#Unexpected Wedding Delights | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lynnie-ee · 1 month ago

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Day 8; Jealousy.

╰┈➤"Ah, the infamous jealousy, a common feeling in a relationship and your boyfriend's worst nightmare. But is someone out there who makes this feeling appear more often in him? Of course, there is."

╰►Gender neutral reader, scenarios, 1.6k words in total.

╰► Character: Leona Kingscholar, Ruggie Bucchi, Epel Felmier.

╰►Note: The prompts are based on words I found interesting and then I put them on a roulette to decide when I would write about them, lol. English is not my first language, so please let me know if there are any grammatical mistakes <3. Not proof read, I haven't written in a long time, so I apologise if anything is out of character.

╰►Masterlist / Inktober Masterlist.

⤿

﹙➹﹚Leona Kingscholar ❜ ˖ ࣪⊹ ִֶָ

Surprise, surprise, someone totally unexpected: Malleus.

Now, don’t get Leona wrong, he’s confident in himself, and trusts you completely, he’s well aware (and very smug about it) of how much you love him.

But something about your friendship with Malleus…irks him, awfully. The worst part? Malleus doesn’t even notice. In fact, he was quite amused to hear you talk about how nice Leona was to you, the delight visible in his eyes when you jokingly said that, if they ever got married, he’d be the first one invited to the wedding.

So there’s not much that Leona can tell you about it, he was your best friend.

After all, Malleus’ midnight visits were a thing before he even started to like you, as well as the outings to the town to eat ice cream, and the evenings where Malleus would talk to you about gargoyles, and…Great Seven, how much time could that lizard take away from you?

He had to put an end to it, for the sake of his own sanity.

⤿

“Draconia.” The beastman called once him after a housewarden meeting (one of the few Malleus had the opportunity to attend, after you personally notified him so he wouldn’t be angry later), staying behind, deciding to give him a word or two on respecting the time you should have reserved for your partner.

“Kingscholar.” He called in the same demeanour, his voice as stern as usual, but even more in the presence of the Savanaclaw housewarden. “Do you require something?”

“Yes, actually. I require for you to stop taking away all the free time of my herbivore-of (Y/n), so they-��

“Ah, you mean to speak to me about my bestie?” He asked, the seriousness in his face not matching his words not even in the slightest, leaving Leona as confused as he was startled, his baffled expression making Malleus curious “Apologies, perhaps I used the word wrongly?”

“Where the hell did you even learn that?”

“Do you not know it either? According to Child of Man, is used as a term of endearment for a dear friend-“

“I know what it means.” He clarified, frowning. Of course, you taught him that, where else could the lizard learn any word that wasn’t straight out taken out of a history book? He should have guessed so. Malleus stared quietly at the beastman waiting for him to speak again, but when he observed how he seemed to be deep in thought (he was actually trying to look for a way to finish this quickly before he punched Malleus in the face), so he decided to encourage conversation once again.

“So, Kingscholar, are you going to spill the tea or what?”

That was it. You could be friends with the horned bastard as long as you kept him away from him.

⤿

﹙➹﹚Ruggie Bucchi ❜ ˖ ࣪⊹ ִֶָ

Ruggie considered himself lucky to have managed to get a partner as beautiful and kind as you, even when he wasn’t the nicest person when meeting new people.

It took a long time for the both of you to build trust between you, as Ruggie usually kept things to himself, believing at first you wanted something out of him.

Of course, he trusts you now, as you’re probably the person who knows him best in the entire school, AND you cook food for him on the weekends, it's like he won the lottery with you.

…Still, he gets jealous from time to time of all the people who seemed to be behind you, and even more of the rich kids who brought gifts to try to impress you.

But there was one that annoyed him the most: Kalim.

Which was funny, because he seemed to be part of the few ones who did it out of mere friendship, nothing more. If he didn’t know Kalim from before, he’d think the expensive necklace that he gave you just because it matched Grim’s eyes would be a clear sign of attraction to you, but he was aware that it was one of the simplest gifts he had given to someone in a while.

And as if it wasn’t enough, he had the habit of interrupting your time with him at the most awful moments, it made his blood boil…At times.

⤿

“You’re free this weekend?” You asked, smiling with an excited demeanour at Ruggie’s previous work. “No part-time jobs? No errands for Leona?”

“You heard me right! I have to spare some time to spend with you sometimes too, after all.” He answered with his usual relaxed demeanour. “So, what do ya want to do? Going to the town or staying here to take a nice nap and then watch a movie?”

“Oh, I’d really like to-“

“Prefect, there you are! Ah, hi Ruggie! How are you guys doing?” Kalim’s voice suddenly echoed through the hall where the both of them were previously alone.

“Hey Kalim, we’re doing good. How have you been?” You asked with a pleasant smile, happy to see one of your friends around, distracted enough not to see Ruggie’s annoyed face.

“I’m doing nice, thanks! And I'm planning a party for tonight! Nothing big, just a small thing to spend time with my friends, do you want to go?”

You considered his invitation, promptly turning around to look at Ruggie, silently asking for his opinion. Even though his expression showed clear signs of irritation, he still showed you a thumbs up, as he knew you also enjoyed spending time with the rest of your classmates, and it wasn’t usual for you to have time for it.

Still, you were able to sense his discomfort, so you turned again towards Kalim.

“We’d really love to go! Though, sometimes my stomach can’t handle the spiciness of Jamil’s food very well…Would you mind having some sweeter food? Like donuts?” You suggested, as Kalim nodded enthusiastically.

“Sure thing, I’ll make sure to have enough donuts to fill an entire table! See you both tonight then?”

“Yeah, see you!” You watched as Kalim walked away, oblivious to Ruggie’s previous exasperated face, which was now replaced by anticipation. “Well, the weekend has two days after all, right? We can go to Scarabia today and then we can go to the town tomorrow, what do you think? Or would you like to stay at Ramshackle tonight?”

“And missing out on the donuts buffet? I don’t think so, darling!”

Well, Kalim could be nice, sometimes.

⤿

﹙𑁍﹚Epel Felmier ❜ ˖ ࣪⊹ ִֶָ

Epel has a short temper, you knew that even before you started to date him. Did it change after you two got together? Absolutely not. If anything, it got worse.

Why did guys around the school think they had a chance with you? You’re taken, that’s it! If they can’t understand that, they’re just looking for a fight with him, he won’t let them believe he isn’t capable of standing up for you. Of which Vil is tired, by the way. One more fight and he'll forbid you to enter Pomefiore.

Handling guys from other dorms was nothing, a lot of them were more talk than actions and backed off quickly. But dealing with someone from your own group of friends liking you? He’s furious. But he can’t show it, because no one else has even a clue of the fact that Jack, out of all people, is also attracted to you.

He never tried anything that wasn’t friendly with you, he respected your space and encouraged you to spend time with Epel, often sitting at a different table with the rest of your friends so you could be alone with your boyfriend, which should make Epel feel more relaxed, but it didn’t.

Anywhere you two went, he could feel Jack’s longing stare from afar, and it wasn’t tiring. Only for him, obviously, because you wouldn’t even notice.

⤿

“Hey, Epel, you improved your mark!” You cheered gladly, as Epel walked back to you from the other side of the courtyard. Both of you were in the middle of Vargas’ class, who decided that you’d be running from one side to the other of the courtyard to improve your strength.

“For real? How much?”

“Well, you did it in 35 seconds last week and now it took you 28 seconds.”

“Nice, seems like Spelldrive trainin’s payin' off, after all. What da you say, how ‘bout a little kiss as a reward?” He suggested teasingly, and just when you were about to answer, you could hear Deuce a few meters away from you.

“Wow, Jack! It only took you 24 seconds! That’s so cool!”

“Well, we are in the Track and Field Club, after all…” Jack mumbled, briefly gazing at the Prefect. “Take my time again, would you? I want to see if I can make it in less time.”

Epel frowned, once again bothered by those brief looks, he’d give to you. Did he think he wouldn’t notice? Epel wasn’t going to back off so easily.

“Take my time too, sweetheart. Lemme see if I can make it in 20 seconds.” He spoke right after Jack, making you confused at his sudden competitive air, but you decided to dismiss it, setting the timer as he asked.

And he lost, of course, because what else would you expect from a race with a beastman who’s part of Track Club?

“You did good Epel.” You patted his head when he came back to you, his frustrated expression even more visible now.

“Whatcha mean? I lost by like 10 seconds, seriously I-“

“Them I’m guessing you don’t want your reward kiss?

…Perhaps he did win after all.

⤿

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nickeverdeen · 2 months ago

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Calling Top Gun Maverick characters “wife/husband” instead of “girlfriend/boyfriend” while being on the phone with someone

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell

Maverick would give you a subtle, knowing smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement

He’d raise an eyebrow slightly, intrigued by your choice of words

Once you’re off the phone, Maverick might tease you lightly, “Husband, huh? You sure you’re ready for that?”

He’d give you a gentle nudge or a squeeze of the hand, clearly pleased

You’d catch him smiling warmly, clearly touched by the unexpected title

Maverick wouldn’t say much but would give you a look that says he’s very okay with it

He might add it to your banter, occasionally calling you his “husband” or “wife” in return

Penny Benjamin

Penny would immediately flash you a cheeky grin, loving the new title

She’d give you a playful wink, clearly enjoying the unexpected upgrade

Once you’re off the phone, Penny might tease you with, “I like the sound of that”

She’d laugh softly to herself, obviously delighted by your words

Penny would reach out to touch your arm or hand, appreciating the sentiment

She’d respond with a playful flirt, something like, “Does that mean we’re planning a wedding now?”

Penny would likely pull you in for a quick kiss, happy and amused by the title

Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Hangman would immediately react with a wide, cocky grin, loving every second of it

He’d throw a quick, witty retort your way, “I knew I was husband material.”

Hangman would puff up his chest a little, clearly proud of the title

Once you’re off the phone, he’d tease you relentlessly, “So when’s the ceremony?”

He’d respond with a flirtatious comment, something like, “I’ll give you a great husband.”

Hangman would give you a charming wink, fully embracing the term

He might make a sly comment about you having good taste in husbands

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Rooster would get a bit flustered, not quite sure how to react at first

He’d break into a surprised but happy smile, loving the unexpected term

Rooster would chuckle nervously to himself, a little embarrassed but clearly pleased

He might blush slightly, especially if you’re in front of others, but he’d still love it

Once you’re off the phone, he might say softly, “Husband, huh? I like that.”

Rooster might gently tease you about it later, “So, how long have we been married now?”

He’d give you a long, affectionate look, clearly touched by the sentiment

Natasha “Pheonix” Trace

Phoenix would immediately laugh, clearly amused and delighted by your words

She might give you a light, playful punch on the arm, “Wife? I like the sound of that.”

Phoenix might feign surprise, “Wow, didn’t know we were that official.”

She’d grin at you teasingly, loving the playful nature of the title

Once you’re off the phone, she’d quickly retort with, “Guess that makes you my wife/husband, huh?”

Phoenix would likely continue the banter, throwing in some flirtatious remarks

She’d clearly be happy with the title, maybe bringing it up later with a smile

Robert “Bob” Floyd

Bob would be stunned into silence for a moment, not quite sure how to react

His face would turn bright red, clearly flustered but pleased by the title

Bob would give you a shy, sweet smile, loving the idea but too shy to say much

He’d let out a nervous laugh, trying to play it cool but clearly a bit overwhelmed

Once you’re off the phone, Bob might say timidly, “Husband? I, um, didn’t know we were there yet.”

He’d give you a grateful, affectionate look, touched by the unexpected upgrade

Bob might make a soft comment about how much he likes the sound of it

Mickey “Fanboy” Garcia

Fanboy would instantly get excited, his eyes lighting up at the word “husband.”

He’d immediately start playfully joking, “So when are we booking the honeymoon?”

Fanboy would break into a big grin, clearly loving the idea

Once you’re off the phone, he’d be full of energy, “Husband! I knew it! We’re that good!”

He might go over-the-top with his reaction, acting like you’ve just proposed

Fanboy would be laughing joyfully, clearly thrilled with the new title

He’d constantly tease you about it afterward, bringing it up at every opportunity

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aphroditelovesu · 11 months ago

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Hello. Can you write yandere husband Jaehaerys i Targaryen ?

❝ 🔥 — lady l: I got a little carried away, I'm not going to lie. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! 💚

❝tw: none, just fluff and soft!yandere.

❝🔥pairing: yandere!jaehaerys i targaryen x female!reader.

Jaehaerys married you before he became King. He had known you for a long time and your house was noble enough that he could marry you without any problems or many complaints and he did so as soon as you were both old enough to do so. He couldn't wait any longer to have you for himself.

Normally he should marry his sister, but he didn't want to. He wanted you. You had known each other since childhood and Jaehaerys knew that he could not marry any other woman but you. Not when he already loved you from that time. And you were perfect for him, not only was your lineage noble and good but you were good for him.

Jaehaerys had made all the right preparations. He had checked your background and was always meticulous about you. He loved you, but he would be King one day and he needed to be careful about his marriage and his future Queen.

He wanted to establish a bond with you, something emotional so that your marriage didn't depend solely on politics. Jaehaerys used to send you letters, telling you stories about the Targaryens and about him. And in return, you were give him letters about yourself and stories that you read in books.

Once the arrangements were made, he was very satisfied. You could become his wife and he your husband. He was eager for you to officially become his. He couldn't wait to start having children with you.

The wedding was grand, as expected of a future King and you looked absolutely stunning. As a future Queen should be.

Handmade, your dress was made with lush fabrics and intricate details, it exuded an aura of romance and tradition. Delicate embroidery adorned your bodice, reminiscent of the patience and skill of dedicated artisans. Your skirt flowed like a dream, with layers of tulle and lace that danced in the wind, while your train dragged along the floor, leaving a trail of stories of eternal love wherever you went.

The wedding night had been good and pleasant for both parties. Jaehaerys delighted in taking you as his wife, in touching you and giving you pleasure while also hoping to impregnate you. The way his kisses were sweet and his fingers touched you left you breathless.

The marriage with Jaehaerys was pleasant and you learned to love your husband despite his possessive and protective behavior. You assumed this was how a husband who loved his wife was supposed to behave, so you didn't mind. You were happy and your husband seemed perfect.

So kind and passionate, there wasn't a day that went by where he wasn't looking at you with heart eyes, his purple eyes sparkling when you caught him looking at you. He loved it even more when your face was red, not knowing what to do with the looks of your husband. So innocent and so his.

You were spoiled and pampered to no end, he doesn't have any kind of financial care to spoil you, you were his wife, nothing more fair than fulfilling all your desires and whims. Everyone must obey your orders without blinking or they will have to deal with Jaehaerys.

Once he became King and you officially received the title Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, you played a large role in his politics. You presided over his council and gave your opinion, to the chagrin of some lords and the delight of your husband who trusted you completely.

You were not only his wife, someone who was only supposed to bear him children, but also an advisor, a Queen, valued by Jaehaerys, collaborating with him in matters of state and being a shrewd mind behind the important decisions of the realm.

Jaehaerys showed his affection in subtle ways sometimes, such as leaving little surprises for you at unexpected times, like flowers in your chambers or gifts made especially for you, showing his affection in subtle and discreet ways.

You took time to travel together, exploring the lands of the Seven Kingdoms, strengthening your bond not only with each other, but with the other Lords, and creating precious memories outside of royal compromises.

Jaeherys was your perfect husband, he put you above everything else and did whatever you wanted. He loves you deeply and just wants you to be happy. He trusts you like no one else and you have all the power over him. Even more so when you get pregnant with your first child.

You have the King on his knees for you whenever you want. He is yours and you are his. He was always yours.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #house of the dragon #yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #hotd #yandere asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #jaehaerys i targaryen #jaehaerys i targaryen x reader #yandere jaehaerys i targaryen #yandere jaehaerys i targaryen x reader #yandere headcanons #headcanons #yandere jaehaerys i targaryen headcanons #yandere a song of ice and fire

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predestinatos · 11 months ago

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'tis the season, i guess — CL16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: cold winter days bring unexpected company to your bookshop. or in which your ex needs help choosing a book for his girlfriend.

words: 3.5k

tags: angst, SO much angst, dark academia vibes for some reason?, genuinely heartbreaking. some fluff but not much!

note: this was based off of this request but i got a bit carried away and wrote a whole thing! also am now obsessed with listening to sabrina carpenter... i hope everyone likes this even though it is very painful, but lmk your thoughts pls!!

The bookshop was basically empty, all the noise you could hear being yourself trying to rearrange the books in alphabetical order, and soft music playing in the background.

you stood on your tiptoes in order to reach a book at the top of the shelf, knowing a bench was available but being too lazy to go get it. Wuthering Heights refused to reach your fingertips despite your efforts and soft curses to yourself a bit louder than usual due to the emptiness of the shop.

"Need help?" a male voice called from behind, causing you to roll your eyes. Here we go, you thought to yourself, another man who catches you alone in the shop and tried to hit on you, and you'll have to find him funny and play delighted to be in his presence despite how bothersome he is, despite the ring on his finger.

"No, I'm okay, really-" you started replying, putting on your best customer service smile, fixing your hair as you turned around to face the stranger. but the person who you faced wasn't a stranger in the slightest.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you" he said as he reached behind you for Wuthering Heights, taking him zero effort to do so, increasing your frustration and disbelief.

those brief moments of closeness brought to you a thousand heart clenching memories, time standing still as his scent hit you softly.

"Try this one" you tried to stop giggling as you held the dark brown bottle in your hands and asked for his wrist.

"Tobacco Vanille? I don't want to smell like cigarettes!!" he joked, although he let you spray his wrist gently, so happy just for the sole fact that you were happy.

Your smiles reached your eyes as they met for brief seconds, waiting for the smell to hit his skin. Reactions weren't needed as your expressions turned from smiling to shocked, mouths widening at the scent that seemed to fill you both.

"It's AMAZING!" you half screamed excitedly as he smelled his wrist in confirmation. "Charlie, it smells so good I could eat you right now!"

He laughed at the nickname, at how pretty you looked, at how simple it all was. He kept laughing with the perfume in a perfectly wrapped package in his hand, the other holding yours.

"Uhm, hi" you said, as his big familiar hands stretched out to hand you the book, which you hugged tightly to your chest in an attempt to hide or disappear in it, you weren't sure "Thanks."

"No problem" he replied politely, almost annoyingly so, the tiptoeing already starting before more than a few words could be uttered, his hands in his pockets as he looked everywhere but you.

It was uncomfortable - the silence, the stillness, how both of you stood there like ghosts, waiting for some direction, something to do, something to happen. "So uhm... what brings you here?"

"Oh, I'm a wedding crasher" the stranger next to you replied, black tuxedo slightly touching your arm, a drink in his hand and shirt slightly unbuttoned.

"Really?" your eyebrows raised as you took in what he said and his appearance – the nose, especially the nose.

He laughed slightly, taking a sip of his drink and looking back at you "no, I'm friends with the bride," his finger pointed in the direction of the beautiful woman dressed in white, but all you could see was how big his hands were, adorned with rings. "And you?"

"I am an actual wedding crasher" you replied, cheeky smile adorning your lips despite the shyness you felt as your eyes locked with his. It was his time to raise his eyebrows and your turn to take a sip of beer as he repeated what you had asked seconds before. "Really?"

"No, I'm friends with the groom" you replied winking, enjoying the stranger's company and humor, his smile causing small dimples to appear in his cheeks as he looked down at his lap.

"You got me," his hand suddenly stretched towards you, palm open and inviting, "I'm Charles."

He kept shrugging and avoiding your eyes, despite the fact that he had willingly chosen to go to the place where you worked. It was making you impatient and angry, those emotions replacing the initial shock and sadness.

"I need your help choosing a book," his voice sounded weak and embarassed, shame coming through every vowel. You stood still, waiting for him to continue, wishing he'd speak faster, explain himself already or just leave and forget he even came. "For my girlfriend"

Those words twisted inside you like a sharpened knife that knew the cut would merely hurt, not kill. Despite that, you knew better, you refused to let him notice any sort of hint of how that information affected you. "Oh wow," was all you could say at first, turning around to keep placing books in shelves, distracting at least your body since your mind was restless "birthday?"

