#floral embroidered pillow

[miarren-chill-klaine]

Traditional Living Room in Seattle

Inspiration for a large, traditional open-concept living room remodel with a medium-tone wood floor, green walls, a regular fireplace, a wood fireplace surround, and a wall-mounted television

[chubby-bun-bun]

untitled (part 2)

You’ve made a friend out of your new crow roommate(?).

part 1, part 2 (current), part 3, part 4, part 5

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, fluff, hurt/comfort, this part is lowkey crack, mephisto being a champ

An ivory satin throw pillow, embroidered with intricate rose gold floral patterns. A vintage set of wind chimes adorned with hanging crystal pendants. A fluffy cat plush toy from the old arcade down the block.

You stand proudly in front of your feathery companion, who’s perched atop the embroidered pillow. You gesture animatedly at the decorations you put together for its temporary lodging.

“Well, what do you think?” you ask, a barely concealed grin tugging at your lips as you pour a generous heap of peanuts into the lid of one of your old tumblers. Setting the makeshift bowl of treats beside your new crow acquaintance, you make sure it’s within easy reach.

The injured crow looks at the mini mountain of peanuts and lets out a squawk but doesn’t make any move to eat them. You frown at its lackluster reaction, glancing at the effort you poured into its setup on your bedroom’s windowsill. With an unconscious pout, you pluck a peanut from the pile, break it into smaller pieces, and offer it directly to the bird. It regards your hand for a moment before deliberately shifting its body away. Then, its beady eyes lift to meet yours.

“Your injury must’ve scared away your appetite, huh?” you murmur, gently patting the crow’s head. It coos softly, leaning into your touch.

“Tell you what,” you say. “Since it’s the weekend tomorrow, I’ll try looking for some soft food for you. Maybe it’ll be easier on your tummy.”

The crow merely responds with a squawk.

Hours later, you’re tucked into bed, fast asleep. A peaceful stillness settles over the room as moonlight streams through the window, scattering rainbow hues across the walls as it catches on the crystal pendants of the wind chimes.

You remain unaware as the injured crow on your windowsill tilts its head, carefully assessing your sleeping form. Satisfied that you’re out cold, it hops to the edge of the window and starts pecking at the lock.

Suddenly, two shadows appear outside the window, their presence drawing a startled squawk from the crow.

“Mephisto, what are you doing?” one of the figures whisper-yells. “Boss has been waiting for your report for hours!”

“If you slack off any longer, you’ll end up in this year’s holiday spread,” the other shadow adds.

The crow—Mephisto—clicks its beak against the glass, squawking indignantly at the pair.

One of the twins snickers before pulling out a Swiss army knife and begins to pick the lock. His grin, hidden behind a leather crow mask, quickly fades when the lock refuses to budge.

“Hurry up, Luke!”

“I am hurrying!” Luke snaps, working the lock again. Still nothing. “Ugh, you try, Kieran.”

Kieran sighs, rolling his eyes—an expression Luke can somehow feel even through the identical crow mask—and snatches the tool from his twin. He fiddles with the lock for a few minutes before groaning in frustration.

“The hell,” he mutters. “This is, like, N109 zone-level stuff. What kind of window lock is this?”

Mephisto squawks, clearly impatient.

“Look, buddy,” Luke says, throwing his hands up. “You’ll just have to hold out until we figure this out. This is practically prison-grade!”

“We’ll report back to boss,” Kieran adds, his tone placating. “Hang tight, alright?”

Mephisto’s stressed cawing grows louder, and it’s enough to stir you from sleep. You groggily sit up, rubbing your eyes with a yawn, and reach for your glasses on the nightstand. Blinking against the dim light, your bleary gaze focuses on the windowsill.

Your crow companion sits where you left it, still nestled atop its embroidered pillow. You stare at it for a beat. It stares back. You yawn again and flop back down onto the bed.

“G’night,” you mumble, oblivious to the flash of two shadows outside your window amidst the falling snow.

—

The weekend passes without much fuss. You stay inside the house as always, doing your usual chores. Normally, you’d head out for your weekly grocery run, but your recent financial choices have forced you to make do with whatever’s left in your fridge—much to the dismay of the two shadows lurking outside, waiting for you to leave so they can retrieve their co-worker.

You do, however, spend a lot of time fussing over your new roommate. While you’re undeniably fond of animals, you’ve never actually had one as a pet. Your family never got around to adopting one, for no particular reason. So, as an outlet for your long-repressed cuteness aggression, you pour all your love into whatever animal crosses your path.

True to its crow nature, your new feathered friend has a soft spot for shiny things. You could barely contain your grin as it inspected your small hoard of treasures gifted by your other crow visitors. On a quaint, repurposed coffee table, you’ve carefully arranged an assortment of polished stones, colorful glass shards, scavenged bits of jewelry, and loose coins. Off to the side are the eccentric bits of random rusty nails, bottle caps, and paperclips that you find just as charming. Your curious crow seems particularly intrigued by the red-colored items in your collection, tilting its head and studying them with keen interest.

It seems comfortable around humans, too. It’s taken a liking to perching on your shoulder as you go about your chores. Not wanting to strain its injured wing, you crafted a makeshift shoulder sling, snug enough to keep its wing steady. (You couldn’t resist decorating it with a few plastic gem stickers from your scrapbooking supplies. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to mind.)

But there’s one thing that has you deeply worried—it won’t eat. Its stubborn refusal to touch food has left you stressed out all weekend. Which is why, on this Sunday night, you’re sitting cross-legged on your bedroom’s carpeted floor with the shattered remains of your ceramic piggy bank in front of you, counting the pitiful savings you’ve scraped together for emergencies. You’ve decided to take the poor creature to the vet tomorrow. Its lack of appetite and still-limp wing have been gnawing at your conscience.

“Maybe this is enough for the consultation fee and some meds?” you murmur, flipping through the thin wad of bills in your hands.

So focused on your counting, you barely notice the pacing crow in front of you. It seems just as distressed at the idea of you draining your savings for its upcoming vet visit, if its insistent cawing is anything to go by.

“Don’t worry,” you reassure it, gently patting its soft head. “I can take the morning off tomorrow so I can have your wing looked at as soon as possible. It’ll be some hours of income lost, but it’s okay!”

It caws louder, practically begging you to reconsider.

Morning arrives, and you’re up and ready to head to the vet. Just as you move toward the bird—currently pacing frantically along your windowsill—to place it in your makeshift carrier, the sharp ringtone of your phone cuts through the room.

Frowning at the unregistered number flashing on the screen, you hesitate before accepting the call and bringing the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Good morning! Am I speaking with the assistant to the Akso IT department’s manager?”

The voice sounds oddly youthful despite the professional introduction. “…Yes?”

“The manager has requested your urgent assistance in 30 minutes. Thank you for your prompt action.” Without waiting for a response, the call ends abruptly.

You lower your phone, staring at the screen in disbelief.

For a moment, you consider ignoring the call and sticking to your plans for the day. But then you remember how your manager has a way of making your life miserable when things don’t go his way—and the fact that you’re flat-out broke.

With a resigned sigh, you shove the phone back into the pocket of your jeans and turn to your crow companion, now still and watching you intently.

“Something from work came up,” you mumble, gaze downcast. “I’m sorry. I’ll do my best to get back this afternoon. If I don’t make it, I promise I’ll take you to the vet tomorrow, okay?” You glance at its injured wing, anxiety twisting in your chest at the thought of leaving it untreated any longer.

After quickly changing into something more office-appropriate, you lean down to place a gentle kiss on the bird’s head and scratch its chin. You miss the way its tail fluffs up and the soft coo it lets out as you straighten up. You then rush out of your bedroom and through the front door, hurrying to catch the bus at the end of the street.

A heavy silence settles over the now-empty house. Moments later, the faint creak of the front door opening again pierces the quiet. Then, the bedroom door swings open, revealing Luke and Kieran, clad in their signature crow masks and hoodies adorned with devil horns.

“Let’s go!” Luke shouts, lunging toward the bird.

Mephisto caws indignantly, pecking at his hand in protest—still annoyed, it seems, at their earlier failed attempt to snatch him.

The twins’ laughter echoes through the house as they make their exit, Mephisto’s shrill caws following.

—

You’ve been home for less than five minutes, and already you’re tearing the house apart, frantically searching for your midnight-feathered companion.

“Little crow, are you here?” Your voice trembles as you call out, your eyes darting from room to room with growing urgency.

It’s been a while since you’ve felt this way. Not the exact same feeling, but somewhat eerily similar.

Grief.

You’d been so sure the bird would be waiting for you when you got home, just like it had every day for the past few days. But the moment you found its pillow—and your entire room—empty of its presence, panic had clawed its way into your chest.

Deep down, you know it must’ve escaped. Your window was slightly ajar when you began your frantic search, even though you swear you wedged your trusty old toothpick into the lock last night. But there the toothpick was, resting neatly on the embroidered pillow.

At the end of the day, it’s just a wild animal. It doesn’t owe you anything.

You sink onto the edge of your bed, chest heaving from the effort of running around the house. Your eyes fall on the empty pillow sitting on the windowsill, and a hollow ache settles in your chest.

Somehow, you had hoped it wouldn’t leave you, too.

A sharp glint catches your attention from the corner of your eye. Turning toward it, you’re startled to see the mess beneath your makeshift treasure display. The gifts your other crow friends had brought you are scattered haphazardly across the floor. The display is tucked into the small alcove in the corner of your room, so it’s no wonder you hadn’t noticed the mess until now.

But then your eyes land on the new centerpiece of the table.

A mound of red gems, gold coins, and jewelry now occupies the space, gleaming in the light.

Atop the pile rests a single, glossy black feather.

note: 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛✨✨✨

[princessbrunette]

HOLD ME, KISS ME ♡

♪ the little dippers — forever ♪

WANTED: JOHN BOOKER ROUTLEDGE - SUSPECTED MURDER - $1000 REWARD - DANGEROUS! IF SPOTTED DO NOT APPROACH!

pairing: outlaw!johnb + sheltered!reader ⋆₊⊹♡

synopsis: your wishes come true when a beautiful boy is found sleeping peacefully in your barn. much to his surprise, you don’t care about who he is or what he has or hasn’t done — you just want to ensure he stays forever.

cw: mentions of prayer, religion and god (for plot purpose) reader has two parents, western!au, innocence kink, slight manipulation, mentions of crime, breeding kink, smut ♡

“Please deliver me a man, save me from this loneliness. Make him kind, and strong, and handsome. I vow to make him the happiest man alive.”

Your forehead rests against your clasped hands where you kneel beside your bed, speaking out loud as there was no one else to speak to. Your parents had gone on a trip for two weeks, leaving you in charge of the farmhouse all by your lonesome.

Isolated didn’t feel like the correct term. You were grateful, happy to live off the fat of your father’s land in the middle of nowhere, but sometimes you wished you had someone to share it with. Someone your own age who was there to see you. You had become the perfect host, thrilled when your parents would bring home guests once in a blue moon. You’d tie ribbons in your hair and pick the perfect dress and set the table like your mother taught you. You often imagined setting the table for a family of your own.

Your own farm house. The thought sent you off to sleep each night, walking through the home in your mind as if it were really real, feeling the creaking of the painted wooden porch beneath your feet as you enter, the distant cooing of your baby being comforted by your husband in the next room. White shabby-chic panels across the walls with oak furniture and knitted throw pillows and lots and lots of warm light. The kitchen table would have the perfect lace floral embroidered table cloth draped across it which you’d serve the heartiest dinners on each night. The babies room would be painted mint green, no— maybe pastel yellow, with handmade toys and a music box that played your song and oh, the master bedroom… where you and your husband rest your head would be flooded with natural light. A haven. All yours.

The details to the decoration often changed, new inspiration plucked from the papers that father would bring home and new favourite colours integrating themselves into your home plans but one thing remained the same each time. Your husband. He never had a face, but it wasn’t important. He was warm, strong without having to prove just how macho he was, kind— you could feel his love from the next room on. That was all you really wanted. You could forget the house, forget the land, live in a barn for all you care — you just wanted to experience a love like the ones in the fairytale books stacked high in your room.

It had been a week already of this routine you’d grown used to. You wake up, feed yourself and then the chickens, come inside, clean yourself and then the house, paint, crotchet or read — however the mood takes you, eat lunch, tend to the crops, brush the horses, maybe milk a cow, come inside and cook dinner, bathe, think about your dream husband and grind your wet messy cunt into a pillow, feel guilty, beg for forgiveness and then sleep. It was an easy life, and you couldn’t complain— but you couldn’t help feel the world had more to offer.

Your mother often told you that gifts from above come when you least expect it, you just had to keep your eyes open. You always wondered how one might find these gifts with no idea where to look.

Your gift arrived bright and early the next morning.

Well, not technically as early as it should have been, infact you probably nearly missed it. The roosters calls at 6AM each morning, but on that very day you had decided to sleep in. A few hours wouldn’t kill them, you think as you pull a plush white pillow to lay over your ear— it’s not like the chickens would starve.

At 11:45AM, you stumble bare foot onto the grass outside, setting out on your walk to the barn a little way up the land. Your pert nipples harden, awakened by the cool morning breeze as the thin white fabric of your nightdress blows in the wind. With the sunlight shining directly on it, it was sure to be totally and utterly see through— and you suppose that was one upside to living in the middle of nowhere, yards upon yards from civilisation. No one would see you. Sigh.

You feed the chickens, totally blind before it even occurs to you that anything might be astray. Infact, you don’t even seem to notice that the barn door was left ajar, as opposed to how you usually leave it bolted by a wooden slab to prevent the animals from wandering off or being massacred by foxes. You suppose that’s the price you pay for sleeping in, you live in dreamworld for the next few hours.

The Earth seems to stop turning for a moment when you see him.

You’re more curious than anything, wide eyed, holding your breath as to be totally silent despite having been humming and speaking to the chickens only a moment prior. You tiptoe through the hay, shards of straw sprouting between your painted toes and pin-needling your sole as you draw closer to the man. A fallen angel, your first thought.

He’s half curled up onto his side in the hay behind the stable for your white pony. He has thick-ish arms crossed over his chest, his hat laying over his face seeming to be serving as a purpose to block out the light. You figure as you hadn’t woken up him before, a closer inspection couldn’t hurt. Unhurriedly, you sink down into a squat beside him, knees pointed upwards and feet taking your balance. A real man, in your barn? It couldn’t be. You chew on your bottom lip, goggle-eyed and inquisitive as you cautiously lift the hat away from his face.

He doesn’t wake and you’re for some reason thankful. It gives you time to observe him, the breath all but knocked from your body as you take in just how beautiful he is. He was perfect, and just like what you were hoping for when you wished to be delivered a husband.

Dark eyelashes kissing at the rim of his closed eyes, pale lips and freckles, sunkissed across his nose. Your eyes trail over and across him, now with his face in mind taking in account what he looks like as a whole. You were still in disbelief, a real man sleeping in your barn. But then again, as your eyes skim lower and you notice the blood seeping through his shirt over his stomach — you wonder if he was sleeping. Surely he wasn’t dead? Only God could be so cruel to deliver you the perfect man without a pulse.

So, you press two cold fingers to his neck, searching for the rhythmic beats signifying life. As soon as you do so, the man jolts awake — wide brown eyes meeting yours.

“Jesus.”

This is where the stare off commences— you were sat in a squat giving him a straight shot up your night dress with dome like eyes and parted lips, observing him like he was some sort of alien life form that had happened upon your barn infront of your very eyes. Your chest rises and falls, and his gender fails to betray him as his eyes fall there for a moment, subconsciously noticing the way your bare tits strain against the thin fabric with each exhale. Somewhere in the back of his mind he can’t help but acknowledge that you’re a pretty thing, totally his type. In any other scenario, he might’ve seen you at a local tavern and introduced himself, getting you tipsy and loose, making you giggle beneath his soft gaze and coarse hands in some dimly lit booth before realising he’s far too respectful to take advantage of you like that.

With his eyes open, the picture is complete — and he truly is as beautiful as you thought. He had a puppy like quality to his eyes, they were big and brown but from the sunlight streaming in you could see specks of orange which intrigues you. You wish to look closer, but you feel it’s not the time. His adam’s apple bobs with a thick swallow and he tears his eyes away from yours to look around, still disorientated from sleep. He touches his wound with gentle fingers and he winces, going to push himself up on his elbows.

You open your mouth to speak but he beats you to it, warm deep voice raspy from rest as he dives into a sequence of begging.

“Does anyone know I’m in here?”

“No, I—”

“Okay, that’s— okay, please — hey, please don’t tell anyone. I won’t lie to you, I’m in a little bit of trouble with the law, nothing super bad I swear just — I needed somewhere safe to sleep so I ended up here. Didn’t take anything and uh— and I’ll be out of your hair now that I’m up.” He rambles, continually glancing at the barn doors, expecting Sheriff Shoupe to bust them down and take him in at any moments notice. You say nothing for a moment and he pushes himself to his feet, eyes squeezing shut at the soreness of his injury. “Think it’s easiest if I just—”

He cuts himself off this time, because you slip your hand into his— stopping him from going anywhere. His eyebrows jump up and he freezes on the spot, staring down at your doe eyes with a wide and confused gaze of his own.

“…Hi?”

“You just got here? Why’d you have to go?” You sound sad, and he actually can’t believe what he’s hearing. Not only did he break into your barn, on private land — but he’d totally overstayed his non-existent welcome, and now you didn’t want him to leave?

“P—pardon me? Ma’am?” He tries to be respectful, when what he really wants to ask is along the lines of ‘What the fuck?’.

You scramble to stand up and he helps you using the hand that you’re grasping. “Well, you won’t get far with a wound like that. It could get infected. Maybe you could come inside, let me dress it. You can refuel… maybe stay a few days?” The last part sounds wrong coming from your mouth. He’s a stranger for goodness sake— everything your parents had taught you about safety went against this and plus you were practically begging. You might have been embarrassed, if there wasn’t such a nagging feeling in your stomach telling you that this was meant to be.

He scoffs out a chuckle, because he thinks there’s no way you’re serious— but when he sees your wide eyes bouncing between his own, searching for something he couldn’t quite put a finger on— he realises you’re being completely genuine and his expression melts into a more worried gaze, shuffling a little closer on his feet.

“Look, I really appreciate your hospitality, but you have done more than enough, really. Just the fact you didn’t have the sheriff busting in to drag me away is something I will be very grateful for. Believe me. But I can’t drag you into this. Anyway, don’t you have family? That you live with?”

You sigh, looking down at your intertwined hands that you had yet to release, staring as if you were trying to memorise the feeling of a man’s touch incase you really couldn’t convince him to stay.

“Well yes, but they’re on a trip you see — and they’re going to be away for another week and I’m not sure how much more I can take. I’m awfully lonely, and I know you’re a stranger and all but I could really use the extra set of hands… plus it’s the least you could do… for breaking in…” You feel you’re pushing it with that last part, but decide to proceed with it anyway, any means necessary to get him to stay. He bites his bottom lip in thought as you stare up through your lashes and he thinks screw it. He’s sure you’re not setting him up, a little thing like you would be far too weak to pull that off.

“Okay, I… don’t see why not then.” He doesn’t sound certain, but you make such a good offer he’d be a fool not to accept. He bends down and swoops his hat off the floor, holding it to his chest and you take his hand once more, guiding him out of the barn.

He presses his lips together in an awkward smile at the way you confidently lead him, almost having to break into a jog to match your eager pace. Once nearing the house, you tell him your name and he nods — taking in the scenery.

You’re sitting him down in the living room before he can blink, and he takes in the setting around him. A real cozy place, a family home for sure — with a pale blue couch, a scratchy patchwork blanket draped over the back and floral cushions. There’s photos of you in multiple spots around the room, an only child — he gathers. The main photo sits on the mantelpiece, framed, a set of parents curtaining your smiling face in the image. You seem to be a few years younger, fuller in the face, still cute as a button.

He doesn’t quite realise you’d gone anywhere until you’re returning — the contents of an old first aid box rumbling in your grip. You give him a reassuring smile and lower to kneel by his feet, opening up the container and fishing around for some cotton pads.

“Do you have a name, mister?”

He clears his throat, trying to gage your reaction once he speaks, attempting to work out if the name rings any bells. “Uh, yeah. John B. John B. Routledge. You might’ve… actually heard of me. If you have, uh— I’m sorry.”

You don’t seem to react in any kind of alarming way, a smile grazing your face as you pour rubbing alcohol onto a soft white pad.

“Heard of you how? Are you famous?”

“…You’ve never seen those big ‘Wanted’ posters up in town? Kinda got my picture up on one of them.”

You peel up his shirt revealing tanned, toned skin and a wound that had crusted over with blood. You press the pad to it and he winces, knuckles turning white in his lap and head lulling back against the seat for a moment.

“Sorry.” You furrow your brows apologetically before continuing to mop up all the dried blood. “Oh, and I’m not allowed up in town. Not by myself anyway. So, I don’t keep up to date with all that… stuff.” You pull away, rifling through the box for another clean pad. He nods, eyes jumping to look at his wound and then back to you, watching your face for any discomfort regarding his presence. Oddly, there was none. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s wildly apparent now that you’ve truly been sheltered your whole life. There was this innocence you carried that was hard to come by, a lack of judgement that was sweet but made him worry for you slightly. You were lucky he had a good heart.

“That’s… probably for the best, actually. You know, they like to tell lies. I’m being falsely accused.” He speaks a little slower, and enunciates the last part as if you might not understand, and as expected— you hang onto every word, lips a little parted and wide eyed. It’s pretty cute, albeit inappropriate considering he’s a stranger.

As he speaks, you wrap his wound, pressing the sticky part down onto his skin before gently pressing the cotton covering his injury. “Well I’m really sorry about that John B. You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” You chirp, before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss over the dressing, pulling back to offer him a sweet smile. The lines on John B’s forehead smooth out, his concerned expression melting into his own gentle smile of disbelief.

He wonders what the odds are that he’d stumbled upon a real life angel. Well, it was that — or you wanted to chop his body into tiny pieces whilst he slept and add it to your cauldron. He couldn’t quite figure it out yet, but you were pretty — and he was a total loverboy, so stupidly he was willing to take that risk.

He pulls his shirt back down over his now dressed wound and you begin to clear your things back into the first aid box.

“Is there anything I can do for you? Like, anything you need help with around here?” He offers and you look up at him, brows furrowing with adoration.

“Goodness, no— I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“Said you needed an extra pair of hands earlier.” He challenges with a smile.

“I only said that to get you to come inside. With your injury, I couldn’t possibly put you to work.”

He scrunches his face a little with a half scoff, half smile and shrugs one shoulder. “Please, this thing? It barely even stings. Come oooon.” He croons with a smirk, and you really feel the full effects of his charm now— the warm timbre of his voice headed straight to your clit giving it a heartbeat of its own.

“Fine.” It comes out airy with a giddy smile and you take his hand yet again, almost getting distracted by the coarseness against your palm, the sight of bulging veins along the backs of them.

Your bare feet are treading lightly over soft wood chip once more as you lead him toward the destroyed fence round the left side perimeter of the farm.

“So… I suppose you could carry all the planks back from the fence that fell down in that awful storm last week. I was gonna wait for my daddy to get home to get him to do it ‘cus I’m much too weak for something like that.” You point, and John B’s brown fluffy head follows your finger to the destination at hand. He nods, a doable task.

