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manicpixiefelix · 1 month

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

Part 21.

Summary: The morning after Oliver fucks around with Venetia, and he has the gall to act like he doesn't know why you and Felix are in such a bad mood. Unfortunately his lies about the event don't placate you the same way they do for Felix.

{ masterpost }

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

A/N: 5412 words. this chapter was meant to explain felix & eddie's relationship, but that got YEETED to several chapters in the future when this ended up over 5k as it was. if you're questioning my characterisation of the reader, just know that they're a complex individual and dont always make the most thoughtful choices. sorry it's late, i still love this and you, i will finish this fic or die trying. <3

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

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The morning sun is a cruel mistress, you think as one of the maids - Emily? You're barely awake, you can't quite tell in the onslaught of sudden light - pulls the curtains back, announcing breakfast would be ready shortly. Felix groans, sounding exactly as enthusiastic about the prospect as you feel.

"I'm cancelling today," he muttered, muffled where he'd sunk further down into the bed and pulled the covers over his head, "it doesn't exist." Wriggling onto your side and desperately trying to ignore the brightness of the impending day, you hummed in agreement.

"Sounds good to me," you yawned, squeezing your eyes shut, as if attempting to will yourself back to sleep. But you both know it can't really last.

Felix is grumbling under his breath the entire time he's getting dressed - stupid bloody Saltburn, and it's stupid bloody rules, and stupid bloody Oliver, and stupid, bloody, goddamn Venetia; the nerve on her, honestly - while all you could do was yawn, and make faint, distracted noises of agreement. Both of you go quiet on your way to breakfast, keeping your frustrations bottled up to keep the peace in front of the rest of the family, but it still didn't make things easier.

They're eating outside that morning, taking advantage of the beautiful weather by the courtyard. Venetia's looking all kind of pretty and smug, her gaze trained on Oliver as you and Felix join the table, while Farleigh looks to you, cigarette poised and beautiful between his slender fingers, wearing a grim expression as he takes in the state of you and his cousin. When his gaze meets yours, for a second it darkens, and he quirks a single eyebrow in unspoken question. Despite the way you sit primly in your chair, trying to feign nonchalance, Felix slumps down on your other side, between you and his father, the furthest seat from Oliver he can manage. It's answer enough.

"You sleep well?" Oliver turns to both you and Felix. It's almost like you can hear stupid, bloody Oliver run through Felix's head before he answers.

"No, not really, mate," Felix has never been one to hide how he feels. Once, you'd told him as much, and though he hadn't taken it well at the time - he'd been in a mood, it was why the topic had come up at all - but he'd come back to you the next day saying that Venetia and his parents had always told him as much. It was one of the reasons he liked being around you, he'd said, not because you don't bring up his moods - obviously you did - but he said he could never stay in a bad mood for too long around you. In this moment, you were really wishing that was true, because this level of sulking was one you'd only seen in the weeks after Eddie had left.

Oliver looks concerned, the picture of an innocent, worried friend, like he has absolutely no idea why Felix was clearly unhappy. You try not to look at Oliver as much as you can help it. So you stand, press a kiss to the top of Felix's head as you pass him, and make your way to get the both of you breakfast as Sir James talks about the dinner being hosted the following night. Apparently one of the attendees - Sackfield, Sussex natives, if you recall rightly - had dropped out, leaving the guest list at thirty.

"God I forgot about fucking dinner," Felix groaned around a cigarette he'd already managed to light in the short space of time he'd been at the table.

"Wait, who is coming to dinner again?" Farleigh asks with a vague frown.

"The Henrys," Venetia announced cheerfully as Farleigh sighed his protests. The girl had no fucking shame; you fight the urge to flick a blueberry at her, mostly since you know you'd miss at this distance.

"Who are the Henrys?" Oliver enquired, as if trying to ignore the mood of almost a third of the table. If you'd turned, you'd see him looking to you; even now you were seen as a fountain of information about the formalities and events that went on here. If you'd turned, you still wouldn't have answered him.

"Dad's friends," Venetia answers instead, "they're all called Henry."

"Not all of them," Sir James rebuffed quickly from beside his son, looking up from his morning paper.

"Just most," you called back, as if out of habit alone.

"It'll be fun," Elspeth tried to insist, though Venetia was quick to chime in again, smug as always as you made your way back to the table.

"It'll be, being molested by Henry," Venetia's smugness at least dropped with that, adding as an aside to her mother, "you know which one."

"Well I'll put you next to Oliver, then," Elspeth sniped back, "he can molest you instead."

Unfortunately you return the table just in time to see the look Oliver gives to Venetia, and the little giggle she answers with. No-one in this house knows subtlety and you kind of hate them both. However it seems you're not the only one who notices, as Felix's eyes flick between Oliver and his sister, glowering at them both as you place a plate of fresh fruit in front of him. He's surly enough that he doesn't even thank you, but in this moment, you don't care; expressions mirroring each other in a way neither guilty party seems to notice as they focus on each other instead.

"Oh, Oliver," the moment is broken, however, by Elspeth, energised with a new thought, reaching out to Oliver sitting beside her, catching his attention, stealing it from Venetia for the time being, "I was going to say, we should do something fun for your birthday." She's insistent, though Oliver is confused. Right about now you regret informing her that Oliver's birthday would be occurring during the time he was at Saltburn, "a proper party, no Henrys," she's insistent, "something actually fun;" she glances at Sir James, hand still resting on Oliver's, "what do you think, darling?"

"If Oliver would like it, I think it's a splendid idea," Sir James agrees amicably. You begin to eat your breakfast, hoping your gaze doesn't burn a hole in the table like you think it might.

"I think Oliver looks like he'd rather throw himself out of window," Farleigh chimes in flatly, actually startling a laugh from you that you have to quickly cover with a cough. When you look up, he's levelling a cold smile at the man himself, but when his gaze flicks to you and how you're trying to hide your embarrassment in a glass of water, his gaze turns almost fond. Solidarity; for all the shit he'd said to you last night, you really did adore Farleigh.

"What kind of party?" Oliver turns back to Elspeth, and you go back to your food, only after glancing quickly at Felix. He's too caught up in his brooding to be amused by Farleigh's aside; he's too caught up in his brooding to do more than smoke and poke at his breakfast with his fork like it's offended him.

"I don't know, whatever you want," Elspeth offers, already planning in her head, knowing the matriarch and her love of events, "what do you think? About a hundred people?" Chin on her hand, she's looking through Oliver more than she's looking at him.

"A hundred?"

"Or two," Elspeth takes his shock the wrong way entirely, "it invariably ends up being two with this sort of thing, doesn't it?" She looks over to her husband, while Oliver looks to you and Felix, that look in his eyes like he's out of his depth at Saltburn once more, "invite whoever you want," Elspeth insists, returning her attention to him, "all your friends -"

"What friends?" Farleigh mutters cruelly, but this you don't find nearly as amusing. For a moment, there's a twinge of guilt in your chest, but Sir James provides a clean distraction as he excitedly suggests the party be fancy dress.

While Elspeth and Sir James are both enthused about the suggestion - Sir James is always looking for an opportunity to wear his suit of armour, he's almost embarrassingly proud of it - Oliver tries to reach out to you like he can tell you're upset too, like he's concerned. When you shift out of his reach subtly, Felix catches sight of the movement and follows it to Oliver's hand coming back to rest on the table. Expression flickering with irritation, Felix offers you his cigarette, and you take it, crossing one leg over the other as he starts on his own breakfast and you push yours away with your free hand. Both of you are decidedly focused on the table.

Venetia absconds from the table for reasons you can't bring yourself to even half care about as Elspeth settles on A Midsummer Night's Dream as the theme for the party. Usually you'd be all but matching her joy at the suggestion, or at least matching Farleigh and his amused aside about slutty fairies, but your stomach is turning all of a sudden.

Felix clears his throat quietly, and takes a quick sip of water, but it still draws your attention, if not anyone else's. The way he gives the barest gesture with his head would be missed by anyone but you, but you can read it for what it is.

Go if you need to go, don't feel like you have to stay here.

Immediately you stand, drawing all eyes but Felix's, not caring either way. Handing back his cigarette, or what was left of it, he mutters a thanks, but doesn't look up from where he's lazer focused on his food.

"Captain," Duncan's voice speaks into the sudden silence, "if you have finished with your breakfast -"

"I have."

"Then I'd appreciate a brief word with you."

Nodding jerkily, you follow him into the foyer to see a thick, yellow envelope on a little table by the door, topped with a thin piece of card. He hands you the envelope first, before holding the card up to show you it was a notice from the local post office, telling you there was some large items that arrived. They'd be the flowers you'd had flown in; they wouldn't last long in some storage facility. Damn, alright, you sighed, expression pinched as you wondered if it was worth it to even pick them up at this point.

"Have someone collect them and put them in the greenhouse for now -"

"The greenhouse?" Duncan sounds almost confused.

"I mean, check if they're the flowers I ordered, first, and if they are, have them unpacked and put into the greenhouse, I'll get to them," you waved your hand dismissively through the air, "eventually."

"Of course," he acquiesces, and you thank him quietly.

Already exhausted by the day, despite it not even being close to noon, you head to your study, weighty envelope of documents in your hand. Later this week, they'd said in the email, you thought you'd have more time. Huh, that seems to be a sentiment plaguing you often these past few days.

"Everything alright?" Felix, draped over the wicker sofa on his balcony, hears you come in and doesn't even get up. Giving nothing more than an irrate, dismissive noise, you throw yourself onto the bed, "yeah it's a bit like that, isn't it?" He muses loud enough for you to hear.

"It can't be that hard to be a parent," you snapped, rolling onto your back, leaving the envelope on the bed by your side.

"If it was easy, nannies and wet nurses wouldn't have a job," Felix offers, though has the grace to add, "but I know what you mean." Then, sitting up, if the squeaking of the wicker was anything to go by, he asks what's wrong, softer this time. Looking to him, you scowl, and flick your hand to smack the envelope, "they being assholes to you again?"

"Always," you sighed, before adding without much thought, "sometimes I'm tempted to marry you so I can tell people I have half-decent parents for the first time in my life."

"But you'd have Venetia as a sister-in-law," Felix offered with clear distaste, but it's enough to get you to laugh, to break your discomfort.

"Forgot that part; you think Farleigh being my cousin is enough to make up for it?"

And Felix, thankfully, is grinning too. It's him who suggests getting out of the sweltering house on this beautiful day, getting out of both your heads with some time spent down by the pool. Right now, you'd take anything to try distract you from the packet of paper by your side.

The last thing you do before you head to the pool, book in one hand and towel in the other, is toss the envelope onto the desk in your study for later. Later you'd deal with your parents. Later you'd deal with Oliver and possibly get him expelled from Oxford if you're feeling especially vindictive after some reading or a swim. But for now, out of sight, out of mind.

Except it doesn't work for long.

While you'd chosen one of the armchairs to curl up in while you were in the early chapters of a memoir your Marketing professor had recommended to you, which was keeping your thoughts at bay, Felix had said he'd wanted to swim. After getting in for all of five minutes, he'd spent the rest of the time drinking jack and cokes through a curly straw and getting lost in his own thoughts again as he sunbathed. He's been alternating between smoking and sweets, and you have decidedly not commented on his attitude.

Both of you are wearing very little, looking as though you're on your way to the pool or the lake, probably looking like the start of any number of fantasies Oliver may have had. At least, that's what crosses your mind when you catch sight of him, gazing at you both with quiet longing. The sight of him like this, his eyes on you both, so clearly wanting, would have delighted you even twenty-four hours ago. Except so much had happened in those twenty-four hours.

I want to know you. I want to love you. But there's something wrong with you.

And then he'd gone and messed around with Venetia after you'd explicitly warned him not to. Your gaze leaves Oliver as he approaches, instead frowning down at your book, irritation settling in your bones.

Felix notices your shift before he notices Oliver. But that's when Oliver makes himself known.

"Hey," he drapes himself across the sun lounge on Felix's other side, blue eyes boring holes into the side of your best friend's head, while Felix refuses to acknowledge him, "Felix," Oliver tries more insistently, but gets no response, "is everything okay?" Finally Oliver asks. You turn a page pointedly, but Felix still answers.

"Yes," his tone is anything but okay, "why?"

"You seem annoyed about something," Oliver says carefully, almost demurely, "you both do," he adds after a moment as Felix makes a face. You turn another page you have not read.

"I'm not annoyed about anything," Felix clearly lied, and though Oliver sounded unconvinced, he tried to take him at his word. Except Felix isn't done, "it's just slightly bad form, that's all."

"What's bad form?" Oliver asks flatly, as if he has no fucking idea.

"What do you think?" Thankfully Felix's tone is annoyed enough for the both of you.

"What do you think?" He scoffed, disbelieving at this little act Oliver was clearly putting on, "getting with Venetia, Ollie," he has to spell out to make sure Oliver doesn't weasel out of the accusation. Still, he tries - the audacity.

"What makes you think I got with Venetia?"

"Farleigh saw you two," Felix answered immediately, "told Y/N all about it -" finally you allow yourself to look up, to level a cold stare at Oliver, who seems almost surprised when he meets your gaze; you make a faint tsk sound, as if to confirm, and go back to look at your book as Felix goes on, indignant, "it's just fucking cringe, mate, I mean really," he huffed, "you're my friend, you're supposed to be here with me -"

"Look, I didn't want to embarrass Venetia," Oliver cuts him off suddenly. Both you and Felix turns to look at Oliver very slowly.

"What do you mean?" Already Felix's voice is softer, still unable to fully bring himself to look at Oliver, while you're fascinated by the panic in Oliver's eyes.

"Well I saw her- I saw her outside and I went down to see was she okay," Oliver can't look at either of you in this moment; you wonder if he's scared to look you in the eyes as he weaves this little story of his. Fascinating to watch, "and... I think she got the wrong end of the stick because..." he trailed off, but his gaze returned to Felix. So gentle, so eager to placate his friend's ego, "she tries to kiss me, and I politely steered her away." It sounds very believable.

"Farleigh said you two were practically eating each other," you finally find your voice, still wary, unlike Felix, who was quickly buying into this series of events. He wants to believe in Oliver so badly.

"Oh, and you believe him?" Oliver shoots off almost automatically, but the minute his gaze meets yours, he has to look away; you absolutely still believed Farleigh, and Oliver could see it in your eyes. But then he's almost scoffing - "me and Venetia? Come on."

"Well, why didn't you tell me?" Felix sounded softly betrayed, but clearly won over, and Oliver returns his attention to the safer of the two of you, gaze trained on Felix and his pout.

"I just..." he searches for a believable answer, something Felix wouldn't hate him for; Venetia was still his sister after all, "I thought it'd be nicer not to," he settles on, "she was hammered, probably doesn't remember," which was unfortunately in character for the eldest Catton sibling.

"She's so embarrassing," Felix finally groaned, and you know he's bought it, hook, line, and sinker. You go back to your book, "and fucking Farleigh, what a little shit-stirrer," he huffs, to which you add, carefully casual.

"He's always known how to get a rise out of me," you know Farleigh wasn't lying to you; Farleigh was a shit-stirrer, but after last Summer, he would never be so cruel as to joke about this. But you play along. Oliver's looking at you now, you can see it in your peripheries, you can almost feel it.

"Well someone has to entertain us all," Oliver offers, to which Felix faintly agrees, glancing at you with a faint question in his eyes, like you're the final piece left to solidify whether he believes. Giving a faint, exasperated smile, you echo him softly - right - and see him finally relax, "that's why we love him," Oliver adds, in what you know is an incredibly pointed move, considering his strained relationship with Farleigh himself.

Felix finally breathes a loud sigh of relief.

"Thank god," he exclaims, like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders, turning so casually to Oliver with an easy grin, "you know, I thought we had another Eddie situation," despite his casual mention of the past guest at Saltburn, you, several feet away, go perfectly still.

"Eddie?" Oliver asks carefully.

"Yeah, Eddie was my- um, he was my best friend at school," the way Felix stumbles over his wording momentarily is not lost to either you or Oliver, "and he came to stay with us," he continues as light as before, "and he kind of..." Felix makes an uncomfortable noise for a second, fidgeting at the memory, "developed a little thing for Venetia, and everything just got so awkward." Eddie broke Felix's fucking heart, your mind snarled defensively, though as he always has, since the initial betrayal had occurred, Felix retold a much lighter history, "yeah, it kind of ruined our... you know..."

"Ruined your friendship?" Oliver supplied, getting a noncommittal hum from Felix, who refused to elaborate further, "I can imagine," he quietly adds, sounding altogether empathetic to the situation.

Clearing his throat loudly, desperate to remove himself from the discomfort the memories had left him in, Felix declares his intentions to head back inside, not waiting for either Oliver or yourself before he collects his towel and absconds. At least, you find yourself thinking, he moves with far more ease, far less tension, than he'd arrived with. It eases something in you too, as you watch him go, able to smile at his retreating figure before remembering how you're still being watch by Oliver. Oliver who'd all but yelled at you last night because you hadn't told him about your mother. Oliver who you're almost certain definitely did fuck around with Venetia last night, despite what he'd said.

Sure, you could get over Oliver and Venetia being together for one night since he'd felt guilty for having betrayed Felix, and worked to create a lie that even absolved Venetia of anything other than being a predictable embarrassment to her brother. That you could forgive, even if you knew it was a lie.

But his words still haunt you from last night.

"You're still annoyed at me," Oliver moves to take Felix's seat the minute he figures Felix is out of earshot. You don't want to dignify the comment with a response; your sour look should be answer enough. But then his voice turns soft; "you didn't tell Felix what I said to you, did you?" It's not a real question; Oliver's watching you once more with a kind of anthropological fascination that you remember from back at Oxford. In an attempt to avoid his gaze, you bury your nose in your book.

