#GOODBYE BOSOM

[gender-euphowrya]

YEA BOI!!!!!! SURGERY IN OCTOBER YAAAAAAAA

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 9

It's Silco's turn to meet people from your past. His visit to your first home is disturbed by long-buried memories resurfacing—along with a confession of dark secrets...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Fix-It || SFW | WC: 4.8k

beta reader: the magnificent @silcoitus !!

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

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Just as Silco is about to make a wrong turn towards the elevators, you gently take him by the elbow. You’re tempted to keep holding on, but you quickly drop your hand when he looks at you quizzically.

“Are we not heading for the underground?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Janna’s Embrace moved to Lower Piltover a few years ago, for the fresh air and sunshine. And vendors will actually deliver to us now without charging huge hazard fees. We’re saving a lot of money that way.” 

You don’t go into detail about how Lower Piltover is a much safer place to raise children. All Zaunites are “gutter rats” in the eyes of Enforcers, but at least the orphans raised at the Embrace’s new location don’t have to live like Sumpsnipes anymore, scraping the ground for crumbs and living in filth and puddles. 

Just as you finish speaking, your destination comes into view. You can’t help but feel a swell of pride as you cross a cobblestone courtyard towards a wide, three-story brick building with arched windows and a sloped roof. The exterior is slightly weathered from age, but the leafy bushes out front are neatly trimmed. Cheerful chalk sketches cover both the ground and the walls of the building itself, mostly of smiling stick figure children holding hands. One particularly colorful drawing depicts a child riding a giant Poro over a rainbow. 

The bronze plaque above the front door bearing the orphanage’s name is highly polished, engraved with a portrait of the goddess herself. Her long hair billows in an arc behind her, a kind and calm smile on her face as she cradles her arms lovingly to her bosom.

An old, tall, muscular canine Vastayan with short dark fur and pointy ears is watering the bushes. When she senses your arrival, her ear twitches underneath a straw gardening hat, ratty and holey with old age. She turns to you as you reach the doorstep.

“Hi, Kharon,” you call out to her with a smile.

She doesn’t say anything, but blinks slowly at you. When she sees Silco, she tilts her head inquisitively at him.

“Kharon, this is Silco. Silco, this is Kharon,” you introduce your friends to each other.

“Hello,” Silco says politely. He extends his free hand out.

Kharon doesn’t take his hand, but instead puts down the watering can and wipes her clawed paws on her patchwork overalls. She lowers her gray and grizzled snout to his forehead. He stands perfectly still as she sniffs him, her huffing exhales ruffling his hair. Then, she steps back to scan him from top to bottom. 

Silco straightens under her scrutiny, determined to make a good impression. You almost giggle when Kharon finally lets out a low growl of approval. She steps away to pull open the front doors wide open enough for the two of you to enter with the wagon.

“Thanks,” you tell the Vastayan as you pass her. “Are Teema and Cuny around?”

“Kitchen,” she says in a low grunt.

You wave goodbye to her as Silco crosses the threshold first. He pulls the wagon carefully into a wide hallway, observing the interior carefully. The doors click shut, and the noise echoes quietly, reverberating against the high ceiling. The dark wooden floor is spotless but worn from countless footsteps treading over it. Framed photographs of happy families and grinning kids adorn the walls, some candid and others posed.

Silco leans in to study one particular portrait that catches his eye. A young girl with missing teeth and a choppy bob is laughing at the camera, caught in a group hug with a boy and another girl her age. Her peers are just as joyful, the boy’s eyes squeezed shut as he wheezes with silent laughter. The second girl grins while looking at her friends.

“Is that you?” Silco asks, pointing at the first girl, whose hair and eye color matches yours. His grip on the wagon’s handle loosens, forgotten in his fascination with the photo. An amused smile creeps onto his face, almost as wide as the child’s.

“Yeah,” you say shortly. The bittersweet twinge of nostalgia in your heart is overcome by a dark disdain. 

You have some fond memories of growing up alongside these friends and others not pictured, but they’re all gone now.

And you still wonder if that was all your fault.

Before Silco can ask you more about the picture, you take the handle from him and cross the hallway. You walk briskly through an arched entryway into a crowded cafeteria. The wagon’s weight slows you down enough that Silco can still keep up with you. You make a note to give Silco a proper tour later, but you’ve wasted too much time already.

And you want to outrun the painful memories stirred up by that photograph.

You turn left towards the far wall and pass a serving station, Silco following close behind. As you round the corner and enter the kitchen, you call out a warning. It’s already bustling, filled with kitchen staff who say hello back to you in passing. You gesture for Silco to stay close to the wall as someone walks past him carrying a bin overflowing with dirty dishes. Boots squeak on the thick, non-slip mats covering every inch of the ground. The stainless steel appliances gleam brightly as if they had been scrubbed recently. Countless racks and shelves mounted on the walls hold neatly organized dishware and utensils.

Two older women stand in the center of the room, chopping fruits at a kitchen island. Their white aprons are already stained from a long shift. One of them looks up when you enter and exclaims your name in delight.

“Oh, honey! It’s been too long!” she beams as she hurries over to you. She’s shorter than you, her light brown wavy hair framing the crow’s feet etched into her face. It rubs softly against your chin as she stands on tiptoe to hug you tight. You can’t help but smile back when she kisses your cheek.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Teema. She was here yesterday,” says the other woman in a serious tone, but her smile at you is just as warm. She’s taller, with straight, blonde hair tucked primly into a hairnet. Her steel-gray eyes observe Silco coolly, gazing curiously at him.

“Hi, Teema. Hi, Cuny,” you squeak out. Teema is still squeezing you too tight for you to breathe. When she finally lets you go, you rummage in the wagon and pull out two small paper bags. “I got some sweetbread for you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, how did you know I was craving some?” Teema laughs heartily and takes a bag from you right away. She rips it open and immediately chomps into the snack, humming in satisfaction.

“Thank you,” Cuny says gratefully. “Could you put mine in the refrigerator please?”

“I’ll take them,” Teema says gleefully.

“Don’t forget to wash your hands,” the other woman says, exasperated at her partner’s impulsiveness.

You hand Teema the second bag and she scurries off. Fast as lightning, she tosses the bags in a nearby fridge and then walks a full circle around Silco. “And who’s this tall glass of sweetmilk?”

“Teema…” the other woman says sternly.

“This is my friend, Silco,” you say a little too loudly, embarrassed by Teema’s conduct.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Silco. Our girl has never brought a man here before!” Teema says enthusiastically.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Silco says politely while you wince inwardly at her pushiness. “I like your tattoo.”

He gestures at Teema’s shoulder, adorned with a one-eyed Poro smiling dopily. The portrait is bordered by sunflowers with vibrant, golden-orange petals. The lines are clean and thin, expertly inked by a steady hand. The velvet smoothness of the petals contrasts sharply with the spiky fur of the animal, the difference in textures rendered so masterfully that you could almost expect to feel them under your fingertips. 

“Thank you! The girl who did this used to live here,” Teema says proudly. “Her name is Nyle, do you know her? She works in the Sumps—”

“Why don’t the two of you have lunch,” Cuny says firmly, walking forward to lay a hand on Teema’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of the food, thank you.”

“What? We could use the help here—” Teema starts, but you turn away and stalk off, not bothering to say goodbye.

If your heart was merely uncomfortable before, the name that Teema mentioned unleashes a wave of grief and anger that crashes through your chest. It has your heart pounding so loudly in your ears that you almost don’t hear Silco running to catch up with you. 

He calls out your name, worried. You ignore him and keep walking until he grabs your elbow.

“You should eat if you’re hungry,” you try to say in a casual voice, but your voice hitches. It’s hard to talk around the stone lodged in your throat. “The food here is great.”

“I’m not hungry,” he says, looking at you with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you say, irritated. “I just needed some air.” You jerk your elbow out of his grip and kneel down to fuss with your shoelaces, avoiding his eyes. When you stand up, you brush some imaginary dirt off your pants, still unwilling to meet his worried gaze. 

He says your name again, and you reluctantly look up at him.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar?” he says gently. You can’t help but laugh at that, letting out a shaky huff as you glance away.

“I’m sorry about Teema,” you say, still attempting at nonchalance. “She can be… a lot.” 

You’re tempted to say more, but deep down, you know you shouldn’t lash out at her. This isn’t the first time that Teema has frustrated you: you’ve asked her multiple times to take down that photograph, and to never mention that name in front of you ever again. But she means well, and you can’t find it in yourself to stay angry at her for long.

Besides, she’s never hurt you as badly as that person did.

“What else is troubling you?” Silco asks quietly.

Your first instinct is to lie and say “nothing.” But as unpleasant as it is, it’s relevant to another conversation you still need to have with Silco. 

You’ve known Teema long enough to anticipate how her forgetfulness could trigger you. Maybe deep down, you wanted her to talk about that person. You were already struggling with how to pull Silco aside and drop a figurative bomb on him. 

Teema gave you the opportunity, and it would be a waste if you didn’t take advantage of it.

“I have to tell you something…” You take a deep breath, trying to fortify yourself. “Do you mind if we go somewhere quiet?”

“Not at all,” he answers immediately. “Please, lead the way.”

Even with the sense of anticipation curling sourly in your stomach, you can’t help but smile at him. He has no idea what you’re about to tell him, but his willingness to hear you out cheers you up anyways. 

You lead him out of the cafeteria and down the hall towards a staircase. When a gaggle of chattering kids and their harried caretaker pass by, you exchange hellos while Silco nods politely at them. As you climb up the stairs, a sense of impending doom rises in your chest, your heart beating faster.

The second floor consists of dormitories, private bedrooms, restrooms, and communal showers. At this time of day when most people are eating lunch, you hope to find an empty room. You get lucky with the first door you knock on; nobody answers, so you open the door and stand aside, letting Silco enter first.

The smaller sleeping quarters are used mostly by down-on-their-luck nursing mothers or families who have nowhere else to go, so you and the Embrace’s staff put in special effort to make these rooms as cozy as possible. Colorful, fluffy rugs cover the floor, soft enough to tempt you into taking off your boots and socks. Thick, wide blankets are draped on each of the four beds, large enough to almost touch the ground. You’re tempted to grab one of the fat and squashy pillows for comfort, but you decide to hold off for now.

You sit on the floor at the foot of a bed. Instead of sitting down next to you, Silco kneels and peeks underneath the furniture.

“Hello, little girl,” he says kindly.

Curious, you crouch next to him to see who he’s talking to. Under the bed is a young child barely out of toddlerhood, holding onto a rabbit plushie as big as herself. Her pale blue eyes stare out at you from the shadows. The irregular layers of her blue hair are rumpled from pressing against the underside of the bed.

“Hi, sweetie,” you say warmly to her.

Her eyes dart between you and Silco, then she clumsily crawls towards you. You hold out your arms as she climbs into your lap. When you hug her, she drops the plushie to hug you back.

The girl turns to you with wide, serious eyes. Solemnly, she says, “I’m a ‘norphan.”

“Pardon?” Silco asks amicably.

“Sweetie…” you say gently. You hold her unblinking gaze and tuck an unruly lock of hair behind her ears. “What did we say about telling lies?”

“’Only lie to strangers and Enforcers,’” the little girl recites.

“Very good,” you praise her cheerfully. She giggles when you boop her on the nose. “Why aren’t you eating lunch?”

“Waiting,” the girl says, burying her face in your shoulder. She turns her head slightly to stare blankly at Silco.

“Waiting for what?”

“Powder?” a childish voice at the doorway calls out.

The three of you turn to see another little girl in the doorway, slightly older with messily chopped and short pink hair. 

You reach out to her as she walks past Silco to throw her arms around your neck.

“Hi, Vi,” you say brightly, hugging both kids tightly. “Where were you?”

“I was in the bathroom,” says the pink-haired girl. “Can we sleep here tonight?”

“Of course, honey. You, Powder, and your parents can all share a room,” you say tenderly.

“Can I have my own room? Dad snores,” Vi complains.

“If you go to bed first, you’ll fall asleep sooner. That way you won’t hear him snoring,” you whisper conspiratorially to Vi, as if sharing a trade secret. “If he’s still too loud, just put a pillow over your head and hum to yourself. You won’t be able to hear him then.” 

“Really?” the child asks wonderingly.

You nod. “You girls go eat now. Make sure you finish everything on your plates.”

Vi smiles at you. “Thanks, auntie.”

You smooch both Vi and Powder on their foreheads. They giggle as they clasp hands, hurrying away. Their little stomping footsteps echo in the hallway.

Leaving you and Silco alone.

You get up and sit on the bed, crumpling the blanket in an anxious fist. He takes a seat next to you, his shoulder brushing up against yours.

“So those children are ‘Powder’ and ‘Violet’?” he asks. 

“Yeah, their parents drop them off here sometimes when they’re working,” you try to say casually, still avoiding looking at him.

“I’m friends with Felicia and Connol, but I haven’t yet had the opportunity to meet their children,” Silco muses out loud. 

“You’re one of the Children of Zaun; shouldn’t you know every child in Zaun?” you joke weakly.

“Becoming acquainted with every Sumpsnipe in the underground would be a more difficult endeavor than attaining independence for the Undercity,” he chuckles. “But if you’re their ‘auntie’, perhaps I could become their ‘uncle’.”

“They’d like that,” you say quietly. 

You’re not sure what to say next. It’s so tempting to lean your head on Silco’s shoulder. The easy, encouraging smile he gives you is too inviting, so you squeeze your eyes shut and turn away from him. 

“It’s just us now,” he says softly, unbothered by your caginess. “Whatever it is you need to say, I’m listening. Take as long as you need.”

You’ve been dreading this moment—lifting the veil from Silco’s eyes—all day now. Even so, you’re almost surprised at how scared you are. 

You take a long, shaky breath, counting down from ten. You open your mouth to speak, but your voice refuses to come out. Silco waits patiently as you swallow and clear your throat.

“...Do you remember how I started working for Topsiders?” you finally ask in a dry voice. You had told him that morning weeks ago, the day after burglarizing Councilor Salo. It feels like it happened in another life; so much has changed since becoming better friends with Silco.

“You were selling paintings at a Progress Day fair when you were a teenager,” he recalls. “Just as you were about to be arrested for vending without a permit, a Topside merchant came to your rescue. He was so impressed by your skill, he declared himself your patron on the spot. I would have done the same.”

“Thanks,” you smile weakly at him. Despite yourself, you feel a beaming pride at the memory. “He wanted portraits for him and his entire family. He had a wife and four kids, so it was a jackpot. It was a pain in the ass getting them to pose, though.”

It’s one thing to think back on the memories, but it’s another to speak of them out loud. The lump in your throat hardens, threatening to choke you. You try to swallow it but fail.

“At that time I was still living here. Kharon, Teema, and Cuny were happy for me but the other kids… weren’t,” you say slowly. “They kind of gave me a hard time.”

“What happened?” Silco asks. His voice falls flat, but a tiny notch furrows between his eyebrows.

“Just some bullying,” you shrug. “Kids will be kids, you know?”

You don’t go into detail about your brushes getting stolen, your paints getting flushed down the toilet, or your sketchbooks getting torn to pieces. Some of your already completed paintings had even been burned, forcing you to request a postponement in deadlines. 

Silco doesn’t press you for the specifics, but his face turns stony, his stoic demeanor betrayed only by a muscle twitching in his jaw. It touches you that he feels angry on your behalf; for a revolutionary, you thought he’d be made of tougher stuff.

“My friends really pulled through for me,” you say. “They’d beat up my bullies and protect my stuff. I’d try to share my money with them, but they always said no… until they didn’t.”

You frown at your own naivety. The blanket falls out of your grasp as you raise your fist to your chest, fingernails digging into your palm.

“Becoming a gang was Nyle’s idea. I’d get commissions from rich Topsiders and scope out their mansions. Gita and Kai would burglarize them at night, and then Nyle would fence what they stole,” you say, closing your eyes to better remember the details. “Did you know that it’s safer to only steal one earring? That way, the owner will just think they lost it. They’re less likely to think it was taken.”

“The item is less valuable on its own. But you mitigate the risk of being caught,” Silco muses. “Very clever.”

“I learned that from Nyle. It worked for a while, and we made great money… but...” You swallow again, preparing yourself to talk about the worst part of the story. Still, you can’t help but feel proud of your crimes. Stealing from the rich to feed your friends was the noblest endeavor you could aspire to at that age. Seeing Silco’s smirk of approval spurs you on to keep going. 

“We stole a Valdiani from an Academy professor, and he freaked out. It was a gift from his dead daughter… and he fired his maid, because he thought she stole it.”

The rock in your throat is a boulder now, the agony choking every muscle fiber in your neck. You press on through gritted teeth. “I wanted to find her and apologize. She was just doing her job. But I was scared she’d turn me in… so I didn’t say anything.

“Then I found out she was from the Undercity, so I asked Nyle if she could join our gang. She said no, it wasn’t our problem. I tried changing her mind, but she wouldn’t. 

“...Then we started fighting about the money.” 

Money… the root of all evil. The solution to and source of so many problems in the Undercity. You almost wish you could bribe Silco into leaving so you don’t have to finish your story.

“Gita and Kai wanted more money because they were doing all the heavy lifting. They said it should come from my share since I was just ‘sitting on my ass and painting’… but I didn’t want to. If they screwed up, I’d get in trouble, too. I’m the one who set up the job in the first place, you know? And I’m visiting the Pilties regularly, so of course they’d suspect me…” you babble on, trying to defend yourself.

As important as it is to rationalize your past actions to Silco, you know deep down that you could have done better. You were already being paid generously for your commissions; you didn’t need the extra money from your criminal activities. But it was the principle that mattered more to you at the time. Even if your friends’ contributions differed from your own, it didn’t mean that yours mattered less than theirs.

“I should have helped her,” you say in a wobbly voice. You close your eyes as tears begin to well up, your nose stinging and tingling with rising pressure. Your chest heaves as you finally succumb to the visceral throes of regret. “And my friends needed the money more than I did… now they’re all gone…”

Silco immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You press your face into his chest, shaking and sobbing. Your tears stain his shirt. He squeezes you tight, his breath light and warm against your ear as he lowers his head to speak.

“It’s okay,” he says, so gently. “You and I both know that Topside is to blame. They have us fighting over their table scraps while they feast aboveground. The children of Zaun deserve more than their runoff. It’s not your fault for wanting a fair share.”

“I’m—” you hiccup, trying to stop gasping so you can speak properly. “I’m not as good of a person as you think I am—"

He hushes you and chuckles. The sound is low and rumbles in his chest, vibrating against your cheek. “Candidly, I thought you would confess to something much worse. We’ve all done terrible things in the name of survival. Your ‘sins’ are no worse than anyone else’s in the underground. They’re certainly better than mine.

“As for your friends, you did the best you could for them,” he continues. “Their well-being was not your responsibility. That would have been too much for anyone to handle on their own.”

He pulls away from you to tilt your face upwards. Your vision is blurry with tears, but you stare into the bright turquoise smears of his eyes as he returns your gaze.

