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bean-bean2000 · 20 hours

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The Maid - Part 11

Pairing: Loki x reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of violence, depression, mentions of suicide, despair, feeling trapped. Mentions of abuse and rape.

Please read at your own risk. Your own media consumption is not my responsibility. Please read and review the warnings before proceeding.

Thank you and enjoy!

Part 10

Series masterlist Main Masterlist

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You wake to the sun shining in from the small square window and the caws of a raven.

Sitting up slowly, you head directly to the bathroom to bathe. No thoughts have crossed your mind as you’re functioning on autopilot.

You look at your reflection and see nothing. In the deepest parts of your mind you can hear the locked chest rattling and moving to get out, much like Pandora's box, but you push it further.

Not anymore. Just focus on your job. I can’t do this anymore. For your own sanity, push them out.

You get ready for the day and head out to your first destination: the King’s bedroom.

As you perform your duties, it feels as though you’re floating. The world around you seems hazy, almost as if somebody else is controlling your body as you watch through your eyes.

You’re cleaning the room robotically, as you move around sweeping and dusting. You hear nothing besides this constant deep buzzing.

Suddenly you feel a hand wrap around your forearm and makes you turn around. You show no reaction as you’re turned to face Loki, staring at you with squinted eyes.

He’s saying something but you can’t hear until you shake your head out of the haze and focus again. You curtsy low and address him “Hello, my king. How may I be of assistance?”

He stares at you, searching your eyes. “Are you well?” he asks.

“How do you mean, my king?” you reply stoically.

He can’t find that fire behind your eyes that used to burn with defiance, nor that snarkiness he loves to see when you challenge him. He only sees empty eyes staring back at him.

“What happened?” he demands rather than asking.

“I'm unsure what you are referring to, my king. I am simply doing my job, as your maid. I’m doing as you said, your highness. I know my place.” Your eyes look sunken and void of anything.

He frowns at your reply when you turn around and continue your work as he stares at you in confusion and worry.

He steps in front of you “Stop.”

You immediately obey “Yes, my king.” and you stand there waiting for his next order.

He continues to search your eyes, not understanding how a woman with such strong character, the woman he met a few days prior who would rather be beaten than to obey an order, suddenly accept a command so easily.

He sits you down on a chair and analyzes you. He can’t sense any foreign or dark magic on you. There is no curse he can identify. He’s bewildered by your drastic change in character, until he notices this dark purple aura surrounding your body. He doesn’t understand how he hadn’t felt the presence of this magic before, but he quickly realizes that it isn’t foreign. It’s coming from within you.

Thinking out loud he says "You're not supposed to have magic. How is this possible?"

Then, he remembers something his mother had told him years ago when he was a boy:

~~~

"Mother, what do the colours I see around people mean? Everybody has a different one. Why is that?" Young Loki asks.

"My son, those colours are called auras. Everybody has a different aura depending on their type of magic that they have and use. Sometimes, people may have dormant magic, subdued from years of being unused. Those auras, are much different, however. They are usually a deep orange, which can eventually turn into another colour when and if they start using their magic again." The Allmother explains to her eldest child.

"But what about dark purple? I was reading a book in the library that mentioned dark purple auras but I wasn't able to find any details about it." the curious boy questions.

"Dark purple? That is a very rare aura... one I have not seen since our last Great War, centuries ago. A dark purple aura happens when somebody born with magic, has suffered greatly. As a result, their magic is naturally subdued, because the most dangerous and volatile person is one who uses and grows their magic through hate and pain. The dark purple aura reflects the pain and trauma they've endured and almost acts as a warning to others. It is well known by all experts of magic that a dark purple aura cannot be cleared without the affected person healing themselves fully from their trauma." she explains.

"How do you heal them?"

"That is where the issue lays, my sweet boy. Over the years we have learned that this can only happen one way: True love and complete trust. It has been noted that the only thing that can break such pain, sadness and anguish, is unconditional love. Very few cases have been recorded where one with a dark purple aura has found such love and managed to free themselves and accept their true aura, stemming from their true, healed, self." she grabs ahold of her sons hand and guides him through her garden.

"This type of magic is the most powerful and the most difficult to attain as it is not really magic at all. Nobody can simply enchant another to fall in love. The love must be true. This means, it cannot be influenced by any unnatural forces. It cannot be forced or tricked, which is why it is the most difficult ailment to cure, unfortunately. Even more so as times passes because true love has lost its meaning over the years. No book or magical spell can tell you what true love is because there is no singular definition. For a mother, it may be the love she has for her child, for another it may be their significant other, or their sibling...It differs from person to person. Sometimes, an act of true love by the affected person themselves or the one that they love, can break the dark purple aura. Unfortunately, at times, those acts of unconditional love, are fatal; sacrificing yourself for another. True love is a very fragile and fickle thing. Extremely difficult to attain but very easy to break." she sighs sadly as she walks through the mazes of her garden.

Young Loki remained silent the rest of their walk, mind reeling trying to understand what true love really means.

~~~

At that moment he decides to do the one thing he promised himself he would never do without one’s consent.

He places two fingers on your forehead, and you feel a tingle as he begins to read your mind and replay your memories. He starts from last night, with the intention of going back as far as possible to understand who you really are.

When he begins, he can see the box of emotions hidden deep within your subconscious, locked with chains and kept hidden well beyond. He replays your memories in your room and the bathroom.

He pulls back in surprise. “How did you do that?” he asks you.

You do not reply to him and stare blankly through him.

"But... if your magic is supposedly dormant, how are you able to dissociate yourself and psychologically lock your emotions away?... Can I reverse it?" he asks himself, thinking out loud.

He taps once again into your memories and chases after the locked chest hidden in the furthest part of your mind. As he begins to approach it, it moves again, further away every time. Finally, Loki decides to try halting it in its spot with his magic. When he tries to do so, a sudden intense wave of fire scorches around him. Confused, he touches it and to his surprise, he can feel the heat from the fire within your mind. As he tries to step through, a phoenix emerges and screams as it flies at him. He feels the power of the phoenix throw him backwards and he inhales depply as staggers back on the table in his room. He's breathing heavily, heart racing as stares at you in disbelief.

What just happened? Did she throw me out of her mind? How is that possible... that has never happened... Who are you?

"May I resume my work, my king?" you asks monotonously.

Loki shakes his head incredulously and waves his hand in the air "Yes, yes, continue. I must take my leave."

He quickly walks to the door and looks behind his shoulder before leaving, watching you broom the floor as if nothing happened.

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#fanfic #marvel #angst #loki x reader #loki of asgard #loki fanfiction #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki series #loki #fluff #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #magic #asgardians

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jiyongssi · 1 year

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yall be clowning if you think your fave is a saint

#kinnporsche #they may support problematic ppl knowingly or unknowingly. they may have problematic believes that may get you gawking like how could you #they may be homophobic misogynistic anti feminists or just plain dumb af and doesn't realise where the world is at or #how controversial certain things are. they may be so pampered they don't know hardship. or they only know their industry and nothing else.#they may be very in the box that asking them about something out of the box may shock them or make them run away #they may be colorist racist assholes #we don't know who they are until their true colors come into light - that too may or may not #some just go unnoticed regarding their bullshits whilst some get jail time #we as audience need to allow our mind to be able to fathom all that; our mind should be independent all the time not dependant on these #people we only see on screen putting on a show for us to entertain because that is what they're getting paid for #it's their job. They're attached to money. Us on the other hand shouldn't get attached to them

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charliemwrites · 22 days

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There are men across the street.

The house (and you use the term generously) that slumps there has been vacant for some time now. Ever since you moved in a couple years ago, actually. It’s an eyesore for sure. Graffiti on the walls, boards on the windows, a basketball-sized hole in the roof. The porch is the worst of it. Sagging in the middle and crumbling on the ends, stripped and moss-encrusted wood.

But today there are men there, stomping up and down the groaning steps in big, steel-toed boots.

You watch for a bit from the safety of your kitchen window, sipping coffee and batting your cat off the counter. They don’t look like a normal construction crew - wearing all black and not so much as a hammer on their belts. Three of them that you can see, one about average height, one tall, and one very tall. The tall one tags after the shortest of them often, gets pushed and shoved and snapped at it seems like.

You lose interest when the coffee runs out and your phone chimes, shooing you off to the grocery store. All three have disappeared inside by the time you saunter out, keys jingling and reusable bags in hand.

Margot says they’re renovating - likely some rich man’s retirement project. The same thing happened just down the street six months before you moved in, and now Joe has solar panels.

She postulates over the situation across the street while taking delicate bites of the cheesecake she brought over. (A test recipe for her niece’s baby shower in a few weeks. You don’t tell her that it’s too sweet and just sip your tea between bites.) She hypothesizes that one of them is this hypothetical rich man’s son, bringing some handy friends around for extra hands to work.

It sounds about as plausible as Agatha’s mutterings that they’re drug lords, so you nod along and watch your calico sneak up on your tuxedo behind her.

The garden is your own little retirement project. (You’re not actually retired, no matter what your sister snipes. But some smart money moves and a successful writing career is virtually the same with no kids and no spouse.) It’s going about as well as the renovations across the street - which is say, better and quicker than expected.

You planted clover in the yard, and are working on wildflowers in the boxes. The clover is already blooming, little flower tufts springing up for bumblebees to perch on. The wildflowers are mixed success so far, but nothing is dead yet.

You mostly just tootle around to be outside - allotted sunshine lest you become the shut in Bertram accused you of your first couple months.

The cats watch you pick at weeds from the window. Or two of them do. The other one is glaring from the fridge, angry that you tossed her back inside when she tried to slip past your ankles. (With any luck, you’ll have another sibling for them soon, but the handsome orange thing that keeps coming by at dawn and dusk is too stupid to be caught.) All three of them shift to look at something over your shoulder.

“Excuse.”

You don’t startle, thankfully. The voice may be unfamiliar, but neighbors stop by consistently enough that you’re not surprised to have your solitude interrupted.

What you are surprised by is the tall (very, very tall) man standing at the edge of your front yard. One of the renovators.

“Hi,” you say, straightening.

He points a gloved finger at you - no, not at you. Past you. At your cats.

“May I see them?” He asks in a thick German accent.

You blink, surprised and confused.

He’s a big man. Not just unusually tall, but broad as well. Muscle tugs at the fabric of his shirt, cargo pants clinging to his thighs. He also hasn’t bothered to take off the heavy duty dust mask, black sunglasses, or jacket hood obscuring his features. Looks like he’s about to rob you, honestly.

But Agatha’s uncharitable muttering about delinquent men rings like a warning toll. You’re at risk of sinking into the judgmental sea of upper-middle class suburbia, and that’s not water you want to tread.

“Sure!” You reply, ignoring his lack of introduction. “One sec.”

The cats see you dart from view and hurry to meet you at the door, meowing and yowling. You crack it open only wide enough to snatch up your precious firstborn, his leggies sticking out in abject bafflement at being airborne. You make guilty eye contact with your other two fiends before swiftly wedging the door shut again.

Then adjust your son, his little paws resting on your shoulder as you turn. Your visitor is standing right where you left him, perks up when he sees the cat bundled in your arms.

“This is Guy.”

You step closer, ignoring that shred of nervousness that being close to any man (especially one so physically intimidating) brings. To his credit, he only shuffles just enough to offer his hand for inspection.

“Guy?” he asks.

“I wasn’t going to adopt him at first, so I just called him Little Guy for so long that he thought that was his name. And then I did adopt him and now he won’t answer to anything else.”

You come by the rambling honestly - an obligate introvert until you moved to this neighborhood. There are few things you ever want to talk about with strangers, but your cats are one of them.

“He is a little guy,” the man muses.

Guy has no reservations about rubbing his fat face on the stranger’s glove, a purr kicking up in his chest. You relax as the man keeps his touch gentle and slow, that little bit of paranoid tension trickling into the soil beneath your feet.

“The other two aren’t as well behaved, I don’t trust them without harnesses on,” you add, nodding at the window.

The man glances up at them. Doesn’t seem to realize that his demise (and yours) is imminent from their glares.

“What are their names?”

You flush. “Rasputin and Shithead. I tell everyone else her name is Susan though.”

A sharp bark of laughter splits the air like a falling ax, cracks right down the middle. It makes you jump a bit - Guy is expectedly unbothered - but still you find yourself gratified. Laughing is good, it means you’re doing things right.

“Sorry,” he says, “but my friend would like that name.”

You gesture at the house across the street. “One of them?”

“Yes, the short one.”

You only just manage not to snort in amusement, but it doesn’t stop him from noticing. The mask moves, you think he might be grinning underneath.

“Does he know you call him that?”

“Not if you don’t tell him.”

You doubt you’ll have the opportunity even if you wanted to.

Someone’s at the door.

You’re only half-dressed, waist deep in laundry you have no excuse for putting off so long. Aren’t expecting company either - it’s Sunday morning, everyone should be at their various churches or visiting relatives. Can’t remember the last time someone knocked before noon on a Sunday.

Still, it was a big solid knock. The kind that makes you think it’s not the usual neighbor come by to impose on your space.

You glance down at the hem of your sweatshirt, determine it’s far enough down your thighs to be acceptable, and pad to the door.

You open it to another of the renovators. The “short” one - though you readjust that measurement quickly. He’s still taller than you, it’s just that most anyone seems diminutive compared to his friend.

“Morning,” you chime.

“We need your driveway.” His voice is low and rough, blunt. A sledgehammer to concrete. Also German-accented, you note.

“Oh,” you reply, “what for?”

He grunts. “Work.”

And you, a longtime observer of politely shaking people down for information by this point, smile without teeth.

“Oh, a work truck? It won’t make a mess will it?”

“No.”

You hum, glance at your stupid little sedan parked in the middle of the driveway.

“Okay, I’ll move — Shithead!”

You scramble to grab at the black and white blur of evil, sweeping her up in your arms as she meows in complaint. One of her back feet catches in the hem of your sweatshirt and starts to pull it up as she kicks. You curl an arm under her butt for support, but mostly she just takes the opportunity to chomp down on the meat of your thumb.

You glance at the man. “Shithead is very interested in the renovations.”

He stares. “So that is actually its name. I thought you were being rude and Konig didn’t realize.”

Ah, so that’s his name. You never did get that introduction.

“No, yeah, this is Shithead, I’m sure you can see why.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as she unlatches from your thumb, only to bite down on your wrist.

“So! The truck - when will it be here?”

“Noon.”

“Great! See you around!” You shut the door in his face without getting a name.

You threaten, not for the first time, to turn her into a pair of mittens. She responds by attacking your foot until Rasputin tackles her. Guy cries at the door, probably missing a man he met for all of two minutes.

The work truck stays through the night. Your cats spend all afternoon watching the men cross the street and back. Every once in a while, Guy puts his little feet up on the glass - Konig must be passing by.

You glance out the kitchen window only once and make hard eye contact with the third of their trio. He’s somehow even more covered up than Konig, and yet you get the distinct impression that your gaze is not welcome.

You blink and abandon the dishes for later.

The next morning, they’re already at it when you shuffle outside for the mail. Konig raises a slow hand in greeting, but visibly brightens when you smile sleepily and wave back.

You pass the work truck - the back panel is already open for them to unload wood beams and heavy-looking buckets. Construction stuff, as expected - and not messy, as promised.

You spot a red and white flag decal on the rear window. Austria, isn’t it?

“Did you just wake up?” a flat voice asks.

You squint a little through the morning sun at the man from the day before. The rude one.

You yawn. “Mhmm.”

He frowns at you, disapproval plain. Agatha will like him, you muse, shoving a hand in your mailbox. They both seem to have strong opinions about your sleep schedule.

“It is late.”

“It’s only 8.” You tug out a sheaf of envelopes and begin idly flipping through them.

“The sun is up.”

“So what?”

He clicks his tongue disdainfully. You absently click back. Then jump as a big body lands right in front of you. The third man, two wooden beams balanced on his shoulder. He makes brief eye contact with you again, then strides across the street.

“Shoo,” the rude one says. “Men at work, yes?”

You grumble. “See if I bring you cookies.”

Konig glances up from the truck bed, eyes shining. “Cookies?”

Well shit.

Rasputin keeps you company while you cook. He’s the only one allowed on the counter for any length of time. Shithead steals anything and everything, or bats at your hands while you work. Guy has the equal parts endearing and infuriating habit of touching everything with his paws.

Rasputin is the only one who will sit quietly to observe, leaning in for the occasional kiss. Today, he’s watching you bake cookies and assemble sandwiches. A dual-purpose welcome and peace offering to the three men across the street.

Is it too much? Maybe. But you’ve got nothing better to do and kindness won’t break your bank, so. Cookies and sandwiches.

You change clothes while the cookies cool on the pan - a sundress for the warm, late-spring weather. They’ve seen you in your pajamas far too much already.

At the door, you hesitate. This house doesn’t feel inhabited yet, but it also doesn’t feel right to just open the door. It’s quiet inside, so no power tools to drown you out. Making a face, you settle for a firm knock. It takes a minute or two - you think you might hear distant shouting. Then the door swings in fast and hard, nearly startling you.

It’s the third of their trio, the one you’ve yet to speak to. He’s covered head to toe, fabric around his head and face, leaving only sharp blue eyes to glare out.

“Hi,” you begin, hands thankfully too full to fidget. “I brought food.”

His eyes flick to the foil-covered platter in your hands. Then he swings the door wide and pivots on his heel.

“The cat comes too.”

Cat?

You glance down. Sure enough, Rasputin is standing by your legs, his remaining half a tail swishing. You sputter at him - didn’t even realize he snuck out - but all you get is his characteristic raspy “mah” noise. Right then.

He politely trots by your side as you enter, not even shy about your curiosity. The place is gutted, stripped walls and scuffed floors. It smells like dust and plaster and shaved wood. All the lights have been ripped out of the ceiling, exposing wires like nerve-endings.

There are two empty rooms to either side upon entry, a den and a dining room probably. The den even seems to be split into two, with one half sunk lower, accessible by a couple steps.

You follow your unexpected host through the “dining room,” which seems to be more of a satellite staging zone at the moment. There are piles of tools, stacks of materials, a little island of canvas bags. As you pass through, you notice a staircase, and even from the ground floor, you can see that it crosses over to the den on the other side.

The kitchen is stationed towards the back of the house. You try not to wince at the state of the counters. Pockmarked, blistered, scratched, burned, cracked laminate.

The floor has already been pried up to reveal smooth concrete. You scan it quickly for anything that could hurt Rasputin’s feet before entering.

Your neighbor gestures for you to set the platter down on an empty patch of counter, so you do, peeling back the foil.

