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eraenaa · 2 months

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Most Ardently

Inspired by Pride and Prejudice

Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Synopsis: Prince Aemond Targaryen had accompanied his younger brother to Highgarden in hopes of securing Daeron a wife— he did not expect he would want to secure a wife for himself as well.

Warning: Not Proofread, Enemies to Lovers, Jealousy

Word Count: 3,702

Aemond walked stiffly as he was about to enter a hall filled with merriment. He only wished to go to Old Town with the purpose of visiting and checking upon his younger brother’s well-being as requested by their mother— he had no wish to be dragged to Highgarden and attend a ball hosted by its Lord. Aemond walked behind Daeron as they entered the hall, all eyes upon them. All attendees bowed when they passed— all showing respect to their princes except for one. Aemond saw you by his right, a chalice in your hand, whispering to a girl beside you with a grin on your lips— completely disregarding the presence of royalty.

When you finally realized that everyone around you had grown quiet and the music had stopped, you turned to face forward—locking eyes with the unique gaze of Old Valyria. Quickly curtsying as you remembered it was the protocol, bowing your head and breaking your gaze from the prince who only had one eye. His name seemed to elude you. You knew of Prince Daeron well, the prince having spent the week’s end in your family’s keep, hosted by your lord father because he was courting your elder sister. You seem to forget which brother Prince Daeron now walked with— was it Prince Aegon or Prince Aemond?

“Which prince is that again?” You whispered to your sisters as your father scanned the crowd in search of you two to be presented to the esteemed guests. “That is Prince Aemond,” Your sister answered. “He looks miserable, poor soul,” You whisper, making your sister shake her head in amusement. “Miserable, he may be, but poor, he most certainly is not.” You frowned at your sister’s words. “I was told he has twice the inheritance than any of his brothers— even though he is only the second born, he is greatly favored by his mother and grandfather. That he is set to inherit Dragonstone once Prince Aegon is King.” You hummed and could not think of a reply as you two were finally seen by your father and were whisked away to be presented to the princes.

Music flooded the room once more as you stood before the princes. A lone eye would intermittently fly to your frame as your father spoke. “Prince Daeron, my daughters, you already know of.” Your father began, and you wanted to playfully roll your eyes at your sister as the moment she and the younger prince locked eyes, a blush ran on both cheeks and a giddy smile plastered on their lips. “Of course, and my I introduce you two to my brother, Aemond.” Prince Daeron smiled as he was delighted to be accompanied by his older brother.

You and your sister curtsied once more, smiling expectantly at the newly arrived prince who simply stood stiff as a board and offered no signs of recognition to you nor your sister. Simply blinked as his lone gaze would shift between the two of you. You wanted to frown, but your sister who knew you too well took hold of your arm and lightly pinched it as a communication to keep your expression neutral.

As the song ended and a new one began, you and your sister, along with the prince who courted her, went off to the side to chat whilst your father spoke formally with the One-Eyed prince whose gaze would fly over to your group with each moment passed. “I apologize for my brother— he is just not keen on large parties… nor small ones to be honest,” Prince Daeron explained. “And so you decided to take him to a ball instead?” You asked making your sister nudge your side, fearing that you spoke offense but Prince Daeron simply laughed. You passed your gaze where the older prince stood, seemingly glaring at the room, passing his gaze around the sea of people as if they had wronged him.

Prince Aemond found his way and stood next to his brother once more. Silent as you three were enveloped in conversation. As a new song began, you smiled as you watched the younger prince escort your sister to the floor for a dance. You passed your gaze to the prince, who stood stoically beside you, unmoving except for his eye. “Do you dance, Prince Aemond?” You inquired, his lilac eye still scanning the room filled with glee— judging as everyone around seemed to be intoxicated with joy.

“Not if I could help it,” He coldly responded. Not even turning to you as he spoke. It was then that you finally let the confused frown slip your face. But you shrugged him off and walked away, determined not to let his demeanor dampen your mood. Aemond’s eye followed you as you walked off, a small smile on your lips as you admired the merriment around. It did not matter that you were not asked to dance; you were completely fine to watch your sister get more acquainted with the youngest prince of the realm, who had been courting her for the past three moons.

After two songs passed, you found yourself resting your feet behind a pillar, your presence unbeknownst to anyone who walked past. “She is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld,” You hear the familiar voice of Prince Daeron speak and you could not help but smile at how enamored he was with your sister. You hear Prince Aemond hum, and you peek from behind the pillar to listen more into the princes’ conversation. “And her sister is very agreeable, do you not think so? She is of celebrated beauty here in the Reach.” You smile at the younger prince’s recognition of your beauty but quickly vanishes as you hear Prince Aemond’s response. “Perfectly tolerable, I dare say, but not handsome enough to tempt me.”

You scoff to yourself as you hear their footsteps depart. Greatly offended by the prince’s words. Your tried to proceed with the night and forget you had heard his offensive words. But as you were forced into the chatter of a group with him, you could not help but let a hint of animosity show. “I wondered who first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love?” You ask as your mother embarrassingly recalls you and your sister's past suitors who were keen on writing you sonnets after sonnets but never fully committing to marriage. “I thought that poetry was the fruit of love?” Prince Aemond asked, the group hiding away their surprise when the prince finally spoke and joined in on the conversation.

“Of a fine, stout love, it may. But if it is only a vague inclination, I’m convened one poor sonnet will it stone dead.” You replied as you gazed at his lone eye that would fleet away, unable to hold the intensity and teasing mirth in your orbs. “So what do you recommend to encourage affection?” He asked, finally holding your gaze as you felt a smirk rising to your lips. “Dancing, my prince. Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable.” You smiled and curtsied, watching as his eye flooded with the realization that you had heard what he had said. You walked away before he even got a chance to reply. His gaze followed you as you blended into the sea of guests.

When the night ended, you told your sister what you had heard while hiding behind a pillar. “Count your blessing, sissy, if he liked you, you’d have to talk to him.” She says as she brushes your hair, gently squeezing your shoulder. “Precisely, as it is, I wouldn’t have danced with him for the whole kingdom, let alone dreary Dragonstone.” You tried to laugh it off and brush away the wound he had inflicted on your pride. After a few moments of silence, your sister spoke once more. “I still cannot believe what he said about you,” she muttered as she finished brushing the fine locks of your hair. “I could easily forgive the prince’s vanity if he had not wounded mine,” You say as you tucked the strands of your hair behind your ear, gazing at the mirror. “Me? Perfectly tolerable? He’d be lucky if anyone who had half of my beauty would find him tolerable,” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes, making your sister laugh at your pride and confidence that muddled with each other. You sighed and stood, “I do not wish to think more about the One-eyed Prince. Good night, sister; I shall see you when morning comes.” You say and kiss her cheeks before leaving her room.

When morning came, Prince Daeron was quick to send an invitation to you and your sister to visit him in Old Town. An invitation your sister giddily accepted, and you politely declined— no want to see the One-Eyed Prince once more. But as your beloved sister was taken by fever whilst on her journey there, you had no choice but to follow her.

“Lady Tyrell, Your Highnesses,” They announced your arrival, and you walked into the room. Biting the inside of your cheeks when Prince Aemond abruptly stood from his chair and bowed. You quickly curtsied and turned to his brother, “So good of you to come so quickly; your sister has missed you terribly.” Prince Daeron said and walked towards you. “Follow me, and I’ll escort you to where she rests.” He said, and you followed him out of the room but gave one last look at his older brother before doing so.

Aemond silently trailed behind the two of you. His mind was plagued by your eyes, by your voice, by your smile. His brother had no intention of sending an invitation for you to come to Old Town, but he had infiltrated his thoughts and lightly manipulated him to send the invitation, which you declined, disappointing the prince. It would be cruel to him to admit that he saw your sister’s illness as optimal because now you had no choice but to join them in Old Town. “Oh, sissy,” You fretted as you saw her lying on the bed, pale and had a damp cloth on her forehead.

“Thank you for taking care of my sister so diligently,” You said to Prince Daeron, who gave a nod and a smile. “Of course, it’s a pleasure she’s here,” You smile at the prince you suspect would be your brother through marriage soon enough. “I shall give you two privacy— if you are in need of anything, do not hesitate to ask,” you smile and nod, watching as Prince Daeron reluctantly removes his gaze from your sister. “He is completely in love with you; I’m quite certain of it.” You smiled at your sister and took her cold hands in yours to warm them. “I’m so glad you’re here; I feel such a terrible imposition.” You laugh, “Please, the prince seemed thrilled that you are here being ill.” You smile, and your sister shakes her head.

“I’ve come to know of something the other day,” She said, piquing your interest as you thought she would share gossip. “Apparently, your invitation was sent for by Prince Aemond,” Your sister smiled, but you did not mirror it. “He is the one who sent you an invitation— he wishes for your presence.” Your sister further explained as she saw concussion in your eyes. “What for? To insult me once more?” You say bitterly. “Oh, sissy, you cannot let one’s transgression sully your entire image of them. People are bound to make mistakes— I’m certain Prince Aemond did not mean what he had said.” You rolled your eyes and stubbornly shook your head. “It does not matter if he is the one to send the invitation or not— my only purpose of coming here is to see how you are.” You said, and thankfully, your sister no longer brought the subject up.

Days passed as you were in the presence of the Princes as you waited for your sister to recover. You found yourself engaging in more arguments than conversations with the Prince, whom your sister said was the one to send you the invitation. If not engaged in lively arguments, both of you would simply catch each other’s eyes. Gazing at each other silently, secretively until caught.

You were in the parlor with Prince Daeron, playing a round of cards, when his brother came in with a book. “You waste your time with the frivolity of gambling,” You feel yourself frown but quickly take hold of your expression, turning to the younger prince whose turn it was to disagree with his brother. “It is just a bit of fun, brother. Not everything in life must be overly serious. Come, join us,” Daeron said and discarded in the middle of the velvet table.

“I’d rather read of civility than play cards and be at the threshold of a scoundrel,” Prince Aemond stated, his eye flying to you. Resisting the urge to smirk as the furrow in your brow returned as well as the pout on your plump lips. When your eyes locked, he raised his brow in question. “Anything to share, Lady Tyrell? Any musings or disagreement you’d wish to discuss with your prince?” He hummed, tone almost teasing. You knew he was baiting you, and if you had more energy that day, you’d happily take it, but you shook your head. “None, Your Highness.” You say, slightly disappointing the prince, for the only opportunity he had to speak with you and keep your attention with him was through your arguments.

When supper came, you entered the dining room expecting two princes, just like the other nights. But only the One-Eyed Prince waited for you. You quickly curtsied as he stood, “Where is Prince Daeron, your Highness?” You inquired as you were assisted to sit by one of the footmen. “My brother says he wishes to retire early tonight— it would be just us… if that is agreeable with you. If not, then say so, and I’ll take my supper in the servant’s quarters.” You looked at him with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out why he was still challenging you. “I am completely fine with any arrangement, my prince,” You say and proceed with the overly quiet meal as the prince and you shared no word but only stare at each other— challenging gazes that neither fell victim to.

The following morning, your sister had recovered enough for the both of you to head home. No anger wanting to impose and overwelcome your stay with the princes. “Prince Daeron, I do not know how to thank you,” You hear your sister say in gratitude, “You’re welcome anytime you feel the least bit poorly,” You bit back your smile as you followed your sister to the carriage. “Prince Aemond,” You cursed stoically— only doing it as he was a prince, and it would be impertinent not to note his presence. You turned to Prince Daeron and let a smile slip your lips, curtsying to the prince you hoped to be your brother in marriage in the near future.

You raised your leg to step foot in the carriage but were slightly startled as you felt someone take hold of your left hand, assisting you in boarding the wheelhouse. You turned to the prince, who took hold of your hand. Aemond quickly savored the surprise in your eyes and how your plump lips parted before relinquishing his hold of your hand and returning to the keep without another word, stretched his hand that touched yours as an unfamiliar tingle consumed it.

It was not a week later that you returned to Hightower, where another ball was to commence. You and your sister walked, arms linked, you wearing the green of your house whilst her the yellow, both of you had flowers adorned in your hair. “Will this perhaps be the night you will finally be a prince’s betrothed?” You teased and laughed as your sister’s cheeks bloomed with color. “Do not get my hopes up, sissy; it has been three moons since the Prince had first started courting me… in all honesty, my faith is running thin.” You frowned and shook your head. “Do not speak as such, sister. He is in love with you— I am quite certain of it,”

You straightened your back as you neared the hall's threshold, the hosts standing before it to welcome their guests. “I—I’m so pleased you’re here,” Prince Daeron told your sister whilst your gaze was traveling the room, distracted and trying to ignore the challenging yet indifferent gaze of a lone lilac eye. “And how are you tonight, my lady?” Prince Daeron asked, but you were too preoccupied. “My lady?” He called once more, and your sister elbowed your side. “Are you looking for someone?” Prince Aemond drawled, and you shook your head at his inquiring eye, glancing over to where your gaze was. “No, not at all,” You said and quickly curtsied to enter the hall, an eye following you as walked away.

Aemond tried to refocus his gaze to anywhere or anyone else but he could not. It had been steady on you since the moment you arrived, watching you whilst you were chatting with a group of girls you had known since childhood, when suddenly you were approached by a young man from house Redwyne, and a gnawing feeling in his gut announced itself as he saw a smile bloom into your pink lips as you gave your hand to the young man who escorted you to dance. Aemond’s hold on his chalice tightened as he saw you giggle with the man who spun you around and dared to keep his hold on your waist. The prince saw red as he watched the man dip down and whisper something in your ear, earning a sweet, bashful blush on your cheeks.

The prince dug his nails into his palm, quickly moving to the sea of dancers to take your partner's spot before anyone else would have a chance to dance with you— before anyone else would have a chance to hold you. “May I have the next dance, lady Tyrell?” The prince asked the moment the first song ended. You looked around the room as most eyes were on you, a peculiar scene as the stoic prince, who seemed to detest dancing and preferred to stand by the side, asked you for a dance. You licked your lips before answering, “You may,” You quietly said.

“Did I just agree to dance with Prince Aemond?” You whispered to your sister, who had a teasing smile on her lips. “I dare say you will find him very amiable, sissy.” Your sister smiled, and you shook your head. Stubborn and still holding a bias against the second-born prince of the realm. “It would be most inconvenient since I have sworn to loathe him for all eternity!” You rambled but could not help but laugh at your fate. Your sister joined along and pulled you towards the dance floor as the second song was to start, and two princes waited for the two of you.

You were stood across the One-Eyed Prince. His stance is still stiff, and you began to wonder if he’d be any good at dancing. Aemond bit his tongue as you curtsied before him, your dress and lowered stance giving him a slight view of your bosom. He clenched his jaw and willed any thought of impropriety may leave his thoughts and body.

“I love this dance,” you say as you circle around the prince, his eye following your every movement. Aemond would note that they would waver upon his gaze if it were anyone else but not you. “Indeed, it is most invigorating,” he answered, slightly cringing to himself if that was the proper response. There was another moment of tense silence between the two of you, you sighing as you were starting to grow accustomed to it, but in all honesty, you’d rather talk that night, even if it were with him. “I believe it is your turn to say something, my prince.” You say and feel your lips twitch upward as you have the devilish thought to tease him.

“I talked about the dance; now, you ought to remark on the size of the room or the couples present.” You say as you feel his hold on your hand tighten ever so lightly. “I am perfectly happy to oblige you, my lady. Please advise me of what you would like most to hear,” You let a smirk slip your lips at his sardonic response. “That reply will do for now,” You said as you focused on the dance. But you could not truly do so because it seems your whole being was intent on focussing itself on the prince. The way he stared you down, the way his lithe body gracefully glided with the dance, the way it felt to hold his hand. It would shame you to say that after the dance, your body felt alight, and the beat of your heart ran almost alarmingly in your chest.

You excused yourself from the crowded room, finding calm outside in a marble gazebo. The structure barely lit and only illuminated by the light of the moon. You rested your back on the cool pillar, hoping it would ease the inner heat that torched your body. You closed your eyes and tried to control your ragged breathing and raging thoughts of the One-Eyed Prince.

“Lady Tyrell,” You jumped in your spot, eyes growing wide as you were startled by the prince's presence. “My prince,” You breathed out, uncertain why he had followed you. “In vain have I struggled. It will not do.” He began to speak rendering you more confused. “What… your highness, I—“ He shook his head and dared to step forward. You stared at his eye, lilac darker in the dim light.

“My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell I admire and love you.” Aemond watched you as your lips parted and your fine eyes filled with utter shock. “Most Ardently.”

#house of the dragon #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #pride and predjudice 2005 #pride and prejudice #jane austen #house tyrell #house targaryen #enemies to lovers #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #mr darcy #elizabeth bennet

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heyimdove · 8 months

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More on why Persuasion is the real Jane Austen parallel to Aziracrow, and why Pride and Prejudice is not, because I can’t stop dwelling.

There’s a lot here so I’ll try to structure this in a way that makes sense. Wish me luck.

I’ve seen so many people equate Aziraphale to Lizzie and Crowley to Darcy, but these comparisons don’t make sense. Character-wise, they are far more like Anne Elliot and Frederick Wentworth, respectively.

We’ll start with Elizabeth Bennet, who I love with all my heart and is one of those characters I feel like I know (I’m delusional, it’s fine). Elizabeth is wonderfully intelligent, but she isn’t “accomplished” and isn’t a perfect specimen of Regency womanhood. Instead she’s sharp and headstrong. She wants to live how she wants and with someone she loves for a partner. She rejects a match that is, on paper, perfect and would solve all her family’s problems, because she won’t settle for unhappiness. You know who that doesn’t sound like?

Aziraphale, were he a Regency Era woman, would be considered very accomplished for the time; well-read, polite, even a music tutor. But he’s more unlike Elizabeth because he desires to “do what’s best for the family”. In other words, if Elizabeth Bennet was more like Aziraphale, she’d be married to Mr. Collins. She would’ve considered it her duty to marry him because it would protect her loved ones (see Aziraphale accepting the Metatron). For Aziraphale, his duty to protect trumps his personal desire.

So does that make Crowley our Lizzie? No, that doesn’t fit either, and not only because Aziraphale makes a terrible Darcy. Sure, Aziraphale’s status as an angel might be considered comparable to Darcy’s elevated status as a rich person, but Crowley has never hated Aziraphale, never even considered it, and wouldn’t hate him even after the rejection. Lizzie’s hatred is what spurs Darcy to grow. Darcy needed to be completely despised by her to decide to put in the work to be worthy of her.

Okay, so then is Crowley Darcy? Perhaps we could shoehorn that in somewhere because Darcy doesn’t seem good but actually is, or is considered grouchy, but it’s such a loose connection, it barely works-

-Especially when you consider how much better the two fit as the protagonists of Persuasion.

(And yes, shut up, I liked the Dakota Johnson one and I will be using the gifs.)

Where Pride and Prejudice is about two different people gradually seeing the value in the other, Persuasion is the story of two different people seeing the value in the other right from the start, but who then repeatedly make mistakes that keep them separate and in agony.

Aziraphale is *so* much like Anne. First, Anne is the only reasonable (read: likable) member of her high-born family, who believe people in other societal castes to not only be inferior, but disgusting.

Anne sees this is not true, and falls madly in love with the low-born Wentworth- only to be persuaded by outside input not to marry him. Station and familial duty play a part in this decision, and she regrets it for years. She is completely unable to move on.

Like Aziraphale, Anne is certainly more accomplished, for one thing, and she plays by the rules of women of her time and status. BUT her sense of mortality breaks often from that of her family. When she tries to impart her good morals upon them, they are dismissive and insulting, reacting as if Anne is the one who “doesn’t get it”.

She spends eight years with a family she barely belongs to, wondering why she ever thought the company of people like this was worth the loss of Wentworth.

For all of Anne’s kindness, she is a pushover. She’s rarely confident in herself. When she needs to speak up, or just have a direct conversation with Wentworth, she doesn’t. She can’t. She repeatedly makes Wentworth come to her.

Wentworth, meanwhile, is a far better match for Crowley than Darcy is. Wentworth will never be an aristocrat like the Elliots, but he carves out a life he considers valuable using new rules. Sound familiar?

Are Wentworth’s and Crowley’s morals obviously a bit different? Yes, of course. Crowley is a DEMON, after all. But Crowley conducts himself in such a way that he’s literally cast out of Heaven and removed from Hell- in other words, he’s twice been given “the rules” for how to act and has twice decided, nah, that’s not for me. Wentworth was given the rules for what he could have as a low-born man and became a wealthy, high-ranking naval officer. And Wentworth didn’t do that for love, either. He found the consideration of one’s wealth in determining whether they should be loved abhorrent. Wentworth did it for himself initially (bitterly too, maybe), just like Crowley saves the goats and the kids for himself.

And, of course, Crowley’s confession parallels Wentworth’s position in relation to Anne far more than Darcy’s position to Lizzie. Crowley says “if they (two apparent opposites) can do it, so can we,” because he knows he and Aziraphale love each other. At the start of Persuasion, Wentworth asks Anne to be his wife despite their differing societal rank because he knows they love each other. At the end of Persuasion, he asks again because he knows they have both been in agony, that they both love each other as much as they ever did.