 “Believe me when I say, you did nothing wrong,” he concludes.

The effect his words have on you is soothing. Your sins have weighed you down for so long, dragging you into deep waters, drowning in guilt. Holding onto your secrets for so long with chafed, bleeding fingers; never telling anyone else, not even when Kharon found you wandering the Sumps aimlessly after you were kicked out of the apartment you shared with your friends. Never confessing to what happened even during Teema’s persistent questioning or Cuny’s curious stares. Too afraid to face other people’s judgment of your mistakes. 

But if your secrets were an anchor holding you down, the chain is severed by Silco’s reassurance. You’re still underwater, but a heavy weight peels away from your shoulders. The change in pressure disorients you, and you feel dizzy as you take another shuddering breath. 

You stammer out, “I c-can’t join the Children—I don’t want to be used again—”

“I understand,” Silco says reassuringly.

“I’m—I’m so useless—I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” he says firmly. “I will say it as many times as you need to hear it… you’re perfect.”

Your next breath fills your lungs with a renewed vitality. It’s so relieving to hear Silco’s acceptance of you. You’ve hidden your sins in the dark for so long, but he doesn’t flinch away when you shine a light on them. 

He actually leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. He’s solid and warm, a beacon you swim towards in the abating storm of your distress.

His thumb slowly wipes your tears away, a light touch against your eyelids.

You press your nose against his.

His hand moves to hold the back of your head. His fingers thread through your hair.

Your hand slides from your lap to rest on his knee. 

He bumps his foot against yours. His lips part ever so slightly. 

Your breaths mingle.

You lean in—

“Auntie?” Vi’s voice rings out from the doorway, shattering the moment.

You jerk backwards away from Silco and jump to your feet. In your haste to run over to Vi, you almost trip over yourself. 

“Hi, sweetie!” you say too loudly, crouching down in front of her.

If the little girl notices your blushing and tearstained face, she doesn’t mention it. She cranes her head to look behind you, squinting. “Is my rabbit here?”

You look over your shoulder to see Silco walking over to the foot of the bed. He leans down to grab the forgotten rabbit plushie. His movements are graceful as he gingerly picks up the toy and carefully brushes some dust off it. You can’t help but admire how tall and lean he is, like a crane wading through a pond. Your blush deepens, heat creeping from your cheeks down your neck. 

You busy yourself with tidying Vi’s hair as he saunters over. He crouches down next to you and hands the toy to the little girl.

“Here you go,” he says kindly.

Vi takes the plushie, staring at him without saying anything.

“What do we say now, Vi?” you remind her gently.

“Thanks, mister,” the girl says after a long pause. Her wide eyes still watch Silco with curiosity.

“Very good,” you praise her. “Have you finished eating yet?”

Vi finally looks at you and shakes her head.

“Tell Cuny I said it’s okay for you to have seconds. You need to eat a lot so you grow big and strong!” You pat the child on the head, hoping your voice sounds more enthusiastic than panicky. Silco’s close proximity to you has your heart hammering, still recovering from the whirlwind of emotions.

Vi giggles when you smooch her on the head. She dashes off, clutching the plushie tight. You stand up to watch her disappear down the hallway, the toy’s ears flapping all over.

You’re tempted to run after her and leave Silco behind. Despite his affirmations, you’re now embarrassed by your earlier show of vulnerability. In retrospect, it seems silly that you were afraid of losing him. He’s been nothing but a good friend to you, after all. 

He stands across from you now in the doorway, staring at you. You sniffle and wipe the last of the tears from your eyes before turning to him.

“Are you alright?” he asks, concerned. His brows are still pinched in worry, the wrinkles on his forehead deepening into trenches. 

“I will be,” you say. And it doesn’t feel like a lie. You smile at him without forcing it. “Thank you.”

He gives you a puzzled look. “What on earth for?”

You let out an amused exhale through your nose. On impulse, you step forward to hug him. 

He immediately reciprocates, his arms wrapping around your torso as you nuzzle into his chest. His heart beats a comforting rhythm against your ear as he presses his cheek to your hair. 

You don’t know how long you stand there in silence, caught in each other’s orbit, unable and unwilling to break free to rejoin the greater galaxy. 

Silco’s stomach rumbles loudly. He lets go of you and steps back, frowning in mortification.

“Let’s get lunch,” you say with a chuckle. “My treat.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, we’re making a new batch of ice cream for dessert today, it should be ready by now. Do you like strawberry?”

“I’ve never had ice cream before. I look forward to it.” He smiles at you, his teeth glinting in the sunlight shining through the window.

You marvel at his beautiful smile. You hope he’ll let you paint it one day. 

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If you liked this fic, please reblog and/or leave a comment! My inbox is also open to requests for both sketches and drabbles, or just to chat. Feel free to say hi :3c

Chapter 10

[thehistoriangirl]

If You Hadn't Left (Me) [Chapter 1]

I thought I would start posting in the first of February but oh well better now than never lol

I'm gonna post the other fic's masterlist tomorrow I think :3

Viktor x Fem! Reader-----2.9K----SFW*

// M A S T E R L I S T

Next ->

Synopsis:Viktor was never supposed to see you again, just like you had promised that evening when you both ended up heartbroken and bitter toward destiny and all its twisted ways. So twisted as to put you back into his life not only as a temporal working partner to cover Jayce’s absences, but also as the maid of honor in the wedding where he’ll be the best man. Hypothetically, it doesn’t have to be that difficult to find a way around the river of memories flowing between you both. Though, of course, hypotheses are flawed. Just like that part of him that still craves another ending to this story. 

Tags: Second Chance | Angst | Exes to Lovers | Denial of Feelings | Viktor's horny down memory lane* | Reader is pissed | My man is going thru the stages of grief | MelJay bc Jayce deserves to be happy | Eventual Smut | Eventual Happy Ending |

Taglist c: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @blissfulip

That goodbye became a broken promise, cracked over the sound of your voice ever since he heard it at the Council assembly.

Sure, you had spat out the words fueled by betrayal and hatred, but Viktor took them like an oath to put in peace his stormy mind.

First coated in a lie so fragile Viktor was surprised it hadn’t fragmented before, and now this—he was sure he shouldn’t take another glass of wine from the walking waiters zigzagging across the opulent hall—but he had avoided you all night, and he knew Jayce wouldn’t let him go before arranging the “formal meeting” between both of you.

If only he knew...

We congratulate Miss Favred for winning the design contest for the new hall construction inside the Museum of Sciences and Technologies. Graduated from Piltover’s Academy with honors, you're the proof that progress and art are held hand in hand in this city.

Almost the same speech Heimerdinger delivered during your graduation ceremony, only that this time you were all alone on the stage, Viktor's hand grabbing his cane to not feel the growing sensation of emptiness.

Part of him thought it was mere shock. After all, you haven't seen each other in almost ten years; and a petty part of him was surprised he even remembered you, how the image of you was locked in the depths of his subconsciousness that only needed the ring of your greeting to resurface.

But now? Hours after the reencounter? He was so, so weak…

With a sigh, Viktor finally admitted it: stealing glimpses of your purple dress flowing against the gentle breeze was a weakness, though if the excuse lay in masochist interest or avid curiosity, Viktor wasn’t ready to clear his mind. Why would he, anyway? It was a couple of wine glasses too late.

Funny how some things defied the City of Progress where everyone was eagerly grasping the tomorrow.

Viktor just felt stuck in the past, down a path he wasn’t so sure how to slip through.

Your hair was the same, richly stylized and decorated with a geometrical headpiece that looked like a crown from Viktor’s angle. Your time in Shurima had replaced the Piltovan style built by several layers of clothes like vests and corsets for simple, airy fabrics that played with transparencies. The deep shade of violet pooled in continuous drapes ironed in the long skirt falling freely around your hips and down your legs, a gold-threaded corset hugged your waist and framed your bosom, the fabric slowly fading into a lavender tone held like loose sleeves with golden bracelets.

You were covering your mouth while your eyes closed in amused crinkles for whatever the young merchant Mauriel Garfen was telling you as his expert hand twirled you around the ballroom. It didn’t matter much, as Viktor could paint it just fine: with the vivid dark pink adorning your lips, though he knew your favorite color was more of a burnt brown, or maybe even red—

"That's enough for today," Viktor mumbled, eyes looking intently at the crimson liquid as he swirled the stem around his fingers before settling it down against the nearby windowsill.

Suddenly, he heard your happy squeal as you went to hug another young woman dressed in a vivid teal, halter dress. Her curly black hair bounced as you two swayed. Viktor didn’t remember her vividly, but she had been one of your friends ever since your undergraduate years.

If only… Though he knew he didn’t have any right to be greeted as warmly. If even he had any right to be greeted at all. Only because you had returned. Because of course, you did.  Once you had told him that despite the high number of students inside the Academy, you'd find each other in one way or another.

“No, not like fate,” you have told him, voice groggy with slumber as you laid against his chest, hands pointing at his dorm's ceiling where she had stuck luminescence cut-outs of stars. "Entropy."

You were right, from all his perfectly calculated plans tumbling into a state of chaos, one he surprisingly wasn’t against.

Until he was.

Garfen twirled the both of you, giggles bubbling like the nearby tray of drinks a waiter was carrying toward the Councilors discussing on a corner of the hall.

You looked like that photograph he kept in the bottom drawer of his tattered closet, only that the sepia tones eating it away had been repaired with the tone of your skin, the void he left behind replaced with you looking like a fairy queen with your golden crown and dashing company.

Someone more fitting. But Viktor was now the co-creator of Hextech, wasn’t that enough?

His fingers tangled around the glass’ steam, barely feeling the hot sensation of the alcohol down his throat as he gulped it all.

You’re so pathetic, Viktor. Get over it. Why haven’t you done that already?

“Vik! There you are!” He almost dropped the glass with the impromptu voice of Jayce chiming in his roaming thoughts. “I’ve been looking for you all night.”

"You know I'm not… eh, akin to this kind of party," he said, only half a lie. He'd been hiding inside a balcony and then, when Jayce passed by, Viktor slipped between a corner and a column. Now, he'd been too distracted to notice. "I've been unwinding."

“For a moment I thought you were already gone!” He patted his shoulder. “I’ve wanted to introduce you to Miss Favred since morning, but I suppose you had duties to take care of after the meeting.” He had bolted out of there as soon as Councilor Medarda called the session off.

His jar tightened, just as the grasp on his formal cane, naked metal replaced by a coat of black marble and polished wood on its handle. “Jayce, I don’t think this idea about the Hextech Wing would be… good,” he started, pouring in all the thoughts that had flown inside his head ever since the morning meeting. “This isn’t what I imagined when you told me we would celebrate the first decade of Hextech’s creation.”

“Viktor—”

“No, listen to me,” he replied, almost through gritted teeth. How pitiless of him he couldn’t even manage his feelings in public. “We want to help people in need, not to gloat about a fancy exhibit at the Science and Technology Museum. This is just another excuse for the Council to gloat about their grandness. What would the exhibit do for the people who believe in us, hmm? For us as scientists, even? Are you listening to me?” His friend had shifted to his embarrassed posture, where his tall body was trying to shrink into a ball, with hands tightly grabbed against his stomach, gazing at the floor. "Jayce—?"

“We’ve arranged that part of the Museum’s entrance fee is going to be destined to fund upcoming Hextech projects. That way you won’t need as many sponsorships,” Mel interjected behind him. Viktor turned to look at the Councilor, frozen to see the figure tailing close behind. “I believe we talked about it in the past meeting.”

Surely. Not that he would admit he had been too distracted by the nervous movements of your hands gesturing away to explain your design to oblige his mind to follow the Councilor’s debate sprinkled in between.

“Perhaps what he’s referring to is about how much time will it take to seize a positive quantity to fund a project,” you said to save his embarrassing stunned silence, poking your head from behind Jayce’s wide back. Your eyebrows arched slightly, head tilted toward Viktor.

The movement is so familiar from when you helped him through the boring, long seminars with haughty professors and even mouthier classmates. A head tilt and a slow gaze once you had laid the counterargument, ready for him to lock the possibility of a reply with his conclusion.

“I… That wasn’t what I meant,” he said, surprised by his cold tone.

You blinked at him for a moment, a frown slightly forming between your beautiful eyes. He didn’t dare to back out from it, he didn’t have a reason why.

Jayce cleared his throat. “Um… well, Vik, this is Miss Favred, she’s going to be the designer of the Museum ampliation…” He said, and you stepped next to Jayce, lips in a neutral yet mocking smile, with the curves of your lips turned up.

“It’s been quite some time, Miss Favred,” Viktor mustered, a smile plastering on his mouth that was too wide and toothy to be considered polite.

“Likewise, Viktor,” you said, tone sweetly as you extended your hand toward him.

Viktor almost wanted to yank it away once he felt a surge of electricity tingling up his arm once your long and elegant fingers wrapped the reverse of his palm. You giggled, nails digging into his skin with discreet violence.

His lips pressed in a thin line that couldn’t be faked as a smile even as he continued shaking your hand for a minute too long, wanting your eyes to decode the hidden message in his. What are you doing here?

“Oh, do you know each other?” Mel said after calling your name, which made you yank your hand away from his grasp.

“We were acquaintances at the Academy,” you said, gesturing away.

Classmates, the word slipped with an acid aftertaste when Viktor tried to back you up. "Very close classmates." Because of course, this was the perfect time for his brain to break under pressure. Yes, so close you slept against his chest every other night, so, so close that he even burrowed inside of you—

Mel turned to you, with an almost accusatory air. “What a surprise!”

“That was many years ago.” Your gaze swept from Mel’s to his, if only for a second. “I had forgotten about it.”

Oh, so that’s how you wanted to play?

"Well, I'm glad you two can reconnect after so many years!" Jayce said a big grin on his face. The sweet oblivious Jayce. “It’ll be good for Vik to have another friend! It’s… slightly difficult for him to open up and get new ones.”

Viktor glared at him. “Why are you talking about me as if I weren’t here?” he replied, while you mumbled:

“I wonder why that is.”

His head turned toward you in a movement so quick that some of his pushed backward-styled hair fell over his forehead. "Pardon?"

You smiled at him. “I didn’t say anything.”

Oh, you—

"Why don't we leave you two to talk?" Mel said, ignoring the pleading look you sent her when Jayce nodded, saying that there must be a lot to tell between the both of you. “Councilor Talis, let’s go for another drink. There’s something I need to talk about with you.” Probably about the wedding. Not that Viktor was interested in the matter when he had you in front of him. 

From all the stolen glances, he had pieced you whole like a puzzle, filling in the missing pieces eaten away by time with the new image, though he knew some things wouldn't change. Like the way you smelled like hyacinth and mangoes, your favorite fruit. All that freckles and moles and scars dotted around your body like those two small ones peeking over the square neckline on the left of your collarbone, which he knew balanced out with the two tiny moles under your right breast.

Surely your skin was just as heavenly soft as back then despite the occasional roughness of your fingers from working so much. Your palms were always warm against his cold fingers during winter. 

“Viktor," you called him. And he frowned to conceal what he had been thinking all the damn night.

“What?”

 “Why don’t we strike a deal?” you said, arms crossed, disrupting what would have been his doom if he continued.

“Do I look like someone that would strike a deal with a devil, Miss Favred?” Viktor said, arching an eyebrow almost in a flirty way. Just amused enough to push you to the edge of your years-trained composure. You certainly played the part, with all the allure and the deep gaze of your eyes.

“I suppose this must be awkward for you, too.”

“It isn’t awkward for me,” he lied. “You should worry about your work instead.”

“So ready for me to leave?” You chuckled. “I think you should know that I applied to this contest because I need the spotless curriculum if I want to be the new Interior Design teacher at the Architecture Faculty.”

“You’re just trying to annoy me. You said you would leave and never return.” Better put, Viktor cornered you to say so, but he wasn’t going to let his mouth run free.

"And you said we were going to get married," you replied, and Viktor felt himself trip backward if it weren’t for the support of his cane. “So I guess we’re even.”

Viktor stood there, stunned golden eyes wide open. He started calling your name, but you had your hand raised.

“You’re right, my bad. That was unnecessary.” Your hand arranged a loose lock of hair poking your cheek. “Anyhow, I’m not going to mention anything about the… past. So you don’t have to worry about me running out my tongue—despite how close classmates we’ve been.”

“Now you’re just being…” improperly brash, dangerously cheeky. Almost as if you’d been pushing him over the edge of his decorum to see if he’d cornered you against a wall to seal your endless rebukes with a kiss. Or many. “…insufferable.”

"Don't worry." You waved away. "I'll finish my job as fast as humanely possible, and then we won't have to see each other again. Because I know you aren't fond of assisting the Progress Day's party."

He crossed his arms, letting the handle of his cane hook on the curve of his elbow. "I'm not sorry to disappoint you—but I'm very fond of Progress Days. I've changed," Viktor said, but it was only a half-truth. He wasn't sure how he could change a feeling that lay hidden deep inside, frozen in time instead of giving them a real burial. You only had to dig to start seeing the uneven silhouette of the memory boxes where nothing should be more than black earth.

“Anyway,” you replied, your tone bleeding with sarcasm. “That’s my peace treaty. I know Mel and Jayce will feel awkward if they ever discover that they’ve arranged old flames as partners, so let’s just forget it. I assure you it’s nothing that could endanger the quality of this project.”

Let’s just forget it. You were right, as you had always been, and yet…

I've already forgotten you, Viktor, you said inside his mind, a smile that once had left him breathless now hurting him in the unspoken truth that now you were better without him.

Of course, you were better without him.

Yet, Viktor couldn’t help but seek your left hand accommodating the deep V line of your dress for the poignant sight of a band on your finger.

“I’m not a passionate teenager, Miss Favred," he said, his tone devoid of any warmth. "I assure you I'm not interested in dwelling in the past. So rest assured, I won't embarrass you." It was totally unconscious that his voice dripped with contempt.

You curled your upper lip. “You’re such a fusspot, always the victim.”

Viktor inhaled sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you spat, taking your skirt with your fists as you were ready to stalk away.

The parallels made his heart squeeze in a painful grip. Was history about to repeat itself?

Before his brain could recollect the action, Viktor had called your name, hand extended open as if wanting to touch you. “Wait—” As if he had something to tell you.

You ignored him, stopping when Jayce approached you both from the complete opposite direction Mel and he had gone at first. Also, you couldn't point out if the dark marks of brown smeared on his face were just a plaything of the lightning or marks of kisses.

“Are you leaving so soon?” Jayce told you, hand over your shoulder.

“Yes,” you told him with a smile, completely ignoring Viktor. “My feet hurt and I’m afraid I haven’t recovered my sleep schedule since my return.”

"Well, maybe Viktor can walk you home?" he offered. "For what Mel told me, you live near his apartment." Not that he had moved a lot since you left, but seeing the surprise in your eyes felt like a little victory.

“No,” Viktor and you said at the same time.

“I mean—,” you started.

“I want to stay a little longer,” Viktor said. "As I should be open to enjoying these celebrations more. Hextech anniversary only arrives once a year!" He tried to laugh, but Jayce looked at him with such a concerned frown it was hard to keep his act. Your contained snort wasn't helping.

