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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

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To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace.

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own.

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly.

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.”

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident.

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it.

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours.

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air. “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room.

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.”

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast.

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks.

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…”

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.”

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand.

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.”

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly.

Benedict has no response to that.

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence.

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.”

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly.

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in.

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing.

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid.

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly.

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?” The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all.

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on.

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such.

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him; his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat.

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive.

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…”

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.”

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance.

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary.

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!”

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not.

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that.

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor.

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event.

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.”

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face.

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton.

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside.

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.”

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner.

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply.

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man.

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking.

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless.

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!” He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly.

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does.

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge.

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it.

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips.

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?”

Even he can read between those lines.

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks.

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked.

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice.

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest.

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless.

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.”

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more.

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud.

The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation.

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart. “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #1k notes #2k notes

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eatmyheartoutjpg · 1 month ago

Text

Part 1.

MEDIC ;; You have healing powers and get recruited by the GDA. It changes your life, for the better or for the worse. Crack, short fic.

04.03.25 Masterlist

You’d call yourself a normal person—well, as normal as someone can be when they wake up with the ability to heal people. Blessed? Maybe. Cursed? Probably. Your powers are pretty straightforward: you can patch up yourself or someone else, depending on how wrecked they are and how much energy you’ve got left in the tank. Which usually comes down to how well you slept the night before. Real thrilling stuff. Straight out of a budget comic book.

You don’t show off. Never had the urge to. You’re not the selfless type who goes around healing strangers on the street out of some burning sense of justice. You’re not a saint. You're just a person who happens to have something useful and very little motivation to use it unless there's a reason.

Unfortunately, one day, you got soft.

Some guy in a half-torn grey suit was pulling civilians out of rubble after some villain decided to make the downtown district a crater. He looked government—probably fed. And you, in a rare act of generosity (and partially hoping there was a tax break involved), healed him. Just a quick fix-up, no big deal. He looked like he’d been through hell, but he still managed to check on you. Like he was worried you were the one bleeding out.

So you returned the favor. No words, no thanks needed.

Before he could get your name—or ask how the hell you just did that—someone screamed for help and he was off again like his shoes were on fire. But not before giving you one last look. Memorizing your face. You saw it in his eyes. He locked you in his mental files.

You hoped that might help you someday. Court, taxes, jury duty—who knows. Probably wouldn’t. But you like to dream.

And yeah. That act of goodwill? Came back to bite you.

Turns out the guy you saved was named Donald. Big-time GDA agent. As in Government. As in Cecil’s inner circle. And the moment he was back on his feet, he reported you. They tracked you down like you were some kind of loose end—well, politely. The kind of politeness that comes with a folder, a contract, and a clipboard full of benefits.

You said no at first. Obviously.

Then they said dental. And threw in hazard pay.

So yeah. You signed your fate.

Not because you believed in the cause. Not because you wanted to help humanity. You signed up for a paycheck and stable benefits in a world where buildings get leveled weekly and your rent doesn’t come with insurance.

And honestly? You don’t regret it. Not really.

Being with the GDA threw you into situations that could only be described as straight-up horror shitshows. You’ve seen things. Touched things. Reassembled people who should’ve been dead five different ways. Superheroes, the ones people worship, bleeding out on stretchers while you try not to throw up or pass out.

You got used to it fast. Maybe too fast.

Your name started floating around, being whispered throughout the headquarters and mentioned in passing. You cringe every time people give you some type of nickname, get this one, “Miracle Medic”. Yeah, wrap it up.

You kept your distance from the supers. Professional. Cold. You were the healer, not their friend, not their emotional support. You patched them up, maybe muttered a sarcastic remark if you were tired enough to forget the filter.

“Damn. I would've retired after that one.” It helped you stay sane. A little.

And you don’t do the whole corporate professionalism thing. You keep things functional—you’re not out here making friends, but you’re also not about to censor yourself for the sake of workplace etiquette. You know you’re irreplaceable, and that kind of job security comes with privileges.

Like being as blunt and disrespectful as you damn well please.

“The fuck happened to you? Yikes. I don’t even want to touch that.”

You do touch it, obviously. But that doesn’t mean you have to like it.

Unfortunately, this job throws you into more bullshit than you thought humanly possible. It’s not just GDA calls anymore—you’ve got superheroes pounding on your door at ungodly hours, begging for help. Sometimes for themselves. Sometimes for a friend, a coworker, or some half-dead civilian they barely managed to scrape off the pavement.

It got so bad that Cecil had to step in. Too many capes showing up at your apartment was bound to get somebody killed. So, congratulations. You now have dedicated break rooms in the Pentagon, all for you. You practically live in them with how much the GDA needs you. And it was not out of kindness—Cecil just didn’t want to deal with the nightmare of if someone tracked a superhero back to your place and blew it to hell.

Well, life could be worse. Yes, it does get worse.

A/N ;; I intend to extend this to have multiple parts and include actual interactions and more writing, but only if its well received. I'm lacking motivation to write, sorry!

#sevs.☆wndw #fanfiction #fanfic #gn reader #invincible fanfic #invincible show #invincible comic #invincible x reader #invincible x you #cecil invincible #cecil stedman #invincible spoilers #invincible donald

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specialmouse · 4 months ago

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DONATE HERE

Every morning when I wake up, I check for a message from Khaled, Ghada’s young brother who helps her run the campaign. Together, we coordinate campaign efforts and outreach. He is only one year older than me; he should be enjoying his life like me, having fun and making the stupid mistakes that come with being a young adult. Before the war, Khaled had just received his bachelor’s degree and was planning to get married and study abroad—now he must fight to save his entire family from bombs, illness, starvation, and the bitter cold.

And yet, do you want to know the first message Khaled sends me every morning? He asks me how I am, if I am happy. He praises you all endlessly, the people who have helped him and his family. He asks if the people who have been kind enough to make posts for his campaign are doing well.

We are now over a year into the Gaza Genocide, but it has not stripped Khaled of his kindness or his hope. I am continually touched, sometimes to the point of tears, at how thoughtful and sweet he is, despite everything he has seen and continues to go through. I want you to take pride in the fact that this true for YOU as well. I have seen even more beauty and generosity in friends I already held dear to me, and the wonderfulness of strangers whom I will never talk to. I am in awe at the support you all have shown, not just to the Al-Anqars, but to all Gaza campaigns. You are making a difference in the lives of so many people. Despite the horrors we see on our screens every day, the headlines we read, the images that haunt our minds—the world is full of love. You have proved it.

As the new year quickly approaches, I want to thank you all for helping the Al-Anqars, from the very bottom of my heart. You are helping the Al-Anqar siblings (Khaled, Ghada, Mohamed, and Ahed), their parents (Nabil and Fatima), and their little ones (Lama, Nabil, Eman, Amir, Fatima, and Noor).

(Khaled and his nephew Amir ⬆️)

So, I do not mean to scare you when I say this, but time truly is of the essence, now more than ever. Ceasefire talks are stalling, the Rafah border crossing is still closed, and babies are freezing to death in their parents’ arms. Khaled tells me of the biting winter winds and the burning cold that seeps through the nylons they have taped over the windows. The half-constructed school they have taken refuge in receives no aid. They are a mere kilometer from “the corridor of death,” or the Netzarim Checkpoint. I wake up every morning fearing the worst for them, but, thank God, they are still here, still fighting.

Donations of just €5 make an entire world of difference. These funds go towards food and supplies, which have risen to astronomical prices, as well as saving for the cost of crossing the Rafah border, provided that corridor reopens. The goal is €20,000, and we are at €7,736. When I began helping this family on December 16th, it was at €5,801. I am inviting you to donate and share as much as you can to reach the stretch goal of €8,250 in the next two weeks. I think this is more than attainable if we all come together. You’ve done it before!

Again, I’d like to thank everyone for their enduring support of this campaign, and I wish everyone the best as we come into the new year. Please, please, please consider helping my lovely Khaled and his family.

€7,736 / €20,000 - 39% — STRETCH GOAL: €8,250

Verified by GazaVetters, #6

Tagging for reach:

@rickybabyboy @sayruq @officialspec2 @nabulsi @valtsvolts @komsomolka-blog @r0zeclawz @teaboot @chokulit @3000s @ot3 @90-ghost @apas-95 @punkitt-is-here @i-am-a-fish @b0tster @vampiricvenus @turtletoria @tamamita @omegaversereloaded @catsgifsarefun @teaboot @sawasawako @feluka @spongebobssquarepants @skipppppy @paper-mario-wiki @xgoldenlatiasx @postanagramgenerator @memingursa @certifiedsexed @afro-elf @11thsense @spacebeyonce @fools-and-perverts @dailyquests @neechees @evillesbianvillainarchive @taffybuns @nyancrimew @thatdiabolicalfeminist @beserkerjewel @tpwrtrmnky @beetledrink @spaghettioverdose @grox @minmos @paparoach @jackalopescruff @slimetony

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bonesandchalamet · 2 years ago

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predictable - c.fisher

masterlist

requested: y- “Can you do a conrad fisher x reader where the readers family has a house next to theirs so they grew up going to cousins for the summers (cons age), and they are in love w each other but don’t want to admit it and everyone notices it around them/teases them. maybe a flash ward to their wedding in a couple of years and everyone’s speeches are like “yeah i won the bet they would be married by now” or smth like that?“

pairings: conrad fisher x fem!reader

warnings: fluff + jokes

a/n: I hope I did this justice anon! xx there are NO spoilers of book 2 or season 2!

you can hear his voice. it’s muffled, he sounds like he’s in your kitchen, a blessing of having the bedroom right above it, but you can hear him talking to your mother.

you don’t have time to think, you just fling your legs over your mattress and rush down the stairs at an appropriate pace. you’d just woke up, maybe not your best state to be in, but you couldn’t wait to see conrad fisher. the boy next door.

he’d gone to Princeton, smart cookie if you say so yourself, and you hadn’t seen him since last summer. in fact, you only saw him maybe once or twice outside of the neighborhood and that was getting ice cream and groceries. other than that, you live by the fence that separates your yards waiting to hear the laughter and conversations from the Conklin and fisher kids.

“just tomatoes? are you sure? I can go pick out some basil—“

“no, no laurel will kill you if you do any more yard work! I can get it.” you hear conrad protest. the fisher family was used to your parents generosity, the beautiful vegetable garden grew right on the fisher/y/l/n house line, the family was more than welcome to eat and take whatever they wanted, but it didn’t stop them from being kind enough to ask. Susannah raised those boys right.

“are you sure?”

“what’s going on?” you ask, it’s like the words floated out of you when you saw him. his brown hair a little longer than normal, his t-shirt a bit smaller on him, and he’s wearing small navy blue swim trunks. a sight to make any girl swoon for a fisher.

“oh, y/n, do you think you can help conrad get some more tomatoes from the vines? it seems to be the fisher-Conklin clan has run out.” your mother hands you Susannah’s woven basket that conrad was once holding. your mother looks at you with pleading eyes but she knows you’ll do anything that has conrad fisher involved.

“happy to.” you take the basket in your hand and gesture for conrad to follow. he thanks your mother once again and follows along out the back door. you can hear not only just your heartbeat, but the blood rushing to your ears.

being alone with Conrad was sometimes awkward. at least to you it always felt that way, because you never knew how to be around him as yourself. you were so deeply in love with him that just being in his presence was enough to make you fumble over your words.

“here I can get the tomatoes.” conrad pushes past you, his shoulder brushing against your body, you could smell his cologne, the salty ocean in his hair, and the mixture of the laundry detergent Susannah uses. it was an intoxicating smell, one to make your world spin.

“you sure? they are kind of all over the place.” you chuckle setting the basket down into the grass. you start picking the beautiful blush red ones and gently place them in the basket along side the ones conrad was picking. every so often your hands would brush or you’d about pick the same tomato. you both would blush and apologize instantly for the connection.

“would you guys just kiss already! you’re making me nauseous.” Jeremiah calls over the fence line from the pool, he’s watched about every embarrassing second of you and his brothers interactions.

“come on, con!” Steven hollers, it’s loud enough for the neighbors on the other side of their house to snicker at the boys energy for far too early in the morning.

“I don’t know what their problem is.” Conrad says and it’s only for you two to hear. he’s picked up the basket from the grass now, you’re stuck with holding a few more tomatoes that he claims would be more than enough for everyone.

“no seriously, just keep those ones.”

“we have enough inside, just take them—“

“fine,” he huffs out an annoyed sigh and watches you dump them into the basket, “can I at least make you breakfast with them?”

“sounds like a plan to me.”

that day, he made you more than breakfast. he made you feel the most indescribable feeling of love and excitement. he left you walking home as beat red as those tomatoes you picked. you could thank Steven and Jeremiah for their pressure and tease, because conrad fisher did in fact kiss you that morning.

—

FUTURE

“I’m so happy for these guys because today I became twenty dollars richer,” Jeremiah pauses, the laughter of friends and family make you both blush, “so thank you Steven for believing they would never get married. here’s to the bride and the groom!” Jeremiah holds his champagne glass up, others in the room follow.

“you really bet we would get married?” Conrad turns to his brother who passes the microphone to belly before sitting down beside him.

