#someone. Someone Someone from the previous seasons to react.

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch. 9

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)

Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it.

From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.

Masterlist to the previous parts!

Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

“So, what’s the plan?” Hange asked as they walked down the street. With each step they took, the houses grew larger, the gates taller, the fences grander—everything seemed to increase in size and value the deeper they went. “You sneak through a window now that the sun’s setting and kidnap the cat?”

Levi didn’t break stride as the street sloped downward, though he shot Hange a frown. “We’re not kidnapping anything. I sent a cadet earlier to inform them I’d be picking up the animal.”

A loud hum of understanding filled the night as they continued walking, hands tucked into their pockets. But Hange still didn’t seem convinced.

“You sure about this?”

“About what?”

Hange gave a quick glance around before answering. “These neighborhoods are private.”

“And?”

“Let’s just say the people who live in places like this and… us? We’ve never exactly been longtime acquaintances.” Hange’s tone carried the weight of an unspoken warning, as if preparing for the worst.

But Levi couldn’t care less. Maybe it was the inner thug in him, the part that never gave a damn about the rich, the nobility, the king—or authority in general. This place reeked of something foreign, something he didn’t belong to. But like a lion crossing an open field, he walked through it like it was his to take. The Scouts held power now, but that wasn’t why he moved with such unwavering confidence. Levi was Levi, and even before the Scouts had led an uprising, he had been humanity’s strongest. Strength gives you a certainty in your actions that nothing else can. Especially when they reached the front door.

Hange, either fearing the worst or just aware of Levi’s absolute lack of social grace, wisely kept quiet.

The staff member who answered the gates frowned—not just in confusion, but perhaps in disgust. His gaze landed on the Wings of Freedom insignia on their uniforms alarmingly fast.

“Sir.”

“I came for the cat,” Levi said, blunt as ever.

The man’s expression barely shifted. “I thought we informed the cadet that if you came, you should use the back entrance.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed. He had no problem using the service entrance. But they’d received a mere MP cadet—barely fifteen years old—at their pristine front gates, and now he was supposed to go around the back like some beggar? Not a fucking chance.

“Are you going to let me in or not?”

The man—a butler? Or something like that. I don’t fucking know, Levi thought—stepped aside reluctantly, extending a stiff hand toward the entrance.

Once inside, Hange took a moment to admire the downtown manor, pressing their lips together, nodding slowly in appreciation of the place’s elegance. Levi, however, wasn’t impressed. He was already pissed off—because of Zackly, because of the MPs, because of the damn door. His hands remained in his pockets, deep-set eyes locked onto the stairs with not even a hint of friendliness.

“The cat?” His voice cut through the tension, sharp and impatient. If he’d given them advance notice, then they should have been ready by now.

The butler barely reacted. “Please, wait here. The family is busy.”

Levi let the silence stretch, his patience thinner than ever. “I sent someone over four hours ago.”

Hange, sensing the storm brewing in him, reached out, placing a cautious hand on his shoulder. Their expression twisted into an uneasy grimace, a silent plea.

‘Let’s not make this harder.’

Levi had barely registered Hange’s silent plea when the muffled sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the grand hall. A moment later, a flustered servant appeared, carrying a wooden box with small air holes carved into its sides. The box wobbled precariously in his grip—not because it was heavy, but because a tiny pair of hands were clawing at it with desperate strength.

“Clauwy! Nooo!! Clauwy!!!”

The voice was shrill and thick with tears, and it belonged to a small, wild-haired girl stumbling after the servant in a fit of heartbreak. Her face was blotchy from crying, her little legs moving as fast as they could, though they barely kept up. She yanked at the box, nearly knocking it from the man’s grasp, her tiny fingers clinging like her life depended on it.

“Miss, please—” The servant tried to wrestle the box from her grip, his expression strained. It was clear he was struggling, not because she was particularly strong, but because she was the boss’s daughter—and he couldn't exactly shove her off.

Levi watched the scene unfold, eyebrows knitting together as the girl let out another wail, “Clauwy!!!”

‘Clauwy?’ He blinked.

Hange was biting their lip, either to keep from laughing or from making things worse. The servant finally managed to pry the girl’s fingers off, stumbling forward as he hastily presented Levi with the box. “Here, sir. The animal is inside. Everything needed and requested is included.”

Levi barely had time to grip the box before the little girl let out another sob and jumped, arms stretching toward it in a frantic attempt to snatch it back. Her high pitched scream made Hange go from entertainment to grimace in pain as the loud cry hurted the adult’s ears. LEvi clenched his teeth bearing himself to it but Hange whispered “Dear Sheena…” as if this was everything the commander needed to recall why they never had kids.

“Nooo, Clauwy!!” she howled, tiny hands grasping at the air. “Y/N is gonna never come back if Clauwy isn’t here!!”

At that, Levi stiffened. His sharp gaze flicked down to the girl, eyes narrowing slightly.

‘Y/N’s little sister.’

That was the only explanation.

The messy hair, the same teary eyes, the way her tiny fists balled up in frustration—it wasn’t hard to see the resemblance.

Levi exhaled quietly, shifting his stance. His grip on the box relaxed just a fraction as he crouched down, leveling himself with the child. She sniffled loudly, cheeks stained with tears, little lips quivering. The tears were not watery work as some kids did to get what they wanted, she was loudly and messily crying her eyes off.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what the hell he was supposed to say.

But then, in a rare, softened tone, he spoke.

“Hey.”

The girl hiccupped, still glaring up at him with wet, accusing eyes.

Levi tilted his head slightly, nodding toward the box. “I’m taking him to Y/N. You don’t have to cry.”

The little girl’s breath hitched. Her brows knitted together, unsure whether to believe him. “Pwomise?”

Levi nodded once. “Promise.”

She sniffled again, rubbing at her puffy eyes with tiny fists. The violent wailing had subsided into shaky breaths, though doubt still lingered in her expression. "You… with Y/N?" she murmured, her voice small and filled with innocent curiosity.

Levi gave a short nod. "Yeah. She's with me."

Before he had time to react, the girl threw her arms around his jacket, clinging to him like a koala.

"I wanna be with Y/N!" she insisted, her tiny fists gripping the fabric tightly. She was so small that she barely weighed anything, but she nearly knocked him off balance in her desperation.

Levi instinctively steadied her with his free hand, his body tensing. "No, no. You’ve got your parents." He tried to pry her off, one hand awkwardly holding her in place to keep her from slipping. His voice carried an edge of unease—like this wasn’t the first time a child had latched onto him, looking for something he wasn’t sure how to give.

It all made sense when a commanding voice cut through the hallway.

"MAEVE!"

Levi turned his head, eyes narrowing at the elegantly dressed woman approaching from the corridor. She carried herself with an air of superiority, her gaze sharp, cold, and—more than anything—filled with contempt. A contempt Levi could barely understand but somehow reciprocated on instinct.

"Come here, this instant."

Maeve, still clinging to Levi as if he were her last lifeline, buried her tear-streaked face against his chest in fear.

Levi wasn't holding her back, but he wasn’t pushing her away either. A part of him reasoned it wasn’t his place to interfere with another’s parenting. Another part—something older, instinctual—bristled at the fear in the little girl’s eyes.

"Mae," the woman’s voice dropped lower, dangerously even, though the authority in it never wavered. "Do not make me come over there."

Levi remained in his crouch, though he wished he weren’t. Not because she intimidated him and neither was it that his height was towering—far from it—but because he wasn’t about to be ordered around like a misbehaving child.

She turned her glare on him. "You got what you came for. Don’t touch my daughter, and get out."

His voice was calm, but firm. “I’m married to your daughter.”

He let the words sink in. He knew the comment was about Maeve, but he wanted to remind her why he was here. “And you’re living in this house thanks to that. So next time, have the decency to receive me at the front door. And maybe bring a tea set."

The silence that followed felt like a battlefield.

The woman clenched her jaw, her pride clearly wounded. Levi, on the other hand, was holding back the urge to tell her a few things that would make the situation irreparable.

Eventually, the little girl loosened her grip just slightly, uncertainty still clouding her face, but her wobbly legs found the floor again. She pouted up at Levi. "Y/N...?"

Levi blinked. The words were mumbled and choked between sobs, but he caught enough of them to piece together what she meant.

“You draw too? Like your sister?” he asked.

The little girl nodded hesitantly.

He exhaled and adjusted the box under his arm. "Why don’t you give your drawings to your grandmother? She has my address. I bet Y/N will love them."

The idea seemed to ease something in her little mind. Her expression brightened just slightly—a wobbly, tear-stained smile forming.

"Okay..."

Then, as if remembering something urgent, she gasped and reached for the box. Levi lowered it just enough for her to hold it against her tiny chest, where she planted an exaggerated kiss on the top.

“Bye-bye, Clauwy,” she sniffled, waving at the wooden crate as if the cat inside could see her.

She then stepped back, allowing a nearby servant—who was no doubt assigned to escort her away without much fuss—to gently guide her down the hall.

With only adults left in the room, the woman stepped closer, lowering her voice to a venomous whisper. "Do not drag my daughters into this."

Levi barely batted an eye as he stood, shifting the box under his arm. He spat back, just as low, "Then don’t bring your daughter into this."

—

By the time they were making their way down the cobblestone streets, Hange finally broke the silence with a drawl of pure sarcasm. "Your in-laws adore you."

Levi scoffed, adjusting his grip on the box. "They fucking should. They’re out of jail thanks to me."

Hange hummed, amused. "Ahh, the foundation of every strong family bond."

They walked in silence for a few moments before Hange, who had been keeping an eye on the cargo, squinted. "Uh… Levi?"

"What?" Levi barely glanced at them.

"The box is leaking something."

Levi stopped dead in his tracks. "What."

His head snapped down, and sure enough, a suspiciously watery liquid was seeping through the bottom of the wooden crate. With a sharp sigh, he lifted it slightly, peering through the holes.

Inside, a pair of terrified cat eyes stared back at him—so wide, so frozen in fear, that it was almost comical.

Levi’s nose wrinkled. "Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Hange took a cautious step back. "Is that—?"

"The damn thing pissed itself." Levi scowled, glaring at the cat. "Tch. It’s gonna be fine, you idiot. Don’t shit yourself too."

Hange let out an obnoxious cackle. "That’s it! Use your daddy skills on the cat!"

Levi shot them a deadly glare. "Who do you think I am? Erwin?"

That only made Hange laugh harder.

—

Perhaps the unconscious side of his mind knew better than he did—it could foretell a prophecy and a future, much like some mystical oracle. At first, Levi wondered why he was wasting the precious little time he had left for sleep on dreaming pointless memories. But as soon as he recovered a bit of consciousness, he felt something heavy and warm on top of him. Blinking rapidly, trying to knock some sense into himself, the first thing that greeted him was a huge fur ball sprawled out like a bum on his chest, purring loudly.

It was one of those rare occasions when Levi had decided he needed to sleep more than just two or three hours, rather than curling over his desk or slumping in his chair. The migraine he suffered, the particular sluggish state of the previous day, and his lingering intoxication all signaled that this was one of those times when he needed to try for a normal night’s sleep. Usually he would use his bed, but his bed was, as usual, occupied by the new member of the household. So he rearranged one of the couch cushions, changed his uniform, and called it a day—even though “calling it a day” for him meant staring at the ceiling for a good couple of hours. On other occasions, he might have masturbated and taken a warm shower to help induce sleepiness; however, Y/N wanted to shower after him. The thought of him jerking off on a couch whose cover he couldn’t change, right next to the room where she slept, wasn’t very arousing.

The brownish-grey short blanket that barely covered his hips—originally meant for expeditions—hung loosely over him as he felt that the night was too warm for his taste. Moreover, the big animal on top of him served as a living pillow, radiating an inviting warmth that mingled with the humid air.

“Tch,” Levi cursed as he abruptly woke up. “You’re supposed to be sleeping with your owner, not me.”

But the cat, as if interpreting any suggestion from Levi as a personal challenge, stretched upward—making Levi grimace as though suddenly the animal weighs 500 tons, its teeny tiny paws seeming to carry an impossible burden. Then it knocked its head against Levi’s face and curled up even closer.

“No,” Levi groaned, only for the cat to start licking his face with its paper-thin, sandpapery tongue. “For fuck’s sake, not with the tongue you use to clean your ass,” he barked, moving his head away in disgust. If falling asleep was already a struggle with a huge fur ball curled around his head purring like a machine, it wasn’t going to become any easier.

The paper-thin white curtains waged a constant battle against the early morning sun. For the past month, the weather had undergone an unstoppable change—the temperatures rising even at night. The chimney, where she had once warmed herself on the night she arrived, had been cleaned and relegated to a storage space where, on occasion, a small fire was kindled to boil water for Levi’s late-night tea. The bedroom, which had seemed foreign to her on the first night, had now been completely conquered, making it hard to sleep past a certain hour. Each day, the sun filtered in a little earlier, illuminating the entire space with a relentless glow.

Restlessly contorting on the bed, she tried to tug the blanket over her head to escape the scorching early summer sun. But it did little to help—not only were Levi’s blankets short and itchy, but breathing beneath the cover was unbearably warm. The fact that Levi had never noticed the curtains didn’t actually cover anything betrayed either his hectic early schedule or the fact that he rarely slept in that room. Waking up hungry was the first thing she noticed, and that realization motivated her to leave the bed.

Usually, she enjoyed the morning—though Levi hardly considered anything past 8 a.m. as truly morning. Even after living there for an entire month, the place still didn’t feel like hers, especially when Levi was around. Sharing the four walls with him made her feel self-conscious, as if she were merely a guest staying over for a short visit, forced to display her best behavior and wear her finest clothes. It made her wonder if this was something that couples eventually got used to. When he left, she was usually asleep; when he returned, she was already dressed, her hair done, and presentable. Perhaps it was because her mother had always maintained a polished appearance around the house, or maybe it was due to the lack of true intimacy in their relationship—but when he wasn’t around, she felt as though the place belonged entirely to her.

Without giving a second thought, she crawled out of the bed and opened the bedroom door. That small act already struck her as odd, making her frown. Levi had never closed the door when she was inside, and neither did she; for her, it still felt like a loss of control over her personal space. There was little time to rationalize this sentiment, however, as a squeak of surprise mixed with delight echoed through the chambers.

“Aww! Good morning, sleepy beauty!”

Y/N stood frozen as she locked eyes with the brunette seated at Levi’s desk. Instantly, she tried to wrap her arms around herself—her whitish, slightly translucent camisole leaving little to the imagination, and she feared the worst. But before she could even reconsider enclosing herself back in the bedroom, Hange rose and walked over to her. “I’ve been meaning to finally meet you!” the newcomer exclaimed.

