#relentless suitor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gingerteafairy · 29 days ago

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dedicated to my pookie @blueikky

𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑺𝑨𝑷𝑷𝑯𝑰𝑹𝑬𝑺, 𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑩𝑳𝑼𝑬 𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑫𝑺 (𝑽𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑲𝒀 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹)

Your first and last ruin, Alexei Vronsky.

tags n warnings: issues, drama, alcohol, smoke, prejudice, blowjob, virginity, praise and (slightly) degradation kink. word count: 4.6k. masterlist

Gossip. That’s what filled the air at balls like this one in the cold beauty of Saint Petersburg. Outside, winter’s chill wrapped the city, but inside, the warmth of cynical laughter and whispered conversations carried through the grand hall. Tonight, the focus was on the newly arrived wealthy family. New money was always a spectacle in high society, and noblewomen wasted no time trying to marry off their daughters to the richest man in sight.

This was your situation. Your mother clung to your arm, dragging you from one introduction to the next. Most of the men were old, balding, or unappealing. The few who seemed tolerable lost all their charm the moment they spoke, their words dripping with arrogance or lewdness.

“How dreadful,” Betsy muttered, waving an ornate fan as she watched your mother’s relentless efforts to match you with men far too old for you. “It’s embarrassing to witness.”

“New money,” said Countess Vronskaya with a sip of her champagne. “Like dogs trampling our lovely ball. She claims herself a baroness. Such a shame.”

“Rather harsh words for someone so refined, Mother,” Alexei Vronsky interjected smoothly, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. The smoke curled lazily from his lips as his striking blue eyes followed the scene, faintly amused yet undeniably intrigued.

“The girl is a victim of a desperate mother with no sense of propriety and lack of decorum,” the Countess replied, her lips thinning in disdain. She exchanged a knowing glance with Betsy. “Come, dear. This place is becoming intolerable.”

The two women swept away, leaving Vronsky behind. His posture was relaxed, yet there was something commanding about the way he carried himself. His friend Golenichev approached, grinning as he held a drink, his gaze settling on you as you waved off another suitor.

“She’s had some decent offers tonight, don’t you think?” Golenichev said, standing straighter as he joined his friend.

Vronsky’s eyes found yours again, his expression unreadable. He tilted his head slightly, taking another drag of his cigarette before letting the smoke escape in a soft exhale. “She’s beautiful,” he said quietly, his voice thoughtful. “It’s tragic, really. She can’t be more than twenty, and yet she’s being offered to these… decrepit creatures. It’s a crime.”

Golenichev chuckled, raising his glass in agreement. “A crime indeed. But what’s to be done? It 's her ruin.”

“Perhaps there is.” Vronsky tapped the cigarette against an ashtray and straightened. “I’ll see to it that she’s spared such a fate and make sure to be her first ruin.” His tone was firm, and without another word, he began walking toward you.

You were staring at the floor, trying to hide your frustration as your mother pulled you toward yet another man. Then she stopped abruptly. You looked up, and your breath caught.

The man standing before you was unlike any you’d seen tonight. His presence was magnetic, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to lock on yours with intent. For once, your mother seemed unsure of herself, nudging you for bow reverence.

“What a small, demure little thing you are.”He chuckles at your small bow, roaming his eyes over your body, taking every inch of you, especially in your breath plumped by the exaggerated neckline your mother made you use. “Adorable, if it's safe to say, baroness.”

“Oh…” Your mother opened her mouth but fumbled for words. “To… to what do we owe this honor, sir…?” she finally managed.

“Vronsky. Count Vronsky. Colonel,” he said smoothly, bowing slightly before taking your hand. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a light, deliberate kiss to your skin.

“Oh… it's… such a pleasure to meet such a high hierarchy… I mean, important man.” She giggled, covering his mouth, nudging you, having you gasping slightly before fixing your posture.

“The pleasure is mine.” he beamed as his eyes burned with a desire and passion you’ve only heard in fantasies. No, it was darker. Hyptozing.

You flushed, your heart racing under his gaze. His voice, deep and confident, seemed to linger in the air. Your mother quickly recovered, rushing to introduce you. “This is my dau—”

“No need,” Vronsky said with a small, knowing smile. “I already know her name.” His attention returned to you. “May I have this dance?”

Your mother answered before you could, her voice eager. “Of course! She would be delighted!” She nudged you forward, leaving you no choice but to step into his waiting arms.

His touch was steady and assured as he led you to the center of the ballroom. The music swelled as the two of you bowed, and then his hand found your waist—not politely at your upper back, but daringly low, just above your hip. The closeness was startling, almost improper, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to step away.

“You’re very quiet, darling,” he said as the two of you began to move, his steps smooth and confident. “You’re naturally reserved, I presume.”

“My mother believes it’s unseemly for a lady to speak unless spoken to,” you replied, your voice clipped as you tried to mask your nerves.

He chuckled softly. “Nonsense,” he said, his blue eyes glittering with amusement. “Tell me—what are you thinking right now?”

You hesitated but decided to answer honestly. “That, of course, you would know my name. My mother has spoken to every man in this room. The pretty, reckless, stupid Baroness.”

He laughed, the sound low and pleasant, loving your adorable annoyance. “I tend to keep my distance. Crowds don’t interest me.” He guided you into a turn, his hand steady on your waist. “Did any of them catch your interest?”

“None who would ask me to dance and dismiss my mother’s rules as nonsense,” you said, the hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, his tone warm as he pulled you closer. “You’ve caught my attention, if I may be so bold. You’re enchanting.”

Your breath hitched at his words. He was impossibly close now, his hand firm yet gentle on your waist. “That’s very kind of you, Count Vronsky.”

“Alexei,” he corrected. The intimacy of his first name felt daring, and it made your cheeks flush again. His gaze lingered on your lips for a moment before he spoke. “Would you do me the honor of a walk? Somewhere quieter for a pleasant talk?"

You hesitated, glancing toward your mother, who was engrossed in conversation across the room. Before you could second-guess yourself, you answered.

“Yes.”

He smiled, offering his arm, and you took it. Together, you stepped away from the crowded ballroom and into the stillness of the castle’s quieter halls, your heart pounding with every step.

Alexei led you through the castle halls, his steps unhurried, his presence calm yet undeniably magnetic. He spoke occasionally, sharing brief comments about the guests or recounting fragments of the castle's history. His voice carried a quiet intensity, much like the moonlight filtering through the windows, veiled by luxurious, heavy curtains. There was an air of mystery about him—dark yet alluring, cold yet captivating.

He stopped in front of a wide wooden door, resting his hand on the ornate brass handle. With deliberate slowness, he turned the knob and pushed it open, the creak of the hinges echoing softly in the stillness. The pause in his movements, the weight of the moment—it set your nerves alight.

“Ladies first,” he said, his tone smooth and polite as he stepped aside.

You hesitated before walking in, taking in the room’s grandeur. It was no ordinary chamber. It was vast, large enough to house an entire family of peasants. A velvet sofa rested against one wall, paired with matching chairs and a table scattered with loose sheets of paper. Heavy drapes framed tall windows, and the air carried a faint yet pleasant scent of cedar and something floral. But the centerpiece of the room was the bed—a massive structure with carved posts and linens finer than anything you had ever touched.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked at last, your voice breaking the silence. You didn’t turn to face him, but the soft click of the door closing behind you was enough to remind you of his presence.

“I wanted a quiet place where we could talk,” Alexei said, his footsteps drawing closer before he seated himself on the velvet sofa. He moved with such ease, yet his every action seemed deliberate. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke curl lazily into the air. “To get to know you.”

You swallowed hard, the intimacy of the setting and his relaxed demeanor setting your nerves on edge. You lowered yourself onto the far end of the sofa, maintaining a respectable distance, though your heartbeat betrayed you.

“Tell me,” he began, his voice soft yet probing, “have you ever been in love?”

The question startled you. You frowned, letting out a nervous laugh. “I suppose so. A few times. Silly crushes, nothing serious.”

“Was that what your mother told you?” he asked, leaning just slightly in your direction.

“Probably,” you admitted, shifting in your seat. Despite yourself, you found your body inching closer to his, as though pulled by an invisible force. “In her words, romance is useless unless it serves a purpose. Marriage is a transaction, and a lady should save herself for that.”

“And do you believe that?” he asked, taking another drag from his cigarette. His knee brushed against yours, the contact subtle but charged.

“No.” Your voice was firm, though your gaze drifted to his hand, the urge to reach out and touch it growing stronger with each passing second. “But I’ve never had the courage to try anything different.”

“What is it you’ve never tried?” He leaned closer, his profile sharp as he turned his head to exhale the smoke away from you.

“Romance.”

His lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes searching yours. “And… would you like to try?”

The question lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a silk ribbon, tightening with every heartbeat. It was dangerous, the sort of question that invited you to tread on forbidden ground. Yet there was something intoxicating in the way he spoke, the way he watched you as though he already knew your answer, showing you what you’ve been caging. Desire. Fire, lust, pure sensual desire.

“I believe I would,” you murmured, the words barely audible but enough to draw a soft smile from him.

Alexei shifted closer, closing the gap between you. His breath mingled with yours, carrying the scent of tobacco and something distinctly him—something refined, intoxicating, irresistible. He brought the cigarette to his lips once more, inhaling deeply before leaning forward.

But instead of his lips meeting yours, he exhaled, the smoke brushing against your lips and filling your senses. You inhaled instinctively, closing your eyes, tasting the ghost of him in that moment.

It wasn’t a kiss, not exactly—too timid, too indirect. But it was intimate, electric, and left your heart racing as though it had been. You opened, meeting his gaze.

The faint crackle of the fire in the distant hearth was the only sound, its soft glow casting flickering shadows on the walls. Alexei had moved closer now, his presence overwhelming but not suffocating, his gaze unwavering on yours. There was a storm in his eyes—a mix of restrained desire and something deeper, something dangerous.

When his lips finally met yours, it was gentle at first—tentative, as if asking a question he wasn’t sure you’d answer. But then you responded, your hand instinctively finding its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as if to anchor yourself.

That was all it took for the restraint to break.

The kiss deepened, his other hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you, the cigarette being forgotten on the floor. The warmth of him, the way his lips moved against yours, was unlike anything you’d ever known. He kissed you like he was claiming something, yet still giving—giving you something you hadn’t realized you were starving for.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless. This is dangerous," you whispered, standing and placing your hands on your hips. Your voice shaky but tinged with a nervous laugh, “We can't be doing this, Alexei. This is wrong.”

He raised, hands reaching for your arms, travelling to your waist. “Does it feel wrong? Or does it feel like something you’ve been told is wrong?” His forehead rested lightly against yours, his hand still cradling your face as if he were afraid to let go.

Your lips met Alexei's in a deeper kiss, where he took your face in his hands, turning his head to devour you and feel your taste completely, savoring the sweetness on your lips of your previous treats, mixed with the striking nicotine of Alexei with a touch of champagne, as if it mixed with his earthy perfume.

The kiss became more desperate with hands roaming all over your bodies. You shoved him again, turning your back with your hands on your head, noticing once again the dangerous terrain with the wetness between your legs, like rain on a warm day.

"Tell me you don't want me." He hoarses breathy in your ear, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. "Tell me and I'll go away."

“Alexei…” You sighed, your voice sounding like an eager moan as your hands searched for Alexei's curls between your fingers, hanging your head on his shoulder with your eyes closed.

His lips brushed your shoulders softer this time, almost reverent. “Say what you need and i'm pleased to give, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, his talk striking deeper than you wanted to admit. “Alexei. If anyone knew—”

“Let them know,” he interrupted, kissing your shoulder open-mouthed, his lips taking an old age pace where your neck meets your shoulder. His voice had taken on a quiet intensity, the kind that made your chest tighten as his tongue licked the side of your neck.

“Let them whisper and sneer.” He whispered, his teeth meeting your soft flesh, ghosting till your neck where he inhaled your scent “Leave them wondering how i adore you, every inch of your skin. How I map out your body, the firmness of your flesh, how I'm the cause of your gasps and moans. Leave them realizing you’re living his wildest dreams, melting in my hands.”

His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. He poured every ounce of his love, his hand sliding once again to your stomach, snaking to the small of your back.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the fire in his eyes as you felt the lace on your dress loosening softly, the firmness of the unbreathable tie replaced by softness. "Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Once again. You didn’t. You couldn't.

Not when he licked your neck with a gracious soft tongue felt so right, molding your barely exposed curves to the hard planes of his body. His hands release you from the outrageously heavy dress.

“I want to sink myself into your untouched depths, stretching you wide, claiming you utterly…” He muttered, biting your earlobe, delighted at you melting with each word, his desire, touching every piece of skin as he murmured sweet nothings at your ear.

He gently touched your hair, careful not to make a mess with your luxurious hairstyle. His hands slid down to your hips, gripping them as he turned you to face him. “I want to make you feel everything, know all the pleasures. Whispering my name in a hoarse voice as you please me with cream.”

His voice was a low, wicked purr, each word dripping with sinful promise and unchecked hunger. He took your hand, licking between your index and middle finger, imitating your folds as he saw you heat at him playing with your imagination. You knew what it was. He loved it. He wanted it.

Alexei’s hand slid lower, palming the rounded globe of your ass, squeezing the firm flesh and pulling you even harder against him.

“Every filthy, depraved, utterly obscene thought that's ever crossed your mind... It's all something I desperately want to make happen.”

Tenderly, he took off the corset watching it slowly rest on the floor. His hands slid to cup the soft weight of your breasts as he guided you to his bed, sitting you with surprising care, holding you for getting comfortable.

He pushed back for a moment, his eyes burning into yours as he quickly shed his own clothes, revealing the hard, toned body beneath.

He stood on the side of the bed and you followed him, sitting on your knees. “You’re mine,” He smiled, holding your chin between his fingers, placing a small kiss on your lips. “Mine to ruin.”

His whisper sends you a shiver down your spine. He pulled away again, putting his hands on the hem of his pants, pulling down his underwear as well, revealing to you the sight of the stranger, who somehow seemed familiar to you.

As if following his desire, your hands went up to your length, exhaling Alexei, not restricting your tongue, insisting on tasting his juice, planting a mouth-opened kiss. He groaned, maintained control with his fingers on your chin, your sweet innocence burning inside him, burning with the clear desire to ruin any trace of it in you. Present you to any pleasure the world denies you.

“Open your mouth, love.” He demanded and you slowly opened, sticking your tongue, obeying your instincts. He cupped your face, pressuring your jaw, seeing you opening even more. “Yeah… that's it. Keep it wide open for me.”

Alexei groaned, his cock at your wet, warm tongue dragged along his aching length, accommodating his veins. The sensation of your soft lips parting, your mouth stretching to engulf his thick, pulsing cock... It was almost enough to make him lose control, to spill himself down your throat, how you submissively struggled on making your moves deeper, comforting him on your walls.

“Keep going, you're doing so well…” his sweet praises echoed with the sound of your cheeks sucking in and the little ‘pops’ when you popped his cock out to lick him, savoring the saltiness just to warm him up again.

He pushed you, making eye contact as he patted his head on your flushed cheeks. A dark chuckle echoed from his lungs as he saw you opening your mouth eager to taste him again.

“You're so adorable… Did you want a cock this much? No wonder your mother hides such a slut. Would be a shame if anyone knows how good this pretty mouth is.” He cooed, pressing your chin down. “Stick your tongue, my cunt.” he ordered, pressing your chin down, patting his tip again when you showed your tongue on your reddened lips. “Yeah… that's it�� good girl. Here, take what you want.”

He couldn't help but surrender to your swirling tongue, entertaining his frenulum. He popped out again, smirking just to dig inside again, chuckling with your gasp and hollowing cheeks.

He rocked his hips, grinding his cock against your tongue as he fucked your throat deep, “I'll ruin your mouth so any man could use it again. Just me. Your mouth made for my cock.”

The sight of you, tears streaking down your cheeks, mouth red and swollen from his rough treatment.

“Enough, darling.” He brushed his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping away the stray drop of drool that clung there, before pressing the digit past your lips, letting you suck it clean. His other hand slid into your hair, his fingers threading through the silky strands as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his intense, unwavering gaze.

“Did I do a good job?” You beamed, wiping off the remanescente drool off your face with the back of your hand.

“You were perfect, took me very well. Now… Lay down. On your back.” He asked and you obeyed, lying down as he ordered. He crawled on the bed, getting on top.

Alexei’s mouth travelled to your neck, nipping and deposing open-mouthed kisses, tasting you, claiming you, marking you. His own territory. He pushed back slightly, fingers gently wrapped around your throat as he licked the column, lifting to look at your eyes, leaving them as he arrived at your sternum, inhaling you.

“Such a magnificent smell.” He exhaled, inhaling sonorous, his fingers digged on your waist possessively.

His head drove to the side, catching your nipples with his teeth gently, while his thumb teased the other one, turning, pinching, palming your breast and filling your hardened skin sticking on his hand, breathy purrs of yours could be heard on his timpani.

He slid down in brief kisses to your undergarments. You plopped on your shoulders, watching him catch the hem of your underwear, tugging down with his teeth in one swift erogenous motion, letting them fall to the floor.

“Alexei…” you mumbled dizzy, tortured by his tortuous rhythm.

“Yes, my lady?” He teased, as he didn't know how you were on the edge of madness. He wanted you begging, but he was patient enough to wait for it, even if his cock ached for relief. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you.” You finally admitted, gazing into his lustful eyes that looked through his delicate lashes. “I want you, Alexei. I can't take it anymore."

“As you wish, my love.” He whispered before his lips searched yours in a bruising kiss, massaging your tongues together simultaneously to his teeth pushing your bottom lip, nipping and coming back for loving tongue.

Alexei's hands drove down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he pushed your legs up and out, forcing your knees upon your chest, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, your dripping sex begging for his cock to explore your walls.

He pulled his hip down, your hole hugging his tip, getting used quickly to the new addicting sensation. He could smell the sweet scent of your desire, your flushed thighs shivering with anticipation mixed with the cold air of the night. Your cunt trying to suck him hungry. He heard it's calling, burying him completely with the symphony of your moan and his grunt.

“God, you feel amazing.” he rasped light headed, sensing your channel tightening his length.

His fingers drove out to your swollen clit. He rubbed the sensitive nub in tender circles, the calloused pad of his finger teasing until your hips bucked beneath him.

“Alexei…” you moan, digging your nails on his flushed shoulders, drawing a red path to his back where you scratch to his swaying moving.

“Fuck, you take me so well, my darling.” He groaned, setting a pace as he kept eye contact with your foreheads together, shutting his eyes when he pursued your lips to a taunt kiss, hooking one of your legs around his waist.

“Alexei… Alexei… fuck.” You mewl his name like a song, humming on each time his tip rocked on your sweet spot back and forth.

“Is it good when I touch you here?” He left your lips, biting your jaw as he pulled your hair, swaying his hips harder and deeper.

Suddenly, he pulled back, your blissed cunt feeling the void as you watched him sit on the bed and light a cigarette found on his trousers. He looked down at you, raising an eyebrow as he dragged in. “What are you waiting for? Sit.”

"What?" you gasped, heavy from the pleasure you had gotten while sitting next to him.

“I think i was clear, but i’ll open an exception for your pretty pout.” Vronsky chuckled, leaning closer to your ear, cupping your face, thumb pressing your jaw as he ghosted his lips on your cheek. "I said sit. Sit so i can drink you with my eyes while your tits jump and you cream me like a good girl.”

You gasped, your face being released with soft brutality as you stared at him, your gaze going to his cock soaked in your lube "i don't know how to do this... i barely know how..."

"Shhh..." he shushed, taking your face into his calloused hand again, pulling your bottom lip with his index finger. "Obey. Sit.”

You swallow hard, obeying the order without blinking. Your legs work to spread out on Alexei's lap as he takes a deep drag on his cigarette, exhaling onto your face, your tears mixed with smoke.

"God, you're perfect.” he breathes, inhaling with his head on the wall as you sink down on him awkwardly, finally taking his full length in a sloppy unadjusted thrust of you. “Yeah… good girl. Fuck yourself on my cock to get what you want. Don't make me ask twice.”

You moaned at his dirty talk, starting a slow and uncoordinated movement that made your legs ache, but that felt incredibly delicious on your core. Up and down, back and forth, exploring the new nature.

“Good…” he whispered, panting, his gaze at your cunt sucking him well. “You’re a natural. Faster."

Your eyes caught Alexei's furrowed brows as he took another drag, each time more awkwardly as the pleasure grew in his spine.

He moved closer to you, exhaling smoke near your mouth as you inhaled again, but it wasn't the nicotine that was addicting you. It was how Alexei commanded without needing to touch, it was like your body knew exactly what he wanted.

You felt your heart race, the oxygen seeming to dissipate in the air suddenly as your sex demanded more. Vronsky noticed. His skilled fingers rubbing your clit. "That 's it. Cum on my cock. Cream it. Use me for your pleasure, love.”

“Alexei… fuck… I'm” You couldn't even speak, your body automatically throwing itself at Alexei who held you, dropping the cigarette in the ashtray next to the bed to hold you while you sought your own orgasm in him, his warm lips on yours again.

"You are the embodiment of sex, darling. My nymph. My muse. Fuck, you are delicious, melt into me." He stimulated you, encouraging your ecstasy, your eyes pressed shut as your mouth opened in a final sigh, your pleasure being released into Alexei.

