#bennet x reader angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

targaryenrealnessdarling · 6 months ago

Text

Postcards

Summary: Tom Bennett is sweet on the Post Office girl, but only dares to approach it just as he's conscripted for war | Word Count: 7.2k~ (oops) | Warnings: ww2, mentions of death, smut, fingering

A/N: A very VERY Happy Birthday to @ewanmitchellcrumbs <3 I hope you enjoy this and have a lovely day! ❤ And thank you so much to @theoneeyedprince for skimming over this 😘

“Get ‘im a cuppa, would ya darlin’!”

Her grandfather’s low baritone seemed to rumble through the floorboards so much so it made her eardrums throb, and she shook her head as she descended the creaky staircase at the back of the store room, running a hand over the collar of her dress to keep it flat.

“Yes, Granda,” she sighed, filling the kettle and placing it on the lit stove. Gone were the days when she was young, afraid of the tiny flame that appeared when her grandfather struck a match to light the gas. He’d always laugh at her concerned expression, chuckling that no grandchild of his was going to be such a ‘scaredy-cat’.

He’d had her lighting matches on the stovetop since she was eleven years old. No exceptions.

A harsh but fair upbringing, given that she was his only grandchild.

She brushed a wavy lock of hair from her face, her pumps clicking on the floorboards as she let the water boil and joined him at the front of the post office. She rolled her eyes when she saw him struggling with the sack of post, grunting and grumbling to himself as elderly men often do.

“Get off, granda, let me.”

“Cheeky beggar! Can do it on me own, ya pesky-”

“Granda.”

He finally turned, perhaps recognising the same tone he’d heard in his wife and daughter in years gone, and knew not to argue. She saw that when her grandfather, turned while bent over and withered with his years, with a smattering of white on his chin and waved sparsely on the crown of his head, had a cigarette hanging from his mouth, the end almost chewed right through with the effort he’d used in trying to lift what he easily could have several years ago.

He raised an eyebrow, bringing the cigarette from his age-weathered lips and blowing the smoke out, “Go on then. Tea on?”

“Course, it is,” she sighed, bending to pull the sack of post from the floor and into the corner to be sorted later. “I’ll do that later, you go upstairs”.

“Bollocks, will I. I’m staying ‘ere.”

Her grandfather was stubborn, though it was something they accused each other of being regularly. A family trait, some would say.

The postman, clad in his dark uniform trudged through the front door, ringing the bell with it. His satchel was empty and his cheeks were pink like the wind had been at them.

“The usual route please, darlin’”.

She nodded. “Cuppa first?”

“Yes, ta, milk, one sugar-”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she smirked, “same as every day.”

As the postman settled into the familiar chair, reserved for him if anyone asked, her grandfather gave a low grumble, shifting his weight with the slow deliberation of age. He looked over at his granddaughter, the same stubborn glint in his eye that she mirrored back at him.

"You're not still jawing, are you?" he muttered, taking another drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray like he had done a thousand times before.

The kettle whistled, and she moved with ease, pouring the steaming water over the tea bags, the rich aroma filling the small, worn kitchen. She added the milk and sugar to the postman's cup, stirring it with a practised hand.

"Here you go," she said, placing the cup in front of him. "Warm yourself up."

"Bless you, lass," the postman replied, wrapping his hands around the mug as if to soak in its warmth.

The grandfather watched the scene with a softened expression before he straightened, a hint of urgency in his voice cutting through the usual routine. "Put the sign out, will you, love?"

With a tired sigh, she set her teaspoon down and retrieved the sign her grandfather had already sorted that morning, today’s headline written in white chalk across the blackboard surface. She didn't usually pay it much attention, but as she held the frame in her hands, her eyes were drawn to it. One word stood out like a beacon:

‘Britain Declares War on Germany’

“It’s official now,” her grandfather mused, having clocked her shocked, mildly terrified expression, his voice carrying an air of aged wisdom. He had seen another war before this one after all, even then, he had been too old to actually fight in it.

Her breath caught for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. "Today?"

"Aye, today," he confirmed, as if it made any difference, a solemn nod accompanying his words. "The world’s about to change."

She stepped outside, the gravel crunching under her feet as she made her way to the front of the shop. With a steady hand, she hung the sign where it would be seen by all who passed by. She stepped back as if to make sure the words were true and not a trick of the eye, and couldn't help but feel the gravity of the situation settling in. The world was indeed about to change, and their quiet corner of it would not be spared.

As she stood there, contemplating the significance of the headline, she heard the familiar sound of a bicycle approaching. Douglas pulled up, half-dismounting with a hurried air.

“Y’alright, Douglas?” she greeted him, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.

Douglas’s eyes flicked to the sign, and he visibly flinched. A deep furrow appeared on his brow, and his jaw tightened, frustration evident in his tense posture.

“Not seen my boy, Tom, have ya?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Fortunately not. Why, is he in trouble?”

Douglas let out a frustrated sigh. “Is he. If you see him, send him back home.”

She nodded, then glanced back at the sign, understanding the unspoken pain in Douglas’s reaction. “I will, Douglas. Take care.”

Douglas gave a curt nod, his eyes lingering on the sign for a moment longer before he mounted his bike again. He gave her a brief, strained smile, the weight of his past experiences clear in his eyes, and pedalled away. She watched him go, feeling the heavy burden of the news. He and Tom were alike in many ways, stubborn mostly though, and set in their ways once their mind was made up. But Douglas was gentler since the first war had changed him, and Tom was never the same after his mother. Turning back to the house, she couldn’t shake the feeling that their small world, like so many others, was on the brink of something monumental. Something far beyond their understanding.

The week passed in a blur of routine tasks and quiet contemplation. She worked diligently, covering the post office as her grandfather went off to the social club, seeking the comfort of familiar faces and shared memories. The steady stream of customers brought a sense of normalcy, yet the weight of the headline hung over her like a shadow, and many others as well.

Each day felt heavier than the last, as the reality of the declaration of war settled in. Conversations with customers often turned to the uncertain future, and the usual gossip was replaced with talk of enlistment and preparations.

As the afternoon sun began to wane one gloomy day, the door to the post office swung open with the chime of the bell. She looked up from the counter, her heart skipping a beat as Tom Bennett walked in. His usual carefree expression was absent, replaced by a seriousness she’d rarely seen before now.

She smiled. “Three guesses who you're skulking away from.”

Tom approached the counter, a faint smirk rose at the corners of his mouth, and his serious depression faltered somewhat. “Box of matches, please.”

She rang him up, the familiar clink of the register grounding her amidst the day's uncertainties. Even from here, behind the counter, she caught the faint scent of cigarettes on his weathered coat, for some reason making her head feel airy. As she handed him the matches, she couldn't help but broach the topic.

“Heard you signed up,” she said, her voice gentle but curious. “What made you do that?”

Tom’s face hardened slightly. She knew immediately why but dare not say. “Don't carry on, had enough of this off Dad.”

“Not Lois?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tom let out a short, humourless laugh. “Nah. She can’t wait to see me gone.”

“How will she cope?” she smiled, attempting to lighten the mood.

Tom shrugged, pocketing the matches. “She’s tougher than she looks. She’ll be alright, both of ‘em will.”

Granda trudged past the doorway leading to the back room, leaving a large heaved sigh with a cigarette between his weathered lips. Tom nodded up at him, “y’alright, Granda? Keeping steady?”

She couldn't help but smile as she glanced back. Nobody called him by his real name, only ever what she had always nicknamed him, from a time where she was unable to say ‘grandad’. At first it embarrassed her, but now to hear everyone else call him Granda, well, it was endearing.

Her grandfather simply glared with hooded eyes, blowing smoke between his lips and permeating the air with musk, “bugger off, ya bone idle twat-”

He was still muttering things as he walked off and she gave Tom a face that showed she was trying her hardest to remain stoic.

“Your own fault really. Should know better.”

Tom chuckled, “Yeah, I should.”

From the first day she stepped behind the counter, Tom had made it his mission to tease and charm her, testing the waters with playful remarks and lingering glances. He would lean in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, just to watch her cheeks flush a delicate pink. It was a game they played, a dance of words and looks that neither was quite brave enough to escalate.

She found herself looking forward to his visits, the highlight of her day amidst the routine tasks of sorting mail and ringing up customers. Tom seemed to delight in the effect he had on her, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in close. “You’re going to spoil me with all this attention,” he’d say, and she’d laugh, trying to hide how much she enjoyed their playful but enigmatic banter.

Now, as Tom stood before her, the weight of his decision to sign up for the war added a new layer to their unspoken bond. The cheeky glint in his eyes was tempered by a newfound seriousness, and she felt the fragile line between them tighten and shift.

As she handed him the change, their fingers brushed, and she felt a familiar warmth rise to her cheeks. “You know,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, “you’re going to make a right mess of things if you keep winding everyone up.”

Tom leaned on the counter, his smirk widening. “Oh, you like it when I wind you up. Admit it.”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t suppress her smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for a post office clerk-ow!” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief, rubbing his shoulder in faux offence when she smacked him lightly. If she were honest with herself, it was just an excuse to touch him.

“One of these days, your cheek will get you into real trouble,” she warned, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

Tom leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Maybe I’m hoping you’ll be the one to give me a proper telling off.”

She rolled her eyes, busying herself with doing a recount of the till, mostly so that she could have something to do with her hands. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Impossible to resist?” he quipped, his grin widening.

“Impossible to deal with,” she corrected, though her cheeks flushed with a hint of colour.

Tom watched her for a moment, his smile softening, blue eyes flickering to the pile of post she still had to sort. “Got anything for me? I'll take it back on my way home.”

She hummed a laugh, shaking her head as she sorted through.. She always sorted the Bennett Household’s post separately, so she’d be prepared for another one of Tom’s spontaneous visits. “To face the wrath of Douglas?”

He scoffed, leaning back against the counter with a mock look of horror. “Don't make me laugh. I can handle my old man.”

“Brave words, Mr. Bennett,” she teased, handing him a small stack of letters. “But I’m not sure anyone can handle Douglas when he’s in a mood.”

Tom took the letters, their fingers brushing for a brief moment. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough,” he said with a wink. “I’m tougher than I look, you know.”

She smiled, feeling the familiar warmth spread through her. “I believe it. Just don’t go getting yourself into too much trouble, alright?”

Tom’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “No promises. Trouble seems to follow me wherever I go.”

As he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder. “And don’t worry, I’ll come back before I ship out. Wouldn’t want to miss another chance to see you blushing for me.”

With that, he straightened and headed for the door, leaving her with a smile and a heart a little lighter despite the day’s heavy news. She watched him go, the weight of their unspoken connection lingering in the air. In her heart she knew she was afraid of truly letting him go, at the prospect of not seeing him walk through those doors every other day. Her heart felt like lead, deep in her chest, wondering if it was already too late, with war reaching their horizons, to admit how she really felt about the man who had just signed up to fight in it.

The days continued to pass in a blur of activity and mounting tension. The declaration of war had cast a long shadow over their small town, and everyone was feeling its effects. Life carried on, but the underlying anxiety was palpable.

A week later, Tom walked into the post office, a different kind of seriousness in his eyes. He held an official-looking envelope in his hand, and she knew immediately what it was.

“Got my papers,” he said, handing her a letter to post. “I’m shipping out in a few days.”

She felt a lump form in her throat but forced a smile. Don’t cry. “So soon?”

He nodded, looking around the familiar space of the post office.

“There’s a…leaving do at the Cross Keys, if you want to come and see me off with the others.”

And why on earth would she have said ‘no’.

A small gathering was held at the local pub to send off the men who had conscripted to do their bit. It was a tradition of sorts, a way for the community to come together and show their support. Friends and family gathered, raising their glasses to wish him well and offer their prayers for his safe return. It was all bright faces, pink cheeked from ale, clinking glasses and all. And all she could do was watch from her seat. Watch him. As if she wanted to print the very image and soul of him into her mind on the off chance he might not return to her, or if he already had a sweetheart to write to, and wouldn't spare a second glance to her.

The pub was filled with laughter and conversation, but she could see the sadness in everyone’s eyes. As the evening wore on, people began to drift away, leaving behind a quieter, more intimate group.

Tom found her sitting at a corner table, nursing a drink. He slid into the seat next to her, a playful glint in his eyes. “Mind if I join the prettiest girl in the room?”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile. Tom looked around, then back at her. He was antsy, she could feel his nervous energy a mile away. He was probably annoyed as well. Douglas hadn’t come to the pub that night, and there was always something in Tom that craved his approval. “Got anything you want to say to me before I go, or are you just going to miss me in silence?”

She looked down into her lap, tracing her thumb over the rim of her glass, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I don’t know what to say without sounding like a fool, Tom.”

“Then be a fool. I won’t mind.”

Her chest was all tight with anxiety when she finally had the courage to form the reply, looking up into his blue eyes, “this place just won’t be the same without you.”

She’d always seen Tom a certain way. Sure. Cock of the walk. Ever since his own mother died he’d almost put on this thick outer layer that was impenetrable. But here, sat with half a beer left in his glass, tapping his fingers against it nervously, his eyes gave way to something more vulnerable. They both know he was off to go and do something important, that he needed to feel valuable in some way, and this was his way of proving it. But his expression showed that he was also a young man, like so many others, who was afraid.

“I won’t miss much about his place.”

Her heart sank a fraction, deep, forming a pit in her stomach. And it seemed Tom sensed it, as he twisted his body to face her, nudging her arm with his elbow to grab her attention again.

“But I will miss you. Especially you.”

She looked up, meeting his gaze. The pub was nearly empty now, the noise reduced to a low murmur, and she suddenly felt uncomfortable in her chair, fingers twisting the hem of her skirt in a gesture of uncertainty about herself. “Tom, I–”

His lips pressed to hers in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was a moment they had both imagined countless times, but reality was far sweeter and more poignant.

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers and chuckled softly. “About time we stopped dancing around it, isn’t it?”

She could laugh. Cry even.

Tom sensed her surprise and something that lingered deeper, but his bravado didn’t allow him to approach it, but it was enough that his thumb brushed a wayward hair from her face. “Had to get that in before I left. Didn’t want to regret missing my chance.”

She let out a relieved, breathy laugh. One that expelled all the tension from her body for a moment. Her eyes never quite left him, as if in wonder. And she was hit with the endless thought that she did not want this moment to end, she didn’t want him to leave. But knew she could never ask that of him.

“Promise me you’ll write,” she said instead.

A classically-Tom Bennett smirk rose to his face. He always did that when he saw the colour rise to her face. “I might.”

They both laughed lightly, with some uncertainty, when she swatted his shoulder. That attitude would get him in trouble, if not with her.

“How about I do you one better,” he started, “I’ll come back, and we’ll have our time.”

She knew then she could ask no more of him. She felt a mixture of hope and fear, knowing how much she was already relying on his return, how much she already craved it. But in response to his weighty promise, she nodded softly, her eyes feeling heavy with tears she did well to keep back.

It almost felt cruel, to have this moment the day before he would leave her for the seas. There had been no time…

Tom’s cheeky grin returned, albeit with a touch of tenderness. “Good. Now, let’s get you home before I change my mind and decide to stay here with you.”

She wished he would.

It was only when she was at her doorstep, watching him walk away, the darkness gradually enveloping him, that she finally took a deep breath, clutching the memory of his kiss and the promise of his return close to her heart.

The days following Tom’s departure were filled with a bittersweet mixture of hope and anxiety. She busied herself at the post office, trying to keep her mind off the worry gnawing at her. The routine tasks that once felt mundane now served as a distraction from the ever-present uncertainty.

On the morning Tom was scheduled to ship out, she was on shift, sorting through the morning post with a heavy heart. She couldn’t bring herself to go to the docks to see him off, knowing it would be too much to bear. Instead, she stayed at the post office, her mind wandering to thoughts of him, imagining his cheeky grin and the promise in his eyes.

After a fortnight, she was giddy with joy when she was sorting the post and saw her name amongst the pile, she nearly gave herself a papercut in her fervent attempts to open the letter, wanting to see his words, in his hand, it would give her happiness beyond belief.

Little Miss Postie, You wouldn't believe the state of things here. It's a lot different from our quiet little town. The lads are a good bunch, though, mostly, and they’ve already learned to put up with my jokes. They’ve got no choice, really. It’s either that or Hitler and I wouldn’t like those odds. I miss seeing your face every day, the way you blush when I tease you. You remember that night at the pub? I bet you do. I wasn’t joking about regretting not kissing you sooner. Let’s just say I’ve had some pretty vivid dreams since then. Don’t worry, I’m keeping my head down and staying out of trouble. Mostly. But it’s hard not to think about you when I’m supposed to be focusing on training. The open sea allows a man to think a bit too much, and every time I see the stars at night, I think of you. And, well, there’s not much else to do out here except think… and maybe imagine a few things I shouldn’t put in a letter. Write me back soon. Tell me everything. And don’t leave out the parts that make you blush. Yours, Tom

She sat at the counter, Tom’s latest letter in hand, a smile tugging at her lips as she read his words again. The warmth of his cheeky tone and the sincerity of his affection made her heart flutter. She knew she had to reply, but she wanted to make it special.

Rising from her seat, she walked over to the display of postcards near the entrance of the post office. The assortment included scenic views, cheerful illustrations, and wartime propaganda. Her fingers brushed over each one until she found a postcard that seemed perfect—a World War II specific postcard featuring a charming drawing of a sailor in uniform, waving from a ship, with the words “Keep Smiling and Carry On” printed in bold letters.

She took the postcard back to the counter and carefully penned her reply, choosing her words with care and affection. When she finished, she read it over, her cheeks warming at the bolder parts. With a satisfied smile, she addressed the postcard and prepared to send it off.

Dear Tom, I’m glad to hear you’re getting along with the lads and keeping them entertained. The town isn’t the same without you, and I miss your cheeky grin and those comments that always get under my skin—in the best way, of course. I hope you continue to write to your father and Lois, they miss you greatly. I’ve been thinking about that night at the pub too. More often than I should admit. Sometimes I catch myself smiling like a fool. Granda thinks I’ve gone mad. He’s just a few pennies short of putting me away. Since you were so forward in your letter, I suppose I can be a little brave too. I’ve had a few dreams myself, some of them involving a certain navy man and that uniform you hate. I’m looking forward to seeing you out of it as much as in it. Stay safe, Tom. I can’t wait for your next letter. Yours, ‘Little Miss Postie’

Little Miss Postie, I knew there was a reason I liked you. I couldn’t stop smiling when I read your letter. And blushing? Don’t worry, I’ve been doing plenty of that myself. Don’t tell anyone though or I’ll tell everyone you’re lying. I can’t wait to get back and see if those dreams of yours are as good as mine. Maybe we’ll have to find out together. And as for that uniform, well, I’ll make sure to wear it just for you. But you might have to help me out of it later. I promise, I’ll make it worth your while. Training is tough, and they’re keeping us on our toes, but thoughts of you keep me going. The lads are starting to wonder why I’ve got this goofy grin on my face all the time. I’ve been telling them about you—well, only the parts that won’t make them too jealous. They all say hello, by the way. Take care of yourself, love. And keep those letters coming. They’re the best part of my day. Yours, Tom

Her reply was affectionate, written with that telltale blush to her cheeks that Tom would have made fun of her for. Every scratch of the pen on paper, telling him that him blushing at her letter would be their little secret, and that he shouldn’t give the lads too high of expectations of her, made her heart feel as light as air. And as she signed off the letter, urging him to come back to her, she would not let that little whisper of uncertainty grow at the back of her mind. And as she turned over the postcard, appreciating the watercolour design on the front, she thought of his face when, and how she imagined it would light up when he received it. Just as hers does.

She waited for a response. But none came.

She found herself anxious, restless. Had she said something wrong? Gone too far? Scared him off with her incessant affections and flirtations? Surely not, she thought. But the lack of any real response had tensions rising in her gut, and the seed of doubt had long been planted.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, she checked the post every morning with a mix of anticipation and dread. Each time the mail arrived, she sifted through the letters, hoping to find one from Tom. But there was nothing. No letter, no word. Her heart sank a little more with each passing day.

Her grandfather and the regular customers noticed the change in her. She became quieter, more introspective, holding onto the hope that Tom would keep his promise and return. The thought of his words, “I’ll be back, and we’ll have our time,” became her lifeline, the thing that kept her going through the long, uncertain months.

Sometimes, she'd allow herself a trip to the house Tom used to inhabit, remembering the times she'd pass by on her way to the post office and spot him leaning against the doorway, smoke blowing from between his curled lips, amused to see the way she was watching him.

She'd hand Lois the post, come in for a cuppa, sometimes Douglas would say a quick hello as he was passing through the kitchen. But whenever she saw him, she was reminded very much of Tom, thousands of miles away from her, and the way his eyes crinkled like Douglas’ did when he smiled.

Every morning, she performed her duties with a determined smile, greeting the postman with a hopeful glance, on the off chance that some letter had accidentally ended up at Douglas’ home, only to be met with a sympathetic shake of the head. She would take a deep breath, steel herself, and continue with her day, refusing to let despair take hold. If she ever let it stick, it would swallow her whole.

It was funny how life had a way of testing people in their worst times.

Granda had always been stubborn. So much so that even when she told him she would put out the sign in a moment, he was too impatient. She only found him later, collapsed alongside the sign for that day's news. But no news seemed as important to her as that very minute, knelt beside her dying grandfather and shouting at passerbys for help.

If her little town was good for anything, it was community. Her grandfather left enough to cover the costs for the funeral, but all who remained put in as much as they could so that they could give the very beating heart of their slice of peace a good sendoff. Her grandfather would have hated it, everyone snivelling and crying over him. But it took the edge off her grief to see that he had touched the hearts of so many, despite his grumpy attitude.

At least, she thought, she wouldn't have to let go of the post office and go work in a factory. This small slice of peace was all she had left of her grandfather. And she counted her blessings that he had left her a good amount in his will, and what remained of his savings.

She only hoped that this brief didn't come in pairs. And she couldn't help but think of Tom now she was truly alone, running the post office by herself, her loneliness only exacerbated by the fact she only had herself to make a brew for in the morning now. She has the most vivid nightmares about the day someone would come and break the news that he wouldn't come back.

Then, one crisp morning, as she stood behind the counter, sorting the latest batch of letters, the door to the post office swung open with a familiar chime. She looked up, her breath catching in her throat as Tom Bennett stepped inside, dressed in his navy uniform, looking weary but very much alive.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. The weight of all the months of worry and hope melted away as he crossed the room, a tired but genuine smile spreading across his face.

“I told you I’d come back,” he said softly, his voice carrying the same mix of cheekiness and sincerity that she had missed so dearly.

For a moment, she stood frozen, unable to believe her eyes. Then, in a rush of emotion, she ran around the counter and threw herself into his arms. As she hugged him tightly, the dam of her emotions broke and she began to sob uncontrollably. He smelled of cigarettes and the sea, a mix of salt and smoke that was uniquely him. The scent brought a rush of memories and emotions, grounding her in the reality of his presence. His uniform carried the faint tang of saltwater, a reminder of the long months he had spent away from her, battling the elements and the enemy.

Tom hugged her back, a bit confused by the intensity of her reaction. “Hey now, what’s all this? I’m back, aren’t I? In one piece and everything.”

She laughed through her tears, clutching him even tighter. “You look terrible in that uniform,” she said, her voice shaky but filled with affection.

Tom chuckled, a familiar warm feeling pooling in her gut, rubbing her back soothingly. “Well, it’s a good thing I didn’t join the navy for the fashion. Besides, I was hoping you’d be so happy to see me that you wouldn’t notice.”

She wiped her cheek, feeling like air was finally making its way into her lungs. “Y-You didn’t write me back. I thought I'd lost you too.”

“I’m sorry, love. I never meant to leave you in the dark. It was just complicated out there, I–”, Tom furrowed his brows, his head cocking down at her slightly. “Too? I—”

He only had to look around. It was never usually this quiet. And she saw the realisation dawn across his war-hardened face when he spotted the framed picture of Granda on the counter.

“Oh, no,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “When?”

“A few months ago,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “Stroke. The tobacco must have caught up with him.”

Tom’s expression softened, and he pulled her into a tighter embrace. “I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered, resting his cheek on her head, “you're more a soldier, doing all this on your own.”

She held onto him, his presence like a balm for her aching heart, growing stronger every day around the pit that was grief. “I didn't feel very strong.”

Tom didn't reply. He hadn't felt very strong himself either. And she knew from the way his large hand rubbed her back to comfort her, that there was more to his easy-going facade than he wanted to let on. And he knew for her equally, that the months were tough on her own, and that she was still healing.

“Missed you so much,” she confessed, pulling away slightly to look up at his half-worried expression, “it felt like I was losing both of you at the same time.”

Tom sighed, a light, almost pretty sound from his lips, his gaze drifting down slightly to her lips, as if he were just remembering all the details he didn't want to admit he'd forgotten all those months at sea.

“Don't cry.” His thumb lingered, swiping away a tear from her under eye, before he lightened the atmosphere with his smile, “I'd prefer to see you blush again. Suits you better.”

She couldn't help a smile breaking across her face, and the warmth that crept up her neck made her feel like a schoolgirl.

Tom winked. “There it is.”

Before she could respond, he leaned down and kissed her, softly at first, as if testing the waters. Her hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his uniform as she kissed him back, the warmth of his lips against hers sending a shiver down her spine.

She pulled back slightly, a playful protest on her lips. “Tom, we’re still open…”

He gave her a devilish smile, turning around to flip the sign on the door to ‘Closed’ and locking it with a swift motion. “Not anymore, we’re not.”

He wasted no time, pulling her back into his arms, his lips growing more insistent and passionate. His hands roamed her back, finding the familiar curves and contours he had missed so much, but had no time to explore before he’d left. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with desire.

She felt her own longing mirror his, her body responding eagerly to his touch. “Show me,” she whispered, her breath hot against his skin.

Tom’s grin turned wicked as he trailed kisses down her neck, his hands exploring with newfound urgency. “I've been dreaming about this,” he murmured against her skin, his breath hot and tantalising. “Every fucking night.”

She laughed softly, feeling a delightful mix of anticipation and excitement. “Tom Bennett, you are impossible.”

He gave no reply, his fingers already working on the buttons of her blouse. His movements were deft, practised, as if he had imagined this moment a thousand times over. She gasped as his hands brushed her skin, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

His lips found hers again, their kiss deepening as he pulled her blouse free, letting it fall to the floor. “Yeah, but I knew you’d come around,” he said with a cheeky grin, his hands sliding to her waist and pulling her closer.

Their kisses grew hungrier, their bodies pressing together with an urgency that had been building for months. She reached for the buttons on his uniform, her fingers trembling slightly in anticipation as she worked to free him from the fabric. He shrugged off his jacket and pulled her into his arms again, his hands caressing her bare skin and breasts through her brassiere, sending waves of heat through her.

She sighed, her head falling back as his lips trailed down her neck, his kisses leaving a path of fire in their wake. “Tom,” she breathed, her hands clutching at him, needing more.

“I know, love,” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm. “I know.”

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her to the small sofa in the back of the post office where she sometimes took breaks. Gently, he laid her down, his eyes never leaving hers. Their movements became a dance of passion and longing, each touch, each kiss, a testament to the months they had been apart. Tom’s hands explored her with a reverence that made her feel cherished, loved.

As if by muscle memory from those dreams he would write about, his knee slid between her thighs as his hands roughly bunched up her skirt to her hips, two fingers tucking between them to tease her bud through her knickers.

“Tom,” she gasped, her body arching against his.

“Shh,” he soothed, his lips capturing hers once more. “I’ve got you.”

She was enraptured by the way he nipped at her lips, that she only realised he had pulled the gusset of her underwear aside when he gently, but insistently, pushed two fingers inside her, crooking upwards and finding that rough, sweet spot with unyielding precision.

He swallowed every sound she made, every now and then a grunt of approval slipping past his own lips as he stretched her open on his fingers, his pace teasing. Her fingernails left crescent moon shaped welts in his now bare shoulders, the muscles tensing beneath them.

Tom hummed against her lips, pleased with himself. “Not so shy now, are you?”

His teeth slid across her neck, no doubt marks left behind, but she couldn't even focus on that with the way he was insistent on teasing that wild spot inside her that made her body feel like white, fluttery flames.

“I've missed your reactions…especially this one.”

His thumb joined in his ministrations, applying gentle but firm pressure to her bundle of nerves in tandem with his fingers plunging in and out of her wet heat. And if her face hadn't been buried in his shoulder, she would have cried out, embarrassed at the sounds she and her body was making. Tom however, seemed to revel in it, his hand soaked with her arousal as she teetered on the edge.