“Well a girl like you shouldn’t be lifting a finger anyway.” He turns his head back to face you with a smile, eyes squinted in the sun. He looks radiant, no sign of pain anymore and you look down at your night gown, scrunching it in your clammy hands with an uncontrollable grin at the floor, harbouring such an innocent crush on the boy already that you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

His gaze stays on you for a tick whilst you step quietly and he speaks up again, tilting his head a little inquisitively. “I really, really hope this doesn’t sound rude… ‘cus I don’t mean to be. But… are you not… married?” He trails off, thinking of all the times he’s been walloped round the head in taverns for asking questions of a similar nature. Your smile doesn’t go away, your gentle nature not retiring for a moment.

“Oh no, no. I don’t meet boys often. Thats why I’m happy you came!” You chirp, hand reaching out to softly squeeze his arm. “Can be like husband and wife whilst you stay round.”

He just laughs in response. Not necessarily in a mean way, but the same way you laugh when a child tells you they’re going to be an astronaut when they grow up.

The brutal beating of the sun does nothing to stop the honest work you’d put the self proclaimed outlaw up to, he seems to be deep in thought often — carrying the planks to and fro. You slip inside for a while to change into something more appropriate, a sweet and floral sundress that ties up at the straps and hugs you in a more womanly way. You’d rubbed your lips together as you fixed your hair in the mirror before bringing him a sandwich in the early afternoon. “You are adorable.” He grins when you do so, and it wasn’t quite the reaction you’d hoped for on your dress but it still made you warm in the face. He simply brought out a true primal bodily reaction from you— that’s why you’d skipped the panties under your dress. He was making you excited and slippery down there and you just didn’t see the point. You stay out for hours at a time to chat with him. Your affections grow.

John B. Routledge finally returns back to the house when he’s all finished and you let him lay down for a nap on your couch, finally getting some real rest in. Whilst he does so, you spend hours preparing a hearty meal — the type you reserve for when mama and papa have guests round. As the pie browns off just a moment longer in the oven, you come to the man’s side, kneeling beside him and stroking his fluffy hair back.

“I made dinner. Sure you’re really hungry.” You whisper and his eyes flutter once more, the arms that were crossed over his chest stretching out as he wakes. You sit back to give him space, and when he opens his eyes you’re there with a smile — the orange beam of sunset haloing your head. Something about an angel drafts through his mind once more and he stretches.

“Oh boy, I slept longer than I was meant to huh?” He sits up and you shrug, leading him through to the kitchen where you’d laid the round table. Steaming seasoned vegetables in a bowl, freshly picked by you. Warm bread, baked and scored by you with flowers the centrepiece of the table. A jug of gravy there too. There’s a tray of mashed potatoes waiting, creamy and delicious looking. Routledges stomach audibly growls and he chuckles at this as he sits down, taking in the scenery you’d laid out. “You… have spoiled me. All this for someone who breaks into your barn?” He chuckles as he lowers himself into the seat.

You follow him round the table with a giddy smile. “Told you I like havin’ guests.” You perch your bottom on his leg, an arm wrapped around his neck as your feet swing. It felt right. You’d always wanted to sit with a man this way, you’d seen it before in the picture shows. Man and wife, domestic bliss. His brows jump up and he clears his throat awkwardly.

“Oh… sweetheart, you shouldn’t do that. I am a— a stranger, after all.” He tries to do the responsible thing, even though there was something about your innocent brashness that was turning him on beyond belief. Your eyebrows knit in the centre, a line between them and your bottom lip seems to have doubled in size from how it pushes out.

“But I like you?” You mewl, rejected. It all seems so simple to you, which is probably feels super unfair. No one had taught you how to address men because you were so sheltered, and now it was giving you all of these complicated feelings that John B would have to deal with.

“And I like you — a whole bunch. You know I’m super grateful for you taking me in and… all that good stuff. But sitting right here is gonna… make me excited. Because I’m a guy. Go ahead and hop off for me.” He taps your lower back gently and you huff, feeling upset and rejected about the whole thing. His eyes are all wide and hopeful as he stares at you, like he wanted to make sure you were okay. The way he handles you so sweetly made your stomach stir despite your current mope.

You drag your feet to the oven comically and he stifles a chuckle at how dramatic you were, despite his sympathy. You place your hands into oven gloves and take out the pie— perfect and golden. You walk it to the table and John B sits up a little straighter, eyes darting between you and the food.

“Did this all by yourself? You have got a real knack for cooking. Should put you on the TV.” He grins, switching on the charm to attempt to loosen up your silent sulk. You nod, eyes casted down childishly and he reaches out to touch your arm. “Thank you, pretty girl.”

A small smile slips out, and he flickers his eyes over to the heart shape you’d scored onto the pie, his own lips twitching up into a smirk. “That for me?”

“Maybe.”

“Hmm.”

You end up giggling, his smile too infectious and your bad moment is all forgotten as you serve him a slice, plating up for him and then yourself before you eat. John B digs in ravenously, it’s almost erotic — the way he’s groaning at how good it all tastes, gravy dripping from his lips as he licks more off his fingers. He was clearly less proper-mannered than you, but you liked that. Table manners were for boring old people anyway. Maybe everything about him got you going, but you had to really concentrate on getting some food inside you instead of just watching the show of eating he was putting on.

Once you’re finished, and he’s finishing up on his third helping — you let your giggles die down from the wild goose chase story he relayed for you, one where he of course wound up the hero which only made your heart beat harder for him. Your socked foot begins to prod at his ankle, sliding up his leg until it rests in his lap. He doesn’t seem to mind, the food having lowered his guard just that bit as he leans back in his chair, undoing his belt. He adjusts his hips on the seat as he does so and your thighs clench.

“So what did you think?” You ask, though you think it’s clear that he liked the meal from the empty plates and unbuckled belt. He lets out a long satisfied sigh, gazing at you for a moment with a kind smile.

“I think, whoever gets to marry you is a lucky son of a bitch.” He presses his lips together, almost like he was disappointed about the idea of you with another. You blink, the hands resting beneath your chin dreamily slowly falling to play with eachother on the table.

“Why not you, John B?” You question sadly, giving him those eyes again. The ones that tug on his heart and made him wanna give you everything and anything you ask for. He lifts a napkin, bringing it to his mouth as he shakes his head dismissively, closing his eyes with a frown.

“Mm—mm.” The tissue fabric muffles the sound. “You don’t wanna marry me, believe me — okay, I’m an outlaw. Your parents would never in a billion years accept me. Anyway you… you deserve someone less rough and tumble, you know? Like a prince from a storybook. A bubblewrap life. Not… whatever this is.” He gestures to himself, more so the browned blood stain on his shirt.

You sigh, determined. “My parents would understand. They’re — they’re generous people.”

“Really? ‘Cus they don’t even let you leave the house.” He quips quickly in response, smirking at your naivety and you fall silent for a moment. His face flattens just a tad from guilt. You were far too soft for that kind of tone.

When you look up at him again, your face is more solemn — wide eyes searching his for a shred of understanding. “You don’t understand, John B. There are actual scary, dangerous men out there that would take me and do terrible things to me.”

The outlaw leans his elbows on the table, his lips stretched into an amused smile at the irony. There wasn’t an inkling of threat about the gesture, pure amusement coursing through the energy between you from his side alone. “And how do you know I’m not one of those scary, dangerous men. Hm?” His voice is warm, it seems to rumble straight from his chest. You release a shaky sigh.

“Well you haven’t hurt me yet?” Your voice lilts out, and you engage in a long stare off. There’s a different kind of tension in the air now, it’s hot and feels heavy on you. It oozes into the nooks and crannies of your balmy skin and slithers between your thighs. You can’t take the heat and you stand, beginning to bring his dishes to the sink to wash. It’s quiet for a while, John B watching you with this thoughtful and almost knowing smile as you tidy up around him. Even he couldn’t run from how good ‘domestic bliss’ felt.

You let yourself indulge in the fantasy too. Wife cleans up, husband sits behind at the table and sips at the drink she poured him. You wanted nothing more than to experience this everyday, and your heart sinks sadly at the fact that this will probably be the last. You lose yourself to thoughts and daydreams as you scrub away, to the point you nearly don’t hear him stand up, slowly walking to lean against the sink beside you.

You smile at him politely as he eyes you, and return your gaze to the plate in your hand. You mustn’t dwell. He moves, and soon he’s behind you, a hand resting against the sink beside your hip, head craning round to look at you from the other side. “You’re really serious about this husband and wife thing, aren’t you?”

“Very serious, sir.” You bat your lashes at him earnestly and his cock stirs in his pants at the title, unexpected but not unwelcomed. Bless your heart, you were only being courteous. He presses his lips together in thought and the side of your face warms with his slow exhale. Turning your body, you face him fully now. “I just think it was divine intervention that you wound up in my barn. You’re like an angel sent to take away my loneliness.” You’re shy, a little bashful about your beliefs and without thinking he cups your cheek in reassurance, thumb swiping slowly over the skin.

His eyes take in your every detail, and your lips part with a wobbly breath, nervous. “May I kiss you, John B?” You address, just as his thumb strokes the delicate skin below your eye. He grins, slightly amused by your formality and simply nods his head.

You stand on tip toes to reach him, socked feet almost knocking at his boots as your body presses to his, lips meeting. You’re a little messy, inexperienced— which comes as no surprise to the boy as he tilts his head, welcoming your mouth at another angle and taking control in order to guide you. You’re mostly a quick learner, slowing your pace to something much more sultry and he nearly can’t contain his excitement. He wants to be a gentleman, but as soon as he introduces his tongue — you lose composure, needy and all but panting into his mouth right then and there in the kitchen. He pulls away and breaks the string of saliva that connects your lips with his thumb, stroking it over your moist bottom lip as you stare at him readily.

He tilts his head, eyes wide and almost innocent as he gestures away. “You… want me to show you what husbands do with their wives?”

You nod so hard your eyes nearly roll back like one of those baby-dolls.

John B is the one to take your hand this time, leading you slowly and carefully through the house. You partially think he’s giving himself time to rethink what he’s about to do, but from the way your pussy is drooling into your panties — it feels set in stone. He finally reaches your bedroom and you watch his head move left and right as he takes it in, cheek lifting with a smile at the China dolls on the wall and the frilly white bedsheets. It’s clear your room hasn’t changed since you were a little girl. The sun is just starting to disappear behind your lace curtains and he switches on the lamp, sitting you down.

The man joins you, easing himself down at your side and cupping your cheek as he begins to kiss you again. He takes it slow, but the passion and need only grows as the splayed hand on your back begins to slide upwards until its cupping the back of your head and he’s beginning to slowly lower you to lie down like you’re made of glass.

Naturally you shuffle up the bed and he follows, hovering over you and leading with his tongue this time — the wet muscles wrapping around eachother languidly making you moan, legs falling wider apart.

“I wanna make you feel really good, okay? That okay with you?” He asks gently and you nod, sucking in a breath. You’d waited for something like this since you knew what pleasure was, craved the touch of a man with strong coarse hands and a wet mouth. Routledges thumbs swipe across your tits through your dress, massaging them until your nipples were poking painfully through the fabric as he burrows into your neck, licking and sucking.

Your whole body feels like it’s on fire as he tugs gently at your dress, eyes meeting yours once more.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?”

He tugs the garment up and over, puffing out his cheeks as he blows air out his mouth, brows raised at the sight of your naked body. You look so soft, so pliable beneath him. He was already hard just from kissing you, but this made him feel like he might combust. “Took your underwear off?” He smirks, pressing kisses to your stomach and between your tits before bringing his face up to eye level with you, same kind but teasing smile on his face. “Have you been needing me aaall day? Hm?”

You turn your head to the side, flustered and clammy with a whine— eyes screwed shut. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Oh, now you’re shy?”

“No, s’just — when you speak like that— n’say stuff like that… makes me hurt…” You’re breathless, hips twitching and bucking slightly as he grins, pearly whites showing.

“Aw.” Is all he manages before continuing his descent down.

He’s a real tease, spending an ungodly amount of time on your tits— sucking, licking and biting your nipples until you’re arched off the bed, teary eyed and wincing from sensitivity. It’s then, and only then he starts to kiss lower, pushing himself down your pristine sheets until he’s settling between your legs, gently easing your ankles upwards so that your knees faced the sky, your cunt fluttering and open right infront of his face.

“Well she’s very pretty.” He smiles up at you, thumbs coming up to spread you. He leans in slowly, hot breath fanning over your heat before he simply presses the softest kiss to your clit. He draws back again as you whimper, running the pads of his thumbs up along your spread folds. “Hear that? So wet, pretty girl.” He marvels in a whisper.

“Just want you to make it better.” You mewl and he nods slowly in understanding, tongue swiping over his lips as he observes you.

“That I can definitely do.” He confirms before leaning in, licking and sucking at your clit as his thumb automatically rolls downwards to massage your hole. You gasp, knees shooting up towards your chest as he eats you, similarly to the pure fervour and passion he only recently devoured the meal you cooked for him. You wondered how any appetite remained.

When he sinks his middle finger inside you, your stomach tenses — a high pitched noise of relief and utter devastation leaving you. You had no idea how badly you’d craved fullness to this very moment, and you weren’t even halfway there. He’s smiling against you, glancing up as you flutter around his single digit and make plenty of noise for him. “Yeah? Think you’ve really been needing some of that, little girl.” He nearly laughs at your extreme reaction. He had to admit, it was fun doing this with someone so inexperienced. Everything to you seemed like the best thing ever.

He eats and eats away, proving himself to have quite the monstrous appetite for your slick . Your feet rest on his shoulders at one point, lost in pleasure as you whine and writhe and to keep you out of the way, the outlaw pushes your legs up and pins them there, nose deep in your gloss.

“Feels too good— feels— hurts!” You cry, because you don’t know how to put that you’re simply aching to cum.

“Doesn’t hurt, sweet girl. Just let it happen.” He corrects in that low reverberation that you’ve grown to love. After a series of ‘Uh’ and ‘Mm’s, you feel yourself hitting that peak — the one you usually reach all over the soft cotton of your pillow, but ten times the strength.

As soon as he senses this happening, he doubles down and continues repeating the same action with his mouth over and over until you’re squealing and pushing him away, curling into a ball as your completion dribbles out of your quivering hole.

He grins, real proud of himself as he pushes up on his hands to near you, gently shushing you the same way you would to soothe a baby to sleep. “I know, that was a lot huh?” He coo’s, rubbing your back with his warm hand as you suffer the aftershocks, clenching and whimpering, a smaller clammy hand reaching out to his shirt to grab a fist of it.

He forces you softly onto your back, stroking a hand over your warm forehead. For someone so convinced the two of you shouldn’t be together, he sure did look at you like you were his entire world. By the gaze shared, you would never know the two of you only met that morning.

“What now, hm?” He smiles, quiet. You open your mouth to speak, and your voice rasps from the loud and explosive release that had you calling out.

“Wanna… make you feel as good as you made me feel, John B.”

He licks his lips, thinking over it. If it wasn’t already clear, his dick was throbbing in his pants just from pleasing you— and had you wanted to end things there he would be sure to take a trip to the bathroom to finish in his hand. Maybe swipe a pair of your underwear from the basin for inspiration, but that made his stomach tense with guilt.

“Think I can manage that, yeah.” He nods before reaching slowly for his belt. “Sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Good, good.”

His belt is still undone from after dinner so he slides the snakey leather from its loops with one hand, the act more attractive than you anticipated which made you clench once more with need. He sits on the edge of the bed and you usher up beside him, pressing your naked body to him and ghosting your drooly lips over his jaw line as he sighs, working his length out of his pants.

“Oh my.” You breathe, as soon as you look down. Now you hadn’t had much experience in dealing with the male anatomy, clearly — but you knew for certain John B had to be miles larger than the average man. His cock stood tall, straight — slightly mauve towards the tip with a beautiful blue vein drifting down his shaft like a river on a mountain. His balls sat beneath, heavy and pink — inviting in a way that made your mouth water primally.

“Yeah? This is… what m’working with.” He chuckles, sounding a little nervous.

“How do I…” You mutter after a moment and he’s quick to take your hand, pressing your fingers so that it forms a cup and bringing it to your mouth.

“You wanna spit for me, pretty? Right here.” He encourages and whilst you don’t understand, you do as he wishes, letting a bubbly glob of saliva drool out into the cupped crevice of your hand. You look up at him with wide unsure eyes, searching for praise or reassurance that you’d done as he asked. He presses his lips together at the sweet and submissive expression, shifting his hips a tad in excitement. “Mm, fuck.” He punctuates with an airy chuckle, ticking his head in a single shake.

He brings your hand down and begins to smear it all over himself, releasing a shaky exhale as he does so. “So, uh… you’re gonna wanna move your hand. Just like this.” He sighs as he works your hand up and down his shaft, slowly jerking him off. Your eyes flicker between his face and pretty dick to make sure you were doing it right. As you do so, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips, muttering a “So sweet, bubba.” Against your mouth.

This only encourages you to gain confidence, doing whatever feels right. You twist your hand— squeezing just a tad harder towards the tip as that seemed to be what made him release that heavenly groan, jaw constantly agape as he watches your hand.

“Theeere you go sweetheart. Easy right? Like milking a cow.” He kisses your temple briskly once more before his eyes screw shut, chest heaving with quicker breaths. You get carried away, fascinated by the pearly precum that seeps from his slit as you work him with your hand and following your own judgment you lean down. You figure if he used his mouth on you, you could return the favour.

His eyes open with a loud shudder when you tentatively wrap your plush lips around his tip, working your hand up and down to try and squeeze more of the interesting salty flavour from him. You let out a long drawn out moan of your own as you feel your clit throbbing with desire, liberating his precum from your mouth to let it dribble back down his shaft in messy bubbles.

He winces, placing a hand on your shoulder and removing you with such an abrupt speed that you nearly flew off the side of the bed. You sit up straight, slick mouth pouting as your eyes flicker between his, worrying that you’d done something wrong. There’s a second of just looking at eachother, before you stumble over some words.

“S—Sorry. Did I hurt—”

“No, no God no. I uh— I just wasn’t sure if I should make a mess all over that pretty face just yet.” His wide eyed expression melts into a reassuring smile, thumb rising to swipe lovingly at your cheek. You lick your lips, savouring the taste of him and nod — not quite sure where to go from there.

Your silence makes him question, and he eyes you. “Is there… anything in particular you want now?”

You think, blinking your doll-like eyelashes off into the distance before nodding once more— pushing off away from him and scurrying to the head of the bed where you lay yourself gently on the pillows.

“Hm?” He follows up in confusion, craning his neck round to watch you.

“Would… like a baby now, please.” You spread your legs a little, shy and bashful in your request like you wasn’t sure if you’d asked impolitely. His face falls as he stares at you for a moment before closing his eyes, rubbing over his face with an exasperated chuckle, elbows on his knees.

As you stare at him with with an upset little pout, already ashamed by your forwardness. “Like husband and wife?” You try to justify and he sighs out his nose, turning his body fully to you.

“Oh sweet girl.” He tugs you gently lower toward him by your hips, rubbing his thumbs at your waist. “We just met.”

You launch into full fledged begging, whiny and high pitched with tears threatening to dive over their trough. “I’ll make you so happy John B, I’ll make all your problems go away and you won’t have to run anymore. Please?” You were deadset on this man giving you your dream life, and you’d officially pushed shame to the side in order to get this. His brow is permanently creased, staring with those big wide puppy dog eyes, continually stroking your skin in hopes to calm you.

“Are you… sure that’s what you want? You’re still young. So much time for all that.”

“Just want it now. I’d never be lonely again.” You sound defeated, staring down away from him now. He felt bad, he’d always hated disappointing people. Once upon a time he was a fixer, always running to his friends aid to make their problems go away. That urge never died, just burned low and quiet like an old candle flame. He wanted to make your problems go away too.

“Okay.” He presses his lips together. “I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.”

He watches your devastated expression lift into a radiant grin, and it was like watching the sun appear from behind a grey cloud after weeks of downcast weather. “Yeah?” You chirp toothily as he crawls over you, leaking tip grazing your tummy and then your folds as he buries his face into your neck.

“Uh-huh.”

When he pushes his tip inside, John B says a prayer for the first time in his life.

He’d never really followed any religion. His father had been the type to say it was all a bunch of ‘Mumbo jumbo’ and that he should believe in the human psyche instead, or something like that. But as your wet folds swallow him and you release that high pitched mewl at the inevitable stretch — he finds himself asking God — please, please don’t let me knock this young girl up.

There’s a warm blanket of chills that cover his spine as he slowly sheathes inside of you, feeling like he was pushing deeper and deeper into a black hole that would selfishly keep sucking him inside for the rest of his life. It felt too good, calming — like falling asleep. He was euphoric.

“So — so big inside me!” Your cry knocks him out of his thoughts and he kisses your shoulder before looking down to watch himself push in all the way to the hilt.

“Feel okay, gorgeous?”

You nod, a pained whine falling from you as you dig your nails into his skin, walls fluttering around him like they were constantly trying to accommodate for this thickness. “Fuck.” He groans, before sliding back a little and starting to thrust. Yeah, he wasn’t gonna last too long— he needed to get to work on you fast.

As he gently fucks into you, your plush tits recoil with the movement and he can’t close his mouth, sounds and sighs leaving him without permission. A hand slides between the two of you, the other pulling his shirt up to grip between his teeth— giving himself a better view of the way he strokes at your clit — your legs being spread exposing it, making it easier for him.

You clench, and shudder — that sweet face contorting with each time his tip ever so slightly grazes your cervix, careful not to bruise it. You really were beautiful, that type of homely beauty he’d thought of marrying in his lonely nights of travelling through desert and grass. The type of girl you work for, the type that deserves spoiling, princess treatment. The more he fucks, the more he’s convincing himself that impregnating you might not be the most awful thing after all. Why should he chase away security?

Your fingertips grace his chest, and he takes your hand — pinning it to the bed as your fingers intertwine, using the grip to aid his rolling thrusts— speeding up the pace and force now he knew you could take it like a champ. His mouth opens to speak, and his shirt drops out of it.

“Taking me real good baby. You like getting fucked, don’t you?” He coo’s and you can only nod, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes before rolling down to your temples. Poor thing, lost for words.

There’s a wet slapping sound with each thrust, your cunt equally gushing as it was thirsty — hungrily welcoming each inch of his, and even demanding more by locking your ankles around his lower back. Perhaps you did it for comfort, or perhaps because you suspected a hesitance, the threat of him pulling out last minute too much for your baby-crazed brain.

“Jesus. Sweet little puppy.” He breathes like it’s a revelation beneath your ear, the curly tuft of hair above his shaft tickling you as he continues to rub your clit.

“S’gonna happen again, John B. The big feeling.” You strain, eyes clamped shut and sniffling— too overwhelmed by your impending orgasm. He kisses each eye lid and watches you closely, experiencing you unfold once more.

“Thats my good girl. Let me have it, pup. Gimme a good one.”

You’re an explosion of whimpers and moans, thrashing under his firm grip once more— and he’s not sure when your orgasm ends, if it even ends at all— he doesn’t care, the release pushing him close to his own. He speeds up his pace, hand that was at your clit now wrapping around your lower back, forearm pushing your lower half up and against him, forcing you to just keep taking him.

He was like a beast from a fairytale book, fucking wildly into you with a primal determination that had you struggling to breathe. You’re crying now, full out crying because it’s just so much. There’s still one last thing you require, and only he can give you it.

