#oh dear lord the tags on this thing

[yolobegone]

hii !

first of all: i really like your streams! Every time you tell some story about your real life you sound so pathetic that I immediately feel better about my own mediocre one!!!

also wanted to ask, could you maybe warn us if you're gonna do some of the more gory stuff the next time? I showed the stream where you cut your arm off to my neighbour I was babysitting (4yo) and he hasn't stopped shaking. it has been over a week. the parents refuse to pay me.

omg hii!!

well. firstoff. haha. never let it b said im not down 2 make my audience feel better abt things! im glad u like the streams dude x) i like makin em 2!! loveee talking about my pathetic life lolllll

like i said i TOTALLY hadnt anticipated that stream being soo popular and i apologise for th lack of warnings!!! ill b better about it next time i promiseeee but i am NOT plannin on doing anythin quite that gory again so we shouldn't have the same problem xPPP

im totes sorry 2 that lil guy of urs arghhh hadnt anticipated th stream wld get like. shown. to toddlers. like they were not at all a target audience that went into makin it

kids 2 young to get the idea of fake gore and stuff huh??

i jus hope he didn't see 2 mhch-- i tried to get my intentions clear enough that you cld just nope out of it if u didn't want to watch the whole thingg so hopefully the damage ain't too lasting

[bronzebtch]

when rhea really likes someone, she would almost always ask them to go on a hunt with her. but like. its always an excuse so she could hunt for you and gut the game in front of you and clean it for you and prepare it for you and—

[monicaalexandraaa]

This part was incredible !!!! I went through so many emotions and had the best time🤩🤩🩷

The Lottery IV

Read The Lottery here | ~6.2k words

From me: we're getting close to the end I think

Warnings: angsty/fluffy/pining nonsense. Slow burning love

Summary: Harry loves to help her. She loves to help him. The whole town knows he loves her. They wish he would admit it.

Just like Christmas, she was out and about in the middle of the summer solstice festival. She helped organize a wiffle ball tournament for the younger kids and convinced Harry to make hot dogs and hamburgers to hand out in the middle of the field. She was at the diner bright and early making her way behind the counter and grabbing pitchers that Harry used for water to make batches of lemonade.

Why he didn’t say no, baffled her. But to Harry it was obvious.

They were sipping lemonade on the curb outside his diner. They were watching people eat and chat. There was music and dancing. It was warm and the air smelled like barbeque and bug spray. The sun was setting, and she looked so pretty. Tanned, hair pulled back through a baseball hat, and her legs stretched into the road. Harry wasn’t going to sit outside and deal with the festival at all, but she was there, so he had little choice in the matter. But as happy as he felt (inwardly—God forbid Harry smile) he wondered why she didn’t have a happier look on her face. “What?”

She hesitated for only the briefest moment. “Do you... know anything about fireworks?” She asked.

He stared at her. He was already ahead of her and knew exactly where her questioning was going to lead next, but he was a glutton for punishment. Or just really wanted to see her smile because she was happy. “Not particularly,” he mumbled.

She pouted. Her fingers went to the little moon charm around her neck, and she rubbed her thumb over it, like a nervous habit. Or a worry stone. “I guess the person who dropped the fireworks off didn’t get the memo he was supposed to stay to help set them off.”

Maybe if she was touching anything other than the necklace that Harry got her, he would have said no. (Although probably not.) It was like it was a comfort to her and it made him a little too happy knowing she was using it as a coping motion whether she realized it or not. In fact, if it was subconscious, it made Harry like it more—even almost a little possessive in nature. With a deep sigh, Harry pushed off the curb and headed toward where he knew the fireworks were being set off. “You don’t have to help,” she called from behind him.

“Are y’gonna set them off, Peach?” He questioned; his eye roll could be heard without having her look back at him to see it. “You’ll blow y’hand off.”

She smiled sweetly to herself, smoothing her finger over the moon charm once more. “Did you see the moon today?” She asked and pointed toward the crescent that wasn’t much different than the one around her neck.

He looked at it briefly. “S’nice,” he answered sincerely as he could because he was focused on the fireworks and how he would get her away because he would lose his ever-loving mind if she got injured. People called out to her, and she waved like she was the mayor. She was one of the nicest people Harry had ever met so it wasn’t surprising that people adored her, but it was pretty crazy that she chose one of the grumpiest people to befriend. She looked fondly at the moon as they walked, nearly not paying attention to her footpath, so Harry grabbed her wrist before she tripped and fell over another curb.

“Sorry,” she shook her head and focused on their walk and glanced briefly at it once more before. Longingly, like she wouldn’t see it again.

“Do y’know what the outline around the moon is?” He asked, wondering if he could distract her so she would still be able to talk about the moon but not nearly break an ankle on the ground. “I’ve always wondered.”

She nodded. “It’s called earthshine. Basically, the light from the sun bounces off the earth and reflects on the moon that’s not illuminated by the sun.”

“Cool,” he said simply.

She smiled. “I’m a little weird about the moon, hmm?”

“Why do you think that?”

The smile on her pretty face disappeared and she shook her head. “No reason, just... I think I can be a lot sometimes.”

Harry wished they weren’t about to set off fireworks and they were in the privacy of his diner or her house or something. But really what would he have actually said if they were alone? It’s not like he would confess his feelings for her. The anger he felt toward whoever made her feel like a lot made his chest ache. The shyness on her face made him feel sick. She wasn’t a lot. Or if she was, she should have been a lot, proudly.

But they weren’t alone, and Harry wasn’t going to tell her how he felt anyway. “Well, there’s worse thing t’be a lot ‘bout than the moon,” he shrugged.

“Not the pancakes though,” she grinned sweetly, the brief look of sadness in her eyes replaced by her usual playfulness.

The smirk on his lips didn’t match the smile he felt on the inside. “I thought we were talking ‘bout y’being a lot. Not high maintenance.”

“Harry Styles!”

He shrugged, uncaring at his backhanded comment. He continued on trying not to think about how pretty she looked when she talked about things she loved. Tried not to think about the retroactive heart ache in his chest. Or maybe it was predicting the future because someone as pretty and lovely as her could only break his fragile heart.

But he also noticed that the tiniest bit of hope was blooming inside his ribcage because she was so pretty and lovely. It would be worth the heartache. Right? She would be worth it.

So, Harry kept quiet and focused on the fireworks. Hundreds of exploding colorful things and not a single one of them had anything to do with the ones that illuminated the sky a little while later.

*

Harry’s phone rang mid-evening. He was reading a book and had the football game on from the morning. It was the perfect kind of night. But of course, when he saw that Peach was calling, he didn’t have a choice. She never called. She texted and texted. Sent him pictures of the moon on her grainy camera and the cute little dogs that she saw in the city some days. Sometimes she sent him links to recipes she thought he should try for breakfast and honestly, he was a shitty friend because he typically ignored most of them. Sending only a thumbs up emoji or an okay if she asked for help.

So, Harry assumed she was dying in that moment.

“Hello?” He answered quickly fear starting in his chest before he could stop it.

“I don’t know what’s happening! My washing machine is freaking out and it’s overflowing, and I don’t know what to do!”

Harry was relieved and also halfway out the door the moment he said hello. “M’on m’way.”

There was a knock on the front door about five minutes after she called Harry. “It’s open!” She knew she was going to get a lecture about leaving it unlocked again. But Harry came right in. She was busy with every towel she owned creating a barrier around the floor of the laundry room (a small little space, hardly bigger than a closet) and kept the water from creeping into the hall.

Harry didn’t even come near her he headed straight for her basement. Within moments the water stopped dripping, and she sighed with relief. “I turned y’water off.”

“Fuck, why didn’t I think of that,” she frowned. “Sorry you came all the way over,” she pushed the towels into the closet sopping up the mess as best she could.

“D’you have a wet vac?”

“A what?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

Ten minutes later, Harry returned, knocking and walking in. “You don’t have to knock, Harry.”

“S’polite,” he muttered. “Move,” he pushed her gently out of the way, plugged in the vacuum, and sucked up the water. She rubbed her temples as he turned it off and twirled the cord back up into a neat circle.

“I can’t even wash these,” she grumbled. “Oh my God, I used every towel,” she groaned.

“I’ll take ‘em,” Harry shrugged. “Wash ‘em for you,” he offered.

“Harry, I can’t have you do my laundry.”

“S’not like m’washing your underwear, Peach. S’jus’ towels.” She tried not to think about Harry touching her underwear. But it was very difficult. Fortunately, Harry was focused on the task at hand, grabbing a trash bag to put her sopping wet towels in for transport. “Are y’doing some home improvements?” He asked looking at the few boxes of soft close drawer slides.

“I think I put too much stuff in one drawer in the kitchen. It kinda broke. So, I figured I could revamp all of them and that it would make me sift through stuff I no longer need or want. The bathroom drawer was sticking anyway, so it made sense to fix them all.”

“Do y’need help?” He asked. She bit the inside of her lip. It felt like she had been waiting to ask Harry if she could borrow his drill. But that seemed so rude to just outright ask him. He was a busy guy, and she was more than willing to do it herself, but she knew he would insist on helping.

Plus, there was the whole Ronan side of things.

“Peach?”

How long had she been silent while Harry kindly packed up her towels? Why did she feel guilty about dating someone else around him? Was Harry getting hotter by the second or was that a trick of the light?

“We’re... friends right?”

Harry blinked. “I don’t think a stranger could get me t’dress as Santa,” he rolled his eyes and stared at her. “S’matter? I can pop these in for y’in a minute,” he nodded toward the boxes again.

“Well, thank you. But I would really like to do it,” she admitted. “I don’t want to take advantage of your help, and I like to believe I’m independent.”

“Peach, y’own a whole business and house. S’not like y’jus’ wait around for me t’do stuff for you. M’still miffed y’cleaned your own gutters after I said I would do it.”

“Yeah, but it’s gross,” she reminded him. “You had your own gutters to do and everyone under the sun would ask you.”

He rolled his eyes again ignoring her rationale. “We’re friends, of course.”

Her heart skipped a beat. It almost bothered her that they were friends. Only friends. She looked at her feet. “I’m kind of seeing someone. Hasn’t been long. Only four or so dates. Only dinner and movies. But I didn’t tell you because... I don’t know. I didn’t tell anyone to be fair. Just Bailey, actually. I don’t know the protocol for dating around here because it feels like I need the whole town to approve of him like it’s my business venture all over again. And I don’t know, I know that I’m friendly and stuff and everyone likes me, but I think you’re my only real friend here and I don’t think I need anyone else’s approval except yours and I think that makes me a shitty friend.”

It was so quiet she thought that maybe Harry just left while she rambled. She knew why she needed Harry’s approval. It would mean that he didn’t like her in that way. That the way she liked him wasn’t reciprocated and it was a good thing that she was dating. Her pining would be quiet and hidden. The way it had been since she moved to town and made him make her pancakes even though he didn’t want to. Even though she was a pain in the butt and made him dress like Santa and made him set off fireworks when he didn’t really want anything to do with town events.

Finally, she peered up from her feet and looked at Harry and his confused expression. His eyebrows pinched together. His eyes searching her curiously. “Why d’you need my approval t’date someone? S’your love life,” he shrugged. “If he’s nice t’you, I won’t have a problem with him,” she wondered if he knew how much that meant to her. Apparently, she was hoping for his approval more than she truly realized. She nearly choked on the breath she was holding as she released it. “M’gonna put this in m’truck. D’you have a drill or do y’need mine?” He asked hauling the wet towels toward the front door.

“Yours,” she croaked.

*

Harry shouldn’t have been surprised that she was dating. She was so lovely. Inside and out. There was no other way to describe it. Sure, she was beautiful outwardly, but it only reflected a fraction of how stunning her personality was. Even the annoying parts. It made his chest pinch with jealousy every time he thought of the stupid (that was Harry’s code word for lucky) man that held her affection.

Fortunately for Harry, Ronan didn’t last much longer. “It just didn’t click,” she shrugged over her white chocolate chip and peach pancakes one morning when Harry asked her why she looked upset.

“M’sorry, Peach,” Harry frowned. “S’on me today,” he assured her.

“You can’t give me free food every time I have a breakup. I suspect you’ll lose money at that rate,” she said with a tone of self-deprecation that Harry couldn’t truly believe was coming from her voice. “I think I’m destined to be alone,” she sighed. He snorted before he could stop it. Reached across the counter and squeezed her forearm.

“I simply don’t believe that,” he said reassuringly. She blinked at Harry’s willingness to touch her arm unprompted and before she knew it, he was gone, back to the grill to make more food.

What she couldn’t see was the absolutely delighted smile on his lips—completely on display in private—at the thought of her breakup.

*

She dated a few guys over the years. But Harry’s confidence in her ability to find someone seemed unfounded. Each one ended in a breakup. Only one in particular made her heart ache for longer than the others. Even Harry treated her differently for that month of moping in her own way. She didn’t banter as much. It made Harry ache with want for her attitude, quips, and annoyingness.

Each time Harry comped her pancakes and reassured his friend that she was destined for love whether she believed it or not.

Small town life wasn’t for the guys she brought to the little place with so many traditions and parties. They didn’t earn the approval of everyone in town but the only approval she needed was that of her best friend.

"When’s Louis coming back?” She asked.

Harry hated when Louis came back now. He used to love seeing his friend and getting to be himself around someone that didn’t treat him differently just because he was heartbroken and damaged the way the rest of the town did.

“Never,” he rolled his eyes.

She frowned and immediately reached for the moon charm on her pretty throat. “I miss him.”

“Well, I don’t like when y’two are together. S’trouble. Y’both are mean.”

“Are you saying that because we make fun of your grumpiness together?” He glared at her over his shoulder and headed to the back to get the pitcher of coffee he made for her the day before as he always did. Despite the fact that she was a pain in the butt and made fun of him with his (supposed) best friend. “You’re different when he’s around,” she said when he returned pouring the coffee into a reusable cup because she would be on the go soon enough. Although, the way she settled in with her laptop, notebook, and everything else spread across the seat next to her and her own spot, Harry wasn’t sure when her reading hour began today. It looked like she was staying for the morning, which would have delighted him.

There was hardly any room for the breakfast he was going to bring out though—fortunately it was a muffin day so she wouldn’t need much room. Today she wore a Dr. Suess hat—like the one the Cat in the Hat wore. She had drawn whiskers on her cheeks and a cute red triangular nose too. She was so fucking cute it was unbearable for Harry sometimes (almost always).

“Different,” he repeated trying to stop the swelling of his heart as he looked at her. He smacked her hand as she reached for the cream and sugar behind the counter, loosening the swell and reminding him not to drool.

“You smile more. Same when Gemma visits. I think you are hiding some nice memories in there,” she poured cream into the liquid and tapped the side of her head with her freehand. “I’ve heard rumors since I’ve moved here that you got some bad ones too,” she shrugged casually as if those bad memories weren’t the reason he was a sour person. “I like when they’re around. I like when other people get to see the real Harry, not the one that’s been hiding behind your grumpy face.”

“How do y’know m’not the real Harry?” As far as he could tell his grumpy persona was the only one that he had left to show.

She shrugged again. “Real grumpy people don’t dress up as Santa or supply lemonade for the whole town. Nor do they do things for their annoying friend and comp her breakfast when she gets broken up with.”

She grabbed the muffin, turned and headed for the exit. “Peach? Your stuff?”

“Oh, I’ll be back. I just have reading hour,” she grinned over her shoulder, truly as chaotic as the Cat in the Hat was.

“You’re not serious,” he followed after her as she crossed the street toward her shop stopping in the middle of the road but it wasn’t like there were enough cars to worry about getting run over. “Y’can’t leave your stuff on the counter!”

“It’s only an hour, Harry. I’ll be right back!”

“M’not watching it! If it gets stolen, m’not responsible!”

“If someone in this town wants to steal my stuff, they can have it!” She shouted without turning around and entered her shop.

But she knew Harry was going to watch it anyway.

*

“Miss Peach, are you any good at trigonometry?”

She was behind the check out counter, reading from her book monitoring the study group. People were reading and a couple were stacking books in their arms. “Hmm,” she pursed her lips. “It’s been a long while since I thought about trigonometry, Lea,” she headed to the reference section to see if she could find a textbook to help them. She pulled a chair up beside the pair of girls who were working.

Harry was outside, fixing the Christmas lights to the front of her window. “Harry is in love with you,” Lea whispered.

She blushed. “He’s just my friend,” she said and flipped through the pages looking for something useful that would help them solve their problem.

“I wish I had a friend like Harry,” Maryam muttered.

She snorted and then smiled. “He’s a good one.”

“Do you like him?” Lea asked.

“Do I like one of my very best friends? Yes. Of course I do.”

“Miss Peach,” Maryam rolled her eyes.

“Harry’s so easy to read,” Lea whispered. There was a pair of boys at the other end of the big square table. They were “studying” watching highlight reels from yesterday’s game. “You’re much more difficult. Plus, you do the whole dating thing,” she explained.

“It absolutely tortures Harry,” Maryam agreed.

“Hey Peach, d’you have another string of lights?” He asked from the doorway. “This one y’gave me is half out.”

She frowned. “I’ll have to go buy another string later.”

“I’ll go,” he shrugged and headed out just as quickly.

“Smitten,” Maryam sighed.

“Completely,” Lea agreed.

“This looks like the diagram you’re working with,” she diverted back to the textbook and focused on the numbers and letters of her homework problem and not the bit of hope that filled her lungs at the thought of Harry liking her in that way. If there was a chance of having him all to herself,she never would date another man the rest of her life.

*

Harry helped stock books when a new shipment came in, which was great because he was much more focused than she was. She had to read the back cover of any new book, and it took her twice as long to unpack them all. “What do you like to read?”

He shrugged. “Bit of everything.”

“Do you have something to recommend to me?” She asked putting only one lone book on the shelf when Harry had set up at least two whole sections of shelves in that time. She stocked essentially one or two of each book that arrived at her store. It wasn’t a massive bookstore, so space was of course limited. But if someone wanted to buy it she would order more.

Harry watched her reading the back cover of the next book, her fingers around the moon charm once more sliding it gently back and forth along the chain. She looked so at home surrounded by books and so relaxed. She dropped the charm and reached for her coffee to sip it. Harry wanted to take a picture of her because this was completely her element; it needed to be preserved for all of time. “Uh...”

“It doesn’t have to be anything personal. I get wanting to hoard a book that means a lot to you. It’s kind of like asking someone to watch your baby for the first time. You don’t want anything to happen to it,” she offered. “I just thought I’d ask. I don’t really know what kind of books you like,” she smiled. “I would love to stock stuff for you.”

“Uh...” he shook his head struggling to come up with a title. He cleared his throat. “I read sort of depressing books,” he focused on stocking the next shelf.

She frowned, her fingers immediately finding the charm around her neck again. “Well, that’s okay. I prefer the term cathartic, perhaps? Books are meant to make you feel but I don’t think they’re meant to make you feel depressed,” she shrugged. “I read The Tattooist of Auschwitz and that is by far one of the saddest books I’ve ever read but it might be one of my favorites.”

She watched Harry carefully place the books on the shelves. He was taking great care not to bend any covers. He was gentle. This was important to her and ergo it seemed important to him. “I don’t think I have any titles t’share,” he shrugged.

She nodded. “That’s fine, I just wanted to ask.”

“Do y’have The Tattooist of Auschwitz?” He asked quietly. She smiled, nodded excitedly and scampered to behind the checkout counter. There was a pile of books beneath the cabinets—her own personal collection of favorites that she liked to keep there as backups if she wasn’t in the mood to dive into something new. Or if a student at the high school needed a book for a project and she happened to have it and it wasn’t going to be ordered in time.

Or if Harry needed a copy of one of her favorites.

“It’s a pretty quick read, but God does it make you feel.” He turned it over in his hands. Like he was holding her baby in his hands as she had said. This book meant something important to her and she was passing it off to him. “I hope you’ll like it, but I won’t be offended if you don’t.”

Harry couldn’t imagine a scenario in which he wouldn’t like her baby. “How much?”

“Oh, that’s my copy,” she said. “I can order you one, if you want your own. But you can have that one for now.”

He tucked it carefully beneath his jacket on the back of a nearby chair. The box of books in front of him needed organizing. They went back to their quietness of Harry stocking books, her reading the back of one for every row of books Harry completed, and her fingers danced along the chain around her neck.

*

Like everyone else, she noticed the diner had been closed for three days. It didn’t even have the opening late sign that every once in a blue moon appeared merely because he had an appointment or was sleeping late (because he deserved it! She told everyone who complained) or the delivery was coming in later than expected and it didn’t make sense to open without food or dealing with it partway through the breakfast rush.

But three days with no communication from him of any kind and no sight of him, made her a bit anxious. Harry was often in her house without warning before she arrived home—fixing something for her that she didn’t even know needed fixing. Or because she had mentioned something in passing that wasn’t working up to snuff. Any time she bought a lightbulb, it seemed Harry knew, and he was in her house testing all light switches and lamps to find the culprit.

All of that meant she felt entering his diner without asking seemed like it was only fair (and legal as far as their friendship went.) The silence in the usually bustling little place didn’t feel right though. She missed her friend (and the pancakes). But mostly arguing with her friend and the smack on the back of her hand when she reached for the cream and sugar that dare she say she missed for the last three days.

“Harry,” she sang making her way back toward the apartment behind his shop. “Honey, I’m home!” She cooed. She hadn’t been back here before but found the little hallway that led behind the back of the diner and to the door to what had to be his living space.

She knocked and opened it without waiting for a response.

One look and it hardly looked like he was home. She frowned, feeling bad that she was intruding but then she heard a cough.

“Harry?” She asked.

Slowly his tall body appeared. It was obvious he didn’t feel well. He covered his mouth with the crook of his elbow, his hair in disarray. His eyes shiny with sleep and the exertion of coughing so hard it made his eyes water. He looked exhausted.

“Oh my,” she murmured. “Are you alright?”

“How did y’get in?” It felt like knives scraping against every inch of the inside of his throat to speak. He winced as she pushed past him.

