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lovemybluebully · 2 months

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How To Pet a Wolverine

I finally got to see 'Deadpool and Wolverine' on Sunday and have been inspired to write a little tickle fic. :) Hope you guys enjoy!

Warning for movie spoilers and lots of foul language and general Deadpool-isms. But if you've seen the movie too then this is exactly what you should expect from the two of them. XD

M/M Tickle Fic

Word Count: 2,343

Deadpool groaned as he was slammed headfirst into the dashboard of the Odyssey again, taking a moment to upright himself as he turned back around to make eye contact with one pissed off Wolverine.

They had been nonstop fighting for over twenty minutes now and with the both of them being able to heal so quickly it could go on indefinitely. But there was no time for this! With every minute that ticked by that was one less minute that Wade had at the chance to save his universe.

Wade wasn't the type of guy to ever give up, but he knew there was absolutely zero chance that Logan was going to. The older man even seemed to be enjoying taking all of his pent-up anger out through his endless stabbing and slicing at Wade's body.

"Okay! Time out!" Wade screeched with his hands up in a 'T' shape just as Logan launched himself from the back and landed on top of him with his claws at the ready, though managing to restrain himself from thrusting them into Wade's head for the moment.

Wade spoke slowly with his hands still up as a sign of surrender.

"Now let's just take a second here......to calm down......and reassess the situation."

"You started it, bub," Logan growled in his face as the merc scoffed and tossed his head around in exasperation.

"Ohhh c'mon! Can't we just admit that we were both giant assholes?!"

Logan only retained his glower while the tips of his claws pressed into the side of Wade's head.

"Uggh fine! I'll be the grown up here, geez. Okay I'm sorry I punched you in the face first. And I'm sorry I lied about being able to get your world back. But you know there is still a chance that it is possible. Right? We don't know for sure yet that my claim was total bullshit. But I promise that from here on out there will be no more lies from me .....Okay? We good?"

The anger in the feral man's eyes began to subside along with the tension in his muscles diminishing as his breathing grew less harsh and had evened out.

"Not a lie. An educated fucking wish," Logan smirked and retracted his foot-long claws back into his hand much to Wade's relief, "Ya know that's probably the most ridiculous thing I've heard in a long time."

"Sorry, but I was in a panic trying to diffuse the situation and sometimes my mind just comes up with the stupidest shit and I can't control what comes out of my mouth."

"Sometimes?" Logan raised a skeptical brow, making Wade gasp in mock offense.

"Well that's not very nice. I'm a human being, you know, with feelings and dreams.....," he paused as he eyed the man hovering over him up and down before adding, "...and a raging boner."

The Wolverine let out an annoyed sigh and shook his head.

"For fucks sake, does everything have to be a perverted joke with you?"

"Who's joking, gorgeous? Now get off of me. My pants only have so much room for expansion," he carried on while simultaneously giving Logan a poke in the stomach, eliciting a snort and a faint twitch that Wade didn't fail to notice as the man promptly backed off of him.

"Well well, what in the name of PG-rated shit have we got here?" Wade said a little giddily, tilting his head as Logan looked at him with a suspicious frown from where he had now settled into the 3rd row back seat.

"The fuck you babblin' about?" He continued to glare while Wade began slowly crawling towards him from the front of the van.

"I mean, either this is just a wet dream I'm having, or it appears the big, bad Wolverine may be a little ticklish."

Logan's face remained stone-cold, showing no sign of fear as he just huffed and rolled his eyes.

"You're insane. Just stay the fuck away from me."

Wade only shook his head with a grin a mile wide being concealed by his mask as he closed in on his quarry.

"Mm mm, sorry Peanut. But I think we've reached that point in our relationship where it's time to explore each other's bodies. Don't worry, I'll be gentle," he was a mere arm's length away now as Logan bristled up and snarled at him; his claws shooting back out of his fists.

"Wade, I'm not joking. Do NOT fuckin' touch me, or so help me I'll splatter your brains all over the walls of this fucking cab!"

"Ooooh getting a little defensive there," the merc pauses as he turns his head to look out at the audience, now speaking in a husky whisper, "I love it when they play hard to get. Time to enact my elaborate and well-thought-out plan..."

Deadpool lurched back with an act of surprise and flailed his arms around in a frenzy before pointing out the window behind where Logan sat.

"Holy shit! Look! It's Johnny! Oh thank God! He's alive!"

Logan had absolutely no idea why he turned around to look. He knew damn well that there was going to be no one there. Maybe it was his nerves finally getting to him as he came to the realization that this crazy freak of a man was seriously about to tickle him.

Wade delayed not a second as he threw himself onto Logan and tackled him back into the cushions where he got his bigger frame trapped between the seats, ending up with Wolverine's claws plunged into both sides of his ribcage.

"Ouchie! Hahaha! Just kidding! Johnny's still dead, you dummy! Now it's tickle time!" He buried his dancing fingers into Logan's stomach as the man growled and clenched his teeth while beginning to squirm underneath him.

"Grrrrggggh! Wade! Motherfuc-Get the fuck offa me!" He yanked his claws out of Wade's sides and continued to frantically stab into his body. Really he wanted to slice the other man's arms off to get him to stop, but the way he was wedged between the seats didn't give him very much room to move his arms efficiently.

"Awww are you trying to tickle me back? How fun! But you know, you really need to work on your technique. Something more like this would work a loooot better....," Wade's hands moved up to tickle his ribs, pressing in hard to make sure to get through the X-man's thick uniform top as Logan bucked and snorted while he tried to hold himself together.

"St-Stop! Goddammit! Stop ticklin' me, ya prihihick!" A regrettable giggle escaped him, and he knew he'd lost any hope that Wade would lay off of him now.

"Ahh now we're getting somewhere. Looks like you really are ticklish, huh?" His hands continued squeezing up and down Logan's sides with rapid speed.

"I never...ssssaid I wasn't-Gahah! Stupid ahahasshole-Aahahahaha!" Logan finally couldn't keep it in any longer as gruff laughter spilled out of him and the power behind his stabbings grew weaker and weaker.

"That is so true. Thank you for pointing that out. You wanna go ahead and do that for me? Hm? You wanna tell me how ticklish you are? How the mighty Wolverine absolutely cannot take the tickles? C'moooon, tell daddy all about it," Wade grinned as he was rewarded with a hard snort from Logan as he unsuccessfully tried to regain control of his laughter.

"Fuhuhuhuck yooooou-ahahahahahaah! Okay okay I'm.....," he wheezed much to Wade's amusement, "I'm seheeheeheerious! That's enohohough!"

"Oh no, this is just getting good. Pretty sure you've had this coming for a long time now, big guy. This may sound crazy, but I'm guessing you don't get tickled very often. Which is a damn shame because look how adorably ticklish you are!" Wade cooed teasingly while kneading his fingers into Logan's belly again as more snorty laughs bubbled out of him.

"I hahahate you sohohohooo fuhuhuhucking muhuhuhuch!" By now Logan had completely abandoned his attempts to stab Wade as he realized that it was pointless and now tried using his arms to guard his sensitive torso while continuing to writhe helplessly.

"Don't say such things, my squirmy wormy. I promise I'll grow on ya. Like a hemorrhoid sure, but that's all semantics. Tell you what, if you promise to refer to me as Marvel Jesus for the rest of the movie I'll let you up right now."

"As soohoohoon ahahas ya let mehehehehe uhup-eehehehehhehehe-I'm g-gonna fuhuhucking kill yooohoou!" Logan bellowed out, but the way he was giggling and pathetically making attempts to push Wade's hands away gave the appearance that he was far from being able to kill anyone right now.

"Ooooh someone's a little sassy pants. Not exactly smart to mouth off to someone who's tickling the crap out of you, but I get the impression you're more of an act before thinking kinda guy. That's alright, we'll tickle that shitty attitude right out of you."

Logan was able to get his big forearms crossed over his stomach in defense, prompting Wade to quickly scope out another target for his tickling barrage as he lunged forward and managed to jam his hands past Logan's clenched biceps up into his armpits.

"Nohohohooooo.....," Logan's thundering guffaw broke up into a long, airy wheeze as he thrashed about in silence for a few moments with Wade delighting in his reactions.

"Awww look at you. Wolverine's not such a tough guy. You just have to know how to pet him and then he's just a cute little helpless Wolvie, isn't he? Does that tickle too much? Does it? Coochie coochie coo!" He pushed his fingers in further to wiggle deep into the soft center of the armpits while the feral mutant convulsed in spasms before finding his voice again.

"Shhh-Shhhihihihit! Hahahahahaahaa! You're dehehehehehead!"

Wade sharply tilted his head in disbelief.

"Really? Still being a grumpy cunt after all this joy and laughter I've brought to you? I was sure you'd be thanking me by now. Hmmm maybe I'm not trying hard enough. You know what? Yes, I think I have just the thing."

The merc pulled his mask up past his nose before shoving Logan's arms out of the way and yanking up his uniform top, exposing a hairy wall of tightly packed abdominal muscles that Wade was nearly distracted by before refocusing on the task at hand.

"Time for a blow job!" Wade quickly dove his face straight into Logan's belly and began blowing a very ticklish array of raspberries all over as the tough Xman exploded into hysterics.

"Bwwaaahahahaah! You fuhuhuhuhuck! Ahahahahahaha! Stahahap ihihihit! Stahahahahahahaaap! I'll kihihihihilll yoohoohooou! Baaahaahaahahahahah! Fuhuhuhuhuhuuuuck! That tihihihickles! N-Nohohohohoahahahahahhahaha! Pleeheeheeease!"

Wade almost stopped in shock as that last word played over his ears. He had neared the point of getting Wolverine to beg for mercy, which he would most certainly never do when tortured under any other circumstances. That seriously put it all into perspective for him of just how ticklish the big lug really was.

Having gotten this far he wanted to push it more. Logan's stomach was clearly a major weak spot and with the right technique he was confident that he could drive some forbidden words from his lips.

The loud farting noise his mouth made as he blew long and hard right into Logan's bellybutton echoed throughout the whole vehicle along with the screaming laugh that burst out of Logan's chest as he momentarily levitated off of the seat cushion.

Several fantasies began playing through Wade's head as he pictured Wolverine completely breaking down and begging profusely for mercy. That would give him the ultimate bragging rights for sure. Unfortunately, his devious thoughts had distracted him far too much.

Logan had desperately been looking for a way out of this situation and now was his chance. He had to act fast before he was literally tickled to death.

With a twist of his body, he managed to lift one of his legs to put a foot against Wade's stomach and violently kick him away, sending the merc flying back towards the front of the van with a surprised yelp.

Grateful for the tickling to finally end Logan immediately sat up and tried to catch his breath while Deadpool again had to turn himself over from his current upside-down position where he had landed on his head.

"God...dammit.....I told ya....to fucking....stop....," Logan panted as he glared dangerously at Wade, who simply scoffed and gave him a dismissive hand.

"Oh don't be so dramatic! It was just a little tickling. Besides a guy like you should be able to take ten times worse than that."

Logan's only reply was a vicious snarl and the snikt sound of his claws coming out as he got up and began to approach the now wide-eyed merc.

"Woah woah, take it easy! It was all in good fun! You don't have to pull that big macho act on me. You can't fool me, I know you were having fun too, right Logan? Uh.........Right?"

"............."

A few minutes later and Wade found his whole body completely wrapped up and restrained by all of the seat belts in the van with them even covering his entire face and preventing him from uttering more than muffled words.

"Hmph. Finally figured out a way to shut you up," Logan smirked as Deadpool squirmed in his prison of seatbelt webbing; able to hear but unable to see and speak clearly.

"It's true what they say, silence is golden. And I definitely prefer you as bein' the merc without the mouth. Whaddya think about that?" He reached over and tickled his fingers over an exposed area on Wade's side, producing muffled chuckles as his thrashing increased.

"Well I certainly ain't letting you get one up on me. Besides, you like this ticklin' stuff, don't ya? Don't worry, it's all in good fun. Unlike you though, I promise not to be gentle."

One hand dug hard into vulnerable ribs and the other into his thigh as Wade made a futile attempt to scream for mercy.

#ticklish!logan #ticklish!wolverine #lee!logan #lee!wolverine #ler!wade #ler!deadpool #ticklefic #deadpool tickle #wolverine tickle

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irafuwas · 1 year

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some thoughts on how lilia views love

I’ve been watching through the Stitch event and there’s a bit of dialogue Lilia says that unfortunately made me Think, so I wanted to gather my babblings here.

This post contains spoilers for: Book 7, Tsumsted Wonderland 2, Lost in the Book with Stitch, Spectral Soiree/Endless Halloween, and Tamashina Mina

After spending the day fighting off Gantu’s robots, scavenging for food, and exploring the island, the boys rest for a bit in an old cottage they found. Lilia wants to take the opportunity to spruce up the cottage and make it more resort-like while they’re enjoying this “vacation”, and Riddle and Jack are both surprised and a bit peeved to hear him say this.

Riddle: Don’t you want to find a way off this island as soon as possible, Lilia Senpai? Malleus Senpai, Silver, and Sebek… Everyone at Diasomnia must be worried sick about you right now. I should think you’d want to assuage their concerns a tad bit faster!

Lilia: …Thing is, I trust them.

Riddle: You trust them?

Lilia: Mm-hmm. Knowing them, no doubt they understand I’m safe and sound and having a good time right now. Malleus and the others know I’m not the type of guy who’d get in a pickle over something as trivial as this. And that’s because they know me very, very well – just like family!

(snipped)

Lilia: It’s truly wonderful having people in your life who trust you and wish the best for you - and for whom you do the same in return - no matter how far apart you may be.

When you take this dialogue and look at in isolation of this event, then it’s a wonderful thing to hear Lilia say. He trusts his boys and they trust him - because they’re family, and that’s what families do. It’s always great to hear the characters themselves acknowledge their strong bonds with each other, and I thought it was really cute how Stitch got so happy to hear Lilia talking about his Ohana.

But when you take what he said and consider the broader story of Twisted Wonderland (vignettes and events, included), and you consider other things he’s said and done in the past… This dialogue just hurts.

There’s been small moments here and there that made me think Lilia has kind of an unhealthy(?) or warped(?) view of love. I’m not sure what the best word for it is, but I’ve noticed that he doesn’t like people worrying over him, he doesn’t like emotional farewells/sappiness, and he really doesn’t like letting others see him when he’s weak. Additionally, he seems to value himself very little – he doesn’t think people would be worried about him if he were in danger, or that people would be happy getting pictures of him, or that his departure in Book 7 would hurt those around him so much. I’ll go ahead and put examples for each point so you all can understand better what I’m trying to say.

He doesn’t like people worrying about him

We can see this partly from the quote this whole post is based on, as well as from Book 7.

Based on his conversation with Riddle, Lilia’s way of thinking appears to be:

If someone trusts me -> that means they wouldn’t worry about me

As well as:

If someone worries about me -> that means they don’t trust me

But we do worry about the people we love and care about, don’t we? We worry about our spouses getting home safely from a business trip, and our kids making friends at school, and our friends acing the interview they’ve been practicing for because we love them, don’t we? And because we want the best for them. But it doesn’t seem like Lilia thinks the same way.

And to add onto this point, it’s very clear the boys do worry about Lilia a lot, contrary to what Lilia claims. Due to Lilia’s departure, Malleus brought a snowstorm to the island in his sadness, Silver considered dropping out of school and leaving with his father, only to end up breaking down and crying in front of their crown prince of all people, and Sebek used his one wish to make Lilia be healthy and have him stay with Silver forever. They were all worried terribly about him in their own ways, but it doesn’t seem like Lilia ever noticed (or maybe he did, and just didn’t want to bring it up for some reason. Who knows.)

At any rate, he also gets mad (well, more like tsundere lol) at Silver when the boy was on the verge of tears after Lilia took a nasty hit for him. (I know this exchange occurred with General Vanrouge, and he was quite the asshole back then, but he’s still retained that dislike for people worrying over him.)

Lilia: Oh, would you quit it with the sniveling. I drank the potion, didn’t I? I just to rest for a little bit, and then I’ll be good as new.

He doesn’t like emotional farewells/sappiness

He exhibits his distaste of sappiness in Book 7 and the Welcome to Tsumsted Wonderland 2 event. In the latter, when everyone is saying goodbye to their tsums, he mentions he doesn’t like the gloomy atmosphere. He wants goodbyes to be happy (and most likely, free of any emotional weight). The same can be said in Book 7, when he wholeheartedly agrees to the going away party the students wanted to put on for him, as well as when Silver mentions his father had wanted them all to send him off with a smile. I’m not sure if Lilia just doesn’t enjoy people getting serious with their emotions towards him, or if he doesn’t like seeing it in general. It gives me Macho Man (tm) vibes, kind of? Like, “don’t let people see you cry and feel sad because then you look weak” kind of thing but idk.

Lilia: Farewells are certainly sorrowful, but I hate leaving things on such a gloomy note. Let’s keep our chins up until the end. Tsum, your ability to surprise others was exceptional, and you made today so much fun. So long!

He really doesn’t like letting others see him when he’s weak

There’s still a lot of loose ends to be resolved in Book 7, one of them being the full extent of Lilia’s motives for wanting to leave so suddenly. It does seem to be he’s telling the truth that his magic ran out early, since he couldn’t muster up enough strength to fight back against Malleus when he was about to Overblot, but we don’t know if the real reason for that is just because he “went a little to wild” in his youth, like he claimed, or if something else caused his magic to deplete so prematurely. But we did hear him reveal a little bit of his motives when he was talking to Floyd at the party.

Floyd was dismayed he never got a chance to fight Lilia, and he wished he could’ve seen Lilia go all out at least once. When he asks Lilia why he’s dropping out, Lilia says under his breathe that he didn’t want “them” to see him so weak.

Lilia (whispering to himself): …It’s because I didn’t want them to see me so feeble.

Regardless of why his magic ran out and why he wants to go the Land of Red Dragons of all places, we know part of the reason for his departure is because he doesn’t want Malleus and the others to see how far he’d fallen from his former military glory. (sidebar: I have a feeling he thought he’d be a burden on Silver and co. with him losing his magic, and he was trying to leave so quickly to escape his shame towards his rapid loss of strength and independence (I imagine since he’s a magical being who comes from a country that runs on magic, him losing his powers must feel very isolating and limiting, like he’s lost a lot of the control he used to have over his own life).)