Darcy, meanwhile, does not know if Lizzie loves him, but arrogantly believes she will accept on the basis that what he can offer her monetarily is better than what anyone else can, not knowing what she actually values. She demolishes him.

On that note, that’s really the only parallel between Aziracrow and Darcy/Lizzie, only Aziraphale is Darcy. Aziraphale believed Crowley would accept his offer because he believed Crowley would want to be an angel again. Crowley believed Aziraphale would accept his offer because he knew they loved each other.

These are all very different characters, but ultimately, I think we were gunning for Pride and Prejudice and wound up with Persuasion; the slowest, most agonizing burn with the most beautiful reunion. So we didn’t get “you have bewitched me, body and soul,” in S2. We got the events leading up to Persuasion, and will have S3 to watch them play out. Neil knows that Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship is the most compelling part of the story, so I doubt they’ll be separated for long. But everything is so messy, isn’t it? So it makes sense to keep them, like Anne and Wentworth, in close proximity, in mutual, bitter, unspoken pining, but still not together. It will be absolutely delicious to watch. Isn’t that what we loved the most from S1?

Because we know they love each other. And whatever catalyzing event forces them to say it out loud will be all the better if every moment they don’t say it hurts. I don’t want a “you have bewitched me” moment, I want “I’m half agony, half hope.”

#good omens #jane austen #meta #ineffable divorce #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #pride and prejudice #persuasion #im in pain #im in so much pain

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itsonlydana · 2 months

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"I Didn't Know That I Was Starving Till I Tasted You" | hobbit

➛ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader 👑

➛ When you get stood up by your date all you want to do is morph with the couch, eat ice cream and watch Pride & Prejudice. It's a shame your roommate/best friend Thranduil doesn't agree with those plans.

➛ warnings/tags: modern!au, roommate!au, friends-to-lovers, chef!thranduil, swf, kissing

➛ words: 9,3k

➛ an: sooo let's ignore that i said i wasn't writing anymore <3 i'm still not taking request but i have a few fics that i'll post over the next few weeks!

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The sound of keys turning in the lock sounds through your apartment before the door opens and closes, making you wince.

The piano music playing through the expensive stereo system is loud enough that you could blame your reaction for not reacting to it. After a brief moment, a deep voice echoes from the hallway, marked by an incredulous "Huh?" and followed by an urgent "What?" accompanied by hurried footsteps.

"Hello?! What– what are you still doing here? You should be dressed up and in a cab by now!"

Your roommate and best friend Thranduil rushes into the living room, you can see his tall figure out of your peripheral vision.

Not that it would change where he stands.

You don't bother to turn around and continue to hide between the mountain of pillows and blankets you had accumulated on the couch, watching the movie playing on the big screen in front of you.

"Uhh– Mister Bingley arrived from the North," you comment on the happenings of the Bennets' house, a spoonful of ice cream held to your mouth.

Thranduil steps closer, dropping his coat and a bag on the wing chair next to the couch. "What–"

Instead of answering his question, you let the ice cream melt on your tongue, mumbling a "5000 a year?" with a mouth full of chocolate.

"Talk to me, woman!"

"He's single!" you sigh happily and throw a dramatic hand in the air.

Before you can lower it again, Thranduil snaps and snatches your hand, cold fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you towards him. Finally, you look up to him and are confronted with your very baffled-looking best friend.

"If you don't tell me why you aren't on the way to the fabulous third date with Marcus-"

"Jake."

Thranduil rolls his eyes at the interruption: "Fine, why aren't you on the third date with Jake right now and instead sulk on the couch watching Pride & Prejudice again? I thought we promised to take a break from watching it anyway."

You push out your lower lip, pouting. "I'm not sulking," you say in a tone so drawn out it completely defiles your statement. Thranduil doesn't say anything, he just lets his gaze slowly wander over the blankets you are buried under, to the half-eaten ice cream bucket to the TV where the Bennet sisters are currently caught eavesdropping on their parents' conversation. He doesn't need words to express himself, the judgment is silent in words but loud in the raise of his dark eyebrow.

"Fine," you groan, admitting defeat. "He canceled."

Thranduil's gaze softens as he sits down next to you on the edge of the sofa and he slowly drops your hand from his grip. "He canceled," he repeats, eyes falling back to the ice cream.

"He canceled," you confirm with a sigh "Just like I predicted- so I don't know why I even bothered to dress up. I even bought that stupid dress just because he wanted to go out to this new fancy Italian place. He canceled and because I waited 15 minutes for him to not show up, standing outside - in the cold might I add- I think I am allowed to sulk a little!"

In the end, you had talked yourself into quite a rage and fall back into the pillows, your arms crossed in front of your chest. "And no, you said I should take a break from watching that movie but since you are not my mother I am allowed to watch whatever!"

You pierce him with a glare but only for a moment before you deflate.

"Sorry for getting all bitchy there," you shuffle around, hands searching for the remote to stop the movie.

"It's alright," Thranduil says and cocks his head. "Now that you are done, am I allowed to go after him and nail his balls to the ground for standing you up?"

A smile tugs on your lips as you shake your head. "No, you are not. I'm sure he has his reasons." The reason wasn't spelled out in the message but after hopping around in the dating scene for a while now, you know what ´I'm sorry but I don't think we really fit. You are a great person though!´ means.

It was nothing new, though it hurt the same as it did the first time.

"Well, unless there was a sudden death in his family I don't see a reason why he couldn't have canceled before the date," he huffs "-you know like a normal person would do"

You shrug your shoulders. "It's done now. Maybe it just wasn't supposed to happen."

"No, it wasn't. Not with a guy like him," Thranduil shakes his head, the long braid of silver blonde hair getting even more disheveled by the movement. "You deserve a man that doesn't cancel, doesn't let you stand outside in the cold!"

"Yes," you sigh again, staring wistfully at the TV "my Mister Darcy."

"He was literally the reason why Elizabeth ran out into the rain and cold," Thranduil responds deadpanned and you throw a pillow in his direction which he elegantly catches.

"I will not stand for this Darcy-hate! Ugh, you are such a bad friend," you whine, "I got stood up and you are making fun of one of the two people who have never let me down.. one person now that you decided to be a meanie!" You once again pout.

This time it works, a little too well because suddenly Thranduil looks at you with that one look of him, the one that breaks through every defense you could build up. He looks at you like you just told him you were dying, all the compassion he can find in his otherwise cold heart spilling out of his cerulean eyes that wander over your face.

"You know you have every right to feel sad about the date not happening," he says carefully, tilting his head slightly in a way that oozes pity, "You were looking forward to it, you even bought a dress for it. Let me cheer you up, I can cook something for you and we can watch a movie later or we can go out and drink until I have to hold your hair in the bathrooms." He smiles softly, sincere and it makes you want to jump up from the couch and hide in your room.

You two didn't do sincere; you bantered, you made jokes on behalf of the other and you most certainly did not comfort each other after a failed date. Your friendship needed lightheartedness, it thrived on sarcasm and arguments about everything and anything that came to your minds.

But the offer is tempting, especially the cooking part. Thranduil is a chef, working in his own restaurant; 'The Green Leaf' and he did a damn good job at it. Most nights, like this one, he comes home and cooks for you because apparently, Goldfish crackers were not as good for your diet as one part of the name misled you to believe and even though you made fun of Thranduils diet as well, fully vegan and with a distaste for anything that made life worth living like chocolate ice cream, he knew exactly how to whip up a meal that had you salivating.

You stare him down, weighing your options. Option one was to remain on the couch where you would shovel the ice cream down until you would inevitably get sick, watching Pride & Prejudice and mourning the never-happening and probably very boring date you would’ve had.

Option two would entail a doubtlessly very delicious meal as well as the possibility of getting drunk as fuck in a bar.

The choice comes easy.

"Okay," you agree and raise a pointed finger at him as a victorious grin spreads on his lips "But-" you wiggle the finger "you will not do this out of pity because I do not need pity from a man!"

Thranduil's grin only seems to grow, lightening up his eyes "No of course not. No pity here. I promise!" He stands up from the couch in a hurry, grabbing the bag he had left on the chair. When you don't move except to reach for the remote again, he shakes his head. "Leave Mr. Darcy for another day, you have to change!"

"Change?" you ask bewildered, looking around the apartment. "I thought you were going to cook here and not at the restaurant. Why would I need to change now?"

Thranduil scoffs, turning his back to you to walk towards the kitchen, his voice growing louder as it's accompanied by the sound of the fridge opening.

"Because I know you spent the entire day planning your outfit. You said you bought a new dress and I will not cook you an entire meal for you to sit there in your sweatpants!" he calls out and you throw your head against the couch with a groan that has Thranduil leaning out of the kitchen door

"You want the food, you follow the chef's orders," he copies the raised finger in your direction "Don't be a brat, get your butt off the couch and into your room before I have to spank you! I'll call you when you can come out."

The threat is met with you sticking your tongue out and one second thinking you could defy the order but that is until he fakes a quick step back into the room and you peel the blankets away squeaking "I'm moving! I'm moving!" while stumbling through the living room. "Jeez"

Despite knowing he would never hurt you the thought of Thranduil spanking you has you blushing a ridiculous amount and you don't turn around so he doesn't see it.

"But just so you know, I will wear the dress but only so I don't have to squeeze myself into it after dinner when we go out!" you yell over your shoulder instead and you swear you hear him chuckle before you slip into your room and close the door behind you.

The sweatpants land on your bed, followed by the sweater you had put on after getting the text message from Jack. You remain in your underwear, which you hadn't been bothered to change and stare at yourself in the mirror of your wardrobe. You are confronted with the blush the spanking comment had left on your cheeks and down your neck, and you scowl at the image.

He is your best friend and roommate.

Get a grip!

The dress you had bought for the date still hangs on the wardrobe door, a short, and black number that wasn't something you would normally wear but when you had stalked the Instagram Account for the place you would’ve eaten at today, nothing already existent in your closet had seemed fitting.

Staring at it now you question the length as well as the relatively deep front and back. After all, this was a normal dinner with your best friend, right? Yes, you would maybe leave for a club or bar after this and you had worn all kinds of clothes for a night out with Thranduil in your company but this dress had been bought for the sole reasons of looking sexy and with the hopes of getting lucky.

You shake the thoughts away and grab the hanger with the dress on.

This was a normal dinner with your best friend and this was just a dress. He had seen you in other skimpy clothes and literally any other form of dressed as well as undressed on several accidental occasions. There is no need to think this over and fall into an endless spiral of doubts.

With a nod to yourself for this mature thinking, wow, aren't you a well-functioning grown-up? – you slip the garment over your head, pinching and twisting the fabric until it sits to your satisfaction.

The hem barely covers your thighs, just doing enough so it wouldn't flash your bottom at the slightest movement but showing enough leg for you to feel powerful. The same was with the deep neckline. Bending forward was not an option, though it would draw eyes on you, hopefully.

You put the discarded jewelry back on again, a subtle choker necklace and a pair of more flashy earrings with - sadly fake- diamonds dangling and catching the light in them. The makeup is done quickly as well, some touches of a brush on your jawline, some lovely shade of lipstick on your lips, the movement of routine flows through your body with no need to really think about it.

After spraying some of your favorite perfume on your neck and behind your ears you wait.

Sitting on the edge of your bed you wait and you definitely don't think back to Thranduil's statement. No. Never.

Maybe a little bit.

Because when he calls out for you a fifteen-minute heads-up, you feel the blush coming back and the suspicion confirms itself at the last look in the mirror. You raise your head, challenging the woman in the mirror with an arch of the eyebrow before walking out the door and into what could only be described as a fever dream.

The living room is dark, the moss green curtains pulled closed except for a small gap where the afternoon sun filters through into the flat. The dining room table is clear from all the jackets, mail and stuff that accumulates throughout the day and week that are usually thrown on it and instead, there are candles.

Candles!

Candles in silver candleholders, like actual burning candles. Next to the expensive-looking candleholders is a vase filled with lavender, full and flourished purple flowers that fill the room with a soft and dizzying smell.

Suddenly you are very glad you are not in your sweats anymore, there is a heat rising in your body and setting your cheeks aflame.

Fidgeting with your hands you quietly step forward into the room to the kitchen, your eyes flittering from the table to the cleaned-up sofas and then you can see Thranduil rushing from the counter to the stove.

His back is turned to you, offering you a view of broad shoulders and arms flexing beneath the white shirt he had changed into, and even worse, the tight black pants he now wears, showing off his long legs and- you look a little higher, checking him out and blushing like it's a guilty pleasure.

Of course, the pants would show off his perfect arse as well.

You shouldn't stare.

No matter how magnificent the sight is.

And oh, it surely is magnificent.

You snap back into reality, take a lavender-filled breath, and walk into the kitchen.

It's a beautiful kitchen, not one of the reasons you had first checked out the apartment but one that had tipped the arguments for it in the end. And you are glad it did, because when you had taken roommate applications Thranduil simply waltzed into it, nodded and offered you the first year of rent with 25% on top of it if you would remove the pop-into-the-microwave-Lasagna from the freezer and never dared to buy something like that again.

His brisk and bold and sometimes very harsh attitude would've maybe frightened any other person off but you had seen the money, the prospect of a cook as a roommate and a handsome one at that, and had held out the contract with one hand while the other threw out the lasagna.

And look where that had brought you.

The kitchen is now filled with more vegetables than you have ever seen in one place that isn't a market, there is nearly always a pot with something ready for you on the stove and the fondest memories you have with Thranduil are baking Christmas cookies, throwing flour into each others faces so that your hair had been colored white like Thranduils, or you learning how to cut vegetables under his stern gaze because "No, you can not cut a carrot the same way you cut the bell pepper!"

Now here he is again, creating a memory that will never let you go.

You let your eyes wander over the stove, where one pot is cooking rice, the other has some onions caramelizing with garlic from the smell of it and Thranduil has one pan in his hand, throwing some cut tofu into the air while he brushes some oil onto white dough stretched into hand-sized bits.

He is fully in his element, maneuvering what seems like a three-course meal without any help or breaking a sweat. Setting down the pan with the tofu (hadn't that been a fun journey of convincing until you had let him cook that without any protest?) he wipes his hand on the towel thrown over his shoulder and turns to the cutting board on the kitchen island. He has even more flowers on the island, pink gerberas and white orchids stand next to his array of mint, basil and rosemary.

You have no idea what has gotten into him, there have never been this many flowers in your apartment except for the few ones some of your dates had bought you and even then they landed in the trash a couple of days later.

Sometimes Thranduil had even said he had confused them for some swept-in leaves after you asked him where the last bouquet went.

The man was truly an enigma.

"Smells good in here," you say and lean over the stove.

Thranduil clicks his tongue against his teeth. With a soft growl, he presses out a "Move," not sounding really annoyed but disturbed by you being in his way and with a giggle you move away to grant him free access to the pots.

"What is on the menu today, Chef?" you ask as you hop onto the island. No matter how much space Thranduil needs for cooking, he always leaves that one spot on the corner free for you to sit on.

"Tofu Tikka Masala you noisy girl," Thranduil doesn't turn around and for a minute you want him to see you, see the dress you have put on but then your gaze falls onto his back again and you blush.

Thank god, he didn't turn to find you checking him out, again.

"Couldn't you have waited until I told you the food is ready? Now I have you sitting around here, distracting me, even though I don't have a lot of time to begin with."

You know he is lying. He had told you more than once that you were a pleasure in the kitchen. Not at the stove but looking pretty sitting on your spot on the island and not touching a thing.

"Well, we could have ordered some pizza," you tease him, and he grunts. When he still doesn't turn around, you lean forward, a smirk on your lips. "Or we could have gone out to 'Oakenshields' and-" The rest of the sentence dies on your lips as Thranduil's whole body snaps around and you nearly squeak when he leans into your space.

Nose against nose, he stares you down, cerulean eyes holding yours without any playfulness in them. "You are on very thin ice," he says quietly and while you know he still doesn't mean it like that, you squirm under the gaze and sudden rush of adrenalin that his proximity is causing your head to swim.

"Yeah?" you ask breathlessly, sounding way too excited for your own good, and you try kicking him against his chin but he catches your leg before it hits him, and as soon as his hands grab the bare skin he lets go again, falling back like it had shocked him physically.

Cerulean eyes drop, leaving your face that suddenly goes up in flames and for a second you can see his breath hitch, his chest moving at the sharp inhale of air as he takes you in. The moment builds up, the atmosphere between you changes and charges with something and for this short, stopped moment in time you allow yourself to think:

'What if?'

Then a timer goes off, distant at first but growing louder when Thranduil's face shifts back to the usual calm facade that reflects not a thing of what is going on in his head. He sniffs, hiding behind his dark eyebrows when he lowers his head and pats you gently on your thighs.

"I'll rather perish than go to 'Oakenshields'," he rasps, the raw edge in his voice the only remnant showing that he was affected by whatever that had been between you.

Then he turns around and pushes the tray with dough into the oven.

He covers it up professionally with the joke, of course, because Thranduil Oropherion could never have been seen with feelings that go deeper than what any human would consider barely amiable.

Yes, he is your best friend and he makes an effort around you to not be the coldhearted asshole he is too, for example, Thorin Oakenshield, owner of the restaurant slash bar that the last critic had called a "serious opponent in the gourmet chef world".

Thranduil took the news so well that he had a furious meltdown of cooking for nearly 20 hours to create a menu that he would serve the critic to show him Thorin was not to put anywhere near him on a culinary level before he threatened to buy the paper the man was working for and fire him.

He only calmed down when he found out the critic had persisted to order his own wine choices and not the ones Thranduil had carefully paired with each course so he had decided that the man had no taste whatsoever and he couldn't give a shit about what he had said.

You had seen the irony in his statement and the state of him, tired, overworked, still behaving like a diva and you had just stifled a laugh and helped him clean the mess in the kitchen.

It was one of those moments that shows you he cares more than he leads on, about life, about people, about what the world thought of him but when it comes to love the man is as warm as deep diving naked in the antarctic would be.

He can be nice, living with him was pleasant and it got a whole lot more comfortable when you got to know each other better.

He makes jokes, he shows you how much he appreciates you through his food, you two watch movies together, go out, get drunk, get home and giggle when one of you trips on the doormat and after a few months he even lets you fall asleep on him when you came home crying because a date didn't go well.

You had seen him drive home in a frenzy when his mother had called him about his younger brother breaking his leg climbing trees, and he had another friend, Bard, with whom he had a friendly get-together every now and again; it was only the romance part he never talks about, never shows, never ever makes room for.

While you go out for dates- he works.

When you meet someone at the club you dance, you make out, you go home with someone else- Thranduil just ignores any woman or man who talks to him.

Thranduil's love life (if existent) is a mystery to you and that makes it even more confusing why he had looked at you the way he did just now. Why would he suddenly decide to buy flowers, to cook you an entire meal because you had been stood up and play-dress up?

Your brain is steaming with these thoughts by the time you catch up with reality again, a snap of fingers in front of your face pulls you back and you blink, slightly dazed. Thranduil stands next to you, body facing the cutting board in front of him but you can see him sneaking a peek towards you out of the corner of his eyes.

"Do you know what you want to do after dinner yet?" he asks, slicing some cilantro and parsley.

His long fingers wrap around the shiny knife elegantly, drawing your gaze in and keeping it locked onto the movement of him cutting a lemon in half and drizzling a few drops of juice into the bowl with the herbs.

You try not to stare at the few drops wetting his palm.

"We should go out," you say, voice wavering in between a question and a hoarse croak. You swallow and move your head before your eyes follow a few seconds later, blinking up at Thranduil. "There is this new rooftop bar- they opened a few days ago and are still baiting people in with the two-for-one drink offer."

Thranduil smirks, leaning his hip against the counter and wiping his hand on the towel. "Ah, yes, because that went so well the last time?" he inquires, eyebrow raised teasingly.

"I couldn't possibly know what you are talking about, Thranduil," you purse your lips, suppressing the smile just barely that threatens to spill out at the memory of the last time you went to a new bar, trying out the "new and never been done before"-drinks the small hipster bar had promised you and that'd ended up being the worst cocktails you ever had.

"You still owe me for the trousers I had to get dry-cleaned because you missy-" he half-threateningly holds out his pointy finger again, "you missed the toilet"

"You could have shoved me in the right direction!"

"Ah yes, blame the man that saved you from throwing up all over your date," Thranduil turns away again, adding coconut milk and chopped tomatoes into the pot with the garlic and onions.

"Occupational hazard of being my friend," you say, giving him the brightest and most dearest smile when he holds out a spoon he'd dipped into the curry, before leaning in and wrapping your lips around it, letting the flavors swirl over your tongue.

Then a low hum leaves your throat, a sound not only shocking you but also Thranduil by the looks of it.

By the look of him.

There is a sudden pink covering his face, right around his nose, showing off his prominent cheekbones in a way that lifts the gorgeous feature even more. It is such an unusual sight, Thranduil, blushing, that you are taken aback by it and the spoon slips out of your lips, nearly falling when Thranduil pulls it out of your mouth, clearing his throat suspiciously loud and rough that it sounds physically hurtful.

He steps back, hiding behind a "Good then?" that you can only agree to with a low "Yes" because– firstly you could never correct him on the taste of something he prepares, he knows your taste well enough to always get the spices perfectly adjusted to your preferences, and secondly your head is blissfully empty for any other answer.

