#Society if i knew how to tag my ocs

[phantomeros]

🐠🔥🐦

[smoooothoperator]

What Was I Made For?

02: Lose Control

Charles Leclerc x driver!OC (Dafne Morelli)

childhood enemies, forced proximity, accidental pregnancy, enemies to lovers

Warnings: alcohol, Charles being an asshole

a/n: Hello hello!! Second chapter! And things will get even more and more exciting!

Masterlist

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I never liked the taste of the champagne. It was bitter and the bubbles of it always annoyed me whenever I tried to take a sip of it, making me hold the same glass the entire night whenever I went to a gala.

But now? Now the champagne tastes like glory, like a drink made by the gods to reward their champions.

And that's what I am. A champion.

The first step of the podium gave me the best view I could ever ask for: a gigantic Ferrari flag, tons and tons of people dressed in red with flags in their hands, and a red fog that ascended up to the sky, painting the clouds by the crimson red.

The anthem, played for the second time today, sounded louder than before, with all the Tifosi screaming it with the top of their lungs, watching how I stood in the highest step while I looked up at the sky with a proud smile on my lips.

He's looking at me from above, he was the one that helped me. 

Jules.

I looked down at the crowd. My family was there. My sisters hugged each other, jumping excitedly like when we were kids while they sang the anthem. My parents stood next to them, and next to my family was Charles' family, looking at me too with a proud smile.

This is my day and nothing will ruin it. Nothing and no one.

I hugged the trophy close to me, walking out of the podium and not letting it go until I got inside of my room. My safe place.

I knew I made mistakes. I knew I argued with my engineer more than I should, that I held that position for the entire race until I found a chance of taking the lead. I defended and fought like a lioness, and that's why I deserve the trophy and the glory.

My glory.

I sat on the bed, scanning with my eyes that heavy piece of metal with a bug number 1 on it and the Ferrari champagne bottle, already planning where I should put them in my apartment. Somewhere everyone that walked in could see it, showing them that I'm a race winner too, that women can win in a category dominated by men.

I felt the anxious buzzing in my mind of what I will be doing for the next few days: interviews, social events, meetings with sponsors.

But it's worth it, because for once, I want to go to those things. For once I want to choose a dress that I'll have to wear for hours while I stand surrounded by high society people that smell like expensive perfume and eat caviar as an entree to their meals. I want to read little cards to remember possible questions to the interviews for the TV. I want to go to show the world what I did.

Because I deserve it. I deserve it. I deserve it. I deserve it.

“Here is our winner!”

I looked at the door, watching my parents and sisters walking inside of the small room and somehow fitting in it.

My dad, a man with thick beard and brown hair, was wearing a cap of my collection, and my mom, a woman that was the older version of Soleil, with dark blonde hair and bright eyes, was wearing a red summer dress. Every race they assist, they wear red, all my family dress with my colors.

“How are you feeling?” my mom asked, sitting next to be in the bed and wrapping her arm around my shoulders, kissing my temple.

“Mom, I'm soaked in sweat and champagne!” I gasped when I felt her body pressed against mine. 

“The smell of a champion” she chuckled.

I laugh softly, watching how my dad grabbed the trophy and held it, taking pictures of himself with it and then with my sisters.

“Well… We will have dinner” my dad said, looking at me. “With the the Leclerc’s”

“What? Why with them!” I frowned.

“Because they are our friends” he frowned. “When will be the time that you two stop acting like kids? It has been twenty years already! Are you tired of this rivalry?”

“Dad…”

“No, Dafne” he said, pointing at me with his finger. “Stop this now. Can't you see that it's not funny anymore? Act like adults, now you two are teammates, and I heard that the team already gave you a warning”

I clenched my jaw, looking at him and then at my sisters. When the team gave us that warming the only ones that knew were them, and I asked them to not tell anything to my parents.

“I'm sorry but he's right” Soleil sighed, looking away. “It's only you two… We get along with Charles, you are the only one that can't stand him. Why?”

I took a deep breath and looked away, avoiding their gazes.

They wouldn't understand. Why would they? They don't know what happened. And they won't know. 

“Whatever, I have to go to the press” I said, grabbing the Ferrari cap. “It will take me a while, I'll see you at the restaurant. The same one as always?”

“Yeah” my dad sighed, watching me get up and walk out of the room, leaving them there.

No one will ruin my day.

I don't know how I ended up in this situation.

An hour ago I was leaving the track alone, my sisters went with my parents to the hotel to get ready while I was finishing the last interviews and team pictures. The music was high in the speakers and I just sang along to it. My backpack was on the backseats with the box of my trophy and the empty champagne bottle. When I arrived at the hotel, the fans saw me and they immediately walked towards me, chanting my name and wanting to take pictures with me.

At that moment, I was on cloud nine, loving the attention they gave me and not remembering that I was going to have dinner with him.

As I walked inside my room and saw the outfit my sister chose for me to take to the dinner, I tried to not think about it.

The black sparkly midi dress is one of my favorites, that hugs my body in the right places and is perfect to wear to formal events and even to parties. Just what I needed.

After I did my makeup and hair I grabbed my bag, taking a deep breath before opening the door of the room and walking out. The heels were uncomfortable, but at least I looked good in them. While walking downstairs to go to the restaurant of the hotel, I started to wonder if that girl Charles brought was going to be there too.

And to my surprise, she was. Dressing like she was in a high society gala. Again, it's like she doesn't know where she is.

“Did you explain to her that my nickname is only a nickname?” I said looking at Charles, watching how he rolled his eyes.

“She wears whatever she wants to wear” he groaned. “She looks fine”

“Fine?! You told me I look gorgeous!” she gasped, talking with that high pitched voice that made everyone close their eyes. 

I saw Charles sigh, grabbing a glass of wine and drinking half of it. Well, the dinner starts strong.

“Well, Melanie” I smiled looking at her. “What's your job? I'm curious”

“Oh, I'm trying to be an influencer” she said, looking at me with a smile. “It's starting to work, somehow”

Sure, because you are hinting you fuck Charles Leclerc.

“Mhm, which brands contacted you? Maybe we will meet in one?” I smiled. 

“Oh none…. Yet” she smiled weakly.

I felt Charles' eyes on me, his angry gaze piercing a hole in my head and how he drank the entire glass of wine. 

When the waitress walked us to the private room where the dinner will take place, our families did everything to sit us two next to the other. The long dining table separated us from our parents, yet it felt like Charles and I were worlds apart. The polite hum of conversation was just a background noise to the storm between us. 

My father stood up with his glass of whine, looking at me with a big proud smile. I sighed, grabbing my own glass and raising it like the rest of the table.

“To Dafne” he smiled, pointing his glass towards me. “The first woman to win a Formula 1 race”

I smiled and looked at everyone at the table. Arthur and Lorenzo were sitting next to each other, sitting in front of my sisters. My father was next to my mom and Pascale, and Melanie was just sitting next to Charles.

"To success," Charles said, his voice had a big amount of irony. "And to the people who think they can buy it"

"Success is earned, Charles. Some of us know the value of hard work" I shot him a look, trying to keep my composure.

"Oh, I know all about hard work," he scoffed, taking another sip of his refilled glass of wine "And the people who take advantage of it."

“Oh, really? You do?” I laughed, looking at him and then at Melanie. “I think you don’t, but okay. Good for you if you think you can recognize who works hard for something and who just buys their way to it. Clearly you should look around more often”

Our parents exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the undercurrent of hostility. Melanie, blissfully unaware, just sipped her wine and looked around the room with wide eyes.

"What exactly is your problem, Charles? Are you upset that I won today?" I leaned in closer to Charles, keeping my voice low so only he could hear. 

"I'm not upset that you won, Dafne. I'm upset that you think you can walk all over everyone to get what you want. That win should have been mine, I had more pace and better tyres” he groaned lowly.

“You did? Then why didn't you overtake me, hm? You clearly know that I would do whatever Ferrari orders me to do” I smirked. “And I didn’t hear a team order of letting you pass me”

Our families were now fully aware that something was off. My mother gave me a warning look, and Charles' older brother cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

"So, Dafne," he began, forcing a smile. "How did you feel about your performance today? It was quite impressive."

 "Thank you. It was a challenging race, but I'm happy with how it turned out” I said, taking a deep breath, ignoring the man next to me. Charles scoffed quietly, and I shot him another glare. "Is there something you'd like to add, Charles?"

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and something else I couldn't quite place. "Just that it must be nice to always get what you want."

I opened my mouth to respond, but Erica cut in, sensing that things were about to escalate. "The food looks amazing, doesn't it? Let's enjoy dinner."

The bass vibrated through the club, reverberating against the walls as red neon lights danced over the sweaty bodies of the dance floor. The music was loud, making everyone scream if they wanted to talk to someone or even take a step closer and talk to someone directly in their ears.

With the adrenaline of the race and the tension that took place during the dinner, I made my way towards the drinks bar, ordering whatever that doesn’t taste like alcohol but definitely has alcohol in it. With the cold glass already in my hand, I walked back to the table where my sisters were sitting with some girlfriends of the drivers.

“Have you seen Melanie?” I chuckled, feeling tipsy and looking around.

“Who?” Lily, Alex’s girlfriend, frowned. 

“Charles’ girl! She’s a wanna be influencer” I laughed, scanning with my eyes the crowd, trying to find the monegasque driver.

I heard my sisters sigh and sip their drinks, trying to ignore me. Alex and Carmen looked at me, frowning and following my gaze.

“Are you jealous? You sound jealous” Carmen pointed. “When will you stop talking about Charles? You say you hate him but you can’t stop looking or even talking about him”

“Me? Jealous?” I laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, that guy can take whoever he wants to his bed”

“Then let him live” Erica sighed. “Yes, we saw that Melanie is a gold digger. Yes, we saw she’s making everything to get his attention and fame. But that’s his problem”

“Erica is right” Soleil sighed. “You even sound worried about him, always talking about how bad the girls he choose are”

“I'm not!” I gasped.

“Mhm, whatever” the four of them sighed.

I groan and look away. They don't understand. They don't understand! 

I just stayed quiet, hearing them talk and focusing on a random spot at the other side of the club, drinking and drinking.

This is my day, no one will ruin it.

But then that idiot decided to grab a microphone and open his mind.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please listen!” he said, standing on top of a table. “I would love to say some words”

I frowned, getting up and already feeling tipsy, having to hold myself against the railing of the balcony where the VIP room was. He was holding a glass of some liquor, raising it up with a smile on his lips.

“I want to congratulate my fantastic teammate, Dafne! Daf, where are you?” he exclaimed looking around. “I guess she's hiding as always…”

“Fucking idiot” I mumbled, watching him look around.

“Well, maybe she's not here” he chuckled. “I'm sure she's with someone, maybe a random dude so she can keep going higher on her career. After all, that's how she got in Ferrari, hm?”

I looked at him and then I started to hear people talking, their eyes all moving around to search me.

“Jules always said that everyone has a chance in Formula 1” he giggled. “But her? Oh, no. She got in this sport sucking the dick of every person she found that could get her a seat. Mick! Mick, where are you? Is she good at that? Is she good at fucking you? I bet you two did it, she always ended higher than you… Head for some points? How pathetic, Daf”

My cheeks were red. My ears were red. Everyone who found me was looking at me. I heard steps behind me and a pair of hands trying to hold my arms, but I moved faster and ran downstairs towards him.

“Oh there she is! Who was the unfortunate one?” he giggled.

“Get down” I groaned, clenching my jaw. Somehow I am sober now. “Now!”

“Why?”

“Get down!” I screamed.

“No!” he laughed, drinking from his glass. “Aren't you satisfied? You had your win, you are in your dream team. I think you should take another step. Maybe… I don't know, suck Max's dick so he can give you a championship?”

“Charles Leclerc you are a dead man!” I screamed, running towards him and grabbing his leg, trying to get him down from the table.

This was supposed to be my day. My party, without someone like him ruining it.

Two pair of arms grabbed mine, stopping me and pulling me away from the club before I could do something worse. Soleil and Arthur were holding my arms, pulling me away from the crowd while Lorenzo and Erica tried to put down Charkes from the table.

“Let me go! I'm going to kill him!” I screamed.

“You are going to your room and stay there until you sober up” my sister said, frowning, sinking her nails on my arm to make me stop.

“That asshole is saying shit about me! And I'm the one that will be punished? Bullshit!” I exclaimed, but clearly they are not listening to me. “He should be the one that has to be punished! And you should wash his mouth with soap! And drown him on the toilet!”

“Enough!” Soleil exclaimed. “I'm so done with this. We all are done with you two. You are acting like kids”

“Why are you two like this?” Arthur frowned. “Why can't you two see that only you are the ones that hate each other? It's making the team and our families have problems”

“I did nothing wrong” I mumble, letting them take me to the elevator. “I didn't suck anyone's dick. I did every right”

“And we're not saying you did something like that. But you two always find a way to start a fight” Soleil sighed. 

“I did nothing wrong” I whispered.

Soleil sighed and grabbed my keycard, opening the door of my hotel room. Arthur and her helped me get in the room and then she took off my clothes to get me in bed.

“Don't do anything you'll regret tomorrow” Arthur and Soleil said before getting out of my room. 

I groaned, showing them my middle fingers before they walked out and closed the door. 

The silence in my room was too loud and the drum on my chest was beating too hard. I tried to walk side to side in the room,trying to calm down. The drops of the faucet in the bathroom are too loud, just like the air conditioner.

But then two hard knocks on the door broke the noisy silence in the room. 

I groaned, walking towards it to open it. 

And I shouldn't have done that.

“Oh fuck off” I groaned closing the door again, but he was faster and put his foot to stop me. “Charles-”

Before I could stop him, or even kick his balls, his lips were on mine, pushing me inside the room.

taglist

@racinggirl @elisysd @alltoomaples @ssprayberrythings @rach3164 @yvonne-dump @deliciousfestsalad @janeh22 @hc-dutch @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @ssararuffoni @itsjustkhaos @scaramou @tapedeck-hearts @apollosfavkiddo @sltwins @glitterquadricorn @ladystardust05

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 1: December Moon [A1]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

A/N:  IT'S THE FIRST OF DECEMBER! IT'S RICKMAS TIME!

I hope you're ready for a month of Alan Rickman fics - I certainly am even if most of them have yet to be done 😂 I have, however, managed to write the first draft of a few here in the beginning, and I'm super excited to kick this off in what is now the traditional way - with Colonel Brandon of course! 😍👏

Happy December, Happy First Advent, Happy Sunday AND HAPPY READING!

Tags/TW’s: First Meeting, Love At First Sight, (Light) Mutual Secret Pining, Miscommunication (Body Language), Fluff & Angst

Word Count: 4.1k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

December Moon

There was little to do but wait. Mrs Marble fussed with my dress, Miss Abel forced my hair into an elaborate updo with entwined pearls and loose locks around my neck, and I stood there like a mannequin. Never had I thought December would be ruined for me. But, here we are, and I’m for once not a ball of sunshine close to Christmas.

“There we go, Miss. All settled,” Mrs Marble said with a twinkle in her little eyes surrounded by wrinkles. “You shall be the centre of attention, such a beauty you are, Miss.” My nose wrinkled at her words. In anyone's eyes, that was all there was to me. Beauty. Golden locks, hourglass figure, pale skin dusted with a blush to highlight my cheekbones, and clear blue eyes not unlike the sky during a cloudless summer day. My appearance to any and all was that of a stunning woman in her prime at twenty-one springs of age — soon twenty-two.

“Time to go, Miss.” “Give me a minute alone.” They nodded and departed while I stepped up to the silver-framed wall mirror displaying the entirety of me. Dreary… The only thought echoing in my head was a sad affair to have when looking upon oneself. My eyes were not bright today, my smile not flawless, my shoulders slightly slumped and the weight atop them only grew heavier by the minute.

Outside, the snow fell slowly, just enough to dust the ground in white but no winter wonderland appeared beyond the large windows lining one side of my bedroom. In the middle sat a matching door leading out to the stone balcony, which was privy to a beautiful view of our large gardens with fountains and a large span of open grassland beyond the intricate layout of the land created by a landscape artist.

I stepped out into the cold, my skin instantly pebbling in the light breeze despite my dress covering nearly every sliver of skin from my collarbones and down. The sound of carriages, people chattering, and hooves stomping against gravel travelled through the air and a sensation most dreadful crept through my veins. This Christmas would be unlike any other. No use dawdling any longer…

I sighed, and as I began to turn, a black dot appeared on the horizon where the grassland slope began tilting toward our estate. I watched for a moment as the dot became an outline of a rider in full gallop, and wished — for just a moment — that I could climb my mare and gallop across the grasslands for a while to rid myself of the weight resting on me. No amount of riding will ever be able to take away the demand to marry before the year is out. How cruel a demand… There is none I hold even the smallest amount of affection for, how can father demand such a thing of me?

⁛•⁛

The hall gleamed. The polished marble floors, the spotless mirrors and golden candelabras reflected the glow of thousands of candles and the odd lantern here and there. The entire ballroom I entered, at a slow pace so as not to ruffle my perfectly fitted dress too much, was a haven for all things white and gold. The two colours I abhorred, along with pink in every hue. Still, it was a wonder to behold. A fairytale-like sensation lingered in the warm air while jolly, upbeat music filled the whole space where the rich and mighty of society had gathered. None were the wiser, none knew the true reason for my father’s sudden invitation to a “December Ball” — it had little to do with the season, and everything to do with my unwed state.

When Mother passed during the early summer, he became obsessed with marrying me off. Always under the guise of me being protected… Lies. For one, I was in no need of protection, nor were I in need of any rich man to keep my house should anything happen to my father — I was the last and only living relative of our family so all would become mine once he was old and worn out of life. I was perfectly protected in that sense.