The hug was unexpected but a welcome surprise. It took her a little while to process it before she hugged back, delighted to receive such a clear expression of affection. Only to add to the surprise, Hange swayed slightly to the side, tightening the embrace and eliciting a sincere chuckle from the omega girl. For her, the random stranger who had been enjoying breakfast with her newly proclaimed husband was a delightful presence. As for Levi, he could see—through his deadpan expression—how Hange savored the aroma of her hair, smirking cheekily as if the low-class alpha had just won some trivial inner competition.

When they parted, Hange rested their hands on her upper arms. “You can call me Hange—I’m Levi’s bestie, even if shortie denies it.”

“Ah,” she said, smiling in a slightly confused yet relieved manner, as if her life were slowly returning to normal. Now she could go out; she had met the important people in her husband’s life. What should have been the usual “Nice to—” was cut short when Hange added, “I’m also the commander, but don’t take it too seriously,” as if it were nothing. The remark immediately silenced any response she might have offered, forcing her to press her lips together in shock and blush heavily as she looked down at her pajamas and bare feet.

“I’m so sorry,” she hesitated, but Hange laughed it off.

“Do not worry, you look great!” they insisted. “I swear, you’re a beauty—a cutie and a beauty.” The comment made her blush even more, especially when Hange pinched one of her cheeks. “Right, Levi, isn’t she a cutie?”

‘That was absolutely unnecessary and uncalled for,’ Levi thought immediately, trying not to choke on the tea he was drinking at the unexpected turn of conversation. He coughed a bit as the liquid reacted to the shock; he had not paid attention until now that his so-called best friend had decided to put him in the spotlight. His eyes silently conveyed his inner exclamation of “What the fuck, dude? That was UNNECESSARY,” but Hange maintained a sassy, unaffected grimace.

Almost breathless, Levi groaned a bit, “Yeah,” as if the words had been forced out of him at gunpoint rather than being genuine. Or so it seemed to her. Y/N admired the scene first with thankfulness and hope, then with confusion, and finally with a resigned sense of broken hope. ‘He truly can’t even stand me,’ she thought.

For Levi, the cough that had erupted initially was forced out, stretching his moment of embarrassment before he resumed drinking his tea to hide his subtle blush. He wasn’t one to give compliments—not because he didn’t feel them, but because he wasn’t good with them. Being thrust into the spotlight and forced to offer a compliment only revealed his best: a feigned indifference.

Hange, who thought it was a good occasion to coax the Captain into a sweet gesture, had left the room heavy with uneasiness. “Let’s have breakfast, shall we?” the brunette said, placing a hand behind Y/N’s back and gently guiding her toward the desk. But she refused.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother during a meeting, sir,” she explained, already resolving that from now on she would check before opening the door. Perhaps, now that she wasn’t enclosed, Levi could return to his usual routine of holding meetings at his place—or so she guessed, for since her arrival, neither of them had ever experienced a normal routine.

“It’s Hange,” they insisted, “and we’re not having a meeting—we’re just having breakfast. Well… more like eating your cookies, but sure.”

That slowly convinced her to follow them further into the room, although there wasn’t much further to go since the space was rather small.

“Her cookies?” Levi asked casually. “I pay for those.”

“If that’s the case, they’re my cookies—I pay the salary that you use to pay for the cookies,” Hange retorted sarcastically as they sat down.

“I thought you said you didn’t choose salaries. Give me a fucking raise then.”

Levi exhaled sharply through his nose as he leaned back in his chair, watching Hange shamelessly steal another cookie from the tin. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more—the way Hange ate with no remorse or the fact that he had been roped into this conversation in the first place.  

Y/N, still blushing from the earlier interaction, carefully sat down at the table. She reached for a slice of bread, but her mind was already elsewhere—on the trip ahead.  

“Eat quickly,” Levi told her, tone clipped. “We’re leaving for Trost soon. I was about to wake you up, anyway.”  

Y/N blinked in surprise. “Oh. This early?”  

Levi took a sip of his tea.’God… I don’t actually believe in you but… bless me patience,’

Hange chuckled. “You’re acting like we’re on some mission, Levi. Trost isn’t going anywhere.”  

Levi shot them a tired glare ‘Whose side are you?’ He silently asked as if he needed someone to back him up for once since his life had been turned upside down. Then he turned back to Y/N. “So eat and get ready. We need to leave soon.”  

Y/N nodded, already thinking ahead. She had never been to Trost before, but she knew it was much livelier than their usual surroundings—filled with markets, shops, and well-dressed people going about their daily lives. For the first time in a long while, she would be in a real city, not just cooped up in Levi’s quarters or wandering the military compound.  

Excitement fluttered in her chest. “I’ll be quick. I just need to get dressed.” She silently clapped her hands in quite excitement “I’ll wear that floral dress I’ve been saving,”

As she spoke, Levi could almost see and hear everything that was about to unfold before his eyes in the middle of the city. “What’s wrong with your usual dresses?”

She frowned. “I want to wear something nice for the trip.”  

His expression didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened slightly. “There’s no need for that. Just wear something simple.”  

“But—”  

“It’s better if we don’t draw attention.”  

Her excitement flickered, her shoulders tensing. “We’re going to a city, not sneaking around like criminals.”  

Levi had a bad habit of keeping things to himself and making little to no effort to explain the reasons behind his decisions. This habit made her bite her inner cheek in annoyance; he simply ordered around as if they were following a strict chain of command rather than working together on this arrangement. “Exactly. A city means more people, more eyes, and more chances for someone to be an issue. You already stand out enough as it is. There's no need to make it worse.”

Y/N stiffened. She wasn’t sure what annoyed her more—the implication that she was some sort of problem or the fact that he was, yet again, making decisions for her. “I just want to look nice.”  

“You already are,” he said. In his mind, he was protecting her—for her, he was controlling every step she took as if she were a toddler. “I don’t want to deal with people staring at us.”

‘First the room, then his squad, now this. Who are you hiding me from?’ Her mind began to construct ideas, though many were based on little more than a shaky foundation. She felt like a prisoner of his relentless attempts to keep her undercover.

Her fingers curled into her lap. “So what? I’m supposed to walk around looking dull just because you don’t want to be bothered?”  

“Not dull,” he corrected. “Just —

Y/N huffed, frustration bubbling in her chest. She wanted to argue—to snap back that she didn’t need him controlling what she wore. At the same time, she wanted her space to be respected. ‘Like it or not, I’m your wife! Give me ONE chance to feel like I’m not a prisoner,’ she thought. But before she could say anything, Hange clapped their hands together, breaking the tension.

“Well! I say we leave a little later then,” Hange announced cheerfully. “No need to rush. Let her get ready how she wants. She’ll look gorgeous no matter what, right?” They shot Levi a pointed look.  

Levi exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly not pleased and not in the mood to argue further. He just grunted in response.

‘Don't listen to me—I was born yesterday. In fact, I'm stupid,’ Levi thought, for him the outcome was as clear as possible. ‘Don't come back pouting at me when you realize I was damn right.’

Y/N turned to Hange, eyebrows raised. “Wait… you’re coming?”  

Hange tilted their head. “Of course I am! What, did you think you and Levi were just going on a little honeymoon getaway?” They wiggled their eyebrows playfully before taking another bite of a cookie.  

Y/N felt her face heat up again. “No, I just—”  

“We’re going for business,” Hange reminded her with a smirk. “In case you forgot, there’s a whole reason behind this trip, and it’s not sightseeing.”  

Her lips parted slightly in realization. Right. Of course. Business. Glancing at Levi as waiting for some guidance. He didn’t look at her, just continued drinking his tea as if the whole argument hadn’t happened.

Y/N hurried excitedly into the room, and as soon as she was out of the chambers, Hange bent over the desk to whisper to the Captain, “Don’t be so constipated—let her have this.”

Levi clenched his teeth. The day before yesterday’s little tantrum about going to Trost, and now this. He wasn’t one to take being disrespected in his decisions lightly. “I know what I’m doing,” he whispered back, his tone biting with each word.

“And what are you doing?” the commander retorted, raising a single eyebrow with a grimace of confusion mixed with exasperation. “Being a bitch?”

Like a tired mother who might exclaim, “I’d like to see all of you the day I die!” Levi raised his hands in the air, pressed his lips together, and stood up—silently declaring that he was going to wait and see, wait and see how right he was.

“By the way,” Hange added with their mouth full, “I preferred it when she didn’t stink to you.”

“Could you try not to hit on my wife for five fucking minutes?” he said, exhausted, only to win a cheeky chuckle from the brunette.

He was ready—ready a long while ago. A casual white shirt, dark trousers, knee-high boots, sleeves rolled up. Deep breath in, deep breath out. His grey eyes stared at the abyss before he loudly exclaimed, “I’m leaving in THREE, TWO—”

”I’M READY!” Y/N adjusted the wide-brimmed hat over her head, making sure it sat just right before stepping out of the bathroom. The sunflower dress she had chosen was light and airy, perfect for the warm weather, and the soft fabric swayed gently around her knees as she moved. She felt… nice. Presentable. Even a little excited.

Levi was already at the door, checking the lock one last time to make sure the cat wouldn’t escape while they were gone. His back was turned to her, but she still lifted her chin slightly, expecting something. A comment, maybe. Not a compliment—he was terrible at those—but at least some acknowledgment.

Levi turned around, his eyes flicking over her in a quick assessment.

And that was when it hit him. ‘Great. Just fucking great. She looks freaking cute, and I’m forced to have sharper senses than when I was trying not to get killed by that monkey’s rocks.’

The damn dress, the stupid hat, the way the sunlight hit her just right—he could already feel the stares they were bound to attract. He could almost hear Hange’s teasing and see the way people would gape. And worst of all, he knew she was waiting for a reaction. He wasn’t stupid; he could see in her expectant eyes that she was standing up straight, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze innocent yet hopeful. Or perhaps he was a little stupid, because when cornered to say something nice, his best option was to play dead and freeze like a possum.

“Finally,” he muttered, turning back to the lock as if her entire effort had gone unnoticed.

Y/N’s shoulders dropped slightly, her excitement dimming at his lack of response. ‘That’s it?’ Her disappointment was so clear as she pouted while he pushed open the door, stepping outside without even sparing her a second glance. She bent down to press a kiss on the cat’s head and whispered, “Love ya, baby.”

By the time she followed him out, he was already locking the office behind them, the keys jingling as he secured every bolt.

“You should wear different shoes,” he said without looking up.

Y/N glanced down at her feet. The shoes in question were a delicate pair of heeled sandals, the only ones that really matched her outfit. “They’re fine,” she argued.

“It’s a long trip,” he countered. “You’re gonna regret it.”

She huffed. “I’ll be fine.”

Levi shot her a look, unimpressed. He could already picture it—halfway through the day, she’d be complaining about sore feet, and he’d be the one stuck dealing with it. But if she wanted to be stubborn about it, fine. He wasn’t going to argue over a pair of shoes.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered, stepping down onto the corridor.

They barely made it a few steps before a group of cadets passed by, chatting among themselves. One of them, recognizing Y/N, perked up immediately.

“Good morning, ma’am!” a young soldier greeted with a bright smile. Then they performed the military salute, moving stiffly with the sides of their boots clacking against each other in the process. “Sir,”

Y/N, caught off guard but pleased, smiled back just as enthusiastically. “Oh! Good morning!”

The cadets all nodded in respect before continuing on their way, but Y/N’s cheerful response seemed to echo in Levi’s ears like a goddamn church bell.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing his temple as he walked beside her. “Tch. You don’t have to greet every damn person you see.”

She shot him a side glance, amused. “They greeted me first. Should I have ignored them?”

“Yes.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

Levi didn’t answer. He just kept walking, already dreading how long this trip was going to feel.

At the front doors of the barracks, a group of cadets waited with varying degrees of patience. Jean paced back and forth, arms crossed, his brows furrowed as he glanced toward the office.

"What the hell is taking them so long?" he grumbled.

Mikasa, standing beside him with her usual deadpan expression, shrugged slightly. "Maybe she got lost in the corridors," she suggested.

"Lost?" Jean snorted. "It’s a damn building, not a maze."

"She’s new here?" Armin pointed out as if it was obvious, adjusting his collar.

Jean hesitated before scoffing. "Well, yes, but—"

"There you go," Mikasa cut in.

Before Jean could argue, Sasha suddenly clapped her hands together, her eyes practically sparkling. "Guys, focus," she whispered excitedly. "This is a golden opportunity!"

Jean, Connie, and Sasha all exchanged knowing looks, their grins spreading mischievously.

Eren, standing a little behind them, narrowed his eyes. "What’s a golden opportunity?"

Connie immediately pulled him into a huddle, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Armin and Mikasa were dragged in next, forming a tight circle like a football team plotting their next big play.

Jean took the lead, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Alright, listen up. Captain Levi is well-known in Trost."

"No kidding," Armin muttered.

"Shh!" Jean hushed him. "The point is, he's famous, but he never—never—pays attention to street vendors, food stalls, or anything fun."

Sasha gasped dramatically. "A tragedy, truly."

"But!" Jean continued, raising a finger. "The people of Trost will definitely be eager to pamper his new wife." He leaned in closer, voice dripping with excitement. "Which means—"

"Free food!" Sasha finished, eyes gleaming.

"Free stuff," Connie corrected, practically bouncing on his feet. "I bet we could score more than just food."

"Like what? Socks?" Eren asked, raising a skeptical brow.

"Yes, Eren, socks," Connie said, rolling his eyes. "And maybe some new boots, a hat, a nice bottle of whiskey—who knows?"

Jean nodded. "All we gotta do is make sure Y/N walks near the best vendors and looks interested. The rest will handle itself."

Sasha pumped her fist. "We need to make her look hungry! I can do that!"

"You are always hungry," Mikasa pointed out flatly.

Sasha beamed. "Exactly! I’ll be her coach!"

Armin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is ridiculous."

"No, this is genius," Connie corrected. "Think about it! Levi would never let us go around sampling food like tourists, but if it’s for his wife?" He smirked. "He’d look like a jerk if he stopped it."

Eren groaned. "I can’t believe I’m listening to this."

Jean smirked, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "That’s because you know it’s a solid plan."

Armin exhaled, shaking his head. "You do realize there’s a possibility Levi will find out and murder us all, right?"

A brief silence followed.

Then Sasha shrugged. "Worth it."

Jean clapped his hands together. "Alright, team! Stick to the plan. Act natural, but not too natural."

Connie pointed dramatically toward the office. "Operation 'Use the Captain’s Wife to Score Free Stuff' is a go!"

And with that, the squad dispersed, their grins full of anticipation as they awaited Y/N’s arrival.

“Y/N!” The enthusiastic cheer of her name echoed down the training ground, momentarily confusing her, but she quickly adapted. Her happiness for the day immediately matched that of the cadets as she hurried up to meet them.

“Hi, sweeties,” she called out, rushing forward to hug the squad members—except for Eren, who remained distant despite her approach. “Good morning,” she added warmly.

