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another-fantasy-world · 2 months ago

Text

Divine Possession

→ gods!AgathaRio x mortal!fem!reader

word count ~ 5.8k

summary: In a world where gods still walk unseen among mortals, you, a devout follower of the Goddess of Death suddenly found yourself pulled into another God’s embrace. Sparked by their past memories and spiteful rivalry, the Goddess of Lost and Forbidden Magic retaliates in the most haunting ways. Their presence always surrounded you, subtle and obsessive, blurring the line between worship and possession. As memories resurface and divine tension ignites, you must choose whether to break free, or surrender to the dark, intoxicating love of the goddesses who have always claimed you as theirs.

authors note: writing this was a fever dream. i thought about this idea while breaking down and it has haunted me ever since. i think i thought too much ideas and just smooshed it down into the fic, i sincerely apologize for the shitty transitions and rough flow.

content warning(s): blasphemous writing, unhealthy dynamics, implied dubcon, implied mind control, implied death, loss of control, shitty writing, non-canon compliance, shitty characterization. i mean it. i feel like this is really shitty-

tags: @saphiccarma

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All your life, you were taught that gods were dangerous.

Don’t insult them.

Don’t anger them.

Don’t draw their attention.

You listened. Everyone did. Like many in your village, you chose one god to worship.

Just one. Always just one.

Because to love more than one was an invitation to disaster. For Gods are obsessive creatures and catastrophes may happen when Gods fight over mortals. The old stories warned of it; of jealous gods, obsessive gods, divine tempers igniting mortal wars.

That’s what the legends said, anyway.

And gods never fight over someone like you.

Or so you believed.

How naive you were.

Well, it wasn’t as if the Goddess of Death would ever fight for someone like you.

You didn’t worship her for protection. You didn’t beg her to save you.

You worshipped her for the after.

While others feared death, or chased it with fanatical devotion, you offered something simpler. Gentler.

You never sacrificed bodies.

You offered silence.

You tended her temple’s edges like a gardener in mourning: clearing blood from the altar, straightening the candles, watering the wildflowers that grew, trimming the overgrown vines where no priest dared look.

You believed, deep down, that even Death longed for peace.

That she didn’t want to be worshipped with more death.

That she, too, remembered, perhaps even yearned for life.

That's what you believe in.

You were humble. Careful.

As much as you longed to meet your goddess, you had no desire to meet her early.

So you wandered. Never staying in one place too long.

But no matter how far you strayed, you always seemed to find her again, another temple, another altar, another quiet place to kneel and light a candle no one else would touch.

Your feet wandered, but your heart never did.

But on one such journey, something changed.

You found her shrine, old, forgotten, weather-worn and crumbling beneath ivy and time. It stood in the clearing of a forest no one remembered the name of. The villagers had whispered of strange things happening in those woods, of voices that didn’t echo, of shadows that lingered too long.

It wasn’t marked. No sigils, no name. Just a stone figure inside the crumbling walls, half-swallowed by moss and time, arms outstretched like she was still waiting.

You should’ve turned away. You shouldn’t have stopped. But something about the silence pulled you in. It was too still. Too patient. It wasn’t hollow, it was… watching.

She was watching.

Whoever she was, she'd been waiting a long, long time.

You told yourself it was just pity. That’s why you cleaned the dust from the old altar, picked up the shards of shattered offerings. Why you brushed the dust from her face, cleared the leaves, righted a toppled candle holder, lit a flame that burned violet for a second too long, flickered too slowly to be natural. You didn’t know her name. Only that something once lived here.

And apparently, something still did.

Things started to feel… wrong.

Not dangerous. Not yet. But wrong.

People started looking at you too quickly, then looking away faster, like they’d seen something they weren’t supposed to.

When you prayed at Lady Rio’s temple, the air around you felt charged, like the calm before a monsoon. A weight behind your spine, the prickle of static in the air, like the storm had grown curious.

There was always a weight behind you. A hush. The kind of silence that hums.

And when you were alone, you felt it.

Something stepping into your shadow.

A breath that wasn’t yours.

When you turned, there was nothing.

But then the glimpses started.

A woman with a face like twilight and eyes like secrets. Sometimes in the corner of your vision. Sometimes in your dreams. Always watching. She never speaks. Not at first. But you see her. She makes her presence known; bold and unapologetic.

Unseen, high above in the rafters of Rio’s temple, something ancient flickered into being; robes of storm clouds and nightfall, hair unbound and free, eyes like the space between stars.

“She’s mine, you know,” came a voice like laughter wrapped in silk, low and decadent

Rio lay sprawled across her obsidian throne, like a feline lying in wait, cheek resting in her palm as she smiled.

“She was never yours, darling. She just pitied you.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “And yet I’m the one she lit a candle for.”

“Because you looked pathetic,” Rio purred.

“Dusty little thing rotting in a graveyard shrine. Honestly, I should thank her for dragging you back into existence.” Rio continued, laying back with a wide smirk, further provoking the other Goddess.

The walls trembled softly.

“Careful, Death. You might bore her to death before I can properly haunt her.”

“She already sees me.”

“She feels me.”

“She worshiped me first, you're clinging to her like a leech.”

Their standoff rippled like storm clouds colliding, but down below, you only shivered and pulled your cloak tighter. You looked up to the sky to see if it's going to rain, but instead you felt a shiver down your spine.

The sky felt wrong, you swear you saw flashes of violet and green yet when you blinked it was gone. You sighed tiredly, perhaps the journey was tiring you out.

No. Something was definitely so wrong.

At first, it was only sensations.

The smell of something burning when there is no fire was lit around you. The sound of a lullaby you didn’t know the words to curling at the edges of your dreams. You’d wake with ash on your fingertips, petals in your hair. One morning, you found a bloom tucked behind your ear; black as ink, soft as moth wings. You knew you hadn’t put it there.

Then came the whispers.

Not words. Just sound, like breath over your shoulder, like thunder murmuring too far away to fear. Sometimes it felt like laughter. Sometimes like someone was calling your name… but something swallowed it before it finished.

You tried to ignore it.

You tried to focus on your rites, tried to pray as you always had. But Rio’s temple grew colder. Her altars no longer bloomed for you like they used to. In fact, some gardens had mysterious flowers growing. Lavender, Clematis, Verbena and Aster. All violet flowers started peeking through. The candles flickered toward violet before settling into white. The shadows around her statues deepened. You knelt before her, heart bowed in devotion, and still felt like you were being watched by someone else entirely. You felt like something was pulling at your soul.

You didn’t know that far above, curled lazily on her throne of bone and obsidian, Rio watched with narrowed eyes.

“She’s pulling your prayers away from me,” she said aloud, though no one else could hear her.

Agatha materialized out of shadow, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeves. “You should’ve cleaned up better. You left her room to wonder.”

“She chose me.”

Agatha smirked, circling the throne like a storm ready to strike. “Oh, my love. Mortals are fickle beings. She’s curious. And I’m so very good at being interesting.”

“And when she burns under your touch? When you unravel her like you do everything you love?”

“She won’t fear me.”

“She should.”

Back in the waking world, you felt like you were living between two dreams. Between lightning and silence. You no longer knew who the offerings belonged to, flowers would wither at Rio's altar only for you to dream about flowers blooming in the forgotten altar you once cleaned. You’d close your eyes in a prayer to Rio and see violet flame behind your eyelids.

You felt as if someone was stealing your reverence and claiming it as theirs.

You started talking aloud. Not because you expected a reply, but because it made you feel less watched.

Sometimes, the shadows did respond.

One night, as you sat by your campfire, you whispered thanks to whatever unseen force had guided you through the storm earlier that day.

The wind shifted. The flames danced violet for just a moment.

“You’re welcome,” something whispered, something too close.

You didn’t sleep that night. In fact, you barely did.

And when you did sleep, you woke up in strange positions.

Once with your arms outstretched in prayer, though you didn’t remember kneeling. Another time with your back arched in a way that left you sore for days, like something had tried to puppeteer your body mid-dream.

You no longer dreamed of silence. Now, you dreamt of fire and cold, of stone temples cracking under violet lightning, of footsteps echoing in twin rhythms behind you. You spoke in your sleep. You murmured names you didn’t know.

You started hearing them when you were awake.

Not clearly. Not completely. But when you entered Rio’s temple , the air bent with sound. Voices like thunder underwater. Rio’s presence came with a teasing chill, curling around your shoulders like a lover’s shawl. The other god’s came like pressure behind your ribs, heat crawling down your spine.

One day, while lighting Rio’s candles, you felt something trace your jaw.

You dropped the match and whipped your head around, yet you saw nothing but shadows.

You looked down and noticed something that made you swallow with nervousness.

The flame didn’t go out.

Another time, as you walked past a mirror in an inn, your reflection paused a second longer than you did. The face behind yours, just for a flicker, wasn’t your own.

You stumbled back. Blinked. It was gone.

But the feeling remained: you were not alone. You were being watched, touched, wanted.

You then forced yourself to believe this. This feeling isn't normal. You don't chalk it up to coincidences anymore. You don't gaslight yourself anymore.

You needed answers, so you sought answers in the way mortals do when gods refuse to speak plainly: books.

You found yourself in the back halls of a hidden library, one that shouldn’t have been open that late, nestled deep in a town whose name already slipped your mind. Dust clung to your sleeves, cobwebs stretched like veins between the shelves. The candlelight you held flickered with every breath you took.

And then… a sound.

A thud behind you.

You turned. A book.

It had not been there a moment before.

There was no title. No author. No markings on its worn leather cover. Just a pulsing warmth, like something inside it still breathed.

Your fingers hesitated above the binding, but you opened it anyway.

The script inside was… wrong. Angular and fluid at once. Symbols that shifted when you weren’t looking directly at them. But as your eyes moved over the text, comprehension unfurled in your mind like a forgotten melody.

And the name burned itself into your thoughts.

Agatha.

It echoed like a bell through your ribs. A name that didn’t belong to Lady Rio. A name you had never heard, and yet it sank into your bones like it had always been waiting for you to speak it.

You snapped the book shut.

It disappeared the moment your hands left it, vanished into thin air like it had never existed.

But the knowledge remained.

Behind the veil of divinity, tensions rise just as they have been these past months.

“You're circling her like a starving dog,” Rio hissed, perched atop her throne of black marble and bone, one leg crossed with lazy elegance.

“She pities you. That’s all this is.”

Agatha’s smirk was slow, curling like smoke.

“And yet she whispered my name in her sleep.”

“She only learned your name because you haunt her dreams.”

Agatha took a step closer. The shadows around Rio’s throne twitched.

“She dreams of me because I left an impression. When was the last time she even offered you more than silence?”

“I don’t need her voice to know I own her heart…” Rio said, rising now, her presence flooding the space like velvet death. “...She belongs to me.”

“And yet she's slipping through your fingers,” Agatha growled, “And now she’s looking at me.”

“You just want to be worshiped. You want her to fill that hole where your relevance used to be.”

Agatha’s laugh was breathy and sharp, bitter with memory.

“At least I don’t keep her at arm’s length like a fragile doll on a shelf.”

“I keep her safe from monsters like you.” Rio spat back, sitting up on her throne, her posture akin to that of an agitated cat.

“You keep her lonely. You’re afraid she’ll love me more.”

“I know she will, if you twist her mind the way you twist everything else.”

Agatha was in her space now, toe to toe, violet magic humming at her fingertips.

Their magic crackled in the air, violet storms clashing with shadows laced in bone-white flame. Their lips were inches apart, their hatred wound so tightly it trembled with the promise of something else.

“Say it,” Agatha whispered.

“Say what?”

“That you can’t stand the way she looks at me.”

“I can’t stand that you make her tremble.”

“Then do something about it.”

And Rio did.

She shoved Agatha back against the wall of the realm with godly force, lips crashing against hers like a curse. Agatha clawed at her in return, sparks flying from her fingertips, bodies colliding in divine fury. Their mouths moved like war, like desperation, like worship and hatred had melted together.

Hands gripped hips. Teeth scraped skin. Magic flared, twisted, fused. They dragged each other to the ground, pulling and biting and gasping like two storms mating mid-air, thunder screaming in their blood.

It wasn’t love. Not yet.

It was too much history for love. Too much anger. Too many nights of yearning alone in different corners of the void.

But it was honest.

And when it ended, when they finally collapsed together on the floor of the realm, tangled in each other, breathless and shining with the aftermath, they didn’t speak. They just lay there.

Agatha’s fingers traced idle circles on Rio’s thigh. Rio’s cheek rested against Agatha’s bare shoulder, pretending not to enjoy the warmth.

It was… peaceful.

Until the veil trembled.

Their eyes snapped open.

They sat up together, slowly, as if hearing the same song carried on the wind.

A prayer.

Your voice.

Soft, trembling, but clear.

You spoke Agatha’s name aloud for the first time.

And then, Rio’s.

You offered them both a flame. You called both of them.

Agatha went still. Rio’s mouth parted slightly in disbelief.

“She knows me,” Agatha whispered.

“She chose me,” Rio murmured.

“No,” Agatha said, eyes wide with something terrified and divine, “she chose us.”

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved.

You, on the other hand, were breathless. Upon learning of the other God who haunted your dreams, You ran.

The sky above swirled in hues not yet born, clouds cracking with color that should not exist. You pushed forward anyway, until Rio’s temple towered before you, its spires piercing the night, its gates open with quiet welcome.

You stepped inside, breathless. The air inside was heavy, reverent.

You knelt at the altar like you always did.

You lit the candles like you always did.

But then, with a heart thundering like a traitor in your chest, you reached for a second candle.

Your hand hovered.

To speak the name of another god within a consecrated temple was blasphemy. You knew that. Every bone in your body screamed caution.

And yet… you whispered.

“Agatha.”

The flame sprang to life before you even touched the wick.

It burned deep violet.

You waited for the walls to tremble. For Rio’s wrath to crash down around you. But nothing came. Only silence.

Then… warmth.

From behind the veil, a rush of divine presence. Two forces, colliding in joy and disbelief. You felt it like sunlight breaking through a storm.

“Lady Agatha… Lady Rio…”

Your voice trembled, but you continued. You mumbled apologies, you mumbled thanks, you even cried yourself dry.

The moment you spoke, the air in the temple shifted. Every candle flared. The stones beneath your knees pulsed with energy. You felt their eyes, one heavy like storm clouds, the other cold and endless as the grave.

And for the moment, both were satisfied.

Time passed and the heat you felt around you as well as the shiver that settled in your bones disappeared, it was then replaced by a gentle warmth that seeped into your soul. As if comforting your very existence.

The stares you get when you enter the towns disappear. You fail to find more of Agatha's shrine. You fail to find more information, aside from her name. So you carry a small altar for her in your bag. You carved a small statue for her and Rio and brought them everywhere, setting them on the table in every inn or tavern to rest in, and when you needed to camp out, you set them up on a tree stump, or on the ground beside your makeshift bed.

You still felt their eyes on you, yet it made you feel safe. Animals began interacting with you, particularly bunnies. You began to wonder if Agatha is the Goddess of Bunnies, or animals.

When you thought of that, the trees waved with the sudden air, sending through it a sound like a boisterous laugh. Your eyes snapped to the makeshift altar for them both, witnessing first hand how Rio's candle danced as if she was laughing and how Agatha's candle flickered wildly, as if offended.

You quickly offer an apology before moving on.

The days had grown softer.

Not quieter, no, the presence of two goddesses at your back made silence a rare luxury, but softer. Warmer. You had become a thread sewn tightly between them. Every time you prayed, one answered. Sometimes both. And though you could not see them with your eyes, you felt them.

Rio in the shadows that cooled your skin as you walked beneath the sun.

Agatha in the sparks that danced at your fingertips when you lit candles that should’ve stayed cold.

You had been claimed.

You didn’t know what that truly meant yet, only that you woke up feeling watched but not alone. You felt cherished.

And today, the temple was quiet.

You wandered its halls with a broom in one hand and your thoughts in the other. The inner sanctum, where only the high priests were allowed, had recently been opened to you, though no one could say why, or even argue against it. They only stared when you passed, bowed a little too low, whispered your name like it was something sacred.

In that sanctum, you sighed in slight annoyance. You preferred it when you were a shadow. A cleaning shadow perhaps, but still. Just as you were wiping the walls, you noticed something behind a cracked panel of the wall.

It was at that moment wherein you found it.

A scroll, tucked between stones as if hidden in shame or desperation. Wrapped in velvet long faded, sealed with wax marked by an unfamiliar sigil; a triangle spiraled inwards, swallowing itself, absorbing, stealing.

Your fingers trembled as you unrolled it.

It was written in that same strange, shifting script you saw in the book that had revealed Agatha’s name to you. But this time, you understood it more clearly, like her power had taken root in your bones and begun translating the world for you.

"Agatha. Goddess of Forbidden Flame, of Magic Lost to Time.”

“She bore the stars in her blood and defied the divine order.”

“She who loved Death and was exiled for it."

You stopped breathing.

Your eyes flicked to the next line, burned, smudged, but still legible:

"When Death loved her back, the world trembled."

Behind you, the air cooled.

“Nosy little thing,” came a voice behind you; low, silken, lazy.

You turned slowly.

Agatha leaned against the stone doorframe, arms crossed, amusement dancing in her starlight eyes.

“Should’ve hidden it better,” you murmured, voice shaking just a little.

“She didn’t hide it,” Rio replied, stepping in from the other side like a shadow stitched to your thoughts. “I did.”

There was no anger in her voice. Only memory.

You looked between them. You should've fallen to your knees, yet you found yourself unable to

“You two were…” You hesitated.

“You were lovers.”

Agatha’s eyes flicked to Rio’s. Rio held her gaze, unreadable.

“We were more,” Agatha said finally, voice raw with something old.

“We were the beginning of the end. The natural order of things and the divine order of all things.”

“The gods didn’t like that,” Rio added, moving close to you, her hand brushing your arm, grounding you.

“They feared what might happen if Death and Ancient Magic stopped obeying the rules” Agatha said.

“So they pried us apart, took advantage of my weakness. they buried me. Erased me. And left her alone.”

You turned to her slowly. “But I found you.”

Agatha smiled, something fragile flickering behind her usual sharpness.

“You lit my shrine, you woke me up, breathed me a new life” she whispered.

“And you searched for me, remembered me.”

You stepped forward, between them, and for a moment,just a moment,they both looked at you like you were the bridge between what was and what could be.

You reached for their hands.

Agatha’s was warm, tingling with power like static in the air.

Rio’s was cold, steady, anchoring.

They twined their fingers around yours like they’d been waiting.

And in that quiet room filled with ancient secrets and the crackle of something forbidden, you felt the weight of their bond settle around you like a crown.

The three of you remained quiet, words cease to have importance in this moment where their hands clutch your own like their lifeline.

You stayed like that for a few moments until they felt faint, their existence fading into the night. No more words were said, only quiet understanding that you were theirs. And you wanted nothing more than that.

There wasn't a grand spectacle about it. Rio didn't send a prophecy to her high priests about treating you better, nor did she do anything to put you in the spotlight. You went on with your life, as normal as it can be with two goddesses watching your every move.

After that meeting you had with them, something shifted once again.

They began seeing you more. They began descending into the mortal plane just for you.

Something whispered in you that this isn't normal, but that thought vanished before you could fully acknowledge it.

One time, You had fallen ill somewhere between towns, curled up beneath a tree with a fever, too weak to light a fire. You remembered shivering, calling out softly, half in prayer, half in delirium. You didn’t even say a name. You just whispered, “Please.”

The next thing you knew, warmth enveloped you. Not heat from a fire, but something more subtle, like a hand pressed to your cheek, like someone tucking a blanket around your soul. You heard a voice humming low, too far away to make out, but the melody stayed with you when you woke.

There were two things beside you: a bowl of warm broth, still steaming and a single violet flower tucked beneath your head like a pillow.

The next day, you felt better. You travelled until you reached a village. It was a feast day in the village, and they left a plate at your door, set delicately, reverently. You hadn’t told them where you’d be, you haven't even settled down yet, but they’d found you anyway.

The food was familiar. Your favorites. Berries you hadn’t tasted since childhood, roasted roots the way your mother used to make, still steaming.

Tucked beneath the napkin: a note, written in two hands.

One sharp and slanted: “Eat. You forget to care for yourself.”

The other, more fluid: “We remember what you love, even when you do not.”

That night, two figures stood beneath the tree outside your window. They never should've come in. But you left the window open.

You were exhausted after the long walk, and you just collapsed on the bed, still a little sick. You didn’t think they’d follow, but they did. Who were they to resist the temptation you gave them after all?

“I’ll take the floor,” you said upon noticing their arrival, since the inn only had one bed, you refused to let your goddesses be uncomfortable with you.

Agatha’s scoff was soft.

“No, you won’t.”

Rio simply lifted the blankets.

“Lie in the middle, dove.”

You did.

One of them was fire, the other ice. But together, they wrapped around you like divinity, one arm draped over your waist, the other fingers brushing your collarbone, as though grounding themselves in your warmth.

You fell asleep like that.

And though neither slept, they remained there, watching, breathing, anchoring themselves to you like twin moons around a single sun.

The next morning, the plate was gone, and in its place, a single white lily bound in a ribbon scorched at the edge.

Moments like that kept happening. You would be cleaning Rio's temple and Agatha would appear beside you, dressed in what Rio's priests would wear, she kept you company until you had to leave. You would be in a random forest and Rio would pop out of nowhere dressing in a forest green robe, holding a bunch of flowers tied crudely with twine. You swore you saw a flicker of skeleton beneath her robe which made her smirk.

They would pop out of the shadows in the most unexpected moments, their eyes would never leave your form, and their hands never cease to lay claim on you.

Years pass with this dynamic of yours. Unusual, and divine. Yet you have gotten used to it. You even started cooking three meals in case they descend to eat with you. You started paying more for inns, getting a bigger bed for when they join you while you sleep.

What you have with the two Gods isn't conventional. Hell, if the priests knew, you'd be burned for blasphemy. Yet you're content. Just being with them. They're enough, and when there's just the three of you, you feel complete.

Until the peace was once again shattered unceremoniously.

It began with a whisper.

Not a sound, no, deeper than that. A tremor in your bones. A pulse that wasn’t your own.

You were in the garden of Rio’s temple, tending to violets that bloomed under moonlight, when the air changed. It wasn’t Rio. It wasn’t Agatha.

It was too smooth.

Too perfect.

Too new.

Your fingers stilled in the soil. Your breath hitched.

Then came the pressure, like someone brushing too close behind you. A voice, not in your ears, but in your blood:

"You don’t belong to them, little one."

You flinched.

"They will consume you. Break you. I can give you more."

"Worship me."

The seduction in the voice was oily, sweet. Like honey turned bitter.

You stepped back, heart racing.

And then the world shifted

Beyond the veil, across the divine plane, the gods felt it.

The Witch was awake.

Death was in love.

And a mortal bound them both.

They feared what it meant.

Two of the oldest, most feared goddesses tethered by a single mortal, who now knew their names.

One god tried to intervene. Curious. Arrogant. She sent down an echo of himself: golden, warm, coaxing. She offered power, immortality, and freedom.

But Agatha felt it first.

And Rio followed.

There were no grand declarations. No heavenly trumpets.

Only silence, and then ruin.

Agatha appeared like an unraveling spell, barefoot in the heart of the divine court. Her eyes burned with violet fire, ancient sigils swirling in her cloak. She smiled with teeth that remembered betrayal.

Rio came quietly, a shadow trailing beside the end of time. Her footsteps turned divine marble to obsidian. She spoke no words. She didn’t need to.

The court stilled. Even the winds dared not howl.

The god who dared lure you stood tall at first. Cloaked in celestial gold. But as Agatha raised her hand, the stars around her flickered, dimmed, and died.

She spoke only once:

“Mine.”

And then she struck.

Not with fire or thunder, but with the quiet, devastating finality of forgotten magic.

The god crumbled, first her pride, then her form, stripped of light and voice, unmade and scattered across the ether.

Rio laid a single hand over the place her throne had once stood.

Everything under it rotted.

Not destroyed. Not ended. Preserved, a warning.

The pantheon did not interfere.

They watched.

And they trembled.

Because they understood:

Agatha and Rio were not Gods.

Not rulers.

Not ascended.

They were a threat. They can never be bound by rules.

A sleeping storm that stirred only when challenged. A balance no god dared tip again.

On Earth, you felt it like thunder rolling under your skin.

The wind howled once. The bells of Rio’s temple rang on their own. The air turned thick and reverent.

And then… they came.

Agatha, swirling in dark silk and dusklight. Her eyes no longer hidden behind dreams, she looked at you like you were the spell that summoned her back into being.

Rio, calm and quiet, but the space around her bent like the world had to make room for her presence.

They didn’t kneel.

They didn’t demand.

They simply… looked at you.

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. So you did what your soul whispered:

You lit a candle.

You whispered both their names.

And in the space between heartbeats, you felt them press into your world, not as gods to be worshipped,

but as powers too old to name, too dangerous to lose.

Agatha stepped forward, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

“They tried to take you.”

Rio’s voice was soft. “They won’t try again.”

You nodded, not knowing what you’d become, but sensing it all the same.

And the gods, far above, in their broken thrones,

watched the mortal girl between Death and Arcane,

and said nothing.

Because the next time they speak her name,

it might be their last.

Yet the Gods offered one last act of rebellion. They made you remember.

Something snapped in you, like rope that wound too tight. Silence then wrapped around the temple as your eyes glazed over.

The silence was heavy like a storm long held at bay. The kind of quiet that made your thoughts feel too loud.

You stood in front of the altar, the moonlight casting silver on the black marble. The scent of lavender still clung to your skin, a gift from Rio. The warmth in your bones still hummed from Agatha’s protective spell, cast after she caught you shivering hours ago.

So much care. So much gentleness.

And yet,

It wasn’t normal.

“I remember now.”

You gripped the edge of the table, the satin sheets crumple beneath your grip

“You’ve been… playing with my mind.”

Your voice didn’t tremble. Not this time.

Behind you, a soft exhale. Fabric shifting.

“You weren’t supposed to remember yet,” Rio said.

Agatha appeared in the reflection behind you. Her expression unreadable. Beautiful. Dangerous.

“We didn’t take your will,” she murmured. “Only softened the edges. Gave you time to love us properly.”

“I trusted you.”

“You still can.”

You turned.

“How can I?”

