#/makes me miss the joy and innocence of childhood | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sukirichi · 4 months ago

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[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 016 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst. infidelity. manipulation. lying. mentions of kidnapping. blackmail. sex tapes.

notes. this chapter is dedicated to the lovely @shhh-anon who drew me a lovely naoya piece for some omi crumbs (but i have no self-control and wrote a whole chapter with the long awaited kiyoomi pov!) thank you again shhh anon for that scrumptious naoya art <3 also, please read carefully as there will be lore drop in this chapter!

wc. 11.3k

series masterlist

[ SIXTEEN ] feels like we had matching wounds but mine’s still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine now, feels like we buried alive something that never died, so God, it hurt when i found out.

Kiyoomi stood alone in the waiting room of the Yuzuru Estate, surrounded by the fragments and echoes of your past.

The walls were adorned with your childhood photos, each frame capturing the moments of innocence and joy that he now yearned to be a part of. Tracing the contours of your smile in those pictures, his fingers hovered the glass as if he touched the memories themselves. Each image had perfectly captured the bits of your soul, a glimpse into the life you had before he knew you, and he felt your presence in every corner of the room.

The scent of petrichor lingered, mingling with the faint aroma of blooming flowers from the garden outside. The Yuzuru Estate smelled just like you – of innocence, unbridled happiness, and untainted purity of heart.

He could picture it already – you as a little girl, running through these halls with unabashed laughter, your joy as light and delicate as gossamer threads dancing in the breeze.

His heart ached with the knowledge that he had missed those moments, that he had come into your life too late to share those memories. Often, he wondered... if he’d met you as a child like Tooru did Maiko, would the Queen have arranged a marriage between you two?

He figured if he did, then it was a wedding neither parties would be opposed to.

As Kiyoomi waited, the silence of the house seemed to make the voices in his louder, each one a bittersweet reminder of his unspoken affections. Your smiles, so radiant and pure, were the cynosure of his existence, yet they were never meant for him. He wished, with an incendiary intensity, that he could be the one to bring that joy to your face, to be the one you looked at with those pretty, sparkling eyes.

Instead, those eyes were filled with crystalline tears, and your smile was always pulled at the opposite direction.

Kiyoomi studied your photos as he roamed the waiting room, seeing not just the girl you were, but the woman you’d become. The depth of your soul was evident in every image, your very essence woven into the fabric of the house itself. It was as if you’d been molded by graceful hands with the utmost care. Carved to perfection, adorned with elegance, and draped with dignified regality. You would’ve made the perfect Princess if you weren’t tied to their worst Prince.

And so he’d asked himself... what if he’d been yours?

Had you been his wife, his Princess, would you have been happier? It was a silly question, that he knew. Nothing but fleeting musings. Because he knew the Crown never made anyone happy, and the Palace was not a place where childish concepts such as ‘love’ existed.

Yes, he longed to hold your hand, to feel the warmth of your touch, but he knew that such moments were only dreams. You were terribly in love with your husband despite all his wrongdoings. And as much as he hated it, Kiyoomi couldn’t bring himself to convince you otherwise. Even that felt unfair for him. He wanted to be loved because he’d been chosen as the one you loved, not simply because he was the better one. For now, he would remain your steadfast friend, your confidant, and ultimately would find solace in this unspoken connection you shared.

He’d already made a vow to himself to cherish every moment he had with you, even if it meant hiding his true feelings. Being your friend was better than being nobody at all, and he would hold onto that role with all the strength he had. Because his love, a constant and silent force, would be there for you always – even if you never knew the depth of his longing.

“Your Highness!” a feminine voice interrupted his thoughts. Kiyoomi turned away from your framed photographs, greeted by the sight of your parents descending the stairs. “What an unexpected visit. Oh, please do sit down, we’ll have some tea served shortly after.”

Kiyoomi did as he was told.

Your parents, even with their faces lined with crow’s feet and prominent smile lines, were still exactly the same as he’d met them from years ago. Kind, genuine, and compassionate – he briefly recalled how generations ago that there’d been talk spreading about how the Yuzuru Clan would’ve made great country leaders. That if ever the Suna Clan failed and continued with their frivolous endeavours and the Kingdom was plunged into poverty and hunger, your clan would be next to take over.

It had all been nothing but word of the mouth, however. The Suna Clan, if anything, was annoyingly persistent and remained in power for the next years to come. Whilst you, the Yuzuru Clan, remained perfectly content being the Kingdom’s spear.

The tea arrived not long after. The three of them settled into the plush cushions of the settee, the sounds of the teacups clinking against porcelain filling the room.

“Lady Yuzuru, Lord Yuzuru,” smiled Kiyoomi as he gestured to the room, unable to take his eyes off one certain photograph – the one of you and Rintaro, taken during the courtship phase, with his hand wrapped around your waist and you leaning into his chest. He’d placed a white gardenia at the crook of your ear, both your smiles wide and untouched by reality. With a clench of his jaw, Kiyoomi plastered a polite smile on his face and tore his gaze away from it. “You have such a lovely home.”

“Oh, you flatter us too much,” your mother waved her hand, dabbing a handkerchief at her bottom lip before intertwining her hands at her lap. “May I ask what brings you here, my Prince?”

Straight to the point, just as he’d hoped. Setting his tea down, Kiyoomi leant forward. “I’m inclined to say royal duties; Her Majesty has insisted that Her Highness make herself known in the Palace. However... I am here for more personal reasons,” he confessed, his composure finally falling as he dared sneak a glance upstairs, where he hoped your room would be. It’d been three days since you all left the beach house, three days since Rintaro returned to the palace alone.

“I’m very worried for your daughter. How is she?”

Your parents shared a look with each other before your mother sighed, the sound disappointed and crushing him by the core. “So you know about the affair as well.”

Kiyoomi kept his head down. “Yes. It is with a heart heavy with regret that I admit I kept it a secret, too.”

“Pardon me, Sir, if I may be overstepping but... why couldn’t you warn out dear girl? You’ve met her. Your mother knows us and our daughter – you know our girl a sweet, innocent one. She didn’t deserve any of this,” cut in your father, his more-than-salt and pepper hair glinting under the chandeliers. “If you knew, if any of you knew all this time, why didn’t anyone say anything against the Crown Prince’s courtship?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I don’t have any excuse for my behaviour,” Kiyoomi sighed, “But I am hoping that you would give me another chance to repent for what I’ve done. I can no longer stand watching the Princess suffer at the hands of my brother and my wife. And I assure you, I have nothing but pure intentions. I simply... I simply want the best for her, my Lady. That is why I am here today – to offer my sincerest apologies, and to see for myself if Her Highness is doing well.”

Lady Yuzuru stood up and threw her handkerchief on the ground. Tears brimmed her eyes.

“She isn’t. Of course she isn’t. She has been locked up in her room for days, refusing to eat, or-or to speak to us. She is heartbroken and won’t even let us comfort her,” she clutched at her chest as if it ached, and immediately, Lord Yuzuru was beside her. His arms wrapping around her shoulders for comfort. “Your sincerity is flattering, but what can you do for her? You cannot take away her pain. She is married, and divorce is not an option. Tell me, my Prince, what can you do for her?”

Kiyoomi sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He’d already braced himself for this – to have your parents’ fury be directed at him. He told himself he would take it all with stride, but even he knew his honest answer was not the most acceptable.

“I’m afraid this is a battle in which she has to learn the way out for herself. Although I give you my word, I won’t let her face any of this alone. I already promised the Princess I would be by her side at all times, and I don’t intend on backing out anytime soon.”

Your parents exchanged another glance, their brows drawn together in worry. He couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t an easy decision to make – trusting the Crown Prince only for him to break their daughter’s heart, and now having to place that trust on another Prince, the husband of their ‘son’s’ mistress, no less.

“Then we will trust you on this,” they said, and Kiyoomi raised his hands in surprise. It’s enough for him to shoot up in his seat, your mother immediately raising her hand to warn him. “Please, Sir. Don’t make us regret welcoming you into our home.”

Kiyoomi was speechless.

“Thank you, my Lord, my Lady. I promise I won’t waste this opportunity.”

Lord Yuzuru nods, albeit still hesitant. “Can we trust you to look after her for now? I’m afraid duty calls, and we’ve already missed out on a lot because we were too worried over her.”

“She is in safe hands. I promise.”

Your parents left shortly with a quick farewell. Lady Yuzuru needed to attend to the family business as it expanded every day, and Lord Yuzuru spent most of his time in the Palace – always on guard, always prepared for a war that loomed overhead as the surrounding nations turned their backs on Inarizaki. The war never happened, of course. A false sense of security still loomed over the Kingdom thanks to the Queen’s tireless efforts. Still, it was only a matter of time. With the throne losing its power and the Kingdom one scandal away from damnation, one couldn’t be too lax.

Not that any of it was Kiyoomi’s concern. He had more pressing matters in hand. Racing up the stairs, he quickly found your room after being guided by a servant, and softly rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Princess? It’s me, Kiyoomi. May I enter?” No response, not even a stirring groan or a shaky breath. Complete but utter silence. His worry deepened, and Kiyoomi dared to push the door open, his eyes adjusting to the darkness enveloping the room. “Princess?”

You are nothing but a curled-up lump in your bed, your form shivering as you were swathed in heavy blankets. And your face was pale and clammy as the dim lights danced off of your skin. Breaths shallow and labored, your eyes fluttered weakly as you stayed conscious – your head turning in his direction.

Seeing you in such a fragile state when you’d been alit with joy days ago... Kiyoomi’s heart clenched. Something dark pulled and tugged at his very soul.

In quick strides, he’d already crossed his way to your bed, the mattress dipping beneath his knee. He pulled you into his lap without another word, his hands coming to rest at your forehead as you groaned with each movement. As if scalded, he retreats his hand. “Oh, God. You’re burning up.”

Taking care of you does not come as a second thought to him. It is the first, as your safety and well-being was his concern. In the next moment, he’d gently laid you back down on your bed and darted out of the room, searching for water, medicine, and politely asking the resident cooks if he could prepare some soup for you. He didn’t doubt the cooks knew how to, yet he also couldn’t fight off this urge that he had to take care of you. Not the estate staff, not the doctors, not anyone. Quite frankly, he didn’t trust anyone anymore to lay their hands on you. It had to be him, even if it meant running back and forth to dampen towels and changing it every hour to lower your temperature.

Around the third towel, when the sun has begun to set and his phone went off with multiple ignored messages, you finally stirred awake. “Rin? Is that you?” Your voice is weak, throaty and scratched. Your eyes fluttered open as you gazed at the figure beside you, nestling into the warm palm that’s dabbing a damp towel onto your face. “I thought you would never return.”

A sharp of pang pierced his heart. It was a humbling experience – to know that even in your weakest moments, you sought out a man that wasn’t him.

“Rest, Princess,” he muttered, caressing your cheeks as you sighed into his touch – or your husband’s touch – and slowly went back to sleep. I won’t leave you.”

As you drifted back into a peaceful sleep, and your breathing finally began to even out, Kiyoomi told himself to relax.

He stayed vigilantly by your side, his eyes never leaving your pallid face. He feared that if he dared look away for even the briefest of moments, you would wilt before him, and it’d be too late for him to catch you. So he checked your temperature periodically, the gentle press of his hand on your forehead filled with a tender concern. Once reassured your fever was going down little by little, he meticulously arranged the medicine prescribed to you on the beside table – ensuring everything would be within your reach for when you wake. Not that he’d leave your side until you’d woken up. The Palace Guards would have to break down the door to your room and have a fleet of them personally drag him away from you before he even thought to go someplace else.

However, he was only human, and he’d never experienced having this level of worry and anxiety over someone’s health before.

Soon, exhaustion crept up at him, tugging at his eyelids and his muscles aching. He fought against the need to sleep, determined that he would remain awake in case you called out for him. Him, not Rintaro, because he foolishly hoped that you would realize it was never your husband who cared this much for you.

Each time his head dipped forward in weariness, Kiyoomi shook himself awake, unwilling to leave you unguarded for even a moment. Your parents had entrusted you to his care, and he wasn’t going to let them down now.

The hours passed by slowly, the quiet of the night filled with the steady rhythm of your breaths and the occasional rustle of the sheets. In those still, lonely hours, Kiyoomi watched you as he sat across the room – his cheek in his hands, his eyes half-lidded. Much like the flickering candles, his love burned brighter, interweaving with his own fatigue and heartache. His emotions stormed around his soul like a typhoon – his affection for you battling with the hatred he began harbouring towards his brother.

How could one call himself a man when he put his wife into such a weakened state? Your name and the word ‘weak’ shouldn’t even be in the same sentence. Yet Rintaro had a penchant for making the impossible possible, and he’d reduced such a great woman – a great Princess, even – into the battered, bruise-hearted, and shivering person that you were now.

Kiyoomi is nodding off moments later when he heard a slight groan. His eyes shot open, his body lurching forward as if your presence tugged on him like a rope. He’s knee-deep in your bed and cradling your head when you finally turn to him, and realization sinks in.

He waited for it – held his breath and soothed his heart for the hurt to come should disappointment ever cross your face that he hadn’t been Rintaro. It seemed, however, that the Gods decided to grace him tonight, because you never did. Instead, your face lit up, and your chapped lips tugged into a smile as best as it could. And he still found you to be the prettiest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on – even with sleep-crusted eyes and smelling of sickly sweat.

Just the sight of you, so wholly trusting and happy to see him, made him want to engulf you in his arms and never let you go.

Kiyoomi never does. He didn’t have the right, because friends didn’t go around kissing their friend’s foreheads. That wouldn’t be what companionship meant, at least not in his book. He simply holds you, and lets you crawl into his lap as he reaches for the soup he’d made prior. “You’re looking better,” he commends, placing his hand on your forehead one last time as pride fills him with each spoonful you ate. “Is the soup good?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s delicious,” you beamed at him, and placed the bowl back to your bedside table. Kiyoomi had expected you to move away and slide off his lap, yet made no complaints – because why would he? – when you remained on his lap, legs tucked beside his knees and nimble fingers toying with the strings of his shirt. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“Kanami made me learn all sorts of things. She said, uh...” shyly, Kiyoomi scratches the back of his neck and looks away. “...That women like it when a man was a great cook.”

Your giggle was instantaneous, airy. “She would be right about that,” you agreed, the smile on your face softening as you placed your palms on his chest, right above where his heart lay. He prayed desperately to the Gods you wouldn’t notice how fast his heart raced at the contact. Gazing up at him from under your lashes, you tipped your head to the side. The straps of your nightgown slipped on one shoulder at the motion, revealing smooth, bare skin and the lack of anything else underneath. “Were you... the one who nursed me back to health?”

Kiyoomi shifted you on his lap as to not let your knee accidentally graze his groin. “Yes,” he croaked out, finding it hard to speak when you were so... defenceless like this. It makes his throat dry up, and as subtly as he could, uses a finger to hook your strap back to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you pat his chest, completely unaware of your hold on him. “And I’m sorry too, that you had to see me in such a state. I swear I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

His eyes darted to your face, offended that you would even imply such. “You are never a burden.”

You smiled at him like you didn’t believe his words. It strikes the dagger of hurt an inch deeper, a pain which he told himself to not take personally. He reminds himself you’ve trusted, over and over, and have been betrayed, over and over again. It must be a reflexive response by now.

“What brings you here, Kiyoomi?” your voice fills the expanse of the room as dread paints your face. “Did something bad happen?”

Kiyoomi swallowed. He’d been so engrossed in looking after you he’d momentarily forgotten why he was here in the first place. It suddenly weighed on him now – the Queen’s wrath at Rintaro’s sudden announcement to divorce you, her orders to bring you back immediately, and the flashing of the muted calls he’d deliberately ignored.

“I believe we should talk about that somewhere else. You could use some fresh air.”

You and Kiyoomi wandered through the sprawling gardens of your family estate under the tender glow of the moonlight, your footsteps whispering softly against the dew-kissed grass. The night air was crisp and invigorating – which you welcomed happily, as it was a great change from the stuffiness of your bedroom.

With each step taken, Kiyoomi’s hand brushed against yours, your fingers occasionally intertwining as he offers his silent gestures of comfort. There was a palpable sense of dread now that reality demanded your full attention, an undercurrent of foreboding that neither of you dared to voice, yet it was tempered – even slightly – by the solace you found in each other’s presence.

You told him everything that transpired at the beach house – the ‘romantic’ dinner date, Rintaro’s odd behaviour of acting like Iris never existed, Iris’ sudden appeal for peace. The entire time, Kiyoomi listened without interruptions.

You moved slowly, as if savouring each moment, knowing very well the fragile peace of the evening was fleeting like everything else.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi spoke after a while, his head ducked down.

“What for?” you grinned, “That my husband, who never loved me, finally decided to leave me after all?” you waved a hand in the air. “It’s nothing. It was bound to happen. If anything, I feel a little relieved, you know? It’s like... I’ve wanted to end everything all this time, but I just wasn’t brave enough to call it quits. I was afraid that if I said goodbye, then I would be admitting that he’d made a fool out of me,” you released a shuddering breath, watching as Kiyoomi lifted his gaze and his piercing eyes looked at your soul, through your soul. You found that his penetrating and intrusive gaze didn’t feel... unwelcomed. It was as if you knew that you could show him your worst and everything that made up your flaws, and he would still find a way to notice what was beautiful instead.

He looked at you the way you wished your husband did.

Just like that, Rintaro’s betrayal returned to you in full force, and your smile wavered. “But now that he’s the one who’s decided it, it’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I never knew how difficult it was – deciding when or how it had to end.”

“You’ve been brave and strong. Don’t undermine yourself.”

“Was I strong, though? I thought I’d been nothing but a fool.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened with something unreadable. “You were in love. It happens to the best of us.”

You couldn’t help it – your smile was genuine, affection pouring out of your every pore. “You know, Kiyoomi, that’s one of my favourite things about you,” you softened at his taken-aback expression, mustering up the courage to close the distance as you loop your hand around his bicep, and giving it a firm squeeze. “How you always know what to say, and always at the right time. You’re charming without having to try. And when I’m with you... I feel like everything is going to be okay. Is that weird?”

With nothing but the moonlight to illuminate his face, Kiyoomi’s reddened cheeks were partially hidden. “Not at all. I’m honoured I could be a source of solace to you.”

“I hope you feel that way with me too,” you tell him, “I’ve thought about it the entire time I was here – how Rintaro sounded so determined to divorce me. When I asked him about the pregnancy, he looked... mortified, and I couldn’t fathom if it was because he never wanted me to find out. He didn’t look happy about it, but why wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what he always wanted? To have a future with the one he loves?” your brows furrowed as you said it aloud. Moving forward, you walked with your hand still clutching Kiyoomi’s arm, the both of you content enough to not pull away. “Although it struck me as odd... we’re a royal couple. Divorce is impossible. But he’d been so confident, so sure. Like he knew something could tear us apart and it’d be acceptable in the eyes of the law.”

Kiyoomi hummed in thought.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what he was thinking about either. I never really understood my brother, and I’ve long given up on trying,” he shrugs, “He’s a complicated man. That’s what happens when you’re lost and have no true sense of self.”

“He is lost, isn’t he?” you agreed, lifting your free hand to stare at the wedding ring you found so difficult to take off. “I don’t know what happens next now, but it seems as if I’m getting divorced soon.”

“That is good news, is it not?”

“Perhaps,” you mused, “Perhaps it is.”

You couldn’t ignore the call of your duties. It was often an upsetting reminder, the knowledge that being a Princess meant more than wearing frilly gowns, attending balls, and kissing your Prince Charming as you awaited a happy-ever-after.

If you’d known sooner that being a Princess meant being the Crown’s property as well... a small part of you might have hesitated. Might have.

