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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year ago

Text

backhand stroke (18+)

tennis coach!Aemond x tennis player!reader

Rivals on and off the court, things come to a head between the two when Aemond crosses the line and sabotages the reader's relationship.

themes : challengers inspired, Art Donaldson is featured <3, a lot of cussing, smut!!! (minors dn fckin i), the reader and Aemond hate each other (but if they hate each other why are they fcking), reader may or may not be a cheating bastard, Aemond has a glass eye + he calls the reader ace

a/n : initially I was about to write a fic where Aemond and the reader are actual rivals themselves, but quickly remembered how tennis works 💀 so in this one, Aemond is a coach and reader is a player 🎾

word count : 8k ▪︎ masterlist

The Westeros Open is the biggest and most prestigious tennis tournament in the country.

Anyone who wants to be someone in the sport aims to qualify for it.

For you, it is everything. You have devoted your entire life to tennis. It started as something that stemmed from your parents' neglect. Rich folks who signed their young daughter up for extensive tennis lessons just so they can be free of her and galivant off to wherever.

You had sat there, staring at your shiny, brand-new white tennis shoes. Holding your unused top-of-the-line racket. Hair kept away from your face with a headband that still smelled like the store.

Mostly left alone by your family, you gathered your strength, and dragged your weak eight-year-old legs across the tennis court day in and day out.

Through the years, you found yourself. You found home, and you gave everything you had to make sure you would never lose it.

As luck would have it, you found romance along the way in Art Donaldson, who became your coach after your previous one decided to quit. He used to be a player, until he fell out of love with the game, and chose to coach up and coming players instead.

You had been wary of getting involved with him, but eventually you couldn’t resist. He turned out to be the perfect boyfriend - caring, sweet, attentive to your every need. He became your partner in both tennis and in life. Truly, you couldn’t want for anything else.

You shouldn’t.

So why does it feel like there is something missing?

And why is that void one that only Aemond Targaryen can fill?

The gigantic poster propped up in the inner courtyard of the country club lets everyone know that your next qualifying match in the Westeros Open is against none other than Helaena Targaryen.

Your image looms up to around twenty feet, with Helaena’s lithe figure on the other side. The perfectionist in you can’t help but scrutinise the details in your expression and your form. Was that really what you looked like mid-serve? You laugh dryly, feeling silly at your misdirected concern.

You like Helaena, and she’s always been cordial to you outside of your matches. The issue lies with her more brash and calculating brother and coach.

Something - or rather someone - shuffles behind you. Close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on attention.

"I wish I could say that you look good up there, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Think of the devil and he shall appear. You don't have to turn around to know who it is.

Aemond fucking Targaryen. Once at his prime, known for his freely expressing his passion and rage on the court, earning him the title 'the bad boy of tennis'. It was this drive, this relentlessness, that propelled his game. Unfortunately, it also served to be his downfall. After a few years as the sport's #1 male player, his career came to an end after an off-court altercation with an opponent that took his eye.

Now he is the coach of one of your top rivals and upcoming match opponent, his sister Helaena.

Which is why it should come as no surprise to you that he has made it his mission to get under your skin, with all his unwarranted flirty remarks, constant staring, and how he tirelessly interacts with everything you post on social media.

It used to be tame, by his standards anyway, with things like, ‘You need to work on that backhand’ or ‘I’m guessing Donaldson doesn’t train you well enough.’

But then the messages took a different turn. You once posted a picture of you in a fancy, revealing gown when you attended the annual gala, and he responded with, ‘It’s easy to see that all your training has paid off, ace.’

You chocked it all up to playful aggression. He’s just trying to get you to lower your guard, and distract you. You knew better than to look too much into the apparent interest he gives you.

He is notorious for being a playboy, after all. Dirty blonde hair perfectly tousled, designer tracksuits he wears with such snobbishness, a presence that can command an entire room. You’ve grown to heavily dislike the seemingly permanent smug sneer on his lips, and how he sometimes treats others like they’re nothing but gum stuck on the soles of his fancy tennis shoes.

A handsome rogue who possesses a lot of talent and who is aware of his status as a hot commodity can be dangerous indeed. If he can say that Helaena Targaryen’s best opponent is nothing but another notch on his bedpost, then he will never let that live down.

More importantly, you are already spoken for. Aemond knows this - not that he cares - but whatever he thinks about your relationship doesn’t matter.

“Aemond.” You don’t turn to face him, continuing to scrutinise the gigantic poster. “Is that the best you got?”

He shrugs, positioning himself right in your line of sight, clearly demanding more attention. “You don’t just look good. You look good enough to fucking eat, ace. Too bad about the shitty attitude.”

Hot then cold, nice then nasty. Aemond will never change. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I thought I told you not to call me that. Shouldn’t you be somewhere else training your sister? She’s gonna need it.”

He steps closer, invading your space. You look him directly in the eye like you’re squaring up with an opponent. This has always been your dynamic. Neither one backing down, neither one ever really dealing a blow.

Just constant dizzying electricity.

Sooner or later, it will all come to a head. Whether it will be your fault or his, the jury is still out on that.

“Oh, I’m sure she will,” he patronises, his deep blue almost violet eye sparkling. On the opposite was his glass eye, only adding to his intimidating nature. He hadn’t opted for one that resembled his real eye, but rather a hazy white apparatus, making him appear ghoulish, almost ghostlike. Nestled in his left eye socket, framed by a faded maroon gash, it made him look every bit like the charismatic rogue of tennis that he is known to be. “Shouldn’t you be somewhere receiving instruction from Donaldson? Not that you’ll get much out of it.”

“Art and I are on top of our training, not that it’s any of your damn business. You should concern yourself with your sister’s game.”

“If only that were actually true, ace, but unfortunately I believe that your sweet Art wastes too much of his fucking time being on top of you.”

“Fuck off, Targaryen,” you respond, trying to push the allure of his scent out of your mind. Pungent cologne and cigarette smoke, a blend that you’ve come to associate only with him. “Stay out of my business, and quit messaging me.”

“You like how we talk.”

“Trust me, I don’t.”

“Does Donaldson know?” Fully aware that Art has never had a liking for him, he knows that will hit a nerve.

Your face falls, like you’ve been caught in the act. Even though you've done nothing wrong. Occasionally caving in and responding to Aemond’s messages surely isn’t crossing the line. What started out as a couple of offhand fuck offs from your end turned into actually sharing private jokes about the other matches and training and - heavens forbid - small talk about the goddamn weather.

You’ve come to know that his favourite colour is green. Not the neon of a tennis ball, but a bluish-tinted pine.

Not that it matters.

Encounters such as this one also don’t mean anything. Never mind however much you find him attractive. Who wouldn’t? You have eyes, and you’re only human. Nothing more to it.

Never mind how, some nights, in what can only be construed as momentary states of delirium, you have imagined him in Art’s place.

Never mind just how much he gets under your skin, like no one else can, and how you can’t admit to yourself that you might actually like it.

Oh, you might actually be making yourself sick at all these thoughts.

“There’s nothing for him to know.” You step to the side, indicating that you want to walk away. But he has you cornered and you both know it.

He smirks, “Keep telling yourself that, ace. But you can’t deny - ” He steps close again. He suddenly tilts your face toward him with one hand, but you shake your head and his fingers lose their hold. “ - this. Us.”

Damn him. And damn the shiver that just ran up your spine.

You stand still, entranced by the look he’s giving you. Trick or not, Aemond sure does have a way of looking at you as if he sees you for who you really are. Not the tennis prodigy. Not the public personality. You remain a shell of that broken kid that poured everything she had into this sport, much like he had, only to come out the other end still not whole, still searching for something inexplicably out of reach. And he sees just that - just you.

You feel like Art holds you up on a pedestal, not seeing the flaws that make you who you are. But you’ve always been happy to play the perfect girlfriend.

Until Aemond.

But he’s too much. Too forward, too brash, too intoxicating. You can never know what he’s going to do next. You can’t like him. You have to be certain that you don’t.

But then again… love and hate have always been two sides of the same coin.

He whispers, clearly pleased with the effect he has on you, “Match point, ace.”

Match point. You could have him. He could have you. He makes it evident that the next move is all yours. “Don’t go out of bounds, Targaryen,” you warn him lowly.

“What if I want to?”

You have him. He has you.

And you… have Art.

Clearing your throat, and your head, you finally step back. His head snaps up to follow you, disappointment evident on his face.

“See you around, Targaryen.” You spin on your heel, walking away, immediately feeling lighter. Emptier, feeling like your body begs to drift closer to him, two equal magnets.

“Ace,” he calls to you, walking after you when you don’t turn around. “Wait a second,” he reappears right in front of you, effectively halting your stride.

You grumble hastily, “God, you really have a space issue, don’t you, Aemond?”

“Meet me in the courtyard gardens,” he says, a new intensity lacing his voice, “tonight. After dinner. Or whenever you can. Just - ”

“No.”

“Come on, ace.” His tone is insistent, with no trace of his usual bravado and cockiness. “I think… I need to tell you something.”

Part of you wants to cave in, and just agree to whatever it is that he’s proposing, but that nagging voice in the back of your mind is adamant that it would not be right. What would Art think? But what if Aemond truly just wants to tell you something?

“So tell me now.”

His jaw clenches hard, and you can’t help but admire the taut edges of his face. “No, I want to do this, just you and me. When we’ll be alone - ”

“Aemond - ” you start to shake your head, trying hard to come up with a refusal that he will actually register.

“Donaldson doesn’t need to know,” he almost pleads. “This is between you and me, ace. You just have to hear me out.”

You take a deep breath, unable to understand just what it is he means. “If it’s something I have to hide from my boyfriend, then it’s not gonna happen. You have to see just how messed up that is, Targaryen.”

Either he can’t hear you, or he just does not want to accept your response. “I’ll wait for you. Right around midnight then, ace? Should give you plenty of time to sneak out.”

Before you can say no, again, he hastily plants a kiss on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, in surprise and perhaps pleasure at the softness of his lips, and when you open them once more, he is no longer flooding your space.

You spy him entering a set of glass doors, leaving you there stunned.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Aemond kicks at another pebble, the sound momentarily breaking the silence in the gardens.

He’d checked his watch just seconds before, the face of it spitting on what remains of his eagerness.

Twelve fucking fifteen.

Either you just got held up by your whiney rat-faced boyfriend, or you’re a no-show.

Aemond doesn’t know which one is worse. He did not know what he was expecting in the first place. Did he actually think that you would do as he says? You never were good at following orders, much less those from someone whom you likely view as something of a nuisance.

Is that really what you see him as? Isn’t there something more at play here?

Something that keeps Aemond up at night, when he can no longer deny that it is not because he dislikes you that you plague his thoughts, but because he admires you. He does admire you, he sees no shame in admitting that.

As a tennis player. As a competitor. Anyone who feigns ignorance at your insane potential would just be lying to themselves.

As a woman? A… partner? No. It has to be no, doesn’t it? You hate him, you make it clear now and again. You disagree with him, challenge his views, point out his flaws. Surely, he can’t be attracted to you in a way that commands his heart. You are beautiful, he doesn’t deny this, but so were the dozens of other girls he had run through.

Each time he watches you perform your signature backhand stroke, with that sensual growl escaping your lips and the lewd grace with which your body bends, Aemond feels his sanity slipping away.

You drive him crazy, but he can't be crazy about you.

The only reason he asked you to meet him, is because he wants to propose that he replace Art as your coach. Helaena has expressed that she wants to retire, and focus on some other creative pursuits. Something insignificant to Aemond, that he can’t remember what it was exactly. A pottery business? A fucking flower shop? He doesn’t care to know.

It’s perfect, he thinks, because your game is superior anyway. It’s what first got his attention, and now he can take part in your process. He can direct you, shape you. He can do so much better than Art Donaldson, and he’s sure you know this too.

Maybe then you might actually open up to him the way you opened up to Art. With your absence tonight, it dawns on him that he might actually have to resort to other measures. Did he seriously think he would be able to simply reason with you about this?

He sits for another half-hour on a bench nestled among the rose bushes. Surrounded by flowers of deep scarlet, a maroon he distinctly remembers as being your favourite colour. He fools himself into believing that he’s using the time to craft a plan for what’s to come, and not that he’s wasting it on the hope that you might emerge from the tall hedges, out of breath and eyes glinting eager to find him.

Well, you played your hand. Now he knows what he has to do.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You wake up groggy the following morning, having tossed and turned the entire night, thinking about Aemond.

Had he been out there, waiting for you? Your mind came up with the different possibilities of what he has to say. Or if he had nothing to say at all, and it was all just another ruse.

You told yourself that you didn’t want to meet up with him, but you had an alibi prepared. One of your old tennis club mates agreed to cover for you and say that you were having drinks together, just in case Art ever checks up.

But as you were about to deliver the excuse, Art had said something about you and him not getting to spend as much quality time anymore. The past few weeks have been occupied with nothing but tennis, and though it’s a shared activity that you both value, he wanted to stay in for the night with you. He ordered room service, downloaded two films that were on your watchlist, and whispered sweet nothings in your ear until you eventually gave up on meeting Aemond.

It can wait, whatever it is.

Besides, isn’t this the right thing to do? Did you seriously consider having a midnight rendezvous with the guy who you claim to dislike the most? Someone who encourages you to keep secrets from your boyfriend? What good could possibly come out of that?

With a heaving sigh, you push all thoughts of last night from your mind. There are bigger things at hand. The biggest tennis tournament of the year, for one.

You make your way to the dining hall of your hotel. Art had woken up before you, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek and explaining how he had to discuss some matters with your physical team. He wore the skin of a tennis coach as perfectly as that of a boyfriend.

And here you are, regretting that you were unable to meet up with another man the previous night.

The art deco layout of the lobby extends into the spacious dining hall, the interior of the hotel filled with geometric patterns and rich jewel tones. You once bid Aemond guess what your favourite interior design was, and he got it in two tries, complete with a spiel of how it reflects your personality. Art, on the other hand, had been adamant that your favourite was minimalist. That was the first time you realised that his perspective of you was different from Aemond’s.

You hadn’t yet reconciled with who is more accurate, lest it shine a light on something deeper.

The hostess is cheerful and full of pep as she leads you to your table. You know it’s coming - she’ll ask you for a picture in just a moment, and you’re proven right when she reaches in her pocket and her phone materialises inch by inch. She seems shy to ask, ready to turn on her heel with a stiff smile if you refuse, so you do your best to be encouraging.

When the photo is taken and she finally lowers her phone, you spy someone out in the distance and you make it out to be none other than your boyfriend. Leaning by the outdoor terrace, appearing to be speaking to another person you can’t yet make out, their face obscured by the decorative shrubbery scattered across the area.

You walk to the side to get a better view of who it is. That tall figure, clad in a black tracksuit… a familiar head of blonde hair… and the unmistakable cut of his jawline. Realisation sets in. Art is speaking to Aemond.

Your stomach sinks, the thought of breakfast no longer enticing. Frozen in the middle of the dining hall, you begin to attract the attention of others.

Aemond turns his head, perfectly timed for his gaze to meet yours. Like something out of a grim movie, your anxiety spikes as his smug smirk materialises in slow motion.

If there ever were a match at hand between you two, that smirk makes it clear that he has won it.

Art follows his gaze, also meeting yours, but without any trace of satisfaction. He looks at you accusingly. You shake your head at him, but you already know.

This is not going to end well.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“Is it true?”

You had wordlessly followed Art back to your hotel suite, the air around you thick with dread and anticipation.

“What did Aemond say?” You stand in front of him as he calmly sits by the window, as if you’re on the trial stand. You just might be.

“Guess,” Art spits mockingly. “Why don’t you tell me? You seem to know him quite well.” You bristle at his tone. He’s never spoken to you like this before.

“Whatever he told you, it’s not what it looks like, okay? You know Aemond. He likes to mess around with people, especially us.”

Art shakes his head in disbelief, “He even showed me some of your messages. Some of them you must have sent - what, at 3 or 4 in the fucking morning? When you’re lying next to me in bed? Not getting a lot of sleep apparently. It must be why you’re not on top of your game.”

He’s not playing fair, and you deserve this.

“There’s nothing going on between us,” you say through gritted teeth, making the statement sound as firm as possible, because it’s not just Art you’re attempting to convince. You want to believe it too.

“He’s said some things about me.”

“And I defended you.”

“Not well enough,” he shakes his head. “It sounded almost normal for you. Spewing bullshit to each other.”

“It’s just… it’s all just banter.” God, you sound so terrible. “Riling each other up to get into the mindset before matches.”

“All that… all that, I can kind of understand. It’s the other things. The intimate things that get on my nerves.”

“What - ” You can’t form the proper response to that.

“I missed talking to you, he once said. To which you replied that you do too.”

“That’s nothing.”

“You said that he inspired you.”

“That’s… that… he’s a great talent,” you stammer, as the statements he throws worsen. “He always has been. Even you can’t deny that.”

The argument goes on for an uncomfortable length of time, with Art reminding you of things that you and Aemond had apparently messaged each other, and you trying to play them off as insignificant.

Gradually, you convince Art that Aemond is just a thorn in your side. That Aemond was just overplaying the messages to get under his skin. That letting this break your relationship would be giving Aemond what he wants.

But everything he said - the messages he brought back to the surface, the encounters that were brought up - made you realise the depth of your involvement with Aemond.

You are fooling yourself, just as much as you are fooling Art.

He finally stands, heading towards the door. “I’ve spoken to our physical team. Meet us at the gym in 15.”

“Art.”

He halts, but he doesn’t turn to face you. You’re worried about what you’ll see in his face if he does.

“Are we okay?” you ask.

He turns to the side, and you catch a glimpse of the man you love, his once blithe demeanour reduced to a brief, forced smile. He nods once, and you sag in relief. When he is finally out the door, you collapse onto the bed and press your knuckles to your eyes.

You feel it all at once.

Anger. Frustration. That fear of inevitability coming to fruition. This was bound to happen and a part of you knew it was coming.

Aemond screwed you over, and it’s high time you put an end to everything.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The gardens. Midnight.

The message had been sent. The last one you will ever send to Aemond Targaryen if things go as planned.

You have it rehearsed and perfected in your mind - how you will give him a piece of your mind, how you will tell him off and tell him to fuck off for good.

As long as you think of Art… As long as you don’t lose yourself, then…

“You’re lucky I’m not standing you up, Ace. Not like what you did to me.” The bastard has appeared directly behind you, as per his custom, so close you can feel his breath on the nape of your neck.

You immediately turn to face him, and he stands calmly in his signature black tracksuit, his lips curled in their usual manner. “I never agreed to meet you that night.”

His smile is derisive, the sight of it sharp and cruel under the moonlight. “I thought we had sort of a code of honour, you and I. That we’d never lie to each other. Never let the other person down.”