“Cookies and sandwiches,” you explain just to have something to say.

“Why?” he asks.

You shrug. “To be nice.”

He stares. You blink back.

“I mean, you don’t have to eat them,” you add. “It would just be a waste.”

Rasputin chooses that moment to leap onto the counter, taking a moment to steady himself once he’s landed. With only one eye and a crooked leg, he’s not the most acrobatic or graceful of your babies, but he makes do.

To your shock, though, once he’s gained his bearings, he makes like he’s going to eat one of the sandwiches.

“Ras,” you gasp, surprised. “Absolutely not!”

The little shit doesn’t even resist when you nudge him away, just settles on his haunches, staring at your neighbor. And, to your confusion, your neighbor grunts.

“Konig! Krueger!” he barks.

That must be the rude one’s name. Krueger. You file that tidbit away.

“What’s your name?” You ask. “No one’s told me.”

He eyes you - dare you say suspiciously - letting the silence stretch.

“Nikto,” he rasps finally.

You finish introducing yourself just as the other two enter. Konig’s down to just the dust mask today, while Krueger seems to have donned one for himself.

“You,” Krueger says.

You arch your eyebrows back. “Me.”

“What brings you here?” Konig interjects, much friendlier.

“Well, you really seemed to want cookies yesterday, so I thought I’d bring some with lunch as a welcome to the neighborhood.”

He practically shoves Krueger to get to the kitchen. You politely get out of the way so he can indulge in your offering without getting trampled.

“Danke schön,” he says, scooping up a sandwich.

“No problem,” you answer, smiling.

Krueger deigns to sidle closer, inspecting the platter with a keen eye. Still, you think you see a bit of appreciation in them before he snatches up one of the sandwiches. For some (concerning) reason, you’re gratified by that. (You’ll just blame it on your habit of feeding ferals and strays.)

“I also wanted to give you three a little warning…” Three pairs of eyes pin you in place. You try not to grimace. “Everyone on this block is nosy as hell. They will literally peak in your yard and check your mail.”

“The mail?” Konig asks, appalled.

“Yeah, I started using a PO Box,” you sigh. You’ve only got so much sanity before you start taking sniper shots with a water gun.

“We will handle it,” Krueger says.

“I’m sure,” you demure. “Anyway, that was all. You can drop the platter off later - or I can come get it. It’s not like you’re far.”

You start looking for Rasputin, only to find him perched on Nikto’s broad shoulder. The man doesn’t even seem bothered by the claws digging through his shirt, scratching a finger at the calico’s cheek.

“Huh,” you say, surprised.

Nikto glances at you, pauses. “What?”

You snort at the bluntness, but grin. “Usually I’m the only one allowed to pet him.”

That’s three for three. Well, two and a half. Shithead could have been trying or escape or go for the ankles for all you know. But Krueger seemed to like her, so that counts for something.

“C’mon my little tank, let’s go,” you coo, approaching.

Rasputin nuzzles his face against Nikto’s once, gives him a parting mraw, then leaps into your waiting arms.

“Bye, guys!” You call, waving over your shoulder as you head for the door.

Konig is the only one to respond with a polite, “see you!” But you don’t take it to heart.

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #konig #konig x you #konig x reader #nikto x reader #sebastian krueger #krueger x reader #cod nikto #konig cod #neighbor!reader

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luveline · 1 month

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also didn’t realise that amanda was their little baby but here’s an idea if ur up for it. amanda inherits like spencer’s smartness i guess and so when she starts spewing facts about the random-est stuff spencer’s overjoyed and then bombshells just staring at them with adoration in her eyes?? idk something really fluffy

“Shoes?” Amanda asks.

“Yeah, babe.”

“No thanks.”

You hold Amanda’s socked feet in your hands. “You need shoes to keep your feet warm.”

“I’ll have socks.”

You look past her tiny face to her father for some assistance. Spencer scratches his neck, looking absolutely exhausted, though he’s dressed sharply. You’d spent a few minutes finger curling his hair this morning before it dried, and he’s brushed them out gently, giving him a windblown look. You pretend to take a photo of him. He rolls his eyes.

“Amy,” he says lovingly, baby-voice in play as he leans over the back of the couch, “you know why you have to wear shoes?”

“Why?”

“Because growing up, your feet are very small, and very fragile. They need time to grow in proper structures, and they can’t do that if you don’t wear shoes when you’re walking a lot.” He gives her shoulder a rub. “Don’t you wanna match me and mommy?”

“You wear shoes… different. Mom has heels,” she insists.

“What if I wear flats?” you ask, eager to leave the house before afternoon.

She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest with a Spencer style pout.

Spencer sits down next to her with a sigh. You’re both aware of how smart she is for her age, and while it can be interesting, it’s also made some stuff so, so hard. Like explaining shoes. “I’m not want to wear them. It’s good for my skin to breathe.” All her r’s sound soft, like w’s.

You rub your eyes. Spencer sucks in an excited breath. “Yes! Skin can’t really breathe, but it’s good to have it uncovered sometimes to help your circulation and your pores.”

“‘Xactly,” Amy says.

“And, you know, shoes that don’t fit right force your feet into narrow positions, which can cause a whole bunch of problems.”

“No shoes,” Amy says.

“But…” Spencer backtracks, thumbing under her eyelashes gently. “If you don’t wear your shoes, we can’t go out to the store for groceries and we can’t go to the bakery on the way home. Which means you won’t get your sugar donuts, mommy won’t get her slice of cake, and that’s gonna make me so sad.”

“Why?”

“Because I love when your mom is happy. It makes me happy when she’s happy. She doesn’t look very happy now, does she?”

In all honesty, you’re much too pretty to be sitting on the floor, tights to the carpeting and your cute black dress bunching up your thighs. You refuse to close yourself into the ‘mom’ box some may expect of you, dressing as you had before you became a mom, but you’ve allowed Amanda the opportunity to choose your necklace; a gold pendant ring with green and pink sapphires. It’s gorgeous, colourful, and doesn’t even slightly go with your outfit. Spencer reaches for it now, tugging it straight carefully against your neck.

You frown deeply, pulling your widest, softest doe eyes. “Please, lovely girl, put your shoes on. Or I’m gonna have to be strict, and I hate being strict.”

“Don’t fw-own, mommy,” she says, listing into Spencer’s side, “you’ll get wrinkles. Worse wrinkles, ‘cos your muscles remember.”

And again, all her r’s are w’s, her pronunciation lispy and sweet despite her amazing expertise. Spencer laughs and takes her face into two hands, kissing “Wow, smarty pants,” into her crown. “You’re so smart! I can’t believe it!”

You feel your annoyance softening. Fine, she’s a smarty pants, and you secretly love it so so much. You’ll just have to carry her to the car. Or her genius dad can carry her. Actually, that could be great, Spencer’s never looked so handsome as he does carrying around your little baby, especially now he’s started working out every now and then.

“Better role your sleeves up, Spence,” you say, standing up off of your knees. “I’m keeping my heels on. Daddy’s gonna carry you, and you’re gonna get wonky feet.”

“That’s fine,” Spencer says to her in a whisper, “I’ll carry you forever if you want me to, even if you do get all wonky, bubby.”

Amy preens as she wraps her arms around him and he picks her up. He takes her shoes from your hand without her seeing.

“Isn’t she amazing?” he mouths, and he means it, his eyes wide with it.

“She’s gonna protest socks, next, Spencer Reid, and then what are you gonna do?” you ask. You aren’t half as concerned as you’re pretending to be. Amy’s a baby. She’ll learn how important shoes are soon enough.

“I’m gonna hold her in my coat, like this,” he says, pulling his coat over her legs.

“Like that,” you say to yourself, grinning. “Okay, you two do what you want. Can we go now? We really need to get some groceries.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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thebestofoneshots · 3 months

Note

This isn’t really a request but this came to may head at three in the morning ok Imagine like your getting fucked by one of the Marauders or all of them and yk those moving pictures they have in the wizard world image they have a whole box filled of the reader getting back shots and EVERYTHING 😵‍💫🥴

THE STASH | marauders x reader

Pairing: J.P. x S.B. x R.L x Female Reader

Word Count: 5 k

Warnings: Smut, finger fucкing, a little bit of PTSD on Sirius, pictures taken w/o reader’s knowledge, reader being insecure and gaining back confidence thanks to the boys.

Prompt: You find the boy's stash, filled with lusty pictures and they make you feel insecure, thoughts about not being good enough for them arise, the catch is, that’s THE OLD stash. (Happy ending)

Notes: I had a similar idea already in my head so when I saw this ask I just knew I had to make it happen.

♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut

You knocked on their door a couple of times when no one said anything, you decided to let yourself in, “Rem? Jamie? Sirius?”

No answer.

You looked around and went to sit by Remus’ bed. He said he’d see you in their room later that night for study and maybe something more, but with study club and prefect duties, you assumed he was as busy as the two other boys were with the quidditch training. You didn’t mind it much though, their room was a lot more quiet to study in than yours, and it was always fun to see their surprised faces when they walked in and you were there.

You were taking your book and some parchment out when a pot of ink fell from your bag and onto the floor. There was a thud and then another one and then it spilled all over. You gasped and left the bag on the side before leaning down to pick it up. You whispered a quick “reparo,” and the crystal pot wasn’t leaking anymore, but the ink was still on the floor and some of it was spilling down the wooden floorboard.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you summoned a napkin from your bag and started to clean as best as you could, but it didn’t seem to be working, it was still spilling down into what looked like a nook on the floor. You frowned and looked at the wooden board in detail only to realize there was a section that was a little more worn than the rest.

You frowned and tried to lift the board by digging your nails on the side but it wasn’t working, you huffed and walked over to Sirius’ night table to see if he still had his pocket knife there. Luckily he did, and you took it, pulling out one of the blades and using it as a crane to lift the wooden board.

Once you did you realized the ink had slipped inside most of the things they kept in there. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whispered continuously as you tried to pull off the things in fear that they would be ruined with the ink. There were some old letters, some hand-rolled cigars, a few potions and then a small box, that one had gotten most of the ink. You winced and pulled it out, biting your lip as you tried to concentrate. You had been so busy with the cleaning, that you never saw the spiderwebs that covered most of the items.

“Evanesco,” you whispered, focused solely on the ink, which successfully disappeared, but so did the small lock they had on the box and it opened by itself. You blinked a couple of times when you saw what was inside. You carefully grabbed one of the images, a stunning red-headed witch, winking at you as she bounced around, with her very large, and very beautiful breasts in full display.

You gulped as you stared at her, she wiggled her shoulders a bit and gave you another wink. You sucked in a breath, she was freaking stunning. And probably there because of James’ fixation with redheads.

The rest of the pictures were turned over, but curiosity got the best of you, and you took another piece of paper from the box. That one was bent in four, as if it had been ripped from a magazine. You slowly unbend it, first one fold and then the other and there was another stunning witch in the image.

This one had smaller breasts, but she was leaning down on a bed, perfectly manicured hands brushing over her own folds, two perfectly long and well-shaped legs on the side. She had dark skin and the light reflected on her legs as she accommodated on the bed, her head leaning back with what looked like a sigh as she rolled her hand over her clit. She too was beautiful, and perfect.

You sat the image on the side, next to the redhead and pulled another one. One of the smaller ones, only to be met with yet another stunning witch, perfectly flat stomach, and beautiful perky breasts, she was riding a pillow, one hand on the bed and looking straight at you as she bit her lips, inviting, enticing. You placed her next to the others as you pulled another image. And then another, and then another.

Image after image, perfectly attractive witches in all sorts of positions, some by themselves, some with companions (either other hot witches or the cock of a wizard or two). You pressed your legs together, there was a mix of feelings inside you. First of all, you were a little turned on after seeing such kind of imagery. But second, and most important. You were a little upset.

Which was ridiculous, you knew. Expecting the boys to pleasure themselves with the thought of you in mind when you weren’t around was stupid, especially when there were clearly much better and hotter witches in the market. What with their perfectly round breasts and their beautiful lips and flat stomachs and long legs and rosy cunts. You looked at them with a bit of a frown, they all had something in common, they were perfect, and you? You were far, far from that.

Now you weren’t upset that the boys were doing themselves, you knew men needed a lot more release than women did and you tried to keep that in mind as you placed all the beautiful witches back in their box, but you couldn’t help but think: Did they also think of them when they were with you? Did they imagine the beautiful redhead’s breasts when they were kissing yours, or maybe that they were in between the legs of that girl with the gorgeous reflective skin instead of your own?

While the pictures were meant to be stimulating, and they had been a little at the beginning, the more you thought about them, the more you thought they were so much unlike you and the more your thoughts continued to spiral.

“Such beautiful witches…” you murmured as you closed the box, “and they are equally gorgeous men… why are they–“ You didn’t finish your words out loud, too painful to say them outside of your head.

Why are they with me?

You carefully placed the box back into its spot, cleaned the rest of the things that had gotten stained and placed everything back in their stash. You carefully placed the wooden plank back where it belonged and put Sirius’ knife back in his drawers. You took a deep breath, not feeling up for much and instead ripped a page from your notebook.

“I’m feeling a little sick, see you boys tomorrow.”

It was simple enough not to make them question further, you left it on top of Remus’ bed and left the room.

The following day, the boys being as marvelous and attentive as they were, had gotten you to forget about the stash almost completely. And things had been absolutely perfect since then.

At least until a few days later, you had been playing wizards chess with Sirius on his bed, and after he beat you for the third time making you feel both hopeless and a little dumb for not anticipating his moves –which was also ridiculous because Sirius had been a wizard chess champion– he offered to make it up to you.

It was in the spark in his eyes that you knew exactly what he meant. You bit your lip, Remus was reading a book on his bed while James was snoring lightly next to him, one hand draped across the other boy’s torso. You knew they’d want to join in when they realized what you and Sirius were up to, and it sent a shiver down your stomach.

“What do you say, doll?” Sirius asked as he levitated the chess board and the broken pieces to the side, inviting you to come closer.

You huffed “You think you can make it up with your little puppy eyes?”

Sirius pretended to think about it for a second before nodding. “While they should be enough, I’m still planning to use more than just my looks to make you feel better.”

You returned the smile and leaned closer to him, moving to straddle his sitting form, his back was pressed to the headboard and you could feel he was at least a little excited as you leaned into him.

“Did you win so many times just so you could say that to me?” You asked in disbelief, you were drumming your fingers near the nape of his neck.

“I might have been a little extra attentive,” he replied as he grabbed onto your hips and placed a kiss on your neck. “I know how riled up you get when you can’t best me,” he said before placing another kiss, this time further up, “I kind of enjoy seeing your little frown, and angry looks,” he admitted, he was now kissing your jaw. You rolled your hips into his and he tightened his grip on your hips in response.

You smiled, loving the fact that you knew exactly what Sirius liked and how to get him worked up, at least as much as he knew of you. You rolled your hips again and he reached his hand under your skirt, feeling the outside of your leg before flicking his hand to the inside of it. To the softer skin that he grabbed with firm tenderness. Itching his hand closer and closer, making sure to massage your skin, tauntingly.

You leaned your head onto his shoulder, letting his beautiful hair fall on your face as you rolled your hips again, a lot softer this time, matching his pace and wanting his hand to come closer.

“Eager, are we?” he teased.

“Shhh, you’ll wake up Jamie,” you said as you leaned over to kiss his neck. He bit his lip to hold back a moan and finally placed his hand over your panties, tracing a soft line over your slit. You bucked your hips against his hand and he chuckled lightly.

Remus, who had been focused on his book so far, frowned and looked up at the two of you, smirking a little when he noticed what you were up to. Of course, he knew that chuckle, it was Sirius’ sexy teasing laugh.

“Easy love or you’ll be the one to wake up Prongs,” he said, leaning his head to your ear and softly nibbling on it. He traced his hand over your slit a couple more times, and you bucked your hips again. He smiled, you didn’t see it, but you felt it against your skin, “All right, all right…” he said as he flicked his finger over the hem of your panties and moved them aside. You leaned even closer to him as he dug his fingers in, “All of this for me?” he teased as he felt how wet you were.

Remus, who was now only half looking at his book, had somewhat of a fun time as he listened in to your conversation with Sirius. He would be lying if he said he didn’t find it stimulating. But he also knew Sirius had had a bit of a bad week, so he thought of letting him have you just for himself, at least for a little bit longer, or until James woke up, just as eager to join in.

“Sirius please,” you whined with a frown and he smiled, letting his fingers trace up until they found your clit, making circles over it, which had you bucking your hips against him again. You bit the side of your cheek as you allowed him to move his hand, leaning in to kiss his neck again, to muffle any possible moans with his skin.

“May I?” he asked, teasing your entrance with his index.

“Mhm,” you said and bucked your hips again, eager for him to do his thing. And he complied, digging his finger inside and allowing it to move inside you as expertly as ever.

“So tight,” he whispered, Remus’ cock twitching at Sirius’ words and reconsidering whether he actually wanted to wait more before joining in.

He did not, so he carefully lifted James’ arm from his torso and walked towards Sirius’ bed. He sat right beside the two of you, a cocky smile on his face as he tilted his head to the side, “You two having fun there?” he asked, “without me?”

“You’re always welcome to join in Moony,” Sirius said with a teasing grin as he pulled you back just a little. You had both of your hands on Sirius’ shoulders, and you were now using them as leverage to ride his hand.

Moony smiled, “I might just watch for a while,” he said, leaning back and placing one of his hands on the back of Sirius’ neck. He knew how much small actions and touches like that made Sirius react, and he smiled as the boy’s breath hitched in his throat. He then turned to look at you, a mischievous grin on his face, he took his wand out and whispered “Evanesco.”

Suddenly both your shirt and bra disappeared, giving both boys the perfect sight of your breasts perking up at the sudden cold. Sirius grunted as he stared, and Remus hummed satisfied. You clenched around Sirius’ fingers –which were now two– whimpered and let out a soft moan.

But then, as you felt their gazes on you, and you felt your own boobs bouncing as you continued to ride Sirius’ expert fingers, you started to feel self-conscious, of how you looked, of how they were staring at you, on whether they were actually thinking of you or imagining something else, someone else. Maybe the beautiful redhead? The busty blonde? The reflextive-skinned goddess with the beautiful legs? The brunette with the beautiful ass?

Suddenly the lights flickered, and they were gone. You relaxed, Sirius felt the grip on his shoulder untensing, but he thought it was because you were close. But Sirius liked to see your fucked out face when he had his fingers inside you, and in seconds the lights were turned back on, and you tensed instantly.