“You wanna make me daddy, huh?” He demands, that gentleness in his voice gone. It’s nearly unrecognisable from him, and you preen beneath the rough touch.

“Mhm!”

“Words.” He barks. He didn’t mean to be mean, he just got a little bossy when he was close. You’d come to learn that.

“Please give me a baby. Please just — make you a daddy! Need it!” You’re squealing, voice shaking from the hard ‘plap plap plap’ of his balls slapping against you. You feel you might pass out if this goes on much longer.

He releases with a long groan, lips dropping to the centre of your chest and back arching upwards. You register his sounds before you feel it, hot slimy ropes of him— shooting up inside you, warming your walls. You moan too, because it feels so good to be full. It feels right, like this was what had been missing after all.

Everything is a blur for the next few minutes. It’s like you black out a little, because maybe you forgot to be breathing like you should have been. You briefly recall John B scooping you up and helping you through that, ignoring the gooey seed dripping from you to cradle you like a baby, humming a calm “Breathe, sweetheart. In and out. With me, c’mon.” Your gentle boy was back, and through your haze you smile.

Once you’re tucked at his side beneath a soft cotton blanket, his hand stroking over your head after cleaning you up, a whispered conversation ensues.

“Do you really like me John B? Like, you really think I’m beautiful?” You inquire, gazing up at him with stuck together black eyelashes. The question was so innocent, yet he could tell it was so meaningful.

His expression doesnt falter, a gentle smile sat comfortably on his lips as he continues to pet you. “Baby, I think you’re the ponds swan. Just… gotta get to know you a little better, okay? ‘Specially if I really did put a baby in you.” Only then his smile falters, brows knitting as the reality sets in. Oh Lord.

“Okay.” Your eyes flutter closed, happy to leave it at that, happy to fall asleep right by his side under his watchful eye. It was unnerving how safe a lonely girl could feel with a stranger.

“Okay. Good girl. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.” He quietly reassures, watching you drift off. He’s not sure if he’s trying to dispel your fears, or his own.

[interstellarflare]

A Cinderella Story || Anthony Bridgerton

-PART THREE-

Summary: Have courage, and be kind. Words that you tried to live by ever since the passing of your parents. Though your step-mother and step-sisters did everything in their power to hide you and your status away from the rest of the Ton, you never expected to catch the eye of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton himself.

Authors Note: This is my first Bridgerton series! I had an absolute ball writing this, and I hope you enjoy it! There is a tag list open if anyone wishes to be kept updated for future parts. Gif by @greengableslover

|PART ONE| |PART TWO|

The house was in shambles.

Mary had thrown almost every single dress she had bought on her bedroom floor, crying loudly that she ‘simply had nothing to wear’. Though you tried to reassure her that she in fact did, and that she would eventually find something that would make her stand out amongst the other debutants tonight, she didn’t believe you.

“This is all so hopeless!” She shouted sadly, tears streaming down her cheeks as she threw a deep purple dress across the room, the embroidered fabric smacking you in the face in its flight path to her dresser. You grimaced, shaking your head and brushing your hair from your face as you sighed lightly. “It’s not hopeless, I promise…” you tried to soothe as Mary continued to ball her eyes out “what about that light blue one you tried in earlier? That was very beautiful?”

“No! I cannot wear that! I hear Eloise Bridgerton is wearing a similar colour, and I will not be compared to her…” Mary squealed in protest, throwing another expensive dress across the room, a flash of yellow and gold “I am far better, and prettier!”.

Your shoulders slumped in defeat, your patience wearing thin as you picked up the numerous clumps of fabric scattered around the room. There was really nothing you could do except try to comfort her during her meltdown, whilst trying to keep your own head. As you began to lay the dresses out on Mary’s bed once more one by one, there was a faint knock at her bedroom door.

You lifted your head, spying Elizabeth standing in the doorway shyly as she fiddled with her hands in front of her. “If you aren’t too busy, I require some help in choosing a dress as well” She spoke softly, before disappearing back down the hallway just as quickly as she appeared. Pressing your lips together in a thin line, you hummed a short reply, turning your gaze back to Mary who once again descended into hysterics.

“Go! Leave me alone, I shall die of embarrassment now that I have nothing but these rags to choose from!” She exclaimed, dramatically collapsing onto her side and covering herself with her bed covers, beginning to sob loudly as she buried her head into her pillow. You glowered down at her, a small sense of jealousy and envy forming in your chest. Had your situation been different, you would have loved to have such a selection of beautiful clothes. Your father always bought you some of the nicest things on his travels abroad, whether they be small trinkets or delicately made clothes.

A sense of sadness and guilt replaced that feeling of jealousy and envy. You missed your father terribly, but you felt guilty for feeling this way. You weren’t entirely sure why, but as you left Mary’s room and made your way to Elizabeth’s, you decided that you could reminisce about your family later.

Upon entering Elizabeth’s bedroom, you almost gasped audibly in relief. Her room was completely tidy, unlike the previous monstrosity you had just left. There were three dresses splayed out on her bed. The one on the left was a pale light green, adorned completely in a delicate floral lace pattern that descended all the way to the floor with matching white satin gloves. The one in the middle was a deep royal blue satin, completely unadorned except for a white bejewelled belt underneath the bust. And the one on the right was a beautiful light pink, adorned in a delicate white floral lace which fanned out slightly below the end of the dress. Parts of the lace were adorned in small white pearls, which no doubt would have made the dress incredibly valuable…and eye-wateringly expensive.

Elizabeth looked up at you shyly, brushing her auburn hair from her shoulder as she sighed heavily. “I…I need your help deciding what one I should wear…” She spoke softly, her eyes falling back to the bed as she stuttered “I don’t want to look too desperate…but I also want to look pretty enough to attract his attention away from the others…”

You raised an eyebrow questioningly as you closed the door behind you, leaning against the white panel with a confused expression. “Who are you trying to impress?” You asked kindly, tilting your head to the side as you waited for her response. Elizabeth’s gaze met yours, and a bright blush formed on her cheeks as she shifted her position on her bed. “I…it’s Lord Burton. We met late last season, before it’s end actually. He was incredibly sweet, he took interest in my writings, and we have a shared passion for theatre…but his attention was drawn to one of the Lady Featherington’s daughters…”

You could see the sadness forming on her face as she began to idly pick at her bedsheets, sighing nervously as she breathed deeply. “After embarrassing myself before Lord Bridgerton, I realised that I am truly an ignorant person…and I don’t wish to be that anymore. So I ask you, will you help me choose a dress for Lady Danbury’s ball tonight? It would…mean a lot to me if you did.”

Your head straightened and your eyes widened, a strange feeling of acceptance forming in your chest. Neither of your stepsisters had ever acted this kindly towards you before, least of all actually apologised for their behaviour. Yet here Elizabeth was, a guilty look on her face as she waited for your answer.

“If you don’t I completely understand, I haven’t exactly been the most welcoming step-sister to you-“

“The pink one” you blurted out, pushing off the door and making your way over to her side. Your reply surprised you. You should feel annoyed, furious even. After everything she and Mary had done to you, should you really have been so quick to help her? You picked up the dress and held it up before you, examining every intricate detail of the lace and the fabric. Your gaze turned back to Elizabeth, her sadness now replaced with happiness…and gratitude.

“It’s really beautiful. If Lord Burton doesn’t notice you in this…then he is a fool” You spoke kindly, extending the dress towards her as a gesture of forgiveness. Elizabeth’s eyes softened as she gently took the dress from you, smiling kindly as she spoke “I know I haven’t been the best sister, nor really a good person towards you…but thank you. Though I do have to ask, why are you always so kind? Especially to my sister and my mother?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “Have courage, and be kind. It was something that my mother taught me before she passed. It means that you must always have courage to do the things you want, and to be kind to everyone you meet, no matter their treatment of you…kindness goes a long way.”

With those parting words, you left Elizabeth’s room and returned to the attic for a moment of peace. You would be back downstairs in an hour or so to Lady Worthington and her daughters get dressed, but you allowed a small smile to cross your face at Elizabeth’s kindness.

“You have been awfully distracted since you returned home, dear brother. Tell me, what is on your mind?” Benedict asked somewhat teasingly, collapsing onto the lounge beside him with a loud huff of effort.

Anthony didn’t reply. He was consumed in thought, his mind mulling over something Eloise had said after the two of them had made their escape from Lady Worthington and her daughters.

“Anthony, you truly are blind. If you look closer at someone, like really look, and see past their dress, then perhaps you will see the truth behind a well-crafted-“

“A ‘well-crafted’ what, Eloise? What are you insinuating about Lady Worthington? Perhaps, she supposedly keeping a huge secret from the ton? One that would cause scandal and outrage should news get out?”

“Well…I didn’t say it…”

She had said those words with such sarcasm and malice, that it had stuck with him for the remainder of the afternoon. Eloise hadn’t looked at him since their return home. It was so unlike her, she wouldn’t speak to anyone except Colin. Surely this entire situation didn’t have anything to do with you…did it?

“Hello? Anthony…are you there?”

“Hm?” The Viscount asked, eyes blown wide as he eventually realised that he was not alone in the parlour room. Benedict laughed, lightly punching his brother’s shoulder as he rolled his eyes.

“What is going on with you? You’ve been very quiet since your return home, and Eloise is in a right mood-“

“If you’re here to bother me, it’s working” Anthony grumbled, shifting his position to rest his chin in the palm of his hand. He heard Benedict chuckle loudly, the sound echoing across the room.

“No, I would never do that!” Benedict mused offendedly, leaning closer to his brother and speaking in a more hushed tone. “Buuut…what happened between the two of you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen the two of you this mad at each other-“

“It’s really none of your concern…” Anthony snapped, now turning to face his brother with a stern glare “…I’m not really sure if I know if it’s any of my concern”.

“Right, I won’t ask. But I suggest you make amends, otherwise the ball tonight will go very poorly…” Benedict mused informatively before an amused chuckled escaped him “…well, it will go poorly for you. I myself will enjoy your misfortune-“

“You’re such a child” Anthony scowled, becoming more annoyed by his brother’s presence by the second.

Benedict smiled sarcastically, “I know”.

Tag List:

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[tadpolesonalgae]

Resting Time

Eris x reader

For Day 1 of @acotar-omegaverse-week — Nesting: Surely there’s a perfectly normal, completely unsuspicious reason they’re feeling an irresistible urge to arrange and rearrange the blankets and pillows…. right?

word count: 1,233

——————————————————————————————————————————————

“Are you done?” Eris asks, shoulder pressing to one of the four thick, dark-wooden posts that make up your grand-sized bed. 

You take a few steps back, looking over the covers: the sheets are a dark red; the duvet and pillowcases are in a lighter shade, edged with maroon coloured inch-thick hems; the thin blanket that goes atop the duvet has a floral pattern on its underside, with burnished gold stitching embroidering vines onto its topside; the five pillows are stacked symmetrically, two on each side with one in the middle. The pillows at the bottom of the pile are square, each case matching the colour of the duvet, while the two atop the square ones are rectangular and have the matching floral pattern of the blanket, and the smallest pillow propped atop the other four is a flattened cylinder, with golden tassels hanging off its circumferences. 

Teeth chew your lower lip. You shake your head, starting forward. “No, the rectangular cushions should be below the square ones, so they’re propped up at a diagonal.” 

“Honey, we’re going to take them off anyway to sleep.” 

“You most certainly will not—wait!”

A pair of broad palms have slid around your waist, turning you half a circle before lifting you effortlessly to the air and tossing you into the plush centre of the bed, your body sinking into the plush duvet and mattress. “Eris, you’ve ruined it,” you whine, looking at the wrinkles that are now pressed into the freshly ironed sheets. But your mate follows, hovering over you, his two powerful arms settling either side of your head, muscles shifting beneath the crisp, pale linen of his shirt as he dips down, nosing at your throat. 

Heat warms your cheeks, lips curving at the ticklish lick of breath fanning across your neck, his tongue tentatively licking once, twice, over your skin. His hair falls forward from his shoulders, brushing your collarbones, bringing a wave of his scent to your attention. He smells good. Fresh, and crisp, and clean. Like an autumn day but perhaps without the dampness of morning dew. Just that fresh, hazelnut scent. Golden sugar dusted over fire-roasted chestnuts. Pecans and marzipan. Warm spices and woodsmoke. 

“You smell good,” you mumble, arms lethargically pulling themselves up over his back, wanting to bring him down to your level to better feel him. 

“Fawn,” Eris begins, pulling up from your body, making you whine. “Are you nesting?” 

Your brows furrow. “I can be particular about how things should be displayed without it meaning I’m nesting, Eris. Don’t you want things to look nice?” 

“You spent ten minutes rearranging your breakfast this morning…” 

“I just wanted it to look appetising. And I wasn’t that hungry then.” 

“And changing all the covers on the cushions in our living chambers? And the parlour?” 

“They hadn’t been changed in months. Don’t you think they look good?” 

“They look lovely. But what about the painting yesterday? And now the bedsheets?”

You glance sideways at the bedsheets, worrying your lower lip. “I thought so too. I should have chosen the maroon ones instead… Wait, we have pale duvet covers don’t we? The ones with the black and rouge trimmings? Those would look much better.” You make to scramble out from beneath him, but he lays one palm firmly over your hip, keeping you still. “Honey…” 

“I’m not nesting.” You grumble, glaring at him playfully. Eris’ expression is a portrait of skeptical doubt. Your brows furrow. “I’m not.” 

“Mhmm.” 

Your tongue clicks, half rolling your eyes. “I think I would know, Eris,” you remind, folding your arms across your chest. “But if it’s bothering you…” 

“It’s not bothering me. What’s bothering me is that it’s half eleven at night and you’re wanting to change the covers again. They look perfect.” He adds on swiftly when you make to glance at the sheets again. “You’ve done a lovely job. Now let’s go to sleep.” 

Lips pressing together, you avert your gaze. “You really think they’re perfect?” 

“Yes. They look wonderful—so good I want nothing more than to sleep in them.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Believe me, I’m sure.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “They’re perfect. Now please can we sleep?” 

Reluctantly you give a nod of your head. “Alright…sorry for keeping you awake so long…” Eris’ lips curve faintly, a soft twinkle in his eyes. “I’m sure I’ve kept you up for much longer in the past, for different reasons.” Heat flutters in your lower tummy, eyes flicking down to the collar of his shirt, the pale skin it’s showing off with the slight V-neck. Your eyes do feel pretty heavy…

Eris chuckles. “See? You’re tired too. You need to rest.” 

“Okay…” 

You clamp down on a complaint when he pulls the duvet back, disrupting the smoothness you’d so carefully aimed for. “Come over here,” Eris instructs, a note of affection in his fatigued voice. You grumble, but roll to your allocated side of the bed, allowing him to tuck you in properly before he slides in beside you. 

Without a second’s delay you’ve squashed yourself up to his front, pressing your face into his chest, dragging his scent down in lungfuls. He really smells good.

Eris pauses, before he’s shifting his arms to be around you, a palm pulling hair out from under you. “Sweet little omega.” You hear him murmur to the crown of your head, stroking your skin soothingly. You eagerly squeeze closer, so you’re pressed together from your feet to your head, your legs having twined with his. Fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt, pulling it to your nose to take a full inhale. 

“I’m wearing this tomorrow,” you mumble, crawling a few inches further up his body so you can take his scent from his skin, wanting to lick up his flavour; wrap yourself in him. His reply is muffled. “It’ll be going in the wash tomorrow. This is the third night I’ve worn it.”

“I’ll take it out before it can be washed.” 

“I’m telling you,” he sighs, exasperation underlying his voice, “you’re—”

“I’m not,” you huff, lips curved in a smile. “I would know. Besides, it shouldn’t be happening for another month.” 

“Maybe it’s coming early.” 

“It’s not,” you mumble, mouth slurring your words together. “You’re just seeing what your alpha mind wants you to.” 

“Mhmm. Because it’s happening right before my keen alpha eyes.” 

You shoot him a withering glare, able to hear his deadpan drawl. He offers a sleepy smirk, and your temper is mellowed almost instantly, clutching tighter to him. “I’m just saying I know my omega well. The Mother knows I’d have no quarrel with you starting to nest earlier than we expected.” 

“That’s lovely, but I assure you I’m not.” 

“We’ll see,” he laughs softly, tucking the crown of your head beneath his chin, large palm stroking across your back. 

A beat of silence passes, and you’re on the verge of falling asleep when he speaks again. “I’d be happy to give you my shirt tomorrow if you were nesting, though.” 

“You won’t be leaving the bed if I am,” you mumble back. “I’ll be burying us together beneath all your clothes.” 

Eris groans, but beneath your palm you can feel as his pulse quickens, his heart betraying his true emotion. 

Maybe you are starting earlier than you thought…

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria @nighttimemoonlover @mrsjna

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 15

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Elain Bashing and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

Azriel was in Eira's bed. Between a quilted coverlet, white and florals, making a pattern that formed stars, and embroidered pillow shams, edged with lace. He felt out of place, surrounded by the soft beauty of her work, even when she had curled herself together in his arms, short nails gently scratching his scalp.

He was exhausted; physically, mentally, emotionally…he was utterly depleted, and it was only being in her soft bed, with her soft body pressed against his that made him able to relax at all.

He was laying on his back, with Eira curled up against his side, her head against his chest and her fingers in his hair, and he’d never felt more content.

His chest was rising and falling evenly, his breathing steadier and calmer than it’d been in a while. His eyes were closed, the tiredness and exhaustion making it almost hard to even keep them open.

Azriel shifted the wing she was half lying on, wrapping it around her, and Eira laughed softly but didn't even try to shift away.

Her soft chuckle was a soothing sound, like a balm to his soul. Her body tensed slightly against him with her laugh, but she didn’t move, her body practically melting against his when his wing cocooned her along with his arms.

It felt peaceful…calm, and it soothed the ache within him in a way nothing else could. Her body was a warm, comforting weight against his, her hair against his chin and chest, and the feeling of her fingers gently playing with his hair almost like a lullaby.

“You’re going to fall asleep,” she whispered, her voice soft and quiet. He could feel her breath against his chest, and it was the only thing to tell him she’d spoken, her words so gentle they were almost lost in the stillness.

“This is nice…” he murmured, his voice soft and sleepy and almost a croon, as he held her a bit tighter to him, his wing shifting around her, to hold her even closer.

There was a shifting, a moving of position, and then the next thing he felt was a kiss on his chest and the feel of her body pressed even closer to his.

“Rest then,” she whispered, and her voice was so soft, so soothing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She started humming softly, singing just like she did for Nyx. And Azriel did fall asleep, just for a little while.

He woke up when razor-sharp claws scrambled up his leg and he watched with amusement how Snow made herself at home on his stomach, happily laying there, making Eira laugh silently, her giggles shaking him. He reached out to touch the tiny kitten with a broad, scarred finger and she purred softly as he petted her. 

“As long as she gets attention, she is happy,” Eira recounted with a snort, pressing a kiss against his cheek and he chuckled, the sound raw in his throat. 

A knock at the door, made him freeze. It's just the High Lady, the shadows assured him, just as the door was pushed open.

"Eira?"

The bed creaked slightly, as Eira pushed herself up off of his chest. He had to fight not to pull her back, his arms still tight around her, and against his will, he loosened his hold on her, though not by much.

"It's just Feyre," Eira soothed, her voice so soft, and quiet, as she looked back down at him.

"Sorry to barge in like this," Feyre said, her voice quiet though he could still hear it. "Are you two...alright?"

He sat up, carefully not to hit Eira with his wing accidentally. "We are fine," Eira promised, her voice warm, slipping her hand into his. "Everything is alright."

There was a slight pause, and he could practically see the assessing gaze Feyre was no doubt giving him at that moment.

"You sure? " Feyre asked, and he heard the disbelief in her words. "Because you look...rough."

“We had a talk," Eira said, her voice even. "Did you already write to him?"

He couldn't help the growl that burst out of his throat at that. Eira didn't even flinch. He heard Feyre suck in a breath, clearly startled by his reaction, even as he felt Eira's fingers grip his a bit tighter as if to remind him.

"No," Feyre said, her voice still laced with possibly a hint of…worry? "Rhys and Mor are still talking about what the best way to go about it is. They have a draft now, if you want to read it...Are you two hungry? You haven't really eaten."

He was hungry. But there was only one thing he currently wanted to eat and that was sitting next to him. 

You should eat, the shadows pressed.

Eira was still looking at him, and the look on her face was so soft and tender and worried it made it so hard to deny her. "...We'll eat," Azriel agreed finally, and he saw her shoulders droop infinitesimally as if she'd been holding tension there.

"We'll be down in a few minutes," Eira said calmly.

"Don't take too long," Feyre warned, her voice dry. "Rhys is going to start prowling if you two don't show soon. "

Azriel barely stifled a snort at Feyre's words, even as he heard Eira let out a soft giggle.

"We'll be down soon,” Eira reassured Feyre. "We'll be down soon."

She waited until Feyre had left before she leaned to press a kiss against his lips. "Come on. We'll have to tell our family, don't we?" And that easy acceptance...like she didn't even need to think twice about it...not hesitating for even a moment to tell their family about their engagement, even when there wasn't a ring to show for it...

It made his heart twist in his chest, a painful yet overwhelming sort of feeling.

He couldn't help but pull her closer against him, leaning in to wrap his arms around her body, as he hid his face in the crook of her neck, his nose buried against her hair. "I don't deserve you," he whispered against her skin.

"You do. And I'll tell you that every day for the rest of our lives," Eira disagreed.

He let out a shaky exhale, his breath shuddering against her neck. The feeling of such certainty in her voice…he couldn’t help the way he shook against her, his limbs almost trembling against her as he held her.

"Let's go downstairs," Eira said, offering her hand to him.

He took her hand without protest, the idea of food a bit more palatable when it included her, with him.

His fingers clenched around her own, clutching her hand as if he was scared that if he let go she might disappear.

He heard her soft exhale at his grip, but she didn’t say a word about his hold as she tugged him off the bed after her. Her hair was mussed, her clothes rumpled from where she’d laid against him on the bed, but she simply shook out her skirt and that was it. She tugged him across the room towards the door and pulled him gently after her.

He let her pull him along, the touch of her hand the only grounding thing as his nerves twisted and his worry over what their family’s reaction might be. Would they be happy? Or would they be confused, horrified, angry?

"Nice of you to come back," Cassian drawled from where he was sitting, Nesta draped over his lap, whose grey eyes were immediately mustering Eira before they stared at him.

"We needed a nap," Eira said simply, her voice as soft and gentle as ever, as she tugged him across the room towards an empty chair, and the table full of food

"A nap?" Cassian repeated incredulously.

"A nap and a talk," Eira said with a shrug. "Tell Kleon that sadly he was too late in his offer for my hand, as I am already taken," she told Rhys, her shoulders squared, her chin stuck out.

There were several stunned looks around the room, as Feyre, Cassian, Nesta, Mor and Rhys all stared at her.

The silence was near deafening. And then Rhys let out a bark of startled laughter.

"You’re engaged then," he said, and it was a statement, not a question.

She shrugged, still standing by his side, her hand still firmly gripping his. “We are.” The certainty, the conviction in her voice made something in his chest ache.

The others were still staring, their mouths opening and closing as if trying to find the words. It was Cassian who spoke first, his voice incredulous as he looked at them both.

“You’re…engaged?” he repeated, and his words were a bit slow as if he didn’t quite believe it. “Wait, when?"