The tightness in her gut spiralled as she clutched him tighter, her body aching pleasantly with the force of her peak rushing through her, all while Tom grinned and didn't falter, as if to watch her linger on that border of pain and pleasure.

Before she had even fully come down, his fingers were gone and she felt she was able to fully breathe again. Her flushed expression snapped open to him as he pulled her thighs towards him, on the sofa, and watched as he righted himself and slid his belt through the loops of his trousers, a sound that made her belly flutter.

He raised his eyebrows, pulling his trousers low enough to free himself and leaned over her again. “Missed me that much?”

She laughed, and hid her face, the dull ache still thrumming through her body ignited again as the head of is cock parted her folds and nudged her bud. “Tom-”

Warmth crept to her face again when his hand turned her face towards him again, his pupils near eclipsing the blue with want as he sheathed himself within her, holding her there to watch her expression as her walls stretched to accommodate him.

In any other scenario, she would want to slap that self-impressed look off his face, but not now, not when it felt this good.

His eyebrows barely furrowed, struggling to keep his composure. “Christ, you're so fucking tight—”

His words shot straight to her core, clenching around him and eyes slipping shut as he began a tortuous pace, like he hadn't gotten to this part in his dreams before. His arms wrapped around her like choking ivy, pushing her body to his with every needy thrust, his breath hot against her neck and the metal of his identification tag cold against her chest.

For a few brief moments, the world outside the post office ceased to exist. There were only the two of them, reconnecting in a way that was both familiar and new. Tom's cheeky comments and playful touches had yielded to blend seamlessly with his genuine affection, creating a moment that was perfect in all its imperfections.

She can feel his hips growing tired the closer he gets, and if she is being truthful, the cooling sensation of the buckle of his belt and the friction it gives her is only flinging her to the edge right alongside him. And when he breathes her name all shaky and low like that, she can't help herself, and she lets go again with a choked cry, the second sneaking up on her so quickly it feels like she never really recovered from the first.

With a stuttered groan, mirrored by his own hips, he crushes her in his arms and pushes forward as hard as he can, burying himself as deep as he's able as he comes hard nestled in her silky walls. She held him on top of her, his weight a comforting reminder that he was real, that he was here. Her fingers gently traced the contours of his back, feeling the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his breath.

Her heart was still racing, but not just from their shared passion. It was the sheer relief, the overwhelming sense of having him back in her arms after so long. Every night of worry, every day of longing, all melted away in this moment.

She buried her face in his hair, inhaling the familiar scent of him, mixed with the faint hint of the sea. Tears of relief welled up in her eyes, but this time they were tears of joy, of profound gratitude. And she wanted to say so much, but whenever she tried, her throat closed up, not wanting to interrupt this quiet, loving slice of peace in her arms. For the first time in months, she felt whole again.

When he finally pulls back, breathless and flushed, Tom rests his forehead against hers, his eyes filled with love and mischief, her his voice low and intimate. He means to say so much more. The depth of his feelings, the fears, and the nights he had spent longing for her, it all threatened to spill out, leaving him vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. She saw it, though, in the way his eyes darkened with emotion, the unspoken words lingering just beneath the surface.

“I think we might need to close early more often.”

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aarchengel · 10 months ago

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𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓-𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

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𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄

𝐀𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲 (𝟏.𝟓𝐊) - Requested Your boyfriend Damon has been acting very possessive and controlling and you get into a huge fight with him. You go out for a drive to clear your head but end up in an accident instead. Damon finds you and takes you home, making up for everything he has done.

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄

...pending!

𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓

...pending!

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐒

...pending!

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐓

...pending!

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myfandomprompts · 1 year ago

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𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟗/𝟏𝟎)

Summary: There is little time left. Very little time. Previous Part - Masterlist

Warnings: angst, anti-Semitism French spoken -> italics

At first, it’s how Albert’s face seems to shut off each time your town’s name is seen on a sign at the side of the road, the mark that you’re getting closer to your destination. Then it’s how Tom looked like he wished for the earth to swallow him whole each time the bus station is mentioned, the place that will take you home.

It just seems so close now.

But there are good moments. At noon, when you find yourselves in the middle of nowhere with only the shade of the trees or a windmill to keep you cool, you all sit joyfully on the grass to eat what Charles and Germaine had generously given you; plenty of bread and ham to be able to walk without to a rumbling belly. It’s during those occasions that Tom never misses an opportunity to be next to you, the fact that you’ve taken to teaching him French seriously giving him a good reason to talk to you at length.

Not that he needed a good reason.

Everyone casually laughs at his attempts at pronunciation, each of them trying to participate and help where they can. But the truth is, he’d rather have you for himself, because he knew he could make you smile like he had never seen anyone else do, like nobody else could.

He wanted to be the only one.

“This isn’t even a word…”

“Yes it is!” you argued as you dropped your hand in defeat. “Poulailler is where the chickens go. Try it.”

He didn’t lose his teasing smile while he tried to pronounce it. “Yeah, still doesn’t sound right.”

“It wasn’t bad. La poule is the chicken, le poulailler is the chicken coop, it’s as simple as that.”

“And how do you say rooster, then?”

You stopped yourself from answering him at the last second, red staining your cheeks slightly. “Mh, that you don’t want to know.”

“Why?”

You contemplated his curious and enticing smile before a voice interrupted you and your thoughts. “Hey, Y/N, can you tell me on the map where the store you slept in was again? Looks like a good hiding place for future travellers, if the owners get on board.”

You nod quietly to Giulia before taking the map from her to examine it while you heard Tom fall back at your side, disappointed. The conversation didn’t stray from the different points Giulia could use for her route, mentioning Raymond, whom Charles had said he would convince, and Albert, who already saw himself as a ‘passeur’ near Poitiers.

Tom was bored again, and you felt guilt at the sight of his glum expression. But it all went away when he suddenly comfortably rested his head on your lap, closing his eyes and proceeded to take a nap there as if it was the most natural thing to do.

There was a brief silence, but the others quickly reconvened around the current subject while indescribable affection and fulfilment flooded through you. You didn’t notice Henriette's discreet smile, Giulia’s indifference or Albert’s flickering eyes as you fell behind the conversation completely, coming to run your fingers through his hair.

He didn’t open his eyes, but his lips stretched into a content smile. The soft satisfying sound he made when you grazed your nails over his scalp cheered you, and only you heard his quiet praises, telling you how nice it felt.

This is what he had been talking about, making every moment count. You would not allow yourself to think of the end.

You didn’t leave his side once as you hit the road again, walking next to each other, hands itching to reach to the other. It felt liberating, confusing, good. However, the more you advanced, the more your feet started to gradually drag on the pathways, reluctant. You wished you could stretch the journey at will, to go back in time or simply think of this journey as a nice trip in the countryside. Not a way to make it home, to send him home.

To put all of this behind you.

But reality struck you like a slap in the face when you approached the next town, quiet streets with bricked walls plastered with the new government’s posters, and below one of them, an old looking graffiti with a single blood-icing sentence.

“Les Juifs sont la cause de la guerre.”

You all glanced at it before lowering your gazes and hastening the pace, taking the direction of the inn you would spend the night in in tensed silence.

Tom lingered a moment longer, trying to decipher the words without success. He trotted behind you, brows furrowed at your sudden sour faces. “What’s written there?”

You rolled your tongue inside of your mouth, ill at ease. “Jews are the reason for the war.”

He stopped, face decomposing after your whispered translation before glancing around in worry. But he quickly caught up with you as you neared the café terrace where both regulars and travellers were enjoying a drink or a well-deserved meal.

You exhaled in relief as you entered, the coolness of the inside air much more bearable after your journey, and by the time you sat around a table and booked rooms at the counter, Tom had found his usual silent countenance again. You could see the irritation in his eyes and within his gestures as he now could not utter a word out loud without earning a dark glance from Giulia, not until you were in a less crowded place again. It saddened you too.

You had to snap your eyes away from the way his tongue wetted his lips before taking a sip of his drink in frustration when Albert dropped a heavy book in front of you. “Phone book. I need your help finding Aunt Marie. It won’t hurt telling the parents we’re on our way.”

You nod, more like a reflex than anything else before opening the pages filled with countless telephone numbers. Tom eyed each time you turned a page with a dark expression, jaw clenching, but you said nothing as you continued. His glass was emptied by the time Henriette had gone to freshen herself in the commons, your own tired gaze fixed on the digits before you.

You didn’t notice the three policemen enter at first, the usualness of their visit blending perfectly with the rest of the customers, until they approached a table that had been awfully quiet since you’d arrived.

It was the entire room’s turn to fall in a tense silence. “Gutten Haben, Henrren.”

You lifted your head upon hearing the German words, not understanding why two French Policemen had suddenly switched languages. The one that had spoken was giving a sad look at the men seated for dinner, the two other policemen gauging the room warily.

“Uh… Gutten Haben, what can I… do for you?” one of the men asked in awful French, his thick German accent making the policemen smile briefly. Meanwhile, sweat was starting to form over the man’s forehead.

“Unfortunately, you’ll have to come with us. We’ve been told that you’re immigrants, German immigrants.”

The two Germanics exchanged frightened glances before gazing back at the rough-looking policeman. “But… We have papers, we obtained it from your government, months ago!”

The latter clicked his tongue, an uneasy scowl appearing on his features, as if he was trying to convince himself rather than them. “I’m afraid it won’t suffice. Our government has implemented new laws. You’re going home, I’m sorry.”

You heard murmurs around you, catching words like “ran away”, “Jewish” or “persecuted”. The next moment, Giulia was whispering in your ears. “Y/N, take Tom and go through the back entrance. If they are taking refugees, there is no say what they’ll do to a British soldier, and we can’t risk it. I’ll find Henriette.”

There was a strange state of purpose surpassing the brief panic that filled you before you took Tom’s hand softly under the table. He barely resisted when you led him away, heading to the back stairwell as the two Germans were taken out quietly out of the room and the two other policemen lingered around.

Tom didn’t say anything until you had reached a back alley with a slim stream coursing next to it. “What is it, what are we doing?”

You checked that the coast was clear before pulling him to a corner where no one would hear you. “I don’t… I don’t think this town is safe.”

“What are you talking about? I thought we’ve reached a ‘free’ place where they couldn’t chase us. Were they German folks?”

“I think they… I think they were Jewish refugees from Germany, yes,” you thought out loud, digging your teeth in your lower lip in anguish. “The Reich wants them back, for…”

“And what the hell has it gotta do with those French coppers?”

You knew how helpless you looked at that moment, how lost. “Because this is the new regime! Pétain will do anything Hitler asks of him, and there is no say where it’ll stop… You would be taken as a prisoner of war, you have no papers, you have nothing…” You bit your tongue darkly. “Somebody ratted out those Germans, that's how they knew.”

Tom parted his lips in exasperation before clenching his jaw hard. “Oh, that’s bloody brilliant.”

He leaned his head against the darkened wall, right next to a propaganda poster, Pétain looking down at you with high colours as if he could see you, hear you.

You bit your nails, stressed. “But it won’t happen to you! You’ve got Giulia, you’ve got a safe route to Spain, and there are no Nazis on this side, it’ll be alright.”

“Once again, Y/N, you don’t know that. I’m the first wanker who is making sure that crossing will not get me killed. Not that I’ll care about making it now, anyway…”

Shock at his words made your breath momentarily get stuck in your throat. You lowered your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to keep a straight face.

But you tensed and didn’t even know where to look.

He immediately realised what he had said, pushing himself off of the wall to make you look at him. “Shit, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean that.”

He wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head as he held you close, making you go soft against him. “Why would you say that…”

“I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry,” he repeated against your hair. “I’m just bloody tired, and it’s like I can’t see past the moment when… when we…” A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Well, at least you won’t have to worry about me then.”

You detached your face from his chest, looking up at him with fierce damped eyes. “I’ll never stop worrying about you, Tom.”

You saw the lump in his throat disappear as he swallowed hard, glistening eyes fixed on you. You cupped his face with your hand, bringing him into a kiss that would make him understand, feel your need for him.

“You don’t get to give up, you hear me, Tom Bennett?”

He all but smiled, a ray of light in the dark. “You should know me by now, nothing can take me down, not even a bullet.”

You smiled in turn, trying not to leave his warmth as you kept your body close. “You know, I can’t help but think that… if you haven’t been shot, we might have never met again.”

You stared at each other while his thumb stroked your shoulders, lowering to your ribs, to your waist.

He took a deep breath. “Some might say it’s God’s plan and all. Either way, considering where I am now… I’d say it was worth it, this damn hell I've been through.”

He was drawing small circles against the curve of your waist, tickling your skin and you chuckled through the bitterness. “Always the charmer, are you?”

“Well, yeah, that’s what I was known for back at home, wasn’t I? Gotta live up to the name.”

You hummed, coming to wrap your hands around his neck to stroke the soft hair there playfully. “That’s not exactly what I remember your reputation to be.”

“Hm? Care to tell me, then?” he teased.

You faked hesitation, pressing your forehead against his to whisper. “Trouble maker… Loud-mouthed… Hot blooded?”

He pouted. “That… does not sound like me at all.”

His hidden laughter made you tilt your head to the side in refound glee. “Doesn’t it? I could have sworn it was you. Maybe I should look for another Tom?”

He instantly pressed his body harder against yours, familiar heat meeting your flesh. “Why would you do that when you have what’s best right there? Helpful, good-looking, amazing kisser…”

“Oh, really? I don’t remember hearing anything about that last part.”

“Odd, since you’re the one who told me, love,” he said with a grin as you arched an eyebrow over your forehead. "Through the pretty sounds you make, that look in your eyes when I touch you… I just can tell.”

You shook your head with a sigh to try to hide the blush that adorned your cheeks as he joined his lips with yours again. The touch sent chills down your spine and it suddenly made you feel far away from the inn, from any risks that could come your way.

“Are you Jewish?”

The small tone made you stop and snap your eyes open. A small child stood behind Tom, no more than eight, looking at the two of you with a paper plane in his hands, his expression flat.

You froze in Tom’s arms as you blinked, his head falling backwards in annoyance as you pulled away from him. “I, uhm… No? Why would you ask that, sweetheart?”

The child frowned at your confused tone. “Then, why are you hiding?”

You remained speechless at his question as Tom’s warning tone fanned in your left ear. “Y/N, if I turn around that lad is going to be traumatised. You should really make him go.”

You scowled at his complicit eyes as you tried not to feel his point. You detached yourself from him, making him sigh in frustration as you approached the boy gently. “We’re hiding because… we’re playing a game. Tom here was meant to find me, and he did. We were just discussing… game strategy. Where are your parents?”

The boy sniffed, an untrustworthy look fixed on you. “My father says that Jews are bad, that they’re everywhere and steal everything from us. That’s why the Germans want them.”

You tried not to appear too gobsmacked as you lowered yourself to him, a sour taste in your mouth. “You know… Maybe you shouldn’t listen to everything your father says, I can assure you they-”

Tom’s impatience was palpable behind you and when he called your name, the boy’s frown deepened, clutching his paper plane harder as he glanced between the two of you. “Maybe I should go and ask my father directly, he’ll know.”

“No, wait!” you tried, but he had already scattered toward the house right at the opposite side of the road, disappearing behind a fence.

Tom came to your level, seeing you heave with distress. “What was that?”

“Not reassuring.”

You took his hand swiftly and dragged him along the stream in haste, wishing to put as much distance between you and the concerning neighbourhood before the boy could find you. Despite Tom’s hissed arguments as you kept walking, you only stopped when you reached the underside of a bridge, considering it far enough and feeling your slightly panicked heart settle.

“Are you giving me a tour?” he chuckled as he took in his surroundings. “It’s very pretty, I’ll give you that.”

It was. The bridge you had stopped under was small but big enough to hide you from anyone above. The evening light shone right on the stream below your feet and cast beams of light on the white stones. On the other side, a lone fisherman was laying his line in the calm waters, a bored eye lifted toward you as you turned to face Tom with a frustrated sigh.

“Darn this country. I’m sorry I dragged you here again, I just didn’t want to face people with problematic ideas. I didn’t want to get angry.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Does my girl get angry, really?”

“When people are stupid, yes!”

He chuckled as he pulled you away from under the bridge in order to walk along the stream, hand in hand. The grin he wore upon his lips was so endearing, as if he had no care in the world. "I’m afraid you’ll have to do an awful lot of fightin’, then.”

You exhaled as you pressed your thumb against the back of his hand, making him grin further. The night was setting quickly and already humidity was falling over your skin, eliciting goosebumps there.

“Do you even know how to get back?” he asked, looking around as you passed a small pier.

“Yeah, it’s somewhere… around there,” you gestured vaguely over your left to the path that led back on the road, hesitant. If truth was to be told, you were not in a hurry to get back, those moments with him seemed so precious to you.

Tom hummed, unconvinced but did not add anything else. As you went up the pathway, smells of dinners being cooked and playful screams of children reached you, and when you neared a small square further down the road, you heard the soft sound of a gramophone starting to play. Tom’s lips slowly curved upwards as he glanced over the high window where the music was coming from.

“What are you doing?” you asked when he turned around to face you, a playful glint in his eyes.

He didn’t answer, only brought you to a stop before taking one of your hands in his and putting the other on your waist. When the voice of Lys Gauty resounded, slow and beautiful along the violins, you felt yourself move in his embrace.

You laugh softly, feeling silly at each of your steps. “I didn’t know you could dance.”

“I went to a few of Lois’ gigs,” he said with a snidely. “I observed.”

“I’ve never seen you attend one…”

You saw his expression drop as you kept moved in rhythm. “Yeah, well, once I went there, knowing you would be there but when I arrived, you were dancing with some bloke and… I didn’t feel like staying.”

You watched his long eyelashes flutter, the skin under his eyes turning reddish as he fled your gaze. He was beautiful.

But you couldn’t help but tease him. “I remember. He was quite nice, offered me a drink afterwards…”

“Yeah, I don’t want to hear about it, really.”

You smiled tenderly, bringing a hand you wanted apologetic closer to his face. “He was not you, though. You wouldn’t have tried to get me drunk, right?”

Tom’s smile grew sardonic, satisfied. “The git.”

“Yeah,” you whispered as you pressed your lips against his smug ones, grinning through the kiss.

You lost yourselves in the melody, bodies moving languidly along the female soothing voice as he held you close, faces resting against each other.

“It’s nice… What does it say?” he asked after a while, hot breath fanning over your cheek.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the lyrics. The word slowly sank in and unexpectedly made your heart ache, their meaning passing over you like a cold wind. “It’s from a movie, I think. It’s… kind of sad.”

“Tell me.”

You felt some of his hair graze the side of your face as your voice turned a bit broken. “It’s about two young lovers of twenty. They lived very close, but although they loved each other they never had the courage to confess, until they kissed and all became brighter.”

He readjusted his position against you. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

The music turned sombre, trumpets playing in as you continued. “But then hope disappeared, and all took the shade of the night. They grew apart, and their story became part of the past, their shared dreams left behind as if nothing happened between them.”

Tom fell silent, his fingers pressing deeper into your palm and waist as you opened your eyes.

If the words resonated strongly within the two of you, their weight crushing like a hammer, you did your best to not let the other feel it. You couldn't let yourself be controlled by these emotions, not so close to the end.

The song ended on a distorted note and a click as your light steps slowed on the paved stone. When the melody started again, the same melancholic words repeating, you decided that you had enough.

You couldn't bear it. “We should go back.”

You slowly pulled away from him, shivering from the cold air around you from the loss of his embrace but felt his grip over your hand harden, securing you into place. He hadn’t moved, a determined expression displayed over his features, the one he took when he was battling against his emotions.

You looked at him expectantly. “You haven’t changed your mind, have ya? I really can’t convince you to come with me anymore.”

You tried to focus on his touch in order to shut out the now irritable music coming from the window above, to shut out the emotions that threatened to make tears appear at the rim of your eyes. Nothing was as bitter than your heart at that particular moment.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded slowly after a long while, his lips curling in bitterness, resignation. When you met his eyes, you could have sworn that the light inside of them had gone, the lively glint inhabiting it. But his hand remained locked with yours, warm and tight.

When you got back to the inn the night had fallen completely.

You often wondered what would have happened if you had listened to your father, if you hadn’t come home from England, stayed away from the war.

Would you still be in your tiny flat, not far from the centre? Would you be worried sick about Tom, as staring at the door he had slammed behind him like he had just left? Would he have even slammed it in anger if he had been the first to leave, and not you?

By now, the news of his disappearance or potential death must have reached Manchester, and you wondered how you would have felt if you had been on the other side of the mirror. You pictured a devastated Douglas, a lost and helpless Lois listening to the wireless. You couldn't even fathom the state you would have been in, if you weren't here, knowing he was perfectly out of danger, close to being reunited with your parents and having found your brother safe against all odds.

The greatest difference from where you stood was that here, you would have to see him leave, never to come back.

You're taken out of your reveries as you reached a crossroad, one moment Henriette asking you if you were alright, the other the boisterous voice of your brother making your head lift up in a quick motion.

"This is it," he announced, examining the sign in front of you. "This way is Châteauroux… where you'd be able to take the train,” he said toward Giulia as he waved somewhere over his right. “And this way is Poitiers. Our path.”

Your feet planted on the ground like they had suddenly grown roots and you felt the oxygen lack in your lungs as you forgot to breathe. You stared at the sign helplessly, trying to comprehend the words written on it, unwilling to.

You barely heard the conversation going vividly around you as the others said goodbye with warm embraces. Your eyes were turned toward Tom, finding him already looking at you and you felt your heart drop in your chest. His blue eyes bright, piercing, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

Only when the small form of Giulia came to block your vision were you forced to tear your gaze away from him. "Y/N, it was a pleasure meeting you. You really helped."

Your voice seemed to sound far away when you answered clumsily, barely present in the moment with her.

You felt so empty. "Oh, I, uhm… really?"

"Yes, more than you know."

Her smile managed to snatch one from you, but it didn’t linger as she hugged you kindly. Over her shoulder, you saw your brother shake Tom’s hand and Henriette bid him good luck with a smile, but he barely managed to return it. Instead, silence settled in the air as Giulia let go of you, your gaze fixed on Tom, speechless.

Henriette was the first to speak after a while, clearing her throat awkwardly. "We should give them a minute."

The crunching noise of pebbles on the ground as they stepped away resonated too loudly in your ears. Tom approached you carefully, his fair skin paler than usual against the warm summer air.

You fumbled with your hands, eyes barely able to meet his penetrative ones.

"I guess this is goodbye then," you said, throat achingly dry.

He didn't answer, staring at you relentlessly, making you hyper aware of the scorching heat gradually forming beneath your eyes. "You'll say hi to your father and sister for me, yeah? And to the baby…"

His mouth remained closed as you shifted uncomfortably into place, crushed under his gaze.

Not having enough of it.

"Stop looking at me like that…"

His eyes flickered, the softness of his tone surprising you as he parted his lips. "Looking at you like what?"

"Like you're… like you're mad at me."

'I'm not-" he began, shaking his head. "I'm not mad at you, I just… It's just fucking unfair."

You swallowed the sour taste in your mouth. “We’ll see each other again. It doesn’t have to be the end.”

“Then why does it bloody feel like it?”

You couldn't answer, the uncertainty of your lives too much to even think about, rendering promises achingly pointless. You bit the inside of your cheek in a failed attempt to stay composed, but when he lowered his gaze and took your hands in his, you froze.

They were so warm, perfect for you.

"Listen, Y/N, about these three words, these three damn very known words... I really need to say th-"

"No, please Tom, don't," you pleaded, feeling the dampness of your eyes barely holding in. "I can't… I couldn't cope. Please."

His face decomposed, eyes strained sadly upon you, lost. The words burned his tongue, melted his heart. Still, he didn’t say them.

You couldn't bear it, the expression he wore, your own doing. You felt a tear form at the rim of your right eye and you leaned into him, pressing your forehead against his to hide it from him. He sighed against you immediately, eyes closed and hands trailing up your arms.

He felt so good.

“Don't you dare forget about me, Y/N."

He sought out your lips, his nose digging into your cheek and you caved, melting into his needy kiss. It was slow and painfully sweet, realising that it could be your last. As his hands cupped your face more strongly, calloused fingers burning your numb flesh, you allowed yourself to make it last.

You pulled apart, panting for air as you remained in each other's embrace, your hands pressed against his chest. You found his heart to be beating as fast as yours, as shattered as yours.

After a sharp inhale, you felt it settle gradually as you tried to memorise the feel of him in your mind, to imprint it into your skin.

"Goodbye, Tom."

You kept your eyes shut as a single tear finally rolled down your cheek, your body aching as you battled against his softening grip. When you pulled away from him sharply, you could only repress a shuddering breath.

You didn't allow yourself to look back until you had reached the others, and when you finally turned, he hadn't moved a muscle, weary eyes strained in you, powerless as he stood in the middle of the path.

It took everything you had not to let more of your tears fall.

Giulia gave you a quick movement of the head before joining him. She had to call his name before he finally followed her. Henriette stroked your back as you watch him reluctantly walk backwards, his eyes not leaving your face.

Maybe it would be easier to just close yours, embrace the darkness, to not witnesses that wretched moment.

But you couldn't, and by the time he had disappeared around a corner, your cheeks had dried and the pain in your stomach had turned dull.

There were still a few more miles until you would reach the bus station, and you couldn't utter a word, barely acknowledging your surroundings as you kept walking.

Only when you were safely seated in the bus did you feel all of the emotion crashing down, true tears being finally released. There was no dull pain anymore, but aching regret clutching at your heart, and you had to press against your chest in an attempt to soothe the pain.

"Y/N, what's happening?"

You tried to breathe, to remain quiet, but it was too painful. "I should have let him say it… I should have said it back, I should-" you panted in muffled cries as Henriette watched you with worry. "I should have said that I loved him."

You didn't calm down until you arrived at your destination.

Part 10 (and last one.)

Thank you @babyblue711 for you support and amazing beta reading, as always.

Music Tom and reader dance to:

A/N: The installation of antisemitism within the Vichy government occurred much later, the first step with a new Jewish status on October 1940. I fast fowarded it so it can be applied on the story, in July-August 1940. The persecution in Non-Occupied Zone came much later as well, but it didn’t prevent the hate toward the Jews in France. Jew immigrates were, however, arrested during that time, because they weren’t French (who still had some semblance of rights early in the war.) Same goes for the prisoners of war.

@chainsawsangel@mischiefmanaged71@depressedperson88 @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan@yentroucnagol@tssf-imagines@nightdiamond8663 @lauraneedstochill @unleashthelion @helaenaluvr @omgkatherine01 @launotfound @r0segard3n @queenofshinigamis @helaelaemond

#tom bennett #tom bennet x reader #wof #world on fire #smut #tom bennett fanfiction #ewan mitchell #angst #fluff #world on fire 1x06 #gone with regret #usermyfandomprompts #gone with regrets

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thegreeks · 2 months ago

Text

Confession of Broken Hearts

Warnings: confession, jealousy

Synopsis: you cannot bear to watch the man you love show affection to another, thus you urgently confess

The ballroom sparkled under countless chandeliers, the glimmering lights reflecting off the polished marble floor, where couples twirled to the soft strains of a string quartet. Laughter and conversation filled the room, but your chest felt nothing but a heavy pang.

"I shall fetch some refreshments," you whispered to your friend Jane, who was deeply engrossed in conversation with Mr. Bingley. Excusing yourself, you made your way through the lively crowd, your steps leading you to the quieter, dimly lit corridors of the estate.

Twilight cast its gentle glow over the grand halls of Pemberley in shades of gold and lavender as you wandered, your thoughts turbulent and your heart aching.

From the drawing room came the sound of light alluring laughter—the unmistakable voice of Mr. Darcy, mingled with the melodic tone of Miss Amelia Fairfax. From a distance, you saw her— beautiful, elegant, and everything society deemed worthy of the master of Pemberley. The scene stung you to the core.

She had arrived only a week ago, a guest of your mutual acquaintances, and since then, you had been forced to watch the slow unraveling of your world. For days, you had witnessed the slow shift in Darcy's demeanor. His lingering glances, the softness in his voice when he spoke to her—these were gestures meant for another.

You, who had known him so intimately, could no longer deny the truth. The bond you thought you shared had been replaced by something deeper between him and Miss Fairfax. Through trials, misunderstandings, and moments of unspoken connection, you had believed that, perhaps, there had been something between you. But now, standing in the shadow of another, that hope seemed cruelly extinguished.

The weight of unspoken feelings pressed down upon you, and you knew you could not remain silent any longer. The thought of Darcy falling in love with someone else, of losing him entirely, was too much to bear.