The muscle movements were normal, but the way you suddenly dug your nails into his shoulders was not, at least not in the moment it was happening and not in the way it was either. Something was up.

He stopped moving his hand in an instant, “you all right, angel?” he asked, a small wrinkle forming on his forehead as his brows furrowed together.

You seemed to be lost in thought for a second, Remus noticed that too, “Yeah… just. Let’s leave the lights off today.”

Now it was Remus’ turn to frown, he took his hand from Sirius’ neck and sat straighter, pulling back and leaning in closer to look at your face, his hand instinctively traveling to your thigh. Sirius, with one hand still inside you –now unmoving– was brushing his thumb in circles on your waist, they were both giving you their unwavering attention, and your breath hitched in your throat. You looked at them nervously, your eyes traveling from boy to boy at unprecedented speeds and you bit your lip, and then the lights were off again.

Once they were off, you sighed and leaned your head on Sirius’ shoulder. He felt how you relaxed in an instant, and his frown deepened. “Angel, what is it?”

“Nothing, light’s giving me a headache,” you lied.

Sirius turned to Remus, while he couldn’t see much, he knew Remus would probably be able to see his questioning stance easily, with his enhanced senses, at least. “You believe her?” he mouthed.

Remus shook his head in response, and when he realized Sirius couldn’t actually see he turned to you and placed his hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure that’s it, luv?”

You swallowed, which was enough indication you weren’t, and you lied again, “Yes, let’s just, continue as is.”

Sirius knew you were lying, and he hated it when you lied to him, he also hated not being able to see shit while Remus could see your every reaction so he turned the lights on, didn’t even use his wand for it, and you tensed again.

You were taken aback by that and swallowed thickly. Your breath was slightly ragged and it was not because you were turned on, in fact, if anything, you felt rather apprehensive now. You cleared your throat. “You know, maybe I’m just not feeling it,” you lied again and pulled yourself off of his hand.

Sirius felt way too many things at the same time, he was worried about your reaction since he thought he’d done something wrong. He was angry because he knew you were hiding the exact reason; he wanted, no, he needed to know what was up so he would never do it again, and thirdly, he was upset, he’d felt…rejected. And by you, no other.

By the time Sirius reacted again, you were buttoning your shirt up and walking towards their door. James, who had been asleep till then, was finally awoken by the lights coming on and off and the small commotion going on. He was confused, at first he thought you were just playing, but perhaps that was not it.

But Sirius was faster, and he jumped over Remus to get to the door just as you were opening it and shut it closed. You jumped back just a little, shocked at how fast he’d moved, you were now the one with a frown, anger bubbling to your chest, Sirius’ temper had always been something you’d learn to deal with, and even if you knew it was justified now, that didn’t stop yours from flaring up.

“That’s not it,” he said confidently, “that’s not it and you’re not getting out until you tell me what’s upset you.”

“Sirius,” Remus said now, ever the conciliator. He’d also stood from the bed and walked the few strides left to get next to the two of you.

Maybe it wasn’t the best reaction you could have had, but you were already pretty shaken up by the situation at hand, by your rather torturous thoughts and by Srius’ slamming of the door. “Oh, so you know my body better than I do?” you said defensively, “you would know if I have or not a headache.”

“YES!” he responded stubbornly. “I know how it reacts when it has a headache and it’s not the way you were reacting now!”

You shook your head as you scoffed, James was now sitting on the bed looking at the situation both confused and worried.

“Moony! Back me up on this?” he said as he turned his face to him.

Remus bit his lip, as he shook his head, thinking before speaking. “He’s right luv, that was not your headache reaction.”

You scoffed, “ff course, you’d take his side.”

“I’m not taking any sides.”

“Well you are, just don’t realize it!” you said angrily. “If I say I have a headache, I have one and that’s it. Now, I want to leave.”

“Darling,” Remus said as he let out a breath, he seemed worried and upset as well now, you were trying really hard not to feel bad about it, trying to remind yourself why you needed to leave.

It was Sirius who spoke again, his lips quivering as he found the right words, “Just tell me what I did wrong, I’ll never do it again, I promise,” his voice broke near the end. He was panicking, he was terrified he’d hurt you and that you’d leave thinking the worst of him. You knew what was hapening had brought back some past trauma and you didn’t want to be the catalyst of another panick attack.

You took a deep breath when you heard him, your frown deepening as you considered your words, “I found your stash.”

The three men went quiet in an instant. Sirius looked like a deer trapped in headlights, Remus’ jaw had tightened and you’d heard James’ gasp in the back.

“Darling, I–“ Sirius tried to speak but you cut him off.

“No, no,” you tried to reason, more with yourself than with him. “I get, it’s fine, you need your release time and all that, I don’t mind.”

“Well, you clearly do,” Remus said. You felt a hand on your shoulder, it was James’. He had walked towards you the moment he heard about the stash but you hadn’t noticed until then. You flinched but missed the hurt look that etched his features as he looked at you.

“Well yes. But it’s a stupid feeling nonetheless. I’ll get over it. Just need time.”

“It was me,” James said from behind, “it was my idea, not Sirius’. Don’t be upset at him.”

You swallowed thickly, not wanting to be angry at James for something so natural in men, let alone because you knew this whole mess was created due to your own thoughts and insecurities, not theirs. And now you were upsetting them, what a great bIoody girlfriend you were.

“I don’t bIoody care whose idea it was!” you spat. “Please let me off,” you said then, leg bouncing, you wanted to get out before you said something that would upset them more.

“We’ll never do it again if that makes you feel better,” Sirius tried.

“No it– It fucking doesn’t, okay? It’s fine, it’s… Found it a couple of nights ago when my ink pot fell on the floor.” The three boys exchanged a look with each other, had either of them changed its spot? “It’s pretty fresh in my mind and– I just– I can’t stop thinking you’re imagining them while being with me.”

“Them?” Sirius asked, confused.

“The pretty witches!” you responded, almost angrily. Remus, who was in front of you looked confused, and you huffed before adding in more detail. “Beautiful redhead,” you looked at James. “Gorgeous blonde,” you added as you turned to Sirius. Then looked back at the taller boy, “need I elaborate?”

You heard James gasp from behind. “She found the old stash!”

“Ah, so you have a new and improved one,” you said now, and shook your head as you turned at the door. Sirius was leaning in and he had a cheeky smile on his face now, which pissed you off even further.

“You could call it that,” he said with a shrug.

“Sirius,” Remus said calmly again. “Don’t.”

But Sirius just smiled instead, “Oh but, I’m impressed. Our lovely angel was jealous.”

“I was not.” You said flatly. “Get off the door, please,” the last part was much more of a beg than a demand.

Sirius shook his head, “not until you see the new stash.”

Remus and James exchanged looks after that, not even sure if they should or shouldn’t stop Sirius.

“I don’t want to see the witches you use to wank off now, it’s enough with the images already in my head. Can’t stop thinking of them, of you thinking about them when you’re looking at me.”

Sirius’ face fell instantly, his teasing stance almost faltering but not his determined blockage of the door.

“That’s not–“

“Have you considered perhaps it was the other way around?” Remus asked as he placed a slightly hesitant hand on your shoulder.

“What?”

“That we imagined you when looking at them.”

You were taken aback by that. No, you hadn’t considered that. “What about the redhead, can’t tell me she wasn’t there because of James’ old obsession with Evans?”

James sighed, it was. That’s why they had to get a new stash.

“She needs to see the new stash,” Sirius said while looking at the two other boys.

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” James intervened, it had been his idea after all, and he had admitted it to you now. He didn’t want to have you get mad over something else, and this time your anger would be indisputably justifiable.

“I think it is,” Sirius insisted.

You sighed, “you can continue deciding if you’re going to show me your new fuckable witches or not a different day. Sirius, get off the door.”

He shook his head and turned to James, “Please?”

“I don’t want to see them! Enough is enough!”

You turned to the side to try and find another exit when you bumped into Remus, he had a box in his hand. He raised it a bit, you knew what it was instantly.

“Remus!” James complained and went to get it but was hastily stopped by Sirius who got in the way and trapped him in his arms.

“Prongs behave!” He said sternly.

The path to the door was free now, but Remus’ serious stance made you curious, even more when he moved his finger to his lips and bit hard enough to draw bIood.

“What the fu–“

“It’s so no one can open but us,” he explained. “We bIood charmed it.”

You looked at him with a shocked face, you didn’t think they’d go to such lengths to hide their spicy stuff, what the hell did they even have there?

Some of the metal hinges at the top moved around a little bit, looking almost like a miniature Gringotts vault, and then it snapped open. Remus pushed it your way. You looked at the three boys before picking the first image up. It was Remus, shirtless Remus on the day you’d gone swimming at the Potter’s last summer. He was pulling his hair back and water glistened all over his torso, he looked at you and winked, before turning to look at something else.

You gasped and pulled another picture, it was James and Sirius, both also shirtless, and they were making out under a tree. Sirius had his leg in between James’ and was leaning onto him rather intensely.

The next one was you, you had the swimsuit you’d bought that summer, the one you thought looked really good on you, and you were on your knees, looking for something on the sand, your ass was slightly prompted up and the picture was obviously focused on that. You swallowed thickly and went to grab another one.

You again, this time while making out with Remus, his hand was on your ass and you had realized they were taking a picture, looking at the camera with a diverted gasp before covering the lens with your hand.

You took another one, and this time around you were genuinely shocked, it was Remus, being blown by James. His pinky pretty lips wrapped around Rem’s cock. “Oh, wow.”

James frowned, he knew what else there was in there and he wasn’t sure if he wanted you to see it, he had never felt worse about his own ideas than now. Responsible, he knew he had bertrayed you, in a way. You took the next picture and stared at it for a minute.

It was you again, well, you’re back at least. You were riding Sirius, moving back and forth over his cock as he helped you, hands on your waist as he bit his lip. You didn’t see your face, but you knew it hadn’t been that long ago. If Sirius’ new tattoo was any telling.

You looked at the boys shocked, you hadn’t even realized they’d taken the picture, but you looked as pretty as any witch in the other photos, how had they gotten you to look so good?

They hadn’t done anything, it was just you.

“You don’t have to–“ James started, but you had already picked up another picture.

“Shut up,” you said simply.

You again, this time you were sprawled on the bed with a blindfold on your head. That had been on your birthday. James had one of his hands on your leg, dangerously close to your slit while Sirius was kissing your breast and sucking at your nipples.

And there was more, a lot of pictures from that day, all in compromising positions. Some involving you and the boys, some involving only the boys on different occasions, some you remembered, some in which you hadn’t even been present. There was even one of Sirius wanking off to the picture of you in the swimsuit you had seen earlier.

“I’m sorry–“ James said, now sounding distressed and shaking Sirius off him. “I’m sorry angel, we should have never done it.”

You grabbed another one of the photos, it had clearly been rushed, the camera being hidden as you turned your head to look at the boys, this time around you were kneeling on the bed, and James was jerking himself off to you, teasing your entrance before pulling out completely and allowing his cum to fall over your ass and back.

“You’re right.,” you said as you placed the pictures back in the box, expression neutral. “You should have never done it without asking me–” James swallowed.

“Love I–“

“James, shut up!” you said again, giving the pictures another look. “You should have never done it without asking me first,” you said as you flipped through some more pics and tsking. “I would have helped.”

James’ jaw dropped, and you looked at him with a cheeky smile. Sirius was looking at you proudly and satisfied with his choice while Remus stared at the picture you had in your hand. The one where you were getting a back shot but was shaky and blurry because the camera had been hidden before you saw it.

You moved the picture up, holding it between your fingers as you displayed it to the boys, “What do you say we recreate this one, but with better quality?”

Sirius scoffed a laugh and smiled.

“I’ll get the camera,” Remus said simply.

James was still stunned, and you leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Sirius leaned from behind and kissed you on the cheek “I told them you should know about it from the beginning but they said you’re too pure for it.”

You laughed at that, “you boys keep calling me angel,” you said as you turned to Sirius and wrapped your hands around his neck, “but I wouldn’t have done all the things I have with you all if I wasn’t the exact opposite,” you added with a smirk.

Want to support me? Like and reblog this post. Comments are my life fuel, so send them out if you have any.

This one might get a part two, if you guys wanna see that <3

Raead more Marauders Fiction

2K notes · View notes

yuellii · 6 months

Note

🪼 HI USER YUELLII OMG I LUV JEALOUSY TROPES MAYBE THAT SAYS... SOMETHING ABOUT MY CHARACTER BUT I LOVEEEE JEALOUSY TROPES. AND WITH NEUVILETTE????? SOEMONE WHO PRIABBLY DOESNT EXPERIENCE JEALOUSY OFTEN IF AT ALL???? im sold. IM SOLD. PULLING OUT MY CREDIT CARD. IWOULD LITERALLY KILL TO READ UR THOUGHTS ON IT

The Four Stages of Jealousy : THE IUDEX.

STAGE I. — Identification.

There is a threat, that a person may feel losing someone to someone better than them. "I want what you have, and I hate that you have what I want."

Neuvillette wasn’t quite sure of the sudden twist in his stomach as he stood at your doorstep, a bag of pastries tucked under one of his arms and a box of tea bags carried under his other.

Saturdays, three o’clock sharp in the afternoon held meaning: A time in which he’d arrive at your boutique, treats in hand and a pleasant look on his face. He’d try on one of your hats, maybe, for it was a prime time for tea, taken advantage of by the two of you, alone together every Saturday afternoon. It was an evening of the week where he was most happiest, though that might’ve been only an assumption. But the tranquility he usually felt standing at your doorstep was never one he could ignore.

Unfortunately, said tranquility seemed to be lacking this time around.

What he expected as another nice time alone with you ( especially since it was on your undocumented schedule—but who cared for documents, when he looked forward to this meeting every week? ) was instead being interrupted by a certain someone. Namely, a certain Champion Duelist. And maybe, Neuvillette would not be so bothered, had she not been sitting in his seat.

( Said seat was also unspoken, or ‘undocumented’ between the two of you, but still. He sat there every week—therefore by repeated pattern alone, that antique chair in front of the table should be his. )

( And sure, this might’ve been your boutique’s seating area, where everyone comes to sit during the day; But on Saturdays during tea time, he’d like to think that seat was practically reserved for him. )

“Neuvillette!” you practically gasped, facial expression turning into one of lightened excitement at seeing him. There was a blissful ignorance in your voice—‘ignorant’ in the way he was truly glad you didn’t know he was mentally annoyed at the mere fact his seat was taken. But nevertheless, the tightrope of his heart fluttered at the sound of your voice, which always sounded so enthusiastic every week he came back here. Perhaps you were just excited to see him as much as he was excited to see you—the thought alone brings a shiver to his spine.

He approaches forward with a polite smile of his own when you pat the empty spot adjacent to you on the loveseat. Ah, so the theft of his usual antique chair leaves him to sit beside you. Maybe the uninvited guest was welcomed, now that he thought about it.

“What brings Miss Clorinde with us today?” he finally asked, addressing the most obvious outlier first. When he set the bag of pastries down on the table, he watched as the Duelist eyed it with interest.

Clorinde hummed. “I was here for a small chat, then I was told that Monsieur Neuvillette would be ‘arriving soon’. And here you are.” At the recount of events, Neuvillette noticed how Clorinde threw a playful look at you. This playfulness did not stop, unfortunately for him, when she leaned forward to peek at the paper bag he brought in. “Then I stayed, because I thought: ‘What could the Chief Justice possibly say that’s interesting enough for weekly conversations?’”

You gasped at her teasing insult. “Clorinde!” you scolded with slight laughter. “Monsieur Neuvillette is a great companion for tea conversations! He’s very interesting, indeed, I promise you!”

“Thank you,” Neuvillette coughed through his words. He’s beginning to feel a bit awkward here…

“Oh?” Clorinde piped up again, just before Neuvillette could even get another word out. “There’s a lot of pastries in here, and also a new box of tea?”

“He brings them for us to share every week!” you exclaimed happily, grabbing the bag off the table and kindly distributing a treat to everyone. And that’s when suddenly, Neuvillette wishes he only bought one for the two of you, because he watches as you set down the pieces of Conch Madeleines in front of the Champion Duelist, despite Neuvillette knowing those were your favorites. Meanwhile, instead, you gave him and yourself the remaining other pastries. But surely, you wouldn’t just give up your favorites like that… Unless you favored Clorinde. Ah, but maybe he was overthinking it. “Isn’t he the sweetest?”

Clorinde sends him a casual smirk, likely to tease him. “Sweetest, certainly.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to any of this at all.

When he eventually had to leave, Clorinde still stayed there to chat with you, and he felt empty walking out of your boutique. Emptier than usual, actually. It was certainly confusing, due to the fact nothing inherently bad happened, and he certainly didn’t want to say Clorinde’s presence bothered him, or anything over-the-top like that.

Hm.

Neuvillette didn’t get to talk to you as much as he wanted to today.

STAGE II. — Confrontative.

Where negative thoughts start to bloom as "envy." Jealousy begins to indicate love for the person, and the individual is afraid of losing that object of their love.

It’s the following Saturday when he sees you again, and he can’t quite understand why he feels an air of relief upon seeing that Clorinde is not there today.

“Neuvillette!” You greet him with the same smile and same excitement as always, and the rush of paradise courses through his body before he sits across from you in his usual seat: the antique chair right in front of you. He sets down his paper bag of fresh pastries; And upon doing so, he can’t help but smile when he noticed there are only two teacups on the table. One for you, and one for himself. “You seem a little more delighted today”—Was it that obvious?—“What’s gotten you into a good mood, Monsieur?”

He hummed. “Nothing, really.” He actually wasn’t quite sure why he was feeling so joyous today, either, but as long as you were sitting there still smiling at him, then it would all be alright. “It’s just natural, since it’s always my pleasure to spend my Saturday afternoons with you.”

Bring your hand up to cover your mouth, you lightly gasped at his words. “Oh, Monsieur!” you giggled. “I hadn’t known you could be a charmer with your words!”

He liked the reaction you gave him. He thinks he liked the feeling of approval you gave him, but even more. Neuvillette learned rather gradually that you always tended to get a happy sort-of embarrassment from his ‘compliments’. Said ‘compliments’, however, referred to mere truthful facts he’s laid for you. But there’s a certain loveliness that comes with confiding in someone to tell all your truths to, and he’s more than elated that you’re the one he trusts to blabber endlessly to. He just hopes it can stay like this for a long time: Just the two of you, enjoying your Saturday afternoon tea.

