Lady.”

*****

When she returned to Gale at camp, he was hiding: fuming in his tent. Tav approached him, hoping she could lure him forth so they could speak.

“Gale, please come out. I want to talk,” she pleaded quietly, so the entire camp couldn’t hear her.

“You didn’t want to talk before, and I certainly don’t want to talk now,” He bit back angrily. She paused, sadness biting at her and a horrible feeling of tension lay beneath her sternum.

“Please, Gale. Please talk to me.” Her voice became lower, and before she realized it, she was softly begging him to leave his tent or welcome her inside.

The reply became short and stiff. “There is nothing for us to talk about.”

“Gale…” she took a sharp breath. “I did it for you.”

Incensed, he sharply stood up and ripped the tent flap open to stare at her in the face. Fat tears were rolling down her cheeks and her look pleading. Mocking, he raised his voice so everyone could hear him. “For me? You threw away everything that I wanted and dreamed of. You discarded all of my gifts and all of my ambitions for what ?” His voice was now a shout, emphasizing his final question. All of her companions in the camp turned to stare at the two of them.

“Prince Orpheus!” Tav could hear Lae’zel call from behind her. Gale’s face became red and angry. He was obviously not expecting a third party to intrude.

“My love,” Tav pleaded, her voice missing the any confidence she might have had at her negotiations with the devil. The confident, competent front she wore meeting with Raphael had eroded, leaving behind only a weak vulnerability. Tears continued to fall, freezing on her cheekbones when they hit patches of scales.

“Do not call me your love. I gave, and I promised. You took, and you keep taking. You stole godhood from us, Tav. We could have been together for eternity.”

“Gale, Mystra would have ended you. I couldn’t let her hurt you.”

“Why will I never be good enough for you?” Gale challenged. He prodded his finger at her, which lightly struck the sensitive patch of scales on her chest that mirrored his own scar from the Orb of Karsus.

“You were always more than enough…” Tav continued to cry, but her pleas went unheard. Gale’s face became red again and he turned away quickly.

“I will help you defeat the Elder Brain, but then I never want to see you again, Tavara Aureum.” He threw his hands up in a grand gesture of exasperation. “I’ve wasted too much of my energies on you. We will get rid of these tadpoles, and then that’s the end of us.”

“Gale… Waterdeep…” Tav started to wail. Some sort of dam inside her broke, her magic swirled angry and chaotic. Her fingers crusted with ice that she could no longer control.

“When all of this is over, I am going back to Waterdeep. You are not coming with me.”

Gale retreated back into his tent, closing the flap with an unmistakable huff. Tav slowly retreated back into her tent, gingerly closed the flap, and lay motionless on her side for some time. Long after the darkness was heavy in the sky, she continued to cry hail on her pillow.

#raphael x tav #bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 the fine print

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pearlywritings · 2 years ago

Text

Behind the wall of falling snow we love

synopsis: Pierro is a mysterious man, the kind that guards his secrets well. One of them is being you, his lovely wife, his heart, his everlasting lover. And tonight he is finally stealing you from your duties and bringing you to his residence where you can drop the masks you wear for the people of Snezhnaya and be just a married couple.

pairing: Pierro x fem!reader

tw: smut, established relationship, immortal lovers (you and Pierro are Khaenri’ahns), religious themes, sliiiight a/b/o feature, oral, biting, unprotected sex, obviously size difference

word count: 8.1k+ words in total

author’s note: the words of prayer are actually a translated and altered from French song Ave Maria Païen from Notre Dame de Paris musical.

Ave Tsaritsa, please pardon me, if in your house I have come begging.

The Cathedral of Tsar the Saviour is a majestically built and decorated temple, having been honoring the previous Cryo Archon in the past, and now being full of prayers offered to the Tsaritsa. Today the official designation is the only reminder of in whose name it was founded, as every last piece inside and out was completely replaced with symbolism of the new deity, and Pierro personally made sure of it, solidifying her position and showing what a good and valuable asset he was.

And still is.

Ave Tsaritsa, no one ever taught me about kneeling.

Half-truth and half-lie. The people of Khaenri'ah had their ruler, to whom bowing heads and, on occasion, getting down on their knees was an etiquettish must. But they never had a god to humiliate themselves before. Even now, he doesn’t quite do so, always proudly standing akin to a frozen statue near the goddess, that is not his. Nor yours.

Ave Tsaritsa, please will you keep me from the misery, madness and fools, who rule this evil world?

That's what the purpose of the Harbingers is - enlightening the Snezhnayan people according to the wishes of Her Majesty Tsaritsa and ensuring that nothing can undermine their faith in her and push them off the intended path. Who knew that religion can be such a powerful instrument? Too bad it ended up in his and your hands. Of that he also made sure.

Ave Tsaritsa, I'm a stranger and you're my last recourse.

