#my heart aches but fills with joy at the same time

[arthursfuckinghat]

"Arthur caught that."

"Did he?"

"And he killed that with his hands!"

[henrysbluecardigan]

just rewatched heartstopper s2 for the third time and i’m wondering how it’s possible to feel so empty yet also so happy and warm at the same time

[08luvmailz]

𓇼 ME MISS YOU . . ਏਓ !

summary 𓍯 which he followed you because he missed you ꒰ 🧾 ꒱ fluffy life with husband

The eerie silence and the harsh wind whispers weaving through the cool night air, though it's only 5:30 in the afternoon. Crouching low, I fisted my hands through my victim's hair and chopped his head off as my breath steadied, eyes locked on the faint rustle of the bushes—a promising sign of tonight's catch.

It's been almost a year of this endless cycle, by day cuddling and having a blissful life with Mr. Crawling as you give him endless affection, or he will whine to death, and by night- killing humans to feed him. As your eyes wandered through your vision toward the unmoving dead body, your mind wavered toward your husband even though you weren't married officially.

You two are together and bonded by our souls, obeying you and listening to you even though there is a gap in speaking, never ceases to stun you every day. He waits at home, is always patient, and is always trusting. The thought of his joy warms you as you tighten your grip on your crowbar and knife.

Back at the apartment, it feels unbearable still. Mr. Crawling gazes through the door—waiting for your return. His fingers relentlessly tapped the tatami board as it echoed through the room. It's been almost an hour since she left him, she always does every day for him.

He still remembered her voice firming when she told him to stay.

He watches her moving to gather her things, his legs tucked close to his body. He knows her too well—the same command she gives every time. Stay. He doesn't think about it but wants more of her touch, only about the moment before her absence, and he clung to her as his large frame wrapped around her waist. He chirped in a low tone, full of worry and protest. His grip tightened slightly, enough to make his point without holding her back.

He pressed his face into your legs, his arms curling towards your leg, "stay" he told her as he snuggled to her, not wanting to let go, “ you’re so stubborn” she murmured, stroking his head. The gesture was a silent reassurance for him to stop worrying though she knew it wouldn't stop him from worrying.

She turns to face him as his face is still smothered to her thighs, his cold lips puckering into her skin. He doesn’t need words to tell her how he feels; the way he clings to her, his body trembles faintly, caught between his instinct to obey and his need to protect her.

As her warm fingers tangled into his hair, brushing it calmly, she told him, " Me back soon; I find food. " she promised, her voice softer now. “You don’t have to worry.”

With a final sigh, she gently pries him off, his cold finger reluctant to let go. “Stay here,” she says, her tone firmer now, though her heart aches at the look he gives her. He didn't move and obeyed her, as she smiled one last time and crouched to his level to kiss his forehead, " I'll be back soon. I Promise," She said one last time to open and lock the door, leaving him in a trance with determination to follow her.

He was hesitant to disobey her requests and always did, lowering his head in submission. But now, in the suffocating silence, he feels the weight of her absence like a stone in his chest. He tried to wait, his attempts to distract himself with television, watching shows that helped him understand her language more, but as soon as his face glimmered when he saw the heroine with her lover cuddling in a scene. It was no use. missing her so dearly that his pull to follow her was too strong, an instinct older than obedience.

She is his world, his reason, and the thought of her out there alone, facing whatever dangers the night might bring, fills him with unease. Even though he knew she was capable of handling herself well, killing those people for him joyed him. He knew she loved him as much as he loved her.

Making his decision wasn't easy for him, he knew he would face the consequences of her ignoring him though he shook his head, he wanted to see her, he needed her now.

He moves swiftly to the door. His movements are precise and quiet, the art of going unnoticed. He knows where she has gone—he’s watched her enough times at the window to remember the path she takes. He follows her scent, a trail as familiar to him as the rhythm of his footsteps. With every step, he feels her grace like a taut thread, pulling him closer to her.

Its darkness yawned wide like the mouth of a beast. He hesitates for a moment, hearing her voice in his mind, Stay. Wait for me. But he presses on.

He moved carefully, his body blending into the dark foliage as his fingers gripped the pole lamp. He saw her gripping tightly to her crowbar and massively hitting her victim, he watched in awe as pride swelled in his chest at the sight of her—strong, capable, everything he admires.

Though he knows the facade she's been growing through back there in his world, he saw her unreality in a tick of time, and by the hanging thread of webs-he had been with her, and he knew she was close to insanity. Was she close? Or she's already been insane nevertheless, he will always be there with her.

She didn't notice him at first, focused on the task ahead. But then a chitter of a familiar voice captivates your attention as you whip your head, your coat shadowing your expression of bloodlust to confusion. There he is, his head tilted with his adoring smile. She shook her head with a giggle, he never listened to her as she pointed him to get closer to him.

He lowered his body as his smile creeped out to his ear, he skitters toward her, his movements quick but careful as he came faster to her and clung to her lower body as his face smothered to her bloodied coat "I miss you, I love you. " he said with a chitter as his cold hands hold her bloodied ones and directly placed into his head.

You sighed in intent and ruffled his hair as you looked down and cupped his face with our bloodied hands "You didn't listen to me, But I forgive you. " You crouched to his level as his hands wandered to your body and cupped your face and smothered a messy kiss on your lips, his cold lips puckering your bottom lip leaving a chitter from him. "Me love you, " he told you as he came closer to your body, his large frame almost hugging your smaller ones. You giggled to him as you corrected his grammar, always forgetting the "I", " I love you, too. "

He chirps, leaning into her touch, his body vibrating with relief, he clung to her like a baby as his face looked at the bloodied streets. "Food?" He questioned her, as his hands never left hers. "Yeah, food for you. " As she pointed to the dead body beside them.

As she stands up to place the chopped meat in a plastic bag with blood, "Let's go home." her hands directing him to hold her, he stands up, his towering silhouette blending with the shadows of the city. His mind is clear, his resolve unshakable. He is with her, the love of his life, and with every consequence they will face, he knows she will be there with him as she is with him.

[sleyu]

thinking about how mean!bf sirius would have a hugeee corruption kink, he just wants to ruin your mind yk

idk maybe its just me

i think mean or not, it is definite that sirius black has a corruption kink and it unquestionably couples with his possessive nature.

just imagine mean bf ! sirius meeting you for the first time. you’re a timid, but undoubtedly kind individual who is meek next to him—fully aware of sirius’ notoriety in his personality and habits. he becomes so awestruck, he has nothing to respond to your unassuming questions aside from the occasional nod or gentle murmur.

he displays a calm, relatively friendly aura until the pair of you begin to become acquainted with each other and ultimately, begin dating. it is only then, that the mean teasing and snickers begin, and his heart bursts with joy at the sound of your bashful whines and protests every time he playfully slaps your ass or tugs your skirt, laughing and pulling you close to him, muttering how his actions are all in good fun and that he’d never let anything actually hurt you.

‘so bloody sensitive. y’know i’d rather die than let someone lay a hand on you, dummy.’

and of course, sirius isn’t stupid. he’s been having lewd, perverted thoughts about you since the day he met you. in fact, it was only the same night that sirius cast a silencing charm around his bed to hide the sinful sounds of him grunting as he fisted his cock, thoughts about bending you over the classroom desk polluting his already depraved mind.

since you’ve started dating, he reckons it’s time to manifest these fantasies into life, especially after noticing how your meek gaze has begun to linger on his broad chest and widen at the sight of his bulging crotch. his inner self beams with joy and crude anticipation every time he feels you pawing at his thighs, looking up at him in despair as if you’re unsure of what you really want or why the throbbing ache in between your thighs is only getting worse.

i think mean bf ! sirius would definitely become dizzy at the sight of you on your knees, hands gripping his muscular thighs, begging him to let you suck his cock or to fill your cunt up. usually he was the one doing the begging, but here you were, pliant, obedient, and desperate for his every touch. he genuinely has to sit down and stare at you while also controlling the immoral urge of forcing his cock down your throat, watching how your eyes widen and become teary as your throat contracts and chokes around his pulsating cock.

he genuinely cannot control himself once he sees you fully submit to him, begging him to give you the exact things you were too shy about even insinuating merely a month ago. it makes him feel so accomplished knowing that he was the one that made your brain all cloudy and fuzzy—that he was the one who got your cunt hooked on the feeling of his relentless, unforgiving cock.

‘sirius—my fingers—they’re not good enough—need your cock in me—jus’ want you to ruin ‘n abuse me—please da—’ as soon as you become close to uttering the last word, he’s already lifted up your skirt and forced his cock inside your aching pussy anyways, groaning into your mouth and fucking you ten times harder than he would have any other day.

‘slut—you’ve become a little slut—oh, fuck—‘n who’s are you, huh?’

it becomes the first time that sirius loses all sense of reason and caution as it has become evident to him that he’s irreversibly corrupted you into becoming just as disgusting and perverted as him.

‘nah, not sirius’, honey, you're daddy’s, yeah?’

‘gross fuckin’ bitch loves that, huh, puppy? you like it when daddy forces himself inside you like that, hm?’

‘hogwarts newest slut, yeah? but only mine, isn’t that right? only i get to ruin—fuck—this whorish cunt—mmm,’

sirius is so mean, he doesn’t even tell you when he’s about to cum :( he makes you cum and afterward, you’re a fucked out mess because he just doesn’t stop. your eyebrows begin to furrow and you can only manage to mumble a quiet ‘sirius?’ before he groans into your neck, breath all hot and heavy, and pumps you full of his hot, sticky cum. all you can do is whine and writhe beneath him as he pushes your knees to your chest and uses your cunt to drain his massive cock.

all the while, he’s reveling in the realization that he has just cummed inside you and that if spells and birth control were forgotten, it would be no surprise if you fell pregnant with the copious amounts of cum pumped inside your spent hole.

‘my dirty girl likes when daddy breeds her, doesn’t she? oh, don’t shake your head, pup, i know you like it—can feel you clench—god—around me right now.’

sirius gets so turned on when you confess that you can’t make yourself cum without him ever since the two of you started having sex. the image of you crying out in frustration at the feeling of your own neediness and the dull throbbing in between your sore thighs—incapable of doing anything without his guidance—makes his cock harden far quicker than it should have.

‘poor thing. my dumb girl can’t do anything without me, can she? your small fingers just aren’t as daddy, hm?’ paired with a faux, mocking frown because sirius black is an asshole that is very visibly ecstatic that you’ll always have to come to him to find a release.

and nothing fuels his ego more than having you beg him to stuff you full of his cum before class begins. he loses his mind seeing the effects of ruining your perfect, angelic interior. his once smart, goody-two-shoes, good-girl has become a conniving slut, her own cunt betraying any logic or rational thinking within her mind :( seeing his shy, perfect-attendance girlfriend begging him to skip class with her to fuck in a dingy broom closet is all it takes for him to bust right then and there.

[satellite-evans]

Home at last

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x wife!reader

Summary: Lewis spending hiw morning with his wife and daughter <3

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluff, making out

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

When Lewis woke up that morning, he felt the familiar warmth of peace settle over him. It wasn’t always this way. Mornings used to be quiet—too quiet. Even with his booming career, a circle of friends, and fans cheering his name, coming home to an empty house had been a stark reminder of what was missing.

Loneliness had been a constant companion then, a heavy weight that settled on his chest every time he crossed the threshold of his home. The silence would press in on him, making the space feel cavernous and cold despite its luxurious trappings. He’d sit in the living room, scrolling aimlessly through his phone or staring at the walls, wondering if all the success in the world was worth it when there was no one to share it with. The ache wasn’t just about being alone—it was the absence of connection, of love, of the warmth only a family could bring. He’d envied the simple joys he saw in others’ lives: a partner’s laugh, a child’s hug, the quiet hum of a life shared.

But now, things were different. No, better. Perfect, even. The moment he opened his eyes, the quiet was replaced by the sound of soft breathing beside him. He turned his head to see you, his wife, still lost in the tranquility of sleep. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden hue over your features. It struck him again just how beautiful you were, even with your hair slightly mussed and your cheek pressed into the pillow.

Gratitude washed over him like a wave, so strong it almost took his breath away. You and your daughter, Rana, had filled the void in his heart, replacing the silence with laughter and the ache with a profound sense of belonging. He didn’t just love you; he adored you, cherished you. You were his anchor, his light, and every day he woke up thankful that fate had brought you into his life.

Lewis’s lips curled into a soft smile as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. He could never resist touching you—a grounding force in a world that constantly spun too fast. His hand found its way to your waist, and he pulled you closer, resting his forehead against the back of your neck. This was his favorite place in the world: right here, with you.

“Good morning, love,” he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep.

You stirred slightly, your eyelids fluttering open. A soft groan escaped your lips as you stretched. “Morning, handsome,” you replied, your voice gravelly but endearing. You turned to face him, a sleepy smile spreading across your face. “What time is it?”

Lewis glanced at the clock on the bedside table. “Just gone 8. Rana’s probably about to wake up.”

The mere mention of your daughter brought an automatic smile to both your faces. But as you moved to get out of bed, Lewis tightened his arms around you.

“Not yet,” he whined playfully. “Stay a bit longer. I’m not ready to let you go.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Lewis, I have to get up. Rana’s going to need breakfast, and so will you.”

“I can survive,” he protested, nuzzling into your neck. “Can’t say the same for my heart if you leave me now.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the grin on your face. “Alright, Mr. Hamilton, stop with the dramatics. How about you make the bed, brush your teeth, and then come help me downstairs? Chop, chop!”

Lewis groaned in mock defeat, flopping back against the pillows as you slipped out of his grasp. “Yes, ma’am,” he called after you, his tone laced with amusement.

Your laughter echoed from the hallway, a sound that warmed his heart and left him grinning like a fool.

When you stepped into Rana’s room, you were greeted by the sight of your daughter standing in her crib, her tiny hands gripping the bars as she bounced excitedly. Her dark curls were a chaotic halo around her face, and her giggle filled the room as soon as she saw you.

“Good morning, my little sunshine!” you cooed, scooping her up in your arms. “Oh, aren’t you the cutest thing?”

Rana’s only response was more laughter, her chubby arms wrapping around your neck in a hug that made your heart swell. After a quick diaper change, you carried her downstairs, placing her in her highchair before heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.

The smell of coffee brewing filled the air as you worked, humming softly to yourself. Rana was occupied with her favorite picture book, occasionally babbling to herself in a language only she understood. The peaceful morning scene was interrupted by the sound of Lewis’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

“There’s my favorite little girl!” he exclaimed, leaning down to press a kiss to Rana’s forehead. She squealed in delight, reaching out for him, but he turned his attention to you before picking her up.

“And there’s my favorite big girl,” he added, sliding his arms around your waist from behind. You jumped slightly as his lips found the curve of your neck.

“Lewis, stop! I’m trying to cook,” you protested, though your laughter betrayed you.

“I’ve done everything you asked,” he teased, his fingers grazing your sides in a way that made you squirm. “Now I’m asking for a little something in return.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, turning in his arms to face him. “And what exactly do you want, Mr. Hamilton?”

His grin turned mischievous. “Just this,” he said, capturing your lips in a kiss that left you momentarily breathless.

It started slow, his lips moving softly against yours, as if savoring the taste of you. One hand stayed firm on your waist, anchoring you to him, while the other gently cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed your skin, sending a ripple of warmth through you. When he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, you felt your knees weaken. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing you to open for him, and when you did, a soft groan escaped his throat—a sound that sent shivers down your spine.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, clutching at him as if he were the only thing keeping you standing. His kisses became more urgent, more insistent, and you could feel his need for you in every movement. When his hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you, your heart raced in tandem with his.

Eventually, the need for air forced you to break apart, but he didn’t let you go far. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips as both of you tried to catch your breath.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low and rough. His eyes searched yours, filled with so much love it made your chest ache.

“And you make it impossible to think,” you replied, your cheeks flushed and your lips tingling from the intensity of the kiss.

Lewis chuckled, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Good. You’re not supposed to think. You’re supposed to be here, with me.”

Your playful retort was interrupted by Rana’s voice. “Daddy! Up!”