He doesn’t think people would be worried about him if he were in danger

In Endless Halloween/Spectral Soiree, Lilia was surprised by how much Silver and the others had been worrying about him and Malleus when they disappeared. Interestingly, even though Lilia is the one that Silver was the most relieved to see (it’s hard to tell with the live 2d models, but it looked like he went up to hug? Lilia and Lilia slapped his hand away), Lilia later says “I didn’t think you’d be so worried about us.” (referring to himself and the others involved with the party shenanigans).

(I am aware they changed this line to “I didn’t think you’d be so worried about me” In TWST EN, but I’m just focusing on the JP version).

I just found it weird that even though Silver was very clearly worried about Lilia the most, Lilia kind of redirected Silver’s concern over from “Lilia” to “Lilia and everyone else”. Did it make him uncomfortable to hear Silver was that worried about him? I’m not sure, but it just stood out to me as being a little strange how he responded, and how surprised he was that his own son would get worried about him suddenly disappearing.

He didn’t think people would be happy getting pictures of him

At the end of Lilia’s Tamashina Mina vignette, Yuu stops by Diasomnia to give him some photos he’d taken of Lilia on their trip, and Sebek, Silver, and Malleus are delighted to see them, since it’s not often they get to see photos of Lilia. Lilia is surprised at how happy they are to receive those pictures of himself. But why wouldn’t they be happy? They love him and treasure him dearly, of course they’d be overjoyed to have pictures of him to remember him by. It’s like he thought they wouldn’t care about him that much, which is really bizarre, considering the whole “even if we’re not related by blood we’re still family” thing he told Malleus before.

Lilia: To think, you’d all be so delighted just to see some pictures of me. I never would’ve imagined you’d all react like this.

He didn’t think his departure in Book 7 would hurt those around him so much

This relates back to what I mentioned in the first point, but there’s one scene that demonstrates this perfectly.

After Silver breaks down in front of Malleus, Malleus teleports both of them to Lilia’s going away party. All eyes should have been on Malleus with how strangely he was acting, but the first thing Lilia honed in on was that Silver had been crying. And not only that, but Lilia looked surprised that Silver had been crying. And why wouldn’t he cry? The one person who formed Silver’s entire world and sun and stars was about to leave him and go die all by himself on the other side of the planet. There is no reason Lilia should’ve been surprised at Silver’s tears, yet he was. And I gather that’s because he never thought the boy could ever possibly want to choose to stay by his side, to choose him over all the hopes and dreams he’d burdened on the poor child from the moment he could walk, to choose him over his real friends and his real family members.

I hope when Lilia “wakes up” from his dream, the first he does is ask Silver what he’d been crying about back at the party. And I pray to god they will actually talk things out and Lilia will finally apologize for how much of a complete idiot he’s been acting.

My headache’s coming back so to wrap this up quickly, my current understanding of Lilia Vanrouge is that he either doesn’t realize just how loved and cherished he is by his family members, or that he does realize it and just pretends not to. If it’s the latter, which is what I personally lean towards, I think he does this as a means to protect himself.

He’s already lost so many of his loved ones, and he very well may be putting up these walls around his heart and pushing away the people who love him just so he doesn’t have to get hurt again. We don’t know how he became an orphan, but his birth family either gave him up or passed away and left him behind. Even when Queen Maleficia took him in, he was always made the scapegoat for the princess’s schemes, and it sounded like he was brought up more as Levan and Mallenoa’s inferior than their equal. And then war struck their nation. And then his one best friend went missing and the other one probably gave up her life trying to protect the very child who'd go on to shatter the ice surrounding his wounded heart.

Perhaps with Malleus and Silver and Sebek now, he thought his best option would be to exit their lives before they had a chance to do the same to him, because he knew they would do the same to him. Everyone does.

As a final note, I still keep going to back to what he said in Cater’s Halloween vignette. I think this one line sums up his views of love better than I ever could:

“But the more precious a bond is, the more pain it can inflict.”

(source)

#lilia vanrouge #twst silver #twst theory #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #twst analysis #not really a theory or anything more like its just me babbling but yeah

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kivino · 10 months

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BIG GUY || SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY X GN!READER

my masterlist

ao3 link to this fic

Word counter – ~1,8k

Tags/Warnings – Fluff, a bit of miscommunication and jealousy, nothing much.

Summary – Ghost takes a liking to the nickname you give him, but struggles to understand just how much he likes it.

A/n – I’m still struggling with my school projects so wish me luck, I made this instead of making a video for my language class lmao, enjoy! i’ll add the ao3 link a bit later.

upd. link added for ao3 enjoyers!

It didn't miss anybody, the way Ghost seemed more easygoing and light-hearted on certain days, letting recruits get away with a bit more than usual. Coincidentally, it was right after various interactions with you, be it training or sparring together, doing reports, moving some shit around the base, or just hanging out in the common room. Nobody could just figure out what it was about your interactions that lifted Simon’s spirits so high, which was notoriously hard, courtesy of how gloomy or menacing the man usually appeared. But the answer was quite simple, really.

“Thanks, big guy. Always a huge help.” Simon catches your small smile as you pat him on the shoulder and nods, barely containing his joy, he’d hate to make it too obvious. He was wearing a balaclava after all, and the smallest stretch of the fabric on his cheeks and around his mouth could easily give away how joy spread itself in his chest at the affectionate nickname.

Big guy. Big guy. Your big guy.

Nickname reserved only for him, exclusively from you. Of course, Ghost knew he’d be larger than your average soldier, and that regularly got acknowledged by others, but something about you calling him like this made it different. That pleasant warmth inside, which reminded him of the sun, or that stupid fluttering in his stomach, was…unusual to say the least. It made his mood better almost instantly, an interaction he eagerly, but silently looked forward to each day. Something about you calling him a big guy made his head spin, swimming in the endless clouds. Something Ghost hasn't felt in a long time and didn’t think he’d ever experience.

It was easy to let down his guard around you, you stripped him of the metaphorical armor just like this, with an effortless joke and that godforsaken pet name thrown in somewhere in the conversation. And just like that - Ghost’s low laugh rumbled in unison with yours, heart missing a beat when he looked into your eyes that sparkled with something unknown and captivating. It felt…good. New. And so fucking warm, Ghost felt like he was about to suffocate.

You were the newbie, your reputation preceded you but Ghost didn’t pay much attention to all the rumors swirling around on the base, like some suspicious soup in a boiling pot. He had better things to do. Like following you similarly to a lost puppy, maybe staring intently right at you with his huge brown eyes, if he was feeling brave. Or lingering somewhere around, just to make sure you’re adjusting alright. After all, all of you soldiers have to look out for each other, right? Right. Definitely.

It felt good to finally be able to just laugh and play around with someone, who didn’t seem scared shitless by his presence, mask and, well…everything about him, that seemingly drove people away. Not that he didn’t understand the reasoning for that – quite on the contrary. But you were probably just built differently, drawn to the weird, unappealing, and scary. Maybe Ghost should feel lucky that you were like that. And truth be told, he did. He liked it and he liked you.

Ghost could only hope that he lightened up the things for you the way you did for him. To ask and dig deeper would probably be too much, Simon could still feel that caution and tremble at the mere thought of trying to grow closer to you and spend even more time together. Like he’ll put a curse on you the moment he decides to open up a bit more and show you at least some inner workings of his mind on a more intimate level than just some stupid puns, or gossip and discussions about the way you spent your day. Although they were certainly pleasant, with you giving him a subtle, understanding smile from across the table, while steam from your coffee mug made it seem so domestic and wholesome like Ghost was in a dream. So, Ghost kept what little distance he could, despite his wishes, and hoped that you take your time and be patient with him.

That is until he overheard something that startled him, to say the least.

“Well, your jokes are a bit too much for me, big guy.” You say, letting out a clear, loud laugh, as you patted Soap’s chest. Scotsman straightened up almost immediately in front of you, a proud toothy smile beaming on his face. Now Ghost felt like he just got punched in the gut, for some reason. Annoyed and on edge in a split second. But why? He truly couldn’t seem to pin down the reason for the surge of anger and something bitter in his chest, bubbling right under his skin.

It was probably nothing worth his attention. Just something weird with his body, exhaustion from the training, muscle cramps...or whatever it could be. In any case, running headfirst into dissecting his mind for something so small and minuscule? Ridiculous, really. Completely unnecessary. Of course, Simon knew that both you and Johnny weren’t saints, two rascals more like, but he had no obvious reason to feel this bitter stinging inside of him, that slithered and slipped around, followed by tightening of his throat and bobbing of his Adam’s apple. He swallowed loudly, trying to wash down that gross aftertaste on his tongue hours after he saw that interaction. And the fact that he couldn’t get it out of his head was telling enough, that he was, in fact, bothered by something.

So, Simon decided to do what he did best. Bottle it up. But then it just kept sitting in his head, that nasty feeling still eating him from the inside out. It didn’t help that he started seeing you talking with Johnny more often, while Simon unintentionally avoided you, still buried deep in his thoughts and contemplations about what caused him to feel the way he did. Of course, he couldn’t help but eavesdrop. And there you were. Laughing with him. Calling him “big guy”. Again. This only caused Simon to become more cranky and unfriendly, taking his frustrations out on poor privates who’ve never ran so many laps in their entire lives.

The only people Ghost was outright cruel and merciless to were his enemies. He wasn’t the friendliest guy, of course, but everyone noticed when the lieutenant who usually would crack jokes and dumb puns at the expense of others at most suddenly started to get annoyed at smaller mistakes more, using harsher words and overall look like he was down in the dumps. Nobody dared to talk about the subject though, so Ghost was left terrorizing the privates and recruits, having lunches in his office and avoiding areas where he knew you’d be at certain times of the day from your long talks before. Which, of course, didn’t help him to understand what was wrong at all.

So, all Ghost was left with were his own thoughts. He didn’t feel jealous of you interacting with other people before. You were never his, so he had no right for that at all. But there had to be something else that pushed Simon to where he was now, tired, unsatisfied, and craving at least a passing smile and a short “Hey there” from you. So that the two of you could sit down somewhere together, and you’d talk about some irrelevant nonsense, and then you’d open your mouth again and call him “big guy”. It didn’t feel fair that Johnny got to be called that. It was Simon’s nickname. From you. Wait-wait-wait, hold on a second.

The sudden revelation as to why exactly Ghost was feeling that way when he saw you talk with the sergeant hit him like a damn bus. Fuck, that is childish. Weird. God, Simon feels like a damn creep. Getting upset because of a damn nickname, way to fucking go, you oaf. This felt confusing. Irrational. Absolutely fucking stupid. To think that something that simple threw him off so easily. That’s human relationships for you. Now it felt like he needed even more time. Not to make it complicated. Not to hurt you and himself.

Regardless of his wishes, he didn’t have any more time to think when he was soon approached by you, a concerned frown adorning your face, along with a look full of sympathy and understanding. Ghost already dreaded the conversation that hadn’t even begun. And he wasn’t even the one reaching out first. Which makes it even more embarrassing.

“Hey, Simon. I have something I want to talk about with you.” You, bless your heart, probably thought something terrible happened in Simon's life when in reality he was just running away from you and his feelings like a whole wildfire was chasing him. The only correlation he could think of is dumb teenagers, which is…remotely fitting with his recent behavior. “I’ve noticed you’ve been kind of…avoiding me? Did something happen, or am I just overthinking everything?”

“It’s stupid, really. Nothing you should be worrying yourself about.” Ghost blurts out before he can even think. Great, now he can only tell you the whole truth, without the options to back out or lie. But it was truly so unusual for him because Simon never expected to get attached to a nickname and to you.

“Well, let’s hear you out. I won’t judge.” Again, with your perfect reassuring smile and your calming presence. Simon lets out a deep sigh, his throat itching from what is about to ensue. He knew he was going to embarrass himself, but he just couldn’t bring himself to lie. Which would’ve been so much easier, instead of baring his true feelings in front of you.

“Well, your nickname for me…You know what I’m talking about.” Simon’s tone is deep and gruff as he tries to conceal that uncertainty in his voice. You appear to be listening attentively, your eyes trained on him, head slightly tilted to the side, which makes his heart melt. You give him a confident nod at the mention of the nickname, and Ghost continues. “I want you to call only me like that. And I mean, only me” He can see your eyebrow rising, your expression more teasing than questioning. There we go, now you’re going to mock him or laugh at him. Just perfect.

“Sure thing, big guy.” A shudder runs down Simon’s spine from your words, a sweet, saccharine feeling immediately blossoming in his chest. Oh, he had no words to describe how hard he missed it. All his worries lifted immediately. You didn’t find it weird. In fact, from what Ghost could tell by your satisfied expression, it was quite the opposite of the reaction Simon initially expected. Which was extremely relieving. He would hate to lose your intriguing relationship to the miscommunication of his own making. “Could’ve just said that you wanted it reserved just for you.”

Oh, it wasn’t just the nickname that did it to him. But it’s a bit too early to tell you that.

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murdockparker · 5 months

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Roses and Regrets Part 2

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: What a pleasant life it is, to be a widow with no obligations. Getting new dresses, making unlikely friends, what a treat.

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating: 18+!!! MINORS DNI (I will haunt you)

Warnings: female masturbation, yearning, Reader decidedly hates Anthony (what's new??) , maybe a bit of angst

A/N: oops my hands slipped and this is what happened. sorry bout that, bruv!

first part - next part

—

“You should have seen him, Meg.”

Her lady’s maid nodded along to Lady Barlow’s rant, having heard the interaction in nauseam since she returned from the park. From his appearance to his demeanor—Meg assumed she might as well have been there. Carefully, she continued to remove the pins from the dowager viscountess’ hair, the very same that she had placed in the morning.

“I am sure Lord Bridgerton was certainly unagreeable,” Meg droned, accidentally snagging her lady’s hair. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“You know, you don’t have to do all that, I am a perfectly capable woman,” (Y/N) laughed, looking at her maid in the mirror. “And he was, unagreeable, if you must know.”

“He is alway unagreeable,” Meg said, exasperated. “My lady, please take no offense, but I think this talk of Lord Bridgerton must cease.”

“You do not have to ask me twice,” (Y/N) snorted. “I wish for nothing more than to stop speaking about that oaf.”

Meg blinked. “Right. Of course.”

“You… you do not believe me?”

“I believe you believe it to be true,” Meg carefully stated, hands by her sides. “We have a good friendship, ma’am, and I am ever grateful that you allow me to speak my mind—”

“So speak it,” (Y/N) said, voice tittering on a giggle. “I shall not take offense, I swear it.”

“You have done nothing but speak of Lord Bridgerton since you arrived from your visit to the park,” Meg began, choosing her words carefully. “Save for when you had your meals, hard to speak over soup and the like. I, for one, am exhausted hearing about it. Perhaps a respite from the topic?”

“Imagine how I feel,” (Y/N) finally laughed. “That man makes me insane.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I pray whenever he marries—oh that poor woman—I hope she can teach him some manners.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Perhaps I should send him a book on it? Manners, I mean.”

“Good idea, ma’am.”

“Meg, you are not hearing me.”

“Oh I am hearing you,” Meg nodded. “I am just choosing not to listen.”

She bit her lip, eyeing her friend’s faraway glance. Glassy, almost. “Perhaps… I suppose I should drop the topic for now?”

“It is late,” Meg shook her head, nearly dropping out of a trance. “I have mending to attend to, if you do not mind.”

“You hate the mending.”

“Picking and choosing my battles, ma’am,” Meg smiled politely.

“Admirable,” (Y/N) said. “I suppose it is late…”

“Might I fetch you some more tea before you retire?” She set the last pin down amongst the vanity. Covered in expensive oils and products, it’s a wonder that anyone could find anything at all on the surface. Thank God Meg knew the contents like the back of her hand.

“No… I fear it will keep me up all night, but thank you, truly,” (Y/N) said.

“Goodnight, my lady.”

And then, she was alone.

Snuffing her candle, she hopped into her bed. Thankfully she never shared this one with Lord Barlow—that was reserved in the wing across the estate—leaving this bed untouched by such a soiled man. It was pleasantly plush and covered in endless pillows, she wondered if the royal princesses slept in beds as nice as this one—nicer, probably. More pillows, if she had to wager.

Sheets pulled up to her chin, eyes focused on the ceiling, she tried to chase sleep. Her mother had taught her a trick when she was young, imagining rabbits chasing around the room and counting those—perhaps it was sheep? Regardless, she tried counting. She only made it to twenty nine before flipping onto her side, exasperated by the count.

Sleep never came.

The covers melted off of her body in an instant, floating over to her door to ensure it was locked. Quietly, oh-so quietly, she turned the latch. No need for the staff to interrupt her… sleep. She hardly had to turn to such matters, but when exhaustion cycled her brain and not her body, leaving her tossing and turning all night, she really had no other choice.

No other choice, she reminded herself.

She laid on top of the covers this time, rabbits and sheep all but forgotten.

If there was to be one positive of marrying, it was the sheer fact that she was able to fully understand her body as a woman. While the marital act itself was entirely loathsome—a chore with Lord Barlow that happened infrequently during their marriage to try for an heir—the act of doing it alone?

Why the idea alone just got her heart pounding.

She never had anyone to teach her these things, her mother passed before her marriage, so there was no ‘wedding night talk’. Everything that Lady Barlow had learned was from her sheer will and determination—a chase for something she never quite knew she was racing towards. Her husband? He had never been any help. A few grunts and thrusts before he would spend himself inside, collapsing on top of her for the night.

She refused to give her late husband much thought—not when her hands were on her breasts, one slinking lower to touch a more delicate area.

No. She needed to focus her thinking on something else. Something to get the job done, send her to sleep sooner than later.

The gentleman. The faceless one that she imagined in place of her own hands. It usually sped things along if she focused on a generally well-looking fellow and how he’d touch her instead of just chasing her own feelings with her fingertips. Saved her wrists a lot of pain too—occasionally she felt like she was back practicing her penmanship, writing lines all day with her governess—the ache was fairly similar. Although, one pain caused a higher embarrassment than the other.

Decidedly happy with her diversion of thought, she made quick work on the bottom of her nightdress and pulled it up to her stomach. (Y/N) had never the need to sleep with drawers, feeling a dress was more than enough. Besides, it gave her easy access on nights like tonight. Her fingers danced with her lower lips, already damp with arousal.

She sighed at the first contact, the pure ecstasy of running her fingertips across her glistening folds. In her mind, he was doing this to her, the nameless man who wanted nothing more than to give her what she needed. With slow and tantalizing circles, she teased her clit, gasps leaving her lips involuntarily, her eyes rolling shut before she could even think. Her non-dominant hand continued to grasp at her breast, squeezing and rolling the flesh until she was utterly mindless.