You were strangers to this snowy land; weakened and exhausted by the curse were your bodies the first time you ever saw your future salvation. Back then the kindness in her eyes wasn’t hidden behind a veil, and the heart, not yet frozen, tightened at the display of your tightly intertwined fingers, the stubborn desire not to let go of each other’s hand touched the deepest parts of her immortal soul. Nowadays Pierro may call it a memory that’ll never be proven existent, because the only person capable of telling it has locked herself in the Zapolyarny Palace, rarely appearing in front of anyone, and The Jester, despite the folly of his code name, is not an idiot to go and flaunt around about his dear one.

Ave Tsaritsa, please can't you hear me? Please take down all these walls between us. We all should be as one.

A wall between a follower and an Archon…foolish to try and break it. But the Cryo Archon heeds as she is fond of your singing, and you can hardly call yourself her follower, having willingly become an instrument in the silver-haired wise and cunning man’s hands. You became the holy wonder of Snezhnaya - a maiden, who hasn’t grown older a day over the centuries, and many generations came to witness your divine service and had your voice stuck in their minds, piercing their very souls. And the man could claim with certainty - you were loved by the people.

Ave Tsaritsa, please watch over my life night and day.

She really doesn’t, but Snezhnayans do, however it was by your wish and with your consent, that he put you before so many watchful eyes, and the Archon’s ones as well. But then again, if you want to hide something precious, you should put it right before the seeker’s nose. He made you adored, he secured your safety with the right deeds of yours - all Abyss would break loose if something happened to their cherished high priestess and no one would like to incur the wrath of the Tsaritsa and the Harbingers.

Ave Tsaritsa, oh please protect me. Please guard me and my love; now I pray.

His stone heart flutters for how softly, how tenderly have you sung of who your heart is beating for. Not for the deity, no - it’s pumping blood for the very man who is standing in the shadow of a wide pillar, gazing at you from behind a mask and holding a thick cape similar to his own, with his plans quite evident.

Tonight you are leaving with him.

Ave Tsaritsa. Amen.

You breathe the last words of the song against your hands, clasped together in front of you in a prayer, and the sound seems to infiltrate every corner of the grand catholicon. Your figure is ethereal, kneeling on the steps before the huge stained glass of the Cryo Archon your words were directed to. Basking in the light of the moon, pouring through the glass and painting you in the sacred blues of Her Majesty's robes, you look like a holy being, and had Pierro not known you were a sinner like him, he would've been tricked by your false chastity. Whiteness of the high priestess’s robes is pure, much purer than the snow outside, but now tainted by the colors of the Archon you both swore to serve.

Even if she doesn't, Pierro watches you, and his gaze will never waver.

Your archbishop’s crown reflects the light and diamonds gleam coldly, just like they are. The long veil hides your soft pretty hair he loves running his fingers through so much. It soothes him, reminds him of the times he used to witness you braiding them in the morning and unbraiding in the evening, sitting on the edge of your shared bed and talking about everything and nothing.

Now this became a privilege, one you are granted only once every couple of months. Sometimes separation is unbearable, but the different flight of time immortals experience makes it more tolerable. And you both know - it’s a small price for the power you managed to obtain.

Slowly you open your eyes - breathtaking cosmic crystals, that shine with pretensive innocence and have fooled and enchanted much more mortals you care to count. You are already doing so much for them, no need to try and remember every single one, it’s the clerics’ job and they fulfill it excellently under your guidance.

Pierro thinks this position suits you. You are not stupid, far from it, while leading others along the path he wants, you see right through it, never forgetting your homeland, never forgetting who you are, never forgetting the pain. You always were like this, even half a millenia ago your ingenious character intrigued him and pulled him to you like a magnet. Winning your affections and uniting your destinies by marriage is still one of his biggest personal achievements.

Despite being cursed, he is a blessed man and was one long before the doom was brought upon his nation. You are his eternal blessing.

You descend more gracefully than the deity behind you ever could in Pierro's eyes, because you were descending to him. Robes and the veil flow behind you magnificently - a sight he witnessed thousands of times, yet it still gets to steal his breath away, because you look like a lovely bride to be wed.

And I would marry you again, in every other world or timeline that is existent.

That’s what you told him when he admitted the reason for his awe-stricken expression during your first century of living in the land of snows. Even now, the cold and terrifying advisor of the Tsaritsa feels the same.

“Have you waited for long?” You start speaking not even halfway close to him. The question echoes in the majorly empty space, and prompts the man to step out of his hiding spot, becoming the victim of the moonlight as well.

“No, I have not,” his answer is short, but only because he doesn’t like getting personal before you two are back in his manor, where he knows no one can interfere. You simply nod at that.

“I’ll go and change. Will you wait for me, Lord Pierro?”

Always.

“Of course, Your Eminence,” he doesn’t ask you to take your time, and you know that while he is an embodiment of patience, you don’t have any second to waste.

Putting the crown on the pedestal and laying out your ceremonial clothes for the trusted deaconesses to take care of tomorrow, you can't stop the excitement pouring from your heart. Two months ago you couldn't meet due to the passing of the Eighth Harbinger - you were busy with the memorial service to commemorate La Signora and your beloved was stolen away by his duties and complications, caused by her death. While you did not hold anything against the fair lady, your thoughts were far from mourning, only thinking of the wasted time with an edge of bitterness. It happened before, and you learnt to bear with that, but even with all your practiced patience you'd never want the repeat of that three-year long occurrence when you haven't seen or heard from him at all due to your respective occupations.