“Tonight,” Eira said simply, and her voice was unwavering, her spine straight and her chin held high, as if in a challenge ."We got engaged tonight.”

There was another moment of silence, where the room was so still it was as if no one breathed.

And then Rhys let out another bark of laughter. “Well congratulations then,” he said, his voice full of amusement. “You’ve got a hell of a mate there, Az.”

And somehow that loosened every bit of tension. There was a chorus of congratulations, as Feyre led the charge and suddenly he was swamped with hands and arms and backs slapped and hair ruffled and laughter.

And through it all, Eira stayed beside him, her hand still holding firmly to his.

"Do not mess this up," Nesta hissed at him, even as she hugged him. He heard the threat in her words, as her nails dug into his skin with her hug. And he knew without a doubt she’d make good on that threat if he did mess it up.

But instead of being fearful, in that moment…all he could be was grateful.

For this...for the family surrounding them...his mate, still holding his hand...he was just...grateful.

"No ring yet?" Mor asked. "Az, you know better than that!" she complained good-naturedly. 

He knew. He knew. He did want to get Eira a ring, a visible claim, something that everybody could see. 

"It’s being made," he rasped, and his voice was a near whisper, his guilt so overwhelming at that moment that his stomach churned.

It's not, the shadows sniped. You haven't even decided what you want!

Shut up, he hissed back, his mind filled with a mix of irritation, guilt, and agony over the fact that he hadn’t even startedlooking for her ring when it was his duty as her mate to provide her with one. But she was still holding his hand, her grip firm, as if sensing his turmoil, as if reassuring him that his lack of a ring didn’t matter to her one bit. 

"I do like pearls," Eira told him with a grin. He could only look down at her as he heard the words, a new longing filling him.

“Pearls?” he repeated hoarsely. He’d been fully prepared to start looking for rings embedded with diamonds, with rubies, emeralds, sapphires…

But pearls…he could just imagine her, with pearls against her skin, her creamy pale skin framed by the white of pearls…

"And nothing big, please," Eira continued. That had his thoughts halting, and a frown pulling at his brows.

“...nothing big?” he repeated slowly, the words leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Was she saying she wanted a smaller ring? The idea of giving her a small ring felt wrong to him. When he thought of a ring for her, he couldn’t picture anything other than a large stone, a ring encrusted with gems and gold so that everyone would look at her and know she was his.

But the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. After all, he knew Eira and the last thing she’d ever care about would be having anything impractical that she needed to constantly take off. The more delicate, the more subtle, the more unassuming a ring he got her, the better she’d like it…

But the thought of giving her a small ring felt like he was settling. Like he was disrespecting her. She was his mate, the woman he’d spend his entire life with…she should have a ring that was just as beautiful, as elegant as she was...

"Aaaaaand we lost him," Cassian quipped.

Cassian’s words broke him out of his thoughts, and Azriel scowled at his brother, only to realize…how true Cassian’s words were. He’d been so deep in thought, in contemplating the details of the ring he would get her, that he had ignored the entire conversation around him. And they were all staring at him.

The weight of their gazes had his neck heat, as he realized what he’d done.

But Eira was still holding his hand, her thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of his palm as if to reassure him, to calm him and soothe his guilt over not having a ring for her yet.

"I was just saying that unless you want to get married tonight, signing a betrothal contract would wrap you both in enough paperwork that it makes it very clear to Kleon that Eira is utterly uninterested," Rhys said drily. "We'll simply send the Winter Court a copy."

He breathed a sigh of relief.  “Yes,” he said, his words eager, his grip on Eira’s hand unconsciously tightening as he spoke. “We should…we should do that.”

"If you think you can pay 2 cows for my sister and be done, you are sadly mistaken," Nesta said drily, making Rhys laugh.

"He doesn't even own a single cow," Rhys said with a laugh. That startled a laugh out of Azriel, and he saw Rhys, Cassian, Mor, and Feyre all struggle to hold back a grin. Feyre seemed to barely succeed in suppressing the sound, her lips quivering.

But Eira’s hand tightened in his, her eyes narrowing, but there was a hint of an amused gleam visible in them. “I am not a prize cow in need of bartering.”

Azriel had to bite his tongue to suppress a grin, the idea of his mate as a “prize cow” was both ridiculously charming and utterly absurd. “No, you’re not,” he agreed firmly, his voice rough. “You’re mine.”

"Besides, you can put whatever you want in these betrothal contracts," Mor said drily. "And it's not like they weren't oftentimes just made between families with no exact person even in mind, or that you can't put in them whatever you want. You want to put in there that Azriel forfeits his entire fortune if he does anything Eira doesn't like? You can."

"We are not doing that," Eira said sharply.

But Mor only gave her a sly smile, the gleam in her eyes sparkling. “You never know, Eira…he might just be tempted to do something stupid someday….”

"The shadows are on my side. I don't need his fortune," she gave back drily.

That startled a choked laugh out of Azriel, as he looked down at her.

“I feel like I should be insulted,” he said dryly. “Should I worry that you’d only be happy with me for my shadows and not for me ?”

Eira gave him a smile that was nearly wicked. 

“Maybe I would,” she said teasingly, and Azriel could see the gleam in her eyes, even as her fingers clenched against his side as if to hold him firmly to her. “Maybe I’ll only keep you until I can get the shadows to switch sides and become mine instead.”

His jaw almost dropped at her words, the audacity of her teasing, the hint of playfulness in her words, and he heard Cassian bark a laugh while Feyre gave a stifled giggle that sounded almost like a snort.

But he couldn’t even try to come up with a response, his mouth opening and then closing again as he tried to think of something to say…

"What do we need to do?" Eira asked Rhys. "We sign a piece of paper with our intent to marry, and that's it?"

Rhys leaned back against the back of his chair, an amused look on his face. “That’s it. It’s simple honestly. It's a blood-bound contract though."

"I don't need to drink his blood, right?" Eira asked, suddenly sounding worried.

Azriel had the sudden urge to laugh at her question, the fear in her voice at the prospect of having to drink his blood.

"No," he said, struggling to hold back a smile. "No blood drinking."

"You'll only need to prick your finger," Rhys promised with a laugh That managed to get a breath of relief out of her, and Azriel couldn’t help the urge to smile.

She was still worried, even with the simple task of a blood-bound contract. A contract that would tie them together, that would make sure that any other suitors, Kleon knew that she was spoken for, his. Her agreement to sign a contract to marry him…

He didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Just…everything, swirling together in a roiling mass in his chest.

"Paper and ink, Rhys," Azriel said, his words a near croak, strangled out past his tight throat.

Rhys’s gaze snapped to him, his eyes scanning over his face, then his lips curled into a small smile, as he nodded and stood.

"Paper and ink," Rhys repeated, his smile still firmly in place. "Coming right up."

It was the work of minutes to work out the wording, keeping it simple. 

Azriel’s hands shook slightly as he signed the contract, the words blurry in front of his eyes, his mind whirling at the reality of what he was doing.

His hand trembled as it went to his thigh to the sheath of Truthteller, and he pulled it out. He nicked the top of his thumb on the blade, letting the blood well in the cut

He let the red drop fall, watching it splatter on the paper, a thick, red smear that turned into a stain, dark and blotchy.

He’d just signed a contract, a blood-bound contract, pledging himself, promising himself to her, binding his life to hers…

He offered the pen to Eira, and his vision was tunnelled, as if the only thing his mind was capable of seeing was her slender hand, her fingers wrapping around the black ink pen as if to take hold of their future with her grip.

He held out Truthteller for her second, hilt first.  She reached out, her hand reaching for the blade, and a flicker of panic rose in him as he looked down at her, her small, beautiful, delicate hand reaching for something that could hurt her.

“Careful,” he managed to say, the word almost hoarse as he spoke, his voice rough. “You have to be careful, it’s sharp…”

She held the blade gingerly, the knife looking large and ominous in her small hands.

He watched as she studied it, a moment of hesitation clear as she stared at the blade, before pressing the tip against the pad of her index finger.

She winced, but only slightly, as she pricked her finger, a bright drop of crimson welling and then falling next to her own signature. The words around them were little more than a buzz in his ears, the only thing he could focus on was the fact that she’d done it, her signature and blood staining the paper...binding her to him.

Nesta signed next to her.

He watched as Rhys took the parchment, rolling it tight and sealing it with a wave of his own power.

"Done," Rhys said, his simple word shattering the silence that had descended around them.

Azriel had the sudden thought that he could hear his heartbeat, how it was thumping in his chest, louder than a drum in his ears. A pounding beat that echoed in his head, pounding along with three simple, perfect words in his mind.

His mate.

"That's it?" Eira made sure.

“That’s it,” Rhys said with a smile, that small, amused quirk to his lips firmly in place. “You’re officially betrothed now.”

Azriel couldn’t help the way his own lips curled up upon hearing those words, his thoughts replaying them over and over in his head.

Betrothed. Officially betrothed.

The words were like the sweetest honey to his ears.

Eira turned to glance up at him, those lovely blue eyes, flecked with silver looking up at him, her gaze curious, contemplative…and happy.

And looking at her, at the smile on her face, the happy gleam in her eyes, he realized that he’d never be able to get enough of that look, of the look of pure joy and hope on her face.

***

She was engaged.

The thought left her both giddy and scared, her heart beating a rapid tattoo against her chest.

Azriel…she was engaged to Azriel.

It was almost too much to comprehend, to even wrap her head around. 

The male she had never thought she would be able to have…the one she had fallen in love with the very first time she had seen him…

The man who made her smile and laugh, who made her feel all warm on the inside. The man who looked at her as if seeing her was more beautiful than anything in the entire world…

She was engaged, to the male who made her heart race in her chest, the male who with one look could leave her breathless and dizzy, the male who somehow looked at her like she was the most important thing in the entire world, like he’d do anything for her.

She was quite sure that she was never going to get over that.

The way he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the entire world, the way his shadows reached out to her, the way they twined around her as if to shield her…

There was a certain amount of possessiveness in the way he held her, the way he touched her, as if he didn’t want her to ever be out of his reach.

And at the same time, there was a hint of reverence in his touch, in the way that he held her, as if he was afraid he would somehow break her if he didn’t hold her gently and tenderly...

Gods, she was getting worse than her sister’s romance novels wasn't she?

Eira didn’t know whether to laugh or not…she was being absolutely ridiculous, wasn’t she?

But gods, the way he smiled at her, the way he looked at her, his eyes full of such wonder every time his gaze found her…

Her good mood was even in spite of the weather, gloomy and cold as she pulled on a set of clothes and readied herself for the day.

The skies were overcast, the threat of rain in the air. The clouds were dark and heavy, hanging over the city heavy and grey, but even that could not dampen her spirits.

"You are in an awful chipper mood," Rhys said drily as she came down for breakfast. Feyre was yet nowhere to be seen but Nyx grinned at her as she dropped a noisy kiss to her nephew’s black hair.

“Maybe I am,” she said in a singsong voice, not even bothering to deny it as she reached for the platter of food. “What do you suppose could have me so happy?

Rhys raised an eyebrow at her, an eyebrow arched up almost to his hairline.

“Oh you know,” he said, his tone as dry as a summer desert. “I can’t imagine what could possibly have you in such a wonderfully happy mood…”

She hid a smile behind a bite of toast, even as Nyx babbled up at her, his small hands reaching up towards her, his small arms held up.

She reached out, picking him up and settled him on her lap, ruffling his hair and earning a bright, joyful laugh from the toddler.

Her nephew seemed happy enough to stay in her lap, his little hands reaching up to pat at her face as if fascinated by the sight of her.

She laughed softly, swatting his little fingers away before he accidentally stuck them in her eye, her gaze flickering back up to Rhysand.

He was watching the interaction between her and Nyx, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two of them, a smirk on his lips.

“He'll miss you, you know,” he casually commented, and she felt her spine stiffen in an instant at the words, her chest clenching slightly, her heart skipping a beat at the words. "Whenever Azriel and you do find a house to make your own."

Rhys' words startled her, the prospect of leaving Nyx behind making her heart pang in her chest, a twinge of sorrow sparking in her chest. "I'll still visit," she protested,  as she looked down at the toddler in her lap, the child happily patting his little hands against her face. Of course, she would visit. He was her nephew. 

Rhys' expression was almost rueful. "That won't change the fact that he'll miss you," he pointed out, just as Nyx gave a particularly gleeful laugh, his little hand accidentally smacking her cheek in his excitement.

She gave a small wince as the toddler's hand smacked against her cheek, a soft thud that stung just a little.

"He's young, he'll forget about me eventually," she said stoutly, even as the thought made her heart clench slightly.

"About his Auntie Ra Ra? I highly doubt that," Feyre said as she came into the dining Room. "But then, maybe you'll give him a cousin or two to play with."

The sound of Feyres's voice had her glancing up, and she gave her sister a smile, though her words made her cheeks flush as her heart stuttered in her chest.

"One step at a time," she said with a laugh, but the thought of children was already in her head.

Azriel's children, her own children…

She felt her head spinning, the prospect both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

Children...children with Azriel, with the male she cared so, so much for…

It was something she'd once thought would never happen, a family of her own.

The thought of it, of marrying Azriel, of having children with him…it filled her with wonder.

And even the nervous thrum of energy it sent through her didn’t diminish her mood.

She was just about to reach for a slice of bread, when she heard the entrance door open. She looked at Rhys questionable, who gave her a smile. "Azriel. It seems like my spymaster was thrown out of bed by his shadows at an ungodly hour."

Her heart skipped a beat at the words, her stomach flipping, and a sense of anticipation running down her spine.

And then she felt his presence like a brush of a cool draft, the feeling of his shadows winding through the room, almost like a greeting just for her.

They immediately twined around her wrists and hands, hissing wordlessly... like Snow sometimes purred just because.

A soft laugh escaped her at the feeling of the shadows, at the familiar way they reached out to her, winding around her wrists and hands, almost as if greeting her.

She reached out to brush a finger along one of the shadows, feeling a strange sense of joy at the way the shadow leaned into her touch, wrapping around her finger, almost as if nuzzling her skin.

Their Master was not far behind. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, in the doorway, his usual leathers covering him, his hair mused slightly from sleep, a hint of a smile on his face as he looked at her.

He almost took her breath away just from the simple sight of him, his dark clothes hugging his frame, his hair slightly mussed as if he had woken up late, his eyes still a little cloudy from sleep.

And that hint of a smile on his lips, just for her, a soft smile that managed to send her heart fluttering in her chest.

"Good Morning," he greeted. "I thought I...may get to kidnap you after breakfast?"

Her heart just soared even more at the words, a small laugh escaping her, her mood soaring at the prospect of spending time with him.

“You’re not too tired?” she asked, and his smile grew, a hint of mischief in his gaze as he looked at her. "I heard the shadows threw you out of bed at an ungodly hour," she quipped.

Azriel just shook his head, a small smile playing around his lips. "They had an errand for me to run," he answered.

“Important, I presume,” Rhys commented, his tone slightly dry.

“Of course,” Azriel replied, his gaze flickering across the room to her, the smile on his face growing into something a lot closer to a cocky smirk. “Of the most importance.”

"Where are we going?" Eira asked as she stood, finishing her Marmelade Toast with two more bites.

"Not that far," Azriel answered. "But put on a coat please, it's getting colder."

She didn't even get to respond before the shadows had already managed to get her coat from her room, making her sigh as they wrapped her up in it.

She was helpless to resist as the shadows worked her arms into her coat, a huff of laughter leaving her lips at their eagerness.

She managed to roll her eyes as her arms went through the sleeves of the coat, the shadows wrapping her up in her coat with almost gentle delicacy, almost as if they feared they might somehow break her.

A gentle tug on the hem of her coat had her turning back to face Azriel, who had an almost fond look on his face as he looked at the shadows.

"Are you alright?" he asked, nodding towards the black shadows, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his gaze.

"I'm fine," she replied, though she felt the flush in her cheeks increase slightly as she cast a look down at the shadows, feeling that odd sense of both affection and annoyance. "Your shadows are just...overly eager," she quipped.

"I can't really fault them," Azriel responded as she took his arm that he offered, waving to Feyre and Rhys as he led her out of the room. "How do you feel about flying?"

"The one time Cassian took me, I vomited all over him," she said drily.

Azriel gave a low, dark scoff, a hint of annoyance in his gaze at that. "Of course Cassian would make you vomit," he said, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he said his friend's name.

"Well, if it makes you feel better," Azriel continued, glancing down at her through half-lidded eyes. "I won't be diving and swooping the way that idiot would do."

"That's a little reassuring," she said drily, even as her stomach fluttered.

It was reassuring, definitely better than the thought of vomiting all over him, but it didn't stop her heart from thudding slightly as he led her towards the door. 

They were going to be flying.

Her stomach did a little somersault as the thought raced through her mind, even as he led her out the door, her breath caught in her chest as the wind tugged at her clothes.

She was going to be flying with Azriel, in his arms, with those wings of his.

"You still trust me, right?" The sound of his voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she looked up at him, her heart fluttering slightly as she saw the certainty in his gaze, the look in his eyes that made her forget how to breathe for a moment or two.

"Of course," she said, the words breathless, her heart skipping a beat in her chest.

She trusted him more than anything else in the world, more than everything. And while she didn't trust flying...she trusted him.

He seemed reassured by her words, a hint of relief flickering in his gaze for a moment, his lips twitching slightly into a small smile. And then he moved, one arm sweeping under their knees and picking her up into his arms, holding her against him in a tight, secure embrace.

"Just hold on to me." It was all the warning she was going to get.

There was hardly any time to respond, for him to even give her warning, and then her feet were leaving the ground, leaving the safety of the ground as he wrapped her tight in his arms.

And then they were in the air, the ground suddenly falling away beneath her.

She instinctively tightened her grip on him, her arms wrapped tighter around his neck, holding on to him for dear life as she felt the wind against her body.

She shut her eyes tight, burying her head against his shoulder, feeling the sensation of falling and a small, terrified gasp escaped her, her grip on him so tight she was probably cutting off his circulation.

"Relax, sweetheart," his voice was a low rumble against her ear. "Just relax. I've got you, you're safe...nothing's going to happen, just relax..."

She could hear the reassurance in his words, in his voice, and she tried to relax, tried to listen to him and the steady, reassuring tone of his voice, to the steady, calm beat of his heart, even as her own heart was pounding.

"You're fine," he repeated, his lips brushing against her temple, his breath a soft shiver against her skin. "You're fine, I won't let anything happen...just trust me, sweetheart."

She dared to peek over his shoulder...seeing the rushing water of the Sidra beneath them. They were crossing over from the River House towards the House of Wind.

The view was slightly dizzying, and she shut her eyes again with a small whimper, her head resting against his shoulder, her face buried in his leathers, as she tightened her arms around his neck.

"Almost there," he comforted her, the words a low rumble against her ear. "You're doing great, just hold onto me, love..."

And then she could feel the descent, tightly controlled, slower than she was sure he had ever done it before, only for her benefit...and she concentrated not on the ground that was coming closer but on these massive, majestic wings that stretched from his back.

She concentrated on the sight, on the dark, membranous wings that stretched from his back, on how majestic he looked, with the sun shining on his wings, and then her own feet were once again touching solid ground, and she realised she had barely dared to even breathe the entire flight.

She stood in his arms for a moment or two, her limbs still trembling from the nerves, her lungs gasping for the air they'd been denying themselves for God knows how long.

"See? Completely and perfectly safe," he said, his voice quiet. "No vomiting, no dropping you. Completely safe."

She let out a shaky exhale at his words, forcing herself to relax as she took a deep breath, her heart still pounding against her chest, her body still trembling. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that," she managed to say, a hint of breathlessness in her voice.

"Maybe you just need a lot more practice," he quipped, and she could hear the hint of amusement in his voice, the hint of satisfaction, that he was able to make jokes again. “A lot more flights with me. Maybe hundreds…”

She managed a small laugh at his words, feeling her heart give a little bit of a flutter at that, and she could picture it, hundreds of flights, all in his arms, just like this, and it flushed her face with colour.

"Maybe we should take it one flight at a time," she said, still laughing slightly.  "I think all the flights are just going to leave me as a trembling, terrified mess if I keep vomiting or panicking every time I get in the air, and I highly doubt you want that."

He pressed a kiss to her temple, as he finally let her down and only then she took in her surroundings. They were on the other side of the Sidra and she could still see the River House in the distance...

"Where are we?" she managed to gasp out, still trying to catch her own breath, her heart still racing furiously, her legs feeling a little wobbly from the flight.

Home, the shadows said brightly. We are home!

She looked down at the shadows who were writhing around her legs, a small smile playing around her lips as she watched them.

"Home," she repeated, feeling a sense of wonder and excitement coursing through her heart as she looked up at the house in front of her, taking in the sight of it, and feeling the beginnings of possibility.

Eira stared at the grey stone house, overgrown with ivy...with a blue door and matching blue shutters on its windows. It wasn't massive. Not huge. But big...big enough to house a family. Two stories and an attic, tucked along a side arm of the River. It looked...magical.

Slightly depilated, like it hadn't had somebody to take care of it...but…She stared at the house, taking it in with wide eyes, a thousand different thoughts and emotions rushing through her mind.

It was...perfect. It was perfect.

It was perfect and every little detail of it filled her with a sort of longing, a longing to make it theirs.

"Do you..." she spoke, her voice low, as she continued to stare at the house in front of her. "Does it have a backyard ?"

Azriel let out a low laugh, clearly amused by her question. "Of course it does," he answered a hint of laughter in his voice. "Do you really think the shadows would have picked a house that doesn't have space for your vegetable garden?"

She felt her cheeks flush pink with embarrassment to have her desire for a garden so utterly transparent, but she didn't shy away from it, just huffed a small breath of laughter under her breath, even as her heart did a funny little leap in her chest.

Let us show you! the shadows said excitedly, twirling around her wrist again and tugging her towards the house. There was no chance to resist even if she had wanted to, the shadows pulling her along towards the house, and she followed, a hint of excitement and anticipation rushing through her.

She cast a glance back at Azriel over her shoulder, but he only followed behind, a soft smile on his face.

The shadows were already opening the front door, letting her inside, and she stepped into the front hallway feeling her breath catch in her chest.

It was...perfect. It was perfect.

And it could be theirs.

She walked around, taking in the small hallway, the wooden floors, the high ceilings, looking into the living room, the kitchen, feeling a sense of possibility filling her as she looked around. And the shadows were already showing her around, racing ahead of her as she looked, almost seeming to vibrate with excitement as they pointed things out to her.

There was a sitting room, a formal dining room, a study, a large kitchen, a cosy nook set into the side of the house, and a small bathroom all on the first floor.

The shadows tugged her up the stairs. Towards the master bedroom, overlooking the stream. And then they tugged her into a room overlooking the garden.

The shadows were vibrating with such excitement now that she could barely keep up with them, but they tugged her forward, showing her the room.

For the babies, they whispered.

"For the...babies?" She repeated, feeling her heart leap into her chest, as she looked around.

It was perfect. For a child. For a few children. Plenty of space, and a full wall of windows that looked into the garden, and her heart was racing.

Yes! The shadows were practically cheering. For the babies!

She turned and met Azriel's eyes from the doorway, He was leaning up against the doorjamb, watching her, a slight smile on his face as she looked at him. He raised an eyebrow at her, a gleam in his eye as he looked at her.

She couldn't do anything but look at him, her heart hammering in her chest, her face flushed with excitement.

