#‘when I was a young boy my father’ cannot be anything else not even the bean jar

[whatsnewalycat]

I saw this post before I realized you tagged me in it and I shit you not I did the same fucking thing 💀

The bean jar

[haveihitanerve]

Calling for Dad

um.. so i saw this post a while back about how the Robins all call for bruce on patrol and i unfortunately cannot find it to reblog off of, but uh yeah. i wrote it so-

this post-

Dick breathed deeply through his nose and whirled, sending his foot flying into a nearby henchman's side. The man went flying back, cursing up a storm that ended quickly as his head connected with the wall. Out cold. Dick brushed his hands off in satisfaction. They were almost done, and he could see bruce tying up and fighting a few extra henchmen only a few feet away, at the same time. Dick turned, planning on tying up the ones he had finished, when something cold and hard slammed into his cheek. Dick reeled backwards, landing hard on the ground. He looked up. A henchman was standing over him, a nasty smile on his face, brass knuckles glinting. Dick could feel tears pooling in his eyes. “Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry’ dick chanted in his head. But his lower lip was trembling. And, maybe it was just some survival instinct, maybe it was just some primal knowledge in dicks little gecko brain, but before he could stop himself, his mouth was open and he was crying. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!” All he spotted was the pale face of the henchman, before a black blur went flying into it. Bruce was at his side a second later, a soft hand on his cheek, a tender brush of fingers across his forehead, a gentle kiss to his head. Dick didn't even feel the injury anymore, it had been more of a shock than anything else, but Bruce didn't finish patrol that day. And dick stayed wrapped up safe and warm in his fathers cape the rest of the night. 

Jason yawned, sending his right fist into the gut in front of him. He had an exam tomorrow, and Bruce had told him to stay home, but Two Face and Penguin had decided to strike a deal in the warehouse, so they had had to show up. Jason knew B regretted bringing him. And would blame himself if jason failed, but honestly, jason just enjoyed spending time with his dad. Whether it was fighting crime or not. He would take the bruises over passing his exam any day. Jason yawned again. The gut was suddenly back on its feet in front of him. Jason startled back, but too late. He hit the ground. Hard. Boots scraped the floor in front of him and Jason could no longer see Bruce. His heartbeat started to accelerate. There was a hand on his ankle and he was being turned, dragged forward. Jason opened his mouth, and screamed. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!” The hand on his ankle froze. Then was ripped away. Jason couldn't hold back his sniffle of fear and suddenly bruce was there, a protective hand on his back, an arm under his butt as bruce lifted him and pressed jason's face against his chest, holding him close and whispering sweet nothings into his boys ear and jason lapped them up like a starving kitten, mewling and pushing closer to his dad, safe with the knowledge his father would always have his back. 

Tim knew he shouldn't have been out alone. But he was doing some reconnaissance on the bane and it couldn't be that bad. Right? Wrong. Next thing he knew the young Drake heir was face to face with the dangerous villain, with nothing but a bo staff in his hands. “Ooh.” cooed bane. “Little robin, flown too far from your nest have you?” He snickered, and the sound sent a cold chill down tims spine. “Well well well. Lets have some funnsie shall we?” And before tim could move the bane had grabbed his staff and snapped it over his leg, tossing the remains aside. Tim stared at him open mouthed. Fear. Fear was coursing through his veins like sharp ice. Tim was scared. And there was a crack and Tim guessed it was either his ribs or skull as hot fiery pain swept through his body and he screamed, head colliding with the wall. And he couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe couldn't breathe. But he managed to gasp just enough air into his lungs to muster up one single word. “DAAAAAAAAD!” Bane was on the ground faster than tim could blink. And he started to apologize, begging for forgiveness, to stay robin, please, ‘please bruce don't send me back to the Drake estate’ but bruce lifted him gently and carried him slowly and when tim awoke he was still at the manor, not on the doorstep of the Drakes and Bruce was sitting at his side, holding his hand. And when he started to speak tim felt fear clutch him immediately. But the man wasn't telling him to leave. He wasn't kicking him out. He was telling him about the other Robins who had called dad before him. It was the first time Tim heard bruce speak about Jason so plainly. Without anger or guilt or regret. But rather with warmth. “You are my son Timmy.” bruce whispered quietly. “My son.” 

Stephanie knew she wasn't as experienced as she needed to be to be robin, but bruce had still let her on the streets with him, and she would be damned if she disappointed him. After all, it was just Black Mask. What harm could he do? “Apparently a lot.” Steph thought dryly as she leapt around the man who was swinging wildly at her. She was bleeding from a gash in her thigh, and was pretty certain she had at least two broken ribs. They were really slowing her down but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Wasn't handling. Except. Except she couldn't handle it. Black Mask swung his bat, and Steph didn't make it out of the way in time. The metal connect full force with her side and steph went flying, slamming hard into the concrete wall. She wheezed. Now there was definitely some internal bleeding. Her nose was running and before she could get up, a boot connected with her face. Now it was running with blood. Her teeth felt lose. Stephanie's mouth was so dry. Black Masks taunting face appeared above her and Steph could do nothing more than whimper as pain wracked through her body as he started to beat her. She could taste the throw up in her mouth. Could smell the overpowering stench of iron, from her own blood. Her heart was battering so loudly in her ears from fright if she hadn't heard it she might've thought she was dead. But she wasn't. Dead. She was definitely afraid. She and Bruce had never discussed what they were. She had a dad. He had kids. A daughter. They had never broached the subject of adoption, or even being anything more than slight friends. It didn't matter that she saw him as a father figure. A better one than she had ever actually had. It was this thought, above all others, that rose to the front of stephanie's mind while black mask bloodied her. And it was this thought, above all others, that made her lick her dry lips and scream, with all the air she had left in her lings. “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!” Black Mask laughed at her. “Authur ain't gonna save you!” he sneered. Arthur Brown had never even crossed Stephanie's mind. Black Mask lifted his fist, ready to bring it crashing down on her head. But it never connected. Not with stephanie at least. But rather with a very large, very angry, Batman. She had never seen Bruce throw anyone. Much less through two walls. But here they were. Hands touched her. Warm hands. Kind hands. The same hands that had cradled her after nightmares. The same hands that had handed her snacks and wordlessly pulled her into a hug when she had shown up on his doorstep, wistful and ashed, slightly bedraggled, begging for sanctuary. The warm hands of her father. “Dad.” She choked. “Shhh.” bruce soothed softly, stroking her hair as he lifted her, like a newborn calf, into his arms and carried her home. “Its alright sweetheart. I've got you.” 

Damian had never called Bruce dad. It just wasn't done. Mother was Mother, Grandfather was Grandfather, and so naturally, Father was Father. He knew other kids didn't agree. Had heard his classmates shriek with joy and cries of “DAD!” And “papa!” when greeting their fathers. Even his siblings did so, whether Cassandra threw herself at him with a cheerful “daddy!” or jason tossed an arm around his shoulders with a heartfelt “hey pops” or tim and dick, who had no issues with plopping themselves into his lap and purring “daddio.’ when they needed something.  Even Barbara had taken to calling Bruce ‘dad 2.0’ from time to time. Damian had never even considered calling his father dad. Much less on patrol. Except. Except he had heard his brothers chatting about it. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But they hadn’t exactly tried to be quiet either. “B don’t love me!” Jason had shouted, plopping with an over dramatic sigh onto the couch. Dick didn’t even look up from whatever he was working on, just laughed. “Sure jason. Remember that time you called for him on patrol?” Tim chuckled, walking in as well and sitting on the couch opposite his brother. “Oh yeah.” He let out a high pitched scream and imitated a young Jason. “Dad!” They all laughed. Jason couldn’t contain his smile. “Yeah yeah. I know. He loves all of us. It would be nice if he showed it differently than just arriving when we need him, but it’s sweet all the same.” “Aw.” Dick cooed. Jason threw a pillow at him. Tim laughed. “Robin calling for his Dad is still the scariest thing a villain can hear.” The others chimed their agreement. Damian filed the information away carefully, planning on testing that. To see if father reacted with the same rage his brothers had described for him as he had for them. Damian had never seen his father snap. Had never seen his ruthless side. According to his siblings that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Damian huffed, throwing a quick and effortless punch to the man in front of him. He hit the dirt without even managing a sound of pain. Damian smirked in triumph, but the man was up again. Damian flinched as the foot connected with his face. He went flying back, slamming into the chimney of the roof he was on. The man stalked towards him, grinning evilly. Damian scrambled back. For the first time, fear coursed through him. “BABAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” damian screamed. His brothers hadn't been lying. The mans face paled in fear a split second before an angry bruce slammed into him, fists flying. Damian wasn't entirely certain his father had stuck with his no killing rule. But that didn't matter. Because Father was here now, holding him close, snuggling damian into bed, kissing his head. And Damian started calling Father Baba. 

[everythingne]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ one and two - chapter one (ls2)

Your father, the President of The United States, has decided the only way to keep you ‘tame’ is up have you married off… to a Formula One driver..?

logan sargeant x first daughter!reader, smau and short fic // fc: yasmin barbieri

tws: arranged marriage,

previous / next

yn.fdotus

liked by logansargeant, luis.fsotus, flotus, and 749k others...

yn.fdotus: taking a break from washington to see my collab with @ amaricarter at @ nyfw !!! aaaa!! geeking out a lil bit <3 all my hard work has finally paid off friends... many tears were shed xx

flotus: so so proud of my little girl!! cannot believe the woman you've grown into <3

user1: yn slaying in and outside of dc fr fr

user2: YESSS SLAY YN!!!

luis.fsotus: no pic credit :(?

⤷ yn.fdotus: this is for eating my panera >:(

⤷ panerabread: girlie dw we can hook u up with more <3

⤷ yn.fdotus: i love u panera <3<3

potus: so proud of you my little star!

user3: not her acc getting recommended to me bc logan sargeant follows her omg.

⤷ user2: no sameeee but i loveeee yn

user5: non-american f1 fans who love yn like this comment actually?

liked by 856 others...

user4: THATS MY FIRST DAUGHTER!!

“This is so stupid.” you grumble a complaint into the air, looking over at your mother as she laughs from where she sits in the William’s VIP room with your father and older brother-- both Santino Colombo, your father going by Santino and your brother going by Santi.

“He’s a nice young man!” Santino defends his actions as if he isn’t asking you to do the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. You have to pretend this guy who you have never met before is your boyfriend. Now, okay, you knew a bit about Logan because you’d been a fan of his for years because of your father’s love of Formula drivers, and Logan was the only American to get points in like… twenty years. You and Logan had followed each other on socials long ago when this first 'arranged marriage' thing was brought up. You'd spoken occasionally since, but nothing too serious. A flirt here or there, a joke, then mostly just formalities.

It wasn't that you didn't like Logan, he was a fine guy and easy on the eyes but it just felt... weird, to be forced into this.

With you being the more rebellious of the two of his kids, you had to be ‘locked up.’ Which was so stupid, your twenty six year old brother was a big party boy in college. Your father having paid off so many people to be hush about his drunken idiocy. But now he was already on his way to becoming a law firm CEO with a pretty wife and two daughters and you were a little fashion student who just had her first ever big break, never having done hard drugs or got the cops called on you like dear old Santi.

But you were a girl, something to be protected, and big breaks meant it was time for you to settle in the eyes of America’s leader.

And thus, your father got in contact with the Sargeants through Dalton somehow during your fathers candidacy. And now a year and two months later you were expected to be visiting your ‘secret boyfriend of two years.’

“He’s a wonderful guy,” Santino huffs at your obvious distaste, “I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I thought he was going to be bad for you, you know.”

“You didn’t even ask me! What if I had a boyfriend!”

“You didn’t.” Santi says after a sip of his champagne, “and, if you did, Dad would’ve just had you marry the guy you were dating.”

“If he passed the dad test.” you complain, making your brother laugh while your father just rolls his eyes. You don’t have time to say anything else because he’s standing up to greet James Vowles, the team principal of Williams, and you follow suit.

"So this is the woman Logan's been keeping a secret?" James grins and you realize, yeah, okay now it's time to act.

"Sorry he kept you in the dark for so long, Mr. Vowles!" You smile, glancing over James' shoulder as you speak to see who can only be Logan approaching, "Logan does speak very highly of you."

"As he does you." James nods, stepping back to allow you to happily pull Logan in for a hug. None of this is rehearsed. None of this is planned. Logan's arms slot naturally around yours life he was sculpted from the same marble, and your head fits perfectly under his chin. When you both step back, you let out of a soft giggle with flushed cheeks and try to not see the obvious overjoyed expression on your fathers face.

yn.fdotus added to their story!

Logan's drivers room is neat, tidy, but small. He lets you take up the somewhat comfy couch while he pulls his fireproof over his head with his back to you. You both have sat in silence for the past five minutes, your parents whisking you off to the 'comfort' of Logan's room so you both could bond.

"So." Logan turns around once he's fully changed into his racing gear, and you try your hardest to make sure your eyes don't wander because god damnit did those fireproofs have to be so tight?

"So?" You echo with a tad more curiosity in your tone and Logan pops down next to you.

"I was told we need to have a consistent story to not get caught." His eyes meet yours breifly before he's looking away, almost bashfully as his hand comes to toy with his hair, "but I have no idea what that should be."

"You were born in Fort Lauderdale, right?" You ask, and when Logan nods you grin, "Alright, here it is, we were neighbors growing up. Your brother and my brother were really good friends, since I think they're the same age? We tagged along with the older brothers. When you moved we lost contact, but, when you started racing in Formula I got in contact with you via Instagram and the rest is history."

"Childhood best friends seems American enough," Logan grins and a laugh barks out of you that you aren't expecting. A smile pokes at his face and he looks away, almost like he's shy about making you laugh, which is only solidified by the blush you notice on his cheeks.

"Alrighty then, childhood best friend." You tap his thigh with your heel from where your legs are crossed, eyes peeking up as someone knocks on the door.

"Come in," Logan calls, his hand going to rest on your knee before none other than Alex Albon pops open the door with a very curious Lily behind him.

"Oh! Good." Alex steps in, letting Lily in before the door clicks shut. You can see Logan send Alex a confused look before the Thai driver opens his mouth and just says whatever comes to mind.

Which is, "How the fuck did you rizz her?"

"Alex!" Lily whacks her boyfriends arm and you can't help but burst into laughter, hiding your face in Logan's shoulder as you do. You miss whatever defense Logan throws at Alex because of the feeling of Logan pulling you closer by your thigh. It shocks you how much his touch feels like fire against your skin.

"All her," is what Logan says when he turns to you and the smile that crosses your face is natural as you shrug. Lily comes over to introduce herself, leaving Logan and Alex to bicker as she pulls you into a carefully coordinated hug.

"It's so nice to have another girl in the Williams garage." She says as she steps back, and you stand to continue the conversation a bit further away from whatever argument Alex has undoubtedly pulled Logan into now. Logan's hand squeezes your wrist when you walk away, a small fleeting touch, and it makes your cheeks red.

Shit. Why was he making you so flustered?

yn.fdotus

liked by alexalbon, logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 787k others...

yn.fdotus: hot girls ditch f1 for affogato 🩵

tagged: lilymhe

lilymhe: @ logansargeant can u fight.

⤷ logansargeant: i think alex would kill me if i even breathed wrong next to you, so no.

⤷ alexalbon: i would. i would.

user1: NO FUCKING WAY??

lilymhe: LOML !!!! <3<3<3

⤷ yn.fdotus: UGH I WOULD DIE FOR U STOP <3

⤷ user2: LILY AND YN!!!!! A DUO!!! (yn design something for lily)

liked by yn.fdotus

-

"Are we like soft launching it?" You ask Logan as you wait for him to be called out to race, he's been fiddling with his sleeve for the past five minutes in agonizing silence. So you try and get his mind off the upcoming race.

"What?"

"Us, are we just gonna like... kiss after the race and be caught by cameras? Or try and like... be sneaky with it? Like pretending we're hiding from cameras but letting them catch us and whatnot."

Logan blinks, his hand falling from fiddling with his sleeve to his lap where you've laid your legs over. ("So you can get used to how close we have to be for media," Logan had suggested.) His hand comes to rub small circles just above your knee as you lean back against the back of the couch.

"I... is there one you prefer?" He asks, pulling out his phone to do what looks like texting someone back, "I can do either, I just don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"I think teasing it would be really cute," you smile and he nods, asking for you to explain, so you burst into a long list of ideas. Fleeting touches, hugs that last just a bit too long to be platonic, pictures of gifted bouquets and hidden faces for 'date nights' and early mornings. He smiles at you enthusiasm as you explain every little minute detail, and then he just takes one of your hands in his and presses a kiss to the back of it.

"Just tell me when, and I'm yours." He whispers, and you try to ignore the obvious affection in his eyes that has your cheeks warming up.

yn.fdotus added to their story!

Logan scores points. You're not even sure what place he ends up in, but you just know he scores points by the way Williams is cheering. You can even hear Logan laughing over his radio and your heart is in your throat as you join Lily in jumping up and down in excitement. Both Alex and Logan has gotten points, for the first time this season.

Your feet carry you, Lily pulling you along, your family laughing as you're brought to the garage and away from them. She detaches when Alex is out of his car, happily extending an arm for Lily to attach to his side as he holds his helmet in the other.

You, however, stop dead in your tracks.

Logan's tugging off his balaclava with the biggest smile on his face. The crows feet of his eyes tight with the smile that pulls them in, same with the way his cheeks puff out in happiness. You can't help but feel a blush on your face at the sight of him, sweaty, and yet with that amazing post-race glow your sister had joked about.

Holy shit, it really was a thing.

You feel cameras on you as you slowly make your way over, finding your footing like a fawn until Logan spots you and-- if possible, his grin grows even wider. You smile, quickening your steps until your pressed firm against his chest. His broad shoulder blocking the light as his arms encircle you, protecting you from the world as he dips his lips down to whisper.

"You can't look at me like that if we're soft-launching." He laughs and you follow suit, arms tight around his waist as you quickly reply,

"I'm just so proud of you, you drove really well today."

His arms tighten a bit more and you assume this is the whole, hugs that are a bit more than platonic bit. When you step back, he keeps his eyes on you and one hand on your back as Alex comes over to celebrate with him.

Later that night, a text lights up your phone,

'if you want a full miami day, tomorrow ill pick you up around nine?"

And the giggles that leave you are genuine as you throw yourself out of bed to pick out some clothes for the list of activities that Logan has planned.

yn.fdotus added to their story!

tag list (comment to be added, and thanks for those who are already on it !)

@hiireadstuff @tigerlily789 @minkyungseokie @woozarts @motheraiya @uzisplanet @struggling-with-delia

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | March 18th-24th 2024

It's a long one today folks! I hope you enjoy! :) If you know anyone who's not tagged, don't hesitate to let me know!

idk 'bout you but I can't wait for the final part of the premiere on Thursday!!! 😃

Complete

anything that is beautiful, people want to break. by dylaesthetics (Post-Coma, Trans Buck | 3K | Teen): Buck has never meant to keep it a secret from the one-eighteen. Hell, he trusts them with much more gritty, uncomfortable stuff than that. It’s more like… It hasn’t come up. There’s been no reason for it to come up. But then he gets struck by lightning and the mix-up with his medical records happens. A nurse he hasn’t seen yet barges into Buck’s hospital room, with his entire family in it, blood and found alike, and stares at him for one dumbfounded moment before blurting out a name he hasn’t been addressed by in well over eight years. 

not flesh and blood but the heart by Jinko / @jinkohhh (Post-S6, Getting Together | 10K | Explicit): Five times people assumed Chris was Buck's son + one time Eddie confirmed it.

🔥 don’t wanna let you love somebody else but me by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (S7 Spec, Bachelor Party, Pretend Relationship | 14K | Teen): or, chris wants dating advice and it turns out taking your best friend on a pretend date to practice being as romantic as possible is not a good idea in theory or in practice, considering the pesky being-in-unrequited-love of it all

A Little Bit of the Bubbly by Jinko/ @jinkohhh (Post-S6, PWP, Getting Together | 7K | Explicit): Since turning 30, Buck's relationship with champagne has changed. It also manages to change his relationship with Eddie.

washed away (but not) by Jinko / @jinkohhh (S7 Spec | 3K | Teen): “Well, this is awkward.” Every part of Buck wanted to tell Chim to go fuck himself, but he couldn’t, so he didn’t. Nothing made a situation more awkward than pointing out the awkwardness of it. “So which one of you two made the deathbed love confession?” Ravi laughed, and frankly, Ravi could go fuck himself, too. The both of them could go fuck themselves because both Chimney and Ravi were correct.

i like the way you scratch my itch by oklahoma/ @sunshinediaz (BTHB: Hives | 3K | Teen): Buck’s big blue eyes sparkle. “You’re so cute, did you know that?” he asks, leaning close enough Eddie can count the small red-brown-orange freckles all across his nose. “Even when you’re red from poison ivy.” Red. Red from the poison ivy. Yeah, yep, that’s exactly what he’s so red for. Absolutely.

meet you in the middle. by dylaesthetics (Getting Together | 2K | Teen): OR buck and eddie get their shit together during a regular friday movie night at the diaz house.