“So,” Neuvillette began, watching as you took a bite of the Conch Madeleine he bought specifically for you. He had to catch himself from smiling at you—if his duty was to buy your favorite treat every week, then so be it. “How has your week been since I last saw you?”

Your hand once again flies up to cover your mouth as you quickly finish to chew and swallow the bite before answering him. “It’s been fun, actually! I saw a concert performed by a famous violinist—I believe I might’ve even spotted you in the front row…”

“Ah, yes, that would’ve been me. It was a spectacular performance; I’m happy to know you saw it,” he smiled. Hm, if he knew you were there that night, he certainly would’ve said hello. Your hand moves upwards once more to bring your teacup closer to your lips, and now he’s curious to ask: “And that ring of yours—that’s new, when did you get it?”

“Oh!” After setting the teacup down, you quickly leaned forwards, outstretching your right arm to show off the ring to him at a closer view. “I just got it yesterday, actually. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is.” It really dazzles to compliment your eyes. Neuvillette catches himself thinking of little things he’s never thought before. Like the way your hair frames your face perfectly, especially at this angle. Or the way your eyes held this delicate shine he admired so dearly, only now heightened by the sparkle of the ring’s reflection. There’s a new tide of poetry unspoken in the depths of his mind, and they might as well stay locked until he figures out just what this emotion is.

When you offer your hand for him to get a closer inspection of the ring is when his breath seems almost stolen from his lungs. Months and months of these weekly tea meetings, and yet he feels this is the closest proximity he’s ever been to you. Here, in his antique chair in the middle of your boutique shop, holding your hand from across the table.

But he feels a spark that he prays you sense as well, for the mere desire of wanting this moment to last forever is enough to tell him that he is completely in love with you.

He leans down gently to reach closer to your hand, kissing your knuckle so featherlight next to the ring. “And it’s even more beautiful on you,” he mutters to you when he pulls away.

Your heart might’ve skipped a beat when you retracted your hand, but he has no idea—he was too lovestruck just now to even think properly. But you take just a moment to recover whilst he’s still stuck in his little daze; Though, who could blame him when he just discovered the ethereal feeling of falling in love?

“Thank you,” you exhaled with a smile that seemed a little breathless. “Lady Clorinde helped pick it, actually.”

…What?

Well, that was a name he completely forgotten until just now. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure after the sudden whiplash of emotions. From finding out he’s in love, to the pang of unwarranted negativity for the Champion Duelist. As expected, he couldn’t tell what this uncomfortable feeling was, but he certainly did not like it.

“Clorinde was there, you say?” he tried to clarify.

You nodded. A little too happily for his liking. “We went out shopping yesterday.” Oh. “And she said this ring really matched ‘the colors of my personality’, whatever that means!” you wholeheartedly laughed. The way you spoke of her, with all this smiling and all these giggles, was making him crave for something more. Did… Did you perhaps want to see him more outside of these tea times, too? You seem perfectly fine shopping with Clorinde now, after all.

He’s never gotten personal time with you like that. It’s always been solely Saturday afternoons, nothing more. And yet, Clorinde immediately gets invited to your shopping runs, and apparently her opinion is also important enough to make you buy the ring? How unbelievable. Neuvillette bets if he was there instead, he’d buy you every piece of jewelry that you even took so much as slight interest in, because that was what you deserved. But no, here he was, not invited to these outings at all, and further stuck wallowing as your mere ‘tea companion’, and not something more.

The door to the boutique suddenly opens, and the both of you turn your heads to the customer.

But instead of a client, you were met with the face of a slightly-smiling Clorinde, ever so amused to see the both of you here again. Well, she shouldn’t be amused. Neuvillette was here on schedule.

“Ah, you’re here!” you say excitedly, briskly standing up to grab another set of tea; And now, Neuvillette can’t quite tell if you greet everyone at the door with this same excitement, and it’s not just restricted to him alone. He shouldn’t be that selfish, of course, so he thinks perhaps it should just not be directed at Clorinde, specifically.

“Pardon me,” Clorinde announced, making her way to the table after you set the tea display down. “I’ll be intruding on the both of you again.” Neuvillette wishes he had any right to refuse.

This time, now that he’s regained his rightful spot on the antique chair, Clorinde had no choice but to sit… right next to you on the loveseat—the same place Neuvillette sat last week when his spot was stolen. A moment comes forth where he now no longer wants his seat at all ( which he doesn’t understand why, because shouldn’t he be happy his unspoken designated seat is back? ), and prefers the loveseat.

Maybe it was the sight of Clorinde next to you, and the fact she was sitting so much closer than he’d like to imagine. And suddenly, that’s when he realizes he doesn’t like the idea of Clorinde being this close to you at all.

“Oh! You’re wearing the ring I got you!” Clorinde recognizes. She grabbed your right hand to immediately inspect it, and Neuvillette can’t help but feel like someone just shot him. Not only did she comfortably grab your hand like it was nothing ( meanwhile, he had to find both the confidence and the breath to even try to kiss your hand earlier ), but she also got it for you? The little detail you never mentioned: That Clorinde bought you the ring.

Now Neuvillette is internally questioning what exactly this ring means. Is it akin to a proposal? A vow? A promise ring for the future?

The longer he stays here the more insane he may be driven, he thinks.

“Sorry to cut my time here short, but I think I have to get going,” he spoke up. Both Clorinde and you looked over at him, and he figured this was a good idea—he doesn’t think he can handle another tea session where the two of you are happily talking as he sits there awkwardly quiet. “I’ll be off, now.”

“Already?” you frowned at him, and that expression almost makes him want to stay. But the sight of Clorinde still absentmindedly toying with your hand sends him into a spiral of emotions he needs to sort out. He’s already stood up to leave without realizing it.

“Unfortunately so,” he says. He might’ve sounded colder than he meant to. It was clear in your face you knew something was wrong, but didn’t want to say it out of privacy. But when he walked towards the door, hearing Clorinde continue your conversation on like normal, it was fruitless to even consider it.

He opened the door. It was raining.

It feels like he was losing your love before he could even have it.

STAGE III. — Redirecting.

Where pleasure is derived from hurting others, stemmed from unconscious feelings of envy. The envy can come in a so-called as a form of competitive implication.

The next time he saw you was around the market area in the morning, wandering the streets like a normal citizen on this wavering Wednesday.

Normally, he would have just smiled and waved at most, but this time, something compelled him to walk up and join you. “Is this where to find you on Wednesday mornings?” he asked curiously, catching your starling attention and watching as your lips curved to a smile when you recognized him.

“It is, Monsieur.” When you stepped ever-so closer to him, a mere basket around your arm being the only thing between you, he felt as if his feet had turned into bubbles, and there was a flutter of heaven around his shoulders. “My weekly groceries are scheduled for today, however I don’t recall ever seeing you on this side of the city, if that isn’t just my ignorance.”

He chuckled, “I’m usually at my office by this time, so you would be correct.” Then his arm slid against yours, taking the wooden basket out of your hands and walking a few steps forward down the market street you shopped at. “But I’m open to a change of pace, so might I join you on this lovely morning?”

The little smile of contentment you gave him when you answered “Of course” made his heart skip a beat. And when you walked forward to hook your arm around his free one, he swears to the sovereign he might simply dissolve right then and there. The closeness of your presence to him now makes his heart race in a way he feels it drumming in his chest, a feeling that is so human that it makes him almost taste the fruit of mortality. You, walking along with him as you hold onto his arm whilst he carries your grocery basket—you look like romantic partners, and he can’t help but feel sort of lightheaded at the mere thought of that.

“Ah, look!” you pointed, and Neuvillette allowed himself to be guided by the arm to a nearby vendor. “They’re selling slices of apricot pie.”

“You fancy these desserts as well?” he mused, already fishing his pockets for his wallet. “Perhaps we should purchase a slice or two and save them for our weekend tea session.”

You agreed, “I thought the same.” Then you noticed his shuffling and playfully waved off his hand, insisting he needn’t pay. “But I fear it might spoil by the time Saturday comes.”

“You want a bite of mine?” And that’s when Neuvillette wasn’t even surprised anymore to hear the voice of the Champion Duelist appearing out of nowhere. He has such horrible luck running into her, that he’s now just accepted it at this point ( or, for better words: he still has yet to accept the fact that maybe Clorinde was specifically seeking you ). She stood there, leaned against a pole with an easy-going expression and a fork in one of her hands, carrying an aluminum tin with the exact same apricot pie you were just eyeing.

You gasp at her appearance, “Sure!” Neuvillette doesn’t even have a moment to process the mere seconds it takes for you to slip away from his arm, leaving him to follow behind as you skip over to Clorinde. The uninvited guest takes it upon herself to feed you a bite with her fork—it was at this time that the Iudex began to feel like an outlier once again.

“We were actually about to buy a few slices ourselves,” Neuvillette piped in. He did it quickly, perhaps it was instinct so he wouldn’t be left out of the conversation again. “But an excellent point was brought up, that the dessert might spoil by the time we reach Saturday afternoon.”

“Why don’t you just buy one and eat it now?” Clorinde shrugged. Ah. Neuvillette internally scolded himself; He should’ve thought of that. And when you waved off her suggestion dismissively, claiming it was fine now that she let you try it, Neuvillette realized he completely missed an opportunity to have dessert with you on a Wednesday instead of a Saturday. That while he was still a man you only saw once at the end of each week, you’d be seeing Clorinde multiple times throughout it.

He wasn’t fond of the way Clorinde was still feeding you more bites of pie, either.

“Miss Clorinde,” he addressed. If only he had more of a grasp of human sociability, then he might’ve realized how firm his voice sounded in this situation that was… not so serious. “Shouldn’t you be alongside Furina at this time of day?”

“On a typical day, yes,” she answered simply. “And shouldn’t you be in your office?”

He almost glared. “No, actually, I’ve given myself the time to roam around today.”

“Oh wowww,” she teased, though Neuvillette might’ve heard it as something mocking. “Lady Furina would be pleased to hear that. Instead of being cooped up in your office or the Opera Epiclese all morning long, you’re out here at the market, even holding a basket for shopping.”

The Iudex cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll have you know that this basket isn’t mine.” There was an air of competitiveness in his voice, one that almost had him biting his tongue in surprise of himself. Because it was simply just as he said: a basket. But the fact it belonged to you, and the fact that he was carrying it for you—suddenly he wanted to boast it and show it off to the world, especially to Clorinde’s face. “The two of us are shopping together this morning, if you’ll excuse us.” His next move might’ve been bold, but the feeling of possessiveness was so airtight and he had no choice but to hook his own arm around yours once more, getting ready to turn and leave.

“So cold,” Clorinde rolled her eyes. ‘Cold’ was a word often used to describe him, but no, not here. He did not want to appear that way in front of you. “Is this really the attitude you want to spend all morning with?” she asked, this time directed at you.

Something in him snapped. There was an emotion that clouded his head far angrier than annoyance, and it sprouted from the way in which she made him look bad, like the stone-cold Chief Justice everyone thought him to be. Albeit with you, he was trying to be everything but that. Emotional, vulnerable, heartfelt, human—Clorinde was not going to take that away from him.

‘Is this really the attitude you want to spend all morning with?’ The question kept playing in his mind, as if she was any better than him? She, who most people also saw as stoic, should not be seen by you in a better light than him. She, who did not know your favorite desserts like he did, who did not make time for you like he did, who did not fancy you as much as he did—

He felt you tug at his arm, snapping him from his thoughts.

Your eyes held the same, worried look you gave him on Saturday when he left so abruptly. So jealously.

Neuvillette cleared his throat once more. “It seems you are correct, Miss Clorinde.” There was solemness in his voice. Yet he was so quiet as he unlocked his arm from around yours, and handed your basket to Clorinde. “My attitude proves to be too unfavorable for the likes of this lovely morning, I thank you for bringing it to my attention.” These emotions were too much right now; he was starting to fear them. “My deepest apologies to you both, I’ll be heading back to the Palais Mermonia now.”

He bowed his head as diplomatically as he could manage, but the skies were already darkening.

“I bid you both a fine rest of your morning.”

“Wait, Neuvillette!”

Your call was drowned by the deafening drums of his hammering heartbeat, and the patters of light rainfall from the somber sky.

STAGE IV. — Medea.

At this stage, the grip of envy appears almost irreversible. There is a hatred towards others that dominates their thinking, and happiness or success is no longer foreseen.

Saturday afternoon.

He couldn’t see you again, even if it was time for your weekly meeting, not when he was feeling like this.

Not when the sky was pouring from the mere thought of you, and how he’s probably already lost. It was inevitable for a man like him, and he should’ve realized so earlier. Three o’clock, and you were already probably sipping away with Clorinde at your side, pastries on the table and a dazzling ring on your finger. She was much more human than him, after all, and such a shortcoming became his eventual downfall.

The Palais Mermonia was quiet, though that might’ve been due to the endless rain that’s been pouring since Wednesday morning.

While it was nice, he couldn’t help but feel the silence only amplified his feeling of loneliness in this moment. Especially at this time: a time of the week in which he looked most forward to.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” a Melusine knocked from right outside his door. “You have a visitor!”

And before he could even reply, that was when you ignored all formalities, all proper respect as you pushed your way through the door and into his office. The surge of panic he felt from your sudden presence was unrivaled to the way you made haste in getting seated in front of his office table, setting down your handful—said handful consisting of two teacups, and a bag of pastries.

His heart practically shattered. The familiar cups and bag of treats on the table, the way your hair and clothes were lightly damp from the rain—you made the effort, coming all the way here just to see him. Just so the both of you wouldn’t miss a single Saturday afternoon together.

“I believe you might’ve forgotten our schedule, good Monsieur.” A light scolding, yet partnered with the most comforting smile you’ve ever given him, and he starts to feel his hands tremble. “You seem surprised to see me,” you commented further, filling in the silence as he has yet to utter even a word. “Did you really think I’d just let you ditch me like that?”

It was hard to breathe, hard to find his voice when you were so patient with him. “Sorry.” It’s all he can mutter now, this blistering swell of emotions causing a waver in his voice. “I’m so, very sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you chuckled at him. His body tensed when you reached forward to grab one of his hands. But you felt cold just like the chilling rain outdoors, and now he worries you might catch a fever because of him. “I’ve been meaning to ask you what was wrong, but…” Your eyes drooped with a certain sorrow in their crevices, and Neuvillette found himself slightly squeezing your hands. “I couldn’t seem to find a good moment alone with you.”

He shook his head at you, whispering, “I don’t even know what’s wrong, myself…”

You frowned. This atmosphere was suffocating and just from one glance upwards at your face, Neuvillette could easily tell you were holding back something to say. Granted, it was his fault. He’s the one who’s here, sitting and sulking in his office with little to no explanation. He’s the one who’s kept you worried this past week from leaving so abruptly two different times now. If anything, he might understand how to be a human even less after this ordeal.

“Would you be so kind…” he starts, words like lumps in his throat, “to allow me to be honest? To let me ramble whatever nonsense I’m feeling for just a moment, so that maybe you can make some sense of it all?”

You gave his hands a comforting squeeze. “Of course.”

There’s a certain phrase caught dead in his tongue. And he’s never been afraid to speak his mind before, yet suddenly, your judgment of his feelings mattered much more than the truth of his words. But he was feeling so much, and if this was really the emotional baggage humans had to carry all the time, he could only wonder how most people have yet to burst from the hauntings of their own mind.

Or more accurately so—the hauntings of their own love.

These words were doomed to come spilling out. “You’ve bewildered me with mountains of emotions,” he rambles quicker than he thinks. “All from the sleight of your hand, I best believe I’ve fallen in love with you.”

He forces himself to ignore how your eyes widen in that moment, or how the grip from your hands suddenly loosens from the shock that rings through his confession. He doesn’t have a way with words, and he knows this. So in a hasty attempt to piece together a board of emotional exposure his mind cannot even comprehend, he does the only thing he knows how to: talk and talk, until he has no more truth to confess to you.

“But the feelings that came alongside my love,” he began to you, “are unexplainable.” As his voice ended in coarseness, there was such an hopeless look of utter confusion you had never seen on his face before, like he was silently pleading for you to help a poor soul like his own. “The beating of my heart when I see you… A stark contrast to the tightness in my stomach I feel… When Miss Clorinde joins us.” The ending of his sentence dropped to nearly a whisper, like he expected it to be sin. “But what I just don’t understand, is why,” the section of his brows furrow in distress, “because she’s my coworker, and I do not dislike her, but I feel as if I cannot stand her when she joins us…”

You listen quietly. He doesn’t know whether to be thankful or fearful whilst awaiting your reaction.

He continued, “But when she sat with us for tea, and bought you that ring, and joined us at the market…” This confession; It was arguably harder than confessing his love to you. Because Clorinde was your friend—maybe even closer, if he was so unlucky—and he might’ve crossed a line here he didn’t even know existed. “I felt like I hated her,” he finished.

You were still silent, though it wasn’t like he could see your expression anyways. He refused to even look up to it, choosing instead to stare down at your joined hands.

But this silence was deafening. Please, just reject him already. He let out the most exhausted sigh he has ever before, the weight of these human emotions bearing down on him. “So I was just…”

“Just jealous,” you finished for him, and he noticed in your voice how you were almost laughing quietly to yourself. The emotion you just named—he didn’t know how envy even felt like, much less jealousy ( though, he supposes he knows now ). “Neuvillette, you should’ve just told me you felt uncomfortable with Clorinde there.”

“Hm?” He was confused. So confused, that his eyes finally darted up to meet your own. And there you stood, most comforting of smiles on your face as your thumb began to trace patterns on the back of his hand.

You reassured him, “Those are times we spend together, dedicated to the both of our comforts.” Which was true, but he was ready to argue that he felt selfish that way—and that you wouldn’t love nor deserve a selfish man. “I trust you to tell me when you feel things are unfavorable,” you continued, “and I promise you, Clorinde would understand if I told her.”

“But,” he piped up, so much doubt in his eyes as if struggling to believe your words, “is she not important to you?” And now, he could not comprehend the bashfulness that raised blood to his cheeks, or the complete disbelief that you’d wave off the Champion Duelist just because of his silly discomfort. Human relationships; He feared he may never understand them.

“Of course she’s important to me—she’s my friend!” you lightly laughed. “But you’re important to me, as well. Please understand that.” His heart might’ve stopped for just a moment. “And when we have our scheduled times alone together, the last thing I want to have is you feeling uneasy when we’re supposed to be relaxing.” Your words, the kindness you shed—it was all so confusing yet so welcoming at the same time, that he feels it’s only a matter of seconds until he drowns from the sound of your voice. To feel such comfort in a person was bizarre to him, but it’s a feeling that makes him crave your presence all the same.