Meanwhile, Levi stayed behind, slowly approaching the weathered wooden cart they were about to take. He made no haste to join the others, instead raising a silent eyebrow at the suspicious attitude that seemed to hang in the air. However, Hange reached the cart first and whispered to the team, “Way less, guys, way less.” It was as if the six teenagers and the commander shared one single brain cell, all arriving at the same conclusion for the trip, their plan guided by the voice of experience.

“The cat isn’t coming?” Mikasa asked, her tone almost disappointed. That question made Y/N’s eyes sparkle with a newfound idea; her mouth opened as she looked back at Levi, but before she could even say anything, he interjected firmly:

“Do not even dream of it.”

Pouting immediately as her expression changed, she retorted, “I didn’t say anything!”

“The answer is still no,”

“Why are we taking the cart? We’d go ten times faster on horseback,” Eren pointed out, sparking a domino effect as the rest of the squad immediately jumped in with similar complaints.

“Yeah, why not just ride?”

“It’d be way quicker.”

“Are we seriously taking the slowest option?”

Y/N hesitated, shifting on her feet as the sudden attention made her stomach twist. “I… I don’t know how to ride,” she admitted, her voice quiet, shame creeping in as she noticed how the squad tried—really tried—to force understanding smiles.

“I—I could ride with you,” Jean blurted, his excitement so obvious it practically scented the air.

Levi, who had been silent up until now, slowly turned to give him a long, deadpan stare. No words. No expression. Just the weight of his gaze pressing down like a boulder.

Jean visibly deflated. “Or… maybe not,” he muttered, clearing his throat as he quickly took it back, feeling the unspoken threat in the older Alpha’s presence.

The ride to Trost was, thankfully, uneventful. The cart rumbled over uneven stone paths, the steady clatter of hooves filling the otherwise quiet morning. The cadets, in contrast, were anything but quiet. They chatted excitedly, cracking jokes and speculating about what they would do once they arrived. Y/N soaked up the energy, enjoying their excitement, though Levi, sitting beside her with arms crossed, remained as unimpressed as ever.

By the time they reached the outskirts of Trost, the sun was already climbing high, casting long shadows over the busy streets. The closer they got to the heart of the city, the more people crowded the roads, bustling about their business. Levi pulled the cart to a stop near the entrance to the inner district, hopping off with practiced ease before turning to the group.

“We’ll be meeting back here before sundown,” he announced, his sharp gaze sweeping over the cadets. “That gives you plenty of time to do whatever it is you want. You’re old enough to manage that much.”

Jean pumped a fist into the air, grinning. “Hell yeah, free roam.”

Armin sighed dramatically. “This is a mistake. they are not responsible enough for this.”

“Don’t worry, Armin, I’ll supervise,” Connie smirked. But Armin glanced back at the other beta, his brows knitting together, unable to hide the fact that his words had been anything but reassuring.

Levi, ignoring them, turned to Y/N. “You stick to me.”

The words hit her like a slap. She blinked, stunned for a second, then frowned deeply. “What?”

He didn’t even spare her a glance as he tightened the straps on his gear. “You heard me.”

But to his surprise, the cadets follow him closely behind. “What?”

But to his surprise, the cadets followed closely behind. Too closely.

“What?” Levi’s narrowed gaze flicked back at them.

“Oh, we just—” Sasha stuttered, visibly scrambling for a decent excuse. “We want to spend time with you, Cap!”

Hange did a full-face palm, exhaling loudly. As if anything would have been more convincing than that.

“Aye, aye, we’re all headed in the same direction, so let’s stick together,” the commander cut in, plastering on a way-too-obviously fake cheerful smile as they pushed the cadets forward.

Y/N, on the other hand, stood frozen for a moment, feeling irritation simmer under her skin. They got to wander freely, but she had to stick by his side like a lost child? “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath as she stomped after him.

Levi didn’t react. He didn’t have to. 

As the not-so-happy couple grumbled their way ahead, the rest of the squad lagged a few steps behind. Hange leaned in with a low murmur. “You guys are horrible at this.”

Connie protested, puffing out his chest—only for Hange to ruffle his hair like an annoying older sibling. “Are you any better?”

The brunette grinned triumphantly, looking more like a mischievous cadet than the highest-ranking in the Corps. “Me? Levi’s influence has been funding my trips for the past six years.”

The squad collectively blinked at them before Jean muttered, “Respect.”

But as they made their way deeper into Trost, her frustration was quickly overtaken by something else.

The city was buzzing with life, vendors calling out their wares, children weaving between adults, and chatter filling the air. Yet as soon as Levi stepped onto the main road, the atmosphere subtly shifted.

People noticed him.

Heads turned, whispers spread like wildfire, and before long, the greetings started.

“Captain Levi!”

“It’s really him!”

“Good morning, sir!”

Men straightened their postures, women gasped in admiration, and children pointed in awe. A few brave ones even ran up to him, eyes shining.

Levi, as usual, barely reacted. He nodded when necessary, offered the occasional “Hello,” 

At first, Y/N found it amusing—fascinating, even. Seeing him get this much admiration, this much respect, was unlike anything she’d experienced before. But then, she started noticing something else.

They were looking at her too.

Not with admiration.

With confusion.

Some whispered amongst themselves, glancing her way before quickly turning back. A few openly stared. Her nose wrinkled slightly as she caught faint traces of scent lingering in the air—mostly Betas, but here and there, a few Omegas and Alphas stood out. Most of them weren’t high-bred, but every so often, a stronger scent cut through the rest, sharp and unmistakable.

Y/N slowed her steps, unease creeping up her spine. Her gaze flickered toward Sasha and Mikasa, their simple, practical outfits blending easily into the crowd. Then she glanced down at herself—her soft, feminine dress, the ring on her finger, the way the fabric swayed with every step. Finally, her eyes shifted back to the citizens.

The Omegas whispered behind cupped hands, sneaking glances at her before looking away with knowing expressions. The Alphas, on the other hand, looked perplexed—some furrowing their brows, others tilting their heads slightly as if trying to solve a puzzle. A few even smiled at her, their interest apparent.

Y/N suddenly felt as though she could hear every unspoken thought in the air around her.

"Married but unclaimed? What’s wrong with her?"

The realization settled in her stomach like a stone. She wasn’t just being stared at—she was being judged. Scrutinized. Questioned.

The overwhelming urge to disappear struck her like a slap. If she could just melt into the cadets, slip unnoticed into their little group, maybe she’d escape the weight of all those eyes. But it was too late for that. She’d wanted to stand out. Now she was paying for it.

Without thinking, she scooted closer to Levi, her fingers twitching at her sides. She hesitated, then glanced up at him with uncertain, almost pleading eyes.

Levi, however, didn’t need to say a single word. The look he shot her—deadpan, unimpressed, and laced with I told you so—was louder than any scolding could ever be.

Author note: Hi, how are all of you doing? Did you miss me? Haha! I actually have, like... a million things to share, so first things first. I know this chapter is a little dull, BUT the real chapter is 16k words—and believe it or not, NOBODY reads a chapter that’s over 6k. My years in fandom have taught me that TikTok has murdered attention spans, and nobody reads a fic over 6k on Tumblr (AO3 is a different story). Now, since I cross-post here, it would be weird to post the full 16k chapter on AO3 but not here. So, this Wednesday, I’ll post the second part, which, in my opinion, is the BEST part of the chapter. But well... Now, onto other news. A lot of people have been asking me, "Only 15 chapters? The story won’t wrap up that quickly!" The 15 chapters were just an estimate based on what I wanted each chapter to include. Then, I realized they kept surpassing 6k, so I had to cut them into parts, which naturally led to more chapters. So don’t worry—this story STILL has plenty of chapters planned! Now, about last Wednesday—I didn’t update as planned. Why? Well, here come the biggest news! Some of you may already know that I’m from Argentina. I’ve been working toward moving because the situation in my home country (and town) is really tricky, and I want to be in a better position to help my mom and family. Last Friday, I had my visa interview, and I was so anxious and stressed about it that I simply didn’t have time to post. I was double-checking all my papers, preparing for the interview questions, planning my trip to the capital city, etc. Good news? 🎉 THIS GIRL IS MOVING TO AUSTRIA, GUYS!! 🎉 I GOT MY VISA! T-T More updates! After being asked so many times (T-T), I finally opened my first Discord server! It’s for Levi fans, and the rules are over on Discord. If anyone wants to join, feel free! ❤️ We’re still a small group, and I’m trying to keep it tight-knit. (I also share story spoilers there—just saying 👀👉👈) -> https://discord.gg/VnGXsKbC LAST—but definitely not least! I have one art commission slot left! If anyone wants it, feel free to ask. 😊 Love you all! I swear I’ve been reading all your comments, and they’re honestly what’s been giving me strength lately. My life is so chaotic right now, but knowing you’re all enjoying my fics means the world. Also—I was recently mentioned on TikTok about my fics and T-T OMG, it feels like a dream come true! Okay, okay, I’ll stop rambling now. Love ya, guys! ❤️

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[box953]

i agree so much he has zero sense of personal identity he only considers himself a vessel to continue decima so interesting HE RDIDNT CARE THEY WERE GOING TO LEAVE HIM TO DIE!!!!! all he cared about was that his work would be continued and they were probably definitely lying about that and he never got to find out

Dooont even get me started man (lighthearted) that shit makes me evil. Genuinely one of the nails in the coffin of Hilbert being the most interesting character to me was that he just didn’t fucking. Care if he died. So long as he knew his work was being continued. I wrote a whole post going insane about it actually. He doesn’t care!!! He doesn’t!!!!! What is wrong with him!!!!! And then you realize that his work wasn’t even going to do what he wanted it to do if it made it back to earth anyways because cutter was just going to use it to mega death bomb the entire earth as a threat to the aliens. Okay!!!!!!

[ooooo-mcyt]

To expand on how Lizzie is sacrificial lamb coded to me:

To me it's about how violence against Lizzie is often impersonal, removed from her, for the benefit of someone else, or for some symbolic gain. The sacrificial lamb, killed for meat or ritually to purify.

For starters, all four of Lizzie's deaths in Last Life.

Her first death immediately reads as very ritualistic. Lured into the dark by Joel to satisfy the curse infecting him. Joel fails to collect the reward from it, but when his axe can't finish the job, the universe itself deals that final blow via the zombie, clean and wrapped up with the death of the sacrifice, even if no benefit is gained from it.

Her next two deaths can be seen as a continuation of the previous, even if it happens later on in the series. Joel once again targets her to satiate the curse, and this time he does manage to finish the job with his axe. It only takes one shot, and is done silently, a quick slaughter she has no time to react to or fight. Next she's killed by Jimmy, the only difference being that he uses a pit of lava to burn her instead of using an axe.

And then Lizzie's final death in Last Life, which may be the most obvious example within the season. Lizzie is killed by Bdubs as part of a test. It has nothing to do with her (not that any of her deaths really did), her death was performed entirely for Bdubs' absolution. To purify him of the distrust the greens had in him. Lizzie had no room to fight, no way to see it coming- there was nothing she could do, because it had nothing to do with her. She was just the sacrifice to fulfill the deal Bdubs made.

It's not just her death's either. Look at the burning of the fairy fort. Of course, she wasn't the only target of this act, nor was she innocent. But the point still stands. BigB killed Cleo, not Lizzie, and yet it was Lizzie's forest that burned to ash under the cleansing flames of retribution (this is especially applicable if you consider how cleo and lizzie's alliance was built partially on fear in the first place, how lizzie felt like prey under cleo's gaze, how cleo threatened lizzie with cleansing fire within their first conversations on the server)

You see as well in Secret Life, how impersonal her deaths were.

Nudged down a slide and shot at the bottom, killed in one hit. Struck out of nowhere with little reason while invisible. And finally thrown off a ledge while trying to complete someone else's task.

Her final death is particularly noteworthy for how it interacts with the Canary Curse. The moment Lizzie died for the final time, it was the completion of a ritual, it was the freedom of the canary. Instead of being mourned, Lizzie's death was celebrated by Jimmy and those who wanted him freed. Lizzie's death was not about her at all, but rather an act of freedom for another person, which Lizzie was symbolically sacrificed to facilitate.

After death, Lizzie was used for the benefit of others as well. Her home was raided, her items used for the survival of others, and later on her body (*or at least, something representing her body) was dug up to be traded for an advantage by the man who would go on to win the season.

Then finally you have Wild Life.

First, Lizzie is killed by Skizz. By his own admission, it had nothing to do with Lizzie. She wasn't the point, it just as well could have been a literal sacrificial animal. Skizz simply needed a life, so Lizzie was killed quickly and impersonally. It was the same with Lizzie's next death to a creeper, also placed by Skizz. A few episodes later, she's killed by Jimmy for time, and, while this was something she agreed to (for once), it was still a clear example of Lizzie acting as a sacrifice. Later in that same episode she falls into a trap placed by BigB, not personally laid by her, but once again, impersonally, for anyone.

And then for her final death in Wild Life, Lizzie was collateral damage. A necessary casualty in Grian's grudge against Jimmy. Grian doesn't even address Lizzie directly, speaking only to Jimmy before killing them both, as if Lizzie wasn't even present, as if her death didn't mean a thing. It's fascinating as well that, for this death, not only did it have nothing to do with Lizzie, and not only did she have no chance to fight it or see it coming (as with all her final deaths), but Lizzie was also, literally, voiceless (because of trivia bot robot voice) in this scene.

So yeah. You could say I'm pretty Normal about Lizzie.

[theemporium]

[5.6k] an attack in the winter break leaves max reeling as he tries to cope with a new and furrier version of himself. the world seems to think mad max is returning to them but your presence says otherwise.

[find other fright night specials here]

.

It had been a completely normal day when Max Verstappen had his whole life changed. 

Or as normal as it could be on a cold, wet January day in England during the winter break.

The run up to the season had been weighing down on everyone’s shoulders, last minute tweaks and changes and updates being made in hopes of making a car that will continue to dominate the grid. The factory has been busy, day in and day out. With less than a month until the car launch, it felt like everyone was working themselves to the bone to get the car ready. 

Max was no different. Though, it was less about data sheets and car parts for him, and more about practising on the sim until he was beating the previous laps he set. He liked having feedback to give to the team, he liked feeling like he was contributing to the early mornings and late nights. He liked feeling useful to the team. 

He ignored most of GP’s warnings about running himself down on the late nights, waving the older man off with a smile and a promise he wouldn’t stay much later. And it was partially true, he didn’t stay too late. 

No later than you did. 

Because if there was someone equally as determined and dead-set on giving this car everything they had like he was, it was you. 

It had become a routine between the two of you on those late nights where you were the only ones left in the factory. Max would finish up at the sim, make his way towards your office on the other side of the factory where he would walk you to your car, chatting your ear off about anything other than engineering and cars and data to help get your mind off work. Even if it was for a few short minutes. 