“Jesus. No talking. Come sit down,” but she was already pulling him to his couch. Like she had been here a thousand times even though it was the first time she set foot back here in all the years she had known him. She fluffed the pillows around him and tossed a blanket over him. Harry hadn’t had someone care for him while he was sick since he was young—since his mom and Gem tended to his stomach bugs and during his yearly cold and flu season. “You are so obvious and hide the key under the mat. Thought you were slick painting it black to match but I’ve seen you use it before. Everyone has been worried sick about you—me included. You could’ve let me know if you were sick; I would have been over a lot sooner,” he noticed how disappointed she sounded in him, and he felt sorry that he made her worry. But he didn’t want her help. If she were to get sick, he would feel so guilty. He didn’t want her to feel shitty like he did.

It took a lot more energy to get out of bed than he thought it would when he heard her sweet voice calling for him beyond the quiet space between sleeping and dreaming. He opened his mouth to speak but she shushed him before a syllable could leave his lips. “Uh-buh-uh. No talking. I’m serious. Text it,” she offered handing her phone to him.

This is the first day I’ve been able to get out of bed in three days. My voice has been gone for three days.

She read it and nodded. “Doctor?”

He shrugged. I’ve had it before. She nodded again.

“Alright. Well...soup it is,” she said standing. Harry grabbed her arm before she was out of reach. The exertion did feel like a lot.

He shook his head. You don’t have to do that. I don’t want you to get sick.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, I don’t want you to be sick. No one has made me breakfast in three days,” she reminded him. He smiled despite himself. “Do you have medicine?” She asked. He looked at her phone ready to type out that he didn’t, but he knew that it would just make her madder. She sighed, distaste evident in her soundless tone and breath. “Alright, I’m going to go get food for soup and medicine. Don’t move, yeah? Drink some water.”

If it wasn’t obvious, Harry had no choice but to obey her.

“Where’s your phone?” He couldn’t remember at all, there was a strong possibility it was dead. “I’ll call it,” she said, and she walked around his house listening for the sound of it. “A-ha!” She sounded triumphant. “You only have a peach for my contact?” She giggled. “You know the emoji is slang for a butt, right?” He rolled his eyes, but the motion hurt his head. He winced again at the pain. “Alright, I’ll lay off the annoyingness,” she smiled sadly. She reached for a charger. “I like this table,” she mumbled as there was a plug built into the top of it, so it was easy for her to plug his phone in. “I’ll be right back, but text me if you need something.”

His voice was gone. He looked exhausted from lack of sleep because he couldn’t stop coughing. She made herself at home in his place. She made him homemade soup and he realized he had never had any of her cooking beyond anything she chose to bake and share with the town.

Within an hour he was eating hot soup it felt like heaven on his throat. She sat at one end of the sofa slurping broth and scrolling through her phone and Harry couldn’t help but feel like she belonged in his personal space. It felt so right. He sets his soup aside for a moment. Feeling a little more aware and awake with food in his system.

Not to mention it was fucking delicious.

This is really good, thank you. I didn’t know you could cook...Why don’t you make your own breakfast?

“I wouldn’t get to bug you every day,” she smiled so sweetly and fluttered her lashes at him. He rolled his eyes, and it didn’t hurt this time. “Do you want me to make my own breakfast?”

He answered too quickly. No. That’s not what I mean.

“So, you would miss me?”

He sighed and even though he was sick, she could feel his exasperation as he stared at her with an irritated expression. But it’s one that she loved. She loved his grumpy face because no matter how grumpy he appeared; she could see the smile hiding in his eyes. Every single time. And she’d look into those green eyes for the rest of her life and see those hidden smiles if it meant she could be friends with Harry for forever.

No. I would miss... he paused while trying to finish the sentence before holding his phone out to her to read. annoying someone.

She smiled brightly. “Yeah? That so?”

He nodded.

“Well, you don’t annoy me. So maybe I will make my own breakfast from now on.”

He frowned. The expression on his face changed. It was a bit forlorn. His eyes don’t have the same smile as she could spot a mile away. He knew she was kidding but was he... hurt? By her teasing? He really would miss her?

He didn’t think he would have to say it, but...seeing her every day since she moved to town five years ago...and then...not seeing her? It would hurt. Don’t be like that. I’m sick.

Her laughter filled his little apartment, and he never felt so much adoration for someone. “Don’t worry. I don’t own a coffee maker—you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

Something occurred to him in that moment, and he didn’t want to ask, but he would feel bad if he didn’t. Travis... doesn’t mind you’re here?

She smiled sadly. “Travis didn’t last long. I’m all yours, Harry,” she gave his knee a squeeze and headed to the kitchen to continue being an angel or something more for him.

He smiled and rather enjoyed having someone take care of him for a change.

Or maybe it was just because it was Peach taking care of him.

*

The following morning, Harry felt a lot better. His throat still ached but it wasn’t as bad as the previous days.

Then Harry realized very quickly that there was noise coming from the diner. A lot of noise. The kind of noise that only the early morning rush could muster. And laughter.

So much laughter that Harry honest to God felt happy, nostalgic, and like laughing for the first time in a really long time. He imagined waking up and hearing the very same kind of happiness and laughter from the other room before he bolted to find his mum and the entire town existing and enjoying the morning breakfast routine.

But then he figured maybe Peach had knocked the sign off when she came in with arms full of food and medicine yesterday and people were waiting for breakfast thinking that he was up and at ‘em again. He put on clothes as quickly as he could with his head feeling like a balloon still. He hurried to see what the commotion was because it seemed weird that everyone would be in the diner when he distinctly had it closed, and he wasn’t there.

When he entered, everyone stared at him. “How are you feeling Harry?” Alice asked.

He blinked in surprise at everyone eating and chatting as if it were normal to be there without Harry. “How did—”

“Hi Harry!”

Ah.

She appeared from the kitchen carrying plates of food and settling them on the tables as she passed. She marched right up to Harry after and pressed her hand to his forehead. If he wasn’t already flushed from being ill, his cheeks would have turned red as everyone witnessed her touching him. No one ever touched Harry. No hugs, no high fives, nothing.

But of course, she was different. Perhaps everyone knew that. They kept their smiles to themselves, and she grinned. “I hope you don’t mind. I told everyone I can make bacon, eggs, home fries, and toast without setting the place on fire. But everyone was missing you and the diner.”

There wasn’t a chance in hell these nice, sweet people missed his grumpy self. They were here for her. Someone who didn’t grow up here but acted like she did. “Can I make you something? I’ll make you tea!” She decided and pulled him toward the counter seat, her counter seat. She hurried behind the counter and busied herself with a mug and hot water. “How do you feel?” She asked.

“Good,” he cleared his throat and winced at the feeling.

She pouted. “Maybe you should go back to bed.”

And miss the delightful show she was putting on? Running his diner as if she did this every day? No way. Was everyone as floored about this as he was? Probably not. They probably knew that Harry loved her in such a way that he never loved anyone else in this town.

Harry reached for the sugar and cream behind the counter, and she smacked his hand away and winked, placing the little plate in front of him. “I can make you eggs,” she offered her fingers touching the moon on her neck. “Are you okay?” She asked.

He nodded and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze before heading off toward the grill.

“Miss Peach any chance you could make those blueberry muffins of yours?”

“Oh! That’s an excellent idea, Ed! Let me get Harry some breakfast and I’ll get right on it!” She called from behind the kitchen.

Harry decided that he might love being sick.

But really, he knew it was just that he was in love.

--

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[angeltism]

My dear lady, take your medicine, fill a bottle of water, and go lay down and rest. You may be the most beautiful, special, princessguy in the whole world, but you are also trapped in a mortal body that must be taken care of.

As your knight, I should be taking better care of you. Just pretend i'm there actually making you drink water, take medicine, and tucking you into bed with a forehead kiss.

Why thank you for your concern, my sweet knight ! I'm feeling a bit better since my pains and lightheadedness thankfully don't stick around long, and I chugged some electrolytes so I should be in better shape tomorrow ♡

The unfortunate thing with electrolytes being the solution to my ails is that despite there being some really good flavors (punch, cherry and blue raspberry the beloveds) the taste of chemicals when I have to drink an entire bottle in a day often ends up being so unappealing,, or I simply forget because I'm prone to forgetting to drink anything at all most days (..attempting to work on it, so fret nyat, my beloved knight ^_^). Luckily it does seem to help though, soo I do my best :]

And ah, how the idea of you being here to take care of me comforts me, my knight <3 Aside from the usual discomforts I've unfortunately been cursed with, my leg has been hurting quite a bit within the last three days. Perhaps, depending on how tall and/or strong you are, you could carry me to bed ? Or simply support me so I can put less weight on the limb, which would be greatly appreciated just the same.. Of course, once we're in bed snuggling together, I'd pepper your face with kisses as a thank you to my oh-so caring and strong knight ♡

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Heavy Metal

Logan Howlett x gf!reader

Summary: Logan makes you ride him with his dog tags. That’s all

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, size difference, size kink if you squint, riding, the dog tags make an appearance

WC: 1.3k

A/N: so uh I was horny rewatching the first X-men tonight and lord his dog tags will be the end of me. So I wrote Logan making you ride him with his dog tags, you’re welcome

It was almost a mock of your pathetic self, how pathetic you became when he was around. How oh so easily he could melt you into nothing more than desperate and pathetic sounds. And the dangling tags above your face were a crude reminder of just that. 

Your twisted expression of pleasure, lips parted open with each slide of his cock. His forehead is touching yours, one arm braced beside your head as he rutted you into the mattress. His lips parted as he spoke filthy praises into your ear, but all you could hear was the mocking sound of his dog tags dangling rhythmically with each drag of his cock. You couldn’t help but reach to grab at them, hang on to them for dear life. Logan was amused by this and he watched the way your shaking hands gripped the chain just enough without snapping it. A soft smirk pulled at his lip, fingers digging into your hips, surely to leave an aching reminder of what it was like to have him take you over and over. But he wanted to leave the bruises. He wanted to remind you of the things he could do to you, every night.  

“Like ‘em?” He hummed, and all you can do is whine in response. “How about you hold on to ‘em for a bit, hm?”

Confused, and distracted by your overwhelming pleasure, you stared up at him with big eyes and he just grinned at you as he pulled the tags over his head to throw them over yours instead. The metal sat on your bare chest, just over your racing heart, his name at first glance, as if he even needed the reminder of where your heart belonged. He leaned down to pull your lips into a kiss, a deep growl settling in his chest at the sight of you wearing his name. 

“Want to see you wear ‘em.” He shot you a look, damn near animalistic as he tilted his head at you. You stared at him with parted lips, the cool metal sitting on your chest making you shiver. “Could you be a good girl and sit on top of me with my tags? Hm?” 

Any day you could feel the delicious stretch of sitting on his cock was a day you deeply cherished. It was rare, as you could only handle so much of it. He was just so big, his thighs too wide, and as much as you both appreciated your vigor, it didn’t feel as good as when he fucked you. But you enjoyed it nonetheless. The look you gave him made him groan deep in his chest as you shakily switched places with him. He laid on his back unbothered, big arm behind his head as his eyes never left you, watching you as you climbed on top of him. You nearly drooled at the sight of his drenched cock. You totally did that. But who could ever blame you? He just made you feel so good. 

“You know what to do, sugar. You’re a big girl, you can take it.” There was a bit of humor in his voice, you could not, in fact, take it. You always whined and cried that he was too big, too thick, too much. But you still wanted every inch of it. Such a greedy little girl, but who was he to ever deny his sweet girl anything? 

You braced one hand on his chest as you slowly sank down on his cock. Your eyes immediately rolled into your head, lips parted open at the delicious burn of his thick cock stretching you open again. A deep breath settled in his chest, his other hand keeping a tight grip of your thigh, fingers digging into the plush skin. 

“Fuuck. Logan, fuck.” You whined, your nails digging into his chest as you took him inch by agonizing each. He totally wanted to just impale you on his cock, have you bouncing on his lap until you cried, but alas, he at least enjoyed how agonizing it was for you, because ultimately you were going to beg him to fuck you dumb. 

“I know baby, I know. Shh, you’re okay.” His large hand ran up and down your thigh, squeezing the flesh reassuringly as you slowly found your pace, the burning pain slowly turning to overwhelming pleasure as bounced on him like your life depended on it. Your sweet pathetic moans filled his ears again, but he was more mesmerized by the sight of his tags around your neck rhythmically bouncing with each of your movements. 

Logan couldn’t help it, not really, and his hips were meeting yours perfectly until you sobbed. He loved to hear the way you cried his name with each bruising drag of his cock. He loved it even more that his name was all over you, a visual reminder that he owned you, every part of you was his. Not that you would ever tell him otherwise, he has absolutely ruined every other man on earth for you. No other man on this earth could make you cry like this, on the verge of your third? Fourth? Who knew at this point. All you knew was that it felt so good, you just wanted to come so bad. And he knew it, too.

“Mhm. My sweet girl just wants to come, huh? You want to come all over this cock, hm?” His cock is damn near bruising your cervix, you can barely even keep up with his rough hips, you’re just bouncing on his lap begging to come. 

“Please, please Logan, need it—Ah—!” You gasped, bracing yourself with both hands on his hairy chest as he suddenly yanked you down by his tags, not hard enough to break them, but with enough strength to force you flush on his chest. His other arm wrapped around your back, and he held you down as he fucked you through your release. He always took control at the end, his pure primal and animalistic needs getting the best of him. But he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t help but abuse your aching pussy when you acted like this. But he knew you liked it when he used you. You sobbed into his chest, a combination of his name in between curses leaving your lips. The worst part was, he was still holding on to those damn dog tags. 

“Attagirl.. just like that sugar.” Logan held you on his cock as you gushed around him, splitting you wide open as he was close to pumping you full of himself just like he knew you loved. “Gonna fill you up. Gonna fill you up so much you’re gonna feel me inside you for days. You want that, don’t you, baby?” 

His lips on your ear, in between grunts he spoke his filthy words, and all you could do was nod in response, sobbing into his chest as the rough drag of his hips overstimulated your sensitive clit. He held onto the tags around your neck, a sign that only he could have you like this, or ever, and that you wanted it to be so, and he filled you until your mixed releases were seeping around your aching pussy. You were shuddering, your face pressed into his chest, like you had absolutely no intention of leaving there. 

His cock was still so deep inside you when he forced your head up by your hair, and he hooked two fingers around the tags, bringing them closer to him, as if he didn’t have every word and every number of his tags memorized. 

“I think you should keep these for a while. They look better on you, don’t you think darlin’?” 

As if you needed more proof that you were his, now you had a sign, a visual reminder to look at every waking minute. And the thought of him marking you as his like this, made you ache for him all over again.

[natti-ice]

dom!eddie x sub!reader

riding eddie on the couch and wayne catching them😋

Pairing: Dom!Eddie Munson x Sub!fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni, p in v, getting caught, “slut” is used once

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

Your legs are wrapped around Eddie's waist as you rock your hips back and forth, you can feel every inch of his cock sliding in and out of your tightness. You let out soft breathless moans and wrap your arms around his neck and pushing yourself further onto him. Eddie's big and rough hands are gripping your hips tightly, guiding your body with every thrust.

"Good girl, ride my cock just like that" he praises and starts to move your body a little faster, you can feel the old dated couch beneath the both of you start to sink as things become more intense. Eddie nuzzles his face into your neck, his warm breath tickles which turns you on even more. "You're such a good little slut for me" he whispers, lust laced in every syllable.

The only thing that could be heard in the trailer were your moans and the sound of skin slapping together as you began to bounce up and down on his cock. "Oh fuck, baby" you moaned out loudly, the immense pleasure started to turn your brain to mush, you couldn't comprehend anything else going on around you except for fucking Eddie. And damn, you love fucking Eddie.

Eddie moved his hands from your hips, allowing you to keep the pace, and grabs both of your tits. He squeezes them roughly, not enough to hurt you but just enough to make you go crazy. His calloused thumbs graze your hard and sensitive nipples causing you to whimper softly at just the slightest touch. "Mmm" he hums "so responsive"

You were both so caught up in the moment you didn't hear the trailer door open, it wasn't till you heard the older man's gravelly voice did you realize you weren't alone. "Dear lord" Wayne Munson spoke, your eyes widen and immediately try to get off of Eddie but he pulled you back down and threw a blanket over you haphazardly. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Wayne, seeing his face would make this even worse.

“Uncle Wayne!” Eddie yells out, annoyed that you two were interrupted “do you mind?”

“Um,” you can hear the shock and bewilderment in Wayne’s voice “I’ll just uh-” before he finished his sentence you could hear quick steps and the door slam shut. Eddie lets out a frustrated sigh and looks back up at you.

“So, where were we?” He says casually as if unfazed by what happened, his cock still buried deep inside you.

“What?” Your heart was beating out of your chest with embarrassment and lingering desire, you couldn’t believe you got caught but it gave you quite the rush “we can’t keep going” you try to reason with him but you knew it was no good.

“We can and we are,” he says with finality in his voice and begins to thrust up into you “I don’t care who sees, this is my pussy and I decide when I fuck it, understood?” He increases his pace and hold you in place as he jackhammers into your wet hole

The feeling of his cock stretching you out was too good to resist, you knew it was wrong but Eddie had a way of making you feel things no one else could, moans start to flow freely from you once again.

“Yes, sir”

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[berriblossom]

Oh, Great Divine!

☆| It's time for a SAGAU, more so a comforting one. Reader's gender is ambiguous and gender neutral, archons adore reader, in this sense the Nahida tag is platonic!|

☆ Tags/warnings! | Socially Aware Genshin AU, archons and people of Teyvat treat the reader as a god or heavenly figure, religious references (cathedral of Mondstat and Narukami/ Sangonomiya Shrines of Inazuma) some minor lore for reader, Reader is referred to as "Their Grace" or "My/Your Grace" and "The Great Divine" ALL PORTRAYALS ARE FICTIONAL!! anyway, enjoy.|

Within the lands or nations of Teyvat, for centuries the practice of worshipping an Archon was beyond common, more so for those who wish not to believe in spiritual practices concerning the gods of each element are more on the rare side to find. However even if such existed, there was one thing to never be doubted within the lands of Teyvat.

The Great Divine's presence over mortals and immortals alike.

The creation of Teyvat in many national mythos credits the sole ideas and creation to the Great Divine. Even the archons and the sources of their celestial names were blessed upon them by their divine grace. Depending on which nation you visit, some may say that their archon is specifically blessed by their grace.

In Mondstat, the nation of wind, song, freedom, wine, and bard's ballads, once every 100 years they celebrate the freedom blessed to them by Barbatos and the Great Divine. A tradition stretching for the last millennial to show the love and deeply routed affection given by its people and archon. Yes, Barbatos, or now the "drunken" bard known as Venti among his people. Every festival of a "New Eve" as they call it, is another 100 years for him to show his affection for his beloved divine. Despite his defiance to Celestia and the natural order placed after your departure, he still fully believes in your care and love for humans and archons alike. To Venti, whispering to the wind like he did with you thousands of years prior, even in his wind-spirit form. You'd sit together where now the great tree at Windrise and speak about the future of Teyvat, something despite having the authority over you simply spoke to him as:

"For what will come, Your nation will prosper and learn the true meaning of freedom and song..."

So to this day, he sits under that tree and thinks of the years since, missing your warmth from curling up in your hands as a wind spirit to laughing and humming beside you in his divine form. He has seen it for the last few hundred years, the art, songs, plays, books, and even food and weapons made in your name, and every hundred years he repeats the same. A small prayer from his soul is whispered into the wind as he tells his deep care and love for his dear grace. And the people of Mondstat no different, all gather at the great Cathedral and warmly sing about the Great Divine and Lord Barbatos as they place to wine, food, and gifts at the altar of your image. When alone Venti will sneak in and sit under your statue, missing the warmth of your hands but relishing the love in your image.

In Liyue, the nation of Geo, contracts, and the adepti, the greats divines are influenced by the first contract Rex Lapis made with them over 7000 years ago, even before Liyue was a fully combined nation. Zhongli remembers the conversation you two had, sharing a simple game of wit and tea. Then he was immature to your influence and power but now he relishes in it. Proudly in his vast historical knowledge, preaching his love and the power the great divine holds. How you could shape the sea with a flick of your wrist, how you've created mountains from your fingertips, how your vast knowledge is spread throughout teyvat as a bible to be studied and read over and over again. But mostly what he and all of Liyue celebrate is the contractable care and affection you give him and the people of Liyue.

This time around Liyue is a time spent every hundred of years a new eve of dawn as it is called, one Zhongli and his fellow adepti never get tired of. A time to give gifts of care to neighbors, friends, and even coworkers in the busy harbor. Even the Northland Bank celebrates by lowering interest on loans!

(But only for this amount of time and by the next New Eve of Dawn the Interest WILL reset)

But mainly it is a way to give worship to the Great Divine and their trust in Rex Lapis and his Adepti to protect and serve Liyue. Everything Zhongli has done was for your gratitude and divine love. So when a New Eve comes, he sits anywhere in Liyue, the mountains, hills, somewhere to overlook the harbor, and enjoys a warm cup of tea. Your favorite while imagining your smile as you talk, the games you'd two play. He watches his disciples and Apeti celebrate with gifts, food, and songs at your altar set around Liyue. He sips his tea and awaits your fated return, happy to share more memories and stories with you.

Within the land of Eternity, formerly transcience, Inazuma's style of celebration differs slightly from some nations. The Grand Narukami Shrine would hold a private ceremony, cleansing the sacred Sakura tree and your statue underneath, barhing the precious stone engravings with crisp clean water. Meanwhile the people if Inazuma would be celebrating on their own occasions, firewroks light into the clear sky, dancing ceremonies at the teahouse fill with guest.

However, the new electro archon herself sits alone at the top of Tebshukaku. Quietly walking down memeory lane in her mind. For the last five centuries of the New Eve of Dawn celebration, she'd sit in her space of Euthymia alone in solitude quietly sulking at the idea of your everlasting figure. How her and Makoto would chat down the lane of inazuma speaking about plans of you, speaking of your visions of the nation of electro, Makoto laughing at how embarrassed Ei used to be around you and your divinity. Now Ei smiles solemnly..

