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pathologicalreid · 2 months ago

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all we ever do is talk | s.r.

in which Spencer and wife!reader fear they're getting boring, so the BAU sets them up with a hotel suite for Spencer's birthday

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: i don't remember. hold on. oral (f and m recieving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, breeding but not like the primordial kinky type just like, having sex to get pregnant, drinking wine, this is like circa s11, not proofread i'm just a girl, david rossi being rich for the plot, i hate hate hate the word pussy but here we are, softdom!spencer. spencer reid certified gift giver! word count: 4.17k a/n: a fic based on a del water gap song? who's surprised? no one! anyways i blacked out toward the end of writing this one no clue what happens here also sorry about the breeding thing i really don't know where that came from

The robe you wore was luxurious, and the cumulative cost of every item in your hotel room likely cost more than you made in a year. Needless to say, you were starting to feel out of place in the room, your hair and makeup done to perfection as you waited for your husband to arrive.

Reaching into your pocket, you slip your phone out and check for notifications. JJ was your babysitter for the night, and even though she had insisted that everything would be fine, you had never actually spent a full night away from Eleanor. You had no idea how Spencer did it time and time again for cases.

You: Everything good? JJ: Shouldn’t you be with Spencer right now? You: He’s on his way. You: Everything good?

She responds with a picture of Nell, your sweet toddler, who was seemingly too focused on the bowl of mac n cheese in front of her to even look at the camera. You type out a reply to JJ before forwarding the photo to Spencer.

JJ assured you that Eleanor would be in good care with her and Will, and it’s not that you have any doubts, it’s that she’s your baby and this is your first time being away from her.

The door to the hotel room clicks, and you set your phone on the comforter, watching as Spencer walks into the room before returning the key card to his wallet. “Hey,” you greet from the bed, crossing one leg over the other.

“Hey, honey,” he says, striding over to you before pressing a soft kiss to your hairline, “You smell nice.”

You nod in the direction of the bathroom, “I got here early and took a bath.” Slowly, you take a better look at him, “You look good, I like that suit on you.”

He holds his arms out and looks down at himself, “I heard through the grapevine that you have a fantastic dress for tonight, so I figured I needed to pull out all of the stops.” Years ago, Rossi had gotten all of the BAU men custom designer suits, that must be the one your husband had chosen to wear tonight. It was fitting, seeing as Rossi was probably fronting most of the bill for your night.

“I’ve never heard Penelope referred to as a grapevine before,” you respond in jest, getting up from the bed before you make your way to the bathroom. “She helped pick the dress,” you inform him, shedding your robe before stepping into the dress. It was a short, black velvet number that clung to the contours of your body in a way that you hadn’t thought was possible. Instead of straps, two dainty chains went over your shoulders, leaving excess dangling over your back.

Spencer clears his throat, “So, how did the drop-off go?” He missed the big goodbye, which was probably for the best.

You sigh, “Nell was great. I was a mess.” You had only been given a few days to prepare for being away from her.

Carefully pulling the chains over your shoulders, you look at yourself in the mirror before slipping your heels on and stepping out of the bathroom. Spencer was standing in front of the windows, watching the sunset over the horizon, “For what it’s worth, I had no issue with the original plan for tonight.”

Initially, you had planned to celebrate Spencer’s birthday at home with Eleanor, and there was meant to be a party with the rest of the BAU tomorrow evening. Somehow, the team had gotten the idea that the two of you needed an evening out, so they chipped in to give you just that—some members more than others.

“I’m always alright with spending quality time with my girls, but—” his voice cuts off as he turns to look at you, “Never mind.”

You chuckle, “What?” Looking down at yourself, you smooth out the front of the dress with your palms.

His eyes wander as he unabashedly checks you out, “I’m finding with every passing moment that this might be my preferred plan for the evening.” He watches attentively as you go back to sitting on the edge of the bed, fixing a twisted strap of your heel while Spencer stands directly in front of you.

“When was the last time we went out on a date?” You ask, strapping your heel around your ankle.

He hums, fake thinking about your question even though he knows the exact date, “However old Nell is, add approximately ten months,” he answers.

You look up at him, your face warming in surprise, “Has it really been that long?”

Spencer nods mournfully, “Almost three and a half years,” he sits down on the bed next to you, placing his hand on your bare thigh and swiping at the soft skin with his thumb.

Holding your hands up to your face, you glance at Spencer with wide eyes, “Oh, Spence. When did we get boring?”

“We aren’t boring,” he insists, “We have a two-year-old. We work.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, “Other people do those things, and they’re not boring.”

He matches your look, “We aren’t boring,” he repeats. “Let’s make a deal,” Spencer offers, “Tonight, you and I won’t be boring.

“Right, so we’ll have a glass of wine at dinner tonight and then return to being boring tomorrow?” You say glumly, watching as he shifts on the mattress, adjusting his weight distribution.

“No,” he whispers, leaning over to press a kiss to your lips before sliding off the mattress, leaving him on his knees in front of you.

Blinking absently at him, your heart jumps at the sight of him in front of you, “You know we have dinner reservations, right?”

He gives you a slightly incredulous look, “You know it’s an open reservation, right? We have it until midnight.”

Your head bobs in acknowledgment, silently permitting him to part your knees, and you watch him come to the realization that you weren’t wearing any panties, “I didn’t want any lines to show under the dress,” you explain. There was also a part of you that hoped your evening would go in this direction.

Placing his hands on your hips, he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, rolling your dress up to your waist, leaving you bare in front of him, “You’re perfect,” he breathes, “I don’t tell you that enough.” His fingers carefully prod at your core, a ghosting of pressure as he sweeps his index finger over your folds, an array of goosebumps forming over your skin.

Your breath hitches when he grips one of your thighs, placing it over his shoulder in the way he’s done numerous times before, but it always seems to take your breath away. “You tell me plenty,” you say, the sensation of his breath on your wet heat affecting you in ways you haven’t felt in ages.

“That’s not nearly enough,” he scolds himself, craning his head forward to press a kiss to your clit, chuckling when you jump as a result.

Releasing a breathy laugh, you look down at Spencer, your heart racing as you await his next move, “Then tell me again,” you whisper.

Spencer hums in response, slipping his pointer finger inside of you as he murmurs, “You’re perfect.”

You let out a soft moan as his finger slowly starts moving out, taking it slowly as you lean back on your hands, careful not to mess your hair up too badly, “Spence,” you whine at the pressure.

“I know,” he tells you, “It’s been a while, huh?”

Closing your eyes, you nod quickly as he slips a second finger into your cunt, a gasp escaping your lips as your body stretches around his fingers, “It’s been too long,” you tell him, lifting one hand to your mouth and biting down on your knuckle to muffle your sounds—a habit you’d picked up since having a baby.

He hums, peering up at you through hooded eyes, “This is a honeymoon suite, angel. It’s engineered to keep sound in.”

Your hand drops obediently, falling back to the mattress as you ignore the implications of the BAU reserving the honeymoon suite for you and focusing on your husband, who was bending his neck down to suck your clit. His lips encircle the sensitive nub as you let out a low whimper, knowing what’s about to come making you apprehensively excited.

Steadily, Spencer works at you, thrusting his fingers while suckling at your clit, periodically using his tongue to apply pressure, and reveling in your high-pitched moans as he drives you closer and closer to what you’re sure will be your first of many orgasms of the night.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, moving one hand to the top of his head, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging at the strands.

He shifts on his knees slightly, coming up for air as he adjusts the angle of his fingers inside of your cunt, going back down on you as his fingers find a new pace. They curl inside of you, targeting the spongy button that makes your abdomen tighten and your thighs tremble.

Overwhelmed, you repeat his name like a prayer while you pull at his hair, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you cry, helplessly staring at the ceiling while Spencer keeps his motions going, his fingers relentlessly thrusting into you while he sucks at your clit, encouraging your orgasm.

Your walls clench around his fingers as your orgasm rips through you, your legs shaking as your husband remains buried between your legs, working you through your orgasm, “So perfect,” he pants, gently massaging your pussy as he withdraws his fingers, pressing soft, tender kisses to the insides of your thighs. “We don’t even have to go to dinner,” he says, looking at you hungrily.

You smile down at him, “We should go, Dave called in a favor to get us this reservation.”

Spencer straightens up and nods in agreement, holding his hand up to your mouth, “Open,” he says, looking satisfied when you poke your head forward, putting your lips around his two fingers and tasting yourself on them.

Sucking your own slick from his fingers, you focus on his eyes as you swirl your tongue around them, watching the dilation of his pupils because you know exactly what effect you’re having on him. He slips his fingers from your mouth before dropping a kiss on your lips, the entire exchange reminiscent of the time before you had Eleanor. You weren’t complaining.

Checking his watch, Spencer stands up straight in front of you, helping you stand, he holds onto your waist while you find your balance, “How are you feeling?”

You peer up at him through your mascara-coated eyelashes, “Most decidedly not boring,” you answer, following him into the bathroom so the two of you can clean up.

“C’mere,” Spencer beckons, looking at you from across the table. “You’re too far away,” he explains, the table at the restaurant keeping the two of you apart when you’ve already established that you want to be close tonight.

Taking your napkin off of your lap and setting it on the table, you grab your glass of wine and make your way to your husband. In the private room that had been reserved for you, “Here I am,” you present yourself to him, the privacy glass that surrounded you concealing the way his arm snaked around your waist, guiding you to his lap.

He smiles up at you, “That’s better,” he says, your legs latticed over his own.

Looking over your shoulder at the table, you hum an acknowledgment, “This table is almost comically large for two people.” You imagine it’s intended to be fancy, a long, glamorous table for a glamorous restaurant. You lean your head against Spencer’s, closing your eyes and appreciating your closeness, “Happy birthday, my love.”

“It’s not my birthday yet,” he murmurs, tipping his head back and kissing you softly, the taste of the wine that had been chosen for you was faint on his lips.

A soft giggle bubbles in your throat, “Then I’ll have to stay up until midnight so that I get to be the first one to tell you.”

Humming, Spencer settles a hand on your thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze, “The real challenge there is staying up until midnight.”

“I’m sure we can think of something to keep us up,” you grin cheekily, swinging your legs. “So, before you’re officially older,” you begin, “What do you want to do with your next year of life?”

“Finish the bathroom remodel,” he answers almost immediately, referring to your main floor bathroom that had been in disarray for months. The countertop that you had chosen was still on backorder.

You raise your eyebrows, “What do you want to do that will help us on our pursuit to become less boring?”

Spencer studies your expression, taking his time before answering, “I’d like to at least discuss having another baby,” he responds.

Admittedly, it had been on your mind recently. With Kate leaving the BAU to spend time with her baby and JJ announcing she and Will were expecting, considering having a second baby wasn’t out of the realm of imagination. “You want another baby?” Your question is soft, you look at him, studying the brown eyes that he had passed down to Eleanor.

He nods, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles on your bare thigh. “I know that you’ll bear most of the responsibility if we have another baby. I’ll still be around as much as work will allow, but there’s only so much room for variables in the BAU. I wouldn’t want you to feel alone in it, but I— I’d like for Nell to have a sibling.”

“Okay,” you breathe, not needing much convincing to come to a conclusion. Admittedly, you weren’t expecting this conversation tonight, but it wasn’t a conversation you’d ever had before. Eleanor was about as much of a surprise as a baby could be.

Spencer looks surprised at your reply, “What?”

Slinging your arms around his shoulders, you shrug, “Let’s have another baby. This time next year Nell will be three, so, now almost feels like a perfect time.”

“It takes most couples months to conceive when they’re trying,” Spencer tells you, “Only about thirty percent conceive in the first three months.”

You raise your eyebrows doubtfully, “How long does it take couples who have a luxury hotel room to themselves for the night?” Your loaded question easily slides off your tongue as you lift your hand to his chest, thumbing the silk fabric of his tie while you wait for his answer.

He led the way to the hotel room, luckily the hotel and restaurant were connected; you would’ve hated for a cab driver to see you dazedly staring at your husband with the promise of what comes next.

Pulling his keycard from his wallet, Spencer pushes the door open, dragging you in behind him before pressing you up against the wall. You shove at the lapels of his jacket, trying to get it off of him.

Haphazardly, you drop pieces on the floor, Spencer’s jacket, your heels, his tie, everything falling away as the two of you stumble to the bed. You yelp when you fall back onto the bed, Spencer catches himself above you and a fit of giggles erupts from your mouth. A sort of light, airy feeling goes through your head while you’re beneath him, the freeing feeling of knowing you’re about to have sex and you don’t have to worry about your toddler knocking on your door was overwhelming.

You kiss him while fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt, pulling the white fabric from where it was tucked before discarding that as well. “Wait,” you say breathlessly.

Spencer sits up, panting as he looks down at you, “What is it?” He asks, eyes searching for something wrong.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, “I bought lingerie for tonight,” you tell him, eyes flickering over to your overnight bag. The blue, lacy set was calling your name.

Hovering back over you, Spencer bows his head and presses a soft, unhurried kiss to your lips, “Show me later?”

Nodding, you watch him as he pulls his undershirt off, another bundle of fabric lost to the ground. Gently, you push at him, making it so his back is on the mattress as you place one knee on either side of his waist.

His hands tug at the hem of your dress, ruching the fabric around your waist as you slowly grind your hips over his. “Fuck, baby,” he hisses, already tightly wound after your earlier activities.

Understanding, you start to leave a trail of kisses down his chest, continuing to go lower until you’re unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly, placing your hand over his already hard cock and palming him on top of his briefs, “You’re so hard,” you moan, your mind thinking ahead to when he’ll inevitably fuck you.

In the interim, you tug his pants and briefs halfway down his thighs, leaving his length standing at attention for only a moment before you duck your head, licking a long stripe up the veiny underside of his cock. Spencer’s hips buck up from the mattress in response, and you take him in your mouth, using your hand to touch what you can’t fit in your mouth.

Pressing your tongue flat against the head, you moan with him in your mouth when he grabs a fistful of your hair. You were no longer worried about your appearance, only about driving him as crazy as possible.

“Angel,” he says, his voice strained, “I can’t— I need to be in you.”

You lift your head, moving back up to him and straddling his hips again, placing your bare pussy on top of his hard cock. Wiping drool from the corner of your mouth, you raise your eyebrows at Spencer, “Are you ready?”

He nods, mouth falling open when you lift yourself up and position his length at your entrance, “Oh, wow,” he breathes, gently rubbing at your clit as you ease yourself onto him, your walls throbbing around him. His hand settles on your hip as you take a moment to adjust.

Pulling at your dress, you tug it over your head, leaving it on the floor of the hotel room, “Ah,” you sigh, rolling your hips slightly to try and help your body adjust.

“Absolutely no lingerie necessary,” he says, his eyes studying your body as if he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. “I’m so thankful for you, my girl,” he murmurs with lust-hooded eyes.

You hum in response, bending at the hips to put your lips on his, a whimper escaping your lips when his hips buck up from the mattress again, “Fuck, call me that again.”

“My girl,” he echoes, thrusting up into you again. “I’m not going to last very long,” he admits, groaning as you start to lift yourself up and down on his cock.

Small whines come from your lips with every movement, you shake your head, “That’s okay, we can…” your voice trails off, “I don’t think I will either.” The admission comes as a bit of a surprise to yourself, you hadn’t realized you had gotten so worked up.

Snaking his hand between your bodies, Spencer focuses his attention on getting you to your second orgasm as your movements grow unsteady, “You’re doing so well,” Spencer encourages you, knowing you aren’t usually on top.

“Shit, Spence,” you gasp, your resolve failing as your torso drops forward, giving him the freedom to continue lifting his hips up into you, “Oh,” your cunt clenches down around him, “I’m cumming,” you tell him, burying your face in his chest as you cry out. His thrusts start to overstimulate you as he chases his own orgasm, and eventually his movements falter.

You can feel the pulsing of his cock inside of you as his hot cum fills you, a tired sigh as his rigid body relaxes back into the mattress, “Oh, my girl,” he whispers, smoothing your hair back as you catch your breath on top of him, “Why don’t you stay up here for a little bit?”

Nodding, you look up at him, a pink flush splattered across his face as you watch him, “I love you,” you breathe, glancing at the clock, “Happy birthday.”

Spencer spares a glance at the clock, three minutes past midnight, “I love you too, angel. Thank you.”

You sigh, lifting yourself on shaky arms and grabbing a box from his bedside table, “This is for you.”

He releases a breathy laugh, obviously amused at the idea of opening a birthday gift while he’s still buried inside of you, “I got you something too,” he admits, sweeping a strand of hair from your face.

Tilting your head to the side, you frown, “It’s not my birthday.”

Shaking his head, Spencer agrees with you, “No, but I find I can’t resist giving you gifts.”

You inhale sharply when he twists to open the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a rectangular box and resting it next to him so he can start to open the gift from you.

“Oh, honey,” he says, opening the watch box. His old one had a damaged mechanism and needed to be replaced, but it wasn’t something he was likely to spend the money on for himself. Naturally, you did it for him.

You raise your eyebrows, “It’s engraved,” you explain. Watching him take the watch out of the box and look at the back, the dates that you had carved in being significant markers in your relationship. Your wedding anniversary. The date Eleanor was born. There was plenty of space to add more dates too, should the time come.

“It’s perfect,” he tells you, placing the watch back in the box to keep it safe, “Thank you,” he says, shifting under you as he reaches for the box.

Rolling your eyes, you accept the box anyways, “Now, why would you get me a gift for your birthday,” you tut, undoing the ribbon on the box before opening it. “Oh,” you breathe, “Oh, Spence,” you say, tears pricking your eyes.

Inside of the box was a necklace, and strung on the dainty chain was a teardrop-shaped sapphire. “It’s Eleanor’s birthstone,” he explains, “I saw it last time Penelope dragged me to the mall with her, and I thought it was perfect for you.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, moving to fasten it around your neck, the only other thing adoring your body being your wedding ring. You grin at your husband as you duck down to press a kiss to his lips, half-conscious of the way he’s kicking his pants off until he’s flipped you onto your back.

He hums as you moan, “You’re beautiful. You’re so, so beautiful,” he muses, burying his face in your neck and placing soft kisses along the column of your throat.

Opening your legs more, you invite him to come closer into you, “I would have agreed to have another baby a long time ago had I known I’d be treated so well,” you tease him gently, gasping as his lips attach to your breast, littering kisses all over you.

“I always treat you well,” he insists, taking a tentative thrust into you before taking you into his arms.

You whimper softly at the pressure on your pussy, “Spence,” you sigh, your sensitive cunt clenching around his cock. “Oh, god yes,” you mutter as he begins to find a pace, pressing his full length into you.

He drops a kiss to your shoulder, “I know baby,” he says, sticking to his rhythm and pushing your legs open wider, “I’ve got you.”

A curse falls from your lips as you screw your eyes shut, tilting your head back and gasping at the sensation, “I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you too,” he says, equally out of breath with you as he fucks into you with abandon, chasing a new high as you dig your nails into his back. “You’re so good for me, baby,” he hisses, “I’m gonna cum in you,” he warns, snapping his hips to yours.

A high-pitched moan comes from you as he paints your insides with his cum, the sensation of him filling you leading you to your third orgasm of the night as your walls pulse around him.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, waiting for someone to catch their breath as your eyes go wide. “Are you alright?” Spencer’s the first to speak, carefully pulling out of you and chuckling lightly when you whine at the empty feeling.

Nodding, you turn your head to the side, “Yeah, are you?”