"You like it?" he asked, a note of smug satisfaction in his voice, and she could tell he was already pretty sure of the answer, having seen the shadows showing her around and having watched her reaction the whole time.

“Yes,” she breathed out. “But I need to see the garden.”

This time it was Azriel who let out a low laugh, amusement dancing in his eyes as he pushed away from the wall and crossed to where she stood.

“Of course you do,” he said, and there was an odd...tenderness in his voice, a fondness in the gleam in his eye. “Let’s go see the garden then.”

She didn’t even have a moment to hesitate, before he reached forward and took her hand. The contact felt like sparks in her skin, her breath catching in her chest as he intertwined his fingers with hers, and tugged her forward, leading her from the room and back down the stairs.

She was aware of the way her heart was racing as if trying to break free from her chest as they walked, and she could practically feel every point of contact between them. His hand in hers, every brush of his skin against her fingers, every place they were touching... Her skin tingled and danced, her breath caught in her chest, and she could have sworn she was shaking.

And then he tugged her from the back porch, tugging her out into the garden, and her attention was fully captured as she looked around her, at the space around her-

It was perfect. A space of green, of flowers... A riotous assortment of blooms, vegetables, a place to sit, a place to play...

And there was…as she turned back towards the house, and saw the blue door…suddenly she remembered. Remembered Elain’s vision. Remembered the fleck of blue in the background…remembered…this was their home. This was the place for their children, where they would grow and learn.

She looked at the house, at the back porch and the windows, the flowers and vegetables around her, and she felt her eyes growing watery, a sense of longing in her heart, a sense of home, the picture so perfect in her mind. And in her mind’s eye, she saw it - children running through the garden, playing in the grass, their laughter filling the air…

She imagined it. The children’s laughter, the sound of life. She could picture it, children racing around the garden, playing in the grass, children with light hair and dark eyes, and her heart ached, her throat closing up with an almost painful longing.

She wanted it. She wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything else in her life…

Eira turned towards Azriel, who was still watching her, a soft, tender expression on his face. He already had known what she was doing, that she was picturing what the garden would look like with their children, what the house would look like full of life, and she could see the longing in his own eyes, the same emotion that burned in her chest.

“Let me at least do this one thing right,” he requested softly, as he stepped close to her, as he grasped her hand and sunk down on one knee. “Eira Marie Archeron, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

She stared at him, her heart stopping in her chest. He was kneeling in front of her, his hand wrapped around hers, hazel eyes gazing up at her, a hopeful, hopeful gleam in his eyes, as he waited for her to answer.

She wanted to say so many things, wanted to tell him so many things, but the only thing that would come out of her mouth was a soft “Yes”…

He let out a shaky, almost desperate exhale, almost as if he had been holding his breath the whole time, waiting to hear her response, before his fingers tightened around hers, a fierce, hopeful gleam in his eyes, and it felt like her heart was burning in her ribcage.

She wasn’t even sure from where the ring that he slipped on her finger suddenly appeared. Silver. One pearl, flanked by diamonds. Small enough that it wouldn’t get in her way. But so utterly beautiful that she could only stare.

“The shadows had it all narrowed down,” Azriel said quietly. “They threw me out of bed this morning to drag me all around Velaris to show me the rings they had picked out. I chose this one…I thought it was the most…you.” She stared at the ring in wonder, taking in the simple beauty of the silvery metal and the diamonds and pearls. She would have been happy with any ring, any piece of jewellery that he gave her, but this...it was so her, she couldn’t help but smile, her heart filled with something sweet and warm and fluttery at the sight of it, at the thought of the shadows guiding him.

She could picture it, the shadows, tugging him all over the city, the shops lining the Sidra, guiding him to the perfect ring, and she loved the thought of it, of how the shadows wanted to help Azriel pick this perfect ring, that they wanted to help make this moment perfect for both of them.

“We would be lost without you,” Eira told them and they preened in response

They swirled around her happily, almost fluttering with pride, their dark matter moving like ripples in a pond as they basked in the praise, and she couldn’t help but smile at them, letting out a soft laugh as she watched them dance around her.

[keisobe]

: 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 — (𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦 + 𝐥𝐨’𝐚𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲)

— from avatar 2 : way of the water (spoiler free!!)

contents. f! reader, reader is a na’vi, established relationships, teen romance, small kissing scenes, use of a pet name, all fluff + wc. 701

notes. this was really fun to write, though i struggled to write lo’ak around this time ㅠㅠ hope you guys enjoy tho!

NETEYAM 𖥔 ݁ . ༅ — “good girl.”

“hey!” your ears perked up when you heard a familiar voice, stopping you from observing the array of herbs and gleaming seeds that you needed to restock for your medical supplies.

turning your head, you see neteyam running through the patches of glossy leaves and fresh soil— a bright smile adorning his blue face. you couldn’t help but smile back, resuming back to arranging the seeds and herbs into different pouches as his footsteps became more distinct.

neteyam lingered behind you, amused by your fluid fingers hastily grinding apart certain herbs and seeds to make them into a fine powder— he was always fascinated by how attentive you are in becoming a healer. one day you’ll make an amazing tsahík.

“do you have the medicine for tuk?” he asks, swatting off the insects that flew near your dewy skin. you nodded in reply, rummaging through the purple woven basket that neteyam gifted you. the basket was embroidered with personal designs that were done by neteyam; it nearly took him a month to make.

“yes, i just made it a while ago,” you assured, the sounds of bottles clicking against each other and the intense fragrance of heady floral aroma filled neteyam’s senses.

“here it is,” without looking at him, you held the vial of green liquid behind you as he took it from your grasp— resuming back to stocking up on medicine.

neteyam knelt down to your level, leaning towards your pointed ear.

“good girl,” he muttered, patting your head gently before sweetly running his fingers through the locks of your hair.

your cheeks burned with an obvious blush, completely flustered by his word choice. but before you can comment on it, neteyam presses a quick peck on your slightly agape lips, returning back into the forest to tend to his little sister.

LO’AK 𖥔 ݁ . ༅ — “so pretty.”

the marui was lit with a burning lantern, only you and lo’ak lay awake in the night. he was longingly staring at the enchanting scenery through the entrance— milky white splotches and dashes of blue adorned the sky. you sat beside him, resting your head against his shoulder.

“this will never get old,” your voice cuts through the nightly air, the glowing waves sloshing beneath both of your feet.

lo’ak only hummed in reply, his eyelids feeling heavy with exhaustion. after swimming for most of the day, he couldn’t help but feel an ache penetrating through his muscles— recalling back to the crazy stunts he did to impress you.

you instantly noticed his fatigue and decided it was time to sleep. lo’ak felt your warmth disappear from his bare shoulder, he groaned from the loss of contact— a bubble of irritation coursing through his veins.

still, you managed to drag him deeper to the pod, despite all his slurring whines and poor attempts to blink away the sleep.

with a warm woven blanket and a plush pillow, you gently tucked lo’ak to sleep. he felt your fingertips smooth out the wrinkles of the sheets— slowly lulling him to sleep. your touch traveled towards his face, brushing off the stray braids that threaten to hide his yellow eyes.

for a little bit, you hummed a calming melody that your mother would always sing to you, helping you doze through the bad dreams. lo’ak watched the way your hair glistened under the dusky sky and the flutter of your lashes when you hummed the favorite part of your song.

he reached towards the hair that fell from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“so pretty,” lo’ak whispered, running his thumb on top of your balmy lips. warmth prickled onto your cheeks as he said that, relieved that the darkness could hide the color that developed on your skin.

before you could wish him a good night, lo’ak was fast asleep— a low purr exhaled from his mouth. you smiled at how peaceful he looked in his sleep, grazing a soft kiss onto his lips before your eyes wander back to the night sky.

© 2022 keisobe – please do not copy any of my writing and repost or translate to other sites.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Benny

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

summary: glimpses of your friendship with Benedict as you both navigate love and loss

word count: 5k

cw: brief mention of death and grief

This is based on this request and is in collaboration with the lovely @lillypad910!

part two

Age Six

The carriage pulled up to the house where you would be living. You wiped away your tears as the door opened, a footman holding his hand out for you as you climbed out, your aunt and uncle following you. They each took one of your hands as they led you up the steps, not a single word being uttered as they did so.

Once you were inside, your aunt, Eleanor let go of your hand and crouched in front of you. She wiped away your tears with the pads of her thumbs as she looked into your eyes, trying to find any way to put a smile on your face.

"Do you want to see your room?" She asked and your face suddenly lit up as you nodded furiously. "Go up the stairs and it's the first door." She pointed in that direction and you raced up the stairs, opening the door to reveal a room that your entire old house could have fit into.

You let out a gasp as you ran to the bed, collapsing onto it, letting out a contented sigh. You had never had one to yourself since you always wanted to share with your parents, always wanting to sleep with them because they made you feel safe, like you were protected from the scary thoughts in your head that always seemed to keep you awake. 

Eleanor and Gabriel stood in the doorway, staring down at you lovingly. “We will leave you to get comfortable, you had a long journey.” Your aunt smiled at you, gesturing for your uncle to step out. “Pull that rope if you need anything,” She pointed to an embroidered rope of fabric right next to the bed, “Fiona will come up with some tea and treats in an hour.” She leaned down and placed a soft kiss to your temple, before leaving and shutting the door behind her. 

You snuggled into the pillows, the exhaustion from the long trip finally weighing on your small body. 

Just as Aunt Eleanor had said, a knock came from the door, “Miss?” The door cracked open and a young woman stepped in holding a tray of biscuits and tea. “My name is Fiona, Miss. I’ll be your personal maid for the duration of your stay.” She smiled at you before placing the tray at the table by the window of the room. Two chairs were placed next to the table. You got up and made your way over to the table, pulling yourself into one of the chairs. “Here,” Fiona poured you a cup of tea in a fancy china set, like the one your mother would pull out when you had visitors. 

You took it carefully into your small hands, just like your mother had taught you to do, and took a sip. The hot liquid sent a blanket of warmth throughout your form, enveloping you like a comforting hug. It was sweet, with a lot of cream, exactly how you liked it. 

“Is it good?” She asked you, her hands holding the tray against her body. You nodded, too nervous to use words, but wanting to confirm your liking. She smiled, happy with your response. “The biscuits are for you to enjoy, so please help yourself. If that is all for now, I’ll take my leave-” Without even realizing, your hand reached out to grab her apron. 

Fiona stopped in her tracks, her eyes widened as she glanced down at your hand, “Miss?” You gave the apron a soft tug, your eyes watering as the initial rose colored lenses fade. Fiona seemed to look panicked as she sat the tray back down, quickly lowering to your level and looking up at you. “Miss, please don’t cry…”

A knock came from the door, a creaking sound echos as it opens, your mother stepping in. “We are leaving-” She froze seeing your tears, “Oh dear…” She stepped closer, signaling for Fiona to take a moment. As Fiona stepped out of the room, your mother got down to her knees in front of you. Her perfume hit you with its sweet floral fragrance, sending an immediate wave of comfort over you. “Darling, it’s alright…” Your mother gave you a soft smile, running her hand over your cheek to wipe away your tears, “it’s only for a few days.” Her smile was comforting, as one of her delicate fingers brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

You sniffled, your eyes puffy from your tears as you calmed down. Your mother hummed, content with your newly found composure. “Here,” She lifted you up off the chair, before carrying you over to the bed. She reached behind herself, before pulling a box in front of you. “Open it.” 

You did so, pulling the pink ribbon off the box before lifting the lid. You looked into the box to see a soft teddy bear laying there. You lifted it up, holding it to your chest. You noticed immediately the fragrance of your mother’s perfume sprayed across the bear. “Whenever you miss me and your father,” She wrapped her arms around you, “I want you to squeeeze” she mimicked the action against you, squeezing you in her arms. This released a soft giggle from you, making her let out a laugh too. 

“Now,” She pulled away, looking down at you, “ I need you to be a good girl for your Aunt and Uncle, alright?” You nodded snuggling into the bear. “Darling,” the deep, comforting voice came from the door, making you both look up. Your father stood there, Fiona just behind him, “It’s time to go.” Your mother took in a deep breath, before turning back to you, “What will you name it?” Your father looked down at you, his eyes softened as they took in the teddy bear in your arms. 

“Teddy.” The immediate giggle that came from your mother as she covered her mouth. Your father looked away, a subtle rouge on his cheeks. 

“You hear that, Teddy?” Your mother got out between her giggles. 

“Shush.”

Fiona let out a small giggle as well before clearing her throat. “Theo,” your uncle calls from down the hall, your father recoiling at the sound of the nickname. He waved his wife over and reached for her hand, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles before leading her down the stairs. You followed, hurrying behind them as fast as your little legs could carry you, holding onto the railing as you did so. 

Once you got to the bottom, your mother reached for your hand and you took it before both of your parents crouched in front of you. You hugged Teddy to your chest as they both pulled you into a group hug, squeezing the both of you tight.  

“Well see you in a few days, my sweet,” your mother said, her hand reaching up to cup your cheek. She pressed a kiss to it then the two of them joined hands once again before heading to the doors where your aunt and uncle were standing. 

As everyone said their goodbyes, your mother pulled you aside for one more good hug. “I love you, y/n.” You noticed her grip was a little tighter than past hugs; her hands ran through your hair, soothing any loose strands. 

Your mother hugged your aunt before her and your father were led out the front door by a footman. Something in the air felt strange, and you almost swore that you could see your mother wiping away a tear as the door closed, leaving you alone with your aunt and uncle.

As the carriage was dragged away, you felt your uncle place his hand on your shoulder, a soft squeeze that felt oddly comforting coming from someone you hardly knew. You swore you heard him let out a deep breath, turning to face him, only to see him turn away.

The morning came quickly, with Fiona waking you with a cup of hot chocolate and a warm smile to match. “Good morning, Miss.” Her cheery voice rang through the room much louder than you needed that early. “Your aunt has a surprise for you, so we must get you ready for a day of adventure!” 

You slowly pulled the covers back and rubbed the sleep from your eyes before taking the cup from her, blowing on the beverage before taking a sip. Fiona lets you take your time as she pulls out a cute dress from the wardrobe. It was much more frilly than anything you had ever owned and it caught your attention immediately as she laid it across the bed in front of you. 

“How’s this, Miss?” She took your face of astonishment as a look of approval. “Let’s get you dressed.” You sat the cup down and got up, letting her help you get dressed - something your mother always did. 

After getting you dressed and doing your hair with pretty ribbons, Fiona led you downstairs where your Aunt was waiting for you. “Ah! y/n, good!” She smiled at you, greeting you with open arms. “I have plans for us today for you to meet some of the other children in the area. We will discuss it on the way.” She made her way out of the front door, leaving you to quickly follow after with little delay. 

“The Bridgerton house is a prestigious family of the ton, and Lady Bridgerton is actually a dear friend of mine and your mother’s so please be on your best behavior.” Her blabbering mellowed out of your ears as your carriage made it down the road, but you picked up on the assumed important points. 

As the carriage came to a stop, it took only a moment for a footman to open the door, helping your aunt out of the carriage first before holding out his hand to you, “Miss y/n.” You took it tightly, using his grip as a way to anchor yourself in the present. It was a faster pace of affirming than you were used to, but you needed to adapt. 

“Y/n,” Aunt Eleanor called out to you, “The Bridgerton children are kind and well educated. It would do you good to make friends with them. There are four children that are closest to you in age, Anthony, Benedict, Colin, and Daphne.” She gestured for you to follow closely as you made your way to the front door, “Daphne should be another girl for you to spend time with, but Benedict is the one your age.” 

As the front door to the Bridgerton country home opened, you had to be honest with yourself, your aunt’s words were lost in the background. The grand entrance of the home was spotless, beautiful, and grand. It made your family home look like a doll house. 

“Lady Eleanor,” A woman stepped forward, smiling at your aunt before giving you a smile as well, “I am Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper here at Bridgerton House. The Viscountess is outside in the garden waiting for your arrival, I will take you both to her now.” Her voice was prim and proper, much more direct and scary than anyone you had met. You had made a mental note to not get on her bad side. 

The garden was all prepared for tea with the table and chairs, decorated with some of the most elegant bouquets you’d ever seen. There was a fancy china set and a tray with an array of sandwiches and biscuits in the center of the table. Was everyone’s life this lavish and elegant?

You felt drool forming in your mouth as you stepped up to the table, glancing over the array of goodies perfectly placed on a tiered platter on the table. 

You reached out to grab one only for someone else to reach it first. You looked up and there was a boy about your age, not that you were paying much attention, you were focused on the delicate finger sandwich in his hand. His eyes widened at what he had done and he quickly held it out to you, a warm smile on his face. 

“My apologies,” he said nervously and you looked down, the small sandwich still in his hands. “Please, take it,” he urged and you nodded, slowly taking it from him. You took a small nibble, afraid that gorging out on food would make your aunt angry, or leave a bad impression on the boy in front of you. But as you glanced back up at the boy, his smile had not faded. 

“Y/n!” The loud call of your name made you jump, fumbling the sandwich before it fell into the grass under you. “You shouldn’t eat without permission from your host!” You didn’t like being yelled at, it was probably the one thing you hated more than being away from your mother. 

You lowered your head, trying your best to hide the tears that were falling from your face. The only thing more embarrassing than crying was crying in front of a stranger. You quickly wiped your tears as your aunt approached you, her features softening as she realized that maybe she had been a bit too harsh with you. 

“P-pardon me,” the boy across from you spoke up. “It was my fault.”

“Your fault?” Eleanor asked, turning to him. 

“Yes ma’am,” he nodded furiously. “Absolutely my fault. I told her she could have it. She just seemed so hungry and-”

“Enough,” your aunt cut him off, holding her hand up as if to silence him. “My deepest apologies to both of you.” Her hand rested on your shoulder as she crouched to your height, lifting your chin so you would look up at her, wiping your tears from your face. 

“Perhaps I was a bit too stern,” she said, her eyebrows pinching together before she reached for another sandwich and held it out to you. “It will be our little secret,” she winked, then patted your head before heading back over to the adults, leaving you alone with the boy again. 

“I’m Anthony,” he said, holding his hand out for you to shake and you looked down at it before looking up at him, wondering what you were supposed to do with it. “You’re supposed to shake it,” he let out a laugh and slowly reached for your hand, giving it a firm shake before pulling you along with him. “Come on,” he called out to you as he started to run, your small legs having trouble keeping up with him as you shoved the sandwich into your mouth to free your hand so you could gather up your dress. 

Anthony pulled you further out into the grassy garden where there were two other boys and the girl who you had heard about earlier. They were all chasing each other, giggles escaping their lips as they did so, the girl tackling her brother to the ground. 

“You’re it, Colin,” she told him and he pushed her off of him before standing to his feet, grumbling to himself that he was never going to play with them again as he went to chase after his other brother. 

You watched them play with each other, wondering what it would have been like to have a sibling, to have a built-in best friend that you could have played with whenever you wanted. Your life seemed so quiet so…boring compared to theirs.

Anthony cleared his throat loudly and the three siblings froze, all turning to face him. He rested a hand on your shoulder as the others hurried over, wanting to get a glimpse of the new-comer. You felt your cheeks get hot as they stared at you, hating that you were getting all of the attention. 

“This is y/n,” he introduced you proudly as he looped his arm through yours. “Be nice to her. She’s new here and could use some new friends. And we won’t push her into the grass, will we Colin?” He asked, looking at his brother knowingly and Colin turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“This is Benedict,” Anthony pointed to the taller of the two boys who bowed. “And Colin.” The other boy just muttered something under his breath. “And Daphne.” The girl curtsied, a smile on her face as she realized she would finally have a friend who was a girl. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss y/n,” Benedict bowed as he took your free hand, pressing a featherlight kiss to it.  Anthony turned to his brother and gave him a look of suspicion, knowing that he had never done anything like that in his life. Maybe it was something that he had seen their father do. 

“Pleasure to meet you too,” you responded, looking down and noticing that he was still holding your hand. His was warm and gentle, something that suddenly made you feel at ease. 

“Oh, the pleasure’s all mine, miss,” he winked before grabbing your hand and pulling you along. “C’mon,” he called over his shoulder as he pulled you further out into the field. “Play tag with us. Everyone, y/n’s it!” He called out and they all ran away from you and you chased them, trying to tag them like you had seen Daphne do. 

You chased after Benedict since he was closest to you, quickly gaining on him as you got closer, not even bothering to gather up your dress this time. You were so close, reaching out to grab onto him, but all you caught was his shirt, your hand slipping away from him as he got away. Your shoe got tangled in the bottom of your dress, causing you to collapse to the grass. 

It was as if everything was playing in slow motion, Benedict getting away from you, your body hitting the ground, almost as if you were in a dream-like state. Nothing was feeling real at the moment. 

You slowly sat up and pushed your dress up to reveal your bloody knee that had been scraped during your fall. Tears slipped from your eyes and you tried to hold them back, not wanting to cry in front of your new friends. 

But you couldn’t help it. The pain was getting to you and the tears were now streaming down your cheeks but you were quick to wipe them away. 

Once everyone realized what had happened, they rushed over to you, quick to help you to your feet. They all grabbed onto a part of your arm and helped you up before dusting the grass and dirt off of your dress. 

“C’mon,” he said, quick to gather you up in his arms. “Let’s get you inside.” With that, all five of you headed towards the house, sobs escaping your lips the whole way there. 

All of the Bridgerton children looked at you worriedly as you all entered the house. Anthony carried you into the study, setting you down on the chaise, before gently pulling up your dress to get a good look. The blood was smeared and there was a small gash that had a bit of grass and dirt in it. 

“Benedict, grab some towels, water, and some bandages.” With that Benedict ran off in search of the items, leaving the four of you alone. 

“Is she going to die?” Colin asked in a panic. 

“No, it’s just a gash. She’s going to be fine,” Anthony waved his brother off and Benedict came rushing back into the room with all of the proper supplies, shutting the door behind him. He brought it all over and Anthony got to work, dabbing at your gash with the wet towel he had just dipping in the water. Once it was cleaned out and all of the blood was wiped away, he tied the cloth around your knee to prevent any further bleeding. 

Once you were all cleaned up, he stood back to see how you were holding up. Your tears had ceased, but there were still some that had dried to your cheeks. He felt so bad for you, wanting to take your pain away and take it for himself. 

“Are you okay?” Benedict asked, pushing his brother aside to stand in front of you. His hazel eyes were filled with worry as he looked at you, your injured knee being all he could think about. He didn’t know why he felt the need to protect you. But not like a brother would. In a different way. A way he couldn’t describe. 

-

You sat in the garden with Fiona, a china set with tea displayed out in front of you. It was Monday, your parents would be coming to get you around noon and you couldn’t wait. Your grip on the teacup was unusually tight, and as birds tweeted and bees buzzed around you, it felt weird. Something was off. 

“Miss,” Fiona calls out to you, “Are you excited to go home? Your parents should be here in a little over an hour. I know you miss them dearly.” Her voice was endearing, calming and sweet. Fiona had been a staple in your emotional support for those past few days. She was always there for a hug or a calming word when you needed it. 

You nodded, taking a sip of the tea. Looking around across the garden you could tell some clouds were rolling in from the east, it was probably going to rain soon.

“We should head back in, get you all packed up for their arrival,” Fiona smiled, getting up from the garden chair, and calling over a footman that stood ready behind her. She gave him the order to clean before she turned to you, helping you off of the chair. The two of you stepped back inside the home just as you felt a little tap of a raindrop on the top of your head. 