"No idea what you mean."

There's something wrong with you.

"Can I be blunt for a moment?" Oliver asks with a surprising hesitancy. Oliver is often blunt, so the asking seems more and more like a performance than anything else. You turn the page of the book you're definitely not retaining a single word from.

"'m not going to stop you," you huffed momentarily. Oliver, for the long few seconds that follow, is quiet, is watching you. In this moment, his gaze is like a fucking scalpel; you wonder if he's going to ask if you realise believe him, or if he's realised how he hasn't even tried to apologise for what he'd said.

"Why 're you being good to me?"

"If what I am right now is your version of good, that's bloody tragic," you tell him airily, "what was I to you before, saint-like?" It comes out rather bitter, but thankfully Oliver doesn't seem deterred.

"You've always been good to me; all things considered I think this is the most saint-like I've ever seen you," and it sounds sincere enough that you lower your book, expression flat when you finally turn your attention to him. But his blue eyes are earnest, sitting on the edge of the chair far closer than before, all his attention, his focus on you, "you love me," he says quietly, almost awed by the words themselves, "even after all that stuff I said to you; you still love me enough to keep that from Felix -"

"Because how he feels about you shouldn't be effected by how you feel about me; it's not his business," you tried, feeling trapped by the truth of his words.

"You are his business," Oliver insists, and your mouth snaps closed; you kind of hate that he's right, "and you love him like nothing I've ever seen before," he wets his lips, eyes wide when he leans across the space towards you, hand coming to rest on your knee, "but you know he'd never give me another look if he heard about how I spoke to you -"

"I know," you agreed with an awkward little huff, finally, "so you could at least apologise to me," avoiding his eye contact, the silence spills from one moment to the next until you hear him take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry for prying about your mum," his thumb is gentle as he rubs small circles against your skin. The thing that lays unspoken between the two of you, the remainder of the apology, why it's lacking, is not a mystery; he's not sorry for the rest of his outburst because he believes it's true, and he knows you think so too.

Still, the apology itself has you relaxing, settling, feeling far more unburdened than before.

"What do you want me to say, Ollie?" Finally, you spoke. It's barely more than a sigh, book closed and head turned to the sky. When Oliver makes a confused noise, not quite sure about what you mean, you sighed, "if you meant what you said last night, about wanting to- to know me, to, you know -" love me, sits heavy on your tongue, unable to leave your lips, "what do you want to know, what do you want me to tell you, what can I say?"

It doesn't occur to you the way it does to Oliver, how starkly revealing your choice of words often is. Once again you find yourself acquiescing to others wants, to Oliver's implicit demand for your truth, taking the path of least resistance for yourself. Instead you're wondering why Oliver's hesitating now of all times, when finally being given what he'd apparently wanted; you don't understand his reluctance, how he feels as though he's coerced this offer from you, how he almost feels disgusted with himself for what he perceives to be your honesty under duress.

"What 're you reading?" He finds his voice finally, but it's surprisingly meek. This was not the question you'd been anticipating, and your eyes open, looking to him curiously. There's no coldness to your gaze anymore. Oliver's gone bashful and almost apologetic. Raising the book enough that you could show off the cover, you levelled a confused frown at him as he asks if it's good.

"It's dry," you tell him after a beat, "but it's modern, so it's not the worst of it's kind that I've slogged through." When you rise from your chair, he seems almost confused until you sit yourself down next to him, laying back on the sofa and coaxing him back to recline in the space by your side, as you'd done what feels like a million times over with Felix and Venetia. At first, Oliver is stiff, looking all too much like a timid deer, half pressed to you until you continue to explain, "a lot of biographies published by successful businessmen from pretty much any time before two-thousand will invariably have this weird undercurrent of biological essentialism and how the subject owes a lot of his confidence and intelligence and all that bullshit to the fact that he's a man, which is why I'm glad my professor had the good grace to recommend me this one, since that caveman-binary-bullshit is gross as hell."

Oliver nods where he's tucked up against your side, gazing at the book in your hand. You can feel him relax into the familiar contact.

"Is that really the most pressing question you had?" At least you sound far lighter than before when you asked it, almost teasing, and Oliver takes a deep breath, still looking at the biography and your finger stuck between the pages in leu of a bookmark.

"Why'd you go into business of all things to study?" His cheek presses against your shoulder, your arm around him warm and secure. A humourless laugh escapes you, and carefully you open the book with the one hand holding it.

"Because a failed lawyer makes a terrible CEO," you'd chuckled more to yourself than to Oliver. It takes you a moment to compose yourself and your thoughts before you give a proper explanation; "the only good thing about my father being in charge of my family's business is that he cares so little about it that he hasn't tried to interfere with it, and therefore hasn't run it into the ground, at least that's what Nan says." Then, wetting your lips, you give him an awkward smile, "you asked me a few days ago what my dad does; Andreas - that's my dad - he doesn't do anything," you admitted, "everyone thinks he runs the family business, but it's a vanity title. At best he's a trophy husband to Pearl - you met Pearl - and her artistic, philanthropy bullshit."

Oliver doesn't manage more than a quiet 'oh', but he settles himself against you, chin on your shoulder, arm warm when he drapes it over your middle. For a few, gentle moments you go back to reading, flipping back the few pages you'd skipped in your frustration with him earlier. There's comfort in the slow turning of pages, in the steady beat of Oliver's heartbeat pressed against your side, in the rhythm of your shared, quiet breaths.

"You still believe what Farleigh said, don't you?" Oliver's voice is so quiet in your ear, he actually sounds forlorn.

"Of course I do," you murmur back, trying to focus on the words in front of you.

"He's just trying to push your buttons."

"Farleigh doesn't have to try if he wants to menace me."

"Nothing I say will convince you, will it?"

Finally, you close your book, sighing faintly. Closing your eyes, allowing yourself to accept this conversation was happening now, you shake your head.

"You think I wanted to hurt Felix that badly that I'd fool around with Venetia?" Oliver tries again to convince you, but your tip your head to face him, expression unimpressed, but not unkind.

"Farleigh is a shit-stirrer, and I'd believe that Ven was drunk, but you, Oliver Quick, are neither as subtle as you think you are, nor as harmless as you want everyone to believe; I think I know that better than anyone," after a moment, you take a deep breath, "and trust me when I say that Farleigh wouldn't lie to me about this."

"If you believe that, why'd you let me lie to Felix?" Its as close to an omission of guilt as you'd get, but that's something about how Oliver apparently respects you enough to not outright deny it that brings you a strange comfort.

"You know why," voice softening once more, place your book down to free your hands. Holding his cheek gently, you can watch the faint guilt in his gaze before his eyes fall closed and he leans into your touch, "I know you won't do it again." His head tips until his forehead is pressed to yours, and you sit in this quiet moment for a long few seconds.

"I don't want to break Felix's heart," Oliver breathes, sounding, for the first time, genuinely remorseful. Hand moving from his cheek, you wrap him up in an embrace, "I do love him," he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper, adding, "and you."

"I know," you assured him, "our Ollie," you teased warmly, and though Oliver remains quiet, when you crack your eyes open you can see him turning red, fighting back a pleased smile, "you're very good at playing bashful, so I always find myself especially endeared in these moments between us when it's actually genuine," slips from your lips quite without you meaning it to, only causing Oliver's blush to deepen. But as soon as you've said it, seen his reaction, your grin widens and you double down, "catching you off guard always catches me off guard, I feel like you're always so deliberate -"

Oliver kisses you quick as you laugh, interrupting your teasing kind of analysis of him before you can get too far in. Another deliberate play, but this one you don't mind. Oliver pulls back from you, only a few inches, enough to once against rest his forehead against yours as you're still sharing this space, this single pool lounge together. He's grinning so brightly.

"At least there's one person here I can fool around with without my head getting bitten off because of it."

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hyperactively-me · 7 months

Note

hi!!

i love your work with king ghost and i was wondering if you could potentially write a future wedding scene for the two, as i know that the main character wasnt happy with how it went and now that they’re all lovey dovey maybe they could recreate the wedding but ensure that they are both happy with how it goes?

xoxo

i was honestly super self indulgent in this. i’m not ashamed. also i'm pretty proud of this. peace and love!

You sit across from Simon at the dinner table, the soft glow of candles casting shadows on the walls. The clink of silverware against porcelain creates an ambience, but there’s something weighing heavy on your mind.

Reminiscing on the past few months of your relationship with Simon was like a shot of espresso to your system. After falling irrevocably in love with each other, there was a slight gnawing sensation at your heart. You were brought back to your wedding day. God, you despised that day. Thinking about it now made your heart ache. You take a breath, the idea stirring in your mind like an impending rainstorm.

Finally, you break the silence. “Simon,” you start tentatively, “can we talk about something?”

He looks up from his plate, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of curiosity and concern. “Hm?”

“Let’s redo our wedding.”

He stops eating for a moment, fork hovering in the air.

“What?”

“Let’s redo our wedding,” you restate. “I mean, we both despised it, right?”

He sets his fork down.

“It was too big, too forced,” you say carefully, studying his face for any reactions.

Simon’s expression shifts from confusion to understanding, and then to a contemplative gaze. He absorbs your words, the weight of shared dissatisfaction settling between you like a fragile pact.

“You really think we should?” he asks, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

Nodding, you continue, “I want something that feels like us, not some show for people we barely know. I don’t want it to be a performance for others, like how it was originally.” You take a breath. “And, then, we weren’t in love,” you nearly whisper.

Simon’s heart clenches in his chest.

He reaches across the table, his hand finding yours. “You’re right,” he admits. “What do you have in mind?”

A smile tugs at your lips as ideas race through your mind.

. . .

As you both delve into planning, the anticipation of a redo makes your heart sing. You had dedicated most of your free time to coming up with plans, a guest list, a location, a cake, and of course, a dress. The prospect of another wedding becomes more than just a contract agreement; it’s a renewal of your love for each other.

The biggest topic weighing on your mind, though, was writing your vows. You wanted something simple, yet meaningful, pulling elements of your relationship with Simon that resonates with your relationship.

The days leading up to the wedding redo were a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation. Together, you and Simon poured over every detail, making sure that this time, it truly reflected a union of love. The guest list was trimmed down to include only those who held a special place in your hearts. Your siblings had been invited, prime guests. You had also invited your tutors, a few guards and maids you had become friendly with, some fellow noble people you had grown up with who you had shared fond memories with. Simon had also invited friends, namely Soap, Price, Gaz, Alejandro, and Rudy. The location was in the palace gardens, surrounded by your favorite flowers and billowy trees, a stark contrast to the grand chapel of your first wedding.

You had asked your eldest sibling to walk you down the aisle. You thought back to how you walked down the aisle alone in the chapel all those months ago. You shudder, but proud that you were still able to overcome it in the moment, no matter how scared you were at the time.

Simon had, unbeknownst to you, fashioned you both new wedding rings. Kastron was widely known for its richly abundant silver mines, so much so that the economy would not function properly if something were to happen to the silver. He had fashioned himself a thick, simple silver band, and you a silver band with a fat diamond encrusted on it. Only the best, most beautiful ring for his beautiful wife.

. . .

As the date approached, you found yourself standing in front of a mirror, admiring the elegant dress you had chosen. It wasn’t something you were forced to wear, just a gown that made you feel like yourself. It was tailored perfectly to your body, accentuating your frame in the most flattering manner. Your hair and makeup was what you wanted, not like some done-up cakey…thing, you were before. Your veil was long but not obnoxious, pearls strewn about the thin fabric, sewn to perfection.

You looked perfect. The maids fluttering about you had cooed at you, complimenting how beautiful and perfect you look. You thank them warmly, your vision of your outfit becoming a reality thanks to them.

Emerging from your room, you find your sibling waiting patiently in the hallway. As you step out, they rise to their feet, a smile blossoming on their face at the sight of you.

“You look amazing!” they exclaim, giving you a tight hug.

“Thank you,” you say warmly, fluffing out your dress.

“Oh, by the way, here's your bouquet,” they offer the bouquet in their hands to you, and you accept it delicately from their grasp. It was crafted by one of your younger siblings, adding another personal touch to the wedding.

“Are you ready?” your sibling asks, bumping their shoulder against yours.

“I’ve never been more ready in my life,” you smile, taking a deep breath.

With the bouquet in hand, you make your way to the garden, the soft rustle of the veil and the delicate fragrance of the flowers creating a cocoon of joy around you. You peer out a window next to the doors to the garden. You see all of your loved ones outside, sitting in the rows of chairs set outside. Flowers adorned practically every square foot of the garden, ribbons fluttered gently in the wind, and streamers hung from the trees, creating a dreamy, white wedding.

Your sibling holds their arm out for you, and you take it, squeezing them close against you. Arm in arm with your sibling, you take a moment to soak in the anticipation. The air is filled with a mixture of nerves and excitement, and the vibrant energy of the garden beckons you forward.

As you step through the doors, the soft melodies of a small orchestra fills the air. The garden is a vision of ethereal beauty. The sun casts a warm glow over the scene, and a hush falls over the small crowd. The guests turn to look, their expressions shifting from idle chatter to a quiet awe.

You catch Simon's eyes, and a warmth passes between you, an unspoken acknowledgment of the significance of this moment. Simon, adorned in his silver Kastron armor and numerous military awards, looked at you with a warmth in his eyes that spoke volumes. Tears immediately prick the corners of your eyes the moment you make eye contact with Simon. You take another deep breath, willing your emotions to stay at bay until the right moment. He’s standing under an arch of flowers where your vows will be exchanged. His face lights up with a mixture of relief and admiration as he sees you. The love in his eyes reassures you that this moment is everything you both hoped for.

Walking down the aisle, you feel every step, every beat of your heart echoing in the air. The fragrance of flowers envelops you, and the sounds of nature seem to harmonize with the melodies playing softly in the background.

Reaching the top, you share a tender moment with Simon as he extends his hand to you, guiding you to stand in front of him, and your sibling takes their place among the other attendees. The officiant begins the ceremony, weaving words that echo the journey of love. Simon doesn’t take his eyes off you once, studying every inch of your face. Now, to exchange the vows. The part you were most excited for. You clear your throat.

“Simon, from this day forward, I promise to laugh with you in joy, comfort you in sorrow, and cherish our moments together. I vow to be your partner in all things, stand by your side with love and unwavering support. With you, I've found my home, my heart, and my forever. Today, I choose you, and every day after, I will choose us.” You flash a teary smile, grasping onto Simon’s hands. He’s just staring at you, completely and utterly infatuated with you. He’s so in love.

“And, for the groom,” the officiant says, nudging Simon out of his trance. Simon stands up straighter and clears his throat.

"My dove, today and always, I promise to stand by you. I promise to support your dreams, celebrate your triumphs, and navigate life's challenges together.” He pauses suddenly, swallowing thickly. You squeeze his hands tighter, smiling at him encouragingly. He takes a breath and resumes, “I choose you as my partner, my confidant, and my queen. With you, every day is an adventure, and I eagerly look forward to a lifetime of love and happiness."

You can’t stop the stray tear that falls down your cheek. Simon swipes the pad of his finger over your cheek, smiling softly at you.

The officiant smiles warmly before continuing. “Now, as a symbol of your commitment to each other, you will exchange rings.”

Simon takes a step back, retrieving a small box from the officiant. Opening it, he reveals two gleaming silver rings nestled inside. You marvel at the simplicity and elegance of the bands, symbols of a promise that transcends words.

“Made ‘em myself,” he whispers to you, watching you marvel at the diamond on your ring.

“They’re absolutely stunning, Si,” you whisper back, tracing your finger over the diamond.

Simon gently takes your hand, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As he slides the ring onto your finger, he meets your gaze with an intensity that speaks volumes. The cool silver warms against your skin, a tangible reminder of this sacred moment.

You reach for the box now, fingers trembling with emotion. With a heartfelt smile, you look into Simon's eyes as you slip the ring onto his finger. The circle completes, a symbol of unending love and commitment.

The officiant continues, “By the power vested in me and the love that you've declared today, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal your vows with a kiss.”

Simon's eyes light up, and he cups your face gently, brushing your hair out of your face before drawing you into a deep kiss. He wraps his arms around your torso, leaning you back into a dip as he kisses you, pulling a small giggle from you as he dips you. Your arms reach around Simon’s neck, pulling him into you with a smile.

The cheers and applause from your loved ones surround you, but in this moment, it feels like time has paused, and it's just the two of you, lost in your love.

As you break the kiss, you find that your cheeks ache from smiling. Simon brushes away the tear that lingers on your cheek, and you share a tender gaze that says more than words ever could.

“I love you,” you whisper in his ear, pressing onto your tiptoes. Simon pulls you closer to him,

his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace. “I love you, too,” he whispers back, nuzzling his cheek against yours.

The ceremony concludes with cheers and applause, and you and Simon walk hand in hand, now officially united. The garden, adorned with love and laughter, fills you with nothing but pure bliss.

The reception is a whirlwind of joy and celebration, filled with toasts, dancing, and the laughter of family and friends. In the midst of it all, you steal moments with Simon, your happiness never once diminishing for the rest of the day.

As the night arrives and the stars emerge in the sky, you find yourselves alone for a moment. The garden had now been decorated with lanterns and candles, filling the night sky with a gentle orange glow. Simon pulls you into an embrace, and under the moonlight, you both marvel at the beauty of the day.

“This day was nothing but perfect, dove,” Simon drawls, rubbing his hand up and down your back soothingly.

“I know,” you sigh contentedly. “I’m so happy, Si. I can’t even begin to explain how happy I am.”

Simon pulls you against him tighter, his warmth enveloping you like a protective shield.

“I'm happy too, darling,” Simon murmurs, his voice a melodic reassurance.