She knows now that she as archon must take the mantle, for in your teachings that it the goal of the heavenly principles you've left. Fated to return, she prays that you'd come to her first. She dreams and imagines in her meditations within her quiet Euthymia that you'd hold her. That her loneliness would be cured indefinitely. But for now she waits, with a plate of dango and some ofdly colored tea, shit eats alone as the fireworks set off atop Narukami island, she whispers a promise to herself and her nation on your honor.

"For it will be fate...my grace...you shall return to us...to eternity...we shall be reunited."

Far off in the lands of eternity, however, the island that formed the resistance sings and dances around the bonfire, the resistance army of Sangonomiya and Watatsumi laugh as they praise the late OmiKami, or the serpent god Orobashi. The fire dances as troops tell stories, shrine maidens sing and laugh, and her priestess sits while holding a book. She smiles softly. Kokomi looks above at the horizon and sees the corpse of their late god, she wishes silently to herself and for her ancestors to below the sea. That once the great spirit of life and forefather of the vishaps would return to bring life to the benevolent serpent. But for now, she sits alongside Gorou as they watch the troops enjoy the holiday.

Within Sumeru, however, and alongside it, Fontaine...the New Eve of Dawn has been on the academic calendar differently, which is how some older nations react. For those in the rainforest, it is a blessing of Lessor Lords Kusanali's birth. For the dessert, it is the bringing of a new promise for the scarlet sand kings doubted return. Within the nation of dendro, it is a holiday of now academic activities, no scholars shrouded in work, but a day off. The people worship by their own will and sit in taverns, bars, and cafes to drink mereily while chatting with friends. Some visit your altar within the Akademiya, and others pray at home.

Nahida sits on a branch of the great tree that houses the knowledge many wish to obtain, in her hands an ancient seed of fate, she herself has no memory or knowledge of where it came but holds ot and teasures its existence. For she has a kindling that it is tied to this divine spirit that is expected to awaken. From her small conversation with Apep, the seed is treasured. Hence, she holds it and feeds the growing plant bits of dendro elemental energy. She sighs as she watches the sun set and the cheers from the streets and grand bazars performances. Nilou must be dancing now, she thinks. She hums a small song while kicking her feet, her hands warm with caution. She may not know you yet, but she knows already... Your spirit and divine will watch for her and her nation. The goddess of wisdom has many questions for the great creator of this world, but for now, she just hums and sits happily, a great birthday gift indeed.

Meanwhile, in Fontaine, similarly, it is deemed a weekend off of work. Many go home, some go to the Opera to catch performances of the holiday, others read tabloids of the steambird that some random person in the court has the great divine in their basment all along. All fiction truthfully. Furina reads her book as she makes another plate of pasta macaroni. For the occasion, she bought extra special ragau to taste amazing. She dances around her kitchen listening to soft music. For years her mind would have doubted and even hated this day, anxious fears of disappointment and disapproval looks from her days as stabding archon. Would you have hated her? Did you think she failed fontaine and you? Was her a cursed human taking title of archon an insult to you? Furina had nightmares even of the prohecy and your return to see fontaine gone and underwater. But now, as the prophecy and fontaine were safe and out of fear, she ate and asked a good question this new century.

"What kind of pasta would their grace like..."

Soft rainfall drops onto the steps of the Palais Mermonia, the evening rain was forcasfed but welcomed, Neuvillette wrote on the papers softly, agreeing to a few celebratory events the Opera wanted to hold. Usually Lady Furina would be jumping for the task but here he was. Dread builded in his soul. This time of year brought many pains to Neuvillette.

A new century meant a new set of hundreds of years he gets to oulive humans, melusines maybe, but also the clock inches closer and closer to your return. Neuvillette spent early years of his lofe researching and discovering his species and kind for decades. Figuring that if you are the forefather and creator of vishaps and the sovereignty. Why was so many things done the way they were? Why ddi the power the gnosis and archons hold come from them? Why can't he understand your implications, even such his ancestors didn't wish to think against? What power do you hold and how did aid Fontaine in the end? He knew Focalor and Egeria spoke to you, even asking for forgiveness before your departure, so why? Neuvillette, places his pen downs and stands to look out the window of his office to look down at the streets of the Court of Fontaine, a glass of crisp water swirls in his hand. He sips slowly and sighs, coming to think.

"In this new century...please with it, may you come along too my grace."

In the nation of fire, victory, war and passion, raors could be heard from the stadium of flames as people of different tribes shouted and cheered the competitions down below. Surfing races, climbing achievements, conbat bouts, even break dancing competitions held. Mavuika sits at her throne above as her people cheer and celebrate, raising glasses, foods, gifts, and money even in your image. She slips away from the fesitivites to be alone in the speakers chambers, past the sacred flame, and into her personal get-away. Now empty, she stares at the famous wheel of the sun, Natlan has held for centuries, the same you blessed the first pyro archon with, as their rules of ruilibg were left in your favor. She smiles as she too holds her head high, similar to her ancestors before her.

She remebers before she was even archon, how her parents would tell stories of the Great divines influence, love, and power. That the spirit of victory belongs to the pyro archon yes, but the strength was given by you as well. She remembered your fave engraved in ancients temples and stones around Natlan and now some statues around the lands too. She knows too well her nation is blessed by your, not only for the peoples cheers and vitcories but the long-lasting stay they've had against the threat of the abyss thus far. Maybe when you return and ward off the abyssal threats for good, she top could ask something of you...for that she won't know until she sees you herself.

"Until we meet my grace...may your memeory burn eternal.. and your power live within my people."

-> Did i go overboard, yes...but eh...hoped you enjoy, and also i may make a small series out of this..who knows..

[zepskies]

Hi Zep!! I love your writing so much!

How do you think Dean/Beau/ Ben would react to a surprise pregnancy and if the reader was unsure of keeping it?

Hi there! Aw thank you, anon. 💜

I know you asked me this a while back, but to be honest this is a touchy subject, so I wasn't sure if I wanted to answer it. All I can do is give my honest thoughts based on what I know of these three characters, with all their flaws and personality traits and humanity that goes along with that.

Headcanon: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to a surprise pregnancy.

(And if you weren't sure about keeping it.)

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Dean Winchester

Once Dean gets past the initial shock, and the inevitable "how did this happen??!", he remembers just how he could've gotten you pregnant. Part of him wants to smile at the memory.

Good times.

He slowly realizes that he's...he's happy.

He never thought that he'd have any piece of "normal" after the way things ended with Lisa. Hell, he never thought he'd find what he had with you, let alone have a kid.

He hasn't told you this, because he's locked it deep within himself and hasn't allowed himself to open that door, but the part of Dean that considered what he would leave behind on this earth if he died--the part of him that wanted a family, is still there, beating in his heart. Maybe now he's finally getting his chance.

But he focuses on you.

He gauges your reaction, and his urge to smile falls away when he realizes you're more nervous and freaked out than excited.

Dean sits down with you, taking your hands to calm you down. He suppresses his own feelings on this for a moment, and he asks you the important question.

"What do you wanna do?"

You look up into his eyes, and you really don't know. The hunting lifestyle you both lead, how can you bring a child into this? Would that be right? Are you even ready to be a mom? Are you even capable?

"I don't know if I can..." you confess. "Dean, I don't know if I'm ready."

It breaks Dean's heart, though he tries not to show it.

For once, he thinks hard about what he's going to say next.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and squeezes your hands.

"I get it," he says. "Whatever you want to do here, I'll back you up. But for the record, I'm right here with you. I might be screwed to hell in ways that I can't even...but I got no doubts about you, sweetheart. And I know we could do this together..."

If that's what you want. The rest is implied through his eyes. You read it there, clear as day.

You try blinking your tears away. When that fails, you sink into Dean's warm embrace and let him hold you. You press a lingering kiss against his prickly cheek in a wordless thank you. And I love you.

For now, you know that he's with you, and he's not going to let you go.

Beau Arlen

Like Dean, Beau would go through similar rounds of Oh, dear sweet Lord, and holy shit.

He thought you and him had been careful, damn it! But, apparently he's more potent than he thought he was.

For a few moments, it's just pure unadulterated silence between you two...until he looks over at you and tries to figure out what you're thinking.

He's got a half-grown daughter, sixteen going on seventeen. He's approaching his mid-40s. He hadn't even been thinking about the possibility of another kid...at least not yet.

Though he can admit, the thought of having kids with you makes him smile.

"So, uh..." he trails, earning your teary-eyed expression. He softens. "Aw, darlin'. Come 'ere."

He wraps you up in his arms and holds you close. You bury your face into his neck and sniffle, holding onto him tightly.

You love Beau. You truly, truly do, but you don't know if you're ready for this. You had plans, things you wanted to do, things you feel you have to do.

"I don't know, Beau. I don't know what to do," you admit. You don't want to hurt him, even though you know that you are. You can see it in his eyes when you pull back to look at him, though he tries to hide it.

"I'm not going anywhere. You know that, right?" he says. His voice is low and steady. He rubs your back to try and calm you down.

It starts to work. You nod and heave a shaky sigh.

Then you steel yourself, and you work past the fear making your chest tight to ask him an important question.

"What if I tell you that I'm not ready?" you ask.

For once in his life, Beau is quiet. He takes a long beat. So long that your heart begins to break.

But he does answer.

"Then I'd tell you...that I love you," he says. "That I'm with you. That I'll be with you, come whatever. But I gotta tell you...I got no problem being an old-ass dad. If I've got double-knee replacements in my future, then that's just what I gotta do. I'll break my hand building the crib and the porch swing. Hell, I'll build a whole damn tree house."

You can't help but break into giggles through your tears, in the way only Beau manages to accomplish. You stroke his cheek and rest easier against him.

Your heart eases quite a lot just being in Beau's supportive embrace.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Ben isn't all that shocked when you tell him that you're pregnant.

His surprise quickly fades into a pleased grin, and he pulls you into his lap to kiss you. Fucking finally...

But he stops short, realizing that you're not as happy as he expected you to be. Actually, you look anxious, and even scared.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his voice deep and direct.

You hesitate to meet his gaze, but you gain the courage to do so, resting a hand on his chest.

"Ben, I wanted to be honest with you, and so I am. I'm just...I'm not sure about this."

His brows furrow. "What's not to be sure about?"

Your gaze drops from his, making him frown. Upset begin to rise in his chest, disguised as anger. When you rise to get off his lap, he grasps your hand to stop you from walking away from him.

"Hey..." But then it hits him. The realization dawns, and deep inside, it hurts him. "You better not be saying what I think you're fucking saying."

Tears begin to well up in your eyes. Your heart clenches tight in pain just watching him work it out in his mind. You try to tug your hand out of his.

"Ben, please. Don't make this harder for me--"

He stands, but doesn't let go of you.

"What, you think I won't take care of you? You think I wouldn't take care of my own kid?" he says angrily.

"That's not it!" you say, shaking your head. "I just need some time to think, for Christ's sake!"

"What's there to think about? If you give a shit about us, about what we have? What, all of that isn't fucking good enough for you?" Ben says incredulously, gesturing at the home you two live in, and the life he thought you were happy with. "What the fuck is the problem?"

You look up at him in frustration with tears in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. You shake your head at him.

This," you say. "This is the problem."

This time, when you tug sharply against his hold, Ben actually lets you go. You walk away from him and slam the door to your bedroom.

Ben just stands there for a while. The silence is only broken when he can hear you in the bedroom, trying to muffle your weeping.

Something unsavory churns in Ben's chest, squeezing tight around his heart. It's the sting of regret, both unfamiliar and irritating.

Blowing out a sigh, Ben cards his fingers through his hair. He can either stand here like an idiot, or he can do something worthwhile.

He goes to you. You haven't locked the door (not that that would matter), so he opens it. He sees you burrowed under the covers, laying on your side away from him. You turn away from him again when he approaches.

Almost hesitantly, he sits down beside you, smoothing a hand over your hair.

"Sweetheart, you're gonna have everything you need. You don't need to worry about anything," he says.

"I told you, it's not about that," you say sharply. "It's not about money, or being comfortable."

Ben endeavors to be calm. He counts to five in his mind, then he squeezes your shoulder, taking pains to be gentle.

"Then what's it about?"

After a beat, you finally turn around to face him.

"I just don't know if I'm ready for this," you admit. "We haven't been together that long, and I..."

Ben shakes his head. He strokes your cheek with his thumb.

"Don't worry about that," he says. He hesitates to say anything more.

The truth is, he cares about you more than he's been willing to express. The thought of you leaving him, or even not going through with this pregnancy--both cut him down to the bone.

Is it that you don't trust him? Do you not trust yourself? He doesn't understand all of what's in your head, but if the reason you're not sure about having his kid really is because of him, then...

His curled fingers brush along your jaw and prop under your chin, until your eyes meet his.

"Look, whatever reservations you have about me, just know this," he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

You sigh softly. You know how long Ben has wanted to be a father. You know he wants a family. You don't want to take that away from him, but you also need to protect yourself.

You consider his words carefully, as well as his face, and you see that he actually means it. You believe him.

It doesn't take away other concerns you have, but it's a start.

You sit up in bed, letting the sheets slip away from you. You reach up a hand to cup his bearded cheek.

He lets you guide him down to kiss you, his arm wrapping around you strong, but noticeably gentle. Tears sting behind your closed eyelids.

Maybe he is ready to be a father, and a better man.

AN: 😮‍💨 This one was angsty, huh? I think Ben's part was the one that held me up the most. It still assumes he's had some character growth from having a "real," actually caring relationship, but I tried not to sugarcoat what I think his reaction would be.

Let me know what you think! 💜

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[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 1.

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content and sex toys, soft!dom Dean. It's a kinky writing challenge, so expect anything at this point, (nothing freaky, don't worry) but it's a surprise calendar so I won't spoil it! Also, English is not my native language

Advent calendar includes: headcanons, snippets, one shots, imagines, blurbs etc.

Words: 2,380

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

A/N: If you want to be tagged for the next parts, just let me know. And feedback is welcome!! Enjoy! 🦊

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

1st Dec. - Sunshine

“Sunshine?” You repeat the unexpected nickname with a little grin while you sit down on the edge of the motels bed. You were used to sweetheart, darling, love or even baby, but sunshine? “That’s a new one…” you remark with a teasing lift of your eyebrow, your eyes darting from his, back down to the gift on your lap.

“I thought it suited you.” He explains with an expression which was almost too innocent for him. Clearly he is trying his best to hide his knowing smile, but his excited voice betrays him. “Now open it, sunshine.”

“Uh-huh”, Your finger tugs at the unconventional gift paper, which consisted of nothing but a roll of toilet paper that hung loosely around the small package. “Interesting wrapping paper you picked there…” You comment with a wry smile. This was so typical Dean.

He chuckles at your remark, “What can I say? I’m a fan of practical gift wrapping,” he says with a cocky smirk, taking a seat next to you, “It’s eco-friendly.” The mattress dipped down from his weight and your shoulders bumped against each other. He makes a great effort to play it cool, but the slight friction was enough for you to notice the excitement and arousal which was radiating off of him. This just made you wonder even more; What the hell is that sly bastard up to this time?

Dean watches as you carefully unwrap the package, clearly intrigued by what he had given you. “But I promise, the content’s worth the toilet paper sacrifice,” he adds with a playful smirk. There it was again, that all too familiar glint in his green eyes. That flash of ‘oh baby if only you knew’.

At last, you rip the box open, your eyes peering down to be met with… Oh dear lord. Your eyes widen and Dean could see a million thoughts flicker across your face at the moment of realization. This is exactly the reaction he had hoped for. He has to bite the inside of his cheeks to keep a straight face – but fails miserably.

“You stick it where the sun don’t shine… sunshi-”

“I know where it goes.” you cut him short in a sputter, your mind still trying to catch up with this... this gift, “I just- I’ve never-…”

“- done it before. I know,” he finishes for you, his voice a mixture of teasing and reassuring, “Remember that talk we had? About tryin’ new things.” He leans over, his shoulders brushing against your chest as he reaches into the box. “You like it?”, he asks, feigning innocence. He takes the toy out of the box to trace a finger lightly over the small, jewel-adorned plug.

“I-...I- uh-,” You start, but your eyes keep drifting down to the toy in his hand, your mind racing – damnit, you were usually confident and experienced when it came down to these things… but, to be honest, kinky stuff really hasn’t made it into your bedroom so far. But trying these things with Dean for the first time? You’d be damned for missing out on that. And hey, don't knock it till you try it, right?

“Yeh, I like it,” you finally say, trying to muster some of your usual confidence, “I mean… I did say I wanna spice it up...”

That answer hit jackpot in Dean’s expression. He bites his bottom lip, trying to contain his eagerness, yet again, failing miserably. “Well, don’t keep me waitin’,” he teases, his voice just a tad bit lower than usual. You glance down at the toy and back up at him, unsure how to approach this exactly.

Noticing your lost expression, Dean gently takes your hand and leads you to stand up in front of him, him still seated on the edge of the bed. “Strip.” His tone has an authoritative edge to it now, though his eyes remain soft, almost tender as he tries to guide you.

You feel a little shiver run down your spine; that damn voice could have made your knees buckle any time. Nodding slightly, you slowly begin to undress, stripping off layer after layer of clothing until you stand completely naked before him. Dean takes a moment to admire your body, his eyes roaming over every part of you. As his gaze lands on your hips, he speaks again, his voice a low growl. “Now turn around, sweetheart.” He places his hands on your hips, his fingers trailing over your skin, sending a row of shivers through your body. Once you face away from him, you involuntarily bite your lower lip in anticipation. With the toy in his grasp, he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Get on your hands and knees, sunshine.” You swallow thickly. But again, you obey his command without question and you drop down onto your hands and knees on the floor in front of the bed. By now you can feel the excitement and lust raise more with each of your quickened breaths. And Dean can almost smell your arousal as he has to bite back a groan from it, his bulge growing bigger. He pushes off the bed and places a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you slightly forward, forcing you to arch your back slightly. He runs his fingertips down your spine, eliciting another small shiver from you. Out of your sight, but still not going unnoticed by your ears, you hear him lick the bottom of his lips at the sight while he could feel all of his blood go south. He leans in close to you, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “You’re so damn beautiful.”

A small whimper leaves your lips at the praise and the feeling of his firm hands on your bare skin are already enough to make you dripping wet. You hear Dean move behind you, reaching for the lube on the bedside table and what you assume, coating the toy with it. He then gently leans against your back, the cold buckle of his belt and the evidence of his arousal pressing against your bare skin. You bite back a groan from it, silently wishing nothing more but for him to unbuckle those damn pants already. But you know, you’d have to be patient for now, so you keep your needy sounds back as well as you can. At least until you gasp loudly when you suddenly feel the cool, metallic surface make contact with the warm skin of your buttocks. “Relax, baby,” he murmurs, his free hand soothingly massaging the small of your back. “I’ll be gentle.” His voice is even deeper now, filled with lust. You feel his hands continue their exploration, running over your curves and every dip, his calloused fingers caressing you like you are a work of art he wants to savour. His hands send sparks up your spine and you find yourself shudder and your breath hitch whenever his fingers brush across your most sensitive spots. “Now, this might feel a lil’ odd at first,” you hear him whisper, his lips hovering over the back of your neck as you feel his warm breath tingle your skin and the fabric of his flannel rest against your back. “Lemme know if it’s too much, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, I will,” you reassure him in a low mumble, not managing to hide the slight trepidation from your voice while your fingers idly searched the rug for something to dig your fingers into.

Dean feels you tense under his touch and he makes sure to keep his hands firm yet tender, his fingers tracing reassuringly over your skin. “Remember, just relax,” he repeats, his lips grazing your ear as he speaks. A shaky breath escapes your lips and you do your best to loosen up your muscles and melt into his strong hands which always give you a feeling of safety, no matter what you two did. And you two had done a lot of adventurous things so far.

“I’ve got you,” you hear him whisper against your ear again. And this time you could swear you even heard some vulnerability in his voice. You trust him, always, no doubt about that. But it’s moments like these, rare little moments of him giving you a glimpse of how damn much he really cares about you feeling safe and protected in his presence, that makes you eager to reassure him. Maybe even please him a little. You hum a soft “Mhm”, silently giving him the final go.

Then, he begins to slowly press the plug forward, his hand still resting on your back, steadying you. You feel the cool and wet tip sliding further inside, spreading you surprisingly well – but then a little sting makes you gasp from the unexpected feeling, which let your muscles tense up momentarily, before you feel his soothing hands again, and you relax under his touch.

“Shhh, ‘tis alright,” he coos softly, the plug inching inside you at the same time, “Good girl. You deserve a big treat.” Your legs tremble from the sensation and a low whimper leaves your lips – it’s not bad, but still very new and you were constantly fighting the urge to clench your buttocks around the unfamiliar object. When Dean finally stilled in his movement and the toy reached its end, you couldn’t hold back the shaky exhale which was close to a soft moan. Now that your body has adjusted to it, it feels… surprisingly exciting and pleasurable. And damnit, you want more now. You need more.

A sudden pleading whine hits Dean’s ears and his smirk widens into a cocky grin at the needy noise coming from your trembling form. “You want more, sunshine?”

“Yes...please,” you whimper instantly, your hands and knees shifting along the rug, in a desperate attempt to get some friction between your thighs. He groans – this time failing to hold it back in. The sight of you, all needy and exposed and you wearing that pretty jewel adorned-plug that’s twinkling in the low light of the motel room and fuck- he just noticed how wet you are. He briefly grazes his bottom lip with his teeth before he clenches his jaw to force down a swallow, his voice a low rumble under his breath, “Goddamn honey…”. Meanwhile his fingers run along the inside of your wet thighs, scooping up some of your juice like he wanted to make sure that none of it went to waste. He brings his fingertips up to his lips where he then licks them off with a deep groan.

And that just does it to make Dean give in.

