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sukirichi · 5 months ago

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[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 009 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

c/w. 18+. modern royal au. infidelity. angst. gaslighting. toxic characters. very suggestive. toxic relationships. unedited. kiyoomi is horny. and uh suna too

notes. we are in kiyoomi arccc whewww, also i think i mentioned the word balls like three times. anyways.

wc. 10.8k

series masterlist

[ NINE ] i know a place, it’s somewhere I go when I need to remember your face. we get married in our heads, something to do while we try to recall how we met

You were still reeling from your shock by the time your Mother showed up beside you. She must have noticed the quite interesting crowd of the royals and their parents, and couldn’t wait to indulge in the drama. A nosy creature, your mother was, but her presence comforted you. You had heard about it before – the tradition of having your last dance on your debutante ball would be your destined lover. Your mother would know; your father was her last dance. But you couldn’t remember it clearly, not when your only memory of your debut ball was the sinking dread of coming out into society and having to be removed from the comfort of your bedroom.

“My last dance,” you mused, plastering an apologetic smile as you turned to the older Prince. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I hadn’t known it was you.”

“As I’ve mentioned, I am the Forgotten Prince.”

Kanami ignored her son’s remark and clapped her hands. “It was a beautiful last dance as well. In fact, I’m certain your Mother remembers it.”

“I do! Oh, Princess, Miss Sakusa is right. I still remember that first time you danced with one of the Princes! It was magical!”

“It must be,” quipped Suna, who possessively wrapped an arm around your waist. He was close enough you could feel his breath on the nape of your neck, and even without looking at him, you could tell he was glaring at his brother. “Kiyoomi is a fantastic dancer. But tradition aside, fate sure has a funny way of working out because I wasn’t her last dance, yet she married me. I am a lucky Prince for that.”

“You weren’t even at her debut ball,” mumbled the Second Prince, causing your eyes to nearly pop out your head.

You knew it was rare for royals to attend the birthday balls of even noble families, but finding out that your husband hadn’t danced with you on your special night was a different kind of hurt.

“The Crown Prince is a lucky man, indeed,” sighed Kanami dreamily, unaware of the tension between you four – with the brothers ready to tear at each other’s throat, and Iris’ smile slowly transforming into a grimace. An eventful night, indeed. “So, Your Highness, any thoughts on my invitation?”

You didn’t give it a second thought.

“I would love to visit Itachiyama, Kanami.”

“Splendid! Oh, come, come, we have much to talk about!” she stole you away despite your husband’s protests, and soon, you were led away from the crowd. It was all up to your Mother to hold Rintaro back. Glancing back at your husband worriedly, all the worries faded away. Because he wasn’t even looking at you, but rather at Iris, who clutched her head and murmured something while Rintaro fretted over her. The only person who looked at you was Prince Kiyoomi, his handsome face stoic while his mother yapped in your ear.

“You have no idea how happy you’ve made this old woman.”

You turned away from her son’s intense gaze, waving a dismissive hand in the hair. “Please. You are hardly old. I can only hope I look as good as you at that age.”

“Dear, you flatter me too much!”

Smiling at her cuteness, you glanced around the room to look at her again. It seemed like she knew she would be the tonight’s topic, as the Princess’ red lips flattened into a thin line. You almost had the urge to smile wickedly. Almost, if she hadn’t been leaning against your husband for support. You wanted to scoff. She really had the audacity to pretend she was the poor one here – and because of what? Because her mother in law disapproved of her?

She had everything already. She had your husband’s heart, and you couldn’t even keep his attention on you for longer than ten minutes.

The Princess needed to stop acting like a kicked puppy. Otherwise, you would truly give in to the desire to kick her until she whined and cried at your feet.

Gods. Since when had you been so violent?

“As much as I am looking forward to our trip, however, I cannot help but wonder why you seemed… against Princess Iris,” you voiced your thoughts out, feigning innocence. “I am only assuming, of course. I do not mean to say you hold any animosity towards Her Highness.”

“You are not wrong. I do hold some ‘animosity’ towards her,” chuckled the free-mouthed Kanami, almost as if she didn’t care anyone could hear. She was too laid-back for a foreign guest, but you supposed with her wealth and fame, along with the fact she was the biological mother of the Second Prince, her confidence made sense. “I am well aware it is wrong, and I could be gravely punished for speaking ill about the royals, but… I never quite liked her for my son. They were never a great fit.”

“Is it because he is older?”

“Pssh. The age gap hardly matters. He is only three years older. But there is something about Iris… something… off. I mean, I know my place. It is not like I married the King or was promised any security or titles when I birthed his son, but I am still his mother, and surely I have the right to care about his future. That includes who he marries, and quite frankly, I dislike his wife. She seems ingenuine.”

“How so?”

Kanami’s cheeks puckered out. “Well, imagine my shock when my son – who spends most of his time hiding away in his room with his nose buried in a book – suddenly becomes a husband in a fortnight! And to her, no less. It is all too suspicious, I tell you. I have never heard nice things about that girl and her mother.”

“Her mother was an honorable and loyal follower of the Crown. Despite being from Itachiyama, they pledged their lives to the Crown.”

“Which is odd in itself, because Itachiyama is a great country. We are peaceful, and if there are issues within the people, it is resolved immediately. So that whole sham of a story of her mother ‘defecting’ and moving here for a better life sounds unbelievable,” she shook her head, lowering her voice as she hid her lips behind her palm. “And I know her mother. Kate. She has always been ambitious, scarily so.”

“And you know this because…?”

“Because years ago, when His Majesty visited Itachiyama, I was not the one who meant to end up in his bed,” she admitted with a wince, “Kate had always set her sights on greater things. If she couldn’t be his wife, she could be his concubine, at the very least. And oh, His Majesty was smitten with her. She was a wonderful performer, and they shared too many drinks, but… Well, I, myself, am lost on what happened next. The King and I conversed the whole night, and I felt a spark, you know?”

Your head spun with all this information. You always knew the Royal Family Tree was a mess, thanks to the late King’s trysts with multiple women. But hearing about the history of it all caused your head to ache.

“I see. And that night, Kiyoomi was conceived.”

“He was. And Kate never spoke to me again. Next thing I know, I heard she moved to Inarizaki, and I figured she still hadn’t given up on the King. So when my son informed he was now married to Kate’s daughter, I was restless. I am most certain this had to be her doing.”

“Where is she now? Iris’ mother?”

“I don’t know,” she blinked, as if realizing this now, too. “She disappeared one day, and each time I asked Iris how her mother was faring, she’d stop speaking completely.”

“Perhaps she is not on good terms with her mother and is uncomfortable about the topic.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, and then tilted her head to the side, a smirk on her pretty face. “Is it rude of me to say I wish my son married you instead? I know you are smitten with your Prince, but a mother can hope, can she not?”

The rest of the night, Miss Sakusa terrorized the guests. It was uncanny seeing how different she was to her son, who barely spoke a word. She was bright and lively, lived for sarcasm, and seemed to have a penchant for making Iris uncomfortable. You honestly would’ve felt bad if you didn’t agree to the mean things Kanami said about her. But that aside, you still couldn’t move over the fact that Iris was a huge contrast to Maiko. Maiko and Oikawa’s marriage, you understood. She came from an influential noble family, and so did Tooru. But who was Iris, exactly? How exactly did a citizen from Itachiyama, without a father and a mysterious, greedy mother end up being married to a Prince also in line for the crown?

Could it be that Kanami was right? Did Iris’ mother plan all of this – all to have a spot in the throne? If it was true, then you couldn’t cross out the possibility Iris may have seduced Rintaro when they were teenagers. He was the Crown Prince, for goodness’ sake. There was no quicker ticket to the throne than to have the rightful heir be smitten with you.

All this thinking wasn’t good for the night.

You were supposed to enjoy, and so you stole a glass when a servant passed and down the drink, uncaring if people thought it to be ungraceful for a Princess. It was an intimate gathering, anyway, with only the royal family and some of your closest friends and relatives. Surely they would understand you needed to loosen up.

Breaking free from Kanami, who had now taken her attentions to fixing Kiyoomi’s unruly curls, you watched as your Mother stood in front of the podium. She tapped the bread knife against her class, the clinking sound catching everyone’s attention. When she had them, your mother took a deep breath, searching for you in the crowd as a smile lit up her face.

You stiffened in your seat. Beside you, Rintaro took his place, his hand snaking down to rest on your thigh.

“I would like to thank everyone who graced us with their presence tonight,” your mother began, raising her glass in the air. “And I would like a toast in honor of Her Highness’ marriage, and to the Crown Prince, as well. I wish you both nothing but happiness and may you reign supreme.”

“To the Prince and Princess!” cheered the crowd. Feeling everyone’s eyes on you, you leaned back against Rintaro’s chest and smiled, the perfect image of a couple in love. Rintaro played the part, too, squeezing your thigh and pressing a kiss on the curve of your cheek. You let out a giggle – though it sounded more like a gurgle at the shock. Rintaro chuckled at your reaction, his chest vibrating with the sound.

You couldn’t deal with this anymore.

The night went from perfect to messed up, to you being slapped in the face with reality. You felt bad for yourself for not learning. Just because your husband danced with you, and he’d been perfect the past few days, didn’t mean he wouldn’t run to Iris if given the chance. You’d seen it with your own eyes. How if stuck in a situation where he was forced to choose between the two, he would choose her. And it was pathetic. You had his ring on your finger. You had the burden of his crown and title on your shoulders when all you ever wanted was love. And he couldn’t even give you that. Worse, he meant none of it.

How was it so easy for him to laugh and kiss you like it was the most normal thing in the world when both of you knew deep down he did not want you?

It was becoming unbearable. You needed to leave. Now.

Prying yourself off his grasp, you ducked. “Excuse me.” Rintaro couldn’t get the chance to speak when you darted past him and into the restroom. There, you heard the racing of your heart loud and clear – a song of both yearning and hurt lingering deep in your bones. You couldn’t understand it – not when you glanced at your reflection in the mirror and wondered… why not me? You were beautiful. You were educated. Surely, he must have seen good qualities in you if he chose to court you for two years when there were other more charismatic bachelorettes out there. Or… did he choose you because he knew you were inexperienced? Because you were lonely, shy, and therefore the easiest to manipulate?

The worst part of it all was that he had already made his intentions clear. You knew he loved her. You saw it in his eyes – the way his eyes drooped when he spoke about her, and his voice grew softer. How he yearned for her so badly talking about her hurt. But Maiko had given you false hope, and his sweet gestures didn’t help. This would all be easier if he hurt you, like he had back at your honeymoon, because then at least you would have a greater reason to hate him.

And that was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

To turn all this love into hate.

So letting him go would be easier. Although it never was.

Gripping the edge of the sink, you forced yourself to take deep breaths. Breathe in, breathe out. Count from one to eight with your eyes closed and focus only on the sensation of your lungs expanding and retracting. Do not think about him, do not think about his kisses, or his hand on your thigh, or how he called you beautiful –

“So this is where you were.”

You raised your head. Rintaro swung the door open, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you inquisitively. You both stared at each other like that for a moment, letting all the unspoken words just hang in the air until he broke the silence. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, sounding defeated. And this time, it sounded like he meant it. “You know I don’t wish to lie to your parents like that.”

You shrugged, turning on the faucet and splashing some water on your face. It became harder to breathe when he was around – all handsome and every bit the piece of your greatest desire.

“It’s just another night we have to see the end of.”

“Are you really going to Itachiyama?” he craned his head, eyes narrowed. “I cannot accompany you.”

“I did not ask you to.”

“I know, but,” he tried to argue, crossing the distance in three long strides. Just like the other night at the Palace hallway, his large frame engulfed you, trapping you between him and the sink. With him this close, you could see the unmasked desperation written all over his face. The frustration. “It’s… it’s Kiyoomi. I am uncomfortable knowing you would be spending days with him. Alone, at that. At least take someone with you.”

“My maids are coming.”

“I do not mean the maids.”

“Then who should I bring? His precious wife?” you rolled your eyes, “In case you weren’t aware, she isn’t invited either.”

“She should be…”

You couldn’t stop yourself from planting your palms in his chest, and gave him a shove. Your stupid husband, all lean with muscle, barely budged. It irritated you further. “Oh, come on, Your Highness. Do not act like this inconveniences you. I will be away for days, and so is your lover’s husband. The two people standing in your way will be out of your hair. Shouldn’t you be rejoicing in delight? No better time to frolic around with your lover when your wife and her husband aren’t around.”

Rintaro’s jaw clenched.

“You are saying I should be happy my wife is going on vacation with another man.”

“It sounds to me like you are afraid of your own shadow,” you mocked, and Rintaro flinched back. He hadn’t expected the harsh truth of your words would pierce this deep. “I am not an adulterer, my Prince. It has never once occurred to me to seduce someone else when I am married. Besides, Iris seemed rather relieved at the prospect of having you all by herself for a week,” you reminded him, having seen the Princess’ newfound relief only moments after Kanami had announced you would be having a trip with her son. It made you want to laugh. “You should enjoy, my Prince. You can even fuck in our bedroom.”

Whatever distance he previously put between you disappeared.

Rintaro growled, slamming his chest into yours until there was nothing but your clothes separating you. He shook with fury, and you delighted in it. How you could provoke this reaction from him. And you laughed, or tried to, because all the noises you made got swallowed in your throat when Rintaro grabbed your throat. Not tight enough to choke you, but the pressure served as a warning. Swiping his thumb on your lower lip, Rintaro huffed.

“Every day you test my patience. I think I rather preferred you when you were more malleable.”

“Sounds like you married the wrong person, then,” you spat out, and Rintaro’s dark chuckle reverberated in the empty space of the room.

“Oh, I made no mistake choosing you, that I assure. You are perfect in my eyes, whether you believe it or not,” and sooner than you liked, your husband was off of you again. But he was still close enough that his fingers intertwined with yours, the touch shockingly gentle despite his apparent anger with you. “And because you are my perfect wife, and my Princess, we will go back out there with all smiles and laughter. We are to appear in love. Do you understand?”

You glared up at him defiantly.

“Fuck you, Rintaro.”

Your husband smirked. “Darling, I wish you would.”

You began packing for your trip to Itachiyama. It wasn’t supposed to be for another three days, since Kanami still had work and wanted to be free by the time you and Kiyoomi arrived, but after everything that happened between you and Rintaro, you were eager to leave. After that dreadful night at the ball where he forced you to hold his hand the entire time, your legs felt uncomfortable with slick.

As shameful as it was to admit, you hadn’t expected your husband’s anger would make you feel things. Sinful things that led you to sneaking your hands down your thighs when you got home. And by the Gods, you bit your lip so hard to not scream his name when he was just in the other room.

Another moment spent with him was just pure torture. So, you were running away.

It wasn’t the bravest thing to do, but you already tried braving it all, only to fail spectacularly. You were still weak around him, and until you managed enough strength to actually pretend you didn’t care about Rintaro, the distance sounded like bliss. Even if your husband eventually supported you in this trip, because ‘he can finally spend more time with Iris.’ Right. You wanted him to be happy about this, but heavens, couldn’t he act a little less eager to have you gone?

You think you would lose it if he truly fucked her in your bed.

“Call me when you get there,” Rintaro’s voice drifted through the wind, and you swallowed. You were now at the airport, and he stood there below the staircase, hands shoved in his pockets. Your heart ached at the sight of him – so handsome with the wind messing up his hair, his cheeks just slighty flushed from the cold, and his lips plump and swollen still from the farewell kiss he gave you. It was all just an act, of course, since there must be some lingering paparazzi, but you still felt him. You could still taste the mint of his toothpaste on your tongue, his strawberry candy lingering at your taste buds.

But of course, he didn’t love you.

You felt the lack of that, too.

“I’ll see you,” was all you said before turning around, already looking inside the plane and spotting Kiyoomi.

He sat on the seat across from you, his eyes closed with music playing in his headphones. He looked so peaceful like this. For once, he wasn’t frowning, and it was then that nervousness settled in you as you awkwardly shifted in your seat. You still weren’t quite too fond of the Second Prince – his dry remarks always baffled you. He always left you wondering if you should laugh it off, or if you should apologize. If not that, his silence itself was completely unsettling. And when he opened his eyes, his body as still as water when he regarded you, you were certain you stopped breathing.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Huh? Oh. Oh, yes. I am.”

The Prince nods, looking outside the window. You did, too, and then regretted it when you caught sight of Iris and Rintaro outside the limos, huddled together for warmth. To other people’s eyes, it would just be two people waving goodbye to their spouses as they left. But you and Kiyoomi knew better.

Wriggling back to make himself more comfortable in his seat, Kiyoomi turned up the volume in his phone. “Well, this is going to be fun.”

You wished you could agree.

When you woke, you had arrived in Itachiyama. It was only a forty-five minute flight, but you dozed off nonetheless, and when you did, Kiyoomi had already wrapped a blanket around you. You thanked the silent Prince for it, but he made no gesture to say whether he heard you or not. He was a gentleman, at least. Holding your hand as you made your way down the plane, opening the doors for you into his car, and offering you drinks as the driver headed to Kiyoomi’s farmhouse.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with my mother. She can be quite persuasive.”

You looked back at Kiyoomi. You had been staring at all the billboards of Kanami; commercial ads, movie promotions, and the like. It stunned you again how this loud and flashy woman was the mother of a silent, brooding man. Even now, he had himself glued to his seat, adamant to put distance between you both with his arms crossed against his chest. “I was delighted by her invitation,” you tell him, glancing outside the windows again at another huge billboard of Kanami eating local ramen noodles. ‘MUST TRY!’ it was captioned, and they colored her cheeks red from the spicy flavor. You chuckled. “Wow. She really is everywhere.”

Kiyoomi followed your gaze. “She’s Itachiyama’s darling,” he shrugged, and then leant forward until his elbows rested on his knees. Sheepish wasn’t a word you would use to describe the Second Prince, but he definitely looked like it right now. “I must let you know, my mother didn’t invite you to visit just because she felt like it. She… well, she wanted you to somehow see Itachiyama as your home.”

“But I already have a home.”

“Yes, but she is fond of you, and she’s delusional that you should’ve been married to me,” he scratched his cheek, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Then, his cheeks flushed red, and you felt heat crawling on your neck at the implication of his words. “Sorry. That was awkward.”

“It’s fine. You are a great man, so it’s not like being married to you sounds entirely bad.”

“Definitely beats being married to my brother.”

“I guess so,” you chuckled, expelling any thoughts of being married to Kiyoomi instead. It wasn’t such a bad thing, to be honest. He was tall, handsome, and respectful. All of the Princess were good-looking in their own ways, but Prince Kiyoomi held the type of regal beauty that you would have oil portraits of hanging on the entrance of your home. He was large, stood tall and imposing, but never did he actually make you feel small or irrelevant. And even with his mysterious and silent demeanor, his intimidating features did little to hide his humble and bashful nature underneath. Which you found adorable, but you would never say it out loud. Instead, you watched as a crowd gathered in the middle of the city. Children ran around laughing, and parents bought trinkets from the stalls set up at the edge of the road.

“What is that?”

“A culture festival. They hold it annually around this time of the year to welcome autumn and give thanks for prosperous harvests. It’s called Kōyō no Matsuri, or ‘Festival of the Changing Leaves.’ It lasts about eight days where the farmers come together and celebrate.”

Unable to contain your excitement, you pressed your palms against the window. “I heard about this from the Crown Prince. Something about Itachiyama being one of the main suppliers of harvest and livestock?”

“We’re mostly a farmer country, whilst Inarizaki is the more advanced and modern one. It’s mostly to do with how our terrain is just richer in natural riches, while Inarizaki boasts in academics and politics,” he informed, “On the third day of the festival, the farmers visit some shrines to offer thanks for their harvest, and on the fifth day, they gather around the old temples and castles before Itachiyama and Inarizaki were split into two.”

“Wow. I hadn’t known your country would be so rich with history.”

“Technically, both countries share the same history. They just took separate paths at the end of it all.”

Pushing yourself off from the window, the driver drove past from the festival commotion until more trees surrounded you. You figured you’d left the city and now travelled somewhere more remote – fitting for where Kiyoomi lived.

“Do you like it better here?”

“Yes. It’s much quieter, and here, people don’t care too much on how I’m supposed to act as a Prince. I’m not their Prince, after all. I’m just a half-blood who happened to be their spokesperson.”

Something about his tone told you there was more he wanted to say, but chose not to. You pondered over it – how the Princes were so different. Some loved their titles and basked in their wealth, while some took their duties seriously to serve their people better. And then there was Rintaro, who was nearly crushed by the pressure to become better than Ushijima, and Kiyoomi… Kiyoomi, who remains an enigma to you. From what you heard about the Second Prince, people called him lazy, rarely attending meetings and showing up only when needed. It made you wonder how he was like as a little boy, who probably just wanted to live normally and in quiet, but because he was a Prince, he had to become someone else entirely.

Letting it go, you decided to change the topic. You were certain the Prince would share more with you about himself when he was ready.

“Your Highness, I would love to attend the festival.”

“Really?” his brows raised, and your eyes caught the motion of his vertical moles following the movement. “I mean, you can, but there would be lots of people. Wouldn’t you rather rest?”

“I’ve been doing nothing but rest the past few days. It would be nice to go out and do something. Besides, I wish to know more about your people.” And you meant it. You were barely a few hours in Itachiyama, but it already reminded you of the peaceful Greenville where you were raised. Itachiyama was starting to feel like home, like Kanami hoped.

Across you, you remained unaware of the Prince’s soft smile.

“I see. I shall take you to the festival tonight.”

Seeing as Kanami still had her schedule filled, you and Kiyoomi had the rest of the day to yourselves until she returned. His mother did his best to welcome you, though, even in her absence. When you arrived at Kiyoomi’s farmhouse, she had already left you a bouquet of roses and a handwritten card telling you how happy she was her ‘daughter’ was now in her home country. It made your heart soften, even more so when she lent you a black-and-yellow floral yukata for tonight’s festival.

“You look nice,” Kiyoomi commented when you descended from the stairs, some flower pins in your hair. Overall, you felt pretty. It felt nice to be out of corsets and long-sleeved dresses. You could tell Kiyoomi approved too, as his eyes lit up, but his lips remained the same with an impassive expression. Offering his arm, you gladly took it, letting him lead you out and into the awaiting chauffeur. “Did my mother tell you to wear that?”

“She did. She said it would be more appropriate to wear traditional clothing fitting for the festival,” you gave a little twirl, and Kiyoomi’s lips curled by the slightest. It was enough to make you happy, and you were practically bouncing in your seat as the city lights came into view. Kiyoomi’s farmhouse rested on the countryside; surrounded by nothing but hills and endless amounts of grass. Signal couldn’t reach there, too, so you left your phone behind.

Tonight, you would simply enjoy this trip.

“Do you attend often?”

“When I can, yes, but… It’s a rather intimate celebration for the farmers, and I feel like I don’t do much for them, so I mostly sit out at home.”

“But you are a farmer, too, aren’t you?”

His eyes narrowed, but the reddening of his ears told you it was more of embarrassment. “Who told you that?”

“Your mother,” you chuckled. Once you’d arrived at the city, and the driver had parked somewhere else, you looped your arm around Kiyoomi’s and ventured into the heart of thefestival. “And I’m not stupid – you live in a farmhouse and have your own barn. I just never thought you would be the nature type.”

“There are lots you don’t know about me.”

“I can always learn.”

Kiyoomi’s gaze casted downwards. You couldn’t read his expression; he was always so guarded. But before you could contemplate on it further, you were swept up in the festivities. Everyone around you wore a yukata, and young couples held hands while wearing matching bracelets. Kiyoomi had told you those bracelets were special only for this festival, that the symbol of the moon was to pay respects to the Heavens for the blessings they bestow. Parents also joined in the night, with their children eating caramelized apples, and other candies. Mostly, the stalls offered food from their harvests such as roasted chestnuts, rice cakes, and pumpkin dishes. There was such a strong sense of community within the people that you were overwhelmed – Inarizaki didn’t feel as homely as Itachiyama.

An hour later, your stomach was well beyond full. You’d tasted and tried everything the farmers and their wives made. And when they saw the delighted way you closed your eyes and moaned at the delicacies, they offered you more and more. Kiyoomi paid for everything despite your protests, saying he was the host, and your only job for tonight was to enjoy.

Well, you surely wouldn’t complain.

Once you’d eaten your fill, and purchased a fox mask that matched your yukata, a group of young men started banging their drums. A woman played her flute effortlessly even behind her crow mask. Beside her, more people in matching crow masks sang in a foreign language. It sounded like a serenade; something about the voices were sweet, calling out to you like you were being seduced, and the hypnotic beats of the drum made your hips sway. But the most shocking part of it all was when people began to join in and held their partners, bumping their masks as if they were kissing, their hands squeezing each other’s waists and chanting along to the song.

You were mesmerized.

“That’s the Harvesting Dance,” Kiyoomi whispered in your ear, “They dance in hopes to bring joy to the ancestral spirits for blessing them with good harvest this year.”

“Must it always be a man and a woman?”

“It’s… an intimate dance,” he struggled to let out, and you craned your head towards him. He’d bought himself a fox mask to match yours, claiming he’d feel more comfortable if people didn’t recognize him. “Like the union of man and woman, they have become one with the ancestral spirits. It’s a time for reconnecting to their old ways, and showing gratitude for the family they’ve been given. And, uhm…” he scratched the back of his ears, which had turned pinkish again, “Well, it’s not just about harvest, really. It is also a dance for fertile crops and fertile wombs.”

Realization dawned on you.

“Oh!”

“It is a newly married couple’s tradition to participate in the dance.”

You nodded at the information, feeling both flustered and entertained at the Prince’s bashfulness. You almost wanted to tease him more about it until you were dragged by a young woman, her male partner already waiting for her in the middle of the dance. She rotated her hips in a circle and jumped to the beat, head thrown back in laughter. You couldn’t help but laugh with her, too – her laugh was contagious, and Kiyoomi was right. There was a sense of freedom when people didn’t know who you were.

“You lovebirds! Don’t miss out on the dance, unless you want the ancestral spirits to take away your virility!”

“Oh, thank you, but–”

“You are newly married, are you not?”

“I am, but–”

“Then come dance so you may be blessed with many healthy offspring!”

Sending a halfhearted apologetic smile to Prince, you dragged him with you. You realized he couldn’t see you, exactly, but your eyes were crinkled enough from your joy. He grumbled a bit, but otherwise didn’t complain. When the music played again, you mimicked the locals’ movements and giggled so hard your stomach hurt. Some of the steps were suggestive – a flirty brush of your knuckles on Kiyoomi’s chest, or him rubbing his mask tenderly at the sensitive spot of your neck. Through it all, you had to remain connected to each other. It was hard to tell who held who tighter – Kiyoomi had his hands planted on your hips with a deliciously vice-tight grip, and the fronts of his kimono had been undone by your teasing, restless hands.

You now understood why the dance encouraged fertility. There was so much seduction with only just your bodies, with no words needing to be spoken. And you couldn’t help but wonder – is this the way to Kiyoomi’s heart? Because he is not the best with words, so you had to touch him at all the right places?

You received your answer when the drums came to a crescendo before immediately halting. Like a growing orgasm, until it exploded from within, and you found yourself pressed up against Kiyoomi’s. Pressed close enough that his breathing matched yours. His eyes, already dark, grew impossibly darker.

“That was fun!” you bumped your mask with his, breathing hard underneath. “Has anyone told you you’re a great dancer?”

The Prince snorted. “I would be surprised if I wasn’t. I spent the good half of my childhood enduring dance lessons, thanks to my mother.”

You laughed hard at that. Already, this was becoming one of the best nights of your life. Back in Inarizaki, you didn’t go out much to socialize. All the other unmarried ladies seemed to be well-versed in charismatic social skills and effortlessly landed a husband within months after their debut into society. You, on the other hand, having grown up as an only child with busy parents, had no one to talk to. You stuttered a lot, and always stumbled on your own thoughts when voicing them out loud. It truly was a surprise to everyone that the Crown Prince found you interesting – even if that seemed a lifetime ago.

But you supposed you really weren’t the same person anymore. Because if you were still the same shy, bumbling young woman from years ago, you wouldn’t be here in Itachiyama, laughing without a care in the world with a handsome Prince at your side. He’d bought you more trinkets, and another set to gift to your mother when you returned home. You found it incredibly sweet, but of course, Kiyoomi only grumbled in embarrassment when you told him about it.

By the time Kiyoomi’s arms were filled with shopping bags, the crowd began to lessen. It was getting late, yet you were in no hurry, walking at a snail’s pace along the closed roads.

Silently hoping this moment would last forever.

“Your homeland is beautiful, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” he said, and his brows furrowed deep in thought – as if hesitating. “They end tonight’s celebration with a Lantern Lighting Ceremony. Would you like to see?”

Your jaw dropped. Can this night get any better?

“I would love to!”

Since some of Kiyoomi and your security were still discreetly following, he handed them the bags before leading you away from the roads and near a lake, just beside the heart of the city. There, floating hydrangeas decorated the water, looking like it came out of a painting. Lanterns were already being lit up from where you stood – some with a rented wooden boat, and the rest content to just remaining in the concrete pavement, their hands weaved together as they mumbled themselves.

You turned to Kiyoomi in question. “It works like a birthday wish,” he explained, politely bowing to the old man who sold lanterns and match sticks. “You say your greatest desire, and then you let go of the lantern. The ancestral spirits will hear of your prayer and grant it to you.”

Doing as he said, you close your eyes. You could hear Kiyoomi lighting the match as he lit up the lantern, and you wished for more of this – more joyful, peaceful nights. It seemed like a simple wish, but with your current predicament, you had to jump at any chance of luck you could get. After all, you would have to leave Itachiyama someday. Your life wasn’t always going to be like this – of dances, of candied apples, of lighting lanterns and simply feeling alive. Because you knew once you returned home, reality would set in. So you prayed, and desperately wished, to experience happiness.

Satisfied, you cracked your eyes open, beaming at how the golden lantern burned even brighter in Kiyoomi’s large hands. Seriously, his hands were so big and his fingers long he almost encompassed the entire paper globe. However, he only had his eyes on you, his expression somber and lips tight – almost as if he knew you had wished for something impossible, and he, too, wanted your wish to come true.

“Did you wish for anything?”

“No.” He shook his head, “I already have everything I could need. The farmers need the prayers more than I do.” Again, you were stunned by the Prince’s thoughtfulness. He turned to you to ask if you were ready to let go of the lantern, and you nodded, the both of you watching as it soared up high in the sky – the dark night decorated with a hundred little lanterns like stars rising from the lake.

It was pure magic.

“Whatever it is you wished for,” Kiyoomi mumbled, “I hope it will come true.”

Your lips wobbled. “I hope so too.”

He nodded, feeling awkward once more, and you nearly laughed. The Prince clearly wasn’t great at dealing with genuine emotions. “Are you tired? We can return home already.”

“I’d like to walk on the way back to the car. I don’t want the night to end just yet.”

Kiyoomi wasn’t against your idea. You shared the silence in peace, gratitude and pure, unabashed happiness blooming from within your chest. You suddenly missed your mother; wishing you could’ve taken her with you. She would’ve loved it here. She would shamelessly do the Harvesting Dance with your father, because they were still enamored with one another even after years of marriage. They were the reason you believed in true love and hoped to have it for yourself. But alas, fate had different plans for you.

It had made you fall in love with the wrong person and made you a Princess in the aftermath.

Sneaking a glance at Kiyoomi, you noticed he’d already taken off his mask. His handsome features were bathed in the moonlight, making him look even more ethereal than he already was. His features, strong, and dark, and sharp, yet his lips were curved so softly, his dark eyes nothing but tender and patient.

He held none of the malice or greed the other Princes had.

“Do you enjoy being Prince, Your Highness?” you blurted after a while, because talking seemed to be the better option than ogling at his beauty. No, you couldn’t do that. You were both married to someone else – and you would rather lose your title than be unfaithful like Rintaro.

Rintaro. Just the thought of his name soured your mood.

“Not quite,” he admitted, “It isn’t as grand as it sounds. There are lots of things to do, and a myriad of rules to follow. But I still think this responsibility bestowed on me is an honor. After all, not everyone has the privilege to be born with a purpose. Many people spend the rest of their lives looking for it, but mine was handed in a silver platter.”

“Hm. I never thought of it that way. I… I always thought you hated being Prince.”

“I do not despite it, but neither do I like it.”

“What would you be doing, then, if you were born as a commoner?”

He side eyed you, a hint of a smile appearing on his face. “Farming.”

You both laughed. Of course that was his answer. “Why am I not surprised by that?”

“What about you?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and briefly glancing at the fat, extravagant ring on your finger. The sight of it made him wince, but he schooled his face into impassiveness before you could think about it. In return, you searched for his wedding ring too, frowning upon the realization he hadn’t worn it. “What would you be doing if you hadn’t married my brother?”

“Hmm… Managing the household… learning the business, although if you ask me, I really would have wanted to get married, regardless if it was to a royal or not. In fact, I never even dreamt of being a Princess. It just never seemed to be possible for me.”

“You’re a great Princess,” he commended, and that warmth blooming in your chest had fully sparked. “Who would you have married, then?”

“Anyone who loved me and cherished me,” you scrunched up your nose, feeling bashful. “I am quite the simpleton, aren’t I?”

“There is nothing wrong with wanting simple things.”

His words held nothing but sincerity. Coming from a Prince who didn’t indulge in the lavishness he could have with his life, and opted for farming instead, you believed him. And it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulder, like a breath you’d been holding had been released. Kiyoomi was like a breath of fresh air. He was so different from his brothers – so detached from the crown, yet so connected to the world and its humble gifts. Kita was different, too, but he held a sharp edge to him. He wielded his intelligence and knowledge like a weapon, because living anywhere near the throne was a battle in itself, but Kiyoomi was just… different.

In a world of polished gems, he shone brightly as a raw diamond.

“Your Highness, I… I know most of royal marriages are arranged, and rarely does it happen out of love, but why Iris? You are the second Prince. Anyone of you could have had anyone you wanted, and Iris didn’t seem wealthy or influential enough to be a royal spouse candidate. Why her?”

“Because she’s from Itachiyama.”

“That’s it?”

Kiyoomi licked his lips, thinking about his answer before he spoke them. “You are aware I’m the only son with a foreign mother. When I was born, they saw potential in me, to possibly unite the two territories into one again. But I was aloof, and liked to keep to myself, so I lacked in that department. When Iris had been presented to the Queen by her mother and they pledged their loyalty to the throne, she was made a royal scholar,” he glanced at you, gauging for your reaction. “You are right that she isn’t anyone’s first choice to be a Prince’s wife. She comes from a common family with nothing to her name. But she is intelligent, and she has always shown dedication to the throne. That was enough to convince the Queen we were the most sensible pair.”