“Honour?” you say mockingly. “I call bullshit. Trying to ruin my relationship… is that part of it?”

He looks away, shaking his head at your accusation. “I only did what you don’t have the fucking guts to do. Your relationship with Donaldson was ruined the moment we…” He trails off, brows furrowing. His gaze meets yours, revealing the truth that sits underneath his mask of arrogance. One that only you are allowed to see. He appears to take on a different smile this time, softer and less pronounced. The curses you want to hurl get caught in your throat when he looks to your lips and hums faintly to himself, almost as if he’s forgotten that you are in the middle of an argument.

You take a step back, and it shakes him out of his reverie. It shakes the both of you out of it.

“Well? Let’s fucking hear it then.” You raise your arms in a gesture, egging him on.

“Hear what?” he says, having the gall to be confused.

“What did you want to tell me that night? Tell me now, because you’ll never get the chance again.”

He straightens, getting his thoughts in order. He completely forgot about that issue, and talking is increasingly becoming the last thing he wants to do right now. He wants to put his lips to better use. Something more worthwhile. “Helaena’s retiring,” he finally decides on saying, “and I think I should be your coach.”

You’re dumbfounded for a moment, his proposition whirring in your head. It makes sense, it does. He just gets you. But then again…

“That’s rich,” you reply. “Do you think I would ever give up Art? He’s always been my coach and he’s damn good at it.”

“You’re not compatible,” he counters, “in the court and out of it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He doesn’t see you,” he affirms. He would never lie to you, and he isn’t about to start now. He repeats, “He doesn’t see you, but I do.”

His words strike true, and it feels as if he’s just pulled the rug from underneath you, and you’re falling, falling…

Right into his arms. And the impact is jarring, because it’s real.

“We can’t.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper, a reflection of your weakening restraint.

“Yes we can, ace.” He takes a step closer, and he lifts his hand as if on instinct, reaching for your face. But he’s frozen, unsure of how far he can toe the line that already lies fragile between you. “It should be you and me.”

Your eyes follow his movements, because you know you want him to give in and hold you. To touch your face. To kiss you.

And it’s wrong. It’s all wrong.

“I have to go.” Your voice carries no emotion. You avert your gaze at the last second and catch the defeat that flashes across his face. It should come as a surprise that it pains you to see him like this, but then again, you see him as he sees you. You always have. Which renders your next words among the most painful to come out of your mouth. “We can’t do this anymore. Art already doesn’t trust me, and if this goes on, it’s only going to make things worse. I can’t talk to you - ”

“No.”

“- and I won’t be responding to anything- ”

“Stop fucking talking.” His anger is fledgling, rising to the surface. There is no way he will calmly accept these terms. “I said no, ace.”

“It’s… it’s the right thing to do,” you murmur, still unable to look at him. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. We run in the same circles. But we can’t be… us.”

“Forget it,” he seethes, trying to catch your eyes, and growling low when you don’t relent. “Forget him, ace. Or do whatever the fuck you want. But not this, I’m not having this.”

You exhale, having gotten the worst of it out of your chest. It’s over now. But it’s not a relief that you feel. It’s remorse.

“Goodbye, Aemond.” With that, you finally take him in once more, and one glance is enough to shatter your resolve. His heightened ill temper shines clearly across his distinguished features. Under the midnight moon, he resembles a fallen angel, long dark blonde lashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. His shadowy, glass eye strangely adding to the appeal.

Beautiful. And just not yours.

One last, lingering look - then you walk away. The silence is deafening, and you feel numb all over. Your knuckles are taut at your sides, fingernails digging in your palms to keep those pesky, errant tears at bay. You’ve suffered defeat before, but this is much worse, because it’s coming solely from your own hand. How easily you give him up, someone who was never yours, and how badly it stings.

“No,” you hear him say again, and you pray he shuts up so you can keep walking.

He doesn’t. He repeats the word - no - over and over like some mantra under his breath. One second you feel nothing. Nothing at all. But then the wind whooshes around you and you’re being spun around to face him.

And then, his lips claim yours, and you feel everything.

Sounds come rushing back to you. His ragged panting against your lips, the pads of his fingertips kneading the back of your head, the wet smacking of his mouth on your own. The empty pit in your stomach is filled with those clichéd butterflies. More so when one of his hands travels down to grasp your waist and press your body against his.

“Aem - ” Your mind catches up to you, and you try to say his name to get him to pause, but he slides his tongue past your teeth.

“Shut up and kiss me, ace.” He breaks free for but a second, then hungrily kisses you again. You let him. You give in completely.

“Mmm, Aemond.” Your hands reach up to cradle his face and he takes that as an opportunity to pull back and openly admire you.

“You’re my ace,” he professes, connecting his forehead to yours. “And I’m not fucking losing you.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You rush through the lobby of the hotel, hand in hand and giggling like schoolchildren as you duck your heads so as not to get recognised by the night concierge.

With reckless abandon, your entwined bodies stumble into his suite, which just happens to be on the floor below yours. You once thought you would have to be inebriated beyond belief to surrender to a sin like this, and in a way you are. You’re high off of him - Aemond in his entirety, six feet of lean muscle, notorious foul-mouthed one-eyed libertine.

“Fuck, ace.” He has his arms wrapped around you from behind, and he nips at your exposed neck. His touch roams and finds the mounds of your breasts, kneading mindlessly over your shirt. The sound that reverberates from his throat is carnal, and you feel it echo through your whole body. It drives you to press your ass against him, taking full notice of his hardness straining from his sweatpants.

Feeling mischievous, you do it again, gripping his arms to anchor yourself while grinding against his cock.

“Foul play,” he whispers against your neck, “you fucking minx.”

“There are no rules now.” You face him, running a finger along his jawline as you walk backward and he follows suit. Stopping at the edge of his bed, you strip out of your shirt, careful to keep your eyes locked on his the whole time.

The movement is too slow for Aemond, and he desperately needs more. He pushes you onto the mattress and climbs on top of you. He slides your sweatpants off your legs, then lets his hand drag from your ankle to your inner thigh. He promptly undresses, graceless and in a rush, until all his clothes are left in a heap on the carpet.

His cock stands on attention, taut and goddamn long. You feel an ache below that compels you to rub your legs together, but he beats you to it and slides your underwear right off. “I’ve always wanted to taste you,” he croons. “Bet you taste so sweet.”

You take your bra off and you’re finally left completely bare. He spreads your legs and positions himself in between. He uses one hand to squeeze your breast and the other to keep your legs propped wide open.

His eye meets yours, before he settles in, lowering his head until he’s breathing cool air onto your pussy. “Match point, ace.”

You have him. He has you.

When Aemond’s tongue plunges deep into your throbbing core, swirling inside like he wants to consume you whole, you have to bite your tongue to hold back a scream.

He knows what he’s doing, of course he does, and he’s so fucking good.

“Yes - yes - keep going, baby, fuck - ” you moan, words breathy and irregular.

He sticks two fingers into your wetness, using it to spread you wider, leveraging his tongue ever deeper. In and out they go, faster than the fuck, fuck, fucks coming out of your mouth in blissful sputters.

He suddenly stops, a guttural hmm echoing from his lips, and you look down to see his lips coated in a mixture of his spit and your pre cum. “Not so fast, ace,” he taunts. “You’ll come when I say.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows, still widespread and exposed to him. “What, are you coaching me through it?”

He hums in affirmative and leans in to kiss you, juices still dripping from his chin.

“You gonna follow my orders, ace?” he asks, and your mind spirals at how utterly lewd it sounds.

“Wouldn’t you like that, Targaryen?” You let out another moan, biting your lip when he hungrily sucks on your breast. “Let’s see what you got first.”

He smiles at your playful instigation. It’s always come natural, this riffing back and forth. But this midnight dalliance - he wants it to be honest. He needs you to realise how much he wants you.

“Yes, ma’am.” He gets on his knees, a hand braced on each of your thighs, his hardened cock at the ready.

“Ma’am?” you breathe, a laugh dying in your throat when you his tip prods at your entrance.

“I can be agreeable under the right circumstances, ace.” He torments you by pushing his cock in but an inch.

“Fuck me, Aemond,” you cuss in frustration, then, literally, “Fuck me. Please.”

His eyes take you in, one darkened blue and one ghostly pale glass. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” he says. “You good for it, ace?” He nods once, referring to whether a condom is needed and you take the hint right away.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “Perks of having a top-of-the-line physio team. They hook you up on other things too.” Your cocky-athlete way of stating that you are on the pill.

The lights are dim in the room, but you clearly see the resolve settle on Aemond’s face. He parts his lips like he wants to say something more, and you tilt your head questioningly.

He feels the need to make some sort of declaration. Something true. It doesn’t seem right to say those damned three words at this moment, no matter how much he means them. You could think he’s trying to trick you in order to get what he wants. A good lay and nothing else. So he doesn’t say anything and lets the silence speak for itself. If you know him as you claim to, then you’ll see.

You’ll see just how much this means to him.

You nod, and it’s an unspoken plea.

He thrusts his cock into you with such force, stretching your walls with a sudden and blinding ache, until he is buried to the hilt. He reaches and cradles your face with one hand, the other keeping your ankle propped by his shoulder.

“Move, Aem.” You buck your hips against him, his cock squelching in and out again.

“Yeah, baby?” He complies with his hips in response. “That feel good?”

“Yes. God yes.”

A switch flicks inside of him, and he almost snarls through his teeth. “You feel so fucking good, ace. Your pussy takin’ me so well…” His hips buck faster, in abrupt snapping motions, burying his cock each damn time. He connects your legs together and turns you to your side, altering the position slightly.

You look behind your shoulder and see that feral look etched on his face. His grip is tight on the flesh of your hips and the curve of your ass, having it raised slightly for his convenience. He smacks your behind with an open palm, and it elicits a lusty moan out of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasps. “So beautiful like this, dripping around my fucking cock, huh? My good girl.”

The noises you release as a result are unintelligible. You press your face against the pillow in sheer pleasure, muffling your sounds.

“I wanna hear you, baby,” Aemond protests. With practised ease, he repositions you so your ass is propped high before him, your body bent forward as you have to lean on your forearms to keep from planting your face on the sheets.

He doesn’t ease up on his relentless thrusting, and you’re left squirming and cock-drunk. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head, you’re blissed-out on what only Aemond can give you.

“Does he fuck you as good?” he spits in obvious distaste. “I don’t think so, baby. Can’t fuck this pussy like I do.”

“N-no,” you whimper, without any trace of guilt. “Only you, Aem.”

“Hmm,” he simpers. “Come for me, ace. Be a good girl now. Come around my cock, yeah?”

“Mhhmm,” you pant, growing weaker and weaker at his statements, your walls tensing for that release you crave.

“You’re mine, ace. Mine.”

Your whimper comes out sudden and unrestrained as you let go, and feel your warm juices leaking down your thighs. The sounds of his cock growing noisy and sloppier. He releases not long after, with a few sharp spasms, decorating your insides with his cum.

Marking someone who is not supposed to be his.

But nothing else matters as he crumples against you and pulls you into his arms. If something is to be reconciled with, it won’t be for tonight.

With these things, regret always comes along with the sunrise.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“40 - 30.”

The crowd cheers at the umpire’s announcement. You can barely make out the faces morphing together into one homogeneous mob, but you’ve observed enough to know that Aemond isn’t among them. Rivulets of sweat drip down your face and you walk to the side as another break starts.

Helaena nods at you from the opposite side of the court, and you respond with a terse smile.

She resembles him so much - the one you’ve been avoiding for the past three days. With that same distinct shade of blonde hair and deep blue eyes, but possessing an aura of tenderness about her. If Aemond wasn’t lying about her plan to retire, then it makes perfect sense. She seems too good for the sport, too pure, whereas you fit right into its cruel constraints.

What sort of person would have done what you did, some nights ago, and be able to walk with their head held high? You want to believe that you regret sleeping with Aemond, that you would reverse your actions, given the chance. But the pain that eats at you is that you might have fucked things up for good, abruptly leaving before he woke up that morning.

It’s ironic - you may just get what you said you wanted. To end things. Never to be the same with him again.

You slump in your seat, wiping at your face with a towel, pushing all thought of Aemond from your mind.

From your periphery, you catch Helaena gesturing to you. She smiles, and you think that your emotions must show so clearly on your face that she feels bad for you.

She nods, and tilts her head to the side, so that you follow her gaze. Standing courtside, partially hidden in the corner just behind the barriers, you see Aemond closely watching you.

He came after all. You turn back to Helaena, unable to hide your surprise, and she sends another smile your way. She knows. Of course she does.

With renewed excitement, the match continues. It only takes one more point, one final ace, and you emerge triumphant. The court fills with cheers and sounds of celebration. It is declared that you are advancing to the next round of the tournament. You meet Helaena in the middle and she firmly shakes your hand, exhibiting no sign of disappointment.

“Congratulations! Very well played.” She drops her racket and grasps your hand with both of hers. She leans closer, and adds, “You know, I also consider it a win for myself, because my last ever match is against the girl my brother is in love with.”

You forget where you are, the revelation rendering everything else moot. The cheering crowds disappear, and it’s just you and Helaena as she dips her head comfortingly, assuring you that you heard her words true.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she lets go finally, with a cheerful, “go celebrate!”

You feel yourself being whisked away, cameras flashing from all sides. Art appears in front of you and he pulls you into an embrace. Several onlookers gush at the sight. You barely take notice of them, your eyes already drifting to where Aemond was standing.

There he remains, casually leaning against the barriers. Some audience members realise that the great Aemond Targaryen stands among them, and one by one a small crowd forms around him, asking for pictures and autographs.

He continues to hold your gaze, his usual smirk making an appearance, ignoring a guy waving a camera at his face. You shake your head at the scene, a genuine laugh bubbling from your lips.

You nod to each other, as if acknowledging the absurdity of it all, and leave it at that. There’s a lot more to be said, for another time. Art wraps his arm around your waist, and Aemond takes it as his cue to look away, relenting to the eager fans surrounding him.

You direct your gaze to your boyfriend, immediately seeing the recognition in Art’s eyes. He’s seen everything.

He doesn’t need to be as acutely perceptive as Helaena to realise the truth. That of the one-eyed rogue and his ace. You’ve been drifting from him for so long, that it was only a matter of time.

He was your friend first, and he always will be. You’ve watched each other grow, through endless mistakes and challenges, and there’s a fire in you he cannot match.

But Aemond can. He knows this now.

He extends a hand out to you, one which you accept with poorly masked caution. He understands how woeful it must be, to tear yourself apart from being in love with someone else. The shame and uncertainty that must entail.

For both your sakes, he decides that he has to be the bigger person and do the right thing.

“What do you say?” Art offers to you. “Post match treat?” he asks, referring to your tradition of sharing a large strawberry sundae after games.

“Okay.” Your smile is sweet and unguarded, and it reminds him of when you first met, nearly six years ago. That day, he knew he had made a lifelong friend.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“I wish I could say I’m happy to see you here, but we did once promise not to lie to each other.”

Aemond swivels toward the sound of your voice, cigarette smoke billowing from his lips.

“Vile habit, Targaryen.” You wrinkle your nose, and he just shakes his head and crushes the butt of his cigarette under his shoe.

“Yeah, well.” He merely shrugs. He was dead set on quitting, but something came up the past couple of days, causing his anxiety to reach new heights. When you ignored him after the night you shared, he can’t fault himself for reaching for depraved solace in nicotine. But no substance would ever be enough to erase the precious memory of watching you come undone.

“Not happy to see me, ace?” he refers back to your greeting, not bothering to hide the hurt he feels.

You walk closer to him, trying to hold back a smile. “Well, I lied. But it’s not like I haven’t lied before.” You stop when you’re right in front of him, the remnants of his smoke making you feel woozy. “I also lied when I said that we can’t keep being us anymore. When I said goodbye.”

“Hmm,” his lips curl at your confession. “Judging by how wildly you fucked me after you said that, I could already tell.”

You roll your eyes, but you already feel so much better, like things are falling right back into place. All it took was some teasing from the apparently callous, sharp-tongued, ambitious-to-a-fault boy standing before you.

A boy who revealed the true depths of his compassion only to you. He let you thaw out his cold heart from its confines and declared it yours.

“Something more to say, ace?” he asks.

“You first.”

“Are you kidding? Why don’t you play this game with your boyfriend?”

You share a lingering look, effectively answering his question. The unabashed shit-eating smile that breaks out on his face is enough to tell you just how he feels.

“Don’t gloat,” you warn him, but he’s already pulled you flush against him with both arms. “I also need a new coach.”

“Mhmm,” he nods, not really in response to your statement. “Save that for later, ace. Please shut the hell up and kiss me.”

He can’t help but smile through kisses, his lips chasing yours when you make an effort to pull away and say something more.

“Aemond, will you - ”

“Fuckin’ - ” a cuss slips from him when you manage to break apart, depriving him of your lips. He answers impatiently, “Yes of course, I’ll be your coach, ace. Of course. Happy? I’ll be anything you want me to be.”

Before he leans in once more, you say, “Don’t you dare fuck this up, Targaryen.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, my love.”

You lean back in mild surprise.

He laughs, “I mean - ace - or my love. Either one applies, really.”

"I... I prefer ace," you say weakly.

"Now, now, my love. I thought we promised not to lie to each other?"

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cloudcountry · 1 year ago

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just realized i NEVER posted this to tumblr??? HELLO??? if it wasn't for ao3 this shit would have been lost media because i literally cannot find it in my google docs??? HELP???

ANYWAYS!! WELCOME TO WHAT THE TWST BOYS LEFT YOU WITH AFTER YOU BROKE UP

its bittersweet. you guys broke up on good terms. post-formatting auburn here and omfg what was i THINKING this shit HURTED. OW. CRITICAL HIT I NEED A HEALER. FUCK.

Riddle Rosehearts leaves you with an appreciation for learning, a strong sense of awe at the bookshelves lining the walls of NRC’s library. He leaves you with a pen, tucked at the bottom of your backpack that you forget about until a late night study session. You find it and giggle, remembering the time he gave it to you when yours ran out of ink, and you begin to take notes with the red-rose ink.

Trey Clover leaves you with a sense of nurture. You pick up cues from people that you never would have seen before and know exactly how to act, and it isn’t until you find yourself “babying” Ace that you step back and laugh. Of course Trey rubbed off on you, he always was taking care of you with nobody to help out him.

Cater Diamond leaves you with extensive knowledge of camera angles. When you’re taking pictures with your friends or just you, it's like you know exactly which filter would look best with every shot. Sometimes you’ll stumble upon a filter you only ever used on his pics, and you’re filled with a bittersweet happiness. Simple photo editing holds so many memories, and you can only hope he’s making new ones, too.

