#nai x sister!reader

[whirlwindimagines]

Heya, it's me again! Sorry for bothering you 🥹 can i request the 2nd part with Nai of the Vash!Sister reader?

Yes! I was hoping someone would ask for this! I know the first part was more canon compliant this will not be! Because I take canon and do what I want lol just because things are happening so quickly in the show, and I need to shoehorn in a reunion lol I don't think it's as good as the other one but it's something! Part 2 to ‘Oh if the sky comes falling down’ also spoilers just in case!

‘Do you still believe in one another?’

Nai x Sister!Reader

You know you shouldn’t be eavesdropping, it’s not like you meant to in the first place. You’d had been spending as much time with Vash as possible, but he had his traveling companions that also wanted to spend time with him. And well you were still so awkward with humans, so you let them have their own time with him.  

Just wanting to visit you heard him talking with the others, you were going to leave, but then they started talking about Nai and well you wanted to hear about it.

It was still a little hard to wrap your head around everything, that Nai had become this cruel person this Millions Knives because that was nothing like the older brother you knew. Who while he liked to tease you, made sure you felt safe and protected, who taught you how to play piano, who cared so much for you and Vash. You just couldn’t understand, but then again it had been 150 years.

July that’s where Nai was, maybe the decision was rash but you felt like you needed to do something, to understand to see for yourself. You’d leave Vash a note, and then you’d be back. You had just found Vash and you weren’t going to disappear, but you needed to tie loose ends.

Writing the note quickly, and explaining briefly what you were doing and going, signing it was a promise. You left it in your room, figuring once you were gone Vash would come looking for you, he would start here. 

Not wanting to lose your resolve you left, trying not to think your actions through. But you couldn’t let doubts set in, forcing your mind to be blank your borrowed one of the Thomas’s and headed to July using the map you had also borrowed.

The trek was boring, but you were good at shutting down your mind forcing yourself to just keep going and survive, it’s worked this long. The city was like nothing you’d seen before, you tried to avoid humans it’s not that you hated them, but you didn’t hold much love for them either. Rem would probably be the only human you’d ever truly love, and she was gone. 

You kept low while in the city, you had made sure to listen in on Vash’s conversation to get as many details as you could, but it wasn’t many. You wonder briefly if you should just start shouting in the streets, but that would be unwanted attention. Then you thought about what Vash said, Nai had been collecting a lot of Plants surly if you tried you would be able to feel all of them. 

Taking a deep breath, you blocked all the noise, sometimes you would feel the surge of your ‘sisters’ powers, their cries of pain, but you were selfish and ignored them you didn't even know how to help them in the first place, and that hurt more than anything. Shaking your head you forced the thoughts from your head, you could feel it the pulse of something. So many plants in one place it was hard to ignore really. You opened your eyes, not knowing you even closed them in the first place, but you found it, the source. 

Sneaking your way through the city, and towards the source. You couldn't just walk through the front door, so underground it was. Sneaking through the sewers wasn't pleasant but you ignored it, upon entering the pristine building your heart began to race, was this even a good idea? No, it really wasn't, you didn't even know where you should be going. 

You don't know how long you walked through the halls until you heard it, the familiar keys of a piano. It brought you back instantly to your youth, the ship, Rem, and your brothers. You could feel tears begging to form as you raced ahead. Entering the room you skidded to a stop, and the person at the piano instantly stopped playing.

“Nai.” you voiced, your tone was nervous and unsure, the figure turned and your eyes meet so familiar you were crying now, so many emotional moments in these past couple of days. “You shouldn't be here.”  You are snapped out of your crying at his tone, it's cold. You walked forward and he didn't move, you stood right before him, Nai, your oldest brother. 

“I thought you were dead, and that’s all you have to say?” your angry, how could you not be? You had lost everything, you thought you lost your family for good and well it wasn’t the truth your brothers were alive both of them and you just wanted them back. And the longer you stood here the more you feared that was impossible. 

Knives sighed pulling his hood down and reaching out a hand he touched your face gently, “What did you expect by coming here.” his voice wasn’t as cold, he looked so much older so different but you could still see in his eyes that slight gentleness. “I don't know.” you answer honestly, voice quiet. You feel like a little girl again, so unsure looking to Nai and Vash for guidance and reassurance, but you’re not finding any now. 

He laughs and removes his hand, “Come here.” he says moving back to the piano bench to sit down, you join him sitting down beside him looking over the keys. “Do you remember how to play?” he asked softly, of course you do. You nod reaching for the keys and starting the song slowly you’re a little rusty but the tune plays. Nai joins in, he doesn’t look at you but you can’t help but smile at him all the same. 

The song continues, you get better the keys coming to mind quicker and quicker. The song ends, your hands rest on the keys. “I am glad your here.” you startled, “But things can never be the same.” you reply sadly, Nai laughs and answers “No, but things can be better than before,” 

You’re unsure by what he means by this, and for a split second your worried you don't think Nai would hurt you, but you don't know him anymore. “I'm glad you’re alive, you and Vash I can’t believe I found you two again-” Nai stands suddenly grabbing your wrist and forcing you up alongside him. You meet his gaze, it's cold and his grip on your wrist tightens. It's a sudden change and you’re on guard your whole nervous system lights up. 

“Enough of that.” his tone his sharp, but before you can say anything he continues speaking, “Vash you’ve talked to him, does he know your here?” You feel you should lie, but you can’t you never could not to Nai, he always knew how you were feeling your true emotions. “Maybe, I left a note.” 

“Which means he’ll come for you; you’ve just made this easier.” Your blood goes cold, you have no idea what Nai is planning maybe you should have listened to Vash, but it's too late now. “You’re scaring me, Nai.” you say it quietly, he scoffs as he meets your tearful gaze. But his gaze falters for a moment, “Stop.” he demands, but you can’t stop the tears. “Don't tell me after all this time you’re still such a crybaby. I don't have time for this.”

He begins to move, pulling you along down the hallways you try to protest the movement but his grip is too strong on you. He reaches a doorway opening and tossing you inside, you land hard on your side. You scramble to stand as the door closes, getting to your feet you begin to pound on the door, it won’t open. “Nai let me out!” you yell. 

“This is for your own good, I can keep you safe here I can do what needs to be done.” You don't know what he means by that, and you’re afraid to know the truth. You just keep yelling for him to open the door, but it doesn’t let up. You drop to your knees, Nai needed Vash for something and now because of you, he was going to walk right into a trap. How could you be so stupid, all for a childish dream? 

Clenching your fist you force yourself to calm down, you are not a little girl anymore you have survived for 150 years on the planet you will continue to survive. Standing you take deep breathes, you don’t know what Nai is planning, but you can’t just let Vash walk right into a trap. You don’t want to be rescued anymore, you can save yourself you just need to figure out how. Then you’ll try to save Vash, your mind wanders to Nai again is there any hope for him? Can you have both your brothers back? You don’t know and it scares you.

You had to get out here, you just didn’t know how. You needed to save yourself, and you knew you could. You’ve been living on this planet for 150 years, without Vash and Nai by your side. With some resolve, you made a promise to yourself you would get out of here and you would not let Nai hurt Vash. If you could only save one of them so, be it. But first, it was time you save yourself.

[shy-blue-blossom]

Reunion

Nai (Karnvel)

As Nai, Yogi and Doctor Akari were walking out of the cave that Nai used to call home they heard movement. They turned and looked to see a little girl walking toward them about to ask them questions, but suddenly let out an excited squeal. Both Yogi and Doctor Akari were shocked at the squeal and the fact that Nai quickly made his way over to her. The little h/c haired girl jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly. When she looked their way, they noticed that she had red eyes, just like Nai.

They looked towards one another and then made their way over to where Nai and the little girl were. Doctor Akari looked her over and could tell they had similar features to each other. Yogi was not sure and looked to Doctor Akari, who glanced at him and back towards Nai and the girl.

"Who is this, Nai?" Yogi asked him.

"This is my little sister, y/n," Nai said with a smile as he looked at them. Y/n looked towards them shyly. Yogi and Doctor Akari looked at each other, and Akari moved to them.

"Would you like to come with us y/n?" He asked as he looked at her. She looked at Nai and nodded her head after Nai smiled at her with a nod of his head.

Akari nodded, and they began their way back to the rest of the group to sit down for lunch. Y/n looked around at the other people who were there before looking back up at Nai, who had put her down. Nai sat down, and y/n sat next to him before looking towards the little animal clutching onto the back of Doctor Akari's lab coat. She stood back up to stand behind him, as she was the height of him sitting down, and smiled when he looked at her, confused. She made her way back over to Nai and began to eat the sandwich that she had been handed. After they ate, Nai began to play with y/n as it had been quite a while since they had seen one another. As they were playing, Gareki asked Yogi if he could visit where he used to live. Yogi gave Captain Hirato a call and asked if Gareki could tell him about y/n. He told them to get Doctor Akari to bring y/n back with him and for him to take Gareki and Nai to Gareki's hometown.

Y/n did not want to leave Nai's side, but she did not mind as much when she was going with Doctor Akari, which shocked a few of the people there. Nonetheless, they had a plan. Gareki, Nai and Yogi went on their way, while y/n went with Doctor Akari.

The end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist

[murdockparker]

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say. 

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed. 

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”   

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by. 

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise. 

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?” 

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,�� a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?” 

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion. 

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more. 

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct. 

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”  

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.” 

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.   

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room. 

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it. 

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process. 

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze. 

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.” 

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal. 

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”  

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display. 

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter. 

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door. 

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon. 

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask. 

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say. 

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish. 

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly. 

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered. 

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck. 

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water. 

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face. 

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out. 

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward. 

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed. 

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above. 

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said. 

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,��� Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—” 

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”  

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother. 

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—” 

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?” 

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain. 

Rain. 

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting. 

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in. 

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise. 

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…” 

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely. 

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—” 

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—���

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified. 

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience. 

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this. 

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him. 

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again. 

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while. 

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter. 

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray. 

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have. 

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Threefold cord (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon’s wife is presumed dead. But is she?

A/N: Blue beard, to finish my Halloween celebration because I cannot write on schedule. Also @just-some-random-blogger look! The fic I told you about.

Warnings: Hightower!reader x Daemon. Smut. Alicent, Gwayne and reader as siblings. Death of Rhea Royce. Happy ending!

“ARE YOU TRULY about to wed him?” You set your teacup down on its saucer. When your father had summoned you to the capital, you had known it was important news. But Alicent becoming a Queen? It surpassed everything you had imagined.

Your father wanted to make sure you were there to witness her triumph. Alicent lacked allies in court, beyond the Princess. And that relationship would sour as soon as the other girl heard just who her father was to wed.

Alicent was too naive to see it. Or purposefully blind. She claimed to not know what she had been doing when visiting the King, too. You guessed the thought made it easier to bear for her.

You didn’t blame her. King Viserys was old and beginning to show signs of being sickly. The thought of offering yourself to such a man, twice your age, on your father’s orders, wasn’t pleasant. You would rather pretend you were just being kind.

“It is for the best. Father says that he…” Alicent begins justifying her actions, and you tune out. You know it will just be a repetition of your father’s lectures. Duty. Bearing children. Women knowing their place.

You pitied her, for believing in his bullshit. It wasn’t as if either of you could escape your fate, but you at least tried not to lower yourself into thinking you were a lesser, gentler being, made to be bred. Instead, you enjoyed thinking you were a person. Just as human as any man, just as smart, just as strong. Only one trapped by your status as a noblewoman.

You sip at your tea. You are cautious not to make a sound when doing so, and not take too big of a sip. Anyone who gazes at your courtly smile and comely manners would not guess your innermost thoughts.

Alicent continues her tirade, describing animatedly how much she wants to do her duty and birth children. How she knows her body will not fail her as it did for the late Queen. She has an unfortunate thirst for proving herself, your eldest sister.

“And King Viserys asked me about you, the other day. He would like for you to marry Prince Daemon…”

The tea you are drinking goes down the wrong way. You start coughing, and have to hurriedly set down your teacup as to not burn yourself.

“Excuse me?” You say, once the coughing fit subsides a bit, and you are able to wipe your mouth with a napkin. “I will… What? Does father know of this?”

She looks at you, concerned, but says nothing about it. She pours herself another cup of tea.

“Prince Daemon’s wife has been missing for a while. They think she might have…” Alicent leans in, voice lowering. You are in the Tower of the Hand, surrounded by men loyal to your father, and yet she feels she cannot say it freely. You wonder what has Lady Royce done to scandalize her such. “Ran away. With a lover.”

“You prude!” You laugh. You had thought it much worse. “She wouldn’t be the first woman to do so, don’t be nai…”

“A female one.” Alicent interrupts, setting down her own teacup. The movement is a bit harsh, making the porcelain screech.

You open and close your mouth. You had not known that was even a possibility.

“How does one..?”

“Be as it may…” She raises a hand, halting you. “Father says you shall marry him, if he finds you agreeable.”

There was not much you knew about politics, but you were pretty sure the Prince despised your father and your house by extension. You doubted he would find you agreeable. Your father would doubt it too, but he was too blinded by the hope of getting Runestone.

Lady Royce had no heir. Her castle had gone to Daemon, the King needing little convincing to award it to his beloved brother. Imagining all that bronze in your hands, in House Hightower’s hands, would have him salivating. At getting his enemy away from court? That was only an unexpected bonus. If the man liked you and decided he wanted to play Come-into-my-castle with you, you were sure your father would dance a gig.

You wouldn’t. If it did happen… You shuddered, thinking of the man with the lecherous grin, always whoring. Twice your age, and crass as they came. The only times you had crossed paths, he had been busy ogling Alicent or his niece.

“I am not marrying him.”

Alicent frowns at you. Her eyes turn sad. When she gets contradicted, she looks much like a kicked puppy.

“I have never met him.” You explain, feeling guilty over upsetting her. She is just so much like your father, sometimes. It angers you, even when you know it is not her fault. She doesn’t have the same anger in her veins as you do. All she ever wanted was to please your father.

“He is looking for a wife, and King Viserys thinks it would be marvelous if you married him. I have told him all about you.” Alicent sounds excited about the whole thing, and just… No. You do not want to marry a man twice your age. Gross. Her tone turns softer. “I think it would be nice. To belong to the same House even after marriage. To be never parted from my sister.”

The want in her expression makes you soften. It is not often that Alicent admits to desiring anything, and you do not wish to discourage her.

“I’ll meet him.” You decide. “Just that.”

“Oh, how wonderful!”

And the Seven bless her, she actually seems delighted to hear it.

THE WEDDING IS awfully dull. The Septon drones on and on about the Mother and the Father, and the duties of marriage. Alicent looks stunning in her silk gown, beautiful but modest. It is no use. People already speak of what she has done to trap the King into marriage.

Princess Rhaenyra keeps sending her glares during the feast. Sometimes in anger, sometimes in hurt. She is not quite sure what to feel. You can tell from the way she pauses when looking at Alicent. You pity her too.

Losing a mother is a terrible thing. You can only imagine how much it hurts to see her replaced by a girl your own age.

The Princess is a woman who has everything and yet, it's still a woman. No power to stop her father from bedding her best friend, no power to change anything at all. The realization of her powerlessness is clear in her features.

In contrast, you doubt you have ever seen your father this happy. Ever. He is alight with pride. As if throwing his daughter to an old man is some great accomplishment. He has spared no expense on this wedding, the ceremony and feast lavish in a way that feels almost tasteless.

The pomp and luxuries have you feeling morose. You sip at your hippocras, tucked into a corner of the high table, and try to pretend you are invisible. Gwayne has left you far too soon, off to dance with some ladies.

He has always been the courteous sort, just like you. You enjoy watching him charm the ladies, and enjoy more the fact that he hasn’t tried to drag you to the dance floor.

For that, you are grateful. Some ladies are lively and dance as if gliding through water. You do not. Dancing had not been on the list of abilities you had acquired during your etiquette lessons.

It had always felt like peacocking to you. Showing yourself to others, showing how pretty you smiled, how graceful you were. The attention it brought made you uncomfortable. You much preferred blending in.

“Strange choice of drink you have there.” Prince Daemon says, sitting across from you. “Even stranger that you are still sitting at your sister's wedding.”

“I could say the same.” You reply, colder than you planned to. The hippocras is hitting you already, making your temper shorter. You have little interest in Daemon Targaryen.

There is a secret plan in your head. When you reach thirty, you will claim a sudden awakening of Faith and retire to the comforts of life as a Septa. You have done enough charity to know that Septas don’t do as much as they like people to think. The only thing you will miss will be the alcohol.

“Ah, but I am just sitting now.” He idly reaches for the carafe of hippocras you are monopolizing, and serves himself a goblet. “Is this any good?”

“At least it’s not dornish swill.” Dornish wine has to be the worst thing you have ever tasted, not even fit for pigs. Bitter and watery, the mere thought annoys you.

Prince Daemon barks out a laughter.

“Good Gods, where was Otto hiding you?”

“Probably in the same place as your decency.”

“Thread carefully.” Daemon’s expression turns far colder. His hand tightens around the stem of his goblet. “I might like your cheek, but I am still a prince of the realm.”

“One soon to be displaced.” You toast. A bit of hippocras spills from your goblet. You are far too drunk to care about his thoughts. “Be it by my nephews or your niece.”

His face reddens.

“Bitch.” He spits the word from clenched teeth. You laugh loudly.

“Knave.”

“You are an insolent little thing, aren’t you?” Daemon snarls, leaning over the table as if to throttle you. Drunk as you are, you don’t feel any fear. You have just enough rational thoughts left to believe you will be alright, since even the darkened corner you have chosen to sit in is too public for him to murder you without repercussions.

“I am small but fierce.”

“I can see that. Do all Hightower cunts have teeth?”

You smile at him, lazy and warm from the drinks you have had.

“I don’t know, care to find out?”

And Daemon laughs. He asks you to dance instead. As he twirls you and dips you, you come to find he is not bad company after all. And if you laugh a tad more than necessary, and accept his offer to walk the gardens the next afternoon, no one can blame you.

“IT IS BUT a couple of days.” Daemon says to you, softly. You lay on your stomach, head propped up on your arms. You twist your head just so to force him to see your sad little pout.

His hand comes to rub at your shoulders, as if you were a spooked horse he is trying to soothe. His touch is warm and calming against your bare skin.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

He has soothed you into complacency, this husband of yours. He allows you to indulge in fine wines, and be as frivolous as you wish. The only thing he asks of you is that you are warm and willing when he is. It is no chore.

Long gone is your rage. Now, you exist in a perfect bubble, where no one constricts your freedom. There is no screeching father to tell you that you are a disaster, nor is there a horrified Alicent. Instead, Daemon encourages all your eccentricities, and teaches you some new ones.

