#and her button nose... my beautiful child

[i-mybrunettelady]

Posted these on my sideblog but I felt like looking at her so

[luveline]

begging on my hands and knees (if you haven’t already) for you to write something about Aaron during the birth of your child 🥲🥲 and jack’s reaction to meeting his new sibling

You suffer through labour, Aaron dotes, and Jack meets his baby sister. fem, 2k

cw for labour/delivery, no graphic imagery

For some people, giving birth is a fast affair. Dilation occurs quickly, and after twenty or so pushes, a baby is born. Some people can go into labour and be finished within the hour. 

You, unfortunately, have not had that kind of luck. And that’s okay —it’s also entirely normal for this process to be difficult. Doesn’t make it hurt any less to watch, but Aaron has thick skin. Who cares what he’s feeling? You’re about to have a baby. 

He stands at the head of the bed with his arm over your pillow, tired despite himself, a styrofoam cup of ice chips in his hand. He presses it to your cheek, and every couple of minutes he changes it to the other one. Your forehead is wet with sweat, your face puffy with sobbing tears, but you’re beautiful in your sleep. Beautiful to him. 

He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead where he stays for some time. Your heart monitor beeps. 

A few minutes later, your heart monitor jumps. A strike of pain to warn of an oncoming contraction. 

You drag yourself from sleep to find his eyes. “Hi,” you whisper. 

He doesn’t know what to say. What can sum it up? Aaron doesn’t think he’s felt this many emotions in his life; he thinks of Jack, his baby face, and he thinks of Haley squishing his pink cheeks; he thinks of your hands, how chapped your palms are, how much he hates to see you crying like this; he thinks of your little baby so close to being here, and all your months of triumph and love and good luck to get to this moment. 

This is the biggest privilege of his life, in line with Jack’s birth. 

He doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but he makes himself a man who could deserve you. “Hello,” he says, pressing the back of his hand to your raging forehead. “How are you feeling?” 

“It has to be time soon.” 

“You think so? Should I find someone?” 

He speaks in solid but hushed tones, as though a raised voice might hurt you more. You find his chest to press your hand to space above his heart, where you give him a little rub back and forth. “No,” you say, tears welling in your eyes as the monitor spikes, “not yet.” 

He helps you into a sitting position which quickly becomes a bent over and keening position. Aaron obviously doesn’t know how childbirth feels, but he has experienced his own scar tissue ripping apart inside his abdomen as his organs flooded with his own blood. By the looks of it, you’re hurting worse than that. You don’t even speak. Your moans turn to panicked shouting before you get so scared your voice disappears. 

He doesn’t like it at all. He waits a good long minute with you for the pain to pass, his hand in yours as you squeeze it to mulch, his nose pressed remorsefully to your cheek. It fades like all the others. 

“I know,” he says as you start to cry in earnest, “it’s over. It’s over.” 

“It’s not over,” you snip, sniffing. 

He leans over your lap to press the button that asks for help. “You’re doing amazing.” 

It’s a hard night. At nearing one in the morning, they measure your dilation and agree it’s time to push. You tolerate it well, but it still takes two and a half hours of agony and tears. Aaron doesn’t cry, but he does feel an acute ache for you, and an excitement you probably can’t feel yourself. Every push is one step closer to the baby. 

Just after three hours, when the midwives are whispering to one another in concern and Aaron is sure he’ll never feel his left hand again, you have a baby. 

She’s snipped, cleaned up, and laid gently on your chest within seconds. You’ll never know how whole and brimming Aaron’s heart feels in that moment, to see you crying against the little forehead of your baby, to watch your arms cradle her body tenderly. 

He’s sure everyone in the room will forgive him for crying too. Just a couple of tears, smiling as you look down at her in pure joy. No shock, no sign of all that pain. 

“Oh, fuck, Aaron,” you say suddenly, to the delight of everyone in the room, “she’s got your frown.” 

She’s screaming, as babies tend to do. Aaron presses himself as close as he can to confirm the wrinkle between her brows. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, kissing your cheek. 

You breathe out deeply. “It’s okay. I forgive you.” 

Sorry for the pain and gunk. You forgive him for everything. 

You’re feeling nearly yourself again when morning comes, Aaron can tell. Showered, changed, swaddled with post-labour padding and with half a sandwich in your stomach, he can nearly forget the sound of your panicked crying. You’re hoarse as though you’ve been out for the night with friends, whispering clumsy love notes to your daughter where she naps in your lap. 

“So pretty,” you say, running an awed fingertip over her nose, “so beautiful, baby. You’re so beautiful. Look at your liccle nose.” You dip into sugar. “Aw, look at your nose.” 

“That’s your nose,” he says. 

“I think so.” 

She’s a baby so it’s hard to say for sure, but Aaron hopes she has your lovely nose and that she looks exactly like you, if she only keeps his wrinkled brow. 

You lean back. The bed has been wiped down and changed, your pillow from home propped behind your shoulders. Jack’s good luck talisman sits on the night table, waiting for him to visit. Aaron has been away for weeks, sometimes months at a time, and still he misses him after not seeing him these last eighteen hours. 

“He’s on his way, right?” you ask, noticing Aaron’s quiet. 

Aaron picks up Mr. Bear where he sits on the nightstand and massages the teddy’s arms and stomach. “Can’t you hear him?”

“My sister!” Jack is saying, words too fast to pick up each one, “Jess, we have to be faster!” 

“I’m going as fast as I can, sweetheart!” 

Aaron meets him at the door. Jack sees his father, probably just the shape of him, and starts to run down the hallway. He slams into Aaron’s legs, who pulls him up against his chest for a two-armed hug that he couldn’t need more. 

“Jackers,” he says in relief.

“Dad, put me down!” He must see you over Aaron’s shoulder. “Y/N! You’re okay!” 

“I’m more than okay, handsome! Were you worried about me?” 

“Is that my baby?” he says, rubbing his eyes with both hands.

You, Aaron and Jess all laugh. “Your baby sister. Are you gonna come and say hello? She’s been waiting for hours for you to wake up,” you say.

“I was waiting for her for hours first,” Jack says, climbing over Aaron’s shoulder, and then slipping back down as his father walks him into the hospital room to stop by your bed. 

Jess stays by the door. 

Aaron puts Jack on the bed beside you where there’s not much room for him, hands clasped around his arms just in case he does something sudden. “Oh,” Jack says, breathing out slowly. “Wow, dad.” 

“Wow,” Aaron echoes. 

“Can I touch her?” 

Assured he’ll be careful, Aaron lets Jack loose, and the boy waits for your signal before he pokes at the baby’s fisted hand. 

“She’s really little, huh?” you ask quietly. 

“Was I this little?” 

“You were smaller,” Aaron whispers. 

“She’s a real baby, dad.” 

“She’s super real. Does she look like you pictured?” Aaron asks. 

“No, I thought she’d look more like me.” 

This is really funny to you. Careful, you hold the baby to your chest and free an arm to cup Jack’s shoulder. “Buddy, I missed you. Aunt Jess says you stayed up past your bedtime, how are you feeling?” 

He smiles and goes shy at the same time. “I’m okay. I missed you, too.” 

“That’s good, I’m feeling good too.” You sniffle. 

“Are you sure?” Jack asks. 

“This is the best day ever. My little girl meeting her big brother.” You take a steadying breath, and you turn the baby toward Jack gently. “Do you wanna hold her?” 

Jack sits against your pillows and waits with pale terror on his face for you to pass him the baby. He bends over her as soon as she’s been placed, worried she’ll tip out of his lap, and you stroke the short brown strands of his hair, crops of it moving shiny under your touch. 

Aaron takes his phone from his pocket. In his rush, he struggles to find the capture button, recording a video instead that will take up most of the memory on his old phone and that he will refuse to part with. 

“Did she look like this in your belly?” Jack asks you, frowning. 

“Not the whole time. Why, does that bother you?” 

“Was she squished?” 

“No, she wasn’t squished. ‘Member how big my belly was?” You laugh warmly. “How big it still is.” 

“Will it ever be small again?” 

“Maybe somebody. I don’t mind.” You stroke his hair again. Baby makes a wet noise. “What do you think, lovely?” 

“About your belly?” 

“About the baby.” 

“I wish I was her.” 

You stroke behind his ear. “How come?” 

“I’m so tired, I wish I was sleeping too. But she is really small.” 

Aaron catches your relieved smile before he puts down the phone. “Do you want a nap, buddy? We can take a nap.” 

“I can take him home?” Jess suggests quietly. 

Aaron thanks her for everything. When you’re feeling better, he’s sure you’ll want to introduce Jess to the baby as well, but Jess doesn’t want to impose, and Aaron lets her go without fuss. Perhaps it’s a little hard on her to see. He doesn’t know. 

But Jess is a good woman, and he knows she’ll want to meet your baby whenever you’re ready. For now, it’s just you, Aaron, Jack, and the baby Hotchner.

Aaron sits in the plastic wrapped chair by the bed and leans back to accommodate sleepy Jack, who falls asleep with little more than a back rub and his family’s proximity. You look like you could sleep, too, but you won’t put the baby in the bassinet. You hold her and watch her for a soothing stretch of time, Aaron watching you both. 

“He’ll be more enthusiastic after he’s slept,” Aaron promises. 

You pucker and press teeny kisses to the baby’s ear. “He was perfect,” you murmur. “He was so gentle. We’re so lucky.” 

Aaron reaches over to hold your hand. You indulge him with an open palm, the two of you shushing in tandem as your children rouse, both of them perfect, and both parents very lucky. 

[tim-shii]

a/n: my beau, the love of my life 🫂 little smth before i go to war (finals is in two days) ,, AAAAAA i love aven so much hes so precious hes so dear to me MY BELOVED !! hes canonically a messy sleeper 😋 hes so silly bf oml

aventurine looks so ethereal right now. well, he’s always been beautiful. but in this light? with how the beams from the sun highlights his features, aventurine looks gorgeous.

he’s sleeping soundly, too. pajama shirt nearly unbuttoned because of how much he twist and turn in his sleep. blonde locks messily sprawled over the pillow and his forehead. he’s so endearing. it takes everything in you just to not wake him with a shower of aggressive kisses all over his pretty face.

usually, you’ll let him sleep in. however, today’s itinerary is quite full and busy so a few more minutes of sleep will indeed hurt.

“wake up, sleeping beauty.” you sit on the edge of the bed hovering over him, your pointer finger repeatedly poking his cheek. when he doesn’t move an inch, you gently blow air in his ear. grinning widely once he shudders. slowly after that, aventurine flutters open his eyes. squinting at the morning light, blindly patting around for your hand.

“g’morning.” he murmurs, arms snaking around your waist, pulling you close. aventurine nuzzles in your neck, his lips leaving short kisses on your skin. an attempt to coax you back to bed.

“good morni— no, no. you need to get up.” you hold his face and pull him away from your personal bubble. his cheeks are squished against your palms, you have the urge to sink your teeth into them. “it’s robin’s concert today and we promised to come over for her album release lunch party.”

“you promised her.”

“and you are my official plus one to everything.” you bite one of his cheeks and aventurine lets you. he loves you too much to deny you of anything. he also really loves affection from you so this situation is more beneficial for him than for you.

“so i’m just a pretty thing for you to flaunt around?” he turns his head in your hold in order to land a kiss on your inner wrist, his gaze affectionate and soft as they bore into you.

“my pretty lover whose presence i always want around? yes, you are.” finally, you lean down to kiss him. aventurine sighs at the feeling of your lips on his. he can taste the coffee you must’ve had before you went to wake him up.

“okay, enough.” you pull away. instantly, he frowns like a child whose candy got stolen. he tries to chase after you but a hard bite on his nose is enough to make him back down (he sends you a glare though). “get up. we still have to pick up veritas on the way.”

“he’s a grown man. he can drive himself there.”

“apparently, he was grading papers until 4am. he is in no condition to drive, baby.” you walk away from him after a last kiss on his lips. aventurine groans, annoyed that his sleep got interrupted and he felt like your kisses weren’t enough. he needs more than five kisses to fully function in a day. he pats around the bed for his phone, arm lazily hitting the pillows scattered around the bed.

as he clicks on the power button, his jaw drops in disbelief. you.. how could you….

“it’s five in the morning! why— it’s still too early!”

“you kicked me off the bed! it’s payback!”

“you’re such a menace, oh my god.”

“love you, baby! come down! breakfast is waiting.”

likes and reblogs are appreciated! masterlist

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 (besides myself)・l.f.

— you spend three years loving him, six months losing him, and four hours waiting for him to get the hell out of your house. but the human heart is more stubborn than you know.

words・5.4k

pairing・lee felix x gn!reader

genres・babysitter!au, girldad!lix, nobody look at me, toothrotting fluff, more angst than originally intended tbh, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, happy ending yayyy, non-linear storyline

warnings・cousin has a korean name and experiences one (1) minor head bump, mc is temporarily heartbroken and experiences one (1) breakdown

playlist・house song by searows・glad by tori kelly・let's pretend by del water gap・you were good to me by jeremy zucker

a/n・hiiii my loves, i'm so unbelievably excited to bring u my first contribution to my and @astraystayyh's collaboration, "winter falls" ♡ every time i write for our ray of sunshine i'm reminded of how thankful i am to love him. this fic ruined me. hope it does the same to you (smile)

I. everything

“One day,” you muttered to the toddler sitting on your shoulders, “you’ll experience something deeply, irreversibly humbling, and I’ll be there to witness your downfall.”

Byeol responded to this with an unbothered babble. She then gathered two handfuls of your hair and yanked using far too much force to be biologically possible.

You folded like a lawn chair. “Mother—!”

Oh, that word was not suitable for button-sized ears.

“—oh, my dear mother, why? Why me?”

Technically speaking, your aunt should’ve been the target of your lamentations, but all she did was produce the child presently steering you around the kitchen like you were her own personal bumper car. Your own mother was the one who volunteered you to watch said child during the first weekend of your winter break. Only for an hour until the babysitter arrives, she’d said (raising her voice, so as to be heard over your groaning).

You adored Byeol. She made scarily accurate chipmunk sounds and possessed an immobilizing fear of grapes. She bust out a dance move before she took her first steps. The girl could have you floored with laughter without being able to say more than three words at a time. Still, this was far from how you imagined onsetting your desperately-needed few weeks off. Not to mention it was now half past three; your shift should’ve ended two minutes ago.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Byeol emitted an excited onomatopoeia like a golden retriever detecting the mailman. Your reaction wasn’t too far off; you swiveled your head in the sound’s direction, sang out “coming!” in a delighted vibrato, and twirled into the foyer, your hands around Byeol’s ankles anchoring her in place.

You cracked open the door and found yourself face-to-face with Byeol’s babysitter. The freckles scattered across his high cheekbones and sloping nose seemed to you like they were imprinted by the sun itself. His hair was dark, falling just shy of pitch black, and long, ending an inch or so below pierced ears. A few misbehaving strands rested over his forehead but did little to obstruct your view of his eyes: profoundly brown and pointed at either end, like poinsettia petals.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You felt your skin warm, your heart flip. You opened your mouth. 

Then Byeol hit her head against the vertical edge of the front door, loud enough for it to echo.

The panic that seized you in that moment was truly unlike anything you’d experienced before. You caught one glimpse of the stranger’s expression (as mortified as you expected), and then you were seeing your own epitaph on the inside of your eyelids, engraved with the four words “Death by Furious Aunt.”

“Was that—?” The man sputtered, and his voice was rich and full and accented and just as breathtaking as the rest of him and holy fucking shit now was not the time.

“My fucking god,” you whispered, completely forgetting to watch your mouth. In a hurry, you swung Byeol off your shoulders and dropped to a knee. You leaned in close to examine her reddening forehead and cradled the plush of her cheek; she blinked at you a few times, fascinated by the sudden sight of your face again.

“You okay, Byeollie? That hurt a lot, didn’t it? I’m so, so sorr—”

Byeol started to laugh.

Not laugh as in those little chuckles she let out randomly, like there was something inherently amusing about the kitchen cupboard, but laugh as in a boisterous, resounding guffaw, like a great-uncle at a family gathering off one too many martinis.

This rendered you speechless for the second time in under a minute. Then, you lifted your other hand to cradle her other cheek, her face now sandwiched between your palms, and squeezed.

“I broke my cousin,” you whispered, your voice was so deathly serious that the man in the doorway had to stifle a laugh of his own.

His knee brushed against your shin as he sat down to your left, folding his legs into a criss-cross. You could discern notes of lavender and orange blossoms in the delicate cologne that clung to him, perforated the air and your mind both.

“Can I?” He asked.

“Please.”

Carefully, you shifted Byeol’s small frame towards him; the manner in which he accepted her was so smooth and practiced that there was no doubt in your mind you were watching a professional at work. He settled her on his right knee, then dipped his head to look her in the eye.

“Hi, princess,” he cooed with a dulcet smile. He curved his pointer finger, dusted it beneath her chin. “Why are you laughing, silly girl?”

Oh.

Oh.

You might just continue your lineage after all.

“Y/N-ie,” she answered, still tittering.

He looked to you with a slight tilt to his head, and you nodded affirmatively. He murmured a quiet ah. “What about Y/N-ie?”

Somehow you sensed that she was about to embarrass you and pinched the bridge of your nose—in preparation.

“P-pretty.” I knew it!

The man let out the laugh he’d been holding back since earlier and tapped on her button nose, lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew you could hear.

“I agree.” His eye glinted playfully, matching his tone. “And so are you.” The bashful, high-pitched giggle she responded with sounded eerily similar to your inner monologue.

The two of you spent a little longer on the floor of the foyer making sure Byeol was okay, and then the girl upped and made a mad dash for the kitchen while yelling something about a horse, and if that didn’t confirm that she was completely fine (albeit incredibly strange) you didn’t know what would. You found her rolling around the carpet in the room adjacent to the kitchen and left her to her own devices while you and her babysitter fixed up a small fruit plate for her afternoon snack. No grapes, of course.

He told you he usually went by Felix, but that his Korean name was probably easier for Byeol to pronounce, with its easier consonants and whatnot. You asked which name he preferred, and he said either or. He was a recent college graduate, a year older than you, who was determined to spend at least the next two years doing nothing but working out his future. He accepted the part-time babysitting position to pick up some light cash in the process.

