#a little more guts and nobility

[hoidn]

Bird in the Thyme

Voyager + Year of Hell     |     (content notes available at AO3)

[andypantsx3]

contents: general bakugou x princess reader; fem + afab virgin reader. nsft; oral (f receiving) & missionary. semi-sequel to this drabble. 3.2k.

Your wedding day arrives far earlier than you are prepared for.

It’s a tense affair, for you at least. The country depends on it, and you feel the scheming eyes of the nobility hot on your skin as you pronounce your vows to Bakugou. They will not take kindly to your having chosen him over their sons and brothers, over their own desire to rise to power. There will be a price they will want you to pay, soon enough.

The chapel is resplendent with sumptuous decor, the court in their finest. But the room is fringed with Bakugou’s men in their military leathers, a reminder that this is not a happy day, but rather a dangerous political stunt. It keeps the noble houses docile while they are in the room with you, but you know they will return to their estates and their plans. 

Your fate is in Bakugou’s hands, now, in more ways than one.

The ceremony is dizzying, and impossible to wrap your head around. The preceptor pronounces Bakugou your prince-consort, ostensibly to remain so while you assume the throne after your father’s passing. You will continue to rule him as his sovereign. But your vows to Bakugou also promise him your obedience as his wife. 

It is a contradiction, an impossible trap, the very reason why the general is the only man you could stomach the thought of marrying. If a husband is to rule you after all, Bakugou will do so justly. 

The thought does not stifle your nerves, however, as you make your way back down the aisle, sit down to the reception, and take your meal. A disquieting, anticipatory feeling settles over you, fizzing under your skin. You barely pick at your dinner, and drink too much of the wine.

You can tell Bakugou notices, scarlet gaze ever-perceptive, though he does not say anything until you are shepherded to the bridal suite to consummate.

Various aides try to follow you in to prepare you, but Bakugou slams the door closed on them, propping it shut with one broad shoulder. He barks at them to scram.

“Lord General—that is, Your Highness,” one of them stutters through the door. “We are required to witness the consummation—to verify that it is complete.”

A bolt of shame goes through you at this, and you catch hold of one of the intricately-carved wooden bed pillars. Bakugou grunts, holding the door closed with one palm while spinning to the nearby dressing table and chair. He grabs the chair, wedging it forcefully up under the door handle.

“You’ll be sure of consummation when I’m done here,” he growls through the door. “Don’t need you little fucking perverts making eyes the whole damn time. Now beat it.”

A weird sound escapes you, something between a gasp and a laugh—at his promise, at his gruffness.

“Your Highness,” comes a plaintive entreaty through the door. Bakugou slams a fist against it, and you hear a squeal and a sound like someone’s fallen over their feet.

An absurd laugh seizes you, and Bakugou eyes you pettishly.

“The fuck’re you laughing about,” he says, but there’s no heat in it.

Your fingers twist on the bedpost, nervously tracing the lines. “You’re taking to your new post well.”

Bakugou’s features twist into something dangerously satisfied, a smirk painting his mouth. Your breath comes short.

“My post,” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “As your husband.”

Your stomach swoops. The disquiet flames back to life under your skin, settling heavy in your gut like a stone. 

“I supposed it is a post like any other,” you say, fixing your gaze on the ground. “There are responsibilities and… marital duties.”

You hear the soft tread of Bakugou’s boot as he steps away from the door, the rustle of his doublet as he draws closer. His many medals and ceremonial sword belt clink softly. It is a fashion you know he does not prefer, always living in his shirtsleeves—the better to fight in, to train in.

A calloused hand takes your chin, tipping your face up to his.

“You nervous, Princess?” he asks. His tone is obnoxious, as usual, but his crimson gaze traces your face.

You barely suppress a shiver under his touch. Your stomach churns with a thousand emotions and you find you don’t know how to feel. Relieved that you’ve made it this far. Annoyed with Bakugou’s composure and general manner. Apprehensive about what is to come. And warm, suddenly, all over. You do not want to examine why.

“Nonsense,” you sniff. 

A feral smile curls the corner of Bakugou’s mouth like he sees right through you. “You’ve never been with a man.”

Your face burns but you force yourself to return Bakugou’s assessing stare. “I’ve never been to Musutafu, either, but I know it well enough. I should think I am… prepared.”

Something hot alights in Bakugou’s gaze, burning like a coal. It’s not unlike how he looked at you that night in the dark outside his chambers, when you’d first come to him with this wild proposal.

“And what do you think you know,” he says, flatter than a question.

Your nose grows hot. “Enough.”

A thumb slides along your jaw, settling against the pulse in your neck. “Answer the question, angel.”

Your face just might be on fire. You steel yourself, reciting dispassionately. “You will undress me and then… enter me. I shall lie still—they say you can breathe through the pain and it will go away after some time. You will… work yourself to completion. And then we shall be done.”

A snort comes from Bakugou. “Is that how you royal tightasses do it?”

You feel your eyes narrow. “That is how everyone does it.”

Your ladies in waiting had been very emphatic. All of them had spoken of the same mechanics. The initial discomfort, the pain, the way a husband moved upon his wife until he was satisfied.

“You don’t know shit, Princess,” Bakugou says.

You reach up to pull his hand from your face, but he tenses, arm growing solid and immovable. 

“Explains why all you nobles are such fucking tight-buttoned pricks if that’s how you’re doing it.”

Your reply is startled out of you when his hand finds your waist. You take a step back, and then another, startling again when your back finds the wall. Bakugou follows you, eyes hot.

“You are insufferable,” you inform him hotly. “I am sure of the matter.”

“You’re always sure of a lot of things, Princess,” he says. His hand is back at your waist, and suddenly all your skin feels too hot and tight, stifling like a velvet dress in summer.

“I am sure you are the most obnoxious man on earth,” you say. “Now be quiet and commence with it. Let’s have done with it.”

Bakugou’s face is suddenly closer than you’d remembered it being.

“I’ll have done with you alright,” he says. “But I’m not gonna do it like you little uppity prudes.”

You find you can’t think of what he means, all of your thoughts clouded with his proximity, the feeling of his hand moving to your skirts.

“I—but there is only the one way,” you manage. None of your ladies had mentioned anything else.

Bakugou’s mouth cuts into a smirk again, and you hate him for how pretty it is. 

“We’ll fuckin’ see about that,” he says.

And then his mouth is pressed to yours. 

It’s nothing like the stilted peck you’d been obliged to give him at the ceremony—one that still left your face burning, for some unknowable reason. This feels entirely different in its intensity. Bakugou’s mouth is hot and soft and tempting and eager, and your body thrills with it.

Every inch of your skin feels like it zings with lightning when he licks into your mouth, and he presses you harder into the wall. You feel his groan all the way down to your toes.

“B–akugou,” you pant when his mouth leaves yours, only to stifle a yip when he moves down to your throat. He sucks a mark there, laving over it with his tongue, and you feel like you're melting in his hands. “That’s—not my—ah!—mouth,” you manage.

The tiniest scrape of teeth has you yelping again, and you find yourself clutching his bicep for purchase.

“No shit,” he says, leaving another mark lower, mapping his way towards your chest. Calloused fingers come up to cup one of your breasts, thumb swiping over your nipple through your stays. You catch hold of his hair, yanking a fistful of that flaxen blonde, clenching your thighs together.

“What are you doing?” you hiss. 

Bakugou looks up at you, expression annoyed. “Consummating.”

“But you’re not undressing me,” you say. “And shouldn’t we—on the bed?

Bakugou raises a blonde eyebrow. “They tell you it needs to be on a bed, too?”

You blink, momentarily disarmed. It was quite literally called sharing the marriage bed—where else were you supposed to do it?

“Are you sure we’re talking about the same thing?” you eventually ask him.

Both of Bakugou’s eyebrows shoot for the moon, and he looks very suddenly like he wants to laugh. A grin yanks at his mouth, sharp and beautiful.

“I knew you’d be a fucking handful,” he says, his tone somehow both annoyed and delighted. “Don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about and you’re still trying to give me orders.”

You yank at the fistful of his hair you’re still clutching and he hisses, hand shooting out to grab yours. He works your grip off of him, pinning your wrist to the wall. The air in the room suddenly feels a hundred times thicker, like trying to breathe through honey.

“Listen closely, Princess,” he tells you, leaning in. “We're going to consummate, alright. But I’m not just gonna squeeze my eyes shut and stick it in. I’m going to do what I want first, and you’re going to be good and let me.”

Your face ignites in flame. You want to disagree reflexively. “If it’s going to be painful I’d rather just have it over with, if you don’t mind,” you say.

Bakugou stares back, scarlet gaze roving over you. “It’s not gonna be if you shut up and let me do what I want.”

You blink. You hadn’t heard that there was a way around the pain—why hadn’t anyone told you?

“I—really?” you ask.

Bakugou nods. “Really.”

“Oh,” you say. “Well then… you may proceed, I suppose.”

“You suppose,” he echoes, staring you down. The look on his face makes you want to lean forward and bite it off.

“Well get on with it,” you say, arching your eyebrows.

Bakugou looks for a moment like he wants to shake you. But he ducks his head instead, lowering his mouth to yours again.

“Gonna fuck that bossiness right out of you,” he mutters, low like he’s promising himself and not you. But then he kisses you again, muffling your gasp in his mouth.

You’ve never kissed another man, and do not have a frame of reference for what he’s doing. But Bakugou is a good kisser, you think. Every flick of his tongue feels like someone has uncorked champagne and poured it beneath your skin, and every brush of his mouth against yours sends a liquid heat racing through your veins.

You moan into his mouth when calloused fingers delve beneath the collar of your gown, dipping into your stays and pinching a nipple. He rolls it carefully, and you arch against him without any say-so from your brain. 

“Been thinking about this, Princess,” he says. “Ever since I saw you in that little nightdress. Gonna show you what it really means to be with a man.”

You’re excused from answering by his mouth back on yours. Not that you think you could, with the way his fingers feel in the cups of your stays, or the press of a strong thigh between your own.

“Bakugou,” you gasp when he peels off of you, only to sink to his knees before you.

“It’s Katsuki,” he says, busying himself with the hem of your skirts. 

“B–Katsuki,” you say. “What are you doing?”

Long fingers roll up the hemline of your dress, then yank at your underthings, exposing you to him. You gasp again, moving to cover yourself, but Bakugou pins you to the wall with an arm across your stomach, catching your thigh and pulling it over his shoulder.

“Husbandly duties,” he replies, another smirk on his mouth.

And then your head thunks against the wall as that mouth moves, pressing to you.

“Katsuki!” you shout, biting off into an embarrassing moan when he laves over you. No one had told you about this part—about how a man’s mouth there would make you feel like fireworks had just been lit off in your veins. About how a man’s mouth could even go there at all.

Bakugou doesn’t reply, kissing you there as he had your lips. A delicate suck from him over the cleft of you has you arching in his hands again, and you can quite literally feel him smirking against you.

He works you thoroughly, licking and sucking for what feels like torturous hours, but must only be minutes, until you’re a writhing, panting mess, only held upright by the arm he has banded across your lower stomach. There’s a pressure rising within you, pooling in all your limbs, making you shake and shiver with it, and what feels like no way to release it.

“Katsuki—I feel strange,” you say, bucking against his mouth. “Oh—oh!”

“Just hold on, sweetheart, and let yourself feel it,” Katsuki tells you, before licking back over you. A finger presses up inside of you, foreign but strangely good in conjunction with his mouth. Then another one presses in and they curl as if seeking something, making you twist in his grip.

And then something makes you jerk—the press of Katsuki’s fingers inside you in just the right spot, while he sucks on you, feeling like he’s touching the same place inside of you from both sides.

Something inside you snaps, uncoiling, pleasure flooding down you like a mudslide. You cry out Bakugou’s name, tears in your vision, riding out your pleasure against his mouth. Bakugou licks you through it, groaning low in his throat with appreciation.

“That’s it, Princess,” he says, tone rough. “Now you’re ready for consummation.”

You hear his words as if through a haze, and it’s only once you’re moving—being picked up and carried over to the bed—that you register what he’s saying.

He frees himself from his breeches, and stretches out over you, kissing your mouth. You’re embarrassed to taste yourself on him, but the press of him to you overrides that concern. In one smooth stroke he presses in, and you are shocked to find that he slides home easily, your core slick and ready.

It feels strange, but not at all unpleasant—absolutely nothing like what they’d told you.

“You alright, Princess?” Bakugou asks.

“I—yes,” you say, voice fluttering off when he flexes his hips, moving inside of you. The slide of him inside of you is unexpectedly good, especially when he lowers a hand to your core, pressing a thumb to that bundle of nerves at the hood of you.

“Feel good?” he asks, his eyes hot on your face. You cling to him, hips lifting into him unthinkingly as his thumb pets over you again, as he presses in and out of you a few more times.

You nod, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

He grins anyway, feral and fever-bright. His pace picks up into something faster, and you’re embarrassed to hear the slap of him against you, the eager way your body welcomes him in.

The band of pressure builds up inside you again, slowly, with every sure stroke of Bakugou inside you. He’s hot and hard and heavy over you, pressing you into the mattress, and the tops of his cheeks are flush with effort—the way he looks sometimes when he’s just come in from the training pitch.

He’s beautiful—handsome and strong and hot-headed and determined. And it dawns on you that he’s yours now—not just your subject but your husband, your prince consort, and now your lover.

It makes all your skin turn molten hot again, especially when you look down and see your knees have rucked his shirt up. You can see the flex of his abs as he thrusts between your thighs, all that golden skin and dense muscle.

The slide of him inside you and the sight of him over you is suddenly too much, and you feel yourself tip right over the edge again. Bakugou catches your hand as you lift it to muffle your cry, kissing over your knuckles.

“That’s it, Princess, that’s it,” he says again, ducking his head to kiss you.

You moan into his mouth as he fucks you through it, and he groans with the clench of you.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he says against your lips, pace picking up faster. “Knew you would, sweetheart, yeah.”

Embarrassingly you feel almost like you could come apart again with the praise. Bakugou groans once more, and you can hear his grip tighten in the blanket next to your head. His hips buck and flex, wildly uncontrolled now, until he gives one final hard thrust.

His weight pins you down when he relaxes over you, his breath tickling over your shoulder. You find you like the weight of him on you, covering you, like a shield against the rest of the world.

Apt, for a general.

“Better than how you wanted to do it, wasn’t it, Princess?” he asks, smug.

You scoff, but you catch the flash of a white grin in the corner of your vision. There is really no question that he’d had the better of it, this time.

“Knew you’d see it my way,” he says.

Over him, you can hear the flutter of feet outside the door, some muffled discussion. Heat rises to your face when you realize the castle aids most definitely heard you cry out under Bakugou’s ministrations. There will be no doubt of your consummation now, regardless of whether you were observed.

“Nosy fuckin’ perverts,” Bakugou says, rolling off of you. You catch another flicker of his chest with the way his shirt gapes, and he looks doubly smug when he notices.

“Not done yet, angel?” he says.

“I am, thank you.” You flush, embarrassed at having been caught. But Bakugou stretches an arm out to yank you over him, pressing you down over his hips.

Your stomach flutters.

“Give me a couple more minutes, Princess,” Bakugou says, scarlet eyes flashing with heat once more. His hand raises to trail through your hair, catching in the wedding hairstyle they’d pinned you into. 

“Five more minutes,” your new husband promises you, with a grin like the devil. “And then we'll give them something to really listen to.”

[vrystalius]

HELLOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! Is it okk to ask for like Hashiras/upper moons reaction to a little kid having a crush on reader?? Sorry if this sounds weird btw 😖

Hashira’s reaction to a child having a crush on you

How will your husband react to a small boy having a sweet, innocent crush on their wife?

Pairing: Sanemi, Kyojuro, Gyomei, Giyu x fem!reader

Sanemi Shinazugawa

He will not let the crush slide. The first time Sanemi noticed the dreamy stare of the kid, how he was admiring you quietly from afar with a shy grin on their face, he stares at them with his usual intense glare, but didn’t do anything else about it. It’s just a small crush after all. But once the kid’s getting a little more hands-on by offering you a pretty flower he found on his way to the estate or shyly asking you to play with him during breaks, Sanemi would get more hands-on in return by playing along, as if fighting for your honour in a more childish way. He’d slip you into his arms and lift you above the ground, holstering you onto his shoulder and smirk at the surprised kid, watching you quite literally get kidnapped.

“She’s mine, kid. Get lost.”