You sigh in relief when the heavy fabric and furs are brought upon your shoulders, hiding the elegant, yet simple outfit, reserved for your outings. The weight of his big gloved palms is also welcomed and the deep sound of his voice washes like calming waves over you.

"Should we be on our way?" You don't see him, but you know the glow his eyes possess. Usually unreadable, they glint with emotion, the one - you can proudly declare - reserved only for you.

"Yes, we should, My Lord. We have quite a number of things to discuss and settle."

The staff of the Jester's manor know that their master and the head of the priesthood have business to discuss and under no circumstance should they be interrupted for the night and the next day. Fireplaces are lit and fresh wood is prepared. The room, that became your personal chambers in his estate, is cleaned and readied for your most comfortable stay, and the servants make sure to move as far away from the West wing, where it and the living room you use for your discussions are located. Eavesdropping is akin to a death sentence, but many would consider themselves imbeciles for trying to sneak on the two most respected and praised people in the whole country.

How fortunate it is that the Jester's personal chambers are in the same wing, just at the other end of the corridor? Servants have just one part of the building to avoid during those times, not worried about accidentally doing something wrong in regard to him and you.

Little do they know what exactly happens behind the closed door, since no one is allowed near them during these particular times. They can’t even fathom the sins your bodies bask in, perfect images crumbling down and revealing the real yous, wild and yearning, drinking up each other's touch like a life-saving water of the oasis, work talk replaced with sweet moans and low grunts and long-forgotten names occasionally slipping past your parted lips.

This is why the sheets get burnt after every stay of yours. Staff members know that's being done to prevent anyone from feeling tempted to steal and sell the fabric, touched by the skin of the Saint. In reality no one needs to know of the reasons behind torn holes and stains.

Pierro destroys them personally in the morning, as you calmly sip on your tea, seated in the armchair of his bedroom with nothing but the silk bathrobe covering your body (replaced by just his shirt occasionally). Only then you devote some of your time for actual discussions and planning, while having an amazing supper and regaining your strength for another couple of rounds, that do not even have to include the bed.

Sometimes, though, the discussion starts when servants leave you till the next evening - the time you inevitably shall depart.

"Anything notable on your side?"

You hum, plucking a pristine white petal from the water surface and twirling it between your fingers. The large floor-installed pool is enough to fit at least three people of your lover’s complexion, but there is only you, water up to your collarbones and pleasantly hot against your skin. Hundreds of petals float around you, covering your body from two piercing eyes and occasionally bumping against your bent knees, and you don’t even want to think how many flowers the servants wasted just to “please” you.

“Nothing much, and nothing of concerning importance” you admit with a huff. Church is actually a pretty good source of information; with Snezhnayan being such good believers and followers it is not hard to gather intel through confessions and later pass the concerning ones to Pierro for him to see if it actually can cause harm. But as of later it was very calm.

“Though I must admit, one young lady really caught my interest,” you throw the petal away and sink a bit deeper, water pooling around your neck now. You lift a leg, stretching a little, and from the corner of the eye watch the half-naked man, seated on the edge of the pool, following with his attentive gaze the path the droplets make down your smooth skin before they disappear somewhere at your thigh.

“And that is?” Oh, these eyes. If you were standing, you’d certainly sink onto the nearest piece of furniture, unable to fight its magic even hundreds of years later. His mostly bared body becomes the next victim of your fascination, and you bite the inside of your cheek, feeling that tingling sensation at the tips of your fingers.

“Well…” you hum again, holding his inquiring gaze and slowly, teasingly lowering your leg back into the water. “If you take all of your clothes off right now, I might tell you."

'All of his clothes' is an open shirt and a pair of pants, both made of a very light fabric. He probably abandoned the robe while walking through your bedroom, and the mask was most likely taken off there too.

"Oh?" His chest shakes with a deep chuckle, that has that specific dark edge to it, that makes you aware of why people submit to him. "It seems the information is really not of such a great importance, if you are asking me to undress in exchange."

"Mmm, you saw through my intentions. But can you really blame me? It's been so long…" Your voice trails off and you sigh, diverting your eyes elsewhere, sight quickly obscured with the images of your last encounters, making your heart clench. You must stay unbothered, but this is so excruciating, being trapped in the land of raging blizzards and frozen landscapes and the loving touch becoming not an everyday thing, but a seldom occurrence. The memories of what it used to be like are almost non-existent at this point, having been wiped out of your mind with the new reality.

Gaze falls onto your wrist and a small smile tugs onto your lips. An intricate band of the metal one would never find again and the stones that lie deep down in the mines of the miasm-contaminated homeland, rests against your skin, gleaming beautifully in the light. The same is wrapped around Pierro's wrist, just a bit wider than yours - one Khaenri'ahn tradition you were allowed to preserve - the symbol of your marriage, which in the broad daylight stays hidden under your long sleeves.