“And ‘cause I’m good with kids,” he added, splitting apart a tangerine. “So I’ve been told.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said, plating a couple blueberries. “You melted her earlier.”

“She melted me. She’s so cute. And you’re so cute with her—I didn’t realize I was robbing someone of their job.”

You turned your head to regard the tot and let out a helpless laugh. Byeol tired of being a human lint roller a few minutes ago and had since moved on to staring aimlessly out the window.

“She doesn’t take me seriously, and I can’t stay mad at her,” you mused. “I would be a nightmare as her babysitter, trust me. She’s all yours.”

Felix held out two overturned handfuls of tangerine slices, to which you quickly moved the platter across the counter. He didn’t respond to your comments as he placed them on the outermost edge so that they looked like rays of sun emanating from a multicolored core. Adorable.

“Will you be around much, then?”

You made eye contact with him across the counter. On his perfect face was a teasing smirk and a subtle blush. Ah, you’d been mistaken, writing off his silence as concentration—he’d been contemplating how to best flirt with you.

“Y’know. In case I need any help teaching her cuss words,” he appended.

It was then your turn to flush a couple shades darker. “Please don’t tell her mom.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” He walked around the perimeter of the counter until he was directly in front of you; the lavender and orange blossoms returned. “On one condition.”

Not even one hour on the job and he was already trying to blackmail you? You respected it. “Which is?”

As he shifted some of his weight onto the counter, something too shifted in his smile, giving it a quality that was every bit as hopeful as it was gentle.

It was then, while Lee Felix was looking at you like that, all dilated pupils and long lashes, when you predicted that he would one day break your heart. You predicted you’d let him.

“Be around,” he said simply.

It wasn’t a question or a demand. In hindsight, you think it was more akin to a birthday wish, ill-fated the moment it hit the air.

II. has changed

Felix pulled Byeol’s hood up and over her ears, and you realized he was right about the winter coat getting too small for her—she looked like a bowling pin. You muffled your snort into your scarf.

“And what was the last rule again?” He asked, his breath puffing into the frigid afternoon in tiny clouds. Byeol sighed like she knew anything of the world’s woes.

“No barking at other kids,” came the sad reply, but a toothy smile spread across her face anyways when Felix nudged the underside of her chin. She loved when he did that.

“That’s my girl,” he hummed. “I believe in you.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” you said, and the wounded look Felix shot you was like you’d just confessed to hating kittens. “Come on—she doesn’t have a good track record. I’m allowed to have my doubts.”

“I dunno what that means,” Byeol announced with admirable frankness, and then turned around and scurried down the porch stairs, scattering fun-sized footprints across the snowy streets.

As you braced yourself to follow her, Felix stopped you with a slip of his hand into the pocket of your puffer. His fingers first aligned with yours inside the insulated nylon, then chased the spaces in between. He leaned in close, placed a kiss on the apple of your cheek, another on the corner of your mouth. This brought a helpless smile to your face, too. He had a way of melting you and Byeol both.

“It’ll be fine,” he soothed. “A little barking never hurt anybody, baby.”

“Lix, last time somebody called animal control.”

“Ermm—a little barking never hurt most people.”

That winter, Byeol was four, and your relationship with Felix was about to turn two.

Funnily enough, you’d never figured out when your anniversary actually was. Felix wagered it was the day you met, as he knew he loved you the instant he saw you; you insisted it was months later, since it took both of you an entire winter break of open-ended flirting and informal dating to label yourselves for real. Imagine your horror when he showed up outside your college apartment on the last day of your fall semester, arms overflowing with flowers and gift bags brimming with your favorite things, the phrase “happy anniversary” on his lips three months before you perceived it to be. You’ve celebrated both days ever since.

You loved the ocean growing up. You didn’t get to visit it often, but when you did you would run up to the water’s very edge so that your toes dipped into the cold—and just stand there, observing, absorbing, until even the seam of your lips and the ends of your eyelashes were studded with crystals of seasalt. You found endless tranquility in its rhythmic whispers and unspeakable comfort in its oscillating waves, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Your fascination stemmed from the folktale your mother used to read to you before bed, about a sun goddess creating the earth. In the story, every component of nature was one of the sun’s beloved children. She allegedly loved them all, but you suspected the ocean was her favorite; it was obvious, the way she twinkled off its ebbing surface, the way every minuscule spot of light looked to you like a handprint of hers, left behind by eons of endless doting.

Felix reminded you of the ocean. Every day you grew more certain that you wanted to drown in him, to let his resonant voice and kind eyes sweep and keep you inside his depths. It was never salt that he pressed into your skin but warmth, stamped and sealed with caring hands and cautious lips. His deep whispers promised eternal love and temporary ecstasy and everything in between. You knew he would come back to you even if stranded in a different realm. And there was no questioning the goddess’ favoritism, either. The freckles on his face mirrored the sun’s very spots like an homage to his creator.

You didn’t love the ocean growing up, no. You had never loved before Felix.

The park was busy when the three of you arrived. Byeol and Felix recognized a few families as your aunt’s neighbors and hurried over to say hello. Your social butterflies. 

“I’ll be over there,” you called after them.

Felix stopped in his tracks, looked over his shoulder. It had started snowing lightly on your walk there, and snowflakes now sat atop his sable locks. He looked like a painting. “You okay?”

“Yes, yes.” You shooed them off. “Don’t worry about me. Go have fun.” 

With that, you withdrew to the sidelines, an unoccupied swingset adjacent to a baseball diamond covered in frost. 

Your baby cousin was brawny for her age, which you could’ve seen coming with how she was hauling at your hair two years ago, but even she couldn’t yet terrorize the playground without assistance. Who better to make her partner in crime than her favorite Bokkie? You couldn’t help but giggle as the two revolved around each other for the better part of an hour, Byeol’s smile colossal as she frolicked every which way, Felix’s smile worried but hopelessly endeared as he followed behind. He never let her leave his shadow. She never tried to.

It was there on those icy swings that you experienced a moment of strange clarity, like you’d broken the fourth wall of your own story. You could feel the winds of change blowing your hair across your shoulders. You were aware of time’s trickling from the gaps of your fingers like liquid mercury.

Your laughter dissipated to a bittersweet smile; your smile mellowed to dewy eyes. It seemed like just yesterday when Byeol was small enough to sit on your shoulders and Felix stepped into your kitchen for the first time. Now, she was scaling a rope ladder with the celerity of a crazed monkey while Felix hovered a wary hand by her waist. The muted sunlight caught on the silver rings he wore, particularly the thin, bright one on his middle finger. You had one just like it, adorning the same place. 

The last two years were the happiest of your life. Why couldn’t you remember where they went?

Lavender and orange blossoms announced your boyfriend’s arrival—that, and the sigh of fatigue that he expelled as he dropped into the swing next to you.

“I’m not cut out for this anymore.”

Byeol’s neighbor had temporarily relieved Felix of his post by taking her and his son to test out the seesaw, and you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole town could hear her enthusiastic shrieking.

“You know how people walk their dogs?” You mused. “Some dogs walk their people. She’s one of them.”

For a moment, he could only stare in disbelief at the grin creeping across your face; then, he groaned in a way that could only mean you were right on the money. You gave his thigh a sympathetic pat.

“You’re whipped, my love. It’s okay.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, suddenly perking up. “Hey, no barking though.”

“Are we considering that a win nowadays?”

“Do you see animal control anywhere?”

“Good point.”

Felix monitored your expression during the quiet interval that ensued—saw through the melancholy curve of your lips, the pensive slant of your gaze. There was a red tinge to the whites of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You saw him reach for you in your periphery. His fingers brushed a lock of hair behind the shell of your ear, remained there for three slow heartbeats, and then lifted away.

“Angel,” he murmured. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not.” Not even ten seconds after the last time, he reached for you again, now to take your hand and bring it to his lap. “You know it’s not.”

“It’s just that—”

Felix thumbed over the ridges of your knuckles, his touch so gentle that it could’ve unraveled a chrysalis; it certainly unraveled you. You took a stabilizing breath.

“I wish could recognize my own happiness in the moment,” you sighed, “not just in retrospect. That way, even when it comes to an end, I’d still be able to look back and say with confidence that I was happy once. I’d like that, I think.”

His brows knit together as he processed your words, and, the next thing you knew, he left his swing trembling in his sudden absence and his trenchcoat became a black blur in the cold air.

Felix rested his elbows atop your knees as he knelt in front of you, cradled your face in his hands. He was achingly beautiful always, but you truly felt your breath swiped from your lungs at the new proximity of his ethereal features: petal-shaped eyes, wind-bitten cheeks, coral cupid’s bow. A painting.

“That’s easy enough,” Felix hummed. “How do you feel right now?”

You had zero agency in the smile this brought to your face. You wrapped your hands around his wrists, your answer quick, thoughtless. “Happy.”

He pressed his lips to the space between your eyes. “And now?”

“Happier.”

He pressed his lips to the curve of your jaw. “What about now?” 

“Even happier.”

His gaze flickered to his final destination, but you beat him to it, sealing your mouth against his with urgency. The kiss that followed was so intensely loving that your head went fuzzy. How was it that you felt his adoration for you even in his pliant lips, his velvet tongue? You ran your fingers through the part of his hair. You loved when you could feel the locks flutter back into place afterwards.

“GET A ROOM!”

You and Felix pulled away from one another, wearing matching expressions of bewilderment. Byeol was approximately five Newtons away from soaring off into the stratosphere, her legs jostling around as she clung to her seat for dear life. It seemed your neighbor had a very aggressive way of seesaw-maneuvering. It seemed your cousin had a very aggressive vocabulary.

“Where did she learn—?” The two of you began in unison, then shot your heads back towards each other.

“It had to be you.”

“Outrageous—you’re the Australian here!”

“You cuss like one too!”

“Because of you!”

“So we’re just lying now?”

“Well, yes.”

Felix cracked a smile—and then the two of you were dying of laughter, his right eye squinting closed and your forehead thudding onto his shoulder. You hardly managed to get out your next words. “We have to do something about her vernacular, don’t we?”

“Oh, badly,” he replied. “Badly.”

After you expended your giggles, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, blissful, glowing. “Thank you, baby.”

“What for?”

“Being my happiness.”

He angled your face back to his and kissed you once more, whispering I love you like it wasn’t enough that it graced your ears; he needed it embossed upon your flesh in permanent ink.

Your intermingled breaths floated up into the air like flare signals over a capsizing boat. Here marks the time we were happiest.

III. (besides myself)

He’s blonde.

That’s the first thing you notice when you see your ex-boyfriend on your aunt’s porch: the slightly off-white color of his silky tresses, grown out longer than you’ve ever seen, pushed off his forehead and tucked behind his ears.

It’s not the only thing you notice, of course. His face has thinned ever so slightly, the shadows thrown over his features by the streetlights behind him particularly opaque. His outfit is glorious, expensive, with the black blazer and white dress shirt, the top two buttons undone, the pendant of a silver necklace resting between toned collarbones. His hands are almost overflowing with what must be gifts for your family. It’s impossible to discern all of them from this distance, but you know the bouquet of white poinsettias is for your mom, the batch of brownies doused in sprinkles and icing for Byeol.

But the hair is where your gaze returns, because tucked among the platinum strands are black roots: millimeters of the color you grew to adore, peeking out as if trying to catch a glimpse of you, too.

You’re so occupied with this game of “I spy” that you don’t notice the rampant footsteps coming up behind you. Your six-year-old cousin collides with the back of your leg head-on and nearly topples you like a bowling pin.

“Is it him?” She asks breathlessly.

You come this close to berating her as you steady yourself against the wall—what did I say about treating human beings like couch cushions? But you look down to see her chin resting on the side of your thigh, her eager eyes shining so brightly that she puts her own namesake to shame. Your scolding tirade dissolves on your tongue like popping candy.

You simply sigh instead. “Yes, but—”

“BOKKIE!” She shrieks, and Felix’s head snap upwards at the sound of her voice. His tender smile melts some of the frost laminating your heart.

You crack open the door, making eye contact with Felix for the first time in six months.

“Put everything down. Quickly,” you whisper, and he obeys right away, alarmed by the urgency in your voice. A wise choice.

The last present has hardly touched down upon the wooden planks when Byeol wriggles through the doorway and charges towards Felix like an angered toro. He swivels at her bright holler of his name, lowers himself to a squat just barely in time to catch her in his embrace. The delighted laugh that leaves his mouth as he staggers backwards sounds like the sun itself; you feel lost in orbit hearing it again.

“Bokkie,” Byeol murmurs, her voice muffled in the dip of his shoulder, by the tightening of her arms around his neck.

“Hi, princess.” He kisses her temple, presses his nose against her hair. “Whoa, you’ve grown strong, haven’t you?”

“She takes taekwondo classes now,” you hum from above, and the shock in his face asks the very question that your poignant smile confirms. Yes, because of you.

Felix pulls away, cocoons her cheeks with cherishing hands. “Is that true?”

She bobs her head. “I want to be like Bokkie.”

And his eyes go impossibly, terribly soft, like he’s gazing at the horizon itself. The sight twists the knife in your gut and yanks on your tangled heartstrings. It’s all because of you.

“And kick some ass!” Byeol adds, knocking you out of your sentimental spiral. You clap a defeated hand to your forehead. Felix falls over himself. So much for fixing her vernacular.

A few minutes later, Byeol is pirouetting towards the kitchen with a couple of Felix’s smaller presents in her arms, all too happy to be of help. You linger behind as Felix takes off his shoes, your cousin’s departure leaving the two of you alone in the dim foyer.

Felix straightens. The two of you come face to face. The air hangs so heavily with unspoken words that you half expect it to start dripping.

“Hi,” he says.

You nearly laugh at the cruelty of it. The man you were certain you’d grow old with greeting you like you’ve been forced to sit next to each other on the first day of school.

“Hi,” you answer. “You look—”

The two of you say this last part in unison; old habits die hard.

“—nice,” you finish.

“—beautiful,” Felix breathes, his eyes flicking off to the side abashedly.

Your throat constricts, pulse quickens. Says you. If he was a painting before, you think he’s a sculpture now, his perfection as tangible as if hand-chiseled by the greatest artists of old. As clear as the sun’s beloved sea. You can’t tell if it’s his stylist’s doing or simply a product of him growing into himself.

“Thank you,” you reply quietly. “And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t do it for me.”

No part of you wants to see the subtle wince that crosses his face at your statement, so you turn your gaze to his jewelry-laden hands instead. 

For a split second, you swear you see the same promise ring settled in the same place on his middle finger. You realize what you’re really looking at only after blinking the phosphenes from your eyes: the thin tanline that it left behind. The realization fixes and destroys you all at once.

Then, Byeol starts wailing about Felix’s whereabouts like an actress hired to spare you from this very interaction.

“Her Highness beckons.” The smile you manage feels like drying cement. “Shall we?”

On your way to the kitchen, you notice the cologne emanating from his person smells only of citrus—no lavender. Its absence steadies you, deludes you into believing that it’s a stranger you’ve just let inside.

That illusion lasts for exactly three hours and forty-eight minutes.

It’s clear that the breakup has your family walking on eggshells, but it’s even clearer that their adoration for Felix has never wavered. You’ve never resigned yourself to the restroom so many times in one night, only to stand with your back against the door, unmoving, unfeeling, listening to the low thrum of his voice through the mahogany. Chatting comfortably with your aunt, bursting into laughter with Byeol, reminding you of the time you considered him family too. 

With every glance you toss your reflection, you discover new cracks in your composure. Has he noticed them yet?

After you come out of the restroom for the sixth time, you notice a light spilling from Byeol’s bedroom into the hallway. A low Australian accent graces your ears, followed closely by a tinkling giggle, and your body nudges you towards the sounds before your head can intervene.

You give your cousin’s door a feather-light nudge. It opens a few centimeters more and grants you vision of Byeol tucked into bed, Felix knelt at her side. Both of their faces are illuminated by the flaxen light of the nearby lamp.

Felix brushes her choppy bangs out of her eyes, a teasing smile on his lips. “Can I tell you a secret, princess?”

This wrests from her another fluttering laugh; you swear he’s the only person in the whole world who makes her shy. “Sure!”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“Not even Snernard.”

“M’kay.”

“Or Bong.”

“M’kay.”

“Especially not Trash the chicken. I don’t trust him.”

“I know, I know, I won’t!” Byeol huffs, and Felix laughs at her outburst. You also snort into your sleeve, amused (and deeply perplexed) by your cousin’s plushie-naming conventions.

“Thank you,” he hums, and he lowers his voice enough that you don’t catch the next thing he says.

All you perceive is the way that Byeol reacts. She sits up straight in bed, resting her back against her pillow. Her features rearrange themselves slowly, awfully, like the spread of cherry-flavored cough syrup over one’s sore throat, into the furthest thing from her trademark too-big-for-her-face smile.

Your stomach plummets to your fucking ankle.

“Why?” Her voice sounds microscopic.

“Well, do you remember what Bokkie’s dream job is?”

Byeol considers for a moment. “Being a singer?”

“That’s right.” He runs a knuckle over the hill of her cheek, the action achingly familiar, immensely fond. “And I found a place where I can do that, but it’s very, very far away. I won’t be able to come home very often.”

The telltale signs appear as he speaks; the final word sets them into motion. A tear streaks down the side of Byeol’s face. It hardly leaves the corner of her eye before it’s being intercepted by a doting swipe of his thumb.

“No,” she replies.

“You've grown so much.” Another tear falls. He wipes away that one, too. “You’re growing so well.”

“No,” she repeats.

“You’ve stolen the light of every star in the sky already. The whole galaxy will be yours someday, sweetheart. I know it.”

“I don’t want it,” she whispers. “I want my Bokkie.”

His vision starts to blur also. “But you don’t need me anymore.”

“We do.”

You know the precise moment Felix’s heart pauses in his chest because it is when yours does too.

“We?” He repeats, and she nods.

“Your dream job is being a singer.” Now Byeol is the one to reach for Felix, her delicate hand cupping the curve of his cheek. Her fingers are too small to catch his tears, she tries anyways—

“But what is your dream?”

It becomes too much for you.

You turn around. A choked sob escapes from behind the hand you have sealed to your mouth, causing both heads inside Byeol’s room to whirl in your direction. You don’t care that you nearly break both of your ankles beelining up the stairs; you only care to get the fuck out of that hallway.

You topple into your room, close the door behind you, and crumble.