There were some days where the two of you would sit in one of your cars for a bit, to just talk. Other days, one of you was too tired to drag the night out further. It varied but it all fit the norm.

Just like that day. 

The flickering street lights accompanied you both as you made your way towards the car park, with Max nodding and laughing along to some story you had been telling him about one of the other engineers. At first, he thought he had imagined the growl—one of those instances that could be brushed off with wind and bushes and the darkness around them that made everything look a bit scarier. 

But then he heard it again. And he saw a flash in his peripheral vision. And next thing he knew, a large beast appeared out of thin air and was heading straight towards you and Max’s body reacted with pure instinct and quick reflexes to shove you out of the way before the beast tackled him to the floor. 

It was a blur after that. 

Hot, searing pain exploding through his body. Blood roaring in his ears. His heart pounding so fast in his chest. The white dots blurring his vision as he tried to turn his head away from the beast. The glimpses of fear and horror on your face before his vision had gone black. 

The biggest concern at that moment was whether or not Max would be okay. If he would be able to compete at the start of the season. If he would be able to continue at all. If the public would somehow find out and expose the story before Red Bull could even prepare a statement. 

The beast was the last thing on either one of your mind’s that night.

But when Max woke up the next morning, completely unscathed with only his bloody, ripped clothes as a reminder of the previous night. The two of you knew there was more to that beast than a normal animal attack, that you were dealing with something beyond your imagination. 

Max Verstappen didn’t expect to go into the next season worrying how in loving fuck he was going to balance being a Formula One driver and being a werewolf. 

Despite what critics and idiots behind a phone screen like to think, Formula One was a very physically taxing sport. Max had spent the better part of his whole life giving his body to training and endurance so he could compete at the level he does. Most athletes are more in tune to their bodies and their wants and needs than the average person, and Max was one of them. He knew his body. He knew his limits. He knew strengths. He knew his weaknesses. 

That knowledge was completely useless when he became a werewolf. 

One attempt at a workout and a dented metal bar later told Max that this whole werewolf thing came with a lot more setbacks than he realised. He understood pretty quickly that this wasn’t something he wanted to get out to the general public. He didn’t know how it would be perceived—hell, he wasn’t even sure how he perceived it. 

But someone had to know. He couldn’t hide it for the rest of the season. 

In the end, a few select people in his team knew about his lycanthropy and they worked together to keep it hidden from everyone else. 

It was a mindfuck working with Rupert to sort out a whole new workout plan, to evaluate his newfound strength and other abilities, to learn his body all over again at the age of twenty-seven. It was weird having to explain to GP, a man who he considered his brother, that he was no longer the man he was before the winter break—that he was hardly a man at all, anymore. It was fucking weird having to look you in the eye and see the conflict of emotions on your face whenever you saw him, whenever you replayed the way he saved you from the same beast that created him. 

It was fucking weird. 

But he could learn. Resilience and perseverance were two traits Max learnt at a very young age. He didn’t give his whole life to this sport just to throw it away because of his newfound—and unwanted—lifestyle. He refused to let it ruin more than it had. He was a werewolf but that didn’t mean he was going to give everything else up. He would deal with his lycanthropy like he did with other problems in his life—privately and out of the spotlight. 

He just failed to realise that something could risk that privacy. 

And he failed to realise it would be his own short temper that could possibly expose him. 

…

Preseason testing taught the team a lot about the car. 

Yet, all Max was learning was that the car was shit, the media were nosy and his patience was nonexistent with every human interaction he had outside of the team garage. He could feel his skin prickle whenever a camera was pointed at him or a microphone was shoved in front of him or his name was called out. 

He thought the glare on his face would be enough to keep people away but it was wishful thinking. He was the reigning world champion and he was driving, what was seeming to be, a hopeless car. It was a journalist’s wet dream.

“Your eyes.”

Max clenched his jaw, ripping the balaclava over his head. “I’m not glaring.” 

“Not that,” GP hissed, trying to pull Max to the side, away from the cameras peering into the garage. “Your eyes.” 

Max huffed. “Stop talking in fucking riddles, mate.” 

“They are yellow,” GP whispered frantically. “Like your—“

“Fuck,” Max groaned, snapping his eyes shut as he let out a deep breath. “Fuck, what? Why? It’s not a full moon. It shouldn’t—”

“There’s a lot that shouldn’t happen with you that does,” GP pointed out, feeling the glare from Max behind his closed eyelids. “We need to get you out of here.” 

“They will see,” Max replied. 

“Put your helmet on.” 

“Yeah,” Max snorted. “Because that won’t be fucking obvious.” 

GP sighed. “Well—”

“What’s happening?” 

Despite not being able to see you, Max still turned his head towards you, almost instinctively. He could feel your hand on his arm, warm and comforting and—

“His eyes look like glow sticks,” GP muttered. 

“So he says,” Max bit back, because he was annoyed and pissed off and GP was the easiest target. 

“He’s trying to help,” you scolded lightly, your thumb swiping back and forth, almost passively like you didn’t realise what you were doing. “Let me see.” 

GP straightened. “That’s risky—”

“Let me see.” 

Max let out a shaky breath, slowly blinking his eyes open until you came into focus.

“Blue,” you said with a soft, reassuring smile. “They are blue now.” 

Max’s shoulders dropped with relief. 

“Get him back to his driver’s room before it happens again,” GP murmured. 

Max bristled, a looming realisation that he was essentially being grounded by his race engineer making his skin feel prickly. But he couldn’t disagree, it was already a close call with his eyes flashing in the garage. He didn’t need the cameras catching it either. 

“If anyone asks, we will say Helmut lost his mind and made you wear contacts whilst you drive,” you teased, keeping your hand on his arm as you waited for him to grab his things. 

Max huffed out a laugh. “I’m sure he will like that.”

“You’ll protect me,” you grinned back at him. 

And yeah, Max would. 

…

The next close call happened after the season had started. 

The car had been improved since the shit show that was the preseason testing weekend, but it wasn’t all that great either. Max knew it was a process, knew the team were reaching the point of getting the car to a truly competitive and dominant state. It just took time and he just needed to be patient. 

But patience wasn’t something Max had a lot of these days. 

All in all, a podium wasn’t bad with the state of the car currently. However, Max knew that the media would be ready to push back, to insist the reigning world champion should be on the top step and not the third, that he should have all the answers to his own failures. 

He could feel it. 

He could feel the shift in his gums as his canines pushed through, pushed against the confinement of his helmet. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He could hear the crowd booing over the blood roaring in his ears. He felt like the whole world had been dialled up to a hundred the second he stepped out the car after pulling up behind the number three sign. 

He could feel it. 

He could feel the way his team reached out for him. He could feel their hands patting his back like it didn’t make his whole body tense. He could feel their hands patting his helmet like it didn’t make his head feel like it was spinning. He could feel their hands reaching to hold his neck, to bring him closer, to suffocate him more. 

He could feel it. He could feel it. He could—-

“Another trophy to add to the shelf?”

Max’s head snapped around to see you on the other side of the barrier, headset still around your neck and a smile on your face that made the third place feel a little less pathetic. 

“Probably hidden in the back,” Max managed to mutter out, somewhat muffled by his helmet and the chaos around you both.

“Surprised you have enough space,” you joked, teasing and lighthearted and so distracting that Max almost didn’t feel the way your hand covered his gloved hands, the way your thumb swiped over the tips of his fingers. 

He hadn’t even noticed his claws retracting, hadn’t even noticed them ripping through the material of the gloves in the first place. 

“Oh,” was all he could say.

“I’ll take care of it,” you assured him, not risking any more with so many people and cameras and microphones. “Go enjoy the podium.” 

“You’re gonna stay here?” Max asked, something in his chest twisting at the idea you would have to run off back to the garage, to the screens and data sheets and computers and away from him.

“I always do.” 

…

It took a few months into the season before a race weekend aligned with a full moon. 

Truthfully, it hadn’t even been a risk that Max considered which, in hindsight, was probably pretty stupid. It should have been one of the first things on his mind the second he realised what he was. It should have been a top priority after his first full moon, somewhere in late January—a night full of pain and discomfort, an experience Max didn’t want to repeat but knew he would have to. 

Ignorance was bliss and all that jazz. 

Yet, it was the Canadian Grand Prix where Max found himself battling more than just the championship that weekend.

He was lucky enough that it wasn’t a night race but that didn’t change the fact he was snappy all weekend, more so than usual. He was irritant and annoyed and perpetually fighting the growing pain through the weekend as it got closer to the full moon on Sunday night. 

GP asked if it was safe for him to even race in this state.

Max, honest to god, snapped his teeth at the older man in response. 

It was tense and suffocating in the Red Bull garage.

No one seemed to question Max’s awful mood any more than it was expected. A few people poked and prodded but the gritted, sharpy responses they received in response was enough to make most people back off. It was being played off as jet lag, a bad quali session and a grid penalty that didn’t feel all that deserved. 

Max was adamant he could race and deal with the full moon. He wasn’t going to let it ruin his career, the sport that he loved and adored and had given his life to. He wasn’t going to let it get the better of him, even if that meant just being snappier than usual to the media. 

And despite GP and Rupert’s concerns, Max was coping well. 

Until lap 57 happened. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH HIM?!” 

“Max, stay calm.”

“I’M FUCKING LAPPING HIM! IS HE FUCKING STUPID?” 

“Max,” GP tried again but his voice was a muffled buzzing in his ears, hardly coherent over the anger and adrenaline and rage rushing through him. His body was acting on muscle memory alone as his car dragged on, as it crawled into the pits before he rushed back out. 

He refused to listen to GP telling him to retire the car. 

He refused to let that fucker in the Alpine think he could fuck his race and get away with it.

He refused—

“He’s growling,” GP hissed, hand covering the microphone and his voice dropping as he leaned over to where you sat on the pit wall beside him. His lips barely moved, not with the way the cameras were laser-focused on him and his reaction to Max disobeying the orders that were broadcasted to everyone watching.

“Fuck,” you muttered, pulling your headset off and reaching for his. “Hand it over.” 

GP frowned. “I don’t think this is going to work—”

“Trust me,” you insisted. 

Conflicting emotions swirled in his eyes before he ripped his headset off, muttering something under his breath before he handed it to you. 

“—FUCKING DICKHEAD JUST—”

“Max?” 

There were a few moments of silence and, for a brief moment, you wondered if the connection had cut. You wondered if he had somehow disconnected the radio from his side, you almost turned to ask GP if it was possible to do before you heard his heavy breathing. 

“I know you’re upset,” you continued, taking the chance and hoping he was listening. “It was a bad move. But you’re a good driver, a great one even. You can save this race. I know you can. Focus on the racing, not the rest.” 

Your words were careful and precise, painfully aware that the radio messages were probably being broadcasted. You knew whatever you said would be picked apart by the media and public, dissected under a microscope. But despite your caution, your only focus was making sure Max was okay. 

“Breathe and win,” you said, your eyes watching the racing feed on the screen in front of you. “I know you can.” 

It was completely silent beyond the sounds of the car until—

“I can. I will.”

You bit back your smile. “Good. I want to see you on the top step, Verstappen.” 

He did, in fact, go on to win the race. The celebration with the team was postponed as he spent the night in aggravating, uncomfortable pain—alone, suffering, excruciating. He refused to let any of you stay with him, to see him in that state, just like he did every full moon since the attack. 

But he still won and that was something nobody could take away from him. 

...

Despite his success in Canada, it was clear the outbursts and frequent accidental exposures of his wolf were becoming a problem. 

It was something he needed to get better at controlling if he wanted to continue the way he was, if he wanted to keep his lycanthropy away from the greedy hands of the journalists. This was his life now, it was something he had to accept and learn and grow with. 

It was just a little hard to do when he didn’t know how.

“This is stupid.” 

Rupert sighed, ignoring the glare Max was currently staring into the side of his head as he continued to hook the heart monitor onto him. “It is no different to when we do this for your training.” 

“Except this time you are purposefully pissing me off instead of torturing me,” Max bit back.

“We want to help,” GP corrected, leaning against the wall opposite of him. “You need to learn how to control the wolf side of you.” 

Max scoffed. “Maybe people should stop being stupid then.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” GP snorted before getting a nod of confirmation from Rupert that they were ready to go. “Okay. We are going to start easy, alright?” 

Max nodded. 

GP glanced down at the laptop in front of Rupert that had Max’s current heart rate showing before looking back at the driver. “Following the incident with Pierre Gasly in the Canadian Grand Prix, do you think you should be more careful when lapping cars?” 

Max let out a noise of disagreement. “What the fuck? Why should I be careful? It’s not my fault he is slow!” 

“I’m sure the PR team will love that response,” GP deadpanned, watching as Max’s heart rate started to speed up. “The stewards deemed it a racing incident.” 

“And the stewards are fucking stupid,” Max snapped back. “I was lapping him. I had priority. Everyone knows that. It’s their job to know that too.” 

The heart rate continued to increase and GP could have sworn he saw a flash of yellow in Max’s eyes.

“Max, control it,” Rupert reminded him.

“I’m trying,” he gritted out.

“They are going to keep poking, Max,” GP continued. “They did it before and they will do it again. They will push and push and push until they get the reaction they want, the one that fits their agenda.” 

Max growled in response. 

“I know you’ve seen it already,” GP said, listening to the beeps of the heart monitor get faster and faster. “Mad Max is back. He is unpredictable. Unhinged. That’s the story they want and that’s the one you are giving them.” 

Max’s breaths were getting heavier. “They don’t know—”

“Exactly, they don’t know,” GP pointed out. “And we don’t want them to know so you have to learn how to control it before you wolf out on them. Before you let them win.” 

His eyes were bright and glowing and yellow, a flash of sharp teeth under his curling lip as he growled and snarled and—

“I’m here! I’m here! Sorry, I’m late, I was getting coffee. Did we start yet?” 

It was like a flip had switched. 

GP and Rupert watched the scene in front of them like it happened in slow motion. The way Max seemed to perk up at the sound of your voice. The way the glowing eyes and sharp teeth seemed to slowly morph back to the Max they knew. The way the rage and anger and frustration was nowhere to be seen by the time you walked into the room, a tray of coffee and a bag of pastries in each hand. 

You stood there, watching the three of them stare at you with mixed expressions. “What? What did I miss?”

“Interesting,” GP commented. “Very, very interesting.” 

…

“You like her.” 

Max let out a string of curse words, almost knocking the mugs of hot water over before he put the kettle down and turned to face his race engineer with wide eyes. Heightened senses aside, he didn’t hear GP sneaking into the kitchen. Or even realise he had been watching Max mutter away to himself for the last five minutes.

“Fucking hell, mate,” Max grumbled, placing a hand on his chest. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“And don’t change the topic,” GP retorted with a knowing look. “You like her, don’t you?”

Max hated the way he could feel the tips of his ears start to burn. “Like who?” 

GP raised his brows in response. 

