#💖Out of the Shadows Forever💖 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

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To be alone with you 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, cheating, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your babysitting gig becomes complicated. (f!plus sized!reader)

Character: dilf!Clark Kent

Note: who predicted 2024 would be the year I converted to Cavill.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The blinds are drawn as you hug your pillow with one arm. Your body is stiff as you sleep with one leg hooked around your blankets, the bottom of one cheek exposed to the steady blow of AC. You shiver and roll onto your back, pulling the covers around you fully.

The night before is a vague shadow in your mind. You remember starting the movie but not much else. You’d been so tired after the break-in, you must’ve passed out almost immediately. You feel bad, hoping that Clark doesn’t take it to heart.

You push yourself up. Your head is thick and full with sleep. You haven't slept like this in forever. Your mouth is dry but tangy. You swallow the gritty morning and cough, turning to dangle your legs over the edge.

Your striped shorts are crooked and wrinkly and your tee shirt smells like sweat. Ugh. You're a mess.

You stand and lumber around clumsily. You grab a change of clothes and try to stretch out the kinks as you cross the hall to the bathroom. You close the door and put your clothes on the counter, facing your reflection.

You look rough. You feel just as bad. You turn on the cold water and splash it over your face before you brush your teeth, scraping out the stale taste stuck to your tongue. You turn on the shower and undress, wincing as your thighs meet.

You must be close to your time of the month. You get a bit sensitive. It would explain your fatigue and the soreness. Great.

You step into the glass booth and wash yourself. The warm water is soothing against your stiff muscles. God, you really hurt. You reach down to touch your folds, checking your fingers for blood.

PMS is a bitch. Not enough to bleed for a week, your body has to gaslight you into thinking you are already.

After, you pull on the fresh clothes but hardly feel more awake. Just sluggish and achy. Coffee. You don't live off it like your sister but you need it in that moment.

Thinking of, where is your sister? Not too unusual for her to he errant but it's been a few days.

As you come downstairs, you hear snoring rumbling through the first floor. You slow and tiptoe into the front room. You cautiously approach the couch and find Clark, arms crossed, sleeping on his side, cramped into the small space as he slumbers. The small throw stretched over his shoulders.

Your stomach pits. You're certain he'd much rather be at home in his own bed. Your guilt keeps you from disturbing him.

You creep into the kitchen, making your movement muted and staggered. You flip the switch on the kettle and wait as it hums. You load the french press with grinds and teeter on your toes, dancing nervously around the tile.

You pour the boiling water into the press and check the time on the stove. You give it time to brew and lean on the island, listlessly cupping your chin and tapping your cheek with your fingertips. As you blow out, you hear the floorboards and stand up to greet Clark as he enters.

His hair is askew, eyes droopy, and the blanket still draped around his neck. You didn't realise before he hadn't been wearing a shirt. His pajamas hang low on his stomach, the dark hair across his chest and trailing down his stomach exposed shamelessly. You gulp and focus on his face.

“Smells like coffee,” he grins crookedly, “morning.”

“Morning, uh, I hope I didn't wake you up,” you squeak.

“Not at all,” he waves you off, “you passed out so quick, I figured you'd be up and at em. Besides, Jonny’s an early riser.”

“Oh, okay,” you turn to press down the plunger on the press, “I'm sorry I zonked out so fast–”

There's less resistance than you expect and the coffee splashes up and overflows, splashing your hands as you recoil with a yipe. You try to shake it off but a particular spot on the back of your hand singes badly. Before you can think, Clark has your arm and angles you to the sink as he flips on the cold water.

He guides your hand under, crowding you as your arm shakes in pain. You hiss even as the water soothes.

“Oh, I'm so clumsy,” you murmur.

“As long as you're okay,” he slowly lets you go, “you let me take care of this.”

He swipes up the dish towel and sops up the errant drops of coffee. He dries off the outside of the press and patiently pushes down the plunger. You turn off the water and use a fresh towel on your hands.

He faces you, “blistering?”

You look at your hand, “just tender.”

“You're lucky I'm here,” he chortles, “scare away all the bad men and take care of your burns.”

“Ha, yeah, I–”

“Mm, something smells like cherry blossoms,” he interrupts, sniffing the air, his blue eyes narrowing on you, “is that you?”

“Um, yeah,” you catch a wafting scent from your body, “that's my body soap. Oh no, is it setting you off?”

“Not at all,” he smiles, “I was more worried about you.”

“Ah, no, it's fine. The soap doesn't trigger me surprisingly.”

“Hm,” he leans on the counter, gripping the edge as you notice how his stomach muscles clench, “I bought Lois some cherry blossom soap once. She never used it. Guess it isn't her scent.”

“Not for everyone I guess,” you turn and open a cupboard, taking down two mugs.

“Mm, yeah,” he agrees dully, “well, I should call your dad over my coffee,” he pushes himself straight and nears, stopping right beside you as you pour into the cups, “maybe after we can go get breakfast. My treat.”

“Oh, you don't have to–”

“I want to. Kinda weird not having Jonny around, looking fir a distraction,” he accepts a mug as you slide it over to him.

“Makes sense,” you say, “well, who am I to deny a free meal?”

🏡

After searching your coffee cup for an ounce of strength, you give in to the persistent glaze in your eyes. Maybe eating will help. Clark's offer is generous, almost too generous, yet your stomach clenches at the thought of food.

You grab your purse and head down to find Clark. He's in the kitchen, rinsing his mug, your own forgotten on your night stand. He dries it and puts it away as you wait for him to notice you.

“Did you talk to my dad?” You ask.

“Yeah, actually, couldn't get through. They must be on the road. Service gets spotty, right?” He hangs the dish towel neatly, “so you ready? I gotta stop by my place and change but then we can eat.”

“Sure, uh, well, you know, if it's too much…”

“Not at all, I'm excited. There's this place I've been meaning to try for a while but Lois hasn't felt like it,” he says, “tried calling her too. Think she's still mad at me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Kent.”

“Clark,” he corrects you, “you make me feel so old.”

“Sorry,” you apologize again.

“It's fine,” he shrugs, “we should get going. I'm starving.”

“Not gonna lie, me too.”

“Must've been all the salty snacks last night,” he kids.

🏡

After you stop at the Kents', you set off for breakfast. The more you think about it the hungrier you are. You grow restless as you watch several options pass by, holding your tongue as Clark keeps driving.

You're surprised as he passes the city limits and you shift in your seat, craning to watch the sign pass. He clears his throat and turns down the radio, "almost there. Guess I shoulda mentioned it's all the way out here."

"Nah, it's fine," you shrug, "just curious."

"Really cute place, locally owned," he explains, "I prefer to give my money to an honest family business, you know?"

"Totally get it," you say coolly.

He taps his fingers on the wheel, as if he's restless or even agitated. He pulls into a gravel lot off the country road and you look up at the painted side. You passed this place with your parents a few times but never pulled over. It's a quaint brunch restaurant in a cottage-style house.

"Oh, this place," you chuckle.

"You been here?" He asks.

"No, but I've seen it."

"Right," he intones and clicks free his seat belt.

You free yourself of your own seat belt and climb out as he mirrors you. You let him take the lead and follow him to the front door. He holds it open and you enter ahead of him. You're greeted inside by an elderly lady.

"Good morning, may I show you to a table?" She offers.

You nod as Clark gives a vocal response over your head. She leads you to a table for two. You notice the place isn't very busy. There's an older man in the corner drinking coffee over a newspaper but no one else.

You sit as she introduces herself as Lena and promises menus. She shuffles away as you look at Clark who seems enamoured with the place. He admires the painting of flowers not far from your table and the lacy curtains around the front windows. It's cute but a bit outdated.

"There ya go, honies," she lays two menus on the table, her knobby hands shaking, "would you like coffee or tea?"

"Coffee, please, and..." he looks at you.

"Green tea, please."

"Coffee and green," she repeats, "lovely."

She hobbles away and you shift awkwardly in your seat. She must be the only waitress. In a place like this, you're not surprised. You just hope the food is decent, not that you can be picky.

"This place is nice," he muses, "peaceful."

"Yeah, it's interesting," you say as you pick up the menu.

"I'm glad you got some sleep," he takes his own menu and browses it lazily, "glad I could be there to keep an eye out. Protect you."

"Ah, well, yeah, I don't think they guy would come back anyway but it did help," you give a small smile and settle on eggs benedict.

"Great," he puffs out his chest just a little.

You peek up at him. It must be a good distraction for him. With Lois and Jonny gone, he needs something to keep him busy. You can humour him.

"Here ya go, sweets," Lena returns with a mug off coffee and a teacup on a saucer. She places both shakily and stands as straight as she can to ask if you've decided on what you want.

Clark lets you order first and you speak loudly and slowly to the woman as she cups her ear. She repeats it back to you before listening aptly to Clark. When she's done, she gives a soft clap and goes back behind the counter. She scribbles on a piece of paper and puts it in the window.

You glance over at the window, distracting yourself with the blowing grass. Somehow out here, you don't feel the same tickle in your sinuses. You sit back and cross your arms, watching the lazy blue sky.

"Oh, it's so romantic, a nice breakfast for two," Lena startles you as she appears again. She places a candlestick in the middle of the table then puts a wax taper in it. You can only stare and share look with Clark as she lights it, "you are so darling together. Is it a special occasion?"

"Uh," you bite your lip and look at Clark.

"Just breakfast," he answers as he throws his hands up, "spur of the moment, you know?"

"That's precious," she squeals, "you are such a beautiful pair."

"Thanks," Clark says and you just smile awkwardly.

She winks and leaves once more. You watch her cross the restaurant and sit with the old man and his newspaper. He lowers it as she whispers to him. You turn back and face Clark, leaning forward.

"I think she thinks we're together," you keep your voice quiet, "like a couple."

"Eh yeah, I didn't want it to be awkward," he shrugs, "no harm in it, really."

Your mouth slants as you consider his response. You guess he's right. What will it hurt? She's just a lonely old woman.

"What?" He tilts his head.

"Nothing," you answer.

"Really? I mean, I could correct her if it's a big deal--"

"It's not, really," you lean forward and cross your arms over the table, "just funny, I guess. Second time it's happened."

"It is?" He furrows his thick brows.

"Yeah, the ice cream guy..." you trail off, "whatever. Just... I'm kinda young but maybe don't look it."

"It's flattering, really," he insists, "people really think I could be with someone like you."

"Well, I mean, Lois is gorgeous," you laugh, "so..."

"Lucky man, surrounded by beautiful women," he grins.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you sit back awkwardly, not expecting the compliment. You're nothing like Lois, love handles excluded, you still couldn't compare. You're just the babysitter. “Thanks, that's… you don't have to say that.”

“Well, you are,” he rubs his neck bashfully.

“Ha, yeah, well…” you clasp your hands in your lap and look again out the window.

As you watch the horizon over the dusty road, your heart roils in the tension. There's something nipping at your mind, just on the edge of your memory but you just can't grasp it. Is he just being nice or is there something more behind his compliments?

Don't be silly, he doesn't see you like that. He couldn't.

#clark kent #dark clark kent #dark!clark kent #clark kent x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #babysitter au #superman #dc #dcu #to be alone with you

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claudemblems · 11 months ago

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A Kiss to End All Doubt | Albert Moriarty

Summary: When you agreed to tag along with the Moriarty brothers to a grand ball, the last thing you expected was to receive a noble's offer of marriage. Thankfully, Albert plays the part of your lover well, perhaps a little too well for his affectionate words to be fake...

Content: SFW. Fem!Reader. 3,723 words. Pining. Soooo much romantic tension. Albert is a flirt and no one is surprised.

Notes: I have been writing this fic for what feels like forever BUT IT'S FINALLY FINISHED :3 I'm so excited to finally give this to you. I hope you enjoy it 💖 I may also add an epilogue if there's an interest for one...🤭

Did Albert Moriarty, one of the many faces of the Lord of Crime, truly not have the slightest idea of the effect he had on you?

It was silly to even fathom that a man of his stature could be so oblivious, but you couldn’t help but start to wonder once he started giving your flushed cheeks and wide eyes a quizzical look.

That, or he was playing coy with you, which wouldn’t be all that surprising coming from him. He’d long since mastered the art of making noble ladies go weak in the knees.

But that was a skill he’d acquired out of pure necessity. If he had things his way, he’d refuse to give the stuck up women of the nobility the time of day. Unfortunately, he had a role to play in all of his brother’s plans, and so he continued flirting with the noble ladies just long enough to leave them wanting more.

You, on the other hand, were no noble. In fact, you had no good fortune, distinguished education, or marriageable prospects to speak of. Truly, you were nothing but a mere face hidden amongst the shadows, which was perfect for an assistant to the Lord of Crime.

You’d begun to empathize with Albert’s disdain for these royal functions, mainly the lavish balls he and his brothers had little choice but to attend. It was important for them to keep up appearances as a well-rounded noble family who knew how to mingle with the upper-class, whether they enjoyed doing so or not. While they seemed to have gotten used to it for the most part, it proved to be quite the difficult adjustment for you. Thankfully, Albert had patiently taught you the ins and outs of noble life, giving you lessons on small talk and etiquette whenever time permitted.

However, he hadn’t yet taught you how to handle a nobleman’s advances.

“You must be Lady [Name],” the man greeted, holding out his hand for you to take. You briefly glanced towards Albert, taking his nod as a sign to follow through with the gesture. A kiss was placed onto your hand before the man let go, stepping back to better admire the exquisite sights around him. “It’s quite a splendid ball, isn’t it? There’s so many well-mannered and intelligent guests in our midst, such as you, young Lord Albert.”

“Lord Darnley, you are far too kind,” Albert said, placing a hand over his heart and bowing. “I ought to be extending the compliments to you. Your presence here is most welcome, as well as that of your entourage. Would the girl you brought with you happen to be your little sister, Lady Georgina?”

“Ah, I see you’ve made sure to memorize the names of all the guests! Indeed, she insisted on joining me, and no matter what I said, she refused to take no for an answer!” Darnley bellowed in laughter, briefly drawing the attention of the other guests nearby.

“She already seems to be quite the free spirit. I’m sure she has a bright future ahead of her.”

“If you’re so interested in my dear Georgina, I would be more than willing to sit down and discuss a potential marriage between the two of you.”

You swore you saw a flash of disgust appear in Albert’s eyes, but he simply smiled brightly at Darnley, careful that his emotions did not look fake or contrived. “While your offer is certainly generous, I have no plans of marriage at the moment. I’m afraid I’m already plenty busy with my service in the royal army.”

“Ah, what a shame,” Lord Darnley sighed, but his disappointment quickly turned to anticipation when his gaze once again fell on you. Your stomach lurched at the look in his eyes, but you tried to retain your composure, copying Albert’s mannerisms by offering a surface-level smile.

“Lady [Name], I am supposing you are not yet married if you’re attending this function with the Moriartys.”

“That would be correct, my good sir. How astute of you to notice.”

Lord Darnley grinned at the news like a hunter mere moments away from ensnaring this prey. “Well then, my lady, is there anyone that has asked for your hand yet?”

Goosebumps ran down your arms as you swallowed thickly. Anyone with a right mind knew exactly where this conversation was heading.

“I…well…” Should you tell the truth? Should you lie? But then who would you say had expressed a desire in marrying you? “It’s…complicated.”

“So, that would mean no formal question has been posed then, correct?”

“...Correct.”

You heard Albert’s feet shift next to you, on guard for whatever preposterous idea this nobleman could come up with next.

“Well, it’s certainly not good for a lady of your standing to be without a husband. I, myself, am quite the romantic, and I believe a courting period fosters a genuine love between both parties involved. If you have no one currently vying for your hand, perhaps you’d offer me the chance to earn it.”

No. No. On so many levels, no.

But this wasn’t about you—your happiness or married life did not come before the liberation of London. Whatever the brothers asked of you, you would adhere to their words, even if it meant having to be stuck with a man such as…this. Though you knew they’d never even entertain the thought of offering you up to some man who cared only for your beauty and status and nothing for your heart. If you were to refuse Darnley’s advances, at the least, you were confident the Moriartys would respect your decision.

Even so, you didn’t want to cause any more trouble for them. If you couldn’t agree to the idea of marriage, perhaps a date or two would suffice, right?

Just the thought made you feel sick.

“Well, what do you say, my lady? Will you allow me the pleasure of courting you?”

You knew you had to keep up appearances. You couldn’t allow for cracks to show in the perfect and amicable facade the Moriartys had carefully crafted. You knew that well, and yet…

This was a proposal that not even death itself could bring you to accept.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but I must sincerely refuse.”

Lord Darnley stared at you in alarm. “Come again? You didn’t just say no to my advances, did you?”

Your heart rate quickened as his words grew heated, and in that moment you wanted nothing more than to take off and hide somewhere safe and quiet in the manor’s garden, away from other people who might come up with even more ridiculous propositions.

“It’s just as you heard, my lord. I must decline.”

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Lord Darnley stared straight into your eyes, not blinking for several long moments. Your hands had begun to shake as you feared that you’d just begun tarnishing the reputation of the Moriarty family. Truly, there were fewer things more terrifying than a nobleman who felt he’d been insulted, and the consequences for such an offense would be nothing short of dire.

“Lady [Name], you are in no place to refuse my offer. You said yourself that no other man has even brought up the idea of marriage to you! Are you truly so brazen that you would reject the prospects of a life in union with mine? We all know who makes the decisions around here, and they’re certainly not made by women—!”

“My good sir, I believe you’ve said quite enough.”

A small gasp left your lips as Albert sneaked a hand around your waist, still carefully holding his glass of wine in the other. You searched his face for an answer as to what he was scheming, but he simply smiled—a true one this time—wordlessly reassuring you that all would be well.

“You see, Lady [Name] may not have received an offer of marriage as of yet, but that is only because I have been quite busy protecting our beloved country. I wish to propose when I am able to be at home more often and thus can fulfill my duties as a devoted husband to my wife. So I must politely ask that you rescind your offer, lest you make yourself seem as though you chase after taken women.”

Propose? Husband?

If you were afraid of tainting the Moriarty image, Albert clearly didn’t share your concerns.

“Taken? Why, I—! You’re bluffing, Lord Albert! You’re not planning on marrying this woman!”

“And what has brought you to that incorrect conclusion?”

“If that were the case, you would have brought it up the moment I asked if she were single!”

“To be fair, you asked if she’d received an offer for marriage, not if she was currently available to court.”

You could practically see the steam coming out of Lord Darnley’s ears, his face growing redder with each passing minute. He was still unconvinced, and for good reason, too, but you weren’t about to let Albert’s kindness go to waste.

You placed a hand on Albert’s shoulder, smiling up at him as he redirected his full attention to you. “It’s true, my lord. My affections have been reciprocated by my dear Albert, and I am patiently waiting for him to ask me to marry him. It will be a proposal I shall readily accept.”

Darnley scoffed, a hand placed over his heart in disbelief. “And you had the gall not to tell me when I’d begun to question you? Either you’re a terrible liar, or you’re just hoping to humiliate me in front of all these guests!”

“I would never dream of deceiving or insulting you, my lord. I should have made my relationship status clear to you earlier. Please forgive my carelessness.”

“I still think this is some elaborate hoax the both of you are trying to pull off. If not to tarnish my good name, then to convince every noble here that you’re worth the status bestowed on you at birth.” Lord Darnley swiped a fresh glass of wine off the tray of one of the waiters walking by, the man watching in horror as the lord downed all of the liquid in one gulp. His cheeks had started to take on a flushed hue from the great amount of alcohol he’d consumed that night, and with the way things were going, he was sure to be drunk by the end of it. “Perhaps, Lady [Name],” Darnley continued, a lopsided smirk forming on his face, “you’ve been lying about your social status, and you’re hoping that your marriage to Lord Albert will secure you a place in the upper class.”

Anger surged through you at his utterly ridiculous theory. Darnley had unknowingly gotten one fact right: you were a nobody. When you’d been taken in by the Moriarty family, you had nothing to your name but pen, paper, and the clothes on your back. But you knew one thing for sure: you had worth as a human being, and no one, noble or otherwise, would be able to change that.

And marrying a noble for status? What a laughable suggestion. As if you’d stoop so low just for some so-called “honor” among the elite.

“Well, dear sir,” you began, discreetly hiding a smirk behind your gloved hand, “I had no idea you were so foolish as to even come up with such an inconceivable thought. I once held you in high regard as I’ve heard many within the nobility sing your praises, but your current behavior is quite unbecoming of a person of your stature.”

You heard Albert try, and fail, to stifle a laugh next to you. You quietly breathed out a sigh of relief to see that he’d chosen not to reprimand your strong words. If anything, he seemed eager to encourage them.

As Lord Darnley frantically signaled for a waiter to bring him more wine, Albert took the opportunity to lean down next to your ear, whispering a simple yet heart-pounding question, “[Name], would it be all right with you to play further into these roles of enchanted lovers?”

Your breath caught in your throat, butterflies beginning to form in your stomach. “Of course,” you said. If only you knew how I truly felt, you wouldn’t even need to ask.

He smiled down at you, a sight that only stirred up the butterflies even more, and pulled you closer against him. Meanwhile, his eyes bored into Lord Darnley’s frame, darkening with every passing moment. If there was no one else in that ballroom, you had no doubt Albert would have leapt at the chance to get rid of him.