Agatha stood with her arms loose at her sides, like a flame resisting the urge to spread. Rio stepped forward but kept her distance, reverent in her restraint.

“I was afraid,” you said. “I thought I was going mad. Waking up in places I didn’t remember walking to. Hearing your voices in my dreams. Always feeling safe, but never knowing why. Like a glorified plaything. A toy for your amusement.”

Rio’s gaze flickered. Agatha looked almost… mournful.

“You were unraveling,” Rio said. “We had to protect what was ours.”

“And am I yours?” you asked, voice low. “Because I don’t remember ever agreeing to something.”

Agatha stepped closer. Slowly. Like approaching a wild animal. “No,” she whispered. “But we prayed you would.”

“And if I hadn’t?”

Rio didn’t blink. “We would’ve waited another lifetime. I'm sure I can pull some…strings.”

The silence broke something in you. Not because you were afraid anymore, but because you finally understood.

The kindness. The attention.

The way no one else dared touch you in the temples. The way your pain was always soothed before you could cry out.

They had shaped your life like sculptors in the dark.

And yet…

You weren’t broken.

You stepped into the space between them.

You looked Agatha in the eyes, then Rio.

Gods. Monsters. Lovers.

“You should’ve let me remember sooner,” you whispered.

Agatha reached out, almost afraid to touch you. “Will you leave us?”

You shook your head. “No. I think… I think I wanted to love you from the start.”

Rio closed the last inch of space, her hand brushing yours.

“Then let us stop beating around the bush.” She laughed softly at her own joke, but her voice had gone low, velveted with want.

Agatha leaned in, her breath warm against your ear. “And let us worship you properly.”

Your nod was quiet. Absolute.

This time, it wasn’t because they willed it.

It was because you did.

Their mouths were on you in the next breath, Agatha’s lips hungry against your throat, Rio’s hands ghosting over your hips like a stormcloud choosing where to break. You gasped, caught between them, your body already humming like a divining rod between gods.

Agatha’s fingers threaded through your hair as she tilted your head, baring your neck. She kissed you like a spell; deep, consuming, slow. The burning of the mark she placed on you was quickly forgotten as you moaned into her, and Rio answered by slipping behind you, her palm trailing up your abdomen, undoing the bindings of your robes with a reverence that bordered on cruelty.

“Look at you,” Rio whispered, her voice hoarse, fingers gliding over your bare skin. “Still so soft. Still ours.”

Agatha broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, “I’ve waited centuries to taste you like this.”

And you let them. Let them mark you with lips and tongues, hands and heat. Let them press you down to the temple floor as your breath turned ragged and their names fell from your lips like prayer.

You didn’t know whose mouth was on your chest, whose fingers curled inside you, only that it burned, divine and primal all at once, like something sinister being carved into something holy.

You arched, trembling, as pleasure wracked through you in waves. Agatha’s voice coaxed you through it, dark and full of longing. “That’s it, dove. Let go. Let us have you.”

Rio bit into your shoulder, not enough to hurt, but enough to stake her claim, her own mark settled into your skin. Her voice was wind and hunger. “You were always meant to belong to us.”

And you did.

Body and breath.

Blood and bone.

When they finally pulled you into their arms, tangled and bare and shaking, the stars outside the temple shifted,

as if even the sky had been waiting for this.

#flor writes #agatha harkness x reader #agathario x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #rio vidal x reader

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thesmithseatmealive · 4 months ago

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In His Arms | a/b/o | Alpha dark Rhysand x omega reader

A/N: Hii! This is NOT my first fic. I originally wrote on the account of heartlesstate for the ACOTAR community. I lost the account though so to any of my old or new followers, hi! I hope you enjoy this. This is different from my normal and isn't for everyone, so please READ THE WARNINGGS!!!!

Summary: You have a panic attack during college, and your alpha- the highlord, (Rhys duh) Snatches you up and comforts you. This is a comfort fic.

Warnings: MDNI, cussing, A/B/O fic!!, alpha Rhys and omega reader, scenting, dark/yandere inner circle, female reader, she/her pronouns, allusions to sex and murder- no smut though.

word count: 1.9k

The constant drumming of your finger as it hit the table soothed you, a repeating pattern keeping your mind focused instead of wandering to the..less positive thoughts. Four hours left. You only had to make it four more hours. Then you could grab your bags and disappear from this college. And then tomorrow you’d wake and up and repeat. Again and again and again. This class wasn’t too bad, your professor taught about the history of the many wars that had taken play in Prythian. It was interesting- but it wasn’t any news to you when you had a pack who practically lived through most of it.

You’re an omega. One of the last. They were mostly killed out by brutal and savage fae alphas who were ridden with uncontrollable desires. Now, only about ten remained. Where they were? Nobody was really sure. Probably hiding, scared to become extinct. You knew at least four were with Helion. He kept them safe , offering a sanctuary to the ones he had found. None of them required to mate or required of anything really- just deeply cared for. You wish men like Helion were more common, then there wouldn't be very few of your kind left. Helion had found you when you were young, hiding in the cellar of an old village house. No parents around. Blood everywhere. The stench of fear. He had taken you in, raising you and giving you a better childhood. When you turned 20, you had the dream of studying in the Night Court, shrouded in mystery, stars, astrology , hot men, everything you could dream of. You were never vocal about this dream, often observing the highlord of the night court when he came to catch up with Helion.

No, it wasn’t until you were sick, spying on them in the garden having tea, that you tripped.

Before the ground could smack you in the face, sturdy arms and a pair of leathery wings wrapped around you, breaking the fall. Violet, stunning eyes stared at you, amazed. As if you had solved world hunger. The smell of rainfall surrounded you both, comforting your inner omega. The trance broke as Helion appeared, dramatically screeching about his poor baby. You jerked away, embarrassed. “I-I’m so sorry highlord..”

“Rhys. Just Rhys is fine, darling. You’re the one who has been spying every time I come to see Helion, hm?” He spoke, letting you move away from his hold. You turned neon red, looking down unsure what to say. Helion laughed. ”oh, This is y/n, shes been curious of the night court for awhile now. She wants to study there. But my poor sick baby shouldn’t be out and about right now! She was diagnosed with the flu. Poor thing hasn't been doing well.” Helion exclaimed, patting your head. He wasn't helping your embarrassment.

The night highlord tilted his head, his brows crinkling in worry. “Get better.” He demanded. As if you could control it..

“Get better, then I’ll take you to the night court where you can stay and do whatever you want there.” He purred mischievously, winking.

Your remembrance of how you and Rhys met made you flush. Things were different now. You were in his inner circle now, his pack. He was your pack alpha. You got into the top college here, excited- but now all you felt was burned out and stress. The anxiety tea Madja gave you wasn’t helping anymore. There were so many people here. Being one of the last omegas didn’t help. Everyone stared. All these faces, all the voices- your clothes weren’t fitting right, your hair wasn’t working with you, you forgot your water bottle, you couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t focus. You couldn’t handle this.

Your breaths came out more ragged, things were blurry. You felt like you were falling. The scent of a panicked omega caught attention quickly. More people were looking- you could feel Rhy’s claws scraping your mind, trying to reach you. More voices around you, people in front of you. Oh gods. This is humiliating. Someone reached for you but before they could, a loud, ground shaking, growl sounded. You distinctly remember someone screaming before being shrouded in darkness. But the panic wouldn't stop, your body practically vibrating in stress. Then claws grasped your mind, clutching it tight, holding it. Holding you. You opened your eyes to find your alpha. He let out a deep rumbling sound that comforted you. His wings tightened around you, keeping you safe. The world was quiet now. He grasped your head, laying it on his chest and running his claws through your hair. It smelt like rainfall now. His pheremones were out, trying to sooth you instinctevly. You sniffled, hands holding his shirt. You could tell you were in his room.

“Rhys..I’m sorr-”

He let out a commanding growl. “Do not apologize. You’re allowed to break down. It's normal. But darling omega I need you to tell me when you aren’t feeling good. You haven’t talked to me all day. I don't like living in constant worry about you. Neither does our pack. Your the omega- our treasured, precious thing. It's dangerous enough for you to be out alone. But I’ve made my court the safest place I can for you. But when you ignore me, and won’t let check in on you, everyone worries. Azriel is gonna start going along with you to college, and if you don’t want him near he’ll leave shadows with you so we at least have eyes on you..”

Rhys failed to mention he already had over 10 people in each of your classes who were solely there to ensure your safety and to update him on you. He also didn’t mention Azriel had 5 of his best spies constantly following you when you left Rhysand’s side. He didn’t want to scare you. But if something had happened to you- their pack would crumble. Everyone depended on you. Your joy- your laugh, your scent- brought peace to them. Kept them going. You were their sun and moon. Their angel. Their oxygen even. Rhysand pressed his face to your neck, nuzzling. His scent had faded off of you in the time since last night. He had gotten you comfortable enough to start sleeping in his room. It benefitted you, letting him hold you and keep the nightmares away. But it benefitted him too. He could scent you, and keep you close to him. Some nights he couldn’t help but think it wasn’t enough. He needed to be as close as possible. In your head, in your skin- inside of you. He needed you and him to be one. These dark thoughts kept him awake, staring at your bare neck. No mating bite yet. Sometimes his inner alpha urged him to bite you. To take what was his. To make you his mate. Not yet. Not until you were ready for him. He thought.

You calmed in Rhysand’s grasp. You nodded. “I.. I just don’t like being open. I feel like a burden.” You explained. He hummed. “Baby, you’re not a burden. I want all of you. We all do. We want your fun moments, your happiness, your sadness, your depressions, your struggles. Everything.” His words comforted you, and you nodded. You could deal with his protectiveness. After all, history records most alphas kept omegas locked in houses for fear of there safety. Rhysand let you free- he let you go out alone. He was respective, and kind.

“Did someone scream in the class before you grabbed me?” You asked, the memory of the sound coming back.

“I don’t think so, darling. I teleported in and grabbed you and then teleported back here.” He purred, running a hand up and down your back. He stood from his bed, holding you effortlessly. You squeaked at the sudden movement, looking around as he carried you to the bathroom. With a flick of the wrist, the bath started filling with water. Rhys set you down on the counter. “Lift your arms.” He cooed, grabbing your shirt and removing it. You were a little shy but nakedness was normal between a pack. At least according to your alpha. It wouldn't be the first time he has seen you naked. Back when you were with Helion he had stayed, his alpha instinct refusing to let him leave a sick omega’s side. He had assisted in helping you get better, and when your fever had gotten out of control he stripped you and held you in an ice bath. Sure- once you got better you were embarrassed. Rhysand finished undressing you before sitting you in the bath. For the rest of the bath he washed your hair, and washed your body. He let you clean yourself down there though, not wanting to scare you off. Then he sat down beside the bathtub, letting you vent about your day as he massaged your shoulders. Azriel knocked later on, causing Rhysand to puff up like a big bird and growl. His wings spread. His alpha was still on edge because of your stress. You giggled at him, making him turn and smile.

“Come in.” He relented. Azriel came in, a soft look on his face. Your body was covered by the water and bubbles so you weren’t embarrassed. He approached and bent down, kissing your forehead gently. “Are you feeling better?” He whispered. Azriel was always so gentle with you. You blushed, and nodded. He smiled warmly. “Good.” He turned to Rhysand, “The issue was cleaned up, and everything is take care of.” He said, a somewhat dark look in his eyes. Rhys smirked, looking mischievous. He nodded, and azriel bowed to you before disappearing in the shadows. It had been an inside joke for a while for him to bow for you. You can’t quite remember when it started.

“What was that about?” You questioned. Rhysand chuckled, grabbing your face. “Nothing for your big brain to worry about dear.” He whispered before smooching your head too. You didn’t miss he was trying to cover Azriel’s scent either. Deciding not to pressure your mischievous alpha, you let it go. He wrapped you in a towel before snapping his fingers and old t shirt of his appeared on your body. Your highlord carried you back to his bed, where he laid down and brought you close in his lap. Your eyes closed, and it felt like there wasn’t a single bad thought in your head right now. Everything was peaceful. The world din”t matter anyone all that mattered was staying here. Where you belong. In his arms.

BONUS:

Cassian stared at azriel. “Where’d you go?”

“Our omega started having a panic attack during a lecture, and when Rhys got there, some alpha had been trying to grab her. He misted the guy. I had to clean it up and make sure word didn’t get to her..good thing everyone knows touching the highlord’s omega will get you killed, so nobody had a problem keeping it secret. If word gets to her though, i’ll fucking tear whoever told her to shreds.” Azriel growled, sitting down beside Cassian. Cassian sighed. “People still don’t learn.. I'm losing count on how many fools died because they did something to her. You think they'd get the idea.” He commented. Azriel nodded. Anyone who messed with you had to face the wrath of a thousand burning suns from your pack. Nobody fucked with what belonged to them.

A/N; Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and asks are open. <3

#rhysand #Rhysand x Reader #fanfic #yandere #romance books #acotar #azriel #rhysand x y/n #rhysand acotar #a court of thorns and roses #feyre acotar

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sinstear · 6 months ago

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ㅤㅤOVER THE FLOWER HILL, I’LL MEET YOU IN THE GARDEN

vi used to think she was indestructible. she’s been through loss after loss, still dealing with the trauma in her own way; finding fights and drinking unholy amounts, but losing you proved to her that she was indestructible. when she tries to sleep, you’re there, in her dreams and smiling at her. promising that you’re not going anywhere, that you’ll be waiting for her no matter what.

as much as she loves you, and she loves you like no one before, and although she knows she'll never get you back, the drinking doesn’t give her that escape she’s desperately clinging into, begging for, pleading for. all she ever wants is one night to remember you, not remember how she lost you. she wants to remember the good, but all she remembers is the bad, the way you looked at her with one final smile. one final yet painful and silent goodbye.

her hands, ones that you once always held no matter what, kept warm for her, are littered with dark brushes with old and new wounds scattered around the rough skin, wounds she can’t be bothered to hide, to fix. if she focuses hard enough, vi can still feel your lingering touch, it’s not as strong as it used to be, but it’s light, distant and she prays that feeling will never leave.

the wind around her is cold, bitter and evil. it nips at her already bruised face angrily, almost like it was mad at her for not doing her hardest to save you. maybe deep down she knows she should have done more, tried harder to keep you with her, but she couldn’t, no matter how many times she tried, it was inevitable. she knew you were dying, you knew you were dying, and you knew that in her heart, she wanted you to stay, wanted to do everything to take your pain away but she couldn't. there was not a thing in this world strong enough to save you, and vi hates herself because no matter how strong she is, she wasn’t strong enough to save you.

the only thing that truly mattered was you, and now she’s alone. like she feared.

“do you think things would be different,” you paused, turned around and found vi on your bed, resting up on her elbows and looking at you. “with everything?”

“maybe,” you found yourself smiling at her light smile and walked over to her. “but even if nothing changes, we still have each other. that means more to me than anything.”

“you promise?”

your eyes fluttered closed, sighed softly at the feeling of her lips against your forehead and leaned into her touch. “i promise.” vi nodded against you.

droplets of rain trickled down her forehead, down the slope of her nose and down her cheek. the action that’s so innocent and free had her fluttering her eyes open with a grumble and leaned forward on the battered and dishevelled roof. “what would it matter?” she questioned, looking at the scatter of people rushing around below her. “who would care?”

tucking her knee to her chest, violet finds herself leaning forward a little more, deeply inhaling the thick air and closing her eyes again. she missed you. she missed your warmth, the feeling of your fingers running through her hair when she got home. she missed the sound of you humming or singing, the sight of you sleepily stumbling your way into the kitchen in the mornings and hugging her, pleading her to come back to bed while your voice was still laced with sleep, and for the first time in months, she cried.

the tears ran down her cheek like they were trying to find a source, a lifeline, and before she would have wiped them away, hide them from the world, but for once she didn’t care that she was sitting up on a roof that could collapse beneath her, looking out over where you’d both sit, and was crying.

if she took the leap, you would hate her for it. you needed her to stay grounded for as long as possible. vi needed to stay while you could wait. if she decided enough was enough, then it was all for nothing. time, healing and patience was all she needed. it was all she would ever need if it meant she got to be with you one last time.

the wait to have you in her arms would be the most painful, having to wait until it was her time to be able to see you again, to tell you how much she loved you, how much she wished she tried hard enough and to see that perfect smile on your face that you always managed to have. it will be worth it in the end.

because no matter what, no matter if she’s asleep, or wide awake yearning for you to come home, back to where you belong, over the flower hill, through her dark fog of denial and regret, you’ll be there to meet her in the garden when it’s time.

meet her once again where your and hers story began.

just a lil sad fic .. my apolocheese <3

#vi arcane #vi arcane x reader #vi x you #arcane vi #violet arcane #vi fic #vi x reader #vi league of legends #vi angst

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tulipatheticee · 1 year ago

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i've been waiting for you

violet bridgerton x youngest! daughter

bridgerton siblings x younger! sibling

synopsis; From the moment Edmund Bridgerton passed, leaving his wife widowed with eight children and one on the way, Violet found herself adrift until the arrival of Isadora, her youngest daughter. Isadora, quiet and calm, becomes Violet's constant companion in bustling Mayfair, offering solace and steadfast support at her mother's side.

word count; 1.3k

master list

a/n; i have arisen yet again, this is my first bridgerton fic so hello to the brigderton tag! i have archived all my old stuff because they are old and tbh the fandoms have died SO LET ME INTRODUCE MYSELF

my name is tulippa and im from sicily, im pretty confident in my english now but let me know if you see any errors! i mainly write fluffy family stuff like this, i love it idk. if you like this and want to see more like it let me know and ill provide for you! but its not like i wont write x reader romance cmon of course i will, but im best at parentxchild and siblings (PLATONIC ALWAYS DONT BE WEIRD) anyways i could go on and on but i wont, enjoy!!!

kinda proof read, kinda not, you've been warned

I'll carry you all the way

Violet Bridgerton had weathered many storms in her life, but none so devastating as the loss of her beloved husband, Edmund. His passing left her shattered, a widow with eight children to care for and another on the way. The pregnancy was fraught with complications, exacerbated by Violet's grief and the toll it took on her health.

Days turned into months as Violet withdrew into herself, mourning Edmund's absence even as life continued around her. Her family rallied, but Violet's sorrow was a heavy veil that separated her from them. It was during those long, solitary hours that she felt the weight of loneliness and the fear of losing both husband and child.

And you'll choose the day

The labour came unexpectedly, fierce and unforgiving. Violet's strength waned, her heart weary from loss and longing. The doctors and midwives worked tirelessly, their faces etched with concern. Hours passed like eternity until finally, a cry pierced the air—a fragile, yet determined cry that signalled new life.

Isadora was born amidst tears and relief, a tiny bundle of hope wrapped in Violet's trembling arms. The room, once fraught with fear, now glowed with a soft, golden light as mother and daughter gazed at each other for the first time. In that moment, everything seemed to still, and Violet knew she had been granted a miracle.

When you're prepared to greet me

She named her daughter Isadora, after the delicate Dahlia flower that Edmund had loved tending in their garden—a reminder of the beauty that bloomed even in the darkest of times.

As Isadora grew, she became Violet's constant companion, a beacon of joy and innocence in the Bridgerton household. Her older siblings doted on her, especially Anthony, Benedict, and Colin, who saw in her a reflection of their lost father's spirit. Isadora's laughter filled the halls of Bridgerton House and her curious mind sought solace in the quiet moments spent with her mother.

One afternoon, in the hushed serenity of the drawing room, Isadora sat at the pianoforte while Violet embroidered nearby. The soft melodies Isadora coaxed from the keys wove through the air, a testament to her growing talent and Violet's nurturing guidance.

"Does this sound right, Mama?" Isadora asked, her voice a melody in itself.

Violet looked up from her embroidery, a fond smile gracing her lips. "It sounds perfect, darling. You have a gift."

Isadora beamed with pride, her small hands continuing their dance over the keys. Despite her tender age, she played with a grace that belied her years, a testament to the bond she shared with her mother and the legacy of love that surrounded her.

I'll be a good mum, I swear

Anthony, Benedict, and Colin entered the room together, their voices low with shared memories and unspoken affection for their youngest sister. Anthony, ever the protective eldest brother, approached Isadora and knelt beside her.

"How are you today, Isa?" he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

"I am well, Anthony," Isadora replied, her gaze never leaving the keys. "Mama teaches me a new piece every day."

"Is that so?" Benedict chimed in, leaning over to peer at the sheet music. "You are quite talented, little one."

"Indeed," Colin added with a smile. "Father would have been proud."

Violet's heart swelled with bittersweet emotion at the mention of Edmund. She had feared she might forget the sound of his voice or the warmth of his touch, but in Isadora, she found echoes of him that kept his memory alive.

You'll see how much I care

"Mama, are you well?" Isadora asked suddenly, sensing the shift in her mother's mood.

Violet blinked back tears, her hand reaching out to clasp Isadora's. "I am well, my love. I am with you, and that is enough."

Isadora nodded solemnly, her understanding far beyond her years. Together, they continued their afternoon ritual, finding solace in music and shared moments that bridged the gap between past sorrows and future joys.

When you meet me

------------

In the sunlit gardens of Bridgerton House, where the scent of roses mingled with the laughter of children, Isadora found herself in the company of her older sister, Hyacinth, and brother, Gregory. Despite their lively spirits, they adapted to Isadora's quieter demeanour, creating a harmony that transcended their differences.

You thrill me, you delight me

"Isa, look what I found!" Hyacinth exclaimed, holding a caterpillar in her small hands with excitement.

Isadora approached cautiously, her eyes widening with curiosity. "Oh, wow! What is it?"

Gregory, always eager to share his knowledge, chimed in, "It's a caterpillar, Isa! Hyacinth and I were just talking about how it turns into a butterfly."

Hyacinth nodded eagerly. "Yes, Isa! It's like magic! One day, it will have beautiful wings and fly everywhere!"

Isadora's face lit up with wonder. "That's amazing! Can I hold it?"

Hyacinth carefully passed the caterpillar to Isadora, who watched it crawl across her palm with fascination. Gregory leaned in, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Let's play tag, Isa! You're it!"

You please me, you excite me

Isadora giggled as Gregory darted away, Hyacinth joining in the chase. "Catch us if you can, Isa!"

Isadora laughed, her heart light as she chased after her siblings through the garden paths, their laughter mingling with the rustle of leaves and the gentle hum of bees. Despite their differences in temperament, they found joy in each other's company, weaving memories that would last a lifetime.

You're all that

I've been yearning for

— —- —- —- —-

In the quiet of evening, as the Bridgerton family gathered for supper, Isadora remained close to Violet's side. Gregory and Hyacinth, full of youthful exuberance, regaled their siblings with tales of mischief and adventure, and how Isadora won tag earlier in the afternoon. The three eldest Brigderton men shared the lovely pianoforte they witnessed Isadora performing in the morning and spoke of how she is progressing very, while Eloise, Francesca, and Daphne shared knowing glances over the table.

I love you, I adore you

"Isa, do you have to be better than us at everything?" Eloise teased playfully, nudging Isadora with her elbow.

Isadora looked up, a hint of confusing in her eyes, she went to speak before Violet interjected “ "Eloise is just being foolish, darling, she means well”

Isadora quickly understood and replied "I only wish to be like everyone else Eloise, you are so clever, and Francesca is so graceful, and Daphne—"

"—is the epitome of charm," Francesca finished with a smile, her gaze softening as she looked at her youngest sister.

I lay my life before you

Daphne reached across the table to tousle Isadora's hair gently. "You are quite the storyteller yourself, Isa. Perhaps one day you'll write tales that surpass even Eloise's wild adventures."

Isadora's face lit up with delight at the praise from her sisters. "Do you really think so, Daphne?"

"Absolutely," Daphne assured her. "You have a way with words and a heart as big as all of Mayfair."

I only want you more and more

Violet watched the exchange with a tender smile, her heart swelling with pride at the bond between her daughters. Despite the challenges they had faced as a family, moments like these reminded her of the joy that filled their lives.

And finally it seems

My lonely days are through

Later that night, as Isadora drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the love of her siblings, Violet tucked her in with a sense of peace. The Bridgertons, each unique in their strengths and passions, formed a tapestry of love and support that would guide Isadora through the years ahead.

I've been waiting for you

"You are so loved, Isadora," Violet whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her daughter's forehead. "Never doubt that."

Isadora stirred, a contented smile playing on her lips.

I've been waiting…

And as Violet watched over her sleeping daughter, she knew that the bonds of siblinghood, and the enduring love of family would carry Isadora through any storm that life might bring.

…For you

pt2

a/n pt2; thats it guys :( i actually had so much fun writing this and if you want anymore of violet and isa or any of the siblings with isa let me know because i'd love for this to become a little oneshot series typa thing! your feedback is greatly appreciated <3

all my love!

~tulippa

#bridgerton x oc #bridgerton x reader #violet bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #francesca bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #bridgerton #violet bridgerton #bridgerton x childoc

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airybcby · 2 months ago

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જ⁀♡⊹｡° consumed with what's just transpired

( reo mikage x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — part 4 to my series: The Garden of You ( masterlist )

♡ word count — 1.1k

♡ content — all characters are 18+ (prob like 22-25ish), Reo is a pro soccer player, business woman! reader, enemies to lovers, workplace banter, nepo baby! reo lowkey, explicit themes mentioned (nothing described though), she falls first, he falls harder

♡ synopsis — reo mikage has never had anything outside of soccer that he couldn't buy, and he hasn't really wanted to. until he meets you.

── .❀ the kiddie like play has people watching

The worst thing about working at Mikage Corporation wasn't the suffocating suits or the 6 a.m. calls.

It wasn’t the boardroom full of overpaid executives or the exhausting scramble to appear competent in a room full of sharks.

No.

It was Reo Mikage.

Golden boy.

Soccer star.

Heir to the empire.

And your new direct counterpart.

You weren’t just some intern fumbling files—no, you’d climbed here on merit.

Worked your way through the ranks with sleepless nights and smart decisions.

And then Reo walked in—straight from the field, sun-kissed and smug, all dazzling smile and signature violet hair—and decided he was going to “help out” around the company.

His father’s idea, apparently. A grooming period before he eventually took over the Mikage legacy.

He wasn’t even in a tie. Just sauntered into your meeting, three buttons undone, skin still glowing from training, and plopped down beside you like he owned the seat.

“Didn’t know this was bring-your-prodigal-son-to-work day,” you had muttered under your breath.