You didn’t know exactly how long it had been as you watched the rain flood the garden, covering the window you sat by in a blanket of fog. All you knew was the servants were running around anxiously, anticipating your parents’ arrival anytime. You knew it was getting late, as the hours slipped by and the sun had gone completely out of sight. The moon was covered by clouds, lightning strikes the trees far out across the country side. 

“Miss,” Fiona called out to you, a look of worry on her face. “I don’t know what has held them up, but your aunt has asked me to bring you to the dinner table. You should eat.” You followed her without any argument, too tired to complain. You wanted your mother, you had always hated thunderstorms. 

The dinner was quiet, the air felt dense and hot with the fire roaring on in the fireplace. Servants helped serve the food to you, Fiona stood close by, not wanting you to feel too uncomfortable.

“I heard the rain has flooded the roads,” your uncle spoke calmly, “I’m sure Theo and Eliza had moved their journey to tomorrow.” He tried to reassure you upon seeing your immediate concern. 

After the meal, Fiona took you to sit in one of the many sitting rooms of the house. A fire was already lit in the fireplace, and a few cups of hot chocolate were laid out across the coffee table. Blankets were set across the couch where she lead you to. 

“I figured since you seemed a little anxious that I would read to you a bit. I have asked Lady Watson to allow us to use the room for the night, so we can sleep here if you wish.” Fiona smiled at you. Her warmth was something that always made you feel better. “Oh!” She picked up something just out of your sight before handing it to you, “I snatched him from your room as I got everything ready.” Teddy sat in her hand, held out to you. You took the bear, happy to have the scent of your mother’s perfume fill your nose. 

You don’t know when you fell asleep, the sound of Fiona’s voice was sweet as a melody, guiding you to the soft land of dreams. Until it wasn’t. 

Thunder clashed outside, startling you awake. Your breath picked up, alarmed by the sudden noise. Then a loud knock came from the front door. It only took a moment for light to seep through the crack of the door, before it faded out down the hall. 

What was going on? How late was it? Who was at the door? 

Questions flooded your mind as you slowly slipped away from Fiona’s comforting grip. The floorboards creaked as you made your way to the door. It opened without much noise, allowing you to slip out into the dark hall with ease. 

“Good evening, Lord and Lady Watson,” a voice echoed from the end of the hall, coming from the foyer. You stepped closer, making your way through the cryptic passage, suddenly more aware of the portraits that stared at you from the walls. 

“What is it, doctor? It’s nearly four in the morning.” Your uncle responded, sounding angry. You turned the corner, glancing into the foyer to find your uncle in a robe, his nightcap on his head. Your aunt stood sleepily beside him, holding his arm for support in keeping herself awake. Her nightgown was a nice warm cream color that had strands of something metallic thought caught the firelight of a few candles being held by the servants. 

“I bring bad news, sir.” The doctor pulled out something from the briefcase he was holding. “I’m sorry to inform you but your brother, Mr. Theodore Watson and his wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Watson were found about five hours ago on the bank of the river. We found their carriage crashed on the other side of their location. It appears they were on the road when they began to flood, and got swept up in the current of the water and crashed into the river.” 

Your aunt took in a deep gasp, “ Are they alright? Is Eliza and Theodore alright?” Her voice sounded concerned, worry bleeding through the names of your parents. 

The doctor glanced between them, “Unfortunately, when someone was finally able to locate them, they were already dead.” He looked up at your uncle, a sad look in his eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Lord Watson, Lady Watson.” 

Aunt Eleanor’s hand covered her mouth as you could hear sobs coming from her, your Uncle Gabriel stood straighter, but you saw a sadness linger behind his eyes. A cold chill settled across the room, making your skin crawl. 

Dead? It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. They couldn’t be dead…right? It had to be a mistake. One big mistake. Or maybe you were dreaming. You’d close your eyes and you’d be right back in your bed. 

You shut your eyes tight, crossing your fingers that it would all go away, but you could still hear your aunt’s sobs and your uncle trying his best to console her. So the nightmare was real. Your parents were dead and you were going to have to live with Eleanor and Gabriel for the rest of your life.

Flashes of your mother crossed your mind. Her perfectly styled hair you would watch her do every morning. Her beautiful dresses she would repair late at night by candlelight. Her soft smile and comforting laugh. 

“I believe they had a daughter, correct?” 

Flashes of your father. His broad shoulders that shielded you from the harsh sun when he would take you on walks after tea time. His deep voice that sent a flutter of warmth through you as he would read you bedtime stories. His large hand that held you so tight when you woke up from your nightmares. 

“Yes, y/n. She was staying with us for the weekend.” 

Your mother’s delicate hands brushed the tears away from your eyes, her voice, warm and gentle. “We’ll see you in a few days, my sweet.” 

How could someone be there one second and the next just…gone? You didn’t fully understand what was going on. Of course you knew what it meant when someone had passed away, but the weight of the situation was sitting on your aunt and uncle’s shoulders as opposed to yours. 

You felt tears pricking your eyes as you fell to the floor, suddenly feeling dizzy. It was as if the room was spinning, everything curling around you as you stayed there, on your hands and knees.

“Y/n?” Your aunt called your name and you could hear the two of them ascending the stairs to come and check on you. But you didn’t need their help. You just needed to be alone. You hurried to your room and slammed the door, locking it from the inside so they couldn’t bother you. You then threw yourself onto your bed, feeling the sobs rake through you as you hugged Teddy to your chest, inhaling your mother’s scent as you went the comfort she always brought you washing over you. Eleanor and Gabriel knocked on the door, twisting the knob, trying to get inside, but you wouldn’t let them. You didn’t want their comfort or their consoling. You just wanted your parents. You wanted them to burst into the room and envelope you in a tight hug, telling you that they were there. That the accident hadn’t happened and that it was all just a bad dream. A nightmare. 

But they never came. You just laid in your bed, the rolling thunder and your scary thoughts keeping you awake. Where was your mother to protect you from this bad dream? You supposed now that the only person you could rely on to comfort you was yourself.

[squiddy-god]

⚜︎⪻My Beast⊰♥︎⊱My Rose⪼⚜︎

⊰An Instant Before A Gaze⊱

⊰Yandere beauty!Argenti x beast!reader⊱

⊰Previous||masterlist||next⊱

Potential part one??? This is based off of a little prompt i saw here<3 So I decided to write this for Argenti because the brain rot is so real for him.im so in love with him augh~ I love men who are so hopelessly in love that it drives them crazy. 

Request are open don't be shy Cw : knight/beauty Argenti, beast reader, mentions of discrimination, depictions of violence, yandere themes, yandere Argenti, obsession, reader is cursed, imprisonment, reverse kidnapping?? Argenti will NOT leave,he's kinda delusional, insecurity, slight body horror (will bold so you can skip), Argenti “i can fix them”  5.2k 

The sweet rays of the sun cast gossamer streams of light past the clouded lattice windows and illuminated fleeting slivers of the once opulent room. Far from its glory the space lay cold and torn asunder- no longer did it hold the warm laughter of its once noble occupant, but rather the cold emptiness of a long jaded heart. White silken curtains hanging limply from their rails, shredded and ragged, a once golden chandelier flakes its gilding having long since crashed to the tiled floor. Long jagged claw marks decorate the beautifully embroidered carpets, their once splendid depictions of scrolling and florals lost to the harsh sands of time, crumbling in the hands of a beast. The chairs and lounge are covered by the same white sheets, edges torn and falling slightly. A four poster bed sits on the right wall, opposite to the sitting area and long fizzled out fireplace, the velvet curtains are all but ripped off, draped across the floor like pools of deep wine, so desperately clinging to the wooden beams of the bed to stay on. Shadows cast the inside of the heavy curtains and soft bed, the only place seemingly spared the wrath. silk pillows and fine sheets, downy blankets piled to give some false hope at comfort. Despite their apparent disarray the red velvet curtains of the bed are not torn, simply tugged at with their golden cords long forgotten. 

The mirror on the vanity by the bed is shattered, its cruel glass shards reflecting in mocking defiance as the sun hits them, their edges speckled with a dark brown substance that now seemed to flake away. Somewhere above the fireplace is a portrait, its frame a gilded gold. Each brush stroke echos an angry mocking jeer, yet depicts the warm smile of a painfully human creature.

 Outside the castle is a beautiful sight, its deep carved stone once a shining white now weathered to a melancholy gray, yet it still held the same fairytale quality. Many towers and rooms, a striking circular building attached to the main castle with what seemed to be a glass ceiling, and behind it what seemed to be the same style but further back with smaller rooms to the side. A large sprawling garden surrounded the back of the castle, with verdant green hedges and many blooming flowers. Stained glass and latticed windows gave way to beautiful arches and delicate gothic architecture, sprawling vines climbed up the sides of the stone and made their home in the grooves of the structure so their flowers could bloom. Perhaps most striking was the tallest tower, a spire pointed defiantly at the sky as if to reach out and touch the clouds, for this is the room of the most beloved child of the once noble house. A room that now sits in dishevelment. 

Beyond the tall iron gates of the castle lay the forest, with its tall trees of emerald green that seem to thin out the further away from cursed place it goes. Deep under tree cover is a once well traveled path, its dirt road now being encroached by wandering plants and flora, wild flowers spring fourth in lush bundles of pink and golden hues. While the forest may seem a beaut sight, the closer one drifts towards the castle grounds, the more a sense of lamentation twists the land. The trees seemed to reach out with warped limbs, contorting, mangling into cruel hands. Unmaintained and forgetting the love they once knew, as a broken ballerina continues to spin forever on her music box, so will the trees and vines continue to grow. 

In the village there is a tale told as a bedtime story to sleepy children. 

Long ago there was once a noble family who lived in grandiosity, squandered wealth and cruel hearts. To them it seemed every being was a mere bug under their shoes, their servants were treated cruelly as if they were animals. But one day that changed, a blessed child had been born from amongst the bramble, with a tender and mellow heart they seemed to possess a noble spirit. For a time the cruelty continued from the family, but the young Liege spoke out and begged for their family to end the cruelty, and it began to ebb away like a receding tide. However this was only in the eyes of the young liege, for behind the intricately carved closed doors it only escalated. Soon the most beloved child of the noble house became the bearer of the burden, cruelty that lashed their mind and heart was given as freely as air. Yet their noble heart remained steadfast and endeared them to the servants of the house, the kindness that licked their wounds was given without any expectation. 

However one day in spring, the last cold wisps of wind giving way to bountiful flowers and warm sun, a party was held at the castle deep in the forest. An enchantress had heard of the family's cruelty and after hearing the tales became enraged and went to the castle to see for herself. She disguised herself as a poor beggar woman and rapped upon the doors seeking only solace from the cold April rains. They did not turn her away, no… instead they brought her inside all while laughing a malicious hollow laugh. They paraded her around as the sorry beggar women, mocking and jeering at her as if pushing her to the cold was simply too kind a jester. The young liege urged them to stop, protesting about how the display was sickening. All that they were met with was the glares of the family and a harsh slap for their audacity and disobedience. 

The display was enough for the enchantress to reveal herself, the eyes of the nobles went wide in shock and fear, left to cower like the animals they had treated people as. Before the enchantress could curse them however, the young liege stepped forward and pleaded for them to be spared, they were prepared to bare the burden of their cruelty if it meant they did not suffer while they paid for what they had done, for the young liege could not stomach the thought of others suffering. The sincerity of the young liege moved the enchantress and so she granted their wish. 

“My child, for your noble heart…i shall grant you your wish, tho it brings me no joy to do so” and so the curse was placed. Upon the noble family their curse was to meet a tragic end, yet their fate would not be cruel, it would be quick and merciful, they would continue to live for one year before meeting their end. whatever they did in that year would determine how they died. The cruelty of the curse was placed on the young liege, only 16 years of age. 

Their scream pierced the room, body morphing as their bones twisted and cracked, distorting with a defining crunch. Teeth fell out as if rotting from their head giving way to bloodied fangs and a gnarled muzzle. Tall and imposing they were a beast, a cruel and evil monster with no trace of what they had once been. Nails splitting the skin of their fingers and morphing into sharp claws and their cries become howls. Their spine snaps and mangles into something grotesque and resembling an amalgamation of animals. Their skin grew fur as they lay in a heap on the floor.

The guest began to flee in a rushed panic at the sight. Even their own family whomst they had taken this fate for fled. The fleeting stares of disgust seared like hot irons for even their family had forsaken them. For they were a monstrous and ugly sight, a cruel beast and evil monster that held none of the warmth of the young liege. But one day the beast will be slayed and the nightmare will end, and the knight who vanquishes that evil will be hailed a hero.  

All stories have hidden verses, tucked away within the yellowed pages of a book to never see the light of day or feel the warm touch of gentle fingers. In this story there exists such a verse written in ink at the end of the tale. It is scrawled hastily and has long been forgotten. 

“My poor weary child, it brings me no joy to see you suffer for the sake of those undeserving of your kindness…so I will grant you a reprieve from fate's cruel touch.” The beast looked up to the enchantress, their eyes still painfully human. “When you find someone who loves you as you are, and when you can love them intern, you shall be spared this cruel fate” a laughable mercy. True love tender kiss, the only amnesty for a being that has forgotten how to love…how to be loved. 

Warm light steeps the small cottage in a brilliant amber hue, the sheer curtains flutter in the gentle breeze let in from the open window. Their ruffled edges flutter as the sun as the tall man moves around the kitchen. Roses seem to saturate every corner of the cottage, blooming forth bursts of color that sit in stark contrast to the light stone walls. Strong oak beams and supports carry hanging planters with beautiful delicate flowers that seem to cascade over the baskets languidly, petals resembling the softness of newborn downy feathers bathe in pastel colors and mingle with the decor of the kitchen. Ceramic plates scrawled with delicate rose patterns as well as various mismatching cups, a large spear rests mounted to the wall its slender blade a deep crimson red, its intricate adornments resembling that of embracing vines and brambles, prickling and dangerous yet wrapped around the handle with the reverence of a tender lover. Pristine and unblemished, treated with the gentle caress of calloused hands, wiped clean after every battle, every beast slain and monster laid to rest. 

The visage of the man conveyed the warm breath of spring, his flowing locks the color of succulent strawberries with each strand a thread of fine silk that beheld its luster with dazzling passion, sprawling viridescent fields as vast the heavens yet intimate as secluded meadows where the sun's light dances through tree leaves onto swaying grass reflected in his soft eyes. The beautiful hues of jade and emerald swirled without trace of malice, wielding only the bladed edge of fervent veneration for every sight that graces him. The ruffled white blouse that draped over him hung loose to his broad shoulders with the front laced in a way that still exposed much of his chest, silvery scars and dark cicatrix of wounds long healed adorned his body as jewels adorn the finest accessories of noble lords and ladies. The tapestry of battle that was woven, etched onto his pale skin served as a testament to his passion and honor, the gentle but fleeting touch of a gentleman that wreathes effigy of a knight, yet this tapestry was never hidden, it remained in every syllable spoken from his soft lips and dripped into his every noble action.

Conceivably, within the vast and intimate depths of his eyes layed a burning pyre where his tender heart was set ablaze. The flames of longing that licked at the very core of his soul seemed to beckon him, honeyed words of desire that whispered in his ear calling him to the abyss where he would gladly drown if it meant an end to the ache he felt. Yes gladly he would walk past the brink of lucidity if it meant an oasis in this dessert where he could quest this unbearable thirst. What read as simple unrelenting passion was simply the smoldering coals begging for air. 

Awe…

Admiration…

Reverence…

Adoration… 

Devotion… 

Worship… 

Love. 

A deep chasm that only one could feel, the very substance he breathed until his lungs burned for oxygen- yet every breath was intoxicating. Deep inside it fed the hot coals and set them writhing to a blazing inferno of sickly sweet obsession. He did not suppress his obsession, his longing, his ache, for how could he betray his love? How could he disservice his love by quelling the desire that burned for them alone? His entirety yearned for his love with the vehemence of a starving dog, licking at the bones it's been fed yet wanting for more. Wanting for his nameless love. 

Sir Argenti, a man of beauty, a man of passion, a man of love. 

A soft smile played on his lip, the wisps of steam fanning against his sculpted face, the heavy set of his brow, his sultry lidded eyes and long burgundy lashes that brush against his cheeks when he closes his eyes and sighs in content letting the warm liquid invade his mouth, the sweet taste causing a delightful crinkle to form at the corner of his eyes. Today was a special day and the knight couldn't help but sigh in a dreamy fashion, his chest heaving with motion as he moved to rest his chin on his calloused palm. The cup soon sits empty and discarded by the sink as he changes into his armor, the stark white metal a beautiful backdrop for the accents of gold that lay polished amongst the crimson fabric that bears the noble embroidery of thorns. The clank of his boots echo happily as his gloved hand grips the shaft of the mighty spear, eyes gleaming with an air of determination. Sunlight cast a pleasant warmth on his features as he basked in the glow of such a beautiful morning, the sweet smell of his flowers fluttered in the air and he couldn't help the airy chuckle that left his lungs as he plucked a rose from its bush. Sweet Carmine petals that embraced each other in tight spirals before fanning out beautifully at the edges to give a full look. 

Clanking of silver boots against well trodden cobblestone paths echoed in the meryment of the small town, bakers set fresh loaves of bread and sweet cakes out with their steem wafting into the breeze, children ran and giggled merrily in the street kicking a ball, people wave and greet him, his trademark locks of ruby pour over his back and stop at his waist as he walks. 

“Ah good morning sir argenti” a woman greets, she sits telling a story to a small gaggle of children. “Good morning m’lady, you are as beautiful as this fine mourning” he says with sincerity. Complement, praise, and poetry always seemed to fall so naturally from him, perhaps it was his constitution as a knight or it was just in his nature, whatever the case he felt it his duty to make everything know how beautiful it truly was. The woman smiled and turned her attention back to the wide eyes of the children. 

“What happened next!” one of them asked, no doubt having already heard whatever tale it was countless times. “They were turned into a horrible monster! With snarling fangs and large horns! Pitch black eyes and mangy fur” the woman told, moving her hands to mimic the horns as she pretended to growl to scare the children. “Ah, this story again” argenti thought to himself quietly, his smile fading ever so slightly. Ever since he was a wide eyed boy he never liked the tale, it was not a tale steeped in myth and magic, the pages of its book not yet yellowed by time as only one decade had passed since its horrid conception. 

A young boy of 17 sits around the fire with the other much older knight, their armor intricate while his simple, hair chopped short while his lays against his back pulled back into a low ponytail. The scarlet wisps of a crackling fire brush gently against the blackened cracking wood logs, smoldering sticks hiss and wheeze while a stew cooks over the fire. The older men and women laugh as they share stories, Argenti sits and quietly admires the color of the flame until something catches his ears. “Well- did ya hear? Say they were cursed something nasty” one man speaks animatedly waving his hands, the young knight's head turned towards the rambling man “poor kid- well..guess kid aint the right word now. More like a rabid animal” he sighs. “I dont think ive ever seen an animal as horrid as what was described” another knight chimes in. “Pure evil is what they say…a beast” it has not been the first time the ruby haired knight hurd tales of monsters, however this sat in his head until a year later the truth had all but faded into obscurity. Those too young to remember the tale simply left it to fade into legend, a bedtime story to tide children over, those who were old enough to remember refused to believe such fairy tales. But the beautiful knight believed, and in his noble heart he found no hate for the unfortunate soul. How could one so kind be truly evil? Even if their visage has been warped, surely the kind heart must remain? It was unjust to wish someone such harm. The words wrapped around his heart, constricting it until it burst with every new time he heard the abhorrent retelling, it was an ugly feeling that arose within his chest, as if it were a crushing weight or the moon plucking the tides of his mind to some dismal disgust. He had never once stopped the honeyed words that followed freely in his veins. 

“Perhaps their appearance has changed, yet a kind heart persits through such suffering” he ignored the oblong glance's people always shot his way, his gloved hand and gauntlet red upon his chest above his heart, the cold metal was no comfort to him. “Ah sir argenti, ever the optimist” the women chuckled. The skys stretched on endlessly, a sea of cerulean blue and gentle whispers of cotton white. Boundless and forgiving even with harsh rain or gentle downpour, he wondered if even if only for a second if the legend was truly just that. A tale eating the stomach of tragedy, spun with gold thread into something ugly in spite of its jewels. The thought played in his mind like a music box turning endlessly, he allowed his feet to carry him to the edge of the town where he found himself in a field of green. 

A sprawling field of soft grass that gave way to lush trees and overgrown flora. Breath flooded his lungs before he exhaled deeply, this was of course what he had come for, to see if truly the legend was only that, nothing but words scrawled on a page and bound in treated leather. Part of him hoped, desperately so, that it was true. Even if it was fleeting he hoped, if he was wrong then he'd find an abandoned castle deep in the forest, and if he was right then he would find a person turned beast with a heart that he, in his delusion, believed would be kind. So once again a knight set off down the fading path, but perhaps for the first time the knight had no intention of slaying a beast, but rather telling them of their beauty. 

The fading path and rough hike through the forest did not dissuade him, even as the blues of the sky faded to warm hues of orange and pink he remained steadfast in his determination until finally the path came into view once again and the tall iron gates fell into his sight. They stood tall and imposing, rusting slightly and flaking their once gorgeous luster. As his hand gripped the cold metal it seemed to push open with a piercing creak, never locked he pushed it open as the rusted hinges scream and wail. Ever courteous he pushes it shut once more, observing how the land basks in the warm color of dusk, he noted the sprawling vines and well maintained hedges, not overgrown or unruly, the sight astonishes him and fills him with the hope that he is right. What monster maintains beauty that has long forsaken it? He gazes at the large doors with their intricate carvings and heavy knockers. Much like the iron gate they seem to simply push open, the castle is dark, the beautiful double staircase wrapped gently in crown molding and intricate scrolling leafs and crests, yellowed glow illuminating the marble steps. It was grand, the picture of an illuminating fairy tail, the carpets were pristine as he looked around, two large pillars holding the stone carvings of angel-esque figures. The most surprising thing is the many flowers that sit in elaborate porcelain vases, fired with gold and pure white, roses of every kind, orchids of all hues dance with color in the subtle candle light, lilies and peonies mixed in with sprigs of baby's breath and queen anne’s lace. 

A squeaked gasp hits his ears, auburn red locks shifting as his paris green eyes landed on a maid. He perked up at the sight- a maid? There was a maid? Oh joy if there was truly a maid and staff then surely- “leave- please just leave” her voice trembled as she shook, the feather duster in her hand trembling. He was shocked before he realized the gleaming tip of his red spear didn't send the message he wanted. “Ah my lady, you need not fear, I-” she cut him off suddenly, having a rather indignant tone.  “The liege is not a monster! So take your spear and-” she angrily waves the feather duster when the door sitting at the top of the grand staircase slams open, the old hinges creaking as the deafening sound echoes in the quiet night air. 

