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b0nten · 3 months

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THE TASTE OF LOVE IS ON MY GUMS (I WANT TO DRINK YOUR TEARS AS MOUTHWASH)

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ suguru decides winter is your season, after all.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ this man has me tweaking so goddamn hard. you have no idea. lmao. suguru didn’t go crazy au, i used they/them pronouns for kirara. also y’all should lowkey listen to margaret by lana while reading this

“five minutes, everyone!” satoru’s voice echoes through the dimly-lit room, and you hear some people squeak and cheer.

your eyes flicker briefly to suguru, who’s standing right next to his best friend, and he catches you, eyes crinkling and a cherry blush on his face, probably thanks to the beer he drank as competition with the strongest sorcerer. satoru’s hand drapes around his neck, and he whispers something to him, enough for you not to hear from across the room, where you’re smoking your cigarette with shoko. you do, however, see the small punch your boyfriend gives the man, and chuckle, amused.

“mom, dad, let’s go!” the twins yell in unison, splitting, dragging you and suguru out by your arms, where everybody is.

yuta laughs as you’re pulled by him, almost stumbling over, and megumi and yuuji do too. nobara stands outside, waving her arms around in the air, next to maki, toge and panda, who’re doing just the same, firecrackers and fireworks in their hands.

the school is crowded, this year everyone — including the kyoto students and utahime — joined for new year’s. as you’re dragged outside, nanako’s grip slips from your arm, and her and mimiko leave you and suguru behind, opting to jump on the third years’ backs, and hakari and kirara abide without a word.

“i blame satoru for giving them so much energy.” suguru jokes and wraps an arm around your shoulders, beginning to walk forward. you laugh at him, because you think the same.

slowly, everyone gathers outside: shoko’s lighting another cigarette, nanami is fixing his tie while ino just stands next to him, freezing, after insisting his sheisty is enough to keep him warm, gojo’s pestering utahime and yuki is trying to calm choso after todo slipped a joke about itadori being his brother again. kusakabe’s exasperated as he sees panda and toge fool around with the soon-to-be explosions. yuta and maki are laughing, and nobara and the boys gathered next to nanako, mimiko and the third years.

miwa and kokichi stand somewhere, hand in hand, and momo gushes over them as kamo only sighs, and mai is absolutely resisting the urge not to tease them. akari, like the big sister she is, is scolding arata for drinking beer, and ijichi, as always, is trying to calm her down.

suguru walks with you, a bit out front, holding you close. he thinks he couldn’t have had it any better — thank the heavens you were by his side through everything — when he looks at you like this, his heart swells with anticipation. you’re 27 and he is too. in a month, 28 will hit him in the guts. still, he can’t wait.

“two minutes!” yuuji exclaims, and everybody starts to gather closer together, you and the boy with plum blossoms in his eyes the only ones outside of the small brownian motion happening behind. the pink-haired first-year tries to run forward, but megumi, hakari and yuta grip him by his hood.

“don’t, just wait.” they all say in unison, and nanako, mimiko, tsumiki, nobara and maki exchange looks, brows quirked up. the twins slide from their senpais’ backs back down, and move closer to the rest of the group.

everyone’s together.

everyone’s happy.

the moments fly by easily. fireworks start to bloom in the sky. the temples of the school are covered in snow, but the ground has been cleared, thanks to the amazing boys who made your high school years feel like nothing short of the worlds longest rollercoaster.

“five!” noritoshi finally yells.

you looks at suguru with a loving look in your eyes. his bun’s a bit disheveled, but you don’t mind.

“four!” yuki says next.

a particularly beautiful explosion catches your attention, and the boy lets you slip from his hold to step forward.

“three!” todo announces.

suguru’s heart is about to burst, he looks at his two best friends: wide grins on their shameless faces.

his hand travels to his pocket, and he slides something out. music’s blaring in the background from the empty room from inside, but he can only hear the echo of his heartbeat in his ears.

“two!” the kyoto girls yell excitedly.

you’re still with your back to him. he gets down on his knee.

throughout the heavens and the earth, please, god, let him be the honored one.

“one!” the tokyo kids yell.

everybody gasps, and pyrotechnics burn in the sky.

the twins are crying in the background, silently — their mom and dad are getting married — and megumi holds mimiko so close he thinks the air might leave her lungs. tsumiki’s looking at you two with the sweetest smile. toge’s arm is slung tightly around nanako’s shoulder.

“mentaiko.”

“choke.” nanako says back with a small laugh, and the blond flicks her forehead.

panda pats her head, and lets out an amused chuckle.

kirara can’t believe what they’re seeing. they side-eye kinji, who just stands there looking smug, and next to him, yuta smiles, and thinks he might let rika out to see this too, because after all, she somehow liked you from the beginning.

yuki pats choso’s shoulder, the poor cursed womb is crying. nanami looks at his favorite senior, and shoko tries to blink back tears, but utahime knows better, so she hugs her. satoru’s tears are burning through his sclera, but his glasses are good enough to hide them.

you turn around, right when the clock strikes midnight. a big smile is on your face, and then your hands cover your mouth in shock and disbelief and everything that feels like the shoujo mangas suguru laughed at you for liking.

“suguru?” you sniffle, and feel a tear fall from your eye unexpectedly.

he matches you, and one falls on his face too. it drags down on his right side, contouring his chiseled face. when it reaches the jawline, it falls.

“i love you, sweetheart.”

his throat almost constricts, his spine is tingling, another ten tears fall from his eyes as you nod, your own washing down your cheeks. another ten years is all he wants with you, and many more if that’s not too much to ask for.

“marry me, y/n.” his words are heavy, full of love, they peel you open, and lick your soul.

“yes.”

another sniffle, and he gets up, and lifts you up in his embrace. he kisses you like he wasn’t by your side for the last decade.

shibuya in winter doesn’t compare to this.

everyone’s cheering in the background, and panda lights his fireworks too. now you hear mimiko’s and nanako’s happy cries, and kirara’s bowling their eyes out next to kinji — you truly babied them too much, but you’ll still never admit — and megumi and tsumiki look at each other tenderly, boy’s head rested over your daughter’s. two of the people that raised them are now in front of them, and it’s not as if they didn’t know you loved each other, they just can’t believe they were allowed to see this moment.

yuuji and nobara are holding onto each other for dear life as they’re whimpering, and maki and mai shoot each other a happy look. kamo’s eyes dart open, and miwa’s muffling her sobs, her boyfriend right besides her, pinching her cheeks. momo feels her heart clench with so much happiness, and looks to the side, seeing utahime get all teary-eyed. todo’s clutching his necklace.

“finally…” satoru sighs, and nanami punches his shoulder, a ghost of a tear disappearing on the back of his hand.

suguru’s arm hooks under the back of your knees, and he turns around, with you in his hold, bridal style. teenage smiles on your faces: your hand is stretched out front, pink morganite and aquamarine shining in the moonlight.

“happy new year, everyone!” your fiancé cheers, and throws you in the air, above. a flash — shoko’s ancient polariod camera, and everyone comes rushing forward.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #suguru geto #suguru geto x y/n #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto x reader #geto suguru fanfiction #geto suguru fluff #geto suguru headcanons #suguru geto headcanons

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dotieeee · 3 months

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The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 6

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 6 Warnings:

Some noncon touching and canoodling (no spoilers)

Replay Level 5

Ready? Level 6 Start:

A knock on the ornate door reverberates inside the empty lab, giving you a tiny jolt in your chair. This must be him, coming over to ‘collect you.’

Like the Grim Reaper who’s come take your soul.

Or maybe it isn’t him. After all, the door isn’t locked, and he’s used to visiting by now to know he can just come in after a knock or two. You get up to open the door, willing your hands to stop shaking so he doesn’t see that you’re fazed by his mere presence.

How are going to win this if you start crumbling like a stale cookie whenever he’s around?

You yank the door open, expecting the Devil himself disguised in slick platinum-blond hair and a finely tailored suit, but instead, you get a man in a hat and a courier’s uniform.

“Ms Prunella Innis?” He inquires.

“Yes?”

He hands you a clipboard for you to sign and picks up this enormous white box wrapped in a satin crimson bow lying by his feet. He also hands you the bouquet he’s cradling, then strides past you to deposit the box on the nearest table. Judging by the red roses in the bundle of blooms, you know who sent you everything without even asking.

Coriolanus Snow never does subtle.

You thank the courier as he exits the lab, tipping his hat in response as he does. Gingerly, you prod the box with a finger, thinking maybe anything could come flying out of the box and rip your face out. It doesn’t move, so maybe the thing inside is dead and he just sent it for the funsies. You brace yourself as you unravel the bow, eager to just get it over with. You lift the lid and a subtle waft of roses greets you.

You gasp when you discover that the contents of the box are nowhere near what you’d been expecting.

They’re actually much worse.

Inside the box are three smaller boxes, all wrapped in red satin ribbons, placed on top of what looks like fancy crepe paper. A card lies atop the tiniest of the boxes with handwriting you can recognise from a mile away.

To my Sugarplum,

Wear this tonight. A car will pick you up from the Corso III entrance at six. We will talk about your response to my request then,

Your Coryo

The box underneath the note reveals a heart-shaped ruby necklace with a fine white gold chain, similar to the chain of that plum-coloured diamond he gave you. In the confines of the second box lies a small black silk clutch, embellished in minuscule silver beads, and embroidered with fine-spun silver, making up a pattern resembling roses. The third box contains a pair of single-strap black satin high-heeled pumps. Underneath those boxes, covered in what you originally thought was just wrapping paper, is a floor-length slip dress made of silk in the loveliest shade of crimson. Based on the superb craftsmanship of the dress alone, you can tell that it isn’t something one can buy off-the-rack. Tailor-made by Coriolanus Snow’s choice of tailor shop, judging by the logo sticker sealing the crepe wrapping paper together.

There was one time these extravagant gifts would’ve sent you in a grateful, ecstatic mood.

That feels like forever ago, now.

At the moment, your gut just stirs in discomfort, looking at this luxurious mess.

Your trepidation only mounts as you watch the clock trudge slowly from day to night. By four, you get home and prepare for the inevitable. You try not to be surprised with the way the dress hugs your figure perfectly, because then that would mean he somehow got lucky with eyeballing your dress size, or that he got ahold of your measurements through questionable means. By five-thirty, the girl in your mirror is barely recognizable – a girl you’ve never seen before, put together on the outside and nearly falling apart at the seams on the inside.

It certainly doesn’t help that the near-nauseating scent of roses still emanates from the dress you’re wearing.

The reflection staring back at you seems to mock you, telling you this is your life now, all preened up at the behest of a stranger whose pastime is pushing other people under his thumbs. Oh well. You’ll get out of this invasive mask soon, you assure yourself.

The driver who’s expecting you right at your building’s entrance wordlessly opens the car door for you. An Avox, you recognise – a product of one of the Capitol’s many sophisticated ways of punishing dissent. Because sometimes death by hanging takes the rebels out of their misery too quickly, so one brilliant mind in the Capitol one day had this brilliant idea of cutting people’s tongues off and shunning them into the lowest wrung of society so they could live a life of servitude, not subjecting anyone else to their worthless, wayward opinions.

And of course, everyone else agreed with how fucking brilliant an idea it was.

Would you have preferred Sejanus be sentenced this way and still have him alive instead of dead? You banish the thought as quickly as it had come – too morbid, even by your standards. Besides, there was no way the Capitol could’ve shut him up, even without his tongue. He still would’ve fought tooth and nail for the change he wanted to see in the world.

Ten minutes to six and you’re already pulling up to the entrance of what looks like The Palisades Hotel, the grandest luxury five-star hotel in all of Panem. There are many other cars already milling at the entrance, with small crowds forming to presumably greet each other. The Chauffeur opens your car door, and immediately after stepping out of the rental car, you spot the very man responsible for you being here instead of at home, guzzling hot chocolate and stuffing your face with angel food cake.

Coriolanus Snow seems to be engaged in a lighthearted conversation with a group of older men in flashy tuxedos you only vaguely recognise by face, but his attention shifts the moment he sees you emerge from the car. You could see him mouth ‘see you inside’ to them as one of them shakes his hand vigorously. His piercing blue eyes scan your frame a few feet away, his lilting grin never vanishing from his face as he approaches you.

He seems to have lured you into some kind of party under false pretences.

He looks flawless, as he always does: his platinum-blond locks combed back, his sleek crimson tuxedo matching yours, and a signature white rose pinned to his lapel; no wonder he almost fooled you – that blinding charm he has always allowed him to hide something sinister underneath.

You could feel your pulse race with every step he takes in your direction. It takes you a fraction of a second to realise he’s holding out his hand, which you tentatively accept. He never breaks eye contact with you as he brushes his lips over the back of your hand.

You might’ve yanked your hand away a little too fast for his liking, for you see his eyes flash danger before shifting to his usual semblance of warmth.

He leans into your ear and whispers, “Sugarplum, you are a sight to behold.”

You put on the best realistic smile you can muster. “Thank you. And thank you for the dress and...everything else.”

You stay frozen to your spot as he tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, his fingers briefly brushing against your cheek. “There. Perfect,” he says. “And there’s no need to thank me. I like spoiling my sugarplum with only the best.”

But despite the rather depressing outlook you had coming here, there’s a glimmer of hope you see as an idea strikes you. Maybe you can get out of this early, after all.

“Coryo, Uncle Cas agreed,” you tell him at once. And then make up an excuse and bolt. Anything to get out of here and away from him. “He’s willing to transfer my apprenticeship.”

Coriolanus beams in delight at the news, his eyes twinkling as he takes the initiative to wrap your arm around his. “I’m so happy to hear that, sugarplum. The highlight of my night. Let me take you inside; a lot of people are dying to see you.”