“And is it working? Are we being united to your homeland?”

“No. Iris has barely stepped foot in Itachiyama,” This time, Kiyoomi turned away from you and licked his lips. “She mostly does work at the Palace.”

“Because Rintaro is there?”

“Precisely.” You knew he would answer that, but the image popping in your head was unkind – of Iris and Rintaro making love to one another while you weren’t around.

“Do you love her? Or hold affection for her, in the very least?”

“Not at all. I never wanted to marry, and my opinion of her hasn’t changed since we married,” the determination in his voice surprised you, a hardness settling over his features. “Royal marriages are always done with a political purpose, Princess. It was, and never will be, out of love.”

The conversation died at that. You didn’t press further, either, because you knew Kiyoomi hadn’t said those words to hurt you. He only meant to remind you. And you were thankful, because he chose to be honest, albeit cruelly, when everyone else made you a fool – a weak fool who had to be fed lies because people believed you wouldn’t be able to stomach the truth. Perhaps they were right, perhaps you were weak, but Kiyoomi didn’t look at you like that. He only looked at you like he despised everyone for even lying, or keeping secrets, and he’d made it his mission to be truthful.

Truly, your unexpected friendship with the Prince had been the greatest gift.

“Thank you for the lovely evening, Your Highness,” you bowed to him, quite ready to retreat back into the guest room once you’d reached his farmhouse.

“It was my pleasure,” he returned the bow, yet remained frozen at the bottom of the staircase, tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip nervously. “Oh, and Princess? Would you… come and like to meet my horses tomorrow? I think you would like them.”

Somehow, the thought of Kiyoomi introducing his horses to you, and nerding out about them, put a smile on your face. Getting to know the Princes was like unwrapping a gift – you never know if you would like what was inside. But you most definitely liked Kiyoomi, and you remained true to your word that you would learn everything about him. His horses, his history, the contents of his heart, and every inch of his farmhouse and barn if he would let you.

“I would love to.”

You couldn’t stop tossing and turning in your bed.

Today’s events still played on your mind like a loop. The festivities, the freedom that came with anonymity, the connection of the citizens to their culture and history – you realized they were so different from Inarizaki. Inarizaki had its great parts, too, like their dedication to the monarchy and the power they held. It was a country known for having many scholars as the academe was greatly funded by the monarchs, but somehow it always felt… detached. Detached from nature, detached from the basic aspects of humanity.

Inarizaki cared about greatness, and so did its people. It was the sole reason why they had such strict customs and adhered to the law like their life depended on it. Itachiyama was different. They weren’t the most advanced – their buildings not as tall, their country mostly surrounded by beaches or forests, with their people preferring the old ways. Yet somehow, you felt more at home here.

It reminded you of Greenville and summers spent chasing dragonflies and lying on the grass to sunbathe.

It reminded you of a childhood long gone.

Sighing to yourself, you slipped out of the covers. The clock read it was just quarter past two am. Kiyoomi’s staff were already asleep, and you were certain each footstep you took would cause the floorboards to creak. Still, there was only so little you could do in your room. The TV didn’t have cable, Kiyoomi wasn’t interested in having Wi-Fi, and the place was rather empty of anything that could entertain you.

Surely a little exploring wouldn’t hurt, though. Slipping your arms into your robe, you tied it around your waist and exited your room. The hallways were dark and empty, and you held your breath, tiptoeing around the halls. You didn’t know why you were so nervous to be caught. It wasn’t like you were doing something wrong, although you did look suspicious turning every knob and groaning when none opened.

What was the point of all these rooms if you couldn’t enter them?

Walking around, you studied every bit of Kiyoomi’s farmhouse. It was grand in size, and nothing about the chandeliers and marble floors were the least bit modest, but it felt homey. There were knick-knacks everywhere, messy childhood paintings and poorly drawn stick-figures hung up on the wall. Upon closer look, you saw Tobio and Tooru scribbled upon the drawings. Smiling to yourself, you took it all greedily – the lack of family pictures replaced by these artworks, the fresh flowers with Kanami’s name tagged on a card lovingly taken care of, and a single portrait of Kanami with a younger Kiyoomi on her lap.

You could imagine how once in the past, the brothers spent many nights in this house, ran around chasing each other with their high-pitched squeals.

They were boys before they became Princes.

They were brothers before they were rivals.

Your hands reached out for the drawings. Even Shinsuke’s was there, and to no one’s surprise, his was the best. The colors were always within the lines, and he had clean, smooth strokes of his brush. Keiji’s was second best, but his looked more like scribbles and sketches than a polished end result. Ushijima didn’t have any drawings, but a certain stick figure drawing from a little Tobio counted eight brothers holding hands. ‘Brothers forever’, he scrawled underneath, causing your heart to ache.

He hadn’t included Rintaro in the picture.

Letting go of the drawings with a frown, you took a step back and collided with something solid. You gasped, a scream nearly torn out your throat when you studied the figure now standing in front of you. Broad shouldered, with unruly curls surrounding his face, and his head tilted to the side in confusion – Prince Kiyoomi looked like a dream come true. One shouldn’t look this ethereal in the dark hallways of his house, with nothing but the moonlight slipping through the glass windows illuminating the sharpness of his cheekbones.

He stood so still and quiet you couldn’t hear him breathe. Had he been here for a while?

You placed a hand to calm your racing heart. “Your Highness. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d still be awake.”

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, looking past you and to the drawings just as his brows pinched together. “I didn’t know you’d be awake, too. Is your room not to your liking?”

“Oh, no, no, it is. I’m just…”

“Feeling homesick?”

“Not quite,” you scrunched your nose, “Today was just amazing. I’m still reeling from the joy of it all.”

He nodded, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. You watched him have an inner debate before he nodded again, gesturing to the staircase. “Follow me. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

The Prince led you to the hallway where his room and Kanami’s was located whenever she visited. At the end of the hall stood two grand double doors that could only be opened by a key from his pocket. The doors squeaked as it open, and you both coughed as dust fluttered through the space. Clearly, it hadn’t been used in a while, but that mattered little when he switched on the lights. Rows upon rows of books stood tall enough to nearly hit the ceiling. The room had a dome-shaped structure, with the walls carved in to make more spaces as bookshelves. In the middle sat a velvet red couch with a wooden table decorated with a vase of flowers. However, it wasn’t the books that took your breath away – it was the grand spiraling chandelier that slowly flickered to life like candles being lit, bathing the room in a warm, soothing light.

Unable to help yourself, you stepped inside, jaw dropped at the beauty of it all.

“This is my library.”

“This is marvelous,” you chuckled out, breathily, running your fingers over the spines of the books. They were covered in dust, but otherwise in pristine conditions. Most of them were classic collections too – the types of books you would only find in antique shops. And was that an official journal from an ancient royal? You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. This couldn’t be just a personal collection – these had to be an official record room.

“Are these all yours?”

“Some of it were my father’s. His Majesty liked to read.”

You glanced at Kiyoomi from under your lashes. He stood at an arm’s length away from you, casually leaning against the bookshelf whilst you pull out a random book. The Anthology of the First King, it read.

“You’re the first Prince who ever spoke of him.”

Kiyoomi’s gaze flittered over yours, from your fingers caressing the ancient book delicately, to the way a smile graced your face upon inhaling that addicting old book smell. His voice, if possible, grew quieter. “I know my brothers all dislike him, and I don’t blame them,” he continued, “But His Majesty raised me as best as he could. It may have been because of the power I could wield as a foreigner, but he came here often. He was the reason I grew up with a fondness for books.”

You hadn’t heard of that before. As far as you knew, the late King seemed absent in all of his son’s lives, but then again, the royal family had always been a complexity.

Turning away from the historical section, you beamed at the Prince. “Well, this is quite an impressive collection. His Majesty has taste.”

Kiyoomi fought back a smile. The gesture shouldn’t have looked as adorable as it did, and now you were fighting back a smile, too. You liked him this way – you like him much better here in Itachiyama. Whenever he was at the Palace, you could see the walls he surrounded himself with, how he closed himself from the world. But here? Here, he was just a man eager to talk about the things he loved, and you eagerly followed him when he gestured you to.

“This is my section,” he pointed to a rack spanning from floor to ceiling, then to the shelves next to it. “And that is Tooru’s. The one at the back is Keiji’s.”

Tooru’s section was… surprising, to say the least. He had all of Shakespeare’s books, with a multitude of romance and tragedy novels. His books looked to be the most loved out of everything you’d seen – with cracked spines, folded paper edges, and annotations on the pages. “Tooru’s? These are all romance novels.”

“It may be hard to believe, but he is a hopeless romantic,” Kiyoomi snickered, “Keiji, on the other hand, loves to read historical fiction. And don’t tell him I told you this, but he wrote three of these books here.”

“He’s a writer?!”

“A splendid one,” he boasted, pulling out a book titled The Fall of Belle. “He wrote this about Belleview Manor when he was eighteen. Belleview was notorious for housing the most, er, complicated royals, you see. He was inspired by it and turned it to a kingdom, writing something about soldiers and poets and kings. It’s a really good novel. I highly recommend you read it.”

Kiyoomi was already shoving Keiji’s novels into your arms before you could say anything. Next to Keiji’s was Shinsuke’s collection – unsurprisingly again, were mostly textbooks. The Itachiyaman Law, the Governance, the History of Inarizaki, The Fall of the Union. You weren’t too interested, so you moved onto the next shelves and blinked back at what you saw.

Beside you, the Prince cleared his throat in an attempt to hold back a smile. “That is Tobio’s section.”

“These are… balls.”

Instead of books placed on the shelves, they were balls, all held up carefully by expensive looking holders. Each one of them had signatures written on them with markers, along with a tag underneath of several dates. “Volleyballs, yes. He had these signed by his favorite players, and those are the dates of the matches,” he explained, slowly moving behind you until you could feel the heat radiating off of him. Looking up at the Prince, you saw he wasn’t looking at you, but rather at the sports equipment with what seemed like fondness, and regret, in his eyes.

“He’s always loved playing sports as a child. He was rather good at it, too. Shame he couldn’t go pro.”

“Because he’s a Prince?”

Kiyoomi nodded. “He may be the youngest, but that doesn’t mean he’s freed from his duties. The Queen knows the kingdom loves him so she has quite a grand plan for Tobio to start tours by himself and see if he’d be more successful in establishing connections with others,” shaking his head, the Prince closed his eyes. “He may marry soon, too.”

“He’s too young to be married.”

“He isn’t that young, but I know what you mean,” he said, “Although I think Tobio will find it the hardest to marry out of every one of us.”

“Why so?”

Kiyoomi shrugged. “He’s a romantic. Not like Tooru in the sense that he would recite Shakespeare’s sonnet to seduce a woman he likes, but in the sense that he still innocently believes he can marry someone of his choosing. That’d only work if she was a noblewoman, though. Otherwise he might experience the same fate as Shinsuke.”

Ah. Shinsuke and his maid – a tragedy in the making.

You looked away from Kiyoomi. Shuffling the books in your arms, you shuffled to the lone seat in the room and plopped down on it, wincing when your arms ached from the weight. “You know a lot about your brothers.”

“I’ve spent a long time watching them,” he confessed, and the sofa dipped beside you. He leant back against it, his long legs crossing over the other as he tilted his head back, watching what little he could of the stars visible from the dome-like ceiling. “It wasn’t always like this. There was a point in our lives we used to be closer and didn’t care too much about the throne.”

“Who were you closest with?”

“Tooru and Keiji. They both loved reading, and so did I. I wasn’t very close with the younger ones because they were rambunctious, especially the twins. But I like Tobio a lot,” he smiled, albeit sadly. “I hope the crown never fails him. I would do anything to ensure he stays unaffected by the harshness of it.”

“He’s a precious boy,” you agreed, and then thought back to the drawings in Kiyoomi’s living room. Biting your lip, you suddenly stood up and headed for the last shelf at the end of the room. Silently hoping, wishing, it was Rintaro’s section. Behind you, you heard the Prince shuffle on his feet as he followed you around. “And… Rintaro? Were you close with him back then, too?”

You already expected the answer, but it didn’t disappoint you any less when you heard it.

“No. The Queen always kept him isolated. I rarely saw him growing up, but on the few times I did, he always looked like he wanted to play with us. He wasn’t allowed, though. Her Majesty was… eerily wary of him getting too close with his brothers,” Kiyoomi let on, his handsome face contorting to that of discomfort when you blankly stared at him. Then, his ears reddened, and he coughed out of nowhere, his large palm covering his mouth. “I fear I may have talked too much. Please, look around. I’m sure you’ll find something you’ll like.”

Happy to do so, you left no inch and corner of the library unturned. Tooru had the most interesting collection with his romance novels, but you found Keiji’s section to be the most curious. A moment later, you had a dozen books stacked on top of each other at the nearby table. You just wanted one more – a book about Tobio’s favorite sport so you could ask the sweet Prince about it when you returned home.

Unfortunately, the first five rows of Tobio’s shelf consisted of his signed volleyballs, and his books sat at the top ones. You had to stand on your tiptoes, only for your fingers to barely graze the spine of it. Damn it. Taking your slippers off, you bunched your nightgown and robe in your hand and used your free arm to hoist yourself up. Your feet landed on the wooden boards of the shelf as you struggled to reach for A Dummy’s Guide to Volleyball when your foot slipped.

The ground disappeared beneath you.

Gravity consumed you as you fell, the book you’d been reaching for sliding out of its place and nearly knocking into your forehead. But it never came. Your face never smacked the ground, and your bum seemed safe, too. Instead, strong arms wrapped around your waist until you landed on a hard body with an ‘oof’, the breath knocked out of your windpipe.

Kiyoomi groaned underneath you.

Gasping, you realized you’d accidentally elbowed him in the chest. The poor prince had turned red in the face as he struggled to breathe, and you hoisted yourself up to move yourself out of the way, realizing a little too late how little you wore. Or how thin your nightgown was. Or how you didn’t wear a bra to sleep and forgot to wear one when you left the room, and now your hardened nipples were brushing against his chest. Underneath you, Kiyoomi inhaled in sharply, his dark eyes darting from your cleavage and to the books – the movement so fast you wondered if he had whiplash.

You froze. This was… quite a predicament to be in.

If you slid your body upward, your lace panties would brush against his crotch. If you slid yourself downwards, you’d graze your sensitive nipples on his silk blouse. But if you slid sideways, that would mean you had to rise your upper body to get your knees to stop straddling him, and he’d have an even closer view of your breasts.

In conclusion, nothing would work.

“Let me, just, uh, move,” the Prince groaned beneath you, and you nodded fervently. He could do whatever he wanted at this point as long as it meant you’d both be separated. However, luck was not on his side either. As soon as the Prince gripped your hips to lift you off of him, his hips rose on instinct, accidentally thrusting into you.

The Prince stopped breathing, and so did you.

Within the blink of an eye, the Prince had torn you off his body – and he was suddenly at the other side of the room. Color drained from his face just as his skin from the neck down blistered red, the poor Prince snatching a nearby book to hide the growing tent in his pants.

“My apologies,” he blurted out, looking at everywhere but you. “I didn’t – I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” standing up, you dusted yourself off and wobbled on your feet. Great. Your legs felt weak, and your voice didn’t come out as confident and composed as you liked it to be. Rather, you were both breathless – and you couldn’t tell if it was from the adrenaline, or the delicious way his body molded to yours.

A pleasure you would not be thinking of. Ever. Again.

“Uhm. Thank you. Your library is really nice.”

The Prince nodded, taking his lips between his teeth. “I should, uh. I should go.”

“Yes, that might be for the best,” you croaked out, and just like that, the Prince was gone. The heavy slamming of the doors was the last thing you heard before you were engulfed in a deafening silence.

That night, you did not get any sleep at all.

And you were restless for all the wrong reasons.

382 notes · View notes

runningfrom2am · 11 months ago

Text

the finer things in life // LTPF

summary: coryo merely tolerates you at the beginning of the series. this, is why.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 4.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. underage drinking/drug use (its just weed dw), some suggestive content that's not explicit (that's a first for me woah).

a/n: THIS DROPS SOME MAJOR LORE FOR THIS SERIES LIKE PLS- this is so fun and i hope you guys really like it bc i stepped out of my comfort zone a bit here. anyway, happy new year!! as a treat, have r and coryo getting way too messed up for their own good :)

this is mentioned in one of the parts of s2 (oh god i have no clue which one but trust me.) anyway, here's the night they were talking about.

series masterlist // playlist

"Hey, Coryo." You smile, sitting yourself down across from him at the lunch table.

"Y/N/N." He nods, hardly looking up from his food.

"So," You him, leaning forward with your elbows on either side of your plate. "Are you coming to Livia's big party this weekend?"

He shrugs, swallowing before looking up at you. "I don't know. Maybe. Feels a little... trivial."

"Ugh," You scoff, playfully rolling your eyes. "Of course it's trivial, Coriolanus. It's a birthday party for a seventeen year old that's probably going to have fireworks and a four tier wedding cake." You laugh. "But I have to go, so you should too."

He smiles at you a little, tilting his head with a raised eyebrow. "A wedding cake?"

"Probably. You saw the invitations." You chuckle. "We can walk together, and I'll see if I can sneak in some posca from our cellar. Please?" You plead.

"Won't your parents be driving you? I wouldn't want to impose." Coryo insists politely.

"Oh, god, no." You laugh. "They're allegedly busy. My father will be working, and my mother will be waiting for him to finish work. Can't tear her away from that. My theory is that they just don't want to go."

"Oh, I see." He replies. Your parents not attending social events wasn't uncommon. Their attention was notoriously hard to attract, and his parents had long since passed, so it was pretty standard for the two of you to either walk together or get your driver to take the two of you places alone.

"Yeah! I think we'll end up walking because my brother has tutoring and god forbid he walk anywhere, but that way there's no dreadful small talk with my family anyway."

"Fine." Coryo agrees. "Only because it's you. Also, I don't think talking to your parents is dreadful, Y/N/N."

"It is. Don't lie." You laugh, taking a bite out of your cookie and waving him off.

You hear the doorbell and run to answer it before anyone else can. "Mom! Coryo's here, I'm leaving now! Bye!"

"You're not going to invite him in?" Your mom asks, cutting you off in the foyer.

"We're already running late, sorry!" You insist, adjusting your hold on the two gift bags in your hands very carefully.

"Alright, well, have fun, dear. Extend our apologies to Livia's parents for us."

"Will do!" You nod, giving her a quick thumbs up before opening the door.

"What do you need a bag for?" She asks and you roll your eyes at your friend standing in front of you before turning to face her again.

"They have a pool, I might need to change." You groan.

"Oh, right." She seems satisfied with that answer. "Hello, Coriolanus, how are you doing tonight?" She asks, turning her attention to him.

"I'm well, Ma'am. Thank you. And you?" He smiles politely.

"We gotta go, Mom, bye!" You shut the door before she can answer.

As soon as you're out of sight from your house, you stop and dig through the tissue paper in one of the gift bags.

"Isn't that for Liv-" Coryo's question is cut off by you holding a bottle of a nondescript liquor out to him.

"This one is for us." You smile, taking another bottle out before shoving the folded-up gift bag into your backpack. "Cheers." You twist the cap off of yours, knocking it against the one he's awkwardly holding before taking a swig.

"Posca? Should we..." He clears his throat. "Should we really be drinking? I feel like we'll get in trouble."

"It's not Posca, it's better. Besides, no trouble if no one knows." You reassure him. "Also, I would bet money that we show up and Festus and Pup are already stumbling."

"You're the most terrible influence, Y/L/N." Coryo shakes his head with a smile on his face, opening the bottle anyway to try it.

"No!" You laugh. "This is good for us. It makes me more... digestible to these stuck-ups."

"Are you not included in that group?"

"Oh, Coriolanus Snow, we are at the top of the list."

The air in the expansive house is as hot and stuffy as it could possibly be. It reminded you so much of your own, but warmer, in a way. Maybe it was just the sheer volume of people inside and the buzz of alcohol in your system.

Livia's parents had been kind enough to leave the whole back garden and pool for you kids to enjoy, and to have your own space free from all of the adults who were also invited.

It was warm out for a May evening when you finally made it outside after saying your 'hello's to all your classmates' parents. Your own parents insisted that you spend a decent amount of time doing so, despite them not being able to make it. Coryo was known to do this as well, so you made your rounds together before thanking the Cardew's for the invitations and they showed you where all the other kids were outside.

Coryo already wanted to leave, and if you did as well, you were good at hiding it. He couldn't tell, blindly following you through the crowded house before making it outside.

"Party's here!" You call out as you step out onto the patio, allowing Coryo to close the door behind you.

"Y/N, you gorgeous girl, finally!" You're quickly greeted by Hilarius Heavensbee, and god, Coryo has never hated him more as the boy is wrapping his arms around you. His attempts at flirting with you are humiliating- Coriolanus doesn't know how he couldn't see that he was embarrassing himself.

"Hilary, you flatter me." You chuckle, gently patting his back with your free hand as you pull away.

"You know I try." He laughs, shrugging as he slides in between the two of you, draping an arm over your shoulder.

"Where's the birthday girl?" You ask, holding up the gift bag. "I need to ditch this."

"That's a good question..." Your classmate says, scanning the groups scattered across the lawn in search of Livia.

"I can carry that, if you'd like." Coryo offers, desperate to remind you of his presence. He wasn't going to let you ditch him- you were the only reason he even attended.

"Oh, no. I've got it. Thank you, though." You wave him off, looking up at the boy whose arm is sitting over your shoulder uncomfortably. "Hilary, could you grab Coryo and I some glasses, please?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." He says, stepping away. "What do you want?"

"Oh, just the glasses please. We brought our own drinks." You wink.

"Alright, but only if you share." He chuckles.

"I'm nothing if not generous." You joke, pushing him in the direction of where you see the beverage table is set up.

"His share is coming out of your bottle." Coryo says once the boy is out of earshot.

"Who do you think I am?" You ask, placing the giftbag on the ground and grabbing your bag off your shoulder, digging through the fabric you used to muffle the sounds of glass bottles rattling against one another. "I brought enough for the class."

"Of course you did." He chuckles, shaking his head slightly as you carefully pull another bottle out of the bag. "Be a doll, go dump this in the punch?" You smile up at him, holding it out to him expectantly.

"No! I'm not spiking anything." He laughs.

"Suit yourself, Boryo Coryo." You sigh with a teasing smile, placing your bags on the ground and walking over to the table at the side of the house, unscrewing the cap as you go.

"Where'd Y/N/N go?" Hilarius asks, returning to Coryo's side. He just nods over to you in response, not tearing his gaze away from your form as you dump the contents of the bottle into the bowl.

"Ah, gotcha." Your classmate laughs, holding an empty glass out for Coryo to take.

Coryo mutters a quiet 'thanks', refocusing himself on inspecting the glass in his hand for any dirt or fingerprints. It was spotless- of course it was.

"So, are you guys like... together? Or what's the deal?"

"Pardon?" Coryo is taken aback by the question, finally looking up at the boy.

"You and Y/N." He gestures toward you as you stir the bowl, simultaneously holding the mostly empty bottle up to your lips to let the last few drops fall onto your tongue. "You're always hovering around each other. Anything more to it? Everyone is wondering, but no one dares ask her."

"Oh. No." Coryo shakes his head, wishing his glass was full of whatever bitter alcohol you'd gifted him so he could down it all in one go.

"Sweet." Hilarius grins to himself, watching you intently.

Coryo raises an eyebrow at Hilarius, perplexed by his reaction. "What's so sweet about it?" he asks, trying to understand the amused grin on Hilarius' face.

Hilarius chuckles, leaning in slightly as if about to share a secret. "If you're not gonna go for her, I will."

Coryo's cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "Be my guest." He spits through gritted teeth. He should have drank more- perhaps it would have made Hilarius's juvenile pursuits more tolerable.

Hilarius nudges him playfully, "Life's too short for missed opportunities, if you ask me." He looks back at you again, not so subtly raking his eyes over your figure and how it fits in your favourite party dress. "And that would be a damn shame of a missed opportunity."

Coryo glances over at you, catching your eye for a brief moment before quickly looking away. He clears his throat awkwardly. "If you say so. I find she's quite... overwhelming, at times."

"That's the best thing about her." Hilarius muses. "Just imagine it... You know what I mean? I bet she's just crazy. In a really good way."

Coryo's brow furrows at the implication, both from offense and intrigue. He knew you were stunning- even a fool could have told him that, but it was to make a mockery of your name to only look at you and see merely the potential of what you could do with your body. To him, you were like morning rain in the springtime; a breath of fresh air when you didn't have to defend yourself at every turn, but Hilarius Heavensbee didn't know the first thing about walking in the rain.

"Don't be vile." Coryo scoffs, giving a slight shake of his head.

As you finish up with the concoction in the bowl, Coryo watches you with a newfound awareness, a subtle curiosity lingering behind his stare.What would it be like? It's not something he has ever considered, or even had the time or desire to look at anyone that way. Especially not you, you were so personal to him it was off limits even in his own head. He didn't understand the seemingly overnight shift a couple years ago now where all the boys in your class started looking at you and the other girls like pieces of meat, but suddenly watching you lick clean the spoon you used to stir the punch, he could see that maybe they had a point. What it would be like to hear you panting into his ear. Tired, loving, even, like he was the only man in the world who could make you feel so, so good. To have your deep red lipstick staining his skin, his shoulders, his neck, possibly lower. The idea of having to explain the stains on the inside of his shirt to Tigris when he pleads with her to somehow get them out has his heartbeat racing... Likely, though, it was just the liquor starting to settle in his veins, is what he decided as he adjusted the front of his dress pants.

Hilarius chuckles at Coryo's reaction, seemingly unfazed by his disapproval. "Relax, man. I'm just saying, life's too short not to appreciate the whole package. Y/N's got the brains, the looks, and that fiery spirit. It's like having your cake and eating it too."

Coryo arches an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I appreciate her for more than just appearances, you know."

Hilarius smirks knowingly. "Of course, of course. I'm just speaking from a purely hypothetical standpoint. No harm in imagining what could be."

Coryo shoots him a skeptical glance, but before he can respond, you join them, empty bottle in hand. "What's the topic?" you ask, catching the tail end of their conversation.

Hilarius grins, shrugging. "Oh, just discussing the finer things in life. You know, like cake."

You raise an eyebrow, sharing a confused glance with Coryo. "Cake? Really? Are we eight?"

Coryo rolls his eyes. "Apparently, it's a metaphor for appreciating the whole package."

You raise an eyebrow, but neither of them care to elaborate. "Well, I hope you both appreciate this 'whole package' of a potion I just whipped up. It should be interesting." You nod back toward the table, taking one of the glasses from your classmate to pour the remainder of your bottle out for the three of you.

By the time your unknowing classmates started to loosen up, you were sitting in a circle in a corner of the yard with a few others.

"I have a present for everyone." You state in a pause of conversation, and Coryo watches as you reach into the front of your dress, into your bra, and pull out a small paper bag.

"Uhm- what is that?" Clemensia asks, leaning back as if the bag would explode.

"Weed!" You laugh, looking around at the suddenly silent group of kids you're sitting with as you peel the bag open, the smell wafting through the air making some of your friends scrunch up their noses in disgust. "Oh my god- have none of you ever seen weed before?" You knew they hadn't, you hadn't really, either, but it was fun to tease them.

They all share confused and embarrassed glances. "Guys, come on..." You chuckle.

"I don't think we should..." Festus mumbles, clearing his throat. Of course he was going to be a baby about it.

"It's harmless! It's a plant, how much could something that grows out of the ground really hurt you?"

"Have you ever heard of poison ivy? Or that stuff poor people in the Districts burn to clean their houses or whatever?" Arachne spits, side-eying the bag on the ground.

"Sage isn't poisonous." Sejanus grumbles, hardly audible next to you.

"Okay, yes, but this is just weed. It's fun. Trust me." You plead, looking around at your friends, eyes locking on Coryo to your left.

"Okay, big shot, have you done it?" Clemensia asks, clearly already knowing the answer.

"Well... No, but there's a first time for everything, isn't there?" You smile. "Coryo, come on." You point him out in particular and he curses himself because he knows he can't say no to you.

"Okay... what do we do with it?" He questions quietly.

You squeal, the alcohol really showing as you lean into him, hugging him excitedly. "That's my boy! We smoke it."

"Alright, how?" Hilarius cuts in, forcing you to look at him instead of Coryo as you furrow your brow.

"Uh... that's a good question. I brought matches, though."

Sejanus sighs. "Anyone have an apple?" he speaks drawing everyone's attention, confused looks now focused on him.

"An apple?" Someone inquires about specifics, but you're busy making yourself comfortable closer to Coryo, leaning your head on his shoulder. When he realizes you're there to stay, he quickly reaches for the bottle at his side to take another swig. He's far too sober to have you all over him like this, he wonders if you could feel his heartbeat the way he could.

"To make a pipe." Sejanus explains, like it's obvious.

You smile, nodding at him. "You heard the boy- someone find him an apple!"

"And a pen." He adds.

"And a pen!"

It doesn't take long for the supplies to be acquired and passed over to him as you sit in a circle on the grass, watching Sejanus carefully as he uses the pen to dig into the core of the apple. You wanted to remember how, but the alcohol in your system was making it difficult to focus. You had to completely block out anything else happening around you.

"Y/N." You blink at your friend as he drops the pen into his lap, holding his free hand out to you.

"Huh?"

"The weed." He shakes his hand for you to pass him the bag.

"Oh! Right!" You giggle, reaching out for the bag and handing it to him as he pries it open.

"What are you doing?" Livia's voice comes from above you and you swivel your head, quickly getting dizzy from the movement.

"Y/N brought weed." Hilarius answers for him, smiling wide. "Isn't she just the coolest?"

Coryo stares at him, moving his arm tighter around your oblivious form so your classmates could better see his hold on you.

"I- um..." The birthday girl is caught off guard, and quickly looks over her shoulder up at the house. "Can you not do that here? Take it to the park across the street."

"Oh- Oh! Of course, yes." You nod, scrambling to get up, immediately pulling her into a hug. "I should have asked, I'm sorry." You slur, not noticing how tense she is under your hold.

"Are you... drunk?"

"Maybe." You giggle, holding a finger to your lips as you pull away. "Happy birthday, by the way! I brought a gift for you, 'is over there." You point over to the table you placed the bag under, swaying slightly.

"Yeah... I already opened it, remember?"

"Oh, shit. Right! Well, I hope you like it, Liv. You're just the best..." You hum, hugging her again as she gives a panicked look to your classmates behind you, who just laugh.

"Alright, let's get you out of here. We're gonna go to the park, okay Y/N/N?" Coryo says, prying you off of Livia and giving her an apologetic look.

"Right!" You giggle, turning so fast you almost lose your balance. "Who's coming?"

"I'll come." Hilarius nods, quickly getting up alongside Sejanus, but no one else moves or says a word.

"You guys are babies!" You laugh.

"And Y/N is a drunk at sixteen. We all have flaws." Persephone speaks up, smug smile on her face as she walks up behind Livia.

Immediately, Coryo is bracing you from swinging at her as your smile drops within an instant and you try and throw yourself at her, manicured hands open and grasping for her hair which you just miss as he holds you back.

"Yeah, that's enough." Coryo grunts, trying to hold you back without hurting you. "We should probably go."

"Coryo, let me go, she-" You hiss, trying to pry him off of you. You didn't know when he got so much bigger or stronger than you.

"Like I said, a drunk." Persephone chuckles, chewing every syllable as it comes out of her mouth.

"That's precious coming from a damn cannibal!" You spit, still trying to get through him as your classmate stares at you in shock. "Yeah- did you even know what your parents were feeding you? 'Cause I do! You probably liked it, you vulture!"

Hilarius holds back a laugh, coming up behind you and pulling you back, taking you from Coryo's grip and hoisting you up over his shoulder to carry you away as you hit at his back, screaming to be let down.

"That's our cue." Sejanus mutters, patting Coryo's shoulder and brushing past him to follow after you and your friend. "Thanks for having us, Livia!"

Coryo is fuming as he watches your classmate carry you away, but he still really can't pinpoint why. It must be the amount of alcohol- he's never drank this much before, but he has heard anger is a symptom. He's seen it in your father. Now, he's seen it in you; but it's not like that kind of outburst was abnormal coming from you. He's probably mad at Persephone for bringing that out of you. It's her fault, honestly.

He silently grabs your backpack and your bottles, half-hazardly throwing them in before swinging it over his shoulder and following after Sejanus without another word.

"So," Arachne states once he's out of earshot, taking a sip out of her glass as she remains on the ground. "Are we betting on Heavensbee or Snow to lose their virginity to her tonight?"

The group very quickly became a hung jury.

"Listen, I know the truth, okay, guys, hear me out." Clemensia speaks up over her arguing classmates. "Tonight, specifically, it'll be Hilarius." She holds her hand up to stop anyone who started arguing. "Coriolanus will probably wait until they're married or something, but trust me when I tell you that he will marry her."

"Marry her? We're sixteen, aren't you getting ahead of yourself, Clemmie?" Festus laughs, shaking his head.

"Obviously he doesn't know it yet, he's denser than over stirred cake batter, but he just follows her around like a lost puppy. That will never change, also, he's the only one that she's never had a problem with! And she'll fight with anyone!" Clemensia states, nodding with the finality of her statement. "That's all I have to say."

"Wait, you're telling me Coriolanus and Y/N aren't together?" Pup asks, just joining the conversation after sitting there confused for the last few minutes.

"My point exactly."

"Sejanus, you wizard, show us the ways." You giggle, plopping down on the ground where Hilarius carefully let you back onto your feet once you reached the park, previous argument completely forgotten.

"Okay." He laughs, sitting down next to you. "There's three holes in the apple. You hold it on the side like this, then you put the weed on the very top hole..." He explains as he's doing it, and you watch intently. "Then you hold the match up until it's burning, and you'll put your thumb over this hole here once you inhale it through the last one..." His voice trails off as he holds the apple up to your lips, doing all the work but letting you just breathe in the smoke.

You try, eyes closed as the three boys watch you until you pull away quickly to cough it all out as the smoke burned into your throat. "Oh my god..." You laugh, eyes watering as you continue to cough. "Your turn."

"You okay?" Hilarius asks with a slight chuckle, rubbing gentle circles into your back.

"Fine." You nod, quickly wiping your eyes.

"Here." Sejanus holds the apple out to the boy next to you. He takes it, and Coryo feels like he can finally breathe now that Hilarius doesn't have his hands on you.

"Where'd you learn this?" He asks Sejanus, ignoring your classmate following the same routine you did.