“Vik… I think you’ve had far too many drinks.”

He glared at Jayce for what felt like the thousandth time. "I'm fine, Jayce—”

"Well, goodbye!" you chirped, getting on your tippy toes to kiss Jayce's cheek, and then, forcefully, approach Viktor and give him a goodbye kiss, too. More like a rude smack, with how forceful you were.

"Tomorrow, eight sharp," Jayce told you, poking your side with his elbow. "Viktor doesn't like it when I arrive late."

“I can’t wait,” you beamed, eyes boring into Viktor’s. As if daring him to say something.

"Me either," Viktor lied.

If you wanna get into the taglist lemme a comment below! 🤗

[starlightsuffered]

we need a new fic pls🙏🏼 (only if u can)

One More Night

Info - Slytherin and Gryffindor, some intoxication, mentions of sex, toxic couple, polar opposites, song fic, one night stand, lust, mention of drugs, a little bit dub con language, blood purist regulus, dry humping

One hand gripped the curls at the nape of my neck, the other pulled hard on my tie. I was gasping into the kiss. It took so much to get this desire to build in me normally, but just a makeout with her started an inferno inside me.

“I should go,” I breathed.

“Then go,” she said with an almost cruel tone. I let out a needy pant. She smirked as she felt the wild racing of my heart when she pressed her bosom against my chest,

“Y/n,” I said the hallowed name through nips and laps of her lips.

I couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t pull myself away. I tried to remember the guilt I felt every time just after we’d stopped touching. It seemed less palpable. I couldn’t picture it. It was just like every other fucking time.

I used to be a good student, a prefect, quidditch captain. I was respectable and nonchalant to a point it bothered others. Now I was like an addict. I didn’t think of anything but her body and allure.

“Is your-“ she cut off the question by grinding her crotch against me. I knew she wore no panties and the dress was so thin I could practically feel her slick.

I imagined slipping my cock into her velvety wet folds. A full body shiver overwhelmed me. My hands were on her ass. I was barely resisting anymore. My body couldn’t tell her no.

“Is your lipstick laced with something?” I finally got out the weak query. I wished she’d say yes. I wish I had some fucking excuse for how many times I went back to her. I wish I could blame enchantment for my all consuming desire for her.

“No,” she said in a smug voice that made my dick even harder. She completely knew the affect she had on me. She loved it. And though I shouldn’t, I loved it too.

Dysfunctional didn’t begin to cover us. Gryffindor and Slytherin was only the beginning. She was muggle born and would ruin my reputation. She was a party girl, who dabbled in dangerous wizarding drugs and had no care for her own well being. I was the stoic head boy who never went to parties and had each step of my future planned out. I could have never planned for her.

One party, I’d gone to one bloody Slytherin party. She’d been let in due to the illicit items she carried on her. She hadn’t even knows who I was. She didn’t know how I’d stared all night. She didn’t know my hands, my skin, my breath, my cock, all longed to be hers. It was like metal trying to resist a magnet and I’d broken eventually.

I’d felt stupid the morning after. No protection. No safety spell. It had all been raw and electric and so pleasurable I’d felt as though I could pass out. I’d been stupid enough to tell her I was a prefect and I’d be telling the headmaster what sort of things she brought to parties. We’d been nearly at each others throats, moments away from hexing one another. Somehow it’d turned into me bouncing her on my cock as she bit into my shoulder so hard it bled.

“You coming to mine?” She asked. She had the audacity to question me as she reached into my pants and fondled my aching cock. It was probably purple with need at the moment. Only she made it that way. She made me feel like a cheap whore with how fast I began to harden for her.

“No,” I breathed. It was the right thing to do. I was going to do the right thing this time.

“Alright then,” she said instantly. She stepped back and I felt my skin had been stripped away. I was left breathless, raw, sensitive, and vulnerable.

She stood there looking like a wet dream. Her hair was tousled, lips swollen where I’d bit them. Dark marks were blooming on her honey sweet skin where I’d sucked. Her dress was hitched up. I noticed a dribble of arousal making its way down her thigh. I could have exploded in my pants.

“Goodbye then Regulus,” she purred. Her eyes were dark with promise of the most erotic pleasures.

“One more night,” I said weakly. I went to her, to my forbidden fruit. I wouldn’t be satisfied until I’d devoured it all again.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming

[moirindeclermont]

This episode of "All Polin: The First Times We Didn't in BridgertonS3 "is about the first time Debling returned and Colin's jealousy about it. They might discover that they both enjoy it when Pen calls Colin "sir". The funny thing is that Penelope knows what is happening, but she enjoys teasing Colin a bit and accepts his invitation to dance. Colin is trying so hard to be calm and collected, but everyone who knows him can tell he is nervous and a little bit green.

The dance she and Debling dance is not overly intimated, but it's enough to stoke a small fire in Colin, enough that Pen knows she will be in trouble afterwards, but she likes it even more. The things he will do to her.... she feels herself getting wet while she is still dancing with Debling. When the dance is finished, she returns to Colin, who is watching her. "Say goodbye to everyone. We are leaving," and his tone is promising things she knows she is wanton to want.

After their goodbyes, Colin doesn't waste time. He calls a carriage, and when they are inside, he looks at her with hunger in his eyes. "On your knees, wife. You know what to do." She is so quick to complain that she hears her knees pop, which makes Colin chuckle... "someone is eager," as Pen takes him out. The moment after, she is kissing and licking every part she manages to reach. His hand goes to her hair, giving her a fast rhythm.

"Prepare yourself, minx. I don't want to wait once we arrive," Colin says, and the dark tone he is using is making her moan around him. She lifts her skirt up, finding her core with her fingers, and she is already soaking; the sounds of her fingers entering her make Colin moan in response. "You can't wait to have me, can't you?" Pen nods, whining because she feels so empty without him.

When they arrive at their home, they quickly redress themselves to save their appearance, but once they are inside their room, nothing stops them. "You know, wife, you should not tease your husband like that," he says as he roughly grasps her bosom, undressing her as quickly as possible. "Kneel and stay here," he commands, undressing himself before sitting on the bed and looking at Pen. "Crawl to me and beg me to give you a release tonight," he orders her and Pen shivers.

She begins to follow his order, going on her hands and knees. "Please, Colin... please, I need it," but he seems unfazed. "Really? Because at the ball, it didn't seem so," he answers and Pen whines. "I was trying to make you jealous, but you know it you I want," she is now close to him, and she is kissing his thighs and his stomach. "Do I?" And Pen now is out of herself, just mad with desire. "Yes, Sir. I'm yours," the words are out before she stops or thinks.

Colin looks at her. "Sir? I like it... " he says, touching himself. "Please, Sir. I'll do anything," and that snaps Colin's desire. "Why don't you pledge to your cause while you take me inside?" Pen can only nod, getting up on shaky legs before straddling Colin's lap. The moment after he is inside, she is moving. "You have to pledge your case, vixen," he says, giving a slight slap on her arse, making her moan. "Yes, Sir." She goes down.

"I was trying to make you jealouus-" she says and it's struggle to form words, let alone sentences. "Sorry, Sir. I didn't mean it to be so needy," she says, still moving, her breath now faster as she gets closer. She touches her bosom while she is rocking herself. "Sir, please," and Colin smirks. "Sure, you can come," Pen doesn't need to be told twice. What she doesn't expect is that once she is down from her orgasm, Colin flips their position, filling her again.

She whines, but Colin keeps going. "Next time I see you dancing with him, I'll invite him over to make him see how you take me," he says, knowing that would spurt Pen more. Her thighs are trembling, and she is going to come again soon. "You're mine, Pen," and she can't, not when he says that. "Yes, yes, I'm yours," Colin also goes over the edge. They look into each other eyes, "bloody hell, Pen." as he kisses her tenderly.

Pen smiles at him, "Should I ask for Debling tomorrow?" and she earns a smack on her arse from Colin. "Stop that. I need at least 15 minutes after that," but they laugh. "Also... Sir. I like Sir. That was inspired, Pen," he says honestly, and Pen blushes. Three years into their marriage, and they are still discovering new things.

They kiss and cuddle, now tenderly and affectionate. "I like it when you call me yours," says Pen, as Colin smiles. "It is the same for me, darling. I'm yours as much as you're mine," and they fall asleep like that, both of them sated, their hearts full of happiness.

[tonkatsubowl]

shenanigans.

satoru gojo x fem!reader

➽ this dumb bitch pranked you.

you and satoru started living together a while ago. you were used to his absence already, since being a special grade sorcerer and all... well, to clarify, the strongest sorcerer, you expected your lover to be gone at random times. sometimes he wouldn't even tell you that he had to leave that day, but most of the time, this loser would send you a text while you slept next to him. you always told satoru to wake you up so you can give him a goodbye kiss, but he always wanted you to catch up on sleep.

so, today was just an ordinary day. satoru was gone once again, and today he had made sure to tell you that he had to go send his students off on a training mission... and he had to monitor them, too.

you were home alone, showering, enjoying the silence to yourself. you couldn't help but miss satoru's presence sometimes. where he'd often come home randomly in the goofiest of ways, giving you a few gifts here and there when he had returned... but he was gone longer than expected. you had faith and trust that satoru would come home safe, especially when the man was practically... well, the strongest.

but you let the hot water of your shower try to relax you instead. you were anxious, but you had faith he would come home.

...just when you heard the restroom door open. there was a soft creak, and your eyes perk up towards the ceiling. if satoru was home, he would call out "i'm home, y/n!"... but... he didn't.

... or was it satoru?

"...sat?" you called out to his nickname as you slowly turned off the shower. you were a sorcerer as well, capable of defending yourself from curses and other people. however, you couldn't help but feel... tense. you couldn't sense anyone nearby.

was it just the wind? no—don't think of horror movie lines, now. all the windows were always closed, and you know for a fact that the door had opened... on its own?

the shower curtain had a small peak, allowing you to look towards the smallest glimpse of a mirror. there was nobody.

engulfing your hand with cursed energy, you waited in silence... for something. for something to tell you it wasn't anything, whether it was a stray cat that randomly got in here... or your instincts telling you otherwise... but your mind was screaming at you.

...just when you were expecting some sort of perverted intruder, you were met with a sudden splash of icey cold water being dumped upon you from above!

you let out a loud scream, feeling the cold water pierce against your skin, and hearing satoru's little shit eating giggle, "hehe... ehehe—!"

"gojo satoru!" you raise your voice angrily as you grabbed the towel that was hanging off the curtain pole, wrapping it around your body before kicking through the curtains. you find your lover running away comically as he laughed like a clown, trotting away to the other room.

you chase after him, eventually—where he disabled his little infinity barrier—kicking him down with your leg which had stored cursed energy. satoru did this on purpose so he'd have his naked girlfriend on top of him. classic.

"ehehehe! ehe—aaaa—!" satoru lets out a comical laugh as you collapse above him, not realizing the towel slipped off of you. gojo lifts his blindfold, peeking at your exposed bosom before his tongue licked the corner of his lips. "oh, my. are we already about to have sex again? talk about high drive, huh, y/—"

"you— you poured cold water on me! and i'm shivering! i'm cold! and you didn't even get to tell me that you were home! you, you... you fucking idiot! you clown! you absolute fucking menace!"

you breathed, panting from the yelling you just did.

... but you paused, suddenly laughing, realizing how much of a stupid prank that was, and how much you missed satoru. snuggling your face into the crook of his neck, you embrace him, whining a bit, rubbing your unwashed soap and water into his clothes.

"ah, ah! wait, wait! pleaase, you're super cold!" satoru exclaimed sarcastically as you continued to rub all over him, but you ignored his cries.

"shut up. now i'm," you pull him up by his hand, letting the towel fall to your feet, exposing your nude body towards your lover, "taking you for a shower."

satoru grinned.

"y'know... we haven't done it in the shower before...~" he purred, running his hands all over your body as he leaned in. "lead the way, y/n."

[nextinline-if]

I don't know if you're still answering asks or anything but going through some of the asks has me thinking of so many questions lol these are all from the perspective of ex-lover F

how would F react with hurt MC confronting them with "I'm not just going to be your second choice! I deserve better than that. You left me for someone else, I honestly doubt you ever even loved me." before storming of with tears rolling down their face and I guess maybe F realizing they might have completely fucked everything up with MC?

Also does F consider how much bringing up their spouse in front of MC hurts MC and makes it feel like they got left behind for someone else?

And oh man knowing F slept with Lucille is kinda like a gut punch oof, When playing the game I assumed they married as friends and with F having feelings for MC that meant they didn't have sex but it being confirmed on here is like daaaaaamn like F you didn't just break my heart you fucking destroyed it, What are Fs' feelings on this matter if this is how MC felt? (especially it being it hurt the MC cause they ran off and slept with someone else while the MC loved them like MC is not bothered by anyone else's body count cause you know they weren't in love with them and didn't have shared feelings, its more the betrayal of trust causing this hurt. Like if F had given a proper goodbye and a proper rejection of MC feelings/breakup it wouldn't be as painful for MC, I guess my main point still being is how does F feel about an MC hurt they slept with Lucille?)

and I wanted to ask is if Percival was still around and since he was the one who invited Felix and F back how would he feel seeing at how hurt the MC is to the return of F or just seeing the MC even more heartbroken being around F?

oh one more angst question that applies personally to my MC and F, I play as Trans man MC who is exes with Fredrick just a scenario of my MC with his head down asking Fredrick "Is it because of how I am.......is that why you had to find someone else?" (I'm a trans man so I love getting to play characters true to me so thank you)

Sorry for the ramble lol I hope this ask wasn't too much or weird, I don't think I have ever sent an ask this long before to anyone lol but your IF is very fun and inspiring so thank you! ಥ_ಥ

hi anonymous! I have been on here in a while so I no clue when you sent this I'm sorry about that :) I didn't answer everything but hopefully this is sufficient.

how would F react with hurt MC confronting them with "I'm not just going to be your second choice! I deserve better than that. You left me for someone else, I honestly doubt you ever even loved me." before storming of with tears rolling down their face and I guess maybe F realizing they might have completely fucked everything up with MC?

F is frozen in place, their throat caught in their throat. Not from the shock of your words but from the shock of realizing just how badly they fucked up. From realizing that the little sliver of hope that was blossoming in their bosom may very well be snuffed out.

I guess my main point still being is how does F feel about an MC hurt they slept with Lucille?

This is complicated to answer, to be honest. I've answered A LOT of asks on this blog so it's been quite a while since I stated this but F slept with Lucille and did not enjoy it and really only did it for "duty". F would absolutely understand why MC would be hurt by them sleeping with Lucille but they know that they can't go back and fix that (or the other mistakes).

and I wanted to ask is if Percival was still around and since he was the one who invited Felix and F back how would he feel seeing at how hurt the MC is to the return of F or just seeing the MC even more heartbroken being around F?

If Percival were still around, he would be upset that MC is suffering. However, the fatherly & kingly part of him that carries wisdom would tell MC how important it is to face the things that break us with courage. MC deserves closure of some kind. That may be moving forward with F. It may not be. Percival would support MC but also encourage them to face their demons.

oh one more angst question that applies personally to my MC and F, I play as Trans man MC who is exes with Fredrick just a scenario of my MC with his head down asking Fredrick "Is it because of how I am.......is that why you had to find someone else?" (I'm a trans man so I love getting to play characters true to me so thank you)

I can only imagine the gut punch for your MC!

F falls to their knees, your hand in theirs, their eyes searching yours. "I'm an idiot, MC," they whisper, their voice soft and broken, haggard F places a tentative and soft kiss on your hand, "Let me spend every day showing you that my leaving has to do with how stupid I am and not because of you. Never because of you," F begs softly, gazing up at you.

Sorry for the ramble lol I hope this ask wasn't too much or weird, I don't think I have ever sent an ask this long before to anyone lol but your IF is very fun and inspiring so thank you! ಥ_ಥ

Please don't apologize. Your ask meant so much to me. And you playing my IF means so much to me. Thank you!

-Vi

[tgrailwar-zero]

You prepared your healing Code Cast. NERO held out a hand, stopping you.

NERO: "There's no need. This ends here. I only need your applause."

You activated your Thunderous Applause Code Cast instead, a burst of shining light erupting in the middle of the Theater. The shining golden walls appeared to glow even brighter. Swiftly, NERO gained the offensive. The scene was intense, daring, your heart pounding just watching it. Like a skater upon ice, she spun around the PRIESTESS, attacking again and again.

A thunderous assault, accompanied by thunderous applause.

You could only watch in amazement as the flurry of attacks continued, fierce and devastating. While the PRIESTESS had been almost effortlessly been defending herself, she was now struggling. One blow cracked her mirror, the other ripping apart her kimono, her eyes growing wide and her ears twitching rapidly, the shining light of her tails flickering as they bristled.

A dance of death. Certainly, this would be her grave.

Blow after blow, slash after slash, a crimson blur was all you could see of the Emperor as she attacked again and again. You heard TAMAMO-NO-HIME scream in pain, body nearly collapsing as NERO grabbed the collar of her thick kimono, holding her up with one hand as the other handled her flaming blade.

NERO: "Goodbye, Shadow of Casko. I can at least commend your ability to fight until the very end."

Then, she struck.

The sword was lodged deep in her bosom, NERO having dipped TAMAMO-NO-HIME deeply with her final blow, their faces close enough that if this were a romantic story being performed before you, even a romantic tragedy, you would not think it odd if they were to kiss.

However, the timing had been well-chosen.

With this blow, TAMAMO-NO-HIME would fade away, along with the Golden Theater.

That was, unless she had an encore.

The issue was, Servants were supposed to fade. And if she wasn't a Servant, then she'd surely bleed.

You looked closer.

She was bleeding…

Wasn't she?

No, there was something oozing from the wound, but you didn't think it was blood.

It was red, certainly, glowing red, as the gash around the sword began to split open. Fingers slowly began to emerge from the gash, ripping apart the sword wound even further. NERO's eyes widened as she started to pull the blade away, but it only budged an inch before something caught onto it and pulled it back. She tried to let go, but three tendrils emerged from the wound, one of them firmly gripping the blade, one wrapping firmly around NERO's waist, and one around both of the Emperor's arms.

A figure began to emerge from the gash, which had now expanded to cover the entirety of the PRIESTESS' torso. A figure, feminine in body but vulpine in demeanor, slithered out of the darkness. Her body was nude, though she was cast entirely in silhouette, her body dripping with that crimson, accursed blood-like ooze.

FOX DEMON: "Hanzoku… my Hanzoku…"

The emerging entity moaned.

You watched KUKULKAN leap out of her seat, rushing towards NERO.

The Emperor prepared to let out a shout, before the FOX DEMON lunged towards her, tackling her to the ground as her sword scattered to the wayside.

You couldn't tell if it was a kiss, or if NERO's face was being mauled.

Dark fog began to surround them both, the force of the winds pushing the smog heavy enough to knock back KUKULKAN with a scream. She hit the ground with a heavy thud as the walls of the Golden Theater began to crumble.