He took in your scent, your taste, your juice, wanting his pores to absorb every cell of yours released by your peak. The world seemed to dissolve, your mind blank as Alexei fucked himself into you, his ankles on the mattress to help with the thrusts as he digged inside, yours tits bouncing as you purred and whimpered. With a last harsh sway, his cock spurted his seed on your womb, rocking his hips til the last drop.

Breathing heavily, you pulled away briefly to look into Alexei's delighted eyes, his blonde locks plastered to his forehead, his hands coming to your face in a generous caress, gently kissing your lips.

"Ravishing..." he whispered, taking in every detail of your sweaty face. "I wish to present myself to your mother as a suitor. I do not intend to let any other man touch my sweet little thing.”

Your eyes watered at the talking, your hands placed on your mouth to hide your surprise. “Alexei… Alexei, is it real? What made you change your mind?’

“Nothing.” He simply replied, smiling at your emotionally amused reaction, his own heart giggling at the moment. “You’re mine now, you’ll wear sapphires in the morning and blue diamonds at night, so everyone knows you’re my woman. you will be elevated to the position you deserve. High. Adored. A muse. Come on, get ready. We have an announcement to make.”

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latenighttalking00 · 1 year ago

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A Work of Art

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader

Summary: You are a Marchioness from france and your mother is adamant that you wed. She is a very close friend of the Dowager Vicountess Bridgerton who has so generously agreed to be your sponsor for the season. Perhaps in doing this, she has unknowingly found her son's perfect match as well.

Warnings: slow-ish burn, friends to lovers, smut, 18+, minors dni, hair pulling, possessive/dirty talk, fingering, oral (f receiving). This is just porn with a plot.

Word Count: 2k

Author's Note: Hi! This is my first time writing, so apologies if it's a bit rough; English isn't my native language. Hopefully, you all absolutely drool over Benedict the same way I do. enjoy!

Once the social season had begun its approach, you and your family make haste on your return from france. Due to your newly given title, you are projected to be quite the diamond this season indeed.

As a close friend of the family, the Dowager Viscountess, Violet Bridgerton kindly offers to sponsor your debut this season, meaning that it is now of the utmost importance to arrive promptly at the Bridgerton home in London before the season is to begin.

As you sit in the drawing room, awaiting the next potential suitors you will inevitably send on their way, the clear and evident dread in your expression does not go unnoticed by your mother. A quick swat to your knee from her fan catches your attention, a visible look of warning on her face as your eyes meet hers.

"I do hope that attitude of yours is quick to dissipate." She sighs, "Men will find you quite inadequate to wed if you are to continue this ridiculous behavior. It is quite unladylike." Your mother's words cut right through you as if she had taken a hot paring knife to both of your ears. Not being able to withstand it any longer, you quickly stand from your seat and interrupt her.

"Mother, this gown and the line of men outside the door are quite suffocating enough; no need for your incessant nagging as well." You take a moment to pause, regaining your composure.

"I believe I am feeling quite faint; perhaps I've seen enough suitors today." You threaten rather than suggest, "I will return to my chambers and perhaps get a bit of rest seeing as the sun has already began it’s departure from the sky."

You bow and quickly excuse yourself before making haste out the door, walking as fast as your feet can take you, right past the men who are practically begging for just a minute of your attention.

You race directly to your bedroom, entering quickly and not even fully shutting the door before you are pulling down the zipper of your gown and letting it fall to the floor. "This retched thing must come off immediately," you mumble to yourself as you pull at the laces of your corset, loosening them just enough to slide off your body. A sigh of relief leaves your lips as you slip off your stays and slip on a beautiful white nightgown you purchased from one of the most talented modiste in france.

Shortly after the maids come to collect your gown, you are quick to wander down the halls in search of a cure to your relentless boredom. you find what appears to be an art studio and you are instantly overjoyed. you quietly sneak in through the door left ajar.

Art was your pride and joy; your sketches and the ability to produce beautiful works on canvas were the only things keeping you from becoming a mad woman.

Unbeknownst to you, Violet's second-eldest son and the owner of said art studio had just returned home from the gentleman's club. As he makes his way down the hall, prepared to return to his studio and peacefully finish up some things he started the night prior, he is met with complete and udder surprise at the sight of a woman flipping through his sketchbooks.

He feels as if the air has been knocked right from his lungs. Never once has a woman looked so real, raw, and simply ethereal to him in nothing but a simple yet elegant night gown, the pages in between your delicate fingers, the way in which you sit, your effortless and beautiful features, and the way they change and turn to show your focus, the true and utter intrigue at the charcoal etched on the paper is more than enough to bring a man directly to his knees.

He watches as you adjust your position, your nightgown sliding up your thighs as you cross a leg over the other. He feels as if he might faint.

“those are from my time traveling.” he points, making his way in to the room.

So lost in thought, you are quickly brought back by the sound of the deep and sultry voice coming from the hallway, it sends chills down your body, you are unable to fight the butterflies in your stomach and are completely unprepared for what you’re eyes are met with the second they dare to leave the pages in front of you. He is perhaps one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen, the way his features darken in the dim candle light could cause scandal merely on its own.

As he makes his way over to you, you scramble to find any sort of words to not appear as a complete and udder fool. “désolée, my Lord. All this beautiful artwork caught my eye and i could not help myself.” your voice only making his new found attraction grow even stronger.

“Benedict Bridgerton..” he says just loud enough for you to hear. He is quick to take your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Miss y/n y/l/n” you respond, a blush creeps over your cheeks as your eyes meet his. Your name and accent are both very quick explanations as to why a very random beautiful woman was wondering in

his family home.

“Ah yes, the Marchioness from France. My mother has done quite a bit of boasting upon your arrival, i can now see why she was so keen on you being the diamond of this social season” he chuckled lightly “merci, Lord Bridgerton.” you offer him a warm smile as you place the sketch book in his hands.

Your hand grazes his and you feel as if your body is set aflame. You quickly fumble to stand, attempting to leave before any further scandal is to happen. he is quick to catch you by the arm, his light grasp more than enough to keep you in place.

“Please, stay as long as you’d like.” He offers, taking a step towards you, but you are quick to shake your head, knowing staying any longer may very well affect your title and rank during this very precious season.

“You are more than kind.” you place a hand over his and squeeze lightly. He leans even closer, your face mere inches from his. his scent fills your nose and you cannot control the heat that consumes your body, the sheer need you have for him in this very moment. “I must- i uh-..” he raises an eyebrow at your words. though his proximity fogs your brain, you attempt to compose yourself. “Perhaps i can show you some of my art in the duration of my stay here.“ he smirks, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip as he nods “if what you create is half as beautiful as you, my art will never hold a candle to yours.” he compliments.

Your breathe catches in your throat as his words. “..Benedict- Apologies, Lord Bridgerton..” you quickly correct yourself, the use of his first name not going unnoticed by him. “I’m sure both your and my Mother will have quite the earful if i am found in here, i must go.” Before he is even able to protest, you are gone.

As the days pass, You begin to consume his every waking thought, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your skin on his is burned in to his memory and he cannot shake his want for you.

Anthony is quick to notice his admiration, the wandering stares and close proximity immediately become apparent in Anthony’s eyes. As the family settles in the drawing room, Anthony is quick to pull His younger brother aside “You’ve grown quite close with Marchioness” Anthony offers his younger brother a warning glance and Benedict simply smirks in return “Brother, are you suggesting that i’ve compromised Miss y/l/n?” he laughs. Anthony in no way finds this amusing “See to it that your intentions are well thought out and you are thinking with your brain rather than something else. She is a Marchioness, toying with oversea affairs may be more than risky, even for a Bridgerton.” Anthony notes, the clear and evident weariness in his voice wipes the smile right off Benedict’s face

“Brother, do remind me. Did you not ask for one Sharma’s hand in marriage and then proceed to marry the other? You need not inform me on scandal for i am more than well aware of what i am doing.” he place a hand on Anthony shoulder and squeezes light before walking away.

time skip

Benedict does everything in his power to gain every fraction of your attention when it is available. The two of you spending more time together than any of the men attempting to court you. This new grown fondness blossoms quickly and Benedict soon becomes one of your most trusted friends. Spending late nights in his art studio, promenades in the garden, pall mall with his family. You’ve never felt more at home than with your dear Benedict and his lovely family. This fondness grows very quickly to something much stronger. Knowing Benedict’s stance on courting and marriage in general, you shake the thought. Knowing your dear friend will never see you as anything but.

While enjoying another late night in his studio, you can’t help but feel different. You both are well aware your time together is coming to end. Suitors begin growing impatient and proposals begin rolling in faster than the tide.

“I quite like Lord Lumley, he is handsome and he finds interest in poetry.” Benedict is quick to laugh “Lord Lumley is a dimwit after nothing but your title.” you wince at his words “Clearly he’s much more of a gentleman than you.” You tease, crossing your arms over your chest. “Excuse me?” he asks, the change in his tone sending heat right between your thighs. He rises from his place on the stool and saunters over to you, his large frame towering over yours.

“Repeat what you said.” he orders

“Ben i was merely kidding i-“ you stutter, his proximity making your skin feel as if it were on fire.

“Do not make me ask you again.” he warns, a smirk on his face

You are a bit taken a back by his demeanor but the insatiable desire in your body fills you with a sudden surge of confidence. “Lord Lumley is more of a gentleman than you, Lord Bridgerton.”

Benedict lets out a low chuckle before leaning down, his mouth right by your ear.

“Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Lord Lumley isn’t plagued by the same un-gentleman like thoughts that fill my head the moment you step into a room.” he sighs, his breath on your skin only making matters worse.

Your hands find his half buttoned shirt and you press your hands lightly to his chest “Benedict.” you warn.

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes with his own. Your noses practically grazing as he speaks. “Tell me now that you do not desire me.” His hands rest on either side of your face “Simply speak the words and i will respectfully withdraw and allow you to be with whomever you like but first you must tell me you do not desire me and you wish for me to leave you alone.”

“Ben.” You mumble quitely. Every feeling or emotion that the second eldest Bridgerton has ever caused immediately rises to the surface. At a complete loss for words, you do what you feel is right in the very moment and you bring your lips to his.

The kiss quickly fills with passion, weeks of hidden adoration and care comes bubbling over the surface.

“Marry me.” he say breathlessly as he breaks from the kiss. “You have shown me what is it truly like to admire a woman. To look at her and feel inspiration. To delight in her beauty. So much so that all of her defenses crumble and that you would willingly take on any pain or burden for her. To honor her being with your deeds and words. You make me feel what only a true poet describes." his works nearly bring you to your knees as tears threaten to escape your eyes. “I would move the heavens down to earth for you if i knew it would make you smile.”

“Benedict.. Je vous aime.” you reassure him “I love you mon chéri, more than the moon loves the night sky. You are my everything, my best-friend. I would give anything to be your wife.” He pulls you back in for another kiss which very quickly becomes heated.

He trails hot kisses all over your jaw, neck and bosom. “My beautiful Fiancée.” he mumbles, his wandering hands sliding their way up your thighs, threatening to breach the hem of your nightgown. You are immediately reminded of your current location and you push the dark haired boy back “Ben.. not here” you breathe out, The second Bridgerton son just smirks before kneeling down in front of you.

Unsure of what he’s planning, you remain silent, eyes trained on his as he begins trailing kisses up from your ankle to your inner thigh. His hands trail up the back of your legs, giving your ass a playful squeeze as he reaches it, causing a gasp to escape from your lips.

The mere sight of him like this sends heat directly between your thighs, all logical thinking thrown out the window as he begins to tug your panties down your thighs. A blush creeps over your cheeks and your hands find his hair, tugging lightly. Benedict continues with no hesitation, pressing light kisses all over your inner thighs, leading right up to your aching core. You’re unable to fight back the sounds that leave your lips as you feel his tongue pressed against your clit. “Christ Benedict�� you’re going to be the death of me.”

He wastes no time, lapping, kissing and sucking at your soaked heat as strong hands grip on to your thighs, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. You lean against his desk to keep yourself upright while quiet moans and whimpers escape your lips, your hands pulling and tugging at his messy black hair, only encouraging him more. He pulls back only for a moment to look up at you “You taste fucking divine, my beautiful work of art.”

He is quick to return to your soaked heat. As his tongue works relentlessly on your clit, he slowly pushes two fingers inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust before slowly thrusting them in and out. Shortly after, you feel an unfamiliar knot form in the pit of your stomach and Benedict is aware immediately due to your incoherent mumbles and the way you clench around his fingers. “That’s my girl..” he says breathlessly “just like that..” After hearing his words, you completely unravel, shaky moans escape your lips as one hand grips on to the table and the other with a tight hold on your Fiancées hair.

Once your body has relaxed, he gently pulls your panties back up before standing to face you. You watch as he brings his fingers to your mouth “Open.” he commands and you immediately oblige, opening your mouth as he slides his fingers past your lips. The unfamiliar taste and the sheer sight in front of you causes a blush to fall over your face. He removes his fingers with a groan and offers your a smirk “You, my dear Fiancée are going to be the death of Me.”

A/N: Hi guys! I really hope every likes this :) if you have any request, feel free to send them to me :)

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x fem! reader #benedict #bridgerton #smut #anthony bridgerton #benedict smut #benedict bridgerton smut

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magical-reid · 3 months ago

Text

The Joke's on Us

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Ravenclaw!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none?

Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Fred Weasley agrees to pretend to be Y/N's boyfriend to help her fend off the advances of an unwanted suitor, Adrian Pucey, only to find his own feelings for her growing stronger with each passing day. As their fake relationship deepens, Fred finally admits his love for Y/N, and to his delight, she feels the same, leading to a genuine romance that leaves Pucey behind.

The air in Diagon Alley was brisk, a remnant of autumn’s grip before winter claimed it fully. Fred Weasley stood at the entrance of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, grinning broadly at the stream of witches and wizards entering their shop. Business had been booming since they opened the shop, and he and George couldn’t have been prouder.

But tonight wasn’t about Puking Pastilles or Extendable Ears. Fred had his sights set on something—or rather, someone—else entirely.

Y/N Y/L/N.

She had been their friend since Hogwarts, though Fred had always known his feelings for her extended beyond mere friendship. She’d been a year behind them in school, a Ravenclaw who managed to balance being book-smart with a mischievous streak that rivaled even the Weasley twins. Fred had noticed her laugh first—bright, unrestrained, the kind that echoed in his chest and refused to leave.

Now, as adults, they’d grown closer. Y/N worked for Flourish and Blotts, managing the rare books section, and often popped by the joke shop after her shifts to unwind.

Tonight was no different.

Fred spotted her easily as she navigated the crowded street, her brown hair loose and catching the faint glow of the shop’s enchanted lights. Her eyes darted around, scanning for him, and his heart did an embarrassingly Gryffindor-esque leap in his chest.

“Y/N!” Fred called, waving her over. She smiled in relief and quickened her pace.

“Fred, thank Merlin,” she said breathlessly, stepping into the shop and out of the chill. She glanced around at the shelves of colorful chaos, then back to him. “You’re my last hope. Please tell me you’ll help.”

Fred’s grin faltered. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N let out a frustrated groan and ran a hand through her hair. “Adrian Pucey. That’s what’s wrong.”

Fred stiffened at the name. Pucey had been a Slytherin a few years below him and George—a smug git who had grown into an even smugger man. He’d apparently decided Y/N was his latest conquest and had been making her life miserable for weeks now.

“Has he been bothering you again?” Fred asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

Y/N nodded, her eyes flashing with irritation. “He won’t take no for an answer. He keeps showing up at the bookshop, sending me owls—yesterday, he cornered me in the Leaky Cauldron during my lunch break.” She shuddered. “He’s relentless. I don’t know what else to do.”

Fred’s jaw clenched. He hated the thought of her being harassed, especially by someone like Pucey. “What do you need? Name it, and I’ll make it happen.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. “I was thinking…maybe you could pretend to be my boyfriend. Just for a little while. Pucey might back off if he thinks I’m taken.”

Fred’s heart thudded loudly in his chest. He forced himself to stay calm, though inside, his thoughts were a cacophony of disbelief and hope. Pretend to be her boyfriend? He’d been wanting to be her real boyfriend for years.

“Of course,” he said, keeping his tone casual. “Happy to help. Let’s make Pucey regret ever looking your way.”

Y/N’s shoulders sagged in relief, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “Thank you, Fred. I owe you one.”

Fred gave her a lopsided grin, ignoring the warmth spreading through his chest at her touch. “No, you don’t. But I will expect you to play along convincingly. No half-arsing it, Y/L/N.”

Y/N laughed, the sound lighting up the dim corners of his heart. “Don’t worry, Weasley. I’ll sell it.”

The plan went into motion the very next day.

Y/N had arranged to meet Pucey for coffee—a ruse to confront him once and for all about his behavior. Fred, naturally, insisted on coming along.

As they approached the café in Hogsmeade, Y/N slipped her hand into Fred’s. It was a small, almost absent-minded gesture, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him. He glanced down at her, but she was focused ahead, her expression determined.

Inside, Pucey was already seated, his polished robes and slicked-back hair a stark contrast to Fred’s more casual style. The Slytherin’s smirk faded when he saw them enter hand in hand.

“Adrian,” Y/N said briskly as they approached the table. “This is Fred. My boyfriend.”

Fred couldn’t help but grin at the way Pucey’s face darkened. “Evening, Pucey,” he said cheerfully, sliding an arm around the girls waist. “Hope we’re not interrupting.”

Pucey’s gaze flicked between them, his smile brittle. “Didn’t realize you were seeing anyone, Y/N.”

“Well, now you do,” she said, her tone firm. “And I’d appreciate it if you stopped…whatever this is you’ve been doing. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

Fred tightened his grip on her waist, silently daring Pucey to argue.

Pucey’s eyes narrowed. “This is a joke, right? Weasley’s your boyfriend?”

Fred’s grin widened. “Don’t sound so surprised, mate. I’m a catch.”

Y/N bit back a laugh, but Pucey didn’t share her amusement. He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“This isn’t over,” he said, glaring at the girl before storming out of the café.

Fred felt Y/N relax against him, and he looked down to find her smiling. “Well,” she said, “that went better than expected.”

Fred raised an eyebrow. “Better? He looked ready to hex me.”

“He won’t,” she said confidently. “Not with all these witnesses.”

He chuckled, but his amusement faded as he realized their plan might not have worked as well as she thought. Pucey didn’t seem like the type to give up so easily.

Still, he pushed the thought aside and focused on the present. “Come on,” he said, tugging her toward the door. “Let’s get out of here before he changes his mind.”

Over the next few days, Fred and Y/N continued their charade. They held hands in public, exchanged exaggerated smiles and whispers, and even staged a kiss in front of the joke shop when they spotted Pucey lurking nearby.

But the more time Fred spent pretending to be Y/N’s boyfriend, the harder it became to separate pretense from reality.

He loved the way her face lit up when she laughed, the way she wrinkled her nose when she was thinking, the way she trusted him completely. He loved her, plain and simple.

And it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide it.

One evening, after a particularly long day at the shop, Fred invited her up to the flat above the store for a drink. She accepted eagerly, collapsing onto the worn sofa with a sigh of relief.

“Long day?” Fred asked, handing her a glass of wine.

“Understatement,” she said, taking a sip. “Some bloke spilled ink all over a first edition of Fantastic Beasts. I nearly cried.”

Fred winced. “Tragic. Though I imagine you set him straight.”

“Oh, he won’t be making that mistake again,” she said with a wicked grin.

Fred laughed, settling beside her. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came with years of friendship.

After a moment, she turned to him, her expression serious. “Fred…thank you. For everything. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Fred met her gaze, his heart pounding. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. I’d do anything for you.”

Her eyes softened, and for a moment, Fred thought he saw something more than gratitude in her expression. But before he could say anything, she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight, Fred,” she said, standing and heading for the door.

Fred watched her go, his cheek still tingling from her kiss. He knew he couldn’t keep pretending much longer.

It was time to tell Y/N how he really felt.

——

Fred didn’t sleep that night.

He lay on the worn sofa in the flat above the shop, staring at the ceiling as the minutes turned into hours. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Y/N—her eyes, her soft smile, the way she’d kissed his cheek before walking away.

He needed to tell her how he felt.

But what if it ruined everything? What if she didn’t feel the same way? They’d been friends for years—he couldn’t bear to lose her because he’d let his heart get ahead of him.

Still, the thought of watching her fall for someone else—watching her go back to her life once their fake relationship was over—was worse.

By the time the sun rose, Fred had made his decision.

Y/N, meanwhile, was having a morning of her own.

She’d been awake since dawn, pacing her small flat above Flourish and Blotts, replaying the past few days over and over in her head.

At first, the plan to fake-date Fred had seemed like a brilliant solution. Pucey had mostly backed off, and the sense of safety she felt around Fred was priceless.

But somewhere along the way, something had shifted.

Fred wasn’t just her funny, reckless best friend anymore. He was the man who held her hand like it meant something. The man who kissed her on the forehead when they were “pretending” for Pucey’s benefit, only to linger a moment longer than necessary. The man whose laugh made her stomach flutter in ways she couldn’t ignore.

The truth hit her like a Bludger to the chest.

She was falling for him.

Y/N groaned and buried her face in her hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Fred was just helping her out. He didn’t really want to be with her.

Did he?

That afternoon, Fred found Y/N at the bookshop.

She was kneeling behind the counter, sorting through a stack of new arrivals, and didn’t notice him at first. He took a moment to admire the way her hair fell in loose waves around her face, the way she bit her lip in concentration.

“Oi, Y/L/N,” he called, leaning casually against the counter.

Y/N looked up, startled, then smiled when she saw him. “Fred! What brings you here?”