Yet, once the child starts feeling heartbroken from you gently rejecting his advances, explaining how you are already married and how he should seek a nice partner of their own age, Sanemi’ll give them a small pep-talk while also slightly intimidating the poor boy at the same time by saying things like “You should become stronger, and maybe you’ll win her over one day” and “Still, be nice to my wife or else I’ll hear about it”. Despite everything, your husband respects the guts the kid has, confessing their love to you despite having a husband like him.

Kyojuro Rengoku

He finds it absolutely adorable! The kid actually confessed to Kyojuro about their crush first, seeking support and encouragement from him despite being the husband of yours. He can’t suppress his grin while they innocently explain all the things he likes about you; you’re pretty, you’re super nice, so strong and make super yummy snacks for them when he comes to visit. Kyojuro would start playing along with the kid, handing him small gifts he could give to you. Together, they once even made a handcrafted charm, both of them gifting it to you on Valentine’s day. In the evenings, you and your husband would quietly laugh about the adorableness of the kid, wondering if he’ll ever stop crushing on you.

“I might have competition! I’ll do everything in my power to convince you to stay married to me, my flame!”

Kyojuro greatly respects the child’s admiration for you, viewing it as an early sign of nobility. Whenever the kid gets shy or nervous around you, your husband might give him a pep-talk about bravery and kindness, saying that he’ll one day find his own wonderful partner, exactly how Kyojuro fell in love with you.

“I’m afraid that you’ll have to one day find a partner of your own, the woman you like so much sadly is already married to me.”

Gyomei Himejima

Your husband is soft-hearted about it, a little teary eyed by the innocence of the whole situation. You told him about the boy that always fights his way up the mountain just to come visit you and keep you company while you do boring tasks. He senses the pure heart of the child, never getting jealous or overprotective of you, instead Gyomei is calm and even entertained by the antics of the boy, how persistent and determined he is. He treats the kid and his feelings with respect and even sits him down to talk. One afternoon, your husband sits down with the child with some mochi for the boy to eat while he talks.

“When we care for someone, we do what is best for them. If you truly admire her, then always be kind, always be respectful. Even if she belongs to another, you can still honor her by being the best you can be.”

Giyu Tomioka

His reaction is a rather quiet one, as expected. Giyu is confused by the whole situation at first and doesn’t know how to react upon seeing the boy shyly approaching you with a bright blush and smile on his face, asking you to join him play. He watches as the kid’s innocent crush obviously shines through by stumbling over his words or by avoiding eye contact and kicking his feet around. Your husband feels a weird uncomfortableness pool in his stomach while watching from two afar, not quite understanding how he’s getting jealous over a child having a small crush on you. Is he seriously that insecure about himself?

As the boy’s antics continues, Giyu might start to show affection more openly when the kid is around, placing kisses on your cheek or holding you closer against his body by slipping an arm around your waist. It’s his silent way to “mark his territory”. Eventually, your husband would sit the kid down and have an awkward conversation with him about having crushes on people his own age and that you’re too old for him. Besides, you’re also married. To Giyu.

“You’re young, you’ll maybe understand one day.”

💠

I’m actually very sick right now and extremely nauseous, that’s why this fell a little short XD I hope you enjoyed this anyway, anon!! Today, my Tamagotchi evolved into Sanemi! He’s so adorable I can barely put it into words XD apparently if I do things right, he can also evolve into Genya in three days! Thank you for leaving all the kind comments and reblogs, I really love reading them all <3

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

[entitled-fangirl]

Thought of this little random drabble :>

..........................................

One by one, the Lords and Ladies of the realm bent the knee to Otto, giving their support to the Usurper, Aegon II.

Towards the back stood Y/N Stark, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was married to Lord Cregan Stark not long before.

What a mistake visiting her grandsire on his deathbed had been.

She watched them all bend to their knees until only a few were left standing. 

Overcome with grief, she hardly noticed the others being escorted out if they disobeyed.

Otto stood in front of her, his head tilted down as he studied her. "And House Stark?"

She let her eyes slowly wander up to meet his. "I…" She looked past him, the image of Lord Larys becoming clear. 

Her uncle. 

Perhaps in another world, she may have inherited Harrenhall, to rule in her true father's name. 

Now, she stood stiffly in the cold hall, the presence of the Iron Throne intimidating. 

"I do not know, my lord. I do not speak for House Stark, for I am not their Lord-"

"- But you are a Princess." Otto counted. "Surely you know more than you let on."

"Perhaps I do, and perhaps I do not." She gained a boldness and her shoulders pushed back. "I know many things. I was raised by a wise mother and brave father."

She noticed the way Larys' brow twitched.

She should be behaving in a wiser manner, but the amount of men and women bowing in the room was making her nervous.

"Princess," Otto cooed. "You've never known what a true father is."

Her jaw clenched and she looked down at the ground. "Aye, seems you do not either."

She flinched when he raised the back of his hand to her in frustration. 

"State the North's intentions," he growled.

"You ask me to tell you the way the sun rises and sets? Or the way rivers run? I do not have to. Such things never falter. Never change."

Otto let out a growl, "That is not entirely an answer."

"You've asked me to betray my own mother and her birthright. You ask Lord Stark to break an oath. These are both impossible to ask, my lord." She gritted her teeth, "Never has a Stark become an oathbreaker on a whim. Nor will I."

She tensed, waiting for Otto's reaction, but a sharp laugh came from him and he stepped back. "You've inherited your mother's gall. You do not know when to stop."

"If you plan to kill me, get it over with. One less thing on your plate. Makes all the more room on the table when Queen Rhaenyra serves your head on a platter."

Otto makes a small 'tsk' at her. "Your lord husband will be most angry with you."

"Cregan will be angered with you, my lord- for whatever it is you plan to do to his wife."

"Take her to her chambers. Do not let her leave. Write to House Stark and inform Lord Cregan that he must come to King's Landing to declare his loyalty. If not, I will send his wife back- in a bag."

A guard grabs her bicep and she begins to fight them. "If the North comes for your usurper, Lord Hand, he will fall."

Otto tilts his head back and forth in thought. "Perhaps. I will just have to ensure the North doesn't come. Just Lord Stark. Won't I?"

"I once thought you an honorable man!" She yelled as she was drug from the room. "You have no honor! You have no nobility! And all who stand with you! Cregan will murder you as you deserve!"

Pushing down the twisted feeling in his gut, Otto turned away from his old friend's beloved granddaughter to resume his plot.

He hoped it would work.

For anywhere Lord Stark leads, the North follows. 

............................................

[mimble-sparklepudding]

Symbolism of Metals OC Questions.

A little list of OC questions based on the symbolism of various metals throughout history. This is not intended to be an exhaustive list of all symbolic meanings, but rather just a small selection for entertainment, rather than educational, purposes.

Iron - Inner Power, Rage and Primal Urges.

Has your OC ever regretted something they have said or done in anger? Perhaps this has happened more than once?

Has your OC mellowed as they have got older? Or are they just as quick to anger, or as easily irritated, as they ever were?

Upon what does your OC draw to get them through situations of great adversity? Their sense of purpose? The thought of their loved ones? Sheer overwhelming rage? Or perhaps something else entirely?

Does your OC struggle to contain their baser emotions, such as lust, aggression or greed? What helps to keep these feelings in check (if anything actually does)?

Are others ever surprised by your OC's steely resolve or ability to endure hardship? Or are they generally regarded as someone with great inner reserves of willpower?

Gold - Wisdom, Wealth and Nobility.

If your OC was called upon to arbitrate between the nobility (or an equivalent social elite) and the common people, on which side of the table would they be sitting during negotiations?

Do those that know your OC consider them to be wise? Is this quality seen as distinct from intellectulism or book-learning in their case? Or do they posess both academic knowledge and the wisdom of experience?

Does your OC struggle to believe anyone is truly smart unless they are also rich?

Does your OC hold that some social groups have an inherent nobility unavailable to others? Do they perhaps believe in the idea of a "ruling class", with qualities that the lower orders could never hope to evince? Or, conversely, do they believe in the unsullied nobility of the poor, in contrast to the decadent and corrupt upper classes?

If your OC could pass on a piece of wisdom to others starting out on a similar path to their own, what would it be and where does it come from?

Lead - Sin, Death, Transformation and Toxicity.

Which experience of loss or bereavement has most affected your OC?

What is your OC's most anti-social trait? Do they acknowledge it as such? Are they even aware of it themselves?

Which sin is your OC most likely to be accused of by others? Would this be fair criticism? Or are their actions often somewhat misunderstood?

What has been the most transformative experience your OC has been through? Was it an experience of loss? The first time they ever felt loved? A traumatic or violent event? Or something else entirely?

How does your OC believe they will die? Peacefully in bed surrounded by friends and family? Or alone in the wilderness? Or fighting against overwhelming odds? Or perhaps they have a different notion altogether?

Silver - Intuition, Honesty and Wisdom.

Does your OC ever base their decisions on a "gut feeling"? Or do they always weigh up the pros and cons carefully and dispassionately?

How tactful is your OC? Are they able to frame criticism constructively and give feedback in a way that protects against potential hurt feelings? Or are they blunt, or even callous, in their attitude to the failings of others?

Does your OC believe they can assess someone's character upon first meeting them? Or are they inclined to give everyone the benefit of the doubt until they get to know them better? Or even to assume the absolute worst of people until it is conclusively proved that they are not an enemy?

Does your OC ever deliberately make themselves appear less wise or astute than they actually are? Perhaps in order to ensure that others underestimate them?

What is something that your OC would find incredibly hard to lie about? Even if they really wanted to do so...

Copper - Love, Beauty and Creativity.

Does your OC believe that they are beautiful? Is their beauty, or lack of beauty, something to which they ever give much consideration?

Does your OC enjoy creating things? Are they particularly artistic? Or do they prefer to focus upon creating things with a practical use?

Was your OC loved as a child? What difference has the experience of love and nuture during their early years made to their character as an adult?

Of all the places your OC has seen, which do they consider the most beautiful?

If your OC were to be immortalised in art, what would be their preferred medium? An epic poem? An exquisite statue? A flattering painting? Or something else entirely?

Tin - Life, Breath and Flexibility.

How quick is your OC to adjust to changing circumstances? Are they more likely to keep going with an existing approach or strategy, even though the situation has changed?

Does your OC work well with others? Even if their approach or attitude is markedly different to their own?

Does your OC believe that all life is sacred on some level? Or are some types of person more valuable than others? Can someone's deeds ever make them deserving of death? Or would your OC never consider that an appropriate sanction, no matter the circumstances?

What does your OC believe makes life worth living? Assuming that they do, in fact, believe that it is?

Has your OC's life turned out how they were expecting when they first began their journey? How well have they adjusted to any differences in this regard?

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Wait imagine our girl and Eris getting closer and something happens that he has to put on his Heir of the Autumn Court face and not be mean, but maybe distant and cold to her? And she’s like nah I’ve seen this movie before and they have a big angsty moment alone about it and the next time he has to have that face, he includes her with him?

I am in love with your series, it’s all I think about 😭

Loved this request so much that I had to write it ASAP - the first time Y/N encountered Eris at a cross-court function after their initial hook up. A little bit different from your request but I hope you’ll enjoy it nevertheless.

Bad Idea, Right? Prequel

Headcanon

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s Daughter

The second meeting between reader and Eris.

Part 7 - Part 7.5 - Part 8

Warnings: Language, Smut, MDNI, not proofread

Y/N

- She felt his presence before she saw him. His scent invading her nostrils from across the throne room.

-He was walking her way. His face drawn tight, eyes intense yet unreadable. His power rolled off of him. Oh, he was on full display tonight. The fiery heir of Autumn who’d slain his own father.

- Her heart raced as he grew closer. The tension between them palpable. Could anyone else sense it? She should shy away, look somewhere else but her eyes were fixated on only him. She was the magnet to his metal.

-Was he going to say something to her? Take her hand and whisk her into a dance? What were his intentions in this show of pomp and circumstance?

-She couldn’t bare the thought of her family seeing them together. It would be so complicated but even more so, she couldn’t flee. Damn them all if he pulled her into his orbit, who was she to refuse?

- He was steps away. Her heart beat in her throat. Her shadows begging to pull him closer

-Two more steps.

- The High Lord’s cold expression only turned cruel, calculating, as his nose turned up, lip curling. A sneer in her direction before his deep, gravely tone spat. “Little Shadowsinger.” as if she were nothing more than dirt on his shoe.

- She kept her expression flat. She knew that mask. She’d seen variants of it countless times in the court of nightmares with her own family. Her heart cracked slightly though she’d never let him see.

-She was stupid to think that he was different. She’d never allow herself to be so vulnerable toward him again.

——————

Eris

- He felt her heartbeat racing through the bond as he neared her

- He shouldn’t have walked her way but he couldn’t resist. He needed to be near her if only for a moment.

-Fuck, what was he doing? He needed to keep his distance.

-It was too late, he couldn’t change direction now. It would be too obvious to the plethora of attendees with their eyes fixated on him.

-He couldn’t put her at risk like that. Couldn’t let anyone sus out the way his heart longed for her. The way that bond pulled her near.

-And her, she was so young. Had so much to experience. It killed him, he wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his embrace, kiss her softly and whisper to her that she was his. HIS. His mate.

-The primal desire urging him to spend weeks holed up with her, taking her on every surface in his castle. Seat her on his throne as he took to his knees between her soft, supple thighs.

-Wanted to whisper how long he’d waited for her. How he could care for her in ways she’d never dreamt of. Would give her the life he never thought possible until his father had been taken out of the picture.

-No, he couldn’t. Not yet.

-He’d waited this long. He could wait longer.

-It gutted him to sneer at her but he couldn’t risk her being targeted. Couldn’t risk someone sensing this one-sided bond and using her against him. Someone harming her.

——————

Y/N

-She was humiliated. She decided then and there that she would never be at his mercy again.

-He was just another arrogant High Lord, no different than any other nobility.

-She spent the rest of the evening in her shadows. There was no enjoying this function, just another odious show of power between courts.

-As the night wound down and all the noise became too much, she shrouded herself in shadow, exploring the silent corridors of the keep.

-Warm hands grabbed her. How he sensed her, she had no clue.

- “Get the fuck off of me, Eris”

- “Little shadowsinger, are you not happy to see me?”

- “Your whereabouts are of no concern to me.”

- “Are you certain? Your sweet scent and that pretty fluttering pulse told me otherwise”

- “Fuck you.”

- “My pleasure.” He crooned. “Crashing his lips into hers”

- Fuck, he felt so good. So good pushing her into an empty study. So fucking good groaning underneath her as she bounced on his thick cock. Filling her, stretching her in the perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

-She felt powerful as he wholly submitted to her. Her shadows binding him. Gagging him so that pretty mouth wouldn’t spew anymore ugly words.

-She would never let herself feel powerless against him again.

-No, he was hers to take when and how she pleased.

-And she knew he’d love every fucking second of it.

——————

Eris

-She was so fucking beautiful taking her pleasure from him.

-So fucking beautiful as her face contorted into that of ecstasy, only taking what she wanted. Those full, mouth-watering breasts bouncing as she rode him into oblivion.

-Her lovely moans filled the room, a symphony just for him. The song of his Shadowsinger.

-He would give her anything. Anything at all that she wanted to take from him.

-And someday, someday decades or centuries from now, she’d wear that mask of power with him. The mask of his High Lady. The true powerhouse of his court.

-Until then, he’d take whatever she’d offer him and ask for nothing more.

——————————————————-

Tags: @b0xerdancer-writes @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams

Sorry for tagging you all in two posts in one day. Some days the creative juices flow a little too strongly.

[canirove]

The invinsible princess | Chapter 8

“Royal wedding?”

Chapter 7 | Chapter 9

Masterlist

“Oh my God, not this again!”

“What happened?” Irene says.

“The press” I sigh. “They are back to writing articles about me and who is going to be my prince.”

“Why would they… Oh. Leonor.”

“Yep” I say, throwing my phone to the other side of the sofa.

The English press had caught her in London with an old friend she had met years ago while she was finishing her studies in Scotland, the heir of a very famous and kind of powerful family among the British nobility. And since over there the press doesn't respect us the way the Spanish one does, and we don't have the sources we have here that allow us to stop things before they are published, the photos were shared by an English tabloid and there was nothing we could do about it. 

Things have been a bit crazy since then, paparazzis following us all trying to get more information about Leonor and her first known boyfriend. But the thing is that, even though you can see them kissing and holding hands in those photos, they aren't dating. According to what she's told us, it was just a fling because they happened to cross paths after a long time. 