When Lord Darnley had finished downing another glass of wine, his fiery countenance returned to you and Albert. “You both are frauds,” he spat. “Everyone else here might be too dim-witted to figure it out, but I’ll make them aware that you’re not the upstanding moral characters you believe that you are.”

“It’s a shame to hear such vile thoughts coming from your own mouth, good sir,” Albert sighed. “But if I must be honest, I don’t care what any noble in this room thinks of me or the house in which I rule over.”

“Oh? And why is that, good sir?”

“Because,” Albert answered, turning his body towards yours, his visage noticeably softening when his focus returned to you, “the only person I want to please is the woman I adore. Not one person in the nobility is worthy of praise or merit—no one but her alone.”

Setting aside his glass, Albert gingerly took your hand in his own, meeting your eyes to silently ask for your permission. At your nod of approval, he lifted your fingertips to his lips, placing a gentle and almost reverent kiss against them.

“I love her,” he said, his sweet gaze reaching the very depths of your soul, “and when the time is right, I will make her mine.”

His words were like a match igniting the fire blazing in your heart, the flames fed by your deep affections for him, growing with every beat that thumped in your chest.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hand came to rest against your cheek, his touch so light yet so dizzying, more intoxicating than any wine you’d had that night.

Albert searched your eyes as all the feelings you’d tried to keep at bay finally came pouring in like waves. You were sure he could see it all: the admiration, the yearning, the love you’d kept locked away. But somehow he’d managed to find the matching key, the truth you’d been hiding for all these years finally at his reach.

His fingers traveled along your cheek and down to your jaw, this thumb tracing patterns against your skin. You were still dazed from his words to Darnley, but you brought yourself to meet Albert’s gaze once more, curious to see what truths you could uncover in his own expression.

And you wished you hadn’t, because when you saw the affection so clearly present in them, you wanted nothing more than to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him until the night turned into day.

Albert wasn’t oblivious, and you knew it. Whatever people thought of him as—a genius, a young prodigy, a man of great knowledge—his ability to read people was beyond the average person’s comprehension. And you knew when he’d finally figured out what the person he’d been surveying was hiding. His lips would quirk upwards ever so slightly, the dimples on his face just beginning to show, and he’d cock his head to the side, pleased with his findings.

And that was exactly how he was looking at you.

You’d placed your heart out in plain view of his observant eyes, and he’d figured you out. But now that he knew of your feelings for him, what was he planning to do with them?

Albert’s thumb drifted from your jaw down your lips, careful not to brush off the lipstick staining them. He stared at them for several moments, deep in thought, before he returned his eyes to yours, a single question hidden within them.

May I?

Already breathless, you squeezed his hand once, closing your eyes as Albert leaned in painstakingly slowly, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation. This was the moment you’d only been able to imagine in dreams, on nights where you sat wordlessly under the stars, silently wishing upon them in vain. They couldn’t grant you your desires. They couldn’t give you everything you ever wanted. You were the only one with the power to seize your opportunity and make your own wish come true.

And as Albert’s lips finally fell on yours, you smiled.

Your greatest wish was being granted right before your very eyes.

His lips tasted faintly of wine, and the subdued scent of his cologne still lingered on his collar. Combined with the warm and comforting touch of his hand cupping your face, your senses were overwhelmed in the most wonderful of ways. It felt as if you’d begun to float, brought into a fairy tale-esque trance where the entire world grew still except for you and Albert.

Time had stalled to allow you this moment of pure, undeniable bliss that not even the corrupt powers of this world could take away from you.

With his lips still on yours, Albert’s hand snaked further around your waist, gently pulling you closer against him. You practically had no room left between the two of you, and so in a moment of boldness, you placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest, right above his heart. Even through his suit, you could feel it beating wildly.

It only made you wonder: did he truly mean what he’d said earlier? Did he really harbor such affection for you? Did he really intend…to make you his?

Before you could ponder anymore, Albert finally pulled away, cheeks faintly dusted with rose. He appeared somewhat dazed himself, but he kept his composure, still well aware of where the two of you were at the moment.

But this time when he turned to Darnley, he smirked, practically beaming from head to toe with delight as he spoke. “Well, Lord Darnley, do you believe us now?”

If looks could kill, both of you would have succumbed to that man’s rage.

Darnley’s hands gripped his wine glass so tightly that it shattered onto the floor, the remnants of wine staining his once perfectly polished suit. Other nobles stopped their conversations and turned to him upon hearing the commotion, a few of them even pulling out handkerchiefs.

“Sir, let me get you a new glass,” a waiter spoke, holding his hand out to take the broken one from him. But Lord Darnley was already fuming, and he shoved the waiter to the side, smashing the rest of the wine glass against the floor.

“You will pay for this,” he snarled. Sending you one final glare, he turned on his heel, marching out of the ballroom, hopefully never to be seen again (at least for the night).

“Well,” Albert breathed, laughing as he ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t think he’ll be bothering us anymore.”

“You’re right…Thank you, Albert.”

“What are you thanking me for?” he asked, gaze drifting back to yours. “I’ve done nothing to warrant your gratitude.”

You shook your head. “You have, Albert. You didn’t have to step in and save me from Darnley’s advances, but you did, even though doing so could have tarnished your family name. I’m indebted to you.”

Albert frowned ever so slightly, and you cocked your head to the side, confused. After a few moments, his gaze flickered to the people dancing around the room, his cheeks still tinged a beautiful red. “If you thought I was doing all that just to be a gentleman,” he murmured, “then I don’t know what it would take to make the truth clear to you...”

Well, suddenly you were the one left blushing.

“It’s not that. I…I don’t want to assume anything more, not when you’re such a precious person to me. I’m just scared of ruining what we have between us.”

Albert turned his attention back to you, using the hand that was still on your waist to pull you close to him again. Taking your other hand in his, he lifted it up to his lips, your faces now just mere inches apart.

“And what if I were to say that I do want something more?”

You almost wanted to pinch yourself to make sure it wasn’t all a dream.

But you still felt the press of his lips against yours, took in the smell of his cologne, and memorized the touch of his fingers running along your cheek. It was not a dream. It was even better.

Albert leaned down next to your ear, his breath fanning against your skin. “If one kiss isn’t enough to convey how much my heart yearns for you, then allow me to kiss you until you’re breathless, and no more words of doubt are left on your tongue.”

Albert smiled as your face grew redder, and with the way he bit his lip, you knew he was struggling not to comment on it.

“For a noble, you sure lack any semblance of shame, Master Albert."

Albert shook his head and chuckled to himself, that mischievous glint having once again returned to his eyes. “Keep teasing me and you’ll find out just how shameless I can be, darling.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Do you want to find out?”

Despite your flustered state, you couldn’t help but laugh, squeezing Albert’s hand tighter in yours. “If you want to kiss me so badly, do so in a place that’s actually romantic, will you?”

Taking you by the hand, Albert began to lead you outside of the ballroom and into the rose gardens. “Of course, and I’ll take my time to make sure I kiss you properly.”

You made a mental note to thank William and Louis for letting you tag along to the ball. If all went well, they would end up becoming your own brothers-in-law, after all.

But that could wait until you finally had Albert’s affections all to yourself.

#moriarty the patriot #moriarty the patriot x reader #albert moriarty #albert moriarty x reader #kat writes #IT'S FINALLY HERE #Honestly I'm so happy with this one :3

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prose-for-hire · 1 month ago

Text

Should I Stay or Should I Go? (Part Three)

Part One // Part two // Part Four

Pairing: Spike x Giles!reader

Part three of four 💖

Warning: reader drinks/smokes, difficult relationship with Giles and not friends with Buffy.

He had been searching for you when you hadn’t returned, his face steeped in worry as he stormed through the night to find you. Maybe you had got lost or eaten in that annoying human way. He cared for you deeply. He couldn’t help it and as he walked through Sunnydale until the light started to singe his body, he knew that he couldn’t fight his feelings anymore.

It had been five days. He had caught your scent around the UC Sunnydale campus but he kept losing it in certain places. He needed to see you, needed to make sure that you were okay.

He had been sleeping in your bed clinging to your clothes, bathing in your scent. Wishing he could have you back by his side again, where he was more sure each day that you truly belonged. He wished to have you pressed against him again, cradle you in his arms, grip your body in his bed.

He had found you five days later by chance, stalking into the Bronze looking for something to pass the time. His mind on you but he had little hope that you would appear before him. He was even beginning to worry he had dreamt you up.

Until, well, there you were. Stood at the side of the Bronze looking miserable as you swirled your drink around. You were talking to a redhead who looked a little exhausted by your company.

He stepped back, watching you intently as if you were a mirage. He wanted to reach out and touch you so badly but he was afraid you may be a cruel illusion. He had looked for you for days, he had worried sick about you.

From the dark he overheard your conversation, you had left because of the kiss. It had overwhelmed you as much as you had wanted to stay in the moment forever.

“I just don’t know… should I go? Should I stay?” You asked, not for the first time since you had started talking to her.

“I, uh, I’m still not sure Spike is exactly boyfriend material”

“I’m not trying to make a blanket out of him, Will” You said smiling softly at the idea of Spike wrapping his arms around you.

Your indecision was bugging even yourself as you spoke about it for the millionth time. Willow was at a loss as to what to say other than that Spike was very dangerous and ultimately evil. You were already way past that and had seen the good in him as well as the bad. You liked both but you knew that this would sever any chance at reconciling with your Dad.

“Embarrassed, is that it?” Spike asked, his eyes not meeting yours as he stepped from the shadows. His eyes were haunted by a situation much like this, some decades earlier. He felt it, the rejection, the pain. It was so acute and written on his face so clearly that you could almost feel it yourself.

“Spike, it’s not like that, I-”

“You used me for a cheap thrill and then went toddling back to your boring little life livin’ under Daddy’s thumb”

He stormed out, lighting up a cigarette as he walked, his duster whipping around him as he walked into the street. You ran after him, ignoring his muttering about not even getting to the thrilling part.

You grabbed his shoulder and he let you turn him to face you. He was agonisingly close, you even found his frown cute. His anger desirable. You wanted to kiss his pain away, remove the furrow from his brow. Offer up any thrill that he could possibly want.

“If you don’t want me then bloody well let me free” He moved as if to push past you but you took his hand. With your touch he softened, even slightly.

“I was scared, Spike”

“Now you find the time to bloody fear me”

“It’s just, I was trained from a child to be a Watcher and as much as I never cared for it, things like that are kinda difficult to unlearn. Suddenly I was ten years old again being screamed at by some stuffy Watchers when I started to empathise with one of the vampires in our case studies.”

You had been wrestling with your own morality. It was a battle you could never win when kissing Spike felt so right but everything you had been taught until now had told you it was so wrong.

He nodded, understanding that where you come from can impact your life, and even your un-life. He was still reeling from the rejection, it had hurt in a way that he hadn’t felt since he was human. He offered you a smoke, you took it, leaning into him as he flicked his lighter on for you. Your eyes met, deepening your gaze as you inhaled the thick smoke.

Nothing was said in this time, though it lasted for an age, something unspoken was communicated. Shared.

He lowered himself, his duster sliding from his shoulder slightly as he knelt on the floor his cigarette bobbing from his lips as he spoke, “I’m on my knees here, pet, I can’t lose you. Love like this comes once an eternity.”

“Love?”

You reached for him, lowering yourself to kneel with him, your hands clasping his after flicking your cigarette away. You couldn’t help the way your doubts creeped into your head, how your upbringing made you question every move that you made in terms of good and evil.

“Where do we go from here?”

“Come home?”

You had barely nodded before he slammed his lips against yours, your knees resting uncomfortably on the tarmac, but all you could think about was the way he felt against you. The urgency in which he kissed, the way he cradled your face in his hands, caressed your skin. He felt divine beneath your hands, his lips felt heavenly on yours.

How could anything about this be wrong?

You leaned against him, your forehead pressed against his as you panted trying to regain your composure. You stayed like that for a while in the dark alley before you took his hand again and walked towards your shared crypt.

From there, you took things slow. Much slower than either of you would like. You often fell asleep against him in the evenings and shared such deep confessions. Of your pasts, of your feelings for the other.

After a week of settling back into your home, you had an unwelcome houseguest. And she didn’t even bring a home-warming gift.

Buffy slammed the door to your crypt so hard that it almost came clean off its hinges. She came to tell you that your father had been turned into some demon by Ethan Rayne and she wanted to make sure that you knew that he was okay. That he was shaken but unharmed and would perhaps appreciate a visit from his family.

You mumbled something about going to visit sometime but realised this was the wrong decision. Buffy saw this as an opportunity to give you some (again, unwelcome) advice.

“Look, y/n, as a friend-”

“We were never really friends, Buffy”

The young girl looked surprisingly hurt, perhaps she had truly seen you as a friend and you had misjudged her. She had, of course, never been anything other than pleasant to you. You had just allowed your jealousies to fester beyond control. Plus she was self-righteous in a kind of annoying way.

“Well, friend or not I care about you because I care about Giles. Grow up, y/n, the rebel act was kinda last season. He misses you”

“He made it very clear that I’m not welcome, why would him letting Ethan make him all Fyarl-y make a difference?”

“You can’t be happy here, with him” she visibly shuddered as he walked up to join you from the lower level of the crypt. You appreciated that you got a glimpse of his athletic torso beneath his unbuttoned red shirt.

He slung an arm around you, squeezing your shoulder and whispering in your ear. You were too comfortable together and Buffy looked as if it made her physically sick. She threatened Spike vaguely, gave you another warning and then with a hair flip she stormed back out of the crypt and slammed the door shut behind her.

The thing that irritated you the most was that she genuinely thought she was ‘saving you from yourself’. That you had taken the wrong path. That the love, this amazing and beautiful feeling that you had never quite felt anything like before, was somehow wrong. Or gross. Or evil.

Which had fed into your thoughts the first time you had been close to Spike. You wouldn’t let it happen again. You hated the distance. The way his absence had physically pained you.

Spike guided you back down to the his bedroom, pressing soft kisses against your jaw, nipping at your neck and caressing his lips down your chest. He wanted you all to himself, he wouldn’t let you go again. Not now he knew how good life could be with you in it. By his side, in his bed.

By late afternoon you were lying on your side in his bed, watching him writing in a notebook. Papers littered the floor of the crypt. He hadn’t had such inspiration since he was human. You had brought him back to life. Revived him.

“Did you mean it, when you said you loved me?” You asked softly, your fingers trailing softly against his muscled arm.

“Never meant anything more,”

He had, of course, noted that you hadn’t said it to him. It stung a little but he would rather have you by his side even if you didn’t love him than not at all. He knew you cared for him, of course. Knew that you felt safe with him. Knew that he would kill any man, demon or slayer that came anywhere near you.

He put his writing down, shifting himself and burying his face into the crook of your neck. He would give anything to hear you say it.

“Say you’re mine, love, and I’ll be here until the end of time,” He pleaded between landing slow kisses against your exposed skin.

“I love you, Spike, I think… I think I’ve always been yours,” You whispered as if you were afraid he might overhear.

He smirked darkly, his fangs bared and his face morphed from beyond your line of vision. Your eyes were closed, enjoying his touch. He suddenly wrenched your head to the side, exposing your neck further.

He could feel your pulse thrumming faster now.

He swallowed thickly, before propelling himself towards your neck, ignoring the firing from his chip as he held you in place…

#spike x reader #spike btvs x reader #spike btvs #spike imagine #spike x you #buffy the vampire slayer #btvs imagine #btvs x you #btvs x reader #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #buffyverse

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imeanitplsmorenamifics · 8 months ago

Note

Hi! Can I get the “I think he knows” prompt with Luffy? 💖

Hey! Yes, you absolutely can! I'm so sorry for the late response! I was so busy and I was taking a break from writing for a while but I'm back now! I hopefully won't be disappearing anytime soon 😭. Anyway, I hope you like this! You can find my Flower Asks here, Hozier asks are here, and my Taylor Swift Asks here. You can find my masterlist here and my rules here. And you can request here! I Think He Knows: You are ridiculously in love with him and haven't confessed yet. He already knows. Characters: Luffy, GN!Reader Pairings: Luffy x GN!Reader TW: None that I know of!

I Think He Knows

.·:·.✧ ✦✧.·:·.

If there’s one thing you’ve always been sure of, it’s the fact that you are helplessly in love with Luffy.

You guys met when you were kids. You had been saved by Shanks' crew and he brought you to a village where you happened to meet someone Shanks knew. A kid your age named Luffy.

From the first time meeting, you knew there was a deeper feeling you felt for him. You were a kid at the time so you weren’t too sure what the feeling was exactly. All you knew was that you always wanted to be around him. You were basically his shadow. The two of you were inseparable.

When you were younger, everyone always thought what you felt for him was a puppy love crush. They had no idea what to think when you felt exactly the same way when you grew older.

You never felt like anybody really knew how you felt about him. It was much different from the way they described it. They said that you always felt like being around him. You didn’t feel that way, you needed to be around him.

He made you feel a way that no one else had ever made you feel. Your heart raced when you were around him, you felt like you had enough energy to power a city. Everything was perfect when you were with him.

People were always a little confused by your feelings toward him. When you would explain, they would say to confess to him. You always said no. At first, they thought it was because you were shy. But you were always to forward when it came to him. So why didn’t you ever confess?

The answer was pretty simple. You never confessed because you knew that he already knew how he felt about you.

He was always appreciative of your touches. He wanted to be around you just as much as you wanted to be around him. He would always sneak into your room at night so you could hang out and talk. He always begged for you to pay attention to him. He was just as obsessed with you as you were of him. You both always gravitated toward each other.

You never wanted to force anything, especially a relationship, with him. You wanted things to happen organically, naturally. If it’s meant to be, it will all work out.

You just hoped that he made some kind of move soon. You knew that you could easily be the best thing to happen to someone and, if you know you’re worth a lot, you wouldn’t want to wait forever for someone who doesn’t confess what they feel.

Knowing the two of you... You’re bound to get together soon.

#one piece #opla x reader #one piece live action #one piece netflix #one piece x reader #opla #one piece imagine #one piece oneshots #opla luffy x reader #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy #luffy x you #opla x you #one piece x you

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astroa3h · 9 months ago

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❤️‍🔥 asteroid valentine through the houses ❤️‍🔥

Asteroid Valentine (447) isn't just another mundane space rock orbiting the Sun 🌞; it was discovered on October 27, 1899, by the eagle-eyed French astronomer Auguste Charlois 👀🇫🇷. Standing out from the crowd of generic asteroids adrift in the cosmic expanse, this one boasts some serious pizzazz, seemingly nodding to Saint Valentine himself��the icon of all things mushy and romantic 💘, immortalized by legends and the gooey celebrations of Valentine's Day. Bearing the name Valentine, it's no shocker this asteroid has turned into the cosmic hotspot 🔥 for unraveling the enigmas of pulse racing obsession. It's like the universe's own twisted cupid 🏹💖, laying bare the types of swooners you magnetize and their lovestruck shenanigans when they're utterly smitten with you.

❤️‍🔥 1st House: In the 1st house, you attract the “Shadow Follower”. This individual is mesmerized by your very presence and seems to be wherever you are, blending into the background but always watching. They admire everything about you, from the way you walk to the way you talk, often mimicking your style or interests in an attempt to close the gap between you. Be aware you may attract narcissists.

❤️‍🔥 2nd House: When Valentine graces your 2nd house, it brings the “Lavish Obsessor” into your life. This person showers you with gifts and material symbols of affection, believing that the key to your heart is through extravagant displays of wealth. Their obsession lies in owning the best, and that includes their relationship with you. They see you as a prize to be won, a luxury to be possessed. You are the ultimate trophy.

❤️‍🔥 3rd House: In the 3rd house, the “Conversation Hacker” is drawn to you. This individual hangs on your every word, obsessively analyzing texts and conversations for hidden meanings. They're likely to deep dive into your social media history, bringing up topics or inside jokes you barely remember, demonstrating an unsettling level of interest in your thoughts and communications. I wouldn’t be surprised to see a lot of weirdos in your DM’s.

❤️‍🔥 4th House: With Valentine in the 4th house, you attract the “Home Invasion Romantic”. This partner wants to be so involved in your life that they overstep boundaries, wanting to move in too soon or redecorate your space to suit what they believe is best for "us." They're fixated on creating a domestic bliss that you didn't sign up for, insisting on being your ultimate comfort but in a way that feels more invasive than nurturing.

❤️‍🔥 5th House: When Valentine visits your 5th house, it brings the “Jealous Admirer” into your love life. This type is intoxicated by your creativity and zest for life but is also fiercely envious of anyone else who shares your attention. They want to be your muse and your audience, the only one you perform for, often leading to dramatic displays of jealousy that can turn any romantic scene into a thriller. Fatal Attraction VIBES.

❤️‍🔥 6th House: In the 6th house, you draw the “Routine Stalker”. This individual is obsessed with your daily routines and habits, often rearranging their schedule to "coincidentally" bump into you. They take note of your likes, dislikes, and even your coffee order, using this information to craft themselves into the perfect partner, always just one step away from being too much in sync with your life. This placement can turn dangerous, watch your back.