Lewis turned to see her waving her little arms, her bright eyes locked on him. He chuckled, kissing your forehead before stepping away. “Duty calls,” he said, lifting Rana out of her chair and spinning her around until her giggles filled the room.

You watched them from the kitchen, a smile spreading across your face. It was in moments like these that you were reminded just how lucky you were. Lewis’s love wasn’t just something he said; it was something he showed every single day—in the way he looked at you, the way he played with Rana, the way he filled your home with joy.

Lewis caught your eye over Rana’s shoulder and grinned. “You’re staring, love.”

“Can you blame me?” you shot back, your tone dripping with affection.

And just like that, another ordinary day became extraordinary—filled with laughter, love, and the quiet certainty that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

[gf2bellamy]

home — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer comes home from a case content warnings: spencer being exhausted , mention of feeling lonely a/n: i truly am in my spencer era all i think abt is him

Spencer pushed open the door to his apartment, the familiar creak of the hinges welcoming him home.

A wave of warmth greeted him, the soft glow of the living room lamp spilling across the space, a contrast to the biting chill of the freezing night outside.

He stepped inside, letting the door shut gently behind him. 

It had been a grueling four days. Four long, restless days on a case that had tested his limits emotionally and mentally.

Four days without sleep, without comfort, and—most importantly—without you.

As Spencer stepped further into the apartment, his eyes landed on you immediately. You were curled up on his couch, your back turned to him, the glow of the television flickering against the walls.

The remote was in your hand as you flipped through channels, not lingering on any one show for long. The volume was high—louder than he usually kept it—and it didn’t seem like you had noticed him yet. 

He smiled to himself, the sight of you there, so at home in his space, filling his chest with warmth. He remembered the time you told him why you always came over when he was out of town. 

“I just feel closer to you here,” you’d confessed once, a little sheepishly. “I know it’s silly, but it makes the time pass faster. Plus…” You’d laughed lightly, though there was a hint of shyness in your voice. “Your apartment feels so... you. It’s comforting.” 

You’d also told him before that the quiet of his apartment felt strange when he wasn’t home, that the noise of the TV helped keep the loneliness at bay.

He set his bag down as quietly as he could, not wanting to startle you just yet.

Instead, he stood there for a moment, taking it all in—the way you were absentmindedly chewing on your lip as you scrolled through the channels, the way the blanket was half-falling off your shoulder, and the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air.

You yawned loudly, stretching out on the couch before glancing at the watch on your wrist—the one Spencer had given you.

It was a thoughtful gift, something that felt like him in every way. You smiled faintly at the memory of how shy he’d been when he’d handed it to you, murmuring something about how it “reminded him of you”

It had quickly become one of your favorite things.

With a sigh, you let your head fall back against the armrest, your body slowly sinking into the cushions as you sprawled out on the couch.

The warmth of the blanket and the soft hum of the TV were comforting, but the ache of missing Spencer still lingered in your

chest. Four days without him felt like an eternity. 

The sound of soft footsteps made your eyes dart toward the doorway, and you sat up slightly, your heart skipping a beat. For a moment, your mind raced, caught off guard by the shadowy figure stepping into the light.

But as the familiar sight of Spencer came into view, a wave of relief and joy washed over you. 

“Spence,” you breathed, your lips curving into a wide, genuine smile. You stood up quickly, the blanket falling to the floor as you closed the distance between you. Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, standing on your toes to pull him into a tight hug.

His arms came around you instantly, wrapping you up in his warmth as if he never wanted to let you go. 

“I missed you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice soft.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, burying your face in his neck. 

You let your arms slip from his neck, only to gently cup his face in your hands. His skin was warm under your touch, and your thumbs instinctively brushed along his cheekbones.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a question you always asked, no matter what, and he always gave the same answer. 

“I’m fine,” Spencer replied, his hazel eyes meeting yours. It was the same response. You could tell he was tired, not just physically but emotionally.

You didn’t push, though. Instead, you smiled gently, giving his face a final tender stroke before grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the couch.

“Come on, genius,” you said playfully, trying to lighten the mood as you pulled him down beside you. 

Spencer sank into the cushions with a sigh, letting the tension melt from his body as he leaned back. But before you could settle into your own spot, his arm wrapped around your waist, gently tugging you closer.

“Stay,” he murmured. 

You shifted toward him, your body curling into his side as you rested your head on his shoulder. For a while, the two of you sat there in silence, the hum of the TV playing in the background.

His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your arm, his touch featherlight. 

But then, as if Spencer couldn’t hold himself upright any longer, he shifted, laying down fully on the couch and pulling you with him.

You laughed softly as he guided you to lie beneath him, his long limbs sprawling across the cushions. “Spence,” you said, your tone half-teasing. “You’re crushing me.” 

He propped himself up just slightly, his weight resting more on his forearms as he looked down at you. “I thought you said you missed me,” he teased back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. 

“I did,” you admitted, sliding your hands up to rest on his shoulders. “But I didn’t mean I wanted you to flatten me.” 

Spencer chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shifted his weight again, this time fully relaxing against you but keeping enough of it off so you could still breathe.

His head rested on your chest now, his curls brushing against your chin. 

“You’re comfortable,” he murmured, his voice muffled slightly as he nuzzled closer. 

A soft laugh escaped you as your fingers found their way into his hair, your nails lightly grazing his scalp.

“Well, you’re lucky I don’t mind being your human pillow,” you said with a grin, threading your fingers through his curls. 

Spencer sighed, his whole body melting into yours. “I could stay like this forever,” he mumbled, his voice soft and drowsy. 

You smiled down at him, watching as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Good,” you whispered, continuing to run your fingers through his hair. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

[moonselune]

Could I request some wholesome headcanons of the men meeting their baby for the first time after Tav gives birth? I’m a sucker for babies in your content!

More babies content yess!!!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The dim light of the morning sun filtered into the room, casting soft golden hues over the bed where you rested, utterly exhausted but overwhelmed with the bliss of the moment. Your body ached in ways you didn’t even know were possible, and every breath felt like a sigh of relief after the long labor. Beside you, swaddled in a blanket, was your newborn baby, sleeping peacefully after the chaos of their arrival into the world.

You hadn’t expected to be awake when Gale entered the room, but his soft footsteps and the quiet rustle of his robes stirred you. He had waited so patiently, just beyond the threshold, giving you the time you needed to rest. But now, as he crossed the room to you, there was an unmistakable excitement in his eyes, an eager anticipation that couldn’t be contained. The moment he saw you and the baby together, Gale’s face lit up with sheer joy.

"You did it," he breathed, voice full of awe. "You’re incredible. Truly, I've never seen such strength and beauty in all my life—no hero in any story could compare to what you’ve done today!"

His words poured out in a rush, and you could see the way his hands trembled with barely contained excitement. He knelt beside the bed, his eyes shimmering with emotion as he gazed at you, then at the baby. "The most remarkable thing I’ve ever witnessed! You brought life into this world, my love. You’re an absolute marvel—no, more than that. You're—"

You raised a hand, placing it gently on his arm, a tired but fond smile playing on your lips.

"Gale," you interrupted softly, your voice filled with affection but laced with exhaustion. "Thank you, but… please… can you just hold the baby? And maybe just a be a tad quieter, my love."

He blinked, clearly caught off guard by your request. "Ah, of course," he said, his voice faltering for just a moment. But then, with that same boyish enthusiasm that made you fall for him in the first place, he beamed at you. "Of course! I’m sorry, I’m just… overwhelmed, darling."

Carefully, with a reverence that spoke volumes of his love and care, Gale leaned down and lifted the tiny bundle into his arms. His movements were delicate, as though holding the baby was the most important spell he had ever cast. The look of pure wonder on his face as he cradled your child for the first time made your heart swell.

As the baby shifted slightly in his arms, Gale’s eyes widened with joy.

"Oh, my little one," he whispered, his voice full of tenderness, but he began to get louder and louder the more enthralled with the baby he became. "Look at you—perfect in every way. Already a miracle, just like your mother."

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly, exhaustion still pulling at your limbs, but the sight of Gale with the baby was enough to lift your spirits.

"Gale, you’re doing it again," you teased gently. "Just… enjoy the moment."

He blushed faintly, realizing how carried away he had gotten. "Right," he said, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. "Quiet. Yes, of course."

But even as he settled into the quiet, you could see the emotions bubbling up in him, his eyes shining as he gazed down at the baby in his arms. And, in true Gale fashion, he simply couldn’t resist the urge to speak again, though this time it was a soft, almost reverent whisper.

"You are such a wonder," he murmured to the baby, his voice barely audible. "Such a gift. I promise I’ll do everything I can to give you the best life, little one. You’ve already made mine infinitely brighter."

You watched with a smile as he continued to quietly shower the baby with praise, his gentle words filled with awe and love. The sight of him, so full of emotion, yet finally quiet and tender, made your heart swell with warmth. Despite everything, despite his usual tendency to ramble and fill the air with words, in this moment, he was perfect.

"You know," you said softly, your voice laced with amusement, "I think this is the quietest I’ve ever seen you."

Gale glanced up at you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

"Well," he whispered, leaning closer to you with the baby nestled securely in his arms, "you did ask me to be quiet. But I’m afraid I can’t help it. You and this little one—you’re both my greatest accomplishments."

You chuckled tiredly, leaning your head back against the pillow as you gazed at him and your child. "You’re impossible."

"And you," he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, "are everything."

With your baby safe in his arms and Gale’s quiet whispers filling the room, you felt a deep sense of peace wash over you. For the first time in what felt like hours, you let your eyes close, the sound of Gale’s soft, loving words lulling you into a peaceful rest.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The soft glow of the candlelight cast a gentle warmth across the room as you rested in bed, utterly exhausted but blissfully content. The labor had been long and difficult, but now your baby, your child, lay swaddled in a soft blanket, sleeping peacefully beside you. Every muscle in your body ached, and your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—love, joy, and exhaustion mingled together.

But there was one more thing you needed to happen, one more piece of this moment that would make it complete. You glanced at Astarion, who stood a few steps away, his eyes fixed on the baby with a look you hadn’t seen before—hesitation. His usual confidence, his sly, charming demeanor, had melted away entirely, replaced by something raw and uncertain.

He was standing there like he was staring at some delicate, untouchable treasure, unsure of how to proceed. His hands twitched at his sides, as though he wanted to reach out but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. You sighed softly, though there was a smile tugging at your lips.

“Astarion,” you said, your voice a little weak but firm nonetheless. “I just spent hours bringing this baby into the world. I think you can handle holding them for a few minutes.”

Astarion blinked, his gaze snapping to you as if he’d been caught in some sort of reverie.

“Oh, darling,” he began, his usual velvet tone laced with uncertainty, “I’m not so sure about that. I mean… what if I drop them? Or—gods forbid—what if they cry? Or worse, what if they don’t like me?” His voice was unusually soft, tinged with a vulnerability you rarely saw from him. You raised an eyebrow, half amused and half exasperated.

“In the nicest possible way my love, get a grip,” you said, though your tone was gentle, knowing how much this moment was overwhelming him. “I promise you, they won’t break if you hold them. And after everything we’ve been through together, I doubt our child is going to be scared of you.”

He hesitated for a moment longer, glancing back at the tiny bundle resting peacefully beside you.

The vulnerability in his eyes tugged at your heart, but you weren’t going to let him stay trapped in his fear. You reached out with your hand, gesturing toward the baby. “Come on, Astarion. I know you’re not afraid of something this small.”

Astarion took a slow breath, then gave you a weak smile. “You make a compelling argument, my love. Very well, if I must.” There was a teasing lilt to his words, but the nervousness in his eyes remained.

He approached slowly, like a predator stalking something fragile and precious, his usual grace turning into something cautious. With careful, almost exaggerated precision, he knelt beside the bed and reached out. His hands hovered above the baby for a moment, and you could see the hesitation still lingering in the way his fingers trembled slightly.

But finally, with a steadying breath, he slid his hands beneath the baby, lifting them up into his arms. The moment the tiny weight settled against him, Astarion froze. His eyes widened, and for a moment, he just stared down at the small, sleeping face nestled against his chest. The baby’s tiny fingers twitched, and Astarion’s expression softened in a way you had never seen before.

You watched as something shifted in him—his fear giving way to awe. The tension in his shoulders melted, and he cradled the baby closer, his arms instinctively wrapping around them with surprising tenderness.

“Well,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “I think they’re still in one piece.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “I told you they wouldn’t break.”

Astarion looked up at you, his eyes shimmering with emotion.

“They’re so small,” he murmured, his usual bravado stripped away completely. “So… perfect.” He glanced back down at the baby, his thumb gently brushing over their tiny hand. The baby stirred slightly at his touch, their little fingers curling around his thumb, and Astarion’s breath caught in his throat.

For a long moment, he just stared down at the baby, his gaze filled with wonder and disbelief.

“I’ve done a lot of things in my life,” he said quietly, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the delicate peace of the moment. “Most of them… not good. But this…” He shook his head, his voice thick with emotion. “This is something I never thought I’d have.”

You smiled, your heart swelling with love for him.

“You deserve this,” you said softly. “We both do.”

Astarion’s eyes flicked back to you, and for a moment, his gaze was full of something vulnerable, something raw.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “For this. For them. For… everything.”

You reached out, placing your hand on his arm, feeling the tension still lingering beneath the surface.

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” you said firmly, leaving no room for doubt. Astarion let out a soft laugh, though it was tinged with emotion.

“I suppose I’ll have to be, won’t I? Not much choice in the matter now.” But there was no regret in his voice, only a quiet determination. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the baby’s forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “You’ve got a lot ahead of you, little one,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “But don’t worry. Your mother and I will be here, every step of the way.”

He looked at you again, his gaze filled with a quiet intensity.

“Together,” he said, his voice steady now, full of resolve. “We’ll do this together.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll stood at the entrance of your room, a rare hesitation in his posture. He’d fought monsters, faced devils, and had become the Blade of Frontiers, a hero in his own right. But this moment, seeing his child for the first time, had him more nervous than he ever remembered feeling.

He glanced at you, resting on the bed, looking exhausted but radiant, and his heart clenched with overwhelming love. He had witnessed your strength through countless battles, but what you had just endured was something far beyond his understanding. You had brought a new life into the world—his child, your child—and now, it was waiting to meet him for the first time.

The midwife nodded, encouraging him forward, and Wyll took a deep breath before stepping inside. The tiny bundle in her arms was swaddled tightly in a soft blanket, a small, wriggling thing with a mop of dark hair, just like his. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through him as he reached out with trembling hands.

"Go on," you murmured with a tired smile, your voice gentle and reassuring, though you could see the nervousness in his eyes. "Hold your child."

Wyll slowly took the baby into his arms, careful and deliberate, as if he were handling the most fragile treasure in the world. The weight of the tiny body settled against him, and his breath caught in his throat. For a moment, everything else disappeared—the world, the dangers, the chaos. There was only this.

The baby stirred in his arms, letting out a soft, sleepy sound, and Wyll’s heart melted. He looked down into the face of his child, his eyes wide with wonder, and time seemed to stop. He had imagined this moment, dreamed of it even, but nothing could have prepared him for the overwhelming wave of emotion that crashed over him.

"Hello, little one," Wyll whispered, his voice thick with awe. His thumb gently brushed over the baby’s tiny hand, and the baby’s fingers instinctively curled around it. That small gesture made his eyes burn with unshed tears, his chest tightening with a love so fierce it nearly took his breath away. He turned to look at you, his voice soft and filled with emotion.

“Look at them. Just… look at them.” His smile was wide, but there was a hint of disbelief behind it, as if he couldn’t fully grasp that this was real—that this tiny life was part of him, part of you both.

You smiled, your exhaustion temporarily forgotten as you watched Wyll cradle your child. The tenderness in his expression was something you had always loved about him. The way he cared so deeply, not just for you, but for everyone he fought for, everyone he protected. And now, that same fierce devotion was shining through as he held your baby, his baby, as if they were the most precious thing in the world.

Wyll’s gaze returned to the baby, and he chuckled softly, though his voice trembled.