Jeremiah’s hands clap his brothers shoulder, “we also made a bet that you’d kiss her that summer. belly also made a bet that you’d have tomatoes on the menu, looks like you guys are the most predictable couple ever.”

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merakiui · 1 year ago

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ex-husband floyd thoughts...

in which you're living alone with your daughter. it's been two years since everything, and you're all settled. it took a while to truly feel secure and stable, and you received lots of help from family and friends. surprisingly (or maybe not), floyd's twin brother was one of the first to extend a helping hand. it's mostly thanks to him that you were able to have enough money to pay the first few months of rent at your new apartment. but now you're back on your feet, and things have never been better.

your daughter didn't understand it when you told her she'd be living with you from now on. awkwardly, you tried to explain that papa couldn't come with because he was getting involved with some bad people, and that was dangerous. your daughter didn't understand or believe you. it was difficult. you know how much she adored her papa and how much he adored her. but this is for the best. this is safe.

following the divorce, your daughter started saying strange things. things like "i saw papa today and he made me a yummy lunch!" you tell her this can't be; that was the babysitter, not floyd. besides, the dishes are clean and everything is stocked as it normally is. there's no evidence floyd could have been here. furthermore, he doesn't even have a key and your daughter isn't tall enough to reach the doorknob to let him in. your daughter calls you a liar and storms off most days because you refuse to believe her stories. that's all they are, really. she's just missing her papa.

you told floyd you had no problems letting him see her so long as he cleaned up his act and stopped getting involved with delinquents. seeing as it's been two years and floyd's still running from people, you (as a parent) have a responsibility to keep your daughter safe. and you know it's terrible for her and floyd, but this is the best option you can think of. the safest option.

floyd thinks that's bullshit because he can protect you and his daughter plenty, but then he gets it. you never liked the shadows that accompanied his surname. he understands. but he thinks it's awfully unfair of you to just cut him out of your life when he promised you he'd change and do better and be better. :/

he sees how hard you work, how rough it gets when you haven't been paid yet. he has jade send you money because he knows you don't want to see him, and most of the time you accept it. but sometimes it's sent back, accompanied with a note thanking him for his generosity and that you can manage by yourself. again, floyd knows this is bullshit.

his shrimpy works so hard. :( you deserve a break.

so when you're sleeping every night, he pays your apartment a visit. you've started sleeping on the couch most nights, with the tv still on, your work spread out on the coffee table, your daughter tucked away in her bed... it's hard being a single parent, isn't it? why don't you stop being stubborn and let him back into your life? floyd will take good care of you. he always has, hasn't he?

he carries you to bed and tucks you in, cleans up the room, stacks your books, prepares a meal for you to heat up tomorrow at work, etc. and how do you respond to his kindness? you go and change the locks without saying anything.

so next time floyd thinks he has no choice but to be drastic. so next time floyd will make sure you understand that there is no life worth living if it's not you and him together. as a pair. as a whole. you might be frightened when he wakes you up in the middle of the night to drag you back to his home (to your home) and you might continue to be scared of him when he confines you to the basement, but this is for your own good. think of your daughter! she deserves to grow up with both parents. at the very least, be good for her sake.

floyd tells your daughter that you're in perpetual timeout because you've been bad and she believes him. after all, it was you who refused to let her spend more time with her papa. that's a very bad thing to do!

floyd brings you your meals, carries you to the bath, bathes you, dresses you... you scowl at him the entire time, call him crazy, tell him to get away from your daughter, refuse to eat, fight him every time he tries to undress you for the bath. he smiles, eerily patient, and simply says, "i'm willing to letcha see her once you've cleaned up your act. you can do that, can'tcha?"

#meraki mumbles #yandere twst

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eseongsubs · 5 months ago

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PDA | Lee Heeseung

word count: 1,078

format: drabble

a/n: I gave into those ugly fanfiction tumblr headers you guys…i’m so sorry to be assaulting your eyes with this basicness. I will be learning how to make headers for my series’ and plotted stories so you don’t have to stare at these nuisances. Anyway, I decided to start writing when I had an idea rather than when I want because I have the goal of being a more productive writer. I didn’t even want to write this, but I forced myself to because I know that sub!idol tumbler is sorrowfully dry, so. Enjoy. If you’ve got any requests or thirsts i will answer them. Like i said. I’m “Inspired.”

note: reader’s gender is not stated, implicitly or explicitly.

warnings: explicit cumshot, public blowjob…, sub!heeseung, dom!reader, uhmm thats it honestly.

Heeseung is not a “bad boy” by any means. Specifically, blowjobs in public have never been Lee's forte. He paints his nails black, sometimes, and he likes to wear a dark graphic tee with a silver chain every now and then, but, thats because it looks cool. And you always teased him for his sense of grandeur. No, Heeseung was a thoughtful man with a particular kindness and generosity that one can only learn. He doesn't have the guts, really, to be a “bad boy,” do the things "bad boys" do, only the foresight to be a well behaved one. He likes rewards, he likes praise, and he enjoys positive reinforcement. Negative talk makes him respond negatively, like a sorrowful golden pothos house plant. He needs sweet talk to keep him green and flourishing.

With that being said, today was an interesting mix of occurences that lead to your contemporary circumstances.

You like the way that Heeseung’s long dancer legs tremble under your palms as you steady him, keeping him afloat amid the rolling waves of pleasure threatening him to collapse to the tiled restroom floor. His black skinny jeans slide down toward mid thigh, in a way that forces Hee to rear his butt off the bathroom wall, his dick in your awaiting mouth. It wasn’t tireless work, but rather a spur-of-the-moment decision you made out of your own curious lust. An inquisitive test to see just how much your boyfriend would let you get away with.

“Ooh…” A curling pout expresses your heeseung’s pleasure across his face, as wobbly in stature as his thighs are, trying to hold his composure steady for you, not alert any outside passersby as to what was occurring inside this little single-person family bathroom. “Feels…feels really good” Heeseung concedes, his pink nose from the cold winter temperatures sniveling, his beanie slipping off toward the left direction of his head – your right – revealing the fluffy and mussed black shimmer of his hair. His praise is unprompted, so you smile, pulling off of his shaft and stroking it with an entire glove-clad palm. Hee’s hips twitch upward.

“Why thank you, sweetheart. That’s so nice.” The ennuncuiation of your last two words was devastatingly intentional. Heeseung’s whole body shudders. He loves to feel like a sweet man for you. The praise sinks in deep to his skin, like a needle. You lave your tongue over his tip again, not taking him fully into your mouth this time just to watch him squirm, build up the peak in his balls already beginning to squeeze to completion.

Like you said, Heeseung wasn’t one for public…service. He was too respectful, and a bit too believing in the rhetoric of “obedience in advance.” Conform to the wants of others, or any institution, and you will escape punishment, if you’re good enough. Unfortunately, that logic wasn’t real. Not with you, when you punish Heeseung for your own enjoyment, twisting his actions and behaviours into an excuse to watch him squirm under your cruelty, and not with the law either. But today, your boyfriend had been a bit too caught up in your lips, and pathetically eager to please. He followed your word like Mogli under the trance of that snake, in Jungle Book. Yes master, no master, I’ll do anything you say, master. Quite the perfect storm.

“Oh– ngh…Oh! N-no, no…” you ignored Heeseung’s mutterings to himself. His head, shifting back-and-forth, pushing his hat further off of his head. His obedient hands, attempting with fail to grip onto the tile walls, squeezing into defeated fists. Your lips wrap about his tip, finally, sucking with little force, before sliding down his cock further and driving gratified whimpers from your Hee’s mouth. Whimpers that interrupt the low mewls he has already been unable to cage away. You push-and-pull your tongue on the underside of his cock with each stroke. One of Heeseung’s hands tug at the fingers of your right arm, interlacing yours with his as a surprised moan slips from you, replaced with a satisfied hum. Not a “bad boy” bone in his polite body.

Another surprise sneaks up on you as Heeseung whispers, trying his absolute best not to shout. “I’m cumming!” Hee weeps, grabbing your hair with his second unoccupied hand as his pleasure converges into a delightful sight, yanking you off of his dick. First, his stomach tenses, then his balls, then the abused tip of his cock throbs as he releases string after string across the bathroom floor, your hair, cheeks, nose, and lips. Some even lands on your eyelashes, as his grippable hips surge forward in a euphoric blaze. Heeseung’s eyes don’t squeeze shut all the way, just into pretty little crescents, so he can watch with effort as he showers you in his release. You, on your knees, before him. “Oh god, I’m cumming…” he pules weakly again, his final droplets of spunk dripping from his defiled tip. You grin again.

“Couldn’t wait?” you inquire, Heeseung’s head fallen completely forward as his muscles spasm, still swimming in pleasure and the aftermath of it. His beanie makes the quietest, softest plat as it hits the ground, like a sewing needle hitting the floor makes a soft clang.

“I’m so sorry” Heeseung’s hand holding yours shakes in your embrace, his other hand relenting its hold on your hair. “I didn’t…I didn’t want to cum in your mouth without permission.”

You ignore, of course, that he could have subsided from cumming at all without permission. But, Heeseung didn’t like to cum in public, so, you decided it could be his reward.

“Don’t be sorry, baby. You did a really good job.” Your lips meet Hee’s knee with a smooch, patting your mark with a frsiky grin. “Now lets get me cleaned up.”

#sub!idol #sub!idol x reader #enhypen x reader #dom!reader #fanfiction writer #sub!Heeseung #sub!enhypen #heeseung x reader #heeseung x you #lee heesung smut #lee heesung x reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 19 days ago

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Hi Miss Raven! I have a question related abt all the dorms (except Ramshackle) qualifications. Like, what type of person do you need to be and/or what qualities do you need to have in order to get to certain dorms. And also, how does it affect the person when they transferred dorms, like how Rook used to be kind of wild when he's in Savanaclaw but then changed when he transferred to Pomefiore.

I feel like it had been mentioned somewhere in the game, but I don't trust my memories enough to be sure ;v

Thank you and have a nice day!! ^^

🧍‍♂️

Actually, Twst never really does elaborate what qualities get you sorted into which dorm. Students can transfer between dorms (via a tedious process, but it is still possible), and I think it can pretty easily be argued that students from X dorm could fit into Y dorm. There’s flexibility and wiggle room. There may also be a genetic component considered, as we have multiple instances of family members being sorted into the same dorms (Ace and his older brother into Heartslabyul, Jade and Floyd into Octavinelle, Kalim and his relative, the previous Scarabia dorm leader, into Scarabia, etc.).

Qualifications for more specific roles within the dorms are also vague. At best, we are told that Pomefiore’s dorm leader traditionally knows how to make “the most potent poison”, but other than that it’s basically barren. We just know that the dorm leader is someone who is “most befitting” the spirit of their respective dorm, but that’s… still a pretty vague description. Jamil states that the easiest way to determine this is vis a school-sanctioned duel but I don’t think a battle actually shows off your generosity or whatever 💀

Many fans have attempted to decipher what traits are “needed” to get into a specific dorm or have tried their hand at explaining why the characters ended up where they currently are. Honestly though… the core values for each dorm (ie strictness for Heartslabyul, persistence for Savanaclaw, etc.) seem to exist mainly for marketing purposes + easy character identification rather than being an in-universe hard rule to follow.

I don’t know if it’s accurate to say that a dorm (like, the physical place) changes its students? I would say it has less to do with the dorm environment per se and more to do with whoever is in charge.

Heartslabyul's previous dorm leader was very lax, which allowed the students to run rampant and constantly disregard the rules and studying. There was reportedly other wild behaviors and graffiti in the dorm as well. However, once Riddle took over, he started strictly imposing the rules and traditions, maintaining decorum (down to how the students act and dress), and assisting his students with their studies, which ensured that none of the Heartslabyul boys dropped out or got held back a grade (see: Riddle's Dorm Uniform vignettes). This didn't necessarily make the Heratslabyul students stricter with themselves though; we see the mobs complain about Riddle's iron fist and even main characters like Ace and Cater slack or are reluctant to study or to follow the ridiculous rules Riddle insists on. In this case, it's more like the dorm leader's leadership steering the ship without necessarily driving them all to adhere to the dorm value of strictness.

Rook was still his usual Savanaclaw self even when he transferred to Pomefiore. Vil describes him still looking unkempt until they had a conversation about how "the audience plays just as large a role as the performers in plays and concerts". Vil shares that he loves to dress up like those on the stage and suggests that Rook try it out, even helping Rook coordinate his look. Before then, Rook states that he had no interest in dressing up--but with Vil's advice, he found that dressing up actually heightened his experience with the arts. "Ever since then, I've developed an appreciation for personal care."

We could honestly say the same of Epel and his experience in Pomefiore. Prior to (and even during large parts of) book 5, Epel expresses discontent and/or actively rebels against Vil's teachings, even if he is surrounded by Pomefiore peers and the luxurious beauty of the dorm (see: Epel's Ceremonial Robes vignettes). It's not until 5-43 that Epel realizes the "power of beauty" that Vil so often extols to him.

So yeah, until Twst actually makes more of a concerted effort to elaborate on dorm-specific traits or qualifications, I’m just going to assume “it’s all marketing and branding”.

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humanitys-strongest-bamf · 9 months ago

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Black Tea & Pastries Part 1 | #LeviMonth2024 Fluff Oneshot

✧ word count ➼ ~1.7k ✧ notes ➼ canonverse, post-war!levi x barista!reader ✧ comments ➼ levi month entry for august 6! part 2 here! ✧ join my levi month taglist here!