He smirked. “Nice to see you too, sweetheart.”

You should’ve known right then that this was war.

Meetings were the worst.

You swore he lived to disagree with you.

No matter what you said—numbers, projections, marketing ideas—Reo would have something to add. Something better.

And the worst part? Sometimes, it actually was.

But it didn’t make you like him more. In fact, it made you want to throw your pen across the table.

Today was no different.

“This entire campaign is built around data that’s nearly six months old,” you snapped, flipping the file shut. “It’s irrelevant now.”

Reo leaned back in his chair like he had all the time in the world. “And yet, it’s outperforming every other campaign in its bracket. Weird how that works.”

You could feel your pulse in your jaw. Across the table, three other executives stayed deathly silent, watching the two of you go at it for the fourth time this week.

“I’m saying we can do better.”

“And I’m saying we are doing better. Just not your version of it.” The man that you swore was the human embodiment of a fly kicked his feet up on the table, leaning back.

You shot him a glare sharp enough to kill a man.

He smiled like it tasted sweet.

“You’ve got to stop doing that,” you hissed as the meeting ended, gathering your things.

“Doing what?” He followed you out of the room like a damn shadow.

“Undermining me. You only argue to get under my skin.”

He raised a brow. “Maybe I just like the way you look when you're mad.”

You whirled around. “Do you even care about this company?”

His mouth opened, but the hallway was too quiet, too narrow, too full of something that wasn’t hate.

And Reo? He suddenly wasn’t smirking anymore.

“I care,” he said, softer than expected. “Just not the way you think.”

The breaking point came one Friday night.

You were both stuck working late—again—finalizing investor materials.

It was nearly 11 p.m., the office long since emptied, and you were dangerously close to chucking the company laptop out the window.

“You can’t just rewrite my entire proposal, Mikage!”

He stood up. “And you can’t keep acting like you’re the only one who gives a crap how our stocks look!”

“You think you’re the only one under pressure? You think just because you play soccer and have a trust fund that this—this company—is yours to coast through?!”

You were close now. Too close.

And Reo wasn’t laughing anymore.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” he said, voice low. “The company, the name. But I’m here. I show up. And maybe I didn’t come in the same way you did, but I’m not trying to take it from you.”

You stared at him, breath caught.

And then something snapped.

Your mouth opened—maybe to yell, maybe to push back—but instead, Reo kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative.

It was a mess of pent-up frustration and late nights, of power plays and quickened pulses and too many stolen glances across boardroom tables.

You grabbed his tie—not out of affection, but because you needed something to hold on to.

And Reo? He held you like he'd been dying to.

The days after were a blur of confusion and avoidance.

You didn’t know what to say, and Reo—he didn’t know how to stop wanting to do it again.

What scared him most wasn’t that he liked you.

It was that he didn’t know when he started.

All he knew was that now, he noticed everything.

The way your nose scrunched when you disagreed with a figure.

The coffee order you always messed up.

The tired look in your eyes when no one else noticed how hard you worked.

He noticed the way his chest hurt when he made you laugh.

He noticed the way your chair creaked just before you spoke up in meetings.

He noticed you, and he couldn’t un-notice it anymore.

Then one night, it boiled over again.

You were in the elevator, alone together.

“You’ve been weird,” you said, not even looking at him.

“Says the girl who kissed me.”

Your head snapped toward him. “You kissed me.” You shoved your finger into his chest.

Reo ran a hand through his hair—God, why did he do that so much? It made him look almost nervous. Vulnerable.

“Look,” he said, “I don’t care if this is stupid. Or if we fight again tomorrow. But I’ve never wanted something I can’t just buy before.”

He paused.

“And I want you.”

You blinked, finger falling from his chest as you took a step away from him.

He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days.

“When I saw you sit across from me… it made me want to earn something for the first time in my life. On my own.”

Yes, he had soccer. Yes, he had built himself up from nobody to a world renowned player, but that wasn’t enough.

You win with a team in soccer, for once in his life, Reo wanted to win something by himself.

Silence stretched between you like an exhale.

And you took one step closer.

“You’re still annoying,” you muttered.

He grinned. “You love it.”

You kissed him this time.

It didn’t feel like tension anymore.

It felt like fire.

Like you were both finally letting go of the control and diving into the burn.

Later, as you lay tangled together on the couch in the Mikage penthouse—documents scattered, wine forgotten, Reo’s head on your shoulder—he whispered, almost without thinking:

“You remind me of sunflowers.”

You snorted. “What?”

“Always facing the light. Wanting to go up. Even when you hate everything around you.”

You turned to him, eyes searching. “You’ve got a weird way of complimenting someone.”

He smirked, lazy and soft. “And I adore you.”

And for the first time in years, Reo Mikage felt like this—this messy, brilliant, chaotic you—was something he could never put a price on.

And he didn’t want to.

first post back and i don't think this is my best work but oh well!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyoo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

#★ · airybcbyy #mikage reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #reo mikage #reo #bllk reo #blue lock reo #bllk reo mikage #blue lock reo mikage #airy posts #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #reo x reader #airy's series!#airys series: the garden of you

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gothicxreylover · 6 months ago

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Hi can you please do the yandere giant hashira plus genya and wives x tiny reader with a part 2 when they tried to escape please sorry I know that just came out but if your in the mood for it then please do! I just like your writing skills and I love yandere g/t!

This Au is kinda growing on me 🙈 anyways I hope you enjoy! I’m sorry if your request hasn’t been answered yet but I’m tryin get best to felt as many as done as possible

Obanai Iguro

You’d made it far enough to believe you might escape Obanai’s sharp eyes, but you hadn’t accounted for Kaburamaru. The snake slithered through the grass, hissing softly as it blocked your path. Before you could dart away, Obanai’s shadow loomed over you, and his fingers snatched you up with practiced precision.

“Trying to run away?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. His mismatched eyes bored into you, his calm exterior masking the possessiveness bubbling underneath. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think I’d let you go?”

He held you close to his face, his fingers tightening just enough to keep you still. “This world isn’t kind to someone as small as you. I’m the only one who can keep you safe, and you’ll understand that… even if I have to make you.”

Kaburamaru coiled lazily around his neck, flicking its tongue in silent approval as Obanai began walking back to his mansion. “You’re mine. There’s no point in fighting it.”

Sanemi Shinazugawa

You’d barely made it past the training grounds when a loud, furious voice froze you in your tracks. “You’ve got some nerve trying to escape!” Sanemi’s sharp eyes locked onto you as he stormed over, his scarred face twisted in anger.

Before you could hide, his hand snatched you up, his grip firm yet careful. “Do you even realize how stupid this was?” he growled, holding you up to his face. His voice was like a storm, and you couldn’t stop shaking. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed out there!”

Sanemi’s anger softened, though his possessive gaze remained. “You’re staying with me, whether you like it or not. If you try this again, I’ll make sure you don’t get the chance. Understand?”

His tone left no room for argument as he turned back toward his mansion, his steps heavy with frustration.

Mitsuri Kanroji

Mitsuri found you just as you were slipping into the tall grass. Her gasp startled you, and before you could hide, her hands gently scooped you up. “You were trying to leave?” she asked, her voice trembling with hurt.

Tears welled in her eyes as she cradled you against her chest. “Why would you do that? I’ve been doing everything I can to take care of you! Don’t you know how much I love having you here?”

Her tears fell onto you as she sniffled, holding you protectively. “You’re so fragile… so precious. I don’t want to lose you. Please don’t ever do this again!”

Her warmth and desperation were suffocating, and as she carried you back to her room, her grip never wavered. “I’ll do even more to make you happy… just promise me you won’t leave.”

Shinobu Kocho

You thought you were safe as you darted past the garden, but Shinobu’s soft laugh froze you in place. “My, my,” she said, crouching down to pick you up with delicate fingers. “A little escape attempt? How bold.”

Her violet eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and something darker as she held you up to her face. “I wonder what you were thinking. Did you really believe you could make it out there alone?”

Shinobu’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re so fragile, little one. I can’t let you wander off and hurt yourself. It seems I’ll have to keep a much closer eye on you from now on.”

Her gentle grip belied the steel in her words as she carried you back inside, her voice lilting with a mix of teasing and warning. “You belong here with me. Don’t make me remind you again.”

Kyojuro Rengoku

You’d almost made it past the gate when Rengoku’s booming voice called out, “Ah-ha! Where do you think you’re going, little one?” His strides were swift, and before you could hide, his massive hand scooped you up.

Rengoku’s fiery eyes narrowed as he held you at eye level, his expression a mix of disappointment and concern. “You were trying to leave? That’s not acceptable. The world is far too dangerous for someone as small and precious as you.”

He sighed, his voice softening but still firm. “I thought you trusted me to protect you. Have I failed you in some way?”

His grip was firm but not harsh as he walked back to his mansion, his voice filled with determination. “You’ll stay with me, where I can keep you safe. No more escape attempts. I won’t allow it.”

Muichiro Tokito

Muichiro found you just as you were climbing over a rock near the edge of the forest. He tilted his head, his expression blank as he reached out to pluck you from your hiding spot.

“You’re trying to leave?” he asked, his voice soft but distant. “That’s not a good idea.”

He held you in his hand, his teal eyes staring at you with quiet intensity. “You’re too small to survive out there. It’s better if you stay with me.”

Though his tone was calm, there was an edge to his words that made your chest tighten. “Don’t do this again,” he said simply, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “I won’t let you go.”

Gyomei Himejima

You’d made it to the edge of the stream when Gyomei’s deep, rumbling voice stopped you in your tracks. “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, kneeling down and gently scooping you into his massive hands.

His blind eyes were filled with sadness as he cradled you. “Were you trying to leave me?”

The hurt in his voice was palpable, and you felt a pang of guilt. “I’ve been protecting you because you’re so small, so fragile. The world is too dangerous for you.”

He sighed deeply, his prayer beads clicking softly. “I’ll have to ensure you never try this again. You are too precious to lose.”

Genya Shinazugawa

Genya caught you just as you were slipping into the bushes. His hands were rough but careful as he grabbed you, his expression a mixture of anger and hurt. “What the hell were you thinking?” he barked, holding you up to his face.

“You could’ve gotten hurt—or worse! Do you even realize how dangerous it is out there?” His voice cracked slightly, his tough exterior faltering. “I… I can’t let anything happen to you.”

His grip tightened protectively as he carried you back. “You’re staying with me. No more of this running away crap. I won’t let you go.”

Tengen Uzui and His Wives

You thought you’d escaped their watchful eyes, but Tengen’s flashy voice rang out, “Caught you, little one!” His massive hand reached out, scooping you up before you could react.

Makio crossed her arms, glaring. “You tried to leave? Do you know how dangerous that was?”

Suma clung to you, her eyes filled with tears. “Why would you do that? Don’t you like being with us?”

Hina gently stroked your back, her voice calm but firm. “You’re far too important to us to let you go. We’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

Tengen grinned, though his eyes were cold. “You’re ours now. There’s no escaping that, little one.”

Giyu Tomioka

The stillness of the forest was comforting as you made your escape, but it didn’t last long. A sudden chill ran down your spine, and when you turned, Giyu was already there, standing silently, his piercing blue eyes locked onto you.

“You’re trying to leave,” he said flatly, his voice calm but carrying a quiet intensity that froze you in place. Before you could bolt, his hand moved swiftly, plucking you from the ground with precision.

He stared at you in his palm, his grip firm but not rough. “Why?” he asked, his tone soft yet laced with something deeper. “Have I not taken good care of you? Was it not enough?”

The weight of his gaze was suffocating. Though his expression was calm, there was an underlying possessiveness in his eyes. “You’re too small, too fragile to survive out there. The world is cruel, and you wouldn’t last a day.”

Giyu let out a soft sigh, his grip tightening slightly as he started walking back. “I won’t let you leave. It’s for your own good.”

When he reached his quarters, he placed you gently in a space he’d prepared for you, but his expression was colder than before. “You don’t need to understand why I’m doing this. Just know that you’re staying with me… forever.”

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milla-frenchy · 4 months ago

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Recs | March 25

March readings, and celebrating March fic madness 25 @the-blind-assassin 💚

Please, rb the fics you appreciated, that's how they live 💚🙏

Check the warnings before reading, some of the fics are very dark

Joel Miller

Painting with Joel @beardedjoel

Movie night @aurorawritestoescape

A movie night ends with a bang

Where there's smoke @joelswhcre

You should’ve stayed away from joel miller the first time. but instead, you let him have you—once, then again, and again. you swore each time would be the last. but joel? he was never going to let you go that easily. and now, standing in a dark supply closet with his hands on your body and his cock buried deep inside you—whilst your boyfriend watches from the doorway—you’re finally realising what he meant when he said, "you’re mine."

Asking Joel to choke you @slamminslamminmcgill

We stay silly @corazondebeskar-reads

You and joel have a peaceful moment for both silliness and filth

Good boy @sp00kymulderr

The prophecy @schnarfer

Joel Miller is the loss of your life

Perfect @aurorawritestoescape

Joel comforts you and helps you to overcome your insecurities, pampering you with praise and love

Bad friend @joelstummy

What's a girl to do when she discovers her friend's husband may share an extreme kink that she's yet to be able to find her match for? Well, she plays with fire. And relishes in the burn

A doctor's care (re re re re re read ✨) @pedge-page

The wolf you feed part 6 @arcanefox207

Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter

Be my guest @aurorawritestoescape

Working as a hotel housekeeper, you meet a handsome guest under quite unexpected circumstances. An awkward conversation leads to a friendly relationship that grows into something none of you expects

Happy to help @itwasntimethatdidit40

You get turned on reading smut in a cafe and someone seems to know exactly what you need

Nice and slow @joelsknees

A quiet horny morning with joel

The human condition @metaphoricgibberish

Violet Wood is lost, thinks perhaps she's been lost since the day she was born. Joel Miller is a psychiatrist who has experienced a tremendous loss of his own. Neither of them are expecting each other

Rested @toxicanonymity

Joel is on his best behavior, but it's hard

Joel and Tommy Miller

Collared part 3 | part 4 | part 5 @tateypots

You are kidnapped by Joel and Tommy 3 years after the outbreak. This is a work of dark fiction, please heed the warnings and protect yourselves

Javier Peña

Baby, where's your underwear? @iknowisoundcrazy

Javi persuades you to go commando in the office

Ashes @inept-the-magnificent

Hands to myself @gothcsz

You get to know the handsome stranger sitting next to you on your overnight flight to Mexico

Lunch @oliveksmoked

Tim Rockford

Homecoming @604to647

Detective Rockford returns from weeklong tactical training

Marcus Pike

Backyard gardening @secretelephanttattoo

Pero Tovar

Stargazing with Pero @sawymredfox

Ambrosia @sawymredfox

Pero and his love enjoy a lovely afternoon together

Marcus Moreno

Nobody's gonna know @604to647

Acacius

I can't hear it now @joelmillerisapunk

A love that was never meant to be. A choice that was never truly yours to make. Acacius was never yours to keep, yet in the dark of night, beneath the weight of duty and desire, he was yours still. For stolen moments, for whispered names, for aching hands tracing the lines of something fleeting, something doomed

Run @almostempty

General acacius hunts you in the woods for ‘training’ then fucks you, duh

Ezra

Like family @max--phillips

You accidentally call Ezra "dad" and try to tell him you meant daddy

More (re read ✨) @moonlitbirdie

You want Ezra to take you while you’re asleep

Din Djarin

Mine @sawymredfox

A night adventure ends up being something much bigger

Lucien De Leon

Late check-out @secretelephanttattoo

Clint

Inescapable @cavillscurls

Clint always gets what he wants—this time, you’re going to give it to him

Sweet surrender @joelmillerisapunk

Your sleazy boss convinces you to fuck in the break room to a shitty porn tape he rented

Got your money @magpiepills

You’re a hooker who owes her pimp money and his right hand man, Clint comes to collect

Dave York

Keystrokes @mothandpidgeon

You hacked into Dave Yorks computer and found more secrets than you bargained for

Creampie and cum @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Feasting @sizzlingcloudmentality

Stolen lunch @aurorawritestoescape

Dave steals your lunch

Just a ride @baronessvonglitter

When a date goes bad you call your dad's best friend Dave to come to the rescue

Harry Castillo

30,000 feet @yxtkiwiyxt

You meet a handsome stranger on a flight

Threesome (and more)

The Senator's secret @baronessvonglitter (Oberyn x reader x Acacius)

The stakeout @toxicanonymity (Javi x reader x Steve)

The interruption @toxicanonymity (Javi x Steve x reader)

Idealists @for-a-longlongtime (Frankie x reader x Santiago)

Double vision @toxicanonymity m!ghostface x f!reader x f!ghostface

The party @tateypots

Offering to help your new stepdad host a party for his family doesn’t turn out the way you expect

Unnamed/other

The best part of waking up @baronessvonglitter

Sleepy morning sex with your favorite Pedro character

Flex @gothcsz

Hooking up with the guy you picked up at a party

Good girls @toxicanonymity (Steve Murphy x Claudia Messina x reader)

Daddy Dom!Steve is in charge, but you're the one touching her

My writing

Marrying Javi (Javi p x reader)

Playgirl (Javi p x reader)

Attracted to your father's best friend since his return from Colombia, you finally get what you want

Rotten luck (Javi p x reader)

Forced to work for Escobar's men as a driver until the day you escape, a DEA agent finds you in the countryside, at the home of friends you've been hiding. You yearn to start over and get a visa, but things aren't so easy, especially when feelings complicate the situation

Fics recs

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mllekurtz · 5 months ago

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Shadowgast Fic Playlists

Some themed lists of my shadowgast works under the cut, including:

atmospheric one shots

modern and/or human aus

academia aus

silly, fluffy one shots

fics set in Exandria

long fics

smutty fics

This was suggested to me a while ago by a friend. I've written a bunch of shadowgast fics with different tags, ratings and vibes, but there are recurring patterns in most of them. I hope this is useful to anyone who'd like to approach my body of work, or reread some of it, or feels in the mood for something very specific, or wants to read the exact same fic again but different.

Atmospheric One-Shots

Fics set in a distant time and place, with a focus on the characters but also a rich backdrop of history and lore. Best enjoyed in a cozy setting with your warm beverage of choice.

the end of all our exploring (the gardener fic)

The Empire of Lights (the vibes au)

remote times and places and ultimate causes (the medieval au)

at the violet hour (the long distance relationship fic)

Modern and/or Human AUs

These stories have an emphasis on the modern setting and are farther from canon. Read if you want to meet the wizards at school, at work, on a train, at a conference...

strange magic (set in "modern" Rexxentrum)

The Empire of Lights (set in "modern" Rosohna)

remote times and places and ultimate causes (set in real life Europe in the Middle Ages)

after hours (they meet in a bar)

all this science i don't understand (small town vibes)

(your face in my hands is) everything good i need (set in modern France and Germany)

Fundamental Forces Other Than Gravity (set in "modern" Rosohna)

Academia AUs

Stories that emphasize the academic setting, with the wizards as either students or teachers. Just a different flavor of nerds in their natural habitat, really.

(your face in my hands is) everything good i need (humanities professors)

Fundamental Forces Other Than Gravity (grad student/TA)

all this science i don't understand (high school teachers)

life's too short to even care at all (they found a school in canon Exandria)

Silly, Fluffy One-Shots

Bite-sized snacks with a high sugar content, with no other purpose than putting a smile on your face. Read as a quick pick-me-up whenever things are hard.

library etiquette (a big misunderstanding)

strange magic (the commuter au)

after hours (the blind date au)

Fics Set in Exandria

Either canon compliant or divergent, these fics are all set in the world of Critical Role. If you're not a modern au person and would rather enjoy the wizards in their original setting, these are for you.

at the violet hour (mainly set in Caleb's house in Rexxentrum)

the end of all our exploring (set in Blumenthal)

eleventh hour (set on a beach in Rumblecusp)

the to make an end series (set in Aeor)

displacement (also set in Aeor)

birds of prey (a Scourger au that eventually becomes a retelling of campaign 2, set all over Wildemount)

eternally present, unredeemable (mainly set in the Cobalt Soul Archive in Zadash)

life's too short to even care at all (set in Caleb and Essek's school, near Zadash)

soft driven slow and mad like some new language (set in the Nein Sided Tower)

Long Fics

Sometimes you want to curl up with tea and a novel-worth of fic. This list has got you covered.

birds of prey ("evil" au, still in progress)

The Witcher au (your wizards, but as a witcher and a sorcerer)

The cost of living series (unfinished, but still pretty long)

Smutty Fics

I know some of you are here for this, and good for you. These are my spiciest one-shots, enjoy.

jealousy

discretion (with saturdaysky)

antinomy

displacement

remote times and places and ultimate causes

risk exposure from the birds of prey series

the awful daring of a moment’s surrender from the to make an end series

where's the point in hurrying (when waiting feels so great)

soft driven slow and mad like some new language

an interlude and musica universalis from the cost of living series

#to be updated #i have been wanting to do something like this for AGES #i've been writing shadowgast for uuh a few years now and i have a Backlog #i really hope this is useful #free to reblog - i made this to be referenced and shared #and i accept all kind of feedback #whew #critical role fic #my fics #fic playlists #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast

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ellssbellss · 1 year ago

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Hey! I love your writing so much, especially lavender roses! I was wondering if you could write a Host Club x reader who has a lot of random hobbies (woodworking, painting, fencing, singing, writing, etc)?

I just know that if I had Ouran money, I’d have so many more hobbies. Thank you!

my life is a little hectic right now, as all you lovely people know. but I had this written, or most of it anyway, and I wanted to post it :) thank you for your patience with me while I deal with this difficult time, and for your amazing request!

The Hosts and their S.O. with too many hobbies! {Ohshc x Gender Neutral!Hobbiest!Reader}

missing Honey and Haruhi - will add them when I can!

.oOo.

Tamaki’s reader:

Ballet

Gardening

Painting

Tamaki’s eyes sparkled as you leaped across the stage, never daring to look away from your sculpted body framed in the dramatic stage lights. Tears had been glistening in his violet eyes since your first pirouette, and now he was wiping his cheek every chance he could get. Quickly, so he didn’t miss a single moment.

The prince was left breathless as you danced. The art of ballet flowed so naturally through your form, you looked like you belonged on that stage. Through the kaleidoscope of his tears, Tamaki sighed as you spun and jumped and just moved so fluidly, the emotion on your face making him feel with you.

Your technique dazzled every single member of the audience, and when you bowed, the blonde man was the first to shoot up from his seat. He shoved his palms together unceremoniously, whooping and cheering as everyone politely clapped around him, but he didn’t care. When you tipped your head up and found his wet eyes in the crowd with a playful smile on your lips, he knew he had never seen anything more beautiful.

Scratch that.

“Tamaki!” Your hand shot up from the sea of people filing into the theater lobby, and he zoned in on it. On a mission, a blonde head and a (h/c) head come closer together, pushing through the black suits and long dresses in order to greet the other. Finally, the waters part, and Tamaki takes in your glory with a grin.

“Mon amour…” He breathes, and it’s all you can do not to skip to him as you hold your pointe shoes in your hand. The bouquet of flowers he brought are set down in favor of catching your form and spinning you in the air. His hands come flat against your back as he buries his face in your neck, whispering your praises into your hair.

“You did so well, my love.” He feels your hands wrap tighter around his neck. “You’re so incredibly talented.”

Setting you down gently, he cradles your face. Your beaming at him, pride and adrenaline coursing through your pupils as you try to catch your breath, and he revises his initial thought.

This is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. Your gorgeous features enveloped in pure joy.

Chuckling, his voice is like butter as he runs one of his fingers over your cheekbone. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing.” Your chest heaves, but your smile is bright. “Especially after seeing you in the audience.”

“Please,” He says, tugging you closer. “I never would’ve missed the opportunity to see you shine.”

Tamaki kisses you then, and you melt. His fingers are gentle against your jaw, peeking into your hairline for a moment as your lips meet sweetly. You hum when he pulls away, wacking him when he smirks at the blush on your face.

“Everytime.” He says, teasing you with a kiss to your cheek.

“Shut up.” You groan. “You can’t kiss me like that and not expect it to affect me.”

“Like what?” A blonde eyebrow quirks up. “Like this?”

He leans in again before someone clears their throat. A man with a collar too high on his neck gives you two a disapproving glare as he walks by, clearly upset by the dramatic display of affection.

You just giggle as the man moves on somewhere else. “Maybe we shouldn’t kiss like that in front of all these people.”

Tamaki rolls his eyes but steps away from you ever-so-slightly. “When you look at me like that, I can’t help myself.”

“Contain yourself.” You tease.

“That will never be possible, mon amour, when my heart can’t even contain its beat with you in this leotard.” Shrugging off his suit jacket, he drapes it around your shoulders. “Maybe cover up a little though, huh? Just for my sanity?”

Laughing, you pull your arms through the too big sleeves, basking in the cologne smell and the sense of security it brings you. “Okay. You can just take it off later.”

Tamaki’s eyes widen as a blush forms on his cheeks, but he grins. “You’re such a flirt.”

“Look who’s talking.” Putting your arm through his, you lean against his side and giggle, his stature supporting you like it always does. But as you turn him towards the front door of the theater, he gasps.

“Wait!” Your boyfriend quickly spins and grabs the flowers that were almost forgotten on the carpet, luckily not trampled by the crowd of opera goers.

“These…” Separating your arms softly, he stands in front of you, bowing as he holds out the gift. “...are for you, darling.”

He hears you gasp, and when he straightens, your eyes are wide and sparkling at the flowers in front of you. (E/c) pools scan every petal, every leaf and stem, and your hand gently cradles the buds.

“Tama…” Your voice is soft enough to not disturb the flora in front of you. “These are from my garden.”

He nods. “I wanted to make the bouquet special enough for you.”

“You wrapped them up so beautifully…” You breathe, and you scan them top to bottom. Your eyes pause at the bottom of the stems. “You didn’t give them a diagonal cut?”

A hand comes to cover his mouth. “Oh, no! I forgot to give them a diagonal cut!” Tamaki swallows before running a hand through his hair. “Before I fix it, of course, just remind me what that is.”

Your hair doesn’t jostle from the hairspray that holds your ballet hair together when you shake your head. “Silly prince. It’s when you cut the bottom of the stem diagonally when you pick them, so that they can absorb more water.”