He smiles, “I think this might be the least boring birthday I’ve ever had.”

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azrielbrainrot · 2 months ago

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Baby, You Know That I Miss You

Pairing: Band Member!Azriel x F!Reader

Kinktober 2024: Phone Sex, Guided Masturbation

Description: You miss your boyfriend terribly when you go visit your parents during break. Luckily, he's more than willing to help.

Warnings: Smut, phone sex, guided masturbation, dirty talk

Word Count: ~2k

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Notes: This story is part of my Band AU as well as Kinktober, but you don't have to read their other stories to enjoy this one since it's basically all smut! Also I'm not too sure if this is all that good but we move. Hope you enjoy!

Band AU Masterlist

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

“I didn't know I was going to be so busy all day,” you say with a sigh, happy that you finally get to relax in the comfort of your own bed, “but at least I get to listen to your voice.”

You were a bit sad that you missed a performance, it was the first one you didn't attend since you became official, but because of it your schedules ended up aligning perfectly and you got to talk to him for a while before going to sleep, when you texted him this morning you thought you wouldn't be able to.

Coming home for break, after what happened the last time you were here had been a bit nerve wracking. You didn't know if you would have to run into Eleanor or Parker, and you didn't know how you would react if you did. Luckily, you hadn't seen them, and you found that when your mother mentioned them you didn't really feel anything besides some mild resentment at the way you were treated, all the anger and sadness that just their names evoked a couple months ago had mostly subsided.

If you were being completely honest, forgetting about your childhood best friend had been a lot easier than you thought possible. You were sure the fact that she hurt you so badly that there wouldn't be any possible way to salvage your relationship helped, since it made forgetting her truly the only option, but most of all you had to thank Azriel and your friends, old and new, for it.

The hardest part of being home for these last two weeks ended up being away from Azriel. Yours is still a relatively new relationship, although sometimes it felt like you had known him your entire life, and so it was hard to not be able to see him for so long when you were spending almost all of your free time together. You missed sleeping in his arms, missed watching him and the boys practice, missed the dates at the small café by his apartment you'd found together, the way he held your hand when you went on walks and, Gods, you missed his touch.

“Want me to tell you a story?”

“Anything is fine as long as it's coming from you,” you admit, his deep whispered voice enough to send a gentle warmth traveling through your veins. Azriel hums, something obviously on his mind. “What?”

“You always liked the sound of my voice,” he muses, letting the words flow from his lips slowly but confidently, knowing it would get a reaction out of you and prove his point.

“Well, yes but that's normal.” You try to keep an indifferent tone, but you know he can easily hear through it. “You're a singer for a reason.”

“We both know it's not just that,” he murmurs, and you can almost hear the smirk growing on his lips, can picture the confident yet alluringly attractive look that always falls over his face when he knows he's affecting you, one that unfortunately only makes it worse. You find yourself squeezing your thighs together, wishing he was right next to you instead of in a different city, so you could kiss that smirk off his lips and let him show you all the different ways he can affect you.

“Don't do that,” you breathe out, almost pleadingly, every hint of sleepiness escaping your body.

“Do what, princess?”

“That,” you say a bit too loudly, calming down and lowering your voice when you add, “not when I'm three hours away.”

Azriel sighs, a heavy sound coming from deep in his chest, needing to feel your hands on him as much as you do. If you were in your apartment instead of at your parent's house, you might have gotten out of bed and made your way to his house with how needy you were starting to feel.

“It's a shame that I can't sit you on my lap right now and whisper every dirty little thing I want to do in your ear.” Truly a shame, you think as you press your legs together. “But we can try something else.”

“Try what?”

“Just want you to do as I say,” he explains, desire dripping on every word. You bite your lip, his intentions now crystal clear in your mind. This wasn't something you had ever done or even considered, but you feel a shiver of excitement run down your spine at just the thought. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, heart beating wildly behind your ribcage as you hear the rustle of sheets through the speaker.

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

You let out a soft chuckle before answering unashamedly, “Yes.” You had taken to stealing some of his shirts to sleep or wear around your house before you even started dating, though stealing was probably the wrong choice of words seeing as he either let you or even gave you some of them himself. His shirts were not only comfortable but they also smelled like him so they quickly replaced your own old shirts you used to wear to sleep before.

Azriel lets out a hum, one that sounds more like a moan, probably lost in the thought of you touching yourself while wearing his shirt before he gathers himself and starts, “Want you to run your hand over your stomach, feel how warm and soft your skin is.” Your hands follow his commands easily, mimicking the way he caresses your skin instinctively, desire growing within you with every brush of your fingers.

“Now push your panties to the side,” he continued, voice getting deeper as he spoke through a clenched jaw, his own hand likely occupied as well, “tell me what you find.”

You knew what you'd find even before your hand traveled down to do as he said, a sigh escaping you all the same when your fingers dive between your folds, feeling just how soaked you were, a string connecting them to your cunt when you pull away.

“Are you wet for me?” The pleasure was obvious in his voice, and you had no doubt in your mind that he was stroking his cock as he spoke, the thought making your cunt clench around nothing.

“Yes,” you breathe out, nodding along even though he can't see you, swirling your fingers around and making a mess of yourself, careful to avoid your clit and entrance no matter how bad you need to take some of the edge off, waiting for him.

“Good,” he moans out, “Fuck, you're so good to me.”

If you closed your eyes, you could picture him laying on his bed, sheets thrown off his body and underwear long since discarded to the side, hand stroking his thick cock slowly, moving up and down as he also imagined what you looked like as you followed his orders, and wished it was your hand instead of his own.

“Now take your panties off,” he says after a moment, waiting patiently as he hears you shimmy them off your legs, sighing as you spread your thighs and bend your knee before letting him know he could continue. “Take two of your fingers into your mouth.”

“Azriel-”

“Need you to get them nice and wet for me.”

A whimper escapes you as memories of him saying these exact words rush into your mind. He loved seeing your mouth stuffed with his fingers, your tongue swirling around them as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. You almost tell him you didn't need to get them any wetter, your cunt was quite literally dripping, but you do as he says anyway, tasting yourself on your own fingers, pretending they were his instead, making a show of sucking on them and pulling them out with a pop just so you could hear the groan he lets out, a tremble running through your body at the delicious sound.

“Done?”

“Yeah,” you muse, entirely too proud of yourself for managing to get under his skin so easily.

“Alright,” he rasps, “Now roll them around your clit slowly, pretend they're mine.” You can't help the whimper of his name, your fingers circling your clit just like he said, closing your eyes and pretending it was his rough fingers instead of yours.

“Good girl,” he chuckles, “don't even gotta tell you to moan my name.”

“I need to be quiet though,” you remind him, remind yourself. If it was simply your roommate in the room down the hall it would only be a bit embarrassing, but it's your parents instead and them hearing you would be nothing short of mortifying.

“Such a shame,” he muses, the smirk almost audible on his voice. “You always sound so pretty for me, saying my name in that sweet breathy, fucked out voice of yours.”

“Azriel,” you whine, putting more pressure behind your fingers, - you really didn't think you needed much more to cum, especially if he kept whispering in your ear like that, - breathy, quiet moans pushing past your lips despite your warning.

“Like that,” he lets out between pants, fist tightening around his cock as well, “Just like that.”

“Keep talking, Az,” you murmur, your heart stuttering in your chest with every harsh breath you hear through the speaker, wanting to hear it in his voice. “You sound pretty too.”

Azriel only hums, staying quiet for a moment longer before letting out a groan. You hear his head knock softly against his headboard as he leans back, and briefly wonder if he could hear the sinful noises your cunt was making every time your fingers moved.

“Fuck, princess. You have no idea how much I wish I could taste you right now.” You did actually, you were burning with the same need. “Wanna bury my face in that sweet pussy of yours, make you cum on my tongue over and over again until you're all I can taste.”

The moan that pushes past your lips is entirely too loud for the quietness in your house, but you can't help it as the picture he paints assaults your mind. You're reminded of the feeling of his tongue against you, lapping up at your cunt until you're shaking with pleasure under him. Gods, you couldn't wait until you saw him again next weekend.

“Wanna taste you too,” you confess, speeding up your movements, mouth watering at the thought.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Think I could cum just thinking about you choking on my cock, trying to take all of me down that tight throat of yours.” Closing your eyes and biting your lip, you do your best to keep as quiet as you can, his filthy words sinking into your bloodstream. It felt like you were on fire even though you had long since kicked your sheets off your body, - you didn't think it was possible to be this turned on alone in your room.

“Fuck,” he chuckles, a ridiculously attractive sound, “I think I might.”

“Azriel, I'm-”

“Close?”

“So close,” you pant, right on the edge, your hand moving incessantly, goosebumps running through your skin.

“I'm right there with you,” he murmurs, “Cum for me, princess. Let me hear you.”

You let yourself fall as soon as he finishes speaking, mouth falling open in a silent scream as you're hit with wave after wave of pleasure, a few whines of his name pushing past your lips despite your efforts to keep quiet, the praises he lets out going straight to your head.

Azriel cums not soon after, his own pants and muffled moans of your name echoing through the speaker as you're coming down, making you feel all tingly knowing he just came as hard as you did without you ever touching him, and still your name was on his lips. It's unfair the way this man makes you feel, even when he's so far away from you.

“I decided I'm going to lock us in your room when I get back,” you speak up after you take a deep breath, only half joking.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm,” you continue, wiping your hand on your discarded panties, cringing softly at the feeling, knowing you have to get up and clean yourself up properly. “You're mine for the entire weekend.”

“You can lock us in for as long as you like,” he murmurs, “I'm all yours.”

#azriel x reader #azriel smut #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #acotar smut #acotar kinktober

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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

Text

Mrs Bridgerton, Again

Mrs Bridgerton Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU, sequel to Mrs Bridgerton. This is what happened in those fateful 8 months.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f, f to m), cunnilingus, blowjobs, vaginal sex. Mentions of marriage, divorce, pregnancy and parenting. Lovers reunited, healing from heartbreak, second-chance love, emotions.

Word Count: 7.1 k

Summary: Requested sequel to Mrs Bridgerton from Anon, HERE, that fills in some of the time jumps of the original story, including the smut scene when they first reunite. Best to read that fic first before diving in, as this starts up immediately as she arrives in his bedroom (before the “8 months later…”). Yes, we are starting with total filth and ending with romance, lol. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing and @eleanor-bradstreet for the gif. Oh, and by the way, in case you are not familiar, this is Eton Mess. Enjoy <3

“Don't…,” he pants wildly, removing the hand from his cock and holding it up in a stop gesture.

You freeze, and suddenly, a wave of doubt hits you. Have you misjudged this?

“Don’t touch me, or I’ll come,” he warns. “Stay right there, and just let me look at you.”

The relief and the desire are potent.

“Fuck, how do you look even better now?!” he sounds almost pained as he drinks in the sight of you in bra and knickers; his hands grasp the fitted bedsheet, his cock pulsing.

“Ben, I…” you stutter to begin an explanation for why you are here, mostly dumbfounded by the sight before you. Somehow, you had made yourself forget how much you love him naked. A coping mechanism, probably. Right now, you have no earthly idea why you walked away from the beautiful man before you.

“Talk later,” he intuits. “ I am so fucking glad I kept the same security code,” he rasps, and you smile.

“Same,” you whisper.

“Turn around,” he pleads. So you do, pushing up onto the balls of your feet and spinning until you face away. He groans at the view of lace straining over your bottom in just the right way. “Oh god, I need to have sex with you, but I’m so close,” he groans, and even though your back is turned, you can tell it’s through clenched teeth.

You twist to give a wicked smile over your shoulder, then unclip your bra strap as he makes a hungry noise. Pulling the straps from your shoulders and flinging the item aside, your back still turned. You hook your fingers into the sides of your knickers to pull them down but stop when he climbs off the bed, falling to his knees behind you.

“Allow me,” it's velvety and dark, and you want to bathe in that voice.

For the first time in years, he touches your skin, and you have to lock your knees to stop swaying. Expert hands map up the outside of your legs from your ankle to your hips, long fingers hooking into the lace and tugging down. You can feel his breath warm on your cheeks as the material relents and gathers around your feet. Then he pitches forward, his nose landing on the small of your back as he takes a loud, almost obscene inhale.

“I have missed your smell,” he asserts, “not just… you know, but your skin. You.” His nose trails up slightly; warm, soft lips kiss your lumbar spine, causing goosebumps to break out over your thighs.

“Ben…” you whisper his name, almost scared to look behind as if it’s somehow not real.

You groan as he sinks lower and runs the edge of his teeth over the globe of your left cheek. Somehow, again, you realise you'd made yourself forget how things could be between you when it was good. Feral, passionate, addictive. The best you've ever had. He has barely touched you, and your inner thighs are damp, that thronging feeling around your pelvis that needs relief.

“Mrs Bridgerton.”

He says it. Just as you asked—wanton, thick, and sweet. And it's too much.

“I don't care if you last ten seconds; I need you inside me… please,” you plead, unashamed, grabbing your breasts as he kisses your cheek. You know how much he always loved it when you would vocalise your needs, desires, wants.

That’s when two fingers slide between your legs and, without warning, plunge into your cunt, making you cry out loudly, the sensation exhilarating, his knuckles pushing you open just the right amount, that same intoxicating feeling as before.

“Fuckkk,” he stutters against your skin. “I forgot how you cling to my fingers like this, good god.”

You have to shoot out a hand diagonally to grab the wall, locking your elbow, as he keeps teasing with deep but slow rocking moves. You mutter his name, a shudder running through you as he hooks his fingers and hits that spot that makes you almost buckle. Sensing the weakness in your stance, his fingers withdraw, and you whimper, missing them so much.

“Go and lie on the bed,” he orders softly, squeezing your bottom, painting your dampness onto your skin as he does so.

You do as he asks, taking an arcing path, keeping your back mostly towards him so he does not see your front—an extra tease. Then you deliberately mount the bed on all fours, goading him, throwing a sinful look over your shoulder as you widen your stance, tilting your pelvis, knowing your damp thighs are shining in the late afternoon sun that floods the bed from the skylight above.

“You fucking tease,” he snarls, again sounding breathless. The sense of victory that races around your body is enthralling. “I said lay down,” he adds, the bed dipping as he climbs on behind you and spanks your cheek, making you moan.

“Well, I say you can eat me out from behind, just like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you riposte, drawing your knees higher and lowering your forehead to the mattress, the fluttering in your belly hard, the thrill of the chase so exhilarating. “Until you are ready to fuck me, that is.”

“Why the hell did we ever divorce?!” he rails.

“I have absolutely no bloody idea,” you exhale shakily, morphing into a lusty cry as his hands part your cheeks and his tongue swipes deep into your folds.

As he swirls your clit, greedily, mouth hot, you are not surprised that he has not even so much as kissed your lips before he makes you scream. Somehow, you know this is the only way a reunion would ever transpire. Primal, filthy, impossible to resist. A need to fuck before anything else.

And it's just as good as you now remember, it all flooding back to you. You grab the bedsheet, knuckles in bony relief as you moan a litany of his name and filth you would never admit to as he growls encouraging noises. That needy, tugging deep inside as his hands band around your hips and haul you back onto his whole face, the slight stubble on his cheeks catching your labia as he does so.

It only feels like moments until he has you dancing on the edge. It's been so, so long since anyone touched you; indeed, he was the last, and you're shocked at how little it takes. An explosive build-up of unmet needs bursting from within, like ripened fruit awaiting devourment. And that is what he is doing, devouring your body without remorse or concerns for propriety. There's an extra tinge of desperation to his movements, too, as if he needs your release as much as you do.

Then he sucks your clit hard into his mouth and uses an edge of teeth to bite down where you ache the most. And you are gone. Muffling your screams into his mattress, biting the sheet, your pussy flutters around nothing, wanting, leaking, the static racing across your scalp and down your body, making you shudder, and your fingers and toes flex hard.

He is vocal, so vocal, in his praise. Asking for more, pulling upright and plunging those two fingers back inside as you scream again, your body rippling in waves, fighting to expel them as he growls and pushes deeper, dragging against the place that sends you stratospheric. Your mind shuts down, your mouth snarling at him not to fucking stop in a throaty register that is all lust and instinct. He doesn’t; he strings you out until you shake and leak over his hand, eyes almost watering, deep, ragged breaths as your lungs burn.

You collapse down, your shaking legs unable to stay up on your knees anymore; his fingers withdrawing slowly as he emits a triumphant chuckle, lightly spanking your cheek for good measure as you lay face down, panting, attempting to recover.

“Fuck Ben,” you exhale raggedly. “Was it always this fucking good? Or did we just get better?”

“Honestly?” he opines as you feel him crawling over your body, covering your dewy skin with all of him as he kisses the back of your neck. “I have no idea, but I swear we must be better now.”

“No kidding… I think I almost left my body then.”

Your giggle becomes a moan as he rocks his cock against your cleft. It's like you had forgotten that, too, which seems criminally negligent—again, probably a coping mechanism. It's sizeable, and you liquefy at the thought of taking him inside you once again.

“I’m still on the Pill,” you babble quickly, lifting your head off the pillow, “and I haven’t been with anyone since we split.” It’s your shorthand to tell him you want him to fuck you without protection.

He stills. “What?!” the tone is skeptical. “No one?!?”

You twist to look at him over your shoulder. “No. I was just thinking of dating again,” you answer abashedly as he looks bewildered.

“Wow… I thought you would have them lining up,” he exhales with a head shake. “Have you seen you?!” he adds incredulously as he shifts his stance, placing his knees wider on either side of your legs.

“Hah! Not at all,” you deflect the compliment. “You?” you inquire as he drops stubbly kisses onto the sensitive skin of your upper back.

“Once. I was very drunk. We used a condom. It was so terrible I’m sort of pretending it never happened. I, umm, called your name,” he winces, pulling up from your body.

You roll over under him so you face him. “You did what?!”

“I… I called your name, when I came. I was thinking of you the whole time.” The matter-of-fact way he shrugs as he says so makes your chest ache.

Words fail as you realise how stubborn you have both been. If only you had talked to each other, things might have been different. On instinct, you push up and kiss him. On the mouth. A real kiss. The first in many years. And his response is instant and break-taking. He lowers you back onto the mattress as you wrap around each other, tongue entwining, breathing each other's air, hands running over each other, relearning the contours you used to know so well.

“I didn't like the idea of fucking anyone else,” you confess quietly over his lips. “I was probably just going to be a celibate single mum.”

“You deserve better than that,” he states fiercely, shuffling so he can cradle your face with one hand and kiss your cheeks, tender and loving.

“As do you,” you answer, eyes fluttering closed under his soft kisses and caresses.

After the utter carnality it began with, the dynamic has shifted to this slower pace—almost romantic, nostalgia swirling with a trace of trepidation of what all this could mean. So you take the initiative, needing to be rooted back in your body, in physical pleasure.

“I don't want to think anymore,” you mumble, recognising the telltale signs that he is wandering the same path. “I want to lose myself in your body.”

That handsome smile that hooked you in the first place all those years ago spreads over his face, a touch more character-filled now with the intervening couple of years but no less devastating.

“I want that too,” he concurs, moving his knees so he parts your legs, the back of your thighs sliding over the fuzzy meatiness of his quad muscles as he does so, hovering over you, engulfing you. This is what you have missed as much as anything. That feeling of being so wholly with someone else, a warm human body moving with, over, under, around you, skin and sweat, muscle and bone.