It felt gruelling having to tear yourself away from the safety of your parents’ embrace. For the past few days, you’d been coddled, kissed over by a hundred soothing words. Something a Princess shouldn’t be doing or wanting, to be precise, especially not when you were expected to lead the country someday. It was a show of weakness, an act of incompetence. The Queen never failed to remind you that you weren’t your parents’ child anymore. You were of the Crown, and therefore had to act as the Crown – with dignity, with poise, and quite frankly – with very little heart.

With much hesitance, you bid farewell to the Yuzuru Estate. You left everything behind – the warmth and safety of your bed where no one could taint it, the reassuring and comforting smiles of your parents, and the unwavering support of your people. You headed straight for the Palace not long after, the feeling akin to a lamb walking into slaughter.

Still, you couldn’t deny – Inarizaki struck you mute with its orphic allure.

The cityscape shimmered under the glow of twilight as the royal convoy wound its way through the bustling streets. People of all kind waved and cheered at your arrival. Their smiles, innocent and genuine, sparked all the way from outside the vehicle. Silently, you waved back, hoping that it seemed real enough and no one would be able to tell the tracks of dried tears behind your makeup. And there, the palace loomed ever closer in the distance.

You watched as the grand edifice grew larger with each passing moment. Its towering spires and intricately carved facades were bathed in a golden hue, showcasing its storied past and enduring presence.

Like heaven on earth, a former devotee had once said, their arms gesturing all throughout the Palace grounds. Here where is the light touched us from the skies above, where the Gods have blessed us with their mercy and gave us their angels in the skins of Kings.

As a child, you’d gazed upon the palace with wide-eyed wonder, picturing the Palace as a bastion of wisdom and power – where the rules of the country made decisions that shaped the lives of the people they ruled upon. It had seemed almost holy, a symbol of reverence and awe. But now, as you approached the gates once more, you felt a deep, unsettling sense of selcouth – a strange, eerie unfamiliarity with the very place you had to call home.

The limousine glided through the ornate iron gates, flanked by guards in crisp uniforms.

The grandeur of the palace grounds, with its meticulously manicured gardens and majestic fountains, should have felt welcoming, but instead, it loomed with an imposing majesty that sent a shiver down your spine. The towering walls and endless corridors, once symbols of security and strength, now seemed to whisper secrets of a bygone era, of lives and stories woven into the very stones that built this palace brick by brick.

Stepping out of the car, you were immediately greeted by a retinue of attendants – their faces polite yet distant.

A lamb walking to its slaughter, indeed.

You knew exactly why you were called to return. The Queen had been insisting to speak with you, a call you ignored as you buried yourself into your sheets at the Yuzuru Estate. To say that you’d made Her Majesty livid would be an understatement. That much was clear from the staff’s expressions, their eyes hollow and lips set into a thin, grim line.

If you looked hard enough, maybe one of them would even look at you with pity.

Carefully, you made your way up the marble steps, each click of your heels on the carpeted floor echoing in the silence of the evening. It was eerily silent, like a predator lurked around the corner – simply waiting for the perfect opportunity to lunge for its kill.

The palace doors opened before you, greeting you with its bright, golden beams. Crystal chandeliers shimmered against the polished floors, the opulent decor speaking of centuries of wealth and power. The floors were too clean, too polished, like even a speck of dirt would be considered offensive.

At the back of your mind, you wondered if that held true for the monarchy as well. If the Queen scrubbed everything clean that is shone hard enough to deceive people into thinking that’s what they were – without fault, without flaw, without sin.

As you walked through the cavernous space, alienation blanketed you. The palace, for all its splendour, remained a mystery to you. You knew its rooms and corridors, its hidden passages and secret gardens that Rintaro revealed, but you didn’t know its heart. It was a place built on power and legacy, all with the might of a single family that had ruled for generations.

Your footsteps led you to the grand staircase leading into the Queen’s hall, its balustrade intricately wrought with gold and marble. You paused, your hand resting on the cool stone, and gazed ahead at the looming double doors of Her Majesty’s office.

How many had walked these steps before you? How many lives had been shaped by the decisions made within these walls? The weight of history pressed down on you, and you couldn’t help but ponder the immense responsibility that came with such power. You understood it a little better now – the Crown was not to be taken lightly. Heavy is the head that held the Crown, but heavier the heart might be for all the sins it concealed.

With a final sharp breath, you rapped your knuckles on the door and pushed open.

Her Majesty did not seem to age. She looked as she did on all the official royal portraits plastered on the tabloids and daily mail – elegant, beautiful, with dark eyes that read your every movement, and blood-red lips that dripped venom from each word.

Once, you’d considered her your second mother.

Now? She was nothing but a lonely figure, a formidable individual who you could barely recognize.

“Princess,” she greeted, her smile perfectly practiced and pristine. “I hope your temporary retreat to the family estate has been well.”

There was no ill behind her words, but neither did it carry sincerity. The Queen spoke like a recorded message, straight to the point and lacking of weight. Curtsying, you returned the gesture. “It was, Your Majesty. Thank you. I missed my parents dearly.”

“Sit down, child,” she spoke after a moment, and gestured before her. “Indulge your queen with a quick round, and then we shall discuss everything.”

The ornate shogi board, with its polished wooden surface and delicately carved pieces, was laid out between you both. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, its golden light filtering through the tall, stained-glass windows, illuminating the intricate patterns it. Timidly, you sat down, pressing your skirts underneath you. You did play shogi, but it’d been a while. You had an inkling that this was one of those times you had to win, as nothing ever was a casual interaction with the Queen.

“...What did you want to talk about, Ma’am?”

“Firstly, your marriage. How is it? On second thought, don’t answer that. It’s written all over your face – you’re unhappy and miserable. Now, we can’t have that can we?” she teased, though her calm composure revealed nothing of her strategies – the tricks she’d hidden under her sleeve. “You are lucky the press has been quiet lately and they didn’t get a photo of your frown. Imagine how that would be interpreted by the people. ‘Princess returns from getaway vacation with her husband and comes back depressed. Could the cheating scandal be true, after all?’”

“It is true.”

“Indeed, but the public doesn’t need to know that,” she quickly retorted, gesturing for you to make your move. “What exactly are your thoughts on marriage?”

You moved your rook forward, aiming to control a vital column.

“Marriage, to me, is about finding a partner who becomes not only your greatest love but also your closest friend, someone who understands your heart and supports your aspirations. I believe marriage is built on a foundation of trust, respect, and unwavering commitment, where two souls come together to create a life filled with joy, love, and endless possibilities. It’s a bond that grows stronger with each passing day, a promise to cherish and nurture each other through all of life's adventures,” you answered, ensuring to meet Her Majesty’s gaze. “That was how my parents’ marriage has been. Beautiful, and enduring. That is how marriages should be.”

The Queen remains unfazed. Responding with a calculated advance of her knight, her move blocked your plans – forcing you to reconsider your strategy. Cornered, you bit your lip, realizing a little too late Her Majesty’s subtle yet effective intentions.

“Your parents married for love. They were both born with a silver spoon in their mouth, a great amount of wealth, and a high-ranking title that granted them the freedom to do anything as they pleased. And I am willing to bet it has never occurred to you that marriages outside your fantasy-like bubble could be different than that.”

You found yourself on the defensive as the game progressed. “There is nothing wrong in hoping and believing that love exists.”

“You are correct,” she nods, her gaze not once leaving the board. “But you are a lot more childish than I expected if you truly thought royal marriages would be the same. You see, child, civil marriages are mostly done out of love, and a commitment to one another. In certain cases, people marry because of unexpected pregnancies, for the need of companionship, or for the combination of assets. It’s easy, straightforward, and like the rest of us in our glorious Kingdom – a commitment. Divorce is not an option for anyone, but do you know what truly separates royal marriages from common ones?”

“That we are bound with more duties?”

The queen’s pieces moved with a graceful precision, each step tightening the net around your poorly drawn defences.

“It is that royal marriages are symbolic. Why is it that the royal family, despite being humans like everyone else, is worshipped and glorified?” she tapped her nail against the board, before leaning back into her seat. The sun’s glow hit her just right, and bathed her with an ethereal gloom. “It is because we offer an ideal, an escape to the bleak, miserable lives of the common folk. We are unlike them. If we lived like everybody else, then these people would have nothing to strive or look up to.”

You gritted your teeth. “But we are just like them. We cry and experience difficulties in marriages like they do. What good does it do the Crown when there is a clear distinction between us and our people? They will find us inscrutable, and out of their reach. How could they trust us to lead them when we live such different lives? How could they believe we would understand their struggles and listen to their cries of help if we do not show our true selves?”

“Because we as people are not perfect, and our true selves are cruel, immoral, and sinful. The Crown is not. The Crown is always flawless, shining like diamonds and standing out amongst the rest,” gesturing to the ornament on her head, the Queen continued. “We represent the Crown. We must mold ourselves into perfection. How could our people find us worthy to lead them if we are just as faulty and miserable as them?”

“So you are telling me to lie about my marriage.”

The Queen snorted. “Oh, I don’t need to tell you to do that, my dear. You’ve done that already by having that journalist write lies about how the scandal is nothing but a hoax,” at your widened, eyes, Her Majesty’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Oh, don’t be surprised. I am the Queen. Nothing you do in my Kingdom will ever be a secret from me.”

“If you knew all this time, why didn’t you stop me from releasing that article?”

She shrugged, turning her attention back to the board and grinning at the pieces – already, the pressure was getting to you. “Simple – because you did all the dirty work for me already. You cleared up the allegations that your husband is innocent, and effortlessly won the people’s trust back. As Queen, I will never stop you from doing things that benefit me, even if you must take a suspicious hand to do so.”

The Queen’s relentless advances pushed you back to desperation. Hoping to create a barrier against the impending threat, you moved your bishop to a defensive position once more. “I didn’t have it written for you, or the Crown. I did it because I couldn’t stand my husband beat himself up after his own people turned against him.”

“And that is exactly why you’d make the perfect Queen for him,” she advanced her gold general, its path clear and purposeful. “I’ll be honest with you. My marriage with the Late King hasn’t been a fairytale.”

Now, it was your turn to snore. “I can figure. He’s done worse than what Rintaro did.”

“Indeed. Eight bastard sons, and a dozen of mistresses he couldn’t even bother to hide from me,” she hummed, and for the first time since meeting with her, the Queen’s mask slowly slipped off.

Gone was the regal woman who everyone worshipped. Sat before you now was an older, more mature reflection of yourself – a woman who’d been torn, ripped apart to pieces, and forced to stay in a marriage she badly wanted an escape from.

“I was useless to His Majesty unless I bore his son, and three miscarriages later, he’d given up and turned to other conquests. With each son born, my title as his wife was threatened, and the Kingdom was slowly growing unstable as his scandals became uncontrollable. Before I knew it, the Crown was falling apart. The people were beginning to hate us. Our allies stopped reaching out, and the whole world thought we were nothing but a joke.”

You were too young to remember everything in detail, but you could recall those days when your parents ran around the estate, their frowns permanent and their voices hushed during dinner. Something about the Crown becoming fragile, no thanks to His Majesty’s endeavours.

“It was a difficult time for Inarizaki. I was growing desperate, and when one was desperate, one would take desperate measures,” mumbled the Queen, “And so Rintaro arrived, and I thought... this was it. This was my salvation. I could restore the glory of the Crown back to the way it was. This boy... he would solve all my problems. So I did, one by one. I arranged the marriage of Maiko and Tooru, feeding a story to the people of childhood friends turned to lovers – the symbol of love. And then came Iris and Kiyoomi’s wedding, to fortify our alliance to Itachiyama by having locals as their representatives. We had to make them feel seen, heard. And then, there was you,” her icy-cold glare met yours, something dark and sinister flashing through them. “When Rintaro told me he wanted to marry you, I couldn’t decide yet if you were going to be a blessing or a curse.”

You moved your knight in a desperate attempt to divert the queen’s attention. “I’ve been your daughter in law for four months now. Have you decided?”

“The decision of whatever you will be is all in your hands,” when the Queen faltered at your movement, you felt a glimmer of hope as she paused, considering the development. “I’m aware Rintaro wishes to divorce you. It’s impossible, but I think you know that already.”

“I don’t know, actually. He sounded pretty convinced we could be separated.”

The Queen’s eye twitched, her free hand gripping the edge of the table. “He is an idiotic child. You cannot divorce him. If you let him do as he pleases, he will marry that whore of his. I cannot risk destroying our already fragile relationship with Itachiyama by hurting their dear, darling Prince.”

“Kiyoomi wouldn’t be hurt. He doesn’t even want Iris.”

“Nobody knows that. All they will see is that his wife was impregnated by our Crown Prince, and chose to leave their Prince for ours. Itachiyama is not to be messed around with, child. They hold a majority of our country’s natural resources. Think of fuel, livestock, and produce. All of that will be withheld from us. Our people will starve. This is why you need to make this marriage work, and let Rintaro take the throne.”

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you gestured for the Queen to make her move. “Ushijima can take the throne. He has proven himself to be reliable.”

“The first Prince cannot be King. I forbid him to.”

“And why is that?”

Just as the hope appeared, the Queen mercilessly crushed it. She’d seen right through your ploy, continuing her methodical advance as she devoured you in one move. “Because he is a good, honourable man. The moment he wears the Crown and finds out the dark secrets of what has made the royal family so powerful, the cruel things we’ve done to ensure we stay in power, he will expose it and push for democracy. I refuse to let my life’s worth of suffering to be wasted over a man with too big a conscience.”

You faltered, your grip on your piece loosening. “Secrets? What are you talking about?”

“The King, my dear. Did you really think a young, healthy man like him died from a heart attack?” throwing her head back in laughter, the Queen clutched at her stomach and wiped away a stray tear. “I killed him. A woman can only endure so much abuse from a man who does not love her.”

Your face fell.

Undaunted, the Queen leant forward to place her hand on yours in what seemed to be an attempt for reassurance. It is anything but, not with the Queen’s cruel smile. “It’s scary. Trust me, I know. I have been in your shoes and experienced far worse. But do not be scared, Princess, because you have me. So let Rintaro become King, and once you have gotten all the power from being Queen, then you can make Inarizaki flourish. And when the time comes that you grow sick of that boy... you can always tell me. It wouldn’t be the first time this Kingdom lost their King at the hands of their Queen.”

Your mind conjured up of the most horrid of images. Of Rintaro perishing at the hands of his own mother, of your husband’s eyes slowly losing its light.

And to think she was someone you’d once thought of as your own family.

“You are insane. Yes, he has hurt me. Yes, he has crushed my pride with his fists, but to kill him? To take the life of my husband? I could never be so cruel. And what makes you think Rintaro would want to be King, anyway? He already plans on divorcing me!”

“He will be King if I tell him to. He has no choice. He is the Crown Prince–”

“You cannot force him–”

“Yes, I can, because I am the Queen and I am all he has! He will do as I say unless he wants to be exiled!”

“Exiled?” you echoed, laughing in disbelief. “Why would he be exiled?”

The Queen suddenly shot up, and slammed her hands on the table. “Because he isn’t my son, or the King’s! He is a nobody. He’s just a random gardener’s boy. I took him from his parents to secure my title. If he refuses to be King... then you leave me no choice but to exile you both.”

The revelation struck you like a bolt of lightning.

Breathless and trembling, your world tilted as the truth unfurled before you – your husband, the man who you believed to be a true Prince, the only and treasured Crown Prince, was nothing more than an imposter.

Your heart pounded in your chest as betrayal and disbelief clouded your thoughts. You sat there frozen, eyes wide with shock, unable to process the enormity of his deception. The lavish room around you began to blur and fade, your once cherished memories of being the chosen, the lucky one for being the Crown Prince’s wife, was now tainted bitterly by his lies.

Could it be... that he knew all along?

It all made sense now. His insistence for divorce, his need to push you away. Divorce, or annulment, would be possible once you’d revealed it was never a royal marriage.

Your throat ran dry. Nevertheless, you remained seated, refusing to give in to the Queen’s baits as you drew out a shaky breath. “Go ahead. Exile us. I don’t care. Ushijima will still be King even if Rintaro refuses–”

“There is one more Prince who could be King, one I am confident I can control, and one I am certain will do well in hiding my secrets,” she smirked with a triumphant and wicked glint in her eye. “All I need to do is have him marry that actress, threaten him with the sex tape, and he will happily be King if it means he could have all that he wants.”

Your stomach dropped. It was impossible – Kuroo had deleted all and any traces of that tape. But truly, what did you know? This was the Queen you were up against. This was her kingdom, her playground. As she’d said, nothing could be hidden from her, but to think Atsumu would and could be King... “No. H-He can’t be...”

“Oh, but he can,” her smile grew sharp, malevolent. “And you have no idea the things Atsumu would do to Rintaro once he learns that your husband is nothing but a no-name lowborn nobody.”

“How could you do this to him? You robbed him of his life!”

Scoffing, the Queen reared back. “It was hardly a life. His parents were both poor and starving to death. I saved him from that fate and offered him the luxuries of a royal,” she spat out, shifting her skirts behind as she plopped down on the seat before you.

As you looked back at the game, the reality of your position became undeniable. The queen’s pieces were everywhere, controlling the board with ease. You could see your end approaching, your king cornered with no escape. The Queen knew this, too, an air of triumph surrounding her as she chuckled.

“You see now, don’t you? Everything was already set in stone. Rintaro will be the King. It’s the only way he can remain alive and breathing. If he dares to go against my will and my word, I will not hesitate to kill him. And when he dies, no one will mourn him. He will be remembered as an adulterer, and a new, better, rightfully deserving King will take his place.”

The queen moved her rook into position, the final piece in her flawless strategy.

You stared at the board, recognizing the inevitability of your defeat. As much as you hated to admit it, you could see the beauty in Her Majesty’s play – the way each move had been part of a larger plan, a dance of strategy and foresight perfected through years of manipulation.

“Make your marriage work,” the Queen warned, leaning back against her seat. She knew she’d already won. “It’s the only way you can stop this Kingdom from being burnt to ashes. And if you wish to make a difference? Well, my dear. The Crown is all you need.”

With a deep breath, you moved your king as you acknowledged your defeat.

The Queen’s face lit up in pure joy. “Checkmate.”

You promptly left the queen’s office, your steps slow and heavy as if each stride carried the weight of the world.

Around you, the palace corridors seemed to close in around you. Your mind churned with the devastating realization that all your foolish hopes of escaping the royal confines and finding freedom now slipped through your fingers.

The conversation with Her Majesty unravelled the last threads of your resolve, revealing a cruel ultimatum that nearly drove you mad – stay and sacrifice your dreams of peace, or abandon the kingdom to ruin.

The queen’s words echoed in your mind with each step, her words like a dagger effortlessly piercing any fragile hope you clung to. It wasn’t an easy decision either – if you stayed, you would be bound to a life of duty and subjugation, your own desires forever stifled beneath the weight of the Crown’s expectations. Yet, the alternative was even more harrowing – to leave would be to condemn the kingdom, your people, to chaos and despair. You couldn’t do that; couldn’t be so cruel to let the Kingdom fall under the rule of the heartless Miya Atsumu.

The gravity of having that decision placed in your hands left you reeling, your heart caught in a vice of impossible choices. It was only a question which was more important now: your freedom, or this country’s downfall? Was the price of your divorce really worth the suffering of millions of innocents?

The palace, with all its grandeur and beauty, was no more than a prison now. The one you would spend a lifetime locked in should you choose the right thing to do.

As you walked back to your chambers, your gaze remained fixed on the floor, where the marble tiles glistened coldly beneath you. How could you notice only now? The Palace had always been this way – cold, unfeeling, and empty. It was impossible to find love within these walls, not when dark secrets lurked at every corner, and blood was spilled to remain in power. But innocent you were not, because regardless of the Queen’s sins, you couldn’t blame her for it.

When one’s humanity was constantly tested, monstrosity would soon break through the skin.

If you truly wish to make a difference, the Crown is all you need.

The Queen was right.

Long before you stepped into her office, she’d already read your mind, known what it is you would say. You would advocate for peace, become a paladin to pave a better way for the people. But to do such would mean to hold power greater than everyone else. And if one did not wield that power properly, territories would be split apart, cities would fall, and your Kingdom would be nothing more than a tragedy that went down in history.