The moment passes, gets drowned out by another timer going off, followed by Thranduil shifting into chef-mode as you endearingly call the shift in his demeanor into a controlled acrobat when he starts handling all those pants and pots, stirring here, tasting there, focusing on everything all at once with a concentration that nothing could penetrate.

You sit back and watch him with a soft smile, observing him as he pulls the bread out of the oven, and exchanges the tray with two dark green bowls out of the cabinets to warm them up in the leftover heat.

He moves with a grace that you surely could not copy, all of his long limbs knowing exactly when to push the rice away from the burner, ducking away when the steam of pouring the hot water into the sink would have given your face a free steaming and all that while looking extremely put together with his tight pant- braid! and white shirt he didn't even bother protecting with an apron like he always forces you to wear.

It's frustrating and attractive how much confidence he oozes in the kitchen. You wonder how the cooks managed to do their job without dropping to the floor and praising him like the godly being he seems to be.

He looks perfectly put together when he finishes plating up and ushers you back into the living room, where you are forced to sit down while he disappears into the kitchen and brings the plates and bowls, shaking off your offer to help every time you can barely start the question.

So you do what is expected of you and you wait, brushing off some hair of your dress- long silver blond strands that you twirl around your finger.

The kitchen light gets dimmed and Thranduil comes into the living room one last time, holding a bottle of wine in his hands that by the looks of it, and by that you mean expensive as fuck, must have been nicked from the restaurant.

He fills your glass, then his own and finally sits down on the other side of the table.

Before you can say something, he raises his glass, "To this evening."

You smile and raise your glass to his, "To Marcus-" Thranduil's eyebrow twitches but you only smile wider "Thank god he canceled, I much rather spend this night with good food and good company"

A deep chuckle accompanies the soft 'clink' of your glasses. You take a first sip, holding Thranduil's gaze over the rim and over the flicking fire of the candles that illuminate his face just right. The wine is smooth, and refreshing as it wets your suddenly dry throat.

You use the plate in front of you as an opportunity to look away without it feeling like you are fleeing from his gaze, even if the thought is heavy in your stomach.

"Everything looks delicious, Thranduil," you say, gesturing to the bowls with the rice and tofu tikka masala, the dough that turned out to be naan that he placed on a wooden board between the flowers and the candle.

Thranduil gives you an appreciative nod, grabbing a naan and ripping it apart. "I tried to make something that comes close to your planned meal of chocolate ice cream," there is a mocking tone in his voice, a drawl on the words chocolate ice cream that is the perfect mix between friendly teasing and his true disgust towards it.

You let out a giggle, following his example of dipping the naan into the curry. "Oh, you are so gracious for trying but we both know that ice cream is high above this. It doesn't even fall in the same food category to be able to compare. If you truly look at it, it's its own category"

"Never mind everything I have said, I've forgotten that I'm talking to the person who thinks a cup of coffee counts as an entire meal. How very stupid of me"

"Not everyone can start their morning looking like you do and have the energy to go out for a run and then cook breakfast," you shoot back, the realization of the compliment slipping out pours onto you when you see Thranduil's lips curve into a very self-satisfactory grin.

"So you are awake to notice," he leans back in his chair, popping another piece of the bread into his mouth and looking so smug that the urge to kick him is rising in you again. "You simply choose to act like you are non-responsive until you've had your coffee."

Instead of kicking him, you roll your eyes and fill your spoon with rice.

Yes, that was one way to put it.

The other would be that you are simply too scared you would say something very stupid and inappropriate when you watched him do his yoga in nothing but very tight pants while you sat on the couch and pretended to stare into empty space that just coincidently was very close to his arching form in front of the window.

"Yes, I live by the rule that coffee comes before any man."

"How rude, to consider me 'any' man," you want to say something but Thranduil is quicker to continue, shutting you up with that gorgeous smile, "Am I not the only man in your life right now who you don't leave on read after a while?"

"That is a very low bar to measure yourself with"

"Darling, those men you date offer nothing but low standards."

You nearly choke on the wine you'd reached for when Thranduil says these words, this term of endearment he casually throws into the sentence, far too confident to be a slip of tongue, far too soft to be meant as mocking.

He said it as if it had never not been there, as if it wasn't completely out of character. For a moment you consider reaching over the table to poke him, to make sure he is really here and not some (very accurate, word class if it truly was one) robotic imitation.

There is a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that only seems to twinkle brighter the longer you stare at him and you wonder if he feels like he has won the discussion or if he can hear your brain mulling over the 'darling'.

Either way, he doesn't comment on it further, not on this nor the matter of your dating.

Why he thought to do so in the first place was a mystery to you, another piece of the puzzle that was this evening. He had made comments about the men you were seeing before, subtle phrases made after glancing over to your screen and the conversations you were having, never really cruel but you wouldn't say that they were particularly nice either.

Sometimes when you came home from a night out, you never brought them back to your flat, Thranduil would simply raise an eyebrow, not saying anything and so much at the same time.

You dig back into your food and like always conversation flows naturally between you. Pushing the teasing and the sizzling of something warm in your stomach that you had felt in the kitchen away into the back of your mind you let yourself enjoy the moment, the comfort of sitting at the table, a nice dinner in front of you and the home-y feeling that was in the air.

Curry and naan fill your stomach as the wine settles in your head and laughter slips your tongue.

Empty plates get pushed aside, forgotten on the side of the table until later, making room for you to prop up one elbow and let your cheek rest in the palm of your hand as Thranduil talks about his newest ideas for his restaurant.

The candles flicker, coloring both your faces golden as the last bit of sunlight sneaks away from the tiny crack in the curtains.

After another glass of wine and some well-coordinated cleaning up, a hand-in-hand process of taking the plates into the kitchen where you load the dishwasher and Thranduil wipes down the pots and pans in the sink, Thranduil throws you out of the kitchen again.

You hop into the bathroom, spend a few minutes staring at yourself in the mirror and try to think about the outcome of this evening.

A few hours ago you had been ready to go out with someone else but right now, in the dim light that is too bright to conceal how flushed your cheeks are and too dark to be the glimmering sparkle in your eyes, there is not one thought wasted on any other guy.

It's a complicated feeling, being confronted with the crush you'd harbored on Thranduil for a while now and while it wasn't always easy to keep it at bay, it had been nowhere near as hard to keep your focus on the big fat label of 'friendship' that was the only thing ever to be between you.

Yes, you know that that label should hamper the want.. the need to kiss the ever-living daylight out of Thranduil when he stared at you across those flickering candles but who wouldn't want to do that to an attractive man showering you with attention he had given you today?

Any normal-thinking person would.

At least that is what you tell yourself, that these feelings are normal because he is attractive and not just because you are attracted to him.

Back in the living room, you fall onto the sofa, legs stretched and feet propped onto the small table in front of the couch, and fight the urge to cuddle into the pillows more than necessary. Any deeper and you would for sure fall asleep and with how your evening is going, that that would be a shame was an understatement.

"Thranduil?" you call out when another minute passes and the noises of washing up had quietened down and Thranduil still wasn't out of the kitchen again.

"One moment," his deep voice responds with a subtle grunt, "You can begin your search for a bar and please don't let it be the rooftop bar you mentioned earlier."

On another day you would have chosen a bar or even a club to go to, especially after your stomach did that traitorous summersault at the sound of his voice again.

Tonight, with your cozy little apartment smelling like fresh flowers and curry and your mind clinging onto a possessive and dangerous thought of 'What if..'´ you suddenly can't think of anything worse than going out with Thranduil.

Going out would mean that Thranduil's attention wouldn't be on you alone anymore.

"Thranduil?" you call out again, "Let's stay in and watch a movie."

"What?" He pops his head out of the kitchen and you giggle at the sight of soap bubbles on his nose as he wipes his hand over his surprised face. He rolls his eyes, lifting one arm, - oh god his sleeves are rolled up, exposing far too much skin and veiny arms for you to think clear- and wipes the soap away. "I thought you wanted to go out."

"No," you draw the word out, still hung up on the smooth-looking skin, "We talked about going out or watching a movie," shuffling your shoulders into the pillows you smile at him "and I think we should watch a movie. It has been a while since we did that."

Thranduils face softens and he cocks his head, "It has," he agrees, the tenderness in his eyes reaching his voice.

With Thranduil running his restaurant and your work demanding more of you there hadn't been a lot of time you had sat down and watched something together recently.

You still had your mornings full of nursing coffee and yoga and the evenings where you weren't on a date or Thranduil away on business you had gone out together.

The summer with all its warm and sunny days and bars filled with cool drinks and long evenings fading into soft blue nights had been fun- that didn't mean you didn't miss cuddling into a blanket on the couch and watching a movie with Thranduil where you spend the entire time making small comments only to annoy him.

"How about you sort out what movie you want to see and I'll fetch us a snack?" he proposes and you let out a hum. Thranduil starts to turn away, then halters, "And if you could find anything other than 'Pride and Prejudice' I would be very grateful."

You did, in fact, not search further for the movie that you had started earlier.

Something that Thranduil comments with a loud "God, please do not do this to me," when he reenters the living room.

Stubbornly, you shake your head, your finger dancing over the buttons on the remote control. "You won't know if you like it or not if you never stay to watch it through! What if this is your movie? You say you don't have a favorite movie, Thranduil- this could be it!" Your arms flare in the air, pointing the remote to the screen while you try your best to sound as motivational as you can under the skeptical raise of his eyebrow - though the corner of his lips twitch, betraying his amusement however hard he wants to look self-assured in his completely (unreasonable) hate for the movie you consider one of the best of all time.

It's only when he saunters closer that you see what he holds in his hands and it momentarily lets you forget the never-ending argument.

"Ice cream!"

He laughs deep and rough, always a bit darker and richer when he has drunk wine, his voice and tone taking on the velvety edge that clouds your mind just as much as the alcohol.

"That was much more enthusiastic than the reaction to the soufflé I made you a while back. Should I take offense? Is this your revenge for my dislike of this Darcy that you so obsess about?"

Sticking out your tongue you grab one of the two buckets he holds out to you, as Thranduil takes his place on the couch; always on the longer side where he could stretch out his long legs. "Do not disrespect the man of my dreams or I will buy the mac-just-add-milk-cheese," you open the lid of the carton box, reaching over to the table to place it there.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Mhm, I wonder if they still have the ones that only need water?"

"Please just press play you vicious woman," Thranduil pokes his finger into your side, admitting defeat with a desperate sigh and opens his own box of ice cream. When he sees you staring at it, he rolls his eyes. "What now? Can't a man enjoy something sweet once in a while?"

"A man yes," you snort "But you-" you poke him as well, "you're always on me when I buy ice cream and now you eat.. what is that..?"

Leaning into his space you ignore how Thranduil swats at you gently like he wants to get rid of a fly "It's chocolate, no way! My, my, should I call your health insurance and warn them that we will need a checkup? Maybe a brain-"

"Goodness gracious!" Thranduil groans, a sound that reverberates through you as you are still leaning into him, one hand propped next to his thigh, "Will you shut up or do I have to do that for you?"

That does shut you up instantly.

Not a sound leaves your mouth - left wide open as if he had simply pressed paused on your whole body - and you slowly turn your head away from him and back to the screen.

Now, while he did shock you enough with his words to let the teasing about the ice cream slide back down your very much dry throat, you can't help it to at least attempt to have the last word.

To calm your racing heart if not to for the sudden lack of thoughts, "Only if you swear to watch the whole movie without talking shit about Mister Darcy"

"Half of it and a little bit of shit-talking?"

"All of it and none of that!"

"Just let me make my comments and I will buy you your ice cream next time."

You squint your eyes, challenging him to stay with the offer and consider if it's worth it.

You could easily buy your own snacks, you did it every day you went grocery shopping anyway but there was a satisfying pleasure in knowing that the great Thranduil, hater of all sweets, would not only pick out ice cream for you, but pay for it as well.

Maybe he would even throw in something else as well, if you agreed to him and let him make his jokes.

In the end, you were simply grateful that he was here, sitting on the couch to watch a movie he knows means a lot to you, despite his dislike for it, and maybe that was enough..

"Deal!"

Finally, you eagerly press play, allowing the soft piano music to fill the room a second time this day.

While you can't help but smile, muttering the words into the spoons full of ice cream, Thranduil is less mean than you thought he would be. In the beginning, you could see him rolling his eyes whenever Mr. Darcy came on screen - something you commented with a sigh and a giggle - but like you always predicted, he soon relaxed into the cushions.

His face softens, just like his comments, mouth corners turning up as he watches the discussion between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth in the reading room.

In one particularly dramatic scene, you turn to Thranduil with wide eyes. "See? See? Mister Darcy is just misunderstood. He's so in love with Elizabeth, but he doesn't know how to express it properly."

Thranduil rolls his eyes playfully. "Oh, please. He just needs to learn how to be less insufferable."

You lean closer to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, you could learn a thing or two from Darcy, Thranduil."

He scoffs. "Me? Like what?"

Despite the tone he lifts one arm so that you can really lean into his side and you follow the invitation. Drawing your legs up, ignoring that the hem of your dress rides up your thigh, you scoot into Thranduil's space and rest your back against the length of his chest. His arm remains on the headrest of the couch.

You grin. "How to sweep a girl off her feet. Be a little less aloof and a little more... passionate–" your voice wanders into a wistful sigh, words getting lost as you watch with bated breath as Mister Darcy helps Elizabeth into the carriage.

There is a deep rumble behind you, a hot exhale of breath hitting the back of your head and while it seems like Thranduil wants to say something, he remains silent.

When you slightly turn your head, you see him watching the screen with a look in his eyes that you can't pin point.

"Why exactly does he flex his hand like that?" Thranduil quizzes with what sounds like genuine interest and you nearly bounce off the couch in excitement.

"Okay so there are multiple ways that this could be interpreted, some think it represents his armor cracking because he has been so buttoned-up, closed-off all the time and now his muscles betray the character he is putting on," you start, the words tumbling out of your mouth fast and rushed now that Thranduil shows his interest "It's like he is unraveling slowly but surely."

"It's also the first time they touch," you add.

Thranduil cocks his head, "It is?"

The grin on your face grows wider and you nod enthusiastically. "Yes! It's the first time they touch and it's pure skin to skin contact which was totally scandalous in their time, hence the gloves and long sleeves. Imagine going on through your life with these walls built around you as a way to protect your heart and then there is this infuriating woman."

"I can't imagine," Thranduil throws in yet it's so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Nearly.

Your tongue trips over a few words as you continue speaking, caught on what Thranduil had said under his breath as if it had been meant for only him, "-well and she.. she is rebellious. She does not follow the etiquette of wearing gloves, she speaks her mind freely and she contradicts everything that you have been taught," you count on your fingers "And she must have been the first woman in a long time that has touched him like that, even if it's as simple as using his help getting into the carriage"

"Mhm," Thranduil raises the arm that isn't behind you and taps his lips. "And you find that moment important for their building romance?"

"Without a doubt in my mind."

"Alright."

And with that, the topic is dropped and you both return to watch the movie.

That is until Thranduil's arm drops lower.

At first, you think it could have been unintentional, physics and gravity and all that stuff being the reason that his arm fell or slipped from the headrest on your shoulders.

It happens, maybe it had been tiresome to leave it up there, stretched away at such an angle. That is what you tell yourself in the few seconds where his arm simply.. stays still.. but then his arm bends at the elbow and the movement is so slow, so careful that your brain has enough time to forget the movie and focus on how delicately wary his hand comes into contact with the naked skin of your arm.

At first, it's just his fingertips.

Trembling ever so slightly they ghost over your biceps, giving the impression that he is still unsure on how to proceed and you wait, trying your hardest not to flex your arm and maybe scare him away and it's the hardest thing - this kind of touch was rare.

The waiting and effort are worth every second of agonizing stillness because following the tips is the hot palm of his hand, curving around your upper arm and holding you.

Your senses are aflame like the candles, lavender clouding your mind, cold ice cream melting on your tongue as the rough skin of his fingertips trails over your arm in the smallest circles.

Reflecting on the previous conversation there is one sentiment burning its way through your body, bringing with it all the moments of today, his hands on your leg in the kitchen, the storm of emotions crackling through his eyes like thunder, splitting his facade like lightening, the way he had reacted on spoonfeeding you the curry, the tension.

This has to mean something.

This has to be something.

You make up your mind to confront him about it even before he opens his mouth for the next commentary again.

"Darcy sure has a fantastic way to show his love," his tone was dripping with sarcasm.

"Nothing screams more 'I love you' than separating the sister of the woman you love from your best friend because you think the family is far too poor and lacks social etiquette," he scoffs, seemingly being his normal self and you would have believed him if his eyes didn't dart towards you, hinting at a touch of nervousness in those cerulean seas which lack the usual confidence.

"Maybe he is unsure how to tell her that he loves her," you say, holding his gaze.

"Well, there are other ways than this," Thranduil says, pointing toward the screen where Darcy is now standing painfully awkward in Charlotte's home that Elizabeth visits.

While you know that he is trying to follow Elizabeths advice of simple conversation, Thranduil doesnt seem to make that connection.

"Why aren't you out and about flirting with women?" It is a slip of the tongue, led on by the teasing you are so used to yet it comes out far too soft, far too wobbly. Quickly you add to the question with what is half cough, half laugh: "Huh, I mean if you are so sure that Darcy is doing something wrong, you should be picking up women, right?"

Thranduil raises an eyebrow in confusion. He opens his mouth, slightly tilting his head. "What? Why should I do that?"

Now you wonder if he was more stupid than you thought or if you heavily missed him having a girlfriend. Or not a girlfriend, or a partner. Were you that ignorant? Did you miss anything he told you about his sexuality?

"I–" you stutter "I didn't want to pry. I´m sorry. I.. I'm just wondering why you never go out on dates"

"Oh," there is a solemn look on his face "Ah, I had hoped this wouldn't come up for a while longer," He pauses, glancing at the TV and a feeble smile has the corner of his mouth twitching.

You don't have to follow his gaze to know that Mister Darcy has just followed Elizabeth into the rain; the only scene Thranduil has ever watched with you.

Maybe you had been ignorant before but the resigned tone in his voice is loud and clear. "We don't have to talk about it!" you rush in, "Really. No need to converse. Let's just watch the movie alright?" Without thinking about it, your hand moves to his chest, a reflex to gently pat him that dies when you feel the hard thumping of his heart through his shirt.

"I could never date someone, let alone think about a woman the way I think about you."

There it was again, the casualness that had tainted the 'Darling' from earlier. You would have laughed, hell, it is already bubbling up your throat when the heaviness of his confession crashes down on you and all that leaves you is a choked sound and a sudden lack of air has you gasping.

The combination of both hurts but not enough to cover the flutter in your stomach.

"What?" you ask not because you didn't understand him, you had heard every word, every syllable clear and distinct, but because you can't believe that you had heard it.

Your hand still rests atop his chest, feeling the heartbeat- hard and fast.

The same way he suddenly pressed his mouth on yours.

It happens quickly, leaving no time for you to react how you want to react and the only thing you can do is gasp.

The kiss ends as swiftly as it has started at the sound yet Thranduil doesnt withdraw completely. His mouth hovers over yours, his breath ghosting over your dry lips. There was a question in it, the same that is in his eyes when you gather the courage to look up.

Thranduil wasn't this hesitant, he was efficient, confident and so fucking sure of himself that his lack of those qualities right now spoke just as much as the kiss itself.

In the background, you hear rain but all you feel is your mind clearing up like the sky after the downpour.

Without further hesitation, you nod and Thranduil lunges forward again, this time with enough force that you lose your balance - or maybe it was the feel of his lips on yours that prevented you from catching yourself as you fall backward and crash into the pillows.

As far as first kisses go, most of the ones you had with guys were significantly worse. They were usually awkward, sometimes even uncomfortable because you weren't yet attuned to each other, but you weren't kissing a strange guy in a bar here.

You were kissing Thranduil.

You had been friends for years, you had seen each other in the most embarrassing situations, he had probably been confronted with your unclothed body more often than others, and if there was one thing he had noticed, it was what disappointed you about your dates.

And while he kissed you silly and stupid you were happy about exactly this perceptiveness.

His hair falls around you like a curtain, his chest presses against yours and you get so used to the weight of his body on yours like it has never been different.

And you hope it will never be any different.

"Shit," Thranduil groans against your lips, and you open your eyes, smiling up at him in a daze.

"What?"

"Now-" he kisses you again "Now that we got this out of the way.." Another kiss, a soft bite on your lips and you are so fucking glad to know that no woman has experienced this from him in a while. You are getting addicted to his kisses fast "..can you please stop dating these assholes and let me take you out for a real dinner?"

You nod hastily and lift your head to catch his mouth again. You only let him go for another second, when the perfect place pops into your mind - the last thought for the rest of the evening probably.