"Uh? Oh no, 6-month anniversary" he muttered, almost inaudibly. You were too aware suddenly of how your clothes felt on you, how ironic red was in the necklace you were wearing as you placed Anne Boleyn's biography in its correct place, tight between the other books. You refused to look to him now, nodding intensively so he would understand that you had heard what he said, your skin prickling as you struggled to move. Calculations ran through your mind, trying to place those 6 months in the timeline of both of your lives as he moved awkwardly behind you.

"It's funny actually, she really loves reading, I guess I do have a typ-" he began, trying to lighten the mood, but each word he said felt like another grain of salt being thrown at the open wound that was your heart.

“What does she like to read?” you interrupted him, purposefully so, knowing how clear your intention to move from the subject was.

“I read a bit of everything, but I love the classics,” you said as the cappuccinos arrived and sat prettily in the café’s table. You stared at Charles as he stared at you; his entire expression seemed to give you undivided attention, registering every word and movement of yours. He smiled at all the correct times, nodded at your statements and frowned at certain parts of your narrative almost as if he had been custom made for you.

“What’s your favorite book?” he continued, sipping his drink, some foam remaining on his top lip, a feature you smiled softly at, bravely leaning over with a napkin and cleaning it. “Thank you” he said as he noticed your blushing expression, his way of both reassuring you and brushing it off as something mundane, and you bit your lip, holding back a bigger smile than necessary.

“This is such a cliché,” you started, rolling your eyes at your answer, trying your best not to say it. “Go on” his hand suddenly stretched towards yours, resting on top of it gently, like a sheet perfectly fitted for a bed. Your body burned with the touch, what is symbolized, what it promised silently in that small café.

“It’s Catcher in the Rye,” you both burst out laughing.

“She loves Fitzgerald,” his hands touched random books, looking for something to do, fixing them, opening some of them and putting them back in place, reading the backs of them as if he was paying attention to anything they said.

“Good taste,” you tried the compliment route. You didn’t want to sound bitter, and you weren’t bitter. It was just a lot to take in so fast, his presence as painful as his words, the way both made you feel so small for such a big place, so big for such a tight room.

“That's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool,” you quoted the author as you contemplated the choices available for a lover of Fitzgerald. Work could fill your mind. Pretending it was just one more client made it easier. “Any other author or book? Help me out, Charli- Charles” you cut yourself off before the nickname could come out, hoping he wouldn’t notice, knowing that he did. You felt his entire body tense behind you as yours did, making it seem like a picture frozen in time in place, The Star-Crossed Lovers.

Charles seemed so silent that you unconsciously felt yourself turning back to check if he was still there, if he hadn’t been a fragment of your imagination after all. He stood in place, for a moment his eyes looked at you as if they hadn’t seen you in his entire life, examined you as if you were as unknown as letters in a freshly printed page. That soon faded as he snapped back to reality, registering the question with incredible delay. “Faulkner. She also likes Faulkner.”

“Aaaand Faulkner is done” you brushed some of the dust off of your hands as you stood up, looking at the now organized Classics section. “At least for the next week! Thank you for staying with me, by the way,” you said to the phone, as its screen indicated that you had been on a call for 2:45:17 hours.

“No problem,” Charles smiled. You knew he did although you didn’t see him, and that sheer though made you smile as well. “Can you do me a favour though?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement, a puppy-like tone that you cherished “open the door, I’m freezing.”

At first you were confused at his request, and you were close to questioning it until it hit you. You didn’t believe it. There could be no way he was- you rushed to the bookshop’s door, opening it while still holding your phone. Heart racing, you opened the door and saw Charles’ frame standing there, the lights illuminating his red cheeks and nose from the cold, one hand awkwardly holding the cellphone, the other trying to balance two warm drinks. He was wearing a beanie that made him look younger, softer, a puffer jacket that seemed to hug him perfectly- “Is there a code or something?” he jokingly asked, his breath visible due to the cold air outside, and you realized you had been staring for too long. You stood aside, turning the phone off as he placed the cups on the counter and removed his extra clothes.

“You didn’t have to,” you started. “I wanted to.” “You’re so sweet I could kiss you right now.” “Do it, then.”

You started browsing through the spines of the books in the shelves in front of you, looking for answers to more than one question, relying on pulling you sleeves down to your hands to mask your nervousness.

“How have you been, though?” his voice made you jump a bit, pulling you back to reality as you pulled 2 books and held them against your chest with one hand, trying to keep them from falling by lifting a leg – an awkward stance, you were sure. “Great, actually” you replied, unconvincingly so.

Things were hard after what happened with Charles, and you had taken many different routes to get over it all at first – waking up hungover in strangers’ beds, not leaving the house, breaking hearts for fun, letting people use you for fun, meaningless moment after meaningless moment, where the highlight would be hearing a voice that sounded even slightly similar to his. They got slightly better, of course, a year had passed, you could function, yet it hadn’t scarred yet – it wasn’t even close. The wound was open and bleeding and hideous and his presence, his voice, his smell, his request, it all just made the blood spill harder.

“Really?” “Hmhm,” a nod. A cough from behind you, making you turn around. His face was stern, serious. Charles was considering if coming was a good idea, what even drove him to do it in the first place. There were so many bookshops, so many other gifts he could give, yet he felt like showing up, like seeing you, at least once. Now he was there and he felt peculiar. Something close to guilt crawled on his chest, but he wasn’t sure what he was feeling guilty of, which in turn intensified his guilt.

You reached for a third book, and as you did so, the ones you were holding fell once again on the old wooden floorboards. “Shit” you muttered, crouching to grab them as Charles did the same, you two being so familiarly close, the irony of the cliché overwhelming the both of you. Getting up, Charles felt the need to offer his hand for you to hold, a support you refused to take and acknowledge, pretending you didn’t see it when it reality it seemed to be screaming at you loudly and intensely.

“So here are my recommendations, I guess” you sighed, letting him assume it was due to tiredness, knowing that he wouldn’t. Placing the 3 books on the nearest table, they faced the both of you as you stood next to each other, his arm brushing against yours, eyebrows furrowed as he examined their covers and details carefully.

Mrs. Dalloway, Age of Innocence, and One Hundred Years of Solitude sat perfectly, yet stared at the both of you defiantly, knowing their words could cut through both of your souls if they pleased.

“Don’t let yourself die without knowing the wonder of fucking with love” Charles read aloud, laying in your bed next to you, your head resting gently on his chest as you felt him laugh softly, lying naked in . “You’re right, I think I like this author.”

You laughed alongside him, both unaware of the fact that you were laughing for different reasons.

Charles’ eyes glanced quickly towards you, the same memory haunting your minds as if you were locked in a cinema of nostalgia. Shyly, his hand reached towards the hardback edition of Age of Innocence, its soft colors drawing him attention when the other options were either too painful to grab or not as tempting for his eyes.

You leaned against the polished table, looking at the way he touched the pages tenderly, fingers brushing them with a softness that reminded you of times that had gone by yet seemed to close and so recent.

His features seemed so focused, eyes moving slowly across each sentence, eyelashes prettily adorning them, his throat bobbing up and down as he swallowed dryly. He almost seemed unreal, a mirage of a stranger who was once so familiar to you, breaking the spell when he chuckled softly. “What?” you asked, whispering, too afraid that a sudden movement might make him disappear entirely. The normalcy of the moment was as terrifying as it was comforting, a moment in which it seemed like you two were the same again. “Nothing it’s just, one of the sentences I stumbled upon…”

“Which one?” you rested your chin in your hand while looking up at him, forgetting the previous moments, the previous year, every previous instance in its entirety as he looked back down at you and bit his lip nervously.

“I want somehow to get away with you into a world where words like that -categories like that- won't exist. Where we shall be simply two human beings who love each other, who are the whole of life to each other; and nothing else on earth will matter.” the room went cold and silent as the night.

“I can’t give you a relationship” he stood in his own kitchen like a foreigner, a man you almost did not recognize. “Why not?” “Because I don’t do relationships and I don’t like labels and I don’t want to hurt you by convincing you that I can.”

Your ears rung as you fought back tears. You wouldn’t cry. You were too proud for that, to show him this mattered way more to you than to him. “If you don’t want to hurt me then try, Charles.”

He shrugged, arms opened in defeat and eyes looking at the window, the snow falling down outside, locking you both in this confrontation. “I can’t.” Frustration invaded your bones and skin as you asked why once again, though your voice was tired and broken.

“It’s not because of you, I just- Can’t I just love you?” “That’s what I’m asking you to do by staying,” you reply cut like ice, and as he moved closer to you and held your face in his hands, you knew you had lost. “I can’t. Because I can’t do relationships.”

“But you will” you pushed him away as you left, knowing you were leaving your toothbrush, spare underwear, and heart there.

He interrupted the stillness before you did, clearing his throat and his mind, failing to relieve you of the pain of the past. “I’ll take this one” he said, now too polite, too frigid to go back.

You held the book and moved towards the counter, aware of his footsteps behind you, following you. You knew he was doing it because he had to pay, because he was a customer, because that’s what you’re supposed to do – yet part of you wanted it to be for a different reason, wanted his hand to suddenly reach for your wrist and tell you it was all a lie, a big prank, he was sorry and he took it all back.

You wanted him to say something daring enough for you to explode at him, to scream everything you’ve been holding inside for a year, to go back to that kitchen and its dimmed lights. To dare yourself to ask how dare he come into your workplace and throw everything at you, all politeness and fragrance and small talk, like it was nothing when you felt everything.

Instead, you wrapped the present nicely, placing a bright ribbon at the top while he fidgeted with his wallet from the other side of the counter. It was almost done, this exchange, and you didn’t know how to feel anymore. You were tired. So tired.

“Why did you come here?” you asked, facing him fully, staring at his green eyes that tried their best to hold your gaze. “Seriously, Charles, why did you come here?”

At first, he stayed silent. You refused to break the silence this time, even if he left without an answer you knew you had asked it, you did not save it for late nights lying awake. “I know you think I didn’t love you, but I do” he said.

It didn’t seem like a reply to your question, it seemed like a statement he was waiting to get out since the moment he walked in, the phrasing odd with its verbs being intentionally used in different tenses that didn’t seem to matter, at least not anymore. All you could do was laugh in disbelief, anger, or hurt, or a mix of both spreading throughout your body.

“You were- are- very important to me. You helped me realize a lot of things and if I could, I would go back in time in a heartbeat. But I can’t” he grabbed the present, hinting at the fact that he was going to leave, yet it didn’t seem fair to you. This wasn’t an apology, and was nowhere close to it, your hands trembling were a proof of such.

“You never can” you raised your chin, pride fighting against hurt as tears threatened to roll down your cheeks, jaw tense and firm, “not when it comes to me.” And there it was. What you both knew was true, said aloud like a forbidden fruit that was now bit into.

“It’s more complicated than that. And it’s alright for you to hate me, but I genuinely do love you. I care about you and think about you more than I should-“

“Do you love her?” it was a stupid question, and you knew that. You knew whatever answer he gave you would be a slap in the face, unsatisfying and painful either way. You hated yourself for the slight jealousy you felt towards a woman you barely knew, who wasn’t at fault at all, whose only problem was being too lovable.

“I do. I wouldn’t have known that if it wasn’t for you” “Oh wow. Thanks for that one” you crossed your arms across your chest, making yourself smaller, trying to hide while looking at the clock – 15 minutes left until the shop closes. 15 minutes left of the last time you’ll ever see him.

“Why wasn’t it enough? Why wasn’t I enough?” he wanted to reach for you and hold you, a moment of involuntary movement almost drove him to do something he couldn’t possibly do, not anymore, at least. You looked at his sudden jerk of movement, how he stopped as if his muscles burned and prevented him from acting upon his instincts. It was the best answer he could’ve given you.

“I’m selfish. I want to look at a bookshelf and know a piece of you is there. I know I’ll never fucking see you again, and I’ll leave you alone, but God I need something to remind myself that you’re real” he said, eyes closing in shame or frustration, you couldn’t say.

“You took a part of me with you that night. And I’ll never get it back. And you walked in today and took a bit more. More than that book. And every time I think of you, you take another piece. So when you look at that book, think of your girlfriend. I am real. But what we had wasn’t. Not anymore.”

You started closing the register, ignoring his presence, hoping he’d go away. The only reason you noticed him leaving was the small bell that rang as he opened and closed the door, and you finally succumbed and let the tears run free.

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absolutebl · 5 months ago

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This Week in BL - Thailand is back in charge

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

June 2024 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Wandee Goodday (Sat YT) ep 7 of 12 - There is so much to love about this pair. But one of the things I truly adore is what great communicators they are about what they want & need as friends & as lovers. As boyfriends? Not so much. But the way they can (and do and did) communicate speaks well to their ability to communicate in the future, once they have resolved the inevitable doom the BL gods will reign down upon us over the next 3-4 eps. I guess what I am say is... these two are gonna be awesome husbands.

The break up was sad but inevitable.

Yay for a crying kiss. I do so love a crying kiss!

Can we talk about the fact that all that tension was worth it?

Excellent kiss all round from GreatInn. Possibly one of the best of the year. Their only issue in winning this category in 2024 is that they're up against OffGun, TayNew, and JimmySea, not to mention BillyBabe... and MosBank coming soon. But I gotta say, for a new pair? Fantastic work boys.

My Stand-In (Fri iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - I literally spent this whole show saying “Oh, Poor Joe!” Which is now the actual name of his character: Poor Joe. He's like the country music sad sack. How much is this narrative gonna keep kicking him while he's down?

Sunset X Vibes (Sat iQIYI) ep 1 of 12 - Star Hunter + MosBank + a beloved familiar face? You ready? Let's go. I got a lot to say.

Unexpected supernatural historical paranormal mythological Sign-esk elements happening in our dream sequence opening. I’m not mad about it. But I do think it’s going to be mishandled in the dubious hands of Star Hunter. My BLabies, no matter what else, with Star Hunter we can rest assured there will be chaos and narrative mess. And now, lucky us, there will be a supernatural mess. But at least it will be sexy and high heat.

Honestly, I'm not worried about MosBank and I know what to expect from Star Hunter,. So we're all on the same page.

Meanwhile, enter a cute side couple (normal for this studio). WAIT a second I know that face! That's Tenon of PitchBank fame (side couple, and only good thing about, Golden Blood). I’m sad to see his pair busted, but delighted to see him pop up again in a BL.

Tenon appreciation time: He kisses beautifully everyone, and he is a killer eye-emoter. We are in for a real treat with this actor. (Especially if we get to a place in the narrative where he pines. OH PLEASE MAKE HIM PINE.)

Okay back to the show. I love Tenon but I also LOVE his infiltrating, wicked smart, younger brother character. This role is great for him. I adore an industrial spy. I enjoy a rich boy pretending to be an intern in his family's company (yes it's a trope, just not common in BL). Excellent work Thailand. No notes.

In conclusion?

It’s a cheesy silly office BL and I am enjoying it immensely because I have no expectations. So don't burst my bubble. Star Hunter is bound to do that on its own without tumblr's help.

We Are Cute (Weds iQIYI) ep 11 of 16 - Oh my God they are all so cute! I love the beginning bit when Peem was feeling down and Phum tried to cheer him up. Ridiculously charming. All the sides were super adorbs too. The actual name of this show is "We Are Cute". Meanwhile, Kluen = the only boy in a BL ever to take his unfinished drink with him? I like him even more now.

My Love Mix-Up Th (Fri YT) ep 2 of 12 - New take on the umbrella trope to be trapped under a parasol together. NO SINGING. Honestly? I am not loving this as much as I really wanted to love it. It's the middle of the rankings for good reason. I do like the idea of historical Cinderfella BL though. Why isn't that what I'm watching? The play with in a play is a dangerous trope to deploy, it only distracts my with attractive possibilities.

Love Sea (Sun iQIYI) ep 2 of 10 - I'm gonna try to cycle back to ending this rap-up week on Saturdays, which means the recap for this episode will be in next week's weekly (so to speak). Meanwhile, I am doing a Trash watch on this show. Hopefully that will get updated tomorrow.

Knock Knock Boys (Thurs Gaga) ep 4 of 12 - It’s fun enough. Kind of a pulpy lark. Best + Seng = a surprisingly good match.

Only Boo! (Sun YT) ep 10 of 12 - Good kiss from the sides. No surprises there. The main’s kissing was fine too, I guess. I like that they had a genuine struggle with being an idol and not being able to date. It’s nice to see that depicted on screen in a BL. I wish we had a bit more of a montage around the rise & success of Moo's boy group. But I understand the money in play for this kind of show prohibits that. All in all? It’s fine.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

At 25:00 in Akasaka AKA 25 Ji Akasaka de (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 9 of 10 - Oof. This ep was painful. So much awkward desperation and confusion. Oh Japan, must you?

Crazy to be in a place and time where there is no other noted non-Thai BLs airing. Not even from Korea. What is going on? Are we in 2020 all over again? Please no.

It's airing but...

The Last Time (Thai Fri YT?) - Convoluted story of loss and possible reincarnation or something. Can't find it.

OMG Vampire (Thai Sun ???) 10 eps - I can't find it. Comments from last week suggest this is not my thing anyway, but Lee Long Shi very much IS my thing. I've put the search on hold for a bit and y'all can let me know if it's worth tracking down. Also, who knew Frank & Big could kiss like that? Not me.

ARGH could Monster Next Door please just start airing. I am SO tired of waiting for Big to lead out a BL. It should have happened years ago. *grumbles in chronic second lead syndrome*

In case you missed it

Let's Eat Together Aki and Haru 2 AKA Aki wa Haru to Gohan wo Tabetai 2 Haime! (Japan movie) - Continues the (frankly) lackadaisical story from part 1 ans was meant to drop yesterday. We thought maybe Gaga, but nothing so far.

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer released to Korean theaters 5/25. HoTae & DongHee, side couple from Unintentional Love Story are back! Same actors, same character names. I love them. Devastated this hasn't had international distribution.

As others see us: NuNew's 'Awful' Performance in BABYMONSTER's 'SHEESH' Goes Viral - I don't like BL being noticed by Kpop stans. I flipping LOATHE this song and I'm not wild about Babym. This is all 'round uncomfortable making and I want it to stop.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

June Releases Still Coming

6/26 The Rebound (Thai Weds Gaga) - MeenPing are back in their 3rd BL together, a basketball based romance (Meen was a national basketball player, so yay for that). I like this pair better than most (I still do miss Meen with Est but Est has a fantastic looking new BL coming from GMMTV so yeah...) Anyway I'm up for a sports romance starring a man who, yah know, actually played that sport so... I'm game (pun intended).

6/26 I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) 10 eps - A new series adaptation of beloved yaoi I Hear the Sunspot (first adaptation was feature film Silhouette of Your Voice 2017).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Forget "boyfriends but they don't realize it." These two are married but they don't realize it.

Praise be, he didn't leave his full drink behind. BEST BOY.

It was a great make out sesh.

THAT LIP BITE.

All round excellent ep this week, We Are Cuties.

Top tier flirting banker from the fuck buddies though. Man, their innuendo is on point. And I do mean that point. (Wandee Goodday)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity

@rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in it's infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

There's these tricks, remember.