“Will you?” You roll on your side, stretching. You have done nothing today, not even dress. Daemon and you have spent the whole morning tangled in each other, warm and naked.

He smiles. That same grin that had once seemed so lecherous to you, now looks inviting.

You bite your lower lip, already anticipating what is to come.

“Minx.” Daemon laughs, before leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder. The contact of his lips against your skin makes you shiver, a delicate sigh leaving you. “You won’t even notice I am gone.”

“Of course I will.” You whine, as he kisses a path down your spine. “Who will bring me such pleasure?”

A sudden, sharp pain on your arse makes you yelp and sit up. Daemon smirks, and feigns taking another bite out of you.

“You are so spoiled.” He laughs. “Cannot take even a little pain. I’ll leave you some coin, and you can invite your sister to keep you company. How does it sound?”

“Think the King can spare his Queen?” You have not seen your sister since your wedding. The ravens fly fast enough that you know the news already, but you doubt King Viserys will allow her to be out of his sight for long. Not when pregnant.

Daemon nips at your thigh. You jerk, but he coaxes you back into laying on your stomach.

“Before she gets too round to travel, yes. In a few moons, it will have to be us making the trip.”

“Gods, I hate babes.”

“So do I.” He rubs at your inner thigh, slowly prying your legs open. “So? Is my spoiled wife happy?”

“Very.” You rub your face in the pillow, all kittenish. You like being called his. “Do I get the keys of the castle, too?”

Daemon kisses the place where your thigh meets your arse. You can feel his smile against your skin, promising sin.

“Of course. Just don’t go into the room with the red door, alright? I forbid it.”

“You do?” You challenge, thinking it part of the game. So far, you have yet to explore all of Runestone, always too entertained by him to do so. There are a few rooms he is cagey about, but you have always blamed it on Daemon being very private and needing his space. He has never allowed you into his personal library, either. Says you would ruin the books.

You have never minded it. You understand your place here, the dumb young wife. Men never like thinking the woman they are with can be more interesting than them. To think you can also have an interest in books, apart from being frivolous, would be too much for him to handle.

The warning about the red door only registers to you as part of the games you usually play in the bedroom. Something he can punish you about later on, something that might excuse a round of rough lovemaking.

But his expression turns into a frightening mask of utter rage. He pinches you in the thigh, and this time, it really hurts.

“Fuck!” You cry out, fighting his hold. His grip has turned from the sweetest chains into unforgiving iron around your hips. You cannot move. Not even as he slaps your thigh, hard enough to make your eyes water. “Daemon, what the..?”

“I mean it.” He is cruel about it, slapping again the stinging flesh. “I do not want you in there. If you disobey, I’ll know.”

You stare at him, open-mouthed, You cannot comprehend how fast he has flipped, from kind lover to whatever this is. The rogue Prince is mercurial, you think, echoing the letter your father had once written complaining about him, his moods dangerous.

“Fine!” You cry out, desperate to evict this creature that has taken sudden hold of your husband’s body. “Fine! No opening the red door.”

Daemon softens then. His shoulders slump, and his face goes back into a mask of devotion.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you.” He presses a kiss to your thigh, to the place he slapped. You tense. “It is dangerous for you. Like the Moondoor in The Eyrie.”

Yet, as his touch turns back into loving, you do not forget. There is something about what lies beyond that red door that turns him into a monster. A creature capable of hurting even you.

You intend to find out what it is.

THE FORTNIGHT SPENT with Alicent is by far, the best of your life. Runestone is grand, with intricate tapestries and artwork decorating the walls. Your sister has always loved art, and the time spent surrounded by beautiful things seems to rejuvenate her.

Her pregnancy appears to be easy and without fuzz. There is no nausea preventing her from having as many lemon cakes as you two wish, or from exploring the Vale’s markets, trying on dresses and tasting expensive food.

The money Daemon has left you is enough to fund your shopping sprees. You have so much fun, running in the halls and trying on dresses, it feels as if you are little girls again. The only thing missing from your childhood is Gwayne.

So you send for him.

Despite how much joy your time spent with your sister brings you, you cannot shake the thought about the red door.

It is situated in one of the towers, near the place where Daemon keeps his books. You pass by it daily, for Alicent’s rooms have been placed in the same tower. Housing a Queen is no easy task, much less when she carries the heir to the Iron Throne inside her. She had come with servants and guards, who had to be housed too. There was no space but that tower.

That tower. Each time you pass it, you have to clench your fists hard to stop yourself from reaching towards it. Every time you open a door, your hands linger on the only key you will never use.

What lies behind the red door? What can possibly upset your husband such and change him from a careless hedonist into a violent man?

When no one is near, you kneel by the door and try to look through the keyhole. The lock on the door is old and smells faintly of iron. The only thing you can see looking through the keyhole is rust.

Trying to look under the door gives you the same results. Rust and iron, and a nagging curiosity that will not leave you alone.

You try to forget about it. You owe obedience to your husband, and you remember all too well the tale of the woman who owned a jar that should never be opened. It had been a favorite of your father during your youth.

A wife must never pry. For she might find something she doesn’t like.

Yet, when you think of Daemon grabbing you hard enough to bruise, you realize you already have found something you do not like. It is that thought what helps you make up your mind. One afternoon, when Alicent claims to be too tired to keep you company, you decide to open the door.

Your hands are slick with sweat, and shaking so much it takes you two tries to fit the key into the keyhole. Your heart feels like it will leap out of your chest. Suddenly, you are paralyzed.

You cannot turn the key. Your hands have gone rigid. Your fear overwhelms you. What could possibly be in here, if not a terrible secret?

You turn it. The lock clicks, and the door gives with an ominous creak. You step inside, as careful as you can. The floor is slick and sticky. When you look down, your shoes and the hem of your gown are tinted red.

You scream. You turn towards the walls, only to find more blood. Bloodied rags, stains, a bloodied dagger. You begin to feel lightheaded. When you stumble towards a corner, you see her.

A corpse of a woman, hugging her knees to her chest. Her body is rotting, half of her face gone, but enough of it remaining so you can see that it has frozen in an expression of utter horror, much like your own. She wears a rune covered armor, and has several cuts all over.

This time, you fall down. The keys slip from your grip, and you scream so loud, you are sure you wake the whole castle.

The missing Rhea Royce.

“Good gods!” Alicent cries out, behind you. You stumble to your feet, terrified. She cannot see it. Daemon… Daemon was going to kill you both. “What is this? By the Seven, is that..?”

“He is going to kill me.” You say, wiping the blood clinging to your hands on your dress. You try to clean the keys as well, but the stain won’t come out. No matter how hard you try. “He’ll know.”

“He is not going to, we can go to the King, and I am sure there is…” Alicent sounds horrified. She lingers on the doorstep, already on her nightshirt. Her belly is barely beginning to show.

“Alicent!” You say, sharply. “He’ll know. You have to run, Alicent. He will kill us both.”

“And leave you to die?” Your sister sounds indignant. “I cannot. You cannot…”

You cannot run, you wish to say. You cannot because if you do, Daemon will know even quicker, and chase you both. If you stay, maybe you can fool him. Or at least, give your sister a fighting chance.

“Please!” You cry. “Do it for the babe.”

Alicent’s lips turn white from the force she uses to keep them closed. She looks into your eyes, and hesitates. You fear she might not go through it.

“Go!” You cry, slipping on all the blood.

And Alicent, big brown eyes wide, hikes up her skirts and runs.

DAEMON NOTICES AS soon as he asks for the keys. You have never been a good liar, and the blood still stains them. When handing them over, you shake.

His smile drops. He no longer is the happy husband, but the creature that had frightened you the other night. The creature that had killed Rhea Royce, and took her lands.

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” He grabs you by the neck, snarling.“I told you to leave it alone.”

Your pulse begins to race. You cannot speak, and you can only take shallow breaths. Your panic must show on your face because Daemon smiles at you, coldly. He squeezes a tad harder, enough to cut off your breath.

You gasp. It comes out more like a choked hiccup.

“Look at what you are making me do.” When you are starting to feel lightheaded, breath coming out in desperate wheezes, Daemon gives you a shove. “I never wanted to do this. This is all your fault.”

“You don’t have to kill me.” You plead, voice shaking. “I’ll keep your secret.”

Daemon looks at you, and laughs.

“I assure you, I have not gotten away with it this long because I believe every pretty thing telling me they will keep their mouths shut.”

Your eyes widen. The phrasing is strange. Every pretty thing…

“There had been others?” Daemon scoffs at your question, but doesn’t answer. You look into his eyes, and try pleading once more. At this point, tears are streaming down your cheeks. You are sure you make a very pathetic sight. “Just… Don’t kill me.”

“Good Gods. Are all Hightowers this dumb or is it you and Aliwhore?” Daemon grasps your face, roughly. You cannot believe your ears. Where is all this hatred coming from? It seems like the man you loved, the one that had courted you for endless summer days, is gone. All that is left is his profound hatred for you and your family. Had he only pretended not to hate you, and was showing his true colors now? “At least die with some dignity, you pathetic cunt.”

Dignity. Dignity could buy you time. You need it, to think of a way to survive.

“Allow me to pray, then. To make my peace with my death.”

Prayer wasn’t your strong forte. But you guessed you could possibly buy an hour with it. You had never been as devout as your siblings, but you could pretend well enough to fill the time as you tried to make your own miracle happen.

Daemon studies your expression closely. He tilts your head up and down, and then gives you a patronizing little pat on the cheek.

“Fine.” He spits out. “Pray. Only a few minutes, not a second more.”

You walk past him, intent on going back to the tower where a statue of the Mother stands. You watch his face carefully when you pass by him, worried he is only toying with you and has no true intention of allowing you to pray in solitude. But he doesn’t stop you.

You make your way to the highest tower, kneel by the feet of the statue and weep. Your weakness only lasts you a moment because when you lift your gaze, you catch sight of a green standard approaching the gates.

Could that be..?

“Are you done?” Daemon asks, from behind the closed door. You can hear the drag of steel against steel, and picture him in your mind’s eye. Taking Dark Sister out of her sheath, face full of bloodlust.

“Just a minute more.” You beg, watching the rider stop at the gates and being allowed in by the guards. “Don’t kill me, please! Not yet!” You cry out, as loud as you can, hoping your voice carries.

Daemon bursts in, Dark Sister held by his side. His smile is cold, his face the image of calm. One would never guess he is about to kill someone by watching his expression. You notice the dagger he carries at his hip, but do not dare to try to take it. Not when Dark Sister’s reach is much longer.

“Oh, spare me the hysterics. More prayer will not spare you.” He lunges at you, and you evade him, but there are only so many places one can run to in a small room. Daemon catches you by wrapping your braid in his hand, giving you a harsh tug that makes you tumble down. You scream.

“Shut up. Seven Hells, quiet.” Daemon places the sword at your throat. “You will…”

The door is thrown open by a kick, the loud bang startling him and making his grip falter.

“She will do nothing.” Gwayne says, firmly. You can see Alicent standing behind him, wrenching her hands together. You have never been more grateful to see them. “Or I’ll gut you like a fish.”

“Oh?” Daemon shoves you. You do not fight his push, laying limply on the floor. He turns towards Gwayne, sword no longer focused on you. “You think you can beat me, boy?”

Gwayne cannot. He had lost to him in a tourney not even six months before. You do not hesitate. You grab the dagger at Daemon’s hip and stab him in the stomach, hard. And you do it again, and again, until your hands and face are covered in blood, and Daemon does no longer move.

You look up at your siblings, then. Alicent’s face is horrified, but when she senses your eyes on her, she smooths down her expression. Gwayne watches with vague interest. At some point, he seems to have taken Dark Sister from Daemon’s hand because he now holds it.

The three of you stare at each other. The blood on your hands is rapidly cooling and turning sticky. You wipe your hands on your dress.

You had thought you would feel something if you killed another person. Instead, you only feel numb. Empty. Daemon is gone, and so are his things. His kisses, his threats, the monster that lurked beneath.

It’s Alcent who first speaks, face pale. “The red room. We need to get to work.”

By the end of it, it is as if he never came home at all. The three of you hug, on the brink of tears. Another string tied you now, beyond the sibling bond. The man you had murdered, and the duty to forget him.

[shirefantasies]

firstly happy new year!

i wanted to tell you i love your works and maybe ask if i can request a Thorin's company x reader where the reader is from our world and has many tattoos (like a full sleeve) and the company's reaction, maybe the dwarves show their tattoos too?

thank youuu so much!

Ooh, this is cool! Sorry it took so long this got buried in my inbox 😣 I’m going to try to keep the tattoos as vague/open as possible but I may describe em here & there, sorry 😅 Hope this is enjoyable & accurate hehe, ya girl does not have any tattoos herself~

Warnings: slight suggestive jokes, minor blood in one

Showing Thorin’s Company Your Tattoos

Balin

It started the moment he pulled out the contract. You’d gone traveling with the company but not officially joined until this moment. Soon as the parchment unfurled, you began rolling your sleeves up and out of ink’s way. Glancing upward, you caught Balin’s eyes upon the designs inked into your skin. “Oh,” you cocked your head, pen momentarily forgotten, “have you never seen tattoos like this before?” Such a question earned you a sudden burst of laughter from the white-haired dwarf, who shook his head. “Nay, not in the slightest! Quite the opposite. We dwarves are famous for our designs. I suppose that yes, I’ve never seen ones like yours,” he glances over yours once more, “but many I have seen.” Suddenly you felt compelled to ask: “Well, do you like them?” Balin smiled. “Of course I do! Just because they are different doesn’t mean they are bad. Watch out for my brother, though, he’ll be itching to give you a new one if you get on his good side.” He gave a wink and that sealed it for you- you knew it already, but it rang through your head once more that you had a place in this company.

Dwalin

It had started with a compliment. “I like your tattoos,” you told the shaven-headed dwarf with a smile and a nod his way. He looked surprised, then pride settled into his eyes beneath the fire’s flicker. “Thanks. Bet you’ve never seen anything like ‘em before, eh?” Matching Dwalin’s smug smile, you rolled up your sleeve to reveal the art covering your own body. “By my beard,” he breathed. “Would you believe me if I said there was more where that came from?” You teased. “May not have before,” the dwarf grinned, “but I certainly do now. Bet you don’t know what mine mean, though…” "Well then, tell me." Brows raising, he crosses his arms and looks you over as if anew. "And perhaps if you prove yourself, I can add to your collection." As you can imagine, this turned into quite a long conversation.

Thorin

The king-to-be’s eyebrows raise, a look of pure shock crossing his regal features when you expose the long expanses of tattoos you’ve decorated yourself with. Arching a brow, you assume it is some sort of royal sensibility and roll your eyes, at least until you hear Thorin’s faint words emerge, barely above a whisper. “My sister has something quite like that. May I?” Stunned, you simply nod, holding your arm out as Thorin draws closer, fingers gently brushing over your inked skin as a small smile creeps to his lips. “I remember when she got it. She wanted me to get one, too, but I was too afraid.” A deep chuckle. “You, I see, do not lack the courage. Dis would like you. Very much,” he comments, blue eyes shining into yours.

Oin

“You’ve gotta be more careful next time,” Oin shakes his head as he lowers you onto the blanket, one hand tucked carefully behind your head. “You’re welcome,” you grin, though the expression quickly turns into a wince as pain arcs up your newly acquired wound. Tutting, Oin says nothing, opting instead to strip off your layers to dab at the blood collecting there. He pauses, though, over your bared skin. “You never told me…” Gloved hand waving vaguely over you, and you chuckle weakly. “What, that I have an amazing pain tolerance?” “That’s one way to put it,” he replies, “and let’s hope so. You’ll need it. They did heal quite nicely, you know. Half the ones I’ve done looked a mess after.” “You do tattoos, huh?” You chuckle again, smiling up at him as he worked. “Now that I’d like to see.”

Gloin

Bursting into hearty laughter, Gloin claps a hand to your shoulder. "Thinkin' you can beat Dwalin, are you?” Obviously you are quite confused, tilting your head at him until you trace the line of his eyes to your exposed wrist. The edges of a tattoo showed there, bringing a chuckle to your lips. “Hadn’t thought of it like that,” you shot back, “but I suppose I would have him bested.” Gloin bursts into hearty laughter as you push up your sleeve to reveal skin entirely covered. “Bless me, I was teasing you! You really went for it, though! What did you do for yours? I managed to barter for mine,” he grins, pushing up his own sleeve to reveal a design near his shoulder. “I wish that was how it worked for me,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at the thought of all your lost money, “where I come from, it’s pay or nothing.” Cue Gloin lining you up deeds to get dwarven ink done should you so desire.

Bifur

Catching Bifur gesturing your way, you frown slightly and turn back around, fixing him with a look of concern at his hasty motions. Finally, he traces a hand up his arm, prompting you to peer down at your own. Ah, right. He'd probably never caught a glimpse of your tattoos before. You nod, sign a 'what?' you hope doesn't come across too cheeky, and grin when he gives up and rolls his eyes and grabs your arm. “Well,” you ask, “like ‘em?” In all honesty, you have no expectation for his reply, but the enthusiastic nod and tug up of his tunic still has your eyebrows raising in shock. He has one, too, it seems, at least the one, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s quite similar to one of yours. Smiling, you wondered if that was as meaningful to him as it was to you.

Bofur

“Well you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” You aren’t even certain what the hatted dwarf means until you follow his gaze down the length of the arm you’d bared to spearfish with, tracing the lines of your tattoos. “So you could say,” you reply mystically, waving fingers until the both of you are laughing. “Which one’s your favorite? I wanna see ‘em all. Well, if you’ll let me, of course, and…" Cutting him off with a hand held up and a smile, you answer, "I know what you mean. When we're done here, we'll need some time by the fire. I'll show you then." Eyes shining, Bofur gives you a grin and wades into the river with you. That evening, as you sat and warmed your soaked legs by the toasty fire, you rolled up your sleeve all the way this time, telling him the story of every single tattoo and chortling at his animated commentary.

Bombur

The others saw them, but Bombur’s reaction amused you the most by far. Without thinking, he grabbed your arm and held it up, eyes scanning your art beneath the warmth of his gentle hold. “Well,” you chuckled, “what do you think, do you approve?” “I quite like yours,” he agreed, “yours are pictures. I like them better than Dwalin’s.” A call of protest from the warrior dwarf rang out defending both his own art and of course the traditions of their people. But if you have any of things Bombur enjoys most, things representing family, food, animals, nature, and the like, he keeps fighting for you to the last word! "But I like the pictures! Have you seen them? Come have a look here." There you stand, your hand tightly in Bombur's grip, but you cannot help smiling.