The climb was thrilling, it was suffocating and all encompassing. How she dreamed she could experience this with someone, feel this pleasure with another, both giving and taking exactly what the other needed. She groaned again, feeling herself getting closer to the edge, her circles faster now, the gentleman making good work on her neglected center.

“Gods,” (Y/N) cried, trying her very best to keep her voice down. She didn’t need Meg inquiring about her, not when she was so worked up and so, so close.

And then… the fall. Everything was white and her heart felt like it was bound to beat out of her chest.

Brown eyes.

As she fell into a peaceful slumber, for no reason in particular, she decided her faceless gentleman had brown eyes.

—

Breaking her fast was usually rewarding, the chefs at Barlow Estate were some of the most talented in the ton—of course, only in her humble opinion, not that she had much to compare it to. When she first married Lord Barlow, having such fulfilling meals first thing in morning was almost worth marrying such an oaf. Almost.

“Did you have a good sleep, ma’am?” A butler asked, taking (Y/N)’s empty plate, replacing it with one full of fresh cut fruit.

“Oh!” Her face flushed. “Y-yes, James, of course. I always have a pleasant sleep.”

“You look well rested, ma’am,” he nodded.

“My lady,” Meg spoke up, gaining the attention of Lady Barlow from her fruit. “You have an appointment at the modiste early this afternoon.”

“I don’t recall making an appointment,” (Y/N) held her hand still, half of an apple tight in her grasp.

“I made the appointment, ma’am,” Meg said. “You are in need of new dresses—”

“Is there something wrong with the way I dress?”

“Of course not,” Meg said quickly, her face growing slightly pink. “It is just, since the late Lord Barlow passed you have been in mourning attire—blacks, blues, the entire dreary ensemble. I figured it would be best to get dresses that suited more the colors of the season.”

“I am unsure if you noticed,” (Y/N) said, taking a small bite of her apple. She chewed it quickly. “But my dress today is green.”

“I did notice,” Meg nodded politely. “It is a lovely color, but perhaps a lighter blue would be nice? A purple?”

“Perhaps you should listen to her, ma’am,” James interjected. “The family account has not been used since after your wedding and the mourning attire—”

“And I can use that money elsewhere,” (Y/N) raised her brow. “I’m sure the new viscount will be pleased I am not blowing his money so frivolously, I do not see the need for new dresses.”

Meg sighed, giving James a trying look. He shrugged. “Humor me. Just one dress.”

“Fine. One dress."

Somehow, between the carriage ride to the modiste and the tailoring of a beautiful purple display piece, Lady (Y/N) Barlow was talked into three new dresses. A sharp pinprick to her left leg brought her back to her senses.

“Oh! Lady Barlow, I do apologize,” Madame Delacroix said. “You must keep still as I pin your hems."

“I will try my best,” (Y/N) smiled, glancing down at the woman working hard on her new dress. “How fortunate the display dress you had fits so well.”

“Oui, how fortunate,” Madame Delacroix nodded. “A few pins and stitches and it will be perfect. And this color is very flattering—I am certain the men of the ton will turn their heads at this.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I have no need to turn heads, Madame,” (Y/N) said curtly. “I am simply just refreshing my wardrobe.”

“Oh, no one has the need to turn heads, save for the young ladies,” Madame Delacroix giggled, it sounded almost fake, forced. “But my work will do that regardless, so do expect that Lady Barlow.”

“Joy,” (Y/N) sighed, tilting her head at her reflection. While it hadn’t been an extraordinarily long time since she debuted—a shake over three years at the most—she was no longer the young girl from her first season. Her curves have filled out, her features more defined, so this particular cut was suiting her just fine. Madame Delacroix was the best modiste for a reason, knowing just how to make the ladies of the ton sparkle.

The front door swung open, a sea of blue flooding in the entryway. “Ah, Lady Bridgerton, I shall be with you in a moment!” Madame Delacroix called out.

(Y/N) froze at the mere mention of the Bridgerton name.

“Take your time, Madame,” Lady Bridgerton cooed, practically shoving a book of fabrics in her daughter’s face. Eloise, (Y/N) recalls, the second eldest daughter of the brood. It was her first season. “We’ll be patient.”

“Shall I pull another dress, Lady Barlow?”

“No,” (Y/N) shook her head wildly. “I rather think I am finished for this afternoon. Please add the dresses to my account—”

“Lady Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton said kindly. “How lovely it is to see you.”

Fuck.

“Lady Bridgerton,” (Y/N) curtsied, feeling far too proper. “Likewise.”

“What a lovely color that is on you,” she said, eying the girl up and down. “I take it you are out of mourning then, yes?”

“Have been since the Danbury Ball,” (Y/N) nodded. “But I gather Lady Whistledown has already made that public knowledge.”

Lady Bridgerton's cheeks flushed, like a child with their hand caught in the biscuit jar. “I cannot say that I find myself reading that gossip rag often, but—”

“Oh Mother,” Eloise groaned, looking up at the ceiling in frustration. “You read Whistledown just as often as I.”

“I do not blame you, Lady Bridgerton,” (Y/N) quickly added. The older woman’s shoulders relaxed. “For the many months I was in mourning and not socializing, Whistledown was my way I could keep up with everything. I very much would like to thank her, should I ever get the opportunity.”

“Yes, well,” Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat. “In any case, if you happen to be free tomorrow afternoon, would you like to join me for tea?”

“Tea?”

“I remember how it felt when—” she stopped herself, eyes becoming glassy. “Becoming a widow so suddenly is difficult. I would like to bestow my wisdom upon you if you’d allow it.”

“You are not quite old enough to be bestowing wisdom,” (Y/N) laughed lightly.

“I beg to differ,” Eloise mumbled.

“Flattery, Lady Barlow, will get you everywhere,” Lady Bridgerton smiled, elbowing her daughter lightly. “And you already have the invite, no need to lay it on so thick.”

“That is very kind of you, but—”

“So, shall we say noon tomorrow?”

The Bridgertons, as Lady Barlow gathered, were a difficult lot to say no to.

“Noon. Sounds perfect.”

—

It felt odd, being in the drawing room of Bridgerton House. She only ever had the fleeting thought that she’d ever sit here the once—ages ago during her first season. Now? Now she was sitting and drinking tea with Lady Bridgerton as if nothing was wrong in the world.

“You have a lovely home,” (Y/N) said, holding her teacup a little tighter than she should.

“Thank you,” Lady Bridgerton said voice full of appreciation. “Tell me, Lady Barlow, how is your family?”

“My family?”

“Oh, forgive me for asking,” Lady Bridgerton clarified. “I just had realized that I know very little about you, you were only in the season for such a short time before you married. I figured your family was a good place to start.”

“No, no,” (Y/N) put the cup down. “I understand. Seeing as everyone knows about your family,” Lady Bridgerton chuckled at that, “I should only fill in some blank spaces, I suppose.”

The elder dowager nodded her head, tipping her cup at the younger widow to continue.

“No family, I’m afraid,” (Y/N) said, her voice wavering on sad. “Mother passed a few years before my debut, Father just last year. No siblings, so… just me I’m afraid.”

“Goodness,” Lady Bridgerton pressed a hand to her heart. “Your father and husband in the same year? I am truly sorry for your losses.”

“My mother was the true loss,” she said honestly, her voice practically lifting. “Kindest soul to grace this Earth, I mourn her every day. The others? I do not doubt anyone has missed them.”

“Lord Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton dropped a spoonful of sugar into her cup. “He was an odious man. When I had heard he had taken another wife—it was quite the story around the ton. I was beside myself.”

“I happen to be number three,” (Y/N) said matter-of-factly. “Number One and Two both died in childbirth, trying to give that man his beloved heir. Never worked out, and I cannot say I am crestfallen I never came to be with child, either. The new Lord Barlow is quite well suited for the role regardless, I am told, so I suppose it has worked out for the best.”

“Yes,” Lady Bridgerton had a small smile against her lips, “I can imagine so.”

“Does your son,” (Y/N) coughed, correcting herself, “Lord Bridgerton, does he know I am here for tea?”

“Oh my son is not always privy to my social calendar,” the older woman winked. “He is probably out galavanting and trying to find a wife.”

“A wife?”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Bridgerton nearly beamed. “Lord Bridgerton is finally looking to marry—even after all these years of begging him. Something just clicked last season, I suppose. Perhaps Daphne, the duchess, marrying finally gave him the right idea?”

(Y/N) nodded politely. “I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

“I only wish for the best for all eight of my children,” she nodded, “so seeing him look to marry makes me ever hopeful.”

“Mhm,” (Y/N) sank into more of her cup, polishing it off.

The grand clock ticked away.

“I apologize if this all makes you uncomfortable Lady Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton started. “It is just… when Edmund passed, I had my family and wonderful friends to support me. I figured, perhaps, having another friend would not be the worst thing?”

“Lady Bridgerton, you are very kind for checking in with me, and I very much appreciate this tea,” (Y/N) said honestly. She felt like she could jump out of her skin with anxiety, but tried her very best to keep it under control. “But… as you had alluded, it is no secret that Lord Barlow and I were not a love match. There is no need—”

“Being a widow is hard,” Lady Bridgerton cut her off. “It is rotten work and you feel like a shell of yourself, only having a title such as ours because of who we married and not in our own right. Tell me, do you plan on remarrying?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I am quite content with my life,” (Y/N) said thoughtfully. “Widows have all the freedom in the world, I am allowed many opportunities because of it—far more than when I was simply a little thing on the Marriage Mart.”

“I suppose that would be… correct,” Lady Bridgerton treaded lightly. “However, do you not wish for a family? The support of another?”

“It is not that I do not wish for a family,” (Y/N) said truthfully. “I am sure part of me does, but it is more the matter of everything that comes with it.”

“I could never imagine going about life alone,” Lady Bridgerton said. “After Edmund… I am just grateful my children were here to keep me sane, grounded, even.”

“Children can be a blessing…”

“But children,” Lady Bridgerton added quickly, “they are not for everyone. I hope you find happiness in whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” the young viscountess said sincerely. “You have such a wonderful life, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Violet,” she corrected. “Please, call me Violet.”

“Oh,” (Y/N)’s cheeks darkened. “Violet, then.”

“We are friends now, after all,” Violet smiled kindly, the kind of smile only a mother possessed. She waved for the tea to be replaced, a butler practically rushed to fulfill the viscountess’ request. “More tea?”

“I would love some more,” (Y/N) said, feeling lighter than air. Perhaps having a friend was a good step forward, a leap into the right direction.

The door to the drawing room slammed open.

“Mother, I just received our balance from the modiste and—”

Much like he owned the place—and in a way, he did—Lord Bridgerton took command of the less-than-quaint room and had all eye on him. His own eyes—his brown eyes—were trained solely on the widow sitting beside his mother, his mouth agape.

“Oh Anthony, you cannot just barge in here,” Violet scolded, “we have a guest.”

“I see that,” he seethed, shoving his hands behind his back in faux-decorum. “Lady Barlow.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” she nodded stiffly, not bothering to raise from her seat.

He ignored her, turning swiftly to his mother instead. “May I have a word alone with our guest, Mother?”

Feeling the tension in the room rise, Violet sighed, giving into her son’s request. “I believe I should check on the governess, anyhow,” Violet said, rising from her seated position. “Behave.”

Anthony brushed his mother’s whispered warning off, tilting his head to the staff, all leaving the room at his command. The door had barely clicked shut before he stepped forward. “Since when are you friends with my mother?”

“Since when do you care about who I spend my time with?”

“Since that company is my mother,” he said cooly. “I would have thought you were just so turned off by the Bridgerton name that you would ignore all of my family—”

“She is a nice woman,” (Y/N) rose, crossing her arms. “How you managed to turn out the way you have despite that is beyond me.”

“You are in my home,” Anthony pointed. “You insult my character and you dare try to befriend my mother?”

“Dare?” She laughed. “Am I not allowed to have friends?”

“Not with my mother,” he stepped towards her.

“Your mother,” she smiled forcefully, “Violet, has been nothing but kind to me today. She was merely looking out for me—offered me some good advice.”

“Advice?” He laughed. “On what planet could someone many years your senior offer you helpful advice?”

“You could not settle with just insulting me, so you had to insult your own mother? She is not yet elderly—”

“Yet she is older than you,” he corrected, his cheeks pink from his mistake. “Do you not have friends your own age?”

“Do you not have something better to do?”

He huffed, squeezing his wrist in restraint. “I came here to speak with my mother—”

“Yet you shooed her out of the room and decided to speak to me instead,” she countered, stepping closer. “To insult me? To threaten me? Whichever, I suppose, I will never understand. I decided to take tea with Lady Bridgerton because she offered it—offered advice on being a widow, something you have already known about me.”

“I wouldn’t wish for her to hear our conversation, besides, her advice could not have been that helpful,” Anthony snorted. “My parents were in love, her trials of being a widow pales in comparison to your situation—”

“The one in which I also lost a husband? The sole definition of being a widow?” She said, her arms tight against her chest. “That situation?”

The grand clock—that damned grand clock—chimed in the uncomfortable silence, a new hour beginning.

“I may not have loved Lord Barlow,” she admitted. “He may not even have been a friend to me, but I still am a lady who has lost her husband—a lady who has so much as lost her way in this fucked world, a world where a woman cannot simply be without one. Your mother was simply being kind.”

“I did not mean…” Anthony’s posture softened, even just a bit, words caught in his throat.

“But you did,” she pointed. “If you hadn’t meant it, you wouldn’t have said it. My, Lord Bridgerton, you certainly have a way with words, much like you always have, it seems.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She looked at the clock. “I must take my leave. I am expected to be back home soon, the estate certainly cannot run itself, seeing as my husband,” she nearly spat the word, “has left it to my care. What a thoughtful man he was.”

“I—Lady Barlow,” Anthony started, unsure of where he was going with it. “Please accept my apologies.”

“Keep them,” she smiled. “They are nearly as useless as you are. Excuse me.” Lady Barlow opened the door with haste, nodding to the staff members who were waiting outside. Her lady’s maid, Meg, followed only a few steps behind her, her attention caught on the wounded viscount in blue.

Anthony practically dissolved into the arm chair, unsure of what to do next. He had half a mind to go to his study to drink, to pour over the invoices that had him enter this room in the first place. His interactions with Lady Barlow usually left him buzzing, his blood boiling and his ego only partially wounded. How he was left feeling so defeated was beyond him.

“A way with words?” He mumbled to himself. “I never wish to understand that woman.”

Yet, a part of him nearly screamed the opposite.

How peculiar.

—

Roses and Regrets Tag List:

@creative-heart , @sunshineangel-reads

want to be added to my taglist? comment below!

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #x reader #oopsies #didn't expect to write some steamy bits already in chapter 2 but oh well!! reader is pent up i guess

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mcu-coworkers · 1 year

Text

Enough for you

Summary: You realized that maybe Miguel isn't who you thought he was.

Word count:1k+

warnings: Sad reader, Sad Miguel:(

Tag list: @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @munixumai @deputy-videogamer @blueberry-thrawn @neteyamsluvts @um-well @stinygirl009 @marcswife21 @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @juleshadalittlelamb @taygrls @tanchosanke @chuckle-nuts

A/n: Hello everyone and welcome to part two of “you?” I will most positively be making a part three coming very soon! Thank you all for reading! (I listened to the sour album while writing this series rough drafts)

Parts: One Two^ Three Four

Credits to the creator^

That night you cried yourself to sleep.

Partially because Miguel completely shot you down and partially because you left your friends and suit forever.

You couldn't bear to bring back the suit or go back to HQ knowing what you knew.

You could never face Miguel or any spider again.

You wanted to so desperately let it all go and forget.

But above all else there was a city that needed you and you’d always be there for them no matter what heartbreak comes your way.

In this moment, you wished you were as heartless as miguel.

Back at HQ Miguel was looking through endless security footage on all possible earths miles could have been on.

Truth was he needed a second pair of eyes.

“Lyla.” he barked out.

“Yes, boss.” she responded, appearing on his shoulder.

“Call y/n.” he said, pausing the footage to rub his eyes.

He could take advantage of this time to apologize.

“No can do.” she replied being short with him. To be fully honest Lyla had also had enough of his shit.

“What? Lyla it wasn't a question go get me Y/n. Now.” he said, not having the energy to deal with her jokes.

“No. Miguel, you don’t-” she tried again but he cut her off.

“Fine. I ‘ll go get her my fucking self.” he said swinging towards the door.

“She's gone, Miguel. And it's all your fault.” Lyla said behind him.

He froze,“What?” finding your watch and your suit he stopped thinking.

“She quit. Not just the spider society, she quit being a spider entirely. Because of what you said.” Lyla finished.

“ I didnt- I didnt mean it..” he said, clutching your suit in his hand.

“Well you said it anyway and it hurt her.” She responded, “And if I were her I‘d probably never come back too, she deserved better Miguel. Why did you lie?” she asked confused as to why he denied himself the chance of love.

“ I was angry I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t mean it.” he said barely above a whisper.

“Yeah well you sold it as far as keeping up an act goes.” she said, sighing.

Miguel could always fix his mistakes. This would be a first.

Sighing he stood straight and turned back to his desk.

Miguel had a decision to make, you or the fate of the multiverse.

It's like he said, there's no room for that kind of stuff for guys like him.

Once again he was right.

“Get Ben and Jess in here and have them start with earth 42.” he said, sounding more defeated than ever.

Still, he was clutching your suit as if you were still in it. Your scent lingering.

“Yes, boss.” was all Lyla could muster up at the moment.

Her artificial heart was breaking for the both of you. He was so close to telling you she could feel it.

It just wasn't his strongest moment.

Neither was this one as he took out his anger on the poor monitor that happened to be in his way.

Back at home you laid in bed trying to find the motivation to get back up but the truth was you didn't want to.

Everytime you tried to create a new suit you just heard Miguel's abusive words like it was the first time all over again.

And it just made you want to hide under the blankets forever.

Your spidey senses went off and then there came the portal.

You knew it wasn't Miguel, he could never.

“Hey webby? You alright in there?” you heard.

Peter.

Taking the covers off you came face to face with an exhausted Peter and a sleeping May Day.

“Heard what happened at HQ just wanted to check in if that's okay.” he added wondering if he could take a step closer.

“ I really screwed it up this time pete.” you said wiping the tears away for the millionth time.

God you felt pathetic.