His lips are hot and wet on your neck when he nudges your entrance and slides in with one well-angled thrust, his sense memory of how your bodies fit together. Your inhale is sharp, and your fingers grip tight around his bicep as you feel that wondrous, heartstopping moment of being invaded viscerally, pushed open, your walls clinging to him.

“Oh my god….” It’s an unintended, uncensored, gasping response that tumbles from his lips. “You are on fire,” he hisses as he bottoms out.

“You did this to me,” you avow, wanting to fan the flames, to make him burn white-hot. A clawing need to make it unforgettable.

Your lips meet as he begins to move, and you are slightly overwhelmed. Not just by the physicality as you find a wonderful rhythm moving in unison, but as if you are floating between the world of the past and the very real present. A coming home, a full circle, a reunion. You don't vocalise it, but you swear you can see it in his eyes, too, as he moves over you. His gaze holds yours as he surges into your body and withdraws again, a tidal motion that makes you cling harder, chasing the moment you break together.

It seems strange this is happening during daylight hours. It feels more like the type of illicit, smouldering passion that can only come out after dark.

Your whole being rolls with the force of his thrusts, pleasure humming over you, so you push back, chasing sensations. Mapping the muscles of his back under your fingertips, his mouth rediscovering that weak spot on your neck that makes you shudder under him. His lips curl into a victorious smile as he surges harder, hissing as you dig your nails into his shoulder blades.

Sliding your feet higher on his luxurious soft sheets, you wrap your legs around his thighs, your heels nudging his shapely rear, letting your body plead for more. His movements become quicker as you grab one of his hands and suckle his fingers, his mouth open and gusting hot on your neck, watching you run your tongue over his fingernails. He groans as you suddenly suck them deep into your mouth, tasting the tang of your own juices and an undercurrent that is all him. When thoroughly soaked, you slowly pull those fingers from your mouth, little strings of saliva webbing between you.

“Touch me, Ben,” you plead, pushing that hand down towards the junction of your thighs, between your bodies.

With a devastating smirk, he does just that. Fingers sliding over your engorged throbbing pearl, just the right amount of pressure to make your cunt clench around him, a vice-like grip that has his hips and fingers stuttering to a halt.

“Fuck, do that again,” he begs.

With a smirk, you oblige, squeezing your internal muscles tight in a slow pulsing motion. His cock feels huge, hard, and heavy as you do so.

His eyes close, and a shudder you can feel runs through him, buried to the root, feeling his cock pulse heavily.

Then his eyes fly open, and the intensity there takes you aback as his fingers start to swirl at a dizzying pace, restarting his thrusts, urgent now, hunched over you, enveloping you, the air between your bodies hot and clammy as he pushes intently, pleading with you to come for him.

Your lips meet in an artless but deep kiss, tongues dancing, desperate hot breaths into each other's mouths. His fingers circling your clit pushes you towards your peak, the catalyst you need. The telltale ripples deep inside, clamping your body to his, his cries at the intensity fading as you are swept away, your vision whiting out. Ripples fan out to every fibre, that addictive mind-numbing bliss like nothing else.

You clenching on him is what pulls him over the edge, too. His grip on you is rough; his mouth slack on your cheek, curling his whole body into you as he cums, the warmth of it blooming deep.

No words are spoken as he collapses onto you, panting hard. As he recovers, you bury your fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp until he is almost purring into your skin.

“Why the hell did we divorce?” you echo his line from earlier, and his responding laughter shakes your whole being.

Ravenous, after your exertions, he orders food delivery, insisting you both stay naked as you eat on the living room rug. Dusk slips to nighttime as you watch mindless, entertaining shows, chatting easily about everything and nothing, wrapped around each other like a vine, drinking excellent wine, and feeding each other.

He reaches for dessert, Eton Mess, and with a cheeky eyebrow raise, smears it over your naked breasts, using his tongue to thoroughly clean you up and tease you beyond distraction. Before you know it, he is covered, too, and you blow him right there, licking whipped cream from his leaking cock as his thighs tremble under your hands in that endearing way you remember. Before he comes, he begs you to stop, to ride him, and so you do - messy, sticky, giggling - right there on his living room floor, the rug abraiding your kneecaps, his large hands a vice around your hips.

“We definitely need to shower,” he opines as he watches you extract a shard of strawberry from his belly button as his cock slips from your body. You laugh in agreement as he reaches up and pulls a fleck of meringue from your hair.

Collapsing into bed with shower-warm skin, half an hour later, you fall asleep in an embrace.

The following morning

You awaken to his lips on your cheek, pulling you back into the curve of his body.

“Spend the day with me,” he implores, his voice rough with sleep.

“I want to,” you hum drowsily, reaching back to run your fingers through his luscious head of hair.

“Go on, be daring,” he goads into your skin. “Mrs Bridgerton,” he adds coquettishly, knowing those are now the magic words to make you do as he wants.

“Stop weaponising that,” you scold lazily, with zero vehemence.

“Not a chance,” he chuckles, rolling you onto your back and crawling over you, arms bracketing your shoulders, his mouth a lazy, lopsided grin. He looks positively angelic, his riot of hair backlit like a halo in the morning light leaking through the skylight. Even as he does the sinful thing of rocking his rigid cock against the apex of your thighs teasingly. Just as you push your legs out wider, welcoming him, he stills and instead reaches over and grabs your phone from the bedside table, handing it to you with a pointed look.

So you call in sick to work.

As a reward, he slips under the covers as you are apologising to your boss with a fake croaky voice and slides his tongue deep into you; you have to fake a coughing fit to disguise your groan. You grab a fist of his hair in silent reprimand, but it just seems to spur him on.

“If you had to call work today, I would have you in my mouth as revenge for that,” you slur as he works his magic, knowing he has gone freelance in the intervening years.

“I’ll happily put in a call to myself later,” he jokes unseen under the sheet, “and you can do as you wish while I tell myself I'm taking the day off.”

“Self-employment must be fun,” you comment wistfully, then cry out as he sucks so hard on your clit that you knock your phone off the bed, your leg kicking out so strong that he grabs it and pins you down.

“It has its perks,” his voice muffled into your body, “like I can spend all day right here… well, at least until you need some breakfast.”

You can't even form a response to that as his tongue spears into you; all you can do is hiss in agreement.

—

A little while later, Benedict is pulling ingredients out of the fridge to make brunch when your phone vibrates on his kitchen island.

“Oh god, it’s El,” you fret, putting down the cafetière you had just poured from.

“Why is she calling you?” he frowns.

“I was supposed to go on a date last night that she arranged,” you wince. “My very first one. But someone completely derailed that plan, didn't they?” you pout comically.

He chuckles. “Put it on speaker; this should be fun.”

“You had better have a damn good excuse for standing Dan up last night,” Eloise complains in lieu of a greeting.

“Well, good morning to you too, El,” you reply lightheartedly, taking a sip of coffee.

“Why does it sound so echoey?”

“You're on speaker while I make brunch.” It’s a slight lie; he’s the one making it; you are simply enjoying the view. Seeing as he is doing so in black boxer briefs and nothing more, your eyes mapping his torso with a covetous stare.

“Well, I'm waiting…” she points out.

“For what?” You giggle as Benedict pulls up behind you, crowding into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist, and planting a kiss on your temple. You sway slightly with his movement.

“For your excuse, and it better be a good one. That you are in a hospital somewhere, or you met the love of your life yesterday,” she warns, “and seeing as you are making brunch when you should be at work, I doubt it’s the former.”

“Maybe it’s the latter,” you breathe, her not realising how true that suggestion is, twisting your head to look at him, and he shoots you a molten look before your lips meet.

“Really? You met someone else?” her tone suddenly excited, forgetting her annoyance.

“It took me completely by surprise.” You exhale over his lips, and he smiles that crooked smile that makes your stomach flip.

“So… wait, are you at home?” she asks, suddenly very invested.

“Nope,” you pop the p in the word, and Benedict shakes with silent laughter, tilting his head to kiss down your neck, your hand sliding into his hair as you lean into his movements. God, he is good at this.

“Are you at his place?” she hisses, impressed.

“Maybe” you singsong.

“Take me off speaker, you nutter!”

“Why? Maybe he is enjoying hearing this,” you tease.

“He’s right there?” Eloise spits, disbelieving.

“Hello, El,” Benedict pipes up, between kisses of your skin, his warm fingers tugging on the knot of the borrowed silk dressing gown you wear. It's dark blue and swamps you, seeing as it's his.

“Ben?!?!” she splutters. “What the…? How the…? Whattttt?!?!”

“I'm hanging up the phone now, sister,” he rumbles as he opens your robe and slides it off your shoulders so you are naked. “Unless you want to listen to us making love over this kitchen island?”

“Oh fuck no,” she positively shudders and makes a retching sound. “Wait… you guys….what the…?”

“Don’t tell anyone yet, please,” your request squeaks, his erection pressing into the naked valley of your buttocks as he reaches in front of you to end the call.

“Goodbye, El,” Benedict laughs.

“You have a fuck tonne of explaining to d….,” her warning is cut off by him hanging up.

“She's going to be insufferable when she gets over the shock,” you point out and then sigh as his hands land on your hips and his warm, damp mouth is on your shoulder.

“A problem for another time,” he assures you as you feel him release you briefly to push down his underwear. He's now as naked as you.

“You meant it about the kitchen island then?” you simper over your shoulder and groan as he surges his cock between your thighs from behind.

“What do you think?” he teases, his voice pitched so low it echoes around his whole body and into yours.

“I think I could get used to this,” you whisper as he leans you forward over the cooling quartz surface and pushes aside your hair to suck insistently on your neck.

“Good,” he rumbles, “because I am going to fuck you right here every morning before breakfast.”

“Every morning?” Your breath hitching at the idea this might be something more than a one-time moment of madness.

“Oh yes,” he murmurs into your skin, “I want to spend every moment I can with you, beside you, inside you,” his tone smoky, and with that last word, he slips inside you, your responding moan so loud he huffs amused. “The noises you make, it's the same as years ago, so exquisite,” he smiles into your hair, the heated stretch as he opens you up, always so breathtaking.

“Feels so good,” you pant lightly as he bottoms out inside you—a solid weight pressing in all the right places.

“Yes, you do, my love,” the term of endearment slipping from his lips so casually, sounding so perfectly natural to your ears, you reach back and grab his left hand in yours, missing the sound your wedding rings used to make when you did so in days of old.

But then he starts to move inside you, and there are no more coherent thoughts in your head—just his name tumbling from your lips and his hands moulded to your body.

Nine weeks later

The hardest person to explain it all to is your daughter.

Everything snowballed so fast after that fateful day, you and Benedict spending every spare moment you could together—even sneaking into each other's homes after Emilia’s bedtime. It was no longer just sex; it was something much, much more. It's when she awakes one night and almost catches sight of him working in your home office while you sleep that you both realise the time has come.

Benedict turns up at your place as agreed. You open the door to him and place a lingering kiss on his cheek as he sweeps in, holding a bunch of your favourite flowers and a gift bag for Emilia containing all her favourite sweets.

“Bribery, what a genius idea,” you laugh quietly into his ear, knowing Emilia can see you both from her vantage point at the dining table, doing some colouring in.

“Daddy!” she calls out effusively when she looks up, jumping out of her chair and running over.

Benedict hands you the flowers and gift to pick up Emilia, swinging her up into his arms as her little hands wrap around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” her ask is one of happy confusion. “It's not one of your days.”

“Indeed it's not,” he smiles indulgently as you reach over and tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “Mummy and I here have some important news,” he adds, looking at you askance with an almost bashful smile.

“Let’s all go and sit,” you suggest, gesturing towards the living room as you place the flowers and gift bag on the kitchen island. Emilia won't release her grip, so Benedict walks with her in his arms. She only lets go when he reaches the sofa, snuggling against him as soon as he sits, grabbing one of her favourite cuddly toys from the sectional arm as she does so.

“I'm so happy you are here, Daddy,” she beams, and you already feel misty-eyed as he subconsciously places a hand over his heart and agrees with her sentiment.

You initially take a seat on the chaise at an angle from them, but Benedict shoots you a puzzled puppy dog look and pats the cushion next to him. So, with slight apprehension, you swing around to sit next to him, and he slides a hand onto your knee, which doesn't go unnoticed by your eagle-eyed daughter on his other side.

“Why are you touching Mummy like that?” she frowns. A tiny part of your heart cracking at the realisation that she has never known the love you once shared—the one you are rebuilding slowly, piece by piece, day by day.

“Remember I said that Mummy and I have some news?” Benedict begins softly, his long fingers wrapping all the way around to caress the crease at the back of your knee, a nervous tick of his you recall like a ghost from the past.

“Yes...” she responds warily, tugging on the ears of her toy, instinctively concerned.

“Well… Mummy and I have been spending time together as we used to when you were a baby,” he explains slowly, “and we really like each other again.” His lips twitch a beguiling smile as he turns briefly to look at you, his earnest face melting the anxious lump burning behind your ribs. “That means we touch each other and hug and kiss.”

“Emilia,” you join in, your voice a little tremulant. “How would you feel if Mummy and Daddy started spending time with you together rather than apart?”

She perks up, and she stops her fidgeting. “Really?” the hopeful tone makes your emotions bubble up again.

“Yes, really,” he replies.

“Every evening?” her hands clapping together with glee, climbing wholly into Benedict's lap. “Please, mummy?” she begs, the eyes she inherited from him pleading with you insistently as if the decision rests purely with you.

“If that is what you both want, then yes,” you offer tentatively, your look drifting from her to him.

“I want nothing more in the whole world,” he states sincerely, his gaze never leaving yours, his Adam's apple bobbing with a thick swallow as he does so. You can’t look away from those soulful eyes, wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

“Do you love Mummy, Daddy?” Emilia cuts in, breaking the hypnotic trance, looking at him expectantly.

“I never stopped,” he confesses truthfully, the hand on your knee feeling weightier somehow, the lump in your chest appearing again, but this time it's the furthest thing from anxiety. “We just lost our way for a little while, that’s all,” he says as much for you as your daughter. “Everything is working out as it always should have,” he ends, his tone wavering with emotion.

“Will we all live together?” she enthuses.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely believing it yourself. It's something you had discussed just a few days ago, the realisation this was very real coming to you both. “We will. Soon. We just have some things to sort out first.”

“Where would you prefer to live, Emilia?” Benedict queries. “We will keep both houses for now. So you can decide for Mummy and Daddy.”

“Is this where you lived when I was a baby?” she asks, pointing at the ground.

“No darling, Daddy and I sold that when we split up as part of the agreement we signed.” You see him wince at the memory, his fingers gripping your knee tighter reflexively. “But that is okay; that is the past. We want somewhere better for our future together anyway,” you assure, feeling the weight of his doting stare as you speak but keeping your attention fixed on Emilia.

She nods sagely, her little brain absorbing everything you say with the fearsome intellect she possesses. Then she swings over the arm Benedict has looped around your knee and clambers limbfully into your lap. You accept her embrace, grateful and relieved, Benedict's arm releasing your knee to slide behind your head, grabbing your shoulder, and pulling you both into his arms.

“I think we should all live here,” she nods decisively. “I like my room here better than at Daddy's; it's bigger,” she explicates, a touch sheepishly.

Benedict and you laugh together at her flawless reasoning, your heart melting as he nuzzles into your hair.

“I do believe the lady has spoken,” he chuckles, his lips grazing your ear.

And thus, it is decided.

Two weeks later

You ask Emilia to keep the news under wraps until her sixth birthday party two weeks later. Agreeing that if she does, she could be the one to break the news to your families—a bribe, indeed, but an effective one. Eloise is the only person with any inkling and has seemingly kept it secret, so this will likely be shocking news to many.

The night before the party, after Emilia is safely tucked up in bed, you are sharing a bath in your oversized tub.

“Is there anything else we need for tomorrow?” his question lazy as you lean back against him, his hands rubbing soothing circles over your tummy under the water.

“Hmmm, the cake and balloons should be delivered in the morning; I think everything is in hand,” you hum, closing your eyes and resting on his shoulder.

“I was thinking…” he begins.

“Uh oh…” You interject cheekily, popping your eyes open as he tickles your diaphragm in playful retaliation.

“Yes, yes, I know, brains are your thing…” he grumbles good-naturedly, “but I was thinking long-term; perhaps we should start to look for a new place? If we sell both of ours, we could get something nice right around here, with a big garden for Emilia, perhaps a home office and art studio space for me. And you know…. more bedrooms,” the last two words uttered in a throatier register, those fingers spidering lower under the water into the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“More kids?” your breath catching.

“Yes, didn't we always say we would have three?” he murmurs, his lips on your earlobe, sucking gently. Weirdly, the discussion of it all - buying a place together, having more kids - seems entirely natural, not jarring, even though you are less than three months into your new dynamic.

“That was when we were in our twenties, Ben,” you point out, but it fades into a hitching, needy sound in the back of your throat as his lips map the cord of your neck and his fingertips slide over your clit.

“And are you saying at the ripe old age of thirty-four, we are past it?” he checks, bemused.

“Thirty-three for me, thirsty five for you, old man,” you point out, attempting a dry tone but mostly just breathy as he teases you expertly.

“I was averaging,” he states, pressing harder so you moan loudly.

“You are never average,” you flatter, rapidly losing the ability to converse.

“I love how I can just shut off that brain of yours doing this,” he exhales gustily into your ear, his fingers circling insistently.

“Shut up and fuck me,” you groan.

“With pleasure,” he simpers, suddenly looping his arms around your knees to pull you open so he can slip inside you.

The following day

Emilia can barely contain the secret as the various members of the frankly enormous Bridgerton clan arrive. Your family, consisting of your parents and just one sister, is tiny in comparison, even as she strolls in with her boisterous boys and harried-looking husband in tow.

“What is with Emilia today?” she queries, ever the sharp observer, as she hands you a cheese board she has brought.

“Birthday excitement?” you shrug, finding a space for her contribution on the snack table as you attempt to sound non-committal.

“Hmm,” her mien thoughtful, “it seems more than that. I wished her a happy birthday, and her response was, ‘Oh, thank you, auntie, I almost forgot.’”

“I'm sure she was joking,” you placate. “Help me plate up the sausage rolls?” An intentional distraction. “Colin just turned up; I'm not sure the hundred I have baked are enough.”

A couple of hours later, food has been consumed, the birthday song has been sung loudly, and the cake cut and eaten. Music plays in the garden, and an alarmingly large gaggle of kids are all bouncing over-zealously in the small bouncy castle you have rented as Benedict materialises at your side. It seems strange that his hands do not slide around your waist, but the announcement has yet to be public, so he maintains a respectful distance.

“You think there is a child capacity on that thing?” You nod at the colourful inflatable taking up a good third of your compact garden.

“Simon claims to have it in hand,” he breezes.

“And you believe him?” you skew your mouth into a slant.

“He’s rich enough; he can pay everyone off if there are injuries,” Benedict smirks, and you can't help but giggle into your wine glass.

Just then, Emilia comes running towards you, out of breath from bouncing. “Is it time, Mummy, Daddy?” she effuses.

Sharing a glance, you nod, and Benedict fishes his phone out of his pocket to turn down the music, then borrows your wine glass, tapping a knife against it to draw everyone's attention.

“Everyone,” he calls, “our beautiful birthday girl has a different but very special announcement.”

All the adults turn their attention, even as the excited childish squeals from the bouncy castle continue in the background.

“Mummy and Daddy have some news they want me to share,” she begins as your eyes drift over to Eloise.