The rustle of clothes doesn't register in your brain right away, but when it does your head whips to the side, just in time to see the silver-haired man sit back down, carelessly dumping his nightwear near the side of the tube.

"Happy now?" All sorrowful thoughts leave your mind instantly when all of his body is on display for your hungry gaze. With a soft splash you lift yourself slightly, enough to get on your knees and move closer to him. His braceleted hand immediately takes a hold of yours and you comfortably lean your chest on his thigh, using an elbow to create support for your head to look up at him.

"Yes, I am. Thank you, my love."

My love. Sometimes Pierro thinks you are just a dream, a pretty, nostalgic dream, where love is not just a concept. Snezhnaya and the closeness to the Cryo Archon affected him far more than you. He toughened up, his gaze got heavier and frown deeper, lips are always drawn in a tight line and voice is even and cold, lack of emotion coming straight from his almost destroyed heart. Just one part is still alive, and warm, and capable of feelings.

This part is loving you.

"Do I deserve to be told what caught your interest?"

You smile at that, happy that he is willing to engage in a chat that doesn't relate to your plans at all. It's one of the things that serves as a reminder that you are special to him, more special than anyone and anything else, be it the Tsaritsa or your scheming.

"Oh, that's a funny thing!" Beaming, you trace one of the scars on his abdomen with your finger, noting with a smirk how it tenses under the touch. "One of your colleagues gained a faithful admirer. Quite a hopeful one, if I am being honest."

Pierro hums, showing that he is actually listening, and reaches his hand to gently pat your hair. You are so pretty, leaning on him, breasts pushed against his leg, back arched and fingers caressing his stomach, which soon becomes an absentminded gesture as your unkissed mouth moves in speech.

"She's been coming every week for three months already, lightening candles for his safe return."

'Not Arlechino, not Columbina,' he notes, attempting to distract himself from the image before him, but still noticing every single detail about his perfect wife. Hand slides to graze the side of your face and put a stray lock behind your ear. You glance up at him and, holding his gaze, turn your head in the opposite direction to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist, just above the wedding band. Pierro sharply inhales.

"Either way, she's been confessing her affections and, as the priest described it, did so "in a dreamy voice a young girl would talk about upcoming marriage". You think I spoke to my parents the same way about you?"

Your gaze turns curious and the notion of your question finally manages to return his focus. It's not often that you voice the things from the past, but on particularly calm days like today it just slips.

"I don't know. Did you?"

"I don't remember…"

Yes, that is why. And sometimes it just hurts.

"But no matter. Honestly I am quite surprised that people like her are a rare occasion. I mean, all of the Harbingers have qualities that might make you fall in love with them."

"Do many live or get close enough to witness those?" Pierro raises a brow and you roll your eyes, poking his side.

"Fair point. That's probably why she chose to fall for Childe. Young, energetic and outgoing he seems to wear his heart on his sleeve."

"Tartaglia, huh?" Makes sense, if he thinks of it. "But a marriage? Already?"

"Of course not! All I said she sounded like that, the only way the wedding is happening is in her imagination!" You burst into giggles at your lover's silly assumption, not missing him huff and tighten a hold on your hand.

"You are quite talkative today."

"I haven't seen you for four months! I missed you! You can't seriously expect me to be silent just staring at you with wide lovesick eyes."

As the man watches you dig your elbow in his thigh to push yourself off of him to stand up with the most fake offended look on your face, he thinks that his life would've ended had you succumbed to the fall of Khaenri'ah. You are the one keeping the part of him alive, cradling his heart in your loving hands, passing your warmth and aligning his heartbeat with yours.

Pierro loves you with everything left in him, and he himself can't measure if it's a lot or a little. He doesn't remember what it's like being humanly soft - but you tell him he is doing enough. And he chooses to believe you.

When a shadow is cast upon him his attention is stolen back by the present. Even with his huge complexion he has to crane his neck a bit to look at you, standing at your full height and staring down at him.

"But you are right," white lashes flutter when a warm palm cups a scarred side of his face, but he doesn't let himself succumb to the peaceful feeling, not yet, "it's time to finish with the conversations for today. Let's move to the bedroom."

Pierro is convinced that your body was created for worship. So soft, skin smooth despite all your hardships, locks thick and heavy, cascading down your shoulders, lips plump and sweet, lower one seductively caught between pearly teeth as you lead him back to your room, holding his wrist with both of your hands.

You are bared to each other, and can sense the space filling with the heat of arousal your bodies radiate. Every step closer to the bed ignites a small fire in the pit of your stomach, fueled by anticipation. Just a couple of meters and he'll push you down and pin with his weight, caging you with no thoughts of letting go for a long while, oh, you can already feel it with every cell.

With an abrupt stop you tug him closer so his body practically bumps into yours, and, releasing his wrist, cup his face instead.

"You are so handsome," you smile, standing on your tiptoes to reach and plant a kiss in the corner of his mouth. "And I bet you'd look even better on top of me."

Tempting, but he has other plans for now.

Your eyes grow wider, but a sparkle of excitement is clear in them, when the tall, broad man slowly, not breaking eye contact, gets down on his knees. Well, he did say your body was created for worshipping, so it makes Pierro your most devoted follower.