Without giving you the chance to prepare, he goes back to your pussy and effortlessly pushes two fingers past your slick lips, drawing a deep moan from you as you feel a shudder go through your body. He keeps one hand on the small of your back, while his fingers pump inside you, relentless and eager to give you the release you deserve. “You were such a good girl,” he praises you, his fingers curling inside you to hit that sweet spot which makes you almost buckle. “Oh God-” you moan shakily, the sensation of his thick fingers filling you up on one side while the butt plug is spreading your other side, was almost too much.

“You can take it, come on,” he challenges you with a gravelly voice, his teeth grazing your neck as if to dare you to talk back. “‘M gonna make sure you get what you deserve and then some,” he whispers against your ear, the sound of it a threat as much as a promise. And then he starts scissoring his fingers while holding you in place with his other hand. You groan loudly, your fingers clutching the next thing they can reach - the damn toilet paper wrapping, which rip and crumple from your nails in an instant. Your hip‘s bucking involuntarily at the increased pressure and a row of guttural moans leave your throat. “F-fuck” you whine breathlessly, the feeling of being spread and stretched becoming almost bordering painful and yet oh so pleasurable as you feel the knot inside you tighten up more and more. The working of his fingers and the pressure in your butt get you close to the edge in record time as you just give in and let him do his magic. Your legs start to shake and if it wasn’t for his fingers dug into the flesh at your hip, you’d have keeled over by now for sure. Dean increases the speed, now his thumb flicking over your swollen bundle of nerves every time he pumps his fingers inside of you again.

“F-fuck, Dean, I- I’m- I’m comin’-” your voice breaks off when his fingers hit your g-spot again and you find yourself whimper into the rug, your nails clawing at the floor.

“That’s it-” he praises you again, now slowing down his pace but thrusting them as deep as he can while his arm slams against the plug, pressing it further in - and that‘s the last push it takes to tip you over the edge. You feel your legs give in as the knot finally bursts and the wave of ecstasy hits you, your walls clenching around his fingers and your body tensing up. Dean keeps you from falling forward, his fingers still going and his grip on your hip tightening while he’s murmuring words that go past your clouded mind. He lets you ride out your hight while your juice is soaking his entire arm. You moan out his name with a final shudder before he lets you collapse to the floor.

Dean looks down at your trembling form, all spent and limp. A satisfied grin spreads across his face while his tongue swipes over his glistening arm, savouring your sweetness and cleaning some of the mess. After a moment, he kneels down behind you, his hands caressing your butt where he pulls the plug gently out, putting it aside before his hands go back to soothingly stroke your arms and legs. He places a row of tender kisses on the back of your neck, his voice a low rumble, filled with affection and pride as he whispers against the nape of your neck. “Happy first advent, sunshine.”

EDIT: I revised some of it. My sleep-deprived brain had left out some parts which I just had to add / adjust.

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke

⚝‿︵‿୨♡ ⚝ ♡୧‿︵‿⚝

Tags: (thank you lovely sweeties, I hope you enjoyed it!)

@deaniemyboo @deansjacket @literallylexa

[nikkisheep]

To Be Alone With You (Part Five)

Anthony Bridgerton x female!sharma!sister!reader

Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Warnings: ANGST, ANGST, oh and more ANGST, Benedict and reader gets closer, reader is heartbroken, so much crying, talk of betrayal

Summary: Weeks after Anthony "dumped" you so he could be more serious in his courtship with your sister, you finally tell him that it is time that you both move on in an emotional confrontation.

I'm so sorry that it got so long. I hope that it's good given that I wrote this at like 12 am.

Song that I feel relates to it in a sense:

Illicit Affairs (Taylor Swift)

Tag List: @shealuna, @m-rae23, @littlepeanut03, @aellabridgerton, @sydney-m, @faatxma, @wildthoughtnananna, @uraesthete, @themadhattersqueen, @sydney-m, @theantiquehobbit, @theroyalmanatee ,@urfavnoirette , @budugu, @helen06dreamer, @galactict3a

The days passed. The days turned to weeks. The weeks turned into two months. Your days drug on as you prepared yourself for the next outing with your family. You faked a smile, beaming at the right time. Looking at your sisters, smiling and giggling over the hundreds of letters that Anthony wrote to Edwina.

You were staring out the window when you heard your name being called.

"Dear sister, have you read this new letter that Lord Bridgerton sent to me," Edwina beamed like a girl in love.

You turned your head to her, a small sad smile graced your face.

"No, I hadn't."

"I most certainly do not want to." Is what you wanted to say. You wanted to tell her how Anthony only makes those promises of love to you when you are both wrapped at the waist in the sheets of his bed.

Instead you tell her that you were overcome with sleep and preferred to go back to your bedroom. Standing up, you leave the room and put your hand over your mouth as a sob threatens to escape.

You sighed against the bedroom door when it closed and you let the tears fall. You sob right there on your bedroom floor, your dress creating a pool around you as you sank to the floor because your knees couldn't handle the weight of you standing.

You don't try to keep the tears in. You had been waiting to be alone to let them fall. You didn't understand why Anthony couldn't love you.

Why did it have to be you?

Why won't he end the courtship with your sister?

Why did you have to fall in love with him?

-----

The next few days carry the same thing. You smile. You nod. You pretend that you weren't silently dying inside because that is how you should be feeling. You should be happy when you see Anthony kiss Edwina's hand because that is her soon to be husband. He is respectful. He is a gentleman.

----

Your family arrives at the Featherington's house for the annual Featherington ball. Many families of the ton had arrived and were all gossiping to each other in small groups. When the Bridgertons walked in with the Sharmas, the entire room looked over in their direction. All of the Sharmas were there except for you. You had said that you were not feeling like going to the ball. When in fact you had to get ready in your dress that was going to be the best at the ball and you knew that.

You were getting your shoes on when you looked at the window. The night was set and you saw the carriage that waited for you. Stepping out of the house, your deep purple dress trailed behind you a bit. Your dress in the shape of a ball gown that had gems embedded in the fabric. Every time you moved, your dress sparkled. Your hair had one curl that laid gently against your collarbone.

----

Stepping inside the Featherington's home, the entire building went silent as they awaited your next move. Your gloved hands came to rest by your sides and you picked up your dress. You then took a step forward and soon the entire room opened itself up as you cast a smile that could blind anyone who looked too close.

Making your way to the lemonade stand, you bumped into Benedict and you gave him a smile as you looked up to him. You pat him on his arm and he smiles to you.

"You, Miss Sharma, look absolutely gorgeous. I need to have a talk with your Lady's Maid because you look," He said. "Like money doesn't know the price."

You smile and let out a laugh.

"You are too kind with your words, Ben." You set down your glass and then preceded to grab his arm. "Come. Come dance with me."

He leads you to the dance floor, holding your gloved hand. You get in line with everyone else and then preceded to dance. You hand was on his shoulder, his on your hip and holding your hand. You smile at him when he nearly bumps into someone, too busy looking into your eyes.

"Miss Sharma," He started. "I was wondering if you would be interested in another art session."

"As in the same as last time?" You giggle, raising an eyebrow.

"Not quite," He laughed. "I wanted to give you actual art lessons and perhaps actually finish the drawing that I was working on."

"I feel like that can be arranged," You laugh.

"And if anything happens like last time, I may have to marry you."

Your smile falls and you drop his hand.

'Miss Sharma?" You can barely hear him. Your heart was beating too loud.

"Have I said something to offend you?" He asked, confused.

"No, it is not you."

"I feel as though it was. I am terribly sorry for my words that have conflicted hurt onto you."

Just before you could reply, Anthony walked up and greeted his brother.

"I was not aware that you were escorting Miss Sharma to the dance floor," Anthony said. "After all she said that she wouldn't be attending tonight."

He finally turned to you and smiled. You didn't smile back. You eyes were dull. The light had faded from them when seeing Anthony.

"Good evening Lord Bridgerton," You bow quickly.

"I haven't seen you in a long time, Miss Sharma."

You looked at him and wondered if you should even react. You didn't want to see him. You didn't want to talk. But really, you did. You wanted to show him that you were perfectly fine without him.

"You look lovely tonight," he said. " Your dress is beautiful."

He was trying to get a reaction. He wanted to see you swoon for him. At least that is what you thought.

"You look decent." You don't look him in the eyes, knowing that you would fall back to where you started.

"Why thank you. Can I have a dance?"

You nod and you both go to the dance floor. Edwina, Kate and Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury all stand to watch.

Anthony takes your gloved hand and he placed your other hand onto his shoulder. He places his other on your hip and begins to move. His touch burns into your dress. You might as well have had nothing on with how warm his hands felt.

Your eyes are locked with his as you move. His eyes were so full of love and adoration that you almost had to look away. Your hand on his shoulder slides up to cup his neck as you both move along in the steps of the song. Your head comes to rest closer to his shoulder and you could feel his breathe fan over the loose curls on your neck. He brings his hand with yours to his chest and you can feel his heart beat.

When you look back in his eyes, it feels like it's just the two of you and no one else was here. It was the two of you and you would stay like this forever. His eyes told you everything you had whispered into the night together.

"I love you more than you will ever know."

---

"Don't they look like they are having fun?" Edwina asked. "I knew that if they spent time together that they would grow to like each other."

The other ladies looked at her.

"I do believe that they do make a good dancing couple," Lady Danbury said.

"A handsome dancing couple," Edwina agreed.

She soon left as Kate was left with the two women.

"Kate, tell me, has your sister always been terrible at hiding her feelings?" Lady Danbury said.

Kate looked confused.

"Her feelings about what?"

"It's more about who." She said as she turned Kate's head gently to the direction in which you were dancing with Anthony.

"Lord Bridgerton?" Kate asked.

"Indeed it seems that they have feelings for each other."

"Lady Danbury you believe that anyone around Lord Bridgerton is in love with him," Kate said.

"Not everyone. You are not."

"Well....no."

"Just keep an eye on them and see what I see," Lady Danbury said. "Now run along."

Kate left to find a glass of lemonade.

"Lady Bridgerton, your son is absolutely enthralled with that girl." Lady Danbury said with a knowing smirk.

"Miss Sharma and my son are not in love," Violet said. "They can't be. He is engaged to her sister."

They look back to you and Anthony. Your eyes seem to never leave each other. Both of your lips were parted slightly as you look like you can't see anything else but each other.

"The eyes can't tell a lie, Violet."

---

"I am sorry for how I left things between us," Anthony said.

"Why?"

"I didn't want things to end that way."

"But they did and now it's over. We are over."

"Over?"

You look at him for a second. You see a man who doesn't realize that he did this to the both of you.

"You ruined us when you decided to court my sister."

"I was courting her before I met you."

"Then you should have never gotten involved with me."

"I wasn't the only one who was involved," He said, pulling the two of you outside away from others. "You were also there in that lake when this all started. I asked you if it was okay and you said yes."

"I didn't know that-"

"You knew that you were betraying your sister and dishonoring yourself but you still did it so do not stand here and twist the blame onto me. I am not the only one who betrayed Edwina."

"You told me you loved me. You promised me that you loved me."

"And I never lied," He said, emotion slipping in. "You were..."

"Then why does it feel like a lie?" You started to feel emotional. "Why did you have to propose to my sister? Why did you have to make me love you?" You fall against him as you sob into his chest. Your hands ball up into fists and you slightly smack them against his chest.

"Why did you make me love you? You sob again. "Why am I not good enough for you to marry instead?"

"You are good enough. You are way too good." Anthony said as he holds you in his arms as your body shakes with sobs.

"What does she have that I don't?" You cry. "What makes you want her to marry her but not me?"

"I can't love her because she isn't you."

Your face is red with tears streaming down your face as you wipe your nose with the back of your handkerchief. You blankly stare at him with tears in your eyes.

"I love you. Can't you see that I'm doing all of this because I love you," Anthony said, desperation creeping into his voice.

"You love me and yet you are still going to marry my sister," You cry. "Someone you do not even love. Why can you not marry someone you love?"

"I have my reasons," He said, thinking of how his mother was after his father died.

"I need to stop loving you," You said.

"You....what?"

" I need to be free of the torment that you have inflicted onto me," You say, calming yourself down. "I need to be with someone else. I'm sorry."

"Wait-"

"Good night, Lord Bridgerton."

And you left the ball without looking back.

[evilminji]

Hey Minji! A thought for your Star Wars things!

Who ever said the SI-OC was the only one to get dumped in SW? Just. A Creche that has several Reincarnations/Transmigrants.

Oh? My god? Just... the FIRST thing that popped into my head? Was the image of one of those "we are so Unbelievably Overworked We No Longer Fear You Nor Death" Sort of office workers/team of workers(nonspecific)?

Just... fuckin EVERYBODY knows Star Wars. Not everybody focused on the same PART of it, but the DO know it. So OBVIOUSLY? The Force decided it should bring in an A Team.

It Did Not ASK the A Team.

They are... like? 4. And sitting in a soft foam, brightly colored Creche, in their lil Jedi rompers, all sitting in a circle, looking at each other like... ( -_-) (-_- ) you too, huh?

Yeeeeeep. (God does Jerry want a cigarette. Jerry gave them up in his 20s. But he's KINDA GOING THROUGH IT, okay?!) (Sarah is hyperventilating in the corner. Her KIDS! Oh GOD. Her KIDS! She was on the way to pick them up from SOCCOR PRACTICE!!!)

Just? This whole ass team of "yeah, we know the LORE, but buddy, pal, we had LIVES! What the FUCK. Star Wars was a HOBBY!" Type adults? No one is happy and everyone wants to choke the metaphysical concept of The Force with their itty, bitty lil baby hands.

They may RIOT.

And like? Do to sheer NUMBERS? They make up ALMOST a full Creche?

Almost.

There is like... one? Maybe two? Actual Jedi Babies™ in their group? It's A Team... plus our collective children. Whom we parent. The MOST baby of babies. Also the spokesperson when they want to fool anyone into thinking they're "normal".

I want Jerry to have a fake cigarette. He's looked up death sticks and like FUCK is he putting that shit in his body, but dear LORD are the oral fixation and mental effects of a past addiction still both real, and a pain in the ASS.

If you try and TAKE his fake ass, hand made, bespoke not-a-cigarette from his itty bitty lil baby hands? He will take your KNEES. These FUCKERS won't even let him have COFFEE. Let him HAVE THIS. *hisses from the walls*

I want them to be ☆~Nightmare Children~☆

They have the power of The Force, various past life skills, an uninterrupted access to the galaxy's BIGGEST LIBRARY, close proximity to FAR too many senator AND their living spaces, and? An actual negative number of fucks to give. They can take shifts. Tag team. Be creepy, horrible, terrible, God awful nightmare creatures climbing out from your WALLS.

Somehow they keep escaping.

Down through the lower temple as they examine the hidden tunnels and escape routes. Through the vents. Forcing other jedi to become VERY familiar with where those pathways are. Sure hope THAT won't someday save your lives! Ya ungrateful, "you're grounded, stop sneaking out younglings" BASTARDS! So rude!!

The camp out in the Corrie Gaurd office. Bring the babies.

Here, you seem stressed, random gaurd. Hold a Jedi Baby. They radiate sunshine and good vibes. Are literally the Anti-Old-Man-Sith. We brought caffeine and food from the temple. Are willing to follow you around like "adorable ducklings" on patrol under the excuse that we're "training" for when we get our own soilders.

Sure is INCONVENIENT for all these asshole senators to has a witness, huh?

You gaurd my back, I'll gaurd yours. And if a certain long neck trips near the stairs? You didn't see SHIT. I'm BABY. How could I POSSIBLY have the control to do that? Now excuse me... we need to practice our "we Jedi Children can stare into your SOOOOOULS, we See All Your Sins." Wide Eyed Unblinking Predator Stare.

(O.O) (O.O) (O.O)

[murdockparker]

Roses and Regrets - Part 3

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Lady Barlow returns to Bridgerton House for tea, a mystery is solved.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: enemies to lovers, flashbacks

A/N: sorry for the hiatus! here's pt 3 to make up for it my loves!! also, the tag list has been closed! so sorry

first part - previous part - next part

—

“You look radiant, my dear.”

She picked at the feather atop her head—it was drooping a bit too much for her liking. “Do you really think so?”

“Should Lady (Y/L/N) have been here to see it,” the older lady sighed, tears almost dotting her eyes, “why, she would be the most proud of you.”

Her mother had passed only last year, delaying (Y/N)’s entrance to society. Mourning came easily, she had found. The black attire, the dreary expression, the love lost. Lord (Y/L/N) nearly forced his daughter into the Mart last year, but, given the prying eyes of the ton it was best to wait a few short months. 

She didn’t know how freeing those months truly were. 

“What if I forget how to dance?” (Y/N) asked, turning to face her family’s maid—Mary. “Perhaps I fall on my face, or, perhaps I step on a suitor’s toes?”

Mary smiled kindly, head tilted in affection. “You have had wonderful teachers in that regard, I do not believe you have any reason to step on a suitor’s toes.”

“But what if I do?”

“You will not,” Mary reminded her. “And perhaps you do? If they are truly a gentleman, they will not mention such a thing.”

“Truly?”

“One may hope.”

“Mary!”

“Oh, miss, tonight is not about dancing anyhow,” Mary laughed, straightening the feather on the young lady’s head. “You will present yourself to the Queen as an eligible woman to be wed, she will judge you accordingly—”

“I am to be judged by the Queen?” (Y/N) quickly turned around. “Oh my God—I truly do not wish to go now!”

Mary sighed. “Miss, it is just how things are done. I know your mother is not here to explain the comings and goings, but… after this evening, I pray you find a suitable gentleman to court you and you will be engaged before season’s end. You will have little to worry about the Queen judging you if you become half of a suitable match.”

“And if I do not have a suitable match?”

Mary pursed her lips. “Well… then you hope another coupling takes the Queen’s attention from you.”

“These rules,” (Y/N) scoffed. “With my luck, I get married off by the end of the season—at least I’ll be free from my father.”

“Let us fix up your hair, hm?” Mary said quickly. “We have a Queen to impress!”

It was just as miserable as she assumed it would be, waiting outside of the door to be seen by the Queen, the one who will judge her worthiness to every eligible bachelor in the ton, the one who will give her an out from a life with her horrid father. 

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N), presented by her father, the admirable Lord (Y/L/N).”

The great doors opened, an aisle leading directly to the Queen and her band of merry onlookers, each eye judging her entrance with a balanced caution. Lord (Y/L/N) stood a bit straighter, his hand wringing tighter on his daughter’s arm.

“Do not make a mess of us,” he warned quietly.

Her breath caught in her throat. A silent acceptance. 

The Queen’s eyes lasted only a moment on her before waving her off for the next young lady, not a true dismissal, but not a smile.

Average, her father called her. 

A disappointment, he said.  

She tried her best to avoid his gaze the rest of the evening. 

What she didn’t know, however, is that one gaze in particular was trained on her nearly the whole time. 

—

She had tea with Lady Bridgerton twice a week. It was a good habit to have. It was nice to have friends, now adding Lady Danbury to her little circle during these teas. She never had many friends growing up, nor many in her short time in the season, the closest she got to true friendships were with Lord Barlow’s friends wives, but those women were nearly always out of touch and hard to be friendly with. One time, Lady Whitehill insulted her for wearing white to her ball��the theme being black and white—that was enough for her to feign the friendship and keep to herself. 

She grew to know a few of the Bridgerton children during her visits. Hyacinth and Gregory, the rambunctious bunch that they were, usually brought a smile to the young dowager viscountess’ face. Just last week, the pair put a toad in their older sister’s tea cup—Eloise nearly shattered the entire tea set in shock. A fun family, she had decided, one she nearly didn’t loathe to be around entirely. All but one member, of course.

He kept to himself, she had found. Whether that had been on purpose or a mere coincidence, she never really knew. Anthony Bridgerton made himself scarce during tea time, the mention of him only in passing and rarely—if ever—by his siblings. If she put money on it, Violet had something to do with it, a keen eye she had for the world around her—especially when that world was seemingly revolved by her eight rambunctious children. 

“Anthony has been rather cross lately,” Hyacinth spoke up between biscuits. “Mother, do you know why?”

Violet gave her youngest a trying look. “Darling, we have a guest.”

“Oh it is just Lady Barlow,” Hyacinth admonished, nearly gulping her tea. Decorum was through the window during these less formal gatherings. “She is practically family at this point, is she not?”

“I am flattered you think so highly of me,” (Y/N) said sweetly, giving Hyacinth an equally sweet smile. “But I do think your mother is right—” 

“Are we supposed to never talk of him when she’s around?” Hyacinth looked to her mother. “It’s a foolish thing—”

“Hyacinth!” 

“Oh, Lady Bridgerton, it is fine,” (Y/N) said, finally finishing her own cup of tea. “He’s your son, her brother, I do not expect you to cease speaking of him for my sake. It is kind of you for requesting such a thing.” 

“What?” Hyacinth nearly laughed. “It wasn’t Mama’s request—Anthony asked we didn’t speak of him when you were around. Of course, he wished you would not be around—”

“Hyacinth Bridgerton!” Violet stood up, her anger shooting to the ceiling. Why, one may have thought that it could have cracked the moulding clean off. “Retire to your bedchambers.”

“Mama.” 

“Now, Hyacinth,” Violet nearly scolded. Her voice never raised to a shout, but the tone was commanding all the same. The practice and talent of a mother.

The youngest Bridgerton hopped off of the lounge and huffed towards the entrance to the drawing room, a staff member opening the door for her. 

“I am terribly sorry for her behavior,” Violet tried to laugh it off, but the clear look on her face told an entirely different story. “She is the greatest gift, but also the biggest challenge of my eight, I fear…”

“Her candidness is charming,” (Y/N) said. “She will be a fine young lady, I am sure.”

“Once she learns to hold her tongue, I fully agree,” Violet sank back onto the lounge. “Please do not mind her words, she hardly knows of what she speaks.”

(Y/N) laughed, flattening her skirt to try and appear busy. “It is no secret that your son and I share a bit of an aversion towards one another, she was only speaking the truth.”

“Whatever my son has done to upset you, I fully apologize for that as well.”

“You must cease apologizing for your children, Violet,” (Y/N) said, nearly tired of the topic. “Your youngest daughter is one thing, I will give you grace with that, but your son is a man—you must not make apologies for whatever he has done.”