“You’re so small,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against the baby’s. “So perfect.” His words were barely more than a breath, as if speaking too loudly would break the spell of the moment.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity, just staring at the tiny face in his arms, his heart full to bursting. The baby squirmed slightly, and Wyll adjusted his grip, instinctively swaying on his feet to soothe them. His touch was gentle, reverent, as though he couldn’t believe he was allowed to hold something so precious.

For a moment, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. Would he be a good father? Would he be able to protect this child, to teach them, to give them the life they deserved? But as he looked down at the baby’s peaceful face, those worries seemed to fade. He didn’t know all the answers, but he knew one thing for certain: he would love this child with everything he had.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the baby’s forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment.

“You’ve got so much ahead of you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But don’t you worry. Your mother and I—we’ll be here every step of the way.”

He looked at you again, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Thank you,” he said, his voice trembling. “For this. For them. For everything.”

He shifted the baby slightly in his arms, cradling them closer to his chest as he sat down beside you. Together, you sat in peaceful silence, the weight of the moment settling over you both. Wyll’s heart was full, more than it had ever been, and as he looked down at the tiny life in his arms, he knew that this was only the beginning.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The room was bathed in the soft glow of a setting sun, casting warm golden light across the floor as you lay in bed, utterly spent but at peace. The long hours of labor had taken everything from you, and yet, you felt a quiet, serene joy as you looked down at the tiny bundle nestled against your chest. Your baby, warm and sleeping soundly after the ordeal, made every ounce of effort worth it.

Halsin had been with you for every moment of the labor, never leaving your side, his strong, reassuring presence a constant comfort. He had been so calm, so focused, using all of his experience as a healer and midwife to guide you through the pain, offering soft words of encouragement, steady hands to hold. He’d seen countless births before, delivered more children than he could remember over the course of his long life. But now, standing near the bed, looking at you and the baby with a strange, hesitant expression on his face, he was a different man.

You caught his eye, seeing the quiet turmoil behind the tenderness in his gaze. He had helped you bring this child into the world, but now, as the reality of it all settled in, it seemed as though Halsin was uncertain. You could sense his hesitation, the way his fingers twitched at his sides, as if he were holding himself back from stepping closer. It was so unlike him to be unsure of anything, especially something as familiar as holding a baby.

“Halsin,” you called softly, your voice still hoarse from the effort. “Come here.”

His eyes flickered to yours, and there was something deep in his gaze—an emotion that he rarely let show. He approached, slowly, as though he were afraid of disturbing the peace of the moment. The air felt heavy with something unspoken, something more than just the awe of meeting his child for the first time. He had held thousands of newborns, but this… this was his.

When he finally reached you, he knelt beside the bed, his large hands resting gently on the mattress as he looked at you and the baby. His gaze was soft, full of love, but there was a trace of uncertainty, a vulnerability that made your heart ache for him.

“I’ve delivered so many babies in my time,” Halsin said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “I have held them, cared for them, watched their mothers smile with pride… But this is different. This is ours.”

The depth of his words sank into you, and you reached out, placing your hand gently on his.

“Halsin,” you murmured, “you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes fixed on the tiny form cradled against you.

“I have. And yet, now that it’s here…” His voice wavered for a moment, something that almost never happened to the confident, wise druid. “I find myself unsure.”

You smiled softly, lifting the baby a little, motioning for him to take them. “You’ve done this a thousand times. But I understand—it’s different when it’s your own child.”

He hesitated again, his eyes searching yours for a long moment, before finally reaching out to gently take the baby into his arms. His touch was tender, far more careful than it needed to be for someone who had handled newborns for centuries. But as the baby settled into his arms, the look of awe and wonder on Halsin’s face was something you had never seen before. His whole demeanor shifted, as though the weight of this moment was finally settling in, and he was letting himself feel it fully.

The baby stirred slightly, tiny fists curling and uncurling as they nestled against Halsin’s chest. He breathed out slowly, a deep, shuddering breath, as though the enormity of the moment was finally catching up with him.

“They’re so small,” he whispered, his voice full of wonder. “So… perfect.”

You watched him, your heart swelling with love as you saw the gentle giant of a man cradling the baby with such care, such reverence. There was no one else in the world you trusted more in this moment, and seeing the tenderness in his eyes only made you love him more.

“They are,” you agreed softly. “And they have your nose.”

Halsin’s lips twitched into a soft smile, though his gaze never left the baby’s face.

“I suppose they do,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet joy. “A piece of me, and a piece of you… a perfect balance.”

For a long moment, the two of you sat in silence, the only sound the gentle breathing of the baby in Halsin’s arms. You watched him, watched the way his heart seemed to melt with every tiny movement, every small breath.

Halsin leaned down slightly, brushing a kiss across the baby’s forehead, his expression full of love and reverence.

“I never imagined this,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “To have something so precious, so full of life, to protect and nurture.”

“You’ll be an amazing father,” you assured him, reaching out to gently brush your fingers against his cheek. “You already are.”

He turned his gaze to you then, and the look in his eyes nearly stole your breath away. There was so much love there, so much gratitude and wonder.

“And you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, “are the most incredible person I’ve ever known. What you’ve done today… you’ve given me a gift I can never repay.”

You smiled softly, your heart full. “You don’t need to repay me, Halsin. We did this together.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes filled with awe as he looked down at the baby again. “Together,” he repeated quietly, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Always.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Rolan:

The room was dimly lit by the early evening light filtering through the curtains. You lay back in bed, exhausted but content, a quiet joy filling your heart after the long hours of labor. The midwives had just left, and now it was just you, Rolan, and the little bundle swaddled in blankets beside you. Rolan had been pacing for the last few minutes, wringing his hands in that nervous way he did when he was overwhelmed, clearly on the edge of his emotions. You watched him, feeling the anticipation radiating from him, and a soft smile tugged at your lips.

"Rolan," you called gently, your voice tired but warm.

He stopped his pacing and turned to you, his eyes wide, as if he had been waiting for some sort of permission. You knew him well enough to understand what was holding him back—this was new, different, a moment he had been dreaming of but was terrified to actually embrace. He was usually so confident, especially with his magic and his sharp tongue, but here, in the presence of his own child, that facade of arrogance had melted away.

"Come," you said softly, motioning to the baby. "It's your turn."

His eyes flickered from you to the tiny figure nestled in the blankets, and you saw a spark of wonder light up in his gaze. Slowly, as if in a trance, he approached the bedside, his breath coming in shallow, quiet huffs. He stood there for a moment, just looking, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft, a touch of uncertainty in his tone. "What if… What if I—"

"You won't drop them," you assured him with a small smile. "Just hold them like this," you added, gently guiding his hands to support the baby.

Rolan swallowed hard, nodding as he gingerly slid his hands under the baby. As soon as he lifted the tiny bundle into his arms, the world seemed to shift. He held them as if they were the most delicate thing he had ever touched, cradling them close to his chest. The look on his face was one of pure awe, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was holding was real.

"They're… perfect," Rolan whispered, his voice breaking slightly as he gazed down at the baby. His fingers lightly brushed the baby's cheek, and a breathless laugh escaped him when the baby’s tiny hand instinctively curled around one of his fingers. "By the gods, look at them."

The way he said it, with such reverence, such pure admiration, made your heart swell. You had never seen Rolan like this before—completely vulnerable, overwhelmed with emotion, his usually sharp, guarded demeanor utterly gone. His gaze never left the baby's face, his expression full of wonder and disbelief.

"They're beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "How… How did we do this? How can something so… perfect come from us?"

Tears pricked at your eyes as you watched him, the love and awe in his face making your chest tighten. "It feels unreal, doesn't it?"

Rolan nodded slowly, still staring at the baby with wide, glistening eyes.

"I—I don't even know what to say," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I never thought I could feel this… this way. I never knew…" He trailed off, shaking his head as if words had failed him completely.

The baby stirred slightly in his arms, their tiny face scrunching up for a brief moment before relaxing again, and Rolan's breath hitched. He looked down at the baby as if they were the most precious thing in the world—because, to him, they were. His shoulders sagged slightly as he let out a shaky breath, his gaze softening even further.

"They're so small," he whispered, his voice full of awe. "So fragile. I don't know how to… how to be enough for them."

"You'll be more than enough," you said softly, reaching out to rest a hand on his arm. "Look at you, Rolan. You're already in love with them."

He glanced at you then, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, and he gave you a small, shaky smile.

"How could I not be?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion. "They're… gods, they're perfect."

For a moment, he just stood there, holding the baby close, his expression one of pure, unfiltered love. It was as if the rest of the world had disappeared, and it was just him and the baby, wrapped in a quiet, sacred moment of connection. You could see the way his entire being had softened, the way he was completely, utterly captivated by the tiny life in his arms.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Raphael:

The room was filled with the flickering warmth of the hearthfire, casting long shadows across the walls. You lay in bed, utterly exhausted after the long hours of labor but relieved, heart swelling with joy. A small, fragile bundle rested in your arms—a new life, the child you and Raphael had brought into this world.

Raphael stood near the foot of the bed, his crimson eyes glowing brighter than usual, a mix of wonder, pride, and something else—a fierceness, as if this was a moment he had been anticipating for centuries. His typical, devilish arrogance seemed softened, his sharp grin tempered by genuine emotion.

"My love," he said, his voice as smooth as velvet but tinged with an awe you rarely heard. "You have done it. You have given me an heir—our child."

You could see the pride swelling in him, his chest puffing out as if he were ready to declare this triumph to the entirety of the Nine Hells. He approached the bedside with an intensity in his step, eyes fixed on the newborn. His hands, for once devoid of their usual grandeur, reached out to gently touch the tiny head wrapped in swaddling cloths.

For a moment, his gaze softened even further, lips parting as if to say something tender, but instead, the devil in him couldn't help but emerge. He straightened up, lifting his chin with a certain dramatic flair.

"An heir to rule the Hells, to carry forth my legacy," he whispered with reverence, his eyes now alight with a wicked gleam.

He reached down, gently but firmly, and scooped the baby up into his arms.

"Look, little one!" he declared, turning towards the open window that faced a tear in reality—the distant, shimmering view of Avernus, the first layer of Hell. "All of this will one day be yours. The Hells will tremble beneath your feet, just as they have mine."

With surprising ease, Raphael lifted the newborn up, holding them toward the portal to Hell as if presenting his child to the infernal realm itself.

His pride was palpable, his voice thick with grandeur and excitement. "You will be the most feared and respected, a ruler, a—"

"Raphael!" you snapped, sitting up in bed, alarmed. "Stop lifting the baby like that!"

Your sharp voice broke through his grandiose moment. He immediately froze, his eyes wide with surprise. Then, as if suddenly realizing the absurdity of holding a newborn up in such a manner, he lowered the baby back down, cradling them properly against his chest. The fierce glow in his eyes softened, and for the first time, you saw the slightest flush of embarrassment creep across his sharp features.

"My apologies," he murmured, glancing at you sheepishly, though his smile was still laced with pride. "I—" He cleared his throat, chuckling softly. "I was simply… enthralled by the moment. They are just… perfect."

Raphael looked down at the tiny face of his child, his usually cocky and collected demeanor cracking, revealing the depth of his emotions. His thumb gently stroked the baby’s cheek, his gaze fixed on them as if nothing else in the world mattered. For all the pride and theatrics, there was no denying the raw tenderness in his eyes now.

"You’ve given me more than I ever thought possible," he said quietly, his voice losing its usual boastfulness. "This child—our child—has made me proud in ways I cannot even begin to describe."

He stepped closer to the bed, slowly lowering himself to sit beside you, still cradling the baby in his arms as though they were the most precious thing in existence. "And you, my love… You’ve given me everything. I shall never forget this."

You smiled, despite the earlier scare, your heart warmed by his devotion, his love. Even now, in this quiet moment, Raphael was both the devil you knew and something far more vulnerable—a father. His fingers, so accustomed to weaving magic and signing infernal pacts, were now tender, holding his newborn as if they were made of glass.

"You don’t need to show them Hell just yet," you teased, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face, still tired but comforted by Raphael’s presence.

Raphael chuckled, his sharp grin returning as he gently rocked the baby in his arms.

"Perhaps not," he conceded with a glint in his eye. "But one day, they will know it—just as they will know the heights of power they were born for. But for now… they shall only know peace. And love."

His voice softened as he gazed down at your child, his earlier bombastic nature ebbing away as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead. He held them close, marveling at the tiny life nestled in his arms.

"So small," he whispered, more to himself than to you. "And yet, they will shape the fate of realms."

For a long while, Raphael stayed like that, his eyes never leaving the baby, his body unusually still, completely captivated. You watched him, seeing the pride and love interwoven with his usual ambition. And in that moment, you realized that, for all his grand schemes and devilish desires, this was the most important thing in the world to him—your family, your child.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The restraint I had to have to not put in the 'everything the light touches is our kingdom' line from lion king in Raphael's bit ahaha. Hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Finnish polka" - Ivar the Boneless x Reader

SUMMARY: After helping one of the northern Jarls, the Lothbrok brothers attend a celebratory feast. There, they're faced with a tradition of warriors catching flower crowns that belong to young women. How surprised Ivar is when you almost shove your crown into his hands.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 2.1k

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Ivar is tired.

Of course he's glad that Jarl Thorstein came out victorious. And that his brothers are fine. Still, he feels weary as the adrenaline leaves his body. His legs start to ache. Ivar downs the rest of his mead in hopes it makes him a little more deaf to his mood.

The upbeat, bright music fills his mind like an obsessive thought. His heart beats to the rhythm tapped by the feet of dancing women. They spin, jump and run around with flower crowns sitting atop their heads. How the wreaths remain immovable, he can't quite say.

Ivar is also angry.

As the local tradition entails, when the song ends, all the dancing young maidens will throw their flower crowns to the crowd. Whoever catches it, is believed to be the girl's lover chosen by the gods. However, whether the couple indulges and trusts gods' judgement is a different story. But if the wreath falls to the floor, the girl is said to remain unmarried for the next five years.

Ivar knows the chance of him somehow catching one of those is near zero. He's sitting quite far from the dancers. Even if he did catch it, he's disillusioned about the imminent dissatisfaction of the flower crown's ownert. Not only is he disabled in a way that almost entirely excludes him from fighting but he's also infamous for his ruthless nature and vengeful heart. Hardly a man who invokes desire. Still, some naive piece of him remains hopeful that maybe he's wrong. Maybe he can be terrible and loved all the same.

He shakes those weak delusions away from himself before they sour his mood further.

His piercing eyes have been following one of the dancers for the better part of the song when he catches himself. Her movements look effortless even when the musicians pick up the tempo. Clearly, she's done this dance one too many times to have any doubts about what she's doing. Joy beams from her in a way that makes her appear almost shining. The wreath on the top of her head is mostly green with white and red flowers. It makes Ivar think of the woods surrounding Kattegat; it makes him think of home.

Ivar leans toward Oddleif, one of the Jarl's men, who's sitting next to him.

"Who is she?"

Oddleif looks at Ivar out of the corner of his eye. He scoffs, takes a large sip of his drink and only then decides to answer:

"If you're thinking of catching her flower crown, don't." His blond braids dance slightly as he shakes his head. There's a hint of laughter hiding in the back of Oddleif's throat. "Half of the surviving army wants it."

"I have no care for flowers," Ivar lies through his teeth. "They have no use. They wilt and die and soon no one remembers them. I am simply curious about her."

"Her father is the blacksmith. You might have seen him in the battle, swinging that damned sledgehammer." Ivar silently nods. He remembers that man - tall as a pine tree and wider than a stable. The blacksmith invokes respect even when he's not decimating enemies like a troll equipped with a tree trunk. "He said once that he'll let any man marry his daughter but only if he can lift an anvil. Tried it once myself. Not that I had any success as you can imagine." Oddleif laughs bitterly and continues drinking. His eyes are glued to the dancers but Ivar knows that right now, the two of them are admiring the very same girl with a flower crown like a forest.