His lips are a relief against your heated skin and you sharply exhale, sliding palms to the back of his head. The kiss lingers against your stomach, the only 'ugly' part of your divine body. The place where the curse decided to bloom, circling your waist akin a wide belt, variations of dark splotches creating a bizarre picture on the canva of the skin. Still it is lesser than his is, but the price you paid for it was a devastating one.

"You are beautiful," he whispers, pressing another kiss, and then another, and then some more, leading a path down your pelvis. "So, so beautiful…"

"So now we are exchanging compliments?" Your fingers play with the longer strands of hair at the back of his neck as you are looking down at him, not missing a move, not missing the way his eyelids slide close, when he is almost there.

"Rather speaking truth," is his short answer, before his hands start prying your thighs apart.

"One leg on my shoulder," the command sends shocks through your body and you immediately obey, almost too excitedly throwing your leg over his shoulder. A kiss to the inside of your thigh is your reward.

"Now stand still, and once I secure my arms, put the other one too."

The anticipated display of physical strength makes you lose your voice for a moment and all you can do is quickly nod.

"Words, my dear, I need your words."

"I-I understood."

"Good girl."

The praise makes you blush and is enough of a distraction from what he is in the process of. But not a minute later, both your legs are on his shoulders, their broadness giving you enough room to keep your thighs spread. The globes of your ass are literally resting in the crook of his elbows, arms reaching up your back and palms splaying against your shoulder blades, creating a perfect support to lean into.

Your breath hitches when his warm breath ghosts against your slicked folds and heart begins violently beating with your body realizing the sheer strength of its partner and future pleasure this man is going to provide. And oh Archons, centuries proved how masterful he is in both.

First shudder wrecks your body when his thick tongue traces along your slit, coating it with saliva and teasing you with flicks of the tip. You blissfully sigh, closing your eyes and enjoying the small shocks sent down your spine with every drag of his wet muscle, before he steals your breath away by dipping it inside.

Pierro hums, content with tasting you again after so long, and you are so pliant in his arms, putting an ultimate trust in him, that his own sex swells at the thought. The tip of his tongue catches against your clit, which makes you gasp and tighten your hold on the back of his head, involuntarily bucking hips forward. But he is not going to give you everything right away, no, he is going to show you his faith slowly, so you can understand every single notion behind his actions of praise and worship.

That is why he is drawing his face away, smirking at your needy whine. Attention shifts on your thighs - the last time he thoroughly marked them, so harshly in fact, so you would’ve still had them aching for days to remember the time spent together. Now your flesh is so pristine clean, that he hardly suppresses the urge to bite you right away. Instead he wills himself to plant kisses, sucking the skin occasionally to leave the blooming spots to darken later in beautiful hickies, undeniably hidden by your long and many layered garment. The hairs of his beard tickles you, contrasting with the slight tingles of pain, when he decides to lightly catch the skin between his teeth and urge you to pant and squirm in his hold.

"Stop teasing me…" You try to turn his head back into the direction you most need him in, but yelp, when he digs his nails in your back and bites on your other thigh. "Pierro!"

He only groans, flexing his shoulders to shift you in a more comfortable position, licking the stinging spot he's just abused.

Biting your lip, you have half a mind to reach a hand and touch yourself since he doesn't, but the man knows you well. He glares up at you, the dangerous glint in his eyes doing not much to scare you, but that's not his intention. It's a warning.

"Don't look at me like this," you huff, still taking one of your hands from behind his head, but reaching to cup your breast instead, "I can take a little bit of teasing, but not when you give me a taste and then ignore my aching."

The way you roll the erected bud between your fingers ignites fire in the pit of his stomach, leaving his cock half hard. Who is the one talking about teasing?

A soft cry leaves your lips, when he finally dives back in. Your lover sucks on your clit like there is no tomorrow, pressing the tip of his tongue against it hard. It twitches in his mouth from stimulation and your back arches, fingers grabbing and messing his hair from the intensity he's attacked you with.

Pretty moans and deep groans fill the room as he delves his tongue into the hole - rubbing against your walls deliciously. Slick gathers at his chin and slowly drips down, just a couple landing on his twitching length. You taste divine, in all the years of his life he's never drunk anything that would come close in comparison to your nectar. He grinds his face deeper into your pussy, beard tickling the insides of the thighs and nose nudging the swollen nub, as he savors you.

Your heels dig in his back, your own arches into his arms, and you feel so so heavenly. The palm pressing on his head is as secure as his own hold on you, not letting him back off this time, so unwilling to lose this building pressure in your belly, that'll soon explode, giving you the sweet release you've been yearning for.

Pierro relishes in your throaty whine when he drags the first orgasm out of you, gulping down whatever your spasming cunt has to offer. He feels your legs trembling, but he also knows that this tiny form of relief is nothing compared to how strongly he can actually make you cum on his fingers and cock, when you writhe and thrash under him, begging for no more, or when you are stuffed to the brink and unable to move, weakly clawing at his shoulders to stop. He wonders where tonight will lead you two to.