"Let's go to 'Oakenshields'"

#thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #thranduil fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #the hobbit fanfiction #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings x you #lotr x reader

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seravphs · 9 months

Text

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — IDOL! GOJO x ROCKSTAR! FEM READER

Gojo loves the untouchable. You’re an off limits rockstar who thinks he’s an idiot. The only thing he can do is take that as a challenge, right?

wc — 6.8k

tags — non detailed mention of idol industry EDs, pride and prejudice type energy tbh, reader is a little superior about being in a rock band and not “selling out”, Gojo has an annoying habit of pointing out their hypocrisy, sneaking around because you’re public figures, nsfw jokes, minor nongraphic blood

Gojo’s not your usual type. He’s too pretty for that, with those long lashes like a doll’s. They’re stark against his pale skin when he flirts with you, peering alluringly at you through half closed eyes like the cheap tricks that get his fangirls to scream will work on you.

He’s too easy to break for your taste, but from what you hear on Twitter, that’s why people like him. There’s something charming about the gap in his image that draws people in. People are dying for a taste of vulnerability because he's so cocky, but it's easy to make him beg.

There’s a million clips all over the internet of the moments he’s caught off guard, carefully hoarded instances in his career where a genuine embarrassed flush comes over his cheekbones, made into gifs and Tik Toks and YouTube videos.

That’s not your thing.

You like people with tough hearts and tougher reputations. People who could take the beating of public opinion without a flinch, not some soft spoken idol who needs his management to hold his hand through an apology. You like your fans, but they know their limit with you.

It’s not love, not like with an idol. It would never be, you made sure of it. You’d quit before you ever issued an apology for dating someone.

You hate to be a stereotype almost as much as you hate the idea of becoming a pushover, but you’ve dated a string of bad boy exes who were all exactly what you would expect for the lead singer of a rock band. A little rough around the edges, dark and smoldering. Men who would wear your red lipstick marks like a badge of honor. People who had never even heard of something like an idol image.

Maybe that’s why no one saw it coming. You were safe, established. Gojo was out of your usual pitch.

It’s too bad for the fans that you’ve always been a bit of a daredevil. Trying new things has never scared you. You’ve always been willing to test your limits to find the gold in the muck. That’s how you grow.

That’s how you ended up here, sitting thigh to thigh with the boy wonder of the idol industry.

“Aren’t you playing a dangerous game here?” You ask as he nudges even closer to you, far beyond what you’re sure his fans will permit. You’ve heard horror stories about the lengths people will go to if they see their idols even look at someone of the opposite gender.

“Why, you scared?”

“You wish. You’re the idol here. It’s your reputation on the line.”

He smiles at you, saccharine sweet. “I don’t like letting other people control me.”

That earns your begrudging respect, even if his bony knee is knocking into yours. He’s so lanky it makes you a touch concerned. Shoko’s girlfriend is an idol, and she’s constantly sneaking her food under her manager’s notice.

That’s another reason why you could never be an idol. Letting someone else dictate your life like that sounds like hell. It was hard enough to convince you to be here in the first place.

Your band doesn’t do promotion, least of all you. It’s all homegrown talent and homegrown fans, but you’re in stasis. Your growth has plateaued. Like all artists, you’re beholden to bills to pay to keep the music going. You’re big enough to know when you have to make sacrifices.

It’s nothing personal. That’s just the industry, from pop stars to idols to bands like you. If nothing else, you all share the solidarity of giving anything for the music. You just think you have a harder limit for anything than idols do.

The host kicks off the segment before you have time to do further analysis.

“Welcome back to Hot or Not, the variety show where we pit your favorite internet heartthrobs against each other! Please welcome today’s guests - they may not be the duo you expect!”

The camera pans to you and Gojo. His smile is instant, soft and natural, as real as if he were genuinely overjoyed to be here. You have to give him props for that, at least. He’s good at his job.

As soon as the camera pans to you, his expression flickers and returns to bored disinterest. He yawns, his teeth pearly white. Veneers, maybe. His tongue flicks around the sharp tip of one canine, his smirk nearly fanged. There’s the feature he’s so famous for, the one that has him edited into cat reaction memes all across the internet. Kitty Gojo and his kitten fangs.

He’s a grown man. You think you’d jump off a building before you let your teenage girl fans put cat ears on you and coo at you.

To each their own, you guess. Gojo didn’t seem that perturbed by it. To be fair, he didn’t seem perturbed by anything.

“Let’s start with Gojo! Remember, if you don’t feel like answering a question, we’ll put you in a surprise challenge with your partner.”

“Sure,” he says easily. “I’m an open book.”

“Let’s start easy. What’s your favorite song off your new album, Blue Spring?”

Gojo makes a face. “Pass.”

“Sorry, maybe you didn’t understand the question-“

“No, I got it. That’s boring,” he says. “Give me the challenge.”

You’re amused despite yourself, and fighting not to let it show. There’s the troublesome personality you’ve heard so much about. He wouldn’t be half so popular if he wasn’t so pretty, but that attitude and that face made for a dangerous combination.

The host is trying to salvage the situation with an easygoing laugh. Backstage, you hear someone mutter, “Gojo is gojo-ing again.”

It’s all so funny until you realize he’s dragging you into his mess as they set up the challenge.

Your host explains the rules too quickly for you to catch in their entirety, but it’s something along the lines of a staring contest. You’re supposed to do everything in your power to make the other lose a straight face, with words or actions.

“Are you allowed to do this?” You joke as they start strapping the electrodes on you to measure your heart rate.

“What do you mean?” Gojo’s mussing his hair up so he looks more artistically roguish.

“You know, just being an idol and all. I figured you wouldn’t be able to do things like this without your fangirls jumping on you.”

“Ah,” he says, scooting his chair closer to you. You’re knee to knee as they finish the last details of fiddling with machine. “You’re one of those types?”

“And that means?”

“You think I’m an idiot because I’m an idol.”

“I didn’t say that,” you protest, watching the monitor to make sure your heart rate isn’t jumping with your words. It’s just a game, but you’re competitive.

“No, but you’re thinking it. What else? Maybe you think idols are also soulless grifters?”

You wince. It’s not that you think so terribly of idols, per se, you just understand and recognize their need to please their company. They’re products before they’re people.

“I got it right, huh?” He’s pleased with himself.

“Am I wrong?” You retort. “You’re really going to tell me you love singing your overproduced pop music for the tween girls who will buy anything you put out as long as you’re pretty enough?”

“Aren’t you here too? Lot of talk for someone who’s sitting right next to the sellout. You know what they say about birds of a feather…”

It’s all in a whisper, so no one else hears - or sees your startled reaction to find out the pampered show dog has a little bite in him. You could retaliate, but if you’re being honest?

This makes you respect him more.

He’s right, anyway. You did sell out by being on this show.

The machine beeps. He smiles, slow and sweet - or at least it would be if you didn’t already know there was an edge to it. “I win.”

“Wow!” You’ve never found the host more annoying. “That got heated at the end, didn’t it, folks? Do you mind sharing what Gojo said?”

You smile at the camera in a way that feels more like you’re beating your teeth. “It’s a secret.”

You’re not mad at him. If anything, you’re impressed. The person you’re really disappointed with is yourself.

So he’s not what he thought you were. So he challenged your biased preconceptions on idols. So what?

It doesn’t mean anything, but you can’t get him out of your head.

The rest of the show is an easy and welcome distraction from your inner turmoil over the possibility of maybe potentially tolerating an idol. Throwing out witty answers and being neck to neck with Gojo in winning mini games is much preferable to having to experience emotions. It’s only when it’s over that the problems start.

You watch as he gets up, biting your lip and debating to yourself. It’s only when he’s halfway out the door that you make your decision. You’ve always been a do or die kind of girl.

“Hey. Want to get dinner?”

You just want to make sure he’s eating. No other reason.

His manager frowns behind him.

“We’re in a weird spot,” he says. “The only thing around are convenience stores.”

“That’s fine,” you say. “We can get instant ramen.”

“I’ve never had instant noodles,” Gojo says.

“Seriously?”

“No, not seriously,” he scoffs. “Just what kind of lives do you think we lead?”

“Deprived ones,” you toss over your shoulder as you lead him towards your monster of a customized car.

“Oh, no,” his manager is beginning, but Gojo is already sliding comfortably into the passenger seat. His poor manager looks nervously at you as you turn the keys. “Are you sure that thing is safe?”

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “If this thing crashes, I’m in here too.”

You don’t think that reassures him, but your own manager will handle it. You pull out of the parking space and head for the road.

Gojo’s impatient. He tries the handle almost before you’re done parking. You’re like that too - always ready to move. This time, you’re one step ahead. You lock the door before he can leave. He gives you a startled look and glances outside again, clearly weighing his options.

“Relax,” you say. “I’m not a crazed fan. Put these on before we attract an actual stalker of yours.”

You toss him a hat, sunglasses, and a mask. You’ve started keeping them in your car ever since you’ve been hanging out with Shoko and her girlfriend, who was famous enough to get recognized in the street for her autograph. He wrinkles his nose but obediently puts them on.

It doesn’t do much to hide his overall air of Gojo-ness. He steps into the store like he owns it, which he very well could.

The steam rises from your bowls and coats Gojo’s sunglasses. You’re surprised he can see inside, but he has no trouble navigating. He tells you he has 20/20 vision.

One thing leads to another and suddenly he’s bragging about his perfect grades when he attended school. He’s a natural genius, which isn’t really a surprise.

“I thought you were supposed to be a bad boy,” you tease. His glasses are slipping down his nose. You reach out to push them back up before anyone notices. His eyes are rather remarkable, after all. Anyone would be able to tell who he was at a glance.

“Me?” He gives a choked laugh. It sounds nice. You’ve haven’t heard it before, not during the show. He was more polished then. The ways in which he rebels against being an idol show up unexpectedly. “Nah. That’s all Getou. He’s the one with a hidden face. You wouldn’t believe what he’s like when the cameras are off.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you,” you joke.

“I’m serious,” he whines. “I’m pretty sheltered. Grew up rich, you know?”

Who doesn’t know? The Gojo name is pretty famous. One of the biggest conglomerates in the entire world, it broke major news outlets when the heir chose to be an idol instead of the next president.

He’s always been in the public eye, but kept separate like art at a museum. You have a nasty tendency of wanting to ruin things that you’ve been purposefully warned away from. It’s sort of a thing of yours, a bad habit you haven’t put too much effort into breaking. The more impermissible something is, the more likely you are to try, like a cat knocking a glass of water off a table.

Corruptible isn’t the exact right word, but it’s what comes to mind. You want to mess him up a little. Put your grubby rockstar hands on him and leave smears behind so his fangirls see his tainted reputation. You don’t, of course. It’s just a passing thought that you wouldn’t risk actually jeopardizing his career for.

It would just be nice to see him live a little more freely.

The temptation clears with the last of your noodles disappearing into your mouth. There are things that are off limits for both of you. Those are just the sacrifices you’ve made for your dreams. That’s all there is to it.

It’s so good you sigh at the loss of it, mourning your empty bowl. Gojo’s almost done himself. The minute he finished his noodles, he lets out a breath to mirror yours, then laughs once he catches himself.

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s get you home.”

You think that’s the end of it. There’s no reason to go any further. You met an idol and he obliterated your previously held prejudices. You’ll never meet again.

That’s not quite how it works out.

When your manager offers you another chance to see Gojo, it’s nonchalant. “Remember that idol you were partnered with on that variety show? I know you don’t like those types, but you seemed to tolerate him well enough. There’s another-“

A yes flies out of your mouth so quickly it’s embarrassing.

Your manager pauses. His eyes narrow. “Didn’t expect you to be so eager, but okay.”

Your face burns with embarrassment. This isn’t like you at all. Even with your exes, you had been cool and level headed. Always the prize, never the one to give chase.

He’s interesting, you try to rationalize it to yourself. You like interesting. Life was mind numbing without a kick, and he was the latest thrill. It didn’t mean anything more.

It’s another variety show. Apparently the two of you had been so popular as a pair that they wanted more.

Gojo’s in the makeup chair when you arrive. The artist is scolding him for blinking while she applies his mascara. He’s whining about his dry eyes.

“Don’t be a baby,” you say, dropping into the chair next to him.

“But that’s what I’m best at!”

“You’re so weird,” you laugh.

The makeup artist groans. “Please don’t encourage him.”

Only Gojo would take that as encouragement. He rolls his eyes and receives a light swat across the shoulder for his troubles. You play around on your phone while you wait for her to be free, but soon grow bored. Instead, you watch her swipe powder across Gojo’s face and dab cream onto the apples of his cheeks.

“Stop staring,” he says.

“How do you know I’m staring? Your eyes are closed.”

“I can feel it.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” he says, and you know he’s just messing around at this point because you’re an incredible liar. It’s your best quality.

Falling into banter with Gojo is as easy as breathing. It’s no trouble at all to replicate it on the show. From the shadow, your manager gives you a double thumbs up. Dork.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’re doing this to drum up popularity for your tour. You’re not the only one having trouble. Gojo pulls you aside after filming wraps up to give you his personal number on the phone he’s not supposed to have.

At night, you get an alert that you’ve received something from Gojo. It’s not a message. It’s a notification that you can save three tickets to your digital wallet.

A speech bubble pops up.

Come to my concert, he says. I got you VIP seats.

Gojo’s impressed you, but you still don’t know about the rest of his band. You’re not sure you want to watch pretty men lip sync and grind on the stage for two hours, but when you tell Shoko, she offers to bring Utahime. That’s conveniently three, so you might as well.

VIP seats don’t include backstage, so you’re surprised when security comes to retrieve you. There’s no backstage pass for this concert, actually, confusing you all the more.

Shoko flaps her hand dismissively at you, encouraging you on. By her side, Utahime is trying to feed her snacks. Satisfied that they’re comfortable, you follow the guard to Gojo’s dressing room. He leaves you there without a word.

After five minutes of waiting for something to happen, you knock. Instantly, Gojo’s voice invites you in.

He’s sitting in front of the dresser, fiddling with his earrings. You’ve noticed seven piercings in total - three on his right lobe, two on his left, and one conch on either side. Before you knew him, you would’ve been surprised an idol would be allowed to get so many. Now you know he bends the rules whenever he’s able.

“Pass me that?” You hand him the disinfectant. “Thanks. I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Then why’d you send me tickets?”

“Thought my roguish good looks and natural charm would win you over,” he says with a smile that says he’s only half joking.

“You’re insufferable,” you say as you bat his hands away from his ear. “Let me do that.”

His hair is soft as cygnet down as you brush it behind his ear. There’s something innocent about his expression like this, watching him from above. His eyes are closed, breaths soft and even as he waits for you.

The silver pools in your hand as you thread it through his ear, a waterfall released when it hooks on. He wears a lot of silver, you’ve noticed. His stylists favor colors that should wash him out but only make him look more angelic. Pale blue silk trims his form, encrusted with embellishments to make him look prince-like. There are sparkles in the inner corner of his eye, soft blush on his cheekbones to make him look sweet.

He’s anything but when his eyelids flutter open and he notices you watching. A smile almost cruel tugs at his lips. His hand reaches for you as if-

There’s a knock on his door for the last curtain call.

“That’s me.” He stands up, brushing his lap off without a trace of anything other than professionalism. He’ll leave you wondering what he was going to do. It’s terrible how good he is at this, though you suppose it’s his job to leave people wanting more. “Keep an eye out for me on stage, will you?”

It’s hard not to. Your eyes are polarized to him. Even when something else catches your attention, like fireworks or confetti, he pulls it back. Greedy, that one.

You’re not the only one. The crowd lives for him. There’s something electric about him on stage. He naturally draws attention with that height and attitude and face, but what happens when he’s performing is inexplicable. You’d call it a religious experience if you believed in a god.

Fate has never factored into your life, but now you’re starting to consider worship. Gojo performs like he was born to be an idol.

Keep an eye out for me, he says, as if you’d have any trouble. You’ll dream about him tonight. The way his mouth fits so sensuously over the words of a love song snags your thoughts like a fishhook. Sick desires run through your blood, each more depraved than the last.

You want to watch him shed his beautiful silk skin for you, become nothing more than man again. You must retract your prior confession. There’s no longing for the altar in you, only a love of sacrilege.

Gojo asks for coffee easily, as if you’re two normal people and not celebrities with a lot to lose if you were caught together. You can’t let him outdo you, so you agree. These are the reasons why your manager curses your recklessness. Shoko calls it bravery, when she’s feeling sweet on you.

The second message comes a second later.

Gojo Satoru 11:25 I only said it to see if you’d agree Here’s my address lol can’t believe you said yes Attachment

You think he gives his address out too freely for a man worth 30 million. The feeling only intensifies as you get out of your car and thank your driver. His gates are pearly instead of the standard matte black, a stark declaration of wealth. He’s practically asking for an incident to happen.

Security buzzes you in. Someone in a white dress - an honest to god maid - leads you to a mini kitchen where Gojo’s waiting. His hair is wet and dripping down his back where his powder blue shirt is darkened to a navy. You thought you had gotten used to overblown displays of money after your first three years in the music industry. Clearly, you were mistaken.

He looks up as you enter, reading a trashy tabloid as he stirs whipped cream into a tall glass of something that looks more like a sugary heart attack than coffee.

You’ve never seen his bare face, you realize. Even that moment when you had walked in on him and the makeup artist, he had been nearly done. He looks practically the same without makeup. People with genetic good looks like him only need to enhance their appearance the tiniest amount.

What really strikes you is how earnest he looks, soft and open-hearted, though that might be because you’ve caught him in his home. This is what you wanted - him without his skin on, naked and without pretense. He’s wearing cotton pajamas and white slippers.

“I thought you’d come later,” he says. “Sorry I got started without you. I was feeling something sweet.”

“I’m early, though?”

“I’m always late,” he says with a one shouldered shrug. “Thought you might be too. Guess you’re not my perfect girl after all, huh?”

You shove his arm off the armrest of his chair to perch on it, ignoring the perfectly good chair across from him. This is better, anyway, easier to talk to him. “Don’t be absurd. I’m everyone’s dream girl.”

Gojo chuckles. “I like confident women.”

There’s been a question on your mind for a while. You knew his group was popular, but all this? Maybe you should’ve become an idol after all.

“Where’s the rest of your band? I thought idols shared rooms.”

“Some do,” he says. “Not so much when you make it big. But this is my family home, so none of that applies.”

Gojo Satoru of the Gojo conglomerate. How had you forgotten? It shouldn’t be so easy to ignore something like that.

Gojo shifts the conversation easily, but you notice. So he doesn’t like the connection, then. “How was the concert?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you say, stealing a sip of his drink before it reaches his mouth. It’s too sweet for anyone’s standards. You spit it back into the cup. He takes it from you, eyes it consideringly, and takes a sip anyways.

Your mouth drops. “You’re so gross.”

“Only for you, baby,” he moans, humor like a teenage boy. “Call me names again.”

You roll your eyes at him.

“It’s fine, it’s just saliva. Now tell me the truth. You couldn’t take your eyes off me, could you?”

They’d probably sooner pop out of your head and roll away than leave the sight of him, but you can’t tell him that after all you’ve said about idols. Instead, you push off your seat to go rummage through his cabinets. He has a fully stocked coffee cart in this room and the very latest espresso machine, all to choose his diabetic monstrosity instead.

“You don’t need to respond,” he says cheerfully. “Your silence tells me everything I need to know.”

“Do you think you know me that well?” You shoot back. His fridge is so big you think you could fit into it. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’ve registered that he’s moved from his seat as well, and now stands just behind you.

“Of course I know you,” he says. “I understood you the moment we met.”

“You’re very confident,” you note.

You have a weakness for confident men.

“So you liked my concert. Can I come to yours?”

You imagine Gojo in a mosh pit for a second. It sends you into a laughing fit while he stands there, bemused. You can’t shake the incongruous picture of him, with his face like a carefully crafted porcelain doll, getting rowdy and wild with your fans. Ridiculous. Never in a million years.

“We don’t have VIP seats,” you warn him.

“So?”

“So it can get dangerous.”

“Aw, you do care about me.”

“I care about the fat lawsuit your company’s going to send me when their moneymaker breaks his leg at my concert. It’s not happening.”

“You scared?”

“No, but maybe you should be.”

“Come on,” he says. When had he gotten so close? It’s distracting. “I know you’ll take care of me.”

Gojo had invited you to his concert. It’s only right to return the favor. An idea starts forming in your head, though you’re not sure it’s a good one. You tell him anyway.

Usually when soundcheck is over, you have a little bit of downtime to relax backstage. You’re expecting someone tonight, however.

A rough knock on the door announces Satoru Gojo, spoken in your security guard’s rough voice. Well, he really introduces him as pretty boy idol, but you can guess who it is.

He looks discomfited, a rare occurrence, as he closes the door behind him.

“What’s with you?”

“You’ve got groupies,” he says, looking rattled.

You fight a smile.

“Don’t laugh,” he pouts. “They’re insane. One of them tried to chase me here.”

You can’t help yourself. A giggle bursts out of you. When he tries to leave, you pin his hand to the handle and coo reassurances at him so he won’t.

When you head out the door, he surprises you by grabbing your hand. It’s as nonchalant as anything he does, so you rise to the challenge he sets by refusing to react to it. You only separate once you reach the stairs; him to the spot you’ve made for him behind the barricade, you to the stage.

This is one of your favorite venues, moody and atmospheric. The lights are dimmed to your preferred setting, but your eyes adjust quickly. Your crowd is restless tonight, shifting on their feet as whispers follow raucous laughter through the crowd. Noise on noise, the way you like it.