🔥 Even in Winter There is Eranthis by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels / @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Hades/Persephone AU | 45K | Explicit): Buck is supposedly a god. Supposedly. But he's got no idea what his domain is or what role he plays in Olympus. When he meets Christopher, a young boy lost and trying to find his father, he helps Chris get home - and ends up accidentally binding himself to the Underworld. Now bound to Eddie, the god of the dead, Buck must spend half the year with him in the Underworld while winter reigns above. But even as something grows between them, there are still trials to endure. Just because the gods are not mortal... does not mean they cannot die.

🔥 My Blood on Your Skin (My Rose on Your Snow) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Mythological AU, BDSM | 80K | Explicit): When Eddie needs cash and fast to take care of Christopher, his LAFD Academy buddy suggests a job as a bouncer at Elysium - an exclusive sex club in downtown Los Angeles. Eddie doesn't care what goes on there, so long as he's paid, but he finds he cares a lot bout the club's enigmatic owner, Evan Buckley, and it's not long before the two of them are violating every boss-employee rule in the book. But there's something different about Buck and the club, something not quite... human. If Eddie wants to keep Buck, he's going to have to delve into the world of immortals, and all the risks that implies.

and check out the amazing podfic!! 🔥 My Blood on Your Skin (My Rose on Your Snow) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [Podfic] by Rhea314 (Rhea)/ @rhea314

hold tight, you’re slowly coming back to life by bucksclipboard/ @excuseme-greentea (S7E01 Coda, Getting Together | 3K | Teen): Eddie runs into Natalia at the grocery store. He learns something about her and Buck’s breakup that gives him the final push to take care of his own complicated love life.

🔥 miracles under your sighs and moans by napricot (Sex Pollen, PWP | 21K | Explicit): When Eddie gets exposed to an experimental aphrodisiac on a call, he realizes there’s only one person he trusts to help him get through it: Buck.

Touch Me and I'll Scream by rogerzsteven/ @rogerzsteven (BTHB: Unhealthy Coping Mecanisms, Established Buddie | 5K | Mature): At his low, Buck uses rough sex as a way of self harm.

in another life by bellabrady (Coma AU | 2K | Not Rated): Or: Buck's in a coma and dreams of a life where Daniel never died and he never became a firefighter.

Locations by rogerzsteven/ @rogerzsteven (BTHB: Vomiting, Drowning | 4K | General): In which Buck drowns.

I was born to take care of you by Beulaugh/ @if-music-be-the-food-of-love (Getting Together | 3K | Mature): Buck has a revelation at work and then promptly falls on his face. Eddie Diaz's ass: 1, Evan Buckley: 0

hold the silence. by dylaesthetics (Post-S6 | 3K | Teen): OR while looking for clothes to donate, Buck stumbles upon the shirt he was wearing when Eddie got shot.

Tomorrow we can drive around this town by lamardeuse/ @lamardeuse (S7 Spec, Drunk Eddie | 4K | Mature): If Eddie had been sober, he would have realized it wasn't something to be happy about. But drunk as he was, it had the blood singing in his veins, because Buck was going home with him, not Tommy. Tommy could go fuck himself – or you know, anyone else who was willing, but not Evan Buckley. Because Eddie was a pathetic, sloppy drunk and his best friend had a responsibility to make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit or drown himself in the bathroom sink.

sang to the sea for feelings deep blue by Tizniz/ @tizniz (S7 Spec, Cruise Ship Emergency | 14K | General): God, he hopes Buck got out. That he isn’t trying to get to Eddie. That he gets to go home. And not just because Christopher needs him, although he does since Eddie is fairly certain he’s not making it home this time. He doesn’t let himself dwell too long on that thought. No, Eddie wants Buck to go home because he deserves it. Because Buck deserves to live. Because Eddie needs him to live.

you've got game by browney3dgirl6/ @hoodie-buck (S7E01 Coda, Established Buddie | 1K | General): a silly little late night conversation about chris being a 'ladies man'

take this life and make it yours (take this heart and let it love again) by Maira/ @carrierofthepaperclips (Canon Divergent, Post-Coma | 31K | Mature): Before he could second guess it, he’d dialled Eddie’s number and listened to it ring in his ear. As soon as he heard the click of the connection, he said, “Eddie, what the hell, man?” “I meant what I said. I don’t know who you think you are, but call this number again and I will contact the police.” . . . or, the one where Buck finally figures out he's in love with Eddie, only for things to not go as planned. At first.

if i bleed, you'll be the last to know by heartbeatdiaz/ @loserdiaz (S7, Hurt Buck | 6K | Teen): buck gets stabbed while out on a run and then... doesn't tell anyone about it. eddie loses his shit when he finds out, they have a moment in the kitchen and they kiss.... not necessarily in that order.

Baby, take me by 42hrb / @exhuastedpigeon (S7E01 Coda, Getting Together | 4K | Explicit): “Same thing,” Eddie nuzzled him, stubble scratching even more as he moved his face. When he stopped nuzzling, he pulled back far enough that he could see Buck’s face. “I said stop thinking.” “Kinda hard to turn my brain off.” “Pretty sure I turned it off just fine last night,” Eddie said with a smirk that went straight to Buck’s cock, already half hard just from the way Eddie’s stubble is dragging across his skin. “Is that how I get you to stop thinking?”

when you call me yours by browney3dgirl6/ @hoodie-buck (Established Buddie, Proposal | 5K | General): Buck starts calling Eddie his husband. Only problem...they're not engaged. aka the 5 times Buck refers to Eddie as his husband and the 1 time Eddie makes it true.

just lay back in my arms for one more night by diazbegins/ @evanbegins (Established Buddie, Fluff | 2K | Teen): Buck loves Eddie as he naps.

Brat Burrito by Tizniz/ @tizniz (Established Buddie | 1K | General): Just a cute Buddie moment about breakfast burritos.

it's a sliding into home kind of day by devirnis/ @devirnis (PWP | 3K | Explicit): Eddie’s eyes still don’t leave the television. Frowning to himself, Buck cranes his neck to get a look at what could possibly be more important than him coming home after covering a tragically Eddie-less shift. A baseball game evidently is the answer.

your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep by BekkaChaos/ @bekkachaos (New Years Eve, Getting Together | 8K | Teen): aka, Eddie's in love with Buck and he doesn't know how to tell him, until there's a miscommunication and fate (well, Hen) intervenes.

Loose Threads by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Secret Relationship | 3K | Explicit): New to dating and keeping it quiet, Buck and Eddie get a little carried away on a slower shift at the firehouse. But when the alarm eventually sounds, a spur of the moment mistake leaves them a little mixed up.

Married Life by buddiefication (pumpkincreamcoldbrew)/ @911onabc (S5, Getting Together | 2K | General): Taylor films Buck for a TikTok challenge, and Buck finds out he would much rather be his best friend’s husband than his girlfriend’s.

A Seal By Any Other Name (Would Still Be My Best Friend) by bigfootsmom (Seal!Buck, Post-Tsunami | 5K | General): Evan "Buck" Buckley is a collection of oddities. But they're just what makes Buck Buck and Eddie loves him for them. Eddie had thought that after their years of friendship (and maybe something more) that nothing Buck could do would surprise him anymore. But there is one oddity that Eddie never saw coming. “How about you start with why there was a seal in my bathtub and now there’s just you in my bathtub.” (Part 1 of Seal!Buck as in the aquatic mammal)

Just Add Water by bigfootsmom (Seal!Buck, Tsunami | 3K | General): There may be more to Buck than meets the eye. But he's still only human(ish) and getting stuck in a natural disaster with his best friend's son is still all sorts of terrifying. A small hysterical part of his brain thinks about how ironic it would be if this was how he died. Him, a mythical aquatic creature, drowning. The universe would surely laugh and the long line of Buckley ancestors would turn in their graves. (Part 2 of Seal!Buck as in the aquatic mammal)

you can be my daddy (come on, you know you like) by bigfootsmom (Getting Together, Daddy Kink | 4K | Mature): Buck has a teeny tiny problem. One, he's in love with his best friend. Two, he wants to call said best friend Daddy.

It's the softness that breaks you by bigfootsmom (BDSM, Hurt/Comfort | 6K | Explicit): Or the one where Buck has more issues with intimacy than he had originally thought.

lay your love on me by bigfootsmom (PWP, Getting Together | 3K Explicit): Buck never thought the words he said to Eddie in the kitchen would ever come back to haunt him like this. Honestly, he’s not complaining.

you made me feel (i've got nothing to hide) by bigfootsmom (Virgin!Buck, Established Buddie, PWP | 8K | Explicit): Buck has a secret: Contrary to popular belief, Evan "Buck" Buckley is actually a virgin.

WIP

🔥 Right Where You Left Me by hyacinthusbloom/ @thebloomingheather (Canon Divergent, Post-S4, Angst | 22/? | 162K | Explicit | ❗️Warning: Rape/Non-con): "Therapy?" Eddie suggests. Buck almost laughs, but instead says, "I'll go if you go." Because he had fully expected him to be chicken shit, to disagree, and instead Eddie, the bastard, replies, "Deal." Or Buck never tells anyone that he slept with his therapist and deals with the butterfly effect years later.

🔥 Any Other Way by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, S2 | 6/18 | 37K | Mature): In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briar / @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon S1-S6, S7 Spec | 122/? | 374K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

[angelsdean]

All these thoughts also prompted me to think abt what John and Mary's fights were often about, especially the fight where John leaves and Dean then comforts Mary. And I think a big part of it was Mary keeping secrets and sneaking around with regard to hunting.

We know she was still hunting in 1980, when she saves Asa Fox. Dean would've been a year old and the hunt is not local, it's up in Canada. Mary says she's been tracking this werewolf for a long time and that they have history. I do think when she says "a long time" she means years and that she hasn't actively been tracking it but it's been something on the back-burner that she's kept an eye on all these years. But that still means she left for a number of days at the very least, and I wonder what she told John. What excuse did she come up with to justify suddenly taking off when they have a baby at home. And no, I don't think she needed to be there as "the mom" to take care of Dean or that she can't spend time away from the home or that fathers are incapable of taking care of their children or anything like that. But I think John would certainly wonder what's taking her away from them so suddenly. What could possibly be so important. And with a hunt like this, I don't think she could've exactly given him a set time-frame for her return.

Now, imagine that happening multiple times. Imagine that happening again when Sam is just a few months old. She says she has to go visit her uncle who's poorly (father of the Campbell cousins. The uncle that paid for her headstone when she died). And then she's gone for longer than she anticipated. And John is just suspicious. And when she comes back they argue about it. "I know you're lying! Just tell me the truth, Mary! What, are you seeing someone else?" And Mary holding firm to her lies because her family cannot know about the supernatural and hunting. Because she doesn't want her kids growing up like she did. Because John is her suburban fairytale. He can't know. And then John snaps. He's pissed. He thinks she's cheating while he's working to provide for the family AND watching the kids in her absence. So he flings a "Is Sam even mine?" at her in his rage and she slaps him and tells him "Don't you dare" and then John storms out in a huff but then calls later to talk about it more and Mary shuts him down. "No, John. … We’re not having this conversation again... Think about what? … You’ve two boys at home. …"

I can imagine a version of this phone call going something like this:

John calls. Maybe apologizes for what he said, but mostly just wants her to be honest with him.

John: Please, Mary, can we just talk about this.

Mary: No, John.

John: I just want you to tell me the truth! What are you hiding? What's going on that you can't tell me?

Mary: We're not having this conversation again.

John: Oh okay, 'we're not having this conversation again.' Well then can you blame me for where my mind is going? What would you think, huh?

Mary: Think about what?

John: You know how it looks, Mary. And I just, I can't keep doing this--

Mary: You have two boys at home. (and ohh the delicious irony of that in the context of her being the one leaving to continue hunting in secret)

John, probably, since the convo seems to continue: Oh that is rich coming from you right now, Mary.

Anyways, this is only one of many many scenarios I can imagine of their fights. And it's perhaps a little too sympathetic to John, but! I enjoy thinking of John complexly, especially considering how Young John is presented in SPN, and also John in the opening scene of the Pilot seems like the easy-going family man, who definitely had underlying issues prior to Mary's death (thank you SPNWIN for confirming that) but clearly those issues got worse after Mary's death, and for the most part he wasn't yet the guy we see him become after he is transformed by grief and anger. Also s12 Mary's rose-tinted recollections of John being such a good father, which starkly contrast to Dean's later memories of John, I think it's not a huge leap to say John pre-Mary's death was a good father, and I think seeing Mary leave them (likely repeatedly) under secretive circumstances for days at a time would have bothered John back then and been a continuous point of contention in their marriage.

And again, this is all simply one angle of interpretation, theorizing, and headcanoning and by no means the only possible scenario.

[morganxwritess]

‧₊˚❀༉‧ 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

summary: your father has promised you to a much older man, but benedict refuses to let you go without a fight. He is determined to win your heart, even if it means making a fool of himself by boldly throwing rocks at your window warnings: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, slight degradation (like barely any it could be so much worse), praise, dirty talk, fingering, p in v sex, fluffy smut note: this is my first post!!! i’m so very excited to share this with all of you. season 3 benedict had me weak in the knees, and when this idea came to me after he told john to go throw rocks at francesca's window, I knew I had to write it. lots of love!! let me know what you think!!! word count: 7.4k (not sure how that happened lmao)

As the second eldest Bridgerton child and next in line for the title of Viscount, any eligible woman with intelligence sought to secure Benedict Bridgerton as their match. Unfortunately for them, Mr. Bridgerton was not looking for a wife this season, nor the last, nor any season before that. It appeared that Benedict had no desire to marry, and it was doubtful that would ever change.

Yet, that did not stop the mamas of the ton from setting their daughters upon him as if they were nothing more than dogs and he was their meal. The thought was unsettling, making you nauseous, but you tried to ignore their classless attempts to negotiate a marriage with the Bridgerton boy. At this point, however, what the fathers were offering Benedict to take their daughters' hands in marriage was no longer negotiation. It was simply bribery. Lord Ellington had offered Benedict land in the country. Lord Wentworth did the same, but he included the staff to his land as if they were slaves he could barter and sell. Lord Haverford extended a tempting proposal that Benedict almost entertained, offering a one-of-a-kind masterpiece painted by Thomas Gainsborough. While Benedict considered it for a mere moment, he ultimately declined, asserting that no work of art, however exquisite, is worth the cost of compromising one's spirit for a union with which one cannot bear.

Everyone desired to be Benedict Bridgerton’s wife. Everyone thought they knew him and could force their way into his heart and capture his attention. But you knew him intimately, which is how you knew this would never occur. You knew precisely how he took his tea. You knew his favorite artist, and while he admired Thomas Gainsborough’s work, it was not he who held the place of honor. You knew his favorite sibling, even when he insisted he had none. You knew what ignited his passions and recognized the look on his face when he felt his creativity had been compromised. You knew everything about Benedict Bridgerton, which is why you knew he would never marry without love. And Benedict has never been one to fall in love with anything other than art.

While you admired the determination and resilience of the young debutantes vying for his attention, you also resented it, for their pursuit often kept him occupied during balls, leaving you at the mercy of your mother's desire to showcase you to any willing suitor. The social scene was unbearable to you. Men gawked and whispered about young women as though they were mere commodities. It was infuriating, but thankfully, you found solace in knowing you were not alone in this sentiment. Your closest friend Eloise shared and understood your frustrations more deeply than anyone else, and when Benedict was occupied, she did a decent enough job of sheltering you from your mama.

“Has your mother lost her head?” Eloise nearly shouted, earning glares from nearby onlookers as you stared at the floor, trying to keep the blush creeping up your cheeks at bay.

“I suppose it’s not too bad,” you mumbled, not believing your statement whatsoever.

“Not too bad?” Eloise asked as if speaking to a stranger and not you, her best friend whom she’d known since childhood. “You cannot marry him.”

“He hasn’t proposed yet. I believe it is just an option.”

“An option you're entertaining, tell me not.”

“Lord Kensington is not a cruel man, Eloise. He is very wealthy and will allow me to spend my days reading alone while he tends to his business. It seems like an appropriate match.”

Eloise scoffed and crossed her gloved hands over her chest. “Lord Kensington is nearly three and seventy. You are a child in comparison. This is the furthest thing from an appropriate match.”

“This is my third year on the marriage-mart. I’d rather be a widow than a spinster who’s a burden to her family.”

“Is that what you think of me? A burden?”

Your eyes widened. “Eloise, no I—”

“I’m going to seek some refreshments. Perhaps when I return you’ll no longer be behaving in such an unbearable manner.”

With that, Eloise stormed away, her dress flashing through the crowd like a river of blue. You took a deep breath, attempting to ground yourself and regain composure. It was not as if you were excited to potentially marry Lord Kensington. He was simply an option. One that disgusted you and made your skin crawl, but an option nonetheless. You were only confiding in a friend, but leave it to Eloise to blow things out of proportion and not give you the opportunity to explain.

“Is that a frown I see?” The blue-eyed devil whose company you were praying for teased as he stood to your right.

“Eloise is upset with me.”

Benedict smirked as if what you said was an insufficient reason to be emotional. “Eloise will be Eloise. What have you done that has destroyed her life, ruined her future, and perhaps changed the course of history itself?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in your throat. “Your sister is not that dramatic.”

“We are speaking of the same sister, correct?”

You rolled your eyes, and he moved to stand in front of you, capturing your complete attention. He looked exceptionally handsome tonight, his deep navy tailcoat contrasting elegantly with the crisp white linen shirt beneath. The maroon cravat, tied with exquisite precision, drew the gaze of any unfortunate soul who dared to look his way. His hair, styled almost artistically, gave him the appearance of a portrait subject moments before the painter's brush touched the canvas.

Other than the mass of invalids gathered at these balls, what you despised most was how impossibly handsome the man standing before you appeared when you finally got the chance to speak with him. He was, of course, handsome every day, but there was something incomparable about his appearance when meticulously dressed for the social event of the season.

“You truly are upset,” Benedict stated as he stared into your eyes, realizing the extent of your worry. “Tell me, what is it that you and my sister were arguing about?”

“I am to be engaged.”

Benedict’s eyes widened, and his large, goofy smile was replaced by a stern, thin-lined frown. You paused, staring at his hardening features. Why was he upset? He had not even heard the worst part yet.

Clearing his throat, Benedict tried to force a smile. “Congratulations. Who is the lucky husband-to-be?”

“Lord Kensington.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You must be mistaken. Are you speaking of Lord Kilmartin? I believe he fancies my sister Francesca, but I could be mistaken.”

You shook your head. “No, I am not mistaken. I am to be engaged to Lord Kensington. He and my father are speaking tonight, but he has already declared his intentions.”

Benedict's face contorted with many emotions, but only one seemed clear to you as you studied his burning blue eyes. Anger. Was he angry with you for finding a husband? While yes, Lord Kensington was many years older than you, this sort of thing happened all the time. Just last week, Miss Radcliffe, who is your age, married Lord Pennington, who is nearly eight and sixty.

"Lord Kensington is older than the combined ages of your parents," he argued. "By the time you marry him and bear him an heir, he will likely be dead. In fact, he may not even live to see the child born."

“Benedict—”

“This is unacceptable,” he exclaimed, looking around the room like a madman. “Where is your father? I will speak with him.”

“And do what, Benedict? This is my third year on the marriage-mart. The longer I wait to marry, the more undesirable I become.”

“You can wait one more season. There must be someone else—”

"There is no one else, Benedict!" you exclaimed, your voice echoing through the room and drawing the attention of onlookers. In this moment, it felt as though you were the only souls in existence. Nothing else mattered—not the curious gazes nor the threat to your reputation. With unwavering resolve, you met his gaze, channeling every ounce of strength within you. “And frankly, I am tired of waiting. This is a suitable match, and the union will be short enough.”

“I will find you someone else to marry,” he whispered under his breath to avoid the attention of the rest of the ton.

Firmly, you shook your head, not wanting to argue with him. “Mr. Bridgerton, I apologize for my outburst. I must be feeling unwell. I believe I will turn in early.”

You began to walk away to find your mother and father and convince them to take you home when he grabbed your gloved arm, forcing you to face him once more.

“Y/N, please—”

“There is nothing left to be done, Mr. Bridgerton. Now please remove your hands from me.”

Reluctantly, Benedict released you. “Then I suppose the next time I see you will be at your engagement celebration.”

Holding back tears, you nodded. “As always, I’m looking forward to it, Mr. Bridgerton.”

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That evening, upon returning to your residence in Mayfair, your lady's maid assisted you in preparing for bed before retiring for the night herself. Your father was absent, likely in discussion with Lord Kensington, finalizing the arrangements for your impending engagement, while your mother, deep in slumber, dreamt of the wedding preparations ahead. Meanwhile, you lay wide awake beneath the canopy of your chamber, clad in your nightgown, yearning to be anyone but yourself.