“Oh…” And with that, a determined gleam twinkled in his eye. “That’s an easy fix! Let me find some scissors.” Quickly, he looks around the bustling lobby, waving his hand. “Who has scissors?!”

“No! No, Tamaki.” Laughing, you bring his hand back down to your side, cradling the large bouquet in your other arm. “It’s fine. Just remember for next time.”

He sees your throat bob, as if you’re holding something else back. “Is there something else, amour?”

You take a breath, fully prepared to deny anything, but you sigh, slumping your shoulders as another critique spills out of you. “And also, for next time, just get me chocolate? I work really hard on making sure these flowers stay alive, and they look much prettier on the bush they were grown on then arranged only to die in a few days.”

Your heart lunges when you see a darkened expression take over his face. “Oh my god, I killed your flowers.”

“That’s okay! It’s fine, roses are easy to grow this time of year, I promise.” You hurry to correct him, putting your palm on his jaw. “I was trying to make it special, I swear.” He whines. His hand comes to rest over yours on his cheek, his fingers grasping your own. “I just didn’t think about it that way.”

You simper at him. “It was special. Knowing how much care you put into arranging them like this is so special to me. Thank you, Tamaki.”

It’s your turn to kiss him on the cheek, and he practically melts. As you’re about to walk out of the busy theater, you feel Tamaki’s arms wrap around your form. He lifts you, cradling you like the royalty you are.

Before you can protest, he shoves your face into the crook of his neck, blonde wisps tickling your cheeks. “Your poor legs, they must be so sore after all that dancing.”

“I can walk just fine.”

“I know.” He squeezes you closer to his chest, and your arms betray your words as they wrap around his neck.

Tamaki takes you back to your home, your parents having missed the recital in favor of a business trip somewhere. There was a long shower, a hot meal, and plenty of cuddling and soft touches before the evening sky touched down into night, and the moonlight poured into the large windows of your place.

Now, he leans on the couch, his feet propped up as he stretches his long form across the length of the white cushions. The serene night fluttered as he opened his eyes from a lazy nap he took, inhaling the scent that was so perfectly you. It calmed him.

To his side, a clanking sound rang into the quiet space. He slowly turned his head to see you gently setting a cup of tea onto one of the side tables. He meets your sheepish gaze when you realize you woke him up, biting your lip.

“I know you’re better at making tea, but I tried.” You offer, spinning the saucer with two fingers so that the handle was facing him. A sweet smile pulls his beautiful face as he sits up.

“Thank you, mon amour.” Reaching for the tea cup, he sees that you are about to walk away from him towards the arching window in your bedroom, the one that looks out over your garden. There is a paint easel set up facing the view, a nearly-exact replica of it being portrayed on your canvas.

Tsking, he lightly grips your wrist, putting pressure to spin you back around. With a yelp, you fall seamlessly across his lap, his arm bracing your back.

“I didn’t get to thank you properly.” His voice rumbles, and his lips are pressed to yours again, leaving you to soften into a lovesick puddle. Your mouths move once, twice, and you can’t resist holding him there for a third time before you separate. His violet eyes transfix on your features, a gentle smile on his lips.

“What?” You ask, laughing as he zones out once again. There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he sinks into his, what you like to call, mental theater. “Tamaki, you’re staring.”

Blinking, that sparkle in his eyes fades, but not very much. A finger comes out and wipes off a smear of paint from your cheek. “No, I’m falling, amour. All over again.”

Humming, you pick his chin back up into your grasp. “Then I’ll be here to catch you, darling.”

A cherry blush coats his cheeks when you initiate the kiss this time, and he makes a sound of pleasure against your lips. When you pull away, he is stuttering and hiding behind the tea cup. Chuckling, you watch his hand shake slightly as he tries to regain his cool. “You okay there?”

“What? Of course, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” He rambles, taking a very purposeful sip of the tea you brought him. Then his cheeks bulge, struggling to hold the liquid in his mouth.

“Oh god, it’s terrible, isn’t it?” You say, covering your mouth.

Tamaki shakes his head, but he is breaking out into a nervous sweat.

“Tamaki, spit it out if you don’t like it.” Urging him, you push the cup back to his closed lips. He refuses, his face turning a slight shade of green.

“Tama!” You laugh a little, pleading with him. His grip on the tea cup tightens, and you see the struggle in his swallow as he forces it down his throat.

“G-great as always, angel.” He lies, still wincing at the aftertaste. “Oh mon dieu…” He curses underneath his breath.

Rolling your eyes, you place the cup back on the saucer. “You don’t have to lie.” You insist with a teasing smirk.

A weak grin escapes his full lips. “You are such a talented person, (Y/n).” He starts, nuzzling into your shoulder. “You’re perfect.” And even as his stomach turns, he is grateful to have a significant other with many talents, even if making tea isn’t one of them.

.oOo.

Kyoya’s reader:

Debate club

Woodworking

Reading

Long legs race down the hall, dressed in perfectly iron slacks and shined dress shoes. His black book is clasped in his hand as Kyoya turns another corner, the door to his destination finally coming in sight. Breathing a sigh of relief, the megane fixes his glasses, gray eyes trained on the entrance down the hall.

Students are bustling outside of the auditorium, waiting in line as the start time for the debate draws nearer. Kyoya, at his height, pushes past his fellow peers, easily being able to see over the ocean of yellow dresses and lavender jackets.

Before he can reach the heavy double doors into the theater space, he’s stopped by a hand at his arm.

“Excuse me, sir, but you can’t enter the auditorium yet. Not until I’ve been given the green light.” The voice of a security guard sounds over the noise of side conversations, and Kyoya’s dark lashes flick up to meet her stern ones. Clearing his throat, he gently detaches his arm from her grip. He matches her polite smile, a fake one stretching his own lips.

“I understand, Miss. But I’m actually late. I was supposed to meet someone backstage, but I unfortunately got mine and their schedules muddled.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but these doors are closed to the public until the start time.”

Squinting slightly, his host smile grows a little longer on his pale skin. “It’s Miss Kato Hisa, isn’t it?”

The security guard’s eyes widened, knowing that her name tag had been lost in her car for weeks now. “Yes, sir. Have we met?”

“Not formally, no.” Tucking his black book under his arm, he reaches his palm out, grasping her hand in greeting. “I am Ootori Kyoya. Third son to the Ootori family.”

Her hand tightened in his before he let it drop, and she gasped excitedly. “Oh, my gosh, I didn’t realize! Your police force is the top force in the nation.” She smiles sheepishly. “I actually submitted my application a few weeks ago–”

“I’m well aware.” His deep voice cuts her off. “My family only accepts the best, you know. But, I’m sure my father and the chief of the force could be urged in a different direction, with the proper motivations.”

Hisa’s grin widens. “Wow, Ootori-san, that would be amazing! I would be so grateful–”

“If I could be let in now, then you may have your chance.”

Her grin falls. “But, I can’t do that, sir. I am under strict orders not to let anyone in until the appropriate time.”

“Then I’m afraid your application would fall to the bottom of the pile unseen.” Kyoya’s facade is too sweet for his words. “Forgotten.”

The security guard’s face falls into a thin line, searching the Ootori son’s eyes for the joke, or a speck of unseriousness. Of course, she will find none. She can’t read him the way you can.

“You’re cruel.” Swallowing, her fingers grip around the door handle. Pulling it open a crack wide enough for his lithe frame to slip through, she mumbles as he passes. “Enjoy the debate.”

“Thank you, I will.” His tone is low as he moves down the aisles to the sides of the stage. What a weak integrity, he muses, flying down the carpeted stairs. She couldn’t last a day on our police force.

Soon, he hears bustling from behind the debate stage, and he swishes the curtains to the side, slipping into a crowd of debate teams. A stormy gaze sweeps over the crowd, looking for a conglomerate of dark blue suits, the official uniform of the Ouran Debate Team. Once he finds them, he makes a beeline for an (h/c) individual bouncing their leg, a historical fiction novel in their hands.

He simpers at the genre. You only read historical fiction when you’re nervous.

You don’t hear the click of his dress shoes before he is stopped right in front of you, too engrossed in the story to pick out your boyfriend’s movements.

“(Y/n).” That voice shocks you from your trance, and you sweep your gaze up from your seat to find Kyoya smirking down at you, a little flushed. Gasping, you stand immediately, a wide smile taking over your lips.

“Kyo.” You greet him happily, placing your book onto a lone table next to you. “I’m so glad you made it.” Reaching out, you fix a strand of his hair that had been sticking up from his wind-swept look. Then you notice his rapid breaths and his pink cheekbones.

Chuckling a bit, your smile grows. “Are you okay? Did you run here?”

Scoffing, he rolls his eyes at you. “Of course not. Just a brisk walk.” He steps closer, the palm not grasping his journal resting onto your hip. “I apologize for being late. I got the dates confused.”

“The dates?”

Nodding, he flips open the famous black book as he pulls you a little closer into his side so that you could see. You lean into his shoulder as he shows you the section that acts as his planner.

“I thought your debate was tomorrow, when, in reality, your woodworking exposition is tomorrow evening. Since your exposition starts an hour later, I incorrectly believed I had more time to work on my club’s budget.”

“You do tend to get lost in the numbers.”

His eyes slip past you to the book next to you. “We all have our methods of escape.”

“I can’t argue with that.” You agree, (e/c) meeting thunderstorms.

“Now, that’s not true.” He teasingly gestures to your debate team. “Isn’t that the point of all this?”

Groaning, you lay your head on his shoulder. “Don’t remind me.”

“(Y/n), my dear.” Pulling apart from you slightly, he takes your hands in his. They are smaller, and he likes that he can encapsulate them in his grasp, keeping them safe. “You’re nervous.”

“You know, it’s not like you to state the obvious.”

“It’s not like you to be so anxious.” He retorts. “You are usually very confident in your debate abilities.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, a smirk blooming onto your lips. “But being nervous is a natural reaction. Especially when talking about competition.”

“But don’t you agree that confidence is a more helpful emotion?” He responds, eyeing the smart style you have slicked your hair into. “Empirical evidence supports that people achieve more when they are of competent mind, instead of pushing themselves down.”

You take a step forward into his space, your shoulders back. “True. However, a study recently conducted in Switzerland concluded that when an individual person is nervous, or feels anxiety, they tend to work harder towards their goal, as their brain specifically prioritizes that achievement rather than any other.”

He hums thoughtfully, also taking a step forward. “Is that so? Wouldn’t more anxiety hinder that ability to do well? Some people succumb to the state of nervousness. Students procrastinate all the time in fear of not doing well, so they don’t end up actually starting.”

Your hands swing lower, till clasped together as you inch forward even more, his angled face only a few breaths from yours. His eye-line makes a triangle shape across your features, going from your left pupil, to your full lips, and then your right.

“Maybe so, if you are specifically talking about education.” Your voice drops a little lower, falling into a bubble with him. “But in competition, especially group sports like debate, there is an added social pressure. Competitors are not only nervous about their own preparedness, but how that preparedness might affect their team, a team that relies on them. Those anxieties grouped together enhance an individual's motivation to do well.”

Kyoya’s heart drummed a little faster in his chest. Here you were, standing in front of him in a very flattering suit, the color striking against your skin tone. Your words were concise, your tone was steady, and your touch had already been drawing him closer into you. His throat had gone dry at your smart demeanor, your intellect shining in the reflection of his spectacles.

He needed to pull himself together.

But he indulged a little more, pulling one of his hands away from yours to grasp your chin in his fingers, tugging your temptations into his hold. “I yield.” He murmured.

Before your lips could connect, however, another student from the opposing debate team jostled his shoulder. You steadied him as the student grumbled under his breath. “Get a room. Fucking horny high schoolers.”

Kyoya glared daggers at the man, already calculating the next strike to his reputation before he heard your laughter. He felt you pry his fingers off of you, and he turned to see you smiling curiously at him, the sharp edges of his gaze already softening.

“Kissing in public?” You tease, placing a small peck on the inside of his palm. “Being late has made you so scrambled.”

Scoffing, he turns your head to the side. Favoring a far more appropriate kiss on the cheek, he responds in your ear. “You’re right, what was I thinking? You have to win to earn it.”

A gasping breath rushes through your lungs. “So not only am I competing in the finals for my debate team, I’m also competing for my boyfriend’s affection.” You narrow your gaze. “You're cruel.”

He smirks, and now it’s your turn to feel a skipped heartbeat. “So I’ve been told.”

But you hum, leaning closer. “If I don’t deserve a kiss from my boyfriend, I guess you don’t deserve the present I made for you.”

A black eyebrow raises. “You have a gift for me? Isn’t it my place to get you a gift before your critical night?”

“Yes, and I’m fully expecting whatever incredibly thoughtful gift you’ve managed to hide from me up until this point. Because I know you got me something to commemorate this day.” Turning, you move to your backpack, shuffling through it. “But I made this in Wood Shop. Just to clear my head before tonight.”

Pulling the wrapped object out of your bag, you hand it to him, beaming proudly at him. Gently, he takes it from you, immediately trying to guess what it was from the weight and size of the box.

“I’ve been trying woodcarving more often than actual carpentry.” You explain as his pianist fingers unwrap the present. “I wanted you to have my first successful product.”

God, he was almost disgusted at how bright his heart was glowing, how much lighter it became at your words. Swallowing, he pulled a nearly black object out of the decorative box, his lips parting at the sight.

A carved rose laid elegantly between his fingers. The detail was impeccable, the petals imitating something delicate even if it was created from something so solid. The flower was heavy in his grasp, but with its weight came an accurate beauty. He hadn’t really studied the skill it would take to create something like this, but he planned to do some extensive research when he was able.

Still, he knew it took an intense study on angles, and an assured hand to make cuts in the right places. Kyoya also realized the time, the focus, and the determination that someone must have to make something as perfect as this. To see an image in the wood and reveal it to the world.

The Ootori son gently began to put the rose back into the box.

Your lip worried between your teeth. “It’s made out of Gaboon ebony, which is the darkest wood available in nature. I know you have a very specific color scheme for your spaces, so I thought that would fit perfectly as a desk decoration.”

Kyoya met your gaze, placing the lid on the giftbox.

Shrugging, you shifted, wondering why a man of many words had gone silent. “And I don’t know why, but I thought a rose would be a good image. It’s romantic, sure, but…I don’t know, they have a grace to them that matches yours. In my eyes, at least.” You say.

A finger pushes up his lens as he steps towards you, placing the box slowly onto the same spare table you had set your book.

His cologne washes over you as he does, and you swallow. “Do you not like it? I could make you something else, maybe something a little sharper. A rose might’ve been too feminine–”

Your doubt is halted as Kyoya surges forward, both of his skilled hands framing your face as he pulls your mouth to his. Surprise sounds against where your lips meet before it dissolves into a wanting breath, tilting your head a little more to absorb as much of his spontaneity as you can.

It’s a closed kiss, but you both fit together like a puzzle piece, and you feel every unspoken emotion between you as he holds you to him, your own arms slipping to his waist.

When he breaks apart, you’re blushing deeply, eyes scattering to see if anyone saw the public display of affection, but the crowd was too busy with their own conversations of boosting morale and good luck.

You came back to the moment, taking a breath as you clasp your hands behind his back. “What was that for?”

His own voice was breathless, but the dazed look in his eyes sharpened, and his kissed lips smirked back at you. “You earned it.”

And even if your many talents and expositions busied his schedule, the smile that grew on your face and the way he had to gently shove you away before you stole another kiss made it worth it.

.oOo.

Hikaru’s Reader:

Kickboxing

Nail Tech

Sewing

“I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

“No, baby. You can’t do that.”

“No, I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

You sigh, holding a piece of gauze to your right cheek, and your other hand holds an ice pack to the back of your head. The swelling hadn’t gone down, so the skin was plump and red as you watched Hikaru pace the empty locker room. He ran his hands through his ginger locks, pivoting on his heel as he fumes.

Your costume fluttered around you. Since you made your own regalia, you had gone with a gold look this time. A spandex material grabbed against your muscled, shining in the metallic color, with stylish cut outs where you felt really emphasized your figure. Your hair had subtle gold streaks through it, but you were most proud of the cape you had draped over your shoulders.

It was embellished with a gold trim and heavy velvet fabric, something you wore before you entered the ring. It was luxurious, elegant, and it matched the same color in Hikaru’s eyes, already making you love it even more.

Hikaru made sure to find a pair of boxing gloves that matched, and he even offered to do your makeup before your match. He swiped gold eyeshadow over your (e/c) pools, and yellow gems traced under your waterline.

He had pretended to not be able to look at you, saying that you shine too brightly and he couldn’t stand your beauty any more.

Now, with these scratches and minor swellings, he wouldn’t look at you. Not in your sparkling eyes, at least. Only at the scratches.

“Hikaru. Kyoya would kill you if you murdered someone. You’d have to go to prison, leaving him down one Brotherly Love package.”

He puts his hands on his hips, pulling his lips between his teeth. “No, I don’t care. Kaoru will figure something out.”

He pauses when the referee of your most recent kickboxing match walks through the door. The ref clicks the door behind him, making eye contact with you as he makes his way towards you, the actual competitor.

But someone else wanted to step into the ring. A blur of orange stepped into the ref’s path, ginger clashing with black and white. “You’re gonna do something about that, right?”

The ref sighed, putting his hands up in a surrender move. “Sir, there isn’t much we can do–”

“No, shut up. You’re gonna fucking do something, right?” Hikaru gestures wildly, his eyes wild as he gets into the referee’s space. His arms direct over to you, his golden eyes scanning over your injuries for the millionth time. “Look at the love of my life. Look at them. I mean, something has to be illegal here, right? Those hits, they weren’t–, I mean, they were unconscious and they kept going!”

“Hikaru, please.” You say, bringing the gauze to another cut right above your eyebrow, chuckling a little bit. “Let the man speak. Maybe to the actual competitor. ”

Huffing, Hikaru turns to you, eyes fierce. But that fire melts into a warm sunlight as he realizes the fact that your hands are full trying to stop the bleeding and the swelling on your own. Exasperated, it takes two strides for him to be by your side.

“What’re you doing? Trying to do this yourself…” He criticizes, but you know there isn’t any fire behind it. Taking the ice pack, he grumbles, glaring daggers at the referee that moves to sit across one of the benches in the locker room. Hikaru holds the ice pack to your face, his other hand rubbing up and down your back softly.

The ref’s eyes look over the pair of you, sighing deeply. You rolled your eyes as the referee shuffled on the bench, looking guiltier by the second.

“I know I should’ve stopped them.” He admitted. “I hadn’t realized you were down for the count.”

You shift the gauze against your cheek. “Just be glad it didn’t result in anything more than a few scratches. But you should’ve been paying attention.”

Hikaru opens his mouth, but you shake your head. The referee nodded his head before hanging it.

“I know.” He spoke, clasping his hands in front of him. “You are usually such a good competitor, (Y/n), I thought you were going to get back up.”

Hikaru scoffed. “Are you pinning this on them?” He growled as he gripped the ice pack tighter. “That they should’ve been a better fighter so they didn’t get K.O.’d?”

“Hikaru–” You warn, but your boyfriend was nothing if he wasn’t stubborn, his fierceness burning under the surface.

“Of course not!” The referee stuttered. “I was only trying to explain–”

“Yeah, well, all I hear are excuses.” Hikaru bites, the arm on your back becoming tighter around your shoulders. “Get your boss in here. I want to speak to them.”

The man across from you gulped. “Are we sure that’s necessary?”

The Hitachiian twin’s teeth must’ve been razor sharp the way he barred them at the ref. “One hundred percent. I have no idea how ref’s like you get hired anyway, but I want to see who was dumb enough to actually sign the paper.”

“Baby, that’s enough.” You were scowling, but on the inside you couldn’t help but laugh at the way the ref’s face morphed from horror to the acceptance of his fate.

“Of course, sir.” Sighing, the referee offers one last apology before scratching the back of his head, the locker room door swinging behind his exeunt.

Hikaru was still muttering to himself as he brushed your hair out of your face, the strands wet with the sweat on your forehead. “Fucking people, don’t know how to do their jobs…”

“Hikaru…” Your voice is gentle as you pull the ice pack and gauze away from your face, your attractive features finally looking a little more normal. Your hand frames his cheek, and the anger in his eyes completely goes away. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I know that.” He frowns, the rasp in his voice carrying a sigh. But you could tell his eyes were still scanning your skin, making sure there weren't any other injuries that he missed. “And you’re tougher than you look.”

“Exactly.” A proud smirk plays on your lips.

“Plus,” That smirk that both annoys you and warms you rises to his mouth. “You’ve got a pretty thick skull. I think you could take a few more hits before it becomes a problem.”

Scoffing, you push him away. “I’m gonna hit you if you don’t shut up.”

“I think I wouldn’t mind.”

“Oh really?” You wrap your arm around him, bringing him closer. “You’re a freak.”

“You’re a tease.” His canines sparkle when he smiles, and it’s all you can do to make the kiss you two share as short as possible. Otherwise, the way he gently cradles your face, or how his lips move against yours would pull you in forever.

A door swinging open interrupted your bliss anyway, and you two jumped apart. Hikaru groaned softly, a small blush coming onto his scowling cheeks.

A woman in a fine pressed suit walked across the tile, her heels echoing within the locker room. You recognized her as the manager of the ring in which you’ve had most of your kickboxing matches, and you rose to meet her.

“(Y/n).”

Clutching her hand, you shake it gently, aware of your sore shoulder. “Nice to see you again.”

Hikaru just folds his arms in the background, standing at your side. The manager gives a sidelong glance before giving you a business smile.

“I wanted to personally apologize for the oversight our referee had during your match tonight.” She says, her lip gloss catching the fluorescent lights above. “You are one of our most beloved fighters, the audience loves you and your unique costumes and looks.”

In her handshake, the manager felt the smooth texture on your fingernails, and turned your hand over in hers. “Your vibrant, fearless creativity inspires many people in our kickboxing world, even if you are a little unorthodox.”

Your nails are painted with a metallic background, and when she presses your fingernails together, they create a picture of an intricate, swirling gold dragon across your nail beds. It was beautiful, it was detailed, and it had been incredibly time consuming.

You kept your nails short, and the art was absolutely covered by your kickboxing gloves, but it made you feel powerful knowing that you creation was there, even if you were the one of two who knew it.

The manager's dark eyes slid to your boyfriend who had crossed his arms, still glaring daggers at the lady. She just smiled, her gaze dropping to where his hands were visible in the crevice of his elbow.

“And it seems you have a supportive partner, as well.” She comments, causing both of your eyebrows to crease before you realize what she is talking about. Hikaru flared out his own hands, and how you had done a small but still detailed nail piece on his own hands. His fingers matched yours in color and style, but instead of having the dragon across all five of his fingers, there was a baby one swirling on his thumbs and ring fingers.

He huffs, a smirk coming to his lips as he looks at your art for the millionth time today. “Yeah, they’re pretty incredible.”

“I don’t doubt it.” The manager nods, a sweet smile on her lips. “Both in the ring and out of it, you are definitely a prize. Which is why we’d like to give you one.”

“You want to give me a prize?” You ask, a little surprise leaking into your voice. “For losing?”

The manager hums. “More for winning over the crowd, or for keeping this little instance between us. No one was seriously injured, and–”

“How about I give you the same bruises that competitor gave my partner, and then we’ll see what you think counts as ‘seriously injured’.” Hikaru growls, cracking his knuckles. He steps forward, but you stop him with your arm.

“Threatening them won’t do anything.” You sigh, but your mouth turns into a scowl. “But I’m not taking your ‘hush’ money.”

“Well,” The manager scoffs, her calm facade cracking slightly. “We must do something. If you are to continue to fight here, then all of us have to–”

“They aren’t gonna fight here anymore, then.” Hikaru’s voice cuts through the manager’s pompous assumptions, and he grabs your hand, gently moving you around her straight posture.

Her heels clack as she follows you in earnest. “Wait, you can’t speak for them.”

But as you follow behind your boyfriend, a man who is angry for your safety and your honor, you spin around, smirking through your scratches as you give them the middle finger. “You’re right, he can’t. But, even if it’s rare, he’s right. I’m out of here.”

Her slick ponytail is fraying. “But, you can’t! You have a contract!”

Hikaru mirrors your actions, and now you both are flipping her off as you back out of the locker room, your glorious cape draped across his arm.

“I’ll pay whatever it takes to break ‘em out of it,” He says, his smirk growing. “And for you to leave them alone.”

Then, you both do a lazy salute as you finally step out of that locker room, out of that situation.

Laughing, Hikaru stops his walking, causing you to stumble into him. He catches you, and you both break out into a fit, holding onto each other as you walk to his car.

Easily, he presses you up against the passenger side, using a finger to push a piece of gold-painted hair back into place. His other hand comes to gently cup the other side of your face, his thumb lightly tracing a scratch on your cheekbone.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” He says, his scratchy voice vibrating into the setting sky. “Gotta get you bandaged up, baby.”

.oOo.

Kaoru’s Reader:

Sketching

Baseball

Writing

“You know,” Kaoru said, pins between his teeth as he took them out of the bodice of your outfit one by one. “Everytime we do this, I still get distracted by you. Everytime.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes even as a blush comes to your cheeks. “You’re an even worse flirt than Tamaki.”

A groan sounds behind you as you feel hands pry the bodice off of your torso. “Don’t talk about the Boss when I am literally undressing you.”

Cool, conditioned air rushes across your newly bare skin as Kaoru throws the garment across the car seat, the leather sticking to your back as you lean into it. Arching your hips, you tug the bottom of your dress pants off, making sure the divider was up between you and your boyfriend’s family driver.

“You sure he can’t see us?” You ask, wiggling out of your underwear.

Kaoru sets the pins into his cushion, smiling. “Per usual, no.” Then the redhead turns, his smirk revealing a sharp canine. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing?”

“Kaoru!”

He cackles, but he can’t help his eyes when they drag over your bare form. Yes, changing clothes in his car was a normal thing due to your busy schedule with your many hobbies, but he never got tired of having you naked in his backseat.

He tsks. “Are you sure we don’t have time to–”

The pants you had been wearing flew into his face. “No!” You sounded a laugh as he pulled the garment off his head, and you chuckled at the way his red hair fluffed when he did.

His pale hand reaches down and grabs the duffel bag, packing the black tie outfit you wore to your art show into it and pulling out your team uniform. You pulled on the right undergarments that would support you sliding across the dirt in a baseball diamond, and caught your jersey when Kaoru threw it at you from across the car seat.