Fred grinned. “Can’t a bloke visit his fake girlfriend without an ulterior motive?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t falter. “I suppose. Though I doubt you’re here to browse rare books.”

“Caught me,” Fred admitted. He hesitated, suddenly nervous. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk. Privately.”

Her smile wavered. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Fred said quickly. “Just…come with me?”

Y/N nodded, her curiosity piqued, and followed him out of the shop. Fred led her to a quiet corner of Diagon Alley, far from the bustling crowds.

Once they were alone, Fred turned to face her, his expression more serious than she’d ever seen it.

“Fred, you’re starting to worry me,” She said, her green eyes searching his face.

Fred took a deep breath. “Y/N, I’ve been thinking about us. About this whole…fake relationship thing.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. “What about it?”

Fred ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I agreed to this because I wanted to help you. And I don’t regret it—not for a second. But…”

“But what?” She prompted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Fred met her gaze, his brown eyes earnest. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Y/N blinked, her mind racing. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend,” Fred said, stepping closer. “I want to be your real one. I’ve wanted that for ages, Y/N. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “Fred…”

“I know this might come as a shock,” Fred continued, his voice rushing now. “And I’ll understand if you don’t feel the same way. But I had to tell you. I couldn’t keep pretending, not when—”

Y/N cut him off by pressing her lips to his.

Fred froze for a split second before kissing her back, his arms wrapping around her like she might vanish if he let go. The world seemed to fall away, leaving nothing but the two of them in that quiet corner of Diagon Alley.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N was breathless, her cheeks flushed.

“I’ve been falling for you too, Fred,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I just didn’t think you felt the same way.”

Fred’s grin was so wide it could have rivaled the shop’s flashing neon signs. “Are you kidding? I’ve been in love with you since Hogwarts.”

She laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained. “Well, you took your time telling me.”

“Better late than never,” Fred said, pulling her close again.

Their relationship shifted after that, but in the best possible way.

Fred still made her laugh until her sides ached, still teased her mercilessly about her love of books and her habit of muttering to herself when she was nervous. But now there were stolen kisses in the stockroom, late-night cuddles on the sofa, and whispered promises of forever.

As for Pucey, he didn’t stand a chance.

The next time he approached her at the Leaky Cauldron, Fred was by her side, his arm draped possessively around her shoulders.

“Pucey,” Fred said cheerfully, his grin bordering on dangerous. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Pucey glared at him, then at Y/N. “So it’s true, then? You’re really with him?”

She smiled sweetly, leaning into Fred. “Yes, Adrian. I’m really with him. So if you’ll excuse us…”

Fred smirked as Y/N grabbed his hand and led him away, leaving Pucey fuming in their wake.

“That was brilliant,” Fred said once they were outside.

Y/N grinned up at him. “Well, I did have an excellent fake boyfriend to practice with.”

Fred laughed, spinning her around before kissing her soundly.

“You’re stuck with me now, Y/L/N,” he said when they broke apart.

“Good,” Y/N replied, her eyes shining. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

#fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader fake dating #fred weasley #fred weasely x y/n #fred wealsey fic #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts imagine #hogwarts reader insert #reader insert #fluff #fake dating #ravenclaw reader #ravenclaw #magical-Reid

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ak319 · 5 months ago

Text

Yan Socialite brother x Fem G!P reader x Yan?Wife

➺Ezra Headcanon

As soon as Ezra was satisfied that your carriage had left the mansion safely, and after muttering a few prayers, he turned to Rowan, who immediately tensed in anticipation of the command to follow.

"Send invitations to all of my friends for a party. It will be held tomorrow evening at 7."

"But--milord, if I may ask, you've never thrown a party when the Lady of the house is away."

"Oh, Rowan, Rowan," Ezra's voice turned sharp as he stepped closer, his grip tightening on Rowan's face. "How could you even think it’s because my sister left that I’m hosting one, hm?" Rowan’s heart sank, panic rising as he feared he had offended his master. "N-no, no, I didn't mean it like that--"

"Oh, shush. I know exactly what you mean." Ezra's eyes narrowed as his grip loosened, but the cold edge in his voice remained. "But let it be clear, Rowan--this party isn't because my dear sister has gone on a trip. It's to celebrate her divorce."

Rowan’s face stayed tense, heart pounding in disbelief. A lavish party… because of the divorce? Of course, his master would. And it wasn’t as if your divorce had been a simple one, no, it unraveled painfully, each depressing knot pulled loose until it all fell apart. Your wife, Mabel, had suffered through two miscarriages--both of which, of course, were caused by Ezra. The relentless pressure and cruelty he'd put the poor woman through when you weren’t around like making her slip on the stairs--Rowan flinched, unwilling to relive that moment.

Afterward, Mabel had spiraled into such a deep depression that not even you could lift her out of it. Desperate, she finally asked for a divorce, which you granted. All because Ezra, in his twisted mind, deemed her nothing but a cheap whore, seducing his sister for money due to her lower-class background.

Rowan had conspired with his master throughout it all, so he wasn’t blameless. Yet, guilt still weighed heavy on him. Loyalty, after all, could blind a man just as easily as love.

"As you wish, master. I'll get straight to the arrangements."

Ezra sighed, clasping his hands together in front of him, a look of pure contentment spreading across his face as he basked in the sunlight, the gentle chirping of birds filling the air. Despite missing your presence and quietly worrying about your journey, he knew you needed this time away. You needed it to forget about that witch.

He prayed you wouldn’t return with another one.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

Time passed, and you slipped back into your usual routine after returning. Ezra, too, had finally found some peace. But, of course, his mother had to ruin things somehow. Out of nowhere, she brought up the topic of your marriage, prattling on about some suitor she had found--a girl from a "good family," Fiona Royce. Who the hell was that?

Ezra wasted no time investigating this supposed "catch." A good family, indeed. The eldest of three sisters, all of whom were well-bred. Fiona was smart, outgoing, and fashionable—qualities that, annoyingly, reminded Ezra of himself. But there was no way he was going to accept her. Not ever. In this estate, there was only room for one like him.

Without hesitation, he began spreading rumors about this so-called Fiona before you even had the chance to meet her. But Grace, sharp as ever, found out about her son's antics and scolded him harshly.

"You will not interfere in this matter, do you hear me?!" she snapped. "How can you spread such vile nonsense about someone’s daughter? The same could happen to yours one day. How would you feel then?!"

"Mother! I am not going to sit through another one of your lectures! (Y/N) just went through a divorce, and now you want to burden her with yet another problem?!"

"And I wonder what caused that."

Ezra folded his arms and scoffed, as if he had done nothing wrong, not a trace of regret on his face. "Gold diggers like her deserve exactly what she got."

"Well, news flash, Ezra--this marriage will happen. I can't stand to see my daughter in the state she's in, all alone. And just because her spoiled brother is too arrogant to accept it doesn’t mean it won’t. After (Y/N) gets married, I'll be finding your suitor too, so you can finally focus on your own life instead of meddling in your sister’s!"

"Mother, you can't do this! How-" Ezra’s voice was cut off as Grace stormed over, grabbing his shoulders firmly.

"Quiet. Enough of your tantrums, Ezra. Grow up. Learn to share--that's what I taught you, and what your father believed in. I swear, if you pull another one of your stunts, I will cut you off entirely. I won’t speak to you, nor will I see you again!"

His own mother, emotionally blackmailing him. Just… wow.

"You know what? Fine. Bring her here as your daughter-in-law. Let’s see what happens." Ezra's voice was laced with venom. "But mark my words--she’ll be just like the others."

With that, he slammed the door on his way out, leaving Grace standing there, wiping her tears. This was exactly why she had chosen Fiona. Only Fiona had the strength to tolerate Ezra, to stand toe-to-toe with him and still be a good wife to her daughter.

Grace composed herself before heading to your room, determined to ease your concerns about Fiona. She kept the truth hidden, though—about how Ezra had been the one to ruin Fiona’s reputation. She didn’t want to stir up unnecessary conflict between her children before the wedding.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

You met Fiona and were immediately drawn to her confident, sharp mind--not to mention her undeniable beauty. Her soft, golden hair seemed to glow in the sunlight as you both strolled through the gardens. Fiona wasted no time in trying to win you over. She needed to--she had wanted this for so long, ever since she first laid eyes on you at a party. Everything about you fascinated her, igniting a quiet obsession.

This was why her mother had subtly spoken to yours about Fiona being a potential suitor. Her parents, too, were impressed by their daughter’s choice and were eager to see it come to fruition.

The wedding soon took place, with Ezra maintaining his polite facade throughout the ceremony. But Fiona wasn’t fooled. She knew he was doing it all to stay in your good graces. Still, she wasn’t afraid. She had prepared for this moment, for the day she would become your wife and slowly capture your heart. She understood it would take time--after all, you were still likely weighed down by thoughts of your first marriage and the painful losses that came with it.

"How do I look?" Fiona asked, twirling slightly to show off her attire as you both prepared to leave for a dinner hosted by your business partner.

"Gorgeous, wife." You smiled, watching as she stepped closer, her fingers brushing your collar as she adjusted it.

"Is this the one Ezra gave you the other day?"

"Oh, no," she replied, smoothing the fabric. "I was going to wear that one, but I noticed the back was a bit torn, so I sent it off to be mended."

"Torn?" Your hands instinctively found her waist, pulling her gently toward you. "But Ezra is meticulous with his handiwork. How could that even happen?"

"No, he did a great job as always, perhaps the maid was too rough while washing it. But it's alright, darling." Fiona's voice was calm, but her resolve was unshakable. She wasn’t going to let Ezra control her life. What did he think? Showering her with gifts in front of you, trying to impress you with his false thoughtfulness, only to turn on her when you weren’t around? Not on her watch. She wasn’t Mabel--she wouldn’t crumble under his manipulation.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

"You know, since my sister isn't here, you should go back to your parents' house."

"Why is that, Brother Ezra?"

"Because your duty is to my sister, and she’s not here. It’s not like you’re contributing anything around here anyway." Ezra stood abruptly, pushing his chair back, but paused as he heard her voice behind him.

"I am not leaving."

"What did you just say?" Fiona rose gracefully and faced him with a determined look. "I said I am not leaving my wife's home. I am part of this family and this house, it's mine just as much as it is hers, and I will leave when I choose. In fact, I think (Y/N) would be quite upset if she returned to find her beautiful wife absent to welcome her."

She flashed a sharp, disdainful smile at him before turning on her heel and walking away, leaving Ezra dumbfounded. The audacity of this woman was infuriating. He knew he needed to take action before she became even more of a problem. But he had to be more calculated, she was not a meek lamb like Mabel.

So, before you returned, Ezra made an effort to apologize to Fiona, attempting to be as genuine as possible. Fiona remained wary, her suspicion of his motives not easily driven away.

When you returned, Ezra eagerly requested that you allow Fiona to work with him in his Clothing Workshop, praising her fashion sense. Fiona at first didn't want to work under him but this could be handy in way to win your sympathy if Ezra pulls another stunt and she also just wanted to please you , seeing how happy you were when he proposed this.

You agreed without hesitation, pleased to see them getting along. But your satisfaction turned to concern when Ezra erupted in tears and rage over half of his new line being destroyed by fire--on a night when Fiona had been working late.

After managing to calm Ezra and escort him to his room, you returned to your own, where you found Fiona sitting on the loveseat in the balcony.

"Are you here to scold me?" she asked, her voice trembling. "If you are, go ahead. I don’t mind. I don’t even care if you don’t trust me anymore because I’ve disappointed you... and even Ezra. I’ve caused a loss to this family--"

Before she could say more, you gently cupped her chin, guiding her gaze to meet yours. "Shh, don’t say that. I don’t want these beautiful eyes to be clouded with despair, love." You wiped away a tear, and she immediately sought comfort in your embrace.

"Ezra has always been a bit... sensitive and intense about his work," you said softly. "I think it might be best if you focus on managing the household instead."

Fiona looked up at you, her expression anxious. "Do you think I caused the fire?"

"No, no. I don’t think it was your fault. I’ve been informed that the fire started because of a faulty electrical wire," you reassured her. "Why would you put your own life at risk like that?"

Fiona’s relief was palpable. The truth was, she hadn’t caused the fire--Ezra’s sabotage was the real culprit. She could hardly believe she had managed to save herself in time. How low could Ezra sink?

"I just--worry for your safety," you continued softly. "After this, you two obviously can’t work together. So, please stay at home and manage the budget instead."

Fiona nodded, a flicker of triumph in her eyes. At least she had achieved something, despite the cost. 'Take that, Ezra. You won, but at what price?'

As time went on, you found yourself falling in love with Fiona, gradually healing from the trauma of your first marriage.

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

"Where’s your ring, Fiona?"

Fiona looked at her hands in confusion and chuckled nervously. "Oh, it must be in the bathroom. I’ll be right back, love." She gave you a quick peck on the lips before hurrying to the shared room. To her dismay, despite turning the room upside down, she couldn’t find it. Panic set in--what would she say to you and your mother if she lost a family heirloom?

She suspected Ezra’s involvement. If he was behind this, he had made a grave mistake.

You were indeed pissed at her carelessness but eventually joined her in the search. Fiona managed to convince you that she might have left the ring at her parents' house during a recent visit to which you calmed down. It broke her heart as this was the first time she had seen you mad and it was because of her stupid mistake.

The next day, Fiona went to her parents' house first thing in the morning to look for the ring. Her hunch proved correct. She found it in the room of Obelia, her second sister, who had a known crush on Ezra.

"I-I’m sorry, sister," Obelia stammered, looking guilty. "Ezra’s servant brought the ring here and said it was just a harmless prank Ezra wanted to play on his sister-in-law. I didn’t realize it would cause such trouble."

"How many times have I told you to stay away from him? You should have informed me about this! Don’t you understand? HE’S TRYING TO DESTROY MY LIFE, MY RELATIONSHIP! HE EVEN TRIED TO KILL ME!" Fiona's mother stepped in, attempting to placate her daughter and offering apologies on Obelia’s behalf.

"W--why is it that you get to marry the person you choose, and I’m not allowed to have any say in who I like? Shouldn’t you be happy for me and arrange my marriage to him so we can be together? Maybe then he won’t harass you anymore!" Obelia’s own frustration now evident.

"Are you out of your mind? You want to marry that selfish bastard?! What kind of lies did Ezra tell you?"

"He didn’t lie, Fiona!"

"You know what? Fine. I’ll talk to Ms. Grace about Ezra’s marriage and see what happens. But listen to me, Obelia--don’t blame me for what happens to you if you choose to pursue this."

༺𓆩❀𓆪༻

To everyone’s surprise, Ezra agreed to the marriage, and preparations swiftly began. Fiona, however, was not taken aback. She saw through Ezra’s schemes--this was merely leverage to manipulate and threaten her using her own sister. 'If only you knew, Ezra, what I have in store for you.'

Almost a week after the wedding, tragedy struck when Obelia suffered a severe accident in her carriage, resulting in paralysis from the waist down. She was confined to bed, leaving everyone devastated. Ezra, however, was less concerned about her condition and more troubled by the prospect of being publicly labeled as having a handicapped wife.

“Something on your mind, Ezra?” Fiona’s voice cut through the silence, interrupting his contemplation in the gardens. Annoyed, Ezra turned to face her with a forced smile. “Just enjoying the scenery.”

“Hm. I’m also enjoying the view, but not here. Inside, watching my sister bedridden and helpless, unable to even manage something as simple as keeping track of a ring--now that’s truly satisfying,” Fiona retorted, her tone dripping with disdain.

“Wow, didn’t expect you to be so ruthless, sister-in-law. Nearly killing your sister over a ring? Tsk, tsk. How pathetic. Just what you'd expect from someone of your low class.”

“Call me whatever you want, Ezra. This is a warning--to show you how far I’m willing to go to stay by (Y/N)’s side. Obelia means nothing to me. I’ll fight anyone who tries to take her away.”

“I still don’t care, because guess what? She’s getting divorced. There’s no way I’m spending my life with... that.”

“Be my guest. But remember, Ezra, I’m just like you--willing to go to great lengths to protect what’s mine. And at the end of the day, there are some things only I can give (Y/N).” Fiona's words were laced with a cold certainty.

Ezra’s face flushed with rage as she leaned in closer, whispering in his ear.

“As in, you know... a child. You’re not that naive, are you? And believe me, (Y/N) really wants one. Really , really does. She tries every day.”

Ezra recoiled in disgust, his anger barely contained.

“Your parents clearly never taught you basic decency,” Ezra sneered, wiping his ear and glaring at Fiona with fierce determination. “I’d like to see you give birth to one first.”

“I’m not Mabel,” Fiona shot back, her voice cold and steady. “I’m not clumsy enough to fall or... reveal what happened on that ferry.” Ezra’s heart skipped a beat. Though he tried to mask his panic, Fiona saw through his facade.

“Oh, I’m aware of that incident. Anyone with a brain would be. But don’t worry, I won’t mention your name in connection with it. After all, you’re my wife’s brother, and I wouldn’t want her to face any humiliation or business losses because of you. So, let’s set aside this animosity and try to be... civil.”

“I won’t let you get away with this,” Ezra spat, swatting Fiona’s arm before storming off. To Fiona, now well-acquainted with Ezra’s manipulative tactics, it was clear he had assented in his own way, though he remained defiant. This was going to be an intriguing game from now on.

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hyperactively-me · 9 months ago

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regency era!ghost x reader au (part 4)

The ballroom was a whirlwind of activity, the air alive with a large bustling crowd and an orchestra. Candlelight flickered off the gilded walls, casting a warm glow over the assembly of guests as they twirled and sashayed across the polished marble floor.

You stand at the edge of the ballroom, the soft rustle of your gown mingling with the hum of the music. Despite your best efforts to put your little incident in the park with the Duke out of your mind, his words still echo in your thoughts, leaving you feeling unsettled and off balance.

But tonight was not the time to dwell on such matters. Tonight was about revelry and celebration, as well as matching up with potential suitors. Your parents wanted you to go in on your best foot forward after noticing you’ve been off the past few days. And so, with a determined smile, you set out to enjoy the evening to its fullest.

You mingle amongst the guests, making conversation with old friends and new acquaintances. You were introduced to many eligible bachelors, all with some title or another. Some were quite good company, while others were less than enjoyable. Each vied for your attention, eager to claim a spot on your dance card. Every so often, you looked over your shoulder in hopes of not seeing Duke Riley tonight.

Soon enough, you found yourself twirling from partner to partner, each dance becoming more lively than the next. Yet, amidst the hustle and bustle of small talk and witty remarks, there was one face that stood out.

Lord Phillip Graves, with his slicked-back hair and predatory grin, was one of the most sought after bachelors of the season. He made his way towards you with all the subtlety of a prowling lion. You felt a shiver of annoyance run down your spine as he approached, his eyes alight with a hunger that made your skin crawl.

This was not the first time he had tried to court you. Despite his persistence, you had made it abundantly clear to Lord Graves that you had absolutely no interest in his advances. His sleazy demeanor and reputation as a notorious womanizer made you wary of his intentions. Yet, undeterred by your disinterest, he continues to pursue you with a relentless determination that bordered on pitiful desperation.

As he drew near, you plastered on a polite smile, steeling yourself for yet another encounter with the insufferable nobleman.

“Ah, there she is,” he purred, his voice dripping with charm. “The belle of the ball herself. Would you do me the honor of a dance, my lady?”

You resist the urge to smack him in response to his saccharine words, instead offering him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, Mister Graves, but I’m afraid my dance card is already quite full for the evening,” you reply, hoping to dissuade him from pressing the issue further.

But Lord Graves was not so easily deterred. With a predatory look in his eye, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your cheek. “Surely you can spare just one dance for me?” he whispers, his words sending bile up your throat.

Before you could respond, a familiar, and not entirely unwelcome, voice rings in your ears.

“The lady’s dance card is indeed full for the rest of the evening.”

You turn to see the Duke standing right behind you, his expression as unreadable as ever. His intervention was completely unexpected, and you nearly raised your eyebrow in confusion.

Lord Graves’ eyes narrow, his irritation evident. “And who are you to speak for the lady?” he demands, his voice dripping with contempt.

Simon’s jaw clenches with barely contained patience, his gaze locked with Lord Graves in a battle of wills.

“I’m the Duke,” he states firmly, his voice authoritarian. “And I can claim the lady’s dance card for the remainder of the evening if I so desire.”

You watch in stunned silence as Simon reaches out and plucks the dance card from your hand, his movements deliberate and possessive. You hold your breath as he scrawls his name across the remaining slots, his actions leaving no room for argument.

Your eyes flit up to see Graves’ face twist with barely concealed annoyance, but he manages a tight, mocking smile. “Very well, Your Grace. Enjoy your evening.” With that, he turns on his heel and stalks away.

“Come,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less commanding.

Simon offers his arm, and you eye him wearily, yet nod politely anyway. As you settle your hand around his large bicep, your mind races with questions. He guides you away from the crowd and into a secluded area of the hall.

Once out of earshot of the other guests, you pull your hand away from his arm and turn to face him, your eyes now ablaze with anger. “What on earth were you thinking?” you demand, your voice low but fierce. “You have no right to act so high-handed, and in front of everyone, no less!”

Simon raises an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your outburst. “I was merely trying to protect you from—“

“Protect me?” you cut him off, your frustration boiling over, all manners thrown out the window. “From what? From a man who, insufferable as he is, poses no real threat? You used me to take a jab at Lord Graves. How dare you!”