“No way kid, that was all him. You know that right.” he said sitting next to you.

“ I should’ve been there. But even if I was, I don't know if I‘d be on his side. Miles is just a kid, We’ve all been there right?” you asked. Thinking this way makes you feel guilty.

You should stand behind Miguel at all times.

But now what did it matter you’d never step foot in HQ ever again anyways.

“You're allowed to think whatever you want. He can't take that from you.” Peter reassured me.

He was right.

“You think you’ll ever come back?” he asked, he almost entirely knew the answer but he still held out hope for you.

“ I don't think so Pete, I‘m sorry.” you said looking down in shame.

The reality was you could never face him again.

“Don’t be I wouldn't stand for that either I ‘m pretty sure a lot of us are done for too anyways but listen, you’re never going to be alone.” he said putting a hand on your shoulder.

“If you ever decide to come back not just as spider woman, but to the society, just know you have people in your corner.” he said, giving you a warm smile.

“Thanks pete.” you said as he stood opening a portal.

“Hey pete?” you called out.

Turning back to you he waited for you to continue.

“Don’t ever stop sending me Pictures of May Day. I need my daily serotonin boost.” you said with a soft smile earning yourself a chuckle in return.

“Never kid.” he said as he walked his way into the portal.

A soon as he was gone you went back under the covers and took a deep breath.

Peeking your head out from under the cover you looked at the picture you had framed on your wall.

It was of you receiving the key to the city.

Your city, the one you saved day and night.

Whenever it called for you.

You earned that key the same way you earned the title of spider-woman.

And you weren’t gonna let some words take that from you.

Wiping the fresh tears away you got out of bed putting Miguel's words in the back of your head and got to designing.

You were bigger than his words and you’d prove it.

In that moment you promised you’d make him regret ever making you feel like you’re not good enough.

One day he’s gonna feel sorry for himself.

And one day you’ll be everything to somebody else.

And he’ll be the one who's crying.

Yeah, one day.

*If you’d like to be added to the tagslist just let me know I am more than happy to :)

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #Miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman #across the spiderverse #spider-man 2099 #marvel #Oscar Isaac

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 2 years

Text

Her Words

Summary: You are introduced with the prince as his second option for a marriage in your family. But how will the Prince react to you own affliction and the backlash from your family | Mini-Series Masterlist

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

A/N: You all asked for a part 2 so ask and you shall receive! Again thank you for the request on this one it was really fun to write :)

Warnings: hitting, some sexual suggestions

You could feel your handwriting getting progressively worse as the weeks went by.

That was one thing you had not considered as a side-effect from spending so much time with Aemond.

Every hallway, every corner, every walk in the garden. There was always some off-chance that your paths would cross. And every time this coincidence seemed to happen, there was a stupid smile on your face and your hands grip on your notebook seemed less and less. One a few of occasions he had dared to close the space between you, whether it was to brush a hair from your face or to run a warm hand over yours. All of this serving to send warmth to your cheeks that a smile that reached your eyes.

Nobody was more surprised of this behaviour, than Aemond himself. Though he would never admit it to himself.

He had already gifted you one book, written entirely in cursive Valyrian, promising to read you through it, to teach you how to pronounce the words like a native. The book had been kept well and separate from the rest of them in the library. The cover was a wine colour and there was not a rip on it.

And when he extended the book out to you, your hands delicately traced the patterns on the front, inspecting all the details as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Your eyes had found his, wide and bright with gratitude and a slight film of tears coated them, mouth pulling into a line to stop yourself from crying at the kind gesture.

"Ziry iksos issa jaelagon naejot rȳbagon ao pikībagon bisa, issa riñnykeā"

When he spoke Valyrian, it almost seemed too perfect. His voice was suited to it, and it was a shame that he could not speak it all the time. The way he formed the words, his intonation, all serving to set off a spark inside you. And at the notion that he spoke only to you. For you.

It is my wish to hear you read this, my lady.

The words were sweet. But you relished in the way he said them more so.

The book nestled in your arms, you looked down, trying to hide the blush that very quickly was heating your face from the Prince before you. Your hand smoothed over your clothed arm, picking at the wrinkles in it with anxiety. Your hand went to your side and the mind raced at the notion that your notebook was not there.

And he was stood before you, regarding you and the way your anxious face formed being separated from your notebook. Of course, it had not been an accident. You had dared for this day to leave it behind, but now the space where it would have been seemed endless. Like those soldiers who return from battle with a limb missing, but still feeling it, still being able to control it.

Your eyes briefly met Aemond's and he could see the panic in your eyes. And you need not be panicked or anxious, you knew he was patient and kind, despite appearances.

"gūrogon aōha jēda…" He said quietly, he had his hands laced behind his back and his good eye looked down on you softly.

Take your time.

He looked so peaceful it bought a pain on your heart. Nobody was as patient as him. Nor had anyone in the past been.

You send him a ghost of a smile in thanks, looking away to pull in a long breath of air, so much so that your lungs ached. You let yourself exhale first before bringing another burst of air in, mouth open to form the words,

"i-iska…no, iksā to-l-lī sȳz…" you manage, the nerves being the cause of it more than anything, "…d-dārilaros Aemond…"

You are too kind, Prince Aemond.

You dared look back up at him once you'd finished the sentence. There was that look again, the darkened look he always gives you whenever you say his name. Your grip on the book tightened once again seeing him take a step towards you and he could hear a breath get caught in your throat. He was so close you could see all the details of his dragon-shaped clasps on his tunic. So close you could smell his scent around you. So close that you thought he might touch you.

"nyke hae ziry skori vestrā ñuha brōzi…"

I like it when you say my name.

His hand came to a lock of your hair at the side of your face, running the strands through his dextrous fingers. His other fingers ran across your jaw, sending a chill through you, only to come to rest his palm on your cheek. His motions were so slow and calculated that it sent a heat through your body that settled in your stomach. You swallowed back, suddenly nervous in his presence, even more so when you felt his thumb trace the outside of your lip.

Your eye never moved from his.

"ivestragon ziry aril"

Say it again.

To anyone else it would have been a command. But he seemed desperate to hear it again and a shuddered breath came from you again.

And before you could even prepare yourself, do all your breathing and calming, the words seemed to pass your lips as naturally as the sun rises over the horizon.

"Aemond…"

He was so close still, a smirk on his face and a smile on your own. All anxiety seemed pressed down below the surface, replaced with something new. Something you thought you would never experience.

Desire.

A desire for his company. For his understanding and patience. But also a desire for him. For him to be pressed to you as if in need and desperation. You could feel your throat constrict at the mere thought.

"kostan ūndegon skoros iksā otāpagon…" He started.

I can see what you are thinking.

"…ñuha riña"

Against his better judgement, he withdrew his hand from you to place behind his back once more, standing back to revel in the effect he had on you. You knew what he was doing and it was not original in the slightest, but it still made you smile bashfully, fingers desperately gripping the book he had given you.

He cleared his throat as if he himself was also nervous, " kessa nyke ūndegon ao tolī…tolī ñuha gūrēñare?" he asked. Shall I see you later, after my training.

You nodded in earnest and watched as he turned to leave, his gaze on yours the entire time until his back faced you. Marvelling at his form as he walked away, he took one more glance back before rounding the corner and you wondered how someone could be so expressive with only one eye. And yet even the smallest glance could send a spark through you like no other. That, combined with his words, was the greatest pleasure you had known.

Even the way he walked away served to stir you so. The way his long legs carried his strides and the way he commanded his space with his form, such confidence at face value and yet so often, in your shared language, he had said that it was not always this way. He had learned the cold stare of feigned confidence through the many years he spent hiding himself away, learning to use his words as his weapon and training his body to be his deadliest.

Who would think that a man like this could be so gracious in the presence of a woman.

Of you.

Hurriedly, you half-ran back to your chambers, letting out a deep breath at being alone and able to let out your thoughts on the man. The book he had gifted you was placed lovingly on your bed as a maid softly knocked at your door. All you could do was face the mirror and uncontrollably smile as she loosened the ties of your dress, pulling the gown off your shoulders to pool at your feet.

"You seem in good spirits, my lady" she remarked, preparing the other dress to be worn at the feast. You could tell that when she said it, she was smiling, "Would the Prince have anything to do with that?"

In the mirror you met her gaze very briefly and shrugged, her hm in response seemed to satisfy her question. Without pressing any further, she draped the dress at your feet and once stepped inside pulled the heavy garment up your body to fasten at your front. This maid was quick about her work and laced it effortlessly at the front and at the back, using metal ones at the front that were coated with gold to compliment the deep forest colour of the gown.

Once the skirts were smoothed down, you observed your figure in the mirror. It was quite possibly the only thing you wore which truly fit you and it was here you felt you looked truly beautiful, for the first time maybe ever. All the small gold fastening attached at the front reminded you of the endless times you had seen Queen Alicent with her seven-pointed star accessories, and you thought she had looked beautiful then.

One your hair was styled the way you preferred, not overly braided, the maid stepped back to admire her own work.

"Beautiful, my lady"

You nod your head in thanks as she takes her leave.

You yourself look on your silhouette and shake slightly. To be his betrothed is one thing, but to be his wife. To tame the blood of the dragon. You felt underequipped for the task at hand.

But you had already conquered him. You just did not know it yet.

You had been seated at the table for some time with one of your older brothers before people started to file into the hall. Of course, this wasn't the first time you had been in this room but it had been so altered for the feast that it was unrecognisable. There was a long table in the middle of the room with a red tablecloth and many candles decorating the middle, their flames barely flickering the room was so quiet.

Glancing over to your brother, he had his head in his hand, probably severely hungover. His eyes were closed so tightly that you thought that he might be in pain, and you half thought to ask him if he was alright but decided against it. For he had not spoken a single word to you in the weeks your family had been guests to King Viserys and Lady Alicent.

With a sigh you smooth your hands over your gown and clasp your hands together, sending a glare over to your brother who whispered shut up at your sigh.

You could not even make sound in front of your family. The kindness served to you by Aemond had made you realise how badly they treated you. Especially your father.

The echoes of fast footsteps broke you from your trance and you looked over at the entrance to see you older sister, arms hurriedly beside her in her half-run and a fierce stare tracking the room.

Her daggered eyes landed upon you, finger pointed in your direction.

"You!" the words came from her like a stab.

Her fierce look had you on your feet, a questioning look on your face as your sister made for you across the room, your eldest brother not far behind in his own half-run. The other drunken brother furrowed his brows in curiosity and all time seemed to slow as your sister threw all her weight into her palm to strike you across the face.

You could barely register the pain in your face until you looked back into your sister's hateful eyes which is when the pain started to bloom across your cheek and jaw. More shocked than anything right now, you raised your hand to your now burning face to touch, it was not sore yet but it certainly would be. Your sister looked unnaturally angry, so much so that the lines around her mouth were now visible and she was shaking. Her eyes were scrunched up with her expression, mouth hanging open slightly to say something.

"You fucking whore" she spat at you, her hand came to your bare arm to twist the skin there and you let out a cry at the pain. But she would not let go and seemed to dig her fingernails into you even further, even at the sudden presence of your eldest brother and entrance of your father.

"What is the meaning of this!" your father's voice boomed but your sister never took her eyes off you. Afraid that if she would, you would escape her tight grip.

"How did you do it, hm?" she asked, eye boring into you, "The Prince could not have fallen for an idiot like you…"

Your mouth formed into a flat line in an attempt to deflect her unkind words, pushing the brewing tears back, but an ever-present feeling was there also. Anger.

"Let her go, sister" Your eldest brother was at her side, hand hooked under her arm to pull her away. Not one look from him was given to you.

Your father was not far behind, his booming voice aching for his daughter to release her hold on you, noting the arrival of Queen Alicent into the hall, who looked shocked at the whole situation.

"What did you do then, fuck him?" she snapped and you could feel your anger bubble inside of you. Mouth open ready to say something, the familiar block stopped you, but your sister was so close, so you thought to opt for a whisper if nothing else. You could no just stand idly by while she disrespected you. That is something you had learnt from him. In only the few weeks you had known him, he seemed to have taught you more than your family ever had.

"N-n.." you start, and a moment of surprise passes on your sister's face, but the anger remains, "…not all of us…h-have to…"

She seemed to mull over the words for a long time, fingernails pushing so hard into your skin you were sure there would be bruising and welts. And it was as if it was a language she had not know, you could see her bounce the words in her head. Or perhaps she had never bothered to hear for the sound of her sister's voice before.

It all came down on your sister so quickly and she let a sinister smile pass on her face at the understanding of your words.

"You dare take the Prince from me…" she cursed, her grip tightening like a vice once more around you and you closed your eyes once more to brace yourself for another strike.

"Care to tell me why your hands are on my betrothed?" a voice rang out loud and deep and your eyes popped open again to find Aemond at the doorway, hands ever clasped behind his back, his cold, hard stare at your sister.

Her head spun around with such speed, you thought it might pop off and her confused gaze met the Prince's, but it was not long before a sinister smile returned, her hands still on you.

"I am your betrothed" she returned.

Aemond turned his head so that he could face the sister straight on, nothing needed to be said, saying enough with his gaze entire. The room seemed deathly quiet as he took his few steps towards your sister, his eye never met yours, not even once. There was danger in the room and he felt he had to address it.

"Aemond…" Alicent muttered, trying to distract him. But it was no use. He was trained directly on your sister and you could feel her façade slip away by the second as she shrunk under his look.

"Release her" he ordered. When your sister did not move, he sent a hooded glare down at her, "Now"

It was clear your sister was too out of it to move, so your eldest brother pulled her towards him, with no resistance. Your groaned in pain as your sister's fingernails came from your skin, leaving red half-moon shaped marks on you. Aemond's hand was on your arm instantly, inspecting the damage your sister inflicted on you, his touch soft against the violence that had ensued before. His fingers traced the marks before allowing his eye to meet yours and then your cheek, seeing the way the skin was inflamed, red and no doubt sore.

It was difficult to gauge his emotion at this time. But all you knew it that he was angry.

Turning to your siblings and father, he took your arm softly to push you behind him, whispering to you softly.

"Gaomas ziry ōdrikagon?" Does it hurt? He asked.

You could not dignify him with a lie and simply replied quietly, "M-mirrī…" A little.

Aemond could not tolerate anyone laying a hand on you, and you seemed to understand this as he faced your family.

"What was that?" you father asked, wide-eyed and staring at you. Silence filled the room once more and your father shuffled embarrassed, "Answer me"

"She spoke" your sister said, "So it does speak"

Her laugh filled the room, that cackle that Aemond hated so much. The one that inspired him to cast her aside, now even more annoying.

"You mean to me that you can speak all this time?" your father says, a hint of annoyance in his voice, "And then once in the company of the Prince, suddenly your idiocy is gone?"

"She is a whore" your sister seethes, but your father orders her to be quiet.

"I would suggest you use different words " Aemond warned, his voice low and protective in the face of your family.

The otherwise quiet Queen Alicent seemed to step forward, using her body to separate the two parties. For a long time, she had been the dividing force between families and had no issues stepping back into that responsibility now.

"That is enough" she said softly, her eyes forever on your father, "My Lord, no promises have been made regarding joining our houses"

All at once, the reality of the situation seemed to hit your father. His face changed from one scorned, angry and exhausted to something more hopeful.

"He is meant to be my husband!" your sister called out, eldest brother still holding onto her arm. She looked positively furious and with the opportunity would most certainly have broken free to wreak havoc once more.

"Be quiet" your father warned. Looking towards you, he jutted his jaw upwards, feeling as if suddenly he had the upper hand, "This marriage will still benefit us no doubt and you have done this family an unexpected favour, your Grace"

Alicent wasn't enjoying a moment of this and simply looked onwards, almost dissociated. Your father's tone seemed predatory, his gaze creeping back over to you and Aemond. Your fingers rested on his hand, delicately gripping him and thanking him for his support in this awkward situation.

Aemond cocked his head, knowing your father had more to say.

Stepping forward, your father dared to glower at the Prince.

"You have taken this halfwit from me, at last"

It was clear it was aimed to set Aemond off. And it had almost worked as the man before you went to take a step forward, only to be met with your hand on his chest. Confused, he looked down at you but you simply shook your head. His look was difficult to decipher as many had often said before you, but you refused to allow him to act how others perceived him, so with a soft hand on his chest you gently pushed him back to take your place before him. One hand slipped into his, you faced your father, who had a sick, satisfied smile on his face.

You could see his gaze waver slightly when you went to open your mouth.

He was the one you feared the backlash from the most. Mother, at least, had been somewhat patient and accepting until her death. But after that, it only served to turn your father bitter. If he would not be patient for his other children, there was little hope for yourself growing up with any form of endearment. What could be expected of such a man.

You felt the familiar slam of a block in your throat, and you swallowed heavily, squeezing Aemond's hand beside you. Grounding you. With a deep breath, you looked back up to your father. He would not interrupt you this time. He would not best you.

He could not have the last laugh this time.

"You…" the words came out forcefully, almost clumsy. But no block in sight, "…are no father…t-to me"

The room was deathly quiet and more than anything, everyone was just shocked. You watched your father's face carefully and saw the raw shock that was so clearly there and you hadn't realised just how tightly you had been holding onto Aemond's hand until he squeezed back, a very obvious proud look on his features.

You took a glance about the room once the silence had become uncomfortable, your siblings sharing their own form of shock in equal measure. A sudden feeling of self-consciousness overtook you and you looked over at Alicent and finally Aemond.

Alicent looked entirely neutral if not a little amused, but Aemond did not have to hide his amusement, his lips turned up into a very clear smirk as his eye looked down at you. You dared to send him a smile back, secretly proud of what you had done in the spur of the moment.

"I think it is time for you to leave, my Lord" Alicent said, cutting through the stony silence, "The King and I will send the terms for the marriage in the coming days"

The father looked wordlessly over at the Queen, now haggard and expressionless.

"I trust the matter is closed"

"Hm" was your father's only response. He gave you somewhat of a glare before turning his back, his own hand clamping around your sisters to drag her out of the room. Your brother's seemed to give Aemond a look before following also, the eldest dragging the middle by the cuff of his shirt.

You let out a breath and your shoulders dropped, now relieved of the pressure. Aemond squeezed your hand again,

"T-tolī o-o…olvie?" you ask. Too much?

He shakes his head with a chuckle, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, "Daor, īles vok"

No, it was perfect.

The weight of the burden your family was apparently very hefty, for as they arranged their hasty departure the next day it did not seem to bother you to see them off.