With an oof your back hits the bed, and his arms slide from under your body. Your hand drops to your side, as the one that was fondling with your chest rests on it, feeling your heart beating against the outstretched palm.

"See, was it so hard?" You smile at him, rising to his feet and wiping his glistening mouth and chin. "Maybe I should sit on your face more. It brings you to action faster."

Wordlessly Pierro grabs your waist and shifts you higher on the bed, climbing onto right after. He lets you wrap your arms around his neck and bring him closer, slotting your mouths together and sharing a kiss full of unspoken passion. He presses himself on you, pinching your hip and making you gasp, allowing him to push his tongue into your mouth. You taste yourself and moan, sliding your own appendage against his, licking at it playfully.

Only you make him feel like this - hot, bothered, desperate, thoughts reigned by you, - everything the Jester is not, but your husband is. Only your touches and your embraces can comfort and relax him, only your kisses steal his breath away and cloud his mind, only your softness against his sturdiness is a perfect match, one that makes so much sense. Only with your heart his agrees to synchronize, sharing one beat, one melody. Only because of you he still knows what love is and that this is the feeling you two share.

When he breaks apart, chest rising and falling in sync with yours, he can't help but focus on your neck - another canva begging to be painted and who is he to decline? Your head falls back as his teeth graze down your throat. Legs, having a mind of their own, spread, and Pierro doesn't miss a chance to use it.

Your cunt is still sensitive when he plunges a long finger inside. Walls flutter and tighten around sudden intrusion, and the skillful thumb starts drawing slow circles on your clit.

"So tight…" He growls into your skin, leaving a tenth hickey on your neck and collarbones. "In four months you must've forgotten the shape of me…"

"I'll be quick to remember, mmm," you bite your lip, when he starts moving and curling his digit, all the while switching his attention to your full breasts. Your moans grow louder than before as he teases your pebbled nipples with his tongue, enveloping them in his mouth, gently sucking and releasing with a wet pop, blowing cool air on them right after only to feel you squeeze his finger.

Pierro is working your open with one and then two digits, not forgetting to play with the bundle of nerves, making the slick gush that soon even you could hear the squelching noise your pussy is making. What would've made you shy and embarrassed on your first couple of nights with him, now turns you on more than anything, prompting you to roll your hips to meet his own movements. Sometimes you feel his hard dick brush against your thigh and you gaze at him in silent question. He shakes his head, declining your help, and adds the third finger.

Now that's a really tight fit and he has a hard time dragging three fingers against your gummy, but resisting walls. You attempt to relax, but there is little you can do with how big everything about him is. Your body grows restless and fingers dig into the pillow above your head, back lifting off the mattress in a sensual arch and feet planting to bend the knees. Once or twice his real name drips like honey from your swollen lips and the man's heart skips a beat or two, your own name whispered between your ribs as kisses are pressed against the skin of your stomach.

When his mouth envelopes your clit again your moans get louder and thighs twitch to close around his head, but he uses his now free hand to push them away and pin you by the lower stomach down. Your fingers reach in his hair again, tugging on silver strands when he sucks particularly hard or curls his digits and brushes that delicious spot inside, that makes you see stars bright enough to outshine the ones in the sky.

Pierro loves when you grab onto him, doesn't matter where or how, he just loves having your hands on his body: holding, caressing, palming, squeezing, cupping… Every single touch makes him aware of your mood and desire to have him, which makes bringing you to mind-blowing orgasm even more satisfying. You inevitably scratch him, leaving a mark of your own.

He softly hisses as you dig your nails in the back of his neck, almost breaking skin to draw blood, and with a trembling scream cum. Pierro fingers you through your high, feeling your walls spasming and slick running down his hand and your thighs, soon to ruin the sheets, and watches you shudder, mouth hanging open and sweet noises creating a pretty melody. Could anyone witness a scene more divine? He can swear he is the only one.

You bite your lip when he plants a kiss to your clit and slowly pulls his fingers out, leaving you so empty, and more yearning than before.

"I want you," is your breathless demand, hands reaching for him. The man quickly grabs them, bringing closer to his mouth to kiss every single knuckle.

"Patience, my dear," is his quiet murmur, which makes you grimace.

"What is here to wait for? I've been waiting for so long, I have patience of a saint!" Literally. "Tonight is the only time I can forget about it, please don't take it away from me, I know you want me too."

And you are right. After having your taste and getting to feel the welcoming softness of your pussy he wants nothing more to sink in and mold you back to the shape of his cock.

Then why wouldn't he do just that? Taking wife's lovely advice never hurts.

He places a large hand above your head to steady himself, preventing him from crushing you with his burly mass. You hold your breath in anticipation, when the big mushroom tip parts your lips and presses against your opening. With a deep inhale Pierro grits his teeth and pushes inside, stomach immediately flexing when your walls swallow an inch. His gaze is on your face, making sure you are alright as he is slowly working his massive dick into your cunt. He knows you can take him, even if sometimes after big breaks your body screams that it can't, but the habit of checking on you just never died.