Simon’s expression hardens, his own temper flaring up. “Graves is a scoundrel, and I will not stand by and watch him attempt to manipulate you or take advantage of you.”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you retort, stepping closer. “Do you think your actions tonight were any less manipulative? You commandeered my entire evening without so much as asking if I agreed to it! You’ve treated me as if I were your property, and it’s unacceptable!”

Simon’s eyes darken, a flicker of something like regret passing through them. “I did not intend for you to feel like property. My intentions were to keep you safe—”

“Safe?” you echo incredulously. “And yet, on top of that, you’ve compromised my reputation. A single woman alone with a bachelor in a secluded corner— do you realize how inappropriate this is as well?”

His jaw clenches, and he takes a deep breath, struggling to maintain his composure. “I did what I thought was necessary.”

“Well, your ‘necessity’ has only created more problems,” you snap, pointing a gloved finger into his chest. “If you truly wanted to help me, you should have asked what I wanted. Instead, you acted according to your own whims, completely disregarding my feelings and my autonomy!”

Simon’s eyes widen slightly, taken aback by the intensity of your words. He had never seen you this brutally honesty before, and it stirred something within him. He stands there, shoulders rigid, struggling to maintain his stern facade; something akin to shame crosses his face. He was a man used to command and control, not to be questioned, especially by someone of your stature. But here you were, staring him down with a blaze in your eyes that he found oddly captivating. For a moment, he seems at a loss for words, his usually sharp tongue rendered mute by your reprimand.

“I… I apologize,” he finally admits, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I acted without considering your wellbeing, and for that, I’m sorry. It was not my place to decide for you.”

Your anger still simmered, but his apology, unexpected as it was, gave you pause. You sigh, folding your arms across your chest. “I am perfectly capable of handling myself. If I need your help, I will ask for it. Until then, please, respect my independence.”

His eyes search yours, and for the first time, you saw something beyond the cold, unyielding exterior— a hint of vulnerability, perhaps. It was something you hadn’t anticipated.

“I will respect your wishes,” Simon says quietly, his voice sincere. “But know that my intentions were never to undermine you. I merely wanted to—“

“To what?” you interrupt, but this time your voice is soft. “To ‘protect me’? From what, exactly? Yes, Mister Graves is intolerable, but I can handle men like him.”

Simon’s jaw tightens. “I merely wanted to protect you from anything that might harm you. The world is full of dangers, seen and unseen. And despite my faults, and no matter how you regard me, I do not wish to see you hurt.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised at that admission. “Why do you care, Mister Riley? You hardly know me, and ever since we’ve met, you’ve treated me with disdain.”

A muscle twitches in Simon’s cheek. “Perhaps I do not know you, my lady, but you deserve to be honored and protected. Forgive me for my abhorrent behavior. There is no excuse for it. I am not accustomed to this… world of balls and social niceties. I am a soldier, and in war, we act swiftly to protect.”

You blink, swallowing thickly. There was a raw honesty in his words that left you momentarily speechless. Slowly, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your anger cooling. His sincerity shows you a different side of him, painting a different picture of the man you thought he was.

“I appreciate your concern,” you say, your voice soft and slow. “But I am not a soldier on your battlefield. I am a woman who is capable of fending for myself. And, if it ever so happens that I do need your help, I will make it known to you."

Simon’s gaze meets yours again, and this time there’s a depth of emotion there that you haven’t seen before. “You’re capable, and I admire that. But that doesn’t mean you should have to fend off predators alone.”

The words hang between you, and for a moment, the tension eases. You study his face, searching for any sign of deceit, but all you find is earnestness. It’s disarming.

“Thank you,” you say after a pause, “Next time, if you would like to help, ask me first.”

“You have my word.”

You let out a small sigh, nodding your head. “Good.” After another moment, you look at him. "I forgive you."

The tension between you eases slightly, though the air remains charged with unspoken sentiments and unresolved emotions. You turn to leave, but Simon gently takes your hand, stopping you in your tracks.

You look down, his thick fingers closing around your hand. You stare at them for a moment too long, a stray thought crossing your mind.

“I would like to make it up to you,” he says, his voice hard, yet earnest.

You remove your attention from his fingers, looking up to meet his eyes. His thumb rubs over the satin that covers your knuckles.

“Allow me to dance with you.”

Humming, you raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll respect your decision.” He pauses, tilting his head. “But I hope you won’t.”

You feel as though the wind has been knocked from your lungs. The uncharacteristic sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you find yourself at a loss for words.

You consider his offer, the tension between you still palpable. Yet, there’s a part of you that’s curious, intrigued by this side of Simon you haven’t seen before; you decide to take it slow, to not reveal too much to him.

With a tiny, hesitant smile, you nod your head in agreement. “Well, since you’ve already commandeered my dance card, we might as well make the most of it,” you state simply.

A flash of something like relief briefly crosses his features, though he quickly masks it with his usual stoicism. “Thank you, my lady.”

With that, he offers you his arm. His bicep bulges under his dress jacket, and an unexpected heat creeps up your neck. The satin of your glove allows your arm to glide through his with ease, fabrics pressing into one another. You never really noticed how firm his muscle is, causing electricity to shoot down your spine. The heat of his body radiates into you as he unexpectedly pulls you closer into his side, leading you to the dance floor in time for an English country dance. (y’all stay with me here, I’m envisioning the dance Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth have together in P&P 2005)

As you and Simon step onto the marble floor, the orchestra transitions into a lively melody, infusing the air with excitement.

Simon’s hand rests confidently yet gently on your waist as he leads you through the movements of the dance, his touch sending a jolt of warmth coursing through your veins. At first, you were skeptical of this man's dancing skills, certain he would make a fool out of you on the dance floor, yet, to your surprise, he takes the lead confidently.

For a man as lumbering and large as he is, he is uncharacteristically light-footed when it comes to dancing. You would’ve never thought he possessed the skill.

He never let you mis-step, keeping his gaze locked on your face the whole time. With every meeting in the middle, you swore his face inched closer and closer to yours. With each turn and twirl, you find yourself inching closer to Simon, the space between you narrowing until there's nothing left but the heat of his body pressed against yours. His hand slides lower on your waist, toying with the sash thats wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as the room falls away, leaving only the two of you locked in a rather sensual embrace.

And in that moment, as the music reaches its end and the world fades into oblivion, a terrifying realization dawns upon you: there's no place you'd rather be than in the Duke's arms.

part 3 < > part 5

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme #*ੈ✩ simon “ghost” riley

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naomikozura · 6 months ago

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Love of My Life: Part 1

Heian Era! Sukuna Ryomen x Sorcerer!Fem!Reader

A/N: Although the first part of this story only mentions the ending of the story, this will be a MULTIPLE part story. The first part does not contain as heavy content but OTHER PARTS WILL. ALL parts are dark themes and have heavy topics. The second part of this story will contain more DARK THEMES and is a work of FICTION. I will post the exact warnings and details when the second part gets published but this is your warning for what to expect. Again it is a DARK THEME story so 18+ ONLY MDNI

Warnings: strong language, violence, mention of mass murder, angst, generational trauma, complicated family dynamics, family abuse, murder, motional turmoil and abuse, manipulation, sadistic tendencies (slight), corruption of power, dark themes (slight)

WC: 8.6K

Summary: The story of the infamous King of Curses has been around for hundreds of years, proving him to be the most feared sorcerer in the entire jujutsu realm. But the truth of what happened that led to the ultimate annihilation of his humanity has been concealed, almost erased. There was a time back in the Heian era when Ryomen Sukuna did have a shred of humanity left… but the loss of it resulted in the creation of the destructive monster he would later become.

Series Masterlist

Prologue || Part 2

Heian Era, 6 Months Before the Burning of Aurora

“Again”

“Again.”

“Again!”

The deep rumble that came from your father led you to the brink, pushing you further into a pit of exhaustion. You’d already been out here for 8 hours, your father’s relentlessness wearing you down but by bit.

“Y/n! I need you to focus!”, he yelled.

You knew your father was level-headed, smart, but since your birth he’d done nothing but train you to be strong and gifted when it came to your ability. Your clan relied on you just like every heir before you, to bring your family honor and grace. You had spent the better years of your adolescence learning about the history of your bloodline, the history of jujutsu, and learning basic technique but now as an adult there was more room for you to be pushed to the brink to train for your special ability.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for today.”, your father walked over to you, your arm swiping the sweat off your forehead. “Get home and into a bath, we have dinner with the Zen’in clan tonight.”

A pang of hurt spread through your chest. Among all the training, all the history lessons, all your talent and power, your life was still forced into the hands of your father. You hadn’t only spent the better years of your adolescence learning about jujutsu and your technique, but also the fundamentals of what it meant to be a bride. You knew it was traditionally passed through generations for two families to join together through marriage but a part of you still felt hurt that your father had lined up 3 suitors for your hand. Never once considering your own feelings on the matter.

The Zen’in clan was just one of the three families who produced male heirs around the time you were born. Almost like it was predetermined, the arrangement for your betrothal to one of the main family’s sons was set in stone for you the day your mother held you for the first time. You hated the idea that your life wouldn’t be your own if you married into any of the Three Families, but you knew your duty deep down even into the marrow of your bones.

Once you’d arrived home you soaked in the bath, the maids helped you wash your body of the dirt and grime and helped wash your hair as they massaged a cleansing type of gel into it. You felt the tension in your muscles dissipate with each pass of the sponge and each massage they did in your hair.

Getting dressed for these types of occasions was tiring, feeling the pull of your hair being done in an elegant manner to showcase the beauty of your natural features, your complexion barely needed any powder to make it more presentable. You were beautiful, every sorcerer within the lands knew you were the most coveted and eligible bride due to your family bloodline, your ability, and your beauty. Unfortunately for many, your life was already selected to be given away within the families, not outside of them.

You pulled on your traditional gown, wearing your family's seal colors as you put on a red headpiece that brought out your features beautifully. Red adorned your family home, your sigil painting in the bright crimson to signify strength, sacrifice, protection, and hope. You always felt proud to wear the seal colors yet you couldn’t help but feel like there was no hope for you.

Your family sat in the common area, the Zen’in members sitting properly around the table while the heads talked amongst themselves. You looked over at the eldest son, his dark hair and deep brown eyes striking as he looked at you. He was handsome no doubt, probably a suitable husband but you couldn’t bring yourself to envision a future with him. Despite your wishes, you’d probably marry into the Zen’in family. It was the most logical, beneficial and strategic marriage that your father would have picked for you.

The dinner was simple, quick, a formality to get you and the Zen’in son, Zetsubou Zen’in, introduced. You knew who he was, but never met him in person until now. He was charming, smart, powerful but there was a darkness to him. Something he hid all too well, you wondered if his family knew about his dark tendencies that he kept hidden from the rest of his clan. You knew a marriage to him would be selling your life away, you’d be a shell of a human being with him. He would only bring you hate and despair.

Once the night had ended and you started to unwind, you fell onto your bed and stared at the ceiling, taking in the moonlight that bled through the cracks before turning and looking out the window at all the stars that illuminated the village. Where could the endless reach of the sky take you? Would you go far enough away that you disappear and never come back?

You didn't let your mind wander too much before you fell into a slumber, your mind numbing from the evening's events.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Another village raid.” you heard your father’s voice ring out of his meeting room. You had a bad habit of eavesdropping on his meetings, but you knew he’d keep you sheltered from the jujutsu world until you mastered your domain. You knew it wasn’t protective but strategic. Keep you out of the way until you are strong enough to master your domain and keep low risk of his heir dying.

“He killed every single person there, tortured them, stole the energy they possessed. He’s getting stronger with each village he destroys.”, a second voice spoke out, a third muttering in agreement and the fourth person silent as he slammed his drink on the table.

The Four Families rarely met unless it was important, though with the jujutsu realm slowly establishing itself, every meeting was important.

“We need to get our men, the strongest to train and immobilize him otherwise he’ll only continue to get stronger and more power hungry.”, you recognized the Zen’in clan’s leader, his voice prominent due to the countless visits him, his wife, and son had made to your home in the past few weeks. You and Zetsubou were both being groomed to be each other's marital partner, regardless of how much you wish you weren’t.

“I have 20 men who have been training, many of them have sons who are also starting to get their cursed energy under control and starting with the warriors in the coming weeks. We can expedite that training and have them ready in a month's time.”

“The Kamo clan also have a number of men that are willing to fight for the cause. This is the fifth raid in a month, it seems they’re getting more frequent. How much longer until he targets our territories and steals our energies?”, the Kamo clan leader spoke up, his voice much softer than the rest but held his resolve. “We must act as soon as we can”

“Agreed. Until then, we must keep the heirs focused and trained, we can’t have any loose ends”.

He meant you.

You always knew they meant you. From the beginning theyd always second guessed your ability, you were the first woman to inherit your family’s special technique so they had obvious doubts. You’d grown powerful in your ability over the past few years but the one thing you still couldn’t do was create a domain, something the other three heirs had already mastered a year ago.

You left then, heading to the stables in order to prepare for your training this morning. You slid the door open, making your way down to the final stall and seeing your white, brown eyed mare. She was beautiful, a gift from the Zen’in clan as an interest for your hand in marriage.

You tan a hand over her soft coat, the shine illuminated under the morning sun. It wasn’t too late, only an hour or two before midday so you knew she was well fed and hydrated thanks to the stable hands.

Strapping in the saddle on your mare, you ensured you had everything you needed to go into the open fields. They were several miles away and consisted of open fields perfect for training. You really wanted to indulge in your ability, bring yourself to the fullest potential so you went out to the fields to train often. Your father often hated when you would go alone but you’ve managed to convince him that solo practice was important in order to gain control of your ability. Eventually after much consideration and eagerness, he agreed to let you go on your own. You finished packing your food and water for the day, knowing that most of your sessions often lasted the entire morning and led into the evening, and set out early in order to start your training.

You rode through the forest in silence, letting the sound of the animals in the birds around you fill in the empty space, giving you a sense of serenity, knowing that everything was at peace. We often wondered how much it would take to be as free as the birds who flew the skies or the deer grazed in the fields. You thought much of what it would be like to leave, but your path would never allow you to get away from what was set in stone.

Once you arrive at the training grounds, you let your horses graze in the woods, off in the shaded area while tied to a tree with a long rope to ensure it wouldn’t wander off.

You focused, closing your eyes and feeling the wind around you, your body using every one of its senses to connect to the earth and energy within you. You let yourself feel the wind and taste the freshness of the air, the humidity and feeling of water still present from the storm a few days ago. You listened to every chirping bird and snapping branch from the small creatures in the woods, the smell of fresh dew on the grass bringing you to a calming place and filling you with ease.

You channeled the energy into your hands, the small iridescent light glowing as it grew bigger and stronger. Your eyes remained closed as you focused on getting the technique just right. You wanted to show you could master your inherited technique, that your potential wasn’t going to be wasted on a stupid marriage.

You were still the daughter of the L/n Clan and the heir to the familial bloodline. You were more than just someone to be married for political gain.

You swirled the energy in your hands, growing it with each passing second before it reached its brim yet you forced it to get bigger to expand your capacity.

The wind moved around you and started to swirl into the ball of cursed energy you manifested, pushing yourself before you released and let the energy target some of the trees, exploding on impact and causing a ripple effect that made the birds fly out of the trees and some of the animals run away.

You let out a shaky breath before repeating the steps, this time trying to focus on using your technique on the cursed dummy you had in front of you. You’d often get other sorcerers to cast cursed energy into props in order to help practice your Aurora, each time more precise than the last.

You closed your eyes, blinking them slowly as they glowed in a bright, iridescent green color, focusing all your energy on the prop. You raised a hand to manipulate the individual building blocks, watching as the prop contorted and turning into a deformed figure before a screech released from the inside. It was a cursed spirit inside the prop screaming for mercy. You narrowed your eyes and continued to rip apart the existence of the cursed spirit, pulling its atoms apart piece by piece as the screams intensified before they stopped completely due to the implosion of its figure.

You let out a breath, wiping the sweat off your forehead before starting from square one. You continued for hours, using more of the cursed objects and using them to strengthen your ability.

Once evening arrived, you packed everything, walking to the mare and swinging your leg over her back and shifted to get comfortable. As you were getting ready to leave you heard a crack in the woods, but this time the energy felt different. Your head turned to look at the opposing side of the woods, narrowing your eyes and trying to feel if there were any cursed spirits out. Confused, you turned, nudging your mare towards the direction of L/n House.

The unknown energy slowly growing after you’d left the field.

You had spent the next few days training out in the field, slowly growing in your strength and technique as each session passed. Your father was still weary of your being alone in the fields but with everyday passing and you coming home safely, he began to trust your routine. You still followed a training regiment with him every other day and did your history studies on the weekends. You were all around intelligent, strong, gifted, and resilient.

You pushed yourself back, dodging the hit from the cursed dummy you had made to pose as a fighter with you. It wasn’t strong but it wasn’t weak. A good mid tier practice dummy to help build your endurance. The dummy charged at you as you jumped over it, spinning your body in a flawless way that made you seem like the village dancers during any major celebration.

In the final blow, you swung your foot around, kicking it perfectly in the head before pushing your hand forward, knocking it down before using your ability to disfigure the dumb thing and make it implode in itself, the shrill of pain ringing out before it fell silent. It felt no real pain. Your father said listening to their cries often helped take away their effect. it was the way your enemies guilt tripped sorcerers into submitting to empathy. You knew when you needed to be empathetic and needed to be heartless, even if you didn’t like it.

The sound of snapping made you turn, your hair sticking to your forehead as you met the dark gaze of crimson eyes. You felt your chest jump slightly in surprise but quickly relaxed once you’d let yourself calm with the wind.

Your hair was tied in a high ponytail, your skin glossy from the evening sun as you trained in the field in the outskirts of your home. You looked him over, taking in his menacing appearance which, for you, had no effect in the way you saw him. His skin was tan with dark marks embedded into his skin, the tattoos moving in a swirl of different directions but added to his edge. He wore a robe that showed his muscular chest, his hair messy and weighed down by his sweat. There was no question that the strongest sorcerer would be huge in comparison to the daughter of one of the Four Clan’s leaders, yet the size difference still gave him a swirl of emotion.

You looked at him in a way he hadn’t been looked at before. Your eyes staring at him, almost like calculating his every move as he slowly walked towards you. Ryomen hid the shock in his body when he reached you, pushing down his need to physically express his taken aback reaction. Many people in the world would be in shock, fear, buckle under the weight of his possessive hold over any room or space he occupied. Many people bowed at his feet, begged for mercy from his ruthlessness, he was feared. The story people told their children to keep them well mannered.

And yet, you stood a foot away from him and met his gaze in relaxed confidence. Your eyes held curiosity, not fear. Your body was laid back, not shaking or trembling at his presence. You didn’t buckle at the overwhelming pull of his presence instead you embraced it and met him with your own confidence. You were secure in yourself enough that you held no fear towards him.

His eyes scanned your features, taking in every inch of you in your mutual silence. Your eyes were bright, with the sun making them dark, he could see how they lit up with curiosity and wonder. Your lips and nose were perfectly fitted to your face, making the balance of your features appear more heavenly than anything. It made you attractive, beautiful to everyone who came in contact with you. Your (h/c) hair complemented the tone of your skin and left him wanting to run his fingers through it. He recoiled internally at the thought. When would he ever think such a way towards someone lesser than him?

Were you lesser than him?

He stared at you in observation, an overwhelming sense consuming him. He could kill you easily, snap your neck and make your death seem like one of the families did it and start an all out war. You were so fragile despite your toned body from the obvious years of training. He could just reach over and make you implode from just one touch.

So why didn’t he?

In this moment, against all his beliefs, he considered you his equal. He never considered anyone even remotely close to his realm of power and yet you existed. You showed no fear, you felt secure in yourself, and even being face to face with a morally flawed man, you looked at him with gentle eyes.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, the silence falling over the both of you in a comforting blanket.

In that moment he knew you held power over him, especially when you broke the silence first.

“Is there something you need?”, your voice was soft, relaxed. Had you been anyone else, someone questioning his being in any location would have annoyed him but you asked in such a way that left him soaking in the echoes of your words.

“I’m just passing by.”, he replied, wondering when did he ever answer anyone else’s questions when they’d ask?

“Oh, I hope my training doesn’t stop you from getting where you need to be.”

His curiosity overcame him, making him wonder more about your family. He knew about the L/n clan's heir, young and beautiful, strong and intelligent, soft and gentle. It made her the perfect face for their house and a suitable bride. He’d heard of the Gojo, Zenin, and Kamo clans grooming their first sons to be suitable men to ask for her hand in marriage.

A piece of him churned with an irritation at the thought of you being primed and groomed into marrying someone in an arranged marriage.

“Not at all.”, he replied, his deep voice ringing in your ears. You've heard a lot of Ryomen Sukuna. Your clan elders mention his lack of empathy, his overwhelming power and how he easily could reach an unbeatable level of cursed energy that would make anyone think twice about crossing his path. Yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to think of him as scary or evil. There was curiosity in the way he held himself and how he had yet to retaliate against your question when everyone knew he hated being questioned.

“You’re far from your clan lands”, he said flatly, his eyes focused on your form.

“I can use my full potential here.”, you blinked. “It’s hard to push myself to the brink if I don’t have open space. At least here I can unleash everything and learn from my mistakes”, you clenched your hand, looking at the small burst of energy in your hand.