That evening, when the guests had retired and the house quieted, you found him alone in the library. He sat by the fire, a book resting on his knee, his dark hair lit by the flickering light. For a moment, you simply watched him, your heart aching with the knowledge that this might be the last time you saw him like this—untouched by another’s affection.

Clearing your throat, you stepped forward. “Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy looked up, the hint of a faint smile tugging at his lips as he closed his book. "Miss Y/L/N," he replied warmly, "I did not expect to see you still awake."

“May I have a word?” you asked softly, the words trembling on your lips, unable to keep the urgency from your tone.

He regarded you with his usual, steady gaze, his expression turning serious as he studied your face. "Of course," he said, his tone with a hint of concern, "you may always speak freely."

Could you really tell him what weighed so heavily on your heart? Gathering your courage, you stepped closer and sat down in the chair opposite him, clutching the edge of the armrest to steady yourself.

“Fitzwilliam,” you began, daring to use his given name in a moment of boldness, "I must confess something that I can no longer keep to myself."

Darcy’s brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening. What is it?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "You seem distressed."

"I am," you admitted, your voice catching. The word was too gentle for the storm of emotions you had been drowning in. "It is difficult to say, but I fear if I do not speak now, I shall regret it all my life."

The crackling of the fire seemed to fill the silence between you as your heart pounded in your chest. Then, unable to hold back any longer, you cried, "In vain, I have struggled, but my feelings will not be repressed." Your chest swelling with breathlessness of the most anxious moment.

“I have watched you these past days,” you continued, your voice breaking. “With Miss Fairfax… I’ve seen how your eyes follow her, how your manner softens in her presence. I cannot… I cannot bear it.”

Darcy blinked in surprise, his confusion palpable. “I don’t understand. What is it you—”

“You must understand, Darcy,” you interrupted, the desperation now evident in your voice. "Almost from the earliest moments of our acquaintance I have come to feel for you," words from your thoughts all spilling at once, "a passionate admiration and regard, which despite all my struggles has overcome every rational objection."

“You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” The words hung in the air, sharp and unrelenting.

You had said it—finally laid bare the feelings that had consumed you for so long. Your heart pounded in your chest, every beat louder than the last, as you awaited his reaction.

Darcy’s face hardened with disbelief. “Miss Y/L/N…”

“Please,” you whispered, tears threatening to spill. “I cannot watch you love another. Not when my heart has belonged to you for so long.”

His expression shifted, the coolness of his features cracking as something softer emerged. He stood, his tall frame now towering over you, and for a moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes—pain, regret, or perhaps even affection. But then it was gone, replaced by the unyielding composure you knew too well.

“You… you cannot mean this,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I never intended—”

"I know," you interrupted, rising to your feet. "You never saw me that way, and I have tried to accept it. But I can no longer stand by in silence while you give your heart to another."

Mr. Darcy, now leaning against the mantelpiece with his eyes fixed on your face, seemed to catch your words with no less resentment than surprise. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed himself to have attained it.

Darcy took a step toward you, his hands clenched at his sides, as though battling with his own turmoil. The pause was to your feelings dreadful. At length, with a voice of forced calmness, he said: “You are my dearest friend, Miss Y/L/N. I cherish you, but not in the way you desire.”

The pain of his words struck you like a blow, your breath catching in your throat. You had known this would be the outcome, but hearing it, feeling it, was more devastating than you could have imagined.

With a voice barely above a whisper, you replied, "Then I suppose this is the end of my foolish hopes," trembling with barely contained sorrow. “I apologize for burdening you with my feelings.”

Darcy shook his head, stepping closer. "No," he said softly, "you are not foolish, nor a burden. You could never be."

But it didn’t matter. The chasm between you had widened, and there was no way to cross it. He would never love you, not the way you loved him.

You turned away, unable to face him any longer. “I should go.”

But before you could take a step, Darcy reached out and gently grasped your arm. His touch, once so familiar, sent a shiver through you. "Wait," he whispered, his voice trembling.

You turned, your breath catching in your throat as he looked at you with an intensity you had never seen before.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

You closed your eyes, feeling the tears slip down your cheeks. “So am I.”

With a heavy heart, you pulled away, knowing that what had been said could never be unsaid. Darcy stood there, watching as you just about leave the room, his gaze lingering on you like a memory slipping through his fingers as his heart dropped empty.

“You misunderstand, I am sorry,” Darcy unrelented, enough to stop your pace, his voice thick with emotion. "I have been blind to my own feelings for far too long."

You froze, his words catching you completely off guard. Slowly, you turned to face him, your heart skipping a beat. "What do you mean?" you asked, barely able to speak.

"I thought I had locked my heart away," Darcy confessed, his voice raw. "But now I see that it has always been yours."

The world seemed to tilt as his words sank in, disbelief washing over you as Darcy stepped closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “I cannot imagine my life without you. The thought of losing you—of watching you walk away—it terrifies me. I thought I could ignore it, bury it, but I was wrong.”

Tears welled in your eyes, the weight of his confession overwhelming. “You… you love me?”

He stepped closer, his hand sliding from your arm to gently clasp your hand. "More than I ever knew. More than I ever thought possible."

Tears streamed down your face as the overwhelming relief and joy washed over you. You closed the distance between you, resting your head against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

“I thought I had lost you,” you whispered, your voice muffled by his coat.

Darcy gently lifted your chin, his eyes filled with tenderness. "You could never lose me. I have been yours from the very beginning."

As his forehead touched yours, the world outside seemed to fade away, forgetting all forms of propriety. The pain, the uncertainty, the heartache—all of it melted into the quiet certainty of his love.

In that moment, you knew that whatever came next, you would face it together, side by side.

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animekpopsimp · 2 years ago

Text

Not So Unlucky (Bennett x fem reader)

Bennett frowned to himself as he made his way through Mondstat, his eyes were locked onto the ground as he slowly shuffled forward. The words of the last member of his adventure team rang in his head, he could remember the anger in their voices as they yelled at him.

"This is all your fault!"

"I'm done, you always cause bad things to happen!"

Their words stung but he tried his best not to show it. He did his best to hold back the urge to cry, not wanting to look weak.

"Bennett!" A familiar voice called you, snapping the male from his thoughts. He looked up, turning his head in the direction of the person. A smile found its way onto his face as he spotted a female running toward him, waving excitedly. The girl stopped running in front of him, looking up at him with an excited expression in her eyes. Though her smile disappeared when she noticed the sad look on Bennett's face. A small frown appeared on her own as she tilted her head to the side.

"Are you ok Bennett?" She asked, the male was silent as he tried to come up with some sort of response that wouldn't worry her.

"Oh, hey (Y/N)! I'm fine" he reassured her, rubbing the back of his neck as he plastered the most convincing smile on his face as he could. (Y/N) crossed her arms, letting out a small huff as she stared up at Bennett, not believing him.

"You don't have to lie to me, what happened?" She continued to question him. The boy sighed, knowing she had seen through him.

"It's no big deal, just some bad luck," Bennett responded, shrugging his shoulders. though his words only served to make the girl worry more.

"Did you get yelled at again by the others?" (Y/N) asked, her voice soft. With a sad look on his face, Bennett nodded. Another huff escaped (Y/N)'s lips. She paused before pulling the boy into a hug, letting him rest his head on her shoulder. A small smile formed on Bennet's face as he wrapped his arms around the girl.

"You shouldn't listen to them, they don't know what they're talking about." The girl reassured him, placing a kiss on his cheek. Bennett's face started to turn a slight shade of red as she pulled away. He looked the female in the eyes, a lovestruck smile tugging at his lips.

"I've got an idea! Why don't we go to Good Hunter?" (Y/N) suggested, Bennett nodded.

"I would like that" he responded. (Y/N) giggled, slipping her hand into his own. The two of them started to walk through the city together and as they did the boy spoke again.

"You know what? I guess I'm not that unlucky." The white-haired male commented, already forgetting about his fellow adventures words.

#genshin impact x reader angst #genshin impact #genshin impact bennet #bennett #bennettt x reader #x reader #x reader fluff #genshin x reader fulff #genshin impact x reader fulff #fluff

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idkfitememate · 1 year ago

Text

A Boar? In This Economy? Pt. 3

⋘ Previous Part » ♡︎

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Boar Reader x Mondstadt (Genshin World)

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 3.1k

໒꒰ྀ��ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Fluff to angst to fluff again, crack

You thought that the interaction you had with the boys would be enough to satiate you for a long while.

Well you were wrong.

Because now all you wanted to do was go into Mondstadt and see everyone.

There was one thing holding you back, however…

…And that was wondering where the story was.

Now, you unironically had been getting “vIsIoNs Of ThE fUtUrE”, or rather the updates and current story as it continued in your world.

Your world…

Shaking off the slight homesickness, continued on your mission. Finding out where ever which ever sibling was in the story.

What you weren’t expecting however was to watch a Paimon being fished out by a hungry looking Aether.

Oh Gods.

Oh Fuck.

THE STORY HASN’T EVEN STARTED????

This is new, considering that in nearly every fic about the SAGAU the story was up to the current update or it had stopped all together.

… Did you mention that you were a vivid reader of fanfiction? And player of Genshin? Because you were.

Tiptoeing backwards, you suddenly hear the shrill voice of a certain fairy… as in fairly large pain in your ass-

“Oh! If you’re really hungry you should go hunt that boar right there! I’ve never seen a painted one though…”

OH SHIT OH FUCK-

You ran away before the blonde could even turn around, hearing Paimon’s voice call out for you to stand still. No you weren’t gonna stand still!

You continued to run, cursing yourself out in your head for being noticed.

You were happy where you were! With your family! You already interacted with Mondstadt in the form of Razor and Bennet, that was enough!

You rushed deeper and deeper into the forest, stopping when you noticed your family ahead. Trotting before them, you laid down in front of the fire.

Ever since finding you, they refused to eat boar meat, switching to fox and bird so you wouldn’t have to sit and watch them cook something that looked like you, which was nice.

Right now they were roasting a bird over the fire, spices filling your nose as you curled up around it. Another change was the increase of Mita and Lawa and samachurls at the camp. Two of each element for each type of churl to protect the camp, and you.

This was also true for other mobs. Slimes and Whopperflowers, anything else in the immediate area. The number was upped.

And with your heightened heart rate?

The number only went up.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍰🍦🍫୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

By now, Aether and the small girl he had come to find was named Paimon had already cleared out a Hilichurl camp with the Outrider of Mondstadt, Amber.

Wiping sweat off her forehead, she turned to the duo.

“For some reason, the number of Hilichurl camps has been growing rapidly in the past year, even more so than before. Your help is immensely appreciated!” She said, sighing.

Aether only stood by before speaking up.

“Have you seen a painted boar around here?” He questioned.

“Oh! Yeah! The Boar of the Wilds! Yeah, quite the trouble maker they are. They’re a weird boar too, sticking around Hilichurls and the such. But they help the kids so we don’t see them as too much of a threat. Why?” Amber smiled as she turned around to face the Traveler, who was glaring at a now heavily sweating Paimon.

“No reason…” He said through grit teeth, making Paimon shake and mutter something about ‘not knowing’ or something of the sort.

“Well anyway, let’s get you into the city Traveler!”

And with that, the trio continued on their walk, unaware of the slime watching them.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍪🍮🧁୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

So you really are at the start of the story.

You paced around the fire as your family watched sitting cross legged.

You had two options:

1. Travel with Aether and see all 7 nations.

2. Stay where you are and live with your family till the story ends.

Your first instinct was, of course, to stay with your family. You had built a life here, no matter how crude.

Your family cared for you and you them. These specific mobs were going to live on in your heart and you’d be damned if you’d leave them. Because if you did, the odds of travelers and others of that nature might find them and…

Well you didn’t want to think of what’d happen.

You shook you head and snorted, pacing faster. You ignored the worried cries of those around you as you continued to think.

Now that the story started, that meant that shit was about the hit the fan.

You had noticed a lack of Divalin, and more windstorms. With how happy things had been, you tired to ignore it.

Ignore the signs.

But a small voice in the background of your head had told you.

It told you that the story had started. That you’d have to do something.

But if you did you’d mess up the whole story, and then you wouldn’t be able to predict what happens next and you’d loose all sense of control you felt you’d had.

The abyss.

You glanced back at your family.

One thing you made sure of was that there were no Abyss Mages around. Without them, your family was more than docile around humans, not truly seeing a reason to hurt them without cause.

When they would try to reverse the curse… if you left your family…

…

… You rammed into a tree.

Small screams erupted from them as the tree tilted over and fell, the top splintered from the bottom where you rammed it. Letting out a loud squeal, you rammed into another.

Why was this so difficult??

On the one hand, with your knowledge you could probably make so many lives better and easier!

But on the other, after you help one, it could cause a ripple effect and make you loose your grasp on what was happening, leaving you unable to help.

And with cautious you were, you didn’t even know if you’d come back if you’d die!

Would you be willing to die for these people?

Another tree fell.

You’d die easier than a human, what happens if you die.

What happens if you’re forced to leave your family?!

You rammed another tree.

Your breathing quickened and your eyes started to water.

The wind began to pick up.

When your hooves made contact with the ground, the earth rumbled.

You could no longer hear the shouts and cries of those around you.

What would happen when you died?

Would your blood be gold?

More trees fell.

Your eyes were blurred with tears.

You were barreling through the Forrest at this point, mind of every type crying out to you.

Crying out for you to stop.

You didn’t want to die.

But others would die for you.

You could stop so much.

… You could’ve stopped so much.

When the thought hit that while you’ve been messing around for just over a year, people were getting hurt, you ran faster, and hit harder.

The wind whipped harder. When you looked up you noticed Stormterror and Aether fighting above the city.

Had you been so caught up in your own stupid emotions that you failed to notice the city closest to you was under attack?!

How fucking STUPID could you be?!?!

You rammed harshly into a large tree, being stopped by both the winds of Teyvat and the sheer thickness of the tree.

Shaking your head you looked up.

… The Symbol of Mondstadt’s Hero.

You had ran all the way to Windrise.

Hiccups forced their way out of snout and tears poured out of your eyes.

You sobbed.

Everything was blurry and your ears were ringing. You were tired of thinking.

You barely registered the Pyro Samachurl laying a churl blanket around your back while warming it.

More and more mobs surrounded your sobbing form and slowly cuddled around you. Warming you.

And eventually, you fell asleep under the large and warm pile of Hilichurls, Mitachurls, Lawachurls, Samachurls, Slimes, Whopperflowers, other boars, foxes, and birds.

You were safe. You were loved.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍰🍧🍮୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

“You have to check it out! I understand that the main issue is The Stormterror, but Miss. Jean! It’s a large pile of monsters and animals! This could pose a great threat!”

The distressed traveler continued to rant at the Acting Grand Master, causing her to sigh.

Everything lately had been so stressful, even with the help of the Blonde Traveler. Currently they were with Lisa at The Temple of the Lion.

She genuinely, truly didn’t want to ask them to help with this.

So she decided to check it out on her own.

Standing from her desk, she walked around to shake the hand of the now silent traveler.

“Don’t worry. I’ll check it out and do what I can to help in the situation.”

She was met with many thanks from them as they shook her hand up and down with vigor.

Lord Barbatos she was tired…

Making sure she was all ready to go and had her trusty Aquila Favonia, and headed out.

Nodding at everyone she passed, she quickly made her way out of the city and towards the place of interest.

The place said to be the historical ground of her hero, Vanessa’s ascension to Celestia.

The Symbol of Mondstadt’s Hero, Windrise.

Running her way over, it was very apparent that the Traveler was not kidding. She could see the large multicolored blob from where she was, though it wasn’t moving.

The thing had just recently appeared, but that didn’t change the fact that this was still dangerous.

Creeping towards the pile, she was met with the cacophonous sound of snores from monster and animal alike.

And she was now confused.

Never in Jean’s life had she ever seen a fox curled around a Sawachurl. Or a bird sleeping peacefully on a Lawachurl. Or boars cuddled up with Mita and Hilichurls.

Wait.

Boars cuddled up with… oh.

Sighing she readied her sword to attack and find where that boar was under all this, before a Frostarm Lawachurl shook itself awake. The sudden movement startled her and she was met with the blank carved eyes of its mask boring into hers.

The two stared for a bit, before it huffed and laid back down, cuddling into a Blazing Axe Mitachurl who was… well… cuddling it’s still-red-but-put-out axe.

Jean was bewildered at the interaction, standing from her attack position. Looking more, she took a risk.

She stepped forward.

She was met with whirrling of a Ruin Guard starting up.

If what she was thinking was true, then why was anything of Ruin here?! The boar hadn’t been known to wander into any of the shrines or otherwise where they may have been found!

She was met with a Guard turning to her. Again she readied for an attack.

Only to be met with small ‘beeps’ and ‘boops’.

It, like the Lawachurl only glanced at her, before lying back down.

Okay, what was going on?!

Now she just decided to walk through the large crowd, though through is a strong word. On was more like it.

And as she got closer to the large Oak tree, she noticed the dip right at its trunk. The pile only got larger, and when she got to the trunk, there was a large divet. Jumping down, she was met with the culprit she thought she’d meet.

The boar.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍬🍧🍦୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

Being shaken awake was not what you wanted right now.

Groaning and huffing, you tired to push the hand off, only causing it or come back and push harder.

You continued to shove it off until it finally stopped. You sighed in relief and snuggled back into the warmth around you, falling back asleep.

At least, until you heard the scared cries of a Sawachurl.

Cracking your eyes open you immediately notice an angered(??) Jean standing over you and a Pyro Sawachurl. And she was directing that anger(???) towards the small churl.

Oh. Hell. No.

Jumping up you lightly but into her. Though your ‘light but’ sent her crashing into the large wall of bodies behind her.

Which started to wake up the large pile.

Animals and monsters grunted and groaned as Jean stood in shock at the ripple effect of your actions.

You were just watching a fox climb up the tree in interest.

The whole pile had woken up, standing confused at you and the only human. Jean was noticeable tense.

Shaking off the blanket, you snorted, grunted and oinked into the crowd. And after a moment, they began to disperse, much to Jean’s amazement.

“How did you… anyway. You can’t do… this anymore, alright? I don’t understand how you got these monsters and otherwise to not attack humans but I’ll have you know that you gave passing travelers quite the scare. You understand, right?” Jean asked.

You stood and gently nodded, still tired and slightly overwhelmed by past thoughts.

She sighed and made a decision.

Walking behind you - making you look at her with interest - she wrapped her hands around your midsection and picked you up, causing you to struggle.

Your distressed squeals filled the air as she began to explain. “I just - ngh - need to keep an eye on - hey watch it! - keep an eye on you - ow!” Her words were interrupted by your squirming and moving in her arms, but at her words you slowed.

… Right. The Stormterror situation.

She looked down with concern when she noticed you no longer struggling - she was expecting a fight the whole way - and was startled by the far off look in your eye.

Sucking it up, she began to carry you back to The Knights of Favonius Headquarters.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍩🍬🍨୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

Seeing you in the office was not what Kaeya was expecting.

Having never met you personally but hearing stories around the city, seeing you in Jeans office sat beside her desk was a surreal experience.

The only reason he was here and not waiting for the Traveler was because he had been told the Jean had left, and with Lisa also not there, he was in charge for the moment.

Was he just a bit pissy that he was the only asked after they realized Lisa was gone?

… No comment.

But by the time he got back it didn’t matter because Jean and… you were already there.

He barely got a word in anyway because the door swung open with the Librarian and Traveler in tow.

“We’re back!~” Called Lisa. Aether stood behind her, red in the face. Kaeya wasn’t shocked with how… sultry she could be.

She was definitely an acquired taste, that was for sure.

But the moment of peace was broken by your loud squeals and oinks of distress, and the blue-coded man noticed you were looking at their new blonde friend.

And when you got up to start running, he made a split second decision.

He dove for you.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍯🍡🍫୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

A sharp crack was heard when your hoof made contact with Kaeya’s face.

You stood startled for a moment, before making eye contact with Aether again and panicking all over again.

You hadn’t made your decision!

You thought you’d at least get until he finished the Main Story Quest to make your decision!

Your panicking and running form was confined to the room as Jean commanded the doors be shut and locked from the outside.

This choice was made clear after you made a b-line for the door and rammed into it. You stumbled a bit for a second before running around again.

Using any kind of Vision or otherwise was immediately out of the picture due to the confined space and bunches of important documents and books in the vicinity.

Jean also tried to make a grab out you, which worked for a second… until you infused your body with Electro, shocking the shit out of her.

Now they had no clue what to do.

Well wait… nevermind.

Trying to coral you was the best bet.

And that’s what they did. But that just made you more wild.

Didn’t they ever hear the saying “A cornered animal will fight twice as hard.”?

Because that’s exactly what happened.

You rammed into walls and windows, no longer squealing but screaming.

It sounded sickeningly human to them.

You rammed past them and into the desk, causing a sharp letter opener to fall onto you.

Slicing your skin and making you bleed.

Gold.

It shined as you collapsed to the floor. Shaking and crying. Tired and hungry.

Those who were awake - you knocked out Kaeya - stood in shock as you continued to cry.

Lisa silently traced the paint on your fur. It’s swirling patters that, now that she saw them and was analyzing them anyway, looked like the patterns that lined the statues of their Creator.

Jean finally thought about your odd relationship with the creatures of Teyvat. How they listened to you and became docile in your presence. How they payed attention to only you and never harmed humans when around you. You calmed them. Like the Creator.

Paimon - who watched the ordeal from a corner in fear - put together how the fauna blocked Aether from reaching you and how the wind seemed to boost you away from the duo. How Teyvat seemed to help you. Much like it would the creator.

Jean and Lisa turned to each other. They just thought you had a weird mutation or something of the sort! Maybe even a vision! Would be the first time an animal got given a vision but that’s what they chalked it up to!

But this… they thought of who they thought was the Creator who was sitting on their throne right now, enjoying the finer things in life.

They were… lying?

The person they had been worshipping for.. years now.. was FUCKING LYING?!?!

Jean dropped to her knees and Lisa shook.

A whispered murmur left Paimon’s lips which startled Aether.

“The Creator…”

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍰🍩🍯୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

Waking up in the med bay of The Knights of Favonius Headquarters was not what you were expecting.

A bandage was wrapped around your midsection and a guard was stationed at your door.

The most shocking thing however, was that every Vision Holder in Mondstadt - including the Traveler - was in your room.

Even Albedo and Eula.

Shaking and coughing alerted them to your now awake status. Those who were seated now stood.

You noted the bandage on Kaeya’s chin and felt bad.

Though that quickly turned to confusion when everyone - again, including Aether - bowed.

Then that confusion turned to fear as they spoke in unison.

“Our humblest greetings, O’ great Creator.”

…Shit.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : And that is Pt. 3! The reason I’m gonna leave it like this is because I like open to interpretation stories, plus requests are still very open! So endings are entirely up to how you, my readers, want it to be! I have a hyperactive imagination, and love stories like this, and I want to see what you guys could come up with because I love you guys’s ideas! Thank you all who have joined me on this journey of Boar!Creator!

♡ ♡ ᕬ ᕬ ♡ ♡

+ ♡ （⌯'-'⌯) ♡ +

┏━♡━ U U━♡━┓

♡ I love you guys! ♡

┗━♡━━━━♡━┛

໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ Tag list: @genshin-impacts-me , @iacunaanonymoused, @resident-cryptid , @reemthetheme , @wichiwachi , @atsukawolfcat , @starlightdreaming, @time-shardz , @novarowan , @justyoureader , @undecidingfate , @neverending-animelove , @nishayuro o, @angstylittleb1tch , @soluzere , @mmeatt, @shirasakai, @kapitankarate, @leafanonsforest , @silverstarred , @lucienbarkbark

#genshin impact sagau #sagau x reader #sagau #x reader #x gn reader #gn y/n #yandere x reader #yandere x you #Boar!Creator

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fandomhopper-shit · 2 months ago

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Masterlist

❤️- Fluff 💙- Platonic ❤️‍🩹- Angst With Fluffy Ending 🫂- Comfort ✨- Slight Smut 🎆- Smut 🛌- Angst 😂 - Crack fic 👍🏾- Top Reader 👎🏾- Bottom Reader ✊🏾- Switch Reader 💬- Requests

Clarisse La Rue x Reader One Shots

My Warrior Princess (Daughter Of Hercules)❤️✨❤️‍🩹

Un Poco Loco (Hispanic Daughter Of Aphrodite)❤️✨

Wild Child (Daughter Of Lycan)🫂😂✊🏾✨

Royally F**ked (Royal Daughter Of Athena)😂❤️

Fuzzy Babies (Daughter Of Aristaeus)❤️❤️❤️‍🩹✨

Annabeth Chase x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon . . .

Regina George x Reader One Shots

Teacher's Pet (Church Mouse Reader)❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹👎🏾🫂 pt1 pt2

East Side (Childhood Friend Reader)❤️‍🩹👍🏾✨

Ms Steal Your Girl (Badass Reader)👍🏾❤️🎇

Outrunning Karma (Criminal Reader)🛌👍🏾🎇

So This Is Love (Shetty Reader)🫂🫂❤️

Karen Shetty x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Hope Mikaelson x Reader One Shots

I shot Cupid (Angel Reader)🫂🫂❤️

Little Red Riding Hood (Werewolf Reader)❤️💙🫂

Lizzie Saltzman x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon . . .

Quinn Fabray x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . . .

Santana Lopez x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Uliana x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Bridget Hearts x Reader One Shots

Heart For Hearts (Pitch Black Reader)

Mal Bertha x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Evie Grimhilde x Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Bonnie Bennet X Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

Katherine Pierce X Reader One Shots

Coming Soon. . .

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aventurineswife · 5 days ago

Note

Okay, so, apologies if you've already written something similar to this, but have you ever seen this short film "Jinxy Jenkins and Lucky Lou?" (If not, it's on YouTube) So anyway, I was thinking, what about Aventurine x S/O that is extremely unlucky and prone to accidents (kind of like Bennet from Genshin) but when they and Aventurine are around each other their energies sort of... Idk how to word this, but negate each other? Like the reader doesn't have bad luck when they are around Aventurine and maybe Aven isn't as lucky as he is when he isn't with them (I feel like he wouldn't mind this and find it interesting).

Between Luck and Chaos

Summary: Aventurine notices an unusual phenomenon: your bad luck seems to disappear whenever you're with him, while his usually impeccable luck evens out. Intrigued, he views this as an exciting balance of fate.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Established Relationship, Opposites Attract, Fluff with Light Angst, Unlucky!Reader, Playful Banter, Introspection.

Warnings: Minor mentions of bad luck accidents, Light introspection on Aventurine’s trauma and survivor’s guilt, Playful manipulation and teasing dynamics.

A/N: I never watched it but thanks for recommending! There was a c.ai with Aventurine and the same prompt lol

Aventurine leaned back in his plush chair, fingers twirling a gold ring around his index finger as his sharp eyes followed the movements of his companion. His usual smile was absent, replaced with a faint glimmer of intrigue as he watched you attempt to pour yourself a drink.

Normally, this was the moment when everything would go wrong. In your life, bad luck was a constant companion—whether it was spilling coffee on your favorite shirt or tripping over the simplest things, you always seemed to find yourself caught in the chaos of misfortune. But today, as you carefully lifted the glass, there was no spill. No accident. No catastrophe.

You caught his gaze and smiled, a little sheepish but mostly grateful. "Guess I’m on a streak of good luck today," you said, half-laughing at how unusual the situation was.

Aventurine raised an eyebrow. "You?" His voice was amused, almost teasing. "With your... track record?"

"Hey," you protested, "I'm telling you, I never manage to go a day without something going wrong."

But there you were—standing confidently, holding a drink in your hand without it toppling over, with no sign of impending doom in sight. Even the way you moved seemed smoother, your every step measured and sure, as if fate itself had decided to take a break.

"You must be mistaken." Aventurine chuckled softly, though his eyes were still calculating, that ever-present glint of strategy flickering in the depths. "I’ve seen the way you navigate the world. Yet here you are, seemingly untouched by misfortune. Are you sure you’re not... up to something?"

You turned the glass in your hands, eyeing it warily before taking a sip. "It’s weird, I know. It’s like whenever I’m with you, things just... stop happening. Like I’m in a bubble of good luck."

His lips curled into a slow smile, his magenta and cyan eyes twinkling with amusement. "Interesting," he mused, leaning forward. "Perhaps you’ve stumbled upon a hidden advantage. A balance, perhaps." His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "It could be... that our fates somehow negate each other."

You blinked, surprised by his conclusion. "Negate each other?"