❤️‍🔥 7th House: Valentine in the 7th house attracts the “Binding Contract Lover”. This person sees your relationship as a deal that's been sealed, treating every interaction like a contractual obligation forever. They're intensely committed to the idea of "us against the world," often pushing for commitments or declarations of love that feel more like chains than choices. Those with this placement are likely to cheat on long-term partners, unsure how to escape unhappy relationships.

❤️‍🔥 8th House: With Valentine in the 8th house, the “Soul Chain Romantic” is drawn to you. This lover believes in a connection that transcends the physical, claiming a depth of bond that feels more like a possession. They're drawn to your darkness and secrets, wanting to merge in ways that erase individual boundaries, but this is a placement that also draws sexually deviant partners your way.

❤️‍🔥 9th House: In the 9th house, you attract the “Obsessive Quester”. This partner is obsessed with the idea of you as their ultimate quest, an adventure to be conquered. They're drawn to your beliefs and philosophies but twist them to fit their narrative of a grand love story, often pushing you into roles and situations that feel more epic in their head than in reality. Expect a lot of love bombing followed by ghosting with this placement.

❤️‍🔥 10th House: Valentine in the 10th house brings the “Public Claimer” into your orbit. This individual is obsessed with how the relationship looks to the outside world, constantly posting, tagging, and declaring their love for you in very public ways. They're more interested in the status of being with you than the actual connection, often putting on a show of affection that feels performative rather than genuine.

❤️‍🔥 11th House: In the 11th house, Valentine attracts the “Ideological Chameleon”, someone who obsessively aligns with your hopes, dreams, and social circles. They seamlessly adopt your interests and ideologies, aiming to become your perfect match. This partner integrates so deeply into your world that they begin to mirror you, losing their individuality in the process. They are harmless though, usually truly loving you. Just don’t break their heart, they might end up dating your BFF out of revenge.

❤️‍🔥 12th House: With Valentine in the 12th house, you draw in the “Phantom Soulmate”. This partner feels a deep, unseen connection to you, believing they knew you in a past life. They love from the shadows, perhaps through anonymous gestures or silent admiration, convinced of a spiritual link between you. This is actually my favorite Valentine placement, think of the Gomez Adams to Morticia.

xox astro ash

Get your own astrology reading @ astroash.net

TikTok - astroa3h

#astrology #astrology readings #astrology aspects #natal chart #astrologer #astro observations #astro notes #astro community #astrology blog #daily astrology #astrology houses #horoscopes #zodiac #astro placements #birth chart #valentine #valentines day #Asteroid Valentine (447)

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aphroditelovesu · 1 year ago

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.navigation

✿.｡Welcome to my blog! My name is Larissa, but feel free to call me Lari or Lady L, which is how you know me. I'm Brazilian 🇧🇷 and I was born on October 15th. English is not my first language. My pronouns are she/her and I am bisexual 💖💜💙. I am Libra ♎️ and INTP.

⤷♡. If you want to support my work or to just tip me, can you buy me a coffee? ☕️

⤷✿.Here I've gathered all my series, masterlists and some additional things to make them easier to find. Enjoy my blog, dear reader.

⤷♡.+ disclaimer: some of my works may have nsfw content in addition to the yandere genre. if you are sensitive to these topics, I recommend not reading.

⤷♡.+ genre: yandere/dark!au.

⤷♡.+ Requests are OPEN. Asks and concepts are open.

⤷♡.+ character ai: aphroditelovesu.

⤷♡.+ Rules and Fandoms List;

⤷♡.+ Emoji Prompt List + Prompts List;

⤷♡.+ Wips; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6; 7; 8;

⤷♡.+ Commissions;

‘‘Love you so bad, love you so bad, mold a pretty lie for you.’‘ ˚˖੭ Fake Love, BTS.

⤷♡.+ BTS; 💜

⤷♡.+ BLACKPINK; 🖤

⤷♡.+ ITZY; 🧡

⤷♡.+ Stray Kids; 💙

➷ EXO: Yandere Baekhyun (Romantic), Yandere Suho (Romantic).

➷ TWICE: Imagine as Classmates.

⤷♡.+ Greek Mythology; ⚡

⤷♡.+ Egyptian Mythology; 𓂀

⤷♡.+ Historical Characters; 📜

➷ The Lost Queen | Yandere!Alexander the Great ❝You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn't understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren't safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won't let you go so easily.❞ The Lost Queen Series Masterlist

⤷♡.+ The Vampire Diaries + The Originals; 🧛

⤷♡.+ House of the Dragon; 🐉

⤷♡.+ Game of Thrones; ❄️

⤷♡.+ The Sandman; ⌛

⤷♡.+ Outlander; 🗿

⤷♡.+ Wednesday; 🎻

⤷♡.+ Brooklyn Nine-Nine; 👮‍♂️

⤷♡.+ Bridgerton; 🐝

⤷♡.+ Shadow and Bone; ☠️

⤷♡.+ Outer Banks; 💰

⤷♡.+ K-Dramas; ❤️

⤷♡.+ Reign; 👑

⤷♡.+ The Tudors; 🗡️

⤷♡.+ Hannibal; 🍽

➷ The Bloody Viscount | Yandere!Anthony Bridgerton ❝You had fallen in love with Viscount Bridgerton and he had fallen in love with you. The marriage seemed perfect, but then why did Anthony Bridgerton always come home late and bloodstained?❞ Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; ➷ The Shadow of the Golden Dragon | Yandere!ASOIAF/HOTD/GOT ❝You have always been an avid reader and your greatest passion was delving into the pages of "A Song of Ice and Fire" by George R.R. Martin. You knew every character, every twist and every detail of the Seven Kingdoms as if they were part of your own life. But what you never imagined is that an unexpected encounter with a mysterious antique book seller would change your life forever.❞ The Shadow of the Golden Dragon Masterlist

⤷♡.+ Percy Jackson; 🌊

⤷♡.+ Harry Potter; 🔮

⤷♡.+ A Court of Thorns and Roses; 🌹

⤷♡.+ A Song of Ice and Fire; 🔥

‘‘We were born to be alone but why we still looking for love?’‘ ˚˖੭ Lovesick Girls, BLACKPINK.

⤷♡.+ Attack on Titan; ⚔️

⤷♡.+ Naruto; 🍥

⤷♡.+ Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir; 🐞

⤷♡.+ One Piece; 👒

⤷♡.+ How To Train Your Dragon; 🐲

⤷♡.+ Death Note; 📓

‘‘Don’t you know that you’re toxic?’’ ˚˖੭ Toxic, Britney Spears.

⤷♡.+ Marvel; ۞

‘‘I wish you would love me again, no, I don't want nobody else.’’ ˚˖੭ Love Me Again, V.

⤷♡.+ Love Letters; 💕

⤷♡.+ Love Letters II; 💕

⤷♡.+ Kinktober 2023; 🎃

➷ A Black Rose | Yandere!Ian Daerier ❝A cruel and narcissistic reaper falls in love with the woman he was supposed to take the life of.❞ Oneshot;

#navigation #masterpost #masterlist #masterlists #rules #fandoms list #prompts #emoji prompt #prompt list #yandere au #love letters #wips #yandere #dark au #📌 pinned post

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phoenix-bleh · 8 months ago

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Author can I have a scenario where y/n child is ticklish? and Shadow Milk Cookie found out about it and started gently tickling at first, and then he got into the taste and got carried away. Have a nice day, sweetheart. 😘 Oh! I almost forgot to hold it (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ *Gives a lot of happiness, love and respect 💟🌹🌹😀🌹🌹😀😀💞💞😄😄😏❤️❤️❤️😄😄😄💞💞💕💕💕❣️💋💋💓💋❣️💖💌♥️♥️♥️❣️💖💋❣️❣️💕😌😆🤗😆😌🤗🙂🙂😃😃😹😹😚😚😚☺️😁😁🎉🎉🎉😉😉💘💝💝💝😙😚😚😊😊☺️😉* *Oops, are you okay? * helps to get up this mimic lapulka*

Thank you for all the love is much appreciated ☺️☺️ i did see your other one and don’t worry i’m working on it and other requests too have a good day!👍

Shadow Milk Cookie x Child! reader

platonic!

The way he found out goes something like this.

You both were just chilling and he offered to take you out for a walk. You agreed since you were sitting too long and you wanted to run around for a bit and explore.

At some point you got tired from walking for so long and not having that much stamina in you from running and playing.

Shadow Milk Cookie did notice this and offered to give you a piggyback ride. You looked up at him and nodded, greatly accepting his offer. He went to go pick you up and doing so he gently grazed your sides causing you to giggle.

He paused for a moment. Then he got this huge shit eating grin on his face. “Ooohhh y/n~ I had no idea you were ticklish!”

He did eventually pick you up and placed you on his shoulders. However, he decided he wanted to test some things…

When you guys got back he grabbed you off his shoulders and held you in one arm. You were confused as to what he was doing, but you quickly found out what he was trying to do.

You squealed loudly as he lightly started to poke your stomach. “Hehe wow you're sensitive here too!” This started going for a bit until he placed you down. You thought it was over and that he was done.

Nope! He kneeled down just right above you and started reaching for other areas on you. You laughed and shifted uncomfortably as you tried to prevent him from continuing.

He’d make his comments like

“Wow y/n you’re so ticklish!”

“Ooohhh I’m gonna get you~!”

“Hehe, you’re so cute I could just eat you up!”

“You’re so silly y/n! I could do this forever!”

Something like that.

Let’s hope he doesn’t go on forever. You didn’t know how much you could take. He went for your sides, your stomach, under your arms, just anywhere that would cause you to laugh and squirm.

You’re basically praying for mercy at this point.

Thankfully, he did stop and decided to give you a break. Your laughter died soon enough and you were just laying there trying to catch your breath. He left you to rest since you were exhausted from laughing and squirming too much.

#cookie run kingdom #crk #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk cookie x reader #crk x reader

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simp4konig · 1 year ago

Text

"Can't sleep?" König x Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: 3704

Having flashbacks about the battlefield and unable to fall asleep after an exceptionally draining mission, you go seek the comfort of your Colonel in the middle of the night.

*Slow burn

*ANGST!!💔... dw it gets wholesome at the end i promise ❤️

*Thanj you to Azzy!! (My No.1 Fan...🥹🫂💘) for this request !!!🙋🏼‍♀️💫💞💞✨Love u too🫶💕,, I kind of 🥺slightly🥺 maube a littke bit🥺🥺🥺went off prompt and König isnt affected by the mission per se BUT i have fulfilled the CUDDLING part!!! ☺️☺️pls dont show up to my fhome with pitchforks and torches im sry it just sorta happened ok😱

Also i rhink i have dementia bc I thought someone else rqsted König comfortinf rreader in a storm???😰😰Turns out nobody did so maybe i hallucinated it or smtj idk🤷🏼‍♀️Anyways I thought to merge these two ideas together so lmk what u think abt this lil (by "lil" i mean WAY too long🤪) drabble🙏💕

*Reader is pining for König

*Events loosely take place in the KönigxKing (as in, reader's call-sign is "King" storyline) mini-series. This serves as a slight backstory for King (reader). Again, this is by no means in any chronological order in relation to the series, so this can also be read as stand-alone! :)

*THANK YOU FOR 100+ FOLLOWERS!!!!!! 🥳🎉🎊✨🎇💖I SWEAR ONE IT LITERALLT FEELS LIKE MID-AUGUST WHEN I HAD LIKE 7 WHERE DID U ALL COME FEOM??????😰😰💘 IT MEANS SO MUCH FOR ME LIKE I CANR STRESS THIS ENOIGH BC IM SO HAPPG U GUYS THINK MEWORTHY ENOIGH OF YOUR PRECIOUS FOLLOW AND WANT TO READ MY WACK WORKS!!!!!!🤧🤧💖💖 LIKE??????? 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹THANK U THABK YOU RHABK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🫶🥰🥰💖💖💖❤️💞💞💕💖💕💕💞

...

You couldn't sleep.

It was raining relentlessly outside, the pitter-patter of water droplets hitting your window. Storm clouds boomed loudly outside, and despite the blinds being pulled tightly shut, lightning occasionally flashed through the cracks, elongated shadows of buildings forming on the walls.

Counting down the seconds until you'd hear the rumbling thunder, it would only be a few kilometres away, and you'd shudder at the sound, shivering.

While tossing and turning in bed, you had kicked off your covers and were staring at the ceiling, still wide awake. Normally, a storm like this would be like a lullaby to your ears, yet now it did nothing in helping lull you to sleep.

Even if you wanted to sleep, how could you when those corpses haunted your nightmares?

Laying in bed, your mind replayed the same scenes like a movie reel, the same screams like a broken record:

Lifeless, unblinking eyes with mouths agape and an expression of fear permanently engraved on their pale faces; flies swarming in hordes to harvest the soft tissues of the irises and tongue, eating the human mush; limbs contorted in unnatural positions, arms and legs crushed by the force of detonated mines, bones broken under the weight.

Rumbling roaring of machine guns and the deafening explosions from hand grenades meant that the high-pitched ringing would drown out everybody's yelling, muffle all noise from your surroundings, and you'd only be pulled out of your daze when you'd find yourself stumbling on unstable ground, on bricks and cheap concrete that had all crumbled.

Bodies would drop so fast it'd take at least seconds for you to register whether it had been an enemy or an ally.

You'd pull the trigger, but seeing a bullet go through someone's forehead and the exaggerated shock stamped on their face — a permanent expression in their final seconds remaining forever in death — left you wondering why you would ever sign up willingly to do this.

Disorientated, you'd struggle to pull yourself together, would enter far too many close calls for a soldier to count, and would only get a grip once you saw a familiar face, a reminder that you weren't alone in the warzone.

Even now, the sonorous sound kept echoing in your head, and, if you listened closely, it resembled hundreds of hoarse shouts, so many people screaming at once in collective agony.

You flinched as a bolt of lightning suddenly struck the sky.

Sparing an absentminded glance at your digital alarm clock, your eyes widened slightly at the time: 1:56am.

Damn... you thought. ...it's that late already?

Drills would begin at 7 o'clock, and you had to have woken up at 6 to brush your teeth, get dressed, eat, and mentally prepare yourself for the day, so you kissed a good night's sleep goodbye, and accepted the telling off from your superiors the following morning for under-performing.

...Still, how could you sleep after what you had experienced? What you experienced and would continue experiencing?

Accepting high-pressure missions and a demanding workload once you had enlisted, you thought that your ability to keep calm under pressure and stay composed would mean that you would have been unaffected by the shooting by now, and be taking everything in your stride. Calm, composed, and unaffected, is what you had thought you'd be. Surely you'd be able capable enough to cope with it all?

Yet, you weren't any of those things. Never getting used to the stress that would persist even while on supposedly "low-intensity" extractions. You'd always be on edge, always recoiling at hands that would reach over to tap your back as encouragement or hold your shoulder in reassurance on base.

You believed you could never familiarise yourself with the panic and unpredictability of missions and being hyper-aware of something, anything, everything going wrong, with the adrenaline that would course through your body and take over your senses in times of fight or flight, with the nerves that would keep you on edge hours after landing safely on base.

But, most of all, with the nights you'd lay in bed, unable to fall asleep: nights like these, when every time you closed your eyes, you saw the eyes of dying comrades; when every time you walked along the corridors, imagined yourself diving across the floor and felt shattered shrapnel breaking under your feet; when every time you sat in an empty room, heard ear-piercing blasts and the ricochet of discarded shells just missing your head.

Whereas the other operators seemed to be completed unmoved by any of their deployments and would shrug their shoulders off of the events, the anxiety for you lingered, trauma deep within your soul consuming you whole.

How could you ever get over the fact that you were shooting real people? Losing real soldiers?

...Losing yourself along the way?

All this work took a toll on your psyche, but comparing yourself to the other soldiers made you feel like such a coward, and second-guess ever enlisting in the first place.

...Well, you did so because it had been your only option all things considered, but looking back on it, you thought that maybe it would have been better if you hadn't chosen anything at all.

Accepted the grave nature of your failures in life, the same life that would have had inevitably ended with you pre-maturely in a grave.

After all, you had no job prospects to look forward to, no dreams to strive for, no aspirations to achieve.

Failing your school exams time and time again until you had finally achieved a result that was good enough didn't earn you any security, as you weren't exactly employable with grades you had just barely managed to claw to even pass.

Really, it was hopeless. You were hopeless.

To say your family was disappointed in you would have been an understatement. Out of three children, you were labelled the disappointment child, the underachiever and failure.

Your two siblings worked as a lawyer and an engineer respectively, while you had never even been able to grasp the basics in education, never spoke with your teachers of anything other than the worrying results of your exams, never came home to share a thing with your parents you had accomplished with a smile of pride stretched on your young face like your siblings did.

Never. Because you weren't ever good enough.

At the dinner table, your siblings boasted of promotions and of revolutionary research, of trials and of successes, of their brilliant breakthroughs, as you sat on the side of the table, listening from the sidelines, excluded from all of the grandeur that you couldn't relate to.

Still, it was always better to keep your mouth shut than to make a dent in the conversation, further embarass yourself and prove how lowly you were, than to have so many pairs of pitying eyes talking down on you in patronising tones, of the subtle condolences from your parents and their regret with triumphant smirks and condescending attitude from your siblings.

In a last ditch effort to make your parents proud, you made the decision of joining the military. You were young and impressionable, under the impression that your parents would finally be impressed.

...Of course, they weren't. In fact, your decision made them even more disappointed, shaking their heads sympathetically with strained smiles stretched on their lips.

Maybe that was the reason you couldn't handle the pressure of the military, you thought. You were weak, incompetent. Pathetic.

Although no one told you explicitly or made you feel that way directly, somehow, you always had felt inferior. Somehow, you felt that no matter what you did, how much you did, how well you thought you did, you wouldn't ever come close to the others's level.

That, despite your effort and dedication, you would never be good enough. Would always be inferior no matter what, because you always had been and would always be so.

...Your Colonel never made you feel that way, though, and you never quite understood why.

After all, your interactions were few-far-and-inbetween. It made you wonder what made you feel this way, and what spark ignited the warmth you'd feel when he was around.

Although a man of few words, the words that he did say to you would matter, though. His praise, his acknowledgement, his always being there made you want to keep going and prove your worth to him.

It started off as sporadic encouragement:

Your skin glistening with sweat, an accented voice would say "Gute Arbeit," over your crumpled body on the gym mat.

Offering you a gloved hand, you grasped it gratefully, and he pulled your tired body with ease. "Good job, King."

A lopsided smile from you as you'd wipe the sweat from your forehead and brows after sparring with someone else, limp limbs barely keeping you standing. His eyes were betrayed no emotion under his veil, yet a thin-lipped grin was behind it.

"Thank— you— sir!" You'd manage to breathe out, still panting for breath. "I did— my best, but— I didn't win."

"That does not matter," he'd say, speaking in a tone you couldn't quite recognize. "Very good job. Keep it going. Soon, you'll be able to pin even me down."

You'd laugh weakly at his words, yet would immediately feel a surge of motivation to keep working hard, and would train up to the point of exhaustion behind closed doors. Thinking you'd be alone, you'd punch a dufflebag with grunts of effort, missing the tall silhouette observing you with crossed arms in the corner, satisfied.

Then, those became casual greetings;

"Guten Morgen, soldier. Nice day, ja?"

Turning around, you'd see your Colonel walking towards you, frame visible even from a distance.

You smile broadly, eyes crinkling up in genuine joy, before you caught yourself and coughed. "Y-yeah!"

"Always a nice day whenever you're around, sir," you'd tease, playfully winking at him as he approached you, yet you were yet to master it without blinking both eyes.

He'd chuckle heartily, flattered, then shook his head to hide how his face flushed under his veil, and held up a hand.

"Thank Gott I have you here. My day would have been ruined."

"Have a good day, sir!" You'd call after him brightly, and he'd turn around for a final time with a two-fingered salute. Strange, since he was your superior, not the other way around, but you shrugged this off as a friendly gesture.

Until it developed into a sort of mutual connection.

In your eyes, at least.

You didn't want to assume that you two were friends, as the man was way out of your league. Strong, muscular, and a disciplined soldier — a Colonel, no less — a man of influence.

Besides, he, conversing with the only-recently-recruit-turned-soldier that was the slowest to understand a joke, did not comprehend complicated terms, and was the least bright out of the entire faction was not something you wanted him to be associated as, didn't want to tarnish his reputation.

You reasoned that you didn't want to bring down the Colonel down to your low level, so you kept your relationship as just that; associates. Aquaintances. Nothing more, out of respect for your Colonel.

Little did you know, the Colonel had developed a soft spot for you.

It seemed as though the storm had gotten worse, as the rain was unrelenting, and the tapping on the glass increased with force. Booming thunderclouds made your room shake.

A sigh as you turned to your side again. 2:07am.

Your thoughts moved back to your Colonel, and you started missing him, longing for him. The warmth that radiated off him made you wish he'd take you in his arms, hold you close to his chest, and you suddenly felt so cold. So lonely and cold.

Maybe it was childish of you to be feeling this way — he was your superior, after all, and you had no reason to be so attached — yet your daily encounters made you gain feelings for the man. Made you feel things when he was around.

Somehow, he brought you security. Made you feel protected. Safe. Like you could always count on him for having your back.