“Miss Haymnick,” said a man in his mid-twenties, his brown hair neatly trimmed and his green coat perfectly tailored to his lean body. “Good evening,” I said with a short nod and curtsey. “May I request a dance with the lovely lady?” How bold of you. “No, sir. I am not sure I shall dance this evening,” I said with a soft smile to ease the blow. He merely nodded and stepped away with a slight rush and pinkish ears.

I moved further into the room, watching the well-dressed people filling it. My eyes landed on my father, dressed splendidly as usual and with a glass of brandy in his glove-clad hand. He was a handsome man, my father, but he was handsome in the traditional way — the boring way that seemed to be all the rage with the three young ladies standing a tad too close to him (I was no fool, he was a sought after man, my father, but he would not remarry — my mother had been his all and I was all that was left of her so protecting my future heritage was a priority of his in turn).

My eyes kept skimming the faces and clothes of those all around me. They were mostly known to me, one way or another, but none had ever caught my interest and did not manage to do so now either.

There were such shallow values, such lack of depth in those within the confinements of the ballroom I nearly felt my own soul dim under the weight of finances, politics, and outer beauty not deep enough to allow any true value to shine. Do not judge so harshly. You don’t know every person in this room. My mind whined at me, and I had to yield under its words — yet still, I felt as if I had met every person now present. Of course, my father had only invited the grandest of the grand, the richest of the rich, the most important in society to this celebration — which purpose had not been revealed to those attending. Such fraud…

I turned and Lady Hilliard stepped up with her son in tow. Oh, fantastic. I steeled myself as she beamed at me and forced her son, Mr Timothy Hilliard, to stand a step closer to me than her. “Miss Haymnick, what a marvellous celebration your family has put together, such lovely decorations and such high spirits.” I curtseyed slightly. “Lady Hilliard, Mr Hilliard.” I looked between the two and they both greeted me with a curtsey and a bow. “How fine of you to attend our celebration of December’s arrival,” I said, smiling to the best of my capabilities.

Mr Hilliard’s eyes roamed all over my being, the way he studied my neck had me swallowing a lump. He wasn’t a nice man, or one I found particularly attractive even if he in general was quite the catch in most young women’s eyes. “We are so sorry about Lady Haymnick, Miss Haymnick. My son—” she nudged him forward “—wishes to offer his condol— Oh, my word, is that—” she interrupted herself as the pair’s eyes moved past me and toward the opened double doors of the ballroom.

I slowly turned, as many had begun looking the that direction as well. “Oh, my word, it is!” Lady Hilliard squeaked quietly, a nearly hissed whisper of shock. I could not fathom her reaction to the man, my own being completely different. I had no idea who the tall man with broad shoulders dressed in red, gold, and black was. That did not stop my heart from skipping a beat at his unorthodox beauty, though.

I fully turned without realising, watching the man stride into the room with a regal air about him none I had ever met before could ever match. He was stunning, straight-backed but not high-and-mighty looking. He appeared strong and unfazed yet the way he moved spoke of a soft elegance. What truly made my breath catch in my throat was his eyes, though. They were on the smaller side, but in the golden light they shined while speaking of uncharted depths hidden beneath the slight veil keeping his secrets safe.

As I had watched, stunned, he had moved through the room and were now passing me without so much as a nod to Lady Hilliard who tried fervently to catch the man’s attention. His eyes, though, were fixated on me. My heart thumped harder and harder until he passed me by and turned his head — looking in the direction of my father who now walked toward the man in turn with determined steps I rarely saw him stride forward in.

They shook hands, exchanging pleasantries I could not hear over the murmur and music in the room. “Lady Hilliard,” I said, without looking away from the man’s back. “Who is that?” “Who is— Who is that? My word, you are young, Miss Haymnick. That is Colonel Brandon. A fine gentleman, rich and proper, unreachable yet gentle in his manners. He was sought after in his prime when ladies would line up to attend his balls and gatherings. Well, the few moments he was at home, that is. The man has been all over the world, fought in wars and returned unscathed time and time again. His estate, Delaford, was in disarray upon his overtaking of it but now it is most grand.” She blabbered and rushed the words out in a quiet tone so none other could hear, but I did not miss the longing in her tone.

“Is he wed now, then? Being so sought after?” I never thought you’d be of use, Lady Hilliard, with your gossiping from one end of the country to the other. “Oh, goodness, no, Miss Haymnick. He never married, he never sought a wife after his first love was lost. He is a broken but fine gentleman. My niece would do him good,” she said, the last part slightly under her breath and as I watched her for a moment her eyes seemed calculating. “She is too young for him, but nonetheless, he would be a fine catch,” she continued just as quietly, and the hunger in her features made me wrinkle my nose in disgust. She was a prime example of all things wrong with all in the ballroom. It was only thanks to my mother I had turned out differently, if that is such a grand thing given my circumstances, I don’t quite know…

“He’s such a catch,” she continued and my eyes hardened. “Rich, fancy, away most of the time and— Oh, he’s looking this way!”

I turned my head, unable to untangle my features from the disgust and annoyance before meeting the man’s eyes. His eyebrows drew together, his head gave a slight tilt as I managed to school my face into indifference — removing the ugly emotions and hiding the absolute flutter of emotions he stirred in me. His eyes hardened, though, and his thin lips turned into an even thinner line a second before I averted my gaze as his handsome features turned too harsh for my heart’s liking.

“Excuse me, Lady Hilliard.” She gave me a nod at my words but her eyes were hooked on the handsome man who now had looked at me differently. Perhaps my father had said something not to his liking about me?

I had no idea, but for whatever reason, his eyes had turned sad when he viewed me and the veil I had noticed before had solidified in a sorrowful manner. I might have been mistaken, perhaps he’s just like all the other frauds here… Calloused, cold, money-hungry and politically attached. My shoulders slumped.

I grabbed the many layers of fabric to lift my dress, making my escape from the ballroom easier as I rushed my steps to get away from the room giving me a sinking feeling of despair. One of the men in there would have to become my husband, and the suddenly appearing ray of hope when Colonel Brandon entered with his beautiful eyes, soft yet strong elegance, and stunning features, vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.

There was no more to it, I would be wed to someone I had no interest in — someone who would never understand me, would never discuss the depths of poetry an entire afternoon or share my love of fictional stories all through the night, nor would I be able to discuss the intricate turmoil within an artist viewed only through the harsh brush strokes across a canvas painted many years ago.

I did not wish for a husband to keep me on his arm for display. I wanted no husband whose conversation was limited to finances and politics. No husband would ever suit me if he did not have a depth to his soul, a passion beyond money, or even a love of something that existed to please the heart and not the bank — something that garnered emotions without any further value.

I had walked myself right through the grand hall, out the doors, and along the gravel path around the house in my deep thoughts. I shivered in the cold evening air as the wind tugged on my hair and pulled at my dress.

The sinking feeling in my gut only ever grew with each passing thought, each hope of my heart being lost. I stopped at the frozen fountain, the ice glistened in the moonlight every moment the clouds parted above. My foggy breath seemed to shake out of me as his eyes haunted me — the way they changed without me having any knowledge of why. They had been so beautiful, so deep, so captivating when he passed me. Yet, when he looked upon me again, and our eyes had locked, his features had changed so swiftly.

“There is no hope…” I whispered while looking out over the gardens with a most forlorn sensation within my chest. “You will catch a cold.” I spun around, startled by the perfect voice taking me by surprise with my mind occupied of self-pity. “Who’s there?” I asked, looking toward the corner of the house where the silhouette of a man stood.

The silhouette moved closer, each step allowing me to see more clearly as the lantern light behind dimmed in intensity and the light of the pale moon turned brighter. Colonel?

My breath stuttered out of me, the wind tugged at the ends of his long coat as he walked toward me in a harsh stride. “You will catch a cold, Miss Haymnick,” he said anew, and I could have sworn my heart did a somersault at the delectable rumble unlike any other I had ever heard. “A lady such as yourself should not be wandering the grounds unaccompanied and under-dressed so late at night,” he continued and stopped just two steps away from me.

The clouds parted as I turned fully toward him. His harsh features were cold to view when his eyes seemed so closed off and empty. “Colonel Brandon,” I said and curtseyed. “Miss Haymnick.” He nodded his head deeply, his voice slightly harsh yet wonderful. “Have I offended the lady?” I blinked. “Excuse me?” He straightened. “I may be no beauty to look upon, but even that has yet to warrant such a display of disgust upon a woman’s face before introductions have even been made. Therefore, I ask, have I offended the lady in some manner?” he asked while holding my gaze captive.

I blinked a few more times, seeing the gorgeous man up close again — this time in pale moonlight — had my mind out of sorts and my heart in an uproar. He was striking, stunning, powerfully elegant. “No, you have not, Colonel,” I said, my eyebrows drawing together while his features softened a smidge. “Nor have I looked upon a handsome man as yourself in such a manner, sir.” He arched his eyebrow and a flutter broke out in my stomach. “I may be up in years, but I am not blind, Miss Haymnick.” “I’m sorry?” “You viewed me with the most abhorrent of looks, disgust smeared over your beautiful features. I shall not pretend I have not received harsh welcomes before, but paired with the lie you but a moment ago told regarding my looks I cannot—” “Lie? I have not lied, nor have I viewed you with disgust, sir,” I said, my hands balling to fists at my sides.

He reached up and unclasped his cloak at the neck. “You said I am a handsome man,” he said as he stepped forth, his voice slightly lower — softer. “After having viewed me with disgust, I find that to be a lie, miss.” He draped the warm cloak over my shoulders as I leaned back, taking half a step away from him before he had time to tie the string around my neck.

I glanced down, the fabric was lush and warm while thick and heavy at the same time. It smelled like heaven — of hay, horse, musk and wind. How something could smell of wind I could not fathom but as I drew a deeper breath to calm my raging heart at his sudden proximity it hit me with full force.

“There,” he said, taking a step back. “You ought to dress for the weather, miss.” I looked up at him, stunned at his sudden kindness amid the accusations of lies. “Thank you… But, wait, I have done none of the things you accuse me of, sir.” He arched his brow again. “A good person, as I have heard rumours of you being, ought to strive for honesty. No?” “I am honest!” I shouted and stomped my foot in frustration — Mrs Marble would have a fit if she saw my manners. “You saw me,” I continued loudly, “before I had time to—” no! He cannot know of anything, a man like him would laugh at the pitiful feelings my soul harbours. How could a colonel ever understand such things…

His eyes had widened, the shock of my outburst apparently enough to spook him out of the withdrawn, colder state he’d been in ever since our eyes had locked for a second time in the ballroom. “I am not lying, my good sir,” I said quietly. “A man such as you, so perfectly attuned to the world we live in, would simply not understand, as I cannot understand the likes of men such as you.” “Men such as me?” “Yes. Men such as you, colonel.” “And you have met many men the likes of me?” I merely sighed at his calm words, nodding toward the estate housing a party filled with men such as him.

He chuckled and shook his head slightly. My heart stopped beating for a second. “So that is how you view me, after a handful of seconds. Then I shall bother you no more, miss. Excuse me,” he said and clicked his heels before turning to leave. “Sir!” I called, not truly knowing why but my heart roared at him leaving. Something about him was so different to any other I had ever met despite the words I had just spewed in my dismay.

He stopped, only half turning so I could view his profile before he turned his head fully. I took a step closer, curious and something else moved around within that curiosity, too. “Yes?” His voice, so dark and deep, made a shiver slip down my spine. “Are you not?” I asked. “Am I not, what, miss?” “Like them.” “Life would have been easier had I been, but I’m afraid I must disappoint you.” “That does not disappoint me, colonel.”

His eyes widened as I took another involuntary step, something about him pulled me in and the more time passed the softer his expression turned and the brighter his eyes appeared. There were layers there, depth and that warmth I had always searched for in the eyes of others. So I stopped two steps away, spellbound by the beauty he was — even if that was shallow of me.

“Is it true? That you think me a liar for calling you a handsome man?” I asked quietly. “I am not a handsome man, make with that what you see fit.” “But, you are—” his eyes widened “—and I do not know what to make of the way you changed when you viewed me for a second time.” “You viewed me with disgust—” “I was disgusted by Lady Hilliard, for how she spoke of you.” “And, how did she speak of me?” he asked, his voice turning even softer yet it kept the depth that rumbled through me like gentle thunder in the distance. “I’d rather not say such things, but she wishes for you to marry her niece.” “Many wish to see their nieces and nephews wed—” “No, not like that, sir. She spoke about your-, your wealth and how you are never home.” “I am not home, for there is no reason to be. I have wealth for I have none to spend it on beyond the orphanage and my estate.”

I blinked at him, feeling lost for a moment. “If I had a wife, I would be here more. If I had a home, and not a mere estate, I would venture out into the world less. As it stands, none have caught my attention. That is, until tonight.” Why my heart faltered and saddened by his words I could not say. The man was far beyond me in years, he was a sophisticated and aged gentleman with beauty I could barely comprehend — every second I looked upon him he simply turned more handsome, inside and out. The way he spoke of a wife, of a family being what makes a home, it was beautiful and poetic.

“Then why are you standing here, sir?” I dared ask while I gripped the edges of the cloak he’d hung around my shoulders. “Because you are standing here, miss.” “I— I don’t understand, should you not pursue her before the evening ends?” “I am, by asking if I had offended her, given her change in view from the most beautifully wondrous look rivalling that of clear summer skies, to one as harsh and cold as disgust distorting her stunning features unlike any I have ever witnessed before.”

My breath snagged in my throat in the blink of an eye. My shoulders stiffened and as he held my gaze unyieldingly I turned warm on the inside. Those eyes had seen horrors and beauty all around the world, yet now they appeared solely focused on me with a warmth within them rivalling the sun.

“You find me beautiful?” I asked, my voice a mere whisper. “Most beautiful.” I sighed and averted my gaze. “As they all do.”

His cold finger came up under my chin and I jolted back. It was not proper for him to touch me, for us to stand so close with no chaperon near. “I apologise,” he said. “Have my liking of your appearance offended you?” I shook my head. “No, sir.” “Then why..?” “I am beautiful, sir. I am aware,” I said with a soft smile while drowning in his eyes that had gone most soft and deep. “It is not always something…” my voice trailed off, for how could I explain that my beauty was a curse in the disguise of a blessing?

“It does not matter, miss. I am no match for you, either way. I shall take my leave so another, more suitable match can sweep you off your feet as you deserve.” What a romantic thing to say… “I wish you the happily ever after you deserve,” he said a breath later and clicked his heels together with sorrow in his eyes that tugged at my heartstrings. I had no time to make my brain understand he was leaving until he was out of view.

I jolted. I finally connect with someone and I, what, shoo him away? Oh, no… I drew an unsteady breath, feeling that warming scent of him waft up my nose. I ran after him, my feet thudding against the ground. “Colonel!” I called as I rounded the corner, just as he galloped out of the gates too far away for him to be able to hear me over the snorts of the horse and spraying of icy snow around its massive hooves.

To Be Continued...

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NEXT PART » Prompt 5: Open Doors [A2]

A/N: I'll be adding links to parts as I go along through Rickmas - so if you revisit or find Rickmas2024 later on you'll have access to direct links to continuations. My plan for this year is several serial fics and a few one-shots here and there as I know I'll get stressed and need breaks where I can just write whatever my little heart desires from time to time. Rickmas is INTENSE to write for, so 🙈

Anyway, how we feeling? We ready for this month's shenanigans? 😊

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[Dec:2024]

[edgerunnr]

the bach'alor_01

din djarin x f!reader. 1/? wc 3861. divider by @saradika-graphics

EDIT: if your blog does not have an 18+ age or age range at the top of it i will block you. DO NOT interact with my writing if you are not 18+!

din djarin, freshly minted king of a newly resettled mandalore, is told by his advisors that he must marry. it's a problem: he isn't in a relationship. you, his old friend and advisor, propose a little competition for his hand, and it's the dumbest idea you've ever had.

because you love him.

series warnings: 18+, angst, hurt/comfort, pining, secret feelings, eventual smut, canon divergence, royalty au, imperfect/incomplete star wars knowledge, reader insert is afab and ids as female, reader insert is a bit oc with a backstory out of necessity (i know none of y'all are from star wars so i had to put you in star wars), age gap (10-15 years or so/din late 40s, reader 30s).

chapter warnings: spoilers for major character deaths in canon.

a/n: back on my bullshit. i started writing this series on my old blog, but i never finished it because adhd brain had me writing and not planning. i'm planning things in detail this time, hoping to write this as a more coherent tale, because i did like the concept. gonna tag @pedrostories as a thank you for encouraging me even when i felt i wasn't good enough to write in this fandom. y'all always reached out and made me feel included. thanks for keeping me going when i couldn't. okay, nova, enough of my yammering, here's the fic.

The Mand'alor sat at the head of the long table, doing his best to keep his head up and stay alert. Advisors battled for his attention along the length of it, trying not to make it too obvious that they were trying to drown out other voices, but Din wasn't even listening, anyway. He had a tell; one you knew all too well, one that had followed him as long as you had known him in the covert on Nevarro: when he was bored, he would drum the fingers of his right hand on the table while tapping his left foot. Naturally, he did it now, oblivious to the fact that there was a person at the table who could translate it.

"You gotta stop fidgeting," you whispered, leaning in close enough that only he would hear you. The racket served you well.

His visor snapped to you, suddenly paying attention. Even when he wouldn't listen to the rest of the court, the moment you spoke up, he was back in the room. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you wear a helmet and you still don't have a poker face, you big dumb refrigerator." You reached out and grabbed his right hand, flattening out his fingers. "And stop bouncing your leg. They're gonna figure out it's your tell."

"Big dumb refrigerator." He scoffed, but then burst out laughing, loud enough that the rest of the court shut up and sat down, wondering what they could have said that had him in such a state. "You haven't called me that in years."