Deuce Spade leaves you with a motivation to protect yourself. When you started dating him all that time ago, he insisted on giving you some form of self defense lessons just so you could protect yourself. He made you more confident, even if he never knew it. You’ll always be thankful for the way he unknowingly made you stand up straighter, like you were proud to be yourself.

Ace Trappola leaves you with a lighter soul. He’s always been a goofy person, and you know full well that he’s never changed. He made you way more optimistic just by dealing with things the way he did, always being true to his heart no matter who he was speaking to. You always admired that about him, and it made you feel like you could be more like yourself even when he wasn’t there anymore.

Leona Kingscholar leaves you with a piece of his pride. He always told you to keep your head up especially when you’re scared half to death. You find yourself using his advice every time you face a situation you’d rather not be in, and slowly conquer everything that used to freak you out. You finally glow with the pride that you know he would have been so proud of if he was still with you, but you’re starting to think that maybe he’s proud of you anyway.

Ruggie Bucchi leaves you with a determination to constantly fight for better. You need to make the best of your circumstances, being transported to a world where you’re powerless with nothing but the shirt on your back. He’s taught you to be crafty and resourceful, and to never let yourself be taken advantage of. You can’t thank him enough...and really, you can’t anymore, but that’s okay.

Jack Howl leaves a carefully planned school year in his wake. You find yourself planning out your day, little events scribbled into your calendar and schedules created in the margins of your notebook. Jack had always reminded you of things and you wanted to let him know how much you valued his efforts to keep you on track, so you started writing down his schedules too. It isn’t until you flip back through your notebook to find older notes that you see “Track and Field Meet - 5pm” and feel a pang in your heart.

Azul Ashengrotto leaves you with a ton of home-economics knowledge. Long after you two have broken up, you still find yourself checking on your monthly expenses and tweaking your meal plans, and it isn’t until you’re laying in bed one night that you realize you wouldn’t be nearly as efficient as you are now if it wasn’t for your previous sweetheart.

Jade Leech leaves you with a fascination for the world around you. He took things that you didn’t think twice about and twisted them into beautiful sights, and you never quite looked at them the same way. It’s not a bad thing, it’s quite the opposite, actually. Your world has never been more beautiful, even if the boy that opened your eyes isn’t there to see it with you.

Floyd Leech leaves you with a restless need to do something. Sometimes, during your down time, you’ll set down your phone and start pacing around your room, wondering why your legs just can’t seem to sit still. Then something clicks—Floyd used to barge into your dorm and dance with you at random intervals, but he doesn’t do that as much anymore. Laughing to yourself, you slip on a coat and decide to take a walk—anything to get the fidgeting out of your system.

Kalim Al-Asim leaves you with a brighter smile and higher patience. You’d always had to chase after him on whatever misadventure he decided to go on that day, apologizing to Jamil with a wobbly smile on your face once the day was done. Kalim never failed to make things brighter, even your breakup. You two still hang out sometimes, but you aren’t as close as you used to be, even if the memories of your adventures remain.

Jamil Viper leaves you with some of his best recipes. It may seem silly or insignificant to anyone else, but you know exactly how much time he spent cooking and baking for Kalim and his entire dorm on a daily basis. He even found time to bring you and his club snacks occasionally. You still know how to make his favorite curry, and if a recipe calls for dates you scratch them out from the ingredients out of habit.

Vil Schoenheit leaves you feeling beautiful. He never once looked at you wrong, whether you had just woken up or had gotten into another mud fight with Grim or if you were wearing a swimsuit. There was nothing but love in his gaze and a reminder to keep your head up on his tongue, because in his eyes you were precious. Because to Vil, you were unapologetically beautiful (and you still are. You always will be.)

Rook Hunt leaves you with an eye for detail. After picking up on everything you did and telling you about every habit he examined, you became keenly aware of your habits and how to manage them. You’re far more observant when it comes to your own self care, and you know you wouldn’t be as diligent if it wasn’t for the insistence of your ex.

Epel Felmier leaves you with a love for nature. You’re hyper aware of how long it takes apple trees to grow and what you can do to help them along. You whisper to your plants now and sing little songs to them and you water them. Your friends have even started coming to you for pointers, and despite the fact that Epel isn’t your partner anymore, you refer them to him automatically.

Idia Shroud leaves you with an absurd amount of techy knowledge. With all the gadgets Ramshackle has because of him, you’re thankful he took the time to explain how they worked. The gifts he made for you almost make the fact that he had to end things with you because of his...family business and that you’ll likely never see him again easier to swallow.

Malleus Draconia leaves you with a greater love for the night sky. You had a person to share the sight of the stars with for once, someone who loved looking up at them just as much as you did. You can still feel the chill of his hand over yours as he reached for it, holding it like you were the most precious treasure of all. Now, when you look up at the stars, you feel a pain of longing in your chest. You miss him.

Lilia Vanrouge leaves you with knowledge of the worlds you’ll never see. You find yourself drawing parallels between this world, your world, and the mystical places Lilia used to talk about. Even Trein has been impressed by the knowledge you’ve displayed in his essays despite not being from this world, and you can only force a laugh.

Silver leaves you with a safety net, something you can use to calm down whenever. His childhood lullaby. He sang it for you time and time again when you were having trouble sleeping in an unfamiliar place when your anxiety got a bit too much. Whenever you have a nightmare now, you find yourself humming the old Briar Valley tune, in hopes that it will give you some comfort.

Sebek Zigvolt leaves you with a greater appreciation for reading (and a pile of bookmarks tucked in an old leather box he presented when he started “courting” you.) You still find yourself exiting Ramshackle on the weekends, and heading to that very same tree you two used to read under. There’s a part of you that wants to look for him, to check and see if he’s also heading to your tree, but you don’t.

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covetyou · 1 year ago

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stars and stripes

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: nipple play, novelty underwear, balls, anxiety, democracy, the pledge of allegiance, friendly brotherly contest, alcohol, prelude to oral sex (m! receiving) word count: 5k summary: Roles are reversed this Fourth of July when you surprise Joel with a little festive treat of your own.

A/N: happy 4th of July to folks in the US and happy general election day to my fellow UK pals! If you haven't exercised your right to vote yet, and you're registered, you have until 10pm BST tonight to get to your polling station - as long as you're in line by 10pm, you'll be able to vote. do dress up Joel proud, and go do a democracy.

I make absolutely no apologies for anything in this fic. not a single thing. especially not that thing. tis the season. happy ballidays, pals!

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

As it turned out, Joel knew a guy who knew a guy who could fix your AC, and within two days your house was a safe haven from the burgeoning Texas summer.

Easy as that, apparently. Your desperate attempts to call around HVAC companies the week your AC busted seemed stupid now that it was all a matter of simply knowing a guy.

Not that it was all easy. Letting someone else into your house after everything that had gone on suddenly felt scary, and it took Joel promising you he'd dip from his own job for the afternoon to keep an eye on things for you to feel okay with any of it.

But, even that left an odd feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You'd told him to let himself in, though this time you'd given him a key, and that felt like something. For as many times as he'd broken in, and for as long as you'd left your house open and vulnerable - and, by extension, yourself - handing over your spare keys to Joel for the day felt more vulnerable than you'd ever felt with him wandering your house at unknown hours of the day and night.

It felt like something all over again when you handed them over to him the next week too - there was a jammed drawer he wanted to fix, and he said he could get in to see to it before work one day.

Even when you opened the door to him on the nights he didn't have Sarah - his daughter, you'd learned - it felt like something. Especially knowing that that spare key now sat attached to his own, jingling in his pocket each time he walked into your home, invited.

And the more somethings it felt like, the less you felt like figuring it out.

It continued the same way for weeks. Him moving back and forth the short distance between his home and yours, while you stayed safely cocooned in your own, cool, four walls.

Then, barely one month into this officially unofficial something that you were, it was finally time for you to make that short journey down the street to Joel's.

Being honest, the thought of it had terrified you, and you'd almost backed out multiple times.

Not because it was Joel, or Joel's house - at least, that's what you told yourself - but because a "the whole neighborhood is invited, bring snacks or beer" type of Fourth of July party wasn't the kind of way you'd envisioned your first time in Joel's home. You figured maybe it'd be dinner, or a movie, or a quick fuck against the stairs with Joel's balls trussed up in something. Normal things.

Not loud peopley things.

Still, you readjust your top once more, take the briefest of glances in the mirror, and head out the door anyway, nerves be damned. You can totally handle a Fourth of July BBQ at Joel's house.

You think you can all the way up to Joel's driveway, when the nerves come back with a vengeance and you stand there, feeling sick, listening to the sounds of people and music coming from the backyard.

You try to tell yourself it all makes sense. It's a new place, a place that should mean so much because it's his, but try as you might you can't fight back the panic rising as you think of the very many faces that are going to be in this new place too. Familiar faces, faces you'd seen most days as you went about your life down this street you called home, people you'd shared small talk with and said good morning to almost every day as you left for work.

Then there's this stupid outfit you're wearing. The you from weeks ago chose it the very same day you said yes to Joel's invitation, and the you of today didn't have the energy or inclination to think of anything else. Wear whatever, Joel had said, it's just a casual thing. So, you'd gone for casual.

Braless is casual, right?

Not that that was a specific choice, more a necessity. You'd chucked the third bra on the floor in a huff, cursing your shitty outfit choice and lack of bra to fit it, and instead decided to stick on some nipple pasties and be done with it.

All that's done now, and now here you are, still standing like an idiot in the driveway, closer to Joel's home than you have ever been, psyching yourself up to go inside.

With a deep breath of the dry Texas heat, you head for the open back gate, the soft sound of your shoes on the paving stones so loud in your ears as everything wooshes and fizzes in your head.

It's somehow both better and worse than your expectations.

You're immediately greeted by a sea of recognizable faces, the bottle of wine you forgot you were even holding whisked out of your hand and taken inside before you can even get your first round of hello's in. You don't have much of a chance to be nervous, or self conscious, or any of the things you'd worried about being in the days leading up to being here, because there's just so much of everything around you. Noises, smells, people.

Everything, except for Joel. You've not caught a single look at him since you got here - minutes ago - and you wonder if he's even here and not relaxing back at your place on the couch.

Then you see him. At least, you think it's him. His back is to you, locked into conversation so fierce he hasn't noticed the commotion about your entrance.

You think it's him, but you're also certain you don't know of anyone else who would dress head to toe in red, white, and blue candy stripes. The sight of it makes you forget your own outfit worries as a grin forms on your face, and that familiar rumbling of something in the pit of your stomach comes back all over again.

"Not eyein' the very slightly younger model, are you?" comes a gruff voice that has you twisting rapidly on the spot, the smile barely given chance to fall from your face when you spot the actual, real life Joel standing right there next to you, cold beer in hand.

In your own defence, real life Joel isn't dressed much better than the other Joel stood over the other side of the yard. He's probably dressed worse, actually. He's head to toe in stars, all the way from the novelty headband on his head to the flashing star lights clipped to his shoes. It's gaudy, and camp, and so perfectly Joel that the smile that dipped from your face for all of half a second is back, and you're grinning up at him, that feeling in your belly violently boiling away now that he's right there.

"Oh, him?" you say with a wave of your hand. "Nah. He's like a dollar store version of you."

"Really? I'll be sure to tell Tommy he's Dollar Store Joel from now on. He'll love that. Hey, Tommy!" he calls over the yard, before slipping his free hand behind your back. "C'mon. Let me introduce y'all."

He guides you over, hand never leaving the small of your back, touching you out here in front of all these people as if you are actually officially the kind of something that everyone should know about. And maybe you are.

But then, you're looking into familiar friendly eyes, so similar to the ones you've been staring into and dreaming of since Christmas, and watching this familiar strangers face light up so brightly you briefly wonder if his joy is misplaced until he's wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

"Shit, he weren't lying," says Tommy as he rocks on his feet with you in his arms before releasing and looking down at you. "You are real."

Before Joel can land a firm whack to Tommy's shoulder, Tommy's pulling you in for another hug, telling you how nice it is to finally meet you, because he's heard all about you, dropping in a few choice words about his asshole brother here and there as he chatters to you, and Joel, and even himself.

At some point, whether it's during the fourth hug or the eighteenth, you're not sure, Joel slips off to grab you a drink, leaving you with his bizarrely dressed brother.

"Ain't never seen him smile so much without Sarah around," he says, the moment Joel's out of earshot, giving you a nudge and another fond smile. "Y'know, I think he might like you."

"Mm, I think I might like him too."

Small talk with Tommy is easy - the man's a talker, if you ever met one. He's a charmer too, and if you met him in a bar you might think he'd be coming on to you with the way he so attentively talks to you, only directing his attention elsewhere for the briefest of moments.

"What's with the outfits?" you eventually ask, with a flick to his striped top hat. "Joel never said it was a dress up party."

"Oh it ain't, this is just a family tradition. Dad always used to dress up in dumb shit for the holidays, make us laugh, and it just sorta stuck. 'Course, added in some friendly competition over the years too, and then this," he says with a dramatic sweep down his body, "was born."

"Competition?"

"Mhm. Joel'll tell you, won't you brother?" Tommy says with a wink over your head before ducking sideways to raid the snack table.

"What am I s'posed to tell you?" he says, handing you your drink, letting his fingers linger near yours and stroke a trail of burning heat gently up your arm before falling back to his pocket.

"The competition."

"S'easy. Stars or stripes," Joel points to himself, decked out in stars and then to his brother where he stands loudly chatting to yet more guests in his candy stripes. "You gotta pick. Most votes, wins."

"I've got to pick?"

"'s the rules, darlin'."

"So you want me to pick between you, or some costumed guy I don't know - a practical stranger?" you say, with a glint in your eye, watching Joel's face drop in faux offence.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't underestimate me, Joel. I think you know exactly what I'm capable of."

Your eyes meet in a silent stalemate, the glint in your eye never leaving as Joel bites at his cheek to hold back a laugh. Tommy was right - you do like Joel, some days too much, and moments like right now, you think maybe it's reciprocated, and you like him just the right amount.

Poking him in the chest, finger pressed to the middle of one of the sea of stars decorating his body, you let yourself break first. "Stars, Joel. I pick stars."

With a roll of his eyes, and a kiss pressed lightning quick to the side of your head, Joel's hand winds back around your back.

"Thank fuck for that. Let's get you a votin' card so you can make that official."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

As the evening draws on, you think you've talked to just about everyone in your street several times over, and then some. It also turns out that Joel and Tommy take their little competition very seriously, and always have, if your neighbors are to be believed.

By the time the votes have been counted and Joel in his star spangled outfit is declared the winner, Tommy has sunk to his knees, his hat toppled off in his despair as he hangs his head in shame.

You're still listening to them bicker as you sneak off to use the bathroom, their voices only disappearing when you've slid the patio door shut and taken your first official step into Joel's house.

"The headband swung it."

"The headband is Sarah's, and your massive skull is breakin' it..."

Even through the mess of the party, you can see that this place is distinctly Joel, with hints of a 10 year old girl dotted around the place. From the pictures on the wall to the cushions on the sofa - mostly a rich navy, but one soft pink nestled in with the blue - through to small ornamental carvings on a side table and the drawings stuck on the refrigerator.

You're looking at one - not a masterpiece by any means, but very decent attempt at a bluebonnet - when the pressure inside the house changes again with the slide of the door.

It's Joel, arms laden with bottles, and the headband flopping forward pathetically on his head. "You snuck off quick," he says, dumping the bottles onto the counter. "Get lost findin' the bathroom?"

"Distracted. Never had chance to sneak around your house looking at your shit before," you quip with a smile, trying to get comfortable with the very uncomfortable thing that brought you two together in the first place.

"Then shoes off. Lemme take you upstairs, give you a little tour, and you can use the bathroom up there. Probably in a better state than the one down here now anyway."

He holds your hand in his all the way up the stairs. That something rears its head again, igniting your palm where it meets his, your brain not registering a single word he says as he points to various doors before dragging you through one, into his bedroom.

His lips are on yours immediately - or yours are on his. You can't quite work out who started it, you just know that you're a tangle as your hands roam each other, biting and licking kisses into each others mouths. His hand finds your ass, and you're moaning as he presses you forward, into him, and the soft lump in his pants. You want to grind yourself against him, but the angle isn't right, and a nagging forgotten thing is worming through your brain when Joel pushes your bodies together once more.

Oh. Right. You remember now.

"Joel - mmph - Joel," you say with urgency through his kisses. He pulls back, searching your face with panic and a pinched brow. "I really gotta pee."

With a kiss to your forehead he lets you go, pushing you toward his ensuite. When you exit a few minutes later, he's exactly where you left him, stood with his hands in his pockets, looking sheepish as he possibly ever could.

"I'm glad you came," he says, looking at you and setting that something off roaring through your body again.

"Me too. I... I've had a nice time."

"Just wanted you to know I didn't invite you here just for, y'know," he says, with a gesture to his bed. "Didn't bring you in here for it either. Just, sorta missed you. Not used to not bein' alone with you. It's weird sharin' you."

You don't want to remind him you've barely left each others sides all night. You don't want to draw too much attention to the something, just in case you scare it away.

"Damn. Got nothing for me? Nothing at all?" you joke instead.

"Got nothin'. Nothin' planned anyway," he says with a look around the room, his eyes focussing briefly on a drawer before flicking back to you.

Really, you should be leaving space between you and Joel. Space for the something to flourish, space that is just enough to not magnetize your body to his, smashing yourselves together and turning the nothing into something. What you should do doesn't have the power to stop your feet from slowly pulling you toward him again though. And it doesn't stop you from putting both your hands on his chest when you finally reach him.

"No? Got no magic tricks up your sleeve? I was hoping for a wand or a rabbit or somethin', you do look like you ran away from the circus."

"I'll have you know this shirt is the finest polyester you can find at Party City."

"Mm, sounds sweaty."

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"So you're sweaty and gross, and you have nothing to wow me with? I'm starting to wonder why you invited me." Which is a lie. You know why, and so does he, and you're glad for it, even if it still frightens you to think about it too much. You suspect he knows an awful lot more about you than you've told him. He's perceptive like that.

"Maybe I'm retractin' your invite."

"You wouldn't."

"No?"

"What if I've got a little something for you instead, am I still invited now?"

Joel's eyes light up and soften all at once, turning so bright and sparkling you think he might cry. It's not exactly that you've never done anything for him in the ways he has for you. When he mentioned his favorite snack, you got some in the house for nights you spend watching a movie before devolving into fucking on the floor. You bought new lingerie, which only ever stayed on if it was too difficult to get out of, and once or twice he'd caught you wearing the heart shaped butt plug before leaping on you and pounding you into whatever surface was nearest, thumb pressing down on the base and making you see stars.