You would happily spend the afternoon sat beneath the Weirwood Tree, book softly placed in your lap. Aemond leaned against the tree behind you, reading over your shoulder as your eyes darted across the words scribbled on the page, fingers at the corner ready to turn with excitement.

Aemond smirked knowingly as his eye caught your family passing the gardens, the servants carrying their luggage. Your father leered over, a gaze that could kill settling upon the Prince, but the only thing that could occupy the space between you both was the sound of you reciting the book before you. The one he had given you as a present.

He sat by, watching every now and then as the line formed between your eyebrows at a particularly difficult word, taking staggered breaths to get the long ones through in a single utterance. And for a moment, watching you reciting the text, Aemond swore he saw the passing of regret pass over your father's features.

Your words seemed to be suited to Valyrian, Aemond so often thought, and even now as he listened to your words from the history book, he took a lock of hair between his fingers to play with the strands. A chill ran up your spine at his hand on your neck, pushing the hair away, the smooth skin hiding beneath now exposed to the cold air.

His hand remained at your nape as you finished the sentence.

"Rȳ z-zȳha…sȳrje…sk-skorkydoso gaomas…b-bisa pikībagon?..." How does this read? you pause to ask, a finger pointed at the page at an unknown symbol. Aemond sat up and leered over your shoulder at the spot,

"Valyria"

"Oh" you answer, now feeling stupid, but chuckling in response. You carried on, Aemond's chin now resting softly atop your shoulder.

"Valyria iksin se….ro-rovaja oktion isse se vys. Iemny ziry..."

"Lemnȳ" Aemond corrected, smiling.

You sigh and push the book closed to place beside you, looking up at Aemond's smug face, he was so close now that you could see the stitching of his eye-patch and a shuddered breath came from you at the hand that was still placed on your skin. His eye was once against hooded to look down at you, perhaps you would never get used to the feeling that gave you.

"Ao pikībagon sȳrī" You read well.

"e-emi mērī..sssepār rhēdan" We have only just started. You shake your head at his words.

"Nyke hae aōha elēni…" I like the sound of your voice, he trailed off and you could feel your cheeks heat up at his compliments. Truthfully, you loved the sound of his more. Especially when he spoke Valyrian. It being your shared language, there was a certain intimacy to it. And you found yourself wondering if he would speak it during…

Your sinful thoughts were cut off by his hand on your jaw, turning your face towards him. If he was close before, now he was even closer, and you held your breath and searched his eye for his intent. He was smiling down at you, finger softly dragging across your skin and it seemed like there was nothing more romantic than saying nothing at all in this moment. Eyes zoned in on him, you opened your mouth to say something, his name.

"Aem-"

His lips interrupted you and you could feel how his softness pressed against you, body heated instantly just purely with his touch. All that fire that burned in his blood, pumped around his body, to be pressed against you now; it burned so nicely that you smiled in his kiss. Allowing him to slip into your mouth as you smiled, the warmth enveloped the two of you and you hand was softly pressed to his chest, grasping the collar of his coat, perhaps in an effort to pull him closer. Aemond groaned with need, sending a vibration of desire that descended through you.

You had never felt so wanted in your life. And Gods, it felt so nice to be wanted, to be needed.

Time seemed to pass so slowly when he had you like this and the desire deepened more so when his hand cupped the back of your head, pressing further into you. A ghost of a moan left you which only seemed to spur him on more so, running swiftly out of breath.

"Aōha udra…" he broke away to whisper, forehead resting on yours, "…nyke jorrāelagon tolī"

You smiled, eyes closed and enveloped in his scent, his love. It was other-wordly.

Your words. I need more.

Taglist: @candypurplebutterfly @vainillasmil157 @ysa-psa @angelaevangelion @bellaisasleep @random-human02 @guardian-of-the-imagination

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whispersoftheton · 1 year

Note

This idea has been on my mind for a while… Anthony seeing you in the bridgerton blues for the first time, can either be smut or fluff :) thanks

Ahhhh I love this so much, thank you for sending it in! :)

Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: kissing, fluff, smut, p in v

Word Count: 1.2K

The family gathered around the room on another sweltering summer day. Hyacinth and Gregory bickered over yet another sworn tie in their endless chess matches while Eloise quietly read her book in the opposite corner. Anthony sat between his brothers, Benedict telling him of his endless tales from class among the unspoken soirees he discreetly attended from time to time and Colin of his many travels. Anthony found himself growing bored, awaiting your arrival. You were to accompany him and the rest of the Bridgertons to the races this afternoon, as it would be your first outing as a family since your marriage to the Viscount. And he could not bear to listen to another one of Benedict's tales for one more second; he needed to see you.

"Mother." Anthony stood hurriedly from the gold-trimmed sofa to approach Lady Bridgerton as she entered the room. "Where is she?"

"Now, calm down, Anthony; she is nearly ready." Lady Birdgerton assured him while straightening out his neckline to perfection. She knew Anthony's antics well enough by now to understand his growing impatience was only a product of his theatrics.

"I feel as though I have been waiting an eternity. Surely she must-" Anthony made his way past his mother and into the hallway, his words stammered as soon as his eyes landed on you. You'd been making your way to the main room when he appeared in your path, a smile gracing both your lips. There was no word in the English language to describe how beautiful you looked. The most impeccable dress draped over every curve in a more delicate shade of blue than he wore but complimented his outerwear perfectly. Warmth blossomed in Anthony’s chest at the sight of you in that color. His color. He never thought he'd see the day when the one he loved, the one his heart eternally yearned for, would wear the color that meant so much to him and his family. He would never tire of how easily you overpowered him whenever he was in your presence.

"Do I look alright?" You nervously patted your skirt, ensuring everything was as it should be. Hesitation apparent in your tone as you approached him.

"Alright?" Anthony's eyes widened as he took your hands in his. He couldn't believe you would use a modest word such as 'alright' to describe how exquisite you looked right now. "My love, you look…absolutely stunning. Beyond words, truly." Heat filled your face, and your stomach fluttered at his flattery. Anthony had a way of making you feel as though you two were the only person on the face of the earth, easily melting under his gaze. It was an exquisite feeling you wished to relish in forever. Anthony glanced around and took advantage of the privacy to steal a kiss. His lips were warm and soft against your own. They parted slightly, allowing you to move more passionately as your hunger for one another became apparent in mere seconds. It shouldn't be surprising, seeing as you and your husband could hardly keep your hands off each other since your wedding night. The moment grew heated with every swipe of his tongue, hands caressing the soft flesh of your waist and hips hidden beneath the restricting fabric of your dress.

"Mother!" Anthony reluctantly pulled away, panting, and shouted. "Go ahead without us. We will join you shortly, as promised." Without so much as a second thought or a response from anyone, he whisked you away toward a nearby closet in a closed-off hallway he was sure no one wandered by.

"Anthony, what are you doing? The races are starting soon." You protested before he cut you off with another chaste kiss and shut the door behind him.

"We will join them in a moment. I must have you right now." The passion flowed through his words, making you squeeze your thighs together in anticipation and a chuckle escape you. He pulled you close, continuing his ministrations. His lips scattered kisses along your neckline and down to your chest as your hands tangled in his hair. His hands worked tirelessly to remove as many barriers between your bodies as quickly as possible as he gently guided you to lean on the wall behind you. Your dress was bunched up toward you as Anthony hastily removed his trousers just to his upper thigh. You panted under him, his lips never leaving your skin, leaving a trail of marks and bruises as a reminder of his love for you.

"Seeing you in our family color," Anthony spoke between kisses. "You are so beautiful." He was rambling as he often did when he was this worked up. The way you looked, how your body responded to his every touch. Every beautiful sound he was able to pull from you, it drove him mad. He couldn't take it anymore; he had to have you now. Anthony abruptly lifted and pressed you against the wall, your fingers tugging at his hair and desperately nipping at his lower lip, pulling an animalistic groan from his chest.

"Anthony, please." You practically whimpered when you felt his cock prod at your entrance, clenching around nothing as the tip slid over your sensitive clit. He lined himself up and pressed his lips against yours to swallow any sounds you made as he gently pushed inside you. You moaned into each other in unison, and he waited, letting you settle as you nodded for him to move. Anthony began to plunge into you, easily slipping through your folds, feeling your warm cunt swallow him whole. He cupped your breast over the fabric of your dress, kneading it in his hands while breathing heavily as he bottomed out inside of you, holding you there for a moment, reveling in how impossibly soft and warm you felt around him as low whimpers escaped you.

A low grunt rumbled from his chest when he felt you fluttering around him. His hand outlined from the swell of your breasts all the way down beneath your hips, memorizing every curve, feeling the way your chest was rising and falling with every breath of pleasure that surged through you; even the way your hips instinctively moved to meet his own drove him insane. Anthony craved and wanted nothing more than to be close to you; even being inside you now, it was never close enough for him. He began to stroke your clit, already aching for attention. Your bodies rocked in sync with one another, desperate for relief. Anthony felt you whine quietly as your orgasm crashed into you. Waves of heat overwhelmed your body as you pulsed on his cock, pulling Anthony to spill himself inside of you.

Anthony pulled away from you after a moment of stolen kisses and delicate touches. He made sure you were settled on the ground and took the time to adjust himself. Moving quickly to assist you in fixing your dress and ensuring everything else was in order before opening the door to confirm no one was outside and stepping out of the closet. You may have missed the race's first leg, but with the knowing smirks and blissed-out looks on both your faces, it was well worth it.

Tag List: @bugnug @queenofmean14 (let me know if you would like to added here or dm me if you’d like to be removed)

I do not consent to having my work reposted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. if anyone sees my work anywhere that is not ao3/tumblr or under any other username that is not whispersoftheton, it has been reposted without my permission

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fluff #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton one shot #anthony bridgerton angst #bridgerton netflix #lady bridgerton #viscount bridgerton

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sapphicjackal · 2 months

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Bingyuan Soulmate au 2

Part 1

For as long as Luo Binghe can remember, dark shapes would imprint themselves onto his skin accompanied with foreign feelings. The feelings were always benign and soft. Eventually Luo Binghe knew them to be words, but he was illiterate and unable to read what they said. He could recognize fragments based on what little his mother could teach him.

He asked his mother about the words but she couldn’t see them. She believed him that they were there and told him that maybe if he could become a cultivator he could find out what it was. Cultivators knew all manner of secret and esoteric things that mortals didn’t, and maybe this was a sign he was destined to be one.

Luo Binghe was happy about that, and he traced the sifting words reverently, feeling out their shapes and reveling in the feelings they brought. The feelings were so warm and gentle, they brought him even greater comfort after his mother died and he was alone on the streets. Each morning, and sometimes other parts of the day, he would feel a message arrive with a caring greeting. He didn’t know what the words said, but he knew they were for him.

Getting chosen for Qing Jing Peak was a blessing. Surely on the Peak of Scholars he would find the answers he seeked about these words. Luo Binghe probably should have asked someone about it, but some part of him felt possessive over it. These words belonged to him and him alone. He didn’t want anybody to know about them. If they knew they might be able to take it away, Luo Binghe never wanted to lose the daily message.

Everybody hated him on Qing Jing Peak, his Shizun poured tea on him and the Shixiong’s bullied him, but each morning without fail, a message would arrive on his wrist. Luo Binghe worked tirelessly on his literacy, spending every free moment learning how to read and write. He wanted to know what was being said to him.

Each night, he snuck into the library to read the materials available for new coming illiterate disciples. As the scholarly peak, there was a dedicated selection towards priming new disciples to the standards of Qing Jing Peak. Luo Binghe didn’t have time to view then during the day because of his endless chores, but he was determined to learn, even if it meant going during the night.

Nobody was allowed to go during the night, but Luo Binghe had carefully tested it and found out that there was nothing to alert anyone. So as long as he was careful to make sure everything looked undisturbed, he could learn from the materials. It meant he got little sleep, but Luo Binghe was nothing if not determined. Once he set his mind to something, he would strive doggedly to succeed.

Slowly he began to be able to read the messages, recognizing several characters even if he couldn’t read the whole thing quite yet. He could see words like “happy”, “love”, “good”, “well”, “today”, and “I” appear with the most frequency. It was the final thing that confirmed to him his theory that it was someone talking to him. Perhaps a spirit?

It didn’t seem like a malevolent force, but he’s learned that anything being attached to a person is often a bad thing. They often drained qi or lifeforce, and were parasitic in nature. He would have to remain on guard with these mysterious words and whoever they were connected to.

He waited a few more months until he could read more of what was said than he was unable to read. The message came in that morning as it always did. Luo Binghe had filched an old and worn calligraphy brush along with a near empty pot of ink that he stowed away in preparation.

“I hope you have a wonderful day that brings you joy.” it read. The message was intimate and informal, paired with genuine well wishes.

“Who are you?” Luo Binghe wrote carefully. He struggled with writing more than reading, but he was making progress to improve in both areas as quickly as he could.

The reply came quickly, the feeling of it taking shape was oddly scratchy and the size of the lettering was a uniform thickness that appeared with a drag unlike a brustip. Luo Binghe had never wondered about the writing implement that was being used up until he could now compare it to his own writing and experience how they differed.

“I’m your soulmate! It’s nice to meet you.” appeared along with a bubbly feeling of anticipation.

Soulmate?

Luo Binghe’s eyes widened in disbelief. He had heard tales of soulmates before, of individuals connected by red strings of fate tied around their fingers. But those strings were invisible and soulmates weren’t able to communicate by writing.

“Soulmate? This one has never heard of words on skin happening with soulmates." Luo Binghe wrote, trying not to get his hopes up. This could be a spirit or demon trying to trick him.

“How old are you? I’m surprised you haven’t heard of soulmates, everyone has one. Only soulmates can see each other’s words, but everybody gets them. Unless their soulmate isn’t born or has died.” came the words with a sense of absolute certainty and curiosity. It felt like truth. Luo Binghe didn’t know that truth was an emotion that could be felt.

Luo Binghe thought about it. The way that this writing had been with him for as long as he could remember, even before he knew what it meant. The shifting shapes and frequent emotions that came with the words. The feelings attached to the words that he could feel every time he touched the strokes.

It had never harmed him, it was simply faithful and earnest companionship. Even when his mother died, his… soulmate… was always there. Writing to him little well wishes that were sincerely meant.

Luo Binghe didn’t think that this form of soulmates was what humans experienced. Ning Yingying would have already told him if she had someone writing to her, and he would have seen more people looking at their skin more. His A-Niang hadn’t known what he was talking about either.

However, humans weren't the only race of sentient beings. Maybe there was something else that all had soulmates. And maybe those soulmates could sometimes be humans. Maybe just maybe, this was them sending messages across their string.

“This one is 10.” Luo Binghe wrote, biting his lip. His 11th birthday was in a few weeks, but for now he was 10.

“I’m 15, and I’ll help you with anything you need. Let me know anything you struggle with learning and I’ll try to help you.” came the reply, earnest and determined. Luo Binghe was upset to see the earlier words fade away, leaving empty gaps between his own brushstrokes.

“Really?” Luo Binghe asked, losing the battle against fighting off his hope. It was a doomed endeavor from the start. Luo Binghe wanted nothing more than someone who cared and…

“Yuan-ge will help you with anything. I promise.” came the writing, filled with firm conviction and gentle affection.

“Yuan-ge?” Luo Binghe questioned, overflowing with giddy happiness and anticipation.

His soulmate. His. His Yuan-ge. His A-Yuan.

“My name is Shen Yuan,” Yuan-ge wrote, and Luo Binghe drank it in greedily. He traced the characters over and over, wishing he could carve them into his skin so they would never leave. He felt almost dizzy with elation when he remembered the way that his Yuan-ge has never once left him. Yuan-ge has written to him everyday, maybe even since he was born. Luo Binghe may have been abandoned in a river during the coldest night, but maybe, even then, on his wrist there had been words of love.

His hands shook as he collected himself, wanting to respond to his Yuan-ge.

“This one is Luo Binghe.” he wrote once his hands were steady. His name was the first words he knew, and they were one of the greatest gifts given to him by his A-Niang. Luo Binghe stroked his pendant, missing her dearly. He wished he could have told her about Yuan-ge.

“Bing-er, I’m happy to finally meet you.” Yuan-ge said, his words were so saturated in pure warmth that it made tears form in Luo Binghe’s eyes. It felt like A-Niang’s hugs after she placed a kiss on the crown of his head and enveloped him into her arms. It felt like love.

At that moment he wished nothing more desperately than to see his Yuan-ge. He wanted to find the one at the end of his string, even if he had to traverse the realms to find him. One day, Luo Binghe promised himself.

One day he would find his Yuan-ge.

Luo Binghe would become the best cultivator ever so that he could track his Yuan-ge down. Even if it took his whole life, he would find his soulmate. Shen Yuan.

With a smile, Luo Binghe began writing on his leg. He’d have to remember to find a rag to wipe away the ink tomorrow. There was probably something dirty and stained in the storehouse that nobody would notice missing.

He’d also have to have some inks mixed and prepared carefully. Normally the little pots were used for painting pigments that way someone could paint outdoors, but Binghe found a discarded one and mixed together some ink to use. The ink was no good for calligraphy, too watery and not pigmented enough for bold strokes, but it wrote upon his skin well enough.

With a head full of forming plans and a heart filled with warmth and elation, Luo Binghe talked with his Yuan-ge for another sichen before his soulmate said he had to sleep.

“Good night, Bing-er.” Yuan-ge said, words filled with gentle care.

Luo Binghe beamed, excited to talk to Yuan-ge tomorrow, and the day after, and everyday for the rest of his life.

“Good night, Yuan-ge.”

Part 3

#svsss #bingqiu #luo binghe #shen yuan #soulmate au #scum villian self saving system #mxtx #bingyuan

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idleoblivion · 2 months

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"The Dismal Story of Our Creation" Malleus Draconia x GN Reader

Spoilers for Book 7!

Synopsis: Malleus has put the island to sleep, but the dream he puts you in is an especially unique one.

Word Count: ~1200 A/N: Thank you to everyone who sent me happy birthday messages! I hope to finish a few more drafts soon to make up for my absence. I loved writing him as a yandere, it just fits him so well to me.

Warnings: Yandere Malleus, captivity? (trapped in a dream), forced kissing

Something wasn’t right.

He’d done it. He overblotted. Putting everyone to sleep, leaving them to their dreams. For their own good, to make them happy. That’s what he had said.

So why was this your dream? What had happened to you?