“Going from riches to rags.” He says, arranging your cleats next to you with the appropriate socks.

“You literally made these uniforms, babe.” You say, deadpanning as you squeeze yourself into the form-fitting bottoms.

“I know that.” He says, eyeing the way your toned body fills the sporty look nicely. “But I much prefer the elegant attire that I pinned you into earlier.”

“Oh, I forgot to mention.” You add, distracted as you put the baseball cap on your head, your team logo facing out towards the front seat. “Everyone loved what I was wearing.”

His lips quirked to one side. “Well, duh.”

“Expectedly so.” You tighten your belt around your waist. “But this afternoon’s outfit was…well it was just really spectacular.” Your smile reflects against the city lights.

Now dressed in the full baseball regalia, you lean over to your own personal fashionista, putting a finger under his chin.

“I’m really lucky to have Japan’s second best fashion designer as my quick-change roadie.”

Any sweetness in Kaoru's eyes vanishes, and a second after your lips are a breath away, he is pushing you to the other end of the backseat. “Oh yeah? Then someone else can get you dressed for your book reading tomorrow.”

You gasp. “Oh no. Whatever will I do without the expert way you zip a zipper?”

The Hitachiuan twin feigned offense. “That’s what I majored in.”

“And what about your knowledge on what colors I look best in? I’ll be so washed out.”

He crosses his arms, still looking at you with a smug simper. “You’ll just have to figure it out.”

Shrugging, you cross your legs, your cleats knocking against each other. “I guess I’ll just have to find someone else to undress me in the backseat of their family’s car.”

A hum sounds to the other side of you, like honey being poured into tea. “Now that’s something I know no one can do better than I can.”

Two manicured hands are suddenly around your waist, and you are dragged across leather. The soft material of your pants are seated into Kaoru’s lap, while, like instinct, your arms wrap around his neck.

“I think we can finally agree on something.” You concede, your eyes meeting his in the dim light. The city rushes by outside of the limo’s glass, but time stands still when your lips touch. A pleased sound resonates in the back of his throat when you nip at his bottom lip, and you feel him smile into the kiss.

Pulling away, you share another longing moment before you groan, your head resting into the crook of his neck.

“Are you sure the art show went well?” You ask, hiding your insecurity as you bury your nose into Kaoru’s cologne.

Chuckling, you feel his hands casually lock around your hip. His cheek comes to rest on the top of your head, the two of you squished to one side of the seat. “I’m sure. You’re talented, you know that.”

“I do, but I’ve just been so distracted with everything that I have going on.” You can hear his pulse inside his throat, encouraging you to open up a little more. “I balance so much that it feels hard to put 100 percent of my effort into everything I do. I feel like I’m half-assing it.”

“(Y/n), babe.” He brings your face away so that you can look at him clearly. The driver makes a right turn, the force pushing the two of you closer together. “Sketching, sports, writing. All of these things are your life. You’re allowed to put your energy into multiple outlets at once, as long as it’s not draining you.”

“I don’t think it is.” And he knew that. He knew that even if you seemed tired after a hard day in the studio, or maybe a tough day at practice, the smile on your face was genuine. You always put everything you had into everything you did, and that was just one of the things he adored about you.

“My partner is an all star, author, and an artist.” Kaoru says, a proud glint in his golden eyes. “And you know what? Because of that, I’m never bored.”

“Thank god for that. It ceases your regularly-scheduled destruction.” You say, a finger twirling into his ginger strands. “Although Hikaru probably misses his partner in crime.”

Kaoru just shrugs. “Hikaru has always been able to create his own chaos, he’ll be fine.”

“So, if you have this much confidence in me, then you must think my first book reading tomorrow is going to go well too, right?”

“I couldn’t be more sure. I was able to read the whole thing, and I don’t think I’ve been able to finish a fiction book in my life.” The twin admits, and you smirk.

“Well, that’s obvious.”

His golden irises roll. “Very funny.”

“Then, what about this game?” You ask, looking out the window to see the baseball stadium peek out from the horizon. You still had a ways to go. “Think I’m gonna win?”

There was silence. You got lost in the city’s sparkling skyline a little longer before your gaze snapped down to your boyfriend’s, just to see him avoiding your gaze.

“Kaoru?”

“Huh? What?” He says, and he runs a hand over your jawline. “Wow, babe, you’re so beautiful.”

Scoffing, you lean away from him. “You don’t think we’re gonna win?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Kaoru, you only have so many thoughts that can fit into the pea-sized brain of yours.” You say, laughing. “You should not be wasting that space doubting me.”

“I will never doubt you.” He says, grabbing your hand that began to poke at his forehead to see if you could hear an echo.

“I will, however,” the Hitachiian brother raises your hand to his lips, “realize that while you are immensely talented, baseball is a team effort.”

You give him a blank look. “And my team sucks.”

He kisses your hand. “They suck so bad.”

And you're laughing. A few seconds ago, you were drowning into your anxiety, but Kaoru made you feel light enough to float above them all. Balancing multiple things at once was hard work, but having a man like him at your side made it easier.

Your laughter dies down, and there’s an extra spark in Kaoru’s eye that paired well with the city lights reflected in his pupils.

You hit his chest, even as he snakes kisses up your shoulder and onto your neck. “Kaoru, we can’t.”

“The stadium is still a ways away. We have time.”

Your skin tingles under his touch, and you sigh. “Kaoru…” You weakly try to push him away, but he holds onto your hips.

“(Y/n)…”

Huffing out a breath, you take off your baseball cap so you can properly kiss him without it bumping into Kaoru’s forehead. “Fine, but we have to be quick.”

His laughter rings out as he pulls you into his chest, and you are already second-guessing his intentions on making it quick as he draws his tongue slowly up your throat.

It’s a good thing the divider was up.

.oOo.

Mori’s Reader

Fencing

Yoga

Poetry

Swords clashed, the metal twinge sounding against the Hinoki cypress that covered the dojo’s walls. And each time you and your opponents’ swords would cross, your heart would pound in sync, both beats echoing with your efforts.

Thirteen touches. Your opponent had scored thirteen touches against you within this bout, and you were determined to not let him get the last two he needed to win. Lunging, your sabre jabs across the piste with a grunt from your lips, only to have it wacked away immediately by your competitor.

You clench your jaw as you ward off one of his own jabs, trying to see through the mesh of your fencing mask. The long torso of the man across from you twists, leaning to the right. But once you move to block it, he swerves, turning to the left and touching you in the ribs.

Huffing, you rip off your mask, your hair fluffing out once freed of the hard shell. “You’re kidding me.”

Mori easily slides off his own helmet, letting the smug grin on his face widen at the sight of your exasperation. His black hair fell slightly in front of his face before he pushed it out of the way, a few drops of sweat beginning to bead on the edge of his jawline.

Grumbling, you point your saber half-heartedly at him. “I’ve been fencing my whole life and you only started a couple months ago. How are you so good at this?”

He shrugged his shoulders in a way that was so irritatingly handsome, you had to force your head back into your mask.

“Again.” You demand.

With one hand, Mori effortlessly readjusts his own gear, and you both fall back into a fighting stance.

Your boyfriend had always been good at things without ever trying too hard. It seems he had an eerily accurate way of breaking any sport, art form, or hobby down to its basics, and extorting it in front of his opponents. Easily, he analyzed the strengths and weaknesses of any obstacle he was put up against, and bent them to his advantage.

He was smart, analytical, and having way too much fun watching you become frustrated as he brought you both to match point. You could tell by the way he stood, slightly bouncing on the balls of his feet to keep himself agile, his martial arts training coming in handy. He held his sword out with one arm, and the other bent at his back, but his shoulders were dropped low, a casual stance as he became more confident in his victory.

Growling, you lunged first, starting your combat again. You were aggressive, and you took pleasure in seeing his shoulders rise as he took a defensive position against your attacks. Arms burning, you swiped and slashed at his white suit, all of your fencing training becoming honed into this very moment. You were sure a soundtrack could be made to emphasize the way you moved forward, forcing him to step back and block any chaotic jabs and swipes that you threw his way.

You heard him gasp as his foot dropped off the piste, and his tall body tripped, falling backwards as you stood over him, the vertex of your sabre denting the clothing on his chest.

His chest heaved with the effort, and you crouched, once again pulling off your headwear. “That’s more like it.”

You pulled off his mask as well, this time leaving the thick strands that fell into his brown eyes. His confident smirk had been replaced with a slight scowl. Stepping in between his legs, you met his eye level.

“Fourteen to fourteen.” You bragged, letting your sword rest on your shoulder. “Now, we’re tied. Again.”

A displeased grunt came from the stoic's mouth.

“This little competition of ours has been fun.” You say, molding your voice to sound bored as you exhale, standing up and putting out a hand for him. “But it looks like I will emerge victorious.”

Your boyfriend’s visage fell blank, and he rolled his eyes before grabbing your hand and lifting himself up, towering over you as he folds his arms around your waist.

Bending like a branch in the wind, Mori tightens his hold as he presses you into his chest. One of his hands came to cup your face, forcing your gaze to focus on the small beads of sweat dancing across his skin. “We’ll see.”

Then he kisses your cheek, turns you around, and pushes you back to your end of the piste. Refusing to wipe the smirk off your face, you reset, readying your sabre with new confidence.

This time, you both take the offensive, aggressively sparring as your blades crash together in hurried movements. He blocks your jabs, and you leap over his attempts to sweep you off your feet, ignoring the legality of your movements. Sweat begins to gleam on your forehead under your mask, but your smile only grows.

As he takes another step to jab at your shoulder, you lean to the side, effectively dodging his attack to see that he has left himself wide open. Victory fuels your heartbeat as you lunge, even going as far as letting out a confident hah! as you aim the point towards the side of his ribcage.

Suddenly, Mori turned on his heel. With incredible speed, he swipes your sabre away as if he knew exactly where it was going to strike. He grunts as he pushes you back, both you and your sabre stumbling to the floor with his strength, and all you can do is sit there empty-handed as he juts the end of his sword right above your heart.

Huffing, you fall, letting your back hit the piste with a disgruntled groan. You hear a dark chuckle as steps move towards your fallen body.

“That’s fifteen.” Mori confirms as he stands over you, his already-tall form looking enormous from your position on the ground.

“Yes, I can count, thank you.” You grumble, ripping off your mask for the last time.

He puts pressure on the point where his own sword pinpoints your skin, your heart fluttering for different reasons when he reveals his face. Flushed, disheveled, and confident in his win.

The way his lips slightly lifted on either side, the way his dark chocolate eyes glimmered over your exhausted form. You wanted to kiss that smug look off his face.

But you wanted to win more.

Batting the sword away, he reaches out a hand to help you up, pulling you to your feet. The Ouran Highschool Gym bustles with students. Some engage in kendo matches that Mori observes silently, most likely learning from other’s mistakes.

Picking your sabre up from the aftermath of your loss, you gently raise the end under his chin, quirking an eyebrow as he tenses and focuses his gaze back on you.

“Your opponent is in front of you, Takashi. Shouldn’t you be paying attention?”

His gaze melted into something smooth and dark. “The game is over.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of his victory.

“Far from it.” The end of your blade dips gently into his skin for a second before you flick it away, nudging his chin softly. Turning from him, you call over your shoulder. “On to the next event!”

After changing out of your fencing attire, you’re sat across from him, a(n) (f/c) yoga mat splayed out below you as he sits atop a dark blue one. Given the charged looks he gave you before you entered a dressing room, you knew that it was game on. Both of your competitive spirits had been stoked, and you only had more motivation to kick that – admittedly very nice – ass of his.

Taking a deep breath, you let the air in the gym still around you. Yoga was another one of your hobbies that you enjoyed because it gave you a chance to center yourself in the midst of chaos a certain club instilled within your life. You had picked it up when you started high school, and even your teacher said you were a natural, as you were able to really embody the purpose and true zen of yoga.

Flicking your eyes towards your boyfriend, you find that he is already looking back at you, patiently waiting for your instructions on the next round of your spontaneous competition. His eyes are warm, the smallest of smiles on his lips as they track your figure, watching as you find peace in your posture.

Shaking your head affectionately, you rock on your hips, nudging him gently with your arm. “Stop staring and listen up. I’m gonna choose a pose, and whoever holds it the longest wins.”

Mori gives you a suspicious, playful glare. “But you’ll choose something that you’re good at. That I can’t hold.”

You smile, sickeningly sweet, and Mori rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“Great!” Your grin only grows as you call out the position: Vrschikasana, or the Scorpion. Mori’s eyes flash in recognition, remembering the weeks you spent perfecting it while he trained in his dojo, and the knots he had to massage out of you afterwards.

You narrow your eyes, planting your palms on your mat. “Unless you want to give up?”

His dark gaze hardened before something fierce ignited in his visage. “No. It’s fine.”

You laugh, the sound echoing off the gym’s expensive walls – honestly, it really over the top for a physical center. Shifting your weight onto your hands, Mori follows your movements as you both lift into a handstand before arching your back, pointing your toes as they bend to touch the top of your head.

God, you loved the burn through your hamstrings, the strength of your muscles holding yourself up, seemingly weightless off the ground. You sucked in a breath, allowing your lungs to open up, your throat to loosen, and let yourself just breathe.

“You’re smiling.” A strangled voice drenched in disbelief observes next you, and you turn your head carefully so as to not knock your balance.

The chuckle that runs through you nearly does, though.

You catch yourself as you watch Mori’s arms start to shake, his breathing a little haphazard as he puts as much effort into the stretch as he can. You also watch as his muscles flex, his shirt discarded in order to cool off from your fencing tournament, eyes traveling as the lines flinch and twitch with the commitment to keep himself off the ground.

Mori was a strong guy. Defined, agile, and built with pounds of lean muscle. But yoga took a different kind of strength. It was a test of endurance and balance, a mental strength that knew no limits.

There was a reason you and Mori worked so well together.

About ten seconds from your record time holding this position, Mori topples, his legs falling over his head as he somersaults, landing with his back flat against the mat.

You chuckle, half concerned for his health from the fall, half gloating for your win. Easily coming back down to the ground, your breath heaves a little as you try to catch your breath.

“You okay, Takashi?” You ask, it being your turn to stand over him, smirking in victory.

He just grunts, giving you a bored look.

“Crybaby.” You say, sitting next to him.

“Show off.” He retorts, warmth in his eyes.

You laugh again, the rare insult leaving the exhausted stoic’s mouth. “Wanna do one more round?”

Mori’s eyes search yours for a second before nodding. “But I get to pick.”

“Sure, that seems fair.” You say, peeling back the hair on his forehead. “Go for it.”

He gets that thoughtful look in is gaze, a glint that taught you to wait patiently by his side in silence until he was comfortable to speak.

“Poetry.”

A surprised scoff left your mouth before you could stop it. Quickly, you cover your mouth, shaking your head. “Sorry, sorry. It just…that’s not a test of strength.” You say, laughing a little. As much as you loved poetry, reading and writing it, it seemed a little out of left field.

Mori shrugged his shoulders, still laid out on the floor. “Emotional strength.” He said, smart eyes smiling up at you softly.

And how could you argue with that?

Ten minutes later, sweatpants and pump covers are thrown back on your bodies as you both sit in a small corner of the gym, legs tangled as you lean against opposing walls. Notebooks in hand, your pens fly across the page, the scribbling sounds comforting as you each get lost in your own thoughts.

When it comes time to present, you go first. When Mori realizes you wrote yours about him, about how strong he was, and how safe he made you feel, it makes his tired, sore body slump against his side of the wall. His hand reaches out for yours, listening intently to your words.

His poem had a smaller word count, but the vocabulary was moving, and you laughed gently when you realized he wrote his about you. About how strong you were, and how safe you made him feel. And he held your hand the entire time he read it to you.

Let’s just say your game ended in a tie.

.oOo.

not proofread, but i enjoyed writing it!

hope you all have a great day. just give me some time to get back into the groove of things. writing is my escape, and i truly do love it. just need to find the energy :) love you <3

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najia-cooks · 3 months ago

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Fig buttercup soup

This earthy, complex, savory soup is a play on Italian wedding soup, using a common invasive garden weed as its bitter green.

Fig buttercup, or lesser celandine (Ficaria verna), is a low-growing, flowering perennial that can be damaging to ecosystems in many parts of the United States and Canada, where it has been widely introduced. It forms dense mats early on in the spring, and out-competes other wildflowers; the resulting lack of variety can be harmful to pollinators.

If you have a small infestation, it can be cleared by digging it up manually, though you will need to take care to gather all the tubers, and the small bulbils on the stems, from which the plant can regrow. It's best to eradicate lesser celandine before it has a chance to flower. There is a recompense for your trouble: all parts of this plant, including its roots and tubers, are edible if cooked or dried.

Recipe below the cut!

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Raw lesser celandine contains protoanemonin, a toxin that can cause nausea, vomiting, or paralysis if ingested in large quantities. The plant must be cooked or dried to eliminate the toxin. Keep all parts of the plant that you're going to eat at or above boiling point for at least 15 minutes.

Younger plants have less of the toxin, and some people report consuming young leaves raw, but I haven't tried this myself. If you want to eat lesser celandine leaves raw, I would suggest pulling the leaves, but leaving the tubers, then harvesting the leaves in another couple of days, when they have had a chance to sprout again. That way you will know for sure that the leaves are young. It is probably easier to just find some bittercress or violet, though!

Ingredients

500g lesser celandine (leaves, roots, and tubers)

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

2 tsp cumin (jeera)

1 tsp kala jeera

1 tsp black mustard seeds (rai)

2 pods green cardamom (elaichi), lightly crushed

1 Mediterranean (laurel) bay leaf

1 large white or yellow onion, diced

4 cloves garlic, chopped

1 green Thai bird's eye chili pepper (optional)

1 large tomato, diced

1 carrot, sliced (optional)

1 vegetarian chicken bouillon cube, or paste

Water or vegetable stock, to cover

1/4 cup acini di pepe

Salt and black pepper, to taste

Drizzling olive oil and lemon wedges, to serve

Lesser celandine leaves are a little bitter: like kale, or spinach, but more mildly flavored. The tubers are mildly earthy, like potatoes. My choice of spices plays up the earthy qualities of the leaves and tubers, but you can spice this soup any way you'd like.

Instructions

1. Place plants in a large bowl filled with water and agitate. Lift plants out of the water into a colander to allow dirt to sink to the bottom. Pour the dirty water through a strainer to capture any stray tubers, and set the tubers aside. Repeat this washing and straining process until the water runs completely clear. You may need to rub the tubers and roots between your hands to loosen dirt.

2. Roughly chop the leaves, being sure to separate large clusters at the base. Optionally remove some of the larger roots (the roots are edible and I found that they softened into the soup, rather than remaining chewy or stringy, so it's up to you).

3. If you have any particularly long tubers, cut them into bite-sized pieces.

4. Heat olive oil on medium in a large, heavy-bottomed pot. Add whole spices (cumin seeds, kala jeera, mustard seeds, cardamom, bay leaf) and fry for 30 seconds to a minute, until cumin seeds are popping into the air.

5. Add tubers and onion and fry 3-5 minutes, until onion is translucent. Add garlic and chili and fry until onion is browned and garlic is golden.

6. Add tomato and salt and fry until tomato is softened.

7. Add the rest of the plants and heat, stirring occasionally, until leaves are wilted.

8. Add water or vegetable stock to cover, and stir. Add carrots if using. Cover the pot and simmer for 15 minutes.

9. Remove some broth into a separate bowl and whisk in bouillon. Pour back into the pot.

10. Add pasta and cook for 9-11 minutes, until tender. Taste and adjust salt and pepper.

Identifying lesser celandine

Do not eat any plant unless you have a conclusive identification. The information here is intended as a general guide and is not necessarily sufficient to conclusively identify this plant.

Large bed of lesser celandine showing flowers, leaves, and buds

Lesser celandine grows from a cluster of underground tubers in a dense rosette. Tubers are oblate; on larger plants, they grow in clusters.

Unearthed clump of lesser celandine, with roots; clean tuber at right

Leaves are hairless, fleshy, and cordate (heart-shaped), with wavy margins (edges); they are dark green on top, and pale green or silverish on the bottom. They can sometimes show variegation (lighter patterning). Petioles (leaf stalks) have deep grooves down the center.

Leaf top (left) and underside (right). Petiole is visibly grooved from the front

Flowers are yellow or purple and bractless, with 7-9 petals, and many stamens and carpels.

Lesser celandine flower; leaf at bottom left shows some variegation

Lookalikes

Violet

Before it flowers, lesser celandine may resemble violet. Violet leaves have a greater tendency to curl inward at the petiole to form cups. They are more heavily serrated, rather than gently scalloped, as lesser celandine leaves are. Violets grow from rhizomes, rather than tubers. The flowers and leaves of the violet plant are edible raw or cooked; the rhizomes are not.

Violet (left); lesser celandine (right)

Littleleaf buttercup

Lesser celandine leaves may resemble the lower leaves of the littleleaf, or kidney leaf, buttercup; but littleleaf buttercup is an upright plant, with stems several inches in height. Little buttercup is toxic cooked or raw.

#foraged #fig buttercup #lesser celandine #soups

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exitingmusic · 2 months ago

Text

Yours

Caleb x reader

Warnings: suicidal ideas, depression, slight self-harm, language, obsessive Caleb (slight yandere, not too ooc), lil bit of angst :)

AN: This is a pretty long one I've had in my drafts and the beginning isn't great but I swear it gets better I SWEAR I'll do the HC after this I just really wanted to write this before I forgot :)

WC: 8.6k

After a big argument with Caleb about him locking you in his house, tensions were high. He was leaving tomorrow for a new exploration mission with the Farspace Fleet, but you refused to let yourself be upset that he was leaving again. Not when he had locked you up. Not when he had given you sleeping pills instead of medicine so you wouldn’t sneak out.

He approaches you, a smile on his face as he takes your hand. “I’m about to leave, it’d be nice if we could have a meal together.”

You yank your hand away, snapping, “So I have to listen to the Colonel even when it comes to eating and drinking now?”

Hurt crosses his expression as you turn on your heel, heading for the living room. He follows you, standing in front of you as you sit on the couch and scowl up at him.

“Your life has threats around every corner. The people who are after your power, who want to hurt you? They should all just disappear.” Leaning forward, he presses his hand against the cushion beside your head. “You’re only safe when you’re by my side.”

A gentle smile tugs at his lips, the soft feeling not reaching his cold eyes. It falls quickly though when you respond, “I’d rather face danger head on than live ‘safely’ like this! I don’t need you—“

“You don’t need me? Is that what you think?” he says, cutting you off with a disbelieving laugh. Leaning forward, he grabs one of your wrists. “Alright. What do you need? You can tell me. We can return to Linkon if that’s what you want. If you want to return to the past, we’ll rebuild our old house and move in together.”

His voice turns pleading as he continues, “I’ll decorate it with everything you could ever want, it will have the most beautiful, stunning gardens you’ve ever seen. No threat will ever be able to find you again. I’ll protect you forever.” His words are soft, his eyes so familiar and yet so wrong, somehow. A slight smile curves his mouth, so normal and yet different that it makes your heart ache.

“Caleb, I lived this long without you, I can take care of myself. I don’t want to be a bird locked in a cage, even if it is with you,” you pleaded, carefully watching his every reaction.

He lets out a frustrated sigh and closes his eyes, clearly struggling to remain calm and not snap. He rubs the bridge of his nose and takes a few deep breaths, trying to steady himself as he opens his eyes again to look at you.

“You think I care about your freedom or free will right now? The only thing I care about is protecting you. The rest doesn’t matter.” He runs a hand through his dark hair and paces away from you, his expression conflicted. “Why do you even want that freedom when you could have safety here, with me?”

“Am I just supposed to stay here, acting happy all my life? Surrounded by the same walls? The same things? Never see or talk to anyone else?” You continued, your voice raising, “because I can't do that Caleb, no matter how safe I'd be. I couldn’t stand it.”

Caleb’s jaw is clenched tight, the anger in his words barely contained. He turns and takes a step forward, his hand reaching out to grab your arm and pull you up from the couch. “I don’t give a damn how ‘happy’ you are, or if you feel ‘trapped’. I just. Need. You. Safe.” His hand tightens on your arm as he presses close to you, every line of his body tense at the argument.

“It doesn’t matter if I lock you up or keep you under my watch,” he says, his gaze pinning yours as he growls, “As long as you’re safe, nothing else matters,” he mutters, releasing your arm, but still standing close enough to tower over you, his violet gaze locked on yours. “Why can’t you understand I’m doing this because I love you? I can’t let anything happen to you, no matter the cost.”

You didn’t recognize this man in front of you, eyes hard and cold, determined to clip your wings and trap you in this gilded cage. You weren’t angry at him, no, it just hurt seeing the boy you loved so dearly so detached and uncaring, towards you no less.

Anger fading, you look at him with saddened eyes, “You're not my Caleb.”

Caleb freezes, staring at you, looking like you stabbed him in the chest before his expression hardens again, the air growing tense as he says, “What are you talking about?”

His hand gently grabs your chin, tilting your head up so he can search your expression as he says, “Of course I’m the same Caleb, your Caleb. The one who’s been here, protecting you, worrying for you, and who loves you. Who else could I be?”

“My Caleb wouldn't have done this. He would've happily followed me to the ends of the universe to keep me safe and happy. He wouldn't lock me away…” you said defiantly, raising your chin.

He releases your chin and steps back, something cold hardening in his expression. “Your Caleb, huh? That sounds like some kind of ideal to me. He sounds like a spineless, love sick idiot who’s willing to risk your life for you to be happy.”

He begins to pace in front of you, his expression turning bitter as he says, “You think he would’ve preferred letting you run around, putting yourself in danger, all because of what?! Your happiness?”

“But I loved that Caleb, I still do. I couldn't give a shit if he was a spineless, love sick idiot. He was my Caleb and I'd have him no other way,” you say loyally, your voice quiet but unwavering.

He freezes, something painful flashing across his expression before he quickly turns from you. One of his hands clenches into a fist as he snaps, “Well that Caleb is dead and gone.” He’s stiff, his shoulders are tense, a muscle in his jaw moving as he stands silently.

Even though he’s turned away from him, your face doesn’t hide your disappointment, “Clearly,” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. You can’t help the sliver of satisfaction that you feel as he clenches his jaw, teeth gritting.