Violet shifted in her seat. “I do apologize quite often for my children, do I not?” A small laugh escaped her lips. “Goodness… I fear that is all I have been doing as of late.”

Lady Barlow joined in on the laugh. “A mother’s job is never ending, I fear.”

“But my son,” Violet said, her voice teetering on nosy. “He hasn’t… done anything untoward?”

“I rather think this is a sensitive topic for tea.”

“Right,” Violet shook her head. “Apologies, I just want to make sure he was on his best behavior.”

“Lord Bridgerton? On his best behavior?” She nearly barked a laugh. “Oh Violet, you jest.”

Violet chuckled. “I suppose it was a foolish thing to say, yes."

“Speaking of foolish things,” (Y/N) sighed. “I believe the time in which Lord Bridgerton has allowed me to be in your home is up for the day.”

Violet forced a smile. “You and I both know that your presence is welcome here anytime.”

“I find it so enlightening that you think that, Violet.”

—

“Brother, if you stare at that cover any longer, you may just set it aflame.”

Anthony tore his gaze from the red book atop his desk. He had planned on balancing various accounts for the estate that afternoon—Benedict ruined all concentration the moment he burst through the study doors. Mumbling on about the academy and his strife, the woes of a second son. 

“I was not staring,” Anthony said, shifting a few papers to cover the book. “You simply made me lose my rhythm.”

“Rhythm,” Benedict hummed, barely moving from his seated position. “Rhythm of what? Modiste bills?”

“Actually,” Anthony laughed airily, “yes. It seems Mother has taken a great deal to get Eloise proper dresses this season.”

“Oh? How much in silk and other fabric has she paid?” Benedict peered closer to the desk, as if he was trying to read Anthony’s parchment. 

“Too much,” Anthony said lowly. “I shall speak to her tonight.”

“Speak to her you shall,” Benedict agreed, fingertips dancing on the wood of his elder brother’s workspace. “As if Eloise needs the finest silks, it is not as if she will make a match this season.”

Anthony furrowed his brow. “She will make a fine match.”

“This season? Brother, you are more likely to secure a wife than Eloise a husband this season,” Benedict pointed.

“A fine match one day,” he corrected. 

“Speaking of your match,” Benedict said, his voice nearly a song. In nearly a blink, he snatched the red book from under the carefully placed parchments, holding the cover up closer for inspection. “Perhaps that is the reason you’ve taken up reading poetry?”

“Give that back,” Anthony rose from his chair, hand stretched outwards, the other on his hip. 

“No, I do not think I will,” Benedict said, a giggle following his words. “I did not take you for the poetry type, Brother. I recall numerous conversations in which you regarded the literature as ‘a waste of perfectly fine paper.’”

“I still feel the same,” Anthony reached further over the desk, trying to reach his brother. “Benedict, I will not ask again.”

“Is the viscount hiding something from his dear baby brother?” Benedict cooed, holding the text closer to his chest. “I cannot think of any other reason you’d have poetry in your study if not to gain favor of a lady.”

“As if I would stoop low enough to learn any poetry to woo a lady,” Anthony scoffed. “I am simply enough as I am for most ladies in the mart—they are the ones who have to convince me of a match.”

“The perks of a title,” Benedict sighed, lowering the book to his hip. “Still, I did not take you for a poetry man.”

“Colin was blabbering about ‘expanding my horizons’,” Anthony lied. “All that travel surely has gotten to his head.”

“So you chose to start reading poetry?”

“Why must you act like it is the most foolish thing?” 

“Because it is the most foolish thing,” Benedict barked a laugh. Reluctantly, he set the book into Anthony’s still open hand. “But, if it has been bringing you bliss… who am I to argue?”

His fingers scratched against the leather of the cover, his heartbeat slowing the second he had the text in his hands. “I wouldn’t call it bliss.”

“Nor would I,” Benedict groaned. “Of all the poets to choose from, you picked up a copy of Byron’s bumbling. Truly, if you wanted recommendations on the subject, you need not ask, I am more than willing to assist.”

Anthony looked closer at the cover, as if his hours of staring at the text had done him any good, his brother was right, it was a collection of poems by Lord Byron. “I recall you mentioning the name,” he lied, quite easily, “I thought it was a recommendation in good faith.”

Benedict pressed a hand to his chest. “Then you have not been listening to me at all!”

“Forgive my transgression,” Anthony sat back down, his attention turning back to his papers, politely trying to ignore the fact he had not placed the book back onto the desk—the leather-bound book still tight in his grip. 

“I could do you a favor, you know,” Benedict smirked. “Throw it right into the fire—it ought to make good kindling. Frankly, the only thing it’s good for, I fear.”

“No,” Anthony said a tad too quickly. He feared Benedict looking too terribly deep into the matter, so he composed himself just as fast. “I borrowed this copy, it must be returned.”

“Borrowed?” Benedict quirked his brow. “From whom?”

“Mr. Mondrich said a patron left it behind,” Anthony began to lie, his breathing even. “But I should return it soon, lest the owner comes back for it soon.”

Benedict scoffed, finally standing up and readjusting his coat. “I fear you’d be doing the owner a favor, then.”

“Should you not be heading out for the Academy?”

His younger brother nearly groaned. “Yes, probably.”

“You should probably get on that, then,” Anthony said, pointing to the door of the study. “We pay a fine tuition and I would hate for that money to go to waste on your need to be so flippant on the matter.”

“You certainly are no fun these days,” Benedict said, making his way to the back of the study. He opened the door hastily before turning back to look at Anthony. “Perhaps you should hasten to find a wife, so she could pull that stick out of your—”

“Leave.”

His brother’s laughter peeled away from the study, finally escaping to head off to his other duties of the day. Anthony felt like he could finally breathe, his shoulders falling and the book in his hands now feeling lighter than before, his grip not so deadly on the tome. He could feel every muscle in his body relaxing, nearly pleased he could finally go back to his stack of papers, all needing signatures and the like.

“You!” 

Anthony’s head snapped back to his study door—Benedict had left it wide open in his exit. Standing in the entryway was a one Lady Barlow, dressed in a sage green dress, a matching ribbon dangling from her hair—she had finally and wholly retired the mourning attire, it seemed. “Me? What are you doing here?”

“You stole my book!” She pointed, stepping into the study with a hurried pace.

“You did not answer my question,” Anthony pressed. “What are you doing here?”

“Why do you have my book?”

He slammed the red leather book against the surface of his desk. “This book is none of your concern—your only concern should be related in leaving my estate with the utmost haste.”

“It seems to be entirely my concern,” she argued. “And I was leaving—had tea with your mother as I’m sure you’re well aware—until I saw my property in your hands.”

“It is very unladylike to accuse me of stealing your book—”

“I never used the word steal,” she crossed her arms, taking more space in the study, getting closer to his desk. Her eyes narrowed, obviously trying to read the cover or spine of the book. “But it is rather convenient that you happen to have a book that is identical to the one I lost…”

“Loads of books look alike,” Anthony challenged, crossing his own arms in defiance. 

“Did I mention I seemed to have misplaced this particular book,” she quickly clawed at the desk to swipe the book up, “the very day we had our spat in the park? And now you seemingly have it in your possession?”

His mouth gaped like a trout, nothing but a puff of air passing his lips.

“I knew you were an unsavory man, Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) said, pulling the book to her chest—nearly afraid he’d take it back from her. “But I never thought you’d be a right thief, too.”

“I was planning on returning it,” Anthony said softly, so soft it was a wonder that anyone heard him at all. “Honestly. I just—”

“Just what?”

His brows pulled together, Anthony could practically feel his internal temperature rising. “Must you accuse me of such a crime when I was only meaning to do the right thing?”

“The right thing was stealing my book?”

“I did not steal your book!” He spat. 

Her laughter was hollow, her face contorted in disbelief. “Oh? So you just happened to have it?” 

“You were foolish enough to forget your own belongings,” Anthony stepped around his desk, getting closer to her. “You left it behind, you were neglectful of your possessions.” He boldly pressed a finger to her shoulder, poking her with every inflection of his voice. “I simply planned on returning it to you, being the gentleman I am.”

His finger felt like a brand against her skin, hot and sizzling, even over the fabrics of her green sleeves. She couldn’t tell what was feeling more heated, her cheeks or the patch of skin beneath his touch—all heated from anger, of course. “It has been more than a fortnight since our time in the park, you could have returned it at any time.”

“Is that what I should have done? Return the book, only for you to accuse me of stealing it?” Anthony tilted his head, removing his hand from her shoulder. “No,” he clicked, “that would be entirely too unreasonable, would it not?”

(Y/N) pressed the book closer to her chest. A beat of silence. “I do not appreciate your sarcasm.”

“Imagine how much I appreciate your accusation, then,” Anthony quipped, albeit softer than his previous comments.

She deflated, wilted like a flower in a drought. “Perhaps I was a bit crass.” 

“Perhaps I should have made a greater effort to return your book.”

“Perhaps,” she coughed, looking down at the ground. “Perhaps I should not have entirely jumped down your throat with such an accusation.”

“Perhaps not,” Anthony said, cracking a hint of a smile. 

“Perhaps we cease the use of the word ‘perhaps’?” (Y/N) said playfully, her smile matching his own.

A sigh of relief, a breath of fresh air filled his lungs. “Perhaps we should.”

She nodded, her grip loosening on her book just a bit. “Perhaps.”

“For what it’s worth,” Anthony said softly, fighting his grin from becoming much larger. “I am sorry, for not returning your book right away. You’ve been a welcome guest in this home many time since then, I really had no excuse.”

“I wouldn’t say I’ve been a ‘welcome’ guest,” (Y/N) said, a bit of bite to her words. She swallowed them quickly. “Of course, I do appreciate you allowing me my friendship with your mother. Even if that’s not something we necessarily needed…”

“It’s difficult for you to accept an apology, isn’t it?”

“From you?” A laugh escaped her. “Of course. It’ll take a lot more than just a few words for me to forgive your transgression. But, I appreciate having my book back all the same.���

“Is that a thank you?” Anthony crossed his arms.

“I am not sure,” she said, turning on her heels. “Is that an apology?”

She had already begun to walk away, but Anthony could’ve sworn he saw her cheeks lifting, a smile tinting her voice.

—

Returning to the Barlow Estate, (Y/N) held onto her book as if it was the most precious piece of literature in the world, almost as if it were a copy from the royal archives and the like. She wasted no time to return it to her own library, a small collection of tomes and books in her bedchambers, unlike the large expanse of books in the drawing room just a floor below.

She peeled open the cover, her fingers rubbing over the inscription on the inside. Her mother's name, written in the finest of penmanship on the top corner.

She realized, he could have left the book in the park, if she had truly left it behind. He could have allowed the changing weather ruin the perfectly good text, let someone else take it for themselves. And while he had many an opportunity to return the book, he was the head of his family, a busy man, after all.

Perhaps Lord Bridgerton wasn't as uncouth as she once assumed.

Perhaps.

—

Roses and Regrets Tag List:

@creative-heart , @sunshineangel-reads , @patty2191 , @favsrachz , @peterpankat , @randomgurl2326 , @sawendel , @stranger-chan , @xxxkat3xxx , @teastoriesandforgottentime , @lordzzz , @boo8008 , @captainlunaxmen , @hellisagemini , @berarenado , @atom-bomb-baby , @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @caramelised-onions , @mirandastuckinthe80s , @living-that-best-life , @ladyoflynx , @chelseyyouraverageluigi , @geeksareunique , @miniaturegardenerkingdom , @fallout-girl219

tag list closed!

[fairyhaos]

Ꮺ cold ice, cinnamon smiles // lee seokmin

dokyeom x gn!reader, 1.6k words

tags: 1800s britain au, christmas au, ice skating, fluff, meet cute, strangers to lovers, seokmin is the 3 c's: cute and clumsy and chivalrous

warnings: none

notes: merry christmas everyone ^_^

summary: winter is a harsh time of the year, cold and merciless, but what happens when you meet a boy who has a smile warm enough to melt the coldest of ice?

When the weather gets cold enough, sometimes the river Thames will freeze over.

It’s utterly delightful, because it allows you to take out your skates, dress up as warm as possible, and spend several hours on the ice that had once been the river, breathing in the bitingly cold air and sighing in content.

This year, it's right on Christmas Eve, so it means there's the gentle, warm scent of cinnamon and nutmeg wafting through the air from the Christmas fairs set up along the river, as people skate over the recently-frozen surface, spending some time before their cherished holiday out on the ice.

There’s the chatter of children as they slide delightedly over the ice, the laughter of teenagers as they slip into each other, even the fond chuckles of adults as they help each other stay upright.

Your parents are out on the river somewhere, too, skating hand in hand, in their own world away from the shrieks and laughs of the public. 

It’s sweet.

Closing your eyes, you tilt your head back, gliding effortlessly across the river, cheeks stinging with cold but your mind feeling blessedly content when—

“Oh, do watch out!”

Your eyes fly open just in time to see a flurry of brown wool collide with you, and your hands shoot out almost instantly, staggering back a little to catch the person who had barrelled into you.

The stranger yelps, stumbling into your hold, and it’s a good thing that you’re a decently good skater because otherwise this person would have sent you both flying across the ice.

“Sorry, sorry, oh good Lord, I’m sorry,” the person apologises profusely, leaning out of your arms as soon as he gains his balance, brushing his hair out of his face with a finger, eyes wide and earnest and apologetic. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to just slam into you like that.”

You smile, ready to brush away his apologies, because really this could happen to anyone, but as you look properly at the stranger, your breath hitches in your throat.

Dark, soft hair falling into big, gentle eyes. Warm twinkles in his irises and winter-ruddy flushes of red on his cheeks that make him look like some sort of delicately crafted doll, and when he smiles shyly, it's like a ray of white gold light spilling over the grey landscape of winter.

This man is beautiful.

And he’s still apologising, over and over, and he’s brushing down the sleeves of your coat, checking that you’re okay, and you want to laugh a little because goodness, it seemed that this stranger was cute and beautiful.

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” you say, resting a hand on his arm to stay his fretful movements, smiling. “It’s okay, I’m completely fine.”

The man pauses, looking at you with worried eyes. “Are you sure?” he says. “You’re not hurt anywhere, are you?”

He goes back to patting you down again, and if it were any other man, you’d feel outraged at how he’s touching you so easily like this, but his hands are nothing but a gentle pressure over your arms, your shoulders, and the concern emanating from his touch.

“I’m okay, truly,” you say, laughing a little. “I’m strong,” you add, when he looks at you disbelievingly. “My mother has been teaching me to skate since I was little girl. We have a lake in our estate, you see, and in the winter, it always freezes over.”

His eyes widen at your words. “E—estate? Are you—oh, dear, which Lord is your father?”

He looks panicked, eyes widening even further and face falling in fear that he’s damaged the precious child of some haughty and terrifying aristocrat, and it’s so painfully adorable to you that you laugh again, shaking your head.

“No, no, nothing like that. My family and I are just… reasonably well-off,” you say. He still looks like he doesn’t believe you, though, so you stick a hand out. “I’m Y/N. Just plain old me, no fancy titles or anything. I promise.”

The man looks down at your hand, and then up at your face again, and something about your faintly smiling expression must convince him you’re telling the truth, because he grasps your hand firmly, eyes shining.

He doesn’t shake your hand, however, and adjusts his grip to delicately hold your fingers, bending down, making your eyes widen.

Gently, his lips brush against your knuckles, and he looks up at you with golden eyes. “Lee Seokmin,” he introduces, voice soft. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Heart in your throat, you can hardly take your eyes off of him as he smiles, a warm curling of his lips, warmer than the warmest cinnamon scent, glowing in the dim English winter light. Speechless, you watch as he straightens, still holding your hand, and he opens his mouth to say something before suddenly his eyes widen, and he tips backwards, a startled cry leaving his mouth.

Almost in slow motion, you feel yourself tug forward too, and the entire world falls to a hush as you collide into his chest, falling, falling, falling to land right on Seokmin as his back hits the cold ice of the Thames.

Seokmin blinks up at you, and his hair is a feathery soft mess around his head, the white ice giving him an almost angelic glow, and when his lips part around a soft “oh” you can’t help your gaze unintentionally flicking down towards the soft pink of his mouth.

And then everything hits you at once—especially the fact that you’re lying on top of him, in public—and you hurry to scramble off, cheeks flushing with more than just the cold.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, face heating up horribly fast, “I—Are you okay?” You hold out a hand to him, and after a moment of rapid blinking, Seokmin takes it, shakily getting to his feet with the help of your steady hands.

He really is rather wobbly on his skates. You wonder why he’s out here in the first place.

“No, goodness, I’m the one that’s sorry,” Seokmin says, and his cheeks are red too, redder than they were before the fall. “I’m so sorry for pulling you down with me.” He rubs at his cheeks, the action bashful and adorable as you worriedly brush ice flecks from his coat. “I really am rather terrible at skating.”

He looks down, embarrassed, looking rather like a dejected puppy, and you resist the urge to lean over and ruffle his hair.

Instead, you just hum, looking him up and down to avoid lingering to long on at the small pout forming on his face, lest you suddenly lose all self-control and try to kiss it away.

“I could teach you?” you offer. “Because luckily for you, I am rather good at skating myself.”

It’s honestly rather adorable how quickly he perks up at that, beaming. “Really? Oh, are you sure?”

You laugh at his eagerness, nodding. “Of course. We can’t have you colliding into any other people here, can we?”

Seokmin flushes, but his irises are shimmering awfully mesmerisingly, and as he smiles at you, you can’t help but do anything but smile widely back.

You’re about to say something when there’s a shout of your name in the distance, and you look behind you to see two familiar figures, waving and calling for you to come over to them. 

“Y/N, dear, it’s getting late! We ought to go home now,” your mother calls, and your heart sinks.

Seokmin seems to hear them shout too, because he chuckles a little regretfully, face falling, and he looks so sad that your heart squeezes painfully. “I suppose you need to leave,” he says. “It’s a shame I won’t be able to have my much-needed skating lesson from you.”

You turn back to Seokmin. “Wait, Seokmin—”

Before you can say anything, he grasps your hand gently, his fingers unusually warm despite the freezing temperatures that you’re currently standing in. And then he leans down (carefully, this time) and kisses your knuckles again, feather light.

“I hope to see you around, Y/N,” he says, and begins to shuffle away.

He doesn’t get far before you glide over and grab his collar insistently, almost making him fall over yet again.

He doesn’t, though, because you’re holding tightly, bringing his face close to yours.

“Meet me again,” you say, almost pleading. “Will you—will you please come here again tomorrow? I know that it’s Christmas Day tomorrow, and you’ll be spending time with your family but do you think you could? I… want to see you again.”

Seokmin’s eyes widen, and his face is so close that you can see the way his eyelashes flutter slightly, warmth spreading across his cheeks.

“Besides,” you add, flushing yourself, “I still need to teach you how to not fall for anyone else.”

It makes Seokmin laugh, a bright, ringing sound that makes you feel oddly giddy, and his face is crinkling into the most beautiful smile as he nods, still laughing.

“Of course,” he says, that gorgeous smile lighting up his entire face. “Of course, I’ll meet you here. You can teach me to fall for you only.”

It makes you blush, but when Seokmin leans in, tilting his head and pressing a brief kiss to your cheek, it has you blushing even harder than you even thought possible, eyes widening as the pressure is there and then gone, replaced with Seokmin’s bright eyes and his bright smile and his bright voice, gradually moving further away.

“Tomorrow,” he promises as he begins to shuffle away again. “I’ll meet you here tomorrow.”

You watch him go, giving him a shy wave, before finally he disappears amongst the crowd of people. Heart beating unusually fast, you turn to go as well, and the ruddiness of your cheeks is not just from the cold.

Giddy, you think of Seokmin’s lips on your cheek and your knuckles, of his fingers holding yours.

It makes you smile. Looks like you have a Christmas date.

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @raevyng @isabellah29

[fanaticsnail]

Chapter 8

Masterlist Here, Moodboard Here

Sapsorrow Masterlist

Word Count: 10,700+

"Whom so ever fits the ring becomes wed to the warlord who owns it" Themes: enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, forced proximity, lord and subordinate, one bed trope, apprehension, mutual pining, obligation, slow burn, eventual love, protective, "where is my wife" trope.

Starlight

(Image Source: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/462322717990096069/)

Tag List: @maybe-a-bi-witch @fuzzyfestcat @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @be-good-please @little-bunnybabe @sukilovesyou @acehyacinth @andriannag @one17 @canthebest1 @khaleesihavilliard @hungrhay @sentieence @lebanese-afg-ya @captaincupio @szired @sexc-snail @alphaash99 @mfreedomstuff @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrs-wolfwood @jaguarthecat @marsbars09 @vespidphoenix @cinnbar-bun

Notes: Thank you to @i-am-vita for her banner! Oh, boy. This is a big chapter. Next chapter will be MDNI, 18+. Thank you for your patience with me working at this. Two more chapters to go!

Song Suggestions: Young and Beautiful - Je suis Parte & Por Una Cabeza - Carlos Gardel

The ship swayed over the cloudy swell of darkened waves, shepherding the vessel away from the Kuraigana port and to a location your captain deemed appropriate for a newlywed bride to be hidden away from her husband. 

Captain Buggy D Clown was not one to shy away from anything, especially not when something as interesting as causing drama and theatrics at the expense of Lord Dracule Mihawk was present. He was eager to present this challenge, whether you or Mihawk were also eager was a completely different tale entirely. 

Within the Captain’s quarters aboard the Big-Top, you struggled with the back of your dress: uncinching the rigging your ward managed to tie for you to keep your body contained within its material. A huffed and agitated smile awoke on your face, picturing this struggle in comparison to the one to come after your starlight ensemble. If the moon was as difficult to rid from your body, you could not imagine how taxing the sun would be over your skin and concealing you from your husband.

Husband. You have a husband now. A husband that would be more than agitated to know you were now out to open seas and venturing to unknown horizons, away from the celebration he carefully curated for you. 

“-Everything alright in here, Starlight?” the nasally crack of Buggy’s voice cut through the wooden door, “‘Ya need help?” You chuckled darkly, attempting to pry the material from you to no avail. 