In that moment, the faintest tap at your window caught your attention. Initially, you dismissed it as a figment of your imagination—surely, no one would seek to contact you at such a late hour, especially considering your residence on the second floor. Yet, the sound persisted, growing more insistent with each repetition.

With cautious steps, you rose and approached the window, uncertainty weighing heavily upon you. Slowly, you drew aside the voluminous pink curtains that had obscured both moonlight and the view of the street below. There, you observed a small pebble making contact with the glass, producing a gentle, persistent knocking sound.

Who on earth was throwing rocks at your window? Especially at this hour?

Delicately, you released the latch securing the window and eased it open, peering down to the street below to discern the identity of the visitor. From your vantage point, you observed a figure below, stooping to retrieve more stones, his movements deliberate yet furtive. As he straightened, your gaze locked onto his face, and in that instant, you recognized the familiar features of the culprit.

“Benedict?” you whispered down at the man.

Upon hearing your voice, Benedict dropped the rocks in his hand, and a relieved sigh escaped him.

“Y/N, I must speak with you. I attempted to enter the house, but the door is locked.”

“Because it is exceptionally late. Benedict, you cannot be here. This is rather improper.”

“I will not leave until I get a word with you, and I will only get louder as you make me wait.”

You could not let him in. You were dressed in your nightgown. Your hair was not done nor your makeup. Not to mention, if anyone were to see him come inside, your family would be cast out of society. While you all were wealthy, respected, and had titles, you were no Bridgerton. You could not get away with such a feat.

“Why are you here, Ben?” you asked, your voice full of defeat.

You observed a softening of his features from hearing the nickname you had given him all those years ago. Despite wearing the same attire from the ball, his hair was now disheveled, evidence of repeated runs of his hand through it—a nervous habit of his. He gestured with open arms, as if inviting you to leap into them—an implausible notion, surely.

“I am here to be bold and declare myself,” he declared, ever so confidently.

“You are not being bold,” you whispered, looking up and down the street for any passersby. “You are making a fool out of yourself and my family.”

“I am calling upon you—” he began to shout before you quickly shushed him and caved to his demands.

“Fine! Fine! I will be down in a moment,” you hissed, shutting the window in your wake.

You hastily raked your fingers through your tousled hair, attempting in vain to tame the unruly strands that betrayed a night of restless tossing and turning in bed. Eventually conceding defeat, you reached for your baby blue robe hanging on the door and descended the stairs with purposeful strides. Benedict Bridgerton's unexpected appearance bewildered you—had he lost his senses? His unannounced visit threatened to disrupt everything.

You grasped the gilded handle of your front door, turning it with utmost care to avoid arousing anyone's attention to Benedict's presence. The door swung open slowly, revealing Benedict poised outside, patiently awaiting your invitation inside that would not be coming.

“What are you doing here, Benedict? If anyone were to see you—”

“I have found you another option,” he stated breathlessly.

You frowned, confused by his words. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you must marry Lord Kensington because there is no other option. I have found you another one.”

You could not help but roll your eyes at his audacious statement. “And who might that be? My father has looked for other men for me to marry, and his search has been fruitless. I doubt yours would be much different.”

“You will marry me.”

A ringing sensation echoed in your ears, accompanied by a wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm you. Surely, he could not mean what he was saying. Perhaps confusion had clouded his judgment. As you gathered your thoughts, uncertainty gripped you tightly.

“Are you drunk?” you asked hoarsely. Your eyes widened momentarily, realizing the potential rudeness of your question. “I apologize. I meant—No, I meant what I said. Are you drunk?”

The same goofy smile you had come to love appeared on Benedict’s face. “Believe it or not, I have never been more sober.”

You shook your head, alarmed by this whole situation. “Well then, are you mad? That’s the only excuse for you to come here at this hour asking for my hand in marriage.”

“You are one of my dearest friends. I will not let you marry a man on his deathbed,” he stated firmly, reaching for your hands and holding them in his.

Still unconvinced, you scoffed, “What about Eloise? Surely your sister would not be fond of you marrying one of her closest friends.”

“It was actually her idea,” he stated, creating only more confusion for you. “We were on the swings discussing how unfond we were of your fiancé when she said that she wished I were marrying you instead.”

Realizing the gravity of this conversation, you ripped your hands from his. “You do not even wish to be married, and I will not let you marry me out of pity.”

As you reached for the door to slam it in his face, he asserted himself, pushing it open and pressing you gently until your back met the doorframe. Your chest rose and fell with heightened emotion as you gazed up at him, but before you could react, he captured your lips with his own. A rush of warmth enveloped your entire being, causing you to pause, unsure of your next move. The sensation was entirely new to you; while you had read about such moments in the pages of Jane Austen’s novels, experiencing them firsthand was another matter altogether. Benedict's kiss felt unlike anything you had ever known—a gesture filled with a fervor that seemed to imply he needed your very breath to survive.

As you drew back from him, a swell of emotion threatened to bring tears to your eyes. Leaving his embrace was painful; you longed to linger, yet the reality of the situation weighed heavily upon you. With the door ajar, vulnerable to prying eyes, the impropriety of the moment loomed large in your mind. It felt unjust and heart-wrenching—to share such a tender kiss with the man you loved, only to face an impending marriage to another that you could not stand.

“This is cruel, Benedict,” you whispered, your voice trembling and your lips quivering. “I did not take you to be a cruel man.”

“I am not marrying you out of pity,” he declared firmly, his gaze intense as he wiped away the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Or obligation,” he added, his touch gentle yet resolute. “Or convenience.”

“Then why would you do this?” you asked, fighting to maintain composure before him. “Why come here, demanding to marry me when you know I have loved you for years?”

He hesitated briefly, taken aback by your words, before gently cupping your cheeks with both hands. “Because I will not let the woman I love marry a man who is not me.”

You gasped involuntarily as his words replayed in your mind. Benedict's face broke into a triumphant smile, akin to winning a hard-fought duel. The revelation felt almost surreal. Benedict Bridgerton loves you? It seemed impossible to comprehend. You'd known him since childhood, and despite the few years' difference in age, you would have expected him to declare his feelings long before the eve of your arranged engagement.

“Do not lie to me, Benedict, or so help me God—”

“I have never lied to you, my love,” he interjected, pressing a tender kiss to your right temple as he continued to cradle your face. “And I never will.”

Overwhelmed by your emotions, you pulled away, your voice rising in frustration. “Why did you not say something sooner?” you demanded, no longer caring about your mother asleep upstairs or the servants resting elsewhere in the house. “Why tell me now?”

“Because, I—” he began, his frustration evident as he ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I had more time. I convinced myself that if you chose to marry another man, someone of substance, I would step aside. But this…I cannot let you marry Lord Kensington. It would be a fate worse than I could endure.”

“You wanted more time?” you asked, exasperated. “More time for what? To visit brothels? To sleep with whores? To continue being a rake? You wanted more time to be selfish before you had to force yourself to settle down?”

He scoffed. “Do you even know the meaning of the words you say? Or are they just judgmental statements you’ve heard your father make about me to your mother?”

“I love you, Benedict. I always have, but I will not be second to the life you want for yourself. I will not become a regret of yours when you are my entire world. It would break me, so I would rather become the wife of a man who disgusts me than marry you and have you disdain me.”

Forcefully, he seized your bicep, pulling you close until your chest pressed firmly against his with every breath. Benedict had always been so kind, so gentle, so transparent, but as you gazed into his eyes now, you saw a different man entirely—a beast poised to devour its prey.

“Do not presume to know my desires or what I will regret,” he declared, his voice a low growl as he towered over you. “You may love me, but you do not know me better than I know myself. What I know is that I want you, in every sense of the word. I want you to be my wife, my partner, the woman with whom I share my life. I want to wake up each morning with you in my arms. I want to possess you, and I want the world to know that you belong to me.”

Your eyes blinked heavily as you stared up at him, tears beginning to fill them. "I want nothing more, Benedict, but my father has most certainly already promised me to Lord Kensington. You’re too late."

Benedict shook his head, refusing to accept your words. "You will come with me now to Bridgerton House—"

"I cannot leave the house at this hour in this attire with you!" you gasped, horrified by the idea. "I’ll become the biggest scandal in Lady Whistledown’s next issue."

"You will not interrupt me," he stated firmly. "Do you not trust me?"

You sighed, "I trust you. I’m just questioning your judgment. Have you truly thought this through?"

"Listen to me, Y/N. You are coming with me to Bridgerton House now. We will not keep this quiet. The more people who see us, the better. Tomorrow morning, I will go to your father and declare my intent to marry you. Perhaps we may even obtain a special license to wed quickly, avoiding further scrutiny."

"That will not change the fact that my father has promised me to Lord Kensington."

"What changes is that if Lord Kensington discovers you stayed the night unchaperoned with me, he will not want to marry you."

Pausing, you realized the sense in his logic, though you were still confused. "But why not?"

“Because he will think I have bedded you, and he will not marry a woman whose purity he believes is not intact,” Benedict explained.

“Oh... So, you’re not planning to bed me? We're tricking him?” you asked, sounding more disappointed than you intended.

A broad smile spread across Benedict's face, lighting up the foyer where you stood. “Do you want me to bed you, my love?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you tried to look down, but he gently lifted your chin, compelling you to meet his gaze.

“I just assumed that you would eventually. It is my marital duty, after all,” you mumbled.

Benedict shook his head. “In our marriage, the only duty will be to love each other with every ounce of our being until our dying breath. I will not make love to you unless you ask me to.”

“But when my mother explained the marital duty, she said—”

“Your mother is wrong,” he interrupted firmly, his grip on your chin steady. “You will be my wife, and as your husband, I promise that I will never force you into intimacy. You will come to me willingly, as I will to you, or not at all. I will not coerce you.”

With a gentle embrace, you wrapped your arms around his neck and rose onto your tiptoes to meet his gaze. “I’m not wearing shoes, my handsome fiancé. How will you manage to get me to your bed?”

He tapped his chin playfully, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed teasingly, eliciting a laugh from you. Without warning, he swept you into his arms bridal-style, prompting a squeal of delight as he started towards his home.

“Benedict, we must close the door,” you laughed.

He shrugged nonchalantly, his stride toward his house unwavering. “Your father can handle it when he returns from his meeting with your now ex-fiancé.”

“He was never my fiancé. He was almost my fiancé.”

“And who do we have to thank for that?”

“How would you like me to thank you, Ben?”

"I have many ideas in mind, my love, but I'm curious to see what you're thinking," he smirked devilishly.

Now it was your turn to foolishly tap your finger against your chin as he had done before. "I've got it!" you exclaimed, teasing him, which prompted him to tickle your underarm with the hand that rested on your back. Your laughter filled the air, and Benedict couldn't help but note that he had never heard a more liberating sound.

"You're not getting your reward anymore!" You gasped, squirming playfully in his arms.

“Oh no!” He pouted, placing his head in the crook of your neck, and you couldn’t help but feel the movement of his soft smirking lips, “How may I get it back? Tell me, my love. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

“I believe I rather prefer you on your worst behavior, Mr. Bridgerton.” You teased.

Benedict’s head snapped up to meet your gaze, his pupils dilated with lust and desire, “Is that so?”

“You are ever so enticing when you wear that dopey mischievous smirk that you are sporting this instant.”

“And you are ever so desirable when you look at me like you wish for me to fuck you, my dear.”

A surprised gasp escaped you, but before you could finish it, Benedict captured your mouth in another kiss. The kiss started out soft and lazy as his steps began to falter, it is then when he maneuvered you so your front is facing him and he is carrying you by your thighs. Unintentionally, you began to grind your body against his length with each step he took as you sat beautifully atop of his clothed member. His grip tightened over your nightgown, and your hands pulled at his hair as he continued to devour you.

“Ben.” You moaned, pulling him closer if there were even such a possibility.

“What is it, beautiful?”

“I need more. I need you.”

Benedict smirked, his lips never leaving your neck, “I see. I never dreamed of you being this desperate for me especially in such a public place. If I were not as desperate as you, I would see it as pathetic.”

“Be nice.” You pouted, throwing your head back as he ravished you.

“Of course, my dearest. I know you want nothing more than to behave as an absolute angel, and I must act in a manner that is befitting to accompany you. God forbid, I scare my good girl off before I have the opportunity to ruin her.”

“Yes!” You moaned, almost bouncing in his arms having no earthly idea why the feeling of him against you was as ethereal as it is. “Ruin me, Ben. I’m all yours.”

If it were up to Benedict, he’d lie you against the dirty ground beneath him and fuck you until you were both unmoving and drenched in sweat. And while he supposed he could make that decision for the two of you and lie you down right now, he did not want your first time to be where anyone could see. When he took you intimately for the first time, he wanted to cherish you, and he wanted to be the only one who knew the look that appeared on your face when you discovered just how beautiful making love could be. When you realized that the action should never be a duty, but a gift.

“My love, if you do not behave, I will not be able to compose myself.” He stated, as he grinded his teeth together, attempting to hide just how far gone he was.

Before you even had the opportunity to whine or protest, Benedict threw you over his shoulder like a rag doll. You were instantly met with disappointment at the loss of contact, and you were about to argue with him when his hand playfully smacked your bottom.

“Benedict!” You shouted as his walking began to speed up, and you could sense from your surroundings that you were almost to Bridgerton House.

“I apologize, dearest, but I cannot wait a second longer to claim you, and this is the fastest way to get us to our destination.”

“By treating me as a child?” You argued. He slapped your bottom again, and once again, you shouted after him, “Benedict Bridgerton.”

“If you are going to behave like an ill-disciplined child, I will treat you as such. Now, keep your voice down. This isn’t a secret, but we do not need the entire ton to know I have stolen you away.”

Your ribs bounced against his shoulder as he took you up the steps into Bridgerton House, and you couldn’t help but smirk as you whispered, “You only want me to be quiet, so I do not wake your mother. You could not care less about the rest of the ton.”

Not answering you like the stubborn mule he was, he slapped your ass once more, and not willing to admit that you enjoyed the sting of his affection, you slapped his back in return.

You felt his stifled laugh before you heard it as he swiftly maneuvered you into one of the few rooms of Bridgerton House that you have never seen: his bedroom. You weren’t given the chance to look at your surroundings and see the room where the man you would be marrying laid his head each night. As soon as you saw the door swing closed behind him, your vision shifted to his ceiling. With a swift motion, he threw you onto his mattress, your back bouncing against the soft surface.

Before you could tease him for his impatience, he was already on top of you, his lips on your neck with a hunger akin to Dracula's. How had you resisted his charms for so long? Why had you denied yourself the fulfillment of tasting his lips? What had you done to deserve the intense pleasure he now bestowed upon you? Amidst all these unanswered questions, one thing became clear: there was no going back to a life where Benedict didn't kiss you so sweetly and speak to you with such desire.

He nibbled at the smallest bit of skin below your ear, eliciting a moan from you that he now has deemed the sound of the Lord calling him home. Surely, there was nothing more heavenly than the sound your body made when it called for him.

“Ben, please—” You begged.

He moved from your neck to your swollen lips, pecking them ever so gently, “You are alright, my love.” He said in between kisses, “Do you wish for me to continue?” 

Nodding your head rapidly, Benedict couldn’t help but smile down at the sight, “Are you certain, dearest? There will be no turning back.”

You placed one hand on his shoulder and the other behind his head as you pulled him down to meet you, “Don’t ever stop.”

With your consent, Benedict removed your baby blue robe and began to bring the bottom of the skirt of your simple white nightgown up to rest at your hips, leaving your bottom half exposed. You moved to close your legs, feeling slightly insecure from the display, but Benedict stopped you placing his hands on your thighs.

“Do not hide from me, my love.” He stated, tenderly as he gently squeezed your thigh.

Your eyes widened and with them your legs, accepting his strong manly presence. 

“Have you touched yourself here?” He asked, ghosting his hand between your legs, almost making contact, but immediately pulling back before you could feel him.

You shook your head no, “Why would I?”

Mumbling against your hip bone, he replied,“Because it brings you pleasure.” 

“Just as you are doing now?” You gasped as his fingers finally made contact.

He chuckled almost sinisterly as he planted delicate kisses across your hips and lower stomach while rocking his fingers back and forth across the button between your legs, “Exactly as I’m doing now.” He murmured, “In fact, when you try it, I want you to think of this moment. Do you understand?”

You nodded your head desperately, and he lowered himself further into the valley that was your thighs, “Are you certain you understand?” He asked, dastardly kissing your cunt for the first time while his fingers continued their calculated movements. 

Throwing your head back in desperation, you shouted, “Yes! Yes! I will think of you Benedict!”

“And only me?” He asked with the fakest pout, jutting his lip out like a fool. You were too busy enjoying his fingers and tongue to entertain his teasing.

“Of course you! Only you! God, Benedict. Do not stop!”

“Does it feel good, my darling?” He asked rhetorically, inserting one finger, to carefully begin stretching you out for his cock

A peculiar warmth enveloped your abdomen, radiating to that intimate place between your legs. This sensation first stirred upon seeing him for the first time tonight and has only grown the longer you lie here in his bed. Your thighs felt sticky and moist, your breasts tingled and rose with each heavy breath, and your mind became blissfully empty. It was an unusual feeling, yet undeniably welcome.

The stretch of the single digit inside you stung at first, but that pain quickly morphed into pleasure as he moved it in and out, sliding it against your walls, eliciting a feeling you had never felt before.

Benedict groaned merely at the sight of you beginning to come undone around his finger. He inserted a second and you reached for his hand, gasping, not necessarily in protest just in desperate need for a pause.

With one hand still inside you, he planted the other beside your head and slowly climbed up your body, kissing every inch until he reached your jaw. He gently sucked on the edge of your neck while you reached for his hair, causing him to smile against your skin. A slight tug unintentionally escaped you from the overwhelming sensation of him between your legs, eliciting a growl from him into your throat, pushing you further over the edge.

He suddenly pulled away from you and tugged at the cravat around his neck, tossing it to the floor. You moaned at the loss of his fingers, but it was then when you realized he was still fully clothed and you were almost completely naked. He continued pulling at his clothing, throwing his shirt and tailcoat to the floor before reaching for his belt. Realizing where this was heading, you pulled the remainder of your nightgown over your head, leaving your entire body on display for him before you placed it gently in your lap unsure of what to do next.

Sensing your uncertainty, he took your nightgown from you and tossed it to the floor, taking charge. He climbed on top of your body while he pushed his pants down his legs and planted himself on your chest. His lips enveloped your right nipple while his large hand twisted and grabbed at your left breast. Benedict had seen the tops of them over the years in the countless corsets you had worn, but seeing them bare as they are now, he felt like the luckiest man in London.

As he kissed your chest, it only created a desperate need to be inside you. He was dying to watch your breasts bounce as he pumped in and out of you, fucking you like he had always dreamed of. Your body was a dream in its entirety. How Benedict got so lucky to claim it was beyond him, but he knew better than to question God’s gifts.

“You are breathtaking, my love.” He moaned, rutting against you as he switched directions and kissed up your neck, “You are a goddess, and I am only a lucky mortal who gets to bear witness to your beauty.”

“Benedict—” You begged, cutting yourself off as you reached for him, “I miss your fingers. Put them back inside me.”

You were addicting and those words only ensured your future husband that he would never let you leave him. He would never be able to survive another day without seeing the glow that your face currently held. He buried his head into the side of your neck and reached for his cock knowing you were ready from the wetness that soaked in between your legs.

“I am going to give you something better than my fingers.” He stated, hungrily. Your brain is too foggy to comprehend what he means by this statement. What could be better than his fingers? “I am going to give you my cock, and it is going to hurt for a moment at first, but I promise you it will feel better after a while.”

“It will hurt?” You asked, sounding frightened. 

“It is nothing you can not handle, my dear.” He smiled, kissing your temple not wanting your nervousness to interfere with your pleasure, “I love you, and I guarantee this will bring you pleasure. It just takes a moment to get used to the size, but you are wet enough that it should not hurt exceptionally bad.”

You grabbed at his biceps anxiously, stopping him for a moment, “My mother said that the marital duty—“ You interrupted yourself as his eyebrows narrowed at you, and you knew the reason for his confusion was that with him, there would be no marital duty. You had a feeling that your marriage would be entirely different from your parents because unlike your parents you and Benedict were a match made of love, “She said that making love was painful and unpleasant for the first time. One of the worst pains imaginable.” A tear pricked at the corner of your eyes, “I am frightened.”

“Oh, my love,” He cooed, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “You may not need to be frightened with me. Yes, sex can hurt if you are not properly prepared, but I have ensured that you are ready for this experience. The more you think about it, the worse you will build it up in your head. Just relax, dearest. The more you relax the better it will be.”

You nodded your head, but you did not remove your hands from Benedict’s large biceps, you closed your eyes almost as if you were bracing yourself for him. Wanting to bring you as much ease as possible, Benedict leaned down to kiss your temple before moving to your lips. Your hands moved from his arms to his face, and while you were occupied with the feeling of your lips on his, he grabbed his cock in his hand, stroking it twice before pushing only the head inside,allowing you time to adjust.