“What could it possibly be, Emilia?” Eloise goads, her face so smug you almost want to shake her. You settle for a pointed stare instead.

“Mummy and Daddy… are in love again!!!!” Emilia yells. “We are moving in as a family!” She then bows deeply for her assembled audience, no doubt expecting rapturous applause.

The assembled, shocked, and quiet faces confuse her, and she twists to look at you both for reassurance. “Did I do it wrong?” she asks, her little face screwing up in confusion.

“No, no darling, it was perfect,” you reassure, stroking her hair.

Benedict reaches down and hauls her into his arms, giving her the comfort she needs, and she buries her face in his neck, her translucent costume fairy wings slightly obscuring his face from everyone.

“Are you serious?” Kate pipes up cautiously as if a spokesperson for all those gathered, Anthony shooting her an incredulous sideways look that she, of course, completely ignores.

“Yes,” Benedict confirms, shuffling Emilia sideways to his hip and wrapping the arm not holding her around your back. “About three months ago, we were reunited by accident.” Gratefully, he fogs over the details. You are not sure a misdialed masturbation call should be the start of any anecdote at a family gathering. “And… things progressed rather rapidly,” he admits, giving you a quick sideways smile and a squeeze of your waist, “and here we are…”

“You’re in love again?” Violet checks, her hands clenched hopefully over her heart.

“Yes,” you nod to her, turning back to look at Benedict, “very, very much so.”

She starts the applause, which soon ripples out to everyone as they absorb the news. From over by the bouncy castle, there is a supportive whistle from Simon as he effortlessly frees one of his offspring wedged in an upside-down position before giving the thumbs up.

Benedict nuzzles your temple, and you know you are blushing as he echoes a gentle “very, very much so” in your ear before the assembled masses move in to offer you their congratulations in turn.

Twelve weeks later

You are idly clicking through houses on Rightmove on a Tuesday evening when a wave of nausea hits you so violently that you barely make it to the downstairs cloakroom toilet in time. Same as the previous day.

“I’m never letting you convince me that tacos from a food truck are a good idea, ever again,” you grouse as you re-emerge into the hallway after splashing your face and rinsing your mouth.

“We ate the same thing on Sunday, and I’m perfectly fine,” he points out as he reaches the bottom step of the staircase, having finished reading Emilia's bedtime story.

“Well, I'm sick as a parrot,” you lament, dabbing your forehead with a damp flannel you snagged. “And I'm so hot. I've been feeling off for two days on the trot. Mornings and evenings. I swear I've been poisoned…”

He suddenly goes very still, and your brow knits.

“What?” Your confusion grows as he appears to be doing mental arithmetic, touching his fingers.

“Aren’t you late?” he says quietly, looking up from his hands with the oddest but sweetest expression.

“What do you… Oh…” you trail off, and suddenly, your whole body runs even hotter.

OH.

“Are you?” his whisper so hopeful but reticent.

“I… I could be…” You stutter, a little blindsided. It's the best you can offer.

He pulls you into him, surrounding you, cupping your jaw, his eyes always so expressive. “We should find out,” he murmurs.

“The big Sainsbury's should still be open,” you blurt, unsure of what else to say.

He tilts his forehead against yours with an amused huff at your eminent practicality. “You stay here with Emilia; I’ll go,” he smiles, kissing your lips tenderly before backing away and grabbing his wallet and car keys from the hallway table.

Within the hour, you are staring at a white and blue stick again. Dumbfounded by the news, just as you were almost seven years ago.

“Fuck me…” You sigh under your breath, belatedly realising you really shouldn't have been as cavalier with your Pill taking; now you are having sex regularly again.

“I think that's the probable cause, yes,” he jests softly, charmingly treading on eggshells until he can fully gauge your reaction.

You break into giggles, rolling your eyes but collapsing into his arms, and his relief is palpable.

“I know it's so soon, and we only talked about it in theory… but…. God, I’m so happy,” he admits into your hair, pulling back to look in your eyes. “Are you?”

“I'm feeling a million different things,” you answer honestly, then reach up to hold his face, “but yes, I'm happy, Ben. A little shocked, considering I thought it was just bad tacos, but happy.”

His responding smile is sunlight and pure devotion.

“I love you,” he declares, heartfelt, simple, genuine. It's not remotely the first time he has done so since you reunited, but it feels particularly appropriate.

“I love you too.”

Two weeks later

Benedict takes you to dinner in Covent Garden after a house viewing. You both know it’s the one you will buy. A handsome Victorian detached with dual bay windows that felt like home the minute you walked in, even before you laid eyes on the expansive mature gardens and the all-glass extension that would be the perfect art studio for him.

Only when you stroll past a fancy bank after dinner do you clock the date on a glowing display; it's the anniversary of the fateful day you met at a party seven years ago.

But, fifteen minutes later, it's still a complete surprise when he gets down on one knee, Thamesside, the city twinkling around you.

“Marry me once more, y/n? Please? Be Mrs Bridgerton, again?”

There was only ever going to be one answer.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

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moo-siala · 5 months ago

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I STILL LOVE YOU — MAX VERSTAPPEN

PAIRING: max verstappen x ex-wife fem!reader

SUMMARY: max’s ex wife finds out he’s getting married again

CONTENT: mentions of divorce, angst, sadness, cheating

NOTE: get ready to cry. i did while editing it + this is a repost from my old blog too but this one got slightly revised. some errors got fixed but it’s not 100% proof read.

As y/n sifted through the mail, she noticed a white envelope with "y/n verstappen" written in gold letters. frowning in confusion, she carefully opened it. the moment she saw the contents, she felt her heart shatter. it was a wedding invitation—specifically, an invitation to max’s wedding.

“max and eleanor request the pleasure of your company to celebrate their wedding” was written on the card in gold and black letters.

y/n felt her eyes water and closed the envelope. this could not be happening, she thought. but it’s not like her and max got divorced yesterday.

the divorce was due to his racing career. he wasn't as present as y/n and the children needed him to be, which led to constant arguments, fights, and tears until their marriage ultimately ended. this happened over three years ago, but she still couldn't understand how he had moved on so quickly. perhaps her difficulty in understanding stemmed from her own inability to move on.

she had tried everything, and by everything, she truly meant everything. she had met new people, gone on countless dates, and even ventured into the realm of online dating, hoping to find a connection that might help her move on. but nothing seemed to work. none of those men were him. some were good, hardworking, and loyal, but there was always something missing. each new encounter only served to highlight the void he had left in her life, the irreplaceable presence she couldn't seem to find in anyone else.

"mama, why are you crying?" a soft voice pulled her back to reality. "hey, i’m not crying, i just have an allergy," she chuckled, hugging leon, one of her seven-year-old twins. "julian and i are ready but he is helping emma with her bag," he smiled, hugging her back.

leon and julian were twins—practically mirror images of max. thet shared the same face, the same eyes, and the same cheeky smile that always managed to light up a room. meanwhile, emma was a carbon copy of her mother, with the exception of her blonde hair and blue eyes, inherited from her father.

the twins were only four years old when the divorce happened, and emma was just two. the process was far from easy, but both parents made a concerted effort to minimize the trauma for their children. they navigated the difficult path with as much grace and cooperation as possible, ensuring that their young ones felt loved and secure despite the upheaval. the priority was always the well-being of their children, and they did their best to shield them from the worst of the pain.

“mama! we’re ready!” julian and emma ran out of their rooms with bags in hand, “hey, be careful!” she laughed, “we’re ready!” julian exclaimed and emma giggled, “that’s good, oma will be here in no time” y/n hugged the children, or like max likes to call them, their cubs.

the doorbell rang, signaling sophie’s arrival.

about a week ago, sophie had asked if she could take the kids on a little trip to a lake she had visited with a friend near the city. after looking at the pictures, y/n couldn't say no. the children would love it, and she knew how much they enjoyed spending time with their grandma.

when she got pregnant, max suggested that it would be better to move back to the netherlands so the babies could be surrounded by family. she didn't hesitate and agreed with his proposal. while she loved Monaco, nothing could compare to having her family nearby.

when she looks back at those memories, she’s thankful that she chose to come back. she doesn’t know what could’ve been of her if she had to go through the divorce all alone in monaco.

she walked over and opened the door, smiling warmly. "hey!" she greeted, pulling sophie into a hug.

"how are you doing, sweetheart?" sophie asked, hugging her back as she stepped inside. y/n knew exactly what she meant. "i’m good," she replied softly, her smile gentle. sophie nodded, giving her a sympathetic look just as the three mini verstappens ran over to their grandma, hugging her legs and making her laugh.

"oma!" they exclaimed in unison. "who’s ready to go to the lake?" their oma asked, eyes sparkling. "me!" the cubs chorused excitedly.

they said their goodbyes as she helped sophie put the kids in the car.

“i’ll let you know when we get there” she told y/n, “sounds good, and send pictures, please” y/n smiled in return, “i will. and honey, if you need anything, just give me a call” she pulled her into a tight embrace, “i know, thank you, soph” “no problem”

—

ass the dedicated mother she was, or as max fondly referred to her, the lioness, y/n found herself feeling oddly restless whenever her children were away—simultaneously bored yet remarkably productive. with them gone, she efficiently organized weeks of work and meticulously cleaned the entire house. completing her chores left her with a sense of satisfaction, prompting a leisurely shower before descending to the kitchen to prepare a meal.

while deeply focused on cooking, the doorbell rang unexpectedly. perplexed, since she was only expecting sophie’s visit that day, she set the knife aside, quickly washed her hands, and hastened to answer the door.

“uh, hey?” she said opening the door, “hey, how are you?” max asked, “i’m good. your mom already left with the children so…” “i’m here to talk to you, can i come in?” he asked, “sure…” nodding, she opened the door a bit more for him to come in.

“are you busy?” he asked after you closed the door, “not really. just cooking” she walked back to the kitchen, max followed.

max sat in one of the stools as he watched her wash and chop some vegetables for the salad she was preparing.

“what did you come to talk about?” y/n looked up, his blue orbs finding her beautiful eyes, “i wanted to know if you got the…” “the wedding invitation? i got it today in the mail” she nodded, her tone coming out a bit dry even if she didn’t mean to sound that way.

“are you mad?” he asked, “why would i be? congrats, by the way” she said, adding her favorite vinaigrette to the salad, “don’t be like that…” he sighed, “like what? am i not supposed to congratulate you now?” her eyes found his once again.

“you know exactly what i mean, y/n” he said, “i don’t know what you mean and i’m not in the mood to fight. i’m tired and hungry, so can i please enjoy my salad?” she asked and he scoffed, “i can see it in your eyes, y/n. there’s something you’re not telling me and i want to know what’s going on” he sighed, “we’ve been divorced for almost three years, but remember we were married for four before that”

she felt her eyes water but quickly wiped the tears away.

“i’m okay, max” y/n said while grabbing a glass and pouring some juice in it, “you’re about to cry, tell me what’s going wrong, i want to help” he softly said, and that’s when she broke.

"i don't know max, maybe the fact that once again i'm the one who's going to be all alone?" her voice broke, "the fact i'm the only one who's going to come back to an empty home when the kids are spending time with you? or maybe it's the fact that for some reason i can't move on with my life but everyone else can! you did, why can't i?" by now, she were a crying mess.

move on? he never moved on. his family knew it, his friends knew it, everyone knew it, he knew it.

he was never able to move on from her, the love of his life—the woman who lifted him up when he was feeling down, who cried tears of pride after almost every race, the woman who showed him a new depth of love when he became a father, and the woman he lost because he messed up.

seeing her crying broke his heart, but it also gave him hope. hope that the woman he deeply loves, loved him back still, even if it was just a little bit of it left.

he liked eleanor. she was good with the kids and kind to y/n, but she wasn't her, and she never could be. eleanor, younger than him and eager to settle down, was someone he found comfort in, at least temporarily. he went along with the idea of marriage, thinking he had nothing to lose, until the day she poured her heart out to him. it was then that he realized eleanor could never replace the deep connection he had lost with his former wife.

"i never wanted that divorce," he said softly as he walked over to her. "and you think I did?" she sniffed, wiping away her tears. “you asked for it..." he began. "because I got tired of giving you signals and second chances that were never taken, max," she sighed, her voice heavy with emotion. she looked up at him, hoping he would understand the weight of her words.

max felt like shit, to say the least. hoy could he be so dumb? how could he throw away his family and the love of his life just like that?

“please give me one last chance, i promise i’m not going to fail you and the cubs again”, he sat next to y/n on the couch, grabbing her small hands and squeezing them softly, “max, you’re getting ma-“ “if you don’t want me to get married i won’t. i just need to hear you say it”, he interrupted her.

y/n was in utter shock to say the least. could he really be serious? the gravity of his words hung heavy in the air, leaving her struggling to comprehend the reality of the situation.

“i am serious. you know it” he said, almost as if he could read her mind, “please baby girl, i need to hear you say it”, he pleaded, staring into her eyes.

y/n took a deep breath.

“maxie… please… please don’t get married” she softly said, eyes watering and lips trembling. max sighed in relief and hugged her tightly, “i’m never letting you go, ever again” he grabbed your face and kissed her softly.

“i hope you stick to that promise” “you know i will, schatje”

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 imagines

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xxspringmelodyxx · 7 months ago

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The legend~

Childe x reader (angst)

Part 2/?? For part I, here

A/n: here it is! Part two of The Legend! Please enjoy my lovelies and thank you all again for the support🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

It had been a few, but long, good years… well, for you at least. You had already mastered five out of the seven elements, with only Electro and Hydro left to finally obtain the final element. The journey had been the most fun you’d had in years, and it made you stronger both mentally and physically. There was still much to work on, but with the progress you were making, you felt confident that you’d be ready to fight the darkness in no time.

“No, not like that. You must be graceful as you move. The stiffer you are when trying to move the water, the harder it will be. Remember, work with the water, not against it. Now, do it again, this time with more fluidity,” Eleanor instructed.

You nodded, closing your eyes as you stood in the deep waters. The sensation of nothingness surrounded you, making you feel like you were flying. Slowly, you lifted your hands and placed them together. You relaxed your body, allowing the water to fully envelop you, listening to the deep, bassy sounds of the liquid.

You began to drag your left leg in a half-circle around you, lifting your knee, your hands following the same motion. The water started to vibrate around you, mirroring your movements. You then pushed your hands down softly, as did your leg, and suddenly, a huge part of the water was pushed down all the way to the ground. For about three seconds, the waters were separated. You looked down and smiled widely as you saw your favorite ring.

Why was it down there, you might ask? Well, the answer is simple… Eleanor threw it down there to help you with your training. You had not been improving much in mastering the art of the Hydro element, so she decided to push you a bit by sacrificing something meaningful to you.

Seeing the ring, you reached to grab it… but lost control due to your focus on the ring. The waters caved in, trapping you underneath. You were too deep underwater to swim out alive. Panic struck as you tried to figure out what to do… but the more you thought, the more precious air you lost!

Desperation set in, and you tried to calm yourself, but it was just too hard… especially knowing there was a chance you could die! You placed your hands together and pushed upwards, hoping the water would lift you to the surface… but nothing happened.

Time was running out and you couldn’t do anything, but keep trying. You kept doing different motions forcefully, your emotions getting the better of you.

Slowly, your vision started to fade, and that's when something unusual appeared. Glancing to your right, you saw a small tornado forming from the ground. Your eyes widened in surprise. The mini tornado grew larger with each passing second, moving directly toward you.

It enveloped you, lifting you back to the surface. You gasped for air, coughing as you tried to fill your lungs. Before you, a pair of feet stood firm, making you look up.

“You must learn to focus,” Eleanor said sternly.

“I-I was! Or… at least I was trying to,” you stammered.

“If you were truly focused, the water wouldn’t have almost drowned you. You were too fixated on the ring and lost your connection with the water. Imagine fighting someone who holds someone you love hostage. You’re doing well, but then you spot the hostage and become distracted. Blam! The opponent strikes, catching you off guard. It could be a fatal blow,” she said, helping you to your feet.

“I’m sorry… but that ring is special—” you began.

“If it’s special, then you must do everything to protect it. To do that, you need to eliminate the threats. Steady your mind, and you'll find it easier to control your surroundings. Had you not been distracted by the ring, you could have easily retrieved it while keeping the waters separate.”

“So… what should I do? I can’t just ignore something important to me. What if someone I care about is in danger? How can I not think about them?” you asked, frustration evident in your voice.

“This is a difficult lesson, but you must learn to set aside those feelings in the moment. Block out distractions and focus solely on your primary objective. That way, your chances of success are much higher. Once you succeed, you can then devote your attention to the person you care about,” she explained.

You nodded, taking in her advice.

“How about we take a break? I need to buy more herbs for tea. We’re running low. I should be gone for about two hours. Please, don’t cause any trouble, alright?” she said, making you smile.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. E! I won’t even make a sound,” you replied, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“Good. I better get going now. The sun will set in a few hours, and I want to return before then. I’ll be back!” she said, heading toward the city.

As she disappeared from view, you sat by the water’s edge, reflecting on her words. The training was more challenging than you had anticipated, but you knew it was necessary. You picked up the ring, holding it tightly, vowing to master your focus and control. The path ahead was still long and arduous, but you were determined to overcome every obstacle and harness the power of all seven elements.

*****

About an hour passed by, and still, there was no sign of Eleanor. I sighed, feeling the weight of boredom pressing down on me. My feet dangled in the cool, refreshing water as I sat perched atop a rock, my mind wandering aimlessly in search of something to do. The stillness of the surroundings only heightened my restlessness, and I found myself wishing for some kind of distraction.

As time crept by, a spark of inspiration ignited in my mind. Perhaps I could try to retrieve the ring while Eleanor was gone! Surely, she would be impressed by my initiative and progress. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen? Well, aside from the fact that I almost drowned the last time I attempted it. Pushing that thought aside, I exhaled deeply to calm my racing thoughts. If I wanted to master the elements, I needed to keep practicing.

With newfound determination, I placed my hands together in front of my chest, then gracefully pulled them apart, swaying them to the side and up toward the sky. Suddenly, a small ball of water plopped out of the sea, shimmering in the sunlight. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight—it was adorable!

“I think I’ll call you… Blob!” I said, giggling at my own whimsy.

Keeping my left palm facing the blob of water suspended in the air, I began making spiral motions with my right hand. Gradually, strands of water rose up and started to spiral around the blob, forming intricate patterns like double helixes encircling a small nucleus. It was mesmerizing to watch.

As I maintained the motion, the strands of water grew longer and thicker, causing the water level in that specific area to lower. After about thirty seconds, I finally reached the bottom, where the sunlight glinted off my ring, making it sparkle. Excitement bubbled up inside me as I saw it. I hopped off the rock and waded through the water to retrieve my prized possession.

“Remember to focus on your main target…” Eleanor’s voice echoed in my mind, reminding me of her wisdom.

I took her advice to heart, concentrating on the water around me to ensure I maintained control. Slowly, I picked up the ring, careful not to lose focus. With the ring securely in my hand, a sense of triumph washed over me. I had accomplished my goal.

“Haha! I did it! Take that water!” I announced proudly.

However, my celebration was cut short as the water began to tumble around me. I glanced up in alarm and quickly raised my hand, focusing intently on the impending wave.

“Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me…”

Closing my eyes, I forced myself to relax and reconnect with the water’s essence. I placed my hands up above me, shielding me from the incoming water. Inhaling and exhaling steadily, I felt the water touch my hand but not engulf my body.