Before you can complain, however, he all but steers you inside the lobby and to the entrance of the Palisades’ grand hall.

“Where exactly are we going, Coryo?” you ask. He never said anything about other people, but maybe they could come in handy in case you need to duck and make a run for it.

He releases a short sigh, looking apologetic and slowing his pace. “I may have forgotten to tell you that we’d be attending Mr Plinth’s birthday party tonight. I’m sorry, sugarplum, I’ve been meaning to invite you in person, but I’ve been so busy lately it slipped my mind.”

Your hand makes its way to your mouth as you gasp. “But haven’t brought him a gift…”

He is quick to dismiss your concern as he waves to someone exiting the hall. “It’s okay. I wrote both our names on the card on my gift.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, as the massive gold-painted doors open to a grand hall lined with marble and gold, revealing a crowd of people already chatting and enjoying the booze over a full orchestra playing at the corner of the stage. You could feel the blood drain from your face as a sea of curious, ogling eyes trails on you both entering the grand hall, but you power through and smile – there’s no escaping now, at this point.

“I’m simply taking responsibility,” Coriolanus responds in a teasing tone. “Would you rather have come here without a gift?”

You look up at him while you cling onto his arm for some support. He looks every bit at home with all the attention – so undeniably different from the eighteen-year-old Academy Coriolanus fidgeting with his collar all those years ago on the day of the Reaping.

You wonder inwardly if that’s the only thing in him that’s changed, while everything else that’s rotten in him had always been there, if not amplified.

“I guess not,” you acquiesce. “Thank you. Please let me know how I can pay you back.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll think of something,” he says with a lopsided grin.

Coriolanus’s arm veers you to Mr and Ma Plinth, who are both entertaining guests. You give Mr Plinth your well-wishes for his birthday and get a motherly hug from Ma, who gushes over how ‘you look every bit like a princess.’

“My sons sure have excellent taste,” she tells Coriolanus with a wink, earning a hearty laugh from him before she pulls him into an affectionate embrace.

The dress. She’s referring to the dress for sure.

But just when you think you’re finally free to just face the farthest corner and disassociate, his arm wraps around your waist and leads you away to meet other people. People you’d rather not associate with.

The horror.

But as usual, you paint on the demurest of smiles, trying not to be fazed by the flashing of cameras in the hall. The party is apparently heavily covered by the media, so Coriolanus does his best to mesmerise everyone with his wit, his looks and his charisma, while you play the role of the dolled-up, docile arm décor, beaming and chiming in only when spoken to.

It’s nothing short of demeaning, but you’re here to play his game, and losing isn’t an option.

Coriolanus proudly introduces you to everyone you meet as his official gamemaker apprentice, much to their admiration. A lot of them, powerful, important heads in the Capitol and their children, some of whom you know by face at the University. Most of them, unfamiliar faces, but they feel the need to give you unsolicited advice – somewhere along the lines of being seen more among peers of the same societal status.

“How come we don’t see you out that often?”

“You’re so pretty, you should go out more and have fun!”

“Nellie, we usually hang out at this bar, it’s super exclusive, you should come with us sometime.”

The same thing, over and over, and you just go along, nodding or shaking your head and laughing whenever a joke is told, crack a few yourself, exchange toasts over minuscule sips of booze, and tell them through gritted teeth that you’ll see them around, only to be snatched away again by the waist by Coriolanus and be brought over to another clique. Your Uncle Cas would be laughing his ass off at you if he could see you right now.

The cycle goes on, and you find yourself getting better at it with practice. Just like a loop, repeating a set of code for x number of times, automating repetitive, boring tasks on a computer application.

The only problem with loop conditions: when poorly written, can lead to infinite loops, which can cause the application’s unresponsiveness.

You vaguely wonder how long this loop is conditioned to last.

A guy you’ve seen in one of your classes approaches you and strikes up a conversation, just when Coriolanus is looking away, his hand slack on your waist as he speaks with a Mr Rutherford.

“I read your paper on the application of artificial intelligence in automating retina-scanning and other security measures,” he says, adding for clarification when you flash him a questioning look, “It’s in the library, along with your other research papers. It’s so well put together.”

He holds out his hand as he introduces himself as Ovidius Browne, the youngest of three sons of business magnate Octavius Browne. The Brownes own a number of factories in District 6. You shake his outstretched hand. He reveals himself to be in his junior year in computer engineering, a career he decided to take to help improve their company’s factory conditions. He wonders if such levels of automation would be possible in basic manufacturing tasks like quality inspection and inventory scanning without taking jobs away or being too invasive to factory workers. It’s a terrific concept, you say, and you get so pumped with exchanging ideas that you forget to put up your facade and instead engage wholeheartedly, at least until a cold hand travels from the back of your neck down to your spine, settling on the small of your back and tracing circles with a finger.

“Browne, is it?” Coriolanus Snow’s baritone chips in.

You introduce them formally and they exchange a brief and polite handshake.

“I’d like to discuss more of that with you Ms Innis,” Ovidius says. “If we could perhaps exchange numbers – ”

“Of course, we’d love to chat, Mr Browne. I can give Nellie your office number and she’ll get in touch,” Coriolanus interrupts genially. His fingers are still drumming over your back as he continues, “Apologies, I have to take my apprentice away; there is someone I’d like her to meet.”

He grips your waist to pull you away without waiting for a response from either of you.

You shoot him a confused look. “Coryo, he was just – ”

“About to ask you to put in a good word on his behalf to your uncle? Yes, he was.” He says with an eyebrow raised in disapproval.

“But we were just talking about...tech stuff. Are you sure?”

The conversation you had with him didn’t seem like it’ll branch off into that territory.

He nods once. “A little bird may have chirped to me about a certain Browne sibling’s internship application getting rejected twice by the Dean of Computer Sciences. It’s like you said before, sugarplum: just another one of those sycophants complimenting you in exchange for something.”

How much inside information does he have stockpiled on other people? Maybe he keeps them stashed in his closet labelled ‘in case of emergency, break glass.’

Just when you thought you could talk to someone about something you’re genuinely interested in for once this night.

You’re recognised by a surprisingly pleasant, popular senior and it-girl from your college, Ursa Talbot – daughter of Labor Solicitor Ursinus Talbot – who ropes you in with her gaggle of girlfriends, chatting to you about the exclusive, invite-only social clubs she’s joined and offers to vouch for you.

Ursa’s fiancé, a fresh graduate now working for her father, joins in the conversation, rolling his eyes as the women around him start giggling and making suppressed squealing noises at someone behind you. Before you turn around to see who it is, you feel a gentle squeeze on the waist.

“Ladies, my apologies, but I’d have to take my apprentice away,” he declares with a wink, and they swoon and blush behind their hands. “I hope you enjoy the night. Nellie?”

“Yes?”

Like you’re programmed to do, you look at Coriolanus with a cheerful smile and let him haul you off.

He tells you something you don’t quite catch. With the music now reaching its climax and the chatter getting livelier, it becomes hard to hear anyone, so you have no choice but to lean closer to him to make out what he’s saying. He takes this further and tugs you close to his chest by the waist. The proximity makes you inadvertently place a hand on the lapel of his waistcoat, while he whispers to the side of your face close to your ear, “I said I’m going to introduce you to Dr Volumnia Gaul.”

You peer to your side, to where he’s eyeing, and true enough, Dr Gaul herself was there, wearing a purple and gold brocade dress cascading to the floor and leather gloves to match, her straggly, greying hair adding to her distinct look. She’s chatting away with an animated Strabo Plinth holding a dainty drink in one hand and a beetle-shaped clutch in the other.

Even in something as completely innocent and normal as a birthday party, she still stands out against the crowd as a formidable presence.

She’s what you think Coriolanus is trying to be, except for the speaking-in-riddles-and-rhymes part. Wouldn’t it be funny, a snide voice in your head says, if Coriolanus one day just starts saying ‘hippity-hoppity?’

The thought is enough is cheer you up a little bit.

Volumnia Gaul’s mismatched eyes roam over the two of you as you near her spot.

“Dr Gaul, it’s a pleasure to see you tonight. I’m glad you could join us,” he says with a tip of his head. “I know we mustn’t talk of work, but I’m sure you’ll be happy to know I have secured myself the apprentice of my dreams.”

“Mr Snow, what delightful news you bring me,” she drawls toothily. “Oh my, oh my. Prunella Innis!”

Her unnerving gaze lands on you, her gloved fingers lifting your chin as if to get a better look.

Just smile, dammit.

“The apple of young Snow’s eye. I was wondering when we’d get to meet. Finally putting a pretty face to your name is such a treat!” She releases a pleased, throaty chuckle.

You try to keep your voice as steady as you can. “Pleasure to be of your acquaintance, Dr Gaul.”

The grin she has from ear to ear does not extend to her eyes. “Clever little girl, this. I can see why...” she trails off, then flicks an odd, knowing stare at your friend. “Keep your eagle eye on this one, Mr Snow; you wouldn’t want her flying away with her teensy-weensy wings...”

Seeing as this friendly, albeit bizarre banter isn’t in your list of programmed interactions, you settle for the automated smile, careful not to let it falter.

“Of course, Dr Gaul. I’m not planning on letting her go anytime soon,” he responds just as playfully.

Thankfully, the exchange ends there, as you’re both called by party ushers to your table where the Plinth couple are sitting. Odd sitting at the table for what seems to be family and close friends only, but you keep your thoughts to yourself while the ceremony begins. The night goes on with well-wishing speeches from the Plinth senior’s closest friends and colleagues. Then, the dinner courses are served right after an honorary toast for the celebrant. Everything brought to the table by the servers looks expensive and sumptuous – all a grand display of opulence that is the seemingly infinite Plinth fortune.

And yet you find yourself only able to nibble at the food, having your appetite diminished by the stress of interacting with so many people in just less than two hours.

“You’ve barely eaten anything,” Coriolanus’s voice floats from beside you. His eyes are laced with worry as he asks, “Can I get you anything you’d like?”

Plus, having to deal with him dragging you from one place to another.

You shake your head once and assure him you’re fine. You partake of the food a little more when the dessert course comes around, much to his approval.

“I’d hate to see my sugarplum getting sick,” he says as he watches you eat a tiny forkful of birthday cake.

This you ignore in favour of savouring the cake’s decadent caramel frosting and rich custard filling, balanced with an airy lemon-and-orange-flower chiffon base. You figure if you can’t have fun tonight, the least you can do is enjoy the cake.

With the food out the way, more booze comes flowing, and it isn’t long before the orchestra plays a lively tune, and the dance floor gets filled with delighted, slightly inebriated guests waltzing and tapping to the beat, and while Strabo doesn’t join in, he and Ma both look thrilled to see everyone in high spirits, before they’re pulled separately into light chit-chat by their friends.

If Sejanus was here now, you’d both be sulking together in a corner of the grand hall sharing what would’ve been your third slice of cake, arguing over who gets the side with more frosting.

You take advantage of this moment to extricate yourself from everyone – mostly Coriolanus and his imposing presence – and excuse yourself to the powder room. Locking yourself inside a bathroom stall, you let out a drawn-out exhale of absolute relief.

Alone, finally.

You gaze wistfully at the bathroom window to your left. It’s too high for your reach, but you figure you could use one of the large potted plants as a booster and get as far away from this place as you possibly can, even if you had to go on foot.

Groaning to yourself, you stew in the fact that this freedom of yours from your deviously charming companion is short-lived. He’d soon be wondering where you’d gone, and he’d likely tear the place down just so he could find you. You doubt he’d appreciate it if he hears that you’ve locked yourself in a bathroom stall plotting your escape.

The dancing is on full blast as you step back into the grand hall. You make yourself as inconspicuous as you can, strategically darting between people to reach the open bar. You choose a bar stool that conceals you from everyone in the room and order a drink on impulse. The bartender is kind enough to humour your request for an alcohol-free concoction, which he serves with maraschino cherries on a toothpick.

“Rough night?” he asks as he wipes a glass, smiling sympathetically at you. With his greying hair and the lines on the corner of his eyes, he seems to be wearier than you are, probably from having to be at the beck and call of thirsty, snotty Capitol High Society all night.

“Very,” you sigh. “I hope it isn’t as rough as yours.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” he shakes his head with a chortle. “I had a lady just a few clicks ago demand I make the same drink four times because she wanted a Cosmo without the cranberry juice and the lime. Coulda just ordered a shot of vodka and Cointreau, but what do I know...”

You let out a suppressed, dry laugh. “I’m sorry you to had deal with that. Thanks for the drink, it’s delicious.”

“Eh. It’s nothin',’” he shrugs. A server enters behind the bar and whispers something to him, and he promptly takes his apron off and exits, but not before bidding you a good night. He is replaced by someone younger and more stern-looking, who resumes the abandoned task of wiping the other glasses.

Just as you’re about to bite a cherry off the toothpick, a sudden waft of roses floats in your vicinity, followed by a cold hand on your lower back and an airy baritone whisper over your ear.

“I was afraid you had walked out on me.”

Coriolanus Snow’s lopsided grin is inches away from your face as he leans against the counter beside you, his eyes eventually landing on the drink you’re still halfway through finishing.

“Hmm. What would my sugarplum be drinking liquid courage for?”

You shake your head. “This is alcohol-free.”

“Good.” He straightens his posture to full height and, bending to a stiff, formal bow, he extends a hand and asks, “Prunella Innis, may I please have the honour of this dance?”

You hesitate, but knowing that every move you make is now under public scrutiny, saying no and leaving him out to dry isn’t an option.

He sweeps you away to the dance floor as soon as your fingers touch his.