Still, for all you had done, you never swapped positions in the little game you'd been playing with each other for over seven months. Each time, he was the one who came to you with some silly thing or trick or toy to tease you with, and each time you loved it. You hoped he would love this too.

"You do?"

"Mhm," you say as you put some distance between the two of you again. Space to breath, space to move, space to let the something calm back down into the pit of your stomach and curl in on itself like a cat settling down to sleep.

Your let your fingers glide up your body, gently pulling your skirt for a moment before they coast up your belly and reach your shirt, flirting with the hem before curling around it and tugging, letting your tits jiggle behind the fabric.

With a final soft tug, you peel the fabric up your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out the bottom of your top.

"Holy shit, baby," he says, a whisper of a moan on his lips. His eyes have been glued to you, wide and curious, ever since you suggested you may have something for him. And now, they're darting from your chest to your face then back down, taking in the sight of your covered nipples.

You had made some choices earlier today, in your nervous state. Going braless was only one of them. The pasties too, were another. And then, there was the shape. You has flowers, hearts, circles, straight tape and, finally, stars. It was a no brainer when you'd rifled through the packet for two that matched that white stars were the perfect choice for today. It'd only really occured to you when Joel had worn his own stars, that you were perhaps better matched today than you thought, that maybe you could have your own little game with him for once.

"Told you I was all in on the stars."

"Damn right you are," he says as he approaches, his hands finding their place on your waist, itching to move upward. "They don't hurt?"

"They're just pasties, Joel. They're soft. Feel."

And fuck, does he feel. His hands cup you, gently squeezing the softest part of your breast before letting his thumbs dance across where the pucker of your nipple should be. The sensation is muted, infuriatingly muffled by the feel of the pasties covering you.

"S'good?"

"Imagine I stroked your dick over your pants. It's good but it's not the same."

"Damn," he curses, thumbs still gently rubbing over your nipples, watching them slowly come to life and prickling beneath the coverings. "They come off easy?"

"Like a bandaid."

"Shit."

And you just know what he's thinking, because you're thinking it too. There's no real way you can take them off right now and let Joel have his way with your nipples like you're both desperate for, even if time and the swathe of people downstairs wasn't an issue. You have nothing else to cover up with and the soft breeze combined with the cold drinks and the age of some of the guests here means it's probably not a good idea to go without them.

That doesn't stop Joel from kissing you again though, more restrained than he has any right to be with your tits in his hands. You know from his frustrated groan when you bite at his bottom lip that he's two seconds away from telling everyone the parties over, only to come back up here and continue with a party for just two.

To your surprises, he pulls your top back down. Not before kissing one breast, then the other, then back to the first. You know he wants to sink his face into them, but he doesn't let himself, and he rises from his crouch with a groan and pulls you out of the room.

"Don't show Tommy," Joel whispers to you as you make your way back down the stairs. "He'll say the contest was rigged."

"Damn, I was so hoping to show your brother my nipples."

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆

Joel's eyes keep flicking to your chest for the rest of the night. More than once he drags you away inside, either upstairs or into the garage, just to ask you to show him one more time. If you weren't covered, your nipples would have been rubbed and pinched raw by his eager fingers by now, just as your lips were swollen by his eager mouth.

By the time it's all over, you're positively exhausted, propping yourself up on the arm of a chair and talking to Tommy as Joel waves off the last of the guests and closes the back gate.

You had barely left his side all night, and if anyone had anything to say about it, you hadn't heard it. Neither had Joel. And Tommy, a clever man when he wanted to be, hadn't made a single joke about it either. All in all, it was as much of a successful day than you could hope for, initial nerves aside.

Tommy, continuing to be a clever man, doesn't put up much of a fight when you offer to be the one to stay behind and help clear up. Of course, he's already gone around and collected most of the trash, and put the leftover food inside, but he relents at your insistence he head home - you do only live down the street after all.

Neither you or Joel get much further with the cleaning. Once trash bags are dumped in the garage and you've both washed up, his hands are back under your top, damp fingers cupping your breasts and pulling you back into him.

"Stay?" he asks, as if there was any other ending to this night, as if Tommy hadn't left precisely for this reason.

You barely agree by the time his mouth is latched onto your neck, drawing unrestrained moans out of you right there in the kitchen now that you're finally alone.

His hands, of course, find their way back up to your top, stroking over the edge of the pasties once more.

"You really like 'em, huh?" you ask as his thumb brushes the edge of one, starting to curl and pull the point of one of the stars.

"Like that we match. Feel like you picked 'em for me," he mumbles into your neck, releasing one breast and tucking his hand into the waistband of your skirt. "Like that I've had somethin' to think about, somethin' to play with, even with all these people here."

Fuck, if you haven't liked that too. Letting him play had been one of the highlights of your night so far. Being manhandled into the garage, giggling and pushing Joel as he clasped his hands together in a plea to please see your tits. The souvenir love bite you'd let him suck into your left breast after dragging you back upstairs for a second time. You'd spent half the night flipping between Joels hands and mouth on your tits, to being dragged back out to socialize. Your pussy had given up trying to regulate itself after the third session of Joel's teasing, and you'd spent the rest of the evening wet and waiting.

This is a fact he finds out now, as he slides his hand down over your mound to cup you over your panties. You both let out the same curse as he presses and wiggles his fingers back and forth over you, rubbing your clit over your underwear. You had hoped to peel the pasties off before you fucked him, giving him full access to your nipples for the first time tonight, but you don't think you're going to make it that far, not now his hand is pulling your panties aside, feeling for the slick wetness between your lips and dragging it up, up, up to swirl around your clit.

Not a second later you're scaling the stairs for what you know will be the final time that day, this time you dragging Joel as you both kick of your shoes and stumble up the steps. You already ache from all the standing, and if you have it your way, your legs are going to be shaking and trembling too much for the rest of the night to possibly be of use to you.

With his door pushed open, left wide now the house is empty, you pull yourself back into him, only for him to slip his still wet finger between your lips, letting you taste yourself before he captures your mouth, licking your taste from your own tongue.

Then, your hands find his chest, that ridiculous shirt, and pull at it, tugging the fabric taught to his body, eager to get it off and tumble into his sheets with him.

You were right about how sweaty he'd be under the shirt when you finally get your fingers on the buttons, working your way down until you can pull it off. He's shining underneath it, the dark hair of his body slicked down as you drag your hands up over his chest, to his shoulders and then down to his belt.

He suddenly stops you, pulling your hands away, pressing kiss after kiss to your mouth as he fumbles with the buckle. In a huff, after a few failed, distracted, attempts, he pushes you away and pulls off his belt before unzipping his pants.

Joel has barely tugged them down his legs when you're staring wide eyed, howling with laughter, staring directly at his cock. Only, this time, it stares back.

At least, the bald eagle on the front of his boxers does.

"What are those?"

"Nothin'," Joel says, covering himself and trying to tug his boxers over his erection with one hand still trying to pull off his pants. Grabbing his hands, you stop him, pleading as you tug them away from his crotch.

"Show me."

"Look, s'nothin. Just another stupid thing Tommy got me and I thought it'd be funny but..."

"Sure looks like you got somethin' there for me. All this time you were sayin nothin'. Don't tell me you're getting shy on me now. C'mon. Please."

You pout, trying desperately to get him to give in when you have an idea and you're tugging your top off over your head and throwing it to the side, brandishing your star covered nipples to him once more.

"Pretty please," you say with a small shimmy, and Joel's hand immediately falls away, coming up instead to cover his eyes with a sigh.

It's a sight to behold. Really, it is. The eagle is staring back at you once again, still bolstered by Joel's solid length and the heft of his balls behind it. What you hadn't noticed before is it's sitting on a canvas of United States flag, stars and stripes covering his thighs, his hips, his ass.

"Oh wow. Joel those are -" you cough out a laugh "- those are amazing."

He's rolling his eyes. You can hear it in his voice and see it in his posture. "Yeah, real funny, I know."

"No, I like them. Very festive. And y'know what," you say, cupping his cock right over the eagle print of his boxers as you clear your throat. "I pledge allegiance -"

"No, don't you d-"

"- to these balls -"

"Stop."

"- and the cock they sit under -"

"Oh my god," he says, fighting through a laugh, your fingers squeezing and massaging as you pledge yourself, whole heartedly, to the appendage in your hand.

" - one - uh, cock and balls? Is there even a collective word for cock and balls? - under Joel -"

"It's just gettin' worse."

"- definitely indivisible, no divisible balls here - "

"You're killin' me."

"- say it with me now - with liberty and justice for balls."

You try to keep a straight face as you finish. Really you do. But as Joel's whole body shakes and ripples, his balls jiggling in your hand as laughter wracks through him, you can't help but fall into him, letting yourself be propped up by him as you crumple in on yourself in delight.

"You callin' my balls Liberty and Justice now?" Joel finally says through a laugh.

You slide a finger up the leg of his boxers, pulling gently on them as you stare down at the flag adorning his ass and balls.

"Yep. You're Star Spangled Joel with your side kicks, Liberty and Justice."

You give his balls a little squeeze again as you name them.

"Now that you pledged your allegiance, you gonna keep yappin' or you gonna prove it?"

But it's too late, because you're already sinking to your knees, right there in his bedroom, a place you both know you're going to wake up in the morning, wrapped in each other as the sunlight peeks through the curtains.

"Just try to stop me."

next part

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog

@youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123

@valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather

@stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @joelsdagger

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal characters #coveted fics #big bawl jawl #never forget the balls #fic: dress up joel

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ramp-it-up · 22 days ago

Text

Muse: epilogue

Muse: Seven | Muse Masterlist | Muse: The Cleo Era

Summary: Two years down the line and Ari has been a patient man. How does he make that special moment unforgettable?

Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model! Reader; Bucky x Frumoasă, and Steve x Peach

Word count: 4 K

A/N: This is it! It's really the last of the planned fics for Muse and Ari, but I will always be down for asks or devils in my inbox. Thank you to those of you who just get these two like I do. You know my heart. 🥹 Muse has been a series of one shots featuring Muse and Ari, and this is it. 🥲 Big thanks to @princessphilly who basically inspired the premise and has endured me being unhinged in her inbox. This AU is the nexus, not only connected to the Peach and Knock You Down verses, but also the Minx verse. I love reblogs, replies, asks and likes. Let me have it! :)

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, that forever feeling, death of an appliance; beginning of a union, wedding planning, wedding vows, Steve and Bucky and Furmoasa and Peach, wife and husband kink, Muse gets hella lucky: lots of oral (f receiving) intense breeding kink, anal play, edging, over-stim, size kink, raw p in v.

I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

Two Years Later

The new apartment in Hudson Yards wasn’t new anymore; it smelled like the two of you now, ink and espresso, lavender and Ari’s cologne.

The walls were no longer bare; they were layered with framed editorial spreads from Muse Magazine, splashes of abstract color from Ari’s latest obsessions, and candid polaroids of you and him stuck up with painter’s tape.

It was home.

It wasn’t just your name on the lease, not just his art on the walls, your books on the shelves, or his socks in the drawers. It was dinners on the floor when the dining table was covered in proofs or polaroids of artwork. It was sleepy forehead kisses before sunrise when you left early for a shoot, and his murmured, “Text me when you get there,” before drifting back to sleep.

And you were busier than ever.

You'd used the momentum from Paris to start Muse, which was thriving now after so many long nights and big risks. You were the face of the brand, your image woven into its DNA, and your calendar was a stitched mess of shoots and layout meetings and interviews.

The article about Peach Rogers, Stripper Turned Socialite, had gone viral last month, and Mrs. Barnes was guest-editing the summer art issue. Your managing editor, who you called Trixie, because she was basically your Swiss Army knife, was your ace. Ari was on your editorial board. The team was small, but everything you’d dreamed of.

And Ari, god, was he proud of you, even when he teased you about being a tyrant in editorial meetings.

He was busy, too, consulting curator at the new MoMA extension and Red Sea was one of the hottest art spaces in NYC, up there with Rebirth.

Bucky had bought a piece by one of the artists Ari exhibited, something stark and haunted that reminded him of Romania, and the two of them had bonded fast over art.

His wife called you sister wife despite the fact that it made Ari’s eye twitch a little. Or maybe because of it.

Peach was your chaos twin, and Steve tolerated Ari. Ari tolerated him right back.

It worked.

And somehow, you still made time for late-night gallery crawls, monthly Salsa nights, early morning sex, late night sex, and mid-day-sneak-away sex, for cooking together and fighting and making up and holding each other through storms that no one else saw.

Your life was full of everything you had ever wanted and more. It didn’t look like what either of you imagined; it was better.

And tonight, as the sunset lit up the city outside your windows, you were curled up on the couch again, him in sweats, you in one of his button-downs, bare legs tucked beneath you. A plate of takeout was shared between you, your laptop open but ignored, and the latest proofs scattered around your ankles.

“I’ve been thinking,” you said, reaching for your wine.

“That’s dangerous,” Ari replied, smirking as he swirled his own glass.

You nudged his thigh with your foot.

“I mean about the next cover. The anniversary issue. No gowns. No theme. Just… raw. Honest. Like the bones of why we started.”

He set his glass down and leaned back, watching you.

“You mean why you started. You’re the spine of that magazine.”

You smiled without looking up.

“Maybe. But you’re the one who taught me how to stay standing.”

The words caught him off-guard. You didn’t notice, you were back to flipping through the proofs and making notes. But Ari was frozen. Then, his hand slipped into the pocket of his hoodie, fingers finding the small velvet box he’d been carrying for weeks. Months, really.

He’d been waiting. Watching.

Not because he doubted you. But because he knew the woman you were. Knew how hard-won your independence was. Knew you didn’t want to be possessed, just chosen.

He wanted you to want it. Not because it was time, or expected, or pretty in a picture. But because it was him.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, voice softer now.

You looked up, surprised by the way he was watching you.

“What?”

Ari smiled. “You happy?”

You tilted your head.

“That’s a big question.”

“I know. But… two years ago, we were holding it all together with just desire and sheer stubborn willpower. And now we’ve got this life. Our life. Just… wondering if it’s everything you wanted it to be.”

You set the laptop aside and crawled into his lap without hesitation, looping your arms around his neck.

“I’m exhausted, overworked, hungry all the time, and I’ve got deadlines coming out of my ears,” you murmured.

“And yes. I’m so happy it makes my chest ache sometimes.”

Ari closed his eyes and breathed you in. And when he opened them, he knew.

Not tonight. But soon.

Very soon.

—--

It started with a flood.

Not a metaphorical flood. Just the dishwasher finally giving up and dumping water all over the kitchen floor on a Saturday morning.

You’d both slept in, a rare occurrence. Ari made pancakes. You made coffee. And then the dishwasher coughed, sputtered, and poured an ocean at your feet.

“Shit,” you muttered, dropping to your knees with a towel.

“Language,” Ari said, following with a second towel and a grin.

“Don’t start with me, Levinson.”

You wrestled with the flood, both of you in Ari’s clothes, slipping, cursing, and laughing as the towels soaked through too fast to matter. Ari bumped into you reaching for the paper towels and you knocked over the cold coffee. He tried to mop it up and ended up with pancake syrup on his elbow.

It was chaos.

Beautiful, sticky, domestic chaos.

You looked up at him, hair a mess, in his t-shirt, covered in coffee, kneeling in a puddle. And he just knew.

“This is it,” he said suddenly.

You blinked.

“The end of days via Whirlpool?”

“No,” he said, breathless with some kind of quiet joy.

“This. Us. This is it for me.”

You froze.

He reached into the drawer behind him, not the romantic reveal he’d been planning for months. Just… the junk drawer.

Because the ring was there.

He’d tucked it away two weeks ago after another failed plan involving candlelight and a rooftop view and you getting a last-minute call from the magazine.

He got on one knee, covered in dishwater and syrup, holding the velvet box in his palm.

“No crowd,” Ari said quietly.

“No over the top moment. Just… I love you. I love our life. I love the mess and the mornings and you being such a fucking boss. I want this, you, every version of you. For the rest of my life.”

Your breath caught.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long, but I waited to ask because I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t want to make you feel like it had to be anything but what we made together. But if you want it, if you want me, say yes.”

You stared at him, then at your kitchen, flooded and gleaming with city light.

And back at the man who had never asked you to be anything but yourself.

Who had waited until you were ready without ever stepping away.

You laughed.

Then you sobbed.

Then leaned in to kiss him, your wet hands cradling his cheeks. Then you reached for the box with trembling fingers.

Inside there was a ring that wasn’t flashy, and it wasn’t trendy; it was timeless. Something that would look just as good when you were both old and gray and bickering over espresso machines.

“Yes,” you whispered against his mouth. “Fuck, yes.”

And that’s how it happened.

Not on a rooftop.

Not in Paris.

Not on a yacht.

But in your kitchen, barefoot and sticky with syrup, soaked in dish water and love.

And it was perfect.

Absolutely, unequivocally perfect.

—----

You didn’t leave the apartment for two days.

Maybe it was the storm that rolled in that night, sheets of rain drumming against the windows.

Maybe it was the dishwasher’s death rattle. But mostly, it was the ring on your finger.

The quiet click of it as you rubbed your thumb over it absentmindedly. The weight of it, grounding you. A promise you could feel every time Ari touched you, which was constantly now.

He couldn’t seem to stop.

Neither could you.

That first night, after you said yes, he lifted you onto the kitchen counter and kissed you until you couldn’t tell if it was tears or steam fogging up your vision. You didn’t even notice the mess on the floor.

He dropped to his knees, not to propose again, but to pull your panties down and press his mouth to you like he meant it. Like he wanted to worship the exact moment his life changed.

“I get to marry you,” he whispered between licks, voice hoarse, reverent. “You’re mine.”

You moaned his name, fingers tangling in his hair, and whispered back, “Yours. Always.”

You came with your legs over his shoulders, your shirt still on, your body arching into the kind of release that felt like yes in every form. He stood up and kissed you with your taste still on his lips, then carried you to the bed like he would as long as he could walk.

It didn’t stop there.

The next morning, after several rounds and a couple of showers, you woke tangled in his arms, the ring catching the sunlight as he reached for your hand to kiss your knuckles.

“Still yes?” he asked, teasing.

You dragged him back under the covers in response, straddling him, kissing him with slow, sleepy hunger.

“Yes,” you murmured against his jaw. “Yes, yes, yes.”

The sex wasn’t frantic, not always. Sometimes it was just lazy and warm. He’d whisper things into your skin, things like:

“Can’t believe I’ll get to call you my wife.”

“Gonna love you like this for the rest of our lives.”

“Bet you’ll be so fucking beautiful pregnant. Glowing and full of me.”