The helmets of the rest of the advisors turned to you, and you knew that if you could see their faces, they would be glaring at you. You were aware that the rest of the Mandalorian Royal Court was at best annoyed and at worst angry that you had joined their ranks. They came from families that had served the last Mand'alor, and once Mandalore had been reclaimed, they rejoined the court and thought that it would be something that elevated them in society once again, but they found, to their great disappointment, that their new king didn't much care for their opinions. He had, instead, insisted on bringing some of his own to the court, which was how you had ended up here. Din had brought you and the Armorer of the Tribe to join the court, and while the court accepted the stern, by-the-books Armorer with enough ease, you were a harder pill to swallow. So was Din, you reminded yourself every time you had these thoughts. None of them had initially been thrilled by the prospect of a Child of the Watch becoming the king of Mandalore, but they couldn't exactly argue with the fabled Darksaber, so they swallowed their unearned pride and sat quietly.

You thought back to the day the news had come to you. Din had raised you on comms to ask whether you were in a position to take a holocall. "Yeah, I'm in hyperjump," you had said, pulling up his image on the holo. "What's up?"

"I…" He trailed off, something characteristic of him when he had particularly big news.

You had learned to be patient with him not long after you had arrived at the covert. Din, already in his late 30s, was a well-established member of the Tribe at that time, and you, being a new arrival and extremely green, only in your early 20s, were looking for people you could get along with. As he tended to sit alone during gatherings, you decided that it might be a good idea to sit with him, someone quiet, someone you wouldn't have to explain yourself to. He didn't complain, and when you finally plucked up the courage to speak to him after about a week of sitting together in silence, you were pleased to find that he was not as closed off as you had initially thought him to be, but he was a bit shy, unused to talking about himself. Coaxing him out of his shell was something you did when alone, outside of the gaze of prying eyes, and the friendship you forged lasted, even though the both of you spent most of your time away from the covert on business. Your good friend was generous with his tips and tricks for bounty hunting, a profession you had transferred off of Concordia to pursue in your early adulthood, as there weren't many "legitimate" job prospects for Mandalorians. The other inhabitants of the galaxy tended to feel some type of way about your kind, and that way was usually something between prejudiced and terrified.

He tried again. "I have news."

"I thought as much, Djarin. You don't usually call just to shoot the shit, as much as I would welcome that," you pointed out with a chuckle. "So what is it?"

"It's really big. Are you alone?"

"Almost always, yeah."

"Okay." You heard him take a deep breath, and then he pulled something out that you were not expecting to see.

"KRIFF!" You scrambled away from the display on the holo, your instincts in overdrive when you saw what he was holding. "Din! Din! What the hell is that? How did you get that? You didn't ac—"

"Yes, it's the Darksaber. I got it when I was trying to save my kid. It wasn't… it wasn't something I wanted. What do I do, Moonbeam?" He used the affectionate nickname he had given to you not long after you met, based on the pearly white paint on your armor, as he put the blade away.

You panicked. "Is Grogu okay?"

"He's fine," he said, but you could hear that not everything was all right. "He went with the Jedi."

"Oh." You came back to your seat, leaning in closer to the projection of Din's image. "You must miss him terribly. I'm so sorry."

"I don't know what to feel." His helmet fell into his hands.

"Fuck this bounty." You stopped your hyperjump, turning your ship around. "Where are you? I'm coming."

"Beam—"

"No, Din, I'm coming. You need me. You'd never say it, but you need me. Where. Are. You?"

That was how you ended up with Din in a motel on Nevarro, sitting back-to-back and eating ice cream, letting him feel. You insisted on removing your armor and having him remove his, too, since he needed actual human touch. When you weren't eating, you slid your helmets back on, and you held him until he fell asleep. When he woke in the morning, still in your arms, he asked, so quietly you almost couldn't hear him: "What do I do, Beam?"

"You take on this responsibility, Din," you urged, rubbing his back in a way that you hoped would soothe him.

"What? You can't mean that."

"I do mean that." You looked into his visor, wishing for the first time that you could look into his bare eyes. "You're the one, Din. You're perfect for this."

"But I don't want it."

"Which is why you're the one." You took his hands in yours and pressed them against your chest, trying to communicate that you meant this from your heart. "A power-hungry ruler would just get us killed. You… you can rebuild Mandalore."

It took time, but eventually, the two of you found yourselves where you were in the present. Grogu returned, and Mandalore was settled once again. A monument was built in Keldabe to the fallen, one of whom, unfortunately, was Paz Viszla, Din's longtime covert nemesis, but a man who was a brother all the same. Paz's teenage son, Ragnar, became an apprentice of Din's upon his father's death, and Din now had double the charges to take on their journeys. Din asked you to come with him, and the four of you became a team, yourself and Din mentoring the foundlings. This also made you a target of the rest of the court; how could you be trusted with the best interests of Mandalore when your priority was only its king?

Back at the table, one of Din's older advisors asked with a sneer, "Do the two of you have something to share?"

"No," Din said firmly, staring her down. "Personal moment. Perhaps if all of you would stop clamoring for my time, we would have fewer of those at the table."

"But we all have important things to say!" said another.

"I don't think you do, but if you can speak one at a time like adults, I'll listen." He pointed at someone nearer the far end of the table. "You. What do you want?"

A male advisor, middle aged and slim, stood from his seat and said, "Lord Mand'alor, you have now been king for over a standard year. What are your plans for marriage?"

"Huh?" You suppressed a laugh at Din's obvious surprise. "Where did that come from?"

"From all of us, not that that was what all of us were talking about, but we do want to know. When will you be married?"

Din shook his head and looked at each advisor individually, none of whom were objecting, besides you. All you did was squeeze his knee under the table to let him know you were with him. "Need I marry? I have two foundlings. I believe I am already living up to the Mandalorian creed by performing as a mentor and father."

"In-indeed, my Lord," the nervous advisor agreed, "but the people of Mandalore wish to see you married to a Mandalorian. Royalty from other planets reach out daily to propose an alliance between worlds, and we're having trouble holding them off. They want to visit, to try to charm you, and we don't know what will happen if we allow any of them in. Most of us still don't trust outsiders."

"Understandably." Din said. "I… I see where you're coming from, but I was always… well, I… never mind. What do you propose?" You took note of his hesitancy to speak in front of the court and made a mental memo to ask him about it behind closed doors.

Another man near the middle of the table spoke. "We could arrange a list of ladies from some of the finer families—"

"No."

"What do you mean no?"

"I mean no. I'm not playing nobility games. I will not choose from a list of women chosen for me."

"You can't just marry anyone."

"Need I remind you that not long ago, he too was 'just anyone?'" you interrupted, rising from your own seat. "Not a one of you would have looked twice at Din before he won the Darksaber. Admit it!"

A cacophony arose. "You cannot call him by his name!" you managed to make out.

Din stood at light speed and slammed his fists on the table. "She can call me anything she likes!" he roared, and everyone sat back down with their hands folded in their laps, meek as lambs. "She is my partner. I would sooner have her at this table, alone, than any number of you." His disdain was rarely so plain, but you couldn't deny that you loved watching him put them in their places. It wasn't something you wanted to admit to yourself, but it really turned you on. "She's right. None of you would have given me the time of day before. As I understand it, most of you openly called my people a cult. Funny we should end up here, with the best-behaved people at the table the cultists, hm?"

You heard the Armorer huff lightly. She was trying not to laugh, but she had every right to. Despite their surface-level acceptance of her, she knew as well as you and Din did that they didn't truly respect her. The others simply mumbled things along the lines of "Apologies, my Lord" and "Yes, my King."

"The next time any one of you dares to speak up against her, I will have an example made of you. I will publicly expel you from this court. I'm even tempted to banish you." He looked down at you, his helmet tilting in the expression you knew to be fondness. "Are you okay, Moonbeam?" he asked in a whisper, something meant for only the two of you.

"I'm okay, Din," you whispered back, sliding your gloved hand into his and pulling him back down into his seat. "Thank you for defending me."

"It's my honor." He cleared his throat and moved on as though none of that had ever happened. "Any other ideas?"

"Is it not women you want, my Lord?" asked a woman who hadn't yet spoken.

"Would that be a problem?"

"No, of course not. I only ask because it would be easier for us to help you if we knew."

"I like women," he said, and you could tell he was embarrassed. "I also like men. I'm not picky in that regard."

"Ah! That helps, my Lord. It significantly expands your pool of potential suitors."

Suitors! The word caused the idea to occur to you instantly, and you blurted it out as quickly as it arrived in your mind. "What about a competition?"

"A competition?" Din sounded genuinely interested for the first time that afternoon. "Of skills, or…?"

"No, not of skills." Your confidence grew thanks to his rapt attention. "It would be a series of dates, so not exactly a competition, I suppose, but there isn't a better word for it. We could start with a speed-dating round, and then a series of hour-long dates, and move on to a final round where the contestants move here, onto the Mand'alor's compound, and you slowly eliminate people until you find the one. We can open applications to everyone on Mandalore who is of age and single!"

He shook his head. "Everyone over 30, Beam. I'm pushing 50; I don't want any 19-year-olds in the mix. I need someone closer to my own life experience, but I don't want to narrow the field too much."

"Okay, everyone over 30 who's single." Your heart fluttered despite itself when you realized that that included you, not that you could apply. No, surely if he wanted you, he would have asked already. "So what do you think?"

"I think it's the only good idea I've heard today." It was then that you realized you had never let go of his hand, and he squeezed yours affectionately. "Let's do it."

Your stomach flipped at his touch. "Let's do it."

He dismissed everyone at the table then, asking you back to his quarters with him. You obliged him, moving to pick up your bag before he picked it up for you and beckoned for you to follow him. "I'd rather discuss further in private," he explained. "Sick of them."

"As am I." You walked with him, silently flattered by his decision to carry your things for you. He was always doing small things like this. Your relationship with him had changed so little and yet so much since you had both arrived on Mandalore for good, the same easy warmth between you, but so much new responsibility. Din had to call all of the shots, and while he occasionally listened to his other advisors, he mostly ran everything by you before making any decisions. Adding to this was the duty of taking Grogu and Ragnar on their apprenticeship journeys, a job you actually loved. Traveling with Din and the boys was the most at home you ever felt these days, free for a bit of the heaviness of the court and the kingship. You wondered if the two of you would be able to take the kids out for journeys during the competition.

"The boys are training," Din explained as he opened the doors to his quarters. "It's just us. You want something to drink, Beam?"

"Just water, thanks, Din," you said, hanging your bag by the door and settling at his table. The both of you were comfortable enough with one another at this point that you didn't mind picking up your helmet a bit in front of him to drink. "Sparkling if you've got it."

"Always do, for you," he confirmed, which made your chest tighten a little. Why had you suggested this competition? You should have just suggested the obvious: that he should marry you. It made sense; you were already his partner in so many aspects of life. Why not be his riduur? But no, you couldn't say something like that. Din spent so much time around you that if he wanted to marry you, he would have already said something, which made you believe that there had to be something about you keeping him from seeing you in that light. Maybe he thought you wouldn't make a suitable mother for the kids, or that you were too informal with him, even though he wouldn't say it, or that you were too awkward and strange to make a wife. Whatever his reasons, you had to respect them, but you were still happy that he did things like keep sparkling water in his quarters just for you. He loved you in his own way.

You took a sip from your glass before bringing up the topic that had been on your mind since it had occurred earlier in the meeting with the court. "Din?"

"Yeah?"

"When you said 'never mind' earlier, what did you mean?"

"When did I say that?"

"When the advisor asked when you would be married. You started to say that you always…"

"Ah." He wrung his hands, clearly a bit anxious to broach the subject. "I wanted to say that I was always hoping that it would be natural. That I would just fall in love on my own terms. I don't want to be set up."

"Oh, Maker, Din, I'm sorry—"

"No, Beam, your competition isn't setting me up. It's a little less natural than I may have thought, but maybe it will turn out exactly the way I wanted it to," he said, his stress on the word exactly grabbing your attention.

"Whoa, do you already have someone in mind?" you asked, wracking your brain for who it might be. "Do you mean exactly because you know who you want it to be? Why not just ask them, Din? Anyone on the planet would be lucky to have you."

He shook his head and looked down. "I'm too afraid."

"Why?"

"What if she rejects me?"

She. So this loved one of Din's was a woman. Somehow, that stung more than if it were a man; you wished it had been you who had been the woman to capture his heart. "Why would she reject you? That's crazy. You can't think that."

"Maybe it's nothing wrong with me, necessarily. She might not want to ruin our current relationship."

And it was someone he was already close to? Kriff. Jealousy rose in your throat unbidden. "Do you think she'll enter the competition?"

"If she does, I'm calling off the whole thing," he stated definitively, taking a drink from his own glass. "She's the one, I know it, but I'll let her choose me. I know being the riduur of the Mand'alor is a lot to take on, plus I've got two foundlings. I get it if I'm not what she wants."

You had to admit to yourself that Din being the Mand'alor was a part of what intimidated you out of confessing to him how you felt about him. It was all well and good for you to love him, but how would the people of Mandalore feel about having you as their queen? You couldn't imagine it would be a hugely positive reaction. What would you be able to bring to your people as their representative? What history did you have that made you worthy of the throne? No, the people probably wanted Bo-Katan Kryze, the former princess. "Oh! It's Bo-Katan!" you yelped, your hand flying to the forehead of your helmet. "Of course! But wait, why would she be worried about being the riduur of the Mand'alor?"

"Bo-Katan?" He laughed, confusing you. "Absolutely not. I have a perfectly diplomatic relationship with her, but she's not the woman I'm talking about, Moonbeam. I… well, I sometimes feel like she wants the throne for herself."

"Because she does."

"So I'm not crazy." Din shrugged. "I thought about trying to give her the Darksaber before I was sure I was going to take on the responsibility."

Your interest was piqued by this new information. "What stopped you?"

"She wants the throne. You told me that a power-hungry ruler would just get us all killed, remember? I'm not sure exactly how power-hungry Bo-Katan actually is, but it wasn't worth the risk. You were right, as you so often are. Your advice has brought me through so much." He reached out for your hand. "I could never have done this without you for a whole year, and I also couldn't take the boys on their journeys without you there. They're our foundlings, at this point. I hope you know how much we love and appreciate you."

You were endlessly grateful that Din wouldn't be able to clock the heat rushing to your face from behind your helmet. He called the boys your shared foundlings. If he didn't stop talking like that, he could almost fool you that he felt the same way for you as you did for him. "Promise me you won't leave me behind when you marry her," you whispered, trying your hardest not to cry. "I can't let the three of you down."

"No one could ever take your place, Beam," he assured you, his steady voice soothing you. "You belong with us." He held his arms open and you leaned into his chest plate, his embrace your favorite place to be in all the worlds you had experienced. "You're our heart, you know that? The piece that keeps the three of us from losing ourselves. After we've all spent the day adventuring and fighting, who's the one who reminds us to eat something?"

"I do," you murmured, a smile pulling at your lips.

"And who polishes up our armor while I wash the clothes?"

"I do."

"Who stitches us up?"

"Din, you do that."

"Well, you stitch me up, anyway," he said, holding you a little tighter. "I really don't miss having to do that myself, and I don't miss medcenters."

"You've always hated the smell of sterility."

He shuddered. "Lifeless."

"I know." You leaned back to look up at him, wishing you could see his eyes, which you knew would be so bright and full of life you'd have a hard time looking away. "I'm sorry, Din. I just… I value our time together. I'm insecure about losing it."

"Don't be. If I have it my way, you'll be by my side until my last breath."

After a few minutes of grounding silence in each other's arms, you pulled back from him and placed a datapad on the table in front of you. "All right, big guy. Let's plan this thing out."

[alwaysonf1]

now?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 502

Warning: N/A

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: Dates and times don't matter.

The days before media day are usually ones where drivers aren’t expected to be at the track for long, but this is a track that has been off the calendar for so long that none of the twenty drivers feel comfortable enough to leave exploring it for later in the week. Especially Charles, who has walked the thing twice and is halfway through a scooter “walkthrough.” His mind is focused solely on mapping things out and imagining himself in his car taking the route. It’s a struggle, but it’s helping calm his nerves.

A hand slamming down onto his shoulder throws off his concentration and startles him. Other drivers have gone by him, but he’d been alone for several minutes. 

As he calms his racing heart he meets Lewis’ gaze. He wishes he hadn’t though. Charles has rarely seen the older man look angry, he hides it well even when he’s voicing displeasure, but right in this moment Charles feels fear enter his body. Something tells him he’s in danger, though he can’t fathom why. He opens his mouth to ask questions, but Lewis raises his phone so that it’s eye level with Charles. That makes him a little more confused, but then he squints at the screen and his heart rate picks up again.

“No, no, no, no. It’s not what…”

“I know it isn’t. At least it better not be?”

 Charles shakes his head. “It is not.”

“Then how are you going to fix it? I don’t appreciate my sister seeing shit like this. And I don’t like the comments it’s bringing to her social media.”

“I… I didn’t know that that was up. I would have… This would be down and I would have dealt with it if I knew.”

Lewis softens, but not much. “Well, you know now, fix it.”

With that he leaves. Lewis’ scootering away doesn’t deescalate the heightened emotions Charles feels and George appearing and following Lewis doesn’t either. Even if the Brit turns back to give Charles a tense, but reassuring smile. 

Another thing he would know about him, but at least this time Charles would know how George got the information.

But he couldn’t even find it in himself to think about that for too long, pulling out his phone and hopping online to see all the posts he’d been tagged in. They’re tamer than the ones he wasn’t tagged in and his hand unconsciously moved to his hair to tug at it. 

Of course, the one time he would have preferred to not be seen with an ex he is, while all the other times it wouldn’t have mattered, he'd flown under the radar. He’s sure that the rumors about him and Iman are partly to blame for the increase in eyes on him, but he can’t bring himself to blame the girl who’d seen them that first time or the people at the club.

“Fuck!” he shouts.