With the orchestra blaring their lovely rendition of Strauss II’s Voices of Spring, you both begin swaying lightly as you place your palms on his shoulder while his hands encase both sides of your waist.

Coriolanus beams down on you as his cobalt eyes search your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice mixed with a tiny tinge of concern. “I really hope I haven’t overwhelmed you, I know you never liked these kinds of parties.”

Your lips thin to a wry smile. “It’s a change of scenery, alright,” you admit. “What about you? You look like you’re having the time of your life.”

His eyes twinkle as he lets out a throaty chuckle. “That’s only because I brought good company with me.”

“Really? I thought this was your whole scene.”

“Well, if you keep going with me to the next ones, it might just be.”

His air of mischief continues even as the music ends and you join in applauding the musicians. When he doesn’t make a move to cart you off the dance floor, that’s when you figure out he isn’t done dancing with you just yet.

The orchestra begins their rendition of the Snowstorm waltz, so you both exchange a curtsy, as is the norm. With his hand clasping yours and his other hand on your waist, you begin to dance, spinning and waltzing to the beat. You’re aware you shouldn’t be making a big deal out of something as trivial as a dance, but you’re still unable to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might find. You settle for staring at his tux collar and concentrating on your footwork.

Thank goodness those etiquette classes in your early teens are proving to be worth your uncle’s money.

Soon enough, your surroundings become a blur, and all you can see is him, beaming down at you as you dip, then pulling you flush to his chest so he can spin with you some more. His gaze is heavy, feverish, never leaving your face. You see a split-second flash of the entire hall, which throws you further into a daze, discovering that eyes are trained on you both and most of the dancers have vacated the floor to give you room. The heady smell of roses, courtesy of the one pinned to his lapel, blurs your sense of reality, and you beg, you pray, that you don’t hurl what little food you ate and make a fool out of yourself. He angles his head in time to another dip and he whispers to ear in a low voice.

“You’re so intoxicatingly beautiful.”

Then he pulls you close again, your foreheads almost touching as he drinks all of you in with those half-lidded blue eyes. A few more trots on the floor and the waltz ends, and you curtsy as he bows, trying not to show just how lightheaded you are and how shallow your breathing is despite the dance itself being undemanding. The animated applause that follows echoes in the hall, and you join in mechanically.

Guests come milling in pairs to fill the dance floor once more just as the next waltz plays. Coriolanus entwines his fingers with yours.

“Come with me,” he says vaguely, and you both manoeuvre your way through the dancers and ignore some of the whispering and the staring that follows you as you exit the grand hall through the several ceiling-to-ceiling doors made of glass panels. He leads you down to the marble staircase and into the hotel’s expansive inner gardens.

“I figured you needed the fresh air,” he says as soon as you both reach a wall beside a well-manicured hedge, away from leering eyes and all the gossiping.

Your posture sags against the stone wall, letting out an exhausted exhale. “Thank you,” you say.

He just watches you wordlessly, his hands behind his back, as you compose yourself. When your head clears, you become aware that you’ve strayed a tad too far from the grand hall and are a little too alone with him than you’d prefer. Eventually, you straighten, your decision to go back to the party already made.

But Coriolanus is on you the moment you do.

“I want to show you something,” he says.

He gives you no time to complain, and he all but drags you by the arm further into a dimmer section of the garden, where you can barely hear the music and the chatter from the grand hall. A few more steps and you reach a large stone greenhouse covered wall-to-wall in creeping wisteria. Surprisingly, it’s unlocked, so he easily pushes the opaque glass door open and ushers you in first, with him following closely behind.

“The roses are to your far right.”

You hear the door’s dull click as it closes.

You shouldn’t be here, you think. But you get to the edge of the greenhouse, anyway, where the nearly overwhelming odour of a mishmash of different types of roses invades your nostrils. Despite the very little light coming through the opaque glass panels of the enclosure, you see the flowers sprawled in between a narrow path leading to the back of the building. Just more stone and glass panels, no doors.

No exits. No escape.

Your heart leaps to your throat when you feel a warm breath tickle the back of your neck and a pair of arms snake around your form. Tensing up in an instant, your breath hitches when that warmth reaches your ear.

Coriolanus’s deep, hushed tone sends shivers down your spine.

“I’ve been dying to have you all to myself the moment you stepped out of that car.”

In the blink of an eye, he turns you around and captures your lips with his.

It takes a while for you to realise what he’s doing, so he takes advantage of your momentary unresponsiveness and slips his tongue inside your mouth. As he’s moving his tongue all over yours, your back hits a hard surface. He’s pinned you against the stone wall, his body hunched over as he presses himself on yours, giving you no space to slip through or to push him away. His hand wraps around the side of your head to change the angle, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Coriolanus Snow is kissing you, passionately and possessively, and he kisses like he’s running out of breath and you’re his only source of air.

And all you could do in your state of denial, paralysis, and fear is to close your eyes and wish he was Sejanus instead.

When he shifts his angle, you tilt your head to the side so you can catch your breath. Perhaps he sees this as an act of defiance, for he cups both your cheeks with a growl, making you face him, and goes back to kissing you just as fiercely as before. This time, you instinctively keep your lips shut, but a light nip of his teeth leaves you gasping in surprise, enabling him to tangle both your tongues.

Your hands manage to wedge between your bodies, so you push him away with all the strength you have. As he reluctantly pulls away, he has the gall to look affronted, but you could’ve slapped him, too, or clawed his eyes out for putting you in such a vulnerable position; only reason prevents you from lashing out.

“I’m sorry, sugarplum. I’ve had quite the drink tonight,” he whispers breathlessly, resting his forehead on your temple.

Liar. You can barely smell anything alcohol-related on him; just the sickening scent of the flowers he’s partial to. This is all just a part of the game to him, to make you feel isolated and powerless against him. A play for power and control, and one he’s currently winning.

“We should go, Coryo.” You hate how close to begging your voice sounds. “Please, it’s a school day tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

Fuck.

Of all the excuses, that’s what you come up with?

He begins planting butterfly kisses on your temple and your cheek.

“Not for my uncle,” you scramble to correct yourself. “He often has Saturday classes and I sometimes help.”

“Skip it. You’re my apprentice now. Mine,” he says sternly. He seems to immediately amend his tone by asking, “I mean, doesn’t he have interns for that?”

Damn it.

“Yes, he does.”

You could feel him smirk against your cheek, seemingly counting this as a win. With you still effectively trapped in between the wall and his unrelenting embrace, he takes your chin with his forefinger and thumb to make you face him and latches his lips on yours.

His hand finds its way to your back, brushing against the groove of your spine. He then grips the back of your neck and turns your head to the side, allowing him to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses on your jaw, before moving down to the column of your neck.

You cave in and beg as soon as you feel his tongue on your skin.

“Coryo, please...please stop...”

It comes out as a broken whimper, making you hate yourself even more. The dread you felt when you opened his gift, the way you had to put on a mask that you hate for people you don’t care for, the way you had to pretend to him that you don’t despise how he kept making you feel so exposed and defenceless the entire night – everything you’ve been bottling up since this morning seemed to come spilling into that plea, rendering you to feel even more helpless and alone. It takes every ounce of self-control in you not to burst into tears.

You’re not supposed to act this pathetically in front of him, but here you are.

His grip on you grows slack and he draws his head back to observe you, his jaw clenched in disapproval. You don’t care; you try to wriggle away from him, your bodies still too close for your liking. You still refuse to meet his eyes, because if you do, he might see right through your crumbling facade.

He sighs and takes a full step backwards, finally giving you space to breathe in relief.

He still finds the nerve to let out a restrained chuckle. “I’m sorry, I let my emotions get the better of me. You’re right; this is neither the time nor the place.”

Neither the time nor the place. Does that mean he’ll do it again? At this point, you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Can we go back? Please?”

He takes your hand in his with a nod. Stepping outside the greenhouse, you both stop in your tracks as you spot another couple nearby, seemingly trying to stay hidden in the bushes and in the middle of making out. It’s Ursa and her fiancé. They both pull away from each other and Ursa waves at you spiritedly while her partner looks away in embarrassment. She then drags him by the arm to the now-vacant greenhouse, both of them bursting into a giddy laughing fit.

Coriolanus just smirks at the sight. With him refusing to let your hand go, you continue your trek back to the grand hall, where the party is still in full swing, and the guests are still drinking and dancing the night away.

Your feet are sore, your lips are numb, and your soul is drained.

Yet you still put on a good final show until the party ends as if nothing happened. By eleven thirty, Mr and Ma Plinth instruct Coriolanus to call it a night and get some rest, but not before he escorts you home. Like the dutiful Plinth heir he is, he gladly obliges, and that’s how you wind up with the same car ride as he, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it through with a butter knife.

Coriolanus breaks the silence.

“I will have a car escort you from your home the Citadel starting Monday,” he says matter-of-factly. “As per Dr Gaul’s instructions, you will be excused from any summer class you’ve enrolled in.”

“But I took those classes for extra credit,” you protest mildly.

He encases your hand on your lap. “You will be granted full credits for all of them if we succeed. This is, after all, for the cause, not only of the Citadel nor of the Capitol, but of all of Panem.

“This Monday, sugarplum, is the dawn of a new era.”

You refuse point-blank to look at him or even acknowledge the comment, but judging by the excitement in his tone, despite everything he’s forced you to do this night, you already know he’s smiling and extremely pleased with himself.

After long agonising minutes, the car pulls up before the Corso III lobby entrance, so you bid him good night, which he returns with a swift peck on your cheek. You don’t even look back at the car once you get out; you run straight to the elevator, lock your apartment door and head to the safety of your bedroom.

Your first of two tasks as soon as you lock the door is to rid yourself of everything that reminds you of that accursed party – the dress, the shoes, the clutch, the necklace – and chuck them all into a corner where you hope you’d never see them again. You have a half-mind to shower to get rid of his smell on you, but you’re so tired to the bone you move on to the second and last task of the night:

Curl up in your blankets and cry your heart out.

Enter Level 7

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!

Next Level will include a portion of the ball in Snowball's POV!! I wanted it to be here but then it'll get too long so...🫣 also reader is going to have to work this incoming Monday lol and more sympathetic I cannot be, esp with Snowball observing 😛

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #18+ only #dark!coriolanus snow fic #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

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lolahasmoxie · 5 months

Text

Gingerbread House (E.M.)

WARNINGS: disgusting established relationship. (slaps fanfiction) this baby holds so much casual intimacy! also, there are a couple of really bad Christmas-themed sex puns. MDNI

P.S. It's Christmas; where's my tall, lanky, metalhead boyfriend?

The snow is falling softly outside your apartment.

You spent the first part of the evening walking around your neighborhood to see Christmas lights. Eddie held your mitten-covered hand while you sipped on your hot chocolate, and you only headed back home when the snowflakes started coming down in droves.

Now you were inside, TV playing something forgotten while you and Eddie tried assembling the store-brought gingerbread house kit you had purchased the day before. You had constructed the house before you left, and now that it was ready, you had begun decorating.

"Are you really going to write "Metallica Rules" across the roof."

"What, are you afraid the gingerbread neighbors will clutch their pearls?" You can't help but chuckle as you place gumdrops around the house.

Eddie was a menace while you finished up the house. Smacking your ass when you walked by, wiping frosting down your cheek, and then licking it off your face. Teasing glances that let you know that this whole ordeal was just one long foreplay session for him. It was one of your favorite things about Eddie; he never shied away from showing you how much he loved you.

"There, Chateau Munson is complete!" Eddie walked over to you and threw his arm around your shoulder while you both took in your creation. It was a little sloppy and weird, but it perfectly represented you.

"Looks good." you counter as Eddie leans over and kisses your hairline.

"So," Eddie began. "I'm still a little bit cold from earlier. Why don't we lock up, and then you take me to bed and warm me up?" Eddie has pulled you to him, arms around your waist as you place your hands on his shoulders.

"Still cold, huh? I don't know, I'm pretty tired."

"Please, sweet girl," Eddie coos as he leans down to press his lips against the shell of your ear. Your breath hitches when his hands wander down and firmly grab your ass. "it's so cold; take pity and warm up your man.”

"Mmm, wouldn't want my baby to get frostbite." Eddie groans as he pushes his pelvis into you, and you can feel just how much he wants you.

"Warm me up, pleeeeeeeease." He whines. You can't help but giggle as Eddie kisses up the column of your neck.

"You make a convincing case," you jest as you feel him lead you to your bedroom. "I'll start warming you up by letting you play with my sugar plums."

"Oh, keep up that naughty talk, Princess, and your pussy is going to end up more glazed than our gingerbread house."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you

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sailor-aviator · 5 months

Text

Til the Summer Comes Again: Chapter One

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

"I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, 'Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.'" — Lewis Carrol

Summary: Bob was a winter spirit who loved what he did. He loved making individual snowflakes. He loved the way the snow sparkled in the winter sun. He loved the laughter his creations brought to people around the world. What he didn't expect, was to fall in love with a human girl from a small town. He has until the summer comes again for her to reciprocate his feelings if he wants to remain on earth, but will the shadows that haunt her get in the way of happily ever after? (JackFrost! AU)

Trigger Warnings: Language, Flirting, Talks of past trauma, Allusions to depressive episodes, Allusions to failing, Magic, Elemental/Seasonal Spirits, Mentions of feeling watched. I think that's it.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I realize that not too terribly much happened in this chapter, but things are just getting warmed up! Be sure to join the tag list too if you haven't already so you don't miss out on any updates! I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts, and stay tuned for an exciting little announcement. As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! You can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where all of my works will also be published! If you enjoy my work, please consider sending me a tip!