Dori

The two of you had all but insisted the dwarves finally wash some of their layers, so they agreed under the express conditions that the ones who cared so do it. As you knelt at the riverside with a bundle of (frankly filthy) clothing, you rolled up your sleeves to the elbows and saw Dori staring out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t look particularly scandalized and you were used to eyes upon your art, expected it even. “Looking at these?” You asked with a smile. Sheepishly he nodded. “My brother has a couple of those. Always trying to get me to have one done,” he scoffed, “but I don’t exactly fancy a voluntary stabbing myself.” You can’t help laughing at that. “They certainly did hurt,” you agree in your mirth. Dori’s eyes slid down your forearm one more time. “You must be quite tough, then, aren’t you? Strong and sensible,” he beams.

Nori

One of your tattoos is especially meaningful, so the moment its subject comes up in conversation you are peeling back layers to reveal it. Many dwarven eyebrows raise as the sun strikes your skin, but you can’t help noticing Nori specifically, the look of intrigue and perhaps something else in his eyes. Challenging him with a look, you cock your head a bit at him. “Didn’t realize you had any,” he says simply. With a faint snort, you nod. “Well, here you go,” you roll up your sleeve further. Nori’s eyes trail up and down the expanse of skin one more time. “I’ve got a few myself.” Naturally, you ask him where, and that is when he breaks into a rakish smile and winks. “You’ll have to guess.”

Ori

Smiling at Ori as you accepted his sketchbook, you pushed back your sleeve to save it from smudging his work or the addition he'd welcomed you to make on a new page. An entry into his little world you were honored at the invitation to create. But when you glanced back up at the dwarf, your joy faded sharply away at the widening of his eyes. Shock, no doubt, at the revelation of the ink covering your forearm, designs you'd hidden for fear of distaste or harsh questioning. Quickly you slid the fabric back down, but Ori just gaped, looking more than a bit awed. "You have so many. Did they hurt?" A common enough question, posed innocently as you'd expect from the company's youngest. "Some more than others, that is for sure," you answered simply, "but I took it in silence." Humming in further awe, Ori leaned closer to you. "Nori screamed like a baby bird the whole time he got his." Bursting suddenly from your chest, your laughter cascaded over your whole body in relief, comfort returning to your little world. "I quite like yours better than his, too, especially that one," Ori added, pointing where he'd seen a particularly nice piece. Perhaps you should have known the artist would understand.

Fili

“Whatcha got there?” Glancing down at the utensil in your hand, you shrug. “Ladle. I was helping Bombur do the rinsing.” At that, the elder Durin heir smirks. “Not that,” he says, gesturing up from your hand, “those.” Right. “Oh, my tattoos? If you’ve never seen anything like them, I can tell you-” “Never seen anything like it?” Fili snorts in amusement, crossing his arms. “I take it you’ve not looked upon the dwarven kings of old.” Removing his coat and outer tunic, he bares his own arms. “I’d like to get mine here.” He touches his bicep. “One ringing each side.” “How convenient,” you tease as he flexes the toned muscle of his arms. “What?” “Nothing,” you snort, shaking your head.

Kili

The pair of you had been sparring, Kili parrying your every move before you finally sat down in defeat, accepting a newly-filled waterskin gratefully. The dwarf kept teasing you, saying all that he could about how well he knew you and the like. "Why, I practically know everything about you," he said with a proud look, "you'll not be surprising me any time soon." "Well, then, if you know me so well," you countered, "which tattoo is my favorite?" "Very funny, you haven't any..." Kili's eyes widened as you rolled up your sleeve, scanning every inch of ink. "...Tattoos." "What was that you were saying?" You asked, smirking into his speechless gape. Curse him, he regained his composure quickly, though, expression falling back into the smile you had to admit you loved. "Well, I certainly know which one is my favorite."

Bilbo

You start tugging at your top at the collarbones and Bilbo’s eyes practically pop out of his head when your tattoos peep at him. “You too?” He asks, tone incredulous. Chuckling in amusement, you fix him with an inquisitive look. “And what does that mean?” “Well,” he begins, voice faltering, “I suppose I just thought of that as, well, as a dwarf thing. What with Dwalin and all.” “Surprise,” you tease him with a grin, exposing more skin he flushes at the sight of, “but look, I think you’ll quite like this one…” Any tattoo you have from nature, after all, surely catches the hobbit's gentle eye in a heartbeat. “Oh, that is… quite beautiful,” Bilbo breathes with a faraway smile, “can I touch it? Wait, what am I saying, I’m sorry…”

Taglist: @kilibaggins @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart | Message me/reply to join!

[rakhalofthestars]

Ikanaide

Synopsis: Ikanaide (いかないで) = Do not go. Words that you had used to plead with Boothill so he'd stay. Words that he used to plead with the heavens to not take all that he holds dear away from him.

Tags: Boothill x gn reader, Boothill's backstory, heavy angst and tragedy, Pre-cyborg Boothill, Established relationship, Boothill-centric

Warnings: Mentions of torture (Nothing graphic), cussing, major character death

wc: 2,5k

Varmints. All of them. They called his tribe savages. They had the audacity to call them uncivilised. As if they were any better. Would a civilised person have done what they had done to him?

The- What was it they called themselves again? Right. The IPC. The IPC thought they could get away with kicking his people out of their homes, disrespecting the soil his people had lived off of for centuries, and blaspheming against their beliefs. The IPC thought capturing a well-respected gunslinger like him, throwing him into a hoosegow and belting him, would break their spirits? That it would drive their twisted message home and stop his brothers and sisters in arms to back down?

Nay. If anything, it only further solidified their resolve to fight back. The IPC’s actions only made it abundantly clear that the cowboys must do everything in their power to drive away these devils from their home. 

These thoughts echoed in Boothill’s mind while he slowly dragged himself back home to the little wooden cottage just a ways from the farm he had grown up on. His body ached. Each step that he took felt as if he was getting stabbed by the prickly cacti that could be found on the sandy wastelands of Aeragan-Epharshel. However, it also served as a reminder that he was above snakes. Boothill had managed to run from the crowbar hotel but it had come at the cost of some of his fellow guerilla fighters to get arrested instead. He swore at the reminder. He’ll free them all. Their actions will not have been in vain, he’ll make sure of it. 

After what feels like hours, Boothill finally managed to reach the door to the cottage. He could hear faint humming from inside. The familiar tune brought a smile to his face despite the stinging pain that had the man on the verge of passing out. It was a tune that he had learned from Nick, a melody that Graey would hum in a wordless lullaby when he was still knee-high to a grasshopper to lull the rowdy boy back then to sleep. It was a tune that he had played on his guitar to serenade you on countless nights underneath the stars. One filled with warmth and love.

Raising one shaking (shaking? Why was he shaking? He’ll be fine. He has to be fine. For them. For everyone.) hand, Boothill knocks on the door. The humming stops. A shame, for now with the silent darkness of the moonless night shrouding him, Boothill was unsure whether he even was in the realm of consciousness anymore. Nay. He hears footsteps, hurried ones.

Without wasting another second, you rush forward and pull him into your arms, holding him in a warm and soft embrace. It was an embrace that he had come to associate with home. An embrace filled with so much love and gentleness that it made even a man as roughened up as him to go all soft and mushy. You just had that effect on him.

The door opens and Boothill stumbles back from it, lest he falls face first when it swings open. He sways on the spot and can only manage a half-smile half-grimace when you open the door and gasp.

“Boothill! Honey, what happened to yo-”

Your words are cut off due to the sight of Boothill swaying dangerously now on his feet. His vision was turning dark at the corners. Fuck, it hurt. Everything hurts.  

Boothill’s head slumps against your neck, breathing in the scent of the stew that you had been cooking and the mild, herbal scent of the soap you used. Even in his half-conscious state, the man could feel the worry and fear radiating off of you. Despite his condition, it brings a smile to his chapped and bruised lips. No matter how things changed, you continued to stay the same. His loving little worrywart. 

While Boothill was in his own little world, barely staying conscious, your heart was racing. The fabric of the grey shirt he was wearing felt oddly damp on his back. It didn’t make sense. Surely he hadn’t sweat so much on the way back? Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Wrong in the all the ways everything had been for the past couple weeks, ever since those strange men clad in black had stepped foot onto the planet you called home. 

You slowly remove one trembling hand from Boothill’s chiseled and broad back and bite back a scream. Your hand was damp with a faint, reddish liquid. Blood.

–

“Hon…what happened to you? Hon..? Boothill?”

You receive no answer and it’s then you realize that the cowboy’s body felt heavier and loose against you. He had passed out.

When Boothill finally comes to again, he hisses and groans in pain almost immediately. He blinked a couple of times, allowing his steely gray eyes to adjust to the lighting inside the wooden cottage. He was sitting up in your shared bed…well kinda. It’d be more accurate to say that he was slumped face first against the headboard. At least you had had the sense to wrap a softer headband around his forehead so it wouldn’t hurt as much. 

The man stirs and he hears you yelp from behind, cursing as his sudden movement has frightened you. 

“A warning next time, Boothill. Thank you,” you sigh. Boothill felt the raw skin of his back sting again and he hisses.

“ ‘Pologies, didn’t realize a man had to announce to the entire dadgum world that he’s awake,” is his dry reply. “The hell are ya doin’ anyways?” He tries to turn but regrets it immediately when a sharp stab of pain spreads across his body. 

Boothill can feel the heavy silence. He can hear the barrage of questions that were just waiting to spill from your lips. He can guess the assumptions in your mind. He knew you too well. 

“Don’t move, ya coot,” you chide him in a gentle voice. “What d’ya think I’m doin’? I’m clearly cleanin’ up yer wounds.”

Ah right. The wounds. Perhaps it’d be better to call them scars instead. There was no way those marks would ever fade, either physically or mentally.

“Look…”

“I’m lookin’ and I ain’t likin’ what I’m havin’ ta see.”

He rolls his eyes but welcomes the light humor, knowing it would fade once he explained himself.

“I got caught by them sons of bitches and- up up up. Lemme finish, will you? As I was sayin’, they arrested me and hauled me over to the good ol’ crowbar hotel.”

You frown to yourself while putting away the now dirty and damp rag, stained a brownish-red from the bloody scars.

“Well, it don’t explain the…the scars. What happened, darlin’?”

Boothill closes his eyes at the question, trying to block out the phantom sensations. Hands bound by rope. The crack of leather on skin. Raw flesh. Hoarse screams that echoed off the cold and grimy walls. 

“Don't work yerself into a frenzy over me, sweetpea,” Boothill murmurs against your lips. The response incurs a heavy sigh followed by a shorter, chaste kiss before you pull away.

“They belted me. Soaked a belt in saltwater and cleaned my plow. The assholes were questionin’ me, tried to get me to ‘fess up to where all the other resistance fighters were. What our plans were and to make us stop. The others…they sacrificed themselves so I could run.”

“Oh… Oh, my darlin’...” You shuffle closer to your beloved, gently turning his head and plant a kiss on his lips. Tender and languid with the lingering traces of his favorite malt juice and your favorite caramel sweets that he liked to buy for you. Just the way you both liked- no, loved it. 

“How can I not when this…” you gesture to the scars on his back, the dark skin raw and reddened from the torture inflicted. “When this is what they've done to you, what they're doing to our siblings and…what they might do to us.”

“We won't let ‘em. They raise their weapons against us to break our spirits but they don't know that our spirits are stronger than our skin.”

You were doubtful. You didn't say it out loud but the words were on the tip of your tongue. Boothill couldn't blame you for your doubts. The conflict was unlike anything that he had ever seen. 

A heavy silence permeated through the cottage, broken only by the sound of you getting off the bed and walking to a potted aloe vera plant. The man slowly shifts on the mattress so he could watch you.

You grab a small hunting knife that was beside the plant. It was one that Boothill had made for you. He had painstakingly carved the oak into a handle for the sharp blade and had branded your initials at the edge along with a little heart. Using the knife with practiced ease, you slice off an aloe leaf and come back to sit behind him.

“I've been thinking…” You begin, pulling back the dark green skin layer of the leaf while speaking. You dip your fingers into the clear gel and begin to carefully apply it to the scars on Boothill’s back, rubbing it in with gentle, circular motions.

“Is there really no other way?”

Boothill, who had already been relaxing under the soothing sensation of the aloe vera and your fingers, slumps. He had expected the question. He couldn’t blame you for it either. Hell, he wished there was an easier way to resolve this fight without any bloodshed. He had already lost a few members of his family and countless friends and siblings in arms. 

He didn't want to lose you too or the little 12 month old girl that had quietly stumbled into the room, her tiny feet pattering against the floorboards. Both you and the man soften at the sight of her stumbling in the same way Boothill had stumbled upon her a few months ago during the harsh winter. For a few moments, you both forget all about the gloom and doom of your situation, of your beloved home. 

“Well, hey there, sugarcube…” Boothill murmurs with a gentle smile on his lips. He stretches his arms out, catching the little girl as she slowly walks into them with little giggles sounding from her tiny little body all the while. Uncaring for his sore and aching muscles, he pulls her up onto the bed to join the two of you, holding her in his lap.

“I wish there was another way, really I do. But ya’ve seen that peace ain’t an option. Them sons of guns came here armed to the teeth. All they know is violence and we gotta fight back in a way they’ll understand,” Boothill finally answers, watching as his daughter played with the long white locks of his hair. 

“Y’should’ve seen her today… learned to walk just a few days ago and now all she does is put them tiny feet o’ hers to use,” you murmur fondly, continuing to treat Boothill’s scars to the best of your abilities. “She..was lookin’ for you the entire day. Kept on tryin’ ta ask where you was. I had no answer.”

As if right on cue, the small child in his arms babbles and peers up at him. He could just make out the little word she was trying to pronounce, “dada”. His heart felt heavy in his chest and he sighs. He hadn’t forgotten about your question from earlier. 

“Ya’ll see, darlin’. I’ll be in apple pie order in no time. Just need ta rest a bit and then, I’ll give ‘em hell, guns blazin’ and all. After all, there’s only two kinds of people in this world. Those with a gun and those who dig their own grave. We’ve got the shooting irons and soon, those varmints are gonna be the only ones rottin’ in a bone orchard.”

He was rambling again. Gabbing on and on without pausing. He was trying to comfort you but you got the vague feeling that he was also trying to comfort himself. 

Boothill could feel his heart shattering into pieces. Fuck…he really was a bastard to do this to you. To the little girl in his arms. What hurt worse was that you and him both knew his answer because your words, laced with love, desperation and fear, your gentle touch on his back that were soothing the raw skin more than any herbal remedy ever could, the child in his arms that looked at him as if he had hung up the stars in the night sky, these were all reminders of what he was fighting for, what was at stake should he give up now.

“...Do not go.”

“...What?”

“Don’t go… please. I…I dunno what I’ll do if one a’ these days, I’ll wake up an’ see that you ain’t here.”

“Sweetpea-”

“Death is the fairest form of grace. I wanna experience that grace with you. Stay, please. ”

Boothill was fighting for you, his daughter, his family, his siblings in arms, his tribe, the soil that he grew up on, his home.

In the melancholic silence that now filled the space, Boothill could hear Nick’s gruff voice resounding in his ears, the words further strengthening his resolve. 

"The water here is smooth as fine wine,

the cold snow is cutting like a knife,

this place is...

the perfect world."

– 

It burned. Everything was burning. The ground, the trees, the animals, the people. The conflagration consumed everything. 

Boothill felt as if he was burning too. The smoke burned within him. Was it the smoke or his rage? What was it that was suffocating his lungs, clawing its way inside him and threatening to consume him? 

He didn't know. He didn't know a damned thing. He didn't know whether his family was alive. Whether that little bundle that he had found in the snow was still alive. Aeons above, he hoped she was alive. She had just learned to walk. He didn't know whether you were alive. There was so much he still had left to do. He was supposed to take you into town and buy you the little trinket that you had been eyeing for a while. He was supposed to teach his little girl to play the guitar that he had made for her. He was supposed to have a little shooting match with his friends, pay Nick and Graey a visit, and fight off the beasts of the wilderness that now took the form of men clad in black. 

Boothill ran, trying to run from the screams of those around him, from his fears and from the smoke that was chasing after him the same way he'd be chasing after a certain IPC member in the years to come. 

He sounded his barbaric yell over the roofs of the world, echoing the same words that you had spoken- no, pleaded to him just days earlier. 

Do not go.

[camilaxmartin]

Sorry to send another request! But this one is for Carmilla instead of Rosie. Maybe Zestial could introduce his friend or sister to Carmilla and she sticks around after meetings to chat/flirt with her? You can make as many changes as you like! I hope you're well x

beautiful?

navigation // rules // masterlist

summary: literally the request beside the fact i made it only about one of their meetings, zestial!friend!reader

warnings: make out session, cursing but i’m not so sure abt it

notes: I WAS SO SCARWS ABOUT THIS ONE BUT EVENTUALLY I LOVE HOW IT TURNED OUT!! hope you don’t mind i made them like this already on the first meeting but it just kinda happened:)

requests: open!!

you were a good friend of zestial for… as long as you can remember honestly. you two were always understanding each other and literally wherever he went, you went as well. when hell started gaining more and more overlords you two became sort of friends with alastor and always looked forward to meeting up with that strange deer man. the only person you haven’t actually met was carmilla carmine, zestial wanted you to meet her many times already but fate wanted it that you always had something else planned while he was meeting with her. at some point he started wondering if you just didn’t want to meet her but you reassured him that when another meeting with all the overlords will be thrown, you’ll go with him and finally meet her.

and there we were.

the day of the meeting.

you were running through the darkness of the cave looking for something to wear feeling your anxiety rising up more than it has usually. you groaned finding an old and dirty dress throwing it away and running to another hall of the cave in a search for something at least acceptably good. zestial appeared from the shadows next to you scaring you to your second death as he slowly tilted his head watching you.

“i’ve told you a milion times not to do that!” you groaned punching his legs as it was the only thing of his body that you could reach. his smiled widened at you as he looked around noticing the mess you’ve made in both of yours house. you knew each other so long there wasn’t a reason for you to split into separate homes when this cave was big enough for more than you two. zestial didn’t even flinch at your punch and his eyes started glowing more.

“what’s the problem lief? wherefore art thee in such a sweaty haste?” he asked as his smile widened even more like he already knew the answer. you groaned again and shook your head.

“i don’t have anything presentable to wear. i don’t want to be overdressed but also underdressed. it’s an overlords meeting after all. it’s been a while since i’ve been to one” you explained and groaned once more as zestial gently put one of his hands onto your shoulder.

“don’t thee w'rry, whatev'r thee weareth shall beest fine. nay one actually pays attention to what we’re wearing” he said softly and squeezed your shoulder gently, smiling down at you. you grabbed his hand with yours and smiled to him as well. zestial then narrowed his four eyes slightly and his smile turned into more of a smirk. “and t won’t affect carmilla’s first impression of thee” he added and you pushed his hand away noticing his implication.