You gasped every time he said it, arousal tightening deep in your belly. It was a game, a kink, a maybe.

You were still on birth control, and you’d talked about waiting. But the way Ari said it, all hot and possessive, made it sound like a future you already wanted.

One night, he fucked you from behind, your palms flat on the windowpane, city lights smeared and golden.

“You’d let me do it, wouldn’t you? Fill you up? Keep you full? Give you everything?”

You whimpered his name, rocking back onto him, the ring on your finger clicking against the glass as you pressed your palm to it.

“Yes, Ari, oh fuck, yes.”

He came groaning your name, one hand gripping your hip, the other covering your stomach like he was already imagining it round and swollen, then lower. You came seconds after, hips jerking, your cheek pressed to the cold glass.

Afterward, you curled up on the living room rug under the Rothko, naked under a shared blanket, bodies still humming.

“I think we’re disgusting,” you whispered, smiling against his chest.

“We’re engaged,” he said, fingers carding in your hair. “It’s romantic.”

“You just called my uterus a nesting site.”

“And you moaned,” he added smugly.

You laughed.

You kissed.

You touched and teased and talked about everything, guest lists and flowers and how you didn’t care if anyone came as long as he was at the end of the aisle.

—-

And you tried. You really did.

There were Pinterest boards.

Mood boards.

Spreadsheets.

A dress fitting that made you cry (and not in the good way), a caterer who ghosted you, and a seating chart that could be classified as psychological warfare.

And then there was your mother. And his mother. And father. And step-mother.

Ari was… supportive. Too supportive. Which made it worse.

“Babe, whatever you want,” he said one night as you stared blankly at a color-coded planner.

“It’s our day.”

You glared at him from across the couch.

“Then why do I feel like I’m planning the Geneva Convention?”

He bit back a laugh.

“Want to elope?”

“Don’t tempt me,” you muttered.

But he saw it, that flicker in your eyes that whispered: God, yes.

You tried again.

You called venues.

Your managing editor sent a list of photographers.

Your mother sent seven voice notes in a row about flower girls you didn’t want.

Ari watched you slowly unravel, always calm, and always ready to catch you.

Until you escaped to Montauk for the holiday.

Just a weekend, you swore.

Just to breathe, he promised.

But the moment your bags hit the hardwood floors of the beach house, Ari looked at you and asked, very softly, “Tell me we brought the rings.”

You blinked.

Then laughed.

Then cried.

Because of course you had.

The next evening, barefoot on the sand in front of the sunset, a local officiant Ari had apparently texted at dawn, read quiet vows as the waves came in.

No bouquet. No guests. No panic.

Just you in an off-the-rack Oscar de la Renta trapeze lace mini you just happened to have with you. He looked like the wind had knocked the breath from his lungs when you stepped barefoot across the dunes.

Ari stood there, his Tom Ford linen blazer open over a t-shirt and worn jeans.

But it was his eyes. His eyes made your knees shake.

He was your mirror. Your match. Your flame.

“Hello, Beautiful,” he whispered, your hands warm in his.

The ceremony was short and perfect. You didn’t hear half of the officiant’s words. You only saw Ari and the way he smiled at you like there was no one else in the world.

“I’ve loved you since I first saw you, and I didn’t even know it,” you said, trembling slightly.

“Now that I am aware…”

He laughed, softly, and the sound warmed your chest.

“I’ll keep loving you, on purpose, through the ordinary and the wild, and through every day we choose each other.”

Ari swallowed hard, his thumb tracing over your knuckles.

“You’re my Muse. My home. My heart. I knew I was yours from the moment you texted. You rocked my world, and I just had to show you how much by sticking around, despite both of us. I love you. And I’ll continue to love you in every way I know how, and then find more ways to show you.”

It was just you and him. And the simplest, truest promises you’d ever made.

You kissed before the officiant could finish, laughing into each other’s mouths.

“Told you it didn’t have to be a production,” he whispered.

You grinned through your tears.

“It will be when we tell everyone.”

—--

The last sliver of sunlight disappeared behind the dunes, and the ocean hummed beyond the open windows as you padded back from the shower wrapped in a towel, cheeks flushed from heat and wine and the surreal giddiness of what you'd just done.

Ari was already in bed. The white sheets pooled low around his hips, one arm behind his head, the other outstretched like he’d been waiting for you to fall into him.

“You married me,” he said like he still couldn’t quite believe it.

“That’s wild.”

You dropped the towel and he stopped breathing.

“You married me,” you echoed, climbing into the space he made for you.

“That’s dangerous.”

He grinned, completely wrecked by you.

“God, you look good wearing nothing but my last name.”

You straddled him, letting him feel the heat of you as your hips slowly rolled forward. The diamond band caught the moonlight as you ran your fingers down his chest

“Want to know a secret?” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Always.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. It’s so intense, even after two years. Feels like it will be this way forever.”

His breath caught. Hands clenched around your hips. His mouth found your neck, open and hot, and he groaned into your skin.

“Fuck, Sweetheart, say that again.”

You kissed him instead, deep and slow, hips moving until he was hard against you.

His hands roamed like he was learning you for the first time, as if he didn’t already know every inch. Like the word wife rewrote every nerve ending.

“Gonna make love to my wife,” he murmured, voice deep and rough.

“All night. Just like this.”

You gasped when his lips brushed that spot behind your ear and your hands tangled in his thick, silken hair.

“First time I saw you, I thought about kissing you right there,” he whispered, “And now I get to do it every day for the rest of my life. I’m going to take such good care of you, Muse.”

His mouth trailed down your throat and across your collarbone to the soft swell of your breast. You arched into him as his lips closed around your nipple, tongue flicking slow, deliberate circles before he drew it into his mouth with a low hum.

You gasped, your fingers sinking into his scalp, the sensation a perfect, burning ache.

“You’re so damn gorgeous it hurts,” he said.

He moved to your other breast, lavishing the same slow, sensuous attention until you were gasping, arching, and already pulsing beneath him. He teased and sucked and grazed your skin with just enough teeth to make you shiver.

When your hips bucked up in search of more, Ari grinned against your skin.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured. “Didn’t even touch your pussy yet.”

He kissed his way down your belly, tongue dipping into your navel as you squirmed. He held you still, steady hands on your hips, eyes dark with hunger.

“My wife,” he said with reverence, as he kissed your thighs and pulled you open.

He settled between your legs like he belonged there, which he did, and then his mouth was on you. He licked you in long, sinfully slow strokes, savoring the taste like it was the first time.

“Have I told you that you’re beautiful?” you heard him murmur.

“Mmmmm. Maybe…,” you moaned, hips jerking as he held you down, licking you lewdly.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled into you, before pulling your clit into his mouth.

And then he started sucking you so deeply that your back arched. You cried out and Ari sucked harder, faster, tongue circling and flicking and fucking you with a mastery born of obsession.

You were gone, lost in the rhythm of his mouth, and the filthy, reverent things he was saying between licks, and how he devoured you like the sweetest sin.

“I’m so fucking greedy for my wife,” he whispered, slipping one finger inside your tight ass, another deeper into your cunt.

Your orgasm hit like a current, tearing through you with a feral sound. Your thighs trembled. Your fingers pulled at his hair. And still he licked, dragging it out, keeping you on the edge until you collapsed back against the bed, panting and wrecked.

And still, he wasn’t done.

“Easy now, Muse,” he whispered, licking more gently now. “I have all the time in the world to eat my wife out.”

He kitten licked your clit, causing another deep ripple of bliss that he tended to softly. Finally, he kissed his way up your body to your mouth.

His cock was engorged, leaking copiously at the tip. You grabbed for it, desperate for it now.

“I got you, baby,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of you.”

His dick slid through your soaked folds and you whimpered. He wasn’t inside you where you needed him.

“Or we can wait if you’re too sensitive,” he said, cocky grin above you.

“I will murder you on our wedding night,” you hissed up at him, desperate.

He grinned. You begged.

“Please, Ari. Husband.”

He lost it then and entered you slowly and deeply, groaning into your throat.

“You’re always so tight,” he gasped.

“You’re so big,” you whimpered. “My husband’s cock is huge.”

He laughed and then his jaw clenched. His rhythm turned savage. Beautiful. He fucked you like a man possessed. You came again when his fingers found your clit, your body milking him in rippling waves. He pulsed deep inside you with a broken moan, his whole body locked around yours.

You didn’t want to move. You wanted to keep him close to you, inside you, just like this.

After a minute, his hand cradled your jaw and his lips brushed your knuckles, and he whispered,

“God, I love you Muse. You good?”

You smiled up at him.

“Yeah. My husband’s hot, and I love him.”

Ari laughed as you grinned. Then he got serious.

“You still want the big wedding one day?”

You shook your head.

“This was all I needed.”

He smiled, sleep-heavy, pulling you closer.

“Then I’m the luckiest man alive.”

—----

You returned to the city with sun on your skin, rings, and one hell of a secret. You waited until brunch with your closest people. You even let them ramble about place cards and DJs.

And then, between sips of champagne, you dropped it:

“Oh, by the way,” you said. “We’re married.”

Silence.

Then chaos.

Screaming. Crying.

Bucky cursing in two languages.

Peach shrieking and grabbing your hand.

Your mother sobbing.

Ari raised his mimosa.

“Reception’s still on,” he said, very seriously.

“Hope you saved the date.”

—---

At the reception, everyone said you were glowing.

And maybe you were. You hadn’t stopped thinking about Montauk. About the night you became his. Not just in theory, but in truth. And every time you looked down and saw the band on your finger, it all came rushing back.

Ari refrained from indulging in you just enough to be polite.

But you felt him. His gaze. The way his hand lingered on your lower back when he guided you through the crowd. The heat in his voice when he whispered, “God, you’re killing me in this dress.”

It was a thrifted Virgil Abloh find, and you were glad that you got to wear it. You didn’t need a full wedding to feel like a bride. The way Ari looked at you in your dress was enough.

And it turned out, people don’t need a wedding to celebrate you. They just wanted the dance floor, the drinks, and the joy of watching two people in love.

And that’s exactly what they got.

The Rainbow Room was iconic and the love was pure Muse + Ari.

Trixie got tipsy and announced a “special wedding issue” in your honor.

Peach held your mother’s hand and they both bawled.

Ari’s father toasted the man he’d become.

Bucky gave a Romanian blessing.

And Steve even shook Ari’s hand after he gave you a bear hug.

And through it all, Ari was by your side.

No one was mad; everyone was happy.

Because it was you two.

Messy, wild, stubborn, and glowing with the kind of love that made people believe again.

It got heated on the dance floor.

Ari pulled you close, hand splayed low on your back, your bodies moving together like muscle memory. You could feel him, hard against you, his mouth brushing your ear.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about all night?” he murmured.

You raised a brow.

“You’re going to say something filthy, aren’t you?”

“That night. Montauk. You, spread out on the bed. Saying ‘Give it to me. Fill me up.’ Fuck. You remember?”

Your thighs clenched.

“Yes.”

“Can’t stop thinking about you like that.”

You leaned up and whispered in his ear.

“I went off the pill.”

He went still and his eyes widened.

“You’re serious?”

You nodded.

“Didn’t want to light the fire until after the party.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve been burning.”

You smiled, a little wicked, and a little shy.

“So do something about it.”

—--

You didn’t make it past the elevator.

The doors closed and Ari had you against the mirror, one hand up your dress, mouth all over you.

“You want it?” he growled. “Want me to fuck a baby into my wife?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, Ari. Want you to try.”

And he did. Again and again. On the elevator wall, the kitchen counter, the couch, and the bed until you were spent and shaking and moaning his name.

And afterward, your body sore, thighs still trembling, his seed still thick and hot inside you, he curled around you, hand low on your belly.

“Gonna give you everything,” he murmured.

“A house full of art, books, and babies. You just say the word.”

You kissed his chest.

“Let’s fucking go.”

——

The end. 🥹

If you want to see more from Muse + Ari’s life, just send an ask or barge in my inbox! ❤️ Also, let me know how you feel about this bit by commenting, and reblogging to share with others! 🤩

Thanks for the asks. Next part is here-Muse: The Cleo Era

#muse mondays #ari levinson au #ari levinson #ari levison x reader #ari levinson x plus size!reader #ari levinson x model!reader #ari levinson smut #ari levinson x you #chris evans #ari levinson angst #ransom drysdale #chris evans characters #x reader

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torawro · 5 months ago

Text

LIKE SPECKS OF SUNLIGHT IN THE EARLY MORN. ( p. a.)

portgas d. ace & marine!fem!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, ageless and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written / portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine it as such! everyone is welcome to read <3 reader wears glasses, and is a marine stationed on an unnamed island at a base along the grand line. ‘lazy morning’ / ‘morning after’ kind of vibes so, a bit of pillow talk (?) . references to smut & making love (it already happened). contains some angst & angsty themes throughout (i.e., ace dealing with his self esteem issues, low self worth, etc..) otherwise it’s supposed to be fluffy ( the quiet, somber kind i think ) ! descriptions of kissing & borderline making out. ace is kind of lovesick and clingy but it’s subtle-ish. lots of introspection and reflection on both him and the reader’s part. kind of based on mitski's "my love, mine all mine", definitely had that song on repeat as i wrote this. romantic and deeply poetic rhetoric but y’all already know that’s just how i write lol. told from omniscient point of view (third person). proofread this as i was feeling sleepy, so please excuse any mistakes or things that don’t make sense!

word count ━━ ! 3.9k

notes ━━ ! guess who's baaaaack.....! i know it's been a while since i have published any original work and i want to apologize for that. lately it's been difficult finding the energy to write something for more than five minutes and honestly, i think i just need to rediscover what drives me so i can tap into the zone more often. i missed it though, and hope i get to write more this year <3 anyway, first fic of 2025 and it feels right to make it about second commander of the whitebeard pirates, portgas d. ace. this fic is my late birthday 'gift' to him and something of a love letter because ohhhhh i miss my pookie bear so much :(( this entire idea started as just me thinking about kissing each of his freckles because i have the personal hc that he doesn't really like them, the reason for it is inherently tied to his distaste for his father and by extension himself :/ and then it just turned into this lmao. i hope ace doesn't behave too out of character here, as this is also my first time writing for him in any context, so pls be gentle with me. REBLOBS + COMMENTARY ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED.

IT WAS NOT THE LIGHT chirping of small birds that awoke you, nor was it the ringing of your biological clock telling you that the dawn was near. Instead it was a familiar tugging sensation within the pit of your stomach— the need to relieve yourself— that caused your eyes to peel themselves back slowly and with struggle, slumber from the previous night hasn’t been completely washed away yet.

It took your brain several more moments to dust off enough of its sleepy exhaustion before you attempted to sit up from your comfortable position in bed, but were immediately met with some light resistance.

The resistance in question was a long, muscled arm thrown around your soft torso, blackened ink of a tattoo staining the skin on its bicep. It was still too dark and you were still too tired to make out the sharp angles of the marking, but you knew what they were; your eyes have gazed upon it more times than you could count, and it has made a home in your memory.

That’s when your ears registered the rhythmic and almost nasal snores that flowed from the mouth of the man who held you so securely against his chest, and you almost smiled at how completely at ease and relaxed he seemed.

At times like this, when things were still or you had a moment to yourself, you still could not wrap your head around the fact that you had gotten yourself involved with Portgas D. Ace— willingly at that.

The first time was a fluke at best. That’s the excuse you were going to go with. You didn’t realize he was a pirate— an infamous pirate with hundreds of millions of Beri to his name— until your clothes were already halfway off and you were feverishly grinding down onto his lap like some touch-starved whore who’s been aching to feel something. That ‘fluke’ was one spurred on by alcohol, a particularly rough week at sea, and a sizable lapse in judgment, but you hadn’t felt that…… alive in a long time. But now, two years have passed since you have been seeing Ace in secret like this, and you have long since given up blaming it on a fragile emotional constitution further weakened by alcohol. You knew good and well what you were doing, and you could no longer deny the way your heart was constantly set aflutter whenever you spent any amount of time with him.

You did try your hardest to not let yourself enjoy how … domestic it all seemed: waking up next to him in the morning and falling asleep entangled with each other at night, having him hide out at your cozy apartment for days at a time, cooking him meals when you were relieved of your duties for the day. You wouldn’t— shouldn’t let yourself enjoy such content thoughts too much, because you also knew it could all be over in the blink of an eye. The world could be cruel that way if it wanted to.

But still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t be grateful for these moments. From what you could tell, Ace seemed to enjoy this arrangement as much as you did. And for now, that was enough.

Lightly wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you carefully lifted his arm from around you, moving slow so you wouldn’t wake him up. Once you’ve successfully loosened his hold, you sat upright, a muted ache shooting through your lower body as you shifted around to stand. The ache mostly resided in between your legs, and a flood of memories from just hours ago rushed over you at once, causing a tingling warmth to bloom underneath your skin. Ace had poured so much into you, it never failed to leave you equal parts stunned and breathless when you witnessed his passion overflow from the brim of his being. His hands, calloused palms that always ran hot, had been everywhere— your body could still feel the heat of where they had laid, caressed, groped, smacked, and squeezed. And you involuntarily jolted as you recalled where his fingers and lips had been, how it felt to be pressed so closely against him as he simultaneously took you apart.

After another moment of being lost in your own reverie, you pulled yourself out of it and filed those memories away in a separate corner of your mind, so that you may more fully indulge in them later. As you carefully removed the blankets and climbed over the sleeping pirate, one bare foot had hardly hit the cool wooden floor before a hand wrapped itself around your wrist.

A quiet grumbling noise vibrated from behind Ace’s lips, his eyes remained closed as he spoke, indicative that he was barely awake. “Wh…where y’goin’....?” His words were slurred and thick with sleep, his deep voice reaching the depths of your being to spark something to life in the pit of your belly. But you promptly ignored it for now.

“To the bathroom, I gotta pee.”

He replied with another mumbling sort of noise, presumably one of acknowledgment or begrudging acquiescence— you couldn’t be sure. “M’kay, just . . . hurry back t’bed, will ya? M’cold.”

You found amusement in the inherent irony of his claim that he was ‘cold’ when he always ran a little warmer than most— not to mention his devil fruit powers— but also in the fact that despite his urging you to take care of your business swiftly, he hasn't released his hold on your wrist yet. In fact, he tugged you a little closer to him, as if he was trying to pull you back into bed.

A small smile began to curl at the corners of your lips as you moved to manually pry his fingers from your arm so you can make your way out of the bedroom and down the hall.

For the next several minutes, Ace was left alone.

He stirred in his partially-awake state as he made himself comfortable again in bed, but one eye managed to pry itself open by a few millimeters. It was unfortunate he was roused from his deep sleep, but he was sure he’d doze off again soon enough.