“Actually, Captain,” your voice held a frantic wave within its tone, “I think I do. The back is snagged, and I can’t get the damn thing off of me.” The door slowly creaked open, after a gentle rap alerted you he was to do so. You turned yourself away to conceal your exasperation from him, the stutter in your hands giving away your agitation as you continued to fumble over the ribbons at the rear of your dress.

“Do you trust me, Doll?” you heard his voice alarmingly close to your body, enough to cause a hitch in your throat. You glanced over your shoulder, witnessing Buggy’s teal eyes glancing up through his eyelashes and lips parting in concern. 

“Considering you have robbed me of my wedding night with my beau,” your warning tone cut through the air as swift as a guillotine, “Spirited me away from the unity celebrations, and-,” you huffed, turning back around and glaring out of the bay window, “Confined me to spend this time alone and isolated from all those I hold most dear: I hardly deem you worthy of my trust presently, Captain.” 

Buggy’s gasp was melodical and pitched up two octaves higher than his usual cadence. You could feel the waves of anxiety rising within his shoulders and expressed through several strangled breaths. 

“I-I’m sorry, Lady Dracule. I didn’t think of it from your perspective and how my actions would-.” Whatever else Captain Buggy D Clown spoke after the first four words meant very little to you. Your mind looped them repetitively, the call and roll of the words felt both surreal and magical, you could hardly think about anything else. 

“-Would’ve rather stayed on shore, it would be less flashy and make the chase all the less desperate. We could turn back if-,” Buggy’s words halted as he glanced back into your eyes, noticing the distant expression with a melancholy sorrow eclipsing your painted features. “...-Are you alright, my Lady Dracule?” he asked you.

“Lady Dracule,” you repeated, your brows forming a pillar at the center of your forehead and causing a small swell to mist your eyes, “I’m Lady Dracule, now.” Buggy took a moment to glance over your features, noticing this shift of emotion permeating through your stance. 

Apprehensively, he reached his hand forward and gently caressed your shoulder. The gentle squeeze broke you out of your circulating mind, looking down and meeting the eyes of the cerulean-haired captain. 

“Can I help you out of this dress and into the assortment I crafted for you, my lady?” Buggy asked softly, watching as you nodded in affirmation for his fingers to set to work. 

“I’ll get this off in just a minute,” he whispered, his index fingers hooking through the loops in your back and slowly releasing the garment’s hold over your body, “And then we can think about your hair, and retouch your makeup. I’ll get Cabaji to bring us a bottle of the wine we swiped from the reception, too.” 

You allowed a soft giggle to fall from your parted lips, the relief from being rid of the tightness of your dress while knowing you were in capable hands. As Buggy’s fingers aided you in being free from your garment, while respectfully aiding you into the new dress, your mind wandered to your husband and what he was doing in this moment. Did he notice your departure, or was he enjoying your joint celebrations in solitude? 

-

“Where,” Mihawk’s yellow eyes glared accusingly around the guests through narrowed lenses, “Is,” he advanced, Yoru drawn with the pointed tip threatening the jugular of the Captain of the Red-Force, “My wife.” 

Lord Dracule Mihawk, distracted momentarily by his guests and acquaintances upon exiting the ceremony space, sought out your hand to claim within his. He blindly reached beside him, outstretching his desperate hands to shepherd you to his side, his fingers brushing nothing but air in its wake. 

He noticed your absence immediately.  

“Easy now, mate,” Shanks raised his arms, noticing several members of his crew withdrew their concealed weaponry and aimed it at the enraged former warlord, “Easy, easy. She’s safe, I swear this to you.” 

“Where is she?” Mihawk spat, his feet sliding into an assaulting stance, interweaving his body to draw closer to the red-head’s teasing face, “What have you done with her?” 

“She’s with Buggy- Oi, relax,” Mihawk’s pupils narrowed, his eyes wide and wild at the knowledge departing from Shanks’ lips, “She’s safe, it’s all a part of appeasing the tradition.” Shanks attempted to soothe over the growing temper Mihawk was steadily elevating, gesturing for his crew to holster their weaponry. 

“What tradition?” Mihawk barked, pressing the sharpened tip of Yoru deeper into Shanks’ neck, not quite puncturing the skin. 

“We just wanted it to be perfect, Hawk-Eyes,” Shanks’ hazelnut eyes bore with no utterance of mistruth within his orbs, “And you’re a native to Kuraigana, born and raised here. This is us following your traditions to the absolute letter: crossed ‘t’s and dotted ‘i’s, mate.” 

“Y-You’ve,” Mihawk stumbled over his words, darting his frantic eyes between Shanks’, “You’ve kidnapped my bride?” 

“You want the map to her, Lord Mihawk?” the rational voice of Shanks’ first mate rumbled through the tense air, “I had the clown make one up, for all our sakes.” Mihawk snapped his eyes away from Shanks’ to bear into the soul of Benn Beckman. As their eyes met, Beckman fished out the tanned envelope and offered it out gruffly towards the broody and aggravated newlywed groom. 

“And, are you all to just sit here and wait until I bring back my bride?” He barked at the Red-Hair crew, “Or are you coming to witness me suffer through this act of degrading humiliation?” Mihawk growled, eagerly searching through the crowd to see any contenders to refute his beckoning challenge. 

“You should take your wards,” Shanks suggested, weaving his body away from the steely tip of Yoru’s point, “Your two witnesses to view your wooing.”

Zoro leant down into Perona’s ear, his brow knit with puzzlement and concern. 

“I don’t follow, what is going on? Where’s our governess now?” Zoro quietly grunted into Perona’s ear, a giggle arising with her retort.

“Are you truly not following, or are you just saying that to be an imbecile?” Perona smirked, glancing up into Zoro’s serious eyes, “O-Oh, you’re serious? Okay!” Zoro patiently awaited his promised explanation, Perona thinking of the simplified version of this complex tradition to relay to him.

“In Kuraigana culture, the bride is either stolen or whisked away at a point in the evening - generally after the reception feast so the food doesn’t get cold. It looks like it’ll be a while yet before we get something to eat-,” Perona’s train of thought was broken with a growl from the green-haired apprentice.

“-Get on with it, Perona,” Zoro’s voice cut through the air gruffly, his eyes darting the surroundings for a clue of his governess’ whereabouts. 

“Oh, alright. Sorry, Zoro,” Perona giggled, shaking her head and preparing her words to present once again, “The bride is then hunted by the groom and they share a moment where he must perform a task or a demonstration of artistic skill to woo and entertain his new bride. Considering she is no longer under the shroud of her own family name, but a whole new person in this case: Lady Dracule, he must win her heart under this new banner and usher her into her new life with him.” 

“So, what? Is he gonna dance or something?” Zoro asked, puzzled and taken aback by the absurdity of the tradition, “Or is he gonna challenge her to a sword fight? What can he do that would woo her?” 

“Zoro-...” Perona again giggled, shaking her head with a warm smile drawing her cheeks up beneath its radiance, “...-Mihawk sings.” 

“Mihawk sings?” Zoro snapped his eyes over to Dracule Mihawk, watching as the lord of Kuraigana’s lips curled into a sinister snarl and brows furrowed deeper into rage. 

“Two witnesses, no more,” Mihawk growled, placing the mighty blade upon his back and rolling his neck, “And we shall return within the hour.” 

“Only if she’ll have you, mate,” Shanks’ grin playfully split his face, “You have to woo her. Humble yourself before her. This is your opportunity to actively pursue her,” the redhead stepped forward, clapping his right hand over Mihawk’s left shoulder. 

“You never got the chance. Use this time to show her how much you want her, and then,” Shanks’ grin turned sly, glancing at Beckman who shook his head and fished out a cigarette from his breast pocket, “That’s when we can show you how radiant she is, all wrapped in sunlight.”

Mihawk’s rumbled growl cut through the air, turning on his boot heels and gesturing to Perona and Zoro with his index finger, “You two, with me. Let us depart and reclaim my bride.” 

“Aye, sir,” Perona and Zoro spoke in unison, immediately springing into action and readying themselves for a short journey to find, woo and claim you with your title as Lady Dracule. 

Mihawk’s fuming rage catapulted him into a near frenzy, working with haste to unroll the sails and weigh anchor, using the tide to carry his small ship and snarling at the crudely crafted map.

“This better be accurate for your sake, clown,” Dracule Mihawk spat, scrunching the map and thrusting it into his shirt pocket with his left hand. Upon withdrawing his hand from his pocket, he hovered it above his face, staring at how delicately the band of unity was glimmering under the light of dusk.

It felt balanced, as if this broad band was awaiting the day he would finally wield it atop his finger. As if his life was waiting for this moment to start, for this new role and purpose for his life to fulfill. He hardened his resolve, throwing off his outer coat and withdrawing his sleeves to his elbows. He will find you, and find you quickly. 

And when he does, he will woo you. 

-

If the moon-dress was the prelude to a masterpiece in composition, this dress would be a symphony to stand the test of time. Material as pastel as the celestial rocks littering the night sky sporadically danced across the midnight material depicting the sky at nightfall. In the dim light within the cave Buggy had chaperoned you into, the dress almost looked as if it was producing its own light. 

“This is the most extravagant thing I have ever done with my life,” Buggy huffed a chuckle through his comment, “And that’s truly saying something, my lady. I’ve never done anything like this, and I’m almost jealous that I won’t be the one wearing it.”

“You’re more than welcome to borrow it for a performance, Captain,” you giggled, looking down at your arms that had been ornately decorated with chained droplets of beaded glass, “It is simply breathtaking.”

Glancing over at yourself in the reflective walls of the cave you had found yourself in, your hair was now softly falling in waterfalls against your back and your makeup retouched by the clown and his enthusiastic crew. You could hardly recognise the woman gazing back at you. 

“As breathtaking as you are, my lady,” Buggy whispered while adjusting your hair over your shoulders, “And hopefully enough to get me back into your good graces?” He shifted his eyebrow upwards, glancing hopefully over your shoulder with widened eyes and fluttering eyelashes. 

“You’re not out of the thick of it yet, dear captain,” you playfully taunted him, nose scrunched and smile growing, “It’s not only I you need to appease.” 

As if on queue, a small commotion was occurring outside the cave. Elevated voices, a shuffling of feet and the clang of harsh metal meeting rock reverberated within the cave mouth: silence following such an abrasive sound. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Buggy repeated hurriedly, excitement and anxiety dancing in a dangerous fight for dominion over his cadence, “You take a seat on your throne and look all pretty,” he gestured with his hands flailing outwards, “I’ll finish lighting the candles,and then I’m gonna flee as fast my legs can carry me to give you two some privacy.” 

You laughed at his excitement, turning and drawing up your heavy skirts to fan out atop the velvet-covered throne Buggy had placed down for you. Frantic clicks of flint and steel, a string of nasally curses, and a shifting of boot-heels tripping over themselves as Buggy set the final elements of his role in the ruse awaiting your spouse. 

“Okay, I’m gonna-... woah,” Buggy’s words halted as he turned to view you on your throne, sitting with the elegance and radiancy that you had drilled into your many students over your career as a governess.

“‘Woah’, what, Captain Buggy?” you huffed out a small laugh, watching his eyes shifting over each element of your ensemble. 

“Y-You know,” he stuttered, shifting his feet as if under the spell of hypnosis, “You’re not technically married if you haven’t consummated your union. You can always run away with me if you want to-.”

“Buggy,” you scolded him, your laughter now falling unwithheld from your lips, “For one: I am not cut out for a path of traveling piracy,” your smile continued to decorate your lips with its radiancy, “And two: I am in love with Dracule Mihawk, my husband.” That final confession shocked you, not admitting those words aloud to yourself or another before this very moment. 

“Right, right, of course,” he laughed at himself, studying his handiwork as your skirts pooled over your feet and down the slight elevation over the rocks. The voices within the mouth of the cave continued to draw ever nearer, the agitation and anger almost tangibly felt the closer they came. 

“This is where I take my leave, my lady,” he nervously chuckled, looking to the cave mouth with his lips split into a straight wincing line, “If I stay, the broody asshole will likely attempt to take my head and throw me into the sea.”

“In that case,” you smiled, bowing your head low to the clown, “This is where I thank you for the part you played in ensuring this day was a possibility.” Buggy gasped at your bow, taking a final moment to study you as you rose from your seated curtsey.

“You are so beautiful, my lady,” he whispered, bowing to you before turning on his heels and uttering a final sentence before picking up his sprint, “Congratulations on your successful ceremony. Save me a dance at your reception.”

Chuckling at his fleeing form, you were left in only a butterfly’s wing of solitude before three figures almost stampeded within the decorated hollow of the cave. Each of them halted, eyes wide and jaws slack as they took in their surroundings. 

The ground was littered with candelabras, all lengthy wicks lit. Lighting a pathway towards the throne, tealights scattered the floor beside a long stretch of the softest white carpet. Upon the edge of the carpet, the material of your skirts pooled and the unnatural light of several stones attached to the hem illuminated the floor. Dark material shifts into soft lights at each subtle movement from your body, the stones on your arms providing a small ringing melody as you offer them a small, coy wave.  

Perona’s smile rose on her cheeks, recovering the fastest of the three as she offered you a similar wave in return for your own. Zoro snapped his lips shut, smirking as he glanced between you and your beau who continued to be stupefied beneath this new radiant presentation. 

“I have found you,” Mihawk whispered after taking a small moment to recover, “My bride, my beloved.” You smiled wider, taking a moment to study your husband as he began taking small and intentional steps towards you. 

Perona hastily and quietly ushered Zoro over to the side, taking a seat on a large boulder and tapping the surface beside her in a gesture for Zoro to sit beside her. Without removing his eyes from the scene unfolding before him, he quickly sat on the stone and awaited Mihawk’s every chosen moment. 

Electing to remain silent, you watched and hung onto every movement, utterance and breath produced as he continued on towards you. Before he fell within your proximity, he halted and inhaled a shaken breath as he humbly knelt with both knees on the floor, his hands laced and placed within his lap. Your breath hitched, eyes darted between his honey-coloured eyes which then immediately snapped shut. 

He deeply inhaled a breath, his eyes remaining closed as he focussed on his movements. He lilted a rumbled hum, a tune unfamiliar to you produced from his nose and serenading you with its melody. Mihawk was singing, and he was singing for you. 

“Never I’ve known love like this,

As vibrant as the seas.

I’ll sheathe my blade, and disarm my shield,

For a chance just to please.”

His eyes remained shut, lips almost cautiously relaying the lyrics as he produced them. After the small verse produced, his words waved more confidently through his lips and enunciated each spoken lyric. 

Perona attempted to silence her elation by slapping her hand over her lips, her other hand finding Zoro’s knee and giving it a firm squeeze to express her excitement physically. Zoro was not faring much better, his own shock written on his face he could barely notice Perona’s hand on his knee as he gripped his thighs to stifle his surprise at Mihawk’s skillful melody. 

“The way your lips summon me,

The way your eyes hold promise,

May your bed never be empty,

Should dawn be upon us.”

Mihawk’s eyes opened, his breath hitching as he witnessed the longing gaze you were offering to him. Your eyes swelled with emotions, lips parting and drawing up in a melancholy smile. Mihawk offered you a small, bashful smile as he continued to sing to you. 

Your eyes never left Mihawk for a minute, watching as he knit his brows together and continued to utter promises through melody towards you.

“I will share my days with you,

For this to you I swear.

Nightfall I be by your side,

For it’s not yours alone to bear.”

He rose his knee from his kneeling into a lunge, bowing his head down and removing his hat from his head. A final promise uttered lyrically from within his skilled melody, you holding onto each word. 

“The seas and sword were my first love,

The training alone be vast.

Although you were not my first to love,

May we both be each's last.”

Mihawk sucked in a baited breath, awaiting a small reprimand or disciplinary comment regarding his abilities. He was no singer nor composer, the lyrics produced alongside the melody were spur of the moment. His skills were of the sword, not of poetry and lyricism. 

“Do my words and melody please you?” Mihawk whispered, his eyes holding firm to the floor as his dark curls bobbed to a lower bow, “Will you allow me the luxury of my heart, my body and my soul joining with yours, Lady Dracule?”

He elevated his head, his eyes softening and rapidly blinking to stifle the rising beat of his heart as he remained in his humility. A man such as he was not accustomed to humbling himself before anyone, doing precisely as he pleased and when he pleased to do it. With you, this was uncharted and untested waters. He was in love, and would spend the rest of his days romancing you should you ask it of him. 

Truthfully, he was prepared to offer his adoration, praises and romance to you at all hours whether you asked it of him or not. 

“You may have me, I am yours,” you answered him after several moments of pregnant pause, rising to your feet and offering him your right hand to take with his left, “Just as you are mine.” Mihawk released a breath he did not know he was withholding from his chest, the weight rolling off his shoulders and having him relax beneath your admission. 

He took this moment to study your carefully painted lashes, noticing the subtle hints in tints and hues decorating your skin at the hands of the genius jester. The stars were reflected in your eyes, the pigments complimenting the change in darkened material pooling over your dress. 

“C-Can I,” he fell over his words, closing his eyes and mentally scolding himself for his stumble, “Can I kiss you, my lady?” A small squeak from the corner of the room had you both break from your illusion that this corner of reality was not yours alone to share. You also had two witnesses. 

Mihawk snapped his eyes over to the two words sitting happily on the boulder beside the decorated floor, scolding them with a single pointed look. At his momentary shift of focus, you used the opportunity to rise from your sitting position on the throne Buggy sourced for you and stooped down to collect Mihawk’s chin between your index finger and thumb. 

You shifted his face back, witnessing the momentary shock as he gazed into your eyes. With a soft smile, you lowered your face and collected his lips with your own. Although he was kneeling, Mihawk was a tall individual. This position did not have your neck aching at its stoop, but was comfortable as you slowly pressed more of yourself against the former warlord. 

Mihawk wrapped his arms around your waist, bunching the fabric within his hands and holding you firmly pressed against him. He parted his lips, his tongue darting out to dampen your bottom lip as he squeezed your hips within his wide fingers. You hummed against his lips, your fingers raking over his beard to entangle within his curled locks. He smiled into the kiss, rising from the floor and fully bracing himself against you with his forearms circling your waist. 

The ruffles of the skirts below you illuminated several of the rocks littering the material, a gasp fleeing from Perona the longer she stared at the balled objects adoring the fabric.

“The rocks light up when they move!” she hushed her whisper to Zoro who waved his hand to silence her as he witnessed the loving embrace between his lord and lady. Although Zoro would never admit it aloud, he was enjoying every minute of witnessing such joy between two people he held most dear. 

Breaking from the kiss, your eyes half lidded as they gazed up at your husband. His expression mirrored your own, gazing lovingly down at you with a soft smile gently creasing the corners of his eyes. 

“Let’s go home,” Mihawk whispered, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead and hovering his lips over your skin as he cradled your head against his chest, “I hope Shanks and his crew have left as some wine.”

“I’m more concerned about the food,” you giggled, prompting Mihawk to break away from your forehead and smooth his hands over your hair, “All I’ve had to eat and drink today is that single piece of honeycomb, a glass of wine for breakfast, that small sip of unity wine shared with you, and a glass of wine with the clown when he prepared me in this ensemble.” His eyes widened, looking into your smiling face in shock. You laughed up at him, raising your hand up to caress his cheek.

“You’ve only had wine and honeycomb for the whole day, my beloved?” his tone held a small air of caution within.

“Yes, my heart,” you huffed out a small sigh of laughter at witnessing his agitation. Although his anger never left, the small twitch of his lip and hitch in his breath indicated his pleasure of receiving such a high honor of that title. 

“Well that will simply not do,” he growled, shifting you in his grip to slip his arm around your waist and usher you through the cave mouth, “I have some sourdough and salted butter on the ship. We’ll break into that before we partake in the reception feast.” You smiled up at your husband, watching as he wordlessly gestured for your two wards to follow behind you. 

Where Perona could not stop staring at your dress, the only thing within Zoro’s focus was how you looked up at Mihawk, and how Mihawk looked down at you. The love you held for each other within that expression alone had a pang sound within his heart, and caused soft doubts to shift his perspective. 

Whether spoken aloud to you or not, Zoro’s quest in becoming the world's greatest swordsman would one day rip this fresh union apart. He would kill Mihawk to claim that title, and that would surely mean the destruction of your happiness.

As you made your way through the sandy coast and onto Mihawk’s vessel, Zoro continued to seek out different ways to achieve his goals and leave you both to thrive in your happiness. 

-

From the peaceful drift into the Kuraigana port, to the reunification with your guests, Mihawk would not allow you a moment to break away from him. Hollars and cheers at your arrival were quickly silenced as they took in the next aspect of your ensemble. 

Now exposed under the light of the moon, at each small movement of your legs beneath the dark skirt, the illumination of bioluminescent rocks shook and roared to life. The fanning material danced at your feet, the weight of the many layers of broad skirts heavy upon each footstep. You truly appreciated Mihawk’s presence at your side to enable you to lean against him for support each time the gown pulled at your waist and hips.

Your bodice was encrusted with similar trails of glassy stones, the overlaying chains from your neck to your waist forming the unity of constellations between both yours and Mihawk’s birth signs. Buggy had put an excessive amount of thought into such a piece, pooling all his knowledge to provide you the best reiteration of starlight he could truly muster. 

The outdoor reception space was littered with soft strings of light, a circular wooden floor elevated a step up as a makeshift dance area. Several clusters of seats were available off to the sides of the wooden floor they were standing on, where a small quartet of musicians lay off to the side of the area and softly painting the air with their melodical portraiture. 

Mihawk paid his guests little mind, other than a curt nod or a subtle smile to your former students. The many staff continued to present platters of bite-sized ensembles, each small taste of food attuned to both yours and Mihawk’s refined palates. Each time a tray was presented to you, you would break your conversation away from your guests and thank the staff with a warm smile on your face.

As he showcased you to his guests, he watched as the fatigue of the day was slowly catching up with you. The little stumble of your feet under the weight of the dress, the small waver in your smile when you assumed none were watching, the way you clung to his side: he was observant of your every moment and there at your side to catch you should you fall. He was yours to do with what you will, clay awaiting molding into the husband you desired him to be. 