“oh stop! i don’t want to impress her i just… you’ve told me so many amazing things about her what she is and what not and i don’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of her… or anyone! for that matter” you mumbled and zestial laughed softly at your words shaking his head as he walked over to a huge wardrobe in the room you two were talking in.

“you’ll beest fine. if 't be true you’ll alloweth me i wouldst chooseth this f'r the present day.” he said taking out one of your dresses that was more on the comfortable side than the presentable one. “carmilla shall appreciateth thy professionalism” he added and smiled at the mention of his friend. you rolled your eyes at him and grabbed the dress out of his hand looking at it while tilting your head.

“you really think i should choose this one?” you asked and he just nodded his head disappearing into the shadows again to give you some privacy to change. you groaned but decided to go with his choice, picking out some accessories for it, to try and make it look less plain.

you sighed looking at your reflection on the cave’s wall as it was made from clear quartz. you smiled to yourself and chuckled actually enjoying how you finally looked. zestial appeared behind you and smiled at your sight as well looking you up and down.

“thee behold ravishing, the lady shall loveth to meeteth thee” he said and took out his hand for you to hold as you needed to leave the cave now not to be late. with a wide smile, you took his hand and let him lead you out of the cave, grabbing some jacket on your way out so you wouldn’t get cold later.

you two met up with alastor on your way to the carmine’s property. alastor greeted you both with a wide smile (as usual) and complimented your outfit stating that he’s surprised you’d even dress up for something like this. maybe it wasn’t a full compliment after all, but you decided not to worry about him, after all he’s always been like that. as you reached the top floor, you were met with other overlords gathering for the meeting as well. rosie almost immediately walked over to alastor as she gave you a soft smile.

you smiled back and walked with zestial to the room in which the meeting was about to take place. zestial sat down in a chair close to the projector and you sat down next to him, alastor being on your other side. you started fidgeting with your fingers a bit waiting for the meeting to start and zestial put one of his hands onto yours trying to keep you calm.

as the meeting finally began you saw a demoness walking into the room with two smaller ones on both of her sides. your eyes immediately noticed her huge horns which only after starring at them for a while looked more like hair than actual horns. one of the girls that walked with her tilted her head noticing you sitting where you had, but she just shrugged it off and sat down next to the other one without making a scene about it. you almost didn’t catch it as you were still starring at the beautiful demoness in front of you. she had a stoic expression on her face as her eyes scanned the room and noticed you and zestial. her head tilted slightly yet her expression changed into a more pleasant one as she walked over to zestial.

“glad you’re here” she said to him with a smile as he gave her one back. you tried to stay calm.

“always a pleasure, carmilla” he responded and her smile widened even more. her eyes then moved onto you and literally read you off of your face yet she didn’t utter a word to you. her face went back to that stoic peace as she started the meeting explaining why she gathered all of you together and what were her new plans for hell.

when the meeting was finally done all of the overlords started leaving the room, leaving only you, zestial, carmilla and her daughters in it. carmilla was gathering all her notes from the table while her daughters were turning off the projector when zestial stood up and signalled for you to do the same. you quickly stood up and fixed your dress a bit as he smiled at you and then slowly walked over to carmilla’s side. you just watched him, standing behind the chair you were previously sitting in.

“carmilla, this is the lady i did want thee to meeteth f'r so longeth” he said and she immediately left her notes alone as her head turned to you with w soft smile on her face. “y/n, carmilla. carmilla, y/n” he said and moved away a bit so she could walk to you.

carmilla almost immediately walked towards you and stood before you taking out her hand for you to shake. which you immediately did praying to whoever was listening you that your palm wasn’t sweaty. “a pleasure to finally meet you dear” she said while shaking your hand and smiling to you wider than she’s before. you smiled back trying not to look too excited as you squeezed her hand softly in the handshake.

“the pleasures all mine, after all i should’ve met you long time ago” you said with a soft chuckle and she nodded with a remaining smile. her daughters watched the interaction with curiosity while zestial started smiling at the two demons noticing their curious gaze.

“better late than never” she chuckled and finally let go of your hand as she looked over to her daughter’s signalling that they’re free to go. the pair smiled to her and left in a hurry definitely having something planned for their time already. zestial caught your gaze and smiled softly to you, in a way that was supposed to show you he was right about not needing to stress about the outfit. you rolled your eyes at him yet carmilla was the first to catch it, as she chuckled softly and then looked over to zestial.

“do you two want to stay a while? we can do some catching up” she said mostly having zestial in her mind. you shrugged at her words and nodded not having anything else planned for the evening and expected zestial to do the same, but you were so wrong.

“sadly i can’t carmilla. ive did promise alast'r id seeth that gent aft'r the meeting.” liar. you knew he didn’t have any plans for tonight. you eyed him up and down but he chose to ignore your gaze. “but y/n already did agree so thee won’t beest b'r'd” he added and nodded to carmilla as a goodbye while walking over to the door.

carmilla frowned a bit not knowing about what exactly was she supposed to be talking with you while her friend wasn’t there but she definitely wasn’t going to throw you out as you’ve already agreed to stay with her. zestial smirked to you while he was leaving and you swore, you’d kill him when you get back home later tonight.

“we can get to know each other” carmilla said with a forced smile as she sighed and gathered her notes again. you started fidgeting with your fingers again.

“it’s okay if you want me to go, i understand you meant mostly for zestial to stay with you” you said as you looked at her and started noticing more and more of the details of her face the more you were staring at her. she sighed at your words but shook her head no, taking all the notes into her huge hands.

“there’s no need” she said waving one of her hands as the other kept all the notes from falling out of her grab. “i’m sure we can think something out as i’ve already asked you too to stay” she said and walked over to one of the door turning her head back to you waiting for you to follow her.

you almost immediately followed her and she hummed opening the door to her office and keeping it open for you to come in as well. you gave her a quick ‘thank you’ as you walked in, and she nodded her head closing the door behind you. carmilla walked over to her desk and dropped all the papers onto her desk as she walked over to her chair next and sat down in it with a loud grunt from her throat, closing her eyes. after a second she opened them to notice you still standing next to the door as she moved her hand pointing to the chairs in front of her desk, telling you that you can have a sit. you smiled to her and immediately went to sit down as well.

carmilla closed her eyes again and moved one of her hands to stroke her forehead as if her head was burning. you tilted you head slightly.

“are you stressed?” you asked out of the blue and carmilla opened her eyes softly, looking at you halfy confused and intrigued with why would you ask her that.

“a bit” she responded and sighed, not keeping her profesional posture anymore as she got more comfortable in her seat. you smiled uncontrollably seeing her being comfortable around you enough to let herself loosen the straight up persona.

“what is bothering you?” you asked and carmilla scoffed waving her other hand in the air and rolling her eyes as she whispered something in spanish under her breath. you bit your lip looking at her trying to figure out if you should let her be or dig a bit deeper. “i know a few ways to relax” you said and carmilla chuckled at your words as she looked at your rather playfully. only after a moment you realised how your sentence sounded and chuckled as well, rolling your eyes in a more of a relaxed manner.

“and what would they be?” carmilla asked as she took her hand away from her forehead and continued looking at you, gently rising one of her eyebrows now as she fixed her composure and the way she was sitting. you decided to shoot your shot, it was hell after all, what’s the worst that can happen?

“you know, some people relax while having a massage, other prefer partying out their worries” you said as you moved your hands with your words, carmilla’s eyes noticing every small move of them. “and there’s people who say pleasure is also a good way to take away the stress” you added with a small smirk and carmilla started laughing as she put her hands on the desk for some support.

“you’re a bold one” she said still laughing and you just shrugged trying to keep the confidence but also wanting to see if this situation can turn into something more.

after she stopped laughing she took a deep breath and let out a deep sigh. “it seems having a good laugh helps as well” she said grinning and watching your whole figure sitting in the chair. you smiled to her uncontrollably and started playing with your fingers again. carmilla’s eyes immediately went down to your hands as she narrowed her brows and she now started to slightly lean over her desk. “don’t do that” she said looking at your hands and it took you a second to realise what she was referring to.

“oh, don’t worry about it” you said a bit nervously as you chuckled, yet carmilla’s gaze wasn’t getting any softer.

“i’m serious” she said and looked up onto your face again “don’t ruin your pretty hands with something as stupid as being nervous” she added and stopped leaning over her desk, leaning her back against her chair. you couldn’t help but catch her words and started smiling to yourself a bit.

“so i have pretty hands?” you asked and carmilla’s eyebrow went up at your question yet her expression stayed stoic. you smirked to her as you noticed her raised eyebrow and waited for her response. yet carmilla didn’t seem to be planning on saying something as she just looked down at all the papers on her desk, suddenly looking for something only with her eyes. you chuckled to yourself as you felt like you’ve stroke a jackpot.

“aren’t you going to respond?” you asked with a soft chuckle as you got up from your seat and walked over closer to her chair. her eyes were on you the whole time like they were always looking for some danger. you smiled more as you noticed her gaze and as you finally walked over to her enough to be standing right next to her chair. carmilla was looking at you a bit suspiciously but some curiosity was dancing in her gaze as well.

“what are you planning on doing now?” she asked as she turned her chair a bit so she was facing you fully now. you giggled and shrugged trying to appear nonchalant. lies, she saw better than that.

“i’m planning on waiting for you response” you chuckle as you put your hands on your hips looking down at her face. “and offering you a scalp massage” you added with a smile and carmilla’s eyes went wide.

“a scalp massage?” she asked a bit confused while narrowing her eyes at you. you chuckled and nodded your head.

“yes, it helps with headaches and stress” you explained and made another step into her direction closing the space between you more and more. “can i?” you asked looking at her pinned up hair.

carmilla bit her lip looking away from you as she closed her eyes and sighed, nodding her head. “yes, yes you can” she said softly and moved one of her hands to her ‘hair’, pulling at the ribbon that was keeping her hair up, pulling it out completely and letting her hair fall down.

you literally felt how your hands started shaking at the sight of her with her hair down and you couldn’t stop staring at her. your eyes roamed her up and down yet mostly they focused on her face and how beautifully the hair was capturing it. she cleared her throat feeling a bit uneasy under your gaze but in a nervous way, not an uncomfortable one. the sound took you down to hell as you smiled dumbly feeling your cheeks blush.

“sorry” you said as you moved your hands onto her head and started slowly slipping your fingers through her hair not even massaging her scull yet. “you just… i just wasn’t prepared to see you like this” you said and chuckled a bit at your own words. carmilla chuckled as well but decided to push her luck.

“like this? what do you mean?” she asked leaning back in her chair a bit more so that you’d need to take another step closer to her. you haven’t noticed she did it on purpose as you made that step closer now standing right between her legs. you looked down at her legs on both sides of yours and your face flushed even more, as you brought your eyes up again looking at the top of her head. carmilla hummed seeing your reaction and her eyes immediately went up to your face.

“you know…” you started as you remembered she’s asked you a question. your hands started to massage her scull finally and she grunted a bit at the feeling making your pink cheeks turn red now. “this… beautiful” you shrugged saying it as nothing else was coming into your mind. carmilla blinked at your words still looking up at your face but with a slight of surprise on her face as well.

“beautiful? you find me beautiful?” she asked sounding generous yet a hint of tease could be heard in her voice. you bit your lip and rolled your eyes making your fingers scratch her scalp a bit now.

“i do” you said nodding your head softly. “when i saw you entering that meeting i couldn’t take my eyes off of you, but when you let your hair down-“ you chuckled and heard her grunting again when your fingers pressed down harder. “i think beautiful is an understatement at this point” you added and laughed as carmilla felt her cheeks blush this time. she covered it up with a chuckle from her as well yet your eyes were able catch her rosy cheeks.

you started massaging her scull more now putting more pressure into it and trying to focus on it rather than on the fact how close you were to her and that she literally had you in her grip. carmilla closed her eyes at some point enjoying the massage and letting out many sounds showing how much she enjoyed your massage. you tried your best not to let them affect you yet your red cheeks were speaking for themselves.

you slipped your fingers through her hair more and more getting to more parts of her scull as carmilla was just sitting there enjoying it. at some point her hands moved from her armrests to your hips to keep you close and mostly, to keep her stable as she needed some grounding. you chuckled at the feeling and continued your ministrations actually enjoying the feeling of her hands on your hips.

suddenly, your fingers got stuck in her hair and you tried to get them out, gently pulling at her hair. you didn’t expect the hair to get so tangled around your finger but something you didn’t expect even more was the moan that left carmilla when you pulled at her hair. her hands gripped your hips a bit as the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard left her mouth. making both of your cheeks flush, making yours turn from red to maroon. carmilla opened her eyes immediately and looked up at you as her hands were still holding you still at your hips. you looked down at her as well, making eye contact and not controlling the smirk that creeped up onto your face.

“you liked that, huh?” you asked and carmilla looked away her cheeks blushing even more. you chuckled and pulled at her hair again, on purpose this time. she didn’t expect it again and let out a high-pitched groan, bitting down on her lip almost immediately to keep her sounds in.

you smirked wider and made it your mission to pull more of that sounds out from her. carmilla looked up at you again and noticed your smirk knowing well that you were planning something. her hands gripped your hips tighter and you bit your lip as well, fingers dipping into her hair more. carmilla smirked seeing your reaction and closed her legs a bit so that they’d keep you in place, as well as right between them.

she moved her head a bit so she was more looking up at you know, but you were still able to massage her scalp. she looked at you with a smirk and some kind of lazy eyes as the moves of your fingers were playing with her a bit. you chuckled looking down into her eyes and enjoying the feeling of her legs squeezing yours.

“i’m thinking of letting you give me an actual massage” she chuckled and you looked away from her chuckling nervously as well. carmilla licked her lips and gripped your hips tighter her huge hands covering most of your waist.

“if you want it, i’m down” you replied and went back to scratching at her scull. she chuckled but then it turned into a moan when you found another good spot on her head, yet this time she wasn’t hiding the sound anymore. she bit her lip again but continued on softly moaning when your hands kept on massaging her scalp.

after a moment of silence between you two, one of her hand started to slowly move up your body touching your stomach, then your ribs, just so softly tracing the underside of your boob and then going to rest on your shoulder. you bit your lip at the feel of her hand and tried to keep a straight face as you continued on massaging her. carmilla chuckled seeing your reaction as her other hand gripped your hip again. you let out a groan at the feeling and she chuckled, her legs squeezing you once again.

“are you alright?” she asked suddenly and your eyes immediately went to hers. “you look a bit… red” she added with a chuckle and you rolled your eyes playfully at her but when her finger started gently stroking your collarbone you let out a sigh.

“said the one who’s just as red as i am” you replied right back and she smirked enjoying the confidence you were giving her.

“you’re bold, mi cariño” she said and you felt your legs going weak at the spanish nickname. she noticed as well and licked her lips, enjoying her affect on you.

“you seem to like me being bold” you said pushing your fingers a bit harder as she groaned and nodded her head softly, her fingers still tracing your collarbone.

“you have no idea how much” she replied as her hand on your hip started to stroke your body there. you bit your lip again and started to grow more and more impatient. as was she, but you couldn’t have known that.

you softly moved your hands from her hair down to her face and cupped her cheeks looking into her eyes like searching for permission. she smirked seeing your gaze as her hand gripped your hip harder this time, as did her legs.

“what?” she asked knowing exactly what you were asking for not using your words. you rolled your eyes at her question and leaned down a bit your nose almost touching hers now.

“can i kiss you, beautiful?” you asked and carmilla felt her cheeks blush again at the end. she took a deep breath in looking deep into her eyes and stayed silent for a moment just enjoying how the question hang in the air while her hands were touching your body and yours were touching her face.

her gaze softened after a second and she nodded her head. “yes, yes you can” she said and you smiled at her, the smile being the most generous one she’s ever seen in hell.

you moved her face up a bit, touching her nose with yours and you giggled, carmilla closing her eyes at the sound and smiling wide herself. after a second you moved your head down not even by an inch and finally touched her lips with yours.

when your lips finally connected both of her hands gripped your body keeping you close to her as if she was afraid you’d run away. you smiled into the kiss and tried to make it more of a soft one yet the way she was gripping you and the way her legs were squeezing your figure have shown you that she wasn’t in a mood for a soft kiss.

before you could even react her hand on your shoulder moved to your neck and pulled you even more into her, deepening the kiss as she swiftly slipped her tongue into your mouth. you moaned into the kiss and she just smiled fighting with you for dominance which after a while you lost. carmilla moaned as well feeling you finally submissive to her and her hand left your neck going back to your shoulder again.

you moaned again and as you were about to pull away she moved her lips from yours down to your jaw and then to your neck, leaving trails and trails of wet and sloppy kisses there, literally marking you with her black lipstick. you kept on moaning softly, as your hands went back into her hair pulling at it slightly, showing how badly you were enjoying yourself.

carmilla smirked at your reaction as her hand on your hips gripped you again. her mouth suddenly sucked a hickey on your neck and you yelped slightly tugging at her hair more. she moaned at the feeling and started softly nibbling on your neck pulling more and more sounds out of you.

when you two were going at it you haven’t heard the door to her office open, at least not until you heard a thud of something falling down onto the ground. you two immediately opened your eyes and leaned away looking towards the door. you saw both of her daughters standing there and noticed the small pile of papers on the ground as the blonde one must’ve been the one to drop it.

carmilla looked at them sheepishly and chuckled uncomfortably, tying her hair back and trying to act as professional as she could. the two girls shared a look and one of them bent down to grab the papers. after that they both rolled their eyes, one of them more annoyed while the other more amused.

“we will come back later, mom” the blonde one shot as they both walked out of the office shutting the door after them with a rather loud thud.

carmilla started laughing when they left but it was more of an uncomfortable and uncontrollable laugh yet it didn’t stop you from laughing with her as well. her two daughters just caught her sucking your skin off in her office yet for some reason laughing was calming you two down.

after this, you knew that anytime zestial would be meeting with carmilla now you’d definitely come along and maybe… probably… surely you will be meeting up with her now even without your shared friend.

translations:

"what's the problem lief? wherefore art thee in such a sweaty haste?" - “what’s the problem my friend? why are you in such a hurry?”