Aventurine’s expression turned more contemplative, his hand now resting lightly on the armrest. "I’ve always thrived on risk, on the game of chance. But you..." He tilted his head slightly, a glint of curiosity behind his mask of confidence. "You seem to attract bad luck as naturally as I attract fortune. But when we’re together... perhaps our energies cancel out."

A silence fell between you as you mulled over his words. You had always been the person to attract the worst kinds of accidents, but with Aventurine, it was as though you were in some sort of bubble of safety. You had no idea how or why it worked, but it did.

"Do you... like it?" you asked, your voice tinged with both wonder and hesitation. "I mean, you thrive on luck, right? And if I’m around you, you don’t get the same kind of fortune you’re used to."

Aventurine’s smile widened, his usual playful arrogance tempered by something softer, something almost affectionate. "Why wouldn't I like it?" he said with a wink. "After all, the greatest thrill lies in finding the unexpected. Perhaps your unlucky streak is exactly what I need."

You raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to be flattered or suspicious. "Are you saying you need bad luck?"

"Not exactly," he replied smoothly, standing and walking toward you. His presence was magnetic, as always, his movements graceful but deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. "But it’s... an interesting experiment, don’t you think? To see how far we can push this balance. To test fate itself."

You couldn’t help but smile at his enthusiasm, even though you were a bit nervous. "I think you're starting to enjoy this more than I am."

"Of course I am," Aventurine laughed, his voice light and teasing. "Because, my dear, life is a gamble—and I'm always up for a challenge."

His hand slid over yours, gently guiding your fingers with his own. For a brief moment, the world outside seemed to blur away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the undeniable connection between you both. The sense of balance between misfortune and fortune, between his calculated risks and your chaotic energy, had created something unexpected: an equilibrium neither of you fully understood, but both cherished.

As you looked into his eyes, you realized something profound: no matter what the odds were, whether it was fate or chance, the gamble was always worth it—especially when it meant being with him.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #established relationship #fluff #light angst #unlucky!reader #playful banter #introspection

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 year ago

Text

Tangled Hearts - Fitzwilliam Darcy X Female Reader

Title: Tangled Hearts

Fitzwilliam Darcy X Female Reader

(Could be seen with either BBC Darcy or the 2005 Darcy; I personally see it as the 2005 version/settings based off the 2005 one)

Additional Characters: Reader's parents, Charles Bingley, Caroline, George Wickham (Mentioned), Jane Bennet (Mentioned), Georgiana Darcy (Mentioned), other random people (Mentioned), Albert Wright (OC), Mr. Took (OC) (Mentioned), and Duke Phillip Colston (OC) (Mentioned)

WC: 7,526

Warnings: Typical Pride and Prejudice era misogyny and so on, toxic parents, Reader is mentioned to wear dresses and heels, Reader hates balls, society sucks, Caroline, banter, gossip, arranged marriages, Darcy's in love, scandals mentioned, yelling, crying, Charles is the voice of reason, itty bit of suggestion (time period wise), angst, and fluff

Pemberley. Your home away from home. The large country estate was gorgeous, surrounded by vivid green grass, and which sat across a crystal clear lake. You loved Pemberley not only for its beauty, but because the place had become your own haven of peace and solitude. It was where you could be yourself without worrying about being judged or ostracized.

Though, during the time, you always were forced to look so prim and proper, on days where you had no other responsibilities, you would sneak out to sit on the soft grass outside. That was the only time you really felt free.

As a child, you visited Pemberley more often than not. Your family were great friends with the Darcys and Bingleys, resulting in you spending a lot of time at the residence and within their presence. You had become close friends with Charles Bingley - his sister, Caroline, not so much - George Wickham, and Fitzwilliam Darcy.

During your later adolescent years, you had briefly traveled to the Longbourn estate, where you had grown close to Jane and Elizabeth Bennet, despite your parent's wishes. Your mother specifically didn't want you spending time with those in the Middle Class. That didn't stop you though.

Out of the three, Charles, Caroline, and Fitzwilliam, you spent most of your time with the latter. And eventually Georgiana Darcy in the later upcoming years. Ever since you were a young child, you would travel to Pemberley with your parents, occasionally playing with the young Darcy if you were both not in lessons with your shared tutor.

You never really understood why both you and Fitzwilliam were tutored together, you never voiced your questions out loud, in fear of being scolded. But, during your many years in the company of Fitzwilliam, the two of you became very close friends, which was only natural having grown up together.

As the years went on, your parents began forcing you to attend balls, and at the age of twenty-two, you began to realize that they were actively looking for a suitable husband for you. You had a distaste for the idea, but were forced to comply, knowing that they would not end the search, no matter how many times you had voiced your own wishes.

Thankfully, Charles, Caroline, and Fitzwilliam were usually always attended. And occasionally, you'd spend time with Jane and Lizzie when they attended the same events, but otherwise, you would stand on the sidelines with Fitzwilliam as everyone else danced.

Your personality, though more reserved, wasn’t lacking. You had a great sense of humor, a sharp intellect, and an excellent memory. You enjoyed reading books and watching plays and operas; at a time wishing you could play a part in either one. You were kind, and generous to a fault; which, when you were younger, had gotten you into some trouble at times. You were very free-spirited, not afraid to speak your mind in certain situations; which your parents thought resulted in you spending too much time with Elizabeth Bennet.

Fitzwilliam, though holding many similar interests, his demeanor was seemingly unfriendly, aloof, and unapproachable. He kept to himself, rarely engaging in social activities and never participating in conversations unless spoken to first. And while he was a bit arrogant and proud, he was actually very caring and understanding towards the ones that he held in high esteem. He still remained distant from most people, preferring to watch them from afar with a critical, often anxious - though, he was rather good at hiding it, gaze.

You usually stood on the sidelines with Fitzwilliam at balls, only occasionally dancing with some random man your parents wanted you to dance with; in hopes some spark ignites. But, you disliked dancing, especially with strangers, and preferred to read books and relax in your room. Fitzwilliam, ever the gentleman, would start up some sort of conversation with you, albeit awkwardly. Though it happened rarely, it was always welcome; all the balls that you have ever been to have always been dreadful, but less so with Fitzwilliam there.

Balls had become associated with finding suitors and respectable husbands, rather than having fun and enjoying yourself, and you were beginning to resent that aspect of life. You knew that there was going to be a very low chance, or none at all, that you would be allowed to choose your own husband; or even have any say in the arrangement in the first place. If you did have a choice, you would choose Fitzwilliam. A few years prior, you noticed that you had developed feelings for him, feelings that were growing every single day.

You greatly admired Fitzwilliam, his intelligence, kindness, gentleness, handsomeness, and overall good nature. But you said nothing of it. You knew you had no choice in who you were going to marry - whether you liked it or not. So you kept your head down and tried not to think of it too much. Though, it was hard to not think about him, you spent a lot of time with the man after all. But, being a very respectable and composed young woman, you didn't show most of your emotions to others.

As an Upper Class woman, you were required to follow every rule laid out by your parents and society. You also had a duty to act demure in public, especially during formal events, and to appear to be a perfectly poised young lady. This was something that you hated, not being able to express yourself freely, or to be your true self. But, you were really good at it. Being taught to hold unwanted emotions at bay, which you had learned to hold certain romantic feelings for Fitzwilliam in a tightly controlled manner.

Sitting in one of the many sitting rooms in Pemberley, you quietly sipped your tea with Fitzwilliam and Caroline. It was silent, aside from the occasional clink of a tea cup being placed upon a small saucer, the sound of Fitzwilliam's quill upon the parchment, and the sound of you turning the pages of your book as you read. Whilst your mind was elsewhere, you hardly noticed Caroline as she read some letter about a scandal some banker was in before hearing your friends, Elizabeth Bennet's presence being announced.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

Shutting your book, you let a small smile grace your features as Lizzie entered, her hair down and mud on her shoes. She gave a polite smile, looking around the room as Fitzwilliam stood and gave a curt bow of the head. Setting your book on the table before you, you walked over to the young woman, greeting her with a quick hug.

After a moment of silence, Caroline quietly gasped, "Good lord, Elizabeth. Did you walk here?”

"I did..." She answered as you both pulled away from the hug.

"Lizzie, it is so good to see you. Are you well? It has been ages since we last spoke." You asked, "I hope you won't become ill. It was rather chilly out this morning."

"I am well, thank you. And yourself?" She asked softly.

Clasping your hands together before you, you nodded, "I am doing marvelously, thank you. We will have to have tea together sometime soon, I miss our riveting conversations."

Lizzie's smile widened, "Of course." After another slightly awkward moment, she continued, "I'm so sorry, how's my sister?" She brought her eyes to Fitzwilliam and Caroline.

"She's upstairs." Fitzwilliam answered and Elizabeth nodded.

"Thank you." With one last look and smile towards you, she left the room with haste.

Letting out a small sigh, you walked back to the table, sitting back down in your seat and reopening your book. "My goodness, did you see her hem? Six inches deep in mud. She looked positively medieval." She mocked with amusement in her tone, and you rather hoped that she would finish speaking, but she wasn't done. Caroline then turned to you, and braced yourself for her words, "That was rather unlady-like, wasn't it?" She asked, as you flipped to the next page of your book.

"May I ask you to elaborate, Caroline?" You asked, barely giving the woman a glance as you continued reading. Ever since you were a young child, you and Caroline had never seen eye to eye. You weren't exactly fond of each other, and you didn't care to try getting along any better than you already did.

"Greeting her in such a manner." Caroline responded as she picked up a small finger sandwich.

You flipped to the next page, "Isn't it rather unlady-like to bring yourself into one's business, Caroline?" You asked, looking up to look at the women with a raised eyebrow. She only said nothing, letting out a small scoff as she looked away. "Oh, Caroline, dear... You have a little bit of something..." You began, lightly tapping the side of your mouth; even though she had nothing even blemishing her face.

Caroline quickly snatched a napkin from the table, dabbing the corner of her mouth. If she was embarrassed, she didn't show it, but you could tell by the way she fidgeted slightly in her seat that she was anything but pleased. Before going back to your book, you glanced over at Fitzwilliam, who had sat back down minutes ago, a very, very small smile on his face; his eyes held some amusement. Smiling lightly yourself, you went back to your book and tea.

~~~

It was a particular sunny day, birds singing in the trees, and clouds rolling through the sky. It was a beautiful afternoon, and you were enjoying it immensely. The weather was perfect for taking a stroll in the countryside, and if you were being honest, you loved being outdoors. The sun felt warm and inviting against your skin, the breeze gently blowing past you caused your dress to flutter a bit in the breeze. Carrying your book in your hand, you found a nice grassy spot to sit, not too far from Pemberley, but close enough to the lake that you felt at ease. You opened your book to where you had left off earlier and took a deep breath, trying to clear your mind of any unpleasant thoughts.

You did not know how much time had passed before you heard footsteps, but you didn't bother looking up. When the person then took a seat beside you on the grass, you moved your gaze away from your book, looking up. There sat Fitzwilliam, his expression unreadable. "How may I be of service, Fitzwilliam?" You asked, placing your bookmark between the pages of your novel, closing it gently and setting it in your lap.

"I had been looking for you," He began, staring straight ahead, "May I accompany you for a while?" He added, and you nodded.

"As you wish." You replied, "I'd love the company, Fitz." He didn't say anything else, just giving you a short nod, a barely visible smile before looking off at the lake.

You went back to your book, opening it once more to where you had left off, but you didn't feel like continuing. It seemed that he had something on his mind, and it seemed that he wasn't in the mood to talk about it. Perhaps it would do him good to get it off his chest. But you knew better in asking him to do such, though he was pretty open with you in general, Fitzwilliam was quite reserved when it came to matters of the heart; he'd hide things behind a façade of calm and composure when talking to those around him. So you didn't say anything, didn't push him, allowing Fitzwilliam to take his time.

After a couple of minutes, he finally spoke, "What is it that you are reading?" He asked, turning his gaze to the book in your hands.

Looking up, you meet his gaze, "It's called 'Emma.' It speaks of a young woman who thinks of herself as a matchmaker." You replied softly.

"Ah. I suppose I should not be surprised that your reading has led you to romantic literature." Fitzwilliam commented.

"Well, I wouldn't say that." You countered. "I simply find them fascinating, as they give me new perspectives." You explained, tilting your head to the side slightly, "Have you read this publication?" You asked, motioning towards the book in your lap.

"No, I have not. I believe Miss Caroline had mentioned it in passing once." He admitted, and you gave a small hum in response. "Though she was not seemingly fond of it."

You lightly scoffed, turning to stare at the lake before you, "I would suspect that she finds it distasteful." Another silence washed over the two of you, and you found yourself looking at Fitzwilliam. You could sense an uneasiness in his gaze, though there was something else there, as well. You wanted to ask what was bothering him, but you decided against it, knowing better than to pry into the affairs of another person. However, you were curious, and as you watched his eyes dart across the water, you knew you needed to speak. "Are you feeling alright, Fitz?" You questioned softly.

Fitzwilliam looked over at you, staring at you before speaking, "I apologize if you feel that I am acting peculiar..."

"Do not worry. You are not behaving strangely." You assured him, smiling slightly, "I am just worried that something might be on your mind."

Fitzwilliam pursed his lips briefly, his blue eyes locked with yours. The way you looked at him caused his stomach to flutter nervously, your overall presence made him nervous, and the overwhelming pounding of his heart was deafening. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was completely and utterly hopelessly in love with you. How could he ever resist you? He wanted nothing more than to hold you in his arms, kiss you until the world disappeared, and tell you everything. But that would be highly inappropriate and perhaps even selfish, and he knew that. He had no right to ask such of you, and he knew that; he pushed those desires aside immediately and forced himself to think rationally.

"Would it be presumptuous of me to inquire as to if you are going to be attending the ball this fortnight?" He finally asked, his voice low, his eyes flickering over your features.

Your heart skipped a beat upon hearing the question, and you could not help but swallow dryly. "Yes, I will be attending. As you know, my parents wouldn't allow me to miss the event, even though I would much rather be reading in my room." You answered, trying to keep the trepidation out of your voice.

"I must agree with you. I would much rather be alone in my room as well." He replied quietly, lowering his gaze back to his own lap.

"Well," You sighed out, grabbing your book once more, "At least we will have each other's presence to distract us from the tedium of the events." You said in an attempt to lighten the air, but he only offered a small chuckle before he turned his gaze back to the lake.

Silence fell over the both of you again, with the soft sound of the wind rustling through the leaves and the birds flying overhead filling the space between the two of you. The atmosphere was peaceful, as it always was whenever you were together. For you, the silence was comforting, and Fitzwilliam enjoyed the silence as well. It was rare when the both of you had the chance to have a quiet moment together, so this was always a treat for you both.

~~~

Standing at the edge of the room, in your best dress from the newest season, you stood beside Fitzwilliam as the ball was in full swing. Your eyes surveyed the large room, glancing from the dancing couples, people chatting amongst their family, friends, etcetera, and finally, your parents. They stood, speaking with a man, whom you couldn't quite place his name on. From where you were, you could not understand fully what they were saying, which worried you slightly.

And it seemed that Fitzwilliam had noticed your straying gaze on your parents, and how your satin-gloved hands fumbled together nervously in front of you.

"Do not mind them." He muttered to you, leaning slightly towards you so you could hear him over the music.

"It is hard not to, Fitz," You spoke, turning your gaze away from your parents and back out upon the dancing. "They've been trying to find me a husband for the past couple of months. I am hoping at some point they will give up in their search."

"By the way that you speak, it would seem that you do not wish to marry." Fitzwilliam said, and you turned your head to look up at him.

"You know me, Fitzwilliam." You sighed, shaking your head slightly, "I do not want to marry someone I am unsure of. Besides, there were many whom were willing to offer marriage to a lady like me, and many of them, if I must say so myself, were handsome in all senses of the word. But from the few who have offered me marriage, I have turned away. I know that they had only seen my wealth, status, and looks rather than my personality. And I find that I cannot fathom the idea of marrying someone so shallow, or lacking in depth and solidity for that matter."

"I admire your strength of character." He said, looking down at you.

"Thank you, Fitz." You smiled sweetly up at him. "I admire your kindness and integrity." You added, your smile becoming genuine as he returned your smile with one of his own; though hardly noticeable.

"Daughter," Your gaze swiftly moved from your long-time friend to your mother, who stood with your father, and another gentleman you have never met before. "I would like you to meet Mr. Albert Wright. He's the owner of the Wright & Co. bank here in England." She informed you, a smile on her face, but her eyes held such excitement.

This Albert fellow was certainly some character, judging by his attire. His suit had a deep black waistcoat, a dark green vest, black breeches, and black shoes. And despite his clothing being quite plain, he did make an imposing figure; he was tall and broad, with a strong jawline, and he appeared to be very well built. His hair was dark brown, curly, and cut short, and his eyes a brilliant green.

You curtsied to him, trying to be as polite as possible, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wright." You greeted, forcing a smile upon your face.

"Please, call me Albert." He spoke, his voice deeper than you expected. Surprising you further as he bows his head and then offers you his hand. "May I have the honor of asking you to dance, my lady?"

The thought of taking his hand made you nervous, yet you took it regardless; not wanting to cause a scene or to upset your mother and father. Fitzwilliam stood helplessly as he watched you being led across the room by Mr. Albert just as another song began; his frown deepened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched as you danced with Mr. Albert.

"Lovely match, don't you think, Mr. Darcy?" Your mother asked Fitzwilliam as she watched you dance with the banker.

Fitzwilliam reluctantly spoke, "I suppose so." He responded nonchalantly, averting his gaze momentarily before looking back over at you once more. Fitzwilliam had recognized the name Albert Wright from a couple of weeks prior. Having heard what the name had done, Fitzwilliam couldn't stop himself from warning your parents about Mr. Albert Wright's past scandal. "Madam, I understand wholeheartedly that you wish only the best for your daughter, but I feel that I must inform you that Mr. Albert was a part of a scandal many years ago regarding an older woman, whose husband was a respected merchant."

Your mother's eyes widened at the news, her hand coming to be placed upon her chest in shock, "Where did you hear of this, sir?" She inquired, your father mirroring his wife's expression, but he said nothing.

"From Miss Caroline, madam." He explained, turning to face the dancing crowd, his eyes following your figure.

Her mouth parted in surprise, her eyes widening further, "This is absolutely unacceptable! Our daughter should not associate with a man like this!" She exclaimed, her tone raising to one of anger as she glared at Mr. Albert.

By the end of the dance, Albert raised your hand and pressed a kiss to your gloved hand, bowing his head as you curtsied. Finally, you had thought, saying your goodbyes and thank yous to the man before heading back to your mother, father, and Fitzwilliam.

As you got closer, your eyebrows furrowed slightly, seeing your mother and father's angry expressions as they spoke to one another. Finding your spot next to Fitzwilliam, you leaned slightly towards the man to speak. "What has gotten my parents in such a temper?" You asked him, noticing his shoulders tensing slightly.

He glanced over at you briefly and shook his head lightly, "I am afraid I don't know. Perhaps it concerns Mr. Albert." He mused softly, keeping his eyes locked onto yours.

"But why is Papa so enraged? I haven't seen him this red since Mr. Took had tried to cheat him out of some money." You commented softly, looking up towards your parents once more.

"I believe it has to do with the fact that Mr. Albert had been a part of a scandal many years back." Fitzwilliam answered, making your jaw drop slightly, your hand coming up to cover your shock.

"And where did you hear of such a thing?" You asked quickly, wanting to know more details as to what scandal that Mr. Albert had gotten involved in.

Fitzwilliam looked down at you for a moment, turning back to the dancing, "If my memory serves me correctly, Miss Caroline had read upon it in a letter."

Trying to hide the smirk on your face, you lightly cleared your throat. "Well, isn't this unexpected," You muttered, amused. "And I could only assume that you had mentioned such news to my parents?" You asked, looking up at the name, eyes glinting with amusement.

Fitzwilliam looked down at you, nodding his head slowly, thinking, "Yes, you would be correct." He confirmed, saying nothing else which only made you smile.

"Well, thank you, Fitz," You began, "Without you, I wouldn't doubt my parents would have me married off to the man." You joked before another peaceful silence engulfed you both - that is, it was peaceful for you.

Fitzwilliam looked down at you from beneath his eyelashes, studying you carefully, almost as if he were trying to memorize every feature of your face. When he realized that he was staring, he quickly turned away, clearing his throat lightly as he gained the courage to offer his hand out. You looked over, looking up at the man, to his hand, and back.

As you raised your eyebrow in question, he finally spoke, "Would you like to dance, my lady?" He asked softly, and you couldn't help the smile that grew on your face. You had your shock well, but you were surprised that

"That sounds lovely." You whispered, placing your hand into his gently.

~~~

The sun was shining brightly as it peeked through the clouds, causing the water to sparkle with each droplet of rain that hit the surface. You love it when the sun's shining and it's raining at the same time. You had started your day as you usually did when you stayed at your family estate; waking up in your lavish bed, before getting ready for the day. Choosing one of your favorite day dresses, you style your hair neatly, grabbing a new book before leaving your chambers. Before breakfast, you did your daily practice on the piano for a moment before sitting in one of the sitting rooms and reading your book.

Joining your mother and father for breakfast, you ate delicious small cakes, breads, and hot coffee. Breakfast was pretty peaceful and quiet, aside from your father occasionally speaking up. After a while, the topic shifted from the conversation regarding your plans for the afternoon, which included spending the time walking about the grounds, as you had previously intended to do earlier in the morning.

You hid your feelings well, but you wished that you were at Pemberley at the moment. You had never really felt comfortable or a part of your family's estate. You loved both your parents dearly, but they were rather strict compared to how you're used to life at Pemberley. In truth, you missed staying there; however, you were happy that you were able to stay with your family once again and you didn't want to disrupt their routine. So, you continued to smile politely through your father's comments and continued to eat your food.

You had begun to zone out at some point of your father's speech, nodding along when you thought necessary when suddenly, you heard your name being called. You snapped your head up to see your mother with a small frown on her face. "Your father had asked you a question, young lady." She informed you. You bowed your head and apologized for spacing out. Your mother sighed, placing her small fork down on her fine China plate. "Your father had asked if you desired to attend the upcoming ball at Pemberley?" Pushing your shoulders back, your mind racking at your mother's words. But before you could answer, your mother cut back in, "We know that you don't have a fondness for such events." Your mother included, which you found odd and surprisingly thoughtful, that she was aware of your dislike for socializing, and was finally letting you have a choice in the matter.

Though, you couldn't help but wonder, why now? What had happened or what had been said that would allow your parents to change their minds? Looking up, your eyes met your mother's, "If I may, mother, I had thought that you would want me to attend such gatherings. Has something happened to change your mind so?" You asked her, tilting your head slightly as you spoke.

Your mother nodded her head, her smile widening with excitement, "Precisely so, but we have splendid news for you." Glancing to your father, he then decided to speak, clearing his throat before doing so.

"Your mother and I have found you a suitor. We have met with him many times over these past few weeks and we have deemed him to be most suitable. We have decided to arrange for your engagement with him." Your father announced.

Your breath caught in your throat, unable to utter even a word. You felt as if the world had begun to crumble around you, all your efforts of being independent forgotten as your father's words sunk in. You wanted the Earth to swallow you whole, the sky to open up and spit you back out, and any other form of escape would be welcomed by you. Your heart ached as your father finished speaking, your fingers twitching slightly as you grasped your fork tightly; your knuckles turning white.

Your lips and mouth felt extremely dry as you opened your mouth and licked your lips, a shaky breath escaping you, "Who have you arranged me with?" You asked, "... If I may inquire?" Your voice was shallow and quiet, your gaze directed downwards.

"Duke Phillip Colston, a very wealthy gentleman who lives here in England." Your father replied, watching you closely as if waiting for you to react. "I believe you'll make a very respectable wife for him, just so as long as you do not cause him too much trouble. He is an eligible bachelor after all." Your father added quietly.

Sighing inwardly, you lifted your head to look at your parents, swallowing heavily, "Do I have any say in this?" You questioned, your voice still weak as your hands clenched into fists under the table. You could feel tears building in your eyes, and you desperately blinked them away, refusing to let them fall as you tried your hardest to keep yourself composed.

"I am afraid not, dear," Your mother answered, "We have gone countless months trying to find you a respectable and kind suitor - a man who is willing and able to take care of you and provide you with all the comforts of society. And yet, all of our attempts have failed." Her tone grew seemingly irritated. "Every man we had brought to you, offering marriage, you have turned away." Her voice rose into one of anger. "You are at a point where men will not even be interested in marrying you, your refusals are becoming the talk of the town, gossip, and blather, and I will not have it." She practically spat angrily, looking up at you with fire in her eyes, a fire that you could not seem to extinguish.

You stared at your mother silently, a slight pain throbbing through your heart as you took in her words, "I understand wholeheartedly, mother," You began, pushing your chair back to stand, and setting your napkin onto your empty China plate. "I will say this, that I have no desire to marry such a man; duke or not. My heart belongs to someone who is worthy of it." You stated firmly. You then turned on your heel, walking out of the room without saying another word.

Once you were out of their sight, knowing that they weren't going to follow you, you ran. Rushing out into the hall, you ignored the odd looks from your family's servants and maids, swiftly making your way to the front doors and stumbling out into the chill air. Breathing heavily, you felt everything rushing through your veins and blood; flowing throughout your body. Without a second thought, you stepped out into the light rain before running once again.

You kept running and running, your feet stomping into the wet grass, hair plastered to your face, cold rain falling onto your face; soaking your dress. You didn't care nor have any mind to where you were running or where you were, you just needed to get away. Away from them. Away from them all. Your life, you had no power, no control over it; no matter how hard you fought against it, you could not escape fate.

You had known that at some point, your parents would grow tiresome of your constant rejection of the men they had brought to you. You knew it was going to be only a matter of time before they would just arrange for you to marry someone else. It was bound to happen sooner or later, considering your age. You weren't getting any younger, and no one wanted a spinster for a daughter.

Still breathing heavily, you came to a stop in a dewy field, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. Finally, you let the tears fall from your eyes, your vision blurry as the water streaming down your cheeks. You wiped your cheek with your sleeve as a sob escaped your lips. You collapsed to the ground in a heap, feeling as if your heart was breaking all over again. The day of the shining sun and the falling rain, something that you had once adored, now only seemed to mock you. As you cried softly, ignoring how cold and drenched you were, you did not hear the sounds of hooves, and someone calling your name. Only when you felt someone touch your shoulder, did you look up.

Fitzwilliam's usually stoic expression was long gone, replaced with worry and concern. His brows furrowed together as he looked at your tear-stained cheeks, and your dampened dress. Fitzwilliam slowly helped you to your feet, helping you lean against him as he guided you to his horse. You did not remember much of the ride back to Pemberley, nor entering the large estate, nor when you were rushed off with a couple of housemaids. You felt numb as you were in the bath, hair being washed and skin being scrubbed. During that time, you had only wished the bath water to be scalding.

You were quickly dressed in an afternoon dress - one of the dresses that you had kept in your room for when you stayed at the estate - swiftly, you were brought to your room. You sat on your bed, in the home that you'd grown to love more than your own, gazing out the window as the rain began to slowly cease, revealing a beautiful blue sky. A sigh left your lips as a knock sounded upon your door, pulling you out of your thoughts.

"Enter," You muttered, surprisingly loud enough for the person to hear, as they opened the door.

Turning your attention from the window, you looked over to see Fitzwilliam, the same worry on his beautiful features as when he had found you in the field in the pouring rain. Silently, he sat beside you, leaving enough space to make you feel comfortable. It wasn't long until Fitzwilliam's curiosity and urgency to see whatever was the matter got the best of him. He watched as you fiddled with your fingers and sighed deeply, "What troubles you? Why were you sitting among the fields?" His voice was soft, filled with concern, and you raised your hand to your hair; brushed but not styled.

You felt your eyes well up with tears once more, a breathy sigh leaving your lips before you spoke, "I have been arranged to marry Duke Colston." You answered, a voice at the same level as the man beside you. You couldn't even bear to look at him, if you did, you were sure that the tears in your eyes would become a waterfall.

There was silence for several moments as you awaited Fitzwilliam's response. When finally, you glanced towards him, his gaze was locked straight ahead as if lost in thought, "Is this something that you are unhappy about?" Fitzwilliam inquired, his voice calm.

"Incredibly so," You answered with a breath, "I do not wish to marry that man, nor ever." You said, your words laced with bitterness, looking down at your lap, "But I do not know what to do. Despite everything, I cannot bring myself to refuse." You admitted, feeling guilty as soon as you finished speaking. Though you did not agree with the society that you lived in nor the repressing of women's voices, you knew that this was something that had to be done. Not for you, but for your family, no matter how much you detested the idea. "I will have to go along with the matter, for it pleases my family."

Fitzwilliam stared at the side of your face, subconsciously admiring you as he thought. In his heart, he despised that you were forced to marry someone who was unworthy of you - you did not deserve that, you deserved far better. But what could he do? Again, Fitzwilliam was hopeless. He was unable to do much of anything. Right before him, you were miserable, and he could do nothing but sit here and offer you comfort. He did not even know which he could offer you at this point. He could only watch helplessly as you felt like he was watching you crumble right before his very eyes. His time was up, his hopes diminished, his dreams crushed.