From what he could see, the room was still dark for the most part, his surroundings washed in a rich, navy blue color, a telltale sign that the sun would rise within the next hour or so. Aside from the faint rustling coming from the bathroom, the air was occupied by a serene silence, meaning his innermost thoughts became that much more perceptible to his mind’s ear.

Sometimes, a part of Ace felt like fate had shined upon him— just a little, just this once— when his mind mulled over his…unique relationship with you, and all the events that led up to this exact moment. He too understood the implications of seeing you like this, but he couldn’t find it within himself to let go and move on. There was just…something about you, something special.

Even now, he still couldn’t quite understand why you were taking such a big risk and basically throwing your life away by getting comfortable with a pirate like him. The both of you came from two different worlds, the morals embedded within those worlds constantly pitted you against each other.

But you willingly ignored them, and so did he.

Perhaps that was the ‘special’ quality about you and this relationship that he still struggled to articulate, how pure and genuine it all felt— how you were. Either way, he was grateful that he wasn’t the only one being a little selfish. And every now and again, Ace might silently thank the universe for allowing him this one thing, even though he hasn’t, and probably never will do anything, to deserve it.

The increasing volume of footsteps pulled Ace from his thoughts, and soon enough you reappeared in the doorway, making your way back to bed– back home in Ace’s arms.

Your lips parted in a yawn, putting your hand over your mouth to muffle the sound, before carefully climbing over the taller man to reclaim your spot next to him. Ace wasted no time encasing you against him once more, one arm laid lazily across your stomach and the other resting under your neck, acting somewhat as a pillow of sorts.

“...took too long,” the pirate muttered under his breath, the low, vibrating sound of his voice so close to your ear did nothing for your fiercely pulsating heart. It was the only organ in your entire body that seemed to be fully awake right now.

“I wasn’t even gone for that long, ya big baby. Prob’ly less than five minutes.” A soft sigh punctuated your reply, snuggling more into the toned front of Ace’s chest and abdomen as he adjusted the thick blankets over both of your bodies. The covers, as well as the gentle warmth radiating from his exposed skin, provided a steady stream of heat that battled against the crisp morning air, both sensations nearly enough to lull you back to sleep. You enthusiastically pushed aside the fact that you had to get up again in two and a half hours for your shift to patrol around the city.

“Shuddup, let’s go to sleep.” Ace grumbled, pulling you even closer to him so that very little space existed between both of you, and nearly nuzzling his face in the bonnet you wore on your head. A soundless chuckle rumbled within your chest, finding his sleepy and almost pouty tone both amusing and adorable.

However, despite his own request, and the fact that his own eyes were barely open, Ace was finding it difficult to once more quiet his thoughts enough to drift back to sleep. They were still a bit too loud and knocked against his skull too much.

Such thoughts only seemed to intensify when both of his eyes managed to peel themselves open this time in order to observe your form next to him. From what he could see based on where he laid, Ace silently took note of how tranquil your expression was as your breathing began to even out, how long your eyelashes actually were without your glasses obscuring them, and the small birthmark on your cheek that he developed a habit of kissing. His dark eyes roamed across every inch of your face, and he relished in the soft flesh of your stomach underneath his fingertips, giving it a feather-light squeeze every now and again.

You were here with him— in this bed, hardly wearing anything at all, and practically clinging to the arm wrapped around your abdomen— bound together with a kiss on that fateful night two years ago. You wanted to be here, he knew that. So why was it he still had to wrestle with the phantoms of doubt in the darker sectors of his mind? Why did they haunt him so, and prevent him from just plainly accepting this for what it is? Accept that it was okay to indulge, okay to claim this one thing as his and his alone? He didn’t even claim his own father, but this— you? Oh, how he wanted to be greedy, he yearned for it. But something in him, some dark, caustic, unforgiving thing, made him feel like he shouldn’t.

But didn’t he deserve something nice too? Something that wasn’t, or could no longer be tainted by the wicked and unloving world they were born into?

Ace knew that you cared for him— quite a lot, more than you should. There was a four letter word he might have used to label the way in which you cared about him, and he about you, but he dare not say it. He dared not say it in fear that the universe would snatch it away the moment it left his lips, and reveal that it was only playing a heartless joke on him.

“Hey. Are you… okay? Okay with this, I mean.” The words left his lips without putting a real thought behind them, for his mind was preoccupied with trying to keep itself afloat above the sea of negative ones that tried to carry him off to a place he did not want to visit.

Your left eye opened, then your right, as if opening them would help you better process his sudden question. Your brows furrowed next, digging deeper into your forehead in order to figure out the hidden meaning behind his words— or if there was one to begin with. “I…this position is fine, and I’m comfortable. Unless you want to be closer to the window?” You replied with your own question, uncertainty of what he was asking about thick in your tone. And judging by the way his arm tightened around you by a fraction and the nearly inaudible sigh that left his lips, it became clear that’s not what he was truly asking.

“No, I meant…are you okay with us?” Ace’s already husky voice quieted even more, nearly tapering off into a whisper. But he was pressed close enough to you that you were still able to hear him loud and clear. Something about the way he phrased his question rang a silent alarm in your head, indicating that the forthcoming conversation was going to take a more solemn turn.

With that in mind you shifted in his arms, turning around so that you were now facing Ace directly, still so close that the tips of your noses nearly touched each other. His hold on you readjusted as a result, the tattooed arm once more staking its claim on your waist and effectively trapping you against his front. His sable tresses fell unceremoniously across his face, a few strands nearly covering one of his eyes. Your fingers didn’t miss the opportunity to brush them away.

“Yes.” Your reply was simple, and you thought it important to make that clear first because something, an emotion you were unable to categorize, flickered in his still-hooded eyes. And something about it worried you. “I am more than okay with us. There isn’t another person I’d rather be with right now.” The fingers lingering on his skin suddenly became your entire palm, as you were now cupping the side of his face.

Ace burned even warmer here compared to the rest of his body, and you found physical comfort in the sensation. His skin seemed to ignite under your touch despite his sleepiness, and the dark-haired pirate was internally grateful that it was still quite dark in your room, so you were unable to see the light flush that was beginning to form underneath his freckled cheeks.

“Why are you asking?” Your inquiry was as tender as your touch, and it made his chest ache.

It took Ace several seconds to search for his next words and arrange them in a sentence, for your straightforward reply admittedly caught him off-guard. Now he was unsure if there was a need to continue at all.

But the specters of doubt were ever persistent.

“I just…” The words faded away on his tongue before he could say them and instead, your response rang loud in his head.

‘There isn’t another person I’d rather be with right now’.

Did you mean that? Have you always felt that way? Did you just happen to say that because he asked a question, because somehow you knew that’s what something in his soul wanted to hear?

And then, Ace found his words again. “You can do better, you know.” His voice turned more gruff, rough around the edges, as if he had to forcefully tug those words from the back of his throat. As if it hurt to say that. “You could, if you wanted. You’re gorgeous. Intelligent, resourceful. You have a respectable career, and you can cook damn good.”

You released a soft chuckle at that last part, finding it comical how he always found a way to talk about how good your food was. But whatever uptick on your lips faded as soon as it came once Ace parted his lips to speak again.

“You don’t have to spend your time, money, or energy on someone like me. You didn’t have to spread those pretty legs of yours for me, either. Didn’t have to let me stay here whenever I come to town. You didn’t even have to let me sleep in this bed so close to you.”

He paused, the muscles laying against and wrapped around you tensed briefly, his eyelashes met the apples of his cheeks when he allowed his eyes to close for a moment. When he opened them again, he found it harder to look at you— if he did, he might crumble away. “You could do better than a pirate like me, who has nothing going for himself except for instability, anger and…and hate. So, why?”

The next words reverberated in the air without Ace even having to say them. Why choose me? Why risk all of that for me?

Similarly, something throbbed uncomfortably within your chest as you listened to him speak, even after he finished and silence descended upon the both of you.

You could only wonder where this line of questioning originated from. It was uncharacteristic of Ace to voice thoughts of this nature, even more so when there was no prior word or action to lure them forward. You continued to observe him in the quiet, not even realizing that you had been softly caressing his cheek all this while until your hand came to a halt.

Why? Why were you with Ace, entangled in every sense of the word and jeopardizing the life you’ve built for yourself for his sake? The answer seemed so simple, but not as much now that you had to consciously think about it; you somehow struggled to put it into words.

Ace was like the rays of sunlight that peeked through heavy drapes in the early morning— much like they would soon be in a few hours— or like the flickering flames of a small fire that offered you solace on an unkind wintery night. He was warm and intense, but mellow and tender at the same time, in his own way. He offered you comfort when you needed it, stirred up something in you when you wanted it, brightened your life when you didn’t even realize how dull and monochrome it was. Ace was…

“Allow me to offer a question of my own. Why are you taking an equally significant, if not greater risk, just to curl up in my bed with me? Why come back so often to this town, risking capture, if only to hold me close, eat the food I make, and to make love to me?”

Your inquiries seemed to tug you forward, motivating you to scoot a little closer to Ace so that there was hardly even an iota of space existing in between your faces. His breath hitched quietly in his chest at that, more so when you leaned forward and simply placed your lips on his cheek, right on top of the dozens of prominent and faded freckles that resided there. Something about the gesture felt intentional— like you did not kiss his face, but the light specks on top of it. And thinking about it like that made his taut chest twinge again in a manner he could not describe right now.

Your breaths against his flesh were soft and leveled, and successfully fanned the flames of an even pinker flush to blossom across his visage.

He struggled to give you a coherent answer to your questions because his inner thoughts seemed to reset every time your plush lips came in contact with his face— all gentle like he would break if you applied too much pressure. He never associated that word with himself before, nor had anyone else in his entire life.

So why did he do it? Why did he do any of it? Why was he so attached to you, to your existence, your presence, and everything that reminded him of you?

Ace knew the answer.

He fears he’s known it for some time now.

But would it be right— would it be okay to label it with the word that was sitting on his tongue? Did he truly have the capacity to bear the weight of it? Would this blissful reality he found himself nestled in start to unravel the moment he said it? Would the universe truly let him have this one thing to himself, forever?

A feathery, open-mouthed kiss from you onto his nose cut off his thoughts, but confirmed his answer.

A bleary sort of smile, edges softened by his affection for you, tugged the corners of Ace’s mouth upwards. The hand that encased your waist traveled further downwards to take the meat of your thigh in its grasp, and toss it over his own hips. He had slung your leg over himself in an attempt to hold your bodies inexplicably closer, the feeling of his fingers gliding lazily across your exposed skin caused your pulse to quicken.

“I understand. Thank you.”

Within another second or two, his mouth eventually met with yours. His lips and yours seamlessly molded together, like they were two carved parts of the same whole. It was a slow, saccharine thing, ultimately leading your fingertips to slide back and thread themselves through his dark locks, and the calloused, hot palm on your thigh to grip the area ever tighter— as if you’d evaporate if he didn’t do so.

Ace loved you— was in love with you. His heart thrummed against his chest when he tossed that fact around in his head, gradually accepting it to be true as he steadily deepened the kiss.

He murmured those three words into your mouth after languidly coaxing it open with his tongue so the wet muscle could slither inside and make a home there. It was barely intelligible, but somehow you knew what he’d said. Such a declaration was only reserved for you, so of course you recognized it. Ace didn’t even want the words to linger in the air, lest the universe heard what he had said. He still thanked it though, grateful to whatever deities thrusted you into his path that night so that he could have this moment with you, and build similar ones like this hereafter.

You reciprocated it, quietly sighing the words back into him and he eagerly swallowed them up, giving your thigh an affectionate squeeze in response.

Briefly, you pulled back, but only by a millimeter— not wanting the cold air of the early morning to catch you yet— and your palm ended up on Ace’s jaw. The pad of your thumb brushed over the sheet of freckles with no particular pattern or rhythm, and you absently thought about how they might be your favorite feature on his entire body. As if to emphasize this point, you pressed a lingering kiss onto its surface again, and for a moment, Ace thought he might shut down. He simply could not comprehend the loving nature behind such a simple act, or why it affected him so; all he could do was offer a small, fond grin.

Time still marched forward, but it graciously allowed the pair of lovers to bask in each other for a little while longer. The sky’s hue would slowly shift from a deep navy blue to a slightly brighter one, causing the dimness of the room to inch back into its corners for the day. The sunlight would soon come.

( # ) @icy-spicy @triangularz @pookieace @ichore @valentineluvu

#໒꒱ newborn stand ─ sosa’s filez #one piece #op #one piece fanfiction #black fem reader #op x reader #op x you #one piece x reader #one piece x black!reader #one piece x black reader #one piece portgas d ace #portgas d ace #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #portgas ace fluff #portgas d ace x reader #portgas ace x black reader #portgas d ace x black reader

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dekariosclan · 22 days ago

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Hi! This is a blog dedicated to the Rizzard of Waterdeep 💜

I was asked to create a blog master list, so I’m happy to oblige. Below are links to my design works, my answered asks, fic rec lists, and a few memes.

I’ll have my Ask Button active whenever possible. If it’s deactivated that just means I’m catching up or cannot answer at this time. See the EXTENSIVE list under the cut for previously answered asks!

Thanks for visiting :)

Graphic Designer Gone Wild:

Bg3/Gale Spoof Magazine #1

Bg3 Spoof Magazine #2

Bg3/Gale Spoof Magazine #3

Gale’s Compendium of Puns

Gale and Tav’s Wedding Invitation

Galentines

A Magical Valentine from Gale (different each time you click)

Answered Asks *rules about submitted asks*

How would Gale deal with:

an elf Tav with a long lifespan

a rude salesperson/fast food worker

making amends to Tav after being immersed in research

an ill Tav

a weary Tav who refuses to rest

romantic competition for Tav

a Tav who isn’t doing well emotionally or mentally

jealousy between Tav and Tara

celebrating Tav’s birthday

warding/protecting his tower

Tav teasing him/making him feel flustered

A Tav asking for book recommendations

a pregnant Tav especially one who is trans/gnc

he and Tav adopting & hatching the githyanki egg

18+ Tav sending him a naughty message

companions losing their minds when they see he has abs

Tav confessing they are a Bhaalspawn

the stress of writing/being creative

an overworked/stressed Tav

A Tav who is legitimately angry at him

The neighborhood HOA filing complaints against him and Tav

A Tav who is desperate to keep Gale alive

Celebrating Valentine’s Day / courting Tav

a Tav that previously was in an abusive relationship

Marrying a Tav with little/no family

18+ an anxious Tav who avoids eye contact

Family disapproval

His beloved’s unique mannerisms

What are Gale’s:

flaws

preferred ways to exercise

compliments he gives to others

thoughts on tattoos

thoughts on sharing his home with Tav

things that give him the ‘ick’

motivations for his shadowlands flirting

18+ best and worst things in bed

Would Gale still love Tav if (tldr; the answer is always yes):

Tav was a gnome

Tav struggled with horrible nightmares

Tav had chronic pain

Tav was drunk

Tav gained weight

Tav was plus-size or chubby

Tav had sensory issues

Tav was never desired by anyone/has always been overlooked romantically

Tav had scales

Tav was a Dragonborn

Tav had PTSD

18+ Tav was vanilla/not kinky

Tav was quiet/not a yapper

Tav was ace

Tav was NOT quiet/IS a yapper

Tav had an overbite/is insecure about their smile

Tav was from our world

Tav had stretch marks/physical imperfections

Tav was ‘wild’ / uneducated

Tav wasn’t very confident in themselves

Tav didn’t think they had a good personality

Tav was………a bit gassy

Tav had epilepsy and struggled with seizures

Tav was a vegan or vegetarian

Tav was transforming into a drider

Tav was from a noble line and in grave danger

Various:

18+ Gale may have picked up some Tressym mannerisms

What would Gale’s mother Morena think of Tav

Gale loves Tav much more than he ever loved Mystra

Gale’s shared interests with each of the companions

What type of music does Gale like/what instruments does he play

Dad!Gale watching Tav and their little one

18+ Tav making Gale fail NNN

18+ Gale succeeding at NNN and being rewarded

Would Gale give up his Godhood to be with a mortal Tav

Could Gale ever end up with a Tav who refused his proposal

Can Gale sing

18+ is Gale more of a boobs or butt kind of guy

would Gale put up mistletoe for the holidays

Gale as a girl dad

18+ Why do Gale’s boxers have magic/why are they enchanted

About Gale’s kisses

About Gale’s romance endings

18+ Would Gale enjoy…

how does Gale immediately know Tav is a wizard/sorcerer/non-magic user

‘Early Access’ Gale and Mystra

Fic Recs for Galemancers

18+ General recommendations

Comfy/Cozy fics

18+ Smut fics

Gale Memes

#Even I hadn’t realized how many asks I’d answered until I saw them all listed lol #I will update here as new ones are answered!#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #baldur's gate 3 #gale x tav #galemancer #bg3

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dropoutconfessions · 8 months ago

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It makes me incredibly angry when people say "Riz is canonically aro/ace" and act like you're a horrible person if you ship him with people. Like. Nowhere in the show is it ever stated that he's aro/ace. The conversation people reference as him being "canonically" aro/ace is just him expressing his lack of very specifically sexual attraction, and even then the response from his dad (and by extension Brennan and the show as a whole) is that it's okay, and that it's specifically unclear whether he's ace or whether it's just not something that's happened for him in specific yet. It is intentionally vague as to whether he is ace or not, and there's genuinely zero indication in the show that he's aro other than that he doesn't have a love interest which could be completely unrelated.

Right so I'd like to share my opinion on this for a brief moment. I am still fully here to give people a voice, but this is just, an issue that kinda hits close to home since I'm demiaro.

The most annoying thing in a lot of media is when representation is shoehorned in as a list of labels and buzzwords we're given. Queer people should not have to turn to the screen and say their full identity in order for them to be canonically queer. That's what subtext is for. That's what good writing does. Is not spell it out for you when it's not necessary to do so. They do not need it to be spelt out for it to be very clear that he's ace/aro.

I am going to assume ignorance here instead of assuming malicious intent. The idea that the reason he isn't ace, is because "it's not something that's happened for him in specific yet", is an extremely common thought process behind asexual erasure. I'm sure that's not what you intended, but that is something to reflect on in general.

Both Adaine and Riz have yet to have relationships or display crushes (not counting junior year since most of the evidence comes from sophomore year) . Adaine hasn't gotten an entire nightmare sequence / arc around dealing with here friends all finding partners and leaving them alone. Adaine hasn't expressed or had conversations about any lack of sexual or romantic feels to the extent Riz has. Adaine is headcanoned as ace/aro by some people. Riz is more than that. Riz is very much canonically ace/aro if you do the slightest bit of character analysis. There's accidental coding and then there's Riz Gukgak.