"don't thee w'rry, whatev'r thee weareth shall beest fine. nay one actually pays attention to what we're wearing" - “don’t worry, whatever you wear will be fine. no one actually pays attention to what we’re wearing”

"and t won't affect carmilla's first impression of thee" - “and it won’t affect carmilla’s first impression of you”

"you'll beest fine. if 't be true you'll alloweth me i wouldst chooseth this f'r the present day." - “you’ll be fine. if you let me, i would choose this for today”

"carmilla shall appreciateth thy professionalism" - “carmilla will appreciate your professionalism”

"thee behold ravishing, the lady shall loveth to meeteth thee" - “you look ravishing, she will love to meet you”

"carmilla, this is the lady i did want thee to meeteth f'r so longeth" - “carmilla this is the friend i wanted you to meet for so long”

“sadly i can’t carmilla. ive did promise alast'r id seeth that gent aft'r the meeting. but y/n already did agree so thee won’t beest b'r'd” - sadly i can’t carmilla. ive promised alastor id see him after the meeting. but y/n already agreed so you won’t be bored

all translations from here!

[novasintheroom]

068. Lie

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.8k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: You ask about Vash's family. He asks you the same.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

“So where are you from?”

The question comes on a Tuesday afternoon, under the awning of a shop in a little town you haven’t found the name for yet. Vash is sat to your side, the creaking, rusted metal bench beneath. You pause in chewing your foil-wrapped burger. Vash’s eyes are on you, watching.

Not that there’s much to look at. You blink and shrug. “Podunk town like this. I can barely remember its name anymore, it’s been so long, and I’ve been on the move so much with the librarian stuff.” It’s a lie. You remember the name very well. But, taking another bite of burger, you’re not going to reveal it. Some old, old maps in the archives still have its name printed on them, and you won’t take the chance. “Where are you from?”

Vash laughs quietly, looking off to the side. “Same, I guess. I don’t remember the town, just my family.”

Well now, that’s a new topic. You lean back and look at him. “What was your family like?”

A solemn air surrounds him suddenly; his eyes crinkle, like he’s been pinched. You wonder if you’ve stepped over some line asking about it. But he opens his mouth and says, “I had…my adoptive mom, and my brother.” His hands come together before him, clasping. “My brother and I are twins.”

Are. Does that mean his brother is still alive? Funny that he’s never mentioned him or wanted to visit. You hum, feeling out how to approach this. “Adoptive?”

Vash nods. “Yeah. Our bio mom couldn’t really take care of us, so she – Rem, I mean – she took me and my brother in and raised us.”

A tomas-pulled cart trundles by, kicking up the dry dust of the hard road. You take another bite of your meal. Vash’s hands are empty. He said he wasn’t hungry. Your mind reels, wondering what to ask, how to make this a little less awkward. “What’s your brother’s name?”

Vash takes a breath in, then out. “Nai.”

You swallow and look at him odd. “’Nai?’” You pause. “Was it short for, like, ‘Niles?’”

He barks out a surprised laugh. “Uh, no, it was…just Nai.”

“Uh,” you realize you might be heading into ‘rude’ territory. You’ve only known Vash a few months; it isn’t time to make fun of his maybe-alive-maybe-dead brother’s name, “okay.”

“It’s no more weird than ‘Vash,’” he defends.

Your brows twitch up. “I didn’t say anything.”

“But you thought it,” he laughs.

You smile, hiding behind what’s left of your burger.

Vash brushes a hand through his hair, then turns to you. “What was your family like?” He nudges his shoulder against yours, and his strange, carefree smile is back.

Hm. Should have expected that question. Still, you feel a distant sadness in your chest. “I had a mom and dad. A sister. That was it, really.”

Vash waits for more. When nothing comes, he ducks closer. “What were they like?”

You sigh, finishing the last of your burger and crumpling the foil in your hands, letting them hang between your legs. “My mom was an amateur scientist, Dad was a farmer. My sister’s still alive, somewhere, but it’s been a few years since I’ve seen her, so that might be up in the air.” There. Half-truths are still truths, aren’t they?

He nods, accepting it all. “You ever want to go see her?”

Your lips thin. “Not really. We don’t…have the best relationship. Had a bit of a falling out. You know how it is.”

He sighs and puts his chin in his hand, leaning on a knee. “I do.” A forlorn, empty look overtakes his blues, something you can only see from the side with his glasses on.

Well, this isn’t fun. You feel bad, like you’re the one who brought down the mood. So, you try to fix it. You throw your foiled ball at him, hitting him in the cheek. “I know you’re hungry enough for a donut, right?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, but he hides it in a bewildered look. “Do you have any?”

“No, but we can go find some.”

He deliberates. You see it in his eyes. Do I want a donut? Do I want to spend the double dollars for one? Do I want to try and find some? Eventually, he agrees. “Alright. Yeah, let’s go find a donut.”

You slap your knees as you stand, bending down to pick up the foil ball and dispose of it properly. “Maybe we can check the post office while we do. See if there’s any packages need delivering.”

That perks him up more. Always looking for something to do, some way to help. Vash stands with you, and, following the dust of another wagon, you start your walk through town.

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Heaven Sent You to Me

Pairing: Apollo (who happens to look exactly like Orestes in Agora) x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CW: umm we all know Greek Mythology is like screwed up right? So there’s mean patriarchal men in this, a bit of power play between Apollo and reader, innocence!kink, oral (f!receiving), PinV sex, loss of virginity, talk of pregnancy

A/N: YES I AM AWARE THAT I SHOULD BE WRITING THE MORE THE MERRIER OR ANSWERING THE OTHER 87 ASKS IN MY INBOX BUT MY MUSE IS FICKLE OKAY? She said “Oscar as Apollo or no words at all” so here we are 🤷‍♀️ I watched The Two Faces of January last week and kept thinking that Oscar looks like a Greek god and @lovely-cryptid ‘s greek mythology AU lives rent free in my head and I couldn’t help myself…

Also the title is a lyric from an Ariana Grande because I have fully reverted ten years writing a Greek Mythology AU for my fandom du jour with a song lyric title bc I'm ~artsy~

You should have known he was a god. The way his fingers seemed to fly over the strings of his lyre. That enchanting, mellifluous voice. The smile that shone brighter than the sun itself. You’d encountered him in the woods behind the temple consecrated to him for Zeus’s sake.

Though who could blame you for assuming he was a mortal man? What would a god, an Olympian, want with you – an unimportant peasant in a small, unimportant village? He’d appeared to you as a mortal, a beautiful, alluring one, but a mortal. In fact, he’d been rather short in stature. Apollo’s affairs and exploits were famous, nay infamous, and even now it seemed impossible to reconcile the man who had spoken to you with such sweetness, who had wrung ebullient laughter, as well as previously unimaginable pleasure, from you was the mighty god you and your family had worshiped since time immemorial.

The revelation that you had lain with the god of light, music, medicine, the averter of evil, had been one that raced your head endlessly over the past few days, but it never failed to send a shiver down your spine. You instantly conjured the broad, chiseled planes of his body, so starkly contrasted with the gentle way he’d made love to you. When you revealed that you were a virgin, he was tender with you. Fragments of memories flashed in your mind’s eye but the one that oddly lingered the longest, and the most vividly, was the sweep of his thick, dark lashes across his high cheekbone when his eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy as he met his release. He had been the portrait of pleasure and beauty. You were truly a naive fool for not realizing the divinity in front of you in that moment.

“We must pray that you conceive,” your mother had declared. “You have already secured our family great status, but a demigod? Dmitri, can you imagine?”

Despite her praise, your cheeks burned in shame when she turned to your father for his reaction. You detested how openly and calculated this very intimate, typically private event in your life was being discussed. No one was supposed to know. Yet your sister had found the blood stains on your chiton while laundering it, and she’d coaxed the details out of you.

“Did it hurt?” she whispered.

“No.”

Her brows furrowed, “But you bled. It always hurts. It hurt my first time.”

“I…I don’t know. It didn’t. There was a–,” you blushed bright red and lowered your voice even further, “–a stretch, but it was pleasurable. I didn’t notice the blood until you did.”

Your sister was not willing to let it go. A trait among the women in your family that you’d failed to inherit.

“Well, how large was he?”

“Caris,” you urged her to stop. Yet, you knew your plea was useless, so you quickly approximated your lover’s size with your hands.

“Oh that definitely should have hurt!” Caris squawked in disbelief.

“I’m not talking about this anymore!” you proclaimed.

And that really should have been the end of it. Yet when you, Caris, and your parents made your weekly tribute at Apollo’s temple the following day the priests and acolytes were all abuzz. The god had appeared yesterday.

Initially, you had been as exhilarated as the rest of them, yet your stomach dropped and face blanched as the priest who had seen Apollo described him. Inky curls, olive skin, dark eyes with a strong brow and prominent nose. The god possessed an undoubtedly commanding presence, but there was a playfulness, an exuberance to him.

You and Caris traded bewildered glances. The priest’s depiction of Apollo matched up rather perfectly with Phoebus, the young man you’d stumbled across when you’d decided to take a walk through the forest rather than immediately returning home after your visit to the temple.

“It’s him,” she asserted lowly as you all headed back home.

“Shhhh,” you tried to speed up and away from her, a stupid idea because Caris had longer legs than you. When she inevitably caught up with you two seconds later, you insisted, “Don’t be silly.”

“Apollo is the god of healing and diseases. Is it really so far-fetched to believe that he could minimize any pain for his lovers? Especially the virgins?”

“Caris! Enough!”

The vehemence of your demand had caught your mother’s attention. While in the moment you were able to extinguish any suspicions she had, eventually Caris’s big mouth betrayed you. You had expected her to rage. To punish you. You, an unmarried, unbetrothed woman, had engaged in an activity that was the most important gift in your dowry to your future husband. You readied yourself for the insults and reproaches your mother would hurl at you for becoming damaged goods as a marriage prospect.

Yet, she all but kissed your feet when she found out. She rejoiced, then immediately marched you back to the temple to meet with the clerics. That was when the humiliation began. You were examined to ensure that you had in fact been deflowered. As if that hadn’t been degrading enough, you then were stripped and prayed over for hours, leering men begging Apollo for a sign to confirm that you were indeed the one the god had chosen to ravish. The manner in which the priests brusquely groped and prodded at you couldn’t have been more different than the way the deity himself had treated you, the god they claimed to serve.

When a sign didn’t immediately appear, doubt had set in. A mortal woman winning the attention of their patron god was the most momentous thing to happen in your village in generations, so if you were lying? Eternal shame. For you and your family.

You were kept overnight in the temple in a nicely appointed room, but forbidden to see anyone. You cried yourself to sleep, yet much to your relief, at dawn, Apollo provided the confirmation the priests needed and you were allowed to go. Of course, by the time you returned home, everyone knew.

After having a bit of time to contemplate it, you realized that it wasn't so much the fact that every single person in your life began treating you differently that unmoored and overwhelmed you, it was how swiftly it had all happened. It hadn’t been your choice.

You were required at the temple daily now for rituals. Thankfully, the fact you’d lain with a god disqualified you from becoming an acolyte, you were still needed for “veneration” purposes. You soon deduced this meant that the priests simply wanted to keep you around to curry favor with Apollo.

You hated it. You were the only one present in the chamber currently who had ever meaningfully interacted with the deity, yet you were reduced to a glorified altar ornament for their rites.

The only way to weather these hours-long sessions was to recall what brought you here in the first place. You retreated into your memory of that fateful afternoon when you met Apollo.

It’d been a beautiful day, and you were more at ease in nature. The hustle and bustle of the village and the imposing columns of the temple felt suffocating to you.

You’d heard him first before you saw him. The most beautiful music wafted toward you. You couldn’t have turned away if you’d wanted to. It was as if the mixture of the melody he played and the tune he sang had entranced your feet to carry you to the source of the sound. You hadn’t heard the song before, but inexplicably, it had an odd air of familiarity within your ears.

The sight of him initially seemed to be a joke. He had to be a mirage of some sort. A song so gorgeous coming from a man who was even more dazzling? Had you tripped and hit your head on your stroll from the temple? Surely you were dreaming.

His song ceased when he sensed your presence.

“I’m sorry,” your apology tumbled from your lips at once. “Please don’t stop on my account, I didn’t mean to–I’ll leave. I apologize for intruding.”

Before you could tuck and run, he called to you.

“Don’t! There’s no need.”

You froze, and slowly pivoted back to face him. He’d gotten closer to you, which was terrible for your clarity of mind. In addition to his good looks, he radiated an irresistible air of power, and his proximity only compelled you to submit to it more.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, the man before you turned boyish and shy before he queried, “Would you like to hear more?”

“Please.”

It was the first time you were treated to his smile. It reduced you to a blushing fool with a startling amount of efficiency.

He motioned to a nearby boulder for you to take a seat on. You obeyed instantly. He took his place on a nearby log and resumed plucking at his lyre.

His song was haunting, beguiling, and hopeful all at once. His voice lilted over the lyre’s strings. He sang in a language you didn’t understand, and couldn’t begin to identify, but you were captivated all the same.

You were slightly embarrassed, though not at all surprised, that there were tears staining your cheeks when he concluded.

He grinned dopily when he saw you dabbing at your eyes, “That bad, huh?’

“Stop,” You chuckled through your tears. “You have a gift.”

He shrugged off your compliment with a frustrating amount of nonchalance.

You needed to know more about this mysterious man. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m merely passing through.”

“Are you a minstrel then?”

He smirked as if you’d said something inadvertently humorous to him. “I suppose you could call me that.”

“Well, what should I call you then?”

“Phoebus.”

“Have you traveled much, Phoebus?” you inquired.

“I have.”

“Could you tell me about the places you’ve been? I’ve never left this utterly boring village.”

“I will, if you tell me what keeps you here. Is it your village’s association with the deity?”

You cocked your head in confusion. It was an odd question to you. You strove to answer diplomatically, “While I wouldn’t say that Apollo is driving me away, I wouldn't say he’s keeping me here either.”

Again, that secretive little smirk tugged at the corners of Phoebus’s quite luscious mouth. “I see. He’s vastly overrated isn’t he?”

“Oh I wouldn’t go so far to say that!” you attempt to course-correct. “We’re blessed with his patronage.”

A mischievous glint danced behind Phoebus’s dark, magnetic eyes. “Say no more. Now, where do you want to hear about first?”

He proceeded to regale you with tales of the most wondrous places. Of seas and mountains and monsters and the divine. You got lost within his stories. You wished you could live within them.

It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to accompany him on a stroll when he suggested it. Typically warnings would blare in your head - you must not stray any further with this handsome stranger, he could sully you, or worse, harm you, but you felt entirely safe with Phoebus. At the time, it had been impossible to put your finger on why you’d felt so. Now, it was abundantly clear: you’d been in the presence of one of the most powerful creatures in all of existence. Still, he chatted and wandered with you in a remarkably similar manner to mortal men your age.

When you two came across a river and Phoebus proposed a swim, your cheeks had burned with sheepishness. He hadn’t mocked or derided you, he simply offered to turn away while you undressed and submerged yourself into the water to afford you some modesty. However, Phoebus hadn’t been quite as bashful as you had been when disrobing. In fact, the flourish with which he all but flung off his chiton led you to believe he wanted you to watch him, rather than avert your eyes like you immediately did once you realized what he was doing. You hadn’t been quick enough however, and had caught a delectable glimpse of his toned chest, thick thighs, and what you deduced was a well-endowed groin.

You only dared look back up when you heard the splash signaling his entrance into the river. He resurfaced with his black curls matted and slicked back against his skull, an impish grin on his lips. He reached for you and you floated to him without hesitation. The feel of his bare skin against yours was intoxicating.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, even though you two were the only people around for at least a mile.

“You may,” you granted him permission in a similarly hushed tone.

Your lips drifted together, and then it was as if you had become a feral animal let out of its cage. You couldn’t get enough. Your lips moved against his ravenously, your legs wrapping around his torso on instinct when he moved toward the river’s bank. While the press of his arousal against your hip was certainly a foreign sensation, you weren’t afraid. He deposited you on the warm silt for a moment before retrieving your tunic and laying it under you, a makeshift bed for what was about to come.

It was then that you confessed. You didn’t know what to expect once the words left your mouth - judgment, indifference, a perverse excitement - but Phoebus smiled softly, and nodded his head, as if he’d expected it.

“Then I shall show you how beautiful pleasure can be,” he vowed.

He took his time, dipping his head between your breasts to mouth at your pert nipples, then lower to between your legs. When the tip of his nose drew a featherlight line along the seam of your sex, you gasped. You may have been a virgin, but you weren't totally naive. Caris had been betrothed recently and regaled you constantly about her rendezvous with her soon-to-be husband, but she had never mentioned this. It was as if Phoebus was sending you flying through the clouds, straight to Olympus, with only his tongue. Your fingers had wound into his damp curls to hold on for dear life as you fell apart for him.

It wasn’t until your pleasure crested that he slid a thick, suspiciously uncalloused finger through your folds and pressed it inside. He cooed comforts to you when you tightened around him, your body’s first reaction to try and expel the intrusion. One digit became two, and after a while, he guided your hand to manhood, showing you how to grip him, coaxing and coaching you on how to bring him back to hardness.

Caris had always advised you to shut your eyes and not to look at a man’s member for too long, since it wasn’t the most pleasant of sights. She was wrong in this instance. Every bit of Phoebus was mesmerizing, and his erect cock was no different from the rest of him. His encouragements echoed in your ears as if he was speaking them to you in the present.

“Yes, that’s it sunshine,” he’d panted, “You can grip me tighter, oh, that is lovely. You are a fast learner, aren’t you? I’m going to make you feel so very good.”

Becoming one had been the most intense sensation you had ever endured. It was all too much, yet you wanted more. You keened when Phoebus had draped your legs over his broad shoulders to penetrate you deeper, your skin suddenly feeling too tight. It was too much, it was too much, you’d chanted to yourself. Phoebus’s girth was unrelenting, but at the same time you never wanted it to end.

Your lover was an attuned one, so when he observed that the position was perhaps too vigorous for his little virgin, he’d rolled you over so you were straddling his ample hips and speared on his desire.

“Here, grasp onto my shoulders,” he instructed you, “so you can control the depth and the pace, yes?”

Phoebus had long fucked the words out of you, so your reply came as a breathless, frantic nod. You wished to thank him, truly, you couldn’t have asked for a more considerate man to share this with for the first time. Instead, you did as he said and found a tempo and pattern of undulating your hips against his that suited you.

Phoebus couldn’t help himself, he began meeting your pelvis, thrusting up into you. You howled in pleasure, and his gaze instantly searched out yours to confirm those were good sounds instead of pained ones. He didn’t look away once he had found the answer he was hoping for in your eyes. Those deep brown irises had bore into yours, and the longer you looked into them, the more convinced you were they held galaxies.

You were so caught up in Phoebus’s gaze that you didn’t notice he’d snuck a hand in between your bodies until the pad of his finger connected with your sensitive bud.

“There you go sunshine, let go for me, you can let go.”

You felt as if you were going to explode out of your body as Phoebus continued to repeat those sweet-nothings as if they were a prayer.