Your quivering hands find purchase around your folded legs; your eyes squeeze shut against your knees. Rivulets of tears cascade over your shuddering lips like ruptured barrels of wine, left in the cellars of your soul to age, to spoil.

You never wanted your grief to see the light of day. Pouring your regret over every sidewalk wouldn’t change the past. Splashing your heartache across every wall like the world’s most fucked-up mural wouldn’t alleviate the pain of losing him. He was the one who left, but you were the one who’d asked him to. Feeling, yearning, mourning. Those always seemed so futile.

But you’re not just crying in this moment, rocking back and forth on your bedroom floor; you’re bleeding, the wounds you never treated igniting all at once as if exposed to vinegar, leaving you writhing and gasping in their wake. How you wish they’d been able to heal sooner. Maybe then seeing Felix tonight wouldn’t have splintered your soul like dropped porcelain.

Your door clicks open. Your breath hitches in your throat with a quiet scratch. The gulp of oxygen you intake tastes of oranges.

Every night before you fall asleep, you still think of the last time you visited the sea. The cool sand chafing against your toes, the coarse winds slapping your hair against your face hard enough to sting. The weather was terrible (you neglected to check the forecast before making the drive), but when you stepped onto the embittered coastline, you took what felt like the first real breath of your young adulthood. The fog melded to your skin as if melting a blindfold away, showing you the world in its entirety.

You return to that beach when Felix pulls you into his chest, and there’s no fog this time. Just the faint smell of lavender and your ocean, guaranteed to return after momentary departure.

Feverishly, Felix presses his lips to your temple, the apple of your cheek, rests his forehead against yours. Brokenly, he utters, “it’s you.”

You can feel his shaking in every part of him: the tickling breath, the fluttering eyelashes, the unsteady hand that reaches into the pocket of his blazer. You graze your fingers over his jaw, an attempt to steady his careening heart, only to lose yours in the fray also when he produces a small red box of unmistakable dimensions.

“God, it’s you. It always has been, always will be. Anything can change except for this.” His voice disintegrates as he speaks. You disintegrate as you listen. “Everything has changed besides myself.”

Felix leans back in to pepper kisses across the expanse of your wet features, then brings himself to one fated knee. He flicks open the lid. You don’t even spare the ring a glance; you don’t doubt its perfection. All you care to look at is the love of your life, deliquesced to adoration and tearwater.

“Thank you for being around, my dream.” His soft smile tends to your scars like ambrosia. “Will you let me do the same?”

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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support!

[wisteria-lodge]

The Harry Potter Pretty People's Club

I’ve always been kind of fascinated by how and why *attractiveness* is used in the HP books. So, I’ve decided to play a little game, and score up characters based on how often their prettiness is brought up. Here’s my scoring system:

(1 point) - We are straight-up told that this character (or some aspect of this character) is attractive. The word beautiful, handsome, attractive, elegant, pretty, lovely, good-looking, good looks, nice-looking, curvy, or gorgeous is used.

(.5 points) - We are specifically told the character has nice hair, or nice teeth. (JKR describes teeth a lot, it’s a thing.) 

(.5 points) - The character is described as moving in an attractive way. The word lounging, lolling, graceful, posing, or haughty (so lounging/posing, but more evil coded) is applied to them

In terms of the ranking, twins and and parent+child duos get to compete together, because how common “they looked exactly like their parent” type descriptions are in these books.

No points for “they used to be beautiful” or “they would be beautiful if...” Also no points if someone is described as attractive specifically by Rita Skeeter. We are clearly not supposed to take her as a reliable source. Also not counting the times Petunia calls Dudley “handsome,” or the time when Slughorn calls Ron handsome while trying to cheer him up after the love potion, for the same reason.

(if you’re curious, Rita does describe Hermione as “stunningly pretty,” Pansy as “pretty and vivacious,” herself as “attractive blonde, forty-three” and Harry as “the most beautiful thing she had ever seen” when he’s giving the interview about Voldemort’s return.) So let's get to the top 26 most attractive (?) characters in Harry Potter.

#26 - WILKIE TWYCROSS (.5) 

“Graceful” apparition instructor. Unfortunately the rest of his description stresses that he’s practically see-through.

#25 - MADAM PUDDIFOOT  (.5) 

Has shiny hair. Unfortunately also “very stout” (and unfortunately we we know how JKR feels about fat people  : / )

#24 - ROMILDA VANE (.5)

Has hair that is “black and shiny and silky.” Of course Ron does say that while zoinked out his mind on love potion, so not sure how reliable his report is. 

#23 - HORACE SLUGHORN (.5)

Young Horace has “thick, shiny, straw-colored hair.” He’s also rocking embroidered waistcoats with golden buttons. Idk, I bet Horace was kind of dishy back in the day. Heck, I bet he still is. He’s well dressed, charismatic, charming. Someone has a crush on him. JKR is just mean and wrong about fat people

#22 - NEARLY HEADLESS NICK (1) 

Has “elegant” hands. So, if you’re into that…

 #21 - ANDROMEDA TONKS (1) 

Andromeda’s sisters are not actually going to make the list, because they fall in the “beauty potential” category. Narcissa “would have been nice-looking if she hadn’t been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose,” and the “long blonde hair streaming down her back gave her the look of a drowned person.” I love Narcissa, but that framing isn’t especially flattering. Bellatrix was once beautiful, but “something — perhaps Azkaban — had taken most of her beauty.” Now if Andromeda looks enough like Bellatrix to give Harry a double-take, and she looks like a Bellatrix with “wider, kinder eyes” who hasn’t been to Azkaban… she more than earns her place on the pretty list. Also is described as “haughty.”

#20 - ANGELINA JOHNSON (1) 

“Rather attractive” according to Lee Jordan. Seems to wear micro box-braids, which Pansy says look like “worms.” Boo Pansy (who is not on this list.) 

#19 - PERCIVAL, KENDRA & ALBUS DUMBLDORE (2) 

Percival is “good-looking,” Albus has shiny hair, and Kendra is “haughty.” I’ll buy that the Dumbledores were a pretty striking family, that makes sense . But they rank a little low because they all only have one attractive descriptor apiece. 

#18 - OLYMPE MAXIME (2) 

She’s an elegant frenchwoman. The only lady on this list described as “handsome.” Also graceful, has shiny hair, and Hagrid is very into her. 

#17 - PARVATI & PADMA PATIL (2)

Both of them look “very pretty” in their Yule Ball dress robes, and are quickly snapped up by Beauxbatons boys when Harry and Ron ignore them.  

#16 -  FIRENZE (2) 

The “handsome centaur.” Also the only character described as “gorgeous” (by Parvati.) At which point Hermione scoffs and says that he’s got four legs. By which we can deduce that Hermione is a bit vanilla for this conversation.

#15 - BILL WEASLEY (2) 

Described as “good-looking” and “handsome” by Mrs. Weasley, and of course FLEUR is very into him very quickly. I considered adding “cool” to my list of words connoting attractiveness, which would have bumped Bill higher… but JKR seems to associate “cool” more with personality. Like Mad-Eye and Hagrid are “cool” without being especially pretty.

#14 - GELLERT GRINDELWALD (2) 

Briefly seen in a memory and a photograph, described as “handsome” both times.

#13 - LILY POTTER (2) 

A “very pretty woman” and a woman with a “kind, pretty face.” Like with Andromeda, JKR throws in “kind” to make sure we know this is good-pretty, one step up from the Patil twins who are girly-pretty (sorry Patil twins.) 

#12 - LUCIUS & DRACO MALFOY (2.5) 

They have super sleek hair. It’s brought up a lot. Pansy likes to pet it. 

#11 - BLAISE’S MOM & BLAISE ZABINI (2.5) 

Blaise’s mom is a “famously beautiful witch,” who “had been married seven times, each of her husbands dying mysteriously and leaving her mounds of gold.” Fanon needs to decide on a name for her, and I think Clytemnestra is the right amount of on-the-nose. Blaise himself is described as haughty, and picky, and tends to “pose” and “loll against pillars.” 

#10 - MADAM ROSMERTA (3) 

Attractive, pretty, and the only character who is “curvy.” (I think she might have the boobs of Harry Potter universe.) Also wears sparkly turquoise heels, which is cute. Ron is into her, and so (I think) is Cornelius Fudge. I mean -  “Rosmerta, m’dear… lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one [drink] yourself, won’t you? Come and join us.” Like, that’s flirty, right? 

#9 - ROWENA & HELENA RAVENCLAW (4) 

Surprising that they crack the top ten, but every time we see an image of them they are described as beautiful. Usually with a qualifier like “austere” or “intimidating.” Beautiful is a word with a little bit of an edge to it in this universe. Beautiful people are just… a little suspect. 

#8 - GILDEROY LOCKHART (5.5) 

Very handsome, good hair, good teeth. The teeth are honestly brought up enough to feel a little off-putting and predatory, which I think is exactly the point. Lockhart is a very 90s-Disney-movie queer-coded villain. But, he is extremely good looking (or at least very well put-together.) Mrs. Weasley and Hermione both have crushes on him, and he continues to get fan mail into his St. Mungo’s days. 

#7 - GINNY WEASLEY (5.5) 

Ginny’s an odd one. She’s described as “graceful,” popular, and “a lot of boys like her,” (according to Pansy.) Honestly, that’s mostly how we experience her beauty. Krum thinks she’s attractive, Blaise thinks she’s attractive, Amycus addresses her as “Pretty” in a creepy way, and so does some random Diagon alley amulet salesman. Both Harry and the narrative voice stay pretty quiet when it comes to thirsting over Ginny. We get the honestly very conflicted description “Ginny gave Harry a radiant smile: He had forgotten, or had never fully appreciated, how beautiful she was, but he had never been less pleased to see her” and then “Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual [at Fleur’s wedding].” Which isn’t even completely about Ginny! Maybe you could count the romantic descriptions of her hair being flamelike or on one occasion “dancing,” but that’s really it. I am doing my very best, and scraping the bottom here. 

#6 - HERMIONE GRANGER (7.5) 

Hermione seems to fall firmly into the “cleans up nice” category. She is the “pretty girl in blue robes” at the Yule Ball, looking good enough that Pansy gapes and Malfoy “didn’t seem to be able to find an insult to throw at her.” She’s also looking good at Fleur’s wedding, when Viktor and Ron are definitely interested. Her hair can look elegant and shiny if she puts in effort - otherwise it’s bushy, and Pansy compares her to a chipmunk. We also know she has large front teeth, before she gets them fixed. She occasionally gets a “graceful” or “haughty" description, and Greyback does creep on her (again with the creeping!) calling Hermione Harry’s “pretty little friend.” I also gave her half a point for the description of Horcrux!Hermione, who is “more beautiful and yet more terrible than the real Hermione.” That’s another good example of how JKR uses the word “beautiful,” and I guess “more beautiful” definitely implies some existing beauty.

#5 - CHO CHANG (8)  

Cho is very pretty. She’s often described that way, and she has long shiny black hair. She naturally pairs up with Cedric, who also scored an 8. I wish I had more to say about her, I really do. 

#4 - CEDRIC DIGGORY (8)

Our first “pretty boy" - he’s described that way by both Harry and Seamus. Seamus actually seems to kind of have a thing about Cedric. He doesn’t believe Cedric put his name in the Goblet of Fire because “I wouldn’t have thought he’d have wanted to risk his good looks.” And true, Cedric is “exceptionally handsome, with his straight nose, dark hair, and gray eyes” and probably our first extraordinarily pretty person. Angelina and Katie think he’s hot, Myrtle creeps on him - although, honestly - Myrtle creeps on everyone, and the text doesn’t take it very seriously. Interestingly in the film we get a moment of Voldemort turning over Cedric’s head with his bare foot, saying “Oh, such a handsome boy” - to which Harry replies “Don’t touch him!”  That’s a subtle difference - in the books it’s only threatening when girls get creeped on, the movies are a little more equal opportunity. 

#3 - SIRIUS & REGULUS BLACK (11) 

Sirius is hot. He’s “carelessly handsome,” his “dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James’ nor Harry’s could ever have achieved.” He rolled out of bed looking this good. Sirius is graceful and lounging and bored as hell, but you know “handsomely so.” Even when he falls through the Veil, it’s a “graceful,” beautiful death. Regulus gets a shout-out too, because he “had the same dark hair and slightly haughty look of his brother, though he was smaller, slighter, and rather less handsome than Sirius had been.” But, as is mentioned nearly every time he appears on the page, Sirius is extremely handsome. Less handsome than Sirius is still handsome. 

I think it’s actually important to Sirius’ character that he is THAT beautiful. Sirius is a kid from a very bad environment who’s one bad day away from just snapping… but you’d never know it. He’s so attractive, he’s so effortlessly talented, he hides everything so well. Of course none of the adults in his life would be worried about him. 

#2 - FLEUR, GABRIELLE & APPOLINE DELACOUR (12.5) 

Fleur almost seems like a cheat, because she is supernaturally beautiful. She is “a woman of such breathtaking beauty that the room seemed to have become strangely airless. She was tall and willowy with long blonde hair and appeared to emanate a faint, silvery glow.” Even Aunt Muriel thinks she’s beautiful. (We also do get told that Fleur has nice teeth.)

But again, she’s beautiful. She’s that slightly threatening, too-feminine beauty. Until she gets married… and has a kid… which redeems her. “While [Fleur’s] radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today [at her wedding] it beautified everybody it fell upon.” 

#1 - TOM RIDDLE SR. & TOM RIDDLE JR. (14) 

Our clear winner, and also our second “pretty boy.” (Marvolo calls Tom Sr. “pretty,” and Tom Jr. is “his handsome father in miniature.” so yes, Voldemort does count as a pretty boy.) Poor Tom Sr. - the text frames the aftermath of his sexual assault as him “abandoning” his wife, but unfortunately that falls into the wider trend of only girls being victims of creeps in the HP books. It’s like the weird detail about the stairs to the dormitories - the girls can go to the boys dormitory, but not vice-versa. 

But yeah. Tom Riddle’s attractiveness is brought up almost every time he is. We even get details - we specifically know he lost weight and grew his hair out after he left school, and it looked super good on him. Hepzibah Smith is very into him, Bellatrix is very into him. (Although I do wonder just how snakey he looked when they met.) Adult Voldemort doesn’t treat the loss of his looks as any kind of sacrifice, he seems well rid of them. They’re just another annoying aspect he wants to shed on his quest for transhumanism. He gets rid of his father’s name, it only makes sense he would want to get rid of his looks as well. I do like the detail that  original eyes live inside the Locket, that is cool and creepy. 

(but, logically, I can only assume that means his original nose lives inside the Cup.) 

[leth-writes]

Companion, part 2

yandere house of the dragon x reader

Summary: your first day in court.

Warnings: typical for my blog

As you walked toward the hall where you would attend court, you tried to surrepticiously ask Cassandra as many questions as possible. It was hard, trying to get her to voice her opinions; she was so nervous to so much as speak the Queen’s name, let alone truly express any opinions that reflected negatively on the nobles. However, you did manage to learn the basics; there was a current, ongoing war between two factions for the iron throne. It seemed that at the moment, the Greens held control, represented by Queen Alicent and her heir, Aegon, as well as her son Aemond and daughter Helaena. The blacks in contrast included Rhaenyra, the King’s old heir, Daemon, the king’s brother, and their children, Jace and Luke. Even without so much as seeing the noble family, you could feel the tension building in the castle. It seemed to ooze from the walls, permeating the air and creating a palpable sense of fear and anxiety. Every servant you passed seemed more anxious than the last, some even crying; you could imagine the constant fighting would effect them harder, since they were especially vulnerable.

As you walked, you started to piece together a backstory for yourself. You were the child of a lord, quite a low-down one, who already had an heir in the form of an older brother known for aggression and a lack of interest in the good of the people he claimed to represent. It seemed that you’d complained many times to Cassandra in the past; so you were inhabiting someone else’s body, it seemed, though the person you used to be did not sound to be the nicest. At least she treated Cassandra with respect, you thought.

Your mother seemed to ignore your entire existence, and none of your family had so much as written a letter to you in the many years you’d been by Helaena’s side. You could only hope they wouldn’t suddenly decide to come visit; they’d certainly immediately catch on to your new personality, and you couldn’t risk being suspicious.

Finally, you reached the oak doors that separated you from Helaena’s circle. Cassandra opened the doors and entered in, you following slowly after her, and she announced your presence. The room was imperious, dark and lacking warmth. Both the floors and walls were stone, intricate carvings of dragons lining the walls, with very few windows letting in the midmorning grey light. Candles lined the tables and walls, bathing the room in the flickering warm glow of their fire, though even that seemed to be smothered by the oppressive atmosphere in the room. 4 women sat in chairs in a loose circle, each seemingly working on a sewing project or needlepoint. This, it seemed, was Helaena’s court.

Cassandra nudged you, then went to join the other servants lining the walls. it seemed you had at least one ally. Finally, you reached the small empty stool, joining the group.

“How nice of you to join us, finally,” one woman said. She was tall, willowy even, with dark black hair pooling around her shoulders, pale skin standing in stark contrast to the green she wore. Her dress was opulent, dripping in gold accents, and her arms were coated in liberal amounts of jewelry. She was working on a needlepoint project, clearly the most advanced of the group. She had deep, cruel brown eyes and a nasty smirk, her little button nose accented by a slight smattering of freckles. 2 of the other women tittered. The third, a slight woman with long white hair, barely glanced up, seeming irritated at the interruption. She had small eyes, catlike and graceful, and a roman nose, her small mouth turned down into a small frown. She was beautiful, though unique, a classic beauty. Her dress was a dull olive, covered with a second layer of sheer black swirling dragon designs.

“Dyana,” she chided. The woman in the green dress, Dyana, looked down, seemingly chastised. “Yes, lady Helaena,” she replied. So the woman in the dragon dress was the noble you were to be attending. You nodded gratefully at her, and she nodded back. You picked up a plain needlepoint canvas, ready to begin. Luckily, you’d always enjoyed sewing, so you didn’t struggle too much.