After taking a breath, he pockets his phone and races back to the garage.

charlesleclerc Maybe be sure about who I give my affection to before posting.

immyham charles

‎ ‎↳charlesleclerc mon ange, I told you I couldn't help myself

logansargeant RETWEET

‎ ‎↳lewishamilton retweet

‎ ‎↳georgerussell retweet

↳alex_albon retweet

↳lilymhe retweet

↳oscarpiastri retweet

user not him just full on hard launching

↳user It's not like we didn't know

user Oop not the grid in the comments also calling y'all out? Even Oscar. Apologies with tears from all of you immediately.

user They're so cute

hateruser Oh...

user And y'all better not bring up his ex either.

user he told y'all to shut the fuck up LOL

immyham well my soft launch is ruined, but i'm still going to post this because it's cute. maybe when someone learns to not go rouge he'll get his own dump

lewishamilton Why you make it look like I was flipping you off?

‎ ‎↳immyham uh because you were????

charlesleclerc I won't say sorry, mon ange.

‎ ‎↳immyham 🙄

user he calls her mon ange 😍

user They're so cute

user and y'all swore charles would never

user HA I WAS RIGHT

user logan and her looking like menaces to society

user not her failed soft launch including all three of her favorite men. immy is so cute

hateruser Ew, he should have gotten back with his ex.

[hobbitwrangler]

2024 Fic Roundup

thank you @imakemywings for tagging me! <3

Total Words Published at end of year: 49,104

Fandoms: Exclusively Tolkien - LOTR & The Silmarillion if you want to get technical.

Highest Everything (raw kudos, hits, comments): (I knew what the answer to this would be, the people have clear favourites xD)

Hits: Victory in Defeat (591)

Kudos: Victory in Defeat (84)

Comments: White Blossom (11)

New Things I Tried: Writing dark!fic, something that I never thought I'd do in a million years, and writing a modern AU. Also, although I've written with OCs before, I've never written them in the Tolkien universe, and it was kind of scary doing it, so I'm counting it.

Fic I Spent the Most Time On: the plain sight of our destiny is the cruellest thing of all. This fic was the product of several months on-and-off work and multiple rounds of editing and polishing.

Fic I Spent the Least Time On: The Face of Spring. I banged this one out in an afternoon, it was like I was possessed.

Favourite Thing I Wrote: This is a hard one because I love all the fics I've written this year but I'll go with the plain sight of our destiny is the cruellest thing of all, which is ironic, given that I initially abandoned it as a dud. I just so love all the characters I was able to create and their relationships with each other, and I had such fun exploring Umbar. Also I'm so proud of the claustrophobic horror vibes in this one.

Favourite Thing(s) I Read:

Right-ho, Edrahil! by oswinry - a Jeeves & Wooster style Finrod & Edrahil fic is absolutely inspired and this is so effortlessly, side-splittingly hilarious.

A Thing Strange and Crooked by Arveldis - great investigation of how Maeglin's insidious influence isolated and suffocated Idril, the characterisation of Maeglin as a horrible creep who slides beneath society's radar is perfect.

Unwary by Showed_Up_Late_To_The_Muster - beautifully written, emotionally raw exploration of Théodwyn's final days, the themes of difficult marriage, grief, anger and resentment are perfectly executed.

Love in Spades by 0Rocky41_7 - the fic that made me an aroace Maedhros fan. Every character interaction is flawless, every single relationship depicted is so rich and vivid.

a fish, floundering on dry land by ncfan - heartbreaking portrayal of Finduilas' suffering in Minas Tirith, made even better by the emphasis on her interactions with other female characters.

one of your girls by swanmaiden - this fic is very aptly named because it made me one of the celegorome girls. I don't even know what to say about this fic except that it's a masterpiece, the characterisation of Celegorm is just so delicious in this.

dawn by swanmaiden - beautiful, gorgeous, so painful, Rían's grief and hopelessness are so vividly brought to the fore, and Annael's attempts to bring her back to herself have me with my head in my hands every time.

Like a Wave That Should Engulf the World by Arveldis - put me through all the feelings with Faramir foreseeing Éowyn's death but the love and tenderness which this oncoming grief brings out is what really makes this fic exemplary.

Writing Goals for 2025:

Finish and post a multichapter fic. (I've got several in the works and if I can get at least one posted that would be great!)

Post at least one of my Arien fics.

Post at least one fic featuring (a member of) Duinhir's family.

tagging @emyn-arnens @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @dilettantefeminist @queerofthedagger if you'd like to do this (I'd love to see your answers!)

[thedeafprophet]

Was hoping you would also talk about the trio's entanglements with each other on the OC ship post but I guess there might not be enough tags in the world to describe that 😂 (affectionate) - @lord-emerson

asdffkgkgkhk i dont think ANY words could fully get across the trios relationship

OKAY. here's the deal, i thought about it but i am unfortunately pedantic about wording.... 'realizes feelings' fundamentally doesn't apply for the trio, in my mind. They exist so far outside of the realm of typical relationships that its impossible to have.... for so much of it, its less of having feelings, and more the reassurance of someone who has always been there.

But perhaps i can try

Josephine and Jamie met when they were 10 and 12 respectivly, both kids who were traumatized and isolated from the people around them. It was Jamie who reached out to her first , offering a hand and a conversation, and from then on their friendship just kind of grew. I think Jamie has always known that Josise was important, but i think due to upbringing, society's downplayal of platonic relationships, and their own issues theyve never really were able to realize that to the full extent. On Josephine's end, i dont think she realized how strongly she felt until... well lets just say, until that was put in jeopardy. and the risk of loss was something she didn't quite know how to deal with, so she didn't. I think Jamie's had a bit of platonic infatuation with Alex since the first day they met, and always kind of knew, while somewhat resenting those emotions when they got older. Jamie was 13 when they met him, Alex was 15, and their introduction was Alex punching out another girl who had been harrasing Jamie - how could they have not idolize him after that? Alex wasnt exactly looking to make friends, but Jamie is nothing if not persistent, and time, as always passed. I don't think Alex is capable of realizing he has feelings, to him Jamie is just... Jamie, yknow? He wants to look after them, even when things are streneous. When Jamie and Josephine insisted on coming with him when he planned to break away from the school, perhaps he had an inkling then but... sometimes things Just Are.

Josephine and Alex is a bit more complicated. Alex was 15 and Josephine was 11 when they met, and their relationship has always leaned more on the familial side especially [theres a whole aspect here with a level of... upset on Josephines end, at the concept that anyone could ever replace what she's lost but thats a whole other can of worms]. Again, i dont think there ever was a specific realization of feelings, more so a sense of just... adjustment. Alex would 'acquire' higher level maths books from somewhere, Josie would explain a complicated concept to him in simpler terms, and time would press on. I think between the two of them now, theres still a lot of realization that needs to happen, and a desperate level of communicative matters that really need to occr.

and with all of them well..... isn't it how it always goes, that you don't know what you have until its gone?

[mamasturn]

dirty dancing pt. 9

pairing austin!elvis x black!fem!oc (cynthia). warning: 18+ steam, suggestive themes. content: cynthia and elvis get married. tags: @neeville @dulcewrites @crash-and-cure @cvpidspearl @blackwriter48 @wonderprince @venus2eros @adoreyouusugar @sunshinetoday1 @cosmic-parker @kaitaesupremacy @librarydame @louderfortheback @thetaoofzoe

note: well…long time, no see

“Marry me, baby.”

Cynthia’s hands released the utensils they held. A loud clatter ricocheted off the decorated walls of the dining room. The curls upon her head curtained her eyes, but they were blown wide in shock. Slowly, she tuned to the left. Her eyes found his baby blues, which were filled with hope as he descended onto one knee.

In his hand was a black velvet box. He pulled the cap back to reveal the most piece of jewelry she’d ever seen. And, it was authentically her. She’d expressed to him that as she’d gotten older, she found an indescribable beauty in the color green. Cynthia was well-aware that he was attentive; she just never knew he was so attentive that he’d propose to her with an emerald ring.

It was beautiful, goodness, was it beautiful. The emerald diamond was at least three karats, and it was the star of the show. Its setting was gold with vines entagling the band. He pulled it out of the box and brought it closer to her.

“I don’t want to spend my life with anyone else but you, Cyn. You came in my life and changed my desires. I’d be a fool to let you slip through my fingertips. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine, as long as you’ll have me.”

A tearful laugh fell from Cythia’s lips. “Where will we go?” The four words held so much weight, and he knew why. No one in the south would approve of the union of a white man and a Black woman--it was unheard of. But, Elvis knew that already, and he was determined to get what he wanted. There was one state that would grant their wishes--California. California had legalized interracial marriage in 1948, and if she said yes, he already had the first flight there arranged. He just needed a yes.

He stood to his feet and placed the box on the table. Cynthia looked up at him, her brown eyes teary and filled with a million unreadable emotions. “California. They’ll accept us out there. They don’t believe in the silliness them people in the south believe. We can get married, baby. All you gotta do is say yes, and we’ll go. It’ll be me an’ you forever. Baby…”

Cynthia stared at the ring and it stared back at her. What would she tell her parents? They were already suspicious of her relationship with Elvis and feared for her safety daily. Their Black daughter was in a committed relationship with the most famous singer in the world. That was dangerous enough. How much further was she willing to go?

She wanted to be his wife, she truly did. But she was scared. What would happen when people found out? Would they try to hurt them? A part of her challenged her concerns because her relationship was nobody else’s concern, and who was society to tell them who to love? Yes, they were of different races, but it was no reason to repel a love that was so strong and profound. They weren’t hurting anyone.

Her lips twisted as she nodded. “Let’s get married.”

“You look beautiful, darlin’.” Cynthia’s eyes dropped toward her dress. It was a simple, white slip dress that’d been hiding in her closet. It was form fitting and stopped just below her knees. Accompanied by silver pointed heels, she was the most stunning bride. She rushed her makeup in the courtroom bathroom and took the rollers out of her hair, which produced the most voluminous curls. The new layered haircut fit her wonderfully.

“Thank you. You look handsome as always.” He wore a simple black suit, nothing too crazy. He was flamboyant any other day, but chose to have the more simplistically beautiful wedding of his dreams.

“We are gathered here today…”

Their eyes met and giddy smiles spread across their faces. A dream had become a reality. All the worries and fears were washed away when she heard, “you may now kiss the bride.” Cynthia welcomed the passionate kiss and scattered applause from the judge an the officiant. It wasn’t the most ideal wedding, but it was perfect for them, and that’s what mattered. “Mr. and Mrs. Presley, congratulations.”

“Mrs. Presley…I love the sound of that.” They’d found a hotel to stay in for the evening before flying back to Graceland the following morning. The hotel service was luxurious, as they wanted the best for Elvis Presley and his wife. They stayed in the presidential suite on the top floor, which was decked out to the nine.

Large windows that oversaw the city, flowers and plants that reminded her of Graceland, chandeliers above them, and a King sized bed with an angel-white comforter, which she laid on comfortably.

Cynthia turned her head to meet his eyes and smiled gently. She loved it too. Cynthia Irene Presley. Music to her ears. Elvis stood at the end of the bed admiring her beauty. She was freshly showered and dressed in her white nightgown with lace trimming. Her makeup had been removed and her hair was tied with a satin scarf. God, she looked so beautiful to him.

Her brown eyes were blown wide with love and adoration as they followed his movements toward her. She sat up on her elbows and spread her legs just slightly to make room for his body.

Elvis crawled over her, his breath fanning her lips gently. Cynthia shuddered. His pink lips captured hers and she welcomed the feeling.

She loved intimate moments with Elvis, and she could only imagine how much better their interactions would get since they were married. It would mean they’d finally go all the way.

Cynthia and Elvis had dabbled in other forms of sexual intimacy, but had never crossed the line of penetration, as Cynthia requested. She was grateful for her husband’s patience with her, and was more than ready to give herself to him fully.

“Elvis,” she moaned softly as his lips traveled down her body. What a sight to see, it was. Him working his way down her quivering body with darkening eyes and swollen lips. Her, jerking at every touch he gave her and calling him name so gently.

“Yeah, baby…” His large hands cupped her hips as his thumbs traced the waistband of her panties. Slowly, he slid them down her legs. Cynthia kicked them to the side.

“Come here.” She pulled him upwards and kissed him again. Her lips moved toward his ear, which she nibbled on softly. Elvis moaned softly. “Make love to me, Mr. Presley.”

He burned with desire. Elvis hummed softly and instructed her to lay back. His hand slid up her abdomen, leaving goosebumps in the wake. He reached behind her back, looking to unclip her bra. She lifted up to help remove the article of clothing.

Soft pants and breaths of anticipation passed through her lips as Elvis’ warm lips traveled down the valley or her chest, around her clothed hips, and between her thighs, where he teasingly and strategically kissed around the place she wanted him the most.

He lifted his eyes, finding Cynthia with closed eyes and a heaving chest. Her lip was caught between her teeth. She looked down at him when she felt him stop.

She tensed suddenly. Elvis rubbed her thighs gently as a way of reassurance. He wouldn’t push her, though. If she needed time to prepare, he’d give her all the time in the world.

“Relax, baby, relax…”

Cynthia nodded slowly. She didn’t want it to be weird, but she was indeed nervous. But, it was Elvis, she reminded herself. She had no reason to be. All of her worries went away when she felt his lips on her. A gasp fell from her lips, “Elvis…”

“You okay?”

Cynthia nodded tiredly against his chest. “I’m okay.” She’d fantasized what her first time would be like, and Elvis exceeded her expectations. She felt so loved, adored, and honored. He paid close attention to her body and made sure her pleasure was the priority, and for that, she couldn’t have been more thankful.

“Mrs. Presley…” Elvis said for what seemed to be the millionth time. It didn’t bother her, though; she enjoyed hearing it. “I love you, darlin’.”

“I love you more, Mr. Presley.”

[storiesaplenty]

Bridgerton Masterlist

Our Family

Lord Debling x f/Reader

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Warnings. None

Requested by anonymous. I hope you like it, and such a cute idea

From my previous account plentyoffandoms.

WC: 836

©️ storiesaplenty 2024: do not repost or translate my work. This is the only place I post my work.

Summary: Lord Debling & his wife were odd by their society standards. Their marriage was arranged, but they bonded over their unique interests, and soon found love. Their love grew into a massive family, with another one on the way.

My wife and I were strolling in our garden, with our children running around. It was getting late in the evening, and it was the perfect time to look up into the night sky.

Our children were very excited as the night sky had no clouds and they could see the stars.

They are also excited as the summer flowers are starting to bloom, and many bugs are starting to come out due to the warmer weather coming on.

My wife and oldest daughter, Ivy, were discussing their latest book they had read, and I was keeping an eye on the younger children, but their oldest brother, who is Ivy's twin, Berry was keeping them from wondering off.

When I first met my darling wife all those years ago, I was not happy. My parents and her parents got together and arranged our marriage.

Her and I are considered odd in our society as my love of nature and her love of astrology. Most people could not wrap their heads around it.

Our parents were concerned that my way of life at the time was no means for a lady. I was leaving after the wedding and her staying at our estate, but not her.

She joined me on my adventures, getting to know the real me, and I got to know her. I showed her the beauty in our world, and she showed me the beauty of our vast sky.

The first few days into my trip, I became concerned that we were getting lost, but she showed me how to navigate with the stars.

I truly became memorised by her, and I slowly fell in love with the woman my parents arranged for me to marry.

Once she became pregnant, I decided that it was time for us to settle at our estate and start to make a home worthy of our children.

Archer and Basil ran past me, laughing, bringing me out of my memories.

"Now boys, please watch where you are going." I said to them, not wanting to ruin their fun, but for then not to get hurt or hurt one of their siblings.

"Yes, father." They muttered before running off, playing some game of tag that is only between the two of them.

I helped my wife up the hill, as she was once again pregnant, but our sweet little Cordelia came rushing down the hill, wanting to help her mother up the hill.

Cordelia is the youngest at four years of age and is excited to be a big sister.

My wife sat down on the bench I had placed here not long after we came home.

"Now, you all know the rules. No fighting, no shoving, no yelling. We all get a turn." I didn't like to impose 6 many ruled on my children as our society does that already, but after the first time we did this, and the telescope got broken, their mother and I knew that some rules had to be put in place.

I stood next to the telescope as our children, from oldest to youngest, looked up into the night sky, completely in awe.

Ivy, Berry, Aurora, Archer, Basil, our other set of twins, Willow, Jupiter, Celeste, and Cordelia all took their turns, then rushed to their mother's side, asking her questions.

"Now, now, my darling children, it is your mother's turn." I said as they parter for me to get to her, to help stand her up from the bench.

"Take your time, dear. We have all night." She gave me a soft smile and leaned into look into the telescope. Our children ran off to play the scavenger hunt game I made for them before we came out here.

They had to find a certain bug or plant and cross it off their list. I even drew pictures next to what they need to be looking for.

Once, I knew the children were occupied, safe, and having fun, which I could tell by the squeals of laughter coming from around our garden, I wrapped my arms around her waist and placed my head on her shoulder.

"Oh, Alfred, it is just beautiful." She said as she straightened and leaned back into my arms.

"Not as beautiful as you, my beautiful wife."

"You shush now, husband. You are going to make me become vain with all your praises." Her and I laughed at that.

I turned her around in my arms so we were facing one another, I kissed her while placing my hand on her stomach, her and I was giggling at feeling our newest one kicking.

"Oh gross, they are kissing again." I heard Archer say before running off.

"How about when we are done here, and they are put to bed, you and I have some fun our bedroom."

"It's like you are trying to get me pregnant, even though I am already pregnant." She teased.

"That we do Alfred, that we do."

[fragilefirstchance]

It's Either Tourist Traps or Drugs

Gen, family-centric, rated T or M depending on installment

Do you like longfics? Gen fics? Reflective, OC-centric examinations of family dynamics? Maybe you'd like my fic!

Look at this fanart!!!! by Tardibabe and by ranchsoda92

Hi! I am not generally speaking active on Tumblr, but I just completed Part 5 6 of a fanfiction that is almost 150k words and which shows no signs of slowing down soon. I figured I'd show it to class. :)

Fragile First Chance and its follow-ups is a story about a nineteen-year-old boy whose legal name is Joss William [redacted] Pines but if you call him anything except Will you might end up in a fistfight. It's also a story about how the Pineses are basically good people with a lot of baggage.