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hearts4werka · 1 day ago

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NNN day 9 | Shattered Promises

summary: a dangerous war was declared, the one thing you feared would happen in your life ever since your husband Matthew joined the military. The fear of him possibly dying out on the battlefield without a proper goodbye always managed to deliver you nightmares and now your worst fear came true, Matthew had to go off to fight for his country. Is he going to make it and come back home safely, or maybe you’ll forever hold the weight of him in your heart even without him among the living?

warnings: ANGST, military, war, violence mentioned, possible murder, missing limbs, dark times, happy ending (or is it?), sorrow, depressive times, vivid nightmares, triggering content & possibly more! Viewers advisory is supervised and proceed with caution!

authors note: we’re almost there at the double digits! Kinda got this random vibe today and the idea just popped into my head, this is gonna take a lot of military vibe music to get me through this and keep me in the spirit, I’m sorry as this can be kinda inaccurate in some ways 😭, luv yall and hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

- a month before the war

Laughter fills the air as our joyful golden retriever, Danny continues to jump and deliver eager licks to the side of his face while he lays down on the couch next to me, the television shadowing a soft glow over our faces alongside sunlight pooling in the room, dancing along the shadows of the living room. “Hey, Danny! Calm down there buddy!” He calls out, chuckling between each word, I observe the playful fight, thinking nothing bad could ever happen to our small little family with our fur baby. My hand slithers its way over to pet and ruffle the hairs on Danny's spine.

The whole moment was filled with pure enjoyment and true love, my heart twisting with delight as Matt finally managed to lure Danny off from on top of him and shelds himself with my body, grabbing a hold of my biceps and pull me in front of him. My laughter only intesifying as now Danny begins devoting his attention off Matt to me, hopping onto my chest but this time without eager licks and just relaxes against me, Matt dramatically gasps but a sweet chuckle quickly overpowers it, "Looks like someone has a favorite parent." He jokes, slipping out from under my body and sitting down before me.

After another playful moment passing by, Danny begins to feel tired and snuggles into Matts lap and slowly drifts into peaceful sleep. A romance movie plays in the background as me and Matt starts to chat in soft whispers to not wake up our fur baby. Admiring how at peace and happy he seems in a simple moment like this, feeling like nothing could take away the joy we've build throughout these years of our relationship, I let myself rest my head down onto Matts shoulder, tiredness now shadowing my features. "I got two little cute sleepyheads now, wanna go to bed now?" I nod my head and murmur a positive response.

Slowly and gently removing Danny off his lap to stand up, straightening his legs and turning his head to look at my sleepy form that’s now beginning to fall asleep. He walks over and picks up my body, bridal style just like he had on our wedding and every time I was tired, as well as at unexpected times. I loved him dearly and would never let anything bad happen to him, I was always a deep sleeper but ever since Matthew decided to join the military I was afraid about him possibly dying on the battlefield and I couldnt bear the dark thoughts roaming inside of my mind, it started with simple flashes of him in my mind but then turned into full nightmares I couldn’t bear.

It started flashing his image as he carried me over to our bedroom and laid me down, covering my body with the duvet before undressing himself and sliding under it next to me, he wraps a warm arm around me and pulls me into his chest, nuzzling his face into my hair as a feeling of safety washes over me but when I close my eyes I can only see him, laying on the ground-shot and dead- while his buddies drag his limp to the side for shelter, trying to revive him back to live but without proper medical care it was impossiple for them to. My heart twisted with sorrow as my eyes immediately pop open, unable to fall asleep no matter how hard I tried. I shift my body to face Matt and hide my face in his chest while clutching onto his body as if I would lose him then and there.

- Present day

The morning approaches, sun barely rising over the horizon, casting a warm soft glow over our bodies as I throw the duvet off my body. Seeing Matthew is stil asleep so I make it my misson to quietly get dressed and exit the room, feeling like doing wanting to do something special I decided to make a hot breakfast for him when he decides to wake up. As soon as Danny catches a glimpse of me walking down the stairs he immediatly runs over and demands some head scraches as well as sustenance, chuckling at how much energy he has in the morning, "Oh you want some head scraches? I'll give you some head scarches, you little cutie." He follows me into the kitchen, grabbing his feeding bowl and placing it on the countet but as I was about to get his food I hear something weird from the radio, immediately turning up the volume to hear more context and its coming from the news.

"Welcome everybody, your news-reporter speaking. The United States Of America has declared war upon another country and we need every soldier we can grasp over the age of 18, this is not a drill but a serious war our country is under. Please seek immediate shelter and consider flying out of the country for safety if youre near any of there states..."

I immediately freeze, being unable to move as the other words coming from the reporter become irrelevant to my brain, "every soldier they can grasp" my brain cannot comprehend the state of fear I am before Im pulled out of my thoughts when Matthew comes rushing down the stairs, seeming like he just woke up telling by his messy hair falling over his forehead. He walks over to me, seeing how scared I have become and places a reassuring kiss on my forehead, “It’s going to be okay, darling. I'm going to be fine, I wont leave you." He softly speaks, assuming I've hear all of it on the radion while he got a call, cradling me in his arms and kissing the top of my head to calm me down in any bit, he's known this was my worst fear and the repeative vivid dreams I've woken up to multiple times and him trying to calm my nerves.

He pulls away from the embrace and leans down to be face level with me, his expression softening as my eyes become glossy and shiny with worried tears swirling around in them. "I promise I will come back to you as soon as I get back, you can come with me to the pickup bus." He reassures, wiping away the slowly sliding tear with his thumb on my cheek. My arms wrap around his neck and pull him back in, feeling as this could be the last time we speak and feel each others warm embrace. "I'll go get ready now." He pulls away before turning around and walking back upstairs to dress himself more properly and apropriate, my soul eternally freaking out and not wanting this to be real. Maybe its just a dream-yeah a dream-now I just have to wake up from this nightmare of a day, oh wait, its actually very much real life. Soon I follow Matt into our bedroom and dress myself properly as well, getting rid of the pyjamas and now in outside clothes.

- At the pickup spot

As we approached the bus, my heart ached and twisted in various ways that made me feel sick to my stomach. Other familys and couples surrounded the bus, saying goodbyes and crying as they got on the bus. Matt holds my hand before turning to face me and pulls me into a soft kiss which only lasted a minute before he had to pull away, "Be safe and please don't die out there." I stammered, full of worry and fear for his life. the news reporter stated it would be a dangerous and serious war which only heightened my pulse, for now I had to take his words and cling onto them as much as I can for them to be true. He gave me a last reassuring kiss on the forehead before he got onto the bus, some of his buddies recognised me and I recognized them since Matthew would have them over often and before they got onto the bus to join Matt, they walked over to me and suddenly picked me up into the air. "woah, guys, what are you doing?-" I questioned but without a response in return, they carried me over to where Matt was sitting, he popped his head though the window and suddenly kissed me, I melted right into it and kissed him back almost immediately. It was filled with pure true love and caring, the world around me disappeared and the happy cheers of others started to become more faint to my ears, all of my worries disolve into the air and my only value left was the moment right now.

By the time we pull away, the driver calls out for everyone to get on board as they will be driving away soon, they let me down onto the ground and hop onto the bus themselves, from a distance now I watch as they close the doors and drive away, a feeling of loss washes over me which I can’t brush away no matter how hard I want to trust his words that he’ll be okay but it seems thats a promise he can’t make. I leave the spot and get into Matt’s car in which be drove us here in, feeling his scent lingering still in the air as I drive off back home.

- a year after the start of the war

Everyday after Matthew’s gone off to fight for his country’s freedom, I’ve waited patiently for him to return back home, dreaded the time I would hold him in my arms again, feel his lips on mine or him holding me and calming me down after a terrible nightmare. They’ve only became more intense and I couldn’t bear being alone anymore but got used to it after awhile, everyday I would plant a single white rose in his name since he always loved gifting them to me to remind me of his love and now it reminds me of him, now that a year has passed I could have a whole garden of them.

I was sitting outside infront of my collection of white roses as the sun shined, the sun ever started to remind me of him, of how brightly his smile would light up any room he walked in. My poor baby, gazing upon the growing garden and every single time get reminded of him so I never forget him, I could never forget my poor baby. He was the only man I’ve truly loved and wanted to grow old together, now the only thing I have are reminders of him and dissolving hope of him still being alive out there. “Please come back, my darling.” I murmur under my breath before suddenly being ripped out from my thoughts.

My phone buzzes, indicating an incoming call, I pick up my phone and pick it up, putting on my professional voice and serious face instead of the broke woman I was, “Hello?” I spoke into the receiver, waiting for the caller to speak. “Hello, is this Ms. Sturniolo?” My eyebrows furrow in confusion and skepticism, it slowly easing into my voice. “Yes, this is she. I-Im sorry but who’s calling?” “A former friend of his from the army, I’m here to inform you that your husband Matthew Sturniolo has been pronounced dead duo to a fatal shot in the arm and bleeding out while on the battlefield”

I freeze, the words slowly sinking in before my phone drops on the grassy ground, here I was grasping onto the lasts of my hope that he’s still alive and now he is presumed dead, my hands cover my face as uncontrollable sobs leave my mouth. Tears staining my face and hands, I can’t believe this, he promised he would come back, he… is dead. The worst of my fears has now came true and it hit me like a thousand bricks, I feel something shatter inside of me beyond repair.

I feel… broken? Like a part of me has been ripped out of me without my permission, he has became a part of me and build me into the person I am today, but without him by my side I don’t think I can continue being the same person and living my life normally, he was the only man I’ve loved truly and now he has been taken away from me. What have I done to deserve such punishment? I continue to lay on the ground, consumed by complete depression and a feeling of loss. That night I haven’t returned to my house and slept outside in front of the white roses, the thing that reminded me the most of my dear husband.

- a month after Matthew being presumed dead

The sun slowly rose up over the horizon and I was off to go preform my mundane routine, getting out of bed has been the hardest part every morning and, every emotion has been wiped off my face after… you know after what, I slumped over to my dresser and thrown on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie I stole from Matthew, his specific scent still lingering on it. Walking downstairs, I walk into the kitchen and grab Danny’s bowl, filling it with food and placing it back down in its spot, he doesn’t greet me anymore, the only thing he has been doing besides eating was sit outside near Matthew’s grave in which I would join him every morning, I placed a hand crafted cross on the top of my white rose garden to indicate his grave, some of the older ones have started to wither and loose their beautiful white petals.

It reflects the feelings I feel, being like a withered white rose without him by my side, slowly loosing my color with each passing minute. I exit the house and drop down beside our dog, gazing upon the grave before I speak in a soft voice in hopes that he’s somewhere here, listening to the words I speak from my broken heart. “I wish you could be here with me, I can’t be the same person without you. If you’re listening to me, I love you more than anything in the world.” Every word stings the same amount, my throat feeling tight as I feel tears swirling in my eyes.

“Why wish when I’m right here?”

The sudden words take me out of my focus, the voice sounding too familiar to miss, looking around as my eyes catch a glimpse of Matthew. Wait… Matthew?- I stare at him as he suddenly is walking towards me but there’s something different about him-he’s missing an arm-so he isn’t dead after all? I could be imagining things, I wipe my teary eyes before he extends his arms, my body immediately rising from the ground and running into his warm embrace, feeling the touch I’ve dreaded to be able to feel again on my skin.

“I told you I would come back.” He happily cheered, holding me in his embrace and placing a lingering kiss on my forehead. I feel like myself again, the part of me I thought I lost forever has returned, Danny comes running at us and jumps up and down, wagging his tail aggressively in joy. “I-I thought you were dead, I thought I lost you forever… I-I seriously can’t believe you’re alive, you know they called-“ before I could finish my sentence, he smashes his lips against mine and stopped me from ranting for half an hour about what it was without him for all of this time without him. I slightly relax into the kiss, our dog barked and we chuckled into the kiss together, today I was put back together and felt like myself again now with Matthew beside me again. I’m me again, my other half has returned into its place, I’ll be forever grateful for the lord letting him live and stay with me in earth longer. My poor baby has finally returned and that’s all that matters to me right now.

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

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lostloveletters · 2 months ago

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Something Borrowed (Michael Corleone x Reader)

Summary: Michael Corleone is the last person you expect to see at your best friend Connie’s wedding, and the last thing you expect to happen upon seeing him again after so many years is spending the night together. Maybe, it'll turn into something more.

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. No hate to Kay, she’s my girl, but wedding scene Michael drives me crazy🤭 She’s off living her best life elsewhere in this. Also, it was a lot of fun writing pre-everything Michael. Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Sexually explicit content involving unprotected sex. Light play fighting.

Champagne and giggles overflowed at Connie Corleone’s wedding to Carlo Rizzi. Plenty of red wine was passed around in pitchers for the old guard, of course. For you and the other women conscious of not staining the rainbow of cocktail dresses and flowing gowns that dotted the backyard, you opted for lighter fare in tall flutes that sparkled in the early autumn sun.

Perhaps you were a bit too enthusiastic about the drink offerings, having already exchanged three empty champagne glasses for ones filled to the brim with glittering gold when the bride engulfed you in a hug. With a delighted laugh, you returned the gesture, kissing her cheek.

“I wanted to say thank you one more time for coming!” Connie exclaimed, her cheeks flushed pink from the excitement of the day. “God, it breaks my heart we couldn’t have gotten you a bridesmaid dress in time, but you look gorgeous.”

“Me? Connie, you look like a princess.”

“I feel like one,” she giggled.

“When you see your gift from me—I’m sorry it’s not more, I haven’t—”

“Stop it!” she scolded. “You came all the way from Europe just to be at my wedding. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

You didn’t bother correcting her. Her version of events sounded much nicer than you just got lucky with when the Red Cross put you on a boat home. “Anything for you.”

“I won’t keep you. This is probably the first time you’re eating real food in years. Mama, Sandra, and Theresa made most of it.”

Connie was right. You tried to savor your plate, packed with pasta drowned in homemade sauce, antipasto and crusty bread, and sandwiches that towered with fresh cold cuts. The Corleones knew a thing or two about good food, and had the means to pull the strings for the unfathomable ration books such a feast required.

A familiar yet unexpected voice startled you when your fork pierced a piece of mozzarella. “Is this seat taken?”

“Michael,” you practically gasped, taken aback by his even attending the wedding in the first place, but also how good he looked in his uniform. Cap tucked under his arm, medals and decorations on his chest, the photos you’d seen in the magazine didn’t do him justice. Finding yourself again, you gestured to the empty seat across from you. “Go ahead.”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw you, but you look great,” he said, his gaze fixed on you as he set his plate and glass down. He took you in, the girl he’d grown up seeing around the house and at school, now, without a doubt, a woman.

“You too, Captain,” you said, nodding toward the double bars on his uniform.

He snickered at your little joke, making you feel a bit more at ease in his presence. “I’m surprised you aren’t in the wedding party.”

“Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was going to make it until a few days ago. I only just got back to New York on Thursday,” you said.

“You volunteered with the Red Cross, didn’t you?”

You nodded. “I was in England, and then France after the liberation.”

“Clubmobile, right?”

“Did Connie tell you?”

He shook his head, smiling the slightest bit. “All the pretty girls worked the Clubmobile.”

A mortifyingly girlish giggle escaped your lips. You quickly brought your glass to your mouth, though the champagne in it was likely the culprit of your embarrassing reaction to Michael’s compliment. Averting your eyes to the dancing guests, you tried to ignore the warmth that spread across your face.

You allowed yourself to look at him again a few moments later, relieved to find he was still sitting in front of you, amused, maybe even endeared, by you.

“You’re such a jerk, Michael,” you mumbled, only because he was your friend’s older brother, and when you were younger and starry-eyed and figuring out what it meant when your heart wouldn’t quite beat right around a boy, it was him who those tender emotions were kindled in secret toward—until you had your first real boyfriend.

He grinned at your remark, and the two of you ate and caught up in between his various family members stopping by the table to say hello. You weren’t sure what to make of his seeing you before any of them—flattered, a bit confused as well, but he laughed at your jokes and moved his seat closer to yours, so you must have been doing something right when he finally asked, “Do you want to dance?”

“I’d love to,” you said.

The chaos from Johnny Fontaine’s unexpected arrival and impromptu performance subsided when Michael led you out to dance. He held you close, the way soldiers had at the dances the Red Cross put on for servicemen, all to boost morale, or, as the war went on, to offer a break from reality. Among the many rules meant to be followed—and typically broken in one way or another in the haze of war—was to keep some emotional distance from the enlisted men, for your sake and their own, but with bodies so close together, tender touches and soft whispers over songs of twilight and moonbeams, it was tough not to be caught up in romance’s alluring snare.

Even then, with the war behind both of you, something about being in Michael’s arms made you truly understand why some girls risked their assignments for a man. There was something in how he looked at you, different from your childhood together, even from a few minutes prior. You felt breathless despite the slow song you swayed along to.

“Did you like Paris?” he asked quietly, throwing you for a loop.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Paris?”

“You were in France, weren’t you?”

“Not Paris.”

“Where in France were you slinging doughnuts, then?”

“Little villages a few miles out from the front, mostly. More cows than people, but nice enough once the fighting stopped, and it was finally quiet—as quiet as it could get, anyway,” you said. “When Connie wrote you’d been wounded, I couldn’t help but think the worst. Plenty of guys out there—well, that article sure put me at ease. All the girls were jealous when I said I knew you.” You smiled. “I’m glad you’re alright, Michael.”

He glanced at your lips, and for an aching moment you were sure he was going to kiss you, but instead he gave you a smile, one that was real and made your heart flutter nevertheless, but left you disappointed.

“Where are you staying since you’ve been back?” he asked.

He seemed familiar with the hotel you were staying in when you mentioned it, offering to drive you back after the reception ended, and Connie and Carlo left for their honeymoon.

“It’s only until I can find a boarding hotel that has space,” you said. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be the Barbizon, but I’m not moving back in with my parents.”

“Here’s to that.”

The rest of the day and into the evening, Michael hung around you, unless he was pulled away by members of his family, each instance an annoyance to him. You knew they weren’t exactly supportive of his enlisting, but the situation couldn’t have been that bad, not since he was home, safe and sound at his sister’s wedding.

The Corleones, though endlessly kind to you, always been an odd family, and you learned through your friendship with Connie not to ask too many questions.

But Genco Abbandando was dying, and Vito insisted Michael go with the rest of the Corleone men to pay his respects to the elder. When you offered to take a cab back to your hotel, Michael promised the visit wouldn’t be long, suggesting you wait at the house with his mother until he returned to drive you into the city.

Your foolish desire to spend more time with him led to your waiting in the Corleones’ kitchen for a little over an hour, when you likely would’ve been showered and in bed in your hotel room by the time he arrived back for you, in one hell of a hurry to get you into his car and presumably get away from his family.

“Do you ever think about leaving New York?” he asked when the house was out of view.

You laughed. “Michael, I only just got back.”

“That’s not what I mean. The war—it wasn’t going to be forever, but it let you see what life could be like away from all of this, didn’t it?”

“Of course it did. I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do with myself now,” you said. “How about you? Are you going back to school? Dartmouth, I mean.”

He nodded. “I start again the spring semester.” At a red light, he glanced over at you. “New England’s nice. Better than French cow country.”

“And do you suppose I could study in the department of pouring coffee and serving doughnuts?”

“You’re smart. I think you have a real future,” he said, the sincerity in his voice startling you. “All of that back there, that’s not for us. It never has been.”

You were silent for a few moments. “I guess you’re right.”

The city lights twinkling in the distance took the place of the stars they blocked out from the sky, growing larger as Michael crossed the bridge into Manhattan, the center of the universe. You’d never tell a soul how you cried just a few days prior upon seeing it again for the first time in years.

Besides his talk of the future, Michael kept the conversation light, and you could’ve sworn he was flirting with you. Working the Clubmobile, you learned quickly how to pick up on it, some men laying it on thick while others were irresistibly smooth. Michael could’ve easily just been teasing you, the way a friend’s older brother would, but when he pulled up to your hotel, either your ego or curiosity prompted you to invite him up for a drink.

You sobered up on the drive into the city, enough to remember you didn’t have any drinks in your room. The two of you would have to go to the hotel bar for that, but then you and Michael wouldn’t be alone, not how you wanted, anyway.

To your relief, he agreed.

With Michael in uniform, few questions would be asked by hotel staff as to why you suddenly had a man with you when you checked in on your own. It would have been easy to lie, claim he was your fiance who had only just gotten back Stateside. But you supposed you and Michael already looked the part, walking arm-in-arm through the lobby without an issue.

Your confidence soared on the elevator ride up to your modest room, which you let Michael into, knowing he wouldn’t judge the state of your accommodations.