As he finally fully settles inside, he understands that his ability to move is to be cruelly tested. Your walls have an almost vice grip on his girth and the man above you groans as you tighten even more with sweet moans falling from your lips. Hair disheveled, hands fisting the shits beside your head, legs desperately trying to wrap around his wide waist but to no avail. Your struggle - to embrace his body, to take in his girth, - amuses him, but he has some pity for his dear wife, as his big scarred palms slide down your hips, leaving a trail of fire igniting sensations on your skin, and up to your knees, grasping under them and securing your legs where you want them, where he wants them. You cannot escape, you are his.

"If you don't relax, I won't be able to move."

"But it's-" you mewl when he experimentally rolls his hips.

"Don't tell me it's too much. You've taken it for centuries, don't tell me you can't take your husband's cock now," the man smirks at the way your eyes light up, and the hand with a bracelet on it reaches out to him. He lets himself a moment of vulnerability, leaning forward and into your palm, eyes sliding close and hips stilling, pelvis pressed impossibly close to yours. You feel the hairs of his beard grazing your skin, and softly run the thumb over his lips, usually drawn in a tight line. Breath chokes when he opens his mouth and bites the tip of your finger, gently catching it between his teeth. Your heart skips a beat and you tighten again, eliciting another groan from him and prompting the jaws get a little bit tighter too.

"Relax," sounds more like an angry order, but you know it's just because the man is slowly but surely losing control because of your body.

"What, can't you take your wife's pussy?" You cheekily shoot his words back at him and instantly regret it.

Because Pierro lets go of your poor thumb and launches forward, crushing you a little with his weight, and closes his mouth on your neck. Your whole face goes red from how lewdly you moan when teeth bite hard on that special place that makes you go absolutely wild once stimulated. You still haven't figured out the cause of these, and making you a subject of Dottore's research is the last thing Pierro would do in his life. You discovered it after the curse settled in your bodies and just decided to embrace this new feature, since it proved not to be causing any harm. Quite contrary, it brings you unimaginable pleasure.

Your whole body heats when he tightens his jaws a little more and you claw at his back. You have no idea what you want - him to let go or stay like this, but the unbearable need for him to move gnaws at your insides.

The man smirks when you arch into him, breasts pressing to his chest and pelvises flush against each other. He rolls his hips again, and this time his cock slides smoothly between your walls.

"Good job, love," you shudder and whimper when hot breath ghosts against your ear. Pierro murmurs quiet words of consolation, licking at the bruised place, where the dents of his teeth are already becoming pretty pronounced. He doesn't forget to thrust into you, setting a steady pace and trying some angles to find the perfect one to hit all your favorite spots.

It takes a bit of time, but he figures it out, grabbing you under one knee and pushing it forward to put you in a position that lets him reach deeper, tip kissing your cervix. From now on he grows relentless with only one thought in mind - to satiate you. He fills you over and over with his length, bulging veins caressing your walls, eliciting the sweetest noises your throat is capable of producing, each one sending shivers down his spine.

"More… Please, more…"

You look truly debauched under him, so different from the serene and gentle expression everyone is used to. Only he can see you like this and it feeds his ego, eyes glinting with lust and thrusts growing even more relentless, each bursting pleasure. Skin slaps against skin, sound mixing in you joined noises of bliss. Pierro is grunting above you, pace hard and deep, driving you closer for the third orgasm. He releases your knee, but throws that leg on his shoulder instead, leaning on you even more, so you practically scream when thick hairs on his abdomen start rubbing against your neglected clit.

“Just like that…” he murmurs, both palms firmly planted on both sides of your head as he practically pistons his dick in your cunt. You can only wrap your hands around his arms to steady yourself at least somehow, but it all comes crashing when the tight knot in your stomach snaps.

Your eyes grow wide in the mind-numbing orgasm and your head falls back. It’s almost embarrassing how fast you reached your high this time, your stamina failing you, absolutely destroyed by your husband’s actions. He is still moving inside, helping you to ride it out, snug between your walls, where he belongs.

However you both know it’s far from the end. Suddenly he picks his speed, changing deep and hard pace to a fast one, driving himself into you almost wildly, chasing his own high this time. Your grip onto him only gets stronger, nails biting in his skin as your pussy tightens every time he pushes in. Pierro’s name flows from your lips like a mantra and he lets out a growl-like grunt of your own name. The loud squelches that your recently milked cunt make are clouding his mind and making his reddened cockhead leak with arousal.

Your gaze is hazy from overwhelming pleasure, but even in such a state you could see his tense jawline, blown pupils, drops of sweat sliding down the side of his face and flaring nostrils. The sight makes your pussy contract especially hard, forcing the man to choke and halt in his movements. He feels the telltale signs of his orgasm approaching, and knows, that you are hanging at the brink of yours as well.

“Cum with me,” you frantically nod at his request, heating up from the way he grunts, rutting into you, nudging your pulsing cervix as he fills you with his hot cum. It triggers you and with a loud moan of his name you let the orgasm wash over you again.

