Can you do a collage for Natasha Romanoff? I know you don’t have a Marvel masterlist but I think a collage of her from you would be great!
Hi sweetie! Thank you so much for a new request! Of course I can, it would be my pleasure :)
If you're interested in MARVEL themed things, you can check out links under the cut on this post!
El <3
Natasha Romanoff appreciation post
𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼
Requests are always open. El <3 (all images were made by: El via canva & paint)
Also, here is the MASTERLIST!! (click on link, babes <3)
In the twisted reality of the games, your eyes always found *them*, your focus fixed on another
Gi-Hun, a few paces behind you, felt a familiar ache in his chest- he hated this feeling, hated how his heart hammered just seeing you, how it twisted when your gaze lingered elsewhere
Yet, he couldn’t deny it even if he hated being in love, feeling so helpless
During the Glass Bridge, a moment of panic sends you stumbling but before you can fall, Gi-Hun is there, pushing you forward, his own foot landing precariously close to the edge
He would totally forget about his own safety, only caring about your wellbeing
"Careful!" His voice is sharp with a fear meant only for you, completely disregarding his own life hanging by a thread
He’d throw himself into any danger, any risk, if it meant you were safe
(outside the game)
Outside the game's shadow, Seong Gi-Hun is a different man
You bump into him at a quiet cafe, and he offers a polite, almost distant, nod
He seems cold, but his eyes hold a quiet intensity
He remembers your coffee order, the subtle way you prefer your tea, details you’d never thought to share
He doesn't rush, doesn’t push
Instead, he’s a gentleman of quiet persistence, always appearing when you least expect it- a shared bench in the park, a spontaneous offer to carry your groceries
Slowly, carefully, he’s trying to win you over, one considerate gesture at a time, showing you a depth of care that was always there, just hidden beneath the surface
Dae-Ho
(in game)
In the chaos of Red Light, Green Light, you felt a light, trembling grip on your arm
It was Dae-Ho. His eyes, usually so bright, were wide and darting, his face pale
He was terrified, you could tell, but he didn't let go.
When the doll turned, he pulled you close, a silent shield, whispering, "Don't move. Just breathe."
He barely ever spoke in here, but he was always there
You glanced across the field, searching for *them*, and Dae-Ho’s grip tightened imperceptibly, as if trying to ground your attention, to protect you from more than just the sniper's aim
He was scared for himself, yes, but you knew, somehow, he was even more terrified for you
(outside the game)
"So, did you hear back from *them* about the movie?" Dae-Ho asked, stirring his latte, a casual, almost too-casual, question
You shook your head, explaining they were busy. Dae-Ho nodded slowly, his expression a mix of feigned sympathy and something else, something subtly smug
"Ah, well, *their* loss then. I was thinking we could finally try that new arcade downtown tonight? I bet I could beat your high score in everything."
He grinned, a familiar, playful challenge in his eyes, always trying to present himself as the better, more reliable option without ever explicitly saying it
He was your best friend, always planning the next adventure, always subtly trying to prove he was the one you should be looking at
Hwang In-Ho
(in game)
You felt a strange, almost magical shield around you in the brutal game, always surviving by the narrowest margin
Unbeknownst to you, the masked Frontman, In-Ho, watched your every move
His control room was a vantage point, his eyes fixed on your number
He’d whisper curt orders to the guards, ensuring your spot was mysteriously skipped during eliminations
A dangerous urge to fix the entire game for your victory simmered within him, only restrained by the VIPs' suspicious glares
But his calm exterior shattered when he saw you, a soft smile gracing your lips as you shared a moment with *them*
A silent, furious clench of his gloved fist was the only outward sign of his rage, he would wreck the whole control room if needed
You were his to protect.
(outside the game)
After the games, the world felt muted, yet In-Ho’s pursuit was anything but
He was an anachronism- old-timey romantic to the core
He’d invite you for coffee, always leading to a meticulously planned dinner, then another, despite your gentle mentions of someone else
He’d arrive with a small, perfectly wrapped box, a "shiny gift" nested inside- a vintage locket, a shimmering ring- each offering a silent plea for your affection
He’d listen, a melancholic understanding in his gaze, as you spoke of *them*, the one your heart truly desired
He’d simply nod, a polite smile masking the ache, before trying again the next day
Salesman
(in game)
He would be so in love, ready to pay to become a VIP, only to see you
The sharp crack echoed in the eerie silence of the VIP lounge, a crystal glass shattering in the Salesman’s white-gloved hand
Blood welled, but he barely registered it, his gaze fixed on the monitor
You, navigating the final game, smiled, a genuine laugh bubbling up as *they* patted your back
A wave of possessive agony washed over him
He didn't even dare hit you in the station, wouldn't even think of recruiting you
He’d practically begged In-ho to keep you safe, to watch over you.
He’d paid exorbitant sums, endured the tedious VIP theatrics, just to confirm you were alive, seeing your name flash on the eliminated list was his deepest fear
Now, seeing that smile directed at someone else, a wave of sickness
Other VIPs shot him curious, disapproving glances
He didn't care
(outside the game)
Outside the game, he was a different man
Quiet, yes, but almost painfully touchy
His hand would instinctively reach for yours, a warm, reassuring presence when you crossed the street, even if there were no cars in sight
Your phone would buzz with the most absurd, mundane observations- a particularly fluffy cloud, a dead cat on the road-anything to keep the conversation flowing between your shifts
He’d be there, waiting, a constant silhouette by the streetlamp as you walked home from work, a silent guardian
He’d offer to carry your bag, make you tea, his actions a humble, earnest plea to prove himself, to show you he could be everything you needed, everything *they* weren't.
Requests are always open. El <3 (all images were made by: El via canva & paint)
Also, here is the MASTERLIST!! (click on link, babes <3)
A collage for Pedro Pascal (or the people’s Princess) please!
Hello honey!! Thank you so much for your request! Here come's the Zaddy ;). If you're interested, you can find Pedro Pascal imagines down after the cut!
El <3
Pedro Pascal appreciation post
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
Requests are always open. El <3 (all images were made by: El via canva & paint)
Also, here is the MASTERLIST!! (click on link, babes <3)
I love the few collages you’ve made! I’m gonna ask for a few but I’ll do them in separate asks. I hope you don’t mind!
I’d love to see a Faramir one!
Hi sweetie! Thank you so much for your request and ofc I don't mind :) I'm glad you like them, honey! Here comes sir Faramir!!
(this might be my favorite one so far ;) )
El <3
Prince Faramir appreciation post
˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
This might be my favorite one so far! Also, I would love to write something for Faramir! :)
Requests are always open. El <3 (all images were made by: El via canva & paint)
Also, here is the MASTERLIST!! (click on link, babes <3)
I’m thinking reader and William are childhood friends on their way to rescue Elizabeth and William realizes he is actually in love with reader not Elizabeth.