His eyes fell to another slight frown, voice quieter as if losing the will to argue. “But… I should not have the right to impede on a relationship significant to you…”

Now it was your turn to look baffled. The way he worded it. Oh, surely he didn’t— “Monsieur, do you think Clorinde and I are a couple?”

“Well, I certainly thought you two were getting to that state in your relationship,” Neuvillette answered truthfully, voice flowing without hesitation as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. The man who just confessed his love for you only moments ago was fully convinced you felt romance for another woman. “Hence why I was…” He turned his head to the side, shyly clearing his throat. “Envious…”

You practically burst out into giggles. In fact, one of your hands even let go of his grip just so you could cover your mouth to laugh. “Oh… Oh, Neuvillette, surely you jest!” you attempted to name whilst controlling your laughter. The Iudex was shell-shocked into pure silence, wondering what he could’ve possibly said to make you react this way, because as far as he knew, he was not making a joke. “Clorinde is only a friend to me,” you clarified. “Nothing more.”

He remains silent, but there’s a sweeping wave of new emotions that suddenly flood his shoulders.

“And if she sees me as anything more, then, well,” you continued, glancing up outside and then back down to meet his awaiting eyes. “Unfortunately for her, the love in my heart has already been captured by another.”

“By whom?” The lack of hesitation from his immediate question has more giggles escaping your lips. He looks at you, and your face tells him it’s an obvious question with an obvious answer, and yet he still cannot comprehend this even when you squeeze both his hands in yours once more.

“Who do you think, Monsieur?” And yet even after his face flushes red, he still has a focused look of anticipation on his face—it’s as if he absolutely will not believe it until you spell it directly to his face. “Neuvillette,” you sighed, but there was an air of gentleness in the way you say his name that relaxed his soul. “It’s always been you.”

The rain continued on.

But now the sun shined between each droplet, because if he could cry from happiness right now, he was sure you’d already be busy wiping his tears away. And this sunny rain continued on and on, even as he poured you tea, even when he bit into the pastries you bought, and even when he looked at you fondly across his desk, not a single doubt of your love.

And as for Clorinde, well, he might need a few more days to recover before he can forgive her for all the sporadic heart attacks she’s almost given him.

#neuvillette x reader #neuvillette imagines #neuvillette x you #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #neuvillette fluff #genshin x gender neutral reader #neuvillette

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sebsbarnes · 6 months

Text

co-workers || tangerine

tangerine x female reader (assassin)

summary: "if it took you getting shot for you two to finally, maybe, realize you like each other i would've used you as target practice a long time ago."

warnings: language, violence, fighting, injuries, blood, weapons

word count: 3.4k ; angst, fluff

tangerine masterlist

rocking back and forth on your heels you patiently wait for the bullet train to zip into the shinagawa station. the platform was moderately busy, people dressed for various occasions. some in sophisticated work uniforms, kids bopping along with their school bags, and some dressed for a night out. you, however, were not.

sporting a black jacket, long sleeve turtleneck, leggings, sneakers, and a black bag you could've faded into the growing dark sky but here you are illuminated by the neon lights of the platform begrudgingly watching the bullet train's head lights fly past as it rolled into the station.

you were ordered to be here by your employer at the request of the white death. something about his son and a briefcase of money that needed some extra eyes watching over. apparently, the white death had some gut intuition about the two unnamed men he had hired for the job and wanted your skills onboard. your employer gave you very little detail about what to expect, no description of the briefcase, a grainy photo sent via email of the white death's son who had horrid face tattoos in your personal opinion, and when asked about the men already tasked to the mission your employer replied, 'eh two guys both kind of weird' and left it at that.

you boarded the train and stood near the doors, tight lipped smiling at those who walked by, waiting for the entryway to be clear. kneeling you pulled a small revolver out of a false bottom in the bag and slipped it into an inside pocket of your jacket, next pulling extra rounds and stuffing them into the other available pocket. you fumbled with a small piece of crumbled paper telling you to go to car three and a seat number that the son should be at.

quietly making your way to car three you re-patted your now stuffed pockets, adjusting your jacket and hair to relieve any sort of budding nerves. that is until you noticed the two kind of weird guys your employer told you about.

"well, can spot that fitted suit from a fuckin' city away" the two men stood in front of you who were deep in conversation snapped their necks towards you.

"well darling, and i'd spot that shit box dyed hair from the other side of the fuckin' earth" you couldn't help your arm raising to touch your long, and well dyed hair, at tangerine's rebuttal.

you tried to hide the laugh that threatened to break through as the three of you stood quiet for a few seconds following his comment. lemon broke first pushing past his brother to embrace you in a hug, "haven't see you in a minute, was beginning to get worried."

the three of you knew each other quite well, hell, the three of you lived together for a while. you had been under tangerine and lemon's employer for a long time but shit happens and it was best you found a new employer. lemon was more talkative and affectionate of the two, constantly talking your ear off and giving you hugs whenever he saw you, strictly friends though. tangerine, well, not affectionate and not talkative. it took a while for tangerine to mutter more than five words to you for the longest time. being outright friendly just isn't his nature and you can't fault him for that. the twins cared about you deeply, you knew lemon did within a week. tangerine took more time. it wasn't at the flip of a switch, it was gradual, perhaps may be even more natural.

it was a culmination of things that made you realize the rough man cared and appreciated you. like how after a job the three of you would go eat, you would jokingly (but also quite seriously) say how you were still starving. tangerine would slip you some of his food, 'not that hungry' he'd shrug. or how on missions he unconsciously used himself as a shield for your protection. or when he would come back from being out, holding a plastic bag in hand. 'saw these figured you might need 'em' plopping the bag in front of your seated position at the kitchen table and continued walking before you could comment on the new clothes that replaced the ones recently destroyed on a job.

or how days before you left the previous employer, you, tangerine, lemon, and an additional guy were assigned to a job that did not go so smoothly. it really was no one's fault, no one could've predicted how many men were hiding in the warehouse. each of you sported numerous injuries and lost many weapons but still completed the job. you and the other assassin were alone sitting on the floor when he suddenly started berating you. saying how shit you were as an assassin, spewing hatred and profanities amongst other vile things. you had no energy to fight back, 'maybe you're right' is all you could muster before getting up and searching for a secluded place to sleep for the night. you had awoken from your sleep hours later to the sound of a gunshot, wandering until you found someone.

'tangerine, what was that? i heard a gunshot' you asked the man who was promptly walking away from scaffolding towers.

he looked at you quizzically wiping his hands on his trousers, 'i think you might have been dreaming darlin'' all you could do was rub your head in confusion, 'let's get you back to bed, love.' the next morning only three of you returned from the mission.

"i've missed you, lemon," you smiled pulling away, holding his shoulders to look at him.

you and tangerine exchanged small nods, a hint of a smile ghosting his lips. you turned towards the figure seated beside the men stepping to stand in front of who you assume to be the white death's son. to say something seemed off was an understatement. you gently grabbed the ends of his open jacket bobbing his head back.

"what the fuck?!" you jerked back dropping your grip as his body slumped forward. an older woman a few seats up shushed you.

"what the fuck?!" you whispered harshly at the twins, bug-eyed gesturing rapidly at the dead body in front of you.

"ask fuckin' percy over here," tangerine pointed to lemon.

"i'm not percy?! okay yeah i lost the case but i didn't kill the kid."

"well lemon, if you didn't have the brilliant fucking idea to stash the case, we would've been sat our squeaky fuckin' asses down in the seat not havin' to get up. young. sweet. not all there." tangerine hissed back, poking at lemon's forehead to emphasize.

mildly entertained by the twins infamous banter you sat down watching the two go back and forth before tangerine swiveled towards you both hands flat, palms up, pointing at you, "and no disrespect love, but why the hell are you here?"

"to babysit essentially. i'm here to make sure you two do your job and by the looks of it you done fucked that up. what an honor it will be to be ripped limb by limb by the white death with you idiots."

the three of you sat deliberating what the hell to do next and tried figuring out who else is on this train taking interest in the briefcase and the son. tangerine cleaned up the boy's face with his handkerchief and adorned his face with momonga glasses to hide the fact that he's well...dead.

the twins decided it would be effective splitting up and checking the train cars for the briefcase.

"ill stay here," you spoke as the two men grabbed their things to investigate the train.

"what?" tangerine asked eyebrows knotting together.

"i'll stay here. i'll see if anyone comes back for him," gesturing towards the limp body, "besides, my mission is a bit different. i'm not supposed to be seeking danger. if it comes my way then i can step in."

tangerine smooth out his moustache inhaling deeply seeming to oppose you being here by yourself.

"okay well, right then." lemon nodded stalking off down the train.

tangerine hesitated looking down at you in the seat.

"i'll be okay."

that is until ten minutes later a man sat across from you, "hi. there's a gun under this table."

"shhh," you hissed, "this is the quiet car babes."

the man in the hat and glasses took a moment to look over your shoulder at the sign, you took this opportunity to grab his hand, that held no gun, underneath the table yanking his body forward, table smashing into his shoulder.

"who the hell are you." you questioned, still holding onto his hand.

"ladybug. johannesburg, remember? your buddy shot me after you baited me to the parking garage?"

"so you're after the twins?" you asked ignoring what he said.

"the twins have a briefcase i need. i'm really not looking for trouble here miss, i just want to get the hell off this train and go meditate." he sighed taking his free hand through his longer hair.

"so you took the damn briefcase." you released his hand and brought your foot up to kick him in the groin. while he was hunched over in pain you stood up launching towards him to put him in a headlock, "where's the case."

"look lady," he sputtered, "i really don't want to hurt you."

ladybug punched your forearms to loosen your grip and when you didn't budge, he turned his head to bite your wrist.

"what the fuck!" you yelped springing back. he took this moment to sweep your legs out from underneath you. you hit the floor with a loud thud, the ache in your shoulder radiating down your arm. he leaned over your body giving you a weak smile and in return you kicked him in the face, blood instantly pouring out of his nose.

"shit balls!" he exclaimed. you clamored to your feet and started running throughout the bullet train. ladybug's steps got closer and closer and that's when you felt a burning hot sensation on the back of your shoulder. your movement immediately stopped, groaning as you reached for the knife in your back pulling it out.

"prick." you hissed turning around to face the man. your arm swiped in front of his face, the blade making a whooshing noise in the air. you managed to clip the side of his cheek.

thankfully the car the two of you were now fighting in was not occupied. he gripped your arm throwing you against the wall and stalked towards you. you stashed the blade in your pocket, shrugging your jacket to the ground, opting to fight him with your fists. you dodged the first hit and returned him a hit in the jaw. he staggered and taking advantage of his lower stance punched you in the stomach.

"i don't like hurting women." ladybug exasperated as the two of you continued fighting, punches being thrown, skin being split, bodies flying across the car.

"seems like you're in the wrong line of work, dumbass," you gripped the back of his head slamming his face into the top of one of the seats. the crack you heard made you wince. ladybug's forehead was split, blood running down his face into his eye.

it was obvious his physical state was weakening. he swallowed deeply, eyes flickering to a spot beyond you. before you realized what was happening, ladybug was running towards your jacket where the knife was. he managed to grab it and came barreling towards you. once again the battle was back on. the knife dancing between you two as its ownership changed frequently. you and ladybug were a panting mess with new cuts decorating your bodies. this old piece of shit wouldn't let up. you were becoming exhausted and you needed this to end somehow. the two of you were both on the floor, the blade in your hand. you knew you didn't have enough stamina for another round of fighting, the cuts scattering your body were aching, the large stab wound to your shoulder was now numb. instead, you sliced the closest things to you that would cause the most damage.

his achilles.

ladybug screamed out in pain, shaking hands wrapping themselves around his ankles in some attempt to soothe the sheering pain. you stood, looking over the man, the blood from the knife dripping onto your shoe. you stepped around his cradled body, making your way up the train. tangerine hasn't come past yet meaning he is still ahead. the door swished open but you'd only make it one step in before crumbling to the ground.

immediately you started hyperventilating from the intense pain that seemed to hit every nerve in your body. blinking rapidly as you scooted yourself against the wall. then you felt it. a warm sensation running down your skin, your clothes feeling wet. blood. your body was shaking, open lips huffed out puffs of breath. slowly and carefully, you looked back at ladybug.

your gun in his hands.

he must have grabbed it when he retrieved the knife in your abandoned jacket. fucking stupid.

ahead in the train tangerine heard a faint noise, but nonetheless he knew it was a gunshot. he slicked back his hair and removed his gun from his waistband. he carefully entered each train car, observing anything out of the ordinary. the door in front of him opened and his step faltered when he saw a black sneaker, and then a leg, and then the body as his eyes raked up the slumped figure.

he dropped to his knees, gun now on the floor, "hey tan," you croaked.

"bloody hell," he sighed, his eyes darting across your entire body.

"stop checking me out i don't look my best," you tried joking. tangerine didn't seem amused as he noticed your torn clothes, bloody face, your hair matted with blood.

"that old bag of bones can really fight. but he took a cheap shot when my back was to him," you finally answered. you lifted the hem of your shirt to show tangerine the bullet hole in your lower stomach above your hip.

"jesus," he muttered swallowing thickly. he seemed stunned to see you in this condition. he also seemed lost on what to do. his eyes wouldn't stop looking you over, his hands unconsciously went to your face brushing your hair out of your eyes.

"tangerine stop fucking staring at her we need to help her," lemon had found the two of you. his voice booming causing tangerine to snap out of his daze.

lemon pushed him to the side, immediately coming to your aid. he worked with what he could find. your shallow cuts weren't important. the wound to your shoulder would need stitches later on. the entrance and exit wound of the bullet was causing the biggest issue as you had lost a decent amount of blood from it. lemon continued to do his best as you sat there eyelids half open.

tangerine was silent, more silent than ever before, as if he were stuck in a trance. you slowly moved your fingers towards his hand that was resting on the floor. two of your fingers wrapped around his pinky jerking him out of his trance. this somehow sparked something in him as he shot up from the floor, grabbing his gun making sure it was loaded and set off on a mission you could only assume to be to find ladybug.

your lips pulled down in a frown as he left. you wanted him here. his presence, his touch, his whatever. any semblance of that cocky man you wanted next to you for comfort. you knew you were going to be okay, you were weak right now but the thought of him beside you somehow made you believe you would feel stronger.

lemon let out a soft chuckle as he finished securing cloth to your wound, "if it took you getting shot for you two to finally, maybe, realize you like each other i would've used you as target practice a long time ago."

you slapped his arm, "fuck off."

lemon and you agreed you need to rest, he helped you to sit in an empty seat, propping you against the window.

"alright, now, if anything serious happens i will text you alright. in the meantime, sit here and wait till we come get you, you hear me?" lemon demanded.

sometime had passed and you noticed less and less people on the platforms boarding the train. it was too quiet. your stomach was telling you something was off. you winced in pain as you gripped the armrest to stand up. a bit wobbly but you managed to put one foot in front of the other. as you continued you heard voices close by. the doors to one of the cars was open by bags tripping the sensors. you saw a young girl in pink standing looking scared and him. the greasy haired prick who shot you. he still had your gun in his hand pointed at someone.

tangerine.

"fuck." thankfully you held onto the knife and before he could notice you moving towards their train car you brought your arm over your head, swinging forward, releasing the knife. it lodged itself below ladybug's collarbone. he yelped out in pain stumbling a bit and that's when his finger hit the trigger.

"you bastard," tangerine hissed as the bullet hit his leg.

you took this opportunity while the men were distracted and ran towards ladybug. you propelled yourself onto him, spinning and wrapping your legs around his neck, you removed the blade from his chest and stuck it in the base of his neck.

"you don't touch him," you spit at the man as he crumbled to the ground.

the girl was long gone. now facing tangerine you noticed all the bruises and blood on him, drenched in sweat. his curly hair now laying across his forehead. his jacket long gone leaving him in a white button down that was criminally low on his chest and a vest. you couldn't help but check him out.

he started to say your name but you cut him off, hugging him tightly around his neck, knocking the wind out of him. he hesitated a moment before firming wrapping his arms around your waist, tucking his head into your hair. after a few minutes he pulled back, sliding his hands to your waist to look at you. you held onto tangerine's elbows as his eyes wandered your face.

"darlin'," he started, "i'm- i'm sorry i didn't do anything when i found ya."

you chuckled through your nose, "tan. i'm fine."

"you're injured n' i didn't do anything except fuckin' look at you." he shook his head in disgust.

"tangerine," you said firmly placing your hands on his chest, "stop. i am fine. i am okay. we all react differently to seeing our friends hurt."

"friends, " he half laughed, "you realize i don't see you as a friend."

you paused, hands loosening their grip on his arms. god, you were dumb to think you were even friends. you're coworkers, hell at this point maybe even acquaintances, its been five months since you lived with them. all you could mutter was a shaky 'oh.'

tangerine laughed, "you know love, you can really be dense sometimes."

your mouth formed an 'o' trying to figure out what to say next, "dense?"

"love, i've wanted you the moment you almost sniped my head off in vienna." tangerine chuckled, moving hair out of your face. you couldn't look at him instead you toyed with his open shirt, fingers brushing against his hot skin.

"i guess i am kinda dumb right? should've put the pieces together when you killed anyone who was mean to me." you smiled.

he leaned down gently placing a kiss on your lips. you immediately kissed back, tasting the metallic flavor of the blood that was on his lower lip. your nails ran across his scalp sending a shiver down his spine. tangerine gripped your lower back harder, minding the wound, to bring you in as close as physically possible.

tangerine pulled away from the kiss, bringing his mouth to your ear, "by the way darlin', you spinning around on his neck and what you said was really hot."

"then i suggest we get the fuck off this train soon and i'll show you the move personally."

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crishayle · 7 months

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Pluto in the houses

Disclaimer. This article touches on unpleasant topics for conversation. Please don't be sad when reading it. Thank you:)

Pluto is responsible in astrology for transformations, death, destruction, power, sex, crises. This planet is one of the most difficult to interpret the natal chart, because it shows skeletons in the closet.

Pluto in 1st house:

1.This is an indicator of mental endurance. Such people have experienced many terrible and difficult situations. For example, the death of loved ones,fire,drugs,alcoholism,depression,suicide attempts. Their life is filled with stages to which they try not to return. What's gone is gone.

2.I noticed that such people always have some unusual scar or birthmark, a mole on their face

3.Such people can really be a leader in a group or is in authority. The paradox is that they are most often not very talkative and energetic and don't like attention, but the people around them respect their opinion and often ask them for advice.

4.They love sarcasm and self-irony, as well as making fun of friends.