List of every single Riz trait that is hella ace/aro coded

A lack of sexual and romantic attraction to other people (I'm not counting the time where he said he was kinda into Sexy Rat, that whole scene was a bit, and absolutely insane)

Making up a partner/crush in order to fit in (I have 1000% done that and so have a lot of acespec and arospec people)

A fear of being left behind by his friends because of a belief that they will find partners and move on from him, largely caused by alloromantic culture's insane emphasis on how the most important relationship is a romantic one

The fact that almost every other fantasy high pc has been in a relationship or a crush (kristen had tracker and gertie, gorgug had zelda, unit, and mary ann, fabian had aelwyn, ivy, and mazey, adaine had oisin and possibly zayn depends on your interpretation, and fig has had ayda and a string of professionals in a variety of fields across seasons 1 and 2) with only riz as a single character

The fact his sophomore year arc was entirely about his lack of sexual/romantic attraction and fear of being left alone because of it

Like not even a joke, it was that and his dad, that was the whole arc

His junior year arc was also about his obsession to stay together as a friend group, which like I mentioned above, is very clearly based in his asexuality and aromanticism

I am not going to stop people from shipping characters ever. If you want to rewrite character sexualities, that's fine by me, I'm a big believer in "Don't Like, Don't Read". I am not gonna pretend like characters are not their sexuality in canon so that people feel justified in writing their stories. People who rewrite character sexuality can do so without making everyone else assuage their guilt for them. I know I'm on the "piss on the poor" reading comprehension website, but it's not hard to tell Riz is ace/aro in canon, and pretending otherwise doesn't help your case.

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hpacearofest · 2 months ago

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HP Ace Aro Fest - 2025

It is official, we are back for the second year running! Our amazing fest was created to highlight any character who you see as asexual, aromantic, or anywhere on those spectrums. Any era, any age, anyone. Give me your QPRs, your sex-repulsed lovey-doveys, your hypersexual aromantics, and everything else you got. As long as you give me a main character from the HP fandom who is a-spec, your work has a home with this fest. Accepting fic, fanart, podfics, any medium your heart desires to give us.

Stay tuned and keep your eyes peeled starting in May, claiming will be opening on Aromantic Visibility Day!!

Important dates

Announce: April 18

Prompting: May 1 - June 5

Claiming: June 6 - July 30

Posting to start around: August 10

Guidelines

All content is allowed, no restrictions on what can be submitted so long as it is thoroughly tagged and doesn't violate tumblr or AO3 TOS. Mods will have final approval on whether or not a work is sufficiently tagged in regards to potentially triggering matters in works rated M or above.

Etiquette

The goal of this fest is to celebrate and highlight the joys (and some of the stresses) of the lives of the HP-verse characters who fall into the a- sexual and romantic spectrums.

There will be no ship or character bashing (even if it’s a fandom-wide hated character, please just avoid including a character/ship if you do not like them).

SALS - Ship And Let Ship.

YKINMKBYKIOK - Your Kink Is Not My Kink But Your Kink Is Okay. Yes, this fest is about a-spec relationships. Yes, that means they can still be kinky as can be. No, that does not mean you can shame others for what they want to create so long as it is duly tagged.

Each person has unique lived experiences within and and without the LGBTQIA+ community. Just because you don’t see yourself in how someone is portraying something, doesn’t make them wrong for it.

This event and blog are created on the following 4 founding ideas. If your values do not align with these core principles, this event is likely not for you:

1. Trans Rights are Human Rights 2. Free Palestine and Free Congo and Free Sudan or else no one is free 3. All Nazi's deserve to be punched 4. FUCK JKR

Written fic

Written fic should preferably be longer than 500 words

There is no maximum word count

Must be a completed work, no on-going series to be completed after the fest

Works must be stand-alone (can be part of a collection but one must be able to read it without reading previous parts)

Using a beta is strongly encouraged but not required (if you would like help finding one, feel free to join the fest discord server to find them)

Art work

Work must be exclusive to this fest

Digital and physical art are both allowed as long as scans/photos of the physical are clear

Podfic work

Please provide proof of permission from the creator (unless it is yourself) which includes a screenshot of a blanket permission statement on their profile as long as the username matches

Selected work must fit the theme of the fest as well as the 500 word minimum for written fics

Make sure you upload it with the author’s original tags as well as the fest tags and podfic notation

Submission

All works must be uploaded to the AO3 collection by the deadline of July 30 (around 1 week before posting pending any extensions granted)

Add acearofest account as co-author so mods can just double check for correctly tagged content and posting as well as a final once over of the SPaG/formatting

#Harry Potter #asexual pride #aromantic pride #ace character #aromantic character #aro character #asexual character #hp fests #fanfic #HPAceAroFest25 #this event does not support JKR and her hateful views #fuck jkr

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misaneeragoni · 5 months ago

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One Piece - Favourite characters + headcannons!

My favourite characters in a tierlist!

Listed by:

Marriage material

Best friend material

Want it as my pet

Cute as a mitten

Scarily attractive

Parent material

Left to right is decreasing in how much I'd like them to be the respective thing.

Now, for those who care (why do you? I'm a nobody, haha), here's an extensive list of reasons! + headcannons for how they'd act in these respective roles.

Marriage material

Doflamingo

Doflamingo is usually second to Kidd in my personal preference, but right now I'm on a big Doflamingo simping spree, probably due to the fact that I'm finally watching Dressrosa for the first time.

I imagine he's either a full on possessive, manipulative and absolutely terrifying husband, or you end up as a trophy wife and he barely pays you any mind, but you know what, I'd be fine with that. Chance of being killed by him: 60%.

Corazon / Rosinante

All I know about him so far is entirely through fanart and small spoilers! I think he'd be a very affectionate husband, the type to bring you small gifts (and ocassionally panic because he left the gift he bought at the cash register).

He totally has a thing for taking in stray animals and giving them a loving home, if it's cats or dogs he keeps tripping over them.

Eustass Kidd

Now Kidd will love you very very deeply and beat up every single person that dares to even make a mean joke about you, but he's also incredibly bad at showing that he cares.

He's gotta look cool, so in public he'll either act like you're just very good friends or that you're some sort of trophy wife, but amidst the crew or especially in private he gets very affectionate and clingy - being physical is so much easier than expressing yourself verbally!

He doesn't mind sharing you with Killer, but if a stranger so much as dares look at you flirtatiously they'll be lucky if they make it out alive.

Ace

Getting together with Ace is already very difficult. He keeps telling you he's not worthy of your love, so you shouldn't love him, let alone date him.

By the time you've gotten him to agree to get married, he's become a little more accepting of your love, even if those doubts never really fully go away.

He's constantly planning fun trips for the both of you and will show you off like a kid would show off their paintings. All of the Whitebeard Pirates are sick and tired of hearing about how awesome you are at this point.

Sanji

I don't think I can add anything new to this. He's constantly swooning over you and spoiling you to the moon and beyond. You get breakfast in bed, you get carried around the second your feet are the tiniest bit sore, and overall he's just so over the moon to have you that sometimes you think you're in heaven.

He's a total family man so if there's kids around you know they're getting spoiled just as much as you are. He thrives when he gets to care for others, and having his own little family makes him incredibly happy.

Sometimes you need to remind him to take it easy and stop doing so much work for everyone because he'll absolutely overdo it and put himself last.

Smoker

He is very gruff and not one for talking all that much. Oftentimes when you tell him things you'll get one of a variety of grunts in response, that you've learned to translate well over the course of your marriage.

You either get to travel with him as a marine spouse or stay safe on an island he helped you get settled down on. If you're staying on an island he's taken extra security measures and has figured out a way to have smoke permanently cloud the area around the house so noone can even find it to begin with.

He's very concerned for your safety and it shows that it's his top priority. He prefers being physically affectionate, but will ocassionally give you small yet meaningful compliments. ("You're the best.") He's usually got some small thing to bring back to you from whatever island he was last on (flowers, sweets, meaningful little gifts), but he really doesn't want you to make a big deal out of it.

Eneru / Enel

You may be married to him, but he's still god. You may be his favourite disciple, but you're still a disciple regardless. You're expected to address him using a formal title of respect and if you fail to meet his expectations you will be punished accordingly.

He does appreciate you worshipping him, but it's more transactional than a genuine loving marriage.

Best friend material!

Trafalgar Law

I found it pretty hard to choose between marriage material and best friend for Law. I do really like him, but for me personally I think he's a bit too freaky to want to be married to him. (See post-marineford: "This will be a fun operation" + manic grin).

If we're talking One Piece Party or One Piece Academy Law's personality, then sure, I'll marry that man, but cannon Law seems a bit too closed off to ever even get close enough to get to date or marry him in the first place. Keep in mind, I'm only like halfway through Dressrosa, I don't know this man's arc yet.

As a best friend, I think he's awesome. He's weird, ocassionally stoic, but also unintentionally hilarious with the way he acts, and he's the king of dry jokes. You wouldn't expect it of him, but he can be the life of the party when he wants to be.

Killer

Another tough choice between marriage and best friend! Ultimately it came down to me simply preferring Kidd's personality in marriage, whereas I do think I'm too similar to Killer and would lack excitement with him.

That's not to say there is no excitement with his man, cause there is! He's the type to support whatever crazy shenanigans you may be going for, even if he'll ocassionally hold you back from doing something that might backfire a bit too much.

If loyalty had a face it would be Killer's, you could not ask for a better best friend.

Hancock

Hancock is absolutely vicious in how she speaks of others. Which makes her the very best girl friend to have for talking shit behind people's backs! She's very funny when she does so, even if you have to put up with her major streaks of egomania all the time.

Crocodile

Do you need somebody to be assassinated? Just hit up your buddy Crocodile. He'll have his agents take care of it for you discreetly. He's a very relaxed man if he feels safe about you.

If you like to talk a lot he'll tell you to shut the hell up, but if you sit together in silence he'll think that you're very cool and companionable.

He likes to invite you out to fancy dinners, although he does expect you to dress and act the part. He doesn't tolerate fools, so if you want to remain his friend you'll have to act dignified.

Mihawk

Mihawk likes to keep you at arm's length, but he's okay with ocassionally having deep philosophical discussions together over a glass of wine.

You exchange reading recommendations with one another but mostly you both do your own things. Oftentimes you're the one that has to reach out to him to initiate contact, he's a little lazy in taking care of his social circle.

Perona

She'll only accept you as her friend if she deems you cute enough for that. Once you've gotten over the part where she wants you to do all her bidding, she's surprisingly fun to be around. She's always up for pranks and her devil fruit makes it very easy to pull them off!

I'm going to skip over the remaining characters here seeing as I don't have any ideas as to what would make them special as best friends. I've listed all of these as best friends because they've shown great loyalty (and sense of honour).

Want it as my pet

Bepo

I feel a little bad putting Bepo in the "pet" category here. He'd make an amazing best friend just the same as everyone listed in that category, I just view him as polar bear first, mink second.

And he does share some traits with say, a pet dog. His fur sheds everywhere and you constantly have to clean your clothes to get rid of it, he's constantly asking for your attention and hugs (and will apologize if you tell him off cause you don't have the time!) and sometimes wants to sit on your lap despite the fact that he's huge and very heavy.

Zoro

Zoro also shares a lot of traits with dogs. He's fiercely protective, loyal to the bitter end, he cares for his food and drink more than most other things and small things such as getting a drink make him very happy. He's low maintenance, so long as you feed him, let him train in peace and ocassionally scratch his scalp he's very content.

That said, you do need to put him on a leash when you go anywhere with him. He's very indignified by it, but you just know he's going to wander off and get lost otherwise.

Any other pets listed literally just have the reason: "omg it's so cute" or "omg it's so dorky", except for Shushu, who just absolutely deserves the world and if I think about him too much I'm going to start crying. That little dog has the most tragic story in all of One Piece.

Cute as a mitten

This category is both optional as best friends as well as lovers / marriage material.

Bartolomeo

As a best friend he'll go through thick and thin with you. His manners make it very embarassing to be around him sometimes, unless you have absolutely no shame. Secretly you think he's kinda cool for how he just doesn't give a shit though.

As your husband - oh boy. He wouldn't settle for marrying somebody he likes less than he does the Strawhats, so he absolutely dotes on you. Think Sanji, except instead of having cool moments this one's a complete slobbering mess all of the time. He'll do anything for you - but you'll also be drooled on. A lot.

Penguin

As a best friend, he's always there for any type of mischief you might be wanting to do. In fact most of the time he's the one suggesting new ideas. Especially if it comes to peeping on women. That's a secret guilty pleasure of his.

As your husband, even after you've been married to him for some years, he still becomes a shy mess from time to time. He's very respectful and polite and still can't really believe his luck that he scored somebody like you.

Marguerite

Marguerite is just so freaking adorable. The way the English dub of Amazon Lily portrayed her was definitely like she had a crush on Luffy, and those two are honestly my favourite Luffy x ship. She saved him from drowning, he saved her from remaining stone for the rest of her life and they get along very well. Also, she has a danger noodle. I love danger noodles.

Shachi

Now Shachi isn't so different from Penguin, seeing as these two have practically spent all of their lives together. Their mothers were good friends so they even got to share a crib from time to time, and it shows.

Shachi is a little more bold and confident than Penguin and will flirt abrasively with every woman he comes across. Not that he's very good at it, in fact he's rather quite bad at it. Who knew that pick-up lines were so unsuccessful? Shachi sure doesn't, and he's a bit too oblivious to catch on.

Baby 5

As her friend, you need to make sure she doesn't make horrible decisions all of the time. It's pretty exhausting, but she's a good listener and can make really funny creations with her devil fruit so she totally makes up for it.

Ikkaku

Ikkaku is always down for a good time. She's a very enthusiastic wing-woman, even if she overdoes it sometimes.

Katakuri

No idea what he's like, I'm only at Dressrosa after all. I did see fanart of him extending his jaw to eat donuts though, which just looks so dorky and so cute, so I've thrown him into this category.

Kaku

Kaku is the best. From his old-fashioned expressions to overall just being very polite and cute, this giraffe man has it all. He's very prim and proper, but he's also down to earth and a great friend to have a round.

He reminds me of Peter Parker (Spiderman) a little. A bit of a dorky nerd, but very lovable regardless.

Scarily attractive

I don't mean just attractive. I'm actually scared of these characters. There's not much to say beyond base attraction here, so I'll quickly go over them.

Domino - has one of my favourite designs in the whole series. Maybe I just like women in uniforms, who knows. We don't know anything about her beyond her seeming strict and being attracted to Hancock.

Sady - again, attraction to women in uniform, I guess. Even if hers is a little extreme. I just love the bangs covering her face so much and her colours work great together.

Monet - BIRB!!!! I love Birbs. Especially Harpies. And she looks so freaking good with those silly glasses!

Carmen - Oh, Carmen. What a lovely lady she was! It's a shame she's gone forever now. Maybe she was filler? I'm not sure. Sanji should have adopted her.

Kuro - I wish him being a strategist had been explored a little further, in terms of what strategic exploits he'd been up to in the past. Well, basically I just want more Kuro content. I feel like he's exactly the sort of psychopath that will stab you with a knife while you're kissing him. Very hot!

Caesar - Generally I do feel scared of folks who might commit genocide while I'm in their vicinity. But his design looks freaking awesome!

Kalifa - That's one sexy lady. How freaking dare she hurt Sanji, though!!

Sexy Arlong sister shark lady - Oh my god her eye looks so cool, and so does her shark tail thingy!!

Viola - Dancers are just cool in the first place, and Viola's going against Doffy, the man who oppressed her for so many years, is just admirable.

Lovely lady from Viper's squad on Skypeia - She's cool, brave and fearless! Why am I scared of her again?

Parent material

There's not much to say for why I want these characters as parents except for I think they would make good ones. Some of these we have as parents in cannon - Bellemere with Nami, Zeff with Sanji, Dadan with Ace, Sabo and Luffy, Viper with that little girl - and for the others I just have small reasons, pretty much.

Iceburg - he'd totally make his secretary change the baby's diapers because he's too lazy (and grossed out) to do it, but he'd still be there for you when he needed to (and couldn't delegate the work to anyone else).

Robin - would want to compensate for not having any parents of her own (that were ever around), so she'd be extra careful to make sure her child received all the love it would need and would never have to undergo the years of loneliness like she did. She'd read you a lot of stories and would encourage you to read from an early age.

Sometimes she enjoys the kid's books far more than you do.

Hina - no good reason, just strong sense of justice, strict and ocassionally funny mom to have.

Duval - no good reason either, but a very funny stupid dad to have.

Paulie - would need to overcome his indignity of seeing any woman showing skin to have a kid in the first place, but he'd be very careful to make sure his kid grew up right (and would dress up properly if it was a girl!)

Magellan - he's shown great responsibility and carefulness in leading Impel Down right. He might have some issues making time for parenting between being the Warden and sitting on the toilet all day, but he'd make it work. Maybe make Hannyabal do some of the dirty work for him.

If you've made it this far - thank you so much for reading!! I really wanted to throw my headcannons of these characters in the respective positions out into the void. Have a lovely day!

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ladykailitha · 7 days ago

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Beauty and the Beast AU

Beastly style Modern (80s) AU

And I mean the book, not the travesty that was that movie.

Pre-season 1 Steve is having one of his parties while his parents are gone. When a teen girl comes to his house looking for shelter from the storm. But Steve takes one look at her bedraggled clothes and scoffs, slamming the door in her face.

She knocks again, but Steve tells the guests not to answer it. She knocks a third time and when she receives no answer, the doors bursts open and she sweeps in, bringing the storm with her.

She curses them tell Steve that with such a black heart, no one would truly love him. They are only here because of his wealth. He has until his 21st birthday to find someone who could or he and his friends will be cursed forever.

Most of the kids run out of the house before the curse takes hold, leaving Steve as a beast, Tommy as a vacuum, Carol as a radio, and Nicole as Polaroid camera.

Tommy and Steve can talk normally, or as normally as one can get as a beast and a vacuum, but the girls are unable to talk, they can only communicate via their new forms. Carol can only speak through radio ads and songs and Nicole can only speak via pictures. She grateful to learn that she never runs out film.

Then the Upside Down happens and the newly ruined Harrington house is swarmed by demodogs. Barb is unfortunate enough to stumble on the place and is killed by a demodog.

The witch realizes within a couple of days that she has made a slight error and while his friends don’t have to eat, Steve does, but with his beast hands it’s hard to make food for himself and nearly starves.

So the witch takes pity on him and shows up to the house and tells him that his parents hired her to cook and clean for him.