Reader is just hopelessly in love with him not unlike how he thought he was for Elizabeth.
I love your work btw!
Hello angel!! Thank you so much for a great request! I really like this sweet idea. Pirates of the Caribbean are so back, baby! And thank you so much for your kind words !!!
El <3
William Turner Jr.- unspoken feelings
𓇼˚₊‧꒰ა
GN reader
<3 (SFW)
TW- none
WIlliam Turner discovers cofusing feelings for his childhood bestie
slight angst with a happy end :)
William Turner Jr.
The salt spray was a constant companion, stinging your lips and coating the rough canvas of your tunic.
The Interceptor cut through the waves with a determined, if weary, rhythm, each creak of the timbers a reminder of the vast, unforgiving ocean stretching between you and Elizabeth.
Beside you, William Turner was a study in restless energy, his brow perpetually furrowed, his hands idly clenching and unclenching.
You watched him, as you always did. Since you were children, sharing tales by the flickering light of his blacksmith’s forge, his presence had been the anchor of your world. You’d seen him grow from a wide-eyed orphan to a skilled craftsman, his loyalty as unshakeable as the iron he shaped.
And you loved him- hopelessly, fiercely, with a quiet devotion that felt both like a blessing and a burden.
“She’s… she’s strong, you know.”
Will said, his voice barely above the wind’s howl, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon.
“Elizabeth. She’ll be fighting them, I know it.”
You nodded, a knot tightening in your stomach.
“Of course she will, Will. She’s resourceful.”
Your words were meant to be comforting, reassuring him, but each syllable felt like a tiny chisel chipping away at your own heart. He spoke of Elizabeth with such reverence, such desperate hope.
It was a love you understood, a love you’d witnessed blossom over the years, a love you yearned for him to feel for you, even as you knew it was impossible.
You’d spent countless hours on this journey, the two of you, sometimes with Jack Sparrow’s exasperating presence, sometimes just the quiet companionship of the sea.
Will was consumed by Elizabeth’s abduction by Barbossa, his every waking moment dedicated to devising plans, fretting over probabilities, or simply staring into the endless blue, imagining her plight.
And you, your own heart aching, stood by him, a silent pillar of support.
He often spoke of her bravery, her spirit, the way she’d stood up to the pirates even as they swarmed Port Royal.
“She’s truly remarkable.”
He’d murmur, almost to himself, and you’d bite back the sharp retort that bubbled up- I’m here too, Will. I’ve always been here. Instead, you’d offer a soft,
“She is.”
Days bled into a monotonous string of sunrises and sunsets. You ate together, slept in shifts, shared watch on the deck under a blanket of stars.
Will, despite his worry, never lost his innate blacksmith’s practicality. He’d sharpen his cutlass, polish the hilt, always meticulous.
Once, he’d found a loose hinge on a storage locker and, without a word, had taken it apart, hammered it back into shape, and reattached it. You watched him, admiring the easy strength in his hands, the focused intensity in his eyes. He caught your gaze then, a faint smile touching his lips.
“Good as new!”
He’d said, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes held yours longer than usual, a warmth there that wasn’t about Elizabeth.
But then the conversation would invariably drift back.
“Do you think she’ll be cold? On that ship?”
He’d ask, his voice laced with concern.
“Barbossa’s a monster. He wouldn’t hurt her, would he?”
Your chest would clench.
“He wants the medallion, Will. He needs her blood. He won’t harm her until he gets what he wants.”
It was a cold comfort, but it was all you had. You had to be pragmatic, for both your sakes. You had to be strong, because he needed you to be.
One night, the moon hung low and swollen, casting a silver path across the water. Will was leaning against the railing, his silhouette stark against the glow. You joined him, the quiet hum of the ship your only company.
“Sometimes..”
He began, his voice rough with exhaustion,
“I close my eyes, and I can see her face. So clear. And I just… I need to find her.”
You felt the familiar pang, the tightening in your chest. Here it was again, the raw, undeniable proof of his devotion to her. You wrapped your arms around yourself, a chill that had nothing to do with the night air creeping in.
“You will, Will...”
You whispered, your voice a little strained.
“We will.”
He turned then, slowly, his eyes finding yours in the dim light. And for the first time, you saw a different sort of confusion in them. Not just worry for Elizabeth, but something else, something directed at you.
“You know..”
He said, his voice softer,
“you’ve been remarkable. You always are. You never complain, you just… help. You’re always there.”
The unexpected praise sent a jolt through you. Your heart hammered against your ribs. This wasn’t about Elizabeth. This was about you.
“We’re friends, Will.”
You managed, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Childhood friends. Of course I’m here.”
He shook his head slightly, his gaze unwavering.
“It’s more than that, isn’t it?”
He mused, almost to himself.
“With Elizabeth… I thought… I thought it was love. All the knights in shining armor stories come to life, you know? The governor’s daughter, the noble pursuit.”
He paused, his gaze drifting from your eyes to your lips, then back up.
“But now… now I look at you, and it’s different.”
Your breath hitched. Your very being seemed to freeze, suspended in the cool night air.
“When I think of Elizabeth..”
He continued, his voice a low, hesitant murmur,
“I think of grand gestures. Of saving her. It’s dramatic, it’s… intense. And yes, I want to keep her safe, desperately so. She’s my friend, my dear friend. But with you…”
He reached out, his calloused hand hesitantly covering yours where it rested on the railing. The warmth of his skin was an electric shock, sending shivers down your arm.
“With you...”
He repeated, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand,
“it’s quiet. It’s… peace. It’s the feeling of coming home, even when we’re out here in the middle of nowhere. It’s knowing that no matter what happens, you’ll understand. You’ll be there. You always have been. And I… I never truly saw it.”
His gaze, clear and earnest, met yours.
“I thought what I felt for Elizabeth was love, because it fit the story. But what I feel for you… it’s just… you. It’s real. It’s been real all along, hasn’t it?”
Your eyes burned, hot with unshed tears. The jealousy, the angst, the quiet despair you’d carried for so long, began to dissolve, replaced by an overwhelming, joyous rush. He saw it. He saw you.
“Will?”
You breathed, your voice barely a whisper, filled with a disbelief that slowly morphed into profound relief.
His thumb smoothed over your knuckles again, a tender gesture that spoke volumes.
“I’ve been so confused..”
He admitted, his voice rough with emotion.
“So focused on what I thought I should feel, what I should do. But holding your hand now, looking at you… it’s like the fog has lifted. Everything is suddenly clear.”
He squeezed your hand gently.
“The thought of losing you, of you not being here by my side… that’s the true fear. Not just for Elizabeth, but… for us.”
He stumbled over the word, "us," as if it were brand new, yet so fundamentally right.