{{ August 4 (BDSM) | August 8 (Royalty + Soulmates Part 1) }} Masterlist

While working at a cafe in Marley was never your intention, you found yourself oddly content with the new environment. You had moved away from the island as soon as it was safe to. With the Jaegerists in charge and having no family within the Walls, moving to Marley and starting over seemed like the next best choice.

You sighed as you cleaned off your counter, only looking up once you heard the door open. You had gotten used to seeing strangers here. You were an outsider, and enough people came by your shop that it was hard to keep track of who was who. Yet, this person that strolled in was someone you did indeed recognize—Captain Levi.

Levi entered your teashop, briefly pausing as he placed eyes on you for the very first time. He was immediately able to tell that there was something different about you.

Your eyes flickered up to meet his silvery gaze, noting that his right eye was slightly clouded over and that there were two scars running down his cheek and down to his lips. This was the first time that you had seen Levi in person, and the remnants of his injuries only reminded you of the reality that the world had faced during the Rumbling.

"How can I help you today?" you eventually asked kindly, forcing yourself to zone back in.

Levi eyed you for a moment longer before responding. There was something about your kindness that drew him in despite his usual aloofness.

"A cup of your strongest tea," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. He placed some coins on the counter for payment, his gaze still fixed on you.

You gave him a gentle smile before making him the day's special, a blend of black tea that was unique to the area. You returned a few minutes later, handing it, in addition to his coins, back to him.

"On the house," you whispered, before motioning towards the pastry bag you had slid towards him as well. "Also snuck a pastry in there for you."

Surprised by your generosity, Levi's lips twitched into a slight smirk. It wasn't often that people were so kind to him right off the bat, especially given the world's persistent hatred for the Eldians.

He nodded slightly in acknowledgement, then turned to leave the shop. Just before exiting, he glanced back at you with those piercing gray eyes, a silent thank you evident in his gaze.

After a few days, you noticed that Levi had become a regular. You had his order memorized and would greet him every day with his black tea and pastry.

"You're Captain Levi, right?" you asked one day as you handed him his order. "From the Survey Corps?"

Levi glanced at you briefly, nodding in confirmation as he took his drink from you, taking a seat at the bar in front of you. He took a slow sip of the tea, noting the near-perfect taste of the beverage before he spoke.

"Yes, that's correct."

You did a slight nod, pondering the information as you made yourself a cup of tea as well, taking your apron off now that your shift was coming to a close. You sipped on the warm liquid as you leaned against the counter in front of him to keep chatting with him.

"How do you find life after the war? I know you've been fighting for the Survey Corps for quite a while."

"It's...an adjustment," Levi admitted, running a hand through his short, black hair. "The pace of everyday life is certainly different. Having more time is one thing, but sometimes it can be...lonely."

Levi looked up at you for a brief moment, as if there was something he had changed his mind about saying. The fact that he was even being this transparent about his personal life took him aback. "...I suppose that's why it's nice to find places like this teashop."

You tilted your head at his comment. "Well, you're certainly a hero in many of our eyes," you said quietly with a small smile. "Do you live alone? Have anyone you can at least go home to at night?"

You saw Levi's breath get caught in his throat as he thought about your question, and you immediately berated yourself for probing into his personal life.

"Sorry, it wasn't any of my business to ask," you quickly corrected, shaking your head. "Uhm...how was your day today? Err, other than being at this shop..."

You trailed off as you got more and more flustered, having momentarily forgotten that he had spent the majority of his day here with you.

"Uneventful, to say the least," Levi muttered with a shrug, choosing not to comment on either your flustered state or the personal nature of the question you just asked. It didn't seem to bother him nearly as much as it was bothering you. "Just spent some time relaxing at home before coming here for my usual afternoon tea."

He placed his elbows on the counter, crossing his arms as he kept his eyes on you. "And before you ask—no, I don't usually spend this much time sitting around in cafes," he noted with a subtle smile. "It's just nice to have someone to talk to besides myself for a change."

You smiled to yourself at his words, relieved that he hadn't taken offense to your unintentional questioning of his personal life. "Well, I'd love to continue talking more. I quite enjoy your presence."

A faint blush crept onto Levi's cheeks, your words having caught him off-guard. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

"Well, I've rather enjoyed our conversations as well," he said, his voice a touch softer than usual.

Levi's gaze on you lingered for a moment before he continued, "Perhaps we could continue this elsewhere sometime? Outside of the teashop, I mean."

"I have the rest of the day off," you noted. "Although I understand if you'd rather spend your evening to yourself...but otherwise, I'd love to spend some time with you."

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he considered your offer. "Actually, that sounds quite pleasant," he confessed softly, his usual sternness replaced by a rare moment of vulnerability.

His apartment wasn't too far away, so a walk along the docks from the cafe towards his residence seemed convenient and fitting. Plus, he needed to get some movement in with his knee, and the walk was short enough that he wouldn't have to worry too much about any pain build-up.

It was a bit chilly, with the ocean breeze blowing through your hair as the sun set. As the orange glow reflected back against the water, Levi couldn't help but marvel at the peaceful atmosphere. These walks weren't that rare now that the war was over, but it still felt odd to have them.

"Never thought the infamous Captain Levi would be fascinated by sunset walks," you commented, noticing the look of contentment that seemed to appear on his features.

"Sunset walks aren't typically part of my routine," he acknowledged. "But I can't say I'm displeased to be experiencing one with such lovely company tonight."

You felt a blush rapidly traveling onto your cheeks as your fingers brushed against each other, immediately withdrawing your hand out of embarrassment.

You glanced over at Levi and saw that he also seemed a bit unsettled by the sudden contact, but it was so subtle that you weren't even entirely sure that it was there.

"...I guess I'm quite flattered to be getting such praise from Captain Levi," you said bashfully. "...I feel at ease around you despite the fact that we just met. Is that bad?"

"Not at all," he murmured softly after a short pause. "In fact, I find myself oddly drawn to your presence. There's something about your kindness and warmth that's actually quite comforting."

Your felt your face continue to heat up, and you silently thanked the darkening skies for making the view dim enough for you to conceal it.

The two of you silently walked side-by-side for the rest of the block, quietly enjoying each other's company.

Levi was finding himself already slightly enamored with you, despite the fact that you had only caught his eye a few days ago. Yet, the moment that he saw you was the moment that he knew that there was something special about you.

You knew something was up as well when you first saw him, but you chalked it up to nervousness at first. After all, it was inappropriate for any type of feelings to develop so soon for someone you had literally just met—but being around him just felt right. For once, it didn't feel like you had to force a conversation or feign interest when there was none. You were comfortable walking in silence next to him.

You wanted to know more about him.

By the time you arrived at his apartment, it was already dark.

He paused at the entrance to his building, looking over at you.

"...It's getting dark," he mentioned, giving you a concerned look. "You sure you're good to walk home?"

You nodded, gesturing over to the apartment complex across the street.

"I actually live close by," you responded with a bashful chuckle. "So...yeah, I'll be okay walking on my own."

After shooting him a small smile, you turned from him, ready to head back home for the night. You took a few steps forward before pausing and turning back towards him again.

You felt your pulse hasten ever so slightly once you noticed that he had stopped to look over at you as well.

"Uhm...so I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" you asked nervously, indicating that you were hoping to see him at the cafe again.

"If you insist," he responded after a slight nod, with a subtly amused look in his eyes.

"Black tea and pastry?"

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he was reminded of the fact that you had his order memorized, even though it had been less than a week.

"...looking forward to it."

#: @shayewrites @littlerequiem @ackerbootytobbi @humanitys-strongest-brat @mostlilo @dustbuniesworld @levisrations @ebechnasheim @moonchild-angel @jayteacups @bipolargatto @samackermaan @deepzombieyouth @pickledpedro

#levimonth24 #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi heichou x reader #captain levi x reader #levi fluff #levi #levi ackerman #levi heichou #captain levi #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin #snk

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worfs-glorious-hair · 2 months ago

Note

Hello hello! I have a question for YOU! 💜

In your recent post with your absolutely lovely pics of Gale and Tav kissing in front of Mystra’s statue, you talked briefly about how it’s poetic that Tav’s hand (and then Gale’s) will cover Mystra’s earring.

I…must shamefully admit that I have never even considered that or realized that that was happening in that kiss 😅 I hope that my Galemancer license will not be revoked as a result LOL

Since you were astute enough to notice that detail, what I wanted to ask was: do you think Gale does this gesture purposefully, to reinforce to Tav that they are first in his heart and more important to him than Mystra?

Or do you think he does it unknowingly, which means that Mystra and her earring/symbol is now of so little importance to him that he doesn’t even think about it?

Or perhaps there’s a third option I’m not thinking of?

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you feel up to answering, but no pressure at all! Thank you!

AHHH HELLO, HELLO! 💜💜💜

I am so honoured that you, the well-renowned authority on all things Gale meta and lore, are asking me a question! 😭😱

Your ask made me very giddy and woke me up properly early this morning before work, so thank you! It truly made my morning!

Thank you so much for enjoying my “Tav’s Chosen” picture set and your overall generous and very, very kind words! 💖🫶

✨Your generosity is quite wonderful ✨

Now on to your very intriguing and very wonderful question that I am delighted to answer throughly, you are asking me after all about Gale and Tav, which is my favourite thing to talk about :D

But first of all, I also only actively noticed the (potential) significance of Tav covering Gale’s earring when I posted the photos. No matter how often I have seen this kiss before.

I have been there in the Stormshore Tabernacle three times now and done this kiss… well… more often than three times :D The moment right before the kiss is may or may not my current lockscreen so I’d say nobody’s Galemance license gets revoked today because mine would be taken too (😭). As if our wizard would ever let us go over such a minor thing 💜

Anyhoo, is Gale aware of what he and Tav are doing with the earring?

I don’t think so.

When Tav looks at him like he is a piece of art, when they look at him and everyone else can see how much they love him, when they only wish to show him how loved he is, only want to show him that he is safe with them and that they adore no one else like they adore him – no they aren’t considering the earring, they aren’t considering Mystra when they reach for him, when they want (and will) cradle his face in their hands.

And Gale smiles at them wordlessly, eyes sparkling, full of reverent contentment, expecting their touch.

There are no words needed, everything that Tav wants to tell him rests in the warmth of their hand against his cheek, skin to skin, it is laced in the way their thumb plays with the soft loose hairs just above his beard.

I love you. Just you. I have never loved anyone like I love you. I care for you. I will protect you, come what may. If getting abducted by a dangerous cult and loosing all of my abilities was necessary to have met you, well, then I would do it a thousand times over just for a chance to find you over and over again and to get to love you over and over again. To hold you over and over again. I want to hold you for the rest of my life! I am grateful beyond any words that I have found you. That I get to love you!

And he understands. He hears the unspoken words. They are his just as much.

And Gale pulls Tav’s hand immediately closer to him, wanting them all around him, the warmth of their hand against his cheek, their thumb playing gently with his hair above his beard. Their shared human well, you know what I mean touch. His hand on top of theirs, skin to skin. Warm, alive and real.

Together. Connected. Gentle.

And Mystra doesn’t matter. The earring doesn’t matter. It’s just jewellery – at least for this moment.

For me it is more than them doing it subconsciously. The reassurance that Mystra is his past and Tav is his present and his future lays in the touch of hands itself. It is the connection between two mortals, made from flesh and bone and a beating heart and living soul, who chose each other. Who love each other.

tl;dnr The earring doesn’t matter because Tav and Gale made a decision for each other and are mortal human together!

Dear @dekariosclan I hope you enjoyed my take on your question. And I took the liberty to be a little self-indulgent and included pictures from Tav and Gale that I took recently and may or may not use as a lockscreen, them bathed in gentle sunlight is my favourite thing!

#gale x reader #gale x tav #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale headcanons #bg3 headcanons #gale bg3 #bg3 gale #bg3 meta #bg3 analysis #gale analysis #bg3 #bg3 mystra #word-asks

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mulloey · 1 year ago

Text

innocents • yunho

it’s easy to forget you’re his prisoner

warnings: criminal!yunho, mentioned sex trafficking (but it’s in the context of him Not doing it), mentioned murder, reader is held against her will but nothing is done to her without consent, her shitty boyfriend pimped her out kind of and yunho’s not about that but he is Not a good dude in this, dom yunho, implied drugging (alcohol), implied physical punishment, other than the *implications* this is actually pretty tame. also san is yunho’s goon lol

this doesn’t represent yunho, ateez or my perception of them in any way. don’t like, don’t read:) please comment if you enjoyed!

—————

The first time you met Yunho, you were a payment. Your stupid, doofus boyfriend, thinking he was tough and smart enough to survive a life of crime, had gotten in too deep with the wrong people and found himself with a bounty on his head, pursued across the country until he was finally cornered in a dodgy part of Seoul. Dragged unceremoniously to Yunho’s office, he’d realised quickly who he was dealing with, and what was about to happen to him, and in a moment of desperation had offered you up instead. “Take my girlfriend,” he’d begged. “She’s at my house and she’s beautiful, you can have her. Just please don’t kill me.” And Yunho, disgusted that your boyfriend would offer you up like cattle but intrigued by the thought of you, had sent one of his men to pick you up.