But now, because of it, the press is back to bothering me and writing articles about my love life, making bets about who I will end up dating and shipping me with whoever I'm seen with, something that almost ended my real relationship once. 

“I mean, if you had made your engagement official already, they would not be writing those things” Irene says. “It's been almost a year, Sofía.”

“I know. But we still haven't found the right moment to do it.”

After Pedri and I got engaged, my parents suggested that it was best to keep it private for a few months so we could enjoy it and have enough time to tell our friends and family. But once those months passed, Pedri was playing football again and things weren't the best at Barça, so we decided to postpone it until the end of the season so it wouldn't add more pressure to him and the team. The press would go nuts with the announcement and some of them would not be nice, their headlines definitely blaming me for how bad they were playing, or saying that since he was going to be a prince, he didn't care about playing football anymore. 

“The season has basically ended. Why not now?” Irene says.

“Because he still has to play the Champions League final, the most important game. We can't just drop the bomb before it.”

“And after? You could make your relationship official by doing a Casillas and Carbonero on the pitch while celebrating that they've won. If they win, of course. Though maybe you can also do it if they lose. The princess comforting the football star” she says with a teasing smile.

“Idiot” I reply, hitting her with one of the pillows. “But we can't do that either. I mean, if they lose, it would be a way to distract people from it. But they would probably also blame me for the loss.”

“That's very likely, yes... How are you going to do it, then?”

“I don't know, Irene. I don't know” I sigh.

If only we could just get married like normal people do and don't have to make any official announcement about anything…

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“I'm sorry” I say, taking Pedri's hand on mine.

“It's ok” he says, resting his head on my shoulder. 

“You played really well, you know? I know you gave it all out there.”

“But it wasn't enough.”

“It was” I say, giving his hand a little squeeze. “It's not your fault your teammates are useless.”

“Sofía!” he laughs. “They could hear you, you know?”

“They all are too gutted to care about what I may say.”

Because Barça had lost the Champions League final. It had been a really tough game, one of the toughest this season. And when you make it to penalties, anything can happen.

“Besides, I made you laugh and smile, and that's all I care about right now” I say, caressing his cheek.

“Thank you” he says, curling up against me. 

“Why don't you try to sleep for a bit? We still have a couple of hours left until we land in Barcelona.”

“I don't think I can” he sighs. “I can't stop thinking about the game, about things I could have done differently.”

“Then let's make you not think about the game.”

“How?” he chuckles.

“By talking about something else. For example… Our holidays.”

“With your family, mine, or on our own?”

“Well, the ones with my family may be the important ones. Because…” I say, biting my lip.

“Because?” Pedri says, looking up at me.

“Because now that the season is finally over, we could… You know. Make it official.”

“Urgh, that” he groans. “Why can't we just get married and not tell anyone? Like you've told me many times, you aren't the heir. Why is it so important what you do or don't do?”

“Good question” I chuckle. “But that's how the protocol works.”

“Fuck the protocol” he says, lifting his head from my shoulder. “Let's get married, Sofía.”

“What?” 

“Let's do it. This summer.”

“Pedri, you know that we can't. We have to…”

“What did I just say? Fuck the protocol, Sofía. We want to get married, don't we? It is what we keep dreaming about since we got engaged.”

“It is.”

“And we want to do it in Tenerife.”

“Yes” I nod.

“Then let's do it. Let's invite our families and closest friends to our house there with some excuse, and let's surprise them by getting married.”

“Pedri, are you sure they didn't hit your head during the game?” I laugh.

“I'm serious, Sofía” he says, now being the one who gives my hand a little squeeze. An encouraging one. “Let's get married and don't give a shit about the protocol, the press or whatever.”

“You are being serious, aren't you?”

“Deadly” he says. “So, my lady… Do we elope to Tenerife?”

Just a couple of weeks ago, I was telling Irene I wished we could do this. Just get married and ignore everything else. And now, Pedri is telling me we should do exactly that. By the looks of it, he actually seems to have it all planned already. 

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes” I repeat. “Let's elope to Tenerife.”

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“You are crazy. You are fucking crazy.”

“Leonor…”

“No, Sofía! No! Have you lost your mind?”

“Leonor, listen…”

“No!” she says again. “You can't just get married like that! There is a protocol and traditions to be followed! You are a fucking princess!”

“I know, Leonor. But we want to get married and are tired of waiting and postponing everything.”

“And I'm tired of having to attend boring dinners with men who could be my father, yet I do it because it is my job! My duty!”

“Yes, your duty as the heir to the throne. But that's not me, Leonor! Or have you forgotten that once you are queen, I would become even more unimportant than I already am?” I say, also raising my voice. 

“Please don't start with that invisible princess bullshit, Sofía. Playing the victim doesn't fit you anymore.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Girls, I think we need to calm down a bit” Irene says.

“I am calm!” both Leonor and I yell at the same time.

“If you say so…” she says, sinking a bit on the sofa where she is sitting.

“Leonor…” I say, taking a deep breath. “Put yourself in my shoes for just a minute, please.”

“I'm trying, Sofía. I swear I am” she replies. “But this idea of yours… it's crazy. It's fucking crazy! Mum and dad won't like it, and if he doesn't like it, you know what the Constitution says. You would not be part of the succession anymore, Sofía. If something were to happen to me and I still don't have kids, the crown would pass to our unruly cousin. Do you seriously want him to be king?”

“Leonor, you are being dramatic and you know it. Nothing is going to happen to you, and dad isn't going to exclude me from the succession just because I don't want to get married in a cathedral.”

“He sent grandad away, tho” Irene says.

“Yes, but grandad did many things he shouldn't while he was king, and I'm just choosing to marry the man I love in a different way because our relationship isn't the usual one due to who we are.”

“Because you are a princess and he is a footballer?” Leonor says. “Aunt Cristina married a handball player and they followed the protocol and the tradition.”

“And things worked out so well for them… Sorry, Irene.”

“It's ok” she says.

“And you can't compare the fame he had back then with the one Pedri has right now. He is known worldwide, Leonor. He is more famous than all of us together!”

“Oh, so we should throw away our traditions and who we are just because of his fame?”

“Yes! I mean… No! But maybe we should start doing some things differently, it is the 21st century!”

“Sofía, are you calling me old-fashioned?” she laughs.

“What? No! I just… urgh” I say, sitting down and trying really hard to not start crying.

“Leonor…” Pedri says, daring to join the conversation. Because Leonor, Irene and I aren't alone in the room. Him, Fer and Ferran also are with us. They are the people we trust the most and we wanted to tell them about our plan, to have them on our side and help us with everything. And even though they all were kind of surprised when we first shared the news with them, they said they would support us. All but my sister, who just started shouting. “We wanted to do things the way they have been done for centuries, to follow the protocol, the tradition. We truly wanted to. But my career keeps getting in the way, and we are tired of waiting. Sofía and I love each other and just want to get married. Is that so difficult to understand?”

“It isn't, Pedri. It's just…”

“Wait” Ferran says, also joining the conversation. “You aren't rushing things because she is pregnant, are you?”

“What?” everyone says at the same time.

“People used to suddenly get married because having a baby outside marriage was seen as something shameful. And since you are royals, maybe you still do those things? I don't know” he shrugs.

“I'm not pregnant, Ferran” I say. “Like Pedri said, we want to do this because we love each other, want to get married and are tired of waiting. Just that.”

“Ok… I just had to ask” he shrugs again.

“Leonor…” I sigh. “Leonor, please. I know it sounds crazy, that it is a crazy idea… But it is what we want” I say, Pedri reaching for my hand and giving it an encouraging squeeze. “Say that you will help us. That you will support us. I want my sister with me on the most important day of my life so far. I… I can't do this without you.”

“But Sofía, no one has done something like this before. Like… It'll be a scandal!”

“I think people are more than used to our family being involved in scandals” Irene chuckles. 

“And maybe scandal isn't the right word for this situation” I add.

“Ok, fine” Leonor says. “But if your relationship going public already is something that will definitely make people go nuts, imagine if what they get to read is that you are already married after years of dating in secret!”

“Well, you all have always joked about us breaking the Internet the day we make it public, so let's go big or go home” I shrug.

“You… urgh” Leonor groans. “When they named you after grandma they also passed her stubbornness onto you, didn't they? Because I'm not going to change your mind about this.”

“You are not, no. So… am I going to have my big sister with me at my wedding or not?”

“I… Yes” she sighs, finally giving up. “You will have your big sister with you at your wedding. But…” she says, stopping me as I'm about to throw myself at her and hug her. “I still think this is the worst idea ever and that mum and dad are going to kill you both. Maybe all of us too for helping you.”

“They won't, you'll see” I smile. “I love you, Leonor.”

“And I love you too, you crazy woman” she says before hugging me.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“This house is beautiful, Sofía. And the views? Breathtaking” my grandma says. “No wonder you and Pedri come here so often.”

“You are invited to come whenever you want, grandma” I smile.

“But only if I'm gonna be surrounded by such handsome men” she says, nodding towards Ferran, Fermín and Gavi.

“Grandma!” I gasp.

“It isn't my fault that your future husband has such handsome friends, darling” she shrugs. “And I'm gonna go get some more of those chips you are serving. Where did you say they are from? They are delicious.”

“They are from a local business.”

“As in from a restaurant?”

“More like a food truck.” If you can call Paco's old van like that. 

“Interesting… You'll have to take me one day.”

“Yes, of course” I smile.

“Great” she smiles back. “Now I'm gonna go get those chips. I can see your cousin Pablo and that Fermín boy walking towards them, and they eat for five or six people.”

“They do, yes” I chuckle as I watch her walk towards them.

“Bo!”

“Bloody hell, Pedri!” I yelp when he suddenly shows up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. “You scared me!”

“Sorry” he says, kissing my neck. 

“Was that really necessary?”

“The kiss or scaring you?” he says, now kissing my cheek. 

“What do you think?”

“I think that both were necessary. The kiss because you look stunning, and the scare because you need to relax.”

“I'm relaxed."

“Sofia…” Pedri says, moving me until I'm facing him. “You are not.”

“I am” I say, focusing on my hands resting on his chest.

“Sofía…”

“Ok, fine. I'm a bit nervous.”

“Just a bit, uh?” he says with a teasing smile. “But that's normal. We are about to… get married” he whispers. “I also am a bit nervous.”

“Really? You are mingling with everyone and enjoying the party as if nothing was going on.”

“That's on the outside. But on the inside… on the inside I'm shitting myself. Maybe a bit literally too.”

“Eww, Pedri!”

“Sorry” he shrugs. “But everything is going to work out, you'll see. In an hour, you and I, my lady…” he says, pulling me a bit closer. “You and I are going to be husband and wife, and that's all that matters.”

“Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds” Leonor says when we are about to kiss. “But it's time.”

“Shit. Ok. Umm… Ok” I say, taking a deep breath. 

“An hour, my lady” Pedri says, kissing my hand. “Just an hour.”

“Just an hour” I repeat before following Leonor. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Oh my God, Sofía. You look gorgeous!” Irene says.

“And that dress is so you. Maybe you actually were right and marrying here and not in a cathedral was your thing.”

“Thank you, Leonor” I reply, rolling my eyes but also smiling. “And you too, Irene. Pedri and I could not have done this without your help.”

“You're welcome, cousin” she smiles. 

“Yeah.”

“Leonor, did I just see you wiping away a tear?” I chuckle.

“What? No, no. It was just something in my eye.”

“A tear.”

“I wasn't crying, Sofía.”

“If you say so…” I tease her.

“Yes, I do” she says, sticking out her tongue. “Now, let's make sure that you have everything.”

“Oh, yes!” Irene says. “Something blue?”

“The sapphire on my engagement ring” I say, lifting my hand.

“Something borrowed?”

“Mum's wedding shoes.”

“You know, if she doesn't kill us because of the wedding, she may do it for taking those and not telling her about it” Leonor chuckles.

“When I was a kid she once told me that I could wear them on my wedding day, so” I shrug.

“What is your something new?” Irene continues.

“The lingerie set I'm wearing. And don't make any comment about it.”

“I wasn't going to say anything.”

“Then why did I catch you smirking?” 

“It wasn't a smirk, Sofía. It was just a smile” Irene shrugs.

“Of course it was.”

“A smile of we know Pedri's jaw is gonna be on the floor the moment he sees you taking off your clothes before you jump his bones.”

“Leonor!” I gasp. “Not you!”

“Couldn't help myself, I'm sorry” she laughs. “Anyway, you have something blue, something borrowed, something new, and you are just missing something old, right?”

“Not really. This dress is vintage, it counts as something old.”

“That's not old enough, Sofía. This, on the other hand…” she says, giving me a little box.

“What is this?”

“Open it and you will know” she smiles.

“Leonor!” I gasp even louder than when she made her comment about Pedri and my lingerie. “Are these… are they…”

“The earrings your beloved queen is wearing on that painting you love so much.”

“No way!” Irene says.

“But how… How did you get them? Don't they belong to the Victoria and Albert museum?”

“They do. But I happen to know someone who works there, and he did me a favour.”

“What? Who?” Irene says while inspecting the earrings.

“Max?” I ask my sister.

“Who is… Wait. The guy the paparazzis caught you making out with in London?” Irene says.

“Yes, him. I got the idea of the earrings after Pedri chose the ring and told me about proposing in front of the painting, so I texted Max, we started talking, and when they caught us I had gone to London to meet with him and pick them up.”

“Leonor, I… I… I don't know what to say. This is too much, like…”

“Sofía, you are my little sister. I would do anything for you, and you should know it already just by the fact that I'm here today and have said yes to this crazy idea of yours.”

“Yes, but…”

“Now who is the one crying?” she says with a teasing smile.

“Oh, shut up” I reply, giving her a little push and making her laugh.

“C'mon, let's help you put them on. Fer may text us any moment now telling us that everything is ready.”

“Urgh, Sofía. Now you look even more gorgeous than you already did” Irene says when they are done. “That queen from the painting is nothing next to you.”

“Pedri's jaw may hit the floor earlier than we thought” Leonor smirks.

“Yeah, well” I say, looking at myself in the mirror. I actually do look beautiful. I feel beautiful.

“Just remember to take the earrings off before your wedding night starts. You two are too feisty, and I need to give them back to Max in one piece” Leonor says. 

“We aren't feisty” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Sofía, both Irene and I have heard things we didn't want to hear, so don't try to deny it.”

“Whatever” I reply. “But are you seeing Max again? I thought it had been just a fling.”

“Well…”

“Well what?” Irene asks her. “Leonor, you are blushing!”

“I'm not! I mean… Maybe… Urgh!”

“Oh my God, Leonor. Have you fallen for Max?” I say.

“What? No! But maybe…”

“Maybe?” both Irene and I say. 

“Maybe I am falling for him, ok?” 

“Aww, Leonor” I say before hugging her, Irene doing the same. “I am so happy for you!”

“Same” Irene says. “Can't believe the three of us are in love at the same time!”

“I'm not… wait, what?” Leonor says. “You are in love? With who?”

“I… umm…” Irene says, taking a step back, her cheeks bright red. 

“Did you know about this?” Leonor asks me. 

“I had no idea, no” I reply. “I thought we could tell everything to each other, Irene.”

“And we can, but…”

“But?”

“But how am I supposed to tell you that I'm seeing your boyfriend’s brother?”

“What?” Leonor and I say at the same time.

“Yeah” Irene shrugs.

“How did that happen? And since when has it been happening? And…”

“And that must be him” she says when someone knocks on the door. “I'll tell you everything after the wedding, ok? I promise.”

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“This is such a lovely party, Pedri” the queen says. “And the idea of having us all here together in Tenerife before the summer ends is perfect.”

“Thank you” he smiles.

“But where is Sofía? Her dad wanted to make a toast in your honour, and I can't find her anywhere.”

“She's upstairs with the girls, I saw them earlier” Pedri's mum says. “I think something happened with her dress, that she spilled something on it.”

“And they still haven't come back? I'm gonna go check on them, maybe something happened.”

“No!” Pedri says, definitely raising his voice too much. “I mean, if they've been gone for a while, they are probably about to come back, right?” 

“I guess, yes. But isn't it weird that it is taking them so long?”

“Oh, you know them. They probably are gossiping about something” Pedri's mum chuckles. “And speaking of gossip… Is there something going on between your brother and Irene?”

“What?” he says.