The silence filled the air, once again leaving you in a strange tension you couldn’t quite place. His eyes stayed focused on you before he began to walk past you. His silence leaving you confused, unsure of why stop to talk to you then leave without another word. Then again, he wasn’t going to extend himself to something so minuscule, so mundane.

He was far above that.

Far above you.

“Help me.”, you spoke, watching as he stopped in his tracks.

What were you doing? Requesting someone like him to help someone as insignificant as you.

You’d heard the stories, been told the horrors of his actions and wrath. Ryomen Sukuna was a selfish, greedy, immoral and sadistic man, he brought any competent sorcerer to their knees by simply occupying the space. He believed himself above absolutely everyone in every way and you knew that undeniable truth. You were risking your life speaking to him like he owed you something, asking for help from the devil was brainless even for you.

He stared at you in indifference, taken by your confidence yet he couldn’t bring himself to be bothered by it. A part of him was intrigued by you, even though he hated helping others, he wasn’t necessarily a charitable man. No, he was far from it. The complete opposite of it in fact. He should blow your head off, snap your neck, make you kneel and beg for your life.

Yet, he indulged.

Just this once.

You watched as he removed his robe, leaving him in a loose fitting shirt that showed his arms perfectly. They were muscular and defined, wielding such power that could easily kill someone in one touch. You wondered if he’d killed anyone with his bare hands without his abilities or cursed energy before.

The small flicker of energy that manifested in his hand caught your attention, the manifestation growing in size at an alarming rate but took no toll on his psyche. The years of being gifted with such power and training laid off for him, though you knew he’d always been powerful in his own right.

You watched intently, observing the cursed energy in his hand as you tried to copy the leisure in which he created his. The creation of energy was easy, it was making it compact with force that was difficult for you. You had great mental resilience and capacity for difficult challenges, yet when it came to finding the switch that could make your power compact you struggled slightly.

In every other sense of your ability and cursed energy, you were gifted, it was creating a domain where you lacked. The long days and tumultuous nights of training and reading through scribed records only helped you make sense of a partial reason why you couldn’t manifest a domain, you just needed to actually focus on executing it flawlessly.

“Domain Expansions aren’t easy to manifest.”, you narrowed your eyes slightly at his comment. Why was he trying to dumb it down for you when you knew he was known for manifesting energy at record breaking levels.

“They’re easy enough for you.”, you muttered as his eyes slowly moved to look at you.

“Do you want my help or not?”

“Right”, you focused on his words, listening to the instruction he gave, slowly manifesting the energy into your palms.

He watched as you focused, eyes closed as you concentrated on his voice. It was interesting. Seeing as your energy formed in your hands, wondering how you had inherited such a powerful technique and you still struggled with your domain. He couldn’t help wondering why. It was difficult for most sorcerers to manifest a complete domain, but someone with an inherited ability like Eye of Aurora should have some level of giftedness that would allow you to start creating one. He watched your jaw clench as the energy dispersed in your hand, evaporating into nothing.

You released a defeated sigh, letting your shoulders droop as you opened your eyes and staring at the ground in a defeated glare.

“I don’t get it.”, you breathed. “I have this… special ability, a technique that so many sorcerers wish they could use and I can’t even create a damned domain.”

“You’re holding back”, his voice rumbled in his throat, the deep tone sending chills down your spine. Not of fear but of something unknown to you, a sensation that left your heart beating a bit faster than normal.

“Okay”, you muttered. “So show me how to not hold back”

The temperature around you slowly grew, watching as he released an immense amount of energy, causing the trees in front of him to fall from the attack. Your eyes widened at the gaping emptiness he had just created.

Woah.

You let out a shaky breath as you stared at him in a way you could only describe as a mix of shock and awe. The adrenaline burst through you as you channeled your energy, creating a mass in your hands before releasing it, causing a number of trees to fall from the impact. It wasn’t near the caliber of his release but it was still a good conjuring of cursed energy. You knew you’d never reach his level of power, but you felt proud that you could release something at that caliber.

“Let go of that fear of being too unhinged. It’s what holds you back from mastering your domain.”, his voice was deep, your eyes glowing with pride as you felt the after effects of his release. “You can’t master your domain if you care too much about being perfect.”

“I’m not you.”, you answered.

“No one will ever be me.”, you rolled your eyes. You knew that, but you still wanted his help anyway.

A small part of him grew irritated with your slight attitude at his words, but another part found it humorous. It wasn’t very often that a sorcerer at your level could make him find anything humorous. He cared very little, not at all actually, about something as irrelevant as humor or wittiness but coming from you, it made him think he could possibly entertain you for the time being.

He wondered where you got such confidence to not only speak to him freely, but to assume he’d be willing to help you despite his power that was worlds above yours. It wasn’t often there were many humans or sorcerers who didn’t bow to his feet immediately after he became present. He was used to seeing people beg for mercy, used to the people who cried hysterically for him to spare them. He enjoyed the mental torture of never giving away if someone would be spared or not.

So, when you called after him so boldly, against all logic, it intrigued him. He hasn’t been intrigued in a long time, not by a sorcerer in any way especially because he knew he was far above them in every regard. Though he still indulged in your boldness, your lack of fear, by the motivation in your eyes and the drive in your stance.

Before he could even stop himself, he made contact to engage and he believed it to be his biggest mistake. He should have never let you reel him in, never should have let you make him give his time when it was valuable, never should have found you worth the effort.

Then when he didn’t think he could find anything more appealing about you, you smiled at him. It was a warm, full smile. How could you give him a warm welcome when he’s done nothing deserving of it?

“Thanks for the help.”, you laughed, almost in disbelief. “I have to go.”

He watched as you walked over to the mare grazing in the woods, removing the rope from the tree and petting her nose gently. He wondered then how you showed him the same gentleness as the creatures you cared for. His eyes darted away from you, letting himself sit with the realization that you didn’t see him as some godforsaken being.

“Come back tomorrow.”, he called as your head swiveled towards him, your bright eyes meeting his dark ones. “Before the sun reaches its peak.”

With that he turned, leaving you in shock at his demand.

The next day, you did as he had asked, you showed back up to the field ready to train with him. You sat in the grass watching your mare eat while you waited for him. It wasn’t too hot yet but again, it was too early for it to even be warm.

The sound of cracking branches sounded behind you, making you turn slowly as you watched Sukuna’s form emerge from the trees. He stood tall in all his glory, wearing clothes that hung off his body in a way that almost made your face heat up. Even in his dark aura and the intensity of his energy, you couldn’t deny that Ryomen Sukuna was also an attractive man. If your father could hear the thoughts you were having, he’d surely punish you with more physical training.

“Good morning.”, you said softly, his deep red eyes meeting yours but not saying anything as he walked closer to you. You either were too naive for your own good, or you genuinely didn’t realize just how out of turn you were being. Sukuna was known for not liking when people spoke to him out of turn, he hated small talk. He believed it to be useless, a waste of time, and of no benefit. You didn’t need to start with pleasantries but you did so anyway.

“Show me your energy.”, he spoke deeply, his eyes boring into yours as you snapped to attention. You needed to focus, needed to take the most of this time while you could. Sukuna never offered any time of his to a regular person, let alone sorcerers beneath him, this was the only chance you had to gain real insight on how to create strong energy and create your domain.

You manifested a ball of energy into your hands, its vibrant glow pulsing with your heartbeat. The energy crackled and shifted, reflecting your concentration and intent. Sukuna's gaze remained intense, unblinking, as he observed your creation with a mixture of interest and impatience.

"Is this all you can muster?" His voice was a low growl, almost mocking. "You think that will impress me?"

You felt a surge of determination, pushing deeper into your focus. The ball of energy began to expand, growing larger and more intense. You could feel the strain as you struggled to maintain control, your palms growing warm as the energy surged.

"Energy is more than just a display," Sukuna said, his tone suddenly softer, almost contemplative. "It’s about precision, purpose. Show me not just what you can create, but how well you can wield it."

You tightened your grip, trying to focus. The energy swirled and shifted, forming intricate patterns that mirrored your intent. The ball began to take shape, its structure becoming more complex, more refined. You could almost feel the boundaries of your energy beginning to take form, the energy coalescing into a stronger, more cohesive entity.

Sukuna’s eyes flickered with something akin to approval, though his expression remained impassive. "Better. But don’t think for a moment that you’ve reached the limit of what you can achieve. This is merely the beginning."

He moved towards you, his energy radiating off of him as you felt him consume yours, his body close as he looked at you. The obvious height difference made it seem like he was pitying you, but he seemed more interested in helping than anything else. His head lowered, meeting your eye line as he looked straight ahead, looking at the trees ahead of you.

You took a deep breath, feeling the pressure of Sukuna’s proximity. His face was so close to yours that you could feel the warmth of his breath, mingling with the charged air around you. The energy you had summoned pulsed violently in response to the tension, making you sweat and your heart race.

Sukuna’s eyes bore into yours with a fierce intensity. “Let the energy reflect your resolve,” he demanded, his voice a commanding rumble.

You focused on the ball of energy, feeling its weight and power. The intensity of Sukuna’s presence only made it harder to concentrate, as if the very air around you was charged with his overwhelming aura. You grit your teeth as you tried to calm your heart rate down, focusing on keeping the energy stable as you manifested it into something bigger.

“Are you letting your concentration waver?” Sukuna’s voice was almost a whisper now, his breath hot against your cheek. “You think you can achieve mastery with such weakness?”

Your fingers ached as you fought to maintain control. The ball of energy fluctuated, its glow flickering with your wavering focus. Sukuna’s proximity made it even harder to maintain your composure; the heat radiating from his presence was almost unbearable.

“Feel the energy,” he instructed, his tone full of challenge. “Channel your emotions, your fear, your determination. Let it all flow into your control.”

The heat from the energy was now almost unbearable, merging with the heat of Sukuna’s presence. Your hands were on fire, and the energy sphere seemed to pulse with a life of its own. With every breath you took, the tension grew, making your entire body quiver.

“You can do better,” Sukuna said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “But you must push through the discomfort. It’s not just about controlling the energy—it’s about mastering your own limits.”

Your breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, but you forced yourself to focus. The energy within your hands began to stabilize, the chaotic flickers giving way to a steady, powerful glow. The sphere grew larger, its form more defined, as you channeled every ounce of your willpower into it.

Sukuna’s face remained close, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re almost there,” he said deeply. “Show me that you’re more than just a fleeting display of power.”

The strain was immense, but you felt a surge of determination. With one final push, you stabilized the energy, making it surge with newfound strength and clarity. The heat from both the energy and Sukuna’s presence reached a peak before slowly subsiding, leaving you gasping but triumphant.

Sukuna stepped back, his gaze finally breaking from yours. “Not bad,” he conceded, a smirk playing on his lips.

Sukuna’s gaze lingered on you with a cool, detached scrutiny. The intensity of his presence remained, but his demeanor was notably indifferent. The air between you was charged, the energy still crackling faintly as it dissipated, but Sukuna’s expression betrayed little of the effort you’d put forth.

“It’s enough for tonight,” Sukuna said flatly, his voice carrying an authoritative finality. He took a step back and broke the close proximity though his presence still loomed large. His tone was almost dismissive, as if your efforts were merely a minor inconvenience to him. “You’ve put in your time. Come back tomorrow if you think you can do better.”

You exhaled slowly, your body trembling slightly from the exertion and the intense atmosphere. The heat that had enveloped you gradually cooled, leaving a satisfying ache in its wake. The weight of his indifference stung more than any overt criticism. You felt a pang of frustration mixed with weariness. Despite the effort you’d expended, Sukuna’s gaze remained aloof, as if your struggle was inconsequential.

You nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and anticipation. “I’ll be here,” you said, your voice steady despite the exhaustion.

Sukuna merely inclined his head in acknowledgment, his face expressionless. “Good,” he replied. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, his footsteps echoing with a finality that left little room for interpretation. As he walked away, his imposing figure gradually disappearing into the shadows, you remained in place for a moment longer, your thoughts racing.

You stood there for a moment, the weight of his detached dismissal settling over you. The path ahead was clear, but it felt colder and more daunting in the face of Sukuna’s lack of concern. Still, you gathered your resolve and made your way out, determined to return and prove yourself despite his apparent lack of interest.With a final glance at the space where Sukuna had been, you turned and made your way out of the training grounds, the weight of his words and the promise of future trials hanging heavily in the air.

Tomorrow, you would return, ready to push your limits once again.

Two weeks later

You went out into the woods, riding your mare as you tried to reach the field for your training with Sukuna. He’d helped you the past few weeks, showing you how to manifest your energy and create your domain. You’d been close to creating a full domain several times, he said you just needed to not hold back. You both figured out the reason you couldn’t create a domain was because a subconscious part of you made you hesitate, you wouldn’t allow yourself to reach your full potential. He’d slowly been showing you to let go and embrace your cursed energy fully.

You hummed as you made your way down the small hill on the embedded path that led to the other side of the woods. Almost like a shot to the chest, you felt a chill run down your spine, an immense amount of cursed energy being aimed at you. Before you could react, you felt the sheer force collide into you and your mare, the loud groan escaping her as she collided with a tree. You were thrown completely off, your body slamming into the boulders on the ground, the feeling of blood running down the side of your head making you queasy. Your vision blurred slightly, you were disoriented.

What the hell?

You saw the grueling sight of a disfigured wolf, its body three times the size of a normal one and it had six eyes, its mouth jagged and its teeth rotten as it laughed as it ate your mare. Your eyes widened at the sight, but you couldn’t focus on your now dead companion. You needed to exorcize it and get back home. You were still a mile from the fields, but you couldn’t get there in time, you needed to end this now.

You forced yourself to your feet, the blood running over your eye as you tried to focus on the cursed spirit. You let yourself manifest your cursed energy quickly, focusing on the cursed wolf before aiming at its head, a loud cry escaping its monstrous mouth. The snarl escaped its throat as it ran at you, your body releasing more cursed energy at it and watching as you blew a hole into its shoulder.

There needed to be a way to do this quickly, your body faltering at the dizziness in your head. You were losing too much blood but if you passed out you were as good as dead. You tried to focus, you couldn’t die here. You couldn’t die at the jaws of some mid grade curse. You were a L/n. You were above these types of curses. You were the gifted one, the heir of the L/n clan. The disgrace you’d bring onto your family if you were to die at this moment.

Just then, the cursed wolf ran at you, channeling your energy and sending it full force, watching as it jumped over your attack and lunged at you. Your eyes widened as you jumped off to the side, your body rolling down the hill as it hit the bushes and shrubbery, surely gaining cuts and bruises from the foliage.

Fuck!

You tried getting to your feet, pushing yourself up only to be tackled by the damned thing, your body collapsing and continuing to roll down the drop of the hill, reaching for some sort of branch to keep you from falling further down.

The pain in your body overcame you, letting you slip into unconsciousness for a split second as you tried to regain your thoughts. The blurriness wouldn’t allow you to see your surroundings until the jaws of death snapped in your face, the momentum pushing you back.

“Get off!”, you forced the creature off of you with a surge of energy, struggling to get to your feet as you sucked in a deep breath. You were in fight or flight, and right now flight did not seem like a viable option.

The wicked snarl rang out again as the cursed wolf seemed to radiate unbelievable negative energy. It lunged at you, its teeth ready to rip you apart but before it could you felt a surge of power overwhelm the space, a loud high pitched cry escaping the throat of the creature. You let out a breath of air, turning to look at the blurry figure next to you, your breath uneven as another light manifested in a white, blinding power before completely evaporating into nothing.