“Let go for me darling, I know you can, let go–”

“You may go.”

The high priest's imperious tone snapped you out of your reverie. No longer were you in the forest with Phoe–Apollo, but rather the towering temple consecrated to him. Your relief that you could leave superseded your annoyance at being interrupted. You desperately needed to return to the privacy of your bedroom for a bit of self-relief.

Perhaps it was because you were in such a rush that you didn’t initially notice him as you flew out of the side entrance of the temple. It was his voice that stopped you.

“You’re not with child.”

“Holy Hera! You frightened me!” You put a hand to your chest to calm your beating heart.

“So you can stop fretting." Clearly, Apollo wasn’t particularly remorseful about the scare he'd given you. "Though to be honest, I’m surprised you’re relieved. Most women, beings far more divine than yourself, are usually thrilled to carry my offspring. They clamber for the chance and flaunt their bellies if they conceive.”

“I…I could not withstand the attention, I do not think. Nor the pomp and the responsibility.”

“The priests would help with the burden.”

“Yes but the child’s father wouldn’t,” you pointed out. “As great an honor to mother a demigod would be, I would prefer a…someone to experience it all with.”

Apollo nodded. “That I could not give you.”

“I know,” There was no resentment or disappointment in your voice. “I would never expect you to.”

“That must be why I yearn for you still,” Apollo mused, “why I cannot stay away.”

“I...my family is expecting me.”

Apollo was not accustomed to being refused. He fixed you with a look of amused incredulity after you spoke.

“I do not want them to know. Or anyone for that matter.” You realized how ungrateful you sounded. To spurn a god was to write your own death sentence. “Not that I don’t desire you, or that I wish to disregard your desires–”

“You want me all to yourself.” When you opened your mouth to amend his statement, he stopped you. “It’s alright. I want you all to myself too.”

“You have me,” you averred. “However, when the priests and my mother get involved…”

“I understand. I do not wish for fanfare either.” He pulled you close to him. Your breath hitched at the press of his hardness into your hip through both of your chitons.

Your mouths were millimeters apart. Instead of closing the distance, you asked, “Why did you tell me a false name when we first met?”

He smiled that bright, beatific grin that warmed you from the inside out. “I suppose for the same reason that you want to keep this a secret. If you believe your family is meddling, then mine is…”

Apollo didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand. You giggled, a sound he much enjoyed. At last, he captured your lips with his. Kissing Apollo melted you, you became a molten, liquid being when he pressed his lips to yours.

As transcendent as the kiss was, the god could feel that you were holding back. “What’s wrong, sunshine?”

You were not proud of the flip your stomach did at the pet name. Once you regained control of yourself, you replied, “Nothing, nothing at all. Forgive me.”

“Don’t apologize, simply tell me what is bothering you,” he countered, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

When you hesitated, his fingers tilted your head up so your eyes met. “I won’t be angry.”

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your complaint. It was funny, you’d spent your entire life beseeching Apollo for this or that in the temple, yet when he was standing right in front of you, eager to know what troubled you, you couldn’t find the words.

“Why me?” It was a deflection from Apollo’s question, but still a valid inquiry.

He chuckled. “You’re asking me to apply logic to attraction, something inherently instinctual,” Apollo pointed out. “Though if I had to try to put reasoning to it, I would say it was because you are kind, beautiful, you have a tight, juicy little cunt…” he cupped your mound to demonstrate his point. You gasped at the contact. “...and when I’m with you, I feel the most like a mortal that I've felt in decades.”

Mortal? Was that a bad thing? Were you unintentionally insulting the deity?

Apollo was quick to assuage you, “I enjoy it, sunshine. The immediacy, the urgency. It’s refreshing. You’re refreshing.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. You sought to return his kind words but what was there to say? It was obvious why a mortal such as yourself would fall for a god.

“Now, I won’t ask again. What vexes you?��

“I…after we…our first meeting,” you struggled to select the right words, “the priests wanted to corroborate that we’d lain together, and their methods were…they were not very gentle.”

Your lover’s eyes turned stormy. No sooner had you told him did a crack sound from what you guessed was inside the temple.

“No, please! Don’t hurt anyone!” you begged him just as swiftly.

Apollo’s face softened slightly. “Even after they violated you, you show them compassion. I swear to you I won’t, however, I must ensure that you, and by extension, myself are treated with respect.”

“Of course,” you acquiesced. Gods were not known for their mercy, so the fact he was willing to compromise with you at all was a victory.

Apollo pulled you into another kiss that stole your breath. “If I cannot have you now…then tonight. When the moon peaks in the sky.”

“How will I find you?”

A smirk played across his lips. “Don’t fret, sunshine. I shall ensure it.”

A/N: Sooooo…what do we think?! 🫣 A little more flowery than my usual but I just had too much fun with this and now I have ideas for a few installments 🤦‍♀️

READ PART TWO

Tagging a few folks who might be interested:

@bitch4marvel @luciannadraven33 @oof-its-roobi @twwcs, @ninebluehearts @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction , @romanarose @dameronscopilot

[marymary-diva17]

A princess duty to her home and people

fire lord ozai x reader

Even living in the fire nation didn't protect a person from the effect of the very long war and the fire lords that ruled the nation. There was always duty to the nation and duty to family. The fire nation had been at war with three other nations, not that many people form the fire nation approved of the war and which to stay out of the control of fire lord war, but there are times when lucky is not on your side. A person love their family and nation, but what happens when those how rule the nation the care for are coming for the family they love even more.

Y/n " ursa" you are looking for your sister she had ran off from home after meeting with your parents, the village was uneasy as everyone was on their toes as the fire lord azulan and his son ozai had come for visit. They had stopped by your house and spoke with your parents once they left, your parents soon spoke with your eldest sister ursa. She had soon elf home and seem to be rush about something, she didn't even stop.

Ursa " y/n" you had found your sister she was with the man she loves dearly Ikem. They were holding each other both seem uneasy about something.

y/n " ursa what the matter you ran off and ignored mom calls for you, what happened in the home"

Ikem " it not good"

y/n " what tell me what happened"

Ursa " the fire lord had proposed a marriage between his youngest son and our family"

y/n " what"

ursa " mother and father couldn't regret the off he the fire lord" your family had lived in this village all their lives avoiding the fire lord, due to your family tree leading to an former avatar.

Ikem " we can run away get away from here before they return and the wedding day"

ursa " no Ikem he will come after the whole village and there are families here, they are innocent he will not stop at anything"

ikem " I wont let him take you ursa I love you"

ursa " I love you" Your sister and Ikem had a beautiful relationship a relationship you wish to have, and he had asked her to be his wife. Everyone was happy for the young couple as they knew they are perfect for each other, and not it seems like they are going to be ripped apart.

ursa " i have to marry the fire lord son for te safety of my family, you, and everyone else here I can't let harm come to anyone here"

Ikem " no you can't ursa there most be another way"

ursa " I don't know I don't want to leave this life"

y/n " I have a plan"

ikem " what the plan "

y/n " if I tell you no most stop this plan you or my sister, and our parents anyone else here"

ursa " what are you planning to do" you soon looked at your sister and ikem and told them, your plan they looked at your shocked as the word left your mouth. There was not stopping you as your were doing this for the duty of your family and village, you are going to keep everyone safe.

Many days later

father " y/n you don't have to do this we can do something else"

y/n "no father I will not let nay harm come to our family or the village, this has to be done it will be okay"

mother "my daughter"

y/n " it will be okay mother you don't need to cry"

ursa " sister please let me ..."

y/n " no you deserve happiness and your happiness is with ikem"

villager " they are coming the royal carriage is coming" the villagers had came out to see royal carriage coming with all the soldiers and everything else. Everyone soon bowed as the carriage was coming by and soon it had stopped by your home, soon the fire lord and his son stepped out.

father " welcome back fire lord azulzon"

azulon " hello I came here to get may son bride and bring her to the capital with us, the wedding will happen in couple days your family will be invited"

father " yes daughter"

y/n " hello fire lord azulon and prince ozai I'm y/n the other daughter of the family and the bride to be"

ozai " father"

fire lord azulon " raise up your face young lady" you soon looked at them.

fire lord azulon " she beautiful you have been blessed with beautiful daughters"

father "thank you"

ozai " hello"

y/n " hello my prince I hope I can be a perfect wife to you"

ozai " father I think she will be a perfect bride for me"

azulon " yes she will be perfect my son well it official in days time the wedding will be held, in honor of my son and his future bride and fur princess y/n" There was no going back you had left the day heading towards the capital, you will see your family in couple day on your wedding.

ursa " thank you sister you are beautiful looking bride"

y/n " thank you I'm sorry I missed your wedding"

ursa " it okay I and ikem are happy to be here and we are happy for what you did for us"

ikem " yes thank you"

y/n " I will do it again" Ursa and ikem soon hugged you it was a beautiful moment, spending some time with your family made you happy. It was unknown to you that this will be the last time you will seem them for maybe forever or ever long time.

ozai " enjoy your time with your family my wife it might be along time since you see them again"

y/n " yes my husband"

ursa " sister I hope you do well here and maybe when you have kids we can meet them, and maybe our kids will have a strong bond like we do"

y/n " yes I hope so as well"

ikem " please write to us and when holiday comes we can see each other here or at home"

y/n " yes please take care both of you and look after our families and the village as well" ikem and ursa nodded their heads, at the end of celebration your hugged your family goodbye one last time. This is your duty for your family and village, you had taken the journey of marriage in hopes it will keep everyone else you love from home safe and sound. After the wedding your life did change but your duty had expended as well, as you welcome new people into your life that you will care for and love. Making sure they stay safe and sound from any harm that will come to them, along with make sure they live good lives and that this war will end before it starts effecting anymore lives as it has done and will do in the future.

[seijorhi]

Etched in Red: Rust (Part One)

Event Masterlist

Vash the Stampede x female reader

Part Two

w.c 1.4k

tw: yandere themes, canon-typical violence and death, kidnapping

There’s an old earth saying about the best way to boil a frog.

If the water’s already boiling and you drop the frog right in, it hops right out. The key, or so the story says, is to start with tepid water, then turn the heat up slowly, little by little. The poor frog, relaxed by the warming water, won’t make a fuss when the temperature starts to rise, won’t leap from the water.

Blind to the danger, that frog will sit calm and placid, letting itself steadily be boiled alive. 

Has the water always been this warm?

You stare, empty eyed at the wreckage of the homestead before you. The broken bodies Wolfwood’s diligently dragging off god knows where to perform whatever rites he thinks are necessary. Smoke and the scent of gunpowder and blood linger in the air you breathe, you can taste it on your tongue.

But it’s white noise in the background. You keep thinking of the man you saw.

Well, maybe ‘man’ isn’t the right word. Half his face was cybernetic, his body twisted and warped into a weapon that mercilessly ripped through that family. You don’t doubt his humanity because of his body, you doubt it because there was nothing in his eyes. Not anger or rage, not glee or regret. 

He was nothing but a tool, mindless to all but his master’s whims.

“I’m sorry.”

The words wash over you, but the blond’s touch is warm, solid as he pulls you into his chest, rests his cheek against the crown of your head and holds you, his own cybernetic arm rubbing soothingly at your back.

Why he’s apologising, you’re not entirely sure. For not getting there in time to stop it? Because it happened at all?

This isn’t his fault. 

Either way, you let your arms curl loosely around his waist and bury yourself in him, eyes welling up with tears you’re sick of shedding. “I have to get her back, Vash,” you mumble.

For weeks now, you’ve imagined it. All the terrible fates that might’ve met your sister at the hands of Knives Millions. Dead. Locked in some dungeon somewhere, rotting away. Tortured. Ripped apart. Forced into servitude, humiliated, broken, beaten–

Your stomach clenches, threatening to upheave.

Experimented on. 

“I need her back.”

The broad palm stroking along your spine falters, and Vash pulls back enough to meet your watery gaze. Behind his glasses, pools of impossible blue shine with concern, a flicker of something else – guilt, maybe? – bleeding through, even as he paints a small, thin smile across his face, “Hey, you promised me you weren’t gonna think like that anymore. Your sister… he won’t hurt her.”

“Stop saying that!”

Snapping at him won’t solve anything, you can’t help it though. Whatever this spiral is that you’re caught in, it has its claws in you, dragging you down into a pit of hysteria. Your breath comes quick, choppy, and all of a sudden you can’t bear his hands on you – you shove at him, stumbling back with a shuddering gasp.

“He hates us, Vash! He hates humans. I watched him kill our parents, he cut them to pieces, like they were nothing, less than dirt, and for what? Why?! And that– that thing!” you gesture wildly in the direction the gunman disappeared off to. “Do you think whoever he was, he signed up for that? Is that the best I can hope for? That if my sister hasn’t already been eviscerated, maybe he’ll lay her down on a table, slice away at her until nothing’s left but metal and blind obedience to a madman, until she’s just another tool for him to–”

You don’t get to finish the thought, Vash quick to close the distance between you, seizing your violently trembling hands in his, holding them up between you. “He won’t,” he vows. “I need you to believe me, Nai isn’t hurting her. He wouldn’t.”

But you’re too far gone for soft platitudes. You shake your head, only half aware that you’re moving at all, “You don’t know that, you can’t–” your voice cracks, another sob threatening to burst. 

You hate that you’re doing this here, now; crying for your stolen sister on the site of another bloody, brutal massacre. The only mercy in this is that Wolfwood’s still off dealing with the bodies. Vash bearing witness is bad enough, you don’t think you can handle anyone else seeing you this brittle.

With a wounded noise, he lets one of your hands slip from his to brush at your tears with a gentleness that steals your breath. “Don’t cry, angel. I promise you, she’s not being hurt. Nai won’t let anything happen to her.”

A promise.

Vash promised weeks ago, earnesty dripping from every word, that he’d help you find and free your sister. At the time, you could’ve kissed him, bowed at his feet, given him anything in your power to give. No else was offering. No one else cared about some stupid girl from a nowhere town, kidnapped by a vicious egomaniac bent on eradicating humanity. 

(You swore to yourself, too, that you wouldn’t hold it against him that he called that monster brother).

You trusted him then, the weight of that promise settling into your soul like a brand. Vash would help bring her home, he promised.

Vash, cradling your tear-stained cheek, peers down at you with that same striking intensity, like he’s willing you to believe they’re not throw-away words to comfort you, he means them. Your sister hasn’t been harmed. She won’t be.

Which makes you wonder, a cold thread of unease slithering down your spine, how he can promise something like that. 

“… Vash, how could you possibly know that for sure?” you whisper, the sound carrying in the too quiet stillness of the homestead.

The hand you squeeze isn’t made of flesh, blood and bone – you barely notice, searching Vash’s face in turn, praying to yourself that just this once, his words are empty.

The soft, pink flush that paints his cheeks quickly turns those hopes to ash and dust.

And perhaps he senses that too, because the moment you try to step back, put a little distance between you so you can breathe, that grip of his becomes iron. 

Vash wets his lips and swallows, a shallow bobbing of his throat, “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not. I’d never–” he breaks off with a strangled sounding huff, his fingers flexing around your wrist. He’s always been bright, excitable. Sunshine on a summer’s day.

Now he just looks manic. Eyes too bright, too wide. A jitteriness that sets you on edge. 

“The plan was to get her out, like I promised. It’d be quicker if it was just me, I didn’t want– I couldn’t risk anything happening to you if I brought you with me. It’d kill me. Kill me. But Nai, he– she’s important to him, I think. He needs her.” Vash frowns, “I swear I was gonna bring her back to you like I promised, that’s the only reason I went, and I would’ve, you know I would’ve if I thought for a moment she was in any danger, but…”

“You saw her?”

With those sad, puppy-dog eyes fixed on you, he nods. 

Something painful wrenches in your chest at the admission, and with a sharp tug to your wrist, Vash is there, his forehead pressed against yours, murmuring near frantic reassurances – excuses – as though there won’t be bruises left in his wake.

He saw her.

Vash was there, he saw her and he left her. 

Bitterness cleaves at you. Betrayal. Heartbreak. Agony.

You’re a fool. 

“Let go of me.” Your voice is robotic, a cold contrast to the roaring mess of emotions in your head.

If Vash hears you, he gives no indication. There’s not enough air in the room, every inch of it tainted by Vash clutching you closer, holding you tighter. Like he senses that if he loosens his grip, even for a second, you’ll disappear altogether. 

“Let go of me… Vash, let me go! LET ME GO!”

You’re shrieking, pushing and shoving at him, beating your fists against his chest, and Vash looks halfway to distraught as, for a split second, his eyes flicker to focus on something just behind you. “I’m sorry, angel. I’ll make it up to you.”

The sudden, blinding burst of pain at the back of your skull comes out of nowhere. Drops you cold to the ground, and as the darkness swallows you up whole, you hear him speak again, that broken, mournful tone that tears at your heartstrings. 

“I’m sorry.”

Close your eyes, little frog. Drift off. The water’s nice and toasty.

[whirlwindimagines]

Hi how are you? I hope youre ok. i love youre blog and wanted to ask if you could write nightmare comfort because i have them like every night and they end in really bad panic attacks i just need comfort 🥲

With wolfwood and vash and if you want to million knives

you dont have to.

have a nice day <3

btw sorry for my bad englisch 😅

Hi! I’m doing well, just trying to get through the week lol I’m sorry for your nightmares! That’s no fun, I hope this is nice and comforting. And I low key been wanting to write for Million Knives because he’s usually my type lol pretty, psycho, mass murderer ya know the usual type! I'm not kidding I'm a Dabi apologist; don't think I won't turn into a Knives’ one. Man, I really do be exposing myself on this blog. Also, this is my first time writing for Knives so apologies, also of course his part was the longest. 

'Sweet dreams are made of this'

Vash, Nichalous D Wolfwood, and Million Knives (separate) comforting you after a nightmare.

Vash: 

You awoke with a silent scream, for a second you didn't recognize where you were your heart still racing. Then it was slowly coming back to you, looking around you noticed you were in a hotel room, that’s right the group had stopped at the little motel for the night. You glanced over beside you, and let out a sigh of relief.

And Vash was right there, sound asleep, his back facing you. Placing a hand over your heart, you were glad you didn't wake him God knew he needed his sleep, the man was usually a light sleeper, but he admitted one night that when he slept in a bed with you, he was more content. It was sweet and definitely didn't make your heart race. 

You lay back down, everything is fine, you are safe, Vash is safe and you are sure the others are fine in their own rooms. Okay back to bed, you don't know how long you lay there staring up at the ceiling. With a sigh you turn towards Vash, you don't really want to wake him for such a silly reason.