As you worked in silence, you tuned in to Dyana’s conversation with the other two women. The first was short and chubby, with a circle face and beautiful doe eyes. Her skin was a deep brown, complementing her hair, which was pulled back, well. She wore a deep red dress, accentuating her figure perfectly. She seemed to be the nicer out of the two remaining women. From the conversation, you gathered her name was Clarysse. The second was the tallest, though not as thin as Dyana. She had beady green eyes, seeming to bore into the side of your head with anger, despite you not so much as commenting on their discussion of the latest gossip among the lords. her other features were average, and she wore a deep blue dress, simpler than the other women but still fancier than yours, with light silver accents and swirling wave patterns. Her name was Catlina.

“I have heard that Lord Cannion’s daughter is to be married this fall,” Dyana began, smirking. The other girls, excepting Helaena, gasped.

“So soon after her last engagement was broken?” Catlina gasped, chuckling quietly. You weren’t sure how this was such big news, but then again you still didn’t really understand the court gossip being spread. Helaena seemed largely uninterested as well.

“Ah, but the engagement only broke because her fiance was unfaithful, no?” Clarysse responded, looking down sheepishly. She seemed the quieter out of the three, largely unwilling to engage in the cruel gosip both Dyana and Catlina were engaging in.

“Yes, but it’s no wonder… She was to be a terrible bride and an even worse mother,” Catlina chortled, hiding her mouth behind her thin hand.

“She has such a short temper, it’s no wonder…” Dyana added on, smiling.

“Did you hear that Lady and Lord Voss have given birth to a child?” Clarysse changed the subject, looking uncomfortable. You felt bad for her, understanding her discomfort with the chatter.

“Ah yes, the lady Voss has named her daughter Breyna… One wonders if perhaps Lord Brey played a role in the matter?”

Wow, they were unable to so much as be happy for the woman, despite her just having a daughter! You could see that Clarysse seemed to share your feelings.

“Clarysse, how have you been?” You asked.

Dyana’s head shot up and her face morphed into a harsh scowl. “Are you not forgetting something, girl?” You felt the room chill.

“Lady Dyana, please, it is no bother!” Clarysse begged, holding her hands up placantingly.

“Lady Clarysse, you are too kind, but they must address you with the proper title… They have been attending court for years,” Catlina replied, a sharp smirk on her face. Helaena was watching the entirety of the interaction, seeming more interested in the conversation. Her eyes flicked to yours, and you could sense the kindness in them.

“I apologize, Lady Clarysse, I am overtired and did not mean to insult you,” you said, bowing your head slightly. You didn’t really understand what you had done wrong, but you were smart enough to know that it would be a bad idea to get on their bad side.

Clarysse acknowledged your apology, though Dyana looked to Helaena. “Lady Helaena, do you accept the apology?” she asked, tone clear she was expecting you to be kicked out.

“Yes, it was an honest mistake. The rats have yet to bite,” she replied, gazing off into the distance. You couldn’t help but be confused by the comment, but judging by the expressions on the other girls’ faces, you weren’t alone.

Shaking off the confusion, Clarysse answered your question, updating you on her family; it seemed her brother had just completed training to enter the next jousting tournament, and she was excited to see him compete.

As the conversation continued, you caught Helaena glancing at you more often. She had a pensive look on her face, seeming quite contemplative.

Finally, it seemed as though visiting hour was coming to a wrap, the other girls slowly packing up their projects and filtering out. As you finished your piece and put it down, the last to leave, Helaena called out to you. Confused, you turned to face her.

“My lady?” You asked.

“I apologize for Dyana and Catlina’s actions today, they were quite harsh. It is hard, to be a dreamer among those whose eyes are closed…” She continued, ignoring your question.

You couldn’t quite get a read on Helaena. Her words were usually quite confusing, almost as if she was talking to someone else rather than you. You weren’t sure how to interpret the things she said.

“I’m sorry, my lady, but I don’t quite understand…” You responded.

“It’s alright, most do not. I am glad to see you here, though I sense you are different than the last time I saw you. I do not expect you to understand yet, though I hope we can grow close and begin to connect. Would you like to take a walk with me?”

Well, if the future Queen was asking, you couldn’t say no. You turned to Cassandra, who was already out the door, ready to inform Lady Worner.

The two of you went to walk through the gardens.

The gardens were beautiful, teeming with life, though lacking in color; it seemed not even the garden could escape the suffocating tension.

“You are not yet betrothed, correct?” Helaena asked gently, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

“No, my lady, I’m not. Though, I believe my father is working to arrange one.”

She hummed, looking concentrated. You wondered what was going through her head.

“Well, I believe your luck shall soon turn. I see the fire blazing.” She continued, almost as though she was talking to herself rather than you.

“My lady?” you questioned, hoping she would elaborate. She did not.

The two of you continued on in silence.

“Helaena?” Aegon asked, shocked to see his wife up and about so late at night. She was sitting by the lone window in her room, gazing out at the moon. “The little bird’s chirps are so quiet under the roar of the fire,” she answered.

“What do you mean?”

“I believe I have found Aemond a wife,” she responded.

“Who?” He asked, moving closer toward his wife. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, a rare gesture of kindness.

“The little bird in my court, there is something different about her,” Helaena said, turning to look up at where Aegon stood behind her.

“Ah. Of course. Well, we shall introduce her to mother, and see what her verdict is. Then, it will be up to Aemond.”

“We shall need to persuade mother. I see this being a bond to strengthen our family greatly.” With that, the conversation was done.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 01 Chapter 01 | favored⌟

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Eileithyia rushed through the marble halls of Olympus, her breath coming in short, labored pants. A silver torch flickered in her grasp, the flames matching the intensity of her frantic heartbeats.

She was a striking figure—her dark hair tied beneath a kerchief, the embroidered peplos of pinkish-red flowed behind her like a stream. The wreath adorning her head shifted as she ran, her lips muttering prayers to herself—each word an urgent, unyielding reminder.

No, no, no... I'm going to be late, she thought, a fearful frown etched on her face.

Eileithyia had a purpose today—a life hung in the balance, and she was supposed to be there. As the goddess of childbirth, her presence was crucial.

The birth couldn't conclude without her.

She had seen centuries of births, had delivered souls into the harsh yet beautiful realm of humanity, and she had never been late.

Not once. Yet, this evening had not gone as planned.

Ate—the goddess of mischief, ruin, and destruction—had decided otherwise.

She had taken it upon herself to set a thousand small obstacles in Eileithyia's path—misplaced tools, disruptions among the mortals, inexplicable detours. A labyrinth of mischief that made her late—far later than she'd ever imagined possible.

Annoyances. Delays. Each a thread that tangled itself around Eileithyia's feet, keeping her from where she needed to be. The weight of her tardiness bore down on her chest, a gnawing fear taking root within her.

By the time she arrived on Earth, it was far too late.

She arrived to a quaint carriage, situated alone under a starlit sky. Its windows glowed softly in the night, and inside, she could hear the low murmurs of those gathered.

The humble room she entered was dark, the shadows deep, illuminated only by the glow of her torch. And at the center of it all sat a woman, her skin a warm sepia, her dark hair pulled away from her tear-streaked face.

"Nooo!" The woman sobbed, her face buried into a bundle of cloth that she cradled to her chest.

Eileithyia's heart sank as she ventured silently along the walls of the room, She observed the scene before her, her chest aching.

Eileithyia moved along the walls of the room, unseen and unheard, her presence cloaked from mortal eyes. Her heart broke for what she saw: the woman was crying, her face twisted in a sorrow that needed no words to explain.

Beside her sat a young man, his blond locks disheveled, his hands trembling as he gently held his wife.

"Aleka, my love...," he whispered, his voice a soft rasp that shattered the silence. He held her, and she clung to him as if she could drown her sorrow in his embrace.

"I-I can't... it hurts, Kairo," she whimpered, tears streaming freely, her body still trembling with pain, her lower body coated in blood.

The room was shrouded in somber silence, broken only by Aleka's soft cries and the muffled movements of the midwives as they cleaned up the remnants of the birth that had gone so terribly wrong.

The atmosphere weighed heavily with sorrow, grief, and the undeniable finality of death.

Eileithyia walked closer to the grieving parents, her heart aching with each step.

She peered down, her heart fracturing further at the sight of the stillborn child. The infant lay so small and delicate in her mother's arms, her tiny features illuminated by the flickering torchlight.

She was perfect—round cheeks, a delicate button nose, tiny lips formed in an innocent pout, like a rosebud just beginning to bloom.

A beautiful soul, taken far too soon, Eileithyia thought, her fingers reaching to trace the baby's soft cheek, committing every detail to memory.

With a soft hum, Eileithyia leaned over, her torch casting a glow that seemed to wrap around the infant like a final embrace; her fingers brushed Aleka's arm in a silent farewell before she lifted the child from her mother's grasp, cradling her in her arms.

Stepping back from the grieving parents, Eileithyia kept her gaze lowered, her steps quiet and deliberate. She knew her path—she would descend into the Underworld, where the souls of the dead found rest.

It wasn't fair, but it was life.

As she walked away, the parents' anguished cries softened, fading into the distance. The baby's body felt heavier in her arms as she began the descent, the air thickening around her with the scent of earth and ancient mist.

Before she could cross the threshold into the underworld, a servant burst into the room.

"Wait!"

Eileithyia paused, glancing over her shoulder to see a servant running towards the grieving parents; he was out of breath, his eyes wild with urgency, his voice stammering as he spoke.

In his hands, he held a small, glowing flower—its petals shimmering with an ethereal light, as though capturing the very essence of dawn within its delicate form.

"A-a prophecy," he gasped, as the midwives turned to face him, "from Delphi. This is a sacred flower, blessed by Apollo himself. It is said to have grown in Apollo's sacred groves, glowing with a golden light, and its essence has the power to bring a soul back from the edge of death. But it must be used swiftly—before the child is taken beyond the threshold of the Underworld!"

The servant's head turned, almost supernaturally, his gaze distant but unwavering. It was as though his eyes pierced the veil between mortal and divine, locking onto Eileithyia.

For a heartbeat, Eileithyia paused, her steps faltering as she felt the weight of his stare. It was almost as if he could see her—an ethereal figure, a goddess holding a child who had yet to fully cross into death.

She glanced down at the small bundle, her heart torn between sorrow and an instinctive sense of duty, before looking back up, determination setting into her expression; she would wait.

The father, Kairo, looked at the servant with suspicion, his face hardening. His voice was edged with both desperation and anger as he asked, "What is the cost? A life saved by the gods always comes with a price, doesn't it?"

The servant hesitated, his gaze flickering, clearly struggling with the burden of the answer. The tension in the room was palpable as the father repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Tell me, what's the price? Or are you just here to give us false hope?"

Swallowing nervously, the servant finally spoke, his voice trembling. "The oracle says that the child will carry the weight of Apollo's favor—a debt that may come due at any time, with no guarantees of what the gods might ask."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the air almost too thick to breathe.

Aleka's gaze met Kairo's, her eyes filled with tears, wide with both fear and desperate hope. She looked at her husband, searching his face for guidance.

Kairo stared back at her, the love for his wife evident in the way his hardened features softened ever so slightly.

Kairo finally lowered his gaze, looking down at their stillborn daughter. She looked so peaceful, her tiny form held in her mother's embrace.

His throat tightened, the pain of the decision weighing on him, but he knew there was no choice—only a chance to give their daughter the life she deserved.

He nodded, his eyes filled with determination and love as he whispered, "Do it."

Aleka let out a shaky breath, her trembling voice joining his. "Yes... do it. Whatever the cost, we will bear it."

The midwives moved with urgency, retrieving all the materials needed for an impromptu salve. The flower's petals glowed with a gentle golden light, and its aroma filled the room with warmth and magic.

The servant cradled it reverently, before crushing it in his hands, the glowing powder falling into a small dish.

With practiced hands, the midwives mixed it into a poultice, and applied it gently to the baby's lips, her chest, and her tiny forehead.

For a long moment, nothing happened. The room was silent, the air thick with anticipation, Aleka and Kairo holding their breaths.

Eileithyia paused, her hands trembling, her eyes never leaving the babe in her arms.

And then—a miracle.

The baby in Eileithyia's arms squirmed, her eyes opening wide. The goddess stared down, her heart swelling with relief and wonder.

A small, smoky puff enveloped the baby, and before Eileithyia could react, the infant vanished from her arms.

Over the veil separating mortal and divine, a sharp, piercing cry filled the once-silent room. Aleka gasped, her head snapping up as the bundle in her arms moved, the baby's eyes open, her cries loud and full of life.

Through her sobs, Aleka cried out her daughter's name, "____" her voice trembling with joy as she held her daughter close. Kairo, too, let out a shaky breath, his eyes wide with disbelief, his hands moving to wrap around both his wife and child.

The baby was alive, saved by the flower—a favor of Apollo himself, bestowed only upon those whose fate had caught his eye.

Eileithyia watched quietly from the shadows, her heart heavy and hopeful at once.

She knew what this meant. This child was touched by the gods.

And the gods... the gods did not simply forget those who had been touched by their favor.

As the infant settled into her mother's embrace, Eileithyia whispered to herself, her voice a soft promise that disappeared into the night.

"May the gods be kind to you, child. For their favor is not always a blessing."

A/N: now, for my long-awaited fic! hope you guys enjoy what i have planned ❤️❤️😩, also if not known, this will be post-EPIC, so after odysseus returns...

[vampiretendencies]

request; omg can we get one where it’s like that one trend on tiktok where the girls wearing lipstick n it goes to her bf w kisses on his face😭😭😭 PLEASE I KEEP SEEING IT EVERYWHERE

warnings; fluff, maybe suggestive

pairing; jj x fem!reader

authors note; i’ve seen the tiktoks too my fyp is obx and couples rn :,) love this, thank u for sending this in. after the day i’ve had i enjoyed writing something small and pure. and i accidentally posted your ask when trying to save to drafts i ended up posting it so i hope u still see this <3

lipstick tiktok (example)

“The red lipstick is new, baby.”

JJ’s voice was raspy, having sat in that same criss crossed position for around an hour, on the carpeted floor beside you, whilst you brushed makeup products gently to your skin. Detailed review of the products you typically use, and that deep rouge lipstick was not one of them.

You were sat at your vanity, preparing for a party at the boneyard. It was the last get together for the summer, so you were tedious in being sure that this makeup look was one to remember.

He resembled that of a small child, the way he’s been beaming up in astonishment. Admiring every move you make to enhance the impeccable beauty you already had to start with. And reminiscing at the fact that you were his, truthfully his in every way.

“Mhm,” you breathe, deciphering wether or not you should take the risk of wearing the color or not. Typically sticking to nudes and neutrals, this was something out of your comfort zone.

“You gonna’ wear it?”

“Should I?”

He gives you a ‘you would look perfect wearing a fucking trash bag, did you really just ask me that’ look. His hand grasps your thigh, thumb reassuring you against your flesh, with small circular motions. Replacing his thumb with his chin, you feel the bone dig into the thick skin— this required a better view than the one he had.

“Course’ pretty girl,” he batted his eyelashes with promise. “Now put that shit on, m’waiting.”

At that, you hesitantly take the top off of the black capsule. Twisting it up for more of the substance, revealing an untouched dark bloody shade of deep red— the most powerful shade. Divine femme fatale, if you will.

JJ could’ve sworn he shattered into a thousand bits, bursting at the seams. The way your mouth parted open delicately to apply it, so intimate and sensual.

Being that it was pigmented you merely needed a few strokes. To JJ’s dismay though, he wanted to rewind that moment, bringing it in closely to store in his brain for the long run.

Open at an angle so sacred he could sob from the sheer euphoric look.

“So fuckin’ sexy,” he can’t help the words that spill past his lips. Nearly in a trace, and he swore he felt drool leave his mouth.

“Yeah?”

You snap the cap back on, standing from the stool, sliding it inward, and JJ follows suit. Someone that was melting moments ago is now towering over you.

“Definitely baby.”

Sort of repaying him in a way, you flash a toothy grin at him, lipstick effortlessly lining your plump lips— you lean forward cupping his jaw with your palms. JJ happily obliged, not caring about the stains the redness would leave on his features. He couldn’t have asked for anything more, actually.

Your lips pucker softly, pressing kisses to every inch of skin you could reach on his face. From the small freckles that littered his jawline to the top of his forehead that was fanned by the tufts of his blonde tresses. Everywhere.

His heated cheeks. Kiss.

The button-like tip of his nose. Kiss.

His chin. Kiss.

His longing lips. Kiss.

Your mouth shape reflected on his tanned face, intricate lining of your lips, every crevice. Fragile and slow with each and every kiss.

Catching your breath, both you and JJ peer into the vanity mirror. He pulls you into his side chuckling at the reflection. His pretty face, painted in the marks of your lips. Yours, lipstick smeared with swollen lips.

This was when JJ strongly believed in the saying of ‘ruin her lipstick, not her mascara.’

“Gotta wipe it off now, J.”

You reach for a makeup wipe, not wanting your boyfriend to embarrass himself at the event to come. But he forces you into his chest to peer up at him, causing your eyebrows to knit together.

“Leave it.”

He adored the lingering sensation of your lips to the subtle skin. Wanting every part of him to be a reminder of you.

So that anyone that walks pass him could clear as day see, he desperately belonged to his lover.

“Really J, let me wipe-“

“I said leave it, baby.”

[greeniegirl23]

Alastor As A Father (Daughter Version)

- Boy howdy, this man plays NO GAMES about his little girl. From the moment she was born, he vowed to burn the world of anyone even thought about looking at her the wrong way.

-He treated her like his personal porcelain doll. You swore this baby had more clothes than you'd had both alive and dead. He shoes were always shined, her socks had little ruffles on them, and there were bows EVERYWHERE ON EVERYTHING!!

-Over time, Alastor quickly learned that his daughter was a bit different. When she took her first breaths, she didn't cry. In fact it was rare for her to cry at all. She also had a fondness for black objects, sharp shiny things, and something that concerned him the most was that she hardly ever smiled.

- Even as she got older, he never caught her smiling nor giggling as typical toddlers do. Instead she was a stoic little one. Cute as a button, but as monotoned as a black and white painting. Even her voice didn't change in tone very much unless she was trying to express something urgently.

-Alastor brought this up to you and you tried to assure him that everything would be alright. You knew how much smiling meant to him and he felt somewhat sad that he couldn't share that with his daughter.

- After 4 years of no smiling, Alastor finally talked to her about it and found that they had very different ideals.

- Apprently your daughter had a different phlosophy compared to Alastor and believed that her Dad's ideas could be applied in the same way to a face that was unchanging. Openly she expressed to him that she didn't agree with his philosophy and that she would prove her idea to be just as good, if not better than his.