Max deflated, his shoulders dropping. “Look, I know what you’re going to say—”

“I think she’s good for you,” GP interrupted.

Max blinked. “Okay, maybe I didn’t know what you were going to say.” 

“She’s your anchor,” GP noted, his lips twitching upwards. “I had my suspicions but today confirmed it.”

“Anchor?” Max repeated with a frown. “Mate, is that not a news thing? She’s an engineer—”

“No, I—” GP let out a deep sigh, muttering something under his breath. “God give me strength. I mean that she helps ground you, helps you differentiate Human Max and Wolf Max.”

“Oh,” was all Max managed to mutter out.

“She’s good for you,” GP repeated with a soft smile. “And she understands you. Maybe if you tell her, we can work something out and—”

“No.” 

He frowned. “No?” 

“No,” Max repeated, blunt as ever. “I’m not telling her anything and neither will you.” 

GP’s frown deepened. “Max—”

“No, you don’t get it. She…” The boy trailed off, swallowing harshly as he tried to voice his thoughts. “You didn’t see what happened that night.” 

“Max—”

“I saved her,” Max stated. “I saved her and she’s only here because she probably feels guilty. I…I don’t want to tell her and make her feel like she has to feel the same because I almost died or something.” 

“You liked her before,” GP pointed out. “Is it so hard to believe that maybe she felt the same? That she cared about you way before you jumped in front of a werewolf for her?” 

Max clenched his jaw. “Drop it. I’m not telling her and neither are you.” 

GP sighed but he knew it was pointless to fight the stubborn boy over it.

“And she doesn’t find out about this anchor nonsense,” Max added, turning around and busying himself with the mugs on the counter. “We’ll find another way.” 

…

GP’s words about you being his anchor rung on a loop inside his head as the next race weekend approached. 

The Spanish Grand Prix was always quite a hectic one on the schedule. The fans were wild and passionate. There was usually more of a buzz around the world championship by this point, an insight into a real fight after nine races. And it brought back good memories, wanted memories of his first ever race win.

It was a reminder why he was here, why he kept coming back every weekend. He wanted to race and he wanted to win and he wanted to be successful. He wasn’t going to let the lycanthropy stop him. 

And even if he would never admit it, GP was right. 

You were his anchor, you calmed the angry, rapid wolf inside him. It was like everything he felt around you when he was human was amplified. He felt seen, accepted. You took him for how he was, not how you wanted or expected him to be. 

You saw Max—not the racing driver or the face of F1’s current dominance. 

You just saw him. 

It was hard to feel anything but relaxed and calm around you, to know that his words weren’t going to be overanalysed or thrown back in his face.

“You ready for this race?” 

Max gripped his helmet a little tighter, fighting the urge to lean back against your touch as he felt your palm between his shoulder blades. He turned to look at you, smiling a little at the clear concern on your face. Like you were prepared to find a way to postpone the whole race if he said no.

“The car’s been good all weekend,” Max replied, biting back his laugh when you rolled your eyes.

“I wasn’t talking about the car,” you grumbled, scoffing. “Obviously the car is good. I was working on it.”

He beamed. “I’m good. Promise.” 

“You gonna win?” 

“For you? Always.” 

Max took deep satisfaction in the way your heart skipped a beat at his words. 

“I’ll be happy whatever you end up,” you told him earnestly, your hand squeezing his shoulder and he had the oddest urge to keep your hand there, to place his own over yours.

Max swallowed harshly. “But you deserve a podium so that’s what I’m gonna get you.” 

You laughed, the sound easing something in his chest. “You’re cute when you’re cocky.”

He barely got a chance to process your response as you headed towards the pitwall, prepared for the race ahead and leaving the boy glued to his spot, blushing like mad.

For what it’s worth, he did win the race. 

…

Things were going smoothly until the British Grand Prix.

Max had been able to keep the wolf inside him subdued and relaxed through the first two races of the triple header. He was racing well, he was being polite to the media, he was acting like the Max before the accident. 

And despite his history and previous experiences at Silverstone and the ever loyal British fans, he didn’t think things would be all that different this year. He would maybe get booed, maybe have a few more probing questions. But nothing more than that.

Nothing quite like this.

It was Friday when it happened. 

Max thought the worst of the weekend—media day—had been put behind him. He was ready to get back in the car, he was ready to make the triple header a three-for-three and win Silverstone. He was ready for a somewhat normal race weekend, one where the focus would be on the five Brits on the grid rather than him (especially with it being Ollie’s rookie season).

Sometimes, he forgot just how passionate fans could be. He forgot just how insane they could be too.

The whole thing felt like it happened in slow motion.

He was a few steps behind you and GP and Rupert, taking a moment to sign merch and take pictures with fans who had been waiting for hours. He assumed the group of you had made your way into the paddock, already heading towards the Red Bull motorhome. 

He hadn’t expected for the hair on the back of his neck to stand up, to feel his whole body react before his brain had. His head whipped around at the exact moment he saw the crazed fan reaching towards you. His body was moving as he watched the scene unfold, as they reached for the collar of your shirt and pulled, as their lips moved to mutter something about Red Bull and whatever nonsense they thought justified their attack. 

And before anyone could even react, Max was already shoving himself between you and the fan and ripping their hand away from you. He could feel his heart pounding, his body shaking, the telltale pain in his gums of his canines begging to push through. He could feel himself lose control as the anger and fear of seeing you hurt took over him. 

“Back. The. Fuck. Off.” 

The fan’s eyes widened, something quite like surprise and terror written across their face as they staggered back. Max had half the mind to wonder if his eyes were glowing yellow, if his face was starting to transform, if the crazed fan was starting to see the monster Max truly was.

“Max.” 

An honest to god growl escaped his lips until he felt warm hands wrapping around his biceps, until he felt someone pulling his body away from the fan and away from the crowd. 

“We need to get him out of here.” 

It felt like he had blacked out. One moment he was staring at the crazy fan, contemplating letting his wolf take over, to give into the anger and rage coursing through him. And the next he was in his driver room, his name being called on repeat and warm hands cupping his face as he slowly blinked back into reality.

“There he is,” you smiled, your voice a soft whisper as you kneeled in front of him.

“I–” Max started but he couldn’t get his words out. He couldn’t say what he wanted to say, not with his heart still pounding, not with the wolf inside him howling and whining and begging to check that you weren’t hurt.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you repeated like you could see inside his head, like you could hear the panic in his wolf’s howl. “Max, look at me. I promise I’m okay. You stopped anything from happening.” 

He tried to take a deep breath but it was staggered and wheezy. 

“I’m okay,” you continued to repeat, dropping one hand from his face to take his hand in yours and intertwine your fingers together. 

Max’s eyes flashed yellow once more before he clenched them shut, urging himself to calm down, to relax, to control his wolf again. And after weeks of being on top of his lycanthropy, it felt a bit pathetic that he sat there for god-knows how long, not trusting himself to lift his head and look at you until he felt human again.

“M’sorry,” he managed to rasp out.

“Don’t apologise,” you murmured, quick to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Please never apologise for being you.” 

Max let out a bitter laugh. “That wasn’t me—”

“Max,” you started but he shook his head.

“Did anyone see?” 

You took a few moments before responding. “No. Other than the fan but I don’t think they really knew what was happening. I don’t think any of the camera angles caught it either but GP is making sure the media team are ahead of that.” 

“Good,” he managed to mutter, swallowing harshly. “We don’t need anyone else seeing what a monster I am.” 

“Max,” and the way you said his name sounded absolutely broken. “You’re not a monster.”

His lips twitched upwards, almost self-deprecatingly. “You don’t have to lie—” 

“I’m not lying,” you said, a little more insistent this time as you lifted his head up to meet your gaze. “You’re not a monster, Max.” 

His chest tightened. “You’re just saying that because I saved you.” 

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m saying that because it’s what I truly believe. You are the furthest thing from a monster I have ever met.” 

Max could feel his voice waver as he spoke. “Not anymore. What I am now is—”

“Beautiful,” you whispered, smiling softly as your thumb swiped over the apple of his cheek. “Just as you’ve always been. Just as I’ve always thought you were.”

Max couldn’t quite find the words to respond.

“You saved me. And despite having every right to blame me for what you are now, what you’re having to suffer through every full moon, you don’t,” you continued. “Where most people would give up, you fought back. You took your life back. You’ve made it work, Max. Do you realise how fucking brilliant you are? You had to learn your whole body again and you’re still winning races like nothing changed.” 

Max let out a shaky breath. “I’d do it again.” 

“What?” 

“Even knowing what happened, knowing what was going to happen to me,” Max spoke, keeping his eyes on you, keeping his ears focused on your heartbeat. “I would push you out the way. I would jump in front of that wolf all over again.” 

Max wasn’t sure how you would respond but he hadn’t expected you to grab his face in your hands and kiss him. The tight feeling in his chest melted away the second he felt your lips on his, the second he was able to get his hands on you and pull you closer. He would’ve been embarrassed at the pleased rumble in his chest if it weren’t for the fact he was too happy to care. 

“I’ll make you see how beautiful that ‘monster’ in you really is,” you whispered against his lips, your nose lightly nudging against his. “No matter how long it takes.” 

Max was sure that he still had a long way to go and a lot more to learn before he could ever say he felt fully normal again. But the idea of facing the road ahead with you by his side felt easier than tackling it alone. 

He may still be Mad Max to everyone else but he was just Max to you. 

And if he was being honest, the opinion of his anchor was the only one he really cared about.

.

[bosbas]

Chapter 11: tell me I've got it wrong somehow

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 4.3k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, small part of the dialogue in French, idiots in love!!, mentions of violence (nothing too graphic), mentions of blood

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

A/N: FINALLY. except not really. oops!

June 30, 1816 – If last night’s ball was any indication, it seems Lady Y/N has lost interest in finding a husband this season. More than a few whispers indicate that the Montclairs will journey to Spain to find better prospects for their youngest daughter. Let this be a call to action to the eligible bachelors of the ton so that they might consider being more… enticing suitors for our beloved Y/N. All this, of course, is to ensure that the Montclairs do not flee to the Spanish sun at the conclusion of the season. If nothing else, the Montclairs must stay so we can avoid losing Lady Y/N’s much-needed sense of style.

Colin stared in disbelief at Lady Whistledown’s column, letting it fall from his hands as he leaned back in his bed. If you were going to Spain at the end of the season anyway, why was he still here? He’d much rather be as far away as possible from anything that even remotely reminded him of you. 

Unfortunately, Daphne had given him some sort of misguided hope that staying in England would magically make you like him. Or perhaps make you hate him a little less. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that this was not the case. 

He wasn’t exactly sure what had changed from one day to the next, but you could barely look at him now. After your promenade, Colin thought you’d finally put your differences aside, and he could, at some level, be grateful to Lord Barlow for that, even if the man had acted completely indecently. 

But the truce didn’t last. 

Just three days ago, he’d run into you on the way to your father’s study to discuss pearl diving, and his heart had nearly skipped a beat when he saw you. You looked beautiful as ever, of course, and he was just staring at you dumbly, wanting to take in as much of you as possible.

You’d been humming as you walked down the hallway, smiling softly to yourself as you passed by a particularly large flower arrangement you had most likely received from a suitor. At that moment, Colin was sure that if you ever looked at him like that he would never recover.

Colin had tried to call out to you. Maybe if you were out of sight of the rest of the ton, you’d be more willing to speak with him. But the words had died in his throat as you had looked up and spotted him, just staring at you, across the room. 

Your eyes had widened, and your demeanor had instantly changed. A switch from serene to shaken so sudden that Colin had barely had time to react before you had clutched your skirts and ducked into the nearest room.

And though Colin had traveled halfway across the globe largely on his own, he had never felt so far from someone. 

Even now, in his room, away from Montclair House, he couldn’t help the deep shame that washed over him as he recalled how immediately you had rushed to get away from him. And Colin still had no idea why.

That was the worst part of it all. If he only knew what the problem was, he’d fix it. He’d do anything to be with you. Colin had had more than his fair share of escapades during his time abroad, but nothing even came close to the feeling he got when he was around you. The only person he’d known to dislike him. It was a cruel twist of fate, and he’d think it was funny if he didn’t physically ache with the need to be near you.

The irony of the situation was not lost on Colin. The more he was consumed by you, the more you pulled away. He’d been doing his best to avoid social functions for this very reason, but he feared he would not be able to do the same tonight. 

“Colin?” called Violet, peeking her head through his door. “Is everything alright? You look a bit…”

“I’m fine,” insisted Colin, wiping his slightly damp eyes and sniffing as he sat up.

“Anthony and Kate are hosting a ball tonight,” said Violet carefully. Colin’s recent absence from balls had not escaped her notice, but as much as she felt for her obviously lovesick son, he was not excused from familial duties. 

“Yes, I’m aware.”

“And you will be in attendance.”

Colin groaned. “Must I really be there? It’s one ball!”

“Actually, it’s been something like fifteen balls,” Violet shot back, unimpressed. “And I have graciously allowed you to be absent from them, but you will not miss your brother’s ball. You are still a Bridgerton. We do not miss family events.”

 Sensing he didn’t quite have a choice, Colin sighed, “Very well, then. Could I at least continue sulking before we go?”

Violet laughed softly and gave her son a sympathetic smile. “It’s not a bad thing, you know. Being in love. Even if it’s a complicated situation such as this one.”

“I’m not in love!” lied Colin. “It’s just… I don’t know. It’s not love.”

Violet raised her eyebrows pointedly but said nothing, closing the door quietly as she left her son’s room. 

Once he was alone again, Colin let out a frustrated groan and rubbed his temples. You would more than likely be in attendance tonight, and he needed to prevent what had happened in your hallway from happening again. He didn’t think he could bear having you practically sprinting away from him as soon as you saw him again.

Colin would simply have to stay out of sight of you. It was the only way he could stay at the ball. He didn’t ever want to look into your eyes and see the disdain and hurt that he saw three days ago. So, he decided he would be a wallflower tonight. Anything to keep you from seeing him. He would need to exercise a gargantuan amount of self-control to stay away from you when being near was the one thing he wanted, but the pained look in your eyes that haunted his sleep was enough to keep him in check.

---

Viscount Bridgerton’s ball was proving to be a supremely amusing affair. Your mother had decided that Louis should start looking for a wife, never mind that he was only two-and-twenty, and you were thoroughly enjoying watching how he was passed around from eligible lady to eligible lady. 

After nearly an hour of dancing and politely chatting, your brother finally stumbled over to where you were standing. Of course, you couldn’t help but snicker as he muttered something or other about needing a drink. 

“Tais-toi,” muttered Louis, crossing his arms over his chest as he crossed his breath (Shut up). “Maman veut aussi que tu danses avec quelqu'un” (Mother also wants you to dance with someone).

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Vraiment?” (Really?).