Reaching your hand out slowly you grip the back of his shirt between his shoulder blades. You call his name; your heart skips a beat as he stirs. “What is it?” he says with a yawn, your voice catching in your throat embarrassed. “Nothing sorry just go back to sleep.” You say quickly, dropping your hand. “Hey wait.” he shuffles around to face you; he looks tired but his gaze is focused on you. You blush, “I had a nightmare.” You admitted shyly, Vash reaches out a hand and rest it against your cheek. “Come here.” you don't need to be told twice, you moved forward wrapping your arms around Vash as his own arms settle around you. You could hear his heartbeat from where your head lay on his chest, slow, steady, safe. 

Vash ran his fingers through your hair, and you were glad he wasn’t asking any questions you didn’t want to talk about it anyway. Feeling safe and protected, you relaxed even more into his hold. You knew sleep would come much easier now, you smiled when you felt Vash press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Everything would be fine now.

Wolfwood:

“Fuck!” You awoke sharply, your hands going to your head. You forced yourself to breathe, the night air was cool against your skin and it felt good. You settled back on your back looking up at the stars.

You were shaking, placing your hands on your face you tried to control your breathing. You sigh your probably not going to get any more sleep. Placing your hands at your side you watch the sky, glancing over at your companion you are surprised to see Wolfwood awake and watching the stars. 

“You good?” His voice startles you, at first you are speechless, but he turns to look at you with a raised brow. You sigh, “it’s stupid, just go back to sleep.” You say your tone was dismissive, it was silly. The nightmares were annoying at this point. “Sorry I woke you.” Turning on your side in the sleeping bag, you force your eyes close. 

Wolfwood scoffs at you, hearing him shuffle around a bit. “You didn’t wake me, get up.” He shoves your shoulder; you roll your eyes sitting up and turning to him. Your face flushed he’s way too close, and you lean back a bit. “Seriously Nico it was nothing.” You don’t want to talk about this, you watch him light a smoke. He passes you one, and with a sigh you take it. He offers you a light, but you don’t take it just holding the unlit cigarette between your fingers.

The two of sitting in silence, honestly you're glad for this. He doesn’t ask you any questions, “thanks.” You whisper, too shy to look at him. He chuckles, “for what?” your gaze softens as you look at him, you rest your arms over your knees and let out a light laugh.

“For being here.” You smirk, when he looks away stubbing out the cigarette in the sand. You watch the tips of his ears turn red; Nicholas was always nervous when you went soft on him. But you loved making him blush, he flustered you so much it was only fair to return the favor.

Scooting closer to the man, you lean your head on his shoulder. Sitting right beside him now, Wolfwood doesn’t say anything. He also doesn’t look at you as he lifts an arm to wrap around your shoulders to bring you to his side. You close your eyes smiling contently, there is no place you’d rather be. 

Million Knives:

The screaming you realize is your own voice, you slap your hands over your mouth to cut the sound your heart racing it feels like it's going to burst from your chest. The silence in your room is loud, only your rapid heartbeat and harsh breaths fill the space. Fuck you briefly wonder if you woke anyone up, you hope not… some of the others had quite the temper. 

With a sigh, you force yourself out of the bed, and out of your room it's too suffocating. With no real destination in mind, you let your hand trail on the wall as you walk down the pristine hallway. As you continue to walk that’s when you hear the first sounds of a piano. The song is familiar of course, and you know who is playing. 

You wonder if you should continue, interrupting Knives could be a death sentence for some. But the thought of going back to bed, to sleep, makes your stomach twist painfully. So, you continue trying not to think too hard when you step into the grand room. The music is louder here of course, now that you’ve reached its source. 

Standing there watching, you’re sure he already knows you are there. But you don't speak out of turn, “What.” his voice is curt, but not angry you take it as a sign to continue. “I had a nightmare, and I heard you playing.” you found being honest, and blunt with Knives’ was easier. He hated when people skirt around their words, you’re a little embarrassed about what you admitted to, but your heart skips a beat when he gestures you over with a wave of his hand. 

Approaching carefully, you stand off to the side he removes his hood your blood runs cold when he looks at you with a sly grin, “A nightmare?” he coos it at you mockingly, this was a bad idea you should have turned around, the moment you heard the keys of the piano. You nod, watching as he pats the bench, you know he's telling you to sit not asking. 

You do, trying not to show any emotion, you couldn't ever get a read on him, A part of you knew you should be afraid, and maybe the rational side of you was, but right now? You were tired. He looks at you expecting an answer, “Yes, I get them often.” you meet his gaze shyly, and he lets out a ‘hum’ turning back to the keys and resting his hands on them not playing. “You humans fear so easily, even in sleep you can't escape it.” 

Your hands clench in your lap, Knives begin to play now a softer melody one you haven't heard, you look at him in surprise but his face gives nothing away. The tune is comforting, and you can feel it lulling you to sleep. “Go ahead sleep, nothing will harm you here.” Not thinking of the consequences, you lean your head on Knives shoulder, he continues playing as the song lulls you to sleep.

[drunkenlionwrites]

Prince!Vash x Knight reader. The beginning. (Royal AU)

Warnings: none, sfw, fem! reader

Imagine being a middle child growing up in a minor noble family. With an older brother, who you admire deeply and trying to repeat everything after him: taking a liking to swordsmanship, fighting and being a wild child of a family.

Having been accepted the way you are and doted upon by your mother and father, but still being reminded of your future duties and a role in society, you’ll have to accept. Trying to indulge in your hobbies and spar with your brother’s teacher and the soldiers who served your family while you still can.

That is, until your younger sister is born – and oh god, to your and your parents’ happiness she’s a complete opposite of you. An angelic child with sweet disposition and zero interest in something that’s not suitable for a young lady. This makes you love your sister more and more as she grows up. Not that you wouldn’t love her without your little ulterior reason.

That’s when your family cuts you a slack now that they have your sister to marry off (happily, as your both parents hope) to another family and strengthen your family’s position in the tumultuous life of the nobility intrigues.

Since that you’ve been invested in your skills much more at the young age of 12, honing your swordsmanship and now being able to even disarm your brother time after time to his amusement.

Women being knighted or at least serving in the army is not unheard of, but not a common affair, still being frowned upon by some people. No less lethal in most cases, so your parents just hope that your desires change as you age, even though your already calloused hands and sting built say otherwise.

You’ve never thought deeply about what you’re going to apply your skills to, still possessing the child’s naivete and just enjoying your childhood.

That is, until you’re old enough to attend a court with your parents at a social gathering, when turning fourteen. Seeing the Queen and two princes, though not as inspired of the event as your younger sister that’s pouting at you and your parents that she’s to stay home till she’s grown up to be able to.

Seeing the Queen emerging down the stairs to take a seat at her throne, accompanied by her two sons – crown prince Nai and his younger brother prince Vash, you’re still interested to take a good look at the royals, also chanting the words you need to say after being officially presented at the court the first time, mentally bringing up the correct way of bowing in front of them.

Seeing the dignified walk and impeccable posture of Nai, who looks the age of your brother, you later dart your eyes to his younger brother following his family sheepishly with an uneasy smile on his face. ‘It’s also his first time.’ Your father informed you before coming to the palace. So you take relief in fact that you’re not the only one feeling the unease at this gathering.

That’s when you see the young prince stumbling down, being supported by his older brother, who’s been bearing a slightly condescending smile the whole time, followed by barely audible murmurs, and suppressed smiles of all the observants.

Seeing the blush and an awkward laugh from the boy, something clicks inside of you, and you think to yourself: “That’s it. That’s what I want to protect.”

Heeey I'm returning back to writing and want to start with more headcanons of my silly little Royal AU. Sorry these headcanons are more reader-centric but I'm cooking a multichapter fic in the AU and just have a lot going on in my head. Want to share the "how it all started" so it is more from a reader's perspective this time.

[targaryenluvs]

the last one standing

pairings: robb stark x fem!targaryen!reader, aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader

summary: the one where you’re set to marry your younger brother, aemond. and the night beforehand you run away, a last moment of freedom before you’re life is gone. but end up in a not-so foreign land where you discover the ending of the House of the Dragon. and maybe fall in love along the way.

warnings: none

a/n: i literally cleaned out my drafts and found the part two of this, just uploaded!!

The fifth moon. The wedding was set in stone and the prospect of marriage loomed over your head everywhere you went. The small folk congratulated you wherever you went. You were known for your own kind nature, connecting with the people of Kings Landing whenever the opportunity showed.

“Y/n the Kind”, or “The Diamond of the Realm”, these were two of many names you’d taken under your wing. When word of your marriage reached the ears of the people of Westeros many people decreed it unlawful, per usual, but most were entirely shocked. Why would such a sweet hearted girl be wed to a cold-hearted man?

Since your early years you managed to gather plenty of suitors. Most started enthralled with the idea of courting, (and eventually marrying) The Diamond of The Realm, but most actually ended up befriended by you. As you liked to point out to your mother as many a chance as you received, “These men come along seeking a wife in me, most end up leaving with a trusted friend. I do not know how exactly, but I suppose my kind nature is so sweet they see me as a confidante, a sister.” Which your mother was not happy to hear, but never questioned you. “Well you wouldn’t exactly scare them away as Rhaenyra tried in her years. Perhaps we need to find someone more durable, strong-headed.”

And that person just so happened to take shape in your younger brother; Aemond.

As children you got along quite well. Helaena and Aegon were always to be set together, as were the two of you; but you were always opposed to the idea. You were 4 years his senior, and had offered the idea of yourself and your twin brother’s marriage. But deep down you knew you wished for anything but, as did Aegon. You weren’t particularly close as children to anyone of your three brothers. Helaena had common interest with you, but you always were closer with Rhanyra’s children, Jace and Luke.

Your relationship was fine, until Laena Velaryon’s passing, and the fight of Prince and Princesses, as you had dubbed it. You had defended Luke’s actions in front of everyone claiming self defence, Alicent was confused, Aegon amused and Aemond disheartened. Was he that annoying? His own sister, nay intended, finds their bastard cousins more so family then himself?

Afterwards you never really interacted with Aemond, he kept to himself, grew and grew, trained and became a man. A Prince. Whilst you learned and taught, drunk your feelings for a period of time with Aegon and drowned in suitors.

As you gazed into the starry night above, you pondered the question which had been running rampant the past few days, would your dear half-sister Nyra and your uncle Daemon, or “Dae” as you said, take you in? Risk a war to keep you from a miserable existence, chained to a child bed, pumping heirs by the second?

You knew they would. As much as they despised the blacks you always felt as if you were one of them. But you could never risk their lives in such reckless ways. You could hear your mother and septa screaming in your head, “How dare you ponder over such treacherous thoughts?” “This is your duty!” “The birthing bed is our battlefield.” Which you had heard from the Queen, although you had heard similar from Nyra.

You needed to clear your head, you figured.

After half an hour of persuading Ser Criston Cole, who was coming to check on you, that is.

Your Nyraxes was asleep, but as you approached her head lifted off the ground, her scales painted a breathtaking dark violet, with dark blue and silver streaks like Dreamfyre. The pair got a long well, you and Helaena always flew together. With the violet came gorgeous amber eyes. She grew incredibly quickly, half of Vhagar’s size at the mere age of 20.

Your siblings always mounted their dragons with saddles, they treated their dragons as that, just dragons. You and Helaena cared for your girls as if they were your children.

You carefully mounted Nyraxes and set off for anywhere but the Red Keep. As you flew with no particular destination in mind you viewed a circular stone arrangement in a valley below. You’d been riding for thirty minutes or so and decided to dive down for a break before returning to your chambers.

Once you landed you soothed Nyraxes, “Gīda ñuha riña, gīda. Ēdrugon lo ao jaelagon ñuha jorrāelagon.”

Calm my girl, calm. Sleep if you wish my love.

The sight was a marvel, these stone statues in the middle were solid, they did not budge in the slightest. Upon gazing the sculptures and stone you felt yourself grow weary, but not before you stumbled across an ornate mirror.

What you didn’t realise was that this mirror was the origin of your tiredness. You felt waves of calm wash over as you slowly drifted into the sleeping realm.

-

The birds you would normally hear in Kings Landing were distant, in the back of your mind. What you did hear was a howling, or was it barking?

“Lady what is it?” Sansa spoke as she chased after her dear Lady. Robb reprimanded her, “Sansa slow down, you’re legs will fall off. And if you return home injured mother will have my head.”

(I’m so sorry for that 😭)

“Yes, I am being careful father.” Sansa mocked. “You think you’re being funny do you? I can make people laugh too Sansa.” Robb teased as he ran after his younger sister, only to look up and find nothing. Not his sister nor her direwolf.

Robb’s brows creased and confused, as was the rest of him. Soon worry triumphed his emotions, “Sansa? Sansa, this is not fun to joke of. Sansa!” He rushed forwards to be face to face with a violet scales dragon, flaring its nostrils whilst its tail wrapped around the shivering body of his mother.

“I thought dragons were supposedly extinct!” Sansa whispered to her brother, careful of her movements since she wasn’t exactly in the mood to get burnt to a crisp. “They most definitely are.” “Then tell me what in the hell is infront of us Robb.”

At the sound of voices your eyes opened, as a wave of cold air smacked you upfront. As you turned you were met with two people, staring directly at you, then Nyraxes, then you, then Nyraxes. The loop continued until you questioned them.

“Who are you?”

“Robb Stark of Winterfell, Eldest son to Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark, this is my younger sister, Lady Sansa Stark. And you?” He questioned as he straightened his posture in an attempt of courage infront of the woman and the dragon, mostly the dragon.

“You don’t know who I am?”

“I’m afraid not my Lady.” Robb spoke as he extended his arm out, infront of his sister as a barrier between herself and the dragon.

“Princess Y/n of House Targaryen, your princess, The Diamond of the Realm.”

“Targaryen?”

“That is what I said is it not? Who are you imposters I’ve never heard of Eddard nor Catelyn or the two of you. Where is Cregan Stark?”

“Cregan Stark, my princess, is my ancestor. From many moons ago.”

You looked at him as if he had just slapped you, “How-How many moons would you say?”

“It��s hard to say, people can’t exactly make out an exact year for his death. But I would say perhaps one hundred thirty to fifty. Although I am not the most reliable source Princess.”

You couldn’t hear anything around you.

It’s not possible. How could your life have been so very long ago? Were you still dreaming? Was this a cruel joke Aegon decided to organise for his amusement? Did you die- no. Not possible.

Your surroundings were changing, more so spinning.

“I think she’s awake now. Robb! Jon! Come quick!” The voice was definitely loud, as if you could hear it bouncing off the walls. A young girl perhaps? You heard fast footsteps against the harsh floor, fading away as slower, more intimidating steps made their way towards the room you had been allocated.

You were still so cold. You felt horrible for feeling bad for yourself when Nyraxes was probably freezing!

Nyra. Was she safe? Had she flown to warmer places and was soon to return? Or had she been taken prisoner somehow?

The anxiety and worry had you shooting up out of bed just at the thought of Nyra being in pain, or worse.

“Feeling all right there Princess?”

You looked to the door and saw the same man from before, Robb.

His name was Robb.

As you finally looked at him. His light brown beard, fair skin, divine eyes staring straight at you, his hair looked so very soft. He leaned against the doorway with a smirk on his face as you realised you had been staring, his nickname for you hot on the tip of his tongue.

“Princess? You there? Or do you need more time to stare at me? Because I do not mind it all.” He grinned whilst making his way to you.

[twilight-at-midnight]

A stranger’s hand

Pairing: Jane Volturi x female!reader

Warnings: None

Requested: @urdeadpo123

Request:

I know this might sound like a lot but could you do 17-25 of the angst category with alec, jane, or rose??

Prompt # 17

***

Though you were still human, you had never thought you’d be the mate of Jane Volturi.

There had been some small hints that should have been easy for you to pick up on, but those hints went right over your head and only the Cullens seemed to have picked up on them, but they don’t say anything in the start of it.

Mainly because they want you to figure it out on your own. Hint number one was when you agreed to follow your sister and Alice to go safe Edward from the Volturi. You hated crowds and normally, you would take Bella’s hand and let her lead the way, but once inside the castle of Volterra you were astonished nay how massive the castle was and you were just in awe of it at the same time nervous while feeling the panic settle in from the crowded hallways. It was so overwhelming to the point in which what you had thought was Bella’s hand you took hold of was in fact not. You mistakenly took hold of a stranger’s hand and this hand was very cold, it was like the temperature of death cold. That was when you realized your mistake of taking hold of Jane Volturi’s ice hand and tried pulling away with muttered apologies. But she wouldn’t let go, she seemed that she almost didn’t want to let go, let go of her surprisingly gentle grip as to not break your hand while Bella looked over at you in concern.

Bella was worried, afraid that something might happen to you now. She kept thinking of how she almost lost Edward, and how she couldn’t lose you, either. Jane seemed to love the touch of your warm blooded human hand, but she couldn’t admit that, out loud anyway. Holding your hand had Jane feeling sparks, but was angry at the same time because she did want to be falling for a human mate. She knew she couldn’t ignore the feelings for you, the second hint was when you entered the throne room of the massive castle and saw the Volturi kings sitting in their thrones, seemingly waiting for your arrival, which they were. These kings were supposedly the rulers of all vampires in the vampire world and you weren’t gonna lie, they were already intimidating. At this point, you wanted to be by your sister’s side, but Jane seemed to stand between you and the kings protectively.

It was her actions right than that made you miss the hint. Because those actions were not like Jane Volturi at all, those who know of her feared her of her gift, knowing what she was capable of. But she already knew she would never hurt you, you didn’t know it yet and wouldn’t until much later. Everyone in that room saw this but you, and it felt eerie feeling that you have all eyes on you, making you extremely uncomfortable than you already were. Looking slightly over Jane’s shoulder, you see Aro trying to command Jane to do something through motion and Jane refused, shaking her head. You don’t know it yet, but what Aro was asking for her to do was to pain you and Jane refused to do so which would later come with consequences. Instead, she seemed to have no problem complying to pain Edward instead and because you hated seeing your sister in such distress, you beg for it to stop, and it didn’t stop at first. When it did, it was when Bella asks for them to kill her instead, there was no way in hell you were about to let such a thing happen.

No way, no how.

This has gone too far now. Not wanting to see anyone else hurt, you make the vampires an offer, it was an offer that you didn’t want to make but if it mean saving lives, you were willing to comply and make that offer.

“No! Take me! Take me instead just let them go, please!” Just please don’t kill my sister!” You plea.

You watched as the three kings exchanged in quiet conversation before eventually agreeing to take you in and letting your loved ones go. It was a relief to watch them walk away unharmed as Bella cling into Edward before sparing you a sorrowful glance.

You continue to watch, still having been remaining by Jane’s side. That was when Aro started giving Jane orders again, this time in words instead of in motion.

“Jane, take your mate to your room and don’t let her out until further notice.” Aro demanded and Jane complied.