Spring. That is all Argenti can think of, the cool breath of spring, the rushing of crystalline waters against smooth stones replaces the rushing of blood hammering in his ears. Ensnared his heart beat to the rhythm of their footsteps, a quick descent down the stairs accompanied only by the sound of wolfish feet padding against the marble. In his stupor Argenti did not miss the clawed hand extended protectively in front of the maid, the fur was thick and covered the large palm entirely as it did the rest of your body, sharp claws protruded at every fingertip as obsidian daggers, but there was an air of gentle protectiveness. In Spite of the pointed teeth and morphed animal-like features that warp your face, it remains unfathomably human. Anger, worry, and inexplicably fear, where displayed as the most beautiful stained glass mural, even the twist of your horns and the gentle downward sweep of your ears could only add to the haunting visage of something- someone once human. Pools of (e/c) flickered in the candle light, an enchanted lake whose siren song left the beautiful man breathless. A hopeless sort of breathless no air could satisfy, a breathless feeling only felt on the brink of death with a monster's gnarled fangs deep in your throat, when you are so stricken with fear that your very blood urges you to the brink of madness if it means an escape. It was not fear he felt. A sort of breathless that strikes the hot iron of longing, felt when one is so impossibly overcome with boiling love that it steels the air in their lungs, that if denied even a moment of its cause- death would be swift, it was not fangs he felt against his neck, not blood that made his body warm, it was the graze of a lovers soft lips, it was the warmth of blush that spread up his neck, a pit in his stomach felt only in the face of inevitable death or love. To be in love, to fall from heaven willingly wandering by another's side, to know pain in their absence, to kiss the scars on their mind and body as if you could will flowers to bloom sweet blossoms in their wake.

A hopeless sort of breathless no air could satisfy, for you alone could ease this burning in his lungs, simply turn your eyes, beautifully human eyes, turn them towards him and gaze at him longingly as he gazes at you. 

Before a single growled word could leave you, Argenti stepped forward, spear standing tall and firm in his grip as he fell into a kneel at your feet. Clad in the bright untarnished silver of his gauntlet, his hand outstretched as if reaching out to touch the sky itself and betwixt the plates of sterling metal rests a brilliant rose red in hue and pristine in its petals. His eyes roamed over your large figure as if to commit every detail to his memory. His actions, these feelings that flooded him were unlike anything he had felt, the only fair comparison in his mind being when he felt something was truly beautiful. A feeling without real reason, the feeling of beauty and this inexplicable feeling of longing, of love, could only be considered instinct. To love you was instinct, to fall to his knee rose in hand was instinct, the words he spoke next sent a pliable shock through the florid castle halls, forged by instinct yet tempered by the pure desire and longing in his heart.

“Marry me” 

Anger dies on your tongue as you stare down at the flamboyant knight, who you had assumed came to attempt your life, kneeling before you anticipating your response to his proposal…his proposal…the most gorgeous man you had ever laid eyes on just proposed…to you, a hideous monster. Surely this must be some kind of cruel joke. Ten years of this mangled body, ten years of knights with their spears and swords, their slings of arrows and suits of armor beating down the open door and speaking words of hate and torment, how they would save the staff from their prison, how they would no longer be forced to serve in fear of a monster. 10 years of what felt like lifetimes. “Leave this place” you growl raising a clawed hand in an attempt to frighten the knight, your voice booming and filling his ears forcing out all other sounds. A deep sigh left him as he returned to his feet, only reaching just below your broad shoulders despite the fact the man was quite tall himself. The sigh sounded sad, wholly dejected as he stood, you braced for the pain of his scream, the sound of armored boots hitting the tiled floor as he ran, perhaps even the cut of his spear that you knew wouldn't even get the chance to hit you before you had shattered it, but nothing came, instead without fear he reached for your large paw like hand and kissed the fur that lined the inside of your wrist. His eyes gleam as if polished by the newfound determination while he slowly brings his adoring gaze to meet yours. “My darling, would you truly turn me away from you?” his slender fingers clad in silver intertwine, delicate touch careful of your claws yet… it is not out of fear, but out of a tenderness as if he were scared you would be hurt. “I am afraid that i cannot bear to part with you” his touch was fire on your skin, every brush of his hands igniting that fear and anxiety deep in the recesses of your mind. From somewhere- who really knows where, the knight presents a rose in all its glory, red velvet petals a brilliant hue in the candlelight. 

“I am Argenti, may this rose convey my heartfelt affections- I find myself quite taken by you. I will not stop until I have taken your hand in marriage, not even the stars could keep me from the beauty you hold” no matter the delicate words he employed, the promise that tinged the corners of his speech was punctuated by a fire blazing deep in the bowls of madness. He must be mad, to gaze upon the abomination that stands before him and proclaim its beauty; he must be either mad or blind, perhaps both. Anger filled you again, the flowery words he used only serving to rub salt in wounds that never close, that voice in your head, the voices of all who had to bear witness to the misfortune of the once great noble house echoed with cruel laughter in your ears.

“Fine! If you will not leave then you may stay till you rot!” the sentence came out as a vicious growl, clawed paw seeding his arm as you dragged him into the castle, down pristine winding halls adorned with the same intricate that flooded the foyer and entrance, the mocking forced smiles of ancestors, once pompous lords and ladies staring as the scenery rushes by until his boots clank against cold stone as opposed to gleaming tile. The cold air whipped through barred windows as he was taken deeper, deeper, deeper. At last he was all but thrown into the cell at the very end of the hall, the rusting iron smell hung thick in the air as you glared down at his chest heaving. “In your persistence you will find no solace” was the last thing he heard, as the bars of the cell were slammed shut and the heavy fall of your clawed feet echoed away from him. Emerald eyes burned holes into your back, lids heavy and irises laden with adoration and affection, when your beastly form was ripped from his sight he turned his gaze out he bared window and upon the garden and shining moon that now pranced among the stars. 

You poor thing, so jaded by the ugliness of others who refuse to see the beauty in your soul. He knew you were kind, behind the towering walls you have built stone by stone there was kindness long forgotten. The knight saw it, he saw it in the way you rushed in defense of the maid, in the way you gave him a chance to run away, in the way your grip on his arm was neither harsh nor bruising, in the way your claws- like the paws of a wolf stretched and mangled to be longer like a humans held his offering of a rose gently even as you walked away. He saw that kindness even now as he stood imprisoned in your castle, unchained, and with the bars of the cell unlocked, easily pushed ajar by the gentle touch of his hands…every opportunity to flee, run back to his cottage and find another to love, but who was this humble knight to deny the blessing bestowed upon him? For you were his blessing, an end to this curse of loneliness, and he was your knight, the one who would end your curse of melancholy. He would show you the beauty you possess, to him you were a vision, an eternal blessing he could not live without. 

He was yours, whether you knew his devotion yet was simply writing on the page, he would ensure that you knew his love, that you knew you were loved. 

You are loved. 

[rosielefay]

England Headcannon ʚɞ

Sometimes, I think Arthur's house would be a dull empty two bedroom flat in south London: ugly cream carpet, a ratty old sofa, a coffee table littered with cigarettes and cans of fosters.

Then other times, I feel he would have a place that is so unbelievably homely: he would have plants everywhere, not house plants but the proper potted kind you bring in for the winter ready to replant in spring; there would be tapestries all over the wall, a home-made quilt, embroidered pillow slips; books thrown everywhere, at least four copies of wuthering heights, and he's currently using Shakespeare plays as make-shift coasters.

But the home is not just his. There's a porcelain tea set missing half its teacups, France commissioned him a new set to match the old but he took too much creative liberty and so they only thing they have in common is the shade of green of the floral detailing. The breakfast bar is a shitty plastic thing he found on the side of the road, and its covered in coffee stains and burn marks, courtesy of America. There's always dishes in the sink and yet never any groceries in the fridge, just corner-shop cakes and a punnet of strawberries. Canada leaves sticky notes when he's around, 'buy bread' and 'stop putting the sauces in the draw once they've been opened', and Arthur neglects them for so long they can be found in the back of the cupboards and all over the floor. Peter tore a not-so-covert hole in the voile curtain over the window years ago, and Australia has slammed his door open so many times there's a dent in the wall from the doorknob.

I just really believe Arthur is sooo loved. Like sure, there's beer cans and disposable vapes and furniture from the side of the road, but there's also so much family and love squeezed into that shitty two bedroom flat.

[velarisbynight]

Silvery Pink And Powdery Blue

Gwyn x Elain

Day 1 for @acotar-omegaverse-week — Nesting: Surely there's a perfectly normal, completely unsuspicious reason they're feeling an irresistible urge to arrange and rearrange the blankets and pillows... right?

a/n: have I ever mentioned how much I adore Gwynlain? 