Made you forget that you were so useless, and was the reason for the fuzzyness within your chest, the buzzing feeling you'd feel as you'd be grinning from ear to ear after speaking to him.

Made you feel like you weren't pathetic. Weren't a wasted wishing star. Instead, you were appreciated, seen, even.

You wanted to see him. You wanted to be with him.

...Would he want you, though?

No. Of course he wouldn't. You weren't good enough.

A deep sigh. 2:15, the digital alarm clock displayed.

...What if he actually did want you? Not even as a partner, but just to be around him? Breathe the same air as him? You thought you weren't worthy of his time, but maybe, just maybe he wouldn't see it as such a waste.

Another crash of lightning brought you to your senses.

Finally making up your mind, you huffed in exertion as you pushed yourself off your stiff mattress, not bothering to organize the mess of blankets on the floor.

Walking with certainty, before you realised it, you were at König's bedroom door. Standing behind the door, hand hesitatingly reaching for the handle, you bit your lip, confidence wavering.

Should you really go through with this right now? What if he was asleep at that moment and all you'd do is disrupt his slumber? It wouldn't be fair of you to disturb him so late in the night, especially when he had so many responsibilities.

Still, you inhaled deeply, and, as quietly as you could, knocked twice.

You almost jumped out of your skin at the familiar accented voice of your Colonel.

"Come in," he said hoarsely. His tone was almost warm, inviting, yet you shook your head at the idea, and pulled the handle.

Entering inside, you slowly closed the door behind you. When you turned around, König was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, seemingly deep in thought. Wearing a tank top and cargo pants, his head was hung low, his veil hanging loosely over his head.

The blinds were drawn open to reveal the sky dominated by darkness, the grey curtain of monochrome on the nearest buildings cast down by the clouds, the raindrops that remained on the windows and the rhythmic echoes against the pavement as they dropped in syncopation.

The sight, his presence, were both so... relaxing. In a way, your anxiety was relieved by the tranquility of the scene, and it made you forget the internal turnoil you had been going through for the past few hours, made the tension in your body fade.

"Ah, King," his arms dropped to his sides and he raised his head to meet your eyes in the dark. "I had a feeling that it would be you."

You fidgeted nervously, not knowing what to do.

"Bitte, schön," he said, patting the empty space beside him on the mattress. "Please, sit down. I insist."

Slowly lowering yourself to his side, you sat at a reasonable distance away from him. With the both of you sat down, the size difference was still very noticable. His height made him hunch over you, and one of his thighs was like the two of yours combined.

So nervous, you didn't even notice how his back slumped so you'd be both at a similar level.

He cleared his throat. "What brings you here so late in the night?"

An awkward tug of your t-shirt collar.

"Can't sleep," you stated simply.

"I see." He was quiet for a few moments. Then: "And you decided that my room was the place to go?"

Your face heated up, and you averted your gaze. "Well, sir, it's j-ju—"

"—Nein," he cut you off, holding up a hand to stop you. "I have told you so many times not to call me that. Call me König."

"But— but you're my superior," you gasped, mouth agape. "You deserve to be addressed with respect! I couldn't possibly—"

The protest died on your lips again as the man shook his head, the loose material of his veil following his movements. "Nein. None of that matters. I want you to call me by my first name."

A heavy silence lingered over the two of you, words left unsaid by you both.

"So," König prompted, "what brings you here, King?"

Pausing to think over a pretence, the best you could come up with was: "The storm scared me."

"Ja?" Even with the fabric covering his face, you could almost see the skeptical smirk on his lips.

"A soldier like you afraid of loud clouds? Some rain?" He chuckled.

"Really, I'd have thought you better than that, King." If you didn't know him well enough, you'd have thought he was mocking you, yet despite the sarcasm his eyes held a genuine concern for you.

An bashful laugh escaped you as you rubbed your arm, nails slightly digging into your skin.

"Okay, tell me the truth, King," Leaning forward, his tone became serious. "I know for certain you aren't scared."

He searched for your eyes, yet you avoided his gaze.

"Something is troubling you. Is that it?" He cocked his head to the side, fabric falling loosely over his shoulder. "You can tell me, King. I am your superior, you know. You should tell me these things."

"Well... it's j-just—"

You bit your lip, willing the tears to stay in your eyes.

Don't cry. Don't you dare cry.

König watched you, patiently waiting for you to continue.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, vulnerability showing in your eyes. "—This recent mission, it was— it was really, really difficult. And I just..."

König shuffled towards you until your knees were almost touching, watching you intently. As your body trembled, a hand hovered in uncertainty by your shoulder.

Sniffling, you wiped the wetness on your face with your arm, voice breaking.

"I-I just think that I'm not strong. That I'm... weak. Not— not good enough to be working with people that are so much better. So much stronger—"

Your breath hitched in your throat, voice coming out in a broken sob. "—I-I mean— I'm so pathetic. I shouldn't be so... weak. I should — I should be better. Wh-why—"

Tears flowed freely down your face. "—Why can't I be better, König? Why am I so— so useless?"

Without saying anything, König wrapped his strong arms around your body and pulled you against his chest, pulled you close so you could let it all out. For a few moments, he let you cry, ever-so-gently stroking the back of your head, fingers running through your hair. Weeping into his chest, his steady breathing soothed you.

Once you recovered enough from your emotions, you pulled away, downcast. Face red and blotchy with tears, eyes puffy and pink from crying, lips quivering and voice hoarse, you felt so pathetic. So, so pathetic.

"F-fuck, s-si— König—" Trembling. "I'm so so sorry. I'm too emotional, please, I'm sor—"

"Nein." His tone was soft, yet firm. Definitive. "You have nothing to apologise for, King."

Both hands cupped the sides of your face, tentatively tilting your face upwards. His expression was forlorn, and you felt tears brimming in your eyelids again.

"...You're not weak. You're not pathetic. You're not useless. I see you always trying so hard, King, always giving it your all..."

He paused for a few moments, deliberating over how best to put his thoughts into words. "...Maybe... maybe your best isn't the best out of anyone's bests, but it's the effort that counts." He rubbed the back of his neck, then let out a mono-syllabic laugh. "Scheiße, did that make sense? Sorry— I'm not good with words—"

You glanced away. "—Hey," his hand reached to hold to side of your face. "Look at me, King."

"You're not weak, not pathetic, not useless," he repeated, voice wavering.

"You're none of those. You're better than you think you are. Your inner strength," a finger pointed at your chest, "your heart, it's so full of goodness. So full of so many good things that don't define you, but instead changed you for the better."

"Maybe... maybe you aren't the aren't the best, haven't been the best, or never will be the best, but it's not your fault. You try so hard, and the odds... the odds are stacked against you. And, sometimes... sometimes it's okay to not be the best. You don't have to be fearless, the strongest, perfect. You can just be... you."

His eyes were pleading in the dark. "Please don't doubt yourself. You're so— so much better than you imagine."

A shaky breath. "So much stronger than you tell yourself. I can promise you, you are your own person. Other people's successes don't define you."

König turned around to glance at his alarm. 2:36.

When he turned back, your face had slowly regained the colour on your cheeks, eyes sparkled, chest rose and fall at a steady pace. You said nothing, yet König knew you listened to every one of his words.

"Looks like it's too late for you to fall asleep in your own room," he whispered, gently caressing your face. "Stay here with me, King."

Eyes immediately widening in surprise, you were about to protest. "B-but— I couldn't possibly, König—"

That protest died on your lips as König's arms engulfed you again, and brought you down against his mattress so you were laying on his chest. Cocooned like a protective blanket over you, you didn't need him to say anything more. You felt so... safe. Loved.

The storm outside seemed to calm down, and lightning no longer crashed against the window. Rain faltered, and some clouds were separating in the darkness of the sky.

Before you knew it, your eyelids became heavy with drowsiness, feeling a wave of calm wash over you, cleansing away your sorrows.

Just before you fell asleep, you heard König say something in German, barely above a whisper, but you did not understand:

"Schlaf gut Schatz. Ich liebe dich."

...

I don't know who needed to hear that, or if anyone even did, but I stand by the words I wrote. Although you are reading this, and are likely a stranger, and I'll never face you in real life, I want you to know that you *are* good enough. And if it takes a person on the internet using a fictional character to tell you so, then so be it. You are still valid. 🫂

...

Note: i rhink some of the ppl that read my previous fics will be able to tell that i went tryhard mode on this one 💀💀

Its mostly bc im back in school and were going over all the stupid fancy shmancy literative devices and figurstive language (god why cant u call it literallt anything else i swear why does it have ro be so unnecessarily overcomplicated just call it sentence structures or writing techniques istg.man😭)so i unconsciously chanelled all of thise boring technicalities into this 😬

With me writing as a hobby you'd think I'd have the highest grades in English? No💔I wish LMAO

I NOW HAVE 130+ FOLLOWERS!!! Which is unbelievable if u wsk me bc etf why wre eo mwnt people following me i don't deserve this qt ALL 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 THANK YOU ALL 🥹🥹🥹🫶🫶🫶💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

I still remember when @puff0o0⭐ began their self-aware au with König and Ghost qnd ive qlways veen cheerint for her from the sidelines ☺️☺️come to find out shes been mentioning ME in THEIR podts and writing on their blofs thwt my CoD blog is good and i.????😭😭😭cant????????😭😭😭😭😭 Literally -99999 damage and an ARROW 🏹 STRAIGHT thru the HEART 💘🥹 I LOVE U B (platonically ofc dw)😽💕💓💓❤️💞💞💕💞💕💞💞💞💕

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grapejuicestyless · 1 year ago

Note

hi, hope you're well! i was wondering if you could write something for conrad based on the song my love mine all mine by mitski? i've been obsessed with it lately and it reminds me off him 💖

My Love, Mine All Mine.

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

summery: Y/n has always gave too much. She always loved, believed too easily. She can’t control what others will do with that, but she can control how she loves.

Sorting through the shiny papers, the corners cut into my skin with each photo I crumpled up, tossing it into the shadows. Each memory ingrained forever on a film that would only taunt me with the past.

I hate the way the sun shined through the leaves in each one. How the sand looked so soft under our feet, the ocean bluer than any summer sky could every paint it now. I am reminded of how vibrant the world became with him in my life, when he was mine.

I say that he was mine loosely. I am unsure if I even have the ability to own something so pretty, so precious. If I ever even did. I remember the way my hands would run through his salty curls after a beach day. How he would hold me extra tight, we’d only bring one towel to share. His lap was soft, shorts scrunched up and dripping still.

I think of his lips on mine. How perfectly they fit on mine. I remember how desperate each kiss was. Not once had he ever made it seem like if it were to go no further we would cease to exist, but he was feverish enough with each lick into my mouth where I knew no matter what, he would never be satisfied. He always wanted more, more, more. How foolish of me to believe it was because he could simply not get enough of me, not because I was not enough.

He was kind, showing me affection in ways he swore would only ever be for me. He decorated his walls with love letters and Polaroids of us, of me. He had stacks of our adventures in an old shoebox under his bed for when I was away and he was missing me. He reminded me everyday how much he adored me. Counting down the seconds until he could hold me in his arms. He promised me it was a feeling that nobody else could ever give him. A heart rush that only ever came over him when my name was involved.

So why does he look at her that way? Why must his eyes carry the same shimmer of lust in them that he once held for me? I see the way his hands grip at her hips, her thighs. It’s animalistic in a way, primal. He wants her, needs her. He’s hers.

I remember the night I discovered their secret. My lover and my sister hand in hand one late June night. I stood still on the grass watching over them. My tears came out dry. I couldn’t even try and sob, let myself break. With his leaving just months ago, I’d already rung myself dry of any tears I had left.

It’s funny how something that once made you feel special can make you feel so sick so suddenly. What once gave me a reason for my living killed me so suddenly.

I knew I was always destined to die, to burn out and disappear. I never imagined how it would’ve happened at the hands of the two I trusted the most in my life. Looking up at the moon that night, I prayed to forget, to heal so suddenly. Rid me of the ache in my heart and replace it with a cold emptiness.

He holds her while she sits in my spot on the couch. She laughs at the jokes I told him that now spew from his lips. Her hands find home in his hair and the towel we once shared as become theirs. It’s all reused, it’s the same. He makes her feel special, wanted, lusted after. He’s a damn good actor, he fools the whole damn world with his cruel games.

Now I know better than anyone that when calling him mine, I must use it loosely. At some time, he might have been. The photos I tear up in my room are only proof of our years spent together. Two summers spent doting on each other. He was with me, but could I call him mine? If he left so easily, did he ever even need me? Want me?

I hold the final photo in my hands, the moon shines down on us. We’re only young in the photograph. His cheek is pressed to mine, our smiles touch. We look so free, so happy. I feel guilty if I were to rip it up when it still feels so happy.

Grabbing a pin from the bedside table, I poke it into the wall beside my mountains of other places and people I’ve seen. It sticks out, like it’s been highlighted in bright red. It stings to look at, but it reminds me of a better time, a time when I believed I had the ability to have good things.

Now I know, nothing in this world belongs to me. Not my baby, not my sister’s loyalty. Not my mother, not my brother. I have no control over anything. Yet, each time I allow myself to believe that I do. That I mean something. I pay a price for the immaturity of my heart. I act a fool over the smallest affections, the most discrete love. And I watch as each time it is taken away, leaving me with a heavy chest and a heart far too full for my body. Nothing in this world is mine for free. Nothing in this world belongs to me but my love, mine all mine.

#tsitp conrad #conrad x reader #conrad fisher angst #conrad fisher #conrad x you #conrad fisher x reader #team conrad #conrad fisher fluff #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x y/n #belly x conrad #conrad

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darkbluenostalgia · 10 months ago

Text

I've just been living in a state of numbness the majority of 2023 and fell out of love with Kdrama.

However, I'm having an anime era resurgence thanks to JJK and the 2024 January line-up for ongoing anime is so good...

Here are some of my recs for dealing with the aftermath of lobotomy kaisen in no particular order.

1. Solo Leveling

(MC just gets infinitely hotter the moment his life falls apart. The way he switched up from baby girl to shadow daddy. He's so Dorian/Rhys coded. I am but a simp. Live, Laugh Love, Sung Jin Woo forever 🥰😘)

2. Apothecary Diaries

(Black cat/golden retriever dynamic. I just love Japan/Korea's takes on fictional ancient China like Alchemy of Souls and Akatsuki no Yona. Lots of court intrigue, some mysteries to solve and what not. Also, the frog. 🐸)

3. A sign of affection

(Cute. Wholesome. Pretty art. Top-tier shoujo romance. I just fold when their love language is being known 💖)

4. Frieren

(Elf mage is immortal and spends the rest of her life remembering. Sad but healing. The episodes just make me cry but in a good way 🥲)

5. 7th Time Loop

(Idk what to say just like the title says villainess regresses back in time everytime she dies. I will live and die by this trope. You will have to pry it from my cold dead hands🔪)

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #solo leveling #sung jin woo #the apothecary diaries #kusuriya no hitorigoto #akatsuki no yona #yona of the dawn #alchemy of souls #a sign of affection #yubisaki to renren #frieren: beyond journey's end #sousou no frieren #7th time loop #lobotomy kaisen #anime #dorian havilliard #rhysand

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months ago

Text

Dirty Work 50

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: 50 chapters?!

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don't sleep, you just lay in an achy stupour. The sun limns the door as Loki's shadow darkens beneath it. He sat there all night, you could hear him, leaning against it, sighing, sometimes pleading for you to come out.

He groans as the door shifts with him. He exhales and you hear some cracking as he moves. He must be just as stiff as you.

“Pet,” he taps on the wood, “are you over your tantrum?”

His words sting. He speaks to you like a child. You wish he'd leave you alone, let you out, just disappear!

He stands with another long groan and you feel him leaning on the door. He jiggles the handle then hits the wood in frustration. He hisses. Good, you hope it hurts.

Tears spring as you feel guilty just as quickly as that spiteful thought rose. You don't want to hurt anyone. You never have. You just want to be.

“You cannot lock me out forever. I must clean up,” he demands.

You don't argue. You don't mention he has another bathroom. Two even. You don't have the energy.

“Must you persist in this stubbornness?” He snaps.

All he ever has for you is criticism. Just like your father. And you're just the same useless girl.

You don’t answer. You get up, keeping your back to the door. You tell him over and over to leave you alone. It doesn’t work. So you’ll just ignore him.

You go to the tub and crank on the faucet, the water splashing down loudly as you flinch as the sudden gush. You hear a thump on the door but focus on testing the temperature of the water with your fingers. You don’t listen to see if he goes, to you he’s just not there.

You strip off the camisole nightie and step into the tub before it fills. You lay in the burgeoning depths as it slowly rises over you. Goosebumps rise on your body yet the water offers little warmth for you. Even as it steams up to your shoulders.

You sit forward to twist off the tap and lay back with a sigh. You wet your hands and drag them over your forehead, the water trickling down to dampen the bandage across your nose. You don’t know what you’re doing or what to do. You never really did have much of a plan. Life was always just day to day. Survival.

Your lashes close as dampness lingers on them, fueled by a new flow from within. Your tears trickle out and you sniffle. Your mind wanders to a woman you never knew.

Was this what it was like for her? Confusing? Scary? Or did she love your father? Was he different when it was only her?

How can you even begin to know her when you don’t even know yourself? You are not your mother’s daughter. You are no one’s. You are no one.

You don’t languish long in the tub. You drain it and sit shivering on the toilet lid, wrapped in a thick cotton towel. You stare at your hands and think but you’re empty. You can’t live inside your mind, just like you can’t live inside this room.

You stand up and storm towards the door. You stop short and gulp. You won’t let him lock you up. Not any longer. Maybe your mother was a brave woman and maybe you can be too.

You flip back the lock and pull the door open. The bedroom is empty. He’s gone. You deflate. Just as you found a semblance of courage.

You cross to the other door. The handle won’t turn. You expect as much, just like you should’ve expected him to leave before he could hear you.

You back up and peer around. Your eyes narrow on the window and you tilt your head. You can go too.

You rush over to the closet and push the door open. You search through the hanging garments clumsily, hangers whining on the bar. You pull down a plain black blouse and equally simple pants. You dress as you peek over and over at the door. You don’t have shoes but you don’t care. You double up socks and go to the window.

What do you even care about shoes? You don’t have anything.

You hook your fingers into the notches along the bottom of the window and lift. It doesn’t budge. You whimper as your knuckles ache from the effort. You pout at the glass, contemplating the best way to shatter it. Your gaze wanders up to the latch at the top. Oh, it’s locked!

You slide the lock back and try again. It opens. You can barely believe it. A way out, but what comes after. You don’t have to think of that now.

You poke your head out and peek around the green lawn. The birds tweet and the trees sway with the breeze. You stick your arms out next and rest your stomach against the sill. You lift one knee and haul yourself over the ledge, dragging your other leg out awkwardly.

The roof is steep and offers little traction. As you manage to crawl onto the slope, your head spins from the drop just below the eaves. Don’t look down, that’s the first rule right. You search for a safer descent than the vision of yourself plummeting to the ground.

Just along the far side of the house, just at the corner, the ivy lines a faded trellis. You can try to ladder down on that and if not, you’ll turn back and act like nothing happened at all. No, there’s no going back. Just go.

You move carefully, turning to face the house. Your fingers grip beneath the bricks as you place your feet against the shingles, little grip through the socks. That was a bad idea.

As you inch along, flush to the roof, wriggling bit by bit, you hear the low hum of an engine. You don’t think much of it, it’s probably just a passerby. You focus on your own flight. You won’t have a car, just your feet. How far can you get?

The sudden ring of the gate frightens you. You jerk and nearly lose your bearing. You whimper and slide down to the eaves. The metal trough is tenuous as best as you feel your weight testing the bolts. Your heart pounds in your ears.

The bell rings again but you don’t let it faze you again. You’re nearly there, just a little further.

“What on earth–” Loki’s voice makes you flinch.

The eaves creak and tremble under you as you curl your fingers over the shingles. You glance over fearfully, surprised by your discovery and all too aware of your treacherous escape. Loki’s nostrils flare as he glares out the window at you.

“Get back here! Are you mad, you’re going to get–”

The gate bell once more pierces the air and a sudden crack sounds from behind you. You slip down the shingles with a yelp, grasping at the roof as your feet meet only air. Your catch yourself on the edge, just barely, and whine as you dangle over the grass.

“Gods!” Loki blusters as you hang perilously.

Your heartbeat blocks out the noises all around you. The birds’ songs fade and the rippling leaves quiet. It’s only you and the horrid drop below. Don’t look down, you repeat. You’ve seen the movies, that’s the worst mistake you can make.

“Pet, don’t panic,” Loki clambers down the front steps as he calls to you, “just hang on. I have you, darling.”

You squeak as your arms burn and your fingers throb. You’re not that strong. You don’t think you can hold yourself. You hear him running as a car door shuts.

“Hello?” Frigga’s voice carries over the lawn, “is everything alr–” She gasps, “oh, dear, what is going on? Loki, let me in.”

“Mother, one thing at a time,” Loki’s voice fades away as you hear him running.

“Oh my,” Frigga remarks, “dear, you just want to hold on. Try not to move too much, you’ll lose your grip.”