A tear finally escaped, tracing a warm path down your cheek. You couldn’t speak, not yet.
The sheer weight of his confession, the sudden, liberating realization that the love you held for him was reciprocated, was too much.
He leaned in slowly, his gaze searching yours, asking for permission. You didn’t hesitate, leaning in too, meeting him halfway. His lips were soft, hesitant at first, then firming with a tenderness that made your soul ache in the best possible way.
It wasn't a passionate, sweeping kiss of storybooks, but something deeper, quieter, a profound acknowledgment of years of unspoken affection, a promise whispered on the salty breeze.
When he pulled back, just inches away, his eyes were still on yours, no longer confused, but filled with a newfound clarity, a gentle warmth that promised home.
“We still have to find Elizabeth..”
You finally managed, your voice thick with emotion.
“And we will.”
He nodded, a soft smile gracing his lips.
“Yes, we will.”
He agreed, his grip on your hand tightening, a silent vow.
“But now… now I know who I’m coming back to.”
The ship continued its journey, cutting through the dark waves towards whatever fate awaited you.
But the world had shifted on its axis. The heavy burden of unrequited love had lifted, replaced by a delicate, precious hope.
You were still on a perilous voyage, still worried for Elizabeth’s safety, but now, a different kind of warmth had settled in your heart, a steady, comforting glow that promised a future you suddenly dared to dream of, right there beside William Turner.
Something a bit more angstyyy <3
Also, here is the MASTERLIST!! (click on link, babes <3)
Don’t forget, requests are always open and I can write for any character you’d like!
Can you write something for Jake? Like, treating his wounds after he turned back human? Love your writing!! Please ad masterlist to post!
Hi angel! Thank you so much for your request! I'm sure you're thinking about Jacob Black so, let's go! Also, here is the MASTERLIST!! (click on link, babes <3)
El <3
Jacob Black- safe n' sound
.ೃ࿔*:･
GN reader
<3 (SFW)
TW- mentions of scratches and some bruises (nothing too bad)
helping Jacob after his transformation :)
Jacob Black
The rain hammered against the windows of your small Forks home, a relentless symphony of grey. You were curled on the couch, a book unread in your lap, the pervasive dampness of the Pacific Northwest seeping into your bones.
A heavy sigh escaped you- another long, tiring day melting into a longer, equally tiring evening.
A sudden, insistent rap at the front door startled you. It wasn't the polite knock of a friend, but something more desperate, almost a clawing sound.
Your heart lurched. No one visited without calling first, especially not in this weather.
You pulled the door open, a gust of cold, wet air rushing in, carrying with it the undeniable scent of wet earth and pine… and something else, something raw and wild.
Jacob stood on your porch, a dripping, shivering mess. His usual easy grin was gone, replaced by a grimace of pain and exhaustion. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, and his clothes- a worn t-shirt and jeans, were torn in several places, revealing angry red scratches and dark bruises blooming across his skin.
His eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were shadowed with a deep weariness, but as they met yours, a flicker of that familiar warmth ignited.
"Jake!"
You gasped, your own tiredness instantly forgotten, replaced by a surge of fear mixed with frantic concern.
"What happened? Come in, you're soaked!"
He swayed slightly as you reached out, pulling him over the threshold. The moment your hand touched his arm, you felt it- an intense, radiating heat that was distinct from the frigid air outside.
It was a furnace, even through his drenched clothes, and it was the clearest sign of what he’d just been through. He stumbled forward, leaning heavily against the doorframe, a low groan escaping him.
"Lost my head for a bit.."
He mumbled, his voice rough. He tried to offer a crooked, semi-flirty smile, but it faltered quickly.
"Ran into… some trees. And a very angry thorn bush. And maybe a rock or two. Just needed to… burn it off."
You didn't need him to elaborate. You knew what "burn it off" meant for him. Anger, frustration, the raw, untamed power bubbling beneath his skin- it had all erupted, transforming him into the colossal wolf you knew, sending him tearing through the forest until the rage, and then the exhaustion, finally broke him.
"Oh, Jake.."
You whispered, your heart aching for him. You guided him towards the living room, your hands already scanning the damage.
"Come on, let's get you cleaned up. You're freezing... and burning up at the same time."
You led him to the bathroom, pulling out the first aid kit. His body radiated heat so strongly it almost steamed in the cool air of your home.
You found a clean, oversized hoodie of yours and some sweatpants, pushing them into his hands.
"Here. Get those wet things off. I'll get some warm water."
He nodded, too tired to argue, and you busied yourself wetting a soft cloth. When you turned back, he was stripped down to his boxers, revealing the full extent of his self-inflicted injuries.
Most were just surface-level scratches and scrapes- the bark of trees, rocks, whatever he'd crashed into, but they crisscrossed his chest, arms, and legs, some still oozing faintly. He looked so vulnerable, despite his immense size and strength.
Carefully, you began to clean his wounds, your touch feather-light. He winced occasionally, a low rumble escaping his throat, but mostly he just leaned into your touch, his eyes closed in weary surrender. His warmth was almost overwhelming, a comforting blanket against the chill of the room. You dabbed antiseptic on the more prominent scratches, applying a thin layer of healing balm.
"You really went at it, huh?"
You murmured, tracing a particularly nasty scrape along his shoulder.
He hummed, eyes still closed.
"Yeah. Needed to. Felt like I was gonna explode."
A deep sigh escaped him.
"It's always better when I can come back to you."
Your heart fluttered. You finished with the last of the bandages, then gently pushed him towards the couch.
"Alright, sit. You're done with the torture."
He sank onto the cushions with a sigh of immense relief, pulling the soft hoodie around him. It was comically large, the sleeves falling past his hands, but it seemed to swallow him in comfort. The scent of your detergent mingled with his own earthy scent, a strangely comforting mix.
You sat beside him, and without a word, he shifted, pulling you close. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his chest, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his warm breath ghosting against your skin. His muscles, usually so taut and powerful, felt loose, almost boneless with exhaustion. He was heavy, but in the best way – a solid, comforting weight that anchored you.
"Just… stay, okay?"
He mumbled into your skin, his voice thick with sleep.
"Don't move. You're warm. You feel good."
You smiled softly, your own weariness returning now that the immediate danger had passed.
You knew he wasn't just talking about your physical warmth; he meant the comfort, the peace he found in your presence. He always did. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear, a slow, powerful rhythm that lulled you.
Gently, you ran your fingers through his damp hair, smoothing it away from his forehead.
His breathing deepened almost instantly, the raggedness replaced by the slow, even inhales and exhales of a man finally at rest. He shifted subtly, his head settling more firmly against your chest, his body relaxing completely against yours.
He was heavy, and you were tired, but a wave of profound contentment washed over you.
You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of him, the solid weight of his body on yours, and the quiet comfort of the rain outside. He was safe, he was here, and he was finally sleeping. And for now, that was all that mattered.