word count: 1.7k~

~~~~~~~~

“This would be perfect, don’t you think?” 

Pink, rosey lips curve in a smile, the cocoa-eyed female presenting a rectangular teapot clutched delicately between her hands. It seems to be fashioned after a house, with creamy-pale bricking, and lush green vines clambering up the sides; clusters of four, small, powdery blue squares are set into the ceramic work to act in the stead of glass panes; a single, rouge door is in the centre of each of the longest sides, matching the hue of some of the flowers that have been lovingly painted on. 

“Are you thinking of it as a gift?” Gwyn asks, eyeing the teapot, remembering the two others she’s bundled to the back of a shelf: one pale with fat dots of colour spotted across its glazed, round body; another painted in a shimmering, rose pink. 

Straw-coloured brows draw together atop pale skin. “No, I was thinking of it for us. Wouldn’t it go perfectly beside the vase? The one we found in that mountain-top marketplace in Dawn.” 

Gwyn smiles. “But what would we do with our other three? We hardly have need of one teapot between the two of us, let alone four.” Elain’s brow pinches further, pink lips pressing together. Cocoa eyes dip briefly away, before fixating on Gwyn’s teal set.  “Don’t you think it would look nice, though?” 

Gwyn takes a moment to pause. Look at her wife properly. Then she elevates her chin by a singular degree, carefully softening her own expression, a thought passing tentatively through the back of her mind. “I think the teapot’s lovely, but let’s look around some more. Then we can see what else there is on offer and think on this one.” Elain sighs, setting back the teapot where she found it. “I suppose that would be the more sensible option.” Then she glances back to her wife, “don’t let me forget it?” Gwyn smiles, teal eyes dazzling as they twinkle with affection. “I’ll remind you.” 

————

Throughout the pleasantly heated morning, Gwyn observes as her wife flitters about the market place, eyeing up patchwork quilts with gaudy red stitching then fluttering over to a different blanket, one comprised of  the recycled fabrics of various coloured shirts; Elain peeks at pillow covers, ones with burnished gold tassels, others with rabbits in strawberry patches embroidered to the front, briefly assessing a floral case with bumblebees stitched along the hemming. The cocoa-eyed female browses silverware engraved with tessellating patterns that look like honeycomb, crockery with dashes and dots of warmly-coloured ink strokes painting the pale ceramic, more teapots and more sugar cups, tiny golden utensils fit for spooning crystallised honey or slicing squares of softened butter. 

Gradually, the belief in the thought strengthens, and Gwyn begins compiling a mental checklist of foods they’ll likely need to get in—ones that require minimum effort to put together. Perhaps some cordials, too. 

“Gwyn!” Elain calls, drawing her attention. Her wife has now moved onto clothes, and is holding aloft two silk pyjama shirts, one pale pink, the other powdery blue. Gwyn can’t help the affectionate curve of her tips as she paces over to stand at her wife’s side. “What do you think?” Elain contemplates, “I know we have a few sets, but will you feel these?” Gwyn smiles, taking the fabric between her fingers, feeling the cool slip of silk beneath her skin. She can’t deny how her heart beat quickens whenever Elain suggests something like this of her own volition, in this case it being mismatching sleepwear. They seem fairly light, too, and breathable, though that’s likely why Elain picked them out in the first place. She excels at seeking out perfect clothing on a good day, but now, with…something happening… 

But they’ll tackle that when they get home. For now, it’s a pleasant day at the market. 

————

When evening falls and food is prepared, the two take up position on the sofa, a plate balanced on either end with forks in one hand and books in the other. It doesn’t take long once Elain has finished her meal however, to sidle closer to her wife, curling her body into the dips and divots available, seemingly only half interested in the book she’d selected for the night. 

Gwyn smiles, glancing down at her omega, nosing lightly at the crown of her head. Elain releases a sound of contentment, pressing closer still, almost preening at the attention. Gwyn’s eyes twinkle knowingly, discarding her own book to pull her wife closer. “Tired, yet?” Gwyn murmurs, dropping a kiss to Elain’s forehead when she pulls back. “A little… I don’t want to go to bed yet, though.” 

“What do you want to do?” 

Elain’s eyes twinkle, and Gwyn’s blood heats at that look. But then Elain’s simply tucking herself closer, practically in her wife’s lap now, pushing her face to the crook between Gwyn’s shoulder and neck, huffing faint, ticklish breaths against the creamy skin. “You smell so good…” Elain murmurs, sounding how she gets around the afternoon, drowsing in their garden atop a picnic blanket, laying beneath dappled shade with a chilled glass of cordial at her side. 

Garden-roughened palms push at Gwyn’s neckline, urging the fabric out of the way so as to unveil more skin, to taste and scent. Sure enough, Elain breathes in the familiar fragrance of her wife’s skin, able to differentiate between the shea butter and vanilla essence shower oils they have contained to a little metal rack in their washroom, and the distinctive crisp freshness of the outdoors that has returned to Gwyn’s skin after two years of shying from it. 

Clipped-down nails loosen the strings to Gwyn’s dress, pulling them free lace by lace until Elain can push the fabric down from full, rounded shoulders, revealing the swell of muscle on her upper arms, the freckles that speckle her skin from days spent training in the early morning heat of summer. Elain trails the pads of her fingers along her wife’s collar bone, her pink lips skimming just behind, nosing along the elegant length of her throat. Elain’s tongue follows soon after, thighs shifting so her knees are either side of Gwyn’s hips, hands sweeping bright-coloured hair out of the way to make room for her mouth. 

“Elain…” Gwyn murmurs, allowing her palms to open along the curve of the omega’s spine, fingers dancing a skipping march until they reach lower, one hand laying appreciatively atop the swell of her hind while the other travels midway up her back, stroking in circles. Elain’s scent has sweetened since this morning in the marketplace, her body feeling much more tender beneath Gwyn’s reverent palms. 

Elain kisses her way up the length of Gwyn’s throat, pausing beneath her arched ear, nipping lightly at the lobe. Teal eyes gaze back at her when she pulls away. “Bed?” Elain murmurs, a drowsy smile on her soft, pink lips. Gwyn nods back, content to find what mischief Elain will unknowingly seek out once they reach their bedroom. 

Sweet omega. 

————

As Gwyn had predicted, Elain spends the better part of an hour shuffling pillows around on their bed, swapping out cushions from sofas, and borrowing blankets draped over the backs of armchairs. 

Gwyn waits peacefully, bathed in that powdery blue silk, watching as silvery-pink flits around the bedroom. It’s certainly come earlier that either of them would have expected, but it’s no matter. 

When Elain finally comes to a pause, anxiously glancing over the wrappings, Gwyn takes her chance, silently stepping up to wrap blue arms around a pink torso. “That looks perfect.” Gwyn murmurs, pushing a kiss to her mate’s somewhat flushed cheek. “Do you think so?” Blunt enamel tugs at the plushness of Elain’s lower lip, “it’s missing something…” 

“Probably its occupants.” 

Elain huffs, shimmying out of her wife’s hold before making her way over to the armoire, nosing through the clothes until she finds what she’s looking for: a thickly woollen scarf Gwyn’s certain she hasn’t worn since the chill of the early new year. Cocoa eyes brighten with their find, hurrying over to the bed to trail it between the two healthy stacks of pillows. Elain beams, stepping back. “Now it’s perfect.”

Gwyn smiles secretively to herself, wondering if Elain’s aware of what’s going on, or if this is all instinctual for her. It’s certainly happened in the past where it’s taken a few days of supposed ‘spring cleaning’ for it to dawn on either of them, though those short days were swiftly overtaken with locked doors and messy floors, clothes strewn across the lovely carpet. 

Gwyn follows when Elain settles into her nest, the sheets and blankets pooling around her middle before she wriggles down into the comfort, pressing her face to the woollen scarf. 

“It’s certainly cozy,” Gwyn comments as she tucks her omega closer, noticing a further shift in her scent. “You like it?” Elain murmurs, fatigue evident in the heavy droop of her eyelids. 

“It’s perfect.” Gwyn presses a kiss to the soft crown of burnished gold ringlets. “The perfect nest.” 

A beat passes between them, Elain’s tender body briefly stiffening, before she’s groaning loudly, tilting her chin upward to gaze into amused, twinkling teal eyes. “How long have you known?” Elain huffs, laying her palms flat to Gwyn’s stomach, pushing gently at the muscle beneath her fingertips. Gwyn’s lips stretch into a smile, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she dips down, their brows almost touching. 

“Only since this morning,” Gwyn whispers, doing nothing to fight the grin on her features. “This morning, Gwyneth?” Cocoa eyes gaze up at her wife, pretty pink lips parted in indignant disbelief. Gwyn chuckles, squeezing her omega tighter, feeling the fluttering pulse beneath her calloused touch as she guides ringleted hair from Elain’s neck, sweeping it over a silken shoulder. “It was only a thought,” Gwyn reassures. “I wasn’t certain until you mentioned my scent. And spent upwards of an hour rearranging our bed—that looks wonderful.” Gwyn takes care to stress that last part, so as to not upset her mate. 

Elain narrows her sleepy eyes, but eventually the mild scowl gives way to a resigned sigh. “It’s not supposed to be here for another fortnight,” Elain huffs, giving into the soft pull of her wife’s touch, pressing against Gwyn’s chest. “I guess it decided to come early this time,” Gwyn muses, stroking Elain’s hair. 

Narrow, elegant lips curve, mischief twinkling in teal eyes as she breathes in the already sweetening scent of her omega. “I promise I’ll take good care of you.”

[toraashi]

floral swing. (xiao, kazuha)

notes from tori: hello all, i haven’t written in so long nor have i been active for a reason. i have no excuse for the first, but the second!! i saw taylor swift last weekend and then when i got back from my trip i got covid :( so yeah, very busy fortunately and unfortunately, but i’m back now! this isn’t very good, but i hope you enjoy anyway!

warnings/info: gn!reader, fluff, kissing, short, that’s all, i am obsessed with the floral swing furnishing in the teapot

kazuha.

“Can’t we stay in here forever, Kazuha?” You breathed, melting into the pillow-soft cushions of a floral swing, your head pressed into the man’s legs. The swing pushed and pulled beneath you like the lull of ocean waves brushing up against the shore. Kazuha’s fingers did the same, weaving through the crisp wind that tickled your skin and stroking over your cheeks, your fluttering eyelashes. He hummed, and the sound harmonized with the chirp of nearby birds. 

“It certainly eases the mind,” The words blended pleasantly in your mind as another cool breeze washed across your face. In the traveler’s teapot,  life was devoid of tribulation. All that existed was the sun, unerringly warm against your skin, Kazuha’s fingers dripping through your hair until you were just on the precipice of blissful sleep, and—

The press of something firm against your lips, ambrosial granules flicking onto your tongue. A fruit. 

“Zaytun peaches, have you had them?” Kazuha always knew what was on your mind. His voice had to be a lullaby, and you welcomed the offering, the peach's skin velvety against your tongue, it’s flavor sweetened by flecks of sugar. “With a sprinkle of sugar, just how you like.” The follow up statement was laced with self-satisfaction, and you smiled against his fingers, chewing thoughtfully and letting your drowsy eyes flick open to gaze at his features leering over yours. The sun cast a halo around his hair, and your hand rebelliously reached for the scarlet strand nearly brushing against your nose. 

“Do you want a taste?” You murmured, watching a range of emotions flick through his ruby eyes. First: him attempting to read your intentions, your feelings. Second: confusion. Third: realization, and finally, a soft desire that burnt against his cheeks. Within a few seconds, you were wrinkling your nose at the ticklish sensation of his hair finally brushing the tip, swallowing thickly before feeling his words on your lips.

“I suppose a taste wouldn’t hurt,”

xiao.

You could only think one thing as you gazed upon the adeptus in your lap, his lashes fluttering, his cheeks flushed a soft, docile pink.

“You’re so lovely, Xiao.” You charmed, words softer than wind chimes. Xiao was favorable to compliments if you whispered them lowly and fervently. He was much like a bird that way, needing to be carried gently into affection, perhaps out of fear that something disastrous would happen if he indulged too much.

And gentle you were; it was hard to coax him into relaxation regardless, and you strived to keep his peace as long as possible.

Xiao hummed, a sign he’d heard while you leaned and pressed yet another featherlight kiss to his nose, moving leisurely to his cheekbone to plant another. His trust in you was intoxicating. Just a few months ago, and the action would’ve made him recoil. Now, however, he barely flinched when you dragged your lips to the bow of his, kissing his upper lip like a breeze. As if to soothe the action, you traced your thumb down his round cheek as you withdrew, scouring his face for any unfavorable reaction. Instead, you earned a pleased sigh, one which you echoed.

The silence enveloped your pair like a warm blanket, the cool grass between your toes, the weight of his head on your lap, the tickle of his hair against your thighs. Your seat — a cushioned floral swing — rocked back and forth, draping vines framing the scene before you, embroidered with white petals. Pressing your lips together, you smiled quaintly, eyes drooping closed at a blissful breeze wafting over your sunkissed cheeks, pretending like the sliver of time was eternal, like Xiao would never leave your side, like he’d be between your fingers until the stars fell from the sky—

The worn fabric of Xiao’s glove against your cheek pulled you from your reverie, and your eyes fluttered open as his thumb smoothed a growing wrinkle between your eyebrows.

“Are you troubled?” The somewhat archaic lilt to his speech, the concerned glow to his golden gaze: it immediately softened your disposition, and you offered a smile, plucking his fingers from your face and bringing them to your lips, adorning each one with its own kiss.

“At your side? Never?”

[addisonstars]

"my favorite everything"

written for day 25 of september for @jegulus-microfic with the prompt "pillow"

496 words!

“Reg, if you put one more pillow or candle into the shopping cart, I am going to divorce you.” James says as Regulus tosses in what has to be the 5th pillow into the cart. 

“But it’s fall, how could I not,” Regulus whines. “Our place needs to smell of cinnamon, pumpkins, and be decorated with blankets to accentuate the mood. It’s finally fall, my favorite, James.” Regulus pauses, and adds, “and no you wouldn't dare.” 

“I will if we end up having to take something back because we didn't have enough room in our house. You remember that we have a 2 bedroom flat, not a mansion.” James notes. “I don’t think we’re gonna have enough room to fit these pillows that we are getting,” he glances down at their buggy, “and the ones we already have.” 

Regulus smiles, pulling the cart and James along to the next aisle. “Never say never my dear Jamie.” He picks up a jar filled with autumnal colored floral, nods and sets it in the cart. Jame picks it back up and sets it back on the shelf. Reg, without even turning around, sets back in the cart. James gives up and rolls his eyes. 

James however, smiles because seeing Regulus happy makes him happy. So it’s really a win-win situation. He decides not to factor his bank account into this equation. 

He looks in the cart, his eyes darting over the items making a mental list of what they have and what they still need. “I think the only thing we need now is some candy corn.”

James wrinkles his nose in disgust. “That piece of corn-syrup you call candy corn is not coming into my house.” 

“But-”

“No.”

“I want some though.” 

“So?” James states simply. “I want to have room to sit on the couch and not have to move the pillows every time I sit, but here I am.” 

Regulus pauses for a long moment. He picks up the orange pillow with a white embroidered pumpkin on it and sits it on the shelf. He takes out five out of the ten little pumpkins, along with the cheesy fall colored sign. He puts them all back where they belong and returns with three bags of candy corn. 

“Compromise.” Regulus raises his eyebrows. Holds out his hand for James to agree. 

James lifts his hand, “three bags? Not even two?” 

Regulus lifts his hand to the pillow he set back on the shelf right there. James swats it away and shakes Regulus’ hand. “Remind me never to go seasonal shopping with you. This was a nightmare.” 

“But I’m your favorite nightmare.” Regulus pouts, leading James out of the fall aisles, heading to checkout. 

“You could say that. You’re my favorite in general.” James picks up Reggies free hands and encloses it on his own. 

“You’re my favorite everything Jamie.” Regulus looks up to James with a sparkle in his eyes, a gentle smile on his face.

FALL IS FIANLLY HERE. I REPEAT, FALL IS HERE!! hc that regulus loves the sugary goodness of candy corn and loves to decorate the house based on the seasons because regs parents never did.

-a.s.

[to-hypnos-we-dream]

How to Turn Your Bed into an Altar to Hypnos

Hypnos, the Divine God of Sleep. The God we give half our lives to as we rest every night.

I recently decided to transform my bed into an altar for Hypnos, and now my dreams have become more vivid and I wake up feeling that His energy is stronger around me. It's also easier to talk and pray to Him as I lay, I can become soothed easier as now it's a sacred space to Hypnos.

Offer your Bed as a Sacred Space to Hypnos

Start by cleansing your space of negativity whether with prayer, magick, or using cleansing tools such as sage. After, proceed to offer it to the God. This was my personal prayer as I offered:

"Lord Hypnos, Deity of Dreams and Rest, I offer my bed as a sacred space to you. May all placed on it be an offering, and may all done on it be devotion. May your spirit be welcome to it and may your calm be felt through the blankets and pillows."

2. Decoration

Now your bed is a sacred altar to Hypnos, now you can have fun and bring to Him specific decorations for your altar. Hypnos has association with flowers, so I bought floral blankets to lay upon it. He is also associated with blues, purples, reds, sliver, black, and white. Maybe this can be incorporated by colors of blankets or even stuffed animals. You don't need to be strict, as long as it remains a place of comfort and calm and holiness, it will make you and Hypnos happy.

3.Spending time with Hypnos

Now that my bed is an altar, I find myself laying on it while reading or playing video games. While I do these things, I feel His love and it makes me so happy. I also find myself napping on my bed more often as it just feels so safe. While having a partner or friend over, spending time on the bed either cuddling or anything else can also be seen as an offering or celebration to the God of Sleep Himself. As I cuddle my partner on my bed, I whisper my thanks to Hypnos for allowing my dreams to be reality. It overall just feels so nice and makes me so happy.

4.Tidyness

I always had a difficult time keeping my bed tidy, now it's much easier as I desire to keep my altar nice and clean. I spray it with lavender scent every day and I make sure to clean blankets or pillows when needed.

5.Creativity

One of my associations with Hypnos is creativity. I know how to crochet and making creations for my Bed Altar(like blankets) is absolutely adored by the God.

6.Other things you can do

-Make prayer cards and put them between your mattress

-dry lavender over your bed

-put a dream journal under your pillow

-make stuffed animals for your altar

-make blankets or pillow cases for your altar

-have an offering box under your bed for offerings like honey or poppy seeds and etc

-use sleeping masks

-get a pillow stuffed with feathers(one of Hypnos's symbols)

-get a "sacred sleep robe" aka a robe you offer to Him and wear for Him

-Embroider symbols onto pillows or Pjs, or blankets

-listen to soothing music while resting

[mahiiimahiiii]

A/n: Hi folks! This is from my late night writing folder- I wanted an excuse to write nobility durgetash. May I present:

Our Lady Of Debauchery...(and other things)

(Durgetash)| DUrge x Lord Enver Gortash | named durge

Our music choice:

+*+

Tyrants palace, known to the locals as a den of debauchery was filled. Carriages of all colors and sizes flocked to the grand staircase, each holding its precious cargo- nobles.

The tyrants right hand wasn't used to this.

Wynne, child of bhaal sat on a dressing room chair attended too excitable human staff attempting to style her recently washed and un-pressed hair.

As a drow, her hair had two settings- unruly and wildly beautiful curls, or silky and pin straight hair (often times recently pressed with a steel comb). She held back tears as they continued to pull her hair into an updo, lining it with pins and sweeping her bangs into waves. She looked like the ads of women she so envied as a child, whatever that was to a drow. They set curls next to her eyes spinning her around to apply makeup... It would've been simpler to using a transforming scroll at this point

Her study as she liked to call it was colored a deep green, the walls embelised with a golden flower pattern, and dark wood paneling. Instead of a bed it held a shelved nook coated in lavender sheets and pillows. A hearth and a lavish blue rug lay to the other side of the bed with a dark wood desk with matching chair, a large plus armchair sat next to the hearth and sat at her vanity, decorated with bottles of cremes and combs.

The girls whispered about the guests, a young elven magistrate with long silver hair was found out to be a bachelor, he gave lord gortash a run for his money. Orin would be making appearance was well as another famous lord from across ferun, sent an invite for the temptations he would bring. She only had one plan and one target, the next in lead for the flaming fist. The dread fours mole has been chosen, a lord named Ravenguard.

This would be the first step in their plan, it should and it must go well.

The dress fit over her shoulders and was pulled down, corset pulled taught by two other women. This was abnormal, she felt uncomfortable in all the layers. .

She had forgone the heels deciding that a nice pair of embroidered flats should suffice.

She must admit this dress was lovely, and she would be it's first tester. The sage green complemented her soft brown skin and silky silver hair, pink florals decorated the base and hems, a delicate embroidery.

Gortash had chosen this dress for her, as often the lording would prefer for the future lady gortash to be at least fashionably adept.

She would just prefer to wear a button down and loose slacks

She sighed clipping in her singular pearl earring, a heavy teardrop shape, another gift from her lover. She made the final adjustments, dusting rouge onto her nose and oiled charcoal onto her lids, her eyes darkened by the deep colors. The assassin sighed with contempt taking a final look in the mirror. She looked decent enough to perhaps pass as a noble.

Wynne cleaned her hands off, the trail of the dress lagging behind. "Is master gortash ready? Our appearance is within ten to twenty minutes."

"He's been ready ma'am, waiting for you in the parlor for a bit now"

She chuffed, lifting up the train of her gown greatly disturbed by the lack of movement. How she hated this, Enver Gortash will never hear the end of this. He was no lord to her, simply an officer of the law seeking out the greater ideal of grand design, something she sought out for purpose. It was lucky- when she suggested to her long time lover about it. It was even luckier when the szarr family had allowed her to use the Library without incident. Or it could be the blessings her father continually blessed her with as the more successful child.

And now, one little dance, one small appearance, one night of suffering- and then it will be back to pants.

"Enver? Darling? Are you ready?"

She called out.

A confirming hum sounded from down the hall, his eyes lit up when he saw her. their warm and rich depths drinking her in . His hair was slicked back, this was not a good look for him.

"You look gorgeous! My beautiful huntress..." He cupped her chin kissing the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. "You look delicious...ugh, what a shame we have an event to attend." His eyes glittered.

"I hate this." She frowned "I hate your hair that way. I hate heels, I hate dresses, I hate people, I want to go lay under my blanket and have a large glass of wine and dwarf meat pies."

"Come now, don't be a downer. Does your blade not hunger for a cull? You'll be getting a sweet bloody treat later on- I'll let you keep the flesh."

She paused, thoughtful. "I do like flesh....."

"That's the spirit darling. Come now, we should be announced soon." He shook out his hair, no longer slicked back but slightly long and unruly. She liked it that way- as wild as his dark eyes.

From the parlor the manor house changed, dark flooring to beautiful creme tile, matching creme walls and chestnut panneling. Gold, and blue accents and paintings of nymphs and sleepy goats lined the walls.

One portrait was new, a woman with brown skin, deep burgundy eyes with a sad expression, her lips held a solum pout. Her hair was silvery blue, almost ethereal- she wore a simple blue dress and held items of selune.

"My heart- is that portrait new?" she admired the details as they passed. They walked arm in arm one of his hand petting her hand attached.

"It is indeed" he rumbled "I asked for your likeness- is it to your expectations?"

"Do I always look that sad then." She tilted her head, attempting to force a smile. Her lips found it hard to mold around.

He shrugged "I suppose, perhaps that's what the artist saw in your face. Asked them to use the portrait you gave me."

"ha! My father's portrait of me hm? I do look sad in that photo, mainly because I was hungry ."

"Perhaps we shall take more photos. Maybe we will capture your beautiful smile-" he plants a gentle kiss on her lips, his stubble gently scratching against her smooth skin.

They exhaled, contented, and anticipated the rush of noise following their announcement

"Enver, I am never doing this again. "

"I don't expect you too my darling"

The doors opened up and their names were announced

*Lady Wynne, paladin of selune and Lord Gortash of Wyrmere*

She shifted, uncomfortable at the attention. "I would much rather a discreet entrance but if this is the... Tradition. I shall do it."

She waved to the eyes and turned her way a cheesed smile plastered on her face.

"Think of it as any other scenario where I ask you to blend, remember you can be out of the dress after the first dance. Then our goal is to take out the target." He hummed, one hand on her waist. "Now because we are hosting this gala we must sit at the head of the table.

"Ugh just say I'm sick for that- Ill with the plague or some shit."

"Of course my darling." He helped her down the grand staircase, wary of her footing in the dress. She managed to look like she was floating down the stairs, she had an impression to make, this was her first noble circle appearance after all

The hall was loud, filled with a symphony voices each as distinct as a snowflake. Temples and churches sent their representatives, a contented looking, tall teifling escorted you to your seats. Her smile bright and her hands warm. Karlach her name was. One of Gortash's best.

Karlach was it? Beautiful creature she was. Would be a joy to see her innards.

Unfortunately within the realms of polite company such actions or thoughts are shamed.

Wynne smiled and introduced herself to the swarming hive of chatter, hands shook, flesh on flesh. Her ears rang with sound much louder than before: string instruments.

A dance had begun a good sign to keep her eyes peeled. A slight ping from her earring sent her catching Envers eye, he nodded toward the floor, before stopped by a shorter man dressed in a brilliant green frock.

They shook hands and fondly discussed things like old friends. The tyrant waved her over a tired "hold-it-together" smile on his face.

"Here's the lady of the hour!" He hummed taking her hand "lady Wynne, this is ... Lord? Astarion"

"Please - it's just Astarion, Astarion Anuncinn. At you and the lord's service." He paused "I am.. unfamiliar with the custom of meeting drow - is there a specific greeting?"

Her ears wiggled in odd excitement, "while I find it imensly charmed that you would ask, a handshake is fine. Our culture is no different than the norm."

The magistrate paused for a second, his eyes were gentle and thoughtful. "I'm sorry I hadn't meant to offend you" curls framed his face, silvery like spider silk, or a fine Iron. His milky white face bloomed with a faint pink in his cheeks, beautiful streaks of watercolor. How he'd make a pretty corpse.

"I can assure you none was taken. Now, astarion was it? What do you do for work?"

She hadn't expected to become this social. Hadn't expected someone charming such as the magistrate. His voice sung of an un-quenchable desire for something. Knowledge? Hunger? Power? Men and their secrets.

"hm? Me?" His hand was gloved "my lady, we have been hardly introduced- and you're already prying! How naughty." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles delicately. "Charmed. would you like to go somewhere quiet to discuss then?"

"Oh no!" She hummed "I'd like to leave period."

He raised his brow, something sparkling in his eye. "why does a sweet treat like you want to leave? I'm sure you'd be the belle of the ball"

"That's the point- I do not like the attention." His hand covered hers in a comforting way, his hands were cool, a low thrumming pulse emminating from them, though not sure from whom it was.

He hummed slowly, almost quizzical. His long lashes lowered and looking through them, "then why are you here."

She had never expected a question so personal. "I suppose.. it is my duty ultimately, as is every noble. Though I do not consider myself amongst their *ilk*"

He adjusted his ruffle collar "neither do I, I appear for my father often. He's less inclined to show up to parties like this." He paused for a moment "would you like to dance? Or perhaps we can find another quiet area to experience each other's company... Completely."

She hummed rocking back on her heels. "I am unsure how these parties work. Would you be willing to teach me?"

His smile was wide, cupids lip pulled taught and ready to fire. "I would quite like too."

*Don't get too carried away love. Remember to have a job to do*

He held out his hand, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. Wynne gingerly set her hand in his.

A string quartet played a slow and alluring rhythm as he spun her about. Careful and mindful of her feet- soft padded heels clicking against the floor

Perhaps this was the last time in her life she would have fun. Perhaps she should savor it.

Who knew.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Surprise…?[*]

Mor x reader

synopsis: reader plans a sweet little surprise for her girlfriend but gets shy at the last minute. Thankfully, Mor arrives early, finding reader in the midst of her surprise before she has a chance to back out. 

a/n: I know mommy is American, but it just feels wrong to use mummy so we’re keeping it with an o (also happy June everyone!)

warnings: reader being kinda housewifey, so many sapphic vibes I’m so happy, mommy kink, themes of exhibitionism/voyeurism(?), sexual themes!

word count: 2,220

——————————————————————————————————————————————

You flush, stepping out from the bathroom, hands wringing together as nerves fizzle beneath your heated skin. 

You’ve made the bedroom look nice, made sure clothes are crisp and clean, folded neatly in their shelves or organised on hangers, have made sure the sheets themselves are suitably coloured in a romantic red, pillows plumped with the duvet spread flawlessly over top, and small candles flicker throughout the room, emitting the distinct scent of vanilla that’s one of the few the two of you can agree on to have permeating every corner of your home. 

Everything looks as you’d wanted it to, down to the clothing, but… You glance away from the bed, teeth pushing at the softness of your inner lip, shifting on your feet as you’re reminded what you’re wearing. Pretty, red lingerie that settles comfortably against your skin—the sweep of your hips, the curve of your breasts—flawlessly fitting. The lace has neat floral designs embroidered into the sheer fabric, small leaves unfurling from the blossoming petals, and you trace your fingers over the delicate stitching. 

Is it too much?

You glance self-consciously around the room, looking at it through a new, doubtful lens. Mor’s been having trouble with some diplomatic affairs, navigating court politics and while she hasn’t revealed details due to their privacy, you know she’s been stressed. Will she even want this?

Easing in a breath, you reassure yourself—you aren’t offering sex explicitly, if she wants to then you’re ready, and if she doesn’t then the mood is set for another kind of relaxation, and you can run her a bath. 

Your throat rolls, again glancing down at yourself doubtfully. You don’t want to pressure her into anything… You should put something on over the top to hide the lingerie, so if things happen on their own you’ll be prepared. That way you won’t have to worry, and you won’t be so…exposed. 

Now, where had you put that one night gown? Mor bought you a silky red one that would match the theme of the room, as well as easily being interpreted as romantic or relaxing—it would be perfect. Thinking hard, you’re fairly certain it’s actually folded up in one of the boxes beneath your shared bed, having felt too shy to wear the silky gown. 

Hesitantly you pad around to the bed, kneeling on the creamy carpeted floor as you check, spotting the box you remember. Crawling forward, descending onto your forearms while your ass remains stuck in the air, you slowly shuffle as far as you can before the base of your spine is pushing against the bed frame. The box is just a little further away, so you reach out, arm stretching as fingertips graze the lip of the cardboard, so nearly there…

A muffled thud comes from behind you and you startle, head smacking on the wooden boards that hold the mattress aloft, and you whine as the pain blossoms across your skull, ankles crossing, toes curling as you blink away the startled tears.

“Sweetness…are you alright?” 

Frantically you scramble out from under the bed, humiliation and embarrassment flushing hot against your skin as your arms cross self-consciously over your torso, thighs pressing together in attempts to conceal the finely stitched lace that’s hugging your hips and breasts. “I— You’re home early,” you state, glancing through the room nervously. Your throat rolls, then you’re swiftly turning on your heal, heading directly for the bathroom. “I was just—… Let me get my robe on and I’ll be—”

Elegant hands sweep around your waist delicately, Mor having moved faster than you as she holds you still, bringing herself into your body. “Hold on, sweetness,” she says gently beside your ear, “I need you to slow down for me. What is all this?” You fumble, squirming lightly as you feel the soft fullness of her breasts grazing your back, the gentle stoke of her fingertips over the exposed skin of your tummy. The slight tickle of her breath against the shell of your ear, fanning down your throat. 

“I…” You swallow thickly, shifting in her hold, hands tentatively settling over hers. “You’ve been tired lately, so, I thought it might be nice to…to relax…together…” Your voice gets quieter and quieter, eventually trailing off into the silence, nerves wriggling in the pit of your belly, sizzling beneath your skin as you wait for her reply. 

“Is that what this is for?” Mor murmurs, fingers grazing the band of thicker lace just below your breasts. “To…relax?” She sounds a little breathless, but mostly composed. 

“Only if you want,” you mumble, features hot with embarrassment. “I…the bathroom’s ready too, if you want…”

“To eat you out in the bath?” She asks, pulling your body flush to her own, her hips pushing against the swell of your ass, winding lightly, subconsciously as need begins to flicker to life. 

Your breath catches, fingers stuttering over her knuckles at the suggestion, wild heat fluttering across your skin. “I— I’d thought you might want one to yourself, actually,” you manage to squeak out. Mor hums beside your ear, and her hand skates higher, the pads of her fingers lightly grazing the red gauze of the lingerie covering your breasts, skimming across your nipple, feeling the slight bump beneath her digits, liking the way your breath hitches. 

“Will you get on the bed for me?” She asks softly, voice strangely thick as she noses at your throat, and your thighs press together, heart pounding with nerves and… You bite your lip, “how?” What position?

Her red lips curve at the question—you’re prepared and ready. 

“Start on your hands and knees?” Mor requests breathlessly, squeezing your waist reassuringly. “Give me a real pretty view of you.” And with a quick kiss being pressed to your jaw, she releases you, and you fumble your way over to the bed. 

With as much composure you can manage, you crawl up onto the bed, disturbing the perfect set of the crisp sheets as you lower onto your hands and knees, legs slightly spread as you lean your front forward to the mattress, head tilted to the side to glance at her for approval, heat fluttering beneath your skin. 

Stood at the foot of the bed, Mor’s removing a bag from her shoulder, the first having been what made the dull thud sound when she’d dropped it at the entrance. Then her hands are dropping to the richly coloured fabric of her dress, tugging it off over her golden head of hair, the silky strands gleaming in the candle light, and with less than a thought she’d brought one of the plush armchairs up from the living room, falling back into it with what looks like an intense relief. 

“Keep still for me, sweetness,” she instructs breathlessly, and you bite down on a needful sound as she pulls her hair from the front of her body, allowing you a full view of her almost naked torso, save for the underwear still greedily clinging to her figure. Arousal begins to simmer in the pit of your belly as her red-tipped fingers make their way down her body, your throat rolling as she slopes in the unnecessarily large chair, hooking her legs carefully over the arms, so she’s splayed apart, baring her clothed sex for you to see. 

“Mor…” you almost whimper, barely managing to keep your voice steady, forced to watch from afar as the pads of her fingers run teasingly down her centre, applying a slight pressure to the dip between her thighs before dragging back up, lightly circling a small spot at her apex. You swallow thickly, considering how it would feel to crawl over to her, to remain on your hands and knees as she keeps your hair back from your face while you lick at her sex, allowing her arousal to gleam against your lips and nose, to have her dripping down onto the seat just so you can lick all the way back up to her clit.

“What is it, angel?” She asks, eyes locking with your own as she dips her hand down her underwear, fingers slipping beneath the pretty fabric and heat swarms your body as you listen to the sounds as she plays with herself—out of your view. 

“I…want to see…”

Her lips curve in a feline grin, one that has your thighs desperately wanting to squeeze together to find some kind of friction, but she’s told you to keep them open, so you have to obey. Instead you settle for spreading them a little wider, hips winding gently as if that’ll suffice for rubbing against her.

“How perfect,” she muses, hand retracting from her underwear. “I want to see you, too.” 

Your spine curves, hips shifting as if to draw her attention back between your legs, toes curling on the mattress as you watch her shift in her seat. Her finger points at you, and you squirm as magic begins guiding the red lace down over your hind, dragging slowly past your thighs, embarrassment and arousal liquefying between your legs as you feel the material sticking to your pussy, slick suctioning the material flush to your wet heat, imagining how soaked the underwear must be. How erotic the view must be. 

“Mor…” you plead once she’s pulled them away enough for her to see you. “Please…” 

“Please what, sweetness?” Mor asks, heat simmering in her gaze, and you fumble, knowing what she wants. Your fingers curl in the sheets, looking away as you pull your lower lip between your teeth. 

Mor’s lips curve, leaning further back in the seat as she allows her fingers to dip below the band again, drawing your attention as her digits wet themselves in her arousal, playing with her clit idly before dipping down to her entrance. You watch helplessly as she pushes two of her fingers inside, able to hear as they gently slide in and out, curling how she likes while the heel of her palm glide over her clit—all of it painfully hidden from you. 

“What do you want, sweetness?” She asks again, voice more breathless than before, able to make out the hot flush on her cheeks as she watches you with that intensity. “I—… mommy…” Mor’s lids flutter with pleasure as the title floats from your tongue, her hips winding to bring against her palm, feeling the fresh wave of arousal that drips from her cunt. 

“Oh good girl,” she moans softly, half-lidded eyes remaining locked with your own, and you realise with a start you’re actually dripping with arousal, can feel as the erotic liquid gather just shy of your clit, the droplet heavy and full enough to begin dripping down into your underwear. Mor wishes you were dripping into her mouth, instead. Wishes her head was already between your perfect, pretty thighs while you hovered above her, patiently waiting for each drop to grace her tongue. 

Arousal swarms with staggering ferocity as the fantasy blossoms across her mind, evolving into something more substantial, how she could make that a reality so simply. How she could so easily lay her head beneath you, your arms tied above your head so you’re partially suspended while you’re kept spread out above her face. How she could strap a vibrator to your pretty pussy, pressing tight to your clit, so she could watch as you cum again and again without relief from her mouth, simply allowing your slick to gather, to drip as she’d wanted. 

“Mommy, please…” you beg breathlessly, and Mor can’t find it in herself to refuse, watching how you react, how your eyes watch her so keenly as she slides the underwear from her body, allowing it to drop to the floor, and a series of small, whimpering moans spill from your mouth, practically begging for her to go over to you and…

She swallows thickly, your arousal permeating the air, desire uncoiling all the stress and tension that’s slowly been winding up in her body. 

“You’re being so good for me, aren’t you, sweet girl?” Mor breathes almost to herself, removing her bra before she stands, completely rid of clothing and with half a thought you’re completely naked, that lovely red lingerie disappeared from your body, allowing her to take you in. 

Mor settles on the bed behind you, and you make to raise up onto your arms, to turn to her, but she gives you a look. “Stay right there for me, okay?” You flush, wanting to please her, and return back into position, shaking as she gets closer, anticipating the pleasure she’ll push into your body. “Will you be good for me tonight?” She asks lowly, watching how you shudder as her breath brushes the sensitive area between your legs. Gods, she could really just lean forward and latch her mouth over you. 

“I will,” you mumble, hips shifting slightly, and Mor pulls away from your cunt, glancing down at where your head is pressing into the mattress, looking back at her. 

“Tell me, sweetness,” she instructs, goading you into repeating that lovely title you’re often too shy to use. 

Heat flushes your cheeks, but this time you don’t look away. 

“I’ll be good for you…for mommy.” 

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