“I saw them chatting earlier, and the way they were talking and looking at each other… I don't know” she shrugs.

“Well, you can ask him now. He is coming” the queen says, smirking the same way Sofía does when she's plotting something.

“Ladies… brother” Fer smiles. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

“Oh, no, don't worry. Just your mother wondering if you are dating Irene” the queen says, still smirking.

“What?” he laughs. “Me and Irene? That's… I mean…”

“That's true. Look at your face” Pedri says. “I can't believe neither you or Irene have told Sofía and I anything.”

“We… I… Umm…” he mumbles. “Oh, that must be your last guest” Fer says when someone rings the doorbell. 

“Last guest? What last guest?” their mum asks.

“One who just saved my dear brother from doing some explaining” Pedri says. 

“Umm… boys?” their dad says, joining the conversation. “Why has Don Alberto just arrived?”

“Don Alberto? Who is that?” the queen asks.

“A priest who is friends with the family.”

“A what?” she says, looking at everyone with a confused look.

“I think it's time, Pedri” Fer says.

“I think it is, yes” he sighs. 

“Is anyone going to tell me what is going on here or…?” the queen asks.

“If I may get your attention, please” Pedri says, raising his voice so everyone at the party can hear him while moving to a spot in the room from where they all can also see him. “Thank you” he smiles once everyone has gathered around him. “As you know, Sofía and I invited you to come here today because we wanted to be in our favourite place in the world with the people we love the most and celebrate the love we have for all of you. But we also want to celebrate our love, the one she and I have for each other. Because after being engaged for a year… we've decided it's time we take the next step and seal our love in front of those we love the most. Welcome to our wedding” Pedri smiles as murmurs start rising around the room, everyone looking at each other with a mix of confused and surprised looks. “I know you all are probably thinking this is a crazy idea” he continues. “Some of you may even be disappointed at us because this is not how we should be doing things, that there is a protocol and traditions to be followed. But this is what Sofía and I want. This, with you all and in this house, is how we want to get married. Not at a cathedral surrounded by people we don't know. And we want to do it now. Today.”

“Pedri, this… this…” the queen mumbles, the king standing next to her looking extremely confused.

“This is perfect!” Sofía's grandma says. “Oh, I love it! I love love love it!”

“Mother, this is not right” the king says, finally reacting. “They can't marry here.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is their house!”

“And?”

“And they can't get married in their house!”

“Can't they?” she asks, looking at the priest.

“They can, your majesty” he says.

“But… but Sofía is a princess! And we haven't made the engagement public yet! What will people think? What will other royal families think?”

“They'll probably be jealous of them because they've gotten to have a normal wedding instead of all the pomp and circumstance they have to suffer and deal with on theirs.”

“But…”

“Nothing” she says. “Your daughter has decided to get married here today, and we have to support her decision. Their decision” she says, smiling at Pedri.

“Thank you” he replies.

“So, what do we have to do now? Do we have to go somewhere?”

“We… Umm… Fer?” Pedri asks his brother.

“Oh, yes” he says, moving to stand next to him. “Sofía is upstairs getting ready, so while she finishes with that, I need someone to help me and Ferran carry all the flowers and take them outside to the garden. Boys?” he says, looking first at Pedri's teammates and then at Sofía's cousins, who all nod in agreement. “Great” Fer smiles. “We also need someone to help us arrange them properly and make them look nice, so maybe… grandma?”

“Why me? Is it because I'm the one who has been to the most weddings due to my age and I've seen it all?” she says, arching an eyebrow.

“We thought you could do it because you have the best taste. I mean, look at the gardens at your house” Pedri says with his best smile.

“Oh, you cheeky little thing” she laughs. “I can't say no to you. I'll do it.”

“Thank you, ma'am” Fer says. “Dad, we'll need you helping Don Alberto with everything he may need, and mum, I need you helping Pedri get dressed. You know how much he struggles with his ties.”

“And us?” the queen asks.

“We thought that maybe you would like to check on Sofía” Pedri says. “She wants you to walk her down the aisle” he says, looking at the king.

“Me? Dressed like this?”

“Oh, you look perfect” his mother says. “Now go congratulate your daughter, and don't yell at her. Or at Leonor.”

“But…”

“Chop chop, everyone!” she says, clapping her hands. “We have a wedding to organise!”

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Mum? Dad?” I say when Irene opens the door. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Sofía” my dad says. “You look… you…”

“Breathtaking” my mum says, running towards me and hugging me.

“Oh” I say. That's the only thing that comes from my mouth while she hugs me and… cries? Is she crying? What?

“Look at you” she says, moving to cup my face. “You look so beautiful, Sofía.”

“Thank you, mum. But what are you doing here?”

“Pedri told us to come see you” my dad says.

“He did?” We had not agreed on that.

“I think I'm going back downstairs to see if Fer needs my help” Irene says. “Leonor?”

“I…”

“Go” my mum says. “You and I will talk later.”

“Ok” she says before following Irene.

“I'm sorry” I say once they are gone. “I'm sorry about lying to you all and about not following the rules. About disappointing you. But we were tired of waiting and just wanted to get married. Not because I'm pregnant or anything like that. It's just…”

“You love each other and want to be together. Properly and officially” my mum says.

“Well, properly, properly…” my dad says.

“You know what I mean” my mum replies.

“Then you aren't mad at me? At us? I know this isn't what you wanted.”

“Sofía” my mum says, taking my hands on hers. “All we want is for you to be happy. I mean, yes. We may be a bit shocked.”

“A bit, she says” my dad chuckles.

“Yes, a bit” my mum says. “But not angry or disappointed. If this is what you want and what makes you happy, then we will support you. Like I said when Pedri asked your dad for your hand, we are in the 21st century. There are some things we can and should change. And since you aren't the heir and Pedri is who he is… maybe this is for the best. Maybe doing things privately is what works the best for you two.”

“Thank you, mum” I say, trying really hard to not cry and ruin my makeup.

“You must have to promise us something, tho” she says.

"Ok" I nod.

“You will allow us to throw some kind of reception to introduce you and Pedri officially. One where we'll get to invite all the people who should have been at your wedding if you had done things following the traditional way.”

“Though first we'll have to make it official that they have gotten married. Preferably before the season starts and we find ourselves with the same problem again” my dad says. “If we wait for the next summer, we may be announcing a relationship, a wedding, and a baby.”

“Oh, no, no. It is too soon for babies ” I quickly say. “But yes. We will do that reception, and we will announce that we've gotten married. Maybe when Barça comes back from the pre-season?”

“That could work, yes.”

“Ok. Then… All good?” I ask them.

“All good” my mum smiles. 

“Even if I I'm wearing your wedding shoes as my something borrowed?”

“You what?”

“You once told me that I could wear them, so...” I shrug.

“I… Ok, fine. But you better take good care of them.”

“I will, I promise.”

“Good” she smiles.  

“Urgh, my little girl is getting married!” my dad says.

“And you are walking me down the aisle, aren't you?” I ask him.

“It'll be my honour” he smiles. “But wait. Are those… Are those the earrings from…”

“Yep.”

“Weren't they at the Victoria and Albert museum in London?”

“They were. And they still belong to them.”

“Then how…”

“I'll tell you later. Now can I please get one of those hugs you give me when I'm feeling nervous? I could really use it right now.”

“Come here” my dad chuckles.

“We love you, Sofía” my mum says, joining our hug. “We love you very much.”

“I love you too” I reply, hugging them a bit tighter.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

“My lady” Pedri smirks, wrapping his arms around my waist and leaning me back before kissing me, everyone cheering for us. 

“Here is to the bride and groom! Princess Sofía and Prince Pedro!” Fermín says.

“You were looking forward to saying that weren't you?” I laugh.

“Since the day you two met” he smiles. “Something that would have not happened without me since I was the one who got the idea of going to talk to you and save you from your misery, so here is to me!”

“To Fermín!” everyone laughs while he bows in front of us as if he was the star of a musical or something like that.

“Now that you've had your moment of glory, can we please focus back on the people we are celebrating today?” my grandma says, making Fermín’s face turn bright red. 

“Sorry” he says.

“She's just teasing you, bro” Pedri chuckles. 

“No, I'm not.”

“Grandma…” I say.

“Fine, yes, I am. You actually are my favourite of all of Pedri's friends” she says, squeezing Fermín's face like only grandmothers can do, making him blush even more. 

“I thought I was your favourite” Ferran says.

“It's a different type of favourite” she winks.

“Ok, time to take some photos” I quickly say when I notice her checking out Ferran. “Carlos, are you ready?”

“Yes, ma'am” he smiles. He had kind of become our own personal photographer since our engagement, and surprisingly, he had been on board with our idea of celebrating our wedding like this since the moment we told him. We just couldn't organise everything and keep my bodyguard out of the loop, he is too clever. 

“Have I told you yet that you are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen?” Pedri whispers while everyone tries to decide who will be posing with us first. 

“A few times, yes. Or have you forgotten how Don Alberto had to scold us during the ceremony because you kept whispering it among other things and making me giggle?”

“Yeah…” he smiles. “But I just couldn't help myself. I can't help myself, my lady. You look gorgeous.”

“Well, you must. And same goes to your hand” I say, when I feel it moving down on my back. “It is too soon for that.”

“Maybe we can sneak out later while they all are busy eating and drinking.”

“We can't…”

“C'mon, Sofía.”

“No.”

“C'mon… Afterwards you always are the one who says we should do it more often.”

“That's not true.”

“It is and you know it” he whispers before kissing that spot on my neck.

“Pedri…”

“Yes, my lady?” he smirks. 

“I… I…”

“You… you..."

“Guys, can you please make up your mind with the photos? I really need to use the bathroom” I blurt out, everyone looking my way.

“Use the bathroom for what, my lady?” Pedri whispers in my ear while my parents finally decide they will go first.

“For putting this thing between your legs” I say, quickly moving in front of him to touch him without anyone noticing, making him grunt. “And those lips of yours that were made to kiss and be kissed, to good use.”

“Bloody hell, Sofía” he whispers. 

“It sucks to be turned on in front of everyone, doesn't it?” I smirk. “Welcome to the club.”

“All good, guys?” my mum says.

“All good” I say as I turn around and give her my best smile. If only she knew…

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“We did it, my lady” Pedri says while we watch all our friends and family mingling in the garden, the sun setting behind them.

“Getting married or our little bathroom rendezvous?” 

“Both” he chuckles. “Can't believe we finally are husband and wife.”

“Me neither” I smile. “Though now that we are married, you can start calling me wife instead of my lady.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no. My lady has been my nickname for you since the day we met, and it will stay like that until we are really really old, your hair has gone silver, I am finally bald, and we are surrounded by all our grand and great children. Some great great children too.”

“You and your obsession with going bald” I laugh. “But do I seriously have to deal with you for that long?” I tease him.

“And longer, my lady. That's what this ring means” Pedri says, lifting his hand. 

“I thought we promised that until death do us part.”

“Only an idiot would stop loving you after death, Sofía” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer towards him. “And I am not an idiot even if you sometimes call me that.”

“I'm not being serious when I say it. At least not always.”

“And when you tell me that you love me?” he says, moving until his nose is brushing against mine. “Are you always serious when you say that?”

“Always. I was serious the first time I said it, all the times that came after, and will keep being serious every time I say it in the future. Like right now. I love you, Pedri.”

“I love you too, Sofía” he says before kissing me, everyone clapping and whistling when they notice, someone (Fermín, probably) shouting “get a room”. 

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

“Sofía! Sofía, over here!”

“Sofía, can we take a photo?”

“Sofía!”

That, and some other not so nice comments, are what I have had to listen to every time I go to the Camp Nou to watch Pedri play. Sometimes even on the street when I leave the office or I'm out and about and someone recognises me, Carlos having to go full on bodyguard. Because, as expected, the official announcement of us being married had broken the internet, our faces being not only wherever you looked on social media and magazines, but also opening the news all over the world.

The first few days had been a complete chaos, paparazzis spending the night outside any place where we could be seen and following anyone related to us. At one point it had gotten so bad, that Barça's security had had to intervene because Pedri's teammates were being harassed by the press, and the palace had had to release an official statement asking people to be respectful and to basically let us breathe. 

But once the season started and the initial shock of Pedri now being part of the royal family and of seeing me on the stands supporting him passed, things have been a bit more normal. Having people shouting my name as if I was some superstar like Taylor Swift still feels weird, but I know I can deal with it. I know both Pedri and I can deal with it.

“You know, I liked it better when you were the invisible princess” Irene says when we finally make it to our seats at the Camp Nou.

“Sure” I chuckle.

“I'm serious. Watching the game was easier when we didn't have people constantly looking our way and taking photos of us. Do you know how hard it is to stay focused on not doing anything that could look like I'm picking my nose?”

“Irene, you spend most part of the game looking at your phone or kissing Fer” I chuckle. 

Oh, yes. Because those two were a thing now. Officially. Which made the press write some not very nice articles about Pedri and his brother, calling them gold-diggers and similar things. As if Pedri didn't own a fortune on his own, you know?

“That's not true. If they score I celebrate with everyone else” Irene says.

“Last week you celebrated a goal by the other team, tho” Fer says with a teasing smile.

“Oh, shush!” she says, hitting his arm and making him laugh. “But Sofía… Don't you miss being as anonymous as you used to be?”

“Sometimes. But I was calling myself the invisible princess not because of the attention I was getting from the press. I mean, maybe a little, not gonna lie” I chuckle. “It was more about… you know. The people around me. And I stopped feeling like that when I met Pedri. When he made me see that I wasn't invisible, that I mattered and that people did care about me.”

“Something that we always told you. Though I guess it is not the same hearing your sister and your cousins telling you about it, than when a hot Canarian boy does it, uh?”

“I don't know, you tell me” I chuckle, nodding towards Fer.

“Yeah” she smiles. “Does this mean that the invisible princess is dead?” 

“Part of me will always be the invisible princess. Now she's just grown. Evolved.”

“Like a Pokémon?” Fer says.

“Something like that, yes” I laugh.

“Then what should we call you now? Mrs. González?” Irene asks me with a teasing smile.

“Idiot” I say, giving her a little push. “But Sofía is fine” I smile as I watch the players jump onto the pitch, Pedri turning our way and doing a little curtsey, his way of telling me he is thinking of me. Of that girl he always saw when not even I could see myself. 

Sofía.

[corinthianism]

DON'T THEY KNOW? (IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD) || BENEDICT BRIDGERTON (1)

pairing: benedict bridgerton/fem!reader additional tags: zombie apocalypse au, graphic depictions of gore/violence, fluff, angst, biology stuff i just made up so it's probs super inaccurate lol, slow burn, friends to lovers summary: ravaged by a relentless virus, the world as you knew it falls into ruin. survivors are hardened by the blood on their hands and the horrors in their minds. amidst the end of everything, benedict proves that there is still hope, and perhaps something more, for the two of you. word count: 6.4k

author's note: welcome to the first part of my new zombie au series with our boy benedict! for those who don't know, this is based entirely on the fic "i'll be seeing you" by @eleanor-bradstreet! thanks again to them for letting me vomit up this fic based on their incredible one <333 anyway, this chapter is mostly exposition, so most of the benedict/you romance will really start in the succeeding parts. hopefully, you find this chapter interesting enough to stick around! (+for readers of my dean winchester series, don't worry! chapter 3 will come out soon!)

masterlist | series masterlist | ao3 | next chapter

CHAPTER ONE: HERE, IN THE END

The world had been so loud before.

The droning noise of traffic. Of the intermingling of a thousand phone calls, nestled in between cheeks and shoulders. Of people talking at each other, screaming over each other, fighting to get the final say in even the tiniest little thing. Everything blurred together into one great ocean of sound. You could drown in it, especially in the big cities.

You were right in the middle of it all: a drifter. It took a while but eventually, that ocean of sound became your home. You struggled to recall what it was like before that. That too, was blurry now along with everything else from Before. All you had now were fading fragments of a dream to be someone. Anyone.

That was how you met him, just before the beginning of the end. You still weren’t convinced that Benedict Bridgerton wasn’t some kind of romance novel character come to life; a talented artist from a long line of English nobility, and the first friend you ever made in New York. It was like something out of a crappy Hallmark movie. He laughed at your reaction upon learning that his brother was an actual viscount and that Benedict himself technically should be referred to as “the Honourable Benedict Bridgerton”, but despite all the grandeur that came with his heritage, Benedict was still… Benedict. In time, he became just Ben. He’d paint while you ranted about your borderline dangerous work hours or how your parents were bugging you to settle down. In turn, he shared with you his frustrations as an artist trying to make it in the world, without his family name, and how at the same time he missed his mother’s cooking. Conversations with him were always lovely, like breathing in the air in the middle of a field of flowers after a decade of being locked inside a dark, stuffy room. He was just like you. Just trying to be someone.