You feel her gentle yet firm grip on your hand as she lead the way.

It was heavily quiet the whole way there, which was probably a good thing considering the fact that at the moment, you were too scared to ask what was going to happen now, or what was going to happen to you. The both of you eventually made to her room, but before she allowed you inside, she called for Alec over. Looking at Alec, he was just as intimidating as the three kings.

“What is it?” He snapper from annoyance, causing you to jump back behind Jane.

That upset Jane and she got after Alec for scaring you.

“Don’t scare my mate! I need you to stand guard by my door in case she tries to make an escape attempt.”

Before Alec could comply, you scoffed in annoyance gaining Jane’s attention and he once warm red eyes that now turned cold, was now piercing sharply into your soul .

“What? Do you have something you want to say?” She asked harshly.

You almost don’t say anything, but Alec urged you on.

“Well?”

“Um… it’s just I don’t need a babysitter!! I’m (Y/A) years old!!!” You argue.

No one says anything as Jane pushes you inside her room, locking the door before you could get yourself up from off the floor.

All you did after that was sit on the corner of her bed, chin supporting your clenched fist as you let out a sigh in defeat. You were her mate, what did that actually mean? That was something you were going to find out no matter what.

With or without help.

***

@twilight-at-midnight

A/N: Part One

Characters:

• Edward Cullen

• Carlisle Cullen

• Jasper Cullen

• Emmet Cullen

• Bella Swan

• Rosalie Cullen

• Alice Cullen

• Aro

• Caius

• Marcus

• Jane

• Victoria

• Riley

• Vladimir

• Stefan

• Benjamin

[yoonoclock]

head & heart | myg + jjk

PART THREE

❝yoongi had your heart and your soul. however, after following the poor guidance of family, that bond was broken. years pass before another man walks into your life…reminding you what it felt to be in love. a man who surprises you more than you realize — jeon jeongguk. but all of that begins to falter upon the return of yoongi. what should you follow? your head or your heart?❞

• pairing: captain yoongi x female reader | knight jeongguk x female reader

• genre: fluff, angst, royalty au, fantasy au

• warnings: none

• word count: 3.5k

• tags: @seokjinkismet @princxssly82

• note: thank you all for being patient for this next update! i hope you enjoy it! also, i changed emma’s husband to namjoon. originally it was just ‘sir henry’ but i thought he is better suited for this role. let me know what you think!

ONE WEEK LATER

The trouble of residing in a new estate is the persistent complaints from your sister and father. 

Naturally, your rest was disturbed by loud pitched inquiries from Florence concerning the whereabouts of her hand embroidered petticoat. This is then accompanied by father shouting for his latest biography to be read to him. 

Vanity didn’t perish despite the change in location. In his mind he is held in great honor. Honored by none beside Florence, of course. 

“I fear I may never find peace,” you murmured to yourself 

That statement couldn’t be more accurate to the turmoil that deepened within your chest. 

Despite the time that has passed since you have arrived, there is difficulty in adapting into this environment. Something feels…detached. Rather it is someone that is detached. 

This feeling may stem from the letter you sent to Jeongguk. Is there a reason you are riddled with stress? The idea of having another man in your life never crossed your mind. Your sisters made sure to remind you of that reality. It reached a point of complacency. If that is what everyone deems to be true then it must be so. For now, you are accepting of this fate. 

At least, you thought you were accepting. 

To keep yourself busy you opted to read books concerning the darkness that exists within reach. Everywhere you turn there is a wavering sensation. Often have you traveled back into your memory of your journey by foot. You continued into what was unknown. This interest is what occupies your loneliness. Very little was actually described of this..place, so you sought to soak up any word remotely close to it. 

Day in and day out you wandered the halls and small outdoor garden with a book in your hands. It felt reasonably familiar. 

Passages of this book are what has captivated your soul. 

What lies beyond the mystery is a life of misery. Nay, a lack of life. To be pulled into the shadows is to part with the holy matrimony of celestial glory. Our pleasures, which are taken for granted, will dissipate. 

We crave what is beyond our homestead. Curiosity does not equal eventual knowledge…it leads to de-

“My lady,” Maude stands with a letter pressed between her fingertips. “A letter has arrived for you.”

Whatever was inscribed that captured your attention, disappeared in the blink of an eye. The long awaited letter from Jeongguk has been delivered. Its content is what plants a seed of worry. 

You are quick to conceal the book in your grasp before rushing toward her, “Thank you.” 

Once Maude returned inside, you moved over to a nearby tree where you could sit in peace. 

The only one suitable existed beside the stone wall. As you approached there was a crackle of dry leaves beneath your feet. As the winds persisted alongside heavy rain for several days, the plants could only tolerate so much. This didn’t bother you in the slightest. The damp earth is all a part of what you admire of nature. 

Aside from the distraction that the earth gave in this moment, you fixed your gaze onto the letter. Slowly you began to peel away the wax seal to see the ink of the pen. 

Dear Y/N,

I admire your transparency concerning your heart. I assure you that none of this troubles me, for my intentions are not solely of love. I must be transparent myself and convey what it is that consumes my mind. You are a beauty that cannot be matched by any living thing. Forgive me if this makes you uncomfortable. I merely desire to share my truth. 

Time is of utmost importance when two people meet. If there is to be progress of any kind…time is needed. I intend to soak up every second I have in your life. From every word to the possibility of meeting face to face again, I give you my time. 

Does this work in your favor? Whatever you decide, I come to you with respect and honor. 

May you always be safe,

Jeongguk

You reread the letter for what felt like the hundredth time. There is only one feeling that truly consumes your being…gratitude. 

For this reason you feel encouraged to form that bond with Jeongguk, whether it be purely out of friendship or something beyond. As of now you are not allowing yourself to dream of fantasies. What will be will be. 

You have nothing but time. 

Dinner time is often the most tiresome. You attempt to partake in conversations but what is the use? Florence and father will never fail to challenge you on every little thing (even when entirely wrong..especially when they are wrong). 

You found amusement in their…vibrant personalities. 

“Emma has requested some assistance,” Florence casually mentions. “She has fallen ill with some nonsense, therefore, we agreed to send you.” 

“I suppose inquiring about my interest is of no concern to you?” 

You meet Florence’s gaze with a raised brow where she opted to smirk in response. This never fails to cause your blood to boil. She knew perfectly how to enrage you. 

It’s not that you didn’t care about Emma. Truthfully, you do have affection for your family. This affection just happens to be buried deep in your heart. 

When it comes to the youngest of the three of you, Emma is a combination of dramatic and ungrateful. To her, everything must center around her needs. 

Florence at least is more tame in public. 

“You have no choice,” your father interjected. “Neither of us have the will to tolerate her. You, on the other hand, are better suited for it.” 

“Indeed,” you agreed with a small smile. “I have endured enough of each of you to withstand every storm.” 

This is easily an insult and a compliment, neither of which they acknowledged. 

The remainder of the dinner was just as it had started — solemn. Once you had finished you were the first to excuse yourself. Immediately, you barricaded yourself in your room to further your research. 

From the snippets you read earlier that day there are plenty of folks who know the truth. Do these individuals speak up? No. This alone perplexes you the most. 

What is it that they could be hiding? Or are you putting too much thought into it? 

Jeongguk knows of it. In his brief mention of it you could sense there is more he is aware of. Surely, being a knight that travels the borders offers a great deal of knowledge. 

This encourages you to write to him. Before departing once again tomorrow morning to stay with Emma, you will spend your time articulating the proper way to inquire about everything. There is much you want to know but there are also things you desire to learn concerning his life. 

How do normal people write letters? 

Dear Jeongguk, 

I have read your letter with much gratitude. Your kind words do ignite some warmth in my heart. It is quite high praise to be labeled as such a beauty. Is it appropriate for me to say the same of you? A knight for the people. 

I do thank you for your time. This is a currency that many disregard in more ways than one. I will give you all the time in the world. Thank you for giving me yours. 

Whatever does come of us will be wonderful, that I know for sure. Perhaps the questions may begin? 

There has been something weighing on my mind that I am unsure of how to ask…I wonder what lies beyond the fog. Can I inquire of this? 

If I am seeking for what should not be sought…please correct me. 

As for other interests, I do wish for you to share more about yourself. What do you enjoy beyond your knighthood? 

Thank you for your time. 

May you always be safe, 

Y/N. 

The flicker of your candle is what brought you back into reality. A pain in your wrist began to form. Writing is not your forte but when there is a reason to…it no longer intimidates you. 

You hope this letter finds him well. 

Due to all of this there has been little to no trace of Yoongi in your heart. It has been…muted. 

And this is what relief feels like. Maybe. 

When it comes to visiting Emma there are 3 things to look forward to: 1) Daniel, the eldest son, 2) Eddie, the youngest son, and 3) Namjoon, her patient husband. 

These are the dearest members of the family that you forever will be excited to see face-to-face. Although the journey is tiresome, it is well worth it. 

One also must not forget Namjoon’s two younger sisters. They are closer in age to you and are full of beautiful joy. Whenever they are near there is no need to worry. It is a vacation that you do not mind being on. The issue relies on Emma’s temperament. She truly makes or breaks the entire atmosphere of the company. 

What you do know is that when you arrive Emma will make sure to complain of her pain, the fact that she’s convinced her in-laws despise her, and that no one respects all of her efforts. All of this usually occurs within the first few minutes. 

The moment you arrived you were led to Emma’s room where she lay beneath the covers. You didn’t need to say a word. All that was required was showing your face. 

“Oh, Y/N.” Emma cried out while burying her face with her hand. “No one cares about my predicament. All I hear is laughter and enjoyment as I suffer in agony.”

“Poor Emma.”

“Poor me indeed,” Emma adjusts her position. “Namjoon’s father and mother gave me flowers. Are you aware of what flowers do? They die. Is that not what they wish for me? They despise me.”

“How cruel of them to offer their sentiment,” you shake your head through amusement. “Flowers are a sign of admiration.” 

Emma laughs, “Admiration? No one in this family understands the word. I am scarcely praised for my efforts.” 

“Perhaps it’s because you do these acts to be praised. Give an attempt to just be…kind.” 

The way that Emma looked at you could be painted into a picture that you wished to keep forever. It was beyond anything you could put into words. It’s as if she was brutally attacked. For you it proved to be a great form of entertainment. 

“I do not appr-”

“Y/N,” Daniel and Eddie burst into the room in a fit of giggles. “We missed you!”

You opened your arms wide for them, bracing for the impact that comes from such strong forces. Even when prepared, you still happened to stumble backwards. 

All of this chaos upset Emma further. 

“I apologize, my love.” Namjoon soon followed. “The boys were in need of seeing their aunt.”

“While I am ill in bed?” Emma sighs dramatically. “It’s as though neither of you care for my health.” 

Namjoon is an example of a man you should never take for granted. He is full of patience that you couldn’t possibly understand. When he fell for Emma it wasn’t out of obligation to be married. He truly grew in love. Is that not surprising? In many ways, yes. Based on her personality it can be difficult to tolerate. He on the other hand enjoys it all. Through headaches and bickering, he still loves her. 

You wish you could have held onto that when you had the chance in your grasp. 

“You know that is not true,” Namjoon speaks softly. “We care deeply about you.” 

Before Emma could further her misery, you managed to wrestle the boys to the ground so that you could properly greet your brother. 

“It is great to see you again,” you courtesy with a smile. 

“The same can be said for me, sister.” Namjoon bows slightly. “You came at the perfect time, we will be having guests over for dinner tomorrow night”

“And I have to waste away while they have dinner without me,” Emma interjects. 

You roll your eyes at her, “Who is to be expected for the party?”

“A good friend of mine, Captain Min Yoongi.” 

Everything stopped. You had no idea that he was aware of Yoongi, let alone good friends. The fact that he was so real and close to you now caused a tightness in your chest. He’s here. You can’t keep escaping him for the rest of your life. 

“How….delightful.” 

“Is it of great importance that I attend?” 

Yoongi trailed behind you closely. As you both continued down the beaten path in the midst of the flowers, you feathered your fingertips across the small blossoms. He followed suit, making sure to guide his hand directly beside your own. The gentle warmth of his skin against yours settled a calm over you. 

The farther you traveled the more you fell into silence. 

You were entirely captivated by the scenery and his company. Everything about him was your safe place. 

Eventually, you began to carry a conversation concerning an upcoming dinner. 

“I wish you would come,” you answer quietly. 

“It is your family that does not want me present,” Yoongi responds coldly. “An invitation does not extend to me.” 

You turn in your heel to face him, “The invitation is from me to you.” 

Yoongi softly embraced you, leaving his palms against your hips. You took the opportunity to close the gap in between you. This is where you leaned forward to brush your lips upon his leaving a faint kiss. Immediately he melted into your touch. 

“I do not wish to pressure you into compliance,” you whispered. “I understand the grievances my family causes.” 

He shifts the angle of his head to fit into the crook of your neck, breathing in the warmth your skin offers. 

“My love,” he murmured. “Wherever you are…I am free.” 

It felt like you were trapped in a daze. Ever since Namjoon mentioned Yoongi as a dinner guest you couldn’t sleep for one second. The night turned from darkness to light as the sun began to rise. Once you felt entirely drained of all life is when you finally pulled back into reality. 

How are you meant to talk to him? Surely there can be a sense of civility. For the sake of your wellbeing and image, you had to compose yourself so that others cannot see into the truth. No one else truly remembers your relationship with Yoongi, except for Lady Frances. All others have managed to block it out as their personal vanities mattered the most. 

For that reason you are thankful they are self centered. 

“This is absurd,” you forced yourself to get out of bed. “A walk will surely do me some good.” 

Dressing yourself appropriately, you wandered quietly down the halls as only the servants were awake at this time of day. Once you slipped out the door you felt the wave of cool air hit your cheeks. At the moment there was a light fog that slowly dissipated. Sunshine managed to break through to create a beautiful painting of orange rays across the landscape. 

This is where you find peace in the midst of restlessness. 

The gardens of Namjoon’s estate are as lavish as your own once was. Path after path became intertwined with roses of vibrant colors. You admired these the most. As you gazed at each petal with curiosity, you noticed a bright flash of light from the opposite side. Due to the early morning hours, it was difficult to truly grasp what it was. For that reason you assumed it to be a figment of your imagination until it happened again. 

Now, you are fully enthralled by the unknown. 

Picking up your pace, you rushed towards that direction with hopes of seeing the source of this distraction. 

Nothing. 

“Have I gone mad?” You ask yourself aloud to which a voice answers. 

“Follow.” 

The voice was…soft. It greeted you warmly in a way you did not expect. 

You tilted your head in confusion, prompting you to think this is some form of a joke by your nephews. 

“Is someone there? Perhaps two little…miscreants?” 

Silence. 

Now you are further buried in confusion. This is not out of the norm. 

“Follow.” The voice spoke again. “For there you shall find the truth.” 

Every fiber in your being told you to pursue this voice. The logical part of you that is often cautious told you to wait. Which one did you listen to? Clearly, being reasonable was forgotten at home. In a matter of seconds you were quickly walking towards what you believed to be the general location. 

Could this be a connection to your interest in the darkness? Perhaps, but only time will tell. If you never tried, how could you possibly know? This is the support for your persistence. 

Due to your lack of awareness and tunnel vision in this particular situation, you failed to notice the puddles of mud. As you continued to cling to the uncertainty, you unfortunately slipped to the point of nearly burying yourself in the wet soil. From your feet to your face, it was splattered. 

“How grand,” you groaned at your stupidity. “Falling for some make believe being.” 

You couldn’t believe how foolish you were being. By a mere few seconds you could have repeated the instance in the fog from a few weeks prior. However, this time you will not be accompanied by Jeongguk. 

What a fool. 

As you attempt to bring yourself to a stand, you hear a pair of footsteps approaching. 

“Y/N?” Namjoon’s voice called out to you with worry. “Are you alright?”

By lifting your gaze from the ground, you meet a familiar pair of eyes. 

Yoongi. 

How did you expect to react when you saw Yoongi again? You practiced this in your bedroom more than once. Occasionally the scenario would play out as some dramatic act meant to be on a stage. Other moments would be an emotional reunion that resulted in your dreams being fulfilled. 

Does it happen either way? No. Instead, you are covered in mud to look like a fool while he stands in all his glory.

“It appears that I fail to focus on where I am going,” you respond with an attempt of humor. 

Yoongi fixated on you with a look that said everything you needed to know. You failed in more ways than one. 

Namjoon walks towards you to offer his coat, “Take this so you can be warm as you travel back to the house.” 

You accepted his kindness, “Thank you.” 

“May I introduce you to our guest, or shall we wait till you are cleaned up?”

“No need,” you dismissed his idea. “We have met….previously.” 

Namjoon perked up with curiosity but sensed he should not pry further. 

“Indeed,” Yoongi answered firmly. “Although our last encounter was long before I was…rich.” 

You knew that passive aggressive comments were bound to be directed towards you. Surely there is a great deal he could say about your awful behavior towards him. You’ve already done so to yourself. In this particular situation you wished you were better prepared.

Could you be upset? Yes. Are you? Not at all. 

He was just as beautiful as he was before. Perhaps a little bit more. 

His hair had grown out quite a bit, which you assume is due to his recent journey at sea. The black tendrils fell upon his forehead enough to partially cover his eye. A heavenly glow radiated from his skin at all times during the day. As of now it appears he is of heaven. 

Yoongi stood tall with his hands clasped behind his back. There is pride in his features, and how could there not be? The success he has obtained is extravagant. He deserves every ounce of it. 

“Forgive me for my appearance,” you courtesy to Yoongi. “I intend to always show the best of myself.” 

“Could there be any other version?” Yoongi asks. “The best is all anyone ever sees.” 

Namjoon sensed the tension so he took the opportunity to change the subject. 

“Let us continue our stroll, first leading my dearest sister to the warmth of my home.” 

Immediately you stepped aside, “I assure you I am capable of walking on my own..it’s merely part of the earth that I so keenly decided to wear.” 

“If you insist,” Namjoon offers a warm smile. 

Slowly the pair began to walk away leaving you to remain in the same position. There you stood…frozen. Yoongi is here and that is not how you intended on meeting him again after so many years. It is disappointing. All that remains is a feeling of embarrassment. 

As you refrained from moving, you failed to notice as Yoongi turned to gaze back at you. He harbored some guilt for his words toward you just now. It was not his intention to speak so poorly…however, the hurt reigns in his heart. 

Hurt people often hurt others. 

“All will be well,” you attempt to encourage yourself. “I will not let this ruin me.” 

Whatever had distracted you before, whatever it was that spoke…it no longer mattered. 

There is one truth you can agree on: you would have been a happier woman in keeping him than giving him up.