“Mind if I make myself comfortable?” You didn’t wait for his answer, pulling your blouse from where it’d been tucked in your skirt. Slipping out of your heels, you sighed softly in relief.

“It’s your place,” he said, setting his coat over the chair in the corner and loosening his tie.

You grabbed his cap from where he set it down and placed it on your head, tilting the brim over your face a bit and posing in front of him with a hand on your hip. “How do I look?”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, giving you a once over, “I swear I saw you pinned up in some guy’s tent looking just like that.”

You laughed, taking the cap off and flinging it aside. “Oh, I don’t even know why I invited you up here!” Your laughter faded as something in your stomach turned sour, the situation feeling achingly too good to be true. Alone in a hotel room with Michael, the two of you entirely capable of making your own mistakes on the off chance he wanted you too. “Or why you even agreed to come up.”

“I didn’t come up here to drink.”

“No, you did it to be nice, because we’ve known each other for so long…” You sighed, sitting next to him. “I always figured you thought of me as your kid sister’s annoying little friend or something.”

He shook his head, saying your name softly in either protest or reassurance. His hand cupped your face as he turned it toward him, his thumb rubbing soft circles in your cheek. “Not for a long time. Especially not tonight.”

You kissed him, hands gripping his shoulders, closing your eyes as you melted in his embrace. Your skin feverish at his touch, you shuddered when his hand slipped up your untucked blouse until his fingertips reached your bra.

To say you hadn’t fantasized about Michael would have been an unconvincing lie to anyone who dared ask, but even in your wildest dreams, it was never quite like this, so bold and irreverent in the face of the tradition the two of you had just spent the day celebrating.

“I came up here because you’re beautiful,” he confessed against your lips, “because you’re the only familiar face I saw at my sister’s wedding that didn’t make me wish I were somewhere else.”

Silencing him with another kiss, your fingers raked through his soft black hair as your body pressed flush against his, unsure if you could withstand hearing more of his tender words without falling to pieces. You couldn’t, not so early in the night, but his desire grew difficult to ignore when he pulled you onto his lap. The pressure against your pussy made you moan, and with a hasty desperation, you shimmied out of your panties as he unbuckled his belt, freeing his hard cock within a few moments.

You slipped a hand between the two of you, pumping his length, feeling the way it twitched at your touch and gasping when Michael’s hips bucked. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, a whisper of an intent to devour you.

“I need you, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Need to feel you.”

Lifting your hips, you whimpered upon feeling his head brush your clit as you positioned yourself, slowly lowering as he filled you, cock throbbing against your walls that clenched around him. He assuaged the pain of taking all of him with a gentle kiss and soft praises, urging you to take your time, that you had all night together.

All night. The promise he would stay, at least until the morning, sent a teasing wave of pleasure through you. Gripping his shoulders, you tried to keep a steady pace as you rode him, wanted to show him that staying would be worth his while. He’d been right in the car, you wouldn’t be a virginal, wedding white bride. The both of you had seen and experienced too much to be considered innocent any longer, but it was something you shared, that no one else from that day would have understood.

Your thighs ached as you neared your climax, desperately chasing it despite the exhaustion that was creeping up on you. Crying out in frustration, you buried your face in the crook of Michael’s neck.

“I’m close,” you whined. “Michael, I—”

“I’ve got you,” he assured you, his hands making their home on your hips.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let him guide your body, his thrusts doing most of the work while you rocked against him, seeking the friction against your clit that would bring you to release. It caught in your throat, a broken groan from your lips to his ears as you came, clenching around him, pleasure rolling through you, rattling your body like thunder. You barely caught your breath when he came, shuddering against you, practically cradling you against him as he filled you.

With a whimper, you lifted yourself off of him and rolled back onto the bed. Placing your hand on your chest, you felt your rapidly beating heart beneath your fingertips, focusing on it as it slowed the following minute or so and ignoring the stickiness between your legs, the evidence you slept with your best friend’s older brother.

Michael leaned over, brushing back the hair that stuck to your face. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

“Looking through the classifieds for a job,” you said honestly.

“Wanna put it off for a day?”

“With what money, Michael?”

“I’ll give you a line of credit.”

You grabbed one of the pillows from behind you, throwing it at him with a laugh. “Jerk!”

He grinned, pushing it aside to grab for one of your arms. You put up a weak fight, your breathless laughter giving away his almost certain win.

Having pinned you down beneath him, he pressed you for an answer. “So?” He kissed you. “What do you say, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “I guess I can clear my schedule for a dashing war hero like you.”

“Dashing, I like the sound of that,” he murmured, bringing his lips to yours again, softly, with a tenderness that promised more for tomorrow, and even the day after, if you’d have him.

You smiled. “Me too.”

#michael corleone x reader #the godfather x reader #michael corleone #the godfather #the godfather fanfic #the godfather imagine #michael corleone fanfic #michael corleone imagine

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kteezy997 · 26 days ago

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Lady in Waiting-Part Ten//King Hal

Warnings: betrayal, secret relationship, affair, name calling, anger

Queen Sophia’s POV

It was quite unexpected to hear about y/n falling ill overnight. We spent every day together and have done so for several years now. It was rare for her to ever be sick and unable to help me throughout my day. Who would style my hair and tie up my corset for me?

After readying myself as best as I could, I took it upon myself to pay her a visit. She would be delighted to know that her Queen took the time to check in on her.

She was in bed, her eyes closed when I arrived to her bed chamber. "Y/n, it's me, your Queen."

She opened her eyes, groaning sleepily. "Oh, hello Your Grace." Even in such a terrible state, she still kept her polite nature. She rubbed her eyes, sitting up in the bed.

"I only wanted to make sure you were alright, despite being under the weather and all."' I smiled at her. She looked much more pale than usual and she had tired eyes.

"Sophia," she sighed. I was surprised she used my name. I thought we had been over it several times about how she was to address me, but I let it slide as she was not feeling well. "I am more than just under the weather. I am with child."

I could not believe it. Her? With child? When could this have happened? Who was the father? Did one of Hal's knights charm and seduce my lady in waiting? I was saving her for someone more worthy of her hand in marriage.

"You what? How?" I was so stunned; I did not know what to even say in this moment.

"I am going to have a baby." she said.

"Who made love to you? Who took your innocence, y/n?" I demanded answers.

Y/n closed her eyes, as if she was ashamed to tell me. Could it really be that bad? "I'm sorry, Your Grace. We have been deceiving you for too long and I do not wish to continue doing so. You should know the truth.” She blinked and a tear fell from her eyes.

"We? Who do you mean?" My heart started to pound in my chest, though I did not even know why yet.

"Hal and I." she answered plainly.

My jaw nearly hit the floor, my heart sank. I could not possibly have heard her right. “My husband? The King? You and the King…”

“Yes, Sophia. I’m sorry about what this is going to do to you. I never wanted to hurt you. But I love Hal, and he loves me.”

“Oh and I suspect you think you can be Queen now? Have you been scheming to replace me all along? He loves you does he? Why should I believe you?!” I spat. I hated her. How could she do this to me? After everything I have done for her: given her a lifelong job, security, a damn castle to live in. And she has the audacity to betray me!

“He does love me. You can ask him yourself. He knows about the baby, and of course it’s not an ideal situation, but Hal is happy to be a father.”

“No! You’re nothing but a lying whore. I do not believe anything you say.” My anger over took my words. I was not even sure if I completely meant them, but they felt right in the moment.

“I am sorry for this, Sophia. The fault is all mine and Hal’s. We never expected to fall in love, but we have. But I would never take that back. It’s been the best thing to ever happen to me.”

I scoffed at the nerve of her, "I cannot bear to listen to this anymore." I stormed out of her room, not stopping until I found the King's guards. "It is imperative that I speak with my husband, the King."

..........

"How can she claim that you have fathered her child, Hal? She is lying, tell me she is lying!" I demanded when I saw him.

Hal shook his head, "She is not lying, Sophia. I sired her baby, and I love her. I am sorry to hurt you, but I fell in love with y/n before I ever married you. Our child will be raised here, with his parents. But your life as my wife and Queen will not change."

"How can you say that? This changes everything!" I shouted at him, not even caring who may hear me.

"No, it does not. I told you on our wedding night that you and I would not sleep together in my bed, and I meant it. I do not love you like I do y/n. But you will always have a comfortable place here and I will give you as many children as you desire." He was so calm and rational, it was irritating me.

"Who will your heirs be? Her children or mine?"

"You are my wife, so therefore your children will be in line for the crown." he explained.

"I just cannot believe that you both have casted me aside, like I am nothing but trash."

"That is not what we have done. I would not object to you taking any lover you wish. In fact, I encourage you. I can only hope that you find what y/n and I have found." He came over to me, touching my arm. "I care about your well-being Sophia. We would love to have your blessing. I think it will be the best thing to make all of us happy."

"What makes you think I care about you or her happiness?" I frowned at him.

"Everything will happen in time. I may sound harsh when I say this, but perhaps you should mourn the picture you had of your life. Y/n is the one I want to be with. But you will be a mother too, hopefully soon. You may wish to raise the children together."

I pursed my lips, so livid on the inside that I felt tears in my eyes. “Go to hell.” I said to my husband. I left him standing there. I could no longer be around anyone or listen to anything else.

.........

I returned to my chambers feeling more exhausted than I had ever been in my life. I collapsed onto my bed.

In the tiny span of a day, my entire world had been flipped upside down. My lady in waiting was carrying the bastard child of my husband. They had betrayed me and had been doing so for quite some time apparently. An affair behind my back.

I could not believe it was real. I wish I could go to sleep, and things would go back to normal.

“Raise the children together.”

Raise my children and be friendly with the woman that betrayed me and sleeps in my husband’s bed? I could not think of anything more horrid.

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive @gothicwidowsworld

#timothée chalamet #timmy chalamet #timothée imagine #timothee x reader #timothee chalamet #kinghenryv #the king netflix #kinghal #secret relationship #betrayal

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year ago

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A Companion (Otto Hightower x Young Widow!Reader) Chapter 1

At the wedding of of King Viserys and the Lady Alicent Hightower, the father of the bride has an unexpected meeting with a young widow.

Series Masterlist Here

Pairing: Otto Hightower x Young Widow!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: discussion of spousal death

Author's note: PEEPAW TIME

Chapter 1: A Meeting

The Great Hall was full of laughing, happy people, many well on their way to true celebratory drunkenness.

Otto Hightower was not one of them.

He had been enjoying the celebration of his daughter’s wedding. But that was before his son, Gwayne, had gotten so raucously drunk that two members of the Kingsguard were required to force him back to his quarters. And before the bedding ceremony was called for, and despite earlier agreements, several pieces of Alicent’s ensemble had been left on the floor of the Great Hall.

It was enough to tempt him into a second goblet of wine, dulling his mind just enough for him to begin to enjoy the music – and to be grateful the Princess Rhaenyra had sullenly slunk away before she could shove any young maidens at him. Perhaps she had entirely forgotten about her plan to arrange his marriage or given up on getting her revenge.

Then again, perhaps not.

Otto passed the time observing the remaining guests, noting who had spoken to whom and about what. It helped him discern who would make a potential ally, who needed more convincing, and who needed to be removed from court. He had just dismissed the grumblings of two minor lords as inconsequential when his eye caught on two people – a man and a woman - that he did not recognize.

They both seemed familiar, yet Otto could recall no name to match their faces. Perhaps he had seen them in passing during the events preceding the wedding – the tourney possibly, or even the morning feast. Though if it had been one of those, he likely would have remembered them.

Still, something about them was scratching insistently at the back of his mind and bringing an unpleasant feeling to his chest. More so the Man than the Woman, but still. If they were somehow a threat, as his instinct suggested, it would be prudent of him to watch them closely.

The Man wore entirely ostentatious clothing, the dyes obnoxiously rich and bright. A gaudy purple shot through with the whitest white silk Otto had ever seen. He was clearly trying to impress his peers and ensure his house was recognized. Still, Otto could not quite place the heraldry, an irony he allowed himself a moment to delight in. The purple and white were relatively unique, but stars were so common that they offered no hint of who the man was.

Northern, most likely, judging by his thick dark hair, hard gray eyes, and stocky build. His features, individually, were well-formed, yet it made an unpleasant whole. A man of brutality and brutishness. A man who smiled rarely. And when he did, his smile likely indicated something wicked. A thoroughly unpleasant figure.

But the Woman – the Lady…

A pretty young thing. A very pretty young thing, likely only a year or two older than Alicent. She wore no heraldry save a small silver pin on her breast. Her clothes were simple, all made of dark fabric that could easily be mistaken for black if one did not look closely. Though she bore no ring on her finger, her hair was worn braided and pinned back like a married woman’s.

With the sinking feeling of both realization and pity, Otto realized that there was only one reason why she would be wearing such clothes at a royal wedding, of all places – she was in mourning.

Yet her companion seemed to hold no pity for her. They were far enough away that Otto could not hear the words, but from the deep furrow of the Man’s brow and the Lady’s tired, resigned eyes, he knew the conversation was not pleasant. He had only just made the decision to stay out of whatever family squabble this was when the Man turned to look at him, then seized the Lady’s arm, hissed something into her ear, and thrust her in Otto’s direction.

At least this did not seem to be the work of Rhaenyra. No, this was all the work of the unpleasant man. It no longer mattered what house he was from or if he could be used as an ally. It only mattered that he was desperate to raise his station, and that Otto did not like him.

The decision was easy to make – he understood her pain, having lost a love himself. He would be kind to her but would not impose himself on such a lovely young woman in mourning any longer than necessary to temporarily sate her companion’s apparent social climbing aspirations. No matter his promise to the King, or his burgeoning desire for a companion of his own, this girl deserved better than an old man. Once he spoke to her, perhaps he could even introduce her to more suitable bachelors.

For he certainly was not the match for her.

If you thought the nearly month-long journey to King’s Landing was insufferable, it was nothing compared to the cacophony that was the capital during a royal wedding. In the last five days, you were forced to endure a parade in the sweltering heat, three days of brutal tourney events, and a “woman’s breakfast” the morning of the ceremony, during which no one spoke to you. And at the end of each day, a grand feast in the Great Hall.

Not that you could partake in much of the exquisite and exotic food, for your good sister Sybelle would not let you eat more than a few bites in worry that you would appear gluttonous and unladylike. Any respite that would have come when she inevitably flitted across the hall to grovel at the feet of the well-esteemed ladies from better-known houses was quickly squashed when her husband – your good brother, Gryff – whisked you away to present you to suitors like you were a prized cow gone to market.

Fortunately, your mourning clothes and shy demeanor meant that very few of the men were enticed by you. And any that were interested were quickly put off when they learned how small and insignificant your house was and that there would be little benefit for them in a match with you. Lord Jason Lannister even expressed surprise that you had been invited to the wedding. Gryff’s sputtering after that had made your evening.

But the more you were rejected, the more insistent he became. Desperate was perhaps the better word. Either way, it led you here – standing to the side of the hall with a still-empty stomach and Gryff hissing in your ear like the viper he was.

“Six days,” he spat, the smell of alcohol lingering on his breath, “six fucking days, and you have yet to tempt even one suitor! From among the two score I’ve introduced you to!” He scoffed and took another swig from his goblet. “Soon, I’ll have to start offering you to young twats whose stones have not dropped. At least they won’t be able to tell how hard you’ve already been ridden.”

“You are vulgar,” you said softly, not entirely wanting him to hear you.

But, of course, he did. Gryff rounded on you, his face reddened and blotchy from his imbibement. There was no pity or warmth in his eyes. There never was. “Vulgar it may be, but if that is what it takes to find you a new husband so you can finally get off my land and stop draining my coffers, so be it.”

You took a deep breath, trying not to cry or scream. It wouldn’t be proper at an event such as this and would provoke even more anger from Gryff and Sybelle. While they would not dare to harm you, they had found several other cruel and creative ways to make you miserable. Best to calm the fire before getting burned.

“I have done my best. I have been kind and amiable of every man you’ve thrust me upon,” you knew your attempt at reasoning with him would likely fail, but at least you would have tried. Locke would not have stayed silent in the face of such insults, so neither would you. “It is not my fault that they are well-mannered and civilized and therefore do not wish to court a woman in mourning.”

Gryff barked a callous laugh, drawing the attention of several of those around you. For once, he did not notice; he only continued to sneer. “But it is your fault, good sister. You may recall that before we left, I commanded that you leave your mourning clothes behind. That you wear something more attractive. Yet you disobeyed me, just so you would have a good excuse to continue living off my generosity!”

In truth, it was because your lady’s maids had known how much you still grieved your beloved husband and refused the order their new master had given. Though you were grateful for their thoughtfulness, you were very close to wishing they had not done it.

Pressing your lips together to stop them trembling, you replied quietly. Weakly. “You know that is not true. Locke was – ”

“A fool to fall for your little act,” he interrupted, smiling triumphantly when he saw tears forming in your eyes. “Always so sentimental and trusting. He may have put on a convincing façade, but he was weak. I have no doubt he would have squandered our fortune and destroyed our reputation just to please you.” He leaned forward to whisper in your ear. “Perhaps it is fortunate, then. That he met such an untimely end.”

A monster. That’s what Gryff was. To say these horrid things about anyone was terrible enough, but to say them about his own brother?

Your revulsion was almost enough to make you throw yourself at the next man you saw and beg him to take you on. But you could not, for you still saw Locke around each corner. The bright smile he always bore when he saw you. The way he held you close and kissed you, propriety be damned. The way he looked at you as though you were the Maiden herself.

He was no fool. He was not weak.

He was a good man. A good husband. Your great love.

And he was gone.

The crushing weight of the grief shattered any retort you had. Not that it mattered anyway – something had caught Gryff’s eye. He seized your arm, making sure his nails dug into your skin even through the layers of black silk, and leaned in to again spit his venom in your ear.

“It seems there may yet be one man remaining who is wealthy enough to suit your tastes,” he laughed gravely. “Do try to make a good impression, or else I shall have to start sending inquiries to the heathens in Essos.”

With that, he shoved you away, towards a shadowy alcove against the far wall. Partially hidden amongst the dimness and the curtains was a tall man. A very tall man. Lean for his age, but with an erudite look about him that suggested his prowess was not of the body, but of the mind.

He was a man you recognized immediately, having seen him in a place of honor at every celebratory you had attended in the capital. Even without that knowledge, you would have immediately known who he was by the golden pin on his breast.

Otto Hightower. The Hand of the King.

And he was looking directly at you.

Oh, Gryff was reaching far too high. And now it seemed you would be the one to weather the fall.

But there was a spark of kindness in Lord Hightower’s eyes – eyes as wise and perceptive as an owl’s – that assuaged your fears enough that you did not tremble as you weaved through the crowd to reach him. Still, you turned your eyes down and prayed he would not recognize you from the pin you still wore. Pity given for your mourning was bearable, but the Hand would know…

You reached him before finishing the thought and lowered yourself in a curtsy. “My Lord Hand,” you began, thankful that, for once, you were able to speak for yourself, “I offer my congratulations to you and your daughter on this joyous occasion. You must be very proud.”

“Hmm, proud indeed.” He held out a large hand to help you rise, a kind gesture you had not expected from a man of his station. When you met his eyes, they were searching your face for something. He did not recognize you then, a relief.

“Thank you very much for your kind sentiments, Lady…?”

A short relief.

Steeling yourself for the pitying coos and well wishes you were sure were coming, you told him your name, then added, “Born of House Fenn, now of House Whitehall.”

And there it was, that hateful glimmer of recognition in his eyes as he remembered the story of the unfortunate girl from the swamps of the Neck, plucked from her humble origins among the crannogmen to wed the dashing young lord of Highpoint.

It was a story fit for a fairytale. That is, until it was over within a year, when your husband was killed in an ambush by the wild men of the Northern mountains. Gryff, your late husband’s younger brother and presumptive heir, was intent upon sending you back to the swamps before he was stopped by his mother, who insisted that though the marriage was short, you nevertheless had all the rights accorded to the Dowager Lady of the hall, and as the potential mother of the new heir – should you be carrying one. After all, you and Locke were truly, deeply in love, and there was no reason to believe his seed had not found root.