"Guess." Sejanus answers, looking over at him. "I don't smoke, but lots of my friends parents did. Back in Two."

"Right." The fact that they smoked around children didn't shock Coryo. Not one bit.

"Coryo, loosen up, man, you look like you're sitting with a stick up your ass." Hilarius offers it to him now, and he looks over at you. As if somehow you would tell him what to say.

"Try it!" You urge him on, shifting over so you're kneeling in front of him, taking the apple from Hilarius for him. "I'll light for you."

"Uh, okay, yeah." He swallows thickly, subconsciously leaning back a little bit at your closer proximity.

He takes the fruit from your hand, watching as your strike up a new match. "Tell me when you're ready..." You hum, moving even closer as he lifts the apple to his lips.

"Ready." He says quietly, and before you put the flames to the flowers, you're reaching up with your other hand to push his hair out of his face and hold it back for him so it doesn't somehow light.

He doesn't last long, looking into your eyes and trying to inhale the thick, abrasive smoke; it's only a second before he's pulling back quickly, coughing his lungs out as the other two boys laugh at him.

"It takes some getting used to, that's okay..." You smile, taking another hit while the flower was still burning.

You exhale, and it's smoother this time. "I did it!" You grin, choking only slightly over your words.

"Good job, Y/N/N." Sejanus laughs.

"You okay?" You ask Coryo and he nods, recovering from the coughing fit now as the weed really starts to take affect in your system.

You feel like your world is swaying as you kneel in front of him. "Did it work? Can you feel it?" You ask, and he shakes his head.

"It's the second hit." You determine, feeling bold as you straddle yourself over his lap. "I've got an idea. Do you trust me?" You whisper and he nods quickly, leaning back on his palms. Once again, not nearly drunk enough for this.

"Yeah, you know what, I've gotta get back. My parents are heading out pretty quick, here..." Hilarius makes an excuse, but you can hardly even hear him now. "Sejanus, you coming?"

Clearly getting the message he nods, standing up and dusting off his pants. "Have fun, you two. Get home safe."

"Bye!" You giggle, waving to them with your free hand.

The silence that surrounds you is deafening, particularly for poor Coryo, who is fighting for his life to not move. Not that he doesn't want you this close, apparently he does; if his body and his mind racing with thoughts are any indicator, the biggest problem is that he wants to touch you. He knows he shouldn't.

"I've got an idea." You say again, attention returned to him. "But you have to trust me."

"I trust you." He mumbles with a slight nod.

"Good." You smile, taking yet another pull from the apple, holding it carefully the way Sejanus told you to.

You painfully hold your breath, feeling the drug cloud your mind as you put it down gently on the ground next to you. Coryo starts to panic as you lean in closer, closer than you've ever been to him before, and god, did he hate and love where this was going.

You stop, lips brushing against his as you let the smoke out of your lungs, and all he has to do is breathe. Why is that suddenly so hard? He manages, somehow, feeling the smoke from your lungs flood into his own.

Once you move back, settling yourself on his lap and tilting your head at him, he turns to breathe it all out away from you. He doesn't know if he can look back.

You smile, settling your arms around his neck and subconsciously playing with the ends of his hair. "How does it feel?"

"Good." He says quietly, finally gaining the courage to look up at you.

"Good?" You hum with a slight nod, letting yourself get closer to him again as he rests a hand on your waist.

"Really good." He confirms, looking into your eyes; glazed over from the substances you so carelessly consume. "Y/N/N?"

"Yes, my dear Coryo?" You answer, already getting giggly.

He doesn't say anything more.

Fuck it.

With his free hand he's grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you closer, crashing his lips against yours.

"Y/N, hey." Coryo greets you, catching up to you just as you get to the front doors of the academy. He hasn't seen you since Saturday night- since he walked you home after you spent nearly an hour kissing him absolutely senseless at the park across from Livia's home. He couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Coryo, hi." You smile, textbooks tucked into your arms as you join him walking into the front doors of the academy on Monday morning. "How are you feeling?"

"Me? Fine." He shrugs, failing to mention the crippling hangover he was nursing for all of the day prior.

"What?" You laugh, sighing with fake disappointment. "That's not fair. I was dying yesterday. Literally, when I woke up I thought I had died and gone to hell. I don't even remember how I got home."

"You don't?" He chuckles nervously.

"No. I don't remember a thing." You laugh. "That's how you know it was a good night, so I've heard."

"Really? Nothing at all?" He asks, nervousness and disappointment flashing behind his eyes.

"Well, I remember spiking the punch." You laugh. "Why, did I do something bad?" Your laugh is replaced with anxiety as your voice lowers so only he can hear, catching the look in his eye.

Coryo clears his throat, avoiding your gaze as he shakes his head. "No, well... You did call Persephone a cannibal. Tried to fight her."

"Oh, well, that's standard." You shrug. "No big deal, then."

"Yeah. No big deal."

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lady-of-tearshed · 4 months ago

Text

Unprofessional duties

Cassian x Reader

Cassian Week 2024

Day 7: Free Day

@cassianappreciationweek

Summary: You and Cassian are both generals from different Courts. Him, the famous general of the Night Court, you, the skilled and strong general of Day Court. What would happen if Helion, nosey High Lord that he is, ordered you to take the night off and enjoy the festivities with your sexy general? 😏💕

Warnings: Smut below the cut, penetrative sex, outdoor sex, mention of alcohol, jealousy, angst, light swearing, unprotected sex.

Word count: 3,590k

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

You were magnificent, breathtaking. The whole room fell silent as you appeared in the tall golden archway. It was as if your beauty had taken away the breath of every Faes in this ballroom.

The white chiffon and satin fabrics shone like a fine layer of dew delicately sprayed atop your body. The soft gold accents on your white dress matched with Helion's outfit, the colors and style representing the Day Court's traditional fashion.

Your attire left plenty, too much in your honest opinion, of uncovered skin, leaving little to the imagination. But your complaints about the too high slits at the sides, your exposed back, and the risqué dip of the front of your dress were in vain. Helion had insisted that this dress was the one you absolutely needed to wear by his side tonight. "To represent the Day Court's couture at its finest," he had said.

Your attire also gave you a pretty imposing bearing.

You walked down the stairs beside Helion, your entrance not going unnoticed, just as your High Lord had planned by arriving late. Helion loved people's attention, and most of all loved to make you feel all flustered by forcing you to join him in these attention seeking events.

Helion bent down, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear unnecessarily as he whispered in it, “Don't forget to smile…” His amused tone made you want to roll your eyes and sigh, but you held back. After all, you owed him respect. He was your High Lord, and you, his general.

“I am smiling,” You throw him a dry, thin lipped grin. “See?”

“You were smiling wider than that last week when you came back from your… professional meeting with the Night Court's general. Or after that private meeting you had with him the month before that,” He drawls, halting to pick up a chalice of wine from a passing servant. “I should give you more work, considering how cheerful and… satisfied it makes you feel afterwards.”

Your cheeks were burning, and the heat of Day Court was not the main reason for your suddenly very flushed and hot cheeks. You clear your throat. “Maybe now would be a good time to greet our guests, My Lord.” You mutter, your eyes scanning every corner of the room for any threat. Instinct or avoidance of the embarrassing discussion, you weren't sure.

Helion snickers. “I bet that general of yours loves when you order him around like that in bed.” His eyes wandered over your exposed skin… and the unhealed hickeys that still lingered on multiple parts of your skin.

“He's not my general.” You hissed, praying to the Mother that no one was paying any attention to your discussion.

Helion shrugged his shoulders as if he had not a care in the world of your justification. He didn't need any justification from you, at all. Your job as Day's general was done, very well done, and that was all he asked from you, really. What you did, and in whose bed you did it, was the least of his concerns, as long as your job was done, and that you remained happy and healthy.

His trust in you was indestructible, rugged with centuries of friendship and decades of your loyal services. You had served him by training and leading his army since the early beginning of his ascension as a High Lord.

The High Lord climbed the three little steps of the dais, and stood in front of his throne. The crowd of laughing, drinking, and celebrating Fae's of all courts fell silent once more. Helion has never had to resort to violence or cruelty to earn respect from his pairs. His charisma, and impressive knowledge of spells and magic made him undeniably powerful enough to be taken seriously, even as a relatively new High Lord.

“What a pleasure to see you all gathered to celebrate under my roof,” Helion’s hand was placed above his heart as he took in the faces of the multiple Faes present tonight for this gathering. “I won't be long with my little discour, since you were all invited to celebrate, not hear my melodious voice.”

The crowd shared a laugh, and Helion smirked, letting himself appreciate the moment for a while. The war against Hybern had been rough, some relations between the Courts were still tense, people had died. Family members, children, friends, lovers… People needed to celebrate, to laugh, to find light and happiness again in this fucked up world. That was the reason for this gathering tonight. Helion wanted to bring joy into this world again, at least for one night.

“I wanted to thank everyone in this room for their implication, as big or little as it was, in this cruel but necessary war against Hybern,” Helion lifted his chalice toward the crowd. “To us, all of us,” His eyes landed on you, and his eyes twinkled with all of the gratitude he had for your service. You bowed your head slowly, your heart swelling with pride and gratitude to serve such a kind-hearted ruler. “To happiness, for all of us. And to a better world.”

His eyes landed back on the crowd, on all these people gathered here to celebrate the end of a dark period, and the beginning of an hopefully brighter future. Helion lifted his drink to his lips and drank down the burgundy liquid, everyone doing the same. When he gulped down the final drop of wine in his chalice, he wiped his lips and shouted, arms open, smiling widely. “Now, let the festivities begin!”

A warm, melodic symphony flew from the musicians instruments. People started laughing again, and dancing. The females twirled and whirled in sync with the music, the fabric of their fancy dresses shining under the Fae lights. A genuine smile spread on your lips, and you allowed yourself to get lost in the music, only for a moment.

Helion’s large hand rested on your lower back as he came down from the dais. “You’re allowed to have fun too, you know,” He chuckled, looking around the ballroom. “You have put at least two hundred soldiers on guard duty tonight.” His chin jerked in the direction where various disguised sentries were stationed.

“That is the bare minimum to assure your safety, My Lord,” You looked up at him. “It is my duty to-”

“Well, then, since you're being so stubborn…” Helion sighed, shaking his head as he met your gaze. “I order you to be off-duty tonight. And I also order you, as your High Lord,” His hand held your chin, forcing your gaze on his. “To let loose and have fun.”

“But-”

“Why don't you go join your general now, mh?” He removed his hand from your face, and gently nudged your shoulder.

“That wouldn't be a professional thing to do now, My Lord…” You blushed, knowing damn well the line between work and personal affairs had been crossed plenty of times now with Cassian.

“You're off duty. Go. Or should I make this an order, too?” His eyebrow rose. You growled, but didn't answer. Your shoulder slumped in defeat, making Helion grin. “That's what I thought. Now, go.”

Cauldron damn him, wicked male that he was…

—

Cassian was about to lose it. His stupid shirt felt too tight, this place was too hot, and looking at Helion’s hands touching your soft skin made him sweaty. His siphons were glowing bright, drawing attention from his brother standing still at his side.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked silently, his shadows swirling around Cassian’s tensed body in search of the cause of his troubles.

Cassian batted the shadows away with a hand. “Don't ask unnecessary questions now, will you.” He mumbled, stroking a hand over his face.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, but his head pivoted in your direction when a shadow discreetly brushed the shell of his ear. The shadowsinger chuckled as he looked over at you standing beside Helion, but his eyes quickly snapped down to his boots when you started to walk away from Helion.

She's coming over here, the shadows repeated over and over again as they danced frantically around their master.

“I need a drink,” Azriel snapped and quickly walked away.

Cassian only stared at him, confusion written all over his face. Azriel usually didn't drink at all in these kind of public events-

“Hi.” Your voice interrupted his thoughts.

Cassian's warm hazel eyes darted over your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin. His hands were shaking from holding back to lift you up into his arms and pin you against the closest wall, to rub his palms over where Helion had touched you, to erase him from you. His tongue was burning from the need to taste every inch of you over and over again. He was desperate to hear your whimpers and moans over and over again…

He needed to breathe. And answer to you. Get a grip of yourself! His inside voice seemed to yell.

“Y/N, sweet dove!” Tarquin's voice boomed from behind you before Cassian could regain his ability to speak. You smiled politely at the turquoise eyed male, though the nickname made your cheeks flush. Tarquin had never ceased calling you his sweet done, the nickname had followed you since your childhood. Tarquin's hand squeezed your shoulder gently, politely, but Cassian had to bite his tongue to keep his fury from exploding at the sight of another male’s hand on you.

“I've heard you were off duty tonight, what a pleasant surprise!” Tarquin huffed a laugh, almost incredulous that you've actually accepted to let your duty aside, even just for one night.

“Yeah,” Your answer was sharp, so was your smile. You were honestly a bit annoyed that your moment with Cassian has been interrupted. “Surprising, huh…” You mutter, begging for Tarquin to walk away, despite his kindness and good intentions.

The silence grew heavy between the three of you, the air filled with electricity. “Was I interrupting anything?” Tarquin questioned.

Cassian's jaw clenched. “No,” He quickly emptied his glass of wine. “Have a good night, General, Tarquin.” He answered coldly, bowed his head, and walked away.

The golden thread joining his soul to yours pulsed harder with every step he took away from you. The bond kept singing beneath Cassian’s chest, it seemed like it was calling for you, begging to be heard, felt, noticed. Feeling it left a constant ache in Cassian’s chest.

Tarquin was an excellent dancer. A good man, too. Polite, caring… A true gentleman.

So why was it that his hand on you felt… Wrong.

You had politely excused yourself at the end of the dance, pretending that your head was just a little dizzy from all of the spinning and swirling all around the dancefloor in Tarquin's arms.

Your head was indeed dizzy, but not because of the dancing. Or the Fae wine. It was because of all of the thoughts spinning like an endless wheel inside your head.

“Have a good night, General, Tarquin.”

General…

Not his usual “My sweet General of Day”, or even a flirtatious “Lady Y/N”... General. Her title had sounded cold and distant from Cassian's mouth.

His mouth…

You shook the image of all of the parcels of your skin his mouth has been ravishing this past year, instead trying to find out the reason for Cassian's sudden mood-shift.

Had you done anything to hurt him, or upset him? You tried to think, really tried. But nothing came to your mind.

The more you tried to figure it out, the more your chest tightened. You brushed your palm over your chest, trying to ease the feeling away without success.

You needed a drink, you were too tense, and you cursed Cassian for making you feel all sorts of things. You had met him only a few decades ago and last year… you and him had crossed the line between work and personal stuff. You had started to fuck on occasions, to release tension. And since then, you hadn't been able to appreciate any other male presence, the thought of him haunting your mind day and night.

A server passed by you as if on cue, and offered you a drink that you enthusiastically accepted. The wine burned your dry throat as you swallowed it down, the coolness of the glass feeling blissful on your lips.

You stared at the still dancing crowd, Tarquin still waiting for you in the distance.

But you couldn't go back. You needed to see him, to see Cassian. So you followed the magic force pulling you to him like a magnet.

What a fucking coward mate that he was, running away with his tail tucked between his legs.

Cassian was hunched over the railing of one of the balconies of Day Court Palace, where he had found refuge from the roaring music of the festivities still going on inside.

He should've stayed with you, and fought for your attention. He should've scared any male away from you, but it wasn't his place to do this.

Because he didn't deserve you. He didn't deserve to be your mate. It wasn't right for him to stand in your way. Even if it was hard to admit, and that his instinct was urging him to rip the male to shreds, you deserved a male like Tarquin. A good male, a High Lord.

Not a bastard-born Illyrian brute.

The large doors leading to the balcony opened in Cassian's back. He didn't even need to turn around to know who it was, the draft of air carrying your scent. His nostrils flared, and he had to control himself from throwing his head back and moaning at how addictive you smelled.

“What are you doing here, General…” Cassian hissed, his words meaning to hit where it would hurt. He kept his eyes fixed on the calm ocean on the horizon.

You halted, standing halfway to the railing. “Since when do you mind when I'm around?” Your eyes narrowed as you kept walking slowly towards him, analyzing. “And since when do you call me General?”

He huffed. “Isn't that what you are? What we are?”

“Is it?” You rested your hands on the cold railing, your hand mere millimeters from his. The tension was palpable, but you gulped down the feeling, preparing for your next question. “What are we, Cassian?”

The pleading in your voice ripped his heart to shred, and his face crumbled. What were they?

Mate, Mate, Mate…

He couldn't tell her, it would ruin everything. Was everything already ruined? She couldn't know, she couldn't-

A pull, strong, precise, tugged his rib. His face pivoted, his wide hazel eyes meeting yours. Your face was surprisingly collected and calm. Was it just a coincidence?

Cassian tugged back, and the response was almost immediate. It sent shivers up his pine. He couldn't think rationally anymore. “What are we, Cassian?” You repeated.

His hand flew to your hip, his other arm caging you against the railing. He hadn't even realized he had moved. “Mates… We're mates.” He growled. “You're my mate.” His nose brushed against yours. Cassian was desperate to feel you, smell you, taste you…

Mostly he needed to hear you say it back, to assure him that this was real. That you were his, and he was yours. That you wanted him.

You smiled, your chest heaving fast as your heart was beating wildly from the proximity. Your hand reached his cheek, stroking it, feeling the stubble on his jaw scratching gently against your palm.

“I'm your mate, Cassian,” You confirmed, your voice barely over a whisper. Your words sent Cassian's body ablaze, the bond thrumming madly in both of your chests.

You unfolded your left hand, and opened it, palm up, between you and Cassian. A single grape, not much, but it wasn't like you had the time, or the desire, to wait any longer to seal the bond. “Will you take me as yours?” You smiled shakily, the nerves in your body trembling from the anticipation.

The bond roared in Cassian's fuzzy mind. He brought your palm to his lips, and slipped the grapes into his mouth. His lips brushed light kisses against the inside of your wrist as his teeth sank into the fruit, the juice flowing into his mouth. He hummed in delight, and swallowed.

Cassian stared into your eyes, and allowed himself to drown into the beautiful abyss of them. Your pupils were wide, so wide that Cassian could see the reflection of the twinkling stars dancing in them. If you were the last thing he'd get to see before passing away, he would die a happy male.

“Cassian?”

Your voice snapped him out of his contemplation, and yanked him back into reality. Before you could question him furthermore about what was going on in that beautiful mind of his, his lips crashing on yours.

You tilted your head back and moved one arm around his neck to hold yourself up. Your knees were wobbling, the heat and desire coursing through your body made it very difficult to stay on your feet.

Cassian hands hauled your ass up, settling you on the cold railing, and pushed your dress up. You blindly reached for the ties of his trousers, your fingers shaking with pure, raw, desire. Cassian's skilled tongue exploring your mouth made you lose all of your senses. You didn't care about where you were, and what consequences would come if you were to be caught. All you could think about was how much you needed him inside of you, now.

Cassian's cock sprung free, slapping against his shirt when was released from the confines of his pants. You stroked his length, and a breath caught in your throat when you realized how it was already coated with precum.

Cassian bit your lower lip and hissed. His hand snapped to your wrist, keeping it still. “Play later, need you now.” He muttered against your lips, a playful smirk growing on his lips.

His fingers quickly slid your underwear to the side. Your hand aligned his cock to your core, and in the next instant, he was sheathed in you.

“Gods,” Cassian moaned, tilting his head back as your inner walls squeezed his nestled cock. His eyes snapped back to yours. His hips bucked, he started pounding rapidly into you, not wasting any time to claim you. He wanted to fill you with his cum until your cunt milked dry. “You're taking me so well, sunshine.”

“Like always.” You taunted him with a sly grin, wrapping your legs around his hips to bring him closer, deeper.

His tip brushed against that spot, and your nails dug into his shoulders. Gods, he felt amazing.

It wasn't that the other times you and Cassian had sex wasn't great, no. It was always fantastic, but this… this felt different. The frenzy of the newly established mating bond coursed through your body like a soft caress.

Cassian was yours. Your mate. Yours, yours, yours.

Your thighs shook at the thought, and your nails dug into the muscles of his back. Cassian held you tighter against his chest. If he wasn't, you would've certainly slipped from your spot on the railing and fallen off the balcony.

“Come for me sunshine,” He growled against your ear, nibbling the sensitive skin. Your vision faded to black, blinded by your orgasm spiraling through your body. “That’s it… Fuck– I love the way your face twitches when you come all over my cock.”

You cried out his name like a desperate prayer to the stars. Cassian's thrusts began to turn sloppy and irregular. His fingers dug into your hips, and he crashed your lips against his with his other hand. You could feel his cock pulsing as he fucked you balls deep. Cassian came, his warm semence filling you up completely.

He pampered your face with soft kisses, and rubbed your back slowly while your body still trembled, recovering from your strong orgasm. Slowly, to your displeasure, Cassian pulled out, his semen leaking from your core dripped all over your inner thighs.

You had been satisfied. That session only would've been enough, usually. But…

You felt empty. Needed more. The bond thrummed beneath your chest, your body was burning up with desire, lust, passion.

Cassian settled you back down on your feet, one hand on your hips to hold you still against him, the other palming your ass. He kissed your forehead, and you nuzzled against his chest, taking his scent in.

“Mh,” His chest rumbled, and his hand squeezed your ass harder. “Tell your High Lord you'll be off duty for…” He looked into your eyes, a wicked grin forming on his lips as he pretended to think. “I'd say at least a few weeks.”

Cassian bent over to kiss your lips slowly, his stretched out, already ready for take-off. “Yeah? And where are we going, mate.”

His cock twitched against your barely clothed stomach. “Somewhere I’ll be able to worship my mate properly. Not over some Day Court's railing,” His thumb brushed your lower lip. “We wouldn't want to destroy another building from your precious High Lord's Court… right?”

You slapped his chest playfully, then wrapped your arms around his neck, ready for take-off. “Hurry up, my sweet General. And take me to a proper bed.” You smiled brightly, readying yourself for the eventful weeks to come.

Silently, as your mate flew you through the skies, the full moon shining above your heads, you thanked the Mother for having blessed you with a mate. With your General.

Acotar Taglist: @lilah-asteria @mybestfriendmademe

Cassian Taglist: @ladybookstan @acotar-lover

113 notes · View notes

vladajwrites · 2 years ago

Text

Razor’s Edge

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Summary; Reader moves to Woodsboro for her senior year of high school. This story take place in the setting of the Scream 4 movie. This story is dedicated to all of the girls living through the current Rory Culkin revival. I love and see you. <3

Also available to be read on AO3 here

It's imperative for me to mention MAJOR trigger warnings for this story; blood, violence, sexual content, alcohol usage, and mentions of abusive situations and suicide. I will add and edit tw's as needed.

WC; 5851

Notes; thank you to everyone who has shown their support so far and taken the time to read my work, you are the ones who truly keep me motivated to write. much much love <33

(Not Beta Read)

You woke the next morning in the same t-shirt you had worn the day before, clinging to your skin from cold sweat. Your pants had been kicked off at some unknown point during the restless night of sleep you had. It was hard to recall the exact time you had eventually passed out on top of your bed.

Your phone was ringing somewhere underneath your pillow, causing your entire head to buzz. You groaned, wiping the sleep from your eyes. Irina’s name flashed on the screen as the caller on the other line. You answered the call, pressing the speaker button before dropping your phone on your chest.

“Hi honey, just wanted to let you know my flight made it into Sacramento.” Irina spoke. The passersby’s in the busy airport nearly muffled her voice.

You picked up your phone again, looking at the time. How late had you slept in? The digital clock read 11:03 am.

“Okay, I’m glad you made it safely.” You were certain your aunt could hear the rasp of your morning voice.

Irina hummed on the other line. “Just give me a call if you need anything while I’m away.”

“Will do, love you.” You replied, clearing your throat before responding.

“I love you too.” Irina replied before ending the call.

You stared up at your ceiling for a moment, thinking over the events of last night.

You couldn’t help but feel horrible for Charlie. Were he and his father close? Was his mother around? Did he have any siblings, relatives he was close with? So many questions seemed to fill your thoughts. Though, you knew they were questions that would more than likely go unanswered. It would be an awful choice, you decided, to bring up this suspected trauma unprompted.

Maybe you could try to divulge more information from your aunt. Based upon her reaction, she must have been relatively close to his father at some point in time. Remembering back to the somber expression your aunt wore last night, you decided against that idea as well.

You thought back on the relationship you had with your own father. He was an objectively miserable man. How would you have reacted, though, if you had lost him under the same circumstances? It would have surely still been devastating to some degree.

You’d keep your newfound information to yourself for the time being. It was the only reasonable option you could think of. You were certain Charlie wouldn’t want you to treat him any differently after finding out about what had happened.

The familiar buzz of your phone’s ringer pulled you momentarily from your running thoughts. You grabbed your phone, pushing yourself up into a sitting position on your bed, your legs crossed closely in front of you.

A message from an unsaved number appeared on the screen. You recognized it almost immediately as being Charlie’s from the group chat the night before. Only he hadn’t messaged both you and Robbie. It was only sent to you.

You sucked in a sharp breath as you unlocked your phone. The message read, “Hey, Robbie wanted me to let you know he woke up feeling sick and won’t be able to make it tonight.”

Your face fell into a frown as you read over the message again, your thumbs hovered over the keyboard as you thought up a response.

Another message from Charlie arrived moments later. “He said he’d take over any revisions if you and I would still be willing to finish the presentation tonight.”

The corner of your lips twitched up into a half smile. Now that you and Charlie were on seemingly good terms again, there shouldn’t be any issue with just the two of you working on this together.

Your fingers unknowingly found themselves twisted through your hair as you typed your response. “Works for me. Same time and place?”

Charlie sent his response almost instantly. “Yeah, sounds good.”

You had quite a bit of time to spare until 7pm rolled around. You went through your weekend routine as usual, cleaning up as you went throughout the home. By 6pm you had showered and pulled yourself mostly together. As you stood in front of your bathroom mirror, running your fingers through your drying hair, a new thought crept into your mind. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to run your fingers through Charlie’s mess of hair.

Your skin burned hot as you dropped your hands at your sides. You couldn’t bring yourself to look back up at your own reflection.

You couldn’t shake the thought as you made your way into the kitchen downstairs. You stared blankly into the pantry, your thoughts elsewhere.

Of course, you had always believed there was something charming about Charlie’s character. He was objectively good looking, at least you had thought so. But, thinking back on those few moments you shared alone with him on the porch the night before, there was just something- something about him was strikingly beautiful.

You bit at your lip, squinting your eyes as you pulled your thoughts together. You reminded yourself that the last thing you wanted to do at the moment was become wrapped up in unrequited crushes and feelings similar to the sort. It was just easier on your own. You had come to this conclusion years ago. It was understandably difficult to trust others, impossible to let anybody in.

Just as you were about to shut the pantry door, your eyes caught a glint in the back of the pantry, just behind a bag of sugar. You reached forward, grabbing the bottle in your hands.

You turned over a bottle of red wine, scanning the label quickly.

You hummed to yourself, setting the bottle on the kitchen counter. You stared it down for a moment, tapping your foot against the hardwood flooring.

You had no clue how long it had been stuffed away back there. Surely your aunt wouldn’t miss it too terribly. You glanced up at the clock above the stove which read 6:44pm. A small glass wouldn’t hurt anything, just something to dispel your faltering nerve.

You dug through the kitchen drawers, searching for a bottle opener. Just as you popped the cork, a knock at the front door rang through the home. ‘Shit.’ You steadied yourself, nearly knocking the bottle off the counter.

You thought you would have had at least a few more minutes to yourself. You quickly made your way to the front door, taking a deep breath before turning the handle.

Charlie stood in front of you. One hand buried in his front pocket, the other holding the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. You held the frame of the door, following his line of sight to your bare legs. You felt your face grow hot. You hadn’t realized just how much of your oversized t-shirt covered the small shorts you wore underneath.

You quickly pulled your t-shirt up, holding it against your stomach. “Shorts, promise.” God, why were you acting like this?

Charlie swallowed, looking up to meet your eyes. “Yeah, right.” There was a moment of quiet passed between the two of you. Charlie’s eyes drifted just past you into the entryway.

“Oh, right. Come in.” You pushed the door open further for him. He followed you inside, stepping beside you as you locked the door behind him.

He turned to head towards the living room. Without giving it much thought, you interjected. “We can go up to my room.” You motioned up the stairs, watching as Charlie stopped in his tracks.

“Your room? Your aunt won’t mind?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he kicked his shoes off.

“Oh no, she wouldn’t mind. She’s out of town this weekend, anyway.” You replied.

Charlie froze for a moment, looking up the stairs past you. He met your eyes again before responding. “Cool, yeah. Your room sounds great.”

You smile down at him, leading him up the staircase.

“Well, this is it,” you shrugged. “Just put your stuff anywhere you’d like.” You finished, motioning around the room.

You picked your bag off the ground and climbed into your bed, moving close to the wall. Charlie placed his stuff on the desk beside your bed before dropping himself into the adjoining chair. You began pulling out your things, watching as he intently did the same. He seemed so incredibly focused on the things in front of him. Neither of you spoke.

As you opened your laptop to access the shared group presentation, Charlie spoke up.

“Okay, I actually went ahead and got everything finished up earlier today.” Your breath got stuck in your chest as you met his eyes. “I figured we could just work on any revisions together.” You could tell from just below your line of sight that he was nervously messing with the corner of a piece of his notebook paper.

“Oh,” you weren’t sure what to say. “Well, thank you. You totally didn’t have to-”

“No, I know. I wanted to.” Charlie interrupted.

You nodded, sucking in your bottom lip. You scanned through the presentation. It really had been finished. It must have taken him hours.

There was an uncomfortable silence, making the air thick and heavy around you. You wished you could think of something else to say. An image of the opened bottle of red wine in the kitchen flashed in your mind.

“Would you like something to drink?” You asked so softly, you couldn’t have been certain you had actually asked it aloud.

Charlie’s eyes snapped up to meet you. Relief almost played itself across his expression. “Yes, please. If it’s not any trouble.” He rubbed his palms flat against the denim against his thighs.

You shot up, crawling out of bed. “Not at all.” You gave him your most reassuring smile.

You rushed downstairs, throwing open the cabinet where you knew Irina kept her best glasses. You grabbed two by the stem and held the bottle in the other hand.

You made your way carefully up the stairs, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom.

Charlie peered behind himself, eyes falling to the bottle in your hand.

“Oh,” he began, “I didn’t realize…”

You suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Did he even drink?

“I’m sorry, I should’ve clarified. I can go and grab some water or something-” You began turning on your heel.

Charlie was quick to rise to his feet. “No, no, this is great.” He carefully took the glasses and bottle from your hands. You inhaled sharply and nodded as his fingers brushed against your own.

You climbed back into bed, watching him fill each glass, respectively. You couldn’t help but notice the way his hand slightly shook as he passed you your glass.

You took a long drink, watching him do the same. It felt so warm in your throat. You sighed, sinking further into the bed. Charlie seemed to relax a bit in his spot as well.

A few minutes passed by in a much more comfortable quietness.

You couldn’t help but become distracted by the man sitting beside you. He just felt so far away. You wished he’d have sat on the bed next to you instead. Every once in a while, you’d feel him glance over at you as you reread the same passage over and over again, still for some reason, unable to comprehend what it said.

You peered up from your notes, watching Charlie slide a scribbled over sticky note that sat stuck to the base of your lamp.

You recognized it immediately, feeling yourself shift awkwardly. It was one of the lists you kept from film club, filled almost entirely with movies that Charlie had mentioned in passing.

“Are these…?” Charlie asked, eyes widening as he made his way down the list.

You rolled over onto your stomach, reaching over to pull the list from Charlie’s hands.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “I’ve almost gotten myself caught up.” You tried your best to conceal the shyness you felt at being found out.

Your heart picked up quickly as he looked you over. There was something about his expression that felt so heavy, it was an unfamiliar sight.

“What’s next on your list?” He asked, picking up the glass you had set down and refilling it alongside his own.

You read over the scratched out mess of your handwriting. “Dawn of the Dead, but the 1978 version. Not the remake, of course.”

A smirk spread across Charlie’s lip, as if he’d taught you well. He held up your glass to take from him. You took it from him slowly, feigning to be worried about spilling a single drop. By this point, your head was already beginning to feel fuzzy. It was a comfortable warmth.

You slipped the note into your backpack, trying to focus once again on the presentation in front of you. It was useless.

Before giving it much thought, you spoke up, “You know, I’ve already rented it.”

Robbie could manage the revisions on his own, right?

“Oh yeah?” Charlie asked, turning in his chair to face you.

“Yeah,” you began, trying to convince yourself that this next question would actually be a good idea. “Would you want to watch it with me?”

“Tonight?” Charlie’s hands were back against the top of his thighs. His eyes flashed between you and the T.V. that was mounted above your dresser on the opposite side of your bedroom.

“If that would be okay with you, I’m honestly not getting much work done over here.” You replied, getting up from the bed.

Charlie cleared his throat before answering. “Yeah, yeah, that sounds cool.”

You smiled over your shoulder at him as you made your way over the DVD player that sat on top of your dresser.

You messed with the CD case, popping it open and inserting the disk. You picked up the remote, waiting until the title screen flashed on the T.V. above you. You noticed the top drawer of the dresser was pulled halfway open; you slid it closed, scolding yourself. It contained the clothing you’d dread any guest seeing. You swore you were always so careful about keeping these things in order.

You flipped your bedroom lights off, dimming the lamp that sat on the desk beside Charlie before finding your place back in bed.

You pressed play, finishing the last of the wine in your glass, before setting the remote and glass on the desk beside you.

A few moments passed by uninterrupted. You looked over at Charlie. He was sitting so unbelievably stiff in the chair, it just seemed so uncomfortable.

“Charlie,” you called out to him. He snapped his eyes to meet your own. “You don’t have to watch the entire movie from my desk.” You half laughed.

He stood quickly, nearly knocking things about your desk. You tried your best to hide your smile as he laid down on top of the mattress; the bed dipped under his weight.

You both kept a fair amount of distance between each other. The movie was well underway. However, you found yourself becoming increasingly more interested in the uneven way Charlie’s chest rose and fell with each breath than what was happening on the screen.

You wished you could just reach over and touch him, move the hair out of his eyes, trace your finger over the arch of his nose.

You could barely take notice of the way your vision had fixated on him as your head grew blurred and warm.

You wished he’d turn and face you, say something. He seemed to be frozen in place, legs and arms held in a way that’d rival a statue. His face was fixated on the T.V., as if he were too nervous to move even an inch. It was so warm. The room felt so warm.