- On one hand, Alastor was proud of his daughter showing the promise of being a potential Dealmaker. On the other hand, he was concerned and slightly offended that she couldn't see the beauty or the power of smiling 24/7. He truly believed he'd never see her do it.

- Until one day, he took her with him to Rosie's Emporium in Cannibal Colony. He enjoyed some coffee and a chat with his dear friend while his Little One played with the other children. Everything seemed to be going well, until it wasn't.

-Out of the corner of his eye, Alastor saw a young boy push your daughter out of the sand box.

-A high pitched whine shook the air, but before he could do anything about it, your daughter had swiped the lad's arm clean off. The same filthy arm that had decided to push his little darling in such a bold move of audacity.

- Horrified screams filled the air as the boy ran off to his mother who seemed to be in a state of distress. The other children rallied around her and started thanking her for what she'd done. Turns out that boy was a big bully to the other children, but was also the strongest on the playground.

- Happy at the attention she was receiving, she ran too him with her little arms up in pure excitement. It was her first real fight and Alastor was so proud, but what made it with all the more was the beaming white smile she gave him.

"Daddy Daddy, I got the bad boy! Did you see?!"

"Yes my little Bambi! That was quite a clean cut, right at the joint just as I've shown you before!" He beamed right back at her, hugging her close and poking her nose.

- Of course all the other parents were slightly concerned, but who was going to come up to him and complain and ruin his babygirl's precious moment? He fucking dared them...

- Of course, you didn't find out about this juicy little story until her 12th birthday when she let it slip and you held both her and Alastor captive by the ears until they confessed.

- After that day though, Alastor and your child grew closer as he prided himself on showing her more techniques for disarming a potential threat. He also showed her everything she'd ever need to know to both care and protect herself. She could shoot, cook, bake, sew, dress fashionably, summon her magic, clean, and was even sword trained all before 13 years old.

- "Daddy's going to make sure you are a strong independent young lady! That way of some vile man comes along thinking he can take you away from me, you won't be impressed by any of his mediocre skills." said Alastor, growling at that last part as if your marriage to this idiot was irrelevant.

- Even though she was a die hard Daddy's Girl, she also enjoyed spending time with you. Baking, crocheting, and anything artsy she loved doing by your side. You even had dedicated days where you'd sneak out of the hotel to go shopping while Alastor was away.

- All in all, she loved you both and swore to be the best version of herself she could be. P.S She also promised her Father that any of the men that tried to court her or broke her heart would end up on the dinner table.

Hehe Oops :D

[photo1030]

Pls do a fic or smthing where readers old guy friend finds her and they reconnect and they’re both crying and Arthur is like who is this and reader is like he’s my closest friend from home I haven’t seen him in ages and Arthur is all jealous kinda

Hi, Kids!

So sorry for the wait. Life has been busy, but I've been plugging away on this one. Thank you so much for this "ask"! This was actually an idea that I had for my regular "Arthur x reader" fic, so I was happy to oblige. I wrote this to coincide with my reg fic and I decided to go more angsty than smutty for this one, so I hope that is OK for the Anon who asked.

**Special thanks to @readingcoco for beta-reading for me. Your help was priceless.

LEATHER AND LACE - SAY HELLO TO AN OLD FRIEND

Summary: Arthur is none too pleased when you run into an old friend from your previous life. 

*This is not my image. This belongs to Rafa on Pintrest. Beautiful work there.

Masterlist

Tagging: @daisybvck

The banging of an anvil echoes heavily in your ears, the deafening ringing thumping in your brain. You and Arthur have wandered into the busy town of Cripple Creek to see the local farrier. You have spent the last day hunting and while coming down through the valley pass, your horse, Blue, had thrown a shoe. Never one to neglect your horse, you insisted Arthur take you into the closest town to get him some attention immediately. 

Now, Arthur is a firm believer in taking proper care of one’s horse, as a man’s horse means his survival. But the way you fuss over this spoiled animal as if he were your child causes Arthur to just chuckle and shake his head at you. 

Coming out of the farrier’s building, you shield the sun from your eyes as you look around at the townspeople. The area seems pleasant enough. It is a depot location for one of the railroad lines, so there is a lot of traffic. People are coming and going, always in a hurry to go somewhere or nowhere. But always in a hurry to get there all the same. 

You passed several pungent livestock farms on the way here, but now you can inhale deeply, enjoying the fresh air being pulled into your lungs. A slight breeze kicks up, lifting the soft tendrils of hair that frame your face to sway gently in its wake.

Arthur looks over as he lights his cigarette, amused at how your eyes roll closed and your whole body relaxes in a rare moment of peace and quiet. He really should get you out of that camp more often. Maybe he’ll hold off a bit on returning home, and the two of you can spend some more time alone together.

You can feel the bulk of him leaning in closer to you as his gloved hand runs down your spine to land on the small of your back. “Well, what do ya think? Should we get a room for the night or just rut about in the woods like we usually do?” 

Your lips pull into a smile at his suggestion, and when you open your eyes, you are met with Arthur’s twinkling suggestively at you. Your face immediately brightens as you turn your body into him, hands finding their way to his broad chest. Your fingertips play with the upturned collar of his faded black button-down shirt. Giggling with excitement at the idea, you push up onto your tiptoes, your nose flirtatiously inches from his. Arthur’s hands settle comfortably at your hips, his arms enfolding you.

“Y/N? Y/F&LN, is that you?”

 A vaguely familiar voice distracts you from answering Arthur’s question, but you can’t quite place it. Turning your head in confusion, you search for the source, and suddenly, your eyes widen with recognition. 

“Robert?” Your gaze lands on a tall, slender man making his way through the crowd towards you. He is well-dressed in a blue and gold brocade vest and has auburn hair neatly combed back. He’s sporting more facial hair than you remember, giving him a distinguished look. He’s a bit older now, but you’d recognize that wide, toothy smile anywhere. An unexpected shriek of excitement escapes your lips as your hands slip away from Arthur. “Robert!!”

Arthur stands there dumbfounded as he watches excitement overtake your whole body as you run into the waiting arms of this mystery man. Who in the hell is this person? And why did you just abandon Arthur to embrace him like that? You and this strange man hug each other tightly, laughing and smiling as if God himself had gifted you each other.

“I thought you were dead, Y/N!” the man exclaims, holding you at arm’s length so he can take a good look at you. 

“I thought you went to Europe! I thought I’d never see you again!” you laugh incredulously. Shaking your head in wonder, you throw your arms around the man’s neck again.

Arthur stands quietly, eyebrows knitted together, lips pulled into a thin line. He doesn’t like this one bit. The only person he’s ever seen you this excited over is him. Arthur’s fingers tap impatiently along his belt where his hands sit idle, as he waits for you to finish this reunion. Eventually, he clears his throat to try to turn your attention back to him.

Finally remembering yourself, you turn towards Arthur. “Arthur, this is Robert, my best friend.” Arthur’s eye catches how your arm eagerly loops around the man’s elbow. “We knew each other as kids. We grew up together back east!” You continue to gush as you present your old friend to your current lover. “Robert, this is Arthur.” You motion to the mountain of a man standing to your right. 

Robert’s face lights up as he boldly strides closer, extending his hand out to shake Arthur’s. “So nice to meet you, Arthur!” His voice chirps with bravado and swagger, instantly making Arthur’s skin crawl. When Arthur doesn’t reply with the same enthusiasm, Robert turns back to you, eyebrows raised with curiosity. “So, is this your…husband?”

A slight giggle comes from your lips at the suggestion. “No, we’re not married. But he is mine.” You smile proudly at Arthur, your hand reaching over and squeezing his. Arthur smiles down at you as his body drifts slightly closer to yours. His strong arm snakes around your waist until you rest protectively against him. When he sees you beaming at him, it sets him at ease a bit with this intruder and he tries to relax a little. 

“Robert, is it? Well, Robert, looks like you and Y/N go way back, huh?” Arthur asks, trying not to come off as annoyed as he feels right now. 

“Oh boy, do we. We used to get in all kinds of trouble together.” Robert waves his hand in emphasis, then reaches out to tap your arm. “Y/N, remember when we used to sneak out and stay up ‘til 3:00 in the morning?”

You cover your mouth in embarrassment. “God, if my father ever found out what we were up to, he’d have taken a belt to me for sure!” you roll your eyes.

Robert’s dark eyes fall upon you with a sweet and nostalgic look, one held with affection of a time long past. “Used to be you and me, spitting off the edge of the world, right?” He leans over to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from Arthur and into his side.

You smile affectionately back at your friend, nodding in agreement. “That’s right. You and me.” 

‘You and me’ - The phrase sticks in Arthur’s brain, a phrase you should only be using in reference to him… not some other random fella. His lip curls into a slight sneer of contempt, however, you are too caught up in the camaraderie with your friend to notice. 

“We need to catch up! Come on, let’s get a drink and a bite to eat. I want to know everything that’s been going on with you since we last saw each other,” insists Robert, tugging on the sleeve of your white cotton tunic. 

“Oh, yes!” You turn towards Arthur. “Can we, Arthur? We have time, don’t we?”

Right now, Arthur wants nothing more than to get you away from this man, this town and everyone else in the world. But he can’t say no to that wishful look on your face. He doesn’t have the heart to crush your hope. That has always been Arthur’s weakness:  he can never say no to you. 

“Fine, I guess we got some time to spare,” Arthur reluctantly agrees, trying to hide the disdain that threatens to break through his patient facade. You clasp your hands together, giving a little hop of excitement.

The three of you turn to head down the side of the street, with you and Robert chit-chatting incessantly the whole time. As you stroll along, Robert explains how he has become a lawyer and is traveling to California to take care of some estate affairs for a prominent family. He is just stopping for a layover in Cripple Creek to catch a connecting train.

Instead of going to a saloon, you reach a little restaurant along the main strip in town and head inside. Robert orders a bottle of the best liquor the bar has to offer, and you all sit around a table as he proceeds to tell you of all the gossip from back home. 

Robert is so animated and full of life and fun, not caring at all about the judgmental looks of others as he loudly tells you anecdote after anecdote. But he’s always been like this. For as long as you’ve known him Robert doesn’t care what anyone thinks and therefore is free to do as he pleases. This is something that you have always loved about him and why you were such good friends when you were younger. He was a breath of fresh air in a stuffy upper-class world. And to be honest, you always had a bit of a crush on him, too.

“So, David and Clare got married, you know,” he smirks. Of course, Robert is referring to your ex-fiance who you were betrothed to, who, as it turned out, was sleeping with your friend the whole time. 

“I figured as much,” you reply dismissively.

“Huge obnoxious wedding, of course.” Robert waves his hand with a flourish.

You huff out an unimpressed chuckle. “I figured as much,” you repeat again.

“Wasn’t even six months, and the rumors were flying about his infidelity.” Robert laughs at the absurdity of it. You roll your eyes and take a large swig from your glass. “You dodged a bullet there, my friend.” Robert gives you a wink. 

Arthur has to stifle a snicker at the irony of the man’s choice of language.

“Probably should’ve just married you myself,” smiles Robert. The statement makes you blush a bit under Robert’s affectionate gaze. But it is a statement that sets Arthur on edge. 

Arthur patiently pretends to listen as you and Robert continue to laugh and joke about old friends and the social scene you left behind, the pair of you growing more and more chummy, until eventually, you find yourself resting a hand on Robert's forearm as you speak. Arthur clenches his fist tightly under the table, his eyes staring at your fingers and watching as they absentmindedly dance along Robert’s arm. It is not intended to be a flirtatious move, as it is a mannerism that you often do when you are excited about what you are talking about. But it is an action that Arthur resents all the same right now. 

You try your best to involve Arthur in the conversation but to be frank, you are discussing people and places that he has no frame of reference for. The only thing that does pique his interest is the way Robert keeps referring to you. That certainly has Arthur's attention. But he has to be careful. He can see how happy you are and doesn't want his temper to burst your little bubble. However, if he had his way, he would be grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you to the closest hotel to make you forget your own name, let alone another man's.

Arthur hates that you have this “other language” and bond with someone who is not only outside the gang, but outside his class altogether. He’d forgotten where you came from and what you’d given up to be with the Van Der Linde gang and him along with it. And this conversation with this ghost of your past only confirms it. Arthur tries not to glare at Robert as he takes in the man’s fine clothing and clean hands that have probably never seen a day of labor in his life. 

The whole thing is a harsh reminder that Arthur may not only be holding you back in life but actually pushing you down. 

“So,” Robert finally turns his attention away from you, ”What do you do for a living, Art?” Robert asks innocently.

The very sound of Robert’s voice makes Arthur bristle. “The name…is Arthur,” he grits out. “And it’s none of your damn business what I do.” At this point, Arthur wants nothing more than to plant his massive fist in this pompous fool’s face.

You instantly pick up on Arthur’s annoyance. You can see his steel blue eyes set hard as his fist clenches around the glass in his hand. Arthur’s head tilts slightly to the side as he watches Robert, and you know from experience that he is measuring the man up. Robert is only being nice, ever the extravert, but he has no idea what sort of man is sitting across from him. 

“Easy now, Arthur,” you chuckle nervously as you pat his burly forearm. “Robert is only asking out of curiosity.” Arthur shoots you a look that you can’t quite place. “Arthur does a little bit of everything,” you quickly answer Robert to avoid further awkwardness. “He’s done bounty work, loan collecting, things like that.”

“Interesting,” muses Robert. 

“Well, I’d rather be an honest sinner than a lying hypocrite,” asserts Arthur as he levels his gaze across the table at Robert.

“I assume you work with horses quite a bit, too, then?” Robert pushes as his eyes roam up and down over Arthur.

“I do.”

“Figured as much. You seem pretty ‘rough and rugged’ like the cowboys we read about back in the city.” Arthur’s eyebrows knit as his mouth turns into a slight frown. “Oh, I don’t mean anything by it, friend! You look fantastic!” Robert insists. “In fact, I couldn’t be happier for Y/N. Looks like she’s got herself a real man. Those sniveling, uppity simpletons back home were never her type.”

“And I assume you are?” Arthur asks. This causes you to look at him questioningly. 

“Me? Oh, no. We were never like that.” Robert waves the comment off, not reading the underlying meaning of Arthur’s question.

“He’s right. Being married to Robert would be like being married to a puppy,” you joke, trying to lighten the ominous mood that Robert is thankfully oblivious to.

“True. But, you have to admit, we would have made quite the pair, wouldn’t we?” Robert leans over and nudges you in the side with that wide smile of his again. 

Arthur roughly grabs his glass of whiskey and throws it back, the bitter liquor hitting his throat, before he slams the glass down onto the table. 

“What are you gettin’ at, there, Robert? Hmm? You think Y/N would be better off with you than me? Is that it?” The icy stare that Arthur throws at Robert is cold enough to frost the windows of the room. His chiseled jaw sets tightly, his body tense as if about to explode. Your stomach drops as you realize that Robert has indeed crossed a line with Arthur, whether he has intended to or not. And you find yourself at an impasse:  do you stand by your man, or do you defend your oldest and dearest friend?

Finally, seeing that Arthur is not amused by his antics, Robert takes the hint and clears his throat nervously. “Well, it has been so wonderful to catch up with you, Y/N!” He stands up from the table and adjusts his vest, running his hand over his hair to make sure everything is still in its place. You and Arthur stand as well in anticipation of the farewell. You are reluctant to say goodbye to your friend, and Arthur is anxious to leave. 

The three of you silently file out of the little restaurant together and onto the busy sidewalk.

“I truly hope we can do this again sometime soon, Y/N. Maybe if I swing through these parts again, I’ll reach out.” Robert says hopefully.

“I’d like that, Robert. Please do.” You affectionately place your hand on his arm. “I’ve missed you quite a bit since I’ve been out here.” You give each other a tight hug, one that lasts a bit longer than Arthur’s liking. But then again, Arthur doesn’t like anyone touching you for any reason. 

“Arthur, it was a pleasure to meet you.” Robert smiles and sticks his arm out to shake Arthur’s hand again, which he reluctantly does. Arthur’s large hand dwarfs Robert’s as it clamps down extra hard. “Take good care of our girl, yes?” 

“Sure,” Arthur deadpans. “Our girl.”

Robert gives you both an awkward smile and turns to head back down the street towards the train depot. Your eyes follow him as your chest feels heavy at having to say goodbye to a part of your past. 

When you turn back to Arthur to thank him for his patience, you are met with his hard face. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he snaps. 

Sighing in exasperation, you cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t give me that.” You knew this argument was coming. 

“Just that you seem awfully close with that Robert fella.” The contempt in Arthur’s voice is not lost on you.

“Well, yeah, he’s my best friend.” 

Arthur’s jaw clenches just a bit more at your answer. “Uh-huh.”

Your head tilts slightly to the side, eyes narrowing as you study him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Like I said, you two seem awfully close.” His voice drops low and slow, almost spitting out the words like a spoiled piece of meat.

“That’s because we are. He was the only true friend I had, Arthur.” You shuffle your weight from hip to hip, becoming increasingly uncomfortable under Arthur’s scrutiny. You suddenly feel like one of his marks.

“Uh-huh.” Arthur’s simple responses quickly escalates your annoyance as you watch him pull a cigarette out of his pocket, striking the match on the nearby building with enough force that the wooden stick almost snaps between his fingertips. 

“Oh my God, are you jealous?” you ask, disturbed at the turn in the conversation. 

“Nope.” Dipping his head down, his eyes are hidden by his dusty, worn hat as his fingers bring the cigarette back up to his lips. 

“No?”

“Alright, maybe I am,” he suddenly spins on you, face turning crimson. “Maybe I don’t like how excited you get to see another man. Maybe I don’t like you all laughing and smiling at someone else.” 

Your heart begins to pound in your ears, taken aback by his surge of anger. “Arthur-”

“Don’t!” he barks at you. “Just…don’t! I can’t compete with that, and you know it!” He points his finger accusingly at you. 

“Arthur, I'm not asking you to compete with anyone! In fact, there’s a reason why I left all that behind.” You step towards him, arms raised to embrace him, but he blocks your hands with his own.

“Save it!” And he storms off, leaving you standing there on the sidewalk. Butterflies swirl in your stomach, leaving you queasy. A storm of guilt, frustration, and yes even anger, rages inside your chest. You wrap your arms around yourself as you try to make sense of what just happened.