Thus, Gryff had you confined to your rooms until your moon’s blood arrived – or didn’t. You were allowed no servant but the guard he had commanded to watch your every move and were forced to endure extensive examinations by the Maester daily. And when your moon’s blood came, Gryff had a carriage waiting to take you back to your father.

Unbeknownst to him, your good mother had sent a letter to both your father and Lord Stark at Winterfell. As a crannogman whose title of nobility was scoffed at by those outside the swamps, your father could do very little to help. But with Lord Stark also on your side, Gryff could not dismiss you so easily. He could, however, appeal the Lord of the North’s order to the only higher authority available, requiring that all involved – except you, of course – journey to King’s Landing to present the case to the King himself.

After hearing both petitions, the King – and Otto Hightower – had not only commanded that you be allowed full rights as a widow, but placed restrictions on how Gryff could treat you. Namely, he could not banish you from his lands or force you to remarry.

He could, however, make your life at Highpoint so miserable that you would wish to leave and be desperate enough to get away from him that you would marry of your own accord. It was something he and his wife were more than happy to do.

Still, as miserable as you were there, it was Locke’s home. The lands he loved so much he spent four whole days showing you the whole of it. And you quickly grew to love it, too, despite it being so drastically different from your home. It became your new home. Aside from the ring he gave you, the land was one of your only reminders of the great love you had lost.

How could you abandon it just because of two unpleasant people?

How could you marry someone else, like Locke had been nothing?

Even if you could, how were you ever to find a husband when every man you met looked at you as Otto Hightower did now?

His brow was furrowed above his water-blue eyes, and his mouth was pursed in thought. No doubt trying to find the words to offer you his pity, as if you had not already heard everything there was to say.

“I am very sorry for your loss, my lady,” he said gently. At least his voice was lovely enough to make the repetition of the words you had heard a thousand times more bearable. “I lost my wife only two years ago. To lose one you love so dearly… is a pain without description. I confess that, when I first heard of what happened to your husband and what was done to you, I could not understand why the Gods would do such a thing to someone so young and innocent and…”

He nodded, seemingly to himself. “I prayed for you, Lady Whitehill. In fact, I still do.”

Then he turned away, looking past you and into the crowd. Had he not still been holding your hand, you may have taken it as a dismissal. You almost wished it was as you felt his fingers tighten around yours and his face turn from pensive to grave. But the second most powerful man in Westeros was holding you in place. Gently, but still. Who were you to disobey him?

“I am surprised I forgot his face,” Lord Hightower mused, only half-speaking to you. “He is easily one of the most unpleasant men I have ever met.”

You turned, following his gaze back to Gryff, who was doing a very poor job of pretending not to be watching you. Turning back to Lord Hightower, you saw his lip curled in disgust. Something about that expression on the face of such a serious, incredibly important man tickled something inside you that you thought had died with Locke.

So, you laughed. Short and weak, but still a laugh. The sound drew Lord Hightower’s eyes back to you, and he smiled curiously. “I did not intend that as a joke, Lady Whitehill. Was I mistaken?

“No, forgive me, my lord.” You shied away from him, looking down at your joined hands. “It is only that I don’t often hear people speak of him with such… honesty.”

“Yes,” he murmured as he, too, looked at your hands. After a moment, he dropped his and crossed his arms behind his back. “He is not a man I would expect to tolerate criticism.”

You sighed, briefly missing the contact, the warmth of his hand. “He is not a man who tolerates many things. But criticism is one that… none at Highpoint dare even contradict him.”

Lord Hightower looked at you thoughtfully, as if you were a puzzle he couldn’t quite sort. “I have had the misfortune of meeting many such men, and I am very sorry you have had to meet even one.”

He was quiet for a while. Long enough that you began silently crafting your farewell and considering how you would explain the fruitless meeting to Gryff. He would not be happy with this particular failure, and you could not decide which of his threats he would follow through on – offering you to mere boys or to Essosi men. Either would likely take you far from home and had no guarantee that your situation would improve. Perhaps –

“Why did he bring you here?” Lord Hightower said suddenly. When you lifted your head to face him, he was again looking not at you but at Gryff. His face betrayed nothing, but a dark gleam in his eyes sent a chill through your blood and yet… made you feel safe. Protected. Like you could tell him the truth.

A foolish feeling. You could tell no one the truth. Telling the truth meant leaving Highpoint – leaving Locke – and that was something you would not do.

“He brought me for the wedding,” you lied. “He thought it might cheer me.”

It was the worst lie you had ever told, though you’d never been very good at them. Though this one was particularly bad. Not only had you not been particularly convincing in your delivery – your voice wavered, and your smile was too tight to be sincere – but Lord Hightower had been at Gryff’s petition to send you away. According to your father, Gryff had been in fine, horrible form. So, Lord Hightower knew better than most that your good brother would never do anything for your sake.

And the fact that you were pretending he would apparently made Lord Hightower very, very angry. It seemed as though the shadows of the alcove itself swirled around him and darkened his eyes. Still, you felt safe with him. You knew instinctively that his anger was not directed at you.

Yet you did shrink away slightly when he turned that dark gaze on you. “The King expressly forbade him from forcing you to marry.” His voice had taken on a low, sharp quality, which you were reasonably certain had often made Lords and Generals quake in their boots. Indeed, you were sure you would do whatever he wanted, so long as he asked it in that voice. “Has he disobeyed this? Did he bring you here to find a husband against your will?”

It was hard to meet his eyes. “He…” you swallowed, summoning every bit of your will to not tell him the truth. But even if you did somehow manage to lie convincingly, you did not doubt that Lord Hightower would nevertheless be able to see right through you. This was a political mind at work, the keenest in the realm. He likely knew the answer before he ever asked the question. Which meant…

What he was actually asking was something different. Something he dare not speak aloud in the presence of others? No, not that. He was the Hand of the King, and this was the Red Keep – his territory. You doubted there was anything he would fear to say here, save open treason.

What was it?

If this was a political move, he must want something from you. Locke had once told you when you were alone in your chambers sharing a bottle of wine after one of his taxing journeys to Winterfell, that amongst lords and kings, nothing was ever free. There was no charity.

And yet, you could not think of a single thing Lord Hightower would want from you. You had no wealth of your own, nor did your father in any meaningful way, and Gryff would not part with a single sliver of copper. You held no alliances of your own outside of the crannogmen, and you doubted they would ever be of any help to him or the King. That left only… yourself.

He could not possibly want you. Yes, he was a widower, but his loss had also been recent. He told you himself how much it had pained him.

Even if he was in the market for a new wife, he would not want some penniless widow from the Neck. With his family name, position, and new status as the Queen’s father, he could choose any woman he wanted to wife. Though if he was looking for a distraction rather than a marriage… you did not let yourself consider it. He had made no advance on you, and his eyes held no sign of lust. You had seen lust in Locke’s eyes, burning like silver flames. There was no such flame in Lord Hightower’s eyes, only pity and concern. And something gentle, almost like hope.

Was it possible that his daughter’s wedding had made him feel charitable? That he had seen a sad young widow and decided that it was in the spirit of the day to help someone in need?

Help.

That is what he was asking – if you wanted his help. If you said ‘no’ right now, even knowing what he knew, he would walk away.

But if you said yes – if you asked for his help?

The Hand of the King was a powerful ally, the father of the Queen even better. If someone who could as easily grant Gryff the wealth and reputation he so craved as he could ensure it never came to be offered his support and protection, you didn’t know what would happen. But perhaps it would be better.

“Yes,” you whispered. The word could either save or damn you, but you said it either way. “He wants rid of the responsibility of me, so much that he’s willing to give me to anyone who shows interest.”

His dark expression was interrupted by a brief flash of confusion. Before you could inquire about what had disturbed him, he leaned down towards you. A strategic move. Anyone looking at you would merely see a man attempting to charm one of the last women remaining at the end of the celebration.

“Forgive me for my forwardness, my lady,” he paused to look you over again, “but I admit I find it hard to believe that no man has shown you interest.”

Another veiled question. This one easier to decipher.

You ensured you were positioned so that Gryff could not see your face before answering, for you knew you could not hide your smug smile. “The mourning clothes help with that,” you admitted, “as do carefully timed tears.”

Lord Hightower seemed to relax at that and smirked at you conspiratorially. “I imagine the prospect of a permanent association with your good brother is the most effective deterrent.”

It was not a deception for Gryff’s benefit when you began to laugh together. You had not laughed with someone in so long nor felt as comfortable around another person since Locke died. Not even with your good mother. She tried, but she could not separate you from her grief for her son, so laughing with her was a sheer impossibility.

The realization sobered you instantly. This moment was a gift, yes. But the very fact that a moment of laughter with a stranger was the happiest you had been in more than a year and would likely remain so for some time. You would be returning to the North soon, back to a life with very little joy.

It was as though Lord Hightower could read the thoughts in your eyes. His own smile fell, and he again took your hand. “When do you leave the capital, my lady?

“We will remain several days more,” you answered, the words tasting like bitter wine. “Gryff is eager to make alliances and raise his standing.”

“Hmm,” Lord Hightower hummed as he absentmindedly stroked the back of your hand with his thumb. From how his eyes darted back and forth ever so slightly, you knew that brilliant mind was formulating some kind of plan.

Unfortunately, it seemed he would not share that plan with you.

He simply raised your hand to his mouth to kiss it as a proper gentleman does, the hairs of his beard tickling your skin, before looking at you once more. “You may tell Lord Whitehill that I was thoroughly charmed by you.” Something about the way the corner of his mouth quirked up made you think it was not entirely a fiction. “I suspect that will satisfy him well enough that he will be less… overbearing, at least for a while. In the meantime, I shall endeavor to find a more pleasant solution to your woes.”

Your heart quickened with anticipation and hope, something you had not felt in a long time. While your instinct was to ensnare him in a tight embrace and perhaps even kiss his cheek, you forced yourself to remain civilized, simply squeezing his hand tightly in thanks before letting go and curtsying to him again.

“My Lord Hand, I cannot find words to express my gratitude,” you said breathlessly. “I have known such kindness very little of late.”

He smiled and reached for you before folding his hand behind his back again. “That, my lady, is a tragedy in itself. Once that I swear I will do everything in my power to end as swiftly as possible.”

“Thank you. I…” words failed you entirely. “Thank you so much.”

“It would perhaps be wise to save the majority of your thanks until after I have discovered a solution,” he jokingly chided. For a long moment, he simply held your gaze. “Now, as much as I hate to do so, I believe it is time to return to your family. I have much work to do.”

“Of course,” you said with another curtsy. There was more you wanted to say, but it was too much to sort through in only a moment. So, you gave him another smile and turned away.

As you walked back toward Gryff – who was looking sinisterly pleased – you were amazed to find that, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t dreading tomorrow.

Otto left the Great Hall immediately, though it pained him to do so. But he had not wanted to tell her – raise her hopes too soon – that he was fairly certain he had already found a solution. Perhaps the perfect solution.

But he wanted to pray on it first.

It was too late to call a wheelhouse to take him to the Great Sept. Besides, the servants deserved the night to celebrate, as well. So, he made his way instead to the Royal Sept, which had the added benefit of being close to his own chambers.

The Sept was empty, thankfully. It was quick work to light a prayer candle and to place it on an altar Otto had not knelt at for years – the Maiden’s.

“I come to ask your guidance, Holy Maiden,” he prayed aloud. “There is a young widow who needs my help. Very desperately. I believe I can aid her – I know I can aid her. But I must be sure that I am acting rightly.”

He sighed, staring at the gently flickering flame of the candle. “When I first considered her plight, an answer came to me almost instantly, as if it were an instinct. But I worry… I worry that if I choose to enact it, I will be acting not out of charity and generosity but selfishness.

“She is young and very beautiful, and I believe she has a keen mind. And she understands! She knows what it is like to lose a great love – a true love. She is like me; she does not want to marry again. But it seems for both of us that there is no other option. Would it not then… would it not be right for us to marry?

“We can fulfill the desires and expectations of those around us while remaining devoted to our lost loves. I would expect her to fulfill no wifely duties, nor would she expect me to perform mine as a true husband. We would be… companions to each other. Someone with which we can share a life of contentment without feeling as though we have betrayed those who are gone.”

Otto sat back on his knees and looked up at the face of the Maiden. “Would doing so be a sin? Marriage is supposed to be the true joining of souls in holy and eternal love. That is what I had with Madelyn and what I believe she and the late Lord Whitehill had. Would it not betray the very idea of our past marriages to seek the same again?”

He sighed and dropped his head. “I would, of course, not force her hand. If I propose the plan and she refuses, I will dedicate myself to helping her some other way. But I cannot deny that this seems like fate, that the two of us would find each other. So please, Holy Maiden. Please, tell me if I am right.”

For what felt like the entire night, Otto sat on the floor of the Sept, watching the candlelight dance across the marble floor.

Then the dancing stopped.

Bewildered, he looked immediately at the candle. It was still lit, but the flame did not waver. Instead, it was perfectly still and seemed to grow taller and taller.

As if a cool hand lifted his chin, Otto turned his gaze up to the Maiden’s face. Somehow, she seemed to be smiling. A trick of the light, perhaps. But if the light itself was something impossible… Otto snuffed the flame with his fingers, which did not singe as they touched the fire.

He had never received a more explicit answer from the Gods.

#A Companion #otto hightower #otto hightower fanfiction #otto hightower finfic #otto hightower x reader #otto hightower x you #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd otto #house of the dragon otto #rhys ifans

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anadiasmount · 11 months ago

Text

a taste of something sweet - ruben dias x reader.

quick sum: fiance! ruben coming home after the cwc final, and not being able to spend a single second away from reader. seeing her with family has him confessing more than he originally proposed for. insta au included at end! tiny smut, so minors dni! 🤍🎄

wc: 1.7k | masterlist | ruben’s masterlist

psa🗣️: hi angels!🤍 miss you all! it’s been a MINUTE since i posted for ruben, but here’s something for us ruben girlies for christmas time! hope you enjoy! 🤍🎄

“ruben!” you squealed, waiting for him to fully come in before throwing your arms over his shoulders. ruben let out a deep chuckle, and picked you up behind your thighs, sighing in content at being with you again. you had the biggest fear he wouldn't be back before christmas eve, and that your plan to have both families over would be ruined. expect that wasn't it, and here stood your world champion.

“i missed you so much princesa,” ruben set you down and kissed you deeply, grunting in delight at tasting your cherry lips again. “me too you have no idea, but you're back and that is all that matters to me,” your foreheads leaned into each other, as you ran your hand through his hair.

“i passed by to get the last minute stuff so we could pack into the coolers, and i got you these as well,” ruben walked to where his luggage stood, locking the door first and then pulled out a bouquet of white and red roses, smirking at your awe reaction. “they’re are gorgeous ruben,” your finger traced the petal, bring the bouquet to your nose and smelling the flowers. “thank you belo.”

ruben blushed at acknowledgment, wrinkled crinkling in his eyes. he kissed your forehead before dragging you into the kitchen. “i know i called you earlier, but i want you to know how proud i am of you handsome. a treble winner, supercup, and now a world champion? you have no idea the immense feeling i have for you, and to see you smiling after these past weeks? my heart is just full of joy.”

ruben had been quiet these past week, from training, to recovery, to the games and unexpected results, it was taking a toll on him. he didn’t show much emotion, let alone tell anyone how he truly felt, but you could read him from the back of your hand. if he needed you there he was, you vowed to that after he proposed after the unforgettable night in istanbul.

if he needed space you would respect that, waiting as much as much time he need to process and then come find you fully. if he wanted to talk and express how he felt, he would pull you into his chest, whispering and not fully saying too much out loud, just enough for him to get into a stable mindset. if there was anything ruben looked forward too or longed for, it would always be you.

“my heart is complete with you, always princesa, eu te amo,” ruben said with a deep and groggy voice, enlightening a spark inside you hearing the three words you would never get tired of hearing. it didn't feel real, to have a man like him make you feel this way, to be head over heals, to finally find that stability and security with a man who never has taken you for granted and appreciated you through the good and bad.

ruben and you spent the whole night finishing last-minute gift wrapping, and he went on to teach you his favorite portuguese cookies, opting to also make some for his family and yours. you hadn't seen your parents or sibling in weeks, and this time was perfect, being all together in a cabin, and spending your favorite holiday all together.

ruben couldn't go to sleep for some reason, continuing to talk about the season they were having, and also about the final they had just won. he also made some wedding talk, surprising you since he usually wasn't one to give an opinion unless it was about a venue, food, or invites. part of him was also nervous to see your families all together, unsure how it would play out.

he eventually fell asleep, feeling slightly guilty since he knew you were tired, and stayed up specifically to wait for him to come home. he kissed your nose and whispered a small goodnight, eventually falling asleep on top of you, finally getting the earned sleep since he could only do that when you lay with him.

ruben ensure your luggage and coolers were safely secured in the car, making the trip up north to meet your families together. the two of you were the first to arrive, having time to go buy some groceries, and unpack. although that became hard as ruben couldn't keep his hands off of you, whispering dirty words into your ear that finally made you cave in.

he longed for this. craved for this. he took his time with you, relishing every single second before your families came. groaning at the sounds you made, his name falling from your swollen kissen lips, the scratches you were leaving all over as the pleasure became to much. he was utterly obsessed with you, hitting every spot till you crumbled beneath him, ruben not far behind.

maybe it was your hormones, but you shed a tear or two when seeing you parents all over again, especially your brother who brought his wife and newborn baby up to the cabin. it was not different with ruben’s family, giving them a hug and kiss on a cheek, asking how their drive up went. catching up with his mom, and cousins.while making dinner for a whole.

it was a great idea you had gone shopping prior or else you'd be stuck, as the snow immediately came down after 4 pm. that night was spent with pure laughters, sharing old memories, drinks being poured every other few 30 minutes, and proposing goals for the new year to come.

the day of christmas eve, everyone was up to go skiing, the tour guide showed the spots you could go and safely succeed skiing. you were more than grateful it was a private part of the cabin, no cameras or fans coming up to you, you knew it came with a footballer boyfriend, now fiance, but you would never quite get used to it.

ruben was attached you, some could say maybe had separation anxiety as he always looked around to ensure you were okay, like a lost puppy. he would plaster a huge grin when he met your eyes, sending you a glance to check in if you were okay, you would nod and send him a wink.

after coming back from skiing, everyone either took a nap or began to get ready for the evening. the tree was filled with gifts, the kitchen smelt like homemade ingredients and scents, and every corner you turned was decorated with lights. you turned on a few candles and set the table, ensuring everyone had a glass and utensils.

ruben and you snuck in a shower together, avoiding his hands as he clearly desired more, but it felt too risky. you wouldn't have been able to look at anyone the same if you did had done something, or even heard you in the smallest way possible.

“gatinha, you look so beautiful,” ruben whispered, as he came up behind you, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist and placing a small kiss on your neck. his nosed traced all the way way to your shoulder, not being able to get enough of how you looked and smelled, it was driving him crazy. you wore an emerald-colored silk dress, with small white kitten heels, and your hair down.

“I know we have been together all day, but it feels like i havent been able to see let alone hold you,” ruben sighed, sounding slightly upset about it. you swiftly turned around and kissed his lips, feeling as he suddenly pulled you closer, releasing a small giggle from you. “i know me too, but i promise, once everyone is asleep we can make good use of the fireplace okay?”

ruben reluctantly agreed, walking out hand to hand out to see everyone either playing a game of poker, cooking, or watching tv. you insisted on helping in the kitchen, even if it meant washing dishes or almost slightly burning yourself. your mom and his mother conversation flew, as they talked about their teenage/ adult years, and apparently a romance show the two couldn't stop gushing about.

later on, so your sister-in-law could get a break, you offered to help her watch the baby. to ruben’s surprise, he found himself glancing from time to time, a part of him wanting that with you one day. the way you cradled the baby, swayed side to side, kissed their cheek, and adjusted their beanie and blanket to make sure they weren't cold. right then and there ruben knew you were forever for him.