The fate of your people was now all up to you.

With that in mind, the air around you seemed heavy with the weight of impending doom. You moved with a sense of numb resignation, each step a reminder of the bleak future that awaited you.

Before you knew it, you’d arrived at your chambers, emptily staring into the mahogany double doors. Behind these doors... there’d be no more Suna Rintaro. Just Rintaro, you told yourself. The son of a nobody, a man who is a nobody. To think that he’d known all this time, and still dragged you into the belly of the beast that was the Crown... it was difficult to fan the flames of your hatred. You had to remind yourself to keep it down – to not let it consume you. If it did, then you wouldn’t be any better than the Queen. If you hated him more, then you might risk it all and leave Inarizaki to its own damnation.

If I loved him less, you gripped the doorknob, biting the inside of your cheek as memories of your husband flashed in your mind, I could save this Kingdom.

“Princess, you’re back!”

Your eyes shifted to the bumbling figure before you. Airi scuttled towards your way, her eyes wide and nervously fiddling with the way your hands hovered over the doors. The gesture made you frown, and you dropped your hands to soothe her. “Hello, Airi. How have you been?”

“I’m good, but... I should be asking you that, Your Highness.”

“I am well. I just want to rest now,” you told her, brows pinching together when she suddenly stood between you and the door, her gaze planted at her feet. You sighed. “Airi, why are you blocking my way?”

“Uhm, you see...”

You’d been in this situation countless of times before – around wary maids with their gazes bouncing between you and the doors. It didn’t come as a question anymore. Those looks only ever meant Iris. This time, however, the thought no longer squeezed the life out of your heart. You merely sighed and pushed past Airi, her protests falling on deaf ears.

And truly, it shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore that it would involve her, but you couldn’t fathom this happening even in your wildest of dreams.

Your bedrooms had been stripped bare. Gone were all your clothings, your shoes, your perfume and makeup on the vanity table. The heady scent of vanilla cloaked over the room so heavy it felt suffocating. Iris was everywhere – her wristwatch on the table, her folded nightgown on your bed, her fluffy slippers right next to your husband’s. On the coat rack before your bedroom were their coats hung together, his necktie delicately intertwined with her scarf.

It was as if you never existed in the first place.

Your jaw clenched, fists balling at your sides. You deliberately ignored Airi’s desperate pleas after you, and stormed right into the bedroom. Iris was nowhere to be seen, but Rintaro was there. Sleeping on the couch without a care in the world, a book covering his face as his chest fell with his steady breaths.

“Rin. Rintaro,” you poked his chest, your irritation further fuelled when he didn’t budge. Gritting your teeth, you swatted his book to the side, careful to not let the hard-bound edges nick his nose. “Suna Rintaro!”

Your husband’s eyes shot open. Panic flooded his gaze upon the sight of you, until he groaned, falling back into the couch as he went back to slumber. “Oh. You’ve returned.”

You tried to ignore the way he’d sounded so disinterested, like you were nothing but a bother. You crossed your arms against your chest instead, and demanded for an explanation. “Why is Iris’ belongings here in our room?”

“It’s our room now. I had your things moved.”

“Moved where?”

“Belleview Manor.”

Your jaw dropped. “You – you can’t do that! You can’t move my things around without my permission!”

“I just did,” came his bored reply. Then, he sat up, resting his arms on his knees as he lazily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Odd, considering he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Listen, could you... could you stop screaming? It was the doctor’s orders. He said as the father of the child, I needed to be by her side at all times. She might feel sick in the middle of the night. I have to be there for her.”

The weight of the harshness of his words pressed onto you like a physical force.

You detested it – the way he looked at you, or through you. Three days he did not call. Three days he did not bother to even leave a text. Three days since he’d left abandoned you like he did a hundred times before, with not even a trace of guilt present on his face.

“And what about me?”

“What about you?” he raised a brow, challenging you as he stood up to his full height and turned his nose down at you. “I told you already, didn’t I? I don’t want you anymore. So go. Don’t make yourself look even more pathetic by staying around and hoping I’ll change my mind.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Rintaro’s cold rejection struck you like a slap. Your heart clenched painfully at the cruel finality of his command, rendering you frozen and unable to grasp reality. Time itself had fractured. The room around you seemed to dim, the deepening shadows darkening the hard features of his face.

Your vision blurred with unshed tears as you felt the ground beneath you sway, the emotional blow rendering you unsteady. With a last, fleeting look at the man you had once adored, you turned away.

“Fine.”

You spun on your heel and ran out of the room. The sting of his rejection propelled you through the grand corridors of the palace. Tears blurred your vision, and you furiously wiped them away, each swipe a desperate attempt to not drown in the flood of sorrow.

You could hear the final pieces of your marriage crumbling, the sound a haunting melody of betrayals that echoed within your soul. This was it. You wouldn’t tolerate anymore of his cruelty. You’d had enough – your chest aching with a numb, all-consuming hurt. You longed to scream, imagining the echo of your agony bouncing off the empty hallways of the palace, but no sound escaped your lips. It was as if your lungs had exhausted its air, just as your heart had lost all its will to beat again for the man you married.

As you burst through the palace doors and into the open air, the sky mirrored your inner turmoil, the dark clouds gathering ominously.

The first raindrops began to fall, mingling with your tears. You couldn’t focus on anything but to run, run as far away from here possible, to keep running until your legs could no longer.

You suddenly stumbled upon the length of your dress, your steps faltering on the slick ground. You tripped over your own feet as your strength failed you, and you fell on your knees, your hands plunging into a cold puddle. It soiled the ends of your pristine dress, with mud caked on your shoes and your knees scratched from the pavement.

The rain poured down harder, a relentless deluge that matched the intensity of your sobs.

You cried so hard it felt impossible to breath, your body wracking with despair. Each thunderclap overhead felt like the heavens themselves roaring in sympathy with your agony.

Your mind whirled with thoughts of broken promises and unfulfilled dreams. The life you’d envisioned with Rintaro – his promises, the beach house, the dogs, the children to be had and loved, the life to have been lived – it was now nothing more than a shattered illusion. And the pain? It cut deep, leaving its mark until it embedded itself into your bones. You could die and be buried and the remnants of your hurt would remain carved up in your carcass, never to be healed, never to be withered, never to vanish even long after your death.

You felt lost in a cosmogyral spiral, the universe spinning with your loneliness as its epicentre – your existence reduced to a solitary point in an endless void.

You wanted to run, to hide from the pain he had caused and inside. To scream and cry until the hurt faded, yet it remained, a stubborn shadow clinging to your soul and refusing to let go. You aimlessly clawed at your chest like you could rip out your broken heart, and throw it to the next clueless person to come across you.

Through the curtain of rain, a dark silhouette approached.

You looked up, and the onslaught of rain suddenly ceased above your head, replaced by the soft patter of raindrops on an umbrella. The dark figure finally bent down his legs, his face illuminated by the gummuservi on the puddles.

Kneeling before you was Kiyoomi, his eyes filled with a sorrowful kindness that pierced through your pain like a cold balm on a cut. The umbrella he held cast a protective halo over you, sheltering you from the storm.

You felt... protected. Shielded from the world with nothing but his umbrella, warmed by the heat of his body. He studied you with an intensity that made you feel seen, truly seen, for the first time in a long while. His eyes traced the contours of your face, absorbing your pain as if it were his own. And when he tenderly said your name, the rain became a mere whisper, the world fading into the background as a silent understanding passed between you.

He didn’t speak anymore, but his actions conveyed what words could not. Gently, he took your hand and guided you to your feet, his grip firm yet tender.

“He made you cry again, didn’t he?”

In that moment, the storm seemed to lose its ferocity. The thunder rolled away in the distance as if giving you a moment of respite.

“It hurts so much, Kiyoomi,” you cried out to him, eyes closing when his thumb reached over to swipe at a fallen tear. “What... what did I wrong? What did I do to deserve this? How could he keep doing this to me? He-he pushes me away, betrays me, and then says he loves me and each time I think that maybe I’ve changed his mind – because I’m nothing but a fool – he reminds me, time and time again, that I hadn’t done a thing at all! I couldn’t... I could never change his mind. He is never going to love me. And it’s entirely too late but I think – I think that I no longer love–”

“–You’re right. He will never love you,” Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened, tentative as he takes two steps to close the distance. “But I do.”

“What?”

Your eyes widened as Kiyoomi’s sudden confession fell upon your ears. The world around you seemed to momentarily freeze, the vibrant colours of the garden blurring into muted hues. Your hand instinctively flew to your mouth, stifling the gasp that escaped you.

The serene beauty of the surroundings, with its delicate flowers and tranquil fountains, froze in the passage of time.

“I love you,” he says, sounding broken and wholly unsure. “I always have.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you loved him, and I had to live with the fact you would never look my way,” just as the moment started, it broke – Kiyoomi took a step back as if needing to distance himself away, but still with his umbrella hovering protectively. “My apologies, Princess. I did not mean to add more on to your burdens–”

You didn’t let him finish speaking.

Without another word, your hand moved with a swift and determined grace as you reached up, grasping Kiyoomi by the collar. The fabric, cool and smooth beneath your fingers, was tugged gently but firmly to draw him closer – needing more of him, wanting more of him. You could breathe him in and consume him whole, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He had to be certain of this, too, and you kept your touch tender and insistent, a silent command that left no room for hesitation and argument.

Kiyoomi’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the heat of your proximity, felt your breasts crushing his chest, the racing of your heart against his. The world was entirely bending to your will as it narrowed to the space between you and him.

In a single, fluid motion, your lips met his.

The kiss was a fierce, passionate declaration – charged with all the emotions that had been restrained and unspoken. It was a melding of fervor and tenderness, every unvoiced feeling poured into this single, electrifying contact that set your nerves alight.

Kissing Kiyoomi was akin to being in a comic explosion.

The kiss ignited a cascade of feelings, a burst of heat that seemed to set the very air around you ablaze. It was as if a thousand fireworks had been set off in the quiet of the night, each spark and burst of light a vidid expression of all the affections you’d held back. Because by the Gods, how long have you thought about this? How many kisses had you played in your mind before it finally took place? The initial contact was electric, a jolt of fervor and longing surging through you, ripples of euphoria cascading through your entire beings.

And when he finally kissed you back, his moan soft and nearly muted like a secret he’d whispered, Kiyoomi unfurls like a blossom in bloom.

It was an ardent embrace of sensation that led to intoxication, a symphony of fireworks that ignited every nerve, flooding your senses with an addicting blend of his heat, sweetness, and the stray drops of rain.

In that fleeting moment, the world around you ceased to exist. The universe only held you and Kiyoomi in this ephemeral moment, his face now cradled in your palms, along with his soft, sweet moans swallowed and kept at the back of your mind. Time stood still, as your hearts and lips intertwined in this dance of longing acknowledged.

The need to breathe caught up eventually, forcing the two of you to slowly draw apart. Gazes locked, reflecting the hungering and unsatiated desire born from that first explosive contact.

Kiyoomi’s arms encircled you not a moment later, drawing you closer as if to hold onto the fragile, precious connection that had been forged. The intensity in his gaze softened, and you smiled up at him, frightened – realizing a little too late at what you’d just done.

You’d kissed Kiyoomi.

You’d kissed a married man.

Frantically, you scrambled away from him, ignoring the dejected look on his face when your actions caused his umbrella to drop. He, too, began to be soaked in the rain. His shirt clung to his skin, his curls now plastered against his face. Yet, he made no move, and remained where he stood – his chest rising and falling with each, staggered breath. And god, he looked ethereal like this – face flushed, lips bruised from your kiss, and his hands twitching by his side with the need to pull you close.

But he never does. He’d let you be the one to decide on that. His submission, his decision to give up and place all the power in your hands, was written all over his face.

If we are to kiss, it would have to be me instigating it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“–It’s not a mistake, and I don’t regret it,” Kiyoomi declared, his gaze hard and firm. Then, he makes a show of slipping of his ring and throwing it to the side – the gold band swallowed up by the puddles. He’s in your space the next moment, his eyes closed yet vulnerable as he takes your palm, and rests his cheek there. “Use me. If you need me to forget him, if that’s what it takes... then use me. I am yours.”

#suna x reader #suna x you #kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #suna rintaro x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu x reader #suna rintaro angst #suna angst #sakusa kiyoomi fluff #sakusa kiyoomi angst #kiyoomi x reader fluff #kiyoomi x reader angst #suna rintaro x you #kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x you

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smusherina · 7 months ago

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yard work - chapter 11 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 9 / chapter 10 / chapter 12

Making the scrapbook was cathartic. Remembering the good times, the innocence of your childhood, was as much of a joy as it was painful. The pictures were all quite good quality since Abuela had had a film camera. Some photos had been taken with a digital camera, which had probably originally belonged to the Georges and ended up in your possession somewhere along the way.

Regina and yourself playing in the Georges' backyard and swimming in their pool, beaming smiles directed at the camera. You could almost hear the laughter. I miss when we used to be able to just have fun together like this. I guess it's a part of growing up.

Regina in a white frilly dress, carrying a small basket of flower petals, donning a crown of roses on her head. She was pouting, clearly unimpressed by the whole thing. You hadn't been at the wedding since it was a George event, but Regina's mom had been so elated her daughter had gotten to be the flower girl. I remember I was so jealous you got to go to a wedding and I couldn't. You hated it, though, which was funny. You used to leave the room whenever your mom insisted we watch the tape. I wonder if she still has it.

You sitting with Regina, hip to hip, on plastic chairs while a newlyborn Kylie slept in your laps. Regina, eyes stuck on her baby sister and a thoughtful look on her face, while you looked at the camera with a smile. She's growing up so fast. Don't think I don't know you care about her. There's gonna be a time you'll regret not spending time with her. I already feel it.

Mrs George, Abuela, Regina, Kylie in her mom's arms, and you grouped together at a parking lot. You and Regina had on little graduation gowns and had scrolls in your hands. Elementary school graduation. The summer before middle school. End of an era. I love your mom's clothes, they're so nineties. Does she still have those jeans? You should get ahold of them before somebody else does...

Remember when I sliced my hand open when we were peeling apples? That was a time for sure. I still have the scar!

You taped pictures onto the pages, wrote little things here and there, hoping the labour of your love wouldn't end up in the garbage. Or if it did, Regina would read skim through it first.

I think this album was the first time we agreed on music. Britney Spears really brought us together, huh? We even learned the choreography of Baby One More Time. Mrs George loved it. I bet there's a video of that somewhere.

Mostly the scrapbook was filled with anecdotes about your childhoods together. You did write a letter of sorts on the first page, regarding your intentions with the whole thing.

I made this for you to commemorate the good times we had. You know me regrettably well, so I think you know how I tend to hold onto things. I still have that gaudy pink Build-A-Bear you made me for Valentine's Day that one time. It's one of my most important possessions, only second to the memories we have together. You'll always be a friend to me, Reggie. If not forever, or from now on, then back then. I love you. Yours, Jorts.

You'd pretty much finished the whole thing by the end of the weekend. You spent Monday and Tuesday decorating the front cover, mostly because you purposefully put it off. You cut out letters from magazines and glued them there, painstakingly forming the words Reggie & Jorts. You'd tried to come up with something clever, but making a pun or a dumb joke felt like cheapening the whole album. A simple name made up for with fabulous decorations!

You weren't much of a painter, but you figured it'd be fitting if the album reflected its contents. It was fine if the roses you painted looked like a five-year-old did them. A good majority of the pictures featured you and Regina huddled around a crafts table, similar projects scattered all around you, young with clumsy hands but filled with artistic passion.

The album in itself was an earthy green colour, something Regina undoubtedly found ugly. The flowers brightened it up somewhat, but there was only so much ages-old acrylic paints could do. You outlined some with Sharpies. If you didn't know better, one could assume it looked like that on purpose.

You took it with you to school on Wednesday. You had it weighing your backpack down the whole day. You sweated under all your layers, and by the end of it, you were sure you were sporting some epic pit stains. Gross, but you were so nervous. You hadn't broken into anyone's locker in so long. And it was Regina George's locker.

You loitered around the hallways as they emptied out steadily, people heading home or off to extracurriculars. As you approached Regina's locker, you swallowed down your nervousness and got to work.

It wasn't hard. The combination locks were all old and weak, more of a formality than an actual barrier between one's stuff and a burglar. The lock clicked open easily and you wasted no time in stuffing your album inside.

"Hey!" Just as the resounding click of the lock going back into place came, a voice called out to you. "What are you doing with Regina's locker?"

"Uhh..." Gretchen Wieners stood at the intersection of hallways, hands on her hips and accusatory eyes burning holes in you. You made the swift decision that you did not have time for this. You booked it.

"Hey! Get back here!" Gretchen, surprisingly considering her heels, started after you. "What did you put in it? You cannot prank Regina, or- or, oh, was it a bomb?"

"It's not a bomb!" You shouted over your shoulder, sprinting towards the exit. The aggressive clacking of Gretchen's heels on the floors as she ran after you would surely haunt your nightmares. How could she even keep up with you?

"If it's not a bomb then what!" How was she closing in on you? It seemed like she was not even fazed by your little race, meanwhile, you were already winded. The exit was not that far away, but it felt like miles.

"It's Regina's business now! Ask her tomorrow at school or something!" The doors to freedom approached. "Stop chasing me!"

"Stop running!"

"No!"

You burst out and quickly hopped down the stairs, two at a time. Gretchen was still on your tail, but once she got to the top of the stairs shouted: "Karen! Tackle her!"

You hadn't even noticed Karen fucking Shetty. There was no not noticing her when the girl sprinted at you with perfect athletic form and squashed you like a linebacker.

You collided and flew into the snow. Better than the concrete of the footpath but it still hurt like a bitch.

"Get off of me!" You tried to get out from under her, but Karen was surprisingly dense. She was small but it was as if there were stones in her body instead of organs. "Fuck!"

"Keep her there, Karen, very good."

"Thanks!" Karen beamed, which was a much more common expression on her than the bloodlust she'd shown earlier.

"This has nothing to do with you." You snarled, still wriggling. "This is between Regina and me."

"Whatever's between Regina is between us," Gretchen said, all hoity-toity. "Now, tell me exactly what you put in her locker."

"A fucking photo album." You hissed, closing your eyes and clenching your jaw. What lie could you come up with? "Our families used to know each other. It's mostly pictures of her, so I just thought to... Return it."

"Oh, that's so nice!" Karen's hold loosened and you went to escape.

"Nuh-uh, not good enough." Just like that, Karen's weight slammed back down onto you. Your breath wooshed out of your lungs.

"What more do you want?" You wheezed out, getting sick and tired of this.

"Why was it in your possession?"

"I don't fucking know! It just was!"

"Hmm. And why couldn't you just give it to her?"

"You think that would've gone well, Gretchen? Seriously?" You turned your head with great effort, staring up at the girl. "Please, just let me go."

"I don't think I believe you." Gretchen squatted next to your head. "We're going back and checking it's what you say it is. And then you might be free to go."

"Fuck you." You hissed but made no move to book it when Karen hauled you up.

"That's not very nice." Karen pointed out.

"I don't want to be nice to Gretchen right now." You had no real issue with Karen, even if she had just tackled you.

"Oh, okay." You couldn't see her when she was holding your wrists behind your back, but you could imagine she was bobbing her head up and down like she was known to do.

You were walked back into the building, going mostly without a fight. Gretchen strutted along proudly as if capturing you was some great victory. Regina had trained her well. You weren't sure if that was impressive or just sad.

"Open it." Gretchen gestured once you were back at Regina's locker.

"I need my hands to do that." You helped out, smiling at Gretchen like she was stupid. Sputtering and offended, she instructed Karen to let go.

Instead of running like you should've, taking the chance you could get out if Karen didn't get a one-up on you, you obediently cracked the code again. Was it selfish that you kind of wanted others to know about you and Regina? Was it totally horrible of you to want to know it was real and have proof of that? Well, if it was, there was no helping it.