“Damn it, Arthur,” you mutter. 

—---------------------------------------------------

Rather than chase after him, you decide to leave Arthur be and give him time to cool off. There’s no talking to him when he gets like this, as it usually escalates into a fight if you push it. You feel awful for making him feel bad, as you are well aware of how self-conscious he is. But then again, what about your feelings? You have every right to visit with an old friend and a dear one at that. Yes, you know how it looks. You and Robert always did have a special bond that bordered on the flirtatious side. But you love Arthur. And he knows that. You love him with a depth that could swallow the stars. And you are getting tired of having to constantly prove that to him.

After an hour of wandering the local shops to stall for time, you decide to find Arthur, knowing exactly where you’ll find him. Your boot heels click along the worn floorboard of the porch outside of the saloon. You can hear the chatter and piano music coming from inside. You look through the window, eyes searching for your target. Between the small sea of dusty hats and hulking shoulders, you catch sight of that familiar form that you seek. 

Walking into the building, your hands roll over each other, fingers intertwining, as you take a shaky breath when you approach Arthur at the bar. You glide onto the stool beside him, fidgeting slightly to get comfortable. He sits quietly, still brooding with a menacing vibe radiating off of him. You motion to the bartender, who walks over when he catches your eye. “What’ll it be, Miss?”

“A beer, please.” 

“Comin’ right up”. It only takes a minute for him to grab a bottle and set it next to the coin you’ve already placed for him. His thick, ready fingers pick it up off the bar top with a pleasant nod of approval as he sets about his previous task. 

You spin the bottle between your fingertips, looking at Arthur from the corner of your eye. “So, are we going to talk about this?”

He continues to sulk quietly, lifting a shot of whiskey to his lips and downing it in one. His jaw clenches at the sting of the cheap liquor, but he promptly pours another shot into the diminutive glass, the bottle half empty at this point.

“Alright, fine.” You take a swig of your beer.

“Where’s your ‘friend’?” Arthur grunts without even looking at you. 

“Robert is about to get on a train.”

“Mmhmm”.

“Arthur-”

“Alright, look, I’m sorry,” he interupts, slicing his hand through the air as if to end the argument right here. “Please don’t make a big deal outta this.”

“What were you worried about? That I’d run off with Robert?”

“Wouldn’t you?” he blurts out bitterly.

“You can’t be serious?” Your face twists up in shock. He only answers you with a snort of derision. “Arthur, I was excited to see an old friend. That’s all,” you stress emphatically. “You have to remember, I am surrounded by your people, your family, all of the time. This is the first time I’ve seen someone from my previous life.” Your tone unwittingly begins to take on one of annoyance as you try to plead your case. But it is an argument that is falling on deaf and angry ears.

“I’m sorry, I thought the gang was ‘your people’, too,” he bites back. Arthur can be a reasonable man until he is provoked, and then reason doesn’t factor in at all. 

“Well, they are,” you backpedal sheepishly at his harshness. Your gaze falters to land on the bottle in your hands before attempting to meet Arthur’s again. “But you know what I mean. You can’t be angry because I was happy to see someone from my life that, heaven forbid, didn’t involve the Van der Linde gang.” 

Artur just pouts in silence. You are getting really irritated at this point, but trying to remain calm and not cause a scene.

“So you’d just let me run away with Robert rather than talk to me and ask me to stay with you? Is that it?” you huff.

“Couldn't help but notice how excited you were to hear about everything back home. Almost like you miss it. Pretty damn clear after your little visit today that you don’t even belong here. Maybe you should.” And another shot gets poured into the glass.

Damn it, and there it is. The thing that always seems to be present in your relationship:  the idea that you still don’t belong, even after all this time and everything that you’ve done. Arthur still doesn’t see you as “one of them”. And it is a sting that doesn’t sit well with you at all. 

Your eyes begin to well up as you try to fight the lump forming in your throat. ”I can’t believe you just said that to me.” Your lips tremble slightly with emotion, a mix of betrayal and anger swirling and bubbling up inside you like one of Pearson’s stews.

The very insinuation is hurtful to you. You have turned your life upside down for the gang and for him. And yet, it seems it will never be enough. It’s as if you are being punished for having a decent life before you were thrust into this new one. You didn’t fit into society back east, and it seems you still don’t fit here either. 

“Stop with the theatrics. I ain’t in a mood for it.” Arthur slings back another shot of whiskey. 

“You really are an ass sometimes, Arthur,” you stammer in disappointment.

He immediately slams his shot glass down on the bar, shattering it. The action startles you, your eyes shooting wide open. Arthur finally turns to face you now, his eyes burning into you so intensely that it causes you to cringe. You know damn well that you’re not perfect. But, it always made you feel special that Arthur seemed to think so. But the look he’s giving you right now is plain enough for you to know that he no longer believes it. 

And the wounded expression on your face enrages Arthur even more. The sight of you cowering like a lamb to slaughter because of his anger is too much. He’s furious at the everything right now:  you, Robert, this town, and more importantly, himself. He grabs the whiskey bottle on the counter and whips it at the wall, sending shards of glass flying into the thick smokey air to rain down onto the immediate vicinity. 

With your breath shaking, you slowly stand and back away from him. For the first time ever…you are afraid of him.

The tumultuous noise alerts the bartender, who promptly yells at Arthur. “Hey, watch it! You gotta problem, you take it outside! Don’t be causing a ruckus around here!” He shoves his thick, meaty finger towards the doors. 

“Mind your own goddamn business ‘fore I give you a problem!” Arthur shouts back, now standing as well, leveling his gaze at the bartender. 

With Arthur distracted by the barkeep, you turn and push your way through the now-curious crowd and make a dash for the door. 

Your feet clumsily carry you down the steps as you sprint into the street, eyes watering and hands trembling from anger. 

“Hey! Hey! (Y/N)!” It doesn’t take long before you hear Arthur’s gravelly voice hollering down the street for you. 

“Leave me alone, Arthur!” you shout over your shoulder, not even bothering to turn around. Tears of anger are dangerously close to flowing as you walk even faster, your arms pumping back and forth to propel you further down the road. But Arthur is quick to catch up to you with his long strides.

“Where you goin’?” You can hear him quickly stalking up behind you, his spurs jingling heavily in the dirt of the street. 

“Doesn’t matter, right? I don’t belong here, remember?” You throw his words back into his face with such a biting tone. “Maybe I’ll see if there’s a seat next to Robert on the damn train!”

“Like hell you will!” Arthur yanks on your arm, his grip painful like a vice, spinning you around. 

But before you can even think clearly, your hand flies as if of its own accord, and you hear the sharp smack land across his cheek, cracking in the air before you feel the sting against your delicate hand. Arthur’s head snaps to the side from the strike, his eyes twisted shut from the impact.

Gasping, your eyes shoot open in shock as your hands immediately cover your mouth. You stand there, silent and trembling. Your chest heaves with broken breathing and choked sobs as you take a few steps back from him. You hate him so much right now. Not because of what he’s said, although that is bad enough, but because he has pushed you to this point. You never, ever want to hurt him. Arthur is dearer to you than life itself. You had never imagined raising a hand or weapon to the man you so desperately love, and yet, he has pushed you, backed you into a corner, to do so. 

“Oh…I’m sorry,” you utter, the sound barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Arthur.” Your eyes are glossy with unshed tears as your unwavering gaze never leaves his face, waiting with bated breath for his reaction. As you blink rapidly, a tear finally escapes your lower lash to cascade and roll over your hot cheek. 

Arthur freezes before his gaze slowly turns back to you. But what he sees shocks him. The very sight of you in your heightened state almost breaks his heart in two. Shame coats his insides as he realizes his jealousy has gotten the best of him. And the pain and fear in your eyes is worse than any bullet to the gut, rocking him to his very core. 

Arthur’s expression journeys from one of rage to shock to one of absolute remorse. He says nothing, which begins to terrify you even more. Arthur is known for his temper, even taking his frustrations out on you when needed. You pride yourself on the notion that Arthur may be difficult to handle but never for you. You have always been able to read him, to know his mind better than himself, which is why he relies on you so greatly. You set his world to right when it goes off-kilter. But now, you feel a great divide between you. You stare at him with no idea of what will happen next. 

Arthur’s strong arms extend out towards you as a silent apology. But instead of falling into them, you shrink back from him. He halts immediately, turning his palms up in surrender. But slowly, he steps a bit closer to you. Arthur reaches out again, wrapping his hands carefully around your biceps. He can feel you tremble slightly under his fingertips. 

Regret sits heavily upon his brow. You can see the self-reproach embedded into his eyes as he stares into yours, searching for forgiveness that he prays you’ll grant him.

Your eyes leave his face, a silent understanding settling between you as you focus on the buttons of his shirt, watching as his chest rises and falls with his calming breath. 

With a deep sigh, he silently escorts you into the privacy of the immediate alley, gently pushing you back against the siding of the post office. 

“You’re mine.” Arthur does not say this out of anger or possession. Nor has he faltered into a blubbering mess. He simply utters the statement as pure fact, no question.  

“Am I?” you stammer. Your eyes lift to search his, looking for any doubt that may still linger. 

“You sure as shit are.” Arthur’s voice is low but carries the loving undertone you always take refuge in as the slightest hint of a grin pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“Really? Ten minutes ago, you were ready to let me walk out that door. Told me that I shouldn’t be here.”

Arthur pulls his lips inward at the dismay in your quaking voice. “I shouldn’t ‘ve said that. That was me being a goddamn idiot. But, it is true, ya know. You don’t belong in that gang, Y/N. I keep tellin' ya you’re too good for it. You deserve the finer things in life, things like Robert can give ya.” 

Your shoulders fall with a painful sigh as your eyes gently drift shut again. You are so tired of having this same conversation over and over again.

“But,” he continues, “I do want you there. I want you with me. I need you, Y/N. We need you. It’s selfish, I know.” His chin bobs slightly in acknowledgement. “God forgive me, but we do.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Arthur. I want to belong somewhere. And to someone.” You look at Arthur with an almost desperate expression on your face. Your whole life, you’ve been floating like a leaf in the wind, bobbing about with no particular place to land. You thought you had finally found your place, your home, with the Van Der Linde gang, no matter how unlikely it seemed. And when Arthur threw it back in your face, it was like being pushed off a cliff to free-fall backwards with no one to catch you. 

He lifts his rough hand to cup your face, his thumb ghosting over your cheek. “I won’t ever let you go, Y/N. Not ever. Not even if someone else comes along.” Your eyes begin to flutter again as the feeling of his skin on yours reassures you. You wrap your own hands around his wrist, holding his hand in place as you lean your face into his warm palm.

“Arthur, I promise you, you have nothing to worry about. The way you make me feel when I look at you is why I could never look at another.” Your eyes sparkle brightly in earnest, the last of your tears rimmed along your lashes. 

He only hesitates a moment before he pulls you close to him. He secures you safely against him where you belong, your chest pressed up against his as powerful arms coil around you to lock you in. Arthur lowers his face to nudge your nose with his before planting his lips to kiss you slow and deep, taking your breath away.

When his lips separate from yours, Arthur briefly rests his forehead on yours before pulling back to look into your face once more. His eyes are intense and reflect a deeper shade of blue than you’ve ever seen. A wolfish grin begins to emerge under that peppered beard stubble as his finger tucks a rogue strand of hair behind your ear.

“Like I said, Y/N, you…are…mine.”

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 4: Visitors

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied child loss Note: Thank you for all of your support! I'm starting to run low on ideas for the Rileys. If y'all would like more, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments or my DMs! I will say, my BIG Ghost headcanon is that he has a tongue piercing, so do with that what you will *side eye* Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

John cracked the door to the hospital room and poked his head in. “I heard you kids are ready for visitors?”

“You’re in your forties, Price. You’re hardly older.”

“And yet, here I am, honorary granddad.”

Simon was too focused on the small bundle in his arm, gently tracing a tiny button nose before laying his open palm on her belly. He had shed his balaclava hours ago but still sported a skull-printed facemask. He recently left his hair longer than usual on the top but kept it tight on the sides. It was thick and almost shaggy, blonde locks starting to wave and curl at the ends.

The group entered the room, a massive barrage of foil and latex balloons squeezing through the door frame behind them. The sergeants wore beaming smiles as they rushed to Freyja, laid back in bed, and each thrust huge, full bouquets of flowers. “Oh dear Jesus,” she laughed tiredly, taking them both and resting them on the table at her bedside. She would ask the nurses to take care of them later. Surely they would have some vases she could borrow until they went home. 

Most of her labor was spent on her feet, unable to bring herself to get in bed for hours. She took to either hunching over it, Simon’s calloused hands gripping hers and dragging up and down her spine, or practically hanging from his shoulders, her forehead pressed against his chest. In a state of pure exhaustion, Price convinced her to give her feet rest, even if only for a little bit.

Not wanting to overwhelm her as the boys fussed over her, John calmly approached with a soft smile and placed a hand on her head. “You broken?” he asked, petting her hair as the boys tied off the balloons to the rails of the bed.

“I’m good,” she smiled back, leaning into the touch. She motioned for a hand, and Price and Soap helped her adjust to sitting up straighter. Johnny bent down and pressed a loud, wet kiss to her cheek, which she batted away with a scrunched nose. “Si, bring her here. Price first.”

“Aww, not fair! ‘M the best lookin’ uncle! I should go first!”

“Johnny,” Simon warned, giving the Scot a warning look. “Keep it down before I revoke your godfather privileges.” It was an empty threat, but he piped down anyway.

Soap was a human battering ram leaving the base, plowing through any soldier and recruit that got in the way as Gaz, Ghost, and Freyja followed closely behind. John saw a small smile on her flushed face when Gaz and Soap squeezed into the front seat together, chanting We’re having a baby over and over, to which she retorted, I didn’t realize the 141 was a military polycule.

John nestled the infant into the crook of his elbow, her swaddle shifting to leave her arms free. She squirmed, moving from Simon’s arms to John’s, her pink little face scrunching up in irritation. He gently brushed a finger along her sternum, which her tiny hand wrapped around, and she settled again. “She’s beautiful, Y/N.”

Johnny leaned over the Captain’s shoulder, Kyle doing the same on the other side. “God help her if she gets your ugly mug, Lieutenant,” Gaz teased, wiggling one of her feet within the blanket.

Ghost decided to let that one pass. “This is your granddad, lovie,” Simon said, his quiet voice rumbling. “Price, this is Joan.”

John’s eyes flickered between the man in front of him and the woman in the bed behind him. “Joan?”

“Mmm,” Simon nodded, his mask shifting as his cheeks rose underneath. He wasn’t usually so expressive but was exhausted and feeling particularly sappy.

John’s eyes watered, and he blinked back at the newborn. He had spent five long, sleepless days in that same hospital, forever yet not so long ago. John didn’t have a wife or children of his own. His team was the closest thing he had to family. He felt a fatherly responsibility to all four of them. Even then, it shouldn’t have been John Price cradling her face, whispering words of helpless encouragement, countless hours desperately pleading with command to pull Ghost out of his mission, to no avail.

Simon didn’t return until four months later.

He couldn’t remember a time before that when he had felt his heart break cleanly in two. Notifying next of kin was difficult but quick; drop the news and move on to the next. But the pain and, for lack of a better for, agony Freyja suffered during Simon’s access was unlike anything he’d witnessed.

Now the warm, healthy baby in his arms was his namesake.

“I’m honored, Simon. Thank you, both of you.”

“We were thinking ‘Joanie’ for a nickname.”

Soap whipped around, wide eyes meeting Freyja’s. “Like…Johnny? Me?” he whispered, his skin suddenly hot and his ears turning a bright shade of red. At the slightest sign of confirmation from her, he tackled his Lieutenant with his entire body weight, arms thrown around his neck. Simon grunted at the sudden contact and stumbled just a step. He awkwardly patted the man’s back with one hand.

“Johnny.”

Sniff.

“Get off of me.”

“You named yer daughter after me!”

“I named my daughter after my Captain.”

“Sure, Ghost. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

~*~

Simon was pulled from his slumber by the soft rustling and whines from the foot of their bed. Soft morning rays peeked through the gap in the curtains. Before her cries grew to high-pitched shrills and woke Freyja from her much-needed sleep, he rolled out from the covers and shuffled to pick her up. “Mornin’, lovie,” he hummed, unwrapping the tight bundle and freeing her limbs. Simon chuckled at her long stretch, carrying her out of their bedroom and quietly closing the door behind him. She deserved a little extra sleep.

He puttered around the house with Joanie in one arm, softly chatting about their plans for the day. Simon spent a lot of time talking to her, eyes resembling his gazing up at him, smiling or gurgling occasionally when she gummed her hands. He would tell her about any messages or videos her uncles had sent, funny stories from base, tales of his and Freyja’s travels during their time in the service. He had yet to talk about his parents or her Uncle Tommy, and anything related to missions was absolutely off the table.

A tiny, soft palm smacked his chest, grabbing his attention. His lip tugged at the corner, and he playfully tapped her nose. “What’re ya doin’, there? I’ve got nothin’, unfortunately. ‘M not your mum.” Freyja would tell him his accent got thicker the more tired he was if she were awake. He never really noticed a difference.

The bottle warmer on the counter pinged, indicating that it was ready. 

He settled in the deep corner of the couch as she ate, staring up at his like she always did. “Pretty girl,” he muttered while thumbing her cheek, which was starting to get that chunky plushness with every pound she gained. He stared and stared until she shoved at the empty bottle. It was placed on the coffee table, and Simon slid down until he was on his back, with her small body perched on top of him.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve you and your mum.” She lifted her head at the sound of his voice, another skill she had been approving. “Your granddad’s always tellin’ me I’m too hard on myself. ‘You’re a hero, Simon, you save thousands of lives every day’,” he said, mimicking John’s posh accent. “Certainly don’t feel like a hero. It’s our job to protect people. ‘We get dirty and the world stays clean’.” Simon snorted, and the baby cooed at him, stretching to palm at his face.

“How’s that work? I’m supposed to keep the public safe but I couldn’t protect my family. I was gone. Your mum almost died.” He blinked away the hot tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat to chase away the burning ache forming. His fingers rubbed her back to ground himself, taking deep, steady breaths. When Simon turned his eyes from the ceiling back to his daughter, he saw her fighting sleep, eyes fluttering.