The wood of the floor is a little sticky beneath your boots as you walk. That’s history gumming the soles of your shoes, generations of artists before you. You’re starting to feel it now, the electric thrum of pure joy in your blood.

Shoko is strumming light tunes on her guitar to warm up, her eyes closed. You hope she doesn’t take it too hard that Utahime couldn’t make it tonight, though you know if she’s upset, she’ll channel into her music.

The crowd settles as the hour draws closer. Shoko’s fingers are liquid now, running through chords effortlessly. You wrap the cord of the microphone around your hands, letting the tension build mindlessly. A stage is like home to you. The crowd plays in the palm of your hand, energy ebbing and flowing as you will it.

It starts with a guitar solo from Shoko. By then, the crowd is already burning with excitement. The first burst of sound from the speakers has them roaring, cheering even though there’s no lyrics to it. The smallest smile touches her lips as she plays to the crowd, showing off exactly why she’s lead guitar for the greatest band in the world right now.

You step in on her heels, your voice rising over the music. Back before you knew how this felt, you almost quit singing, annoyed by the sound you were forced into. This is more your tempo. The almost guttural curl to the ends of your words, the rasp of your hoarse voice - this is beautiful to you.

The crowd is yours. Anything that goes on is within your jurisdiction, higher than any judge or god. You notice everything in your realm.

People are starting to move now, their bodies falling victim to the music. Their mouthes form the vowels and consonants of the lyrics as their bodies shudder and jerk, chained to the rhythm. Bodies ricochet off each other, love taps of respect for your aggressive voice, soaring above it all.

In the corner, there’s a violent eye of a storm. You think it’s a particularly enthusiastic dancer - perhaps a circle is about to form - before you realize what’s actually going on.

A fight is breaking out. You catch a glimpse of snow white hair, realize it’s near the barricade, and your stomach drops.

It’s Gojo and another man, ignoring the security guard trying to separate them. You try to stay professional and play through it, but then you see red.

Gojo’s hand flies to his face, his nose dripping with crimson. He doesn’t look any more injured than that, but you’re angry enough to step in now. Shoko stops as soon as you hold your hand out, the music veering into a screeching crash.

“You, in the black tee!” You realize you should’ve been more specific when what looks like the entire crowd looks down at their equally black shirts. “No, the one that just punched Gojo Satoru. Yeah, you, asshole! No fighting at my gigs! Especially not my guests!”

He had the audacity to yell back. “I was just showing him a warm welcome!”

You climb off the stage. Gojo didn’t show any fear while he got hit, but there’s concern in his eyes now as you drop to the ground by him.

“Wait,” he says, “wait, wait. I don’t think you should-“

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, pushing him behind you until his back hits the stage. “Let me handle this.”

You get in the man’s face. His eyes are bloodshot - drunk, probably. “Who do you think you are, starting shit at my shows?”

“You’ve sold out,” he slurs. Definitely drunk. “He doesn’t belong here.”

“You don’t get to tell me who can or can’t come to my goddamn show,” you snarl, vicious and low. “Get out.”

“You can’t-“

“Get out before I make them drag you out.”

When he doesn’t move, you motion security over. “Does anyone else have any complaints?”

The crowd is eerily silent for something that was moving like a beast with one mouth before, singing in unison. You clamber back on stage, turning around to grab Gojo’s hand.

“What?” He says.

“Up. Now.” Your tone brooks no argument. You haul him up with you. He stands awkwardly as you drag him towards your mic stand, your arm slung around his shoulder. There’s still blood on his face.

“Gojo Satoru is a very dear friend of mine,” you announce into the mic. You see the confused looks in the crowd. Even Shoko seems wary. This wasn’t on the schedule. “If you're a real rock fan, you'd know that music is more than genre. I get it! I didn’t think idols were anything more than corporate shills either-“

“Harsh,” he whispers under his breath, unable to control himself even now.

“But he proved me wrong. He’s a real performer, just like I am, and I expect the same respect for him that you give to me.”

This is your crowd. They listen. Someone whistles.

You sit Gojo down, right by your feet. He gives you a bemused smile as the concert starts again, you moving around him like one of your props. He spends most of the concert lounging back, watching you through half lidded eyes.

It might’ve been enough excitement for one night, but you’ve always been the type to push your boundaries. When the idea springs into your head, you act on impulse, not giving yourself too much time to think about it as you pull Gojo to his feet.

You’re really manhandling him tonight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s only a little startled as you pull the mic away from your face to get into his space.

You misjudged the distance. Your forehead knocks into his, just enough to sting, but not really hurt. “Do you want to try something?” Your voice is a whisper to not get picked up by the mic.

“Give it to me,” he says, and his smile is a bloody thing.

When you angle the mic towards him, you’re careful about not hitting him this time.

His voice works surprisingly well for rock. You weren’t sure he could pull off such a sound change, but he surprises you every time, matching you best for beat.

When he pulls back, your hand snakes into his hair and yanks him towards you and the mic again. He sings wholly at your command, being jerked around by your desires. It’s an inferno on stage, sweat pouring down both your faces. Behind you, the crowd is screaming so loudly it nearly deafens you.

Not a bad encore, you think as you towel off in your dressing room. Shoko left for a cool down with a bottle of ice water right before you, her post concert ritual, but the look she shot you says that you need to talk. You’ll deal with the consequences later.

For now, it’s enough to have Gojo shaking with leftover adrenaline against you as you sit him down in your chair. You press a bottle of ice against his face, watching him shiver. He’s still pretty with all the blood. Prettier, somehow, like some teenage wet dream of a vampire from a young adult novel.

You want to lick the sweat out of the hollow of his collar bones. Instead, you talk to him to rid yourself of your insane thoughts. It’s always a little crazy in your head after a good stage.

“Well?” You demand. “How was it?”

He tilts his head, considering. It makes you nervous. Now that you know how good of a performer he is, it almost feels like a test to receive his judgment.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he says, slowly.

“That good, huh?” You smile, trying to ignore the aching pressure behind your ribcage. You shouldn’t care so much what he thinks. Why does it matter?

“Yeah,” he says. “When are you free? I gotta plan our date.”

“Huh?”

“That was so sexy,” he says. “I was thinking about taking it slow, but I’m not going to last if I wait. I want to date you. I want to marry you.”

He’s starting to worry you. “Did you have a heat stroke or something? That’s really fast. Really, really fast, Gojo.”

“I’ve never been more clearheaded in my life,” he says. You only believe him when the medic clears him of any injuries, even the nose.

“We can talk about marriage later,” you say. “Why don’t you tell me about the date for now?”

Two weeks later, you’re Gojo’s plus one to his first movie premiere. It’s his debut as an actor, and it couldn’t be a better one. He escaped most of the negative pushback that usually comes with transitioning between those two industries, being naturally good at everything. Still, he had worked hard, and you’re proud of him.

It feels like you’re the only one, because the man himself doesn’t even care about his accomplishment. He’s too busy being delighted about hiding in plain sight. The cameras flash at you as you walk across the red carpet, arm in arm with Gojo. Your stylist had coordinated with his. It could almost pass for a couple’s outfits.

“You know,” he says conspiratorially. “When you defended me at the concert, I got hard.”

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“It was really hot.”

“You know there are people who can read lips, right?”

“I wish they would figure out what I’m saying.”

“Alright,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Let’s get inside.”

Dating Gojo is nothing like what you’d expected and everything like you’d expected. He keeps surprising you, doing wild things to get your attention that you never thought an idol would be willing to get their hands dirty with. He might be even more of a daredevil than you are, constantly pushing the boundaries of what you both can get away with before you’re found out.

In a way, it’s almost like you’re asking for it. You’re both straining at the bit to claim each other. It doesn’t come as a surprise when it does happen, then.

“Huh,” Gojo says over ramen. “We got papped.”

Utahime, understandably, freaks. “What? That’s not funny.”

“Oh yeah?” You say. “Are the pictures good at least?”

“You know we always look good. Could’ve gotten a better angle, but whatever.”

Utahime’s working herself into a minor tizzy in the corner. “Guys, I need you to be more serious about this. This is bad! This is so bad!”

Shoko looks up from her phone and chips on the couch, lying flat on her stomach. “Hate to agree, but she’s right. What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” you shrug. “What’s the point? There’s nothing we can do about it. They have the evidence.”

It had been a good run. Two blissful months of peace and quiet. Sneaking around had been fun, giving you that thrill you loved every time someone failed to recognize you and Gojo behind your stupid sunglasses. Still, it was bound to fail at some point. You’re honestly surprised it lasted for as long as it had. You can’t be mad. Two months is more than you could’ve asked for.

“Well,” Gojo says. “Wee-llll.”

“Spit it out,” Utahime gripes at him.

You take another bite of ramen, content to let them argue without you.

“There is something we could do,” Gojo hedges.

“You’re so annoying,” Shoko says.

“No one thinks you’re funny,” Utahime chimes in.

“Hey! She thinks I’m funny!” Gojo frowns. “Tell them you think I’m funny.”

“Sorry, babe. I never lie to my girls.”

“Whatever,” Gojo sighs. “Guess you don’t want to hear my genius idea then.”

“Don’t be a brat,” you tease, knuckling his head. He loves it when you roughhouse with him.

“What if…” The hesitation is real this time. You can tell the difference between when he’s faking it or not. He’s a good showman, but you know him. You place an encouraging hand on his knee.

“What if we went public first?” He says it all in one breath.

You take a moment, turning the idea over in your head. It would wrest back control of the narrative to your team. Even if you might get backlash, it wouldn’t be at someone else’s hands, beholden to their mercy. You like it.

“Sure,” you say.

Gojo gapes at you. ‘That easy?’ His thoughts are written all over his face.

“Why not?” You offer him one of your easy smiles. “I’ve always wanted to say you were mine, anyway.”

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x reader

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barbwritesstuff · 10 months

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Fuck it, I need some serotonin. I was going to wait until next month, but my brain is too fried to edit anything anyway so here we are. Today's the day. That's right. Today is...

Fairy Day.

So, put on your tutus and glitter up those cheeks, because it's time for the new and improved:

A Fairy Tale is a 28,000 word visual novel about fairies finding love.

Play as the sole heir to a noble (but somewhat underfunded) fairy estate. You have one night to find a marriage which will secure your family's future... or lead everything to ruin.

Who—if anyone—will win your hand?

Featuring:

Five different romanceable characters.

An immersive experience with music, images, and sound effects.

Ability to choose your own character's name and gender.

A variety of different choices.

Scroll forward and back at any time.

Option to skip already read passages.

A save feature with multiple save slots.

Fairies, pirates, schemes, and whimsy.

Content notice for references to cannibalism.

I hope you check it out. 💙

Character art by the fantastic Gwen Young @gwygle.

#free game #visual novel #a fairy tale #faries #short

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formulapai · 2 months

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THE MUSES BY YOUR SIDE PT1

a Lance Stroll social media AU

scenario: the “history of literature”’s student taking over instagram slowly attracts a driver, curious about beautiful words and dazzling writings. OR how to fall in love through poems and handwritten letters.

warning:

pai’s words: i studied history of literature while in uni (this is not the name it has where I live but from what I’ve read, it’s part of what I studied) and absolutely fell in love with poems analysis. also, i have an unhealthy obsession with myths so yeah.

romanticalliope made a new post!

liked by user1, user2 and others.

romanticalliope: 🖋️🪞🐈🎨

1. Putting words on words, explaining the explanation.

2. Went to the market, fell in love with mirrors and what they reflected. The sky, the clouds, my eyes, the seller’s kind smile, life passing by.

3. Gaia is learning about her Name and what it implies, carefully reading as she takes in the beauty of her own myth.

4. “Le Villi” Bartolomeo Giuliano.

user1: gaia seems to be enjoying her book ! can we know what it is ?

romanticalliope: Of course darling, it’s Pride and Prejudice ! She surely took a liking to it, as I did after reading it the first time. 🤍

user2: those mirrors are to DIE for, i need them plz

romanticalliope: They are, aren’t they ? I sadly didn’t take one home..

user3: Will we have another poem analysis soon ? I love them so much, it helps me a lot with understanding literature !

romanticalliope: I’m very grateful for your comment, helping all of you understand poetry is my main goal and I’m glad it’s working. An analysis will be out tomorrow ! 🤍

user4: Hey, random question but do you have a playlist ? I feel like you have divine music tastes 🥹🥹🥹

romanticalliope: Well, that’s a high praise, thank you my sweet. I don’t have a public playlist for now but will surely make one if people are interested :) 🤍

user1: YES PLEASE

user5: we are SO interested 🥳🥳

♥️liked by romanticalliope

romanticalliope just posted a new story!

seen by user5, user6 and others

user7: I WAS WAITING FOR IT OMG

user8: Thank you for this analysis!! 🥹🫶

romanticalliope made a new post!

liked by user9, user10 and others

romanticalliope: 🫐🕸️🐈📰

1. One of the Water Lily’s paintings from Claude Monet, in Paris. Undoubtedly one of my favorite paintings, it’s truly magnificent.

2. Matching Spider-Man Lego keychains with my friend. I’ll forever be enamored with my friends.

3. Gaia is disturbing my reading time as the sun is hugging us. Karma is the cat purring on my lap because it loves me, I guess.

4. The market in the morning, the scent of newspapers and mimosas surrounding us.

user2: the Spider-Man keychains omg 🥹🥹

user9: estie bestie would love them lol

user2: oh bestie while I 100% agree, I doubt Cassie knows about estie bestie..

romanticalliope: Ahah, I do know about Esteban :) and I bet he’d adore them too 🤍

user11: CASSIE SWIFTIE ???

romanticalliope: Confirmed 🥰

user5: I feel like you really like Impressionism, is it your favorite style ?? Also I LOVE this painting, still didn’t have the chance to see it IRL :(

romanticalliope: Impressionism is my favorite indeed ! I hope you’ll be able to see it soon, it’s truly something 🤍

romanticalliope made a new post!

liked by estebanocon, user 9 and others

romanticalliope: 🖋️🍂🔑🐝

1. A new tattoo, an illustration for Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe. While I don’t particularly like this writer, this poem has changed the trajectory of my life and I felt it was only fair to have it engraved in me, forever.

2. Walking back from university and feeling leaves crunching beneath my weight, the smell of wet asphalt taking over my senses.

3. My friends and I going to the Lego store and standing in front of the keychains for a good few minutes, admiring the tiny persons.

4. A picture with Esteban, from 2016, baby face and all. For those not believing I actually knew who he was 😬😉

estebanocon: Nooon les deux enfants qu’on était ! On doit faire d’autre photos plus récentes 🤣 (nooo the two children we were ! we need to take more recent pictures)

romanticalliope: Invite moi dans le garage Alpine et on prend autant de photos que tu veux 😭 (invite me inside the Alpine garage and we’ll take as much pics as you want)

estebanocon: Bien compris 🫡 (understood)

user12: THE TATTOO OH GOD ITS SO PRETTY

user13: ESTIE 😭😭😭 A BABY

user14: I didn’t expect to see f1 related posts on this account 😬 not complaining tho !

user2: me neither !

user9: the tattoo is breathtaking, cheers to the artist !!

#lance stroll fluff #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll imagine #lance stroll #Lance stroll social media au #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 #Lance stroll smau

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nortism · 4 months

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What the Ghosts have been watching on TV

Everyone

Channel 4 Home renovation shows: They're free with ads and there's an infinite amount of them so Alison puts them on for the whole gang when she and Mike have work to do in same way people put on YouTube videos for their dogs. This has backfired slightly as all the ghosts now have very strong and conflicting opinions on how Button House should be renovated.

The Great British Bake-off: A whole family event, they all get very invested. Kitty thinks Alison Hammond is the funniest person in the world. The Captain feels normal about Noel Fielding. As well as a watching it live, I'm sure they've also watched the whole back catalogue together.

Mama Mia: This where the Captain learnt his ABBA songs from. Pat and Julian enjoy the nostalgic music and I think the others are just bewitched by the story and music

Robin

Anything David Attenborough: For obvious reasons. I think he'd get a kick out of trying to do his voice. The others sometimes join in.

Cunk on Earth/ Britain: I think they've got a similar attitude towards history and I think he'd find serious historians trying to answer silly questions incredibly funny

Horrible Histories: He watches this with Kitty, they both find poop jokes funny.

Humphrey

Antiques Roadshow: I'm not sure why. I honestly think he's just glad to watch anything.

Mary

Gardener's World: I think she misses being able to look after plants and I think she'd be endlessly fascinated by how hosepipes work.

Mio Mao: She loves them fucking plasticine cats. She will not stop singing the theme song

Honestly think she'll watch anything with anyone and would get invested, she seems like the ideal person to watch telly with.

Kitty

Ru Paul's Drag Race: I think they all watch this every so often but Kitty is invested. There's bright colours, fun outfits and drama, it's definitely Alison's go to when she needs Kitty distracted.

90s and 2000s romcoms: I believe that every couple of weeks Alison and Kitty have a "girl's night" where they watch all the romcoms that Alison used to watch with her mum, mostly because I love watching romcoms with my mum and Kitty deserves that. Kitty is particularly fond of Twilight.

Thomas:

Any Jane Austen adaptations: He watches them with Fanny as they were both big fans when they were alive (its the only thing they agree on). Kitty also joins sometimes. His favourite is the 1995 Pride and Prejudice tv show.

Fanny:

Grey's Anatomy: I haven't seen it but my mum's a big fan and there's millions of seasons, I think she'd pretend she's not that into it but she definitely is.

Call the Midwife: Same as above.

The Captain:

M*A*S*H: I've seen about half an episode of this but it seems to be about fit young men in a war so it sounds like his thing. Probably Pat's recommendation.

Our Flag Means Death: I think Alison has been trying to sneakily show Cap gay media under the pretence of saying "it's just a fun show about pirates". I think the whole gang watched it together. The Captain definitely didn't cry at the end of season 1 why would think that?

Pat

Taskmaster: I think this is one they all watch together but it's definitely one of Pat's favourites. He probably attempted to set up his own version of the show with the ghost which ended horribly.

Doctor Who: I think he watched the original run when he was alive and was absolutely ecstatic to find out they made more. Julian makes fun of him for it.

Julian

Have I Got News For You: Has been airing since 1990 so he definitely watched it while he was alive. I think he likes to keep up with current politics but not in a very serious way so this is his middle ground.

Succession: I haven't seen this show but it seems to be about horrible men in suits being horrible to each other which seems right up his alley.

The Thick of It: Speaking of horrible men in suits being horrible. I think he watches this with Robin who has absolutely no idea what's going on but just laughs when Julian does and they have the best time. Julian is constantly pausing to add his own anecdotes

What We Do In The Shadows: Alison put this on as a 'let's show the Captain it's ok to be gay' show and the Captain was immediately horrified so Julian adopted it. He identifies with Lazlo.

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queers-gambit · 1 year

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When Pride Married Prejudice part two

[ part one ]

[ series masterlist ]

prompt: moments at the beginning of your marriage.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!wife!reader

fandom: House of the Dragon

word count: 8.6k+

warnings: cursing, nothing but filler and fluff, marriage smut, stop giving author internet access cause literally what is this ? not edited.

Your wedding was something small by other royal comparison, but neither you nor Aemond seemed to mind; he was the one who wanted it much smaller, but the King was feeling festive. So, the whole of the court was invited - minus your family, which felt glaringly obvious.

You married in the Sept and hosted a banquet in the Red Keep's Great Hall. The King hummed along with the music, tapping his fingers in rhythm, before exhaustion set in and he was being escorted back to his rooms. The Queen departed soon after, and your new husband lead you away rapidly right after that. Behind you, there were a few inappropriate comments hurled your way; but Aemond was quick to shield you from them.

He moved his body as if to physically protect you from their vile words, an arm protectively around your waist to guide you forward; your first sign of his deep-running loyalty.

When you got to your new shared chambers, you found the room in disarray - gasping your shock and wondering if someone had ransacked his room. "Were you robbed?" You had asked.

"No," his cheeks flared, "I was trying to move things around, make room for you, but I realized I did not know what you would arrive with, so, it has come to... This..."

"So, what I'm hearing is that your room needs organized, huh?"

He smirked at you, "I'll order us some wine, but yes, if you'd like," he gestured you forward.

That perhaps was your second sign of his unwavering support of you.

The third was when, during your room-rearrangements, he promised to not share your bed, "unless you ask me to."

His hands also idly toyed with your own, the two of you facing one another; his fingertips tracing down the scar on the palm of your hand. He was quiet as he did, but you weren't bothered - he was usually always quiet.

Anyways, your marriage wasn't consummated that night, but you got to know Aemond on a much deeper level after proposing a drinking game where you each told three statements - two that were truthful, and one that was a lie. It made you both snicker gently and lounge on the bed together after the room was put in relative order.

He did not share your bed, as promised, for a full week after your wedding; but he spent time with you after his training sessions in the courtyard. Apparently, his mother thought it important you and he bond, so, Aemond was excused from afternoon lessons in favor of spending time with you. You both liked to stroll through the gardens, sometimes with a book shared between you both; other times, with an escort through the city streets.

But only eight days after your wedding, there was a rapid knock at your chamber door, and just as you rose from your vanity to answer it, your husband was entering. He swung around to shut the door and lean on it for a moment, making you smirk. "Well, hello there. Nice fo you to pop in, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, my Lady," he sighed, shaking his head, "but Aegon was being his usual self and I needed to get away - then apparently he followed me and I didn't need him seeing me waiting..."