“come here, i know your still cold,” ruben said, bringing you to his lap, the weighted blanket covering both your bodies as you watched the fire grow slowly. it was late, too late, but the two of you couldn't sleep. ruben rubbed your back, constantly placing kisses on your head and the bridge of your nose.

you held onto the mug filled with hot chocolate, ruben dipping the cookies he made into the drink and eating them from time to time as you discussed your futures. he loved the sound of your voice, just like you did as well, it was a common thing shared among you. “i hope you know one day you'll be the mother of my kids one day y/n…” he randomly rambled.

“What?”

“you’re gonna be such a great mom one day, and i can’t wait for us to finally have mini us in the house. you mean so much to me i never want to be apart from you, i want to share everything with you,” ruben confessed, watching as your eyes went crazy to search for a tint of lies or regret. but with ruben? everything was always honest and serious, which you loved, as you valued communication.

“thank you for staying through my best and worst. for keeping my head up high and never letting me down. for me to able to come home to the woman of my dream waiting for me. to have an inspirational and loving person along my side anywhere i go,” ruben continued.

“we made that promise no? when you proposed to me? nothing will ever separate us, and i hope you know that you won't get rid of me that easily. you’re it for me ruben, have been since the first day i met you. and i can’t wait for what's to come for us,” you said smiling, kissing the red tip of his nose and then lips, where he immediately closed his eyes and snuck in. “i love you querida.” just like the fire grew in the fire place, the fire inside your chest did as well. “merry christmas, ruben.”

“merry christmas, y/n.”

———————————

rubendias posted on their feed!

rubendias

liked by: johnstones, bernandosilva, cancelo, yourusername, joaofelix, nathanake, pepteam, and 534,274 others.

rubendias: lovely way to spend christmas after being a world champion! merry christmas cityzens! 🩵🤍

tagged: @yourusername

comments:

username6000: handsy aren’t we now ruben…

johnstones: sure that picture wasn’t meant to be left in your photos?

↪️ rubendias: nope ☺️

bernandosilva: love you two! merry christmas 🩵

↪️ yourusername: thank you benny 🤍 tell isa we send our hello’s 🤍

user19: HE IS SO BEAUTIFUL WTF?

username3928: y/n why are you allowing him to post these selfies? 🙄🙄

↪️ yourusername: i haven’t. he knows he can’t post stuff like this knowing i’ll go 😵‍💫😵‍💫

joaofelix: tu mano ruben 😂🤣

username1087: y/n my gf 😣

↪️ rubendias: she’s actually my fiance ☺️

mateokovacic: 🩵

#ruben dias #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #ruben dias x y/n #ruben dias fic #ruben dias fanfic #ruben dias fluff #ruben dias blurb #ruben dias one shot #ruben dias insta au #footballer #football x y/n #football x reader #football imagine #football one shot

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f1-stuff · 3 months ago

Note

VICTORIAN CHARLOS ROYALTY ABO you have sent me into chaotic overdrive with that sentence oh boy am I excited to read that!!!!!!!! Thank you to your brain as always

Hehe I'm glad you're excited!! So am I... 😏 which is why I'm going to share a bit of it now!!! 😝 (sometimes, I simply can't help myself)

For some exposition, Charles is the crown prince of Monaco and an omega, Carlos is the alpha son of a Spanish duke (but distantly in line for the throne, which also makes him a prince). Their meeting has been arranged by carlos' father & cousin and charles' uncle, which makes this a sort of arranged marriage AU, except that Charles still gets to choose his husband in the end. Charles is almost twenty-one, and he's looking forward to certain freedoms that will award him. All of this was inspired by The Young Victoria (2009).

Behold, a 1.8k-word snippet:

Charles’ eyes scan over the chess board, carefully considering his next move. He can feel the looks of the rest of their party burning into the side of his face. He glances sideways to confirm his suspicions, and notes several people averting their eyes in a hurry.

When he looks back to Carlos, the other man is giving him a conspiratorial smile. Charles sighs, his lips curving up at the edges as he settles on moving his rook.

Ever since their walk earlier that afternoon, Charles’ feelings have...softened slightly toward the Spaniard. He much prefers when the man isn’t feeding him answers that he believes Charles will like, and luckily, it seems they’ve mostly done away with that nonsense now. There’s no doubt that Carlos is...handsome. Or that his scent seems designed to tempt Charles. But he’s smart enough to know that Carlos has his own motivations for being here, and that it would benefit him and his family very much indeed if they were to wed. Charles has no intention of finding a mate yet, not when his freedom is so close at hand.

As Carlos decides on his next move, Charles’ face begins to burn once again from the others’ returned stares. His jaw clenches.

“Do you ever feel like a chess piece yourself? In a game being played against your will?” He doesn’t bother to lower his voice. It would likely be futile, not to mention that he would welcome his words having a shaming effect on their company. If only.

Carlos’ curious gaze rises to meet his own. He takes a moment to respond, brows furrowing as he considers Charles’ words.

“I hadn’t thought of it. But I suppose so, yes.”

“I do, constantly,” he sighs. “I feel their eyes assessing me, their fingers moving me round the board.”

“Your parents?”

“Everyone. My uncle, brother, advisors, politicians... They’re all ready to seize hold of me and drag me from square to square.” He chuckles to lighten the tone, and Carlos’ lips make an effort to smile, but fall short.

Carlos glances over at the others, before his attention returns to the board and he finally makes his move. “Then, you had better master the rules of the game until you play it better than they can.”

His eyes meet Charles’, and they hold there, candlelight flickering within their depths in a hypnotizing pattern. It feels like it takes all of Charles’ willpower to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

“You don’t recommend I find an alpha husband to play it for me?” he asks, raising a brow as his rook takes Carlos’ pawn.

“I should find one to play it with you, not for you.”

Charles feels delighted surprise drip down his spine as he considers Carlos’ words. He’s never really...thought about marriage like that. It had always seemed like another prison he would be forced into. But if he were to choose a mate and a husband as an equal, someone who would play with him, like Carlos suggests...

They continue playing for a moment in silence, as Charles decides how to respond, but he’s been thrown off slightly, Carlos proving once again to be unexpected.

“You know, my father wants me to marry King Torger’s nephew, George.” He sees the flicker of distaste that flashes across Carlos’ face, and has to bite his lip not to laugh.

“Hm,” Carlos grunts, picking up his bishop. “What’s he like at chess?” He knocks Charles’ pawn aside, then looks up and grins.

Charles stifles a laugh, glancing over at his family. His uncle and mother are smiling contentedly down at their laps, his mother with her embroidery and his uncle with his newspaper. Charles’ good mood dims slightly, realizing how easily he’s playing into their hands by enjoying Carlos’ company.

And yet he can’t help the affection and attraction that simmers within him when he looks back at Carlos and the scent of dewy grass and fresh oranges caresses his nose, so refreshing compared to the usual dusty stale air of the drawing room.

He wins their first game because Carlos underestimates him, like so many others. But Carlos requests a second match, and this time, manages to take the win. The excited buzz of a good challenge fills Charles with a restless energy that he hasn’t felt in years, and they play a third game, then a fourth, and a fifth. Eventually, as the others are beginning to nod off in their chairs, they decide to retire for the evening.

He’s just taken Andrea’s hand to begin his ascent up the stairs when his name is called out behind him, followed almost immediately by that damn scent. Charles looks over his shoulder at Carlos, who almost appears out of breath, like he’d rushed to catch up to him. They had already said goodnight in the drawing room, but perhaps he’d thought of something else to tell Charles.

“It’s alright, Andrea. Carlos can take me up.”

Andrea’s eyebrow twitches slightly with displeasure, but he would never protest. He steps aside, Carlos taking his place.

“You’ll have to hold my hand,” Charles explains. “It is a ridiculous precaution, but Maman insists.”

“Of course,” Carlos says, bowing slightly.

He offers his hand to Charles, who takes it after the briefest of hesitations. It’s the first time their skin has touched, and Charles suppresses the shiver that rolls through him.

For a moment, they simply stand there, feet unmoving, as Carlos’ thumb settles gently over his knuckles. His hand is warm and large, his fingers slightly calloused, from riding or shooting perhaps. He holds onto Charles’ fingers just tight enough to reassure, but not so tight as to entrap him. It’s a delicate balance, and Charles wonders how he’s managed to find that sweet spot so gracefully.

With some effort, Charles forces his feet to move, and they begin their climb.

“Did you want to tell me something?” he asks.

“Ask you, actually. Your father - he didn’t join us tonight.”

“Yes. He is...his health is poor,” Charles says, pushing through the sadness and worry to give Carlos a polite smile. “We...do not know how much longer he has.”

“Ah.” Carlos swallows, and in his gaze, Charles sees the man’s love for his own father. His brown eyes dip at the outer edges in sympathy. “I am very sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you,” he mutters.

“I would have loved to meet him.”

The sentiment makes Charles smile for real. He isn’t certain what his father would think of Carlos, but so far, there hasn’t been much to object on.

They climb a few more steps in silence, and only when they’re about to reach the top does Carlos speak again.

“I wanted to say that I may not entirely understand what you are going through, or just how much of a pawn you are feeling...” They pause on the landing. “But I know a bit of what it’s like to be moved around like a chess piece in someone else’s game. And I know a bit of what it’s like to feel as though your life is not your own.”

Charles studies him. He seems sincere, but it’s hard to imagine this alpha knows an ounce of what Charles has been through.

“Does your mother also assign someone to guide you up and down the stairs?” he asks, brow arched teasingly. Carlos lets out an amused huff, glancing down at their still clasped hands.

“No, indeed I do not shoulder that particular charge. But I do know how duty and obligation to one’s family, one’s country, can eclipse even your sense of self.”

That strikes a chord within Charles, who has wasted hours and hours of his life wondering who he really is beyond an omega, a prince. If these things were stripped away, who is he underneath?

“And yet,” Carlos continues, before Charles can formulate a response. “I am finding my current duty to my country to be much more enjoyable than I had anticipated.” Smiles spread over both of their faces, and something giddy and dangerous alights deep in Charles’ stomach.

Do not fall for it, Charles.

“Did your father instruct you to use all your charms on me?”

“My cousin, actually,” Carlos admits, startling a laugh out of Charles for his honesty. “He also told me not to let your beauty distract me. Yet, I confess, I have never been so distracted in my life.”

Charles wants to roll his eyes at the transparent attempt to romance him, but all his lessons in etiquette restrain him. Instead, he presses his lips together to prevent a smile, not wanting to give Carlos the satisfaction. Unfortunately, Carlos is watching his expression closely enough that he notes Charles’ attempt and responds with a smug grin of his own.

For a moment, they stand suspended, hands still holding one another’s, both unwilling to let go. And to his slight shame, it is Carlos who ends the stalemate, bowing at the waist to barely graze his lips against the back of Charles’ hand, his breath warm and startling. Charles’ heart stutters, but he schools his expression as the other man straightens once again, releasing his hand.

“Goodnight, Monsieur.”

Charles is afraid to speak, worried his voice will betray just how overcome he is by the barest touch of lips on his skin - not even a kiss, really. Embarrassing.

So he simply nods, then turns and strides toward his rooms without looking back. It’s only when he’s almost through the door that he glances just one time over his shoulder to see Carlos descending the stairs.

He doesn’t wait around long enough to see if the other man looks back.

His attendant helps him undress while Andrea readies his bed. Charles brushes a thumb over the back of his hand, feeling the ghost of lips there.

“Will my lord miss the prince and princesses when they’re gone?” his attendant asks.

“Don’t be impertinent,” Andrea admonishes. Charles just smiles to himself as he undoes his necktie. “That young man pesters you.”

“Please, Andrea,” Charles sighs, shouldering off his waistcoat. “After all this time, you really think I’m going to walk straight into another jail?”

He’s taking off his shoes when Andrea eventually responds. “You must marry one day.”

“Well, I don’t see why I must,” he says, shaking his head. “But if I do, it shall be to please myself, and no one else - not Maman or Uncle or my father.”

So what if he never has children. There will always be another heir somewhere. Sure, it would be dangerous to remain an unmated omega. But if anyone could do it and survive, Charles thinks a sovereign prince, with more protection than anyone else in the country, could succeed.

He’s not marrying anyone just yet. Not even the charming Spaniard with the kind eyes.

#surprise!#i've just been so quiet about it that I finally decided enough was enough 😂#wip #anon #ask #victorian au #charlos #rpf #abo #omegaverse

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 4 months ago

Text

𓅨 All Wrapped Up

All Wrapped Up: When your date with Morpheus is cut short, you are left with his coat and your own thoughts… and a bleeding finger from where said coat bit you. You find out that Morpheus’ coat is very much alive as the rest of the realm.

Warnings: Morpheus’ Coat Fucks You (this is your only warning on how nasty this is), Explicit Language, Explicit Material.

To Note: AFAB!Reader x Morpheus’ Coat

Word Count: ~6.4k

You stroll through the shifting landscapes of the Dreaming, your boyfriend Morpheus by your side. The sky above you morphs from a star-studded abyss to a canvas of swirling pastels, the colors melting into each other like ice cream on a hot day. A soft breeze carries the scent of blooming nightshade and distant rain. Yet another perfect night to spend with your handsome and beautiful boyfriend.

"You know," you say, glancing at him, "this place could use more flowers."

Morpheus' lips twitch into a barely-there smile. "Flowers? Are there not flowers throughout my realm? What more do you wish for?"

"Gilbert is currently hoarding all the best ones" you huff out in half complaint. "I'm talking about everywhere else in the realm. The places that don't have his super awesomeness."

"And what do you propose I should add?" Morpheus asks, tilting his head to the side.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe some unique roses? Lilacs? Orchids even," you gesture vaguely, enjoying the way his eyes—currently a serene blue—catch the light. They glimmer so prettily with stars. "Fun and unique flowers that you would never see together. Tulips, birds of paradise, hydrangea…"

"Fun and unique flowers, you say?" Morpheus muses, his voice like a gentle hum in the background of a dream. He lifts a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the ground around you begins to shift. Suddenly, the once bare earth is alive with a riot of colors. Roses in every hue imaginable bloom alongside lilacs, their delicate petals brushing against the striking shapes of orchids.

The air thickens with their fragrance, a heady blend that fills your senses and makes you feel dizzy with delight. You laugh, spinning around to take it all in. "See? This is what I'm talking about."

"Indeed," Morpheus replies, a trace of amusement in his voice. "Anything else you desire?"

Before you can respond, a loud caw breaks through the tranquility. You glance up to see Matthew the Raven circling overhead. "You two look like you're picking out wedding flowers," he comments, swooping down to land on Morpheus' shoulder.

"Do you have something to add, Matthew?" Morpheus asks, one eyebrow arched.

"Just that maybe you should throw in some dandelions," Matthew says, ruffling his feathers. "You know, for variety."

You chuckle, reaching out to scratch Matthew's head. "Dandelions? Really?"

"Hey, don't knock 'em till you've tried 'em," Matthew quips.

Morpheus waves his hand again and suddenly dandelions sprout amidst the more exotic blooms. Their cheerful yellow heads bob in the soft breeze, adding an unexpected touch of whimsy to the scene.

"I have to admit," you say, bending down to pluck one from the ground. "It does add something special."

The Dreaming reacts to every movement and word from Morpheus. The sky darkens slightly as if acknowledging his focus on this moment with you. The colors become more vivid, each petal and leaf shimmering as though made of dreams themselves.

You catch a hint of ozone in the air—like just before a thunderstorm—and it makes your skin tingle with anticipation. It's as if every sense is heightened here: the sound of distant waves crashing against unseen shores; the feeling of soft grass beneath your feet; the sight of flowers blooming in impossible combinations.

Morpheus watches you with those enigmatic eyes that seem to hold entire galaxies within them. "Anything else?" he asks softly.

"Hmm," you ponder aloud. "How about some bioluminescent fungi? Something that glows when it gets dark. Can't go wrong with a good mushroom."

Matthew caws approvingly. "Now that's an idea! Glowing mushrooms could make this place even more magical."

With another wave of Morpheus' hand, glowing fungi begin to appear among the flowers. They emit a soft light that bathes everything in an ethereal glow as twilight descends over the realm.

Morpheus pulls you closer, your body fitting perfectly against his chest. The feeling is almost overwhelming—his coat is soft and warm, like the comforting embrace of a dream you never want to wake from. You really didn't. His fingers trail down your back, sending pleasurable sensations up your spine.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" His voice is a low murmur in your ear, each word vibrating through you like the distant rumble of thunder.

You nod, drawing your fingers down the lapel of his coat. The fabric feels like velvet under your touch, and the galaxy within it seems to pulse with light and energy. There is even a humming vibration beneath your fingertips that almost echo the coats appreciation of your touch.

"Morpheus," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Matthew flaps his wings in agitation from his perch on Morpheus' shoulder. "Come on, guys. Do we have to do this right here?"

Ignoring Matthew's protest, you let your fingers wander further down Morpheus' coat. Each touch ignites a spark of passion that crackles between you both. His grip on you tightens slightly, as if he can't bear to let you go.

"If he does not wish to witness me kissing my beloved," Morpheus says, his eyes darkening with intensity as they lock onto yours, "Matthew is welcome to leave."

The raven lets out an indignant squawk but takes flight, disappearing into the shifting sky of the Dreaming.

He lowers his head slowly, giving you just enough time to close your eyes before his lips meet yours. The kiss is gentle at first, a mere brush of lips that sends a rush of warmth through you. But then it deepens, becoming more insistent as he pours all his longing and desire into that single point of contact.

The sounds around you seem to amplify—the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant roll of thunder, even the faint hum of bioluminescent fungi glowing softly in the growing twilight. It's as if every element in the Dreaming is attuned to this moment, enhancing every sensation.

Your hand slides up into his hair, feeling its softness between your fingers. You press yourself closer against him until there's no space left between you. His arms wrap around you tighter still as if he could pull you into himself completely.

As you lose yourself in the kiss, your hand continues its journey down Morpheus' coat, the fabric smooth and cool against your fingertips. You can feel the coat almost react to your touch, a subtle vibration that seems to echo Morpheus' own desires.

Your fingers brush against the edge of one of his coat pockets, and without thinking, you slip your hand inside. The interior is surprisingly warm, a stark contrast to the outer fabric. But then, something sharp bites into your finger. You pull back abruptly, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

Morpheus' eyes snap open, darkening from their serene blue to a concerned silver. "What is wrong?" His voice is soft but filled with an urgency that sends a shiver down your spine.

You blink in confusion, glancing down at your finger. A drop of blood wells up from a tiny puncture wound, bright red against your pale skin. "I... I think something bit me," you stammer.

Morpheus frowns deeply. He takes your hand gently in his own, lifting it to inspect the wound. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies the small drop of blood. Without warning, he brings your finger up to his lips and slides it into his mouth.

The sensation is electric. His lips are warm and soft against your skin, his tongue soothing as it laps at the wound. You shiver as Morpheus' tongue glides over your finger, each lap sending a tingling sensation straight to your core. The warmth of his lips contrasts sharply with the cool evening air, creating an intoxicating mix of sensations that makes it hard to focus. His eyes, now a deep, mesmerizing silver, lock onto yours, and you feel the world around you blur into insignificance.

The faint taste of iron lingers as he continues to lick the small wound, his movements slow and deliberate. It's almost as if he's savoring every drop of your blood. You can hear the soft sound of his tongue against your skin, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic noise that seems to echo in the stillness of the Dreaming.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally releases your finger. The wound is gone, not even a scar remaining. You flex your hand experimentally, marveling at the seamless healing.

"That was... weird," you murmur, pulling your hand back.

Morpheus' lips curve into a slight smile. "My apologies if it caused you discomfort."

You shake your head, brushing it off. "No, it's fine. Just unexpected."

He straightens, his expression shifting from concern to something more reserved. "I must return to my duties," he says softly.