Opening my eyes, I was met with the sight of a massive body of water hovering above me, emitting deep, resonant sounds. The sheer size and power of it made me shiver, but I couldn’t help but smile. I had managed to control the water and prevent it from harming me. Slowly but surely, I was becoming one with the element, inching closer to mastering it.

I slipped my ring on, feeling its familiar weight, and placed my hand down, spiraling it once more. The water responded, circling around me and lifting me gently to the surface. I cheered as I made it to land, elated by my success.

I ran back to our old little cottage, catching my reflection in the mirror. I noticed that I looked more fit than I used to, my muscles more defined. A few scars adorned my arms and stomach, reminders of my journey. I smiled as I recalled my transformation and how challenging it had been to master even a single element.

**Flashback**

"Come on. You cannot give up so quickly!" Eleanor urged, her voice firm but encouraging.

"But it’s been five weeks since we started, and I’m getting nowhere!" I complained, frustration evident in my voice.

"Patience is key, my dear. You must remember that you cannot force the element to obey until you learn to become—"

"Become one with it, yeah, I know. You've only said that like a hundred times," I interrupted, my tone tinged with impatience.

"Again," she insisted, pointing to my hand where a small pebble rested. "We are not going to stop until you at least move that pebble from one hand to the other without physically touching it."

After a few seconds of futile effort, I became frustrated and dropped the rock. "Okay, I’m done. Obviously, I’m not supposed to master this, which means I’m definitely not going to master the other six. I am not going to be the next host of this light element, so it’s better to just stop now before we waste more time."

"Y/N—"

"No, maybe you made a mistake in choosing me. You should find someone who can actually handle this. Maybe someone who has already mastered one of the elements. I can’t do this," I said, turning to walk away. However, a huge pile of rocks formed in front of me, creating an impassable wall.

I clenched my fists, my frustration mounting at her persistence. Eleanor appeared in front of me, her expression calm yet resolute.

"At least allow me to speak before you leave," she said, making me sigh in resignation.

"Fine. But you won’t be able to say anything that will help me."

"Fine, but let me try," she insisted. I nodded reluctantly, and we both sat down to talk.

"When I was your age, I too struggled. I almost gave up because I thought there was no way I could achieve something as monumental as mastering an element," she began, her eyes distant as she recalled her past. "I was impatient and frustrated, just like you. But then, I realized that every great achievement starts with small steps. The process requires patience, dedication, and most importantly, belief in oneself."

Her words struck a chord with me, and I felt a glimmer of hope reignite within. "How did you keep going?" I asked softly.

“Atlas.” She spoke with a smile.

”He never gave up on me,” Eleanor continued, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “Every day, he would greet me with a smile, ready to impart new lessons. Months passed, and I still wasn’t making much progress… until one fateful day.”

“There was a deadly battle between us and another group, specifically one person. A boy chosen as the host for the dark element,” she said.

Your eyes widened as you listened intently.

“His name was Micah. He was a truly terrifying being—large, muscular, covered in scars, and bloodstains all over his clothes. He was ruthless.”

Eleanor paused, her expression darkening as she recalled the memory. “On that day, Atlas and Micah were locked in combat. Atlas was fighting to protect me, but he was struggling because the darkness had grown more powerful. I remember seeing Atlas get stabbed in the stomach with a sword, and I screamed in pure terror.”

“Did he die?” you asked, unable to hide your concern.

“No, but he couldn’t move due to the severe blood loss. Micah placed his hand over Atlas’ mouth, and I saw purple lines spreading all over both of their bodies.”

“Why? What did he do to Atlas?” you pressed, leaning forward.

“He was draining Atlas’ power, trying to extinguish the light… but I couldn’t just stand there and watch him die. I had to help. And suddenly, I felt an immense surge of power from within.”

**Eleanor’s Flashback**( A flashback within a flashback. Flashbackception)

“Master Atlas!” Eleanor screamed, her voice filled with desperation.

“Run, Eleanor! Save yourself!” Atlas shouted, struggling to free himself.

Overwhelmed by fear, Eleanor began to run, tears streaming down her face. But she stopped in her tracks when she heard Atlas scream in agony. Turning back, she saw him from afar.

“Atlas!” she yelled, sprinting back toward him.

Micah turned and shot a beam of dark energy at her, striking her in the back. She groaned in pain, her vision swimming with spots.

“Now, you will die… and I will take over the world,” Micah declared.

Atlas let out a bloodcurdling scream, and Eleanor, driven by sheer will, forced herself to stand. She focused intently on Micah, her breathing steadying. Ignoring the chaos around her, she raised her hands and brought them together. Slowly, flames began to surround her body, lifting her into the air.

Both Atlas and Micah stared in shock. Micah released Atlas, who collapsed, coughing up black residue and struggling to breathe.

“You never know when to give up, do you?” Micah sneered.

Eleanor remained silent, channeling her energy inward. “I will not allow you to hurt Master Atlas! If I have to sacrifice myself, I will!” she proclaimed, thrusting her hands forward.

A massive fireball shot toward Micah, hitting him squarely. She continued her fiery assault, each blast pushing him back. Seizing the moment, Atlas rose behind Micah and launched shards of light at him, eliciting a screech of pain. Working together seamlessly, Eleanor and Atlas overwhelmed Micah, who eventually realized he was no match for them. He fled the scene, leaving them alone.

Eleanor rushed to Atlas’ side, helping him to his feet.

“You did well, my child. I knew you could do it,” he said, his voice weak but filled with pride.

“Thank you for always believing in me… but enough of that. We need to get you help. Let’s go,” Eleanor replied, determined to save her mentor.

***End of her flashback***

Eleanor’s eyes met yours, a soft smile on her lips. “It was that day I realized the true extent of my power and the importance of never giving up. You have that same potential, Y/N. Remember, every great journey begins with a single step. Stay determined, and you will master the elements, one by one.” She started

“That moment was pivotal—I knew I was destined to become the next host for the light element. From then on, I trained harder and grew stronger. Within five years, I became the new host. But you, you have the potential to achieve this in even less time if you learn to clear your mind."

"Clear my mind?" you asked, intrigued.

Eleanor nodded and brought her hands together, forming a sphere of water between them. As she slowly separated her hands, the water expanded and swirled in various directions.

"Look at this water as a representation of your mind. Right now, it is agitated, frustrated, angry, and sad. You can't see through it clearly, can you?" she asked.

"Yeah. So?"

"Well, if you allow it to settle and calm down…” She said, causing the water to still, “Soon, you'll be able to see through it clearly," she explained.

"This is your mind. When you become angry or frustrated, you'll find it difficult to accomplish many things. But if you calm down, relax, and focus on your main goal, you'll see that it becomes much easier to achieve."

Eleanor placed a small pebble in your hand. "You haven't been able to move the pebble because you're too focused on your frustration at not being able to move it. If you forget about that frustration and instead focus solely on moving the pebble, you'll have a better chance of succeeding. So, let's try it one more time. This time, think about nothing but the pebble. Learn from your past mistakes and use that knowledge to help you now."

You sighed, taking a deep breath to calm yourself. Fixing your gaze on the pebble, you focused your mind entirely on it.

"Remember, do not worry about your surroundings, and do not let your anger or frustrations get to you. Put your mind at ease. Be determined to move the rock," Eleanor advised.

You relaxed, clearing your mind of all distractions. Slowly, you felt the pebble begin to shift, and you gasped in surprise. As you moved your head up, the pebble followed your movements, floating in the air.

"I did it!" you shouted, letting the pebble fall in excitement.

Eleanor smiled warmly. "I told you, once you calm your mind and have determination, it's much easier to do things you once thought impossible."

You couldn't believe it—you had finally done it. Suddenly, my smile turned into a frown as I looked up at her.

“Do you really think I can do it? Do you really think I am destined to be the holder of the light element?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," she replied confidently. "And I will be here to guide you every step of the way. But you have to promise me one thing: never give up on yourself."

I nodded, feeling a renewed sense of determination. "I promise."

**End of Your Flashback**

The memory of that moment filled you with renewed confidence. Now look at me. I’ve mastered five, almost six, of the seven elements. It’s something that has been unheard of… but not anymore. I am the new standard, the new example. I will prove those who doubted me wrong. My achievements aren’t just for me but for everyone who ever believed in me, and those who didn’t. They will all see what I am capable of.

Suddenly, my thoughts drifted to Ajax, and a frown crept onto my face. I wondered how he was doing these days, how he and Lumine were faring together. Despite everything, a part of me still longed to be with him, even after the awful things he said. Maybe it was because I missed him—the old him. The boy who brought joy with his smile, who lulled me to sleep with his warm voice, who made me feel like a princess. All of that was gone now… because of another girl. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I knew I had to move on.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes, trying to push the thoughts away. “Stop thinking about him, Y/N. It’s over,” I muttered to myself, hoping that speaking the words aloud would make them more real.

Barely a moment later, I heard a cry for help—a little girl’s voice piercing through the quiet. My eyes widened as I rushed outside to see what was happening. I followed the noise, my heart pounding in my chest, and saw a tiny girl… flying? She was hiding behind a boy who looked to be my height, if not a bit taller, with blond hair tied in a braid at the end. I’d never seen him before, but then again, I’d been gone for three long years, and much could have changed in that time.

Ahead of them were two figures. A girl with a red blindfold, brown hair tied in high pigtails, and wielding small hand blades stood poised for a fight. Beside her was a man with short blond hair, blue eyes, and a black mask. My eyes widened as more figures appeared behind them—at least fifteen in total. They looked menacing and ready for battle.

The boy with the little girl, who was still crying for help, held a sword and was trying to fend them off. He looked determined but outnumbered and overwhelmed.

Should I help him? It might make things easier for them… Eh, why not. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do, and it seemed like the right thing to do.

I quickly circled around the group, ensuring I stayed out of sight. Positioning myself behind the enemies, I raised my hands, ready to intervene.

-Aether’s POV-

Paimon and I were sprinting, a horde of people hot on our heels, intent on delivering us to their “leader” for some twisted reward. We found ourselves in an unfamiliar locale, a breathtaking vista of azure seas stretching out before us. It was a scene straight out of a vacation brochure, but there was no time to admire the view. I had to focus on evading our pursuers.

As Paimon’s cries for help echoed, I made a split-second decision to halt our flight. There was no way help could reach us in this remote spot. Turning to face our aggressors, I drew my sword, bracing myself for the confrontation.

Just as our adversaries closed in, a sudden gust of wind erupted, sending them sprawling in all directions. Shocked expressions mirrored my own confusion. Was it Venti’s doing? But no, there was no sign of him. A second onslaught, this time a combination of wind and fire, sent the attackers reeling.

“Are you doing that?” Paimon’s query hung in the air, but neither of us claimed responsibility for the elemental barrage.

Caught off guard, I found myself momentarily distracted, my attention diverted elsewhere. In that fleeting moment, a menacing figure charged toward me, sword raised high, poised for a deadly strike. But before his blade could find its mark, a verdant tendril burst forth from the earth, coiling around his leg with formidable strength, hoisting him into the air.

My gaze shifted ahead, drawn to the source of this unexpected intervention. Standing before me was a young woman, her presence commanding and her demeanor resolute. My eyes widened as she addressed our assailant, her words carrying an air of authority that brooked no defiance.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, her presence commanding attention. Was she friend or foe? Her actions seemed to be in our favor, but appearances could be deceiving.

"Who are you?" The man bellowed, his voice laced with both pain and defiance.

"That's none of your business," she retorted, her tone unwavering as she clenched her fist.

The man's laughter mingled with his anguish. "Is that all you can do, pretty girl? You’re just gonna use your green little plants to stop us? There’s no chance, bunny!" he taunted, but the girl remained unperturbed, a smirk playing at her lips.

"Oh, I can test the fires if you’d like," she countered, her hand igniting with a brilliant orange and red glow. With a swift motion, she slammed her palm onto the ground, unleashing a ring of fire that engulfed her and the man in a fiery barrier.

My eyes widened in astonishment at the display before me. "She has…two visions!?" Paimon gasped in disbelief.

"I don’t think she has just two…" I murmured, realization dawning upon me. Three elements wielded with finesse and power, yet only one young woman stood before us, a testament to her extraordinary abilities.

The man’s pleas dissolved into the charged atmosphere as the girl advanced, her presence commanding respect. “You insult me, I demonstrate my capabilities… and now you recoil in fear?” she remarked, her tone tinged with authority, causing the man to falter.

With a firm grip, she grasped his face, his whimper echoing in the stillness. “I will grant you clemency this time… but further transgressions will not be met with such leniency,” she warned, her words resonating with consequence as the man nodded solemnly. “Y-Yes, ma’am! We will depart! I give you my word!” he pledged, his fear palpable.

However, danger lurked in the shadows, as a sword dancer crept toward her, poised to strike. Without hesitation, I sprang into action, intercepting the blow meant for her.

“Thank you," she whispered softly, her gratitude conveyed with sincerity.

Before I could fully process her words, another assailant lunged towards me, but the girl swiftly intervened, conjuring a fiery sword to intercept the attack.

"I suppose you're all itching for a fight, aren't you?" she remarked coolly, her gaze steady as she addressed our adversaries.

"Very well... hey," she called out to me, her tone steady and determined. I met her gaze, observing the faint smile that graced her lips.

"Are you ready?" she inquired, her voice carrying a quiet resolve. I nodded in response.

"Always," I affirmed, my commitment unwavering.

With a soft hum of acknowledgment, she lifted her sword, swiftly disarming our assailant with a precise strike. Following her lead, I mirrored her actions, swiftly rendering another opponent weaponless.

Together, we fought with valor and unity, our movements synchronized as we defended ourselves against our adversaries.

As I glanced over at her, I witnessed her engaging four opponents with a grace and skill that left me in awe. With a swift and precise motion, she hurled her sword at one of them, piercing their stomach and incapacitating them instantly. Without missing a beat, she retrieved her weapon and swiftly dispatched another assailant with a forceful strike to the chest, eliciting a cry of pain.

Meanwhile, the remaining two assailants closed in on her before she could retrieve her sword, prompting her to unleash a torrent of flames from her hands. In a dazzling display of power and control, she summoned forth blazing infernos that engulfed her attackers, leaving them writhing in agony.

I stood transfixed, marveling at her prowess as she effortlessly held her own against multiple adversaries. However, my momentary distraction proved costly as I failed to notice the incoming threat before it was too late. With a sharp impact to my stomach, I felt a surge of pain and the warmth of blood seeping from the wound.

-Back with you-

Amidst the chaos of the skirmish, a groan of pain caught my attention, drawing my gaze towards the wounded boy lying on the ground, his stomach grievously injured and blood staining the earth beneath him. My heart clenched at the sight, a surge of urgency propelling me into action as I realized the severity of his condition. He needed help, and he needed it urgently.

But before I could reach him, I was accosted by four assailants, their grasp firm and unyielding as they sought to restrain me. Frustration boiled within me, mingling with a fierce determination to break free and aid the wounded boy. Ignoring their demands to cease, I pleaded for release, my voice echoing with urgency and desperation.

The boy’s pained expression spoke volumes, his silent plea for assistance driving home the gravity of the situation. With every passing moment, his life hung in the balance, his need for aid growing more dire by the second. In the midst of the tumult, I knew that I couldn’t stand idly by while he suffered.

“I said. Let. GO!” I yelled.

Suddenly, as if conjured by the urgency of the moment, a towering wave surged forth from the depths of the sea, its colossal presence commanding the attention of all who bore witness to its awe-inspiring might. In an instant, the assailants' grip on me faltered, their fear palpable as they realized the magnitude of the force arrayed against them.

Panicked cries filled the air, a chorus of voices clamoring for escape as the relentless tide bore down upon them with unrelenting ferocity. Frantic shouts echoed amidst the chaos, urging retreat and flight as the looming wave threatened to engulf everything in its path.

"We gotta get out of here!"

"Everyone flee! Flee!"

"Let's go! I don't wanna die like this!"

The urgency in their voices was unmistakable, their terror mirroring my own as we stood on the brink of disaster. In the tumult of the moment, there was no time for hesitation or second-guessing—only the instinctual drive for survival and escape.

Amidst the chaos and confusion, the wave crashed upon the shore with a deafening roar, its relentless force driving the assailants to scatter in a desperate bid for safety. With each passing moment, their cries grew fainter, swallowed up by the tumultuous roar of the sea as they fled the scene, leaving behind a trail of chaos and destruction in their wake.

Relief flooded through me as the tumultuous wave subsided, my attention immediately drawn to the boy writhing in pain on the ground. With each wince and gasp, his suffering became palpable, igniting a fierce determination within me to ensure his safety.

Without hesitation, I rushed to his side, my eyes softening with concern as I took in the extent of his injuries. "You're hurt! We have to get you somewhere safe," I insisted, my voice laced with urgency and determination.

"No, I-it's okay. I think... ngh... I can manage," he protested weakly, his words punctuated by the strain of his labored breaths. "Are you kidding me? You are losing way too much blood. Come on. Let me help you and tend to your wound," I countered firmly, wrapping his arm around me with gentle yet firm resolve.

"Paimon will help as well!" the little girl piped up, her voice infused with a sense of determination and solidarity.

With their support bolstering my resolve, I guided the injured boy toward safety, each step a testament to our shared determination to overcome adversity. "Come on, my place is right over there," I reassured him, leading the way with unwavering resolve and determination.

*****

I gently lowered him onto our dining table, wincing at the sound of his groans of pain. "Sorry!" I apologized, feeling a pang of guilt for his suffering.

Hurrying to gather the necessary supplies, I retrieved disinfectant, cloth, and bandages, my heart racing with urgency as I returned to his side. As I approached, I noticed his condition worsening, prompting a surge of determination to alleviate his pain.

"Okay, I'm just going to apply some pressure to stop the bleeding. This might hurt a bit, so grab onto my arm if you need to. Okay?" I explained, meeting his gaze with reassurance as he nodded in understanding. Gently, I placed my hand with the cloth onto his wound, his sharp intake of breath accompanied by a tight grip on my arm, the pressure of his hold sending a twinge of pain through me.

Persisting through his discomfort, I maintained the pressure until the bleeding finally ceased. With cautious precision, I dabbed disinfectant across the cut, his grip on my wrist tightening further, the strain threatening to overwhelm me.

"Ah... you're doing... really good! Just keep breathing. I'm almost done," I offered words of encouragement, my voice strained with effort as I worked to ease his suffering.

With the last few dabs of disinfectant, I sensed his tension beginning to ease. Carefully, I helped him sit up, preparing to wrap his wound with bandages, each movement infused with a sense of relief and gratitude for his resilience in the face of adversity.

"Okay, I'm gonna need you to sit up a bit for me, alright? I need to get this wrapped around you tightly," I instructed, receiving a nod of understanding from him.

"Could you help me a bit, Paimon?" I requested, and she quickly obliged, assisting in maneuvering him into a sitting position.

As I wrapped my arms around his chest and Paimon pushed his back, he groaned in pain, his discomfort weighing heavily on my conscience. "We're almost there. Keep breathing," I urged, offering whatever comfort I could.

After what felt like an eternity of careful wrapping, we finally got him situated against the wall. I began to work on securing the bandage around his waist, ensuring it was snug but not constricting. Gradually, his breathing steadied, and his grip on me loosened.

"Thank you," he breathed out, his gaze meeting mine. I offered a slightly awkward smile in return, nodding in acknowledgment. "No problem. I wouldn't want to just leave you out there," I replied, my voice tinged with sincerity.