No, not crumble.

This Theater was a pillar of human history, one of the remaining structures of the Judeo-Claudian dynasty.

And as such, when taken into the hands of this Tail of the Beast, there was only one thing it could do.

Collapse.

The fog surrounded you, made it difficult to breathe. You felt a heavy hand on your shoulder, and a bulky figure blocking the dark wings from battering against you. Two more figures drew close, SUZUKA and KUKULKAN. A good call- you felt as if these winds could knock you away for miles.

When they faded, the intense wind pressure was replaced with heat. Nothing but heat. Burning grass, scorched earth, the scent of smoke filling your senses and making it difficult to breathe. It was a similar sensation as the Bounded Field she had called her 'Palace' before, but amplified at least tenfold.

You heard around you the chattering of animals.

No, the screeching, throaty gekker of foxes.

The longer you listened, the more it sounded like mockery.

Laughter.

Off in the distance, you heard one howl louder than the others, causing the very ground to rumble.

You heard the PRIESTESS' voice. The FOX DEMON's voice. But it was lower, more malicious, and had the seductive predatory chill of a monster that would love nothing more than to strip you down to your bones and flay the meat from your body.

VOICE OF THE FOX GODDESS: "Certainly, that was a beautiful performance. Did I put on a good show? Pretending to die is always so much trickier than you would think. I have to give that Emperor acclaim for her acting as well. So much so, that I wanted to cast her in a show of my own. Surely, as her Masters, you don't mind… do you?"

Each word echoed through the air, clinging to it like a thick miasma that settled upon your

VOICE OF THE FOX GODDESS: "That Nero… she would never shut up. But she said something. That she possessed that 'Bestial spark', or whatever poetic drivel she used to describe it. Regardless, I thought… 'certainly, then we must be compatible'. Oh, and we are. I do love corrupt rulers. Our Original may deny her counterparts, but I know that I've loved many. Di Xin. Toba. Ji Gongsheng. Hanzoku. Love after love, lost to me. And so, I'll make Nero my new love. I've been so lonely as the Priestess, you see… but she knows me. She claims to, at the very least. I'm not a picky goddess, blessed be to me."

VOICE OF THE FOX GODDESS: "You see… a woman like her, she'd do wonderfully as my misfortune-speckled King Hanzoku. But I'm rewriting the story. Just tiny adjustments to the script. There's no Buddha to save him now. No Buddha to save you either. Just monstrosities. They'll kill you, and then I'll eat your heads. Peel off your skin, and devour your sinew and muscle. But you'll have to die first, so do be a dear and do that quickly. I'll have my Hanzoku help you."

You heard a heavy thud.

VOICE OF THE FOX GODDESS: "My dear King Hanzoku. If you slay the man, I'll give you a country. If you slay the women, I'll give you all the riches in the world. And if you slay the shadow… I'll make you immortal in every way you can imagine."

You saw a figure approach. Large, powerful, demonic, draconic. An embodiment of sin and tragedy. The aura radiating off of them was not dissimilar to DRACO. It was as if NERO had been flayed, and one of her worst qualities had put on her skin and made it their own. Their own armor pierced their body, blood running down their chest and staining their clothes. You couldn't see their eyes, but you could feel their gaze burning into yours.

A being of evil.

Sin and greed.

Collapse and applause.

AVARITIA-HANZOKU: "…Of course, my Queen."

They raised a hand, and demon after demon began to manifest. Monstrous, many-toothed beasts that began to lumber closer.

KUKULKAN shifted into a battle stance, charging forward. However, the normally bright, verdant, sunny light that emanated from her body flickered and sputtered out as she crashed onto the ground, inches away from one of the demons.

It raised a mighty claw, moments away from slamming down on her head before it reeled back from a sudden strike, the AVENGER dashing in and attacking. One armored, clawed arm wrapped around the normally bright goddess as she coughed, looking over at SUZUKA.

SALIERI: "We leave. This is a losing battle."

She nodded.

SUZUKA GOZEN: "Totally. Let's move!"

You felt SALIERI grab you as well, as he sprinted away, SUZUKA close behind as she cut down any demons that got too close. He picked a direction and moved, intent and navigation be damned, as there was nothing to do but move… lest you all be eaten alive.

You heard more laughter echoing around you.

VOICE OF THE FOX GODDESS: "Oh, come now. Didn't you want to be entertained? Didn't you so boldly state that you'd 'live or die by the sword'? Wasn't I not trying hard enough? Didn't I say you'd regret not taking my head when I so generously offered it to you? I've set up such a lovely stage for your demise. Welcome to my world."

The voice of the PRIESTESS rumbled, a deep echo that tickled your eardrums and reverberated within your very minds. Sweet, poisonous, and malevolent.

"KALMASHAPADA HELL."

Yes.

Hell.

This was certainly Hell.

You found a cave, slipping inside. SALIERI put you down, KUKULKAN next to you. He looked over at her, kneeling down next to her.

SALIERI: "…What's happening to her?"

He loomed over her, as she attempted to sit up.

KUKULKAN: "I'm… I'm fine…"

That didn't last long as she grimaced, laying back down again.

She normally had too much energy. So for her to be completely depleted like this was disturbing, to say the least.

LITTLE GUY…?: "...This is a lightless, sunless place. Or rather, the only true Sun that exists is your enemy here..."

You heard a voice. The cadence was familiar, sure, but the timbre was much, much deeper. A rich, slow, masculine tone rather than a chipper, rapid, boyish one.

Your gaze trailed over to the source.

A man, tall, slim and handsome, with an aloof expression on his face mused as he gazed out of the cave.

The last time you had seen him… which was today, he had looked much, much younger.

LITTLE GUY (?): "...The only things that thrive in these lands are suffering and curses... Kukulkan cannot shine here, and Suzuka Gozen's own brightness is dwindling..."

SUZUKA GOZEN: "I hate to admit it, but he's right. I'm still not at 100% after breaking the Talisman, but I feel my power level's totally being limited here... though not as badly as girlie over there. So, he's…"

SUZUKA GOZEN: "He's…"

She stumbled back, hands instantly falling on the hilt of her blade.

SUZUKA GOZEN: "Ge…General Yin?!"

Your AVENGER stepped forth, raising his own Wildfire blade and pointing it at the man.

SALIERI: "Who are you?"

YIN YUANSHUAI: "I apologize… Am I not welcome? I can take my leave... I perfectly understand if you wish not to be accompanied by a god of misfortune…"

[myfairstarlight]

Crimson Reveries

AO3 Link.

Rated: E

Length: 10.6k

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington

Written for Polinween Week 4: "Fangs for the memories"

Summary:

Colin is not obsessed, but he has noticed that Penelope’s lips have always been tainted red ever since her presentation. It is quite striking against her porcelain skin and fiery red hair — it draws the eye, that is for certain. As temptation prevails and a kiss is shared under the moonlight, deeply buried feelings begin to unravel. Night after night, Colin is haunted by dreams of crimson lips, pearly white teeth, and a passion that leaves him breathless. Yet, something unsettling lingers behind the dreams. As the days pass, and the line between reality and fantasy starts to blur, his mind spirals into unnatural territory. He wonders if her lips bear the colour of something… more eternal than red paint. And that perhaps, it is not truly him she desires, but rather something he possesses.

*additional notes on ao3

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

The thing is, that night, he could not help but stare.

It is peculiar, Colin thinks, as he has known Penelope for almost two decades now, and never before has he been this intrigued by the red of her lips. He has noticed before, of course, that soon after her presentation, it was difficult to see Penelope without that particular shade on her lips. It attracts the eye, such a vibrant red against her pale skin, luring gentlemen to lower their gaze to her mouth and then to her… well, bosom.

Colin is not vain, but he can still appreciate that his friend is well-gifted in particular areas.

And yet, over the years, Penelope has never had a single suitor or one that would stay longer than one dance. Perhaps it makes him a shallow friend, but Colin was pleased, for it allowed him to never lose his favourite person to converse and dance with so that these boring social events may pass in a blur. And it made him proud, as well, that of all the gentlemen of the Ton, he was the only one Penelope smiled at with graceful ease.

Penelope Featherington is now an old maiden in society’s eyes, at a mere eight and twenty of age. And yet, Colin thinks she has never looked this youthful and beautiful in her quiet confidence, so at peace with herself. Perhaps he sees her through a different light than anyone else, though he refuses to believe the gentlemen of the Ton can be this blind.

His brothers inquired about it once, when he was a mere one and twenty of age.

“Do you think her lack of suitors is your fault, brother?” Benedict asked. “For you are always near her and dancing with her.”

“As a friend does.”

“A friend, as you put it, does not constantly look at a lady's lips,” Anthony pointed out with a sneer.

“I—” Colin coughed. “I am not! It is just… have you not noticed… How peculiar the shade of her lipstick is?”

“No, because I do not spend the majority of my time staring at Penelope's mouth indeed,” Benedict responded.

Anthony snorted. “Shall we be expecting wedding bells in the not-so-distant future?”

Colin rolled his eyes, getting annoyed at his brothers’ unwillingness to be serious for a moment.

“I will certainly not be marrying Penelope Featherington, I can assure you as much.”

“I do not recall asking you to, Mr Bridgerton,” Penelope’s voice suddenly resonated behind him. When he turned around, she was standing by the door, leaning against its frame with a raised eyebrow, her cherry-red lips forming a thin, tense line. “And you two,” she continued, looking at Benedict and Anthony, “what business is it of yours? You who wield ladies’ hearts like mere toys?”

“Penelope—” the three brothers said simultaneously, only to be met with the lady’s dismissive hand as she waved their would-be apology away.

“I pity whoever you wed,” she said. “Now, where is Gregory?”

“Gregory?” Colin choked out.

“I agreed to help with his dance lessons but I cannot find him or your mother for the life of me,” Penelope huffed. “Never mind, I will find them eventually. Goodbye, gentlemen.”

She slammed the door behind her with little regard for the strength she used. When Colin turned back towards his brothers, they both had a dazed look in their eyes.

“Ah, forget what we said Colin, we now know why no gentleman has ever approached her,” Benedict said.

“Indeed, no man’s ego can handle such blunt wit,” Anthony agreed.

“Her lips are indeed rather—”

“Stop thinking about her lips!” Colin protested.

“Say you?”

Now, Colin watches as Penelope dances with Gregory in the middle of their mother’s garden party. Ever since Gregory entered society, he has been making sure to seek out Penelope for a dance. Penelope’s dance card only ever has two names these days — the two youngest Bridgerton men fighting for dominance on the small piece of paper.

That conversation, which happened years ago now, is but a meaningless memory, a strife in his and Penelope’s friendship that lasted only a week before they were back to exchanging barbs at any social event they attended together before Colin departed for his annual travels. However, ever since then, Penelope has insisted that her favourite Bridgerton man was now Gregory, and the latter has been insufferable bragging about it, even more so now that he can attend events as well and hog Penelope’s time away from Colin.

So yes, tonight, Colin is, for some reason, plagued by a distant memory and fascinated by Penelope’s lips.

Well. For a good reason, actually. His mind simply refuses to fully admit it, though his body and heart have, and he is already making his way towards the lady.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

On a peaceful evening, one night ago, to be more precise, Colin Bridgerton kissed Penelope Featherington.

She was invited to dinner at Number 5, along with her mother, though the latter was fortunately unable to attend. Well, perhaps that is a rude thought, but Colin never liked Portia Featherington or the rest of that family for that matter. He could never understand how sweet, beautiful Penelope could ever be related to them.

That evening, only his mother, Eloise and the two youngest were in attendance. It was quite the reminder to Colin that the rest of his siblings had been paired off, happily married.

He just did not expect the reason that Penelope was invited was because his mother expected Gregory to formally ask her for a courtship.

It was another brutal reminder that his baby brother was indeed four and twenty and most likely looking to secure a match of his own. Colin knew that, on an unconscious level. Gregory always held a puppy love crush on Penelope since he was old enough to understand what a crush was. Whenever Penelope visited, and if Eloise did not banish him to his chamber, Gregory would always happily follow the redhead girl everywhere. However, the idea that he was seriously interested in Penelope…

So he needed to know if the interest was mutual.

He found Penelope alone in the garden, by the pond. The full moon was reflected upon the calm water as she gazed at it, a forlorn expression on her face.

“No Eloise?” he inquired.

She barely reacted to his sudden appearance. “She said she had a headache and left me to fend for myself when your mother asked me if I had any intention to marry. Bless Violet but she has the subtlety of a brick wall.”

Colin snorted. “And what did you tell her?”

Penelope did not answer. She kept staring at the water as she bit her thumb’s nail. Then, after a while, she sighed.

“Colin, may I ask you something?”

“Of course,” he responded with no hesitation.

“Would…” She turned to him, eyes glistening in the night. Colin’s eyes immediately dropped to her lips, pursed as she deliberated her next words. Colin suddenly had the thought that she appeared to be asking for a kiss, paired with the way she was tilting her head up to look at him from under her lashes. “Would you kiss me?”

Did he hear that right?

“Penelope—”

“It would not have to mean anything,” she continued as if he did not speak. Her voice was strangely poised. “But to answer your question, I— even if the option was offered, I do not think I would take it. Marriage is… not something I can ever hope to achieve.”

“That is ludicrous, Pen. You’re only—”

“A spinster, and shall remain so,” Penelope interrupted. Colin’s heart sank, for reasons he had yet to understand. “But I… I remain curious. I do not wish to live the rest of eternity without ever having been kissed. I am on the shelf, I have nothing else to lose.”

And the truth was, at that moment, it was all Colin could think about. Kissing Penelope Featherington. A part of him thought — it made sense, why did he never think of it?

She reached for his face, her long nails scraping the stubble on his chin. Her eyes bore a dangerous and curious glint, cherry-red lips parted ever so slightly. Colin was mesmerised.

“Please?” she whispered.

Colin was only a weak man. He grabbed her hand in a firm grip and then cradled her cheek with his other one. She gasped, chest heaving as he leaned down until their breaths mingled. Colin observed, perhaps obsessively, every twitch of her face, the way her eyes fluttered before they closed under his intense gaze, how even after all these years, she still possessed a few freckles creating constellations on her face, how her lips, full and so very red looked ready to be ravished.

Finally, he closed the remaining distance between them.

And thus, on one ordinary evening, with only the moon as witness, Colin Bridgerton kissed Penelope Featherington.

He wished he could describe it as a revelation, a world-stopping event changing the trajectory of his life. In truth, the press of her tender lips against his was like a missing piece of his heart falling into place, an inevitability from which he finally stopped running from. Kissing her was like coming home.

He pulled back, if only for a moment, to see her expression. She looked divine under the moonlight, her pale skin seemingly glowing under his fingertips. She looked serene, dazed, and dare he hope, in love. Her blue eyes met his with unwavering certainty and she smiled.

“Thank—”

Before she could finish, Colin brought their lips together again, perhaps with more force than he intended to.

She wanted to say thank you as if this were a mere favour? He could not let her think that for one moment.

She gasped, hands flailing for a moment, before they rested around his neck, scraping the ends of his hair and sending shivers down his spine. He hummed, moving his mouth against her, guiding her into a gentle rhythm until hesitation turned into instinct.

The kisses, relentless and lingering, grew deeper and deeper. After what felt like hours, he could not help but bite gently on her lower lip, eliciting a delicious moan from Penelope. However, before he could get a proper taste of her mouth, he hissed at a sudden sting on his upper lip. An iron taste slipped into the kiss as Penelope pressed closer, and Colin felt helpless to indulge in her eagerness.

Then suddenly, Penelope pulled away with a gasp, her hands flying to cover her mouth. “I must go!” she said, voice muffled by her palms as she flew away before Colin could say or do anything to stop her.

It was like he came back to his own body. He realised then how flushed his face was despite the chilly air, the way his fingers, which were caressing Penelope’s skin a moment earlier, were now trembling into the sudden emptiness, how his heart was fervently beating, loud and obnoxious in his ears, how he was bleeding. The upper right corner and lower left corner of his lips stung against the cold air due to the cuts suddenly there.

Penelope, in her eagerness, bit him. Several times. And he was too enchanted to even realise properly. Colin swiped a small trail of blood trickling down his chin and found himself smiling like a maniac.

Lord, he enjoyed the sting.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Colin finds Penelope under the wisteria, sipping some wine, though she looks rather displeased about it. Her eyes focused on the dancers, she did not notice Colin approaching until he called her name.

“Pen,” he greets casually. She hums in response. “Would you perhaps wish to swap drinks?” he asks, offering the glass of champagne in his hand.

“That is kind, Colin, but believe me when I say you do not wish to taste what I have in my hand.”

Colin blinks. “Uh… Is it not wine?”

Penelope seems to startle back into reality as she shakes her head and offers him a strained smile. “It is. Of course, it is, what else would it be?” She laughs nervously.

“Are you alright, Pen?” A pause as she does not answer. “Is it because of what happened between us?”

“... I bit you, it was embarrassing.”

“I enjoyed it,” he admits, perhaps a bit too easily.

She snorts, quite the ungraceful sound, but she does not say anything else, visibly refusing to acknowledge their kiss any further. Colin swallows. He’s never felt nervous around Penelope before and yet at this moment, he feels quite small under her sharp gaze.

Clearing his throat, he decides to take another approach. “You know, Pen, I have never seen a lady with such loyalty to a shade of lipstick.” Gaining some of his usual confidence back, he leans forward, playfully inspecting her mouth as Penelope gazes at him with parted lips. “One would almost believe it to be… permanent.”

A dangerous glint now gleams in Penelope’s eyes. He can see her think, and weigh the choices now drawn before her. And then—

“It is not lipstick,” she says before taking a sip of her drink. “And this is not wine.”

“Very funny Pen—”

“I am not jesting,” she interrupts, her voice suddenly sounding lower, raspier as if a pretence has been thrown away. She tilts her head, enough so that their breaths mingle. Colin’s vision blurs, focused on her red-stained lips. Vaguely, he notes that he indeed cannot smell any wine. “Colin. There is a reason suitors do not last.”

She smiles, revealing her white teeth and among them two long, sharp canines. Colin gasps, but before he can even comprehend the sight, she clicks her tongue, pulls back, and finishes the rest of her drink. She grimaces and looks ready to empty her stomach.

“Ugh. You have ruined me, this tastes like dirt now,” she says, which makes no sense at all. “I will be taking my leave. Good night, Colin.”

“Wait—”

In what feels like a blink of an eye, Penelope runs out of sight, disappearing among the guests and the flowers.

He got an answer to his curiosity — yet one he is not sure he understands.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

While he was travelling in Europe, Colin came across many books he could unfortunately not read. Many, he brought back for Eloise and Penelope, as they were better versed in other languages than he could ever be, some others he kept for himself, to add to his collection.

(They look rather pretty on his shelves, after all.)

For one such book currently staring back at him, he recalls an old German bookseller telling him that the story involved a man, or creature rather, dead among the living, drinking blood to survive. A creature that remains, never ageing, never changing. He remembers laughing, praising the author’s imagination, although the bookseller did not join him and simply asked if he wanted to purchase it — the original, and a special English translation.