You knew what your boyfriend had gotten involved with and you knew how spineless he was, so you weren’t surprised to see an armed man in your doorway, telling you to come with him if you wanted your boyfriend to live. You were more annoyed than anything else, but as much as you hated your boyfriend for selling you out like this, you didn’t want him to die, certainly not in the slow, painful way the man in your doorway had so graphically promised. So you followed, allowing yourself to be brought to a sprawling property on the other side of the city. When you were dragged into Yunho’s office, your coward of a boyfriend wouldn’t even meet your eye. But there was one person who couldn’t take his eyes off of you. The tall, dangerous looking man behind the desk.

He looked you up and down for a moment, ordering his man to turn you around so he could see the back of you, before nodding. “I accept your offer,” he told your boyfriend. “Leave her with me and don’t ever return to Korea, and I’ll wipe your debts and set you free. Understood?”

And without a moment's hesitation, your boyfriend agreed, thanking Yunho profusely for his generosity — for taking her instead of me. You could have attacked him if you weren’t surrounded by armed henchmen, but you were realising now that this pathetic little man wasn’t worth any more of your energy. So you let him scurry away with your back turned, eyes cast downwards to the floor.

The room was silent for a moment, tension in the air, until Yunho spoke. “If you’re wondering what I’m going to do to you, don’t worry,” he said. “I sell things, not people. Not women, at least. You’ll be safe here with me.”

You nodded, not really convinced before he ordered you closer to him. You shuffled forwards, as slow as you could before one of his men shoved you so hard you stumbled, landing on the solid wood of the desk.”

“San, you fucking idiot,” Yunho snapped, standing from his chair and rounding the desk to help you up. You looked you up and down and, satisfied you weren’t hurt, released his grip on you. “Your boyfriend’s lucky you’re such a beauty,” he said. “And so are you. Cus he’s not being fed to dogs right now, and I’m going to take much better care of you than he did.”

For some reason, maybe the sting and annoyance of the idiotic betrayal you’d just suffered, you believed him. Yunho would take care of you. He’d keep you safe. And you’d never be bounty again.

True to his word, Yunho was for the most part perfectly respectful. He didn’t touch or try anything with you without your permission, and he made certain none of his men did either, as made abundantly clear your second month under his care, when a low level fighter had cornered and felt you up, and Yunho, upon hearing about it, had summoned him to his office and, without a word, shot him between the eyes with his own gun.

The only time Yunho wasn’t so nice to you was the few attempts you’d made to escape. As much as he respected you as a person, he’d forgiven a lot of transgressions and missed out on an awful lot of money to have you, and he wasn’t going to let you go. And in the months (you think, time moves strangely in Yunho’s house) you’d been in his possession, he had by his own admission, developed feelings that gave him another reason to want to keep you with him.

After a few failed escape attempts and quite severe reprisals, he’d settled on another way to keep you pliant. With your previous boyfriend you’d gotten heavily into alcohol and as Yunho quickly realised, supplying you with it was a good way to keep you happy and obedient. And to keep you safe by his side, anything that worked was worth it.

You’re a few drinks deep when he comes into your room, taking a seat on your bed, eyes on you. You’re at your desk and facing him, fiddling absentmindedly with an empty glass.

“Come here.”

You feel dizzy, and not just because of the alcohol. You see the small knife in his hand, dwarfed by his massive palms. You know what those palms can do to you. You’ve tried everything to avoid finding out about the knife.

“Are you going to cut me?” You try to sound as afraid as possible, knowing it softens him — not because he feels bad for scaring you, but because he likes it. You’re such a good girl, he’d say, being so afraid of me. He thinks it’s sweet. It makes him happy. And you like when he’s happy.

His face is blank. “Why would I cut you?”

“The knife.”

His gaze flickers to it, then back to you. “Ah,” he says, smiling slightly. “This isn’t for you.”

“Did you hurt someone?” You ask softly.

“I’m going to,” he says. He puts the knife down on the bed, behind his back where you can’t see it. But now you know it’s there and you guess that was his intention. Your time with this man has taught you that nothing, nothing he does is an accident. “Come here.”

His tone is harder now, on the edge of anger. Since becoming his prisoner, as he hates when you call yourself, you’ve learned that Yunho does not like repeating himself — a lesson that has been painfully delivered to you more times than either of you would like. Not wanting another, you scurry over to him, stopping short of settling on his lap, because he hasn’t said you can touch him, and you know not to do it without his permission. Nothing without permission.

He smiles, recognising your obedience and pats his lap. “Sit.”

You settle yourself in your lap, heart still racing slightly, but the feeling of his warm hands on the small of your back always calms you. He strokes up and down your back, humming softly with his gaze fixed on you. “Have you been good today?” He asks.

You nod. “I have. Thank you for the drinks.”

He hums, running his thumb across your plush lips. He pushes it in slightly, letting you suck at the tip while his other fingers stroke your cheek. “I wanted to check on you,” he says quietly, “before I leave. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am,” you say, smiling softly.

He narrows his eyes, studying your face for any signs of dishonesty, but you know better than to lie to him. You know that in less than a second, the soft, gentle touches on your back could turn hard, crushing and striking, and it informs every choice you make with him. He nods, apparently satisfied that you’re telling the truth, and presses a kiss to your lips. “Good girl,” he breathes.

You smile at the praise, out of relief as much as happiness. You’ve learned quickly that Yunho is very, very good at concealing his true feelings — a necessary skill for someone of his profession — so you never bank on him being satisfied with your behaviour until he confirms it himself. But today he is satisfied, and it fills you with relief. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Yunho smiles at you and pushes his thumb back into your mouth. Focused on the feeling, you don’t notice his other hand move from the small of your back to the top of your leg. The feeling of his hand on the sensitive bare skin of your thigh makes you jolt and he tuts, tightening his grip slightly. “Still,” he orders gently.

He lets his hand wander further up your leg, into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, dangerously close. Your breath hitches as his hand slowly approaches your most sensitive area. “Yunho,” you whisper, the desperation in your voice evident.

He smiles softly but shakes his head. “I don’t have time now, darling,” he says regretfully. “Just wanted to play with my baby a little before I go. Get her worked up and ready for when I’m back.”

The hand on your face moves to grip your thigh, holding you in place as the other pulls your tiny shorts to the side and presses a long finger into your hole. You gasp softly; it’s been a while since you’d started playing with Yunho like this, but you’ll never get used to his size, not just of his dick but of his entire body. Everything about him is large, strong, brimming with restrained power until he has a reason to unless it.

The finger reaches deep inside you, curling as he pushes another in. He starts to pump them slowly, quickly speeding up until you’re whining and squirming on his lap. A third soon joins and you almost choke. “Yunho,” you cry.

He hums, not acknowledging you further. You love when he plays with you like this, clinically and methodically pleasuring you but seeming indifferent to you or your reactions. He doesn’t care what sounds you make, how many times you come undone on his fingers. You’re his toy and he’ll play with you until he gets bored.

He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing in circles to drive you close to the edge. You’re babbling incoherently now, crying and gasping as he works you to your orgasm.

“Yunho,” you sob as his fingers speed up. “Yunho, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he says. He doesn’t look up at you, gaze still fixed in your gushing pussy.

You cry as you let yourself go, juices coating his entire hand. He chuckles at the sight, pumping his fingers a few more times before pulling them out, but you know that’s more due to his time constraints than any desire to show you mercy. Other than your worst misbehaviours, the only time Yunho shows the merciless, cruel side of himself with you is during sex. He’s in charge, and he loves the way you cower and come undone beneath him.

He holds you in his lap for a few more minutes, stroking your gently and whispering praises as you come down from your high, before he gets up, a sad look on his face. “I so wish I could stay, baby,” he says mournfully. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

“Me too,” you sigh. “Please don’t get hurt.

He tilts his head, lips twitching with an amused smile. “I never do that,” he says. “And I’m not fighting anyone tonight. Just teaching them a lesson. Be ready for me when I’m back, yeah?”

You nod and he smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips before picking up his knife and walking out of your room. You hear the lock click behind him, a reminder that as much as you love each other, you’re still his prisoner. But the ghosts of his touches on your skin make it so much sweeter.

—————

#ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez x reader #kpop smut #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #yunho x reader #dom yunho #ateez dark fic #mulloey writes

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mohntilyet · 6 months ago

Note

I want you to know you’ve indoctrinated both my friend and I into your path of thinking when it comes to Illario and the Envy demon.

I raise you this, since Illario isn’t even a mage before the Ossuary, consider the fact that Zara convinces Illario into also harboring Envy (like Spite, since Lucanis says he just ate something and he was stuck with Spite after that. Like she tells Illario he needs that dawg in him to become first talon, a double edged knife there (you aren’t good enough on your own you need that dawg in you aahhhh)). That would add a level onto why he kills her, Lucanis taking a crack at Illario and asking if he’s is good enough (I would’ve crashed out too tbh), and the lines in at the party with a romanced Rook (since that man also doesn’t have a healthy love life)

Envy is also twisted form of admiration/generosity/contentment, like how Spite was a spirit of determination, and the freak out Lucanis would have over his little brother’s admiration for him (an admiration he would NEVER admit to his big brothers face) becoming so twisted (by the same person!) that it’s also destroying him from the inside out.

Also Spite and Envy shenanigans would’ve been so fucking funny

YEAH!!!!!! i have been rotating this around in my mind and had the idea of that admiration v. envy thing for illario, especially if we're thinking about wigmaker's job where they cover for each others weaknesses. like a week ago i googled what the corresponding virtue for envy was and it was kindness and i was like yeahhhhh illario does not have that. we're going to have to go with something else. and i was thinking of admiration so this ask kind of made me cheer <3 thank god i am making some sense and someone else agrees because at any point i'm checking myself going 'actually would he do that'

i think they both have some level of 'i wish i could do that like them' but illario's is negatively tinged because their fuck ass grandma is right there saying all that too . like regardless of how great i think my brother is, there is no fucking way his accomplishments don't start looking twisted and unfair if my only parental figure obviously likes him more than me

i also like the idea of in some world where illario is less of a traitor and didn't set lucanis up (i have a rewrite powerpoint going on for my friends. so this part makes perfect sense to me but maybe not as much to you. i'm so sorry), and they both get kidnapped and possessed, spite-envy are the ones with serious beef vs. their unwitting hosts, who would actually prefer not to kill each other.

this messy au i have assumes a very fraught house dellamorte, trying to defend treviso while the crows splinter and follow either son. caterina refuses to let lucanis give up power and names him first talon, while illario has consolidated power in the year lucanis was gone and has several other loyal houses pledging to him instead. spite and envy exacerbate this situation, spite refusing to give up power + envy coveting it. this hypothetical plotline ends with uniting the crows under a single first talon (welcome back bhelen v harrowmont), and reaching an agreement with the others to work together. crow-on-crow violence you cannot be solved but you CAN reach a momentary tense agreement to protect antiva and the world <3

#in my mind this au quest also involves like. it gets easier if ur a rook de riva OR you're seen as an interloping outsider #but by the end of it there's a grudging respect that allows the talons to follow + fight alongside you #helped of course by lucanis who is either talon or simply backing illario #i think this would lead to character bloat. but none of that matters when its MY wishful thinking crow politics questline #that was only rly meant to be seen by fie/jane/saids. so.#they would have 'yes and'ed me forever and allowed the echochamber to continue. LOL #i'm adding and editing the idea as i go. if i ever get somewhere coherent i'll try to explain #but this fucking powerpoint has slide titles like 'We have to let caterina dehumanise her grandchildren. For feminism.'#so really dont expect too much #lucanis dellamorte #illario dellamorte #answered #long post

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heavenlyvision · 1 year ago

Note

ahh yay !! okay sooo… vamp!Tomas x fem!reader where tomas and the reader both like each other but never really said anything because they are both shyyy but after tomas gets turned by nitara tomas becomes a lot more cockier and confident causing him to cockily confess his feelings !! (smut? 🤍)

ty lovely and ofc have a good day/night <3

I love this request! I have written far more for it than I initially thought I was going to, I got carried away and couldn’t stop writing. I hope you like it anon! Thank you for gracing my inbox <333 sorry it took me so long to fulfil this request. I wish you a lovely day/night and I hope this lives up to your expectations :)

Dearest

Wc: 6k

Pairing: Vamp!Tomas x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, angsty for like a minute, thigh grinding, cunnilingus (over the panties 🤭), p in v sex, creampie, spanking (1), I think that is all :)

Harbouring an unrequited crush for a man that you would describe as one of your closest friends is one of the most difficult things you’ve had to do in your adult life, and you have not had an easy life. So, it feels a little bit ridiculous how trying this has been for you.

Tomas is someone you hold in high regard, his skills, his generosity, his kindness in spite of his losses, you could ramble on about him and all the reasons you like him forever. Unlucky for his brother Kuai Liang, that means you torture him with your seemingly endless growing affections.

“He brought me back my favourite–”

“–Yes, I know, I was there with him.” Kuai Liang sighs, this is the third time you’ve brought up Tomas in the last ten minutes.

Tomas had brought you back your favourite baked goods on his last trip into town, it made your chest feel full with how kind the action was. He remembered your favourite treat, and he went out of his way to get it. He thinks about you, even when you aren’t with him.