Just as I was finishing up, I pulled the last strip of bandage a bit too tightly, eliciting a hiss of pain from him. "Sorry! I guess I did it a bit too tight. Here, let me loos-"

"No, it's okay. I need it to be that tight," he interjected, mustering a small, tired smile. Despite my inclination to adjust it, his reassurance quelled my concerns. "But I can-"

"Trust me, I'll be fine," he assured me, his words carrying a sense of resolve that I couldn't help but admireI looked up at him and nodded, slowly backing away from him.

I held my arm where he had grasped it, noticing it beginning to bruise. The boy observed it too and promptly got off the table.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-"

"No, no, no. It's fine, really. I've been through much worse than this. I'll manage," I reassured him with a chuckle. He took a step back, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Okay... just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said.

"I appreciate that," I replied warmly.

He continued to stare at you, something about your features reminding him of something. It's like he has seen you before…but he's not sure where? Maybe it's just in his head?

A few moments of awkward silence passed by... so you decided to break the ice.

"Uhm… so if you don't mind me asking… what's your name?" you asked the boy.

"Oh… I guess that is something you should know now… especially after helping me," he said, holding his hand out.

"I'm Aether. And you are?"

You took his hand and shook it.

"Y/n. Nice to meet you, Aether. I don't think I've seen you around anywhere before... but... for some reason… you look oddly familiar now that I think of it."

He smiled.

“That’s a nice name. And yeah, I just ‘arrived’ here about two years ago. I’ve been traveling all around the place to find my sister…” he said, his voice trailing off as if lost in memories.

“Ah…I see. And your sister, what is her name?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

“Her name is-“

“I’m back! Oh y/n, the nice men at the market gave me three brand new things of tea for free! Isn’t that-oh…whose this?” Eleanor burst into the room with her usual energy.

“Oh! Eleanor! This is…a friend of mine.”

“Friend? Y/n…don’t treat me as a fool. I know exactly who this boy is. It’s nice to see you again, Aether.” Eleanor greeted him warmly.

“It’s nice to see you again too, Lady Eleanor.” Aether smiled politely.

“What!? If you knew who he was, why’d you ask?” you inquired, curious about Eleanor's playful charade.

“Just something to do, I guess—Ah!” She cut herself off as she noticed the ring on your finger. Hurriedly, she came closer to inspect it.

“You did it! Without me watching you?! Y/n, you could have been seriously hurt!” Eleanor exclaimed, her initial joy turning to concern.

“Hey, I still did it! That’s all that matters! In fact, I accomplished even more,” you announced proudly.

“What?”

“Well, you see, Aether is only here because there were a bunch of people chasing him and Paimon over there,” you explained, gesturing to the little floating companion beside him.

“Haiii again!” Paimon chirped, earning a smile from Eleanor.

“So, I decided to help and fight with Aether! Needless to say, we kicked their butts!” you said with enthusiasm.

“No, it was more like you kicked their butts. I mean, especially with that huge wave you caused—” Aether interjected.

“Wave? You made a wave?” Eleanor asked, her excitement evident.

“Yeah. It was gigantic! Paimon thought it was bigger than a giant!” Paimon added.

Eleanor looked down at you, pleased. “Well, my dear. This is certainly wonderful news. It sounds like you are one step closer to your goal,” she said, patting your head.

“She also helped bandage me up. I have a lot to owe her,” Aether added, his gaze fixed on you. You smiled, thanking him.

“It’s fine. I’m just glad you both are safe. No need to repay me,” you reassured them.

“Well, I think it’s getting a little late, don’t you kiddos think so? Let’s all head to bed, shall we?” Eleanor suggested, prompting nods from all of you.

Taking Aether's hand, you carefully guided him to your room.

“I know we just met and all, but if Eleanor trusts and likes you, then I think it’s safe to say you are a good guy,” you said with a light laugh.

“So, here,” you continued, pointing at your bed. “You can sleep here tonight. You need a good night's rest, especially after today.”

“But…what about you? Where will you sleep?” Aether asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Oh, we have a pretty decent-sized couch out there. I’ll sleep there tonight—”

“No! You need your rest just as much as I do…maybe even more,” Aether insisted.

“No, Aether, it’s fine! You take my bed,” you insisted in return.

“No, I wouldn’t feel right if you had to go sleep on the couch. I’ll go sleep there—”

“Hold it!” you interrupted, grabbing his wrist.

"I know this might sound a bit unusual, but considering the circumstances, I do have a fairly large bed. How about we both just sleep on it tonight? We’re both adamant that the other should rest here, so why not? We’ll be far enough apart that it won’t even be noticeable," you suggested thoughtfully. Aether's cheeks flushed slightly at the proposition.

“Aether! You’re turning red! Are you feeling unwell? Now I’m certain you need to sleep here tonight—”

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s not that... I mean, I agree with your idea. It’s just two friends sharing a bed,” he stammered awkwardly, eliciting a chuckle from you.

“Let’s not make it any more awkward than it needs to be. Just relax and get comfortable. With a good night’s sleep, we'll be better prepared for whatever tomorrow brings,” you reassured him, easing under the covers.

“Yeah, exactly,” he responded, settling onto his side of the bed. You extinguished the lights, bidding each other goodnight.

“Thanks, y/n... and to you too,” he murmured gratefully, quickly succumbing to sleep, with you following suit not long after.

—With Childe—

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and soon months turned to years, yet Childe couldn't shake the haunting absence of your presence. It had been precisely 3 years, 10 months, and 27 days since you disappeared, and not a day went by without him feeling the weight of your absence. He was consumed by regret, tormented by memories of his own mistreatment towards you.

Each passing day without you felt like an eternity of remorse, as he replayed the moments he took your laughter and smile for granted. Your infectious joy lingered in his mind, a bittersweet reminder of what he had lost. He longed to turn back time, to undo the hurt he caused and hold you close once more.

“Something troubling you, Childe?” Pantalone's voice broke through his reverie, pulling him back to the present.

Childe's expression remained distant as he replied, "Just lost in thought."

Pantalone raised an eyebrow, a knowing look in his eyes. "Ah, it seems you're reminiscing about that girl again. What was her name…?"

Before Pantalone could finish his sentence, Childe interjected with a hint of urgency, "Y/n. Her name is y/n."

“Ah, y/n…such a beautiful name…and from what I’ve seen of her…very beautiful. I should’ve shot my shot when I heard you chose someone else over her~”

Childe’s jaw tensed as he resisted the urge to lash out at Pantalone’s taunts. His grip tightened around his weapon, the threat of violence simmering just beneath the surface.

“She would never go for someone as heartless as you,” Childe retorted, his voice strained with barely contained anger.

Pantalone’s laughter only fueled the fire within Childe, but he maintained his composure, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him.

“Me? Heartless? What about you? Surely if I had someone like y/n, I would never treat her how you treated her. Oh how cold and hurtful you were to her. I bet she ran far away from you and has found somebody else to be with~” Pantalone continued, making Childe clench his fists.

“Even I wouldn’t stoop that low.” Pantalone finished

Childe’s restraint snapped. With lightning speed, his sword whizzed past Pantalone’s head, a warning of the consequences if he continued his cruel taunts.

“Keep talking and I’ll cut your head off,” Childe threatened, his tone dripping with venom.

“My, you are getting impacted by this whole situation, aren’t you?”

Pantalone chuckled.

Before the tension could escalate further, another voice intervened, bringing a temporary reprieve from the heated confrontation.

“What’s going on here?” Another masculine voice asked.

“Ah, Dottore! Just in time,” Pantalone chimed in, eager to share the drama unfolding before them. “Childe here is feeling regret for his actions. You know, the one where he completely broke that poor girl, Y/n.”

Dottore’s laughter filled the room, a sinister sound that sent shivers down Childe’s spine. The mockery in his voice only deepened the wounds of Childe’s remorse, twisting the knife of guilt even further.

“You? You’re feeling remorse for something you caused? Hahaha!” He laughed maniacally.

“What about that Lumine girl? Weren’t you and her together-oh wait…” Dottore’s voice trailed off, his malicious grin widening as he relished in Childe’s discomfort.

“She betrayed you didn’t she? After all you did for her. After all you gave up for her? Especially the girl who has been by your side for years? You threw her away like she was plastic…just so you could get the all mighty traveler…”

Childe’s heart plummeted as Dottore’s words cut through him like a knife. The weight of his betrayal bore down on him, each accusation piercing deeper than the last. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, a painful reminder of his own shortcomings.

The memories flooded back, each one more agonizing than the last. He remembered the day he found out about Lumine’s betrayal, the shock and disbelief etched into his every fiber.

In a flashback, Childe recalled the moment vividly.

***Flashback***

He had been on his way back to their shared home, a bouquet of flowers in hand, when he heard the desperate cries for help. Intrigued, he followed the sound until he stumbled upon a scene that would forever haunt him.

There, lying on the ground, was a man in dire need of assistance. But what struck Childe to the core was the figure kneeling beside him—Lumine.

“Lumine?” Childe’s voice wavered with disbelief as he took in the sight before him. The man on the ground pleaded for aid, his eyes filled with fear and desperation.

“Please! Help me!” the man implored, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Lumine!? What the hell are you doing?” Childe’s voice cracked with desperation as he rushed to intervene, only to be met with a forceful kick that sent him sprawling to the ground. Pain seared through him as he looked up at her, his eyes wide with shock.

”Stay away. I need to-have to do this. It is the only way~” She spoke, walking towards him.

With each step she took, Lumine’s aura grew more menacing, her intentions shrouded in darkness. Childe’s heart clenched as he pleaded for answers, but his words fell on deaf ears.

”And I will not allow someone like you to get in my way.”

Childe's heart sank as Lumine's chilling words echoed in his ears, the finality of her betrayal piercing through him like a knife. He struggled to comprehend the darkness that had consumed the person he once thought he knew, his mind reeling with disbelief and anguish.

"Lumine… W-What are you talking about!? Why are you doing this!?" Childe's voice wavered with a mixture of desperation and confusion, his eyes pleading for answers. But Lumine's response was swift and cold, her actions speaking louder than words.

Before he could react, Childe was met with a brutal kick to the face, the force of the blow sending him sprawling to the ground once more. Pain radiated through him, but it paled in comparison to the agony of witnessing Lumine's descent into darkness.

As Lumine approached the injured man, she placed her hand over his mouth. A sense of dread washed over Childe. He watched in horror as dark purple lines began to snake across her hand, a sinister energy emanating from her touch. The man's agonized screams filled the air, sending shivers down Childe's spine.

Unable to stand by and watch any longer, Childe forced himself to his feet, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. With trembling hands, he reached for his sword, his gaze never leaving Lumine's twisted form.

“Shh. This will all be over soon.” She said.

“Lumine, stop!” Childe yelled, bringing his sword out. He threw it towards her hand, but she dodged it, glaring at him.

“You just never know when to stop, dO yOU?” She said as her voice became distorted.

Childe looked at her, terrified. What the hell was going on. Suddenly, a snap was heard from the man, and all went silent. Lumine sighed with satisfaction, lifting her hand from the poor man’s mouth, a trail of black smoke being left behind.

Childe stared at her as she got up, purple lines forming across her body.

“Sorry you had to find out this way, Childe.” She said

“What is this?! What did you do!?” Childe’s voice quivered with a mixture of fear and outrage, his sword hand shaking uncontrollably. But Lumine’s response was chillingly casual, her smirk sending a shiver down his spine.

“Relax. I only took his power and strength away so I could use it.” Lumine’s words sent a cold wave of realization crashing over Childe. He had been blind to her true intentions, deceived by the facade of the person she played out for him.

“Why? How?”

“Can’t you see, Childe?” Her voice echoed through the area, carrying an ominous weight. “This world is teeming with power, with those who claim dominion over others. The Archons, the Harbingers, those gifted with visions… They wield their strength without consequence, ruling over the masses with impunity.”

“And now,” she continued, “I am here to cleanse this world of its corruption. I will rise to claim my rightful place as its leader, to usher in a new era of justice”

Childe stared at her with concern. She walked up to him and lowered to his level.

“And I won’t let you get in my way.” She whispered in my ear.

She then touched his temples and knocked him out as her fingers pressed against his nerves.

-end of flashback-

“Honestly, you would be the one who falls for a traitor.” Dottore said

Childe glared at them, slamming his fist

“Shut up! Both of you!”

“Awe, is someone getting sensitive?” Another voice pitched in

Arlecchino appeared from the dark, with a smirk.

“Come now, let’s not make the child cry.” She teased.

Childe was beyond pissed at this point. He walked over to Pantalone, grabbed his sword and left, needing to get some steam released.

—

Childe’s training sessions became a battleground of conflicting emotions, his mind torn between honing his skills and grappling with the void left by your absence. With each swing of his sword and every surge of his elemental power, he found himself haunted by memories of you—your laughter, your warmth, the way your eyes lit up when you were together.

But these fleeting visions of you only served to deepen his despair, reminding him of the irreversible mistake he had made. The weight of his regret pressed down on him like a leaden cloak, suffocating him with the knowledge that he had driven away the one person who had always stood by his side.

As he sparred tirelessly, his movements grew erratic, his focus shattered by the specter of your absence. The image of you, tears glistening in your eyes, seared itself into his mind, a constant reminder of the pain he had inflicted upon you.

And then, as he collapsed to the ground, exhausted and defeated, the floodgates of his grief burst open. Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked, his sobs echoing in the empty training grounds as he surrendered to the overwhelming anguish of your loss.

In that moment of raw vulnerability, Childe realized the depth of his need for you. You being gone left a horrible wound on his heart that refused to go away. He longed to turn back the hands of time, to undo the choices that had driven you away, to reclaim the happiness he had foolishly cast aside.

When he came back from a mission, you’d always be the first to help aid him. You’d always cook him something to eat as well since it’s probably been a while since he ate.

When he was in need of comforting, especially after a hard mission, he would always come to you to hear your soft, yet kind hearted voice. It was soothing to him and made him relax every time he heard it. But most of all, he missed your touch. The way you would hug him, rub his arm, play with his hair, all of it.

Now all of that is gone…you are gone. The thought of you out there, alone and vulnerable, haunted him day and night. Was he too late to save you? Was there any hope of finding you alive? The questions tormented him, gnawing away at his sanity with each passing moment.

Childe’s mind raced with a thousand possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. Was someone hurting you? Were you suffering in silence, your cries for help going unheard? The thought of you in pain, or worse, dead, filled him with a sense of dread that threatened to consume him whole.

Childe refused to entertain the notion of your demise. The mere thought of such a tragic outcome was too much for him to bear. To accept that something terrible had befallen you would be the ultimate blow, shattering the fragile remnants of hope that still clung to his heart. The prospect of losing you, of never seeing your smile again or feeling your touch, was a nightmare he couldn’t bear to face.

He pulled out the picture you had in your room from out of his pocket. He looked at the neatly folded picture of you and him. You both were so little and full of joy…you two were like two peas in a pod. No one could separate you both.

But he, himself, did. He managed to do the unthinkable. He broke you two apart.

Tears fell down his face as he stared silently at the photo, clenching it in his hands as if he could go back to that time.

He let out a shaky sigh as he held it close to him.

“I’m so sorry, y/n…I’m so so sorry.” He whispered.

————

Part three up soon!

taglist:

@esthelily

@moloteco-real

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scoobydoodean · 3 months ago

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ELEANOR: The demon I could've handled, but when the angel stepped in, I - I told him, Bobby. They have enough to crack Purgatory wide open.

Cas pops in right after Elenor dies from the torture Crowley and Cas inflicted on her. Cas immediately shifts the blame onto Crowley even though Eleanor said he was the real terror.

CASTIEL: I'm sorry this had to happen. Crowley got carried away. BOBBY: Yeah, I bet it was all Crowley you son of a bitch!

Sam and Dean have to hold Bobby back. He and Eleanor had a romantic relationship in the past.

Dean again appeals to Cas's conscience (or rather, his lack of one):

DEAN: You don't even see it, do you? How totally off the rails you are!

This season, Dean has seen Cas torture a child. Cas has used Dean without permission as bait and for a spell. Cas knew Crowley was forcing Sam and Dean to work for him after a certain point and allowed it to continue until he couldn't anymore because they were going to kill each other. Cas killed Lenore simply because trying to convince her to just lay low for a while was too inconvenient. Last episode, Balthazar told Sam and Dean that Cas's plan relied on Cas being able to sustain the energy of all the souls he planned to consume, and there was a high likelihood he'd fail and blow up the world. Balathazar tells Cas this too, but Cas's only reponse is too demand Balthazar's loyalty without ever addressing his concern. He ignores it because it doesn't support his narrative of how this will all go—how Cas needs it to go. Cas has abandoned so many of his convictions at this point just to prove that he was right to go down this path to begin with. He just tortured someone to the point of death and he's about to do more.

CASTIEL: Enough! I don't care what you think.

And yet lying to them all season was explicitly because he did care what they thought. He knew they wouldn't like what he was up to. He knew Balthazar wouldn't like it either and lied to him too, and to Rachel and the other angels. All because he was ashamed.

CASTIEL: I've tried to make you understand. You won't listen.

This is code for "I told you how things would go and that there was no discussion to be had and you didn't fall in line". Now the threats:

CASTIEL: So let me make this simple. Please, go home and let me stop Raphael. I won't ask again. DEAN: Well, good, 'cause I think you already know the answer. CASTIEL: I wish it hadn't come to this.

No one is making him do this. What he's about to do is a choice he is making that no one is forcing him to make. Even if he wanted Sam and Dean out of his way, he could have done any number of things other than this. In fact, he could have done other things that were arguably much more effective. He only needed to delay them for 24 hours. He could have flown them to the other side of the world and left them there. He could have locked them in a prison. He could have knocked them unconscious. He could have even made them forget, which would have also been cruel, but it would have been more effective. But the path he chooses is breaking Sam's mind.

CASTIEL: Well rest assured, when this is all over, I will save Sam, but only if you stand down.

Whereas in the previous episode, we can reasonably argue that Cas's words come out wrong and he doesn't actually mean to imply that he'll save Lisa only if Dean does as Cas tells him to do, in this case... we can't argue that. He is explicitly telling Dean that he's going to destroy Sam's mind, and that Sam's mind will remain broken even after all of this is over if Dean doesn't do as he's told.

Cas is trying—not as effectively as he knows how, but rather as cruelly as he knows how—to bring Dean to heel. He chooses this action even though it's arguably less effective than other things he could do because he wants to not just control but also punish Dean for disloyalty and disobedience. Dean returned Sam's soul behind Cas's back after Cas told him not to in 6.10 with ulterior motives. Breaking Sam's mind in this specific way is another way of proving that Cas is right and that Dean should have listened to him. Cas makes the thing he was worried would happen—happen to punish Dean for not listening to him. It's honestly incredible that their relationship recovered, especially with all the personal experiences Dean has with angels specifically trying to force him to comply with their demands via force and threats.

#pk rewatches spn number ?#6.22 #and cas is my best friend #season 6 #ruthless cas #castiels motivations #castiels moral compass #projecting displaced aggression and scapegoating in spn

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delta-pavonis · 1 year ago

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Ficlet: O that I were a glove upon that hand

Dreamling || Human AU || Rated E || ~1100 words

(Because Tom doing Romeo at VogueWorld 2023 gave me some feelings and Ferdie is often in his Venice Preserv'd look in my head... although with longer hair.)