You close your eyes and focus on just that. Her advice is little help but you don’t even have the ability to tell her that. You’re terrified and weak. You feel your fingers about to give. You wrestle with your own mind, it would be easier to just let go and let what happens happen.

“Here, here,” Loki hollers as a metal rattle accompanies him.

Your eyes stay sealed as you fear even a glimpse of your ground. You whimper and whine, eyes once more wet and leaking. Something hits the roof not far from you and you hear a strange tempo, steady but harried. A hand closes around your wrist.

“He’s got you, honey,” Frigga shouts from the gate.

You don’t react. Loki grunts and his arm wraps around your back. You let your eyes open just a crack and look over at him. He urges you to him as he leans over the side of a ladder.

“Get your foot here,” he directs you to the rung above his own feet, “come, darling, come, I’ve got you.”

You follow his direction. Your adrenaline swells over and leaves you hollow. He gets you onto the ladder, just in front of him, and he takes a step down. You cling to the rungs as he continues until he’s stood on the grass.

“Go on, I’ve got a hold on the ladder,” he assures you.

You push your foot back and shakily dip it down. You put it on the next step before you dare to move the other. Your descent is slow and shaky. He helps you onto solid ground with his hands on your hips.

As you pull away and face him, you find his expression pinched. You push your lips out and mop up your tears, “I’m sorry, I–”

“Not now, I must deal with my mother first,” he hisses.

You wince and nod, pressing your tight fists to your cheeks. He gives you a long look and he rolls his shoulders. “Straighten yourself up, pet. Do you want her to see you in such a state?”

You shake your head and heave. He spins on his heel and marches away. You swipe away the last of your tears and swallow your sobs. You follow him, jittering as your legs move at a staggered pace. It’s almost as if they aren’t your own.

“Mother, you weren’t invited,” Loki accuses, “and we are not currently receiving guests.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What is going on here? Why was she hanging from the roof like a cat on a clothesline, Loki?”

“It is my concern, I don’t need you sticking your nose in–”

“Don’t speak to me as such, I am your mother,” her tone sharpens as you wobble towards them, “now you let me in, that poor thing must be frightened and you’re not even comforting her.”

“She is not yours to worry about,” he rebuffs.

“Nonsense, you left so fast, you didn’t let us the chance–”

“Go,” he snarls.

“Loki,” you babble as your legs fold, your sight splotchy and off kilter. As you crumble into the gravel he turns. He rushes towards you as you hold yourself up on your hands, slumping over the drive.

“Pet, it’s alright, I’ve got you,” he hooks his arm around you, “you should go inside.”

“Please… I don’t feel good,” you utter.

“Let me in, son,” Frigga demands urgently, “I can help her.”

“Just like you helped her before–”

“You know we had no idea,” she barks, more viciously than you could ever imagine her sounding.

“Loki, please,” you lean into him and tilt your head up, it lolls dangerously on your neck, “please, let her in.”

He considers you, his features drawn but no longer in anger. You see the fear he’s been holding onto. You reach to touch his shoulder and wilt into him.

“Please, I’ll stay,” you sniffle, “if you let her in. I won’t try to run again.”

He sucks in a breath and looks over his shoulder. He huffs and turns back to you. He scoops you off the ground and stands with a grunt.

“Mother, I trust you can wait until I get her somewhere safe?”

“Not long or I shall knock this gate down,” she sneers, “but perhaps I’ll let him take the wheel. Your father won’t hesitate.”

“Father…” Loki echoes.

“Oh, he’s here too, I told him to stay in the car thinking I might talk some sense into you,” she bites out, “imagine if I told him what I’ve walked up upon.”

“Let me get her inside,” Loki says tersely.

He carries you towards the house. You drone and sink into his arms. You don’t know what you were thinking. You don’t know what came over you. You need sleep, your temples are like drums; boom, boom, boom.

“I’m tired,” your murmur.

“I know, pet, I know,” he brings you up the steps and through the front door. As he comes to the stairs, you reach out and grab the banister, latching on with all your strength. He stops.

“Please, don’t,” you bat your eyes and pout at him, a glisten in your vision, “don’t lock me away or I’ll jump next time.”

He waves and his throat tightens, “don’t talk like that.”

“It’s the truth,” you eke out. “I only… I only ever wanted to see the garden, you know?”

He lowers his eyes guiltily and frowns. He backs away from the stairs and instead, carries you into the den. He lays you on the sofa and puts a pillow behind your head. You relax, happy to at least be out of the room. Still, your prison remains.

“We will talk later but first, my parents,” he strokes your forehead before he stands straight.

“I could make tea,” you offer and try to sit up.

“You will not move,” he points a long finger at you, “not one inch. Do you want tea?”

You look at him. Is he really asking?

“Yes,” you squeak.

He nods, “very well, you will have tea. Stay,” he wags his finger again, “first, I will fetch my mother and father, then tea.”

You try to smile, “thank you.”

“Hm, curse the hour,” he sneers under his breath, “I could do with something a bit stronger.”

He leaves you with that remark, striding out rigidly as his fingers twiddle at his side. You feel the same dread as him about your guest. You’re in no state to receive them, and in less to be reminded of the last time you met.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #avengers #thor #mcu #marvel

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hotgirlbedtimescenarios · 1 day ago

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hellloooo kt 💖

for a blurb: joel and reader on a camping trip. maybe they go swimming in a lake and watch the stars at night time :)

fluffy or smutty idc i just love how u write joel! 🤍🤍🤍

Hello sweet Lali! ❤️ Your compliment goes straight to my heart; thank you so much. 🥹 I’m equally, if not even more, obsessed with how YOU write, Joel. Anyways...

So, I kind of got carried away with this one, and it turned into much more than a blurb. Once the fluff began, I couldn't stop it. Whoops. I hope you like it :)

Forever Like This

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Words: >1k

Vibes: fluffy & flirty

———

“Are you sure about this, Joel? Where are we going?” you call out, your voice a little breathless as you trail behind him along the thick forest path.

The sun is low in the sky, casting long shadows between the trees. You've been walking for what feels like ages, your legs sore from the hike, and the soft rustling of leaves around you makes it feel as though you're stepping deeper into the heart of the woods. You can’t help but wonder if you’re lost.

Joel glances back over his shoulder, his brown eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief. He shifts the overnight bags in his hand, effortlessly transferring their weight to one arm before reaching out to take your hand. His touch is warm and grounding. “We’re almost there,” he says with a grin that only makes your curiosity grow.

Minutes later, the forest parts, and suddenly, you step into an open meadow. The sight takes your breath away. Sunlight filters through amber and gold leaves overhead, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. A soft breeze stirs the tall grass, making it sway. The leaves above rustle gently, sending a flurry of them dancing in the air, floating slowly to the earth below.

In this picturesque clearing sits a small log cabin, its wood weathered with age. It's tucked away into the corner of the clearing. A sparkling lake stretches out to one side, the water mirroring the clear blue sky. A little john boat lies tipped on its side at the water’s edge, its wood faded from years of use.

Your heart skips in your chest, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the scene. “What is this place?” you ask, your voice soft with awe, turning to look at Joel.

Joel’s gaze is already on you, watching the wonder in your expression. He smiles, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. “This cabin’s been in my family for years,” he explains, leading you toward the clearing. “Tommy and I used to come here to hunt or fish when we had the time. Haven’t been in a while, though.”

You look up at him, your eyes catching on his rugged features, the rough stubble along his jaw, the intensity in his dark eyes, and the way his dark hair flips slightly at the nape of his neck. You feel an undeniable sense of peace just being here, beside him.

“C’mon,” he says, guiding you toward the cabin. “Let’s get settled.”

The cabin’s door creaks as Joel unlocks it, revealing a small, cozy interior. The air smells of pine and wood, with the faintest trace of something earthy. As you explore the cabin, you notice little wooden carvings scattered throughout the room, birds, bears, and tiny trees, all crafted by hand. You imagine Joel sitting here by the firelight, carving late into the night.

Joel opens the windows, letting in the cool autumn air, and begins to unpack the bags. “Spent a lot of nights here when I was a kid,” he says, his voice softer now. “Tommy and I used to fight over who got to steer the boat. I learned how to hunt here, shot my first deer in these woods.” There’s a faraway look in his eyes as he speaks, lost in the memories.

You listen intently, feeling the weight of his words, then glance around at the tiny cabin. The wooden walls, the faded rugs, the firewood stacked neatly by the door, it all feels so personal.

Joel offers you a smile and gestures toward the lake. “Come on.”

You follow him, shoes and socks quickly discarded as you step into the soft, cool grass. The lake stretches out before you, its surface smooth and inviting. You dip your toes in, and a burst of laughter slips from your lips when tiny fish begin to dart around your feet. They nibble lightly at your skin, and you shriek, pulling your feet out of the water in surprise. Water splashes onto Joel, who’s sitting right beside you.

You glance at him, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but when you see the damp patches on his T-shirt and the playful glint in his eyes, the teasing smile on his lips, you know exactly what’s coming.

A huff of laughter rumbles from his chest and he smirks, “I was just thinkin it might be nice to take a dip.” Before you can scramble away he’s pulling you into his arms with a swift move, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

You squeal in surprise, trying to wriggle free, but Joel just chuckles as he carries you toward the water. “Joel! No, don’t!” you laugh, your voice half-pleading, half-giggling, “Our clothes!”

Your struggle is futile. Before long, he’s wading into the lake, the cool water quickly rising to his knees. He releases you when the water’s chest-high, and you find yourself drenched, laughing helplessly as Joel grins at you, clearly pleased with himself.

“Refreshing, huh?” he smirks, his voice deep and amused.

“Yeah,” you say, sticking out your tongue at him, “I guess it’s not too bad.”

The two of you spend the next few minutes wading and splashing, playfully dunking each other in the water, until you both end up stripped down to your underwear, your soggy clothes thrown onto the shore. You float together, bodies pressed against each other in the water, content in the intimacy of the moment.

Joel wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. He presses a soft kiss to the tip of your wet nose, his breath warm against your skin. “Did I do good? Like the surprise?” he murmurs, his voice tender, hopeful.

“Perfect,” you whisper, and then kiss him. It starts off innocent and slow but builds, passion quickly catching flame. Beneath the water you wrap your legs around his torso, anchoring yourself to him and his hands cup the cheeks of your ass, kneading the flesh. His tongue sweeps against your bottom lip, begging for entrance and you allow it as your fingers tangle in his hair.

A groan rumbles in Joel's chest; it vibrates against you where yours is pressed up against him. His fingers skirt at the edge of your panties, asking for permission. To his surprise, you pull away from the kiss, and he watches you with a puzzled look, confusion in his lust-filled eyes.

“Not here,” you breathe, nodding toward the water. “Too many fish... and who knows what else is swimming around in here.”

Joel’s eyes narrow in playful frustration, but his lips curl into a grin.

“That cabin got a shower big enough for two?” you ask, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

He groans low in his chest, his eyes dark with desire. “We’ll make it fit,” he grumbles, giving you a squeeze that makes you laugh.

“Well, what are we still doing out here?” you tease.

“Fuck if I know”, and before the last syllable has left his mouth the both of you scramble out of the water, dripping wet and laughing as you race toward the cabin.

———

Later, after the sun has set and the stars begin to twinkle against the clear night sky next to a thin sliver of the moon, you and joel lie on a blanket in the meadow, the cool grass beneath you.

The sounds of the forest are a backdrop to the two of you, an owl hooting and insects humming in the distance. A cool wind skirts across the meadow, and you lean into Joel, the warmth of his body blooming beside you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave,” you sigh dreamily, perfectly content at where you find yourself, resting your head on his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

Joel wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, planting a kiss on the crown of your head. He grins to himself secretly, thinking about the diamond ring in a tiny blue box hidden in his suitcase just a few yards away in the cabin.

“You're right,” he murmurs, his voice equally content, “I could do this forever.”

#joel miller x reader #fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro characters #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #game joel #one shot #joel miller drabble #asks #request

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anitalenia · 8 months ago

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₊ ⊹.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 .𖥔 ݁ ˖༘⋆𐦍⊹₊ ⋆

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑. ✧･ﾟ: * 𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓔𝓾𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓼, 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓻. 𝓲𝓽 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓶𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓭. 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮, 𝓲'𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 . ⋆˙⟡♡✧ ℕ𝔸ℕ𝔸𝕄𝕀 𝕂𝔼ℕ𝕋𝕆 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑. 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝑎 𝑤𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝘩𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑤𝘩𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓷𝓪 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 . . . ₊˚⊹.* ♡ *.⊹˚₊ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃 ✧‧₊˚

၄.၃ ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚ 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 ₊˚✧ 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕝𝕖𝕣! nαnαmí kєntσ x 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕗𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕪! rєαdєr

၄.၃ ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚ 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 ₊˚✧ the reader will have very long hair and dark navy blue eyes for the sake of the story. I tried to be as vague as possible in every other aspect. this will also be in multiple parts, like a mini series. I’m not sure how many parts there will be 😔

၄.၃ ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚ 𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓪 𝓼𝓪𝔂𝓼 ₊˚✧ I took a different approach when writing this than I usually do, or in other words a different writing style than usual. Tbh, I know it’s not my best writing but it’s not the worst either. So please tell me if the writings good, I’ll definitely appreciate it !! Also, Sugar Water is one of my favorite songs by Cibo Matto, I definitely recommend it 😫✨. Thank you, and enjoy the story ✨ nanami header and gray sparkle divider made by me 💖

⋆˙⟡♡ 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑵𝑬 𐙚 ‧₊˚ . 𝜗𝜚𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝜗𝜚𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝜗𝜚𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁

⋆⭒˚. ࣪˖ ִֶָཐིཋྀ 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 the sun was quickly setting — either that, or the trees were so thick it made the sky look black.

Nanami couldn’t be sure; he was too focused on the pain in his leg and the pounding in his head that made it hard for him to think clearly, his vision blurring with every pulse.

Was it day? Had it been only hours since he escaped with barely his life? How long had he been wandering through these dark woods with nothing but his own wits about him?

Nanami had no clue.

Long enough for twigs to stick in his hair that’s for certain, long enough for mud to cling to the sweat on his skin and stain the fabric of his clothes. Long enough for his mind to blur the reality of hours and minutes that time itself seemed to stretch and bend forever.

He was sure he was leaving a rather noticeable blood trail behind him for those beasts to follow him and yet it seems they hadn’t — they must be too busy sucking out the marrow of his companions to bother with him.

Nanami couldn’t argue with that reasoning, however. With an injury like his, bleeding out like he was, he was bound to wither away eventually; he was already a walking corpse.

A morbid thought, but his macabre reality.

The forest floor was brown and black slush, muddy from the light rain that squished and sloshed under his boots. His glasses were dotted with water and his leg shot pain straight up his spine with every dreaded step forward yet Nanami wouldn’t give up — he couldn’t.

Not when his boots sunk into the mud and he had to pull his legs out of the earth to move, not when he smeared water on his glasses when he’d push them up the bridge of his nose, not when every step felt like a millennia of war battling in his calf… he smelt of his own blood and misery yet he conquered on, further into the dark wood with splinters in his palms and blisters on his toes.

A part of him was drawn forward anyway, drawn towards the mystery of the shadows and the fortune that may just await him if he continued on just a little farther. A symptom to his love for adventure; he was always weak to the allure of intrigue.

It was also hope.

Nanami couldn’t die here, not like this, not after all of his adventures and misfortunes and treasures. He was a traveler after all, a born adventurer; he’s faced many great monsters and beasts and traversed the most dangerous of terrain — fierce lions with claws of blade and savage wolfs with teeth of daggers, fiery lava pits and cataclysmic grand canyons.

He’s been dealt with far worse things than a clawed leg — he’s been poisoned and stabbed and bit and bludgeoned and nearly flattened by an avalanche yet this seems to be the one injury to ruin him despite them all.

A damn cut.

Maybe his bad luck had finally caught up to him.

Maybe it was purely by chance and blind, ignorant luck that he survived those encounters at all, maybe it had been luck that saved his life tonight.

He didn’t believe in luck but maybe that was just it.

Maybe he’d die from blood loss first before the infection set in; he hoped he’d just collapse into the forest floor and let the mud swallow him as his body weakened and his blood pooled around him to soak into the dirt.

At least he wouldn’t feel it when he rotted into the soil and roots buried themselves in his bones, when flowers would eventually sprout from his decay and grow gardens.

There was always beauty to be found in ugly things he guessed, a rule just as simple as beauty could be recycled from the horror of something else.

Something beautiful to come from something dead, something finally meaningful to come from his meaningless purpose.

No.

Nanami swallowed down that dreaded feeling, motivation bursting at his seams and ripping at his shirt, pooling at his feet and pounding in his ears as he stepped onward with a clenched jaw and sore muscles.

He was determined to live, determined to find something or someone or… he was bound to find safety eventually, some kind of sanctuary, even if it took him all night (if he even lived that long).

He walked a little longer until he stumbled upon a thick berry bush that seemed to block his way further; it was dark blue berries he certainly didn’t recognize and definitely didn’t trust to eat no matter how badly he needed the energy.

Nanami took that as a sign, stopping against a tree trunk to rest his throbbing leg for just one minute — a minute he couldn’t really spare. He leaned down and put a hand on his one good knee and huffed and sighed, panting weakly and tiredly; he really wanted nothing more than to be in his big comfy bed back in Hawksborough, surrounded by the comfort of his own home and safety of his room.

A few quiet moments passed with him like this. Him leaned against the tree, tired and haunted with nothing but the sounds of nature and the weariness of his own fragmented breath surrounding him.

Then, then he heard something rather remarkable, something that had his breath stop and his back straighten.

It was a hum, a beautiful, deep hum that seemed to resonate in the air around him and shake the leaves of the trees and the petals of flowers on broken stems.

It started out faint, like the strings of a harp between soft fingers. Then it crescendoed into something greater, deeper, like if someone were to play the keys of an organ and each heavy note echoed on the walls of an empty cathedral; hauntingly beautiful.

It certainly did, it echoed in his chest so hard he could feel his ribs shake.

It was a melodically smooth sound, coming from somewhere close to him but yet everywhere around him; it was hypnotic and bone chilling and mesmerizing all in one and Nanami felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound of it as the hum seemed to grow louder the more curious he became.

He looked around the darkness for anything to hint at where the sound was coming from, but saw nothing except black air and the twisted limbs of trees.

Nanami gulped down the pain in his body with a sore throat, then winced as he stood up straight.

His leg throbbed and his head was starting to ache but with one final push he managed to scramble his way through the berry bush where the hum seemed to drown in his ears and coo at his brain; something told him he was going the right way.

He grind his teeth at the thorns pushing and breaking into his skin, ripping at his shirt and tearing at his seams.

When Nanami was through, a dirty mess of ragged clothing and mud, he stumbled into the grass with a grunt, falling to his knees and landing on his bruised palms.

“Fuck…” He muttered painfully, never one to cuss but too damn frustrated not to; he’d forgive himself for it.

Nanami took a moment to relish in the agony of his battered leg; he didn’t even realize the humming had stopped until he picked his head up to see where he was.

And by the gods Nanami was in utter awe of what he saw.

There was a bright blue pond a little ways ahead of him, surrounded by flourishing plants and flowers and vines that all seemed to glow vibrant colors of blue and gold. The water itself was sparkling and bright, reflecting cerulean pools in the flora around it.

Iridescent blue weeping willow trees hung around the water and seemed to whisper longingly to the wind that caressed their leaves. The grass was long and wispy surrounding the blue bosque that seemed to sway and dance all on their own accord, to their own little melody.

The air itself was sweet and sprinkled with little golden fireflies that buzzed happily around him; it was like a portal to a whole new thriving world.

Although, it was eerily seductive; Nanami wanted to stay in the grandeur blue arms of this utopia forever, but something in the way his hair stood up on his arms and his heart pounded in his ears told him he wasn’t completely safe to do so.

Nanami pushed that thought aside, not necessarily in his right mind to pay attention to what his body was subconsciously telling him.

He was too wide eyed and breathless, for even the wind seemed so fresh and magical every pore in his body felt alive and tingly — he even felt the pain in his leg stop, some sort of euphoria flood through his nerves. Unless he just became so accustomed to the pain he couldn’t feel it anymore.

It was so beautiful and unlike anything he’d ever seen; how he wished he could take a picture and write it down in his journal so he could remember this place forever… if only those beasts hadn’t ripped his satchel off him.

Nanami blinked, once, twice, then pushed himself off the ground with all the strength he could muster. He was dirty and torn and completely out of place in such an ethereal land; he felt almost guilty for tainting its grass with his muddy shoes.

Still, he stumbled further into the mysterious place as the soft sound of wind chimes twinkled somewhere around him, not loud and obnoxious but soft and gentle, a lullaby almost that made him feel sleepy, like the notes themselves were wrapping their velvety arms around him and pulling him in.

He didn’t resist it, looking around in awe at the paradise in front of him as he took a couple steps forward. He caught the movement of two butterflies playing together in the air, their dainty wings glimmering with glowing white sparkles and a vivid sky blue — he even swore with every flap of their wings it left a trail of delicate golden dust behind them.

He watched with wonderment as they faded somewhere into the trees, then turned his head to look back at the pond; the real treasure.

He felt his mouth salivate, all too aware of the dryness in his sore throat now as the water swayed and tempted him into its crystal blue depths. He knew he should’ve been wiser about this, hesitate for just a moment and linger on the possibility of entrapment but his thirst wouldn’t allow it; a pathetic, wandering fly in a deadly flytrap.