“I’m sorry Kuai, I’m just really happy.” You feel embarrassed about how much you’re gushing, but you can’t help it. There is no one else you can talk to about this, and you need to talk about it with someone.

“It’s fine, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” he smiles apologetically at you, “but you know, you should just tell him how much you like him.”

“I can’t do that! What if he doesn’t like me back? And then I’ve ruined our friendship over my silly feelings.” There’s too much for you to lose if you confess to him.

Kuai Liang refrains from a deep eye roll, he’s about to say something but Tomas walks up to you both.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” He’s just finished some training with Hanzo, he looks tired.

Kuai sits and says nothing, waiting for you to answer him, “We’re just hanging out, drinking tea.” You motion the teacup up at him to see.

He nods his head, smiling at you, “Got enough for me?”

Kuai pours him a cup before getting up, “I’ve got to go meet with Harumi, thanks for the tea.” He nods his head down at you and pats Tomas on the shoulder as he walks away.

“Thank you,” you tell him in reference to the gift he brought back.

He moves to sit down next to you on the bench, “No thanks necessary, I knew it was your favourite, and I was in the area.”

He lied just now, Kuai had told you that they would’ve been home an hour earlier, but he went out of his way to find your favourite bakery.

You take a sip of your tea, smiling into the cup and humming your reply to him.

You ask, “How did training go?”

“Well, Hanzo is improving fast, I am sure it won’t take him long to beat me in a fight,” he chuckles, his pride in Hanzo displayed in it.

“I am sure he could, though I am sure I could beat you in a fight too.” You’re teasing, you are capable but not on par with Tomas.

He smiles at you, “You probably would win but I think that’s because you would play dirty.”

“Absolutely,” he knows you too well, any way to win.

You both sit and drink tea while talking, until you run out of tea, and then you’re both just talking. It gets late quickly but you both never seem to run out of things to say, and even when you do, you’ll say anything just to be able to talk to him for a little bit longer.

“I should probably head to bed now, it’s getting late,” you tell Tomas, hours have passed since he sat down.

He looks into your eyes, like he has something pressing to tell you but eventually settles on saying, “Okay, thank you for tea.”

“Thank you for my treats,” you lean into his side, and he holds you there. Both engaged in a side hug.

“You are most welcome, dearest.”

The way he calls you dearest makes your heart rate spike; he makes you feel like you are genuinely dear to him, and it makes you giddy.

You move past it, “I will see you tomorrow?” you ask him, mouth muffled in his shirt.

He replies, “Yes but it might be late, Kuai and I both have to help Lui Kang with something.”

So vague with his missions, trying to shield you from the truth you suppose. You always end up asking Kuai about them anyways, and he tells you, so there isn’t really any point in keeping it from you. It’s sweet that he cares to try though.

“Be safe.” You tell him.

“Always.”

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

That was the last time you saw Tomas, he left for his mission and Kuai came back alone. It’s something that haunts you, you remember how distraught you were. You were told he was turned by Nitara, which means he’s out there somewhere, you just don’t know where. Don’t know what he’s doing. But your home feels empty and lifeless these days.

All you do is spend the days waiting for the next, an endless, mind-numbing cycle. Kuai and Harumi visit you often, checking in on you, making tea. They’re worried about you, you know that. But you’re worried about Tomas.

Lui Kang and Kuai Liang have been putting a copious amount of effort into finding Tomas, wanting to help him, but Tomas doesn’t want to be found. And he’s making it abundantly clear. Leaving a trail of half dead people, that have messages from him, telling them to stop looking.

This isn’t something you learnt from Kuai; you’ve heard the whispers in the village about it though. Kuai has now picked up Tomas’ old habit of not telling you the extent of things, but you can read between the lines. Tomas is moving closer to the Shirai Ryu’s village, for what reason you don’t know but you feel conflicted about it. You want to see him, but he is not Tomas anymore, not really. Not the man you…

…The bond between yourself and Tomas had always been unbreakable, at least you thought it had been. With the way things are now, you don’t know who will be standing in front of you, if you ever see him again.

Due to Tomas’ movements getting closer to the village people have been assigned to keep tabs on you. Kuai hasn’t said anything, but people roam outside your house now, frequently. All hours, they will stroll by, you think they aren’t meant to be noticed but when you live with ninja’s long enough, you start to notice them. You appreciate the consideration, but it’s not needed, even if he does show, you’ll handle it yourself.

There’s a knock on your door, three polite raps against the solid wood. Right on time, 3pm in the afternoon. Every day, you get visited by Kuai, sometimes with Harumi, sometimes with Hanzo, but more often than not, alone.

Sighing you move from your couch to the door and pull it open, “Afternoon, Kuai.”

You pull it open the whole way, allowing his large frame to move past you. He walks into the kitchen and starts boiling some water.

“Good afternoon,” he replies.

The afternoon with him carries out the same way it has for the past couple months, he talks to you, trying to get you to open up. You turn it on him and try to get him to talk, about how he’s feeling, about Tomas’ last sighting, his plans for if they find him. But just like yourself, he doesn’t disclose anything. So, you both end up drinking tea in silence, mention the weather and then part ways.

Some days he is more stubborn than others, he stays longer, pushing you harder, he’s feeling that way this afternoon.

“I know you must be upset and missing him; you can talk to me about him, it might help.” He presses you; he’d love to hear you talk about Tomas the way you used to.

It makes you sad to talk about him though, “I don’t have anything to say Kuai, you know that.”

“That is a little hard to believe,” there is humour in his voice, it pulls a small smile from you.

It is rather ironic, going from never being able to shut up about him, to never talking about him.

“I appreciate the concern, but I am fine,” you lie.

He knows and he looks at you, eyebrow raised, “You are not.”

“No… I’m not but neither are you.”

“I suppose not.” He sighs and takes a sip of his tea.

You think now is your time to mention, “Could you stop sending people to watch my house, it’s annoying and unnecessary.”

“I think it necessary,” he shoots back, but he caves a little, “I will send less and less frequently, but they will still watch out for you.”

You go to argue further, “I really don’t think it’s–”

“–I am not willing to compromise further on this matter.” He cuts you off.

“Fine.” You concede, too tired to argue with him. Always too tired.

He seems pleased with the progress he’s made with you though, finally getting you to budge the slightest bit. Admitting that you are not fine is enough for him today. He leaves with no argument, and you sit back on your couch, enjoying your solidarity.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

You’re in the shower when you hear someone rummaging around your living room, annoying, you think to yourself. It’s probably someone checking on you, though it’s odd they’re inside your house.

Wrapping yourself in a towel, you move through the ensuite and into your bedroom. Locating the sword you keep hung on the wall, if it’s not someone checking up on you, you may need protection. You pull it down, keeping it sheathed. Slowly you move towards the living area where the noise is coming from.

You sneak through the house as quietly as possible and come up behind the intruder, hands on the sword, ready to unsheathe it and strike if necessary. But then you realise the silhouette of the intruder is very familiar.

He turns around and faces you, a faux shocked look on his face, pretending to be frightened by you holding a sword.

Your voice comes out far more timid than you would’ve liked, “Tomas?”

“Ah, you caught me.” He holds his arms up in surrender, sly grin plastered on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I came to visit you, dearest.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing, as if he’s questioning you questioning his presence.

Your eyes squint at him, “Don’t call me that.”

“You never use to mind it,” his face twists into a fake sad expression.

You’re still in an attack stance, “That was then, I don’t know who you are now.”

“Please put the sword down, it really isn’t frightening, especially since you’re in nothing but a towel.” His eyes look you up and down, appreciating your scantily clad body in a fluffy towel.

Your lip pulls up into a grimace, “Don’t look at me, turn around.”

He waves a hand at you dismissively, “Chill out, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Why are you here?” You’re quick to reply.

His presence is genuinely confusing, he didn’t want to be found by his own brother, but he came back here to break into your house and look at your living room furnishings?

“Like I said, I’m here to see you, I’ve missed you dearly… dearest.” He flashes you a cheeky smile.

He’s different, not right, not… himself. It’s uncanny and off putting to you. He is not the same kind man you called your best friend.

“I don’t believe you.”

His smile drops, “I know, but I’m not lying.”

He moves towards you, but you take a step back, hand pulling on the handle of the sword, ready to unsheathe it. He stops at your reaction; and rolls his eyes dramatically.

“I really am not going to hurt you, I wanted to give you that,” his head motions towards your side table, your favourite baked goods sitting atop it.

Your eyes round in shock, why would he go to the effort? You stop your thoughts before they get too hopeful, he could be trying to lure you into a false sense of security, and it might work. He looks mostly the same, not quite right but his likeness is there. He’s pale, bloody, an odd marking on his forehead, and fangs you can spot when he speaks, but the same.

It’s confusing you; you want to be happy to see him, but you don’t want to let yourself feel it if he isn’t quite right. If he’s going to hurt you or worse. You are happy he’s alive though, there might be a way to help him.

“Why did you bring me that?” You ask, also motioning towards the treats on the table.

“Because they’re you’re favourite,” he shrugs, “can you please put the sword down, this is getting a bit ridiculous.”

You have a baffled look on you face, “You’re the one breaking and entering??”

“Hey! I didn’t break anything.” He looks offended, hand on his chest. He sighs and rolls his eyes again, “I don’t know what to offer you here to make you feel better, dear.”

“I don’t really know either.” You consider what would make you feel better about him, other than him leaving. “Getting dressed… would make me feel better.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t.” He’s flirting with you, brazenly.

“Stay here… or leave… but don’t follow me.”

He has a bored look on his face, but he shrugs in agreeance.

At his reaction you begin backing away slowly, watching him as you leave the room. He tilts his head curiously at you as you do. When you can no longer see him, you shuffle quickly to your room.

You rustle through drawers to find clothes, settling on pants and a t-shirt. Something you can move around in if you end up having to defend yourself. You pick up your sword and exit your bedroom.

As you come back into the living area you see him sitting on an armchair in the corner, the one facing your larger couch. You move around the furniture to sit on said couch facing him. Your posture a stark contrast to his, you’re sitting up straight and alert. While he is lounging, legs spread wide, spine reclined against the back of the armchair. He’s fully relaxed and you’re… not.

“Still have the sword I see,” he notes.

Your grip tightens on the hilt, “I am not ready to trust you.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you would be.” His head rolls to the side quickly, listening, “are you expecting guests?”

You know what he’s hearing, your friendly watchers must be coming by to check on you.

“Kuai Liang started assigning people to come by my house, I didn’t understand why previously, I do now.” You reply casually with a wave of your hand.

“Mmm, he is taking care of you?” His question seems loaded, like he might be simultaneously pleased and displeased at the same time, no matter your response.

“Yes, he comes by regularly to check on me, he is worried.” You answer honestly, based on his hearing he’d probably be able to tell if you lied to him.

His eyes squint slightly, his reaction telling you nothing about his thoughts or feelings, “You going to alert them of my presence?”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

He seems a little confused, “Why not?”

“I’m not getting any information from Kuai anymore, he tells me nothing. If I let them take you, I doubt I’ll be updated of anything.”

“Very serious like this, you used to be much kinder to me.”

Your eyebrows raise at him, “I could say the same to you.”

“Fair enough,” he smiles at you, still eyeing you even though you are nowhere near as undressed as earlier.

“Stop it,” you tell him.

His gaze climbs up your body and then back onto your eyes, “Stop what?”

“Stop that,” your hand waves in circles around his face, referencing the way he’s been looking at you.

His head leans to the side, “Why?”

Your eyebrows pinch together, “Because I don’t know what it means.”

“I like you, is what it means.” His smile is as sweet as he can muster, it’d be sweeter if he didn’t have fangs.

Huh? Huh? What the hell? He likes you, is that possible? You must have the most bewildered expression on your face because he begins chuckling at you.

“Don’t laugh!” You’re frowning at him now.

“Sorry, sorry…” He waves his hand at you, “I didn’t think you’d look so confused, you’ve just made a very cute face.”

You sigh deeply, he’s making your heart rate pick up, you need to control it, “I don’t believe you.” You say in reference to his declaration.

“Yeah, you keep saying that, but it’s the truth. I came back to see you because I miss you and I miss you because I like you. I always have.” His confession is making you feel flushed. He’s saying things you would’ve liked to have heard ages ago.

“Why? Why tell me this now?”

“Was too scared to tell you before, now it doesn’t matter as much, our friendship isn’t exactly in a great place, no?” He gestures to his whole being with his hands, as if to demonstrate the reason for that.

“I don’t see myself trusting you, I hope you know that.” Honestly, mutual trust isn’t something you can foresee in both your futures.

But that’s obviously the opposite for Tomas, “I am pretty confident that I can change your mind, I got your heart rate to rise earlier. My confession bring up some hidden feelings?”

You’re interested, “How do you plan on changing my mind?” You ignore the second part of his sentence.

“I will come by as often as I have to, for as long as I have to, until you trust me again.” He seems earnest at least, but you don’t know if you have rose tinted glasses on when it comes to him.

“Do as you please, I have a feeling you’re going to anyways.” You huff at him, spine becoming less rigid.

He smiles at you, eyes bright, “I appreciate the permission, anyhow.”

His visit ends quickly after that last conversation, having made headway with you made him pleased enough to leave. He did promise he would be back the next night, and the night after that, and so on, and so forth. The promise thrills you, much to your contention.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

Tomas stayed true to his promise, he comes by, every night without fail and has been doing so for the last few months. He never stopped flirting with you the whole time, making his affection for you perfectly clear. There are only so many ways you can brush him off and change topics though.