You could barely catch the small glimpses he’d spare towards you from his peripherals. You wish he’d just reach over- your eyes trailed down to his hands resting on his stomach, watching the veins in them roll as his finger flexed and twitched.

You reached up, placing a hand against your face. Your skin was cold to the touch. Why did everything feel so warm?

Your clothing suddenly felt increasingly more suffocating. You were growing desperate for some form of relief. You pulled at the collar of your shirt. Your shorts felt so tight, nearly restricting. You couldn’t explain why you felt so hot. The t-shirt you had on could almost be a dress, anyway, right?

You climbed over Charlie, one hand on either side of his chest. You steadied yourself on the ground, your head thoroughly swimming. You tried your very best to focus forward on the movie. You unbuttoned the waist of your shorts, carefully stepping out of them.

You heard a heavy sigh from behind you; the sound made the hair on your skin raise.

“I’m sorry, moving out of the way. Promise.” You laughed, turning back to face Charlie.

You slid into the bed, finding your spot in the small space between Charlie and the edge of the mattress. Opting not to try to climb over him again in your current state.

Charlie froze in place beside you as you shifted on to your side, trying to find the most comfortable spot between him and the screen. He was warm, so warm. You had just felt as though you were burning up moments ago, but the thought of him moving any further away made your body ache. His warmth was soothing.

You could feel Charlie’s uncertainty as he began to shift away from you in the bed, providing you with more space presumably.

You couldn’t explain why you did what you did next. You reacted without giving it much thought at all. You reached behind you, pulling Charlie’s furthest hand towards you until it rested on top of your hair.

The new position forced him to shift in bed beside you until he was lying on his side as well. His hand flexed under your touch. You wished you could pull him closer.

His fingers stretched throughout your hair and you sighed, feeling your back sink closer to his chest. You could nearly feel his heart pounding against you. Your hand fell to rest on your side.

His other hand shifted, moving into a more comfortable position below your neck. “Is this okay?” He whispered right behind your ear. The feeling of his cool breath sent chills up your spine. You nodded, the words lost from you.

You reached up, tracing the veins wove through his forearm. His fist closed and flexed at your touch. The film, just as the presentation, was now lost on you.

It was just him beside you. The way he smelt, his fingers carefully sliding through your hair and across your cheek, the unsteady beat of his heart against your back. You found yourself sinking further and further into his arms. A heavy sigh slipped from your lips as he pulled through the mess of your hair.

At the sound of your voice, Charlie shifted his weight, wrapping his arm under your neck further to pull you around to face him.

You both seemed surprised at his sudden movement. You were now face to face, just inches apart. The movie murmured faintly off somewhere in the distance.

Even in the dark, his blue eyes were so incredibly clear. You reached up, brushing the hair that had fallen in front of his face away. His eyes flitted between your own eyes and lips. You had never noticed before just how full his own lips were. His lips were tinted a deep red from the cherry wine you had shared. You couldn’t help but imagine how sweet he’d taste.

If you’d just move a bit closer-

Both of his large hands wrapped throughout your hair again in near desperation.

You returned the gesture, pushing your thigh through the middle of his own. Lips crashed against one another.

It was unlike anything you had experienced before. This brash kiss fell into a soft rhythm, gentle exploration as you rocked into one another.

It didn’t take long until the slow movements devolved into a harsh quick pace as you both grew more comfortable in each other’s arms. There was an air of near violence as your tongues wrapped around each other.

You needed more of him, needed to be impossibly closer in any way you could. Sensing this, Charlie wrapped his arms around you, pulling you on top to straddle his waist.

You sat back, smiling down at him as he unintentionally bucked his hips up closer to you. It was wonderful seeing the state he was in. You knew you were in just about the same shape.

You were quick to meet his lips again. He held you steadily against himself, continuing to rock himself against you.

Your hands hazily fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. You needed to feel more of his skin against you. The barrier of clothing that separated you from him made you miserable.

Once the last button was popped, he sat up in bed. Pulling you up with him, his arm clung around your waist. He shrugged the shirt off of himself, throwing it on the ground. You were quick to bring your lips to his again, running your hands up his now bare stomach. He was impossibly toned, felt hard to the touch.

“Fuck.” He groaned against your lips as your hips rolled against him. You could feel him getting hard below you. A blush crept up your skin. The sound of his voice like this built up an indiscernible feeling inside of you. You wanted to hear him make that sound again.

His hands were quick to find themselves under your t-shirt, his thumb brushed against the outer lace of your bra. He reached behind you, fumbling with the clasp. You leaned your head against his, smiling softly as he gazed at you in wonder.

You reached behind yourself, helping him with his work uncertain work. You slid the bra off yourself, throwing it next to Charlie’s discarded shirt. You grabbed the hem of your t-shirt and pulled it swiftly over your head.

You could hear Charlie’s breath audibly stuck in his throat as his eyes darted wildly across your body. The full weight of this situation nearly hit you at once. You brought your arms shyly across your chest. You had never been in front of a man this way.

You could barely meet his eyes. He was quick to pull you back in to kiss him. “God, you’re so fucking perfect.” He whispered against you as he kissed your forehead. Your arms melted down to your side as his hands traced the curve of your waist.

You could feel his hands shake as he cupped your breasts, his fingers softly grazed against your nipples. You sighed, pulling him closer to you. That frenzied feeling returned in full force.

You needed impossibly more of him. He was quick to act, laying you back down on the bed. He hovered over you, eyes burning into your nearly naked body in front of him.

His right hand reached down, fumbling with his buckle. You watched intently as his hand slipped underneath the waistband of his boxers to adjust himself. Your eyes fluttered back as you traced your fingers mindlessly over the defined v-line that led further down his hips. He shook at your touch.

His lips found themselves trailing kisses down your neck and chest. He was so gentle with you. Painfully gentle. Your hands wove through his hair, arching up into him as his pace quickened. He slid further down the bed, wrapping his arms around both of your legs, holding them open to kiss down your thighs.

You were practically already coming undone below him. He’d come so close to the spot you wanted him to be. Every time he’d pull back away, you’d whine in frustration. He’d hum back against you in response.

You couldn’t handle the pressure building up inside you anymore. Your right hand traced slowly underneath the lace of your panties. You stopped just before slipping through your folds, looking up to meet Charlie’s eyes. His expression seemed nearly pained, completely desperate.

“I don’t know- I’ve never…” Charlie could barely get the words out from between his lips. Even in the dim lighting, you could tell he was flustered, embarrassed at his own lack of experience. It was reassuring to you though, you had practically no experience with all of this either. It was sweet, how shy he seemed at that moment.

“It’s okay. I’ll show you.” You gave him a reassuring smile before carefully intertwining your fingers with his own. He followed suit, hooking his free hand around your panties before sliding them off you. Your desperation for him drowned out any insecurity you could have possibly felt with him above you in that state you were in.

You brought his fingers against you, sighing into him as he carefully let you guide him in slow circles against your clit. The knot deep inside you only grew as he became increasingly comfortable. Your hands dropped to his shoulders as he became familiar with the pace and direction you wanted.

His free arm wrapped around your back, gripping your sides with bruising force as you started to writhe below him. His head dipped beside your ear, “Please, please let me taste you.” He practically begged.

You could only nod, sucking in a sharp breath as his fingers moved faster, losing their rhythm.

He was quick to shift his weight as he sat up for a moment, pulling off his constricting jeans and socks, leaving him nearly entirely exposed. You groaned at the sight of him in front of you. He was so damningly beautiful. Your vision flitted down to the large impression in his boxers, your eyes widened at the size of him.

Before you could process this discovery, he was kneeling on the bed in front of you again. One arm snaked around your thigh as you propped yourself on your elbows to watch him make his way through his.

He kissed just above your clit, eyes looking up at you for approval.

“Please Charlie,” you urged him on.

His lips were against your most sensitive spot immediately. You cried out, screwing your eyes shut. Nothing had ever been so perfect as this. He kissed against you a few more times before deciding to explore you with his tongue, “Fuck, it’s so good.” He groaned against you, speaking more to himself than you.

The vibration of his deepening voice sent shockwaves throughout your body. Your eyes and legs involuntarily worked to screw shut. Charlie acted quick, pushing your thighs back apart with a painful grip. You were sure you’d have his finger prints bruised into your skin the next morning. ‘Good’ you thought to yourself.

You could tell he was trying his best to emulate the motion you had shown him with your fingers with his tongue. It was maddening, completely perfect.

“Fuck baby, you’re doing so well.” The words spilled mindlessly out of you. He groaned as you rolled your hips against him. Your eyes trailed down his chest. His right hand found its way inside his boxers. He was palming at himself as if he were in pain. You wanted to be the one to relieve him.

The sight of him pleasing himself as he worked you over was enough to nearly send you crashing blindly over the edge. You could barely get the next words out of you, “Don’t, don’t touch yourself.” You were trying to keep it all together as he whined against you, following your demands.

“Fuck Charlie, I’m going to…” you said between broken moans.

He pulled away for a moment, his entire expression darkened. It could’ve easily been terrifying in any other context, you noted to yourself. The fingers that had just been wrapped around your thigh found themselves quickly against your entrance. Your eyes widened as you connected with his gaze, realizing his intentions. You’d do anything to have him inside of you.

He kissed your lips. You sucked the taste of yourself off of him, dragging his bottom lip between your teeth. His middle and ring dove forward inside of you. His other hand came up quickly to muffle your screams.

“Shit, you’re so tight.” His chest shuddered at his own words. A tear rolled down your face as he talked you through it. “So wet for me.”

His free hand pressed down against your lower stomach. The additional pressure was the last push you needed. Your whole nervous system seemed to snap as his fingers fucked you through your high. You could barely hear his praise as your ears rang out with incredulous force. You were sobbing out his name, vision white and spotted at the blinding pleasure.

He pulled out of you carefully, slowly letting you come back to yourself for a moment before diving his tongue back against you.

You writhed up against the footboard. It was too much, too overstimulating. Your hands pulled at his hair to push him away. He grabbed both your wrists with one hand, holding you in place below him. You were babbling, stuck between ‘It’s too much’ and ‘please don’t stop.’

Within a matter of moments, you were coming undone again against his face. Your mind was shattered, your body a wreck under his touch.

He fell back against the headboard, catching his breath as he watched you ride out your high.

As soon as you could partially catch your breath again, you sat up, watching him shift uncomfortably from his pressing erection.

It was his turn to be taken care of. You crawled your way up to rest between his thighs. His eyes darted across your face, as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

You couldn’t hide your smile as you leaned into him. You kissed him slowly, licking across his lips. Your lips slowly made their way down his chest as your fingers grazed across the fabric against his cock. He whimpered above you at the pressure. The sound made your stomach clench. You’d give anything to hear it again.

He slid further down the bed as your lips trailed kisses and shallow bites marks further down his stomach.

Once you could tell he was in a more comfortable position, you hooked your fingers into the waistline of boxers. He lifted his hips, helping you pull them down his thighs before discarding them on the ground below.

You sat back on your heels, mouth agape at the sight in front of you. You could do little to hide your shock at the uncovered size of him.

You glanced up at him, willing yourself to put on a face that feigned at least a hint of experience. He smirked down at you, as if he could tell exactly what thoughts were passing through your mind.

“You don’t have to…” he muttered, eyes still full of adoration for you.

Before giving him the opportunity to finish his sentence, you wrapped your fingers against the base of his cock. You could feel him pulse under your touch. His next words were stuck and gone in his chest.

You held his gaze as your hand carefully twisted its way up to the tip of his cock. You gathered his precum on your fingers and circled it around the length of him. His mouth fell open as his stomach flexed under you.

“Does that feel good?” You asked softly.

He bit his lip, nodding his head yes. You were quick to pick up your pace at his approval.

His hands were desperate, switching between grabbing at the bedsheets and headboard and any of your skin he could get ahold of. Stunning whimpers and pleas spilled out of him as you found the motion and speed he needed.

You pulled away for a moment, moving yourself further down the bed. You held him still in one hand again as you kissed a trail down from his navel. Your eyes met with his as your lips hovered above the tip of his cock. You gathered spit on the tip of your tongue and let it fall slowly onto him. He cursed a string of expletives, his eyes rolling back into his head as you took him into your mouth.

You thought carefully over each motion, keeping your teeth back, hollowing out your cheeks. The sensation was entirely new, but the way he began to convulse below you let you know you were doing something right. You wanted nothing more than to make him feel the same way he had made you.

His hands wrapped almost painfully through your hair as he bucked further and further down your throat. You tried your best to relax, allowing him to take the space he wanted.

Your throat burned, tears and spit covered your face and chest. You wouldn’t have possibly wanted it any other way.

You were both becoming increasingly sloppy and starved in your movements. His right hand grabbed at your throat, pulling your face up to meet his eyes. You stilled, letting him fuck your throat as he pleased. It didn’t take long before his movements stilled and stuttered.

You felt him pulse in your mouth; you were flooded with his release, warmth coated your throat and tongue. The taste and sight above you made your entire body shudder. It was heavenly. You felt truly blessed to be the cause of it all. You could vaguely make out your name being spilled from between his lips.

His chest heaved as you carefully pulled away from him, his cock falling against his stomach.

You caught his eyes again, making a show to swallow what he had given to you. He pulled you into himself, kissing all over your face until you were laughing in his arms.

You dropped into the bed beside him, watching him shift his weight and stand. He scanned the room before spotting the bath towel that hung beside your bedroom door. He made quick work of cleaning the two of you up, tracing kisses across you as he did so.

Your nerves were all shot. Your entire being was exhausted and heavy.

He dropped the towel next to the discarded pile of clothing that had accumulated on your bedroom floor. Charlie slid back in bed beside you, lifting the disheveled duvet over you both. He pulled you up onto his chest. You sighed as he swept the hair out of your face.

You were in a complete haze, halfway into a deep sleep.

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered above you.

You hummed, reaching up to kiss under his jaw. “Thank you.” You replied, pulling a sore a leg over his thighs, resting your head back down against him.

The movie’s title screen music played on repeat in the background; you couldn’t be the least bit bothered to turn it off.

#charlie walker #charlie walker fanfic #charlie walker fanfiction #charlie walker x reader #charlie walker x y/n #scream 4 fanfic #charlie walker smut #ghost face fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #scream fanfic #scream fanfiction #rory culkin fanfic #rory culkin fanfiction

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demonslayedher · 6 months ago

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I just went to an event that had hanging lanterns going for two hours, so now I have thoughts about what this means for Kankagari (hanging lantern watching), the Rengoku family meditative practice that results in yellow and red hair.

As a reminder, this information was revealed in the Taisho Secrets distributed at the first showings of Mugen Ressha in October of 2020. You can read all of them here, but here is just the translation of the Kankagari section:

Why do the men in the Rengoku family have hair like that?

The Rengoku family has long since had a practice called “Kankagari.” For the duration of their pregnancies, every seven days the wives will spend two hours gazing at a large flaming torch. This seems to be what causes the men in the family to have flame colored hair. That being said, it seems that it’s normally bad for a pregnant woman’s health to stare at large flames, so please don’t attempt this.

A few considerations, based on tonight's observation:

First consideration: The source of the fire.

Although the Taisho Secrets do not elaborate on this, many real life fire-related ceremonies use fire from a special source. This could add some depth to a fic that makes use of Kankagari. (As a reminder, the consensus among the Japanese fandom is that Kankagari is a meditative practice that only exists in the world of Kimetsu no Yaiba, so go set your heart ablaze and go wild. But as a side note, clacking sparks on someone's back before they embark on certain undertakings does have real life basis.)

First consideration: Smoke.

If writing Kankagari into a fic, you probably want to consider whether they're sitting outside, sitting inside and watching a hanging lantern outside, or sitting in a somehow very well ventilated room with a fireproof floor. If it's (more likely) outside, you'll want to consider the weather and the direction of the wind.

Third consideration: Fires need tending.

Over the course of two hours, there was a priest fussing about the lantern every five minutes or so. Aside from adding lots and lots of pre-chopped wood and stoking the fire to keep it going, he also was constantly wetting down the fallen, flaming wood to snuff it out. There was a hole dug under each lantern to catch most (but not all) of these often very big chunks, and the priest used a soaking wet broom made of straw and bamboo to put out those fires that fell.

This means that when an expectant Rengoku mother is practicing this meditation, she either:

--does this all herself, or

--someone else accompanies her for the duration of the two hours.

Perhaps centuries of Rengoku mothers had their relatives come help them with this, but as my own spot of input, yeah, I could see Shinjuro having done this for Ruka whenever his work allowed it. I could also see her very strong young son Kyojuro helping on a regular basis.

#rengoku kyoujurou #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku ruka #rengoku shinjuro #rengoku shinjurou #kny references #kny reference #kny nerdery #i wish I would have considered this when writing it into The Pillar Training Oath #also I have acquaintances who named their son Kagari #since the Rengoku family already has set naming customs I could totally see this being a Kamado family name #or even an Agatsuma one since the Tou in Touko is also for a lantern

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thefallennightmare · 1 year ago

Text

Miracle-eight

(gif created by me, the fallen nightmare. feel free to use, simply give credit)

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: things are about to get REAL intense so buckle up!

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo @er3nslovergirl @iamdesolate @lma1986 @jessitpwk @themodern-daywednesday @writethrough @bngurngheart @dreams-that-are-anwsered

Holy shit, I give Bryan so much damn credit. He does this almost every single night and I've only been hopping around back and forth in front of the stage to get random clips or videos of the guys set for one night. At first, I was nervous to tell Bryan about my promotion because I felt as if I was stepping in his territory with taking pictures but he was ecstatic. Even offered to show me how to work the camera that I'd bought for my other content. I remembered how red in the face I'd gotten when he asked if I'd always been interested in photography when he saw the type of camera I had. Obviously I didn't tell him the real reason I had to buy it.

"It was a gift from an aunt," I lied.

My eyes glanced away from my camera over to Noah as he finished the last line of Like a Villian and snapped a few photos of him from different angles. I wasn't great at editing pictures, something else Bryan offered to help me with, but I still could tell what was considered a good shot.

I stood in front of the barricade and the crowd behind me screamed for the guys, absolutely thrilled that they could see them live even when the festival was canceled. It was the last-minute show that I pulled together and the small venue we were in was packed full of fans.

After our early dinner, before the show and after Noah fingered me under the table, we played oblivious to what happened. I hated we didn't talk about it because all I thought about while I was getting ready for the show tonight was if Noah and I were dating or if we simply were messing around. Even though I didn't want a relationship right now because of everything going on with my mom, I also didn't want us to be a casual hook up whenever one of us were horny.

I knew I needed to talk to Noah about this; it wasn't good to keep everything bottled up because it would only fizzle over before exploding. But the part of my heart that has genuine feelings for him was afraid of getting hurt if I found out he only had sexual feelings for me.

"How are we feeling tonight, Cleveland?" Noah asked the crowd.

Their screams echoed loudly around me as I took a few pictures of Nick before walking over toward Jolly to get a few pictures of him. I made a mental note to get back on stage to get a video of Folio drumming when Noah's voice stopped me in my tracks right to the side of him. I was on the floor but still only a few feet away from him.

"Before we play our next song, I want to give a shout out to someone special. She was the one who set up the pop up event earlier today and put this whole show together," Noah waved a hand around, showcasing the sold-out crowd.

The crowd cheered again as I gulped, not knowing where he was going with this.

A smile graced his face as he pulled the microphone closer to his lips. "She's someone that's been with us for two tours now and she's become a great friend to us."

I narrowed my eyes at him as ours locked.

"What are you doing?" I mouthed.

Noah ignored me, only giving me a smile and a small wave, even under the dark stage lights his eyes burned bright.

"You might recognize her as our merch girl but recently she became our social media ambassador so whenever you guys send us weird D.M's, just know she's the one reading them."

The crowd laughed at that, and I couldn't help but chuckle as well.

"But in all seriousness, she deserves this. Lets give Y/N a huge scream of thanks for putting all of this together."

Now the screams were deafening, and I tried not to sink into myself as people in the first few rows noticed me standing there. I gave a tiny wave to the crowd before snapping back over to Noah.

"Fuck you," I yelled up at him, no hint of malice behind it.

Noah winked. "You know if I'm being honest. I didn't think she could pull it off, so we made a bet. If she was able to, she'd get to design my next tattoo."

Some people in the crowd hooted and hollered at that.

"So if you see me with a tattoo of her name or some shit like that; that's why."

Before I could crawl into myself even more for having the spotlight on me, they started up into the next song, and letting my camera hang from my neck; I walked up the back of the stage up to the platform where Folio's drums were and watched in awe as he let himself go, being the beat that everyone followed. It was a true experience being able to watch him. I took out my phone to record a video of him to post on the Bad Omens Instagram story and when he finally noticed I was there; he winked after I took a few pictures of him with my camera, I walked down the stairs of the platform thinking of what I could get for the final shot of the night. I had a lot of close-up shots of Nick, Folio, and Jolly but none of Noah.

Biting my lip, I snuck up being him not to get in his way of performing, and as he sang the last few lines of Just Pretend, the lights in the venue went dark. The only source of light was from the flashlights of the fan's phones and seeing how ethereal Noah looked, I snuck up beside him to take two quick pictures.

He peered at me with a sideway glance as the corner of his lip lifted in a sly smile and once I was satisfied with all the pictures I took tonight I walked off the stage to the back. Noah, however, hooked a finger in the belt loop of my jeans and yanked me back towards him.

"Would you say I'm worthy?" he sang the last line, the lights fading around us.

I couldn't see anything in front or around me but I could feel Noah's presence behind me. His warm breath fanned across the back of my neck as mouth pressed gentle kisses there.

"Angel," he mused. "Do you know how beautiful you look tonight?"

His hands gripped my hips, and I shivered with his touch as he led us to the side of the stage where the rest of the guys were waiting. They would hang out for two minutes before going back on for their two song encore; Concrete Jungle and Dethrone.

I was turned in his embrace and saw the huge grin spread over Noah's soft features. Sweat glistened his body all over and his hair clung to his forehead.

Fuck, he looked so good.

My fingers raised to brush the hair back, but I stopped myself. Noah noticed, and he gave me a confused look.

"Everything alright?"

As much as I wanted to talk to him about us, I didn't want to do it before he was about to go back on stage.

"Yeah, you just took me by surprise is all with what you said."

"It's true," he shrugged. "Before when you were at the merch table, I could barley see you but now that you're so close to me, I couldn't stop watching you all night."

A blush painted over my skin and I cast my gaze downward, not wanting Noah to see how much his words affected me; although, I had a feeling he already knew. This was becoming more of a problem than I liked. I was allowing him to inject himself in my bloodstream, infect me with his presence and it would hurt me in the end. Whether it was because I ended things or he realizes that the problems with my mom were too much to deal with. I need to focus on my mom and now this huge step in my career, I couldn't let myself get blinded or involved with someone I worked with.

Too late for that.

The crowd was cheering for one more song and I knew they would run back out on stage in less than ten seconds.

"Angel," his finger brushed along my jaw. "What's wrong?"

My lips parted, but no words came out, unsure what to say. This wasn't the time and Jolly could tell as he watched us so he adjusted his guitar before slapping Noah on his shoulder.

"We have to go."

I nodded behind Noah. "I'm fine."

His eyes searched mine, fingers still gripping my chin. "You're sure?"

"Yep," I lied while patting his chest. "Go fight God; I'll see you guys back on the bus."

With a chuckle, Noah's fingers slipped away from me and I watched the four of them run back out on stage for the encore part of their song. I could stay and watch but there was no need to hang back anymore. They gave me the choice if some nights I wanted to help the crew take everything down I could or I could head back to the bus early to rest or do whatever I wanted.

I know I should hang back to help tear everything down but right now, all I wanted was a bit of solace on the quiet bus away from everyone.

"Oh, god not that one," I muttered to myself as I browsed through the pictures of my phone.

I should look at the ones I took tonight, but I was looking at more risqué pictures. Tonight, Lana's second payment was due and as usual, I was short. Even with being promoted, I wouldn't get paid until the tour was over. So, the only thing I could do was ask Lana if she was fine getting the payment a few days later than normal and thank fuck she was.

Take your time, dear. We're all good over here.

Even though I was alone on the bus, I couldn't risk recoding something in case someone walked on so instead I took a handful of different pictures. These, though, were way more revealing than I usually take. One was in the bathroom on the bus; I was bare from the waist down with my pussy in full view but kept my Bad Omens t-shirt on, rolling it up from the bottom until it stopped over the middle of my breasts. You could see half of them, but the nipples were covered. My phone blocked my face, which was something I still wouldn't forget, and I took a few different angles.

The next set of pictures were of me laying in my bunk, now wearing a black thong but now the shirt was off, and I had my hand resting over one breast while the other was bare for the camera.

As I was still deciding, Folio came bounding up the stairs of the bus, his energy radiating off of him. When he saw me scrolling through my phone, he sat down and took my phone from my grasp.

"Are those the pictures from tonight?"

"Folio, no!" I bellowed while reaching for my phone.

I fell onto his lap, my chest pressing against his hips and he stiffened when he realized what he was staring at; the picture of me in the bathroom mirror.

"Woah," was all he said.

I groaned in embarrassment as rolled over in his lap now looking up at him and snatched my phone back.

"Please forget you saw those."

Folio stared ahead as he blinked a few times, almost processing what he saw before his gaze fell on me. Something twitched beneath me and when I realized what it was, I sat up with a start staring down at his dick, which was semi hard.

Oh God.

"This is so embarrassing," I covered my face with my hands.

Folio let out a low chuckle before slowly removing my hands.

"Who were you sending those to?" He wondered.

I quickly shook my head. "No one."

A small noise sounded from the back of his throat as he adjusted himself on the couch, still clearly affected by seeing my half nudes.

"If it makes you feel better, I like the one in our shirt the best," Folio grinned.

I smacked his chest. "You can't tell anyone about this, please. I already feel weird about taking them and now that you saw them, it's going to make things weird between us."

"You're the only one that thinks that, Y/N. And if you feel weird about taking them, then why did you? From what I saw, you have nothing to worry about."

My eyes narrowed at Folio in a playful glare; it was very clear that he indeed liked what he saw.

"If I wasn't mortified by you seeing my nudes, I'd take that as a compliment."

His brow raised in amusement. "Were they for Noah?"

"Hell no. He can never know about these or even see these, understood?" I pointed a finger to him.

"I won't tell him but I can't promise that I'll forget what I saw," Folio winked before get up from the couch and headed back to his bunk.

I was still burning up when Nick, Jolly, and Noah came onto the bus and when the latter's eyes fell on me, he reached for my hand.

"What?" I stared at it.

Noah lifted me from the couch and dragged me to the back area of the bus so we could have some privacy. He was still wearing his stage clothes, and I marveled at the tattoos that peaked through his blank tank top. Once alone, he let the door shut behind us as he fell to the larger couch in the room; me falling into his lap.

"What are you doing?" I asked while trying to sit next to him instead.

Noah's fingers dug into my hips to lock me in place. "I think we need to talk."

With a sigh, I nodded. He was right and as much as I didn't want too, this had to be done. Still in his lap, I positioned myself so I could look directly in his brown eyes.

"This," I pointed between us. "What is this?"

I could see with the look that flashed over his face that Noah was trying to figure out the best words to describe us.

"I'm not sure what to call it but I like what we have going. I don't want it to stop," he admitted.

"What changed, though? Last week it seemed like being around me was like pulling teeth," I said.

Noah sighed and wrapped his arms around me to pull me into his chest. "I tried to stay away from you because I thought it was a bad idea to get involved with someone on the crew and with what happened in Chicago, I took it as an opportunity. But the harder I tried to forget about you like that, the deeper you sunk your claws into me."

My heart shuddered in my chest.

"Can we maybe take things slow? Maybe see where this goes. I can't have a relationship right now. There are some things going on in my life that needs my attention, especially once I'm home," I explained.

I didn't miss the hurt look that shined in his eyes but Noah nodded. "I can wait, angel."

He was not making this easy.

This time, I extracted myself from his grasp and stood on my feet, giving us some distance.

"I can't ask you to do that," I said.

"You're not. Whatever you've got going on, I want to be here for you," Noah assured.

Tears brimmed in my eyes as I let out a long shaky breath. "It's a lot and I don't want to push you away again. If I'm being honest, I've wanted this from you for so long and now knowing you feel the same, I'm afraid."

He was on his feet fast to press me against the wall with his hips. Noah's large hands pinned mine above my head then he buried his face deep into the skin of where my shoulder met my neck. I let out a mix of a whine and moan when his rutted his hips into mine.

"Angel, I'm not going anywhere."

I gave a half nod, understanding, but I couldn't really focus with the way his cock pressed against my lower abdomen.

"This," I panted. "Isn't slow."

Noah hummed as he left a small mark on the skin behind my ear and I nearly melted into him.

"You're going to kill me," he breathed before pulling away from me, my hands falling to my sides. "But we can take things at your pace. If you want to hang out and watch a movie or something, I'm here. Or if you need help with other things, I'm here."

I linked my fingers with his and brought them to my lips to kiss the tattoos on the back of his hand.

"Thank you, Noah."

With a fond smile, he led me out of the room to the front of the bus where he motioned for me to sit at the table.

"Want some tea?" He asked.

I smiled. "Please."

I then sat at the table across from Jolly and Folio. Still embarrassed by him seeing my nudes, I refused to meet Folio's amused gaze and kept my own on my phone. I was turned away from everyone so no one could see me as I uploaded a few pictures to my Only Fan's page. I needed these pictures up as soon as possible to start making money.

"So are you excited to go back home for a few days?" Jolly asked.

"Oh shit. I almost forgot!" I beamed.

Bad Omens had a two-night show in Los Angeles, where we headed next. Then after those two nights, we would head up to Washington. With everything that had been going on lately, I forgot to mention to Lana that I could stay home those nights with my mom.

"We can book you a hotel for you if you want," Folio said.

"Or you could stay with someone," Noah piped up from behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder at him. "Slow, remember?"

He bent low to leave a kiss on my forehead and my eyes fluttered shut. "I'm only kidding."

"My mom's excited to see me so if it's alright, I'll stay at my place," I said.

Noah's lips twitched before he nodded. "Sure."

Seeing that the pictures uploaded to my site, I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and talked some more with Jolly, not realizing that Noah's phone went off with a notification or the way he adjusted himself in his pants when he looked at the screen.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian reader insert #noah sebastian smut #forced proximity #enemies to lovers #slow burn

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brabblesblog · 8 months ago

Text

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 9: No hour is ever eternity, but it has its right to weep.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Astarion and Ban host her parents for dinner.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art from @emy-san

“My mother will pry into everything,” Ban mumbled quietly, “including why we haven’t had any children yet. My father will probably ask about our assets - income, investments, connections, all that drivel.” She wasn’t looking forward to seeing them at all, tonight looming large in her mind, but she knew this would be it - one last time, for closure, and then never again.

They were roaming the grounds; Ban needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of the palace as the staff readied it for guests. It was nowhere near as involved as even their smallest ball - a very small soirée, by comparison; she wasn’t sure if it could even be considered a soirée with only five people in attendance. Regardless, it didn’t require much in the way of preparation, and she knew their staff were capable and well practiced. This was the most nervous she’d been for any event they’d held, however, quadruple-checking every single thing until Astarion had finally dragged her out.

“Gods. Don’t they sound delightful,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Connections? Is it not enough to have the artisan guilds, including his own, in our pocket? Under our very roof?” He paused, rubbing his chin. “On second thought, Roderich would not necessarily be aware of that. He seemed to have rather woefully failed to keep abreast of current events.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The shop.” He looked at her, thoughtful. “It was worn, dusty and quite unlike how I’d expect someone of his proclivities to treat their ‘pride and joy’.”

This much was true. She’d seen the dilapidated exterior, the dinginess inside, neither of which would’ve been tolerated before she’d left.

“And what of your brother? Any snide remarks I should expect from him?” Astarion huffed a little, glancing up at the sky; it looked rather dull for midday, an unfortunate sign of possible rain.

“He’s likely to hate me for leaving the family,” Ban remarked, “more accurately, he’ll be jealous that I left and he didn’t, but you won’t hear him say that in front of Roderich and Arlette. He’s never had the strength to defy them.”

There would be little snark from her brother; he’d always been the least horrible member of their family. Adrien, her parents’ favorite, who could do no wrong, who was fated for more, to inherit and marry and pass down the most esteemed Glasscraft name. But he’d also been her only friend in the family, the only one compassionate enough to help her treat her wounds, to comfort her, whenever her father was done with whatever method of punishment he’d chosen that day. She wished he could have done more, could have stood up to their parents alongside her, but that was where their paths had diverged.

Astarion snorted. “I will do my utmost to be the picture-perfect rich, powerful, aristocratic husband they so desired you to have. However, if my patience fails me, and their necks come a little too close…”

“Try not to, will you?” Ban said, a sigh escaping her lips. “Be good - for me. I just need tonight to go well and then… with any luck we’ll never have to see them ever again.”

“Seeing as I’m the one who instigated all this in the first place…” Astarion exhaled, “I’m inclined to let you have it your way.” He held his hands up, playful. “No biting, I promise. Well, maybe a little, but…”

“Fangs to yourself, handsome.”

A dramatic, long-suffering sigh preceded the playful smirk on his face. “Of course, love.”

Ban couldn’t help the small smile that crept up at the sight of that. “Look. We cleared today for this. No meetings with the patriars, no haggling with Nine-Fingers - wouldn’t you consider that a win?”

“It would be, were I able to…” His hands rose, resting on either side of her waist, pulling her close for a quick, heated kiss. “… do certain things; alas we both know you are too preoccupied.” When they separated his eyes were tender, but the heat in them was unmistakable.

“Astarion,” she began, a little guiltily, “I’m sorry. My mind just isn’t on-”

“But of course! Besides, the staff are still at work. They’ve insisted on cleaning every room - there’s little privacy to be had today.” A mock sigh, and he let her go.

“And whose fault is that? I seem to remember it being your idea to host them.”

He snorted, but didn’t deign to answer.

“It’ll rain soon,” Astarion mused awhile later, glancing up at the sky again. “We ought to head inside. I’m aware it’s not the most comfortable place for you to be right now, but…” he shrugged. They were both dressed comfortably, but he’d very much rather not get his new loafers dirty on rain-wet soil.

She faced him, dark circles under her eyes prominent in the dull sunlight, nodding. “I mean, of course. I can get back to work with the caterers, pick out plating for tonight and the table napkins and-”

“Ban,” He tangled his fingers in hers, leading her back into the house. “A suggestion from your husband, if you’ll indulge me. Let’s head to bed - I can hold you, knead out all those knots in your back - nothing more, of course.” It would be good for her to unwind, he knew; the looming dinner had caused her no small amount of stress. She’d barely slept in days.