As you both sway gently under the lantern-lit sky, the world outside your embrace seems to fade away. The lanterns overhead cast a dreamy glow, and the night seems to hold its breath, savoring your love.

“I love you, Simon,” you whisper, your words a promise that lingers in the air.

“I love you, too,” he replies, his voice a gentle echo.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#sickeningly sweet #i threw up from how sweet this is #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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wandanatsgf · 2 months

Text

Right Where You Left Me

Pairing: Maid!Wanda x Noble Woman!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: Wanda is your maid who you fall head over heels for. But like all good things, you knew it wouldn't last. You knew your life was already decided for you, but that didn't mean you couldn't enjoy your time with her while it lasts.

Warnings: This ends sadly and contains smut. Read at your own risk. Also I wrote this in two hours so there's probably grammar mistakes so pls ignore those.

You had never understood this strange feeling inside of you, the way you would cringe when you danced with a man or when he kissed your knuckles. You didn't understand why the idea of marrying a man brought feelings of dread and despair. You didn't understand how such simple actions from a man could elicit such strong emotions in a woman. And then you met Wanda.

Wanda is your recently hired maid and god is she gorgeous. She has long brown hair and eyes as green as emeralds. You tend to get lost in them quite frequently, much to Wanda's chagrin. And every time her skin touches yours it sets you ablaze, which is what's happening right now.

"Does this corset really need to be so tight?" you complain to Wanda who is helping you get dressed. It's making it really hard to control your slightly labored breathing. Wanda's presence was really doing something to you today.

"I'm sorry my lady but I'm just following your mother's orders," she says apologetically. She continues to help you get dressed and then she gets to work on your hair.

"You know you don't have to call me my lady when we're alone, Wanda. Y/n is fine," you tell her as she fixes a curl that was out of place.

"Ok Y/n," she says, trying it out. Your name sounds so good coming out of her mouth, you could listen to her say it for forever. Unfortunately you have duties to attend to today.

"Thank you for helping me," you say once Wanda announced she was finished.

"It's really no problem, Y/n. It is my job after all."

"Yes I know but it's only right for me to thank you."

Wanda smiles at this and you swear you've never seen a prettier sight.

"Have a good day, Wanda," you say as you open your bedroom door and slip out of sight.

You spent the majority of your day entertaining your parent's guest, Steve, a lord from a neighboring country. You talked with him for hours, however your heart wasn't in it. You could've cared less about what he was saying. You would've much preferred to be reading a book or talking with Wanda. And by dinnertime you were ready to rip your ears off if you had to hear another story about a battle.

"Thank you so much for accepting our invitation," your father says as everyone takes their seat.

"It really mans a lot to us that you rode all the way out here to visit us and our daughter, Y/n," your mother adds.

"The pleasure is all mine," Steve says.

"This actually brings us to an important topic, Y/n," your father says. "We, your mother and I, are hoping you would be open to courting Steve." You knew he wasn't really asking, he was telling.

"I would love to father," you say, lying straight through your teeth.

"Well that settles that. I think this calls for a toast," your father says.

The rest of your night was spent drinking and pretending to be merry, but you couldn't get out of your own head. You knew your parents wanted you to marry soon, and you had put it off for as long as possible. Now you were being set up with Steve and you felt hopeless.

Around midnight you bid your parents and Steve goodnight and headed to your room. Maybe you could cry in peace there, but when you enter you see Wanda waiting for you.

"How was your day?" Wanda asks as she helps you out of your dress.

"Honestly it was horrible. I had to spend the whole day with Steve," you say, your face wrinkling up in disgust.

"He can't be that bad."

"He's not bad...he's just not interesting," you say carefully choosing your words.

"Well men never are," Wanda says. She pulls off one of your many petticoats, accidently grazing your thigh. You let out a low moan and you hope Wanda didn't notice. You don't think she did because she finishes taking it off and sets it off to the side.

"Oh?" you ask. You can't tell if Wanda is giving you a sign or not. Or maybe you're just reading into things.

"Well you know how men are. They just talk about hunting or battles or money. It's all very boring."

"Oh yes of course," you say agreeing with her. Wanda continues to undress you, but your thoughts are still plagued by the awful news you got at dinner today.

"You know my parents wish for me to court and probably marry him and I don't know if I can do it," you blurt out. You hadn't meant for that to come out, but you just feel so safe in Wanda's presence. Despite the short amount of time you've known her, you've grown close to her. At least as close as you've ever been to a person.

"Why not? It's not like there's someone else and Steve could give you a life of luxury." Wanda unties your tight corset and lets it drop off your body.

You think carefully before letting your greatest secret slip. "I don't think I could ever love him, Wanda. Not the way I love you." At this Wanda's hands still and drop to her side.

"Y/n are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I'm in love with you Wanda Maximoff. I know it's wrong and we barely know each other and my parent's would never approve but I can't help how my heart feels."

"Do you really mean that?"

"I mean every word Wanda."

"I'm in love with you too Y/n. I have been since I first started working for you," she admits.

You carefully turn around and plant a soft kiss on Wanda's lips. She tastes like strawberries and you can't get enough.

Wanda pushes her body as close to you as possible, slowly walking the two of you backwards until your body hits a wall. Your thighs open up to make more room for Wanda to position herself between them.

Wanda's lips move from your own to your neck, making you arch your back.

"Please Wanda."

"What do you want baby?"

"I want you to touch me please," you beg.

Wanda obliges and slowly moves her hand down your breasts, fondling them through your undergarments for a minute. You thrust your hips up against her, getting impatient.

"You're just so needy for me aren't you baby?"

"Mhm I just want you so bad Wanda please," you mewl.

Wanda's hand moves to cup your mound and one of her knuckles lightly grazes your clit.

"Is this what you wanted? You want me to touch you right here?"

"Yes Wanda," you breath out. Your loins were on fire and only she could extinguish it.

Wanda slowly rubs her fingers against you and it takes everything in you not to cum then and there. You never thought this would happen, and now that it is you didn't want it to end.

"Let go for me baby. I'll still be here," she says. Her fingers start to move faster against you and it breaks your resolve. You cum in your underwear, moaning like a mad woman.

As you come down, you see Wanda staring at you.

"What?" you ask.

"You just look so beautiful doing that I want to see it again."

This time Wanda gets on her knees between your thighs and slowly pulls your underwear off. She can clearly see your arousal and it turns her on, making her let out a low moan. She lifts your left leg up over her shoulder and dives in.

The wet slurping sounds are unholy but they only turns you on more. Your hands grab onto Wanda's hair and you pull her closer to your heat. Her nose bumps against your clit and your hips thrust against her.

"Right there Wands," you moan out. The brunette woman continues to lick and suck your clit until you finish all over her face.

Wanda slowly works her way up your body, leaving kisses all over your stomach and chest. She makes her way up to your mouth and leaves a soft kiss there.

You gaze into her eyes and see nothing but love and admiration. It makes your heart melt.

"Let me return the favor," you tell her. You swap places with her and gently take off her clothes. Saying she's gorgeous is an understatement. She looks like an angel.

You kiss her as you start to fondle her pussy, messing around to see what she likes. You can feel her moan against your lips and it gives you a surge of pride knowing you're the one making her moan.

You dip one finger into her entrance and you feel her buck her hips against you. Clearly you had a much stronger affect on her than you thought. Her wetness coats your hand.

You thrust your finger inside of her, watching her writhe in ecstasy. It was a sight you knew you would never get sick of. You add another finger and watch as her head rolls back in pleasure. Soon she is cumming and you continue to fuck her through it.

Once she's calmed down you take your fingers out and lick her arousal off of them. She tastes so good, and you tell her as much.

The two of you spend the rest of the night in each other's embrace, enjoying your time together.

You wake up and you think it was all a dream before you look next to you and see a brown mop of hair sleeping next to you. She looks so pretty and peaceful when she sleeps, but you have to wake her up.

"Wanda. Baby. Wake up," you say as you gently shake her.

"Good morning honey," she says.

"Good morning," you say. You lean down and place a kiss on her lips.

'We have to get up y'know," you say as her lips move against yours.

"Just give me one more minute," she says. She continues to kiss you until you can't breathe anymore and you have to pull away.

"Now we really have to get up and get ready," you say.

"Fine," Wanda grumbles.

You each help the other dress and look presentable.

Today you were supposed to hang out with Steve again. The only thing that made that even bearable was the thought of going to bed with Wanda by your side.

"I'll see you tonight," you say as you cradle her face in your hands. You place a passionate kiss against her lips before walking out.

You spend the next couple of weeks like this. You spent your days with a man you hate and your nights with the woman you love, the woman who owns your heart.

"You know we could run away together. We could live in that abandoned cottage near the woods and have a garden and never have a worry again," Wanda says one night. The two of you are cuddling in your bed.

Deep down a part of you knew it was nothing but a dream, but the thought of living with Wanda made your heart soar.

"I want nothing more," you say, never truly thinking Wanda was serious. You lean in and capture her lips with yours.

That night you fall asleep with a pit in your stomach. You still needed to tell Wanda about the now official wedding plans (well your mother was planning a wedding but Steve hadn't proposed yet. You knew it would be soon though), but you would rather live in delusion than end this. And that is what you did, at least until Wanda comes storming into your room a few days later.

"What is this I hear about a wedding between you and Steve?" Wanda questions.

You were currently brushing your hair at your vanity, but you set the brush down when she stormed in.

"There's nothing official but word is he plans on proposing soon and my mother is planning a wedding even though there isn't one yet."

"And you weren't going to tell me?" Wanda asks. You can see the pain and anger on her face and it makes your heart break.

"I was going to eventually Wands. I just couldn't. I couldn't ruin what we have just yet."

"Are you going to deny him Y/n?"

"I-I don't know. I don't know if I can."

"Of course you can Y/n. You have a choice here."

"I don't think I do Wanda."

"Please Y/n," she begs. She begs you to choose her, but you can't let your delusion cloud your judgement anymore.

"I'm sorry Wanda, but we should've known this would never work," you say. You can feel your perfectly applied makeup start to run down your face, but you don't care. You look how you feel, a mess.

"Why wouldn't this work?" You can hear the pain and desperation in her voice.

"Because..." you trail off. You don't want to give her the real reason. You're afraid. Afraid of your family, the townspeople, and a life full of unknowns. You knew that going with her to the cottage the two of you had always talked about would mean giving up everything you have ever known and loved.

"I'm sorry Wanda but I can't leave them and I can't disappoint them." She knew you were talking about your parents.

"You always complain about them controlling you, y/n and you're letting them do it now. Is your happiness really worth their happiness?"

You nod and that is all the confirmation Wanda needs to realize her life was about to fall apart. She was about to lose the love of her life and there was nothing she could do about it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Wanda," you say. You fall to the ground in a heap of petticoats and skirts. Wanda moves to comfort you, but she knew that would only make this harder.

"I'm sorry too Y/n," Wanda says. She leaves your chamber and you sob harder. You knew you brought this upon yourself, but that didn't make you feel any better.

The next morning a new maid walks in, telling you Wanda had quit last night. From that day on all of your days blurred together. Time was pointless without her. Living was pointless without her.

Exactly two weeks after you had ended things with Wanda, Steve proposed. You don't even remember saying yes, but you must have because you now have a huge, shiny ring on your finger.

You expected Wanda to come to you after the news of your engagement made it's way through the kingdom, but she never showed.

Maybe if she had came back for you things would be different. Or maybe if you had ran away with her you wouldn't be where you are now. But you had backed yourself into this corner and there was no getting out.

Your dress is beautiful. It's big and poufy and white. But the person at the end of the aisle isn't who you want to see. Instead of emerald eyes you see cerulean. Instead of a smooth face with delicate features you see a rough face with harsh lines. He's all wrong, he's not her. But you made your choice. Your parents and their wishes come first. Maybe in another life you could chase your happiness, but in this one you were chasing theirs.

After the wedding you resided yourself to a life you hated with a man you loathed, even though you knew it wasn't his fault. If only you could feel the same way about Steve that would make life so much easier. But no matter how much you tried to love him you were still repulsed when his lips touched yours or when you laid in bed side by side.

Sometimes you couldn't stop the sobs that would fall at night, knowing you had made a mistake with marrying him. You should've ran away with Wanda, but now it was too late. You had kids to take care of and an estate to run.

Despite that you let yourself dream about the woman you left all those years ago, the woman you still loved. You hoped Wanda had lived a life far more happier life than yours. You hoped Wanda had moved on and found someone else. You hoped Wanda and new her lover lived in the cottage that was meant to be yours's and had a plentiful garden and never wanted for a thing.

However Wanda's reality was much sadder than what you had wanted for her. Wanda spent her days at the cottage by herself, over come with grief. She never moved on. She spent her days gardening, reading, and crying. Everyday she hoped her lover would come back to her. She never did.

#wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #smut #marvel #mcu #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #wanda x reader smut #wanda maximoff smut

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cressthebest · 8 days

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PLZ JEGULILY HCS!! <33

AHHHHHHHHHHHH the post was up for like ten minutes before i got this. i am going so feral over getting to talk about them!!

this post is split in two sections:

- how they got together

- headcanons

um let’s start with how i think they got together! it’s gonna be a bit of an unpopular opinion i think. this parts gonna be kinda long, but it’s ✨complex✨ y’all

if you don’t wanna read that, skip to the next words in pink!

we all know that james has ALWAYS loved lily evans, and will gladly shout it to the rooftops. he very much loves her, and by the time she’s starting to reciprocate the feeling, james is still in love, but giving up hope. he begins to crush on regulus, is very conflicted cause he still loves lily, but gets with regulus anyways. regulus is aware that james still likes lily, but they never discuss it. (honestly, these people did not communicate and it was a bit of an issue)

and while james and regulus begin dating, lily starts to become jealous. cause she realizes that she really really missed james. and also thinks that james’ boyfreind is cute too 👀

and honestly, lily attributes wanting to kiss regulus to the fact that she thinks she wants to make james jealous. but she also wants to kiss james. and honestly, why does she want to hold both of their hands? why does she want a date with both of them??

(also, let women have complex character traits this 2024! lily can be heavily jealous! she’s not perfect! please remember that!)

regulus admits to james that he’s gained a bit of a crush on lily, and notices that james still has his. so they’re both two idiots pining over this beautiful lady that they think doesn’t want them.

regulus and james would often hang in the astronomy tower, but lots of times regulus would go by himself. lily joins one day and voila! they’re talking! and they get along! this continues! they have hang outs with all three of them up there, along with just lily and regulus.

regulus eventually realizes that their crush is reciprocated. he gives lily a few courting presents (and remus with the help of sirius kindly informs her what’s going on) and she kisses regulus one night. they get so high on weed that night after their kiss.

after the kiss with reg, lily asks james first! and james is not used to being chased! he’s the chaser! he stumbles and stutters and quite honestly forgets to say yes.

eventually all three are together. it was a mess. this all occurred in 5th year for reg, 6th year for jily

after that convoluted mess, i offer short headcanons:

• regulus and lily smoke weed together. james is allergic, so he never gets to join :/

• james plans the proposal for two years- like, he starts dating them, and he’s already planning who will be his best man (remus) and what color his tux is (dark grey) and his dream venue

• actually on that topic- reg would wear light/mid grey as his wedding tux colors. his best man is sirius. james and reg fought over who would get sirius, and regulus won!

• lily wears a very bohemian looking dress. her maid of honor is mary, but she always wished it was petunia

• nsfw warning:

——————————

• james and regulus first had sex in the astronomy tower. about five months after being together.

• and then reg and lily actually fucked two weeks after getting together, also in the astro tower.

• james and lily didn’t have sex together for almost a year after getting together. james is demisexual. he honestly isn’t ready yet. they made out quite a bit tho- (but they eventually did it in the girls dorm.) (stairs let him up, yada yada i have headcanons about that too)

• they have their first threesome in james’ bed at home.

——————————

• james and lily cook together a lot! lily is not good at it. but she likes it :/ and james learned cause of his mum! he’s fantastic at it!

• lily smokes. quite a bit actually. james hates the smell and knows it’s bad for you. regulus doesn’t care for it; he just likes weed.

• all three of them are bi!!

• james is demisexual like mentioned above

• lily is aro-spec (and uses she/they)

• harry called lily “mum”, james “papa”, and regulus “dad”

• and! unpopular opinion! when harry reached hogwarts age, he’d be sorted into slytherin. he hears all the nasty things said about slytherins, and his parents all want him to be gryffindor (including reg)! but the sorting hat says he’d do well in slytherin, and he goes for it! cause he looks up to his dad and wants to avenge his slytherin honor and wants to make his dad proud to have been in slytherin!