The melody continues to quicken. Despite being out of breath, you don't want it to end. Your feet ache but they do not falter nor do they stumble. It seems that their muscles know the dance better than your mind. There are a dozen girls dancing with you but you do not see them. Not really. They appear worlds away from you and the song of bagpipes and strings.

And then appears he.

A slouched, dark figure flies before your eyes as you're doing another pirouette. The man simply sits there, in the corner, but his presence is overwhelming. Or so you think. He does nothing and yet he tears his way into your microcosm of quick footwork, turns and lively polka.

You recognize him. Of course you do. Many whispers, equally frightened and amazed, have spoken of him. You have believed in all of them until the moment you met his gaze for that split second. Right then, somewhere between blinks and breaths, you renounce every gossip you've ever heard about him. A voice in the back of your head, a trickster or an oracle, nags at you to learn the truth yourself.

When the lively, fast melody comes to a stop, you find yourself shaken awake from the thoughts about Ivar the Boneless. The end of the song seems somewhat abrupt to you as you've been letting your fantasy run wild without paying much attention to what's going on around you. Dancing the last part purely by the memory of your muscles. The moment musicians stop playing, a small crowd begins to form in front of you. Men of different class, age and ancestry reach out their hands. Each one of them is more determined than the other to catch your wreath. They start to yell something but considering that the inside of the long hall is awfully loud anyway, you can't make out any words. Reading their lips, you can only tell when they're exclaiming different variations of your name.

They're only pushing towards you, shoving each other away. You keep taking steps backwards but the distance you create with each step is quickly shortened with the men calling out to you. You knew there would be many of them in front of you but never assumed that many. Instead of somewhat flattering, the siege is terrifying and imposing.

Looking for help or advice, just something that will ease your tension, you silently look around the long hall. Your gaze falls on the same slouched, dark figure. Strange peacefulness washes over you when his eyes meet yours.

The dim candlelight seems to bend around Ivar, making his corner appear darker than anywhere else in the long hall. He's simply sitting there. Maybe he's not interested? But the way he's staring at you shows nothing if not burning curiosity. The sons of Ragnar aren't know for their patience. No, they're said to take whatever they want the moment their desire sparks. Despite that, the youngest of them, and arguably the most famous, appears to be waiting. But for what exactly?

The fresh pine needles prick your skin. You furrow your eyebrows. Your gaze falls to the wreath and then comes back to Ivar. Could it be...?

It isn't much of a throw, really. You toss the flower crown towards him without looking anywhere else but into Ivar's eyes. Without as much as blinking, he catches the wreath with ease as though he has been prepared for that. Low murmurs hit your ears but quickly the sounds of disappointment fall silent as it's made clear who caught your wreath. Despite their initial determination, the men who had been reaching out to you suddenly disperse like fog does in the early morning. They knew better than to get under the skin of a Lothbrok. Especially that one.

"I believe this belongs to you."

Ivar is holding up the wreath. Despite his words, he makes no effort to offer it back to you. His eyes are bright and glistening, the corner of his mouth is tugged ever-so-slightly upwards. He appears amused.

At first, it was nice to finally sit down after dancing for what seemed to be hours on end. But now, when you're facing the consequences of your spur-of-the-moment decision, the tension sets in once more. This time, however, it doesn't feel threatening. In turn, the nervousness is somewhat welcome like the jittery state before a surprise is revealed.

"If I wanted to keep it, I wouldn't have thrown it," you answer in a light tone.

"And why should I keep it?"

The blue eyes study you for a moment. It's a strange feeling - you can't help but think that the longer you are in Ivar's presence, talking or not, he's reading your mind and soul. He stares at you in a way that tells you he already holds all the answers but wants you to confirm them.

"It's said to bring good luck." You shrug your shoulders. "Until the wreath wilts and dies, Freya and Freyr will look after you."

Ivar looks at the flower crown again. Only now, when he's holding it, does he realize that for a flower crown, there aren't many flowers. A few sandworts and poppies, yes, but the wreath is made mostly of evergreen plants. It might take weeks until the crown wilts.

The microcosm seems closed again. Now it's not you and the bagpipes but you and him. It's strange and it's new but it's not threatening. It's not the kind of presence a man of his infamy should have. Or perhaps you've simply fallen for his honey trap.

"Why did you throw it to me?" Ivar tries to make the question seem unimportant, just curiosity brought to light. But he can't quite convince himself that he doesn't care. There's a hint of something vulnerable and genuine when the words roll off his tongue. It's easy to miss like a dandelion clock carried away by a gust of wind.

You wish you knew the answer yourself.

"I don't know really," you say honestly. "Perhaps it was one of the gods that threw the flower crown for me." You make a pause. Ivar's face is unreadable. "Or perhaps I have no interest in urgent, desperate men."

Ivar chuckles. A deep shadow is covering part of his face, making him appear kind of sinister. For a moment, you question whether he's laughing with you or at you.

"And what exactly makes you think I'm not urgent or desperate?" he continues. You notice his smile is growing wider. That glint of amusement in his blue eyes has changed in mischief. "What if I'm worse than all of them? You surely know who I am."

"Of course I do, Ivar the Boneless," you drone the words. In a barely noticeable fashion, he clenches his jaw when you say his name. It makes him feel a strange, burning sensation in his stomach but Ivar is left unsure whether he likes it or detests. "The whispers of your ruthless character are unending."

"But you're not afraid?" he asks with both disbelief and suspicion. A girl with a flower crown doesn't necessarily strike him as fearless in any way. Or this whole strange situation is a little too good, too dream-like, for him to accept it at face-value.

Ivar's smile falters when your face takes on a confident, maybe even arrogant, expression. He's taken aback.

"I'm a woman of the North," you say while leaning towards him on the table. The distance between your faces shortnes. "The only person I fear is my own reflection."

The sudden closeness makes Ivar inhale sharply. The strong smell of pine needles fills his nostrils. For a moment, his imagination runs wild but it's not his fault - he has no grasp on it:

How those big eyes glistened in the semi-dark of the long hall as you were staring at him. Your smirk, somewhat challenging and beckoning him to push on. Then, the smell of conifer that shakes all senses awake. His fantasy leaves the northern snows and travelles to forests, to him brushing pine needles from your hair and your naked, flushes skin smelling of evergreen trees.

But quickly his shaken awake, to his utmost displeasure, by you:

"Well, if you don't want it, I suppose I should take it back, no?"

Your hand unsurely reaches out for the wreath in Ivar's hand. He's quick to pull his arm back.

"It's bad luck to take back gifts," he states plainly. In an act of nonchalance, Ivar is playing with the wreath, spinning it around his finger. "I should like to keep it."

Sometimes you come back to the night you've met the infamous Viking, when you're rendered sleepless while he's calmly breathing next to you, getting the rest he desperately needs. How funny all of it seems - that a flower crown in bloodied, merciless hands could lead to having a genuine crown on your head. Maybe you were right, after all, and it really was the hand of one of the gods that threw the wreath for you.

[kalicocal]

Let's talk about that CaitVi Scene

For me, what made this scene impactful has to do more with the fact that the prison cell is the physical representation of Vi's mind more than the fact that it's where they first met. (Although the latter does add merit to Fortiche's capacity for telling circular narratives.)

We know this because we see Fortiche use this same motif in S108, where we see half of Vi behind bars and the other half unobstructed, which signifies how Vi is torn between going back to help her sister and helping Caitlyn take the gemstone back.

In this context, though, Vi is shackled by the mantra, “Whatever happens, it’s on you,” and we know this because Vi admits it herself, “I choose wrong every time. And because of it, I’ve lost everyone.” 

And the implication of Caitlyn unlocking this cell and entering this space—this space filled with emotional and physical scars, this space haunted by phantom pains and memories with teeth—was just like an “I got you” moment, the perfect affirmation that finally releases Vi from the shackles of this inherited responsibility. 

Caitlyn not only predicted it, but she actively took measures that enabled Vi to free Jinx safely. By doing this, Caitlyn implicitly confirmed that Vi didn't choose wrong this time and that she wasn't alone in the decision to offer Jinx a second chance.

I know some people have their own opinions about them doing it in a jail cell without explicitly talking about what happened between them in Act 1, but as much as I appreciate the idea of open communication, romance, and making love in a bed, I understand why they saved the talking for later. After all, facing imminent doom and Armageddon can influence people to rush into things. 

All jokes aside, there is one thing about this scene that makes my heart ache with joy: that Vi finally has one memory that outshines all that was made in the prison cell. And that memory is of warmth, a gentle touch, and soft eyes—the only memory that matters.

And for me, that's enough.

[sailornymph]

‘HOW TO DISAPPEAR COMPLETELY’

itachi uchiha with pregnant s/o extended

authors note : i love itachi and the shorter hc version with the other uchiha will be up this weekend!

first month

humming the same song that had been stuck in your head for the last few days, you carefully stacked the dango balls onto the small stick, neatly placing them onto a plate.

itach would arrive anytime today, and you hoped that he would finally be able to relax. however, due to your lack of shinobi abilities, you hadn’t even noticed, that he had been standing in the doorway for the past twenty minutes, watching in adoration. you were so concentrated, making sure all of the dangos were evenly shaped and distributed.

anyhow, there was something strange about you. it had been nearly a month since he had been away from you. was it the new dress, the fresh hairstyle, different polish used on your nails this time? no, although all the things he adored on you, and took in, these weren’t what made you seem different.

“oh kami, you scared me, when did you make it in?” you asked, sitting down the plate that you almost dropped. raising your arms to embrace him.

“long enough to hear your beautiful voice,” he smirked, as you hugged him close, and that’s when he realized it. your chakra, how did he not see it before? your chakra was not very strong, you weren’t a shinobi or anything, so it did not need to be. yet, here you stood, with the chakra stronger than usual, resembling that of a uchiha.

activating his eyes, he stared at you, watching as the chakra surrounding your body. he could see your chakra, still small, deep within your core, but there was another, as if someone…as if someone was inside of you.

slowly, his hand moved to your stomach, and his heart dropped, feeling the chakra pouring into his hand.

“itachi, what are you doing?” you asked confusedly.

“you’re pregnant, i can’t determine how long, but i can see the chakra,” he said, as you gasped.

“seriously? don't joke like that,” you said.

“i am being serious,” he said, as you squealed in excitement.

you had been a bit restless and to think it was possibly from being pregnant with itachi’s child. you were filled with joy at the news. how could you not be? meanwhile, itachi stood awkwardly, he didn't know how to take in the news. how could he be so careless?

you didn't even know that he was sick, he had been hiding all of the evidence, to keep you from worrying. blaming being fatigued on his missions. taking one look at itachi’s face, and all of that previous joy faded away.

“you don't want a baby? it doesn't fit your lifestyle, living rogue and stuff,” you pulled away from him, fidgeting with your fingers.

“what?”

“i can see on your face, in your eyes, this isn't what you want. say the words and i’ll get rid of it,” you said, turning your back to him, mainly to hide the tears building up in your eyes.

“this was unplanned and i feel it is because of my carelessness. regardless, this has been made out of love between you and i. if you would like to keep them, then that's what we will do. what would you like, angel?” he said, reaching to pull you close, and turn you around, wiping your eyes.

“i want to keep it,” you whispered.

“then we will, there is no need to cry your eyes out, we will be parents, okay?”

“okay?” you nodded, accepting his kiss.

third month

“ugh, what is that terrible smell,” you groaned, climbing out of your burrito of blankets. your breasts were aching and itching, you were tired, and you felt like you needed to throw up. however, you were on high alert because itachi was nowhere to be found. he hadn't said anything about leaving for another mission.

holding onto the railing, you slowly walked downstairs. relaxing as you could see itachi sitting on your back porch, but your eyebrows furrowed at his hard coughing. approaching the door, he looked back at you, smiling softly.

“good morning, angel”

“are you alright, i could hear you coughing-

“i'm okay, are you having morning sickness?” he asked, but you shook your head.

“not today, i just woke up because i smelled something that was just vile to my nose, in the room”

“vile? it may be the baby, i read that your pregnancy could affect your sense of smell”

“maybe, whatever it is, they hate it, and so now it is bothering me,” you sighed, scratching your belly. your bump was barely visible but in a form fitting outfit, you could see clear as day, the baby growing inside.

turning away from you, itachi began coughing again, bringing a rag to his mouth, and your heart dropped, seeing a bit of blood, before he wiped it away.

“was that blood? we need to call a doctor?”

“i am fine-

he started, but, reaching over, you snatched the cloth from him, gasping at all of the blood.

“i'm going get a medical-

“y/n, stop, i’m f-

“do not tell me you are fine, not when you're coughing up all of this blood, this isn't normal or healthy,” you stressed.

“i need to talk to you, i've kept something from you”

“what?”

“please, sit down,” he reached for your hand, helping you sit next to him before he began to explain everything to you. his terminal illness, the symptoms, the partial blindness. it left you stunned with tears in your eyes.

“do you know how much longer you have?” you sniffled.

“don't stress about me, i’ll be here every step of the way, and i'll be here for the birth of our child,” he reassured, reaching for your hand, bringing your fingers to his lips.

“we could get you some help-

“my fate is sealed, but there is still much to do and see before i leave you, trust me”

“do you promise?”

“i promise, i won’t be leaving you anytime soon, or you,” he said, reaching to rub your stomach.

sixth month

“how do you feel?” you whispered, replacing the cool cloth from itachi’s forehead with a fresh one.

“i will be fine, thank you,” he said, tiredly staring at you, as your fingers interlocked.

when he arrived last night, he was in a terrible state, with a high fever, coughing up blood, and in pain. while he insisted that you got some rest, he would sleep on the floor in the living room, to not bother you. you dragged him to your fluffy duvet, tending to him until he was able to fall asleep.

“you don’t have to thank me, i want to take care of you, even in this state, you are still as strong as ever to me,” you said, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

as you pulled away, he reached out his hand, his fingers brushing against your bump.

“your bump has grown”

“they are very active, especially at night, i can hardly sleep from all the kicking”

“i missed another milestone,” he said, sounding defeated.

“so did i, it started when i was sleeping, but talking to them, seems to calm them down, would you like to feel it?” you smiled as he slowly nodded.

taking his hand, you placed it into your entire belly, sighing as he caressed softly.

“i can feel their chakra,” he sitting up, suddenly. you were worried about him being up, but with the concentrated look on his face, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop him.

“does that mean their strong?”

“yes, at first, it was meshed with your own, but it is separate now, it is almost radiating off of you”

“then they’re more you than me,” you laughed.

“hi baby, it’s your mother and your father is with me this time, speak to them, tachi,” you continued.

“hello, my offspring,” he said awkwardly, making you laugh. there wasn't any movement when suddenly, you felt a sharp kick.

“oh god, that got them excited,” you groaned, as itachi continued rubbing your belly.

“your mother works very hard to make sure you're healthy, you have to be kind to her,” he spoke, his voice softer than before.

activating his eyes, he examined your stomach.

“itachi, you shouldn't use your eyes,” you lightly scolded him.

“i need to see clearly”

“what are you trying to see?”

“the baby, it-the chakra is very strong for this stage of life, i wanted to see how big they were, beyond being a fetus, and-

“and what?” you asked, panicking, as his hands dropped, a stunned expression on his face.

“it is a girl,” he managed to get out.

“a girl? are you sure? don't prank me,” you said, excitedly, tears building up in your eyes.

“i can see her clearly, she is already perfect,” he said, when you felt another kick from your stomach.

“i think she likes your voice,” you cried, placing your hands on top of his.

“i love you, more than my own life, you and your mother, are the light in my darkness,” he spoke, placing a kiss on your belly.

“we love you too,” you felt yourself getting emotional all over again.

“of course you do, angel,” he said, carefully tugging you to lay next to him, as he continued whispering sweet nothings to you and the evidence of the both of you, who continued to grow in your belly.

ninth month

“i leave for an hour and you’re already on your feet,” itachi spoke, the small bag of herbs in his hand.

“this laundry was calling my name,” you smiled, continuing to hang the clothing on the clothesline.

“that’s enough labor for now,” he told you, approaching you, his hands moving to your swollen belly. you were absolutely stunning, wearing the pink dress. he never thought he would ever find the color so perfect.