He gave the original to Penelope, and the thought of her, and their last conversation, naturally brought Colin back to this publication. The book’s English translation is now in his hands. It is a collection of poems and short stories, rather than a proper novel, simply signed A Timeless Author. Within, indeed, he reads tales of beings of unnatural origin. A man who can turn into an animal, a woman rising from the dead to protect her dear husband, another woman luring men to their doom within dark woods, feasting on their blood.

The sensual nature of these short tales makes him squirm a little. There was an odd intimacy at play in those scenarios, this need to feed from another, to do so in such proximity, joining pain and pleasure at once.

Colin laughs, albeit a bit weakly, then puts the book back down, and rejoices once more in the imagination humanity holds.

Why did he even entertain for one moment that Penelope could be one such being? These things… vampires, as the Timeless Author coined them, do not age, forever stuck in a past they can no longer reach and hiding away from the sun, but Colin grew up with Penelope. He would forever remember the tiny nine-year-old who apologised profusely for making him fall from a horse in broad daylight, only to laugh at him afterwards when he was unable to remove some dirt and grass from his curls. He saw Penelope go from a sweet and shy girl to the confident and witty woman she now is.

Her odd behaviour at the garden party surely is a simple manifestation of her fatigue.

Colin sighs deeply as he looks at himself in the mirror, inspecting his mouth. The cuts are almost fully healed already, though it still hurts a little. He who hoped for another kiss tonight may simply need to make his intentions clearer. With a nod to himself, he decides that the next day he shall call on Penelope and court her. Make her believe that marriage is not such a ludicrous idea for her. Prove that he no longer was the stupid one-and-twenty boy who could not even admit how oddly obsessed with her he was. How that obsession made him run, over and over again.

When he turns around, he almost screams.

Penelope stands before him in his dimly lit bedroom. She is dressed in a delicate white nightgown that hugs her generous figure wonderfully. Her long, luscious curls cascade down one shoulder, framing her face in an effortless yet sensual way as she gazes at him with bright eyes. There is a quiet confidence in her appearance as she continues to stare, the hint of a smile tugging at her red lips. The picture of innocence and temptation combined.

“Pen! What—”

“Ssh,” she shushes him, and in the blink of an eye, she now stands mere millimetres away from him. Before he can even exhale, she guides him towards the bed, and Colin follows until the back of his knees hits the mattress. As he sits, Penelope nudges his legs open so she may kneel between them. She rests their foreheads together as she whispers, “I need…” Her small hands wrap around his nape.

All the confusion leaves him at once, thoroughly distracted by the cool feeling of her fingers against his skin. She’s not wearing gloves, he realises with elation. Bless his vivid imagination. He closes his eyes, fully indulging in the fantasy, as he becomes Penelope’s ever-so-obedient servant. “What do you need?” he asks.

One of her hands slowly slides to his jaw, thumb caressing the small scar on his chin. Their lips brush as she tilts his head.

“Your heart.” She pauses. The words ‘it is all yours’ form all too easily in Colin’s head. “It is oh so very loud.”

“Is it?”

Penelope hums, eyes flashing red for a brief moment. “I want another taste,” she rasps then her lips are on his.

Instinctively, he wraps an arm around her waist, bringing her closer to him, while he cups her face with his free hand. She is much more eager as she melts against him, nails scraping his skin. This kiss is messier, more urgent, and full of hunger. Colin groans, growls, even, as Penelope cradles his face with a tenderness he has never experienced before.

And then she bites his lower lip.

Colin hisses, the sting feeling much too real for a dream. Penelope pulls back, but unlike the last time, she does not run or apologise. Her lips, plump and full, glisten in the dim light. Colin searches her eyes, but she is not looking at him, blue eyes fixated on his lips before they drift to his neck.

She smiles, and Colin catches a glimpse of fangs hidden behind those alluring lips. Perhaps by instinct, he cranes his neck, watching as a spark lights up in Penelope’s eyes. One of his hands finds its way to Penelope’s shoulder, palm barely an inch away from her exposed bosom. She inhales sharply, encouraging the movement until he can cup her ample breast through her sheer dress. He leans down, squeezing and peppering kisses where he can, shy of tearing her dress apart as desire burns within his heart.

“Let go, darling,” he encourages and Penelope wastes no time, throwing herself at him with such force he falls into the mattress, her mouth connected to the base of his neck.

And…

And then he is suddenly gasping, waking to an empty bed as the sun shines brightly through his curtains. His hand flies to his neck, feeling it bare and devoid of any marks.

His mouth still tingles, however.

(And something else.)

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Colin keeps to the promise he made to himself and calls on Penelope that very afternoon. Unfortunately, she is not home and Lady Featherington is thoroughly unhelpful in providing him with her whereabouts, before dismissing him. Eloise is of no further help, although his sister has been oddly distracted lately anyhow.

To his dismay, Gregory is the one giving him the information he needs.

“Pen?” Colin cringes at the nickname spoken by his brother’s lips. “Oh! Every Wednesday she is at the orphanage in Bloomsbury. She reads to the children.”

“Alone?” Colin inquires. “Is that not dangerous?”

“You and I both know we cannot tell her what to do,” Gregory laughs. “I am surprised she has not told you.”

“Well… me too.”

His brother gives him a pitying look and in that brief moment, he looks exactly like Anthony. Colin looks away and then sighs.

“I might as well ask… have you noticed something odd about Penelope? Lately?”

Gregory tilts his head. “She has been… jumpy for the past few days, I suppose. She almost stepped on my feet several times when we danced, which never happens, she’s a rather excellent dancer after all. In fact, she has been rather distracted ever since that dinner.” Colin tenses. “Did you do something?”

“Why do you think I did?”

“Are you seriously asking me this?”

“Would you stop answering my questions with another question?”

“You started it!”

“And you continued.”

One would wonder which one of them is the actual youngest.

“Colin,” Gregory says after a bit, “Pen… she has stopped waiting, you know?”

Colin frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Just that… she told me she was tired of hoping, whatever that meant. I asked her once why she had not left London if she truly had given up on finding a husband.”

“... And what did she say?”

“She should tell you herself. But I think you already know.” Gregory gives him a one-shoulder shrug then waves his hand. “And for the record, you are right, her lips are a particular colour, aren’t they?” He smiles, not-so-subtly adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, drawing Colin’s attention to them.

Colin’s heart skips a beat as he notices two small punctures at the base of his younger brother’s wrist before Gregory quickly covers it back. When their eyes meet again, Gregory is still smiling, pride radiating from his face.

“Gregory…”

“It turns out, you do not need to travel far to discover the most incredible things.” Gregory pats his shoulder. “It was a favour, do not worry, no one was ruined. Good luck, brother.”

He promptly walks away, with a bounce to his steps, leaving Colin to stare at the carpet. He brings a hand to the juncture between his neck and shoulder, a phantom pain suddenly assaulting his skin and yet, he is certain that there was no mark when he looked intently at himself in the mirror. Therefore, last night must have been a dream.

Wasn’t it?

(When he goes to the orphanage, Penelope is not there. Colin has the sudden odd urge to cry out of frustration.)

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Finding time alone with Penelope becomes surprisingly difficult after that, in fact, she disappears from social events, and neither Eloise nor Gregory have any answer for him for they do not know of her whereabouts either. It is as if she is avoiding him during the day but haunting his dreams every night, it is starting to feel like proper torture, rather than moments of ecstasy.

For every time it seems he is finally about to feel her around him, to drink her in, even if it is only a figment of his imagination, he bloody wakes up.

Penelope has always been a constant in his life, his sister’s ever-so-loyal friend, but honestly, his closest friend as well. And he feels like she is slipping through his fingers.

Tonight, he does not wait in bed with his eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. Instead, he sits at his desk, fiddling with his quill, when the Penelope of his dreams appears before him between two blinks, as she has done almost every night now. She seems surprised by the slight change of setting as she makes her way towards him, the fabric of her nightgown swaying with her movement, akin to the peaceful waves of the sea at night.

“Writing tonight?” she asks softly.

“You make me feel like I have gone mad,” he replies. “Penelope, what are you doing to me?”

For a brief moment, Penelope tenses, guilt flashing in her crystal blue eyes as she takes a step back. Then, she shakes her head.

“I am not doing anything. Right now anyhow.”

“Pen.”

“... You sound tired, perhaps it is better that you rest.” She raises a hand then but before she can touch him, he grabs her wrist, stopping her movement.

“So I am not sleeping,” Colin says, dark eyes boring into her startled ones. “This is real. It has been real every time and yet I cannot remember.”

Penelope laughs, a sound that is meant to be humorous yet Colin can detect a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Do not be silly. How would the real Penelope even be able to sneak into your room at night?”

It has been something he wondered about in moments when doubts would creep into his mind. Especially as he moved into new lodgings in Bloomsbury, and the dreams still kept occurring.

But if he throws all sense of rationality out the window…

“It would be impossible indeed… if you were truly only a woman. But you are not, are you?”

A derisive smile graces her crimson lips. “You did say once I did not count as a woman.” He winces at that. Not his greatest moment. “And you were so unknowingly right.”

Her demeanour changes, as if finally giving up the pretence. She shakes his hand off with a huff, then massages her wrist.

“So you are… a vampire.”

Penelope looks confused for a few moments. “Oh! The book you gave me, right? I had a good laugh at the inaccuracies. Incredible what writing can do, makes this sound so… fantastical. But… asking for that kiss was the biggest mistake of my unfortunate life,” she says then, not meeting his eyes. “Ever since that night, ever since I got a taste, I have been drawn to you. That first night— it was a guttural hunger I could not deny. I’ve fed from others before but this… one drop from you and it was like I was not myself. It was terrifying.”

She has fed from others? Of all things, Colin’s mind cannot help but stay stuck on that information, feeling his insides churn with anger.

“I stopped before I could give in completely. I could not do that to you, so I made you sleep instead,” she continues. Colin’s confusion grows— she can simply make him fall asleep? “And you believed it to be all a dream, so I said nothing, it was easier than to explain this.” She shows off her teeth then, two long fangs glistening under the moonlight. Colin’s heart picks up.

“So you never… bit me.”

“Well, I did, while we kissed, accidentally, which did nothing to satiate my thirst. Now everything tastes… bland.”

A pause. Colin sets his quill aside. “And if I said you can? Bite me, that is, drink from me.”

Penelope regards him as if he were the abnormal one. “Have you gone mad?”

“I may have,” he admits. “But this is clearly affecting you and I cannot help but feel like it is my fault.”

“So simply because you feel guilty you would let a monster drain your blood?”

“You’re not a monster! And you would not do anything to harm me, would you?”

“You have no idea what I have done over the years, Colin. You have no idea who stands before you.”

A shiver runs down his spine at her words, spoken in that low, raspy voice he is not accustomed to.

“Perhaps that is right. But one thing I know is that you are still Penelope Featherington, my dearest friend, and the alluring presence that won’t leave my mind.”

“Colin…”

“Come on.” He beckons her closer, and though she looks hesitant, she wastes no time to round his desk. As soon as she is within reach again, Colin grabs her arm and gently coaxes her into sitting on his lap. She goes surprisingly willingly as if the fight in her vanished after a touch. “Let go, darling. Properly.”

Penelope’s mouth hangs open for a moment, in such an adorable expression of awe and relief that Colin cannot help but steal just one chaste kiss. She chuckles against his mouth, her fangs gently teasing him before she pulls back. One of her hands grabs his chin so he cannot seek another kiss and he pouts.

“This might hurt. Actually, it will hurt,” she warns and yet Colin feels a thrill at the idea. “I—” Her hands tremble slightly as she traces the spot at the base of his neck, hunger swimming in her eyes. “I will not take too much.”

“I trust you.”

She nods. Painfully slowly, she lowers her head, lips brushing along his cheek and then his neck before she settles on the spot she has been caressing. Colin’s hands settle on her waist, feeling the rolls of her body pressed warmly against him. Then he feels them— her teeth on his skin.

He shivers, feeling her hesitation. He caresses her side, encouraging, gentle. He feels her smile but has no time to feel satisfaction as she finally bites. He groans, his grip strengthening around her, he worries he may have imprinted bruises on her porcelain skin. He can feel it, somehow, the blood draining from him, right into Penelope’s very being.

Her body feels warmer against him as the seconds pass. Colin’s vision blurs as something else stirs within him. His heart is beating fast, obnoxiously loud in his ears, and he realises that his member is sure starting to take interest.

At that moment, Penelope stops. He hisses as her fangs leave his neck, exposing the open wound to the cold air. She shushes him, a hand perhaps instinctively going against his mouth as she laps at the wound, gathering every small hint of blood left on his skin.

Their eyes meet again, Penelope’s blue orbs shining with mirth. But then, she tilts her head in confusion. She must see the lust in his eyes, Colin reckons, as he breathes deeply and cannot help but move his hips, grinding against Penelope’s thighs.

“Oh. Poor you,” she says sweetly.

“Pen…” he mumbles against her palm.

“Let me return the favour.”

He is confused for a moment before her free hand travels down his body towards his belt. With an expertise that makes him squirm at the implication, she unbuckles it and brings his cock into the cold spring air. Colin groans.

“Mm. My… victims usually are just terrified, or indifferent. But you… you liked it.”

She grins, her small hand wrapping around his girth with no hesitation. Finally, she frees his mouth as well and Colin wastes no time in bringing their lips together. She gasps as he licks into her mouth, tasting the iron of his own blood on her lips, on her tongue, everywhere.

He moans, openly, freely, as she starts to rub him up and down, a little clumsy, but enthusiastic nonetheless. Penelope sighs against his mouth, pleased, relieved, happy. Her newly freed hand settles on his heart, feeling it beat quicker and quicker, matching its rhythm with her strokes.

Colin pants as he feels his orgasm rush to him with embarrassing speed. With one brush of her thumb on his slit, he lets go, ecstasy blinding his senses as he comes in her hand.

“Thank you,” she says, looking indeed all replenished, skin glowing and eyes bright. She licks the traces of come sticking to her fingers while Colin is still finding his breath. “Sweet dreams, Colin.”

This time, as his mind turns to darkness it feels all too natural, with the honey scent of Penelope surrounding him.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

The days, or rather the nights, go on. Penelope does not visit every night, but when she does, Colin finds himself speechless, getting lost in her touches, the alluring taste of her mouth, and the feel of her skin and body around him.

They still do not talk. Colin still has many questions, and many fears about the nature of their encounters, all of which get drowned by pleasure and crimson lips, before they resurface at the same time the sun rises and Penelope vanishes, leaving in her wake only the trace of her lips on a letter on his desk, proof that what they shared was indeed real.

Finding her during the day remains a hassle. When he calls on her, she is never home, and when he catches a glimpse of her at Number 5, Eloise quickly steals her away, with no regard to Colin’s requests, and the two disappear for hours on end.

On Wednesdays, he could follow her to that orphanage, but she has never shared this with him, and it would feel… odd, insensitive, even, to show up at such a place only to try to speak with her.

Therefore, Colin finds himself in his younger brother’s company once more.

“Well, you look gloomy again,” Gregory comments as he slides a glass towards him. Colin catches it swiftly.

“It is still very weird to think you are old enough to be here, by the way.”

“You are deflecting.”

Colin sighs. “And you are annoying.”

“And I had you as my role model, so who’s to blame?”

“Anthony.”

Gregory rolls his eyes.

“How come she… bit you?” Colin asks eventually after several beats of silence. “How did you even find out?”

“The whole family knows, we’ve been helping her get, well, the blood she needs.”

“Excuse me?!”

Gregory puts his hands up in defence. “I figured you knew too! Otherwise, why would you be so fixated on her lips?”

“Why did no one tell me?!”

“Not sure, it was not exactly a secret. You’re just… never here.” Colin winces at that. “And now you are.”

“That still does not answer my question. She fed from you?”

“I offered. So did Eloise. We have matching marks on the wrist, though they usually heal after a few months, Pen does not need blood as often as we need food. She also refused anyone else’s blood, since they’re married.” Colin does not comment on the fact Hyacinth is left out. “But we helped… other ways as well.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Gregory purses his lips before taking a sip of his drink, stalling the answer. Colin keeps staring, a sense of both foreboding and thrill running through his veins.

“Did you not find it peculiar that some of the most notorious rakes of the Ton all mysteriously disappeared after one dance with her?”

You have no idea what I have done over the years, Colin. You have no idea who stands before you.

Colin finds himself short of breath.

“I… no one noticed?”

“Oh, you know, a rumour of a hunting accident tends to do the trick. No one ever suspects the quiet Featherington or the esteemed Bridgertons. I suppose we must thank our family's reputation.”

The older Bridgerton inhales sharply. Something stirs within him, and he would rather not acknowledge it with Gregory sitting right there.

“You said she does not need blood often but…” he croaks out, barely quenching his sudden thirst by downing his whole drink in one go. Fortunately, Gregory does not notice.

“Actual human blood? At least once every six months, she said. So right about the beginning of the social season and then at the end, unless she wants more. I thought you two talked?”

“It is not so much talking that we do…” Colin mumbles. Penelope finds her rightful place on his neck, takes, gives, and then leaves.

But if she does not need his blood as often as she seems to crave it as soon as they are safe within the closed space of his bedroom…

Gregory scrunches his nose. “I will pretend I did not hear that.”

Colin shrugs one shoulder. “You heard worse from our older brothers.”

“Do not remind me. I still cannot look Kate or Sophie in the eyes sometimes.”

He smiles against his glass. At least, in this ever-changing and confusing world, he finds some familiarity in teasing his brother.

Although he and the rest of his family have hidden pretty significant information about his best friend from him.

One day, he will get back to them. But for now…

“I suppose we will see more of you in the future? Are you staying?” Gregory asks, and somehow the question feels loaded.

“For a very long time, indeed. If she will have me.”

Gregory smiles. “Rooting for you, brother.”

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Penelope is not a brave woman, or at least she does not believe herself to be one.

In her eight and twenty years of life, she has let life pass her by with passive interest. It was difficult to do otherwise when her father sat her down in early childhood to tell her how unfortunately different she was from her sisters because she just so happened to inherit his curse.

“When you will come of age, another type of hunger will rise within you. Do not worry, the staff is already aware and will be prepared.”

“What about Mama?”

“Your mother… would rather ignore that our condition exists. Do not worry, little one, I will be here to guide you. We will have all of eternity.”

But then her father was killed during her first year out in society — so much for eternity with him, she lamented. Publicly, it was said to be a heart attack, her sisters still believe that lie to this day but Penelope knew better. Her father was a notorious gambler, and an excellent one, though his vampiric attributes were to his advantage. With an acute hearing, he could easily tell when an opponent was nervous, adapting his plays accordingly.

And what is more fragile than a man’s ego? Not much, truly. That is how Archibald Featherington found his demise at the hands of prideful men.