You nodded, "You know, you're allowed to stay here, too. I would not put you out."

"I do not wish to crowd you."

Your shoulders shrugged, "I think I'd like it, actually."

"Oh?" He breathed.

"Sure," You nodded in agreement. "I mean, we should get used to one another, should we not? I do not wish to put you out."

"Lady - "

"Please, stay?" You pouted dramatically. "C'mon, maybe I'll let you do my hair, huh?"

He chuckled and pushed off the door, glancing at the hand you outstretched. Aemond slowly reached for it, taking a moment to breathe before speaking softly, "I did not mean to interrupt you."

"You're not," You assured softly. "I was getting ready for bed, but between you and me, I'm kinda into this book right now."

"So, you're not tired?" He smirked slowly.

"I'm almost afraid to answer that," you eyed him up and down. "Why?"

"Perhaps you'd like to get dressed? We can sneak out," he sighed some. "Think I could use some air, thought perhaps a walk around the city would do us both some good?"

Your grin slowly stretched as you considered his offer. "All right, yeah. But we go in disguise."

"You think we'd walk around, bare?"

You shrugged and moved for the wardrobe. "I only mean to show you some places and it wouldn't be exactly proper if word reached the palace of our misdoings."

"I thought I was sneaking you out?"

"You are," You assured with a grin, "but perhaps I'll show you a thing or two while we're out."

"All right," he sighed, nodding softly and wiping his palms on his pants nervously. "Whatever gets us out of here."

"What did your brother say that upset you?" You asked, eyeing him slightly before moving for the changing screen. "C'moooon, I know you wanna tell me. I can see it on the tip of your tongue."

He chuckled some, "He's just tiresome."

"Noooo, really?" You mocked gently as you changed from your nightdress into something plain.

"We were at dinner..."

"Mhm."

"And he had choice comments about something that doesn't pertain to him in the slightest."

"Might I ask what that was, husband?"

There was silence as you laced the trousers on. "Our marriage," Aemond finally admitted.

"Hmm," you considered, situating the tunic. "And what was said? What were these choice comments?"

Aemond sighed heatedly, "Something - I don't even know. It was about how you won't let me near you, how this marriage is like all others and it's a farce, telling me to get used to you being absent - and that my one obligation is to put a babe in your belly, but it was the way in which he spoke that drove me up the fucking wall."

"Mhm."

"As if he even gets an opinion on this..." Aemond ranted as you stepped out from the screen, moving for the vanity again to wrap your hair up in a tangle of scarves. "As if his own marriage isn't some sham!"

"Is it?" You wondered gently.

"They were betrothed as children, Helaena's never known different but Aegon does as he pleases - no matter his marital status."

"So, your older brother doesn't respect you," you sighed gently, still fixing your hair to hide it. "But you know what's different now?"

"Hmm?"

"You've a wife who does," you turned to smirk at him, hands dropping to slap your thighs gently, "and Aegon can be jealous all he wants. It's not gonna be a concern of ours, we don't live the same truths."

He paused for a moment, nodding, "You're right..."

"But when you're feeling stressed," you offered your hand again with a grin, "your wife is here to sneak out with you for a bit of fun."

He chuckled and took your hand with his, "We'll need to stop at my room."

"Kinda hate that, but okay," you mused gently, letting him lead you from what was supposed to be your shared quarters. However, just as you were about to pass into his room, Amira rounded the distant corner, and your husband called for her.

"Could I ask for a discreet favor?" He asked, opening his door to lead you both inside.

"What is it, my Prince?" Amira asked, looking you up and down. "Oh, no, you're sneaking out, aren't you?"

You only shrugged with a broad smirk, making her sigh as your husband found his cloak. "Might you bring my things to our room?" He asked your hand maiden.

"Oh," she blinked, nodding, "yes, of course, my Prince. Um...?"

You smirked at her, "I didn't realize the lengths my husband went to to ensure my comfort, so, I've invited him back to our rooms."

"Oh, that is good to hear," she breathed, patting your shoulder. "All right, yes, I'll move your things, my Prince. Might I ask the reason for discretion?"

"Aegon's a dick," you shrugged, making Aemond say your name in reprimand. "What? Am I wrong?"

"Well, no - "

"So, that's the reason," you told Mira, "and we'd appreciate Aegon, you know, not knowing about this, so discretion is paramount."

"I gotcha," she winked, nodding with assurance. "I got this... Yeah, I got this... This is nothing..."

"Mira?"

"Hmm?"

"You got this?" You checked, Aemond tucking his hair beneath his hood.

"Oh, yeah, for sure," she sighed, waving you off. "Just be careful tonight, please. The city's changed, Princess, lots of crime has gone up in rate. Stay close to your Lord husband."

You chuckled, "Maybe I'll save his arse, you never know."

"You'll probably start a fight and he'll have to rescue you," she laughed you off. Aemond offered his hand silently, leading you to a hidden passage at the back of the room.

It was easy enough to sneak through the back passages of the Red Keep, and you quickly realized that this must've been common enough for Aemond - given how well he knew his way around. When you broke free of the Keep, you breathed deeply.

"All right?" Aemond checked, tightening his hand in yours.

"Mhm," you assured, needing to jog slightly to keep up with his long legs and quick pace. "Where to first, Princey?"

He chuckled dryly, leading you down around a few turns. "Perhaps a drink?"

"Hmm," you considered, peaking around alleyways.

"No?"

"I didn't say that," you chuckled. "But could we go this way?" You pointed.

"Why?"

"There's a few fun vendors this way," you smirked, leading him away. For the remainder of the night, you and Aemond crept around King's Landing - hopping around taverns, and you're pretty sure you didn't stop smiling once since leaving the Keep.

Aemond seemed different, too.

He was quiet, still. But he was relaxed, kept a hand on you at nearly all times. He chuckled when something was funny, smirked when someone made a fool of themselves, but mostly, he sat beside you all night. His legs straddled the benches to keep you close to his body, and you'd feel his idle touch as time passed.

Touches to your hand, waist, ribs, back, shoulders, and once even, he smoothed his hand over the back of your head in an affectionate gesture when you had made a particularly funny joke.

It was as if your warm touch reassured him.

So you did not mind, and in fact, found you reveled in it. It was your first real indication that his love language was primarily physical touch and while words did not come easy, his touch lingered.

And when you snuck back into the Keep, the ale you both consumed made your steps clumsy and for you both to snicker as you tried to shush each other. When you fell into your room together, you noticed Amira had, indeed, packed the Prince's things and moved them into your rooms.

It became a comfort that for each night the following five days, Aemond would read aloud from your book as you organized his belongings and clothes around the room. He liked pausing to consider the passage read, making the both of you bicker gently - even if he didn't have a varying opinion, he liked pushing you to see how far you'd go to make a point. You caught onto his game and didn't find it as annoying as when Jace or Luke did it.

Then came your first 'family' dinner that you'd attend at Aemond's side. He paced nervously by the window, watching the sun sink, and you perused your wardrobes for something to change into.

"You're nervous," you mentioned softly, laying a gown out to the bed.

"A bit," Aemond agreed.

"Is there reason, husband?"

He sighed, turning from the window with hands behind his back. "Father's not doing well..."

You nodded slowly, "He's been on a decline for quite some time now."

"And now it's enough for Mother to call for weekly family meals," he sighed, wiping a hand down his mouth.

"'S all right," you assured, "might be kinda nice."

"Nothing's really nice with Aegon around," he frowned, shaking his head to send some strands of gloriously long hair around his shoulders.

"Still mad about what he said?"

Aemond sighed, shrugging some. "In truth, I am unsure what I feel."

You nodded slowly, "That's alright. Family's a confusing matter."

"It is," he eyed what you had laid out for him.

"Yet, I must ask for your forgiveness," you smiled at him, stepping closer as he slowly turned to lower himself onto the bed. He reached for you, taking your hands to pull you between his wide-set legs.

"For what, my wife? I have not been wronged," he sighed, fiddling with your fingers.

"I have let you endure this alone the past two weeks," you spoke gently, slowly raising your hands to pet over his silver locks. "That's not what a wife does, hmm?"

He let his own hands raise to gently wrap around either of your wrists. His eye examined the one as his fingers caressed your skin, leaning in to gently press a kiss to the appendage. "It is of no trouble," he told you, "because you're here now, yes?"

You smiled at him, "Yes, I am here now. The support of a wife, something your brother does not know - should you need to use that to your defense."

He chuckled and tugged you so your hands went to his neck and his own settled heavily on your waist. "Something tells me with you there, wife, I will have little reason to defend myself."

You chuckled at him, giving his cheeks a quick squeeze, "Yes, yes, you get a wife and personal attack dog - aren't you lucky?"

"Terribly," he smirked, leaning forward slightly to rest his forehead against your stomach. He groaned, "Must we go?"

You chuckled and let your arms wrap around him in a hug, folding slightly to peck the top of his head. "Yes, we must. C'mon, it will not be for long."

He sighed, "Might I use you as an excuse?"

"Depends on the excuse used," you teased gently.

"Hm... What if I cited newlywed duties?" He picked himself up to stare up at you with a growing smirk.

"I think I'd kill over from embarrassment," you gasped, nudging his shoulder; making him grin at you. You found, each day, he loosened up - but always tensed up when others were around. When it was just you two, my Gods, he was entirely different; making you feel grateful that you could see him as such.

He sighed and let his hands settle back on your waist, "All right, maybe not. But, perhaps, I could say it to Aegon? Yes?"

You chuckled, hands caressing his jaw to force his eye to your own. "All right, yes, but do not let your Mother hear - please. Or Father. He's still my Grandsire and while I know he knows what happens in a marriage, he does not need be reminded."

"All right, deal," he agreed, sighing again.

"It will not be so bad, come now, we should change," you chuckled, gently pulling away from him. His hands fell from your body, and you instantly missed the warmth.

Though, after changing behind the screen, his hand was back in yours to lead you from the room. You swung your conjoined hands gently, smiling at him when he offered you a curious look. He ended up cracking a smile, unable to help it, but quickly sobered up when you arrived at the private dining room.

It was mostly just an outside terrace with a long table, but it made do for tonight's gathering. And with the fortunate weather, you were almost excited for the meal, if only for the location.

Aemond lead you both in stoically, and surprisingly, you were the last to arrived. Even Viserys beamed, teasing, "Well, this is a surprise."

"Apologies, Your Grace," you offered instantly. "We did not realize the time."

"No, no, no need, I was once newly married," he chuckled, waving you offer as both you and Aemond froze momentarily. You were quick to laugh at the King's joke, and with your hand to Aemond's arm, discreetly directed him towards the only two chairs left at the head of the table. Apparently, it became Aemond's common seating arrangement after the loss of his eye, but you didn't mind much.

Otto was in attendance, and Heleana greeted you happily; all but jumping from her seat when you neared her. You kissed her cheek in greeting, giving her a loving squeeze.

Aegon looked mildly annoyed but hid it behind his cups of wine, slouched in his seat; and making you ponder what seed he came from, since surely, it was not Royalty.

"Here," Aemond muttered to you, dishing something onto your plate. "You've gotta try this."

"It looks strange."

"Just a taste," he nodded, smirking at you. You sighed, eyeing the food with disinterest. "Come now, you mean to say you do not trust me?"

"Well, that's a loaded question."

He chuckled, "Let this be a test, then. Go on, just a taste. For me?"

"Well, way to guilt me," you teased him, nudging his arm before taking a taste from your fork. You pondered the feeling on your tongue, manicured hand over your lips as you chewed and considered the flavors. "It is... Strange."

"Is it?" Aemond smirked.

"I do not think I dislike it," you nodded at him, "though, I am unsure if I like it, either. Hang on," you moved for another bite, and before long, you'd finished the bit he'd spooned to your plate. "What was that?"

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, "You told me on our wedding night you fancied those mangoes from Pentos, did you not?"

"I did," you nodded, narrowing your eyes at him at you glanced at the dish. "Do not tell me..."

"Apparently, stewed mangoes is popular over there," he shrugged a bit, glancing up to his family to ensure they were all still in their own conversation. They were.

"Would you do me a favor then?"

"Hmm?"

"Bit more?" You smirked, nudging your plate once. He chuckled and reached for the dish, dolloping another spoonful before you scooped a bit of rice to your plate and mixed them together.

"How's that?" He wondered in genuine curiosity when you tasted the new dish.

"You know what?" He nodded at you. "I don't hate it. Here, try it."

He nodded slowly and took up his own fork to try a bit, making your head cock in wonder as you waited for his opinion. "'S not terrible," he agreed with you, chuckling dryly before reaching for his goblet.

"So," Viserys boomed down the table, making you jump slightly. "How is married life treating you both?"

You smiled at the King, "You've raised your son well, Your Grace." Your eyes cut to Alicent, knowing she was who truly raised the children. "Married life is... Going well," you glanced at Aemond.

"Like a built-in companion," he mused to the table, taking a sip as Viserys chuckled.

"It is good to know you are getting along," he granted. "Surely, we'll see your face more often, Princess?"

"Of course, Your Grace," you agreed.

"Good," he nodded, smiling lightly.

"Unless my brother actually manages to get it up," Aegon snickered into his, oh, maybe, third cup in an hour? "Then, we'll never see you, will we, sister?"

"I'd mind my tongue, Aegon," you mused, taking another small bite of your meal. "Might start to sound jealous. Though, we know your brother has the injury and one less eye, you've always been jealous of him, heaven't you?"

"Aegon," Alicent warned when his face heated in anger.

Aemond chuckled a bit and let his hand drift to hang off the arm rest. You silently reached for his hand, finding relief when it fell naturally to your lap - turning over for you to hold. The other hand rose his goblet again.

"Do you think you'd like to take lunch sometime this week?" Heleana asked you, leaning over. "I've some questions of my own," her voice lowered to explain.

"Sure," you agreed easily, nodding at her with a smile.

Aegon rolled his eyes, "Oh, what questions could she answer? She's been married all of two weeks."

"I wouldn't take that tone, brother," Aemond warned.

"Boys," their Mother snapped. "Not now."

"Not ever, hopefully," You offered a sweet smile with your words.

"I'm not quite sure how it was done in your Strong Family," Aegon sneered, sitting up in his chair, "but here, we - "

"If your only means is to insult a silly rumor pertaining to my family, then, I'm afraid you might want to silence yourself," you chuckled, staring your uncle down with anger burning your gut. "You are only making my point for me."

"Please," Alicent asked of the whole table, "can we not get along for a single meal?"

Your hand tightened in Aemond's, asking him, "Surely, this is not common?"

"What, sweetheart?"

You paused at the use of the nickname, finding you enjoyed it more than you should - before finding your voice again, "Your brother thinking it is appropriate to speak in such a manner?"

He smirked at your tactic to publicly embarrass his brother, nodding at you, "You will grow used to it, sweetheart, I promise."

"Hmm," you mused, leaning into his arm more as his hand released yours in favor of holding your inner thigh instead.

"So," Otto cleared his throat, "how're you finding the city, Princess?"

"Very well, yes, thank you," you assured with a nod of your head. "Aemond and I might've gone out almost everyday this past week."

"The weather held," he shrugged a bit, cheeks heating at the knowledge that his family knew he was soft on you. It was obvious, if the time together was any indication.

"It was nice," you assured, one hand holding his forearm and giving a squeeze. "I'll have to take you sailing some time."

"You know how?" Otto asked in surprise.

"Yes, my father and his father took me out," you smiled softly. "Taught me how to fish, too, if you'd believe it. Never thought I'd live long enough to watch Corlys Velaryon fish for his own meal. But I must admit, it was incredibly satisfying. Father and I caught this sort of tuna," you told Otto - who was staring at you with the slightest amount of pity, "it must've weighed some 80 pounds." You chuckled at the memory, sniffling lightly, "Father and I nearly fell in trying to wrangle that bad boy from the waters."

It was quiet for a moment before Aemond cleared his throat, lowering his voice, "We did not yet find the time to extend our condolences for your father, my wife. And how sorry we all are for your loss."

"Mother got your letter," you nodded softly. "But thank you for verbalizing it."

With a returning nod, your husband tried to focus on his meal; but before you could, his sister was starting a new conversation. He was quiet most of the remaining meal, just content to listen; and any time Aegon got lippy, even Alicent started to sit back - because your wit outmatched all of their own. You easily fended the boy off.

Heleana simply adored you, and let that be known.

Viserys was oozing pride, as if taking personal responsibility in the match made between you.

Alicent smiled and actually asked a few questions to better know you.

Otto was just as ever - kindly, old, and soft spoken. He also knew some really good riddles that you liked to try and work out - his grandchildren giving up on most of them. Imagine your surprise when you asked, "Is it a mountain?"

And Otto beamed, "Yes! Dear girl, yes! I've been telling that riddle for months and none has solved it!"

It was an overall nice dinner, but truly, by the end, you were exhausted from keeping appearances. There were a few times you wanted to snap at your brother-by-law, but held your tongue; doing little to hide the irritation in your tone when you shut him down.

When Viserys was taken away for bed, Otto escorted Alicent away, and to your surprise, Aemond ushered you to your feet, "C'mon, come with me."

You let him pull you by your hand, jogging again to keep up with his long strides. When you were out of the dining room, you looked around and wondered, "Why're we in a rush to get to bed?"

He chuckled, shaking his head, "Got something on my mind."

"Wanna share?"

"In our rooms," he nodded, glancing at you only as he kept his quick pace - ignoring your whine of annoyance. The moment the doors opened, he pulled you in and shut them after you - pushing your body against the wood as his nose pressed into your neck.

"Aemond," you gasped in shock, holding onto his shoulders; not pushing him away.

"I-I wanted to let you come to me," he rushed, hands bruising your hips. "Yet I do not think I can wait longer."

"What changed?" You smirked, petting over his cheeks as he nuzzled your neck. You wanted to feel his mouth, but he did not dare yet - showing an ounce of restraint.

"Dinner," he sighed, sounding as if he was straining. "Watching you with them all, Gods... I know I am not who you wanted, but I think I need to start giving thanks for having a wife who can keep up."

"That got you going, did it?" You smirked against the shell of his ear; hands petting down his neck. His hands tightened and your hips rose up the wall to let his growing bulge press into you. Your breathing stuttered as his head lifted to leer over yours, your fingertip ghosting over his bottom lip.

"In truth, it's been hard to give you space," he breathed, "but yes, my wife, seeing you with my family was enough for me. You showed no fear in talking to the King and Queen..."

"Hmm?"

His lips pulled in a smirk, hands moving up to hold the base of your ribs. "It was impressive," he whispered, "and listening to you put Aegon in his place? Lady wife," he chuckled, slowly letting a leg raise to press between your thighs, "that did something to me I cannot explain nor control."

"Power turns you on, does it?" You chuckled.

"Only a bit," he nodded, "now," his thigh pressed more securely, "might I kiss you, Lady wife? Or might you haunt me further?"

You chuckled, but he clocked your nod before surging forward to connect your lips in a searing kiss. You let out a shrill whine when his hands drove you down onto him, his bulge more prominent.

"Aemond."

"Tell me, sweet girl," he spoke in your ear, letting his tongue flatten against skin that made you moan, "what it is you want."

But worry knotted your stomach.

"Wait, wait," you pulled back as much as you could, but pushed his shoulders some; making him pull away.

"What's wrong?"

"It's just," you sighed, head thumping back to the door in exasperation. You sighed through your nose.

"You can tell me," he nodded, lowering his leg to give you room to breath. His thumbs started to swirl comforting circles around your hip bones. "You want me to trust you, but it goes both ways, pretty girl. Speak your mind."

"Well, for one, in truth, I think I prefer being called pet names rather than the name my mother gave me," you chuckled some, hands drifting down his chest.

"Noted," he nodded, leaning in to rest his forehead on your own. "Come - tell me what bothers you."

"I've not done this," you whispered. "I worry it will not be satisfying."

"With the way I've been ramped up the past two weeks, there is little you can do to dissatisfy me," he chuckled. "Though, might I tell you a secret?"

"Mhm."

"Think you got me started the day you saved my life," he whispered, "and I never even thanked you for it."

"We share blood, Aemond, I would not have walked away. You needed help, and I knew how to give it."

"Thank you," he nodded, sighing. "I never got to thank you for what you did, but I am grateful."

"'Twas a dramatic night, there was little room for anything else."

He hummed before telling you, "Look, you do not need to worry, this is another learning experience for us to endure together."

"Oh, you must 'endure' laying with me?" You whined, heat flaring up your chest and neck.

"I did not mean that," he relented softly. "Only that I am no expert, either, but this is something between us - something we will learn to do together. As husband and wife."

You sighed, nodding, "Just be patient."

"I know it does not mean much now," he let his lips peck over yours, "but this is between us, sweet girl. You can do no wrong with me."

You sighed, "You say that, yet..."

"Yet?"

"I do not know of a single marriage where either, nor both, were ever happy. I fear that this could be a partnership, but not much else. I understand you've an obligation to sire children, but I am only nervous - "

"You do not need to be," he sighed softly. "It's just me."

You nodded, brows crinkling gently. "It's just you..."