Nanami took two strong steps — all the strength he had left — towards the ponds edge for some much needed refreshment, falling down to his knees at the waters edge. The buzzing of nature seemed to drown out behind him in a mesh of forgotten sound as he scooped up a handful of water and eagerly drank it out of his palm.

He didn’t bother looking at his reflection; he knew he was an utter mess and always hated to see himself in disarray. He must’ve looked vaguely threatening to any outsider who saw him — not that anyone did (as far as he knew).

The water rippled as he drank from it, the liquid cool and translucent blue in his dirty palm he had haphazardly wiped on his trousers.

It passed over his dry gums and throat in a refreshingly cold blast with every gulp; it tasted so good and clear he could even feel the chill of it going down his throat.

With three more frantic gulps Nanami had had enough; his stomach was full and his thirst was quenched as he leaned back on his palms and looked up towards the sky in a spared moment of relaxation.

It was a dark navy blue sky twinkling with yellow and gold diamonds, no moon in sight but he didn’t care as he got lost in the coolness of the air on his narrow cheeks and the way it wrapped around his aching body, warping between the tears of his shirt and washing over his warm skin.

It was the opposite of how he used to sit on a cliffs edge and soak in the warmness of a golden sunset after a hard journey. He didn’t want to feel the heat of a days end on his glowing skin so much as he wanted to bask in the cold stillness of a breezy evening.

He hadn’t known how he got here and he didn’t bother trying to figure out how; as an adventurer such as himself it was always about the journey rather than the destination itself anyway, but not in this case.

In this case he couldn’t be happier that the troublesome voyage had ended and he had finally reached where he needed to be — maybe needed was a strong word but he’d rather be here than out there. It was certainly weird to think that way, and it went it against his very passions but… he’s been through too much in this night alone than he’s ever really suffered through in the totality of his life.

Nanami felt disappointed in himself for thinking so, guilty even, like he was betraying this metaphorical odyssey he was destined to travel on. Still, for the first time in his career Nanami was relived to be off his feet.

He sighed wistfully, fingers sinking into the soil as cool air flooded his lungs. He closed his eyes as he relished in the feeling.

Nanami didn’t even feel it when his elbows buckled under him and he fell back on the grass, only seeing a glittering blue sky and yellow diamonds behind black, closed eyes.

The water went still once more and the blue went black.

You studied the contours of his face delicately, your hands intertwined in your lap and your legs tucked under you as you did.

The room was small and cozy, lit by nothing but a soft blue flame in the corner that crackled and popped every few moments, tendrils of butterfly bush hanging from the ceiling and walls. The room smelt of honey and sweet rain, dark and joyfully dreary but you saw his face just fine.

He was quite handsome, you couldn’t deny that.

His blonde hair all in disarray, his narrow cheeks and sharp nose, his thin pink lips and angled eyes.

He was handsome.

You narrowed your eyes at him curiously, raising a delicate hand and gently brushing your cold fingertips over his cheekbone.

His skin was smooth and warm, cheeks flushed a light pink. It was always a small envy of yours — the warmth of humans. You were so cold all the time, your skin like crystals and frigid like snow.

Your fingertips fluttered over his blonde eyelashes, unable to keep your hands off him.

You wondered what color his eyes were. Green? Brown? Blue maybe?

You were eager for him to wake, your boredom having become tiresome and your patience having become thin. Still, you didn’t want to disturb his sleep just yet. The poor man had been through so much already; his leg was still healing, wrapped in bandages and honey salve and you certainly didn’t want to add any extra stress that could damage him further.

Really, you loved to stare at him with no complications, enjoyed the thrill of blatantly admiring his beauty before he could wake up and you’d inevitably make him uncomfortable, before he’d say it was improper to do so.

You were selfish in that regard, in many regards.

This man, you hadn’t learned his name nor his origin, but you knew he had been in the dark woods at a time he should not have been.

He was tall and brave, strong and perseverant, that much you knew and that much was certain. It was why you liked him so much, it was why you spared him.

But who was he?

He was no real threat to you and that was all that mattered.

You smiled softly, bemused and smitten, when his nose crinkled in his sleep. You gently dusted away a stray blonde hair that had fallen out of place.

You seemed to have bothered him then, because not a moment later did his head turn slightly and his lips part to exhale — he was waking up.

Finally.

You settled your hands back in your lap before he could notice, staring down at him with a sweet, welcoming smile in hopes to comfort him as his eyes fluttered open to look at you.

You gazed back into them delightedly.

Mm, they were brown.

Nanami had woken up with an ache in his skull and a sting behind his eyes, lost in a daze of twisted black thickets and enticing blue ponds; the sensation of featherlight fingers tracing his cheek tickled his brain and made his skin itch.

The first thing he smelt when he came to was blueberry pie and sugar, the sweetness of it making his mouth water but his stomach twist.

He wanted to eat something, badly, but he also wanted to throw up.

The air was warm around him, comfortable and pleasant, his sore back laid on something soft and plushy. He didn’t feel any reason for panic as he found himself melting into the comforter — whatever the hell it was he couldn’t be certain — against his better judgment.

Nanami tried to gather some sort of sensation in his body, tried wiggling his fingers and his toes but all he felt was nothing, numbness. He couldn’t even feel the pain radiating in his leg anymore.

He found that worrisome; maybe it was finally his time, maybe his luck had finally run out. Maybe he was lying face down in the forest floor right now as his mind conjured up the smell of his favorite pie and the feigned comfort of his mattress as a sweet gesture to bid him a final farewell.

Hell, if death was this peaceful he would’ve never been so against it.

Then he felt another whisper of skin across his forehead, soft and untraceable. If it wasn’t for the stark coldness of whatever it was touching him he would’ve missed it.

With the coldness making his skin shiver Nanami quickly found himself grounded back to reality. He wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be. Death didn’t exhibit the mundane concepts of hot or cold; temperature had no purpose in a void of nothing.

He was very much alive if the sound of his heart beating in his ears and the chill on his forehead was anything to go by. He even felt the tips of his fingers tingle as feeling came over them again, numbness having lingered in his bones for far too long.

He somehow found the strength to open his eyes.

For a brief moment he saw a blurred vision of black and blue. The shadow of a pale, azure colored light shining from somewhere, flickering in and out. It made a headache settle into the cracks of his skull and spread a torturous ache throughout his head.

He couldn’t stop the groan from leaving his lips as his hand flinched up towards his temple.

“Oh no, it seems you have some head trauma, it’s best not to strain yourself right now.”

It was a voice, soft spoken, barely above a whisper that piqued his interest immediately.

His vision focused on you once the pain faded; the girl next to his bed side with glittering dark eyes and a wickedly charming smile, wearing a baby blue colored dress embroidered with delicate flower designs; vines and flowers all intertwined in a tangled mess of thorns and petals that reminded him so greatly of the dark wood.

A sheer, glittering lily white shawl was loosely hung around your shoulders, hair in wavy tendrils down to your waist that pooled around your thighs. You were certainly pretty and unassuming.

He could tell you were a frail little thing, gossamery and lovely in a dainty sort of way but he also knew better than to underestimate you; appearances always deceived and there was no greater trick than the feigned purity of an impure thing.

Thankfully, he was not one easily fooled.

Nanami looked back up at you after a quick study of your form — your posture and seemingly innocent facade that did nothing to comfort him — so he just stared at you distrustfully, dark brown eyes narrowed cautiously. He noted the feigned sweetness of your lips as they curved into a small smile and the mischievous twinkle in your eyes as you gazed down at him; he felt preyed upon, the same feeling he exhibited in the meadow.

Kento had been through enough near death experiences in his life to recognize a snake when he saw one, for even the devil had come as a beguiled serpent so who was he to know if you were any better? He felt uneasy under your vehement stare, like a mouse in a cobra pit.

It was peculiar and uncanny, you yourself were frightening and unusual, no doubt a cacophony of horrors wrapped in a cute little bow with pretty blue eyes. He knew you could have anyone fooled, but he was too good, too experienced in the matters of trickery to recognize a fellow trick when he saw one.

Nanami was on the cusp of your deception, giving you a heady stare from beneath stern eyes.

He subtly leaned further away from you.

You flickered your gaze between his stare with an amused look, noting the change in his aura surrounding him as he regarded you tentatively.

You were honestly impressed by how quickly he seemed to have caught on to your true nature, not all humans had the innate sense of danger that he did; something in his gut had told him you were a vile, dangerous thing, and his instincts were telling him to run.

Even though it was unfair to categorize you as such, it was only fair to assume, and not necessarily distinguished too far from the truth anyway.

You sympathized with his ornery skepticism, not wanting to scare him any further so you just smiled down at him in the sweetest way you could fathom. You waited patiently for him to gather his thoughts and wit. Although, it seemed his mind was already made up.

“How are you feeling?” You asked in a nonthreatening, soft tone, raising a hand and barely touching the flushed skin of his bare chest, only enough for your fingertips to graze across his skin and grab his attention.

You were pleasantly thrilled at the feeling of his warmth under your fingertips, but Nanami just shuddered like a ghost had touched his bare soul with cold, lifeless hands.

His dark eyes quickly flickered down to where your hand had touched him, covering it with his palm like you had just struck him. Your fingertips seemed to have jolted his skin with a sudden frigid coldness that throbbed through his veins and made his heart stutter. He flinched at the shock of it, not seeing the way you had to bite back a smirk at his indignation.

He looked up at you with a sharp inhale, “I’m quite fine,” Nanami cleared his throat and tried to sit up straighter in an attempt to look half as intimidating as you did, “now who are you?”

You smiled at him, already loving the sound of his voice as he spoke to you; smooth, sharp, demanding, washing over your skin like the warm water of a hot spring. He was entirely too serious and you were too smitten. You could hear the underlying hatred he seemed to already have for you, hear the way his heart raced in his chest and see the way his fist tightly clenched the blanket between his long fingers.

You made him nervous and he made you pathetically giddy. You didn’t care about his fear however, for he would soon learn to become accustomed to you given the proper time spent together. All you really needed was just a little patience until then, after all, could you really blame him for being a bit standoffish given his bizarre situation?

You felt amusement pull at your lips as you folded your hands back into your lap, looking down at him with navy blue pools that reminded him so much of the pond he had so eagerly drank from, “Your savior. You’re welcome for that by the way.”

Nanami leered at you, the hair standing up on his arms as you spoke. Your voice was sweet enough but coated with undertones of something more sarcastic, something more sinister.

“Savior? I sincerely doubt that.”

You felt your smile pull harder at his pride; you couldn’t help it, he was like a frightened squirrel shrinking away from you with his tail between his legs, but trying desperately hard to appear like he wasn’t.

You heard the hardness in his voice though, the rigidness in his tone, the overcompensation for fear.

“Well, how do you explain where you are then? I hardly believe you got here on your own.” You teased him, gesturing to the dimly lit room around you and granting him a large, impish grin.

Nanami didn’t bother looking around, keeping his eyes narrowed in on your face and his hand on his stomach; he didn’t trust not having his eyes on you.

“Whatever the case may be… I can assure you I’m fine. I don’t need whatever it is you’re offering, and quite frankly, I don’t want it.”

You sighed lethargically at his stubborn insistence, staring at him for a moment as your shoulders slumped.

“Is that so? Then stand and walk out. I’m not stopping you traveler. You’re free to do as you please.” You teased him once more with a smirk on your face, gesturing towards the exit behind you — a rectangular opening in the wooden wall shielded by strings of diamond hanging off the top rim.

Of course, you knew he couldn’t leave anyway.

Nanami glanced at where you were pointing coldly, intrigued by the glances of blue-green trees — it seemed like — peeking through the swaying beads.

He didn’t move his head, only his eyes, considering.

There was no way you would just let him walk out that door.

He looked back at you, then looked down at his foot which he had almost forgotten about. It was heavily wrapped in big blue-green leaves he didn’t recognize, sealed tight with a sticky, glossy coating. He raised his brow curiously, face stoic.

You followed his gaze with a knowing smile, “Oh, that’s right… you can’t walk.” You looked back up at him, grin having not left your face.

Nanami clenched his jaw at the cheery way you seemed to say it. His biceps strained as he adjusted in the bed to sit against the wall completely, ignoring the ache in his spine and the heaviness sat on his broad shoulders. Flowers tickled the back of his neck and a small fur blanket slid off his hips as he did.

You stared heatedly at the flexing veins in his arms and the tightness of his abs, the smoothness of his human skin and the rigid curves of muscle on his virile body; he was beautiful and magnificent, like a diamond tenderly molted and pressed over the course of eons. Only a god who truly loved him could dedicate such time and care to carve him — every muscle and vein, from the tips of his toes to the strings of his blonde hair he was perfection.

You couldn’t let him leave you, not now, not after you’ve heard the whiskey smoothness of his voice and seen the chocolate of his brown eyes. He was everything you wanted and everything you desired.

Nanami swallowed once he was settled, glaring at you with his fist bundled in the black fur of the blanket you had laid on him.

“I can tend to my own wounds, I never asked for your help. I wish to go back home.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at him, raising a hand and covering your mouth as you did.

“Home? Your home is far away, you need to rest.” You laughed at him like he was silly, attempting to lay a consoling hand on his thigh with blue and white crystal bracelets jangling on your wrist.

Nanami gripped your hand before you could touch him however, keeping it locked in a tight grip between his strong fingers. He ignored the coldness of your skin in his grasp while your heart jumped at the feel of his warm palm wrapped around you.

“I don’t have the patience for your games. Where have you taken me and what do you plan to do with me?”

You huffed at the rudeness in his tone, slowly pulling your hand out of his grasp and laying it back in your lap.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him.

“Could you stop being so hostile? I’m not going to hurt you… besides, if I wanted you dead would I have patched your leg? Would I have cleaned you? Would I have brought you to my home?” You said exasperated, giving him an annoyed look as impatience settled over your blood like a thin sheen of syrup over a plate of berries.

That was a flaw of yours, your impatience.

Nanami looked down at his body when you mentioned it, seeing that he was now wearing a white button up shirt with the buttons left undone, his broad chest exposed to you in a way he didn’t doubt you orchestrated. His lower half however was merely covered in a set of blue striped boxers he heavily recognized as one of his own.

He clenched his jaw at that, feeling exposed and vulnerable in a whole new definition of the word.

“Don’t worry I didn’t bathe you per se. Just washed away the dirt I could find on the already exposed areas.” You leaned closer to him with a playful smile, voice a teasing whisper, “I didn’t peek, promise.”

Nanami cocked his head at you, “No pants?” He deadpanned, ignoring your previous statement.

You flickered your eyes down to the blue boxers he wore, then back up to his face with the same kittenish smile on your lips.

“Oops. I must’ve forgot.” You lied flawlessly if only nonchalantly, leaning back away from him to your original sitting position.

Nanami frowned at that; he almost sneered at you, but managed to remain calm as he stared at you with irritation inflamed in his brown eyes.

You bit your lip to hide a widening smile.

“Well, did you hear what I said? I’m not trying to hurt you. I found you lying in the grass covered in your own blood and dirt… I thought you were dead, I would have felt guilty if I just left you there. So I brought you to my home and I fixed your leg. I did a rather nice job, don’t ya think?” You spared him a story that wasn’t necessarily a lie but not necessarily the whole truth either. It was a simpler version of events you knew he’d have no problem brushing off.

Nanami, of course, didn’t believe you anyway. He believed you had found him, yes, but not how you had claimed to. He believed there was more to the story, details you pointedly overlooked and purposefully forgotten.

He swallowed tensely, his strong body stiff and rigid like he was preparing for something to happen, heart beating in his ears and anticipation buzzing at his finger tips.

He wanted to question you, ask every question and hear every answer but he was too smart to blatantly antagonize someone he didn’t know. He knew you were off, maybe not entirely there, but he didn’t know what you were in the sense of your capabilities. He knew your small frame was misleading, your wide smile deceptive, your pretty little eyes twinkling stars of mischief behind glittering pools of blue.

You weren’t to be trusted and you weren’t to be taken lightly; you were strange and otherworldly beautiful; a kind of deadly combination he’s never had good experiences with in the past. Sirens were enticing just as you but nowhere near as cunning, pirates were fearless just as he but nowhere near as smart.

He refused to be the drunken, belligerent fool falling into your deep, hungry waters.

“Could you tell me your name? That way, we won’t be strangers.”

He eyed you with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, knowing he needed to play this silly game of yours the right way if he ever planned on getting out of here. If things went according to plan you would soon be the pliable object of his carefully curated manipulation, the one with all the questions and none of the answers, the trickster who would soon be the tricked.

He gave you a disinterested, cautious look, raising his chin at you, “Kento. And yours?” He replied shortly, not necessarily interested in hearing anything you had to say but knowing it was better to play along with your delusion than reap the consequences of not.

You hummed pleasurably at that, ignoring his question altogether, “Kento…”

You beamed at the sound of his name despite his impudence, loving the sound of it being pronounced in your voice, the way your tongue moved around every letter in your mouth as you said it.

His name was handsome, he was handsome.

You leaned towards him once more as a sense of demented idolatry swelled in your chest; you wanted to be close to him, feel his ribs enclosed around your lungs and hear his deep voice in your head. Hear his heart beat in your chest and feel his blood mesh with yours — you wanted to be one, to think, to feel, to have him.

He could see the almost manic look in your eye as you looked at him. He was disturbed by it, tried to lean away but couldn’t, already pressed as flat as he could be against your black, wooden wall.

You bared him a wide smile that glimmered the whiteness of your sharp teeth, “We’re going to have so much fun together…”

𝜗𝜚𝕤𝕦𝕘𝕒𝕣 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 ✧･ﾟ: *

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tunaababee · 7 months ago

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we will be everything we say - a feysand friends-to-lovers AU 💖

masterlist // fic playlist // read on AO3 // overall rating: e // wc this chapter: 2.3k // updates Mondays (aest)

Feyre Archeron has been best friends with Rhysand Sterling ever since she moved onto the same street when they were kids - the two became absolutely joined at the hip, with nothing able to come between them.

As they get older, life gets more complicated and things get harder. Not everything comes as naturally as it once did. People change, things happen, friends... drift.

But after drifting apart, maybe life can push them back together again, in time.

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welcome to my very first feysand longfic! this fic is planned to be eight chapters long. while the fic is rated e overall as smut will eventually happen (spoilers i guess lol), this chapter is as clean as it gets haha.

i hope you all like it! as always, big props to my beta reader @climbthemountain2020 who is forever and always my favourite cheerleader!!!

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Chapter 1: five and six

The sunlight beat down warmly against the soft, plasticky material that covered the entire expanse of the playground. Kids yelling and chatting, scraping knees, throwing balls and playing with toys. Parents murmuring and chuckling amongst themselves, reading books or watching intently. It was a beautiful day for a Sunday in the town of Prythian and it seemed that nobody was going to let it go to waste. The flowers and shrubs that surrounded the edges of the playground were on full display, spring in full bloom around them.

Little Feyre Archeron had mixed feelings about these days. She did love them sometimes, sure - the sun was very nice against her skin, and the flowers around them were very beautiful. The bright and sunny day did make the colours of the playground look bright and enticing... But at the same time, she very much preferred to fill in her colouring book to her heart’s content inside. Feyre didn’t have to worry about losing her favourite crayon colours or pencils in there, nor did she have to share them with anybody but her sisters if they were at home. Nesta and Elain didn’t even really use them that much - it worked out great! However, Feyre did love any excuse for her father to take her and her sisters out for the day, especially when it meant ice cream afterwards. So she sat at a picnic table, a fierce intensity in her little frown, as she tried to make the prettiest Princess Ariel anybody in this playground had ever seen. Elain was busy playing shop with Nesta underneath one of the play structures, Nesta making sure that nobody was trying to cut her younger sister an unfair deal or push her around while their dad kept Nesta in check about being too mean to any of the other kids.

Feyre barely paid attention to her sisters, let alone any of the other kids on the playground. She was going to create a masterpiece.

That is, until, a slight shadow was cast along the bottom of her colouring page, shading Ariel’s feet and preventing Feyre from seeing it properly.

“Hey!” She grumbled, turning around before meeting the gaze of a little boy with a mess of black, slightly curly hair atop his head and deep blue eyes. He was slightly taller, slightly older, but not by much. “Your shadow is getting in the way of my Ariel picture.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He stared down at his feet a little, shuffling to the side and out of the way of Feyre’s colouring book. “Um. Can I sit here too?”

“If you want. But you can’t colour in on this page, this one’s mine! My sister Nesta already coloured another page of mine and it was very rude.” Feyre huffed slightly at the memory before returning attention to her page.

“That’s okay.” He shuffled onto the bench, sitting right up next to her and watching intently with a little amazement in his eyes. “Wow, you’re really good at colouring. It’s all in the lines and everything!”

Feyre couldn’t help but feel a large sense of pride swell in her chest at that - nobody ever paid attention to how much care she put into her colouring in. It was her favourite thing to do, and she wanted to draw pictures just as pretty as the ones she would colour in when she got older. She gave the boy a big, toothy grin.