“Oui, c'est un autre duc,” Louis nodded and smiled evilly, gesturing toward where your mother was speaking to someone who looked to be at least Philippe’s age, if not older (Yes, it’s another duke). 

“Non, mais je peux pas,” you whined (No, but I can’t). You thought your mother had given up on finding you a husband for this season, but you supposed she couldn’t help herself if it was a duke. Even if he were a prince, you were not so sure that you would want to speak with him. 

Nigel Berbrooke and Lord Barlow, and you supposed Colin Bridgerton, too, had significantly dampened your excitement for the season. At this point, you were just looking forward to going to Paris for a few months once the season was officially over and trying to find a husband again in Spain next year.

But you didn’t even want to think about that. It felt like you were preparing for a prison sentence. One last year of traveling before you were limited to the confines of your future husband’s home with no escape other than your own mind. It was a chilling thought, and you were trying your hardest to avoid thinking about it. However, having your mother chatting you up to a duke was complicating that a bit.

Standing beside you, Louis was feeling quite annoyed after one grueling evening of speaking to unmarried ladies and their mamas. However, he knew that you had experienced about fifty times that many. So, taking pity on you, he leaned down and whispered, “Va dans le jardin, vite. Avant qu'elle ne revienne” (Go to the gardens, quick. Before she comes back).

Your eyes looked to the open doors leading to the gardens, and you decided the slightly nippy air was worth it if you could escape your mother and the unnamed duke. There were enough people outside that there was no risk of being caught in a compromising position, but it was far away enough from the ballroom that you knew your mother wouldn’t be able to find you immediately. 

Flashing your brother a grateful smile and squeezing his arm, you practically ran toward the exit, wanting to get away as soon as possible. Once you were outside, you maneuvered yourself so you were hidden behind a fairly large plant, but still had a view of the ballroom through the window. 

As Louis had predicted, your mother had come back to where you had been standing, duke in tow. She gave Louis a questioning look when she didn’t see you, and he simply shrugged, pointing to the other side of the ballroom. You sighed in relief, silently thanking your brother and promising to stop being quite so irritating toward him.

“Y/N?” you heard a voice say behind you. 

Your stomach dropped. You turned around slowly, growing nervous as Lord Barlow came into your line of vision. 

“Lord Barlow,” you said, feigning politeness in an attempt to avoid a scene. Your last interaction with him had not gone so smoothly, and you were afraid of what he would do now.

“So it is you,” said Arthur Barlow, his face contorting into an ugly sneer. He had never sounded so chilling when you were courting him, but you supposed at that time you hadn’t done yet anything to make him act so abrasive.

You cleared your throat nervously, looking around to see who else was nearby. But it seemed that everyone was too intrigued by this confrontation to put a stop to it. You internally cursed the duke for showing up at the exact moment that you wanted to be inconspicuous, but you smiled politely anyway. 

“I hope you’re doing well,” you said awkwardly, not quite sure what else to say. 

It seemed like the right thing at the moment, seeing as how no one, not even Lady Whistledown, knew what he’d been doing since he proposed to you. However, Barlow’s quickly narrowing eyes clued you in to the fact that it had actually been the exact wrong thing to say. 

“You hope I’ve been doing well? You hope? I’m sure you do, Lady Montclair,” he said sarcastically, fury evident in his voice. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to learn that the Barringtons are positively drowning in debt. Sorry, were drowning in debt, since I had to pay off all of their debts once I was forced to marry into the family. And now I’m in financial ruin, all thanks to you. You, Y/N, have brought on the downfall of the Duke of Monmouth.”

You would be lying if you said you weren’t the least bit pleased that things had turned out poorly for Arthur Barlow. But more than satisfaction, all you felt was indignation as you looked at the pathetic man in front of you. 

“I believe it was your decision alone to go outside the night of the Bridgerton ball, Lord Barlow,” you said, trying to sound as biting as possible. “It is a shame that your hubris has ruined your dukedom, but kindly leave me out of it.”

Barlow’s frown deepened and his eyes narrowed further, if that was even possible, as he practically shook out of barely contained anger. 

“You harlot!” he screamed at you, raising his hand and reaching out to you. 

“Barlow, you will cease at once!” came a commanding voice next to you. 

You turned to see Colin Bridgerton at your side, and you couldn’t help the flutter in your stomach that you felt every time you saw him. But now was not the time to get distracted by inconsequential feelings. 

“It’s alright, you don’t need to do this,” you urged Colin. “It’s not worth it. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

And surprisingly, you meant what you said. As much as you disliked Colin Bridgerton, you had no desire to see him hurt, even less so because of you. In some twisted way, you cared about this man. Far more than you cared about Lord Barlow, whom you had been ready to marry at one point in time. And more than anything it made you impossibly frustrated. 

Upon hearing Colin, Arthur scoffed and turned to face him. “I see you’re happy to be next in line for my cast-offs, Bridgerton. But let me tell you, she’s far too uptight, that one. Won’t even put out when you tell her to.”

Immediately, your spine stiffened, anticipation tingling through your nerves as you sensed the mounting tension in the air. Colin growled lowly, clenching his fists and stepping closer to Lord Barlow. Yet, just as it seemed he might strike, the duke swiftly sidestepped, causing the Bridgerton to stumble.

Your lips parted in a silent scream as you saw Lord Barlow aim his fist at Colin. You watched, as if in slow motion, how Arthur’s knuckles made contact with Colin’s nose, and you felt tears welling in your eyes as he fell to his knees, his head thrown back with the force of the duke’s punch.

“Colin!” you screamed, finally finding your voice. You could barely breathe, feeling like your heart was beating out of your chest. 

You rushed to his side, only vaguely registering that Lord Barlow was being roughly escorted out of the garden and likely out of the ball as well. Your eyes were glued to Colin, who was groaning in discomfort and bleeding profusely out of his nose. 

“Colin, are you alright?” you gasped, kneeling beside him, and clutching his arms as you choked back sobs, your heart still beating out of your chest. “You shouldn’t have done that,” you scolded, tears running down your face as you found yourself unable to be civil with him even when he was kneeling on the ground with a bloody– and most likely broken– nose. 

Colin, who was clutching his nose and groaning in pain, shot you an amused look. “Do I at least get some credit for trying to defend your honor?”

He sniffed, wiping away some of the blood with his hand, and reached for a handkerchief by his breast pocket. You were staring at him, horrified, as the blood kept streaming and he winced in pain. You had stopped sobbing now, but a steady stream of tears remained on your face as the panic mounted in you. 

“Colin, you shouldn’t have done that,” you whispered again, trying and failing to sound upset with him as you instinctively reached out to wipe some blood off his cheek. You hiccupped as you reached over, trembling slightly as you did, but his hand caught yours before it could touch his face.

He suddenly smiled wide, and you rather thought he looked a bit deranged. There was blood on his face and his hands and he looked more than a little banged up, but he was still smiling widely at you with a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“Can you say that again?” he asked, his eyes searching yours.

“Say what? That you shouldn’t have done that?” you sniffled, wanting to cross your arms over your chest in annoyance but not wanting to let go of his hand. 

“No, the part before that,” he said, smiling cheekily as he intertwined your fingers with his.

“How are you smiling after someone broke your nose?” you said, growing irritated with him but not quite letting go of his hand yet. “You could have gotten seriously hurt. That was a stupid thing to do, Colin-”

“Yes, that. Again,” he pleaded, the yearning evident on his softly smiling face as he grabbed his handkerchief with his free hand, holding it up to stop the flow of blood from his nose.

“Colin-”

“Yes, that’s it. Just say that again.”

You shot him a confused look. “Colin?” 

Is that what he wanted you to say? His name?

“Yes?” he pressed, smiling wide at you. “Can you say that again, please?”

“Again? Colin, why-”

“You hadn’t ever called me Colin before,” he said, looking at you wistfully. “I like how it sounds when you say it.”

“Oh,” you gasped softly. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Bridgerton, I forgot myself. It-”

“No, please,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t bear to have you call me Mr. Bridgerton one more time.”

You averted your gaze and bit your lip, suddenly feeling very conflicted. This was Colin Bridgerton. This was the man who had jumped at the first opportunity to compromise you once he heard you didn’t put out for Lord Barlow. You could not be on a first-name basis with him. 

“Y/N,” he said softly, cautiously. 

And suddenly you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach. Maybe you could allow yourself to be on a first-name basis with him. Maybe it felt too good to hear him say your name. Maybe you weren’t strong enough to hold him at arm’s length, and a half arm’s length would have to do. 

“Colin.”

“I didn’t give him access to that terrace, you know,” Colin spoke, a hint of indignation lacing his words. 

You nodded, lifting your gaze to meet his. “I know. I was looking for anyone to blame when Lord Barlow was the only one who wronged me. Your mother told me he forced the door open.” 

“I could never have done that to you, it would’ve been unseemly” Colin insisted, gripping your hand tighter. 

But you froze. Couldn’t he have done that to you? Based on what you knew about him, he certainly could have. But it was so difficult to parse the man who had just now defended you against Lord Barlow, who was sitting on the ground next to you and holding your hand, with the man who had wanted to continue Nigel Berbrooke’s disgusting conversation at the Danbury ball. 

Feeling you stiffen, Colin’s heart clenched. This couldn’t be happening again. What had he done wrong this time? He was here, on the ground, literally bleeding for you, and you still had something against him. 

“Please talk to me,” Colin begged, suddenly feeling very desperate to fix whatever was happening between you once and for all. “If you want me never to speak to you again, I will do that, but I must know. I must know why you hate me.”

You shifted uncomfortably, retracting your hand from Colin’s and placing it on your lap as you looked anywhere except for him. 

“I don’t hate you-” you started weakly, but he was having none of it.

“Oh, spare me. I am not a fool. You hated me from the moment you saw me in Lady Danbury’s ballroom, even before our rivalry properly began.”

You bit your lip anxiously. If you were to tell Colin why you truly disliked him, and he was to take it in bad faith, you would be finished. Colin could tell everyone that you had been unchaperoned in the presence of two men of the ton, and given his place in society, no one would hesitate to believe him. 

But it was exhausting. Hating him was far more difficult than anything you’d ever done, and you weren’t particularly eager to keep doing it. Perhaps this was the only way to let go, and trusting Colin right now would make things infinitely easier. 

You finally met his gaze, feeling his blue eyes boring into yours. There was no anger in his expression, just a look of concern, with a hint of something else you couldn’t recognize. 

Resigned, you sighed. “I saw you with Nigel Berbrooke at the Danbury ball before you even asked me to dance,” you explained. 

A look of realization came over Colin’s face, and his lips, caked in dried blood, parted to make a perfect circle. 

“Oh heavens,” he said, sounding terribly embarrassed. “I apologize that you had to see that. Honestly, I would feel worse about what happened, but he really deserved it.”

“I beg your pardon?” you said, frowning. “He really deserved what?”

Colin’s eyebrows furrowed and he sent you a questioning look. “You saw me break his nose in the gardens, right? That’s what you’re talking about? I promise I’m not usually a violent man, though I’m not particularly proving my point tonight. I apologize if I scared you off; it was not my greatest moment, but I do stand by my actions.”

“You- You broke his nose?” you said, your confusion growing as you tried to piece together what Colin was telling you.

“Well, yes. That’s why he left town for a month. His face looked something awful, and he was too embarrassed to say why. Though that won’t be a problem for me, since everyone already saw my nose get broken anyway,” he shrugged, wincing as he lightly touched his nose. “That’s what you were referring to, no?”

“Oh, dear. Oh, no,” you said, mortified as the realization dawned on you. 

“What?” he pressed. “What is it?”

“I didn’t see any of that. I heard you talking with Mr. Berbrooke in the hall. He said that you could have any girl you wanted and that you just had to look for one with a big dowry and good hips. And then you asked to continue the conversation outside. And I thought- I just thought-”

Colin’s eyes widened. “And you thought I actually wanted to continue the conversation.”

You nodded, barely able to meet his eyes because you were so embarrassed. “But I suppose you just went out to the gardens to... Oh, no. And when he came back into town, he told me the only reason you were- the only reason anyone was pursuing me was because they wanted what I wouldn’t give Lord Barlow.”

“Y/N, I would never-” Colin started, fury in his voice, but he was too mortified to continue. 

All this time, you had every right to resent him, and yet he stooped to childish antics to spite you. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t actually said those things; they were completely vile, and Colin understood that Nigel implicating him in that kind of talk would have been a glaring warning for you. 

The incessant teasing, snide remarks, and rude comments were a grave misjudgment. How could he have treated you so poorly? How could he have treated anyone so poorly, for that matter? He had presented the most unbearable side of himself, sometimes descending into cruelty, all because he felt insecure. You had a valid reason for your hatred, and his behavior was nothing but a misguided attempt to mask his own insecurities.

What a complete mess. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, resigned. 

You shook your head quickly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I-I misunderstood and let that guide my actions. The fault is all mine.”

“Except it really isn’t, is it?” he said, reaching for your hand again, desperate to have contact with you again. 

But you drew your hand back, too embarrassed that you had rushed to assume the worst so quickly. How differently the season would have gone if you hadn’t spent half the time trying to get under Colin’s skin.

“Either way, I’m so sorry,” you said, mortified as you saw just how much blood was on his face. 

Colin had been willing to put himself in harm’s way to protect you and your honor. And you had spent months thinking he was one of the men who had no respect for you. You shook your head in disbelief, chiding yourself for your headstrong ways. 

“I’m sorry, too. You had a real reason to dislike me, and I was just being childish,” Colin said, his eyes dropping to your mouth as you anxiously bit your lip. 

If he wasn’t caked in dried blood, he might have tried to kiss you right now. He knew it would probably hurt like the devil, given that his nose was most likely broken, but he would have been willing to endure that just to feel your lips on his. But he couldn’t do it. Colin could still taste the bitter metallic taste in his mouth, and he knew he was in no state to be kissing anyone.

You nodded at Colin, fixing a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of place. “Can we be friends now, then?” you asked, half-smiling. “And not just as a favor to Eloise.”   

Instantly, Colin’s heart dropped. He scolded himself for thinking you could ever consider him as a suitor. It was a well-known fact that you were looking for a titled gentleman with a large fortune. And, as a third son, he had neither of those things. 

“Yes, friends,” he smiled wide, not wanting to fracture the fragile peace he had been waiting for since the moment he met you. 

Friends was alright. Colin could do friends. He’d take anything at this point. 

But as you turned away from him to see Anthony rushing over to scold his brother for starting a fight in his home and nearly giving Kate a heart attack, Colin felt his smile falter. 

Oh heavens, he really did love you.