Penelope figures she must be at least grateful that their secret was not revealed to the light. As her father had predicted, her mother largely ignored Penelope’s vampiric attributes, pushing her motherly duties onto Mrs Varley who, fortunately, had kept her father’s journals where he detailed how life would be for her. Portia was too relieved to keep her youngest daughter hidden, at the end of the day.

Therefore, Penelope learned about herself through her father’s quill and the books she could find on the subject, dedicating most of her early years in society to adapting to her own body, rather than engaging in the marriage mart. And thus, a wallflower she became, not that she wished for anything else.

Love, for beings like her, is a fickle thing, her father wrote. It never lasts, he assured, and the promise of eternity is but a lie from a mortal’s lips. She knew her parents never truly had love for each other the way Lady and Lord Bridgerton had, but reading the resentment in her father’s writing, as well as seeing the barely hidden disgust in her mother’s eyes, was a brutal reminder of that reality.

The marriage was only convenient. She needed a rich match, I needed a family to blend into London society. I also needed an heir. She understood it as a male heir to the Barony. I meant an heir to my true heritage.

It did not stop her from falling in love, though she was quick to put those feelings aside. Nothing could ever come out of it — outside of her feelings being an unrequited fantasy, she was doomed to live many years more than whoever her heart may yearn for. In the end, only heartbreak would meet her. In the end, she would always be the one to say goodbye.

She made her peace with that.

The Bridgertons decided against it, though. First Eloise, and the rest soon followed, became privy of her secret early on. It was a secret too big for her to keep, especially with her urges becoming more frequent as her body fully developed and she needed to sneak away from events before she jumped on a poor guest.

They accepted her with surprising ease, even when she also shared her desire to avenge her father’s death.

Perhaps it was her thirst for blood speaking that day, but once the idea was spoken out loud, she knew she needed to see it through to the end. And the list was quite long.

Perhaps she should have been worried at how eagerly Eloise, Daphne and Francesca — and later Gregory and Hyacinth when they were old enough — were to help her lure the unsuspecting rakes of the Ton. Even Violet seemed ecstatic, meanwhile, Anthony and Benedict seemed more reluctant — perhaps because they once would have been within Penelope’s targets, but they wisely looked away and pretended to be clueless about the ordeal.

The family’s reputation and Penelope’s talent at blending into the crowd and disappearing made it easier to pass those mysterious deaths as mere accidents of fate.

The same way her father’s death had been reported.

Life was not perfect, but Penelope was content. Over the years, the Bridgertons dispersed, finding the loves of their lives and moving away from London. Soon, only Eloise, Gregory and Hyacinth remained. Penelope knew that the next time she blinked, they could all be gone.

And then there was Colin.

Her Colin, she liked to think once. The first Bridgerton she met, riding that horse she inadvertently made him fall from. It was a miracle no major injury was sustained, although he bled through his sleeves and it made her pre-teen self swallow with guilt and, Lord forbid, hunger. But then, he laughed, and her heart burst open.

She knew from that moment on that whatever years she would get to live, Colin Bridgerton would forever haunt her as her first, and perhaps her only love.

It was almost a blessing that out of all his siblings, Colin was the one who developed a love for the outside world soon after entering society, so she rarely ever saw him as the years went on, especially after hearing him declare so loudly that he would never marry her to his brothers. It was easier that way — she had no intention of marrying anyhow, even if she did not have those feelings torturing her heart. She could not. She refused to live like her parents. She would be content disappearing one day into the countryside as an oddly old spinster that people write tales about. Her father had left her a significant inheritance, separate from the Featherington Barony, that would allow her to run elsewhere and build a new life.

For all his faults, he at least made certain that she had the choice of living a different life than the one he had for himself.

And yet, she remained in London, because every year, without fail, Colin came back for the social season, and would always seek her out at every event. He would dance with her, make her laugh, call her special, and so very dear to him. It was enough to make a woman hope, and hope is one dangerous weapon, especially one she knew with no use in the end.

Therefore, she made her decision. This year would be her last, and soon she would forsake the name Featherington to start a new life.

I’ve had many names over the years, ones I cannot remember any longer. Her father wrote. No place ever felt like I belonged, therefore I kept moving. Eventually, London became… something interesting and Portia was an unusual and intriguing woman. I stayed. I believed I could settle. But I knew, that if one of our children turned out to be like me, that one day, I would leave again, this time just not alone.

She told Eloise, who smiled and promised to visit and join her as soon as her mother would finally stop hoping she might still find a match. Hyacinth hugged her and made her promise to write every week. Gregory jokingly proposed to her to make her stay and Penelope pinched his cheek for his adorableness.

She could not find the courage to tell Colin. A part of her simply assumed he would not care anyhow, he who is so little in London. And yet, that evening, perhaps it was Violet’s question about settling down that made her ache again, but she let go of her fears and doubts. When Colin sought her out in the garden, she asked for the one thing she always craved for, because over the years, somehow, she had never been kissed.

She did other things, to lure rakes into the dark woods near Aubrey Hall. Men are easy creatures, she had learned, a caress down there, a seductive smile and a slightly lower voice, and they fall like autumn leaves. The perfect distraction before she could lunge and drain them. They are all driven by lust, which makes their blood all the sweeter before it turns dull as fear overtakes them. They were so eager to get pleasure, and not so much to give or share, which is why they made such easy targets as well.

Penelope still craved the taste of a sweet kiss, though, and if she had to spend the rest of her long life alone, she wanted to experience it at least once. Perhaps it would be her biggest regret.

She could not predict the next turn of events. She knew her crush never truly vanished, but she did not expect her body to sing for him. Instincts took over and to her surprise, it was a different kind of thirst she had when drinking from others. It was a burden with them, a task as simple as eating to survive, she simply needed it to be done, and fast, but with Colin, her movements were slower, more hesitant perhaps. With Colin, she wanted to make it last.

And what a terrifying thought. It was in her very nature that everything she touches cannot last.

So she came back every other night. Colin seemed eager to welcome her every time, but he did not think she was real, she could tell with the mesmerised glint in his eyes, and it made her stop before she would give in. The kisses were enough. They had to be. It was not love, it could not be.

Then everything was cleared up and he still wanted her. He asked her to bite him. To let go.

So she did. Again, and again, and again. And when he mentioned needing to talk, she flew, afraid that it would mark the end of this whole mess.

And she knew it would be her downfall.

Penelope is not a brave woman. She is greedy, ruined and selfish.

But someone else may disagree.

And that night, she is reminded that she remains a woman made for love.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Knocks on her window make her jump, and she almost screams when she turns around to see Colin somehow there, perched on the branch of the tree near her house.

“Have you gone mad?! Again!” she whisper-shouts as she opens the window and Colin wastes no time jumping into her bedroom, bringing a few leaves and twigs in his wake.

“My mind has never been clearer, Pen,” Colin grins that easy-going charming smile of his. “I have something to ask you.”

Under the moonlight, Penelope has always felt more at peace, empowered in a way the sun could never offer. As it turns out, Colin finds that the night emboldens him as well.

He strides the few steps separating him from Penelope and promptly drops on one knee.

“Marry me.”

Penelope gasps, taking a step back to observe the man before her. Framed perfectly as he is by her open window, it allows the full moon to shine brightly upon him, casting an ethereal blue tint upon his dark curls. A subtle breeze graces the night, her curtains swaying gently to its rhythm around Colin, a vision from her romantic reveries.

And so it pains her to utter her next words.

“Colin we cannot.”

Undeterred, Colin presses on. “But do you want to?”

“... Do not do this to me, Colin.”

He shakes his head and reaches for her hand. Against all the voices in her head, she lets him, fingers curling naturally around his warm palm.

“Talk to me, Penelope.”

The urge to run grips her very being once more but this time Colin does not let go. He must have felt her hand tremble in his grip. He stands up, bringing an arm around her waist, pressing their bodies together. He whirls them around so he may sit on the bed, Penelope standing before him, now at even level for their foreheads to gently rest against each other.

She inhales deeply. A familiar position, one that renders her so weak for his touches.

“Is it… Did your family tell you? That I planned on leaving after this season? Is this why you are proposing so suddenly?” she asks eventually, meeting Colin’s forest green orbs, shining with an intensity she still is not used to.

His muscles tense under her hands. “... You wished to leave?” That is a no, then. “Why would you…”

“I have a long life ahead of me, Colin, and spending it in London has never been my plan.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“... Eventually,” she lies.

He doesn’t believe her, it is evident in his eyes and the way his lips press into a stern line.

“Talk to me.”

It is not so much a request anymore, but rather a blatant and tired demand. Penelope’s shoulders sag, guilt piercing her heart for the torment she must have put her friend in.

“I apologise,” she whispers. “It is just… I cannot do this to you, Colin.” Her hands slide from his shoulders to his face, feeling Colin melt under her touch. “I am already taking so much from you— I cannot curse you with eternity too.”

It is possible to tie a mortal’s life to ours, but it is a process that cannot be overturned. They remain partially human, they simply stop ageing as long as the vampire does not die. She recalls reading in her father’s writings. The target must simply drink back from the vampire. It cannot be forced, the ritual will fail if the soul is not willing. But mortals are indecisive. Many dream of eternity only to wither through the years and beg for death.

“And what if I wanted eternity with you?” Colin asks, an unbearable softness to his voice.

“You do not know what you speak of.”

“I do. I have been agonising over this for the past few weeks, Penelope.”

“A life with me means an eternity of loneliness.”

Colin gives her a bemused look. “Absolutely not, since I would be with you. That is the very opposite of loneliness.”

“But your family—”

“Know about you, about my feelings, and would understand.”

“We will need to constantly move, with nowhere to call home.”

“Home does not need to be a place. There is a reason I keep coming back, and though I love my family, it is not because of them.” Penelope is ready to argue, but he shushes her by stealing a kiss. “Do not. Half of them do not even live in London anymore.”

Penelope cannot refute that indeed.

“Perhaps the better question would be… Penelope Featherington, would you make me yours?”

The air becomes charged after those words are uttered.

Her teeth ache, as he cranes his neck, the traces of her last bite peeking beneath his cravat. A monstrous growl almost escapes her at the mere fact it is hidden, and she is able to stifle it through a cough.

“N-Not tonight,” she says.

“Is that a yes for later, then?” Colin says eagerly, arms still wrapped around her, refusing to let go.

“I need you to be sure, Colin.”

“I am, darling.” He smiles with a tenderness that makes her non-beating heart swoon. He kisses the palm of her hand. “You have been my constant in life. The light within the dark that kept guiding me back home, back to you. I suppose I never… questioned it twice, I always assumed that however long I went away, you would be here to welcome me. I love you, and if I can be blessed with eternity with you, exploring the world anew, then I would be a fool to refuse.”

“Will you not grow bored?”

“Bored! Pen, we have known each other for almost twenty years, that is a crazy long time, all things considered, and I am still learning new exciting things about you, and myself. An eternity of constantly surprising each other, is that not exciting?”

Piece by piece, she can feel the walls around her soul crumble.

“I love you,” she laughs as she lets herself fall against him, making them both tumble into the mattress. Colin carefully manoeuvers them so she is the one lying down on the bed, with him hovering over her, her arms still wrapped around his neck, keeping him close. “Now I feel like the one who’s dreaming.”

Colin hums. “Then allow me to fulfil your fantasies, now,” he says, voice lowered. The laughter dies on her tongue as she takes on the serious look in his eyes, and she can hear his heartbeat more intensely. Her vision goes hazy for a moment as all her senses get attuned to Colin’s body.

She can have him, her heart sings, all of him, body and soul. Why should she wait, in the end?

“Let me show you… how certain I am. Let me return the favour?” As he speaks, one of his hands slowly travels from her waist to the back of her knees, lifting the skirt of her nightgown in his wake.

Penelope breathes in. “Well… first I would need to tell you what I need, wouldn’t I?”

Colin smiles, tilting his head. It is a thing he only ever does with her, Penelope muses with wonder. “I’m listening,” he whispers. “What do you need, darling?”

A thrill runs through her body at the question — the very question which started their nightly escapades.

“I need you inside me. I want it slow, but purposeful, I want to feel all of you and feel you come undone as I bite you.”

If he is surprised by her frankness or her mere knowledge of sexual acts, she who is supposed to be an innocent lady of the Ton, he does not let it show. His breath falters but he quickly regains himself, offering her a bright smile.

“You are a right wonder,” he praises, leaning down to kiss her. For long minutes, it is all they do, exchange languid kisses in which Penelope teasingly bites his lower lip whenever he pulls back slightly to breathe.

Soon, she feels his hand slide around her thigh to seek her most intimate part. She gasps softly as his large hand cups her.

“You are soaked already…” Colin whispers in wonder as he starts to rub circles. She whines, lifting her hips to match his movements. “Eager…”

“It has been a while,” she admits then quickly slaps a hand on her mouth. “I— I mean—”

Colin purses his lips. “Then I shall prove myself better, so it is not just my blood you will relentlessly crave,” he says.

“Cocky, are we?”

He bites his lips, visibly holding himself back from another retort, and just as Penelope is about to call him out on it, she feels a finger prod at her entrance before sliding in, oh too naturally, before another one joins in.

That is when Penelope realises they are still too dressed, or at least, Colin is. As he starts thrusting his fingers in her, accompanied by expert stimulation of her bundle of nerves, she starts clawing at his shirt and cravat, threatening to tear them apart. Eventually, she manages to get his cravat off, at the very least, freeing his neck. She licks her lips, eyes focused on her mark on his skin.

She can feel his gaze on him, tracking every one of her expressions, of her movements. His fingers slow as if waiting for her next move, and as she tugs at his sleeves, he understands. He pulls away briefly, getting rid of his shirt with one hand, throwing it over his shoulder and across the room, before he is on her again.

His fingers resume their work to Penelope’s utter pleasure, alternating between careful caresses and enthusiastic thrusts. She feels it build steadily, that heat within her, and she can sense it in him too. Her hands dance across the hair on his chest, listening to his heart beat with fervour, feeling his blood flow throughout his body and most importantly, down there. She smiles slightly as he, most certainly unconsciously, starts to grind against her thighs, desperation building.

“Colin,” she calls against his lips. He halts his movements, a bit too abruptly to her taste. She pouts. “I need you, now.”

He wastes no time executing himself, her Colin. With one more kiss before parting, he pulls away, but only for a moment as he frees himself from his breeches, which also find their place at the foot of the bed. With Colin now completely naked in front of her, she realises she, on the other hand, is still fully clothed. And she quite likes it.

“Next time,” she promises, upon noticing Colin’s slightly disappointed look upon noticing she is not moving at all to remove her nightgown. “Only my husband shall see everything.”

Colin laughs softly. “I will procure a special licence, then.” He crawls on top of her again, and she feels his length throb between her thighs and shivers. “Are you ready?” he asks.

She licks her lips. “Are you?” she asks, flashing her fangs, recalling the way her bites affect him like it has affected no other man. He draws in a shaky breath and nods.

She wraps her legs around his waist as he positions himself and thrusts in one smooth glide. Penelope moans, stifling her sounds immediately on his skin, not quite biting yet, but tempted to. He groans against her, mouth lapping at her chest, for every inch of skin he can reach, as he builds a steady rhythm.

“You feel heavenly, Pen,” Colin meowls. “Warm, sweet, perfect.”

Penelope sighs deeply with each thrust, matching his movement, ears ringing with the sound of Colin’s breath, his heart, his blood, his pleasure. It is all so much, and yet not enough at once.

Then one of Colin’s hands reaches for her clit during one particular thrust and she almost screams. The only reason she does not is because she bites down on Colin’s neck instead, his blood flooding her mouth.

His hips stutter, before they renew in vigour, chasing that high. Penelope loses herself, an animalistic instinct taking over as she bites and nibbles at every inch of skin available to her as she feels her pleasure overwhelm her.

“Colin,” she moans, “Colin, now—”

His thrusts lose their careful rhythm as he gives in to the chase. She tries to follow, but all she can do is hold on, lay back and let him take, take and take, the way she has taken and taken and taken from him.

Soon enough, her vision blurs as her pleasure overflows. She moans, and so does he, eyes never leaving her face as she clenches around him at the same time she can feel his seeds plant within her.

With laboured breath, they remain connected as such for long minutes, before eventually, Colin collapses on her side, fingers tracing the numerous new marks across his skin.

“Good Lord, darling, you devoured me,” he says, before kissing her like tomorrow did not exist.

She laughs against his mouth, wiggling her hips, trying to ignore her disappointment at the sudden emptiness there. “You’re welcome.”

He hums. “I… should go before the sun rises.”

“You should.”

“I do not want to.”

“Me neither.”

And so they do not move and fall asleep entangled together.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

They are married within the next week through a special licence. They did not get caught that night, surprisingly enough, Colin was simply impatient, and he is too in love to even be ashamed about it.

Neither he nor Penelope desired a big celebration of a wedding anyhow, not when they knew that they would soon embark on a ritual far more binding than a wedding could ever be.

But it is a bit underwhelming, Colin thinks, as Penelope hands him a chalice with some of her blood within. And nothing else.

“Is that all?” he questions. “Seems… awfully easy.”

“Not everything can be as seductive as those books say,” Penelope says. “I can bite your wrist at the same time if you prefer.”

“Do that, and we are not leaving this room for another week again.”

She snorts. “Well then.” She grabs a glass, this one he knows to be full of wine, as she clinks it against his chalice. “To our eternity?”

“To our eternity,” he confirms and drinks.

He blinks as sweetness greets his tongue, rather than the stale iron taste blood usually bears. His eyes flicker to Penelope, whose eyes twinkle as she smiles.

“Sweet, isn’t it?” she hums around her glass. “Only mine will taste as such to you.”

“Is that how I taste to you?” he asks.

“You now know why I lost my mind a little,” his wife chuckles. She beckons him closer. “Here, hold my hand, close your eyes and concentrate.”

Confused, Colin follows her instructions. He holds her hands with both of his, smiling a little upon feeling her wedding ring against his palm. That is when he hears it— two unified beating hearts. His, and hers.

“But you said your heart…” he trails off.

“You are half of me, as I am half of you now.” Her crimson lips form the lovely smile he fell in love with years ago. “Sweet, isn’t it?”

Colin cannot help but agree. He leans down to get a sweet kiss indeed from her. “Not as sweet as you.”

Penelope beams at him, eyes bright. He shall cherish that sight forever.

And how lucky is he that he does have forever ahead of him.

[chronicallyonline101]

hey king can you write me a Doppio x Diavolo fic where diavolo thinks that he finally escaped the death loop and can apologise for not even saying goodbye, only to be killed by Doppio, (smut/j) thanks xoxo

THIS IS SOMETHING I CAN DO!

It's a bit rushed cuz i wrote it in class but i hope you like it !!! :D

Diavolo x Doppio - Nothing Matters.

Was there such a thing as infinity?

How many times must one perish before they've done it all; before they've experienced every death there is to have; all the pain that is to be inflicted?

Diavolo had done it all - couldn't count how many times he'd died. How many times had he been stabbed? Mauled? Dissected? Run over? Diseased? Frozen? Impaled? How many times had he found himself cut into little pieces? Shot? Battered? Even the things that seemed impossible, like spontaneous combustion, or melting on the spot - Diavolo, as a matter of fact, had done it all.