But those conversations all seemed so far away now. If you had known then what would become of your life, of those dreams to be someone, maybe you would’ve just let yourself drown in that ocean of sound. 

It only took two weeks for the world to fall into ruin. Only fourteen days for everything to go up in flames. 

The virus was ruthless. The most efficient killer the likes of which no one had ever seen. A terrifying force of nature seemingly tailored for the extinction of humanity. You were right in the middle of it all. You saw it with your own eyes, a cluster of people beginning to form in Times Square. With New York being New York, you thought nothing of it. You walked away none the wiser.

Until you heard someone scream, a gut-wrenching, visceral scream, followed by a sound you would never forget. A sound you’d have to hear over and over again for the better part of the next ten years, though you didn’t know it yet at the time: teeth ripping flesh from bone and the primal snarls accompanying it that couldn’t have been anything except inhuman. Monstrous, even. It sent ripples into the great big ocean you called home, altering it so permanently just seconds before you even realized what was happening. 

Sound, quickly followed by sight. 

The people huddled on the outer edges of the crowd ran off in terror, revealing the gruesome remains of what used to be a person. Even that was something you barely registered at first, eyes too focused on the bloody mouths feasting on it and white, foggy eyes. One of those things stopped its chewing, head snapping up suddenly. It sniffed the air for a while, as if sensing your fear even from twenty feet away. Those white eyes were looking at you now. Staring you down. Seconds later, the corpse being eaten started writhing back to life, or a perverted version of it. Its jaw was skewed, perpetually stuck wide open as drool and blood ran down its chin. You weren’t someone then. If your body hadn’t gone into autopilot, legs taking you as far away as they could, you would’ve been one of them. That was the very first day of what would be the longest two weeks of your life. You remembered it well.

There was no time to think or breathe. Even when your chest hurt from overexerting yourself and your lungs screamed for a break, you ran. You ran as fast as you could, crashing into people, some of which were still unaware of the horrors spreading just a block away from them. In the corner of your eyes, you knew that there were others like you, scrambling to go home, to go anywhere but here. Cars stopped in the middle of the road, curiosity killing the cat as drivers left their vehicles to see what was going on, only to be met with the same sight you were: death. In only a few minutes, nearly a third of the people on the streets were running, too. 

A little girl cried in her father’s arms, a teddy bear left behind and forgotten on the cement road as they also tried to get away. The realization dawning on the faces of onlookers that they should be doing the same. 

You reached your apartment building, not really knowing what you would do next, just that you needed to get away. The hallways were empty. A part of you hoped Ben was far, far away from here. A more selfish part of you hoped otherwise.

Supplies. You needed supplies. Food, clothes, water. Emergency kit, tools, weapons. Weapons. You had no fucking idea what to do with any of this! Just yesterday, you held a steady, if not miserable, office job. Today, you had to survive against whatever-the-hell those things were and perhaps even other people. The weight of that sudden realization twisted your guts in a sickening way, enough to make you almost throw up.

Peeking through your blinds, there were already three or four ambulances rushing to the direction of Times Square.Those things were not here yet and still, you naively hoped that help would come and dispatch of them before it got out of control. 

You barely noticed the sweat that began to trickle down your forehead and back, hairs raising out of instinct. Your whole body was going into overdrive, hyper-aware of the fact that you were in danger. 

The rapid knocking on your door nearly frightened you to death, until you heard Ben’s desperate calls of your name. Out of breath and scared… much like you. You wondered if he had seen it, too. When you confirmed through the peephole that it was, in fact, him, you dragged him inside your apartment. Your hands were on his face as soon as he was inside, needing to know that he was here, he was with you, he was alive. It seemed he had the same need, icy blue eyes taking you in with such an intensity you’d only ever seen when he was painting. It was easy to feel small under his gaze.

“Are you alright?” he breathed heavily, larger hands covering your own. 

You could only nod, the words stuck in your throat, “Did you- did you see-”

“I saw them,” he said, his composure faltering for a split second. “I saw them.”

You could hear more sirens outside, one after another, disrupting the ocean you had grown so familiar with. Louder and louder. 

“We need to leave, get out of New York,” he ran a hand through his hair, eyes moving wildly as he tried to come up with a plan. It was the Bridgerton in him: the bravery of his father, the gentleness of his mother. It didn’t need to be said out loud that the moment he saw those things, all he could think of was you. Getting to you and getting you safe. His only true friend in this city. It took all of fifteen minutes before you were out the door, nearly overwhelmed by the swarm of people all running away from Times Square. Ben held your hand tightly, and you did your best not to look behind you.

The sun was beginning to set, wrapping the city in a bright orange light. It felt ominous somehow, so unlike every other time you’d seen it. Like this was some form of judgment. As if at any moment, you’d hear the seven trumpets telling you that this was the end. You learned later on that you weren’t the only one that thought that. Bile threatened to rise in your throat when the shadows of night grew with each passing second. It felt like it was going to swallow you alive.

The road was packed full of people, crying and yelling and praying for salvation. Ants begging to get away from the magnifying glass only to be burned anyway.

The screams grew louder and against your better judgment, you looked back. You were too far away to see everything clearly, and because Ben was constantly pulling you forward, but you could make out the smaller swarm of walking corpses slowly coming into view. The poor souls who weren’t able to keep up with the main crowd were dragged away to be bitten, spreading the godforsaken disease. More and more bodies littered the streets, staining the concrete with the blood of dozens. Then, not even a minute later, they would rise with jaws gnashing and wide white eyes, their humanity lost forever.

Your legs felt so heavy, as did the rest of you. If it weren’t for Ben’s ferocious determination to get out of the city and to keep the both of you safe, you wouldn’t have survived that first day at all. Helicopters flew above and across the city, the whooshing of its blades mingling with the screams. The ocean of sound was threatening to drown you. You didn’t look up anymore. It would’ve shattered you if you had, because you knew there weren’t nearly enough choppers to save everyone in the city. It was impossible. Your heart broke for all the people, all the someones, who were dead long before they could even fight for the chance to live.

The sky was dark now.

By some miracle, you reached the army’s barricade. Soldiers ushered people to safety, including you and Ben. You squeezed his hand, causing him to look at you for a moment. A temporary reprieve from that day’s horrors. His fair skin was shiny with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead like black tendrils. It was like everything slowed down, but maybe it was all just in your head. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. The moment was cut short when you heard an explosion from behind you. Your head snapped to the direction of the noise, so did Ben’s, and the “small swarm” of the undead from before had multiplied to thrice its size in the short few minutes you spent running away. 

Gunfire rang in your ears once the monsters got a little too close for the army’s liking, but the crowds of the living and the undead had already begun to mix by that point. Bullets meant to pierce rotting flesh ended up killing people who were very much alive and uninfected. You could only watch, from behind the barricade of soldiers, the people in the perpetually moving crowd who would stop once they realized their loved ones were no longer beside them. You could only watch when the body of a child (belonging to the same little girl you saw earlier that day, you realized grimly) was forcefully torn from the arms of her father when a soldier spotted the bite mark on her leg, bleeding and angry. Her plump, tear-stained cheeks that were once symbols of her youth and innocence were ruined by a sickly green that rose to the surface, emphasizing violet veins that always looked like it was crawling, spreading just underneath the skin. Then, she was one of them. Writhing, bones cracking. There was no recognition in her cloudy eyes when her father begged for his baby girl to come back to him. 

Ben held you tighter, his hand cradling your head as the other soldiers evacuated as many people as they could.

“We need to go,” he pleaded, still firmly holding on to you as you were both pushed around by the crowd. “Please, love, just look at me.”

So you did. Those eyes, brilliant and blue and full of worry, were the only things that pulled you back down to Earth. Tears were shed and prayers were whispered on the chopper that whisked you away from New York. A couple hundred feet into the air, you could see the city crumble. You remembered briefly wondering how many bodies were left behind or how many turned into one of those things.  

Everything changed in those first fourteen days of the Outbreak. Eighty percent of the world’s population had been wiped out, unprepared to face a force so vicious. That was how effective the virus was, which was later dubbed the “Gaia Virus”. Mother Nature’s wrath.

The survivors in the States were brought to “safe zones” all over the country, areas barren and isolated enough that the Infected, which mostly stayed in the previously overpopulated cities and towns, were unlikely to get to them. The first few months after the Outbreak were spent being transferred to different safe zones, never staying for more than a week at a time.  

At first, the safe zones were supposed to be a temporary refuge for survivors. The government, or what was left of it, promised to reclaim the cities within a year and make them habitable again. Then a year passed, and they said it would take them another year. So another year passed and they said the same thing. Over and over until… radio silence. No one brought it up again. The few who did were not treated kindly by the rest of the survivors. 

Most people caught onto the memo fairly quickly, with soldiers and generals making up the new leadership hierarchy of the safe zones in place of politicians and peacemakers: you keep your head down, you do as you’re told, and you’ll get food and water and blankets.

The people brave (or stupid) enough to make a scene were never heard from again by the next week.

So there you were, moving across the country, going from state to state and living off of food rations and hope. Both were two resources that were steadily depleting. Benedict was there with you through it all, your steadfast companion. Conversations about surrealism and horrible bosses turned into questions about whether or not your friends and families were safe, if they had made it to the safe zones. That was the first time you saw him cry, not able to withstand the possibility that his beloved mother and siblings were gone, perhaps now part of the Infected. Even if they survived, he knew there was a slim chance he would ever see them again. He cursed himself sometimes, him and his foolish need to be someone. If he had stayed in Kent, if he just settled down like his brothers, perhaps he would still be with them today. But his mother was the kindest woman he had ever known and he knew deep down that she forgave him long before he realized what he’d done. He knew they all did.

Grief was your (and Ben’s) constant state of being. It weighed you down on most days, making your feet dig deeper into the dirt when you walked. On some days, it was all-consuming. It was the only reason most survivors rarely caused any trouble. As horrible as humans could be to each other, this shared grief that echoed through the hearts of everyone was translated into little acts of kindness that, at the best of times, were life-saving. To be given a drop of water by a woman dying of thirst. To be offered a piece of bread by a man whose stomach rumbled louder than his voice. More often than not, it was always the eldest survivors that did this. Perhaps it was because they knew that they had already lived long, fulfilling lives. Perhaps it was because they knew Death was already at their door, so they might as well help someone else live.

Of course, there would always be people looking out for themselves, you and Ben had expected that from the get go, but it still surprised you how much compassion a person could still have at the end of the world. It didn’t happen too often though, but the times that it did were memories you held close to your heart.

The days went by, often cruel and unforgiving to those who couldn’t adjust to the new reality, but Ben still found ways to make you smile. 

“It’s the artist in me,” he said to you one night, three years after the Outbreak, when you had asked him how he could bear to still be so… him. There was a secluded spot you two often escaped to whenever there was a need for it, a small cliff at the edge of the safe zone. You were both slightly tipsy from whiskey you traded some radio parts for. “The whole world’s gone to shit and I can’t help but still find it somewhat beautiful. It’s like a movie, isn’t it? Two friends at the end of the world— and besides, what else are we supposed to do? Wallow in self-pity? I think you and I do enough of that.”

The sun was beginning to set, something you had grown to dislike since that first day. You decided to lie down for a moment, uncaring if bits of soil got in your hair. You closed your eyes, trying to just be. You didn’t always get the opportunity to do that anymore.

“Look,” he nudged your side after a while, his accent slurring a little as he pointed at something. You raised a brow at him, now-open eyes following what his finger was pointing at. The sky. It was pitch black, but a splash of stars covered the heavens like a mural. You had never seen that many stars before, certainly not in the cities you’d lived in your whole life. Ben sighed and your attention was back on him. “You couldn’t see them as clearly back home, but I used to stargaze often with my siblings.”

“That sounds lovely,” you whispered.

“It was.”

The two of you were silent for a while, just sitting on that patch of dirt, overlooking the vast lands that spread as far as the eye can see. That was how isolated these safe zones were. The gentle night breeze tickled your skin. 

“I haven’t really looked at the sky properly since the Outbreak,” you confessed, slumping in your seat. “I think it makes me feel small. And sad. Look at us. Our tiny little planet, how fucked up everything is. Look at us. And there’s a whole universe out there that’s completely indifferent to everything that goes on down here.”

“It’s humbling,” he hummed in understanding. “To be a speck in a great big universe yet feeling a whole universe worth of emotion.”

“That’s good,” you chuckled. “Very poetic.”

He grinned at you, cheeks flushed slightly, “I try.”

Another bout of silence.

“Thank you, by the way.” 

“Whatever for, love?” he raised a brow in curiosity, his tone soft. It always was.

“For being here,” you took a deep breath. “For sticking around.”

His smile shone brighter when he heard this, his hand finding its way around yours. “You’d be mad to think I’d ever leave you here. If anything, you’re stuck with me. I’m just—” he cleared his throat. “I’m just sorry that… that it has to be like this. Drifting, never staying too long in one place to be able to call it a home. You deserve more. You deserve better.”

“You say that like it’s your fault,” your hand squeezed his in hopes of bringing him some comfort. “I’m not gonna lie and say we’re doing alright because we honestly look like shit”—that earned you a hearty chuckle from him—”but we’re doing better than most. And that’s because we’ve had each other all this time. That’s one of the things I was thanking you for. None of this on you, Ben. You deserve more, too. You hear me?”

He straightened his back and flashed you a soft smile, “I hear you.”

The two of you looked back up at the sky, admiring the twinkling of millions of stars. You were somewhere in Arizona, according to the other survivors. Soldiers kept the exact location under lock and key to dissuade survivors from sharing it with others who were still out in the open world. There just wasn’t enough room. But you had a feeling that it had more to do with the risk of attracting Infected. Limited armada and manpower meant the military was just unable to handle that kind of scenario.

You learned more about the Infected over time, having worked odd jobs for the military for more food, water, or supplies. Even something as simple as filtration duty on Tuesdays earned you tidbits of information.

From what you could piece together in the past couple of years, the Gaia Virus most likely came from melting glaciers and ice caps, triggered by global warming. It polluted bodies of water across the world, eventually making its way into reservoirs undetected. It was the perfect way to spread. Nobody can last more than three days without water, so the virus made sure no one would last at all. Once fully turned, Infected were nearly perfect killers. Soldiers sometimes told stories of their encounters with them. They were completely blind, though that much was obvious from the milkiness of their eyes. Infected also didn’t react to any physical damage done to them. Whether or not they felt it was a different story. With possibly two of their senses out of the picture, the rest were heightened. They could hear and smell better than people. If prey were close enough, all those things had to do was follow the scent trail. The fact that these monsters could perceive things humans could barely register was a terrifying thought.

Bodies of Infected retrieved from the destroyed cities were studied, Ben himself had seen this on one such odd job. The virus kills its host before taking over the body, this much was known. However, the brain was shown to endure, preventing the more advanced stages of decomposition. It raised questions about whether or not hosts really died, or if a tiny part of them still lived on even as they transformed into flesh-eating beasts. You’ve heard whispers that it was more like the brain sent constant streams of adrenaline even after death, keeping the body going long after it was supposed to fall apart and rot. True or not, it was the only explanation you had.

You’d seen your fair share of people who’ve fallen victim to a bite; doomed to have their life snuffed out as soon as that was discovered, whether that was by execution or dying to the virus. 

The time it took to die after being bitten was different for everyone. Some died within minutes, others within hours. The longest one you’d seen was a soldier brought back to the Detroit safe zone after a patrol gone wrong. A stray Infected had sensed him and attacked him during the night, leaving a massive bite on his shoulder. He fought so fiercely against the symptoms of the fever, hovering between life and death for nearly an entire day before finally succumbing to the virus. You couldn’t forget how pale he was when he was wheeled into the makeshift camp on a gurney, watching the life be drained out of him in real time. He was shot in the head by his comrades as soon as he turned. The event shook everyone. The disappearances began shortly after that.

The people who spoke up against the military drew the ire of everyone: the military didn’t tolerate people who questioned their authority and everyone else just wanted to mind their own business. When these undesirables began to disappear, everyone chalked it up to them just being hard-headed. The popular theory was they got sick of the military’s iron grip and decided to leave the safe zone, and then probably died. Nobody took it too seriously. Nobody could have done anything about it anyway. Everyone was just focused on staying alive. 