Robin becomes friends with Steve and realizes that it wasn’t cruelty that turned him away. Not really, it was more a fear about being ostracized by his peers and yelled at by his parents for allowing someone beneath them into their home. She learns that all four of them have home lives that are less than ideal and she never knew.

She thought they were just jerks because they wanted to be. But the more she gets to know them, the more she sees that they’re all just trying to survive until they could move out and away from their parents.

But the curse is stuck. She can’t remove it. Someone has to love Steve for all his flaws. Romantically. Tommy is in love with Steve, but there are parts that he doesn’t like. He doesn’t love Steve in spite of all his flaws. He loves the flaws. Carol and Nicole are just friends to Steve. They like him well enough.

And Robin? She loves him like a brother. Her platonic soulmate.

So she inserts herself into the monster hunting squad and helps them take out the Upside Down so at least there aren’t demodogs keeping people away.

And in 1986 just two years before the curse is made permanent, Vecna is defeated and the Upside Down is no more.

And word begins to spread again of the old Harrington place.

Eddie in a fit of pique after the Party derails a D&D session sends them to ding dong ditch the Harrington house.

Only they get the brilliant idea to egg and toilet paper the house, too.

But when Steve comes out of the place, a mad and snarling beast chasing them down, the kids scramble, only Dustin gets caught because he’s not as athletic as the other three.

Robin tells Steve that he can’t steal a child.

Steve scoffs and says that he’s punishing him by making the kid clean up all the damage they did to the house and he can leave when it’s completely cleaned.

Dustin looks around and it’s bad, with everything being overgrown, the egg and toilet paper mess is extensive.

“That will take weeks!” he protests.

“Then you leave in weeks!” Steve snarls back.

Robin goes after Eddie for putting them up to it and Eddie feels bad so he offers to swap Dustin places.

Things are going well even if Tommy is skeptical that the town freak could break the spell, when Robin brings news that Wayne has had an accident at work just two weeks away from Steve’s 21st birthday.

So Steve sends him away. Tells him to remember him.

But as soon as Eddie leaves the house, the spell takes over and he forgets. He’s rushing to get to his uncle and slowly the memories of Steve and house in Loch Nora just fade away.

Even Dustin doesn’t remember the beast only that him and his friends having egged and toileted the house and Eddie offered to help clean it up.

Then on the eve of Steve’s 21st birthday, Robin comes running, some of the members of the basketball team who were on with Jason Carver have caught Eddie and they are beating the shit out of him. She thinks they mean to kill him.

Steve does the unthinkable and goes barreling out his house and down the streets. He can scent Eddie on the wind.

He goes tearing through town, running on all fours and tears the bullies off of Steve. But one of them had a knife and stabs Steve.

They all run off and Eddie is left holding a bleeding Steve and all his memories come crashing in. And he’s begging for Steve to live because he loves him. Loves all of him.

Now, here’s where I’m not sure I want to go the original route and have him turn back into a person or go “The Fire Rose” method and have Steve remain a beast but Carol, Tommy, and Nicole turn back.

Either way is delicious.

Then Robin decides to curse the hell out the parents for being the assholes who hurt their children.

OR!

Proper medieval AU

Steve was a prince who was celebrating his 16th birthday with all his dancing courtiers and laughing friends that includes Dustin and the rest of the kids when the witch comes to the castle looking for shelter from the storm.

But Steve has her turned away. Three times. The third time the witch curses him that his heart must be as black as coal and until he finds someone who loves him, truly loves him, he will remain a beast.

Again Steve laughs at her. Says that he’s got true love right there and points to Nancy. A drink Nancy who immediately calls their love bullshit and that he’s bullshit.

The witch cackles. He has until he turns 21 or remains a beast forever. She gives him the rose and mirror. Telling him that mirror will never show his reflection, but his heart’s desire. At first it’s his face how he looked before. Then it is far off lands far away from the doom and the gloom of the castle.

In the village down below the castle is a tiny village where recently there came to town Eddie and his inventor uncle, Wayne.

He is the talk of the town, always reading books, head stuck in a cloud. But like swatting off suitors left and right. First the women of the village tried it and he just came back as gay. So then the men try it and most of them have given up after a year because he’s just not going for it.

But Henry Creel? He wants Eddie. He will do whatever it takes to have Eddie.

Then when Wayne who was traveling through the woods on his way home from another town to show off his inventions when he is best by wolves.

They chase him into the castle where he stumbles on the pure white rose what is keeping Steve a beast and is fascinated by the fact it was floating and tries to take it.

Which is when he meets the beast.

Steve takes him captive and of course Eddie comes looking for Wayne. He finds the castle and bargains for Wayne’s freedom. Wayne for Eddie.

Cogsworth/Robin is against having either of them there as she’s afraid they’ll tell the town and they’ll attack the castle.

Lumaire/Jonathan is for it because he believes that Eddie is the one who could break the curse.

Mrs. Potts/Joyce agrees that Eddie make them human again.

The cups are the Party, but especially Dustin is Chip.

Eddie is pissed at Steve for kidnapping Wayne. Steve is mad at Eddie for believing that Wayne breaking into his house and trying to rob wasn’t worth punishment.

Eddie tries to sneak out but is beset by a pack of wolves that had wandered too close to the castle due to the over hunting Henry does.

Steve hears Eddie’s cries through the mirror and it isn’t until Steve gets hurt defending Eddie and is recovering under Eddie’s care that at least as far as the mirror is concerned, Eddie is his greatest desire.

And hope stirs in him for the first time since the curse happened.

But Eddie is still having problems with Steve but is slowly warming up to him. The library helps a lot.

Eddie starts to read to Steve and that gets them even closer. Winter closes the roads to the castle and all through the winter, Eddie and Steve get closer and closer.

The people in the castle feel hope again and decide that all Eddie needs is that final push. So they plan a perfect evening.

Dinner is stuff that Steve can easily eat as a beast and Eddie loves it. They dance the night away and finally Steve shows him his mirror. The mirror that can show him his heart’s desire. Eddie looks into it and Wayne immediately appears.

He’s in bed with a burning fever and can’t get out of bed. It’s clear that none of his neighbors have come to help.

Steve outfits Eddie with provisions and warm clothes and blankets and then at the gate he presses the mirror into his hands.

Eddie tries to hand it back, but Steve tells him he will always know where his heart’s desire is, he doesn’t need the mirror anymore.

Eddie doesn’t understand what he means but takes the mirror.

Billy, Henry’s cronny spots Eddie sneaking into town and runs off to tell Henry, Eddie’s back in town.

They catch him before he reaches Wayne and they try to force Eddie to tell them where he’s been for the last couple of months, all they’ve had is Wayne’s feverish mumblings about a castle and a beast.

Eddie tells them about Steve and how kind and gentle his is. Only when he shows Steve in the mirror he is howling in pain and anguish.

Henry takes the mirror and locks Eddie and Wayne in the cellar of Wayne’s house.

Then he rallies the town to form a mob and they go hunting down the castle and Steve.

The castle residents fight bravely but furniture and dishes aren’t a match against armed humans and they’re forced to hide in the west wing, where Steve is holed up, not caring about anything now that Eddie has left him.

But Steve defends his friends when Henry tries to set them on fire and they struggle.

Meanwhile Eddie unpicks the lock to the cellar using the skills his father, All taught him, and they race off on Wayne’s horse.

They get to the castle to see Henry and Steve fighting on top of the parapet and Henry has him against one of the crenels or gaps and it looks as though Henry is going to topple Steve right off the castle wall to the ground far, far below.

Eddie calls out and Steve startles, Henry gaining the upper hand. Steve falls, but manages to grab ahold of the edge.

While Eddie was stuck, entranced by the drama taking place hundreds of feet in the air, Wayne barreled through the castle to Steve’s room. Pausing only briefly to see that rose only has one petal on it.

Just as Henry raises his ax to come down on Steve’s hand, the one that is holding on for dear life, Wayne hits him on the back of the head and him and the ax go flying.

Eddie now freed from the trance goes tearing up the castle too and between the two them, they pull Steve to safety.

Everyone is celebrating when Henry comes to and gets to his feet, staggering. He declares if he can’t have Eddie, no one can.

He draws out a knife, but Steve throws himself over Eddie to protect him and gets stabbed in the back. But when Steve rears back in pain, he knocks Henry off the precipice him falling to his death.

Wayne pulls the dagger out of Steve’s back and with Eddie’s help lowers him to the stone floor of the wall.

Eddie tells him that Henry found the castle through the mirror and that the mirror has most likely been lost with the rat bastard.

Steve reaches up to caress Eddie’s cheek and tells him that the reason he gave Eddie the mirror in the first place is because Eddie was his heart’s desire and had hoped that he come to mean the same to Eddie.

That’s when Eddie realizes that what Steve had been saying the day he left the castle was that he loved him.

Eddie cradles Steve’s face in his hands and kisses his forehead. “I love you too. Oh so, so much.”

Then as dawn breaks over the horizon Steve’s body begins to lift him into the air. He body first contorts then straightens and as each limb straightens, it loses its fur and beastly quality.

Then his face clears and he is set gently on his feet, whole and well.

He staggers forward and then suddenly a bright light bursts out of Steve, shooting out toward the castle. Each shard finding an owner to return to their human form.

Then as the last ray of light peaks over the horizon the castle goes from dark and foreboding to to gleaming white. The briars and brambles that had choked the castle walls were gone. The grounds had returned to their dazzling perfection.

“Eddie?” Steve asks reaching out to him, hoping that Eddie would love this form as much as he loved his beast form.

Eddie rushes forward and scoops him up in arms. He twirls Steve around and kisses him deeply.

“I’ll miss the spooky a little,” he admits, “but I would not leave you or the others cursed. Not if I had the power to break it.”

Steve laughs, tears running down his face as everyone surrounds him giving him hugs and kisses telling him how proud of him they are.

The mob finally makes it through the door and sees only humans surrounding a prince and Eddie, with Henry dead.

Steve gets to his feet and everyone is concerned that he will order their deaths, but Steve had changed.

He told them that they were banished from the kingdom. All those that sided with Henry Creel, to leave so that those who were tolerant and kind could stay.

And they all live happily ever after.

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #plot bunny #ladykailitha writes

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faebaex · 2 years ago

Text

Tangled in Wonderland - Leonotis Leonurus

author note: second poll's winner! also a plant pun for the title, just because (￣▽￣) i feel like Jade would be proud. speaking of, he has a teeny tiny cameo in this fic, simply bc he just fit the situation so well. so far, its been a housewarden clean sweep on the polls, with Azul winning the Octavinelle poll! new poll is up right now, a bonus one this time! who will be the comeback king? go vote if you haven't already! enjoy~

characters: Leona Kingscholar x GN!Reader

The library was your turf.

By this point, you were on a first name basis with all of the library ghosts, and you had a fairly good working knowledge of every section of the library, with Ace and Deuce often seeking you out at your usual table to ask you if you had any idea where a certain book would be. Of course, more often than not that meant that they would then sit at your table and you wouldn’t really get any meaningful research done, not with all their squabbling and general freshman catastrophic energy. When Grim tagged along, it was even worse, but at least you could keep an eye on him and make sure he was actually doing the assignments he was supposed to.

Despite all the time you had been spending at the library, you were still no closer to figuring out how to get home. Crowley was nowhere to be found, taking avoiding you to an entirely new level. The books and reading list that Riddle had provided you, however, had been very insightful. His recommendations were much easier to read than the previous tomes you had been torturing yourself with, and you were starting to see connections between theories, it becoming easier for you to source further reading without having to consult Riddle first. So yes, the library was your turf.

The botanical garden, however, was not. And you were well aware of who it belonged to.

Leona Kingscholar was one of the students at the top of your list to avoid. And considering his personality, the feeling was likely mutual. So you made a conscious effort to avoid places where you could run into him, not wanting to tempt the already volatile nature of fate to thrust you into his trajectory. You were even doing well avoiding conflict with the Savanaclaw students, especially considering they were always looking for a fight and the school’s only magicless student was definitely high on their lists to torment. But unfortunately for you, you couldn’t always avoid some of Leona’s favourite haunts, because what Crewel wants, Crewel gets.

You grumbled to yourself as you picked through the botanical gardens, a basket on one arm and a list in the other. Crewel had kindly brought it to your attention with a lash of his pointer that good ol’ Grim had been using ingredients from the potionology inventory for his lab work and assignments instead of collecting his own before class, as student handbook guidelines demand. With Grim nowhere to be seen and you being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Crewel had handed you an extensive list of every ingredient that Grim had used since the two of you became a joint student, and ordered you to the botanical garden to retrieve every single one of them, or face the consequences. And with Crewel swinging that pointer around, you didn’t wait around to find out what those consequences would be.

Being so unfamiliar with the botanical gardens made this job harder, and the sheer size of the list had you running around in circles, picking one ingredient only to realise that you needed something similar that was back the way you had just came. It was incredibly frustrating, and you found yourself huffing under your breath as you traipsed around the botanical garden. To make matters worse, you had to keep yourself alert, lest there be a certain lion’s tail draped carelessly on the pavestone.

You were well aware that in the game, the poor main character had accidentally stepped on a certain stroppy lion’s tail, and he had retaliated by threatening to knock their teeth out. You’d rather not find yourself in the same situation. You’d briefly considered moving his tail out of the way with a stick or something, but decided that Leona was hardly worth the effort and would likely get offended at you poking at him either way, so instead you had to dutifully watch your feet as you continued on with your laborious task.

You had been hunting for ingredients for about an hour and a half by now, and clubs were starting to wrap up their activities and head back to their dorms. You, however, still had half of your list to go, so there was no such reprieve waiting for you. You wondered if you would be able to drop the basket back to the potionology lab with your half-completed list and promise Crewel that you’d finish the job tomorrow. Surely he wasn’t willing to wait around for you to find all these ingredients? If there was any professor at Night Raven College who you expected to have evening plans, it would be Crewel.

As you pondered your next course of action, you caught a flash of teal out of the corner of your eye. Walking towards you down the pathway was Jade Leech, and you fought the urge to do something stupid like show weakness by tensing or throwing yourself into the bushes. With his usual contrived smile affixed to his face, Jade eyed you in a way that really did make you feel like a shrimp, suddenly giving you a whole new understanding as to why his twin had dubbed the main character with such a pet name. Him being here was an oversight on your part, clearly you had thought that Leona was the botanical garden’s biggest threat, not even factoring in that Jade would use this place to fawn over his mushrooms. Thankfully he didn’t stop, passing you with an elegant stride that you could only appreciate, considering he had only been on legs for two years.

“Good day, prefect. Lovely weather we are having.” Jade greeted as he passed you, with you only responding with a small, tight-lipped smile back. No sooner had his footsteps faded away did the heavens decide to open up, a surprised cry erupting from your lips as you quickly found yourself becoming drenched, the sprinklers dousing the entire area and you in water. That could not have been a coincidence.

The sprinklers stopped as quickly as they had started, but by that point the damage had already been done, your clothes and hair dripping. The list in your hand was sodden, the ink running and quickly making the contents illegible. You growled in frustration, throwing the soggy list to the floor with a wet thump as you tried to squeeze out your clothes in vain. You were so busy trying to sort yourself out, to scrap back any shred of dignity you could that you almost missed the rustling of bushes next to you. Even if you had, there was no way you’d miss the soaking wet beastman emerging from the foliage, ears flat to his head and tail whipping behind him aggressively.

And he was glaring straight at you. Great.

“You got some nerve, herbivore. You got a death wish?” Leona snarled at you and you found yourself prickling up. “This wasn’t me!” You argued, gesturing to your own dripping form before glaring right back at him, “I might be magicless, but that doesn’t make me stupid! If I was going to set the sprinklers off, I’d make sure I wouldn’t get caught in it.” You huffed, once again trying to squeeze the excess water out of your clothes. Your words seemed to pique some interest in Leona, as he was suddenly all up in your space and sniffing you.

“Hm, you’re right. No magic at all, just wet herbivore.” Leona remarked, scrunching his nose up as he stepped back, as if the smell offended him. “Do you mind? You smell like wet cat.” You said flatly with an unimpressed expression, throwing your basket back over your arm with perhaps a little more force than necessary. You swear you could see an amused glint in Leona’s eye as he stooped down, picking up the soggy list that you’d thrown to the ground just moments earlier. “What’s this?” He enquired, holding the list away from him between his thumb and forefinger as if it was toxic, yet still holding it out of your reach when you tried to swipe it back.

“That is mine.” You said with exasperation, your dignity already running down the drain without Leona making you jump to get your list back, “whatever, its ruined anyway. Have it.” You huffed, resigned to having to go back to Crewel with your metaphorical tail between your legs and plead for a new list. Leona eyed you up for a moment before he stepped towards you again, tugging at the basket on your arm to get a look at the contents before dumping the ruined list into the basket.

“C’mon, prefect,” Leona droned over his shoulder as he started walking up the pathway, “I’ll get you some ingredients. First year ingredients are simple.” He scoffed as he navigated the garden like a seasoned pro, his gait lazy and leaving you no choice but to trail after him with a suspicious expression on your face.

“You’re… Helping me?” You questioned, the corner of your lips downturning warily. The Leona you knew was never helpful, only interested if he had something to gain, usually foisting off any inconveniences to Ruggie. “What’s in it for you?” You asked carefully, watching as he picked some stems from a bush and lob them into your basket, making you sigh as you attempted to tidy up his shoddy packing. Leona’s smile was all fangs as he caught your eyes before continuing along the path, “I’m always in need of another gopher. Having you owe me could come in handy, Ruggie has been nagging me lately and you could be just what I need... Plus, the quicker you’re out of the botanical garden, the more peaceful sleep I’d get without having to listen to your huffing and puffing.”

Ah.

Well, you suppose the original main character was truly onto something when they’d stayed up all night screaming outside Leona’s room in chapter three.

Leona had made short work of finding ingredients, and soon your basket was filled to the brim. “Those are all the common ingredients in first year potions. Any missing ingredients are on you.” Leona drawled as you both walked together towards the exit of the botanical garden, his hands behind his head as he yawned leisurely, “you owe me, prefect.”

“How do you even know what ingredients to look for?” You asked, your curiosity getting the best of you as you both left the garden, about to split off on your own paths as you planned to deliver the basket of ingredients to Crewel, whilst you assumed Leona would head back to his dorm. Leona simply kept walking, and you assumed he’d grown tired of you. But then he paused, looking over his shoulder at you with a smirk that you’d dare to describe as cheeky.

“Because I had to search out ingredients for Crewel in my first year, too.”

Huh. Perhaps Leona wasn’t that bad after all, you thought to yourself as you watched Leona’s retreating back, before setting off yourself to hand the ingredients in to Crewel, praying for fate to grant you some mercy for a change.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar x y/n

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