~~~

Fitzwilliam sat in his office, staring down at the many papers and letters before him on his desk. The ticking of the grandfather clock was loud within the silent atmosphere, its deep, heavy, and unenthusiastic noises echoing around the room, as Fitzwilliam tried to force himself to focus. He was not successful, however, as his mind drifted to you every time he closed his eyes. Every time, he would imagine you, dancing with the Duke, marrying the Duke, starting a family with the Duke. Everything that Mr. Darcy himself had desired with you.

He sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead, closing his eyes briefly as images of you danced across his mind. You, in his arms. Dancing at the ball from only a month ago. You looked up at him with those eyes, those eyes that held his heart. You laughed, and he swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to keep you happy and laughing; he could not lose you. But he did. Why did he not ask for your hand?

A knock sounded at his office door and Fitzwilliam snapped his eyes open, turning his head to face the door. "Enter." He called out, clearing his throat. He watched as Charles Bingley, one of his friends, walked in, bowing slightly before giving him a small smile.

"Her parents have sent a carriage," He spoke to Fitzwilliam, "She'll be leaving soon, Darcy."

Fitzwilliam nodded, placing his quill back on top of his desk as he stood, walking over to the window, peering down at the carriage, "How long before she leaves?" He asked, but before he could receive an answer, he watched as you entered his vision, seemingly thanking the driver, and though reluctantly, stepping into the carriage.

Charles walked over, standing beside the man as he watched you leave. The man then glanced at his friend, observing him. The stoic look on his face, though more brooding, did not mask the sadness and pain that resided in his eyes; clearly, he cared deeply for you. Charles, and anyone else close to either of you, could have seen that.

"You care for her," Charles spoke softly, Fitzwilliam's shoulders stiffening slightly at his words, "I believe that you might even love her, Darcy."

Fitzwilliam turned toward Charles with an odd look on his face, "What makes you say such a thing?" He asked, though he already knew the answer.

"The way you look at her, the way you speak to her," Charles paused, smiling warmly at Fitzwilliam, "There is no one else that looks at her the way you do," Fitzwilliam said nothing, turning his gaze away from the window and heading back towards his desk once your carriage was out of sight. "You should go after her." Charles said suddenly before leaving the room.

Fitzwilliam sat back down at his desk, letting out a deep sigh as he let himself slouch a little. Charle's words were ringing throughout his mind, causing him to frown deeper. He didn't know how long he sat there as he stared at the paper and his quill in front of him before he suddenly stood and grabbed his coat.

~~~

Sitting in the sitting room, book in hand, your mind could hardly focus on the words written in the book. Your thoughts were all on Fitzwilliam, all on the future, and your upcoming marriage with another man you did not love. Your mind already distracted, you snapped your head over to the study's entranceway, hearing muttering coming from down the hall. You could not make out anything, only hearing that it was two men speaking, but you furrowed your brows; hearing the muttering quiet before hearing the closing of another door. Curiosity was clawing at you but you turned back to your book, trying your hardest to get back to reading it.

But as two hours passed, having checked the clock every ten minutes or so, you began to grow restless. Shutting your book, you stared at the doorway, trying to strain your ears to hear anything, but you could not make out anything. The large estate was quiet, aside from the hustling of the servants. You looked over at the clock on the wall, about to stand to practice the piano to calm your nerves before your mother walked into the room.

She stood, tall and poised as usual, a small smile on her face. With a small gesture, she told you to stand and follow her. And you did so, forgetting your book on the velvet loveseat and following your mother to your father's office. With a steady knock, the door opened and a small gasp left your lips.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy stood beside your father, who sat at his office desk, leaned back, and with a thoughtful expression on his face. Immediately as the door opened, Fitzwilliam turned to face you, bowing respectively, as you glanced from your mother and to your father. Looking back to your long-time friend, you tilted your head to the side slightly, "Mr. Darcy, this is a surprise." You then looked to your mother and father once more, "Whatever is the matter?" You questioned.

Your father gave you a soft nod, "Please, join us." More than confused at this point - bewildered - you stepped further into the room, your mother leaving your side to stand next to your father at his desk. "Mr. Darcy here has come to inform us of something rather pressing." Your father answered finally, standing from his leather chair with a small grunt. "We shall leave you both to converse," He added as he made his way out of the room, followed by your mother.

As soon as they were gone, you turned to Fitzwilliam, "Whatever is going on, Fitzwilliam?" You asked as the man in question took a step towards you.

And though he had a small frown on his face, his blue eyes held such vulnerability, such tenderness. "My lady," He muttered, his eyes searching yours, "I must confess that I am… Somewhat troubled." Letting out a small breath, he continued as you stared up at him, "For many years, I have found myself longing for you, and I can not seem to help but fall in love with you…" At his words, your eyes widened, and your lips parted slightly as he continued. "I have come to speak with your father about your arrangement. I can not force you to continue, nor can I force you to end it. But I can only hope that you could consider me as a potential suitor - husband rather, if that is agreeable to you."

You felt your breath hitch, your heart racing as you stared at the man you loved confessing that he had feelings for you, as well. After a moment, you managed to regain your composure, though you still remained speechless. Licking your dry lips briefly, you spoke, "It is," You breathed out. The words were barely above a whisper, and yet it seemed so loud to Fitzwilliam. He blinked rapidly, almost surprised at your response. You brushed the stray tear from your cheek, a small crawling sensation taking residence in your stomach. "I would be honored to accept your proposal, Fitzwilliam Darcy."

And though it was brief, you saw his smile before he took a step forward and hesitantly took your hand in his. The skin-on-skin contact, though usually forbidden between a gentleman and a young woman, caused butterflies to fill each of your stomachs as you both pressed your foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut.

~~~

The sun was shining brightly today, as were the birds who were singing their songs in the tree branches, which were swaying lightly in the breeze; the light rain drizzled down from the sky. A content smile spread across your face as you leaned against the railing, overlooking the beautiful gardens that surrounded the estate. Your smile only widened as you felt a pair of arms slowly wrap around your waist, tugging you back into the warmth of Fitzwilliam's body. You hummed and rested your head upon his chest, your hands coming up to cover his.

His arms tightened around your body, pulling you closer to him. "Good morning, my love." He spoke softly, planting a gentle kiss upon your temple. His lips moved along the soft skin of your cheek gently, causing you to shiver as goosebumps rose along your skin.

"Good morning, Fitz," You whispered in return. "I do declare that this is the most beautiful day I've ever experienced." You sighed out as he chuckled, nuzzling into your neck before pressing his lips to the skin there.

"That it is," He agreed before lifting his head and looking into your eyes. He gazed at you lovingly, brushing the hair from your face before leaning in and placing a soft kiss upon your lips. You sighed as he pulled away, allowing his forehead to rest against yours. Your fingers ran through his short hair, gently scratching his scalp as he hummed contently, enjoying the feeling.

"What is the time?" You asked, breaking the silence.

He glanced at his pocket watch, "Just past eight," He stated, giving you a fond smile, "Shall we head to breakfast?" He then suggested, earning a nod from you. Taking your hand in his, you brought it up to your lips, pressing your own kisses to his knuckles before he began to lead you from the balcony.

Behind the both of you, outside the window, just as the rain began to fade away... A rainbow slowly appeared.

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strawberrylabs · 1 year ago

Text

Whumptober day 10 with Brother!Bennet!

Prompt: You said you'd never leave

they/them pronouns used

Whumptober Masterlist

she/her version, he/him version

Summary: You promised Bennet that you'd stay with him despite his misfortune. But what happens when you break that promise?

Warnings: Blood, gore, burns, graphic injuries, alludes to death, pain, broken bones, missiles/rockets (ruin guard)

When Bennet was adopted by the adventurer's guild, you were asked to look after him.

Of course you accepted.

Something about him just drew you in.

Next thing you know, you have a little brother who's with you every second of the day.

You taught him how to use a sword, How to control his vision when he got it, how to treat wounds, how to cook.

Even if he tripped over his own feet, burned his vision a little too hot, used too much ointment or burnt the food, you never gave up caring for him.

When he was a little older, he started worrying about his bad luck making you go away like it had so many other people in his life.

But time after time he brought it up, you assured him that you would never leave him. That you’d always stick by his side. You’d always be there to patch him up, to wipe his tears, to hold him when the nights got a little too dark.

Whenever he asked why you’d always reply

“It’s what big siblings are for”

The first time you called yourself his sibling he cried.

He clutched his heart and smiled as big ugly tears ran down his face.

After that he made it a point to call you his older sibling, never failing to try and be the best younger brother he could.

The two of you often did everything together.

And that used to include commissions too- until you joined the knights.

Not much changed really, you were still as close as ever, only now you couldn’t help him on commissions..

It worried you at first, when he started coming back covered in more and more bruises and scratches, less treasure from the chests.. And less people in his team.

You were annoyed at the people who had left his team, especially when he was so proud to have formed it in the first place.

But when he never stopped smiling, and continued on with resilience even hardened adventurers didn’t have.

Over time your fears and worries all but subsided. You knew Bennet would not give up no matter what came his way in the future.

And for the most part, everything was manageable. A few scrapes, a few bad commissions. Nothing serious..

Until one day Bennet hadn’t come home.

Bennet was always home before you were, usually he’d prepare some tea or coffee or whatever your usual drink is for you.

But today he wasn’t there.

Most people would probably wait, simply thinking he’d gotten caught up with something.

But you knew better. Bennet would always find some way to let you know if he was going to be late. Always.

You ran to Kathryn and asked where his commission was. Sensing your distress, she told you

Stormterror’s lair.

The pit in your stomach grew. Stormterror’s lair was dangerous. Everyone knew this. The fact that that was where Bennet was, and he was late? Something was wrong.

You never ran so fast. You let Lawrence and Swan know to send backup as you ran out the gate, thinking of nothing but finding your brother.

When you made it to Stormterror’s lair, you heard a yell of ‘help!’ echo around the air.

“Bennet! Where are you?!”

You ran in the direction of the voice, your feet aching from previously running all the way from Mondstadt.

You hear your name.

You come to a halt when you see him; foot trapped underneath fallen rubble, scratches and bruises all over.

“I knew you’d find me! My bad luck is no match against my big sibling!” Despite his words and smile, you were not blind to the tear tracks in the dirt of his face.

He was expecting to die here.

Your heart clenched.

“That’s right. No matter what happens. I’ll always be there to beat your bad luck.”

Your words of comfort seemed to have spurred the universe on to spite you.

The familiar, dreadful sound of a ruin guard powering up reached both of your ears.

No wasting more time, you tried to lift the stones off Bennet’s foot- said boy gritted his teeth in clear pain.

Before you have the chance to move the rubble off of Bennet’s foot, you move to defend him from the incoming rockets.

You just pray to Barbatos, as you brace yourself to take the hit, that you survive.

The small rockets collide with the ground next to you, the heat of the explosions seering your skin.

This is fine.

They missed.

Just have to hurry before it figures out the angle.

If only you had remembered your weapon in your panic to find Bennet. Then you could have taken it out.

But alas, it would seem you’ve escaped the bad luck for too long.

Before you get a grip on the debris again, you feel another barrage of mini missiles collide with your back.

You refuse to scream. But you can’t hold back the groan as you feel your skin melt under the heat, blisters forming along your back.

The sticky sensation of warm blood from where the body of the missiles collided runs down your back.You can barely think. It hurts so much.

But you must get him out of here.

“Hey! Stop! Get out of here! Please! Don’t risk your life for mine, I'm begging you!” Bennet sobs as he watches your face contort in pain above him.

“Don’t worry kid. I’m not going anywhere, and I sure as hell am not dying here. I will get you out of here- I’ll get us both out of here.”

You can’t manage to lift the stones in the time you have between attacks.

You have no choice. You just have to shield him with your body until help arrives.

You position yourself in front of Bennet, bracing yourself for what you know is coming.

Another round strikes you.

Your skin burns. No- it boils.

The heat melts your skin and the molten metal fuses to your flesh.

You can feel your ribs crack and break from the sheer force of the impact.

It’s at this moment you’re glad the machine isn’t closer to you- If it were, the impact of the rockets would surely impale you.

You bite your lip, drawing blood. You refuse to make him feel worse by screaming or crying. But you don’t know how much longer you can hold.

“Please!! STOP!!” Bennet pleaded with you

More missiles. More sticky blood. More broken bones.

“I beg you! Please just run!”

More Missiles. Melted skin.

“You said you’d never leave! I can’t watch you die!”

You manage a smile.

“Exactly. I said I’d never leave. I don’t plan on leaving you here, and I don’t plan on dying.”

More missiles. This time you screamed. Your flesh has been burned to the bone. At least you can’t feel your back anymore; the nerves are all burnt away.

Bennet is no longer forming coherent words, just a mix of sobs and “please” and “this is my fault”

You look down and see you’re standing in a puddle of blood and flesh. The tar like concoction reeks of rotten meat and charred flesh.

Just as you’re about to think about giving up-

“There they are!”

The missiles stop, being redirected somewhere else.

The voice in your mind faintly registers the voice of Kaeya along with other knights.

They’re here.

You lasted long enough.

You fall to your knees, heaving air into your burnt lungs.

Bennet was safe. He’d be ok.

“Hey! C’mon You said you wouldn’t leave me! We’re so close, please!” Bennet’s voice is hoarse, and it cracks as he pleads with you once more.

Your vision is foggy and sounds are muffled. The adrenaline has begun to wear off. It hurts.

It hurts.

You barely register being picked up.

You blink.

You blink slow.

And you don’t open your eyes again.

…

At least, not yet they don’t.

note: I couldn't let reader die- i couldn't do that to Benny</3

@loyal-to-dottore here's another sibling one pookie bear

#genshin impact #whumptober2023 #no. 10 #blood tw #burns tw #gore tw #bennet x reader #bennet x reader angst #bennet genshin impact #brother bennet x reader

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wholoveseggs · 1 month ago

Text

Dark Star {Part Five}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Five

{Elijah Mikaelson x f!Reader} Elijah’s obsession with resurrecting you drives his family deeper into darkness, where alliances fray and unexpected lives are lost as Bonnie Bennett becomes their reluctant pawn. In the 13th century, love turns to betrayal as your forbidden bond with Elijah transforms under the weight of sin, faith, and the cruelty of vengeance.

8.3k words - Warnings: uhmmmm PAIN, death, destruction, full-throttle red door Elijah, so much angst, more hallucinations, Kol and Rebekah still being the ultimate duo, a tragic brotherly bond, compulsion, murder, MY QUEEN BONNIE BENNET && i'm sorry babes.... this is where it begins to HURT ... xoxo

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Six}

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming

@spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse

@cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2

@itsjulzandmydiamonds @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury

@amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28

@sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @sekaishell @b1tchy

@loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123 @iamawkwardandshy @ziayamikaelson

@absolutemarveltrash @darkened-writer @nina6708 @evasmlp

@madeinmyownmind-blog @lovelyy-moonlight @blacknightrises @poppet05 @sweetieseven

@xoxo-shy @nova-j @decaffeinatedparadisepost @fandom-princess-forevermore @theotherworld97

@origshipfan @cocoabliss

13 century Europe

The walk into the forest this time wasn’t filled with excitement and joy; it was heavy with dread. Each step felt like a descent into darkness, a part of you wondering if you would ever leave these woods again. But the pull toward Elijah was stronger than your fear, dragging you forward against your instincts.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together Sister Claire’s death and what it meant for you. You couldn’t believe Elijah would hurt anyone, but something told you that he was connected, somehow, to the terrible fate she had met.

He was too perfect, too healthy, too beautiful. He had led you to sin so quickly… He had to be a demon. There was no other explanation.

A cold wind swept through the trees, and clouds slid over the moon, plunging the forest into near-total darkness. You quickened your pace, as if Elijah’s presence in the clearing ahead could shield you from the shadows pressing in on every side.

Finally, you reached the clearing. A dying fire cast faint embers over Elijah’s dark form as he sat by it, his head bowed, lost in thought. He looked up as you approached, his eyes catching the firelight, flickering with an unreadable intensity.

He stood and moved toward you without a word, the shadows sliding over his face, and your heart pounded with a sudden surge of fear. You took a step back, tripping over a tree root and collapsing onto the damp ground.

“Stay away from me,” you warned, scrambling back, the words barely audible.

Elijah stopped, his gaze softening as he searched your face. “I would never hurt you,” he murmured.

You shook your head, panic bubbling up inside you. “What did you do to Sister Claire? How did she end up dead, her throat torn out?”

His expression twisted with pain. “Do you think me capable of such a thing? After what we shared, after what we promised each other?"

You took a shaky breath, fighting the urge to run. "You have led me into sin, and now a woman is dead," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes.

"I had no hand in her death," Elijah said, his voice firm, but there was a guilty look in his eye.

"But you know who did," you said, the truth dawning on you.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping. “Yes,” he whispered, sorrow clouding his eyes.

Your heart sank, the betrayal burning inside you. He was a demon, a monster. And you had been blind to it.

“You’ve corrupted me,” you murmured, your voice full of anguish.

“No.” He shook his head slowly, earnestly. “I would never. What we share…it is pure.”

A surge of rage welled up, fanned by guilt and shame. “You’re a liar, all demons do is lie,” you spat, tears streaming down your face.

“I would never lay a hand on you. Not in a thousand lifetimes.” Elijah knelt beside you, his hand reaching out to touch your face, and you flinched away.

"Stay away from me," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Stay away from all of us."

You stumbled to your feet and ran, not daring to look back. You had been a fool, blinded by his beauty, seduced into sin. And now, a sister was dead because of it.

Branches scraped your face, roots snagged your feet, but you didn’t stop. The darkness pressed in, thick and suffocating, and each breath burned as you ran through the forest, terror clawing at your chest.

Just as your strength began to fail, you saw a light ahead and stumbled out of the trees onto the convent grounds. Relief flooded you, but before you could catch your breath, something slammed into you, knocking you off your feet.

You hit the ground hard, the impact stealing the air from your lungs. Dizzy, you looked up to find another figure looming over you. It was Klaus... Elijah’s demon brother... grinning down at you, fangs bared, his eyes glinting with malice.

“Hello, love,” he said, his voice a low growl.

“No!” you gasped, scrambling back, but he grabbed you by the hair, dragging you to your feet with ruthless strength.

Without warning, he bit into your neck, and an explosion of pain shot through you, raw and searing. You screamed, clawing at him, but his grip was unyielding, the world spinning as your blood drained away, leaving you cold and weak.

Darkness swallowed you, the last thing you heard was Elijah’s anguished cry, calling his brother’s name.

You felt nothing. You saw nothing, lost in the void. Your last thought was a broken prayer, a plea for forgiveness. And then, warm hands cradled your head, a voice calling you back.

“Elijah?” you murmured, confusion clouding your mind.

“Yes, I’m here,” he soothed, his voice a balm, a lifeline.

There was the sound of an argument nearby, Elijah’s voice rising, but you couldn’t make out the words. Cool liquid touched your lips, the taste of copper filling your mouth. You drank instinctively, the sweetness flooding your senses, warmth returning to your limbs.

Your eyes fluttered open, finding Elijah’s face above you, his expression etched with worry. You reached for him, and he pulled you close, holding you tight.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

The memories flooded back. “Klaus…he killed Sister Claire, didn’t he?”

Elijah nodded, his jaw clenched. “I’m afraid so.”

“But why?” you whispered, still reeling.

“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured, regret shadowing his gaze. “Just know, I would never have let him hurt you.”

You clung to him, your mind spinning. He was a demon, dangerous yet the man you loved. The truth settled over you, cold and heavy.

“You really are a demon…” The words were barely a breath.

He met your gaze, pain flickering in his eyes. “Almost.”

Panic rose, and you tried to pull away, but his arms tightened, holding you close.

“Please, don’t be afraid,” he murmured.

“Let me go,” you whispered, fighting the ache in your chest.

Reluctantly, he released you, and you stumbled back, a final look of heartbreak passing between you before you turned and fled toward the convent, tears streaming down your cheeks.

The weight of his existence pressed down on you, a dark and terrible revelation. You loved him... and in that love, you knew you made a terrible mistake.

13 century Europe

You managed to climb back through the window of your bedroom and collapsed onto the cold stone floor, sobbing. The weight of what had happened pressed down on you, heavy and unrelenting, until you felt as though you couldn’t breathe. You lay there, the floor hard against your cheek, tears staining your skin and blood drying on your lips.

You weren’t sure how long you remained like that, lost in despair, until a soft cough broke the silence. You looked up, startled, to see Sister Margaret standing over you, her face shadowed, her expression unreadable.

Realization dawned as you took in your disheveled state. Your habit torn, stained with dirt, your face wet with tears, and the telltale smear of blood on your mouth. Shame burned through you, and you averted your gaze.

“What happened?” she asked gently, kneeling beside you. Her tone was concerned, but there was an edge to it, a hesitation.

You sat up slowly, wiping at your face. “I…I don’t know,” you managed, voice weak.

Sister Margaret’s brow furrowed as she took in your appearance. “You were gone for hours,” she murmured, her tone laced with worry.

“I know,” you whispered, a fresh wave of tears prickling your eyes. You tried to blink them back, but they threatened to spill over.

Her gaze grew sharper, her concern tinged with suspicion. “Is this…is this a result of Lord Mikaelson’s visit?” Her voice held a faint accusation, a disapproving edge.

The shame intensified, and you closed your eyes, feeling a hot flush crawl up your neck. “Yes,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

She sighed, disappointment heavy in her voice. “I warned you, sister. I told you not to stray from His light.”

You lowered your head, the weight of her words pressing down on you. You knew she was right, but guilt and regret were tangled too deeply for any comfort.

“Come,” she said, reaching for your hand. “We must tell Mother Mathilde.”

“No! Please,” you gasped, clutching her hand as panic flared within you. “I can’t…not after everything that’s happened.”

Sister Margaret hesitated, her eyes searching your face. For a moment, you saw a flicker of sympathy, but it was quickly replaced by duty. “You must confess your sins, sister. It’s the only way.”

“Please, I can’t…I don’t deserve forgiveness,” you choked, the words escaping in a broken sob. “What I’ve done… It’s beyond forgivable.”

“God is merciful,” she replied softly, settling down beside you, her arm wrapping around your trembling shoulders. Her voice was calm, reassuring, and you found yourself clinging to that sliver of hope. “You need to pray, sister. Ask for forgiveness, and it will come.”

“You don’t understand…” you whispered, the shame bubbling up, choking you. “Sister Claire… It’s my fault.”

Sister Margaret stiffened, her arm dropping from your shoulders as she pulled back, shock and confusion flitting across her face. “What…what did you say?”

“It’s my fault,” you repeated, feeling the weight of the confession bearing down on you, pressing into your chest until it hurt.

Her eyes widened, her voice barely a whisper. “What do you mean?”

You swallowed, forcing the words out, even though they tasted bitter. “The demon... Lord Mikaelson- he…he seduced me.” Your voice cracked, and fresh tears streaked down your cheeks, the shame almost unbearable. "If only I had seen sooner..."

Sister Margaret recoiled, her hand pulling away as if you burned her. She stared at you, horror and disbelief etched in her features. “Oh, sister…what have you done?”

You hung your head, guilt washing over you in waves. “I gave my body to a demon. I…I forsook all my vows.”

A long silence stretched between you, broken only by your quiet, hitching breaths. Finally, Sister Margaret drew herself up, her expression hardening. “We have to tell Mother Mathilde.”

“No!” Panic surged within you, and you reached out, grasping her arm. “Please, she can’t know…not after…”

“She needs to know,” Sister Margaret insisted, her voice growing firmer, colder. “This is a grave transgression, sister. The consequences will be severe.”

You looked at her, desperation in your gaze, seeing the resolve in her eyes and the fear. “Please…I’m begging you. Just…just give me time to figure this out.”

She shook her head, sorrow flickering in her expression as she stood up, stepping back from you as if you were a stranger. “I can’t keep this secret for you.” Her voice wavered, but her resolve was unbreakable.

Your heart dropped, and you felt as though the ground had been ripped from under you. The finality of her words settled over you, heavy as stone.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, looking at you one last time before she turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone with the crushing weight of your sins.

As soon as the sun peeked over the horizon, bathing the convent in a pale glow, you knew it was time to leave. You had packed a small bag, gathering a few meager possessions. A spare habit, some candles, a few coins, and a small silver cross.

The night had passed in a blur of restless sleep and tears, the shame and guilt a constant, relentless torment. Now, as dawn approached, a cold resolve had settled over you. If you didn't run, you would be condemned... purified to death. Sister Margaret would tell Mother Mathilde, and the truth would come out. You couldn't face that. You had to leave, now, while you still could.

You opened the window, glancing down at the courtyard below, a cold breeze sweeping in. The early morning air was sharp and clear, and you breathed it in, steeling yourself.

Slowly, carefully, you slipped through the window, gripping the ledge. You took a deep breath, saying a silent prayer, and began to climb down the rough stone wall.

The convent was quiet, the only sounds were the wind rustling through the trees and the faint chirping of birds. Your hands were numb, fingers cramped, but you gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to keep going.

Just as your foot found purchase on the ledge below, you heard a shout. Startled, you lost your balance, the stone slipping from under your foot.

You fell, hitting the ground with a sickening thud, a searing pain shooting through your body. A scream rose in your throat, but no sound came. The world spun, a blinding light flashing in your eyes.

Hands grabbed you, shaking you, pulling you to your feet. Dizzy, you looked up, blinking, and saw the blurred face of sister Margaret.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice frantic.

You took a breath, forcing the pain aside, and shook your head. "No...I'm fine."

"What were you doing?" she demanded, anger and fear mixing in her voice.

You glanced at her, then away, unable to meet her eyes. "Leaving," you whispered, knowing that the truth would hurt her.

"I was afraid you would say that," she said, a touch of sadness in her voice. "Come,"

"I can't," you pleaded, desperation rising inside you. "Please, just let me go. This is my choice."

"It's not a choice, sister," she replied firmly, gripping your arm and leading you towards the chapel. "You have sinned, and now, you will face the consequences."

She dragged you through the courtyard, ignoring your protests, and you knew it was useless. You had no choice but to accept your fate.

Mother Mathilde was waiting, her expression hard and unforgiving. She stood, towering over you, a figure of unyielding judgment.

"You have betrayed God and your sisters," she began, her voice cold and full of fury. "For that, you must be punished."

Sister Margaret pushed you down onto your knees, the hard floor bruising. You looked up at Mother Mathilde, tears blurring your vision, the weight of her words a heavy burden.

"Please, I.. I didn't mean to..."

"Silence!" she shouted, cutting you off. "Do you think I'm blind to your indiscretions?"

You lowered your head, a quiet sob escaping. "Please, forgive me..."

"Forgiveness is not given freely," she said, her voice hard. "It must be earned. You will atone for your sins through suffering."

Your head snapped up, and you stared at her, fear and desperation coursing through you.

"Take off your habit and robe, you are not deserving of such garments," she commanded, her eyes blazing.

"Please, I can't," you begged, but Sister Margaret tugged the clothing from you, baring your flesh, exposing your shame.

Mother Mathilde leaned down, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at her. "You have brought darkness upon us all, and now, it is time to purge it," she spat, her eyes burning with anger.

Tears streamed down your face, the humiliation and regret a painful reminder of your sins.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, pleading with her, but she turned away, ignoring you. She nodded at sister Margaret, and a heavy metal collar was placed around your neck, the cold bite of iron against your skin.

"Take her outside, to the square," Mother Mathilde instructed, her voice laced with disgust.

You were hauled to your feet, the chain connecting to the collar yanked sharply, forcing you to stumble after sister Margaret. The other nuns followed, their faces shadowed and grim, and you felt the weight of their judgment pressing down on you.

The sun felt too bright, the air too sharp, as you were led into the village center. A crowd was already gathering, word spreading quickly about your punishment. You looked around, desperately searching for a friendly face, but there was no one.

The chain was fastened to a post in the middle of the square, the rough wood rubbing against your skin as sister Margaret secured it tightly.