This has, perhaps, gone too far.

Let's back up.

Everyone in the department, most people on campus, and – because of a viral video of him going off at the director during a dress rehearsal of a Shakespeare in the Park performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream – a damned large swath of London all know of Dr. Robert Gadling's particular and peculiar hate of the Bard. It is what makes this whole thing incredibly frustrating.

Gifts. Hob has been getting gifts. Left for him in conspicuous places, each more finely crafted and expensive than the last. And each with a goddamned Shakespearean love sonnet on it.

If it wasn't for the nature of the gifts themselves Hob would be absolutely certain someone was taking the piss. (Jo, that would probably be Jo.)

But each gift is so bloody thoughtful; carefully chosen with an uncannily tuned awareness to Hob’s personal needs and tastes. This person either really cares for him or… well, he would think the person a possible stalker except that everything they have done relates to something that has happened in public, with full easy access for many people to make a judgment that Hob likes or needs something.

There have been six of them now. And aside from the fact that Hob’s living room wall now looks like all those movies where the authorities are frantically tracking a serial killer, complete with a map of London and lots of red sharpie, he is rather… flattered?

It has been a long time since… well. The anniversary of Eleanor's death will be rounding on eight years this winter.

Hob thinks he has worked out a pattern to when he gets the gifts, is like 80% confident he can guess when they have gotten placed in each location, from his university office, to the men’s dressing room at the White Horse Community Theater, to his usual table at the New Inn. Add to that his approximately 60% confidence in the reasoning behind the temporal spacing of the gifts, and he is ready to roll the dice.

He locks up his office a tick early, as usual on Thursdays, and makes all appearances to head home before going to that evening’s rehearsal. But as soon as he gets home he is donning a new hoodie no one has seen him wear before, slinking back out the garden door, over the hedge, and jogging to the theater. Hob closes himself into the darkness of the men’s dressing room a solid two hours before anyone is scheduled to be anywhere near the place.

And he waits.

Hob is good at waiting.

He is crouched where he will be behind the door when it opens, but this puts him immediately next to some of the accessories storage for costuming for this show. And oh, they have gotten in a new pair of leather gloves for him.

Just because he is good at waiting doesn’t mean that he never gets bored.

Hob slips on the new gloves and works his hands in them. These will be perfect to swordfight in, fantastic.

And then the door creaks open.

He freezes and watches, only the sliver of light coming from the hallway to help him. A masculine figure, slim, in a peacoat, walks silent as a hunting cat to the second chair from the far wall, just where Hob usually gets ready.

A hand runs softly across the back of the chair once before a small box is left on the tabletop. Then as quietly as they came in, the person turns to leave.

Just before they get to the open door Hob pounces.

There is a shout and a scuffle, the two men – for it is another man, of that Hob has no doubt – grappling as one tries to escape and the other hold on.

Which is how Hob ends up with his black leather-gloved hands wrapped around the pale swan neck of his longest friend.

They haven’t seen each other in… fuck, it feels like more than a hundred years. And they had not parted on good terms.

“Christ, Dream?” Hob pants out the nickname but does not let go.

Diamond-sharp blue eyes that could belong only to one person stare at him from beneath heavy lids. He parts his lips to speak, but at the same time Hob shifts the grip of his hands and any words Dream was going to say get lost in a breathtakingly thready moan.

Barely a heartbeat later they meet in the middle, Hob’s hands going to the back of Dream’s head and Dream’s arms going around his shoulders and their mouths fit together like goddamned puzzle pieces and Hob knew, he fucking knew, it would be like this.

They knock over no less than two chairs, collapse against a wall for a minute, then one of them pushes off and they are almost going ass over tea kettle onto the couch. A bit of quick footwork on Hob’s part and they are on the opposite side of the room.

By the time Hob has Dream sitting on the vanity they have gotten their shirts off and his bare back slams into the mirror’s surface, sliding and squeaking with the thin sheen of sweat. He gets his hands under Dream’s thighs, hikes him up to grind their clothed erections together, and once Dream has his legs wrapped around Hob’s hips he brings one hand to his mouth to pull off the gloves.

An unsteady hand grabs his wrist. “Leave them on.” Dream’s voice is even lower than Hob remembers it.

There is fumbling to get flies open and then Hob has his hand wrapped around both their cocks and is pumping. Dream’s fingers are now tugging on Hob’s hair, his body arching prettily as Hob gets his lips and tongue onto that beautiful neck.

Hob is about to be embarrassed by how quickly he is nearing completion when Dream pulls him into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as he shudders through his orgasm.

“Come with me, Hob,” is whispered against his lips and Hob is absolutely lost to it, shouting into Dream’s collarbone.

They are still panting, large heaving breaths, when Dream tugs Hob’s hand up from where it is wrapped around their spent pricks so that he can lick the leather clean. Hob watches that pink tongue dance between his fingers and his cock almost twitches in interest. He huffs a laugh and takes Dream’s chin in his grip, pulls their mouths back together so that he can speak against them.

“Hello, Stranger.”

#Dreamling #Pavonis writes

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freakbabyy · 3 months ago

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Deception Prologue

A/N: Hello friends! Here's a snippet of the book I'm writing! It'll be an Eris x Reader book. Heavily inspired by Mulan. Basically you make Eris question his sexuality. LMAO. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

-----

“Winifred Eleanor Ambrose!” Vidia had yelled, “You have five seconds to get inside this house or mother help me-”

“Cauldon, boil me.” I mumbled, strolling towards the house with vigor now, knowing an upset Vidia had meant trouble. Crossing the doorway I finally asked her the million copper question. “What’s happened?”

“You. You’re what’s happened!” She pulled a bag from the floor, slamming it and its contents onto the shabby counter which trembled at the force. “Do you want to tell me why you’re packing? Why you have Finn’s letter in your bag?”

“If you’re asking me, I gather you’ve already figured out why.” I jammed my belongings back into my rucksack, grabbing a few other things I needed from the counter; a couple rolls of fresh bread, and stuffed them into the rucksack as well.

“Whatever idiotic idea you have, it’s not going to work, so drop it.” Vidia sneered, looking back into the other room as mother stirred in her sleep, before dropping her voice. “You’ll get yourself killed, or worse, the entire family crucified as you watch.”

“I don’t have a choice, Vid. Either we do it your way and somehow figure out how to winnow to Finn, who's currently somewhere North right now, and get him back before morning, or we do it my way.”

“Your way,” She swiped at her eyes angrily, “Is idiotic. It’s a good idea for how to get yourself killed.”

“What choice do we have? I’m the only one who can do this.” Sighing, I dropped the rucksack to the floor, and ran my hands over my face. “I’m Finn’s identical twin, no one’ll know the difference. Tell the neighbors I went to join Finn, or you, on your search for a cure. You know it’s our best shot.”

“I know it’s the best option, but it doesn’t mean I have to like or approve of it. It’s my job as your big sister to look out for you, not the other way around.” She surged forward, wrapping her thin arms around me, burying her head in my shoulder.

“I’ll be okay.” I whispered a promise, as she pulled back, handing me my rucksack from near her feet.

“I’ll write to you.” She promised in return, as I took one last look around the run-down cottage, kissing my little sister's cheek on the way out, and closed the door behind me.

I didn’t let myself cry until I was on my horse, a tan mixed breed who we got at a discount at the market. She was the runt, and wasn’t looking too good until my mother had healed her, using her magic. My mother, Claribelle, was a healer known for her healing properties in animals. We had people travel from different courts with their animals, just so she could heal them. She enjoyed doing it, too, and didn't even charge anything. Though afterwards they usually sent a sort of gift, whether it be the healthiest milk from the cow she healed, a fresh blanket from thick wool of a sheep she had taken off of its deathbed, or sometimes, an offspring from said animals.

Acorn, my horse, was the first of many animals saved by my mother. My mother, who currently couldn’t sit up in bed. My mother, who became sick so quickly, and so fast, that no healer, nor her own magic, could figure out what was wrong. She had fevers at first, muscle aches, symptoms of the common cold; until she had started coughing blood. Now, she can barely move without our help.

There were seven of us, five of us had inherited my mothers healing ability, and two had inherited my fathers water-manipulation, ironically the two were my brothers. Vidia was the oldest, she’s been scouring the continent for tomes that may point to what could be ailing my mother. My twin brother Finnigan and I were born next; Finnigan was checking the solar courts, and I was supposed to be staying with my youngest sister, until the letter arrived. Dorian and Florian were the next twins born, Dorian was looking into Winter and Summer, and Florian was looking into the mortal realm in Prythian and Spring. Finally, my youngest sister, Iris, is tasked with staying with my mother, her being the strongest healer we have.

I was to help her, do odd jobs in town to get some coin, but that idea was squashed like a bug as a group of men arrived at our door. They were clad in full armor, and held a stack of letters who were addressed to young men around the court. We had known the conscript was coming, every year after the autumnal equinox the high lords soldiers come, bearing letters conscripting the young men into the royal army. We had expected it to come one day, but the timing was impeccable.

Finn had just left the week prior, and we had no way to contact him. Vidia had tried telling the soldiers just that, yet we were told to either produce Finnigan, or face the consequences of High Lord Beron. That was when I had come up with the plan. Take Finn’s place in the army, serve my time, and then return home to mother, fully healed once my siblings and I continue looking for a cure, not worrying about if Beron would show up to punish us, or worse, send one of his sons.

“Woah, girl! Easy, easy,” I slowed Acorn to a stop, and tied her up outside the inn with the other horses that were there. “I’ll see you in the morning, rest up Acorn.”

Stepping into the threshold of the cozy inn, I ignored the stale alcohol smell and strode up to the counter.

“Good evening, Ma’am.” She smiled as I greeted her, returning the greeting. I had to raise my voice over the crowd in order for me to hear me properly.

“Room for one? Or a hot meal?”

“Just a room please.” I pulled out my coin pouch, and paid her the thirty silver coins. The room hadn’t been as run down as I was expecting, nor did it reek of alcohol or vomit, which I welcomed gladly.

Another room was connected on the right wall, and with a quick study I had realized it was the bathroom. It held a round tub, a toilet, sink, and even a mirror. Most taverns didn’t have adjoining bathrooms, so this was a luxury. I took the extra second to look at myself in the mirror.

I looked the same as I always did. Freckles splattering my face in mismatch constellations, red hair a tad knotted from the horse ride, but otherwise cascading in its normal waves. My eyes, a dark almost black brown, reminiscent of chocolate truffles I had loved. Paper white skin, which came from my mothers side; winter court. Too bad none of us had gotten winter powers. My eyebrows, matching my hair, and just as bushy. I used to despise them, how thick they were; but I suppose it’ll help sell the man disguise now.

Speaking of the man disguise, I suppose I had to change a few things; starting with my hair. Sure, men had long hair, too, the high lord sporting it even, but Finn’s hair fell just below his ears. The same eyes, bushy eyebrows, paper skin, even the same nose as I. The differences between us started there; his hair shorter, his cheekbones higher than mine, and he had a long scar across his nose from when we were children.

Grasping ahold of my hair, I grabbed the flimsy dagger strapped to my waist, and stared at my reflection, debating how to do this. Should I cut it in layers? All at once? Do I cut it at all? Was this a stupid idea? Was this entire operation stupid? Would it end in disaster, my head on a pike?

“Fuck it,” I swore, swiping above my fist holding my ginger locks, opening my eyes once I felt the hair flitter down towards the sink. I repeated the process, yanking a piece of my hair forward, cutting above where my fingers held it, and checking to make sure it was symmetrical in the mirror. “Not bad for an amateur.”

Hair grew back, faster than a blink usually; it didn’t faze me. The next part, likely would. The scar. Starting just below his left eye, stretching across the bridge of our identical noses, and stopping just shy of the end of his right eyebrow.

“In,” I took a breath in, using some alcohol I found on the bedside table to douse the knife in the sink, hoping it did a good enough job of disinfecting. “Out,” I sighed.

“In,” I yanked off my glasses, not letting myself think too much. I angled the dagger, practicing the motion. One chance to get this right. “Out,”

“In,” I screwed my eyes shut, clenching my teeth together in anticipation before opening my eyes once more and solidifying my grip on the now sweaty handle. “Out!”

My knuckles were turning white from the grip I had on the handle, and my face stung even more than I had anticipated - bled more too. I didn’t let myself hesitate, knowing it wouldn’t scar that way if I did.

“You’re doing this to save Finn, you’re doing this to safe your family, you’re doing this to save your mother,” I repeated the mantra to myself as I cleaned the wound with a wet rag from the sink, using a bit of healing magic to make it stop bleeding, but not enough magic to make it disappear. “Good enough.” I murmured, turning swiftly and stalking towards the bed.

Sitting on the surprisingly soft bed, I dug through my bag looking for a set of night clothes. A simple tunic and loose pants would do for now. Both items of clothing were slightly baggy, useful for hiding my figure. Finn was thin, not very muscular, and rectangular compared to my wide hips and round breasts. In my bag was a roll of cloth from our cottage. A note fell from it.

Use to wrap around your breasts everyday when you wake. Do not sleep with it on. Wrap snugly and put your clothes on over. It’ll help. Good luck. I love you. -V

A stinging began in my eyes, and it wasn’t from the recent cut on my face. I put it back into my bag before climbing into bed, not knowing what the future held for me, or rather, for Finn.

#acotar #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x reader smut #eris vanserra #eris vandaddy #lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra x reader #eris x reader

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eliaah · 4 months ago

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Mean It.

fluff ! <3

Will he allow himself to feel again, or will the weight of his memories forever chain him to a love that’s no longer there?

It had been four years since the day she left him, but for Fuegoleon Vermillion, the pain still felt as raw as if it had happened yesterday. The echoes of Eleanore’s laughter, the warmth of her smile—these memories haunted him, lingering like shadows in every corner of the estate. She had been a strong, kind woman, and everything to him. Her absence had left a void that seemed impossible to fill.

He stood in their once-shared bedroom, the dim light of dawn creeping through the heavy curtains. Everything remained untouched, preserved as if time had stopped the moment Eleanore took her last breath. The scent of her favorite jasmine perfume still clung to the sheets, a cruel reminder of what he had lost. His fingers traced the delicate embroidery on the pillow where her head once rested. How could he ever forget? How could he ever let go?

The weight of his grief was a constant companion, an invisible chain that held him back from the life he once knew. He had become a ghost of the man he used to be—stoic and detached, yet still a gentleman bound by the remnants of a love that was no longer tangible. His duties as a captain, his responsibilities to the kingdom, were the only things that kept him moving, kept him breathing. But even those had begun to feel like a hollow routine.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway broke the silence, drawing Fuegoleon’s attention. A new servant had recently arrived at the estate—Y/n, assigned to help manage the household and attend to his needs. Though he had reluctantly agreed to her presence, he wasn’t sure anyone could truly understand or alleviate the deep-seated sorrow within him.

As you knocked softly on the door, Fuegoleon took a deep breath, bracing himself for the interaction. He wasn’t ready to let anyone into his world of pain, least of all a new servant who couldn’t possibly grasp the depths of his loss. But as the door creaked open, and her compassionate eyes met his, something flickered in his chest—a faint spark of something he hadn’t felt in years.

But Fuegoleon quickly extinguished it. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow himself to feel again. Not when every part of him was still bound to the memory of Eleanore, a love that had been taken from him too soon.

You stepped into the room, your eyes taking in the untouched space with a mix of curiosity and sympathy.

"Good morning, Captain Vermillion." you said softly, her voice gentle yet firm as she approached. "I hope I’m not intruding.”

Fuegoleon turned to face you, his expression a carefully maintained stoic mask. Once, his face had been full of light and warmth, but now it was a stark contrast, shadowed by the loss he had endured. "Not at all. Please, come in."

You moved cautiously, your eyes occasionally drifting to the items that seemed to hold a poignant history. "I’m here to assist with managing the household and any tasks you might need help with. If there’s anything specific you need or any adjustments you’d like to make, just let me know.”

Fuegoleon nodded, though his gaze remained distant, betraying little of the internal struggle he faced. "Thank you. I’ve been managing fine, but your presence is appreciated."

You hesitated for a moment before speaking again, concern evident. "If you don’t mind me asking, how are you adjusting to the changes around here?"

Fuegoleon’s eyes, though hardened by time, momentarily softened as he spoke. "My routines have been established for years. It’s just a matter of continuing as always."

Your eyes then met his, filled with gentle empathy. "I understand this must be challenging. If there’s anything I can do to help, even just in small ways, I’m here for you.”

Fuegoleon’s gaze flickered with a hint of gratitude. "Your kindness is noted, Y/n. Even the smallest gestures can sometimes make a difference."

You then offered a reassuring smile. "Sometimes, just having someone to talk to or a helping hand can bring some comfort. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do, whether it’s practical or simply being a listening ear."

Fuegoleon looked at you with a softened expression, a rare moment of vulnerability showing through his usual stoicism. "Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind."

As you began to organize the room, Fuegoleon watched you with a mixture of curiosity and reluctant hope. Your presence, though new, seemed to bring a subtle shift in the atmosphere. He wasn’t ready to fully embrace it, but he couldn’t deny the small comfort it provided.

Fuegoleon arrived home after another grueling day, the weight of exhaustion evident in his every step. The manor, usually a sanctuary of order and control, seemed oddly serene tonight. As he made his way through the hallways, he couldn’t help but notice how impeccably clean everything was. The place was immaculate, a stark contrast to the usual disarray.

When he entered the sitting room, Fuegoleon’s tired eyes fell upon a surprising sight, Y/n, the new servant, was asleep on the couch. You were curled up under a modest blanket, a picture of serene rest amidst the orderly surroundings. The soft light from the lamp cast a gentle glow on your face, highlighting your peaceful expression.

For a moment, Fuegoleon just stood there, taken aback by the scene. He had been expecting the quiet solitude of his usual evenings, not this unexpected comfort. The sight of you, asleep and seemingly at ease, struck a chord within him.

He approached quietly, not wanting to disturb you. The blanket you had wrapped around yourself looked cozy and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold, impersonal atmosphere he had been surrounded by all day. Fuegoleon’s gaze softened as he took in the sight of you—an ordinary moment of care that somehow made the weight of his responsibilities seem a little lighter.

Gently, he placed a blanket over you, ensuring you stayed warm. He hesitated for a moment, feeling a pang of gratitude for the quiet kindness you had shown, even in your rest. Fuegoleon took a final look before quietly turning to leave, a small but significant reminder of solace amidst his often overwhelming duties.

In the days following that unexpected evening, Fuegoleon found himself increasingly aware of your presence. Despite his initial resolve to keep his distance, he couldn’t help but notice the small ways you had begun to impact his life. Each morning, you went above and beyond, ensuring the manor was in perfect order and finding subtle ways to offer comfort.

The day had been long and taxing, leaving Fuegoleon feeling drained. As he entered the manor, he was greeted by the usual calm, the sense of order you had brought to the place evident in every corner.

He spotted you in the hallway, organizing some documents with meticulous care. Despite your focused demeanor, you looked up and offered a polite smile when you noticed him. Fuegoleon nodded in return, though his attention was drawn to a small detail that he hadn’t noticed before—your worn shoes.

Later that afternoon, as Fuegoleon made his way to his study, he took a brief detour to the manor’s storage room. He emerged carrying a pair of neatly wrapped, high-quality shoes. He approached you, who was now sorting through a stack of papers.