She followed him to their bedroom and Astarion sat on the bed, toeing off his shoes, patting the spot beside him. The moment she was there he pushed away her ponytail, pressing a kiss to her neck, wrapping an arm around her. He laid down, pulling her down with him.

He purposefully shifted his tone lower, softer, seeking to soothe. “You’re alright; it will all be fine, and if it isn’t, say the word and I will make it fine. I’ve got you.”

She was silent for a few moments, then leaned on him, her head tucked in his warm neck, nuzzling between jaw and collarbone. She mumbled something against his skin; it was spoken so softly that it took him a few moments to completely understand it.

“It’s not just that I didn’t trust you,” she said.

His hand paused and he peered down at her. “Are you saying there’s more you’ve yet to tell me, or…”

She shook her head. “What I’ve said is about the sum of it. There were specific instances, of course, which I will tell you when we have time, but what I mean is… not telling you wasn’t only because of our issues.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m surprised,” Astarion mused; Ban’s eyes snapped up to his, evidently not expecting this response. He huffed out a sad laugh. “Love. I ate whatever little pride I had left to tell you all of what I am, where I came from. What I went through.” He saw shame in her eyes and aimed to soothe. “No need to be ashamed, love. It merely slipped your mind.”

“It shouldn’t have,” she countered, “I should have known; of course you’d understand. But it isn’t the only thing, or even the main thing. I…” she hesitated a moment, then continued. “I did not relish you knowing I’m weak. That I could, and did, allow those things to happen to me. That I gave in and let it happen, when I’d always been the one to help you, the one helping everyone. I want to be your rock, not your burden.”

A soft kiss was pressed to her forehead; Astarion huffed out a small, exasperated laugh. “I don’t think myself capable of seeing you or loving you any less, no matter the circumstances, and neither is your strength the reason for that love.” He turned somber, holding her tighter, as if doing so would fully convey the depth of his affection. “Grant me the privilege of being where your heart finds peace, Ban. I would love nothing more.”

Tears filled her eyes and she gave him a small nod. “That I can do. Will do.” She looked away, huddling against his chest. “But then… they made me what I am, for better or for worse. Talking about it also feels like acknowledging they did do something right, at some point.”

“No.” That he wouldn’t abide. He placed an elegant finger under her chin, tilting it so she’d meet his eyes again. “Do not ever say that, because it isn’t true, and by no means will it ever be.”

“But they-”

“They what? Shaped you? You are you in spite of what they’ve done to you, not because of it.” His voice had risen, insistent on driving the thought away from her mind. He saw her open her mouth, about to argue, and he immediately interrupted her again.

“Before you say anything else, do you think what Cazador did made me who I am?”

“In some ways,” Ban said, and he found a measure of joy in the fact that she did so seemingly without fear of his anger.

Astarion nodded. “I don’t disagree. But I am also more than that - more than what he made me. And so are you. You, Ban…” He took a breath, trying to find the words to fully express himself and falling utterly short.

“You are strong. You are kind, compassionate. You tried, when trying was only for the foolish and the brave. You gave me a chance. You loved me when that was - and is - an objectively stupid thing to do. You held onto yourself and onto me when I was unable to, chose our love and-”

He heard her whimper as she hid herself against his chest yet again. He gently rocked her, wanting nothing more than to hold her close and shield her from everything. Her trust was intoxicating, so new and yet so achingly familiar; a haunting reminder of what he had almost lost forever. She kept her head tucked against his heart, her breathing slowly matching his as she melted against his body.

“Are you listening?” he asked, and at her nod he made it a point to take slower breaths, slowing his pulse down so that it soothed her further. He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Only for you,” he reminded her, staring up at the ceiling.

There wasn’t any reply, but there needn’t be. The silence stretched, and Astarion closed his eyes.

“This is really nice,” Ban eventually murmured, her eyes half-closed. It occurred to Astarion that she was utterly exhausted; the fact that she hadn’t complained about them wearing their clothes to bed should have clued him in immediately. He decided not to remind her about the massage and stayed mostly unmoving, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He considered speaking, to say candy-sweet words, but he knew they were unnecessary; they’d long moved past those early days, when his voice was all he could offer her. Instead he closed his own eyes, fingers idly tracing patterns on her head.

Sleep, love.

When she finally stirred, Astarion was still in trance. Soft, light snores wafted down to her from somewhere above her head. Ban gingerly moved his hand from her head, then carefully sat up. The sun told her it was almost sunset. A small wince crossed her features at the realization; she was a little surprised the noise of the preparations hadn’t interrupted their rest. They’d have to prepare themselves soon, but she didn’t want to wake him just yet, figuring she could bathe before he awakened.

She turned to him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed - unneeded, but habitual, comforting. His hand closed, then opened again, as if searching for something; his eyes moved beneath closed lids. Dreaming. She planted a soft kiss against his brow, received a soft mm of contentment in reply, then left the bed, steps as silent as possible so as not to disturb him.

The bath was warm and fragrant and Ban sank into it, eyes closing despite her rising anxiety. Seeing her father was one thing, but her mother was different; there was little doubt she would pry into every aspect of their lives and ask Ban about everything that had transpired since the last time they’d seen her. She wondered what they’d heard of the group who’d fought the Netherbrain, but her parents rarely bothered with events that did not concern the business, and the fight had left the area around the shop mostly unscathed. It was unlikely they knew anything more than what the broadsheets had reported in the days after the city was saved.

Then there were also Astarion’s remarks about Roderich, and the state of the shop. What could have caused her father to let it fall into such disrepair?

“Love.”

Her eyes flew open to see Astarion standing by the tub, nude, a small smile ghosting across his lips. He stepped over the rim of the tub to sink into the water opposite her. The moment he was in he reached for the scented soap and the sponge. “You didn’t wake me,” he complained impishly, working the soap into a lather and starting to scrub himself. “Worse, I wasn’t invited to this bath. I’m hurt.”

She sighed. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself, and I figured you’d need the rest.”

A wry chuckle answered her as he took her arm, bathing her as well. “I’m not the one waking up in the middle of the night.” He didn’t shy from her sharp glare, meeting it head-on. “And what of it? You can’t sleep. You think of them and dream of them - I can hear it.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Ban.”

Astarion paused his ministrations, the sponge stilling against her collarbone. “You have to let me in,” he finally said, the sponge pressed down against her as the hand emphasized his point. “You are trying and making great strides, but you have to realize this isn’t… embarrassing, or weak. And even if it is, what of it?”

“I don’t think it’s…” she began, the lie forming automatically; Astarion merely fixed her with a pointed look and she sighed.

“I suppose you’re right.” She shrugged. “I understand what you’ve said, but it isn’t that easy to overcome years of thinking that way. My mother prided herself on being a strong, stoic woman. She insisted that being emotional, needing comfort was… frivolous, unneeded, and for the weak; that she did not need anyone else other than herself.”

“An obvious lie, considering she wasn’t even strong enough to stand up for her own children.” The sponge resumed its path, scrubbing Ban’s chest and neck, traveling to the other arm.

She scooted closer, allowing him better reach. “She thought the strong thing to do was to let her husband do what he pleased, to require nothing of him.” She paused briefly to rinse off some of the soap. “They were betrothed at a young age, as is the custom. She loved him, at least at first. He… saw her as a broodmare, to birth his heirs. They had trouble getting pregnant, and she prayed to all the gods for a child, to give him what he so wished for. To give him what he’d begun looking for outside the marriage; without her permission, of course.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Pathetic,” he sneered, gesturing for Ban to turn around so he could scrub her back, “to step outside the marriage for heirs is one of the oldest and least imaginative excuses I could think of.”

“I doubt he cared.” The feel of the sponge against her skin, of Astarion’s hand grasping her shoulder, was soothing. Facing away from him provided her with a little more privacy, allowing her more ease in opening up. “My mother knew, much as he tried to hide it, yet she wouldn’t leave because she thought herself stronger than that. Because that’s what good wives do - listen to their husbands and give them children.”

Astarion’s hand stilled yet again and she heard a pinched, aborted grunt. “Again. Like I did you,” he said, tone acerbic. “And you stayed, like your mother did.”

“I left,” Ban reminded, and to her surprise she heard a relieved exhale.

“I am ever so glad you did, Ban,” he murmured.

Her head whipped around to look at him. Her hair splattered water everywhere, Astarion blinked away the droplets that landed on his eyelashes. He draped her hair over her shoulder to continue soaping the smooth expanse of her back, meeting her gaze.

“You thought I was incapable of reflection?” he teased, “Had you not left, we wouldn’t be here, I think.” The silence stretched as he continued working down her back. “I needed that push, and push you did. I can only be grateful.”

“I thought I broke your heart.”

He finished scrubbing and she leaned against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, fingers interlacing on her belly. He exhaled, thinking, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I prefer to think I broke my own heart.” Astarion wondered if he should say more, if more apologies would be required; loath as he was to do it, he would willingly prostrate himself before her if she required it.

“That time, perhaps; however I do feel like I’ve been breaking it again recently,” she admitted.

Astarion stiffened, realizing what she meant. “You have. You give a little, luring me in with a baited hook, and when I’ve bitten, you simply…” Dexterous fingers moved, miming a yanking motion, inspecting a fish, and discarding it. “...pull me in, only to push me away the moment I do something unpleasant or something that reminds you of Roderich or of my past behavior.” It’s not fair, he thought.

“I punish and reward, is what you’re saying,” she clarified, looking up at him. He could see guilt swimming in those eyes.

“Yes and no - I can appreciate that a lot of it comes from your family, and some of it comes from me,” Astarion began; he could feel her tensing and his hands slid to her shoulders to massage them. “However at times you make me feel like your feelings for me are contingent on how well I behave, and it’s…”

…just like Cazador. A comparison that he was loath to make, but one that was true nevertheless. He recognized the way her wavering affection made him feel - the shame, the fear, the pain - and he couldn’t continue shying away from it. Acknowledging it himself, however, was nowhere near the same as articulating it to her, and the idea of doing so filled him with dread.

He searched instead for the right word, and settled on “...painful.”

“I know you need time, and you deserve time,” Astarion finally said, “But please don’t withhold affection from me. Don’t leave me out in the cold, with silence my only company.”

Gods. She rubbed her face, frustrated. Of course she’d been hurting him; in her focus on not risking herself again she’d been too unwilling to trust his progress, too cautious - to the extent that he thought her love conditional.

“I’m so sorry,” Ban choked out, fighting back tears, “I’ve been doing to you what my parents did to me. I know. I… I’ll do better, I swear. This isn’t an excuse, love, but it’s hard; after having all this drilled in by them, and then… well, shielding myself from you - it’s not easy to unlearn.”

“Don’t you think that I, of all people, would know that, my love?” Astarion sighed, but he was mostly filled with relief and elation. That she acknowledged it, recognized it for what it was - unkind, unfair - and swore to change… it was enough for now, especially in light of the past tenday.

“Apology accepted,” he allowed, adding a little pompousness to color his voice, hoping it would lighten the mood, “I’m nothing if not gracious, after all.” But he also reached to her with his mind, suffusing her with his feelings - his gratitude, acceptance, and understanding.

She laughed a little; it came out broken, an odd mix of sadness and relief. “Too gracious,” she choked out.

“No such thing,” came his answer, quick and reassuring. “Just as you’ve forgiven me, so have I you. There’s little need to measure who did what, as long as we both…” he gestured, unsure of the specific verbiage he needed, “as long as we’re both happy, I suppose.”

She couldn’t contest that, turning to kiss a trail from his jawbone down his neck. Her lips ghosted over the old bite marks, setting off a wave of pleasant shivers throughout his body.

“Then we are in agreement?” he asked, simply to ensure the air was clear.

Ban made a small mhm of assent but didn’t say more. He was relieved, but found himself wanting to introduce more levity. He shifted, untangling his fingers to playfully cup a breast. “Much as forgiveness has been dispensed, darling, my heart still feels broken,” he drawled, “A kiss would be most welcome in soothing it.”

“You’re sure you only want a kiss?” she said, and he huffed out a small laugh.

“Most definitely not. Still, a kiss would be very welcome.” He played with her breast, pinching the nipple between index finger and thumb. Scooting back, she pressed against his cock. He bit his lip, appreciating her teasing, but forced his hips to keep still.

Tilting her head back, Astarion met her lips with his own, a soft caress without urgency. He nibbled at her lower lip, eliciting a quiet moan. Hands reached for his head, grasping still-dry curls to pull him closer. He allowed it, but he felt her fingers begin to move towards his ear; he quickly pulled her hand away.

“There isn’t enough time, you’re preoccupied, and as much as I’d like to take the edge off,” he scolded, “there are far more pressing matters we ought to attend to. I would prefer to make love when you’re wholly here, and not plagued by the spectre of your family.”

“So you’re saying you’re not hard right now? What do I feel back there, then?” she teased, hand sinking beneath the water.

Astarion tried to snatch the hand before it reached him, but she wasn’t really making a play for his cock; he was easily able to wrap his fingers around her wrist. He brought it to his lips, planting a soft kiss before sinking his fangs in, drinking languidly.

“That’s for being a tease and for being too godsdamned attractive for your own good,” he murmured, licking the last rivulets of blood before they fell.

Ban laughed, rolling her hips back, rubbing against him lightly. “You are hard.”

“Painfully so,” came the reply, huffed in exasperation.

“I doubt drinking helped you any,” she added, very much amused.

He groaned as she rubbed her ass on him again. “No,” he admitted, “but I needed something.” Astarion was mere seconds away from lifting her and sitting her on his cock, but she thankfully - regretfully, if he was being honest - pulled away.

He grumbled, glaring at her; he felt around the tub for the sponge he’d dropped when he’d reached for her hand. Instead he found a muscled thigh and pinched, just enough to elicit a yelp and a little jump; she splashed his face.

“Ass!”

Astarion chuckled, “And yet you love me.” He’d never said it with such lightness of heart, he thought; it was far too fraught, too sensitive a topic for him until recently. There was a certainty there now, of her love for him, that he was grateful for. However he couldn’t fully suppress the lingering question, the question that plagued him even in these calm, happy moments:

Will she ever love me as deeply and completely as I do her?

A question that shouldn’t haunt him; there was no tangible way to measure love, after all. To attempt to do so would likely only end in heartache, but he couldn’t seem to prevent it from cropping up each time.

His silence as he contemplated this train of thought did not go unnoticed.

“Astarion?”

Her hand touched his cheek, and he blinked twice as he refocused on her. She’d turned to face him while he was lost in his reverie. He saw concern writ large on her features.

“I didn’t mean to taunt you; I wasn’t actually going to grab you, if that’s…” she trailed off, “I’m sorry.”

Realization dawned on him and he vehemently shook his head. “Ban, no. It was perfectly fine; welcomed, even. I was merely lost in some tangent of thought - one of little import.”

True - not the whole of it, but now was not the right time for it.

“Then do you want to…?” Ban ventured; he quickly shook his head.

“Tempting, as you always are, but no. I’d rather focus on tonight’s events; there’s little doubt that it will be complicated, at the very least. You will need all your energy for it.”

Ban nodded. “A very good point.” She turned to face away again, leaning forwards in a silent request; Astarion wistfully raked his eyes over her back before he began to soap it again.

Astarion watched Ban fidget in front of him, tugging at the skirt of her dress.

“This does fit well, right?” Her voice was tentative, anxious as she spun around for his assessment. He’d been her mirror since she’d lost the ability to see her reflection. Sometimes he helped her see herself with the mental link, but right now he merely pursed his lips and rubbed at his chin.

“I think it fits perfectly,” he managed to say. The way it clung to her ass was delightfully distracting and he considered saying so, but he could tell she was nervous. Instead he walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder to still her movements. “You look beautiful; you always do, but especially so tonight.”

“Thank you, but are you sure the hem’s not too short? Fath- I mean, Roderich would no doubt comment on it, he would complain and say ‘have you no modesty?’ and-”

He tightened his grip on her shoulder and placed himself in front of her. “Look at me. It doesn’t matter what he thinks; if he so much as utters one word that offends you - that even irritates you - you merely have to say the word and he’s out.” His throat tightened as he spoke. How much had Roderich hurt her, in the small span of years a human child had, for her to be such a stuttering mess right now?

Ban took a few gulping breaths, nodding at him. “Yes, of course. You… thank you.” Another sharp breath took her and she rushed him, burying her face against his chest. His arms wrapped around her tightly, rocking her gently in his embrace.

“I shall go ahead to greet them,” he offered, “You can meet us in the dining room whenever you wish.” He slowly began to pull away, but she gripped the lapels of his suit coat.

“Stay with me,” she begged, unwilling to lift her head from where it was pressed against him. “Please. A little longer.”

Wordlessly he nodded, enveloping her in his arms yet again.

He could only hope it helped.

Astarion lounged on the throne as he waited. He heard the front doors opening, the thump of footsteps, the muffled voice of their chamberlain wafting through to him. He stayed in place, watching as the ballroom doors opened and figures began to enter. He’d carefully arranged himself, legs crossed and head resting on his hand, the picture of insolence and lordly power, exuding what he hoped was an aura of indifference.

He let them approach, making no move to rise or greet them; he counted four - no, three - figures. Their chamberlain, Roderich, and a woman.

Where’s the brother?

“My lord,” the chamberlain began, “Master Glasscraft and his missus are here.” Astarion didn’t deign to rise, eyes raking coldly over Ban’s mother. He could sense her deference to her husband; she hadn’t even looked up yet. A short, plump woman, she all but hid behind Roderich as the man prepared to greet Astarion.

Roderich cleared his throat and at that, Arlette’s eyes rose, raking over Astarion, traveling from the top of his curls to the bottom of his shoes. Her eyes widened and her lips parted a fraction of an inch. He knew that look all too well, remembered seeing it on countless faces, every single time Cazador loaned him out. It made his lip curl in disgust.

“Lord Ancunín,” Roderich began, hesitating for a moment. “Astarion.” The Glasscrafts bowed, obviously rather nervous and unsure.

Astarion fought the urge to snap; that he dared address him so informally without permission rankled. He let it pass, however, sitting up, elbows on his knees. “Roderich,” he nodded. He then turned to Arlette, and also gave her a small nod. “You must be Arlette. Ban has told me so much about you both.”

He finally stood, hands casually smoothening his trousers as he did, relishing the look of discomfort on their faces at his words. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he still towered over the pair, something he found immensely satisfying. “Pleased to have you here. How did you find the grounds, Arlette?”

She tittered. “It’s nice, I suppose. Roses were never something I desired for our garden; they’re thorny.”

“They require care and loving attention. Not things everyone is capable of giving.”

Satisfied with the raised eyebrows his comment caused, he decided to take them to the dining room; at least then he could have some wine to take the edge off their blathering. He descended the dais, gesturing for them to follow him. Before he could summon the chamberlain, however, Ban’s mother decided to get started on her prying.

“If you don’t mind me asking - how long have you and Ban been together?” Arlette’s voice made him turn and he crossed his arms, considering the question.

“A year and a half, if not slightly more,” he answered, mind flicking back to the day they first met. He noticed her frown; she opened her mouth as if to ask something more, but her husband gave her a curt shake of the head, ending her interrogation.

Interesting, Astarion thought to himself. He waved a hand at the chamberlain. “Please tell my wife that her family has arrived. She is free to join us at her leisure.” As he did, he led Ban’s parents out of the ballroom.

Roderich cleared his throat. “Astarion-” he began, wincing when Astarion fixed him with a glare over his shoulder. “You would really let Ban… your wife… hole up in her room while you have guests?”

The moment the words were out, Astarion rounded on him, rage written all over his face. His crimson eyes glittered dangerously, lip curling in a sneer. “I do not presume to tell Ban what to do, Roderich. Do you truly have the gall to attempt to command my wife under our roof?”

The smaller man spluttered, a sound Astarion relished. “I- my lord- I do not! I merely say it as fatherly advice. Ban is-”

“Is what?” he interjected, crossing his arms. He saw Arlette open her mouth as if to speak, but she first looked to her husband for permission. As Roderich nodded, she began.

“My lord, forgive me. In fact, may I call you Astarion? You are, after all, my daughter’s… husband… although I notice you do not wear rings.” Arlette straightened up, bracing herself. “What Roderich means to say is that our daughter can be willful. She is prone to behaviors that are unbecoming of a wife, behaviors especially unbecoming of her stature as your spouse, of a lady.”

“Unbecoming-” Astarion bit back the curse forming on his lips, scoffing instead. “For one, no. I am to be addressed as Lord Ancunín, not Astarion. If I hear that one more time from either of your lips’…” The pair before him recoiled, his words obviously effective.

He let the threat hang, satisfied at their reaction, and pushed on. “Ban is willful. She does things that are unbecoming of your idea of a lady, yes.” Those were in fact the things that made him love her so, but he considered that truth something Roderich and Arlette did not deserve to know. “Those are the things that make her her, and you will not disparage my wife in front of me. Is that understood?”

Small, hurried murmurs of assent answered him. Satisfied, he turned away from them. “Let’s head to the dining room before we all reconsider this reunion, shall we?”

The doors were held open for Ban as she entered the dining room. She did not see Adrien, only Roderich and Arlette, seated in stony, awkward silence across from Astarion. She noticed her mother’s eyes, the way they drifted down to her belly, as expected. Sorry mother, no grandchildren here. She quickly scanned the rest of the room - there was no sign of her brother - then landed on her husband. His hands were steepled beneath his chin, but he placed them flat on the table as he turned to her. His eyes flicked to her and for a moment she saw the steely anger in them, but it quickly melted into tenderness. He rose, crossing the room to take her hand and press a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, low enough that her parents did not hear. He kept her hand in his as he led her to her seat, only releasing her to pull her chair out. As she sat, so too did he, shooting one last warning glare at Roderich and Arlette before he waved a servant over to request dinner be served.

Ban looked Astarion over, noting the furrowed brows and tense shoulders, feeling a surge of relief that he was here. She reached out, snaking her hand around his, holding it in a tight grip. He made no outward sign he’d registered her touch, but his hand squeezed hers back. Satisfied, she turned to her parents.

Arlette was the first to speak, evidently unable to keep her mouth shut any longer. “Ban!” she exclaimed, “I know the last time we saw each other wasn’t… the best, but your father and I are so glad to see you again. You seem to have done well enough, haven’t you?” she asked, shooting Astarion an appreciative glance, “And I’m very proud. We taught you everything you needed to know, and look how far you’ve gone!”

Ban sighed. “I… I have done well for myself.”

She glanced over at her husband and saw his face harden further. Concerned, she reached into his mind. Not yet, love. I need to talk to them. He visibly swallowed down his pique, jaw reluctantly unclenching.

That they’re alive at all, Ban, is merely because you wish it.

She couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped her. Keeping their bond open, she continued addressing her mother. “Done well, but not because of you, or what you two have taught me. Where’s Adrien?”

Arlette took this in stride, smiling to reveal crooked, yellowing teeth that still occasionally haunted Ban’s nightmares. “We shouldn’t argue about that. Have you forgotten? It’s uncouth to be arguing at the table.” She paused, and her gaze slipped away from Ban, settling on the empty plate before her. “Your brother had a prior commitment, and we thought it rude to ask your husband to postpone.”

Ban watched her mother rake her eyes over her belly yet again. “Any plans for children, Ban? You’re not getting any younger. I’m sure your husband wants an heir,” Arlette pressed.

She opened her mouth to retort, but her father interjected. “A little darling boy, Ban, would be a wonderful gift. For you two, and for us as well. He would be a treasure to us all.” He nodded at Arlette.

Ban sighed. “Do you harass Adrien for grandchildren as well, or is this reserved solely for your female child…?”

“Besides,” Astarion chimed in, a devilish grin on his face, “I must confess we have been trying as often and as enthusiastically as possible, but alas…”

Before he could continue, the servant returned with soup, halting any further prying for a few moments. Astarion automatically opened his mind further, sharing his sense of taste with her.

As they began to eat, Roderich spoke up. “As your mother mentioned little beauty, it is indeed uncouth to argue, or discuss such… marital activities, at the table, just as it is uncouth to leave your guests waiting.”

Ban could feel Astarion bristle, a vision flitting to her unwittingly: fangs, glittering in the light of the chandelier, sinking into that repulsive neck so that he’d never call her that again.

“It’s also uncouth to beat your children, as I understand it,” she snipped, and was rewarded by the blush that crept up her father’s face. Astarion barked out a laugh beside her but said nothing, his thoughts conveying amusement and warm affection.

“That, I did for your wellbeing,” Roderich protested, although his voice was weak. “So you’d end up somewhere in life. Successful. As you indeed became.” Ban saw her mother nod vehemently at these words.

Astarion could no longer help himself. “She is not successful because of your frankly atrocious parenting, she is successful in spite of you,” he growled, “And did I not warn you not to disparage my wife?”

Ban saw his lip curling again and hurried to interject before fangs were bared. To Astarion she sent a small plea, asking him to wait and let her get what she needed before he did anything rash. He blinked at her, the curled lip trembling in fury before it lowered.

“Be glad she bids me to be merciful and stay my hand,” he drawled, turning to them, “Else you would be in far more unpleasant circumstances than this.”

Ban cleared her throat. “Mother. Father. It… doesn’t matter what you think. What you did to me and Adrien is unforgivable, and if you think this success was because of you, you’re wrong.”

“How could it not be?” Arlette interjected. “You married someone so attractive. Someone rich. Someone powerful. All these things I taught you how to navigate. How to be a good wife. A good woman. How to know your place, to be strong and to honor your husband. Don’t you see? You married a hero, from wh-”

Her words died off as Astarion slammed a fist down onto the table, absolutely livid. “A hero?”

Roderich attempted to explain, “We asked around, my lord. We heard of your rise to power, of your efforts in saving the city from the Netherbrain.”

“Me. You think I’m the hero of Baldur’s Gate?” Astarion laughed, a deep, full laugh filled with levity - but also incredulity. Ban sampled the flavor of his emotions as they flooded through their connection; there was genuine amusement, but there were also much heavier emotions - his profound admiration for her, and his love. More than anything else, that.

It took him a long moment to recover, his features shifting from mirth to a deep, seething rage. He stood, hands gripping the edge of the table, leering at them. “Ban is the hero of Baldur’s Gate. She was the best of us - and nowhere were any of those insipid ‘lessons’ you subjected her to of any use. She picked us up, one by one, led us through the wilderness, all the way to the city. She burdened herself with every decision and every sacrifice that had to be made. She helped each and every one of us wretched fools,” he growled, his hands tightening on the table until it creaked, “and somehow still managed to save your sorry hides along with everyone else in this godsforsaken city.” He glanced at her, his expression softened briefly, the last part of his tirade saved for her and her alone.

You gave me everything, saved me from slavery and death alike. Loved me.

She offered him a soft smile before he turned back to Roderich and Arlette, the anger firmly back in his features. “You have pushed my patience far beyond the point I’d normally tolerate. The only thing keeping you alive is her - I strongly encourage you to quit while you’re ahead.”

This final warning, with Astarion looming angrily towards them, sufficed to convince the pair to back off. His tirade may have inadvertently revealed his fangs, Ban realized; she was tempted to ask him to back off again, worried.

The thought passed to him and he turned to her, wanting to tell her to let him handle it, when he realized. He leveled his gaze back onto her parents, brushing at his suit coat before sitting back down.

“What prior commitment was so important that Adrien would choose it over being reunited with his long-lost sister?” The cold tone had crept back into his voice, his wrath receding behind an icy veneer. Astarion fingered the stem of his wineglass, the other hand idly tapping the table. “Rather rude, when I invited everyone. Does he not miss his sister?”

That is what you wanted to know, is it not?

He’d read the thought as soon as it came into her mind. She’d felt Adrien would be guaranteed to show up; for one he would have wanted to see Ban. The other reason was purely pragmatic - Roderich would have wanted to introduce him to his powerful brother-in-law, establish connections early. His absence was perplexing.

“How is he, anyway?” Ban interjected before Astarion felt compelled to push further. Adrien was the only one she had a smidgen of concern about, the only one she thought she’d have an honest conversation with tonight; and yet he wasn’t here. Did he resent her? Had he run away, just as she had done?

She noticed Roderich’s jaw clench at the mention of her brother. Curious.

“Adrien, well… he had other commitments, as your mother said,'' Roderich stammered out, eyes darting from Ban to Astarion nervously. It was a lie, Ban was sure, but she couldn’t exactly place why. In her mind Astarion whispered his agreement.

She shook her head. “He didn’t, father. Don’t lie. You never were good at it. Does he not want to see me?”

Arlette let out a loud tch of disdain. “Of course he doesn’t want to see his ungrateful sister. I birthed you. We raised you. Loved you. And what do you do, the first moment we need you to do something in return? You run. You selfish, ungrateful child. After you left, your brother’s betrothal became much more difficult for us to secure. ‘Little beauty’,” she scoffed, “You aren’t even beautiful. All you have is what I taught you, no matter what your poncey husband here says. You know that.”

Ban tried not to let those words seep into her heart, but they hit their mark anyway. She felt herself tremble, felt tears threatening to form. No. Don’t. She’s just riling you up, Ban. Don’t.

It didn’t work. Her eyes blurred as her tears welled up, her breathing became fast and began to hitch. She gripped the edges of her chair, trying to ground herself because no, they can’t see me cry again, they can’t win-

“OUT!”

Astarion’s thunderous voice broke through to her, strong and brave and so, so needed. Her home and her salvation. She watched as he stood, index finger pointed towards the door.

“Out. Before I end your miserable, worthless lives. Get. Out.”

Ban wanted to tell him she hadn’t gotten the truth yet, but she was in no condition to. Astarion snapped a finger, summoning the chamberlain.

“Get them out of my palace, and they are not to be allowed back in under any circumstances.”

The chamberlain hurried to Roderich’s side and gestured politely towards the door. Roderich shot out of his chair and shoved the chamberlain away, glaring at Astarion.

“You may be the man of the house here, but mark my words: you are nothing. I do not know what you are, but I know enough to know you are unholy. A monster,” he spat out.

Astarion laughed at this, gleefully baring his fangs. They glinted in the candlelight; Roderich and Arlette flinched and went pale.

“Then you know how easily I can kill you, drain all your putrid blood and bathe in your innards,” he hissed. “And who would believe you? I walk in the sun. My heart beats. I am warm. I am a patron of the arts. I am well-respected throughout the entire city. I am a lord. And you? A sniveling, washed-out guildsman, bitter over some argument over a commissioned mirror. Any more attempts to approach my wife, to even speak to her without her express permission, and I will crush your reputation.” Astarion smiled, all teeth and danger, the predator on full display. “And if I ever hear any whispers about what lives in this palace, I will assume it has come from you. I will find you where you sleep and I will kill you - and I need no invitation to enter your home, trust me.”

Arlette, finally making the connection, took in her daughter’s features. “No. You…”

Ban smiled with feigned shyness, a smile she’d been taught to perform in polite company. But she let her lips stretch further, baring her own fangs. There was a low thrum of satisfaction in her belly as she watched her parents recoil in horror.

“Go on,” Ban said. “My husband has told you to get out. Be polite and do as my lord bids, hm?”

They seemed to hesitate, and Astarion released another hiss for good measure. Roderich finally conceded, his shoulders sagging slightly. He fixed Astarion with one last, terrified glare, then led Arlette out, the chamberlain guiding them out of the palace.

“That didn’t quite go the way I’d hoped,” she said, turning to Astarion. To her surprise he was right next to her, arms already halfway encircling her. He gave her a long, tight embrace, his nose pressed tightly against her temple, breathing in her scent.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The rancor was gone, and so was the smooth veneer in his voice. All that remained were his worry and his concern, her wellbeing his primary focus.

Ban held him just as tightly, hands fisting into his suit coat. It crumpled within her grasp, the smooth silk and the embroidery providing a texture she found comforting.

“I’m fine, I think. Perhaps I won’t be in a little bit, but right now I’m more concerned about Adrien.”

Astarion peered at her, studying her for a moment. Seemingly satisfied she wasn’t lying, he nodded.

“We’ll have to reconsider our approach, but I agree with you.”

“So you saw it too.” She stood, but her husband was always a step ahead; the chair was pulled out, his hands wrapping around hers before she could even reach for him.

It’s as if you can read my mind, she jested.

There was tender amusement there, mixed in with the clouds of still-roiling anger and worry. He tugged at her arm.

We can discuss everything another time. For now I would like you to rest.

She acquiesced, allowing him to lead her to their room.

That night she fell asleep, body enveloped in his arms, her mind embraced by his.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

I am happy to announce that 'Whither is thy beloved gone?' is getting professionally edited as well. I shall keep everyone abreast of when these changes go live. Thank you!

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decedentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @@vinegarjello @the0ldman @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

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mykoreanlove · 10 months ago

Note

Heey can I ask for a very domestic scenerio for Taemin? Like his wife is at home with their baby (who is a boy and looks exaclty like Taemin) and then he comes home after a show, event, concert whatever and just chill together...Thank you!!

I am sorry it took me so long - here it is, hope u like it :) thank you for reading my work, really appreciate it <3

You took a concerned glance at the clock hanging on the pastel-colored wall – 11 pm.

“He should be home soon”, you muttered to yourself as you held your sweet baby boy in your arms. Life changed drastically ever since you became a mother, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You thought you’d love Taemin with all of your heart, but your little boy taught you a whole new level of love.

“Don’t you wanna go to sleep, Jongi?”

Big brown eyes looked back at you, cackling joyfully. Your baby was not only a direct replica of Taemin in regard to looks, but also personality. The little boy was cheerful most of the times, smiling widely and brightening the day of everybody around. People couldn’t get enough of this little fella, always visiting and gifting him stuff.

“You know he looks exactly like his dad?”, your mother teased. “Is there anything of you in him?”

“Well, I hope so”, you replied as you swayed him from side to side.

12 pm.

Cries filled your apartment as the little one was getting impatient.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? Do you miss your daddy? He should be home any minute, Jongi.”

Sadly, that promise wasn’t enough to stop the energetic cries, so you started swaying him while walking through the big apartment. Jongi was used to falling asleep to Taemin’s voice – he always sang him to sleep. “Daddy’s gotta sing for his fans tonight, sweetie. They also need him, you know?”

More cries.

Even louder ones as if he had understood what you were saying. An idea flashed through your mind.

Quickly, you played a video of Taemin giving an acapella performance on the TV. Jongi squeaked in excitement as he recognized his dad on the screen. You placed a kiss on his head and smiled: “same, honey, same.”

Slowly, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep as his dad was filling the room with the loveliest serenades. It didn’t take you long to join him in slumber, after all motherhood was one hell of a beast.

You felt plush lips on your forehead as you slowly woke up, trying to make sense of your surroundings. “Y/N, sweetheart. I’m back.”