He sniffs the air, “I hate how much Kuai comes around, always smells like him in here, ruins your scent.”

Your eyes roll at him, “Well, he’s about as stubborn as you are about visiting. Must run in the family.”

You stopped holding your sword every time he came round about a month into his visits, believing he probably wasn’t going to bodily harm you. It was never far from you though, now it stays in the lounge, not close but not far. He has succeeded in slowly building some trust between the two of you.

In the kitchen you’re waiting for the kettle to boil, Tomas comes up behind you. Leaning down he inhales your scent, not so close to touch but close enough to have your heart pounding in your chest.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Smelling you.”

“Yeah, I can see that, why are you sniffing me?”

“You smell nice,” he’s still standing close to you, chest brushing your back.

You turn around and place a palm on his chest, aiming to push him back but he doesn’t budge. His hand comes up and he places it over top of your own. His eyes looking intently into yours, as you’re looking up at him, you’re struck with the realisation that your feelings for him haven’t left you. He’s changed and so have your feelings, but you still like him.

His eyes flit down to your lips, he begins moving in closer to you. Giving you ample time to pull away if you don’t want him to kiss you. You don’t know if kissing him is a good idea, but it doesn’t matter anyways, the kettle starts squealing, alerting you of its boiled status.

His hand lets go of yours, the moment ruined. You turn quickly, feeling like your face is on fire. Happy to be able to hide your face from him, though you know he can definitely hear your beating heart working overtime.

You take the kettle off the stove and make a cup of tea for both you and Tomas, he never drinks it, but he asks for it every time and holds it for the entirety of his visit.

Later, after tea, as you’re washing up Tomas stands beside you. Ever since your guard dropped enough to let him get this close to you, he stays as close as you’ll allow. Always right by you, flirting, joking, watching.

“Do you want me to wash up?” He offers.

“No, thank you.” You continue, scrubbing at your dishware.

When you’re done you go to wipe your hands off, drying them. Tomas grabs you and spins you abruptly, a shocked gasp pulling from you at his speed and strength.

“I like you.” Is all he says.

Your eyes are wide with shock, “You’ve already said so.”

“I just had to tell you again, so you know.”

“You tell me every day, and you relentlessly flirt with me,” you remind him.

“Just checking you haven’t forgotten.”

“You don’t make that possible,” you raise a brow at him.

“That’s the idea,” he smiles cheekily at you.

His eyes dip to your lips again, the moment from earlier being recreated. You turn your head to the side, feeling shy under his watchful gaze.

“Your heart is racing,” he comments, moving his hand to tuck a stray hair behind your ear.

“I know, it is my heart.” You feel flush in the face.

He leans a bit closer, “And how does your heart feel about me?”

Ah, he’s fishing today. He has been very patient, not asking you your feelings towards him but he is curious. Especially since he can tell you enjoy his advances, or at least react to them viscerally.

“I reserve the right to not answer that.” You feel as though you’re being interrogated.

He finds your answer entertaining, “I think… you like me too, but you’re still not convinced you can trust me.”

Yep, he’s pretty much hit the nail on the head, and he knows it. You go to answer him, try to cover for yourself but he’s quicker with his words.

Tone growing glib, he taunts, “Mmm, yeah, that was dead on, huh?”

His large hand come up and pulls your face back to his, holding you by your chin, between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts your face up, looking you directly in the eyes.

“Look at me and tell me, that you don’t like me.”

“I don’t like you,” you reply simply.

He scoffs, “Liar, I’ve grown on you.”

“Like a tumour, maybe,” you retort back.

He has a small smile on his face, “Now who is being stubborn?”

“Somehow, still you.” Your expression is one of defiance.

He rolls his eyes at you and groans, before grabbing your head on either side and pulling you into a kiss. It’s full and profound, and as he moves his head to the side, he licks into your mouth, deepening the kiss. A shocked mewl coming from you, one that he swallows down greedily.

Your heart feels like it might explode in your chest, and as he pulls away, he makes a note of it.

His forehead rests against yours, smiling cockily he asks, “Still don’t like me?”

“No,” you shake your head against him.

He captures your lips in another lustful kiss, devouring you whole, consuming the noises that escape you. Common sense eludes you, his kisses making you dizzy and unable to think properly. He walks you back into the corner of the kitchen bench, still cradling your face. Your hands coming up behind you, resting on the bench top. As a result, your chest presses further into him.

One of his knees slots between your legs, pinning you to the spot. His kisses take your breath away and you have to pull back to breathe. Huffing slightly at his insistent manner of kissing.

“Seems to me, that you like me.” He states.

“You’re mistaken.” You retort.

His head moves to your neck, inhaling the length of it, “it smells like you like me.”

Low blow on his behalf, his observation of your growing arousal for him makes your skin set alight. An embarrassing observation for him to make and he knows it. His thigh slots higher, resting up against your cunt. The contact makes you jump lightly, your teeth biting your lip to stifle your audible reaction.

His hands move to your hips as he leans down and kisses you again. His lips serving as a distraction so he can use the grip he has on your hips to encourage you to grind down on his thigh. You get lost in the feeling, the stimulation sending jolts of pleasure up your spine, the sounds you make spilling from you freely.

He rips his mouth away from you suddenly, before you can complain he pulls your pants down, you step out of them. Standing in front of him in nothing but your shirt and panties. He drops to his knees in front of you, pulling your thighs apart, just enough so his face can fit between your legs. His nose resting up against your pussy over your panties, he inhales deeply.

You gasp out at him, “Tomas!”

“Mmmsorry, you smell so fucken good.” He speaks against your cunt, muffling his words.

This display is mortifying to you and also serving to fuel your arousal. He hums pleasantly at your reaction. His mouth opens, sucking over your underwear, wetting them further. His thumbs pull your pussy lips apart, giving himself more access to your arousal. He’s lapping at your hole over your underwear, nose rubbing up against your clit as he licks at you.

You’re squirming above him, gasping for air at the pleasure he’s giving you. He grows more fervent against you, your cunt leaking from the pleasure. The smell and taste of you sending him into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop making out with your cunt over your underwear. Your legs are borderline shaking with your building orgasm.

“Tomas – ngh,” you’re trying to warn him of your impending orgasm.

One of your hands reaches for his hair, grabbing on, your hips beginning to faintly grind against his face. He doesn’t pull away to acknowledge your words, just continues slurping at your cunt, humming at you in confirmation.

The noises spilling from you reach a higher pitch, coming closer together. Your eyes are wet as they close tight against the intensity of your orgasm. When you cum it’s with a bite of his name followed by a large inhale of breath. Legs shaking, if he had not been gripping your thighs, you would’ve fallen to the floor in front of him.

He doesn’t stop as you cum, or even after, continuing to lick at you enthusiastically, aftershocks running through your veins. You twitch at the continued stimulation he provides. He growls against you, an inhuman sound that spikes your heart rate, and your excitement.

The sight of him between your legs, gripping your thighs open and feasting on your wet cunt could have you passing out. He huffs frustrated against you, and he rips your underwear off, actually tearing them off your body. You can’t even complain because he’s put his mouth back on your bare cunt. Drinking up all of the slick and cum from your cunt, he’s licking you clean, you might actually faint.

Tugging at his hair harsher, you push him back, “mm sensitive, stop.” You gasp out at him, words slurred together slightly.

Thankfully, he pulls away but stays on his knees, watching you quiver in front of him. His mouth finished eating you, but his eyes haven’t. He inhales one last time before standing up in front of you.

Cocky smile plastered on his face, “Divine, let me continue?”

You shake your head at him, “No, I will actually faint.”

He preens at that, delighted by your answer, “Are you ready to admit you like me?”

“No,” stubborn for no reason at this point. It’s clear to the both of you, you definitely like him.

He chuckles dryly at you, and then he’s spinning you around and pushing your upper half against the bench top. His hands run over your body, down your back and over your ass cheeks, he pulls them back to stare at your cunt, he whistles at the sight of it. And you struggle against him, humiliated by his actions.

“Will you let me fuck your tight pussy?”

You feel red and raw, his direct question mortifying you, mortifying you because, “yes.” You will let him.

He lets out an amused sound that turns into a growl at the sight of you bent over and waiting for him. Rustling can be heard from behind you as he pulls out his cock. He runs it through your folds, using your cunts prior orgasm to lube it. You rock back against him, rutting down on his dick. It sends shudders down your spine, the pleasure already plenty and he’s not inside you.

“Hold still,” he holds his hand on your back firmly, keeping you in place.

His other hand on his cock, running his tip through your folds before notching it at your hole. Slowly splitting you in two.

All he lets out is, “fffff–”

You clench at the stretch, clamping down on his cock.

“–UCK!” He lets out at your tightening pussy, “gotta relax, or I’ll never – nghf – make it inside.”

You’re mewling and barely the tip is inside you, his hand reaches down and around to rub at your clit, trying to get you to relax.

“Thasss it, dear, fucken perfect… jus. like. that,” he sighs as you relax a bit.

He’s able to have his whole tip enter you, and then he starts rocking back and forth slowly, trying to fuck you open on the tip of his dick. Your legs already shaking and he’s not even close to halfway inside you.

He begins fucking his cock into you more, incrementally, it has pleasure wracking your body. Taking his time, rocking in and then out, slightly more in and then out, rinse and repeat. Until he’s finally fully seated inside you. The full feeling overwhelming you, you grind back against him, wanting more of the feeling.

“Tomas–”

“Hold still, and if it’s – hah – too much, tap me, okay?” He asks.

You nod your head at him, but he slaps your ass and says, “Words, dearest.”

“I will tap you if it’s too much – jus please – mmmmove.” You’re wiggling back against him, trying to gain some friction.

Both his hands pull your ass cheeks apart again, gazing down at the way you’re wrapped around him. A deep growl coming from inside his chest at the sight. Pulling back almost all the way out, he slams back into you, jolting your body forward against the counter. You have a feeling you’re going to have all kinds of bruises tomorrow morning.

He’s fucking you in earnest, roughly, inhuman and pleased noises coming from him. A wet slapping filling your kitchen along with your mewls and whines. You brace yourself on the counter and begin fucking yourself back on his cock.

His hand moves up your body and grabs at the back of your neck, he pulls you up, holding you flush against his chest. Your head resting back against his shoulder. He’s fucking up into you, the change in position sliding you further down his dick.

The hand that pulled you up goes to the front of your neck, applying no pressure but holding you steady. His free arm moves from your hip to the front of your body, holding you against him, hand groping at your tit. His fingers pinch and play with your nipple, your cunt squeezing down on him at the sensation.

“Tell me, do you like mmme – ngh – now?” He whispers it against your ear, lips brushing the shell of it. It sends a shiver down your spine, goosebumps breaking out across your skin.

“Mmmmaybe – mmph – a little…” You confess.

He laughs and licks your ear, his thrusts never stopping or slowing. Your cunt starts to rhythmically pulse around his cock, you’re so close to cumming on just his cock, a sensation you’ve not felt before. Previously always cumming with the help of stimulation on your clit.

He taunts you, “Go on, cream all over – mmph – me, can feel you squeezing mmme.”

“Hah – Mm gonna–” You’re cumming, hard, on his dick. Your release creating a white ring around the base of his cock.

His hands move to push you back against the bench top again, he needs to see the way you came all over him. He spreads your cheeks again to watch himself fuck you, to see the way you creamed all over him. Mesmerised by your cunt and the way it takes him; he’s chasing his own high now.

He’s fucking you harshly, aiming to topple headfirst into his own pleasure. You clamp down on him, pulling his own orgasm from him suddenly. He cums with a shout of your name and a string of profanities. Filling your cunt to the brim with his release, he continues thrusting, stuffing all his cum back into your pussy. He groans at the sight, dick twitching inside you.

He pulls out of you slowly; he tugs his pants back on before spinning you around and placing you up on the bench. He wets some napkins from your kitchen with warm water and gently wipes your thighs clean.

His fingers push some of the cum leaking out of your cunt back inside, “Keep that there.” He tells you.

You hold your hand over your pussy, as he runs down the hall and comes back with a fresh pair of underwear. He slides them up your legs and uses them to help keep his cum inside you. Your legs are shaking from the come down, eyes wet and dazed. You’d let him do almost anything to you right now, with the way he’s given you the two best orgasms of your life, you think he might’ve earned it.

You watch him move around your kitchen, he finds your previous pair of underwear and stuffs them inside his pocket. He looks back at you and smiles deviously. Then he moves to get you a glass of water.

He presents it to you, “Drink.”

You accept it gratefully, feeling parched, you drink it all. It dribbles down your chin with how you gulp it down. He smiles at you and wipes your chin clean.

“I don’t think I can walk,” you tell him.

He’s smug, “Need me to carry you to bed, dearest?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

He obliges and carries you to bed, tucking you in. He won’t stay and he shouldn’t stay, though you find yourself hoping he would.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” he says, practically reading your mind. He crawls into bed beside you, on top of the covers.

“Thank you, Tomas.”

He smiles kindly at you, “No thanks necessary.”

You fall asleep quickly that night. Fully trusting him and even feeling safe with him beside you. When you wake the next morning, he is gone but he’s left a note.