Your breath was uneven, trying to calm yourself, but just as the spirit disappeared, your body collapsed to the ground as you slipped into unconsciousness.

~~~~~~

The warm blankets around your body helped with the soreness that overcame you, your eyes still hazy from the slumber you were in. You moved your head slightly, your hair splayed around you in a halo as you tried to move your arms. You felt a presence next to you, trying to focus your sight as you blinked, taking in the comfort you felt from the figure.

Sukuna…

“Don’t get up.”, his voice was deep, careful yet with command in its tone.

“W..what happened?”, you whispered, your head turned in his direction as you met his gaze, the feeling of his fingers brushing your hair back bringing a warmth into your chest. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my home.”, he turned, motioning for a white haired woman to bring more water. “You lost some blood trying to fight that cursed spirit. I killed it.”

“Oh..”, the white haired woman came back with a small bowl and towel, bowing before leaving. You relaxed in his touch as he placed the wet towel on your head, helping clean the remains of the blood on your skin.

“You need to rest.”, he said firmly.

“I need to get back home”, you looked at him with pleading eyes, not wanting your family to have a reason not to trust you being out on your own. You needed to get home soon, and fast.

“You’ll pass out before you even reach your territory.”, Sukuna’s red eyes had a darkness to them, but you chose to ignore it, your mind everywhere and without a care of the extent of your injuries. You felt his hand wrap around your wrist, gentle to not burn your skin with the energy he had conjured up due to his irritation with your injuries.

“Sukuna, my father will send scouts looking for me.”

“Fuck them.”, his tone was sharp, his energy slowly growing in size. Your pleading e/c eyes looking deep into his, a sharp sting of sympathy flooded his veins before he released the negative cursed energy. The crack in his armor miniscule yet it created waves of confusion in him. How could you make him slip in his position with just one look?

He ignored the thought, narrowing his eyes before standing and walking to the small wooden dresser, picking up your clothes and placing them on the table next to his bed. You watched as he turned towards the door to give you privacy, his body dressed in his usual robe but you could still see the outline of his muscles and the massive power his body held. You couldn’t help but take a moment and admire his body. Your mind took in every inch of his being, allowing yourself to forget about his crimes and cruelty in order to study him. Were you fucked in the head?

You snapped out of the hold his presence had on you, reaching for your clothes only to realize he’d had them cleaned. Was it that woman who cleaned them for you?

You changed, carefully and stood out of the bed, touching your head as you felt the fresh bandages wrapped around your forehead and temples. Pushing the sliding door open, you revealed him waiting for you, his tall statue leaning against the wall as his eyes skimmed over your body before pushing the glint in his eyes away. You both didn’t say a word, you just followed him as he walked out of his home.

He led you through the woods, ensuring you’d arrive to L/n House in one piece and conscious. When you were within range you turned to him, looking up to meet his gaze due to the obvious height difference.

“Thank you.”, was all you said before turning, walking the last half mile home, feeling his eyes on your back as you followed the path. It was only when you reached the entrance of your home did you feel his energy disappear and your shoulders slumped in disappointment.

You slowly pushed the door open, closing it softly behind you when the echo of your father’s voice rang through the room.

“Y/n, it’s late, where have you been?”, your father called from the other room, your mother rushing towards you before a loud gasp escaped her mouth.

“Y/n! What happened to your head?”, her question made your father rush into the room, his eyes filled with shock and disbelief.

“Where have you been? How did this happen?!”, his tone was heavy, it wasn’t worry but anger and you knew he was more annoyed by your injury than worried about it. “You can’t possibly be getting this from your special ability?”

You could read in between the lines of his words. He wasn’t worried you were hurt, he was annoyed by you being injured at the effects of your domain and special technique. He was annoyed that he would have to face scrutiny for not being able to master your ability and domain, thus leaving him with a weaker claim to the family honor than he originally thought. He already hated that you were what the gods had given him to carry the family name, you being weak was just another hit at his pride. Regardless of how the realm saw you, regardless of how you were loved and respected, to him you’d always be the reason he didn’t have a high claim like the other families of the Four did.

“Do you really believe I’m so weak I can’t control my own technique?”, you stared at him in disbelief, in hurt. “Do you think so little of me?”

“You are the heir to our family name! If you can’t control your technique then what have I spent the past 20 years of my life doing?!”, his voice was filled with conviction, the anger bursting through each word. “We already have a weaker claim to our position in the realm because you were born as a daughter instead of a son and now you show up like this? We need you to be strong, intelligent, and better than those other boys, and you still show me more reasons why you should have never inherited the Eye of Aurora.”

You felt your lips quiver slightly, the lump in your throat growing as you tried to stop yourself from cursing your father. You knew he’d always hated that you weren’t born his son, but you believed if you proved him wrong he’d have no choice but to find pride in you and your power to succeed the L/n name. You couldn’t take his unrealistic standard of you anymore, you just couldn’t.

“I am not here to fix your broken ego or make your insecurities better.”, you growled at him. “I am your only heir, I am the inheritor of the Eye of Aurora, and I am the reason our family has a place in the Four families! Me! I’m the one who’s loved and adored by the other families and villages. I am the one they seek to protect, the one they seek to continue in this time of peace without war. When I was born, so was our legacy. You have done nothing to solidify our claim to the realm but I have!”

The anger boiling inside your father was overwhelming, your frustration with him was a disgrace but you couldn’t take it anymore. You were tired of being seen as some weak woman by him, as some sort of disappointment when you were the greatest thing that had happened to the realm in decades. The Eye of Aurora was seen as one of the highest of abilities, that of nobility. Your insolent father was too obsessed with power and reputation to care that you were the successor of a noble jujutsu bloodline.

“You are nothing without our family name. You need to get your technique under control or so help me. I'll have the old sorcerers from the Zen’in clan exorcize it out of you and let your body rot without your ancestors to guide you!!”, his voice echoed through the halls.

You sensed an overwhelming power, sucking in a breath before releasing your own. A pang of shock at its sudden appearance before relaxing. The energy had disappeared.

“It wasn’t even my ability that did this! I got attacked by a cursed wolf in the woods!”, you spat back at him.

“And you didn’t think to send a signal for help or try to use your technique?!”

“I was getting attacked from every blind spot I had! It killed my mare, it jumped me from behind, I didn't even sense the energy before it was too late!”

“Great so now you can’t sense cursed energy. You really are just a sorry excuse of an heir, a defective worthless waste of potential!”

The dagger twisted deeper into your chest at his words. Why couldn’t he understand? Why was he so selfish, insolent, and greedy?

“You’re the heir to our family bloodline and you almost get killed. It would be better off that way.”, he turned to walk out of the room, with your mother closely behind him. You pitied her lack of backbone, lack of support towards you.

“I was fine!”, you snapped. “Sukuna helped me exorcize it, I didn’t need help from anyone else!”

A cold sensation filled the room, realizing your words as you said them. Your eyes meeting your father’s as he turned towards you. His eyes filled with a shock and disgust that left you feeling sick to your stomach.

“What…. Did you just say?” his voice sent a chill down your spine. “Did you say… Ryomen Sukuna… helped you?”

“I-“, a loud slap echoed through the air, your head snapping to the side from the impact. Your eyes wide in disbelief as the burning in your cheek exploded through your face. It felt like time stopped, the whiplash of the hit burning a hole in your chest.

“You were with that monster?!”, his booming voice filled the house, his cursed energy radiating off of him in waves. “What do you think you’re doing with that thing? He could have killed you! He’s a sadistic monster!”

You remained silent as you felt the anger fill the room, hearing your mothers gasp at your father’s words. The trembling of your lip almost broke you, your chest burning in anger, hurt, and sadness.

“You are not to go out to the fields again. You stay within L/n house and your training will be overseen by the elders.”, your face stayed angled down to the ground, your heart racing in your chest as your father made the final blow.

“Now you sympathize with a monster. You really are a defective disgrace.”

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protagaster · 4 months ago

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Hi, I don’t know if someone has asked this already but I just wanted to know how everything started in you au?

Why is Penelope the one fighting in war while her husband is at home?

I know is a warrior!penelope au but i would like to know how that works in your story?

I also really like your take in the au it’s so cool!

Hello my friend! Thank you so much for taking the time to ask about the details regarding the AU :)! It makes me very happy to see you interested!

It's recounted with a bit more detail in the prequel (titled 'A King with no Queen') but here is the main gist of it.

Buckle up, it's gonna be quite a ride:

First things first, everything starts off exactly the same as it does in the Iliad. Paris chooses Aphrodite as the most beautiful of the Goddess', leading to Aphrodite taking Helen away from her home and husband (Menelaus) and forcing the mortal woman to be with Paris. From there, just as it goes in Homer's tale, Menelaus and Agamemnon force all of Helen's past suitors to fight with them in the war against Troy; this is because of an oath Odysseus himself proposed in order to keep the peace regardless of who Helen chose to be her husband, quote: "all the suitors should swear a most solemn oath to defend the chosen husband against whoever should quarrel with him".

Everything progresses as it does, with all of our favorite Greek heroes, including Odysseus, fighting in the war. This is where things begin to swerve for the AU.

That first year of war the men actually succeed in sneaking Helen out of Troy's palace thanks to their cunning and spies. They place her on a tiny ship that would sail her back to Sparta as quickly as possible and spend the night celebrating in their hidden camps without a care in the world. Unfortunately, the Trojans were quick to notice Helen's disappearance. While they were unable to keep her from leaving Troy, they decided to settle their seething anger with the next best thing. That night, while the Greek armies were full and drunk with merriment, the Trojans sneak into their camps thanks to the information provided by their [the Trojans] own spies. Right then and there the Trojans attacks.

This leads to the Greek men getting horribly injured, to the point where almost all of them are no longer fit for war. In exchange for Helen, the Trojan armies kidnap most of the Greek heroes (Menelaus, Agamemnon, Diomedes, just to name a few) and keep them alive as a warning and form of ransom against Greece and the Gods who support them. Odysseus, who was speared horribly in his shoulder, was spared from capture only thanks to the relentlessness of his Ithacan men.

Only a small handful of men are both spared from injury and allowed to continue to fight (Achilles and Patroclus to name a couple, that detail is just for you @somereaderinblue). The rest, by order of the Gods themselves, are forced to return home as they are no longer of use for combat.

Odysseus, Eurylochus, and the rest of the Ithacan army that was drafted return to Ithaca. Despite the damage they have received, things look hopeful and the future appears to be bright.

However, Greece still needs an army.

This is a timeline where, by Hera's orders, the Gods slowly work to give the women of Greece more autonomy by allowing them to partake in activities one thought to be only for men. Two of the Gods working hardest to meet this goal are Ares and Artemis, who have collaborated to teach women the art of combat and bearing arms.

Ares, who has never been in his parent's good graces, is in extra trouble now due to agreeing to support the Greeks on Hera's request but then turning around and supporting the Trojans upon Aphrodite's say. Hera declares that the only way to make it up to her is by drafting his eligible female warriors (those of age and with enough skill and experience to survive) to fight in the men's stead.

This includes Penelope, who had passed his trial back when she was still a young Spartan Princess and in turn became Ares' personal pupil (look at Warrior of the Heart if you would like more details). With a combination of Ares' order and Helen's plea, who feels the war is all her fault and wants to learn to fight in order to save her husband, Penelope is forced to leave behind Ody and Tele (a girl in mine and Blue's AU) in order to fulfill her duty.

That's how our version of the Warrior Penelope AU came to be! I'm sure you all know what happens from there ;)

P.S - Here are a few fun facts, not at all relevant to the AU, but still I wanna share em:

Hermione, Helen and Menelaus' daughter, actually snuck herself onto her mother's warship in order to join them in saving her father

The only reason Clytemnestra agrees to save Agamemnon is to kill him herself once they return home, since he still sacrificed their daughter before he and his men headed off for war

Patroclus was surprised when he saw Penelope for the first time. After how much Ody spoke of her, Patroclus had assumed for a time that she was a mere fiction of his imagination, a coping mechanism to keep himself sane (thank Blue for this one!)

On #3's note, Patroclus, Helen, Clytemnestra, and the rest of the Greek army immediately saw the similarities between Penny and Ody when Penny refused to shut up about how amazing her husband is and how much she longed to see him again

#warrior!penelope #asks #send me asks #please #odypen #penelope #odysseus #a bunch of characters from both the Iliad and the odyssey #i'm too lazy to type them all

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balkanparamo · 6 months ago

Text

‘Der Unerbittliche Freier’ : The Relentless Suitor, 1931

#art #illustration #relentless suitor #death

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winxanity-ii · 3 months ago

Text

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 10 Chapter 10 | proposed union⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Telemachus wiped the sweat from his brow as he stepped back from the training ring, his muscles aching from the relentless sparring session he had just endured.

Despite his father's age, Odysseus still fought with the strength of a warrior in his prime.

Each blow carried the power of years spent on battlefields and journeys across the sea. Every strike, every counter, every feint—all of it left Telemachus reminded that the man before him was still a force to be reckoned with.

His father may have grayed, but there was nothing frail about his frame, nothing slow in his movement. He felt proud, yet also deeply sore, his body protesting as he made his way towards the courtyard.

The bright sunlight greeted him as he stepped into the courtyard, the warmth soaking into his skin, making his sore muscles relax slightly. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the brightness, blinking against the sharp contrast after the dimness of the training ring.

The air was fresh, filled with the scent of blooming flowers carried by a gentle breeze. The courtyard was quiet, and for the first time in a long while, Telemachus found himself able to simply enjoy the moment.

There were no suitors darkening his home, no cloud of sorrow hanging over Ithaca.

The palace, which once echoed with tension, was now filled with peace, and Telemachus found himself savoring it. He let out a slow breath, his shoulders loosening as he stood there, taking it all in—the sound of birds singing, the rustle of leaves in the wind, the feel of sunlight warming his face.

After a while, though, a thought crept into his mind, nudging at him until he could no longer ignore it. He had completed all his duties for the day, and now he found himself with unexpected free time. But what to do with it?

He stood there for a moment, considering, his eyes drifting over the courtyard, searching for something to occupy himself with.

And then, almost instinctively, he thought of you.

A smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it, and he felt warmth spread through him, a gentle heat that had nothing to do with the sun above.

He could almost picture where you'd be—your usual spot around this time of day—and without even realizing it, he began walking in that direction. His steps were light, a sense of excitement bubbling up inside him as he moved through the palace grounds.

The sun shone down, bathing everything in golden light, and the air smelled of grass and distant salt from the sea.

Telemachus' heart quickened in his chest, his thoughts filled with images of you—your laughter, the way your eyes seemed to catch the light when you smiled, the calm determination that you carried even in the hardest moments.

You were gentle, but there was a strength in you that had always amazed him.

You were beautiful, inside and out. And your voice—gods, your voice. It could soothe even his worst fears, each word like a melody that stayed with him long after you'd spoken.

Telemachus sighed softly, a lovesick smile spreading across his face as he continued to walk, his thoughts wrapped up at the thought of seeing you.

Most nights, he found himself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts twisting and turning, always finding their way back to you.

He didn't know when it had started—this feeling that seemed to take over his every waking moment, but he knew it now—he wanted to be yours, and you, his.

He hoped to share something that went beyond mere friendship or affection.

He hoped to give you the kind of love he'd heard stories of, the kind of love his parents shared—deep and unwavering, a love that could withstand anything.

But more than anything else, he hoped that you felt the same.

Soon, the familiar cypress tree came into view, and just as he predicted, you were settled a few feet away, your lyre in your hands.

His eyes immediately zeroed in on you—the way your figure was framed by the soft sunlight filtering through the leaves, your head slightly bowed as you plucked the strings of your instrument.

It made his heart swell just watching you, the simple peace of the moment making him feel like the luckiest man alive.

Telemachus didn't even notice his footsteps speeding up, his stride becoming almost a bounce as he made his way toward you. He was eager, almost too eager, his heart fluttering in his chest at the prospect of hearing your voice, seeing your smile directed at him.

But just as he was about halfway to you, a firm hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder, halting his progress. Telemachus stilled immediately, instinctively whipping around, his grip harsh as he grabbed onto the wrist of whoever had stopped him, his face hardening into a cold mask.

But then, he saw who it was.

"Lady Andreia?" He blinked, surprised, his eyes moving over her form. She was wearing a dress in a shade that looked somewhere between turquoise and sea-green, the fabric flowing around her in soft waves. He cleared his throat, his expression softening as he quickly dropped her wrist, giving her a small nod. "My apologies, Lady Andreia. You startled me."

The princess only giggled in response, waving him off as though his reaction hadn't fazed her in the slightest. "Oh, no, it's my fault. I didn't mean to startle you, Prince Telemachus," she said, her voice light, almost teasing.

Telemachus shifted awkwardly, glancing behind him to where you still sat by the cypress tree, oblivious to his presence. He could feel a pang of frustration at the interruption, but he quickly turned his attention back to Andreia, doing his best to remain courteous. "Is there something I can assist you with, Lady Andreia?" he asked, trying to keep his tone polite.

Andreia's eyes seemed to brighten at his question, and she clasped her hands together, her smile widening. "Actually, yes, there is," she said, and before Telemachus could react, she had reached out, grabbing his wrist. "Come, let's chat!"

She tugged at him, her grip surprisingly firm as she began to pull him away, her laughter ringing out in the quiet courtyard.

Telemachus let out a small yelp of surprise, stumbling slightly as he was dragged along. He almost protested, almost telling her that he had somewhere else he needed to be—someone else he wanted to be with.

But then, he remembered his mother's words. Be kind to her, Telemachus. She's a guest in our home, and she has lost much.

So, he bit his tongue, forcing himself to swallow down his frustration as he allowed himself to be led away.

Still, he couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder, his gaze lingering on you, sitting peacefully beneath the cypress tree, unaware of how close he'd been.

His heart sank slightly, a feeling of longing settling deep in his chest. All he wanted was to be near you, to hear your voice, to share even just a small part of his day with you.

But for now, it seemed, he would have to wait.

☆

Your eyes snapped open at the sound of laughter echoing in your ears. You blinked quickly, bringing your focus to the source of the sound.

Your gaze lifted just in time to see Telemachus being pulled away by Lady Andreia, her hand gripping his wrist as she laughed. Your eyes tracked them, watching as the prince's figure grew smaller and smaller, swallowed by the distance between you and the lively courtyard ahead.

When he looked back, you quickly looked down, and after a few seconds, you glanced back up, only to see them disappear from your sight altogether around the bend.

You let out a sigh, looking back down at your lyre, your fingers tracing the familiar strings.

It wasn't the first time you'd watched Andreia intercept him like this. It had happened more than once since her arrival, her presence always lingering close to the prince, her laughter ringing out a little too often for your liking.

You hated how easy it seemed for her, how naturally she took up space in his day.

It made you feel small in comparison, like an afterthought, a shadow on the periphery of his world.

You told yourself it was ridiculous, that you had no claim to him, no right to feel this gnawing ache in your chest. But the feeling remained, stubborn and sharp.

The song that had been on the tip of your tongue faded away, your fingers now motionless against the strings. The mood to play had left, leaving behind an odd sense of emptiness.

You shook your head, trying to dispel the unease settling in your chest. There was no sense in dwelling on it.

Telemachus had his duties, his responsibilities, and you had yours. He was a prince, and you were—well, just you.

You forced a small smile, letting your fingers pluck a few lazy notes, but it was half-hearted, even to your own ears.

"Are you the official musician?"

The sudden voice startled you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, the lyre clutched tightly to your chest as your eyes widened in surprise.

You looked up quickly, your gaze landing on a figure squatting just a foot away from you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion—how had he gotten so close without you noticing?

He wore Bronte's colors—green and yellow. His skin was olive-toned, warm under the sunlight, and his dark brown hair fell just past his shoulders. His eyes, equally dark, studied you with a kind of quiet curiosity that made you shift where you sat.

Realizing you hadn't answered his question, you cleared your throat, trying to steady your voice. "U-um, no," you stammered, your fingers fidgeting against the lyre strings. "I'm actually Queen Penelope's personal handmaiden." The words trailed off awkwardly, and you glanced down, picking at a blade of grass as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

The young man hummed in response, and, without any hesitation, he plopped himself down directly in front of you, crossing his legs. You blinked at him, startled once again by his forwardness. His eyes were still on you, staring down at you as if he were trying to figure you out, his gaze curious, almost intense.

"I saw you play at the feast last night," he said after a moment, his voice carrying an ease that made you slightly envious. "You were incredible. Honestly, I couldn't look away."

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, no, it wasn't just me," you said quickly, glancing down at the lyre. "I played among others. It was nothing special."

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Doesn't matter," he said, his tone light but sincere. "You were great, regardless."

Before you could think of a reply, he extended his hand out to you, his gaze unwavering. "Callias, at your service. I've come along with Princess Andreia from Bronte."

You blinked, staring for a second at his extended hand, your mind taking a moment to catch up.

A handshake? Here? Between servants?

Your eyes darted to his face, searching for any hint of mockery, but he just kept smiling, waiting patiently as if there was nothing unusual about his gesture.

Hesitantly, you wiped your hands on your dress before tentatively placing your hand in his. His grip was warm, firm, and he shook your hand with an ease that almost made your face heat up.

It was so casual, almost as if you knew each other for years, and the boldness of it threw you off-balance.

"I'm ____," you said softly, feeling the words stumble out of you.

He smiled again, broader this time, as if your awkwardness amused him. "____" he repeated, as if testing your name on his tongue.

You nodded, your hand still tingling from the unexpected contact. The handshake had felt strangely intimate—too bold, too modern for servants, especially in Ithaca.

You weren't quite sure how to react, so you just smiled politely, hoping the flush on your cheeks would die down soon.

"Well, um, welcome, Callias. I hope you find things to your liking here."

Callias gave you a nod, his smile turning almost conspiratorial, as if you shared some private joke. "I think I will," he said lightly, before casually leaning back on his hands, his gaze drifting up to the clear blue sky above.

You shifted slightly where you sat, unsure of what to say or do next. The unease from earlier had yet to fully disappear, replaced now by an odd mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Callias seemed comfortable—far more comfortable than you felt—and you couldn't help but wonder why he was here, sitting with you, instead of mingling with the other guests or tending to his duties.

"So, the Queen Penelope's personal handmaiden," he mused after a moment, his eyes flicking back down to you, his gaze soft but inquisitive. "That must be... interesting. Busy, I imagine."

You nodded, your fingers still fiddling with the strings of your lyre. "It is," you admitted. "The Queen is kind, though. She makes it worthwhile."

He hummed thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to piece something together. "And playing music—is that something you do often?"

You gave a small shrug, your gaze shifting to the lyre resting in your lap. "Whenever I have the time. It's more of a hobby than anything else."

"A hobby," he repeated, his tone light, almost teasing. "Well, it's a good one. You're talented—clearly."

You felt your cheeks flush again, and you ducked your head, letting out a soft laugh. "Thank you," you said quietly, unsure of what else to say.