You held him close, feeling the last vestiges of your own day's fatigue ebb away, completely lost in the warmth of Jacob, the silent rumble of his sleep, and the quiet comfort of your shared space.
Don’t forget, requests are always open and I can write for any character you’d like!
TW- mentions of past transphobia (mother -> daughter )
Making cookies with Hyun Ju (scroll for a surprise :D )
Cho Hyun Ju
The crisp autumn air bit at your cheeks as you stepped out of the elevator, a tote bag filled with baking essentials slung over your shoulder.
A gentle rap on the door of Hyun-Ju’s apartment, and it swung open almost immediately. Her smile was like sunshine, chasing away the chill.
“You’re here!”
She exclaimed, her tall frame leaning against the doorframe, a beautiful silhouette against the warm glow of her living room. Her soft dark hair, usually styled, was pulled back in a loose, comfortable ponytail, a few strands escaping to frame her face. You noticed a faint blush on her cheeks, a mix of excitement and perhaps a touch of nerves.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
You chuckled, stepping inside, immediately enveloped by the cozy warmth of her home. The scent of her favorite matcha tea mingled with the subtle hint of lavender from a diffuser. Sunlight, diffused by the sheer curtains, painted soft stripes across the polished wood floor.
Hyun-Ju led you into her kitchen, a surprisingly spacious and modern room that she usually reserved for heating up takeout or brewing exotic teas. Today, however, the counter was already cleared, a pristine white canvas waiting for baking.
“So, meringue cookies?”
She mused, picking up a bag of sugar you’d set down.
“They look so delicate, like little clouds. I imagine them melting on the tongue.”
There was a wistful quality to her voice.
You smiled, pulling out eggs and vanilla extract.
“They do that. The trick is patience and a good whisk.”
You glanced at her, sensing the nervous energy humming beneath her sweet demeanor.
“Have you ever baked anything before, Hyun-Ju?”
She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the ornate, framed photograph on her fridge- a picture of her younger self with her mother, both smiling, but with an underlying stiffness in her mother’s posture that you’d noticed before.
“No...”
She admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“My… my mother always said baking was ‘too girly.’ She wanted me to focus on… other things. More ‘masculine’ hobbies, I suppose.”
Her grip on the sugar bag tightened almost imperceptibly.
“She thought it would, you know, ‘confuse me’ even more.”
Your heart ached for her. You knew a little about the challenges Hyun-Ju had faced growing up, the loving but ultimately unaccepting environment her mother had created, especially as Hyun-Ju embraced her true self. Her voice carried the weight of years of suppressed desires.
You set down the whisk, turning fully to face her.
“Hyun-Ju?”
You said gently, reaching out to take her hand, your thumb tracing the smooth skin of her knuckles. Her hand was cool but warmed quickly in your touch.
“There’s nothing ‘too girly’ about wanting to create something beautiful, something delicious, with your own hands. Baking is for anyone who enjoys it. And today...”
You squeezed her hand reassuringly
“We’re just going to have fun. No pressure, okay?”
She looked at you, a grateful glint in her eyes, and a small, genuine smile bloomed on her face.
“Okay..”
She whispered, squeezing your hand back.
“Let’s make some clouds.”
You started with the eggs, showing her how to carefully separate the whites from the yolks. She was meticulous, almost reverent, as she cracked each shell, ensuring not a speck of yellow tainted the pristine whites.
“This feels like surgery.”
She giggled, holding up a perfect half-shell.
Next came the stand mixer. You poured the egg whites into the bowl, adding a pinch of salt and a dash of cream of tartar.
“Now, the magic begins!”
You declared, flipping the switch. The mixer whirred to life, and Hyun-Ju watched, fascinated, as the clear liquid slowly transformed, first into a foamy cloud, then into soft, billowy peaks.
You held her hand, guiding it to the speed dial, letting her feel the power of the machine. The low hum of the mixer filled the kitchen, a comforting, rhythmic sound.
Once the peaks were soft, you began adding the sugar, a tablespoon at a time, explaining how it stabilized the meringue and gave it its glossy sheen.
Hyun-Ju took over the spoon, carefully trickling the sugar into the swirling white mass. Her brow furrowed in concentration, her tongue peeking out slightly as she focused.
You watched her, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the oven. She was so earnest, so eager to learn, and so beautiful in her vulnerability.
When the meringue was thick, glossy, and held stiff peaks- a perfect snow-white mountain in the bowl- you added the vanilla extract. The sweet, comforting aroma instantly filled the air.
“Now, the fun part!”
You said, pulling out a piping bag and a star-shaped nozzle. You demonstrated how to fill the bag, then how to pipe a perfect rosette onto the parchment-lined baking sheet.
“Your turn.”
Hyun-Ju took the piping bag with exaggerated care, her hands trembling slightly. Her first few attempts were a little… abstract. One looked like a melted star, another like a small, sad blob. A blush crept up her neck.
“Oh no...”
She muttered,
“They’re not beautiful at all!”
You gently placed your hand over hers, guiding her grip, showing her how to apply steady pressure and lift cleanly.
“They’re perfect!”
You corrected softly.
“They’re your first cookies. Every single one is a triumph. Look, try again, just press and lift. You’ve got this.”
With your hand over hers, she tried again. This time, a delicate, almost perfect rosette formed. Her eyes lit up.
“I did it! You did it!”
She corrected herself, looking at you with a beaming smile.
“We did it.”
You affirmed, your heart swelling. You stood behind her, your chest lightly brushing her back, as she continued to pipe, each cookie growing more confident, more defined.
The kitchen filled with the quiet sounds of focused effort, punctuated by her delighted gasps.
When the trays were full, you carefully slid them into the preheated oven.
While the cookies baked, creating a warm, sweet aroma that permeated the entire apartment, you made some more tea.
You sat together at her kitchen table, bathed in the soft afternoon light that now had a golden, autumnal hue.
You talked about trivial things, about your day, about a book you were reading. But beneath the surface, there was a profound sense of shared space, shared comfort. You saw the subtle lines of anxiety around Hyun-Ju’s eyes soften, replaced by a quiet contentment.
The timer finally chimed. Hyun-Ju practically leaped from her seat. You pulled on oven mitts and carefully retrieved the trays. The cookies looked like miniature, ethereal clouds, perfectly crisp and untouched by browning.
“Oh, my goodness!!”
Hyun-Ju breathed, her voice filled with awe. She reached out a hesitant finger, then pulled back.
“They’re… they really DO look like little clouds!”
You plucked one from the tray, still warm, and offered it to her.
“Go on.”
She took it, holding it like a precious jewel. She brought it to her nose, inhaling the sweet vanilla scent, then took a delicate bite. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and a soft sigh escaped her rosy lips.