"Your husband."

You nodded, "My blood."

"I am not here to wrong you, nor harm you," he promised. "And while I agree, I do not know of a marriage myself that has been... Happy... I do know that marriages are between spouses, and we get to not just make our own rules, but play by them, as well."

You sighed gently. "How you've been without a Lady all this time is beyond me. You might be the sweetest man I know, and my father was Laenor Velaryon."

He smirked against your lips, letting you gently pull his cheeks to kiss him to time. "None ever bothered to try and know me," he whispered. "You are different, pet, and you always have been."

"You are different with me," you noted, nose rubbing up his. "Why is that?"

He sighed, "You... Provide me with a sense of safety, I think. It is difficult to explain - "

"'S not," you smiled at him, "because I understand perfectly well. I fear I might feel much of the same, as well."

"Hmm," he considered, "that is good. I would hope my wife feels safe with me."

"I do," you nodded in assurance. "That if you'd like to move for the bed, I would not disagree..."

"Are you sure?" He asked, frowning.

"If you're willing to take this slow?"

He chuckled, "As slow as I can bare."

You laughed against his lips, leaning in to trap him in another kiss. "I have to admit..." You pulled back to peck his lips, "You're mildly addicting to kiss."

He grinned, licking over your lips slowly. "Might find more than my kisses addicting,"

"Oh?" You laughed, holding onto his neck tightly as his own arms snaked around your waist to hold you against him. He sighed, nuzzling into your neck as a hand pet down the back of your head before settling around you. "All right?" You whispered.

"Mhm," he hummed, "just appreciating the feel."

You smiled against his temple, laying a kiss there as the mood in the room shifted; and his hands bore the weight of the world. "Aemond?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you show me all of you?"

You felt him pause against you, but his sigh was sad, "Not tonight."

"But would you?"

He nodded as he pulled back; leaving your cheeks brushing against one another. "One day," he sighed, making your heart plummet in sadness. The abuse the boy endured was more than you were willing to admit, but you'd try to understand it best you could and offer him comfort. "For now, let me see you," he whispered in your ear, the fire crackling behind you both as the room flickered and glowed in the light. You did not protest when his hands rose to undo the laces at your back; pulling apart to loosen your gown.

You feared he would not like what he found, but your resolve was crumbling as his mouth opened against your neck. You moaned faintly as his hands easily yanked behind you, freeing more of your flesh for him to grab at.

He pulled back first but you could not meet his eye. His fingers tipped your chin up to let your eyes meet, breathing one breath as his lilac gaze raked you in.

"You're absolutely stunning," he whispered, holding your gaze, and making you feel like he was staring through you. But his eye did not drop from your own as his hands pulled at your dress, freeing your shoulders and upper body.

Your lungs shuddered in nerves as you helped pull the garment down, freeing your breasts, and then down to your hips. His hands moved, his eye did not; only bowing to his knees to hug your waist, looking to the floor, and pulling the clothing from your hips.

Your hands shot back to hold your position against the wall; keeping balance as Aemond freed your legs of shoes, stockings, then your hips of any under garment. But he kept his gaze on the ground as he rose, letting your hands mimic his from earlier, and tip his chin so his eyes met your own.

"See me," you requested in a breath; holding it then as his eye soaked in all you were.

"Gods," he breathed, taking half a step back to get the full image. When his eye met yours, it was almost as if he could not stop the words from flooding out, "You're breathtaking."

"We are married, you do not need to compliment me," you teased gently, leaning back to the wall. "Do you need a moment?"

"I might," he mused. "You're incredible... And you're truly mine?"

"That's what the law now says," you teased. "You know, standing here, naked, 's bit cold."

"You don't say?" He chuckled, reaching a hand out to sweep his thumb over your pebbled nipple. But that was it - that was all he did. "Come, lay on the bed, pet."

He turned from you to give you space, bare feet muted over the bare stone as you moved on the balls of your feet. Look - standing in the nude was one thing, but sitting in the nude? That was something entirely, and you reached for a pillow to hold against yourself the moment you reached the mattress - and climbed upon it.

Aemond turned from the window to look you over, then started to undo his jerkin. "You've never been with a man?"

"Never even kissed one till we got married," you admitted.

"So... You're all mine, is it?"

"Seems so," you chuckled. "Though, I am afraid to ask in return."

His head cocked, wincing, "Lost my virginity at ten and three."

"Truly? To whom?"

He freed his upper half of the leather jerkin, revealing a thin tunic. "A whore, no less."

You hummed in thought, watching him undress without abash. "That was it?"

"If you'd believe it," he pulled the tunic off his torso.

"And how is it you've come by scars when there is no war?" You asked, letting the pillow fall to the side in favor for drawing a single leg up and into your chest.

"Same way I came to lose an eye, pet," he sighed, now avoiding your gaze. "Though accidents - no matter how unfortunate."

Your heart weighed to your feet, slowly finding them as your fingers nervously twisted together. He was distracting himself with pouring a goblet of wine, but stiffly turned when your hands deftly asked him to. They smoothed over rigid, pink-going-on-white scars, asking, "Where did this one come from?"

He glanced at your hand on his upper arm. "That was a lancing accident gone wrong."

"Hmm," you nodded. "And this?"

Your fingertips pressed to his pectoral. "Swordplay with Aegon... Gone wrong."

You smirked, "And this one?"

He breathed uneasily as your hand pushed at the scar on his lower belly. "Hmm... That was from a spoiled organ."

"Come again?"

He smirked as your hands rimmed the hem of his pants. "When I was, possibly, oh, maybe ten and five? There is a little organ that, if ruptured, can ooze toxic waste back into the body. Maesters were quick to remove it."

"How interesting," you spoke softly, watching his throat bob as he took a drink. "And this one?" Your lips asked, nearing his ear.

"Which?" But he flinched with a laugh when you bit his neck. It wasn't hard enough to break skin, but against his pale skin, it was enough to leave a small red mark. "Oh, you devil of a woman," he chuckled, letting an arm wrap around your bare waist.

"Apologies, dear husband," you smirked, reaching your arms around his neck to allow your breasts to press into his chest without barrier.

"Perhaps I can be persuaded into forgiving you," he hushed against your lips, licking over them before trapping you in a kiss so searing, it pulled a moan from your throat.

"Just ask it of me," you whispered to him, daringly letting your hands drift when he pulled you in for another kiss; fondling his growing length over his trousers.

He hissed lightly into your mouth, muttering, "Perhaps this will be new for us both, after all... Gods."

You smirked against his mouth, feeling emboldened to now sweep your tongue over his lips and into his mouth; hand solidifying around his neck to keep tight. He blindly set his wine to the table beside him to then press both hands into your warming flesh under your rib cage. His hands pushed, and you were lead back towards the bed; where you were sat on the edge for your husband to gaze down at. His hand cupped your jaw, gently caressing your cheek; yanking the laces of his trousers at the same time.

"Let me," you whispered, mostly curious - reaching for his breeches, and keeping eye contact as you unlaced him.

You fist the material by his hips and yanked down, still staring up at him - even when his cock sprang free to gently bob in your face.

"Fuck," he seethed, reaching to pull your hair back. "Might I teach you something first?" When you nodded, he almost grunted, "You can use your mouth."

Your brows furrowed, "On your cock?"

Aemond let himself chuckle, "Yes, sweet girl. But not your teeth..."

"I think I could've figured that one out, Aemond, Gods!" He laughed with you, but sharply inhaled when your hand reached for his thick member; giving a few curious strokes. "I can ask you something?"

"With my cock in your hand, you can ask me anything," he breathed in tune to your pumping hand, twisting wrist. "What is it, pretty girl?"

Your breath fanned across his public hair, head tilted to gaze up at him and wonder, "It... Will fit?"

He snickered, "Yes, sweet girl."

You nodded, "And are they all... This size... A-And girth?"

"Perhaps not, but I'm not running around, whipping my cock out to compare it to others,"

"Pity," you pouted at him, seeing his teeth flash in amusement, and lean in to take a tentative lick. His hand tightened in your hair and you understood what he meant; slowly, surely, and very sloppily, figuring it out. What your mouth didn't fit, your hand twisted around; and Aemond's knees were slowly buckling.

"Slowly, slowly," he whispered to you, thumb sweeping a tear from your cheek when you tried to take more of him. "That's my girl, good fucking girl," you preened at his praise. "Easy, don't over do it - that's it, good girl. Use you spit - fucking Gods, that's right - there - wait, wait, less teeth, sweet girl - slow yourself."

You listened to him as you went, feeling sweat start to slowly streak down your skin as heat sweltered in the room; skin at the base of his cock turning salty from his own exertion.

"All right," Aemond hissed, nodding to himself as he took hold of your cheeks and pulled his cock from your mouth; leaving a trail of saliva. "Seven fuckin' Hells, girl, I told you I'm not fucking anyone else, you're not in competition here."

You grinned up at him, rolling your eyes right after as you understood his teasing tone. "C'mere, please," you whispered up at him, hands curling around his neck to thread into his hair when he loomed over you. Your lips met in a frenzied mess again before one of his hands held his balance and the other pushed your knees apart.

"Easy," he whispered against you, tracing slow patterns up your inner thighs. "This is where trust comes in, sweet girl. I've got you."

"Yeah?" You nervously checked, nodding at him; hands holding onto him as if a lifeline.

He sighed softly, "I'll always have you, sweet girl. Today, and everyday."

You pet down his chest and tried to relax as his lips met yours again in a frantic mess of lips, tongues, and teeth. His fingers then were dusting up your crotch, and you all but flinched as a jolt of pleasuring electricity shot through your veins.

"Aemond," you breathed as one hand darted out to wrap around his bicep; fingers sweeping up and down your wetted heat. "Gods," you squeaked when he pushed to let his face rest against your neck; arms tight around his neck for anchoring, letting a finger sink deep into you. Your legs opened wider to accept him.

"Good girl," he growled, your hand feeling his arm flex as he started to pump his finger messily through your sopping folds. "So fucking wet for me, Gods. I heard rumor virgins were wetter, but fucking hell."

"Or perhaps it's just for you," you whispered in his ear, holding on tighter as a coil slowly tightened in your lower belly. Almost on instinct, your hips moved to hump into his hand.

"Hmm," Aemond considered, "say that again, but without the perhaps."

You chuckled, pausing for a moment before telling him in his ear, "'M just so fucking wet for you, and only you, my Prince."

"Gods," he groaned, pulling his hand free to straighten up. "On the pillows, love, go on." But you paused to beam obnoxiously at him. "What? What is it?"

"You called me 'love'."

He chuckled against you, leaning in to kiss you happily. "Got issue with that, Lady wife?"

"You will not hear complaint from me, Lord husband," you assured.

"Good - back on the pillows, then." When you pulled yourself back over the bed, he was quick to follow overtop of you; pressing another kiss to your lips as he settled between your legs. "I will warn you, there might be some complaint the first few minutes."

"Oh," you nodded, "yes, I-I was warned of that. And it is common for there to be a bit of blood, too."

"Good to know," he smirked, pecking your lips. "You need only tell me if it's too painful, but it will be before the pleasure takes over. But if it's too much, just tell me."

You nodded and pet over his cheek, promising, "I will."

He smirked, "Spread your legs, pretty wife."

You both paused, shaking your heads at one another, and you deciding, "'Pretty girl' is a solid option, 'pretty wife' sounds strange to my ears."

"Strange on my tongue, too," he agreed. "Pretty girl, it is."

You hummed in agreement, bringing his lips to yours as he helped shift your hips slightly. Then, his cock's head was sweeping up and down your slick - like his fingers had - and just paused to linger at your entrance.

"Hold onto me," he whispered, slowly pushing in - and feeling you instantly freeze.

"Fuck's sake," you wheezed as he went.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"There's more!?"

Aemond was unable to fight off his laughter, leaning down to push his tongue into your mouth before pressing forward the rest of the way - pressing his hips to yours in full.

"Fucking hell," you whispered against him. "Oh, wow, okay, okay..."

"All right?"

"I don't know," you admitted. "Feels very strange."

He nodded, leaning in to kiss you softly. "Tell me when it's okay to move. This will be uncomfortable until you're acquainted, and then it'll feel better - I swear it."

You nodded, "Go ahead."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you whispered, moaning when his tongue swept into your mouth again. "Holy shit - Gods be good," you whined when he began to retract his hips and push forward again; the friction created something mouthwatering.

"Fuck," Aemond panted, humping a little faster. "Ah, shit, you feel fucking divine, sweet girl. Fuckin' made for me."

You readjusted your hips again and let him work at a new angle. His mouth hung open for a few thrusts, eye fluttering close as your hands gripped anywhere they could reach. And with his motions, you started moving your own hips; fucking him back, to his approving groan. His mouth found purchase against your neck, biting, sucking, licking; humming into flesh as pleasure coursed.

"Aemond, fuck, fuck, fuck, harder," you pleaded, letting your knees reach your chest as his hands pushed the backs of your thighs in a new, bruising grip. His balls slapped against the apex of your cunt, creating something of a rhythm amongst the room that met the chorus of your moans, groans, and his grunts.

"Take it," he growled, hands sliding up to hold the back of your knees. His hips were relentless. "Oh, fuck, good girl - 's my good fuckin' girl. Feel so fuckin' good, taking all of me your first time," he smirked down at you, reaching a hand for your throat when he felt your walls tightening as his cockhead pounded into that soft, spongey spot.

You whined against the pressure on your throat - not enough to constrict but enough to feel all the way down into your toes.

"Gods," he groaned when your velveteen walls stroked him for all he was worth, "look at you, so fuckin' ready for me."

"Yes," you whimpered, reaching for his neck to yank him closer. "Please, please - "

"Tell your husband what you need, Princess," he smirked, dropping his lips to stick to yours - and pull apart messily.

You whined lowly in your throat, "Wanna cum."

"Where?"

Your hands shook as you held his cheeks in your grip, "Around you."

"That's my girl," he purred, moving himself at a renewed pace. "Where do you want me, pet?"

"In me," you didn't even realize you moaned that aloud until he groaned from deep in his chest; brows furrowed, and one hand holding himself up as the other dropped to your cunt. "Wait, wait, wait - "

"That's the feeling, my girl," he promised, fingering your pearl. "Chase it, let it come for you - let it come, good girl," he praised, catching your body when you arched into him and came with a soft cry.

"Ae-Aemond," you begged still, eager to please. His hands held your hips in place, face held to your neck; hips pumping relentlessly to chase his own end now. "Please - oh, fuck!"

He came with a shout of his own, hips swooping to thrust into yours once, twice, a third time, then grinding to a slow halt as his balls contracted to release his load in your warmth.

"Shit," he panted, body giving up some to collapse into your own. It pushed his cock further up, making your mouth open in shock; arms coiled around him to keep him against you.

"Yeah," you agreed, letting a hand smooth down his hair. His breath fanned across your collarbones, and readjusted your hold on him to press a kiss to his forehead. "All right?"

"Yeah, yeah, good," he chuckled, pecking his lips up your neck. "Are you all right?"

"Mhm," you nodded at him, noses brushing together before his lips met yours - again - slowly. "So, that's what we've been avoiding?"

He smirked, "Well, you've been avoiding, Lady, and I've been dreaming."

"How'd it match up in life?"

Your husband offered a soft smile, "'S like you're a dream come into my arms. If there is a heaven, I think I've found it."

"Oh, please - "

"No, truly, Lady," he nodded, letting his lips peck yours again. "Here, with you, I am at peace."

"Then make a bargain with me?"

"Cock's still in you, so, ask anything of me - 's yours."

You giggled lightly and rolled your eyes as he fixed himself up to his elbows to keep the pressure off your chest. "Spend some time alone with me in the next few days?"

"Lady - "

"No, I mean, let us take a period of time away from everything and just," you shrugged a bit.

"Hump?"

Your eyes rolled, "I was aiming for something a little more poetic, but sure, yes, yes, stay with me and fuck me properly."

"My Lady wife," he teased, "I did not think you so brash."

"You've not been paying attention," you teased. "Please?"

He chuckled through his nose, nodding as he shifted himself towards your side - huffing a bit when his cock pulled free of your warmth. "Whatever it is you want in this life, wife, I'll give to you," he decided as he crashed to the bed beside you, offering an open arm for you to curl against his chest.

"You sound smitten, Prince," you accused gently, nestling into your new home - at his side.

"Perhaps I am, Princess," he told you, eye taking in your entirety. "Perhaps you have me enraptured, and I am unwilling to leave your clutches."

You hummed and let your lips press to his, slowly increasing the tempo as your own libido felt newly heightened. How strange, the moment you lost your virginity, you suddenly crave the action of another warm body - or perhaps, you craved the body of your husband.

None the less, Aemond let loose the faintest of moans; hand coming up to hold the back of your head, mouths moving in sync.

When you pulled back, it was only just to mutter, "Perhaps the feeling is mutual."

"Good," he whispered, licking into your mouth again. He hummed and pressed one last hardened kiss to your mouth, then pulled back. "Give me time to nap and I will spend days worshipping you. Yes?"

"Deal," you agreed against his swollen lips, breathing stuttering when your teeth caught his bottom lip and pulled.

"Devil woman," he whispered, hand wrapping around your throat. "Behave."

"You're not making the point you think," you whispered.

"My girl likes my hand at her throat?"

"Only in this sort of position," you smirked, lips catching his own again to tangle together in a frenzied dance of passion and newly found, newly formed love.

[ part one ]

[ series masterlist ]

#aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond smut #aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd smut

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ravenromanova · 4 months

Text

I don’t like gifts

Parings: Loki x Female reader

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE!!!! Master kink, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Oral (m and f), Squirting, Praise kink. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18+!!! Slight angst with happy ending, Fluffy Loki.

Kinkmas masterlist - Main masterlist - Send me requests!!!

~ You smiled as you put the finishing touches on the final gift for your team. This specific gift though you spent extra time in picking out and wrapping wanting to make sure it was perfect. Granted the person it was for didn’t like gifts and thought the whole holiday was stupid. But you ended up getting him some nonetheless because he deserves something nice.

Once you finished you put all the presents in a bag and headed to the living room. The sounds of christmas music and laughter filled your ears as you walked into the room. There sat your family, the people who you loved more than anything sitting around the fireplace. Smiles adorned everyone’s face as they exchanged gifts and shared stories. The only person you didn’t see though was Loki though which wasn’t surprising but still a little disappointing.

“Heya sunshine!” Steve beamed as he walked up and took the bag of presents from you to help you. “Are these for the whole team?” He asked a little shocked with how much you got everyone.

“Uh yea i might’ve gone a little overboard” You responded a little sheepishly. Steve sat the gifts next to the tree where Tony and Pepper handing out gifts to everyone.

“Might’ve is an understatement sunshine” Tony chimed in as you sat on the couch next to Wanda. You smiled shyly as Tony started handing out the gifts you got for everyone.

Bucky got two new knives and a book about astrology. Natasha received a new thigh holster and gun. Wanda got more of her favorite painting supplies. Vision got a book called “emotions for dummies” which everyone found hysterical. You got Clint new arrows to which he thanked you profusely since Kate lost all of his and you also gave him gifts for his family. Peter got new comic books. Steve got a new sketch pad and pencils. Kate got a new super suit and Lucky got a pizza toy. Yelena got three bottles of vodka and a knife. Tony and Pepper got an all expenses paid trip to cancun for a week. Morgan got endless barbie dolls and stuffed animals. Thor got ten big boxes of pop tarts. Bruce got a new lab coat and a bunch of sciencey books you didn’t understand. Pietro received three hoodies and new running shoes that he’d been wanting for a while. You also got the guardians and Carol gifts but they weren’t on earth right now so they get them when they came back. And last but not least you got Loki a first addition of pride and prejudice, two new knives with gold and green details engraved, a new journal with feather pens and a soft dark green blanket.

The reactions everyone gave to their gifts made your heart grow three sizes. Pretty much everyone gave you a hug… even the bionic staring machine which took you by surprise. And on the flip side you got more gifts than you thought possible.

Tony gave you five grand in cash. Pepper got you a huge basket of self care goodies. Morgan gave you multiple drawings of you and her doing her favorite things together. Nat and Wanda gave you a spa gift certificate claiming you need to relax more. Vision gave you the new pots and pans set you’d been wanting forever. Clint and Kate along with his family got you a puppy you named “Lucy” and some new hoodies. Bucky gave you a knife to which you both laughed. Bruce and Steve teamed up and got you atleast fifteen books. Thor gave you endless sweets and candy. Yelena gave you five bottles of your favorite liquor. Peter gave you a new supersuit that him and Tony designed specially for you. Pietro thoughtfully got you some soft throw blankets, slippers and a new stuffed unicorn.

Needless to say by the end of the gift exchange you never felt so loved by everyone. The night ended around one am when everyone decided to head to bed. But fortunately for you this was your time to give Loki his gifts. You knew he was more than likely hiding out in the library not wanting to deal with humans and their stupid holiday. So once everyone bid goodnight you gathered his gifts and headed to the library.

And of course when you entered the library there he was in all his glory. He was sitting in the bay window is the library reading a book with a slight smile on his face. The light of the moon hit his face lightly and made him look even more ethereal than normal.

“Hey Lo” You said softly as you approached him with all his gifts in hands.