A quick gasp escaped you and in an instant your hands were back on his biceps. It took every ounce of strength that possessed Benedict to not push into you further, but he wanted this to be a good experience for you, and he refused to put you in more pain than he had to.

“You just tell me when you are ready for me to move, and I will, dearest. This is all up to you.”

“Ok,” You murmured breathlessly, nodding your head. The sting inside you had dulled to an aching need for him to move, “You may move.”

At that, Benedict pushed further in, slowly seating himself completely in your heat. The pain worsened slightly, but with the way he whispered sweet nothings to you and kissed you so softly, you were too overcome with emotions to comprehend the pain. He sat inside you for a moment, not wanting to rush this time with you and not wanting it to be over so soon. You were so tight and squeezing him like a vice that he needed a minute or else it would all be over before it began. 

Once you both had adjusted to the feeling of eachother’s warmth, Benedict began moving. He slowly started pulling his length out until he pushed back in before he could slip out of you, continuing pumping in and out as you got used to the feeling. It was almost enough, but you knew you needed more. 

“More, Ben,” You moaned, breathily, “Faster.”

A lazy smirk fell on Benedict's lips as he placed his forehead against yours, “Look at my needy girl. She’s begging for it like some common street whore. It's ok, my love. I will take care of you.”

Your eyes widened at his statement, and you wished you could say that his words had no effect on your body, but with the way your head unintentionally fell back and your lips gasped for more of him, you knew it would be nothing but a lie.

Benedict ravaged your body like you were his for the taking, which you were, and it made you realize that you could not have lived another second without having Benedict this intimately. You were not meant to be any man’s wife but his. You were not meant to bear any child that lacked the last name Bridgerton. As your childhood best friend gave you everything you had always wanted, you knew that he was your destiny in every life, and you couldn’t fathom how you almost let him go.

As Benedict kissed your lips, your neck, your cheeks, and every inch of your face while he pounded in you, he placed one hand on the bottom of left thigh and lifted your leg over his shoulder, resting it there as he picked up his pace. The feeling instantly left butterflies in your stomach, and a loud moan escaped you as you relished the feeling of this new angle.

“Oh, Benedict! You must not stop. I have a feeling I cannot name—” You shouted and he placed his large hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

With sweat dripping off both of your bodies, Benedict leaned down placing his mouth by your ear without slowing his pace in the slightest.

“That is called an orgasm, my love, and I want it to rip through you like a flood. Just tell me when you are there, and I will finish with you.”

You nodded your hands gripping his biceps as he pummeled into you until you simply could not hold it any longer. Sensing your closeness to the edge, Benedict somehow managed to speed up as he stared at your breasts, watching as they bounced every time he thrusted into you. His hips became sloppy as he felt how close he was as well.

“Ben—” You gasped, unable to even finish a sentence.

“I know. I know. I’m right there with you.”

In that moment, it felt as though fireworks exploded between you, your body convulsing in bliss and your mouth parting with cries of ecstasy. Benedict, equally overwhelmed, carefully lowered your leg before collapsing onto you, mindful not to crush you. The sensation was indescribable. Although Benedict had been with other women before, he knew he could never return to those empty encounters, for nothing compared to being with the one he truly loved.

As the euphoria gradually subsided, you both lay there, tangled in each other’s embrace, feeling the warmth of your shared connection. Benedict gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender and affectionate. His eyes, filled with a mix of satisfaction and devotion, met yours.

"You are heavenly," he whispered, his voice husky and sincere.

You smiled, feeling a surge of happiness and contentment. "So are you," you replied softly, your fingers tracing patterns on his back.

For a while, neither of you spoke, savoring the intimate silence and the steady rhythm of your breathing. It was in these quiet moments that you felt the depth of your bond, stronger and more profound than ever before.

Eventually, Benedict propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze never leaving your face. "I love you," he said, the words carrying the weight of his heart, “I will never leave you, and if I have to duel Lord Kensington or your father to have you as my wife, I will do so happily.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with emotion.

You both knew that this was just the beginning of something extraordinary, a journey of love and passion that you would navigate together, no matter what challenges lay ahead. No matter what the morning brought, no matter what your father said, whether he cast you out or forbade you from marrying Benedict, it didn't matter. You knew in your heart that you were meant to be Benedict Bridgerton's wife. It was always you. This new and sacred union would withstand the scrutiny of the ton and any obstacles thrown your way. Your love was destined, and nothing could change that. As long as you had each other, you could face anything the world decided to challenge you with.

[live-laugh-neteyam]

That Funny Feeling ||| neteyam x omatikaya!reader

part two of The Future's Better Than Yesterday | previous | series masterlist | next |

pairings: neteyam x omatikayal!fem!reader *aged up*

summary: after listening to Mo’at insisting on finding a mate for you, you spend time with a boy in the village. Seeing the two of you together fuels Neteyam’s jealousy leading him to a confession.

words: 1.9k

warnings/notes: cringy tooth rotting fluff, use of y/n, probably spelling/grammar errors (sorry), mentions of finding a mate, friends to lovers starts to go somewhere, jealous!neteyam, also made up Na’vi name, honestly not a whole lot going on this chapter

Rolling your eyes you continued the task at hand. Hands busy at work making different healing pastes to replenish the stock. You wanted nothing more than to work in peace but Mo'at wouldn't let up.

"I will you help you my child." She continued. "It's time you find a mate."

"I already told you," letting out a heavy sigh. "I'm not looking for a mate right now."

"You have been of age for some time now. You cannot push it back forever."

You weren't ready. At this rate you could barley take care of yourself, the last thing you wanted to do was throw someone else into the mix. Besides, there was only one person you could see yourself with and that would never happen.

"My visions are getting worse. I don't want to drag someone into this. Until I get them under control I want to remain on my own."

"You are stubborn like your father." The Tsahík huffed.

Your face softened at the mention of your father. Knowing that other people noticed similarities between the two of you made your heart soar.

"Talk some sense into her Kiri." Mo'at continued to press.

"I'm staying out of this." Kiri raised her hands in surrender.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Good choice Kiri."

Despite your words the Tsahík knew that there was one young man you had your eye on. She also knew that he felt the same for you. The two of you thought you were sly but it had been painfully obvious for everyone else.

You would never admit your feelings for Neteyam because you feared rejection. There was no way he could feel the same so you didn't want to ruin the friendship the two of you had.

No one knew why Neteyam still hadn't confessed his feelings. Everyone knew he had been pining over you for years.

He just didn't know how to confess his feelings to you yet. Neteyam being the perfectionist that he is, had to have everything planned out to the last detail. Everything was always calculated and precise.

He would tell you when he had it all figured out.

Neteyam wasn't worried about rushing. He made it obvious to the other young men of the clan that you were off limits. Threatening anyone who so much as looked at you.

Even the Tsahík had noticed this in her grandson. You two were a match from Eywa herself. But Neteyam was too young and dumb to do anything about it. So Mo’at decided you needed a little push.

She had no doubt of your feelings and knew you’d be a perfect future Tsahík. Your connection to The Great Mother was undeniable and your care for the people was genuine. You would complete Neteyam in leading the people.

All that was needed was for one if you to make the first move.

***

Later that day you were in your tent with Kiri. "Your grandmother is driving me to madness." You huffed still irritated from earlier.

"You know that it's only gonna get worse from here right? My grandmother is relentless."

"I've noticed."

The entrance flap of the tent opened revealing a young man. He stood there awkwardly, seemingly unsure of himself.

"Ateyo." Kiri acknowledged him. "Are you injured?"

"No actually." he replied shifting his weight on his feet. "I'm here to see Y/N."

Your ears shot up at the sound of your name. Slowly turning around to face him you took him in. He gave a small smile and waved.

Having a feeling that someone else was up to something you couldn't help but be suspicious.

"What can I help you with Ateyo?" You wore your best fake smile hoping he didn't notice.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go on a walk with me?" He nervously scratched the back of his neck.

Your eyes practically bugged out of your head. Looking over to Kiri she had her hand pressed to her mouth trying to conceal her laughter.

Taking a deep breath you tried to think of something to get you out of this. "Thank you, but I still have work here to do."

"I can hold down the fort." Kiri knowingly smirked at you.

You whipped around giving her a look. Which only fueled her laughter more. You could've smacked the smile right off her.

"Shall we go then?" Ateyo asked holding his arm out for you. It was a sweet gesture but it meant little to you coming from him.

With one last glare at Kiri you followed Ateyo out of your tent. "Have fun you two!" Kiri exclaimed.

"You don't deserve to live." You mouthed to her. She stuck her tongue out in return before hunching over in laughter.

"Did the Tsahík put you up to this?" You winced slightly at your bluntness. But you couldn't help but ask. Ateyo was nice but had never once showed interest in you.

"She had mentioned something to me." He nervously chuckled. "But I would like to spend some time with you."

"I don't know what she told you but I'm not looking for a relationship right now." He nodded listening carefully to you.

"Would a walk as friends be alright then?" Ateyo asked his voice laced with hope.

"I would like that." You smiled.

For the most part you enjoyed Ateyo's company. Still, there was a part of you that wished he was anyone else. You’d rather be racing your Ikrans with Lo'ak or gossiping with Kiri. Hell you'd even play dolls with Tuk.

You most definitely would rather be walking with Neteyam right now.

Despite his words you noticed his lingering glances and occasional subtle flirting. You didn't pay much attention to it, you weren't at all interested so it didn't matter.

***

Neteyam bounded into your tent with a huge smile on his face. He had a habit of obtaining slight injuries that needed your immediate attention. It was the perfect excuse to come see you and one of the only times he got to see you during the day.

"Are you injured brother?" Kiri asked looking him up and down.

Smile fading he looked around the room noticing your absence. "Where is Y/N?"

"Hello brother, it is nice to see you too." Kiri rolled her eyes. "My day has been good thanks for asking." She taunted.

"That's nice Kiri, but where is Y/N?" He was trying to be nice to his sister but his patience was wearing thin.

"She's out. Is there anything I could help you with?" She smirked.

"Out where?"

"Not sure. But if you need help with the scrape on your head I happen to be a very skilled healer. Unless, there was another reason you needed Y/N?" Her tone teasing.

Neteyam felt his face heat up at his sister's words. She knew exactly why he wanted to see you but still chose to torture him. "Never mind Kiri.”

Walking out of the tent he was met with a sight that made his stomach drop. There you were entering the village with a man. His blood ran cold and then started to boil as the man put his hand on your shoulder.

Neteyam wanted nothing more than to rip his hand off.

A million thoughts were running through his head. Neteyam never considered himself to be a jealous person but that funny feeling was creeping into his stomach. The green cloud of envy was blurring his senses.

So distracted in his thoughts he didn’t notice you walk up to him. “Hi Neteyam.” You smiled your sweet smile. Your smile that should be for him and only him.

“We need to talk.” He grabbed your wrist pulling you away from the village. “You don’t have to drag me I can walk myself.” You grumble pulling your arm away.

“Sorry.” Was all he grumbled as you kept walking. You knew exactly where he wanted to go.

He pushed the brush back allowing you to enter the clearing first. Taking a seat at your normal spot you watched as he did the same.

“What’s up with you? You seem grumpy.” You playfully said.

“Who were you with?” Was all he said.

“Ateyo invited me for a walk.” You cautiously said noticing his mood still hadn’t improved.

He scoffed. Ateyo wasn’t even the best hunter in the clan. You could do much better than him.

“So you’re together now?” He couldn’t meet your stare.

A laugh escaped your lips. His ears twitch before he finally turned to look at you. His heart was on the verge of breaking into a million pieces and you were laughing?

“Neteyam where are you coming up with this?” You asked still giggling. You stopped when you noticed his expression stayed hard.

Your face softened as you took him in. He was genuinely upset and you suspected a little jealous. “Your grandmother has been pestering me to find a mate.” You started. His ears perked up listening to you.

“She asked Ateyo to spend time getting to know me. I told him the same thing I told her. I am not interested in a mate right now.”

Neteyam’s angry expression was melting into sadness. He was glad you weren’t courting Ateyo, but your words stung.

Feeling bold you pushed further, “Why would it matter if I was interested in him?”

“Because it just does.” He huffed.

“But why?” Scooting closer to him desperately trying to look in his eyes. “Why did you bring me here Teyem?”

“I just, I just needed to know that you weren’t with him.” He looked up at you panic evident in his face. His eyes a bit watery. It was now or never.

“I want to be yours Y/N.” He spoke softy. “I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted. It’s always been you.”

You felt like someone knocked the wind out of you. The boy you loved just confessed his feelings to you. You gently pinched your arm just to make sure this was real. It was.

“Neteyam I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He gently cupped your cheek. “Just listen.”

“You are my best friend, my favorite person, and the only girl I’ve ever loved. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives Y/N.”

Tears were freely spilling out of your eyes. This was all you ever wanted but you still couldn’t help but feel unworthy. “Neteyam you need a strong mate to be your Tsahík. I am not her.”

“But you are. You’re the most selfless, loving, and caring person I know. You will guide the people far better than I ever could.”

“What about your parents? They are supposed to choose for you.”

“I do not care.” He was desperately trying to make you understand. “You are the only thing I’ve ever wanted. The one thing I want to choose myself. My whole life has been laid out for me but I will not let them take you from me. If they disapprove, I will run away with you. We could be happy just the two of us.”

“Teyam.” You smiled placing your hand over his on your cheek.

“Say you will be mine Y/N. You already know I am yours.”

Studying his eyes they were so sure not a trace of doubt in them. You could see the gold swirls and the flecks of green, wanting nothing more than to be lost in them forever.

“I see you Y/N.”

[fanfic-obsessed]

Hurry up and Wait

I love the trope that Obi Wan gets visions of the future (the CW, Order 66, and later) and through these visions he (accidentally or otherwise) saves the galaxy. Let's take a walk through a twist in that. 

Obi Wan gets those visions of the future, but never consciously remembers them.  Only a lingering sense that he needed  to be a Jedi knight (so that he could be in a position to find the clones). Subconsciously, however, he falls in love (platonically) with the clones in general and falls in love (romantically) with Cody in particular, even though he has no memory of it.

As a consequence any Force user with even a hint of a connection to the unifying Force can tell upon meeting Obi Wan that the Force has a Plan with a capital P for him. 

This changes nothing about his Padawanship (From which I cherry pick parts of anything I can get my hands on, assume that anything that is known that does not directly contradict what is in here is in play). Qui Gon Jinn’s connection is exclusively to the Living Force, as is Yoda’s. 

You know where it starts changing things? When Obi Wan takes Anakin as a Padawan. Anakin, as a child of the Force, got an even clearer sense of the Force Plan. He could sense that Obi Wan would find something(someone) and leave the Jedi before Anakin’s padawanship was finished. He could sense that this would be important, changing the tides of the galaxy kind of important. 

So before Anakin could ever become attached to Obi Wan, he is dissuaded. In this Obi Wan is not Master/Teacher/Father/Brother. He is viewed as a tutor, or favored babysitter, until it is time for Anakin to go to his actual Master.  And Obi Wan never begrudges teaching Anakin, never lets Anakin think that there was somewhere else Obi Wan had to be, because there wasn’t. Not yet. 

Perhaps in another universe Palpatine would have been able to step into the space Obi Wan never realized he made. Except the first time Palpatine pushed to meet with Anakin, Obi Wan had an unexplainable (to anyone who did not know the future he was seeing in his dreams) panic attack strong enough that he needed to go to the healing halls.   This panic attack, and the subsequent smaller ones he has whenever he thinks too long about Palpatine being alone with Anakin have two major consequences for Anakin specifically and one for the Order overall. 

The first is that Anakin never grows to trust Palpatine. He meets with him, because Palpatine made some fairly heavy-handed implied threats to the Jedi if they did not provide him with the company of a small boy, but he never really lets him in. This Anakin never forgets the lessons that he must have learned as a young slave, particularly ‘never trust a smiling, kindly man in power’.  Anakin, at the insistence of the High Council, Obi Wan, and his own instincts is required to see a healer and a mind healer after every session with Palpatine (for fear that was grooming Anakin-which he was, just not the way the Jedi thought).

The second consequence is that the High Council as a whole, and Mace Windu specifically, keeps a closer eye on Anakin. It is to Mace that Anakin begins to turn as a Mentor, whom Anakin is sure will be his Master when it is time for Obi Wan to leave.  So, much like with Ahsoka in Canon, Mace and Obi Wan end up co parenting Anakin. And it is understood, and has been exhaustively discussed by all three (to the extent that Anakin's age allows to reasonably be part of the discussion), that Mace is Anakin’s master, though Obi Wan may be considered so on paper (Mace, as head of the Order, cannot take on a too young Padawan.  When Anakin is older, certainly, and if Obi Wan leaves early, sure, but for now the day to day is handled by Obi Wan).

The order as a whole, and the High Council in particular, had no actual idea that the Chancellor (and possibly other Senators or representatives) can effectively make the Jedi Order deliver a 9 year old boy to his office and leave. They immediately set a mixed group of Archivist and Shadows to go through all of the treaties, laws, and Senate rulings that can possibly refer to or affect the Jedi. Going through all the laws and rulings and things that should not have affected the Jedi but do(because of a confluence of three, or four, or six different laws that separately don’t do shit to trap the Jedi but together create something that is Ironclad and razor sharp) takes several months. The results are so horrifying that several shadows have to be talked down from the ledge of taking over the Republic entirely. 

The High Council decides that they will begin to untangle themselves from the control of the Republic, but that they must do it quietly. There is concern that if they bring attention to the potential for abuse of the Jedi Order, there are beings that would take advantage. They do not realize that they are caught in a Sith Plot (one that in Canon would see them forced to be generals of a slave army). Instead they believe the laws that entrap them to be, not quite coincidence, but that their effect on the Jedi is secondary.  So that is going on behind the scenes. 

We come to the mission that would get the clones discovered, the one that was supposed to spark a war. Palpatine fully believes that everything is on track with Anakin, as he has not clocked onto the fact that Anakin is humoring him and does not trust him.  So Palpatine enacts his plan to get Anakin alone with Padme, hoping that something Jedi code breaking will result (Palpatine does not exactly have control over Padme-Though he certainly thinks he has more than he does-however she is exactly the kind of reckless that he needs to get Anakin into com kind of trouble) while Obi Wan is sent on a chase for the assassin, Jango, which will lead him to Kamino.

Obi Wan arrives on Kamino and knows the instant that he is shown the clones that this is what he has been waiting for. He still does not consciously remember his lifelong visions, but he knows that he has found his people.  He very calmly sends out a message to Anakin and Mace to the effect of ‘I have found my people. May the Force be with you. Peace Out’ then goes back and uses every ounce of his cunning and negotiating skill to take command of the clones, the ships, and all the supplies for what should have been the Republic's Army and fuck off to a planet in Wildspace (That Obi Wan owns. Until that very moment he did not know why the Force had encouraged him to acquire the planet). 

Jango, who is very intrigued by the pretty red headed Jedi who had just politely browbeaten a bunch of Kaminoans (It is a very much one sided attraction, since Obi Wan is very much in love with Cody-even if he doesn’t know it yet), and Boba go with them. 

No just picture this. Dooku is waiting on Geonosis for Jango Fett to lure a Jedi,  specifically to lure his grand padawan to the planet so that war can get started. And Waiting. And Waiting. Meanwhile the Geonosian Queen is hovering in the background, starting to make noises that are the equivalent of ‘well, don’t let me keep you’ (and other such saying that were polite-as this was still a potential ally- for ‘Get fucken out of our house already’).

Another Meanwhile, due to a combination of the lack of needing to go to Geonosis to rescue Obi Wan, the lack of a need to go to Tatooine (By sheer happenstance Shimi was not captured by the Tuskens, thus no visions for Anakin), and the goodby message Obi Wan left (which indicated that the current assassin would not be bothering Padme for at least a few weeks), Anakin and Padme get back to the Senate in time for the Separatist Vote.  While not unanimous, it is an overwhelming majority that voted to allow the Separatists to leave (Mainly because most of them wanted to be able to leave themselves if need be).

Everyone, Separatist and Republic alike, stares at each other awkwardly in the aftermath of the Vote. For some reason everyone feels as though there should have been a different outcome and no one(outside of Palpatine and his minions) can tell why. Eventually the Separatists turn and walk slowly from the room.  Those who wanted the war were seething internally, but not able to show it externally.  

Palpatine has to work hard to keep his screams of frustrations internal later, when he calls Kamino and finds that his shiny new army is not where he left it. Then there is the repeal of a seemingly insignificant law and it takes him nearly three weeks to place why (that one law neatly disassembles most of the legal trap that the Jedi were in, because it was the connecting law between that laws with the really harsh punishments and that laws that specifically mention the Jedi). 

Back with Obi Wan and the Clones…Things are a bit strange. In the first place Obi Wan still does not consciously remember any of his visions, but subconsciously knows all of the clones and can tell them apart. So he calls the clones by name rather than designation. For some of the clones before they even choose a name.  He also knows without knowing why hobbies and interests for most of the clones.  