You remember catching a glimpse of the unconscious forms of your friends, sleeping under the power of his magic. You remember the fear that washed over you as you expected the same fate. And you remember the satisfied grin he wore as he faced you, and then everything went black.

Darkness surrounds you now. You are stranded in a void, an empty black space. No floor beneath your feet, no walls indicating you might be in some strange room. You hesitantly take a few steps forward, and then in another direction. Still nothing. You are walking through some kind of purgatory, left alone with nothing but an endless darkness and eerie silence.

Until you hear footsteps behind you.

You whip around to see him, uncomfortably close to you. Looming over you, with that same smile as before.

“What…what did you do? Where am I?” You question, trying to keep your voice steady.

Malleus’ smile still doesn’t falter as he answers you. “Our home, Child of Man.”

As he speaks, the space around you starts changing. You blink repeatedly as a room starts creating itself from the darkness, walls and furniture forming from the shadows before manifesting as real objects. Everything appears in the same gothic theme you’re familiar with from Diasomnia.

“What do you mean, ‘our home’?”

He tilts his head at you a bit, mirth still palpable in his expression. “I think it’s quite self-explanatory. This is where we will spend the rest of our lives together.” Your head is spinning as you process his words. “Malleus, what are you talking about? I don’t understand, you’re scaring me.”

He frowns immediately at that. He sighs quietly before speaking again. “My apologies, Child of Man. I suppose I’ve yet to explain myself properly to you. Please, fear not. I never would wish you any harm, you should know.”

“Child of Man,” He starts after a deep inhale, “I know this may feel sudden, but I must confess something to you.” He reaches for your hand, and you cautiously allow him to take it. “I…I love you. I care for you so dearly, my Child of Man. You’ve brought life to my life, brought me a kind of joy that I’ve always considered unobtainable for me. I’ve never known someone as kind, brave and sincere as you. I love you, from the bottom of my heart. So much that I don’t know what to do with the feelings you stir in me sometimes.” He grinned softly to himself. “You treat me like no one else does. You seek out my presence yourself, you look at me with fondness in place of fear. You’ve taken over my mind and heart, and I couldn’t do without you anymore.”

“So,” he continues, “I’ve created a place for us, and only us, my love. I’ve put much thought into it, and come to the conclusion that it would be difficult for us to be together in reality. It would be blasphemy for me to attempt to introduce a human as my partner in Briar Valley. As heir to the Draconia lineage and future king, such a thing would never be allowed.” His brow furrowed at the thought. “And on your end, the headmaster is searching for a way to send you back, to separate you from me. There are many obstacles to our love. This is the solution I’ve come up with.” His hand moves to cradle your cheek gently, staring deep into your eyes. It takes great effort for you to not tremble under the weight of his gaze. “There is nothing but us here. No Crowley, no other world to return to, no royal duties or expectations, nothing at all to disturb us. We will hide happily in here forever, where nobody can interfere with us.” You’re shaking now, fear coursing through your veins as you realize the gravity of your situation. You are trapped alone with him, in a space of his creation and control, completely at his mercy. And he’s seemingly decided you won’t be going anywhere.

“M-Malleus, please. I don’t…I don’t want this.” You meekly speak, your voice hardly above a whisper. You’re terrified of rejecting him, but equally afraid of what would happen if you accepted his advance. “I don’t want to be asleep forever. And what about everyone else, my friends-” “Do not speak of them.” His harsh tone cuts you off and makes you flinch. There’s a new darkness to his eyes that makes your legs want to buckle. You avert your eyes from his to avoid it.

“Look at me.” He commands. You don’t comply, too nervous to meet the anger in his expression. He grabs your face roughly and forces you to tilt your head up. “I said, look at me. Do not speak of them again. This place is for us, not them. Your life is meant to be spent with me, not them. Your place in this world is with me, not them. You will not mention them again. I will not allow any others but myself to occupy your thoughts. Do you understand me?”

Tears start welling up in your eyes as you nod slightly, dread heavy in your stomach as the weight of your circumstances only seems to keep increasing.

He stares down at your teary face, eyes wet and lips trembling. He still holds your face in his large hand. His eyes soften the longer he looks at you, and after what seems like an eternity he starts leaning in towards you. You don’t dare to close your eyes, scared of what he’d do if you avoided him again. He gets closer, and you hold back a fearful whimper as his lips softly press against yours. Your stomach turns as he holds the kiss, leaving you anxious and uncomfortable. He pulls back and meets your gaze once more.

“You’re…ethereal. Perfect, so perfect my love. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. I’ve always wanted to claim you as my own.” He kisses you again, with more need and passion than the first. The tail of his overblot form comes to wrap around your waist and pull you into him, pressing your bodies together. His mouth is hot against yours as he kisses you with more and more fervor. His tongue slips past your lips and you let out a small groan despite yourself. He smiles against your lips before pulling away to press his forehead to yours. His demeanor had lost some of it’s intimidating aura as he looked at you completely lovestruck, strong hands caressing your back as his tail still held you in place.

“I’ll be all that you need, my love. I will be your entire reason for being, your entire purpose, as you are mine.” You shudder a bit in his hold, but if he notices, he pretends he doesn’t.

“This is my creation for us, dear. Our paradise. Doesn’t it make you happy?”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x gn reader #twst x reader #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #twst malleus #malleus x yuu #malleus draconia x reader #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader

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watchmegetobsessed · 10 months

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ONE YEAR

A/N: heeey look at that! im posting something new again!

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

SUMMARY: On the day before Christmas you realize just how much has changed in one year.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Time has always been such a weird concept in your life. When you were a kid one year felt like a decade, week-long summer vacations felt endless and you could have sworn that you’d never grow up.

But then, of course, you did, like everyone else and time sneakily started to speed up. One day after the other, weeks turned into months and years and before you could realize, another birthday has passed, you got older even though the last one felt like it was yesterday.

One year can feel like a second, but it can also make such a difference and today, the day before Christmas you’re reminded of it.

Waking up you’re not surprised to find the other side of the bed empty. The mornings when you could peacefully cuddle with Harry are now long gone, but knowing that he is somewhere out with your daughter makes up for all the missed moments together in bed.

Stretching long you give yourself a couple more minutes to just rest and get your head ready for the day. The night wasn’t too rough, only had to wake up twice to feed Alma and she went back to sleep without a fuss this time. Maybe she can finally feel the Christmas spirit as well and her gift is to let you rest finally.

Sitting up in bed you turn towards the window and see that it’s still snowing, the street outside is clothed in the prettiest white blankets that’s almost entirely untouched since it’s so early in the morning. Your wish for Alma to have a first Christmas with snow is actually coming true.

Snatching one of Harry’s hoodies from the closet, you make your way out of the bedroom as you’re putting it on, noticing his voice coming from the living room the moment you reach the stairs. Trying to be as quiet as possible you head down, hearing his cooing voice that’s for sure for Alma.

“See them? You like them? They are pretty, right?”

He has the most soothing voice as it is, but whenever he is talking to Alma it feels like it softens even more, as if that little girl melts the man in every possible way.

Well, that’s kind of the truth, Harry is smitten with his girl.

Harry is standing by the window that watches over the snowy street, the lights of the christmas tree reflecting in the glass because it’s still a bit dark outside. He is holding Alma in one arm, holding the curtains to the side with his free hand, gently swaying from side to side, a motion that always calms your baby, but only when her daddy does it.

As you watch them in awe you think back to this exact day a year ago. It’s one to remember, because this was the day you found out you were pregnant and you shared the news with Harry. As much as you love your daughter, it’s no secret you weren’t planning her arrival so soon. Harry proposed just weeks before the pregnancy came into the picture and you both agreed to take some time just for the two of you, enjoy married life alone before expanding your family. Travel, explore, find yourself before becoming parents.

All those plans changed when the second line appeared on your test.

Harry was surprised, maybe even shocked a bit. Not because he didn’t want kids, but because he was planning with another timeline that only included babies in 2-3 years. You talked for long hours that day and he told you he doesn’t feel ready, that he’s afraid he might not be the best father our baby deserves and he’s scared he might mess it up. You both cried and shared all your feelings and thoughts.

It took time for him to settle with the idea of becoming a father earlier than he planned, but by the time the nursery was done, he was a changed man. Throughout your pregnancy he did everything he could to better himself and be ready for Alma’s arrival. He read every possible parenting book out there, always took care of you and looked for ways to be more present in this new chapter of your life together.

Now it’s been four months since Alma was born and Harry is easily the best father you could ever wish for your baby and you��re so proud of him for everything he does for you and Alma as well. There’s no trace of that scared, doubtful man you sat on the couch with a year ago, the positive pregnancy test lying on the coffee table in front of you.

Alma’s head turns, as if she had a sixth sense to notice when you’re around and she gives you a toothless grin as you make your way across the room. Harry turns and you see the same sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you that you saw the first time you met. He says he knew he would marry you one day the moment he laid his eyes on you. You believe him, because you felt the same way.

“Good morning you two,” you smile, pressing a kiss to Alma’s forehead and one to Harry’s lips.

“Morning Mommy, we didn’t wake you up, right?”

“No,” you shake your head. Alma visibly starts to wiggle towards you, Harry hands her over and she lays her head to your chest right away, her tiny hands grabbing onto the sweatshirt that smells like Harry.

“Princess is kinda hungry, but I thought I could prolong breakfast a bit and distract her with the snow.” Harry smiles gently, running his knuckles down the side of Alma’s round face.

“You like the snow, huh? We’ll see how much you like it when we’re outside in the cold,” you chuckle.

You move over to the couch and Harry follows you, you sit beside each other, Harry’s arm instantly comes around you, pulling you against his chest as you settle Alma in your arms to feed her. This has been your usual for the morning feeding, but almost all feeding, because Harry loves being present in these moments. All those sleepless nights when she woke up every two hours and you had to sit in the nursery for most of the night to feed her, Harry was there every time. If you weren’t sleeping, he wasn’t either, even if all he could do was just be there, run his fingers through your hair and tell you how great of a mother you are, he never missed a chance to be present.

As usual, Alma passes out in your arms once her tummy is full and you can’t help but just stare at her and think of how you can’t imagine your life without her now.

Turning your head you find Harry gazing down at her as well with sparkling eyes and you wish to see him like this, so happy and content every day for the rest of your life.

“What?” he asks with a tiny, shy smirk, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Just… I was thinking about how much has happened in one year.”

Harry hums and you know he is thinking about the same thing from last year.

“Yeah. It’s crazy. Can’t wait to see what the next one holds.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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rubycruzin4abruzin · 3 months

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Forbidden Crown - IV

Summary: Your dreaded twentieth birthday has finally arrived, and you and your parents set off to Tir Asleen for one final time to plan your wedding to Prince Airk. However, at the celebration dinner, Sorsha delivers some shocking news, sending Kit into a spiral and creating conflict within the castle.

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: angst, fighting, kissing, non-explicit mention of vomiting, forced marriage trope, mommy issues

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: this was supposed to be the smut chapter, but I decided to divide the two, since it seemed odd to add sexy time to such a dark chapter. Apologies in advance for all the angst, I promise it won’t last forever!

Ever since your mother’s announcement of your engagement, each birthday after your fifteenth seemed to creep up, startling you out of nowhere and filling your stomach with existential dread. The once joyous celebrations now felt like ticking time bombs, every well-wish serving as a countdown to a life you never wanted.

On the morning of your twentieth birthday, you woke up to nothing but nausea. When your handmaiden entered your room to get you ready for the day, she found you kneeled over your chamberpot, heaving up the shallow remains of your stomach's content. Needless to say, your twentieth birthday was spent hidden under your covers, drinking ginger tea and being waited on hand-and-foot.

Alas, it was only a matter of time before you began to feel better. After several days of sickness, your body had nothing more to heave. The moment some color started to return to your pale cheeks, your parents ushered you into the carriage and set off for Tir Asleen, where you would stay for two months while preparing for your wedding to Prince Airk Tanthalos.

As usual, the road to Tir Asleen was long and slow. You tried to numb yourself to your parents' endless chatter, but your mother decided to fuss over your appearance throughout the entire trip, as if you were a child again.

“This is the first time you’ve seen your fiancé in five years,” she would say. “You’ve grown into a lovely young woman since, it is important for Airk to notice!”

Your cheeks instinctually puffed out at the word ‘fiancé,’ but your stomach was so empty from the long illness that nothing could come up even if it wanted to. Instead, you opted for tucking your head in between your knees, closing your eyes and muffling all unwanted noise from the outside world.

Eventually, the gentle clip-clop of the carriage horse faded as you reached the front of the Tir Asleen castle. You uncovered your head and allowed your parents to exit first, using the extra seconds to let your blood flow redistribute itself.

After hearing the sound of your mother squealing pleasantries from outside, you decided to make your presence known. You stepped out of the carriage to see your mother engulfing Airk in a bear hug, showering him with words of flattery while he chuckled nervously and tried to mask his discomfort. Your father, who had been exchanging formalities with Queen Sorsha, was now gently patting his wife’s back, attempting to subtly pry her off the poor boy.

While you stood watching the amusing display from your family, you didn’t even notice Kit approaching you from behind, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning into your ear.

“Good morrow, beautiful.” She whispered, her warm breath against your neck causing you to shudder involuntarily.

“Beautiful?” You giggled. “Be careful, our parents' eyes could be upon us.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, planting a soft kiss on your jawline. “They’re much too focused on my brother. It’s just one of the benefits of being the black sheep of the family.”

Sure enough, Kit was right. Your father had managed to successfully pry your mother away from Airk, and now both your parents were bombarding him with questions about his life the last five years while Sorsha stood proudly beside him.

With one final squeeze, Kit loosened her grasp until you could turn around to get a good look at her. She had always been pretty, at least in your eyes, but over the years had grown into a stunning young lady. Her hair was no longer a muddy indigo black, but rather restored back to her natural chocolate-brown, and styled akin to the tresses of woodland sprites. She had grown into herself, with her face defined by striking cheekbones and eyes that seemed to get bluer with every visit. The fabric of her tunic clung to her skin, accentuating every new curve as well as the definition on her upper arms, muscular from combat training.

Before you could even begin to speak, Kit placed her hands on either side of your head and ran them through your hair, gazing down at you lovingly. “Truly, beautiful.”

“I do apologize for her appearance, Prince Airk! She doesn’t usually look this dreadful! She’s been terribly ill!”

You turned around to see your mother leading Airk over to you, speaking loudly about your demeanor. Any confidence inspired by Kit vanished at her harsh remarks, and you drew into yourself.

“Good morrow, Princess,” Airk greeted you with an awkward bow and a tight-lipped smile. Ever since you audibly gagged and ran off after taking his first kiss, the two of you hadn’t necessarily spoken.

You cleared your throat, offering back a perfunctory curtsy. “And to you as well.”

“My, my! Someone has grown quite slender!” Sorsha’s voice called out, approaching the four of you with your father in tow.

You looked down at yourself. Sure enough, your ailment had withered you away, making your once perfectly-fitting gown now hang off you like the tendrils of a willow tree. Your mother noticed this too, because she immediately inserted herself between you and Airk to resume nitpicking your appearance.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Airk and Sorsha! My daughter has had an illness. She’s feeling well now, but she still looks absolutely dreadful! I’m sure her gowns will fit right in due time, but…” she turned her attention towards your face. “…darling! Your complexion! You resemble a ghostly wight! Couldn’t you have bothered to apply a touch of rouge?”

“You’ve raised a beautiful daughter, your highness.” Kit stepped to your side and snaked her arm around your waist. Your breath hitched at her touch, and you worried your parents may catch on to your secret with how bold she was being. Still, you tried to hide the blush that crept onto your cheeks after she stood up for you.

Your mother looked between you and Kit, and you could've sworn you saw her eyes flicker with a hint of suspicion. However, she simply grimaced in Kit’s direction, offering pleasantries purely for display. “Yes, well, much obliged, Kit.”

Kit responded with a grin that was polite, yet cocky. Your mother cleared her throat, quickly recomposing herself before taking your hand and joining it with Airk’s.

“I must say, you two, I am absolutely elated for this union! A royal wedding, why I don’t believe I’ve attended one since my own! The two of you make a very attractive pair.”

Airk forced a grin in your direction, looking down at your conjoined hands instead of at you. As your mother continued to ramble on about the party planning, you peered over Airk’s shoulder and noticed a blond girl standing in the distance, carrying a serving tray, and glaring daggers into your soul…

“That would be Muffin Girl,” Kit explained later that day when you asked about the mysterious blond. The two of you had managed to break away from the group long enough to take a leisurely stroll through the Tir Asleen gardens.

“Muffin Girl?” You inquired.

“That or Miss Muffin, whichever you’d prefer.”

You shot her a quizzical expression, causing her to chuckle heartily. “Well it’s not her real name, clearly. She’s one of the kitchen maids, and her signature dish are these buttered muffins she serves at breakfast.”

“She was glaring at me earlier while my mother discussed wedding plans,” you said. “I almost thought she would break her tray in half.”

Kit hummed in agreement. “Jealousy. It makes sense. She is my brother's latest lover.”

“Pardon?” You froze in your tracks, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Kit leaned back against a tree, crossing her arms and gazing at you with a pointed brow. “I hate to inform you, Princess, but my brother has become quite the ladies’ man since your ‘dalliance’ in the courtyard. Muffin Girl is just his latest conquest.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Sure, you didn’t love Airk, or were even remotely attracted to him, but he was still your betrothed.

Kit smirked at your stunned expression. “Surely you’re not jealous, are you?” She moved closer until her face was mere inches from yours. “I can’t imagine it would drive you mad. My brother, your fiancé, rolling around in the grass with a scullion? Cheeks flushed, legs intertwined, her leaving little bruises on his…”

You cut her off with a playful smack on the shoulder. “Hold your tongue, Tanthalos.” She giggled at her lighthearted taunts, causing a smile to spread across your face. “I’m not jealous, rather shocked. He’s engaged… to me… and Queen Sorsha is allowing this affair?”

With another chuckle, Kit teasingly ruffled your hair. “Oh Princess… you really assume my mother is at all aware?”

You gasped, leaning in closer to Kit to whisper. “She doesn’t know?”

“I’m sure she suspects something, what with the aforementioned bruises, but knowing my mother, she’d rather stay with the mindset that her son is still a moralistic virgin.”

Kit pulled you in closer, pressing your body against hers until your noses barely brushed together. “I suppose this is just one more secret between us, don’t you think Princess?”

You giggled, quickly making sure the coast was clear before wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for a sweet kiss.