Major themes are tagged and optional content warnings for individual chapters are included in drop-down tabs in the notes. For the most part, heavier themes are not gratuitous.

Below the cut you'll find a rough outline of each section. If you don't want spoilers, though, just head on over.

This story was well under way before The Book of Bill came out. It isn't perfectly TBoB compliant, but the themes and plot aren't really something that makes that an issue.

Part 1: Fragile First Chance

Dipper and Mabel Pines were sent to Gravity Falls at the beginning of summer for, from their perspective, no reason. In reality, it was because they were being sheltered from some very old family drama.

Will is May's son from her first marriage and Fil's son by adoption. He's nineteen years old, just getting out of his second incarceration, and a recovering addict. They planned to put him up for a few months, and after that Fil's weird black-sheep uncle agreed to give him a shot in Oregon.

Ford, of course, knew nothing about this. He's not happy about it.

Part 2: Learning to Breathe

Will and Ford are slowly acclimating to each other like two feral cats. They don't really have anything in common except insomnia and a mutual desperate quest not to get in too many fights.

Will doesn't like Gravity Falls. It's lonely, there's nothing to do, and it's full of weird bullshit he doesn't want to deal with. He's coping, though - Soos is pretty cool, the local teens are entertaining, and he ends up getting a long really well with the local bait shop guy and his dad.

Part 3: When Family Matters

Will has started to figure out how Ford works and make an effort to be nice to him. He also tentatively almost likes the guy. (cue Stan audibly sighing in relief off-screen.)

Also: Dipper and Mabel have figured out that their long-lost brother has reappeared, and there are certain family traditions about how you deal with long-lost brothers.

Part 4: Lancing the Wound

Ford and Will are both under a phenomenal amount of stress for a wide variety of reasons. By this point in the story, words like "panic attack" and "therapy" are coming up more often. They have more in common than they ever realized, although for two people with severe abuse-related PTSD, that's not necessarily a good thing.

The McGuckets are around to help. The Twins are too, although whether that's a good thing is open to debate.

Part 5: Nature versus Nurture

In the wake of Part 4, Stanford Pines is coming to realize that his mental health is a much more serious problem than he had previously realized. He struggles to come to terms with this and decide what to do next. This segment of the story is primarily about self-reflection and realizing that you need to change. We also get some serious discussions about the mental health industry (and how it tied into the gay scene in the 70s) by people who are personally invested in it.

Part 6: Definition of a Real Pines

This story arc just started and concerns Ford navigating his life as he tries to re-integrate with his family and society while working through a very difficult mental health situation.

We'll get to meet more of the Pines family. Shermie lives in Florida with his sister-in-law. (Note for those curious about the timeline incongruities: Shermie's age is- wait, look over there! *smokebomb, jumps out the window*)

Part 7: Consequences of Inaction

Will has pretty much adjusted to his new life, and the family as a whole had stabilized. However, there were some things left to rot outside the family while everyone was getting their feet under them.

This arc deals with Tate McGucket, straight-faced stoic extraordinaire, who may not be doing as great as he pretends he is.

Bonus: Erastus Kankerson's Toxic Ex

This is a stand-alone one-shot about Erastus Kankerson, an old friend of Fiddleford McGucket who dated him for a while after the divorce.

[gravehags]

unholy, unholy, unholy - the natalie edit

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!OC (Curator!OC)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: the ministry being the catholic church's evil twin, manipulation, masturbation, confession, copia lowkey being a desperate little sex freak my beloved

Words: 5,162

Summary: She really walked right into this, Natalie tells herself. She can't even be mad at Copia for suggesting it.