“It’s like eating a dream...”
She whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Her eyes, when they opened, were glistening. She took another bite, savoring the delicate crunch, the melt-in-your-mouth sweetness.
She looked down at you, a profound gratitude shining in her gaze.
“Thank you. Truly. This… this means so much more than just cookies to me.”
You reached out, gently wiping a smudge of powdered sugar from the corner of her lips.
“I know.”
You said, your voice soft.
“It’s reclaiming something that was taken from you, but you did amazing. I'm really proud of you. And it looks delicious.”
She offered you a bite of her cookie, and you leaned in, your lips brushing her fingers as you took the piece. The sweetness was indeed heavenly, but it was the shared moment, the quiet victory, that truly made it perfect.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples, you sat there, eating cookies, talking, and simply being.
Hyun-Ju, beautiful and radiant, had finally baked her first cookies. And you, holding her hand under the table, knew this was just the first of many sweet, wholesome new beginnings you would share together.
The apartment, filled with the lingering scent of vanilla and the warmth of newfound confidence, felt like the safest, most loving place in the world.
I can write anything for any character babes and don’t forget- requests are always open and welcome <33
There's this one hot dude goibg on tiktok, he's called the pickle master or the pickle priest something like that. Can you write something cute about him? Like, a female reader going to buy a pickle on reneisance fair from him? Thank youuuu
Hi darling!! Oh my, this is one of the most unique requests for sure hahaha. I had so much fun writing this. I hope you like it, sweetie! Thou shall get pickled now!! <3
El <3
Pickle Priest- thou shall get pickled
𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼
FEM reader
<3 (SFW)
TW- none
Your first pickling on renaissance fair
Pickle Priest
The yeasty smell of baking bread and the lively strumming of a lute filled the air as you navigated the bustling lanes of the Renaissance Faire.
People in elaborate costumes- knights in shining (well, slightly tarnished) armor, fair maidens in flowing gowns, and mischievous-looking jesters- thronged around you.
You, clad in a simple, comfortable tunic and leggings, were on a mission. A pickle mission.
You'd seen him on TikTok, a figure both absurd and strangely compelling: the Pickle Priest.
His deep, resonant voice, coupled with his Renaissance garb and unwavering dedication to the art of the perfect pickle pun, had captivated you. And now, here you were, determined to experience the Pickle Priest in all his glory.
You spotted him near the jousting arena, a small wooden stall with barrels adorned with hand-painted signs proclaiming "Pickle Blessings" and "Brine Be With You."
And there he was, the Pickle Priest himself. He was even more imposing in person. His Renaissance doublet strained slightly across his broad chest. The deep baritone you knew from TikTok filled the air as he addressed a customer.
“Hark, good sir! Dost thou seek solace in the salty embrace of a fermented cucumber?"
You waited patiently as he continued his spiel, each line delivered with the gravitas of a Shakespearean soliloquy, but twisted with pickle-related puns.
The customer, a burly man in a leather jerkin, left chuckling, clutching a pickle in a plastic baggy.
Taking a deep breath, you approached the stall.
“Greetings, Pickle Priest.”
You said, a slight tremor in your voice.
He turned to you, his blue eyes twinkling.
“And greetings to thee, fair maiden! What brings thee to my humble pickle purveyance?”
A giggle escaped your lips.
“I’ve seen your TikTok."
You confessed, your cheeks warming.
“I…I would like one pickle, please.”
The Pickle Priest threw back his head and let out a booming laugh.
“Ah, another disciple of the dill! Excellent! Then thou art in the right place. Behold!”
He gestured dramatically to a large wooden barrel filled with pickles of all shapes and sizes, submerged in a murky brine.
“A veritable cornucopia of cucumbers, each imbued with its own unique personality and potential for profound pickleness.”
You peered into the barrel, overwhelmed by the sheer variety.
“They all…look very pickled,”
You managed to say.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Some are sour, some are sweet, some are…well, let’s just say they’ve seen things."
"Tell me, what doth your heart desire? A pickle of power? A pickle of peace? Or perhaps a pickle with a particularly peculiar protuberance?”
You blushed, unsure how to answer. The Pickle Priest’s intense stare and the sheer absurdity of the situation were starting to overwhelm you, but in a good way.
“Surprise me, sir!”
You finally said, hoping that was the right answer.
The Pickle Priest nodded sagely.
“As you wish.”
He reached behind the counter and produced a clear plastic bag, the kind you’d normally get at a grocery store. He held it up, examining it critically.
“Now, for the perfect pickle…”
He turned back to the barrel and rummaged around for a moment, his hands disappearing into the brine. You watched, fascinated, as he emerged with a pickle that looked like it had lost a fight with a cheese grater. It was gnarled, bumpy, and definitely had a peculiar protuberance.
“Aha!”
He exclaimed triumphantly.
“Behold, the Warrior Warts! This pickle has seen battles, faced adversity, and emerged victorious. Its appearance may be…unconventional, but its spirit is indomitable.”
He held up the pickle, scrutinizing it. Then, to your utter surprise, he brought the plastic bag to his lips and pretended to lick it, rolling it between his fingers like a…well, like something else entirely.
Your eyes widened, and you had to stifle a laugh. He was really leaning into the character.
He winked, his deep voice rumbling with amusement.
“A little pre-pickling…ritual.”
He carefully placed the Warrior Warts into the plastic bag. He then lifted the bag high above his head, striking a dramatic pose.
“I hereby bless this pickle,”
He boomed, his voice echoing across the faire,
“in the name of all things good and pickle!”
He lowered the bag and presented it to you with a flourish.
“The Warrior Warts, blessed and ready for consumption. May it serve you well.”
You took the bag, your hand trembling slightly. The pickle, with its bizarre appearance and the sheer ridiculousness of the blessing, was making you laugh uncontrollably. Tears streamed down your face.
“How…how much do I owe you?”
You choked out between giggles.
The Pickle Priest’s smile widened.
“For a pickle blessed by the ancient arts, a mere five shillings.”
You fumbled in your purse for the money, still laughing. As you handed him the coins, he leaned in close, his voice a low rumble.
“Remember, fair maiden,”
He whispered,
“the power of the pickle is within you. Embrace the sour, savor the salty, and never underestimate the power of a good brine-soaked cucumber.”
You managed a weak smile.
“I…I won’t!”
You promised.
As you turned to leave, clutching your blessed pickle, the Pickle Priest called out-
“And tell your friends! The Pickle Priest accepts all pilgrims seeking pickling enlightenment!”
You walked away, still chuckling, the Warrior Warts swinging gently in its plastic bag. The Renaissance Faire had suddenly become a whole lot more interesting. You knew you’d never look at a pickle the same way again. And you definitely wouldn't be deleting your TikTok account anytime soon.