A big smile formed on your lips. You never doubted he would come back to you but every time he did felt magical. “Did my little boy behave?”

Taemin sat next to you and took Jongi from your arms, cuddling with him on the couch. “Your little boy was getting cranky because he couldn’t fall asleep. He needed his daddy’s concert badly.”

“Is that why you’re replaying old videos of me?”, he motioned to the TV.

“Yeah”, you nodded tired. Taemin kissed his son and whispered silently: “I am so sorry it took me so long, Jongi. I hope you didn’t give your beautiful momma a hard time, though. Because that’s my job.” He laughed diabolically.

“Hey”, you pouted.

“Come here, baby”, he invited you to lay next to him.

You crawled over to the two most important men in your life and laid your head on Taemin’s arm, sighing contentedly.

“Hey”, he whispered. You tilted your head to look up at him – you could tell that he was exhausted, yet deeply grateful. Taemin kissed you tenderly, enjoying every second with you and his son. He rubbed his nose with yours while holding your hand. “Did you enjoy the concert?”

Taemin nodded. “Yeah, I did. But I couldn’t wait to get home as soon as it was over. I missed you so much. I missed Jongi. You guys are my whole life.”

Moments like these were common for you, Taemin was very vocal about his love and appreciation. “Baby”, you whispered. He looked at you with deep compassion. “I mean it. I really, really mean it, y/n. You are everything to me.”

Moments like these made you think about creating a sibling for Jongi right this second. “I love you”, you whispered. Taemin closed his eyes with a big smile and started singing soundly – your family ritual to drift off to sleep.

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inthe-dark-tonight · 1 year ago

Text

Falling Into My Sins

chapter three: balled up fists

dbf!joel x fem!reader series - loosely inspired by the song skin by soccer mommy

chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6

summary: tommy and joel walk into your new job and you decide to confront joel about the events that took place at sunday night dinner. the only thing is, joel isn't alone.

word count: 2.5k

series rating: E (18+ mdni)

warnings: no outbreak AU, age gap (reader is in their 20s, Joel is in his 40s) no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, tommy and reader flirt a little, player!joel, joel being a gaslighter sorry, ANGST, theres one part where joel grabs readers wrist kinda roughly bc she’s… doing something so be aware of that, if i’m missing anything let me know!!

notes: okayyyyy here we go, i don’t want to spoil anything so… let me know what you guys think of this chapter :) thank you again to my love @shatteredbaby for proofreading for me again, i owe you my life mwah. can't forget my literal mother @pr0ximamidnight for letting me ramble for hours <3

It’s Friday morning now and Joel never got back to you. You didn’t send another text after your last one, afraid that you would seem desperate or annoying. You’ve been busy this week anyway so you try not to let it bother you.

One of the jobs you applied for finally called back, so you went in for an interview on Tuesday morning and they already have you working your first shift tonight. It’s a waitressing job, which isn’t exactly what you were hoping for, but you applied for anything and everything, just happy to be working again. It will also be good to get your mind off of everything that’s happened last weekend.

You finish getting ready for work. Your shift starts in about an hour but you want to be early for your first day. As you leave your room, you grab your purse and your apron before running down the stairs. Your dad’s in the living room and you shout out to him.

“I’m leaving! I’m not off until midnight so see you tomorrow!”

��See ya bud, have fun!” He shouts back.

You shut the door behind you and walk down your front steps to your car. As you walk to your car, you glance across the street towards Joel’s house. His truck isn’t in the driveway. You haven’t seen him at all this week, not even a quick glimpse as he was leaving for work or coming home. You saw Sarah come home from school a few times, but no Joel.

You get into your car and turn the radio on, trying to shake the memory of the other night from your mind. You pull away, past Joel’s house and out of the neighborhood. The job you got is at a local diner near your house. Unfortunately though, it’s a 24hr diner which means you’ll probably be working nights most of the time but you’re just happy to be working again.

You pull up to the diner and step out of your car, grabbing your purse and tying your black apron around your waist. The one good thing about this job is that the dress code is simple, all black. You walk in and one of the other waitresses, Betty, greets you as you walk up to the counter.

“Hi hon, welcome to work!” She smiles at you.

She's an older woman, probably in her late fifties, and she’s very friendly. She was here the day of your interview and she chatted with you as you sat waiting for the manager to be ready for you.

“Hi” you smile shyly at her.

“I’m gonna be training you tonight,” she starts. “There isn’t a lot to learn, I think you’ll get the hang of it easily so I’m just kinda here if you need any help.”

You nod your head and follow her behind the counter. She takes about fifteen minutes to show you the ropes, how to use the register and things of that sort.

“Okay well,” she starts taking a deep breath. “I think you got this, I trust ya.” She winks at you. “It’s gonna be pretty slow for the next few hours, just watch the counter for now, I’ll handle any tables that come in.”

You nod, acknowledging that you understand and then she walks into the back. You look around the diner noticing that there’s practically nobody in there. One booth in the back corner is occupied by an older man reading the paper and sipping on a black coffee, but that’s it.

About an hour later you hear the bell on the door jingle as someone enters the diner. Your head whips towards the door and you see a familiar face, Tommy Miller. His face lights up as his eyes meet with yours and he walks towards the counter.

“Hey,” he glances around the empty diner, then his eyes land back on you. “Guess you heard back from some of the application’s you sent out huh?”

“Hi,” you laugh a little at his comment. “Yeah uh, I did. Today’s my first day actually.”

He takes a seat at the counter and you hand him a menu. “Does that make me your first customer?” he raises his brow and smiles at you.

“Yeah actually.”

“Hmmm, I’ll have to test ya then.” He opens the menu.

You let out a small laugh “Can I get you anything? Coffee?” You watch as Tommy glances over the menu.

He doesn’t look up at you. “Yeah actually, I’ll take a coffee while I wait.”

Wait for what? You don’t ask. You walk to grab the coffee pot and a mug, setting it down to fill it in front of him.

“Thanks darlin’,” he looks up at you and your cheeks heat up.

“No problem, let me know when you’re ready.” You turn around to replace the coffee pot.

Suddenly the doors open again, you hear the bell but you don’t turn around to look until you hear a woman laughing. You look up and your face immediately drops.

It’s Joel Miller, and his arm is wrapped around some woman as they walk towards a booth. He doesn’t see you yet as he slides into a booth by the window, sitting on the side that faces you. Tommy turns his head glancing at him, then turns back to you.

“Christ, when I told him to meet me after his date I didn’t think he’d bring the woman along.” Tommy rolls his eyes.

Joel was on a date? You just hum in response, not sure what to say. You look back towards Joel, he’s smiling as he leans on the table. Once his eyes meet with yours his smile disappears. You immediately snap your eyes away from him and focus back on Tommy.

“Ready?” You smile at him.

He looks up at you giving you a cheeky grin “Yeah,” he rubs the back of his neck as he talks. “Gonna keep it simple I think, just a burger and fries.”

You jot it down on your pad and then quickly rip the paper off. “You got it.” You wink at him, eyes meeting with Joel’s for a quick second before you turn around to place the order with the line cooks.

When you turn around, Tommy’s cheeks are slightly flushed. Then you see Betty come out from the back and walk towards Joel’s table to take their order. You try not to stare as you try to catch a better glimpse at the woman he’s here with. She has long blonde wavy hair, and as she turns her head to say something to Betty you catch a glimpse of her side profile and blinding smile. You have to admit she’s quite gorgeous. Then Joel’s saying something to Betty before she walks back and gives her order to the line cooks. His eyes flicker to yours again, and then to the woman he’s sitting with.

Your blood is boiling but you’re trying not to show it. How was he fucking you the other night and now he’s here with someone else?

“So, what’ve you been up to this week?” Tommy says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Oh nothing much,” You smile, a bit distracted.

He hesitates for a moment. “Got anything going on tomorrow?” He’s looking at you with his large brown eyes.

You notice Joel is watching you like a hawk, dark eyes burning straight through you as you’re talking to Tommy. You peel your eyes away from Joel and look back to Tommy.

“Not sure, I don’t think so.”

“If you’re free, maybe we could go to this bar downtown?” He stops for a second. “I mean, if not, that’s fine just-“

“I’ll let you know.” You smile at him before turning to grab his food and placing it in front of him.

“Thanks.” he glances up at you quickly.

You nod and then look back towards Joel. He gets out of the booth and the woman follows. As she stands up, he pulls her into an embrace before waving bye to her and sitting back down. As the woman walks out, you finally get a look at her. She’s gorgeous, luscious hair bouncing as he walks towards the door. She glances over at you and smiles before pushing on the door and leaving. You’re frozen there for a moment, before looking back towards Joel. You need to talk to him.

“I’ll be right back.” Tommy looks up at you with wide eyes, nodding his head.

You storm over to Joel, blood boiling. His eyes are locked on you the whole way over. When you get to his booth, you slide into the spot where the blonde woman was just sitting a moment ago and stare directly into his eyes. He shifts in his seat as your eyes stay glued to his.

“We need to talk. Now.” The last part comes out low through gritted teeth and filled with anger as you try to keep it together.

“What about, sweetheart?” He leans back, throwing his arm over the back of the booth.

What about? He's got to be joking. You feel like you could snap any second, and you think he can tell by the look in your eyes.

“Joel.” It comes out as a warning.

“Okay, okay,” he glances around the diner. “Not in here.” He gets up from the booth and you follow him as he walks towards the door.

Joel walks outside and you call out to Betty saying that you’re taking a quick break, she just waves you off. You walk out the door and look both ways before spotting Joel leaning against his truck. You walk towards him slowly, thinking about what you want to say. You stand in from of him, practically fuming at the way he’s acting so nonchalant, like he didn’t fuck you up against the side of your father’s home five nights ago and then ghost you.

“So,” You say, finally breaking the silence.

“So.” He says back.

You’re silent for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts. “What exactly is going on, Joel,” your eyes meet his and your stomach flips.

“Not sure what you’re talkin’ about.” He clears his throat and breaks eye contact with you, looking down at his boots.

So he’s going to play dumb, you see how it is. “Seriously?” You shake your head still looking at him.

He looks up at you apprehensively, like he’s afraid to meet your gaze. “Seriously, what are you on about.” His brows knit together as he looks at you.

You take a step closer to him. “You’re going to act like you didn’t fuck me behind my dad’s house less than a week ago?” Your voice starts to raise and he’s just staring back at you now.

“I-“ you cut him off.

“No, let me finish.” You’re ready to let it all out. “You left abruptly Sunday night, practically ghosted me when we had plans Tuesday, and then showed up here… on a date?” He doesn’t say anything. “And then you have the nerve to ask me what we need to talk about.”

He shoves one hand into his pocket and the other rubs at the scruff on his cheek.

“Just tell me, were you lying when you said you didn’t want to forget about the night we met? That you wanted me,” You swallow thickly, afraid that you might not like his answer. “Was I just another girl to add to your list?”

His jaw ticks as he stands there silently. “Yeah.” He’s still not looking at you. “It was just a fuck, that’s all.”

You scoff. “You’re sick.” His eyes snap up to you. “Even after you found out that my dad is your best friend, who does that?” You shake your head, he has a smug look on his face that makes you just wanna-

Your hand reaches up to slap him, but he catches your wrist before your hand even gets close to his cheek. He’s breathing heavily, anger burning behind his eyes.

“The hell are you doing?” He says it through gritted teeth. “Tryin’ to hit me?”

You just stare at him. “You deserve it, don’t you think?” Your voice slightly breaks as the words come out.

He grabs your other wrist and spins you around pressing you up against his truck. You try to wriggle away but he’s too strong. You’re speechless as you stand there in his grasp, a shocked look on your face.

He’s breathing heavy as he towers over you, dark eyes staring at your parted lips now. His eyes meet yours, you have no idea what his next move will be.

“Do I?” He’s close enough now that you can feel his breath fanning over your face.

Your heart is racing. “Joel…” you breathe out.

Then he’s slamming his lips against yours, the kiss is needy and rough as he presses himself against you. You start to melt into him and then snap out of it, breaking the kiss. You push his solid chest as hard as you can, shoving him away from you. He slightly stumbles back releasing his grip on your wrists.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He looks like a deer in headlights right now, stunned by your reaction.

His mouth falls open but nothing comes out. You turn away from him and start walking back towards the door, taking a deep breath trying to hold back tears, not from sadness but from anger. Who does he think he is?

When you open the door to the diner, Tommy’s head whips towards you. “Hey, were you on break?” He asks as you walk back behind the counter.

“Yeah,” Your voice cracks a bit as you answer him. “So, about tomorrow,” you clear your throat.

Tommy’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

Joel walks through the door making his way to Tommy, you glance at him before your eyes meet his brother’s again.

“I’d love to go with you.” He smiles at your words.

“Great, I’ll get you around 8?” He says, his dark chocolate eyes gleaming as you nod positively.

Joel’s standing behind Tommy, now staring you down. You’re unsure about how much he’s heard, but honestly, you could care less at this moment.

“C’mon Tommy, we gotta go.” Joel says as he lightly pulls at Tommy’s sleeve.

Tommy pulls out his wallet, setting some cash on the table for his meal then stands up. “See ya.” he’s holding back a smile.

You bite your cheek. “Yeah, see ya.”

Joel’s standing by the door waiting for Tommy as you give him a deadly glare before clearing the counter and you hear the door to the diner close. You’re not sure what you’ve gotten yourself into, but you feel sort of excited for tomorrow night.

thank you for reading! feel free to comment or leave asks, i love to talk about this fic so I will almost always answer/chat :)

tag list and some moots: @ilovepedro @isitmeulookin4 @joelsversion @nostalxgic @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @gracieheartspedro @jenispunk @beskarandblasters @javiscigarette @pedropascalfan221 @mellymbee @kaybee181520 @joeldjarin @akah565 @laurifern @chefchy4 @untamedheart81 @eliza-8 @fellinfromthetop @sofiparallel @znerac

#dbf!joel #player!joel #dbf!joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #fic: falling into my sins #joel miller smut

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myfairstarlight · 2 months ago

Text

The Innocent Game of Flirting

AO3 Link.

Rated: T

Length: 10.8k

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington

Canon Divergence

Based on the replies on my jealous Colin post here.

Summary:

It is the 1812 season. Penelope Featherington, out in society a year too early and watching the love of her life court her cousin, refuses to wallow in self-pity. Determined to escape her family home, she resolves to secure a proposal. Following a piece of advice from Daphne, Penelope successfully attracts the interest of a suitor in Lord Remington. However, her little scheme brings about unexpected consequences. Or: A season 1 AU where a determined Penelope uses her friendship with Colin to practice her flirting skills, leading to a very confused and flustered Colin, who soon forgets which Featherington lady he is meant to be courting.

*additional notes on ao3

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Penelope grins as she unveils her new dresses, devoid of that horrid yellow she was forced to adorn in her first few social events. Instead, an array of light pink, green and blue now adorn her wardrobe and she could not be more pleased.

“Thank you Papa!” she exclaims, hugging him despite his stiff demeanour.

“I will never hear the end of it with your mother,” her Papa sighs, even as he hugs her back with one arm then pats her head. “But you’re welcome, darling.”

She hums, bouncing on her feet as she releases him. She can now prepare for the ball tonight with a sound mind. The plan worked much more efficiently than she expected, as her Papa managed to resell the old yellow gowns, giving her some extra pin money, and she had Eloise to thank for such a success.

“Your Papa has a soft spot for you, does he not?” her best friend had said, the night after Penelope’s first ball, wherein she spent the whole night sticking to walls. “And you have two older sisters, as well as an older cousin out in society with multiple suitors already, surely your Mama will focus on them first. If you stubbornly refuse to attend events, she will leave you be but your Papa might notice! He’ll ask what’s wrong and voilà, you get better gowns than those ill-fitting yellow atrocities.”

“And even if he does not notice, frankly, you will not miss much at these balls,” Daphne had sighed. “Outside of my brother being insufferable.”

Her wardrobe is now sorted out, but there is still the issue of… well, her personality. For that, Daphne is the one who gives her a piece of advice when they find each other at the Vauxhall Ball.

“Your personality is dazzling as it is,” the other debutante chides. “You simply need to be comfortable, and courtship is meant to do just that— allow you to get to know someone so you may feel comfortable enough to speak your mind.”

“But for that, I would need to not chase them away with my awkward ways in the first place.”

“Well, some gentlemen like that. My brothers never seem to mind!”

“Your brothers have known me for years, it is hardly a good argument.”

“But you never tried flirting with them! It can be good practice, without the pressure of securing a proposal at the end.”

Penelope hums at that. Daphne is right, it could be good practice. Although she hardly sees herself trying to flirt with Anthony, she knows Benedict would humour her and so would Colin.

And if it could allow her to let her feelings about the latter out without any consequence…

“So… how does one flirt?”

“Men are rather simple creatures, my brothers are no different, though they pretend otherwise. Feed their ego, compliment them, but do not appear too eager.”

“Uh…”

“Oh! Anthony is heading this way, I must go,” Daphne says suddenly, promptly untangling their arms and fleeing towards the garden.

“Wait Da— Oh well.” Penelope pouts, watching her go, and then raises an eyebrow when she catches the Duke of Hastings also disappearing in the same direction after avoiding Lady Danbury.

Penelope is about to follow suit, curiosity guiding her thoughts, when she hears a familiar voice call her name.

“Pen!”

She startles, promptly twirling around to see Colin approaching.

“Colin!” She curtsies. “I did not know you would be here!” she says, trying to contain her excitement but failing miserably at it.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Colin jests. “Have you seen Miss Thompson?” he asks next as he looks around.

The smile drops from Penelope’s lips, which she promptly hides behind her hand as she pretends to be thinking. She knew Colin to be deeply infatuated with her cousin, but she expected at least some remark from her friend about her absence in previous social events, instead of asking about Marina’s whereabouts. No such luck, she supposes.

Daphne’s words echo into her mind again, and resolve settles in her heart.

“She is ill,” she responds, watching the disappointment fall on Colin’s face, “my mama had to stay home with her, my papa had to chaperone tonight.” She points towards her father who’s already downing his third drink of the night, if she has counted correctly.

“It is quite a shame,” she continues, “you look dashing tonight.”

“I—” Colin stammers, clearly taken aback. Penelope tilts her head, does he not think her honest in her compliment?

“I am being earnest!” she insists. “Of course, you always do. This outdoor ball just brings out quite a whimsical atmosphere, do you not think?”

Colin seems to finally find his composure as he smiles fondly. “I agree, it is a breath of fresh air compared to the usually stuffy ballrooms.”

“Exactly!” she chuckles, fiddling with her dance card. She recalls Daphne doing the same to incite gentlemen to sign it, without outright asking for it. The movement draws their eyes to it, and a gentleman never denies a lady a dance, even if the request is unspoken.

“And— you look whimsical as well, Pen,” Colin compliments, making her flush, “that charming green dress suits you finely, one could mistake you for a mystical wood fairy.”

“Colin, you flatter me!”

“I am being earnest,” he repeats her words with a bright smile of his own.

Penelope chuckles — she was right, Colin would humour her without a second thought.

“Mr Bridgerton,” a grating voice interrupts their conversation and Penelope barely holds herself back from rolling her eyes as Cressida Cowper suddenly appears, not so subtly pushing her aside.

“I believe you owe me a dance this evening, and I have only one space left remaining on my card at present,” the blonde debutante coyly says, dangling said card in front of Colin’s eyes.

“How convenient,” Penelope slips out.

Cressida promptly spills her drink on her, and Penelope gasps, jumping back at the sudden coldness hitting her skin. Fortunately, the forest green of her dress hides the stain that the lemonade would have left but Penelope can hear the women accompanying Cressida already giggling and whispering between themselves. She turns around, willing her tears not to fall, but refusing to let Cressida see how affected she is by her action.

“I’m afraid I cannot offer you that dance, Miss Cowper,” Colin says, disdain barely hidden in his innocent tone.

A gentleman never denies a lady a dance.

“I am to escort Miss Featherington to the dance floor.”

Huh? Penelope turns around, blinking away her tears while Colin simply offers his hand, blatantly ignoring the gawking debutantes and a scowling Cressida witnessing the whole scene. When Penelope fails to move, too stunned, Colin gets closer and simply takes her hand and leads her away.

Penelope follows along numbly.

“Colin, you did not have to do that,” she whispers as they take their place on the dance floor. A quadrille.

“I needed a reason to not dance with her, frankly,” he says. “And I wanted to dance with you, too.”

The dance begins before she can think of an answer.

Well, he is just humouring her again now. They used to practise dancing together, before either of them was out in society, in the safety of the Bridgerton drawing room, yet he never expressed a desire to dance with her ever since. At her first ball, she had hoped — foolishly perhaps — that Colin would ask for her first-ever dance, if not as a suitor, at least as a friend, but his eyes quickly settled on Marina and the rest of the room had faded. And now, this instance does not stem from Colin’s desire for her company, but rather his desire to escape Cressida’s vicious claw, is it not?

Even so, Penelope smiles. This remains her first dance as a debutante, and although she wishes to move on, she can at least cherish the fact that this first is with Colin.

“Well, you are my favourite dance partner, after all,” Penelope says suddenly, during a short pause in the frantic steps of the dance. “Did you know?”

“Mm?”

Their hands join as they spin together, never breaking eye contact.

“Your eyes shine the brightest when you are kind. I think I can easily get lost in them.”

Colin’s step suddenly falters, and Penelope almost steps on his feet. Colin promptly winds an arm around her waist so she does not trip. She squeaks, she hopes discreetly, at the way her friend effortlessly lifts her up and then resumes the dance like nothing was amiss.

As the dance ends and they bow to each other, Colin clears his throat.

“Thank you.” His voice cracks. “You’re—” He never finishes his sentence. Penelope almost feels bad at his flustered state.

Daphne was right, flattering men is easy. Penelope grins, emboldened by this successful attempt. She turns around and catches the eye of a gentleman, alone by the refreshment table, with two glasses of lemonade in his hands and a bored pout on his lips. Lord Remington, if she recalls correctly. He raises an eyebrow, maintaining eye contact and Penelope makes her decision right then. She will enjoy her night!

“Well! Thank you for this dance Colin,” she says, “I am quite parched now.”

That seems to startle Colin into reality. “Oh, I can fetch you—”

“No, it is alright, I shall take this as an opportunity to scour for suitors, should I not? Have a good evening, Colin!”

She cannot quite help the way she bounces on her feet, perhaps a bit too eager, as she makes her way to Lord Remington. Fortunately enough, the gentleman only chuckles, as he offers her the extra glass.

For the rest of the evening, she shares two more dances with Colin, who seems rather reluctant to dance with anyone else since Marina is absent, but she spends the rest of her time discussing with Lord Remington at that same refreshment table. When she comes home, she hugs her father once more for the evening — he only half-heartedly returns it as always before disappearing into his study — and collapses on her bed with a relieved sigh.

She still had no name on her card, as Colin monopolised her night otherwise — though she did take it as an opportunity to practise putting her heart out in the open — but it is a start.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

A week or so passes like any other, surprisingly enough without any nagging from Penelope’s mother about her new wardrobe — in fact, her dear mother seems quite distressed about something else, refusing to give more details regarding Marina’s condition and forbidding all her daughters from seeing their poor cousin.

Penelope does not see Colin nor Lord Remington at the next events in that period either. She knows Lord Remington had business to attend to outside of London, as for Colin, she simply assumes that with Marina indisposed, he is not bothering to entertain other interested debutantes.

(Though, now that she thinks about it, she has not seen any of the Bridgertons at social events at all, not even Daphne or Anthony.)

On her part, she has tried to speak to suitors again, and she managed short conversations with Lord Debling and a certain Lord Basilio the night before, but she did not feel the same easiness with them as she did with Colin or Lord Remington. And she still has no name on her dance card.

With her mother refusing any visitors for the duration of Marina’s mysterious illness, Penelope could not exactly secure a caller either. It simply feels like a waste of time.

However, that morning, her father abruptly declared that they would be accepting visitors, forcing Marina out of the prison that her room had begun to become.

Therefore, due to Marina’s absence from past social events, her long line of suitors are quite eager to see her again, so it is no surprise that as soon as calling hours fall upon their day, a few gentlemen are already announced. Penelope swiftly finds her place by the windowsill to read, expecting a lively afternoon for her cousin, but a rather boring one for herself, that is, until their footman Briarly announces:

“A visitor for Miss Penelope.”

Her sisters and mother exclaim in surprise, meanwhile, Penelope manages to maintain her composure, somehow. She jumps to her feet when Lord Remington is escorted in.

“Miss Penelope!” he greets with a boyish smile that has Penelope giggling. “For you, dear lady.”

Flowers! Ironically enough, yellow ones, but she is much too elated to care about such triviality. Penelope grabs the bouquet carefully, a wide smile stretching her lips.

“Thank you, Lord Remington,” she says. “I did not expect your visit…” she admits sheepishly.

“That was rather rude of me to not tell you I was back in London indeed, but I wished to surprise you. Your father owed me a favour as well.” Oh, that explains why her father insisted they open their house to society once more, although when she looks at her father, he guiltily looks away. “And I was much eager to continue our last conversation.”

Penelope playfully gasps. “My, have you heard more about Lord Fife’s failed attempts at charming maids?”

Lord Remington chortles. “Perhaps so! Although, I was also hoping to learn more about you, Miss Penelope.” At that, he offers his hand and Penelope gently reaches for it with her free hand. Swiftly, he deposits a kiss on the back of her glove and she turns bright red.

She can hear her mother gasping, a mix of surprise and delight. She refuses to look in her sisters’ direction, however.

“You two might feel a bit crowded in this corner,” Portia chimes in then. “Prudence, stand up and go sit with Philippa instead, let your sister and her suitor be there.”

Prudence glares but eventually listens and stands from the armchair near the fireplace. Penelope has to bite her lips not to grin in triumph.

Therefore, she sits down on the armchair, setting the flowers on the small table near it, while Lord Remington angles his wheelchair so they can comfortably speak to each other. Penelope rests the book she had been reading on the arm between them as they engage in conversation.

Penelope loses track of time afterwards. Her discussion with Lord Remington feels easy, and natural, though she fails to find it anything other than friendly as her heart has not fluttered once outside of that kiss on her hand. She also cannot find it in herself to place any flirty comments to perhaps stir the conversation into more courting material, but she is quite enjoying his childhood tales and hearing all the gossip he seems to have amassed within his family. Perhaps she does need more practice after all… she cannot remain a friend in the eyes of another gentleman she is trying to pursue after all! She refuses to be stuck in that situation a second time!

“Pen,” a familiar voice calls her suddenly and she startles. Lord Remington, on his part, only tilts his head with a raised eyebrow at the intrusion.

Or at the awful familiarity with which this other gentleman has just addressed a lady.

“Oh, Colin, good d—” She is interrupted by Colin suddenly shoving a bouquet of lilies and lavender in front of her. “Thank you…?”

Colin beams, eyes shining akin to a puppy getting praise.

It takes her a few seconds to realise Colin is also kneeling in front of her.

“Uh. I thought Mr Bridgerton was announced for Miss Thompson,” Philippa comments. She probably meant to whisper it, however, the middle Featherington girl has never been good at keeping her voice down.

A heavy silence ensues. Penelope catches Marina’s narrowed eyes, and she is not quite sure if she is supposed to say something — she is just as lost by Colin’s behaviour, and she hopes her confusion translates into her gaze.

“Well, I realised I never gifted Pen anything before despite our years of acquaintances and my many visits here, that makes me an awful friend, does it not?” Colin says eventually.

Friend. Right. Penelope smiles, trying to ignore that familiar feeling of disappointment tugging at her heart.

“Thank you, Colin,” she whispers, as chatter fills the room again. “Have you met Lord Remington?” she asks, not recalling if the two ever exchanged even pleasantries at the Vauxhall Ball.

“We’re familiar,” the latter says. “Though we have not spoken since Eton, have we, Bridgerton?”

“Indeed, Remington.”

Lord Remington narrows his eyes. “So, how are you?”

“Fine.”

What a stilted conversation.

Penelope bites her lip, eyes going from one gentleman to the other and coming to an uncomfortable realisation — they look alike, do they not? Brunettes with deep blue eyes, along with a boyish and charming smile. Oh dear, did she unconsciously seek someone similar to Colin, at least in appearance?

“Will you be staying on the floor, Mr Bridgerton?” Portia asks, confusion apparent in her voice. “We can get you a cushion, at the very least. Although I believe there is still a seat near Miss Thompson available.”

Penelope sees Marina not so subtly shoving a suitor away, forcing the poor gentleman to stand up.

“Oh!” Colin blinks, looking rather lost himself, and he nearly loses his balance, if not for Lord Remington grabbing his arm before he could fall. “Uh, thanks.”

“No worries,” the other gentleman smiles. “Your lady awaits you I believe.”

Penelope gives a bemused smile when Colin looks at her as if asking for guidance. Eventually, although reluctantly, it seems, Colin stands up and takes the seat next to Marina.

“The room is getting rather crowded,” Penelope says, as many others of Marina’s suitors have arrived in the meantime. “Shall we go to the garden, my lord?”

“Please!” the gentleman agrees, letting out a low chuckle. “Some fresh air would be wonderful.”

Penelope quite agrees.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Unfortunately, at the next ball, Lord Remington is not present; he did inform her it would be unlikely for him to attend events where dancing is at the centre, which unfortunately tends to be most of them. The Vauxhall ball just happened to intrigue him with the promise of the light show.

Truth be told, it is a bit frustrating — her father has told her that though Lord Remington specifically asked to call on her, the gentleman has not requested permission to start a proper courtship with her. She wonders if, once again, she found herself a friend, rather than a suitor.

She is not sure where she has failed, once isolated in the garden of her childhood home, she had complimented him the way she had with Colin, and Lord Remington seemed rather unaffected compared to the way Colin had reacted, instead of stumbling with his words and turning a subtle shade of red, Lord Remington had simply smiled and thanked her, giving her compliments of his own.

Her heart also did not flutter at his words, but that was to be expected. Although determined to marry, she knows a love match is not a possibility, for her heart is too stubborn to let go of the man she was born for, but who was born for another.

Even so, she supposes she must entertain other options than Lord Remington, as kind and funny he is, lest she still spends most of the season clinging to walls once more.

“Our host looks a bit fussy,” a familiar voice suddenly says behind her, startling her. “Do you think if he goes to bed we all have to leave?”

Penelope chuckles. “Colin!”

Colin grins cheekily. “It is lucky the lady produced an heir before the old earl croaked, no?”

“Lucky indeed,” she agrees, unconsciously leaning against Colin’s side. “But do you not think the boy bears a passing resemblance to Lady Trowbridge’s footman?”

“Penelope, what a barb!” Colin chuckles before he reaches for her card.

Instinctively, Penelope pulls it away before he can catch it. She regrets it immediately when Colin sends her the saddest look she has ever seen on a human being.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“What are you doing?” Colin counters. “I simply wished to secure a dance with you.”

“... Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

Yes! The desire to court me! She does not say that.

“Well, there is no notion of securing a spot on my card, as it has remained empty, and you know this. I hear Miss Thompson has yet to leave the dance floor, however.”

“I have already spoken with Miss Thompson, all her dances have been claimed indeed.”

Penelope is unsurprised, however she keeps her dance card close to her chest, even with Colin’s hand still hovering in front of her. Perhaps it is petty, but she already had her first dance as a debutante with Colin, and she wishes to have an actual suitor as the first name on her card.

Eventually, Colin seems to understand she will not relent, so he clears his throat. “So… you and Lord Remington?”

“What about him and I?”

“Are you considering him a proper prospect? He’s… young…”

Penelope blinks.

“Colin, he’s your age.”

Colin gapes as if he has forgotten this fact.

“... My point still stands, somewhat. He may not be as serious as you about courtship.”

“Colin, thank you for looking out for me, but you do not need to.”

“Pen that is not…” He pauses. “You love to dance.”

She narrows her eyes at the sudden statement. “Careful before you utter a rude remark.”

“What? Oh! No, I did not mean in regards to his… oh this came out wrong,” Colin stumbles on his words, cheeks turning red in shame. “Simply, you love to dance, and I know you and Lord Remington have… started… uh, a courtship.”

“Do not sound so pained and surprised,” she deadpans, not bothering to correct him anyway.

“But you do not need to deny dances for his sake,” Colin continues, ignoring her remark. “You are not a claimed woman. Should you not entertain other suitors?”

Well, do you see any lining up for my hand?! She almost petulantly answers. Instead, she takes a breath, turning her gaze to the dance floor, where she meets Marina’s eyes for a brief moment. She currently is dancing with an old earl, and looks rather displeased about it — is it cruel of Penelope to despise how ungrateful her cousin is with the natural attention she has brought to herself? Even so, she sends her a supportive smile and does not miss the way Marina’s eyes flit towards Colin for a second.

“Are you volunteering to start my empty list?” Penelope mutters, more of a derisive question than a true request. Before she can find out if he heard her, however, she tugs at his sleeve. “Would you do me a favour?”

“Mm? Of course.”

“Miss Thompson seems rather eager for a rescue.”

Marina’s name seems to startle Colin into reality. He straightens his back. “Oh! Indeed she does.”

Penelope’s heart flutters and breaks at the same time at the hopeful look now in Colin’s eyes. “You’re so cute,” she says — because she has gotten used to being honest. “Now go.”

“Pen what did you just say—”

She nudges him onto the dance floor before he can finish his question. She then promptly blends into the crowd and leaves the ball early, feeling quite defeated and refusing to admit the fault may lie with her treacherous heart.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

That very night, Marina tells her, in an elated voice, that she has settled her attentions on Colin at last, praising his kindness, his humour, and, more importantly, his youth. Penelope only smiles and wishes her and Colin the best, in a voice she hopes is not half-hearted.

And yet, in the days that follow this declaration, in which Colin visits almost daily, Penelope senses a shift in Marina, she who once treated her gently the way her sisters never did, her cousin now is rather cold, looking at her with apprehension and resentment, though no cruel words leave her lips, at the very least. It makes Penelope itch — she thought she finally found a friend in this dreadful house but it seems she was being naive.

Perhaps it is fate being gentle on her, but just as Marina has decided to regard her as a hindrance, a certain Mr Finch starts to show interest in Philippa, prompting the latter to cling to Penelope as she asks her younger sister for advice — and to have an ear to gush to about the loveable cheese-enthusiast gentleman. As a result, Penelope spends many of her afternoons with her, Mr Finch and Lord Remington around a cup of tea.

(That is when Colin does not decide to make an appearance to steal some cookies from Penelope’s plate every time.)