Your lover is gentle, grinding slowly, pushing out just a little and then all the way in to keep his load inside. He pants heavily, shoulders dropping and head lowering to press his forehead against your knee, eyes sliding close to catch a small break from the first long-awaited release he’s just experienced.

Moments like this - away from his duties, with you in his arms, filled with absolute bliss, - remind him happiness is possible, that he can rest in your embrace and be caressed by your love, be it in the form of emotional connection or the primal need to mate through sex. Sometimes one thought of you is enough to make his day brighter. Seeing each other is a blessing, since he doesn’t have time to hide in the shadows of the Cathedral to watch you speak to the Tsaritsa’s people, and you have no opportunity to slip out unnoticed and unquestioned to go and visit him. This is why every touch of your hands, every kiss, every thrust, every word exchanged in the privacy of his manor matters, and you try to go as long as your bodies are able to.

Only when you let go of his wrists and relax in his hold, does he stop his movements and carefully drop your leg back onto the bed. Then, ignoring your protests, he slowly slides out, mesmerized by your gaping hole, desperate to be stuffed again by his still hard cock, so wet with your juices it almost shines in the dim light of the bedroom.

You scowl at him for leaving you empty, but your gaze doesn't lose softness reserved for this man only. The amazed way his eyes are glued to you warms your heart and lessens the ache in your core from being ripped of the opportunity to cockwarm him.

"See something you like, my dear?" You flash him a knowing grin and run one of your hands sensually down your body. Star-shaped pupils dart at the movement and immediately sharpen, when two fingers reach and spread your folds. "Do you, perhaps, like the mess you made of me?"

"I do," he breathes out. "Always do."

With a sweet smile you reach to his shoulder, gently sliding an open palm over tense flesh. You are far from satisfied, desire igniting even brighter in you, so you use his moment of distraction, lure him in with your moves, only to gather your strength and roll your bodies, reversing the position. Galactic eyes widen slightly, when his back hits the mattress and your body hovers over his.

"My turn," you lunge forward and bite on his neck, pride stirring in your chest when your lover's self-control slips and he actually moans.

"You…" You hum at his low growl, lapping at the bitten place, knowing that the job to arise his hunger here is done.

"Yes?" With a cheeky grin you face him, closely watching his expression, loving the way his lips parted in silent pants.

"A wicked woman."

"Wicked? How rude and salacious calling a high priestess such names."

"Not her," a big scarred hand reaches forward and cups your cheek. So warm. "But the woman I married."

"Oh? So it's a good thing?" You lean happily in his hold, rubbing against wide palm. Pierro slowly lifts his upper body, steading yours on top of his with the hold on your hip, and takes the sitting position with you settled on his thighs. Hot breath brushes against your lips and you let your eyelids slide close.

"The best."

As he indulges you with a fervor-filled kiss, you reach between your bodies and graze just the tips of your fingers against his cock. Two sets of eyes fly open at the same time, but while he stares at you with yearning, your eyes crease in mischief. Simple caresses soon turn into your palm wrapping around his girth and slowly sliding up and down his semi-hard length. The bite you've granted him just moments ago does it work magnificently, turning him on the same way it was with you. Attempts to restrain his hips from jerking up to thrust into your hand don't go unnoticed by you and you tug on his cock roughly to elicit a groan out of him and bury your tongue in his mouth.

Palm which was resting on your cheek up to this moment abandons its place and drops to your other hip. Thumbs smooth over the night sky painted skin of your waist, soothingly rubbing. It makes you hum in content, caressing the cavern of his mouth languidly.

Palming and groping continues for a while, shift in pace obvious after the previous round (if you were to count by the times your lover came). His cock finally stands proudly against his toned stomach once again and you lift yourself with his help, lining the tip to your hole.

Pierro feels how his own semen drips down onto his length as you position your body the most comfortable way possible given the challenging stretch your thighs have to endure because of the wideness of his figure, including the hips. Pussy inevitably releases thick white substance, coating him and surely ruining the sheets even more.

Your walls show no resistance when he slides back home. How fascinating this part of your body is - molding to his shape quickly no matter how much time has passed since the last time. He knows he is big, he's made you drool and cry and mindless plenty of times in the past (he still can, but it takes more rounds and much rougher behavior), yet your pussy always takes him.

As if to prove the statement, you press a palm against your stomach and feel an outline of him, nestled deep inside your heat, a prominent bulge appearing whenever he shifts.

"I missed this…" You admit with a smile, rubbing up and down, absolutely enjoying the view of his greeted teeth, heavily rising and falling chest. “Mmm, I can feel you twitch inside…” Your teasing voice is so beautiful and the man can’t help it but lean forward and kiss the column of your throat.

“I missed this too…”

“Then let’s take the most we can from this night, shall we?”

As your lips meet in another kiss and hips start rocking again, Pierro silently agrees, secretly, just like every time, praying to no one in particular for the night to never be over.

taglist: @we-wo-we-wo, @secretartisanclodhairdo, @eiscoathanger

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #pierro x reader #pierro x fem!reader #jester x reader #pierro genshin #genshin impact smut #moonlit pearl stories #my longest fic so far

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