a/n: lmao it took me like an hour to edit this so if you see some grammatical fuck ups no you don't anyway enjoy some horndog behavior

~~~

“Jesus fucking Christ Almighty.”

Natalie slams her office door shut with her hip and Cardinal Copia turns to look at her from his seat.

“Need help?”

With a grunt and a shake of her head she walks past him and sets the bag of food down on her desk, heaving a deep sigh.

“Had to go on a fucking scavenger hunt because the goddamn DoorDash driver left the bag with a maintenance worker, who gave it to one of Terzo’s ghouls, who left it in a stairwell for some reason…don’t ask me how I managed to find it because fuck if I know.”

Dramatically she flops into her desk chair and gives her lunch companion a look as he begins to sort out their meals with a smile.

“You know you eh…take the Lord’s name in vain quite a bit for someone who wasn’t raised in religion.”

When he passes Natalie’s container of Pad see ew to her, she grins.

“Ehhh you know, the perils of being raised in a predominantly Christian society. It’s funny, the first time I said ‘Jesus Christ’ I was maybe…I don’t know nine? Ten? And my mom tersely told me ‘don’t say that’ to which I replied ‘why not?’ I don’t think she knew how to answer that question in a way that would make me care, you know? I had gone all my little life not giving a shit about Jesus, why would I now?”

Copia chuckles and cracks open his own takeaway box.

“Ah Natalia, you continue to stray further and further from God’s light every day. Thank Sathanas for that, hmm?”

With a smile, she clinks her soda can against his and digs into her meal.

“You ever think about how fascinating your religion is, Copia?”

Natalie props her feet up on her desk as Copia delicately picks noodles out of his box with chopsticks. 

“Eh, how do you mean?”

“Like…you’re a Satanic cardinal. You’ve sworn your life to uphold the tenets of Satanism. You…we live at a massive complex dedicated to Satan. One of many complexes throughout the world, apparently. And yet, barely anyone knows of the Ministry’s existence. It’s wild, really.”

He makes a thoughtful noise as he chews on a particularly crunchy piece of bok choy.

“Ah, well,” he begins, setting his chopsticks down and reaching for the soda resting on the desk, “We’re trying to change that. In…subtle ways.”

“Mmm, the Ghost project.”

“Sì, the idea is we use Papa to spread our message through music - something that is accessible to many people.”

“With the hopes that you and your evil brethren can dominate the globe?” she says, scrunching her nose playfully and giving him a big wink.

“Something like that,” he smiles wryly.

“Well I’ve listened to some of the project’s music and I gotta say…big fan. I think your sinister subliminal messaging is working on me.”

“Oh?” he asks, setting down his food in order to cross his legs and give her a curious stare. “Tell me more, cara. Do I have a future sister of sin on my hands?”

Natalie closes her eyes and laughs, missing the hungry way the Cardinal watches the line of her pale throat as her head tilts back.

“Maybe…let’s just say I’m intrigued. How could I not be when I’m surrounded by it all the time?”

He nods, resting a gloved hand on his knee and straightening his cassock.

“Perhaps…”

She fixes him with a look she knows will make him lose his train of thought for a moment. Positively wicked.

“Perhaps…?”

“Perhaps,” he clears his throat, eyes darting away from hers, “You would like to attend one of our services?”

Natalie nods gamely. 

“Is a super cool and hip youth pastor going to tell me about the ways the Devil cares about me unconditionally?”

He rolls his eyes and fixes her with an unamused stare.

“Very funny, dolcezza. Would you prefer that I have you sit with Papa Nihil while he explains the history of the Emeritus bloodline?”

Natalie balks. The wizened Papa had a distinct dislike of her for some odd reason. She often wonders how he manages to give her such dirty looks through his cloudy eyes. She didn’t particularly care, however, as she saw the way he constantly brushed off and mistreated Copia during staff meetings. Nihil irked her to no end, no matter how much Sister Imperator liked him.

“Alright, fine, sorry. I only jest to get a rise out of you, I know how important your religion is to you. And hey, anything that has the drama and aesthetics of the Catholic Church without all the guilt and trauma has my full attention. Please don’t be mad.”

He grunts but she sees the way his mustache twitches as he fights back a smile. Natalie flutters her eyelashes a little and in a moment of boldness, takes her lower lip between her teeth. The way his mismatched eyes dart to her mouth and his jaw hangs open makes her giddy.

“I’m–,” his voice comes out as a hoarse rasp, “I forgive you, Natalia.”

“Thank you for absolving me of my sins, Your Eminence.”

He has to know she’s doing this on purpose at this point. Natalie’s not sure what has gotten into her today but something about the way he stares at her now makes her want to grab him by his pellegrina and haul him over her desk for a sloppy kiss. There’s a heavy tension between the two of them, not for the first time, as if all one of them needs to do is take a step forward and all hell would break loose.

“So, you want me to go to a service? What, like black mass? Unholy baptism? Virgin sacrifice?”

The spell is broken and briefly Natalie’s swagger flickers, wondering if she’s crossed a line.

“Eh, maybe someday but your statement about sin made me think…perhaps confession would be more suited to you?”

Now her jaw falls open and she can feel her cheeks light up as he watches her with a smirk toying at the corners of his mouth. The tables have turned and now she’s the one left speechless.

“O-oh?” she asks, voice a little higher than normal, “So if Catholic confession is about getting your sins forgiven, then Satanic confession is…having your sins…celebrated?”

“Corretto,” he says with a generous nod, “We’ll go through each one in ah…intimate detail.”

“We?” she squeaks out, stomach dropping severely, “I hadn’t realized that you would be presiding.”

“Oh sì,” he says, the smirk on his face positively devilish, “Although if you’d prefer someone else…”

“No,” she says just a little too quickly, her heart pounding, “I…I don’t know how much sinning I really get up to. I’ll probably bore you to tears.”

“You might be surprised, dolcezza,” Christ the nickname sounds devious on his lips right now, “What is it they say? ‘Still waters run deep’?”

Natalie’s laugh comes out just a little too loud and unnatural and she kicks herself.

“Ha…right. We…we should probably get back to this cataloging or Sister Imperator is going to publicly execute me.”

The rest of the afternoon proceeds normally, with the two of them diligently organizing the abbey’s collection of illuminated manuscripts. When they finally part, he gives her the date, time, and directions to the chapel where the confession booth is located.

“Natalia,” he murmurs as she begins to walk away, “you don’t have to do this.”

She gives him a half-smile and shakes her head.

“I think it will be good for me,” she says, hands behind her back as she rocks onto her heels, “And besides, how could I say no to spending an evening with you?”

Natalie makes sure not to turn away until she sees the full breadth of his dazed expression and by the time her back is to him and she’s walking away, there’s a loopy grin on her face. It’s not til she turns the corner and reaches the staircase to her quarters the full realization of what she’s agreed to dawns upon her. 

Oh fuck.

—

Natalie doesn’t see Copia the next two days between his duties and her own and for that she’s extremely thankful. The date of her confession has arrived and she’s equal parts nauseated and exhilarated. Having never gone to confession of any sort before, she’s not entirely sure what to expect. She’s not ignorant - she’s seen confession scenes in the media and have heard from friends raised in Catholicism - but what little she does know doesn’t assuage her anxiety. This is Satanic confession. A whole different beast. Her mind conjures images of blood rituals and sacrifices and being on her knees before Copia…his gloved hand tilting her chin upwards to look at him…

Christ Almighty, get your shit together.

She desperately tries to, as she sternly told herself, get her shit together but her mind is clouded the rest of her workday with positively sinful scenes of the two of them. Natalie’s particularly fond of the one where he’s got her in his office, her skirt hiked up over her hips as she bends over his desk and he pushes himself inside her from behind. The thought of his voice in her head, calling her his sweet little nicknames as he fucks into her, makes her practically drip. The final two hours in her office are torture before she’s able to skitter back to her rooms. She’s not meeting with Copia for another few hours and she needs to do something about the ache between her thighs. Impatiently, she fumbles for the buttons on her blouse with one hand while pushing her skirt off with another. She must look a sight, ripping her bra off and flinging it somewhere on the floor, but all she can think about now is getting to her bed. She almost trips twice in the journey to her room, blindly stumbling over and flinging herself on the mattress. What has gotten into her? She’s been horny before, about Copia sure, but this? The way she’s practically whining when her hands meet her bare breasts? She feels positively feral. 

“Copia,” Natalie breathes, fingers pinching at her nipples. She imagines his hands on her, the way the leather would warm as he strokes her soft skin.

Dolcezza. 

Fuck, she can hear it perfectly and it makes her sigh, one of her hands slowly sliding down her body to cup the heat of her. She’s sopping and time feels like it slows as she spreads herself open and slides two fingers against her engorged clit. All of her frantic rushing from earlier ceases as she twitches under her own touch, his name on her lips. She’s so sensitive right now it barely takes anything to bring her over the edge, but, she thinks as her orgasm wanes, it’s not quite enough. Taking a slow inhale she slips her fingers lower and teases at her entrance. The digits glide in easily enough with the abundance of slick coming from her and languorously she begins to pump them in and out. Her eyes slide shut and she imagines it’s his dexterous fingers instead, curling inside her so she can feel every stitch and groove of his glove. 

Cara mia, he’d murmur into her ear, so wet for me. So sweet for your Cardinal, eh? You honor me.

The whimpers crawling out of Natalie’s mouth are getting more frequent and higher in pitch - she knows she’s close. She brings her palm flat against herself to push on her clit as her hips continue to make little circles, driving her fingers deeper in. Her hand is aching but it doesn’t stop her from pulling another orgasm out of herself, chanting his name. Tears pool in her eyes and slide down her temples as she sobs aloud and all of a sudden it’s too much. Her body spasms on the duvet, breath coming in harsh pants as she attempts to slow the thundering of her heart. It’s not the first time she’s touched herself to the thought of him, by any means, but something feels…different. More charged. She’s exhausted, bone tired as she tries to organize her feelings. Reaching a hand up to rub her face she turns over and looks at the clock. 

5:32 PM

Her eyelids are heavy but she manages to lean over the side of her bed and locate her phone to set an alarm. Some sleep would do her good. Clear her head.

She doesn’t dream.

—------

Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo.

Copia paces back and forth in the small, dimly lit (romantically lit, some would say) chapel. The last sibling of the evening just left and now all that remains is…her. He barely heard what the siblings were telling him this evening, so anxious was he and caught up in the thought of Natalia soon being in their position. More than once his vision went blurry as he imagined her a breath away, separated only by the decorative wooden screen.

He was so eager for her to walk through that door, now he’s not sure. With a heavy sigh through his nose he looks down at his watch.

6:58 PM

She’s always punctual and he counts on tonight being no different. Resigned to his fate, he shuffles over to the confession booth and opens the door, slotting himself inside. Shit, his ass hurts from the hard bench, why in fuck’s name had they not added a cushion to this side like there was on the other? He’s grumbling to himself in Italian when he hears the chapel door squeak open and firmly shut. Natalie’s soft footsteps approach - she must be wearing her sneakers and not her boots for the distinct clacking sound he usually hears from her has vanished. He sucks in a breath when he hears her open her side of the booth and quietly shut it. There’s a silence between the two of them so profound that when Natalie finally speaks he jumps.

“Hey. You’re in there right?”

He makes a loud, vague noise and sees her shoulders drop through the screen. He can’t get a read on her expression but the anxiety in the air has softened with her posture. 

“Good evening,” he begins, a little stiffly. “Eh, welcome.”

She breathes out heavy through her nose.

“Copia, is this a good idea?”

He pauses and looks down to pull at a loose thread on his cuff.

“Are…are you nervous, Natalia?”

She lets out a soft, self-deprecating laugh.

“Yeah, I’m fucking nervous! I’ve never even been to a regular confession let alone…this.”

“Well, we begin with the ceremonial bloodletting and–”

“Oh fuck off,” she grouses, flicking the screen that separates them. She falls silent after a moment.

“Cara, are you truly that anxious? Because we don’t have to do any–”

“I’m fine, Copia. Really. I don’t know why I'm so worked up. Fear of the unknown, I suppose,” she clears her throat and he hears her crack her neck.

“Bene. Shall I go over the process with you? And remember this is a celebration. No shaming. No guilt. No wrong answers.”

She takes a deep breath in and he sees her nod.

“I will start with the blessing and then we will go through the seven cardinal sins one by one. You may describe yours as briefly or lengthy as you like and we will venerate them. Once we have finished, I will close with a blessing. Then we will part. Nothing to be nervous about, eh? Are you ready?”

“Yes, please.”

“Very good,” he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. “In nomine Padre, et Filio, et lo Spiritus Malum…we welcome this most sacred sinner into your embrace that she may revel in her transgressions against God.”

When he addresses her by name, he sees her jump.

“Let us begin with the Original Sin - pride.”

“Okay. Yeah. Pride.” There’s a few seconds of silence before he hears her softly curse. “Sorry, I should have made a list or something.”

“Take your time,” he says with a smile, simply content to be in her presence, “I have nowhere to be, Natalia. I am right here, ready when you are.”

He can see her eyelashes flutter as she looks down and her cheeks bunch in a soft smile. Although mostly obscured, the sight still makes his heart soar. After a minute or so of silence she speaks.

“Oh! Okay, uh pride. Well I was going to tell you about this anyway but…you know that little write-up I did of Satanic art in the time of the Counter-Reformation?”

“Naturalmente, it was superb.”

“Thank you. Well I thought it was too so I submitted it to a journal for publishing…and they accepted it.”

He can practically hear her grin and it makes him beam in return.

“Cara mia! Congratulazioni! You deserve nothing less! Although I hope you do not consider it a sin to rightfully celebrate an occasion such as this?”

Natalie sighs.

“Ah, I don’t know. I may have bragged a bit too much to other people in the field. Felt a little too self-satisfied about it. So I think that would count, right?”

He scoffs.

“To Papa Frankie, maybe. To us it is a well-deserved acknowledgement of your hard work and something you have every right to be proud of. Dolcezza, even if you hesitate to celebrate yourself, know that I always will do so for you. Published in a journal, well done Natalia.”

He may not be able to see it in the low light of the confessional but he can picture her flushed cheeks perfectly in his mind.

“Anything else you would like to say on the matter?”

“No, that’s it.”

“Are you ready for the next?”

“Yes,” she says, with greater confidence, “Let’s continue.”

“Onto the next. Envy.”

“Ah,” Natalie seems to deflate a little and his brows knit together, “Well about that. This…wow this is embarrassing.”

“No such thing as embarrassing at this moment. It’s a safe space, remember?”

“Right,” she huffs, “Okay well here it goes then. I see the sisters of sin every day walking around the corridors, working in the library, in the dining hall and…I envy them. I envy their bold confidence in their appearance and their sexuality.”

He’s silent for a moment, weighing whether or not he should say what he’s thinking. But she deserves to hear this.

“Confidence is not only represented by eh, wearing short skirts and high heels. I see you exude it every day when you’re bossing me around, no?”

Natalie barks out a laugh and it lightens his heart.

“Truth be told,” he sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “I’m not the best person to be taking advice on confidence from. But I know how to recognize it and I see it in you.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs so softly he thinks he might have made it up, “Can we move on?”

“Si,” he says before clearing his throat, “Next one is wrath.”

He hears her suck in a breath through her teeth.

“Oh, I’ve got a good one for this. Well…not good. It wasn’t my best moment. But it definitely fits the bill.”

He makes a noise prompting her to continue.

“You know that new painting that Sister Imperator got at auction? The one of Lilith and Faust? It arrived last week and she asked me to oversee its unboxing. I told all the siblings working with me that once the box was open the painting was to be handled with archival gloves. I had to step out of the room for a second to talk to the head librarian and when I came back…not a glove to be found and the painting was halfway out of its crate. Copia I…I lost my shit. You know me I-I don’t get mad. But the fact that they had disregarded my instruction and got their bare fingers on that canvas, then acted ignorant about the whole thing…Christ, Copia I saw red. I don’t even remember half of what I yelled at them. I had to walk out before I did something I would regret. God, I already regretted raising my voice. I didn’t report them to Sister Imperator but she found out somehow…maybe the librarian? I don’t know what their punishment was but I haven’t seen them since. Copia, it was awful. I was awful.”

“With good reason,” he replies promptly, “They should have respected your authority as a professional in the field and by not doing so not only did they potentially damage Ministry property, but they also embarrassed themselves. Idioti. Though I would have liked to have seen you all riled up.” A confession of his own - Sathanas, would he have loved to see her flying at them like a demon, her claws sharp and her words sharper. The thought sends a shiver of arousal down his spine and he takes a moment to gather himself before speaking again.

“Is that all you wish to say?”

“Yes. Can we please move on?”

“Very well. Next is sloth.”

Natalie’s silent for a moment and his heart sinks, hoping she’s not dwelling too much on her last confession. He opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it.

“Sloth, yeah. I, uh,” she lets out a giggle and he’s relieved to hear it, “None of these can get me in trouble with Sister Imperator, right?”

“No,” he says slowly, a grin curling his lips, “This is just between us.”

“Okay good. Do you remember a couple weeks back when I texted you that I wasn’t coming in because I was having a migraine?”

“Sì…”

“I was lying,” the words blurt out of her in a rush but she sounds almost gleeful about it, “I was so fucking tired and so cozy in bed and it was raining outside…I just couldn’t do it. Stayed under the covers all day watching Ghost Adventures.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he playfully chides, and he can see Natalie’s shoulders shake with laughter, “Signorina Sinclair, I am stunned. Horrified, even–”

“Oh it’s not that bad.”

“Horrified…that you didn’t tell me so I could join you. I love those ghost hunting shows.”

Her laugh makes him smile in return, “Next time we’ll play hooky together, I promise.”

He sighs deeply. “Please. I could use it.”

“I know,” she murmurs, “No one in this abbey works as hard as you do.”

“Grazie, tesoro. I appreciate your kindness.”

Natalie makes a warm noise of affirmation before speaking, “What’s next?”

“Gluttony.”

“Oh Christ,” she cringes, head falling forward, “Maybe…about a month ago? Primo came by my rooms and handed me a Tupperware container of brownies. Told me to eat one per sitting with a sweet old man smile on his face. I’m not an idiot, I heard what he grows in the abbey gardens but my God the stink that came off of these things. I knew I was about to get my shit rocked. So I ate my designated brownie and just puttered around, cleaning up the kitchen. All of a sudden, I’m flat on the floor in front of my fan having an out of body experience. I don’t know how long I was lying there for but by the time I hauled myself up I was so hungry I thought I was losing it. Went through a box of cereal, a sleeve of Ritz crackers, and the next thing I knew I was in the papas’ kitchen making a bag of popcorn. Don’t remember getting there and don’t remember coming back up to my rooms but the next morning I was tucked in bed. So weird.”

He chuckles nervously as if he wasn’t the one to find her wandering the kitchens stoned out of her gourd and put her there.

“Ha yes…weird. That’s…that’s all you remember?”

“Mmhmm. Talk about the devil’s lettuce. Was pissed I didn’t have any cereal the next morning, though.”

“Let’s move onto the next, hmm?” He’s a little louder than necessary but she doesn’t question his suspicious behavior.

“Yeah sure. Hit me.”

“Eh, greed.”

“Hmm,” she ponders and he hears the back of her head thunk against the wood of the booth. “Damn, this is a hard one.”

“It usually is, funnily enough. You can always skip it, if you like.”

“No, no, no,” she says, leaning forward, “I’m trying to get the full set, let me cook.”

That actually makes him laugh out loud. How he adores her so.

“Greed, greed, greed,” she mutters to herself, “Ah…greed would include covetousness, yeah?”

“Mmm, is there something or perhaps…someone you have been coveting?”

It’s a leading question and he knows this as he hears her breath quicken. It’s at this point in his fantasies where Natalie confesses her adoration for him, where he flees the confines of his side of the booth to fall to his knees before her and worship her as Sathanas intended. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he tastes the bitter tang of his paints which distracts him for a moment when he hears her say–

“Yes. There is someone.”

The silence is deafening between the two of them and his heart thuds against his ribcage, desperate for her to reach over and tear it from his chest. He flexes his hands, the leather squeaking as the both of them sit with the words.

“O-oh?” he finally manages to stutter. He can see her lovely pale green eyes are shut and hears her loudly swallow.

“I, um,” she begins, “Yeah. There is someone I’ve wanted for…a long time. I…I think he–I mean they–might reciprocate but…”

Tell her, you fool.

“Can we do the next one, actually?” Natalie’s voice is so painfully soft and his stomach drops. She is doing you a kindness, his brain cruelly provides, by not telling you of who she truly wants. A sibling, perhaps. Or perhaps…one of your fratelli. The thought pains him so he nearly doubles over on himself as if being punched in the gut. Pride, envy, wrath, sloth, gluttony, greed.

Lust.

He’s startled by the sound of his own voice and she is too, judging from the way she twitches. From his obscured view she looks positively horrified, as if she had forgotten about this one.

“I haven’t been with anyone,” Natalie blurts out, sounding both panicked and deeply embarrassed. He hardly recognizes his own voice as he responds with uncharacteristic calmness.

“Lustful acts…do not always have to involve another person.”

Now why the fuck would he say that? He can see her eyes widen and even in the dim light of the confessional he registers the violent blush on her cheeks.

“Oh I…oh.”

She raises a hand up to rub aggressively at her face, breathing deep.

“In that case, yes,” she finally says and his gut clenches, “I have indulged in the sin of lust.”

“A-about the person you covet?” He’s pushing it but he can’t help himself, can’t help the hope that simmers in his belly and makes his pants tighten.

“Mmm…mhmm,” Natalie responds and she opens her mouth to speak but hesitates. When she finally does, there’s a new tone to her voice - something low. Sensual.

“It’s…good. Fuck it’s good. When I think about them I-I go a little insane. I want them so fucking badly and it’s so easy to think about them and what they could do to me. What I would let them do to me.”

His fist flies to his mouth to stifle the whine that threatens to escape from him and his cock throbs underneath his cassock. He can feel Natalie’s eyes on him, see her full lips parted and it makes him lightheaded. Focus. Focus. Go over there and fuck her against this goddamned confessional. Focus.

“Sathanas bless you, Natalia,” he finally ekes out, his voice hoarse, “I-In celebrating your body a-and your desire you have made Him proud. Well done.”

A beat passes until she clears her throat. He thinks if he doesn’t tend to his dick soon he’s going to pass out.

“That’s all of them then, right? Got the full set?”

“Mmhmm. You can go if you like.”

“Didn’t you say there’s another blessing at the end?”

Satan damn her ability to vex him when he needs relief…and her…the most.

“Eh, yes. In nomine Padre, et Filio, e-et lo Spiritus Malum,” Cazzo what was the rest of it? “Ah…Sathanas bless this most sacred sinner for reveling in her transgressions against God. Nema.”

“Cool, well uh. Goodnight Copia. This has been…enlightening.”