“So why do you keep talking about him? He’s dead, and everything you want doesn’t matter anymore.” He turns and walks towards you, standing just in front of you with a bitter, cold expression. His voice is fragile as he asks you, “Why can’t you stop talking about him and see me?”

You hold no anger, only pity for him, “Because you’re trying to force me to see you, to choose you over everything else in my life. You’re making yourself the bad guy.”

He laughs, but it’s bitter and harsh. “The bad guy? Is that what you think I am?”

‘Caleb’ cups a hand on your chin, gently forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are hard, no trace of the soft, kind boy you used to know.

“Let me tell you what I think, sweetheart. I think your judgement is clouded by sentiment. Your idea of who your old Caleb is has blinded you, your idea for who I should be.”

That was your breaking point, “Well maybe it’s because I’m locked in this house and now I’m not allowed to see my friends, to go places, hell, I’m not even allowed to go outside,” you spat, glaring up at Cal- no, the Colonel.

He scoffs and gently pushes you back down into the couch, his expression angry as he says, “You expect me to care? You’re not miserable. You’re not hungry, you’re not uncomfortable. You have everything here, but all you can focus on is that you’re missing your freedom, like some kind of animal.”

He shakes his head and looks away, a bitter laugh escaping him. “You’re lucky I even let you have this much. You could be locked up, actually locked up in a cell with no contact.”

Your eyes narrow, an expression of disgust on your face, “You’re right my Caleb is dead,” you grit out, brushing past him to your room.

His jaw tightens, annoyance clear in his expression as he yells after you, “And what does that mean? Your Caleb is dead, sweetheart. This is the only version of me you’ll ever have now.”

Turning back, you bare your teeth, “I might not die out there, but I sure as hell will wither away in here. Thank you, Colonel, I feel so safe,” you spat the title out venomously, slamming the door, paying no mind to his recoil at the rank.

He lets out a low growl and slams a hand on the door, his voice rising in a sharp, cold snap. “You’re going to open this door right now.”

“We don't all get what we want, Colonel,” you say, voice empty as you glare at the door. “Remember? Safety over happiness?”

He steps back and takes a deep, calming breath. With sharp, angry strides, he walks into the living room and sits on the couch, every movement radiating anger.

“Happiness will pass,” he grinds out, his gaze cold as steel fixated on the wall. “Safety is permanent.”

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Over the next 2 days, fury is the only thing you feel, it consumes you. You don’t sleep, don’t eat, you can’t breathe from the anger running through your veins. After the first couple of hours, your room is completely trashed, everything that decorated her room was either broken or on the floor. Your books were bent, pages torn out and crumpled. Your plants were turned on their sides, pots broken as soil spilled out. Pictures of Caleb and you, drawings you had made of each other, laughed over were taken out of their frames and torn to pieces, the frames crumpled and dented. The pretty vase of flowers Caleb got you? Smashed to pieces, the petals shredded and stems ripped. The pillows and blankets you bought together? Ripped, the stuffing leaking, just how your pain leaked oozed from every pore. The jackets, shirts, and sweatshirts he gave you were tossed in the hall. Every gift he ever got you was either broken, ripped, shredded or shoved away from your sight. Everything you enjoyed was broken beyond repair.

Even the plushies weren’t safe from your wrath, a couple being so dented from how many times your fist flew into the soft material. The only thing that remained untouched was a dinosaur model that the two of you spent nearly a week on before he “died”. It was also the first time he ever kissed you, right after he placed the final piece, he jumped up, excited, pure joy on his face as Caleb spun you around and next thing you knew, his lips were on yours.

Now, you couldn’t even look at it, but you couldn’t bear the thought of crushing it, so it sat on the windowsill, hidden behind the blinds that were always shut tightly, preventing any glimpse of the outside.

The Colonel didn’t do that, you did. You couldn’t bear to see freedom so close, yet so far. The sun would shine on the grass and trees outside your window, birds flying over and nesting in the big oak tree in the back. Each night, when the sun set, the sky would be ablaze with the most vibrant pinks, purples, and oranges. Wispy clouds trailed their fingertips through the sea of the sky, curling around each other and floating whichever way the wind carried them.

You felt like a caged animal, being taunted by having to watch your freedom and life slip past right in front of you.

On day 2, you realized that your anger wasn’t getting you free. Defeated, you fell back onto your mattress, a heavy weight on your chest, like this invisible force was smothering you.

You couldn’t cry, it was like the comfort of tears had forsaken you as well as the life you were once so excited to continue, adventuring around the planet freely, meeting people, fighting wanderers and just having the freedom to make your own decisions.

You just felt so empty, the anger had burned out all of your motivation, all of your feelings, leaving you a hollow, blank shell.

A part of you died with Caleb when he vanished in the explosion, coming back as someone you could barely recognize. Your mind was tricked by his physical appearance that you didn’t notice that the kindness and joy had all been leached out.

You didn’t know how long you laid there, lost in your own mind before the door opened. Even though you didn’t look, you could still sense he was standing there.

You didn’t react, not when he sucked in a breath at the mess, not when he came closer or when he peered at you.

“Come, I made you food,” he says stiffly, eyes sweeping over the crushed memories, precious items that weren’t too special to anyone except you.

Standing up, you avoided his eyes and walked past him, shoulders curled inwards as you sat down in front of the plate set up for you.

You couldn’t even feel your hunger, your mouth didn’t water as the scent of his braised chicken wings filled the air. Sides of wonton soup, Har gow, and stir fry sat on the counter, all your favorites.

You ate robotically, the food turning to ash in your mouth. Normally when you ate Caleb’s cooking, you’d be shoveling it in your mouth as fast as possible, trying to eat as much as you could before you got a stomach ache.

But normally you wouldn’t be locked inside.

You could tell Cale-, no, Colonel was a little concerned as he watched you eat slowly, completely blank, a harsh contrast from your torn apart room.

He cleared his throat, “Is the food okay?” The Colonel asks, his voice hesitant.

“S’fine,” you muttered, staring at the plate.

He didn’t try to talk to you again but he sat there, watching you with sharp eyes.

After you finished, you took your dishes over, rinsing the residue off and setting them next to the sink before you went back to your room, shrinking away from the windows, like a phantom.

And that’s what you were, a ghost, a wraith. A spirit that haunts the halls of the house, staring blankly for hours on end. And wherever she drifts, the curtains fall shut, clouding the house in darkness once more. Darkness that was reflected under your eyes.

You grow paler, thinner, your hair messy and clothes hanging off your body like rags. You only ate when he made you, only slept when he made you, only spoke when he asked you something. All your other time was spent locked in your mind, staring off into space.

The Colonel had attempted to bring you back to life. He had cleaned up most of your room, replaced books, framed new pictures, and bought you new pillows and blankets. He tried to talk to you, tried to get you to do things together, but you only responded with simple answers or refusal.

He tried to get you to cook with him, playing music while he waited for you to come out of your room and help him or even just sit at the counter. He tried to give you new plants, but you never watered them, your room was already too dark for them to live long. He gave you all the comforts you could want, but nothing changed.

A cage was still a cage no matter how pretty it was.

Only you couldn’t bear to look outside of it.

You could tell the Colonel was getting frustrated, he stopped trying to sweet talk you into spending time with him or having a conversation. He stopped putting so much effort into cooking, realizing that you weren’t enjoying it. He stopped trying to breathe life into your room, stopped adding old pictures, stopped setting plants on the shelf, leaving the other ones to wilt away.

It was ironic, you and the plants were both wilting away from the sun, dying slowly.

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Like usual, you were laying on your bed, looking at the ceiling and imagining the bright blue sky and the fluffy clouds with birds flying overhead, trying to bring you some comfort, to ground you and to bring you some form of happiness.

It had been months. Five months since you’ve been outside, five months since you’ve seen anyone but him, five months since you’ve seen anything else but the same walls.

You didn’t care anymore, you barely ate, just laid in bed, numb. Your hands were bloody from how often you picked your cuticles, your nails were just nubs, bitten down to the skin. Every time anything would scab over, you picked it immediately.

It was a reminder, a reminder that you were still real, that you could feel, no matter how much you didn’t want to. No matter how many times that she felt like she wasn’t here, the pain would bring her crashing back down.

He watched your slow retreat over the next few months. As much as he tried to talk to you, to coax you back to something like your old self, he made no ground. You were like a shell of your former self, just a hollow echo with no fire in its soul.

With every week that passed, he grew more and more desperate. He tried bringing your favorite foods in, tried to talk you into listening to music again, but none of it had any effect.

He tried to keep a blank expression around you, but as the months passed and he noticed that you were beginning to wilt away, the hard lines in his expression would soften to concern.

He attempted to give you things to do, books to read and such, but everytime he was met with either you ignoring him or just reading the words without actually comprehending them.

By the time a couple of months had passed, your old self was gone, replaced with this empty, soulless shell.

After another month, he was at his wit’s end. You never talked, you never attempted to do anything, you were just a shell. All your fire, your brightness, your life, was gone.

He watched over you constantly, his worry and agitation growing. It was like he was taking care of a robot or a puppet, rather than the person he loved.

On one particular day, he stands in front of you with a conflicted look on his face as he says, “I can’t keep doing this.”

You just walked by him towards your room, “I told you.”

He follows you into the room, his expression hardening as he says, “Don’t you even care anymore? You’ve given up on everything.”

“No, I don’t care.”

He scoffs in disbelief, crossing his arms. “Damn it, you’re not even going to try and fight this?” he says, his voice sharp and bitter.

You sigh, finally turning to him, “There’s no point.”

He goes silent, his gaze fixed on you, taking in your changed appearance. There was a time when he would’ve admired everything about you, how fiery you were, how full of life.

Now, now you were thin and limp and lifeless. Like a puppet without its strings, he felt like he’d broken you down to nothing but a shell of your former self.

After a few moments, he lets out a sigh and mutters, “You look terrible.”

“I'm safe,” you say simply, her words having no bite, just as lifeless as you. Crawling into bed, you faced the ceiling.

He squeezes his eyes shut as you speak, his heart twisting in his chest at your tone.

He’s never heard you sound so lifeless before, so dull, almost like everything inside you has died. His hand gently shifts to the nape of your neck, his touch almost tender.

“This isn’t what I wanted. You’re acting like a doll, not like yourself.”

You turned away from him, “My safety matters most,” you say robotically.

He falls silent. It was a statement he had said, and yet…

He sighs and closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Safety isn’t everything. What’s the point if you’re left miserable?” he said tiredly.

You didn’t bother agreeing, not when it took him this long to understand.

He runs a hand through his hair and scoffs, anger rising in him. “You’re supposed to argue! You’re supposed to get mad at me, yell at me!”

The Colonel’s hand clenches into a fist and he looks down at you, irritation filling his gaze. “You’re not this, you’re supposed to be all bright and happy, damn it!”

“I tried,” you mutter.

He lets out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You tried? Hah. You didn’t even fight it in the end, you just let yourself crumble and now I’m stuck with this-“ he waves a hand at you, “-this empty husk.”

You gave him a tired look, “I can’t fight forever.”

He sighs and shakes his head, his expression growing cold. “Bullshit. You could’ve kept fighting, you could’ve still been resisting but instead you just… gave up.”

His lip curls into a sneer, his anger flaring. “You just gave up and let me break you.”

“I just wanted to go outside,” you say, your voice broken as you turn towards the closed curtain.

His expression twists into a scowl, his anger still there but more muted. He takes a step forward, his gaze on you as he says, “Outside? That’s what this is about? You want to go out there? Do you have any idea what’s like for you outside? Why do I have to keep you here? It’s for your own safety. Can’t you see that?”

“I don’t want to live anymore,” you whisper, completely and utterly broken.

He’s taken aback, his anger instantly vanishing into thin air. He stands there in stunned silence, his jaw clenched tightly. The words hit him like a freight train, each syllable a sharp stab into their chests. He knew, he knew he’d driven you to the brink of depression, but hearing it out loud… he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there. “You don’t mean that,” he finally murmurs.

The Colonel comes forward and kneels at the side of the bed, reaching out a hand slowly, as if he’s afraid he’ll scare you away. He gently brushes a strand of your hair away from your face, his touch a tender, gentle one. “You can’t mean that,” he says again, his voice quiet and broken, “Tell me you didn’t mean that.”

You shake your head, “I’m done.”

He takes your hand in his, clasping it firmly on his own. His eyes lock onto yours, pleading. “Don’t say that. You’re not done. You’re just lost, I can help you find your way back, I can fix this, I can fix you.”

You avoid his gaze, “I don’t think anyone can.”

He refuses to believe that, his grip on your hand tightening as he says firmly, “I can. Anything that can be broken can be fixed. You’re just… confused. I can help you, I can fix you.”

“It’s been months.”

He can’t deny that, and he knows it. It was his fault, his fault that you were like this. Still, he shakes his head and looks you in the eye, determined. “It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. You’re broken, and I’m going to fix you. I don’t care what I have to do.”

He releases your hand and stands, towering over you with a determined expression. “I will fix you,” he repeats firmly, his jaw clenched tight. “I just need to find the right method. I’ll fix you. You just have to let me.”

“There’s nothing left to fix,” you whispered shakily.

The Colonel scoffs, his impatience flaring. “You don’t get to decide that. I know you’re in there, somewhere, you’re just hiding! You’re just…” He rubs a hand down his face, his frustration growing as he tries to find the right words. “You just need to be reminded of what you had. What we had.”

“I had a life.”

He looks at you, his expression hardening. “You have a life. You’re alive. You’re living, breathing, safe. That’s what matters, not you going out and running risks.”

“There’s nothing left for me,” you say, picking at your bloody hands, trying to ground yourself.

He grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at him as he says, “Are you listening to yourself? We’ve been through so much. You are my world, my everything. I love you with all my heart. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you understand?”

Your gaze snaps to him, eyes hardening, “Why can’t you understand me?”

He shakes you a little, his fingers almost digging into your shoulders. “I’m trying!” he growls out, his anger flaring again. “But you’re just so damn stubborn, refusing to listen and understand what I’m doing is for your own good.”

And just like a flip of a switch you turn away from him, the little emotion and vulnerability you showed vanished, tucked away and extinguished.

He’s left standing there, your expressionless body turned away from him. Frustration, irritation, anger, helplessness, guilt, all well up inside him. In a moment of blind frustration, he grabs a nearby pillow and lets out a yell as he throws it across the room.

You don’t react, don’t flinch, you just lie there, already retreating back into the corner of your mind.

He stands and stares at your still body for a few moments, his chest heaving. He wants to shake you, to yell at you, to get something back, any semblance of his beloved and fiery girlfriend. But you’ve already retreated back into your emotionless shell, leaving him standing there and feeling more powerless than ever.

He falls to his knees and presses his palms to his eyes, his mind spinning as his emotions overwhelm him. The guilt in his chest is threatening to choke him, the sight of you lying there, barely even alive, all his fault. At that moment, he doesn’t feel like a man, much less a military colonel. He just feels like a boy who had broken the woman he loved into nothing. The woman who loved him even when he didn’t deserve it. The woman who had always been there, letting him cry on his shoulder ever since they were kids.

You try to drown him out, picking at the peeling scabs on your fingers, staring at the covered window.

He drops his hands from his face, his expression tired, guilt, frustration, and even self loathing filling his gaze. He rises slowly and comes to stand by you, his movements almost wary. He eyes your body on the bed, so thin and pale, and his hand automatically comes out to touch your hair like he’s done a hundred times before, but he hesitates, his hand hovering just above your head.

Without warning, you feel his arms around you, picking you up. You don’t ask, don’t protest, don’t even move, just lie there in his arms, eyes staring straight forward.

He picks you up bridal style, one arm under your thighs and the other under your shoulders. Your frame is too light in his arms as he heads out of the room with you. You’re limp, pliant as a doll, as he carries you through the house.

He walks outside and down the porch steps, his footsteps quick and precise as he walks across the lawn to the other side of his sprawling property.

As soon as the fresh air hits you, you tense, squinting at the sun.

You were outside.

You were outside for the first time in nearly 6 months. It was better than you ever could’ve dreamed. The smell of grass and fresh air fills your senses. You could hear the steady pace of the Colonel’s feet as he walked through the field, could hear the chirp of the birds, could hear the rustling of leaves in the wind. The warmth of the sun shone on your skin, a sharp contrast from the artificial temperature of the AC or heater.

He sees tension take over your limbs, your gaze squinting up at the sunlight. He’s hit with another wave of guilt, realizing that this might be the first time in months you’d been outside, in the sunlight.

Your eyes dart around, observing everything you can, eyes wide like this was your last chance to take it all in.

He carries you to the big oak tree at the end of his property, overlooking the hills and valleys towards the sun that was slowly sinking towards the horizon.

He gently sets you down in the shade, sitting a little bit behind you, leaving you to soak up what you’d been missing.

Instantly, your hands thread through the grass, clutching it like a lifeline. Your eyes are glued to the scenery in front of you. Rolling hills of all shades of green, from a deep hunter to a pale lime, trees and shrubs scattered the valleys, framing the thin silvery stream running down the middle. Wildflowers and weeds dotted the fields, their bright bursts of yellow, purples, oranges, and reds making the crystal sky so much clearer. Big fluffy tufts of white floated leisurely along the heavens, breaking up the sun into bright patches, shining on the bright grass below.

You're so absorbed in looking around that you don’t feel the tears dripping down her face, hands shaking from your tight grip on the poor grass.

Once you let in a shaky breath, he pauses, eyeing you like a ticking time bomb. His eyes widen as the realization hits him, watching the tears roll down your cheeks. He hadn’t seen you cry in years, ever since you had failed that test before you graduated. In all the time he knew you, you’ve been strong and fiery, fighting against the challenges that life handed to you. He can’t remember the last time he saw you cry, and seeing you now… he hates the sight of it.

He moves closer, his arms encircling you, his chest firm against your back. He leans you against him, his chin resting on top of your head. He murmurs softly, “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s okay. You’re outside.”

In your moment of weakness, you lean back into him, tears coming faster as you choked out, “It’s so fucking pretty.”

He can’t stop the frown on his expression as you cry, your body shuddering. It hurts, more than anything else, seeing you cry. He pulls you closer, one of his hands gently stroking your hair as he murmurs, “It’s just the same old trees and grass. You’ve seen them before.”

You shake your head, unable to express the rawness of your feelings, only able to clutch his arm as you sobbed. Your relief at being able to feel the world again, it was overwhelming. But so was the fear, the fear that it’d be snatched away again.

His frown deepens as he watches you, feeling even more guilty as he continues to hear you cry. He pulls you into his lap, one of his arms around your waist, keeping you pressed against him. His other hand continues to stroke your hair, his voice quiet as he murmurs, “It’s okay… cry it out, sweetheart.”

You nestle yourself back into his chest, unable to tear your eyes away, “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He follows your gaze, staring out at the horizon, a pang hitting his heart as he’s reminded of how you used to look at everything with wonder. His arms wrap a little tighter, his chin resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, “And to think… you’ve been living without this for months.”

You flinch slightly at his words, sniffling and trying to hold your sobs in.

The bitter irony of the situation hits him harder than anything. Months of keeping you safe, of keeping you inside, all to keep you protected, but now just the act of you sitting outside is enough to bring you alive. He turns his gaze back to you, taking in your tear stained face, his jaw clenching tight in frustration at himself and this whole situation.

You nod, getting distracted as you see the birds flying overhead, going to their nest in the tree above your head. Letting out shaky breaths, you try to stabilize yourself, not wanting to scare the creatures away.

He shifts closer to you, keeping a slight distance, but still within arms reach. He follows your gaze to the birds and grimaces again.

His voice is quiet, almost hesitant, as he asks, “You want to get closer to them, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, your voice a rasp, “No, I don’t want to scare them away.”

He lets out a soft huff, his gaze softening as he hears your raspy voice again. It’s the most he’s heard you speak today, if not in days.

He watches you for a few moments, noticing the slight tremble in your hands, before his voice is soft, almost pleading, “You’re trembling, darling.” His hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out to comfort you, but he restrains himself. “Let me hold you. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

His voice has a hint of desperation in it now, seeing the tremble in your body. It pains him to see you like this, especially considering it’s all because of him.

He moves closer, slowly, his hand hovering over your shoulder, “Please. Let me hold you, sweetheart.”

“I just need to see,” you plead, voice cracking.

He clenches his jaw, closing his eyes to keep himself from losing it when he hears your words. He knows you’re not just talking about the birds, that this is about needing space, needing freedom.

And it kills him.

He reaches out anyway, unable to stand the sight of your trembling hands. He gently grabs your shoulders and pulls you back, positioning you so you’re leaning against his chest.

He holds you against his chest tightly, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He buries his face in your hair, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, trying to regain control of himself.

He can’t help the broken words that escape him as he whispers, his voice strangled, “Oh sweetheart, what did I do to you…?”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his chest tight as he feels your body tremble against his. His voice is desperate as he speaks, his heart feeling like it’s being shredded with every word, “Please, please *please* don't be like this anymore. I need you to smile, to laugh, to yell at me, *anything* at this point. That blank look, the silence… it’s killing me.”

“I’ll try, just- just don’t keep me in there,” you beg.

He lets out a choked noise, his hold on you tightening a bit. He’d do anything to bring the life back into your eyes, to hear your voice.

His voice is strained as he says, his head resting on your shoulder, “Anything you want, sweetheart. You won’t be locked in anywhere again, I promise. Just please… stop being like this. I need you back… you.”

He shifts, gently turning you so you’re facing him. His eyes roam your expression, taking in the tear tracks, the broken eyes, the trembling body. He lifts his hand, gently wiping at your cheeks and wiping away the tears. His voice is a strangled plea as he says, his fingers tracing your cheek tenderly, “Please… stop crying.”

He reaches up a hand, gently wiping at the tears on your cheeks. “I hate seeing you cry,” he murmurs, his expression still full of guilt as he continues, “That’s not how it’s supposed to be. You should smile, not sit here sobbing.”

He gently turns you around, tilting your chin up to see the sincerity in his eyes.

“I couldn’t cry before I came out here,” your voice broke, “I couldn’t even feel anything.”

He shakes his head and holds you tighter, guilt continuing to build inside him. “You shouldn’t cry like this… you should be happy, enjoying the fresh air. Not crying over the very simple things I’ve taken away from you.”

He sighs and closes his eyes, resting his head on top of yours as he continues stroking your hair. He murmurs, “I knew you’d be happy to be outside, I knew it’d be different… I just didn’t know it’d be like this. I didn’t think you’d be crying like your world finally came back.”

“I just-“ his voice breaks off as he tries to find the words to say, guilt and frustration and regret warring within him. He takes in every detail of your form, and the guilt washes over him in waves. He feels like he’s broken you, even as he holds you tightly in his arms.

He holds you tighter at your words, his chest tightening at the sound of your voice. Your words are like a dagger to his heart; the way you try to reassure *him* with them instead of the other way around.

His grip on you almost becomes bruising as he speaks, his voice rough, “You’re free, darling. You’re safe. I won’t ever lock you away again, I promise.”

The guilt is so strong he’s nauseous, trying to keep himself together as he keeps you in his lap, trying to savor every second of this. Knowing that you probably hate him, but can’t even fight him in this moment, just sitting there and crying and staring out at the world he locked you away from. He knows that he’s changed your life forever, and he can’t even blame you for hating him right now.

You pause, hiccupping and debating your next words, “Thank you… Caleb,” you say hesitantly, lingering a bit longer on the syllables of his name. Syllables you hadn’t said in months, hell, you hadn’t even let yourself think of the name unless it was about the old Caleb.

Caleb’s eyes widen in surprise, and he almost doesn’t reply for a moment due to shock. He didn’t think he’d be hearing you saying his name, let alone thanking him. He takes a second to swallow the lump in his throat, his voice hoarse as he murmurs, “You’re thanking me…?”

The sun starts to slip below the horizon, setting the sky ablaze. Magnificent reds and orange and pinks lighting up the pale sky, dark clouds acting like smoke. It almost looked like the sun was melting, setting the green, lush valley on fire below.

Your sobs slow to hiccups, body shuddering.

His hand continues to rub your back gently as he feels your sobs slow down, the sound being replaced with hiccups. He presses a gentle kiss to your head again, his hold on you still tight.

He murmurs quietly into your ear as he speaks, his voice still ragged, “That’s right, just breathe, pips. Take deep breaths…. I’ve got you, I’ve always got you.”

He cradles you against him, holding you tightly as you rest your head against his chest. He buries his face in your hair again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

His thumb rubs your arm tenderly, the motion gentle and almost soothing. He sits there silently, listening to the sound of your ragged breaths slowly even out.

Caleb’s suddenly hit with the realization that he’ll most likely have to bring you back inside eventually, and he lets out a silent grimace at the thought of it. A heavy feeling settles in his chest, the thought of making you go back to that emotionless, depressed shell of yourself making him feel nauseous. He tries to ignore it, shoving that thought away and focusing on his hand stroking your hair. He takes in a deep breath and murmurs, “Sweetheart?”

“Hm?” You murmur, nearly half asleep against him, watching the setting sun.

He takes another deep breath, steeling his nerves and continuing, his voice low and steady. “I’ve gotta ask you something.”

Caleb gently turns your chin to face him, taking another deep breath and looks you dead in the eye, his gaze fierce and determined as he asks, “If it wasn’t for me, if you were free to do whatever, go wherever you wanted… would you leave me?”

You hesitate, afraid that he wouldn’t like your answer, “If I could do whatever I wanted, I’d stay with you, just not holed up in the house forever.”

He relaxes fractionally, the tense lines in his expression smoothening just a bit, but his jaw is still clenched tight. His next question comes out hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer. “You… would stay with me, but not if I kept you inside like this, correct?”

You nod, not knowing what else to say.

There’s an undeniable sense of relief in his expression, a weight seemingly lifted off his chest at your response. He takes another deep breath, his voice a low murmur as he continues with the questions. “So, if I told you I’d let you go out as long as you promise me you’d come home every night…?”

“Then I’d stay,” you whispered, afraid to get your hopes up.

Caleb watches you, his gaze sharp and serious. He lets out a shaky exhale, feeling almost like he’s on the verge of a panic attack with how fast his heart is racing. His hand is shaking on your chin, but he manages to keep his expression as steady as possible as he continues, “No matter what, you promise you’ll come back. You promise you won’t disappear.”