Series Masterlist || Robert "Bob" Floyd Tag List

There was a chill in the air as you walked into the tired, old bookstore on the corner of main and first. The building was as old as the town of North Island, Maine itself. You weren’t sure if it had always been a bookstore, but it had been ever since your mother was a child. She had insisted on moving closer to her parents who were getting on in years, and your father had readily complied as his job allowed him the privilege of working remotely. Your mother would bring you with her to the bookstore every so often, perusing the old books as you sat in the corner with whatever book had caught your eye that day.

“There’s magic in old books, Sugar Plum,” she would say. “You just have to know where to look for it.”

And while you loved books, dance was your first love, hence your mother’s nickname for you. She had loved dancing as a child, but left it behind in pursuit of other endeavors, something she regretted immensely. Which is why she had signed you up for dance lessons at an early age, and when you were cast as a sugar plum fairy alongside the older girls one year? She was ecstatic, calling you her little sugar plum so much that the name had just stuck, even beyond the world of dance.

Your mother had led you into the kindergarten classroom as your little hands wrapped around her leg nervously.

“There’s no need to be scared, Sugar Plum,” she had cooed, coaxing you out from behind her as you peered around the room at the other children with your little eyes. “Everyone here is new too.”

“But I don’t wanna leave you,” you pouted, tears springing to your eyes at the thought of your mother leaving you behind. She kneeled down in front of you, rubbing her hands up and down your arms in a bid to soothe you.

“It won’t be forever,” she assured you, smiling softly. “It’s only until three o’clock today. And then you get to come home!”

“What if no one likes me?” You whispered, the tears threatening to spill over now. It was one thing to be in a new place by yourself, but for no one to like you on top of it? Your mind couldn’t comprehend the horror.

“That’s not going to happen, Sugar Plum,” she chuckled, running a hand over your hair. “How could anyone not like you?”

Before you could answer, a girl with dark hair and big brown eyes came skipping up to the two of you with a huge smile.

“Hi!” she chirped, looking at you. “I’m Natasha, but you can call me Nat. What’s your name?”

You gave it to her, still clinging to your mother. “But my family calls me Sugar Plum.”

“Sugar Plum?” Nat hummed, cocking her head to the side in thought. “Like the fairies?”

You perked up at her words, letting go of your mother’s pant leg and stepping forward.

“Yeah!” You grinned. “I wanna be in the ballet!”

“You dance?” She asked, eyes growing wide as you nodded. “That’s so cool! Come on, I wanna tell Bradley and Reuben!”

You followed after her, giggling. You turned just long enough to wave goodbye to your mother before running off after Nat who introduced you to the two boys.

The little group had adopted you quickly, and the years passed with them by your side. They came to every dance recital you had, cheering you on as best they could, and every cancelled weekend plan was forgiven as you chased your dream of making it big as a dancer.

“There’s always next time,” Nat had assured you while Bradley and Reuben nodded alongside her.

“Chase your dreams, SP,” Reuben had grinned.

“We’ll be waiting for you on the other side,” Bradley had tossed in, ruffling your hair.

You couldn’t have asked for better friends, truly.

And then it had all come crashing down. The memory of the spotlight on you, standing on the stage and being unable to move, the tears that had streamed down your face as you stared into a wall of darkness. The unseen eyes that stared back at you before you ran off the stage.

It had been humiliating, and it had been your friends who had helped you pick up the pieces afterwards.

“You don’t have to try again now,” Nat had assured you, wiping your tears when they fell. You had all been gathered in your room a couple of days after the incident, you in your pajamas and buried under piles of blankets. “It’s okay to take the time to rest.”

“Who needs to go to a fancy school, anyway?” Bradley had smiled, hugging you close into his side. “You don’t need someone else to tell you how good you are.”

“Dopey here has a point,” Reuben added, earning a scowl from the other man. “You’re amazing, SP. We’ve known that all along. You just gotta be the one to realize it now.”

Their words still echoed in your mind months later. Since that day, you had gotten a quiet, part-time job at your beloved bookstore, working under the watchful eye of Pete Mitchell.

“Call me Mav or Maverick,” he had smiled at you when he offered you the job, and you had agreed with the condition that he call you by your nickname as well. Maverick was a kind, older man. A local who had left for decades before coming back.

“What did you do while you were away?” You asked him one day. You had dreamed of leaving the small town too, one day, but that dream seemed so far away now. He hummed, thumbing through an ancient-looking book. The ink was fading against the yellowed pages, but there was an air of mystery surrounding the tome.

“I did several things,” he answered, glancing up at you. “Learned lots of things. Maybe one day I’ll teach you.”

Maverick was a strange, old man.

You weren’t the only one that worked at the bookstore. Maverick had three attendants that worked in the store with you, and they were an odd bunch to be sure. There was Jake, a handsome blond with a cocky smile. He was a man who was sure of himself, and more than once he had tried to woo you with all kinds of flowers and one liners. Next was Javy, a stoic charmer whose smile felt like you were bathing in the sun. He was the most levelheaded out of the three and the one you went to when you needed help with a project. Last, was Mickey. Mickey appeared to be the closest in age to you with a grin always on his face as he hopped around the store. He was also the most animated of the three, reminding you of a puppy with his seemingly endless amounts of energy.

The three seemed normal enough, but odd as well. One or more of them would often pop up out of nowhere, sending you into near cardiac arrest a number of times. There were times where you’d catch Jake talking to the plants around the store, and you would almost swear you’d see the plant perk up as he crooned at them. Then there was the time Javy got so mad at Jake after the blond had “forgotten” to do the dusting for the fifth time that week, and you swear the gust of wind that followed was calculated. Or the time that you heard Mickey sneeze followed by Jake shouting, “dammit, Mickey!” You had rounded the corner to find the brunette grimacing sheepishly as Jake frantically slapped out the smoldering document. It wasn’t until later that you realized that there hadn’t been a candle in sight.

Yes, they were an odd bunch to be sure, but you were very fond of them.

“What are you three doing hanging around an old bookstore like this, anyway?” You had asked them one day. Mickey had perked up from where he was looking over a book that had seen better days, grinning at you wildly.

“Oh, we’re his apprentices!” He laughed. “He’s teaching us ma-”

“How to manage books,” Javy interrupted, stepping over and placing a hand at the base of Mickey’s neck. Mickey winced, scowling up at the larger man. “Maverick is teaching us how to take care of all of the older books here.”

“I see,” you hummed as Mickey shrugged the other man off, shooting him a glare before fixing his gaze back on you. “What got you into old books then?”

“What’s not to like about old books?” Jake grinned, leaning forward and shooting you a wink. “There’s so much magic in them, isn’t there?”

Javy shot him a warning look as you fixed the blond with a blank stare.

“I didn’t know you knew how to read,” you mused, turning back to the stack of books you were cataloging in the computer. Javy let out a booming laugh as the grin on Jake’s face dropped. Mickey snickered as you fought back a smirk at the dumbfounded look on the blond’s face. Jake recovered quickly, the grin easing back onto his face.

“I’m full of surprises, dewdrop,” he winked. You rolled your eyes as you continued with your work, the telltale sound of Maverick’s shoes clacking against the hardwood. He rounded the corner from the back, staring at your small group.

“I need you three to follow me,” he said, gesturing to the boys as he turned back the way he came. You sighed, waving the trio off as they bid you goodbye. It was late, and you doubted they’d make another appearance before the end of your shift. Oftentimes when Maverick came to fetch them, they’d disappear for hours, and sometimes you wouldn’t even see them for days. You thought it odd, initially, but you learned to not question it. You were thankful to have a job with enough hours to keep you busy, and Maverick paid you well for the seemingly inconsequential work that you did around the shop.

Once the three men disappeared beyond the back door, Maverick poked his head back around the doorframe.

“SP?”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you go on ahead and head home for the night?” He suggested, smiling warmly. “The weather is supposed to get bad here soon, and I don’t like the thought of you being out there in it by yourself. You can go ahead and lock the shop up behind you.”

“Okay, Mav,” you smiled, setting the stack of books to the side as he nodded and once again disappeared behind the door.

You made sure things were closed up the way they needed to be, double checking to make sure that the backdoor was locked before grabbing your coat, scarf, and gloves. You peaked out the window to see that the snow was already starting to fall onto the quiet street outside, and you stopped to admire the stillness that seemed so otherworldly. Winter had always been your favorite time of year. You loved the snow, the laughter, ice skating, and how warm everything felt despite the frigid temperatures. Winter was finally here.

You made sure to tuck your ears beneath your hat, pulling your scarf up around your face as you exited the shop, the bell signaling your departure. With key in hand, you locked the door, giving it a tug to make sure that it was in place before starting the ten minute walk down the street to your home. The frigid air kissed at your cheeks, bringing warmth to the surface as you continued to trek through the heavy falling snow. A chill ran up your spine, and you stopped in your tracks, feeling eyes on you. You whirled around, looking for any sign of life as you stood alone on the street. Most everyone else was at home, snug underneath their blankets or by their fireplaces, and not a soul could be seen from where you were standing. This happened to you often, this feeling of being watched. You had felt it since you were a little girl. Sometimes it wasn’t too bad, like the feeling of a guardian angel watching over you and keeping you safe. But other times, times like this? The feeling was sinister, like whatever it was that was watching you would devour you whole.

You drew your coat tighter around your shivering form, turning back towards the way home. You had gotten good at walking home quickly over the years, but you always wondered if there was a reason for your rush of adrenaline. You hoped you never found out.

Bob followed Tom towards the bookshop, the sign on the front already reading, “sorry, we’re closed!” Bob frowned. He was hoping he could have seen you before you left, but perked up when he remembered that he would see you soon, and this time you would be able to see him.

Tom stopped in front of the wooden door, knocking three times and waiting. A figure appeared from the depths of the shop, walking up to the door and peering out the glass. Tom waited patiently as the man on the other side unlocked the door, opening it with a warm smile.

“Tom,” he greeted, pulling the winter spirit into a hug. Tom chuckled, patting the man on the back.

“Maverick,” he smiled, pulling back and gesturing towards the younger sprite. “This is Bob.”

The man, Maverick, fixed his gaze on Bob, studying him for a moment before smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said with a nod in his direction. He stepped back to allow enough room for the two men to enter. “Come in. The others are already in the back.”

The others? Bob frowned at that, but followed Tom into the building nonetheless. The two waited for Maverick to lock the door behind them before leading them behind the counter and into the back. The three men walked down a flight of stairs that led into a spacious room lined with bookshelves. Three other men stood in the room, their faces lifting at the sight of the joining men. Bob instantly recognized them as fellow sprites, albeit different from him, and his curiosity was piqued as he glanced between Maverick and Tom.

“What? Did you want to collect the whole set, Mav?” the blond joked, eyeing Bob with a wicked grin, green eyes sparkling with mischief. A spring spirit, no doubt. Maverick chuckled as the winter spirits followed him to the center of the room, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.

“Nothing like that, Jake,” he smiled. “Just doing a favor for an old friend, is all.”

“So how do we fit in to this favor?” Chirped the smaller of the three, bouncing from one foot to the other. An autumn sprite, maybe?

“We’re going to do a spell,” Maverick continued, moving over towards the far wall where a desk sat. He picked up one of the heavy tomes, turning around to face the group once again. “A spell that requires ancient magic, and lots of it.”

“And what’s more ancient than the seasons?” Hummed the last of the spirits, his eyes still trained on Bob and Tom. Bob could feel the warmth radiating off of him from across the room. No doubt a summer sprite.

“That’s right,” Maverick smiled, glancing up at the summer sprite. “And as my apprentices, I’ll need your help with it. Yours too, Tom, if you don’t mind.”

The old, winter spirit smiled good-naturedly, watching as Maverick began to place candles around the edges of a chalk circle in the center of the room. Once they were placed to his liking, he turned to Bob, gesturing towards the center of the elaborate design.

“Bob, if you wouldn’t mind standing in the center here.”

Bob did as instructed, eyeing everyone wearily until his eyes landed on Tom. He nodded, giving the young man a reassuring smile that served to put his mind at ease.

“Alright then,” Maverick mumbled, scanning the text of the book in his hand. “I’ll need the rest of you at the cardinal positions.”

The spirits moved to their respective decisions. To the south, summer. To the east, spring. To the west, autumn. And finally, Tom took his position at north, waiting for his friend to continue.

“Bob.”

The winter sprite turned to look at Maverick who had a gentle smile on his face.

“Do you understand what you’re getting into?” He asked, eyes flickering to Tom for the briefest of seconds. “You’ll have until the end of the season to make the spell permanent. That means you have to earn the love of another human. If you don’t, you’ll turn back into your original form permanently. Do you understand?”

Bob nodded firmly, thinking of you. He wanted you to see him, to feel for him what he felt for you. He would show you how much he loved you, and he would convince you to feel the same way.

“From what I’ve heard, it sounds like you already have someone in mind,” the warlock continued. If Bob could blush, he would have, but instead he gave the man a bashful look. “Are you sure you’re willing to risk this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he spoke, pushing his shoulders back and puffing his chest out. He was sure about you. Maverick looked at him for another moment before nodding, turning his attention to the other men in the room.