And yet, as the days pass, no proposal seems to be on the horizon, for any of the ladies in the house. Penelope is not surprised for herself, Lord Remington has not shown any sign of seeking a wife this season despite his flirtatious ways, but Mr Finch seems so besotted with her sister that she is surprised they have not already eloped. As for Colin and Marina, she had been so sure that as soon as Marina started denying her other suitors, Colin would jump on the opportunity to secure his future with her, he who seemed so eager at the beginning of the season.

Penelope has heard the servants talk, however. She knows of her father’s gambling addiction and the very possibility that her and her sisters’ dowries may have gone into one of his dangerous and reckless games. Marina’s dowry, separated from their fortune, should still be intact, however.

She suspects the lack of proposal and this rumour may not be unrelated.

When they get an invitation from the Bridgertons for Daphne and the Duke of Hastings’ engagement party, Penelope cannot help the sense of foreboding taking over her heart as she catches her mother and Marina sharing a conspiratorial look. Even so, she turns to Philippa instead who excitedly intertwines their arms, insisting that they must invite their suitors as well. Penelope agrees wholeheartedly.

Only to learn they cannot.

“It will only be a small gathering, the Duke insisted, and we forgot to put the details in the invitation,” Colin explains later that day when he visits. “You are old friends of the family, so Daphne insisted you must come.” Penelope has to stop herself from laughing. She knows he does not mean the rest of her family. “Oh, and this is for you, Pen.”

He hands Penelope a copy of Sense and Sensibility. She gasps, successfully distracted.

“I heard the wedding is only a week from now, that is rather quick, was your sister not just being courted by the prince?” Lord Remington, who also happened to be calling on Penelope at the moment, inquires.

“The Duke has simply come to his senses and secured my sister’s hand before anyone else could,” Colin responds, and Penelope swears his eyes fall briefly on her. “I do apologise that you cannot be of attendance, my friend.”

“I will pretend that your words are sincere.” The other gentleman chuckles. “Well, if you are to monopolise Miss Penelope’s time tomorrow, my lady, shall we leave for a promenade this afternoon? The weather has not been quite this nice in a while, after all.”

“Oh! Mr Finch should arrive any moment, shall we all go together?” Philippa chimes in, jumping from her seat to wrap her arms around Penelope from behind.

Lord Remington smiles politely, though it is obvious he expected a private outing. “Uh, of course.”

“Splendid! Oh, we should have a picnic as well! Varley, could you have the cook prepare something?”

“I have not even answered yet…” Penelope mutters, meeting Lord Remington's amused eyes. The man has also grown used to her sister's air-headed and excitable ways.

“Shall we join as well, Mr Bridgerton? Some fresh air may be quite pleasing,” Marina says.

Colin seems taken by surprise. “Ah, I'm afraid I cannot, I must help with some preparations.”

“But you said it would be an intimate gathering,” the other gentleman points out.

“Pen, I expect a full commentary of the book tomorrow, yes?” Colin asks, thoroughly ignoring the pointed remark and Marina’s narrowing eyes.

“You… read it?”

“Of course! You know how Eloise is not so fond of these books, and I need someone to talk about them with. So. Promise?”

Penelope chuckles. “Very well, I promise.”

Colin beams before swiftly taking his leave without meeting anyone’s eyes.

Penelope is not quite sure why, upon the door closing behind him, the rest of the room sends her an incredulous look.

“What? Colin and I are friends, this is not the first time he’s come simply to give me something.” Last time, the flowers were a surprise, but a book is not necessarily a courting gift. This is just Colin being thoughtful — Penelope recalls lamenting being unable to find this book at the beginning of the season although she only shared this information with Eloise.

“Ah! That is true,” Philippa concedes, prompting Marina to relax on the couch.

Lord Remington looks at the book thoughtfully, and at the way Penelope cradles it ever so gently to her chest. He remains silent, however.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

They find a quaint little spot below a willow tree where they decide to settle for the picnic. Philippa sets the food and baskets with Mrs Varley's help, while Penelope helps Lord Remington out of his wheelchair.

“I can usually manage on my own,” he shares, leaning ever so slightly against her as they sit, “but this is good practice, is it not?”

Penelope’s heart skips a beat. “Do you mean—”

“Well, perhaps I am getting ahead of myself.” He pauses, looking at Mr Finch for a moment. The other man seems entranced by a piece of cheese Phillippa is presenting him. “Miss Penelope, you must know that your father has advised me and Mr Finch from proposing.” Penelope only sighs. “You do not seem surprised.”

“I have had my suspicions, especially considering our quickly shortening staff. And the fact I have had to wear some gowns twice, to my mother’s dismay”

“A lady such as you should not have to worry about such things.”

“Why should I not if my father’s careless games define my future, my lord?” Penelope says. “On your part, you do not seem angered.”

Lord Remington gives a sheepish smile. “It is true my concern lies more with Mr Finch. To be honest, my lady, I had no intention of finding a wife this season.”

“I gathered.”

“Observant as ever, my lady.”

Penelope chuckles. Her heart feels lighter than she expected to — in fact, it is a bit of a relief to have the confirmation, rather than constantly overthink where she may have failed in her plan to entice a gentleman.

“But I do like you, Penelope.” She startles a little at the sudden familiarity in the lord’s voice. Her breath hitches as Lord Remington reaches for her hand, gently bringing it to his chest. “However, and I apologise for how vain this will sound, but I cannot allow myself to marry if the lady has no dowry. My parents can be… insufferable, in those matters, and I would rather not put you in this situation, especially given how costly my treatments can be. This chair and its maintenance, for one.”

Penelope smiles, fingers curling around his palm and squeezing once. “I understand. And your parents only worry about your well-being as well, I am sure.” Her lack of dowry is a reality she now needs to face. Her prospects have significantly lowered once more, with this factor that is outside of her hands, though, really, it is so late in the season now, she wonders if she simply has to accept that she must wait another year — that is if she is lucky enough to get a second season.

“You give them too much grace,” Lord Remington laughs. “I believe I can settle this matter with time, and as I have mentioned, your father owes me as well. Next season, perhaps, I can proudly present my ring to you, if you are willing to wait for me.”

Penelope does not answer for a while, although that is a dilemma she has just pondered in her head. Her eyes observe the man before her, a perfect suitor by all means. Kind, humorous, young, devoted… Well, does that not sound quite familiar? She looks at her sister and Mr Finch afterwards, noting the lovesick looks and Philippa’s wide smile. It frustrates her, that after all, she still wishes for such a carefree and loving romance. She knows Lord Remington has chosen his words carefully. He likes her. And perhaps it is unfair of her to expect any man to still wish for her hand without a hefty price behind it. Her pragmatic side knows it is not a possibility — Mr Finch is as smitten as they come and yet has not fought her father for Philippa’s hand.

And then, there is the poor romantic soul in her. Perhaps her mother is right, she reads too much, after all.

“It is not a matter of willingness, but rather one of ability, is it not?” she answers eventually.

“You evade my question.”

“Observant as ever, my lord.” She looks at their joined hands. “I cannot honestly promise I will wait,” she admits.

Understanding, rather than disappointment, shapes the curve of Lord Remington’s smile.

“Although, frankly, if I can be in Mayfair again for next season, you would not have much competition anyhow, even without me promising,” she jests.

“You underestimate yourself, Penelope,” the gentleman is quick to refute. “In fact… Someone else has warned me to be careful. That was not the word he used, but I would hate to subject your delicate ears to such language.”

Penelope sighs. “Mr Bridgerton is a protective friend, that is all.”

“I did not even need to say a name.” He laughs at her wide eyes. “Mr Bridgerton is neither your family, nor your suitor, and yet the way he spoke to me gave me the feeling he had a pistol ready to draw.”

“Surely you jest!”

Lord Remington shakes his head. “I wish it was merely an entertaining piece of gossip. Mr Bridgerton is quite blind, or perhaps stupid.” Penelope cannot help the small noise of protest that escapes her lips before she can stop it. “But he has clearly shown his interest these past few weeks, only not in Miss Thompson.” He takes a breath. “Your heart belongs to him, does it not? He is the one you are waiting for.”

“I do not want to!” Penelope refutes, implicitly confirming the man’s suspicion. “I— it was merely an infatuation, when he decided to court my cousin, I knew I had to move on. And please, do not assume I do not like you! If you proposed right at this moment, I’d…” She falters — she cannot even finish that sentence.

Her friend gives her a knowing look. “We can pretend I have. It would simply be a half-truth. If by next season, you are still a debutante, then we shall marry. Otherwise, there is no harm. Simply a promise between us without the pressure of the final decision. And perhaps the rumour of your engagement will spur him into action.”

“James, that is ludicrous.”

“Oh, now you use my name!” He laughs. “Allow me this opportunity to mess with him after the hassle he put me through.”

“You will be thoroughly disappointed, Colin would be supportive, rather than insanely jealous over you as you expect him to be.”

“I would wager a bet over this matter, but that is a dangerous path. As your father would know.”

Penelope rolls her eyes.

“You would lose anyhow,” she insists.

“We will see, my lady.”

She suspects he simply is pleased to be the source of some entertaining piece of gossip for once.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Penelope is not quite sure why she and her family were invited to this engagement party when, aside from Lady Danbury, the Duke does not seem to have invited a family of his own. If they desired an intimate gathering, inviting the eccentric Featheringtons was far from a good idea. And if she has to listen to her mother embarrassingly try to make Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury laugh with her jokes, Penelope might fake an illness to be able to escape.

“A blue dress today? Trying to become an official part of the family?” Benedict Bridgerton comes up to her with that signature charming smile of his.

“Are you volunteering to make that happen?” she jests back, self-consciously brushing her skirts, indeed noting the eerily similar colour to Eloise’s dress or Benedict’s and Colin’s waistcoats. Not a deliberate choice, truth be told.

Benedict laughs. “I hear that you soon won’t bear the Featherington name, I may be too late?”

Ah. So the rumour has already spread in a mere day, for Benedict, of all people to hear about it.

“Tonight is not about me,” is all she says. “Your brother seems miffed.”

“Which one?”

“The Viscount.”

“Ah. The Duke is a close friend of his, yet he does not trust him with our Daphne. I think he’s being purposely obtuse. These two are quite smitten, as we say.”

Penelope recalls Lord Remington’s remark about the pressing wedding date, and despite her best judgement, it makes her observe Daphne and the Duke with more scrutiny than she ought to. They seem happy and content indeed, but she cannot help but sense some guilt from the gentleman, and some tension in the curves of Daphne’s smiles. Penelope sees love, yet one not quite yet resolved, in a sense. But she supposes, married life ought to refine the shape of their bond.

“Colin has been looking for you, so I am surprised to be finding you alone, not even with Eloise,” Benedict says.

“Eloise retired to her room early to avoid your mother,” she responds, prompting the man to chuckle under his breath. “As for Colin, I have not seen him at all apart from a brief glimpse upon arrival.”

“I have not seen your cousin either.” A shiver runs down Penelope’s spine at the remark. Benedict looks troubled, brow subtly furrowed as he scans the room. “Our mothers and Anthony seem fortunately occupied, if you understand what I mean.”

She nods. However, before they part in search of the missing pair, she asks, “Do you not trust your brother?”

Benedict smiles, a bit guiltily. “It is not him I do not trust.” He shakes his head. “I will check upstairs in the bedrooms, could you check the studies and library?”

Penelope has no time to respond before he leaves. She sighs, rubbing her left arm before she swiftly exits the room as well.

Eloise has told her how uneasy her family felt about the courtship between Colin and Marina, yet she has never witnessed it first-hand. Knowing her friend, Penelope assumed Eloise was being her usual hyperbolic self, but if even Benedict seems to distrust the courtship, he who is usually so welcoming, then… She shakes her head, her steps leading her to Anthony’s study by the staircase.

And noticing the door being half-opened, a faint light coming from inside. Her lips press into a thin line — she has heard her mother talk about her youth, when she prepared her and her sisters for the season, of how to secure a gentleman, some ladies would intentionally lure men into an isolated room, but leave the door slightly ajar, in the hope of another guest, or even a servant, taking notice. It could be the other way around as well, although her mother was sure to point out that men are much less eager about a marital prospect. Penelope’s heart sinks — surely Marina would not…?

She tentatively approaches the door. As such she can vaguely discern Colin and Marina standing in the middle of the room. Well, Penelope can only see Colin’s back, completely hiding Marina behind his imposing figure, but she can catch a glimpse of Marina’s yellow dress peeking between his legs.

Suddenly, Colin takes a step back.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice shaking with an emotion Penelope cannot quite place.

“I was hoping for a kiss,” Marina answers frankly.

Penelope stifles her scandalised gasp behind her hand while Colin takes several steps back then, shaking his head vigorously.

“You are a lady, and I am a gentleman. I cannot take liberties of the sort with you.”

“You agreed to an unchaperoned moment with a lady, you believe that to be gentlemanly?” Marina says.

“It did not feel like a choice in the first place when you dragged me here,” Colin responds in kind, sounding just as exasperated as Marina. “I have told you long ago, that I wish to end our courting.”

Penelope blinks. But he has kept visiting?

“But… you kept calling on me,” Marina says softly, voicing Penelope’s thoughts. “I thought you simply needed a little push.”

“I have not?” Colin sounds genuinely confused. “I was visiting Penelope.”

“Penelope!?”

The girl in question winces. She has heard enough as well. She knocks on the door, prompting a loud gasp from the pair inside.

“You are being rather loud, if you wished to have a private moment,” Penelope quips as she steps in. She sees relief fall on Colin’s face meanwhile Marina looks horrified, refusing to meet her cousin's gaze.

“Pen! It is not— I assure you nothing—” Colin tries to explain, surprised when Marina shoves past him and Penelope to get out of the room.

Penelope watches her go, worried, but the glare her cousin gave her just before closing the door behind her tells her she might be the last person Marina would wish to confide in at the moment. She sighs, focusing her gaze back on Colin who is leaning against Anthony’s desk with a hand rubbing his forehead.

“It is lucky I was the one who found you, and not your brother,” she says, earning a derisive laugh from her best friend.

“I know,” Colin sighs. “How much did you…?”

“I heard the mention of a kiss.” Colin stiffens. She shakes her, reaching out to rub his arm reassuringly. “I know nothing happened, Colin, you are a gentleman, a kind and considerate one.”

“Pen…”

“In fact, if you wish I can speak with Marina, surely something—” Her voice trails off as she notices that Colin is starting to lean in, breath caressing her forehead. “Colin?”

Instead of a response, his hand reaches for her chin, tilting it forward so their eyes may meet. Penelope’s breath hitches upon meeting the dark forest of her friend’s gaze.

“I heard…” Colin starts, voice barely above a whisper. “You are not wearing a ring.”

Penelope frowns, before showing him her ring-empty hand with a small derisive smile. “Indeed, I am not. I doubt I ever will.”

“Pen, do not say that.”

“You are sweet, Colin, but the reality is as such — Lord Remington has asked me to wait another year, but he may change his mind, or I may not be able to be here next season anyhow.”

It is Colin’s turn to frown.

“Why would you not be?”

“Colin, I have learned I have no dowry.” Her friend’s eyes widen. “My parents are very much trying to hide it, but no sane gentleman shall wish for the third daughter of a Baron with not even a dowry to evaluate her status.”

Colin’s hold on her is stronger suddenly, both hands framing her face and his gaze piercing through her soul.

“You are wrong,” he announces, fervently.

“... About?”

“So many things. Everything you have just said.” He leans closer, eyes never leaving hers. “You have been driving me insane, Pen.”

“I— I apologise?”

“All the flirting, the compliments, and sweet smiles… but then you turn around and entertain another, leaving me to gather dirt in your devastating garden.”

“Colin, you are not making any sense.”

“Remington is besotted, enchanted. How can you even think for one second he would not propose even without a dowry when he was oh-so bragging about it at the gentleman’s club last night?” He scoffs. “How can you not see the effect you leave in your wake?”

“Do not mock me!”

“May I kiss you?”

Penelope’s eyes widen, too stunned by such an abrupt question, yet before her thoughts can understand, her heart decides to be the bearer of decisions for the first time in a long while and she finds herself nodding.

Colin does not let her take another breath, capturing her lips with his.

And what a glorious moment it is.

Penelope sighs, melting under Colin’s touch who cradles her face as if she were a precious diamond. She tentatively moves her lips to the rhythm he has set, feeling her heart flutter for every brush, for every caress.

“Pen,” Colin whispers as he pulls away. “A kiss is for two people.”

“I–! I am trying my best.” She is not pouting.

He chuckles. “Do you trust me?”

She should not. This is highly improper, and the very scenario she has just prevented Marina from executing. Besides, they were having a very important conversation about her prospect, and she seriously needed to have a word with Lord Remington the next time she saw him. And yet— “Of course— oh!”

Strong arms suddenly wrap around her waist, effortlessly lifting her so she may sit on the desk, with Colin standing between her legs. Then he kisses her again. Penelope hums pleasantly, now able to wind her arms around his neck without straining, inviting him closer and closer. Colin is relentless now, barely allowing her a breath in between kisses, like a stranded man in a desert whose thirst can only be quenched by her lips.

Penelope feels him reach for her face, a thumb caressing her left cheek before it travels to her lower lip, pulling at it before she feels his tongue probing inside and claiming her mouth fully. She moans a sound she never knew she could even produce, and to grab into any sense of self, her hands find her friend’s hair, tugging at it just as Colin inhales deeply, his movements suddenly a bit shakier. Penelope can feel a warmth start to build up and a tingle in her legs — she is thankful to be sitting or she would have surely collapsed. But she needs— she needs—

“Colin! Are you in there?”

They pull apart abruptly, both of them recognising Benedict’s voice. Penelope is the first to react, promptly jumping off the desk to hide under it, just as the door opens.

“There you are!” Benedict says. “And you look a mess, have you taken out Anthony’s secret stash of alcohol in here?”

“Wh— no, I just needed a moment,” Colin manages to reply with a somewhat steady voice. “Bracing myself to announce the end of my courtship at our sister’s engagement party, like the insensitive brother I am, it seems.”

“Uh, alright…? Have you seen Penelope? I had asked her to search for you here or at the library, but I could not find her there.”

Penelope hopes her heaving breath is not as loud as it sounds in her ears.

“No. Perhaps one of our sisters kidnapped her. I heard Eloise retired to her chambers early.”

“Mm. Perhaps.” Benedict sounds entirely unconvinced. “Well, Mother is asking about you, we better get back to the party.”

“Right, yes of course.”

As the brothers leave, Penelope allows herself to simply lie on the floor for a moment as she lets the moment sink in. She brings a hand to her lips, still tingling from the kisses given by the love of her life.

And she is supposed to stand up, and simply exist as if the world as she knew it has not simply collapsed.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

A few days later, they are all invited to a garden party on a quaint sunny spring day, and Lord Remington is pouting. He looks incredibly young in his petulance.

“How come the end of a courtship is gaining more attention than the possibility of an engagement?” he complains, as he watches on the many debutantes surrounding Colin, trying to “comfort” him, and the many gentlemen back by Marina’s side, hoping for her favours.

It seems that nothing has truly changed, after all. Penelope supposes Marina shall get a proposal soon after all, even if from someone she did not choose at first.

Penelope chuckles, poking the lord’s arm. “I did tell you no one would truly care. The Bridgertons are the darlings of Mayfair, after all, and my cousin the diamond of the season.” Well, the second one.

“No, you told me Mr Bridgerton would not care,” James — she might as well start to refer to him as such, as they have agreed on a friendship until next season — corrects with a tut. “And he very much cares if he has ended his courtship with your cousin!”

“Colin ended it a while ago, it had nothing to do with us.”

“Now we both know that is false, as he kept visiting.”

Penelope’s lips form a thin line. Ever since the engagement party, she has been unable to talk to Colin. The news of the end of his and Marina’s courtship broke out the next day, and naturally, the third Bridgerton son did not try to call on her afterwards — would be quite the scandal, if he were to visit the cousin of the woman everyone thought he would be proposing to.

And at this garden party, Colin has not had a single moment to breathe in the middle of his many admirers. It makes Penelope wonder if what she has experienced is even real. It all feels like a distant memory, or a dream even.

“No matter,” James huffs, taking Penelope’s hand, “I suppose it is not so bad.”

She rubs the back of his hand. “I hope your ego is not too bruised, my lord.”

“Why would it be? I get your delightful presence all to myself.”

“James, I already agreed to marry you next season if everything is settled, you do not need to flatter me.”

“Penelope, I am being sincere, dear. And I still need to win your heart, don’t I? If Mr Bridgerton does not hurry…”

She drops his hand. “James.”

He holds his hands in surrender. “Very well, I will stop mentioning him. But I am being earnest, Penelope. I like you, and I know that I could learn to love you.”

Penelope’s heart flutters. How can you not see the effect you leave in your wake? She shakes that voice away.

“Thank you.”

James smiles. “May you help me? I wish to go see the flowers over there.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Carefully, and under the eye of James’ butler, Penelope pushes the gentleman’s wheelchair towards the edges of the garden, where fewer people are gathered, wishing to enjoy a cup of tea among the flowers, rather than the crowd. Jame directs her towards a corner with an empty table, on a ledge. As their respective maid and butler prepare them a glass of lemonade, Penelope quietly sits on a chair, a hand on James’ armrest.

“Would you care for a dance?” James asks suddenly.

“Wh—” Before she can ask, the gentleman takes her hand, prompting her to stand up before he directs her towards the short sets of stairs on their left. Penelope gasps, smiling wide as she understands his plan. She gleefully skips down the few steps, their hands never unlinking. “It is odd,” she says, as she looks up at James now. “I usually have to go up some stairs to meet anyone’s eyes.”

“I am delighted to be an exception,” he responds, leaning forward a little. Penelope holds back a giggle as his butler rushes to his side, worried he might somehow fall, while James waves him away with a roll of his eyes. “Shall we? I think I owe you more than one dance.”

Penelope nods. It is unconventional, she is aware. They are outside, in broad daylight, and she can see the few people around already turning a curious eye on them, but truthfully, she cannot care any less at the moment. The end of the season is near, her prospects are… insignificant as long as her father swims in debt, but she has a promised engagement in the future, and so, she can do whatever she pleases now, she can hardly be ruined, as the Ton believes her to soon be engaged to the man she is currently inappropriately dancing with, the only way she may be truly ruined were if she was caught unchaperoned with another gentleman, like in a closed study, with only the candles for witnesses—

Well, is that not a thought?

She shakes the memory away once more as she lets James twirl her and they improvise a routine with minimal steps, but allowing many spins for Penelope, wherein their hands never stray from each other. She laughs, feeling lighter than she has ever felt before.

After a few minutes, they bow to each other to end their impromptu dance, with Penelope now leaning against the handle of James’ wheelchair to catch her breath. Dancing under the sun sure is a different experience than under the moonlight, she realises, it is much more exhausting, for one. A glass of fresh lemonade is presented to her and she grabs it without looking up.

“Oh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. That was quite the dance.”

She almost spits out her drink at the voice.

“Bridgerton!” James greets him with a friendly smile. “Wasn’t it? Penelope is an excellent dancer, despite having me as a partner.”

“James!” Penelope exclaims. “Do not speak of yourself as such, this was one of the best dances I ever had.”

“Oh,” Colin says, looking rather pained. “Shall I take offence, Pen?”

“Do not start too,” she huffs. “You kept stepping on my feet during our first lessons.”

“Now, those did not count, we were children!”

“So you are very old friends, are you not?” James remarks with a hum.

“Indeed,” Colin says, then he grabs Penelope’s free hand, kissing its back. She squeaks. “And hopefully we will continue to be for many years, yes?”

“Certainly, I will let you visit when we marry,” the lord says, but Penelope can tell he is entirely teasing.

“I do not see a ring attesting to such a promise…” Colin, on the other hand, cannot. “Nor was Lady Featherington boasting about it.”

“I have not asked the patriarch's permission yet indeed, although I have the lady’s agreement, which is the most important part, is it not?”

“And yet you wish to wait for next season. For monetary reasons, I hear.”

James is briefly taken aback. “How— Ah, you told him, didn’t you?”

“I do not like secrets,” Penelope mumbles. “It is not like I will be getting another proposal before the season ends anyhow. Papa would deny it.”

“We will see about that,” Colin huffs.

“Colin?”

He grins, throwing a challenging look at the other gentleman before he winks at Penelope. He explains nothing and simply leaves after giving Penelope’s hand another kiss.

“That was odd,” she comments after a while, trying to undermine the way her heart is now beating wildly, hope fuelling its frenetic dance.

Colin wishes to marry her.

“Entertaining, you mean,” James snickers. “Do you reckon he will allow me to visit?”

Penelope rolls her eyes.

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Daphne will be hosting the last ball of the season, Penelope learns when she receives a personalised and handwritten invitation from the former Bridgerton, now the Duchess of Hastings.

Colin delivers it to her personally, in fact.

“It is odd to see your house this empty,” he comments.

She hums, sweeping her gaze across the empty drawing room — Rae is by the door as a chaperone, but she and Colin are otherwise alone. Her mama and sisters are out promenading, while Penelope feigned a headache to stay at home. As for Marina…

A mere week has passed since the garden party, and yet so much has happened at once. The next morning, a certain Sir Phillip Crane showed up at their doors, and before Penelope could understand, Marina jumped in his carriage, leaving Mayfair behind without a second look. Then, James had to retire early to his country estate, a thing he has always done so he may avoid the high temperatures during the long journey there, but he has been sending letters regularly to compensate, and invited her and her family to one afternoon at his estate, whenever they so choose over the off-season.

And then, there is Colin, who has been sending gifts every single day, to her Papa’s growing dismay but her Mama’s astonished delight, who, with Marina now gone, Prudence with no suitor, and Philippa’s Mr Finch having been scared off by the head of the household, has been focusing all her attention on her youngest one. Penelope is both horrified and proud, somehow, an odd mixture she cannot fully grasp.

Her Mama knows James plans on proposing next season, and though pleased, she also seems rather apprehensive of Colin. Overall, she seems frustrated at the lack of imminent proposal from either man.

“These Bridgerton boys, so unreliable,” her Mama said one morning while breaking their fast. “That third one, stringing Marina along and never proposing, I simply do not wish for you to foolishly hope. Lord Remington is a secure match, although as young as Mister Bridgerton, he seems much more serious about marriage!”

Her Mama truly has no idea how similar James and Colin truly are, the only difference between them being a title.

Penelope wonders if Colin has some godly instincts, allowing him to avoid her Mama as he somehow chose the very day she is out of the house to call on Penelope.

“You have mastered the ways of avoiding my family,” she replies at last.

“Not really, Anthony forbade me to leave the house until now. Something about preventing me from tempting scandal,” Colin huffs. “As if he did not try to run away with an opera singer two nights ago.”

“What!”

“Benedict was panicking. Mother thankfully does not know… yet. And I am hoping to bring some news that might distract her. Anthony will owe me.”

Penelope laughs. “It seems you had your own eventful week. But why did he think you would try to tempt scandal?”

Colin clears his throat. “I may have hinted, jokingly, of course, er, perhaps not, that I wished to elope. With you.”

The atmosphere shifts.

“Colin…”

“Penelope.” He takes her hands in his, leaning in. “I must apologise for my blindness. And for taking such… liberties with you.”

“I was very much consenting, to be fair. We can bribe my maid to look away if you wish,” she teases.

“Pen!”

She laughs. “Sorry… sorry. Go on?” she prompts.

“Do not marry him.”

A pause. Penelope pulls back with an unimpressed look. “Try again.”

“Wh—”

“Colin, try again.”

“I was not done actually.”

“You stopped talking!”

“I— got distracted.” Only then does Penelope notice he has been looking at her lips the whole time. He shakes his head and goes down on one knee, hands never letting go of hers. “Penelope Featherington. Penelope. My Pen.”

A smile tugs at her lips. “That is my name, indeed.”

“And are you…?”

“Am I what?”

“Mine.”

“You still have not asked the question.”

He huffs out a smile. “My Pen, my dearest friend, and perhaps something more if you allow us to be. It seems there has been a misunderstanding, for I thought I had made my intentions clear. Every time I came here after the Vauxhall ball, it was you I was hoping to see. It was you I was wishing to court, and I— I believed you knew. And you preferred Remington anyhow, so I sat by Miss Thompson, waiting for an opportunity to speak. One Remington didn’t leave me.”

“Briarly kept announcing you for Marina…”

“And he is lucky I am a gentleman or I do not know what I would do considering his mistake made all of this more complicated than it needed to be!” For emphasis, he glares at the closed door, behind which the footman should be standing. “You could have been mine… weeks ago.”

“Would I be?” she inquires. She tugs at his suddenly tense hands, bringing his gaze back to her. “Colin. My friend, my life, my love, please ask me properly?”

Colin’s eyes shine, hope and adoration swimming in the dark pools of them. Penelope could drown in them, indeed.

“Penelope Featherington, I do not remember a world where you weren’t by my side. From childhood to now, I had a pocket of sunshine by my side. And perhaps I took you for granted, I thought you would always be there, even if our paths may stray. But as I saw you with another, and I felt dissatisfied with the path I had willingly walked on at the beginning of the season, I realised how foolish I had been. It is incredible, how a mere compliment and smile from you pierced through the infatuation I had found myself in. Oh, it is you, of course, it is you. And I can only hope you feel even a slither of what I feel for you, for I know you may simply see me as a friend you felt comfortable enough to… practice, as Daphne put it.”

Penelope blinks. Of course, Daphne told him. She wonders… if the now Duchess had predicted this outcome.

“I love you,” Colin continues, an easy smile on his lips, and all the relief and adoration in the world in the depths of his eyes. “I wish to see the world with you, so we may spend our past, present, and future together. Penelope Featherington, if a husband is what you seek, then let me be yours. Will you marry me? I also already asked your father until he could not take no for an answer, but that is less romantic.”

She laughs, loudly and carefree. “Colin Bridgerton,” she breathes out, a hand reaching for his face. “I have loved you from the moment we met. Yes, I will marry you.”

“From the moment—”

Penelope flushes. “We can discuss that later. Would you kiss me?”

And Colin will, rather gladly.

As luck would have it, the door opens a few moments later before Rae can warn them, and a scandalised Lady Featherington screams at Colin to get away from her daughter.

(Surprisingly enough, no special licence is issued.)

꧁༺࿅ིཽ• –– •❈• –– •࿅ིཽ༻꧂

Daphne fans herself with a proud smile as she overlooks the ball from the top of the staircase. She can see Penelope Featherington, soon to be Bridgerton, discussing vividly with Mr Finch on one side of the room, until Colin strides confidently to her side, finally signs her dancing card, and then swiftly brings her to the dancefloor.

“Your plan, I presume?” Simon whispers into her ear, his eyes equally following the newly engaged pair.

“Indeed,” Daphne confirms firmly. “The moment I heard Penelope wished to find a husband, I knew Colin would need a little push.”

“Seems common in the family.”

“Excuse you! I was willing for a courtship from the beginning, you were the one being difficult with this fake courting nonsense!”

Simon shrugs. “It worked, did it not?”

“You were the one tricked by your own plan,” she huffs. “Anyhow, see? I told you we needed to invite the Featheringtons to our engagement party, for Penelope’s family is an acquired taste, and would soon become a part of ours.”

“Joy,” he deadpans, before he kisses her temple and takes her hand. “Shall we go dance as well, dear wife?”

Daphne closes her fan with one sharp move. “Gladly, dear husband.”

Being the hosts, they easily find a spot right next to Colin and Penelope, so when the dance requires a brief partner change, Daphne finds herself dancing with Colin. She grins at him, nodding towards Penelope who is now dancing with Simon and engaging in a friendly conversation.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” she tells her older brother who rolls his eyes.

“Let’s say we’re even now, yes?”

Daphne hums. Indeed, she may not be married now if it weren’t for Colin telling her about the duel, and later encouraging her to speak with Simon regarding their marital expectations.

“Fair enough. Congratulations, Col.”

“Thank you, Daff.”

She pats him on the arm before they find their respective partner, and dance the night away as a celebration of their future.

#bridgerton #bridgerton fic #polin #polin fic #colin x penelope #my fics

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mcdonaldsplayground · 2 years ago

Text

| actually the worst | part 5

ao’nung x f!reader

summary: it’s been a month and you’re still fuming over what ao’nung did to lo’ak. however, when kiri asks you to hear him out, you find it easier to forgive him than you thought. a trip to the cove of ancestors seems to solidify the newly restored friendship and also encourages a new aspect of your relationship that you weren’t expecting. when things inevitably go wrong at the spirit tree, ao’nung plays a surprisingly strong role in getting you through the traumatic events of the night.

includes: enemies to lovers, teasing, swearing, mildly suggestive remarks, mentions of seizure/death, ao'nung being... a sweetheart?🫢

word count: 4.3k

a/n: oh my god i am so sorry this took me forever to write! the past few days have just been so busy, but it's finally done😮‍💨 i'm thinking one, maaaaybe two more parts depending on what i can come up with for part 6:)

Okay, so maybe you did like him. A little. Like a minuscule amount. It was microscopic, really.

You had spent the past month fervently denying it anytime your siblings poked fun at you or when you found yourself thinking about it. However, a few days ago you were sitting on the beach, watching your siblings fool around with the Metkayina kids when you realized you had been staring at Ao’nung for an embarrassingly long time. You hadn’t spoken a word to him since the Lo’ak incident, but you’d been staring practically whenever you thought it was safe to do so. Sometimes you thought about everything you disliked about him and fantasized about punching him. Most of the time you were fantasizing about- well…

The point was that you finally decided you couldn’t deny your attraction to him any longer. But that didn’t mean you were about to let anyone else know that. Especially not him.

“[Y/N], are you coming?” Kiri’s head poked into the marui. You stopped braiding the bracelet you were working on, quickly hiding it behind your back as it was going to be a gift for Kiri’s birthday in a few days. Technically it would be your birthday too, but you preferred to celebrate her.

“Where are you going?” You asked excitedly, starting to ready yourself for what you assumed was going to be one of your nightly explorations of the island.

“Tsireya is taking us to the spirit tree!” Kiri exclaimed, clearly more than happy to be going.

“Oh…” You couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. You certainly wanted a chance to finally see the spirit tree of the Metkayina, something you sorely missed about home. However, you knew who would be tagging along on the journey and it was not someone you wanted to be around. “Maybe just go without me.” You mumbled.

“Nonsense, you need to go. It is important!” Your mother stood from her spot next to your dad as they finished eating their dinner together. She squatted down next you, placing a comforting hand on your leg. “You have been sulking around for many days, [Y/N]. I think it will be good for you to go with your friends.” Her smile was kind, reassuring. It’s not like you could tell her why you really didn’t want to go.

“Alright.” You caved, mustering a small smile for Neytiri before you followed Kiri out the door. She was practically skipping.