It was a repetitive cycle of life, pain and death.

At first it had been torment. Torture; both physical and psychological. Could you imagine that kind of suffering? To wake up each morning and know for certain that death awaits you? To have your insides torn out piece by piece, to drown in a pool of your own blood, to feel all that pain, every stab, every pinch and to remember each and every single instance... Diavolo could. He had. In fact, he'd come to expect it.

It had been so, so long that he had grown numb to the fear.

Ever day, he woke up and was overcome with a profound sense of emptiness. He knew what would come. What else could he do but lie and accept his fate?

At the back of his head there was a nagging hope that maybe, sometime soon, 'infinity' would end. Surely, there wasn't such a thing as 'infinite deaths', at some point he'd experience them all, right? He hoped that at some point it would end, that this would all end and that he would be tossed into the fiery pits of Hell - but with each day, each new loop, this hope was diminished. Squashed beneath the weight of the Grim Reaper and his sick games. With each new day, he experienced yet another death.

That is what he had expected when waking up that morning.

Diavolo felt himself arise beneath the hot Italian sun. His body lay atop of a soft mound of dirt, gentle blades of grass brushing the sore flesh of his skin and making his sensitive muscles twitch. There was a groan, and his eyes fluttered open; a vibrant brushy green that contrasted well with the gold of the sky. The day was hot, for October - not that he knew the date - and it wilted pale tulips and vibrant roses. It was hot. So hot that for a moment he half thought he would be set ablaze right then and there. It wouldn't be anything knew - he'd died that way around about sixty-two times, not that he was counting.

But, the longer he sat there, sweating beneath the sky, the more hope began to swell within his bosom. Like a golden ray of the sun, glowing brightly in what was the carcass of his heart, he began to realise that nothing was happening at all.

He sat upright. His long, pink hair - knotty and matted from lack of care - swayed atop of his shoulders. He sat. He sat and he waited for the bitter grip of death to take him; but it never came. No shrieks. No cars. No trains. There was no sound of a blade being unsheathed from its case, no buzz of a chainsaw and no manic laugh of a killer clown - which had happened before, by the way. No, there was none of that, just a serene sense of calm. The rattling of tall grass against the breeze, the crow of a bird and the hum of a bee settling into an open tulip.

This was... alarming. With eyes splayed wide, Diavolo jerked his head back and forth to survey the area; he was in an empty field of flowers, tulips, roses and lilies of the valleys dusted the landscape in the soft tones of white, pink and red. And though he had once thought he was alone, he quickly learnt that this was not the case, for in the distance he could see a lone, wandering figure.

Slender, yet tall, dressed in colours that matched the soft landscape around them and tipped with pretty, pink hair that had been coiled into a strange sort of bun and --- Oh. Oh my God.

Diavolo scrambled to his feet, his once empty heart filled with an urgency he had not felt since being subjected to the wrath of Golden Experience Requiem.

Was that him?

Was that really him?

Was it actually Doppio?

Since entering the loop, Diavolo had done a lot of running - for his life, mostly - but now he was running for the man he had once loved. The man that he had never stopped loving, even as he was left to die over and over again.

His heart pounded in his chest, and as he neared this odd man he realised that it in fact was his sweet Doppio. By the shoulder, he grabbed him, and swiftly turned to look him deep in those doeish brown eyes he had never once had the privilege of looking into before.

And there he was; his tan, freckled face framed by tousled pink locks. His eyes wide and confused. His lips parted to speak out against this sudden intrusion, but he was cut off by a startled Diavolo, who with a voice hoarse from pleading for his own life, blubbered and sobbed;

"Doppio," He gripped his shoulders as if there was nothing else to hold onto in the entire world. "My dear Doppio..."

"It's you..." Doppio spoke, there was recognition in his voice. He called Diavolo's name, and in his heightened state of relief it didn't once register to Diavolo that logically, Doppio shouldn't know his name. He'd never learnt it. Only heard the voice of his overly affectionate Boss through the echo of a faux phone.

"It's me, and it's really you." Overwhelmed with joy, Diavolo pulled Doppio closer by his shoulders, and in turn, Doppio placed his hands atop of his Boss' narrow jawline; cupping his face with adoration and pressing their foreheads together. There was a crooked smile across his lips, finding humour in the bated breaths Diavolo let out.

"You finally made it." He cooed, and slowly, he let go of Diavolo. There was a silent complaint from the latter, who wished to hold on for a little longer, but when Doppio took his hand in his and began leading him along, Diavolo had no gripes. "Come with me."

As he was being lead along, he took a moment to glance around. To really take in his surroundings; the sky was golden, with puffy white clouds. The ground mottled with pastels. It was picturesque; it was perfect. This place, with Doppio, was perfection. And as a small, rotund table came into view - adorned in a gingham cloth, with a little tea set at its top, Diavolo began to realise that this may be it.

Had he finally reached the end? Was this it?

Here, with Doppio, was this his final destination? Heaven, is what it was. Though he had once been certain he would never reach the pearly gates, here he was, with the man he loved.

Doppio sat at the table with a smile, and offered Diavolo the spot opposite him. He took it with glee, slowly and with care, now that he knew there was nothing but bliss awaiting him ahead.

But, a frown soon overcame his features. A sorrowful, regretful thing, and it quickly spread to Doppio.

"What's wrong, Boss?" He spoke, not a lilt of malice or anger in his tone which only served to upset Diavolo more. He watched, with sad green eyes as Doppio poured the two of them tea - sugar, and milk, stirred together in the way Diavolo liked.

"I'm... sorry." He was quiet. His tone so hushed it was near a whisper. Doppio cocked his head to the side; a question, pushing Diavolo to continue. "I'm sorry... for everything... for ruining your life, for turning you into my personal puppet. You didn't deserve that."

There was a short pause. Doppio continued to stare at Diavolo, his longing gaze not faltering for even a moment before he continued;

"And I'm sorry I never got to say goodbye to you."

Ah, there it was. A flash of hurt behind Doppio's gaze.

Doppio had liked working for Diavolo. He had enjoyed each and every little conversation they had over the phone, he had liked how easy the life was - aside from major tousles and injuries - and he had loved his Boss. What had hurt him, was dying alone. In a body that was not his, Doppio felt himself go cold, he felt himself drift away and though he called and cried for his Boss; Diavolo never came to save him.

But they were here, together, right now. That's all that mattered, right?

"It's okay." Doppio spoke, his tone unnatural.

"It's not, though. I should have tried to save you, but instead... I was so caught up with myself I ran away to pursue those... those---!" He was working himself up, only eased by the sound of Doppio's gentle laugh.

"Just drink your tea." He mumbled, a smile plastered across his lips. He took a sip of his own beverage, tongue poking out playfully as he savoured the taste. Diavolo's gaze softened on him, loving and content.

He could apologise properly later. He had all the time in the world now, after all. It was strange to think that he had finally escaped that death loop. To think that he would no longer need to wake up with a sour feeling of emptiness in his heart, knowing that now he could live out each day to its fullest without the threat of impending doom. Perhaps he needed that loop. It had taught him to be more appreciative of the little things in life - like this tea, that he blew at to clear the smoke before taking a delicate sip and... ew.

It was gross. Acrid, and bitter, with an aftertaste that burnt at his tongue. Initially, he spat it out, which only served to make Doppio frown.

"Do you not like it?" He had asked, and out of pity, Diavolo shook his head.

"No, no. I love it. Apologies, it was just hot."

He took another sip, but the bitter taste remained. Doppio watched with wide, sad eyes, and as a means to make him happy, Diavolo took one big gulp. Downing the entire cup in one fell swoop. It seeped down his throat and left a burning sensation in its wake, causing him to wince in pain. He brought a hand up to his chest to try and ease the pain.

"I'm so glad you're enjoying." Doppio then smiled, and brought the teapot up to refill his cup. "Do you want another?"

But he did not bother waiting for Diavolo's answer, already pouring another round of the sour liquid into his cup. Diavolo winced, suddenly finding his voice hoarse.

"D---opp-io..." He croaked.

His spit foamed at the edges of his mouth; bile rising to the back of his throat as his body tried to reject the poison that had now settled into his system. There was a gurgling in his gut, burning and bubbling. He wheezed, wincing and panting hard as he tried so desperately to fight off the sudden nausea that overcame his body.

He looked to Doppio, but only saw a husk of what was once the man he loved. And as his eyes closed yet again, ready to embrace the release of death; Diavolo realised that of course this would happen. It always happened, in the end. It was infinity, after all, and it seemed that just as he was getting used to the rhythm of dying over and over again the loop adapted to ensure that his torment was endless.

And though Diavolo was disappointed that his torture had yet to end, there was a flicker of hope within him that perhaps, if this loop was truly infinite, he would see Doppio again in this maze of demise.

i hope this is good :D if u want me to change anything i can !

---

they never even got to say they loved each other :(

maybe if im feeling nice i'll post the version where they get freaky instead and diavolo has a heart attack at the end.

[beachlifelez]

“This is Margaret Wallington. Oh, hello, Stephanie. Yes, your daughter has arrived.

"Of course, Paige is putting her full efforts into my assignments.

"Well, she’s quite busy at the moment. I had her starting to focus on two very important items before you called.

"Yes, well, after she finishes on those items, I have one extremely important area where she’ll be spending much of her attention. I’m looking forward to her diving in and delivering very positive results to me.

"Yes, of course, I’ll have her call as soon as she has completed those tasks to my total satisfaction. Goodbye, Stephanie.”

Margaret hung up the phone and looked across the room.

“Well, Paige, that was your mother, as I’m sure you surmised. She is a nosy little thing, isn’t she? And quite an interruption, I would say.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Wallington. I hope she doesn’t reflect badly on me.”

“Of course not, dear; it’s just that she drags us away from our very important activities. Now, where were we?”

“I was helping you out of your jacket and blouse so that I might worship your magnificent breasts.”

“Yes, it’s a good thing she does not suspect your presence here is primarily due to your keen interest in pleasing older women. Alice Dunford was so good to introduce you to me.”

“You have taught me well and are very kind to me, Miss Wellington and I adore being able to pleasure you, as you know.”

Margaret removed her jacket and blouse, fully revealing her ample bosom. Paige’s eyes lit up as Margaret presented her breasts to her.

“Yes, these two very important items require your total attention, now, dear. And then we’ll move on to my extremely important area. You do have your work cut out for you today, Paige.”

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

hi! i saw your request post, and can i request a gender neutral anthony story in which the reader and anthony hate each other, but reader and benedict are best friends?

Pride Before The Fall (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

AN: Thank you for reading my post before you sent this in! I hope you like what I've written. I left the ending kinda vague since you didn't specify if you wanted a resolution - which I think I'd be down for writing over a series of mini blurbs (rather than a full on fic) like something people can send asks in and I respond with a blurb type. Let me know if that's something you'd be interested in!

Content Warnings: Reader is gender neutral, no use of Y/N

Masterlist // Read Before Requesting

The park was a hotspot for the daytime proceedings of every season. Families promenading together, arranged around picnic blankets beneath canopies, young couples awkwardly finding their feet through small talk whilst being stalked by a member of their staff who would record all said to memory then regurgitate it to the rest of the household staff once they’d returned home. Sunshine pleasant enough to be basked in, flower perfuming the air with romance, ducks gliding across the lake, it was ever bubbling with the life of society.

It was precisely why Anthony had chosen to take a turn about the lake with Miss Harper. He maintained a brisk pace with his feet and his mouth, asking many questions to decide whether to rule her out of his mission to find his Viscountess. On paper, she seemed ideal: a cellist who spoke French and was well-versed with a waltz. However the sentences were strung together in a strained sense and Anthony found himself already deciding who he would speak to next.

As he and his walking partner drew towards his family, he spied – in the near distance – you. His stride staggered a tad before he negotiated with himself to carry on forwards. His gaze was set on you, speaking with Benedict, though from this distance, Anthony could not tell. Benedict withdrew his sketchpad from behind his back and held it up. You grabbed for it, but he held it just out of reach, walking backwards and teasing you as you bounded after him until you both reached the Bridgerton picnic.

Side by side, you and Benedict always had been bosom buddies. You knew about Benedict’s penchant for art before he told anyone in his family. It was this relationship that irked Anthony so.  

Anthony hastily bid Miss Harper goodbye then, with a quick adjustment of his coat, he propelled himself back to his family.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted, intending for it to be addressing everyone present.

However his stare was concentrated on you and your bowed head, leaning over Benedict’s sketch book. When you finally noticed you were being spoken to by someone who was not your best friend, you did not rise to courtesy, only offering a blank faced “Good afternoon, my lord” before returning to your conversation with Benedict. Anthony did his best to hide his disdain.

“I take it Miss Harper was not to your standards?” Benedict probed, snapping his book closed upon realising that Anthony was not leaving them alone. Before Anthony could retort, he and Benedict caught your confused expression, your nose adorably wrinkled with your brow.

Touching your hand as if delivering grave news, Benedict spoke sombrely, “Haven’t you heard? Dearest Anthony is seeking out a wife.”

You took a second, then you let out a sardonic huff: “God help her.”

Pride flared up, Anthony countered, “You still clinging to my brother’s arm as tightly as you do to spending your life alone?”

“Better alone than in your company!” That was what made you stand and leave with the last word being a quick farewell to the Bridgerton family (with your back to Anthony).

Benedict sighed loudly, pushing himself up, “Why’d you have to do that? Now I’ll have to listen to them ranting about you again.”

Turning his head to follow your retreating form, Anthony asked with his voice catching in his throat, “They talk about me?”

“Every time you so much as breathe in their direction. I swear I’ve not seen a couple so concerned with each and unmarried.”

With a pat on his brother’s shoulders, Benedict jogged after you, to continue delighting in your company. Anthony let out a haughty scoff.

“They’re already gone, brother,” remarked Eloise, not taking an eye off her book.

So Anthony planted himself in a chair, his back rigid, and pretended to making notes on his next potential partner.

Regret resumed digging its grave in his stomach as he saw you link arms with Benedict and begin strolling along the dirt path. It was far too late to curate any sense of kinship with you; it had been too late for a while. But he’d rather suffer in his emotions in silence and still get those tongue lashings from you than admit defeat and confess his affections for you only to receive your malicious delight and eternal humiliation.

Little did he know that, across the lake, as you were finally allowing Benedict room to breathe and discuss his latest painting, you let Anthony linger in the corner of your eye with a prayer of thanks for your defensiveness, for you would not know what to do if you had not left sooner – lest Anthony, the beholder of your heart, say anything more to break it.

[mariacallous]

Well, if you’re just joining us, the nation has delivered an all-night victim impact statement. Labour has won a landslide and the Conservatives have suffered their worst ever general election result. Keir Starmer – the prime minister – has promised “national renewal … to fight until you believe again”. Liz Truss has failed to save South West Norfolk, let alone “the west”. That is the big picture (if not the whole picture, with turnout and Labour’s vote share notably low). Meanwhile, it’s incredible to think that only a short while ago we thought we’d eradicated measles and Nigel Farage. Both have now been brought back, largely by the same people.

But look, after the 3am to 7am shift, no one will be able to say the right doesn’t do comedy. There were moments worthy of entire Netflix specials as in sports halls and community centres various Dickensian grotesques were ushered into their Christmas future, live on stage. Alas, it was going to take more than buying the Cratchits a turkey to get out of this one. Jacob Rees-Mogg heard his fate standing next to a candidate wearing a baked bean balaclava. He’ll be crying into Nanny’s starched bosom today. Committed sewage apologist Thérèse Coffey was pumped into the sea in Suffolk Coastal. Andrea Jenkyns had the middle finger given to her by the voters of Morley and Outwood. In Welwyn Hatfield, Grant Shapps chanted “supermajority” five times into the mirror, and then it came for him.

Then again, Michael Portillo losing his seat was supposedly 1997’s big moment. So perhaps the question is: in two years’ time, which current hate figure will be presenting a cosy travelogue on Europe’s most picturesque illegal migration routes? Alternatively, do remember that one person’s onstage humiliation is another person’s milk round for directorships in the arms trade.

Speaking of absolute weapons, hat twat George Galloway wimped out of his own count in Rochdale, presumably out of fatigability. He lost to Labour. There was jubilation for the Lib Dems, who finished not a million miles behind “the natural party of government”, and for the Greens, who won all four of their target seats. The SNP can now squeeze its MPs round the flip-down dining table of a motorhome. Referendum arguments may move to Northern Ireland, with Sinn Féin now that nation’s largest Westminster party.

As for Reform … Farage won in Clacton, a constituency for which he will now have to hold surgeries, presumably by Zoom link from his hot desk in the US presidential colon. Or as he put it in his victory speech: “This is the first steps of something that is going to stun all of you” – at least confirming his political abattoir will be bolt-gunning its victims unconscious first. Farage is the horror version of Inside Out, where Mendacity is only just holding off Racism at the control console. His cultural hinterland extends to a single Goodbye, Mr Chips DVD he got free with the Sunday Times in 2008, and the idea that this hollow chancer should still be one of the most significant politicians of the age says everything about the age.

Anyway, back to the Conservatives’ four-hour in-memoriam reel. Penny Mordaunt, Jonathan Gullis, Michael Fabricant, Gillian Keegan, Steve Baker, Alex Chalk, Johnny Mercer, Michelle Donelan, Victoria Prentis, Liam Fox, Mark Harper … all out, along with many more. So many cabinet ministers fell that the ones who live may actually develop survivor guilt. It’s currently unclear how gruesome things will be among the extant Conservatives in this post-apocalyptic world. As a fictional president once wondered of Dr Strangelove, will the living not end up envying the dead? Far from it, Strangelove reassures him, forcing down an involuntary Nazi salute. What will abound is a spirit of bold curiosity for the adventure ahead!

Speaking of which, 13th fairy Suella Braverman finally turned up, holding on in Fareham and cooing: “I am sorry that my party didn’t listen to you. The Conservative party has let you down.” Expect to see her humbly attempting to disembowel fellow survivors Jeremy Hunt and James Cleverly in the forthcoming trial-by-combat for what convention demands we style as “the soul of the Conservative party”.

At his count, Rishi Sunak explained he’d already conceded the election in a congratulatory call to Keir Starmer, adding, “I take responsibility for the loss.” In Downing Street, he confirmed he would be standing down as Tory leader in some sort of due course, stressing, “I have heard your anger.” Then, instead of yet another speech straight from the Tortured Prime Minister’s Department, this one offered humility and magnanimity, as well as a pointed reminder of the positive (and fragile?) progress that saw him become the UK’s first British-Asian prime minister. What a contrast to the relentless negativity of his past six weeks. Sunak’s campaign was conducted like a gender-reveal party where the device that’s meant to release the puff of blue smoke accidentally functions as a pipe bomb and burns the house down.