“I need you all to concentrate your magic onto him,” he instructed. The four men nodded, gathering their magic around them. Bob felt a strange hum fill the air as Maverick began to read out the text from the book. It wasn’t in any language Bob had ever heard of, but he was fairly young compared to some of the other sprites. He could feel the energy start to swirl around him as a strange feeling coursed through his veins. It was hard to describe what he was feeling, but Bob likened it to the feeling of melting snow, like warmth coursing through him for the first time in his existence. He felt the air leave him as the energy buzzed louder and louder, Maverick’s chanting growing distant as Bob was forced to his knees. His fingers clutched at the ground as his vision blurred, his head pounding from the force of the magic that encapsulated him. He gasped for breath, blue eyes meeting the wise ones of Tom as they watched him worriedly. Bob closed his eyes as the spell tore apart his very being, stitching him back together into something new. It felt like hours passed, but it had surely only been a few minutes.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. An eerie calm filled the room as Maverick collapsed into the chair behind him, the three younger sprites, falling to their own knees. Only Tom stood unaffected, his age and power protecting him from the draining spell. Maverick pulled out a handkerchief to wipe at his sweaty brow, looking much paler than he had minutes before.

“It’s done,” he murmured, closing the tome with a definite thud.

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im-a-marvel-ous-hoe · 5 months

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Daddy’s Favorite Story | Bucky Barnes (3rd Day of 🎄)

(Credits to the owner of this pic!)

Hey everyone! I hope you’re enjoying my stories! We’re on day 3 of fluffy Christmas fics! 🩵

Christmas Masterlist <- check out my other holiday fics! ✨

~~~~

“Daddy, can you please read me one more story?” I heard Grace’s voice on the other side of her bedroom door. I held a laundry basket in my hands, almost finished with the household chores for the day. I was about to walk in to ask our 5 year old if she needed anything from mommy before I stopped myself once I realized her dad was in the room.

I smiled to myself at the thought of her and Bucky bonding before she went to sleep. Placing the basket on the floor, my right reached out for the doorknob to take a peek at the loves of my life. Bucky was sat down on her bed, she was lying down with a small pile of her stuffed animals around her. She held onto a goat stuffed animal she got from her uncle Steve for her birthday earlier this year.

“You said that two books ago!” Bucky laughed as she sat up in her bed, getting ready to fight to get her way. “But – But this one is the last one! I promise!” She clasped her little fingers together and looked up at her father, giving him the best puppy dog eyes she could muster. Her blue eyes meeting his own as he tried to resist giving in.

“No, sweetheart, don’t do this to me!” She pouted her lips as he covered his face with his hand. The amount of love he has for his daughter will obviously make it difficult for him to say no to her. “Pleeaassee?” He peeked at her through his fingers and chuckled to himself. “Arghh… fine. You win.” She giggled and got settled into her bed, bringing her blanket closer to her and she watched her father in awe.

“Okay, one more story and you promise me that you’ll go to sleep after this, okay?” He raised an eyebrow as she nodded enthusiastically. I crossed my arms over my chest as I leaned against the doorframe, watching this all play out in front of me. He looked through her small bookshelf and picked one up, inspecting it. He turned to look at her and smiled, tapping onto the cover of the book. “This one is a classic, sweetheart. It’s one of daddy’s favorites.” He opened the book in his hands, cleared his throat and began reading.

“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house.

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.”

Bucky made sure to lean in and show her the pictures. Her little eyes scanned the pages as she held onto her goat stuffie closer to her. I softly smiled to myself, thinking about how lucky I am to have found someone like Bucky to share the rest of my life with. To live a quiet domestic life with.

“The children were nestled, all snug in their beds.”

He leaned in and tickled her stomach as her laughter filled the room. Her cheeks tinted pink as he continued reading her a story for bedtime.

“While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads.

And momma in her ‘kerchief and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.

When out in the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.”

He stood up abruptly and spread his arms out as Grace watched him with anticipation. He walked over to her window and brushed her curtains to sway them back and forth to give as much visual effects as possible.

“Away to the window flew like a flash,

Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,

Gave a lustre of midday to objects below,

When what to my wondering eyes did appear,

But a miniature sleigh with eight tiny reindeer.”

He quickly looked around her room for a reindeer stuffie, but all he could see was her goat. He grabbed it and made it look as if it was flying. “Daddy, that’s not a reindeer!” Grace laughed. “Whaaattt? No, it totally is!”

“No he’s not!” He bowed his head for a moment and looked up, smiled at her. “Well, let’s just pretend baby, okay?” She giggled and nodded her head.

“With a little old driver so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

“Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner and Blitzen!”

I couldn’t help but think of how he’s such an amazing father. He’s going all out as best as he can just to make her night. To think we were both so scared to become parents is crazy to me. I don’t know what we were so scared of. Since Grace came into our lives, it’s been nothing but bliss. I can’t imagine our lives without her and I can’t imagine not doing this with Bucky.

“To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!’

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.

So up to the housetop the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.”

Bucky grabbed her goat and pranced it on her bed, making it look like it was walking closer and closer to her. She smiled as Bucky continued to read the next part of the story.

“As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.

A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.”

He cleared his throat as his voice pitched a little higher than usual as he spoke.

“His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.

He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.”

He walked towards her closet and quickly rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for. He came out with her white scarf wrapped around his mouth to imitate a white beard. Walking back towards his daughter, he reached for her pillow. “Excuse me sweetheart.” She giggled and sat up as she watched him stuff the pillow in his shirt and placed his hands on his belly, letting out a deep laugh. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” Grace burst out laughing as she watched her daddy pretend to be Santa Claus. I brought my hand to my mouth to try to stifle a laugh as I watched him in amusement.

“He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.”

He leaned in and pinched her nose, smiling as she let out a giggle. Her eyes gleaming with admiration towards her father.

“And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight —

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

She cheered at the end of the story as Bucky placed the book down on her bedside table. He laughed and took the pillow out from his shirt and placed it comfortably behind her head. “Did you enjoy the story?” She nodded and yelled out a big “yes!” He slid off her scarf and placed it next to the book.

He leaned in and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m glad you liked it sweetheart.” He brushed a hair away from her face and smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too daddy. Thank you for reading me a story.”

He chuckled and nodded. “You’re welcome. Now, it’s time to head to bed! It’s late.” He tucked her into bed, placed one last kiss on her forehead and bid her goodnight. He made his way to the door and saw me standing there. “That was a lovely story.” I stated as his face turned a light shade of pink. “Yeah well..” He closed Grace’s door behind him and looked up at me. “How much did you hear?”

“Oh, not much… only all of it.” I smiled at him as he turned to look away in embarrassment. “Oh God.. so, did you see..?” I nodded as he covered his face with his hands. “I especially liked the part where you pretend to be Santa. That was a nice touch.”

“Hey, I was just trying to give her visuals. What I did was amazing.” He embraced me from behind and placed his hands on my stomach, rubbing small circles. “Of course it was amazing! I’m not saying it wasn’t.” He placed a soft kiss on my cheek as I placed my hands on top of his. We stood there, enjoying the silence between us for we don’t get much of that nowadays. I closed my eyes for a moment and softly smiled. We both sighed in content.

“She’ll be here in a few months.” I quietly spoke as he hummed, his hand not leaving the small bump in my belly. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Maybe you could do what you did for Grace tonight again when she gets here.” I chuckled. “It could become a Christmas family tradition.” He chuckled as I pulled back so I could turn to look at him. “I’ll think about it.” He leaned down and placed a kiss upon my lips before pulling away and bending down to grab the laundry basket.

“Head on up to the couch, doll. I’ll finish cleaning up. You just relax and get a movie ready for us to watch, okay?” I nodded my head as we both made our way to the living room.

“Y/N?”

I turned to look at him, my hand instinctively going towards my belly. “Yeah?” He just smiled at me, the kind of smile that could make anyone weak in the knees.

“I love you.” I couldn’t help the blush that rushed to my cheeks. How is it that he’s still able to do that to me? I will never know. I smiled back at him.

“I love you more.”

He scrunched his nose and chuckled. “I think that’s up for debate.” He bit his lip, trying to hide his smile as he turned away to go finish cleaning up the house. Soon our household will go from 3 to 4 and who else knows how bigger it’ll get after that. I’m not worried though, because I’ve got the best partner to do this with. Nothing could be better than this.

I can’t wait for our family to grow.

~~~~

I hope y’all liked it! Please let me know your thoughts! Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky fic #bucky x reader #marvel christmas #marvel Christmas Masterlist #‘twas the night before Christmas #i havent written in so long #please go easy on me #🎄✨🎄✨

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rxgnor0k · 1 year

Text

I Like Watching You Dance - E.Munson

masterlist➢𖤓

summary | In which nutcracker season is at its peak, and spending quality time with Eddie Munson is impossible. Eddie decides to surprise you after a long day of rehearsing, but ends up watching you in awe as you rehearse for your role as the sugar plum fairy in your academy's production of The Nutcracker.

tags | Eddie Munson x fem!reader, ballerina!reader, fluff, ballet fic, Nutcracker season, cute relationship, she/her pronouns used

word count | 1.2k

a/n | hey y'all!!! so I'd like to say that I am ballet dancer myself, so I know my stuff. This fic was very fun to write, especially because it's Nutcracker season right now, and that there was no research that had to be done! Bye!

⚠️ i will not allow anyone copy and pasting my work into any other social platform or site without consulting with me first ⚠️

───────────────────────

Eddie arrived to pick you up after your rehearsal, but you aren’t anywhere to be seen. He looks back down to the note card placed in his lap.

“16700 Dawn Rd, Ronan IN,” he read aloud. “Where the fuck is she?”

Due to your schedule with ballet, you and Eddie were unable to go on any sort of date, even spending some quality time together. He knew how hard it was for you, dancing everyday and all, but he hated not being able to see your face everyday after school and wrapping you up in his arms after a long day.

He looked out of his van window to see the large building with big, bold letters, written, “Balanchine Classical Ballet Academy,” which stood out compared to the white concrete walls of the exterior part of the building. Deciding whether to stay in the van, or go out and see if you were there or not, Eddie chose to get out. As he opens the driver’s side door, a cold gust of wind hits him like a bullet. Quickly, Eddie slams the door shut and goes to find a spare jacket hidden in the trunk. As soon as he finds it, he puts it on, and opens the door once more. The cold air comes back again but because of the big, warm coat Eddie had put on, it wasn’t as bad as it was before. Eddie approaches the large building with a scrunch on his face, he hates how the melted snow feels on his skin.

Once he enters the academy doors, Eddie is met with a busy atmosphere with little girls in pink and blue Capezio leotards and dance moms sewing costumes together while gossiping. All studios were occupied with dancers rehearsing for their production of The Nutcracker which was just around the corner from now. Eddie looks up at the tall walls covered in awards from ballet competitions from prior years, and photographs of very famous dancers. On one part of the wall hung a collection of headshots of the older dancers who’ve won all of the awards as well as bring some pride to the academy. He gazed up to the top and was met with your face. You wore a bright smile with your hair in a neat, tight bun. Right under was a gold plate that had “Y/n L/n, 1st place Winner of the International Grand Prix” engraved into it.

Eddie was interrupted by a voice of an older woman, “Do you need help, sir?”.

Eddie looks back to see a rather tall woman with a cane in hand. He looks past her and sees the group of gossiping mothers with concerned faces staring at him. Eddie realizes the situation and immediately begins panicking.

“Oh, I wasn’t here to cause any trouble, I was waiting for my girlfriend, you see-“

“Stop,” the woman demands. Eddie quickly silenced himself, the woman was awfully frightening. “I know who you are and I know you mean no harm.”

Eddie was taken aback, “How the fuck does she know who I am?,” he thought.

“Waiting for Ms. L/n I presume?” The older woman asks.

“Uhh yea, she’s usually done at 5:00, but she wasn’t outside, so I came in to see if she was here.”

The lady nods, “come with me,” she gestures to Eddie to follow her as they stride across a long hallway, studios on each side of the wall. Eddie’s eyes were glued to the floor, while people move out of their way for the lady to walk by. The loud noises were soon turned into hushes, and the only thing you could hear was the music coming from the studios, the whispering, and the click clacks of the woman’s heels.

Turning the corner, a group of dancers were all packed around a window, watching the rehearsal. They all stood in silence as they watched in awe of the beautiful ballerina. By the sound of the women's heels clicking once again, the dancers snapped their heads towards her away, and quickly gathered their bags and moved along.

“I guess I really am that frightening,” the woman chuckled.

“No shit, Sherlock, you look like you’d kill me with that cane,” Eddie thought, scratching the back of his head.

The woman stops right in front of the window where the prior dancers were standing. Eddie stops as well, and looks into the studio. A ballerina engrossed in the music made her away across the room and into a lift, a man held her high up into the air.

“Here she is,” the woman says, stepping to the side.

Eddie grows closer to the window and watches you. A navy blue leotard hugged your figure, and the black practice tutu you wore complimented it perfectly. The new pointe shoes you put on at the beginning of the day were now completely dead as the ribbons and elastic were holding by the threads. The shank and box were “soggy”, however, that didn’t matter at the moment. Eddie noticed how you moved your arms, it was almost as if they were in a fluid state. He marveled at the sight of you in such a graceful state.

As the ending of the Sugar Plum and Cavalier Pas De Deux came to a close, you sat yourself down while you gasped for air. The dance was so exhausting it left you breathless.

“Beautiful isn’t she?” the woman compliments. “I’ve taught her since she was nine years old. Never failed to disappoint me.”

Eddie nods, unsure of what to say.

You pack up your bags and replace the practice tutu with black trash bag pants. You take your dead pointe shoes off and put on normal everyday shoes. Your french twist, that had been neat and slick back at the beginning of the day, was now messed up with dozens of fly-always sticking at your skin. Your sweat creates a stain on your leotard, but who the fuck cared.

“Bye, Dmitri,” you wave. Dmitri, your pas de deux partner, waves back and says his goodbyes. You bring the bag to your shoulder and begin making your way out of the studio. Upon walking out, Eddie props himself against the door frame, making himself known.