“i’m almost d-ugh,” you reached up, before your hands quickly went to your stomach, feeling a sharp pain.

instantly, itachi activated his eyes, he knew he shouldn’t be using them, they were making his sight worse, but when it came to you, he couldn’t care about the consequences. groaning in pain as you felt another sharp contraction.

“itachi,” you cried, as he held you up, carefully examining your bump.

“she’s coming,” he mumbled, more to himself. picking you up, he carried you into the house, carefully laying you onto the floor, propping up your head.

“are you getting a doctor?” you said, trying to concentrate your breathing.

“there is no time, you seem to have induced your own labor with your laundry, she is ready to come out, now,” he said, leaving to get towels.

placing them next to him, as he came back, he carefully lifted your dress.

“you’re doing this?”

“yes, i can see her”

“you aren’t supposed to be using your eyes”

“don’t worry about me angel, focus on your breathing,” he said ignoring your worrying words.

caressing your stomach, he examined your body, as you shut your eyes, taking slow deep breaths.

“on the count of three, you will begin pushing, we can switch your position if needed,” he instructed, slowly counting down.

six hours, three hundred sixty minutes, the sun was completely gone. your body was on fire, running entirely on adrenaline. your face wet from sweat and tears.

“i can't do this,” you cried to itachi, for the millionth time. his heart hurt as you cried out to him, begging him to take away the pain.

“she’s almost here, angel, one last push,” he said, taking a firm, but gentle, hold onto the baby, catching her as she eased from your womanhood. she cried loudly, easily drowning out any noise you made.

as your placenta followed, he quickly removed it, beginning to clean her body. wrapping her into the red blanket, he carefully placed her into your arms, while helping you sit up. her crying becoming lower by the second, as she finally stopped, opening her eyes, she stared at the both of you.

“she’s beautiful”

“perfect,” you both spoke at the same time.

she had the signature black hair and eyes, a small smile slowly appearing on her face. lowering the top of your dress, you began to breastfeed her, itachi watching in awe. you were an absolute angel, the most beautiful woman he’d ever come across. his daughter, she had completely taken his breath away, he couldn’t help but hover, wanting to take in every inch of her face.

“thank you, y/n,” he said, leaning close to kiss your cheeks.

“she has your hair and eyes,” you smiled tiredly.

“common traits of the uchiha clan members, however, she looks more like my mother and sasuke,” he smiled softly, as you glanced at him. he never brought up his mother to you.

“your mother?”

“mikoto, she was beautiful inside and out, with the most gentle eyes, i favored my father, while sasuke took after her,” he said, as the newborn began to move around, her tiny hand latching onto itachi’s finger.

“i think she likes that name”

“perhaps,” he said, admiring her.

“maybe we could name her something that will keep your mother in our memory-

“miko, if you'd like to name her something else that is fine with me, but i’d like to call her miko”

“miko it is, she’ll know that she is named after who she resembles, her beautiful grandmother”

tenth month

“shh, shh, are you hungry? what’s the matter?” you stressed, trying to breastfeed miko, but she didn’t seem to be hungry, still crying loudly.

you were trying to be considerate of itachi, he needed rest too, after having a fever the last two nights, but you couldn’t figure out what the problem was.

“let me try?” he spoke, behind you.

“you should be resting,” you said, but he shook his head, carefully taking her into his arms. rocking her gently, her cries slowly stopped, as she stared into his eyes.

“i couldn’t rest, when she is crying like this,” he said, as you buried your face in your hands.

“what am i doing wrong?”

“she has her entire life to build a bond with you, don’t worry, angel,” he told you, sitting down as you went to prepare a bottle with the breast milk you had been pumping.

“she is a daddy’s girl, i can’t blame her, but i wish she would at least let me cuddle her too,” you pouted, sitting next to him, as he began to feed her the milk.

you sat in a comfortable silence, until you noticed itachi’s expression. focused but frustrated, he was thinking hard about something.

“what’s on your mind?”

“sasuke…he is searching for me and is close,” is all he said.

“so we leave, i’m sure we can find a place in another village somewhere else-

“he is consumed by vengeance, he will not stop, until we meet”

“itachi, he will want to fight,” you shook your head.

“he has grown to be a worthy opponent”

“so you’ll fight him until you kill him?”

“i could never bring myself to kill him”

“so you’re letting him kill you, how could you do?” your leg begin to shake as you fought back the urge to scream at him, ready to beg him to change his mind.

“there are many things i have kept from you, that will be revealed in time, but this will come to pass. i hope you find it in your heart to forgive me for leaving you and miko alone in this world. the things i have done, sasuke will be given the revenge he seeks,” he said, sitting the bottle down, beginning to burp miko.

“please don’t do this, tell him the truth, the secrets-

“all will be revealed, but my destiny was determined that night. listen to me, you are to go to konoha and raise miko where i know she will stand a chance at having a bright childhood. let her know how much i love her, how much i love you, her beautiful mother. that if i could’ve had things differently, we could’ve been a happy family together. she is and will always be my greatest mission, nothing has been accomplished so perfectly. my precious miko, i know i may be asking for too much, but please,” he said, as you began to crumble, trying to hold back your tears. he wasn’t the type to beg, but here he sat, his eyes pleading with your own.

“okay”

“and you, my beloved. heal and move on from me, miko is the evidence of our love, but i do not expect you to remain alone-

“how could you ever tell me to do something like that?” you cried.

“i hoped that you would say that, it hurts to think of it, but i promise i won’t be upset if you have another. just make sure he loves you ten times more than i love you and miko and that he isn’t weak, to be able to protect you both,” he said, reaching to hold your cheek.

“i love you so much”

“i love you too,” he smiled tiredly, accepting you into his embrace as he held you in his arms.

“when do you leave?”

“tomorrow night,” he said, making you look over at him suddenly, beginning to cry harder, just thinking of how soon he would be gone, hurt you greatly.

“so soon?”

“i know angel, but let me hold you tonight, i would like to take in every moment we have together,” he said when miko tugged his hair.

“you too, my beautiful miko, i want to remember these precious eyes, until my very last breath”

seven years later

“miko? where are you?” you called out, worriedly, searching for your daughter, when you spotted her. sitting alone, her back against the old tree.

“miko-oh baby, what happened?” you went to your knees, cupping her face. tears pouring down her face, as she peered at you with the crimson and black eyes.

“i only wanted to play, but th-they were so mean, they said bad things about you, and father, how he was weak and he didn’t love me, why did i have to be a uchiha?” she grumbled, burying her face in her hands.

“hey, don’t say that. ever. listen to me, your father was brave, he did what one else could do, and carried the burden alone. he put this very village above himself, he sacrificed everything for everyone else — and your father loved you so much. he cherished you from the time you began to grow in my tummy, until the time you were born. he’d hold you, letting you sleep on his chest, holding his hair. you were and will always be his everything. have i ever told you why we named you miko?”

“no,” she pouted.

“well, technically he named you. you are named after your grandmother, mikoto uchiha. when you were a baby, you looked so much like your uncle, sasuke, and their mother. you had the gentlest eyes that reminded itachi of his mother, so when he decided on miko, i fell in love with it”

“why did sasu-uncle sasuke have to go and kill him?” she asked, her small fists balled up.

“your father was sick already, i fear his fate was already sealed, he accepted his reality and nothing didn’t happen that he didn’t allow. you were our present though, a parting gift, and the evidence of our love, a combination of him and i, creating the most beautiful person. do you understand why you shouldn’t say those things? you're stronger than your peers and they don't understand you. would you like to know another fact about your father?”

“you are already living up to your father’s standards, here you are seven and already a genin, itachi wasn’t a genin until he was eight. he was a prodigy of his clan, and here you are, just as sharp and skillful he was,” you smiled at her.

“mommy, i don’t want to become a rogue ninja-

“we will make sure that won’t happen,” a voice said, making you both turn, you were surprised to see sasuke.

“uncle…sasuke”

“how are you, miko?” she stared shyly at her uncle, shrugging her shoulders.

“i was in the area and i overheard the sound of a little girl crying,” he said. a lie. you knew from the moment you moved to konoha, he had been watching. he had only met miko a few times. he was unsure of how to even go about a relationship with his niece, but he vowed to himself to protect her.

“she has been dealing with a bit of bullying, they are trying to find any way to tear her down because she’s the youngest in her class”

“have you spoken with lord seventh?” he asked you.

“he’s too busy to even reach,” you sighed, as his eyes remained focused on miko.

“it is common for those weaker than you to dislike you, out of jealousy. the best thing to do is to continue surpassing them. would you like a bit of training, with me?” he asked, slightly smiling as she nodded excitedly.

“can i mommy?”

“go ahead,” you agreed, laughing as she stood up, shyly approaching him.

“uncle sasuke-i mean, is it okay, if i call you uncle?” she asked, relaxing when he nodded.

“well, uncle sasuke, was my father stronger than you?”

“he was, even in his final moments”

“then i want to be as strong as him”

“we can make that possible, as safely as possible,” he said, glancing at you. you knew she would eventually go down this path, you hadn’t even wanted her to become a shinobi, but she had been begging from the moment that told her that itachi was once a shinobi. she was as gifted as him, but you worried about the same fate most uchiha had when they pushed themselves too far.

“we have to limit ourselves because sometimes being too powerful isn’t always good, we are only human,” he continued, offering her his hand.

“uncle sasuke, my mommy told me i was named after my grandmother, mikoto,” she told him, as they began to walk away.

“now that i’m looking at you, you do have mother’s gentle eyes and itachi’s smile, beautiful,” he said, leaning down, poking her forehead with two fingers.

your eyes swelled with tears, watching as she became distant, leaving with sasuke, already talking his ear off.

“do you see our girl?” you spoke lowly, your hand going to the necklace around your neck, that once belonged to itachi.

“y/n, are you alright?” you jumped, looking up at kakashi who was approaching you. he had been working so closely with miko, and she was doing well with him.

“i’m okay, just getting emotional, i’m very proud of miko”

“where is she, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“she went to train with sasuke, she needs this, and i’m thankful for you as well, all those times you made time to train her,” you told him.

“it was no problem, would you like to join me for a conversation over ramen?”

“i-has miko done something?” you asked worriedly.

“no, she’s wonderful, i was hoping we could have lunch as perhaps a date,” he said. despite having his face covered, you could see him obviously blushing.

kakashi hatake, a few years older than you, and while the children all gossiped amongst themselves, questioning how he looked. was his lips like a blimp, did he have buck teeth, was he completely hideous — you had seen his face, and he certainly was handsome. thinking back, you felt a wave of embarrassment, all the times he hinted at something more with you, and you easily brushed him off, redirecting the conversation to miko. no one would ever be able to match the love itachi had for you and miko, but after today, you were sure this was his sign that he was okay with you and miko finally moving on.

“i would love to,” you smiled, accepting his hand, as he pulled you up, walking you to the nearest ramen shop.

[isaadore]

SECOND BEST QUINN HUGHES

pairing quinn hughes x childhood friend!reader

SUMMARY you and quinn were inseparable growing up; two halves of the same whole. you gave him everything: your time, your loyalty, your heart. but as you both grew older, he only gave you scraps of his life. one day, you realize you’re tired of being second best. tired of waiting for something that might never come. word count 2.3k words

warnings ANGST with no happy ending, quinn’s a jerk and oblivious, lack of communication, reader’s feelings are unrequited (?)

note hey i’m back (again) 🤞 sorry my first fic back is angst with no happy ending (i felt moody)

MAIN MASTERLIST QH43 MASTERLIST

THE HUM OF the hockey broadcast filled the quiet air of Quinn’s living room, the commentator’s voice a low, steady background to the stillness that had settled between you. The rain outside created a rhythmic pattern on the windows, the soft tap of each droplet almost soothing, a constant companion to the uneasy weight that had been growing in your chest for the past few months. You sat curled into the corner of the couch, your legs tucked beneath you as you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, but you weren’t really looking at anything. Your mind was elsewhere, swirling with thoughts and doubts you couldn’t quite articulate.

Quinn was sprawled out on the floor, his back leaning comfortably against the coffee table as he sat with his legs stretched out in front of him. His focus was entirely on the highlights playing on the TV, his lips twitching into a grin every so often at something the commentator said. The way he laughed, the way his eyes lit up at the game, everything about him looked so carefree. The joy he felt in these moments was palpable, and for a brief second, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. You wondered what it would be like to feel that kind of peace, that kind of joy, without noticing the underlying tension that had been building between you.

You watched him for a while, noticing the way his muscles shifted with each laugh, the way his dark hair flopped over his forehead, the sharp line of his jaw as he took in the TV. He looked happy, content, even. And for a moment, you allowed yourself to savour the image of him like this, calm and oblivious to the storm brewing in your chest. But that moment was quickly swept away by the familiar ache that tugged at your insides.

There was a heaviness in your chest, a deep sense of unease that you couldn’t shake. It had been there for months, growing quietly but steadily, until it became an unspoken tension between you two. Quinn had always been your best friend, but recently, it felt like something was missing, like you were no longer the person he turned to when things got tough, when he needed someone to lean on. And that ache, that silent emptiness, had only deepened since the arrival of her.

Her.

The girl he’d been spending so much time with lately, the one who seemed to occupy his every waking thought. The one whose name seemed to slip from his lips in conversation, whose laughter filled the space between the two of you more than once. The one who had taken up residence in every corner of his attention. The realization hit you harder than you cared to admit: You were no longer his first thought. You were no longer the one he shared the small moments with, the one he turned to for comfort. You had been replaced.

The thought churned your stomach.

“I think I’m skipping the party tonight,” you said, breaking the silence, your voice quiet but steady.

Quinn didn’t take his eyes off the screen, his voice coming without a second thought. “Why? Everyone’s going to be there.”

Everyone. His teammates, his friends, and her. You didn’t need to say her name; the words were already written between the lines of the invitation. The girl who seemed to be in his orbit at all times now. The girl who had slowly, quietly, taken your place.

“I just don’t feel like it,” you replied, trying to sound casual, but your voice faltered slightly despite your best effort.

For a brief moment you let yourself hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d notice something in your tone, something in the way you spoke, something that hinted at the heaviness that had been pressing on your chest for weeks now. Maybe he’d pause the broadcast, turn to you, and ask you if something was wrong. Maybe he’d ask if you wanted to stay in like you used to. Like you were still important to him.

But Quinn didn’t. He shrugged, his attention not once leaving the TV screen.

“Suit yourself,” he said, his voice casual, almost dismissive.

It was like a slap to the face, even though you had been bracing for it. The ache in your chest intensified as the disappointment took root, deepening as you tried to swallow down the bitter truth. The truth that you weren’t the person he relied on anymore, that you were no longer his priority. You stood up from the couch, the movement stiff, your muscles tense from the knot that had formed in your stomach. You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, making your way toward the door, trying to hide the way your heart was breaking.

“Right,” you muttered, forcing out the words. “Have fun.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, barely sparing you a glance, his attention still firmly on the screen.

You stepped out onto the porch, the cool, damp air hitting you instantly as the drizzle soaked through your sweater. You paused there for a moment, staring out into the night, the faint glow of the streetlights casting long shadows across the wet pavement. The rain had quieted to a gentle mist, but it did little to calm the tightness in your chest. For years, you had told yourself that things would get better, that you just needed to wait for the right moment, for the right shift in the universe. You had always believed that Quinn would eventually come around, that he would realize how much you cared and how long you had been there for him.

But tonight, standing alone in the rain, the truth was undeniable. The truth you had been running from for so long finally crashed down on you, and it hit harder than you had ever imagined.

FLASHBACK

When you were twelve, summers felt infinite. Endless days spent riding bikes down the quiet neighbourhood streets, jumping into the cool lake that shimmered under the sun, and spending nights making up stories under the stars. You and Quinn had been inseparable. He was your best friend, your confidant, your partner in crime. There was no one else in the world who could make you laugh the way Quinn could.

One evening, the two of you sat by the lake, your feet dipping into the cool water as the last rays of the sun painted the sky in soft oranges and pinks. The air smelled like fresh grass, and everything felt right, like the world had paused just for you two.