That evening, the six of you gathered for a hearty supper to celebrate your reunion. Servants bustled about carrying various dishes, including the mysterious ‘muffin girl.’ You couldn’t help but observe the longing glances exchanged between her and Airk, lingering between each course like a seed caught between teeth.

Just as you and Kit were stifling a laugh over their latest lust-filled gaze, Queen Sorsha rose, tapping silverware against her raised glass. The table quieted, all eyes fixed on the regal woman as you awaited her speech.

“Friends, family,” she began. “I am pleased that we’ve all gathered here this evening to begin wedding plans for the Prince of Tir Asleen and the Princess of Azarenth.”

Your parents clapped excitedly. Airk stared down at his lap while you and Kit exchanged vexed glances.

“Even more pleased,” Sorsha continued. “That the forthcoming ceremony will feature an extra element, making it a profoundly rare occasion!”

Her words puzzled you, and a quick look around the table confirmed that the twins seemed just as confused. Your parents however, shared knowing grins, clearly in on the secret.

“The King and Queen of Azarenth have graciously agreed to turn their daughter’s wedding into a double wedding!” Sorsha turned to meet her daughter’s gaze. “Kit…”

You whipped around to face Kit, who stared at her mother, frozen, her expression a mixture of confusion and fear. “You remember when we discussed the Prince of Galladoorn, don’t you?”

Kit nodded. “Sure we discussed him, but then he fell out of a tree and died, right?”

“Kit!” Sorsha scolded before quickly recomposing herself. “It’s true, Dermot Hastur had an untimely death,” she held her glass to her heart solemnly. “However, it appears Galladoorn is still interested in an alliance, and King Hastur has a younger son, Graydon.”

Your heart dropped as you realized what Sorsha was saying. Glancing back at Kit, you saw her face now stricken with terror. “Mother… no…”

Ignoring her daughter, Sorsha simply raised her glass again. “It’s my pleasure to announce the engagement of Prince Graydon Hastur to my daughter, Princess Kit Tanthalos!”

“No!” Kit exclaimed.

“What?” The shriek came from a disembodied voice. Only after you received shocked expressions from each member of the table did you realize the voice was yours.

Your mother squinted at you, the corners of her mouth flickering sardonically. “My dear, I didn’t expect you to be upset at sharing the limelight! After all, you and Kit are such good… friends.”

You glared at your mother head-on, suppressing every urge to lunge at her from across the table. She said nothing more, instead turning away to innocently sip her wine.

Kit was in the midst of her own altercation, arguing her case with pleading eyes. “Mother, please… I cannot marry Prince Graydon!”

“And just why not?” Sorsha demanded. “Prince Graydon is an esteemed young man, his parents speak very highly of him.”

“I’ve never even met him!” Kit’s voice wavered in stifled sobs.

“You will before the wedding, now that is quite enough! It is your duty to your kingdom. I don’t want to hear another word about this until the alliance is signed, and that is final!”

Kit slammed her hands on the table, tears falling as she ran away. Sorsha screamed after her until the sound of her bedchamber door slamming reverberated across the room. The table fell silent, none of you knowing where to look. After a moment, Airk cleared his throat, breaking the tension as he rearranged the silverware on his plate.

“May I be excused, mother?” He muttered.

Sorsha sighed, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. He got up quietly, exiting the room and making a beeline for Kit’s door. The remaining four of you resumed picking at your food, the sound of silverware scratching against glass dishes only deepening the stillness of the room.

As you pushed your food around, you couldn’t help but steal glances in the direction of Kit’s door. You turned to your mother, wanting to speak.

“Let it be a passing thought,” she denied your unspoken request, not bothering to look up from her plate.

Fortunately, dinner didn't drag on much longer after the commotion subsided. Once everyone had hastily departed from the table, you made your way to Kit’s room and positioned yourself outside her door. Kit’s muffled sobs mingled with Airk’s whispered words from the other side of the wooden barrier, causing you to pause before entering, afraid of disrupting them.

Just when you were about to throw caution to the wind and grasp the handle, the door swung open, revealing Airk. He startled at your unexpected presence and closed Kit’s door behind him.

“Uh… hi…” he muttered lamely.

“Hello there,” you replied softly.

The two of you stood silently in front of Kit’s door, a multitude of unanswered questions hanging in the air that neither of you knew how to ask.

“She’s, uh…” Airk broke the silence, jerking his head towards Kit’s door. “…having a difficult time coming to terms… with everything.”

You nodded slowly. “Were you… able to get through to her? At all?”

“Inconsolable,” he admitted regretfully. “I haven’t seen her this distraught since… our father…”

You winced, recalling the initial heartbreak Kit faced when her father’s letters stopped arriving ten years ago.

“I understand…” he continued. “I also know what it’s like to be forced into a loveless marriage.”

His gaze bore into yours, carefully chosen words that riddled you with guilt. You knew you had no right to hurt feelings after that night in the courtyard, but you couldn’t help the sharp pang that hit your chest like a piercing arrow.

“Airk…” you sighed, overwhelmed with remorse. “Please let me apologize for that night…”

“No need,” he interrupted coolly. “It’s really quite alright…”

“It’s not,” you insisted. “My reaction… I assure you… had nothing to do with your character, or your appearance, or anything, really. It wasn’t about you, it was never about you, it…” you took a deep breath, your secret weighed on your shoulders as if it was carved from stone. “Airk… I’m in love with someone else.”

Airk looked taken aback. “Pardon?”

“My hand belongs to you…” your voice trembled. “…but my heart belongs to another.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. You shut your eyes tightly, the burden of your secret lifting but replaced with overwhelming fear. Airk stood, silently, his expression cycling through shock, relief, confusion, and finally… sympathy.

“Likewise…” he whispered, causing you to look at him again. “There’s this… local maiden, a quiet beauty who carries herself with the gentle elegance of a dove. She may not have been born into privilege, but she’s captivated me. My heart belongs to her.”

He looked at you, expecting a reaction. You attempted to feign surprise, but ended up failing miserably. He smirked. “Was it that evident?”

You chuckled. “With all of your enticing stares at dinner, it almost felt as if I were intruding on something private!”

He laughed airily along with you, long-standing tension finally broken. You started to relax, feeling a weight lift as you and Airk came to an unspoken forgiveness. He smiled warmly, genuinely at you before his expression turned serious once again.

“I hope you know I would hate for my mother to receive word of this,” he said in a low voice.

You nodded in agreement. “You needn’t worry, my lips are sealed. I understand what it’s like… living with secrets.”

He waited for you to continue, but you simply folded your hands in front of you and smiled, silently refusing to speak further.

Airk departed soon after your conversation ended, leaving you once again face-to-face with Kit’s door. You raised your knuckle to the chestnut wood, giving it two gentle raps.

No response.

With a shaky hand, you turned the handle and opened the door with a slow, steady creak. Kit lay flat on her bed, motionless, staring at the ceiling. She made no indication of noticing your presence, so you stepped inside and carefully closed the door with a click.

No response.

Stars studded the now-blackened night sky through a small window in the corner. The room’s only light source was a flickering candle that cast shadows over Kit’s unmoving body and danced along the wrinkles of her garments. You stood near the entrance, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

“Which is worse?”

The sudden sound of her voice startled you. “Pardon?”

“I’m wondering…” she sat up, dangling her legs over the edge of her bed. “…which is worse? Spending half a decade counting down the seconds until you’re forced into an unwanted marriage, or having it thrust upon you without warning?”

She met your gaze, expecting an answer. You had none. She continued.

“On the one hand, the first option reads torturously, like sitting on death row waiting for execution,” she contemplated, deep in thought. “But on the other hand, it allows for processing time, providing an opportunity to numb yourself to the situation.”

She looked back over to you, her expression stoic. “What do you think?”

“I think I won’t ever be numb to the situation,” you replied with a half-smile.

Kit gave a halfhearted chuckle, staring down at her feet. You moved to sit next to her on the bed, resting a soothing hand on her back. She sighed. “You don’t know how fortunate you are.”

You furrowed your brow. “How do you mean?”

“You’re betrothed to my brother,” she answered. “Someone you grew up with, someone you trust.”

You frowned. “Kit, Airk and I may have history, but I’m still being forced into a loveless marriage. You and I suffer the same plight.”

Kit’s eyes seemed to glaze over as she began to speak in a small voice. “You truly believe our situations are at all similar?”

You removed your hand from her back and leaned slightly away from her. “Kit…”

“Do you?” Her fingers clenched the bedsheets as she finally met your gaze. “I am marrying a man I’ve never met, so I can help form an alliance with a kingdom I’ve never visited! My entire life is conforming to the whims of my mother, do you have any idea what that’s like?”

“Have you observed my mother?” You shot back, standing up from the bed. “Sometimes I wonder whether or not she cares if I live or die, just as long as I marry Airk to keep up appearances like a performing minstrel!”

“Cry me a river, Princess!” Kit growled, also abandoning the bed. “My sincerest apologies that you have a mother that gave you fifteen years to become accustomed to her chosen spouse, and a father to give you away at the altar!”

You softened your gaze, realizing a large part of the reason for Kit’s distress. “Kit, I didn’t…”

“I’ll have to walk down the aisle with Airk!” She interrupted, angry tears now streaming down her face. “There was enough prattle when news of my father’s disappearance spread, and now all of Galladoorn and Tir Asleen combined is going to witness me being given away by my own brother. So don’t you dare stand there and claim that you and I ‘suffer the same plight!’”

“Kit!” Your voice wavered, a tightness in your chest threatened to unleash a flood of tears. “That was not my intent, and you know it. You're hurting, and you have my deepest sympathies…”

“I don’t need your sympathy…”

“Then don’t take it!” Your voice cut through the air, sharp and defensive. “All I said is that I share your pain in being forced into a marriage with someone you don’t love. I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me.”

Kit bit her lip, sniffling and wiping away tears. Her red, puffy eyes struggled to meet yours as she searched for more words to use as a line of defense.

“Because marriage isn’t about love, Princess,” she finally replied. “And frankly, your lack of realization is troubling.”

Her words brought a lump to your throat, like a boulder lodged within a narrow cave. Without another word, you spun on your heel and walked out of Kit’s room, making sure the wooden barrier slammed shut behind you before giving into the tears that had been threatening to fall.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @love4lyn @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sophi4v13 @detmarmalade

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aliceattheart · 8 months

Note

Can I request a Yandere Alastor, Vox, and Valentino(separate) please?

Yan! Hazbin Hotel x AFAB reader

Yeah! I totally don't mind at all :]

Sadly at the moment the only character I feel comfortable with writing for is Alastor. I don't know much about Vox and Valentino. I do apologize 😭

I kinda skimmed it for slight spelling mistakes. All in all, I got it done. :D

Yan! Alastor

Alastor is deadly obsessed with your scent. That's what led the Doll maker to you. His little Doll.

Alastor is sickened with existential possessive tranquility. To gaze at your smile only makes him yearn for your touch.

It was only a matter of time before he put his nerves beside and spoke to you. "Well hello there Miss, may I aquire a little bit of your precious time." Kissing the back of your hand. The charmer he appears to be. With a mouth full of sharp teeth and sharp claws. You found it weird that he was so gentle.

You have no one to blame for failing madly in love with his elegant charm and sweet voice. A voice that carried endless symphonies of love and no regrets.

You were content with his lack of Physical affection but none the less you did want to embrace and fall into his lips. He would give in every now and again but you couldn't shake of the somber ravenous guilty of intimacy.

Deciding that you couldn't keep a facade, you wanted to break things off. "Y/n, my Moon in the Red sky. Are you saying you don't want me?" When he put it that way you feel disgusted with yourself. But you can't give in.

"Alastor, my heart yearns for something more. Something you can't give. It's not because you've failed to love me. I'm just greedy and selfish."

The last words that came out of your mouth. Did you really mean it? After that you started to spill like an over flowing sink. Words you've never thought came out. "I was wrong for ever thinking of leaving you. I'll stay with you for all eternity, even if I don't have that. In death I wouldn't want to part from you." You were confused and apparently your mouth wasn't listening to your wants and demands.

Alastor sat facing you with big dark eyes, smiling benevolently at you. Opening his mouth to speak he said. "Y/n, you are my muse I can't just let you run off. No need to think or hide away. Let's keep you as my favorite Doll for all eternity, please?" He formed it as a question but in reality he wasn't giving you a choice.

With a snap of his fingers your body became silent to your pleads for movement. Alastor humming a tune, picked you up. You felt like a sack of potatoes heavy, yet weightless in his arms. Opening a demon circle to his residence. He proceeds to take you to his basement. Strapping you into a chair.

"My Sweet Doll Face. He whispered into your left ear. "This will only hurt for a while. I shall break you and put you back together. For my love for you is true. You shall move to my wishes and mine alone. Your heart shall not want for more." He kissed your lips. And sewn them shut.

For the first time in all your existence you wanted to beg for mercy, to god. Irony isn't, you couldn't speak.

Alice here :D

I this would be my first ever request. I want to make it short. In the future I'll specify the characters I right for. I pray that I'll be able to build the courage and make a Master list.

#alastor x reader #yandere #yancore #hazbin hotel #dead dove do not eat #fanfic

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the-palelady · 3 months

Text

i have a lot cooking right now, but i just had a loss in the family, therefore this is definitely self-indulgent! i apologize ♡

bloodborne is my favorite game of all time, so hunter!ghost lives in my head rent free 24/7

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 ; 1081

𝖈𝖜 ; maid!reader, hunter!ghost, afab!reader, slow burn?, pining, reader is super timid because she has never seen the light of day lol, these two need to get laid tbh. this is an au, i know that isn't some people's thing so here is your warning!

Boots trudged through the entrance of the Queen’s chambers and ripped you from your thoughts. It had been lifetimes since someone had stepped foot inside Cainhurst Castle and seeing a Hunter of all things walk into the palace sent you flying behind one of the nearby pillars where you held your dusty rag to your chest. He was large, clearly well-toned under the hunter’s garb that he adorned. His face was obstructed by the cloth mask that covered his mouth, and the way his hat was tipped forward shielded his eyes from the scrutiny of others. If he were to stand even the slightest bit close to you, you knew he would likely tower over your cowering form.

You had been a maid for Annalise, Queen of the Vilebloods, for as long as you could remember, long enough to have witnessed the fall of the Vilebloods, you and your Queen the only ones left in the castle. No one ever came and went, the two of you locked away and hidden from the outside world due to the one known as Martyr Logarius. Queen Annalise kept you privy to the details, seeing you as much more innocent than herself.

“I do not wish to defile thy pure soul,” she would always say, speaking to you in a tone so soft you could almost not hear her words.

You watched as the Hunter ascended towards the Queen, her voice booming throughout her chambers as they drew closer, introducing herself as the ruler of the now almost fully wiped out Vilebloods. From your hiding place, you could see the Hunter bow towards her majesty, their large form taking up your vision, and with that the Queen’s words became hushed, only meant for the ears of the Hunter she spoke to. You let out a soft sigh, and with your curiosity still eating away at the corners of your mind, you turned to continue dusting the candelabra that adorned the hidden chambers.

As always, you quickly became lost in your work, not noticing the slow steps that began to grow louder as they drew closer to you. The flash of metal reflecting the subtle candlelight is what ripped you from your focus. With your hand still raised, holding a rag to one of the candelabras, your eyes locked with another’s. They were as dark as the endless night that cloaked Cainhurst Castle, and as fearsome as they were weary. A thin strand of blonde hair poked out from underneath, bouncing against the skin of his forehead when he came to a stop.

He blinked at you with what seemed like a blank expression, your own clearly full of surprise and apprehension. The presence of another was unfamiliar to you, your only sense of company being Queen Annalise. Your worlds were also galaxies apart: you, a simple maid, and he, a hunter of beasts.

And yet you couldn’t have been more drawn to him than you were right now. He bore holes into your skin with his sharp gaze, skin aflame under the layers of your garments, and as he finally stepped away, you released the breath you were unaware you had been holding, the flames that consumed you now dying out.

But this wasn’t the last you had seen of this moon-scented Hunter.

He was now a constant in your life, seemingly appearing from the shadows from time to time, always approaching from behind, startling you out of your work. For a time, you didn’t think much of it, his towering figure slipping right past, making you jump almost right out of your shoes each time. But as you turned to investigate the culprit of your fright, you could see a quick glint of mischievousness in his eyes. It was gone faster than it appeared, but you knew what you had seen.

It wasn’t until a few moons later did your Queen request your presence in her chambers. The request was hardly foreign to you, but you thought it strange, even more so when the Hunter’s hat peaked out from the apex of the stairs leading to Her Majesty’s throne.

On instinct, you curtsied to the Queen as she kindly spoke out her reason for summoning you, “Our dear Hunter shall be joining us in our plight, wouldst thou show him to his chambers?”

When your gaze rose from the elegant rug beneath your feet, you could once again feel the piercing stare of the Hunter, his eyes following the graceful motions of your body as you bowed your head to Annalise, “Of course, your Majesty.”

And the two of you descended the stairs in silence, walking ahead of him to lead the way to the guest's chambers. The hairs on the back of your neck stood tall, goosebumps lined the length of your arms and legs, and your ordinarily refined sense of decorum began to falter at how close he stood behind you. His steps were as silent as they always were, the only sound echoing throughout the hall being the small heels that you wore, clicking rhythmically against the stone floor.

Decades seemed to pass before you arrived at the chambers. With a turn, your gaze diverted towards the floor, avoiding his at all costs. You could already feel those peculiar orbs on you, a raven following the path of its prey.

The collar of your dress was suddenly choking you, the fabric and ruffles rubbing your skin in a way that made you want to claw at it, tear it away. The seconds ticked on for far too long, the silence between you and the Hunter becoming unbearable. So with a slight bow of your head, you took your leave.

“Ghost.”

You were hesitant in taking another step, your bodies side by side, and yours glued in place. The sound of such a gruff voice threw you off guard. All you could do was blink, looking reluctantly around the room before letting out a soft, “What?”

You didn’t dare look in his direction, afraid that perhaps he would disappear again if you made the wrong move.

“My name. And yours?” Admittedly, hearing the curiosity in his voice surprised you.

Timidly, you stuttered out your name, a hum coming from underneath his mask.

You could hear the creak of the wooden door as it was pushed open, a click once it closed, and then you were left alone in the darkness of the castle corridor, heart threatening to leap from your chest.