He could stay like that forever.

“But then we might not have you. Funny, that.”

Snoozing soundly against his warm skin, his hand firm enough to keep her in place so she couldn’t slip off. Simon got as comfy as he could without jostling the baby too much, wedging a throw pillow under his neck. 

He had never considered leaving his profession before seeing an empty nursery, dismantled and stripped to not look at it for another moment. They had both lost small pieces of themselves then. Simon had to learn to cope with the guilt of not being present for his wife during her darkest times, and Frey struggled to grasp her new reality, one that went against all of her plans at the time. 

But she was stubborn and determined to work, knowing he wouldn’t leave the force without her.

At the time, he was furious at her American pig-headedness and inability to listen to reason.

Now, with new photos littering their shelves, new toys and clothes strewn about, and his phone relentlessly ringing with desperate pleas for FaceTime calls and pictures, he was grateful. 

~*~

Where the fuck is he?

Freyja moved through their house with brows furrowed together as she searched the rooms for her husband. Panic briefly overtook her when she woke and found an empty bassinet until she realized the bed next to her was as well and figured Simon had taken their daughter to another room. 

But which one?

Eventually, she found him sprawled out on the couch, one leg dangling off the chaise and an arm thrown over his eyes. He looked peaceful with their newborn against his bare, scarred chest, slowly rising and falling with each breath. Her heart swooned, and she snapped a quick picture of the scene. Simon lifted his arm at the shutter click, his eyes half-lidded. A sleepy grin tugged at his lips, and he beckoned her over. “Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered as she bent down, securing a lazy kiss with a soft groan.

Their first few weeks as parents were blissful, even with the lack of sleep and drastic change in routine. Joanie was sleeping well, but Freyja and Simon struggled to get used to her sleep schedule. Anxiety and PTSD flared when she dreamt, and she often shot awake at any little noise, immediately going to the bassinet. He had nightmares but had gotten used to them since childhood, whereas her night terrors only started in the last couple of years.

Even at her young age, it was clear that she was already a daddy’s girl. Little Joan recognized his voice from across the house and sought him out, refusing to settle until she was in his arms or strapped to his torso. She preferred sleeping on their chests, listening to their heartbeats. She especially loved skin-on-skin contact.

Simon took to fatherhood immediately, fussing over her every need and want and happily chatting away, although they were one-sided conversations. His dad jokes were almost unbearable. If you had told her a few weeks ago that there was room in her to love Simon even more, she would have told you you were crazy. But watching him with his daughter proved her wrong. Her heart grew impossibly with every passing day.

On top of that, the sight of him with their daughter snuggled up with him, his tattooed sleeve, blonde hair mussed with sleep? God damn.

“You should know I’m dying to jump your bones right now.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled wider. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, the daddy energy’s really doin’ somethin’ for me.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, love. I’ll take ya to bed as soon as you’re able. It’s only been two months.”

Small hands grasped at his skin, alerting him to her stirring. Simon gently shushed her as he sat up, shifting her to his shoulder; she somehow looked even tinier in his hold. Something fluttered in her chest again as he nuzzled Joanie’s shoulder, and she beamed at him. He shifted under her gaze, looking amused.

“Staring’s kind of my thing, Frey. It’s unsettling.”

“I told you, fatherhood looks good on you.”

BANG BANG BANG

“Good mornin’ Mexico!” Soap’s voice cried through the door, followed by Gaz’s chesty cackles.

Only Freyja jumped when the door shook, but they both looked towards it, Simon’s brow raised. “Bloody hell, are they daft? It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday!”

“Which means it’s their only free time, and they want to see us,” she scolded and nudged him to the kitchen. He acted tough, but she knew her husband well enough to know how much the team’s affection meant to him. Neither of them had any family to speak of, whether in England or America. It takes a village to raise a baby, as they say, and what a town they had.

With a wicked smile on her face, as Simon passed her, she wound up and slapped his ass with a sharp crack, earning a hiss.

“The fuck, Frey!”

“Your fault for walking around like that! It’s scandalous!”

He was wearing grey sweatpants.

“You’re pushin’ it, love. Don’t be a cheeky brat.” (Translation, ‘I love it, please do that again’).

He disappeared into the kitchen, and Freyja tied her robe in front as someone banged on the door again. “Jesus Christ, hold your horses!”

The second the lock turned, Gaz busted the door open (it bounced off the coat rack behind it), ready to pounce. “Where’s the babe?” he cried, hands on her shoulders as he physically moved her out of his way.

“Hello to you too, Kyle. Lovely weather we’re having.”

He pecked her cheek with a quick Hello, then immediately flipped her off, storming past her towards the kitchen where soft baby noises came from. From the other room, she heard the sergeant practically squeal, “There’s my girl! Give her here!”

“Sergeant—”

“Kindly get fucked, mate!”

“I’m warning you, Garrick!”

A scuffle and light cursing rang through the house, and Soap’s laugh shook the walls as he hugged her tightly, squishing her. “Pure mental about that baby, he is,” he said, then kissed her forehead. “Oof, ya look like shite, hen.”

“Thank you, Soap. It’s truly a marvel that you’re still single.”

They joined Ghost and Gaz in the kitchen, Johnny carrying two large paper bags. The warm smell of butter, grease, and onions wafted through the air, and Freyja deeply inhaled, savoring it. “We brought breakfast as payment for your troubles.”

She snatched one from him, pulled one of the takeout boxes out, and threw herself at the table.

“Did you put the kettle on?” Kyle asked, smiling down at Joan and tickling her belly. She kicked her legs furiously, grabbing at his fingers with both hands in a tight baby grip. “Holy shit, the bloody grip on you!” 

Simon huffed and muttered some choice words under his breath. “I was workin’ on it when you nearly broke my door in and kidnapped my child.”

“Sweet, I’m dyin’ for a cuppa.”

As if reading each other’s minds, Soap and Freyja groaned, in sync, “Fuckin’ Brits.”

taglist: @esthervalea, @miss-leto, @lethalchiralium, @sweetestcowboy, @blueoorchid, @apocalypticseagull, @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction, @covenlovenn, @330bpm-whiplash, @gnoccheyy, @jaggernauticals, @dwkfan, @untoldshortsofthefandomsdoms, @bobfloydsgf, @maviee, @thomaslefteyebrow, @kyovy, @prodyng, @scout-fang, @avalkyrieofparis, @misshoneypaper, @berryjuicyy, @voteforpedropascal

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[mossyivy]

Leon would definitely match with his little girl daily if it was possible. :3

His little princess is wearing a pretty light blue dress? Now he has to wear a light blue shirt. She’s wearing a pink gingham dress? He’s got the perfect pink button up for that.

They’d wear silly matching shirts aswell like those stupid ‘Her daddy’ and ‘His girl’ shirts, or the ‘Original’ and ‘Carbon copy’ one’s. The day she finally grows up and tells him she doesn’t wanna match anymore because it’s ’embarrassing’ is the day his world shatters.

He’d come crying to you at the realization his baby girl is growing up, especially when she goes from saying ‘daddy’ to ‘dad’. :(

- Anon! 🎀

MATCHING OUTFITS I CAN'T 😭

These shirts... Perfect!

But like imagine Leon's just freaking out cause he feels like he's losing her little girl. He'd be fucking devastated...

You two are laying in bed after putting your baby girl to bed. Leon laying on his side, head in your lap as you calm him down. Whipping his tears away.

"Honey, did really you think she'd want to wear the outfits forever?" Leon turns on his back, he stares up at you with red glassy eyes and a nose to match. You brush his hair back trying desperately to keep your giggles at bay from what seems like such an over reaction.

"She's my baby... Our only baby! When I picked her up from school today, she called me Dad. DAD!" He rubs his forehead with a sniffle, you brush his cheek with your thumb, a small smile pulling at your lips as he leans into your hand.

"It was bound to happen." He glares up at you, crossing his arms like a petulant child. Soon his expression turns to a pout as he huffs.

"Easy for you to say, she still calls you Mommy," he takes in a deep breath, pondering a thought as you roll your eyes, "can we have another baby?"

"Lee..." He sits up looking back at you, hair slightly messy from your fingers playing with it.

"C'mon! It be nice to have another baby. Plus it was so beautiful watching you waddle around in your little dresses while you glowed like the God damn sun... I miss it." Your nose wrinkles as he turns towards you, pulling you into his chest. Looking into your eyes with that puppy dog stare.

"Don't give me that look. I'm not getting pregnant again just to give you your best friend back..."

"What if I got her a puppy?" Your head cranes back, looking at the ceiling with a deep sigh.

"Are you suggesting you'd bribe a 6 year old to love you?" Leon freezes for a minute, looking down at the sheets, getting abnormally quiet even for him.

"...yes."

"Oh my God, you're the most dramatic man I've ever met in my life..."

[fayes-fics]

Insatiable [Benophie Remix]

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett/Baek

Summary: Just Benedict obsessed with his pregnant wife...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, pregnancy sex, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex, breeding kink, dirty possessive talk, fluffy ending.

Word count: 1.4k

Authors Note: This is a Benophie remix of my old fic Insatiable. A late submission for @benophieweek. First smut I have written for this pair; please don't be too harsh! Not betaed. Just utter filth. Enjoy <3

Sophie awakens to a large hand tracing over the swell of her belly. Benedict has been away for a few weeks touring with his artwork, and her body has changed considerably, even in the last few days.

“What are you doing?” She mutters blearily. 

“I am sorry to wake you,” his voice is deep and a little rough as he lays on his side next to her. “I just…. You look so beautiful, my darling.” 

“I am five months pregnant and look like a balloon,” she responds, slightly deadpan.

“No. You look so… oh god… so wonderful,” Benedict breathes, his hand tracing the upper side of her bump to the underside of her breast. “Your curves are amazing,” he whispers, “look at your breasts,” he squeezes one gently through her nightgown. 

She subtly yawns and stretches slightly, pushing her breast into his palm, feeling that stirring deep inside that only he can ever rouse in her.

“Please, please take this off.” Benedict pleads, tugging at her nightgown. “I need to see your naked body. See you, taste you, smell your skin.” 

Sophie can’t say no to him. Ever. Even now, in the middle of the night and still half asleep, hauling herself off the bed, finding it easier to peel off her nightgown standing up. She is uncertain about the changes in her body with her first pregnancy, but the way Benedict is responding makes her glow inside. He groans at the sight of her in the low moonlight of their bedroom.

“Get back up here,” he requests urgently. 

His hand reaches to help her back up onto the bed, encouraging her over his naked body, grabbing her leg to make her straddle his waist, his body so warm between her thighs.

“Look at me, my love” his voice is reverential and gruff. 

His hands run over the swell of her belly, then up to hold her enlarged breasts. She moans gently as he lightly pinches her nipples. 

“I’m sorry, darling, but I am unable to help myself; seeing you like this does things to me,” his stuttering words are rushed, a harsh exhale.

With all the hormones surging through her, it doesn't take much to get so aroused. Just her husband’s light touch has Sophie aching for him, she has missed him so much these last few weeks.

“I know it is probably so wrong, but I just want to fuck you so hard,” Benedict confesses in a throaty whisper, surging up under her. 

“Do it,” Sophie grits out softly, gyrating slowly onto him, dragging her swollen clit against his abdominal muscles as she feels the leaking head of his rigid cock bump her bottom cheek. 

He flips her gently so she is underneath him.

He kisses her fiercely, his tongue snaking into her mouth and drawing little mewls from her throat. Then he drops lower, his nose and hands running over her breasts and belly, breathing deep, tasting her skin. It sets her senses on fire.

“You look wonderful, swollen with my child. Mine,” Benedict growls possessively, his mouth dragging wet kisses over her belly button. His fingertips swirl circles low on her belly, then slip between her legs.

She cries his name loudly as he expertly quests against her nub, so sensitive now. He pushes her legs apart and buries his face there. She exhales a cruse gustily as his tongue quests into her slit, his slight stubble catching on her inner thighs.

“Your taste…” he groans into her soaked flesh, “...so ripe now. God, how can you taste so good? I cannot get enough. I actually want to eat you.” 

He sinks his teeth into her labia and bites gently, nudging his nose into her clit. Sophie moans loudly and runs a hand into his hair, pressing him down and pushing up into his face.

“Yes, my love,” he encourages thickly.

“Please get up here and fuck me,” she murmurs, no longer ashamed to voice her desires to this passionate, sensual man she married, him always championing her to do so. 

“You want my cock?” He teases hotly, between lashing her clit.

“Yesss,” she is hypnotised by him right now, under his spell, “please give it to me.”

Benedict crawls up her body on all fours, his face sinful, dragging his mouth hotly over her bump, biting her nipples, nipping at her neck, until she feels his cock nestling her folds.

“How much, darling? I need to know you want me as much as I want you.” He holds her gaze.

“So much, fuck me now, husband. I want you so badly.” Sophie declares, staring boldly back at him, writhing until his tip is pressed against her entrance. 

He growls and surges into her, pushing all the way to the hilt; her toes and fingers curl at the heavy invasion. He reaches behind her head, grabs a pillow and slides it under her hips. She is so open to him now. 

“That’s it, yes,” he hisses, sliding out and back in with a force that jiggles her whole body.

“I love watching how your body moves when I fuck into you. Especially now,” Benedict’s hands rest lightly on her bump as he pumps into her. She can feel every vein sliding against her walls as they cling to his cock. 

“Look at you. God, You are so beautiful. You are going to have so many of my babies, wife, because I cannot resist you like this.”

He’s pushing deep, bumping her cervix, Sophie crying out in the pleasurable ache that gives, needing it, craving it, him, everything he wants to give.

“I just… fuck…  I always want you like this. I want you pregnant all the time; I am going to fill you every time so you are always with my child.” He curses again, moving faster now, his hands banded around her thighs, pulling her onto his cock, his words interspersed with heavy breaths and grunts.

“Tell me more, husband,” Sophie pleads, every sense heightened. This brand of dirty talk is really working for her today. She loves how much Benedict wants her, worshipping her in this state.

“As soon as you have this baby, Mrs Bridgerton, I’m breeding you again,” he growls. “I’m going to fuck you all day, every day. You will be dripping with my seed.”

“Fuck Benedict,” she stammers. He’s never been quite like this before. Animalistic, his pupils blown wide, his hair sticking at all angles where she has tugged upon it.

“Mine all mine. You were made for me. Made to carry my babies.” He’s moving so quickly that Sophie just clings on, pushing back against his thrusts, chasing her completion, that blinding light dancing behind her eyes. “You want it? You want my seed,” His tone is demanding now. 

“Yes, husband, please give it to me. Give me all your seed. I need it,” she babbles, dangling over the edge of oblivion, words tumbling unbidden in the heat of desire.

His fingers find her bud, and it tips her over the edge. He cries out at the force of her rippling around his shaft.

“Yes, milk me, darling, take what you need,” he grits through his teeth, sweat dripping down his neck as he pushes hard twice, then his whole body shudders around her. She feels him coming deep inside, coating her insides.

“Oh, yesssss,” he slumps over her but is careful to avoid putting pressure on her bump, his body curling so his head rests on her breastbone.

Sophie’s breathing slowly returns to normal as she comes back down from the high cloud of bliss she was floating on. 

“How many babies are we having, Mr Bridgerton?” She teases with a giggle.

“So, so many,” Benedict huffs a laugh. “I’ll build a whole new wing on this house with my bare hands. You have no idea how wonderful you look, darling. I love you so much.” 

He kisses her fervently, sealing his deeds with his words.

“And this little one, too,” he coos, running his fingers over her belly. “I cannot wait to meet her.”

“Oh, You think it’s a girl?” She teases, smoothing out his hair as he shuffles lower to rest his head on her bump.

“I know it is.” He sounds so self-assured. “My two wonderful ladies. The centre of my universe.”

She sighs happily and laces her fingers with his. 

“We both love you very much,” Sophie praises as Benedict falls asleep in her lap with a smile on his face. 

No taglist, as this is not my usual x-reader content.

[yamy-brett]

Happy 91st Birthday, Jeremy. You are sorely missed.

From JEREMY BRETT PLAYING A PART by Maureen Whittaker. Quotes by Jeremy Brett.

"It all started for me on 3rd November 1933. I began life with everything a child could wish for. We had a huge, glorious, country house on the outskirts of Berkswell, near Coventry, with tennis courts, squash courts, horses and dogs and a wonderful, terraced garden created by my artistic mother, Elizabeth. The family was spoiled rotten, for we had three live-in staff, plus four other people who came in to help. We always seemed to be entertaining a houseful of fascinating people; the door was always open.”

The Grange, where Peter William Jeremy, was born, is a beautiful house with sweet smelling flowering wisteria on the front elevation and nestled in a magical vista of gardens, landscaped by Elizabeth, known as “Bunny”, who was the centre of this loving family.

The Huggins family was a significant part of the delightful Berkswell village in Warwickshire. William and Elizabeth had decided to move to the rambling, attractive Berkswell Grange in 1929 to accommodate a growing family. The three boys, John, Michael and Patrick, needed somewhere to play and to ride, so a large, impressive house was chosen in nearby Truggist Lane. The house featured seventeenth century timber framing, and nineteenth century additions, including a tiled roof.

Due to its grandeur and welcoming hostess, the Grange was the centre of village events, of Christmas parties, of afternoon teas and of music and entertainment.

William and Elizabeth were both keen archers, so it is no surprise that Jeremy took this seriously and belonged to the Woodmen of Arden, a notable club for the sport. “The whole family were taxophilites. Actually, my mother was a brilliant archer, won many awards. She had a special lightweight bow, and when I was growing up, I used her hand-me-downs. Looking back, I must have been about four or five when my father gave me my first lesson. The outfit is really glamorous – Lincoln green cut-away tailcoat, buff waistcoat with gold buttons, shite slacks, shite shoes and a New Zealand style hat that turns up at the side…”

Archery Week was hosted by the Huggins family at the beginning of August each year and to accompany the competitions on the extensive grounds at the Grange, they featured special balls for about 30 or 40 people for dinner, followed by dancing in the ballroom. “The dancing finished so late that breakfast was often served to the guests before they left for home the following day.”