“Do you think we’ll always be friends?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, as you stared at the sunset, unsure where the question had come from.

Quinn looked at you like you were crazy. “Why wouldn’t we?”

You picked at a blade of grass between your fingers, the question lingering in the air. “I don’t know… what if you get famous? What if you forget about me?”

He laughed, splashing water at your feet in that way that only he could. “I’d never forget about you. You’re my best friend.”

“Promise?” you asked, your voice small but hopeful.

“I promise,” he said firmly, with a sincerity that made your heart swell. “You’ll come to all my games. We’ll talk every day. Nothing’s going to change.”

At that moment, you believed him with every fiber of your being. Back then, Quinn was everything: your world, your future, the person you couldn’t imagine living without. The promise he made felt unbreakable.

But now, everything had shifted. He wasn’t the same Quinn anymore. He was a version of himself you barely recognized. And you? You were just a bystander, watching him drift further and further away.

PRESENT DAY

It was a week after you walked out of Quinn’s apartment. A week after reality hit you like a truck. But you knew it was a matter of time before Quinn would contact you again, even if it meant you were just a second thought.

The invitation had sat there for days, a silent reminder of your place in his life. You coming? the text had read, sent with all the casualness of someone who had no idea the impact those words would have on you.

You hadn’t replied.

But tonight, something inside you cracked. Even knowing that she would be there, even knowing you would be nothing more than an afterthought, you couldn’t stop yourself from responding. But before you could, another message came in.

Leaving in 10. You coming or not?

You stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, your thumb hovering over the keyboard as the weight of your decision settled on you. Despite everything, despite the way your heart twisted at the thought of seeing him with her, you couldn’t ignore the voice inside you telling you to go.

Against every instinct, you typed out a response:

Be there soon.

The house was alive with the sound of music, the bass reverberating through the walls and vibrating in your chest. You stepped inside and immediately felt the weight of the crowd, the mass of people moving about, drinks in hand, laughter spilling from every corner of the house. The noise, the chaos; it all felt like a world you no longer belonged to.

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for him, already regretting your decision to show up. The anxiety in your stomach twisted harder with each step, your pulse racing as your gaze landed on him.

There he was, laughing, surrounded by his teammates, and of course, her. She was right there, standing so close to him, her hand brushing against his arm, her laughter filling the space between them. Quinn looked down at her, his smile soft and easy, the kind of smile you used to see so often, the one that made your heart skip a beat. But now, it wasn’t for you. It was for her.

It felt like a punch to the gut.

You stood frozen, the bitter taste of jealousy and heartbreak rising in your throat. But you forced a smile as Quinn’s voice broke through your thoughts.

“Hey!” He waved you over, his eyes lighting up when he spotted you.

You forced yourself to walk toward him, the distance between you and them feeling miles long. His arm slid around your shoulders, the familiar gesture doing nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

“I’m glad you made it,” he said, his voice warm, but there was something in it that felt hollow.

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, your voice barely audible as you looked at him, trying to find something in his eyes that reminded you of the person you used to know. But there was nothing. Not anymore.

Before you could speak again, her voice cut through the moment. She laughed, and Quinn’s attention shifted to her in an instant, as if you had become invisible.

Just like that, you were forgotten once again.

FLASHBACK

You were seventeen when you realized just how much you had always been second place.

It was prom season, and the halls of your high school were buzzing with excitement. The chatter about dresses, tuxedos, date filled the air. You hadn’t thought much about it until Quinn started talking about asking someone out.

“She’s nice,” he said one day as the two of you walked home from school. “I think you’d like her.”

You forced a smile, nodding. “That’s great.”

He didn’t see it. He didn’t see how much it hurt. How his words dug deep into your chest.

When prom night came, you stayed home. Social media was flooded with photos of everyone, dressed to the nines, Quinn among them, standing proudly with his date, his arm casually draped over her shoulders. The pictures were everywhere.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. But the longer you stayed in that silence, the more the ache in your chest grew.

PRESENT DAY

After thirty agonizing minutes of silently standing beside Quinn and making awkward small talk with strangers, you slipped outside onto the back porch. The cool air offered a brief relief from the heaviness in your heart. Dampness from a storm earlier today clung to the air, making it harder to breathe.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, staring out at the distant skyline, wondering how it had all gone so wrong. How had you gone from the person Quinn turned to for everything to just a shadow of his past?

The door creaked open behind you. Quinn’s voice called out softly. “Hey. What are you doing out here?”

You didn’t turn to face him. “Just needed some air.”

He stepped closer, his footsteps barely audible. “You okay?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine,” he said, his voice soft but concerned. “You’ve been… kind of distant lately.”

You finally turned to face him, the bitterness you had been swallowing spilling out before you could stop it. “Why do you care, Quinn?”

He blinked, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m tired,” you said, your voice trembling. “Tired of always being the one who waits for you. The one who shows up for you, who puts you first, even when I’m clearly not your priority.”

“That’s not true,” he protested.

“Isn’t it?” You took a step toward him, anger rising. “When was the last time you really chose me, Quinn? Because I can’t think of a single time.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come.

You let out a shaky breath, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. “I’ve spent my whole life waiting for you to see me. But I’m starting to realize I’ll never be enough for you. And I can’t do this anymore.”

“Wait,” he said, his voice desperate as he reached for your arm, pulling you gently toward him. “Please, don’t go.”

You froze, your heart pounding as you pulled your arm out of his grasp. “Why not, Quinn?” You searched his eyes, hoping for something, anything. “Give me one good reason to stay.”

The silence between you was deafening.

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you walked away, your heart breaking with each step.

And this time, you didn’t look back.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎MAIN MASTERLIST ✷ QH43 MASTERLIST

[jo-com]

can you do a carlos x reader x charles

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒🐚 ೀ ➛ Two sides

Charles Leclerc x Fem!reader x Carlos Sainz

Summary: The three of you are having a baby together—Charles being the nonchalant one while Carlos is the overreacting half.

Genre: Fluff, established relationship!, pregnancy, poly relationship, Nonchalant!Charles x Oa!reader x Oa!Carlos

Note: There are grammatical error and this is not proofread!!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist

─────── ─ ˚⋆౨ৎ˚🌷⋅₊⋅─ ───────

Ever since you guys decided to have a baby—the two have been nothing, but ecstatic and over the moon with joy.

Their hearts gushed with excitement as they dread the day your little one will be born. Your once barely seen bump was now the size of a melon; making you go tired even after just standing up or even sitting on a chair.

Nonetheless the two boys were there, helping you throughout the whole process. One being overreacting while the other was nonchalant; though they acted differently, they still are the same when it comes to your needs and safety.

…

Of course Carlos being himself— he handled you with the outmost care, as if you were a porcelain doll that is so fragile one wrong move could crack.

On the other hand. Charles acts nonchalantly calm about any situation; He’s like the adult in the relationship— taking care of three kids at the same time.

…

“Mi amor, are you sure you don’t need extra pillows?” Carlos asked, his tone dripped with concern as he frantically circles around your chair.

Before you could answer your husband, Charles was quick to retaliate along with his signature eye roll, ”Carlos stop that, you’ll make her nauseous.”

Carlos lets out an exaggerated gasp, his eyes flickering from Charles to yours and automatically pouting his plump lips, “do you really feel that mi vida?, am i making our baby sick too?.”

You let a soft giggle and patted the head of the man in front of you, “baby no, what Charles mean is that i might puke from all your movements.”

“I am sorry, my love” he mumbled.

Carlos then drooped down your side, his head rested in your shoulder as he moped around.

Whilst consoling Carlos you could see from your peripheral that Charles was leaning on the wall and was looking at you two with pure love. His eyes filled with adoration and heart full of happiness.

You gestured for him to come and join you guys to which he happily obliged. Hugging you two and tightening his hold, making the three of you feel closer to one another.

…

You were now 6 months in the pregnancy— your bump was now more evident than before, making your two husband grow protective. Watching your every move like a hawk.

It got worse when Charles’ home Gp came around the corner. You wanted to go with and support them, but they refused to let you participate in anything that will harm your guys’ baby.

“I’ll be fine guys, i swear” you spoke, your voice a little strain from being tired.

Charles sighed heavily and stared back at you, his brows knitted in concern, “mon amour, we just don’t want you to feel tired.”

From the side, Carlos shook his head vigorously in agreement and grasping your hands in his. “Yes, we don’t want the baby to also feel tired.”

You lowered your head and sighed defeatedly, earning an eyebrow raise from the two.

If they won’t let you go, you’ll have no choice, but to use your secret weapon.

You looked back at them— your eyes curled into doe ones and your lips pulled into a pout. “But, I want to support you guys” you said imitating a baby’s voice.

Carlos’ heart ache from your puppy dog eyes and was easily wrapped around your finger. He glanced back at his other lover and looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Maybe it’s not a bad idea, right Charles?” Carlos asked.

Charles looked at the two in disbelief, especially with Carlos. How could he give in easily.

But with the two of you combine, how the hell could he say no himself?

The two of you looked at him with sparkling eyes— drawing him over to your side. Sad to say that Charles didn’t make it and after about one minute in, he finally agreed.

…

“You ready baby?” Carlos asked, his hand softly caressing your bump.

You smiled back at him and nodded in response. “We’re here” Charles spoke, peeping in the window and checking the surrounding for your safety.

The entrance of the Paddock were bombarded by lots and lots of fan— waiting for the two drivers to appear in front of them.

Their chants of excitement and praise were heard from the inside your vehicle, making you feel a little bit uneasy.

As soon as you guys moved out of the car, Charles and Carlos instinctively covered you from all of the paparazzi and fans that were getting close. Their bodies towering over your meek ones— the uneasy feeling from earlier slowly left your mind as your two husband made sure you were safe and protected.

After walking down different garages, you guys were about to reach the hospice when one of the McLaren driver stood in your way. “Y/NNNNN” Lando yelled happily.

He was about to run in and hug you but was abruptly stopped by Charles’ broad chest.

“No can do muppet, can’t you see she’s pregnant”

Lando rolled his eyes and peered from Charles’ side. There you were, standing besides an overprotective Carlos— his hand moved you closer to his side. His eye’s laced with annoyance as he glared back at the other driver.

“Chill guys, i just want to greet my best friend” he spoke, walking pass by Charles and carefully taking you to his embrace.

With a smugish look, he hugged you tightly; not so tight that could hurt the baby but was enough to piss the two off.

Out of sheer anger, Charles quickly grabbed his collar and moved him to the side. “What the hell man, i swear if you ever do that again I’ll kill you.”

Meanwhile, Carlos softly led your figure to his and checked if you got hurt somewhere, his eyes were teary from the stupid move Lando just did. “Are you hurt any where my love? What about here?

…

The day lasted like that, where each of them had one role— Carlos would be the overreacting one who checks on you but will get teary from the slightest thing and Charles would be the nonchalant one with anger issues.

Now that’s what i call, happy family.

…

[zyhkoo]

☆ till the light leaves my eyes

angst to fluff (?) gn! reader

Jason realized that he can’t let you go. part 1

Lately, Jason had found himself grappling with a host of unsettling thoughts. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if he returned your affections, if he could feel the same way about you that you felt about him.

He knew that you brought joy and light into his life, and he couldn’t understand why he was unable to offer you the same. The question of why he couldn’t simply reciprocate your feelings weighed heavily on his mind.

The two of you were currently sitting in a cozy burger shop, surrounded by the warmth and commotion of a Saturday night. The aroma of sizzling burgers and crispy fries filled the air, a familiar and comforting scent. The clinking of silverware against plates and the buzz of chatter from other patrons filled the background, creating a soothing white noise.

You were intently focused on your phone, your expression a mixture of concentration and frustration. Your eyebrow was furrowed, and you were biting your lower lip as you navigated whatever was on the screen.

Jason casually glanced over at you, his eyes tracing your every move. He noticed the frustrated expression on your face and your furrowed brows. “Everythin’ okay over there?” he asked.

You briefly looked up from the screen, giving him a small smile. “Yeah, just frustrated,” you replied, putting your phone down on the table. “My friends are trying to set me up.”

Jason's heart sank a little as he heard your words, but he quickly masked the pain. "Oh, really?" he said, trying to keep his voice casual. "Who's the lucky guy?"

He could see the flush in your face as you scoffed, “Not you too..” you groaned, darting your eyes.

Jason raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. "What? Can't I be curious?” he teased. “Is it someone I know?” You rolled your eyes, a small grin on your face. “You're just as bad as my friends,” you replied, shaking your head. “It's no one you know, trust me.”

He didn't want you to know how much the idea of you dating someone else bothered him, but he knew that he couldn't stand in your way. “You should go for it,” he said, forcing a smile. “You never know unless you try, right?”

Your eyes widened in surprise, could he let go so easily? “You think so?” you blinked.

“Yeah, why not? It could be fun y’know.” He tried to sound encouraging, but the words felt like sandpaper on his tongue. Your eyes dart to your best friend then to your phone. Then you sighed, picking up your phone again “I’ll do it.”

Jason swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched you text back your friends. The idea of you going on a date with someone else made him feel nauseous.

Jason couldn't understand why the prospect of you dating someone else was bothering him so much. He shouldn't be concerned - it was your life, after all. So why did it feel like someone was physically squeezing his heart?

When you started dating someone else, Jason felt an aching emptiness within his heart. Despite the fact that the two of you continued to spend time together, he couldn't shake the pain and heartache of knowing that you now belonged to someone else.

He longed for the days when it was just the two of you, when the bond between you was uncomplicated and unbroken. It was as if a piece of him had been torn away, leaving a gaping hole that he struggled to fill.

As time went on, Jason noticed a gradual drifting apart between the two of you. Maybe it was because he had allowed you to spend more time with someone else, he thought.

He couldn't help but wonder if his inability to fully be with you, to reciprocate your feelings, had led to this gradual separation. The realization filled him with a sense of regret and melancholy, and he found himself grappling with the loss of the closeness once shared.

Jason couldn't help but feel that he had brought this upon himself. He believed that you deserved happiness and love, and he knew that he was unable to give you that. This realization only deepened his sense of guilt and self-blame, as he thought that he had driven you into the arms of another with his emotional unavailability.

The only moments you and Jason spent together now were during your joint patrol duties. The once frequent hangouts and relaxed times spent together had been replaced by moments of necessity and obligation.

Jason noticed that there was something different about your behavior during your patrol one evening. Once the patrol was finished, he decided to head over to your house, his concern growing with each step he took. He cautiously approached your window, giving it a gentle knock, hoping to catch your attention.

When you pulled back the curtains and saw Jason standing there in his full vigilante garb, your eyes widened in surprise. It wasn’t every day that he paid you a visit in this fashion, and the sight was unexpected, to say the least.

You immediately slide open the window “Hi, is there anything you need?”

Jason stood there awkwardly for a moment before clearing his throat “Can I come in?” he asked.

You nodded and stepped aside to allow him to climb through the window and into your room. He looked around, taking in your surroundings before focusing his attention back on you.

You sheepishly smiled “It’s a bit of a mess, I’m sorry.” you scratched your head. Jason's gaze roamed over the room, taking in the mess and disarray. He shrugged, "It's fine," he reassured you. "I've seen worse."

You couldn't help but notice that Jason hadn't addressed you by his usual nickname. It struck you as odd and out of character for him. You fidgeted nervously, your fingers tracing random patterns on the surface of your bed.

He wasn't particularly skilled with words, and he struggled to find the right thing to say. Jason asked, "Are you okay?"

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tight and constricted. Words failed you for a moment before you managed to force out a response. "I'm..." you trailed off, your voice caught in the emotions you were trying to suppress.

Jason could see the turmoil in your eyes, picking up on the subtle signs of distress. He took a step closer, his expression one of deep concern. "You don't have to hide anything from me," he said gently.

You swallowed again, trying to push down the tightness in your throat. "It's just...been a tough few weeks," you finally managed to get out. “We broke up.”