Gretchen snatched the album from the locker before you could even think to touch it. Karen sidled up to her, peering over her shoulder as she opened it.

You stood by, waiting for their judgement and looking at the ceiling. There'd been a water leak right there, based on the discolouration. Gross.

"You... You're J. J is for Jorts." Gretchen said. She sounded weird, like hollow or something. "J is for Jorts." She said again, breathy and disbelieving.

"What?" What the fuck was going on?

Karen spoke then. "She talks about J a lot. Like, a lot a lot. A whole lot." You nodded slowly as Karen went on. "J's like, her true love. It's so cute."

"J is not her true love, Karen! They are both girls." Gretchen pointed out. You had to agree. "Are they?" She looked you up and down judgementally.

"Yes. I am a girl." You said. It was true, you were female and around the age that it was acceptable to be referred to as a girl. Even so, it made you distinctly uncomfortable.

"Hmm." Gretchen didn't seem to believe you. Karen was busy cooing at the pictures of small Regina. It was sheer luck they hadn't bothered to read your writings.

"Look, can I go now? I know I'm busted, you're probably gonna confiscate the album, and Regina will never see it. Happy?"

"No. Karen, please put it back in the locker." Gretchen said, not taking her eyes off of you. Karen did as asked with a pout. "What is your relationship with Regina?" The album was back in the locker, but it hadn't been locked again.

"Nothing." And that was true. There was nothing there anymore.

"That's a lie and you know it. If you're J, then you've known each other at least since middle school. Based on the pictures, even longer."

"Who is J?" You asked in exasperation.

"Somebody who she has protected for years now. Somebody who is always better than we could ever be." Gretchen pointed between herself and Karen. "J is important to her."

"Okay, well, good for J, I guess."

"You're so infuriating." Gretchen sighed, pinching the skin between her eyes.

"You aren't the first to tell me that."

"Of course, because Regina has said that to you. Because you've known each other forever. Because you're J."

"Listen, I may look a bit butch, but I have a perfectly ordinary girl name."

"That is not the point!" She spoke fast and high-pitched. "You. It's you. You've been under our noses this entire time! Do you realize how much easier things could've been if you were around?"

"Excuse me?" Now, you were really lost.

"You're excused," Karen said cheerfully. You nodded to her in thanks.

"We could never be as good as you. It was like we were placeholders for the ultimate pretty girl she'd somehow let slip. And it's you. In a flannel and hoodie, ratty jeans, dirty shoes, no fashion sense to speak of. It's you." She said that last part with contempt.

You were reeling. Regina had talked about you to these two. Had compared them to you, cited that you were better. For years she'd done that. She'd never forgotten about you.

"Look, Gretchen, I'm sorry Regina's treated you badly." You'd lost the need to defend her, even still. Then again, even if you hadn't, there was little you could argue about with the two she'd tormented the most. "You can probably tell this is something Regina doesn't want coming out."

"What does that matter?" Gretchen asked, eyes far away and legs beginning to pace. "We could- could finally bring her down. Yes. We have J, we have everything she wants. She'll come grovelling."

You took a deep breath. You didn't feel angry, you were too tired to get angry at mean girls at this point. Besides, nobody could rile you up like Regina.

"You're wrong." You put it plainly. "What Regina's been doing to these people, to everyone around her, is wrong. But what I find despicable is how everybody is the same. I know her reasons, I can sympathise with her, but I can't say the same for you. So tell me." You paused to take a deep breath. "Why?"

"I'm not good at riddles, I'm sorry." Karen said, looking genuinely apologetic.

"It's okay, Karen, Gretchen can answer for you both."

"She deserves it." Gretchen said, steel in her tone.

"You sound just like Cady Heron and Janis 'Imi'ike. She hurt them too. What do you think ruining her life will achieve?"

"I'll be the new Regina George."

"Do you hear yourself? You still idolize her. If you're gonna be the new Regina George, it's always going to be a Regina George world. Don't you want to be Gretchen Wieners?"

"No!" She screeched. "Gretchen Wieners is lame, boring, too eager, a slut, desperate-" She took a deep breath.

"Okay." You said. "Why? Because Regina said so? Why would you believe her? She's just the same as you. Look," You pulled the album back out.

"Here we're in the Georges' pool. She would not go to the deep end. Y'know, she refused to even go in without those arm floaties for the longest time. Eventually, some boy made fun of her for them and that was the last time.

"And in this one we're driving back from summer camp. Regina was already tall enough to go without a booster seat, but I wasn't. She'd just thrown the biggest tantrum 'cause Mrs George didn't allow her to take off her seatbelt to sleep. She went out like a light, anyway.

"We're in Six Flags there. We'd just gotten those ice creams and you can see that Regina's isn't sticking to the cone all that well. Right after the shot, it just slid off. Regina was inconsolable. I offered her mine so we could share, and that seemed to be good enough for her but her dad was not having it. He threatened to take us home if she didn't stop crying right then, that it'd be all her fault that their whole family wasted money and time on this stupid trip. Eventually she calmed down and Mr George didn't have to drive us back."

You sighed. "I already tried this with Janis, in a way. I don't think Regina would appreciate me airing out her personal life like this, but... I don't know..." You closed your eyes for a moment. "I just want people to stop making things worse for her. She's been so wrong for so long, and I know I can't keep defending her, but I just don't think revenge will make her regret anything that she's done."

Karen hummed. "My auntie's been teaching me about karma. So, like, if she feels what she's made others feel, then won't that like... Fix her?"

"I don't want to hurt her." You said, resolute. "Maybe, it could be the most effective way to make her see her shortcomings. But I don't want to. I do not want to hurt her." You looked between the two. "And that's where we differ, I guess."

Gretchen didn't say anything, eyes glued to a picture from the Six Flags trip. Regina had mustard and ketchup smeared all over her face while she was holding a napkin to your lips, in the process of wiping your face.

With that, you snatched the album from her hands, deposited it back into the locker and slammed it shut. The lock clicked. Without a word, you began to talk towards the exit. Neither of them followed you or said anything to you.

You couldn't stop people from taking their revenge. You had done your best to be diplomatic. Evoking sympathy in hormonal teenagers wasn't something easily done, or maybe you were just shitty at it, but there was little else you could do. If you went ahead and retaliated, hurt them for hurting someone you cared about, the lines blurred.

You'd just be another mean girl.

Notes: Sorry for the delay! The next chapter will be the last one, unless I start rambling or something. After that, I'll do a less structured series of epilogues. Loosely related oneshots, that kinda vibe.

Also, my writing assistant stopped working in the middle of this, so if there's stupid typos I'll come fix them later.

I swear to fucking god if the taglist doesn't work I'll start breaking bones.

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism , @9unknown0 , @sage-rose2000 , @massive-honkas , @nattys-swiftie , @likefirenrain , @luz-enjoyer , @dandelions4us , @natashamaximoff-69 , @alexkolax , @jareaul0ver , @here4theqts , @charleeeesworld , @natsbiggestfan1 , @brocoliisscared , @yellowwallflowers , @scarlettbitchx , @ayoungexwife , @cyberbonesworld , @syddie-reads , @screechcat , @theenglishswiftie , @gabby-duhh , @sweetmissnothing , @masterofpuppets-10 , @l1lass , @starved-mortal , @nothanksbye07 , @nenas19 , @jvuyii , @starry-night17 , @reneeswife24 , @glorioushamsterqueen , @krononan , @slug-on-bike , @rayisaknight , @chaseatlanticlover91 , @reginassweetheart , @mirage018

(this actually makes me angry. why. why doesnt it work. i type in the @ and then i type in the name and then it shows up in the lil' box and i click it but then it don't show up ;-;)

(this is cyber bullying. the cybers are bullying me.)

(anyway, if you want to be added to the taglist there is no gurantee if it'll work, but i'll add you if you want! just comment on this post :) if anybody has any ideas why it's like this, lmk!)

#mean girls #mean girls 2004 #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george x oc #regina george x ofc #mean girls x reader #lesbian regina george #wlw #fic: yard work

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themareverine · 9 days ago

Text

—worst!Logan x namelessfem!OC

warnings: mentions of sex, body insecurity, weightloss, confidence issues, domestic bliss and fluff, namelessOC has blue eyes.

in celebration of me discovering I've dropped eleven frickin' pounds off the BMI chart, I decided to share the news with Logan, and yourself. please enjoy my domestic fantasy. this really isn’t a drabble but I’m classifying it as such.

There’s little better God has created in the world than coming home to a house alive with music, laughs, and the thick swirl of joy chasing the air. Fall hangs out the window in a tapestry of orange leaves, skittering to the ground on chill winds, cluttering the sidewalk like ill-fitting, everyone’s-a-little-different puzzle pieces.

Blankets of fog have hung in the air every morning. Leaves and grass are wet, burdened with thick, cold mud that stings—the type of cold that sinks all the way down to bone, should you be standing between it. And Logan tries to remember a time when, as a child, he didn’t care about the frigid mud between his toes—didn’t mind the mess, innocence of childhood wrapped up in exploration and whimsy.

Simpler times. Suburban life greets him at the door of what, at one point in his life, would be knife’s edge unfathomable—a duplex. Butter yellow with little white trim around the windows. Big oaks in the front and back yard, primly divided by white privacy fences so tall they challenge heaven. Summer had proudly boasted a colorful troop of flowers in that window box facing the street, the one that allows for the smallest peek into his small kingdom, if you looked hard enough. Prepared for winter, adirondack chairs have been swept away into the garage, all traces of outside living shut up for the Goliath of winter that looms with each passing day.

The corner of his mouth tips up at the arrangement proudly displayed on the front door. It’s Fall Y’all! hangs in his face, all domesticity. Glitter and pumpkins, a cute little red-and-white-pickup. Evidence of a woman’s touch, more and more. Bearing down on his life like Egyptians chariots forcing Moses against the sea, every day he approaches the house— there’s a little more charm. A little more whimsy, order. More color and life and more her, all things he never in his longest, maddest dreams would begin thinking were missing from him. But now they are so familiar, such welcome soldiers to his little army of living, that he can’t imagine going without.

And Logan will never not love the fact he doesn’t have to knock on this door. He opens it, twisting the knob that’s cool against the thick callouse of his hand. Jacket heavily draped over his arm, habit knocks his boots against the doorframe, adding to the collection of scuffs already there from the hundred other times he’s done this same thing. And it is the same come-home routine, but he doesn’t mind. Shake his head at whatever seasonal decor greets him on the door. Slip in, knock his boots. Hang his jacket on the hook behind the door, with his keys–next to hers. Because she’s been home all day, working on that frickin’ computer, making her little creative world run in the little ways she does that he’ll never understand.

About to shed his vest, Logan pauses. Claws on wooden floors from the 50s flick his attention down, to his feet. The ménage à trois of three scampering sets of paws tip up the corner of his mouth into a small smirk, watching the troop of hair, wagging tail and slobber all bull rushing him like cannonballs. And they are not small creatures, by any stretch—a bloodhound. St. Bernard. Doberman, all looking at him with bright eyes as if he’s the best thing they’ve seen all day.

Which is the farthest thing from true, because she’s been here. Locked up in his Fort Knox all hours of sunshine, doing all the things he’d give his right arm to spend his days doing with her. Domestic bliss. It’s sick, really—kinda insane. For a man who has prided himself the last 200 years on destruction, a man who has traveled through time to claim a world that isn’t his, it’s disturbing that this idea of life is so…saccharine. Perfect. Eden.

Scratching behind each set of ears, movement in the heart of the house triggers his gaze up. Down the corridor to the kitchen, where he cal all but taste what’s for dinner. It floods him with a warmth he can’t quite put a finger on, rousts something in his guts that is good. Fire that’s delicious, heat that promises. Standing, he manages off his boots, all three canines looking at him. Expressions cocked, they wait. Expectantly.

“Where is she, fellas? Mama ‘round somewhere, huh?” A flick of his hand beyond them sends the troop off like a shot—slipping and sliding on the pretty rugs she’s laid out in the foyer, sending them against the walls in fat piles of fabric that makes his eyes roll. On socked feet, he fixes them. She likes them pretty and neat, and if she likes it, well—whatever his girlie wants, she gets.

About to call for her, he doesn’t expect the slingshot of curl that attacks him from the front room, “Hi, babe!” Out the french doors like a racehorse, her girlish smile and bright eyes assault him less than seriously, bouncing laughter loud and fresh and strong, like mountains on an open-sky day. Very suddenly the events of his day are improved, work all but forgotten as she wraps her arms around his middle. Rests her chin against his chest, looking up at him with the full weight of the universe hanging in her eyes. In heartbeats, she manages to change another Thursday into the Thursday—the Thursday to challenge all others even known to his existence.

And since he’s known her, that’s what she is–changing. A fresh wind, moving clouds and rearranging the sky. Rivers that carry him away to faraway lands, anywhere that isn’t the onyx abyss of his memories, which are so black and white and unalive without her. His hand moves to run fingers through curl, which are still damp from a late-afternoon shower. Color that lingers on her cheeks matches that barely-there smattering of that vanilla protein powder she loves on her lips when he kisses her. Means one thing, his favorite thing—the thing they’d been doing for nearly six months.

Greeting her with a smile and a, “Hey, baby,” will never tire to infinity. Leaning back against his arms cradled around her midsection, pressing her close, Logan all but craves the sparkle of sapphire hanging out in her eyes. They catch his, holding him hostage—every day he has to rediscover how to breathe. Think, move past the ache in his cock that she somehow manages to produce at a subliminally level just by existing.

And his lips part to ask her about her day, another part of this thing they call life. Until she reaches around to the back pocket of her jeans, her favorites, the one’s she won’t stop wearing and has at least three extras squirreled-away to that spot in the closet they don’t speak of. That spot next to the neon-colored heels he knows she thrifted but hasn’t ever shared, the lingerie she’s holding onto that’s been driving him itchin’ mad since he’d peeked at it. And while he adores everything about her, her ability to wait for just the right moment to share things she’s excited about has to be one of his favorite things on the planet.

“So, before you speak,” her finger comes to press against the seal of his lips, other hand proudly producing a folded square of paperwork between her index and middle finger, “I have amazing news. The biggest news–the best news of the whole week.” Her brows bounce, emphasizing her excitement as her low lip curls in. Logan watches her bite the inside of her cheek, thinks it’s just about the sexiest thing in the world aside from the little scrunch of her nose, how her glasses sit a little lopsided from where she’s rested her forehead against his chest.

Really all he could use right now is another taste of her to make his week, but, he plays the adjective game. “Oh yeah?” A chuckle rattles the adamantium of his ribs as she steps out of his arms, takes his hand to guide him into the kitchen. She releases him only when her socked feet hit the wooden floor, making a show of sliding to a stop opposite the island from him.

Babytalking the dogs at her feet, his sweet little thing of a girl backs up against the sink, her tongue teasing the front of her bottom teeth as she unfolds the paper. It’s like magnetism, the way he wants her–he’s drawn, like creatures to fire, around the island. To her side. Touching her, breathing in her closeness. And he prays to God it will always be like this—he’ll always want her, she’ll always look at him like he has been carved from bronze. That this little life in Hoboken, New Jersey, never says die.

“I had a doctor’s appointment today,” the little lilt in her tone is so clear, they’d hear it from Mars if anyone had the brains to listen, “and, I just have to say this, Logan—really. This has to be like, a top eight life moment for me, what I’m about to tell you.” Playing with a dog-eared corner of the paper, her eyes flick up to hold his in limbo, again. Smiling eyes have all but chiseled away any remaining stone of his heart, and he’d gladly carve whatever may remain out of his own ribs and give it to her, should she ask, “And I’ll say this as a warning. If you aren’t nearly as excited about this as me, well—I’ll be forced to divorce you and move in with Wade and Althea.”

And he laughs at her. His single favorite quality of life since running into what’s-his-face-pool and saving this realm has been the rediscovery of laughing, of feeling beyond the numbness. She made him laugh the day he found her, discovered her like some fool digging around the dirt of the everyday, and she hadn’t stopped. And Logan Howlett has never taken pride in being a hardass, but—his ass is a little less hard, these days. How could it be. Her standing there, looking like she does? Wanting him, seeking him? Him? The damn Wolverine—the worst Wolverine.

His brow pops to attention. “Is that right?” His finger crooks one of her belthoops, tugging her hip against his gently, “a little harsh, but, I accept your terms, taskmaster.” Her eyes roll to the ceiling and his chin gestures to the paper. After a second of weighing her words, he snags her chin between his fingers and gives her a Really? expression. “Hold the fuckin’ phone—a top eight? You have a top eight list of life events?” He snorts, “And I didn’t know about it?”

Her eyes flash with brazen darkness enough to shame the witching hour. A firm nod, even between his fingers. Her hip pops out, just a little. “Mhm, eight.” Still holding the paper, she offers a blatantly over dramatic look of desire, her head tipping back just a little as she brushes close. Done-up nails gently graze through his facial hair, before she flashes him eight—a palm, thumb and index finger somehow still managing to hold the paper keeping him in suspense.

Beginning to tick off fingers, he listens with amusement. Driver’s license, college. Her first publication as a freelancer. Her first car payment. Paying off her student debt, meeting her idol, Charles Xavier, a man who’s work on mutant and human coalitions she’d been devouring since forever. Meeting him, marrying him and buying a house. Technically that was nine, but, she explained—a bunch of life events landed under the Logan tab, which made him chuckle and shake his head.

“Finished?” He nods to the paper again. “You gonna tell me this life changing, top-eight news or what?” For a second his heart does an all-stop as she nods, the corner of her lip tucking in under her teeth.

From here Logan can taste the adrenaline in her blood, the joy—the buzz of something pumping through her like a pistoning locomotive, charting new territories. And before he can think, before he can bridle his own wagging tongue, “You pregnant, darlin’?” punches off his tongue like a cage fighter.

Two things he should’ve known off the shot—pregnancy announcements usually involved a piss stick, not paper. Two, that something so mountainous would not have waited for him to breeze through the door. Not her style, not by a country mile—she’d stopped off at his job site with lunch just to announce the last payment on her student debt, complete with cheesecake and those cute little pocket bottles of Jack Daniels. She made a big deal out of everything, and he wouldn’t have –could not survive– it any other damn way.

Slackjaw, for a second he thinks the hinge of her jaw might start swinging before she hauls off to slap his shoulder, the rings on her fingers passing by in a blur of turquoises, yellows, oranges and silvers as a squealing, “Logan!” shoots out of her like the fountain of youth—makes him laugh, again, as he grabs her hand in his and hauls to his lips. Presses a kiss to the heel of her palm, “No, Wolvie—haven’t managed to knocked me up quite yet, thanking you.” And that name—it punches the wind right out of his lungs, sends every ounce of mutant fucking blood right to his cock, all at once.

It’s not a serious thanks, he knows. Been off-the-cuff talking about getting pregant for a handful of months, tossing the idea back and forth. It was the reason behind the duplex, family planning—and he hadn’t fought the idea of redoing the spare room. Shoving her office into the corner of their suite. It’d been a year, she was thirty, now, had been ringing off these walls like a canyon echo. Biological clock ticking off the walls of her womb, apparently, even though she didn’t fucking age—thanks to mutation, his mutation left behind in her blood a lifetime ago.

Source of one too many arguments back and forth, they hadn’t quite decided to make an effort not to get pregnant. An ugly IUD hung between them like unscalable Mount Olympus. Hands up in surrender, he tries not to chuckle as she plants the paper in between them, in both hands. Sapphire blues cast down to it, triggering his attention downward as well. A heartbeat before her head pops back up, all smiles and piglet pink cheeks.

“Guess who just knocked eleven points off the BMI chart?” And there it is.