Callias watched you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering before he finally looked away, his eyes once again drifting to the sky. "I think Ithaca's lucky to have someone like you," he said, his voice almost too soft to hear. "Someone who brings music and warmth to a place that's been through so much."

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice, and for a moment, you weren't quite sure how to respond. "Thank you," you said again, the words barely a whisper, your heart giving a small, unexpected flutter.

Callias' eyes then trailed down to the lyre sitting comfortably in your lap. His eyes brightened, a spark of excitement lighting them up as he leaned forward slightly. "What else can you play?" he asked.

You shifted a bit, unused to talking so openly with someone new—especially someone from another kingdom. After a moment, you answered, "Uh, well... I can play the sistrum, the aulos, and a few others." You trailed off awkwardly, your fingers absently toying with the strings of your lyre, the delicate notes barely audible.

The male let out an excited gasp before rummaging through his tunic. He pulled out a small instrument, a panpipe, holding it up with a cheeky grin on his face. "Can you play this?"

Curiously, you reached forward, and he placed it into your hands. You turned it over in your fingers, examining the little wooden instrument, its simple form somehow feeling significant.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as you studied it. You had seen panpipes before—they were common—but for some reason, you hadn't thought to learn it. Almost as if the idea had simply slipped your mind.

You looked back up at Callias, humming softly as you held it back out to him. "I'm not sure. I don't think I've ever played this."

Callias just grinned, the teasing glint in his eyes growing even brighter. Without warning, he leaned forward, his larger, calloused hand covering yours, gently closing your fingers back around the pipes. "Wanna learn?" he asked, his voice a bit lower, almost conspiratorial. "I could teach you."

You blinked, taken aback by his closeness, the warmth of his hand on yours making your heart stutter. Your mouth opened and closed, no words forming as you tried to process his boldness.

Callias' grin grew even wider before he pouted playfully, his head tilting to the side as if pleading with you. "C'mon, ____. It's a fair trade—you teach me the lyre, I teach you the pipes. Deal?"

You stared at him, your eyes widening slightly at his audacity. But there was something disarming in the way he spoke—something almost childlike in his enthusiasm—that made it hard to say no.

Slowly, you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "Alright, deal," you said softly.

The brunet beamed, his entire face lighting up with excitement. "Great! We'll start now then!"

Your eyes widened in surprise. "N-Now?" you stammered, glancing around the courtyard. It wasn't exactly crowded, but the thought of practicing a new instrument, here, in the open, made you nervous.

Callias chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched your apprehension. "Don't worry," he said, his voice gentle. "It's just me. No pressure." He leaned back, giving you some space as he gestured toward the pipes still in your hand. "Give it a try," he urged, his smile encouraging.

You took a deep breath, glancing down at the Panpipes, your fingers brushing over the smooth wood. Slowly, you brought it to your lips, hesitating for a moment before blowing softly, a gentle note escaping the pipes.

Callias clapped his hands together, his eyes shining. "See? You're already a natural!"

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you, shaking your head at his enthusiasm. "I doubt that," you said, but there was a warmth in your chest now, the unease from earlier finally beginning to fade away.

"Here, lemme show you a simple song," Callias said, grabbing the pipes from your hand. He positioned them against his lips and began playing a soft, lilting melody. The notes flowed smoothly, the sound filling the air with a gentle charm.

You watched, entranced, as he played, his mouth moving deftly over the pipes.

After a few moments, he paused, looking at you with a grin. "See? Just follow along with the rhythm—nothing too fancy. It's simple enough. Here." He handed the pipes back to you, his smile encouraging.

You hesitated, feeling a bit of nervousness returning, but there was something so genuinely encouraging about Callias that made it hard to refuse. You took the pipes and held them to your lips, trying to mimic the way he had played.

The notes that came out were shaky, uneven, and you winced at the sound.

It felt... off. Not quite right.

You tried again, huffing slightly when the sound didn't come out as smoothly as it had for Callias.

With a pout, you pulled the pipes away from your lips, glaring down at the instrument. "Here," you muttered, holding it back out to him. "I can't seem to get it right."

Callias just laughed, his eyes twinkling as he took the pipes from you. "Aw, don't be too hard on yourself," he said teasingly. "Looks like there's finally an instrument you can't master."

You gave him a playful scowl, rolling your eyes. "Very funny," you mumbled, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed your amusement.

Callias placed the pipes back into his tunic, patting them gently as if they were some treasured item. He leaned back further on his hands, his eyes closing as he let the sunlight warm his face. "It's okay, though. We can practice more another time," he said casually, as if he were already planning on spending more time with you.

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow at him. "Oh, really? How can you be so sure there'll be a next time?" you teased, your voice light.

Callias grinned without missing a beat, his eyes still closed. He gave a lazy shrug, the corners of his lips quirking up. "I don't know... just a gut feeling," he hummed, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

☆

The two young royals walked slowly through the palace gardens, their feet crunching over the pebbled pathway.

The sun was bright, its golden rays filtering through the leaves of olive and laurel trees, the air filled with the scent of thyme and blooming myrtle. The gentle hum of bees and the occasional chirp of birds added a pleasant background, giving the illusion of perfect serenity.

Telemachus cleared his throat, trying to shift the awkwardness away. He turned to Andreia, offering her a small, polite smile. "So, Lady Andreia, what is it you'd like to talk about?"

Andreia sighed softly, her gaze drifting as they passed by a bush of narcissus flowers. She paused, reaching out to gently touch the soft petals, her fingers lingering there.

Telemachus couldn't help but think back to when you'd called them daffodils—what a silly name, he'd thought then, but now the thought made him smile.

"I must say," Andreia began, her voice almost wistful, "Ithaca is even more beautiful than I'd imagined. The people here are so kind, and everything is so... peaceful." She turned to look at Telemachus, her lips curving into a bright grin. "Despite the unfortunate reason for my visit, I find myself grateful for the chance to experience your homeland."

Telemachus blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in her voice. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Andreia had already begun walking again, her gaze fixed forward. As she moved, she glanced over her shoulder at him, her eyes twinkling with a teasing light.

"I hear the prince of Ithaca is known for his hospitality," she said, her tone playfully challenging. "Does that extend to entertaining lonely guests as well?"

Telemachus found himself chuckling, the sound escaping him before he could even register it. It was strange—he hadn't expected to laugh, not in this moment, and definitely not with Andreia.

With a soft sigh, he followed after her, shaking his head slightly as he tried to push away the lingering thoughts of you beneath the cypress tree.

As they continued walking through the garden, Andreia engaged Telemachus in conversation, her voice warm and charismatic. She asked about the palace grounds, about his duties as the prince, and even about the people of Ithaca.

Her interest seemed genuine, her laughter light and easy as she responded to his answers.

Telemachus answered her questions politely, describing the routines he carried out to support his father and the responsibilities he had to the people of Ithaca. Andreia listened intently, her eyes never wavering from his face, and she nodded along, occasionally humming thoughtfully in response.

"I must say, my prince, for someone to be the son of a legend, you must be plenty prepared if trouble to arise, no?" Her eyes flickered back to Telemachus, her expression smoothing into one of respect. "The way he reclaimed his throne with such strength, such... resolve. It's rare to see a man so certain of his purpose, so willing to do whatever it takes for those he loves. It's admirable."

Telemachus blinked, watching her as she spoke.He cleared his throat, unsure how to respond. "My father has always been... determined," he said cautiously, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her face.

Andreia turned back to him, her expression brightening once more, her smile easy and warm. "Indeed. And that determination is something that runs in the family, I'm sure." She reached out, lightly brushing her fingers against his arm in a gesture that seemed casual yet deliberate. "After all, Ithaca is in capable hands with you, isn't it?"

Telemachus forced another smile, nodding. "Thank you, Lady Andreia. I... appreciate your confidence."

She gave him a final, lingering look, her lips curving into a smile that held just a hint of mystery. "Confidence is easy when one knows what to look for, my prince."

After a while, the conversation took a more serious turn.

Andreia turned to face him fully, her steps slowing as they neared another flowerbed. "Prince Telemachus," she said, her voice softer now, "I know that there has been tension between Ithaca and Bronte in the past. It's unfortunate that we meet under such grim circumstances, but I cannot help but think that perhaps this is an opportunity."

Telemachus' brow furrowed slightly, and he tilted his head. "What do you mean, Lady Andreia?"

She smiled, her eyes glimmering with something that seemed both hopeful and calculating. "Well, your mother, Queen Penelope, spoke of the importance of peace between our kingdoms. She spoke so warmly of a future where Ithaca and Bronte could coexist without distrust or resentment. And I agree with her." Andreia stepped closer, her gaze never wavering from Telemachus' eyes. "Peace can be achieved, and strengthened, through alliances." She paused, letting her words sink in before continuing, her tone almost coy. "Perhaps even through marriage."

Telemachus blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. For a moment, he was unsure if he had heard her correctly. "Marriage?" he echoed, his voice filled with disbelief.

Andreia giggled, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, don't look so surprised, my prince. It's only a thought, after all." She leaned in slightly, her smile widening as she added, "A very practical thought, wouldn't you say? A formal alliance would ensure that our kingdoms remain on good terms."

Telemachus could feel the weight of her words settling on his shoulders. It was as if, in that single moment, everything had changed between them.

Lady Andreia was no longer just a guest in their home—no longer just a mourning sister seeking refuge. She had become a player on the board of politics, and suddenly, he too felt like a piece being maneuvered.

His role as her host, her supporter in a time of grief, had shifted—now, he was the prize, the potential bridge between two kingdoms.

The realization left him uneasy, an uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He forced a smile, though it felt a bit strained. "It is... certainly something to consider," he said, his voice careful, diplomatic.

Andreia's eyes sparkled, as if pleased by his response. "That's all I ask," she said, her tone light once more. She turned and continued walking, her fingers brushing against the leaves of a nearby shrub as they moved along the path. "I only wish for what is best for both our homes, Prince Telemachus." She glanced back at him with a teasing grin. "Besides, who wouldn't want to secure peace in such a charming place as Ithaca?"

Telemachus found himself chuckling again, though this time the laughter felt more like a reflex than genuine amusement; Andreia's suggestion had taken him off guard.

He hesitated, looking at her with a hint of curiosity. "Why are you so certain of this, Lady Andreia? We've only just met, after all," he said, his voice tinged with both hesitance and genuine curiosity.

Andreia paused, a playful hum escaping her lips as she tilted her head thoughtfully. She stepped closer to the flowerbed, her eyes catching sight of a cluster of blooms.

Without another word, she reached toward a bushel of vibrant flowers and plucked a stem delicately.

It was aconite, with its hooded, deep blue petals—though Telemachus couldn't recall its name. He watched as she approached him, the faint scent of the flower wafting through the warm air.

Andreia moved in close, her red tresses tumbling over her shoulder as she stood on her toes. Her perfume, light and sweet, mingled with the fragrance of the garden. She reached up, tucking the stem of the aconite behind Telemachus' ear, her fingers brushing against his skin.

The touch was gentle, almost intimate, and Telemachus found himself momentarily frozen.

A soft smile rested on her lips as she gazed into his eyes, her head tilting to the side in an endearing manner. "You could say... just a gut feeling," she murmured, her voice playful yet soft. And with that, she twirled away, her laughter echoing lightly as she continued along the garden path. "Now, I wonder if the anemones are in bloom," she mused aloud, as if her previous words hadn't left a strange tension in the air.

Telemachus watched her go, a mix of emotions swirling in his chest—confusion and perhaps a touch of unease. He reached up, touching the flower she had tucked behind his ear.

The gesture, the closeness, her words... they all left him with more questions than answers.

The prince wasn't sure what to do next—he knew he would have to tell his parents about this conversation, and the thought made him uneasy.

For now, though, he simply kept his thoughts to himself before following the young royal, unsure of what direction this unexpected turn would lead.

A/N: ahhh, i had so much fun with the lil hints thrown in here blahhhh, y'all i literally researched so many meaning and stuff cuz im a nerd and wanted to see if i can try my hand at suspense/tension building, anywho ignore my rambling, hope you enjoy the new OC Callias... [A/N: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐎𝐂 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 "𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬" 𝐈 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦~]

callias:

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idkyetxoxo · 5 days ago

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Gwayne Hightower - Wounds of the Past

Summary - They confront old wounds and unresolved feelings as their intimate conversation reveals the ache of lost possibilities reigniting buried emotions and exploring the complexities of loyalty, love, and the choices that shape their fates.

Pairing - Gwayne Hightower x reader

Warnings - Injury (brief)

Word count - 2381

Masterlist for Gwayne • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

"He said what?" I asked, savouring the burst of sweet juice from a plump grape, my curiosity sharpened by the anticipation of Rhaenyra's latest account of her suitors.

Her travels across the realm had drawn men from every corner, each vying for her favour with words as grand as their titles.

Rhaenyra let out a dramatic sigh, leaning in as if sharing a scandalous secret. "Yes, older than my father," she whispered, her voice laced with indignation, "and still, he dared to speak such vile words."

With a teasing smirk, she plucked the grape from my fingers before I could take another bite, leaving me to pout.

"Well," I muttered, shifting and draping my legs across her lap, "at least you have the privilege of choice."

Beneath my feigned envy, I felt the weight of my own impending marriage settle uncomfortably.

She flashed a knowing smile, her gaze momentarily softening as her hand traced idle patterns along my ankle.

But her eyes held something unspoken, a flicker of shared understanding that neither of us needed to voice.

Our attention drifted as Alicent moved into view, her presence restrained and demure in a gown of crimson and black that seemed to mirror her carefully guarded emotions.

She inclined her head in greeting, her smile polite yet hesitant, as though uncertain of her place among us.

I caught Rhaenyra watching me, her gaze intense and unreadable. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if she saw beyond my feigned indifference if she sensed the tumult brewing beneath my skin.

Abruptly, Rhaenyra stood, brushing my legs from her lap with a brisk, elegant sweep of her hand.

"I must go," she announced, a tremor beneath her words betraying a tension she kept carefully hidden.

Before I could respond, she was gone, disappearing down the stone path with only the soft rustle of her skirts in her wake.

I turned to find Alicent staring after Rhaenyra, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. I felt a pang of empathy, the familiar ache of words left unsaid and intentions misunderstood.

I softened, reaching for a gentler tone as I spoke.

"She doesn't mean to be harsh," I murmured, watching as Alicent quickly dabbed at her tears, her nod more to herself than to me.

"She's angry, and she has every reason to be," I added, understanding that Rhaenyra's resentment ran deeper than we dared to discuss.

Alicent's voice trembled, barely audible. "I never intended it to turn out this way."

Her gaze dropped, and in that moment, she looked as fragile as the delicate flowers lining the garden path, their petals wilting under an unforgiving sun.

"But you did marry her father," I reminded her, the truth slipping out before I could temper it.

Alicent flinched, her sorrowful eyes searching mine for a glimmer of forgiveness that neither of us was ready to offer.

"And still," she whispered, glancing toward the path where Rhaenyra had gone, "she speaks of suitors as if it were a curse. How fortunate she is to have such choices."

There was a wistful note in her voice, one that betrayed an envy she would never voice aloud.

"That she is," I agreed, letting out a sigh as I took a sip of wine, the rich warmth of it mingling with the bitter taste of my own anxieties.

My mother's relentless efforts to arrange my betrothal weighed heavily, the parade of eligible men paraded before me more a show of politics than of affection.

Each introduction felt like another brick sealing me into a future I had little control over.

Alicent's voice, gentle and probing, broke the silence. "And what of you?" She looked at me with careful curiosity, her expression soft yet expectant.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips before I could stifle it. "Still unwed, still... unwanted."

The words came out sharper than I intended, and Alicent's face softened in sympathy, her lips pressed together as she considered her next words.

"That isn't what I meant," she began hurriedly, her eyes earnest, but I cut her off with a shrug.

"But it is true," I replied, my voice taut with the weight of unspoken frustration. "When a jilted man can't have what he wants, he'll spread rumours. And no one would willingly wed a girl tarnished by the whispers of a scorned lord."

My gaze drifted over the garden, the lush greenery doing little to soften the harshness of my reality.

The tension in my hand exploded as I slammed my cup down, the sudden force startling even me. The anger I had buried for so long simmered, rising to the surface in that single, unrestrained moment.

"People talk," Alicent murmured, her tone soothing, "but it doesn't matter."

I scoffed, unable to mask the bitterness in my voice. "It doesn't matter to queens, Alicent, or to a princess like Rhaenyra. But to someone like me, it matters. It always will."

My voice dropped to a near whisper, the weight of that truth hanging between us, undeniable and unyielding.

Without another word, I turned and walked away, the quiet of the gardens stretching behind me, the sting of words left unsaid and the ache of choices made lingering in the air.

I left Alicent alone in the silence, her quiet sorrow mirroring the hollow ache in my own heart as the garden's peace settled into the place where our friendship once bloomed.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The hour was late, and shadows clung to the castle's walls like secrets best kept.

My footsteps echoed softly, each step a soothing rhythm as I wandered the dim corridors, restless and sleepless.

Turning a corner, I stopped short. There, leaning against the cold stone, was Gwayne Hightower, his posture slouched, the flickering torchlight painting him in shades of weary defeat.

He looked up, surprise briefly lighting his eyes before he straightened, hastily brushing a hand over his dishevelled appearance.

Even in the dim light, I could see the blood on his split lip, a bruise blooming across his cheek like a dark shadow of some unseen battle.

"Gwayne," I whispered, stopping in front of him, concern pulling me out of my restless silence. "What happened to you?"

He lifted a hand to his lip, wincing as he touched the cut. "Nothing worth worrying about," he muttered, his tone as dismissive as the faint smirk tugging at his swollen mouth.

I crossed my arms, raising a brow. "Nothing worth worrying about? You look like you've just been in a brawl."

With a half-smile, he rolled his eyes, deflecting as he always did. "You know how it is. Men... fight over stupid things."

An exasperated sigh slipped from my lips. "If you won't go to a maester, then at least let me help you clean up."

I reached out, expecting him to brush me off, but after a moment's hesitation, he nodded, falling into step beside me as I led him to an empty chamber.

Inside, the quiet felt intimate, a space suspended in the stillness of night. I soaked a cloth in the basin and moved closer, tilting his face toward the light.

As I dabbed at the dried blood on his lip, he winced but held still, his gaze drifting somewhere beyond my shoulder, as though searching for a memory to make the moment less vulnerable.

It was strange how easily we fell into our old rhythm, as if the laughter we used to share, the moments spent strolling through the gardens, hadn't been so deeply complicated by the events that followed.

Being Alicent's brother, Gwayne and I had always shared a closeness that felt as natural as breathing.

But in the wake of everything—of shifting loyalties and uncertain alliances—the warmth between us had turned into something we could only glimpse from across an unbridgeable distance.

"So," I said, pressing the cloth gently to his bruised cheek, "are you going to tell me what happened?"

He sighed, his eyes closing briefly. "It was nothing. Just a stupid fight."

"Gwayne," I pressed, tilting his chin to meet his gaze. "We were friends once—I know when you're lying. What happened?"

He hesitated, his jaw tensing, the answer caught between the truth and the silence that had grown between us.

At last, he dropped his gaze, as though hoping that his words might dissolve if he couldn't see the hurt they would bring.

"I got in a fight... over you," he said, his voice so low it was nearly swallowed by the quiet of the room.

I blinked, surprised. "Over me? Why... what happened?"

He shifted, clearly uncomfortable, and tried to pull his chin from my hand, but I held it steady, my fingers soft against his skin.

"Tell me. Please," I urged, searching his eyes for the truth he was so reluctant to share.

His gaze wavered before he exhaled, resigned. "A lord had some... unpleasant things to say about you," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

My heart clenched, a cold familiarity settling over me. I didn't need him to elaborate; I knew too well the rumours, the words that others spoke behind my back.

But still, I found myself asking, almost dreading his reply. "What did he say?"

Gwayne's jaw tightened, his gaze slipping away as if he could spare me the ugliness of the words by hiding them in the space between us.

"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice firm with quiet anger. "He was wrong to say it, and that's all there is to know."

"Gwayne... please." I rested my hand on his shoulder, grounding us both in the fragile moment.

After a pause, he spoke, his voice taut with restrained fury. "He said you were... ruined, that you were 'spoiled goods'—unworthy of any match worth having. Nothing a man with honour would ever believe," he added quickly, though the shame in his eyes revealed how deeply the words had hurt him.

"But he wouldn't stop. So I made him."

A mixture of emotions churned within me—rage at the callousness of strangers, gratitude for Gwayne's defence, and the familiar ache of helplessness.

"Thank you," I whispered, feeling the words fall short, inadequate to convey the gratitude and the pain tangled within them.

His gaze softened, the wall he'd held between us lowering for the first time in what felt like years.

"You don't deserve to hear those things," he said quietly, his voice rough with unspoken emotion. "You never did."

In that moment, the weight of what had been left unsaid between us hung heavy in the air. I searched his face, remembering the boy who'd once been my closest friend, the one who had taught me to climb the castle walls and shared in my laughter.

But the innocence of that time felt worlds away now, replaced by an understanding too complicated for either of us to name.

"So... he was spreading lies," I said softly, more a statement than a question, the truth heavy in my chest.

His hand covered mine for a brief moment, his fingers rough but steady, grounding us both.

"Lies, yes," he replied, his voice laced with quiet anger. "But men like him don't need truth. They just need the thrill of tearing someone down."

The frustration in his words mirrored my own, the powerlessness we both shared in the face of rumours and reputation.

"It shouldn't be this way," I murmured, turning my hand slightly beneath his to hold it. "Why should the words of a spiteful lord matter so much?"

Gwayne's lips pressed together, and he looked away as though struggling to hold back his own bitterness. "They don't," he finally said, his voice firmer. "Not to anyone who knows you. Not to me."

The weight of his words settled over me, warming a place in my heart I'd thought long buried.

I searched his face, the tension between us shifting, revealing a vulnerability I hadn't seen in him before. A longing I'd almost forgotten flickered to life, something tender and dangerous all at once.

"Why did you really do it, Gwayne?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, my fingers still resting on his cheek, lingering.

He swallowed, his eyes locked on mine, shadows shifting in their depths. For a heartbeat, he was silent, as though waging an inner battle. Then he spoke, his voice raw.

"Because... I couldn't stand to hear anyone speak that way about you. Not when—" He cut himself off, but his gaze remained, unwavering and full of a feeling I'd only dared to imagine.

The words he didn't say hung between us, fragile and unspoken, yet more honest than anything else in that room.

We both knew the risk of saying them aloud, of bringing into the light the feelings we had tried for so long to bury beneath duty and circumstance.

I offered a small, tentative smile, letting him know I understood, that he didn't need to say it.

But in that silence, in the steady look that passed between us, I knew—whatever had once been simple had grown into something neither of us could ignore.

The moment lingered, the unspoken pulling at both of us. Then, quietly, I murmured, "Thank you, Gwayne. For being the one who still cares... despite everything."

"I miss this," I said softly, the words slipping free before I could stop them. "I miss when things were... simpler."

A faint smile ghosted across his lips, softening his weary face. "So do I," he replied, his voice catching.

He shifted, uncertainty flickering in his eyes as though he wanted to say more but couldn't find the words.

Silence settled between us, full of memories and unspoken promises. I finished cleaning the last of the blood from his lip, our faces close enough that I could feel the warmth of his breath.

His eyes met mine, a quiet intensity sparking in the space between us, an unspoken acknowledgement of everything that had changed, and everything that hadn't.