It also closed out several years of mindboggling chaos, dysfunction and national decline. They won’t be playing anything from this album on the Conservative party’s Eras tour. The Tories have cycled through five prime ministers over the past eight years, to the point where they were recently found going through the rubbish, pulling the first guy back out, thinking, “Actually, he doesn’t look half bad now,” and making him foreign secretary. This is the behaviour of addicts.

Not that they have the monopoly on erraticism. Any dispassionate view of these results suggests the fabled post-Brexit “realignment” is more of a dealignment – the huge sweeping gains of this or that political moment able to be reversed in previously unthinkable timespans. Volatility might now be our defining electoral characteristic, and a rise in sectarian politics cannot and should not be ignored. Because hey – what’s the worst that can happen with that one? Meanwhile, many people who derided the simplistic “Get Brexit done” slogan in 2019 have pretended not to notice that the winner here went out under the even more gnomic banner of “Change”.

Yet in the wider global context, what a win. One summer evening in 1914, the foreign secretary, Edward Grey, famously remarked: “The lamps are going out all over Europe.” In our own times, a darkening has recently felt at hand, as hard- or extreme-right parties have gained ground across the continent, to say nothing of the US. But here – in this country, in this moment – a different direction has been taken. That matters today, and anyone not on the wingnut fringes, who hopes to avoid those gathering shadows, should wish Keir Starmer good luck with his task. For plenty who would snuff out the lamps are also rising – increasingly, they walk among us.

[keibea]

happy birthday to my lovely jade aka @lazysunjade ❤️

jade's birthday is 100%, with certainty, absolutely the 2nd of december, and as such i have posted her birthday post on time, on the right day, which is december the 2nd, which is jade's birthday.

i love ur posts with the lil photoshoots, they are some of my fave. so i brought out pippa and attempt to reflect something similar for ur special day.

awful sappy stuff:

dearest jade,

you are the diana to my anne, specifically with reference to the 1980s anne of green gables series, not the new one because the old one is superior in my humble and unbiased opinion. you are one of my closest friends, and the ultimate bosom buddy. i lubs u very much especially when you send me weird things like cats fitting into jars and yodelling pickles. i is very happy i knows u and i get to spend another year knowings u.

i love u WEIRDO U CRAZY LIL CHICKEN U LIL BUG WJHRFB GOODBYE

[stevenbasic]

Growing ino the Job by stevebasic

Post 369: Breakfast in the Breakroom

“Thanks so much Shanette,” Melissa said as I turned to step out of the car. One of my tall, shapely medical assistants, one of Melissa’s best friends, had opened the door for me and I tentatively slid over on my seat and put my feet down onto the pavement below. The sun shone brightly in my face as I squinted out into the light and saw, behind some construction tape and a temporary fence, the new grand entrance to the office. We’d have to go in the side door, still. “I don’t want him walking in by himself, just yet,” Melissa added. 

“No worries,” Shanette beamed, down at me, hand extended for me to take, to help me stand. She was in blue scrubs, and looked so tall. In the morning sun her teeth shone brilliant white against her dark mocha complexion, and her thick hair fell softly around her trim shoulders. I began to reach up for her assistance but suddenly I felt another hand, on my left shoulder. 

“Wait, kiss!!” Melissa commanded with a giggle from the driver’s seat, spinning me back towards her for a moment to give me a goodbye smooch. This one lasted only a second, but her kisses always made my world swim and it was enough to send me reeling. “Now, remember sweetie,” she explained again to me, reminding me of my morning as my vision settled, “I have to go into the clinic, my doctors need me. But the girls know your schedule. You do what they tell you.” 

I felt myself pout. Both Melissa and Shanette giggled at my reaction. 

“Awww look at his little face,” Shanette cooed, “he doesn’t want you to go.”

“I know it’s frustrating…I want to be together too,” Melissa said, “But we talked about this. I should be back by lunchtime, and we have a date to go over the new hires. Okay?”

“O-okay,” I agreed, voice cracking like an adolescents and momentarily lost as my eyes met hers. She had such beautiful eyes, such a beautiful smile. Her dimples, her cheeks, her cheekbones, her jaw. Her complexion, just olive and tanned enough. It was all perfect, as was her body.

Her body! Oh my god her body! I’d spent most of my eight hours in her bed last night curled into it, dry nursing or nuzzling, wrapped to her skin under sheets and the soft lace of her nightgown. My mouth at times had become one with her nipple, my shriveled body at home wrapped in her strong arms. I’d fallen asleep held to her, and the night became a somnolent - at times waking - dream, filled with  her cooings and reassurances as we bonded. We made love several times in the darkest hours, sometimes with me still half asleep and her on top, pulled between my dreams and a warm and tender reality. It had been a night of comfort, and as I surrendered to her love I’d come to be more and more at peace with what Melissa was becoming to me, not just a lover but a protector. Through our intimacy I was slowly accepting my own vulnerability, how much I needed her, and - at her urging - how much I needed the girls. 

“Good boy,” she told me, acknowledging that I understood her directions. I saw how her eyes darted up, over me, to meet with her friends’ behind me. Melissa turned me back, to face Shanette. 

“Can you make sure he gets breakfast?” Melissa asked, as I felt her supportive hand leave my back as I rose, pulled up out of the BMW’s passenger seat by Shanette. “The last thing he ate was, like, a s’more.”

“I saw that on Insta last night, they looked so good!” Shanette giggled as she helped me steady myself on my feet. “But sure,” she continued, now with a hand on each of my shoulders, looking down at me, “I’ll get him fed. We have a bunch of fresh scones in the breakroom. Do you like cranberry scones, sweetie? Hm? Emily made some, ‘specially for you, she said so.”

Wait. Was Shanette talking to me?

“Oh-uh…yeah…Y-yes,” I answered. 

The girls both giggled. 

“And I’ll make sure he gets his morning hugs,” Shanette added, abruptly pulling my head into her massive bosom. Even through her scrubs the waves of coconut and vanilla - along with the hint of the same perfume all the girls were wearing - surrounded my face, became my air for the moment. With me several inches under five feet, and Shanette likely now above six even in just her crisp white work sneakers, I was at the ideal height for a trademark embosoming. Shanette held me there, in her vigor shaking my whole upper torso as she giggled again, squashing her soft breasts around my head and growling playfully. 

“Thank you sweetie,” Melissa called to Shanette, who was now gently releasing me from her embrace and reaching down to close the car door, “I’ll see you all soon! Mwah!” She’d blown us both a big kiss.

I waved goodbye, feeling a weird sense of desolation, like a vacuum had just opened around me as Melissa’s car pulled away. But, Shanette’s arm came around my shoulders and the empty space began to fill with her and the warmth of her coconut skin, and then Aubrey and her smile as she met us at the side door, followed by Lakshmi’s curvy hips as she helped escort us in. Soon, I had a throng of them, in the halls and then the breakroom, a gaggle cooing and clucking at my arrival. To a girl each and every one hugged me as they vied for my attention and swarmed me with their own.  There were smooches and squeezes, greetings and giggles as I was ushered in with ‘good morning’s and ‘hi handsome’s. The breakroom had maybe eight of them - Shanette and Aubrey, Lakshmi and Josie, Lexi and Katie from Marketing and Sales (why, again, did we need Marketing and Sales?). Sammi the intern stood near the countertop next to a plate of fresh scones. Her hair was yet another new  shade golden brown. Nearby Amelia was chatting with the blonde gym-bunny Stephanie about some morning “cam session” and where to make investments with a new stream of cash.

“Omigod BOOMfood is going onto the WSE,” I overheard Stephanie say, mentioning the new stock exchange I’d read about, catering to women investors and female-owned companies, “You should totally try to get in on that one.” She took a long suck from the straw of her own BOOMfood high-protein smoothie. Though Amelia looked bored, and was checking her nails, I could sense that her radar was up. She’d glanced my way when we entered, and now beckoned to me for my hug. 

“C’mere,” said the blonde uber-Barbie, arms outstretched, lethally-manicured fingers waggling, “You know what to do.” Amelia was not in her normal scrubs, but rather a short-sleeved pink top, ribbed, and a black pencil skirt. She looked enormous, breasts bigger than I remember and even more so as - magnetically, pulled towards her - I came in for a hug.

mmMMmph! I was boob-height to these amazons.

“You look nice today, Amelia,” someone commented.

“Yeah I have a meeting later, with some social media consultant lady,” she replied, arms wrapped around my head, casual as a vise. She smelled like Melissa, in so many ways, but had her own flavors as well.  As Amelia pulled me deeper I thought I heard someone mention something about a  group bank account, but the squash of her implants was making it harder to hear or - frankly - even think straight.

On my release, I was hugged by others, my hair straightened, my wrinkled scrubs complimented, and then I was urged to sit down. Sammi came up to me, with what looked like a cranberry scone on a small paper plate and a thin paper napkin. Someone else put a coffee down next to me, in my “World’s Best Boss” mug. I almost chuckled.

But then my stomach turned. Was that the smell of the coffee? The scone? Something else? Standing beside me was Lexi, a transplant from Evolution, thin, tall and vaguely Jewish, big in all her features -

eyes, mouth, and the tits that her thin collared shirt strained to contain. Instinctively my head turned towards her and I drew a deep breath. Ahhh. Her perfume - sandalwood, maybe, but also very similar to Melissa’s - that helped settle things.

“Emily made these,” Sammi spoke up, picking up the scone and offering it to my face - kind of abruptly. “An old family recipe. Totally bonzer, I hear. You have to try some.” Again my gut roiled but I figured maybe I was just hungry. For some reason, I found myself looking up at Lakshmi. I shudder now, knowing that I was looking for her approval.

“You can try it, Doctor J,” she said, gently nodding. 

“Emily said she made this one just for you,” Sammi added, tucking a strand of long blondish hair behind her ear. 

Hadn’t that just been brown? “w-wow, okay,” I stammered. Yes, the one Sammi had for me looked a little different than the scones the girls were eating. Mine had some sort of frosting, a dribbled glaze of white. 

“Go ahead, it’s okay,” said Josie.

I took a tentative nibble.

It tasted weird. Sweet, crumbly like scones should be. But also vaguely spicy, and like…burnt hair. Burnt hair and the frosting was b-

whoah.

With a sudden pop and a flash, a memory came into me, so vivid that  it made me gasp. Some of the pink fog that had been clouding my brain finally lifted and I remembered being held naked and aloft over the water, over the bubbling steam of the hot tub at Melissa’s house. I knew immediately it was a memory from this past weekend. 

Girls had been surrounding me, cooing and cheering; my boxers floated on the tub’s surface. The water looked briny and my member lay cold and wet dangling between my legs, pulsing, drooling like I’d just climaxed. From a distance across the pool, in the far shadows of the huge glassed-in room, three other female figures watched. Dark, like nightfall itself, but their eyes seemed to glow, a bright magenta that temporarily captured my gaze. Their ritualistic robes ancient, flowing around them like the fog and steam that rose from the hot tub. Who were they? But - now more pressingly - who was the immensely strong person holding me up, by the hips, raised above the water like an offering to-?

Crumbs of scone fell from my lips.

what the fuck was that?

“He…likes it?” Lakshmi said.

“I don’t know,” Aubrey answered, brows knit in a new concern.

“Have another bite, boy-o,” came Sammi again, with the scone pushing at my front teeth again.

Another small bite. 

And another flash, a new memory, more pinkish fog lifting from this weekend.

I was being laid across laps. I was surrounded by women, and I had something on me, cold. They were eating - they were eating food off of me, like I was a human tray. Three dark shadows, women, watched from an upper balcony with phosphorescent eyes and robes miasmic, like midnight mist. 

Another bite, urged into my by Sammi, and along with it came another conjured anamnesis.

.

Now I was seated up, partway, held up by my girls. Katarina - blonde, new-mom Katarina - was crouched alongside me, dressed in a soft white robe and offering me something from a large pink mug with the word “QUEEN.” It smelled sweet and so good…it tastes so good. I could feel the triumvirate of eyes from above watching me, and immediately I knew what I was drinking, Katarina’s-.

I’d tried to spit out the next bite, which Sammi had wanted me to take.

“You’re getting to be a picky eater, hm hun?” Shanette said.

“I don’t think he likes it,” I heard Aubrey say. Something about her voice drew my eyes to her. She looked concerned, caring, preternaturally sensitive to whatever was going on behind my eyes. 

Had I drank Katarina’s breastmilk this weekend?!?

Been used as a sushi platter?!? Group-wanked in the hot tub?!?

“C’mon, just one more little bite, bub,” Sammi urged, “Emily won’t appreciate it if she thinks you don’t like her tucker.”

“He doesn’t want it, Sammi,”  Aubrey said, speaking with earnest sympathy, a hint of worry.

“I think you are right, Aubrey,” Lakshmi agreed.

Aubrey leaned over me and looked in - and maybe even through - my eyes. “You want milk, don’t you?” she said softly in a private whisper, “Having trouble with solid foods?”

Sammi, though, wasn't done yet, and practically squashed the cranberry scone into my mouth. 

-Flash Flash-

The fog was gone, and I was brought to another moment from Saturday night. I was surrounded by girls, just like I was here, but we were on Melissa’s couch, all of us, with me on her lap. I was warm and woozy and - naked? My turgid cock was in Josie’s hand and she was stroking me and the girls, all of them, were kissing me, licking my face and eating my ears and jesus christ Josie made me come and come and come all in her hair that seemed to move on its own and then Lakshmi’s and Randi’s hair and then Josie-

oh my god.

The girls were all hissing and buzzing and then groaning and holy crap Amelia was filming us with her phone and the fog was gone and there they were the three pairs of eyes from above, glowing, pulsing magenta light.  They were  watching, and I was watching, drawn to Josie’s tits, right in front of my face. And then it happened.

She grew.

She fucking grew, her top burst. All around me, they all grew. They got bigger, they got taller, they got heavier, and their weight, their weight was all around me, and Amelia was still-

“oh my god…” I moaned, suddenly swimming in the deluge of memories from the weekend.

“Dr. J are you alright?!” Aubrey beseeched, taking me by the hand.

“Dr J. are you okay?” Lakshmi implored, taking up my other hand.

“Dr. J do you want some more scone?” Sammi asked.

“Fuck off with the scones, Sammi,” Amelia finally spoke, and the girl with the now multi-colored hair backed away.

The small crowd of women, eight pairs of eyes, closed in on me, all with varying degrees of concern, of fascination, of excitement. They were waiting, I think, for me to speak.

I blinked as I tried to process. What had just happened? What were all these new …were they memories?  I blinked again, looking up at one girl, to the next, to the next. Finally, I was able to ask a question.

“C-can…can I see the video?”

================================================

thank you to RiF for inspiration and editing

[shy-urban-hobbit]

There it was again; Aiden’s fingers tapping out a now familiar rhythm against Lambert’s bicep before sliding down to rest on top of his hand as they dozed in the sun. It had started shortly after they’d been reunited on The Path, a scarcity of jobs forcing them apart for a few weeks in an effort to cover more ground to find paying work (a gamble which ended up paying off as they both found pretty lucrative contracts in opposite directions).

Tap – pause - Tap tap tap tap – pause – tap tap tap.

Lambert mentally shrugged, too comfortable to think on it too closely.

Lambert could feel himself slowly going crazy. He’d finally asked Aiden about his new habit after he’d been tapping against Lambert’s chest incessantly during their drawn out goodbye. The Cat had merely smirked in response and told him “You’re a smart pup, figure it out.” Before kissing the end of Lambert’s nose and mounting up, turning his horse Southwards. Lambert had stayed where he was until the other was just a speck on the road.

That was how he’d found himself in Kaer Morhen’s library, surrounded by books and paper and tapping the rhythm out again for the thirtieth time that hour.

“Well, this is a sight I never thought I’d be met with. Lambert reading. Should I be checking you with silver about now?”

“Fuck off, bard.” Lambert sighed like an exasperated parent.

Jaskier merely grinned impudently from where he was leaning against the back of one of the chairs, “What’s all this?”

“Research.” Lambert answered curtly.

“For....”

“Nothing.”

“Research for nothing. Melitele’s bosom you must be bored.”

“Jaskier. Either sit down and shut up or go and bother Geralt.”

Jaskier mimed locking his mouth before taking a seat opposite the youngest Wolf, making a show of leaning back and looking around at the overcrowded shelves, “Soooooo....how was Aiden when you parted ways?”

“Fine.” Lambert put down the old journal he’d been flicking through in an attempt to find clues (maybe it was some old Witcher thing Vesemir had forgotten to teach them seeing as it wasn’t directly linked to monster slaying) before tapping the rhythm out again.

“What’s that?” Jaskier asked.

“Something that damn Cat told me to figure out and when I see him, I'm throwing him to the nearest drowner.”

“Oooooh, a riddle!” Jaskier gave an excited wiggle, attention well and truly caught, “Perhaps I can help? I am a master wordsmith after all.”

“No words involved in this, master wordsmith.” Lambert said, just to be contrary.

“Don’t be too sure.” Jaskier leaned forward slightly, “Humour me.”

Lambert tapped it out once, and then twice again at Jaskier’s request before the human’s expression morphed into one of childlike glee.“I do know this! Oh, I haven’t used it since I was at Oxenfurt, but I know it.”

Lambert felt his eye twitch, because of course it was just his luck Geralt’s bard would know it.”

“Well, what is it?”

Jaskier’s smile shifted, “Aiden told you to figure it out. I’ll help you, but I’m not telling you the answer. Oh, Lambert.” The Wolf swallowed. He'd had no idea the bard was capable of looking devious as he continued, “I think you’ve just become my main source of entertainment for the winter.”

Lambert shared a look with Eskel as Jaskier left the hall, throwing another declaration of love towards their white haired brother as he did so. They had nothing against the casual displays of affection per se, but you knew it was becoming a problem when even Eskel the not so secret romantic was starting to find it a bit much. Geralt had merely shrugged in the way that meant he was just as clueless as the rest of them when his brothers questioned him about it.

“Alright, what are you playing at?” Lambert had asked him one night, the bard blinking up at him guilelessly, “You said you’d help me with, you know, and all you’ve been doing is swooning over Geralt.”

“Lambert, love. I have no idea what you are talking about.” Jaskier replied slowly.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. The other day in the library.”

The bard sighed through his nose petulantly before walking away, muttering something about how he was this close to pushing certain dumb Wolves down the mountain.

Lambert stared at the note. It was actually for Geralt but was it his fault Jaskier had left it out on the main table in the hall for the whole world to see? He blinked as he took in the last three words, the thick black line of ink underneath them making them impossible to miss. Melitele’s arse, now that he was seeing it written down, Jaskier wouldn’t have to push him: Lambert would quite happily throw himself down the mountain, cursing himself the entire time for missing something so simple.

“You’re early!” Aiden exclaimed happily as he leaned down to throw his arms around Lambert, letting the other man pull him down from his horse and into a proper embrace, the taps quickly following, as expected.

Lambert tilted the Cat’s face up with a whispered, “You too.” Feeling Aiden grin into the kiss as Lambert tapped gently against his temple.

Tap – pause – tap tap tap tap – pause – tap tap tap.

I – love - you