Certainly a different tone of subject than the one before, Logan can’t help the look of surprise that smacks across his face—she is all but giddy. Pressing the paper to her chest, she rising on toes and begins to bounce, like a rabbit, up and down in a way that springs her hair every direction. Her shrieks of excitement are loud enough to wake the dead, but, he’d have a better time freezing hell over, if he’d wanted to. Spinning in a exuberant circle, the ruckus sends all three of their dogs into the kitchen, bouncing around her like she’s deserving of worship. A goddess. His goddess.

She’d only been killing herself in their garage gym since they’d bought the place a little over a year ago. Plagued with one of those New Year’s resolutions, she’d committed to exercise like a duck commits to water—and Logan hadn’t ever seen someone try to hard, not in a long time. Never one really faced with the issue of having to maintain physical maintenance, thanks to genetic mutation, a workout regiment hadn’t really ever crossed his mind—natural circumstances kept him lean. He’d been alive for 200 years, could abuse his body any way he wanted, and it just–was. A lucky son of a bitch, but, he’d never paused to consider that it wasn’t that way for everyone else.

So when she’d all but pleaded for a home gym, he’d folded fast. Like a bad hand. Her body had certainly never been an issue between them—he worshiped every curve, could build monuments how often his mind drifted to just fucking her within an inch of sanity. Each scar, every single solitary divot, right down to the pores on her face. Not magazine beautiful or classically Hollywood, her own admission had almost gutted him.

A girl-next-door, down-to-earth pretty sent him to pieces in ways that Logan would sooner carve out his open spine than share—she ravaged him. Like a dog, licking at the marrow of his bones. The weight of her eyes alone, cutting through his misgivings, trailblazing his insecurities as a man. She was perfect in every phenomena, every realm and bend of time. Designed for him, by Christ Himself—the most gorgeous fucking thing on two legs, he didn’t need billboards or Vogue or the silver screen to set standard yet untenable to the majority. Determined long ago that there’d never be another for him, that he could never love any other soul–worship anatomy—quite like he did her.

He’d never complained. Hell thrived with such foolishness. He bought the gym equipment, though, mostly because he knew in the long run, it would be better. If not for him, then for her—he was happy. HEr happiness may as well have been the air his body craved. He’d set up the gym on a weekend, learned to park his Jeep outside. Had learned to help her bandage injuries and balance proteins and carbs, listened to her cry over numbers on a tiny scale that didn’t really matter. But, never complained.

And Logan had noticed the change about her anatomy—the little definitions of curve, the way she moved. She didn’t always, but he knew—when he held her close, made love to her. Difference, even in its smallest form, was still changing. Lighter on her feet, stronger when it came to helping do whatever it was she determined to assist with. Her clothes fit a little differently, the line of her jaw a little sharper. But, skies above that was her confidence.

Always had opposed his reserved and calculated stoicism, a spicy little firecracker of a thing that took what she wanted and could talk to fenceposts. But, she’d always sparkled differently. It was like weighing the moon against the sun—she just sparkled better. Moved a little sexier, blazes a little hotter. Not quite the North Star, but a close second—somewhere in his guts he feared she’d wake up one morning, realize she was hot as sin, and leave his ass for what’s-his-face from the Greatest Showman or someone on television.

Her fingers curl into his arms as she bounces a little more on her toes, pride all but beaming from the pink dusting across the bridge of her nose. “Me, it’s me!” Childlike laughter bubbles out of her like a brook, hot and alive, and he can’t help the swell of pride. “After eight fricking months, it’s me,” she blows out a breath, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, “y’know, honestly, I didn’t think any of it was actually doing all that much—i’ve only dropped thirty pounds on the scale, which doesn’t seem like a lot in eight months, but–you were right, Lo! It turned to muscle, you were right!”

He nods, smile growing to a painful wide that he isn’t sure is amusement, or pride. “‘Course I was right,” he stresses, his tone low as he dips his head to brush his nose against the end of hers. Smiling into the kiss she presses to his mouth, he lifts an arm into flex before grabbing her chin between his fingers and taking her full attention, “Don’t get definition like this not knowin’ what you’re talking about, baby.” Lies. Teasing lies. He hadn’t so much as thought of a fucking dumbbell since that time before some God-forsaken war.

Pouty lips pull her eyes back to his, and he can see the muscle in her jaw tick with the effort not to grin. Heartbeats, and his arms snake around her middle again, fingers teasing the hem of her shirt. “I’m proud of you, kid,” and he hasn’t called her that since God knew, likes the way it darkens the little flush on her cheeks. “Guess I’d better work a little harder keeping you close to home. Can’t have you skippin’ out on this whole little domestic thing we’ve got going,” he shrugs a shoulder, “what would the dogs do without you?”

Giggling again, her shoulders pop up and down in a little happy shift, he takes her arms and guides them around his neck, “The dogs, huh? Is that right?” Her nose scrunches up again, eyes snapping to life as she steps onto his toes, enough for him to shuffle them out of the kitchen, towards the living space, “You think I’d leave you just because I get sexy?” It’s not a serious question, the flutter of low lashes testifies as he stops them in the middle of the living room, toes curling into the plush carpet as her head cants to the side, like a curious puppy. “And lose my bet with Wade? Don’t know me at all, do you, Wolverine?”

God only wishes. He knew parts of her the world would never. And he smiles, snorting a little at the thought of their entire relationship hinging on a bet with Wilson, the fucking idiot he is. That feels like a lifetime ago, riding life out in a dingy apartment. Blind Al as company, Wilson as a fucking landlord. If he counted back every red cent he’d paid in rent, it wouldn’t be enough for a grocery run—small mercies. Lifting a hand between them, he crooks a finger, chuckling as she eyeballs it for a second, weighing her options.

“I like to think I do,” and he does. She’s given him everything. And if she hasn’t—well. He can fix that. “You don’t got any secrets left, do you, darlin’? You’ve already seen my soul—only fair you let me see yours.” Tipping her chin up, he kisses her slowly. Angles his head for whatever depth he can pull her from, keens a little when her breathy moan chases the heat lighting up his adamantium skeleton like an inferno. Tasting the trace of that fucking protein mess on her tongue nearly brings him to his knees, fingers carding through her hair for as much purchase and possession he can find.

“I do have one,” she manages, a little breathless between nipping at his bottom lip and fighting with the buckle of his belt. With a Jezebel shove of her hand, she sends him down to the cushions of the couch—it protests, accepting his weight.

From beneath low lashes, her ocean blues trace the details of his face as she knees onto the couch, swings a leg over him. Pelvis to pelvis, her weight is divine. Lights him up like a damn electric wire. He can feel heat in his chest chasing after the adrenaline in his blood, can taste her, even from here.

Grabbing the front of her t-shirt between two fingers, he tugs her a little closer.

“What’s that?”

She chuckles, shifting a flirty shoulder. “My IUD? Gone,” she snaps her fingers, biting the corner of her lower lip. Eyes cutting to his mouth, she doesn’t hesitate–a heartbeat and she’s kissing him deeply, milking every little ache and moan creeping up the back of his throat. She sighs a little when his hand presses against her womb, thumb tracing the gentle spot beneath her belly button. “How’s that make you feel, Wolvie honey?” A light, flustered chuckle as he tucks hair behind her ear, rubs a curl between his fingers.

“Think you can handle a mini you making a mess of the world?”

Knocking his head back over the edge of the couch, his hands find her waist. Stills her before he closes his eyes, relishes the way she lathes her tongue along his pulse. And he’ll never know how it really makes him feel, because feeling is all but a rush of adrenaline when it comes to her—everything and nothing, a floating abyss of pleasure and home that, from the beginning of time, man has tried to describe. It’s all wrapped up in limbo, though–limbo and his ribs, jeans and a pretty face.

“Not sure,” his hand tucks behind her head and he flips them, forcing her into the couch before she can protest—before she and her eleven-points-off-the-chart can challenge any idea other than what he’s about to do to her.

“”Think we should find out, darlin’.”

tags: @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @fandomxo00

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wavesoutbeingtossed · 7 months ago

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The thing about her musings on her youth in this album is not just about the spending her “prime” years with someone who ultimately couldn’t give her what she thought they both wanted (family, but also in general sense the happiness you get when you’re young and your whole lives are ahead of you).

There’s SO much about her youth in general here, and how the demons of the past have raised and broken her. How each of these experiences have chipped away at her youth. This whole album is give me back my girlhood, it was mine first.

It’s all the things she’s talking about had are part of the same big trauma of the loss of that youth and innocence. It’s snakegate and how Kim K and her lackeys deliberately set out to destroy Taylor’s reputation for sport, which ripped out Taylor’s last few grasps of that young adulthood freedom without her consent. It’s mulling the price she’s paid for spending her entire youth in the spotlight and becoming a commodity instead of a person. It’s looking at a friend’s child and wishing she could protect them from the world the way she wishes she could have been had she known. It’s putting your trust in your first love who ripped the rug out from under you and your faith along with it. It’s spending your time pining for your younger days in the haze of unspeakable loss. It’s carving off parts of yourself as you grow up to make yourself palatable to your peers and your partners and as a result not knowing what parts of you are left. It’s revisiting a love from your past when you still had it all, and after the initial frenzy realizing its hollow. And yes, it’s pouring your heart and soul into a relationship you think is forever and with each passing year the light in the window flickering dimmer and dimmer, only to realize the light wasn’t coming from your home after all, and you may lose your chance to find it again before it’s too late and the dreams you so desperately cling to vanish for good.

And that’s what the end message I think ends up being in So High School: she’s reclaiming the land as it were. All these things that were taken from her and that she gave up are up for a redo. And it’s not rewriting the past, it’s coming to the realization that all those parts are still within her but so is the good. That the freedom she gave up when she released her first album is still found in the backseat of a boy’s car all these years later. That she’s older and wiser and battleworn but that doesn’t mean she can’t find that joy and lightness. “I feel so high school when I look at you” is kind of a loaded statement from someone who didn’t really get to go to high school (both actually and metaphorically). “Bittersweet sixteen suddenly” (love that wordplay btw) because again— she’s been through so much that the feelings of new love that make her giddy like a girl are tinged because she’s been here before and also never been here before because she was never that kid.

(There’s also a whole tangent there comparing Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince to So High School and how fraught the first is vs the lightness of this one.)

That’s why this isn’t just a breakup album. It’s why she dredges up 2016 and Jake and Aaron’s son and childhood and high school and any other number of things. Because she has spent her entire youth and adulthood grappling with the issues that came to roost in TTPD, and while this whole experience underscores that you can never know what’s going on with someone (least of all Taylor, a stranger to us all), I also don’t think it’s a coincidence that she has stressed how much healthier and whole she is now. That is why this whole album is a bloodletting, but it’s not just about a broken relationship. It’s about a whole belief system that has stolen girlhood from her and she’s determined to piece back together in the aftermath of the autopsy.

#this was supposed to be one paragraph lol oops #the tortured poets department #writing letters addressed to the fire #as usual wcs comes in as one of the cornerstones of her discography

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abbyromanoff · 1 year ago

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I've got a request. Not really sure about the details, but I'm sure you could work that out, being the amazing writer that you are :)

It's a really vague idea, I guess, but something along the lines of wanda being a fallen angel who has sided with heaven, and Nat being a fallen angel who has sided with hell. They both fall for Fem! Reader and try to get them to support their respective sides

Let me know if this isn't something you're comfortable with writing. Thank you so much :)

YOUR DECISION

PAIRINGS: Wanda Maximoff x reader, Natasha Romanoff x reader

WORD COUNT: 2,704

WARNINGS: R cheating (not really), making out, “bad boy” Nat, church girl!Wanda, self-homophobia, hidden relationships, Wanda cheating on vision, love affairs, love triangle, small sexual themes, think that’s all :)

NO ONE IS PERMITTED TO STEAL, COPY, OR REBLOG MY WORK AS THEIR OWN!!

“C’mon, can’t you stay the night just this once?” The redhead begged, holding your hand in order to keep you close. She tried pulling you closer to no avail as you started gathering your clothes.

“You know I can’t, Nat.” She groaned, flopping back on the bed and exposing part of her nude body. You bit your lip, forcing your gaze off of her before you did end up listening to her.

“My parents think I’m still at the library, they’ll be pissed if they find out I’m here.” Nat wasn’t known greatly around the area, mainly for her delinquent acts that got her into multiple jail cells. In your eyes, she was just misunderstood, nobody saw the side of her that you did. She was soft, a sweetheart who just wanted to find her person, but she already knew that person was you.

But then there was Wanda, the priest's daughter and your childhood best friend. You knew of her feelings for you, yet you tried to deny they existed. You liked her in more ways that you wish you did, but she wasn’t out yet, and she probably never would be. And she had a boyfriend, Vision. She didn’t seem to have a true interest in him, only one that she’d make up and exaggerate so someone would believe her when she said she loves him.

“Just tell them you’re sleeping over a friend’s. Tell them it’s Wanda, aren’t you guys like, I don’t know, best friends?” She pulled you down to sit on her lap, her hands holding you close by your waist. You smiled down at her and debated the option in your mind, was it worth the risk? Anything was worth it when it came to her, but you truly couldn’t stay.

“I wish I could, I do.” She pouted playfully, soon feeling your fingers turning her lips upward.

“Turn that frown upside down, I want to see you smile.” She gripped you just a bit tighter, hoping to keep you in her grasp forever.

“How am I supposed to be happy when you’re leaving me?” You rolled your eyes at her antics, slapping her shoulder with no real indication to cause pain. She threw an overplayed gasp your way in response.

“How about this, I go home tonight, but next weekend I’ll convince my parents to let me stay the night at a ‘friends’ house?” Your statement seemed to bring her slight joy as a grin made its way to her face. She leaned in to kiss you, muttering words between each one.

“As long as I have you, baby.” You got home with multiple different texts from two women: Wanda and Natasha. The redhead was telling you how much she missed you already and how she couldn’t wait to see you again while Wanda had been asking why you weren’t answering her calls. You sighed, running your fingers through your hair as you decided to ring the woman, hearing her voice on the other end of the line only seconds after.

“Where have you been?! I’ve been calling you for an hour!”

“Relax, I was at the library.” You could tell she didn’t believe you, you were best friends after all, she knew every lie you told.

“You know lying is a sin, Y/N.” She teased, and you could hear the sound of her clothes hitting the floor. She was most likely changing, yet you couldn’t help the less innocent thoughts from approaching.

“Were you with Nat again?” She knew of your unlabeled relationship with the troublemaker and openly expressed her hatred towards it. But you didn’t care to listen, too drunk on her love to think of anything else. You were first using her as a way to get over Wanda, but then you caught feelings. Nat made hers pretty obvious, she wanted something with you, a real relationship where she could hold your hand in public and kiss you whenever, but you were both waiting for the time to be right.

“I shouldn’t even ask at this point, you’re already always there.” You could sense the annoyance floating through her voice and groaned internally. You couldn’t deal with this right now, you just wanted to get home and relax. It was dark out and you continued to look each way in fear, your legs quickening in speed the colder you felt.

“Please don’t say that, you know it’s not true.” She ended the call after a small ‘whatever’ and it dawned on you just how frustrated she seemed. It wasn’t your fault she couldn’t come to terms with herself, you were just moving on. And if she didn’t want to accept that then she didn’t have to, but you were happy with Nat, even if you didn't exactly know what you two were, it still brought excitement whenever you’d see her or touch her. Her soft skin against yours just felt right, you didn’t have a word to explain it other than that, everything just seemed to make sense when you were with her.

Your parents were instantly questioning you once you got home, but you just shut them down with the fact that finals were headed your way. They seem to understand and let you go with a deep sigh, not fully believing your hidden lie.

You decided to finally check your phone after multiple unanswered texts made their way to your screen. A small smile seemed to form on your face when reading all that Nat had to say, you didn’t understand how she and her family were known as the ‘devil of the town’ when she was so loving. All she ever did was care for you, she had changed from her old ways and turned into something so amazing and kind, yet it was reserved only for you.

“Yes, Nat?” You dragged out, resting your phone on the bedside table as you started to rid yourself of your clothing. You grabbed the shirt she had given you a few weeks back, it was a bit large and you loved it. You then put on a pair of boxers and turned off your lights before laying down in bed, feeling all of your tense muscles start to ease.

“I missed you, baby.” You chuckled and earned a groan on the other end of the line.

“Don’t laugh at me, my bed is so cold without you.” The rest of your two hours were spent quietly giggling and talking with the redhead before you fell into a deep sleep, being unable to hear the words whispered out of Nat’s mouth. She was content, all she ever wanted was you, even if she used horrid ways of showing it in the past.

“Why do you look so tired?” Wanda asked you the next morning when taking notice of your eye bags and occasional yawns. You turned to look at her, removing your attention from the man on the podium and locking it onto her.

“Couldn’t sleep.” You whispered. You hated lying to the woman, but you knew it would just bring more vexation if you were to tell the truth. She could tell there was more, but she held back. There was no point in pushing if she’d receive nothing in return.

The next hour dragged on painfully long with Wanda’s worries only continuing. She just wanted your attention the way she used to, yet yours was on another. Nat wasn’t good for you but she was, she just didn’t seem to understand how deep your love for her went.

“Wanda, wait.” You called out after the ceremony, watching her grab her things as she was rushing to her car. She turned to look at you, urging you to go on the closer you got to her.

“Can I talk to you? Alone?” You were surrounded by no one, seeming as most parents and their children were forced to keep conversation with the other towns folk. She didn’t speak, only giving you a curt nod before opening the back door. She came with her parents just like she had done for her entire 19 years of living. It was just easier.

She signaled for you to get in and you did, following behind her as she smoothed out her dress on the seat.

“Mom and Dad should be out soon, they won’t mind if you come over.” Her parents loved you, even taking to ask where you had been ever since the distance between you and Wanda grew. You wanted to see the woman, but it seemed as though she didn’t want to see you.

“Hey, Y/N! We were wondering where you’ve been!” Her mother cheerfully pitched with a smile that you shared. A small conversation grew between the three of you, yet the daughter stayed silenced. Even when you arrived at your destination her mouth didn’t open. It wasn’t until she opened her bedroom door for you both that she finally spoke, it felt relaxing to finally hear her voice in person again. It felt like forever since you did, even if it was only a few minutes.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” She refused to look at you, knowing it would be too hard on her.

“I think you know, Wands.” The nickname brought a saddened smile to her face that quivered, it was one full of memories and lost time.

“I know you found out months ago about my feelings for you, but I didn’t think it would ruin our friendship.” You stalked behind her, noticing the nervous twitching of the rings on her fingers. You grabbed them, interlacing your hand with hers as she released a deep breath.

“I’m not mad at you for that.” You turned her around gently so she would face you, the soft features on her face bringing a longing that you wished to fill.

“Then what is it? Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix this, so I can fix us.” You wanted her to admit the feelings she had been harboring for so long, it had been gnawing at her for months, even before she knew of your shared love.

“Please, Wanda. I love you too much to lose you.” You begged, and it nearly brought tears to the woman’s eyes. The same eyes you found yourself often lost in, just admiring her beauty that you cherished greatly.

“I’m not mad at you for liking me, I’m upset because you never did anything.” She finally spoke so quietly that you almost didn’t hear her. Even with your knowledge of her growing crush, the words still sent shivers down your spine and caused your face to falter.

“I-“

“Please don’t say anything, this is already embarrassing enough.” For a split second, you worried over the possibility of her parents barging in, but it soon faded the closer you got to Wanda. She tried to scurry out of your hold, only to feel your arms on her waist, locking her in place.

“Look at me. Please look at me, sweetheart.” She couldn’t meet your eyes without taking notice of your lips that were nearly begging to be pecked. She wanted to be the one to do so, and knowing Nat was instead only caused more jealousy to rise to the surface. Her high school bully, the woman who tormented her every move and every step, the one who sent her crying into your arms was now the one holding you; how was that fair? Every aspect of her life was taken from none other than Natasha Romanoff, now she was stealing her one true love as well, and she couldn’t let that be. She couldn’t let you kiss her, hold her, make love to her without you knowing that she could be the replacement, that she had been aching to be yours since she met you.