“Eddie!” Your eyes brighten, hurrying over to embrace him into a tight hug. “I was going to call you to pick me up, but you're here!”

“Yea, I watched you do your twirling stuff,” Eddie said, in which he starts to mimic your en dedan turns.

“Wow, Eddie, you’re so funny. Ha ha,” you say, sarcastically of course. “Shit, sorry, you were probably bored. I didn’t think rehearsal would run for that long.”

“What! I like watching you dance, it was nice ,” Eddie wraps his arm around your shoulder while beginning to leave.

“Really? Do you think so? I say that sweat stains and bruised toe nails would say otherwise, but I’ll take the compliment,” you chuckle.

Walking into the lobby, hand-in-hand, the gossiping mothers turn their heads towards your way, staring at the two of you walk by.

“Did you see that?” One of them whispers.

“Yea, never thought someone like her would go for someone like him,” another replies.

“Well, I think they look cute together.”

“I saw them at the park this one time, they looked really happy.”

“I heard someone say that he’s a cult leader.”

“Oh shut your mouth, Carol. No one believes in that kind of stuff anymore.”

You and Eddie try not to laugh when you hear the gossiping. The pretty, kind, ballerina with the crazy, drug addict, metal head? Of course, no one would have thought that it would ever happen!

───────────────────────

a/n: sorry for another authors note, hehe. srry for being gone for such a long time, i had like no motivation to write anything lol. I wrote this fic in honor of Nutcracker season! bye!

Reposts and requests are always welcomed! Make sure to go check ou my other stuff! My masterlist is linked at the top of the page! Thank you for reading my fan fic!

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wyrm-clangen · 6 months

Note

I am connecting the dots to make Shineivy’s death so angsty

This was on a patrol with Fierchasm who had just become a warrior at 15 moons which is later than most apprentices. She was also mentored by Riftstar

Shineivy likely had just recovered from birth that moon or maybe a moon before as her kits were 4-5 moons when she died.

Fiercechasm has the adventurous trait.

So here’s my idea- as likely one of her very first patrols post becoming a warrior Fiercechasm is sent on a patrol with Shineivy.

Likely Riftstar has to send out some patrols with Fogtail still heavily mourning rainstripe. Maybe he’s even hesitant to send Shineivy because she’s his mate and she just recovered from having kits but they don’t have the warriors to spare as likely pointed out by even Shineivy herself. So, for safety he has her sent with a warrior he knows he can trust to keep her safe- Fiercechasm.

It’s a simple patrol but precautions should be made especially in Leafbare. Still, Fierchasm is excited for her first patrol as a warrior. She’s not just an apprentice she’s equal to all the other warriors and can go any which way she desires.

When the weather starts picking up Shineivy points it out first but Fiercechasm, far too elated to be on this patrol as a warrior and feeling the urge to see explore more,insists they keep going.

Yet the storm picks up and the two are forced to hide in a cave for cover. The cave is then buried with snow leaving them trapped.

As they huddle together for warmth Shineivy may tell Fiercechasm to not fall asleep because she may not wake again if she does. And they both promise to keep the other awake. Yet, just for a moment Fiercechasm allows herself to close her eyes and she falls asleep

Eventually Fiercechasm would awaken shivering with snow coated on her fur but alive. Some snow had toppled down revealing a way out of the cave. When she notices Shineivy’s limp body she doesn’t worry at first and may even find it humorous, both promised not to fall asleep but both did. Something they can both laugh about when Shineivy wakes up

Yet Shineivy is not moving, and not breathing, Fierchasm tries to feel for a heart but finds nothing. Though she’s not a medicine cat so who knows. (She does. She does. But she’ll deny it as long as possible) she instead starts trying to drag Shineivy’s body out of the cave to get help. (If she doesn’t do it now will she get a chance to bury the body later…)

Likely Fiercechasm is intercepted by a patrol who is searching for her. With how harsh the storm was ,even Riftstar knew sending out warriors to search for his mate would be a death sentence but as soon as the storm clears warriors are sent out to find any signs of where they are..

And of course they find Fiercechasm struggling to drag Shineivy’s body with her and even without a medicine cat it is easy to tell that Shineivy is gone.

(This went on for longer then I thought lol. Hopefully my ramblings made some sort of sense)

OHHHHHHH MY GOD OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD- SOBBING SCREAMING THROWING UP

Fiercechasm's voice shaking from the cold while she tries to reassure Shine that they're almost home. Shineivy not responding, but that's- that's fine.

The idea of her thinking this would be such a funny story to tell when they got home- the two of them falling asleep in the cave despite their promise not to. Shineivy- bright eyed and snarky as always, would make some silly joke about how she'd earned a nap for putting up with a pebble-brained young warrior like her, and Fiercechasm would laugh because somehow the older molly's jokes always managed to make her feel warm inside- I'M PUNCHING WALLS.

WHO WAS ON THE SEARCH PATROL??? Like, I can't imagine Riftstar NOT going, but also Plum DEFINITELY volunteers-

NOW I'M IMAGINING RIFTSTAR'S FACE WHEN THE PATROL FOUND THEM, IM GONNA EAT DRYWALL AND SOB

#wyrmasks #trinomew #shineivy #fiercechasm #riftstar #GOD

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possibilistfanfiction · 8 months

Note

Solid

[nowhere near done in any way that will eventually go into smth longer lol but a little florist/tattooist au softness in celebration of three (3)! movies :) ]

'will you tell me about it?' ava asks, then runs a finger, feather light, along your arm. 'your garden?'

you hum, roll over a little so you can see her better in the moonlight. the willamette is calm out the window, even during the storm, glinting with the lights of the city, the bridge, the hush of february snow. it's warm, underneath your covers in maybe the first real home you've ever had — or, at least, the first you've made for yourself.

it's heavy, the insurmountable grief that sits, even among the flowers, ava's gentle fingers, her forever broken spine: parents who didn't love you, even though they should have; parents who couldn't love you, even though they wanted to. but here it is, the quiet, the hum of a different kind of wanting. and so you tell her: the doubled-flowering chrysanthemum; the lotus and the plum blossom and tallow. field maple and wood anemone; the silver y moth and rose chafer. a water deer above your elbow, a hawk's wing along the jut of your wrist. to fill in gaps, just as you do now, hands in soil: yarrow, goldenrod, milkweed.

ava listens with wide, attentive eyes and the softest smile, encouraging you when your voice gets caught in your chest when you tell her about the asters in switzerland, or the way your brother used to press tender ferns between pages of his favorite mystery novels for you to find when you read them after him, and your grandmother's jasmine, steeped carefully into tea she swore could cure any ailment. you finish, let ava still at the space left blank on the underside of your wrist — two tethered marrowbones and countless others floating; the blue of your veins a lie — red, if you were to investigate under your skin — or a breath, anyway. and she waits, lungs easy, the wind howling outside and the bed warm, ava's palm solid against the ink.

'don't laugh—'

'—me? i would never—'

'i want a honeybee, to finish everything.'

there's fond mirth in her smile, but none of it cruel. 'i love that.'

it sounds a lot like something else, sounds a lot like i love you, and it sits at the tip of your tongue but you are not yet brave. instead: 'one day, will you do it for me?'

she lifts your wrist and kisses there, a promise of many, many things: years stretching before you; trips to the gorge; the break of the waves on the coast in the spring. 'i would be really honored.'

it's overwhelming, to be seen, so you tuck yourself into the crook of her neck and she brings her arms around you, allows you this cave where nothing can touch you — your thin ribcages strong and whole, jaws that never clench in fear, the warm salt of tears a footnote, a blessing.

#wn #wn fic #prompts #avatrice #avatrice fic #honestly i was simply being lazy bc bea is just Like This about Anything #she's never normal #love her :)#flowers au

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puppy-steve · 4 months

Text

the night before christmas

steddie | wc: 1,377 | cw: none | emma's pov

emma gets to meet a very special someone

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it's a little after midnight for me, so merry christmas to those who celebrate!

The house is silent, save for the clock ticking on the mantle in the living room, dimly lit by the Christmas tree in front of the window, covered in different colored lights and handmade ornaments—some from decades long since passed, family heirlooms handed down, and some more recent. Little ceramic handprints and popsicle picture frames. Reindeer and gingerbread men painted with a toddler's unsteady hand.

The plate of cookies and the glass of milk remain untouched as the occupants of the house sleep soundly in their beds with dreams of sugar plum fairies dancing through their heads.

Snow falls outside in fat flakes, covering everything in a cold, heavy blanket and there's not a soul in sight. It's the night before Christmas and everyone is eagerly awaiting morning to come to see what Santa brought them.

But someone is about to find out ahead of schedule.

Tucked all snug and warm in her bed, five year old Emma Munson snaps awake at the sound of a clatter coming from downstairs.

—

The carpeted runner muffles her footsteps as she carefully walks down the hallway. She can see a light on in the living room from the top of the stairs and she gasps quietly as she crouches down and looks between the bars of the banister.

A lamp is turned on, illuminating a figure dressed in red and white putting presents under the tree.

As quietly as she can, Emma makes her way down the stairs. She doesn’t know if this will put her on the Naughty List or not, but she might not ever get this chance again in her whole life.

“Santa?”

Santa’s hat gets caught on the tree when he jumps in surprise. He struggles with it for a second before fixing it on his head and slowly turning around. He doesn’t look like the Santa in the picture books on her bookshelf, but Emma remembers her daddies telling her that nobody has ever actually seen Santa before so they’re just drawing what they think he looks like.

He’s not round like people say he is, but he’s tall. Almost as tall as her daddies. She doesn’t feel as anxious as before. Her daddies are tall and they make her feel safe, so it has to be the same way with Santa.

With that thought in her head, she takes a confident step forward, wringing her hands in her pajama top nervously.

“Are you really Santa?”

Santa looks a little surprised, like no one has ever asked him that before. After a second, he sits on the coffee table with a light chuckle and pats his knee with a soft look in his twinkling brown eyes.

Emma doesn’t hesitate to run over and climb into his lap, looking up at him in awe.

His beard is as white as the snow outside and soft to the touch. He gives her the same look her daddy Eddie does before he scoops her up and makes her squeal and laugh with kisses all over her face, all soft and happy.

Yeah, it’s definitely the same way with Santa.

“Are you really Emma Louise Munson?” Santa asks kindly, mirth shining in his eyes.

Emma gasps. “How do you know my name?”

Santa laughs again. “Because I’m Santa Claus. How else would I know your name or where you live?”

Emma scrunches her nose and pushes up her glasses. They’re too big for her face still but daddy Steve says she’ll grow into them. She thinks for a minute and then that nervousness returns.

“If you’re the real Santa, does that mean I’m on the Naughty List now and you’ll take my presents away?” she asks in a small voice.

“Of course not, swe–” Santa cuts himself off but he rubs her back comfortingly, like her daddy Eddie does when she’s sad. “I don’t put kids on the Naughty List just for being awake. Here, I’ll tell you what.”

He lifts her off his lap and guides her over to the tree, crouching down in front of it. He picks up a smaller present that’s wrapped in red and white paper with little candy canes all over it. “I’ll let you open one early as a treat.” He boops her on the nose with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle. “As long as you keep it our little secret.”

Emma nods excitedly, her curls bouncing. “Yeah!” she says, a little too loudly, and apologizes when Santa gently hushes her. “Don’t worry, Santa, I’m a great secret keeper. You can ask my best friend, Caleb. One time he spilled red paint on his mom’s white purse and he didn’t want to get in trouble so he said the cat did it.”

Santa raises his eyebrows as she speaks and Emma’s eyes go wide when she realizes she just told Santa Claus the biggest secret she’s ever kept. “Oops. I shouldn’t have said that,” she says quietly.

“Probably not,” Santa says, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh. “But that’s alright, I still trust you to keep our secret.” He motions to the gift in her hands. “Go ahead, open it.”

Emma doesn’t hold back as she excitedly tears at the wrapping paper. She gasps so hard she’s afraid she’ll need her inhaler, but Santa must really be magic because she doesn’t. She gapes down at the pack of modeling clay she remembers putting in her letter to Santa.

“You remembered!”

Santa gives a chuckle that comes from deep in his belly. “Of course I did! You said you wanted it because you wanted to bake like your daddy, but he said you were still too little to go near the oven.”

Emma nods. “Uh-huh!”

She looks down at the clay and rolls her lips inwards, so focused on deciding what she’s gonna make first, that she doesn’t notice Santa glancing up at the top of the stairs and doesn’t hear his quiet, “Oh shit.”

“Alright, kiddo,” Santa says, dragging Emma’s attention back to him. “Other kids still need to get their gifts, too.”

Emma frowns, but nods, holding the clay close to her chest. “You won’t tell my daddies about this, will you?”

Santa ruffles her hair with a gloved hand. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

Emma mimes zipping her lips and locking them and throwing away the key.

“Good girl,” Santa laughs. “Now run along back up to bed, okay?”

“Aw, I don’t get to see you go back up the chimney?”

Santa hefts his toy back over his shoulder and winks. “Santa still has to keep some surprises.”

Emma frowns but nods. She gives him one last hug and then dashes back up the stairs and to her room, quickly trying to fall back to sleep so she can open the rest of her presents in the morning.

—

“Nice going, Santa,” Steve smirks as Eddie sneaks into their bedroom and shuts the door behind him, still in the Santa costume.

Eddie rips off the fake beard and huffs, putting his hands on his knees like he’s just ran a marathon. “That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. She’s gonna be asking to open a present early every year now.”

He takes off the rest of the costume that he was forced to wear for the label’s holiday party. A prank devised by Chrissy because she’s an actual menace to society.

There’s only one man he wants sitting on his lap, thank you very much.