“I promise,” you murmur, your voice shaky with hope.

His hand on your chin slowly relaxes, as if a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He holds your gaze for a few more seconds, staring at your face intently. After a moment, he pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice hoarse as he murmurs, “Thank you.”

Your face lights up and you spin around, crushing him in a hug, “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Caleb.”

He lets out a surprised huff, but his body immediately relaxes, and he wraps his arms tight around you in return. He burrows his head into your shoulder as your arms cling to him, his own hands gripping your shirt in a vice-like grip. For a few moments, he just sits there, revelling in the feeling of you holding him tight, those words you said bouncing around in his head. He was finally getting you back, even though it wasn’t much, it was still progress.

He’s on the verge of sobbing, but he manages to compose himself, instead holding you tighter and asking, “You swear you’ll come back? Every night, you swear it?”

Nodding frantically, you refuse to let go, your face buried in his shirt.

Caleb lets out a shaky exhale, his eyes clamped shut as he leans down and presses his forehead against your hair. He murmurs into it, his voice low and hoarse, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. I never should’ve done that to you.”

His body is tense against yours, his arms holding you tightly as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. He continues his murmured apologies, a mix of guilt and desperation lacing his words. He continues to bury his face into your hair, his voice now rough and hoarse. “I never should’ve done that to you, I should never have kept you locked up and trapped like that. It was never meant to be that way, I just… I just wanted to keep you safe, but I ended up destroying you. I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You're nearly too dizzy from your newfound freedom to respond, barely choking out, “S’okay, we’re okay, I’m okay.”

He can’t help it, a harsh sob escaping from his lips at your words. He can’t stop himself as he pulls you closer, burrowing his head into the crook between your neck and shoulder, his words coming out choppy and broken as he speaks through his tears. “No, no, it’s not okay, it’s not okay. I was supposed to be your protector, but I ended up hurting you worse than I probably protected you.” Caleb’s hold on you tightens even more, almost borderline painful in how much his fingers dig into your flesh. He’s crying now, full on crying, something he hadn’t done in years. He presses his face into your neck, his entire body shaking as he murmurs through his tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You were slightly surprised at his clinginess, but nonetheless, you gently raked your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe the broken boy holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him here.

Caleb buries his face into your neck, his breaths coming out in hiccuping sobs, his tears wetting your skin as he continues to mumble, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He’s completely crumbling in your arms, the strong, stoic facade he had for the past months shattering and crumbling to pieces. He buries his face into your neck, his body shaking uncontrollably, his shoulders heaving with sobs as he holds onto you like a lifeline and repeats his apologies over and over again. “Please, please… don’t leave me... please don’t hate me, I’m sorry, I’m so goddamn sorry…”

“Shh, you’re okay baby, you’re okay. I’ve got you, I ain’t going nowhere,” you soothe, your voice hoarse from your own crying session.

He keeps his face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries his best to quell the sobs still escaping him. His breath is hot and ragged, his grip on you still painfully tight. He manages to control it enough to stop the sobs, now he’s shuddering slightly as he whispers, “Baby… don’t hate me… don’t leave me…”

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, no matter what you do,” you admit, voice shaking. “C’mon, you wanna go inside? It’s getting dark and cold out.”

He lets out a shaky exhale at your words, a wave of relief and gratitude passing over him. He takes a moment to collect himself, before letting out a deep exhale and nodding, his voice still trembling as he murmurs, “Yeah, let’s go inside…” and begins the slow process of detaching his limbs from around you and standing up.

Caleb lifts you up like you weigh nothing, both of you leaning on each other and hands interlaced as you head back towards the house.

He carries you most of the way, refusing to let you get your feet muddy, pausing as he holds you in the living room, “Can you open your eyes for me, sweetheart? Where do you want to sleep?”

“Your bed, just leave the window and door open… please,” you murmur, barely opening your eyes.

He nods silently, his grip on you shifting slightly so he can readjust his hold.Caleb then begins walking down the hallway, making his way to his room. Once in the room, he walks to the bed and gently sets you down on it, shifting a bit so he’s sitting next to you. He pauses there, simply looking at you for a few seconds before speaking, “I’ll get the window and door, alright darling?”

You nod, curling into his bed and inhaling the scent of him.

He stands, reluctantly letting go of you so he can walk around the room, opening the window and the door before turning back to you.

He looks at you again, hesitating for a few moments before murmuring, “I’ll be right outside. Just… call for me if you need me, okay?”

You sit up, confused, “Where do you think you’re going?”

He pauses at that, looking at you for a few moments before answering, his voice soft, “Just outside the room, sweetheart. I’m not leaving you, I’m just… staying out there, in case you need me.”

“Damn right you're not leaving me, now get in the bed,” you say firmly, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He lets out a soft huff of laughter at the command, his heart feeling just a little lighter at the bossy tone you were using.

Caleb walks over to the bed and slowly lays down across it, staying as close to the edge as he can, still keeping his distance from you.

You huff, amused at his cautiousness. You scoot over and pull him towards the center of the bed, staying close to him just like you did befor- no, don’t think of that, he’s here and you’re free.

He lets out another soft huff, unable to fight the small smile that appears at your actions. He slides across the bed until he’s directly next to you, though he keeps his hands to himself, not making any move to touch you.

You wrap your arms around him tightly, resting your head on his chest, using him as a squishie.

He tenses momentarily at your sudden move, before relaxing and letting you wrap yourself around him, a soft huff escaping him, “You broke all your plushies so you're using me as one.”

You shrug, holding him tighter, “Maybee.”

Caleb chuckles, “Don’t worry, we can go to the arcade sometime this week, maybe go shopping or out to eat and I’ll get you more, a bunch more.”

Letting out a content hum and melt into him, closing your eyes.

He slowly relaxes further, his arms slowly lifting and wrapping around you in turn. He holds you against him, one hand gently resting on your back and the other in your hair, his fingers running through the soft strands. Caleb’s hand runs down your back in tender motions, his touch tender, almost worshipful as his fingers softly trace across your back. He listens to your breathing, letting it soothe his nerves, his grip on you slowly tightening as he continues to run his fingers through your hair.

“Thank you,” you whisper, half asleep.

He pulls you closer to him as you speak, his breath shaky as he absorbs the weight of your words, the feel of your body against his, how you’re willingly staying in his arms, how you say his name.

His grip tightens even more, almost painful, desperate to know that this is real, that you’re not going to disappear. His voice is hoarse when he speaks, his words quiet, barely more than a whisper, “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

As you drift off, he closes his eyes, listening to your soft, even breathing. The sound is like a balm to his soul. He lets himself doze in and out of sleep, too happy to see you like this to allow himself to rest completely.

His arms loosen a bit, enough so he can maneuver his body so that his entire upper half is wrapped around you, almost shielding you from the world itself. And he would continue to, he’d continue to shield you from the harsh world, but, he wouldn’t imprison you, wouldn’t try to tame you. He’d let you burn, even if you incinerated him, he’d die with a smile on your face. Because he was your Caleb, no matter what could happen.

#caleb x reader #caleb #lads caleb #lads #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #xia yizhou #lads boys #caleb lads #mc x caleb #lads fanfic #loveanddeepspace #love and deep space #lads mc

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tales-of-wocdes · 2 months ago

Note

The clumsy MC question got me thinking, how would havard and Lexia react to clumsy MC who can't stop the bleeding (Von Willebrand disease i think it's called) if she got bruises or scratches? If it's too much or you find it uncomfortable, please ignore this question

First, googling. And going off this: https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/von-willebrand-disease/

-----------

It won't stop. You fell in the garden and something made a cut on your leg. That's fine, you don't care about the tiny bit of pain or the cut itself or the bruise on your hand from the same fall. Or the taste of blood in your mouth.

All of that is fine. It was a fall. These things happen. A lot.

Except the stupid cut won't stop bleeding! Lots of red stuff come out, and it's getting annoying.

How are you supposed to play when you are making a huge mess? You were gonna climb the tree next. You eye the garden... What if you put some dirt in it! That should stop the stupid thing. If water can heal stuff, dirt can too!

Unluckily for your plans, Lexia appears from somewhere right as you make a dash for a nice grassy area to dig up some healing dirt.

"Ok, kid you gotta slow down a bit." Lexia says and grabs your arm. "You are bleeding all over the place which is slightly worrisome, so time to get checked. But you are sort of on time with this injury, I was just coming to get you."

She presses a piece of cloth to your leg and carries you off...

Darn... You don't want another bath!

-------------

Much to your surprise, you are not taken to the healing baths as you usually are when you are injured. Instead she takes you to Havard's office, where the man himself is talking to a stranger. A woman you don't know with a stony expression.

"Thank you for..." They both turn to look at you and Lexia.

That's when you note something about the stranger... She's fancy! Hair up, all sweepy and wavy, her dress fitting her really well... How does she get it on?

"Ah, here they are." Havard smiles at you... then frowns eyes snapping to your leg. "What happened?"

"Kid took a tumble." Lexia says depositing you onto a chair. She eyes the stranger with wide eyes and retreats to stand stiffly to the side.

Something else is said, but you tune all of that out, because the woman you don't know is somehow right beside you. She looks intense. Her expression is scary... but her eyes are so pretty! Violet you think. Are they glowing a bit? Now, where have you seen...

You miss what is said again as the woman kneels, her fancy dress pooling on the floor. That's odd... the fancy people in town only seem to care about their clothes and stuff. Yet, she pays that no mind instead smiling at you, her stony expression melting away.

"Hello." She whispers.

Why do your cheeks feel hot?

Your gaze drops... when did place a hand on your wound? He glove is getting all dirty with blood! You start squirming, planning on making her let go but...

"Don't squirm." She whispers, booping your nose with her other hand.

Your own bandaged hands come to cover your nose automatically, and she giggles.

What? She doesn't mind her hand being dirty... and she can make sounds like that? Isn't she too fancy for things like giggling?

You don't notice that the wound on your leg, the bruises and other scratches are gone, too focused on the woman.

"Are you friends with the twins?" She asks, distracting you while taking your hands into hers and inspecting them. You miss that there is no blood on her glove anymore...

She knows the twins? How?

You nod at her, still confused.

Her smile at that is very bright.

"Good, you could all use some friends."

How does she know that?

The woman tells Havard to be careful with you, and not let you get hurt, because you have... a blood sickness?

Who is she?

Why are Havard and Lexia bowing?

---------------

OK... It is not quite what was asked for... Sometimes I run away with a thought and these things happen. Still, the rules stand. No revising snippets :D

#tales of wocdes #the silver protector #interactive fiction #wip #twine game #twine wip #fantasy #interactive novel #twine story #writing #snippet

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thereoncewasagirlnamedjane · 2 months ago

Text

BLOSSOM & BLOOM (1/12)

PAIRING | Steve Rogers x Florist f!Reader

TAGS/WARNINGS | fake dating, fluff, mild angst, mild language, some spoilers for Thor: Love and Thunder??, TW: mentions of character deaths and funerals, non-linear storytelling, and a friendly reminder that this story is not at all canon-compliant.

CHAPTER SUMMARY | On the anniversary of the day you met, bonds of friendship are strengthened in the fires of romantic adversity.

WORD COUNT | 5.3k

NOTES | I honestly wasn’t gonna post this yet, but I feel like it’s been so long since I posted the masterlist and I was also stressing over how many rewrites this chapter has undergone. So, I’m posting to prevent myself from overthinking this any further. I hope you enjoy; it’s also better if you don’t look up the redacted flower meanings because I will reveal them later <3

⋆ ˚｡⋆˚ SERIES M.LIST | | STEVE ROGERS M.LIST ˚⋆｡˚ ⋆

I do not do taglists. Please follow my sideblog @ficsbyjane for notifications whenever I post.

[1/12] The Proposal: ↳ an Avengers Tower gathering.

BLOSSOM & BLOOM, Rooftop Greenhouse E 40th St / Lexington Ave, NY — present day

Everything feels like a hollow version of itself tonight.

No matter what kind of day you’d been having, the greenhouse is where you go to unwind, to lift your spirits. The flowers around you seem to droop, however, mirroring your mood as you push around a half-melted pint of Ben & Jerry’s in its carton.

Strawberry cheesecake, non-dairy—because if your dumb, lactose intolerant ass is going to finish the entire thing anyway, you’d rather not add gastrointestinal distress to your growing list of problems.

You sit among the lush greenery, the stars blinking lazily at you in the inky black sky beyond the glass walls of your personal conservatory, but you pay little attention.

Notifications ping your phone, lying face down on a workbench that’s littered with incomplete bouquets and a few other lone blossoms. You don’t bother flipping it over, don’t have the courage to check whether it’s from one of them.

Instead, every so often you put down the ice cream to pick up some stray lily or solitary rose, trying to bundle them together into something presentable. Nothing turns out the way you want, and so you ultimately give up.

You try to summon the enthusiasm, grasping the handles of your gardening shears and moving the delicate, fern-like foliage of a nearby aquilegia plant out of the way so you can snip off the finished flowers.

It does little to cheer you up this time, the spent blossoms falling onto the table, all shrivelled up like your heart.

“So stupid,” you whisper, not really sure whether you mean yourself or someone else. In reality though, you don’t have anyone to blame but yourself.

The abandoned flowers sit accusingly before you, and you know you should care more. About the plants, the shop, the emails containing special orders for all sort of special occasions—all the things that used to bring you joy, enough that you made it your life’s work.

But you’ve spent your entire life trying to make everybody else happy, surely you were allowed to take just a few hours in the night for yourself?

Violet is at your parents’ house in Chelsea, your shop is closed for the day, and there are no more personal events in your calendar to worry about. You might not get a chance like this again.

So, you stare up into the sky and try not to think about all the reasons why the things you used to love are making you miserable now. Maybe they remind you that caring hurts, and lord knows you’ve had enough of that to last a while.

Still, your heart rewinds, showing you memories of all those staged dates. With hindsight, it was such a terrible idea, because you already loved him then.

But at the time? It was so tempting, so deliciously sweet, because you already loved him then.

You let yourself remember that very first night, sitting next to him on a bar stool in the party room at the Avengers Tower. You turned in the seat just enough so that your knees were knocking against his, bodies angled towards each other.

Even now, you can’t get it out of your head. The way he smiled, contagious. The way his eyes crinkled so warmly at the corners, devastating.

Your own laughter felt real and genuine in a way you hadn’t done in the longest time, and looking back, maybe that was the point when you stopped being able to tell where the pretending ended and the truth began.

Your time together began to blend. Holding hands because someone from the team might be watching, and then not letting go because—well, you couldn't speak for him, but you didn’t want to.

Murmured sweet nothings exaggerated for an audience of spies and superheroes turned into long, serious talks about nothing… and then about everything.

What seemed so straightforward at first became a maze of feelings you thought you’d been prepared to navigate, but your traitorous heart constantly turned corners you weren’t expecting.

You think of how you’ve actually fallen asleep playing his voice in your head, replaying moments that should have felt hollow and empty—but because he was the one with you, they didn’t.

And then it all came crashing down. You had known it would, quite spectacularly in fact, but you didn’t think it would happen like this.

You’d stood among the pews next to him in that church, watching as friends and loved ones paid their respects to the late Jane Foster, wondering what kind of fraud you were.

“I’m grateful you’re here, my friends,” Thor had given you a small smile, his eyes shining with sadness, your throat threatening to close up when his large hand landed heavy and warm on your shoulder, “I cannot tell you what it means.”

You remember Wanda, her expression a portrait of loss and sorrow even as Vision stood so close, their shoulders bumped. You knew who she was thinking about, a brother lost in battle. She’d confided in you about Pietro before, especially after you shared that you’d lost a brother of your own.

Tony shushed a fussy newborn Morgan, rocking her in his arms as Pepper rummaged through her purse for a packet of tissues, her eyes red and her nose running. He then handed you the tiny little bundle of joy, the baby nestling comfortably in the crook of your elbow, as Tony turned to help his wife.

Bruce was in the front row next to Thor when he returned from greeting guests, shoulders hunched and his hands clasped together in his lap like he didn’t know what to do or say. Bruce was a quiet man, but every now and then he reached out to pat his friend on the back, as though he remembered a conversation he had with you about showing affection if he couldn’t speak it.

Natasha and Yelena reached for each other, their hands coming together in the row in front of you. The sisters leaned against one another, their eyes downcast as Dr. Foster’s casket was covered in white flowers and carried out of the church. As they turned to watch the procession, their eyes met yours and they smiled. They reached for you with their free hands, and you met them halfway, your fingers trembling.

And the reality of the charade began to sink in.

You’d forgotten what it was like, having friends. Good ones. After your brother and sister-in-law passed, devastating your family and fracturing it seemingly beyond repair, your priorities shifted dramatically.

The shop used to be number one, and then your pitiful personal life. But now you’ve adopted your brother’s orphaned child, who needs you more than ever, even if parenthood was never a choice you would’ve made before everything changed.

As a result, your social life (and your love life, for that matter) fell to the wayside. Your parents, although you knew they meant well, kept insisting that you couldn’t do this alone.

Maybe it would be better if your niece went to live with them instead, they’d suggested. Or at least, it would assuage their fears if you’d just settled down with someone.

You acknowledged that being a single parent would be hard, but there must have been a reason your brother, with whom you weren’t particularly close, decided to leave Violet in your care. Your mom and dad weren’t necessarily bad parents, but they weren’t always the most nurturing or supportive.

Did you want that for Violet? After all, your parents didn’t seem to understand that what you needed wasn’t a spouse or unsolicited opinions about what you could or couldn’t do.

What you need is for them to see your grief, to acknowledge that you are trying, and to tell you that is enough.

And the Avengers, who started out as Steve’s friends, had eventually become yours too. When did it become so easy to visit the Tower for a chat with any one of them, so reassuring to see all those familiar faces at whatever event Steve led you into, and so instinctual to pick up the phone at any given time when you were bored and needed someone to talk to?

Unlike your family, they never judged—well, maybe a tiny bit—but they nevertheless welcomed you into their little group like you were always a part of them. Never mind that there was nothing particularly super about you, a civilian who just so happened to cross paths with them years ago.

All you did was grow flowers, but somehow they made it feel like you might as well be sprouting magic from your fingertips.

The initial lie began so innocently, but it threatens to choke you now. The more you got to know them, the more they accepted you, the more your discomfort grew.

You were being surrounded by sincerity, and it only served to make your own deception seem more glaring and cruel by the minute.

And so you ran.

Steve had reached for you, because of course he would. You remember the tug of his hand when you tried to pull away, the warmth of his grasp not matching the cold truth you were always too afraid to face: the two of you were never really together, no matter how real it might have felt.

You close your eyes, trying to shut out the replay of events but the images persist. That final day, him watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read as you retreated.

“I don’t know how to be what you need anymore,” you’d said, holding back tears because you had no right to cry. You were the one bailing on him, after all. Steve hadn’t done anything wrong.

Was that anger you saw in his face? No, not anger. Hurt? Disappointment? You wish you knew. You wish you could have stayed.

Will you ever see him again?

You pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly and trying to squeeze out the doubt that’s settled there like an unwelcome guest. You did the right thing, you tell yourself, even if it doesn’t feel like it—even if it feels like it might shred your heart to pieces.

Even so, your fingers itch to send him a message. Just one. Something to make sure he’s okay… or maybe you just want to make sure you haven’t been erased—some assurance that, even though the relationship wasn’t real, not all of it was a total sham.

Eventually, it gets so late that even inside the greenhouse gets a little chilly. You have to get up early to pick up Violet from your parents’ house in Chelsea, and then prepare yourself for the inevitable verbal smack-down waiting for you there when they realize you and Steve have “broken up”.

With a sigh, you gather the now empty ice cream carton, along with the trimmings and loose petals you picked off the flower stems earlier. You begin heading down the six flights of stairs, past your second floor apartment, and back into the shop to throw away the trash.

Blossom & Bloom is dark and still, the sign of the door flipped over to announce that you’re closed, but a flash of movement outside catches your attention. You freeze, watching as a tall shadow drifts across the front window, checking the time to see it’s well past midnight. Who on earth would come by now?

The shadow crosses again, deliberate, not the random movement of a passerby. Your stomach flips as the motion sensor lights above the door flick on, revealing a familiar silhouette framed by the light of a nearby street lamp.

It can’t be him, standing there looking like he’s just stepped off a vintage war poster. It’s too soon. And it’s also too late.

Nonetheless, you’re propelled towards the door by a mixture of fear and longing. He raises a hand as if to knock, only stopping when he sees you through the glass. Slowly, you unlock and open the door.

“It’s late,” you murmur, even though those are a far cry from the words you’ve longed to tell him. Still, you keep your tone firm and even, as if you weren’t just drowning your sorrows in the most cliched way possible.

You hide partially behind the door, as though it might protect you from… you don’t know what. Steve would never do anything to hurt you, not knowingly anyway.

And you’re not his “girlfriend” anymore—you never were, you correct mentally—so then why is he looking at you like that?

“You’ve been trying to tell me something,” Steve says, sounding slightly out of breath. He doesn't seem angry, hurt, or disappointed at all. In fact, he looks almost… happy.

Your face heats as you turn away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying,” he breathes, like he’s still catching his breath, sounding suspiciously like he ran all the way here from the Tower. “Your heart rate just sped up.”

“What?” You whirl around with wide eyes, incredulous. “Well, stop listening!”

“No,” he grins, cheeky, as though the last two weeks of silence haven’t happened. Like you didn’t run out of Dr. Foster’s funeral and left him high and dry, no doubt fumbling for explanations to his very confused team.

You look straight up into his eyes, searching for signs that this might be an illusion, a delusion, but all you can see is true blue.

It’s such a rarity in your world, the one of flowers, but even though you know this well, you find yourself searching for signs of it ever since you met him. Signs of Steve—reassuring, steadfast, and more beautiful than anything that’s ever bloomed between these walls.

More than the tiny, almost microscopic petals of the brunnera plants that blossom just after winter’s final frost. More than the dreamy delphinium spires that sway in the humid breeze at the height of summer. More than the lobelia hummingbird havens that grow in full splendour during the spring and fall.

Those cerulean orbs soften the longer you hesitate. Despite how you’d left things, Steve smiles so kindly, so gently, it makes you ache.

Hope. Sweet, treacherous hope swells in your chest, because he takes another step forward. He gathers your hands in his, impossibly slow, characteristically tender, and closes the gap just enough to press his forehead to yours.

You swallow a gasp and close your eyes, afraid he’ll see right through you, that he might find the love you’ve been too scared to speak but have been written all over your face all this time.

“I… I can’t…”

And because it’s Steve, he makes it all better with just a few choice words: “What if I promise to say it back?”

Your eyes snap open, and that little seedling—the one that had been planted between you the day you met all those years ago, the one that had been biding its time, just waiting for the perfect conditions before it could sprout—suddenly chooses that moment to spring out of the earth and bloom in full colour.

Steve seems to sense the change. He takes a breath.

And you, a leap of faith.

❀ Aquilegia┆columbine┆lion’s herb SYMBOLIZES: courage.

THE AVENGERS TOWER, Party Hall 200 Park Ave, NY — May 4, 20XX

Steve normally looks forward to a quiet night in with the team.

It’s nice just being with friends, the responsibilities of his shield forgotten upstairs in his room, and to put down the weight of the world that rest on his shoulders—albeit temporarily.

Lately, however, he’s been going around with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He pauses before turning corners now, carefully poking his head out first to check if the coast is clear, avoiding the members of his team like they’re the plague.

Because Romanoff seems to have a never ending list of people she thought he should ask out on a date, Tony will not stop mentioning some former client from his time at Stark Industries, and Sam keeps going on about a girl from the VA who’d be “perfect” for him.

And unfortunately, Steve seems to be running out of excuses now that the ones he’s already given them—he isn’t ready; Avenging is a full-time job; or, honestly, dating is just the last thing on his mind right now—don’t seem to be good enough anymore.

If their Captain won’t go out and get a damn life, then they’ll get one for him.

Steve takes a deep, stabilizing breath before stepping into the party hall, dreading all the dodging he’s going to have to do tonight. If only they’d focus that energy into keeping the Tower neat and organized, he’d have a much easier time.

Well, at least the place looks nice.

Because Tony never misses an opportunity to throw a party (and spend some hard earned dough), the Tower is decorated to the nines for the anniversary of the Battle of New York.

“Or, as I like to call it, the day we kicked a god’s ass,” Tony smirked when he made the announcement a few weeks ago.

There is a champagne tower in the corner, a full spread of hors d’oeuvres laid out on tables lined with cloths that probably costs more than the average rent, and the floors are so shiny Steve can see his own reflection in the tiles.

The opulence of the room makes it hard to believe that just a handful of years ago, Loki and his alien army had nearly destroyed the city. There are no signs of that destruction now, even though at the time the damage had seemed so insurmountable.

Blossom & Bloom, the flower shop just a few blocks away, is looking brand new as well. The cartoonish Steve-shaped holes in the wall and broken glass window have long since been repaired and perfectly replaced—once again courtesy of Tony’s more than sizeable bank account.

It just goes to show how far one can go, and how quickly, with the right amount of green. And he’s not talking about the Hulk.

Although, maybe the Hulk too. Tony has definitely threatened to release the big guy if contractors didn’t cooperate.

Speaking of the flower shop, Steve sighs with relief when he sees you by the refreshment table. He bypasses the team, giving them a casual wave as he approaches your side, the only person in the room who won’t give him a hard time for being, as Sam likes to put it, “single as fuck”.

“Jesus,” he breathes when he is finally in the safe zone, “did Tony leave any flowers for the rest of New York?”

“I think he plans to buy them all eventually,” you laugh, piling food high onto your plate, while Steve nods at the abundant bouquets scattered around the room. “Though, I’m definitely not going to complain about the business.”

“Sorry, that’s not what I mean. They’re nice,” Steve says, leaning over to admire the brilliant red-orange blossoms that bleed into a bright yellow at their centres. They smell faintly of liquorice, perfectly arranged among clusters of glossy green leaves. “What are they?”

“Rosa foetida,” you pronounce in Latin with a flourish of your hand, the fork you’re holding almost stabbing him in the eye. God, you are such a nerd, and yet Steve can’t help but smile. “The Austrian copper rose. Aren’t they stunning?”

Steve doesn’t say anything back though, just plucks a mini quiche off your plate and shoves it nervously into his mouth. You look up when you get silence in return, rolling your eyes when you see him engaged in a staring contest, the usual battle of wits, with Natasha and Sam.