5.They have a high sense of empathy for people, so they feel lies or hypocrisy of the interlocutor well. This is a great placement for psychologists, tarologists or astrologers.

6.Most likely, such people have heard more than once that they have a heavy or tired look.

7.Pluto in the 1st house in the aspects with Mars, Mercury or the Sun can indicate manipulativeness, imperiousness and aggressiveness. Before doing this, please also analyse the other placements of the natal chart.

Pluto in the 2nd house:

1.An indicator of a great love for material things. Of course, everyone loves money, but not like people with Pluto in the 2nd house.Many of these people have deposits, are thinking about buying real estate or investing. Don't forget, Pluto is a planet of other people's money, so people with this placement are good in business and sales.

2.With tense aspects with other planets, this placement can mean greed, wastefulness, unwillingness to earn money on their own. Such people like to dream and do nothing.

3.Such people love antiques. I noticed that they can keep memorabilia, postcards and gifts from friends in a box for many years.

4.They always know how to save money. If you want to know where you can buy something at a discount, then ask them. Perhaps such people like second-hand shops.

5.I noticed that such people have faced fraud or theft.

6.Their thoughts often become material. I'm not talking about global dreams, for example, about buying a car. Such people may think about a new bag and get a bonus or an opportunity to earn extra money the next day.

7.Pluto loves change, so it's not surprising if people with this placement can move to another city to earn money. Such people could face difficult choices or risks to succeed.

Pluto in the 3rd house:

1.Good analytical skills. This is a good placement for people working in IT, engineering, economics and psychology.

2.With tense aspects with other planets, it may indicate poor memory, short temper and rebelliousness, problems with focusing attention.

3.My personal observation. This is an indicator that in childhood a person could be bullied, change schools, study martial arts. In general, such people are more likely than others to encounter toxic people.

4.This is a very good placement for speakers. Firstly, they know how to convey their message to the audience. Secondly, they have a pleasant voice (but you also need to look at other placements).Thirdly, such people don't like to be silent. For the same reason, I would advise them to keep a diary or write their thoughts and ideas in notes.

5.This is an indicator of an honest person. He will not lie out of courtesy or for selfish purposes. Ask him anything and you will hear his true thoughts.

6.This is a lover of heart-to-heart talk :)

7.Of course, you need to look at the other placements of the natal chart, but most often such people's brains work better in the afternoon or at night.

Pluto in the 4th house:

1.The 4th house in astrology represents family, childhood and mother. For an accurate interpretation, look at the sun and moon in your natal chart. This is an indicator of parents' divorce, constant moving, strained relations in the family. Such a person could receive insufficient love and attention from his parents. Often this is an indication of strict upbringing.

2.Good intuition. Perhaps someone on the maternal side had esoteric abilities.

3.He likes to do the interior of the house. The house for this person is the personification of his personality. The very type of people who start cleaning if they have a lot of stress or anxiety.

4.It is very important for this person to make friends with his inner child in order not to succumb to his desires. For example, you need to determine what is home and a sense of security for you, what is love and attention of loved ones for you, etc. Until you answer these questions, you will unknowingly create problems in your life.

5.This is a possible indicator of an inheritance or a precious family heirloom (but you also need to look at the 8th house in the natal chart)

6.If the other placements in the natal chart don't indicate a bad relationship with parents, then Pluto in the 4th house may indicate that a person had a strong mother. The child could admire her stress resistance, diligence, integrity.She is a complex, but very interesting person.

7.Such people have matured early. In childhood, they were wise children, with whom adults were surprised.

Pluto in the 5th house:

1.'Sorry,I'm anti-romantic".With tense aspects with other planets (especially Venus) this is an indicator of complete aversion to love. A person is afraid of relationships because of possible betrayal or low self-esteem (you need to look at the rest of the placements of the natal chart).

2.A great placement for actors. People like to watch their emotions and listen to them. Emotionality and a high level of empathy is expressed in artistry, which is noticeable even in ordinary conversation.It is not surprising that this placement is really found in many famous actors (Milla Jovovich, Robert Pattinson, Jon Voight, Lady Gaga)

3.Such a person can really select and create a new personality and image for a particular person, which causes problems in his personal life.For some, he is a cheerful extrovert, for others a homebody, for others an ambitious workaholic.

4.Most often, such people are jealous and demand passion and emotions in a relationship (but you need to look at Venus and the Moon in the natal chart)They want to literally get under their partner's skin and breathe the same air. Their love is constant, but very demanding.

5.Pluto is a planet of change, and the 5th house embodies creativity, so such people can be music lovers, often change their style of clothing and their appearance.

6.I notice that the language of love for such people is a physical touch.

7.A man who loves competitions. Firstly, they know how to win.Secondly, they have good endurance.Thirdly, they do not see obstacles.The only disadvantage is that a person can go against the rules and cheat.It's better not to argue with them.

Pluto in the 6th house:

1.Good immunity.A person rarely gets sick and he is physically hardy.(but you need to look at the rest of the placements)

2.The very kind of employee who wants to improve working conditions. He will not be silent if he is not allowed to go on vacation or on sick leave, not to agree to work overtime without additional pay. Responsible, but very demanding employee. Treats colleagues with respect, but tries not to start a friendship at work.

3.With tense aspects with other planets, this is an indicator of workaholism to your detriment. A person can harm his health due to lack of rest and sleep.

4.An indicator that a person may think too much about their health and body. Often Pluto in the 6th house is found in hypochondriacs, people with an eating disorder.

5.Often such people experience impostor syndrome, as they cannot fully accept their achievements.

6.This is a great placement for leadership positions.Such people know how to manage and motivate people.The only downside is that they can go too far and be too overbearing and demanding of their employees.

7.Their emotional state is stronger than that of other people, affects their health.The stomach and skin are especially vulnerable.

Pluto in the 7th house:

1.This placement is most often found in the natal charts of people who have experienced an unpleasant experience in love (divorce, toxic relationships, infidelity, death of a partner)

2.Many of them have a person who can unsuccessfully seek their hearts for several years.

3.With tense aspects with other planets, this is an indicator that a person can be sacrificial in a relationship. Sometimes I find this placement in the natal charts of people who have been subjected to domestic violence.

4.This is one of the indicators of late marriage.

5.The 7th house represents not only a partner, but also enemies. Such people could survive betrayal from the closest people, after which they began to experience trust problems.

6.A person who gives good relationship advice, but doesn't follow it himself.

7.Such people tend to fall under the influence of a partner. (but you also need to look at the other placements in the natal chart).It is important for them to learn to appreciate their hobbies, their character and their dreams, and not to change them because of a partner.

Pluto in the 8th house:

1.Fatalist. This man has been convinced more than once in his life that everything that is not being done is for the best.

2.An indicator of high libido (but you also need to look at Mars and the Sun).They are active and good at sex.

3.I noticed that these people always had a case when they almost died. Many of them had an accident.

4.They understood what karma is from birth. All the bad things always come back to them, as well as the best. Their enemies always get what they deserve.

5.Strong energy (somewhat similar to Pluto in the 1st house). During a conversation with them, you can be filled with energy for the rest of your life.They seem to be out of this world.

6.Possible mental problems.As well as psychological diseases (depression, ocd, adhd, etc.), and diseases of the central nervous system.Many of them suffer from insomnia, seizures or panic attacks (but for this you need to study the natal chart in detail)

7.Such a person is prone to hyperfixation on something. It is important for him to develop comprehensively so that his thoughts are not limited to one idea.

Pluto in the 9th house:

1.A person who likes to study other cultures.Perhaps he listens to a lot of foreign music, learns languages and watches travel shows.

2.There are two extremes here (you need to look at the natal chart).Or a person completely denies higher education and believes that it is not necessary in the modern world.Or on the contrary, he considers it the most important and seeks to get several.

3.A person who thinking on your feet.His mind is very active, but long-term memory can often be confused.

4.This is a person who is able to get information out of the ground.A good placement for detectives.

5.I often meet this placement in the natal charts of lawyers, police officers, people from social services.They try to change the world for the better because of a high sense of justice.Often there are philanthropists among them.

6.With tense aspects with other planets, such a person could be forced to move to another country or city because of poor living conditions.

7.A very inquisitive person. He's easy to learn on his own, so don't be surprised if he acquired most of his skills from the internet.

Pluto in the 10th house:

1.This placement is most often found in the natal charts of people whose profession literally saves someone's life (doctor, military, firefighter, etc.)

2.They are very purposeful and stubborn people. If they argue, they argue to the end. If they work, they definitely go for a promotion.The type of person who doesn't listen to someone's advice.

3.Such people tend to postpone some savings until old age.For example, to purchase additional real estate or find a source of passive income.In matters of finance, they think very big.

4.They respect reputable people, but they are not afraid of them.They don't care about your position, job and income, you will always be an ordinary person.

5.I noticed that these people are often stalked on social networks.People admire and envy them a little.

6.Their thinking is very practical.(but you need to look at the natal chart) Their logic gets the better of their emotions.They are not cold-blooded, but rather realists.

7.Such people are more likely than others to face rivalry at work or when applying to university.

Pluto in the 11th house:

1.Such people stopped communicating with people more often than others because of changes in their lives.

2.With tense aspects with other planets, such a person may fall under the influence of bad company or toxic friends.

3.This person believes in lifelong friendship and is looking for someone with whom he will be himself, but instead he is even more horrified with other people.

4.This placement is often found in the natal charts of volunteers, school/university activists. Such people like to work in a team and are often led by them.

5.Such people don't really like to express their opinions in a group (but you need to look at Mercury and the Sun).They would rather choose a compromise than defend their choice.

6.A good placement for influencers. Such people have more chances to gain popularity.

7.Also, with tense aspects with other planets, this is an indicator of a social phobe.A person does not trust and is afraid of people.He is comfortable in his loneliness because of trust issues.

Pluto in the 12th house:

1.A person who is used to asking for advice from others.It is easier for him to ask the opinion of several people, think about everything and only then make a decision.

2.This is a good placement for psychologists and psychiatrists. These people are interested in the human soul from a scientific point of view.Perhaps they are fond of philosophy and have read the works of famous psychiatrists and philosophers.

3.The people who keep secrets the best.And their own too:)

4.Such people need to periodically restore their energy while alone and turn off the phone. So don't be surprised if this person disappears for a week, he's just resting.

5.In such people, intuition works most strongly through dreams and signs. Pay attention to information from the outside.

6.Life seems to deliberately confront these people with their fears. Although these people do not seem at first glance brave and courageous, in fact they are very strong.

7.I noticed that such people prefer to work alone.

#astrology community #astrology #horoscope #zodiac #astro observations #astrology signs #astro community #natal chart #astrology blog #astrology notes #fyp #tumblr fyp #viral #pluto #planets

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0bticeo · 30 days

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lurk | feyd-rautha

part one of five. (part 2.) (part 3.) (part 4.)

summary:

feyd-rautha.

there he is, strong arms spread wide, dual blades stained black, basking in the glorious aftermath of combat. at his feet, atreides soldiers. dead.

you unsheathe your blade, the dull metal grinding against its sheath.

it is kill or be killed, and you intend to live.

wc: 2k

tw: blood. death. non graphic description of gore (this is a gladiator fight). mentions of eugenics. fighting as foreplay. reader may or may not have a blood kink. knife kink??? reader is more refined than feyd but don't let it fool you she's a freak. uuuh hubris? probable inaccurate handling of dune lore, esp with the voice (forgive me for the creative liberty of assuming the mother of the kwisatz haderach should be a freak. as a treat.)

many, many years ago, the sisterhood deems you ready for the gom jabbar. you enter the room, your mother a looming shadow, hands folded in her sleeves, head bowed before a long figure cloaked in shadows.

it doesn’t sit right with you, this intrusion in your mother’s parlor. how dare that old witch make a servant out of your mother in her own house?

“kneel.”

you do. you fall to your knees. before you, a phalto green box. in it, pain. at your neck, the gom jabbar, its deadly poison whispering into your ear.

it tells you about sweet, sweet little death. it tells you the reverend mother will not put your life in danger. not when you’re the culmination of nineteen generations of careful planning.

you are to be married to a harkonnen and bear the kwisatz haderach.

so you raise your head and put your hand in the box, eyes boring into the old crone’s. you see something flash in her depthless eyes. you think of the calm before mother-storms, the stillness of the air before pounding rain.

it’s rage.

pain shoots through your hand. fire that burns and charrs and eats away at your flesh, consuming one layer of skin after another until you’re sure it reaches the bone below. you almost scream. instead, you bite your lip until metal-blood stains your tongue.

you will endure this pain. you will not let fear consume you — you have nothing to fear, you shall not die, not here. fear is the mind killer. pain is the mind killer. you will let it wash over you and face the eons of bene gesserit knowledge standing before you.

through gritted teeth, you ask:

“am i human enough, oh wise one?”

you were. otherwise you wouldn’t be here, years later, rotting in a harkonnen cell.

(there are things that have been kept a secret from you. you have been raised following your mother’s footsteps in the weirding way. the reverend mother denied you a place under her tutelage with harsh words and a harsher look. you’ve caught wind of her thoughts in shimmering fragments of dreams — what has jessica done?)

it will matter, in the end, that your mother decided to give your father a son. already, you’ve seen it, behind the web of your eyelids, the lone silhouette of your brother, blood of your blood, rising, rising.

he will gather them, the fremen, from the burning sands of arrakis, and rise, blade glinting under scorching sun. lisan al gaib, they already call him, hushed whispers lost in the shifting sands of dunes.

your hand falls to your womb, empty still.

they were scared, the bene gesserit. the atreides line was growing too powerful, too fast. you — the promised daughter, skilled in the way, with tongue and mind sharper than your blade — are to be bred and deliver the one.

but in came paul — beloved little mouse of a younger brother. too smart, too observant, too skilled, too much. your mother’s defiance, your mother’s love for your father led her to commit the unthinkable and defy the order.

it retaliated.

you’ve been betrayed. that, you’ve seen coming. so did your father. so did your mother. even your brother felt it, in his very bones, the low thrum of wrongness. something was bound to happen. something was bound to shake you to your very core.

something happened.

the harkonnens came. house atreides fell. you can still smell it, the stench of death, the bloodied sands beneath your feet as you struck and struck.

all must die, and so they did.

you feel it still, the blood coating your hands, your forearms, dripping from your blade, the old scar on your forearm burning righteous fury.

they caught you, in the end. you, who willingly put a target on your back, allowing your brother and mother’s quiet escape. you, beaten down, bloodied. grinning, voice warping the harkonnen rats’ perception.

“you will not see me as i am.”

the atreides have been set up. offering arrakis has been nothing but a convenient way for the emperor to get rid of your bloodline.

you scoff; in the quiet depths of your cell, your fingers dig crescent moons in your palms.

you’ve been taught to read behind veils upon veils of lies. the truthsayer suggested the eradication of your house. painted you a threat.

being able to breed the kwisatz haderach won’t protect you.

so here you are, eldest daughter of duke leto atreides and lady jessica, older sister to paul atreides. here you are, sitting with your back pressed up against the wall. cold seeps into your marrow, reaching bone. rage simmers low in your gut. you quell it. nurse it until it becomes a living beast eager to feast.

you will need it.

your body fails you. your sight is blurry, your hands tremble. they should not. duncan would have hit the back of your head had he been there. he isn’t. (dead.) breathe in. breathe out. focus what’s left of your attention on the too small bowl of food that’s been given to you, on the glass of water. empty, both of them.

poison isn’t a problem — not with your training, not with the constant shifting and turning of lethal molecules within you. there. prana bindu — precise alteration of the body’s vitals. you will bear your condition for a time, weakened, but alive.

you clench your fist and slam it against the wall. pain surges through you, burning through your joint. good. if fear is the mind killer, pain clears the fog clogging your brain.

here goes: you’re rotting in the cell of your hereditary enemy, malnourished and poisoned. you’ve heard the guards, their off handed comments when they thought you too drugged to understand. your cell is below an arena. you will need to fight. perhaps, they’ll pit you against your men. the atreides house, dying by its own hand. fitting.

you’re neck-deep in trouble.

the door slides open. two guards come in, all dressed in black. harkonnens. harkonnens everywhere, and you cannot do a damned thing as they pull you up, pushing you out of your cell. they’re laughing. those bastards are laughing.

one less atreides scum in the known universe — good riddance!

you will tear into them and rip out their spine with your teeth.

they drag you in a maze of hallways, each darker than the last. you’re ascending, a catabasis of twists and turns and sliding doors. there’s a low thrum in your gut. louder and louder with each step is a pulse. a chant. a name.

the guards press a blade in your hand and push you forward.

the door slides up. shadows part. you blink with a low hiss. light pours down on you, all-consuming, blinding. sands stretch before you, unnaturally white.

the arena.

thousands upon thousands of people gaze down at you. the voice surges forward, eons of your foremother speaking through you.

“you will not perceive me as i am.”

something trickles down your nose. blood. you’ve overdone it. the voice isn’t meant to be used against that many people, not for long.

you wipe it off.

it will have to hold for the time of this fight. the harkonnen won’t rest until the atreides are completely and utterly wiped out. deceit is your only chance at survival.

the thought makes your blood boil.

good thing the crowd is screaming for it. they're all screaming for it. a pulse. a chant. a name.

feyd-rautha.

there he is, strong arms spread wide, dual blades stained black, basking in the glorious aftermath of combat. at his feet, atreides soldiers. dead.

you unsheathe your blade, the dull metal grinding against its sheath.

the noise alone has him turning towards you, head tilting to the side. he’s assessing you, na-baron feyd-rautha harkonnen. he glances up. for a split second, you follow his gaze. above, looking down upon you, is baron vladimir harkonnen, gargantuan mass of flesh.

you want him to collapse. to watch as his bones break under the weight of monstrous grease. you make out the movement of his lips.

happy birthday, nephew.

he’s on you before you can react. your blade raises. steel meets steel. you clench your teeth. his strength surpasses yours. you won’t yield, not to him. but by god is the bastard strong. you’ve got your hands full with just parrying his blows, the force of them echoing in your very bones. your feet slide on the sand below. any more and you’ll lose your footing.

his blades meet yours, again and again, their serrated edge slicing the corrupt air of the arena. they slice through you, too. a vicious cut on your bare forearm has you reeling back, your blade and sheath raising to parry.

this is bad. there’s only so much you can deal with in your decrepit state. fighting to survive isn’t an option — you must kill or be killed.

you draw in a sharp breath.

watchful eyes bore down upon you. bene gesserit. the reverend mother herself has come to geidi prime.

something at your side — you let your guard down. there’s a flash, a metallic clang. feyd-rautha gazes down upon you, apex predator with your death written in the greedy sands of the arena. here, you’re precious prey.

rage grips you by the throat and has you baring your teeth.

there you are, blades intertwined with harkonnen scum, a breath away from his lips. they part in a slow, assessing grin. you feel more than you see his appraising gaze raking over you. you, unyielding, matching him blow for blow, blood drip drip dripping down. under the black sun of geidi prime, it, too, has turned a velvety black.

from above your crossed blades, you raise your head and meet his eyes — twin pools of dark, abysses made to consume you whole. time slows down. you want to drown in the marrow of him and feel the warmth of his flesh beneath yours, lost in rapturous agony. something settles in your gut, low and warm.

you call it fury.

you pivot out of the way and nick him, a thin cut splitting open the skin of his cheek. he laughs. slashes at you with deathly precision. you duck, squatting down, leg springing forth, slamming at the back of his knee. he falls. catches you by the ankle and drags you to him.

you snarl.