#marauders #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #lily evans #jegulily #jily #regulily #bisexual james potter #demisexual actually #bisexual lily evans #bisexual regulus black #headcanons #marauders headcanon #she/they lily evans

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enemyoflactose · 1 month

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To start this off, I want to mention the extremely weird obsession you have with watering Ryou down to this dumb Femboy for having feminine characteristics. God forbid a boy- yes, a BOY, a 16 year old, anorexic and confused guy to not be the manliest guy alive. Also all the overly sexual things directed to him or in relation to him? They are just downright revolting and can be in no way justified. You wonder why people can’t recognize your Ryou art when you dumb him down to a fucking femboy. Ryou bakura is based off many other characters and is supposed to be ANDROGYNOUS. (hence his Female VA and overall appearance.) he is NOT a girl. Also, stop making him to look really fucking dumbed down. If you even read the manga, ryou is actually really fucking smart. He isn’t a bimbo, he isn’t some kind of fucking stupid silly uwu boy. HES A TEENAGER GOD FORBID HE EVEN EXISTS

The next thing I wanted to allude on, Marik's mischaracterization, oversexualization (again) and woobification? How are you gonna dismiss one of the best written Characters in the entire show just for a few petty arguments, rude and impolite at that too. You’re also a giant hypocrite. Being as Yami Bakura (your favorite character) is a bad person AND I WOULD EVEN SAY, HES AN AWFUL PERSON. more so compared to Marik. His redemption arc i can get as to why you’re so pissy about it but you need to realize that this is also a kids show with limited writing due to 4KIDS, manga is more well constructed. Honestly i just have a giant problem with your Marik. I’m not even gonna talk about the thiefshipping, angstshipping, and opinions abt YM..why is Marik in your head like a fuckass. Like, your perception of him is so weird. Marik is equally as bad as every villain in Yugioh, you constantly make him out to be a hypersexual sex craved MANIAC. Also not to mention the blatant racism on your blog (it’s self explanatory.) I don’t understand all the hate, from his arc to the character design…pick a side, do you hate him or do you only like him because he pounds ryou in your head :T

Also the pure, unadulterated watering down of SA in your "crimes of marik/yami marik" post? I can't put into words how extremely shameful it is, to disregard such an important and scary topic and to make a joke of it honestly. IT WAS NOT SA? the scene was ryou bakura about to FALL OVER because he is INJURED. Marik isn’t trying to do anything to him. Thanks for dumbing down real life situations you’re an awesome person

Where did you get that Ryou was anorexic? Being thin and not really eating a lot doesn't make you anorexic. I would know, I was almost diagnosed with it.

I head cannon Ryou as a femboy not because I'm sexualizing him, but because I want to draw a character that I like and relate to in outfits that I just want to see him in.

Do I end up drawing Ryou in sexual outfits? Yes. I'm sorry this upsets you, but I find certain typically sexual outfits such as maid outfits and MEIKO's Blue Crystal model to be very pretty and cute. Not to mention they're just fun to draw.

I have plans to draw Ryou in other dresses and skirts that aren't sexual, I wouldn't have this head cannon if I didn't.

I'm well aware that looking androgynous doesn't automatically make someone a femboy or tomboy. I may be dumb, but I'm not an idiot.

The kind of stupid that I think Ryou is, is the kind that makes you unable to see certain social cues or just be ignorant about a lot of things. I give him the same stupid that I have because I'm projected on to a character that I like and relate to.

I'm also still new to writing, so the way I characterize Ryou hasn't been shown to its fullest. I write him and acknowledge him how he's already written, but I add things to make myself happy. That's how fanfiction works.

I never said that Ryou was a bimbo, I said that he's stupid because he makes objectively dumb choices like keeping the millennium ring and not telling his friends about it. Also, yes I do know that he's being abused. From an outsiders perspective however, his choices just come across as looking stupid.

I am making light hearted jokes about a fictional character and projecting myself on to that same fictional character, and you have a problem with that?

And to talk about your insults to my art, I know that the reason I'm scared people won't recognize Ryou is because I draw him to like this:

Instead of this:

I'm well aware of that because despite my low intelligence, I can understand that he doesn't really look like Ryou.

Also, why are you so intent on telling me that Ryou is a boy? I know he's a boy. I constantly say that he's a boy and acknowledge that he's a boy. You need to identify as a boy to be a femboy 💀.

For your Marik takes, I have no clue what woobafication is. I also don't hate Marik because he's a bad person, I "hate" him (it's fucking theatrical you dumbass) because he has a poor redemption that needed to be explored more. Marik is a character that I genuinely like and I think he's fun and hilarious, I just have problems with how he was redeemed since in my eyes, he did nothing to deserve it.

Yami Bakura is also not my favorite character. Weevil and Joey are. I just talk about Yami Bakura way more because there's more for me to say. I like Ryou more than him as well because Ryou is my projection character.

I'm well aware that Yami Bakura is a worse person than Marik, he did almost kill all of Egypt is I'm remembering things right, but that doesn't mean that Marik isn't also a bad person.

Just because someone is worse than another, doesn't mean that that person's sins are cleaned completely.

Of course you don't wanna talk about the angstshipping thiefshipping discourse you little pussy.

Marik is objectively worse than Pegasus, Noah, Gozuburo, and the Douma trio. He kidnaps, brainwashes, steals, kills, abuses his brother, and all the while he still blames Yami Yugi for how he is.

Marik being hypersexual is just a fandom trop. That's why I think he is, because a pretty big number of people also think that way.

Where is the racism? I'm genuinely concerned about this one it is not self explanatory.

I do actually like Marik as a character, it's not because he pounds Ryou in my head, it's because he's entertaining. He's fun, I like fun villains. (His purple shirt is ugly as hell tho)

Now to talk about my biggest issue with you. You think I can afford to just read the manga and watch the sub, don't you?

Well guess what chuckle nuts, I'M FUCKING POOR

I don't have the money to buy more of the Yu-Gi-Oh manga or to pay for a Crunchyroll subscription.

I'm broke, no money, poor, jobless.

You're making the assumption that I can fucking afford to buy the manga. I have to ask my family to buy it for me as gifts for birthdays and shit. I literally have no money.

So let me put everything you need to know in a little list so you, and anyone else, can understand things about me.

I project onto Ryou

I think pretty boys in pretty dresses is cool

I actually really like Marik

My favorite character is Weevil

I happen to like angstshipping

I happen to not like thiefshipping

I think certain sexualized outfits are pretty or look fun to draw

I have media literacy

Fuckass is not a word in my vocabulary and I don't know what that means

Please block me 💕

#asks #they actually fucking responded #damn

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francesminos-tt · 2 months

Text

Pride and Prejudice au part 3

Joffrey dreaded the ball that was to be held in the Red Keep. He never enjoyed balls, but he had never dreaded attending one either. He would accompany his omega brothers to these social gatherings as a loyal chaperone, though Jace had told him multiple times that he was too young to be one. Joffrey always shrugged it off. He had not the slightest interest in socializing or finding himself an alpha husband, so he’d rather keeping an eye on his brothers than making awkward conversations. This time should be no different. He would show up at the ball with Jace and Luke, have a nice glass of wine and retreat to a good vantage point after his brothers started dancing, just like he had done many times before. However, for the first time, Joffrey felt reluctant to show up at all.

“What’s matter, Joff? You are awfully quiet this evening.” Lucerys called for his younger brother after they settled down in the drawing room after dinner.

The three brothers each had their favorite spot; Luke preferred the cushioned armchair near the hearth, cozy and domestic, an ideal space to read a letter or do needlework. Jace often chose the sturdy reading chair that had been brought back by Daemon from Pentos, a good book in his hand to pass the time. Joffrey, on the other hand, lived up to his carefree nature by choosing to sit on the window sill facing the garden. It provided him with a nice view of the small but lovely garden they had, and also the path leading to their cottage. Joffrey was always the first one to spot any visitors or passing carriages. Unfortunately, since it was already dark outside, all Joffrey could see was his own reflection on the window, with a troubled frown lingering on his brow.

“Not just tonight.” Jacaerys added, “You have been acting weird since you went out to the market in the rain, Joff. Did anything happen?”

“I am fine.” Joffrey shrugged, trying to avoid the topic, “Nothing to worry about.”

“Are you still not feeling well?” Lucerys got up from his armchair and joined Joffrey on the window sill, before placing his hand on Joffrey’s forehead, “You don’t feel warm. Perhaps Elinda can make you some concoction for relaxation.”

“I am perfectly fine.” Joffrey insisted, “It was just a small cold, which I have completely recovered from.”

Joffrey had caught a cold from staying out in the rain for too long a few days ago. By the time he made it back that day, the rain had made a complete mess of him. His dress was covered in mud, dark curls soaked and plastered to his face, and he was shivering from cold. He nearly gave his mother a heart attack. Rhaenyra’s thoughts immediately went to the darkest places, and honestly, who could blame her? Her unmated omega son had come back in such a horrible state, as if her worst nightmare had come true. Thank the Seven that nothing scandalous had happened. A small cold sounded so much better than other situations in Rhaenyra’s mind.

“How did you forget your umbrella in the shop? Did anything happen?” Jacaerys asked for the first time since that day. He knew his brother well. Joffrey might appear carefree, but he was not careless. It was unlikely that he had forgotten the umbrella at the shop out of carelessness, not to mention it had been raining on his way home. Something must have happened that made Joffrey rush back without his umbrella.

“Nothing happened.” Joffrey blew a strand of naughty curls from his face, “Really. I swear. I was just too caught up in conversation with Ben. I would have gone to the shop to retrieve the umbrella days ago if mother hasn't grounded me.”

“Mother didn't ground you. You were too sick to leave the cottage.” Lucerys reminded him.

“Whatever.” Joffrey rolled his eyes.

Their maid, Elinda, brought them tea and thus interrupted the brothers’ conversation. The middle-aged woman was well respected by the three brothers, and in turn, she treated them as her own. Joffrey, in particular, admired her wit profoundly.

“I finished ironing all your gowns for the ball.” Elinda said as she placed a silver tea tray down on the carved table next to Jacaerys’s armchair, “Do you need me to iron your new gloves as well, Master Jace?”

Jacaerys’s blushed visibly, but he managed to keep a straight face. He had received a new pair of silk gloves this morning, along with a carefully folded letter from Captain Stark. Joffrey had been worried that Captain Stark might tell his brother about his embarrassing encounter with Uncle Daeron, but judging from Jace’s earlier questions, this was not the case. Captain Stark had just earned another point by keeping his nose out of Joffrey’s business. Joffrey made a mind note to support the good captain should he decide to confess his love to Joffrey’s brother.

“No, thank you, Elinda. I will take care of it myself.” Jacaerys said politely, ignoring the teasing glare of his brothers.

“Very well.” The woman nodded before turning to Lucerys and Joffrey, “I’ve added some new ruffles to your dress, Master Luke. I think you will like it. As for you, Master Joff, your mother decides to make you a new dress. You have overgrown your current one.”

“I don't need a new dress.” Joffrey murmured.

“You need a proper dress to attend the ball at the Red Keep.” Elinda said firmly, “You don't want to make your mother look bad by exposing your ankle for all to see, do you?”

Joffrey had grown taller in the past year, now the tallest of his siblings. His current dress had become too short, its hem barely touching the middle of his shin. It was considered inappropriate in formal social events, like the ball to be held in the Red Keep.

“I’ll stand in the corner the whole night. Nobody will notice me.” Joffrey argued, though he knew it was impossible to convince Elinda. That was probably why his mother had sent the maid to inform him of the decision in the first place.

“Nonsense. You will be swarmed by reckless young alphas who are desperate for your attention.” Elinda stopped in front of Joffrey and smoothed the young master’s evening gown, “You have your mother’s fine figure. One has to be a fool to ignore you.”

“That’s exactly what I try to tell him all the time!” Lucerys exclaimed, “Come on, Joff. I will help you pick up the perfect dress. You will be sure to impress everyone!”

Joffrey had not the heart to reject Lucerys’s enthusiasm, though he dreaded to meet Daeron again in the ball. His feeling towards his youngest uncle was strange, unlike anything he had felt before. Initially, he thought it was annoyance, or even hatred, but Joffrey would not feel so hurt by the words from a person he hated. Daeron’s attitude should not affect him so. Daeron was just an arrogant, thick-headed, stereotypical alpha, who Joffrey should hate the most. Why would Joffrey care about Daeron’s opinions about him? Whether Daeron considered him a dishonorable omega or not was none of Joffrey’s business, right? Then why was he so desperate to prove his uncle wrong?

“Luke is right, Joff.” Jacaerys joined the conversation, “I am proud of you no matter what, but I will be very excited to see you in the new dress.”

What could Joffrey say? He was not cruel enough to deny his dear brothers’ excitement.

“Fine. I will be your dress up doll,” Joffrey said in feigned annoyance, “but just for once.”

Joffrey tried to ignore his own excitement. He didn't want to dwell on the fact that he was secretly very flattered by his brothers and Elinda’s words. He didn't lack confidence, no, but it was always nice to have his self-esteem boosted once in a while. Joffrey couldn't help but wonder how Daeron would react to his new dress. Perhaps Joffrey could make the alpha speechless by pretending to be a perfect omega. See what Daeron had to say then.

Joffrey smiled to himself after making up his mind. Wait and see, uncle.

Joffrey ended up with a double-layered dress that hugged his body like a glove. The under layer was made from white satin, paired with a sheer silk overdress in the color of burgundy. The wide scoop neckline showed off Joffrey’s full bust, and made his neck appear longer and more elegant. The overdress was adorned by intricate flower embroideries, so rest of the dress was kept simple, slightly flared skirt, puffed sleeves, and high waistline.

“You need a pair of long gloves to finish the look.” Rhaenyra said after observing her youngest omega son closely, “You can use mine. Elinda, will you fetch my lace gloves, please?”

“Mother, please, do not bother.” Joffrey pleaded, a bit uncomfortable with all the attention. He was sitting in front of the dresser in Rhaenyra’s room, surrounded by his mother, Elinda, Jace and Luke, and his other two younger brothers, Aegon and Viserys. Now, Luke was fixing his hair, while Jace was trying to pick out the perfect rouge shade. Rhaenyra had half a dozen of different shawls laid out on her bed, trying to choose the perfect one for Joffrey’s new dress.

“You look very pretty, Joff!” Little Viserys claimed, taking Joffrey’s hand and planted a sloppy kiss on it, “Will you dance with me?”

Viserys was far too young to ask anyone for a dance, but Joffrey smiled at his little brother’s cute mimic of alpha etiquette.

“Of course. I will save my first dance for you, Vis.” Joffrey replied.

“I want a dance too!” Aegon waved his little arms, reluctant to be left out, “Joff, I want a dance too!”

“How about you two dance with me together?” Joffrey chuckled, “I can use extra support for spin.”

“Okay!” Aegon nodded seriously.

“Come, egg. Let’s choose the color of Joff’s rouge first.” Jacaerys put his arm around Aegon to keep his brother in place, “What do you say? Pink or red?”

“Red!”

“Excellent taste, egg!” Lucerys chimed in, “Deep colors suit Joff’s complexion the most.”

“Here, my dear,” Rhaenyra put a cream colored shawl decorated with shimmering threads around Joffrey’s shoulder, “how do you like it?”

“I don't know, mother.” Joffrey admitted, “It looks nice, I suppose.”

Joffrey was being honest. He had little experience or interest in dresses. He had no idea why everyone seemed so keen to dress him up, but he appreciated their kindness. He looked in the mirror, and was greeted by a face that felt so familiar yet so foreign. His skin looked supple from all the creams and toners that Lucerys had put on his face. His makeup was simple and fresh, a thin layer of white powder and some castor oil on his eyelids to make them shine. Jacaerys was putting the final touch to his face by adding some color to his cheeks and lips. His wild curls were tamed by Lucerys’s skilled hands, now bouncing gracefully on his shoulder. Joffrey almost failed to recognize his own reflection in the mirror. The somewhat unkempt omega was gone, replaced by an elegant image of a perfect omega.

“You look good with extravagant designs.” Rhaenyra kissed Joffrey’s head, “This shawl was a gift from my dearest friend Laena. It once belonged to her grandmother, Lady Jocelyn. The threads were made from mother-of-pearl, a technique unique to Driftmark. I think Laena would be happy if I pass it down to you. You both have free spirits.”

“I can’t just take such valuable piece from you, mother.” Joffrey rushed to say, but Rhaenyra shushed him by a pressing a finger on his lips.

“No, take it, Joff. I insist.” Rhaenyra took the pair of long gloves from Elinda and put them on Joffrey’s hands, “There, you look wonderful, Joff. I am sure all the guests at the ball will be mesmerized.”

Not all guests, Joffrey thought to himself. Captain Stark and Uncle Aemond would be too busy courting his brothers to notice Joffrey. At least that was a relief.

There was a bell from downstairs, announcing the arrival of the carriage. Jace and Luke rushed to finish their own looks before the brothers went down to the main hall. Their stepfather, Daemon, a veteran from the Army, waited at the front entrance.

“I know you don't need to hear it from me,” Daemon said as he gave them a courteous salute, “but you all look ravishing, especially you, Joffrey. I can’t even believe my eyes. Who could have thought a wild boy like you will look so different in a nice dress?”

“Stop making fun of my son.” Rhaenyra elbowed her husband, saving Joffrey from another fit of wild blushing.

“I will take it as a compliment, father.” Joffrey replied, grabbing his fan so hard that he was about to snap the poor thing. Thank God he was wearing gloves, so no one could see his knuckles turn white.

“It is, son.” Daemon led them out to the carriage. The coachman had served the family before, a patient and trustworthy man. Daemon exchanged a few words with the coachman as the three brothers boarded the carriage. The carriage was not the most spacious one, but large enough to comfortably host three young omegas.

“Don’t stay too late.” Rhaenyra reminded them, “Be careful and have a wonderful night, boys.”

“Yes, mother.” The brothers replied in unison as the carriage slowly left the country cottage and went for the Red Keep.

The journey to the Red Keep was a smooth ride. Joffrey barely felt any bump before the carriage arrived at the magnificent castle looking down at King’s Landing. The main hall was already brightly lit, and they could hear the lively music as the brothers walked arm in arm to the entrance. They were quickly mesmerized by the grandeur of the Keep, as well as the number of guests walking past them. The ball seemed to have a much bigger scale than they had expected.

This keep should belong to mother. This could have been our house, Joffrey thought as he stepped in the nicely carved door. He was immediately greeted by a strong aroma of perfumes and candles, the mixture of flowers, herbs, incenses, and other exotic spices almost suffocating him. Jace and Luke clearly shared his thoughts; Jace cleared his throat while Luke covered the lower half of his face with his lace fan.