The Pickle Priest, with his deep voice, his absurd jokes, and his unwavering commitment to the art of pickling, had given you a memory- and a pickle- that you wouldn't soon forget. The brine be with you, indeed.
Soo this was a fun one!
Don’t forget, requests are always open and I can write for any character you’d like!
Hi i looooved your thanos x reader nail painting one. If you still write for Squide Game do you mind writing some similar during the first night in the games where reader gives hime one ring that has all the colors of the nails and cuddelds close to him cause its a scary place?
Hi sweetie <3!! Thank you so so much for a request and I'm so sorry for replying late (I was on hiatus). Let's get writing :D
El <3
Thanos- shared fears
⋆｡°✩
GN reader
<3 (SFW)
TW- none
Thanos is not all tuff and rude after all
Thanos
The metallic clang of the bunk bed jolted you awake.
The fluorescent lights of the Squid Game dorm hummed, casting long, unsettling shadows across the rows of identical green jumpsuits. You shivered, pulling your thin blanket tighter. This was it. Your first night.
Panic clawed at your throat. All around you, people stirred, murmuring nervously or trying to feign sleep. You focused on your breathing, trying to remember the calming techniques.
Then you saw him.
He was impossible to miss. A towering figure, easily six and a half feet tall, was attempting to squeeze himself onto the bunk below yours. His shoulders strained the fabric of his jumpsuit, and his unnaturally purple hair was flattened on one side. He looked… intimidating. Downright terrifying.
But then you noticed his hands. Large, calloused, but also… adorned?
Each nail was painted a different vibrant color – a rainbow of defiance against the drab green.
Player Thanos. That's what everyone was whispering.
He grunted as he finally managed to wedge himself into the bunk. His back was to you, but you could feel the sheer force radiating off him. He seemed so tough, so…unreachable.
He shifted, and you saw his face for the first time. It was harsh, etched with lines that spoke of hardship. His jaw was set, his eyes narrowed. But there was something else there, too. Something…vulnerable.
Swallowing your fear, you reached into your pocket. You’d almost forgotten you had it. It was a ring, a cheap, plastic thing you’d bought at a fair years ago. But it had all the colors of the rainbow, the same colors that adorned Thanos’s nails.
You took a deep breath and leaned over the edge of your bunk.
“Excuse me..”
You whispered, your voice trembling.
He turned his head slowly, regarding you with a look that could curdle milk.
“What?”
He growled, the sound surprisingly deep and resonant.
You shrunk back a little.
“I… I wanted to give you this.”
You extended your hand, the ring glinting in the harsh light.
He raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping from the ring to your face.
"What's that supposed to be?"
“It… it reminded me of your nails.” You stammered.
“I thought… maybe it would bring you some luck. It’s got all the colors.”
He stared at the ring for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, he reached out and took it. His fingers brushed against yours, sending a surprising jolt through you.
“Thanks..?”
He mumbled, his voice softer than you expected. He slipped the ring onto his little finger, where it looked ridiculously small.
Silence descended again. The weight of the situation pressed down on you, suffocating. Glancing around the room, you saw the fear mirrored in the faces of the other players. It was thick in the air, almost tangible.
You instinctively huddled under your blanket, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so scared.
Without thinking, you leaned closer to Thanos, drawn to the only source of perceived strength in the room. You gently pressed your body against his broad back.
He stiffened, his muscles tensing.
"Hey, what are you doing?"
He said, his voice low.
"I'm sorry.."
You whispered, tears welling up in your eyes.
"I'm just… really scared."
He was silent for a long moment. You expected him to push you away, to tell you to leave him alone. But he didn't.
Instead, he slowly relaxed his shoulders. After a beat, he shifted slightly to give you more space. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leaned back against you, offering a small, comforting pressure.
"It's alright."
He murmured, his voice barely audible.
"It's alright. Just… try to get some sleep."
His words were gruff, almost reluctant, but they were enough. The warmth of his body against yours, the subtle reassurance in his voice, eased the sharp edges of your fear. You closed your eyes, focusing on the rhythm of his breathing.
He was still Thanos, the intimidating giant with painted nails and a tough exterior. But for tonight, in this terrifying place, he was also something else: a protector, a source of unexpected comfort.
Sleep came slowly, but it came.
And as you drifted off, you knew that you weren't entirely alone. He had the ring, and you had Thanos, a strange, unlikely guardian in the heart of the Squid Game.
I can write anything for any character babes and don’t forget- requests are always open and welcome <33
I'm absolutely thrilled to be back! The semester has finally come to a close, and my trusty laptop is once again in working order. After a long hiatus, I can finally return to writing and to all of you.
I've missed our connection, and I'm eager to dive back in.
So, please, don't hesitate!
Feel free to ask questions, make requests, or share any ideas you have. I'm ready and waiting!
As a helpful reminder, you can find my masterlist of past works and my general guidelines for requests via the links below.
I see youre writing for squid game characters, can you make a oneshot about painting Thanoses nails?
Hii babyy <3 Thank you so much for a great request! Let's jump in and paint some nails! do you feel bonita?
El <3
Thanos- splash of color
⋆｡°✩
GN reader
<3 (SFW)
TW- none
Helping Thanos with his manicure
Thanos
The bass thrums through your chest, a low, comforting rumble that's become the soundtrack to your evenings. This is Thanos's home studio, a chaotic haven of wires, instruments, and half-written lyrics scrawled on every available surface. You love it here, especially when it's just the two of you.
"Yo, sunshine, you ready to make this great man look fly?"
Thanos's voice, laced with amusement, pulls you out of your reverie. He’s lounging on the oversized leather couch, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. His purple hair is a mess, and he's wearing one of his oversized hoodies, the sleeves swallowing his hands.
You giggle, setting the small tray of nail polishes and cotton pads on the coffee table.
"Ready when you are, you big goofball."
He dramatically throws his head back and groans.
"Did you just call me a goofball? I'm a lyrical genius, a rap god, a–"
"A dork who needs a manicure?"
You finish for him, popping open the first nail polish bottle. The scent of chemicals mixes with the lingering smell of incense and the faint undercurrent of his signature cologne.
Thanos grins, the light glinting off the silver ring in his ear.
"Alright, alright, you win. But you better make these paws look good, I got a music video shoot tomorrow and the camera don’t lie."
He holds out his hands, the muscles in his forearms flexing under his sweater. He has long, slender fingers, and the idea of painting them makes you smile.
You take his left hand first, gently resting it in yours. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, a comforting weight. You carefully begin to paint his thumb a vibrant green.
"So, why the green thumb?"
Thanos asks, tilting his head to watch you work.
"Because it reminds me of you when we first met in the park," you explain, concentrating on applying the polish without smudging. "You were trying to feed the pigeons, remember? And you had this huge green stain on your t-shirt from a spilled smoothie."