"Behold!" Mother Mathilde's voice rang out, cutting through the murmur of the crowd. "The wages of sin."

There was a ripple of gasps and murmurs as the people gathered closer, staring at you, their faces twisted with disgust and fear.

"Confess your sins, before I send you to meet the Lord," Mother Mathilde commanded, her voice echoing off the surrounding buildings.

"I...I gave myself to a demon," you stammered, shame washing over you as the words left your lips.

The crowd murmured, a low, angry buzz. You lowered your head, tears stinging your eyes.

"And what did the demon do to you?" Mother Mathilde pressed, her voice filled with malice.

You took a breath, feeling the weight of the chains holding you in place. "He...he seduced me. He used my body for his own pleasure."

"Whore! Harlot!" someone shouted from the crowd, the words a harsh and ugly accusation.

"Speak the name of this demon, this devil among men," Mother Mathilde ordered, her eyes boring into you.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak his name, the shame and guilt too raw and overwhelming. "I can't," you whispered, shaking your head.

"You will," Mother Mathilde insisted, her voice full of rage. "You will name the demon who corrupted you, or I will have your tongue cut out and fed to the pigs."

A wave of nausea rose within you, and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the world to disappear. But the pressure remained, the iron collar tight around your neck as the crowd was grew louder, their voices raised in anger and fear. You closed your eyes, struggling to breathe as you spoke his name.

"Elijah Mikaelson," you finally whispered, the words barely audible.

The crowd erupted in shocked gasps and cries, a surge of fear and anger rippling through them.

"The Mikaelsons are demons, all of them!" a voice shouted, the words punctuated by a chorus of agreement. "They have brought evil into our midst!"

Mother Mathilde glared at you, her eyes cold and unforgiving. "Then the judgment is clear. For the crime of consorting with demons, and for bringing their curse upon us, you will be cleansed with stone,"

She turned to the crowd, raising her hands in the air. "Let this serve as a lesson to all, that the wages of sin are death!"

The crowd erupted in a frenzy, a storm of angry shouts and jeers. The first blow was from a young boy in the front of the crowd, he picked up a smooth, heavy rock and hurled it, the sharp edge catching your shoulder.

You cried out, stumbling under the force, the pain radiating down your arm. The next blow hit your chest, stealing the air from your lungs. You doubled over, the blows coming faster and faster, each one more brutal than the last.

Your world was reduced to nothing but pain, the rocks slamming into you, the chains holding you in place. You begged, screamed, pleaded, prayed, but the stones kept coming, the blows raining down on you, merciless.

You had abandoned God, and now he was abandoning you.

The rocks kept coming, tearing through your flesh, the blood streaming down your body. Each blow was a cruel and vicious punishment, and the crowd cheered, their voices ringing in your ears.

You fell to the ground, the stones striking you, tearing into you. Your world was a sea of red and pain, a never-ending cycle of suffering. Until the last stone was thrown, by the hand of Mother Mathilde herself.

You felt it strike your temple, the impact sending you spinning into darkness.

As the world slipped away, you had one final thought.

Elijah.

Elijah stood near the entrance of an old church, the crime scene tape fluttering in the wind. It was dark, the moon and stars hidden by the clouds, the air thick with humidity and the smell of death.

His gaze swept over the surrounding area, taking in the tall trees and dense foliage. Everything was eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of the leaves in the wind.

Klaus was reading the crime scene report out loud, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "... Victim was found hanging upside down from the altar cross, her throat slashed. Blood was used to paint the walls, a message written in Latin."

"A sacrifice," Elijah murmured, his eyes narrowing, his stomach twisting.

"No, just a psycho," Klaus corrected, rolling his eyes. "Apparently the murderer is fond of leaving little notes."

"What did the note say?" Elijah asked, his pulse quickening.

Klaus rattled off the words, frowning as he translated them from Latin. "Lord God Almighty, light and truth, we beseech Thee, that Thou mayest drive away every unclean spirit, every deceitful demon, every foe of our immortal souls. Hallow this place and our hearts with Thy light and strength."

"An exorcism," Elijah muttered, his frown deepening.

Cami cleared her throat, she leaned into Klaus as she glanced at the crime scene report over his shoulder. "That kind of twisted thinking doesn’t come from nowhere. There’s a deep-seated belief system here, maybe even a distorted sense of duty. This is someone who believes they’re acting in service of a higher power."

Elijah clenched his jaw, his eyes burning with anger. "This has nothing to do with my wife,"

"Maybe, maybe not," Cami shrugged, her gaze softening. "But it does point to a connection between her murder and these others. If the killer is targeting women who look like her, we have to consider the possibility."

"No," Elijah hissed, his voice laced with venom. "It doesn't mean anything."

"Brother," Klaus said, his tone careful. "There's a pattern. You can't ignore it,"

"It doesn't matter," Elijah snapped, his voice rising. "We need to find a way to bring her back, that's the priority."

"Guys, down here!" Marcel's voice called out, interrupting the tense moment.

He was crouched on the ground, examining a patch of dirt. A trail of dried blood led towards a stone wall.

Marcel followed it, running his hands over the surface of the wall. There were cracks, and he slipped his fingers inside one, a frown forming on his face.

"There's a door," he murmured, pulling it open, revealing a set of stairs leading down into the darkness.

"A cellar?" Elijah guessed, his brow furrowing.

Marcel nodded, his expression wary, he looked at the others.

"Let's go," Elijah said, a chill running down his spine.

The air smelled musty, stale. It was cool and damp, the shadows clinging to the walls like a blanket.

Elijah stepped inside, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. He could feel the darkness pressing in, the faint whisper of voices on the wind. Marcel was close behind him, with Klaus protectively hovering beside Cami, keeping her shielded from the unknown.

"This place gives me the creeps," Cami mumbled, shivering.

"Stay close," Klaus muttered, his arm sliding around her shoulders.

They followed the path, the stairs spiraling down into the earth, the air growing more oppressive, the temperature dropping.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the bottom. Elijah felt a sense of foreboding, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He couldn't explain it, but there was a dark energy here, a malevolence that clung to the air.

"I can't see anything," Marcel complained, his tone laced with frustration.

"Hold on," Elijah said, he felt around the walls until he found a torch attached to the stone, pulling it off and striking it against the wall.

A flame sparked to life, illuminating the room.

Elijah raised the torch, his eyes adjusting to the sudden light, his breath catching in his throat.

"What the hell is this?" Marcel whispered, his eyes widening.

The room was littered with long dead candles, moss climbed the walls, and bones were scattered across the floor. Blood was splattered on the walls, dried and brown.

Cami gasped, pressing her face into Klaus' chest, trembling.

Klaus held her close, his jaw clenching, a growl rumbling in his chest.

In the center of the room was a large cross, and upon it was a woman, a dead vampire. Her skin gray and covered in dark veins, her hands and feet nailed to the wood, her eyes wide open, glassy and unseeing.

Elijah's eyes were locked on the corpse, a terrible dread settling in his stomach. He recognized her, a face out of time.

On the floor next to her was another body, a wooden stake driven through her chest. It was clear that it was self inflicted, her hands not far from the weapon.

Your phantom stepped out from behind the cross, and Elijah's eyes widened, his breath hitching.

"Hello, husband," You smiled at him, tilting your head. Dressed in your nun's habit, the very same one you were wearing when he met you, the very same one the vampire corpses were wearing. "Do you remember them? What you made me do to them?"

Elijah shook his head, taking a step back.

"This is all your fault, Eli," you purred, your gaze burning into him.

He swallowed hard, his hands trembling.

"You corrupted me, made me drink their blood, made me crave it," you continued, your smile turning cruel.

"No," he whispered, his voice choked, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Yes," you replied, the word harsh, full of hate.

Klaus frowned, glancing at Elijah, his brow furrowed. He was muttering to himself, his gaze locked on the wall behind the crucified vampire.

"What is it, brother?" Klaus asked, his voice tense.

Elijah didn't respond, he was lost in the nightmare, trapped in the memories.

"Elijah" Klaus called, his concern growing.

Elijah blinked, tearing his gaze away from you, his eyes focusing on his brother.

"C-can you see her?" He asked, his voice strained, a desperate edge to it.

"See who?" Klaus asked, his confusion mounting.

"My wife," he whispered, his throat tight.

"She's not here, brother," Klaus said gently, his eyes full of sadness.

"But-" Elijah started, turning to look at you.

You were gone.

He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, his eyes stinging.

"There's something written on the wall," Cami pointed out, her voice trembling.

Elijah's gaze shifted to the wall where Cami pointed. In faint, jagged script, words were smeared in dried blood:

'In nomine eius quae nos decepit. In nomine eius quae nos corrupit. Tandem est purgata. Nunc quiescimus, missio sancta completa est. Salutem invenire possimus,'

Elijah felt a weight press down on him, his mind racing to translate the Latin.

'In the name of her who deceived us. In the name of her who corrupted us. She has finally been cleansed. We rest now, the holy mission is complete. May we find salvation,'

The words struck him like a blow, each syllable carrying the weight of a fanatic’s conviction. His eyes darted between the two bodies sprawled on the cold stone floor. Mother Mathilde and Sister Margaret, both transformed into vampires. They had killed you, after all these centuries, they had gotten their revenge.

Elijah felt the world fall out from under him, his knees buckling, his mind reeling.

"You should have left me alone, Eli," your voice echoed in his mind.

"Elijah?" Cami said softly, placing a hand on his arm, concern etched on her features.

"It was them," he whispered, his eyes stinging with unshed tears, his heart aching. "They were the ones who killed her."

Klaus stiffened, his eyes darkening. "You mean to tell me, these two corpses were responsible for her death?"

Elijah nodded, his jaw clenching. "And now, they're dead too.”

Klaus stiffened, a wave of realization hitting him. "How could that be possible?"

Elijah turned to him, his face ashen, eyes haunted. "You tell me, you were the one drinking every villager dry!"

Elijah looked away, his gaze sweeping over the morbid scene. His heart was pounding in his chest, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind.

He could feel the rage boiling in his veins, a dark, powerful fury threatening to consume him. His fists clenched, and he let out a roar, lashing out at the closest thing to him. His knuckles slammed into the stone wall, shattering bone and splitting the skin. Blood dripped from his hand, but he barely noticed, his anger too intense to be soothed by the pain.

Marcel grabbed Cami, pulling her behind him, shielding her.

Klaus stared at his brother, shock and concern etched on his face.

"Elijah," Cami said, her voice quiet. "This isn't your fault,"

"Isn't it?" Elijah hissed, whirling around to face him. "Don't you get it? They killed her!" He pointed at the two bodies, his voice shaking, his eyes wild with grief and rage. "After all this time... She turned them by mistake... and they must have tracked her down..."

"Elijah," Klaus said softly, stepping closer, his hands raised, palms facing outward.

"No!" Elijah shouted, pushing his brother away, his eyes blazing. "She's dead because of me!"

Klaus stumbled back, his expression stunned.

Elijah took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, his eyes closed. His hand throbbed, blood trickling down his wrist, soaking into his sleeve. He looked down at it, his jaw clenched, his mind reeling. Then he ran, darting up the stairs, his footsteps echoing off the stone.

Klaus started to follow him, but Cami put her hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Let him go," she murmured, her eyes filled with compassion.

Klaus sighed, his shoulders slumping, a grimace of resignation twisting his lips. "This is bad, Camille."

"I know," she replied, her brow furrowing.

"How the bloody hell could they have turned into vampires?" he asked, his confusion mounting.

"Sometimes, snatch, eat, erase, has unintended consequences," Marcel mused, a scowl on his face.

Klaus felt a pang of regret, he had never really reflected about his time in the village. Him and Kol spent most of it drinking their fill of the locals. It was a blur, his memory of it hazy and vague, like a drunken dream. He had no idea that his carelessness could have caused something like this.

Cami wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He held her close, burying his face in her hair, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Marcel watched them, his expression unreadable. He looked around the room, his gaze landing on the nuns' corpses, his stomach churning.

"Come on, let's get the hell out of here," he said, his voice strained.

"Right," Klaus agreed, taking Cami's hand, following Marcel up the stairs, and out into the night.

Elijah was nowhere to be seen, and Klaus didn't know where to begin looking for him. He had hoped that finding answers could ease his brother's burden, but instead, the truth had only served to deepen the wounds. There was no revenge to be had, and no one to blame but themselves.

13th century Europe

Death, it seemed, was a cold and endless void.

There was nothing... no light, no sound, no sensation. You drifted, suspended in an empty silence, time slipping away without meaning or measure.

But then, something broke through the emptiness. A gentle thumping, rhythmic and insistent, reaching out to you. It called to you, pulling you back.

Your heart.

Painfully, slowly, you felt consciousness returning, a heavy ache settling into your bones. Yet even as you opened your eyes, the darkness did not fade. Silence pressed around you, thick and unyielding, no hint of life.

You lifted a hand, reaching out and felt smooth wood just above your face. Your fingers moved to the sides, finding more planks, enclosing you in every direction. The realization struck, and a choked sob escaped your lips. You were trapped, buried alive, encased in wood and darkness.

A wave of panic gripped you, and you clawed desperately at the wood, splinters digging into your skin as you scratched, feeling the rough surface bite back. The air was stale, thick with the scent of earth. You were suffocating, the weight of the grave pressing in, sealing you away from life.

You were so hungry.

It was a hunger beyond anything you had ever known. It gnawed at your insides, a feverish craving that burned through you, leaving you weak and sick with need. You felt as though you might wither away, disappear into the dark if this hunger was not fed. And in the depths of your mind, one terrible thought rose, unbidden and irresistible.

Blood.

What had become of you? Was this hell? The punishment for your sins? You had failed. Failed God, failed yourself. Your body had been violated, desecrated, and now this was your fate. Condemned, starved, a monster craving blood.

But as the darkness closed in, and the hunger burned like fire, a muffled sound pierced the silence. A faint shuffling, a scraping, and then a loud thud. The wood above you cracked, dirt flooding in, dust filling the air.

Then, hands reached down, breaking through the wood and dirt, and grasping you by the shoulders. They pulled, dragging you out of the grave. The night air rushed in, cool and clean, filling your lungs with life. Above you, stars glittered in the dark sky, so beautiful, so bright it brought tears to your eyes.

A warm blanket wrapped around you, and a voice, soft and familiar, murmured reassurances. Strong arms lifted you, cradling you against a broad chest, carrying you away from the grave’s embrace.

Through the haze, you looked up and met Elijah’s eyes.

His gaze was intense, shadowed with worry, his face softened in relief. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, and as your vision blurred, his words echoed in your mind.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, his voice a balm against the terror that lingered in your heart. “Everything will be alright now, I promise you."

When Bonnie's house came into view, the first thing Rebekah saw was a distinctive figure sitting on the step. She expected he would turn up sooner or later, figuring Stefan had alerted him the moment they left the Grill.

"Is that who I think it is?" Kol asked, his smile widening. "Another bloody Salvatore."

"Well, aren't we popular," Rebekah mused.

They pulled into the driveway and parked, stepping out of the car and walking towards the porch.

"Hey there, Damon," Kol greeted, grinning. "Lovely evening for a visit, isn't it?"

Damon cast a glance at him, but his gaze remained fixed on Rebekah.

"How can I help you?" Damon asked, his voice low, his expression hard.

"Well, for starters, you can leave," Rebekah retorted, crossing her arms. "This is a private matter."

"You can't hurt Bonnie," Damon snapped, his jaw clenching. "Not without going through me."

"Who said anything about hurting her?" Kol quipped, tilting his head.

"Get off of her porch," Damon replied, his voice edged with warning.

Before Damon could blink, Kol's hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of his hair. In a single swift motion, he slammed Damon's face down onto the wooden steps, shoving him hard against the boards. The sound of bone meeting wood echoed in the quiet.

"You certainly have the confidence of a madman," Kol chuckled, pressing his knee into the back of Damon's neck, keeping him pinned.

Damon groaned, trying to pull away, but Kol dragged him back, forcing him to his knees at the base of the stairs.

"Bonnie Bennett?" Rebekah called, her voice cutting through the tension. "I know you're in there, I can hear your heartbeat."

"Don't answer," Damon growled, struggling beneath Kol's hold.

The door creaked open, and Bonnie stood there, just behind the threshold, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the three of them.

"What do you want?"

"We’ve come to ask a favor, love. But your friend here is being rather rude," Kol said, his grip tightening on the back of Damon's neck, amusement flashing in his eyes.

"Let him go," Bonnie ordered, her tone sharp.

"Come outside," Kol demanded, his smile widening.

"Bonnie, don't," Damon hissed through gritted teeth, his muscles tensing against Kol’s hold.

"It's fine, Damon," Bonnie replied, stepping out onto the porch, her gaze wary.

"Good," Kol purred, leaning close, his lips brushing the shell of Damon's ear. "If you move, I'll rip your head off."

Damon snarled, his eyes flashing, but he stayed still, his muscles quivering with barely restrained rage.

"There's a good lad," Kol grinned, releasing his grip, stepping back and away.

"Now," Rebekah said, moving closer to the steps, her eyes locking with Bonnie's. "What do you know about resurrection spells?"

Bonnie let out a humorless laugh, crossing her arms. "No. Absolutely not."

"Come now," Kol drawled, his eyes glittering. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Not a chance," Bonnie answered, her jaw clenching. "Even if I could perform a spell that complex, and believe me, I can't, I wouldn't do it."

"Why the hell not?" Rebekah asked, her brow furrowing.

"Look, even if I was inclined to help you, and I'm not," Bonnie shrugged, shaking her head. "A spell like that, the cost is too high. It's not worth it."

"I'm sure we could work something out," Kol smirked, his gaze sweeping over her. He reached out and grabbed Damon by the collar of his jacket, yanking him to his feet. "Maybe a little incentive for you, hmm?"

"Leave him alone," Bonnie warned, her eyes narrowing.

"I would if you'd be reasonable," Kol chuckled, his tone light, a dark edge to his words. "We could do this the easy way, or the hard way. Your choice, darling."

The sound of tires squealing against pavement drew their attention, and Bonnie looked to the street, a sigh escaping her as she realized who it was.

Stefan came bounding up the steps and onto the porch, his gaze dark, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Let him go," he demanded, his eyes locked on Damon.

"Oh, Stef," Kol purred, his smile widening, a wicked gleam in his eye. "I was hoping you'd show up,"

"Stefan," Damon warned, his brow furrowing, his voice low.

"You have two seconds to back the hell off, before I make you," Stefan said, his voice laced with threat.

"What is with the hostility?" Kol scoffed, his brow raising. "I'm just having a little fun,"

Rebekah stepped between them, her arms raised, her gaze flickering from her brother to Stefan. "Everyone relax, this isn't getting us anywhere."

"Tell your brother to let go of my brother," Stefan replied, his voice cold.

"You heard him," Rebekah said, glaring at her sibling, her jaw clenched.

"Fine," Kol muttered, shoving Damon towards his brother. "No need to get testy."

Damon stumbled, but Stefan grabbed him, steadying him, his arm wrapping protectively around his shoulder.

"Let's try this again," Rebekah sighed, looking at Bonnie. "We need your help resurrecting our sister in law, and you're the only person I can think of who can actually do it."

"I can't," Bonnie insisted, her brow furrowing.

"Can't or won't?" Rebekah countered, her eyes narrowing.

"Both," Bonnie snapped, a note of frustration in her voice. "I know better than to mess with forces I can't control."

"Oh please," Kol scoffed, rolling his eyes. "We're immortal, darling. If anyone can control those forces, it's us."

"Look, I'm sorry about your sister in law, really, I am," Bonnie sighed, her shoulders slumping, a pang of sympathy flitting across her features. "But there are always consequences, and they're usually catastrophic."

"That's a chance we're willing to take," Rebekah said, her tone earnest. "You don't have to worry about any fallout, whatever happens, we'll deal with it. All I'm asking is that you consider it."

"I'm sorry," Bonnie shook her head, her brow furrowing. "My answer is no."

"Miss Bennett," a familiar voice called, the sound of footsteps approaching.

All eyes turned to the man walking up the driveway, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his gaze intent, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Elijah," Bonnie breathed, her heart skipping a beat, a sense of dread settling in her stomach.

"I will only ask you this once," Elijah said, his voice steady, a glint of steel in his eyes. "Do as we request, and no harm will come to you or your friends."

A tense silence settled over the porch as Elijah’s words hung in the air, his calm tone laced with an unspoken threat. Bonnie took a step back, her heart pounding, but her gaze held steady.

“Elijah,” Stefan said, his voice low and tense, moving protectively in front of Bonnie. “You don’t want to do this.”

Elijah’s gaze shifted to Stefan, his face a mask of cold composure. “I assure you, Stefan, I am quite certain of what I want.”

Damon stepped forward, positioning himself beside his brother, his jaw clenched. “And we’re certain Bonnie’s not doing anything for you or your twisted family reunion.”

A flicker of something darker passed over Elijah’s face, but he remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the Salvatores.

Rebekah looked between them, an amused smirk playing on her lips, she glanced at her brother.

Kol shrugged, his brow furrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"We don't need the witch's cooperation," Kol said, his gaze turning back to Elijah, his voice filled with amusement. "We could just take her."

"You're not taking anyone," Damon snapped, his voice low, a growl rumbling in his chest.

"Damon," Stefan murmured, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder, his expression grim. "Not a good idea."

"Listen to your brother," Kol smirked, his eyes glittering. "This is none of your business."

"Everything happening in this town is our business," Damon replied, his gaze sharp.

"Is that so?" Kol laughed, a dark edge to his words.

"It is," Damon retorted, his brow furrowing, his hands curling into fists.

"Enough," Elijah said, his voice soft, but authoritative. He turned his gaze back to Bonnie, his eyes filled with a mix of resolve and grief. "Miss Bennett, my wife is dead. And while I do not wish to threaten you, I will not allow anything or anyone to stand in the way of her return."

Bonnie hesitated, her eyes searching his, a chill running down her spine at the look in his eyes. She could feel the weight of his stare, a deep sadness, and a deep rage, burning in the depths of his gaze.

"I can't," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"I DON'T CARE," Elijah yelled, his voice booming like a thunderclap. "DO IT."

Bonnie jumped at his outburst. She had never feared the Mikaelsons before, not even when they were threatening her, but the look in Elijah's eyes was beyond anything she had ever seen. A deep, aching sorrow and desperation, mingled with a primal rage, all focused on her.

Damon scoffed, stepping up beside Stefan, his defiance barely masking the unease in his eyes. “So that’s it? You’ll sacrifice everyone and everything just to get what you want?”

Elijah’s gaze flicked toward him, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You know nothing of what I have sacrificed.”

Damon’s lips curled into a smirk, though his fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Yeah, well, I don’t care how ancient or heartbroken you are. Bonnie’s not your pawn, and we’re done playing along.”

Without warning, Elijah grabbed Bonnie's wrists, shackling them and suppressing her magic. Her body went rigid as her mind tried to process what was happening as Damon lunged, his fist aimed straight for Elijah’s face. But Elijah was faster. In a flash, he sidestepped, grabbing Damon’s arm and twisting it behind his back, forcing him down to his knees.

Stefan’s face darkened, and he rushed forward to free his brother, but Elijah’s other hand shot out, gripping Stefan by the throat, holding both brothers captive with terrifying ease.

“Elijah, stop!” Rebekah shouted, alarm replacing the earlier tension in her voice.

Elijah didn’t answer. His expression was cold, detached, a shadow of the man they knew. He brought Stefan's face close to his, his pupils dilating as he stared him down.

"Rip out your brother's heart," he said, his tone calm, almost casual as he compelled Stefan.

Stefan struggled, fighting against the compulsion, a growl rumbling in his chest. Elijah let go of his neck, still holding Damon in place with his other hand. Stefan’s face contorted with the effort to resist Elijah’s command, his hand shaking as it moved involuntarily toward Damon’s chest. Damon’s eyes widened with alarm as he felt his brother’s fingers pressing against his ribs, the pressure building, his breath quickening.

Stefan screamed in anguish, his mind fighting against the compulsion, his arm trembling. But no matter how hard he fought, the magic coursed through him, pushing his arm forward.

"Stop!" Bonnie cried, panic seizing her as she watched Stefan's hand dig deeper into his brother's chest. She moved to rush towards them, but Kol was quicker, pulling her away.

"I wouldn't recommend that, love," Kol whispered, his grip tightening as she tried to fight him off.

“Elijah, please,” Bonnie’s voice shook, her eyes pleading. “This won’t bring her back. It won’t change anything.”

For the briefest of moments, Elijah’s resolve flickered. The pain in Bonnie’s voice seemed to cut through the haze of rage and desperation that clouded his mind, and the realization of what he was doing hit him. But then the memory of your dead body flashed in his mind, and the grief consumed him once again.

"Finish it," Elijah ordered, his voice a low, commanding rumble.

"NO!" Damon shouted, his face contorting with rage, his muscles straining against Elijah's grip.

Stefan's eyes met his brother's, and all he could see was the pain and fear in them, before they dimmed. He knew there was no fighting it, and the moment his fingers wrapped around Damon's beating heart, he accepted his fate.

Damon gasped, a strangled cry escaping him as Stefan began to pull his heart from his chest.

"I'm sorry," Stefan whispered, tears streaming down his face, his eyes locking with Damon's one last time.

Then, with a single, powerful jerk, Stefan ripped his brother's heart from his chest, blood pouring out over his hand. Damon's body fell to the ground, a sickening thud echoing through the night.

Bonnie screamed, the sound piercing the silence, her eyes wide with shock. Kol's grip tightened, holding her still, his other hand covering her mouth to stifle her cries. His expression was a mix of awe and revulsion, but he kept her pressed against him, watching the scene unfold with rapt attention.

Rebekah stood frozen, a wave of horror and guilt washing over her. She could feel the hot tears stinging her eyes, her throat constricting, the blood draining from her face. She looked at her brother, hoping for some sign of mercy, some trace of humanity, but his face was a blank mask, devoid of feeling.

Stefan, still compelled, released Damon’s heart and stared down at his own bloodstained hands in horror as the compulsion faded. He fell to his knees beside Damon’s body, shaking uncontrollably, his expression vacant as the reality of what he had just done settled in.

“Elijah,” Rebekah’s voice was a shaky whisper, her face ashen as she struggled to find the brother she had known. “What have you done?”

Elijah turned to her, his expression unreadable, his eyes empty. “What was necessary.”

“Necessary?” Rebekah’s voice cracked, a tear slipping down her cheek as she took a step toward him. “This… this isn’t you, Elijah. This… this is madness.”

Bonnie wrenched herself free from Kol’s grip, her gaze blazing with fury and despair. "I will never, ever, help you," she snarled, her voice quivering with rage.

Elijah looked down at her, then looked to Stefan, still kneeling beside his brother's corpse, a look of agony and guilt twisting his face.

"Is that your final answer?" Elijah asked, his voice quiet.

"Yes," Bonnie answered, her heart hammering against her ribs, her breathing ragged.

"Very well," Elijah said, he grabbed Stefan by the neck, pulling him to his feet. Then, without hesitation, he plunged his hand into his chest, tearing out his heart.

"No!" Bonnie screamed, her voice breaking as she fell to her knees.

Stefan's body dropped to the floor, lifeless and broken, his eyes wide open, landing with a soft thud next to his brother.

"Elijah," Rebekah's voice trembled, her eyes wide and unseeing, her mind unable to comprehend what was happening.

"Take her," Elijah said, his eyes fixed on the witch. "And do not let her go."

Kol hesitated, his face pale, his eyes fixed on the bodies.

"Now, Kol," Elijah ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Fine," Kol muttered, his brow furrowing as he approached Bonnie, his grip tightening on her shoulders.

"C'mon, love. Let's get this over with," he said to her softy, dragging her to her feet.

Bonnie didn't resist, her gaze locked on Elijah, the anger and hatred rolling off her in waves.

"We're going to do this, one way or another," Elijah told her, his voice calm, his eyes hard. "The only question is, how many more lives do you want to take before we get started?"

"I hate you," Bonnie said, her voice a harsh whisper.

"Yes, I imagine you do," Elijah answered, his expression unchanging. "But that doesn't matter, not now. What matters is getting my wife back."

Rebekah stood motionless, staring at the two corpses, her mind unable to process the horror that surrounded her. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, her heart racing, the world around her spinning. The Salvatores were a pain in her side, and she had always thought them fools, but they didn't deserve this. The gravity of what had just happened was too heavy, too surreal to fully comprehend.

Kol and Rebekah watched their once noble, honorable brother, the north star of their family, turn to face them. But that guiding light was now gone, consumed by shadow. What stood before them was no longer their Elijah, but something else entirely.