Your heart sinks at his words. The thought of him leaving, even for a short while, fills you with a sense of loss. "Already?" you pout, unable to hide your disappointment.

Morpheus chuckles, a sound like distant thunder rolling through the night sky. He reaches up and slips off his coat, the fabric whispering against itself as it moves. The galaxy within it seems to pulse with life as he drapes it around your shoulders.

The coat envelops you in warmth and comfort; it’s like being wrapped in the night sky itself. Well, you are wrapped up in a galaxy.

"Wear this," Morpheus murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "So I will be with you until I physically return."

You snuggle into the coat's embrace, feeling its gentle hum against your skin—a soft vibration that echoes Morpheus' own being. The fabric is impossibly soft, caressing your body like he truly is wrapped around you.

He cups your cheek with one hand, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I will not be long," he promises.

You watch as Morpheus disappears into the ever-shifting landscape of the Dreaming, his silhouette blending seamlessly with the twilight. The weight of his coat around your shoulders is comforting, like an embrace that lingers long after the person has left. With a deep breath, you turn and begin to make your way back to the palace.

The path ahead winds through a forest of bioluminescent trees. Their leaves emit a soft, otherworldly glow that illuminates your way. The air is filled with the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional distant call of nocturnal creatures. As you walk, the sound of your footsteps mingles with these ambient noises, creating a symphony that feels uniquely alive.

The palace looms ahead, its grand spires reaching up to touch the star-studded sky. The entrance is guarded by three majestic creatures—a Gryphon, a Wyvern, and a Hippogryph—each one regal and imposing in its own right. They nod at you as you pass through the gates, acknowledging your presence with silent respect.

Inside, the palace is a labyrinth of corridors and rooms, each one more fascinating than the last. You wander aimlessly, letting your feet guide you. The walls are adorned with intricate tapestries that seem to move and change as you look at them, depicting scenes from countless dreams and nightmares. It was hard to be bored in the dreaming, but you really just wanted to spend time with your boyfriend!

You make your way through the winding corridors of the palace, each step echoing softly against the marble floors. The air is cool, almost refreshing, carrying with it the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine. The palace itself seems to breathe around you, walls shifting subtly as if alive.

Finally, you arrive at Morpheus' private chamber. The door creaks open with a whisper, revealing a room that feels both infinite and intimate. Soft starlight filters in from the high windows, casting gentle shadows across the floor.

Stars float lazily in the air, tiny orbs of light that shimmer and pulse as if they hold entire galaxies within them. You reach out to touch one, and it flutters away like a shy firefly before coming back to hover just above your fingertips. Its light is warm against your skin, sending tingles up your arm.

You wander around the room, brushing your fingers against the floating stars. Each one responds to your touch with a soft hum, a melody that seems to vibrate through your very being. It's like touching pieces of Morpheus himself—fragments of his essence scattered throughout his sanctuary.

As you explore, your gaze drifts down to the coat pocket where something had bitten you earlier. The memory of that sharp pinch makes you pause. Curiosity gnaws at you as you slip your hand back into the pocket cautiously this time, but all you feel is the warm, velvety lining.

"At least I have you to cuddle with," you murmur to yourself, a small smile playing on your lips. "Morpheus' coat is better than no Morpheus at all."

A warmth spreads through your body and you snuggle your face into the neckline of the material, enjoying the way the galaxy feels against your skin. You make your way over to Morpheus' bed and climb onto it, sighing as your hands and knees sink into the cloud like mattress.

The scent of Morpheus lingers on the sheets—a mix of stardust and midnight air that fills your senses and makes you feel even closer to him. You curl up in his coat, pulling it tightly around yourself as you nestle into the soft bedding. A nap would do nicely until Morpheus returns.

You wake with a start, the sensation of fabric skimming across your skin pulling you from the depths of sleep. Your eyes flutter open, and you find yourself staring up at the shifting, pulsating galaxy that adorns Morpheus' coat. It's draped over you like a protective cocoon, its warmth seeping into your very bones. But something is different this time.

The coat is moving, its fabric undulating with a life of its own. You gasp as it begins to slip beneath your clothing, the smooth, velvety material gliding effortlessly over your skin. The sensation is both startling and arousing, each touch sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you.

Your shirt is the first to go, the coat's sleeves tugging at the hem until it's lifted over your head and discarded. You try to sit up, to grasp at the fabric and halt its progress, but it's as if the coat anticipates your every move. It wraps around your arms, pinning them to your sides with a gentle but unyielding pressure.

"Hey!" you protest, a mixture of amusement and alarm in your voice. "What do you think you're doing?"

The coat doesn't answer, of course. Instead, it continues its slow, sensual exploration of your body. You can feel it tracing the contours of your chest, the touch as intimate as a lover's caress. The fabric seems to have grown impossibly softer, its movements deliberate and teasing.

Your breath hitches as it trails lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. The sensation is maddeningly erotic, a blend of ticklish delight and mounting desire. You squirm, trying to escape the coat's insistent advance, but it only tightens its grip on your legs, preventing any chance of retreat.

"First you bite me, and now you want me naked?" you murmur, the words coming out in a breathless whisper. The coat, of course, offers no response, save for the continued slide of fabric against your skin. "I don't think so!"

You thrash against the coat's hold, your heart pounding as the fabric tightens around you, holding you fast. It's an odd sensation, the feeling of being trapped yet cared for, dominated yet cherished. Despite your initial protests, there's a part of you that's intrigued, a small voice whispering that you should surrender to the coat's desires.

With surprising gentleness, the coat lifts you off the bed, suspending you in midair. You're aware of the cool air against your skin, the vulnerability of being so exposed. The coat's grip on you shifts, and you feel it deftly unhooking your bra. The fabric slides away, leaving your chest bare to the night air and the coat's lingering touch.

Your breath catches as you feel the coat's fabric against your nipples. It's a strange, intoxicating sensation that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. The coat caresses your breasts with an almost reverent touch, the fabric stroking and fondling with a lover's skill. You can't help the soft moan that escapes your lips, the sound echoing through the silent room.

The coat's attentions shift lower, and you feel it tugging at your pants. You're powerless to resist as the fabric peels away, leaving you clad in nothing but your underwear. The cool air teases your newly bared skin, and you can feel your arousal growing with each passing second.

As the coat continues to caress your breasts, you can't help but think that it's savoring this moment, relishing the feel of your soft, yielding flesh beneath its touch. The fabric moves with purpose, each stroke and caress sending shivers of pleasure up your spine.

Then, without warning, the coat vibrates against your skin, a subtle but unmistakable affirmation. It's almost as if it's communicating with you, confirming your suspicion that it wants—needs—this connection just as much as you do.

The vibrations are maddening, a constant, thrumming reminder of the coat's desire. You can feel it resonate deep within you, stoking the flames of your arousal even higher. The sound of your own breathing fills the room—harsh, ragged gasps that mirror the intensity of the sensations coursing through you.

Your body responds to the coat's ministrations with an urgency that's both startling and undeniable. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your underwear clinging to your damp skin. The coat's fabric teases your sensitive nipples, each brush sending jolts of pleasure straight to your cunt.

You're lost in a sea of sensation, your body moving instinctively to meet the coat's touch. The fabric strokes and fondles your breasts, the movements deliberate and maddeningly skillful. You can feel your arousal building, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away.

The coat's vibrations grow stronger, more insistent, as if it can sense how close you are to the edge. The sensation is overwhelming, a constant thrum of pleasure that leaves you gasping for breath. You're aware of the wetness between your legs, the slick, aching need that demands fulfillment.

And then, just when you think you can't take any more, the coat's touch becomes impossibly gentle, a soft caress that brings you back from the brink. You're left hovering on the edge of climax, your body trembling with need as the coat holds you suspended in midair, caught between ecstasy and anticipation.

"Oh come on," you whine, tugging on the fabric holding your wrists. "Don't tell me you're gonna tease me too! Morpheus is already a bastard when it comes to teasing, I don't need both of you being mean to me!"

In response to your plea, the coat seems to hesitate for a moment, as if considering your words. Then, with a newfound determination, it resumes its careful exploration of your body. You feel the fabric gliding over your hips, dipping into the crease where your thighs meet your body, and then it's slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. The sensation of the fabric against your most intimate area is surprisingly erotic, and you can't help but moan as it begins to move with purpose.

The coat tugs gently at your underwear, peeling it away from your damp skin. You feel a rush of cool air against your wetness, a stark contrast to the warmth of the coat's embrace. The fabric slides down your legs, leaving you completely naked and exposed in the coat's grasp.

You're lifted higher, your body suspended in midair as the coat positions you for its next tantalizing move. The sensation of weightlessness adds to the surrealism of the moment, amplifying the erotic sensations that course through you.

Then, without warning, the coat begins to rub between your legs, the fabric soft and insistent against your sensitive flesh. You gasp as it finds your clit, the rhythmic motion sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body. The vibrations grow stronger, the coat's purring growing louder as it busies itself with your wetness.

The sound of your arousal fills the room, a slick, wet noise that mingles with the coat's purring. You can hear the soft rustle of fabric as it moves against your skin, the subtle whisper of the galaxy that forms the coat's lining. It's a symphony of sensations, a cacophony of sound that threatens to overwhelm your senses.

The coat's movements grow more insistent, the fabric rubbing against your clit with a maddening rhythm that leaves you gasping for breath. You can feel the orgasm building within you, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatens to sweep you away.

Your body responds instinctively to the coat's touch, your hips moving in time with its rhythmic motions. The sensation of the fabric against your most sensitive area is exquisite, a blend of friction and warmth that sends shivers of pleasure coursing through you.

The coat's purring grows even louder, a constant thrum of pleasure that resonates deep within your core. You can feel your arousal growing with each passing second, your body tensing as the orgasm draws nearer.

And then, just when you think you can't take any more, the coat's touch changes. The fabric between your legs begins to pulse, the rhythm matching the beating of your heart. It's as if the coat knows exactly what you need, exactly how to push you over the edge.

The sensory overload is too much to bear. Your body tenses, and then you're falling, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of overwhelming pleasure. Your cries echo through the room, a testament to the ecstasy that courses through your veins.

As the waves of your climax wash over you, your body convulses with the intensity of the sensations. Your legs are thrashing, feet twisting in the air as they seek purchase on something—anything—to ground you in this moment of pure ecstasy. Your arms pull against the coat's embrace, the fabric tightening around your wrists in response to your struggles, holding you fast as it continues to lavish attention upon your trembling form.

The coat, sentient and eager, is greedily drinking up your release, its fabric writhing and pulsing against your most intimate areas. Each spasm of your cunt sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, and the coat seems to absorb every tremor, its vibrations harmonizing with the rhythm of your orgasm.

You're acutely aware of the erotic sensory details—the wet, slick sound of the coat moving against your drenched folds, the way your breath hitches with each wave of pleasure that crashes over you, the feeling of the cool air against your heated skin. The coat's fabric is like a thousand tiny fingers, each one caressing and teasing and coaxing you towards greater heights of pleasure.

The erotic sounds that fill the room are almost as stimulating as the physical sensations. The wet squelch of the coat's ministrations, the ragged panting of your breaths, the soft whimpers and moans that escape your lips—all of it combines to create a symphony of desire that resonates with the pulsing of your blood.

"Oh god," you strain out, your body falling slack. That was an incredibly explosive orgasm. All from the coat. The coat, however, seems far from finished.

Its fabric begins to move again, slithering down your stomach in a series of slow, deliberate waves. You can't help but squirm as it traces teasing patterns on your skin, each touch sending little shivers of sensation coursing through you. The coat purrs in response.

You can feel it trailing along the insides of your legs, a soft, ticklish touch that leaves you gasping for breath once more. The coat's purring grows louder, a constant thrum of pleasure that seems to echo your own rapidly beating heart. Always thirsty it seems.

As your breathing begins to steady, the coat's fabric continues its unhurried exploration of your body. It caresses your thighs, your stomach, the soft swell of your breasts. Each touch sends ripples of pleasure coursing through you, a reminder that the coat is far from done with you.

You feel the fabric shift, a subtle movement that draws your attention back to the apex of your thighs. The coat's touch is gentle yet insistent, its fabric teasing your sensitive folds with feather-light strokes. You can't help but moan, your body responding instinctively to the promise of more pleasure to come.

But then the fabric between your legs begins to change, to grow and harden into something entirely different. You gasp as you feel the unmistakable shape of a phallus emerging from the coat's inner lining, its size and girth enough to make you catch your breath.

"Wait," you protest, your voice barely above a whisper. "That place is for Morpheus."

The coat seems to hesitate for a moment, its fabric pulsing against your skin. And then, with a sense of inevitability, the phallus continues to grow, its length pressing against your entrance with an insistence that leaves you both exasperated and intrigued.

"You've got to be kidding me," you mutter, a flush creeping up your cheeks. "First you strip me, then you make me come, and now you want to fuck me? You're a coat, for crying out loud!"

In response, the coat vibrates, a low, rumbling purr that vibrates all the way through your cunt. It's almost as if it's chuckling at your incredulity, its fabric shifting against your skin with a maddeningly sensual rhythm.

The phallus nudges at your opening, the blunt tip slick with your own arousal. You can feel it teasing you, pressing just slightly into your warmth before withdrawing once more. The sensation is both startling and arousing, a tantalizing promise of what's to come.

You're aware of the erotic sounds that fill the room—the wet, slick noise of the coat's phallus moving against your drenched folds, the soft, needy whimpers that escape your lips with each teasing stroke. You hate how delicious the sounds are. The coat purrs in response, the vibrations adding another layer of pleasure to the sensory overload.

The phallus nudges at your entrance once more, and this time, it doesn't withdraw. You feel yourself stretching to accommodate its girth, your body yielding to the coat's insistent advance. The sensation is intense, a mix of pleasure and a slight sting that leaves you gasping for breath.

"Oh," you gasp out, your hips twitching and your pelvis muscles twitching from the stretch.

As the coat's phallus begins its slow, inexorable push into your body, you can't help but gasp at the sensation. It's thick and warm, a solid presence that fills you in a way you've never experienced before. Almost tentacle like, worming around against your clenching walls. The fabric of the coat's inner lining is soft against your sensitive skin, a stark contrast to the firmness of the phallus that's currently buried inside you.

You arch your back, a soft moan escaping your lips as the phallus continues its exploration. It seems to be searching for something, its movements deliberate and unhurried. Each slight shift sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, the sensation both startling and intensely arousing.

The erotic sounds of your coupling fills the room once more—the wet, slick noise of the coat's phallus moving inside you, the soft, needy whimpers that escape your lips with each thrust. You can feel the coat purring in response to your sounds of pleasure, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation to the mix.

You're acutely aware of the erotic sensory details—the feeling of the coat's fabric against your skin, the warmth of its body as it holds you close, the scent of your arousal mingling with the musty aroma of the coat's inner lining. It's an intoxicating blend that only serves to heighten your pleasure.

The phallus inside you seems to be growing larger, its girth stretching you in the most delicious way. You can feel it pressing against your vaginal walls, each movement sending ripples of pleasure radiating through your body. The sensation is overwhelming, a constant thrum of pleasure that leaves you gasping for breath.

Your heart pounds in your chest, the rush of blood a rhythmic counterpoint to the thrum of the coat's purring. Each pulse of your heart sends a fresh surge of arousal coursing through your veins, making your skin flush and your breath come in short, sharp gasps. You're so attuned to the sensations that every twitch and shudder reverberates through you, a testament to the coat's mastery over your body.

And then, just when you think you can't possibly get any more aroused, the coat's phallus reaches a depth within you that makes your breath catch in your throat. You feel it probing against your cervix, a gentle nudge that sends a jolt of sensation straight to your core. Your eyes widen, and a startled gasp escapes your lips. "N-no," you stammer, your voice tremulous with a mix of desire and trepidation. "No. That place is for babies, not...not this."

In response, the coat's phallus vibrates, a low, rumbling sensation that reverberates deep within your belly. It's an acknowledgment, a silent affirmation of your boundaries, and the phallus withdraws slightly, avoiding the no-go zone with newfound respect. The change in sensation makes you gasp, and your hips jerk in response, the movement involuntary and desperate.

The vibrations increase in intensity, the coat's phallus humming with a steady rhythm that sends waves of pleasure coursing through you. You can feel your body clenching around the thick intrusion, your muscles fluttering in time with the coat's purring. Your toes curl, and a series of soft, needy whimpers escape your lips, the erotic sounds mingling with the wet squelch of the coat's ministrations.

As the coat's phallus begins to move within you, your body responds with a rush of moisture, welcoming the thick intrusion with a slick warmth that makes each thrust an exercise in erotic sensation. The fabric inside you is velvety soft, yet unyielding, each stroke a delicious friction that stokes the fires of your arousal. The coat's movements are deliberate and measured, a slow, steady fucking that leaves you gasping for breath as it claims your body as its own.

The slithering galaxy that lines the coat's interior wraps gently around your throat, the cool fabric a stark contrast to the heat of your skin. It tightens slowly, a sexual choking that sends a thrill of fear and arousal coursing through you. Your eyes widen, and a gasp is torn from your lips as the fabric restricts your airway just enough to heighten your senses without causing harm. The loss of control, the helplessness of your position, only serves to intensify the pleasure that's building within you.

Your body clenches around the coat's phallus, your inner walls fluttering in time with the rhythmic tightening of the fabric around your throat. The dual sensations are overwhelming, a blend of pleasure and pain that leaves you writhing in the coat's embrace. You can feel your orgasm building, a slow, inexorable tide that threatens to sweep you away.

The room fills with dizzying and erotic sounds—the wet, slick noise of the coat's phallus moving inside you, the soft, needy whimpers that escape your lips with each thrust, the subtle rasp of fabric against your throat as you struggle to breathe. The coat's purring grows louder, a constant thrum of pleasure that seems to echo your own rapidly beating heart.

You're acutely aware of the sensory details—the feeling of the coat's fabric against your skin, the warmth of its body as it holds you aloft, the scent of your arousal mingling with the musky aroma of the coat's inner lining. It's an intoxicating blend that only serves to heighten your pleasure.

The phallus inside you seems to grow even larger, its girth stretching you to your limits as it plunges into your depths. You can feel it pressing against your g-spot, each movement sending jolts of sensation straight to your core. Your toes curl, and a series of soft, needy whimpers escape your lips, the erotic sounds mingling with the wet squelch of the coat's ministrations.

As the coat continues to fuck you, the fabric around your throat pulses in time with the thrusts, a rhythmic pressure that sends you spiraling towards the edge of ecstasy. Your vision begins to blur, stars dancing at the edges of your sight as the combination of sensory overload and restricted airflow push you closer to the brink.

Your body tenses, and then you're falling, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of overwhelming pleasure. Your cries echo through the room, a testament to the ecstasy that courses through your veins. The coat's phallus pulses within you, drawing out your climax until you're left a quivering, gasping mess in its grasp.

As the waves of your orgasm begin to recede, the coat gently releases its hold on your throat, allowing you to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. The phallus inside you softens, retreating back into the fabric of the coat's inner lining.

The aftershocks of your orgasm softly ripple through you and the coat's fabric shifts, its touch changing from demanding to soothing in an instant. You feel its fabric stroking your body, a gentle caress that traces the contours of your skin with a lover's precision. The sensation is both comforting and arousing, a reminder of the pleasure it's capable of bestowing upon you. So much better than it biting you.

"Can we cuddle now?" you mumble, your voice soft and sated. The coat seems to understand, its fabric tightening around you in a warm, comforting embrace. It lowers your body back to the bed as if you were the most precious thing in the realm.

You snuggle against the coat, your fingers gripping the lapels while your body still trembles from the intensity of your release. The scent of your arousal is heavy in the air, a musky aroma that mingles with the musty scent of the coat's inner lining. You can feel your juices leaking from your body, a slow, sticky trickle that slides down your inner thighs. Another mess you were going to have to clean up.