Cooper was another survivor in the Arizona safe zone. You and Ben had been there for a month, and he was the first and only person to welcome you with open arms. He was a lanky man, and had blond hair and kind, brown eyes. Only a few years younger than you. He was the jovial type, often inviting you and Ben to tag along with him on whatever job he found earlier that day. His Boston accent was unmistakable, often getting stronger when offered liquor. 

He was also in strong opposition to the militant lifestyle in the safe zones, though he knew better than to broadcast his distaste. Cooper joined you and Ben on the night the two of you were stargazing, eyes wide in terror. You had never seen him like that before. He was always one to stay optimistic, which was a wonder considering the state of the world. Cooper looked like he ran to get to you, his damp tattered shirt sticking to his body.

He grabbed you by your shoulders, fingertips digging into your skin deep enough to make you wince all while a jumble of words were frantically spewing out of his mouth. Ben immediately got up, nearly growling at Cooper for hurting you, “Get your hands off them.”

It seemed as though Ben’s warning briefly snapped Cooper back to reality, because the man did pull away but his hands still trembled violently.

“What’s wrong?” you furrowed your brows in worry, unused to seeing Cooper in such a state.

“You need to get out of here,” it felt like there was something darker lingering behind his words. He looked at Ben. “You need to go.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Ben cut him off, his protectiveness from before calming down when he finally noticed the genuine panic and fear in Cooper’s eyes. “Tell us what’s happening.”

The poor man looked like he was ready to explode right then and there. He was practically soaked in his own sweat, both from the exhaustion of running to get to you and Ben, and the shock of the news he brought, it seemed.

“They were taking them,” he choked back tears, his feet stuck to the ground. His nostrils were flaring from how hard he was breathing.

“Who, Coop? Who’s taking who?” this time it was your hands on his shoulders, though your touch was gentle, trying to keep him grounded. 

“The soldiers,” he whispered, his voice grim. “We- we thought they were executing them for questioning the army but I saw them! I saw them. In the big tent. They’re trying… they’re trying to make a vaccine.”

The severity of his tone reminded you all too much of Ben at your doorstep on that very first day of the Outbreak.

Ben’s surprise was palpable, “What?”

“A vaccine,” Cooper stressed, each breath he drew was ragged (you could hear it from how close he was standing to you), “but it’s not working. I saw the bodies. Whatever they’re doing, it’s torture— you should’ve seen them. They infected them on purpose.”

Your blood went cold, like liquid nitrogen shocking your system. That’s what the army had been doing all this time?  It made perfect sense, but the new information flooded your brain with images of those people who went missing, strapped to a table, and being injected with the virus. If they were trying to make a vaccine, they—the test subjects—would have to have been kept alive for as long as possible, conscious of the parasite invading their body. It made your stomach churn, forcing you to step back and look away. Ben was similarly devastated, jaw clenched as he stared at Cooper. He zeroed in on a different piece of information.

There were Infected in the safe zone.

“That’s… they can’t just keep taking people,” he gritted his teeth. Cooper stayed silent. Ben spoke again, firmer and more desperate this time, “...can they?”

“Nobody’s gonna come looking for you even if they did,” Cooper said, defeated. Still breathing hard. “We’re too far away. And if the rest of the safe zones aren’t already in the same situation then they aren’t gonna waste gas to go all the way here. The soldiers here can just make up something and no one would know.”

An “oh, God” left your lips, your hands shaking, mirroring Cooper’s. From where you stood, you could see the main camp and the largest tent, the main military tent, in the middle of it. You’ve walked past it, stared at it a hundred times, and never knew what was going on inside. You found yourself asking if there was a time when you stared at that tent, and just on the other side was someone just like you being experimented on with the deadliest virus known to mankind.Your eyes stung with tears when your treacherous mind thought of Ben in that position, bruised by different needles and tubes protruding from him.

“Please, you need to go,” Cooper pleaded with the two of you desperately, his head hanging low.

“Shit,” Ben cursed under his breath, rubbing his eyes with one hand in frustration. “All of our supplies are back in the main camp.” 

“You can’t go back!”

“We’ll die out there if we don’t get those supplies,” you pointed out to the blond. “We wouldn’t last a week.”

Ben had already begun to walk back to camp, masking his anxieties to the best of his abilities if what Cooper was saying was true. You weren’t that far behind, ears ringing with Cooper’s pleas not to go back. He didn’t chase after you anymore, falling silent once he realized there was nothing he could do to change your mind. It was only a short trek from the cliff back to the main camp. The outer perimeter of the safe zone was always being patrolled by soldiers which meant, without any weapons, you would’ve been dead if you tried to escape right away. A checkpoint came into view along with the two guards, Paul and Walter, holding rifles on either side of the path. You were familiar with each other from how often you passed through this checkpoint to get to the cliff.

“Paul, Walter,” Ben smiled coolly at the guards once you were finally standing in front of them. “Late shift? I thought you’d have switched with Reese by now.”

“Higher-ups needed more men in other places, so here we are,” Paul sighed, before turning his attention to you. “You guys back at the cliff again?”

“Yeah,” you mimicked Ben, feigning a smile of your own. You still weren’t completely sure if Cooper had been telling the truth, but interacting with Paul felt different now that you knew what could’ve been happening behind closed doors. “Camp can be a little too much sometimes, y’know? No offense. Just… needed to get away for a while.”

Paul nodded in understanding. 

“Okay, you know the routine,” Walter shrugged, handing you and Ben a bloodchecker each. It was a small vial full of a blue solution, connected to a thin, replaceable tube ending with a needle. The solution would turn clear if mixed with Gaia-infected blood, and a dark muddy brown if the blood was clean. You pierced your arm with the needle, watching your blood travel through the tube and drip down into the solution, turning it brown as you had expected. Glancing over at Ben’s bloodchecker, you found that his was the same. Thankfully.

You were about to pass through the checkpoint when Walter pulled Ben aside, muttering something you couldn’t quite make out, but you saw Ben’s reaction. To anyone else, it would have seemed like he didn’t react at all. Most people only would’ve noticed his polite smile and hushed ‘thank you” to the guard before returning to your side, but you saw through it: the slightest twitch of his hand and the way his lips tightened at what Walter told him. It was so clear to you that he was bothered by it, whatever it was. 

“What was that?” you asked him, trying to keep up with his fast-paced stride.

He only spared you a single glance, only a single moment of softness, but now you were inside the central safe zone. Soldiers were standing guard in every direction. There seemed to be more of them than usual. Ben continued forward to the direction of your tent which was a bit farther from everyone else’s. He kept his voice low, “Not here.”

Your shared tent with Ben was bare. The apocalypse didn’t exactly grant you a life of luxury, but that tent was yours. It stayed the same after every new safe zone you were transferred to. Next to the two worn down single mattresses were your backpacks, one of the only things you still had from before the Outbreak besides each other. While you double-checked your supplies, making sure nothing was missing while you were gone, Ben slid one of the mattresses to the side, which was sitting on top of an old rug. He pulled that aside too, his hands digging into the soil, digging and digging until finally, you could see the lid of a crate you had buried.

The crate was filled with jugs of water. Clean, pure, uninfected water. The result of three years of patiently collecting rainwater and saving up whatever the army gave you, carefully filtering each drop throughout the night when you knew no one else would be bothering you. This water was precious. It was gold. And it was a pain to move from safe zone to safe zone. You and Ben had had to resort to bribing and lying for the past three years to make sure it was safe. 

Once you were done checking over the supplies, you knelt by Ben’s side. “So… are you gonna tell me what Walter said to you or are you gonna keep being mysterious?” you tried to keep your tone light.

“They were looking for Cooper,” his gaze didn’t leave the jugs of water. His hands, once always covered in paint, were now caked in dirt. “Said we should report him if we did.”

“What?” you questioned. “That doesn’t make any sense, everyone has to go in and out of that checkpoint to get to the cliff. There’s no way Paul and Walter didn’t see him.”

“So how could he have seen all of those supposed experiments in the main tent?” he turned to face you, his expression severe. “That tent is the most heavily guarded thing in this camp. If what he said is true, then there was no way he could’ve left and not be spotted and then somehow manage to get to us without going through the checkpoint.” 

The two of you sat in silence for a while, racking your brains for any sort of information that could help you get closer to solving this mystery. It was entirely plausible that Cooper had been lying about the experimentations and the vaccines but despite having only known him for a short while, you knew he wasn’t the type to do something like that. He wouldn’t lie about something like that. Hell, he was the kind of person that worked overtime during the apocalypse. He was an honest man.

Then you remembered something.

“It’s Tuesday today.”

Ben looked at you, puzzled, “Yes, it is… What’s going through your head, love?”

“Filtration duty,” you answered. “They filter out the water in the main tent…”

“...then dump the waste outside of camp,” Ben finished for you, eyes widening. “You think Cooper was in the main tent on purpose?”

“I mean, that’s the only explanation, right? Nothing else has left camp since last week and nobody checks a truck carrying waste. Maybe Cooper was on one of those trucks,” you said before looking back at Ben. “I… I thought I was just seeing things. Did you notice how he was earlier?”

“Out of breath from running…?” Ben frowned, not quite following your train of thought as easily as he usually did.

“He wasn’t just out of breath. He was smelling me.” 

You could practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he put the pieces together. He couldn’t quite believe the conclusion he arrived at, that much you could tell, but the disbelief washed away when no other possible explanation presented itself to him.

“How?” his voice was shaky, a quiet sort of devastation clouding his features. Cooper was likely already infected earlier, though you couldn’t tell which stage of infection he was at. The signs pointed to a peculiar middleground between the fever that occurred right before death, and the grotesque reanimation once the virus had complete control over the body.

“Maybe he was telling the truth. Part of it, at least.”

You both looked back at the jugs of water, taking out a few of the smaller containers before hurriedly placing the lid back on the crate. With the crate concealed by the soil and rug, you and Ben made quick work of gathering your things, hiding the small jugs of water underneath clothes, foods, and whatever else were in your bags. 

You always made sure to have a plan in case you ever needed to leave a safe zone. The water you collected was too valuable; you had to be able to move it whenever and wherever you needed, but with all the soldiers standing guard outside, you knew this would be impossible even with all of your planning. You just had to bring what you could.

Without uttering a word, you and Ben both knew this was the last night you were ever going to spend in this place. 

-

series taglist: comment down below if you'd like to be added!

[seastarblue]

Character Intro: Evangeline Pierce

“I truly hope you will find these… these pathetic excuses for killers, captain.”

Basics:

Pronouns: she/her

Species: Human (warlock)

Age: 23

MBTI: idk

Voice Claim: Chloe Breez (singer on YT)

Physical:

5’3”

Build: Chubby

Skin: Dark brown

Eyes: Dark purple (from warlock pact)

Hair: Dyed a pale purple, normally straightened and worn down, ear length

refs✨

Personality:

Evie is pretty closed-off around people, but she's not one to miss out on a debate. She likes hearing other people's opinions on different topics, and especially likes proving people wrong. She's a little pessimistic, but she considers herself a realist.

Speaking Style: Evangeline is a noblewoman, and as such learned to speak like one. She uses fanciful words and phrases, but she does occasionally slip in slang or a swear here and there.

Likes: fashion, magical studies, her patron Noodle, being right, sweet things, music, wine, flowers, the quiet, autumnal weather, getting (good) attention, debating, being a snooty person (she likes getting on people's nerves)

Dislikes: people without a spine, people who can't put their money where their mouth is, people who cannot see their own stupidity, stupidity in general, people in general, breaking her nails, spicy food, people tricking her, hypocrites, the dark

Main Goal: “I want to be fine. I want to be a better Head of House than my mother was. I want justice, I want, and I want, and I want, but what is it that I need…?”

Backstory (under the cut—tw for descriptions (kinda?) of mutilated corpses):

Ever since she was a child, Evangeline Pierce knew one thing: as a member of the infamous House of Pierce, she was meant to bring honor and prosperity to her family, her country, and herself. 

Evangeline had an older sister, Natasha. The sisters loved each other dearly, though Natasha was the clear favorite. Evangeline didn't mind, though- in her mind Natasha deserved all the praise she got. Certainly more than Evangeline ever did. She was quite content with fading into the background once she successfully completed the Evoking, a tradition passed down for generations in which a Pierce summoned a demon. Evangeline didn't mind the implications of being left obscured and forgotten. Yes she did. She always did.

A few months after Evangeline's Evoking, the unthinkable happened.

Her whole family—mother, father, and dear, dear sister— were found brutally murdered in her office, blood still gushing from the uncountable stab wounds on her head, his neck, her gut, their--

Evangeline wanted to could not grive. She wanted to could not cry, and or scream, and cry some more. But nobility doesn't allow that refuge. Mere days after Natasha's murder, Evangeline was named Head of the House of Pierce.

She was soon put under house arrest at her family’s her estate. She is grieving, so so much, so why can’t the Guard see she’s innocent…?

[fullmoonandstar]

Raphael going to a noble party of some kind, disguised as a human, in order to find and schmooze with current and potential clients. While engaging with one such individual who seems particularly taken with him, from across the room he spots Tav, for once not dressed in adventurer's gear but decorated with finery. The Hero of Baldur's Gate is so radiant that, at a glance, one could be forgiven for mistaking the mortal as an angel in disguise. However, like the cambion, Tav also has noble-born partygoers vying for the adventurer's attention, asking (and more often than not being granted) a dance with the hero, and perhaps gossip of nobles approaching the hero with dowry proposals and attempts at wooing this illustrious guest begin to reach the fiend's ears.

*Drops this and runs away*

Evening among Wolves

Raphael x afab!Reader Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: R Word count: 2.4 k CW: 2nd person pov, vaginal sex, desk sex, mentions of drinking

My Masterlist

The dress pinched in all the wrong places, and you shifted your weight with a stiff smile plastered on your face. How did noble women survive a whole evening in these shoes? They forced your toes into an unnatural position, and the pain was slowly giving way to numbness. The young man across from you blatantly stared at every centimetre of exposed skin, and you looked away, a ball of emotion forming in your gut. There were only three things that were good about now, the elegant way your hair was pinned up, the smell of the perfume you had put on and the drink in your hand.

The woman next to you was only marginally at hiding her stares than the other son of a noble across from you. You had been swarmed the moment word had spread that the hero of Baldur’s Gate had arrived, and you have been stuck in conversations for what felt like an eternity. Any battlefield would be preferable to this pit of vipers. This may look like a party, but in reality this was a minefield, and you had to survive until the end of the night without being stuck in an arranged marriage or having started an all out war between the factions of nobility. Both of which were very real possibilities.

A shadow passed in the periphery of your vision and a warm hand hovered over your exposed back so close you could feel the warmth but not touching. A velvety voice purred in your ear: "Good to see you again, little mouse."

Your head snapped in his direction, and your eyes confirmed your ears. Raphael hovered over your shoulder, and he flashed a smile at you before turning to the irritated nobles.

"I hope you don’t mind, dearest lords and ladies, but we have some urgent business to attend to."

The nobles in the circle grumbled, and all eyes were on you. What was he doing? You looked up into the devil’s handsome face, one eyebrow raised with the same question as everyone else. This was a way out. These nobles were irrational in their whims, at least with Raphael you knew what you had to expect.

"Yes, of course," you smiled stiffly. Raphael gestured to the left and you followed. He left the ballroom into the hallway where the crowd was noticeably thinner, and you took a deep breath. The atmosphere in there had been suffocating you.

You followed Raphael around a corner and up some stairs.

"I don’t think we’re supposed to be here." you warned.

"Since when has that stopped you?" he shot back but smirked.

"Fair enough."

He stopped in front of a door, and you heard a click before Raphael pushed the door open. It looked like a library, but Raphael didn’t stop in the room but opened the door to the balcony. The lights of Baldur’s Gate lay beneath, and the sound of the party downstairs wafted up. You just had to smile at the view over your home. The citizens had worked hard to rebuild in the past year, and soon the city would be back to former glory.

You glanced to the side where Raphael was leaning on the baluster looking out over the city. The black clothes were embroidered with gold and red, and he looked the more like nobility than all the people downstairs. You had never told anyone about the way your stomach twists when you look at his face, they would call you mad and they would be right. Raphael was in the business of charming people out of their souls, and given the status he had risen to despite being half mortal, he was exceptionally good at it.

"If you stare at me any longer, you might burn a hole in my face." he taunts softly.