“let go.”

how utterly pathetic of you. his grip falters. you hear his blades fall to the ground. you twist, pivot until you’re straddling him, blade pressed against his throat.

there you have it. internal carotid, right below the sculpted edge of his jaw. five minutes until death. five minutes, with his lifeblood coating your hands, soaking your robes, sinking down to your skin beneath.

your hand cramps on the handle of your weapon, in a mockery of rigor mortis. nervous impulse. the tip of the blade pierces tender flesh, drawing a droplet of blood. you follow its path down the column of his flesh, until it reaches the edge of his collarbone.

his hands surges forward, seizing your forearm in a vice grip, yanking you towards him. you feel his breath on your lips with his next words.

“do it.”

his voice sends a shiver down your spine. low, gravelly, it calls for blood. if you don’t spill his, yours will be drawn. yet, you do not move, eyes riveted to his face, to the vicious impatience carved in his features. if you kill him, you’ll be hunted and put down like a dog.

he shifts under you, the nervous twitch of a beast untamed. even through the hard edges of his ritual armor, you can feel the raw power of him.

you feel his thumb trace the edge of an old scar, up, up your forearm, a flash of black teeth and then—

pain.

there’s something in your side, serrated, razor-sharp, twisting. your hand raises to your side. warmth trickles down your fingers. his hand wraps over yours, warm, blood a silky black against the porcelain of his skin.

he watches you, twisting the blade until yours fall to the ground, bloodied hand coming up to your cheek. you lean into it. welcome him, as his thumb smears blood across the edge of your parted lips.

“you fought well, atreides.”

he pulls out the blade.

you fall.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @jaiuneamesolitaiire

#obticeo writes #dune #dune part two #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x y/n #feyd rautha x you #@space boo you have inspired me i dedicate this to u #and the bald freak #gotta perpetuate the tradition

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moonstruckme · 2 months

Note

Hey! I know you wanted more requests for people besides the marauders so you can do this for anyone you like but maybe reader who is just soooo in love with them that anytime they do something nice for her she starts crying? Like happy tears because she's just so in love and she doesn't know how to express that. If you don't want to that's fine!

Hi, thank you! I decided to go with Sirius anyway because I felt like he'd be the most fun. (This is gonna be me btw, the first time I experience romantic love there's no way I'm gonna be able to handle it)

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Do you think it’s a bad idea to show off my tattoos on the first day?”

“Mm, maybe,” you muse, looking longingly at the way Sirius’ inked-up forearms pair with his black dress shirt. “I feel like after the interview it won’t matter, but today you probably want to present your straightest-laced self.”

“Gross,” he grunts, but starts rolling down his sleeves.

It’s a rare sight, Sirius up before noon, but his job interview is scheduled for ten and he doesn’t feel in a position to negotiate. The frail morning light bounces off the full length mirror he’s standing in front of and illuminates the room as he purses his lips and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You’re lying on the bed watching him get ready, trying your very best not to look enthralled and wanton (it is a constant effort).

“My most gorgeous, radiant angel, could I ask you for a favor?”

You grin, warmth flooding your chest. “You don’t have to butter me up. What is it?”

“Grab the bigger version of this shirt? I think I may want a baggier tuck.”

You hum and get up, padding into the closet. Sirius’ clothes are all strewn over the floor and dresser, but miraculously the shirt you’re looking for is on a hanger. As you reach for it, you nearly trip over a small box on the floor. It looks like the shell of something Sirius was sent in the mail, plain cardboard with the shipping label torn off. You bring it back out with you.

“Thanks, lovely,” Sirius says as he takes the hanger from you.

“No problem,” you reply. “Want me to recycle this for you?”

He turns to look, blinks, then looks harder. “No. Where’d you find that?”

“On the floor.”

“Must have fallen off its shelf.” He discards the smaller shirt on the bed and starts doing up the buttons of this new one, smirking when your eyes track the deft movements of his fingers. “Don’t throw it out, it’s got important stuff in it.”

You weigh the box in your hand. “It feels empty.”

“It’s got important, lightweight stuff in it.”

You eye the barely-open flap of the box, intrigued. “Can I look inside?”

You think you catch a flicker of hesitation across Sirius’ features, but it’s quickly schooled into insouciance. A vine of nervousness winds around your gut. “Sure,” he says, “go ahead.”

You look at him a bit longer before slowly peeling back the cardboard flap. Inside is a mishmash of things. Paper, mostly, but you recognize one item immediately. It’s a flimsy, neon orange paper wristband, a venue’s name stamped haphazardly onto one side. At the first concert you’d gone to together, Sirius had griped endlessly about how the orange contrasted with his outfit horribly and brought out all the ugliest hues of his skin (there aren’t any, but you were too timid to tell him that at the time). He’d seemed desperate to be rid of it. But here it is, carefully clipped off instead of torn and preserved like something special. Something warm and weighty blooms in your chest.

You take out one of the pieces of paper, unfolding it. It’s your handwriting, thoughtless scribbling you’d left for him to find on the fridge one day after you’d left for work. Have a great day, love you.

Another is a bar napkin, containing a whole back-and-forth exchange between you and Sirius from the first time you’d met his friends. You’d kept passing it to him under the table, asking Do they like me? Are they just being nice? Is Remus always so frowny? and he’d passed it back saying Yes. Yes, they love you. James is this nice to everyone, but I can tell he likes you. Remus is being a sourpuss because he hasn’t eaten yet. You’re perfect.

By the time you come upon a polaroid you’d forgotten he’d taken of you in his kitchen, you’re pressing your lips together to keep them from wobbling and your entire being feels warmed by incandescent, aching fondness. Your heart feels so big you can’t breathe around it. You’re not sure you have room for this much love, but you’ll happily carry it around like a weight in your chest for the rest of your life.

You’re all too aware that Sirius is watching you now, so you try to keep it together for his sake, but when you blink a tear slides down the side of your nose.

“Hey,” he chides lightly, amusement inlaid with a bit of panic. “Don’t.”

You sniffle, then laugh wetly. “Can I hug you?”

Normally he might make a joke (Not if you’re going to get snot all over my interview shirt) but something in your expression must sway him, because Sirius’ eyes go soft. “Yeah, baby. Of course.”

He doesn’t make you get up, crossing the distance to the bed and wrapping you up in his arms. You let out a little sob at the contact.

“I’m gonna clean off your shirt once we’re done,” you promise, gripping his shoulders.

“Okay.” He sounds amused.

“I just—I didn’t know you kept this stuff.”

“It’s cheesy.”

“It’s not,” you insist, hugging him tighter. It makes you happy beyond words, to know you’re bringing this out in him. To see, with your own eyes, how much he loves you back. You can check in with yourself at any time and know you’re happy in your relationship with Sirius, but you never could have imagined how spectacular it would feel to know that you make him this happy in return. “It’s special, Sirius. You’re special.”

“James’ mum used to tell me the same thing.”

“Oh, shut up.” You smack his arm, pulling back with a huff. You’re smiling, though, and he sees, taking your wet, blotchy face between his palms and grinning at you. Honestly, if he weren’t Sirius Black, he’d be such a dork.

“I love you,” he says, a significance in his tone that contradicts the playfulness in his expression. “Do I let you forget it?”

“No,” you tell him. “You don’t, it’s just…I just really love you too, you know?”

His smile spreads, flashing canines the second before he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s firm and spirited, and Sirius holds you there until you’re laughing into his mouth.

“I know,” he says, pecking you once more on the lips before letting you go with a swipe of his thumbs across your cheeks. “Alright, gorgeous, clean me up, would you? I’ve got other people to go impress.”

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i-love-ptv · 3 months

Text

He Loves My Heart-Shaped Sunglasses

Felix Catton x Fem! Reader

You and Felix spend Valentine’s Day together. <3

Smut (lowk filthy) + Fluff

Wc: 2,550

An: Wanted to post this before v day, but i got sidetracked, thankfully pushed it out before the day ended :3

February 14th.

The day of love.

The day to show your special someone how much you care for them.

The day that’ll bring out the joy and excitement out of most, but will also bring out the bitter feelings of some.

Felix has never really favored Valentine’s day. He may be a soft romantic now; a year into your relationship, but before, he was used to hookups that led to his lonesome morning after. Hence why it was so hard for him to ask you out last year on this very day.

He spent hours in different shops; trying to find the perfect gifts for you. Obviously, this process would’ve gone by quicker if Venetia didn’t get distracted by the hundreds of soft stuffed animals every few minutes, and if Farleigh had even went.

“Please Farleigh! Surely you can help me! You know more about these things than I do!”

“No can do lover boy, besides, you have Vee going with you.” Farleigh had said with an amused smirk.

After a little more of groveling and begging on Felix’s end, Farleigh still didn’t budge. The fact that Felix had said that he wanted to “woo” you, hadn’t helped his case either.

The beaming lights of the shops reflecting off of the bright pinks and reds had Felix’s head starting to ache.

He had settled on getting you a bouquet of red roses, a basket of your favorite snacks, and some other little goodies.

That day when you saw one singular rose on your desk in your english class, the last person you expected to be nervously glancing in your direction was Felix.

After a long, panic-filled conversation with the blubbering boy, you two had finally become official, and Felix swears to this day, that it was the best day of his entire life.

Now, Felix has gotten a bit better at buying gifts for you. He knows you like the back of his tattooed hand. But he can’t help but feel nervous to see you this morning. After all, you only have one, one year anniversary with your love.

Felix observed as the other students of Oxford were handing out gifts to their significant others. Felix couldn’t help but think about how his presents for you were far more superior to everyone else’s.

He had been so distracted, that he hadn’t noticed you walking up.

You tapped on his shoulder and he had nearly leaped out of his skin.

He quickly realizes who is in front of him, and grips you up like you were light as a feather.

“Angel! Oh my goodness you startled me! Happy anniversary sweet girl!” Felix says grinning, like he was looking at the brightest star in the galaxy.

“Happy anniversary my love,” you return through your giggles.

“Here! Here! Open the gifts I bought for you honey!” Felix rushes out as he’s pushing the bags into your hands.

You jokingly chide him for nearly knocking your things out of your hands, but quickly start digging through one of the bags.

He had given you one of his sweaters, a pair of heels you had been eyeing in town, a few other items, and most importantly, a beautiful ring covered in diamonds.

“S’not an engagement ring, not yet anyways, but a promise ring, because I promise to love you always and forever. Tha’s a bit too cheesy, isn’t it? Sorry, I had this whole thing I was going to say but-“

You cut his rambling off with a deep kiss to his rosy lips.

“Thank you Felix, I love it with my whole heart, baby.”You say while pulling away breathlessly.

Felix’s face started to hurt from the constant smiling, but the thought of that flew out the window as he remembered that you had gotten him something.

Felix had practically ripped through the big box you gave him; feeling like he was about to burst at the seems. You smile softly, imagining him with a wagging tail and perked up puppy ears.

You had bought a few articles of clothing, more cologne, a new book that he said he had been interested in reading, and of course, a stunning bracelet, that matched the exact same on dangling on your wrist.

After many more kisses, hugs, and sugary sweet words exchanged between the two of you, you both head to class.

Felix was counting down the minutes until he could see your dazzling face in front of him again. His class felt as if it had been going on for hours, and the fact that he couldn’t focus on his lesson for even a few minutes while thinking about you, wasn’t helping. His mind was drifting to what he had planned for the two of you later tonight.

You, on the other hand, were on the same boat as Felix.

All that consumed your mind was Felix; you’re sweet, dashing Felix.

You’re suddenly snapped out of your thoughts by your professor, who had agitatedly started lecturing you on the importance of focusing on class.

And finally, after multiple grueling hours, and a heated make-out session in a storage closet, classes for today were over.

Felix suggested that you two go into town, and go on a date to the cafe you both loved. At this point, it was your guys’ cafe; your designated spot, where you both can run away from the world and just enjoy one another.

After spending hours, which seemed like minutes, in the cafe, and throughout town, the two of you settle on going back to your dorm.

Normally, the two of you just go to Felix’s dorm, but his was still somewhat airing out from the smoke session you two had the night prior.

Although, the idea of you two walking through town sounded romantic at the time, you hadn’t thought into how long you two would be walking.

“‘Lex?” You call out softly. Felix immediately turns to you.

“Can you carry me? M’feet hurt honey.” You say with a slight pout, to get your point across.

Felix, of course, being the amazing boyfriend he is, quickly picks you up, bridal-style and carries you back.

You ask him multiple times if he was alright carrying you for so long, but after his reassurance and light nip to your nose, your worries are put to rest.

The two of you eventually settle on your bed, and you curl against Felix’s warm body.

“Wait, darling, I forgot a few things at my dorm,” Felix rushes out.

“Mmm, no ‘Lex, stay with me”

“It’ll only be a minute angel, I promise.”

Felix nearly doesn’t have the heart to pull you off of him, but he can’t afford to keep you from your final gift for much longer.

He leaves with a quick kiss to your forehead and nose, and goes to retrieve the items from his dorm.

He comes back and spots you sitting up on the bed with what he thinks is nothing, but his shirt on, and strawberries. You had also opted for a can of whipped cream, instead of melted chocolate, because after last time, you didn’t want to endure the process of the chocolate staining your white sheets, and hardening as you two tried to use it.

“Wha’s this baby?” Felix says with a smirk as he inches towards you.

You feel his warm, hand on your calf as he reaches you.

“What? Did you really think we were going to go without some fun on our anniversary baby?” You say while looking up at him with longing.

“Unwrap your gift, Felix.”

The brunette boy wastes no time in stripping you from his your shirt.

There, he sees, the lacy brown lingerie covering your body; the brown being almost, if not fully, identical to the color of his dark brown irises.

Felix kisses your neck, leaving no area of skin unmarked with purple bruises.

“Mm, wait” He says as he leaves behind a slight strain on saliva on your flesh.

“Oh my god Felix, seriously?” You say with slight annoyance.

“Relax. I have something for you.” Felix chides.

Felix pulls out a box, containing a necklace; with his initials on it.

“D’you like it baby? I think it’ll be perfect, tha’way none of those other boys could even think they could have a chance with you.”

“Why boys, Felix?” You ask slyly, trying to push his buttons a bit.

“I say boys because, my angel..They could never fuck you like I do…Like a man.” He says lowly, showcasing the bass in his silky smooth voice.

You let out a whine at this; loving when he gets possessive over you, “put it on me Felix, claim me.” You purr.

He moves your hair out of his way, and puts the necklace around your neck, subtly grinding his hard, pulsing cock against the little fabric you had covering your cunt.

You let out a sigh, as Felix moans lowly in your love-bitten ear.

He then grabs a strawberry and stuffs it gently between your lips, making you bite down on it.

The juices trickle down your chin as he moves the fruit around inside of your mouth. He licks a stripe up from your throat to right below your lips.

He goes back and leaves a bite on your throat, making you tilt you head back with a sharp moan, giving him more access.

Felix kisses you roughly as he grabs the whipped cream. He squirts a line of the sweet cream onto your navel; watching it slowly glide down to your soaked core.

“God…’Lex don’t tease me,” you whimper meekly.

“But y’taste s’sweet, lovie.” Felix says, letting out a giggle that makes your pussy clench.

“Oh look at you, m’dirty little thing. Clenchin’ around nothin’,” Felix says smugly as he kisses down your warm body.

Abruptly, Felix dips down and licks a stripe up your achy cunt.

“Fuck ‘Lex!”

Felix grins at your shriek, as he presses sloppy kisses to your clit.

“…I thought I told you to stop teasing me baby,” you say, pushing his head down onto your cunt, prompting him to start licking and sucking where you want him to.

Your back arches off the bed as you squeal in ecstasy. You grab Felix’s hair with both hands roughly; he moans at this, which sends shockwaves through your body.

Felix fucks you with his tongue for what feels like hours, sticking his tongue in and out of your pulsing hole.

Felix feels your thighs trembling, making it clear that you’re close to reaching your climax.

Felix removes his mouth with a slick pop and a charming smile, making you cry out.

“Wait! Wait no. ‘Lex, why’d you stop? Baby. Baby please I need it. Put it back please-“

“Shhh, angel. M’gonna give you somethin’ better. Gonna give you this cock. Tha’s what you wanted, right?” Felix says pressing his lips to yours, again, and again.

Felix continues kissing you as he pulls down his pants and boxers, pulling out his stiff dick.

He rubs the tip against your folds, watching his precum drip against your wetness.

“Mmm, y’ready f’me sweetheart?”

“Please, please, please ‘Lex. I’ll be so good! So so good, I promise! Please give it to me! I need it!” You shout eagerly.

“God, you make me feel whole,” Felix says as he slowly pushes his cock into your heat.

“Thank you ‘Lex! Thank you! Oh fuck!”

Felix almost immediately starts thrusting in and out of you roughly, opening your legs wider as he plants his feet.

“Fuck babe! I swear y’made f’me. I thank any ‘n every god tha’ led us to each other, honey.” Felix says with a delicious groan.

“Shit! God that’s it baby. Don’t stop!” You say, reaching down to start toying with your clit.

Felix nips at your fingers; having noticed your dainty fingers rubbing circles. Silently ordering you to quit it.

You wrap your legs around his meaty torso tightly as he flicks at your puffy pussy.

“Oh! O’fuck! Right there! Mhm!” Felix feels as if he’s consuming your moans, picking up his already brutal pace to absolutely abuse your cunt. His main goal being to make you squirm in ways only he can.

“Uh huh? Yeah y’like that angel? Feels- oh f-fuck. Feels good doesn’it?”

Felix lets out more deep groans, with the occasional whine.