—

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[rafesbabygirlx]

A Lot of Time has Passed | Part 6

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Season 4 Rafe x Maybank reader

Summary: Beginning at the time jump, the Pogues seemingly succeeded at something, Rafe is struggling with making amends and being a better person. JJs sister left the island after returning from South America. Returning after 18 months with a secret.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smut (fingering, oral, p in v) brief mention of previous parental abuse (Luke vs reader) Ruthie

A few days have passed since Rafe asked you to move in with him, wanting to build a family together. You’re slowly settling into his home, but it still feels unfamiliar—a little too pristine, too luxurious. Even the refrigerator surprises you; you’ve never had one that fully worked. The light in yours at home always flickered, and the freezer had given up back when you were fifteen.

This place doesn’t feel like your home. It’s Rafe’s. You just happen to be living in it. Still, you’re happy. You have a little family now, and seeing Rafe with V brings a warmth that surprises you. He’s matured in a way you always believed he could. Even though he still carries a quiet sadness over his dad, there’s a sense of peace about him—a contentment. You feel a twinge of guilt, thinking about how Ward’s absence has released him from a shadow. Rafe is finally free of it.

He was once the guy constantly tormenting your brother, John B. and Pope, or recklessly sniffing lines off your bare skin behind the rundown shack at beach bonfires. But he was also the one who would drop everything when you’d turn up bruised and bleeding after run-ins with Luke. Even in the middle of a party. He’d insist you stay, taking care of you in ways you’d never thought he could. Now, it feels like you’re getting the version of Rafe you always dreamed about—someone who would stand by you, no matter the differences in your social circles or his friends’ opinions. Even Topper and Kelce, his closest friends, knew better than to tease you, respecting that you were off-limits. Almost everyone seemed to get it—except for one friend who never quite did.

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Today, the three of you spent the afternoon out by the pool. Rafe ordered lunch, and later, after you finally put V down for the night, hunger crept in again. But Rafe quickly learned that you’d always fuss over V before yourself when it came to eating. You’re in his massive kitchen, cleaning up, when you feel him approach from behind. His arms wrap around your waist, and he leans in, kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear. You tilt your head instinctively, giving him better access, and he smiles against your skin, savoring the invitation. Heat rises in you, and you press your thighs together, feeling your body react.

“Rafe, come on,” you say with a laugh, trying to keep your composure.

“Come on, what?” he murmurs. “You know you feel good, or you wouldn’t be…” His hand slides down, slipping past the fabric of your bikini, and finds the warmth between your thighs. “…this wet, baby.”

You shiver at the sensation, moaning as he explores.

With a teasing grin, you push him back and turn to face him. He closes the space again, trapping you between his arms braced on either side of you. “I was a little annoyed at first, but I like this,” he says, looking at you with that familiar intensity. “Now I get to see your face like this.” He brings his fingers to his mouth, savoring the taste of you. “Mmm, you’ve always been the sweetest girl.”

Before you can respond, his hand finds you again, fingers slipping between your folds, sending a pulse through you that makes you forget about everything else.

Rafe’s fingers continue their soft, circular motion on your clit, adding just the right amount of pressure. He shifts slightly, teasing your entrance, and your knees threaten to give out. In one swift motion, he catches you with a strong arm and spins you around, lifting you effortlessly onto the kitchen island, his fingers never leaving you. You brace yourself on your elbows as he slips two fingers inside, moving them slowly while his other hand continues its steady rhythm on your clit. The only sounds escaping your lips are heavy pants and soft whimpers as your head falls back.

“Oh my god, Rafe…” you gasp.

“I know you like that,” he murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction. “But how about this?” His fingers begin to pump faster, the rhythm more intense. “Lift your top, baby.” You do as he asks, and he leans over, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. The feeling is overwhelming, his hands and mouth working together, sending you into a daze. The pleasure builds, and you see nothing but white as your body gives in, your elbows buckling as you grip the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white.

Rafe drops to his knees, replacing his hand with his mouth on your clit, sucking with an intensity that makes your eyes water. His fingers quicken inside you, pressing that sweet spot deep within, and you instinctively press a hand to your stomach, trying to ease the mounting pressure.

“Rafe, I’m gonna… oh god, I’m gonna—” Your voice trembles as the sensation builds.

“Come for me, baby. Show me what a good girl you are.” His words and touch push you over the edge, and with a loud scream, you feel the release hit you in waves, leaving your body shuddering, your back arching off the cool countertop. He keeps moving, helping you ride out the full intensity of your orgasm.

When you finally open your eyes, you glance down to find Rafe grinning, his face and chest soaked. You blink, realizing you’d squirted, the intensity of it surprising you both. He chuckles, “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Who knew I’d be waiting almost two years for this?”

You laugh, reaching for a dish towel to hand him.

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“You know, I was pretty satisfied just making you feel good, but after that…” He lifts you effortlessly again, pulling you close as you wrap your legs around his waist. He strides toward the front of the house, his focus solely on you, and starts heading upstairs, only for the front door to burst open. Startled, you both turn to see Topper, Ruthie, and Kelce standing in the entryway.

“Dinner and drinks are here!” Topper calls, arms loaded with paper bags.

“Topper, shut the hell up before I smack you quiet,” Rafe snaps, glancing upstairs. “My girl’s sleeping.”

“Whoa, sorry, man. Gonna take some time to get used to ‘Rafe The Dad Cameron,’” Topper teases, unable to resist. You’re reminded, for a moment, that being with Rafe also means dealing with his friends. Kelce is easy enough to tolerate, but Topper and Ruthie—with her sly remarks and his tendency toward arrogance—are another story.

You make your way back out to the patio, balancing plates and glasses as you try to push aside the hurt simmering inside. Just as you step through the door, Ruthie’s voice rings out, her words dripping with condescension.

“So, Rafe, you’re really just slumming it with another Pogue because she baby-trapped you?” She smirks, her gaze flicking to you through the glass sliding door with a pointed arrogance, as if daring you to react. Rafe lets out an annoyed sigh, his jaw clenching, but he says nothing, leaving her comment to linger in the air. A dull ache settles in your chest at his silence; you know how his friends can be, but it still stings when no one stands up for you.

Topper, sensing the tension, whispers urgently to Ruthie, “Ruthie, shut the hell up.”

She just shrugs, undeterred. “What, Top? It makes perfect sense. Why else would she be here? So she could live like this—in Rafe’s house. She’s lucky, honestly, that he’d even allow it. She probably just tricked him with the baby. It’s the only way someone like her gets this side of the island.” She laughs, a mocking lilt in her voice.

You take a steadying breath, deciding to let her words pass, at least for tonight. You stride over to the table and drop the plates with a loud thud, watching them clatter but somehow not break. Ruthie spends the next hour weaving insults into her stories, taking every opportunity to throw casual digs at you and where you’re from. The others just ignore her, and not a single person defends you. Finally, you quietly excuse yourself, slipping back inside the house to escape.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the way Rafe’s anger is building. By the time you’ve left, it’s too late to hear him finally snap.

“Ruthie, do you ever shut the fuck up?” Rafe’s voice cuts through the chatter, low and seething.

She stares at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“I said, do you ever shut. the. fuck. up?” He leans forward, eyes locked on hers with a barely restrained fury. “You come into our home—our home—and you think you can talk down to her like that? You don’t know anything about us. We’ve got history, and you’ve been around for all of five minutes. If you think she’s with me for my money, you’re delusional. She never cared about any of that. She never sought out money from me, no matter what she was going through, ever. So why don’t you stop acting like the high-and-mighty spoiled brat you are? We all know the real reason you’re even with Topper, so don’t kid yourself.”

Ruthie’s face turns red as Rafe’s words land, her jaw dropping in shock.

Rafe stands up, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re gonna learn to respect her and my family if you ever want to come around here again. And I think it’s time for all of you to get the fuck out.”

Embarrassed, Topper grabs Ruthie by the arm, practically dragging her toward the door, with Kelce following closely behind, none of them daring to look back. They leave in silence, the house now calm again—but Rafe’s expression is anything but.

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Rafe quietly enters the bedroom, his heart sinking as he spots you curled up on your side of the bed, your body language shut off. He steps over and kneels down at the edge, his eyes searching your face, noticing the redness around your eyes and cheeks—clear signs that you’ve been crying.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft and laced with regret. “You don’t deserve that. You’re… you’re special. Now and always.” His eyes are filled with sadness, and you can tell he’s frustrated with himself, knowing he should’ve said these things with you present.

“It’s okay,” you reply, your voice steady but quiet. “What can you do? It’s just… how it is.” You pause, then reach out, cupping his face with one hand, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palm. “But… you stood up for me, and that’s all I care about.” He doesn’t realize that your sad tears had turned into happy ones hearing him yell at Ruthie.

He furrows his brows, looking at you with surprise. “You heard?”

You nod, gesturing toward the open patio door. “I heard everything. Thank you.” Sitting up, you move closer to him, cupping his face with both hands. “Please, don’t ever think I’d manipulate you like that. I love you, Rafe. I love being here with you.”

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His expression softens, and he reaches out, running his hands slowly up your thighs, his touch warm and grounding. “I’d never think that, not in a million years,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sincerity. His hands slide under the oversized shirt you borrowed from him, his palms warm against your skin as he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. He places his chest on yours drawing you in as he kisses your neck, his lips lingering.

“How about we finish what we started, huh?” he whispers, and you feel a rush of excitement as you run your nails up his back, pressing yourself against him.

With an easy strength, he lifts you, yet again, and plops you back in the middle of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He strips off his clothes as you pull his shirt off, leaving you bare and vulnerable, yet completely secure in his presence.

Rafe’s kisses trail up your legs, each one sending tingling warmth through you until he reaches the waistband of your underwear. His fingers hook onto the fabric, pulling it down with agonizing slowness, his gaze locked onto yours the whole time. Once free, he positions himself between your legs, leaning down until your lips crash together in a deep, needy kiss. As the kiss deepens, you reach down to guide him to you, breath hitching in anticipation.

“Eager, are we?” he teases, his voice a low rumble against your mouth.

“Please… I need you… now, Rafe,” you whisper, your voice barely a plea.

His eyes flash, and with a mischievous smirk, he replies, “As you wish, angel.” He thrusts into you in one swift motion, and you gasp, arching into him as the sensation overwhelms you. Unlike his usual intensity, his hips roll slowly, drawing out every pulse, every shiver, his rhythm tender and unhurried, savoring the connection.

It’s blissful, but your body craves more. “Harder, Rafe. Please,” you beg, voice breathy with need.

With a grin, he grants your request, his movements growing rougher and faster. He drives into you, hitting the perfect spot, his hips colliding against you with each thrust, his rhythm sending waves of pleasure through you. You moan, whimpers spilling from your lips as his movements intensify, his body pressing down against yours in a perfect alignment, his pelvic bone brushing deliciously over your clit with every thrust.

His hand reaches up, gently brushing the hair from your face before slipping his thumb to your lips. Instinctively, you take it into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, and he groans in satisfaction, eyes darkening as he watches you.

Rafe’s eyes are locked onto yours, his gaze intense as he watches the pleasure transform your face. “You take me so well,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I wish I never gave you up.”

You let out a soft laugh, still breathless. “Yeah, you’re really stupid for that.” He chuckles with you, the sound warm and familiar, before leaning down to capture your lips again, both of you panting softly into each other’s mouths.

“Rafe… I’m so close, I’m gonna come again,” you gasp, your body tensing as you near the edge. You clench around him, and he lets out a deep, throaty groan in response.

“Come for me, baby. I’m right behind you,” he whispers, his voice rough and low. A few more thrusts, and you unravel beneath him, the waves of pleasure crashing over you as you moan his name. He follows a moment later, his release shuddering through him as he buries himself deep inside you, his warmth filling you completely.

With a satisfied sigh, he collapses onto you, his weight comforting as he peppers gentle kisses along your cheek, lingering as if he never wants the moment to end. You cherish it not believing you’re finally at the point you quietly and secretly always wanted to be with Rafe. In just pure happiness.

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As the two of you lay tangled together on the bed, your head resting on Rafe’s chest while he brushes his fingers through your hair, he murmurs, “I know it’s a little late, but maybe we can get ready and head out for a bit.”

You look up at him, surprised. “Are we supposed to bring Vivienne along?”

He chuckles. “No, just us. I mentioned Vivienne to Topper’s cousin—she used to babysit Wheezie. I can see if she could come by and watch her for a few hours.”

You hesitate, considering what happened with Topper earlier. “I dunno, Rafe. Maybe I could call Sarah or Cleo instead?”

“Sarah? No way. Let’s just do this,” he insists. You’ve known Topper’s cousin as long as you’ve been with Rafe. She’s the one person who hung out with you at the Kook parties when the other girls looked at you like an outsider.

“Fine. Call her. I’m gonna jump in the shower.”

An hour later, Elaina arrives just as you finish getting ready. You hand her a list of everything she’ll need for Vivienne and say your goodbyes at the door. Rafe helps you into his truck, and you shoot him a look. “I’m serious, no more than two hours.”

“You got it, pretty. Just couldn’t wait to show you off.”

You head to the Island Club for drinks. Standing by a table, you watch Rafe as he orders at the bar. A blonde woman approaches him, placing a hand on his arm and leaning in closer than necessary. You can’t hear their conversation, but your brows furrow at her familiar touch.

When Rafe finally brings your drinks, the blonde is right behind him. “Y/N, this is Hollis Robinson. Hollis, this is Y/N Maybank, my girlfriend and mother of our daughter.” His words catch you off guard; he’d never called you his girlfriend before, let alone in such a grounded way.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Hollis says, smiling. “You’re lucky to have someone like Rafe.”

“I’m the lucky one, believe me.” Rafe glances at you, and you catch the subtle pride in his eyes.

Hollis, however, keeps her gaze on him, lightly touching his arm again. “Well, you two have a good night. I’ll be seeing you, Rafe—hopefully with an answer next time.” She winks and walks away.

As you exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you turn to Rafe. “So, that’s your partner, huh?”

He smirks. “What, are you jealous?”

“Should I be?”

“Of Miss Cougar?” He grins, rolling his eyes. “Maybe you should be.”

You laugh, shoving him playfully, but he pulls you back in, planting kisses on your temple.

Later, as you sit with Rafe on the dock, watching the water shimmer under the lights of the Island Club, you can’t help but feel excited for more moments like this with him. Yet, in the back of your mind, Hollis and that mysterious deal linger.

Taglist-

@maybankslover @eringaitskill @luissa266 @lolll505 @dayyzlol @calaryssia @eg-dr3amer3 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @rafestar @bigbonenative @writtenbyhollywood @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @leilanizcals

[powdermelonkeg]

Gale of Waterdeep assorted headcanons:

He has photographic memory, hence his accuracy when recreating his tower during his last night

He was born during, and named for, a particularly bad storm that smacked into Waterdeep

He's 38 years old and 5'8" (173cm)

The Scroll of True Resurrection was his magnum opus, something he intended to use to bring back someone he cared deeply for, but with the orb, he was forced to repurpose it for his death protocol

He used to go on seasonal ventures with Tara. He'd be on the hunt for magical items and new knowledge, she'd be on the hunt for beholder jerky. It's where he got the stash of artifacts he had before the orb consumed them all

Is he a sorcerer? He'll tell you no. He's a very studied, very LEARNED wizard, thank you. He was casting Fireball, a 3rd level spell, at 8 years old. Of course, he could also fly at 8 years old, because that's also a 3rd level spell. That Storm Sorcerers can fly as a bonus action after spellcasting is mere coincidence.