And for all that the Clones have been primed through propaganda to love the Jedi, they don’t actually fully trust anyone who is not a clone, not yet. This has the effect that Obi Wan is, without realizing it, acting very informally with clones who do not know what to make of him.  This is compounded by the fact that Obi Wan sees Cody and is instantly smitten. Cody does not know what to do with this. 

Hilariously this has the effect of making Jango jealous of Cody. Jango is attracted to Obi Wan, who only has eyes for Cody.  So Jango is off to one side making passive aggressive comments about Obi Wan settling for a badly put together copy when he could have the original, muttered low enough that Obi Wan cannot hear.  When Obi Wan does over hear one of the comments, the resulting rant on Jango failures as a person (this was before they discovered the chips, but after the realization that Jango had effectively sold his children into slavery) and how Cody is clearly superiors in every way, does help to endear the clones to him. 

His visceral horror when they find out about the chips helps too. 

I am not sure where it would go from here, though I imagine it does end with the Jedi, in clumps of two or three, just sort of arriving on the planet.

[mediocreanomaly]

Amen. Priest!Wolfwood x Reader (NSFW)

**GN!Reader** Authors Note: I have an issue. Yes Priest!Wolfwood sparks joy, so please enjoy 4,539 of depravity as my welcome back, small note at the end!

**Content Warning: I grew up religious so I'm using real scripture here, if you're religious or that makes you uncomfy this might be a skip for you, if you're depraved like me read on**

Being raised Catholic was a one-way street to spoon fulls of guilt being shoved down your throat. Most everyone in the church was more or less aware of that fact, whether they acknowledged it or not.

However, there’s a warning they don't bother to put on the good book. A warning about the more...complicated relationship you develop with religion once the guilt that's swelled up in your chest has nowhere else to go.

"Then God said, 'Take your son to the land of Moriah and kill your son there as a sacrifice for me. This must be Isaac, your only son, the one you love. Use him as a burnt offering on one of the mountains there. I will tell you which mountain.” Church sometimes God ask things from us, things that seem...unimaginable, unbearable, but we are not lead blindly. No, quite the opposite, God-' " Father Wolfwood emphases by pointing to the rafters of the church as if the big man himself was sitting there, watching. "He has a plan, a plan so great and magnificent that we cannot begin to comprehend. With that understanding Abraham takes his son, because he trust, church, he trust God enough to follow-"

The sermon is drowned out. To anyone around you you'd look devout. Pious even with how well you focus on Father Wolfwood, but it's not the bible that makes you show up every Sunday. It's the dark black tousled hair that trails into stubble lining his cheek. It's those big brown eyes wide and confident as he preaches to the congregation. It's those hands, large and calloused, that make you wonder what life he must have lived before this as he moves them around with his speech. It's his skin, perfectly tan and forehead beading with sweat from the insufferable heat of the church, no doubt that cassock isn't helping. It's his voice, deep and raspy with that perfect cadence that makes you wonder what it'd be like if he said your name while bending you over-

"Y/n?" The altar boy who you didn't even realize had come to your pew ask. He's holding out communion in a way that tells you he's been there for a second.

"Oh! uh-" you reach out for the wine when a hand around your wrist stops you, you blink a few times and look up to see the man you were just ogling at meeting your gaze with dark eyes.

"Why don't you pass that out to the other pews, y/n is joining me for a special communion after church, they had something they wanted to pray on with me" Father Wolfwood says easily.

"I do?" the words fall from your mouth dumbly which causes Wolfwood to raise an eyebrow at you as if you're stupid. You let yourself swallow and bow your head as if scolded, you wonder what part of being a priest blessed him with so much sass.

"ah- right! yes I had forgotten, thank you Father Wolfwood" you correct. You had not, in fact, discussed anything of the sorts with the Father, but there was clearly something you were missing here.

He gives you a curt nod before softening his eyes and turning back to the young boy.

"Go on" he insist. He does, continuing to the next pew with all the confirmation he needed and Wolfwood finally let’s go of your wrist. The warmth of his hand that lingers isn't lost on you as you wearily glance up at him.

"Special communion?" You try hoping to gather a bit more information on the situation you'll be faced with after Mass.

"mhmm, God has called me to you. Something weighs on your mind, perhaps a repentance is in order?" his face gives away nothing, although you swear his eyes darken as he watches you with a pleasant smile that stays locked on his face.

Alarm bells ring in your head. Did...did he know? You had done your best to hide your less than innocent gaze as worship. Thinking back on it perhaps you were less conspicuous about it than you thought, that or God was the worst wing man ever.

"Father Wolfwood I-"

He holds up his hand to pause the word vomit that was about to stutter out and shakes his head.

"Later. Best to confess without prying eyes, no?"

He lets you simmer on that as he makes his way back to the front of the church. When he leads the church in prayer you do take it upon yourself to pray for once. You pray you'll sink into the floor or be struck dead before the end of the sermon.

By the time the church doors are opened, and people file out you're sure your heart will burst anyways. You stay seated in the front pew, not moving an inch because if you stand it'll be to bolt out the door and... well technically nothing was keeping you from it. It's not like the god damn (sorry God) preacher would shoot you if you attempted to run. He had simply suggested you confess. Easy. He probably hears peoples fucked up sexual fantasies all the time sitting in that booth. You knew the sheriff’s wife was sleeping with the banker and you knew the sheriff was sleeping with the widow down the street so it's not like the stuff that’s pulled from the great Catholics of No Mans Land weren't anything he hadn't heard before.

That's the thought you try and let comfort you as Father Wolfwood finishes up thanking people for coming to church and shaking hands.

The church doors shut with a thud that makes you jump in your seat; you press your hands together firmly and feel your fingernails dig into the skin there. This was fine.

"You know" Father Wolfwood folds his hands politely behind his back and takes agonizingly slow steps down the aisle "People with guilty conscious are more likely to be startled by loud noises."

You keep your head bowed slightly in what must look like a mock prayer, but you aren’t praying any more, you're just doing everything possible to not throw up on the churches nice red carpet, carpet that is interrupted when two black dress shows come into view.

"y/n?"

That voice. It makes you press you lips in a firm line scared of what filth might come out of it if you speak. Instead, to show you're listening, you slowly raise your head to meet Wolfwoods eyes, the likes of which seem clouded in some strong emotion. Were priest always this intense? Well, the easy answer was yes but this was a different type of intensity, not kind that filled revering words but one that more closely resembled a predator zoning in on its prey.

"Y/n" he says it again, albeit softer this time as if coaxing forward a scared animal. "You have something on your mind, don't you? Something that plagues you?"

You feel your fingers instinctively move to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. If the heat from the church before was unbearable before then this is downright swelting.

"Don't you usually do this kind of thing in the booth?" a poor attempt of a smile graces your lips in a desperate attempt to lighten whatever mood was staring to suffocate the air.

"Usually yes. This is a special case I believe though..." he leans down and your heart slams against your chest, his breath fans against your cheek. You can smell lingering cologne and... was that smoke? Surely not, if your local priest smoked it'd be the talk of the town, although now that you think about it those plush lips would look perfect balancing a cigarette between them, and they'd look even better if he used those teeth to-

"I almost forgot! You haven't received communion" He straightens out in an instant and claps his hands together nearly scaring you out of your skin while your face heats up from pure embarrassment.

You watch as he crosses from the pew to the table behind the pulpit and grabs a small cup of wine and bread. Just as quickly he's back in front of you with the objects. You reach out to accept them when he pulls his hands back.

"ah ah ah, I said this was a special communion didn't I? I'll deliver it unto you, you just sit and do as your told."

Oh. Yeah, that definitely didn't do anything to you. Nothing like a gruff handsome man in priest wear telling you to obey in the house of God. This was for sure not bubbling up any worrying realizations about yourself. Nope. Not in the slightest.

He steps back putting a little bit of room between the two of you before his eyes flicker from you to the carpet in front of him.

"Kneel."

You go instantly and willingly, a bit too willingly. Your mind flashes with Father Wolfwoods sermons about the disciples who kissed Jesus’ feet. You wonder if this was an elaborate way to get you to read the bible more because you're beginning to understand what was going through their minds now as you sit on your knees in front of the priest.

You aren’t sure if Wolfwood expected you to be so eager. He pauses for a moment before you swear a hint of a smirk plays at his lips. He raises the glass and the bit of bread slightly.

"Listen to me closely, we wouldn't want to spill and stain the carpet now, would we?" he ask.

You shake your head no. He makes a satisfied hum and continues.

"Tilt your head back.”

You do as your told, tilting your head back until your eye level is forced to be centered on the man in front of you.

"Open your mouth.”

Your mouth begins to salivate despite the fact there’s nothing in it yet. Perhaps it's due to the fact that what he's about to put in it isn't want you’d like to have resting on your tongue.

"Good. Why don't you stick your tongue out a little bit? I don't want you to dribble."

Fuck him. Fuck him so bad. There was no way he didn't know what he was doing but if had any hint about this sadistic game he was playing with you he gave no indication, he remained at stoic as ever as if you weren't having the most unholy thoughts imagine about your fucking priest.

There’s no going back though. You follow his instructions and let your tongue loll out of your mouth. You swear something flickers in his eyes, but it's gone as soon as it arrives.

He raises the glass and bread more as if offering it to God.

"Close your eyes.”

You do. You let the light of stained-glass windows be blotted out by your own blind obedience.

“Corpus Domini Nostri Iesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam....Amen."

You feel him press the small bit of bread onto your tongue, you close and eat. You don't need to be told before your opening your mouth again.

The wine follows right after, poured into your mouth and you swallow it down focusing on not letting any hit the ground with the speed at which the contents are emptied down your throat.

What realistically could not have been more than a few seconds feels as though it's lasted a lifetime. You take a deep breath once the bitter wine has settled in your stomach and before you can even think about getting up and excusing yourself from the church Wolfwood puts a hand on your shoulder, signaling for you to stay in place.

"Good. Why don't we get that confession out of the way then?"

Right. The reason he had probably pulled you aside for all of this in the first place. Had he seen through you? Seen how hungry your gaze had become? Probably. Looking back on it sitting in the front row was probably not the best idea when the entire reason for your Sunday visits was for potential fantasy fuel. There didn't seem like any reason to lie though, it's not like a priest could tell anyone about these things and outside of church Father Wolfwood was a bit of an anomaly to the town.

He didn't have any friends that you knew of, didn't gossip, or hang out at the bar, the man lived in this church which was making you feel a bit more guilty about your infatuation now that you thought of it but hey, if you weren't guilty about something then were you even a catholic?

"Forgive me Father I have sinned..."

With a grimace you realize why the damn confessions booths were so popular. Admitting this to God or a wooden wall was a little too easy. Admitting this to Wolfwood was like someone slowly peeling off your skin.

"I see, well, tell me child what is your confession?"

a swallow, then a leap.

"I have been...ah having inappropriate thoughts about someone. Someone who I go out of my way to see to add to these...fantasy's I have."

He listens closely and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head.

"I see...lust then?"

You nod in response, and he makes an affirming noise.

"And what do you imagine happening in these...fantasies of yours?"

The silence in the empty church is so loud it's deafening. Your hands scrunch and unscrunch the fabric of your pants.

"I...I imagine him pushing be down against these very pews Father. That one day as I'm standing up to leave mass, he'll shove me right back down and take me against the wood."

It's said strained but even you must admit maybe there’s something to this confession shit because you feel a bit lighter with it off your shoulders. Father Wolfwood looks less light. In fact, he looks you've just damned him to hell.

"Is that all?" he asks but it comes out breathier than he means it to.

The tone sends something to your core, oh you see it now. Lamb and shepherd your ass, you were still most certainly the lamb but the Father was no shepherd, he was the Wolf. Maybe God himself had put that divine foreshadowing into his name.

You shift on your knees and press yourself flatter trying to rub your thighs together. Wolfwoods eyes flicker down to the action then back up to your face, he opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

"No Father. Sometimes I imagine him taking me on the stand in front of the whole congregation. Still preaching while he finishes in me, holy words even in his most sinful act. But...do you know what I really want Father?"

Wolfwood swallows, his fingers trace along your face, and you fight every instinct to lean into it. He looks like this is paining him, He's all gritted teeth and square shoulders as he speaks.

"What do you want?"

Hook. Line. Sinker.

"I imagine he'd keep me here after church, that he'd have me kneel before him still while wearing his holy clothes, that collar, the rosary...and I wish he'd undo his belt to-"

"Enough."

Your mouth snaps shut scared you've pushed to far. You can feel heat bloom across your face in embarrassment now that your words are catching up to you, this was meant to be a confession not a shit porno, maybe you DID need God...

"You drive me insane you know that? Every day you come in here- the house of god mind you and stare at me like..." He clicks his tongue and motions to you.

"Well like that."

You aren't sure what to make of his tone, it's scolding and firm but hinges on needy at the end. You're starting to worry you broke the poor man before he makes an irritated noise.

"Fine. You want to repent so bad?" Wolfwoods hands go to his belt and with a soft clink of the metal it comes fastened. Your eyes flicker to look towards the door to make sure that no one was about to walk in on the scene that'd put Judas’ sin to shame when you're snapped out of your thoughts.

"Pay attention sweetheart, you were doing so good before, what happened?" The mask of a holy man cracks and gives way to something cockier, more taunting, more...Wolfwood.

"Unless you need scripture to keep your focus?" he works to undo the button and the zip of his dress pants as he tilts his head.

"Then here's something for you, 'the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” When Eve saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom..' "

He frees himself from the confines of his pants. You feel your mouth water and although your knees are starting to hurt from kneeling for so long you have a feeling you're about to get your real communion.

" '...and she opened her mouth, and took.' "

In beat with his preaching you let your mouth fall open. In all honesty, you get it now. You get how appealing that lush fruit must have been to Eve, you get why even after being promised paradise, she gave in to temptation. The weight that settles on your tongue as Wolfwood presses into your mouth makes your eyes roll back and an involuntary moan escape your throat. Wolfwoods breath stutters.

"God..." He groans and if your mouth wasn't currently full you might have made a witty comment about using the lords name in vain but a quick hand lacing through your hair from Wolfwood serves well enough to sever whatever thought had flitted through your mind.

You flatten your tongue and take more, allowing as much as you can to the back of your throat but when tears prick your eyes and you gag slightly on the sensation he pulls you off with a wet pop. You whine slightly at loss before Wolfwoods hand grabs your chin while he uses his thumb to wipe up the drool leaking from your lips that you hadn't realized was there.

"Patience, don’t you listen to a word I say up there?” he muses, you sheepishly look up at him through your eyelashes and it’s answer enough. He pulls you back in front of his cock, "Be good then, swallow every drop and I might forgive you"

You don't have much time to argue has his hand guides you back. You're more prepared this time, the way you sit on your knees...you’re a picture perfect saint and who's here to judge you for your sin anyways? Wolfwood? Sounded like a set up to a joke.

"Fuck, yeah baby just like that. So good-" His words break off with a grunt and his hips stutter forward, he pulls your head forward and your reach up to steady yourself with his thighs. He rocks his hips to your mouth as he face fucks you in the middle of the church. When his breathing speeds up and he mutters out a sting of gentle curses you know he’s close. You close your eyes and let him use you as he spills down your throat. You're desperate to show him you can listen, you swallow down as much as you can trying to not let a single drop of cum hit the floor.

When the rough handful of hair is released, you pull back to try and catch your breath, a worthless endeavor it would seem considering you're just as quickly being lifted up by your arm. You feel yourself being tugged up the steps towards the pulpit and make peace with the fact you're officially the worst Catholic ever...well besides the priest who's currently the instigator of this depravity.

"Not done yet sweetheart, the grace of god doesn't come with a blow job surprisingly" Wolfwood huffs amused as he presses down on your shoulder to force you to bend of the wood stand.

"Are you even a priest?" wrong question you guess because Wolfwood makes an irritated noise.

"Aren't you supposed to be repenting?" His hands grope at your thighs spreading them apart much more slowly than you'd like, as if he's savoring it...reverence you think.

"Father-"

He chuckles lowly at that.

"Father" he imitates "you let that name fall from your lips like it doesn't turn you on just to say it"

His fingers ghost over your thighs, then around the area you want him most before sliding up under your shirt to explore flesh. It's so hot in the church and when you peer out across the wooden pews you see the stain glass window casting rainbow light that sprawls out across the floor all the way up to your body.

"Focus on me" Wolfwood corrects your wandering mind by nipping along your neck and your body instinctively shudders against him. You press your hips back to feel his growing hardness pressed against your ass. His hands slide your shirt up over your head and he begins to focus on trailing kisses along your back.

"Thank you, lord," His lips move against your shoulder blade.

"For delivering this sinner unto me, so that I may show them rapture."

His fingers hook along the hem of your pants and tug them down your legs until they rest right at your knees.

"Despite that, I must confess, I have sinned."

His fingers trace along your entrance before slowly sinking in. You groan and press your head to the wood in front of you, fingers scratching against the surface.

"I have lusted for someone of my own congregation. I have imagined them kneeling for me and I worst of all I have imagined me taking them, devouring them until there is nothing left to fill them but me"

Another finger lazily joins the first and he begins a slow rhythm of pumping them in and out. You attempt to wiggle your hips back to chase the feeling, but his other hand keeps your waist flush against the stand.

"But I am only a man so with my mortal body I will show them euphoria"

You feel his fingers pull out and whine at the loss only to feel the blunt head of his own cock begin to line up with you.

"Amen"

Wolfwood doesn't give you much more warning before roughly pressing in. You moan as he sets a backbreaking pace, thankful that he at least prepped you before. He's leaned over your body; his hair tickles the back of your neck slightly as he pants in your ear. You imagine your own noises can't be much better as his left hand, the one he's apparently wrapped in a rosary, comes up to catch your chin, two fingers press into your mouth as he supports your head. His other hand stays at your hip, bringing your body back against his with every thrust.

It's so hot in the church, sweat beads along your body and you can feel your hair beginning to stick to your forehead. Your mind feels foggy and you lap absent mindedly at the fingers invading your mouth. Wolfwood groans and pushes you down further against the stand and it'd be uncomfortable if you could focus on anything other than the priest fucking your brains out. He produces an ungodly amount of precum, you can feel it making a mess between your thighs right as drool begins to leak from the corners of your mouth and bead down to the wood below.

Wolfwoods hand shifts from your hip to where a blooming warmth has begun. You nearly cry out with relief babbling nonsense around his fingers, hell maybe even a few prayers. His own mouth is becoming less of that of a reverend and more of that of a ravenous man, mouthing and biting at what he can reach. The fingers press deeper into your mouth and your feel the smooth beads of the rosary are you toy with them with your tongue. You're close, you tremble beneath Wolfwood and he catches on because both his hands pull away to once again fit along your hips. You nearly sob from the new lack of stimulation as he rocks into you.

"Beg for it" Wolfwood says so firm you'd have sworn he was once again leading congregation. Your mind is half way to mush right now so it doesn't take much convincing to do what he wants.

"Please please please let me, I’m sorry, I’ll be good, I repent" you babble out hoping you’ve said the magic words.

His hand comes down firmly on your ass as he thrust into you then finally finally reaches to touch between your thighs.

It sends you over the edge instantly, your legs trembling as you whine and moan, Wolfwoods own obscene noises match your own as he finishes inside you, letting you milk him for all he's worth.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, you become aware of the fact your priest is pressed up against your back, trying to catch his breath from fucking the ever loving daylights out of you. You whine slightly and Wolfwood responds by nuzzling his face against your neck.

"Are you okay?"

You do actually laugh at that one, letting your forehead rest against the podium.

"The priest I've been fantasizing about fucking me for a year now just has. This has been the best lay of my life and you want to ask if I'm okay?"

"You're awfully vulgar aren't you?"

You snap your head up to make several points about irony of the statement but when you turn you see a shit eating grin on his face. Your playfully hit his chest and groan.

"You've got to be the worst priest ever"

"Can't say I'd deny that claim" He leans forward and kisses you, you go into it easily but the taste of his lips remind you of something, when you pull away you raise an eyebrow

"Do you smoke?"

He shrugs and keeps his hands on your waist.

"I prefer to keep certain things in my life separated from the church"

"and me?"

"Consider yourself a special case." He smirks and takes hold of your chin between his fingers "Although I do hope this was enough to keep you coming to my sermons?" he ask

You swallow at the dark look in his eye and place your hands on his chest.

"and miss the holy word? Perish the thought"

He chuckles lowly at that as your hands begin to play with the collar of the cassock he wears.

"Although Father, I fear I may not have properly confessed."

He raises an eyebrow and eyes you "No?"

You shake your head "See I only...repented for two out of three fantasy’s I had also mentioned being taken against the pews"

Wolfwoods hands tighten around his hips and his smile widens.

"Well...let's fix that, shall we?"