“‘Lex. ‘Lex, baby. M’cumming.” You rush out breathlessly.

“M’right there with y’baby, m’right here. Just, fuck, wait a second..Wanna come together, beautiful.” Felix says panting.

The only noises to be heard in the somewhat small dorm are the moans and gasps of two passionate lovers, and the squeaks and banging from the plush bed.

In any other scenario, you’d be pressing your hand around your mouth, stressing to Felix about the importance of staying quiet; not wanting to get more noise complaints. But right now, you could barely even think about where you are; focusing only on the circles being rubbed on your glistening cunt, and the feeling of Felix’s warm, almost candle-lit hot limbs touching yours.

Felix’s pace begins to falter, growing sloppier and sloppier with every thrust, showing signs of Felix nearing his blissful end.

“Yes! Fuck yes! Come f’me angel, please! Give it t’me! C’mon, y’know y’can, here hold m’hand.” Felix says, reaching his clammy hand to your already sweaty one.

“F-fuck! ‘Lex!”

In the span of seconds, the two of you are coming undone together, gripping each other’s hand so tightly.

You feel your climax shake through your entire body, making you jerk against Felix’s hold, as he tries to keep himself together.

Felix collapses softly next to you with a soft “holy shit,” making sure not to startle you in your hazy state.

He brushes the hair from your moist skin and peppers feather-like kisses onto your face, collarbone, and scalp; helping you calm down from your high.

You look at him bleary eyed, taking account of his wobbly smiles as he tries to catch his breath.

‘Does he ever stop smiling?’ You think to yourself.

“Hi honey,” Felix whispers.

“Hi baby,” you whisper back with a giggle.

“Y’so gorgeous, y’know that, angel?” He says, after softly pulling out and snuggling closer to you with a blanket.

“So i’ve been told,” you say, blinking sleepily.

“Wait, sweetheart. Y’can’t sleep yet! I gotta clean you up!” Felix says in a hurry, jumping out from underneath the blanket. He quickly walks over to his desk, which has a pack of wipes on it, and he finds a towel on his dresser.

You fight sleep, as Felix softly wipes you, making sure not to put too much pressure on your already sore cunt.

He sits you up a bit, putting on of his cozy sweatshirts on your frame and gently lays you back down.

He quickly puts a pair of boxers on once he hears your soft whines, begging for him to cuddle you.

He lays down and drapes your body on top of his.

The last thing you feel before drifting off is a sweet kiss being pressed onto your forehead.

“Happy Valentine’s Day lovie..and most importantly, happy one year anniversary.”

feedback always appreciated bb <3

#lee’s ted talks #felix catton #jacob elordi #saltburn #felix catton x reader #jacob elordi x reader #felix catton x you #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start #venetia catton #valentines day #felix catton smut

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thebibliosphere · 2 months

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My apologies if you have talked about this recently, but, as an aspiring author-if-i-ever-manage-to-finish-something-haha-can-you-imagine, I have a question! I discovered Draft2Digital thanks to one of your old posts and it caught my attention very fast because it looked very promising, but lately (as much as I've been able to consult with Tumblr's search, magnificent and very functional as it famously is) you've been mentioning IngramSpark more, so if I may ask! Is D2D still an acceptable platform nowadays, or is it better to go look for other alternatives? Thanks!

Oh, Ingram Spark used to be one of the only options for paperbacks other than Amazon in the US and I am moving AWAY from them because they’re such assholes.

They’re responsible for the price hike in my books and I’m 99.9% certain they’re skimming profit off my retailer discount. They also put the ability to call customer service behind a paywall ($25 per 30 minutes). You can still email them but good luck ever getting a reply. Which is an issue when they send you a box of hardback books covered in binding glue with pages falling out that they still maintain are in sellable condition and won’t issue a refund for 🙃 (yes to anyone who has been paying attention it’s been 2+ years and I’m still fighting with them over that)

Yeah, no. I’ll be a d2d author going forward. They’ve got the same global market reach as Ingram, as well as recently merged with Gardners in the UK (a big distributor)

Plus it means I can do my ebook, paperback and audio all from one place. (Findaway is partnered with d2d)

I’ll still keep Amazon separate, but that's because Amazon pays better royalties for direct uploads. Everything else I’m using d2d.

Fuck Ingram. They’re never getting another direct penny from me 😅

#book publishing

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m0nsterqzzz · 2 months

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Cat's Out of the Bag La Rue

pairing: Clarisse La Rue x reader

summary: Valentines Day rolls around, and what kind of girlfriend would Clarisse be if she didnt get you the only present you've been wanting?

a/n: i wrote like 5 fucking valentines day fics yesterday (one with natasha, one with wanda, one with clarisse, one with carol danvers, and one with katniss everdeen) yet this is the only one im posting and i kinda hate it. literally the shortest oneshot i've ever written. also, I'm literally a dog person writing about cats. what has life come to?

is this the worst thing i've ever written? yes. do i hate every other piece of written recently cuz im in writers block and haven't updated in like 3 weeks? also yes. im so done yall.

With a baseball cap covering her head, tucking her curls against her head and being the best disguise she could come up with, Clarisse’s eyes dart all around the cab. It zooms through the streets of New York, making the child of Are’s slightly concerned for her and her siblings safety as they get honked out. The man driving seems like he’s barely paying attention to the road, but in the end it doesn’t really matter as long as they get to their destination.

There are three children in the yellow car; Clarisse, her half brother Mark, and her half sister Ruby. They were the only ones who she could convince to come with her to town, past the safe bounds of camp half blood where nothing but their weapons can stop monsters from hunting and hurting them.

It’d be a lie to say Clarisse isn’t nervous, but she pushes the feeling down as she grips her spear tighter in her left hand.

This is for you. She’s going into town and risking getting in trouble for the end result of seeing her favorite smile. Your smile. Her partner of one year. It may not seem like a very long time to some people, but you guys are demigods. It’s surprising you made it through the year without being killed by some horrible, ugly monster.

The car stops and the guy counts the large amount of money Mark hands him before telling them to get out of his cab. It may have annoyed the teenagers on any other day, but it doesn’t bother them too much since today is a special day.

“Why are we here?” Ruby asks, eyes scanning the area around them as if sure something is going to jump out at them. In the blonde haired girl's defense, it’s very possible something will.

Clarisse gestures to the small building in front of them. It’s run down and in desperate need of a paint job, but it doesn’t matter. That’s not what grabs the child of Ares attention. It’s the small animals chilling in their little spots inside the store. That’s what she’s here for.

The sign above the small colorful store reads, “Mike’s Animals”. Boring name, but gets the point across. She can already see the little animal she came here for when they walk through the door, the loud bell ringing from the action of opening it but no employee comes to help them. Clarisse lets her siblings stare in awe at the other animals for a few months before shoving towards a section near the back. The kitten section. You had been showing her a website on your phone a few days ago, one with a different selection of the small animals. The website was for Mike’s Animals, but you explained that even though you’d really like a cat, pets aren’t allowed in Camp Half Blood. It’s a rule.

Well you wanna know what Clarisse says about that? Screw rules. What her person want’s, her person gets.

So if the police ever come around, asking you why Clarisse shoved a black and white kitten into her brother's coat pocket and then made a run for it while the store manager chased after them, that’s what you have to say.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

You're laying on your bed reading a book when your girlfriend walks in, a large box covered by a piece of fabric under one arm and a bouquet of flowers in her free hand. She ignores your siblings' gazes as she walks towards your space, setting down the box with a type of gentleness nobody in camp but you gets to see and then holding out the flowers.

They’re your favorite, clearly straight out of the flower fields by the slight glow they give off. They’re wrapped in a brown type of paper with a pink bow clearly down by one of the Aphrodite kids to hold it all together.

“Hey my love.” She starts. “These are for you.” You take the plants with a large grin on your face, bringing them closer to your face to smell the amazing natural scent coming from them. Something moves inside the box she sat on your bed, making you hold in a scream as you jump closer to your girlfriend and farther away from it. “What the hell is moving in that Clarisse?!” You ask, your siblings' attention all over you guys now.

Clarisse just laughs, but she seems slightly nervous as she puts the crate in your lap. “Just look. I hope you like it.” She continues to nervously ramble as you remove the cloth from the top of the box, letting out a small gasp when you see the small animal looking back at you with wide, curious blue eyes.

Your girlfriend stares as you gently pick him up, him instantly curling into your hold with a soft pur as you hold him close to your chest. “You um…you like him?” She asks with a small smile.

“Of course I do! He’s adorable, Risse!” She lets out a relieved sigh, laying down next to you as your siblings surround the bed trying to get a look at the animal. “You know Chiron will never let you keep that right?” One of your brothers asks with a laugh, and you frown as you look at your girlfriend.

She thinks about it for a moment before she says, “We’ll just hide him. He can lounge around the cabin while you’re gone, and you guys can hide him somewhere during cabin checks. Chiron will never know.”

Your siblings eventually leave you alone, going back to their acticicus as your two favorite beings cuddle up to you. Clarisse cuddles up next to your side, and the kitten on your stomach. “I really like you Oreo.” you whisper to the animal, making your girlfriend laugh. “Oreo? That’s the most original thing you could think of right?”

“Okay if you're so great at naming things, what should we name him?”

She goes quiet for a few seconds before mumbling in defeat, “I like Oreo.”

You guys enjoy the silence that surrounds just you guys as you pet Oreo, but then a small laugh comes from you when Clarisse gently grabs the cat and pulls him off your chest so she can lay her head there. “He’s been here for half an hour and you're already jealous?” “He was getting way too touchy. Mine.” She teases and then fakes an annoyed groan when he crawls onto her back and lays down, stretching himself out just to prove a point.

“Will you be my Valentine, my love?” She asks as she places her chin on your chest to look up at you. There's a certain softness in her eyes that you and only you get to see. In fact, it’s very, very rare you ever see the side everyone else talks about when they talk about Clarisse towards you. “You guys just don’t know her like I do.” You tell them. Not like they believe you, half of the camp still believing you somehow put a spell on her.

“Only if you’ll be mine.” You whisper back as if it’s a secret.

“Oh…this is awkward. I already agreed to be like ten other girls date.” Her voice is teasing as she tries and fails not to giggle.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.”

“Hm.” You fake being offended as you cross your arms over your chest and look away. She laughs, and the sound practically forces a smile on your face.

“I’m kidding. Only you, angel. I’m yours. Always.”

“And I’m yours, Clarisse La Rue.”

“Always?”

“And forever.”

There’s a knock on your cabin door, and you figure it’s another camper until a voice calls from the other side of the door, “Clarisse? I know you're in there. Your siblings told me where you went. Cat’s out of the bag La Rue.” Chiron says. Very terrible choice of words. She groans into your stomach, rolling off of you and successfully getting Oreo to jump off her back and onto the bed.

“Those little snitches.” She snarls as she gets up to open the door, making you instantly miss her warmth.

You place the cat under your sweater, giggling and then shoving his face back under when he crawls to put his head through the neck hole. Once she knows he’s covered, Clarisse opens the door. Chirons eyes fall to you, and it’s only then do you think about the fact that there is a giant Oreo shaped lump in your sweater.

All your siblings fall silent as they watch to see what’s gonna happen.

“Mac and cheese day am I right?” You try to joke with a nervous chuckle, but he doesn’t laugh. He just runs a hand over his face and then stares at you. “You know what? I don’t care. You find a way to feed him that isn’t taking resources from us, you make sure he doesn’t do any damage to the furniture, and you keep track of him at all times, you can keep him.”

You grin at him, letting the small animal out of your sweater who in turn lowly hisses at the sight of Chiron.

He groans, walking off as he mumbles something about needing a very long vacation. There's only so much of your girlfriend bending the rules to get you presents he can handle before he was bound to just accept it.

The cinatar leaves, your girlfriend flipping him off when he can’t see. He yells over his shoulder, “I know what you’re doing Clarisse! Stop it or no dessert!”

She stops flipping him off. Next to you, chocolate cake is what she lives for.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

That night, as you sit with Clarisse at the bonfire, she listens to you complain about how much you miss Oreo. Usually, you’d be too busy roasting marshmallows and cuddling with her to think about anything else, but your girlfriend doesn’t do anything other than smile, happy she made you so happy.

“So how’d you get him anyway? You don’t have that kind of money and there’s no way Chiron gave it to you.” You say, and she freezes in her spot on a log, slightly tightening her arms that are wrapped around your waist as she avoids your eyes.

“I stole him.” Her voice is slightly quieter than usual, and she says this in the most casual tone she can muster.

“CLARISSE LA RUE!”

#clarisse la rue #clarisse x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x you #fluff #valentines day #pjo #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson series #cats #don't call my bitch the lightning theif percy!#what was that ending?#11 days late lol #valentines gifts #valentines day fic

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daysofyellowroses · 3 months

Text

fries

carmen berzatto x reader | 1.1k

prompt was: Carmy getting all sassy and dom like bc his girl spent money on herself instead of using his card/calling him and telling him that you wanted something and to pick it up off hold on his way home!! That is such a HC for me I feel Carmy would be super pouty if his girl bought something expensive or ‘necessary for him’ like your makeup, hair stuff, clothes, shoes, etc. ESP food he like gets so upset when she will pick herself up McDonald’s or smth and is like “baby why didn’t you tell me you were craving a burger and fries” - as requested by @thecapricunt1616 thank you so much, i hope you enjoy 🌼

🐻

Sometimes you think you know everything about your boyfriend. If someone quizzed you, you would ace it. It's only been just under a year since you started dating Carmy but in that time you had learned everything about him, or so you thought.

There were things that you didn't know every detail about, like his family, particularly his mom, but you knew that he would talk about those things in time, when he was ready.

What you didn't expect was that he would have a certain..kink, one you wouldn't have expected him to have but was a very pleasant surprise.

It had happened incrementally, you first noticed when you came home after work one day with a pair of new sneakers. When you showed them to Carm he seemed a little..off. It wasn't exactly something to celebrate but you found it a little odd that he didn't seem to care when usually he was so attentive and loving.

You put it down to a long day at work and forgot about it.

Until it happened again, when you came home after a splurge on makeup and skincare products. He found you putting them away in the bathroom and just walked away, leaving you deeply confused.

When you asked him if everything was okay he said it was, and you decided not to push it. You noticed that he was a little more attentive than usual, keeping you in his lap while you relaxed on the couch, insisted on getting you whatever you wanted, carried you to bed when you started falling asleep. It wasn't that he never did those things usually, you just felt like he was doing more somehow.

Deciding to test out the beginnings of a theory, you waited a week or so before deciding to really treat yourself, splashing out on a pair of expensive heels that you had wanted for so long. As you were the first one home, you put the shoes away and waited for Carmy to get home.

He was his usual sweet self, and you were a little excited to test out your theory. You waited until Carm was making dinner, and you were sitting on the counter watching him.

“Oh my god, I have to show you something,” You smiled, getting down from the counter. “I'll be right back.”

You went to your bedroom, opening the closet and reaching into the back to take out the bag with your new shoes before carrying it to the kitchen behind your back.

“Look what I got,” You grinned, holding out the bag. “I may have gone a little overboard but I really wanted these.”

You set the bag down on the ground and took the box out, feeling Carmy's eyes on you.

“How beautiful are these?” You opened the box and took out one of the shoes. “They were almost three hundred but I figure I'll keep them forever so..”

“Three hundred?” Carm raised a brow, his hand on his hip. “You spent three hundred?”

“Yes, I did,” You smiled, feeling like your theory was about to be proved. You looked at the shoe in your hand, turning it slowly. “But work is going well and I really wanted them so..”

“You shouldn't have bought them,” Carm sighed, reaching for the dish towel that was draped over his shoulder and wiping his hands. “That's too much.”

“I'll buy what I want,” You frowned, putting the shoe back in the box. “It's my money I'm spending, not yours.”

“But it should be.” Carmy muttered, meeting your eyes.

“What do you mean?” You asked, stepping closer to him and setting the box in your hands down on the counter. “I don't expect you to drop that kind of money on me.”

“I want to,” Carmy insisted, his arm moving around your waist. “I know that you can afford all those things you want, but..I want to treat you, I want you to tell me what you want and let me get if for you, or take my card and go get it.”

“Please don't feel like you have to do that,” You smiled, touching Carmy's cheek. “I don't care if you buy me things or I buy them myself, just being with you is all I want.”

Carm was quiet for a moment, gently stroking your waist before leaning in to kiss you, your arms moving around his neck.

“It's more than that,” Carm murmured softly against your lips, pulling back to meet your eyes. “I know you don't expect me to, and I know I don't have to but..the thought of seeing you in clothes that I bought you, knowing you're out treating yourself to things and using my money to do it..I want that.”

You take in his words, your hands lightly touching the back of Carm's neck. “Does it..does the thought of that do it for you?”

“Big time,” Carm nodded, and you felt your heart race. “I keep thinking about you coming home, showing off all the things you bought on my card, giving me a little show..”

“I think I know what I should buy first then.” You grinned, leaning in to kiss Carm.

Dinner is delayed, and you don't quite make it to the bedroom, but you feel like you've never been happier.

As it turned out, Carm wasn't lying about wanting you to spend his money. You didn't go crazy, you weren't going to buy something just for the sake of it. But when you came home with a bag full of new lingerie and handed his card back to him, Carm had you screaming like you never had before.

So, once a week or so you treat yourself to a little something, just to bring out a more possessive, dominant side of your boyfriend, loving how he can go from adorable and soft to calling you a spoiled brat and having you begging for more.

And apparently, his fondness for you spending his money wasn't limited to clothes, shoes and underwear, but there was one exception.

You had come home from work with a McDonald's, knowing Carmy would be home late and that you weren't in the mood to cook. You were just sitting down to eat it, scrolling through your phone when the front door opened.

“Hey,” You smiled, picking Carmy's card up from the table and taking a sip of your milkshake as you handed it to him.

“What's this?” Carm frowned, pointing to the food on the table.

“This?” You grinned, pointing to the McDonald's bag. “Just a little restaurant, you've probably never heard of it, it's only got like a billion locations.”

“Very funny,” Carm sighed, pushing his hand through his hair.

“Are you..pouting?” You grinned. “Over a burger?”

“I could have made you a better burger,” Camy shrugged. “That's all.”

“I know,” You nodded, swishing your shake with a grin. “But only your money can get this.”

“You think I can't make you a milkshake?” Carmy raised a brow.

“Not like this,” You teased. “You don't know the secret ingredients.”

“I'm making you a damn shake. And a burger."

#the bear #the bear 🐻#the bear fic #the bear fics #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x you #request

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