She didn’t understand the thoughts at the time, but that all changed when she was allowed access to the internet. She was scared to search for the reasoning, afraid her parents might catch sighting and discipline her for her curiosity. Although, the results only brought more shame than her mother or father ever could, she liked you. And not the type most friends felt for one another, the type she was supposed to feel with a man yet felt for a woman.

“I’m sorry..”

“No, no, you don’t need to apologize. Come here.” You ushered her into a hug full of warmth, but fear was hidden beneath her barriers.

When she leaned back unwillingly, the only thing her vision could take notice of was your slightly parted lips that called her name.

“I don’t know why I feel this way, but is it bad to say I like it?” While it brought pain and sadness along with harsh reality, it felt comforting whenever she was with you. She wanted your love, but she wanted more than that. She wanted your heart, your attention, yet she felt selfish for wanting it.

“No, it’s completely normal. You can’t help who you feel, Wanda, and I would never shame you for that.” You brushed her hair behind her ear, sending a warm smile that did little to stop her. She couldn’t help it now.

Her lips had a mind of their own when they met with yours, and while you wanted nothing more than to give in and bathe in her presence, you knew you couldn’t. You leaned back, causing the woman to chase after you.

“Wanda, we can’t.”

“Why not?” She forced out rather loudly. She was the one to pull you close this time, hoping and praying that you’d listen to your heart instead of your mind, she could only hope your heart was beating for her.

“You have a boyfriend-“

“I don’t love him though, I’ve been planning to break up with him but I didn’t know how.” She argued, smiling slightly when she noticed your sight landing on her own chapstick-covered lips.

“What about Nat?”

“You two aren’t together officially, you’re allowed to speak to other people.” You both knew the lie in her words, but you were both so desperately trying to believe them.

“What if you regret it?”

“I never regret anything when I’m with you.” You paused in your tracks, letting her hand rest on your cheek as she checked the door one last time.

“This is wrong-“

“Then why does it feel so right?” You couldn’t stop your mouth from pressing against hers with hunger and desire. Your thumb drew circles against her side as the tension in her muscles lowered, her brain shutting down and her lips moving according to yours.

“I love you, Y/N.” She muttered against your lips before diving back in for more.

“I love you too, Wands.” You followed, letting the two of you sit on the bed as you forced yourself to let go and dwell in the comfort of your best friend.

Later that evening when you left the home, a smile planted on your face as you waved your goodbye’s to the family, sharing a small glance with the redhead before closing the door behind you, you were immediately hit with the guilt of your actions. Nat had been texting you, begging for you to visit her due to how badly she missed you. There were at least ten messages along with three missed calls, her fears only rising as she knew you’d never leave your phone unattended.

“I love you, my beautiful girl.” Read one of her texts, and it pained you to acknowledge the fact that she knew nothing of your shared activities with the other woman.

“I love you more, Nat.” You wrote back once easing her worries, but developing more of your own. You loved both women equally. Even if Natasha had a bad past, you still loved her. And even if Wanda refused to come to terms with herself, you still loved her. How could you ever face them again knowing the truth?

Wanda thought Nat was bad, but she had no idea that the person she just spent the entire afternoon with and most of her years fawning over was even worse.

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weirdmageddon · 1 year ago

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💿⚛️ davejade headcanons

sorry for leaving you guys waiting on this for like a week lol i kept being like “tomorrow for sure” but falling asleep but anyway here it is. i might add more to this if i think if anything but reblogs might not reflect the up to date source version so you can always find it here

most of these are pointing out stuff thats basically canon anyway but whatever lol. basically canon headcanons

dave tries to impress jade to get her attention because he likes her

this ones for you *misses hoop by 5 feet*

he doesnt mind jade’s inane riddles honestly. he isn’t perturbed by how she just knows things like rose is, because he doesnt think into it too far. he trusts her

he spends a lot of time indulging in her interests and showers her in his music and poetry

they draw things for each other a lot <3 jade has the pictionary modus and seems pretty good at drawing and of course dave sent her sbahj as furries in the mail. sending jpegs over the internet is BABY NONSENSE. real boys send their childhood friend/crush pictures they drew for them through the INTERNATIONAL POSTAL SYSTEM to an unspecified island in the middle of nowhere, pacific ocean that gets packages dropped by plane so the recipient can tangibly hold it and hang it in their room

actually i was going through the commentary and hussie addresses it as such:

“Also notice her SBaHJ furry poster, which was clearly a very thoughtful gift from Dave”

aww

jade would give dave a "cool" plushie of a tiger or something nd he keeps it on his desk . froot’s beautiful idea

he loves her plushie sensibilities. so much less unnerving than his bro’s phallic puppets. they're still soft but no cognitive dissonance this time about the softness coming from foam puppet ass hoorayyy

theyre still reading homestuck on act 4 but they understood them instantly

jade humors dave’s ironic cool facade because it makes dave feel more comfortable without feeling too exposed, but it’s because of this that he feels like he can open up to her because she isnt prying. (im still not over the smile here btw. only jade could make dave smile after a fucked evening where he spilled juice on his turntables and accidentally skewered an innocent crow with his sword and broke his window this mf is TYPING. also getting a bit of joy out of the fact that the only visible suit on his cards-themed bedcover in this panel is a heart)

but he knows that jade is not unaware of what he's hiding. couldnt even refute her lol

from the knight’s perspective, it’s “i’m not as [blank] as i appear. i want you know that about me if i know you well and trust you, or i DON’T want you to know that about me if i DON’T know you well. the reason is that i want to know that i can trust you to avoid turning my insecurity into a Whole Thing”

basically she allows dave to take initiative when HE feels comfortable and confident in sharing the things he’s self-conscious about. this really helps him be comfortable and form a strong bond with her

dave would wrap his arms around her to “ironically” imitate a pair of tangle buddy squiddles (while actually concealing genuine affection basically unbeknownst to himself) but he winds up looking just a little too into it for just an “ironic” bit yall……

jade is slower to realize her deeper feelings since she shows love to everyone (so long as theyre deserving of it!!!) it just hits her one day that she actually Likes him in a special way, while for dave it is more dynamic and gradual but very on the downlow, expressed in creative acts and services

once dave actually recognizes he’s really caught feelings for her down the line, dave and jade happily do the tangle buddies hug all the time. its like their handshake. its their weird couple thing

these two when together as a unit they do not give a shit about what other people think of them

this shit lol:

Creative Fucking Powerhouse the two of them

davejade ass song to me

jade is quite spacey and super appreciates dave’s level-headedness and steady pragmatism while at the same time not being a rigid stick in the mud about it. for example when they were acting as each others’ server players dave was advising her but it was appreciated by jade

sorry its just literally socionics duality LITERALLY THIS IS THEMMM (also i spent WAY too much time making these graphics and integrating texts from multiple sources please appreciate it)

fittingly with that, as ouroborista writes about the opposite space-time aspect dichotomy,

Space and Time are the fundamental Aspect pair. Their job is to make shit take place. To create novelty. Between them they span not only all of existence but also the inseparable twin approaches of any creative project. Space goes for breadth, for ideas, for expansive, holistic input, while Time goes for needlepoint focus and a rapid-turnover ability to pull through on the prompt. There’s a reason why these are the two Aspects necessary for any successful session of SBURB.

jade is literally always having a little giggle about him. dave is a funny guy. lame court jester ass boyfriend

he’d draw his post-ironic fursona and show it to her with the usual deadpan expression on his face, eyes obscured by his shades. but jade will look at it and when he sees her smile and laugh it makes it all worth it. his cheeks feel warm and he’ll smile slightly like “heh heh”. dave the type to smile like an idiot over anything jade does like his mouth keeps making a thin line and hes trying to fight it but . Jade

dave thought jade looked absolutely stunning in her 3 in the morning dress his mouth probably stupidly hung open the tiniest amount seeing her after swapping into it

of course she only wears it for what she considers "very special occasions"…..spending time with dave seemed to be a very special occasion :)

jade think dave looks sharp in his suits!!

imagine jade adjusting daves crooked bowtie and lapel and his palms start to sweat and he darts his eyes from behind his shades and chews the inside of his cheek she making him nervous bro 💯

jade is definitely the teaser and dave is the teased. still i dont think jade teases dave as much as john and rose which is why he feels more comfortable opening up to her about his shit. her teasings are much lighter and inconsequential

despite how funny and informal he is dave is a classy well-put-together romantic. he is responsible and harmonious in how he choses to present himself. remember when he got secondhand embarrassment from rose when she was drunk before her date with kanaya and he suggested to her and kanaya that the two reschedule? … he’d NEVER do something like that. sober. suit is ON. hair is neatly combed. he is right on time, not too early not too late, and his first words are “yo whats up”

dave has this designated driver energy about him

after dogtiering jade’s dog ears can perk and flatten, adding even more expressiveness

jade has so many hobbies and interests i think she’d get dave into horticulture somehow unironically

theyre both the kinda mf to ask “would you still love me if i were a worm”

dave’s hands are warm

jade’s skin can be cool to the touch in some places like the back of her arms or shoulders and dave places his hands there to warm them. or by rubbing them or something

idk just some associations space is cool and time is warm to me. the vaccuum of space is cold and time is associated with gears which are associated with generating heat and dave’s classical element is fire and jade’s is earth and her planet is initially covered in snow and daves is covered in lava idk…. just makes symbolic sense i guess but its also cute in its own right

dave would love going to the beach with jade on earth c cause the ocean is so boob i mean boob i mean boob i m,ean boob i mean SHIT . blue. blue

this Fucking animation bro

she infodumps about science and he sits his ass down to listen

jade does this (excuse the fact that the url is roselalonde)

#homestuck #davejade #dave strider #jade harley #headcanons #spacetime #hs

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jedi-hawkins · 7 months ago

Text

"Strap in, kid. You're not gonna want to miss this view." - Sgt. Hunter

I've seen a few others make a tribute post for the batch and I felt some words pulling at my chest.

I was a latecomer to the fandom, I binged season 1 & 2 in July of last year and it's been a wild ride since. I've laughed and cried and everything in between. It's hard to even articulate what this show means to me.

I began my Star Wars journey like many others, with the original trilogy at some point in childhood (you could consider me a zillenial). I liked them, but I was much more of a Harry Potter nerd at the time, my head was at Hogwarts. The prequels, however captured my heart. I don't remember when I first watched TCW, but it's very clear my heart belongs to the times of the Republic.

Like things often do, other fandoms have faded out of my peak interests, Harry Potter, Hunger Games and Maximum Ride to name a few, but any time I've come back to Star Wars, it feels like coming home. A galaxy far far away so vast and full of hope and love and grief and sorrow.

The last year has been far from easy. For the last few years, that feels like all we've been saying, huh? But in all seriousness, I really did loose myself in the past year, but oddly enough, Star Wars was a constant for me, it was an escape. I joined tumblr right after I binged season 1 & 2 of The Bad Batch and immediately fell in love with the wonderful world of fans and writers and artists here.

At first, I was a lurker, just a name that popped into the reblogs, but I began interacting more and more. I've brushed on this with a couple people (so sorry for repeating myself), but it was actually through reading fanfiction, that I came to terms with the fact that I needed to leave a 2.5 year relationship. It's not that I 'fell out of love' with them or anything, I just realized I didn't trust them as much as I should, I didn't want to share as much as I should, I wasn't being fulfilled in the ways I needed. And for that, fanfic authors, I thank you. Please never stop creating.

I also learned a lot about myself, get ready cause I'm about to get cheesy.

Hunter, you brought me a lot of comfort. I saw how heavy the wellbeing of your squad weighed on your shoulders. How you sacrificed and starved yourself, mentally and emotionally for their safety and benefit. I've lived that more times than I can count and with you, I didn't feel quite as alone in that experience. Even though we never talked, and we never will, I feel like you saw me. Crosshair, you healed some of my faith in humanity. That people can change, they can see the error in their ways and turn against a system they just sort of slipped into. You reminded me that healing isn't linear, and that's okay. You reminded me that courage and bravery aren't the absence of fear, but they are going and facing the mountain despite every atom in your body telling you to turn the other way. Echo, you reminded me it's okay to leave a group if your goals don't align. That it's not always an "in or out" situation. They can still be your family, people you rely on and who can rely on you even if you're not sharing bunks or meals anymore. You also reminded me that no matter how dire a situation is, or how grumpy you may be, a little humor goes a long way. Wrecker, you reminded me that people's perception does not define who you are. You can be big and gentle. you can love explosions and destruction and still be very intuitive. You can take some time to process things and still be skilled and intelligent. You reminded me to take joy in the simple things, a Lula, some Mantel mix, an ice cone. Things are always a little better with a full belly. Omega, you brought back some of my childlike innocence. You approached the galaxy with wide eyes full of wonder and always gave people the benefit of the doubt. You never lost hope. Even though you had to grow up too fast, you didn't let it break you, you still opened your heart to anyone who would see it. Tech, dear Tech. You reminded me to never dull myself or apologize for being authentically me. That my interests and skills are a good thing, no matter how niche they are. That I shouldn't be embarrassed or feel annoying for my knowledge or my eagerness to share it. You reminded me that love and humor and kindness and connection come in all shapes and sizes.

I've also made friends in this fandom at a level I wasn't even expecting to. I've made connections beyond the galaxy of Star Wars and found love and support in amazing ways. I was pulled to create more than I have in a long time, writing, drawing, hell even building my own server.

For sake of not clogging people's notifications, fighting with Tumblr's tagging bugs, and inevitably forgetting to tag someone: You all know who you are. Three M's, Havoc Marauder.

I began writing this tribute post before I watched the finale, and I'm finishing it after the finale. I'll end my ramble with this:

Dee and Michelle, thank you for bringing these characters to life over the last four years. You two really were the heart and soul of this project and your voices will forever ring true as Clone Force 99. Filoni, thank you for creating the concepts for this wonderful show that has become such a big part of so many people's lives. Brad, thank you for the immense work you've put into the show, your direction will not be forgotten. Jen, Joel, KinerBros, and Noshir (The Four Horsemen), y'all are a bunch of trolls and I hate you for it. I'm sending you my therapy bills. (I mean thank you for your work too, but you've been playing with my emotions for the past three months so forgive me if I'm a bit bitter)

It has truly been an amazing view. I don't plan on going anywhere, the fandom is just getting started, I am on the edge of my seat for all the wonderful fan creation that are yet to come.

CT-9901 ~ Sergeant Hunter ~ Havoc 1

CT-9902 ~ Tech ~ Havoc 2

CT-9903 ~ Wrecker ~ Havoc 3

CT-9904 ~ Crosshair ~ Havoc 4

ARC-1409 ~ Echo

Omega ~ Havoc 5

Clone Force 99 ~ Signing off 🫡

#the bad batch #star wars #tbb #tbb crosshair #the clone wars #tbb hunter #tbb tech #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb omega

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lezziemanville · 3 months ago

Text

Well, I turn 40 in a couple of weeks.

You know when you’re a kid and your teachers and parents say, “Time goes by so fast, before you know it your youth is gone!”. Not only are they right, but we waste so much of it waiting for happiness.

There’s a scene from The Hours where Meryl Streep’s character Clarissa says “I remember thinking to myself: So this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course there will always be more. It never occurred to me that it wasn’t the beginning. It was happiness.”

I reflect on that a lot. We’ve all lived in some dark times these past 10 years or so, some of the darkest for society as a whole; Certainly within my lifetime. And I find myself in that pattern of leap-frogging, trying to trade the present for a promise of what’s coming. In doing that, I can’t help but feel I’ve hastened through things, missed some of the finer details as I skipped along. Often I wasn’t even landing in a happier place, wasn’t further ahead after the jump.

We all do this to ourselves, I think.

It’s interesting that at some point, Christmas morning loses the excitement; That one day you stop stepping around cracks in the sidewalk and start worrying about things like global affairs, laws and injustice. Loss of innocence? Sure. Loss of whimsy? Definitely. And something more too. Something irreversible and lost to time. A sort of silent melancholia that follows us around, only letting up when we see an old television show or toy from our childhood. A reminder that we’ve always had happiness, in pockets, this whole time.

I’m not really sad to be turning 40, but I’m certainly more cognizant of time. I am happily married with a wife 30 years older than I am, with parents roughly the same age. I’m more aware that time can’t keep going by in a blur. That moments are to be savored, especially the good ones.

I don’t know why I’m posting this, other than to say if you’re reading this and you’re younger than I am (let’s face it, if you’re on tumblr you’re probably younger than I am) — listen to your gay aunty - do things that bring you joy. Like the things you like, go down that rabbit hole that others may not understand. Don’t let someone ruin something for you. Don’t read the comments. Don’t get lost trying to constantly advance to the next best thing. Sometimes the very best thing is the thing you’re in now. Watch the show, read the book, write fanfic for the smallest most irrelevant character in a series because they make you smile and don’t care if anyone else bothers to read it. Most importantly — be kind to yourself and have patience with your own story as it unfolds. Don’t compare yourself to others, don’t be influenced out a life well-lived.

Oh yes, and buy the flowers yourself.

#she speaks and the sound of her voice #me #ramblings #lgbtq+#life is only long until it’s not #anyways

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eliteseven · 4 months ago

Note

I know this isn’t enough to make a request but is there any way you can share some domesticity headcanons but for Consonance?

I mean there will definitely be domestic moments in the next part of Consonance! But sure, I know what you mean

Consonance Domesticity HC’s:

-This one is obvious but Tav and Jen spend like…all of their time together. Even before they’re officially moved in- Tav is living with the Hallowleafs, and when she’s not, Jen is at her apartment 🥰

-Serena loves going through Shadowheart’s baby and childhood pictures. She loves seeing Isobel and Shadowheart’s friendship, from when they were little girls. Shads eventually begs Tav to show her a childhood picture- of the few she has. Tav finds one, and it instantly becomes one of Shadowheart’s most prized possessions. That little girl in the photo, smiling cheekily and missing a tooth, is just about the cutest person she’s ever seen. Tav looks so innocent, so pure. Shadowheart aches with her over her tumultuous past 😔

-Tav being somewhat afraid of thunder storms and Shads knowing this, constantly distracting her with little touches on her arm or wrist, kisses to her cheek, or just holding her tight. Words aren’t even necessary, she just knows how to read Tav and be there for her.

-on drives to the city: Shaddy is a passenger princess, I think. Tav ends up driving everywhere. Shadowheart likes to thread their fingers together and distract Tav with little kisses. She’s a menace.

-they swim together a lot more now 🥺💕 Tav’s heart swells when she sees Shadowheart dive in, so carefree and confident. It’s a world of difference from when she’d told Tav about the near-drowning incident. Buttons likes to join them.

-The two of them cooking together with Emmeline ❤️ Shadowheart learns to make Tav’s favorite dish, the one her mother used to make for her way back when, as best she can. Tav cries profusely into the crook of her neck.

-Shads singing for Tav around the house, and Tav melting every time she hears that voice. She has hearteyes all the time, she’s down so atrociously bad for her gf 😅

-Tav is still Tav in any universe: she’s shy about PDA in front of Emmeline and Arnell. Shadowheart is still Shadowheart. So she lives for slipping her hand into Tav’s rear jean pockets or whispering something positively FILTHY in her ear and then watching Tav flounder and squirm for the rest of the day, thinking about it. It is Shad’s guilty pleasure. There’s something about the innocence Tav wants to maintain in front of her gf’s parents, while Shads knows what she’s capable of in the bedroom…idk she just loves turning Tav into a flustered idiot 🥰

-Arnell and Emmeline are just…so happy now. Knowing their daughter is so beloved, protected, no longer with Shar…they see something so simple as Jen laying her head on Tav’s lap while they watch TV in the living room….with Tav softly stroking her hair, smiling down at her from time to time….and they just bask in the warmth. To know their daughter has found someone so gentle, who adores her more than life itself, is a blessing.