“Hello” Was all he replied with making you frown a little.

“You weren’t at the gift exchange “ You stated with your brows furrowed causing him to look up at you.

“That is correct” His voice was gruff as he spoke making your knees a little weak and your heart sped up.

“Well i know you think this holiday is dumb but i still got you some gifts” Your words caused him to raise his eyebrows at you and scoff a little.

“I don’t like gifts” He said as he closed the book and turned to fully face you. The way his eyes bore into your soul made you even more nervous about giving him the gifts than before.

“Yeah well i still got you some so deal with it” The sassiness of your words surprised the both of you. He smirked and nodded his head a little telling you to hand him the gifts. You swallow your nerves and hand him the wrapped gifts with shaky hands.

Loki takes the gifts and starts unwrapping them one by one inspecting each of them as he goes. You watched as his eyes lit up as he ran his fingers across the lettering on the book, how he moved the new blades in between his fingertips, his fingers grasped the dark green fabric of the blanket and he smiled softly, and you swore he giggled a little at the new journal and pens.

“I take it back” He said suddenly as he looks at all the gifts. “I love gifts” The smile that adorned his face made your heart melt.

“You like them?” You asked nervously. Loki then stood up and took your hands into his and his blue green eyes stared into your soul.

“y/n i love them” He said honestly and you smiled brightly at his words. His hands moved up your arms and then cupped the sides of your face. “Tell me if you want me to stop” He whispered as he leaned in.

“Dont stop” You whispered back looking up at him. That was all it took for his lips to crash into yours and bring you in for a bruising and passionate kiss. The both of you simultaneously moaned at the taste of each other.

You were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t even notice that he teleported you two to his room. But eventually you had to come up for air which is when you finally realized.

“I like your room” The words were soft as they left your lips. Your eyes scanned his room and you took in the dark green couch, extremely soft looking bedding and the ancient paintings that adorned the walls. The room was decorated just like you thought it would be.

“I think you’ll like it a lot better on my bed” His boldness made you weak in the knees and arousal pool in between your thighs.

“I think i would too” You said with a smile as you climbed onto his bed. “Oh yea this is definitely better” Loki smiled as he watched you sprawl out on his bed.

“You most certainly belong there pet” His voice was low and his eyes darkened as he slowly crawled on top of you. “Such a pretty pet” He cooed rubbing his calloused fingers over your cheekbones.

“I need you” The pleading look in your eyes made his cock stir in his pants. He then flicked his wrist and suddenly you were fully naked underneath him.

“I’m going to ruin you for any other man” He husked in your ear causing a shiver to course through your body. His rough hands trailed up and down your body as he admired your beauty.

Loki slowly cupped your face again and brought you in for a much more passionate and loving kiss. He snaked his hand in between your thighs as he kissed you making you moan in his mouth.

“So wet for me” He kissed below your ear before he sat on his knees and looked at your pussy with desire. He smiled again before he decided to get comfortable in between your thighs.

Your brows furrowed in confusion . “W-What are you doing?” Your voice was laced in nervousness as you looked directly into his eyes.

“I need to taste your pet” And without any further explanation his tongue darted out and licked a bold strip asking your folds.

“Oh god!” The sensation of his warm mouth on you made your back arches off the bed and your eyes shut in pleasure.

“As much as i love hearing that title fall from your lips… it’s master to your pet” Your eyes snapped open at his words and you nodded your head in understanding. “Words pet or i wont touch you” He commanded bringing his free hand to grip your chin.

“Yes master” A smile quickly over to his face as you spoke and that was enough for him to dive back in. He spread your lips and started sucking on your clit like a man starved.

You threw your head back on the pillow feeling overwhelmed but in a good way. The sensation was something you’ve never felt before but welcomed it with open arms. The way his tongue lapped the bundle of nerves make you reel in pleasure.

“I-I’m gonna cum master” The words were broken as they fell past your lips.

“Cum for me pet be a good girl and cum” He commanded and before you even registered his words he was shoving two of his thick fingers in you.

“OH FUCK!!” Your hands flew to his raven locks and pulled for dear life at the intrusion. His fingers curled as he thrusted them into you and hit your g-spot deliciously. Before you could speak again your felt your orgasm rip through you and you came all over Loki’s face.

Loki smiled as he came up from between your thighs and he licked his fingers clean. “You taste as delicious as you look pet” His praises made your heart speed up again and another wave of arousal hit you.

“I wanna taste you master” You pleaded sitting up on your knees and moving your gave up and down his body. “Youre wearing too much clothing” You whined as your snaked your hand under his black t shirt.

“So eager to please” He smiled as he flicked his wrist again and he was naked in front of you. You couldn’t help but marvel at the god in front of you. His tanned skin, rippled abs, thick thighs, and not to mention his pretty cock. Never in your life did you ever find a man’s dick attractive but holy fuck his was perfect.

His hands on your cheeks brought you out of your trance. “Go ahead pet make your master feel good” His gruff voice was enough to send you over the edge again. You simply smiled at him and changed positions so he was laying against the pillows.

Once he was situated on the against the pillows you settled in between his thighs but not before kissing all over him first. Finally you got settled and sent him a devious smile. At first you started slow with some gentle kitten licks and kisses all up and down his shaft making sure to pay attention to the thick vein running from base to tip.

“Fuck” You heard him moan when you finally took him into your mouth. You bobbed your head up and down and luckily your gag reflex wasn’t a problem. “Just like that baby” He groaned and you hummed at the new nickname falling from his lips which in turn make his cock twitch.

You continued sucking him like a lollipop which caused a series of moans and profanities fall from his lips. Suddenly his hands were in your hair and he pulled your head up.

“As much as i’m loving this is much rather cum in you than your mouth my dear pet” He said softly rubbing his finger over toe bottom lip.

“Please” You begged him sitting back on your knees and then slowly crawled on top of his lap. His hands found home on your hips as he helped you straddle him.

“Gonna make you feel so good” Loki said with determination along with his signature smirk.

“Please master” Your begged again as you lined yourself up with his aching cock. That was all the go ahead he needed and before you knew it he was slamming himself into you.

“Oh gods” You moaned throwing your head back in pleasure. Loki gave you time to adjust to his size before he started thrusting into you.

“So fucking tight” He groaned squeezing your hips harder. Your hands flew to his chest and you held on tight as you rode him. Never in your life had you felt this full and satisfied. And now that you’ve had a taste of what being with him was like you knew you couldn’t be without him again.

“Fuck Loki i’m gonna cum!” The moan that escaped you was nothing short of sinful.

“Cum for me pet” He demanded as his thrusts became harder and rougher. It didn’t take much longer for you and him to cum with loud and pornographic moans. Loki came and filled you with every last drop of his seed till there was nothing left.

“Oh fuck” You said breathlessly as you collapsed onto his chest. “That was fucking amazing”

“Agreed” He said rubbing his hands up and down your back in a soothing manner.

“I dont want this to be a one time thing Loki” You admitted still laying on his chest not wanting to look him in the eye.

“Who said this was a one time thing darling? Who said i wasn’t planning on keeping you here forever?” He said as he brought his fingers up lightly from your chin and look up at him.

“Really?” The question came out more insecure than you wanted but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Really” He brought his hands to your face again ava kissed you passionately. It was that moment you knew he was the one for you.

“I love you Loki” You smiled brightly as you held onto his face.

“I love you too darling” He responded with so much passion and love in his voice something you knew was only for your abs that made it that much better.

Shortly after the both of you fell into a blissful sleep wrapped around each other. Content smiles adorned both your faces as you two slept. Neither of you thought you end up here when you first walked into the library tonight but couldn’t be happier that it did.

~The end~ A/n: I GOT WAY TO CARRIED AWAY BUT OH WELL!! i hope you enjoyed by first loki story ;)

#ravenromanova #loki laufeyson #loki laufesyon x reader #loki laufeyson x female reader #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut #loki laufeyson fluff #loki laufeyson x reader #loki x female reader fluff #the god of mischief #kinkmas 2023

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somewherebetweendisorder · 4 months

Text

The Life We Build

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff ?? i think that's it

A/N: originally posted to my old blog (basicallybats). i was originally writing it as an eddie munson fic, but i really wanted it to be jason, so if you notice any typos or mistakes, no you don't. as always, thank you for reading! <3 i do not give permission to copy, repost, or use my work in any way.

"We need to go to the grocery store."

Your hands are buried in Jason's hair, thick waves curling around your fingers, soft and smelling faintly of your conditioner.

"Huh? Why?"

He tips his head back, so he can see your face, fingers freezing, a page caught between them. You recognize the book. It's your annotated copy of Pride and Prejudice. A soft smile curls at your lips, something painfully saccharine about the fact he prefers your copy; your thoughts.

"Because we have no food, Jay. Did you use my conditioner again?"

"Yeah."

"I know. I can smell it on you."

He snorts, eyes closing as you continue to massage his scalp, shaking his head lightly. "Then why did you ask?"

"I just wanted you to 'fess up. Now c'mon, we need to get food, for real. There's like, half a jar of peanut butter and a beer."

"Sounds like a decent enough dinner."

You remove your hands from his soft locks, and he whines, sitting up and carefully setting your book on the bed beside him. Jason doesn't want to go, you know that, can see the distaste and boredom brewing in his eyes already, but he will go, for you.

"Fine. Get dressed. Let's go."

You pull on an old, well-worn tee of his, slipping on your shoes and trailing him down the hall. He holds open the front door for you, locks it behind himself, jogs down the stairs to meet you at the passenger side door, swinging it open with a flourish.

The drive to the store is quiet, Jason tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the music on the radio, bobbing his head gently, one hand on your thigh. The smile on your face didn't go unnoticed as he snuck glances at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Gotham is a god-forsaken place. Smog, trash, the highest crime rate in the nation, and a mile-long list of casualties. Jason remembers what it felt like to be back. The whisper of trauma is at the forefront of his mind. The memories, good and bad, all shot through with something unshakeably bitter. Part of him will always love Gotham, just as part of him will always hate it. But you- You are beautiful. The sort of beautiful that frequently had his heart stalling, breath burning in his lungs when he forgot how to breathe at the sight of your sunny smile, and bright eyes. Your personality and laugh, uncensored and genuine.

You are Jason's diamond in the rough. He can't bring himself to hate Gotham quite the way he did before you, but he can't shake the thought that you'll never reach your full potential here. A flower without enough sunlight can't fully bloom. Fuck, everyone knows Gotham is where good things go to die.

As Jason grabs a shopping cart you walk next to him, sliding your arm through his, a sort of camaraderie.

"We should make a casserole this week," you suggest, eyes reading the signs above the aisles, trying to piece together a meal plan in your head.

"What kind of casserole?"

You sigh, distracted, uncertain. "I don't know. Never mind. I've never even made a casserole."

He bumps his hip against yours gently, silently asking for your attention. He waits until you look at him to speak, lips twitching into a soft smile. "We have that cookbook your grandma gave us. And lasagna counts as a casserole. You've made that plenty of times."

"Does it?"

"Sure."

He's bent on reassurance. Jason knows this is new; cooking is hardly your forte. It would be easier to let him do the cooking, but you've been so eager, and you're taking to it really well. He hates the insecurity bubbling in your voice, he wants it gone. At his insistence, you soften, a bit of tension leaving your shoulders as you nod.

"Okay, we can make lasagna. And what else?"

Your gaze catches on the fresh flowers, bright and fragrant, their sweet smell permeating the air. You look at Jason, desperately curious to see if they've caught his attention too, but they haven't. He's looking at a rack of magazines, leather jacket pulled taught across his shoulders, green eyes crinkling in the corners as he squints at the cover of the newest scandal magazine.

"Good God, Dick is on the cover of another fucking tabloid. I thought he-"

It's an odd thought, this sudden need to pick out flowers with your boyfriend. You long to talk about where you should put them, what color would match your sofa and look nicest in front of the window.

"Jason."

It's not the fact you use his name, his birth name, though this is unusual for you. It's always 'baby' or 'Jay' or 'babes'. No, it's the way you say it. Thick and serious, something he hadn't quite heard before, an almost severe expression taking over your pretty features.

"Y/N? Yeah, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing, just- Can we get some flowers?" He watches you shake your head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

It's the domesticity of it. A tender, mundane thing catching up to you as those things often do. Something painfully sweet about it, stability your life lacked until Jason. And now? Now going to the grocery store with him was better than anything you did before. Like cooking, like cleaning, like laying in bed all day, face pressed mercilessly into his skin, breathing him in as he reads to you, just because you could. It was an insatiable craving, one you needed fulfilled right now.

"Sure, baby. You wanna pick some out?"

Your nod is almost imperceptible, arm still curled around his, goosebumps creeping along your flesh. He sees. Sees the light in your eyes, knows you need this moment. Jason knows that every day like this erases those brutally lonely hours from before. Minutes marked with blood and grief, a bitter memory. He knows because these moments do the same for him, setting things right he wasn't sure could be fixed.

Fuck, he'll buy all the flowers here if it brings the carefree smile back to your lips. "What kind do you want?"

"I- I'm not sure. Anything. I'll know the right ones when I see 'em."

He peruses the bouquets, at a loss, this is far outside his comfort zone, but if it makes you happy.

Your wonder hurts his heart, wide eyes and shock every time you find new colors squished together, or flowers you haven't seen before. You should have been given flowers all the time. He checks the price of the bunch in his hands and winces. What he wouldn't give to buy you flowers like this every day. Maybe he should, he thinks.

"How about these?"

Your eyes fall on the wild bouquet of rich, wine roses, flowers in full bloom, overlapping each other, fighting for the gaze of the beholder. They're gorgeous, you can feel them without touching the silken petals, velvet. "They're nice."

He sees it on your face, the dismissal, the gentle rejection. The flowers are pretty, too pretty even, gaudy, and suffocating. They're the type of thing that would fit well in Bruce's home, but not yours. Far too formal, far too showy; you want something sweeter.

"They don't match… Anything at home."

"We'd have to pick weeds to match our apartment."

His words come too fast, voice flat, deadpan, shooting for humor, missing, falling by the wayside in a shallow bitterness. He sees the hurt in your expression the instant the words gush past his lips, a geyser of ill-timed distress. Fumbling, rushing forward, trying to make it right, he presses on. "I'm kidding. That was an exaggeration. We make a nice life. It's just we-"

He stops, letting the chatter of other patrons and the store radio fill the silence as he watches tears build in your eyes, shimmering beneath the harsh fluorescents.

"I'm kidding."

You know he wasn't. He meant the words, frustrated with dead-end jobs and your meager incomes, scraping by with just enough. He wanted more for you, more for himself, more of a future. But all you heard was the immediate dissatisfaction. It wasn't enough, it was never enough.

You shove the small cluster of sunflowers you're holding into his chest, plastic wrapping crinkling, flowers smushed against his chest with the severity of your action.

"I need to use the restroom. You can put these back. I'll meet you at the checkout."

"Baby I- Y/N!"

You run. There's not enough care in your bones to think about how odd it is for a grown woman to be running through the store, stumbling into the restroom, tears already tracking down her face.

Hands braced against the cool countertop, you stare at the water droplets scattered across the laminate from whoever last washed their hands. It's a fascinating pattern, water catching the light. A tear falls, splatters on the surface, and shines too. How pathetic are you that you're hiding in here, waiting for the onslaught of emotion to pass before you can face your boyfriend again? Before you can face his disdain?

Minutes drag by, the tears slowing and finally stopping. Red eyes stare back at you, bloodshot and hollow. With a harsh tug, you turn on the faucet, splashing cool water on your face, hoping it soothes the obvious signs of crying.

Time is up, you can't stall any longer. With a fortifying gulp of oxygen, you drag the paper towel harshly across your face, wiping away the water, and push the door open. Jason is waiting there, shopping cart abandoned a few feet away, leaning against the wall, local business cards pinned to the wall next to store notices, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Baby."

You're frozen, eyes locked on the overlapping flyers and cards on the wall over his shoulder, unable to meet his gaze. Jason can see it. The remnants of salt tracks on your cheeks, eyes red and puffy, lashes clumped together from the water you hastily splashed on your face in a harried attempt to cover your reaction.

He wishes he could rewind, take back the past few minutes, and unsay those words, spare you the heartache. He knows he can't; it's a pointless wish, spent in vain like the coins he tossed in the well with his mother all those years ago.

"Baby," he repeats, voice low, shoulders sagging when you ignore him. "Y/N, just look at me, please."

His voice isn't him, isn't Jason, viscid like a flower soaked with dew, drooping beneath his regret. He's too pretty, too serious, you shouldn't let him wallow in it, you know that. But his words were too real, too close to that oozy, rotten spot in your heart that cries for acceptance.

It takes everything in you to drag your gaze to his, jarring when you meet those eyes, deep and sorry, churning like an earthen ocean, soil and sediment devouring itself. It's like watching the earth cave in. It's alarming, unsettling, it makes you want to touch his face and beg for the promise that it's all okay.

Is it though?

"I'm sorry. What I said- It came out wrong. I would never insult the life we've built, I-"

"You did though, Jay. You did insult it. You pissed all over it."

Jason winces at your bluntness, nearly an idiom, yet far from it. He focuses on your words, playing them over and over, watching your lips twist sardonically, building a wall around yourself. "It's fine, okay? I get it."

"No, you don't." He finds his voice, gruff with the nasty feeling building in his stomach, unable to be gentle in the wake of his own despondency.

"Can we just go home? I don't want to have this conversation here."

Movements stilted, uncoordinated he moves to the abandoned shopping cart, hands wrapping around the handle in a white-knuckled grip. He takes two steps, yanks the cart back, and turns to you so abruptly that you nearly collide with his chest.

"No. No, we are going to have this conversation now, otherwise you'll never have it. You know damn well I wasn't insulting you, or our home, or our life."

Blank-faced, eyes a hollow shade of their usual verdancy, you don't show any sign you really heard his words.

He's never felt this before, desperate and shaky with wanting- no needing you to understand. Why does this feel so insurmountable? His hands land on your shoulders, large, hot, scarred, shaking just enough to inspire a rise out of you.

You swat his hands away, fresh tears burning tracks down your face, humiliating, telling. "I care, okay! Damn you, Jason, I care!"

You suck in air too fast, choke on it, a strangled sob dancing on your lips, free falling. Hands useless on his chest, feigning a shove, curling in his soft tee shirt and pulling him closer. Tucked away in your little nook, no one is around, no one sees the mania tainting the air. Lovers begging forgiveness for the transgression of misunderstanding.

He buries his face in your hair, hiding his face, hiding his relief at your touch, at your admission. "I care too. I care that I've tied you to this hell hole with almost no chance of getting out."

"You don't get it, do you?"

Jason can barely hear, your voice smothered by his chest, the fabric of his shirt, his hearing a bit unreliable from too many head wounds. "Get what?"

"I don't want more. I don't want... I don't know what you envision, but my happiness is this. Buying groceries with you and, and- Gotham. My happiness is fucking Gotham if I'm here with you. I don't need-"

"You deserve-"

"Do not interrupt me, Jason Todd!"

He recoils, stung, chastised, conceding quickly, lips pressed into a thin line. "Okay."

"I do not need anything more. I don't need a big house or a safer city to play in or whatever it is you think I ought to have. Deserve? I don't even know what that means. But I want you, and I'm content with this life. Until you start picking it apart and making it seem like it's not good enough for you. I cannot tolerate that. I won't."

He waits, the silence stretching on and on, like the fraying string on a shirt that refuses to snap, until he is certain you're finished.

"You're right."

"That's all?"

"No. It's much more than that. But-"

He releases you, feeling your hands release his shirt slowly, confused as he steps back, raking his hands through his hair.

"You asked me so nicely for flowers. Let's start again. And we can finish at home, like you asked."

You blink. Once, twice, three times, trying to process, waiting to see if any argument floats to the surface of thought, but none does. Nodding, you step to his side, following him quietly to the tables of flowers once more.

It happens at the same moment, your eyes find the simple bunch of sunflowers and baby's breath the second his do. Understated and sweet, the type of flowers to catch your eye and hold it with a strange fascination.

"These?" you ask, eyes never leaving the buds, fingers tentatively caressing the soft petals.

"Yeah. I like those. They're pretty."

They are pretty. And suddenly, you need to see him, touch him. Placing the bouquet back you turn to him, cool hands pressed to his warm cheeks, eyes tracing soft lips, and the strong line of his nose. Those eyes that say secret things to you, things his lips could never speak. The panic and overwhelming nature of the trip are still fresh in your mind, but his eyes say he understands, his eyes reflect the same image as yours and it's less. Less upsetting, less frustrating, less misconstrued.

"I get it too."

Your words soothe the cuts on his heart, shallow and stinging like paper cuts. His lips are on yours before he knows what's happening, no self-control left at this moment.

It's over too fast, a promise, a vow, an apology. You know; you feel it, trying to pass over all of your love in return. It's enough, more than enough because he smiles when he pulls away, kisses a trail up your nose to your forehead, and into your hairline.

"I love you, Jay."

"I love you, Y/N."

Gotham isn't much, your apartment isn't much, and a single bouquet of flowers in your drab little living room is hardly anything at all. But it's plenty for you, plenty for Jason. It's enough.

#jason todd #baby jason #jason todd fluff #jason todd angst #red hood #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader

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