He laughs, a deep rumble that vibrates through you.
"Ah, yes. The legendary smoothie incident. You thought I was a menace, a bird-chasing hooligan."
"I thought you were endearing,"
you correct softly, switching to the purple polish for his index finger.
"A bit of a menace, maybe, but mostly endearing. You still are."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, babe."
He winks, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes, your heart fluttering anyway.
The purple flows smoothly over his nail, the rich hue a stark contrast to his skin tone. You carefully do the middle finger with a dark blue.
“This one is wild, just like your lyrics, you know?”
You murmur.
"You actually listen to those ramblings?"
He asks, a hint of genuine surprise in his voice.
"Of course, you goof. They're amazing."
You pause, then add,
"Besides, you sneak little messages in there just for me, don't you?"
A faint blush dusts across his cheeks, a rare sight that makes your stomach flip.
"Maybe...."
He mumbles, looking away. You can tell he's trying to play it cool, but you see the corners of his mouth twitch.
The ring finger is next, a bold red.
“This one’s for your passion, always burning bright.”
You say, your voice soft.
Finally, the pinky gets a coat of calming beige.
“And this one’s just a bit like you, warm and comfy when you’re not trying to be all gangste.,”
You tease.
You step back to admire your work, your fingers still tingling from the contact with his skin. Each nail a burst of color, a small piece of you on him. Thanos holds his hands up, turning them this way and that, his eyes sparkling.
"Damn, sunshine. You outdid yourself. These are fire."
He declares, a genuine smile splitting his face.
"When will I do yours, huh? Next time?"
You laugh, moving to kiss him on his cheek.
"Only if you promise to let me pick the colors."
He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer.
"Anything for you, mi amor. Anything."
He pulls back slightly to look you in the eyes he adds-
“Maybe I was a bit of a douche before. Sorry sunshine.”
“You always are, but I still love you.”
You state, leaning into him.
The bass continues to thrum, the warm sounds of the city filtering through the thick walls. In the heart of his chaotic world, with colorful nails and the promise of soft kisses, you find your own perfect little love story right here with him.
Also, here is the nail design! (Thank you 'jullnegative' on Pinterest <3)
I can write anything for any character babes and don’t forget- requests are always open and welcome <33
The air in the brightly lit room vibrated with a nervous hum. The mingle game had just ended, a chaotic ballet of terrified players scurrying to form groups, the deafening crack of gunfire punctuating the end like a gruesome period on a grim sentence.
You, heart hammering against your ribs, scanned the crowd, desperately searching for him. Dae-ho.
You’d seen his face just moments before the last game started, the worry lines etched deeper than usual around his kind eyes, a stark contrast to the brutal setting. He’d given you a fleeting, almost hesitant smile, a silent promise that he’d try his best to find you, to stay safe. Now, you were terrified he hadn’t made it.
The memory of the chaos played in your mind like a broken record. The panic-stricken faces, the desperate scrambles, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground. You'd managed to find a group, narrowly avoiding the laser sights that had flickered with deadly intent. But what about Dae-ho?
You pressed your hand to your chest, trying to quell the rising tide of panic. You had grown so attached to him in this awful place. His quiet strength, his gentle humor, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled – those were the things you had clung to in this nightmare. He was your anchor, a beacon in the darkness.
The heavy metal door at the end of the room groaned open, signaling the end of the game. Players, a mixture of relief and terror etched on their faces, began to shuffle back into the dormitory. You pushed through the crowd, every step a plea, every breath a silent prayer. You searched the faces, your vision blurring with unshed tears.
And then, you saw him.
He was sitting on his bunk, his shoulders slumped, head bowed. He was pale, his normally vibrant dark eyes now dull with worry. He was scanning the room just like you had been, his head turning slightly with every shift of the crowd of players, his gaze desperate. As you edged closer, you noticed he was trembling.
He was alive.
The relief that washed over you was so powerful it almost buckled your knees. You started towards his bed, and it wasn’t long before he saw you too. His head shot up, his eyes widening in disbelief. In his eyes was a mixture of utter relief, profound sadness and love that made your heart ache.
"You're okay.."
He whispered, his voice thick with emotion, as if daring to even believe what his eyes were showing him. He stood up quickly, the sound lost in the general hum of the room.
You didn't hesitate. You broke into a run, your heart pounding a joyous rhythm against your ribs. You didn’t care about the other players, the guards, none of it mattered. All that mattered was reaching him.
He met you halfway, his arms already outstretched. The moment you collided, his arms wrapped around you like a steel cage, holding you so tight you felt his heart beating against yours. It was as if he was trying to melt you into him, hold you in place, make sure you weren’t just some figment of his imagination. You buried your face in his shoulder, your own arms clinging to him with equal ferocity.
You were finally safe in his embrace, and you never wanted to leave.
"I thought…"
His voice was muffled against your hair,
"I thought I'd lost you."
His grip tightened, his body trembling slightly. He was gripping you like you made him whole, and you understood why, you felt the same.
"I'm here,"
You whispered back, your own voice choked with tears.
"I'm here, Dae-ho."
He pulled back slightly, his hands cupping your face, his gaze searching your eyes as if he was checking every detail to confirm you were really there.
"I was so scared,"
He confessed, his voice hoarse.
"I saw the flashes… I thought..."
He couldn’t finish the sentence, the unspoken terror hanging heavy between you.
You knew what he meant. The memories of the marine days, the explosions, the screams, the death. The fear of losing those he cared about. This place had brought it all back, amplified it, made it a constant, gnawing presence in his mind.
You reached up, your hand caressing his cheek, your thumb gently wiping away a stray tear that had escaped his eye.
“I was scared too..”
You admitted, your voice barely audible.
"I thought... I thought something bad had happened to you."
You knew your fears hadn't begun to compare to his, but he needed to know you had been waiting for him, worried for him. You saw the sadness in his eyes, a deep well of pain, but there was also a flicker of something else– a quiet, burning love that mirrored your own.
For long moments, you just held each other, the rest of the room fading into a blurry background. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the warmth of his embrace a refuge from the cold, harsh reality of your situation. You could feel the tension slowly leaving his body, replaced by the familiar comfort you found in each other's presence.
He leaned his forehead against yours, his breathing still slightly labored.
"Don't ever do that again.."
He murmured, his voice a low rumble.
"Don't ever leave me."
He wasn’t demanding it, just stating a longing, a fear. Pleading.
"I won't."
You promised, your fingers threading through his hair.
"I promise. I'll stay by your side."
You knew it was an impossible promise, in this place, nothing was guaranteed. But in this moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you were both alive, that you had found each other again.
You pulled back, wanting to see his face again. He smiled then, and though it was small, it reached his eyes, erasing some of the worry. His hands grasped yours, holding them tightly.
“Thank you.”
He said, looking at you with such sweetness that made your heart melt.