The ball room was already packed with guests. Everyone was dressed in their best, especially those unmated omegas and alphas. A social event of this scale was the perfect place to find a potential mate. If Joffrey didn’t know better, he would say this was a whore house judging by the overwhelming pheromones. Compared to the extravagance of the guests, the room itself was decorated with green silk drapes and ribbons, adding a little solemnity to otherwise giddy event.

“Jace! I am so glad you can make it.” A tall figure in soldier’s uniform went straight to Jacaerys, failing to acknowledge the other two omegas.

“Good evening, Captain.” Jacaerys curtseyed perfectly, a pink hue slowly climbing up his cheeks, “It is nice to meet you again.”

Cregan Stark bowed and planting a light kiss on the back of Jacaerys’s hand. The gesture wasn’t overly inappropriate, though it did feel rather intimate, especially for a soldier like Stark. However, the good Captain seemed to care not about his public show of affection.

“You choose to wear my gift.” Cregan said with a bright smile, “How do I like it? I am afraid choosing gifts is not my specialty, but your brother was kind enough to offer his help.”

“It fits perfectly. Thank you, Captain.” Jacaerys smiled back while shooting Joffrey a glare, “My brother never told me anything about gifts. I hope he didn't force you into buying anything too extravagant.”

“Hey! Have a little confidence in me.” Joffrey chimed in, “I am not a gold digger.”

Cregan seemed a little taken back by Joffrey’s choice of words. Granted he liked the youngest omega’s friendliness and carefree nature, yet he was still surprised at the vast vocabulary of street slangs Joffrey seemed to have.

“Joff!” Jacaerys hissed.

“No, not at all.” Cregan said, “Mr. Joffrey was very helpful and considerate. Besides, nothing is too extravagant a gift for you, Jace. You deserve the best.”

“How are you enjoying the ball so far, Captain?” Lucerys spoke before Jacaerys blushed himself to death.

“Oh, the ball is nice. Lady Alicent made a great effort to entertain her guests.” Cregan replied, as if he just noticed Lucerys’s presence, “But the scene is bit too sumptuous for me.”

“It never hurts to enjoy the occasional luxury in life.” Lucerys smiled. He didn't seem too offended that an alpha failed to notice him, because he knew Captain Stark only had eyes for one person.

“I suppose you are right.”

The band switched the upbeat music to a slower one. The brothers were all familiar with this song, for their mother often played the same song on the piano in her drawing room.

“Why don’t you ask Jace for a dance?” Lucerys nudged his older brother, “He’s excellent at dancing to this tune.”

Cregan took the hint and asked Jacaerys for a dance. Though still embarrassed by his younger brother’s teasing, Jacaerys accepted the offer with grace. He was desperate to get away from the teasing smile of his brothers, especially Luke. Jacaerys made a mental note to get back at Lucerys later as he followed Cregan to the dance floor.

“Now, Joff, let us find you a dancing partner too.” Lucerys linked his arm with Joffrey and dragged his brother to the other side of the room, nodding and smiling to numerous strangers in the process. Joffrey didn't know any of them, so all he could do was smiling along like a complete idiot.

They settled at the lounge area near the main hearth, where only a few chaperones sat. The group of old ladies were enjoying their champagne while keeping a close eye on their respective young wards on the dance floor. Lucerys shoved a glass of wine in Joffrey’s hand.

Joffrey gulped down half a glass in one go. The room was too crowded to his liking.

“No! Joff!” Lucerys stopped his brother before Joffrey could finish the glass, “I didn't give you the wine to drink!”

“Then what are you giving me the wine for?” Joffrey asked and licked the wine drops from his lips. He would have wiped the wine clean, but he couldn't ruin the pristine gloves he was wearing now.

“For you to use it as a disguise while you observe the room.” Lucerys rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Why would I want to observe the room?”

“To find a dancing partner, of course.” Lucerys brought his own wine glass to his lips, and turned his eyes to the crowd. He pretended that he was sipping the wine, but Joffrey could tell that the red liquid only touched his lips. Lucerys casually observed the room, as if he was just resting after an intense dancing session.

“Oh, Aemond is here.” Lucerys said after spotting an unmistakable silver head in the crowd, “Who’s the man he’s with?”

Joffrey looked in the direction of Lucerys’s gaze. Aemond wasn’t dancing, but stayed in the corner with an unimpressed look on his face. He seemed to have dressed up tonight, the usual moderate leather jacket replaced by a more festive one, with green silk lining on the shoulder, collar and sleeves. His eye patch was lined with golden thread too, adding a bit creepiness to his features. There was another man standing next to Uncle Aemond, conventionally handsome, with golden hair and pale complexion. The man’s hair was too golden to be a Targaryen, so Joffrey knew he was not one of Aemond’s brothers.

“I don't know.” Joffrey shrugged, retrieving his gaze, “And honestly, I don't care.”

Lucerys hummed, still curious. Fortunately, his curiosity didn't have to last long. Aemond finally noticed Lucerys’s gaze and walked towards to them with the blonde man trailing behind.

“Good evening, nephews.” Aemond greeted the two brothers with his usual seriousness, “I hope the journey here wasn’t too cumbersome.”

“I won't say it was pleasant,” Lucerys replied, twirling the wine glass in his hand, “but we managed.”

Aemond nodded, his lips pursed into a thin line. If Joffrey didn’t know any better, he would say that his one-eyed uncle was annoyed for some reason. Yet there was no reason for Uncle Aemond to be annoyed.

“Why aren't you dancing, uncle?” Lucerys flipped his soft curls over his shoulder, exposing his smooth neck. A thin layer of sheer silk covered his scent gland, but it only left more room for imagination.

“Aemond is persistent not to dance tonight.” The blonde man spoke, his grey blue eyes turning back and forth between Aemond and Lucerys, “But I think he’s about to break his own words.”

“Uncle.” Aemond glared at the blonde man.

“Don’t glare at me for speaking the truth, Aemond.” The blonde man shrugged, relaxed and unaffected by Aemond’s death glare.

Now was Joffrey’s turn to be curious. He hadn’t met anyone who could mock his scary one-eyed uncle without consequences. Daemon could probably do it, but Daemon didn’t count. Daemon would mock a dragon if he had the chance. Besides, Daemon was Aemond’s uncle. Aemond called the man Uncle too, which meant the man must be a Hightower.

“Gwayne Hightower.” The man introduced himself, “Glad to make your acquaintances.”

Gwayne bowed to Lucerys respectfully, but he kissed Joffrey’s hand as a greeting. The clear difference made Lucerys raise his eyebrow and Joffrey blush.

“I would kiss your hand too, but I don't think Aemond will be too happy about it.” Gwayne explained with such kind humor that both Lucerys and Joffrey laughed at his words.

“Stop trying to charm everyone, uncle.” Aemond took a step closer to Lucerys, as if trying to shield the omega with his body, his scent of leather and ash growing stronger.

Gwayne shrugged, a teasing smile on his thin lips. He turned to Joffrey again, and offered his arm to the young omega.

“You must be Joffrey.” Gwayne said politely, “I have heard a lot about you. Will you honor me to a dance?”

Joffrey had never expected to be asked for a dance in a grand ball like this. He had only attended small social events before, with familiar guests from his precinct. Everyone in the area knew about Joffrey’s wild nature, so no one was foolish enough to ask him for a dance. It suited Joffrey just fine, for he had neither the interest nor the skill to dance. However, he couldn't help but feel flattered when a handsome alpha like Gwayne chose to ask him, out of all other omegas in the room, for a dance. Gwayne’s gesture fed to Joffrey’s pride perfectly.

“Well, why not?” Joffrey placed his hand on Gwayne’s forearm, “Though you will have to put up with me, sir. I am not the best dancer.”

“I doubt.” It seemed that Gwayne had more confidence in Joffrey than the omega himself.

The pair moved to the dance floor in the surprised eyes of Joffrey’s brother. They joined the dancing crowd in the middle of a song. It took Gwayne almost no time to catch up with the rhythm, but the same could not be said about Joffrey. Joffrey loved a little merry dancing from time to time, but he dreaded the formality and social norms of dancing at a ball. Fortunately, Gwayne guided him through the rest of the song by keeping his arm around Joffrey’s tiny waist. The blonde spin Joffrey around in a flamboyant movement when the song ended, sending the omega into a fit of surprised laughter.

“Where did you learn how to dance, sir? I swear I have never seen such technique!” Joffrey asked as they lined up for the next song.

“Just a little trick I’ve learned from the Army.” Gwayne replied with a smile.

“Are you an officer then?”

“I just got my honorable discharge from the Infantry, so I think I might as well visit my sister before I decide what to do with my life.”

“Your sister?” Joffrey tapped the floor with the heel of his shoes before turning.

“Yes, Lady Alicent is my sister. She’s the host of this ball.” Gwayne grabbed Joffrey’s wrist to keep the omega’s balance, “I understand that she has a history with your mother.”

“That’s a nice way of putting it, yes.” Joffrey scoffed, “I am glad you are not as hateful as the other Hightowers.”

“Well, thank you.” Gwayne laughed, “I am indeed very flattered to get such an opinion from you.”

Gwayne didn't seem to mind that Joffrey’s rude comment about his family, which made him more than tolerable in Joffrey’s books. Gwayne wasn’t as upright as Uncle Aemond, and he was certainly not as arrogant and snobbish like Daeron. He was wittier and less awkward than Captain Stark, and gentler than Daemon. He could easily be at the top of the perfect alpha list, if Joffrey were being honest with himself.

“You seem to know a lot about me.” Joffrey said, a little out of breath from the aggressive dancing moves.

“Just as I said, I’ve heard a lot about you.” Gwayne, on the other hand, sounded perfectly calm as if he was having a conversation at the dinner table other than the dance floor.

“From whom?” Joffrey blushed a little after realizing that he sounded too rude, “If you don't mind me asking?”

“My youngest nephew, Daeron.” Gwayne replied, “He just can’t shut up about you.”

Daeron’s name was certainly not the answer Joffrey expected. Why? Daeron hated him, right? Why would Daeron talk about someone he hated?

“I hope he only talks good things about me.” Joffrey frowned, his mood souring the moment Gwayne mentioned Daeron’s name.

Gwayne didn't answer. Instead, he pulled Joffrey towards his chest, covering the omega with his scent of forest drizzle. Gwayne’s scent was prominent even among the crowd of other alphas, indicating his high status. However, his scent wasn’t intrusive, as was expected for a high status alpha. Instead, it was gentle and refresh, a nice compliment to Joffrey’s own herbal scent.

“Sir?” Joffrey was taken so off caught that he barely reacted as Gwayne’s hand slide down to rest on his lower back.

“You are very beautiful, Joffrey.” Gwayne whispered in his ear, “And you smell nice.”

Joffrey twitched uncontrollably as a tingling sensation rushed up his spine. He had never come so close to another alpha, not even his stepfather, so Joffrey had no idea how alpha’s pheromones could affect him. He felt dizzy and hard to breathe, as if the walls were closing in on him. His vision narrowed, and all he could see was the sheen of sweat on Gwayne’s forehead.

Just when Joffrey was about to fall forward, someone grabbed his arm and dragged him away from Gwayne’s chest. Another alpha scent joined, fiercer, harsher and more familiar. The two pheromones seemed to be in a battle against each other, the scent of incense trying to dispel the rotten smell of the rain. Gwayne’s pheromone alone was already too much for Joffrey to bear, and the addition of another made the omega stumble and lose his balance.

Shit. That was the last thought in Joffrey’s mind before his world went dark.

Joffrey woke up in a cool and dimly light room. The distant music told him that he hadn't passed out for long. He was disoriented for a moment, but the memory of fainting in the middle of the dance floor quickly jolted him wide awake.

“Careful.” Someone said to him as the stranger rubbed Joffrey’s back soothingly, “How are you feeling?”

“My head hurts.” Joffrey murmured, blinking to regain some clarity to his vision, “Where am I? How did I end up here?”

“You fainted earlier, so I brought you to an empty room.” The stranger replied, “Here, have some tea. You are a bit dehydrated.”

Joffrey emptied the cup obediently and handed it back to the kind stranger. However, he soon found out that the man taking care of him was no stranger at all.

“Uncle Daeron?” Joffrey’s eyes widened in surprise.

Daeron had a small frown on his brow, the dim candles in the room casting a shadow on his angular face. Even a fool could tell that he was holding back something. Probably anger.

“Who do you expect? My uncle?” Daeron scoffed, “I suggest you not to get too familiar with him.”

“Who I choose to be acquainted with is none of your business.” Joffrey retorted. He just couldn't stay calm around Daeron for more than a few minutes. He was about to thank the stranger who had saved him from further humiliation, he swore he was, but the moment he realized the stranger was Daeron, his thankfulness turned into guarded annoyance.

Daeron probably only intervened to save his own face. It would definitely make his mother and himself look bad if Joffrey caused a scene on the dance floor. Joffrey was sure that fainting in public failed to meet Daeron’s standards of a perfect omega.

“I am just asking you to be more careful-” Daeron stopped after seeing Joffrey’s annoyed face, “Never mind. Sorry I overstepped.”

That was unexpected.

“No need to apologize, uncle.” Joffrey spoke, the edge in his voice had faded by now, “I suppose I should thank you for saving me from humiliation.”

“I thought you were not interested in dancing.” Daeron said, “I am shocked that you decided to dance with my uncle.”

Joffrey had nothing to say to that. He didn’t know what had gotten into him, but Gwayne’s charm was impossible to reject. His mother would like him to dance too, right? He didn't spend hours fixing his hair and dress if he were only to stand in the corner.

“I am entitled to dancing from time to time.”

“I am sure you are.” Daeron laughed dryly, “The dress suits you very much, by the way.”

“Thank you.” Honestly, Joffrey had no idea where this conversation was going. Since when did they exchange pleasantries instead of arguing at every chance they had?

Daeron stood up from the chair next to Joffrey abruptly and walked to the cold hearth. Joffrey watched him go, confusion building up.

“Nephew, no, Joffrey,” Daeron spoke, “I must confess that I didn't notice you losing balance by accident. I am keeping my eyes on you all night.”

Joffrey was speechless, so he stayed silent.

“I noticed you the moment you walked past the entrance. How could I not? You are ravishing in your dress. The color complimented your features so well that I almost mistook you for an angel. And your eyes. You have no idea how beautiful your eyes are. Dark, wild, and full of the liveliness that I only wished I could have.”

“Wait, uncle, what are you talking about?”

“Please, let me finish, because I cannot hold back any longer.” Daeron turned to face Joffrey again, his face full of emotion and pure affection, “I fell for you since the first time we met. You were half drunk, but it only added to your charm.”

“Stop making fun of me, uncle.” Joffrey stood up as well, his confusion slowly turning into annoyance again for Daeron must be messing with him again, “I am not your perfect omega. I speak rudely, I make friends with other alphas, and I suck at dancing. I look ridiculous next to my brothers. How could you fall for me?”

“No! You are not ridiculous!” Daeron took Joffrey’s hands, now out of gloves, into his and squeezed gently, “Forgive my earlier attitude. I was only acting out of jealousy. It should be me who stays at your side, not Stark or my uncle. My heart sings every time I lay my eyes on you, nephew. Will you accept my love, Joffrey, and make me the happiest man ever existed?”

It was not about accepting or not. No. It was more about believing the alpha in the first place. Was Daeron telling the truth, or was his confession an orchestrated way to humiliate Joffrey? Joffrey had never seen Daeron as a potential mate. Daeron was just another stereotypical alpha who regarded omegas as inferior creatures. He didn’t even respect Joffrey’s views. How could Daeron claim to be in love with him?

“I am sorry, uncle.” Joffrey pulled his hand back, shivering slightly as the warmth of Daeron’s skin left him, “I cannot return your affection.”

Joffrey fled the room before Daeron could speak again.

#house of the dragon #hotd #joffron #joffrey velaryon #daeron x joffrey #daeron the daring #abo dynamics #lucemond #jacegan

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runningfrom2am · 4 months

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coryo: money is not an object, i just want you to have the wedding of your dreams.

r, realising the who is paying for everything: the wedding won’t be perfect if i don’t have at least seven dresses.

-and i love her for it.

SEJANUS AND LUCY GRAY MENTION!! had they not returned to capitol, sejanus and lucy gray would have been the best man and the maid of honour. this is going to haunt me.

at first i was shocked that tigris wasn’t the maid of honour but then i read the reasoning behind it and everything, once again, made absolutely perfect sense. someone who is almost everything but not quite, fitting the image but still less than her. also her thinking tigris is prettier than her while coryo doesn’t even consider tigris pretty.