“Y/n,” he said, trying to sound casual, “I noticed your shoes were looking quite worn. I thought you might appreciate these.” He extended the package towards you.You looked up, a bit taken aback by the unexpected gesture. “Oh, you didn’t need to…”

Fuegoleon cut you off gently. “It’s no trouble. Just a small token of appreciation for your hard work.”

You accepted the package with a soft smile, touched by the thoughtfulness. As you unwrapped the shoes, you noticed how well-made they were—far nicer than what you had been wearing.

Later, Fuegoleon was passing by the kitchen and saw you getting a drink. He paused, noticing how you seemed to be winding down after a long day. He quickly picked up a thermos filled with a comforting herbal tea he had asked the kitchen staff to prepare earlier. He approached you and handed it over.

“You seemed to be working hard today,” he said simply. “Thought you might like something warm.”

You took the thermos with a grateful nod, your eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and appreciation. “Thank you, Captain.”

Fuegoleon nodded, feeling a slight warmth from your gratitude. He offered a brief smile before returning to his tasks, but a part of him lingered on the small interactions.

He felt a mixture of anxiety and uncertainty about the changes in his heart. The kindness he showed you was more than mere courtesy—it was genuine, and it was starting to challenge the walls he had carefully built around himself.

As he turned away, he couldn’t help but question his own motivations. Was it possible that he was opening himself up to something new? And if so, was he ready to confront what that might mean for him and for you?

Days turned into weeks, and Fuegoleon’s small acts of kindness had become a routine. Each day, he found new, subtle ways to show his appreciation for your hard work, though he began to do so almost without thinking.

One morning, as you arrived at the manor, you found a neatly wrapped bundle of fresh, homemade muffins waiting on your work desk.

Alongside them was a small note that simply read, “Y/n, here, thought you might like these.”

As you continued your tasks, Fuegoleon made sure to check in occasionally. Whether it was a warm drink on a particularly chilly afternoon or a freshly sharpened quill for your writing, his gestures became a regular part of your daily routine.Another day, you found a new set of organizing tools placed neatly on your desk.

Fuegoleon approached you, offering a familiar line, “Y/n, here, thought these might help with your tasks.”

On yet another occasion, after a long day, you discovered a cozy blanket draped over your chair in the sitting room, accompanied by a thermos of your favorite tea. Fuegoleon stopped by with his customary line, “Y/n, here, thought you might enjoy this.”

Despite the repeated nature of his gestures, each act was genuinely thoughtful and considerate. Fuegoleon had become so accustomed to these small acts that they seemed to flow naturally into his routine. Yet, as each day passed, he found himself pondering the growing significance of these actions. The line he repeated with each gesture had started to feel like more than just a phrase; it was a reflection of his evolving feelings and the quiet comfort you brought into his life.

Fuegoleon’s small acts of kindness had become an integral part of your days, though he often wondered about the deeper implications of his own behavior. The routine had become so automatic that it sometimes felt like a part of his own daily rhythm, making him question whether he was simply maintaining a habit or if there was something more meaningful unfolding between you.

That night, Fuegoleon lay in bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of a single bedside lamp. The day’s fatigue had settled into his bones, but his mind was restless, turning over the events of the past few weeks.

He stared up at the ceiling, his thoughts swirling around the routine acts of kindness he had become accustomed to. The muffins, the organizing tools, the warm drinks—all seemed like small, friendly gestures, but they had become more frequent and instinctive. Fuegoleon couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was at play.

He thought about you, Y/n—your smile, the way you accepted his gestures with quiet appreciation. He replayed moments in his mind, the surprise in your eyes when you found the muffins, the genuine gratitude when he brought you tea. Each memory stirred something within him, and he felt his heartbeat quicken, an unfamiliar flutter in his chest.

Fuegoleon turned onto his side, trying to dismiss the rising unease. “This is just mutual.” he told himself. “Just friendly acts.” Yet, despite his attempts to rationalize, a nagging thought persisted. His actions and thoughts were no longer just about courtesy, they had begun to affect him more profoundly than he had anticipated.

The weight of his past began to press heavily on him, and he was overwhelmed by a wave of certainty. “I would never love anyone again except Eleanore.” he thought resolutely. The memory of her, strong and kind, was a constant presence in his heart. The walls he had built around himself felt impenetrable, meant to guard him from anything that could rival what he had lost.

Fuegoleon closed his eyes, struggling with the conflict within. He was torn between the growing affection he felt and the conviction that no one could ever take Eleanore’s place. He laid there, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the warmth he felt when he thought of you, trying to reconcile his feelings with the promises he had made to himself.

As sleep began to overtake him, Fuegoleon’s last thoughts were a mix of confusion and resolve. He was convinced that his growing feelings were merely a consequence of the routine he had established. The idea of loving someone again seemed both impossible and undesirable, overshadowed by the memory of Eleanore.

The next day came and Fuegoleon returned home at midnight was marked by an unusual quietness, the manor draped in darkness except for a faint light coming from the kitchen. His senses were on high alert as he noticed the odd noises—clinking sounds and muted thuds.

Drawing his grimoire instinctively, Fuegoleon moved cautiously toward the source of the disturbance. He opened the kitchen door, flipping on the light switch with a swift motion. The sudden brightness revealed a scene that was both surprising and slightly chaotic.

There you were, stumbling around the kitchen with a bottle in hand. Your movements were unsteady, and you seemed disoriented. The counter was cluttered with a few overturned glasses and a spilled bottle of tequila.Fuegoleon’s eyes widened as he took in the scene. “Y/n?” he said, his voice filled with concern and confusion. “What’s going on?”

You turned to him with a dazed expression, your eyes struggling to focus. “Captain? Oh, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, swaying slightly. “But, what is tequila?”

Fuegoleon’s initial shock faded into a mixture of concern and amusement. He moved quickly to steady you, gently taking the bottle from your hand.

“It seems you’ve had quite a bit too much,” he said, guiding you to a nearby chair. “Tequila is a strong alcoholic drink. It’s not something you should consume without knowing its effects.”

You sat down with a sigh, trying to make sense of the situation. “I didn’t know... I thought it was just something sweet.” you slurred, still trying to piece together the evening.

Fuegoleon’s gaze softened as he observed your state. He grabbed a glass of water and a small plate of snacks from the counter, placing them in front of you. “Drink this and eat something.” he instructed gently. “It’ll help with the effects of the alcohol.”

As you began to drink and nibble on the snacks, Fuegoleon stayed close, ensuring you were okay. The sight of you, vulnerable and somewhat embarrassed, softened his usual stoic demeanor.

He couldn’t help but feel a pang of empathy for you. Despite his own struggles and reservations, seeing you in this state made him realize how important it was to offer care and support.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Fuegoleon said softly after a while, helping you up. “You should rest.”

As he guided you out of the kitchen, he felt a sense of responsibility and protectiveness he hadn’t fully acknowledged before. The earlier internal conflict about his feelings seemed to shift into a more immediate concern for your well-being. Fuegoleon knew he needed to navigate this situation with care, balancing his own emotions with the practical need to ensure you were safe and comfortable.

Fuegoleon guided you carefully up the stairs, your steps uneven as you clung to the railing for support. The quiet of the manor seemed more pronounced in the stillness of the night, broken only by your unsteady footsteps and occasional mutterings.

As you reached the landing, you looked up at Fuegoleon with a hazy, apologetic expression. “I’m sorry.” you slurred, your voice tinged with worry. “Are you mad?”

Fuegoleon paused, his tone soft and reassuring. “No, I’m not mad. It’s alright. You just need to rest.” You blinked at him, clearly struggling to process his words. “But, I don’t believe you.” you said, the slur in your speech making your words less coherent. “Are you sure you’re not mad? I’m sorry…”

Fuegoleon felt a pang of sadness at your repeated concern. He stopped and looked at you, his expression a mix of empathy and mild frustration. “I’m really not mad,” he said more firmly, but gently. “It’s okay. You’ve had a bit too much to drink, that’s all.”

But you seemed unconvinced, your gaze wavering as you clung to the railing. “I don’t believe you.” you repeated, your voice wavering with a mix of fear and insecurity. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Fuegoleon sighed softly, his concern deepening. He reached out and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch steady and warm. “Y/n,” he said, his voice calm and earnest, “I promise, I’m not mad. You’re safe. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of anger. Seeing none, your expression slowly softened, though you still seemed a bit uncertain. Fuegoleon’s gentle demeanor and sincere words eventually helped you start to relax.

Fuegoleon continued guiding you up the stairs, his hand steady on your back. As you reached the landing, your earlier question resurfaced with a hint of desperation.

“I’m sorry,” you slurred once more, looking up at him with a pleading gaze. “Are you mad?”

Fuegoleon’s patience was wearing thin, though his concern for you remained strong. He stopped and turned to face you, trying to maintain his composure. “I’m really not mad,” he said gently, but firmly. “It’s alright. You’re safe.”

The repetition of your concern was wearing on him, and he felt a surge of emotion. Without fully thinking, Fuegoleon’s gaze softened, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered for a brief moment, a tender gesture of comfort and assurance.

“You believe me now?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Fuegoleon carefully helped you lay down on your bed, ensuring you were comfortable and settled. You were already starting to drift into a more peaceful sleep, the effects of the tequila slowly fading. He adjusted the blanket over you and took one last look to make sure you were alright.

As he quietly left your room, he tried to process the evening’s events. The kiss on your forehead had been an impulsive gesture, born out of a moment of deep concern and affection. Fuegoleon walked down the hallway, his mind racing with the weight of what he had just done.

Stopping in the quiet of the hallway, he placed a hand on his forehead, feeling his face flush with heat. “How come I just did that?” he muttered to himself, his voice a mix of confusion and embarrassment. The kiss had been a tender, intimate act that he hadn’t anticipated, and it left him feeling unsettled.

Fuegoleon leaned against the wall, closing his eyes as he tried to calm his racing thoughts. The warmth of the kiss, the gentle reassurance—it all seemed to echo in his mind, leaving him with a growing realization of his feelings. His usual stoic demeanor was challenged by the sudden, emotional turbulence he felt.

The night’s events had blurred the lines between duty and personal emotion, and Fuegoleon found himself grappling with the new, unexpected feelings that had surfaced. As he composed himself and headed back to his study, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the kiss had changed something between you and him, and he was left questioning what it meant for both of your futures.

The next morning, Fuegoleon moved through the halls of the manor with his usual composure, but the events of the previous night weighed heavily on his mind. He was deep in thought when he spotted you approaching from the opposite direction, looking a bit groggy but otherwise cheerful.

“Good morning, Captain!” you greeted, your voice carrying a warm, friendly tone.

Fuegoleon nodded in response, a slight, somewhat distracted smile on his face. As you drew closer, you hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“Captain.” you said, pausing to catch his attention. “I don’t know if I’m right, but… did you kiss me on the forehead last night?”

Fuegoleon’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly masked his surprise with a neutral expression. He forced a calm demeanor as he responded. “I don’t recall doing that.” he said smoothly, trying to sound casual. “Perhaps you were dreaming or mistaken.”

You looked at him with a hint of confusion, still unable to fully piece together the fragmented memories of the previous night. “Oh.” you said, though you still seemed uncertain. “I must have been mistaken. I remember feeling something, but it’s all a bit fuzzy.”

Fuegoleon offered a reassuring smile, hoping to ease your doubts. “It’s alright. You were a bit disoriented last night, so it’s understandable that things might be unclear.”

You nodded, accepting his explanation, though you couldn’t shake a lingering sense of curiosity and unease. “Thank you, Captain. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t imagining things.”

Fuegoleon watched you walk away, his own mind racing with a mix of relief and frustration. The lie had come easily, but it left him with an unsettling feeling. He knew he had to navigate his feelings carefully, but lying about the kiss only deepened his internal conflict.

As he continued his day, Fuegoleon couldn’t help but reflect on the moment of intimacy and his decision to deny it. The kiss had been a genuine expression of care, but his reluctance to acknowledge it made him question how he could reconcile his actions with his own sense of duty and personal boundaries.

It was a calm Sunday morning when Fuegoleon approached you in the manor’s garden. The early light filtered through the trees, casting a gentle glow over the landscape. You were busy tending to some plants when he walked up, a casual yet purposeful look on his face.

“Good morning, Y/n,” Fuegoleon greeted, his tone warm and inviting. “I was wondering if you’d be interested in joining me for church this morning. Afterward, I thought we could have a picnic nearby.”

You looked up, surprised by the unexpected invitation. “Church and a picnic?” you asked, your brows raised in curiosity. “That’s quite a change from our usual routines. Why the sudden offer?”

Fuegoleon’s expression remained composed as he searched for a suitable explanation. “It’s just that... I’ve been reflecting on some things lately.” he said, trying to sound casual. “I thought it might be nice to start the day with some quiet reflection at church. And a picnic would be a pleasant way to enjoy the rest of the day and unwind. It’s a good opportunity to get some fresh air and take a break from our usual tasks.”

You nodded, still a bit puzzled but intrigued by the offer. “That sounds nice.” you said with a small smile. “I’d like to join you.”

Fuegoleon returned your smile, feeling a sense of relief that you accepted. “Great. I’ll meet you at the church in about an hour. We can head to the picnic spot afterward.”

As he walked away, he couldn’t help but feel a mix of nervousness and anticipation. The invitation was intended to be a gesture of kindness and an opportunity to spend time together outside of the usual context, but it also marked a shift in his own feelings and intentions.

Fuegoleon hoped that the day would offer both of you a chance to connect more deeply and perhaps provide him with some clarity about his evolving emotions.

After the serene visit to the church, Fuegoleon and you made your way to a beautiful park for the picnic. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the green expanse where you laid out a blanket and began to unpack the food.

You were quickly drawn to a group of pigeons pecking at crumbs nearby, and you found yourself engrossed in feeding them. Fuegoleon sat on the blanket, observing you with a soft smile, his gaze filled with affection as he watched you interact with the birds.

As you fed the pigeons, you noticed a group of people riding bicycles past the park. Your attention was captured by a bicycle stand nearby, and you couldn’t help but glance at it with interest.

Fuegoleon noticed your gaze and, sensing your curiosity, approached with a friendly offer. “I see you’re interested in those bicycles. Would you like to give it a try?”

You looked at him, a bit hesitant. “Oh, it’s kind of you to offer, but I don’t really have time for that today. Plus, I’m not sure if I should…”

Fuegoleon smiled and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on me. You don’t have to concern yourself with your salary or anything like that. Just enjoy the moment.”

You hesitated for a moment longer, but Fuegoleon’s insistence and kind demeanor made it hard to refuse. “Are you sure?” you asked, your tone a mix of surprise and appreciation.

Fuegoleon nodded reassuringly. “Absolutely. It’s a small thing, but I thought it would be a nice way to make the day more enjoyable.”

Seeing the genuine interest in his offer and the thoughtfulness behind it, you finally agreed. “Alright then, let’s do it.”

Fuegoleon’s smile widened as he led you to the bicycle stand, his hand lightly guiding you. As you picked out a bicycle and started to ride, Fuegoleon watched with a mixture of satisfaction and affection. The sight of you enjoying yourself and the carefree joy on your face added a new layer to the day’s experience.

As you both rode around the park, laughing and chatting, Fuegoleon felt a growing sense of contentment. The simple pleasure of spending time together and seeing you happy made the day feel special and memorable, reinforcing the connection he was beginning to cherish more deeply.

As you rode the bicycle in front of Fuegoleon, the breeze tousled your hair and the sound of your joyful laughter filled the air. You pedaled with enthusiasm, your face lit up with a carefree happiness that was contagious. Fuegoleon followed behind on his own bicycle, his gaze fixed on you as he observed your exuberance.

Your laughter and the sheer delight of the experience—riding a bike for the first time, taking in the beauty of the park, and enjoying the day’s activities—struck a chord with Fuegoleon. He realized this was likely your first time experiencing such moments of joy and freedom, from seeing a grand church to participating in a simple, yet special picnic.

Fuegoleon’s heart softened as he took in the scene. The sight of you, so happy and unburdened, made him reflect on the present and the possibilities of the future. He found himself smiling, a genuine, heartfelt smile that had become increasingly rare since Eleanore’s passing.

As he watched you enjoy the ride, Fuegoleon’s thoughts drifted to Eleanore. He wondered if it was okay to feel this way, to care for someone new, and to find happiness again. The question lingered in his mind as he pedaled slowly, keeping a watchful yet affectionate eye on you.

“Can i, Eleanore?” Fuegoleon thought, his internal struggle evident. “Can i finally open my heart once again for someone else?”

The question was both poignant and hopeful, reflecting his deep-seated conflict between holding onto the past and embracing the potential of a new future. Fuegoleon knew that while Eleanore would always hold a special place in his heart, the connection he was developing with you was something he needed to explore and understand.

As you both continued to ride through the park, Fuegoleon allowed himself to savor the moment and the feelings it evoked. It was a small step toward healing, a tentative embrace of the possibility of moving forward, and the beginning of something that could be meaningful and profound.

As the bicycle ride came to a gentle end, you dismounted with a beaming smile, your happiness evident in every part of you. Fuegoleon watched you, his heart full as he took in your joy.

“Thank you for everything, Captain.” you said warmly. “I feel so special.”

Fuegoleon’s eyes softened, a tender smile playing on his lips. “You are special,” he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. He hesitated for a moment, then continued, his tone growing more earnest.

“Spending this day with you has made me realize something important. Your presence, your laughter, the way you bring light into the simplest moments—it’s been a revelation to me. I’ve been holding onto the past, but being with you has shown me how precious the present can be.”

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I’ve grown to care about you deeply, Y/n. More than I ever expected. And as much as I cherish our time together, I find myself wanting something more. I want to know if you might feel the same way. If you’re open to exploring what we could be together… beyond just today.”

Fuegoleon’s heart raced as he spoke, his gaze steady and full of hope. He looked at you with a mixture of vulnerability and affection, waiting for your response.

You looked at him, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and emotion. The sincerity in his voice and the warmth of his words made your heart flutter. You felt a deep sense of joy and anticipation.

“I… I didn’t expect this.” you said softly, your voice filled with emotion. “But hearing you say that, and knowing how you truly feel, it means so much to me. I’ve enjoyed every moment we’ve spent together, and I’d love to see where this could go.”

Fuegoleon’s face lit up with relief and happiness, his smile broadening as he reached out to gently take your hand. “Really? You’re willing to explore this with me?”

You nodded, your eyes sparkling. “Yes, Captain. I’d like that very much.”

Fuegoleon’s heart swelled with joy as he took a step closer to you. Without thinking, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The kiss was gentle yet filled with all the emotion he had been holding back. When he pulled away, his expression was filled with a mix of affection and hope.

“Thank you, Y/n,” he said softly, his voice brimming with sincerity. “I’m excited to see where this journey takes us.”

You felt a rush of warmth from the kiss, a sweet confirmation of his feelings. As you looked into his eyes, the connection between you felt even stronger, filled with the promise of new beginnings and shared dreams.

A/N: hello! idk if people are actually reading these because my fics are kinda really long.

this was originally a fluff, which turned into angst, the angst is not here yet because this story is so long, i'm sorry 😭

i'm not really good at writing fluffs so there will be another part coming after this. i just decided to cut it off here since it's getting pretty long.

like i said, this part was cut off so this is just the beginning of the story.

the next part will be uploaded a little early or very late, it depends on what time i'll wake up!

#black clover #fuegoleon vermillion #fuegoleon vermillion x reader #black clover x reader #black clover fanfiction #fluff

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