Jason's expression shifted to one of shock as you revealed that you had just gone through a breakup. His eyes widened, and a mix of surprise and confusion registered on his face. He hadn't been expecting this revelation, and it seemed to hit him unexpectedly.

You had been dealing with the aftermath of a difficult breakup, and seeing Jason again after everything that had happened between you only added to the turmoil inside you. You were grateful for his presence, but the pain and confusion lingered, creating a tangled web of emotions.

Amidst the pain and heartache, there was one singular thought that echoed in your mind — the realization that the person you truly wanted was standing before you. All you longed for was Jason.

Your knuckles turned white as you clenched your fist tightly, the pain and frustration of the breakup. Your gaze flickered downward, finding it hard to meet Jason's gaze. "We just...couldn't make it work," you whispered, your voice shaky.

He hated seeing you like this, suffering and clearly hurting from the aftermath of a failed relationship. The urge to reach out and take away your pain was strong, but he knew he couldn't simply fix it with a few words or a simple gesture.

Instead, he took your clenched hand in his, gently prying your fingers open and intertwining them with his own. "I'm here for you," he said quietly, his voice steady and sincere. "You don't have to go through this alone."

Your eyes stung with tears as you pulled him into a tight embrace. The floodgates opened, and your emotions poured out in that single, desperate gesture. Jason's arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you close, holding you together.

“I missed you.” your confession was soft, a mere whisper against his chest, but it echoed loudly in his ears. Jason's heart squeezed, a mix of emotions flooding his mind at your words. He pulled you closer, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

"Missed you too, doll." he replied, his voice thick with an unspoken weight. "So much."

“Days without you was so agonizing.” you whispered. He ran his hand gently over your back, a comforting gesture meant to soothe your heart. "I'm here now," he whispered, his voice gentle and firm. "I'm right here… and I'm not going anywhere."

“I can’t love anyone else Jason. I only love you.” Your grip on him tightened, your voice shaking as you confessed your enduring love for him. Jason's heart ached at the pain and vulnerability in your words, and his own grip on you involuntarily tightened as well.

He was tired of resisting his feelings, of denying the truth that he had been fighting against for so long. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you again, of watching you slip through his fingers once more.

Jason's heart ached as he finally let go of his stubborn resistance, acknowledging the love he had for you that he had been trying to ignore. With a surge of determination, he cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look up at him. He needed you to understand the sincerity of his words.

"Doll," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of tenderness and urgency, "it's always been you. Ever since the beginning, it's only been you."

He pulled you closer, his eyes searching your face as if looking for confirmation that you were hearing the weight of his words.

"Please, believe me," he murmured, his voice ragged with emotion. "I'm done pretending. I can't keep denying what I feel for you." Your breath hitched, you gazed at his eyes. You were absolutely stunned, you had no idea what to say. “What.. what you feel?”

"What I feel for you," he repeated, his tone gentle but firm. "I..." he paused, the words catching in his throat for a moment. "I love you, doll."

Jason’s thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "I realized it too late, but I can't deny it anymore. I love you. I always have. I always will."

“Jason..” your voice trembles in a small whisper. He leaned in, meeting your lips in a kiss. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you closer to him as he melted in the taste and feel of you.

Your hands clenched the fabric of his jacket, a silent plea for him to stay close, to never let go.

He broke the kiss, his breathing wqs ragged. He rested his forehead against yours, his gaze still filled with intensity. "I know I've been an idiot," he murmured, his voice rough. "But I want to make it right. I want to be with you, doll. If you'll let me."

“I’ll love you till the day that I die.” you responded.

☘️ heres part two! please like and reblog. discord server

[carmillascrusade]

I’ve come home again: Prologue | Emily Prentiss x F!Reader

Series summary: You and Emily had an unfortunate split; separating you from the team after the divorce had been finalised. Your found family was no more and the people you once knew became nothing but strangers. A new threat has rose, with a network of serial killers surfacing, resulting in Rossi calling you back to the BAU. Will old feelings come back?

A/N: This sets up the main story. I have the next chapter almost finished, so it should be out soon. This is planned to be around twenty chapters long so I wouldn’t read if you’re not a fan of slow burn :)

Word count: 980

The air was still as you entered your bedroom. Despair clouded the room, the stench of it prominent as you traversed further into the darkness. Your bed was illuminated a fracture by the light leaking in from the open doorway, threatening to rid the room of its sinisterity yet, ultimately, losing the fight as the door shut upon itself; the hinges crying in protest as it did so. Emily lay in the centre of your bed. In the same position she was in this morning. And the morning before that. And the one before that.

Your heart ached for her and your inability to provide any help was frustrating you to no end. But, Emily didn’t want your help. No matter how many times you had offered, or tried to comfort her, she pushed you away. Every. Single. Time.

You ran your hand through her hair regardless of the grease and grime that coated each strand. Regardless of said grease and grime transferring onto your fingers. No, you did not care. Because you love Emily and you are willing to do whatever it takes to make her happy.

“Emily?” You whispered gently, coaxing her to look at you.

You weren’t expecting a response. You could barely get a sound out of her these days, but you were overjoyed when she turned to face you. A joy short lived, but you smiled nonetheless, since the eyes that looked at you merely saw through you as if you were a ghost made of smoke and vapour. But, press on you did.

“You haven’t eaten in a while, my love.” You murmured, fingers still combing through her hair. “I’ve brought you something to drink. I know that you don’t want to eat right now, so this way you can get the nutrients you need without eating, okay?”

You were aware that your words were falling on deaf ears. You knew that she wasn’t really present. Couldn’t really hear what you were saying. The silence had became too loud, your house unsettlingly quiet without the constant conversation and laughter flowing through it, you couldn’t help but try fill it.

The following weeks were much of the same. You helped her bathe, eat and take care of herself then slept beside her every night.

And she got better. Your house was no longer deathly silent, shared laughter and giggles filling every expanse of your house. Things were slowly getting back to normal and you were happy. Truly happy.

Until you weren’t.

When you said that you would do anything to make Emily happy, you didn’t think that would involve you packing your bags and leaving. You didn’t think she would cast you aside; send you walking through the threshold of your,  no her home, never to return. She hadn’t explained why or even gave you a reason. A simple “I don’t need you anymore.” was all she had stated before sending you packing.

But you said it yourself: you would do anything to make her happy.

—0—

You hadn’t spoken to Emily nor anybody else on the team for over a year. Was it a year? Longer perhaps. It’s easy to lose track of time when your days are monotonous and bleak. A heavy cloud hovered ominously above you, following you everywhere you went, always watching.

You had signed the divorce papers as soon as you could, sending them away immediately so that she could sign them. Fine, you had thought, if she doesn’t want me then I don’t want her.  Yet after all this time, you were still waiting for them back.

When your sister had died you had been inconsolable. What more did the universe, with its cruel hands and unrelenting grip, wish to snatch away from you? Your wife and now your sister. You couldn’t give in to your grief, no not this time; not when you had gained custody of a baby that needs to be taken care of.

Yes, the baby comes first. The baby and then you. Your sister had named her Tally, heavens dew she had told you it meant, a blessing from god.

However, Tally was not the sole reason that you survived. Alex Blake, the woman that she is, helped you through your grief. She helped you learn how to be a mother and how to take care of a such a small human, incapable of doing anything but existing, solely dependent on you.

Tally was coming up four now and had affectionately claimed Alex as her grandma. You weren’t sure how Alex would take it, having lost her son at such a young age, but you were ecstatic when she accepted your daughter with open arms, and by extension you too.

Your little family was complete and you were content with the life you had. The death of your sister or the separation from your wife had been pushed into the endless caverns right at the back of your mind, forgotten about in the inky depths.

Television shows and movies always seemed to be over exaggerating when the main characters' world came to a stop. Perhaps they weren’t exaggerating at all. A formal request for you to enlist your services within the FBI once more sat in your hand. According to the letter, a huge web of serial killers had been discovered and they needed all hands on deck to solve the case.

All hands on deck included you.

You were torn on what to do. On one hand, you could potentially keep millions safe from despicable people. Nevertheless, you had a daughter now, a daughter that needs her mother and it wasn’t guaranteed that you would catch said people.

You emailed Rossi back, stating that you accepted the job position. After all, you needed to catch and shut down this network for good. Especially when you had a daughter to keep safe.

What happened to your sister would never happen again.

[n109hunter]

WIP Wednesday - 'first kiss'

pairing: sylus x mc word count: 720 summary: *chanting* first kiss, first kiss, first kiss tags/warnings: first person, first kiss! a/n: I have a good several dozen scenarios in my head at any given time for a 'first official kiss' for SyMC but lo! I've finally started writing one of them! Like Sunday's Snippet, it's technically incomplete, but I think a nice stand-alone treat for now on it's own.

Sylus’s finger brushed my lips with such a slow and delicate touch that if I closed my eyes I might have thought I was dreaming. I couldn’t close them though, instead my focus was locked entirely on his face, the rest of the world fading to a blur. The only clear thing I could see, there was no way I could miss the aching look in his eyes, or the way his gaze scanned down to my mouth and lingered there, his own lips tightening almost imperceptibly - if I’d blinked I would have missed it.

My chest ached and I knew without a trace of doubt the pain was the same as the one I could see in his eyes. I needed this distance between us gone, need to touch him and taste him without any more restraints.

‘Kiss me.’ I couldn’t make myself speak, half-afraid I’d startle that sweet look of longing from his face, or otherwise ruin this moment, but every fiber of my being was pleading with him. ‘You can read my thoughts and desires so easily every other time, so read them now.’

His thumb trailed down over my chin, and I knew in the next instant it would fall away completely. He would stop touching me, and with each second the distance between us would grow. In fierce resistance, I lifted my hand to grasp his, holding it there in the space between us before he could slip any further. His brow arched slightly, gaze returning to mine in question - searching.

Then he smiled, that soft half-smile that carried a tinge of bittersweet. Bending his fingers around mine he held it against his chest and leaned closer, our foreheads a hair away from bumping.

“You look like you want to say something.” His voice was an intimate whisper, a hungry growl barely restrained in the back of his throat and smoothed into something closer to teasing. Yet again he was holding back, encouraging me to step forward.

Well, fine then. If this was how our song and dance went, I knew exactly what my next step ought to be: One I won’t regret.

I shake my head. No, I don’t want to say anything.

Slipping my hand from his I bring both to the sides of his face, holding him steady as I tiptoe up to press my mouth to his, closing my eyes. I feel him tense briefly, and then ease with a quiet sigh.

The ache in my chest transforms, elevating from pain into a thrilling joy that sings in my heart and fills my lungs with a clear warmth. As if every part of my being is saying: Yes, finally. As if acknowledging that this was the truth I’d been denying, the simple joy I’d deprived myself of.

When I pull back his eyes are still on me, and I can barely read the look on his face. The warmth and relief I see isn’t entirely foreign, but it’s on a level I can’t recall ever witnessing before. It’s almost… dreamy, like maybe he thinks he’s dreaming. But only for an instant until I see clearly that some key restraint has been released, and he is kissing me again. Hard, hungry, my mouth parts for his without hesitation, yielding just as eagerly to the depth of his wanting.

His arm circles around my waist, pulling me up flush against him and his hand cradles the back of my head. My fingers rake back through his hair and hold him fast as his tongue flirts with mine. We savor each breath that passes between us, the radiant warmth that threatens to melt us into one. I have never felt so hungry and so satisfied at the same time, a constant want for more that is constantly answered with his own desire. We take and we give unraveling at our edges and re-weaving together. Whole.

“Sylus…” Panting, my voice is a whine when, at some blurry point, we finally part, lips wet and sweetly aching for more. I understand the word ‘insatiable’ more than I have ever before. In and of itself kissing him is almost overwhelmingly satisfying, I can barely get my thoughts straight beyond wanting to keep kissing him. But the need in me is searing, echoing a chorus: ‘More, more, more.’

[bakerstreethound]

Etched in Stone

Relationship: Benedict Bridgerton x afab!reader

Warnings: 18+ spicy times (MINORS DNI), flirting, fingering, mutual pining, childhood friends to best friends to lovers, exposed ankles, fluff, softness, gentle/possessive Benedict, brief mention of alcohol and slightly tipsy momma Violet Bridgerton makes an appearance

Summary: Bored at yet another party hosted at Bridgerton House, Benedict seeks solace (and a strong drink) in the quiet of Anthony's office only to find you there, one of his oldest friends and buried feeling resurface.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT copy, repost, claim, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username) 

Word Count: 4.1k+

A/N: I wrote this fic for my lovely friend @frostandflamesfanfic a while back but wanted to take my time posting it because this was such a joy to work on and wanted to savor every moment. El was there for the beginning of this story so it's only fair I dedicate it to them as well. Thank you for trusting me to write one of your beloved fictionals. I drew a lot of inspiration from both book and show Benedict. Any era inaccuracies are fault of my own as well as where Benedict's room is located in the house. Graphic by @firefly-graphics . Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!!

His piercing gaze hadn’t left you all evening, making your shoulders rise on the verge of danger, but the way his gaze bore into yours, and you couldn’t deny the shallow thrill or the pulsing in your heart. 

You hadn't wanted to come to the ball and despite your family’s protests and prodding you found yourself at the Bridgetron ball, dressed in the prior season’s attire, not caring about the gossip. It wasn’t like you had anything to prove to the ton or Lady Whistledown. A soft smile graced your lips at the thought and you round a corner, sipping on your lemonade, weary and the night was still young. You longed to be reading one of the adventures in your novels, whisking you away to another place and time, holding hands with your beloved. 

******

Benedict sighed for the third consecutive time in a row, making Eloise roll her eyes. “Brother, surely you can find some enjoyment from this party.” 

“When I tell you, I’ll let you know,” he grumbled, watching the couples swirl along the dance floor, his eldest brother Anthony pulling Kate close in his arms, a bright smile lighting her face. Benedict tried to hide the disdain, the ache resounding in his chest. He’d rather be locked away in his room, working on his art, perfecting the curve of a hand, the slope of a shoulder, silk between thighs. He shook his head, groaning before tossing back a glass of lemonade he’d picked up during yet another turn around the room. 

It did little to cool his blood. 

When he made his way to the study, he half expected to see Colin there sneaking a glass of Anthony’s secret stash, however, he didn’t expect you draped across a chair, nose buried in a book, legs curled over the arms of the chair, exposing your ankles. The smirk crawled along his lips for a fraction, enraptured by your stone-cold expression and you flipped another page, not uttering a sound.  He poured himself a drink, trying not to chuckle, and watched you intently. 

“Do you intend to stare at me all evening, Mister Bridgerton? Or are you going to ask me to pull myself together to dance in front of the entirety of the ton?” 

The drink almost lodges itself in his throat as he choked it down, the bewildered expression on his face the cause of your pursed lips. For the love, you were laughing at him! 

“Cat got your tongue, Benedict?” 

Oh, it was more than the cat that got his tongue, he wanted to swallow yours, combat your wit, fill himself with your words and beauty tenfold. 

Good gracious, what had become him? 

Here you were and he’d been watching you like a hawk all evening barely making a move and your ankles were there, tempting him, tricking him, enticing him. How ready he was to fall, the hold you had on him was indescribable. He’d been this way since he first laid eyes on you all those months ago. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on you. But how he wanted to fall with you, drag you along the dance floor show you off for the world to see. No, he would do no such thing. 

He would enshrine you in a painting, etch you into stone, a carving upon his heart. 

Warmth flooded your body as you continued watching Benedict pace around the room and you doubted he realized he had done so. A bedraggled state was becoming of him, accentuated by his ruffled hair as he muttered under his breath, stopping to refill his glass with something stronger than lemonade. 

You smirk, perusing the pages of your novel, which sparked an idea. 

“Benedict?” 

Your voice, oh your voice was a guiding light, his anchor, steadying him through the whirlwind of a storm conjuring in his head. 

“Yes?” His gaze met yours, and he stopped pacing standing before you and giving you a good look at his chest, the rise and fall of his breaths, reminding you to steady yours. 

You crane your neck up, looking him in the eye. “Read to me.” It’s a simple request, but you hide the quivering of your lip. He leaned in closer, engulfing you in his scent, causing you to bite your cheek to keep from groaning. It was heady and intoxicating and it was all him. 