Music began to play at a more elevated volume, the guests encouraging you with a soft cheer to get you to open the dance floor together. Mihawk looked subtly off to you, noticing you were struggling beneath the layers of your skirts. No matter how vast your training in becoming a debutant yourself, nothing could have prepared you to carry the amount of weight from rocks of various shapes and sizes. 

“Beloved, are you-,” Mihawk began, his short question being stolen from him by the nasally interruption of Captain Buggy D Clown. 

“-If I may, my lady Dracule,” Buggy’s broad, painted smile laid brilliantly over his lips, “I have a small surprise for you.” 

“Oh?” you asked, brows elevating up your forehead in curiosity. 

“Your resume presented to the world government several years back indicated you were an excellent dancer, trained the best of them attending here today, in fact,” he complimented you bowing in a low and crouched stoop.

“I am a competent dancer, yes,” you admitted, eyeing him curiously as he picked at your hem with his gloveless fingers, “And I do enjoy the movement when the moment is called upon.” 

“Then it would be such a shame should the moment be taken from you under the weight of this dress, my lady,” Buggy smirked up at you, a silver object playfully juggling between his fingertips. Before you realized what the object was, Buggy precautioned both you and Mihawk, “Bird-Boy, stand back. My lady, close your eyes and hold your breath.” 

Immediately doing what you were told, you heard the ignition of a flint-lighter and the warm flash of open flame illuminating your eyelids to a deep crimson color. Gasps and screams from your guests informed you of all you needed to comprehend at this moment.

Captain Buggy D Clown had lit your dress on fire. 

A wild rush of heat expanded over the base of your skirt, the tongues of blaze lapping at your skin and immediately cooled with bursts of icey air. As you felt the rising warmth begin to die down, you opened your eyes to witness the small, illuminant rocks burst and break to soothe over the licks of flame. Upon each burst of impact, the color of your dress would change to a crisp white, to a warm blue, down to a dark hue of red, all the way to a dim purple. 

At the last burst of rock sparking and spurting over the gown, the arrangement that remained was a softer, pale dress that halted just below your knees. The slit from the hem on your left side tastefully elevated to just below the angle your thigh met at the curvature of your hips. The dress fanned out, dipping in at your waist and cinching in your bust. There were no remaining rocks nor combustive fabric on your body, much to your delight. 

After you adjusted to your new weight distribution, feeling lighter and more energetic already, the picture you were left with standing before you was Buggy’s throat being impaled on the smaller blade formerly hung around your husband’s neck. Your eyes widened and your body moved faster than your mind did to halt the scene unfolding before you. 

“First you kidnap my wife, now you light her on fire?” Mihawk barked, slashing at his throat while Buggy stuttered over his words, “It seems as if you are trying so desperately to get me to kill you, Clown. I should have you flogged and cast into the seas for your idiocy-.”

“-My heart, I am unharmed,” your voice broke him away from his heavy threats, his hands immediately withdrawing from the clown to cradle your cheeks within his palms. You kept your face calm, reassuring him with your expression alone that you remained unaltered and unharmed. 

He floated his eyes between yours, briefly dipping to your lips before withdrawing back up to your eyes. You nodded within his hands in an act to reassure him further, your smile never faltering. After a hushed moment’s pause, Mihawk could no longer contain himself.

Hastily, he dipped his face down, lips colliding with yours and drawing several cheers from your guests. He hungrily consumed your lips, molding and shaping them beneath his with the desperation you were yet to see its equal. He swooped his hands behind your head, collecting the soft waves Buggy had created for you in fistfuls as he desperately joined his lips with yours. You slowly raked your hands over his waist, holding him close and reassuring him with soft circles against his body with your thumbs. 

Squeaking against his lips at a small tug of your hair, Mihawk immediately loosened his aggressive grasping of your against you, and softly traced his fingertips over your jaw and set to cradle the scruff of your neck. The world faded from existence the longer Mihawk held you against his lips, folding himself against you and holding you in momentary blissful stasis. 

Withdrawing his lips from yours, he gazed into your eyes while briefly panting to catch his breath. Shock eclipsed your features the exact moment you broke away, the cheers from your guests ignited the silence within the ringing of your ears. 

“That was a good ‘en, Hawkie!” Shanks swayed in his speech as he slurred in his stupor, “Do it again!” 

“Quiet down, Captain,” Beckman grunted, gently clapping Shanks on the shoulder, “That’s our exterminator you’re talking about. She deserves a little more respect than you’re offering the both of them presently.” 

“Right, right. I’ll switch to water for a bit, Becks,” Shanks nodded, looking over at his crew and gesturing to the water barrels with his tankard. Mihawk never strayed his eyes from your features, constantly ensuring you were unharmed from the prior blaze. 

“May I dance with you, my beloved?” Mihawk quietly offered, removing his hand from your neck and apprehensively outstretching his hands to you. You smiled at his soft gesture, immediately placing your right hand within his left and allowed him to chaperone you onto the dance floor. 

At the swell of music, you hastily pressed your right hand against Mihawk’s left shoulder while he elevated your right hand to extend to the side. His left hand found the middle of your waist and pulled you against himself. 

You carefully extended your left knee over Mihawk’s leg, the slit withdrawing itself tastefully to reveal your thigh to your guests. At that gesture, Mihawk immediately readjusted his stance: shifting to claim the base of your thigh within his hands as he awaited the appropriate rhythm to dictate his momentum.

“The Clown read your resume,” Mihawk smirked down at you, beginning to shift and maneuver you effortlessly within his arms, “But alas, I have not.” He nudged you with his left hand, following his lead by twirling your body within his arms and releasing his hold over you. 

Both legs now firmly on the ground, you shifted your hips and began to rhythmically follow the melody rising with your feet. Holding your arms perpendicular to the ground, Mihawk collected your left hand and pressed a small kiss atop your wrist before raking his digits over your forearm. 

“You never read my resume before you hired me?” You called over your shoulder, as he raised your left hand to cradle his neck behind you. 

“Never,” Mihawk smiled, placing his right hand over your right and his left over your stomach. He began ushering you both with a rapid sway of his steps, a maneuver you flawlessly followed with each stride. He twirled you away, holding contact with your right arm before reclaiming it in his left hand. 

“Then,” your puzzled expression remained atop your features as you once again faced Mihawk, “Why was I hired here? What drew you to me?” Your beau’s smile elevated, his eyes cracking at the corners as his nose scrunched upwards.

“Truthfully, my beloved,” he confessed, leaning forwards to indicate for you to fall backwards in your steps, “I am not certain what drew me to you. A feeling, I suppose.”

“A feeling?” you elevated your eyebrow and smirked up at him, “Something as simple as a feeling?” 

Mihawk chuckled, twirling you away from him and catching your forearms within his grip, ushering your back to meet his chest. You huffed out a small exasperated breath, shaking your head and swaying with him to the rhythm.

“A feeling,” you repeated in a whisper, attempting to not allow your disdain from presenting too prominently against your features. Mihawk released your right arm, leaning forward and collecting your chin between his thumb and index finger. 

“Allow me the luxury of rephrasing, my beloved,” Mihawk whispered, drawing your forehead to press against his while he moved his body from behind yours to face you once more. 

Drawing up his left hand, he collected your right and his right hand found your back once more. His smile continued to highlight his face, a smile you had come to adore painted on his face beneath his mustache. 

“From the moment I met you all those years ago, I adored you as a skilled governess,” he confessed, stepping backwards while you followed with your forward step, “The way you managed a variety of individuals: debutants, gentlemen and all those in between. Even the witless marines-.”

“-Mihawk,” your warning tone was broken with a small laugh, your smirking reprimand forming a smile over your lips, “Be kind.”

“Apologies, my beloved,” he snickered out a small chuckle, ushering for you to step outwards before hooking you back into his arms, “I never assumed you would accept a job at such short notice in the first place.”

“I had a lull in my waiting list,” you shrugged, turning to face him with a broader smile on your face, “And the stuttering scribbles were intriguing.” Mihawk laughed at your reference to his original summons for you to begin your tutelage of the two wards under his care. 

As the melody swelled, he sighed out a breath, once again placing your forehead against his own and furrowing his brows. In a low whisper, he relayed his final confession to you. There was no room for humor, nor was there a place for the utterance of a lie within his breath. 

“Before there was a possibility of joining with you in matrimony, I simply thought: ‘that was that. Time to live my life as an unmarried swordsman until the next generation rises up to claim that title from me’,” he smiled, halting his movement as the music ended its swell,  “I never thought I would be training that aforementioned generation to take my life, nor did I imagine this twist of circumstances leading you to be within my arms now.” 

You smiled a melancholy smile, only half elevated on your face at his confession. Trailing your hand over his shoulder, you extended it up to collect his whiskered cheek within your palm, soothing over his bottom lip with your thumb. 

“And is this the life you wanted for yourself, Mihawk?” you whispered up at your beloved, searching his eyes for more truth within, “To live in momentary matrimonial peace before Zoro claims your title alongside your life?” 

“This is the life that I have forged for myself,” he whispered against your thumb, pressing a kiss against the padded tip, “And I will hold onto it with every breath I still use to sustain my lungs. I love you, my wife. I am yours, and you are mine, for as long as we both shall live,” he withdrew your hand from his lips and circled it over his neck, “And for whatever comes next.” 

“For whatever comes next,” you mirrored back with closed eyes and lips parted, “Sounds like an awfully exciting adventure, my heart.” Reopening your eyes, you witnessed the smile once again return to Mihawk’s lips. 

At the music’s end, he swooped down to claim another kiss from you. Applause rang through the air, prompting you to part from the oscillation as hastily as you had it begin. The Red-Hair pirate crew and the Buggy-Pirates had begun offering each other their outstretched hands to lead them onto the dance floor. 

You felt a small tap on your shoulder at the exact moment a soft, pale hand with pink-polished fingernails brushed with Mihawk’s own shoulder. You shook your head, confused as you were ushered into the awaiting arms and broad shoulders of Roronoa Zoro. 

His smile was shallow, his mind plagued behind it with the smog of heavy thoughts. Extending out his hand, you took it and curtseyed as he bowed with you. Ushering you to circle the floor with a practiced waltz, Zoro continued to twirl you in silence. 

“You have gotten much better, Zoro,” you complimented him, met with only a single hum in acknowledgement. You furrowed your brows, glancing between his bourbon-hued orbs while he refused to draw his gaze up to meet yours. 

“Did you enjoy the drinks? I have yet to sample the wine presented at the reception-,” you were cut off as Zoro’s thoughts spoke atop your own.

“-I am going to claim his life from him, do you understand?” he gruffly commented, glaring over at Perona and Mihawk as he spun her within his arms with a broad grin and her unwithheld smile mirroring in return, “I intend to kill lord Dracule Mihawk.” You almost stumbled in your dance, recovering quickly as he continued to twirl you. 

After taking a moment to collect your rapidly lashing thoughts, you inhaled a large gulp of breath and extended your exhale slowly through your lips.

“If that is what your destiny is leading you to fulfill,” you reached up your hand and collected his cheek, turning him to meet your eyes, “It is not for me to understand, nor is it my desire to halt you from achieving your goal.” He gasped at your words, stumbling over his feet and barely recovering.

“You won’t ask me not to?” Zoro’s breath hitched on his exhale, searching your eyes for any cause for further stumble, “You won’t plead for me to find a new goal? To settle for being second best and remain that way until we’re all cracked and graying?” 

Giggling at his comment, you extended your arm out and circled it over his head: twirling the conflicted man within your arms.

“I married the ‘World’s Greatest Swordsman’, Dear,” you noted, your smile never wavering as you rejoined him within your arms, “It is an occupational hazard.” 

Zoro’s surprise lingered on his features, his eyes misting over with the swell of emotions he did not prepare himself to express this night. 

“And between us-,” you leant up to his ear, using this opportunity to draw him into a warm and encumbering embrace, “-I would rather it be you. You are someone we both trust,” you withdrew him from your arms and smiled whimsically up at him, “Someone who will grant him the luxury of a swift and merciful departure from this life, should you both be ready to take that step.” 

Where you assumed he would grunt out a gruff groan, you were shocked when he leant further into your arms and circled his forearms around your waist. He nuzzled into your neck, his shoulders beginning to sink against the weight of his confliction. 

“You trust me?” he choked within his soft whisper, “You trust me to give him an honorable death?” His shoulders shuddered within your arms, you immediately drew your hands up to caress his moss-coloured locks. 

“Of course I trust you, Zoro. Just, if you were to grant me one simple favor,” he withdrew from your embrace, continuing to hold your waist as he stared down and awaited further instruction, “Please don’t kill him tonight?” Zoro’s laughter cut through the air, drawing many eyes over to your location as you joined him in his unbridled laughter. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady,” he chuckled, briefly joining his forehead against your own and scrunching his nose with his smile. 

“Good boy,” you complimented him with a single tap on his shoulder, “And your dancing really has improved.” You nodded to his feet, noticing how effortlessly he was shepherding you throughout the movements.

“I learnt from the best, my lady,” he winked down at you, his golden drooped earrings glinting within the refraction of the lights. 

As the melody crescendoed from one song into the next, you twirled from within Zoro’s arms and immediately met your right hand against a cool piece of metal, curving beneath your fingertips. 

“If I may, my lady,” the cool rumble of Sir Crocodile reverberated within your chest and shot a tingle up your spine. Although no malice was withheld in his tone, the danger was always present with a man such as he. 

“Sir Crocodile,” you nodded, focussing your body on allowing him to lead you throughout the floor, “I would like to take the opportunity to thank you for your beautiful dress you crafted for me.” 

“I do plan on collecting that debt from the both of you, my lady,” he smirked down at you with a broad grin. His eyes held a bored malice within his purple orbs, hunching down to claim your body within his arms. The impressive height he towered over you had you feeling smaller within his grasp, an advantage you planned on gaining back from him with your wit. 

“And what would you ask of me, Sir?” you smiled up at him, twirling within his arms and circling your body around his back. You drew your fingers over his flesh, watching the visible shudder arising beneath the movement, “I am a simple governess-.”

“-You are Lady Dracule, now,” he retorted, gazing down at you through the corner of his eyes, “A lady who has sway and leverage over a lord. A lady who holds the heart of such a man as he, the ‘World’s Greatest Swordsman’. A lady who-.” You hastily pressed your fingers atop the golden hook, your eyes baring dangerously into his own.

“-Who was and forever will be-,” your low tone had Crocodile taken aback at your statement, “-A simple governess.” 

“And what would a simple governess be able to offer me?” his amused grin parted his lips and elevated his brows. The silvery mark over his cheeks and nose had the purple hues holding more danger within their orbs, “Music and dance lessons, I have hardly a use for.” 

“A governess who has done all a governess could do here,” you smiled up at him, leading him into a twirl, your spin prompting almost a laugh to fall from his lips, “Tamed and trained two unruly youths, along with having one of the world’s most powerful men fall to their knees and beg to claim me as their own.” 

The smirk of Sir Crocodile rose on his lips, his words beginning to form behind his teeth only to be halted by a final word of warning from you.

“Whenever you desire such a woman to perform such an impossible and improbable task as this,” you silenced him with your words, “You know where I will be.” 

At that, you bowed a low curtsey to him and attempted to flee from his arms, only for the hook to catch the crook of your elbow and tug you back into his arms for his final words.

“An expert tamer of unruly individuals,” he whispered in your ear, the ghost of his last cigar lingering on his lips as his breath met with the shell of your ear, “I shall keep you in mind for when such a purpose arises.” Unclasping your arm from within his hook, Sir Crocodile took his leave of you with a final bow. 

You shook off his words, the next partner finding themselves within your arms whipped their cerulean hair against your cheek as they spun you on your toes three times in a circle. 

“I truly am sorry about the kidnapping, my lady,” Buggy uttered with a warm smile, “And I am only partly apologetic for the glorious blaze.” Although you had met both Buggy and Sir Crocodile at the same time, you felt much more comfortable being wielded within his arms than the experience prior.

Buggy released you, clapped his hands three times and stomped his feet rhythmically to the music. You laughed, mirroring his posture and his rhythm back at him. His eyes widened, heart swelling at you matching his exaggerated movements and prompting him to produce some far more elaborate motions. 

He was a joy to dance with, his own starlight shining within his teal eyes and reflecting back onto his various assortment of formal attire. Although no longer wearing a frill-neck collar, his cravat had just as many ruffles fluffing at his jaw. 

“I am not sorry in the slightest for either,” you admitted, your own nod and spin on your toes keeping Buggy mirroring your movements first before stepping in again to claim you in his arms. 

“Not even the kidnapping?” he winced out a small apprehensive grin.

“No, it was an enjoyable experience,” you confessed, laughing in his arms as he assumed the waltz position and stepped in time to the swell of music, “I especially enjoyed the wine.”

“Then you have found the perfect match in Mihawk,” he nodded, scrunching up his nose at the thought, “Personally, I don’t know how you both drink that vinegary piss. I prefer the sweets to compliment and mask my saltiness. Rum is best.” 

“I thank you for your compliments, captain,” you smiled at him.

“About the vinegary piss?” his brows furrowed in confusion, his smile scrunching into a soft pout. You laughed at his comment, shaking your head at him.

“About the perfect match,” you confessed, feeling the end of the music calling to you. Buggy chuckled, offering you a small bow before dismissively waving his hand at you and uncharacteristically turning on his heel. 

You were puzzled at that final gesture, not understanding where such an expression was necessary before you felt a hand clasp around your waist.

“‘S not you, love,” the voice of a red-haired captain uttered beside you, “He still is hung up on our old childhood rivalry.” 

“Ah,” you gasped in understanding with a curt nod, turning in his arm to face him. Dancing with Shanks was an occurrence you were privy to experiencing from time to time aboard the Red-Force with his crew. His attitude was always playful and light with you, always a gentleman. 

“You truly look spectacular tonight, Vile Exterminator,” he complimented you, shifting his dancing position to usher you with his right hand in light of his missing left hand. Joining now both of your right hands, you both stepped in and out before twirling under his arm. 

“Thank you, Red-Haired Rat,” you smirked at him, feeling a pair of eyes watching you dance within Shanks’ arms. 

“I think the big man wants a word,” Shanks confirmed your suspicions, nodding over to his steel-haired first mate, extinguishing his cigarette with his boot heel against the gravel road beside the dancefloor. Shanks twirled you twice more before you were flung from his arm and into the awaiting and ill-practiced hands of Benn Beckman.

“Sorry, my lady,” he uttered, his legs awkwardly swaying him from side to side with you within his arms, “I’m no good at this formal dancin’. I don’t do this.” 

“I know, Benn,” you smiled at him with a soft, close-lipped grin, “But I do appreciate the effort.” He hummed with a curt cough in response, truly feeling out of place with this genre of dance. 

“About what’s to come,” he gruffly coughed, attempting to spin you on the dancefloor as easily as he could ask his body to perform such a skill, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” You sighed out a small huff of breath, shaking your head at him as he continued to explain to you.

“There’s a lot of knots,” he confessed with a winced, grimacing smile, “I mean, a lot of knots.” 

“I trust you,” you shrugged, feeling his tension rising in his shoulders and stance. You halted the elaborate dance, ushering him off to the side of the dancefloor and opting to sway with him to the beat while he aired his concerns.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with the experience,” he confessed, the gray tint of his eyes holding you firmly within his vision, “Some of the knots are in-... -a few key places.” 

Your rapid and unwavering blink told Beckman all he needed to know regarding his apprehension. 

“It was my own fault for asking this in the first place, Benn,” you confessed again with a shrug, “And, I reiterate: I trust you. We’ve known each other for years, and of all those aboard the Red-Force,” you feigned a small hum of deep thought, before smiling up at the burly first-mate, “I do trust you the most.” 

“I hope your trust isn’t misguided, my lady,” he grunted, your left hand being claimed by a presence at your side. The small, almost invisible smile, from Beckman informed you that the Rat was once again at your side. 

“And, she’s mine again,” Shank’s playful tone cut in, peeling you away from Beckman and onto the dancefloor once more. He ushered you into a skilled twirl, your smile once again returning to your face as the swell of music reached the peak and began its crescendo towards the final. 

As Shanks made to draw you into another embrace at his chest, you felt the tug of your waist pull you back within familiar and comfortable arms. A warm smile and a flush rose to your cheeks, humming as you lent into his chest.

“Missed me, beloved?” the man behind you held an air of confidence, turning you within his arms as you looked up at him through half-hooded eyes.

“Always, my heart,” you retorted, elevating your arms to seek out the nape of his neck. He hummed at your confession, mirroring your adoration down at you, “Shall we have a rest? Enjoy some mead and begin the fire?”

“A fire?” the elated voice of the cerulean-haired clown-captain called out in joy, “We’re having a fire like the good old days?” Shanks hesitantly walked beside Buggy, offering him a small smile and confirming with him.

“Just like the old days,” Shanks nodded, looking between Buggy and Mihawk, “Back when Roger made us collect the wood, but wouldn’t let us near the flint and steel.” 

“And look who’s got the spark now, boys!” Buggy’s crackled cackle and his powerful stance prompted laughs to rise among the guests. Beckman shook his head, wordlessly directing the Red-Hair crew to begin building a fire for you and your husband to enjoy. 

You nuzzled into the warm and exposed chest of your husband, feeling the weight shift from you against him as he slightly elevated you off your feet. 

“I think sitting down is a good idea,” you confessed, looking down at your worn shoes and rapidly swelling feet from the elaborate dancing and carrying the weighty dress.

“Then that is what we will do, my beloved,” Mihawk smiled softly down at you, pressing his forehead against your own as he enjoyed the feeling of holding you in his arms once again.

-

Sitting within the arms of your husband, the crackle of the fire illuminated the guests that remained behind at the castle, some setting up bedrolls and pitching tents within the surroundings. 

Mihawk hooked his arm around your shoulder, drawing you against himself and pressing soft kisses against your temple while whispering sweet phrases and poetry within your ear. His beard tickled at each short utterance, prompting a giggle to fall from not only the words, but the feeling of his beard against your skin.