“we agreed on the wedding and this is the reception.” he thought he did something there didn’t he? the audacity. he was late too.

living for the fact that %90 of the impulsive decisions the bride makes are what the groom wished he could at one point in his life.

imagine getting livia cardew thrown out of a social event for causing a scene. with the award season starting recently, let’s give r an oscar for the best actress.

no bc first of all AS SHE SHOULD i love that energy for them i just know she had the time of her LIFE planning this wedding.

also AHH yes sejanus and lucy gray and HERES THE THING: r is all like “hmm idk maybe it would have been them guess we’ll never know 🤷‍♀️” but i can 100% tell you right now it would have been them, no questions even asked. up until the very bitter end she truly did love lucy gray, and she loved sejanus even after that. i think he was so much harder for her to get over and i would LOVE to expand on that one day in another oneshot maybe but i digress…

i truly believe that at this point r really does love tigris, but the love she gives out is fragile so as we have discussed it wouldn’t last forever and it would end abruptly. BUT i think that honestly the only reason she didn’t ask her to be MOH was because she believes she’s prettier than her. clemensia was not doing well, she was still recovering from the snake bite and clearly a mess physically AND emotionally (if her drinking habits are any indicator) so r thought she was perfect for the job because she under no circumstances could steal any positive attention from her. with tigris, i do think that in some subconscious capacity r feels threatened by her. she’s the only one who knows coryo as well as she does, possibly more, and that scares her after what happened with lucy gray. i believe she firmly does honestly think that tigris is prettier and that’s why she picked clem, but there is more behind that decision than even she understands. i think that she was embarrassed that her family would not be playing any kind of role in their wedding, so what would people think if his cousin did? they needed to be equally independent from their families, otherwise people would ask questions she did not want to answer.

edit from an hour later: i’d also like to note that when tigris talks to katniss, she claims that she was let go from her job as a stylist in the games (r’s games) bc snow “didn’t think i was pretty enough anymore”, so which snow did she mean?? just food for thought idk

okay and then on the topic of her father,, coryo ate him UP. enough said, honestly hahahaha

moving on to your next point, that’s totally a big part of why coryo loves her so much. that’s evident from the very beginning of the series too, though back then he views it a little differently. while other people look at her and see recklessness, anger issues, and general unpleasantness, he only sees that she’s a lot more honest and brave than anyone else is. he’s said it a billion times- she’s braver and stronger than anyone he’s ever met; including himself, and he admires that she can take what she wants without feeling guilty or embarrassed about her actions.

and FINALLY,, so true bestie she does deserve an award. even if the acting itself fooled no one, who are they to say that it wasn’t genuine?? rumours would not stick on her- livia would be at fault regardless. also shoutout coryo for understanding the vibes immediately and going along with it. he’s so real for that.

ONE MORE THING on the topic of livia,, this was so fun to use her to show how much r has changed through the whole ordeal. this takes place a little over two years (ish) after the finer things in life, and the way she treats livia is so so different, but livia has stayed pretty much the same, if not hardened up a little. r went from livia kicking her out of a party for bringing drugs only to hug her in response, to kicking livia out of her wedding for wearing a dress that had a little too much white on it and her first urge was to get violent over it. idk, i feel like i could talk ab this more but it’s just a little thought i wanted to share.

thank you as always bestie!!

#i have the answers #LTPF <3 #that-veela-girl

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theoreticslut · 2 years

Text

「 you make things better 」

benedict bridgerton x fem reader

summary: a day of inconveniences leads you to your husband’s arms for some much needed cuddles.

requested: yes - as part of my inspiration party

word count: 1.6k

warnings: mild stress & stubbornness, pet names (my dear/dearest, my love, darling), brief allusion to spicy times, slightly implied/alluded pregnancy, fluff

a/n: so, first bridgerton fic ever! woo hoo! don’t know how much interaction this piece will get, but i really like it so it’s worth it. also, thank you to the few people who voted on which fandom i should post tonight. i didn’t listen, but i really appreciate you guys helping me out! I’m thinking of posting another piece tomorrow anyway, so maybe i’ll use your guys vote then - aka if you’d like to help decide the next fic here.

To say today hasn’t been the greatest would be an understatement. You wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and try to forget the day you’ve had.

It’s not even that anything terrible happened, but it has just been a cumulative set of little grievances.

First, you had gone to get yourself another dress, but nothing was fitting or laying quite right on your body. Apparently over the last few months you’ve put on some weight which has made you feel a bit defeated.

Then, you went to have tea and sandwiches with some friends, but ended up spilling tea on yourself, staining the front of your dress as you did so. Not to mention the fact you stumbled getting out of your carriage earlier that morning which dirtied the hem and your shoes.

On top of all of that, though, you also just didn’t feel great. You were tired and a bit nauseous, sporting a moderate headache as well.

Walking into your home, you were more than ready to give up for the day, asking your lady’s maid to draw a bath for you. Nodding, she - a sweet woman in her early 30s - left to draw you a hot bath.

You weren’t surprised to see that your husband was nowhere to be found. He typically spent his time in the study painting and going over bills. Honestly, you didn’t mind an evening away from him. You really just wanted to relax and forget the day.

~.~

It’s hard to say how long you’ve been in the bath. It’s certainly been long enough for the water to chill to room temperature, but you didn’t yet feel any better.

Hearing a soft knock on the door, you call out for the person to come in, expecting it to be Elise, your maid. However, it’s Benedict that comes into your line of sight.

“Benedict…how are you, my dearest?”

“I should be asking you. Elise said you were feeling unwell?” Your husband’s soothing voice questions.

“It’s nothing. I’m only a little tired.” You try to reassure, meeting his eyes as he kneels down beside the bath.

“You look more than only a little tired, my love. Have you had a bad day?”

“Not particularly. A few things didn’t quite go as intended, but I wouldn’t call my day bad.”

Wanting to get off the topic, you sit up in the tub, pointing over to your robes.

“Would you hand me those, Benedict. Please?”

“Should you not dry yourself with a towel before dressing?”

“Then will you hand me a towel? I can’t reach anything from here, dear.”

Letting a soft smile quirk his lips, he stands up and grabs a towel. Thinking he would simply hand it to you, you go to reach for it when he shakes his head and pulls it back out of reach.

“Get out, love. I will dry you off.”

“That is unnecessary, Benedict. I am fully capable of-“

“I am aware, but I would like to care for my wife should she let me.” He teases, quirking a brow at you in a challenge.

He’s always known you are a bit independent and unwilling to let anyone help you. It’s part of why he fell for you. If you think he’s going to let you take care of yourself right now, though, then you’re sorely mistaken.

Although you’re refusing to be honest about your day, he knows it hasn’t been good simply by your demeanor. He wants to make it better, even if that means irritating you by not letting you do things on your own.

“You should consider yourself lucky that I love you.” You huff, pulling yourself up from the tub and carefully stepping out.

As soon as you’re on the bath mat, Benedict is wrapping the towel around you, attempting to dry off your torso before moving onto your arms and legs. Being the ever so charming man he is, he places soft kisses to both of your inner thighs before standing back up.

“I consider myself lucky every moment, y/n. You are the best thing to have happened to me.” He smiles, pecking your lips before turning to grab your robes, helping you into those as well.

As soon as you’re situated in your robes, Benedict leads you towards your shared bedroom, hoping to lay with you for a while.

You watch as he sits on the bed, taking off his shoes and undoing a few buttons of his shirt, making sure to undo the cuffs to be as comfortable as possible.

“I say, will you cuddle with me, my love? It feels like it’s been forever since we have done so without it being time for bed.”

Smiling lightly, you find yourself walking over to him, slotting yourself in between his legs as he sits at the edge of the mattress. As soon as you are in reach, though, he’s pulling you onto the sheets with him, drawing a surprised giggle from you as he pulls you close.

“Benedict!”

“Yes, darling?”

“You are an amazement, I must say. Pulling a lady such as myself into bed.”

“Mm, don’t be so coy now, darling. Must I remind you that you are my wife and we’ve done things far more inappropriate than simply pulling you into bed?”

“You mustn’t remind me. I am plenty aware of all the things you and I have done together.” You murmur, chewing on your lip as you recall some of those moments.

You had heard of some things expected from you as a wife from your elder sister, but you were wholly unaware of just how…pleasant…some of them could be. In fact, you can’t help but wonder if your sister even knows of such things existence.

“Will you tell me about your day yet, darling?” Benedict questions after pressing a kiss to your head.

“There’s nothing much to tell, benedict. I went to the dress shop and had a brief lunch with some friends.”

“Darling, please stop pretending you are fine. I think I can tell when my wife has had a bad day.”

You lie with him a second more in silence before you let out a sigh and curl into his body further.

“What has happened today, darling?”

“Everything, Benedict.” You murmur, on the verge of tears from your day.

“I must get resized for a dress since I have seemed to gain weight the past few months.”

“At lunch I spilled tea on myself, and I happen to favour the dress I wore today. I embarrassed myself by staining such a beautiful piece of clothing in front of my friends, and I am not sure they’ll forget.”

At your clear distress, you feel Benedict wrap his arms around you tighter, sweeping your hair away from your face so he can look at you.

“I am sure they will. No one remembers spilt tea for long.”

“I am not so sure. These friends are merely to stay in good graces in the ton’s eyes. They do not truly care for me as others do.”

“Darling, I would not worry yourself about these ladies’ opinions. If they feel they must spread such a story around the ton, then they are simply reflecting how little they truly have.”

“One split cup of tea does not make you any less respectable, I swear to it.” Benedict comforts, rubbing circles into your back as you lay together.

Minutes pass without either of you sharing a word, but you have a feeling he’s not done talking about your day yet.

“Is there anything else contributing to your bad day, darling?”

At your lack of response, he sighs, continuing to rub circles into your back.

“I will not leave until I know you are better.” He simply states, hoping that will get you to start talking.

“I hope you will not leave regardless.” You murmur, voice slightly muffled by him and the sheets you have buried yourself into.

“What was that, my love?”

“I hope you will not leave regardless.” You reiterate, lifting your head up so he can hear you.

“If you wish it, I will stay here with you for the entirety of the night.”

“I do wish it. You make things better, benedict.”

“I am glad, darling. I still wish to know what else is causing you distress, though.”

“I have been feeling unwell, but not like an illness.” You admit, not sure how else to explain it.

“How do you mean?”

“I am tired, Benedict. So tired, and nauseous, but not all the time. The nausea comes and goes as it pleases.”

“And I’ve never known my body to ache more than it has the last few weeks.” You admit, sighing in frustration at your lack of health.

“Why have you not informed me of such before now? We could have called for the doctor at the first signs of your uncomfortableness.”

“I did not think it was of concern until recently.”

“Darling, I would rather you tell me if something feels slightly off than for you to suffer in silence.”

“I will call for the doctor in the morning to come examine you, alright?”

“Yes. In the morning. Please just lay here with me for now, my love.”

“Anything you wish, my darling wife. Anything you wish.” Benedict smiles, pulling you into him, his arms tightly wrapped around your frame.

Although bad days are inevitable, you’re sure that they will always be bearable as long as you have your husband. That is if you let him in on what you’re feeling.

please reblog if you enjoyed the fic!

i currently don’t have a taglist form for bridgerton, but if there’s enough of you that seem to like my writing for the show then i might just fix that. let me know! xx

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fluff #tw stress #tw pregnancy

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bobbybutterfly · 6 months

Text

Return of my original art! I bet ya you missed it after one day.

I’m exploring a new anime art style for my Super Secret Project. Kemono (anime furry art) is really hard to do. You can either make it super cutesy (which is great if you’re going for that aesthetic but I sure ain’t) or super uncanny. Like you just glued a pair of ears onto some dude and spilled a grey bucket of paint over their head.

I think I’m beginning to find that sweet spot but i’t really up to you people to decide. In later art I want to use thinner lines.

On the topic of design, what’s up with the fashion in Squirrel and Hedgehog? I think someone could make a whole video essay about it. My top outfits would have to be the neon pink coat with yellow pom-poms the white rabbit spy wears during the totally not Winter Olympics and the ever iconic maid outfits. It took me ages to find something similar to what the squirrels were wearing in the first episode. They never wear outfits like that in the show again. Swapping them out for 1940s to 1960s type outfits. Nothing was more fashionable in the late 90’s than dressing up as your grandparents. Shout out to Mulmangcho with his red shepherd hat and white woolly sweater (I don’t remember his first civilian outfit all that well so don’t quote me on that).

I think this outfit I found works pretty well. Don’t you think?

I should honestly start doing that reach on early 20th century Korea. So my Korean sensitivity reader doesn’t die of cringe. Oh yeah! That’s something I’m going to have to do in like a month. I think the first couple of episodes have that inspiration of pre split Korea so I think it will still work if I get a South Korean sensitivity reader.

So if you know someone then get me in touch. I will make a post later specifically looking for someone. I don’t want to rush finding anyone though as I’m only half way through writing this thing.

#my art #fanart #procreate #digital art #squirrel and hedgehog #furry art

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merakiui · 2 years

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Ayato falls for his betrothed's handmaiden. It was a fleeting infatuation at first, born from a respect for her diligence and meticulousness in caring for her master and helping her navigate the nuances of the social world despite her being a mere servant. She was much more jaded than her naive mistress, a bit too hardened by life with a more stern and sullen outlook, but a deeply buried belief in the goodness of other people, no matter how hard she protested it when confronted. And her mistress adored her- to an extent. Dressed her maid in finery and brought her along to every social function to soothe or entertain herself once the men had finished appraising her looks and figure before they turned to talk business with her father. Honestly, Ayato cherished both of them- his betrothed for the sweet naivete that he would have found cute if it were not something he'd find... undesirable in his own wife, but she got along well with Ayaka and most people in the Kamisato estate, while her handmaiden was more... patrician, strangely. A keen eye and brilliant mind that he had no doubt that- if it were polished and afforded the same educational privileges he and other noble children were given- would've allowed her to climb to the highest positions in the Tri-Commission. Conversations with the handmaiden were fun and riveting, even if the topic was about politics, academics, or even the daily ongoing on Inazuma. She had a way with words that made Ayato want to play to her tune just to hear her speak more.

Maybe that's why it's hard to deny reality when his fiancee confronts him with tears in her eyes about the rumours floating around the Inazuma City, of how the Commissioner dallies with his betrothed's fiancee when her back is turned and the like. Why he bites his tongue and tries to appease her but hesitates when she demands he no longer speak to her handmaiden.

He wonders why it fills his heart with a disgusting tar-like feeling of betrayal and rage, when he sees the handmaiden smiling and laughing with Thoma after he returns to the Kamisato Estate after that confrontation. His frustration makes him cut their conversation short and send Thoma off on a nonsense errand and he is left alone with her. Her questioning gaze makes him wrack his brain for answers before she cooly tells him she knows of her mistress' concerns and that she does not plan to hurt her with any further interaction between herself and the Lord Commissioner.

and Ayato smiles blithely, bitterly, as he notes that its not rare for noblemen of high power and esteem like himself to have more than two wives.

Yes!! And he’ll want you to become more than just the handmaiden of his betrothed. After all, he delights in your company and would like to keep you around permanently so that there will never be a dull moment at the Kamisato Estate.

#chit chat #yandere kamisato ayato

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incorrectmlpstudentsixquotes · 1 year

Note

Yonabar wedding headcanons, please? I know you're into the poly ships but they've been my OTP ever since "She's All Yak."

First and foremost, Yona’s father did not originally approve. Even going so far as invoking an old yak custom of the father of the prospective bride challenging the suitor to unarmed combat to prove Sandbar’s worth. (For the record, this wouldn’t necessarily mean Yona couldn’t marry Sandbar if he lost, that was still always her choice, it’s just a matter of Yak pride.)

Now, a little known loophole in that custom is that the suitor is able to name a second to fight in their stead. It’s kinda like Krogan rules, not every yak can be the biggest and the strongest, but even the weakest Yak should be able to inspire others to fight in their name.

So, naturally, Sandbar named Yona as his second.

Needless to say, Yona’s father had no more unkind words to say about Sandbar after that fight.

(Bonus points is that Yona’s mother also offered to be Sandbar’s second. And poor Yona’s father honestly didn’t know which of those match-ups would have been more painful.)

On the flip-side on the topic of in-laws, Sandbar’s parents absolutely adored Yona and doted on her non-stop in the days leading up to the wedding. For someone who’s lived a very harsh lifestyle where rugged strength is paramount over all else, being pampered by her future in-laws and treated like a princess was a very welcome change of pace for Yona.

It helps that all of the S6 spent so much time at Sandbar’s house that Yona was pretty much their daughter in all but marriage anyway. Sandbar putting a ring on it just made things more official.

When the in-laws officially met each other before the wedding, Yona’s father made the mistake of making a passing remark towards Sandbar’s physical weakness.

The sheer burning intensity of the glare from Sandbar’s mother made Yona’s father afraid to sleep at night for a whole week. The two mother-in-laws now make the effort to catch up once a month over tea.

The wedding itself was pretty multi-cultural, taking traditions equally from both pony customs and yak customs, with both fiancé and fiancée basically picking and choosing which traditions sounded the most fun. Interestingly, most of the yak traditions were chosen by Sandbar and vice-versa with Yona choosing mostly pony traditions. After all, both had seen so many weddings in their own traditions, why not try something they’ve never seen before?

One of the biggest yak traditions was taking a special wooden carving made by the bride’s parents and smashing it to pieces, which they would then replace with their own carving that would get smashed by their children, if they ever had any.

Obviously, Sandbar wouldn’t be able to smash the carving with his bare hooves, so Gallus gave him a sledgehammer as a wedding gift. He figured there was gonna be a lot more ‘smashing’ in Sandbar’s future being married to Yona, so he figured he should be prepared.

“Dude, like, ninety percent of yak traditions involve breaking stuff.”

“Yona would be offended if Gallus was not totally on money.”

Speaking of their friends, Sandbar asking Gallus to be his Best-Man was an obvious no-brainer, but Yona had a bit more difficulty choosing which of their friends should be her Maid-of-Honor.

After a few solid minutes of careful deliberation, Yona basically just shrugged and asked all of them to be her Maid-of-Honor.

So in the reception of their union, after the bride and groom had their first dance, the guests were all treated to the image of this poor, addled griffon getting dragged to the dance floor and getting absolutely crowded by three different creatures all wearing matching green dresses.

Of course Trixie took pictures.

Dang, I actually had a lot more to say then I thought. This is what happens when you ask for my headcanons.

(Self-indulgent bonus: If you’d like to include my OCs, Camren and his crew made a temporary truce with Gallus to procure some totally-legal, totally-not-stolen fireworks to cap off the reception.)

#not a quote #answering asks #headcanons #Yona #Sandbar #shipping #yonabar #student six #ask me for some more headcanons anytime! this was fun!