Author's note: ahhhh I'm back! I've been storin this little beauty away for awhile now. This is my welcome back post because I feel like I lost the way I wanted to organize and write for a little while and this was the first piece that got me back in the flow of things. I missed you guys! We're back baby! (I'll add my spacers in later I'm missin the files rn and I don't feel like searching for them)

[vqrtualheartss]

Hii

Every Sunday, you scanned the church's congregation for a familiar face ― Aunt Rio's son, Miles. It seemed as though she barely managed to drag him every other week given the nonchalant look he always wore. You held him as a classification of a hallway crush, never daring to do much than pretend not to stare from the other side of the alter unless you were ready to meet the god you served. Well, the God your whole family served; yeaa, you're the pastor's daughter. And I think we know how that goes, being expected to keep Sunday school each and every week, not to mention that the simplest things were prohibited like music, talking in a "ghetto" way, blah blah blah yaddi yaddi yadda. And your absolute favorite ― always keeping your appearance up to posh

"I will not have my eldest dressing like a jezebel or some boy in my own home. Go and take that off right this instant"

Were the ever present words spoken by your mother if you made the mere mistake of wearing shorts or sweats' around the house. If anything, life felt like a Greenleaf episode and not in a good way. Ranging from the secrets and scandals behind the chapel's closed doors or the fact that multiple administrators like to front that they had the perfect, picturesque family. You couldn't tell which was worse; that they had nothing like that or the fact that your own family―. Nah, in this house you had no family, not since your sister Asaria left.

With tears in both of your eyes, she barely mouthed the words "I'm sorry" to you. It could be the fact you were just eight years old to register what she was apologizing for or that the tears bound your vision so badly you mistook the statement for something else. That couldn't be it, you could see clearly the disgust-filled scowls on your parents faces and they held you back. And like all the stupid rules enforced, your family forbid you from ever contacting her, brainwashing you that they were only trying their bests at raising you. Therefore, you pushed Asaria's words and underlying warning at the back of your mind, convincing yourself that she was just paranoid.. yea. Let's just say that all the delusion wore off when it was your time to take the mic.

You never thought that they'd do this, it felt unreal, like some book with a fucked up plot. But it was happening, you were being wed off at the mere age of seventeen. You know that like all the previous fights, you'd never win. Then again here you stood, behind the chancel, arguing about the dominant latter of your life. Did it even feel like you had one of your own? You felt like a puppet being induced to what was 'for your own good' as you helplessly bantered with your parents Mr. and Mrs. Larkspur

------------------------------------

"If both parents agree to it, you may be wed" Some mother you are "I was barely sixteen last week, how am I eligible to get married" "I suggest you fix your tone young woman" "THAT'S THE LEAST IMPORTANT THING RIGHT NOW"

The frilled dress I wore swayed with the movements my hand made justifying why what they're doing is absolutely atrocious. Why isn't stuff like this illegal? Tears swung from my lash line as I flashed my face from my fathers wavering hand meant to do nothing but harm. He wasn't one to put his hands on anyone but when he felt desperate or threatened to show dominance; like right now. My mother held onto her coat tightly with that same disgust she watched Asaria flea with whilst my father balled his fist. The claps of the congregation started to die down. Grunting, he walked out onto the nave, but not before giving me a scorning glare. She stood unmoved, dragging me to our house attached to the church by my arm to give the same lecture she had over a thousand times.

"YOU have full knowledge as to why we're doing this. You're father and I are growing grey and we need someone to take over the legacy of the church and with you as our eldest we cannot let you rule over alone or by yourself"

Because I'm a girl? I managed to keep up a neutral look, not an angry or sad one. I couldn't bear to show any emotions, they stripped me of them. The teachings of her scolding me for frowning or crying stood bold in the forefront of my mind. You'd think that she'd come with something along the lines of "Strong girls don't cry" or some crap like that but nope, her reasoning was that "Smiling and frowning makes frown lines and we need to look perfect" I shook away the thoughts as I listened to my mother spur verbal diarrhea.

"If I could I'd marry off your sister because unlike you, she has sense but you know what the church would thi―" "What is wrong with you― Nyla's been sixteen for only three months― Are you insane―"

She slapped me hard, a reminder that she― "Will not tolerate disrespect from a child". As much as I wanted to retaliate, I held out, rubbing the left side of my face as she continued.

"You WILL listen to you us and meet Mr. & Mrs. Nightingale's son tonight"

Oh great, the Nightingales. Another perfect family, I wonder how'd they feel if they found out that their precious son was really up to. What's his name again? Jevaughn? Jaxon? Do I even care? Mmcht

She did a once over of me before adding "Be in the church in less than 5, you will be leading choir today" Didn't even ask me to

We went separate ways; my mother to my father and I to a powder room. Composing myself once more, I hurried inside the church in front of the choir loft, feeling relief when I spotted not a questioning stare. I've learnt to hide how I felt truly behind a faux smile quite well If I do say so myself, but no matter how much I tried my eyes remained glassy― tears threatening to betray thr façade at any moment.

I gave a tight-lipped smile to the congregation as they welcomed my appearance with cheers. I laughed when Tía Rio moved to the front row in midst of the clapping, she waved to me and I did likewise but a little more erratically. She's an amazing person to know and really a nice woman, a great woman that does her best for her family. It painfully excruciates me how these women could sit on her name and belittle her as if they were someone to look up to. She's definitely a better individual than those in this church that like to claim they are combined. But the day I go off on them, I'll let them know.

After thanking the usher for the microphone I ran back to the choir unsure which song to perform. A few members suggested traditional songs and favorites, one stuck out most to me though: Man in the mirror by Michael Jackson. I bit my lip contemplating the decision, we just started to sing (somewhat) church-related pop songs in church so I was a bit hesitant; but as I said, relating, some of these people need to hear it.

I announced the choice to the band members before returning to my position, clearing my throat as I scanned the audience. No, I wasn't scared, I've done this too many times to be. Receiving a signal from the drummer I allowed the choir to voice the opening, joining when they started the second verse. Eventually, we approached the high note as I begged for my throat to not close up. I looked around the room.

“I'm starting with the man in the mirror I'm asking him to change his ways And no message could've been any clearer If you wanna make the world a better place Take a look at yourself and then make a change”

You're staring

You're still staring

Despite the song being half-finished everyone started to clap, giving a literal standing ovation. Did some of them finally heed the meaning? Coming down from the high, I took focus in my vision. Was I looking at Miles this whole time? Widening my eyes at the realization had him chuckling, he waved before continuing to clap.

First time without a stoic expression and I'm wishing he smiled more. I put a palm in the middle of my face to loosely hide my smile before waving back. A few of the young men waved even though it wasn't directed to them. Looking over to their spots Miles and I shook our heads.

Behind me, my father cleared his throat, the harsh sound reminding me of my earlier troubles. My expression died down quickly. Instead of beside my family I sat in the first row in the choir loft. Miles moved to the front of the church to his mother who began to question him about something. She turned to me and smiled, speaking softly "You did amazing" Although I couldn't hear too well over the preaching, I pieced out her words, thanking her in return.

Usually, I'd be somewhere discreetly using my phone but it was different today. My eyes moved back and forth from my father to Miles who did likewise; giggling each time we made eye contact at same.

-------------

Even though I didn't want to, I gathered the strength to partake in the seemingly mandatory post-service meet and greet

"'Ah dear, meet one of my good friends. Robert this is (y/n), (y/n), Robert"

The man whom he was introducing looked worn out, wrinkles showing in every crevice in his face despite (from what I've heard) being in his late 30's. He wore gold grills on his bottom canines, which I would hate to say matches well with his black and white suit.

"Hello, I'm (y/n). Pleasured to meet you"

"Likewise"

His voice came off hoarse, sounding as if someone who had smoked for a week straight finally took a breath.

Even though opting for a simple handshake, the man dragged me into an uncomfortable hug. And I mean uncomfortable, his hands trailed all about my back, quickening its pace heading underneath the mid-back vest I wore. I pulled back, crushing the man's toes with my heel as I did.

"I'm so sorry"

I innocently smiled at the grunting man that held onto his loafer tightly. With the hand resting on his left forearm I would've pinched him if my father didn't take him away. I saw my mother introducing Nyla to some boy of her age. Ew.

About 10 footsteps away I felt a warm hand on my shoulder that sent me tumbling. I probably would've fell if I wasn't caught by the hug afterwards.

"Tía Rio" I paused, resting a hand on my chest before continuing

"Hola hija"

She pulled me back into her embrace before stepping backwards.

"You were absolutely amazing out there― as always" "'Thank you tía, that truly means a lot to me" "Oh hush, I know you've heard that about a thousand times now" "Well, it means a lot from you"

We laughed a bit before she started to pat down her bag. "Before I forget" She dipped her hand into its largest compartment before taking out something wrapped in colorful tissue paper. "Here"

Handing it over I could tell by the texture that it was some type of food― cookies probably. At this point they were a symbolic part of our relationship.

------------ Flashback twin

The cold December air on the exposed skin on your knee was doing you no good. Said cold wind was what had you like this. With a snotty-nose you were headed to your mothers purse for a tissue. And when she was nowhere to be found, you frantically ran around in search for her, convinced this was some sick game of hide-and-seek.

Sitting in a random slide with your feet up to your chest, you felt tears rush when a boy with hair slightly longer than the others saw you crying and hurriedly turned back.

"If it's another stray cat we're not keeping it" "No mama"

The same boy came through the other end of the slide, pointing at you. Not knowing what else to do, you hid your head between your legs and chest, bringing it up at sudden speech directed to you.

"My mommy says you should come down. She wants to see you"

Bringing your head up by the slightest, you could see the boy's extending hand in front of your face. "You have to get out because mommy's too fat to fit in" The woman who you figured to be his mother had her mouth agape, her shocked expression turning soft when you two started to laugh.

Holding onto his hand you both slid down, the adrenaline numbing the pain in your knee. Immediately after standing up she noticed your blood stained shorts, rushing you to a nearby bench.

"¿Qué tal? How did this happen?" Even though opening your mouth for words none came out, 6-year-old you unsure how to explain the situation. Understanding your frustration she spoke up. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me" She gave you a comforting smile. Which in return had you smiling, then her son, revealing the front tooth he recently lost.

After she finished bandaging your knee she began to put her belongings back into her bag, leaving out just one thing. A floral pink and white decorative tissue. She handed it to her son who quickly hid it behind his back the moment it touched his hand.

"I wanted the purple paper mama. Pink is for girls" His mother crossed her arms, tilting her head "Do you want me to take them back?" He shook his head no, bringing out the stuffed paper with his free hand. His other was still laced into yours. He placed the tissue beside you, jumping up onto the bench so the pastries sat between you two. He brought one up to your face.

"Want one?" Being thoroughly instructed to never take anything from anyone in public made you decline― or try to. Opening your lips to refuse politely, he pushed quarter of a cookie into your mouth.

"MILES―" "Yes, mama" He smiled innocently, turning towards his mother. She stood shaking her head in disapproval, sighing in relief that you didn't choke.

"Do you like them?" He paused waiting for an answer, receiving a satisfied hum, he gloated "My mom made them" He looked at the cookies still stacked high "Want more?"

Even though saying yes once to the question, Miles seemingly made it a priority to ensure there were always enough cookies in case he ever saw you again. Given the amount of times he woke up to a fresh batch and reminded his mother of his constant request, it became robotic like clockwork to her.

''Mama, did you make enough for-'' ''Yes, I made enough for you and your little girlfriend"

------------

"Yeah huh?" The sudden high pitch of her voice brought me back to Earth. The one place I don't want to be right now "This is my son, Miles. I'm sure you remember him"

I hummed in response, turning my back to my family's faces to draw any unwanted press while shaking his hand. Retracting his hands he gave that signature one-dimple smile which I felt shy to return.

"Nice to meet you" He raised a brow

"We're met before, did you forget?" I literally proposed to you with a ring pop

"Ah my bad, we have to leave― Early shifts at the hospital"

"I completely understand, get home safely" She placed her hands over my balled fists, giving me a bright smile before departing. Her son lingering behind her followed in tow, waving as he left.

"What was that (y/n)? I hope you're not talking to those people outside of church matters" My mother stood closely behind my back, so she could freely show her disgusted expression without judgement. I turned to meet her wild looking eyes of age 38.

And I thought ursula didn't exist

"No mother, I would never do such things" She said nothing but a hum, which on her part would be 'not gracing me with an answer'

"Be at the south porch at evening. We have something to discuss"

What the heck did I do.

In the Larkspur mansion there's a total of four sub-buildings: The north porch used for house-warmings, general church meetings and such, pool house to the east, church to the west, and the south porch. The south meant nothing good, being the farthest sectioned from the house it was an analogy for things to be said in the dark and only in the dark, something grave like an affair. Things like that, things that could change a person's life and given by the term 'we', probably meaning my father, mother and I. I know that whatever they had to tell could change my life for the better or worse. But by now we know that anything 'for the better' would be just for them so that's not even an option.

----------------------------

Sitting down with his legs spread my father watched as my mother pranced back and forth the hardwood floor, prepping herself to say whatever it was. She looked as if the words she were about to speak pricked her tongue before they came out and whenever they did. I watched with a blank expression, hands crossed on my stomach as the fluffed material radiated heat to every crevice of my body.

"Cecelia" His paitience wore thin as the whiskey from the glass ran low. My mother repeated the same words she had over 100 times since we've been here

"This is ridiculous, certainly there's something else" My father sucked his teeth reverting all the attention to him and he chugged the last of the liquor. Although not meaning to I stared into my his eyes with some hope he'd continued what my mother couldn't start. His stare got intense, hardening every minute the contest went on.

My grandmother always told me that "It come like puss bruk coconut in yuh fada yiy" meaning that he was one with seemingly dry eyes or that he was an ill-mannered person to hold a stare to absolutely no limits or regard to who it be with. She always told me that it was something I inherited from him but unlike my father it looked better on me.

"You're changing schools"

I swear to you my eyes nearly dropped out of their sockets is a sign?

"Recently there's been a spike in teenage pregnancies at CHS and with such a tainted image we cannot have you attending there so, we had arranged a transfer for you to Brooklyn Visions"

Despite the sudden relief radiating from my body I sat still, muttering a compliant response before getting up to the exit. "And you're meeting with-" My father got cut off by my mother placing a hand on his upper thigh. Through my peripheral I could see her smirking as I went off.

I love my parents right, but sometimes (most times really) I swear— I'm going crazy in this house

--------------------------- like 2 days later

If it's one thing I know though— the sexism is gonna get you right. Long nails, lashes makeup and everything was one point but maybe there was one teeny tinyy thing you despised, clothes. You knew that Cinderella princess wardrobe of yours was too much and so you were going to argue for it.

------------------------------

As we were leaving I contemplated asking for some new clothes — speak now or forever hold your peace.

"Mother "

"Y/N?"

"Aren't we getting new clothes"

"And why would we do that? You have a plethora of dresses back home"

"That's it, the dresses are a bit.... pricy and might get the attention of the wrong crowd. I mean other than the great neighborhood around Brooklyn Visions there's its opposite too" I sucked in a breath knowing that this could go one of two ways— I could get what I want or they'd put an ankle monitor on me.

"I guess I'd never look at it from that perspective. Atleast that brain of yours works"

Excuse me.

Despite that little backhanded thing I smiled, that's 1 point for Y/N.

--------

So that's it, I'm too lazy to decorate ATM but I will

[aheckinmess]

Seeing Stripes (Dad Sukuna)

(Part 4 of Cursed, Not Cute.)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Dad Sukuna, OC Child, Child Gojo Satoru, Lazy Day Stroll, Protective Sukuna, Soft Sukuna, Sukuna's Original Form, Gojo Satoru is a Little Shit, Sukuna Has a Daughter, She Stays Throwing Shade, Did We Expect Anything Less?, Also There's a Tiger Spirit, She's Just as Sassy

Word Count: 1,535 words

Summary: Besu's thoughtful stroll turns into the start of a new friendship. Only problem is she has no idea how her father will react since it's a boy.

Chapter 4: Seeing Stripes

“I think you’re crazy.” Besu huffed at her tiger companion, kicking the gravel beneath her feet. “Why try to make friends when they’re only going to try and take my power or gain influence with my father?”

“You don’t know everyone seeks to harm you.” Baekho chuffed and rubbed against her leg. “It is not good for you to be alone.”

“I have you.”

“I cannot be the only one you interact with, Little One.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

“You’re eleven now.” Baekho licked Besu’s hand once. “You need others around you to support you. Your father and I can only provide so much. You need peers your own age you can learn to trust and socialize with.”

“I don’t need anyone else.”

. . . . .

As she’d gotten older, Sukuna trained Besu extensively in her use of cursed energy and techniques. She no longer feared walking through the streets of Shibuya. Those who initially viewed Besu’s life as free game soon learned the extent of Baekho’s wrath.

“Your father is worried about you, you know.”

That gave Besu pause, but only for a moment. Then, she shoved her hands in her pockets and redoubled her pace, storming down the streets. She shoulder-checked a fruit vendor and the cabbage man, sending glares at anyone who met her eyes.

“Cub, you know he cares about you. As hard as it is for him to show it, he wants you to be happy, even if he doesn’t fully understand why.” Baekho continues. “Your need for companionship is as evident as the stripes on my back.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know where I’d find that.” Besu sighed, kicking a pebble in her path. “Father only teaches me how to fight.”

“Perhaps he teaches you to fight because it is the only thing he knows.”

Besu opened her mouth to respond when a green-haired man flung himself in front of her.

“May your reign be short-lived, Princess–” His voice abruptly ended as Baekho caught him in her teeth and crushed his bones between her jaws.

She dropped his body in the street and kept walking with Besu, whose expression didn’t change.

“He homeschools me and teaches me everything at home. Am I just supposed to walk out in the streets and befriend the first person I see?” Besu gestured with her hand and it smacked straight into a boy with white hair. “I am so sorry.” She squeaked, covering her mouth with her hands. In an instant, Baekho’s spirit drew back into her body.

“Pfft. Was that supposed to hurt?” The young boy rolled his eyes behind a pair of stark, black sunglasses. Based on the cursed energy radiating from him, there was only one person he could be.

“Was that supposed to insult me?” Besu quipped back, quirking an eyebrow at him. One pair of hands stayed in her pockets, but the other pair rested on her hips in irritation.

“You’re the daughter of the Curse King.” The boy said, tilting his head as his posture reflected her own. “Besu, right?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “And you are?”

“The princess of the Curse King doesn’t know who I am?” He scoffed.

“I know who you are, but I’m giving you the option of introducing yourself before I confirm that you are, in fact, an asshole.” Besu shuffled her feet, reaching out to Baekho with her mind. Keep an eye on him. I sense no threat from him. He seems to be cautious, like you.

The boy’s lips twisted into a smirk at her attitude.

“I like your style, Princess of Curses. I’m Gojo. Satoru Gojo.” His smirk disappeared as soon as it surfaced. “Why are you out here? Fancy a destructive stroll through the streets?”

“I don’t harbor the same destructive tendencies of my father.” Besu started walking, letting him decide whether or not he wanted to follow. “Though you’d think otherwise based on the amount of people that have tried to kill me.”

When the world grew quiet again, Besu assumed Gojo left, leaving the residue of his massive cursed energy behind him.

“People are constantly trying to kill me too. I’m sure you know why.” His voice startled her back into reality and she spared him a glance.

Besu knew. Father had schooled her on a plethora of well-known sorcerer families and their techniques. With the vast variety of cursed techniques she would encounter, narrowing down the families with techniques passed down proved vital for survival. The less wild factors she had, the safer and stronger she’d be.

“I understand.” As she passed her favorite sweet shop, she nodded to him. “Do you like sweets? Do you wanna go get something to eat?” That’s a friendly gesture, right? A respectable invitation, Little One. I’m proud.

“Sure.” Gojo smiled.

. . . . .

Besu sat at a table eating ice cream while Gojo stuffed his face with warabi mochi; she racked her brain for topics of conversation, as well as possibilities to help protect her new friend from assassins like the ones she faced daily.

“Besu, yeah? What sort of cursed spirit latched onto you?” Gojo asked after his last bite of dessert. He folded his arms behind his head and reclined. “I saw a glimpse earlier.”

“She didn’t retreat, she just likes staying inside me to keep other spirits and people from clocking my cursed energy easily.” Besu growled defensively. No need to protect my honor, Cub, he’ll learn soon enough. “But she’s the White Tiger Guardian, Baekho.”

“Baekho, huh?” Gojo tried to appear disinterested, but his eyes shone behind his glasses the same way her father’s had when he’d first heard. “Not often a cursed spirit so powerful as Baekho bonds to anyone, not even a sorcerer.”

“Yeah…” Besu nodded absently, before her face lit up. “Hey! Maybe I can get Baekho to help protect you…from the people trying to kill you, too? Baekho, can you do that?”

A swirl of smoky blue swirled into the air as Baekho’s glowing blue figure materialized beside them.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. We are tethered, little love.” Baekho rubbed her head against Besu’s hand and turned to Gojo.

“Ha!” Gojo chuckled, wrinkling his lips into a shit-eating grin. “You think I’m so weak that I need her protection? What do you take me for, a whelp?”

Baekho bared her teeth, a warning for the young cub to stand down. “As it stands, your power is great. Few would ever surpass it. But should you ever find yourself in trouble, rally your cursed energy into a pool at the top of your head as a flare. Energy that’s stored away in the mind is the most difficult to ignore, and we will find you.”