It reads, “I’ll be back tonight, dearest.”

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

A/N: This is not my best writing, but I find myself a bit fond of it, maybe because it’s a different character, a bit of a change up is nice. I did write almost an extra 3k than what I initially planned lmao. I find the need to add more plot in my stories. Anyways, thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoyed, my requests are open if you want a story like this one or if you want to share any thoughts, feelings, anything really, I am open for asks!! <333

#ask vision #tomas x reader #tomas vrbada #tomas x reader smut #tomas vrbada x reader smut #smoke x reader #smoke x reader smut #fanfic #tomas x you #mk1 smut #smut #mk1 2023

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syerra-637 · 4 months ago

Note

I see a lot of content of Howl x Reader romantic, but what if there was a platonic version of Howl and Reader where Howl is like a father figure? Bonus points if Sophie acts motherly towards Reader.

I just feel like there’s not enough content of platonic Howl Pendragon imo

Howl Pendragon as a Father Figure

Orphaned from a young age, you spent some time in an orphanage. But life there seemed unbearable: too many rules, too much loneliness. One day, you decided to run away and became a street child.

Wandering through the market alleys, your empty stomach pushed you to desperately search for something to eat. That’s when your gaze stopped on a candy store. Behind the window, colorful sweets sparkled, neatly arranged in large jars. You knew stealing was wrong, but hunger made you hesitate. As you thought of a way to grab a few candies, a man elegantly dressed passed by you, a slight smile on his lips.

He stopped in front of the candy store, glanced at you, and then entered. A few moments later, he came out with a small bag full of treats: caramels, lollipops, and honey drops. To your surprise, he handed you the bag without a word. Hesitant, you took it, and before you could thank him, he had already walked away.

Moved by this unexpected act of generosity, you started following him through the crowd. It was hard not to lose him in the maze of busy streets. But at one point, as you reached a quieter area, he suddenly stopped. Turning around, he watched you for a moment before asking why you were following him.

Unable to formulate a clear answer, you simply looked down. To your surprise, he smiled and, almost spontaneously, invited you to come with him.

Howl took you back to his moving castle. The walls were filled with trinkets, books, and mysterious objects, and the scent of magic hung in the air. You quickly realized that this place would become your new home.

As a father figure, Howl proved to be both a kind guide and a reassuring presence. He is gentle, patient, and understanding, taking the time to listen to your concerns, even the most insignificant ones. He never imposes anything on you, preferring to let you explore your own desires and interests.

That said, Howl is far from being a strict father. He is permissive, perhaps even a little too much. For example, he never asks you to clean your room or follow a strict schedule. If your space becomes a real mess, he simply laughs softly and says, “It’s a reflection of your mind, but a little chaos never hurt anyone.”

Nevertheless, he has his moments of authority. If you do something truly dangerous or reckless, he can become surprisingly serious, reminding you that even in a magical world, basic safety rules matter.

Howl loves teaching you little things about magic, but he never forces you to practice if you’re not interested. He prefers to let you choose your own path.

His personality flaws also become more apparent over time. Sometimes, he can be a bit dramatic, especially when he’s worried about his appearance or when a spell doesn’t work as expected. But this often makes you laugh, as his exaggerations make life in the castle even more lively.

During quiet moments, Howl sometimes tells you stories about his past or shows you the stars from the castle balcony. He teaches you to see the beauty in the world, even in its imperfections, and to find magic in the little things.

Sophie as a Mother Figure

Sophie, as a mother figure, plays a complementary role to Howl’s, bringing stability and comforting warmth to an otherwise turbulent home. While Howl, though caring, can sometimes be a bit distracted or capricious, Sophie embodies calm wisdom and thoughtfulness. She watches over you as a mother would, but always with a quiet gentleness, knowing when to intervene and when to let Howl take the lead. She is often the one who calms tensions when Howl becomes too preoccupied with his own adventures or shifting moods.

Sophie thus becomes a sort of “counterbalance” to Howl’s more flamboyant nature, bringing structure to life in the castle. She ensures that, despite the chaos around Howl, you find a safe and warm place to grow. She shows you, for example, things that Howl sometimes neglects, such as the importance of organization and taking care of oneself.

Even though she knows Howl is a good father in his own way, she is there to complement his approach with a calmer and more stable presence, helping you grow in a balanced environment.

#howl x reader #Platonic Howl Pendragon #howl pendragon #howls moving castle #howl pendragon x reader #howl's moving castle #Fathely Howl #Sophie x reader #sophie howls moving castle #Mothely Sophie x reader #syerra-637 #Ghibli #Ghibli x reader

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thezombieprostitute · 1 year ago

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Hummingbird - Part 2

Summary: You didn't want to break into someone's party but you were desperate to see the art at the gallery before it was gone. You're so busy trying to make sure no one sees you that you miss the ever present gaze of Steve Rogers who is wondering why you crashed his party.

Word Count: ~1500

A/N: Reader is female but no physical descriptors are used.

Warnings: I don't think there are any, but please let me know if I'm wrong on that!

Part 1 -- Part 3

Series Masterlist

You look over the party invite, feeling slightly guilty for receiving so many of them without ever actually going. You tell yourself all the excuses but ultimately it all comes down to you feeling like you’re taking advantage of Mr. Rogers generosity. You were only doing what any other good person should do. Why would anyone think that deserves a reward? Sighing, you put the invitation with the stack of others.

While you’re pondering your dinner options you hear a knock at your door. Confused, you look through the peephole and freeze. That tall, thick build and blonde hair is definitely Mr. Rogers. You crack the door open, “hello, Sir. What…what are you doing here?”

“Honestly, Hummingbird, I’m a little hurt,” he chides. His hands are on his hips and his expression is stern. “It’s been a lot of months, a lot of invites, a lot of art shows and you haven’t once taken me up on my offer. I called the curator and she said she hadn’t seen you, even during normal gallery hours.” You drop your face in shame. “Are you not actually interested in art? Is it really just one artist that gets your attention?”

“N-no, Sir-”

“Steve.”

“No, Steve, I…I just…” your brain scrambles to come up with something. Just a few minutes ago you told yourself all of the excuses you needed but with his piercing, blue eyes seemingly looking into your soul, they all feel baseless. “I…I don’t have nice enough clothes.”

He smiles, and not in a comforting way. It reminds you of the first smile he gave you, when he knew the perfect reward. “I was wondering if it was something like that. May I come in?”

A part of you feels like you really shouldn’t but his demeanor has you opening up the door, gesturing for him to enter. He nods at you and comes inside, carrying a black box with a white ribbon. You close the door behind him and turn to see him holding out the box to you.

“A gift from Monica’s parents. Had to guess at the measurements, so I’m under orders to make sure it fits.” You take the box and set it on your kitchen table before opening it. Inside is the most beautiful dress you’ve ever seen. The embroidery is stunning. You gasp as you carefully lift the dress out of the box and see that it covers the dress. It’s the most expensive thing you’ve ever held and you’re scared you’ll somehow tear it or ruin it.

“Si–Steve,” you whisper as tears start forming in your eyes, “it’s…it’s too much. It’s too beautiful. I…I can’t-”

“Hummingbird,” he grumbles, “if you tell me you can’t accept it, I’ll have to go back to Danvers and Rambeau with the bad news that their gift was not accepted.” You wince at the thought. “Not accepting my gift is one thing, you only saved my party and my reputation. Not accepting their gift is far more insulting since it’s a thank you for rescuing their daughter.”

“I never thought of it like that,” you mumble.

“I figured.” He steps closer to you. “Now, as I said, I am under orders to make sure that the dress does fit you. While I am here, would you please try it on and inform me if there are spots where it doesn’t fit right? I promise to stay seated here at the table.”

“Um..but, we…we don’t, I don’t know you well enough. Can you come back another day and I’ll tell you how it fits? Or I could message you about the fit?”

“Are you asking for my number, Hummingbird?” Heat rushes to your face as he confidently smirks at you. “I appreciate your hesitation but, as I said, I’m under orders from Monica’s mothers and they are not the kind of ladies you want to disobey. I will stay just outside your apartment door, lock it behind me if you want, but I need you to try that dress on now.”

You nod and gesture to your apartment door. As he starts walking he notices the small pile of invites he’s sent you these past few months.

“You didn’t throw them away?”

“No, of course not. They’re a nice reminder of that night.” He nods his head but doesn’t say anything, closing the door behind him.

You lock the deadbolt and take the dress to your room. In truth you’re terrified of accidentally ripping the dress but you’re incredibly excited to try on the beautiful piece of clothing. As you strip your casual wear you hope you can do the dress justice.

With the utmost care you put on the dress. The sleeve is a little confusing at first but the more of the dress that settles the easier it is to navigate. You’re amazed at how perfectly it fits. He said they had to guess your measurements. Well, whoever made the guess has a very good eye. You look at yourself in the mirror and gasp at the pretty woman looking back at you. The dress is a perfect fit and you’ve never felt more beautiful. With a confidence you’ve never felt before, you go back to the apartment door to let Steve know.

The door opens and Steve greets you with a bouquet of pink and lavender roses. That burst of confidence is gone and you freeze, blinking at him.

“I see you’re ready for the party,” he beams. “We should show up a little early since I am hosting and need to double check some details. But don’t worry about those, you just have fun tonight, okay?”

“B..but the…the invite said…next month.”

“Oh that’s correct. There’s another party next month. Huh,” he mused, “the invite to this party must’ve been lost in the mail.”

“Si–Steve, that wasn’t nice to trick me.”

“It also wasn’t nice for you to snub my gift.”

“I…I didn’t, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay, Hummingbird,” he soothes. “Just this one, and if you still don’t want to attend any parties or visit the gallery, I’ll leave you be.”

“Thank you. Let me put these flowers in some water before we go?”

He gently kisses your hand, “of course.”

Steve holds the door to the gallery open for you. You’re hoping you can just spend the evening getting lost in the art and not drawing attention to yourself. You really don’t want to embarrass Steve by upsetting his guests or ruining the party in some other way.

The two of you are greeted by the curator who says she’s pleased to finally meet you and she hopes to see you more often. You smile weakly, thinking she’s just being nice because Steve is there. She leads you both to the hall where the party is being set up. You’re a little surprised that it’s empty of people. Giving Steve a confused look you ask, “how early are we?”

“We’re exactly on time,” he smiles gently. “I still want to thank you for your actions so I’ve rented the place for just you. Take your time, enjoy yourself. If you need something to eat or drink, just ask and I’ll get it for you. If you want to do this without me around, I’ll stay back. If you want to talk about the artwork instead of just looking at it, I’ll be happy to join you. It’s all your decision.”

“Th..the dress?”

“I wasn’t lying about that. It is a thank you gift from Monica’s mothers.”

“How’d they get my measurements so right? They barely saw me.”

Steve smirks at that, “I gave them the measurements.” You look at him in surprise and he chuckles, “I’ve got a lot of experience in sizing people up.” Whether it’s nerves catching up with you or the absurdity of the situation you actually laugh at that and find yourself relaxing a little. His eyes light up at your laugh but he doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, Steve,” you nod. “I think I’d like to walk with you. As much as I enjoyed the last show, it probably would’ve been more fun if I had someone to share the experience with.”

Steve offers you his arm and you don’t hesitate to take it. He’s happy to let you take the lead. You spend the next few hours walking together and talking about the different artists, techniques and mediums you see. Steve is delighted to see how excited you get the more comfortable you are. You’re brimming with energy and you flit back and forth between pieces while talking.

As exciting as it all is, you do still get tired after a while. Every time you try to stifle a yawn you swear you see Steve’s eyes twinkle at you in amusement. Soon it’s impossible to even try.

“What do you say we get you home, Hummingbird?”

“But there’s so much more to see!”

“You’re barely awake,” he chuckles. “Let’s get you home. You can see more at the next party.”

“Next party?”

“If, of course, you’re still interested. If not, that latest invite will be the last you receive, I promise.”

“Noooo,” you whimper tiredly. “I’ve had so much fun. Haven’t had this much fun in such a long time.”

“Me too, Hummingbird,” he murmurs. “Me, too.”

Part 1 -- Part 3

Series Masterlist

Tags:

@alicedopey

@aryhyuuga

@cynic-spirit

@ktficworld

@rebekahdawkins

If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know.