-Sneaking out to the Jeep, parking it in some wooded area, and having at it like teenagers. Shads is a bad influence on Tav. Tav loves it- loves seeing that almost child-like joy in her eyes, in her expression.

-on the subject: Shads will send Tav some very risqué photos if she wants her to come home immediately. Tav drops everything. Every single time. Those photos make her brain and heart stop. She isn’t bold enough to send her own but I do not doubt Shadowheart has warmed her up to the idea 😅

-Also: post sex lazy bed discussions. The two of them gossiping and making each other laugh like best friends after such passionate intimacy… it’s something Shadowheart never had with Shar. Tav truly is her best friend. (Isobel is a close second 💕)

-Them being each other’s lock screens is the cutest thing in existence and kills me to think about.

-sharing a closet. I’ve said this before but it’s just so cute that they share a closet when Tav moves her stuff into Jen’s place. She steals Shads’ Reithwin hoodie! Shads loves seeing her in one of her sundresses when it’s hot out. And of course, Astral Prism merch. And they do each other’s makeup before events. They often get distracted…but happily so.

-Tav, who used to fear wolves, napping amongst the pack in a pile of fur and fluff. Shadowheart melts whenever she sees that. Tav was meant to be hers- what with the way she’s integrated so perfectly into their lives. 🤍

#consonance fic #shadowheart x tav #ask #anonymous #see this is what happens when you get me going #I never shut up abt them I’m afraid 😭

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notrecommendedforlife-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Buttercups and Bluebells

buttercups - childhood, family, innocence, joy

bluebells - forgiveness, constancy, gratitude, everlasting love

Clay reminiscences after seeing his baby brother for the first time in over two decades.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

“…It takes me and you”

Branch has a content smile on his face as he observes Poppy and Viva, the two leaning against each other as they look up at the stars.

The joy in Poppy’s eyes when she learned she had a sister- it makes his smile widen.

He’s always known about her wish to have a sibling, and while he didn’t share the same enthusiasm after his own experiences with brothers, he’s happy that she’s happy.

Branch is pulled from his thoughts by a familiar weight climbing up his arm and into his hair, “Yo, Uncle B!” Small paws push on his forehead as the trolling leans down. He looks up and is greeted by wide blue eyes, yellow glasses pushed up into white hair, a green nose, and silver glitter skin.

“What’s up, Tiny?”

“Do I got any long-lost siblings?”

Branch huffs out a quiet chuckle causing Tiny to slightly slip before righting himself.

“Last I checked, you’re the only kid Guy’s ever had. But,” He shakes his head, Tiny falling out of his hair and into his arms with a small giggle, “That might be something you talk to your Dad about.” He says before tossing Tiny up only to catch him with his hair, earning a louder laugh.

Clay watches as Branch tosses the trolling into the air with his hair, catches him, and repeats.

The last time Clay saw Branch was something he’s always regretted.

His baby brother had just been standing there, watching as the brothers fought with tears in his blue eyes. Clay hadn’t looked back when he walked out of the pod after Bruce, even when he heard Bitty B let out a small whimper.

When Floyd and Branch were born, Clay promised he’d always make them smile and be there for them when they cried.

And now-

Floyd’s trapped in a diamond, having his talent slowly stolen from him.

(A Troll is their music; what happens to Floyd when he has no more talent to give?)

Branch is standing in front of him, basically a stranger. His cyan skin is noticeably duller, his vivid indigo blue hair now a dark purple, and his eyes a stormy gray-blue.

(He’s seen what Gray Trolls look like when they regain their Colors; did Branch turn Gray because they left, or did something happen to him after they left?)

There were days when Clay would be shrouded with guilt at leaving his baby brother behind. Plans upon plans, hidden away in his room, of ways he could sneak back into the Troll Tree and bring Branch and Grandma back to Putt Putt Village.

Taking a steadying breath, Clay walks toward Branch and the trolling.

The trolling spots him before Branch can, calling out, “Green rando, incoming!”

Branch catches the trolling in his arms this time, sparing a quick glance at Clay before sending the trolling on his way to Bruce and the caterbus.

The brothers walk off to the side, away from the party the Putt Putt Trolls have started in celebration of new Trolls, sitting on a ledge and observing the Trolls run around.

Clay is the one to break the silence, “I’ve missed you, B.”

He sees Branch clench his paws, bunching up his shorts. Branch takes in a deep breath, shakily letting it out (in for four, out for three). “I missed you too.” He whispers out, the words nearly lost under the soft beat. “I missed all of you, for so long.”

Clay feels the little part of him that never healed (the part that still longs to be on stage with his brothers, the part that ached at leaving his baby brother), bend and break just a little bit more at the broken words that dance through the air.

His baby brother is sitting beside him all grown up, but Clay can’t help but think of the tiny trolling he left behind.

Clay hesitates, just for a split second, then rests his paw atop Branch’s. His brother tenses before relaxing and unclenching his fists. A second later, he feels Branch turn his paw around, tightly gripping Clay’s.

Clay’s lip tick up but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t want to scare Branch away. The two just silently sit together.

Clay gently squeezes Branch's paw three times.

He knows they’re gonna have to talk about everything after they rescue Floyd. He knows they’re gonna scream and fight and cry. He knows it’s gonna take a lot more than a song and a hug for Branch to truly trust him, or any of them, again.

But, Clay’s willing to do it.

He’s willing to take all the screaming, anger, and sadness that Branch throws at him. He’s willing to do everything he can to earn Branch’s trust and forgiveness.

When Branch squeezes back three times, Clay’s smile widens and he feels the faintest spark of hope in that broken little part of him.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

Clay is leaning against the wall underneath the table, Grandma’s sky-blue tablecloth brushing against the ground and hiding him.

Today’s been a Bad Day.

JD has been on all of them about being “perfect”, which is becoming a daily occurrence. All the lights have been too bright. His wristbands are dirty so Grandma took them to clean, leaving his wrists feeling bare and itchy. His vest felt too stiff and scratchy against his back. None of his dance moves have been landing quite right, but no matter what he does Trolls will still laugh at him.

Trolls will always laugh at him.

Tears fill Clay’s eyes as he presses his face into his knees, his paws harshly gripping his yellow hair.

The others don’t get it.

John is the “Leader”, Trolls respect him.

Spruce is the “Heartthrob”, Trolls love him.

Floyd is the “Sensitive One”, Trolls just want to care for him.

But, Clay?

Clay’s just the “Fun One”.

No matter what he does, even if it’s not funny, Trolls are there to laugh at him.

And therein lies the problem - they’ll laugh at him, not with him.

The others don’t understand what it’s like to have everyone constantly laughing at you.

It’s so dumb! He has more emotions than just being happy and having fun! Why can his brothers have bad days, but he can’t?

Clay clenches his jaw to stifle the sob that tries to break free, though he can’t stop the few tears that roll down his face.

He gasps and flinches back when a small paw touches his cheek, clumsily wiping away his tears.

Looking up he sees that his 2-month-old brother, Branch, has crawled underneath the table to join him.

Clay chuckles, though it sounds more like a sob, and frees his hair from the tight grip he has on it. He gently scoops up Branch, the quiet trolling making a questioning hum before getting comfortable in his arms. Branch soon brings both his paws to Clay’s face, now determinedly wiping away the tears that are still steadily falling.

Eventually, his tears slow to a stop and he curls around his baby brother.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Bitty B.” He mumbles into Branch’s indigo hair, “Big bro Clay just got a lil’ overwhelmed.” Branch hums and wraps his arms around Clay’s neck.

They sit there for a few minutes, just soaking up each other's presence.

“Cryin’ is okay,” Branch’s quiet voice murmurs into Clay’s neck, “Sometimes I feel li’e cryin’, an’ I don’ know why.”

Clay sighs, of course, Branch immediately knows what to say. He leans back to press his forehead against Branch’s.

“I know, bud. But it’s a bit different for me.”

Branch leans away with a huff, a pout firmly on his face, “Tha’’s no’ fair.”

When the blue trolling crosses his arms, looking so much like their Baba, Clay breathes out a quiet laugh.

He observes his baby brother as Branch leans back against his legs.

He has the same cyan skin, bright blue eyes, and indigo hair that Baba had. The same pout and furrowed brows that Baba got when Ma wouldn’t let them cook, he even crosses his arms and scrunches up his nose when he’s thinking really hard about something just like Baba did.

Now there’s something he shouldn’t be thinking about on a Bad Day, his parents.

His parents always made sure Clay could express his not-so-happy emotions, not that Grandma didn’t try! But having to deal with 5 boys on top of losing her child and daughter-in-law and the constant threat of Bergens? Even Clay knows that’s a lot to take on and she’s run ragged more often than not.

But Clay still misses the days when his Ma would teach him different things, and his Baba would sit with him while he screamed and cried out all his Bad Feelings.

He misses when performing with his brothers was fun.

“We coul’ make a se’ret signal!” Branch quietly exclaims to him, breaking Clay from the downward spiral his thoughts were dragging him on.

Clay quirks an eyebrow, “Secret signal?”

Branch nods, a wide toothless smile stretched across his face that causes his eyes to scrunch up. Clay feels a soft smile form on his face at the look, getting a genuine smile or laugh from his family is a thousand times better than their fans.

“Whatcha got in mind, Blueberry?”

Branch cups Clay’s face with his paws, “Squeezes!”

Clay chuckles as Branch squeezes his face between his small paws, “Squeezes?”

Branch’s smile somehow widens at his brother’s quiet laugh, “Yeah!” He starts to gently tap his hind paws against his brother's stomach, his excitement trying to escape him, “When we’re out, we can hol’ paws and talk through squeezes! I can squeeze two times to ask if ‘ou’re okay and if ‘ou squeeze back two times ‘ou are, and if ‘ou squeeze back one time I can ask ‘ou to take me home so ‘ou can be ‘lone!”

All the weight that was pressing on Clay’s chest starts to lighten as his baby brother’s eyes sparkle with happiness at being able to help him.

Clay ignores the warm tears filling up his eyes, instead pulling Branch into a tight hug. He takes a deep breath in (four seconds in; JD, Spruce, Floyd, Branch), shakily letting it out (three seconds out; Baba, Ma, Grandma). Clay repeats this a few times, reluctantly amused when he feels Branch copying him.

“Bad idea?” Branch asks, his smile fading at the new tears that drip into his hair.

Clay leans back, taking Branch’s face in his paws and squeezing twice, “Great idea.”

The blue trolling’s smile returns, even brighter than before. His small paws return to Clay’s face, squeezing back twice.

“Can I add somethin’?”

Branch excitedly nods his head up and down, his cheeks still smooshed between Clay’s paws, and his paws holding onto Clay’s bare wrists. He gently squeezes Branch’s face three times, Branch making a questioning hum.

“Three squeezes for ‘I love you’.”

Branch looks shocked for a second before giggling and squeezing Clay’s wrists three times, “I love ‘ou too, Clay.”

Clay wraps his arms around Branch once again, curling tightly around his baby brother. All the Bad Feelings seem to disappear at those words and the familiar weight in his arms.

“I love you more, Branch.”

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

#dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #branch #trolls branch #clay #trolls clay #tiny diamond #poppy #trolls poppy #viva #trolls viva #notrecommendedforlife-blog

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thebabblingbrookenook · 2 years ago

Text

Wide Open Spaces

Pairings - Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary - Modern AU - Benedict and Reader explore new facets of their longtime childhood friendship.

Warnings - 18+ Please, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content

Word Count - 6.2K

Author’s Note - Huge thank you to @colettebronte for giving this a once over for me before posting. And a major shoutout to @eleanor-bradstreet for writing inspiring fics for me to reference! Soundtrack inspos for this one include: Cinnamon Summer by Jome, and Honeybee by The Head and the Heart

______________________________________________

Disappointment. That was the overwhelming sensation coloring your mood as you looked down at the message on your phone. Your sister had canceled on you again. It had been six months since you last saw her and you were starting to miss her.

This always happened when she got into a new relationship. The constant companion you had known your whole life suddenly transformed into the biggest flake on the planet. You were happy she was happy, but she never saw outside of her little love bubble when there was a new guy.

At times, you could smile and write it off as an endearing quirk, but this time your irritation was a bit harder to quell. The trip you were supposed to be taking together this weekend had been planned for weeks. The excitement of seeing your baby sister and enjoying uninterrupted relaxation was the only thing getting you through the tedious tasks weighing you down at work. You knew this cloud of disappointment was going to linger for a few days.

You thought about telling her how rude she was behaving. You even thought about telling her that you didn’t care if her boyfriend had asked her to meet his parents on the same weekend as your trip. But in the end, what was the point? If she bailed on her boyfriend and came along, her legendary pout would have made the trip unbearable. If she decided to go with him despite your disgruntled plea, you both would have ended up deploying the silent treatment for months and you wouldn’t get to see her until Christmas.

You were in the middle of texting your sad, but supportive reply when you felt a warm hand rub a reassuring circle on your back.

“Let me guess, Caroline canceled at the last minute again?” Benedict’s voice held a defensive tone.

You sighed in resignation, “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“The look on your face. It’s the one you put on when you’re trying to be angry so you don’t have to admit how much something hurt you. And it’s usually only reserved for Caroline.” He said her name like it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Benedict…” you scolded.

He shrugged innocently with a hint of defiance. “What? I resent her for stealing my sunshine. I was getting used to seeing you so happy. It was nice.”

“Hey,” you complained, “I’m a happy person. Most of the time…”

“I love you, darling, but no,” he laughed. “You’re delightfully grumpy and I adore you for it. You do things with depth. Depth makes it hard to be blindly happy. I wouldn’t have you any other way. It was just nice seeing you smile freely.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. He had been your best friend for your entire life. If anyone really knew you, it was Benedict. Why were you just now realizing that he viewed you this way? From your perspective, he was the only person that set you at ease. Laughter came easy when he was around. Parts of your personality came alive with Benedict because he was the only one who had earned those parts of you. Having him associate you with such a sense of bleakness didn’t sit right with you. Had he not noticed you allowing him in past your walls, or did your underlying melancholy overshadow the peace he brought into your life? You didn’t know whether to feel betrayal or guilt. Guilt if you hadn’t made it clear how much joy he brought, or betrayal for not being seen by the only person you thought capable.

You stared at the rapidly cooling cup of tea that you clutched in your hand. Anything to keep you from meeting his gaze. You didn’t know if you were ready to face what you might find reflected back in his stormy eyes. It might unravel you, and the courtyard of the college campus where you worked was not a place you were comfortable with that transpiring. You needed to go home.

Standing abruptly, you started to gather your things. If it weren’t for the almost comical look of panic transforming his face, you would have made a quick but silent exit. You were never able to stomach the way negative emotions haunted his features. They didn’t belong there, not coinciding with his light.

“I’ll see you later, Ben. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. It’s happened before and it will happen again. That’s Caroline. I’m just going to go home and have a quiet weekend alone. I have a lot of manuscripts I need to catch up on for Professor Maxwell anyway. He said he would consider one of my choices to present to the publishers as the featured up-and-coming author this month. I want to make sure I’m ready.”

He didn’t seem entirely convinced by your casual tone, but he didn’t push the issue. “Alright then… but call me if you get lonely. I don’t want you cooped up all weekend having fake arguments with Caroline in your head. You get scary when you sit with your anger too long.”

“See you later, Bridgerton,” you replied with an amused grin.

Sometimes it was annoying how well he knew you, but somehow his teasing prediction already made you feel less alone.

~~~~~~~~~~

You woke the next morning to the sound of your doorbell repeatedly beckoning you from sleep. Immediately regretting last night’s over indulgence of red wine, you rolled over to check the ring camera on your phone. It didn’t surprise you in the slightest to find Benedict standing on your porch looking far too chipper at this ungodly hour.

Clicking the microphone, you spoke through the camera so he could hear you. “Go away. Trespassers will be prosecuted.”

His grin was blinding. “Oh come on, you lazy git. Get your bum out of bed and let me in.”

“Ugghhh,” you groaned. He was impossible.

Reluctantly, you dragged yourself from the warmth of your bed and shuffled to the front door. You hadn’t given a second thought to your appearance until Benedict’s eyes took in your state.

“Ooof,” he mocked. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

You must have looked a picture as you stood there scowling at him in your pjs. “Pardon me, I wasn’t expecting uninvited company. You really are a nuisance, Ben.”

“Yeah, but I’m a lovable nuisance. You wouldn’t have let me in if I wasn’t.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned around walking back into the house, leaving him to follow you. You were going to need coffee if you wanted to get on his level anytime soon. You heard the door latch behind him as he trailed you to the kitchen.

“So…” he asked hesitantly. “What are your plans for the day?”

You looked up at him skeptically from below the ring of your coffee mug. “I already told you my plans. There are words to be read and wine to be drunk.”

“Can you read your words and drink your wine someplace else?” He could feel you retreating into your silence so he pushed on. “Listen, I know I’m not Caroline. I don’t have anything particularly exciting to offer in comparison to a sisters’ weekend, but I would very much like to spend the day with you. I need to practice a new brush technique for a class I’m teaching. You can read, I can paint… We’ll be alone, but together. Who was it that said it would be inexcusably selfish to be lonely alone?”

You knew he was baiting you with your love of words, but damn him if it wasn’t working. “Tennessee Williams. But if you recall, the first half of that quote depicts lonely people joining forces. I don’t think he was speaking of a pity invitation from a Casanova to his pathetic, sad friend.”

“That’s not what this is,” he chastised. “I’m allowed to be lonely too.”

“Oh, please, Ben.” You dismissed him prematurely. “You’re never alone. There is always someone throwing themselves at your feet.”

“I didn’t say I was alone. I said I was lonely…” The haunted look had returned to contort his beautiful face.

The undeniable need to vanquish anything that creased his brow pulled you toward him. Reaching out for him, you stopped yourself from wrapping your arms around his torso, instead choosing something safer. You squeezed reassuringly around his forearm that rested on the counter.

“I’ll go get dressed,” you said softly. “Wait for me?”

His eyes left your fingers splayed across his arm and searched your face. The amount of relief flooding the rings of blue made your stomach ache.

“I’ll wait as long as you need…” he promised.

~~~~~~~~~~

Like with most things, he was right about his company bringing you back into balance. It was easy to be around him. He was comfortable in your silence, and you in his. There was no need for incessant chit chat. It was enough to simply just be. No pressure. No performance. No need to be guarded. The sounds of his brush strokes against the canvas soothed you as you flipped from page to page in your book.

It had turned out to be the perfect day for outdoor endeavors. There wasn’t a rain cloud in sight, and the sun was almost as warm as Benedict’s presence. He had taken you to a remote clearing he stumbled across during one of his many reflective walks. The open field was surrounded by dense woods, sequestering you in your own private world. The nearby stream provided the perfect soundtrack to drown out all the unwanted noise of life.

He had packed a blanket for you to sprawl out on while he labored over his easel. Per usual, he had thought of everything. There was even a basket filled with your favorite snacks. You would both be content for hours. Responsible for nothing. Accountable to no one. He had gifted you peace.

The sun poured out its affection lavishly over your skin, and you soaked in its embrace. The dress you wore hung loosely from the straps that tied at your shoulders, and the lightweight cotton fabric kissed your skin delicately, providing an unabashed sense of freedom. It had been a long time since you had felt this content and you were already craving a return visit.

It had been hours since you had seen another person. Every so often there would be a wayward hiker, but for the better part of the day it was just the two of you. Working side by side, in tandem but apart. You were fully consumed by the current manuscript you were reading. It was the third one of the day, but the first to hold your interest. This was undoubtedly the piece you would submit to your boss for publication.

The author skillfully and eloquently stripped down the world as we know it, and submerged the reader into the unknown. With the trivial things torn away, everything came back to basics. What did a person truly need to survive? What did we look to in order to feel secure? Sure, the tried and true standards still applied - Food. Water. Shelter. But what were those things without hope? Was there even a point?