Gojo pushed his glasses down far enough for Baekho to see the roll of his eyes. Then he stood and dusted off his shirt.

“You think I need a house cat to keep me safe?”

Besu blinked and Baekho had Gojo on the ground, her massive paw on his chest.

“Hold your tongue, Young Cub. I am tethered, not tamed.”

. . . . .

By the time Besu returned home, Sukuna waited for her in the den. On a throne of bones, he appeared sorely disinterested in the book he read, but Besu she’d been gone long enough for him to hide his worry behind the pages.

“Father, I have returned home.”

“Besu, I am glad you are back safely.” Sukuna bookmarked his page and turned his full attention to her. “You were gone longer than I expected.”

“Yes, sir. I did not mean to delay. I met a new companion.” She chose her words carefully. Anyone else and Sukuna might find them unworthy of her attention. But Satoru Gojo? Besu was sure Sukuna would find him worthy, but his disdain for the Gojo family was of no question.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir. We stopped by my favorite sweet shop for idle chatter. I hope that’s alright.”

“Depends on who you were with.”

“A boy my age by the name of Satoru Gojo.”

Sukuna’s red eyes suddenly locked with Besu’s and he bared a set of sharp teeth. At that moment, they seemed like fangs on a feral tiger, not unlike Baekho. She couldn’t tell if the murder in his eyes was because of Gojo’s namesake or the fact that he was, well, a boy.

“What did you talk about?”

Baekho, I’m scared. I am here.

“Well, we mostly just talked about how we’re both constantly trying to stay safe from assassins.” Besu explained, leaving out their discussion of Baekho. “I suggested the sweet shop. I wanted a companion.”

“A companion, I understand. But a boy?” Sukuna groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And not just any boy, either. Satoru Gojo! Of all the sorcerers you could encounter…”

“I’m sorry, Father.”

With a heavy sigh, Sukuna stood and placed four sets of hands on her shoulders.

“Well, as long as you have someone other than Baekho and me to keep you out of trouble…I’ll allow it.” Sukuna surprised her with a kiss to her forehead before stalking away. “But if he ever lays a hand on you, I’ll dismantle and cleave the little ass until he is a puddle of blood and marrow.”

Continue Reading -> Ch. 5

[skloomdumpster]

I keep trying to work out why Silva went to such lengths to build up this hyper-idealised image of Andreas in Sky's mind and I keep coming up short. I mean, okay, he probably wanted Sky to have decent male role models (and Silva felt guilty about killing Andreas) but Sky already had one of those in Silva. Silva was all the things he claimed Andreas was. Which makes what he did even more baffling.

I feel bad for Sky too - imagine being told growing up every five minutes what a great, noble warrior your dad is and then the real thing shows up - and he's basically an overgrown high school bully - Silva didn't just lie about how Andreas died, he lied about his entire personality. In Sky's shoes, I'd be pissed too.

I wondered once or twice even if Rosalind had Andreas under mind control - not regularly, but often enough that she'd done permanent damage to his mind in some way. Or maybe he'd been hit on the head one time too many. Beatrix was a better strategist than he was - and less easily manipulated - and she was 16.

Of course, Andreas may have just been Like That™ to begin with.

I cannot put in enough words how much fun this ask was to get!! CACKLING at the Andreas' comments.

Alright so I thought at length about the Silva conundrum, I remember thinking the same, literally why are you making up this saint about a bully? Why are you generating distance between you and the son you raised? The boy who wants to be your son?

And the it dawned on me that the goal is exactly that.

I think Silva felt incredibly guilty over Sky and that this enormous sensation of duty and guilt has been his north for longer than anything else has. Silva is a man who describes his father's attack to a Burned One and the fact he took upon his young (10 years old!!) shoulders the burden to give his father a mercy kill. It's Duty Duty Duty.

And I think it's important we differentiate duty from obedience. Andreas is obedient. Andreas hears orders and ignores his own criticism of them, he follows trough no matter what. Silva is dutiful. He has morals and a strict honor code and he'll sometimes fuck himself up over these, he'll get tunnel vision when he has 1 goal in mind (cough "your duty is to Alfea!" said to Sky about spying on Bloom)

All this just to say, I think Silva didn't see himself as a good role to Sky not even for a second. Not when he was a drunk and had a baby he didn't even really want, not when he was sober and had to deal with the fact he had taken a father from this kid - had murdered Andreas, and certainly not when Sky started asking questions and he wanted to give a good answer so he projects some of his traits, some of his own father's traits into a fictional Andreas and only digs the hole deeper. By doing what he thinks is right: killing Andreas, taking Sky under his wing, lying to Sky so he can have a good role model, Saul only makes himself less and less of a good guy in his own eyes and so he NEEDS to push himself from Sky and well... Rinse repeat.

A vicious cycle you cannot be free from unless you're willing to go through dismantling all of it. I wonder if a small part of Saul felt soul crushing relief when Andreas came back and ruined everything. Yes, he revealed Saul was a liar in more ways than one, he showed Saul was a murderer... But also he showed Sky he was not the Andreas from the stories. Which certainly hurt like hell to Sky, but must've felt a little good from Saul's perspective, since he was painting an Andreas who could easily step in and take his son and that simply wasn't reality.

I'm probably rambling, sorry!!

Now, about Andreas, I AGREE SO MUCH. Honestly, about Andreas AND Saul! Strategic my ass, these two are terrible. But I do think Saul has a much clearer head during combat, he can explore his team's strengths and the enemies weaknesses, where Andreas is brute force.

Which, sure, is pretty bad when we look at it head on, but it's not something without its place in a war. Rosalind promoted him for a reason and I can see it, when you're a bloody war where there's no place for hesitation, no place for mercy and obedience is all your commander asks from, Andreas is the perfect soldier. He's a man who'll push through whatever is front of him with sheer brute force and that's what the Burned Ones called for most of the time in the battle field, someone relentless and blood thirsty. In the long run? Not so much!

I think it shows how Andreas is as a character: pragmatic, brute, loyal - that he doesn't question Rosalind's orders and fucks up his relationship with Bea by doing this. Why did he lie about what happened in Aster Dell? Anyone with a brain would understand he'd have a better luck twisting what Aster Dell stood for (a corrupt place) than twisting his role in its destruction. Yet he does that!! He's not a very bright man and that's alright, being smarter than he was would've probably gotten him murdered sooner tbh.

[pastanest]

A/N: so @otteropera as promised, here’s your tag for another one, but fair warning…it’s a lil angsty to begin with 👀

Jon Snow x she/her!reader

Someone’s Waiting For You

The sound of the bedroom door slamming jolts the young boy’s rigid form, his little hands balled into shaking fists at his sides as his eyes burn with tears. Unfortunately, the closed door does little to shield Jon Snow from the argument that started the day he was brought to Winterfell.

“You cannot expect me to treat your mistake as anything but!” Lady Catelyn Stark’s voice is pained and furious.

“It is not the boy’s fault, do not treat him as the one to blame!” Lord Eddard Stark jumps to his son’s defence, though even that is a rarity. 

Little fists still shaking at his sides, the young boy marches over to his bed and all but throws himself into it, burying his head under the furs to try and muffle the voices that continue to battle each other beyond his bedroom walls. Despite having not long past his sixth name day, Jon Snow is so accustomed to this exact situation that his tears do not fall, they refuse in a great act of defiance. Lady Catelyn will not get the satisfaction of besting him, not this night. All it would take was the smallest wrongdoing on Jon’s part, on a day when Catelyn was more irritated than she normally would be by the mere breaths that passed his lips, and she would disgrace his very existence. He knows he has not done something that was wrong enough to deserve a verbal onslaught as harsh as this one, his father reassures him of that, but that does not make it easier for a little boy to understand.

Only when Jon can no longer hear the angered voices of his father and the mother he can never have, does he lift his head from beneath his furs and kick his legs until they hang off of the side of the bed, dangling in the air because he is not quite tall enough to reach the floor just yet. Stepping down onto the cold stone, Jon takes the few slow steps necessary to reach his bedroom window. It is too late for any of the townsfolk to still be bustling outside, Winterfell has descended into a peaceful rest, nobody else disturbed by the feud that lives within his family, because of him, he feels. Staring up at the stars, little Jon is certain that such bright, wonderful and out of reach things simply must be the Gods, that must be where they sit. On their glistening thrones, watching over the rest of the world below. Jon wishes he could join them, he wonders how much quieter the world must seem from up there.

“I…do not wish to disturb you, Gods, but…” Jon begins, his voice timid, shaky even, and barely above a whisper in volume. The Gods must be able to hear him, he thinks, they can hear everything. He nods to himself, dark curls bouncing lightly on top of his head as he continues. “I understand why my namesake makes Lady Stark so upset. I have tried to be a good son to her, but she does not want me, much like my real mother, I think…” The little boy feels a lump rising in his throat, but he swallows it. “I know that you make everything and everyone, and I know that you have a reason for it…I was curious if you could tell me why you made me, because I don't think anyone else truly wants me here. My family would all be much happier if I had never come here, and I don't think it’s fair that they should all feel this way because of me…could you tell me what I can do to make it easier for them all to love me? Whatever it is, I swear I’ll do it, even if it means going away.” Jon’s voice catches in his throat, his eyes burning with tears again as he tries to blink them back. “I am sorry to disturb you, Gods. I’ll go now. I don't want to upset you all, too.” By the time he has finished speaking, he can no longer blink fast enough to hold his tears at bay. Waves crash behind his eyes, sending streams of tears down the young boy’s face and blurring the short journey back to his bed as he walks it. 

Crawling back under the furs, Jon buries his face in his pillow, sniffling into it and desperately bundling himself in his blankets as tightly as he can to feel even the tiniest amount of comfort, just enough to sleep. There are few boys that have cried themselves to sleep as many times as Jon Snow has by his sixth name day. 

If you ask him, Jon will tell you he does not dream. Even as young as he is, he will tell you that he closes his eyes, sees darkness, then opens them, and the sun has risen again. His siblings will tell fantastical tales of the adventures they have when they close their eyes and it is yet another way in which Jon Snow, regretfully, stands out amongst them. More than anything, he wishes he could be more like them.

And perhaps, tonight, he will be. 

As the little boy drifts away into the land of the unconscious, his eyes open, but he is somewhere else, somewhere colder. Coming to terms with his surroundings, Jon quite suddenly realizes his boots are far bigger than the ones he wears, and they are firmly planted on the floor while still attached to his legs as he sits on a bed that is not his. He is not a boy anymore. 

The door in front of him opens, and there stands a woman, the most beautiful he has ever seen, he knows it to be true even from the eyes of a man. And the smile on her face, he is surprised he does not look around to check that she is smiling at somebody else, but a part of him knows that it is for him, just for him. She approaches him with giddy steps until she’s standing between his legs and holding his face in her hands, staring into his soul with the kindest eyes he’s ever known. 

“Are you tired, my Lord?” Her voice is like a song, something about her tone playful.

Jon hears himself laugh lightly, his voice much older. “Exhausted. And you, my star?”

The giggle that passes her lips is lighter than air, a sound that lifts his very soul. “I am much the same, they left the place in quite a state today. I’m sorry I’m late.”

And he can see it, the tiredness behind her eyes that does not overshadow how happy she is to see him. Jon shakes his head. “There is no need to apologize, I live for each and every minute with you. Let us rest.”

She nods at him, but there is a shyness in her expression now, one that Jon never thought he could bring to a person. Crawling over him, she settles beneath the furs and strips free of her clothes, leaving only her underclothes, while Jon does the same. 

Meeting her under the furs, he instinctually rests his head in the crook of her neck as she lies on her back, wrapping her arms around him and holding him there. One of her hands gently combs through his curls, keeping them out of his face, while the other draws gentle patterns, writing silent and secret poems on his shoulder with her fingertips, while his arm wraps around her middle to hold her there. The scent of her brings a sense of calm that is so comforting it is entirely overwhelming, but he is safe, he knows it. Jon’s eyes close, against his wishes to stay awake and admire her for just a few more moments. 

“Will you sing me a song, my star?” He hears himself ask, already feeling waves of sleep beginning to swallow him. 

“Of course, my love.” She answers softly, before clearing her throat and starting to sing with what Jon can only describe as the voice of an angel. “Be brave, little one, make a wish for each sad little tear. Hold your head up, though no one is near, someone’s waiting for you.” And as Jon drifts away into the land of the unconscious, to a familiar darkness that is more comforting than it ever was before, the sound of her voice follows him there. 

“Don’t cry, little one, there’ll be a smile where a frown used to be. You’ll be part of the love that you see, someone’s waiting for you…”

When he opens his eyes again, Jon sits bolt upright in his bed, breathing heavily. The walls of his bedroom greet him, sunlight streaming in through the window he is so sure he had seen the stars from mere moments ago. Much to his surprise, his heart does not sink. Instead, a small smile makes its way onto the little boy’s face as he continues to look at the window, and the blue morning sky. 

“Thank you, Gods.” 

Of course, little Jon told his siblings and father of the dream; he was an excited little boy recounting the only dream he had ever remembered, and would ever go on to have. Though, after that dream, Jon had tried his absolute hardest to return to the dream of the woman, of being somewhere else, and with her, he did not dream of her, or anything else, again. He did not ask the Gods for help, he was far too grateful for the gift they had already given him. 

Naturally, Jon’s family did not take the dream as seriously as he did. The older he got, however, the more convinced he became that it was something more than what others dismissed it to be. 

Many nights, Jon lay awake, recalling every detail of the dream. While it reigned true that it was like a dream - from what his siblings had told him - in the way Jon did not have control over what he did or said, he could not shake the feeling that it was more like a memory. One that he was viewing, somehow, from the wrong side, from before it had happened. Though Jon did not know how or when it would happen, he knew in his heart that someday, it would, and that he would recite every word he remembered himself saying the first time he had heard it, just to live through the moment a second time. He does not know of anyone that has been lucky enough to do such a thing, and he will be damned if he misses such a wonderful thing. 

Logically, the more Jon thought about the dream, the more he focussed on specific details and how he could make those happen, perhaps bringing about the dream itself by doing so. For example, the fact that in his dream it had been much colder than his childhood bedroom, told him that either Winter was coming as his father had insisted and he would need to find a way to increase the speed of that process if it meant meeting you, or Jon needed to go further north. Leaning on the latter, Jon decided that journeying as far north as he could go would be a start. To guard the realms of men by becoming part of the Night’s Watch was an honoured decision from any Stark, and while there was a flaw in the technicalities of Jon not being allowed to take a wife or create any heirs, he decided he would cross that bridge when he came to it. If he did not feel closer to his dream at the wall, then the wall was his only means of getting even further north. 

With his purpose clear, Jon Snow joined the Night’s Watch and began his life guarding the realms of men. Through training the men he comes to know as brothers, Jon makes the first true friends he has ever had, and learns that despite his disadvantages as a bastard, it is nothing compared to the disadvantages of some of his new brothers, who have been wrongly cast to the Night’s Watch as punishment for crimes they did not commit, to defend the world from evil creatures, with none of the sword experience that Jon has had himself. The man that Jon regards as his truest friend is Samwell Tarly, who by all accounts is a coward, but a kind soul who was raised by the hatred of his father in the same way that Jon was raised by the hatred of the mother he could never call his. The two of them understand each other and form a close friendship, so close that eventually, Jon confesses his true reason for joining the Night’s Watch.

“You…You came all this way, and intend to swear an Oath, for a girl you saw in a dream when you were a boy?!” Sam’s voice is as shocked as his expression, but his words remain free of judgment. 

Jon nods, feeling far closer to the man he was in the dream. “She was not just a girl, she is the girl, the one I am supposed to find. That is why the Gods showed me a memory of my future.” 

Sam sighs, deep in thought, before he chuckles. “If it is to be, it is a romance to put every book I’ve read to shame!”

Jon laughs with his friend, a weight lifted from him as someone he truly trusts, who knows him and cares for him and does not see him as a burden for his namesake, believes him. Perhaps the Gods meant for him to take this very journey, to meet the people he has met along the way, too.

By the time Jon does take his Oath, and is granted the role of Lord Commander Mormont’s personal steward, he has settled into the life he has made for himself. And just a few days later, as another layer of snow falls around them, Jon and Sam descend the wall from their night on watch, to commotion at the gates of Castle Black. Lord Commander Mormont reaches the crowd of unsettled brothers, parting them effortlessly. 

“What has got you all acting like fools?!” He bellows.

“Th-There is a girl at the gate, Lord Commander.” One of the younger men speaks up.

“And are we frightened of girls? Tell me, would you rather it be a giant on the other side?!” Lord Commander Mormont rolls his eyes and shoves the men out of the way, ordering the gates be opened at once. 

A woman steps through them, her hair covered in snow, whole body trembling in the cold as she desperately hugs herself to maintain the little warmth her worn clothes offer her. And as Jon and Sam slow their steps, Jon Snow feels his entire world stop dead in its tracks, holding its breath with him, because it’s you. 

He doesn't hear anything, he cant, he can only watch as the Lord Commander orders a man away, that same man then returning with furs that the Lord Commander covers you with, wrapping an arm around you and leading you to his quarters. It isn't until Samwell Tarly steps in front of Jon and asks him - for the fourth time - if he’s alright, that Jon realizes he still hasn't recalled how to breathe. 

Sam’s face is the picture of sudden realization as his eyes widen and he grabs Jon’s shoulders. 

“By the Gods, it was her! Wasn’t it!”

And the pair of them are running, they are sprinting to Lord Commander Mormont’s quarters and bursting through the door without announcing themselves, causing the Lord Commander to jump to his feet from behind his desk. 

“What is the meaning of this?” His frown is harsh, but he knows the men well enough to understand they must have a reason for barging into his otherwise private quarters. 

Unfortunately for Jon, he has not yet regained the ability to speak, though his eyes have acknowledged you are not in the room as he thought you would be. 

That only leaves Sam, glancing between Jon and the Lord Commander frantically before beginning to speak. “Lord Commander, th-that girl, she- Jon, you see, he had a vision, as a boy, of the very girl that has just walked through the gates, and- he doesn't know why, but he did, he has never seen her before today, apart from in that vision, but there must be a reason, so we would both like to vouch for her to stay, and-”

Lord Commander Mormont lifts his hand. “The woman came because her village was destroyed by wildlings and she has nowhere else to go. She will be staying here, where she will be protected, and has offered to work in our kitchen to earn her keep.” He looks to Jon. “Is what Sam says true, Jon? You had a vision of this girl?”

Finally, Jon returns to himself. “Yes, Sir, I did.”

Lord Commander Mormont considers this, before nodding to himself. “Very well. You will keep your Oath, you will find out the reason for this vision, and if you see fit, report your findings back to me. If you believe it holds more importance than simply to you, that is.”

Jon opens his mouth to speak, to express his gratitude, but the Lord Commander continues.

“Once she has been checked for wounds and sickness, she will be left to wash free of her journey here and will join us for supper. Until that time, continue with your duties.”

It is just a normal request, especially for a man of the Night’s Watch, yet Jon Snow cannot help feeling it is the most impossible thing he has ever been tasked with.

For the rest of the day, the sound of every door opening and closing sends Jon’s head turning in its direction, every room he enters, his eyes are searching for you, and he fails to hold conversations with any of his brothers, his mind too preoccupied by anxiety over your wellbeing, the fear of meeting you for the first time, what he would say to you, what he should say to you, how soon can he tell you that he has waited for you everyday since just after his sixth name day?

Naturally, Ser Alliser exposes the newly found clumsiness of Jon during his day’s training, reveling in every hit Jon takes, every swing missed. But no hit is strong enough to bring Jon back to where he stands, his mind has run away with you. 

For a split second, he sees your silhouette walking up a distant staircase, the side of your face cleaner than it had been the last time he had seen it, led by Lord Commander Mormont in the direction of the kitchen. And that single second takes a year to pass in Jon’s eyes.

Supper cannot come soon enough for Jon, or Sam, who is ravenous with curiosity more than he is for the evening’s meal, absolutely mesmerized by his dear friend’s sudden incapacity to think of anything else but you, and this leading Sam to conclude that you are simply fascinating. A large group of brothers of the Night's Watch all but stumble into the common room that connects to the kitchen, and for the first time since any of them arrived, they smell something incredible. 

You stand at the furthest wall, a steaming cauldron almost half your size in front of you, with high stacks of bowls on the table in front of you. The wideness of your eyes gives away the fear within you, but with Lord Commander Mormont at your side, you know the men will not dare harm you. 

“From now on, you will form an orderly queue here for your meals, and (Y/N) will serve them to you. None will lay a hand on her, or they will have me to answer to. Is that understood?” The Lord Commander’s voice is loud and stern, and every brother nods with an enthusiastic “AYE!” in response, already falling in line.

But Jon Snow does not move from the doorway, too lost in the vision of you as you timidly step forward, lifting a large ladle from the cauldron to spoon the first helping of stew to the first brother in line, who thanks you graciously, with such excitement that a small smile makes its way onto your face. So small it’s hardly there, but it’s enough to make Jon acutely aware of the irregularity of his own heart as it thrashes inside his chest, desperate to jump free of him and run to you. After all these years spent wondering, he finally knows your name, and he knows that his heart will sing it until it stops beating, and maybe even after.