“It certainly has,” he mutters under his breath, fingers itching to adjust his bulge. He’s not sure if Natalie heard him or not because in an instant she’s opened the booth and skittered down the nave to the door. He doesn’t breathe again until he hears her firmly shut it behind her and within seconds he’s fumbling for the hem of his cassock. He knows the likelihood that she was talking about him is slim but simply entertaining the thought that it could be has him unzipping his pants with vicious determination. When his cock finally, blessedly meets leather he could cry with relief. He knows he’s dribbling pre on himself but he doesn’t care - all that matters is the way she sounded confessing her lustful actions to him and how it drives his fist back and forth. Oh, how sweet she was. Tempting even when she isn’t trying to be. How he would revel in ruining her. The thought makes him double over, his unoccupied hand pressed against the wall of the booth in an attempt to stabilize himself. When he thinks of her eagerly spreading herself open for him a broken moan escapes his lips, hips rutting upwards into his grip. What sweet little noises she would make, his Natalia - right there, Copia, please, that’s it - her body eager to yield to his touch. 

“Dolcezza,” he grits out, “ragazza perfetta mia. S-so good–ah–for y-your Cardinal.”

His hand is a blur as it rockets along his shaft and he grunts into the silent chapel. He thinks of Natalie looking up at him with that heart-shatteringly kind look on her face, her lips in a soft smile and he cries out, his seed painting his grucifix in desperate spurts. His mind is fuzzy but his hand doesn’t slow, determined to wrench every last drop out of himself until his head falls back and hits the wood of the booth. Groggily, he puts himself away and lowers his cassock before stumbling out of the confessional. His spend drips onto the stone floor but it matters little - surely it’s not the first that floor has seen. All of a sudden he’s exhausted - feeling every second of his five decades - as he blows out candle after candle. When his task is complete he trudges to the door and rests his forehead on the wood for a moment. 

He thinks of Natalie’s smile once more.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

The Soirée | Sebastian Sallow x OC #55

Summary: Evangeline, Ominis, Anne, and Sebastian attend the Montcroix Soirée, navigating the glittering world of wizarding high society. Though the group tries to stay together, Evangeline is inevitably drawn away by the demands of polite conversation and the unrelenting expectations of her status. As Sebastian watches her from a distance, he wrestles with the painful reality of her public detachment from him—only to be blindsided by a devastating rumor that threatens to upend everything he thought he knew about her intentions.

Words: ~4,700

Tags: Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Pureblood Politics, Protective Friends, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Mutual Pining, Longing, Unspoken Feelings, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Drama, Idiots in Love

Timeline: Mid August

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Sebastian lounged on the edge of Evangeline’s sofa, one ankle casually crossed over the other as he spun his wand between his fingers in a lazy rhythm. For the past few weeks, the distance she’d put between them—her attempt to shield him from the Muldoons’ suffocating shadow—had felt like nothing but a bad dream. They’d slipped back into their old rhythm effortlessly, a balance of shared nights, lingering gazes, and unspoken understanding.

Tonight, the flat carried the soft scent of citrus and vanilla—Evangeline’s perfume, no doubt, mingling with the warmth of Anne’s earlier baking. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, marking the silence that stretched between him and Ominis, who sat rigidly in the armchair, his hands folded neatly over his wand.

“How long has it been?” Ominis finally asked, his tone tinged with impatience.

“Forever,” Sebastian groaned, letting his head fall back against the sofa dramatically. “At this rate, the Prophet will have time to write a whole article about how we’re late and ruining high society.”

Ominis smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. “They’ll just use it as another excuse to dredge up something about your ‘deficient upbringing.’”

Sebastian’s smirk faded at the jab, even though he knew it was meant lightly. His free hand flexed against his knee. “They’ve already got enough material for that,” he muttered, more to himself than Ominis.

Ominis tilted his head slightly, as though sensing the shift in mood. “I meant it as a joke, you know. You should try laughing. It might make you look less like someone hexed your breakfast every morning.”

Sebastian shot him a glare, but his retort was cut off by the sound of laughter drifting from down the hall. His head turned instinctively toward the noise, his frustration evaporating at the familiar lilt of Evangeline’s voice.

“Honestly, Anne,” Evangeline said, her tone exasperated but amused, “you’re making it sound like I’m walking to my execution.”

Anne’s response was muffled, but Sebastian didn’t need to hear her words to know the teasing edge in her voice. Moments later, the sound of their footsteps approached, accompanied by the faint rustle of fabric.

When the door to the hall opened, Sebastian sat up straighter, his gaze immediately drawn to Evangeline as she stepped into the room.

She was radiant. The indigo gown she wore hugged her curves perfectly, the fabric shimmering faintly in the soft light. Her dark hair was pinned elegantly to one side, leaving a cascade of curls to frame her face. A subtle necklace glinted at her throat, drawing attention to the pale column of her neck. She looked poised and polished, every inch the perfect pure-blood debutante the Muldoons wanted her to be.

But it was the small smile she gave him, soft and hesitant, that stole his breath.

“You’re staring,” Anne said, nudging him sharply as she breezed past. She was dressed in navy blue, her grin wide and unapologetic as she reached for Ominis's hand.

“Can you blame me?” Sebastian replied, not tearing his gaze away.

Evangeline rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the faint blush creeping up her neck. “We’re going to be late,” she said, brushing past him toward the door, her perfume lingering in the air.

Ominis sighed. “If Sebastian stops drooling long enough to put on his cloak, we might just make it on time.”

Sebastian scowled at him but grabbed his cloak from the back of the sofa without further argument.

As they filed out of the flat, Sebastian fell into step beside Evangeline. “You look…” He hesitated, searching for the right word.

Her hazel eyes flicked to his, her brow arching slightly.

“Like you’re about to make half the men in that room miserable,” he finished, a smirk tugging at his lips.

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “And you’re about to make the other half miserable.”

The comment caught him off guard, but before he could respond, Anne called from ahead, her tone impatient. “Come on, lovebirds. The Montcroixs aren’t known for waiting.”

Evangeline ducked her head, her blush deepening as she quickened her pace. Sebastian followed, his smirk fading as reality settled back over him like a heavy cloak. The soirée loomed ahead, and with it, the whispers, the judgment, and the ever-present shadow of the Muldoons.

The carriage ride to the Montcroix estate was quiet. Anne and Ominis sat across from them, their fingers loosely intertwined, a silent testament to their ease with one another. It was a sharp contrast to the tension that hung between Sebastian and Evangeline.

Evangeline sat rigidly beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. The soft glow of the streetlamps illuminated her profile, and Sebastian found himself watching her.

He wanted to say something to ease the tension in her shoulders, the furrow of her brow, but every time he opened his mouth, the weight of the Prophet’s most recent headlines choked him.

“Sallow’s troubled past and reckless demeanor: a liability to Sterling’s rising star?”

He could still hear the sneering tone of the writer’s voice in his head, despite knowing he’d never actually heard it aloud. He hated how they dissected his life, twisting every detail into evidence that he was unfit for her.

The carriage jolted slightly as it turned onto the Montcroix’s long, lantern-lit drive. The estate loomed ahead, its grand facade a testament to the family’s wealth and influence. The sound of voices and music drifted through the crisp night air as they approached, the gathering already in full swing.

Evangeline shifted beside him, straightening her posture as if donning invisible armor. Sebastian hated how she did that—how she prepared herself for these events like she was walking into battle. He hated that she had to.

The soirée was held in the Montcroix's grand ballroom, the sort of place where every surface gleamed as though polished by magic—which it likely had been. Chandeliers floated overhead, their crystals refracting light into a soft, golden glow that bathed the room in opulence. The chatter of the wizarding elite filled the air, mingling with the delicate strains of an enchanted orchestra tucked into one corner.

Sebastian stepped inside behind Ominis and Anne, his sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd as they entered. Evangeline lingered at his side, her fingers brushing absently against her skirt.

As they moved further into the room, Sebastian caught snippets of hushed conversations and not-so-subtle glances in their direction. It wasn’t unusual—he was used to being noticed, especially when Evangeline was by his side. But tonight, the attention felt heavier, sharper, as though every set of eyes was a pair of quills scratching notes for tomorrow’s headlines.

He leaned slightly closer to her, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Do you think they’re taking bets on how many dances you’ll accept?”

Evangeline glanced at him, her hazel eyes narrowing. “Or how many you’ll ruin,” she retorted, though the faint curve of her lips betrayed her amusement.

His response was cut off by the arrival of their host, a tall wizard with a sleek smile and an extravagant set of robes. “Miss Sterling,” he greeted warmly, bowing slightly. “How lovely to see you again. And Mr. Sallow,” his tone shifted, polite but clipped. “A pleasure.”

Sebastian offered a curt nod, his smirk tightening. “Likewise.”

The wizard’s attention was already back on Evangeline, his words honeyed and rehearsed as he lavished compliments on her gown, her hair, the very air around her. Sebastian’s jaw tightened, though he managed to keep his expression neutral.

Evangeline, ever the diplomat, accepted the flattery with grace, her voice warm but distant. “Thank you, Lord Montcroix. Your soirée is stunning.”

“Not as stunning as its guests,” Montcroix replied with a smile that made Sebastian’s fingers twitch. “I trust you’ll join me for a dance later?”

Evangeline hesitated, the pause barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t know her. But Sebastian did. He stepped forward smoothly, his voice light but firm. “Do you have dance cards? She may need assistance keeping all these dances straight.”

Montcroix’s smile faltered, just for a fraction of a second, before he recovered with a chuckle that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course,” he said smoothly, gesturing toward a table at the far end of the room. “Dance cards are available over there. I do hope you’ll find me, Miss Sterling, so I can add my name.”

Evangeline inclined her head, her smile polite but distant. “I’ll see what I can do, Lord Montcroix.”

“Excellent,” he replied, though his gaze lingered a moment too long before he turned and melted back into the crowd.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Evangeline exhaled softly, the tension in her shoulders easing. She glanced at Sebastian, who stood close enough that his arm brushed against hers.

“You really need to work on your subtlety,” she murmured, her tone light but edged with amusement.

Sebastian shrugged, his smirk returning. “What? I thought I was quite helpful. Wouldn’t want you to forget which eager suitor you need to dance with next.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, though her lips twitched as if fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re welcome,” he countered.

Anne appeared at their side then, her grin wide and mischievous as she handed Evangeline a glass of champagne. “Well, you’re already the most popular person here, and the night’s just started.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” Evangeline asked, raising a brow.

“Not at all,” Anne replied, taking a sip from her own glass. “But at least you’ve got your guard dog.”

Sebastian smirked. “Happy to be of service.”

Ominis joined them, sipping his champagne as he approached. “Please tell me Montcroix didn’t make a complete fool of himself already,” he said dryly.

“Not for lack of trying,” Sebastian said with a shrug, his gaze flicking toward the dance cards table. “He’s already angling for a dance.”

Ominis tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, if nothing else, it should make for excellent entertainment.”

The soirée continued on with an uneasy balance, the four of them forming a subtle but united front as they navigated the grand ballroom. Anne and Ominis stayed close, offering quiet quips and the occasional distraction when conversations became too pointed. Sebastian took a kind of grim satisfaction in sticking by Evangeline’s side, his presence an unspoken warning to anyone who might push too far.

Still, the whispers continued on around them. Sebastian could feel the weight of their stares, hear the snippets of conversation flitting through the crowd.

"The Auror with the troubled past…" "Muldoon’s unsuitable companion…"

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his smirk a thin veneer over the growing irritation beneath his skin. With Ominis’ dry humor and Anne’s fierce loyalty, they managed to keep things light, their occasional jabs at the more pompous attendees eliciting Evangeline’s soft, restrained laughter. And for a while, it worked. They navigated the opulent crowd like a well-rehearsed routine, their bond a subtle defiance against the critical gazes around them.

But it couldn’t last.

It wasn’t long before the tide of social obligation swept Evangeline away, leaving the rest of them to watch as she was drawn into conversation with influential figures. Sebastian caught sight of Joseph Carling hovering near her, his presence impossible to miss. He offered a seemingly genuine apology for the Quidditch incident, his tone laced with earnestness that grated on Sebastian’s nerves.

Evangeline, as always, was graceful and poised, her voice steady and polite as she navigated the conversations with the vultures circling her. But what grated on Sebastian most was the way she avoided his gaze. It was subtle, deliberate—an unspoken barrier she’d placed between them. Even though they’d fallen back into their old routines since his outburst and the confrontation with Alaric Thornton, in public, Evangeline still kept her distance. It was a habit Sebastian had come to recognize—and one resented.

But he couldn’t blame her entirely, because reality, as always, had a way of intruding.

The Prophet had only intensified its scrutiny of him in recent weeks, dredging up every scrap of his past to paint him as unfit for someone of Evangeline’s stature.

“Sallow’s troubled upbringing with his uncle has left scars that even his promising Auror career cannot mask. A pairing with him could jeopardize the future Miss Sterling has worked so hard to build.”

Another piece had been even crueler: "While Miss Sterling continues to rise as a Ministry darling, Sallow’s tragic history elicits sympathy but little else. His impulsive behavior, forged in the crucible of personal loss, raises questions about his suitability as a long-term partner.”

The words echoed in his mind now, feeding the restless anger simmering in his chest. He hated that they were dissecting his past, reducing his pain to fodder for their scandal-hungry readers. But more than that, he hated what it meant for him and Evangeline.

It gnawed at him. How could she be so open with him in private, yet so distant in public? He understood her fears—he knew the Muldoons were watching her every move, waiting for her to make a misstep they could pounce on—but it didn’t make it easier to stomach.

He caught sight of her again, her laughter soft and restrained as Carling said something undoubtedly designed to charm her. His grip on his glass tightened as he noted the way Carling lingered too close, his posture just shy of presumptuous.

Sebastian took a sip from his drink, hoping the burn of it might distract him as he tried to focus on the low hum of conversation and punctuated by bursts of laughter around him.

It wasn’t long before he was approached.

“Sebastian Sallow, isn’t it?” The voice was lilting, curious, and far too amused for his liking. He turned to find a petite witch with striking auburn hair and a predatory smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I thought I recognized you from the Prophet. You’re... much taller in person.”

The veiled flirtation was unmistakable, and Sebastian barely managed to suppress a sigh. "Pleasure to meet you," he replied smoothly, though his tone lacked any real warmth.

"You’re quite the enigma, aren’t you?" The witch continued. "An Auror with a past as intriguing as his present.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, though his smirk stayed firmly in place. “I wouldn’t know about that,” he replied smoothly, his tone polite but clipped.

“Oh, don’t be modest,” she continued, undeterred. “The papers can’t seem to stop talking about you. That combination of skill and mystery is positively irresistible.”

Another witch, dressed in deep burgundy, joined the fray, her laughter light and musical. “Indeed. Though I imagine all the excitement must be exhausting. Surely you’d appreciate a quieter, more... refined evening. Perhaps a private dinner?” Her hand brushed lightly against his arm, lingering just a moment too long.

Sebastian took a measured step back, creating a polite but firm distance. “I appreciate the offer, but my schedule’s rather packed these days,” he said, his voice cool.

His responses only seemed to encourage them, the allure of his aloof demeanor stoking their interest. More women joined the group, their chatter bubbling around him as they vied for his attention.

“An Auror with a reputation for bravery and recklessness? How thrilling,” another witch remarked, her eyes glinting with amusement. “I imagine you must have stories that would put even the Prophet to shame.”

“I imagine so,” he replied dryly before making his escape. “If you’ll excuse me, I need a refill,” he said before striding across the room, his patience thinning with every step.

He reached the bar and placed his empty glass down with a little more force than necessary, earning a raised brow from the bartender. "Whiskey," he muttered, his tone clipped.

As the bartender moved to pour, and Sebastian barely had time to exhale before another voice interrupted his thoughts, soft and unassuming. “Rough crowd tonight?”

He turned to see a witch standing a few feet away, her dark hair swept over one shoulder, and a faintly amused smile on her lips. Unlike the others, she wasn’t dripping with jewels or swathed in shimmering fabrics. Her gown was understated, her demeanor casual—approachable, even. But Sebastian wasn’t fooled.

“Something like that,” he replied, his tone polite but distant as the bartender placed his drink in front of him.

The witch tilted her head, her expression sympathetic. “I can’t imagine it’s easy, being under such scrutiny. The Prophet certainly doesn’t make it easier, do they?”

His grip tightened around the glass, though he forced a smirk. “It’s not my first time being a headline.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be,��� she said thoughtfully, taking a sip from her own glass. “But I imagine it’s frustrating, being constantly misunderstood. People only seeing what they want to see, rather than the truth.”

Sebastian’s gaze flicked to her briefly, her words striking a little too close to home. She was clever, he’d give her that. Her approach was far subtler than the others, her tone carefully balanced between curiosity and understanding. But he could see through it just the same.

“I’ve learned not to worry too much about what people think,” he said evenly, his eyes drifting back across the room, but Evangeline had disappeared from where she'd last been.

"I've been meaning to talk to you at other events," the witch admitted, sliding onto the barstool beside him with an air of casual confidence.

Sebastian glanced at her briefly, offering a polite, noncommittal smile before turning his attention back to his glass. "Oh? And tonight is different?"

The witch tilted her head, her expression composed but mildly amused. "Well, you’re alone for once. Or at least, you seem to be," she said smoothly, her voice carrying a subtle undercurrent of intrigue. "You’re usually quite the elusive figure at these events."

Sebastian smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Elusive or just avoiding conversations like this one?"

She chuckled, unbothered by his sharpness. "Fair enough. But in my defense, I’m not asking about the latest scandal or offering to ‘help’ you with your reputation. I’m just curious."

"Curious," he repeated, his voice dry. "That’s a dangerous word."

"Maybe," she admitted, her gaze steady. "But you don’t strike me as someone afraid of danger."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, finally glancing at her fully.

She was trying to act like she saw him, like she understood him. Her gaze was steady, her expression carefully crafted to appear genuine. But it didn’t matter how well she played her part—he saw through it as easily as a poorly cast Disillusionment Charm. And meanwhile, the one person who did see him, who understood him better than anyone, wouldn’t even meet his eyes across the room.

Sebastian's hand tightened around the glass in his grip, and without a word, he tipped his head back, finishing his drink in one go. The burn of the alcohol wasn’t enough to chase away the restless energy simmering beneath his skin, but it was better than nothing.

“Excuse me,” he said curtly, his voice clipped as he pushed away from the bar, his eyes scanning the room for Evangeline again.

The crowd was a shifting sea of silk and laughter, but he found her easily—he always could. She was standing near one of the grand windows, engaged in conversation with yet another suitor.

But as Sebastian watched, it became clear that the conversation wasn't going well. He could see it in the way her hands clasped tighter in front of her, in the way her smile no longer reached her eyes. The suitor’s expression didn’t change—still confident, still polished—but there was something in his posture, in the slight lean of his body toward hers, that put Sebastian on edge.

Meanwhile, Evangeline’s hands clenched at her sides, and the faint flush in her cheeks wasn’t from the warmth of the room. From her expression alone, Sebastian could tell that her tone, though still measured, carried a sharpness that cut through the false pleasantries.

The suitor, oblivious or simply emboldened, leaned closer, his hand gesturing as if to emphasize his point. Whatever he said next finally snapped the thread Evangeline had been clinging to.

Her eyes flashed, her voice rising just enough to draw a few curious glances from those nearby. Sebastian couldn’t hear her words, but he didn’t need to. The suitor’s startled expression and quick retreat said enough.

Evangeline turned on her heel then, her gown sweeping behind her as she strode toward the ballroom’s grand doors, her head held high despite the tension radiating from her. She didn’t look back.

Sebastian’s chest tightened as he watched her leave, every instinct screaming at him to follow. To check on her, to make sure she was okay. But he knew better.

She would be furious if he did. After all, he’d seen what happened after the Quidditch match. The Prophet had twisted his act of saving her into yet another damning headline, painting him as reckless, impulsive, and unfit for her company.

No, following her now would only make things worse.

Sebastian's eyes flicked back to the suitor, who had retreated to the edge of the room, looking flustered. The urge to confront the man nearly overwhelming. But he forced himself to breathe, to focus. If Evangeline could hold herself together under the crushing weight of expectation, so could he.

Yet, he couldn’t just stand there. If he couldn’t go after Evangeline himself, he’d find Anne and Ominis. They could check on her without causing the scene she dreaded. He turned sharply, weaving through the crowd with purpose.

As Sebastian passed a cluster of women, their lilting conversation cut through the hum of the room, sharper than the background noise. Lady Greengrass stood at the center, her every movement a deliberate display of poise and grace. Her voice carried the polished tone of disappointment veiled in concern, the kind that was designed to sting.

“I do hope Miss Sterling isn’t unwell,” Lady Greengrass said, her gloved hand resting lightly against her chest in a practiced gesture. “She left so abruptly. Such a shame she didn’t stay to meet my son, Percival.”

The murmurs of agreement that followed were laced with barely concealed judgment. Another woman, her jeweled fan fluttering idly, chimed in, her tone sweet but barbed.

“I’d heard she was expected to take a seat at his table. Such a wasted opportunity, don’t you think? A match like that could elevate her position considerably. Perhaps she felt… overwhelmed.”

Another woman's lips curved into a knowing smile. “Or perhaps she’s been otherwise occupied. Joseph Carling has been remarkably attentive of late, hasn’t he? Always so charming. It’s no wonder there are rumors…”

“Rumors, indeed," An older woman chuckled, her voice tinged with mischief. "I heard just this morning that his intentions are far from idle. Apparently, he’s proposed—and from what I’ve gathered, Miss Sterling has given him every indication she’ll accept.”

Sebastian felt like the floor had disappeared beneath him. His breath hitched, sharp and uneven, as though the very air in the room had thickened, refusing to fill his lungs. The words echoed in his mind, relentless and deafening.

Proposal.

Evangeline.

Joseph Carling.

The combination was absurd, impossible, but the sting of it was undeniable. His chest ached, each breath more painful than the last, as though a hand had reached inside and tightened around his heart.

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

But what if she had?

Lady Greengrass raised a brow, her expression faintly conspiratorial. “It’s no surprise, I suppose. He’s an ideal match. Respected, successful, impeccably bred—”

“And patient,” another woman interjected, her tone laced with amusement. “After all, he’s had to endure quite the competition, hasn’t he? That Sallow boy has been a persistent figure.”