Steve watches from where he’s sat up in bed, sliding an appreciative gaze over his husband, still in the red coat. “I don’t know, baby, this is kinda doing something for me.”

Eddie chokes on his spit and looks back at Steve with wide eyes. “Are you developing a Santa kink? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Steve only throws the blankets off of himself and crawls down the bed toward Eddie, like he’s a tiger stalking his prey.

Eddie holds his discarded clothes in front of him like a shield and slowly walks backward towards their ensuite. “Stevie, please, think about the repercussions. The ramifications this could have–ack!”

He shuts the bathroom door just as Steve pounces, laughter spilling from both of their lips.

#cj talks #cj writes #🐣#steddie dads #steddie ficlet #steddie fic

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punk-in-docs · 2 years

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Ok...I'm just gonna beg for an Itty bitty nibble..do you have any random little headcanons, smutty or otherwise, for Paul? I can't get enough of him and I love how you write him!

🥀 keep watch over the door of my lips 🥀

Warning: ‼️this is a little dirty and a little mean (kinda like it’s author) language/cursing, c-word, brief mention of sex ‼️

“How radiant you look. Tsarevna.”

You growl a curse under your breath before she comes closer. Fucking cunting hell.

Paul can see your teeth grinding, grating on edge. Can hear the clack of bone. You smile to cover it over.

You turn in step with your new husband. When you turn your heads, you see the unfortunate shape of one of the many parasites, who clings to these halls under the guise of being a noble courtesan.

Svenska. The most odious bitch alive.

Fligged out in a pale pink gown, ruffled and trimmed to high heaven as an enormous eyesore. Her wig stuffed with flowers. Neck crushed in jewels. Neckline cut nearly to her crushed corseted ribs. Her rouge is smeared and some of it stains her teeth. Stained on the sticky rim of her glass that was perpetually full.

She curtseys to you. Paul stares at her with wordless distaste. Didn’t bow to acknowledge her. He rarely glided through these saw-toothed in’s-and-out’s of court life. It held no interest.

“My god look at you, you’re glowing.” She preens like a peacock, spits honey at you.

You won’t be fooled. This woman is a velvet draped dagger.

Your eyes scratch at her. Hard as diamond tips. Depths of them glitter cleverly in the candlelight. Plotting.

Your smile is guarded. Growing wider. Like something steeling itself for pleasure, before it sunk in its fangs and flushed venom. That’s you in a nutshell.

You see her for what she really is; someone who happily opened her legs to gain political title. Hates her husband. Detests her innumerable bastard children. Different father for each. And here she is happily leeching off the wealth of court for everything she may ever need. For perfumes and rouges and snappy new gowns. She followed the flocking herd.

“Lady Svenska.” You lean in all genteel pretension, kiss the air near both sides of her cheeks.

Paul loves the way the diamonds on your neck glitter and shimmer so much more than the flat things she is wearing. Yours are bigger too. Huge fat gems. The ones she boasts of so richly, look a little dulled. Doesn’t that say it all-

Her perfume is a stench that cloys. Rotting sugared plums. She screws the merchants to get it sent here to her, all the way from Paris.

“Enjoying your honeymoon I take it?” She asks as she sips golden sherry from her fluted glass. Flickers her rabid-tiger eyes over Paul. Assessing him. The boy prince.

“Very much so. Pity we had to come back to this… court so soon.” You insult plainly.

In truth you’d give anything to be back in the countryside, bundled in the snow, nestled away outside Smolensk in the Manor House overlooking the frozen lake. Just you and him. Fireplaces and fucking and walking outside in the snow. Away from the rigours of this snake pit.

She raises a thin brow.

“Word floating around is that you screwed the swede? But wouldn’t go through and commit to marry him. Too poor for you? Maybe you were aiming for a far richer prize.” She asks with a gentle frown of concern.

You don’t say a thing. You merely look at her. Your smile curls on one side. Your eyes draw back.

The senseless woman should have chills up her spine by now.

“You’re talking to the Tsarevna.” Paul hisses in threat. His tone tells her to find her respect or he’ll have it found for her.

“No. I’m talking to the royal broodmare. The royal cunt as we like to call her. It’s said no one can better lay on their back and take cock, like a Voronsky.” She giggled.

Playing all saccharine, like she didn’t mean her words when she so clearly did.

She approached you with the purpose of saying these words. They weren’t accidentally spilling from drunk vodka-slurred lips.

“You know, some friendly advice… I’d watch my back if I were you, Tsarevna. There are several young ladies here, who would slit your whore throat to strips, to be in your shoes. Or rather- your very comfortable bed.” She drags her eyes to Paul’s.

There’s no doubt about it. That was bold flirting. She couldn’t be more obvious about it if she was stood here, wrapping her hand around his cock.

Angling her gown to better let him see her cleavage that spilled out. She sips her drink and inspects him sultrily through her lashes.

Paul scrunched his face up. Frowns. His eyes cloud. Chest puffs out in agitation. The coldness that makes him look eerily like his mother swirls up.

Sweet Prince. He’s not skilled at masking his emotions. He’s never had to be. You’ve walked barefoot on broken glass in this environment for decades. You know the tricks.

The kind of look crosses his face that will end up with him petulantly bellowing for the Cossacks. Come drag this shrew to the dungeon to have her lashed or beaten for her insolent tongue, daring to strike foul words against you. It could be mistaken for treason. If he willed it.

You laugh. He can’t believe it. He turns to you like you’ve just grown three heads.

The raspberry red rouge of your lips split. Your drape your hand over his stiff arm. Curl your hand into him. The diamonds on your wrists, rattle.

You stand a little closer. He turns and glances to you. Intoxicated by your nearness. Enamoured newlywed after all. The look on your face intrigues him.

It’s also to ground him. Your touch on his arm. It’s to let him know a lifetime of readiness and teaching for how to handle this viper court has sharpened your tongue like a whetstone.

“You dare try and take or touch what is mine, Svenska. I’ll cut your conniving hands off.“ You promise with laughter stroked across your words.

“… And do continue calling me a cunt if you so wish. Just make sure you put my title before it. For I’ll have far more position and power than you and your grubby little nobles will ever be able to snatch at. You can only fuck your way so far.”

Her eyes crisp to frost at the edges at you. Smile falls off her saccharine lips.

You’re something with thorns. Or barbed brambles. One of those prickly stubborn things that will never be eradicated. That won’t bleed when someone cuts it.

“Have a lovely evening. Try the plum vodka and the goose pâté. Sensational.” You snap a smile as you twist and guide Paul away.

He puts his hand over yours as you take some much needed distance from her. He’s flushed red with anger over this. It settles rosy in the apples of his cheeks.

“I would have her tongue cut out for the way she spoke to you.” He spat harshly as you wandered away through the ballroom. Steady on his arm.

You turned and gave him a look that was stunningly calm. He’s seen every angry severe emotion gutted out of you. The ugliness of your sparky personality when in pain. He’s seen your terrifying steel cold rage. Your fiery swelling passion. Every spec of it: and yet in this you are calm as a glass smooth pond.

“Darling. Every last one of them would like to put me six feet in the dirt.” You explain simply. Like you’re contented with it.

Paul looks at you with that adorable naïve frown. His innocence still baffles the life out of you, sometimes.

You turn over your shoulder. Needling eyes at Svenska. Putrid bitch who couldn’t keep her nose out of other peoples business. Waltzes around in her sugary immature silk dresses and fucks people in return for a smattering shred of gossip.

She’s still eying you, too. Stood demanding more drink from a servant with a cold look blasted your way.

Her gaggle of ladies surround her like a flock of hens. They all look the same. Parisian whores who’d been up all night. Trussed up in their powdered wigs, heartthrob heart lips, and beauty spots.

“They want to tear me down because of where I stand. By your side.” You lay out plainly.

He looks at you with such concern.

“Paul. Every woman in this court would kill to be your mistress. To take my place. You have the future of Russia hanging over your shoulders, and every one of those power hungry cunts can see it.” You nudge your head to them in gesture. Grabbing yourself a glass of vodka from the passing tray. You need something sharp to burn away the anger in your mouth.

He pulls you in with something like frenzy. Uncaring for who was around you- his hand slipped across your lower back. He halved the distance between you.

Such a serious expression staining his face. Taking over those doe eyes. It forced a gasp out of you. Him being so intimate in front of others. You were still feeling used to it. The squeezing gold band on your finger.

“I don’t want a mistress.” He says with heavy emphasis.

God, you love him.

“It’s a royal occupation.” You say. Hell, in some courts it was expected. It was normal. He was entitled to one. Minister Panin could draw up a list of candidates for him if he wished.

“Doesn’t alter my mind. You are my wife. My one and only companion. The discussion ends there.” He makes plain.

You smile. It’s all sweet raspberries and berry fruits. The lip rouge you wear always looks so summer sweet. And when you lean in and kiss him softly, it’s delicious.

Relights that constant burning fuse of newlywed arousal and hunger deep in the pit of your belly. You wanted him alone. You want your hands everywhere on him.

When you pull back, he looks love drunk and wound up. You slide your hand down his chest like a coquette. Looking through your lashes at him.

“Care to retire early, husband?” You mumble as you grip his chin and kiss him. Hard.

He grabbed your hand and led the way. Cock throbbing for you already. You make him impetuous. You make him greedier and he will give in to those sins-

You didn’t make it back to your rooms. A shadowy window alcove did the trick. Barely any orange glow from the candles to frame you. Darkness burst around you.

Paul lifted your skirts and fucked you from behind then and there. His mouth muggy hot, kissing your neck and your ear as he railed you senseless. Making sure the whole nosy court could hear. His thumb strummed your clit and your cries intensified.

“My gorgeous wife.” He hummed as he watched you writhe. Intent passion on his face. Watched you curse and your cunt fluttering on his cock as you came. Tears in your eyes and his name dried it’s mantra on your lips. Once wouldn’t be enough. He needed more and he will have it.

Svenska was mysteriously absent from court the next day. You smile like a vixen.

Strange that-

#prince paul imagine #prince paul fanfic #prince paul x you #prince paul smut #prince paul x reader #prince paul #catherine the great 2019 #so much smut #smutty #smutty smut smut #thank you 💕💕💕#thank you babe #thank you so much !!#hope you like this filth #punkwrites #punk masterlist #i would die for this man

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krscblw · 3 months

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ghoul element perfume associations!

i've done a few scent association lists for individual ghouls, and i thought it would be fun to do one for elements instead! it's a little more general, which lets me include perfume that i really like but that don't fit any of the ghouls exactly. as always, i would love your feedback!!

Usual warning: This might look weird on mobile, but it should be good on desktop. Apologies, I'd fix it if I knew how.

Earth: Dense, earthy, bitter, green scents reminiscent of forests, gardens, and ruins halfway reclaimed by nature.

Notes: wood, vetiver, greenery, moss, soil, fruit, rose, stone, fungus

Rose Fantôme - LVNEA

“Rose Fantôme breathes not the fresh blooming rose but the one that has been cut, left and forgotten. Now one with its surroundings, it blends with the scents of dried grass and lichen, hay, and dirt.”

porcelain roses, immortelle, dried hay, graveyard soil, cepes, oakmoss, oakwood

Duende - Fantôme

“The smell of being lost in an enchanted forest.”

oakmoss, cedar, fir, resinous labdanum, benzoin, tree sap, wild violets, lilac

(i have this one, it's forest-y but also pretty light for a forest perfume. definitely a summery, magical forest smell)

Holy Oak - LVNEA

“Holy Oak alchemizes the aromas of deep, damp oakwood and the dry warmth of cedar to evoke the sound, sight, and smell of a well-worn cabin woodframe creaking against the weight of tempestuous rainfall as it begins to slow.”

galbanum, cedar leaf, petrichor, frankincense, cedarwood, oakwood, oakmoss

Mount Auburn - Little & Grim

“A dizzying array of all the flora that buds in Massachusetts. Fragrant, fruity blossoms and towering trees shading gentle, winding paths.”

fresh raspberry, melon, honeysuckle, blooming lilac, wisteria, spruce

Love Among the Ruins - Alkemia

“An ancient ruin of fallen stonework covered with lichen and tangles of flowering vines slowly disintegrating/returning to nature.”

stone ruins, lichen, tangles of flowering vines

Rochester - Fantôme

rich earth, crisp fallen leaves, sweet tobacco, a hint of patchouli, garden tomato, newly ripened autumn gourds

Vert Sur Le Vert - Alkemia

green grasses, new leaves, tomato seedlings, crushed sweet grasses

Air: Scents that range from cold, sharp, and sweet to thick, powdery, and dusty – reflecting the versatility of air as an element.

Notes: florals, musk, fruit, cold air, dust, sugar, honey, ozone

Lilacs Along the Winding Drive - Alkemia

fresh lilacs, a gentle breeze after a light spring rain, a dusty pebbled driveway, a slightly rusty porch swing, and a small handful of late blooming violets

Hummingbird - Zoologist

“This diaphanous scent alights upon you in a pastel bouquet of honeysuckle, mimosa, lilac and peonies, with just the lightest dusting of natural sugars found in pear, cherry and honey. A finishing dollop of velvety whipped cream melds the tantalizing notes, completing this irresistible and opulent perfume.”

apple, cherry, citrus, lilac, muguet, plum, rose, violet leaf, honey, honeysuckle, mimosa, peony, tulip, ylang, amber, coumarin, cream, moss, musks, sandalwood, white woods

Frost Flowers - LVNEA

“Icy and cold, delicate yet jagged, floral ice crystals slowly melt to reveal a heart of dark florals at the center of this musky and enveloping oil perfume.”

tuberose, jasmine, black currant, ambrette, cypress, elemi resin

Thundersnow - Fyrinnae

“On rare occasions within a system cold enough to produce ground level snow, the conditions are favorable for the right lifting and instability required to also produce lightning.”

cold air, electricity, metallic ozone, gasoline

Veil of Spidersilk - Nui Cobalt Designs

“Slender strands of cotton flower hung with trembling dewdrops… Wear to bless any new beginning and brighten the path ahead.”

cotton flower, dew, pale pink musk, tiny black vanilla beans, Margaret Merril rose, lily of the valley, neroli, honeysuckle, non-indolic jasmine

Mama Gein - Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab

crushed baby’s breath dusted with baby powder

Foxfire - Alkemia

white sugar ambers, jasmine aldehydes, night flowering nardo

Fire: Warm, heavy, lingering, spicy scents. Some fire ghouls smell like smoke and fire, but others smell like heat, metal, or spices.