“Thank you for being you.”
You knew that the game wasn't over. You both knew that survival here was a matter of luck and grim determination. But in this moment, as you stood there, hand in hand, in the middle of that awful dormitory, you felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could get through this nightmare together.
The world outside these walls no longer mattered. The only world that mattered was the one you had created together. Where you could feel safe, within each other’s arms, two souls trying to cling to what little humanity was left in this twisted game. And with Dae-ho by your side, that small, fragile hope felt a little bit stronger. You knew, somehow, that you would face whatever came next, together. His love for you was stronger than death itself, and it was keeping you alive.
Hello loves!! I hope you like this one.
Also I'm so so sorry for NOT writing anymore- my laptop had issues and my keyboard is still kind of broken but I will make sure to post more.
Don’t forget, requests are always open and I can write for any character you’d like!
I saw your Gladiator II posr about Marcus Acacius. Can you do one for emperor Geta? Maybe like, his wife doing his makeup or something? Thanksies much
Hello sweetie!! Thank you so much for a sweet request! Ofc I can, I would love to write something about our ginger boi! I hope you'll like it <3
El <3
Emperor Geta- a crown of laurel
𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼
FEM reader
<3 (SFW)
TW- none
HUSBAND! Geta
Helping your husband put on his diva makeup
Emperor Geta
You stand in the dimly lit chamber of Emperor Geta, a space filled with opulence tinged with a sense of foreboding. Rich crimson drapes hang from the intricately etched walls, adding to the weightiness that comes with ruling an empire. The air smells faintly of myrrh and olive oil, infused with the tension that accompanies the daily grind of power.
Geta, tall and stoic, sits before a bronze mirror, his ginger hair untamed and wild. The scowl on his face is deep-set, revealing the grumpiness that the empire has come to know, but as you approach, that familiar warmth accompanies you.
You kneel beside him and gently coax his tousled hair into place, your fingers slipping through the strands as you breathe in the earthy smell of him.
“Stop that!”
He grumbles, though the corner of his lips betrays a tiny smirk.
“You’re making me look too presentable.”
“Not possible, my love.”
You respond, a playful lilt in your voice that causes his eyes to soften just the tiniest bit.
“Besides, you’ve got to look magnificent for the people. They expect it.”
He rolls his eyes, and you can’t help but chuckle.
“The people? I’d be better off in the arena with a band of lions than attempting to please that crowd.”
“And yet, you still go out and face them every day. You feel the weight of their expectations, yes?”
“Expectations?”
He growls, his eyes flashing with the familiar fire.
“You mean their incessant need to be entertained. They see me as a man of strength, yet I feel more like a jester in a gilded cage.”
As you laughed softly, placing your hands on his shoulders you can’t resist the urge to tease him a bit more.
“You could always start juggling, my Emperor. I’m sure the Romans would appreciate a new form of entertainment.”
His laughter is unexpected, rich and deep, breaking the rigid facade he keeps so carefully.
“Ah, but would it please you? That’s the only opinion I truly value.”
You lean closer, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, the warmth of your touch dissolving the walls he keeps erect.
“It pleases me when you are happy, and when you’re true to yourself.”
"Do I really have to wear this?"
He growls, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder as he glances at the small wooden table arrayed with eye paints made from crushed minerals and oils.
The red and black pigments are striking, akin to his fierce persona.
You smile, your heart fluttering as you sit infront of him.
“It’s part of the ceremony, love. The people wish to see their emperor at his proudest.”
He lets out a huff, rolling his eyes, but you can see the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement.
The Emperor Geta reputedly hates everyone- his brother, all men, women, and even the senators of the empire- all except for you. You’re his hidden sanctuary amidst the chaos of politics and gladiatorial bloodshed, and he knows it just as well as you do.
As you sit before him, you pick up a small brush, its bristles softened from frequent use. Carefully, you dip it into the rich black powder and bring it to his face.
You trace a line along his brow, and he flinches slightly, but then relaxes into the soothing motion of your hands.
With a practiced ease, you paint the colors onto him, transforming the grumpy emperor into a vibrant figure worthy of awe.
“Why must you always make me look like a fool?”
He complains, though the way he leans closer tells you he doesn’t mean it.
“Fools are often the most adored, my love,”
You murmur, your heart swelling with affection.
“And you-” you apply the black beneath his eyes, “-are anything but foolish.”
He watches you, an amused glint in his eye. His gruff demeanor begins to soften under your gentle touch.
You tap a tiny bit of the red under his lower lashes and before he can protest, you lean in closer.
“Just a little more. You’re almost too handsome to behold,”
You whisper with a teasing grin.
“Too handsome?”
He repeats, eyebrows raising dramatically.
“You’re going to have me executed by my own guards with that declaration.”
“Perhaps..”
You giggle softly, your fingers now brushing through his tousled hair, taming the fiery strands that refuse to behave. He slowly gets up, admiring your work in the mirror.
“But only if you let them catch your heart, my sweet emperor.”
With that, you pull out a laurel wreath, its golden leaves shimmering slightly in the dim light. As you place it gently atop his head, he gazes down at you, his heart softening.
The small gesture carries a weight of tradition, but it means something deeper in this private moment- the acknowledgment of your bond.
The corners of his mouth break into a rare smile, and your heart skips a beat.
“You and your ridiculous notions.."
He says, half-grumpy yet completely smitten.
“Well, how else will I regain the admiration of an emperor who frightens off everyone else?”
You tease, slipping your hands across his shoulders. He leans slightly into your touch, resting his forehead against yours.
“And you, my treasured wife, have far too much power over me.”
He admits, his voice turning low and sincere.
“What mortal man could resist the charm of his empress?”
At this closeness, you feel the tension of the outside world fade away. Here, inside these four walls, amidst pigments and laughter, he is not the feared emperor but the man who adores you unwaveringly, the softness of his heart warm and inviting.
He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.
“You should know by now that it's only you who can change the hard shell surrounding this heart of mine.”
A breath catches in your throat as warmth blooms across your cheeks.
“Only for you, Geta.”
You reply gently, knowing that for all his grumbling and gruffness, you unearth a sweetness in him that is uniquely precious.
With a swift motion, he closes the distance between you, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. The softness of the moment feels eternal, as the world outside fades, leaving just your laughter and the rich colors of ancient Rome swirling around you.
“Let us show them the emperor with a heart?”
You whisper as he pulls away slightly, a grin spreading across his face once more.
With renewed energy, he stands tall, ready to face the adoring crowd beyond the door. Together, you step into the light, hand in hand- a fierce emperor with the heart of a loyal warrior, and the empress who has tamed his wild spirit.
Here we go!! A well deserved happy end for our ginger model! I actually made this suuuuper long TwT
Don’t forget, requests are always open and I can write for any character you’d like!