Your face instantly burned with embarrassment, and you focus on the city again.

"Do you know why I’m so effective at what I do, pet?" he asked.

Because you bamboozle people with your charm? You thought, but out loud you said: "You talk a lot."

A soft laugh tickled your ear and you stiffened. Your whole body tingled with how close he was to you, and you felt stupid for the warmth that spread between your legs.

"I know exactly what everyone wants."

His fingers ghost over the exposed skin of your arms, and you hold your breath, waiting for his skin to make contact. It never comes. Raphael takes a step back and motions for you to follow.

The balcony leads to other rooms on this floor, and Raphael opens the door to one of them. A huge desk dominates the room and the high-backed chair rounded out the ensemble.

"Fielding's office." You breathed. "What are we doing here?"

Raphael stepped closer to the monstrosity of a desk and turned to you. In the faint light that fell in through the windows you could only make out his sharp ever so slightly lighter than the darkness behind him.

"I told you, little mouse, I know what you want."

You crossed your arms.

"And what’s that?"

"Let me paint you a picture." - you rolled your eyes, but Raphael continues -"Lord Fielding, one of the most influential people in Baldur’s Gate since Baldurean himself. He swayed the election of Gortash to become Archduke, he orchestrated the embargo 5 years ago that cost countless lives in and around the city. He does his best to keep the weak where they are, poor and dying, and widens the gap between them and his elite."

"Isn’t that right up your lane?"

A chuckle reached your ear.

"This is not about me." he said. "You hate him."

You didn’t argue with that.

"You want to get back at Lord Fielding, but doing anything drastic could make you plenty of enemies and plunge the city into chaos for the next decades."

"The evil you know," you said.

"Yes."

"So, what is your suggestion?" you ask.

"You can’t move against him, but that doesn’t stop you from doing something disrespectful."  You could hear the smirk in his voice, even if you could not see it.

"And what has that to do with you?"

"I’m going to participate."

With a step, he entered your personal space, the smell of his perfume, sweet and spicy, tickled more than just your nose. You wished you could blame the drinks for the wetness that pooled in your underwear, but alas you could not. His fingertips ghosted over your cheek and leaving a trail of heat.

"What do you say?" he asked.

You didn’t understand what he was saying, you were too focused on the feeling of his hot skin against yours. Blood was rushing in your ears and your heart hammered in your chest as if you were an adolescent again. You swallowed heavy.

"What kind of disrespectful thing do you mean?"

His face was close enough that you could see his eyebrow creep up his forehead. Raphael pushed the chair to the side. His hand gently held on to your hip, and you followed as he manoeuvred you to stand between him and the desk. You yelped and grabbed the fabric at his chest as he lifted you up onto the free space on the desk and his hips touched your knees, but Raphael didn’t force himself between your legs. His hands rested on the sides of your thighs. Your heart beat in your throat and a warm wave rolled over you.

"I see." you said. His thumbs gently rubbed over the fabric that still covered your legs and waited for your answer. Fucking on Fielding’s desk was indeed disrespectful, but doing it with Raphael?

Every nerve in your body tingled with awareness, the heat from his skin sank into yours and boiled your blood with a need you only ever allowed yourself to feel at night when you were alone. Something had to be deeply wrong with you that you were so attracted to him, but your mind had no part in the decision your body made. You crossed your hands behind his neck and pulled him in, crashing your lips together. For a heartbeat, Raphael was frozen in place and a flash of anxiety and disappointment rushed through you. In the next moment, his hips pushed between your knees, and you spread your legs for him. The half hard erection pressed against your clothed core, and you gasped, the perfect opportunity for Raphael to slid his tongue into your mouth. He explored your mouth, mapping it out as if he wanted to commit it to memory. Heat was rising in your veins, and you tangled the fingers of one hand in his soft hair while the other slid down. Ever since the first time you had seen him, you had wondered how his body would feel like. The lines on his face made him look like a middle-aged human, and you had expected him to be a bit soft, but the chest under your palm was firm muscles.

A sharp pain in your lower lip drew a yelp out of your throat. Raphael had nipped at your lip while pulling back.

"You’re quite handsy, little mouse."

He took half a step back, and you managed not to whine in disappointment.

"I’m not leaving." The taunting tone could not cover up the reassurance in his words.

In the dim light you could not see what he was doing, and you wished you could light a candle in here, but if anyone saw the flame flicker under the door, your time alone with the devil of your dreams would be cut short.

His hands were back on your thighs and his hips between your legs. Your hands landed on his chest, but this time hot skin met your palms. Your legs twitched in response, and Raphael smiled against your cheek before his mouth moved along your jaw, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

His hips pressed into you and wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Someone’s eager."

His breath fanned over your pulse point and a shudder shook your body.

"Yes," you admitted, earning you a growl from Raphael. He pushed the skirt of your dress up your thighs, removing a barrier of fabric from between you two. His mouth moves along your collarbone, and for the first time that evening you were thankful for the low neckline. The biting and sucking only tightened the coil of your need, and you wanted nothing more than have him inside you. Your hands ran down the hard muscles of his body, reaching the ham of his trousers, and gingerly proceeded further. You held your breath as you traced the outline of him through the fabric, your mind spinning with the half moan, half growl that escaped his throat.

"I got the message." he pressed out between his teeth, his hip twitching into your palm once.

His hands found your underwear, you lifted your hips, and he pulled them down your legs. You hoped he didn’t just drop them on the floor for someone to find in the morning. He slid between your thighs again and your hands were on his trousers, ready to push them down. Raphael didn’t stop you.

His length was heavy and hot in your hands. The world shrank to the size of the space between you two, even the sounds of the party downstairs faded, and his rugged breaths were the only things you could hear. You could not think. The only thing you wanted was him inside of you, and it was within your power to make that a reality. You guided the tip to your entrance, and Raphael inhaled sharply.

His hand cupped your cheek, and he breathed: "Who knew you were so needy, pet?"

A flash of fear ran through you. What if he left you right now?

"I’m going to give you everything you want."

He pushed in with a single hard thrust, and you gasped at the sudden stretch. His hands grabbed your breasts and his hips set a slow, harsh rhythm. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pressed your lips shut, trying not to make too much noise. Raphael’s hands kneaded your breasts just right, and you whimpered after a well-placed thrust, then his hands were gone. The thrusts cease coming, and he moves something behind you.

"What -?"

He pushed your back to the desk, and his strong hands loosened your legs from around his waist. His mouth left a trail of hot kisses from your knees to your ankles before holding, resting your legs against his body. The position made his length inside you feel even more of a tight fit, and he resumed his thrusts. Your nails scratched against the wood of the table, unable to do anything else while his hips collided with yours again and again. The pleasure in your body was like a kindling ready to ignite.

"Please." you breathed, not sure for what you were pleading.

Raphael chuckled and it sparked anger in you. You pushed your upper body up from the desk and snarled: "Don’t you dare laugh."

He planted a kiss on your ankle and let your legs fall open, leaning in until you felt his hot breath on your face.

"Don’t worry, my little mouse, I won’t tell anyone, you begged me to fuck you into oblivion."

You could only guess that there was a smirk on his face, and you let out a disapproving huff. He must have felt how close you were to just shoving him off you and leaving because his fingers slipped between your bodies and his lips caught yours in a heated kiss. His fingers stroked your sensitive clit in time with the stroke of his tongue, and his thrusts changed to a delicious angle. You moaned into his mouth, so close to breaking.

"You feel downright sinful, my dear, quivering around me."

His low voice made all the hairs on your body stand on edge. Your fingers grasp for him and your nails dig into his biceps. Your whole body tensed, so close.

"So strong, so powerful," he cooed, every thrust, every stroke of his fingers could be the one.

"But right now, you are mine, little mortal."

His breath fanned over your heated skin.

"Let go for me." he said, and you shattered.

[happyhauntt]

➡ gold rush masterlist.

here you can find all content for the gold rush universe, a nikolai lantsov fanfiction featuring anya kamenev, an original character. their story is told through a series of connected one-shots and is cross-posted on ao3.

─── summary:  She calls herself Anya Kamenev, the future Duchess of Balakirev. It doesn't matter where she comes from, or where she goes  ━  there will always be a child named Nastya in her heart, a little girl with grubby hands and a sweet smile, the kind who climbs trees and runs, giggling, through the rose garden. They call her soldier. Nobility doesn't save you from the draft, and Anya would sooner be an army grunt than the alternative. If she must go to war, then she'll do it well  ━  for this country that sits in her gut like a stone, for the family who will always be proud of her, always, until the first day she makes a man bleed without a weapon in her hands. She'll swallow that secret until the day she dies. Let her be a soldier. He calls her darling. The only one to know the truth of her, the only man who looked at her with gentle eyes and swore he'd give up his throne just to spend forever in her arms. But they are both too smart to be so naive  ━  their country is an open wound, and the pair of them have duties to fulfil. He, to rule. She, to fight. It doesn't matter what she calls him. Pirate, privateer, prince, sobachka. As many names as faces, her heart aches for a man she knows she can never truly have. Nikolai Lantsov, the hope of Ravka. Anya Kamenev, Ravka's bane. Oh, what a pair they make.

─── warnings: disability rep, ptsd & mental health, canon-typical descriptions of injury, war, trauma. angst, fluff, more angst. swearing. specific warnings will be included in each fic.

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠. works will be posted in chronological order of the timeline.

forgiveness with teeth [1.6k] ➡ there's something about nikolai lantsov that makes her want to break things. (pre-shadow & bone.)

give your tears to the tide [2.8k] ➡ nikolai learns the truth at the heart of anya, for better or worse. (pre-shadow & bone.)

and i am coming home to you [2.5k] ➡ there are some things that cannot be saved. nikolai swears she won't be one of them. (pre-shadow & bone.)

if my wish were granted [1.4k] ➡ anya likes teasing nikolai. it’s far too easy to get under his skin. this time, enjoying some peace aboard the Volkvolny, anya claims that she prefers sturmhond’s rugged looks over nikolai’s princely features. (pre-shadow & bone.)

stay, i pray you [2.1k] ➡ nikolai has a decision to make. anya makes it for him. (during seige & storm.)

keep my hand in yours [2.4k] ➡ nikolai sees anya all dressed up for the first time since they were children. he doesn't handle it well. (post ruin & rising/rule of wolves.)

everything i touch turns sick with sadness [3k] ➡ anya still believes, sometimes, that nikolai made a mistake in marrying her. he’ll spend every day for the rest of their lives proving her wrong. (post ruin & rising/rule of wolves au.)

garnet & silver [0.9k] ➡ requested. nikolai has a gift for anya. (post ruin & rising/rules of wolves au.)

five fun facts about anya.

modern!anyalai headcanons.

𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬.

gifsets ➡ 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

videos ➡ 1 / 2 / 3

misc. ➡ 1 / 2

[josefavomjaaga]

Was Josephine de Beauharnais so popular with the masses even after the fall of the First Empire?

I would not know because I know very little about "the masses" during the empire. So I could not even tell how popular she was while she still "reigned" (as far as Napoleon would any of his wives "reign").

Gut feeling says that much of her popularity among regular folks even only developped after the empire. The opinion of the "masses" did not count for much under Napoleon, after all. Josephine's death right after Napoleon's abdication was a perfect start to develop legends about her. Though even more likely, many of those legends - like Napoleon's alleged last words being about Josephine - only sprung up during or in connection with the Second Empire. Napoleon III was Josephine's grand child, after all, and had a bit of a cult for his Beauharnais relations.

Josephine had always been popular among the lower nobility/wealthy bourgeoisie though, I believe. That was the class she came from and belonged to.

Thanks for the question, sorry if I cannot answer any better.

[cyniibar]

Any hcs on Andre and Marie in general? Or maybe hcs on their life in England shortly after escaping France by the end of Rouge?

WOOHOO ! The weekend is finally here! I can answer this question:

Andre is an optimistic little sunshine. He sees light in every aspect of his broken world. And despite his hardships and his endless suffering, his faith in the Lord never faltered for a second. The old man sings hallelujah 24/7 ever since he came to England. Adapted easily, immune to insults and discrimination considering he once was a peasant from the slums of Paris. Andre was very grateful to have experienced a life outside of France. Starting anew, exploring onto foreign soil with his beloved mistress...

Meanwhile his mistress is currently drowning in this depression that awoken a new kind of agony even more unbearable than the torture she underwent through. Marie Joseph feels like she somehow.... lost.

Defeated by Robespierre, and fled like a coward to escape persecution instead of facing it with ferocity and courage like she had in the past when going against most obstacles in her life. Marie Joseph is not one to regret, but oh, is she constantly flooded with thoughts of "what ifs". If only she had made the move first, drew blood first, or perhaps fought back against the iron troops. But the thought that digs knives inside her guts; is that she should've made a figure of herself worth admiring. For her child, at least. Marie Joseph longed to be the mother that Zero was proud of, and looked up to. Because to Marie Joseph, Zero is the one reason for her existence. Hell was heaven when Zero was brought into her world. Now, they were apart forever because Marie Joseph didn't or couldn't attack the Jacobins first.

Also, Marie Joseph is constantly being haunted with the thoughts of Marie Antoinette. Her dreams are plagued by the Dauphine she knew decades ago. And those memories of Antoinette frustrated her. That foolish queen stayed vain and arrogant to the very end, the most infuriating out of all the aristocrats she ever met. Antoinette, the brat who prioritized her nobility, than all the efforts Marie Joseph made to ensure her safety. Then gradually, she goes through a phase of denial; I gave her a choice, and she chose to act on her own selfish wishes. The shallow queen did not deserve any ounce of generosity. Marie Joseph's denial eventually morphs into guilt.

On some occasions, amongst the busy crowd, there would be English girls ranging from 13-18 in age, with rosy complexions, pale blonde curls, dressed with feminine elegance... Marie Joseph would then do a double look, (not in an attracted kind of way, like Humbert Humbert with his nymphette obsessions) but making sure she isn't just seeing Antoinette again.

Marie Joseph had weakened, left paralyzed for a long period because of the torture during the Revolution. She couldn't escape her anguish, let alone exit her room without assistance. The indomitable Marie Joseph Sanson, reduced to an 'old retarded woman'. For a while, she refused any aid from Andre. Pushed him away and dealt with her physical and mental pain herself. Changed her own bandages, rehabilitated her body on her own. Desperate for action and desperate for strength. Soon, she realized she didn't have the ability to be fully independent as she once was. Only then did she reluctantly called for Andre, once in a long while.

Andre like the worried housewife he is, rushed in, face stained with tears while he helped his mistress. An epiphany occurred to Marie Joseph then, that there will be people like Andre to pull her up when ever she's in the lowest of 'pathetic' like this. She learned to appreciate him more and his help, interacting with him the same as before, but just with less insults and mockery and more equal maturity as she grew even older.

Marie Joseph found a purpose later on, with educating children in need. As they reminded her so much of Zero. She found peace. Found the change she so desired. Her relationship with God got better... somewhat. But Marie Joseph was still the same. Still brave and adventurous, and funny and intelligent. Just more sensible. She can't really act on impulses now, her body never recovered fully.

As Marie Joseph was finally having the life she fought so hard to have, she began to battle with an illness that she couldn't avoid. She had accepted her fate. And in her last hours, only Andre was at her side. She reassured him calmly through his sobbing tears, expressed her gratitude for having him remain with her all her life, and passed away with the thoughts of her Zero.

Andre lived on, taking care of the school in memory of the admired teacher Marie Joseph, he told the tales of Marie Joseph Sanson that were eventually forgotten.

[mllekurtz]

*grabby hands* more bookbinder AU please

Hey! Also replying to @wanderingbasilisk and @augentrust asked about this.

Not a lot of progress has been made on the shadowgast bookbinder au since I last talked about it here. Have a long-ish snippet.

The stranger takes a step further, looking around. Whether he’s impressed by what he sees or the opposite, it doesn’t show: his face is a blank, polite mask. Once the door is closed behind him, he carefully sidesteps a workbench on his way to the counter. Caleb’s workshop is not meant for customers, and it shows. “Forgive the intrusion”, he says, without the faintest trace of apology in his tone. “My name is Essek Thelyss, and I am in need of an evaluation. Your establishment and skills were highly recommended to me.”