The coat, ever eager, seems unabashed by your wetness. Its fabric shifts between your legs, the tip of its phallus emerging once more to lap at the moisture that pools at your entrance like an eager tongue. The sensation is startling, a cool, wet touch that sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through you.

Your heart pounds against your ribcage like a caged bird desperate for freedom, each beat a staccato reminder of the pleasure that still courses through your veins. You're breathless, your chest heaving with each ragged inhalation as you try to regain some semblance of control over your body. But the coat, it seems, has other plans. Greedy for your pleasure.

"I can't," you protest weakly, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm exhausted."

The coat ignores your plea, its fabric shifting against your skin with a maddeningly sensual rhythm.

The tongue laps at your entrance, slurping up the remnants of your orgasm with an eagerness that borders on voracious. You can't help but squirm as it traces teasing patterns on your skin, each touch sending little shivers of sensation coursing through you. The sound of the coat's ministrations fills the room—a wet, squelching noise that's almost as arousing as the physical sensations.

"Please," you beg, your voice trembling with a mix of desire and trepidation. "It's too much."

But the coat is relentless, its tongue delving deeper into your folds with each passing moment. You feel yourself stretching once again to accommodate its girth, your body yielding to the coat's insistent advance. The sensation is intense, a mix of pleasure and a slight sting that leaves you gasping for breath.

You roll and writhe on the bed, your body twisting and turning in a futile attempt to escape the overwhelming sensations. The coat's fabric tightens around you, holding you aloft as it continues its erotic assault. You're trapped, completely at the mercy of the sentient garment that seems intent on wringing every last ounce of pleasure from your exhausted body.

"Stop," you plead, your voice breaking on the word. "I can't take any more."

The coat, however, seems determined to prove you wrong. It knows you, knows your limits. Its tongue plunges into your depths, pressing against your g-spot with a precision that only serves to heighten your arousal. You can feel your body clenching around the thick intrusion, your muscles fluttering in time with the rhythmic thrusts.

Your fingers grasp at the sheets beneath you, clenching as your makes rake against the soft fabric. You can feel the coat purring in response to your sounds of pleasure and writhes of ecstasy, the vibrations adding another layer of sensation to the mix.

Your body tenses, and then you're falling, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of overwhelming pleasure. Your cries echo through the room, a testament to the ecstasy that courses through your veins. The coat's tongue pulses within you, drawing out your climax until you're left a quivering, gasping mess in its grasp.

As the waves of your orgasm begin to recede, the coat gently releases its hold on you. Exhausted and sated, you collapse onto the bed, your body still trembling from the intensity of your release. The sound of your ragged breathing fills the room, a stark contrast to the silence that follows.

And then, just as you're on the brink of unconsciousness, you feel the coat's fabric shift against your skin one last time. It wraps itself around you in a warm, comforting embrace, a silent promise of protection and care. You snuggle against the coat, your fingers clutching at the fabric as sleep claims you at last. About fucking time.

The last thing you hear before darkness takes you is the soft, rhythmic thrum of the coat's purring, a gentle lullaby that lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Date Published: 7/4/24

Last Edit: 7/4/24

#the sandman netflix #the sandman #dream of the endless #dream the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream the endless x reader #lord morpheus #Morpheus' Coat x Reader

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shmaptainwrites · 11 months ago

Text

𝐔𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 [𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐙𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐘]

PAIRINGS — Fitzwilliam Darcy x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — Reader, encountered with an unexpected cold, finds herself staying longer at her friend's home in Pemberley and influencing him with her unconventional attitude

WARNINGS — sickness

NOTE — Here's the 2nd Mr. Darcy fic! It's been a draft for a while but I finally managed to finish it off, I hope you guys enjoy.

“Fitz! Come quickly Miss (L/N) is here!” Georgiana called her older brother as you rode into the Pemberley estate in your carriage.

Mr. Darcy listened to his sister, but didn’t waste a second in telling her that there was no use yelling in such a big house and that she should have just sent someone to get him.

“I know, I’m just so excited to see her,” Georgiana grinned. “Aren’t you?”

“I am happy she could come visit us for the week,” he said simply. “She’s quite busy keeping house for her brother.”

“Exactly, which is all the more exciting that she was able to come,” Georgiana grinned.

The Darcy siblings met you outside, helping you deal with your bags first and then taking the opportunity to say hello.

You kissed Georgiana on the cheek, taking a moment to really take in how much she’d grown while you hadn’t seen her.

“My goodness, a few more months and you’ll be taller than me,” you laughed, Georgiana’s hands clasped tightly in your own. “Oh how I’ve missed you.”

“Just me?” Georgiana teased.

“Now now, your brother knows very well that I’ve missed his company as well.”

“Then it is unfortunate you will only be able to stay with us for the week,” Mr. Darcy commented.

“Yes, it most definitely is.”

“Please, come. Dinner is waiting inside, I am sure you are hungry after your travels,” Mr. Darcy, guided you and his sister towards the entrance of the large home.

“You have assumed correctly, Mr. Darcy,” you nodded.

“All the better that we can eat immediately then,” Georgiana smiled. “How is your family? Your brother? And sisters?”

“All fine and healthy thank you,” you said. “My elder sister is actually getting married very soon. The engagement was quite recent so she asked if I could pass the news to you both in person.”

“Oh how delightful!” Georgiana clapped her hands together.

“You will both be invited to the wedding of course, it wouldn’t be the same without you there,” you smiled.

“We shall greatly look forward to such a wonderful event, won’t we, Fitzwilliam?”

“Yes, of course. Any opportunity to see your family is a great one,” he agreed.

Dinner was quite pleasant, you caught up on the events happening in your respective lives and reminisced about the days where you were closer together.

The week at Pemberley passed faster than you would have liked and on your last day you decided to take a quiet moment to yourself, walking the grounds before dinner.

The property was extensive and you often lost track of how far you had gone. This time, the realization came when it began to rain and you did your best to hurry back, hoping you wouldn’t get sick.

Arriving back at the house, the bottom of your dress was soaked completely with mud and the rest of you was dripping with rainwater.

Mr. Darcy happened to be walking by as you came inside and quickly came to attend to you.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked.

“At this point, yes,” you nodded. “I just got caught in the rain.”

“Let us get you something to dry off, perhaps a change of clothes and some time by the fire will do you good.”

“Mr. Darcy, you needn’t worry, I’m sure everything will be fine and I can take care of it.”

“I insist. You are my guest, what kind of host would I be if I didn’t at least attempt to make sure you were alright.”

You conceded and let Mr. Darcy instruct someone to bring you a towel to dry off and walked you to your room before informing you he’d make sure a fire was started in the fireplace of the drawing room.

After you changed into dry, clean clothes, you made your way there noting that you were beginning to feel a bit ill. You hoped it was nothing and that the feeling would pass, but it became clear during dinner when Mr. Darcy had to quickly rush to your side after you had almost fainted.

He instructed someone to call a doctor and asked Georgiana to write a quick letter to your brother to inform him you would have to stay at Pemberley until you were feeling better.

“Mr. Darcy, I really-,” you paused, taking a deep breath to fight off the nausea. “I wouldn’t want to impose and stay longer than I was intending.”

“Nonsense,” he shook his head. “You are in no condition to travel. I don’t know what your brother would say if I sent you back while you are in this state.”

You closed your eyes and nodded your head, allowing Mr. Darcy to lead you into your room, sitting you down on the bed and assuring you he’d be back with tea and a doctor.

Your fever was the worst the first night. The doctor stayed at Pemberley to make sure that you’d be on track for a healthy recovery. He informed you that whatever ailment you were suffering from could take some time to completely leave your system and as Mr. Darcy had already suggested it would be best for you to stay at Pemberley until you were completely healed.

It pained you to sit around and do nothing aimlessly every day, but you knew there was no way you’d be able to get any better otherwise.

One evening, after you had assumed everyone had gone to sleep, you badly wanted to stretch your legs and decided to make your way to the kitchen to make a pot of tea.

You took careful steps, still feeling a little dizzy, only in a nightgown with a shawl pulled over your shoulders, when the flicker of a candle signaled to you that someone was there.

You turned around and saw Mr. Darcy who was clearly still awake and staring at you quizzically.

“Miss (L/N), what on earth are you doing out of bed?” he asked, increasing the pace of his stride so that he could reach you faster.

“I was just hoping to make some tea,” you said. “And stretch my legs. Please don’t send me back to my room.”

Mr. Darcy pursed his lips and sighed,

“Alright, let’s get you some tea.”

You began to walk, slightly more wobbly than before so Mr. Darcy carefully wrapped an arm around you and pulled you closer to him so you’d have some support as you walked.

“Are you feeling any better from this morning?” he asked.

“A little, but much better than that first night,” you said.

“Good,” he said simply and you continued your walk to the kitchen in silence.

You tried to take initiative to grab a few things to make the tea , but Mr. Darcy stopped you and insisted he take care of it.

“Mr. Darcy, you spoil me,” you chuckled. “Ever since we were little ones, you always have.”

You swore you saw a small smile make its way onto his lips as he placed the kettle on the stove.

“I have very few people I’m able to spoil Miss (L/N), I’m happy you indulge me,” he said quietly, still holding you close to his side.

“As much as I appreciate it, I do believe I can stand on my own,” you commented.

“Let us see how those legs of yours hold up,” he took a small step away, removing his support and you almost fell backwards if it weren’t for his quick reflexes that caught you.

“Perhaps not, then,” you chuckled, hiding your face in slight embarrassment.

The water was boiled not that much later and you allowed the tea to steep for a bit before Mr. Darcy poured you a cup and carried it for you as you made your way into the sitting room.

The room was only lit by the light of the candle and after sitting you down, Mr. Darcy stayed right there next to you.

You knew if anyone caught you like this the rumours would go flying, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, feeling far too comfortable in his embrace.

“You know my mother used to hold me like this when I was sick,” you yawned. “It’s not quite the same, but I guess you’ll have to do.”

“Surely you jest,” Mr. Darcy said and you shook your head.

“Me? Jest? Fitzwilliam, who do you think I am?”

“That medication the doctor has prescribed you is surely doing quite a number on you,” he placed the back of his hand to your forehead only to see that you most definitely weren’t feverish.

“It’s not the medication,” you shook your head. “Perhaps the exhaustion made me slip up, but don’t you think it’s incredibly silly that I shan’t refer to you by your name even though I have known you all my life?”

“I suppose it is,” he nodded slowly.

“Just try it,” you suggested. “No one is watching, it's just you and I.”

He paused to a moment, still unsure if he should say anything, but he’d spent the entire night indulging you so he thought he might as well continue.

“What do you wish me to ask you, (Y/N)?”

“See that’s much better,” you nodded. “I quite like having you call me by my first name.”

“There are a lot of unconventional things I seem to find you enjoying,” Mr. Darcy commented.

“Ah yes, the long walks alone, being held by a man while barely clothed, and of course referring to my oldest friend by his first name.”

Mr. Darcy couldn’t help the chuckle that had escaped, he decided then to simply shake his head and continue to hold you close. A signal to you that he didn’t really mind it.

Now that your tea had cooled off, he passed you the cup and helped your slightly shaking hands lift it to your lips.

“You know (Y/N), Georgiana is quite happy you haven’t left us yet as unfortunate as the circumstances are, she’s still enjoying your company.”

“And I hers,” you sighed. “She’s grown so much since I last saw her, I really do wish I could be here more often.”

“As do I,” Mr. Darcy agreed. “Am I correct in assuming your brother has many engagements?”

“Constantly,” you nodded with a small yawn. “It’s exhausting, honestly. Even though I am unwell, Pemberley has given me some much needed rest.”

“I suppose some gratitude is warranted on both ends then.”

“Yes, it does seem that way,” you said yet another yawn. “You wouldn’t mind if I-,” you yawned again. “just…fell asleep…right here.”

Before Mr. Darcy could utter a single word, your head had fallen against his arm, your eyes shut, and your mouth slightly open, a quiet snore escaping every now and then.

Mr. Darcy could only stare in admiration, pulling your shawl a little tighter around you so you didn’t get cold.

Carefully, feeling that if he did it any other way he might be caught, he pressed the smallest kiss to your forehead.

“Sleep well my dear (Y/N).”

—

After that evening, you found yourself asleep in your bed the next morning as if nothing had happened. You were already feeling exceptionally better and within two more days you were well enough to make arrangements to head back home.

“I wish you weren’t leaving so soon,” Georgiana sighed dejectedly as she pushed around her potatoes at dinner.

“Georgiana I’ve been here two weeks longer than expected,” you chuckled.

“I know, but it never feels like enough time.”

“I feel the same. I hope I’ll be back soon, but I really don’t know,” you said honestly. “When I was a little younger it was easier, not the same kind of responsibilities.”

“Right,” Georgiana nodded. “Wait, does this mean I must keep house for you if you’re not married soon?” Georgiana turned her attention to her older brother.

“Perhaps,” Mr. Darcy nodded. “But I don’t think you should worry about that right now Georgiana.”

You felt a pang in your heart as he said that. It was only a matter of time before Mr. Darcy found a wife, but a part of you deep down always wondered if perhaps he’d consider you.

You knew it was silly, he probably thought of you as a younger sister, but you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, especially when he treated you with such tenderness and care.

To save your own feelings, you quickly changed the topic, asking about something general like the Darcy’s dogs or how the weather had been slowly improving.

You went to bed that night without much thought of the conversation at dinner and got up early enough in the morning so you could get a good start on your travels.

Just as you were about to go and inform someone to prepare the carriage you heard a knock at the door of your room.

“Hello? Who is it?” you asked, your hands busy fixing something on your dress.

“It’s me.”

You recognized the voice as Darcy’s and told him to come in.

He opened the door and came inside the room, shutting it behind him.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Darcy?” you asked, seeing the tense expression.

“So formal,” he said with what you thought was a nervous chuckle. “What ever happened to your inclination to use my first name?”

“I didn’t think it was appropriate,” you said quietly. “Is there something you need?”

“I have a question to ask you,” he said and you nodded your head for him to continue. “I’d like you to stay longer at Pemberley. Would you?”

“I-Fitzwilliam, you know I’ve been here far too long, my brother needs me back in London. Even if I wanted to, I can't visit longer,” you sighed.

“I meant…I meant permanently.”

“P-Permanently?” you stuttered.

“I apologize if I haven’t made it clear already-I suppose my nerves have gotten the best of me,” he rambled.

“A-Are you asking me to marry you?” you asked finally and he nodded his head.

You could already feel your head spinning, confused tears welling in your eyes. Where did this come from? Why was he asking? Why now?

“I-Fitz, where is this coming from?” you asked him. “If you just wish for me to visit more I can find ways to get out of London, you don’t have to ask me to marry you.”

“Why would you think I’d ask someone to marry me?” he asked, his voice was gentle as it always was when he spoke with you, but it carried a twinge of hurt.

“I-I don’t know!” you threw your hands up. “Someone who can look after Pemberley for you? Do all the things a good and proper wife should?”

“And not for love?”

You swallowed thickly, your hands tensed and clenched with emotion. You couldn’t bear tiptoeing around it any longer.

“Fitz, please don’t trifle with my feelings, just say it. Say it and I am yours.”

“I love you,” he closed the space between you, cradling your face easily in his large hands, pressing your forehead against his own. “I have loved you, (Y/N) since I knew what the word meant and I shall love you long past my dying breath. Stay and let me spoil you. Stay so that I may be able to see your beautiful smile every minute of every day. Stay because I love you.”

You nodded your head, knowing your words would fail you.

For a moment there wasn’t propriety, no obligations, no societal standards. Just you and him.

He gently kissed away your tears, knowing you were both protected by the closed curtain before quietly saying.

“As much as I would love for you to stay, I believe the carriage should be ready now. I shall meet you in London in a few days to ask for your father’s blessing.”

“Yes, of course,” you wiped away the remainder of your tears with the sleeve of your dress before taking a moment to trace your fingers along his jaw. “I shall miss you, dearly.”

“And I you.”

But there was a certain lightness in both of your hearts, knowing that you’d get to spend the rest of your lives together.

“Fitz,” you whispered.

“Yes, my darling.”

“I almost forgot to say I love you too.”

You swore the smile that came across his face could have brightened the whole room. You brought his face closer to yours, stepping on your toes to press a kiss to his forehead.

“I shall see you soon.”

He held your hand and gave it one last squeeze before you slipped out of the room, your heart beating out of your chest.

—

Several Years Later

“Mrs. Darcy, lovely to have you back at Pemberley.”

“It’s wonderful to be back, I felt as if I was visiting my family in London for ages,” you dusted off your dress and took a pleasant look around the home.

“Shall I inform Mr. Darcy of your arrival?”

“No, that’ll be alright, I can handle it,” you smiled. “He’s in his study?”

“Yes ma’am.”

You took off your coat with some help and began walking down the halls, quickly visiting with Georgiana when you ran into her and assuring her you would have plenty of time to catch up over dinner.

When you arrived at your husband’s office the door was already cracked open so you carefully snuck inside and shut the door behind you, having to stifle a laugh at the fact that he didn’t even flinch or seem to notice you’d entered the room.

You pressed your back to the door and waited patiently as he informed you that he would be one more moment and as soon as he put his pen down and looked up from his papers his eyes grew wide with surprise.

“You’re back,” he smiled. “A day early.”

“I couldn’t wait,” you chuckled. “But you clearly could, you barely even noticed it was me!” you teased him.

“My darling, I was far too engrossed in the letter I was writing, but I surely shouldn’t have been,” he came up to you and you were about to open the door so that you could leave the study, but he stopped you by putting his hand on the handle and cornering you between himself and the closed door.

“Fitzwilliam,” you gasped and turned around to face him. “You naughty man.”

“Is it a crime for a man to wish to kiss his wife after having missed her for two long months?” he raised a brow.

“I suppose not,” you chuckled while his thumb and forefinger tilted your chin upwards so that he could meet you in a tender and longing kiss.

He was right, it had been too long since you had last seen each other and you wished your relatives would come to Pemberley instead of insisting you visit in London.

Every moment you spent there you could barely enjoy because you wished desperately to be back in the company of the man whom you loved dearly.

When you pulled apart, Fitzwilliam still held your face in his hands and asked you how your visit was.

“Terrible.”

“Terrible?”

“Alright, it wasn’t terrible. I’m exaggerating, but I did miss you terribly,” you turned your head to gently kiss his hand.

“And I you,” he kissed your forehead and lingered there a moment to savour the feeling of having you close again.

The middle of your quiet moment was interrupted with a pounding knock to the door which started both of you.

“Mama stop hogging Papa! I haven’t seen him either!” you could hear a small, but stern voice come from the other side of the door and both you and Fitzwilliam chuckled before opening it, revealing your daughter standing with her arms crossed over her chest, a pout on her lips.

Fitzwilliam didn’t waste a moment, swooping down to pick her up and press a kiss to her cheek. She was still small and you knew especially when you were in private he liked to soak up as much of those moments as he could with her.

“My darling, look at you! You’ve grown since I last saw you,” he said. “What did your grandparents feed you?”

“Too much veal,” you grimaced at the thought and he chuckled.

“Did you miss me?” Louise looked up at her father with big pleading eyes.

“Of course I did,” he assured her. “Your mother just came and found me first, that's all.”

“You did say you wanted to stay with auntie Georgiana for a little while, don’t you remember Lou?”

She nodded her head, conceding, but pressed a big kiss to her father’s cheek.

“Next time maybe you should come find me, Papa,” she suggested.

“I completely agree,” he gave her a small smile before continuing, “Now you two must be tired from your travels, why don’t we go see how long dinner will take and until then we can sit with Georgiana and have a cup of tea while you tell me all about your visit to London.”

“And maybe Lou can convince you to join us next time,” you grinned and kissed your daughter’s cheek. “Isn’t that right my little munchkin.”

She giggled and agreed emphatically, “Yes, Papa has to come with us! Because Mama says that I'm the boss.”

Fitzwilliam looked over at his daughter then you. He was happy Louise took after you, perhaps when the right time came she would give another young man the courage to share his love.

@/icemankazansky

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