Finally, I managed a small, soft smile. "Well, it seems I owe you a debt," I said, my voice steady.

"Consider it a favour from an old friend," he replied, a ghost of a smile lighting his weary face.

As I pulled back, he met my gaze, a quiet intensity lingering between us.

Then, without another word, he rose, the spell of that small, unexpected moment breaking as he slipped back into the shadows of the hall, leaving me alone in the dim light, with only the whisper of old memories and the ache of what could never be reclaimed.

A/n - I hate bitter men (projecting...maybee) 🙃

Gwayne tag list - @deniixlovezelda @randomnerdyfan @callsign-blue

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd s2 #team green #gwayne hightower #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower x reader #ser gwayne #ser gwayne hightower #gwayne x you #gwayne fanfic

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percabethsong · 1 month ago

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I just read your warrior Penelope au post and I love how you explained why Penelope would go in his place because Odysseus is missing his leg, genius

Does it still take Penelope ten years to get back home after the Trojan war or is the timeframe shorter/longer? Is her journey back home similar to what happened in the Odyssey? And if so, does Odysseus get suitors at his door wanting his hand in marriage? How would he hold them off while he waits for his wife to get back home?

Sorry for the questions, late night thoughts go brrrrr

Unfortunately, the ten years journey home still happened, although some changes would be made. I think Circe's would be far more trusting of Penelope since she's a woman, although she would still have turned Penelope's crew into pigs, once Circe saw their captain was a woman and they respected her, she let them go easier and doesn't try to seduce her.

Calypso stays pretty much the same, though, it's Greek Mythology, pretty common to feel attraction to more than one gender.

I imagine Penelope, being Ares champion in this AU, may face things a little more upfront than Odysseus would, even though she's also smart and uses cunning sometimes.

The suitors is an interesting questions! I actually thought about this a lot. It depends how accurate things are with Greek Mythology/history. I often see in this AU Odysseus having suitors, which is a fun concept, but since I'm trying to make a version of this AU that would be more possible in universe (hence Penelope having to use her status as an Amazon to convince people she can fight as a woman, since they were some fem warriors in greek myths or general history, but it was difficult for them to gain people's respect), I would say not exactly. Odysseus already has a heir, and Greek Kings can rule without Queens. However, Odysseus is disabled in this concept, and Ancient Greece was a very ableist society. The exception often made were for war wounds, which Odysseus's wouldn't be considered. Odysseus is still very much capable to rule even if he can't fight, he has a sharp mind and Athena stays by his side helping him, which makes Odysseus a great king. However, it's a very hard thing to be respected as a disabled person in this time, even if it was a bit easier if you were nobility. Because he was the king and had a Amazon ruling by his side, people how doubted him kept their complaints to themselves in the beginning. But without Penelope people starting to question him more, especially after she doesn't return with the crew that left for war, making people more relentless. Then a group of men started to appear at the palaces, demanding Odysseus to choose one of them as an advisor and protector, since the queen had not return to fullfil this role. Odyssey not only very much does not need an advisor and protector, but is also aware of the men true intentions: once he chooses one, he'll be killed in a way that looks like an accident and the man he chose will claim the throne, since Telemachus is still too young to be king.

Regarding how Odysseus would hold them off... Hum, that's a interesting questions. I like to imagine he would invent a lot of little challenges for them, claiming he needs to test the skills of his future advisor, both physical and mental. He would come with a new game ever month. I can also picture him saying he would choose a advisor as soon as he finishes an marble sculpture of Penelope himself, without any help to honour his wife. Every night, though, he breaks a little peace of the stone, having to fix it and buying Penelope time. Or at least hold them down enough until Telemachus is ready to be king.

Don't apologise! I've actually never received these kind questions about a post and it made me really happy!

#epic the musical #the odyssey #warrior penelope au #odypen #penelope of ithaca #penelope of sparta #odysseus #telemachus #the suitors #athena and odysseus #warrior!penelope

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naffeclipse · 2 months ago

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Apologies

Druid!Reader x Nymph!Sun, Mountain Troll!Moon, & River Spirit!Eclipse

Commission Info

The darling @bluemoon1331 requested their AU called Connotations with a female Nymph Sun, a nonbinary Mountain Troll Moon, and a male River Spirit Eclipse! I loved diving into this AU and exploring the characters within. Enjoy some mythical creature shenanigans as they fight over and sit awhile with their lovely druid reader.

———

The morning is warm. Paired with a dewey brightness that dusts the grass and trails you hike from your home down towards the river, you begin to work up a slight sweat in the brilliance of a new day. A sweetness hangs in the air, speaking to the brightly colored life blooming upon hills and meadows. Pollen carries between insects. Trees hang heavy with boughs adorned in rich velvet leaves. Their shade is a blissful balm to the sheer heat of direct sunlight.

Your robes drape lightly, a casual attire to help keep you cool in the summer sun. A rare day where your duties as the druid of the forest and Notus, the local village, allow you to slip out of your formal attire. This day has been expected for some time now. A time not just to be a druid but to be with those you love.

You’ve kept your sweethearts waiting—much to their impatience, tempers, and understanding.

The shade of trees begin to wane, falling back to their place in the forest as the river wedges into a clearing. Distantly, the great rumblings of a waterfall begin to rise. The path your feet follow is becoming as familiar as the back of your hand.

The river spirit was once mysterious and eremitic. Though many within the ecosystem do not choose to often leave their abodes to mingle with other creatures of the forest and land, such as the fae, sprites, cryptids, and nymphs, they all play an important role in keeping the balance of nature.

Eclipse is one of them. Rarely does he entertain others, though he has learned a tolerance for your other suitors, mostly due to circumstances and that you are quite unable to shake any one of them.

Not that you reject their affections. You are simply growing used to the presence of paramours when you were so content with a life of upholding your responsibilities and returning home to your empty bed with an aching, lonely heart.

Following the river bank with its churning water, you venture towards a great pool gathering at the head of the river. Slick and silver rocks make up the edges of the frothy basin. The liquid darkens in its head-spinning depth with the relentless pounding of the waterfall providing a rich supply of mist.

Your heated skin longs for the cool kiss of the river’s touch. And perhaps, a caress from the river spirit himself. He did promise you a swim, though that may be a wicked fate in and of itself.

Your heart hopes for mercy from the watery being but it is a faltering thing.

As you stop at the edge of the lapping surface, a towering figure emerges from the water and catches your startled eye. A thunderous splatter akin to the waterfall rolls off of the creature’s body as it crawls onto the rock you stand upon. Dark mud provides a sleek but solid body. A tail with a tuft of moss on the end, not unlike a lion’s, flicks beads of water. A face looms over you. You meet the burning orange eyes upon a strong face. A mane of driftwood and burnt umber algae surrounds the river spirit’s head. Drop after drop continues from his body as a maw of bone white teeth split into a grin with mirth and trickery.

“You kept me waiting,” the creature rumbles with the low drawl of crashing waters. “Teasing vixen, I thought I might perhaps have to pay your cottage a visit to ensure you’d keep your date with me.”

You meet his gaze, unflinching. A light threat that would not do well to the walls of your home. A flood is the last thing you need to endure. Besides, he wouldn’t only do such a thing if you truly kept him waiting.

“I’m not late, Eclipse,” you reach up to begin to slip off your robe. “Be nice.”

The impish gleam in his vivid orange eyes causes you to stop.

“I have waited long enough, little crow.”

The threat of his tricks brushes against you like the fine mist of the waterfall. Before you can warn the river spirit away, he takes hold of your shoulders, massive hands engulfing you in his grasp.

“Eclipse—AH!” In one massive plunge, he drags you under, robes and all. The water quickly swirls to engulf you. The crisp and cool sensation quickly calms any fierce hatred you may have, but that does not take away the slight fright of an unexpected dive.

Bubbles twist mercilessly around you. The fabric of your robes soak and grow heavy, but you may as well be a small stone smoothed by the constant rush of the river in Eclipse’s palm as he swims you underneath the heart of the waterfall and towards the calmer waters tucked behind.

Lifting you out of the pool, Eclipse bears a mischievous grin. You sputter water and offer him a none-too-pleased glare. Set upon a smooth and slick rock, you sit with a wet and heavy splat as your robes hit the solid fountain. Eclipse taps his claws in a wave along the stone.

Great.

“You’re soaking wet, little crow. Here, allow me to help you.” The river spirit leans closer against you. With ease that betrays his immortal nature, he slips your outer robes off of you and leaves you in your white and soaking wet undergarments—the only articles of clothing that were supposed to get into the water today.

With a deft lob, he throws the clothes outside of the alcove. You watch your robes hit with a heavy, liquidy thunk and sprawl out in the sun.

“Eclipse,” you give firmly. “Do you know how long it will take for my robes to dry?”

“Long enough for you to stay here, with me,” he simpers. “Come, let us swim.”

You cross your arms. Arching an eyebrow, you look up and down at his eager person. The algae around his head glistens with a shine and his orange eyes burn with want. His touch slips over your thigh while he awaits, almost desperate.

“Little crow,” he hums, “You can’t hold your anger against me. It is me who suffers day after day without you.”

You scoff. “I was with you yesterday afternoon.”

“Yes, and it is a long, dreary time to go without seeing your beautiful face.” His bone-white claw draws along your jawline. He tilts your head up slightly, softly holding your gaze until you feel a rush of heat fill your cheeks.

“You poor thing,” you murmur, ducking your head slightly to hide your foolish blushing.

Before he can continue to beg you for forgiveness, you tilt away from him, and slipping into the softly rippling pool, sheltered by the curtain of falling water, you begin stroking through the surprising depths. Eclipse darts after you with ease. His side slides alongside yours, his form graceful and undulating.

He passes you by, circling like a shark eager for a meal, but his grin is pleased. You shake your head and twist to float on your back. Swimming has never been an issue for you, but Eclipse has tutted his tongue in the past and proclaim your form weak and sloppy then proceed to support you in the water to keep you from “drowning.” Though, maybe he just likes to hear your protests. You suspect so, regardless.

Still, when he sweeps past you, your eyes fall to the sleek and dark form of his tail. Maroon red moss democrats the tip. The movement reminds you of a water snake sneaking along the surface. Slowing slightly in your swim, you watch him twist back with a small splash.

“Enjoying the view, sly vixen?” he rumbles low.

You hold your ground, well, water, treading it lightly while holding your chin high.

“I am,” you say.

Eclipse blinks. You’re not certain if it’s due to your own boldness or because he simply didn’t expect such an answer to his question.

“Then it would seem it’s my time to do the admiring,” he drawls slow.

You eye him warily.

He swims back to you in an effortless, breathless speed, and scoops you up. Your arms fall over his shoulder. To your amazement, this grants you a better vantage point of the sleekness of his back and the touch of his burnt umber mane. His paws push through the pool to bring you to a low, stony shelf. There, he sets you upon it. You breathe out softly at the cold and silky sensation of finding cooling down after a hot morning.

Eclipse’s touch slides down to your leg. Your flesh prickles at the graze of his claws, but smoothly, he lifts your foot slightly, and begins studying the shape of your ankles, your feet. His touch draws over the rough but healed burn marks. You stare down, idly wringing your hands together.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you say, “Your hot spring healed me well.”

“I know.” Eclipse flicks his gaze up to you. “You are lucky, druid, that we found you when we did.”

You offer a noncommittal nose. He lowers your foot and bows down to kiss your knee. A fluttering works through your middle at the tenderness, slick with water, caressing your leg. His hand cups your calf and holds you in place until you feel as if you might melt away into the river.

A green tendril streaks into your vision. You lift your head, startled. What you now register as a vine writhes into the alcove, twisting until it has curled around your middle. One sharp yank, and it rips you out of the river spirit’s reach. Eclipse roars, his kiss upon your leg interrupted.

The world becomes a blur of water and stone, then open blue sky and green grass as the vine snaps you towards a standing figure, waiting as gentle as a sapling in spring. You stop your struggle the moment warm and smooth arms wrap around you. The vine releases your middle. The rich scent of wisteria washes over you, and immediately, you wonder how Sunny found you.

She stands tall, taller than she often does—but as tall as she can be when she’s rather fraught with emotion. She tucks you against her chest and hugs your sopping wet person tightly, much to your bewilderment.

“Oh my goodness! Oh, sweetie! I’m so glad you’re alright! I was so worried,” Sunny gushes. You finally tilt your head up to study the beautiful crown of branches around her head. The fronds upon them are not her usual golden color but an intense red hue. Her canary wood like skin is smooth and soft, while her wide eyes, pale as the sky at noon, frantically fall over you.

“Sunny?” you ask, slightly muffled. Gently, you pry yourself off of her, but stay within her reach.

“Sweetheart, I feared the worst! The grass spoke of your robes upon the ground—and they were wet!” Her head shakes slightly in her exclamation. The leaves surrounding her face wave and snap. “I could only assume some wicked, horrid monster must have dragged you under the water!”

You hardly believe for a moment that Sunny was aghast with the thought of your life being in danger. There is no doubt, however, that she is not excited to find you at Eclipse’s river, wet robes discarded to the side.

The very image makes you flush a deep red.

Eclipse sweeps out from behind his waterfall and sends a wave crashing against the edge of the pool. His tail snaps furious flicks of water. He bares his teeth, the fangs pale and sharp as shark teeth. The river spirit furiously climbs up the edge of the basin, close to where Sunny holds you. A hot glare from the meadow nymph punctures her early sentiment.

The water behind Eclipse sets to a churn at a far more violent pace. The grass beneath your feet starts to twist and twine, almost wrapping around your ankles as if to root you in place. Sunny’s unsheathed claws hold tight to your shoulders, one sliding slightly behind your neck. Her heated stare does little to help the boiling tension beginning to spill over.

“Give back my druid,” Eclipse snarls, “I had them first.”

The beautiful nymph turns your attention back to you, ignoring the river spirit as she draws out a blossom from her own crowded frond. The flower is bright yellow and sweet smelling. Her fingertips, careful despite the sharp ends, tuck the flower behind your ear. She studies your visage with the air of one finding a horizon most lovely. You heat up inwardly under such an adoring gaze. Her smile rivals that of her namesake.

“Beautiful.” Her eyes betray her as she glances one over your shoulder before she gently strokes the nape of your neck with her claws. A shiver rushes down your spine. “Sweetness, I can’t imagine why you would be spending so much time with him.”

Oh, this again. You sigh deeply before reaching up to lift one of her hands away from your shoulder. You gently cradle her dainty fingers.

“Sunny, I spent all evening yesterday with you.” Your gentle reminder is punctuated with a growl from behind you. “And you are well aware that I spend time with Eclipse.”

“You spent all evening with her?” Eclipse snaps his tail. A roiling begins as you turn back slightly to look at him and possibly stop this storm before it begins, but it’s already too late. Sunny tightens her grip on you. Water begins to froth and splash harder against the edge of the pool.

You lift one hand up to pacify him.

“Eclipse, you know—AH—”

The whip-like snare of his tail takes hold of your ankle, and in one motion, rips you back to the water side. In the same instance, Sunny’s grip becomes a vine holding tight to your wrist.

“Release them!” Eclipse thunders, halfway back into the water, tugging on you viciously with his tail while you scramble for balance.

“Brute, unhand them! You’re going to break them,” Sunny’s musical voice becomes a vicious chord of vengeance.

“ENOUGH!” you cry out. “LET GO!”

Both forces of nature fall silent. In equal measure, slow but steady, Eclipse’s tail unwinds from your ankle in the same breath that Sunny’s fingers unlatch from your hand. Immediately, you rise to your feet. Wet, flustered, and wholy embarrassed, you serve the nymph and spirit with a searing look. How humiliating to be fought over like children squabbling for a toy.

Do they even care how you feel?

In the beat of silence, Eclipse growls. Sunny answers with a venomous hiss.

“Look at what you’ve done!” Sunny accuses, the grass at her feet growing taller and taller, almost shuddering in her waves of anger.

“You are encroaching on my time with my druid.” Eclipse scrapes his claws against stone. He chuffs.

The snaps and jabs the two throw at each other seems endless; you are beyond done with the entirety of it. You turn wordlessly away and snatch up your wet ball of clothing. As you stomp towards the mountain, blood boiling under your skin, you catch a slight pause in the bickering.

Sunny and Eclipse call your name. You continue onward, furious and trying to stop the slight burn of tears from continuing to smoulder in your eyes.

You offer up your clothing to the dry and cool mountain air.

“Please,” you whisper. Your voice cracks. “Will you dry my clothes?”

An answering brush of a breeze swirls around you. The wind whispers and tugs on your robes, picking them up into the air before twisting and turning the fabric. A great gust rushes over each thread. You watch in raw, emotional silence until the robes lighten, now dried, and float gently back to your arms with a soft zephyr caressing your arms.

“Thank you,” you breathe.

The wind whispers a question, but you shake your head softly, and promise to chat with the wind another day. You must get to the mountain.

The path is well worn with your foot tracks. The rising stones of the cliffs and the sloping ground giving way to tilting trees and patchy foliage begins to cool your bubbling heart.

Sunny and Eclipse have always been at odds with one another. It does not help that Sunny is so quick to temper and jealous to a degree that is scathing. Eclipse, however, is never of any assistance, taunting and incredibly possessive. He doesn’t do well with sharing, but he already agreed to share you with Sunny and Moon. Sunny gave her word to you as well.

The grind of your molars threatens to turn your jaw into powder. It was as if you were only a pretty stone or a lovely new plant, not a person.

Is that all you are? A plaything? A pretty sight to own and grow furious when someone tries to take it away?

You curl your fingers tightly into the dry fabric of your robes. Now your undergarments are semi-dried, you dare to tuck your clothing back properly around you as you near a familiar cave mouth.

You step onto the rock of Moon’s home. As you work your way quietly to the mountain face, you find a familiar and hulking figure crouched over a small patch of dirt and growing greens.

There they are.

Moon straightens at your silent approach. Their rough stone skin is beautiful in the late morning light, marbled by veins of cobalt blue and sulfur yellow. The colors climb up from their left leg and twist around their torso, ending upon their face. The veins cover the right half of their face in blue. Their gaze is curious, falling over you with the right eye of silver and the left eye of sapphire. Their head lifts, covered in peacock lichen and trailing down to a spider web covered tip not unlike a star.

The mountain troll regards you quietly before returning to their flowers and herbs. The very same that sprouted from the seeds you gifted them some time ago.

“They’re growing beautifully,” you say in a voice that is too small. You clear your throat.

They flick a heavy glance to you. You cringe inwardly—it’s too late.

To your surprise, Moon dips their head in acknowledgement. Gently, with their large and wicked claws, unearths a weed and tosses it off the edge of the cliff.

“What is wrong, little mountain?” their voice is deep and growling like two stones grinding together.

You open your mouth but silence fills you to the brim. A thickness crawls into your throat. You choke on it for a moment. Reverting to a quiet sorrow, you simply gaze a while at Moon as they continue to kindly work over their little garden.

Your shoulder prickles with a soft sensation. Glancing down, you find a small jumping spider crawling along your robe sleeve. Jumper. The darling and dark colored creature sits a moment while you try to find your words.

Eventually, you hold out your hand. Jumper climbs into your palm. With great mindfulness, you slip back over to Moon, and give Jumper access to the mountain troll’s hat.

Moon rises back to their full head and gazes down at you. Jumper clings gently to the starry end of their peacock lichen. They gesture with a large but graceful hand.

“Come in,” they say.

You follow them into the great and deep mouth cave. The whirlwind of emotions within you begins to settle as the thick, gulping darkness of Moon’s home swallows you whole. Just as the last bit of light can no longer stretch within, a soft glow emits from a sizable stone. Moon must have done some magic, for they gently set it aside into a lichen-lined and cozy nook within the cave. Stepping with supernatural grace, Moon lifts Jumper from the end of their hat and places her in a large and beautifully weaved spider web in the corner of their abode.

Moon turns back to you. They stop along the wall of the cave where a few stone jars are resting, and they dig out a strange but glittering rock. A candy, you think, if the crystallization of sugar is anything.

“Here.” They offer out the crystal.

You try to thank them, but your voice continues to fail. You instead softly suck on the smooth clump of sugar, sparkling and purple like a geode rock.

Moon settles onto the floor, completely at ease despite the cool dampness and the darkness just at the edges of the glow stone. They invite you closer. You accept, sinking into their lap while you continue to work on the candy until you dislodge the thickness in your throat.

When you swallow the last of the sweetness down, you soak in Moon’s presence. Their claws tenderly brush through your hair.

At last, you find the chance to speak. You tell them everything that unfolded this morning.

“Ah,” they rumble deeply. “They should not have treated you as such, but Sunny’s temper is so and Eclipse is very territorial. It is bound to happen.”

“They are so petty,” you grumble. “Do they truly care for me or do they tend to their grievances even more?”

“Do not doubt their affections for you.” Moon gently nudges the top of your head in a small nuzzle. “Their rivalry may get the best of them at times, but they would not have rushed to save you from the unholy priests if they truly had no thought of your well being.”

You sigh deeply into Moon’s chest. Slowly, you glance up to the mountain troll, studying the glint of their gem-stone eyes in the dark.

“Do you feel such things?” you ask quietly.

They shake their head. “I am content with your affections and sharing them.”

You dip your head in relief. That’s one less thing to worry about, but that does not ease the ache in your heart at the events that transpired this morning.

You gently rise up from their embrace so you may better press a kiss to their cheek.

Moon lingers a moment close to you, before whispering, “There are visitors outside of my cave. Would you like to see them?”

Your heart lurches for a moment. Glancing towards the entrance, you, however, take a deep breath. You nod.

Hand in hand, you venture out towards the brilliant light of a noon day sun. Standing before the mouth is a contrite and oddly quiet pair. Sunny and Eclipse.

You feel Moon slip behind you, their touch on your shoulder in a supportive manner. Eclipse drips wetly while he gazes at you, his expression concerned. Sunny’s beautiful fronds have dampened to a sad shade of brown, and her fingers fidget together.

“We’re sorry,” the pair blurted out together. They glance once at each other, almost in alarm, before returning to you.

“I should not have tried to drag you back into the water,” the river spirit pauses, “that time.”

You arch an eyebrow. Moon growls at him.

Eclipse drags in a breath and bows his head slightly. “I shouldn’t have humiliated you. You are not something to be claimed, but cherished.”

“And I should have not interrupted your morning,” Sunny starts softly, her voice playing somberly. “I shouldn’t have tried to steal you away without even stopping for a moment to ask what you wanted. It was wrong to upset you so.”

You look between the two, the pair ashamed and awaiting your judgement. So quick to give chase to you after such a distressing departure.

A weight loosens from your chest. Warm trickles back into your veins, and you smile.

You gently pat Moon’s hand. They lift their touch away before you stride forward. Sunny titters quietly at your approach, another apology lining her honey hued lips. You push up on your tiptoes to kiss her and silence all fears. Her hands fall to your waist, tenderly clutching you close. Her fronds slip into a soft, peach blossom pink when you break away from her.

Silently turning to Eclipse, his orange eyes are almost doused with guilt before you close the distance. He takes you before you can reach him, and sweeping you close, he holds you tightly to his chest while you kiss him. His slick mouth greedily accepts your forgiveness, and his smooth touch roams over your robes before releasing you. There’s an undeniable breath of relief to his person when he watches you straighten.

“Now that it’s settled,” you declare, you survey your sweethearts with a lighter heart. “Let’s go to the hot spring. We can… continue making up there.”

“Excellent,” Eclipse answers, and immediately scoops you up. He holds you tightly, your feet dangling off the ground.

“Yes, we need more time to apologize,” Sunny continues, but she snatches up your hand and presses a kiss to the back of your knuckles even while Eclipse trudges down the mountain. They seem determined to behave, at least for the moment.

You glance back to Moon, who silently brings up the end of the caravan. They tilt their stony head. Their grin is gentle but reassuring. Finding your other free hand, they draw their stone-rough skins gently over your palm and squeeze you once in reassurance.

You might not be able to steal yourself away from their affections any time soon.

#naff's writing commissions #this was a blast to write #make sure you smooch all the creatures in the forest/rivers/mountains #they want to smooch you back!#naff writing

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