A dark star, collapsing under its own weight, dragging everything into its relentless abyss.

{Part One}{Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Four}{Part Six}

112 notes · View notes

venusbyline · 9 months ago

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Hey guys, I'm Vênus (she/her). This is my new ff blog and requests are already open!

I really like writing dark, smut and/or angst contents for s/o x female readers.

Almost all the characters and artists I'll write for are tagged. Feel free to send me your writing requests on my ask. (ps¹: practically i'll write for all Jacob Elordi and Ryan Gosling's characters, there just wasn't enough space in the tags).

So don't be shy... I'm a member of the "toxic characters stan" too <3

ps²: some characters besides the other characters of Ryan Gosling and Jacob Elordi that I didn't put in the tags but that I can also write for:

Scream: Ethan Landry, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher.

Euphoria: Rue Bennet, Jules Vaughn, Ethan Lewis, Lexi Howard, Chris McKay, Fezco.

Hunger Games: Lucy Gray Baird, Katniss Everdeen, Sejanus Plinth, Johanna Mason, Treech, Clemensia Dovecote, Tigris Snow, Haymitch Abernathy.

MCU: Tom Holland!Peter Parker & Andrew Garfield!Peter Parker, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff.

Daisy Jones & The Six: Eddie Roundtree, Daisy Jones, Camila Dunne.

The Vampire Diaries: Stefan Salvatore, Damon Salvatore, Silas, Rebekah Mikaelson, Katherine Pierce.

Margot Robbie: Barbie, Harley Quinn.

Gossip Girl: Chuck Bass, Nate Archibald, Carter Baizen, Blair Waldorf.

YOU: Love Quinn, Joe Goldberg.

Harry Potter: Cedric Diggory, Hermione Granger, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black.

Grey's Anatomy: Jackson Avery, Derek Shepherd, Mark Sloan, Alex Karev.

Outer Banks: Rafe Cameron, JJ Maybank.

Anyway, more characters can be added here over time!

110 notes · View notes

myfandomprompts · 2 years ago

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𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐭 | 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝟏)

Synopsis: You are a French girl that had the opportunity to teach in Manchester, and you had been lucky enough to be granted a bed at the Bennett’s place. As Europe is on the brink of war, you start to worry for your family back at home, and you are surprisingly consoled by the one man of the house you would never have thought capable of landing you an ear. It’s not that you like Tom, is it? Masterlist

Tags: fluff, angst, little slow burn, next part will include more tags (wink)

It was late, and you were in the Bennett’s living room, unable to sleep and because you didn’t want to bother Lois who was already sound asleep upstairs with your light, you had chosen to read on the couch, literature distracting you.

It has been three wonderful months in Manchester. The place was lovely, the people welcoming, the school you had begun to teach at everything you hoped for, and the Bennetts were absolutely adorable with you. Douglas was sweet, and had many stories to tell, Lois was kind and funny, and you two had got along pretty quickly. Even Tom, when he was around, was making efforts to be as delightful and troublesome as usual.

You had found the place by your connections, your brother playing in a band with a trumpeter named Eddie, whose wife happened to be Lois’s best friend. And now you were sharing the bedroom upstairs with her, having taken Tom’s bed as he now slept on the couch. He had not complained once about it.

The first time you met him, he had entered the house mere minutes after you had arrived, having just finished introducing yourself to his father and sister. You heard him before seeing him. “So, the reason I have to sleep on the couch from now has arrived, eh?”

His tone was playful, but you still felt guilty nonetheless as you turned around to see the infamous Tom, slightly blushing when you saw the tall blond-haired man in front of you, his blue eyes widening faintly as he met yours.

“Tom, be nice,” Lois had said. “This is Y/N.”

You had greeted him shyly, not sure how to act with him as you jokingly apologised for the loss of his bed, but his grin had just grown wider and he had chuckled.

“Christ, are they all this pretty in France? I should pay them a visit, I would be a very happy lad there.”

Douglas had sighed while Lois rolled her eyes, and you had not known how to react back then watching him laugh again before going upstairs with a wink to his sister, satisfied with the way your cheeks had turned pink.

But now that you had been his flirtatious self for over three months, you had grown used to his witty remarks and knew better than to take them seriously. You got along pretty well in fact. One day you had stumbled upon him in the kitchen as he played with a deck of cards, and had offered to teach you how to play. You had never seen someone as skilled with his hands as he was, and you wondered now if this particular talent had anything to do with the two weeks he had spent in prison lately. Regardless, you had spent a wonderful afternoon with him that day.

It was a stark contrast with your current situation, reading late and laying on the couch with the oil lamp as sole light, finding the activity the only efficient distraction from the thoughts that prevented you from sleeping at night. You were quite the anxious person, and since the news that Poland had surrendered and that Europe was on the brink of war, you had grown concerned for your family back in France. The word out was that Western Europe would be next and your family was living too close to the German border for you not to be concerned. The fact that you had not received any letters from any members of your family in a whole week did nothing to appease that worry. So instead of sleep, reading it was, and you were so focused on your book that you did not hear the front door open softly and you jumped when you saw a figure standing in the threshold of the living room.

“Mon Dieu… You scared me!” you gently scolded as you brought your hand to your chest, steadying your heartbeat.

“Sorry love, didn’t mean to,” came the quick response of Tom, fully dressed with his overcoat, his cheeks slightly pink from the cold he had just escaped from.

“Where do you come from this late?” you inquired, shivering as you felt the draught reach you as he took his coat off.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Are you still scrapping for metal, Tom? Can I finally have that tin man you’re building?” you teased as you echoed Lois, watching him as he made his way to the chair across from you, lazily dropping in it and lighting a cigarette between his lips.

“Lois talks too much,” he answered, smoke coming out of his mouth as he spoke. “And you won’t find me doing that again. Don’t plan on going back in a cell this soon.”

He winked at you, but the only thing now on your mind was what Douglas had announced to you this morning. “I heard… Conscientious objector, uh? Your father must be proud, you already have the genes for pacifism.”

“I doubt that. I’m not really into what he believes in so…” his voice was low, contemplative. “Sooner or later, I’ll still be a disappointment. No surprises there.”

“Don’t say that, I know he is proud of you. At least he is glad you’re not on the mend any more. Or in the army.”

“Yeah…I’m a real hero.”

You frowned, saddened by his words but you found nothing to say as he reached for the ashtray next to him. You hoped that one day the man before you would see his worth.

“So, can’t sleep?” he kept on, putting an end to the topic as you stared at the way the smoke passed his lips. “Why are you in the cold like that?”

“I just… thought I would have some reading done,” you half-lied, raising the book in your hands. “But don’t let me keep you from a good night’s sleep. You look like you need it.”

Tom’s demeanour shifted at that and a grin appeared on his lips, looking you over. “Well, I would, but since you’re sitting where I sleep…”

Your eyes widened as you suddenly remembered that he had taken the couch because of you. And now you robbed him of it as well. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that, I was just enjoying the living room... I’ll leave you be,” you said with slight embarrassment, closing your book and moving to get up.

“No, stay, you're warming up my bed so nicely already, you're not going to abandon me now, are you?" he teased, a sly smile on his lips as his face lit up. "There is enough space for both of us on this couch if we keep close."

The stern look you gave him at his inappropriate proposition amused him for a moment, but soon his anxious and serious expression returned, "No, honest, despite what you think I look like, I'm not tired. So stay. Please."

You hesitated, sensing that like you, he might use the company, but you still did not want to be a bother. He talked again before you could come to a decision.

“I know you read when you’re anxious, so tell me what’s bothering you. Why you can’t sleep.”

You were surprised for a second by the fact that he knew this about your personality, feeling something in your heart tingle as his blue eyes examined yours, waiting for your answer. "It’s nothing, it’s just, passing insomnia.”

He took another puff of smoke, not believing you for a second, “Worrying about your folks, are you?” he said as you lowered your gaze at your hands and nodded. You didn’t know Tom could be this perceptive, or that his eyes could have that softness you've never noticed before. “They’ll be fine. These Nazis won’t be able to do much if we have a say in it,” he stated, looking at how your pretty eyes had suddenly turned morose.

He didn’t want that. “What if they do anyway? Look at Poland, we weren’t prepared and now here we are. They don’t look like they are gonna stop there. Finland is-”

“You listen to the wireless too much. It’s always bad news nowadays, no point in listening to it if it makes you sad.”

You gave him a sorry smile, internally touched at his simplistic way of seeing things. “Stop listening to the news won’t make Germany stop invading its neighbouring countries Tom,” you replied softly, trying to ignore the way your heart ached at the thought. “What has happened is already so horrifying, I can’t even begin to imagine what it would look like if they really go all the way through with it.”

You felt tears come at the rim of your eyes against your will as you let the words you dreaded to say come out loud. Your lack of sleep was making you prone to strong emotions, and you had kept them hidden for a little too long. “It’s just… so scary. What if I can’t go back, or something happens while I’m here? They feel so far away! What if I end up never seeing them again? What if I have made a mistake coming here?” you went on, voice cracking and barely holding your tears.

Tom had straightened up on his chair. “Of course you’ll see them again,” he firmly said, but when he saw your teary eyes his voice turned soft, and he stood up at once. “Hey it’s alright. You’re alright love. C’me here.”

You watched him come over and sit beside you before wrapping an arm around your shoulder, pulling you gently against him. You blinked at his sudden display of affection but did nothing against it, leaning into him as he pulled you closer, allowing you to rest your head against his chest. You could hear his heartbeat, and you clung to the sound.

“Nothing will happen to them,” he whispered. “If they are half as smart as you are, nothing will get them. Trust me.”

His breath was tickling the side of your face as he talked. You giggled softly, now finding pathetic the way you had reacted due to your lack of sleep. “Thank you, Tom. You’re sweet when you want to,” you whispered, feeling your eyelids slowly flutter from the fatigue.

“I’m always sweet. You’re just not around often enough to witness it.”

“Then I am clearly missing out...”

Then it went dark, and you fell asleep in Tom’s arms. “Not as much as I am, Y/N.”

Tom watched you as your breathing became even, hand itching to prevent a strand of your hair from falling over your pretty face. Had it been anyone else, he would have woken you up and made you go to bed to be more comfortable, but as the minutes passed, he gradually abandoned the idea of moving even an inch as you felt amazingly warm over him. He gently took your book away from your lap before putting the cover over your form and leaned back against the couch, finding a comfortable position of his own.

Your peaceful expression suited you, he thought.

Sunlight filtered through the windows directly into your eyes, and you blinked yourself awake, the smell of smoke and sandalwood tickling your nose. It was nice, but as you realised from where, or from who it came from. Your face was resting against Tom, his chest rising up and down softly as he breathed and you straightened at once, the motion making him shift and blink in turn beneath you. You stayed still while you forced your memories from the previous night to come back. Tom lazily stretched his arm over him before dozing into sleep again. Oh no no no.

“Réveille-toi espèce de-” you scolded, hitting him on the shoulder to urge him awake. “Why didn’t you wake me up! We would both have been better off in our own beds!”

“Hey, easy!” he protested with a giggle, now fully awake and trying to take a hold of your wrists to stop you from punching him. “You’re the one that fell asleep on me, in my bed, and I’m not the one complaining here, love!”

His amused expression annoyed you more than it should have and you cursed in frustration, realising that you had to get ready for work very soon. You were glad that neither Douglas or Lois had woken up early to see you like that.

“If I’m late for school, it’s on you,” you warned, getting rid of the covers he had apparently put over you during the night and pointing an accusing finger at him, standing up to walk upstairs.

“What, I don’t even get a cup of tea as a reward for being your pillow? I clearly deserve it,” he taunted, taking his jumper off and looking at you expectantly.

You sighed, “Fine. But stop guilt trapping me. You still should have woken me up, I’m sure your muscles are killing you right now. No, I hope they are."

“My muscles are fine, thank you. And I would never have dared to wake you up, you seemed so relaxed in my arms, I didn’t want to ruin it for you.”

His grin was enticing but you escaped it by fleeing into the kitchen and processing to make you and him some tea, taking care in adding milk, a thing you had learned British people liked, and you brought one of the hot cups back to him. He was now comfortably laying under the covers, ready to fall asleep again, but he straightened up to take the beverage from your hands, satisfied with the way your nose flared in frustration. But even though you seemed vexed, it did not reflect your thoughts in the least

“Thank you. For listening to me last night.”

Your words made him arch his brow in surprise but his sweet smile quickly came back as he sipped his drink happily. “Anything, Y/N.”

You gave him a half a grateful smile in response before turning on your heels, heading upstairs to ready yourself for the day. Tom smiled at the way the covers were now infused with your scent, and he was glad to fall back to sleep in it.

It was your turn to buy groceries, and you had taken your time in the market today, strolling through products before heading back to the Bennett’s.

Nearing the back door, you were put face to face with a furious looking Tom, storming out of the kitchen and almost bumping into you as you set down your bike against the wall of the small alley. He barely apologised and disappeared into the street. You stayed stunned by the encounter for a moment before cautiously making your entrance in the house where Douglas was sitting at the table, a dismayed expression on his face while Lois was ironing.

“What was that?” you asked, looking between the two. They looked at each other before Douglas spoke.

“Tom enrolled in the Navy.”

You dropped your bags of groceries on the floor. “The Navy? But… what about civil work?” you asked, stupefied.

“Yeah… He is not doing that any more. He changed his mind.”

You glanced at Lois who gave you a sorry look. No wonder Tom looked so upset and Douglas so sullen. “I’ll… find him.”

It had not been very difficult to find Tom. You had strolled around the neighbourhood before deciding to head to the local pub, almost certain that you would find him there. And it did not fail.

As you entered, immediately noticing his back turned to you, elbows on the counter at the front. You made your way to him across the crowd and settled yourself beside him, looking at his now almost empty glass of beer.

“Can I please have the same thing but smaller?” you called out to the barman, making Tom acknowledge your presence for the first time.

He examined you briefly before reporting his gaze on his glass. “Did Lois send you?”

You shook your head. “No, I came on my own. You should not be alone.”

He nodded, taking his glass of beer and emptying it in one gulp.

“So… the Navy, uh?” you tried.

He licked his lips and proceeded to play with the edge of his now empty glass, jaw clenching a bit. “What, are you gonna tell me I made the wrong choice too? Didn’t know you were this much into pacifism. With your folks and all.”

“No, it’s not like that Tom, it’s just a little difficult for your father at the moment. I don’t want you to leave, but it does not mean that I don’t understand your choices.”

His eyes shot up at you as you were handed your drink, not noticing how Tom didn’t draw his gaze away from you as you ingested the cold liquid, warming your throat in the process. When you put down your glass, Tom was still looking at you, a triumphant grin on his face.

“My my, are you saying that you’ll miss me or do my ears deceive me tonight?”

You blushed, opening your mouth to try to think of a witty response. You found none. “Just… Be serious for a minute and listen to what I have to say,” you managed, and he groaned in frustration, ordering another drink as you continued. “Your father loves you, that is why he is so upset. He just… doesn’t want his boy to go away. He lived it himself, he knows how it is, he is scared for you.”

He only made an annoyed sound as he took a sip of beer again, a defiant expression on his face. You try not to question why your eyes had been briefly drawn to his Adam's apple as he drank.

“If you leave things as they are with your father, you’ll regret it. I know you will,” you kept on, willing to not let his pride take the better of him. “When do you leave?”

“In a week,” he replied. “First to Liverpool for training and then off to wherever they send me.”

You bit your lips. You had not known Tom for very long, but you knew that it was unfair that he had to go. You were terrified that war would take away all that liveliness and light he carried around. You liked that about him, even though you didn’t show it.

“At least you’ll get to travel,” you shrugged jokingly, but your heart was not in it. Tom however, seemed to find his humour back.

“That’s true. Maybe to France, who knows? Always dreamed to see if they are all like you there, or if you're some miraculous exception. I hope they are not as serious as you, though, I would be very disappointed.”

You let out a fake scandalised sound. “Me, serio-! That’s not very nice of you to say, Mr. Bennett! I have my moments.”

“What, is the demoiselle jealous?” he smiled, leaning closer, and you could smell the same scent you had woken to several mornings ago in the living room, but this time mixed with the smell of beer.

“No, you’re just being rude,” you replied, forgetting to move away from his ever-closing face. “And your charming smile won’t be able to get you out of my wrath if you keep depreciating me like that.”

He arched a brow, and you knew you had made a mistake. “Charming smile? Well, that’s a first. But do go on, what else do you find charming about me?”

You scoffed, unable to stop the blush from creeping onto your cheeks and chose to hide behind your drink as you took a long sip.

“C’mon, I’ll even let you say it in French, if that’s easier for you,” he pleaded, eyes glittering in mischief as he leaned closer to your ear. “I like when you speak French.”

“Tu peux toujours courir, mon beau,” you said, shaking your head with a smile. You can forget about it, handsome.

“Mhh… What does that mean?”

“It means that you, sir, have drank too fast, and that you should stop there,” you replied, ignoring the way he was now looking at your lips as they moved. “I won’t say anything, but please remember what I said. Don’t avoid your father, don’t make that mistake. Oh, and don’t come home too late," you said, dropping a few pounds on the counter.

“You’re leaving me already? It was just starting to get interesting.”

You could not repress a smile as you internally agreed. “I’m hungry, and I am cooking tonight. Maybe if you behave, I will leave some for you.”

And you turned your heels, letting him there with a lost expression as you made your way to the door, satisfied and your body a little bit too warm. Mere metres from the exit, however, you collided with someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry sir, I wasn’t paying attention,” you apologised, even though it was him that had not been paying any attention to his surroundings as he was talking to his group of friends.

The man turned with an annoyed expression on his face at first, but it quickly disappeared to be replaced by a cheeky smile at your sight, “No to worry miss, no harm done,” he reassured you, touching your arm in a playful manner. “Where are you from? Don’t recognise your accent.”

“Oh, I’m from France. I… didn’t know it was that obvious,” you confess, uneasy at his sudden interest and secretly wishing that you were already on your way home.

“Nah, I just have an ear for it. Staying long?”

“I work here actually. School.”

“Wonderful, it means that we will cross paths again, won’t we? I believe in fate you see, not a coincidence we met like this hon’,” he said, leaning in closer and making you take a few steps back.

You knew it had been no coincidence when his arm collided with yours harshly a minute ago, just plain inattention on his part. Your desire to escape him grew wider by the minute. “Uh, I guess we’ll see about that,” you said, trying to give him a genuine smile. “Now I’m sorry but I must go. Maybe next time!”

The tall man nodded, and you now noticed how gruff he looked. “Alrigh’, to next time then, dove.”

You shyly smiled at him before hastily opening the door and exit the pub, the cold attacking your already shivering skin.

“I work here actually. School.”

“Wonderful, it means that we will cross paths again, won’t we? I believe in fate you see, not a coincidence we met like this hon.”

Tom’s gaze had not left you for a second as he watched you leave, seeing you struggle to reach the entrance of the pub across the crowded place, and he did not miss the way you collided with loud guy either.

The man was a regular named Larry, but Tom usually called him ‘the loud guy’ as he never seemed to ever shut up. The fact was, that lad had already challenged Tom's nerves a couple of times, and his legs were now making their way to the two of you on their own. He had only heard the end of your conversation before he could get close and as you left, reassuring him, Tom was about to make his way back to the counter when he heard Larry’s boisterous voice.

“Pretty this one, and a teacher at that. She could teach me whatever she wants any time, eh?” he said to his red-haired friend next to him. “I’ll bet you she touched me on purpose, the naughty thing. She must get laid pretty easily.”

He then proceeded to have the fattest laugh Tom had ever heard, his friend on the other side only giving him an unimpressed glance, and Tom felt his blood boil.

“You want to repeat that, mate?” he defiantly said, staring straight at Larry who froze and turned at his voice.

“Repeat what? Don’t you know it’s rude to listen to other people’s conversations?”

“Well you’re not really whispering there, are ya? You wouldn’t be able to have a private conversation even if you wanted to, with your ugly mouth of yours. Or do you lack the brains to understand that?”

You were right. Maybe he had drank too fast, and maybe although he was as tall as Larry, the fact that he was twice his size did not bode well for him. But he was very crossed right now, and it wasn’t the first time he had got himself into a situation like this one. He could take it.

“Watch it lad, wouldn’t want to damage your pretty face, don’t think your mum would be happy about it, yeah? Now piss off.”

“Big words for someone who talks about women like that. Did your mum forget to teach you some manners?”

Larry’s expression turned dark. “So that’s about the French lass, huh? Frustrated she took interest in a man rather than a boy like you? You wanted a taste, am I right? Well too bad. Let the big men play and piss off.”

Tom didn’t know why this particular sentence had infuriated him that much but it did, and the next moment his fist had landed on Larry’s face, making him reel backward and growl as his nose started to bleed. Rage took him and he punched Tom back in the stomach, making him huff and gasp for air as people started to yell around them, rushing to stop the fight.

“Stop this! Or take it outside!” yelled the barman as someone held Tom back, preventing him from punching loud guy again.

“Gladly,” sneered Tom, but Larry’s friend had another opinion.

“It’s not worth it. C’mon Larry move. I said move,” he insisted, pushing his nose-bleeding mate out of the pub. Tom had tried to follow them, still enraged but the hands retaining him did not let him go until the two men had disappeared into the night.

“You’re alright lad?” asked a man to his right.

“I’m fine,” he growled, shaking the pain from his hand and feeling his torso aflame by the blow he had received.

He didn’t know why he had reacted like that, but as he returned to the counter, he had definitely sobered up.

@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

Part 2

#tom bennett #wof #world on fire #tom bennet imagine #tom bennett x oc #tom bennett fanfiction #oneshot #ewan mitchell #world on fire 1x02 #wof gif #mygif #angst #short story #fluff #smut #aemond #Tom bennett X reader #gone with regret

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captianprices40thson · 1 year ago

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Can you make a story for October, a male reader x soap. Where before the reader joined the 141 he was in a different military unit and one evening he got captured by the enemy and was murdered by dismemberment but some mad scientist there put him back together using the dismembered pieces. He came back by being hit by lighting. So now he kind of looks like frankenstein. he doesn't have all the bolts or dead skin, but he has one sliver gray eye. the other one is a light yellow, and he also has stitches on his face and his body. When he was finally rescued and back with his team, some were afraid of him and some belittled him. So he wears full body gear now so no one can fully see him. After joining the 141 he gets hurt really really REALLY badly and a some of his stitches rip, he tries to brush it off like it's nothing but soap refuses to believe him, so he kinda forcefully pulls male readers gear off and sees him body for the first time.

I'LL LEAVE THE REACTIONS OF SOAP TO YOU. Also can you do the reactions of the 141 too. Like maybe there in the room too when soap takes the gear off...

If you're not comfy with the dismemberment, you can just have it implied.

Happy early halloween, if you celebrate it🎃🎃🎃💖💖💖🙃🙃🙃

They took the credit for your second symphony, rewritten by machine and new technology.

Pairing: John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Male Reader

Requested: Yes

Word count: 5.4k

Pronouns used: You/Yourself. Reader referred to as Y/N and male titles/compliments.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, blood, gore, dismemberment to the best best of my ability, fluff, angst, so much death on god, brutal deaths, stitches, skin ripping, bad language.

Notes: Finished this at 1 in the morning and posting it during Japanese class at school, going to go over and review it soon, but I want to get this out soon as possible. I loved this request and just saying, my inbox is open! If you’re not sure on what I do and don’t write, check my page!

“Y/N?” “Huh? “Y/N, were you even listening?” Your commander asked, a stern look on her face. You didn’t even realise how zoned out you had been, oblivious to the fact that the vast majority of your team had already prepped up.

“Oh…Sorry, Captain.” You apologised, standing up from your seat on the bench and making way to go put on your gear. Of course you were going to be a bit freaked and zoned out, this was a deadly mission. You knew your Captain was going to need everyone to be in tip top shape for this mission to go smoothly, if you slipped up and did something wrong…it would cost lives.

“Come on, Y/N. I need my best man out there today, not distracted Y/N, okay?” Your Captain told you, giving you a small pat on the shoulder. Valencia was a nice woman, even let you call her ‘Val’ on the odd occasion. She was a good person, believed in the good of the world more than one person should. She believed in you as well, she knew you could be great.

You nodded, placing your helmet on and giving her a thumbs up. The rest of the team were just waiting for you to finish up before they would leave, an indicator that this mission was already unorganised. A bad feeling, like a black hole, had appeared in your stomach.

“Alright men! Let’s do this. You all know the plan. I want Oak and Close going in from the left, Wilson and Stampler on the right. O’Niel and Bennets are on standby back here and C/N will be heading in from behind as our sniper. We have MedVac ready for those who will need it. Remember, we are going after Andrei Kowalski and his men. This is capture or kill. All clear?” Valencia cut you from your thoughts of dread by announcing the mission was about to start. You’d all get into your helicopter and make your way there…then would come the warfare and violence. You had become null to it by now, the screams and bloodshed were all but nothing to you.

It was liked you had blinked and you were on the field. Time meant nothing to you as you ran through the warzone, the occasional screams of your team members were able to be heard from miles away, sometimes the radio would cackle and you’d catch them conversing with one another, but you were alone in your field…

Always alone.

“C/N? Do you have eyes on him?” Your Captain’s voice called in from the radio, bringing you back to the mission on hand.Your eyes adjusted to look through the scope aimed at the building the team was meant to be invadinging. The lack of your team members indicated they seemed to be receiving a little more resistance than expected.

“Not yet, Captain. I see some of his guards, but not him. I’ll try and get into a better position.” You responded, getting up from your spot on the floor. Your suit was heavier and harder to move in considering it was a camo sniper version, but it was better than being spotted and murdered because an enemy saw you.

You adjusted yourself and lay down on the wet ground. The mud helped cover parts of your gear that didn’t fit in with the terrain, but you still had that odd feeling. That sense of unease that you just couldn’t seem to shake. You had gotten this feeling before on other missions, but it never led to anything.

And it was never this bad.

“C/N. They’re breaching the building now. Mission’s been changed, we’re taking out Andrei at whatever cost. We won’t be able to capture him.” Valencia’s thick English accent came over your radio, startling you a bit. You were a trained sniper, but somehow you were always caught off guard by the one thing you can always expect. You radioed back, confirming you got the message and were proceeding with the instructions.

Your voice drowned out the sound of the footsteps behind you. The cackle of the radio concealed the heavy breathing of the soldier lurking just a few steps away from you. You moved your arms to push yourself up, the rustle of your clothing covering the sound of his body standing over yours, his feet either side of your torso.

“Boo.”

You knew that voice, that unmistakable voice that always seemed to have a smirk behind it. A witty tone that had no business being there. The stench of the cigarette that always seemed to follow the man standing above you. You quickly turned your body around, abandoning the sniper rifle you were holding and just focusing on the fact that he was standing above you. Your eyes snapped up to look at him, your pupils dilating as you processed that it was in fact him standing above you.

Creeper. You had given him that name. When you served as rookies together when you first joined the force, it had become a habit for him to appear out of the blue and scare the hell out of you. He was Creeper to you even after he betrayed your team and you’re fairly certain that's what he is to everyone else as well.

“Alons-” You whispered, but he cut you off, his gun whipping around from his side and now inches away from your eyes. Your breath hitched, knowing you were done for. You looked away from the gun and back up to him, his cold dark brown eye meeting yours. The other eye was a pure white, you cringed every time you thought of the incident which caused him to be blinded. You knew he blamed you…

Maybe that's what drove him to betrayal.

“It’s Creeper, Y/N. I don’t go by that name anymore.” He hissed, his finger on the trigger twitching as he spoke. He was serious, he was going to shoot you and have no mercy about it. This was it…you were going to die here.

“I’m not going to kill you with this gun, Y/N…” He began, lowering the gun a bit. You let go of the breath you were holding from relief, but that was met with a slap to the face that was what he did next. He placed the gun back into his hold and then reached for his back. His arm was up like he was stretching, but his hand quickly grasped the axe he attached to his back and brought it down so he could hold it in both his hands.

“I won’t regret this…at all.” He spat, bringing the axe up to his shoulder like he was about to swing a bat. Your eyes went wide and before you could say anything else, he swung. He swung right down to your neck.

You had heard alot about death. You had many ideas about it. You had heard it would be painful, you had heard it would be painless. You had heard you stayed conscious, you had heard it was over instantly. No matter what divine entity you did or didn’t believe in, it didn’t matter, death wasn’t the same for everyone. If you could still create thoughts after you died, yours would be praying this isn't what it was like for everyone who did. You didn’t want every kind soul to feel the red hot poker being pressed against your skin that was your death.