Shanks was the first to notice the small lull in atmosphere, a fiendish grin finding purchase against his lips as he refilled his tankard from the barrel of mead. 

“Alright, you lot. According to the customs of Kuraigana,” Shank’s stumbling and partially inebriated voice slurred, “We all know what comes next for you two. We’ve ‘gotta follow all of the traditions of the land. You know, so the ghostly hag is happy.”

“What are you implying, Red-Hair,” Mihawk’s prior warm tone cracked under its now icey exterior, “Surely you don’t mean-.”

“-Why the ‘Bedding Ceremony’ of course!” Shanks attempted to rise to his feet, stumbling backwards and momentarily sitting upon the lap of his first mate, who apprehensively caught him. “Thanks big man,” he mumbled, rising successfully to his feet and thrusting out his tankard, “You go up there with your Sunshine bride, and we wait out here and make as much noise as we can while you perform your husbandly duties.” 

A warm flush rose to your cheeks, littering your face with the warmth of blood swelling to the tips of your ears. You could feel the rapid pulse beating in your eardrums, your heart stampeding your racing mind of all thoughts of what was yet to come. 

“Then you come and rejoin us as one flesh,” Shanks concluded, saluting Mihawk with his broad tankard, “And we drink to the happy couple, and carry off our celebrations into the wee hours of the morn.”

“Is this truly a custom of this land, my heart?” you uttered quietly to the broody bearded man at your side, his attention snapping over towards you. His eyes softened as his heart swelled, lips parting while drawing up his right hand to caress your cheek.

“Unfortunately it is, my beloved,” he whispered with a half-smile, “And a custom we need not adhere to should you find discomfort in such a feat.” 

You allowed a small giggle to fall from your lips, leaning into Mihawk’s gentle caress and pressing a soft kiss on the heel of his palm.

“It could be worse,” you allowed the giggle to rise in volume as your smile broadened, “In Germa-Kingdom, the guests watch the act while they throw sugar-coated almonds at the newlyweds in the hopes it will aid in producing male offspring.” You placed your hand over Mihawk’s, his still holding your cheek as his smile mirrored your own. 

“I suppose this custom is not so bad, then,” Mihawk chuckled, rising to his feet and offering you out his hand, “Shall we, my beloved?”

“I suppose it is time,” you smiled in return, placing your hand within his and allowing him to hoist you up from your position on the log. Mihawk’s brows creased, mild agitation forming at the center of his forehead. Before you could ask him what was bothering him, he turned his head to Beckman: who was already rising to stand. 

The blush returned as your eyes widened, almost forgetting what you had requested of the cursed moss-agate ring on your unity finger. 

“Beckman,” Mihawk’s agitation growing in depth as the hoarse growl rumbled in his throat, “In light of the fact this is part of the covenant pact forged with the ring-.”

“-I would not lay a single finger unnecessarily on your wife, lord Mihawk,” Beckman’s whiskey voice hummed as he inhaled his cigarette to the filter end, “Would you prefer it be Shanks in his current stupor using his right hand and teeth?”

“Absolutely not,” Mihawk barked at the suggestion.

“Then I will make it quick and precise,” Beckman reassured him with a curt nod, “Follow up in twenty minutes, and your bride will be awaiting you to unwrap her within your marriage bed.” 

Beckman outstretched the crook of his elbow, a satchel containing what you presumed to be your sun-dress shrugged over his shoulder. You apprehensively withdrew your hand from Mihawk’s, giving him one more longing look before you allowed yourself to be ushered into the halls of Castle Kuraigana. 

You both walked in silence, unsure of what words needed to be spoken between you before you engaged in this next aspect of your night together. The silence was peaceful, the soft tranquility you had not experienced since beginning this venture of matrimony. You were almost thankful this moment was granted to you to share with one of your most respected acquaintances in your time as a governess. 

He chaperoned you into the halls, finding the door that led into the suite allocated to both you and Mihawk as the lord and lady of Kuraigana. In the wake of the soft tranquility, anxiety at the anticipation of what’s to come awoke within your chest. Your heart elevated its rhythmic thundering, your mind beginning to swirl and race as the anticipation only grew.

“Take a moment, my lady,” Beckman’s soothing voice hummed at you, “All the time you need, alright? It’s a lot of changes to adjust to, and I would never dream of rushing you.” 

“Thank you, Benn,” you exhaled, rolling your neck and attempting to stifle the rise in your anxious thoughts. After a few small breaths, you reopened your eyes and smiled to yourself as you felt finally ‘ready’ to begin this new chapter of your life. 

The door shut behind the first-mate of the Red-Hair pirates, you made your way behind the dressing screen. You silently thanked Buggy for ensuring this garment was easier for you to remove than the one prior, but anticipation rose in your chest as Beckman revealed a satchel to you. 

“This is going to be extremely difficult to do whilst blindfolded, my lady,” he gruffly chuckled, retrieving several golden strands of linked chains from within the canvas bag, “Are you certain this is adhering to the covenant you made with the aetherial pest?” 

“To quote my own words, Benn,” you shook your head and straightened your shoulders, “‘Sunlight: a dress that meets the intensity of the sun with its rays of gold and copper. An accumulation of material so outrageously forbidden, it be intended for your eyes alone with its purpose. A dress so scantily designed that you will find none to ever match its equal in both color and provocative appearance’.” Your voice mocked your own recollection, prompting Beckman to chuckle at your tone.

“Well then, there may be a small hiccup in our plan,” he shrugged, taking out a strip of lengthy material and beginning to fold it in half. Upon measuring the half-width, Beckman used his canine teeth to puncture the fabric and tear it into two, thick strips. 

“What do you mean, Benn?” your eyes followed his movements with both intrigue and curiosity.

“For his eyes alone,” he quoted back at you, chuckling as he handed you one of the strips, “Looks like I won’t be the only one experiencing sensory deprivation in this little encounter, my lady.” Taking the fabric from his outstretched hands, your brows knit together before the realization hit you. 

“You’ll have to wear a blindfold too.” 

[monstrousvoice]

A Chance

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Relationship: Toshinori Yagi/All Might X Female Reader

AN: With my love of BNHA coming back, so too does my undying love for Toshi rise from the depths to inconvenience everyone who tries to have a conversation with me lasting longer than 5 minutes. This drabble was inspired by the following mood board as part of a challenge prompt in the discord server I’m in!

Tags: Fluff, Knight!Toshinori, References to past sexy times but nothing explicit

Summary: You are given the chance to pursue your own happiness with the one you love.

Read it on AO3!

“It really is unconventional my dear.” Your mother clucked her tongue at you before blowing on her steaming tea and taking a careful sip. You took a deep breath to keep your composure. It took nearly all your courage just to speak the words you had been sitting on for months at this point, and you had been prepared for a far harsher response. You gently swirled your spoon in your own tea cup, watching as the sugar cube melted away. You hated this blend, but it was Mother’s favorite and you needed any help to get her in a good mood.

Your father says nothing, simply watching you with a stoic expression. His tea cup sits full and untouched.

“I am…aware, of how odd it is-” Mother scoffs at your words.

“If you are so aware, why even entertain the idea? Honestly child.” She rolls her eyes at you. You bite your tongue, and take another deep breath.

“I simply think after all he’s done for us, for me, that he would be a good choice,” Another scoff. “And that he would…” make me happy, you want to say but don’t. Mother didn’t care about things like happiness in marriage. Marriage was a tool in a royal’s arsenal, like anything else.

“Oh yes, everything he’s done for us, and every neighboring kingdom from here to the coast! The man has no loyalty! He would sooner give up the crown to an invader than fight them! He has too many ties to too many people.”

“That isn’t true!” Mother narrows her eyes at your raised voice. You stiffen and look to your lap in a show of submission. “I-I am sorry. I just…”

“It is a foolish idea.” Mother takes another sip of her tea, opening her mouth to further admonish you for your proposal, but your father speaks.

“I disagree.” He rumbles. Mother closes her mouth with a sharp ‘click’. Your father may be content to let her rule the castle, the staff, and you as she sees fit, but every once in a small while he steps in. Those few times are almost enough to convince you he may care for you in some way.

“Father?” You prompt.

“He was born here. He trained here under my own father’s best knights. He has helped our neighbors as his warrior spirit demanded, but never to our detriment. Now that he can no longer fight the same way, why not reward him for his servitude?” Father blinks passively at Mother, the wisdom of many years of leadership in his eyes. Mother looks at him in shock, her own protests sounding weak now that she doesn’t have his support.

“Bu-I-! He is-! Why, he is too old now my lord husband! He-”

“He is as old as I am, and that brings wisdom and experience.”

“Wh-what of heirs!? He could never-with our daughter-!”

“Men older than us both have produced children before. It will be fine.”

Mother looks like she wants to protest further still, but you don’t pay her stuttered words any more mind. You stare at your father, a man you have spent most of your life fearing in some capacity. Fear of failure and disappointment, fear of losing him and leaving your home in disarray with no king to lead them.

Fear of being married off to some horrible man that would decide your fate, who would crush and break you under the weight of unwanted motherhood and wifely duties you would have no choice but to complete. Of one day suffering the quiet shame of having a husband who brings strangers to bed, of being an object meant to look pretty and nothing more.

And within this moment you dare hope that your life will not be as sad and grey. 

Father looks at you and nods his head. You stand, your fingers twitching with the effort to hold back your excitement. Never before have you so badly wanted to hug Father, but you refrain. It would be improper, Mother has always said. You bow low instead to show your gratitude.

“Th-thank you Father. Mother. I must-...I need to step out for a moment, please excuse me.” And with that you rush out the door to the private study and nearly collapse against the stone wall opposite you. The cool, rough texture against your palms and catching the fabric of your gown helps ground you.

This is real.

You can-you can marry the man you love. Bring him into a life of luxury and happiness you’ve wanted to give him for so long-

The click of the door behind you opening and closing echoes in your pounding head. With hazy eyes you look to see Father standing behind you, proud and tall as ever. He is smiling softly at you, a gentleness you didn’t think he possessed. It's an odd but not unpleasant expression to see on his face.

“I…” He starts, lifting a hand into the air and holding it there, fingers pinched. With a sigh he drops his hand back to his side, looking to the floor.

“With age comes wisdom.” He begins. “I regret many things when it comes to how you were raised.” You blink in shock at his words. You can see in his face…a quiet longing you hadn’t noticed before. It makes something in your heart squeeze.

“I wish…I wish I had been…” He sighs, his shoulders slumping as he looks to you. “I had you trained and molded to take charge of the kingdom after my passing, consort or no. I made sure you knew every battle tactic, every political game, every form of self defense I could cram into you to make sure you could be safe. I just wish I could have taken the time to…let you be you. To be my daughter, not just my heir. I wish I could have gotten to know you.”

The back of your eyes burn. You swallow and blink. You cannot show such clear emotion, not to anyone.

Well…to one person and one person only. 

That person is not Father.

“I married your mother because of the things she could teach you, the benefits she brought to our home.” Father steps closer to you. His arms lift, as if to reach for you. He freezes, hands shaking before he forces them down to his sides again. “I wish to give you a chance to be happy. If only in some small way. A way I never got to experience. Go to him, and you will be happy with him, I’m sure.”

Father has taken time out of his day to meet with you, to hear your proposal. He agreed to your proposal and gave you his blessing for the man you chose. He is standing before you and restraining himself from giving you a hug.

You take the final step to close the distance between you both, and your stiff arms wrap around his even stiffer form. You feel his hands slowly and carefully come to your back and rest there.

It is awkward and stiff and slightly uncomfortable.

It is the first hug you’ve ever received from Father.

You will cherish its memory for the rest of your life. He has made you happier on this day than you have ever felt.

Well, perhaps not happier than the day you met your fearsome and brave knight. It is close, however.

“Thank you Father. If it is acceptable, I wish to go see him.” Father’s arms drop from you as you step back, and he nods his head. You turn and rush down the hall.

~~~~~~~

You ignore the whispers that trail after you as you hunt through the castle hallways.

“Ah, her royal highness the cold fish. Wonder what has her in such a hurry.”

“Her highness is moving rather fast, do you think something’s happened? She’s normally so stoic and cold.”

“Just like her father, that one. Unfeeling and scary.”

Their words sting, but you hold your head high. You had thought you had been getting better at interacting with the staff, but apparently not if they still gossip in such ways about you. Your knight had been trying to help you be more approachable and open to others, considering he shined with charm and charisma like a beacon, but apparently you needed more work. 

It didn't matter right now, in any case. You have more important news to share with him. 

A tall figure, a flash of blonde, catches your eye down the corridor. You race after it and round the corner to see your knight and his young charge walking away. 

“Toshinori!” You call, and the two figures freeze, turning to look back at you. You rush closer, breathless and excited. Neither of them are in their full set of armor, only wearing the thickly padded tunic that has your kingdom's blazon proudly on display. You take a moment to admire the way your knight’s cloak drapes over his broad shoulders. 

He may not be as strong as he was when younger, but that thin, tall frame holds strength and resilience you can't help but love.

“G-good morning to you both. I apologize for the interruption-” You start, nodding at Izuku who stares up at you with shining eyes. Toshinori straightens up, his smile professional and calm as he addresses you. 

“No trouble at all, your highness.” He bows low to you, and for a moment his hand twitches as if to reach for you, but he forces it still. Izuku jolts as if shocked, quickly blowing low as well with a muttered ‘good morning’ of his own. He's still learning proper protocol, Toshinori had told you. The boy shows great promise as a knight and you know Toshinori is more proud of this boy than he is about any other accomplishment he has in his long career. 

“If I may, Ser Knight, I would like to speak to you about something…” Your eyes dart to the boy at his side. “Urgent.” Toshinori catches on, his eyebrows raising in surprise and slight concern before he turns to his student.

“Young Midoriya, make your way to the stables and complete your usual duties. I will find you later.” Toshinori smiles at the boy with a tenderness that makes your heart squeeze in your chest. The urge to kiss the laugh lines on his cheeks is nearly overwhelming, and you barely stop yourself from doing so. You need to talk to him first. 

Izuku hurries down the hallway with an eager stride, no doubt wanting to impress his teacher when they meet back up. With your own barely restrained enthusiasm you grab Toshinori's hand in your own and drag him to the closest private spot you know of. He stumbles for a moment as you pull him, letting out a choked noise of surprise. You can feel calluses from years of hard labor under the pads of your fingers, rough skin and scars that make your heart flutter with excitement. You've had those hands on you so many times, and now you know for certain you can feel them again for the rest of your life. 

If he wants such a thing, that is. 

“Y-your highness-! What is-” You ignore his questions, making a beeline for the nearest hidden alcove you can think of. It's a hidden spot right outside the entrance to the gardens, one you and Toshinori are very familiar with. Memories of his fingers, long and thick as they brought you to completion over and over while pressed against his chest flash through your mind as you pull him closer. It seems the same thoughts are on his mind as well, judging by the growing pink blush spreading over the bridge of his nose.

The sunlight bleeds through the leaves of the many trees planted, flowering blooms bright and colorful as fat bees buzz to and fro across them to collect nectar. A slight breeze picks up and you watch, mesmerized, as the golden hair of your knight seems to shine as it’s ruffled.

To think, you’ll be able to see him like this everyday for the rest of your life…if he accepts that is.

His voice startles you despite it being a whisper.

“My love, what is wrong? Did something happen…?” Despite the concern you see in his eyes, his mouth pulls up in a shy smile. “Or were you looking to…” One of his hands cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone in such a tender way it makes your very soul ache. Your eyes flutter shut as you turn into his palm, pressing a kiss against the rough skin. His blush deepens.

“I am flattered darling but is this really what you would consider ‘urgent’? You had me worried for a moment!” He chuckles, a deep soothing sound that sends shivers down your spine. You squeeze your thighs closed at the sudden rush of heat you feel at the sound. You manage to find your voice and speak.

“N-not entirely, beloved…” Your voice comes out as soft as his, a whisper to be carried away on the wind. Toshinori pulls you closer, his free arm wrapping around your waist to settle on the small of your back, his long fingers spreading to grip the meat of your ass. You squeak at the feeling, your hips pushing closer to his where you can feel his cock hardening under his tunic. He hums in interest at your words as he buries his nose into your hair.

“I was speaking with-...with Mother and Father today-” You feel him stiffen against you, and not because of arousal. He pulls back to look you in the eye, but his arms stay wrapped snugly around you. Toshinori’s brow is furrowed with concern as he looks at you.

“Are you alright? I know talks with Her Majesty can be…difficult for you. Is that why you came to me?” His eyes widened in panic. “A-and here I am trying to-! I am sorry love, you must be upset and I’m just-” You can feel his arms loosening from where they hold you tight, pulling away to give you space you most definitely did not want at the moment. You grip his wrists, tugging his hands back into their rightful place on you.

“No! No, I’m not upset please! Please-” You nuzzle into the hollow of his throat, “please hold me. I want to be held.” Your lips brush against his skin as you whisper and you hear him choke. Those strong arms wrap around you once more.

“Ah, a-as you wish…” Toshinori’s voice comes out breathless, and you feel him press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“It was a good talk. I was…” You pause, trying to think of the best way to phrase your question. “I was granted permission to…to court whomever I wish…”

You feel him suck in a sharp breath, his shoulders tensing under where your hands grip him to hold him close. You can hear the sound of his heartbeat where your head rests against his chest, and you know under your cheek is the very spot where his scar resides. You want to spend eternity like this, just being held by your knight like you’re something precious for once.

“...Truly? That's-that's fantastic my love…” You hear Toshinori gulp above you, his arms tightening their hold even further. 

“I think so too. I wanted to ask…” You pause and breathe deeply, grounding yourself. He wouldn't say no, there was no reason to say no. “I wanted to ask if you would consider…allowing me to court you, Ser Knight? And to one day be my King Consort.” You press a kiss to his cloth covered chest, right above his heart.

“My love…” You feel his hand, rough with callouses, cup your jaw and angle your head up to look at him. Piercing blue eyes that glow with resilience and determination stare into your own. “There is nothing I would love more, than to be by your side.”

And he seals this promise with a kiss.

[choccy-milky]

(SPOILER WARNING to people who haven't read your story) I SWEAR to GOD!!!! This is borderline anon-hate with my current state of mind after finishing The Raven and The Snake over this weekend. I finished it in two days. I'm a mess. I've even started making a playlist because I feel like I can't properly enter reality again. I'm supposed to be writing my bachelors thesis right now,,,, what have you done to me!!!!

I loved it so so so much, and I am very mad I cannot have a collectors edition hardback version of it on my shelf. There are many many moments that keep replaying in my head, and scenes that I saw so vividly when reading through it. The first imperio moment and Sebs shadow and imperio-green eyes as Clora was held captive, and the entire scene in the repository and how I was physically shaking as I slowly realised that Seb had made a fucking horcrux, and when it was CONFIRMED the GASP i GUSPED. It was so perfect, and so very Sebastian; because OF COURSE he made a horcrux (lowkey hot, sue me).

And the scene where Clive realised Seb straight up just died for his daughter without knowing he would be back, oh my dear lord.

And the idea of Seb being seen as a 'Ruffian' and that little mamas boi bitch of a Henry thinking his hand-me-down-riches, muggle ass would be preferable to a powerful wizard. I secretly wished they didn't have to keep magic a secret so Henry could have known just how inferior he was. AND SEB APPARATING SO FAR UMPH the skilllll.

I could go on and on and on, and maybe I will some other time in your inbox when I have another mental breakdown.

And now I'm also almost done with the small sequel. Just taking a break to bombard you with this unhinged message of mine. And how you draw Sebastian is so fucking good. It's actually what got me reading in the first place. I see your version as being in a completely separate universe from the game, cause the way you draw him just has that something, and it's not the same anywhere else. It certainly doesn't help my obsession that my own boyfriend has the same features and colour palette as him, now I think I might even use your art as inspo for next time we need wardrobe additions.

I love you and I hate you.

Ps. Of course I added Sarah Smiles to the playlist and also Far too young to Die, and Just One Yesterday. If you've any other songs you think match please let me knowww~~

BRUHHHHH I ALMOST FEEL NARCISSISTIC FOR POSTING/RESPONDING TO THIS ASK BC ITS JUST PRAISE BUT DAMN THANK YOU SO MUCH😭😭😭😭IM HAPPY YOU LIKED IT SO MUCH!! FORGET WRITING YOUR BACHELORS THESIS, TY FOR WRITING A THESIS ON WHY U LOVED MY FIC SO MUCH AND ALL THE LIL THINGS U ENJOYED BAHAHAHA (love the henry slander) im also glad u like how i draw seb too, and i love how thats what made u start reading it in the first place BAHAH but fr, sometimes i try drawing seb more accurately to his ACTUAL appearance and then im like... Who The Hell is this... and it may sound arrogant since im the artist but my seb is MY seb, yknow...its why i dont like drawing him with other mc's romantically. bc even tho its like, oh look, that's Sebastian Sallow™ from the hit game Hogwarts Legacy™! in my style if i draw him with another MC, its like, NO!!! THATS NOT SEBASTIAN SALLOW™, THATS CLORA'S HUSBAND🤺🤺THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING BOI??🤺🤺🤺 LMAOO but rly TY AGAIN💖💖💖 not only for reading but also taking the time to write all this and let me know how much you enjoyed it🥹🥹i (and all writers, really) always love getting stuff like this!! it also brings me back to when i was writing it, especially now that ive been finished with my fic for a few months, listening to u react to all the diff scenes is making me miss it and giving me nostalgia for my own damn fic FRRR😩 also i love that youre making a playlist LMAOO thats how u know the brainrot truly has a hold on you IM SO SORRY🙏🙏 i actually made a seb and clora playlist like last year and its somewhere in my ask tag if you look through that?? but one song that i can recommend off the top of my head (which i almost made their anthem in that OTP chart) is arms tonite by mother mother...whenever i listen to it i cant help but laugh to myself bc its SO perfect for the chap where seb sacrifices himself....YOULL SEE WHEN U LISTEN😇💖