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whiskeynwriting · 1 year

Text

Birds of a Feather - Chapter Two: Acquainted

Nico x Female Reader

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Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Smoking, alcohol consumption, mentions of an age gap, get ready to ramp it up in chapter three lol

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A/N: There's some Spanish in this chapter, but as always the translations are in parenthesis after the sentences where it's used (:

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Birds of a Feather Taglist

Join My Taglist!

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“Tape forty-nine, June twenty-third. It is approximately eight o’clock in the morning; I’ve quite liked this new exercise. I find myself becoming more poetic these days, smelling the roses, if you will. There’s been quite the breakthrough with my students lately, no doubt due to my own influence, I’m quite proud to say.” Nico laughs, his chuckle extremely self-assured. He’s having a good day. “But… her. She is still a mystery.”

He then hears something stir outside of his bedroom; the sound makes him spin on his heels. When he doesn’t hear a knock or see the doorknob jiggle, he narrows his eyes, but continues.

“These feelings are… strange. Why should I have to prove myself or behave like this for a young girl? Certainly I have no need for such attention or reassurance. I am Nicolás, a proud name! An artist, a composer, a philanthropist and much more. That is who I am, that is what I am!”

It’s been nearly a month, and still, it’s strange for him to have someone like you in his house, in both personal and professional preference. He’s never had a maid that was so involved with his life before. Though you’ve grown close, of course, or at least acquainted with one another.

“And Daniel,” he’s speaking much lower now, a look of distaste crossing his face. He never disliked the boy before you came to his home. “He’s taken quite a liking to her. How could he not when she dresses like that? Her small bows and flowery skirts, it begs for the eye’s attention.” When he says it his eyes widen, not having realized what he’s just said until he’s said it. And even though he’s alone, he blushes from embarrassment. Why did he say that?

“I…” He honestly isn’t sure what to say. “She does her job well. I’ve been happy with her attention to detail.” Continuing on, he decides to end his commentary on the topic of you for today. “I’m content.”

You’re not sure you’ve ever been this confused before. Your feelings surrounding the complexity of it all are honestly baffling. And over what? Nico’s opinion? His praise? You sigh, embarrassed to admit you’ve done your best to receive it nearly the moment you arrived. Of course you have, he’s your boss! But this is just silly, you’re only picking out a drink menu.

“What does he like?” You mutter to yourself, scanning the options on your laptop.

There were so many on the website, it was making your head start to spin. And you thought this would be one of the easier steps. When you took on this job, you never expected that it would be your responsibility to plan Nico’s social events. But you took the responsibility like a champ, planning every last detail as soon as he informed you of it. But following through on those plans is another story. And with the event only two days away, you were starting to panic.

During your stay, you’ve observed Nico, eyeing him even when he was unaware. It was easy to learn his interests, his preferences for food, his style, the way he speaks and likes to be spoken to. And when you conformed to these general likes and dislikes, he responded well. It was subtle at first, his kind compliments.

“Nicely done.” He’d say with a short nod, watching as you handed him his morning plate.

“You have a clear talent for that.” He’s told you, watching you look up at him with a brightness in your eyes. You’d been decorating a gallery wall for him.

“How beautiful.” Nico said once, eyeing the braid in your hair.

At times, he truly made you feel like the center of the universe, praising you for the smallest of things when done right; however, you’ve also learned that he has the capability to make you feel small, forgettable. Because you are, you’re the maid. And since you never leave, you assume that it’s become easy for him to dismiss your presence. It’s far too easy, actually. You’re a ghost in the background, a simple flutter in the wind - only noticeable when one looks for it.

Because of your boss’ tendency to be candid, your insides practically light up when you receive a compliment; it’s because you know he’s being genuine. But his approval was just as blunt and vocal as his distaste. If you did something wrong, he was certain to let you know. He didn’t care if what he said hurt your feelings; you have a job to get done. And he’s going to make sure you get it done right.

Quickly, you found that there were different levels of his appreciation, from mere comments to full on gratitude, true and genuine compliments. At first, you thought he was less than happy to feel your presence when you were near, but it seems he’s finally grown fond of you. He smiles when he praises you, too, almost happy to have placed a seed of joy within you. But did he have to phrase it that way?

“Good afternoon.” You say to him, looking up from your laptop.

“And to you.” Nico replies, dipping his head down with a grin while walking through the living room.

With a quiet yet dreamy sigh, you stare, watching as he waltzes elegantly across the floor. He’s well-dressed, he always is. The only time you see him in something that wasn’t professional or designer was in the morning. Even then, his night clothes were tailored to fit him perfectly. Subconsciously, you’ve romanticized him. He’s such a dream to you; the life he lives is incredibly idealistic. He gets to do what he loves on a daily basis, and lives lavishly because of it. What more could he want? Nico’s style is elegant, his personal hygiene pristine, his taste in music and movies quite refined. The way he glanced around the room made you want to look around, too; because whatever he was looking at must be worthwhile for you to see, too. He looked at the simplest of things as if they were made of gold, he spoke as if everyone in the world would listen, walked like he knew everyone stared as he strolled into the room; and they did. They always did. And you did, too.

Across the living room, Nico sits, having pulled a book from one of his many shelves to read. You’re surprised he’s choosing to sit with you. He doesn’t realize it, but he finds himself yearning for your company. It was sweet and calm, just like you.

He’s wearing his reading glasses, his hair pushed to the side and his beard freshly trimmed. His gray stubble shows his age, and so does his quiet groan when he adjusts to get more comfortable. He adjusts the pillow you’d placed on the seat moments prior to him coming in, settling into the plushness of it. It makes you grin; you like helping him.

While completing your duties, you decide to hum along to a song, one that’s been stuck inside your head all day. You make sure to stay quiet, not wanting to disturb Nico while he reads. But he notices, and not unpleasantly. It makes him grin. Quite the little songbird, you are.

“How is the event coming along?” Nico asks, eyes unwavering as they continue to scan the lines of his book. He props his left ankle up on his right knee, creating a triangle with his legs. He holds the novel with both hands, resting it on his shin.

“Good.” You lie, swallowing with a nod. “I’m currently viewing the drink menus.”

“Drink menus?” He looks up now, peering at you over the top of his glasses. “Surely you’ve done more than that.”

“I have!” You return nervously, nodding once again, this time more hurried. “I just, I saved the easiest portions for last.”

Slowly, his eyes return to the page. “Good.” Nico says calmly, his foot shaking lightly.

Lord, you really need to get going on this. But before you can even return to the screen, a knock on the front door rings throughout your new home.

“I’ll get it.” Immediately, you stand, placing your laptop beside you.

Again, Nico’s eyes peek up from the pages, watching you pass him and walk out of the room. He smells you as you walk by, inhaling deeply when the fresh scent is available to his nose. Clean and flowery. Sweet and pleasant.

“Hi,”

“Hi!” It’s an excited response, giddy almost, and it makes him internally groan. Daniel is here. He doesn’t get up to say hello.

“Señor Nicolás.” Daniel nods with a kind smile, walking into the living room and over to Fabian’s cage.

“Daniel.” Is all he says in return; again, eyes not leaving his book.

Your friend gives you a slightly concerned look, but you shrug it off.

“So,” Daniel begins as he takes the parrot out of his cage. “What have you learned?”

“No loud noises, no sudden movements, no big reactions.”

“Very good.” Daniel grins, “You’re learning so quick.”

At this, Nico perks up a bit.

“Well it’s hard not to when you repeated it nearly five times last night.” You joke with him, holding your hand out to Fabian.

Last night? You were home last night; did you speak on the phone?

“I just want you guys to be friends, okay?”

Daniel hasn’t let you hold Fabian in quite some time; he wanted the bird to get more accustomed to you, and you to him. Mateo, however, loves you. He lets you feed him all the time. It’s rather easy to receive the approval of a tortoise, though. They’re such peaceful creatures.

“I was wondering,” Daniel then says, watching you admire Fabian’s feathers. “There’s a new bar that opened up in town. Would you like to go there with me sometime this week?”

“Oh, really?” You ask, intrigued. “That sounds fun!”

You haven’t been out much, not at all, actually. An adventure into town sounds pleasant, refreshing. The house is nice, but it’s become stuffy. It’s been nearly a month; you desperately need a break. Plus, you’ll finally be able to spend time with your new friend, your only friend. This will be good for you.

Before long, the door is knocked upon. Standing to answer it before you can, Nico clears his throat, opening the door. By the way he approaches the situation, you assume he’s expecting a student. And upon further inspection, you realize he was expecting one, now welcoming her inside.

He doesn’t excuse himself, as he wasn’t really talking to either of you. But still, you’d like it if he addressed you, especially in front of this particular pupil of his. Pressing your lips together firmly, you wonder if you should listen in on their lesson. After all, the music they produced was lovely. Wouldn’t it sound even prettier up close? But that’s not the real reason you want to listen in, is it?

He’s pacing the room, he feels foolish but he’s still doing it. He’d cleared his head enough to get through his lesson, but once that was over, he shot upstairs to his private room. His study was the first place that came to mind, a comfortable space for him and his thoughts. A place where he can be alone.

“This is good,” He decides, firmly stroking his chin. This feeling of jealousy, he must be misinterpreting it. He needs to redirect his emotions. And while you’re busy with a new love interest, he can direct his focus elsewhere.

The day has gone by quick, and while he’s been in his study, you’ve been planning his party. It’s an event for other artists and musicians, ones he’s known for years. And because these are his friends, you feel incredible pressure to add in Nico’s specific tastes, his favorite foods and music, his preferred color schemes and decorating; surely they share those things in common. You’re aiming to impress, and not only him.

“Sir?” You call, knocking gently on his office door. You didn’t receive an answer when you went to his bedroom.

Nico looks up from his desk, having been composing a small piece for his students to practice. He’s wearing his reading glasses again, but takes them off as he sighs.

“Come in.”

Opening the door, you’re met with the warm tone of his work space. It’s dimly lit, the lights that are on emitting a warm, golden glow. There’s a candle burning in the corner, one that smells like sandalwood. There’s also the smell of tobacco; he’s smoking a cigarette. He’s sitting at his desk, which is placed along the back wall of the room. The wood is dark, just like the leather, and there’s an abundance of both all around you. He looks misunderstood, sat in the darkness like this; a poet, surrounded by the art that consumes him.

“I was wondering what your preferences were regarding liquor.”

While you speak, you hold your hands behind your back, twiddling your fingers nervously.

“Still on those drink menus, I see.” He grins, amused. He knew you’d been lying. And then he leans forward, grabbing a glass that you didn’t see sitting on the corner of his desk. “Whiskey, my darling.”

Those words make you flutter inside. He doesn’t ever call you that.

“Oh, I’ve… I haven’t noticed that before.”

“You wouldn’t have.” He returns, shaking his head. He holds up the glass, admiring the dark tint to the liquid it’s holding for him.

His words make you sad, your head hanging a bit. He sees this.

“Not for your lack of attention.” Nico corrects, “I don’t drink it anywhere but here.”

“Oh,” You lift your spirits a bit. That makes sense, then. You don’t often come into this room. But his comment makes you wonder, your thoughts spoken aloud. “Why not?”

Nico’s eyes dart over to you, a sly smirk on his lips. “The devil is tempting.”

Your lips mirror his own; he must be tipsy. It seems like it would be rather enjoyable, spending time here. Smoking, drinking, until all your thoughts swirl into something so incredibly beautiful, too beautiful to dream up when sober. The atmosphere, the air about him, it draws you in.

“You don’t drink, do you?”

You shake your head, holding your hands behind your back as you take a timid step towards him.

Shaking his head, he utters, “What a shame.” Gently swirling his drink. He then lifts the rim to his lips, taking a sip. “What do you think of it?”

“Hm?” The question takes you by surprise.

Again, his eyes flicker to yours. And this time, he sets the glass down.

“What, do you think of it?” He asks again, sternly.

“I, um… I’m sure it’s pleasurable to those who drink it.”

Nico tuts at this, head moving side to side. His fingers slide along the glass, the cup decorated with a clear, diamond pattern.

“I take pity on you.”

Your brow creases, head tilting to the side. What did you do wrong this time?

“I despise the boring.”

“Oh, I…” His words sting. He thinks you’re boring?

Nico’s harsh words only serve to dull the interest that’s been rising inside him. Perhaps you’re not worth his time, after all.

“People who don’t have opinions, those who would rather stay neutral; lacking depth.”

You gulp, fingers twitching before balling up into your palms, which are still held behind your back. By now, your face has ran hot, boiling just beneath the surface. You’re full of embarrassment and nerves, his words making you feel insecure.

But his next words surprise you.

“I know that’s not you.” He surprises himself, too. He must have had too much, because he’s letting his inner emotions bleed through. “By the way you dress, I can tell you have taste.”

Looking down at your current attire, you raise your brows thoughtfully. “Oh, t - thank you.”

What comes next is your name, sliding from his mouth as easily as the liquor slides down his throat, and just as smooth, too. His voice beckons for you, taunting you just enough to lift your head. He’s looking at you.

“Don’t hide your opinions from me.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise me?”

“What?”

“Promise me.” It’s not a request this time.

“I… promise.” You eventually say, caught off guard by the demand. But it makes him happy; he smiles.

Sucking in a breath, he looks amused, now sitting up in his chair.

“Take a seat.”

Nico gestures to a chaise lounge off to the side of the room, not too far from him. Eager to please, you follow his motions, sitting down on the leather covered piece of furniture.

“So, what do you think of her?”

Once you sit down, your head snaps up to look at him. “Who?”

You know immediately who he’s talking about, of course you do. That new student of his, well, relatively new. She’d started lessons with him two weeks ago and isn’t necessarily kind to you, especially when Nico isn’t around. She likes to raise her nose to you, act like she’s better than you. Scoffing when you make Nico laugh and grinning while watching you vacuum. She wore bright red lipstick every day she came, and wore skirts that just barely covered her center.

Not only do you know who he’s talking about, but you know why he’s asking you about her, too. After a moment of snooping, you’d found that the air duct beneath the first flight of stairs offered you the best opportunity to listen to his music when he was in that room. Earlier today, you decided to listen in. And to your utter shock and dismay, Nico caught you hiding beneath the stairs like a child, like a fool.

“Veronica.”

Swallowing your nerves down, you force a smile. “She’s… very pretty.”

Nico chuckles. You were clearly embarrassed when he caught you today. Why were you so curious about what he was doing in that room? Have you always listened to him like this? Or only during sessions with her? She dresses differently than you, her makeup and hair dissimilar to your own, too. But Nico wasn’t interested in that kind of look; and even if he was, she was only a student to him.

“What do you think of her music?”

He wonders, were you jealous? This is why he asked what you think of her. He doesn’t care what you think about her music, he wanted to see how you’d react to the question. And just as he thought, your reaction tells him everything he needs to know.

Silly girl, he thinks to himself.

His clarification makes you feel like a complete idiot. You feel stiff and cornered, and he didn’t usually make you feel this way. You want to go back to how he was during the day; his warm yet eccentric personality always makes you feel fuzzy inside. Normally, Nico was quiet. When he wanted to, he listened. But when he wanted to talk, boy did he do it. That’s what he did today, that’s what made you so jealous today. While listening in, you’d hear him tell Veronica about his most recent trip to South America, something he’s never told you. You’ve been here for more than a month, and her, only two weeks. Why has he never said anything about those trips to you?

“What, what was the question again?” You’ve become lost in your own thoughts.

Again, Nico chuckles, a true laugh this time. But as for his response, all he does is nod up at you, grabbing his glass once again.

“Go to bed, little one.”

The main color is yellow, muted and pastel and in every sense of the word, cute. It’s the first time you can dress a little looser than you do around the house; you’re going out! You’re so excited you’re practically giddy. You haven’t been able to wear these pieces around Nico, you wouldn’t dare. Your day to day attire usually consisted of a long sleeve sweater, maybe even a turtle neck, your top always fitting nicely. Almost always, you’d wear a skirt, the summer heat not allowing anything else. When guests were around, Nico had a specific outfit he’d like you to wear. A black pencil skirt, a blue undershirt and a long, dark gray cardigan. It kept you very covered, it almost made you feel hidden. But tonight, you’re wearing something new, something that makes you feel noticeable and bright.

Yellow, you knew you wanted to wear yellow. You pulled out a short, plaid skirt, one that went to your mid-thigh. The base was an extremely pale lemon color, with the plaid consisting of muted greens and pinks. You then decided on a white tank top, lace decorating both the top and bottom edges. Covering your arms was a small, sunshine-toned cardigan. The hem fell to your waist, the white lace of your tank top peaking out at the very bottom. There were buttons, but you only connected the two bottom ones, deciding to allow the lace at the top of your shirt to show as well. Feeling a little extra free and flirty, you let the cardigan hang off one of your shoulders, draping a white handbag over that same arm. Simple, white sneakers adorn your feet, sparkling and clean.

As for hair and makeup, you decided to doll yourself up. You wrapped your hair into a claw clip, placing it at the back of your head. A few strands hang around your face, fairly messy but entirely cute. And applying your makeup was easy; you went for a nude look.

On your way down the stairs, you hear the landline ring. And with no one else around, you decide to answer it.

“Hello?”

Daniel answers with the question of your name on the other end of the line.

“Hi!”

“Hey! Just checking that we’re still good to meet?”

“Of course, I’m so excited!”

Around the corner, your boss hears you speaking to someone on the phone. Curiosity brews inside him, so he inches closer to listen in.

“Está bien, te veré pronto, hermosa.” (Okay good, I’ll see you soon, beautiful)

Beautiful? That’s not something he’s said before. The nickname catches you off guard, but you laugh it off somewhat awkwardly.

“Te veo pronto.” (See you soon)

Before he can say anything more, you hang up the phone. And in good timing too, because Nico is currently rounding the corner to come talk to you.

“¿Tú hablas Español?” He asks, a curious crease on his forehead. (You speak Spanish?)