Poor guy. Doesn’t he know he doesn’t stand a chance?

“Still avoiding the others, then?” You ask, and he mutters something unintelligible with his mouth full. “You know, the solution is very simple, Rogers.”

“An’ wha’s that?” Steve mumbles, somehow managing not to spray you with crumbs in the process.

“Get yourself a girlfriend,” you say matter-of-factly, and you hear him scoff. “Sorry, or a boyfriend. I don’t actually know what you’re into.”

“Like it’s that simple,” he says after he swallows.

”Okay, first, I want it noted for the record that you didn’t deny the boyfriend thing,” you grin triumphantly and he rolls his eyes, signalling for the bartender and quietly ordering a glass of whiskey for himself and a Diet Coke for you.

The life he leads isn’t an easy one, even before he spent the better part of a century frozen at the bottom of the ocean—before the war, even.

A frail, sickly boy spending most of his nights in bed, battling scarlet fever or painful stomach ulcers, didn’t exactly scream relationship material. People rarely even looked at him back then, and when they did, it was almost always platonic… or simply because they wanted to impress his best friend.

And then seventy years later, a hyper focused super soldier with little else on his mind but the next mission, the next global threat, or the next existential crisis that would always take precedence over date night or meeting the parents, doesn’t sound much better either.

“And second, when you look like that,” you gesture to his entire body with a pair of mini tongs, smirking when Steve averts his eyes shyly, his cheeks reddening, “it kind of is that simple.”

Fine, he will admit it, the effects of the serum certainly gets him noticed. As inexperienced as he was, Steve isn’t completely oblivious. He has no problem turning heads now, you’re right, and he’d be lying through his teeth if he said he didn’t enjoy some of the attention.

Still, anyone of substance, any person he could ever see himself really falling for, would want more than he would ever dare to offer.

“And you’re sweet or whatever, I guess that’s always a bonus,” you add teasingly before taking a big gulp of your soda. “Anyone with half a brain would jump at the chance to date you, so what’s the problem?”

The problem is, he can’t promise he won’t ever need to leave at the drop of a hat. He can’t even promise that he’ll always have the chance to call or get in touch first, or that he would come back from every single mission safe and sound.

“Just doesn’t seem fair, is all,” Steve shrugs after explaining, “especially not to someone I’m supposed to care about.”

“Wow,” you smile at him and Steve bristles. Not because he’s uncomfortable, per se, but because there’s something different about that smile in particular.

Every now and then, you get this strange look on your face, something unfathomable and unreadable, missing all the usual playfulness and slight sarcasm. The most preposterous idea pops into his head sometimes, that maybe you only ever wear that look around him.

But just as quickly as it happened, the moment’s over and you reverted back to your usual self, “you are such a sap. It’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” Steve rolls his eyes again, knowing how much you enjoy poking fun, so he doesn’t take the comment personally. “So, how’d it go with your parents?”

“Ugh,” you wince, the memory evidently not so pleasant, “don’t remind me.”

“They’re still giving you a hard time, huh?” Steve asks as the both of you head over to the bar to sit, you awkwardly balancing your mountain of food as you go.

“Evidently, Violet needs a father,” you scoff, changing your voice to mimic who he assumes is your mother. You shake your head before speaking normally again, “never mind how often I try to remind them she already has one.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve frowns, his fingers toying with the rim of his glass. You don’t talk about your late brother very often and he doesn’t ask, knowing it’s a sore subject. By now, he’s heard more than a handful of times that your parents keep insisting you find someone to settle down with, even though you’ve made it perfectly clear that it wasn’t a priority.

“It’s whatever,” you shrug, casually dismissing the matter with a wave of your hand. Steve can tell that isn’t the case, judging from the way you heave the biggest sigh, your food untouched for now, “it’s fine.”

“I think you’re doing great,” Steve says, and he isn’t just saying it. Not everyone is capable of stepping up the way you did, adopting your orphaned niece and deciding to raise her on your own. “Violet’s a good kid, and she’s lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” you agree, your annoyance melting away to be replaced with a small, affectionate smile, “I’m the lucky one, though.”

“How come you didn’t just bring her along?” Steve asks, already missing ten-year-old Violet’s youthful enthusiasm and charm, even if she does occasionally make him feel like a recently-excavated dinosaur.

“It’s apparently uncool to be hanging out with her aunt now,” you joked although he can see the slight twinge of angst in your eyes, “besides, she lost all interest in attending when I told her Thor wouldn’t be here.”

“Hurtful,” he jokes, pretending to sulk into his glass. You pat his shoulder in a placating gesture, and when he looks up he sees the rest of the Avengers huddled together. He’s sure they’re scheming right now, coming up with all sorts of ways to get him out of the Tower and lure him into an unsuspecting date.

He doesn’t know why it comes to him right then, but the idea hits him like a freight train. The rational part of his brain tells him to shut the hell up, because it is a terrible idea and you’ll probably smack him for even suggesting it.

The other side, the seldom seen irrational Steve—although, was it particularly rational to lie his way into the army, take an experimental super serum, punch his way through WWII, and then crash land a plane into the Arctic?— is blurting it before he can stop himself.

Because if his friends are going to scheme anyway, why not play at their game and scheme right back?

“You could do it,” he says. “Be my girlfriend.”

Your fork pauses in mid-air above your plate, and you look at him like he’s just sprouted a second head.

“Not like that,” he rushes to explain. Your features twist into one of mock offence, and he quickly backpedals, “No, that’s not what I mean—listen, you’re great, I just—hear me out, okay?”

All he needs is a date to a handful of special occasions dotting his calendar over the next few months, just long enough to convince his well-intentioned but annoying as hell friends that he is, in fact, doing just fine in the dating department.

And it somewhat makes sense! Because you and him have been friends for ages now—how many years has it been now?—and Steve wouldn’t decide to date just anybody at this point. He does spend a lot of time at your shop, with Violet, and it isn’t strange for any one of them to see you around the Tower making a delivery or stopping by for a visit.

When the time comes, the two of you would “break up” amicably and go back to being just friends—no harm, no foul. He would feign just enough disappointment that the team would be too sympathetic, too sorry to see you go, that they would hopefully stop pestering him about his love life for the foreseeable future.

If nothing else, it will buy him at least a few months of peace, and god knows he could use some of that.

“What do you think?” Steve asks, hopeful. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, looking even more puzzled.

“I think you’ve gone crazy, Steven,” you mutter, while he tuts and bats your hand away, “did you get hit in the head on your last mission?”

“Think about it, it’s a win-win for both of us,” and even though you are still a bit hesitant, Steve can see the wheels starting to spin in your head. “You help me get these jackasses off my back—”

“Steve—” you admonish.

“—and I’ll help you ward off your parents for a little bit,” he continues, undeterred. And the plus side? Steve does genuinely enjoy your company, even if you can be such a smartass sometimes.

He recalls the day you met, during the Battle of New York, and maybe it isn’t exactly one for the storybooks, the both of you have come such a long way since then.

Most importantly, you deserve better than having to rush into a relationship with some random guy you’d meet on a dating app—which is the direction you’re headed if your parents have anything to say about it.

And because you are friends now, and because Steve knows you are much sweeter and more agreeable when you aren’t faced with the mortal peril of an alien invasion, your shoulders are already slumping in resignation. You won’t turn him away in his hour of need, he knows, not when he’s come to you so many times to vent about his nosy teammates.

“Just for a few months?” You ask slowly, already starting to come around, just as tempted by the idea of silence. And your parents wouldn’t have anything to complain about if you’re dating Captain America.

Well, maybe his dangerous job, but you take some, you lose some.

“That’s it,” he promises.

“And we don’t involve Violet in this,” you point a finger at him and he’s already nodding. Lying to his friends is one thing, but lying to your niece is a whole other. He won’t ever ask that of you anyway. “As far as she’ll ever know, we’re just friends.”

“Of course, we’ll come up with something,” he readily agrees, because of all people, his team know how complicated the superhero dating life can be, even without kids involved.

Steve prepares to shake your hand to seal the deal, but stops short just in case anyone’s watching.

“Might as well start selling it, Cap,” you say with a sigh, grabbing his hand anyway and lacing your fingers between his, much more intimately than he’d intended. You lift your fork with your other hand, feeding him a bite from your plate.

Steve has no choice but to open his mouth and accept the stuffed mushroom, feeling warm all of a sudden even though he’s not wearing a jacket and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. It’s made worse when he hears the surprised squawks of his friends from across the room.

“Hang on a minute.” Surprisingly, Bruce is the one who starts.

“Hey, what the hell?” Tony mutters, pointing an accusing finger in your direction.

“When did that happen?” Sam demands, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh my god, is that why he’s always at the flower shop?” Pepper watches with wide eyes, lowering her champagne flute with interest.

“So, he was working up the guts to ask her out this entire time?” Clint snickers, and even though it isn’t true, Steve blushes like it is.

The only one who remains silent is Natasha, her eyes seeming to glow despite the dim lighting. Steve is determined not to look at her, lest he gave himself away. He keeps his eyes squarely on you, trying to stay centred.

“My god, we really need to work on your poker face,” you tell him, throwing your head back and laughing at the sight of his pink cheeks. “Is this how you always react to holding hands?”

“Shut up,” he manages between a tightly clenched jaw, his blood rushing all the way up to the tips of his ears. You continue giggling into your plate of food before Steve finally gives in to your infectious laughter, a small smile tugging at his own lips.

It will be fine, he tells himself. This is you, after all, his best and only friend outside the Avengers; your friendship is strong enough to survive whatever comes at you. Besides, he’s going to do his absolute damnedest to make sure you, and Violet for that matter, emerge from this unscathed.

That’s right, he repeats as he silently promises to protect you, whether it’s from aliens, his friends, or even himself.

Nothing can possibly go wrong.

❀ Rosa foetida┆Austrian copper rose SYMBOLIZES: friendship; █████████.

TO BE CONTINUED.

© 2025 by thereoncewasagirlnamedjane. Do not repost, translate, or copy to third party sites. No part of this work may be fed into any AI software or websites. Minors are asked not to interact with my blog; you are responsible for your own media consumption. Blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

#series: blossom & bloom #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x f!reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers series #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x asian!reader #tw: minor character death #tw: funerals

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plotbunnysyndrome · 3 months ago

Text

More Than Honour

Bonus Chapter: Lucien Out of Context — A Tragedy in Three Acts

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Setting:

The Bridgerton breakfast table. The sun is golden, the tea is hot, the toast is crisp, and Anthony is finally breathing again — because Lucien Blackbourne is, for once, not in the house. You are out in the garden, talking with his mother. Edwina has been invited for breakfast…but again, no Lucien.

It is peaceful.

It is dangerous.

Because the Bridgertons? They never let a man enjoy his silence.

Act I: Peace is a Lie

Anthony is seated at the head of the table, posture rigid, fingers curled around a teacup with alarming precision. For once, he looks…well. Calm. In control. Unbothered.

Colin walks in, yawning dramatically, and takes one look at Anthony before muttering, “God, I haven’t seen you this relaxed since before Blackbourne arrived.”

Anthony does not answer.

Because he is choosing peace today.

Gregory appears next, snagging a roll and sitting with all the innocence of a boy who definitely does not plan to cause chaos before noon. “It’s so quiet this morning,” he observes. “Almost like someone’s missing.”

Anthony still says nothing.

Hyacinth: “No scandal. No poetry. No garden flirtations. How dull.”

Eloise: “I must say, breakfast without your brooding is almost disappointing, Anthony.”

Anthony’s grip on his spoon tightens.

Benedict (waltzing in): “Good morning, everyone. Did we all sleep well? Or did we, like some people, stay up brooding over forbidden feelings?”

Anthony throws him a look that could kill.

Colin: “Don’t do that. You’ll scare the butter.”

Act II: The Fall of the Firstborn

Anthony (coldly): “If you’re all quite finished—”

Benedict: “Oh, I’m just getting started, brother. Would you care to share why Lucien isn’t here this morning? Did we ban him? Or did he sleep in after ruining you at dinner last night?”

Hyacinth (innocently): “Maybe he’s off composing another scandalous line for Whistledown to quote.”

Gregory: “Maybe he’s buying her a garden. With roses. So he can quote Byron on site.”

Eloise: “He’s probably just whispering something absurd like ‘I would have waited forever.’” (She fans herself dramatically.)

Colin (delighted): “Oh, we should do it. We should each say a ‘Lucien Line’ but completely out of context.”

Benedict: “Yes. Bonus points for drama. I’ll go first.”

He straightens, swipes a piece of toast, and in his deepest Lucien voice says:

“Every heartbeat I endure without her is a poem unwritten.”

Eloise (without missing a beat):

“She is both dagger and balm. And I? I would gladly bleed for her.”

Hyacinth (giggling):

“One more sigh, and I shall combust.”

Colin (mouth full):

“Angel, if I must die, at least let me do it beneath your gaze.”

They all howl with laughter.

Anthony exhales slowly. Deeply.

Gregory: “Your turn, Anthony.”

Anthony (murderously): “No.”

Hyacinth: “Come on, just one Lucien line. We won’t tell him.”

Anthony (dryly): “I am hanging on by a single thread and that thread is floral-patterned.”

Benedict: “We will tell him. But that’s what makes it fun.”

Anthony shoves back his chair and stands just as—

Act III: The Arrival of the Matriarch

Violet enters the room, utterly composed. Graceful. Carrying the exact energy of a woman who has just spoken to someone’s secret love interest and is about to make it everyone’s problem.

Violet (pleasantly): “Good morning, children.”

All Bridgertons (in chaotic unison): “Good morning, Mother.”

Violet: “I’ve just returned from a lovely walk with our dear guest.”

Anthony freezes mid-sip.

Colin (delighted): “Lucien?”

Violet (smiling): “No. Her. We had quite the conversation.”

She turns to Anthony. “Though I daresay you may want to speak with her yourself, before certain… choices become permanent.”

Anthony: “What did she say?”

Violet (sipping her tea): “That she finds Lord Blackbourne... very entertaining.”

The siblings erupt into chaos.

Benedict: “And lethal. Don’t forget lethal.”

Hyacinth: “Can he come to breakfast tomorrow?”

Colin: “We should have him over every day.”

Gregory: “We need matching coats. For the duel.”

Eloise: “Don’t be ridiculous, he’d win.”

Violet (to Anthony, calmly): “Do try to remember, my dear. You cannot outwait a man who walks toward fire.”

Anthony looks around the table.

At the toast. The butter. The smirking siblings.

Just then, you join the table.

And he knows.

He has lost the home field advantage.

Taglist: @bollzinurmouth @drewstarkeysrightarm @thorins-queen-of-erebor @yearninglustfully @khaleesibeach

#imagines #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fluff #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x y/n

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lunarmoonanons · 4 months ago

Text

A Better Mother

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Visenya always wanted a daughter.

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕

Masterlist

She had arrived a year ago, a month after her fourteenth nameday. She was younger than the other ladies at the court and if it were not for her high name and background she would’ve blended with the wall, for she did not try to do anything to stand out. Not wanting any attention from the King or any noble man at the court. She wanted to avoid any man who would want to marry her at her young age. But in her attempt to avoid the men in the court she failed to notice the violet eyes of the Queen Mother on her. Eyes that did not see a child from another woman at court, but a spiritual child she was entitled to.

Visenya did not entrench herself with ladies at the court. Finding them shallow, frightened little things that could not hold a candle to a real woman. But her contempt for the ladies at court did not extend to a child she met a year ago. A small frightened little girl that, while she knew didn’t come from her, she felt was her own daughter. Visenya never felt such maternal affection for another person before besides Maegor. And even with Maegor it wasn’t this intense. She didn’t know what it was, but she loved this little girl. Having a need for a daughter. One she could call Rhaenys.

~~~

A year ago

Visenya walked around the finished castle. Maegor’s Red King. It was impressive and she would’ve been certain Aegon could’ve been proud if he was ever proud of her son. She was in a dower mood today, it was the day she lost someone close to her. Closer than Aegon ever was. Rhaenys. Her baby sister. Her sweetheart of old.

And seeing all these vain women in the court. All trying to gain a husband or high status. Rhaenys cared about children and the small folk. She was kind and sweet. She loved to fly and be around flowers and in the outdoors. Her sweet sister. Her dead sister. And on this day she was upset. Not sad but angry. Angry at the ladies, angry at the Dornish, angry at her life, angry at everything.

So she did not even think seeing a girl would make her happy but life was strange that way. She was walking to get away from the court, not knowing why something was telling her she had to go to the courtyard.

When she was outside in the bare gardens. She thought that Maegor should have Highgarden transplant flowers to the garden. But her thoughts about the bare garden were interrupted by the sound of giggling. While there weren't a lot of flowers there were some dandelions and daisies that grew in the ground. So it wasn’t strange to see the occasional butterfly or bee floating about the garden. When she found the source of the giggling she found a child playing with a butterfly in the garden. It was a girl sitting on the ground, her dress billowing around her as she raised her hand and tried to let the flying insect land on her tiny fingers. The butterfly seemed to dance around the girl’s fingers and landed on her index finger. She brought the butterfly to her face and kissed its wings. Letting it fly away when she was finished.

Visenya for a moment saw her little sister once again. How delicate the girl was in comparison to her sister. Her sweetheart. How sweet this girl was, just like Rhaenys. Just like the hypothetical daughter she always wanted. Subconsciously, Visenya placed and rubbed her hand on her womb, imagining this girl to be hers. Taking a chance she walked further toward the girl trying her best to seem gentle.

The girl looked up at the sound of footsteps and widened her eyes at the sight of Visenya coming toward her. She immediately stood up and smoothed her dress to look presentable to the Queen Mother. Her hair was not up and was slightly unkempt. She was so much smaller than the woman in front of her. Visenya didn’t know where this maternal feeling was coming from. But she needed to be near this child and protect her.

“How may I help you, your majesty?” The girl asked, keeping her gaze down.

Visenya stepped in front of the girl and placed her fingers under the girl’s chin. Lifting her face to look at Visenya. She was young, couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen. She was younger than all the others at the court. And in her youthful face, Visenya saw her as a daughter.

“What are you doing here? All alone?” Visenya asked. Keeping her fingers under her chin.

“My…my aunt said to get some fresh air. I’m not comfortable here at court. I was just playing with the butterflies.” The girl said quietly.

Visenya moved her hand from under her chin to the side of the girl’s face. Cradling her smooth cheek in her hand. She was so beautiful and so sweet. She was here without her mother. A motherless child. Though logically Visenya knew this child had her own mother, she thought that she was without one at court and needed a maternal figure.

Before Visenya could ask the girl any more questions a mature voice called out. A blonde woman, she looked in her fifties, came out from a path. She was dressed in the same fashion as the girl. High Waisted dress, hair up with curls framing her face, pearl earrings and hair adornments.

“YN. It’s time for- Oh! Your majesty. I see you found my niece.” The older woman smiled and held her hand out for the young girl. The child, YN, stepped away from Visenya’s hold and walked quickly toward her aunt. Hugging her aunt and hiding her face in her aunt's neck.

“She’s very shy.” Her aunt explained. “We have to go. I promised to have luncheon with her at this time.”

Visenya narrowed her eyes and then nodded her head toward the woman. Signalling them to go. She watched as the woman wrapped her arm around the girl and led her away. Her eyes on the girl’s back as she walked away.

“YN…Rhaenys… Sweetheart.” Visenya listed the names going through her head.

She was maternal. She was a mother. And this was a motherless child.

~~~

Visneya tried to interject herself in the girl’s life as the months followed. Tried to be an important figure in this child’s life. But the obstacle to her desires was the girl’s aunt. She would steer the girl away from others at court. Away from the gazes of men, from the whispers of the women, and from the hunger of the King. But in her attempt to protect her niece she kept her away from Visenya. When the Queen mother had nothing but good intentions. What she thought were good intentions. The year went on with the child filtering about the court and the Queen mother watching her. Thinking of her as her hypothetical daughter more and more.

When she learned the girl was to have her fifteenth nameday soon. She wanted to have the girl spend the day with her on Dragonstone. Flying, spending time in nature, having a day together where she could call the girl her daughter at the end of the day. But she couldn’t just snatch the girl from court without cause. She had to deal with her aunt firstmost. Though she didn’t see how this woman should keep her from her spiritual daughter, she realized logically the girl was in her care. So Visneya marched up to the woman's holdings, a room connected to the girl’s room.

But when she entered, unceremoniously, she noticed the older woman packing her things and packing the girls things. Visenya panicked and announced herself loudly.

“What are you doing?!” Visenya demanded. Her loud question made the woman and the girl look up. YN looked frightened and brought her hand to the ends of her hair twirling the strands.

The older woman did not look frightened, she stepped in front of her niece and grabbed her hands. “Go to your bed. Wait for me.”

“But-”

“Now. YN.” The girl nodded and practically ran to her room. The woman turned to Visenya and narrowed her eyes. Crossing her arms, she took a brave stance against the Queen. “We are leaving. She wants to go home. She wants to be away from here and the eyes of you and your son. You have tried to intertwine yourself in her life and have only frightened her in response.”

“You cannot take her away from me.” Visenya seethed. She stepped closer to the woman. Trying to intimidate her with her taller stature and hardened eyes. But the woman was brave. She glared back at Visenya with equal intimidation.

“She is not yours to have. You have concocted this idea that she belongs to you Targaryens because you believe everyone is subject to you. But she is MY niece. My charge and I will protect her. Even from you.” The woman said. She was brave. As an older woman she did not have a fawning personality to take things laying down.

“You won’t take my daughter from me. She is mine. My sweetheart. Mine.” Visenya’s voice grew louder.

“I will die to protect her. You cannot take on all of Highgarden.” The woman said.

“Then you will die.” Visenya said simply and brought her sword out. The woman finally looked alarmed and tried to step back. But she could not get far. Visenya grabbed her and put her sword through her chest. The woman let out a shout of pain. Visenya tried to cover her mouth but she bit down on her hand. Visenya let the woman fall to the ground as she began to die. But she called out to her niece and yelled for her to run.

The girl didn’t run. She stepped through the door connecting the rooms and saw her aunt on the ground. She let out a yelp and ran to her aunt's body. The dying woman lifted her hand to the girl’s cheek. The girl grabbed her body and began to cry.

“Aunt Lydia! Please! Please don’t die! You can’t leave me here! Somebody help us!” The girl shouted. Her aunt's blood soaking her dress as her aunt's bloody hand stroked her cheek. Then fell as she died.

“So… her name was Lydia. It’ll be fine sweetheart.” Visenya stepped toward the girl reaching out to stroke her hand.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” The girl screamed. Visenya stepped back letting the girl grieve. She had to do something to prevent her girl from leaving.

Visenya left the room. Ordering the walking guards to stand by the room and not to let anyone leave. She made her way to her son as she knew he would want to be alerted to what she had done before anyone else told him. Her heart hurt at the sounds of her girl screaming from grief.

When she saw her son in the council chamber she narrowed her eyes at his advisors. “Leave us.” She demanded. They looked to the king who nodded for them to go.

“You looked troubled, mother. What is wrong?” Maegor asked.

“I have killed the girl’s aunt.” Visenya said.

“The child from my court?” Maegor asked.

“Yes.”

“Well… I was planning to have that woman killed weeks ago. I didn’t want her in way of my new bride.” Visenya grew angry at her son's declaration.

“She is not your bride. She is my daughter.” Visenya said plainly. Trying to remain cool headed.

“I am the King. I can take any bride I want.” Maegor defended.

“You cannot have this child. She is mine.” Visenya grew angrier at the moments passing. When Maegor made way to stand over his mother and demand the girl, Visenya grabbed him by his throat and held him seated. Bringing a sword to his throat. Maegor could not see his caring mother in her eyes. Nothing but Maternal rage burned in her eyes as she glared at him. Seething with every breath she took.

“You. Cannot. Have. My. Daughter.” Visenya warned. “Am I understood?”

Maegor took a moment then nodded. Allowing her to release his neck and stand back. “Where will you take this girl?”

“Dragonstone. We will be happy there.” Visenya said. “Call for men to remove the body and return it to Highgarden.”

Maegor nodded, and with that Visenya left the room. She made her way back to the girl’s room. Visenya knew she had to comfort her daughter. Let her know they were getting away from the expectations of the court. That she would protect and spoil her. That they would never be apart again. When she stood outside the room she collected herself and steadied her shaking hand.

Once she entered she had to duck the cup thrown at her head. She saw her child, with tears streaming down her face, glaring with a new bravery that the shy girl did not possess before. Visenya raised her hands in a calming gesture, trying to prove she was no threat.

“It is fine now child. Nothing will separate us now.” Visenya tried to reassure her.

“I’m not going anywhere with you! You murderer! You thief!” YN shouted.

Visenya hardened at the accusation. She was a warrior. A mother. Not some heartless thief and murderer. What she did was for her children. And she would not listen to accusations that she would steal without cause.

“That’s enough, Rhaenys.” She scolded, purple eyes narrowing.

“I. Am. Not. Rhaenys! My name is YN!” YN screamed. She tried to seem brave but she was no warrior.

Visenya said nothing at first. Then stalked toward the girl, pushing her against the wall. YN braced against the cold stone but she put on a brave glare and stared up at the woman.

“You will not speak to your mother in that tone.” Visenya said lowly.

“You are not my mother.” YN said bravely.

Visenya grabbed the girl's upper arms and held on tight. Her nail;s digging slightly into her arms as she looked down manically at the child before her. “Yes I am. I am your mother now. And You will treat me with respect.”

“I will defy you at every turn.” The girl promised.

“Maybe so Rhaenys. But you will stay with me.” Visenya said. “Your things will be taken to Dragonstone. You will stay with me there. Now come.”

YN tried to resist as Visenya grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the room. Pulling the girl along as she shouted and screamed to be let go. She was thrown in a carriage and taken out of the city. As the girl’s things were taken to Dragonstone, the girl was dragged to the older woman’s dragon. Forcefully sat upon the beast, the girl stopped her screaming and began to cry as the beast started its flight to Dragonstone.

Visenya tried to soothe her daughter. But knew deep down nothing she could say would solve her pain. But she was her daughter now. And nothing could separate them.

@gulnarsultan

#house targaryen #tyrell reader #yandere targaryens #yandere visenya targaryen #visenya the conqueror #visenya targaryen #yandere maegor #maegor x reader

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