After the pain, there was silence. If you were able to think, you would be grateful for it. It would be comforting, calming to your soul to finally be at rest after an impossible amount of years without it. For once, your soul rested unbothered, ready to let go of the fraying rope that was your life.

Then you woke up.

The light was blinding, you would assume you were in heaven, but that would be entirely incorrect. Your ears rang with the most awful noise one could hear, an ear splitting ringing that would drive you insane if it was played for more than five minutes. What felt like a jolt of electricity slammed through your body like a hammer down on a nail. The blinding light disappeared as quick as a snap.

The first thing you noticed was the pain. It circled around all your main joints and connections between the body. Your wrists, knees, ankles, elbows, neck…everything ached. Then you felt the feeling of something pulling on all of your skin, like that time you received stitches in the webbing of your thumb, but everywhere else on your body that ached, along with across your face.

You tried to move your neck first, turn it and try to figure out where you were. The only thing you could see from your head being pointed directly up was a sort of dark blue hue that made the place seem depressing and creepy, like the only light was coming from the moon outside. You were able to move it, but it was stiff and harder than it would usually be. That was your first sign that something was off.

Your head looked down to inspect where you were, taking in the fact you were laying down on a cold metal table. You weren’t restrained or anything, but you were getting major creepy vibes. It felt cool on your back, it was clear that you probably hadn’t been laying there all that long, or the heat from your body would’ve warmed it up. Then you looked down at your hands as you tried to move them.

The stitches and ever so slightly discoloured skin was your second sign that something was off.

You sat up, your body rigid and hard like a doll being used for the first time. You weren’t in your normal clothes, just a simple robe that you’d wear in a hospital if surgery was performed on you, and by the looks of it, it had.

You were able to move your arm up and inspect it, cringing at the stitches and blood. Several questions ran through your mind, the main one being ‘How the hell am I alive?’ and the second being ‘What the hell happened to me?’ Everything hurts, especially your neck. Your bones felt like they had been removed and remoulded, it all felt too weird to you. Your skin didn’t feel like your own.

A cold and icy voice broke you out of your mesmerised trance of inspecting your body. It came from seemingly nowhere. It sounded…delighted. Your eyes flickered over to the shadows in the corner, one of them was moving towards you.

It was a man, probably around 6 feet with a stupid grin on his face. His skin was pale, paler than the moonlight shining in through the window above. He slowly walked over to you, hands behind his back like a villain.

“Finally…finally it fucking worked!” He grinned, shaking his head like he had seen something he couldn’t believe. You couldn’t blame him, what was happening was unbelievable. You quickly slid off the table, groaning as you moved for the first time in what would feel like to your body.

“What…the fuck did you do? W-What is this? What happened?!” You called out, your voice cracking as it was used for the first time in ages. You coughed, trying to make it not as itchy. It wasn’t working.

“Y/N…You’re still as animated as ever.” He grinned, gesturing to you and your stitched up body. You wanted to strangle him, clearly he had done something awful to you that you were going to get him to explain, regardless of whatever threats you had to make.

“Answer me right now you…you madman.” You hissed, walking towards him. Every step hurt, like it wasn’t meant to be taken. He smiled, taking a breath before speaking again.

“Y/N…Let me explain. Do you remember the night you went on the mission to kill my good friend Andrei Kowalski…do you remember being killed by your old friend Creeper? You should…you should remember being decapitated. Well…I was given your body…or what was left of it after Creeper chopped it up into a million pieces. Under strict orders from Andrei…to bring you back. So…I stitched you back up. Like you were my very own Frankenstien’s monster. The plan was to bring you back to life the same way Frankenstien had…and it worked.” The man smiled, seemingly okay with telling you his entire plan. You couldn’t decide whether he was stupid or just overly confident in himself that you wouldn’t escape and go find your team. “What now?” You asked, feeling the need to get into his head. After all, this man had literally just reanimated your dead body. He brought back a dead man and just stood there like an evil little Einstein.

“Now…I will bring you to him. So he can kill you over and over again…and you’ll come back every time.” He grinned and before you could react, he grabbed your hand and attempted to pull you closer to him in order to trap you. What he obviously didn’t anticipate was that your years of military training and work would stay with you and chime in when you needed it most.

You grabbed his arm, pulling him towards you and then placing your leg behind his so you could throw his balance off and keep him on the ground. You slammed him down and placed your foot on his chest, grabbing a metal rod just a few inches away from you and raising it high, just how Creeper had done.

“Y/N. Y/N WA-” He called out, extending a hand out to try and reason with you, but you brought it down on his head, instantly crushing his skull. You slammed it down over and over, making sure that if anyone even tried to bring this monster back from the dead, it would be impossible. You didn’t stop until you could see the brain sticking to the bat, that’s when you knew it was done.

You dropped the metal rod and stood there for a moment, huffing and puffing as you figured out what you had just done. You looked up from his body and to your horrible convenience, there was a mirror just in front of you. You stood in front of it, observing what you looked like.

There were clear and major differences that you could see so far. The first one being your eyes, they didn’t look the same as they had done before. One of them, the one on the left was a light yellow and the right one was a silver grey. It was creepy and inhuman, there was no pupil or iris either…just pure colour. You would question how you could still see, but you were too distracted by everything else and too high off of fear to question anything.

Your skin was neatly stitched together with a white thread, standing out against your skin tone. Most of the stitching wasn’t visible, but when it was it wasn’t too obvious, sort of the stitching you’d see on your friend’s hand when they’d get a deep cut or something. Just that, pulling your skin together. There was blood along most of the lines, the dried stuff was yours, the fresh belonged to Mr Crazy that you had never gotten the name of.

“Y/N?” A voice called out. Your eyes snapped over to the door in the corner or the room, the door was open. Standing in it, Valencia and the rest of your team. Valencia herself looked horrified as you stood over his dead body, his blood now mixing in with yours. The darkness in the lab made it look like you were a shadow, a ghost…a monster.

“Val-” You began, but were cut off by her running up to you and giving you a hug. You were caught off guard, she had never shown any affection to you, let alone physical. This was unlike her in so many ways.

“You idiot. We thought you died. We tracked your radio here but-” She spoke, cutting herself off as she made eye contact with you, or tried to. Your silver and yellow eyes had confused her, then she saw all the stitches. The one across your face concerned her the most.

“Y/N…what the hell happened to you?” She whispered, stepping back and raising her gun slightly. As the rest of the team looked over to you, they did the same. Placing their weapons in a hand that they’d be able to use in case you attacked them. You couldn’t explain yourself, you really couldn’t. Hell, even if you didn’t fully know what had happened to you, there was no way you could explain yourself.

“Captain…don’t…I-I’m not a threat.” You whispered, stepping forward and raising your hand. To your surprise, she took a further step back, some of the men even raised their shields. She clutched her gun, raising it further to her chest. That's when you realised, you were not a human to these people you called your friends…

You were a monster.

______________________

“Why’d you join the 141?”

“Huh?”

“Why’d you join us? You were a part of The Seekers, no? They’re a pretty elite team. Why’d you drop them for us?” Soap asked, shuffling a bit closer to you as you sat on the bench. It had been little over five months since you had joined the team and the connection between you and Soap had formed instantly. Unsurprisingly, the team members didn’t mind the fact your entire body was covered up. They had Ghost on the team, they weren’t going to judge you.

“Oh I…a mission went wrong. I didn’t feel like I could stay with them and neither did they.” You replied after a moment of thinking. For a minute, you had wanted to refrain from telling Soap the actual reason for it. Technically, it was the truth so that was going to lend a hand to your moral argument.

“Was it the same mission that…caused you to cover up?” He asked again. You thought about hitting him with the ‘that's enough’ that you had used before when he asked to see your face a while back, but you were close now. You felt he had a right to know now.

You gave a small nod, the glasses you wore over your balaclava covering your expression. You were glad he was respectful with his questions, never pushing you to answer anything you didn’t and never stepping over the line you had drawn. You didn’t want to get attached to this team as quickly as you had, but Mr MacTavish had broken down your walls quicker than you could put them up.

“C/N, Soap. We’re going to head out now, Gaz just got back with the all clear. Good to see you’re both in gear.” Ghost interrupted you two as he walked into the gear room. You were reminded that you were in fact, in the military and not some hangout session with Soap. You nodded, getting up and holding out your hand to pull the slightly shorter man up.

“Oooh, thank you M’lord.” He smiled as he took your hand, pulling himself up. You would roll your eyes if you could, so you just let out a small scoff. He chuckled as he walked with you to the deployment area, knowing they were in for a hell of a journey.

_____

“Y/N? You okay?” Soap’s voice cackled in over the radio as you made your way through the little abandoned city. The rest of the team were over in another section, leaving Soap and Gaz back at a small protected setup area. You were just so lucky to have Soap watching over you from the cameras that had been placed in all the buildings before it was abandoned. How your team had access to them, you had no clue. All you knew was that your man was here and you were to take him down.

“All good over here, Soap. Tell me if you see one of those fuckers hiding behind a corner.” You spoke back, pressing down on the radio with your gloved hand to respond to the man you were developing a small attraction to, whether you knew it or not.

“There’s a guy around the corner, knife him.” Soap informed you, shuffling from where he was laying in the safe room. You nodded, taking his advice and running round the corner, throwing and pinning the man to the wall, knifing the guy in the throat. You could practically hear the smirk in his tone when he came back.

“Nice kill. You should do that to me sometime.” He smirked, his Scottish accent only adding to his sassiness. You groaned at his painful attempt at flirting, firing back at him.

“You want me to kill you? Don’t worry, I'm already planning it.” You smiled, making your way through the destruction that was the ruined town of Norest.

“Do you have plans to kill every one of us?”

“Nope, just you.”

“I’m flattered. How’d ye do it?”

“If I tell you, I’d have to change my plan.”

“Fair play.” Soap smiled, checking the cameras to watch you move. He was so intrigued by you. He had never seen your face, never bothered to check your file. He respected you too much…along with the fact Gaz had caught him snooping around in the file area. But the respect came first.

Sometimes, he’d gaze at you and just wonder what it would be like to see what was under your gear. He wanted to see you, the real you. His sketchbooks were filled with a thousand pictures of what he imagined you looked like, each picture different from the last. Did you have bright blue eyes, ivory skin and wavy ginger hair, or did you have beautiful dark brown eyes, mahogany skin and medium length locs? Perhaps you had acne, perhaps you had a scar going across your left eyebrow. He didn’t have a clue what you looked like, but he knew you were handsome.

“MacTavish? Are you still with me?” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, not even realising he was kicking his feet like a schoolgirl (Gaz was utterly bewildered, but was unable to comment because he was actually doing his job and guiding his other teammates across the town in search of the man they had to find.) “Aye, I’m ‘ere.” “Good, thought I’d lost you. I need you to check around me. Pretty sure I heard our guy but I wanna make sure.” You told him, making sure to keep quiet. Your stitches were getting a bit itchy, but you could scratch them later when you were by yourself. It wouldn’t look natural for Soap to just see you scratch the middle of your face in a specific pattern and for him to not question it.

“Right, gimme a sec.”

There was a silence, what felt like an eternity of waiting before you got a response from the scott. It was like he was purposefully keeping you on your toes, wanting to see you squirm and hide for no apparent reason other than he was a chaotic man.

“Yeah, he’s there. I’ve informed Gaz and he’ll direct Ghost and Price over to you. He’s a few metres away, you could sneak up on him and take him down from behind.” Soap spoke, clearly moving as he did. He would be looking over at Gaz and getting his readings on Price and Ghost as he explained the situation to you.

You gave a nod, knowing he could see you. Peering round the corner, Soap wasn’t lying. The dark slicked back hair, tall physique and tanned skin let you know this was your guy. You slipped your hand into your

You ran up to the taller man, placing your gun to the back of his neck and kicking his knee so that he’d fall and you’d be able to kill him nice and swift with no hassle or fuss whatsoever. Unfortunately, the man had different plans.

He quickly turned around, grabbing your gun and throwing it to the side. You were unable to press down on the back of his knees, because he had turned around and was now facing you. You reached for your knife, but were stopped when you felt his foot on your chest. It took a second to register what was happening, but by the time it did you were shoved into an already cracked wall.

You took a moment, knowing you didn’t have one. You had most likely gotten a concussion from the hit, but you couldn’t focus on that now. Just as you were about to grab your gun which had been thrown aside, the man stopped you. He grabbed onto your mask, his nails digging in past the fabric and into the stitched skin below, and shoved your head down to the floor once more.

The screams of Soap came in through your radio, assorted word vomic that you couldn’t actually make out with everything spinning and your ears ringing. You’d hope he’d come to you and save you, but as soon as your mind stopped spinning, you realised you didn’t actually want him to save you. There was blood dripping and staining your mask. Your blood. It was an unnatural amount for something that shouldn’t have even drawn more than a drop of the red liquid, which could only mean one thing.

Your stitches ripped.

It seemed that your enemy had also been caught off by the amount of blood, giving you just a few seconds to grab the gun, aim it at his face and completely miss, hitting his shoulder instead. He grabbed it in pain and immediately resorted to grabbing out his own knife and stabbing it right into your stomach, ripping it through the skin and dragging a line down it. You cried in pain as your flesh was exposed and your stitches ripped, causing even further damage.

Why wasn’t he killing you? Why not put you out of your misery and shove that knife right into your face. Why make you suffer? There were so many questions and not enough time to answer them. Well, there was probably enough time, but that would require knowing what the actual fuck was going on.

“Y/N!” You breathed a sigh of relief as you heard the sound of your Captain running towards you, Ghost right behind. The unmistakable noise of a gunshot colliding with someone’s head put a smile on your face, watching as the man fell to the floor.

“Y/N, You alright?” Price asked, kneeling down beside you as you pushed yourself up against the wall. Your hand was on your chest, covering up any exposed skin or blood. You nodded, trying to pass it off as if you were just shaken up. You couldn’t let them see…you.

“Y/N! You idiot!” The familiar Scottish accent put a smile on your face, watching the Scottsman run towards you was a relieving sight at first…but then you remembered what happened.

“Y/N, you alright?”

“Don’t look.” “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“You won’t like what you see, just step away. All four of you.” “I have a right to know. Are you injured?”

“No-No just go.” “Y/N, Let me see-”

You would’ve liked to protest more, but you were losing too much blood to fight him. Soap had pulled your hands back, moving your shirt so he could see the heavy amount of blood loss. He looked up at your glasses, noticing the blood on your mask. He knew what he had to do, even if he didn’t like it.

When he removed your mask, your glasses came down with it. Gravity had decided to fuck you over more than you had already been fucked. There was a silence as the whole team looked over at you, the ripped stitching across your face…and your eyes. They were, if anything, the biggest indicator that something was different with you.

“S-Soap…” You began, but you couldn’t figure out how to finish what you were saying. You just wanted him to say something, say anything. Instead, he was just staring. You had no idea what he was thinking about, but you just knew he was horrified with you, along with the rest of the 141.

“Oh…oh Y/N…What…what the hell happened to you?” He whispered and to your surprise, he placed a hand on your bloodied cheek. He looked concerned…but he wasn’t scared of you like you’d expected. He got closer instead of backing away, that’s what made him different from your old team.

“Soap…I’m sorry for not telling you…or anyone else about…” You trailed off, using an arm to gesture to yourself. You had no idea what he was thinking about, you could only hope it was something good about you. He was clearly about to say something when Price butted in first.

“You two, we should go. We can all have a…chat after Y/N isn’t bleeding out infront of us.” Price’s rough British accent made him seem more serious in all situations he’s in. This one especially. Soap gave a nod and turned back to you, his eyes not full of fear or hatred…just sympathy.

_______ “Do you think I’m a freak, though?” You asked as Soap walked around your hospital bed. It had been a few days ever since the incident had happened. Soap kept a close eye on you and reported back on your condition to the rest of the team. When you had woken up, the questions were slow and boring…but now you were finally opening your walls and so was he.

“No…I don’t think you are. I mean-I’ve got no idea what exactly you are, but you’re not a freak. Just…different.” He responded, careful to not say anything that might upset you. You took note of this, feeling a bit hurt that he was censoring himself, but knowing why he was doing it helped a bit.

“You don’t have to filter yourself, John. Tell me…any questions that you have.” You practically begged him. The whole reason you covered yourself up was not to be seen as different, but now that it was useless, it was useless for Soap to cover his questions up. It took a while for him to gather up the courage to ask you something, but he did.

“What…what happened to you? I’m assuming you weren’t born like this.” He questioned, trying to add a little humour to the end of the message but failing miserably. You took a breath and told him everything. The mission, what death felt like, killing the man who brought you back to life, not belonging to your team anymore because of what had happened. By the end, you were sure Soap was tearing up. He was an emotional man, you couldn’t blame him.

“I…I’m gonna be honest, Y/N…that’s really fucking depressing.” He expressed, placing a hand on his mouth. You stared at him for a moment, his eyes staring back into yours. He was fascinated by you, what you looked like. He was sure he had a sketch in his book that looked exactly like you…minus the stitching and the eyes.

“The rest of the team…what do they think?” You asked, closing your eyes and looking up. You needed to know the reactions of everyone in the team, you couldn’t live with yourself not knowing their actual opinions on who and what you were.

“Ghost and Gaz are…surprisingly alright with it. Price was a bit shocked, he was only shown a photo of you before…all that happened. But mainly..they don’t mind. When you come back to active duty…I don’t think you’d need to cover up as much anymore. You still can, if you want. Not gonna force you.” Soap told you, sitting down next to your bed. You were grateful for him in times like these, where he reminded you that you were no longer alone. He was always there for you…you loved him for that.

You loved that he was kind to you.

You loved that Soap was so understanding and patient.

You loved…

You loved Soap.

“I will say though,” his words cut you out of your sudden very gay realisation, turning to face him as he sat next to your bed. “You are way more attractive than anything I could even imagine sketching up.” (Happy Halloween!)

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soap x male reader #john soap mactavish x male reader #writers on tumblr #Soap mactavish x male reader #soap x you #fanfiction #goretober #cw: gore #gore lover #angst #fluff #I am so gay for this man

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sundrop-writes · 8 months ago

Text

Announcing my new fic: Heaven's Gate

Heaven's Gate is a long oneshot starring Daryl Dixon and a gender neutral reader character, featuring angst, hurt and comfort, and some fluff.

NOW POSTED!!!!!

In this fic, you and Daryl get separated when the prison is attacked by the Governor, and though you both believe the other person is dead, you two end up finding each other at the most unexpected time. This fic is about hope, the human connection, and how love is about more than romance - it's about how people take pieces of each other and grow with them, never truly able to forget each other.

This fic is going to be a longer oneshot that is currently about 15k long - and will likely be longer by the time it has gone through editing. It is 80% of the way done in my drafts (not including editing), and I hope to have it posted by April 30th - which is a tentative date that may change. If you want to know for certain when the fic is posted, you can follow me here and turn on notifcations or you can subscribe to me on AO3 to get an email notification when the fic is posted. I am really excited to share this fic with all of you 💖.

Below is a short preview of the fic - so if you wanna get a better sense for the upcoming fic you can read it. If you enjoy this preview and you're excited for what the fic holds, please let me know!

Also an important note: with my gender neutral reader fics, I don't use any references to gender whatsoever (this is not a 'GN afab' fic). And in this fic in particular, I didn't use any pronouns (other than you/yours) or gendered terms for the reader - and at points where the terms they/them were used, I made it purposefully vague so that the dialogue could be referring to the whole group as 'they' or just the reader. I want my gender neutral fics to be enjoyed by everyone - cis women, cis men, gender non conforming people, trans people - every kind of fanfiction reader.

I am making this post for two major reasons - one, I want to generate as much excitement for oneshots as there is for series. Especially for oneshots that are longer than 10k because those take a lot of time and effort. If a series is like a TV show, then long oneshots are like a feature film. And two - nobody seems to read my pinned post where I announce new upcoming fics anyway, so I might as well make posts like these so that people can know what to expect from me. And hopefully you guys will get excited about my upcoming fics this way. And when I tag these posts with the relevant tags, people interested in those topics can follow me to anticipate the fic if they want to read it.

Heaven's Gate (Daryl Dixon x GN!Reader) - Preview

Preview Word Count: 1,800

Warnings: no pronouns used for the reader other than you/yours; there are major plot spoilers for The Walking Dead if you are watching the show for the first time - spoilers for Season 2 all the way up through Season 5; typical warnings for TWD - mentions of death, emotional despair; all of these themes and emotions are expanded upon in the full fic.

...

“Daryl!”

You called out his name as you jogged up toward the stables, and he stopped in his tracks, waiting for you to catch up with him.

“Daryl, hey.” You greeted him with a small smile. “Rick told me you’d be up here.”

He grunted in reply. “Yeah. ‘m gonna take a horse out. Make better ground t’ look for the girl.”

Your stomach clenched at him mentioning her.

The group was supposed to be headed out towards Fort Bennet - supposed to be finding refuge at the hopefully safe military base. Instead, you were all setting up camp at the very reluctant Hershel Greene’s farm, not straying too far from where you had lost one of your own in the hopes of finding her.

But that was why you had come to talk to Daryl in the first place.

Sophia had become like a sister to you in the few short months that you had known her, and though it was unlikely, you were hopeful that she was alive - that she would be found. And you did believe that Daryl would be the one to find her.

“How’s the trail?” You asked. “Do you think you know which way she headed? You - you can be honest with me.”

You hesitated on the last part. But you did want his honesty more than anything. And you knew that he was never one to sugar-coat things. Even if you hadn’t told him that, he would have given you the truth anyway.

“Trail’s a little muddy.” He said, doling out that honesty. “‘m gon follow the river. It’s her biggest landmark out there, so she’ll probably be somewhere around it.”

You smiled at him. And then, you remembered -

“I brought you something.” You noted, reaching for the back pocket of your jeans.

Daryl watched with quiet curiosity as you pulled out a piece of paper - when you showed it to him, he quickly realized that it was a half-used set of stickers.

“These are some of the stickers that I got for Sophia,” You explained. “My mom always used to tell me that cardinals are good luck.”

You peeled off a sticker of a bright red bird - as much of a nature man as he was, Daryl was never one for bird watching. He didn’t care about identifying certain species of birds unless he could shoot and eat them. But he quickly reasoned that this must be the cardinal that you spoke of.

“Give me your bow.” You said, shoving the rest of the sticker sheet into your back pocket again and holding out your hand expectantly.

“I don’t need no luck.” He replied, voice full of snark.

“Just give it.” You replied - equally snarky, equally stubborn.

Daryl sighed and tugged his bow’s strap over his head, presenting it to you. You placed the sticker on the bow’s handle, in one of the places where it wasn’t as worn down from him holding it.

“There,” You said, giving it back to him with a smile. “Now you’re all set.”

It was more for you than it was for him - a token of good faith and protection. The idea that you could do something to bring Sophia home when you felt so powerless.

Daryl let out a harsh sound - somewhere between a laugh and a sarcastic snort as he walked away. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” You replied brightly, edging on sarcastic once again.

…

When the prison was attacked, Daryl got out with Beth.

He almost couldn’t stand her bright eyes, big eyes staring at him, waiting for answers - her chirpy little voice, prodding at him, demanding that they ‘follow the trail’ and go look for everyone else. Telling him that he was a tracker, that he could find them. As if it was his damn responsibility just because he had the skills to get it done.

It was all too reminiscent of you, telling him that he could find Sophia. That it wasn’t an ‘if’ - it was a ‘when’.

Perhaps that was what got him off his ass and doing what he did best - reading the dirt.

“What’re you doin’?” He asked, staring at the girl curiously as she went to one of the bushes and rushed to pick berries from branches. Had she not gotten enough to eat that morning?

“They’ll be hungry when we find them.” Beth told him confidently.

Of course. That undefeatable streak of optimism.

Daryl knew that blueberries weren’t your favorite - but he should have something to give you. He would be too busy tracking the footprints to properly hunt for squirrels or rabbits and clean them for you. So, he found himself pulling a large bandana from his back pocket and offering it to Beth - something to hold the berries in to keep them safe as an offering for you.

“Here.” He grunted at her.

Beth smiled at him.

It was one of the last smiles she gave him for a long time.

When they came across those bodies splayed out beside the tracks - any sense of hope was crushed inside of him. The picture you had gifted him was heavy inside his breast pocket, and he hated that tears threatened his eyes - even if he knew that none of those bodies belonged to you. There was no trace of you there.

The days started to blur into each other, and Daryl couldn’t get you off his mind.

One hazy evening, as they both stared into the fire with dead looks on their faces, he took the drawing out of his pocket and unfolded it.

For good luck.

He didn’t believe in luck - because it didn’t exist. The world was fucked. Nobody was lucky. You and your good luck were dead.

He tossed the drawing into the fire, and it was only a moment, when the corner of it had barely caught, when Beth snatched it out. She stomped on it with her boot, successfully saving it.

“Don’t do that.” She hissed at him.

Daryl snatched it from her, and crumbled it up, tossing it aside. He let out a grunt, but refused to look at her.

“That was from Y/N, wasn’t it?” She posed.

He could feel her imposing stare as she waited for an answer.

He didn’t give her one.

“You can’t burn them just because you think they’re dead.” Beth sighed. “You can’t burn up memories. We’re gonna find them. Y/N, and Maggie, and Michonne, and - and everyone.”

Daryl scoffed. “Yeah. Cause that’s gon’ happen.”

Beth rolled her eyes, but didn’t speak any further on the subject.

After she had fallen asleep - when the fire was dull, Daryl picked up the crumbled ball and smoothed it out again. The charred corner hadn’t even touched your bird. He felt like a fool doing it, just as much of a fool as he accused you of being, but he folded it neatly - well, as neatly as he could - and then put it back into his breast pocket again.

But that was the thing - Daryl wished that he could. He wished he could burn up those memories.

That you would stop haunting him. Then he wouldn’t have to feel like this anymore.

…

“Can I see it again?” Beth asked, suddenly changing the subject.

Again, this was a confusing little whip for Daryl - something that clearly only made sense to Beth in her own drunken mind.

“See what?” Daryl replied.

“The picture.” Beth answered. “The one you tried to burn.”

Daryl felt a pinch of guilt surge over him at the thought. Oddly enough, this was the one time he would be willing to admit that Beth was right - you can’t burn up memories.

“It was Y/N, wasn’t it? That drew it.” Beth added on, her words slurring slightly - she lifted the mason jar of booze to her lips again and Daryl was tempted to snatch it away from her.

Instead, he found his hand drifting to his breast pocket and reaching to take the picture out. He presented it to Beth, who put down her drink to unfold it - she stared at the picture fondly under the brightness of the moonlight, tracing a finger over the slightly faded details.

“You know… my daddy used to tell me that a cardinal is like an angel.” Beth said, recognizing the bird from her father’s teachings on the farm. “Someone - someone you loved who passed away, watching over you from heaven.”

“Y/N said they was good luck.” Daryl replied.

Beth shrugged. “Same thing.”

It was this thought that kept Daryl going for a long time. The idea that even if you were dead, you were watching over him somehow. He sure as hell didn’t believe that someone like Merle would be an angel - but you, you definitely were. And even if it was a waste of your eternal life, you would be determined to watch over Daryl - to make sure that he was safe, well-guided.

You would make sure that he was lucky.

That thought alone carried him through the long journey to D.C.

It was something that lingered in his mind as the group hunkered down in a random barn - as he spotted something carved into one of the wooden beams holding the place up. Even though it wasn’t colored, he could have sworn that the long tail and pointed head of the silhouette indicated that the carving was meant to be cardinal. Of course.

Who knows who had stayed in the barn before them - if it had been left there by a weary traveler, or even put there by someone who had used the barn before the turn. But Daryl could have sworn that you - your ghost, your angelic hand - had led him to this very spot.

It was a thought that gave him strength as he held the doors up - helped to keep them from caving in while the storm raged outside.

Your luck, and your damn bird - you would keep him safe.

When they reached Alexandria, and they were forced to give up their weapons - Daryl spotted your bird perched on the fence. Bright red, with its pointy head cocked sideways at him. All too knowing, staring at him like it wanted to say something. Just like it had been when he had fallen off the cliff out in the woods when he had been looking for Sophia.

Oddly enough, it made him feel safe giving up his crossbow - perching it on top of the fully loaded cart of weapons before the awkward, bespeckled woman wheeled it away.

Rick was still weary of this new place after Terminus, and Daryl understood. He followed Rick’s lead. Especially because he couldn’t tell Rick that he had a good feeling about this place because he saw a damn bird.

But even if it was just in spirit, he felt you there. He knew that it was the home you had chosen for them.

#sundrop speaks #sundrop writes #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x gn reader #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd x reader #twd x you #twd x y/n

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