“Naturally, I’d been practising like mad for the occasion. Firing at 100 yards I nervously let the arrow go. It wobbled in the air and my astonishment landed smack in the middle of the target. I was made Master Forester on my first day – a title which carries with it sitting at the High Table. Socially, archery can be pretty heaving going. That day the lunch ran to 12 toasts and I remember staggering out afterwards full of venison and summer pudding, cheeks pink from the port and nose still twitching from my first pinch of snuff…”

He told one interviewer that he had “a marvellous youth with every kind of animal under the sun, from ferrets to rabbits to mice to horses, to monkeys even. It was like a paradise, and a gorgeous home.”

Jeremy had a very special relationship with all animals. He welcomed dogs as earnestly as he welcomed his friends and often on his knees to greet them, face to face. His own dog, Mr. Binks, was a Jack Russell terrier that he affectionately called his “hound of heaven”.

Elizabeth’s reputation was always one of kindness to others, especially towards the homeless in the community. Gypsies and vagrants were frequent visitors expecting to be fed, have a wash or receive fresh clothing, and Williams shirts or trousers, could often be seen on these visitors leaving the Grange. Mrs. Huggins would go out and find Gypsies, taking them back to the Grange – the Colonel would come home from work to find a “Gypsy encampment with great cauldron in the walled courtyard, and clothes being dried in the saddle-room.”

During the Coventry bombing on 14th November 1940, in which more than four thousand homes were destroyed, including the 14th century cathedral, Jeremy’s mother, alerted by the sirens, the noise of exploding bombs and the sight of leaping flames across the open countryside, left her family to drive to the nearby town to what she could to help those who were caught up in the devastation. “The whole city was ringed with leaping flames, bathed in brilliant moonlight and a few searchlights were sweeping the smoke-filled sky.” Consequently, one family was taken into the Grange and 42 members of the extended family lived there until alternative accommodations could be found. There was no question in her mind about the decision; it was simply her first and characteristic response to suffering. “She was a dazzling woman, half Irish and fully Quaker, and ran our home, a large country house deep in the Black Country outside Coventry, in a sort of Flower Power way, always filling it with people that she’d picked up. I remember her bringing home a whole family called Weston during the war, and all of them stayed in our stables.”

Elizabeth Huggins had an enormous effect on the growing Jeremy and some would say that he was very like her in his response to others. “My mother had this extraordinary way of making us flower, and she had open doors and windows in her soul – that’s the only way I can put it. Everybody came to my mother. She was like a light of great warmth.”

What an amazing beginning to a brilliant gentleman.

This is just the very beginning of JEREMY BRETT PLAYING A PART by Maureen Whittaker.

[lyneyluv]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ ．．． 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒆！

— diluc & childe (separate).

— fluff, suggestive. archon quest spoilers. implied relationship. alcohol consumption (childe). ajax's is extensively longer ..... sry :P

the two of you sit before the heart of a warm fire, speakers above playing sweet, smooth jazz melodies that flood your senses. whatever language the woman sings her cacophony of accidentals in, it seems to make the fire envelop you completely, leaning further into the man seated next to you.

diluc slowly rises from his spot next to you, lifting his arm from where it hung around your shoulder. standing before you, his hand traces down your arm and finds itself in the palm of your own as he intertwines his fingers with yours.

“come on,” he says in a hushed voice, nothing but warmth behind his gaze, “dance with me.”

you smile shyly under his frame and take his offer, prying yourself from the comfort of the plush couch to face your lover.

“‘luc, you know i have two left feet,” you huff out, almost too willingly giving in to his request.

he hums in response, his eyes lulling shut as his free hand finds your other and begins swaying along with the tempo surrounding you. he rests his head atop your own as you reel in the feeling of his breath against your scalp. you sway as the music continues with its piano and saxophone riffs, one song ending and another starting. you feel him smile against your hair before he removes himself from above you, taking your waist with his hand as he spins you in circles.

it’s intoxicating. you catch glimpses of his form when it comes into your view as you twirl around and around, the world seemingly stilling as you return to your place before him. your eyes rake over everything and all that he is: his broad shoulders, free from his heavy day coat, his chest adorning a simple white button-down rolled up at the sleeves, his hair cascading down his collarbones as it takes its best efforts to break free from the tie he haphazardly put it up with. you meet his vermillion eyes, a breath catching in your throat as you admire the stars that twinkle in his gaze.

suddenly, the track playing changes, switching to a more lively and upbeat song that lights up the room. a ghost of a laugh is lost on diluc’s tongue as you hop to turn the music up, the melodies getting impossibly louder as you pivot on your heels to sashay towards him, taking his hand and circling around him. the hit hats dance in your eyes as bursts of music play in the air around you. the essence of the song seeps into every pore on your skin as diluc’s scarred hands cup your jaw, his face coming so close your noses graze against one another. he drinks in the sight of you—the feeling of you—and sighs.

“you’re beautiful,” his eyes bore into yours as your arms snake around his torso, “i love you.”

．．．

childe never really plays music on his own, opting to listen only whenever you hit play. its not that he doesn't like it, he just can't seem to focus whenever there's something playing in the background. tonight was no different: the two of you were cleaning up the kitchen after a nice dinner when you decided it was too quiet, playing some easy listening jazz: specifically the kind you'd hear in a low-lit restaurant that serves food with way less sustenance on the plate than what you're paying for.

your hips sway as you spray and wipe the counters, gently humming along with a tune you've familiarized yourself with. your twirl around the wood floor, passing ajax every now and then as he catches you in the corner of his eye. the sultry sounds of the melodies passing through his senses compliments the half-empty bottle wine sitting on the countertop.

you pass him again but this time are stopped by his arm around your waist, pulling your back against his chest as he rocks back and forth with you. "what's got you so happy?" he questions as he hooks his chin around your shoulder, feathering light kisses down your neck, "was my cooking that good?" he teases. each peck leaves a searing hot train in their wake as a shiver runs through your spine.

you inhale, placing your hand in his hair as you play with the ginger tresses. "oh, absolutely," you exaggerate as you turn your head to kiss the corner of his mouth, "i have no idea what i'd do if i didn't have a beautiful boyfriend to cook for me so generously like you do."

you smile lovingly into his eyes as he turns your frame to face him, his hands staying on your body as they travel up and down your waist. "mm, right," he hums through a slight smirk and lays his forehead against yours.

looking up into and nearly getting lost in his endless ocean of a gaze, you place a kiss upon his lips and back away from him. his face instinctively chased your own before you spoke, "dance with me."

before he can even think of an answer, he follows you into the living room and takes your hand in his. looking up at you, he bows regally with and arm behind his back as he places a saccharine kiss upon your fingers—the ones he silently promises to soon decorate with a ring. his eyes shine as they catch the light radiating from the kitchen, crystal blue irises peering at you through his long lashes. he's stunning, you think, any thoughts you had running through your head haulting to a stop. dazzled and frozen in place by the prince of a man before you, you step into his arms.

it's nothing special; not a waltz nor tango, just the two of you swaying together in the dim light of your home. your head lays against his shoulder, drinking in as much of him as you humanly can within the constraints of staying awake. the wine in your system warms you from within and leaves a whirring buzz in your mind as you hold onto your grip of reality, ajax's hands roaming the expanse of your torso and the rhythm you fall into doing no good in helping your poor attempt of sanity.

you feel one of his hands coming up, lifting your chin to meet his eyes as you fall in love over and over again in the infinite depths of his gaze. his hand spans across your cheek as his thumb caresses it gently, eventually traveling down to press against your lips. his eyes flit between your features, from your eyes to the tip of your nose and down to your plush lips he traces with his finger. he reels in the way you feel within his grasp as the music playing becomes a soundtrack for the film of his love that plays before him, losing himself in his adoration as he finally leans in to indulge in you.

the kiss is searing hot as it mixes with the interchanging major and minor chords the piano plays surrounding you both. the singing continues above the saxophones and drums, yet all you can hear is the sweet melody of your shared embrace: birds chirping in jueyun karst, breeze whistling through the tall grass in windrise, the silence of the snow falling in snezhnaya, the glittering of the glowing grass in chinju forest—you hear it all through your shared embrace. the pace picks up as small gasps are heard over the music, ajax's hands finding their way underneath your shirt as they move across the expanse of your body leaving a lingering warmth in their path. your lips dance against one another in a sparkling duet as you feel yourself getting ever hotter from the invasion of your senses.

"jazz isn't so bad, hmm?" he chimes, smirking as he dips back into your lips.

©𝑙𝑦𝑛𝑒𝑦𝑙𝑢𝑣 ’24

[oneforthemunny]

everybody loves somebody |older!eddie| part 10

prompt: your first valentine's day with eddie.

age gap relationship. Eddie is 42 and reader is 26. everything is consensual.

contains: age gap, dilf!eddie, older!eddie, alcohol, language, p in v sex, oral male and fem receiving, really sweet and fluffy and smutty. minors dni 18+

The front office had delivered the roses to your door during your planning, smiling and giggling with holiday filled joy about how beautiful the roses were. And they were, but the card attached was even better.

'Bunny, Happy Valentine's Day to my best girl. You have my heart every second of every day. I can't wait to see you tonight. Love, Ed'

Your blush matched the roses, heart soaring and floating the rest of the day.

The other teachers had cooed, tight lipped smiles when you passed with the bouquet. You could feel their jealous gazes, eyes cutting and lips pursed.

The kids had asked a million questions, bombarding with you about who your boyyyyfriend was, followed by a stream of giggles and cackles. The candy from the party didn't help their energy, bouncing at their desks, ripping open heart shaped suckers and candy hearts.

Eddie had shown up at your apartment at five o'clock on the dot. He'd had a midday shift today, taking the night off so he could spoil you. He cleaned up nice for you, he always did. Curls tamed and framing his face neatly, black button down and black slacks, leaving the top unbuttoned so you could see his inked skin. Sliding your jacket on, opening your doors, lips on your cheek, pressing kisses and words that made you giggle into your skin.

"Enzo's?" You asked, brows raised when the truck rolled into the parking lot. Cars filled the spots, but you knew on nights like tonight they only did reservations. A big Valentine's Day dinner that was near impossible to get into anyways.

Eddie grinned, hand on your thigh, rubbing small circles up your bare leg. "Told you I'd spoil you, bunny." He pressed his lips to yours, squeezing your thigh when he ran around to open your door.

You didn't miss the way the hostess raised her brow at the two of you, eyes flickering from you back to him, then at his tattoos. Your eyes narrowed at her, lifting a challenging brow to the snooty high schooler. Her lips pressed together, but she showed you to your seats, nose in the air.

You passed Steve and Nancy in the restaurant, the two having a child free Valentine's dinner to themselves. Eddie waved, the two sharing matching smirks before you were seated.

"You didn't have to do this for me, Ed." You smiled, looking at the candles that illuminated your table. Eddie reached over, pouring champagne into your flute. "I would've been happy with Benny's." You grinned.

Eddie laughed softly, lifting his own glass. His eyes sparkled when he looked at you. "Well, maybe next year." He said, tapping his glass with yours, enjoying the way you blushed, trying to hide behind the glass. "To our first Valentine's Day. One of many."

He ordered your food, you let him, content on letting him be in control tonight, letting him spoil you for the evening. You knew he loved to, smirking at you after he'd tell the waiter exactly what you wanted. Proud of himself for how he took care of you.

The champagne poured, Eddie ordered dessert, the two of you chatted in the dim light of Enzo's, the classical music playing softly in the background only aiding to the snooty vibe of the place.

"My first graders wanted to know who sent me the flowers today." You grinned. "Thank you, by the way, they were stunning. Beautiful."

Eddie smiled. "Of course." He nodded, reaching his hand out to grab yours across the table. "I got you somethin' else too." He moved into his jacket, pulling out a small, square shaped, black box.

You gasped when he opened it, teardrop pearl earrings with gold clasps lined with tiny diamonds. You saw them weeks ago, a little after Christmas when he was taking his watch to be fixed. You'd told him they were beautiful, so dainty and perfect. So, he went and got them for you.

"Eddie, you shouldn't-"

"Sure I should have." Eddie waved at you, grinning at the way you delicately reached out to hold the box. "They're gonna look beautiful on you, baby. Happy Valentine's Day."

You smiled, clasping them in your hands. You leaned across the table, not caring at the glances or side eyed stares you got to kiss him, fully and passionately. Your head swam from the champagne, and your heart was fluttering, you felt like it might fly right out of your throat.

Eddie chuckled through the kiss, hands holding your jaw, gently. By the time you were brought your dessert, you were ready to go. Eddie had it wrapped up to-go before the two of you left, giggly and blushing all the way to the car. He stopped before he opened your door, kissing you hard, pressing your back up against the cold metal of the truck.

The ride home was sweet. Stolen kisses, giggles, Eddie serenading you with love songs on the radio. Eddie's house was quiet when the two of you stumbled in, Brielle was at Gina's for the night.

Eddie's hands were all over you, roaming your black, silk dress, pawing desperately at the fabric. His lips on your neck, scruff of his beard rubbing against your sensitive skin. You knew you'd be chaffed raw by tomorrow, but you didn't care.

"Wait," you gasped, pushing Eddie's chest slightly when his lips sucked on your neck. Eddie looked at you with confusion, hands still tight on your hips.

"Wait, I-I have a present for you too." You said, blushing and nervous. You clutched your purse in your hands, white knuckled with the strap between your fingers.

Eddie cocked a brow, eyes falling down to your purse. "Bunny, c'mon, you didn't have to-"

"Yes, I-I," You laughed. "How about, you go in the bedroom, wait for me, and I'll be there in a minute? Ok?"

Eddie raised his brows, a dark look taking over his features. You grinned, legs clenching with excitement. "I'll just be a minute. I promise."

You slipped into the bathroom in the hall, back pressed against the door, lying your purse on the sink. You pulled out the red lingerie piece you'd been hiding. Lacy, one piece set- well, it was so revealing, it might as well been nothing at all. Crotchless so it exposed your center, lacy mesh material so sheer you could see right through the two small heart details that attempted to cover your nipples. It was high cut on the sides, plunging low on the front. Scandalous and delicate.

Eddie had lost his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, sleeves rolled up as he waited on the bed. You peeked around the corner, hidden by the door as you grinned. "You ready for your gift, Mr. Munson?" You asked.

Eddie smirked back, spreading his legs farther when he sat into the bed. "Can hardly stand it, bunny. Show me what you got me."

You took a breath, pushing the door open, revealing yourself, changed into the lacy red piece. Eddie's eyes bulged, roaming over your body as you walked closer to him.

"It was supposed to have little wings and an arrow, but," You shrugged, spinning around for him. "Whaddya think?"

Eddie swallowed, reaching out to you, eyes moving from your breasts to your exposed center, back up and down, all over. His hands pulled you closer, so you were standing between his legs. He spun you around slowly, fingers tracing over the thin cloth that barely covered any part of your ass.

"Holy shit." Eddie breathed, hands moving fro your waist back to your ass. "You bought this for me?"

You smiled, nodding excitedly. "Happy Valentine's Day, baby." You whispered, lips brushing over his. "Hope you like your gift."

And oh, did he.

Eddie had no problem showing you how much he liked his gift. He was buried between your legs not minutes later, your claves down his back, heels of your feet digging into his shoulders and moving around like his own pair of angel wings.

Eddie sucked on your clit, fingers pumping slow and lazy in you, curling so he jammed into your g-spot, leaving you crying out and gushing. Your hands wrapped in his curls, crying out when he'd bury his nose into you, inhaling your scent entirely while devouring you from the inside out.

He'd pulled down your straps, leaving the top part around your waist so he could toy with your nipples, grinning into you at the way your back arched when he rolled them between his fingers.

You were a puddle when he finished, barely holding yourself up when you climbed down the length of his body, trailing sloppy, wet kisses. "'M gonna thank you for dinner." You said, hazy and spacey. "Thank you for takin' care of me."

Eddie smirked, pushing your hair out of your face when you fumbled with his pants. You palmed him through his black briefs, kissing the outline of his cock so delicately he lurched towards you.

You kissed up the length of him, tongue trailing back down lightly. You knew by now how he liked it, slow and a little teasing at first. Your mouth sucking lightly on his sac until he was throwing his head back with a groan, leaking from his tip. His hands found your hair, fisting tightly and pulling at your scalp.

You took your time. You really wanted to show him how much you appreciated him, how much you loved him. He didn't thrust into your mouth, or fuck your mouth until you choked around him. He let you swallow him taking him slowly and sweetly. Kitten licks to his tip that led to you nuzzling the hair at his base, him stuffed down your throat.

That's how he fucked you that night, slow and meaningful. There was no rush, no thrill to fuck quickly and hard. His body was pressed to yours, your hands on his back, heels digging into the flesh of his ass. Eddie kissed down your neck, muttering sweet words and praises Ito your skin, sweaty bodies conjoined together as the bed squeaked with every slow rock of his hips against yours.

Your eyes rolled back, toes curling when he circled his thumb around your clit. "'S good for me, bunny. That's right. Let me make you feel good, sweet girl." Eddie rasped against your cheek, pressing soft kisses into your heat licked skin.

Your nails raked down his back with every orgasm he pulled out of you. You clamped around him again, tears leaking out of your eyes. You could tell by the way his grip tightened on your waist that he was close, but he didn't pick up his speed. He kept it consistent and rhythmic, the way you liked it. Your heart swelled that he knew that about you now.

Eddie groaned, muscles clenching when he released, warmth filling you from the inside out. His sticky bangs pressed against your forehead, his head falling against yours, lips brushing and noses touching. "I love you so much, baby, so much, fuck." Eddie muttered, chest rising and falling quickly against you.

His head dropped to your shoulder, breath steadying as you remained wrapped in each other, close together. Eddie looked up at you, you ran a hand through his sweaty curls.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby." Eddie whispered, lips pressing against your jaw, trailing all the way to your lips. "I'll spoil you every other day, too. I promise, bunny."

"Yeah?" You asked, giggly and dazed, coming down from your own high.

Eddie nodded, hands fisting the fabric that was tossed on the space next to you two, lacy red fabric that had been sweat soaked and was now wrinkled. "I promise." He said. The lines by his eyes crinkled when he smiled, moving the discarded lingerie closer to you two. "Especially if you wear this again, baby, fuck." You giggled, wrapping your arms around him to pull him closer to you.

You stored the lingerie piece in the back of his underwear drawer, saving it for the next time you needed it. You went to work the next day, high neck sweater to cover the hicks on your collarbones and breasts, but ears shining and sparkling with your new dazzling earrings.