“What?” 

Focus, you ninny! You cursed softly to yourself gathering your thoughts as you clung to your novel. 

“I asked if you would read to me. Literature is the art of words is it not?” You shifted in your seat, your feet now resting flat on the floor as any respectable proper person would have done from the start. You let out a soft groan when the balls of your feet touch the floor, and he leaned down further, his index finger barely stroking along your jawline. Your ankles were definitely covered now, but you suspected his reaction didn’t stem from that. 

He cocked his head. “You would prefer me to read romance to you rather than show you firsthand?” 

“Why ever would I need to experience such things firsthand? I have everything I need here.” Your stomach fluttered, almost dropping when he kneeled before you, his fingers brushing along your sides before grasping your thighs and squeezing gently. 

“You do have one thing right for this evening. We have everything we need right here.” Another squeeze of your thigh sent your mind reeling. 

“Does one intend to enact upon such desires, Mister Bridgerton? Or does one who reads such novels suppress them?” 

His hands traveled further up your thighs a silent challenge, one you were not backing down from despite the pounding of your heart. You were here with Benedict Bridgerton alone in Anthony’s study, someone you had known for years, a constant fixture throughout your youth, the source of countless daydreams and now, rather passion-induced dreams. 

“Do you know how long I’ve imagined this?” He growled low in his chest and you forget to breathe. None of the books you read prepared you for reality, not that you would confess. Benedict didn’t need his ego poked any longer, the more he knew he could unravel you slowly. 

You squirmed against him, tugging his vest. “I’ve wanted you for years but denied myself. I didn’t - couldn’t- imagine you felt the same,” your voice came out as a whisper, a plea for him to see you and he did. Benedict saw you and gazed at you with hope and adoration. 

He growled low in your ear, sliding his hands around your waist, rising to his feet pulling you against him, the racing of his beating heart restarting yours. He was your desire, your soul ached for him, knowing he was the only one you could ever hope to give yourself to. 

No one else in the world was meant for you or could compare to him. 

His heart beating in tandem with yours, clinging to each other, a lifeline. It felt like a lifetime before clarity finally made its way into the world, making its intentions known between you. It was more than the slow-burning passion and affection blossoming between each other.

His lips brushing along yours sent your heart soaring, connecting your souls and you welcomed him, and you were home, he pulled you flush up against him, groaning softly, digging his hands into your waist. He couldn’t breathe, utterly weightless, intoxicated by your scent, everything. He was high on you, your touch, oh how lovely it felt your fingers digging into his back, melting against him, needing him as much as he did you. 

This was love. It was Benedict in a new form, one you awoke, taking him back home, a home he’d always known for you were there through it all. He wanted to give you everything you desired, everything you deserved. And you would receive the best in return. But not in his brother’s study on his favorite reading chair. 

“Anthony will kill us if we do anything here,” He pulled away in a moment of clarity, holding you close, your legs trembled, overcome with your passions. You ached for him dearly, more than you knew possible. 

“I’ve done worse, I assure you,” you snicked, gathering your bearings, brushing off your outfit, ruffling out the wrinkles as if that cleared off any evidence of Benedict having his hands over you wasn’t obvious. “I’ve defiled my mind with notions of unrealistic nonsense.”

He raised a brow, looking unamused, a flicker of amusement flashing before boisterous laughter, likely caused by Lady Featherington passing by the door and you inhaled sharply, the anticipation ticking by each moment. As soon as it came it went, hopefully, spurred on in good spirits. Lady Featherington surely didn’t have half the mind to break into Anthony’s study.

Benedict cracked open the door beckoning you over, taking your arm by the elbow, “Up the stairs, second door on the left. I’ll knock three times so you know it’s me.” 

You nodded, taking in his appearance, his disheveled hair, mused vest, and undershirt beneath. You would be lying to yourself if you denied the excitement of what lies beneath but the other side of you was equally terrified. 

******

Dashing up the stairs was easier said than done, the events of the evening causing your head to spin in a mixture of wonder, anxiety, and borderline delirium. You were sure you were dreaming but the stairs beneath your feet are solid, beckoning you up to the elegant quarters where the Bridgertons slept. You glided your hand along the banister admiring the railing, willing yourself not to fall, raucous laughter closing in, dangerously close by from the sound fluttering through the halls.

Perhaps Lady Featherington sought to uncover your dalliance after all. That would be the talk of the ton, however, you knew the Bridgertons could afford some slander from Lady Whistledown, but fortunately, all she commented on was the growing size of the family, the lovely grandchildren Vicountess Bridgerton had the pleasure of seeing when Daphne and Simon returned to town. 

You silently cursed your attire and its restricted movement when you made it to the landing, stopping for the briefest moment to catch your breath. You didn't bother asking if his younger siblings were asleep, but he didn’t seem to care at that moment, the way his eyes glanced along your body, and the smile along his lips was far too distracting anyway. 

Your minds were busy with other thoughts, the taste of his lips still freshly imprinted into your memory. You did everything as he instructed, the door to his room groaning on its hinges making your heart race, but you peeked out the door to be certain.

No maids padded down the corridor, the only sign of life was the music and laughter intermingling for what you could imagine would be all hours of the night. The Bridgertons could throw a grand party, no doubt about it. 

Benedict's quarters greeted you with the scent of him, masculine and comforting. It felt like home, the furniture dark and handsome, the shelves lined with countless books, figurines along his desk not to mention his infamous sketchbook lying on his desk in the corner by the fireplace. Charred pieces of crumbled paper jutted out from the embers. 

Curiously, you reached out for it turning to a page. It didn't take you long to figure out the odd figures as you pieced each frame together, a culmination of finished pieces, sketches, and half-started attempts, frustrated pen strokes deft in their quest to uncover the beauty ready to bloom. 

Hands. Intertwined, graceful elegant, smooth lines, hardened ridges, callouses palms, delicately resting ones. Upon further inspection, you noticed the tried and failed attempts at an all too familiar pair of hands. It was odd to look at how he depicted yours, strong, yet graceful, adept at anything you put your mind to between needlework, horseback riding, the leather a fine feel in your hands.

You had to admit some were quite good while some lacked depth and luster. Practice made it worth it in the end, some of the figures he drew resembled a striking resemblance to his family, almost as if he were imitating the artist of the figurines, which when you looked longer were small likenesses of his mother, father, and siblings. The sight warmed your heart. 

"Benedict! You're missing the partyyy!" A shrill giggle outside the hall pulled you from your exploration, your heart racing in tandem. You hoped and prayed it wasn’t Gregory and Hyacinth. From your previous encounters, you knew they were sharp, keen-eyed, and inquisitive about a multitude of subjects on top of their general mischievousness. Plus, you weren’t in the mood to ask any questions, but where the hell was Benedict?

Despite yourself you began pacing, desperately trying to avoid glancing at the bed draped in fine sheets, a fine rich deep velvety blue coverlet gracing it giving the piece a regal appearance. You wanted nothing more than to lose yourself between the downy softness of it all and fall into blissful dreams, and yet, there are other pressing matters to attend to. 

The giggling resumed and you sighed, thinking better of yourself, not wanting this to be a joke.

You found yourself opening the door, greeted with the voice of none other than Violet Bridgerton whispering, on the verge of a quiet yell to her second song, grasping onto his elbow at the lower landing of the stairs. “Benedict! Good heavens, you’re to retire so earlyyyy???” 

He rolled his eyes half in amusement and exasperation. “Mother, I have matters to attend to, plus the other mothers merely want to hunt me for sport and pair them with their retched daughters.” 

His eyes flashed, glancing up, his gaze boring into yours, flooding your body with warmth. He quirked a brow, challenging you while his mother rambled drunkenly along, still grasping his elbow while he shifted his weight on his feet. 

Shut the door, he mouthed to you, causing your lips to quirk in the barest hint of a smile. 

“Quite right, you have a fair point. But there was that one lovely person you danced with twice back in the orangery perhaps…” 

At that exact moment, you opened the door further to grant yourself a better view of Benedict’s struggle and also partly in retaliation to his protests, only for the grand door to let out a massive agonizing wail. The giggle left you of your own volition at Benedict’s bewildered expression rendering you completely helpless as Violet looked up at you, the same Bridgerton eyes, older, wiser and so kind smiled at you, albeit borderline tipsy. 

“I see now I see. That’s the pressing matter you have to attend to. Don’t mess it up dear boy,” she slewed, chuckling to herself, before whispering in his ear, his face flushing in response. Violet released his arm, winking up at you before traipsing down the stairs, leaving a flustered Benedict behind to collect his thoughts before he came back to his senses, scurrying up the stairs while you slipped back into his room, posting yourself right in front of the door, keeping it cracked just so. When he arrived you only catch a glimpse of his eyes flashing before the door sealed you completely from his sight. 

Silence greeted you and you feared you might have ignited his wrath, alas you merely wanted to tease him.

The seconds tick by then three knocks follow. 

Were you going to answer him? Oh, he was going to make you pay for this with many kisses. He huffed before composing himself. 

You still didn’t answer. 

“Don’t play with me, dear unless you wish for them all to hear us when we should be dancing.” When he knocked for the second time, you decided to open the door, the scowl imprinted on his face illuminating a side of him you desperately wanted to see. You did this to him. Without hesitation, he locked the door behind him and immediately pressed you against the wall, a scowl forming along his lips. 

“You wouldn’t dare flash me before the eligible men of the ton tonight if you had to.” You whispered, brushing a stray hair off his forehead. “I belong to you, Benedict. Even if I am an old maid.” Your heart thundered in your chest. You were home, you belonged to no one else, nowhere else but here in Benedict's loving arms. 

“I am yours, oh love I’m yours.” His voice cracked, overcome with realization and the emotion of it all, his scowl replaced by pursed lips, wandering hands, lavishing your body in the simplest yet heat-induced touches and you wanted - craved - more. More of him. Benedict. Your Benedict. 

“Benedict, Benedict…Benedict,” Your was all you can muster with the meeting of his lips upon yours, feeling the depths of him, pulling to you crashing over you like a tidal wave. You were a sailor lost at sea who made it to the safety of the harbor and oh, it was blissful beyond anything beyond your wildest dreams. 

“Say it again,” he pleaded, each kiss awakening desires long suppressed, ones you hadn't acknowledged since they only came about throughout the course of your friendship with Benedict. Only he could put you under his unique spell, craving his lips, the brush of his hand against yours and here you are getting more than you dreamed. 

“Benedict,” You sighed blissfully as he kissed you once more, kisses languidly savoring the feel of you as he guided you up onto the bed, the coverlet as luxurious as you surmised. You’ve not come close to feeling something so heavenly as this and Benedict, oh, he was more than you ever dreamed. The novels you’d read didn’t hold a flame to each sensation buzzing through your body, the magnetizing gaze of his upon yours, already undressing you with his eyes. You wanted to take your time, alas it was getting harder to resist. Benedict was one thing if not impossible, but he was yours, irrevocably so.

A fire in the fireplace crackled to life, startling you for a moment, while Benedict caressed your jaw, memorizing every inch, and you selfishly wonder if he'll draw your portrait one day, trying to capture the first moment he had you to himself in his chambers. He moves his exploration from your jaw to your shoulder, then your hands, leaving kisses where he can, murmuring sweet nothings, soft praises that have your knees weak and you wanting him all the more.

“Your hands are lovely, nothing can compare to me holding them,” he whispered, caressing them softly, continuing to place kisses of adoration along them while you gazed at his soft loving eyes. “I cannot capture their beauty, their essence onto the page. I’ve tried and failed for months.” 

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’ve done a fine job, Benedict. Your art is beautiful, never lose that passion inside you, it’s ethereal strong, spellbinding, and magnetic.” 

“As are you. You’re everywhere in my waking hour, in my dreams and sleepless nights. You’re my muse. You inspire me.” His voice wavered, a tear sliding down his cheek. Every bit of him belonged to you, there was no question, no doubt about it. 

Without another word, you tug on his vest, a beautiful shade of the signature Bridgerton blue, his shirt embellished with small bees. Everything looked wonderful when it was on him, but you wanted more, to lose yourself to him countless times throughout the night. 

“You’re pretty much the only reason I get out of bed most mornings,” You swallowed as he turned to face you, his hands cupping your face. 

“My love, oh my love,” he kisses you softly, in equal parts awe and reverence intertwined, making you forget where you are, the time and place. It’s you and him safe in each other’s embrace. His kisses trailed from your hands up to your neck, nipping softly, eliciting soft groans from you and you returned them in kind, his fingers stroking along your back, pulling you closer in his embrace. 

You brushed away another tear from his cheek, one falling from your eye as well and he wiped it away, kissing you gently before wrapping around behind you, desperation, adoration, awe, and passion guiding him. His lips connected with your neck, and you sighed in satisfaction, his hands wandering down your torso, lighting you up on the inside and you groan leaning back into him, leaving your mind to wander while you savored his touches. 

“Good, you’re not thinking, that’s right. Much better see?” His hand wandered lower, down stroking you just so, warmth blooming through your body. He relished your moans, biting into your neck as he watched the effect he has on you, wishing he could have done this to you earlier all the wasted time you have to make up for now. 

You urged him on through desperate kisses as you pull clothes from your bodies, every inch of him visible to you, eagerness and passion alike driving you both. 

“Keep going, please.” The last of your clothing fell to the floor and he pulled you back onto the bed while assuring him you have all the time in the world. “I want you, Benedict, always have, always will.”

He needed nothing more but your constant assurance, his fingers dipping into you, gliding along your body making you fall into his ministrations, your breathing ragged as you fell into bliss, his fingers replaced with his tongue sending you soaring into another place another time and it felt so irrevocably right, your fingers digging into his mass of curls encouraging him along, more than eager to assist your release. And when you were spent, his lips met yours hunger and desire battling, intertwined as you tasted yourself on his lips. You wanted more, you wanted all of him, however, in the midst of it all you found yourself asking a question as you kissed him once more, this time slower, unrushed. 

"What did your mother say to have you flustered as you are?" You batted your eyes, casting an impish smile, a look you know he couldn't resist. He hummed, his free hand stroking your side, his voice low in your ear. "My dearest mother told me to treat you well and that we best enjoy ourselves a little bit before our union. Told us to enjoy ourselves."

“Her intuition is uncanny, I never want to be on her bad side.” You huffed as Benedict groaned, pulling you in for yet another kiss, trailing down your body, making you squirm, not listening in the slightest, for he was far too distracted, focused on you before him. He would never tire of the sight, thanking his lucky stars. 

Finally, after years of yearning and pining when you’re joined, it’s a bliss, unlike anything you’ve known. You stifled a moan at the feeling, Benedict brushing a stray hair from your eyes, trapping you against him. “Love, I want to hear you, alright? Can you do that for me?” Your eyes widened at the request but when he moves against you, pleasure filling every fiber of your body you cry his name to the heavens.

Oh, how he loved it the soft whimpers, you begging for more and your name sounding just as sweet and sinful falling from his parted lips, swollen from your nipping and kissing. You want the moment to last for oblivion yet when you both lose yourself to your bliss, delirium hits and you pulled him closer in your arms, his face resting in the crook of your neck, the bed and sheets in disarray. You smirked to yourself more than pleased with the outcome. 

He continued to kiss your neck, nuzzling more, your hands stroking his curls. “I love you, Benedict.” 

“I love you more, my love.”

“I’ll love you forever.” 

“How about eternity?” He intertwines your hand with his own, kissing your ring finger. “Will you marry me?” 

 Your heart thrummed erratically but warmed at his loving gaze full of joy, hope, and wonder. It was a face you wanted to wake up with a kiss and love for all your days. 

“Yes, Benedict, a thousand times yes.” 

The smile that shot across his face kickstarted your heart and he kissed you for the thousandth time of the evening, not that you were complaining. For you have an eternity to kiss, love, and be loved by him. You settled against his chest, his embrace warm and reassuring, his hands settling on your belly soft and warm, while you drift off to sleep of bliss thinking only of Benedict and what the future holds.

******