Lady Greengrass hummed thoughtfully, her gloved fingers brushing the pearls at her neck. “Oh, yes. Persistent, indeed. He’s a rather handsome young man, I’ll admit, and well-positioned now that he’s rising through the Auror ranks. But…”

The word hung in the air, sharp and deliberate, before she continued, her voice dropping to a sympathetic murmur that only made the sting worse.

“He carries such a complicated history. The Prophet made quite a point of it, didn’t they? That tragic business with his parents, his uncle Solomon’s dubious reputation, and the unfortunate circumstances of his upbringing…”

A shorter woman nodded, her expression pinched. “I’ve heard much the same. Solomon Sallow was barely on speaking terms with his former Auror colleagues. And from what I understand, he hardly took proper care of Sebastian or his sister. It’s no wonder the poor boy had to claw his way to where he is now.”

“And claw he has,” another chimed in, her fan snapping shut with a decisive flick. “He’s skilled, no doubt, but that kind of past doesn’t simply disappear. It leaves its mark. And for someone like Miss Sterling, well… one must be mindful of appearances.”

Lady Greengrass hummed. “Which is why the Prophet named Carling as such a sensible choice. Steady, reliable, and free of… entanglements. He’ll provide her with stability and elevate her standing. A perfect match.”

Another woman leaned in slightly, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “And besides, if there were anything more than friendship between her and Mr. Sallow, surely she’d have dispelled the rumors about Carling by now. Her silence on the matter speaks volumes, doesn’t it?”

Sebastian's mind raced, grasping at every interaction, every glance, every word he'd exchanged with Evangeline over the past weeks. Hadn’t she admitted her nightmares had worsened during their time apart? Hadn’t she sought him out, returning to the quiet routine they’d built together? That meant something. It had to mean something.

And yet…

Could this be related to why she stormed out? Had she been considering Carling all along? Was that what Carling had spoken to her about earlier in the evening, while she carefully avoided meeting Sebastian's gaze? Could that be the reason she’d distanced herself, why she kept him at arm’s length in public? Because, in the end, she intended to choose someone else—choose Carling?

Sebastian’s throat tightened painfully, his pulse a thrum of chaos beneath his skin. Every insecurity, every fear he’d buried, now surged forward, each one whispering the same cruel possibility. That she had finally had enough of the rumors, the whispers, the weight of him in her life. That she’d decided he wasn’t worth it after all.

And most painfully of all—if this was true—he’d let Evangeline slip through his fingers for good.

His gaze darted toward the grand doors she’d vanished through moments before. If she’d made her choice—if she had chosen Carling—what right did he have to interfere? Wouldn’t that prove everything the Prophet had said? That he was reckless and impulsive?

But logic had no place in the storm raging inside him. Not when it felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest.

If this was true—if Evangeline was seriously considering Carling, if she was slipping away from him—what was left? What was the point of preserving his reputation, of keeping his head down, of playing the game, if she wasn’t by his side in the end?

Sebastian started moving. He didn’t care. He didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought, what the Prophet would write tomorrow, what whispers his actions might stir in this insufferable room.

He’d destroy his reputation himself, dismantle it piece by piece, if there was any chance to change her mind. He’d face the Muldoons, the Carling family, and every other pretentious bastard who thought they had a claim to her. He couldn’t let her go. Even if this ended in heartbreak, even if she told him she’d already made her choice, he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t try.

With a deep breath that did little to steady him, Sebastian pushed through the crowd, his steps purposeful, his jaw set as he moved toward the door.

Let them talk. Let them write. Let them try to tear him apart.

None of it mattered. Not without her.

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

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[spywhitney]

Big Tiddy Hugs 🌻 Miles Morales/Fem!Reader

My Spiderwoman OC has big tits and loves hugging Miles. That's the plot. No name mentioned.

Tags: Fluff, friendship, hugs, platonic relationship, humour and Miles Morales appreciation.

🌻She thinks Miles is adorable. After joining the Spider-Gang and fighting the Spot, she admires his strength of character, and is proud of how much he's grown up since the short time she's known him.

🌻Mind reading is a skill everyone has in her universe, and she used it to help find him when he was sent to Earth-42.

🌻Because of this, she got a real sense of how he felt about everyone: his parents, Hobie, Gwen, everyone. And she felt the most terrifying moments of his life: the uncertainty of his future, the debilitating fear of the loss of his loved ones, and the fatal rejection he felt from the Spider Society.

🌻She couldn't help but hug him (or think about hugging him) every time she looked at him. He'd been through so much and he didn't need to tell her to her face he'd heard her thoughts too.

🌻One time, she pulled him into a hug when they were out with Hobie and Gwen in his universe. It was a warm hug, but like always, his face was buried into her tits.

🌻Gwen and Hobie usually found it very funny, but Miles was embarrassed, more so than usual.

🌻"Aha, thanks. Um, could you let me go now?"

🌻She pulled away to look up at him, as she was so short compared to everyone else, yet still held onto him tightly.

🌻"Why?"

🌻"I mean, uh...".

🌻"You don't want to hug you? Am I not allowed to show affection?"

🌻She knew what the elephant in the room was, but it was normal in her universe to be so touchy. So much so if someone was crying, everyone around would hug them, or assist them in any way they could, and the favour would be reciprocated just as freely.

🌻She was instinctively offended, she couldn't stop the tears from clouding her vision. Miles saw and immediately regretted pulling away.

🌻Hobie and Gwen snickered, but avoided Miles' glare. In a way, she reminded him of his mother, so he felt that omnipresent need to listen and do what she said. She was almost twenty-five, it wasn't the weirdest thing in the world.

🌻She had that innocent, almost sultry look (if it wasn't for the tears) he felt she used on Hobie too many times to count on her face.

🌻"Nah, nah. It's cool. You're right- ah!"

🌻She resumed the hugging position, Miles being near-crushed by her tits. But it was warm, and as she hummed in joy, Miles began to feel it was actually pretty comfortable. He was starting to get used to this.

Bonus:

🌻Hobie and Gwen are awkwardly standing, their mouths slightly agape at them staying like that for what felt like forever.

🌻"Can't remembe' the last time I gotta be face-first in her tits like that."

🌻"Goodness you're so cute!"

🌻They watch as she releases him to pinch his cheeks, and they're even more confused when they see Miles smiling with soft eyes. Then slowly, Gwen turns her head to face Hobie:

🌻"Are you serious, Hobie?"

🌻"What? Little man's getting more action from ma girl than me."

(Yes, my OC and Hobie are together- or at least screwing lol).

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 23. Under The Tree

Pairing: Turpin x Wife!OC And Daughter And Son

POV: Turpin, Third

Setting: Turpin’s house

A/N: It’s the day before Christmas Eve (the day we celebrate Christmas where I’m from) and I crave some sweetness and fluff — this Rickmas has been so intense, there’s been so many cliffhangers and serials to keep track of that I just feel like we (I) need something that’s pure joy and a bit of excitement too about what’s to come tomorrow without wondering how many parts it’ll be as there’s only one more prompt to go 👀🙈

I know there’s been a sort of tradition these past two years for what prompts 23 & 24 are to be but I’m breaking it this year with something lighter and shorter that isn’t about a reader — feels a bit strange but I also so so so enjoyed writing this.

Tags/TW’s: Out Of Character, Happy Turpin, Sweet Turpin, Family Life, Gifts, Excitement, Family Love, Anticipation For Tomorrow (Christmas), Kissing, Embracing, Turpin As A Happy Family Man, Feeling Blessed

Word Count: 1.8k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

He watched her, his beautiful wife, while she dressed their little daughter in a coat perfectly matched to her own. His son, a handsome boy with his wife’s chestnut brown hair, stood dressed and ready by the door — rocking on his heels while waiting as patiently as any eight-year-old ever could. “Now, Mariell, you listen to your father, you hear me?” Georgiana said while looking up at him. He never could get enough of her attention, ever since he first met her over a decade ago he’d craved it beyond reason. “Yes, Mother,” Mariell replied while Georgiana kissed her cheek and ushered her towards him.

“Ready?” he asked his two children and they looked up at him with pure excitement in their eyes, eyes just like his. It always stunted him to see parts of himself in them. “Yes, Father,” the children said in unison and he grasped their hands before kissing his darling wife on her cheek, whispering an “I love you, darling,” before they went out the door and left them behind.

It took less than two minutes before Thomas ran all over the sidewalk, excitedly bouncing about without bothering anyone else. Mariell kept close to Richard, her little hand in his and stretched up by her head. For being six she was quite short while Thomas was tall for being eight. They were two very different children, yet they were both perfect in his eyes. It had taken him quite some time to learn to be a father, with far more help from his wife than he ever cared to admit. Georgiana was a natural at being a mother, he had no such natural ability but had poured all his energy into being a devoted and loving father — still a strict one, but he had vowed to never allow his children to fear him.

“Father, are we there yet?” Thomas asked while stopping a few steps ahead. “Almost, patience, my boy,” Richard said in a gently reprimanding tone. “Will there be other children there?” Mariell asked and Richard looked down at her. “Perhaps, but we do not play with the dravel, do we?” “No, Father.” “Good.”

After another minute of walking, the square appeared and an enormous tree stood at the very centre. They all stopped to look at it from afar, the children stunned by the sheer size of it. Richard glanced at them while keeping an eye on the surroundings, sure, he was Judge Turpin but there were threats to children everywhere in central London.

“Can we go, can we?” Thomas said while beaming up at him, once more bouncing in place. The boy knew there was no bouncing to be had in any other type of situation, being eight years old had made Richard impose stricter rules on the boy, he was to be a proper man of high society after all. Mariell still had two years left before stricter rules would be applied to her as well, and, truth be told, Richard enjoyed hearing her childish laughter fill the house too much to restrict it.

Richard nodded and Thomas took Mariell’s hand before they both bolted over to the tree, they were absolutely dwarfed by it. Richard kept an eye on them while they ran around and the gathering crowd respected his personal space, his children only playing between themselves and none of the other children gathered. Richard sneered as a dirty little boy tried to run along with his beautiful children, but Thomas told the boy off while pointing at Richard — obviously stating who his father was — and Richard felt a sense of utter pride within him at the way the boy handled himself while protecting his sister. After all, he would become a man and a man must know how to protect those they care about, and have the strength to do so. Richard would step in if necessary, but the dirty boy ran off so there was no need.

The children ran for long moments, giggling and playing, while Richard watched in a stiff silence. His eyes were on the children, but his mind was on his wife back home. It felt strange to be out and about with the children but not her. So, after another moment or so, he called for Thomas and Mariell, and they came instantly. “We going home, Father?” “Language, son,” Richard reprimanded. “Are we going home, Father?” Thomas corrected, and Richard nodded in approval. “Yes, your mother most likely misses you by now.” The children nodded and took each other’s hands, walking two steps ahead of Richard while heading home.

The walk was a quick one, and Georgiana met them in the hallway the moment the door opened — as if she had known they were to return right that moment. “My loves,” she said with a wide smile, her beautiful eyes twinkling with joy at seeing them all. She leaned in and he met her by leaning forward. He kissed her cheek. “Were you waiting by the window again?” he asked with a chuckle, low enough for the children not to hear though. “Hush, you’re such a bully, love,” she said in confession, her cheeks blushing and he could not help but feel blessed to have such a wonderful family. “Never, only inquiring if my wife’s longing is still as strong,” he replied with a slight cheek to his voice and she gave him a playful glare.

“Mother, there was a big tree!” Mariell said. “A giant tree, at the centre of the square,” Thomas elaborated. “Oh, did you have fun running around it?” “Lots of fun, but Thomas is too fast,” Mariell whined. “I ran slow!” he replied, all while Georgiana undressed Mariell from her coat and Thomas shrugged out of his. “You were both playing nicely, I watched every moment. Even when you protected your sister, Thomas.” That made his son puff out his chest with pride. “What happened?” Georgiana asked, no real fright in her voice. Thomas told her what happened while Richard undressed and stepped beyond his family to enter the parlour.

“What, by God, is this?” he asked, his voice a dark rumble yet quite loud and the thudding of several feet was heard while he watched the absolute madness of gifts under the tree. There were piles of gifts. “Is that for us?” Thomas asked, stunned in the doorway before both children ran toward the tree and gifts, ready to dive in. “Hold it!” Georgiana called. “It’s not Christmas yet, loves,” she continued with a soft smile while wrapping her arm around Richard’s. He felt a tingle travel all through him and the frustration at seeing the ridiculous amount of gifts melted a little.

“But, but, but,” Thomas said in a rush. “Listen to your mother,” Richard said calmly and the children’s shoulders slumped. “Besides, it’s only a night left until it’s time,” he continued and the children perked right up. “Go wash up for dinner,” Georgiana said and the children walked away while she called for their son to help their daughter.

Richard tugged her close, kissing her temple before taking a swift kiss from her lips. To feel her melt against him never got old. He smiled at her, feeling blessed beyond comprehension. “Richard, love,” she whispered. “How much poorer of a man am I now?” “Oh, all the richer by tomorrow,” he said with a smile while straightening the lapels of his coat. “Minx,” he countered, but his smile was genuine. “Oh, you know you love me.” “Indeed, I do, far beyond what is possible I dare say.” “Richard, please, you’ll make my knees yield when you say such sweet things.” “Oh? I make you weak at the knees, do I?” he purred, his voice darker than before while he held her closer by the waist. “Every day,” she whispered as the patter of slipper-clad feet reached them. “The gifts you have granted me only make me love you more.” “You mean the gifts you have granted me, darling.” She giggled at that and they kissed swiftly before the children reached them once more. Clean and ready to eat dinner.

Life had become something grand, something warm and kind, ever since he met his darling wife — only becoming more so when she gifted him two beautiful children whom he found himself to love almost equally to her. He never would utter the words out loud, but he loved her the most. His children came second to her, they would not have existed without her after all and no matter how he loved them he never could love anyone more than her.

Georgiana was the reason for all the warmth, the joy, the kindness and happiness in his life. She was the gift he never thought he’d receive, the gift that kept on giving. If there were only to be one gift under the tree for him, he would always wish for it to be her. He needed nothing else, wanted nothing else, wished for nothing beyond her. There was nothing in the world which could compare to his beautiful wife.

“Father?” “Yes, Thomas.” “Why are you looking at mother like that?” Richard blinked. “In what manner, son?” “I do not know. Like you want to eat her?” That made Mariell giggle and Georgiana blushed scarlet but tried to hide it. Richard, however, only smiled at his son. “One day, my boy, you will understand exactly what my eyes are telling your mother. If you are lucky enough to find such a gift as I have found in your mother.” “Mother is a gift?” Mariell asked. “Oh, indeed, there is no greater gift than your mother.” “But, I want a rocking pony,” Mariell said with a confused look at the gifts under the tree. Georgiana laughed and Richard felt as if angels were singing at the purity of the happiness within it. “You’ll see tomorrow what gifts await you, now it’s time for dinner. Come along,” Georgiana said and Richard watched his family walk off while he remained behind.

He saw them vanish down the hallway and he walked toward the tree. From his inner pocket he pulled out a small box, holding a set of jewellery Georgiana had eyes with dire want in her eyes several months ago. He snuck it in among the other gifts, feeling a strange thrill of anticipation at seeing Georgiana open it tomorrow. There were, of course, other gifts from him to her but this one he had kept secret in his judicial office aver since summer when she had first seen the set. Tomorrow , he thought and looked at the gift one last time before heading toward the dining hall to have a lovely meal with his family.

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: JUST ONE MORE DAY UNTIL RICKMAS2023 IS COMPLETE! 😱 And I've only been slightly late twice (depending on timezone ofc)? Gosh, maybe I had my shit together better than I thought this year - she says while she hasn't even started on tomorrow's fic... and just finished this one before making dinner for the family 😂

Q: If you could ask for ANY one gift this holiday (if you celebrate or not doesn't matter), what would it be? A: I'd like roughly 50 million dollars, thank you. Erhm, I mean, if you only got 1 million I'll take that, but being set for life would be extremely nice - gosh, I'd write so much fanfiction and so many OW's, maybe create a fanfiction app that mashes the AO3, Tumblr and Tiktok sites but be exclusive for fandom and no censorship either if that were the case 😂 I'd probably end up giving away too much of it too, but, like, can you blame me when there are so many amazing creators out there and so many people who need help and support. I'd end up buying so many indie books, and so many commissioned artworks I'd drown in it all 🙈👏❤

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @elizabeth-baelish @all-art-is-quite-useless @severuslovebot @yellowbadgermole @impulse-anchor @writewithmarites @yan-senna @writewithmarites @lokisbjchnl @ladykardasi @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

[elanna-elrondiel]

OC Questionnaire Tag Game

I don't know if this will be interesting or comprehensible since I'm not practicing english at all lately 😢 I was tagged by my lovely @linden-leaf and my dear @yellow-faerie, thank you both a lot ! I had a lot of fun reading about your OCs <3

I'm not very good at writing so here's my answers for Mentelossë (I think she's my more known OC) Maybe I'll do it again for other OCs later :D I want to write and talk more about my non Tolkien OCs as well !

1. What’s a core lie your character believes about themselves or the world, and where did it originate? (e.g. if they believe they’re unlovable, was there a particular person or pattern of people that taught them to think so? If they believe the world is fundamentally fair and just, what society or institution taught them what fairness and justice meant, and what the rules for them were?)

Mentelossë believes she is the one who has to protect others. She thinks she needs to make a difference even when it's impossible. It's because she was often powerless in what happened to her as a child and she lost a lot of people in various ways which makes her very protective of her loved ones and thinks she has value only if she can provide security.

2. Who are/were the most important people in their lives? Did they choose those people for themselves (and would they choose them again)?

The most important person in Mentelossë's life is her husband Glorfindel. She choose him quite literally, at first it was all fun and shenanigans but it soon turned into a deep relationship and they became each other's confidant. Mentelossë spend a long time alone after his death but choose him again when he came back to Middle Earth. She would choose him again but she wishes she was less hesitant before his death to enjoy more time together before everything fell apart in the late First Age. She wishes they had married earlier

3. Is there a choice they’ve surprised themselves by making? (And did they learn anything about themselves through making it?)

She chose to go with Maedhros and Maglor after the Third Kinslaying. At the time she thought she was doing this for the twins but at this point she had lost all of her meaning in life and desperately wanted to reconnect with Maedhros, someone she knew in her youth.

4. What is their biggest regret, and why?

Not marrying Glorfindel before his death against the Balrog and not learning how to fight earlier in her life and being unable to protect the ones she loves.

Mentelossë also feels very guilty about not recognising Annatar as Sauron earlier, she feels like she was an idiot for not seeing it and becomes really suspicious in the Third Age (She didn't give a warm welcome to the istaris apart from Gandalf whom Glorfindel knew)

5. Do they have a craft? When and where did they learn it, and from who, and why?

Mentelossë's craft is architecture !! She learned a bit with Turgon when she lived in Gondolin but mostly spend hours learning by herself or finding herself tutors. She liked to follow Gondolin's architects and asking them a thousand questions. She is fascinated by the grandeur of Gondolin's buildings and later by the differences of styles in different cultures. She thinks the architecture of a city is the basis of its organisation and she wants to be able to be a good ruler like her grandfather (Fingolfin) and be able to understand and help her family of Princes and Kings.

She learned a lot of things out of the frustration of being left out of her father and grandfather's life. That's why she also took an interest in war startegy, comptability etc (yes she's good at maths)

6. How do they sleep? Is it restful, or full of nightmares? Do they only sleep in short bursts or are they the sort to sleep deeply all night?

She usually sleeps really well, she likes to rest, nap and sleep. However she had some rough periods in her life when she had a lot of nightmares especially after the Fall of Gondolin and Third Kinslaying. Today at Imladris she only has nightmares after triggering events but Glorfindel is there for her and they find comfort in each other when something hurtful from their past resurfaces

Tagging @merilles @cilil @petitedilly @chipeanuts @brouniecas @firesn0w @fishing4stars and whoever wants to do it ! I really want to counter tag @linden-leaf and @yellow-faerie too but this game would be endless 😂 No pressure it's only for funsies 💙

My questions :

What was an achievement that your OC felt worthy of celebrating? Was it a personal victory or a big impact on everyone around them?

Does your OC have recurring themes in their nightmares/dreams ?

What was your inspiration to create your OC ? Which characters, stories, aesthetics, irl persons inspired you for this character ? What was the first thing who helped you create this OC or something you added to their story/personnality/appearance inspired from something else ?

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @leahnardo-da-veggie!

OC in 15

Let's do some Mashal dialog from MG3!

"I kind of just assumed some elves were blue, but then we got to Skysheer and they weren't. That… that probably wasn’t a very culturally sensitive move on my part.”

“Urgent message for Mr. Montane."

“It is our duty to stop her before she extends any further out of Skysheer, which she already rules. We thought that as godly folk who might have some investment in not having your city conquered, you might lend us some assistance.”

This is fine. It’s going fine. Divine contracts probably don’t work if you sign a false name, right? I don’t feel any divine magic binding my soul.

“I know, right? I’m not one to speak ill of people, but I don’t know if I’ve ever come across someone so mundanely cruel. He was like… like a barnacle. An evil barnacle, stuck onto the underside of society and glutting himself on all the refuse.”

“What’s cydo— cydosabe— sabo— Fuck, this magic terminology is not for me.”

“We can find another way if you don’t want to. That’s blood-money magic. I know I— I couldn’t take it. I can’t. I just don’t know what other option we have.”

“What about divinely blessed blood? What about the Chosen?”

“Ok, one last question. Sorry if this is rude. Are you a pirate? Like an ex-pirate? You have that sword scar and you walk like a sailor. The corkboard is an old naval trick too. I just…. You don’t seem like a professor.”

“You have an air of passion, which is even better in my books."

“You think I’m honorable?”

"I knew that was messing with you. But you’re right. I think I’m coming to understand Antonin Montane, and while he is deplorable, he’s not anything we can’t deal with.”

“So, neither of us can swim and we’re heading into a flooded crypt to hunt a…. How did he so expertly describe it? Ah yes, a ‘beast.’ Shall we?”

“It went in my chest plate. My godsdamned chest plate. In my body!”

“I guess we’ll find out. If that’s the case, then… then are we going to stick together once I’m human again?”

I always forget that Mashal isn't super talkative (more so that Astra and Ivander are professional yappers) so I was scrounging for these lol. I'll tag @avidrambling @calamityeden @ominous-feychild @starsoughtfrost and anyone else who wants to play :)