It was a love story at its core. A devastating one, but a love story nonetheless. It seemed a cruel irony to make it all the way through life only to find love at the end of the world. Love was already a precarious thing, but the stakes were even higher in their world. The person you joined your life with was the person that kept you alive.

There was a perfect balance between danger and sweetness. You had invested fully in the characters. Their joy was your joy, their pain your pain. So when the unthinkable happened, your heart thudded to a stop. A shocked sob escaped your lips, breaking the silence that had settled.

Benedict looked at you in alarm. “What’s happened?”

You shook your head, waving off his worry. You’d almost forgotten he was there. “This author is fantastic. It feels so real.”

His lazy smile spread across his face. “You’ll have to tell me about it once you’re finished.”

Normally you loved telling him about the books you read. He always hung on your words and asked enthusiastic questions. But you weren’t sure you could do that with this one. Her leading man bore a striking resemblance to yours. Even the glances you were stealing of him now were almost unbearable. If there was one person in this world whose loss would bury you, it was Benedict.

Family wasn’t something that you had a surplus of. Your parents had both been gone for years. Caroline was your only sibling and you had drifted apart as you got older. But Benedict had always been there, and you made a family of your own. Each day he started to mean more to you than you were comfortable with. You tried to ignore it, but your heart was persistent and loud.

Your eyes welled with tears as you read the final chapter. Images of Benedict’s face flooded your mind while the author described the fate of her hero in heart wrenching detail. The pit in your stomach was about to swallow you whole. Evidence of your despair leaked from the corners of your eyes and made their way to the corners of your mouth, leaving your lips salty and wet.

You knew it would only deepen the hurt, but you couldn’t resist the pull to look at Benedict. It was only a story but you needed the reminder that he was still here. Like he always was.

You weren’t sure how, but he looked more striking than he had just a moment ago. Maybe your imaginary grief had heightened your awareness of him. Or maybe it snapped your perspective into focus. You were in love with your best friend but you had no clue what to do with that revelation.

You were so lost in your reverie that he startled you when he spoke. “What’s that look about, Sunshine?”

“I’m just remembering you,” you said meekly, averting your eyes.

“Hmph,” he sighed.

Setting down his paintbrush, he came to sit behind you on the blanket. His arm reached around your side and pulled the book from your hands. “Who is this Bradstreet person, and why have they made you cry? It was a happy day. I thought we’d finally chased the grey away.”

A shiver ran deep when you felt the heat from his lips press softly into the naked skin at your shoulder. Steadying yourself, you turned your face into him so you could meet him eye to eye. You weren’t sure what his small, but intimate gesture meant. He had always behaved in this familiar way with you. Touch wasn’t something that he shied away from. It’s how he showed affection. This was just the first time you had ever opened yourself up to the possibility of more.

Your fingers reached up to brush the waves of his dark hair away from his face. The tension left his body at your touch and he melted into you. His eyes closed and he smiled sweetly as he hummed his appreciation. You rarely initiated touch with him like this and you were now realizing what a crime that was.

His lips touched your skin again in a silent thank you. The importance of this moment was finally sinking into your bones. Now was the time to make sure he understood what he meant to your life. You didn’t think you would ever forgive yourself if the world came tumbling down and you left out that he was the only one…

Your eyes lingered on his in a silent exchange before you leaned in to capture his lips with your own. His body stilled for a split second but quickly reanimated, matching your energy with intention. Years of unidentified longing flowed out through your touch and held him close to you.

He broke your kiss to catch a breath.

“Thank God,” he whispered. “I was beginning to worry that you’d never feel it.”

An exhausted amusement washed over you. “You know me… Always taking the long way around.”

His answering laugh was your favorite sound. It was warm and deep. A familiar comfort.

“Well worth the wait,” he declared, tucking your hair behind your ear.

In that moment a switch inside you flipped. Desire for this man had made itself known, sending a pulsing urgency to overtake you like a riptide. The smell of him, so close and invasive, was a provocative elixir calling out to awaken wanton need.

The heat from his toned, lean body radiated from behind you seeping into your spine. Its invitation was impossible to resist, so you let go, giving yourself over completely. His arms welcomed you in and every inch of him conformed to fit you perfectly. Broad shoulders provided a safe place to lay your head as his face dipped to rest in the crook of your neck. His deep breaths coaxed a thrilling shiver from you as he savored the scent of your skin.

You craved him with such intensity that it was painful. Your body, seeking a remedy, pressed deeper into his with a slow, sensual tempo. The blood felt like it was burning through your veins, and every muscle clenched with the anticipation of release.

His body understood your plea and began to guide your movements. The low, humming ache between your thighs had grown into a throbbing demand. This lust was an insatiable beast, only mollified by his touch.

“Benedict…” you begged breathlessly. The feel of his lips sucking your neck into his mouth was driving you to distraction. Your mind fantasized his warm, wet tongue exploring other parts of you.

His kiss never left your skin for more than a moment and his hands had found a new boldness. You could smell dried paint, a scent synonymous with him, as his fingers danced over your shoulder to the tied straps of your dress. When his movements stopped, you looked back at him to find his eyes silently asking your permission to continue. You gave your consent without question.

Nimble fingers made easy work of the bows holding the top of your dress to your body. The soft cotton fell around your waist, exposing your bare, heaving chest to the elements. The warmth of the sun soaked into the sensitive skin of your breasts, and the wind whispered over your nipples, puckering them with pleasure.

Benedict’s stuttered, appreciative breath quickened your heart. His heavy gaze was ravenous as he took in the sight of you. His teeth raked across his bottom lip, attempting restraint.

“Y/n, can I touch you?” he asked. Always the gentleman.

A sudden bout of nerves crept up your throat. This was all so surreal. It was Benedict. Your best friend. Your favorite person on Earth. What if this changed all that? You didn’t want to be without him. You couldn’t.

For a moment, the two of you sat together in limbo. Your mind was trying to logic you out of this, but your heart understood a new truth. It was already too late to go back, to settle for a fraction of what he was offering you now. Your need for him had grown to encompass more than friendship. It would never feel like enough again.

You took his hand in yours and led him to your soft, supple bust. Holding your breath, you waited. For what exactly, you weren’t sure. Maybe you were afraid of his dissatisfaction. The last man you let see you this way was fond of critiquing your body. Exposure was the scariest place to encounter judgment. There was nowhere to hide. The words heard there never leave you.

Disdain started to flicker in your mind. Remembering old words from a person who no longer held significance was pointless. And yet, how could you not remember? He had thought your breasts were too large. “Anything more than a handful was too much.”

You realized now, as Benedict’s warm palms grazed over you, that the problem never resided with you. That other man’s hands were simply inferior. Benedict held you with ease, cupping you securely in his grasp. His strong fingers kneaded gently, feeling your contours and curves. He silenced your insecurities and fueled you with courage. There was no need for pretenses. He already knew it all. Both the embarrassing and the unflattering. He knew, and he stayed. More than that, he knew and wanted you in spite of it all.

Inhibitions dissolved as you leaned into his touch. You were completely lost. Unaware of anything outside of desire.That’s probably why his sudden exclamation startled you.

“Don’t move!” His arm wrapped tightly around your body to cover you.

Panic set in as your mind ran wild over all the possibilities for his warning. The tall grass surrounding you provided a plethora of nightmares.

“Oh God, what?! Is there a snake?” Your skin crawled at the thought of the slithering serpent.

His voice lowered to a whisper in your ear. “There’s someone there,” he replied. “They’re watching us.”

Standing just inside the nearest treeline you spotted a young woman frozen with indecision. She was close enough to make clear eye contact with and her expression was shouting a mortified apology. A professional looking camera dangled freely from the strap around her neck. Her photography excursion wandered into something more than landscapes. Although, you supposed this was still nature at its core.

The two of you remained locked in a silent exchange. You weren’t sure what you saw there that granted you permission, but you felt yourself relax in Benedict’s hold.

“It’s okay,” you calmed him.

You reached up and slowly started to drag his hand down your stomach to the top of the bunched fabric at your waist. All the while never breaking your stare with the onlooking stranger.

Benedict’s breath hitched in your ear and his fingernails scraped across your tummy, releasing a fresh wave of need inside you. “Don’t stop, Ben. I need you.”

His entire hand splayed out over your lower abdomen, pressing you firmly into the insistent bulge throbbing between you. “Mmmm,” he groaned. “You’re an impatient little thing, aren’t you? All needy and squirmy, clutching your thighs together. Fuck, I bet you are soaking for me…”

“You could easily find out,” you challenged.

Reflexively, his fingers twitched with excitement. His voice went dark, forcing you to understand the serious nature of his words.

“Look at me,” he commanded. “Are you certain about this? Tell me clearly.”

You peered up into his face, focusing on only him. If he was nervous, he wasn’t letting on, but it was clear that he needed something more from you than just consent.

“I need to feel you,” you instructed, guiding him firmly where you ached for him. You made sure to stay locked in to his gaze, leaving no room for miscommunication. “She can watch, or she can leave. I don’t fucking care, but I can’t wait. I’m aching, Ben. Make it better.”

The two of you gasped in unison when his long, capable fingers slid between your folds.

“Darling, where are your knickers?” he asked, reveling in the feel of you. His teeth nipped at your jawline. “You’ve been open and exposed all afternoon, barely hidden by this fetching little frock, and I’ve just been a clueless sod playing with my paints.”

His slow, stroking motions stirred the beast inside of you. Your body purred for him, vibrating at a frequency only he could hear. It called for him, telling him exactly where you needed him next. He spread you further, and his middle finger took a scandalously languid dive to tease your pulsing entrance.

Your cunt sought out for him with a fluttering welcome, desperately willing him to push past the threshold. The thought of him sinking into you there had you writhing restlessly in his lap.

His tongue traced the contour of your ear. “Oohhh, yes. You liked that. I can feel it. Do you want more?”

“Mmmhmm,” you could only manage a half lucid whimper in response.

“Open your eyes,” he encouraged. “See how your body has inspired our voyeuristic friend.”

The beautiful stranger had taken a brave step out from under the cover of trees. Her face held a comforting familiarity that somehow made you feel safe. Even as she brought the zoomed lens of the camera to her eye to capture your image, you still felt no shame.

“Would you like to show her what a work of art your body truly is?” Finally, his devilish digit invaded your warmth, causing you to moan out in satisfaction. “That’s my good girl. Arch for her. Show her how gorgeous your skin is while it’s blushed with heat. Such a pretty color.”

You had never truly known what arousal was until that very moment. His velvety baritone in your ear combined with the depths of his reach within you, and the witness of the anonymous onlooker had brought you to a precipice that you were terrified to give way to.

Reading your body like braille, he partnered his ring and middle fingers, stretching you as they curled. His speed quickened as his pressure increased, manipulating your body to obey his commands.

Your hips began to dance with his rough palm, providing a friction on your clit that stole all of the air from your lungs. Oblivion was almost there. Just a couple more inches and you could reach out and touch it.

He could feel the beginnings of your climax start to pull his fingers in deeper to you. “That’s it, love. We’re almost there. Will you give it to me?”

You would have given him anything he asked for as long as he didn’t stop moving. The hand that you didn’t have held in a vice grip between your legs came to your aid, pinching one of your nipples, just on the right side of pain.

His ministrations had delivered you over to the abyss. There were no outside sounds. Nothing to see but white hot pleasure. Nothing to keep you from blissfully floating away into forever. Your only tether was the feel of his heartbeat guiding you home. You listened to its call, slowly bringing your own in time to match his steady rhythm. You were one heart. One mind. One soul.

Color started to seep back into your world. His gentle voice coaxed you back to consciousness. “Breathe. I’m right here. Just breathe.”

The immensity of what you just experienced had dissolved you of all control. A sobbing laughter bubbled up your throat, and you recognized the searing heat of unshed tears behind your eyes. All you knew was gratitude.

You turned slightly in his arms so that you could reach for his face. Your lips burned into his, moving with hunger. Gladly, you opened your mouth to his tongue, allowing him to breathe life back into you. The taste of him washed over your senses, driving a primal instinct somewhere inside of you.

Lifting yourself slightly, you rose to your knees in front of him, gathering the hem of your dress so that it hung forward, leaving you completely exposed to the man behind you.

You reached for the collar of his shirt, yanking him to his knees so that the back of your body melded into the front of him. The feel of his body running along the length of you sent shivers coursing through you from head to toe.

His lips devoured the skin of your neck and his bite sank into the muscle at your shoulder. One strong hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you harshly against his muscular torso.

His growl in your ear had you dripping for him all over again. “I’m going to fuck you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you said breathlessly. “Please, Benedict…”

You reached behind you, and the two of you worked together to pull his jeans away from his body. You didn’t have a chance to see him with your eyes, but you could feel the impressive size of him nuzzled between your cheeks as he ground into you.

You felt bereft when his arms released you, but his lips assured you that he was still there while he kissed his way from the nape of your neck and down your spine to the center of your back. One hand went to your hip to steady you and the other aligned the thick head of his cock with your pussy.

“Ready?” he stilled.

“Now, Benedict. Right now.” You had never sounded so needy in your life.

Inch by satisfying inch, he pushed himself inside you. The stretch was unbelievable. Your body was made to accommodate him. He filled you to the edge of your limits, fitting around him so tightly that you could feel the steady thrum of his pulse thumping against your walls.

“Fuuuuccck… You’re so warm. I love the way you hold onto me like that.” he praised you.

He only gave you a few more seconds to adjust before he started to move. With both hands on your hips, he repeatedly seated you in his lap, withdrawing slowly each time so that his tip caught around the ring at your entrance. When he entered you again, it was hard and deep. The pace was agonizing. Glimpses of the tingles he would bring you started to make themselves known as he introduced his body to every inch of yours.

Your eyes glanced up to find the photographer documenting your pleasure. She had lowered herself to the ground to explore new angles of your debauchery. You wondered if she was affected by the atmosphere. Would she go home and seek a release of her own. Would your heaving chest and Benedict’s feral noises bring her pleasure?

Benedict’s hand came back to wrap around your throat, effectively securing you to him again. The fingers of his other hand ventured below the fabric at your hips and found you swollen and throbbing.

“You like it that she’s watching, don’t you?” he smirked. “I like watching her watch you. If I can’t see your face, I can at least read hers to see how I’m doing.”

“Are my moans not enough? If you need me louder, I need you harder.” you laughed challengingly.

“Holyyyyy… Fuck, that felt food. I can feel you laughing from inside you.” his grip on your throat tightened a bit. “I want to make you laugh like that for the rest of your life.”

All traces of humor were lost now. His hold sealed around you, solidifying his promise of forever. Something inside of him flipped, and he thrust into you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Deep, husky breaths panted into your ear between dizzying kisses. You started to tremble as every cell in your body responded to his urgent, pleading seduction. Searching for a way to ground yourself, you reached behind you to entwine your fingers in the hair at the base of his skull, tugging forcefully while hanging on for dear life.

“Oooohhhhhhh,” you gasped. “Oh, God! Benedict, yessss. You feel so good. Please. Please!”

“Hang on just a little while longer,” he beseeched. “Wait for me. I need us to come together.”

“Hurry Ben,” you warned. “I can’t… You feel…”

Stringing a sentence together was starting to become impossible. It took every ounce of focus you had to keep yourself from exploding around him. The desperate, punishing tempo of his hips was relentless. The lewd sounds your bodies made as they smacked together grew louder and louder with each powerful thrust.

Daring to glance across the field, you met the gaze of the daring beauty with whom you had shared this incredibly intimate experience. Even from a distance you could see her labored breathing as she lived vicariously through you. Her eyes were spurring you on, chasing the release as much as you were. There was something so erotic about the moment, and you couldn’t look away from her.

The muscles of your core started to contract around Benedict’s cock. If he wanted to come with you, it had to be now.

“Benedict…” you whimpered.

“I know, baby. I know,” he soothed. “It’s okay. If you come, you’ll take me with you.”

The power that he had just put into your hands was weighty. Knowing that you wielded such control over him made you weak for him. It was a paradox you didn’t need to understand, you just knew it to be true.

His hand left your throat to tilt your face into his, foreheads pressed together in intimacy. “Eyes on me,” he ordered. “Don’t look at her. This part of you is mine.”

His dilated pupils were hypnotic. You couldn’t have looked away if you tried. “Come, y/n. Come for me.”

You had never been good at following orders but his voice lulled you into submission. His tone simultaneously made you eager to please, but also undoubtedly sure that he knew what was best in that moment.

His kiss extinguished your scream of ecstasy as he burrowed deeper into your body. His movements had stopped, and you realized that it was you who continued to torturously milk his seed from his body and claim it as your own. The warmth lined your walls as he spasmed inside your cunt.

He lowered the two of you to the blanket, never leaving the safety of his newfound home inside your walls.

“I don’t want to leave you yet,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. “Catch your breath. I’ll keep you full. We can drift away.”

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting as the sun beamed down onto your face. It was a warm, cinnamon summer. Rich colors saturated the atmosphere, spreading romantic hues along the horizon. Time seemed to slow, bringing you into stillness. You willed yourself to stay awake, determined to commit every moment of this to memory. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t fight it. His spell was pulling you under, washing over you in a peaceful calm. Wrapped safely in the heat of his embrace, you found rest.

“I love you,”he confessed, voice laced with sleep.

You brought his hand to your lips and kissed his palm. “You’re my favorite thing. The only one, Benedict. The only one…”

Neither of you knew if the woman still stood somewhere on the edge of your reality. It didn’t really matter anymore. It was just the two of you. The way it always had been. The way it was always meant to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

6 Weeks Later

Butterflies danced in your stomach as you waited patiently for Benedict to arrive at your house. He informed you earlier in the day that he had a surprise planned to celebrate your author recommendation being selected for publication. You were hoping it involved one of his signature home cooked meals and the removal of all his clothing.

You heard the keys clinking in the lock as he let himself in, bellowing out your name to alert you to his arrival.

“I’m in the kitchen,” you shouted down the hall.

He was wearing the most devilishly handsome grin as he sauntered into the kitchen carrying an ornately wrapped gift box.

“What’s this,” you asked with thinly veiled excitement.

“Just a little something to mark the occasion,” he replied. “Go ahead, open it.”

His impatience was endearing. He was clearly proud of whatever it was inside this box. You lifted the lid to find four framed black and white photos, all of which contained the memories of the most significant day of your life.

You didn’t know how, but these were the photos taken by the woman in the clearing that day. She was an exceptional talent. The compositions themselves showed a great amount of skill, but the truly impressive part was the emotion she captured.

From the looks of things, she had been in that clearing a lot longer than you had been aware. The first photo was of you and Benedict working side by side in silence. Your nose was buried in your reading, brow furrowed in angst, and Benedict was smiling sweetly, watching you read.

The second photo was stunningly intimate. The two of you sat huddled on the blanket. Your eyes closed with an almost prayerful expression etched on your face, and Benedict with his head bowed, pressing his lips into the bare skin of your shoulder.

The last two were carnal. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as you took them in.

Benedict’s voice startled you. “I told you your body was a work of art. Look how fucking gorgeous you are in these. Unguarded. Free…”

A lump formed in your throat as you fought the urge to cry. “How did you…?”

“Dumb luck,” he answered. “ I ran into our mystery woman a couple of weeks ago at that new gallery opening you refused to attend with me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didn’t refuse to attend. I had the flu.”

“Same difference,” he smirked. “So, do you like them? She gave me all the negatives too. No one else will ever see these outside the three of us.”

“I love them,” you sniffled. “It’s our first time. Immortalized. They’re perfect. Thank you, Benedict.”

He shook his head and kissed you chastely. “No, thank you.”

“For what,” you queried.

“For loving me back.”

_______________________________________________

Tags - @faye-tale @eleanor-bradstreet @colettebronte @bridgertontess @angels17324 @musicismyoxygen84

#Benedict Bridgerton fanfiction #Benedict Bridgerton and Reader #Benedict Bridgerton and You #Benedict Bridgerton Smut #Bridgerton fanfiction #Benedict Bridgerton x Reader #Benedict Bridgerton x You

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