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aurianavaloria · 2 months

Text

KoH - To Rival Eden (Baldwin IV x Reader)

Fandom: Kingdom of Heaven

Pairing: Baldwin IV x Fem!Reader

PoV: Split (Baldwin - Fem!Reader)

Length: Short (<4k words)

TW: Vague mentions of leprosy

A/N: Well, here we have it, the much-anticipated sequel to "What Good May Come"! I took your feedback into account regarding Y/N's preferences, as well as circumstances and relationships, and created another chapter in this little romance. As in the previous story, I've done my best to keep Y/N as generic as possible with a personality that seemed to fit what is currently popular. I hope you enjoy it as much as the first, and once again, thank you all for being awesome! 🤗

Baldwin could hardly believe his good fortune.

Tiberias had spoken truth: she loved him.

He hadn’t slept a wink that night after she left his chambers. Had barely paid attention to his physicians’ work as he’d given his failing body to their care for the hundred-thousandth time in his short life. Whilst his mortal shell continued its slow and endless march towards inevitable disintegration, his heart and mind were soaring above the clouds, his spirit filled with a fire he hadn’t felt in years.

Lady Y/N loved him.

He lay in his bed, eyes staring up into the canopy’s shadows, yet unseeing of anything that was actually there. Instead, he saw her sitting before him as she had that evening, the smile dancing across her lips, the color in her cheek…

Thus lost in his thoughts, all he had to do was close his eyes to still feel her warmth in his arms, the touch of her hand upon his own… still smell the sweet perfume that cloaked her in its allure. Even as his fears screamed at him that every moment he spent near her was a risk he was selfish to take, that the poison coursing through his veins could destroy her like some fetid rot devouring a perfect flower, all he desired was to hold her again… to imagine what her hair would feel like slipping between his silk-gloved fingers…

These visions of her swirled in his mind all night long and into the next week, until he thought he might go mad with them. He had never thought much of the songs of the troubadours before, dismissing their melodramatic lyrics as nothing more than mere fantasy.

But now he had tasted that very pain of love of which they sang, and he knew they were right.

Love was insanity.

Unfortunately, it was an insanity he had to endure through nearly a week’s worth of increasingly-numerous duties that forbade his interaction with anyone other than his advisors and court petitioners. Conversation on such matters proved his only respite, for when he was finally left alone once more, she haunted the depths of his mind.

And as his quill slowly glided through the practiced motions of his signature upon his latest letter, his aching heart wondered if he haunted hers the same way…

He hoped and prayed she had not taken offense to his exclusion of visitors outside his immediate council. It was all such ill-timing, and yet the administration of his kingdom could not wait for courtship. He could not afford the distraction of anyone else’s presence amidst such delicate matters, and there were some things that he refused to delegate to others.

That he could not trust to others.

The thoughts of sharing those tasks with a queen he truly loved and adored above all else, however…

Plunk!

He abruptly sat back in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut.

That was it. It was time for some fresh air.

Rising slowly to his feet, he reached for his hooded cloak where it hung nearby. Without even being asked, his servant Ihsan wordlessly appeared from the shadows to help him don it, moving with quiet grace.

“Shall I accompany His Majesty?” the Christian Syrian asked, aiding Baldwin in pulling the hood over his head. Jerusalem’s sun was bright today, and harsh on the ill king’s eyes.

“No, I shall walk alone, I think.”

“As you wish, sire.”

And loyal Ihsan melted into those shadows once more, as quickly as he had emerged.

With that, Baldwin began making his way to the palace gardens, keeping his pace measured as he followed the long halls, close to the wall should he need it for support. Alas, his numbed foot would allow for nothing else. Yet, even so, he didn’t wish for this stroll to be a hurried one, crammed in between the endless sessions of his work. He needed time to center himself – to clear his mind and ease his heart.

His hood low over his mask, he still squinted against the sun as he emerged into the palace gardens. The strength of its rays had only seemed to intensify in recent years, even as their warmth had faded; his body hardly felt it, now, beaming down upon him, as if he had already hovered between the land of the living and the dead. But his eyes most certainly did, and he kept his head dipped low, his mask half-shadowed by the hood of his cloak.

Anyone else who had chosen to wander the gardens the same as he soon found themselves departing, as usual. The king was instantly recognizable, even cloaked like this, his presence garnering immediate notice by his courtiers. Their dread of his disease they always attempted to cover with pretense – the courtesy of yielding the space to their liege-lord as they offered deep bows and curtseys. Yet they always slipped away with the hiss of whispers swirling in their wake…

His lips twisted in amusement at the thought that his experience behind a mask had made it easier to see past theirs.

Thus, he largely ignored them as they bestowed upon him their customary greetings, their well-rehearsed gestures of obeisance. And the answers he gave in reply were just as superficial. They deserved nothing more. Little by little, they left as he slowly made his way along those meandering paths, bordered by every plant native to these lands, flowering or not…

All but one.

At the end of one of the paths, perched upon a bench before a towering hedge, was Lady Y/N.

She sat with a small book open in her lap, her garb a simple green bliaut with a matching embroidered belt. A brilliant white veil over her hair, pinned to the barbette that looped beneath her chin, shielded her downturned face from the sun. Even from this angle, he could see the slight smile that played across her lips, and he felt his own mimic the expression beneath his mask.

The sight of her thus made him pause his stride, and he considered backtracking to the previous fork in the path and leaving her to her peace. Yet another part of him desired nothing more than to speak to her – to self-indulgently converse, even if only briefly, with this sweet angel of a woman he’d neglected for the sake of his divinely-mandated duty.

What resulted then, was an indecisive hovering, a prolonged pause at the bells of the lovely flowers that brushed his silken sleeve – blossoms whose aroma was now all but lost to his dulled senses. But none of the velvet-petaled jewels gracing this paradise of a garden now compared to the one he could not tear his eyes from, yet hadn’t the heart to approach…

================

Jerusalem’s palace garden was a sanctuary as peaceful as the cloister of any church you’d seen and perhaps twice as beautiful. The open air was filled with the scent of the exotic flowers that had been meticulously cultivated there, surrounding visitors in an alluring embrace. The cool shade beneath the towering hedgerows and elegant palms had been too tempting to resist, and, with a new book of poetry in hand, you’d made a beeline for an empty bench in the farthest shadowed nook you could find.

Gardens such as these were haunts for lovers, or so you’d been told. Some had even been designed in such a manner that encouraged clandestine trysts – a convenient niche here, a cleverly-planted bush there…

Alas, there were no such surreptitious visits in your near future. No, you’d merely come to the gardens this day for some fresh air and relative peace and quiet.

It was with great eagerness that you had rushed to the bench, sweeping your skirts beneath you and opening the book upon your lap. It was a loan, in fact, from Sibylla; the princess had been spending more time with you in the past week, indulging in light conversation mostly revolving around scholarly interests and pastimes. During the course of one of these discussions, she mentioned having received a few books from France and, quite unexpectedly, asked if you would like to borrow one of them.

Such a generous offer had been impossible to refuse, and your eyes had lit up as the princess passed you the small, leather-bound book of poetry, which you handled with utmost care.

The plan was to spend an upcoming evening sharing what the two of you had enjoyed most about the tomes over refreshments.

It was something you rather looked forward to.

Now, you were fully immersed in the book, your eyes drinking in the copyist’s hand as it swirled across the delicate vellum pages; it was a work of art in and of itself, to say nothing of the words it held within. So engrossed were you that, for a long moment, you failed to notice you were being watched…

But then, suddenly, a slight movement from the periphery of your vision caused you to glance up, and for a brief second, you thought you saw an angel. You quickly realized, however, that it was not.

The awestruck smile that tugged at your lips was perhaps a bit uncouth, but you couldn’t help it. Angel he was not, and yet the king was still radiant enough that you wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see a pair of wings upon his back or a fiery halo ringing his head. The hooded cloak he wore, trimmed in gold, was such a blinding white in the midday sun that it almost blurred his outline, and the half-concealed silver mask with its perfectly-chiseled countenance could easily be mistaken for the face of a saint…

“Your Majesty!”

On reflex, you stood, abandoning the book on the bench before starting to dip into a curtsey, but the upwards flash of his gloved hand stopped you mid-movement.

“I require no epithets or courtesies from you, Lady Y/N,” he replied as he wandered down the path towards you. “I should hope that I may abandon such performance in your presence.”

The warmth in his voice heated your cheeks. “Very well… Baldwin.” This was only the second time you’d dared to speak his name without a title preceding it, and it felt oddly right on your tongue. “If that is the case, then I must also insist that I am simply Y/N.”

His hooded head dipped. “Of course. Y/N.”

Something about the way he said your name made your heart flutter, and you glanced away briefly even as you sidled nearer to him. “It is good to see you again. Baldwin. You are well, I hope?”

“I am now,” he replied softly. Now you could look up into his silver-clad face and see the glitter of his eyes beneath the shadow of his hood. In their impossibly-blue gaze you found a softness that belied the sharpness of their hue.

“I… missed you,” you breathed at last, your voice lowering. “I must admit, I’ve worried for you. Lord Tiberias assured me all was well, but… well, you’ll forgive me for being a bit distrusting.”

A low chuckle emanated from him. “If there is anyone you may trust with his honest assessment of matters, it is Tiberias.”

A chuckle of your own escaped you in response to his jesting remark before he continued in a far more serious tone, “I must offer you my sincerest apologies, Y/N – here you’ve given me the most beautiful gift anyone has ever bestowed upon me, and I’ve done nothing but neglect you in return. Already, I fear I must seem a poor partner in courtship.”

Your mouth opened a little in shock at that. “Absolutely nothing of the sort! I understand you are busy. I know you wouldn’t have isolated yourself like this otherwise.” A light smile played upon your lips as you met his eyes again. “I’m just glad to see you again now.”

It was then you reached forth, brushing his nearest forearm lightly in reassurance. The damask silk of his sleeve was so very soft and smooth beneath your fingertips. And warm. Though from his body heat or the sun, it was difficult to tell…

Suddenly, another movement out of the corner of your eye had you glancing past the king at a visitor on the garden path: a small tabby cat – silver with stripes of black – trotting along the hedgerow towards you.

“Oh, look!”

You pointed, and Baldwin half-turned to follow your gesture, another quiet chuckle following once he realized what had caught your attention. “Ah, a palace mouser, I see. Either that or a street cat has managed to breach the walls.”

His choice of words elicited a light laugh from you. “Perhaps he is a scout, then. Come to assess our defenses.”

The two of you watched as the cat slowed a few paces away, looking up at the both of you.

“Mrow?”

It was a questioning little sound the tomcat made as he hunkered close, sniffing first at the toe of Baldwin’s shoe before doing the same at the hem of your skirt. For a moment he merely stood there, his banded tail a waving S in the air as he continued to take in king and lady with shining green eyes.

“Mrrp.”

A quiet trill followed as the cat proceeded to bump up against your shin, tail curling about as he wound his way behind you before bumping against Baldwin’s calf in the same manner. He paused, staring upwards, and then he repeated the pattern, his path creating an infinity knot around both your feet.

“Aww, I think the darling wants attention,” you cooed, bending at the waist towards the little feline as you held out your hand. You were rewarded with another bump up against your palm, whereupon you happily scratched behind the cat’s ears, a grin plastered to your face.

“I would greet him as he wishes,” Baldwin remarked beside you, “but I fear I’d lose balance and keep going.”

You glanced up at him. “Well… we can’t have His Majesty tumbling face-first into the roses, can we?”

“No, I do believe that would tarnish my reputation for being upright.”

A snort escaped you at that. Baldwin’s sense of humor never ceased to amaze you – that he could find humor at all amidst his terrible suffering was a testament to his fortitude.

Confident that the cat was comfortable with you, you then reached for him, moving to pick him up, which he allowed with surprising ease. Palace mouser indeed, and obviously used to human company; you were certain no street cat would allow such familiar handling so soon…

“Oh, look, he has little gloves, like you.”

Your observation of the cat’s stark white mittens, curled as they were overtop your arm, had Baldwin chuckling lightly once more, and he nodded in reply, his own gloved hand slowly approaching. “So he does. Alas, I fear his bear weapons mine do not.”

He paused long enough for the cat to sniff again at his fingers – which he did – before gently stroking the top of the creature’s head between his ears. Almost immediately, a rumbling purr emanated from the feline’s throat, his eyes half-closing. Despite the near tentativeness of Baldwin’s movements, the cat seemed quite satisfied with the attention, though a part of you wondered how much the king himself gleaned from it…

“Can you feel that?” you heard yourself ask.

“Barely,” was the quiet reply, a lengthy pause following before he withdrew and added, “I relish moments like these while I can. There will come a day when I shall feel nothing with these diseased hands, glove or not.”

His words shot like an arrow straight to your heart. As much as you both tried to ignore it, to look past it, the truth of the matter was that Baldwin was slowly being eaten alive from the inside out, and it was only a matter of time before it utterly consumed him. Just this simple encounter with a sweet palace cat was enough to bring reality crashing down around both your ears.

And you hated it.

Swallowing, you cleared your throat and then bent to set the curious feline back on his feet. “Let’s let our intrepid little friend here continue on his way now, to do the noble work his kind has been mandated to do, yes?”

Once released, you gave the cat one final pat on his head and he was off, trotting away down the path before promptly disappearing under a bush.

“Y/N?”

The softness of your name upon Baldwin’s lips suddenly brought your attention back to him, and then there was his hand on your cheek, cupping your face gently as his eyes searched yours. You could feel the concern in their depths, his gaze probing your own for answers. No doubt he sensed the shift in your mood – you never had been the best at keeping your emotions hidden…

“I wish I could do more for you,” you whispered before he could ask. “I wish I could… I wish…”

There were so many things that you wished. You wished for him to be healthy again. You wished you could lift the many burdens from his shoulders. You wished you could rid his court of the treacherous vultures just waiting for his final breath to tear apart the corpse of his dream. You wished you could send his enemies running for their lives beyond the desert sands. Alas, you could do none of that.

But you could do this…

Without a word, you swiftly closed what gap was left between you, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace.

Instantly, he stiffened, his hands clamping to your shoulders on reflex, their grip tighter than you anticipated.

“Y/N…”

“Hush!” you hissed, interrupting any warning he felt impelled to give you. “Let me do this… let me do it, and let yourself have it!”

You could feel him tremble in your arms, his breathing uneven. For a harrowing moment, he was naught but a statue, indecisive – no-doubt waging a war in his own mind, if you knew him by now as well as you thought you did…

Whichever side flew the banners of Propriety and Precaution, though, evidently lost the battle, as a shaky sigh escaped him at last, a quivering hiss of breath between the lips of his mask.

“God forgive me.”

And then, in a move that made your heart flutter wildly again, his own arms slid around you, pulling you into him and shrouding you in sun-soaked silk. The pungent scent of herbal salves alongside crisp linen followed, piercing past the exotic fragrances of the garden flowers, although you detected the distinct note of roses rising amidst it all – perhaps from the oils the physicians applied to soothe his ravaged flesh. He cocooned you in this warmth, the hardness of his mask as it rested atop of your head a sharp contrast to the softness of the rest of him. And thus he held you tight, tighter than you had expected him to, your ear pressed to his chest where you heard the quickened thumping of his heart.

For one blessed moment, nothing else existed. Perhaps he was an angel after all, just awaiting the wings set aside for him in Heaven. For here he held you in earthly Paradise amidst a garden to rival Eden, shining bright as the light of the sun that enveloped you both in its purifying rays, and you knew peace…

You heard the raggedness in his breath, however. The unsteadiness of his hold. Pulling back from him, you promptly swept his hands up in your own, tugging him towards the bench. “Come. Sit. Stay with me a while and forget your troubles, if only for a few moments. If you can spare them, at least.”

His regard held an almost painful tenderness as it met yours, his voice dropping to a silken timbre. “That and more, should you but ask.”

Your eyes never left his, then, as you led him with ease to your chosen perch. Scooping up Sibylla’s book, you made room for him to sit beside you there, and as he slowly settled himself, letting out what sounded like a sigh of relief, you were keenly aware that your legs were touching, hip to knee…

“Do you like poetry?” you inquired, choosing to ignore how your heart continued to race a little at his continued close proximity.

He glanced sideways, his eyes flicking downwards towards the book in your lap. “As much as the next person, I suppose. Is that a new acquisition?”

You grinned up at him. “Princess Sibylla loaned it to me, actually. We’re planning on discussing it in a few days.”

He nodded slowly at that, seeming to approve. “My sister is in need of good company. I am glad to hear you are getting along well with her.”

“She terrified me at first,” you admitted with a laugh. “But I think she truly wishes for us to be friends.”

Baldwin’s gaze leveled at you behind the mask. “And you were not terrified of me?”

The question was a soft one, wavering slightly, though from recent exertion or emotion, you couldn’t quite tell.

A gentle smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Never.”

For a long moment, his eyes searched yours, and you couldn’t help but let them. Their color, their shape, their intensity… they were so beautifully expressive that it didn’t matter that his mask concealed everything else. When they looked at you, you were almost certain you could feel what he felt in your own heart. And what you felt now was more warmth. This time, though, it blossomed from within as those eyes relaxed into a half-lidded stare that was so much like that of the cat you’d just found…

Aware of the blush heating your cheeks at such a look, you finally tore your gaze from his and cleared your throat. “Would you like to hear a bit of this? It’s rather good…”

“Yes, I very much would,” he answered, his tone an almost distant one.

With that, you opened the book where you left off, taking a breath before beginning to read aloud. You hoped he didn’t mind romances, as that was precisely what this one was – a chivalric tale of doomed love…

Any self-consciousness you possessed about the contents was banished, however, the moment you felt his hand curl around your waist.

It was so light a touch it barely registered at first. But then you saw the flash of white out of the corner of your eye, bright upon the green of your gown. Felt the slight weight of that hand upon the curve of your waist. Almost instinctively, you leaned into him in response, and his grip tightened a little.

“I am not hurting you, am I?” you asked quietly, concerned about the effects of any weight against his fragile flesh.

“You could never hurt me,” he replied in a whisper.

And that was the moment you felt his head rest against yours as you continued to read.

Thank you all very much for reading! 😊I hope you enjoyed! ✨ And if you have any other ideas for Y/N, I'd love to hear them!

#kingdom of heaven #kingdom of heaven 2005 #kingdom of heaven fandom #king baldwin iv #baldwin iv #koh fandom #baldwin iv of jerusalem #the leper king #fanfiction #reader insert #baldwin iv x reader #king baldwin iv x reader #fem reader #my fanfiction

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