“Thank you! I’m almost done, I just need to finish her shoes. You can colour the next one with me if you want. You just need to be careful with the crayons, they’re my special ones.” She looked back down at her page with the same intensity as before, but with a little more excitement about her as she scrambled to finish the picture so she could partake in the next with her new buddy.

“I will, I promise! My name is Rhysand, but I like to be called Rhys. I’m six!” He held his little hand out with enthusiasm, his skin a warm golden brown and a face full of hope. “Maybe we can be friends!”

Feyre paused a moment, taking care to place her colouring implements delicately on the page before taking his hand and shaking it up and down furiously. Just like all the serious grown-ups do, right? “My name’s Feyre, I’m five so I’m nearly as big as you. I’d really like to be friends with you - I haven’t been here very long, so I don’t know anybody else yet. My mommy and daddy said we had to come here for daddy’s work.”

She let go of his hand to put the last touches on Ariel’s shoes, taking a triumphant look at it before turning the page. A stark black and white depiction of Aladdin and Princess Jasmine - him in his normal outfit and Jasmine in her princess outfit, of course. Rhys let out a little gasp of excitement, searching excitedly through Feyre’s crayons before pulling out a purple one. “Oh, Aladdin is my favourite! He looks just like me!”

“Aladdin is pretty cool. I think Jasmine’s clothes are sooooo pretty, and she even gets to have a pet tiger! She’s really brave.”

They both set to colouring in, Feyre taking her time and trying her best to impress her new friend even further with her awesome colouring skills. Rhys wasn’t as great at staying in the lines as her, but that was okay. They were having fun together, and Feyre felt a little less alone than she had when they had first arrived at the park. She loved Elain and Nesta, but they always stuck together and it could make her feel a little left out. But Rhys? Rhys was her friend. She hoped they could stick together just like her sisters did, too.

The two chattered away incessantly as they coloured, even moving to do their own little drawings all around Aladdin and Jasmine and trying to make a silly story out of the whole thing. Rhys said that he knew a lot of kids, but not many of them really talked to or played with him very much. His dad was really busy, but his mom always did her best to make him feel special. They went out together a lot, and it was always the favourite part of his day. Feyre told him how her sisters were 7 and 8 years old and they always thought she was a bit too little to play a lot of their games with her, which was SO unfair because she’s a big kid too! She talked of how her dad liked to treat them to ice cream after their park adventures, and how her mom never, ever really liked taking them and always seemed to be a bit cranky, but that was okay. We can’t be happy all the time - she knew that from when she couldn’t get her drawings to look just like how she wanted them to or when her and her sisters were playing Barbies and it wasn’t going how Feyre thought it should. Why can’t her Barbie have cool superpowers AND live in the dreamhouse?

It definitely made Feyre feel more than justified when Rhys wholeheartedly agreed with her.

Soon enough though, the peak sunlight of the day had started to wane a little, beginning to hide behind the few clouds that decided to rear their heads in the sky. Her dad began to walk over to her, Nesta and Elain holding each of his hands. Nesta, unsurprisingly, looked a bit cross while Elain was jumping for joy.

“Feyre, honey, it’s time for us to go so we can get some ice cream. Come on, pack up your book and your crayons so we can take them home.”

Feyre pouted furiously at her father, bottom lip getting slightly wobbly as she crossed her arms.

“But I don’t wanna go yet! I wanna stay with my friend!”

“Your friend might have to go home soon, too. We should let him get back to his parents.” Her father looked exhausted, already tired of this fight and wanting to simply take them back into their regular routine.

“I don’t wanna! He won’t have anyone else to play with!”

“Feyre, honey-”

“Rhys? Rhys, baby, where’d you go?” A woman with hair as pitch black as Rhysand’s came walking over with a smile across her face as her son waved at her from the other side of the park. There was no way this could be anybody but his mother, and she seemed so kind and warm in her demeanour right from the start.

“Mama! I made a new friend! This is Feyre!” He went bounding over to her without a second thought, babbling excitedly to her about everything they had talked about earlier. His mother had kneeled down to be eye level with him, before turning her gaze on Feyre with that same warm smile.

“Really? Well, it’s lovely to meet you Feyre.”

“...N-Nice to meet you.” She was a little shy around grown-ups she didn’t know, but if it was Rhys’ mother, Feyre could will herself to be brave. Feyre’s dad waved at Rhys’ mother, reaching a hand out to make introductions.

“Hey there. I’m Gerald, Feyre’s dad.”

“Rebecca, I’m Rhysand’s mom. Nice to meet you.”

Feyre’s dad gave her a polite, if not slightly strained, smile before trying to urge Feyre to come with him despite his full hands and her open defiance.

“Come on Feyre, if you don’t use your listening ears, we won’t get any ice cream.”

“But can’t Rhys come? He’s my friend! He should get ice cream too!” Feyre pointed at her friend with a stubbornness that ran through the Archeron women that wouldn’t be diluted, even in childhood. Rebecca couldn’t help but look at Feyre with a softness in her eyes, glad that her son was finally starting to make friends.

“We don’t get to choose that for him, baby. Come on-”

“Oh, I think we might have some time to go for ice cream. What do you think, Rhys?” She grabbed Rhys’ hand as he pumped a little fist in the air, Feyre beaming at him before she took that free hand with gusto.

Feyre’s dad mouthed a ‘thank you’ at Rebecca, her giving a wave in a universal indication of ‘no problem’. The group of six took up the entirety of the pathway, the two parents hanging back a little bit to chat whilst the four rambunctious kids led the way. Rhys led the charge, knowing the way to the ice cream parlour like the back of his hand while he and Feyre swung their hands together between them. The two avoided cracks in the pavement, nearly falling over each other several times, but the air was filled with laughter and probably the most talking Feyre had ever done since they had moved to Prythian in the first place. After a few careful reminders not to cross the road without their adults, to look both ways and to not be silly as they crossed the few stretches of road that laid between them and the ice cream parlour, they arrived at their destination. The minute they were inside, Feyre practically pressed her face against the glass of the service counter to look at all the flavours they had.

“What flavour are you gonna get?” Rhys mumbled to her, staring with just as much want and hunger in his eyes at the gallons of ice cream before them.

“Choc mint. That one’s my favourite. What about you?”

“Choc mint is okay, but I like boysenberry the most. It even has all the cool swirlies in it!” He pointed excitedly through the glass, Feyre making a small face.

“Mm. That’s a good choice. It’s really pretty.” Feyre pulled away from the glass to lightly tap at her father’s arm, relaying her order as Rhys did the same with his mom before they all sat down at the biggest booth they had available.

“Since you two walked to the ice cream parlour with us, are you just parked here or do you live nearby?” Gerald asked Rebecca, the kids too busy waiting impatiently for their orders to be delivered to their table to pay attention to what they were talking about.

“We’re not too far from here, just a block or two over on Orion Avenue.”

“Ah, same street as us then.” Feyre’s ears perked up at that.

“Oh, you’re the ones who moved into number 31 then? We’re a few doors down at 25.” Rebecca mussed up Rhys’ hair with a grin, pressing a kiss to the top of his head as the two ever-excitable children looked at each other.

“You’re at number 31! That means we’re almost neighbours! We can play all the time!”

“I can show you all my cool toys!”

“I can show you all my toys too! This is so awesome! Mama, can I go play at Feyre’s one day?” Rhys’ little face was full of wonder as he looked up at his mother, practically pleading with her.

“One day, yeah! But her parents have to say yes, too. I think after we have our ice cream we’ve all had enough adventure for one day, though.”

As if she had spoken it into existence, the heaped cups of ice cream were placed in front of everyone and they didn’t hesitate to dig in.

After ice cream, the group proceeded to walk home together in the reddened rays of a setting sun on a beautiful afternoon, the two fast friends holding hands the whole way home. Before they had to go their separate ways though, Feyre and Rhys shared a tight hug.

“You’re my best friend now, so we have to play together all the time, okay?” Feyre whispered to him, like it was a secret just for the two of them.

“Okay! I’ll see you later, Feyre!”

Rhys and Feyre waved at each other before walking into their homes, not knowing that in that moment they’d found a soft place to land in one another for years to come.

#feysand #rhysand x feyre archeron #fanfiction #rhysand #feyre archeron #acotar #acotar fanfiction #friends to lovers

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princess-geek · 2 months ago

Text

White Peonies (Part II)

Book: Desire & Decorum

Series: Unspoken Desires (Modern Desire & Decorum AU)

Summary: Another peek into the past, this time to lift the veil on Mary’s life and three generations of fascinating women of the Howard family. (Parte I here)

Main Pairing: Vincent Foredale x Mary Howard.

Word Count: +/- 7572 words

Rating: General (but with light mentions to adult/violent situations, sickness and death).

Notes: 💖English is not my first language. Please, excuse me for any typos /or grammatical errors. 💖Special thanks to @rosesnink for proofreading.

💖 This is my submission for @choicesficwriterscreations ‘Fics of the week’

On the previous chapter...

Hurting her finger, Mary snatched the ring and threw it at him. Her hand was bleeding, but what were a few scratches on a finger compared with the abyss that he had opened in her heart?

Vincent took the ring from the floor. “Mary, my love, please, don’t do this.”

“Don’t dare to call me that ever again! Get out of my house! Now!”

Vincent did as she had told him. Tears ran down his face as he collected his belongings. She couldn't look at him.

As soon as he closed the door, Mary collapsed, crying her pain and screaming her fury.

The young woman lost count of the hours she spent in that dark hole. When Mary came to her senses, she looked out the window and saw that it was a starry night.

Her whole body hurt. As for her heart, Mary wasn't sure if it was there or not. She felt frozen. With great effort, she dragged herself from the floor to the sofa, covering herself with a blanket forgotten on the floor. It was impossible to return to the same bed where hours before they had worshipped each other and pledged their love.

Mary didn't know if she had slept or not, but in the morning, she felt desperately hungry, despite not feeling like eating. She tried to eat a couple of biscuits; however, her stomach didn’t hold them for long.

At some point in the day, she heard Vincent at her door. He stayed there for hours, begging her to listen to him. Fortunately, a neighbour threatened to call the police if he didn't leave, and Vincent eventually did. This happened repeatedly all week.

For days, Mary barely moved from the couch. When her tears dried up until the next round, lethargy took over her.

Around the weekend, Mrs. Lemay could persuade Mary to open the door. Although she had not read the article on Sunday, articles about the upcoming wedding multiplied in the newspapers over the week.

She found her friend a wreck. Mrs. Lemay was not going to allow the young girl to sink into heartbreak. She made Mary have a bath, changed the bedsheets, and cooked her a proper dinner.

“Luckily, there is not a word about you. At least, you will not be publicly persecuted by this shadow forever.” Mrs. Lemay tried to console her.

“Screw my reputation.” Mary mumbled between spoons of soup.

“Vincent was in my office looking for you, desperate for any information about your whereabouts.”

“Screw him too! He was at my door several times. I am not interested in anything he has to say.”

Thinking that it might bring Mary some peace, Mrs. Lemay told her that there were rumours going around that the Foredale were broke and the marriage was purely a business deal, despite the excitement about the engagement in the magazines.

“She’s a fat cat widow. It’s the tale as old as time: She gives the money, and he gives the title.” Mrs. Lemay concluded.

“It's always nice to know I am worth less than a couple of thousand pounds.”

“If the rumours are true, he is being sold as a horse. It’s a pity.” Mary mumbled something unintelligible. “I know you are hurt and furious, I’d be too.” Mrs. Lemay continued. “Nevertheless, this is all very odd, Mary. Vincent is in love with you in a way I've seen few people in love with someone. Since that night at St. James's, I have seen nothing in him but devotion to you. He'd rather lose an arm than make a scratch on you. I can't stop thinking there has to be a reasonable explanation for this.”

“Of course there is. In that case, there are thousands of reasons… in her bank account.” Mary sulked.

“He was not convinced when I claimed I couldn't help him. I’m sure he will keep trying to reach you, and I think you should give him a chance to explain himself. You might regret it if you don't,” Mrs. Lemay insisted.

“He betrayed my trust in him. I think I would rather have caught him in bed with her than this circus. He has been playing with me for months, like I was a doll. I won't be his or anyone else's doll.” Mary was adamant.

“Anger and pain are not good advisors. You need to clear your head. Why don't you go spend a few days in your hometown? Some days away from London will help you organise your head and heart.”

“I will not change my mind.”

“You may not change your mind, but you need to think about what you're going to do from now on. Life doesn't stop just because your heart is broken.”

Following her advice, Mary decided to spend a few weeks in Grovershire.

Mrs. Lemay was right. Leaving London didn't glue the pieces of her heart together. However, focusing on making repairs to her grandparents' cottage and garden made Mary find some serenity in the midst of the chaos.

That house was full of so many good memories that even sadness gave her some respite.

While she was cleaning up things in the kitchen, Mary found her grandmother's handmade 'Moka'. It was one of the few things that Elena had brought with her from Italy.

“I only had three things in my suitcase: an old coat, the 'Moka' and the recipe book that I stole from my mother.” Elena told her granddaughter many times.

When she was a little girl, Mary fascinatedly watched her grandmother prepare coffee there, as if it were a magical ritual. Her favourite part was sucking on the spoon after Elena added the sugar.

It was the best coffee in the world, and Mary could still almost taste it. She ran to the grocery store to buy coffee beans. Replicating her grandmother's ritual made her feel really good for the rest of that day.

Grovershire itself had little changed. Mary missed many familiar faces and came face-to-face with new ones in the neighbourhood.

The new and old neighbours were curious about her extended stay, and, of course, theories about it soon emerged through the inhabitant’s small talk. To avoid uncomfortable questions, Mary said that her fiancé, Vincent Ford, had died in a car accident, and she was spending some time there to get herself together.

Although it was a hoax, for her it was not entirely a lie. She really felt that the man she loved had died on that day.

Right across the street, George Daly, her former classmate and neighbour, had married Pavarti, an Indian girl who had arrived there in their final year of high school.

They weren't very close at that time, yet Pavarti was the first to go to the cottage to visit her. Although she was in the last trimester of her pregnancy, Pavarti helped in whatever way she could, especially in the garden.

Between pulling weeds and planting flowers, there was time for long conversations. A deep friendship blossomed between the two young women. Pavarti was the only one who knew the truth about Vincent.

George spent many days away because of his work, so it was common for them to cook together. One late afternoon, Pavarti was cooking dinner. Mary suddenly left the kitchen, without saying a word. Pavarti found her on the balcony.

“If you don't feel like my fish curry and chips, just say so, you don’t need to run away from my kitchen. I have some roast lamb from the weekend in the fridge...”

“I'm sorry, Pavarti, but I think I'll have dinner. I think the tea house's chocolate cake wasn't as fresh as it should have been.”

“Are you sure it was just the chocolate cake? You barely touched it. In fact, you have barely eaten.”

“Nerves are bad for my stomach. It has always happened to me since I was little.”

“How long have you been feeling this way?”

“I don’t know exactly, maybe for a few weeks now. Not just the stomach. Everything in me has been messed up since...that day.” Mary still had difficulties referring to the topic.

“Have you considered the possibility of being pregnant?” Mary looked at Pavarti as if she had uttered the most absurd of statements. Parvati went away for a while and came back with a small box in her hand. “Take it! You can do it here or at home, but the sooner you know, the better.”

After spending most of the night looking at the little box, Mary did so. After the time stated in the instructions, the result appeared. She was so nervous that it took her some time to understand the meaning of the two lines.

Becoming a mother was one of Mary’s dreams. They had planned a family. They joked about having a child born in that millennium and the next in the new one. They agreed on almost everything except where they would raise them. London was off the table.

Now that dream was real, and Vincent wasn't there. And for the first time, she didn't want him there either.

This was no longer just about her and her broken heart. On the one hand, she was terrified. It was impossible not to think about her mother's case. More than raising a baby alone, Mary was afraid that something would happen and prevent her from taking care of him or her. Unfortunately, the child would not be as lucky as she was. There were no loving grandparents to watch over her. On the other hand, finding out that a child was on the way was an unexpected comfort to her. No matter what twists and turns life had on its sleeve for her, Mary wouldn't be alone anymore.

The blood tests confirmed her calculations. The baby would be born around November.

“When will you tell the father the good news?” Pavarti asked her some days later.

“I will not tell him.”

“You should, and, deep down, you know you should. Who knows, maybe this is an opportunity for the two of you to find a way...”

“If our love was not important enough for him to care and come to me and give a decent explanation for what happened, then I don't consider him important enough to be part of the baby's life.”

“You are the one who didn't want to give him that opportunity!” Pavarti tried to reason with Mary.

Mary knew she was contradicting herself, but the young woman was irreducible. Her wounded heart and pride only fuelled her stubbornness. “The wedding will be on May 2nd, do you think there is any point in doing or saying anything, Pavarti?”

Mary told Mrs. Lemay about her new situation. Although Mary's absence caused her inconvenience and money loss, she was the first to advise the singer to take a break to take care of the baby and herself.

The music producers were not very happy with the news. Even though without stating it clearly, they implied that if the baby was her priority at the moment, she would lose the 'privileged place she had on their artists’ list'.

Mary imagined that would happen. A woman with a baby was the eighth plague of Egypt. Now that she was so close, she was going back to square one.

Baby Briar came into the world on Easter Sunday, keeping her busy while Pavarti recovered from the tough labour. Around that time, the symptoms of the first few weeks gave her a truce, and Mary began to feel better.

The most difficult thing was the ban on coffee. When she felt like drinking coffee, Mary opened the ground coffee pot and smelled it until it satisfied her craving.

Days later, when trying to put on her jeans, Mary became aware of her belly for the first time. It wasn't very prominent yet, but it was already noticeable that things were changing.

By the end of the month, Mary went to London for a few days. With the wedding so close, it would be very unlikely that Vincent would be there.

She had her first ultrasound. Hearing her baby's heartbeat for the first time made her worries disappear for a few minutes. She would never forget that beat.

The midwife noticed that Mary was looking worriedly at the white spots that were appearing on the screen. “Don't worry, my dear, the baby is fine. With a little luck, within a few days, we'll be able to find out the baby's gender. Let me guess: You want a boy, and the father wants a girl.” She smiled.

Mary pretended she didn't hear the question. The midwife took her hand and placed it on her belly. “You two are already a wonderful family.”

Her savings wouldn't last forever, so Mary took the opportunity to give some concerts that Mrs. Lemay had arranged for her.

Returning to her flat after a concert, Mary found a man in a suit at her door. He was tall, had grey hair and a beard, and had a stern face. She recognised the same shade of blue as Vincent's eyes, but instead of his sweetness, Mary only saw coldness.

She instinctively covered her belly with her handbag and took a few steps back. Two men grabbed her.

“Good evening, Mary Howard. I've been looking for you everywhere. I would like to say it's a pleasure to finally meet you, but I hope this is the first and last time we meet.”

“What do you want from me?” Mary tried to free herself from their arms.

“Put her inside.” The Earl commanded.

While one grabbed Mary tightly, the other found the key and opened the door. They dragged her inside and locked the door. She tried to shout, but a hand covered her mouth.

“I thought that if I saw you with my own eyes, I would understand my son's fascination, but you are not even that pretty.” He mocked, as his eyes roamed her body. Mary noticed that he saw the bump. She felt a shiver run down her spine. “Are you with a child?” He asked. Mary didn't answer him. She could see his fury rising. “It cannot be my son’s!” Mary remained in silence. The Earl slapped her face with such force that if it weren't for the two men holding her, she would have fallen to the ground. “You damned whore, how dare you get pregnant? Wasn't it enough to be a bastard yourself? I can guess what your plan was, but this ends here!”

For few seconds, Mary could barely hear the insults he spewed from his mouth. Her mouth was still numb from the slap. She felt the taste of blood on her tongue. “My baby will never be a bastard. I will be a mother, a father, and everything my child needs!” She cried.

“I don't care what you or that creature you are carrying will be. You will disappear from my son’s life forever!”

“Breaking news, Rupert Foredale: I'm the one who wants my baby to have nothing to do with your family. Unfortunately, I couldn't prevent this child from having your blood. No baby deserves to have a father who is a coward, a cheater, and liar, and much less such a despicable being like you as a grandfather.”

The Earl was going to slap her again. Luckily, or out of charity, the bodyguards moved her out of the way of his hand.

“I never trusted people like you. With some luck, the baby isn't even Vincent's. I warned my son several times that he could have fun, but not to be foolish. I should be used to his weaknesses by now. When I was young, I also had a lover who was an artist, a sculptress. She was very skilled with her hands...for everything.” A wicked smile appeared on his lips for a moment. “She was my lover and, I later learned, the lover of every young man in London with any money in his pocket.” After saying it, Rupert took some papers from inside his coat. “Listen very carefully to what I will say to you, whore: you will sign the papers and disappear from my son's life forever. As I am a good Christian, in return, you will get 10,000 pounds. If you dare to open that mouth of yours about my son or what happened between you, you will rot in jail!”

Mary spat at the contract. “My dignity is not for sale. And, unlike you, I would never sell a child to pay for my mistakes.”

She was pushing him to the limit. The Earl was blind with rage. He wasn't used to being defied like that. Rupert tore up the agreement. He took a pistol from his pocket and placed it against Mary's forehead.

“This was your last chance. If you or your bastard ever try to get close to us, I won't be so benevolent. I will make you botg disappear from the face of the earth even if I have to do it with my own hands.”