#mob boss!steve rogers #mob!steve rogers #mafia!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #mob!steve rogers x reader

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omghallucinations · 7 months ago

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enhypen jake: that's enough slices!!!

two grand trines? like. two??? you need that much ease and luck??? girl could u give some of that to jay or sunghoon or ateez mingi? just a little bit of that easy-going-ness and optimism? life's a soup and i'm a soup spoon??? and like boy oh boy that fire trine and air trine really like. envelops his scorpio sun in fire wind.

jake has Layers. the top layer is fun fun cute adorable sparkly hugs. the bottom layer is vague existential wandering and desperate need to self-soothe with attention overthinking and the idea of Romance as he's trying to find out who he really is. :)

jake:

truly unprecedented amounts of luck and charm and easy communication and things just working out for him somehow

buoyant energy intelligence warmth generosity and optimism

kind of unpredictable in his reactions and weirdly unknowable in a way bc his life is a Journey to Become His Own Person and find peace and deal w his own Stuff internally (because tbh his subconscious goes crazy)

tendency to Fall In Deep Love with people in about 30 minutes, trust them too much want to merge every aspect of life but then he'll eject himself from the relationship out of fear 1 week later (also the ejection is always something like, oh i have to go tour, or something like that, never actually jake being like "let's break up bc i'm not feeling this"--very libra mars of him, he might not even realize it is him who is orchestrating it all and just be like "oh i have such bad luck" lol)

on the contrary he has so much luck i'm a little worried that he won't ultimately face up to The Shit (a scorpio sun's calling)

let's all thank mars and saturn for saving jake's grand trines from the lazy allegations

trine town baby

ok these are our trines--those big triangles. there are grand trines because they make the whole triangle instead of part of it. the yellow is his air trine red is his fire trine.

jake came into the world with a ton of luck--access to money, access to good education, access to opportunities, super likable and charming. this does not mean he always had it easy tho his moon and sun have some pretty clear "felt rejection as a kid" aspects. but still as he grew up he could "get away" with stuff, like he may have snuck out one night or left expensive shit somewhere it could get taken, whatever, but things would always pan out for him anyway.

i see all the time like ah a trine is a "good" aspect, unlike a square which is a "bad" aspect and tbh i disagree. every aspect has pros and cons man! they also change so much depending on the planets involved! but generally...

trine pros: ease, enjoyment, ability, talent, everything flows naturally, luck, aspects of your personality and upbringing etc merge together well trine cons: can be complacent, don't really take initiative to improve beyond their natural talents without the influence of squares or other factors?, potential to ignore problems or tolerate things just bc it's easier and other things are going well for them

when mars or saturn is in a grand trine you're more likely to get shit done than if they aren't. jake's air trine is not um. complacent at all

jake's fire trine... it's very fun and adorable and full of life!!! but that's where he can let things go more than he probably should

trines can also kind of be compulsive--jake's fire trine shows his desperate DESPERATE NEED for attention and action and creativity and his air trine shows how he NEEDS to talk and communicate and learn to be alive. but because nothing is forcing him to change any unhealthy habits, he often... doesn't, lmao. he is ambitious but can be a little bit too easy-going on the day-to-day, and he doesn't always... look at his compulsions in the face?

grand fire trine: clap!! clap!!!!

jake is SO warm you can feel the warmth!! see it!! he radiates it!! a little campfire!! so sweet and charming! a fire trine in fire houses!! fire houses are about being and becoming, which as a leo rising is his whole deal!

however he does not know how to plan, look before he leaps, or actually take purposeful initiative as much as you might assume. a square is do-do-do, a fire trine is here to party and enjoy themselves.

his grand fire trine gives him this unshakable optimism about life--on a deep level jake truly feels like everything will work out. he may worry in the moment, but he is able to take these risks because he can feel the way life is pushing him forward--the forces that help him along (heyyy jupiter in the first house). he takes big risks and people might be like, wow so brave!! however he genuinely doesn't really realize something could go wrong lmao. it does not occur to him. why would something bad happen???

his fire trine does have like. almost an awkward vibe with some of the planets? all of them do not necessarily mesh. the element, they are united. the planets themselves...

jupiter: wants to fly the nest and experience life and be free

pluto: deep intense need for safety and caution, wants to dig everything up and start over, wants power to protect itself

moon: on pluto's side mostly, because she also wants emotional security in such a big way

jupiter and pluto are like "hmmmm... idk about you...." to each other, and pluto can really intensify the moon's needs. jupiter softens this a little bit and makes it more cute and fun and less AHHH I NEED ATTENTION RIGHT NOW OR I WILL DIE. CLAP!! CLAP!!!

although... that is also very much a factor. i cannot lie here. he really, really needs applause to feel emotionally safe.

here are the players:

jupiter in leo in his first house (17)--there's this really optimistic sweetness and innocence about jake and he is so fun to be around. he does have a charmingly me-me-me-ness but that honestly doesn't come from a self-centered place, he just can't help it (he has a lot of empathy too bro he just also relates things to his own experiences!). he's a leo rising with jupiter in the 1st dude what do you expect? he's a star!! he is the moment!! he can't help it that he's popular!! anyway he radiates this really pure and good-natured and generous aura

pluto in sagittarius in the 5th house (16) -- he needs attention SO BAD, dude. SO BAD. he will die if people are not paying attention to him. lack of attention genuinely feels unsafe. he needs to be creative, and perform, and express. especially with his leo rising/leo jupiter in the 1st, he probably was someone venerated (royalty??? idk) in a past life and subconsciously is like i need the same amount of attention and feedback or i do not exist. jake is awesome to work with if he's on your side. if he isn't. look out. (pluto widely conjunct his south node here also shows that the past life pull here is Strong)

moon (3) and lilith (13) in aries in the 9th house: the moon is most important because that's a real planet, followed by lilith, who is also part of the moon so. the 9th is a searching, traveling, sagittarius house--jake feels safe when he's experiencing new things, learning new things, going new places, traveling. with lilith in aries he um. maybe thinks other people are taking the lead and doesn't notice how much he is actually the one taking the lead or making things go his way? lmao?

in a trine, all the energies get each other. they have similar priorities. that vein is strong. jake wants

- to shine - excitement - to Find Himself and Express Himself - he does not want to think about consequences or anything too heavy

the more exact an aspect, the stronger it gets, so jupiter/pluto is extra strong. they may not totally see eye-to-eye but they both know they want/need more and they want/need attention and creative control. jake has so much creative energy and interest and ability at his fingertips all the time and with jupiter involved, it can really have a big impact.

air grand trine: knows a little (a medium) about a lot

a fire trine in fire houses and an air trine possibly in air houses are u kidding me.

jake loves learning, but in a very chill way. he doesn't feel like he has to compete all the time, this is not compensation, he just naturally gets things and is interested in things. he feels super confident and comfortable in learning situations and environments, he feels very comfy communicating, he's super curious, he likes chatty and stimulating environments. he probably did well in school without much angst about it.

the air element is very bounce bounce bounce very fun fun fun but the planets in jake's air grand trine are.... not very bounce bounce bounce not very fun fun fun :(

mars (medium fun fun fun)

uranus (... depends on ur idea of fun fun fun)

saturn (not fun fun fun at all)

mars is in detriment in libra (passy aggy libra is not aggy aggy mars's comfortable vibe)

saturn is in its fall in gemini (saturn wants everyone to grow up and make good choices and gemini... does not... want that... .... )

uranus is at home in aquarius so she's chillin.

libra aquarius and gemini are all vibing like crazy. the planets... are... um... well they are all very a Lot.

their conversation is more like

libra mars in the 3rd: the best way to survive and thrive is to make sure everyone is having a good time, man. keep the peace. keep it chill. keep it fun keep it flirty. if i want a fight i'm going to provoke you into it and then i'll be like omg why would you fight me, now i have no choice but to end u, omg

aquarius uranus in the 7th: where is my weird significant other i ghosted the other day it's back on baby (all relationships are full of change but also the way i'm learning about myself too!! let's get super deep and then never talk to each other again!! or maybe we will?? i am super comfortable with the way things change idk! change is part of life!!) OR aquarius uranus in the 8th: hahahahahahaha i try to control my emotionally compulsive tendencies and sate them by acquiring weird power and exploring weird shit but somehow they always come roaring back hahahaha maybe it'll work this time tho

saturn gemini in the 11th: i want to be friends with everybody but also keep to myself COMPLETELY. i wanna chitty chatty everywhere and also.... only talk to people i work with? i have six friends and that is enough for me man. also i feel like... existential... ? i have so many Thoughts and Philosophies? i feel paralyzed by The Ideas and Science of Humanity sometimes??? or saturn in gemini in the 12th: ... hahah.... ... ever feel... some kind of unsubstantiated judgement from the like... universe?? haha... i am so overwhelmed by the concept of saturn (maturation, judgement, work, etc) it's like a gaping hole ha ha??? i mean on the bright side i can really make my imaginative and interesting ideas reality and have them relate to humanity tho bro

basically jake has an incredible talent for air sign stuff but um. uranus and saturn are like... ever heard of intellectualizing ur emotions? ever feel... a void? you might want to fill by exploring your own psyche and being of service to others?

mars bequeaths Action and Energy on his trine-mates, so jake has a real ability to Work Work Work, and break the mould but in a harmonious way, a way that doesn't freak people out. uranus is also a very Thinky Thinky planet so it's also action and intellect, handshake emoji.

some tremendous gifts!!! now let's look at some... . other things...

4th house placements: hello it's me, ghosts from your unconscious

here's what we know about jake's possible subconscious Stuff so far

sort of a past life royalty thing, there's a sense of needing special treatment in some ways bc that's normal to him

needs to perform or he feels he will die

Over-intellectualize, Profit

puts up this situations that he doesn't love bc everything else is going well for him and he's like, this is fine

4th house and scorpio are both very karmic bro. it's like, any signature here means you are gonna spend time Finding Yourself and Dismantling Subconscious Complexes. scorpio is constantly like, omg should i break from the chains of my past and transform??? no no no instead I should cling to the bones of my compulsive desires. wait unless...

water houses are like "i am full of memory... of the emotional ghosts of the past!" anyone with these placements is gonna have to do some exorcisms of the subconscious and jake is one of these!

his chart ruler the sun conjunct mercury is in scorpio in the 4th house, as is his venus at 0 degrees (more later)--he has a real deep deep yearning for safety and security and nurturing. he needs to be nurtured and to nurture. he also um. he needs to detach himself from the things he like unthinkingly accepts that he learned from his family. on some level he truly is struggling for recognition and acceptance--but tbh this is mostly his own stuff he'll have to untangle bc people really like him. this will all get easier when he's older.

it Loooooks like... his family really prioritized things looking nice and looking good and not um... emotional... nurturing? or parts of his upbringing were good and positive, but he did feel some kind of rejection from his parental figures (sun square uranus and jupiter/moon square chiron and saturn) that has led to some emotional rigidity/fear (moon aspects) and ummMM recklessness??? (sun aspects).

scorpio venus at 0°: uh oh i am also retrograde and in detriment do you want to get married

normally a planet at 0° explodes the sign energy in a very obvious way, but venus is (a) retrograde and (b) in detriment in scorpio so that's not exactly how it manifests. we're boosting venus the planet and some parts of scorpio, baby, including the ability to radiate sexuality! we're boosting Making Mistakes and taking A While to get things right!!

he probably struggles in relationships a bit right now. with his 7th house aquarius uranus and neptune he likely has no idea what he really wants at this point in his life--neptune, also opposite his ascendant, keeps things really foggy--and feels an intense need to get oUUTTT when he feels trapped. he has a lot of positive indicators for a stable relationship later in life but he really is gonna have to sort through those intense unconscious things before he can really be truly open with someone else.

neptune conjunct his descendant and his 0° scorpio venus show this intense romanticism that doesn't always like... align with reality. aquarius neptune loves the idea of people/a relationship--and scorpio venus loves the kdrama of a relationship. i miss fighting and kissing in the rain ass. his scorpio venus wants to merge deeply with another and his neptune conjunct descendant does not... do... boundaries... at all. so this can be a problem.

hahaha jake do you find the love of your life on instagram twice a month and then not say or do a single thing and then see something in their story that makes you be like "nah" as a defense mechanism? bud.

libra mars conjunct IC: angy but so buried nobody knows

mars conjunct IC (the line on the bottom of the MC) is already like "lots of anger, HIDES IT FROM EVERYONE" and libra mars is that x a million. libra is such a hilarious sign bro. "ladies do not start fights but they can finish them" but also ladies do not start fights overtly, they just set up the dominos in such a way their chosen opponent will start the fight themselves. with mars in the 3rd it's super gemini super fun also, libra in a gemini house, very chatty very communication. less dark than mars in the 4th lmao.

your IC is at the bottom of your chart--so people don't see this about him and jake does not value this about himself, but jake can tap into mars (and his air grand trine also) as foundation or fuel.

jake has this incredibly boiling reserve of energy and life force and anger--

in libra it could be anger at injustice

and/or passy aggy kind of anger from repressing his own needs and letting people walk over him sometimes

and/or sometimes it's also about a family situation, his 3rd house shows a super mentally active family environment and libra IC/scorpio 4th shows that maybe some things were not... spoken about....

either way jake has insane amounts of willpower lowkey--even if he lets a lot of things go day-to-day, ultimately he's gonna get what he wants (but in a cutesy and demure way so it doesn't look like jake is pushing for it).

because mars is in detriment in libra, this foundation can feel really confusing and weird. jake probably seems really excessively tolerant of everything even if he's actually not and he really wants things to be fair and gets pissy if they aren't.

round up!!

for his big players...

jake is a jupiter lad bro. jupiter loves this kid

sun!! his chart ruler and his deepest self. i feel like repressing your sun makes the sun more powerful lmao and players #3 and #4 really are doing their best to hide her

fire trine (pluto/moon/jupiter)

air trine (mars/uranus/saturn)

mars conjunct ic oof

whatever the hell is up with neptune and venus

u know i was more worried about him avoiding his scorpionic Issues when i first looked at his chart, but now i'm like... yeah life is gonna bring those issues to you to deal with babe don't worry.

but aww this kid is so cute dude. don't get me wrong he has a lot of past life baggage and shit but he's genuinely a cutie. snaps for jake, everybody.

#enhypen astrology #jake astrology #enhypen jake #kpop astrology

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