Caleb doesn’t move a single muscle. He’s never met anyone named Essek, but he recognizes the name Thelyss. What is the equivalent of a crown prince doing in his workshop? “By whom?” Now that Thelyss is significantly closer, Caleb can make out the details of his unblemished, ageless face: he registers high cheekbones and pale, piercing eyes, and that distinctive lack of rigidity in his perfect posture that denotes high breeding. Caleb’s assumption that he's dealing with nobility is confirmed. Thelyss arches a fine eyebrow at Caleb’s question. “Friends,” he says simply, with an emphasis that preempts any attempt to dig deeper. “They praised not only your expertise, but your discretion. I am in need of the former as well as the latter.” If Caleb knew what’s good for him, he would send the Kryn out, then pack all the belongings he can carry on his person, and leave. But curiosity has always been his cardinal sin; even now that he concerns himself with vessels of knowledge instead of the knowledge itself, there’s something in him primed to turn towards a mystery as helplessly and naturally as a sunflower follows the sun. He doesn’t miss the double speak, either: this man talks in a language Caleb hasn’t heard in a decade. It’s a hook that catches somewhere deep and primal in his gut, and pulls. His back straightens a little. “Your friends should have told you I only take appointments.” “My need for discretion is high,” Thelyss explains. He has the kind of voice that skims and sidesteps, that draws circles around the words instead of tackling them head on. “I thought it would be better not to announce myself.” He needed to catch Caleb unprepared, is what Caleb hears. For whose sake, though? Are these precautions for himself or a way to test Caleb? “Is your matter a personal one?” he asks. Thelyss smiles flatly. “Have we agreed to talk business, then?” On the imaginary chessboard between them, one of Caleb’s pawn is taken. Impulsively, Caleb decides to allow it. Before he can question the wisdom of this decision, he starts untying his apron. “We can talk. We'll see about business.” Essek keeps smiling. His mouth seems made especially for that kind of soft, inoffensive smile that only makes one think of the fangs it’s hiding. Quickly, Caleb looks back up into his eyes, which are only marginally less dangerous.

[bthump]

What aspects of griffguts do you find most compelling, and how do you envision their relationship and interactions off-screen?

Griffguts hits like, so many of my favourite romance tropes, so there's a lot that I find super compelling about them. The most compelling part though is probably the sacrifice. Griffith sacrificing Guts not because he prioritizes his dream over Guts, but because he prioritizes Guts over his dream and that destroyed him, and he's desperate to escape that love for Guts... it's the absolute ideal version of the 'romance vs ambition' narrative.

But man I also love the power dynamic, how notions of equality are so important to their relationship thematically, and how Griffith is consistently set as superior to Guts in terms of power, but his love for Guts neutralizes that power and destroys it at least once, and probably will again.

So yeah, the operatic tragic stuff is my jam.

As for their relationship offscreen, idk if I have anything particularly interesting to say lol. I think they were quite close as friends. Owen's image of Guts is riding at Griffith's side after a battle. Guts visits Griffith in his room after he becomes a noble often enough to notice when he gets more books. There's a lot of casual intimacy that's implied by the story, but that we never get to see. And yeah, I think that's the typical vibe between them - they're a matched set, together by default, usually hanging out and just enjoying each others' company, at least til being promoted into the nobility starts taking up more of Griffith's time (to Guts' resentment).

I think they both have a vibe of like, when one of them is elsewhere, the other is watching the door, hoping he arrives and comes to sit by him lol. It's a high school crush on your best friend.

And tbh I think that casual side of their relationship is what makes the epic, operatic stuff so good. The fact that they really are just two guys, two teenagers, lowkey accidentally in love with each other, who happen to be fated to have a profound impact on the world because of that regular, relatable relationship.

Thanks for the ask! Sorry it took a little while to answer, I haven't had much energy for putting words together recently lol.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Alpha, Beta (& Omega)"

Story Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2368

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, hurt/comfort, age gap, domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Sentor Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series, go to the masterlist

2. A Most Untoward Introduction

Chapter Summary: Before Bucky knows what’s what, a prenuptial agreement has been negotiated and arrangements are being made. Deciding to cause one last scandal before he's bound to a controlling Spouse for the rest of his life, he takes the train to New York for a night on the town.

House Barnes holds the New Jersey Seat, but of course Bucky’s been to New York. It’s where all the best parties are.

He’d have been perfectly happy if it had been university or even his own youthful adventures that brought him to live in New York City, but the fact that it’s a marriage of convenience means that he’s not happy about it. Not one little bit.

Lord Rogers gets word back to Winnifred fairly quickly, and before Bucky knows what’s what, a prenuptial agreement and dowry has been negotiated and arrangements are being made. The servants start packing his things and the neighbors visit with well wishes and Bucky is just dying inside, because he can’t stand this. He’s engaged, and everyone's acting all glad and happy because House Barnes won't be ruined after all, but all Bucky feels is a growing sense of dread. He hates that it’s out of his control.

To feel better about the whole situation, and to maybe just cause one last scandal before he's bound to a controlling Spouse for the rest of his life, Bucky—engaged as he is—takes the train to New York with some friends for a night on the town. House Romanov is hosting an evening at the St. Regis, and it’s where everyone who’s anyone will be.

The party is in full swing by the time Bucky walks through the ballroom doors. He inhales deeply, feeling some of the tension of the last two weeks slipping away. He’s going to have a good time tonight, impropriety be damned. Hell, he’ll be disappointed if by tomorrow morning there aren’t headlines in some cheap tabloid. With a smirk and a drink swiped off a passing waiter’s tray, Bucky thinks that perhaps his stupid father won’t be the only one to make the papers, come Monday.

The party isn’t meant for Senators themselves. Bucky and his loose group of friends wouldn’t have bothered attending, if it was. Instead, it's the sons and daughters and the fortunate friends of the country’s ruling class who crowd the hotel ballroom. The music is fast and loud, pushing the limits of what their parents would find suitable, and the dancing that’s taking place isn’t the requisite twelve inches apart. It's a fashionable evening of young people drinking too much and behaving loosely—mostly single Betas and Alphas, as there are no chaperones present to protect the virtue of unmarried omegas. But there are a few married omegas whom Bucky spots amongst the throng of guests, their beta Spouses or Alpha Headships never far away. Bucky stands towards the edge of the room and downs several glasses of champagne as he surveys the crowd, assessing his options.

Suddenly, someone is at his side, starched skirts brushing up against his dress pants. He glances over. “Natasha,” he says. “Thank you for the evening. It's a good turn out."

“Of course,” she says. "But I honestly didn’t expect you to be attending.”

“Oh, and why’s that?”

“Does your fiancée know you’re here?”

“No." Bucky takes another sip of his drink, mulish over her use of the word 'fiancée'. "And I wouldn’t care if he did. I’m free for a few more nights, at least.”

“A date’s been set, then?”

His guts clench at the question. “Yeah,” he mumbles. "Yeah. June first.” That evening is May twenty-fifth. He’s getting married in a week. Sighing, he tosses back the end of his drink and shoves the empty glass at a passing server. His head’s floating already, filled pleasantly with bubbles. He’ll be drunk within the half hour, he thinks. “This is my last hurrah,” he says to Natasha. “Don’t try to stop me.”

She shrugs. “I won’t. Though I have a feeling I should. You’re going to make a spectacle of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Why not? It’s not like my dear betrothed is here to stop me.” Bucky sneers, liking the thought of making a headline or two so that when he walks up to the altar in a few days, he'll earn a glare from his new husband. “If the good Captain cared, he’d be here, now wouldn’t he?”

“I suppose,” Natasha says, looking amused. “Have fun with that, James.”

Bucky grunts, shaking off the thought that perhaps she disapproves of his intentions. Whatever, he thinks. She'd do the same if she were in his boat. Bucky's the one being forced into a marriage of convenience to salvage his family's name. He deserves to have one last bit of fun.

The first person to catch his eye is a handsome young alpha with auburn hair. Bucky doesn’t recognize him as a Senatorial heir, but that doesn’t mean much. Bucky's only been introduced to society for a few short years, and he's spent far more of that time in hospital beds than he has in ballrooms. There are surely many members of Society—both high and low—with whom he is still unacquainted. Emboldened by the champagne, he approaches the auburn-haired stranger and strikes up a friendly but inelegant conversation.

The stranger engages with him for a few moments before he seems to realize who Bucky is, his attention catching on Bucky's neck and his stiff left arm. “Oh," he says. "You’re James Barnes."

Bucky’s a little miffed at being recognized by his scars, but he lets it pass. He’s still got a pretty face, after all. He’s a little confident that it can make up for his shortcomings. Especially to a half-drunk alpha with no date on his arm. “Yeah,” he says. “And who are you? I’d think I’d remember such a handsome face.”

The man looks surprised, and he visibly gains confidence as he catches onto Bucky’s interest. His posture becomes more flirtatious and he inches closer to Bucky. “Oh? Well I’m not Society, but my father does business with House Stark. Hammer industries?”

Bucky’s eyes light up. Even better. He steps closer and reaches to finger shamelessly at the man's lapel. “Bourgeoises,” he hums. “Just my taste."

A couple hours later, and Bucky has obtained a reservation and a room key from the front desk. His companion joins him on the lift, where the grate gets closed and the operator averts his eyes. Bucky kisses his companion and snickers privately to himself about the impropriety of it. He wonders if the lift operator will be the one to give comments to the tabloids, come tomorrow morning.

The alpha Bucky's kissing does a fair job of it, despite their mutual drunkenness. He favors brandy, evidenced by the flavor of his tongue each time it dips into Bucky's mouth. He kisses confidently, and his hands are large and rough where they grip at Bucky’s sides. The lift 'dings' as it arrives at their floor, and they step off together. The poor lift operator looks downright relieved to be rid of them, nodding his head with a harried, "Sirs," and quickly lowering back out of sight.

Bucky’s companion laughs and tugs him along down the hall to their room. “I daresay I like you,” he says. “A beta who knows what he wants. No wasting time.”

Bucky hums. He stands at the door to the room and tries to fit the key into the lock, but it’s hard with the other man standing behind him the way he is, holding his hips and rubbing up against him and kissing at his neck. “Mm, can’t wait to undress you.”

Bucky groans. “Yeah." He’s all for exhibitionism, but the hallway is too much, even for him, and he continues to fumble with the key. "Just ... gotta get this damn door."

The man laughs. “This is so improper!"

"No that improper," Bucky grunts. "Jeez."

The man snickers and noses under his ear. "Well aren't you supposed to be engaged?"

“Yes, he is."

The voice that cuts in is deep and unamused. Bucky inhales sharply and whips his head to the side. There’s another man standing there, another alpha, looking borderline furious and smelling that way, too. He’s handsome, blond haired and strong-jawed, but he’s also in the way, and Bucky looks him up and down with a scowl. “Do you mind?”

The man steps closer. He’s not looking at Bucky, but rather at Bucky's companion. “Take your hands off of him and get out of here,” he says.

Bucky isn’t expecting his companion to listen, is actually expecting a pissing contest to take place, but then the guy’s hands leave his hips and he steps away. “I’m sorry,” he says to to the alpha, sounding very embarrassed, despite his drunkenness, then he hurries away back towards the lift.

Bucky cannot believe it. He turns to glare at the new stranger. “Who the fuck do you think you are?!” he yells. He’s swollen in his pants, after all, and this guy has ruined his plans. The man doesn’t look abashed though. He looks disapproving as hell, which pisses Bucky off even more. “I asked you a question,” he growls, getting in the alpha’s face.

The man doesn’t budge. He just looks at Bucky like he’s a stupid kid. “I think you’d better go in that room and sleep off the state you’ve gotten yourself into,” he says. “I’m booked into a room down the hall. I’ll see you home safely in the morning.”

“Excuse me?” Bucky says, fuming. He reaches up to shove him, but the man catches his hand and holds it in place just over his chest. Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Let me go.”

“Promise me you’ll go in there and go to sleep,” the man says, still not acting like he’s in the wrong at all.

Bucky growls. “Fine!” He tries to yank his hand back and is surprised when the stranger allows it. He huffs, rubbing his wrist. “Jesus, you fucking pretentious alphas, think you can do whatever you want. You’re gonna regret this. Do you know who I am?”

The man’s lips quirk, for the first time looking amused, however wryly. “I know exactly who you are. You’re a spoilt brat who’s trying to make trouble.”

Bucky gasps. He feels like hitting the guy, but knows that he’d lose that fight fast. The man before him is big and fills out his suit in a way that lets Bucky know just how strong he must be. “Fuck you,” he says, angry and drunk and too tired to maintain this argument anymore. He turns away and focuses on getting his key in the lock. “You’re gonna regret this,” he mumbles again, though this time it’s with less venom since he can tell he’s not managing to get under this stranger’s skin. The door opens and Bucky pushes through.

“Go to sleep,” the man commands, as if it’s his right to do so. “I’ll retrieve you in the morning.”

Bucky scowls at the idiot stranger and slams the door in his face. He doesn’t bother getting undressed or doing anything more than taking a piss in the ensuite and yanking his collar loose before collapsing on the bed and passing out.

An abrupt knocking wakes Bucky, the sound of it far too loud and confusing the hell out of him as he groans blearily and blinks his eyes open. “Uuugh,” he moans. His head is pounding, and suddenly he remembers the night before, remembers where he is. “Fuck,” he mutters, feeling like shit.

He’d drank too much, and that stupid stranger had ruined the only reason why he’d imbibed anyway. He sits up in the bed, sparing a glance at his rumpled clothes. He hadn’t planned to spend the night in the city. A late-night train wouldn’t have seen his debauched state nearly so well as the daylight will. Great, he thinks. Now he’ll have to trompse through the lobby of the St. Regis in broad daylight.

“Fucking great,” he mutters. He gets up from the bed, as the knocking hasn’t stopped. He opens the door, prepared to fling a nasty insult at whatever hotel employee has deigned to disturb him. “What do you think you’re—” he freezes, words lost. It’s the man from last night; the blond alpha who’d ended all his fun. Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m afraid not,” the man says, calm. He’s dressed for the day and composed, and he nods out at the hallway. “I’m seeing you home. Let’s go.”

Bucky laughs. This man is a fucking idiot. Bucky’ll have him detained at the front desk, he decides. Tell the hotel staff to hold him for harassment while Bucky leaves. Satisfied with the thought, Bucky nods and steps out, shutting the door and starting off for the lifts. The stranger follows, self-assured. Not for long, Bucky thinks.

He turns his key in at the front desk and tells the clerk his name. One mention of House Barnes and the woman’s eyes are widening in acknowledgement. “Of course, Sir. We have your account on file.” Bucky’s lips curl as he prepares to tell the woman to make sure that the lunk at his side doesn’t follow him further, but before he can, her attention is shifting over to said lunk, and she’s saying respectfully, “And yourself, Captain Rogers? Are you checking out?”

Bucky’s heart seizes up. No. He looks over at the blond stranger and watches in vague horror as he answers to the name. Once the hotel employee has moved away, Bucky meets the alpha's gaze, astounded. “You’re Steven Rogers?”

The man—Captain Steven Rogers, it would seem—nods. “My friends call me Steve.”

Bucky gapes, mortified. “You could’ve told me who you were!”

“And what would that’ve changed?” Steve asks, eyebrow arched. “You were on a mission to misbehave last night.”

“You're damned right I was!”

“James, be quiet,” Steve snaps, looking around at all of the other hotel guests that litter the lobby. “You don’t need to make more of a scene than you already have.”

Bucky sneers. “Oh, are you embarrassed, Lord Rogers?” Steve stiffens. He takes Bucky by the upper arm and begins steering him towards the hotel’s front doors. “Hey!”

“I’m embarrassed for you, James,” Steve tells him as they emerge onto the street. He brings Bucky to the curb, where a motor carriage is idling. He opens the door and pushes Bucky in. Before he closes the door, Steve looks in at Bucky and tells him, “My man will take you home.”

“I don’t need your help,” Bucky snaps.

Steve sighs. “I understand that you’re acting out, or something along those lines.”

Bucky scowls. "I—"

“I also understand the situation that your family is in, and I won’t force you to do anything against your will. If you truly don’t want to follow through on the engagement, you only have to write me a letter. I’ll make some excuse. I won’t let anyone else know it was your decision.” Steve looks at him seriously. “But if you don’t write me that letter, James, then I’d better never hear of you behaving like this again.” He pulls back before Bucky can say anything to that. He shuts the carriage door and claps the roof to tell the driver to go. Bucky can only watch out the window as his future husband’s figure shrinks into the distance.

Series masterlist

Master list

If you liked what you read and feel so inclined, please consider dropping a tip in the Kofi🍵 cup. It's a big part of what allows me to take time to write. Thanks!