He practically blurts it out as he approaches, but once he fully sees you, he closes his mouth. This is new, incredibly new. He’s never seen so much skin on you. Your shoulder and arm out, your thighs on display, your cleavage even daring to request his gaze. He’s stunned to see you this way.

Jumping a little, you look at him with surprise before answering. “Sí.” (Yes)

His own shock is obvious, those dark brown eyes scanning your form. He swallows when he gives into the silent request, his eyes finally falling to your chest.

“¿Estás bien, señor?” (Are you okay, sir?)

Nico’s eyes dart up to yours, something about you calling him sir in Spanish making his insides stir.

“Tu acento,” He breathes out, almost in awe. But he tries to compose himself. “Es perfecto.” (Your accent, it’s perfect)

“Gracias señor,” His words make warmth rush to your cheeks, dipping your head bashfully, gracefully. “He estudiado durante años.” (Thank you sir, I’ve studied for years)

“¿Estudió?” (Studied?)

“Sí, yo también he viajado.” (Yes, I have traveled as well)

“Estoy… impresionado.” (I’m… impressed)

And he truly is. He had no clue you knew more than one language, let alone his own mother tongue. Apparently, you’re much more cultured than he’d assumed you to be.

“Bueno,” You respond, eyes floating down to the ground as you ponder your full response. He seems so intrigued. You wish you could keep this interaction going, but Daniel is waiting. “Me voy ahora.” (Well, I’m leaving now)

“Dónde?” It comes out before he realizes. He shouldn’t be interested in that. (Where?)

“Al bar, con Daniel.” You say it as if he should know, and he should. You told him about this the other day. (To the bar, with Daniel)

“Ah,” He sharply nods. “Por supuesto.” (Of course)

An awkward silence passes between the two of you. Something has been… off, inside him. He feels almost protective over you. You are under his supervision, after all, and because of your duties, you’ve grown quite essential to his daily life. Nevertheless, he must move on. Clasping his hands together and taking a breath he smiles at you.

“Qué tengas buenas noches.”(Have a good night)

And before you can respond, he turns, and is gone. You wanted to wish him well on his nighttime endeavors, too. It’s a shame you can’t be present for the party you’d planned. But it works out in your favor, as your cab has been waiting in his driveway. Daniel offered to pick you up, but you insisted that you meet. You didn’t want him to go out of his way.

The bar is about a fifteen-minute drive, but you don’t mind. The city is beautiful at this time of night, just before dusk. The lights are beginning to glow as the sky becomes dark, a cool breeze drifting by every now and then to rustle the leaves in the trees. The sunset is stunning tonight, as well, something that distracts you as the car continues to move.

“Hey!” Daniel calls to you, a wide smile on his face.

He’d been waiting outside the bar for you; how sweet of him to do. Once you pay your driver, you step out, walking over to meet him after shutting the door.

“Hi,” Comes your graceful response, reaching out to accept his friendly hug. “Have you been inside?”

“Not yet; I was waiting for you.”

Pulling away, it’s easy to see just how happy he is. And you return this, thankful to finally have a friend in this new city. He steps to the side, opening the door for you. You assume it’s a simple, gentlemanly gesture, but think differently when you feel his hand fall to the dip of your back. Eyes widening slightly, you move forward a little quicker, stepping out of his partial hold.

The establishment is full of patrons, and you expected this, what with it being a Friday night. As you make your way to a hightop table, you notice a few wandering eyes. Men your age stare with a smirk, looking over their shoulders as you pass by. And you have to admit… it feels nice. What girl doesn’t like a little attention? And to not beg for it from Nico felt nice, too.

“You look nice tonight.” Daniel says, shouting a bit over everyone else.

“Oh, thank you!” Comes your cheerful response, smoothing your hands over the front of your skirt. You grin; you agree with him.

“I’m so glad we met,” He takes a seat directly across from you, resting an arm on the table. “I really love your company.”

To be completely honest, you find this strange. You’d only ever spent time together while on the clock, only having a true phone conversation twice. How can he genuinely enjoy your company that way? How can he say he loves spending time with you when he doesn’t even know you?

“Oh, you’re too sweet.” You quickly respond, brushing off the possible meaning behind his words.

“No I mean it; you’re such a joy to be around. Here, let me get us some drinks.”

You’re thankful he changed the topic, especially to that. Immediately, a martini comes to mind, something to help take the edge off. But it only serves to ramp it up.

“Classy girl,” Daniel says, setting the cocktail before you.

At this point, his words are making you cringe. Why is he acting like this with you? He didn’t act like this on the phone, and especially not in Nico’s home.

“Thanks.” You say dryly, swirling the olive at the end of your toothpick before sipping some of your drink.

This time when Daniel sits down, he slides his chair over beside you. There’s already an awkward tension in the air, the thickness of it growing when he invades your space. Swallowing your nerves, you do your best to push on.

“How um, how are you?” Trying to make conversation, you turn to face him.

“I’m doing so much better now that I’m with you.” This time, he winks, and brazenly, he leans forward. Is he… is he trying to kiss you?!

“Daniel,” You hiss in shock, leaning backward. “What are you doing?!

“What do you mean?” He asks as he leans back, clearly offended.

“I’m, I… we’re friends.”

“But you came with me tonight… you said yes to our date.”

“Our date?” Widening your eyes, you suddenly wish you were back at home. Your shrill voice does nothing to pierce through the crowd, making you feel that much more defensive. You feel like if something bad happens, you’ll have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And suddenly, your breathing begins to pick up. “I thought we were just, I don’t know, hanging out!”

“We hangout at work!”

“Work is work, Daniel!” You spit back in return. “I can’t believe you thought I wanted this. I’m in a new city and I… I just wanted a friend.”

“Well, we can be that.” You look up when he says this; maybe this can be fixed. “We can be more than that.”

“Ugh,” You groan, shaking your head. “I don’t want that! Oh my god.” Your hands fly to your face, covering your disappointed, aggravated, and flustered expression.

This isn’t what you expected this night to be, not at all. This was supposed to be fun, a time to relax and just let go, to not worry about chores or schedules or Nico. You wanted a break, but now all you want is to go back to Nico’s home.

Walking through the garden, Nico eyes his surroundings. He admires the way you’ve decorated the place, both inside and out. The catering you hired is more than adequate, the musicians elegant, and he finds himself admiring the thought of you. This is the second time you’ve impressed him tonight.

His friends ask about the event, complimenting him on how calming it’s been, yet stimulating in the same sense. He mentions you, only briefly, giving you the credit that you most certainly deserve. In truth, tonight was a test, his biggest one for you yet. And so far, you’ve exceeded his expectations.

Artists and friends walk throughout the main level of his home, some in the garden as well. Each with a glass in hand, they admire his work, bringing some of their own to display too - only upon Nico’s invitation to do so. He takes his time, chatting quietly with each guest, admiring their work and thanking them for sharing such amazing pieces. His associates are right, this is quite the calming event. Sophisticated, too, just what he’d hoped it would be.

“Ode to a Nightingale.”

“Ah,”

“Have you read it?”

“It’s on my list.” A friend of his answers, giving him a grin. “I’ve heard it provokes thought.”

“Indeed. Oh,” He stutters slightly, lowering his glass once he completes a sip. He then holds a finger up to his colleague. “I have a copy you can read. Let me go get it for you.”

“Nicolás, I couldn’t possibly -”

“Truly it’s no trouble; let me.” Nico insists, a warm smile as he reassures this friend. “What good is literature if it cannot be shared with the world?”

At this, the man offers an amused laugh, agreeing with him.

Turning, Nico walks inside, moving swiftly behind his guests as he makes a beeline for the stairs. He’s excited to finally tell someone about this piece. And his friend was right, it did make him think.

Once he’s in the hallway, he struts down the center rug, intent on going directly into his study; that is, until something small pulls at his attention. Just before he reaches the end of the hall, he passes your room. For some odd reason, the door is cracked, opened just slightly. He wants to respect your privacy, of course, so he walks over to close it. But once his hand is on the knob, his eyes dart up, unable to hold himself back from looking inside. He’s curious about you.

Nico’s deep, dark eyes peek into your room, the space dim as it sits unlit. It seems different than when he first introduced you to it, messier than the work you do around his home. This confuses him, and without thinking, he pushes the door open to try and understand the situation a bit more. Your bed is unmade, clothes strewn randomly on the floor, books and papers cluttering your desk. When you clean his home, it’s spotless, so why is your room so dirty? Does he truly work you so hard? Or do you just focus on impressing him?

Now that he’s in here, he figures he might as well explore. Why not get to know you a little more intimately? He doesn’t realize he’s giving into his thoughts, though, the ones he’s been pushing aside.

Naturally, he goes to look at the papers and books laid out on your desk, as it’s set straight ahead. There’s a stack of them and he picks up the top one, flipping through the pages. You’ve highlighted a few quotes and lines, each one about passion and desire. You long for these feelings; it seems you’re quite the hopeless romantic. He grins, sighing out a chuckle while he reads. As he continues to flip through the pages, he comes across a picture. Turning the book sideways, he finds that it’s a photo of you and two friends. You’re all in your cap and gowns, it must’ve been taken on your graduation day. Bright smiles color each of your faces, but yours is undeniably the brightest. You’re very beautiful, your expressions so joyous and pure.

Turning, he sees your bed. Your sheets are tossed, pillows disorderly as they lay across the top sheets. Subconsciously, he reaches out. The skin of Nico’s palm meets your bedspread, sliding along the sheets as he walks beside the space where you sleep. He’s gazing down at the piece of furniture, something so simple, so normal. But it’s special now; it’s been marked by you.

His path leads him to your bathroom, his feet continuing to move through your space. On your sink sits a bottle of perfume, among many other things. The bottle is gorgeously crafted, though, that’s why he notices it first. Acting seemingly of its own accord once again, his hand reaches out, grabbing the bottle and removing the cap.

“Hm…” He hums after he’s inhaled. It’s your scent, it’s you. A light smell, clean and flowery.

Walking out of your bathroom, he stumbles upon a small pile of clothes he hadn’t noticed before. He looks down at the garments, furrowing his brows as he takes in the details. A large shirt, one you likely use when going to bed, lays at his feet. His eyes trail across the floor, and then he sees it. Sitting a few mere inches from him are a pair of your used panties, white and cotton; they look soft. And not too far from your underwear is a matching bralette.

For the first time, Nico wonders what you look like beneath your clothes. What does your body look like with that matching set on? What does it look like with that matching set off? Excitement stirs within him, but just as quickly as that emotion appears, it goes; now replaced with guilt.

What the hell am I doing?

Spinning on his heels, he strides toward your bedroom door. Why did he think it was okay to do this? To invade your privacy like this? He’s a man of morals, how could he let himself act in such a depraved way?

Completely forgetting the book, Nico scurries down the stairs. He just wants to get away from your room, from the situation he created. It feels so inappropriate to him, but something about that excites him. Jesus, he needs to get himself together.

“Oh,” He stumbles a bit, grabbing onto the handrail. And then, he mutters your name.

“Hi, um, I’m sorry.” Your response is quick and shaky, doing your best to avoid his eyes. “I’m sorry for crashing your party, I just -”

Cutting yourself off, you sigh, the breath coming out uneven and a little high. This night has gone completely sideways and you have no idea who to talk to about it, but you know you can’t talk to him. At least you shouldn’t; he wouldn’t want to hear about this. But he surprises you.

“Why are you back so early?”

But Nico doesn’t say it out of concern - of course not. He furrows his brows, thinking how unprofessional this is of you. He’s not at all worrying about your emotional state, not concerned about seeing you home so early in the night. No he’s only worried because… because of how you’re dressed. That’s it. You should be dressed more appropriately if you are to appear in front of his guests. Yes, this is the only reason he’s worried about you.

“I know I said I wouldn’t come back until later, but it just didn’t, it didn’t go well…”

He doesn’t care that you’re upset, no, not at all. How could he? You’re an employee; then again, he can’t have someone he’s hired be so upset, especially when living in his home. Yes, that’s it, that’s why he invites you up to his study. There’s no other reason for him to spend time with you like this.

Your boss gulps as he walks past your room, having been inside it mere moments ago. He tries to shake off the feeling he got when staring at your pretty panties, but it zips back inside him the moment he eyes your now closed door. Shivering slightly at the thought, he shakes his head, opening the door to his study for you. With the gesture of his hand he motions you through, and when you step inside, you immediately move to sit where you had just the other night.

“No,” He says quietly to you, shaking his head as he sits behind his desk. Another motion of his hand, extending it outward. He’s gesturing to the seat in front of him, the one on the other side of his desk. “Please.”

He notices that the small yellow cardigan you wore out is now buttoned almost to the top. It’s pulled up on both shoulders, too. You’re curling in on yourself, even though you try not to. It almost makes him wince, seeing you like this. You’re usually so lively and kind, so imaginative and helpful.

Nico clears his throat quietly, folding his hands in his lap as he starts out with, “Is there anything I can do?” It comes out more tender than he intended. Maybe he does care for you.

You just shake your head, staring down at your nails, picking at them. “I just don’t know what to do. I feel so lonely here.”

This shocks him. “Lonely?”

Without raising your head, you nod, pouting slightly. “Daniel was such a nice friend to have, I don’t have any besides him. Not here.” Lifting your shoulders slightly, they then sag as you exhale a sigh. “And now that’s ruined. I have to start all over again.”

Nico is incredibly confused.

“I don’t know anyone in this city, besides you.” Shrugging, you take another deep breath. “And obviously we’re not friends.” You then release a brief, almost fake laugh. “You’re just my boss.”

The longer you talk, the sadder he gets, especially upon hearing that last little bit. Just her boss. He’s just your boss. But isn’t that what he’s been saying all along? You’re just the maid? He’s just your boss? But if that’s the case, and he’s accepted it, why does it hurt so bad coming from your lips?

“I just wanted a friend, someone to share my time with. And he… he tried to kiss me. I wasn’t ready for that, I didn’t want that.”

Ah, now he’s starting to see. He’s also starting to see some things non-metaphorically, your jewelry, for example. While you speak, his eyes roam your frame, taking your appearance in. There’s a dainty necklace hanging on a chain around your neck, a few earrings in your ears, a couple rings on your fingers. They sparkle, and now that he’s seeing you dressed like this in privacy, he feels his opinion changing. He doesn’t want you to cover up; he finds himself wanting to see more.

All too quickly, he’s shaken out of his thoughts. Not by you, but by himself. You’re here confiding in him, and all he can think about is your appearance? You’re so much more than that.

“I’m honestly just over it, the whole dating thing. It’s the same thing over and over again. I’ve been wanting to get away from the whole romantic scene, and the first guy I talk to outside of my hometown immediately wants to be romantic. Can you believe that?”

He can.

The longer you talk, the more you open up, and Nico’s seeing a side of you he hasn’t experienced before. You seem truly vulnerable, showing your emotions much more than usual. And that makes him happy, not seeing you sad but seeing you open. Maybe you’re starting to trust him, if you don’t already.

After so long, Nico lights a cigarette, asking if you want one.

“Oh no, I don’t smoke.”

“Do you mind that I do, little one?” He asks, his lips mumbling around the cigarette as he lights it.

You smile; strangely, you like the look of it. You shake your head. “No.”

Changing the topic, Nico finds himself wanting to know more about you. He also wants to create some distance between you and Daniel. Strong distaste has formed in his stomach over that young man; he doesn’t want you hovering on the details tonight only to make yourself more upset.

“What is it that you study? Or plan to?” He then asks after inhaling, the smoke billowing from his puckered mouth.

“Literature.” You answer proudly, happily, and it makes him grin. He likes this. Maybe he can give you his copy of Ode to a Nightingale instead.

“And hopefully music, too. Though, I can’t really play any instruments. At least, not as beautifully as you.”

Amidst your chatter, a compliment slips from your lips. In all honesty, you don’t even realize it; but Nico does. It makes him smile, makes him admire you. But he stays quiet, allowing you to continue on. You’re so passionate about this; he finds himself regretting not asking you about it before.

With a deep breath, he watches you speak, eyes now roaming your face, your features. He notices your shade of blush, how feminine your eyelashes look. Small strands of hair hang around your face, even more so when you look down at your fidgeting hands. He finds this cute, along with the heart-shaped earrings you have on your first piercings. They’re all meaningless things, intricate details that shouldn’t matter, that don’t matter. But regardless of how much he tells himself this, he can’t seem to take his focus away from you.

“You flatter me.” He says, finally contributing to your conversation. You’d complimented him again, a flustered look coming over your features when you admitted your admiration for his intellect. Nobody without a background as impressive as yours could play the way that you do.

“It’s true,” You shrug again, glancing down but now smiling. “It’s why I listen. But I shouldn’t, I know that.” And then your eyes dart up, looking directly at him. “And I’m sorry for that.”

Easily, he dismisses this. “If music is what you intend to study, then I encourage you to listen.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” Taking another puff, he shrugs gently. “Would you like to sit in on a class?”

“Oh no,” You huff out a nervous laugh. “I don’t think I could ever. I, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Again, Nico shrugs. “Sit, observe, do what you normally do. Only this time in my presence.”

And then he winks, something so small you shouldn’t even notice. But you do, and it sends a shock wave up your spine. For some reason, your face begins to run hot, a timid smile forming on your lips.

“Maybe.”

Going to bed that night is easy for you. Nico missed two hours of his own party, but he didn’t mind. Not a single bit. He was overjoyed to help you relax, putting you at ease. He’s not just your boss, he can be your friend, too.

Chapter Three: Intrigued

#Birds of a Feather #Birds of a Feather series #BoaF #BoaF series #Nico #House Comes with a Bird #Nico x you #Nico x reader #Nico x female reader #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character

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