“Come along Jon, you must meet her in the real world, now.” Sam encourages his best friend, bringing him back to reality with a pat on the back, gently pushing him forward. 

Sensing that his best friend may not be able to find the words, Samwell Tarly boldly steps in front of him just enough to ensure he is served first, so as to introduce themselves to you properly when it is time. 

Jon is trying to count the seconds, but the closer he gets to you, the more clearly he can hear you answer every grateful “Thank you” with the softest “You’re welcome” he has ever heard, and he loses track of everything entirely. 

Before long, the two men at the end of the line, have reached the front. There is the slightest tremor in Jon’s hands as Sam places a bowl in them, and Lord Commander Mormont rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all, but he cant deny in his own mind it is quite endearing. 

“Hello, it’s so lovely to meet you, (Y/N), my name is Samwell Tarly, and this is Jon Snow.” Sam introduces himself and his best friend to you, keeping his voice quiet because he’s conscious of how frightening all of this must be for you, and the smile on your face is enough for him to know that you appreciate it.

At the mention of his name, your eyes move to Jon���s as you tip the ladle into his bowl, and his stomach drops. Something flutters within him, goosebumps erupting on his skin like a cold wind rushes past him, but his face is far too warm for that to be true.

“Hello Samwell, and hello Jon. It’s a pleasure. I hope you like the stew.” 

Jon cant believe it. After all these years, finally, he is hearing your voice say something new, something he hasnt replayed in his mind thousands of times already, though he is certain he will soon enough. 

Realising he still has not spoken, Sam nudges his best friend and chuckles in an effort to mask it, and Jon clears his throat. 

“Thank you, my Lady.” His voice is gruffer than he intended, but he tries his best to speak quietly, not wanting to give you any reason to fear him. Something in the way you look at him tells him that he couldn't possibly, even if he wanted to. 

Unable to convince himself he will not collapse if he looks at you for a second longer, Jon takes his leave, turning from you and making his way over to an empty table. It’s only when he hears the Lord Commander say “Perhaps you should go and join your brothers, now, Sam” that he realizes his dear friend has not joined him at the table, but he does not have the mental capacity to consider the implications of that at this time.

“Well, she is just wonderful.” Sam sighs as he sits down opposite Jon, who stares into his bowl of stew.

“I know.”

“And this stew! Tell me you’ve tried it Jon, by the Gods, she really is a dream!” He rambles, rapidly spooning mouthful after mouthful of stew in between words.

“I know.” Jon answers again. 

“She really is a dream come true for you, isn’t she? Personally, I don’t know how I’d cope if a woman I dreamt about as a boy, arrived at the gates and made stew like this. I’d certainly have to break my Oath and beg her to be my lady wife on the spot, I should think.” Sam sighs, shaking his head at the thought, making Jon laugh in disbelief, bringing a smile of victory to Sam’s face as he finally joins him in inhaling the stew, which truly is as good as to make a man consider breaking his Oath on the spot. 

The common room is loud with the approving hums of men enjoying their meals, then loud with their expressions of gratitude as they return their empty bowls to you and take their leave, some retiring for the night while others make their way to the top of the wall. 

When only the two of them remain at their table, Sam nods at Jon. “Now is your chance, the Lord Commander is gone. Talk to her, or spend the rest of the night wishing you had and suffer the agony of having to wait until tomorrow.” Sam shrugs, rising from his seat as Jon shakes his head at him, in yet another state of disbelief at his friend’s words. 

He hears Sam sing your praises for just a little too long as he hands his empty bowl back to you, bringing the quietest laugh from you, one that Jon knows he has to hear again or he will not make it through the night, and then Sam leaves to retire for the evening. That is where Jon should go, too, but he will not be able to live with himself if he leaves without at least trying to talk to you, first. 

With all the confidence he has been storing his entire life for this very moment, Jon stands, clutching his empty bowl in his hands as he turns to face you and makes his way over to you, trying not to let his steps falter when your eyes land on him again. 

A kind smile is on your face now, far more relaxed than you had been when he had first seen you in here, and he’s overjoyed at that. 

Clearing his throat, Jon tries to withhold the beaming grin that is fighting to break free as he stands in front of you. “It really was a lovely stew, (Y/N), thank you.” 

Your eyes avoid his, but your smile remains, and Jon sees it for the very first time: the shyness he never thought he would be able to bring to a person, until he dreamt of you. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. I’m glad everyone seemed to like it!” You chuckle, a mixture of relief and bashfulness. 

Jon laughs with you. “Liked it? I’ve not been here long, but I’d be willing to bet there has never been a mealtime spent with so many of the brothers that happy all at once. Quite an achievement for your first day.” Despite having somewhat dreaded this moment his entire life, his greatest fear having evolved into the notion he would make a bad first impression on you, Jon is truly shocked at how quickly he feels completely at ease with you, like he really has known you all these years. 

“Thank you, that’s very kind. From what Sam was saying, you made quite the impression on your first day here, too.” 

Jon takes a moment to come to terms with the fact that he left his best friend alone to blabber about him to the girl of his dreams, and that there is a teasing tone to your voice, before he is able to respond.

“Gods, what did he say?” Jon sighs, and there it is, your laugh, this time louder, heartier, and he cant hold back his beaming grin anymore.

As you start to pile the empty bowls into the empty cauldron, Jon wordlessly joins you. “Oh, just that you’re the greatest swordsman that he’s ever seen, that you’re his dear friend, that you’ve always defended him, even when it meant the disapproval of others, the list goes on!”

Jon feels his cheeks flush pink. “Sorry about that, he means well.”

You chuckle at that. “Of course he does, you dont need to apologise, it was very sweet, really. Reassured me that you’re one of the good men here, anyway. I’d already guessed as much.”

With all the bowls piled into the cauldron, Jon crouches down to lift it, carrying it to the door that you hold open for him, leading to the kitchens. 

Lowering the cauldron onto the stone countertop, Jon helps you empty the bowls from it and begin washing them in a bucket of water, leaving them on the side to drain. 

“You had guessed I was a good man before speaking to Sam?” He asks, feeling as giddy as he did when he was a boy and had first woken up from the dream of you.

“With kind eyes like yours, how could I not?” You answer with a rhetorical question and another sweet smile, stunning Jon into silence. 

That silence settles into a comfortable and productive bubble, in which only the two of you exist, washing dishes and occasionally glancing at each other with shy smiles. 

Once the last bowl is placed on the side to drain, Jon speaks up. 

“I am…sorry, that you’ve had to come here.” He doesnt want to be insensitive or selfish by pretending that your being here is a completely happy occasion, when for you it was a last resort, and likely somewhere you never intended to end up.

As if to prove his thinking correct, you nod, your eyes much sadder than they had been, as though a mask you had not realized you had been holding in front of your face began to slip. 

“Thank you…for welcoming me, I know this is not the place for a girl.” 

Jon shakes his head. “It isn’t, but only because of some of the men here, and I won’t let them close enough to harm you. Ever. You belong here just as I do.”

Before Jon can process exactly what he has said, you turn to him with a confused frown on your face. “What do you mean?” 

And then, panic sets in. Jon’s eyes widen and dart around the room, scrambling for an explanation, but unable to find one, save for the truth. Meeting your eyes, already searching his for an explanation, he sighs in defeat. The least he can do is make it a little more subtle. 

“I can’t put it into words yet, but I have to ask that you trust me. I know that we’ve just met, that you dont really know me, but please, just trust that…” Jon takes a deep breath. “Someday, there’ll be a smile where a frown used to be. I swear it.”

He watches for any microscopic change to your expression, any sign that you recognise the words he’s said, but there is nothing. A second passes in an eternity, and Jon’s stomach drops to his feet, realizing how much more difficult this is going to be to tell you. And then, your frown drops, into wide, teary eyes. 

“H-How did you- My mother used to sing me that song, she made it up, how could you possibly-” You are in a panicked state of total disbelief and wonder, unable to piece together how this could possibly have happened, or how this day could become anymore overwhelming. 

“You sang it to me-”

Shaking your head, you interrupt him. “I’ve never sang that song, my mother did.”

Jon shakes his head back at you, knowing that now he has no choice. “My whole life, I have only dreamt once, I only had one dream, one night, when I was just a boy. I dreamt that I was a man, something I had not yet been, I was here, a place I had not set foot in, and you were, too, someone I had never seen before. And in that dream, you sang that song to me. I don't know how, or what it meant, but I’ve always known - and I know for certain now - that it was more than just a dream.”

He can see it in your eyes, the way you are clinging to every word, and to his amazement, you believe him. “How do you know for certain now?”

That answer requires a lot less thinking on Jon’s part.

“Because you’re real.” 

A single tear breaks the barricades that your wide eyes were desperate to uphold, and Jon’s heart fractures inside his chest, his expression almost one of pain as he takes a step towards you, but stops himself, not wanting to scare you. 

“What else happened in the dream, Jon?”

He tries to regain his composure. “We…held each other, shared a bed, and fell asleep.” There is so much more detail to it, Jon thinks to himself, the details he has spent his life daydreaming about in excruciating detail, but those details are for another day.

Taking a moment to consider all of this, you nod to yourself, seeming to decide something. 

“Then hold me, Jon Snow.”

His heart skips a beat inside his chest, spluttering frantically as his jaw drops. “A-Are you certain that is what you-”

Holding up a hand, you stop him. “Each day that I have spent walking here has been the worst of my life. All I have been able to think about is the family, the home, the life I have lost, and the fear of arriving here, to be surrounded by men, any of which could try to hurt or even kill me at any moment, or simply turn me away at the gates. These past days, I have spent feeling nothing but dread, and it is not until right now that I have remembered what having hope for the future feels like. If what you say is true, and the fact that I already trust you not to lie to me, tells me that it is, Jon…hold me like you’ve been waiting to do it your entire life.”

And that day, in that kitchen, Jon Snow meets you in two strides, to fulfil his one true duty, for the very first time. His arms wrap around you, his body releasing a breath that he feels like he's been holding ever since he sat up in his childhood bed in Winterfell that morning. Your arms cling to him, your face tucked away in his chest, and he rests his head on top of yours, tilting his head down and closing his eyes, breathing in the scent of you that he had not forgotten, even after all these years. The piece of him that he discovered in that dream that had been left with you, there, slots back into place like it had never left, and in a moment of soul shifting realization, he understands that his entire life had not been leading him back to that dream, it had been leading him to this very moment, with you. Safe in his arms, at long last, for the very first time.

Jon Snow has never been a man that has enjoyed following instructions. It has never come naturally to him, and has already landed him in several spots of trouble in his short time as a brother of the Night’s Watch so far. But that day, in that kitchen, Jon Snow knows that his one true duty, the one he was born to fulfil, is to hold you, whenever you ask, whenever you don't, and whenever you need, for any reason, or no reason at all.

[creedslove]

🌹Anon here! Sadly things with my step sister hasn't gotten any better, she has blocked my step Dad and everyone on his side, so we cannot contact her whatsover. It has been really difficult to navigate, she is only 11, and we can only pray she comes back to us eventually. Sob story aside, could I get some sweet Dave fluff? Him just being a great dad to his newborn baby. A mercernary with a newborn just making pancakes shirtless while carring the baby in one of those fabric wrap slings. Please and thank you ♥️

Dave York x f!reader

A/N: hi my darling 🌹 anon, it's good seeing you here, although the news aren't the best! I'm so sad to know your step dad's and his daughter's situation isn't great that way! It really sucks, she's so young she doesn't even have a clue about how devastating her behavior towards him is, but hopefully things will work out! I hope they can settle things down and work on their father-daughter relationship properly! I'll be rooting for them, and keep us updated whenever you can, alright?! Love you!

• when you woke up, the first thing was to look for Dave on his side of the bed, but it was empty and cold, meaning he had been up for a while; you checked on the clock and of course he's been up for ages, he still follows his military old habits, so you decided to get up

• but before doing anything else, you went over to your baby's room, wanting to check on little Davie, the little miracle that come over to give Dave's life a new meaning, along with you, and of course he couldn't pass up the opportunity to name his baby boy after himself when you offered it, and from that day on, you had your Dave, soon-to-be husband, and your sweet little Davie

• but Davie wasn't really in his crib, so you paid attention to your surroundings and of course you could hear soft giggles and a delicious smell of pancakes coming from downstairs, so you took the opportunity to freshen up in the bathroom and take some time to wake up before going to your family

• and once you got to the kitchen, of course you found Dave still shirtless, messy bed hair, working on his pancakes as Davie watched everything curiously from his comfortable carrier sling that made him look like the cutest kangaroo baby you'd ever seen

• Davie cooed and giggled, amazed at what his daddy was doing, he didn't actually understand, but he liked the sound of it and once you got closer and greeted your boys, you were welcomed by the sweetest smile you'd ever seen

"here honey, let me handle him, so you can make your pancakes"

• you offered carefully, knowing Dave was handy but still worried to have his son so close to the stove, you quickly helped him untangle your baby from the sling and held him into his arms

"are you hungry for daddy's pancakes, baby? Pancakes are his thing, he makes the best ones in the world!"

• and it was true; Dave's pancakes were delicious and he was great at it, there was a time he would make his daughters from his first marriage some every single Saturday morning, and they'd cheer up and talk about how daddy was the best! Unfortunately, that stopped after his and Carol's traumatic divorce and things took a downhill turn and Dave lost that connection once they got too old for that or just didn't seem so interested in spending time with him

• but things changed again when he began dating you: first of all, you liked his pancakes, and you loved watching him make them. He was always so attentive and focused and god, he looked too handsome doing the most domestic things

• and once you got pregnant, Dave noticed you enjoyed his domestic presence even more: unlike Carol who always complained about how his cologne or aftershave made her nauseous, you just craved his presence, you wanted to be all over him the entire time, and Dave loved that, you two bonded during a time he honestly thought couples drifted apart from his experience, it was magical, and luckily to him, that bond didn't break once little David was born, quite the opposite, the three of you became a stronger little family together

• and he couldn't express how much he loved that, how important it was, he still went out, did his dangerous job and went back home with his pocket full of money, but if there was something he would always do for his family, was definitely making pancakes for his beautiful family 💗

____

[reverienne]

my contribution to @idrellegames's Wayfarer's 3rd Anniversary!

a translation of "caro diario," written by me / both the translation and the (clunky) Italian original available on ao3

a diary entry set during the Prologue, spoiler-free, gen

615 words / Corinne Varyn (then - Corina Briadis), a little bit of complaining about the hardships of being a recruit, simple language because my Italian is simple

___

dear diary,

My name is Corina Briadis. I am 13 years old. I am someone called a magianis. I do not have magical powers, but it does not mean that I am a boring person.

Existing in a world where everyone has magical powers when you do not have any is difficult. People believe that people like me are freaks of nature. Of course, it is not true, it is not fair, but what can we do?

The society loves magic.

Not having magical powers is rare.

It is easy for people not to meet anyone like me for their entire lives! Because of that, it is easy to "forget" that not all people can use magic... or that magic is necessary to do many things.

If you do not have magical powers, you have to be creative.

I have to be creative if I want to live in the society.

For example, I have to walk a lot because using any technology that requires the use of magic, like teleportation portals, is impossible for me.

I do not like that. I do not like doing sport, but I do not have any choice because I cannot become a mage.

My birth family abandoned me. They did not like the fact that I was born without magical powers.

They are horrible people.

I hate them.

I do not want to see my mother, my father, my brothers or my sisters, or any of my cousins and other relatives ever again.

I hope that they are all dead.

I know that they are all fine.

It is not fair, but there is still time.

My new family is the Wayfarer Order. My favourite teacher, Brissa Varyn, is my mentor and my guardian. She is more like a mother to me than my birth mother ever was.

She has a partner, another teacher, Rindan Cenric, and I like him as well.

There is also a boy around my age by the name of Aeran Kellis who is another student and mentee of Varyn. He is like a brother to me.

Aeran is very brave. He is not afraid to argue with our mentor, Varyn, or anyone else.

I, on the other hand, am afraid of everything.

My future seems very frightening. I have to become a warrior because my new family is full of warriors.

When you join the Wayfarer order, you have to become a warrior.

I do not have any choice here. Even Varyn - who has a true talent for diplomacy and works as the Order's diplomat - is also a great warrior.

And me? I am shy and nervous. When people look at me, I become even more nervous, and when people actually listen to me... no, it is just too weird for me. I have been invisible my whole life and suddenly becoming brave when you are 13 years old is not easy.

Moreover, the people that I have to talk to are often mean, yet I always have to be polite and diplomatic with them.

It is a hard, difficult job.

Unfortunately - or maybe fortunately? - I am better at diplomacy than Aeran. Aeran simply refuses to be polite and diplomatic.

Varyn says that I have a bit of her talent for negotiations.

It is incredible... it is my first time being better than someone at anything... but now if I want the talks to go well, I have to step up and do the talking myself, and I hate this.

I am not a good warrior.

I know that I have to improve.

I do not want to die young.

But it is very difficult and I am so tired...

Until the next time!

Corinne

[spell-cleaver]

Portrait of an Empire

Angstober

Day 30: Nothing Else To Tell You

The red guards brought Luke to his throne room in binders. They weren’t binders that cut him off with the Force—that cruelty had not yet been called for—but they were ones with a sufficiently tricky mechanism that it took time and focus for even Force-sensitives to break. And for once in his life, Luke was too busy holding his head high to fiddle around.

Sheev watched him from atop his throne, affecting the same casual stance and expression he always wore when a prisoner was dragged before him. The guards forced Luke to kneel. Luke didn’t fight too hard, but he didn’t bow too low, either.

“Leave us,” Sheev commanded. The guards did.

Sheev shook his head. “Explain yourself.”

Luke shrugged, a bitter twist to his mouth. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“The truth,” Sheev’s fingers started to tap rhythmically on the arm of his chair, “would be a start.”

“I know you’ve seen the message I left my father.”

“So that was it?” Sheev’s mouth curled into a mocking smile. “You simply cannot stand us anymore? You have more noble causes to which to dedicate yourself?”

“I won’t stay here. I won’t stay in a palace that worships evil.” Luke looked him up and down. “With a cult that worships pain. The galaxy deserves better than this. I deserve better than this—and so does Mara. What is this all for, Grandfather? Power?” His voice rose, until it echoed off the ceiling. “What’s the point?”

“Mara,” Sheev repeated. “Did you have to ruin my favourite agent alongside yourself?”

“Favourite? You never showed her that. It took so long for her to stop hating me for the fact you seemed to love me, and it took even longer for her to realise that your behaviour was not her fault. She deserves more than anyone freedom from Sith corruption.” He shook his head. “Do you understand love?”

“Of course.” It made people weak. It meant he could manipulate them.

Luke shook his head. “You don’t know anything.”

“I certainly know more than you, boy.”

Luke looked up at him. Then he got to his feet.

He stood there, hands still cuffed in front of him, feet spread wide and strong. His shoulders were set. He stared up at Sheev, and for a moment he could have rivalled the greatest generals for gravitas.

“I mean it,” he said, “when I say that I will not stay here. One way, or another. I will not be party to the Empire. I will never join it. Do you understand me?”

“If I could understand you, we would not be here.”

“I will not stay,” Luke repeated. “But I love you. And I believe that you love me. It’s a karking stupid belief. Mara has told me that. My father has told me that. But I think you’re a sad old man who’s spent so long choosing hatred that he doesn’t know the other paths. And I think when you said that you haven’t tried to kill me in years, that’s the best I could have expected from you.

“So I have some demands of you. I think you can do them, if you choose to. But if you don’t…” Luke trailed off. He looked infinitely sad. “There’ll be nothing else to talk about.”

Sheev tried to inject amusement, and not deadly terror, into his voice. “And what demands are these?”

“I know you can’t build anything. All the Sith can do is destroy. Everything significant you have ever created has been on the backs of others’ suffering. You cannot heal without inflicting pain. You had to rot the Republic to make this shell we live in today. And even this building,” he waved his hands around, “is the ghost of a once great Jedi Temple.”

“Get to your point.” His voice was tight.

“So this should be a simple ask, Grandfather.” Luke’s tone flattened. “Burn it all down.”

Sheev laughed. “The temple?”

“The Empire. Make it a trading community, or a commonwealth—I don’t know. Diminish it. Destroy it. And destroy that starsforsaken Sith Temple below our feet. The Sith have been eating their young for as long as they’ve existed. Your philosophy will self-destruct. You hated your master. My father hates you. But I won’t train ever again. There are no more children to feed to the fire of this vanity!”

Luke stared at Sheev, a fire in his eyes. And Sheev found himself at a loss for words.

“You were captured in your attempt to abandon us,” he said. “You are hardly in the position to be making demands.”

“I’m making them anyway.”

His lips pulled back from his teeth, and then further, into something that was half-smile, half-snarl. “Let me know your decision.”

He turned and walked out of the throne room without being dismissed.