“Maybe you should make up with Ao’nung, tonight.” She said airily, and you choked on your own spit.

“W-what?” Kiri barked out a laugh, shaking her head.

“Relax. I said make up. Not make out.” Her eyes danced with laughter as you tried to ignore your heated cheeks. Even she, your trusted twin, had not been able to resist teasing you about the bane of your existence.

“Either way, it’s not gonna happen, Ki.” You pursed your lips. She smiled, looping her arm through yours.

“He’s not so bad anymore.” She was no longer teasing, but you snorted out a laugh anyway. “I’m being serious! I still don’t like him much, but you have to admit that he’s been incredibly civil lately.” She was right, of course. The Metkayina boy was still a snarky moron, but he’d actually been getting along with everyone. He’d even attempted to apologize to you, but you were making it incredibly difficult by avoiding and outright ignoring him. “Just give him a chance to talk to you, okay? You don’t have to forgive him if you don’t want to.”

“Fine,” You sighed, wishing anyone but Kiri had asked you this favour. “Though I think cutting my own leg off would be preferable to listening to him speak.”

“Listening to who speak?” You shouldn’t have been surprised that he had snuck up on you yet again. It was becoming ritual at this point.

“Is nothing I say ever private to you?” You whipped around, meeting those shining blue eyes. It was the first time you had made real eye contact with him in weeks.

“I’m going to go meet the others. I’ll let them know you guys are on the way.” Kiri whispered, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before she took off in the direction of the beach. You swear you saw her grinning.

“So you’re talking to me now, forest girl?” Ao’nung’s deep voice was neutral, but his small smirk betrayed his satisfaction.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. It’s not exactly my choice.” You scoffed, finding a small bit of amusement in the fact that Ao’nung didn’t know what panties were. You could see him fighting the urge to ask.

“I suppose you’re expecting me to apologize.” He finally said, looking incredibly uncomfortable. It was clear that he didn’t make apologies often.

“I suppose I am.” You echoed, crossing your arms.

“I’m sorry.” He bit out. You blinked, waiting for him to continue. The soft chirping of insects and the distant rush of the shoreline were the only sounds as the two of you stood, awkwardly staring. When it became clear that he didn’t plan on saying anything else, you let out a short, bitter laugh.

“You can’t be serious.” You turned to go, thinking about what a waste of time that was. However, you only made it about two steps before a callused but incredibly gentle hand closed around your arm, tugging you back.

“Wait.” He breathed, sighing softly. You turned slowly back to face him.

“I really am sorry, [Y/N].” You stilled at the sound of your name passing his lips. You couldn’t think of a time when he had actually said it. It was always forest girl, or freak. The way your name sounded coming from him was intriguing. He said it like a prayer. Like you were something to be worshipped. It made it difficult to pay attention to the rest of his apology.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” He frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t deserve it, honestly. But I just feel really desperate for you to know that I learned my lesson that night. I kept on imagining what could have happened, how it could have turned out. I- I have nightmares about it still,” He paused briefly, looking past you for a moment as if seeing something you weren’t. Your heart clenched. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to impress people. Trying to be funny and unbothered and worthy of being the future Olo’eyktan. I don’t know when that made me into a monster, but I don’t want to be that anymore.” He swallowed deeply, nervously shuffling from foot to foot while avoiding your eyes. The sight was unbearable.

Without thinking, you stepped closer, reaching up to place your hand on his cheek. Startled, he looked up from the ground, meeting your gaze.

“I forgive you, Ao’nung.” Your words were almost inaudible, but you felt him shiver slightly beneath your touch. Slowly, his hand extended out to rest on your waist, inching the two of you closer than ever. His breathing was slow and methodic and you instinctively reached up, placing a hand over his rapid heartbeat, completely unable to look anywhere but his blown pupils. Your mind felt impossibly slow, barely registering anything other than Ao’nung’s grip on your waist and the fire it was spreading all along your body. It was when his lips brushed ever so lightly across yours- so excruciatingly close to being a kiss- that you came rushing back to reality.

“Jesus christ, I’m sorry…” You took a faltering step back, shivering at the loss of contact when Ao’nung’s hands fell away from you. “I- That-” You stumbled over your words, so utterly embarrassed that you couldn’t think properly.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed…” He shook his head, stepping back a bit.

“I mean- I’m just- I need some, like, some time.” You finally got out the words, hoping you weren’t sounding like a jerk. “You did almost kill my brother, after all.” A breathy laugh escaped your lips, but you instantly regret your words when you realized how terrible they sounded. However, they rang somewhat true. It seemed ridiculous to be macking on the boy immediately after he apologized. You didn’t want to be that desperate.

“So… can we go back to how things were, then?” He asked, his signature smirk playing at his lips. Relief flooded you as you processed his words, glad to be offered a way out of the mess you had just created.

“I don’t know,” You shrugged. “Are you willing to go back to getting your ego demolished by me?” You quirked and eyebrow, earning a scoff from him.

“You wish, freak.” He suddenly turned, starting toward the beach. “Better catch up before everyone leaves without us!”

You huffed, jogging to match to his long strides. “Maybe I can convince them to leave you behind.”

No one said a thing when the two of you strolled up to the water together, looking what you assumed was at least somewhat amicable. Your friends and siblings just shared quick, knowing looks before you all mounted your ilus and started off for the cove of ancestors.

Ao’nung rode beside you throughout most of the journey, and the two of you traded sarcastic remarks and snide comments, seemingly making up for lost time. It felt good, almost normal again, and you found yourself thinking that maybe a friendship with the infuriating boy was actually possible.

"We're here!" Tsireya finally called out, slowing down to allow everyone else to catch up and take in the surroundings. It was truly an incredible sight, with the soft glow from the underwater bioluminescence and lush green vegetation, all surrounded by the jutting silhouette of large curved rocks and smaller suspended chunks of land. You glanced around at the faintly illuminated faces of your companions and a swell of contentment filled your chest. You missed your home in the forest deeply, but you felt that the ocean and its islands had rightfully won a place in your heart, and that gaping wound left by your grief was beginning to hurt a lot less.

"So beautiful." You breathed.

"Yes." Ao'nung agreed, and you turned to where he was floating, already staring at you. You flushed slightly under his gaze, wondering how long he had been focused on you.

"I think you have some drool on your chin." You quipped, and he quickly brought his hand up to his face, looking slightly alarmed. Seconds later, he caught on. His face twisted into that of annoyed amusement. The two of you had never entered this territory of playful flirting before, but he seemed game.

"Very funny, forest girl," He simpered. "And pretty bold coming from someone who's been eye-fucking me for the past month."

Your jaw slackened as everyone else burst out laughing, including Kiri, who you shot a betrayed look.

"What does that mean?" Tuk piped up from her spot on Neteyam's ilu, looking confused. It seemed most of you had forgotten she was there.

"Oh shit- I mean, it's nothing, Tuk." Ao'nung quickly backtracked, earning a threatening glare from Neteyam and another round of muffled laughs from everyone else. Even you could barely hold yourself together.

"Just don't repeat that to mom and dad." Neteyam sighed, shaking his head.

"Why don't we go to the spirit tree now?" Tsireya spoke up, still smiling. Thankfully, everyone nodded and started dismounting into the water. You swam closer to Ao'nung, lightly smacking his arm.

"Nice going, genius." You snickered and the colour in his cheeks deepened.

"Shut it." He rolled his eyes at your continued laughter, though a smile was creeping onto his lips. Eventually, he was full-on grinning, the look so genuine that it was almost shocking. The only two expressions he ever seemed to make were akin to scowling or smirking. This was something entirely new. You realized your gaze had become fixed on the curve of his lips and blushed.

"Who's drooling now?" Ao'nung laughed, settling back into his signature taunting smirk. You decided not to let an opportunity pass you by.

"Don't get any ideas, freak." You shrugged. "I was just thinking that I've never seen you smile like that." Your heart sped up as you finished your sentence.

"Like what?"

"Well... like you're actually happy. You usually just look like an asshole with a debilitating god complex." You had to round things out with an insult, thinking you were inflating his ego a little too much. He just smiled and shook his head, finally turning to swim after the others.

"If you didn't hate me so much I'd think you were in love with me." He said before he dove under the water, heading for the spirit tree.

"If you didn't act like such a skxawng then maybe I would be..." You mumbled, diving under too as you became consumed by your own thoughts. Less than an hour ago the two of you had been seconds away from kissing, but you couldn't seem to let yourself go through with it, like it was somehow offensive to the very core of your being, despite your growing feelings. So why, after such a rejection, were you unrelentingly teasing and flirting?

You had only been attempting to return to what was normal- known territory- between you and Ao'nung. Teasing each other was like breathing. But now that you understood your feelings for him, it was fun to flirt a little bit, especially because you had convinced yourself it was a harmless action, more of a game than anything else. Because you couldn't help but fear that's just what you were to him: a game to be played and won.

So that's how it would be, you decided. You would be happy to oblige in this self-indulgent game so long as it never became more. He was still the bane of your existence, after all.

Connecting to the tree brought you back home both figuratively and literally. The tree of souls flashed in your memory, and with it a thousand little reminders of the life you had left behind. The first time you went hunting with your father, exploring the forest as a child with Kiri, playfully fighting with Lo'ak and Spider, bonding with your ikran, sleeping next to your family and breathing as the forest breathed with you. All of these experiences were collected in your mind like beautiful, treasured shells. It was was wonderful to have them on display.

You eventually ended up in a memory that you didn't even know you had, blinking as you trekked along one of the thick vines that connected the hallelujah mountains together. You harbored many memories like this, certainly, but this specific one felt different somehow. You strained to think of when this had taken place.

"Hurry up, slow poke!" You found yourself calling out, a laugh bubbling from your chest when someone groaned behind you. You turned your head and struggled to make sense of your companion.

"When you said you were going to show me your home, this is not what I pictured us doing." Ao'nung frowned, glancing warily over the side of the vine you both walked upon.

"No? What exactly were you picturing, then, Nung?" You queried and Ao'nung's lips split into what you could only describe as a suggestive grin. Since when the hell did you call him that? Everything about this was so strange to you. It was clearly not one of your memories at all.

"Oh, you know, maybe a little less dangerous hiking and a little more finding a secluded spot to-"

"Oh my Eywa!" You- or at least this alternate version of you- yelped, shaking your head. "Just keep walking, you sick bastard."

"Just putting ideas out there.." He chuckled, suddenly pushing forward to catch up to you. He slung his arm around your waist, pulling you into him like it was the most natural action in the world. You tried to stop alternate you from leaning into his touch, to no avail.

You leaned in closer, standing on your tiptoes to whisper into his ear. "You're so desperate, Ao'nung." He shivered.

"Only for you, forest girl."

You ripped your queue away from the tree, breathing heavily as you desperately tried to work through whatever that was. You had never experienced anything like it before, even when you connected to the tree of souls back home. It scared you.

When you had calmed yourself a little, you looked around at the others, most of whom were still connected peacefully. Ironically, only Ao'nung seemed to be finished as well, his eyes settled on you through the layers of glowing fronds from the tree. He gave you a questioning look, sending you briefly back to your supposed trek through the mountains with him. Your cheeks burned, wishing you could just forget about it entirely. Ao'nung opened his mouth to speak, but didn't get the chance when the fronds around you suddenly began flashing and pulsing.

You snapped your head around, trying to find the source of the change when your searching eyes landed on your twin. Her body was impossibly rigid, her neck bent back as she shook somewhat violently. You immediately dove toward her, disconnecting her queue from the tree as Neteyam swam up and grabbed her, pulling her upwards. You grasped onto her stiff hand, trying to still the tremors that had her fingers twitching. You briefly registered Ao'nung on the other side of her, helping Neteyam swim her to the surface.

When you all burst through the water, panting, you wasted no time in lifting Kiri onto the back of Neteyam's ilu.

"Is she breathing? Is she breathing?" Rotxo asked worriedly, and you mentally thanked him for saying what was on your mind. You couldn't seem to speak as your throat constricted with fear.

Neteyam hopped up beside Kiri and blew a few breaths into her lungs, thankfully getting her chest moving on its own again.

"Let's, go! We have to take her back!" Lo'ak yelled, urging Neteyam forward. As soon as he took off, your hand slipped out of Kiri's, leaving you even more afraid than before. Your own body was stiff, your mind running through a thousand thoughts a second. Everyone around you was mounting their ilus and taking off toward home, but you were panicking too much to even keep yourself properly afloat. Water entered your throat as you hyperventilated, your head beginning to feel extremely light.

"[Y/N]!" Ao'nung's voice sounded distant, but he was somehow directly beside you in the water, offering a hand. You grasped onto it and he pulled you quickly up next to him like you weighed nothing at all. "Just hold on, okay?" He said directly into your ear, his tone urgent but kind. Since you were in front of him, there was nothing much to grab onto except for the arm that was gripping the ilu's saddle. Evidently, that did not seem to be enough for him because as you went speeding along the water, he wrapped his free arm protectively around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

The ride back felt like mere minutes, thankfully, but Neteyam and Kiri were nowhere to be seen along the shoreline when you arrived. You hoped that meant they were already inside your marui and getting help.

You were so intent upon getting to Kiri quickly that you stumbled getting off of the ilu, your shaking legs nearly buckling before Ao'nung was there again, grasping onto your arm to steady you. When you found your balance once again, he let go, but stayed close behind as the two of you ran for your marui pod.

"Kiri!" You cried as you approached, catching a glimpse of her lying on the floor of the pod. There were many people scurrying around her, trying to figure out what was wrong, but they kindly made room for you to kneel beside her, taking her hand in yours once again.

"What is the matter?" You looked up frantically, searching the faces of anyone close by in hopes that they had an answer. Most of them looked just as clueless and frightened as you, including your parents. Only Ronal seemed somewhat calm, examining Kiri from her other side. You caught her eyes and a look of pity passed over her features.

"I do not know yet what is afflicting her, child." Ronal said calmly, but you grimaced at her words, your breaths once again starting to come out short and fast. "But she is stable, now. She is asleep. I believe it is her body trying to recover." You relaxed some upon hearing 'recover', but the incident was still fresh and playing over and over through your mind. You just wanted Kiri to open her eyes, to prove to you that you had not lost her.

"Just fix it!" You knew it was unfair to yell and get mad at everyone who was just trying to help, but you didn't know what else to do. You jumped a little when a warm hand rested on your shoulder from behind. Your mother's eyes were filled with worry, but she spoke gently.

"Leave us to help Kiri, [Y/N]. The Tsahìk needs space to work, my daughter." She urged kindly, gently tugging your elbow to pull you up. You reluctantly released Kiri's hand, still breathing hard. Not knowing where to go, you awkwardly spun on your heel, looking around for a better place to stand. Ao'nung caught your eye from where he stood in the doorway and gestured for you to follow him outside. You didn't really want to go far from Kiri, but the rational part of you knew it would be best, so you obliged. As soon as you stepped out the door, Ao'nung grabbed your hand, guiding you away from your marui and down the short path to the beach. You stopped when you reached the sand, the two of you just standing and staring out into the vast stretch of water. Something about it seemed to snap the last little bit of restraint in you, and you began to whimper, a fresh round of burning tears making their way down your cheeks. Your whimpers turned into loud cries mixed with hyperventilating as you lost all control of yourself. You were so far gone that you didn't even question it when Ao'nung suddenly pulled you into his arms, folding them loosely around you, as if unsure of himself. The comfort of it felt so insanely good that you pressed into him further, stretching a bit to wrap your arms around his neck. He took that as a good sign and pulled his arms tighter, forcing your head to rest on his chest as you cried.

"She will be alright. Eywa will protect her." He whispered to you, his thumbs drawing comforting circles along your back. He held you that way for a long time, not once loosening his grip on you even as you began to calm, sniffling for a bit before eventually growing silent. Your breathing fell into a slow, methodic rhythm that was somewhat in tune with the strong and steady heartbeat you could hear through Ao'nung's chest. Your eyes fluttered shut, just allowing yourself to feel the body against yours. The strength of the arms holding you in place. The smooth skin beneath your cheek. The pleasant warmth of the fingers trailing across your back. You sighed heavily, releasing any leftover tension that you had been holding in your chest.

"Don't think this means I like you." You finally said, wanting to distract yourself from thinking about your sister and spiraling again. A reprieve from the situation was necessary, at least for a little while.

Ao'nung chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Of course not." He said. "I would never be so bold."

"How come you're always so warm?" You questioned, enjoying as the heat of his touch bled into your skin.

"It's obviously because of my ridiculous good looks." You could hear the smirk in his words, and you took that as your signal to finally pull away from him, immediately regretting the loss of contact.

"What does that have to do with it?" You raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but Ao'nung just shrugged.

"Nothing. But you just admitted that I'm good looking." His smile was infuriatingly wide. You scoffed.

"I most definitely did not, skxawng. You're delusional."

"Mm, I don't think so." He said, shifting to sit down in the sand, facing the water. You followed, sitting close enough that your leg was pressed against his. Neither of you seemed to care to move away to a more appropriate distance. "C'mon, just admit that you think I'm handsome!" He nudged you with his shoulder, earning a glare from you.

"Not gonna happen, fish lips."

He gasped dramatically, throwing a hand to his chest. "I'm wounded!"

"Aw, poor baby." You mocked, jutting out your bottom lip into a pout.

"Well now you're just being rude." He deadpanned. You laughed.

"You really want me to give you a compliment?" You finally asked, and he perked up, eyes shining as he nodded.

"Alright," You sighed. "Your face is actually kind of handsome," Ao'nung opened his mouth to agree. "When your stupidity isn't screwing it up." You couldn't help but immediately burst out laughing, especially as the conceited smugness on his face twisted into a scowl.

"You're the meanest woman I've ever met." He grumbled, shaking his head.

"That's why you like me." You grinned.

"It's definitely not."

"Oh, but you admit that you do like me?"

"That's not what I said."

"Sounds like it."

"Sounds like you need to shut up."

taglist:

@luvlykrispy @foreverfolkloregirly @findingourtreasure @tiddybiddy @nao-cchi @goodiesinthecloset21 @elegantkidfansoul @azaleaniath @cloakedvengeance @philiasoul @aonungmybf @joshuahongsfuturewife @shartnart1 @ayanamire @tireytesulineytiriite @bigmama123 @fucksnow @seashelldom @melsunshine @donaldsmac @littlethingsinlife @kainari144 @thesheelfsworld @in-luvais @perseny @minkyungseokie @acrobatcheeks @theblaxkbird @sakura-onesan @gengarmylove

#ao'nung #ao'nung fanfiction #ao'nung fluff #ao'nung x reader #ao'nung x you #ao'nung x y/n #aonung #aonung fanfiction #aonung fluff #aonung x reader #avatar 2 #avatar #atwow #atwow ao'nung

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3vln · 4 months ago

Text

Ravens and Stallions: Ch. 2

Pairings: D. Blackwood x Bracken!Fem!Reader

Words: 3.2K

C.W.: probably needs lots of revisions. lots of time-inaccurate privileges (modern dilly-dallying), OCs, enemies-to-lovers, Romeo & Juliet-esque, non-canon stuff, no smut yet (but MINORS DNI) usual banter, SLOW-BURN

A.N.: Would love an editor with this, fr; also, both need to learn how to fucking communicate

Summary: Reader is presented with terrible news, while still thinking about the raven-haired man. A quick and heated meet-up happens in the godswoods gardens in Riverrun during the Harvest Feast.

“Well? Do tell!”

You let out an exasperated sigh as your friend dragged you across the halls to the common room for the debrief amongst quartet.

“Bellena, you’ve become tiresome tonight,” you groaned. She stuck out her tongue.

It was a fortnight since the evening that was spent at Harroway amongst the girls. Neither of them had a moment to debrief on the specific evening, until now at Stone Hedge. You’ve been thinking about the time you spent by the distant trees of the tavern, and how you longed for the butterflies you felt in your stomach. More meetings with suitors set by your mother were spent in vain, finding an excuse or another to explain to your parents that none of them would work, and another sigh coming from them.

Greeting the guard outside the common room, you both found the other two ladies chatting away by fire.

“There you are!”

“We’ve been waiting for you!”

“We must debrief!”

You sighed quietly as you sat, wanting to ensure that the conversation didn’t fall on you to recount the memories of your evening with a certain Blackwood. You looked at Lyanne, recollecting, however, an interesting view, “Well? Get on with it. How was your kiss with the Northerner?” you wiggled your eyebrows, and then more seriously, “Did you also get ahold of that tea I mentioned?”

Lyanne’s stark contrast to her previous state was present, blithe and gushing as she recollected her evening with the man from House Locke - a rather improvement from the previous man she had been.

Kaya, the other from the friend group, had a nice chat, but nothing noteworthy. In actuality, they’ve never known Kaya to be one to gush or express interest in any of the men presented to her. But she’s always been one to wish the other girls well with any suitors, and was rather pleased if something went well. You liked Kaya, she was the most relatable one to you, even if she was rather distant at times.

Bellena, on the other hand, was most like Lyanne but less whimsical, and wasn’t taken away by the words of men. Her spirit was rather charming. Much like a siren, she knew how to turn an opportunity to her favor, and her evening at that tavern was nothing short of what she had expected with her time with Ser Aron.

“You’re awfully quiet,” one of them noticed.

“You did have us leave in haste,” the other added.

“Did you have a good time?” the last asked.

You breathed in, debating if you should explain your… dilemma? No, it was nothing noteworthy. “Nothing eventful happened," you sighed. "And I agree with Kaya, the man I spoke with was nothing of note as well. It was getting late, and I didn’t want my aunt to fret,” you shrugged. It wasn’t an absolute lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. It was a middle ground you were satisfied with.

Bellena wasn’t sold on this half-truth, glaring at you when the others weren’t looking. You rolled your eyes.

It was your experience to live in, and you were willing to swallow your emotions for the sake of preventing anything further from happening. None of them would understand. What could they possibly say that you didn’t already know?

This was an issue and feud that spanned generations-long between the two houses, and none of them would be willing to understand the intense dislike you carried for the Blackwoods, and how utterly wrong that evening was; you weren’t going to be swayed by mere words from your friends.

You quietly sighed, ordering more tea and snacks for the common room from the nearby maid.

The ladies bid themselves farewell in the morning after staying for the night, watching them go from inside the bailey gates.

Come nightfall, when supper was served, you couldn't help but feel a sort of tension in the air. Something was filled with a sort of anxiety, nervousness. A loaded silence waiting to explode.

Your father cleared his throat, gaining your attention.

“You must marry soon,” is all he says, rather uncomfortably.

Confusion falls upon you at his sudden and weird comment. You looked at him curiously, not understanding. You were out meeting suitors, but it wasn’t your fault the men were falling short.

Your mother grabs his hand, trying for a more eloquent explanation to his sudden request, “The Harvest Feast is upon us, and House Tully has already sent out their invitations to have us join them. It would be a great opportunity for you to meet someone,” she says. “We’ve been… rather… flexible with you –”

“And I’m forever grateful for the privilege, mama, but this is all so sudden. I don’t understand where this is coming from,” you frowned.

She looks at her husband, not meeting her gaze, and tries again as she takes in a breath, “Lord Greyjoy has taken an interest in you.”

“The old geezer?”

“The Red Kraken.”

“The Red Kraken? As if that makes things better! Does he not have a wife already? 4 others, in fact.”

“My sweet,” your mother reaches out for your hand, “we urge you to marry. His reputation, from what we hear… it’s not great. The ironborn… they’re a culture foreign to us, and we want to ensure you’re happy with your future beloved. But time is running out and Lord Greyjoy has plans to declare for you…”

“No daughter of mine will become a salt wife,” your father scorned, to no one in particular. You held your breath.

“You,” he said after some time, a distressed look in his eyes, “you are my one and only daughter. Love marriages are miracles, but not impossible,” blindly returning his wife’s caress on his hand. “However, I will have to marry you off to someone soon should you fail to secure a marriage yourself.”

Needing a moment to digest with too many thoughts running, nothing was said from your end, other than a nod of understanding.

Keeping quiet throughout supper, in the hallways leading up to your bedroom, and throughout the bath that was readied for you, the thought of having no control over whom you would soon wed terrified you.

You asked the maids to leave you in the warm water, breath becoming shallow as you thought about the prospect of marrying Dalton Greyjoy, and the thought of it boiling your blood. You would need to find your finest silks, finest jewelry, finest anything, to find a man that would make-do. Thinking conservatively, a love marriage wasn’t in the cards anymore, as much as your parents would like, but a decent marriage would at least grant you the freedom of a married woman. All you would need to do is give birth to an heir, and the best possible outcome would be that your future husband would leave you alone or flourish, pray to the Maiden.

You groaned.

You didn’t want something decent, you wanted a love marriage. You wanted one like your parents, and it was breaking your heart. Why Dalton Greyjoy of all people, why was this happening so soon? And why the Blackwood?

You thought back to the evening, promenading around the tavern, the shared laughter, the attentiveness and careful actions around you, the scar above his lips, the dark hair, the kiss by the trees, the grasp around your waist, the stirring in your loin. A hand ventured, your quiet sobs drowned out as you held yourself underwater, hoping no one would hear you.

The Harvest Feast was a celebration that often involved the overlord and their noble houses. Lord Paramount Grover Tully, although failing in age and growing weak, was not one to miss on these feasts to celebrate with his vassals. He was a man committed to his principles as Lord Paramount of the Trident, however weak or bedridden, and this was one of them.

Your Lord father made his rounds greeting the other lords in the Riverlands when the Harvest Feast came around, ensuring you got the opportunity to meet their eligible sons he thought were worth presenting. Swallowing embarrassment, polite smiles were exchanged, and sure enough, after the feast was served and the dancing ensued, their sons would come looking for you. None of them being the raven-haired male you were looking for.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?” your mother asked.

You gave her a look, hoping she’d understand that No, you were not enjoying yourself, but you would at least keep trying as you sat down from a rather painful dance with one the many lord’s sons.

She only chuckled and continued her wine, keeping a worried expression for herself as she looked away.

Your eyes secretly scanned for the Blackwood boy, then focusing on your feast table when you'd catch yourself looking for him.

House Blackwood had feasted opposite of you. The seating arrangements were set up to prevent any unnecessary interactions between the opposing families, but no one knew for certain if such efforts were futile, seeing how many many feasts were set up similarly and one, imbibed with too much ale or wine (or even ego or pride for that matter) would always end up in a yelling match with the other. It was tradition at this point, in jest.

"M'lady?" one of the men had offered his hand to you, an invite to take up the upcoming ballad. As you did with the others, you paid little mind to the small talk the young lord would make, other than the small compliments and the "thank you"s that ensued.

No enjoying yourself, or the lack of conversation between you, you thought about ending the dance abruptly, excusing yourself with whatever excuse you could think of to go back to people watching.

"I'm quite parched," you fanned yourself in the middle of the dance, which wasn't a total lie. Catching on, he excused himself, fetching you something to drink and leaving you in the middle of the floor with others swirling to the ballads. The perfect opportunity.

You used the moment to get away from the crowd, get away from the Great Hall and get away from the bustling noises. You enjoyed such festivities, but you couldn't help but seek time for yourself in the middle of it all. When it all became too much, it would become emotionally consuming, having to show up for everyone and everything.

Finding the nearest balcony and a seat, you took in the evening wind, breathing in the musky and leafy scent of Riverrun in its autumn glory. You couldn't help but notice the detailings of the castle on the way to the balcony, the trout fish carved into the pillars, the clear sigil of House Tully. An appropriate sigil for the castle, seeing how it was built on land that separates two rivers--both streams flowing on both sides of the big castle.

Lost in thoughts and observances, you almost didn't see the figure out of the corner of your eye as it passed by the godswood garden below the balcony.

The raven-haired man. A sort of a pressure and a sigh of relief left you, finally finding the person you've been hoping to see all evening. Your curiosity peaked and a form of excitement brewed in you while studying him. Walking up to the godswood trees, he planted himself there, his back facing you. You saw the way his head bowed. Saw the way his jaw looked to be moving, as if praying. The moment seemed peaceful, curious about what he was saying.

Taking a seat in front of the weirwood tree, he sat there, as if finding solace. The Blackwoods were the only ones in the Riverlands who still only worshiped the old gods - something you weren't still sure if you admired from afar for being deeply rooted in their culture, or stubborn for not converting to the Holy Faith.

You debated reaching out, grabbing his attention.

But then what?

You shook your head, knowing it would only end in a terrible shouting match, and you'd be named the Harvest Feast Bracken this year. You had very little patience for nonsense with Blackwoods, and you were sure he would get on your nerves one way or another.

You decided to leave him be, and just admire his solace from afar for some time.

Back inside you sat back next to your mother after your little time away, wine cup still on hand as she looked at you. “Well? How are things going?”

You groaned, “Mother, please, must you always insist on how everything is?”

“Well, I think Lord Darry is a fine fellow. Rather handsome, I think,” recalling after the last man you danced with.

“Mama.”

“My Sun, I am trying my best to ensure your future…is with someone you want to be with. But you’re making this difficult,” she no longer was sympathetic, but a sad yet stern presence became apparent in her voice as she looked at you. “An arranged marriage can be done, yes, but I… I want you to be happy with whom you’ll be spending your time with.”

You mused at this as you paused on her words. It was a real priviledge for you to have this sort of freedom within the realm. Not many married for love, and more so for duty. You often times found it easier to give up and find a husband for duty. But this was a gift, and, althought frightening, you wanted to explore its options.

You hugged your mother for the comfort, and for wishing you the best in this scary part of every woman's lives; you debated if you should bring up a touchy subject. You hesitated, wondering how you’d phrase the scenario in a way that wouldn’t give suspicion. It was rather difficult.

“As long as they’re not a Blackwood,” you muttered coolly, studying your nails. Nice.

“Good gods, anyone but that treacherous family,” your mother laughed, a red glow in her face appearing from drinking wine.

Disappointment hides in your face as you feign a laugh. Not the response you were looking for. “Good. Wouldn’t be caught dead with a Blackwood.”

A figure from your peripheral view catches your attention, seeming to have been walking up to you.

Except, when you turned, you saw the raven-haired man storm away, and your laughter fades with every step he takes, a quiet panic taking over.

“Oh, posh, leave him,” your mother pouts in scowl. “He had no business here anyway.”

You start to think that she hasn’t assumed anything, which you thank the gods for, but your heart sinks for Davos. Eyeing him as he exits, you try to come up with an excuse to get away from your mother without her worrying. “Umm, have you seen father? I think he was asking for you before I came. I need to find Lord Darry for my drink, should I get ale or wine?” After taking a bit long to respond, you depart by telling her wine should be the better refreshment and Lord Darry should bring you another one, all while eyeing the exit.

Inside, you start to panic after not being able to find the raven-haired lord, turning around every corner in the castle hoping to see him, and only finding empty rooms, and in one embarrassing instance, a young couple needing their privacy, followed by profuse apologies from your end. After spending a lot of time searching, you thought about how it was getting to be too late to apologize, and you’d never recover from this moment.

Finally, outside, you saw a caped figure by the godswoods garden - of-fucking-course - and a lump in your throat starts to form as you approach him.

He turns to you and emptily chuckles to himself. “Well, if it isn’t the pride of Stone Hedge,” he announces to no one.

You frown, clearly starting off on the wrong foot, but taking a moment to form your words before you begin.

“Davos, I… I wanted to apologize,” you try in effort to veer back into diplomatic territory.

But he shakes his head, and something of disappointment appears in his dead eyes, “Tell me, Bracken, do you practice being insufferable, or does it come naturally?”

“Davos, I am trying to apologize.” You let out.

“For what?” he shrugs, maintaining the same dead eyes.

“For… for…,” you try, and think about how stupid everything was going to sound. For saying the truth out loud? For hurting his feelings? For lying to your mom? Why was she apologizing to a Blackwood in the first place?

He nodded with a frown, clearly disappointed. You groaned in exasperation, growing frustrated with everything, “Ugh! I-I don’t know, I don’t know Davos! I wanted to come and apologize! I don’t even know why I’m apologizing in the first place!”

Unamused, he shrugs again, “Can’t accept an apology if you don’t know what you’re sorry for.”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Fuck me?” He points to himself, disbelief in his voice. “Fuck you! And your mother!”

Your hand meets his face and leaves him with a red print, both shock and adrenaline running through you as you point him a finger. “You leave my mother out of this,” you spit.

He stuns for a moment, astonished by the force of a woman before him, then recollects himself. He finds your finger pointing at him when he looks, grabbing your wrist to remove it from view with a grunt.

“Get your hands off me!” You try to retreat your hand from his grasp but he locks in, grabbing your other wrist as you try to fist the free hand and muster all the strength you have to hit him and release you. “Let me go!”

Heaving as you try to shake your wrists off him, you don’t hear him call your name, until he embraces you, leaving you in a confused state.

“I… I stepped out of line,” is all he says after things seemed to calm.

You pushed yourself off of him and met him with another slap.

Grabbing his jaw, all he does is nod. “Deserved.”

“Fuck you!”

Another nod, “I mean…”

“You’re so… so…!” you try to come up with the meanest, most profane, vile insult you can muster, but your thoughts run with the wind, not finding the correct words to fully explain him and his being well.

“I’ll wait,” he shrugs as he crosses his arms.

“Davos! Shut up!”

He bites back a smile as he looks down.

You groan, pacing back and forth, “Look, I’m-I’m sorry for… what you heard back there. I saw you walk up to me when I said that. And it was such a… a moment, I-I-I just kinda panicked, and… No, I'm not going to be elaborating anything further, but I just wanted you to know, and I know we’re in a relatively public space right now and we can be seen but I don’t care about that because it’s not even about what you think it was about!”

He says nothing as he studies you, arm still crossed, and you grow uncomfortable under his silence, wondering about what he’s thinking.

With a defeated sigh, you hang your head, “Davos, say something, yeah?”

But before he could answer, your father calls for you from a distance, announcing your early departure.

“I… must leave,” you look towards the distance, “but…” you look at him, hoping he says something, hoping to ask you to meet him somewhere, anything.

You leave him in the godswoods garden in Riverrun.

And for that, Davos will always kick himself for not telling you everything. How you stutter when you have a million things running through your mind. How you became the most magnificent woman when enraged, and how good you smelled when he embraced you. He, too, had a million thoughts, but none of them expressing himself in the way he wanted to, scared to push you away or the time not lending itself for him to say everything. Much less when you had to leave so sudden.

He looked at the weirwood tree they were both under, before you departed, and had hoped the gods would work on his favor and see you soon.

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~ Tag list: @cypherpt5fttaehyung

#davos blackwood #enemies to lovers #house bracken #house of the dragon #x reader #slow burn #house blackwood

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