In a matter of seconds, the lights went out, and they dropped Mary on the floor. As quickly as they had appeared, they disappeared into the night.

Mary couldn't believe what just happened. From what Vincent told her, Mary knew that Earl was not a model of kindness, not even towards his own blood. She didn't expect him to rejoice over the baby; However, not even her greatest fears could imagine such brutality.

After the shock of the first few minutes, the adrenaline subsided. She was feeling a very intense pain, but she couldn't pinpoint where it was. Her baby. The panic set in. If something had happened to the baby, she would kill the Earl with her own hands.

Supporting herself against the wall, Mary managed to get up and call Mrs. Lemay. She didn't care about her bruises. Mary just wanted to hear her baby's heartbeat.

Mrs. Lemay called for a favour and rushed Mary to a private clinic. She refused to be examined without knowing if the baby was okay first. The doctor assured Mary that the baby was fine, but she only calmed down when he showed her the baby on the monitor.

He was silent for a few minutes, looking at the small screen. Mary was about to panic again. “What’s wrong, doctor?”

“Don’t worry, Miss. It's nothing bad. Do you know your baby’s gender?” Mary waved no. “I wasn't going to mention it because I am not absolutely sure. I think you are having a girl.”

Upon learning that the baby was fine, Mary went into autopilot mode. Besides the bruises, the doctor found out she had a broken rib. After taking care of her, Mrs. Lemay took the singer to her home. Exhausted, Mary slept for hours. When she awoke, Mrs. Lemay was waiting for her with a light meal.

“What happened was a crime, Mary. You should go to the police.”

“I have no proofs besides my bruises. Who do you think they would believe? An Earl or a pub singer?

“He is dangerous, Mary, and you confronted him!” Mrs. Lemay insisted. “If he was capable of doing this now, there's no guarantee that he won't do it again... or do something worse.”

“He's afraid I will look for his son and ruin his marriage with the widow. I believe that as soon as they get married and the Earl sees I didn’t lift a finger, he will forget about me and my daughter.”

“So, what are you going to do now? London is not safe.”

“I'm going back to Grovershire and staying there for a while. The Earl doesn't know about my grandparents' house, or he would have gone there. It is far enough from London and from them. I need calm and security for my daughter. Then I will see what my next step will be.”

“Have you thought about names for the baby?” Mrs. Lemay asked to change to a happier subject.

“Beatrice.” Mary smiled, caressing her bump. “Vincent would have liked it too.” She couldn't stop herself from thinking about it.

“Why don't you ask him in person?”

“Even if I wanted...which I don’t want...I can’t take that risk now. Even if we survive Rupert Foredale's wrath, you know the fate of the bastard children. My child will not be exiled to a boarding school.”

Mary did as she said. With the help of Mrs. Lemay and other friends from work, all of Mary's (few) belongings were loaded into a van the following night. As Vincent's forgotten objects appeared, Mrs. Lemay discreetly saved them from the trash. She was thinking that perhaps the child would later look for a connection with the father.

Back in Grovershire, Mary kept as low a profile as possible. Trying to camouflage, she began to introduce herself as ‘Helen’. Those who knew her found it strange. Mary justified her choice, saying she was known in London by that name. She had chosen it as a stage name in honour of her grandmother.

People thought it was eccentric, but they eventually got used to it.

Her belly was becoming less and less discreet. Comments on her obvious situation were inevitable, as well as comparisons with her mother's case. The most charitable hearts felt sorry for her situation. Losing her fiancé in a tragic accident and now having a child to take care of... It was a very hard blow from fate.

The poisonous ones were not so compassionate. Their tongues distilled all kinds of gossip about her: that she was a luxury escort in London (the nastiest said directly prostitute), others that she was the rejected lover of a married man, that the child's father was in prison... Mary knew her truth, yet some days weren't easy with that background buzz. Fortunately, she had the Daly’s on her side.

She didn't like perpetuating a lie, but it was the best truth she could tell. It would be better for both the child and her. Like her, Beatrice would not suffer for someone she had never met. Following her grandparents' example, Mary would make sure her daughter received so much love that she wouldn't miss a thing. It would protect her from Rupert and more heartbreak.

The following ultrasounds confirmed that it was a girl and that she was growing strong and healthy.

Meanwhile, Parvati returned to her work as a seamstress. Mary took care of Briar and in return, Pavarti was sewing her a layette fit for a princess.

During the day, between helping out at the Dalys' house and preparing her own for the baby's arrival, neither Mary's head nor her heart had time to worry about the past or the future. However, many of the nights were full of nightmares about Rupert; others were sleepless, planning all possible future scenarios.

On Halloween evening, Mary felt the first contractions. While Pavarti was finishing the hem of a dress, she was playing on the floor with Briar and felt an intense pain that paralysed her. Recognising the signs, Pavarti helped her get up and set her down on the sofa.

That night was just a warning, but on Tuesday early morning, the contractions came back in force. Mary was terrified of what was happening. What the doctor and the midwife had explained, the books she had read, Pavarti's advice...all of her preparation and plans were gone.

George and Pavarti drove her to the hospital.

As the hours passed, the pain increased, becoming intense and almost constant. Despite telling her that she was doing great and that the baby would soon be in her arms, Mary was losing her strength.

During one of the strongest contractions, for the first time in months, she wished Vincent was there beside her. For a few moments, she was filled with a whirlwind of memories with him. She could almost hear his voice smoothing her. Another strong contraction brought her back to reality. There was no use dwelling on the past. Her daughter was all that mattered now.

After hours of pain and fear, at nightfall on November 2, 1994, her daughter was born. Hearing the sweet shrill sound of her daughter's cries was a relief. Having Beatrice in her arms for the first time was a new kind of happiness she never thought possible.

Even though she was ruddy and grumpy like all newborns, in Mary's eyes, Beatrice was the pinnacle of cuteness, with her full cheeks, thick brown hair, and big eyes.

Around midnight, Beatrice fell asleep in her mother's arms. Exhausted, Mary also fell into a deep sleep.

A couple of hours later, she woke up with a start, thinking she heard the baby crying. Everything was quiet in the ward, including her daughter. However, the door was ajar. Mary saw a pair of eyes watching them through the crack. “Who is there?” She asked instinctively, placing herself in front of the crib. The pair of eyes disappeared.

The next morning, after making sure that everything was fine with both of them, the issue of the father inevitably arose. Again, Mary told the best truth she could:  she had met the father at a party, they had spent the night together, and they had never seen each other again. She claimed she didn't know any information about him other than his first name.

While she was trying to breastfeed Beatrice, a social worker with dubious intentions came to talk to her, asking some questions, pointing out the challenges of being a young single mother and the possibility of giving her baby up for adoption.

Mary was about to lose patience with her when the Dalys came in to visit them. The couple promptly shooed the nosy woman away. Pavarti helped Mary dress Beatrice and put a small pink bow on her head. Then, George took the first portrait of Beatrice. 

Briar was very curious about the new baby, whimpering if they moved her away from the crib.

Rocking her daughter by the window, the light illuminated every detail of her features. Mary noticed that Beatrice had a lot of Vincent in her. How she wished she could make Rupert eat his words.

A couple of days later, mother and daughter were back home. “Welcome home, my love.” Mary kissed her daughter's head. “It may not be Buckingham Palace, but we're going to make it our realm.”

As long as she was well fed, Beatrice was (most days) an easy baby. Despite some sleepless nights, the many health scares typical of newborns, and hormone shenanigans, Mary felt like she was in a bubble of happiness. Her daughter's birth had not miraculously healed her heart, but she was the glue that was holding the pieces together.

As the weeks went by, Beatrice was growing healthy and becoming more active and playful.

Mary's savings were dwindling at the same rate.

There weren't many job opportunities there, so Mary had to take a job at a local pub. Since Pavarti worked from home, she took care of the two babies during the day. At the end of the day, Mary helped her friend taking home some simpler pieces of clothing and making small sewing arrangements. She had never felt so grateful for the hours her grandmother forced her to learn how to sew. Despite it, she felt like she could never repay the kindness they showed her.

The young mother felt exhausted every night, but holding her daughter in her arms, playing with her, smelling her sweet scent, seeing how much she was growing day by day gave Mary the strength to carry one each morning.

Beatrice never lacked anything necessary, even if that sometimes meant just soup for Mary’s dinner. There were many things she wanted to give her daughter, but she couldn't afford them, even if it might be lacking, Mary made up for it with love.

-----

The year 1999 began full of hope. Although it wasn't technically the turn of the millennium, there was in the air the excitement of the end of an era, with a world of possibilities knocking on the door.

Now that the girls were a little older, the Dalys were planning to have another child. Mary was considering changing careers. Her idea was to return to the music world by giving private lessons.

Unfortunately, in April, a series of attacks shocked the United Kingdom and destroyed the dreams of the young family. George Daly was passing through Brick Lane on his way to meet his last client for the month when a nail bomb exploded. He did not survive his injuries and passed away a couple of days later.

Parvati was devastated. She cried for the loss of the love of her life and the loss of everything that Briar would not have with her father, even though she was too young to fully understand what had happened.

Mary knew what a broken heart felt like. However, what Pavarti was suffering was beyond her understanding. Despite the troubled separation, the hurt, the anger, she knew that the love of her life was alive and well. There was always a faint light in her heart, even if her mind denied it.

Part of her friend had died with him that day. Mary knew it would not be possible to heal that wound. For months, every day, Mary fought the darkness that threatened to swallow Pavarti. She was determined to take care of the parts of her friend that remained, just as Pavarti had done with her.

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

All children grow up too quickly in their parent's eyes, and Mary felt that it was in the blink of an eye that Beatrice went from a baby to a primary school girl.

Apart from the struggle to get her up from bed in the mornings, some occasional tantrums, and some shenanigans here and there, Mary felt blessed. Beatrice was very curious, eager to learn, always exploring the small world around her and asking many questions, some trivial, some more philosophical.

Even though she was little more than a child, Mary realised that her daughter had inherited her wit and passion. It gave her some peace of mind. Having a sharp spirit would protect her and help her succeed in whatever path she chose.

Mary wanted to teach her how to play the piano, but her daughter didn't seem to have the muse of music awake inside her, although Beatrice's voice was naturally in tune.

Nonetheless, as she grew up, the Vincent features stood out more and more in her, and not just physically. Like her father, Beatrice loved books, always asking to read stories. When an adult couldn’t read to her, she made up her own stories with what she saw in the illustrations and told them to Briar or to her dolls.

One night, Mary was sitting on her daughter's bed, dog-tired, praying for Beatrice to choose a small book. What was her surprise when her daughter appeared in the bedroom with her copy of 'Pride and Prejudice' in her hands.

“It's too long for a bedtime story.”

“I didn't ask you to read me everything at once. I was thinking about one chapter per night.”

“It's a story for older girls. You're going to find it boring.”

“How older?” Her inquisitive mode had just turned on.

That was a good question. Mary used her own example to answer, “Girls who are fourteen or fifteen.”

“I am five, it’s not that different! Plus, you always choose good stories, so I'm sure it won't be boring. I have seen you read it more than once.”

“You're going to regret asking me for this. It would be much more fun when you read it by yourself.” In vain, Mary tried to change her mind. She started reading the famous first lines.

“IT IS A TRUTH universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.

“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”

Night after night, chapter after chapter, Beatrice paid close attention to each line. Sometimes the sleep overcame the girl: however, there was use in trying to trick her. She always knew which page they were on before falling asleep. The reading took weeks, which ended up making story time easier for Mary.

With the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them.

“The end.” She dramatically closed the book. “So, what do you think?” Mary asked.

“It's a little like fairy tales, but without fairies? Mr Darcy is a little grumpy for Prince Charming. Her aunt fits the evil witch role, though. But I loved it!” As she tucked her in, Beatrice asked, “Do you think there are many Mr Darcys out there?”

“If you look for yours, you will find him.”

“How will I know?”

“You will know it. You will feel it. Your heart will scream it.”

“Papa was yours?”

Mary still had difficulty dealing with questions about Vincent. For Beatrice, she had chosen to keep the narrative of the father who died in a car accident days before their wedding day. Despite her inquisitive nature, Beatrice rarely questioned Mary about it. Probably because the girl saw the pain in her eyes when the subject was mentioned.

She had only asked her once to see a photograph of him. Mary made up the excuse that all his photos had been lost when they moved to Grovershire. She was sad but didn't ask again.

“All love stories are different. Like Darcy and Lizzie, there were some differences between us, but, unlike her, I think I loved your dad from day one.”

Mary had only seen him again in person once. They were visiting Mrs. Lemay in London for a weekend. Walking through Hyde Park, Mrs. Lemay was further ahead with Beatrice by the hand. Mary had stayed behind, enjoying the rare moment of peace that a mother of a toddler can have. There was a street stall selling ice cream, and she decided to go over to buy some. As she got closer, she saw him. She saw them: Vincent, his wife, an older boy, and a boy a little younger than Beatrice, buying ice cream as well.

That sight left her breathless and with a piercing pain in her stomach. It was a difficult feeling to explain. It had been a little more than a couple of years, however, while it seemed like the same Vincent, it was as if their past was just a dream or the delirium of a feverish night.

The youngest son was throwing a tantrum, and Vincent patiently tried to calm him down. He seemed to have become the fantastic father she knew he could be and that she had dreamed of for her and their children.

Mary turned away and walked forward, quickening her pace. There was no reason for her to torture herself with the past, suffer the present, and tempt fate. Such an encounter would only make things worse.

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

As soon as Beatrice learned to read, Mary got her a library card. If on the one hand this freed her from the daily bedtime story, but on the other, it stirred even more her daughter's eagerness. Mary often had to go to the library to return books that Beatrice stubbornly brought home, despite not being appropriate for her age.

Every night, Mary had to go back to her room to make her turn off the light and go to sleep. On Friday nights, she knew that her daughter, after being caught in the act, would read another chapter under the blankets by flashlight, however, she decided to pretend that she didn't know about it.

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

February, 2004

Sitting in the doctor's waiting room, Mary tried to focus on the gossip magazine. Her limbs were heavy and sore from trying to control her nerves.

It wouldn't be anything serious, Mary repeated to herself. She had always been a healthy lass. She was just an exhausted mother, like many others. Like Pavarti, who had insisted on accompanying her to the appointment. There was a wedding dress to urgently finish, yet there she was. The years did not expunge the loss, but they brought back the light of her best friend.

Daughters full of energy in Year 5, long hours of work, little sleep, months without a moment for themselves, bills hard to pay alone, the need to start preparing the girls' future... No wonder they were both in shambles.

At Pavarti's insistence, there she was, fearing the worst, hoping for the best.

“Helen Howard!” the nurse called. Mary wanted to get up, but her legs didn't allow her to do so for a few seconds.

After some small talk, the doctor delivered the news in the politest and least dramatic way possible. “The cancer is aggressive, and it’s in an advanced stage. However, you are a woman in the prime. The sick cells have used your strength to multiply, but that same strength can be used in your favour...” He proceeded to explain the options available in her case.

Mary feared the suffering caused by the treatments, she feared the doctor's lack of certainty, she feared death... but, above all, she was terrified by the idea of her little girl being alone in the world.

Leaving the doctor's office, Mary didn't know what to feel or what to think. It was as if she were possessed by a sharp pain, a paralysing numbness, while at the same time she was diving into a bottomless, icy lake.

Then the anger and frustration came. ‘Why her? Hadn't she suffered enough already?’

As the days went by, Mary wasn’t still conformed to the diagnosis, but took control of what was in her hands.

For Beatrice and a future with her, Mary made her mind up to religiously follow the treatments. Even if she couldn’t escape, any chance of spending more time with her daughter would be worth every discomfort.

In the following days, Mary's biggest concern was how to tell her about it. Unfortunately, or fortunately, children are very perceptive. So, it didn't take long for Beatrice to ask her mother directly what was happening.

Mary stopped chopping the vegetables for the soup and took a deep breath. She couldn't break down in front of her daughter. To buy some time, Mary poured two glasses of juice for both of them. After a couple of sips, the first shaky words left his lips.

“As you know, I had some medical exams. I went to the doctor last week to get the results. I am very ill, my love.” She tried to find gracious words in the English language, but emotions rushed things. “I have ovarian cancer. I am starting treatments next week.”

Beatrice was silent for a while. Mary could see in her daughter's expressions that she was processing what she had just heard. “But, after it, you're going to be okay, right?” She looked up at Mary with her big, sweet hazel eyes.

Mary didn't want to lie to her, but she didn't want to be overly optimistic. "I will do my best. The doctors will do their best, and with a little faith everything, will be okay.”

+++++++

Her grandmother got a similar surgery years ago as a preventative measure; therefore, the operation didn't scare her. Mary knew the secret was to get plenty of rest, so as she did, at least, as much as mother can do.

On the other hand, chemotherapy treatments were knocking her down. Pregnancy nausea was a child's play compared to what she was feeling. After the sessions, Mary felt so weak that she could barely get out of bed for days. When she finally started to feel better, it was time to do another one.

If it weren't for Beatrice, Mary was sure she couldn’t bear it.

As soon as her hair began to fall like leaves in autumn, she decided to cut it very short. Mary had always loved and pampered her hair, and her grandmother was to blame. She loved her granddaughter's hair and spent hours doing elaborate hairstyles. Elena Howard used to say, 'Tira più un capello di donna che cento paia di buoi'' (‘one hair of woman pulls more than a hundred pairs of oxen’). Mary only many years later understood the full meaning of these words.

However, more than her hurt vanity, seeing Beatrice cry when she faced her like that for the first time was much more painful.

Since Mary couldn’t afford a decent wig, she chose to wear headscarves. Parvati, using all the scraps of beautiful fabrics, sewed her headscarves in all patterns and colours.

+++++++

Despite all the ups and downs, Mary was enjoying that summer.

One more time in her life, she has a lot to be thankful for Parvati. Her friend was being tireless with her, spending the most critical nights close to her, preparing meals, taking care of Beatrice, driving her to and from the hospital... Mary knew she could never repay her, so she prayed that life would reward her with the same kindness.

Thanks to Pavarti's generosity, Mary was able to dedicate what little energy she had to her little girl, keeping these precious moments in her heart.

Beatrice spoiled her as best she could, with little gifts and affection. She was always ready to help, no matter the task. It filled Mary's heart with pride. Her daughter's love was what kept her standing.

The fear of the future often made her think about Vincent. She was sure that Pavarti would look out for her daughter, however, if the worst happened, at least Beatrice would have someone else to turn to.

Rupert had died a few years earlier, so he was no longer a threat. The years and the paths taken changed both of them, but Mary believed that his heart had not changed.

She was convinced that when he found out about Beatrice, Vincent would not excuse himself from his obligations. She also didn't doubt that, as time went by, they would love each other very much.

So, Mary started making arrangements. Since she didn't want there to be any doubt about her daughter's paternity, she took a sample of Beatrice's hair for them to analyse.

Along with the samples and some photographs, Mary enclosed a letter from her to Vincent in an envelope. It took days, crumpled papers, and many tears to write that letter. Later, she would just need to instruct Pavarti on how to get that to Vincent.

At the end of September, hope fell away with the leaves. Despite the treatments, the new exams showed that it had spread to other parts of the body. The doctor was almost as dejected as she was.

“Just tell me how long I have.” Mary asked through tears.

“I can't give guarantees about anyone's life, Miss Howard. Sometimes there are real miracles in the human body.” The doctor tried to comfort her.

“I prefer the truth, doctor. Please.”

“A couple of months, no more than Christmas.”

“Will it be painful?”

“There are several ways to make that period smoother, if that's your wish.”

“Having to go is bad enough, don’t you think?”

Back home, Mary didn't have the courage to face her daughter. Parvati took Beatrice home for an impromptu sleepover party.

When the girls fell asleep, Pavarti sneaked over to the Howards' house. It would be a very difficult night for Mary.

After many cups of tea and many more tears, Mary resolved, “This will take me to my grave, but I won't let it take away the shreds of happiness. My daughter and I deserve better than spending our final weeks in misery.”

From that moment on, Mary focused on enjoying every minute with her girl, the epitome of her happiness.

“When are you going to tell her?” Pavarti asked.

“I do not know how, but not for now. When I feel it's closer. I don't want her to cry before the time.”

*November 2004*

Giggles were filling the air. Two little girls were playing tag, running around carefree.

Mary was sitting in her small garden, feeling severe pains, in spite of the medications. She held a mug of strong coffee in her hands, one of the few things that gave her energy.

The autumn sun in her bones was her only comfort. That and seeing her daughter happy.

Taking small, warm sips, Mary reflected on the past thirty years. So much had happened! In her short life there were adventures that would fill a lifetime. Losses along the way, setbacks, broken dreams...but also good friends, many happy days...and, best of all, Beatrice. Mary would go all the way again for the opportunity to share her life with Beatrice.

She was already missing what wasn't going to live with her. Beatrice looks at her and smiles. She is missing two teeth that fell out the other day. Mary knows she won't see her new teeth, yet she smiles back.

‘How do we prepare a child for our death, Pavarti?' Mary asked her friend, who was sitting next to her. 

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#desire and decorum #desire & decorum #unspoken desires #oc: beatrice foredale #choices stories you play #desire and decorum fanfic

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