Notes: smoke, incense, spices, metal, patchouli, wood

Paimon - Fantôme

“This is a warm, regal scent conjuring an endless sea of sand with the hint of an oasis of coconut and dark vanilla carried on a warm desert wind. Golden frankincense, black amber, and myrrh stir under the endless dunes of hot sand, grounding the bright, golden notes that shine under the unrelenting sun.”

hot sands, frankincense, myrrh, sun-bleached parchment, vanilla, black amber, coconut husk, gold

Eldritch - Pineward Perfume

“Lair of ancient eldritch abominations, a resinous and dark perfume for the bold and unafraid.”

leather, myrrh, patchouli, fir, oolong tea, opoponax, smoke, pine needles, oakmoss

Stel - Treading Water Perfume

motor oil, metal, desert air, frankincense, oud

Persian Tea Room - Alkemia

spiced black tea, dry desert sand, spices, musk, soft leather

Firebird - Fantôme

“This is a rich, golden scent that emulates the golden apples and warm flame of the Firebird.”

smoldering embers, burning cloves, orange, golden saffron, endless forest, soot on feathers, soft flame, apple

Dwarf - Black Phoenix Alchemy Labs

iron filings, chips of stone, hops, soot-covered leather

Tyrannosaurus Rex - Zoologist

“A sultry heat wafts across the land, lapped up greedily by the abundant flora that thrives in its midst… The Cretaceous period comes of age against a backdrop scorched by wildfire and lightning strikes.”

bergamot, black pepper, fir, laurel leaf, neroli, nutmeg, champaca, geranium, jasmine, osmanthus, rose, ylang ylang, resins, cade, cedar, civet, frankincense, leather, patchouli, sandalwood, vanilla

Water: Water ghouls tend to have smooth, cold scents. Some are sweet, some are sour, some are salty, but all of them reflect different bodies of water.

Notes: ozone, vanilla, water, citrus, seaweed, salt, sand, ice, tropical fruit

Triton - Fantôme

murky sea water, ambergris, ancient forest mosses, crushed ivy, frankincense, resins, ozone, a hint of citrus

Voice of the Sea - Alkemia

“An olfactory musing from the underside of a wooden dock.”

salty sea breezes, sun-bleached driftwood, crushed seashells, lemon peel, barnacles, sand, and sea-soaked timbers

Dragonfly - Zoologist

“Giant lotus pads part to make way for buds that pierce the surface of the jade green pond. They raise their faces to the sun, their delicate fragrance floating around them. In the shadow of the flowers, tiny dragonfly nymphs also emerge from the shallows. They spread their fragile wings and shyly take flight, ready to explore a world beyond the water.”

grapefruit, basil, angelica seed, ginger, rice, aquatic florals, geranium, jasmin sambac, mimosa, orris absolute, rose, violet leaves, rainwater, moss, patchouli, tonka, vetiver, benzoin, cashmeran

Acadia - Alkemia

“An olfactory portrait of coastal Maine.”

atlantic ocean fog, balsam fir pine needles, seaweed, bay leaves, saltwater, charred driftwood

Gelatto - Pineward Perfume

“Suntanned skin and sunny beaches.”

makrut lime, jasmine sambac, mandarin orange, gardenia, massoia bark, sandalwood, ambergris

Squid - Zoologist

“The vast ocean swells and contracts, caught in the relentless tug of the moon. Beneath the surface, a school of squid emerges. Strange, elastic forms propel from the deep in a frantic search for sustenance. They are not alone. Their predators lunge, only to be foiled by blinding jets of murky ink.”

pink pepper, solar salicylate, incense, black ink accord, salty accord, opoponax, ambergris, benzoin, musk

Seahorse - Zoologist

“Balmy sunlight trips across foamy turquoise waves, sending rippling haloes onto the coral below. On the lagoon floor, anemone and seaweed sway in unison, limbs pumping to the rhythm of the current. Hovering among the coral branches, a group of seahorses gazes shyly on.”

guatemala cardamom, fennel, ambrette absolute, clary sage, tuberose, neroli, algae absolute, vetiver, ambergris accord

Quintessence: Heavy, warm, creamy scents. Quintessence ghouls tend to smell comforting, and their scents reflect human creations much more often than other ghouls’.

Notes: amber, leather, chocolate, alcohol, linen, lavender, wood, milk, vanilla

Amber Witch - Alkemia

aged dark arabian amber, honey musk, creamy bourbon caramels, spiced rum

Moon Magic - Sorcellerie Apothecary

“Smells like your favorite cozy witch.”

lavender sugar, tonka bean, chai spices, vanilla steamed milk, cashmeran, ambroxan, crystals charged by moonlight

Sailing to Byzantium - Alkemia

papyrus, leather, ink, cardamon, orris, tonka, wet tweed, precious incense woods

Novella - Alkemia

“A cozy afternoon curled up in a favorite chair…”

spiced lavender de provence, steaming earl grey tea, old paperback books

The Old Gods Survive - PULP Fragrance

cherry pipe tobacco, golden amber, aged leather, oakmoss, old cedar chests

Solovey - Fantôme

black amber, crushed violets, black currants, dark espresso, labdanum, black agarwood, tobacco

(one of my favorites of all time. it smells like nighttime but magical, somehow. the amber, violets, and espresso are most noticeable and it's so good. if dark purple was a scent it would be this imo)

Fleurs Historiques et Cacao - Alkemia

“A historical recipe from the 1700's court of Versailles created by a mistress to delight a king. A paradox of the decadent and the divine…”

dark cacao, french lavender, piquant black cardamom pods, tea with lemon peel, grapefruit blossom, vanilla musk

thank you for reading, and i would love to hear your thoughts! (also, gentle reminder if you got this far that reblogs are very appreciated!)

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoulettes #ghoul perfume thoughts #perfume thoughts #fire ghouls #earth ghouls #water ghouls #air ghouls #quintessence ghouls

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msgexymunson · 1 year

Text

Christmas With Eddie

Description: you spend your first Christmas with Eddie, and manage to make him feel the magic of the holidays again.

Warnings: Nothing really, just fluff, fem! implied reader, Xmas celebrations

A/N: Just a cute little fluff piece to celebrate your first Christmas with Eddie! Merry Christmas Everybody! If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it'll make my day (and it would be a lovely Xmas gift!) ❤💋❤

1.3k Words

Masterlist

Eddie has always hated the holidays. It was too cold for starters. Never having much at home, he never got a proper winter coat, and the holidays just seemed that little extra bitter without one. He remembers his middle school days; dragging his feet home in his year round jacket from good will, trying to stuff his hands as deep as he could into the worn pockets, attempting to excavate long lost warmth.

The TV adverts were torture on top of the cold. There's the perfect family, they seemed to say, mom, dad, two kids and a dog. Happily ever after. There was never an advert with some poor kid with an uncle for a dad, pinching pennies in a trailer park, living off of canned goods and food stamps.

It didn't matter when he grew, when he earned money from illegitimate means for himself. The holidays always had that sour edge to them, like an unripened orange. Bitter rind soft against his impoverished tongue. They weren't meant for him.

And then there was you. Eddie knew from the moment he met you that you were too good for him; too nice, too pure. He knew that this was a temporary thing; some sort of short-term madness that he was lucky enough to be a part of.

These thoughts invaded his mind when he caught up to you. He couldn't help but chuckle in the middle of the mall, eyes sparkling like the inside of a Christmas ornament. You are giggling obscenely, turning over every single snow globe you could find. There were a lot.

"Eddie, look! There's so many!" You giggle and bounce on the spot, unable to contain yourself.

"Yeah I see baby, having fun?"

Your eyes flicker back to his, pure sugar plum fairy dreams rattling around your skull.

Eddie feels a fire reigniting in his chest; a longing he hasn't felt since his mother was alive.

Failing to notice, the whites of your eyes reflect coloured fairy lights, enchanted with magic and love.

"Look at the grotto Eddie!! Oh my God, it's perfect!" You point, magic in the air expelling through your excited fervour.

Eddie laughs, following your finger. Excited children gather at the edge of the grotto, lining up to see Santa Claus.

"Look! It's so cute!" You beam, reviewing the line of wide eyed youngsters in your wake.

"You think they'd let me in?" You tilt your head to the side, pondering.

"I think you might be a little big princess." Eddie laughs, rubbing your arm in consolation.

"Hmm. No fair. I wanna see Santa."

"Well, how's about we go home and you sit on my lap instead?" Eddie smirks, tilting your chin up to meet him. You grin right back, arms thrown around his neck, pulling him in for a sweet kiss.

********************

It's Christmas Eve, and Eddie's pulling up to the trailer, expecting it to be dark and cold, since Wayne liked to pull extra hours for double pay at the plant; but to his surprise there are coloured lights in the windows. Intrigued, he walks into the living room, and sees you bouncing on your heels, in a little elf dress and hat, beaming like the rays of the sun.

Eddie and Wayne had a Christmas tree, of sorts. Just some little thing sparsely covered in cheap baubles and a few homemade decorations from when Eddie was a kid. It was still up, and the wonky stars and macaroni angel were still on it, but they had been joined by some new ornaments. Plus there was tinsel. A lot of tinsel. It surrounded the TV and the door frame, as well as hanging from the ceiling. Coloured bulbs shone everywhere, refracting the glitter, making Eddie feel like he was in the inside of a disco ball.

"Princess, it looks like Christmas threw up in here." He laughs. Eddie's stunned to say the least. No ones made the trailer look like this before. No ones cared enough.

"I know right! I asked your uncle and he said 'go ham sweetheart,'" you say back at Eddie, putting on your Wayne impression, complete with gruff voice and frowny face. Eddie chuckles. It's pretty spot on.

"You didn't have to do this you know."

"Oh I know. I just, wanted you to feel special. Plus I thought we could do gifts tonight, if you're ready?"

"Yeah if you want," Eddie flushes. "They aren't very expensive or anything."

You frown at him, eyes glassy. "Baby, it doesn't matter what they cost, they're from you. I know I'll love them."

Eddie's heart swells at your words. He wonders what you see in him, how he could have possibly gotten this lucky to call you his girlfriend. It's like everything you touch is pure magic.

He leads you to his bedroom and barks out a laugh when he gets there. You had been in here too, but the fairy lights around his desk and bed were red, and you'd managed to scrounge some black tinsel from somewhere.

"Princess I love it. Fuckin metal."

"Yeah, I thought this was more you."

Reaching to the side of the bed, you pull out a gift bag.

"Here you go baby. Merry Christmas!"

Eddie rips the bag open unceremoniously, tearing at the tissue paper inside. Out flops a matt black jewellery box. He flips it open. Inside is a silver ring; a skull, but the top of the skull turns to silver flames. Eddie is shocked.

"Sweetheart, it's too much, I-"

You wave your arms, "nope, nope. You deserve it. Just accept it. I wanted to give it to you. There's something else, look in the tissue paper."

Eddie, already reeling from the gift of the ring, looks inside the wrapping to discover another paper wrapped present. He tears it open, revealing a beautiful dice set. There's a red, dragon like eye set in the middle of each one.

"I thought- well, it was kinda like the eye of Sauron, kinda fitting for a DM, you know? All seeing?" Nerves rack your voice.

"Sweetheart, they are perfect. You're perfect." He reaches out to envelop the back of your head with his large palm, pulling you in for a soft kiss.

Eddie doesn't know how to tell you you've turned his heart inside out, and teared all his barriers down as easily as confetti.

"Here's yours princess. Sorry, I'm not great at wrapping." He thrusts a lumpy parcel into your hands, hastily added bow sitting lopsided on the top.

You rip the paper carefully to reveal the perfume you and Eddie both loved that time you visited the Mall together and nearly got thrown out by security. You giggle at the memory.

Immediately opening the box, you spray the scent on and inhale deeply.

"Oh I love it Eddie, thank you!" You peck him on the lips.

"There's, a couple more." He gestures to the parcel, cheeks flushing red.

You investigate further, and discover a mix tape, as well as an envelope. Curiously, you unseal it and look inside. It's a painted picture of what looks like your D & D character. A beautiful elven ranger, all leather and fur, with a gorgeous bow, a quiver on her back and a strength in her eye.

"Oh baby, I cant even- I'm so speechless. Its incredible! Thank you!" You throw your arms nearly violently around his neck, pushing him flat on his back.

"Thank you so much Eddie." You kiss his nose, and meet his eyes.

"No, thank you." Eddie's eyes are full with love.

Eddie has always hated the holidays. He is currently struggling to remember why. Eddie loves the holidays, now that he's with you.

This is just a gift to some lovely people. I hope you enjoy it. Happy Holidays!

@eddiesprincess86 @munson-blurbs @eddiemunsonfuxks @onehotgreasymechanic @zestychili @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @indouloureux @lunatictardis @joejoequinnquinn @bowerquinn @greenishghostey

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