He and his mother greet each other with a peck on each cheek and a hug

His previous romantic ventures, before Mystra, always fell apart at his magic. He'd be grand and impress them every which way, they'd ask what else he could do and want more, and he'd launch into whole lectures about the craft. It would always peter out about then; either they always wanted him to one-up himself, or they got bored of his studies and frustrated with his focus on them. Mystra was the first that felt like true love to him because she fell into neither of these pitfalls—but the absence of expectation made him nervous and lit a fire under his ambition, because how could he ever be enough?

He has his mother's eyes and hair, but his father's smile and jawline

He knows how to deal with panic attacks, not because he himself is often subject to them, but because his magical shenanigans when he was young often sent the housekeeper into a state, and he felt bad about it. Particularly after the magma mephit incident burned a hole in the carpet. His own first panic attack was just after he got the orb; Tara sat on his lap and purred like a motor to help calm him down

The man is demi. He has to believe there's a hint of interest in him in order to start seeing the attractive parts of another. Because of that, he thinks "smash or pass" style conversations to be pointless and trite. Of course, he reads into things too much, so he might THINK there's a spark of interest in him before there actually is one and react accordingly

He gets his articulate vocabulary and speech patterns from his time in the Blackstaff Academy, his tendency for jokes and his wild gesticulation from his father, and both his proud and romantic outlook from his mother. His wonder for the world around him has always been in his heart, ever since he began playing with magic

He and his father generally got along, but they had a series of arguments when Mystra came into the picture. Well-intended, civil arguments, none that ever ended in shouting or anything; more a quiet damage of disapproval that left Gale frustrated and feeling like his family didn't understand how great an interaction like he'd earned was

His father died in a carriage accident shortly after Gale moved into his own place. Gale had been trying to make a scroll of True Resurrection to get him back, but...well...

With the orb, statistically speaking, Gale should have gone to Laeral Silverhand about his artifact problem. With his search for "elder wizards" to address his condition with when you talk to him, as well as her ability to CREATE magical artifacts, she seems the best solution. But he hasn't gone to her, nor Vajra, the current Blackstaff of Waterdeep, because he was afraid that if they learned of his condition, he'd be evicted from Waterdeep for the rest of the city's safety (to speak nothing of how much it would hurt to see their disappointment in him)

On that same note, the reason he (according to Tara) left without so much as a note was that he'd gotten an impulsive decision to go to Silverymoon and ask help of Lord Methrammar Aerasumé, Alustriel Silverhand's son. And that's why he was in Yartar when the Nautiloid attacked

On the whole "who meddled first, Mystra or Elminster" topic: Mystra was alive but severely weakened, believed dead until she revealed herself to Elminster. As her Chosen, she'd have known his whereabouts; Elminster interacted with Gale when he was 8, and that's when Mystra became acutely aware of Gale's existence and began interacting with him, BEFORE she began speaking with Elminster (hence Gale's line about "she revealed herself to me")

Same note, when Mystra first appeared to Gale, it was as a child his age. Equal parts enamored with this prodigy who held innate understanding of her Weave, and "keep your enemies close" in regards to caution around where he could lead himself unguided

Their romantic interactions began after she came back to her power in full, though. I fully believe that she paid him the time of day in that regard because she could sense his love for her through the Weave, like how he can sense your intentions during his magic lessons. It was a moment of opportunity, both to indulge herself and to weave (heh) herself further into his future

The Blackstaff Academy gave quarterstaff self defense lessons. Gale was never particularly GOOD at it, but it got him enough to get by. Between that and the various staircases in his tower are why he's built the way he is

He's confident in his appearance, but very conscious of showing too much skin; he doesn't like feeling exposed, hence his camp outfit being as conservative as it is

He can make something palatable out of just about anything, but his cooking style prioritizes flavor WAY over health. Everything is fluffy and delicious and well-seasoned, and also drowned in garlic butter and cream sauces

Despite this, he's a picky eater on his own terms. Give him shelf-stable rations, he'll find some way to make a meal out of the parts he likes, then avoid the rest. Absolutely eats all the M&Ms out of the trail mix

What he drinks depends on his setting. At the bar? Waterdeep whiskey on the rocks. Romantic setting? Arabellan dry wine. Pleasant company to chat with? Tea. Late night studies? Coffee with a stirring of cinnamon. His wedding? Neverwinter ice wine

Besides Mystra, the deities he pays most attention to are Oghma, Sune, Azuth, and Lliira. His patronage at the House of Beauty in Waterdeep is one constant that's never been shaken by his studies

Sometimes, he pretends to be dramatic in the mirror: Doth thy mirror crack? (Thanks for the research, @galedekarios!)

Fully believe Wash My Pain Away to be his personal theme song, independent of the tadpole events

Despite owning a piano, he doesn't actually play it; there's a reason he's spelled it to play songs for him

He was born in late spring, and the season is one of his favorite subjects of poetry

He has sincere potential to be the next Blackstaff: THAT entered his deck of cards when it let him wield it back at the academy

[captain039]

Part 4 The Meaning of Flowers

Viktor x reader

Bridgerton AU

Warnings: olden times, sexism, light swearing, plus size reader, older Viktor, age gap, fat shaming, sexual, smut, oral F and M receiving, innocent reader, light corruption kink, reader in her 20s, long-haired Viktor, possessive Viktor, obsessive Viktor, angst

Previous part <-

Dearest reader it indeed seems that our duke, our man of progress is still not taking to any of the ladies this social season, a shame, but our next ball of the season is to be a grand one indeed hosted by the councilman and woman Talis at their large estate, it will indeed be a flurry of sunshine and gold amongst their grand home, they are known for their grand hosting once a year in the social season, a time for glittering lady’s and dark gentlemen, a true solar eclipse.

You were never one for the golden colours, But the Talis’s colour theme held tradition in the solar eclipse ball, a strange name you always thought but now you understand it with the ladies as golden suns and the men as dark as the moon, though in theory the moon is in fact bright and white, but who are you to question the council couple. Your mama had clawed her way to receive an invitation, while your papa remained blissfully unaware of her planning and scheming, she has indeed had a list of suitors to dance with you, no doubt having paid them a pretty penny so she can save the embarrassment of her daughter not dancing at all this social season. The gentlemen picked though are the worst amongst the city, A one Elias Hoskal, a horrid man and son of the councilman Toman Hoskal who indeed was also a horrid man. You suppose you should thank her for setting you up with someone so high up in society if only it weren’t for his massive debt and lack of… anything really. Another was Lord James Levi, a much older gentleman in need of a wife who you’d like to avoid touching at all given his appearance and constant stench. The only seemingly suitable one was Lord Clayton Chives, a man from a simpler upbringing and house but also simple in his mind. You didn’t tell your mama about your dance with the duke and man of progress, not sure how she’d react you’re not sure how anyone would react, and you’re not exactly sure how to react as well. Unsure if it was a jest you’re starting to see amongst the men when seeing you. If so you’re wondering how far your image would fall if you were indeed to steal a man’s cane and hit him with it.

The Talis’s estate is massive, surrounded by lush green land and gardens, the insides even more lavish than the outside accented with their colours of golds, purples, whites and reds, an odd choice of colours but they go well together. The ballroom though, was indeed another story, going on the eclipse, with golden walls and a black ceiling, the floor a design of gold swirls on black, it was gorgeous for sure, a little overwhelming most definitely. The left side of the ball had an array of drinks and foods, half you barely recognised and a grand accent in the middle of the room of assorted gold and black flowers. You’re too in awe to notice anybody else or the insistent push/pull of your mama’s hand around your arm. You spot the council couple staring at councilwoman Mel Medarda’s dress, a gorgeous gold that hugs her body at the top and flows down into a waterfall almost flaring out on the floor, she looks like a goddess. Her husband Councilman Jayce Talis next to her in a tight black suit and golden tie and a flower in his pocket. Then you see a third the duke, your breath intakes at the sudden difference between his usual, cream and red suits, a dark black suit much like the councilman only with a golden vest instead of a tie and flower. You think your brain struggles to process the look, his eyes practically matching his vest, his lack of cane and the way he stands almost confidently on his own, his hair long and tied back even more neatly though a long stray hair dangles down over his forehead and eyes. You’re not focusing on whatever your mama is saying to the lord in front of you, too focused on the ethereal three.

Your mama snaps your name in your ear and you look to her finally focusing on the gentlemen in front of you, internally grimacing at the look of the smirk on the councilman Hoskal’s son.

“My lord” you greet and he scoffs softly.

“Shall we?” He says holding his arm out like it’s a chore, then again it is, he’s getting paid to dance with you.

“The dancing hasn’t begun my lord” you say frowning and his famous scowl appears on his face.

“Keep your damn money I’m not dancing with some loud pig” he snaps and walks away. You feel something knocked in you from the insult and your mama begins to scold you. You barely make out the words your hands shaking lightly as you look at the floor.

“Ladies” it’s like a soothing balm of accented voice. You look up to the duke almost sighing in relief at the interruption.

“My duke” Your mama quickly regains composure and smiles bowing politely to the duke.

“May I have a word with your daughter?” He asks and your mama chuckles softly and nods walking off with a glare sent your way.

“I hope you will still honour me with a dance tonight?” He tilts his head ever so slightly as your eyes stare at his golden honeyed ones.

“My mother pay you?” You blurt without thought and he frowns faltering.

“No your mother did not pay me” he says.

“Then what? A dare from your friend?” You know you’re directing your anger at him, but everything seems too overwhelming at the moment, the colours the grandness the stuffy people.

“My lady I can assure you I’m offering you a dance because I want to” he steps closer his head bent to look at you directly, his fingers brushing against your chin to make you look at him.

“I’m sorry” you whisper nodding.

“Of course my duke I will honour your dance” you nod.

“The dancing has not begun, shall I bring you some lemonade?” He asks.

“That’s ok, you probably have people to talk with” you offer a small smile despite the shakiness in your hand.

“I’ve talked to everyone, except you my lady” he says.

“And you are indeed the most interesting” his voice lowers ever so slightly his accent thickening and it makes you gulp.

“I’ll be back with some lemonade” he nods and walks off. You notice his limp as he walks away and sighs a bit. He returns as he said, you thank him quietly forcing your hands to stop shaking as you take a sip of the cold refreshment.

“Ah, Viktor there you are” You look up noticing Councilman Jayce Talis walking over. He sees you, glances back to Viktor then smiles brightly making you frown ever so slightly.

“So I take it this is the young lady who finally swayed you to dance?” The councilman grins and you notice the red dancing across the duke's cheeks.

“Mind what you say Talis” Viktor clenches his jaw and Councilman Talis laughs.

“Councilman Jayce Talis and you are my lady?” He asks hand out. You take his hand give a small bow and introduce yourself he smiles and nods his head giving your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“How do you like the party?” He asks and you glance around grimacing slightly.

“Given that face, I’ll say not very much” he chuckles.

“It’s a beautiful party, Councilman,” you say.

“But?” He doesn’t look offended in the slightest and your eyes flick to Viktor who gives a small nod.

“It’s a bit much for me councilman” you end up with.

“I see” he nods in thought.

“Well you’re not alone, it’s all rather, ridiculous if you ask me,” he says looking around and smiling when he sees his wife.

“Tradition seems to be a little too strong with my wife” he chuckles softly his eyes warm as he watches her before looking back to you.

“Well, next time I see you I will make sure to approach in less hectic circumstances” he bows his head and you do as well before he smiles at Viktor and leaves. You let a bit of tension leave your body as you sigh and finish your lemonade.

Music starts to play a gentle classical orchestra, you watch couples file to the dance floor black and gold, the solar eclipse. It’s truly beautiful to watch, the way the lady's dresses swish around almost like the way the sun has burning rays of lick, and the moons graceful yet strong in guiding the sun rays around. You notice a certain lord who your mother paid coming over and you panic.

“Dance with me,” you say to Viktor.

“Now?” he asks.

“Yes now” you glare taking his hand and practically dragging the poor man to the dance floor. He stumbles a bit as you put your arm on his shoulder and hold out your hand for him to take. He frowns a bit his gaze following yours, you watch him narrow his eyes and something darkens in his gaze as he puts his hand on your waist and grasps your hand. You go into the dance, the lord glaring at you both but stalking off making you sigh in relief. You look up to Viktor finally his honeyed colour eyes locking onto yours.

“I’m sorry my duke,” you say realising you dragged this poor man to the dance floor.

“You did honour me with a dance my lady” he chuckles lightly.

“I did, I just- did I hurt you?” You whisper and something in his gaze softens. He steps closer bringing your bodies almost chest to chest as you take in a breath.

“No” he whispers as he guides you around the dance floor. You’re very surprised the duke can dance at all given his condition. You notice a slight limp but it doesn’t stop him. Your gazes are locked together and suddenly you’re the only ones in the room, nobody else matters not even the orchestra. Your hands relax their tight hold and you allow yourself to feel his shoulder under your hand, you feel his strength in it, in his slender but calloused fingers. He twirls you around and brings you right back into his hold his warm hand splaying out against your waist. Nothing else matters at this moment, just you and him dancing. You barely hear the music dying down, the reality of couples slowing and the room coming back into focus. You blink a few times taking a shaky breath as he whispers your name.

“I’m sorry,” you say and leave quickly off the dance floor. You rush out to the gardens and feel your heart racing in your chest, sweat on your brow. You breathe heavily and your eyes gloss over. You hear your name being called but don’t register it till you feel those slender fingers in your arm. The duke saying your name but you can't hear it, you feel his fingers on your face forcing you to look at him.

“Breathe” it’s the first word you hear and you remember to breathe sucking in a deep but shaky breath.

“That’s it, deep breaths” he nods his honeyed eyes staring into yours. You feel so stupid, running out in a panic, tears well in your eyes and he does something unexpected. He wraps his arms around you, you breathe in the cologne he wears and a shudder goes through your body.

“Just breathe, follow my breathing” he says and you focus on the rise and fall of his chest trying to match it.

“That’s it” he whispers as you match his breathing and slowly feel yourself return to normal.

“Good girl” he murmurs atop your head and you can’t help the small intake of breath you do. You relax as much as you can, and coming back to normal, you realise you’re out in the garden alone with the duke who’s holding you.

“Viktor?” You hear a feminine voice and tense you go to move away but it’s too late.

“Mel” Viktor says as she stops frozen.

“Councilwoman Medarda” he slowly lets go of you bowing his head.

“May I ask what exactly is going on admits my garden?” She asks.

“She was having a panic attack,” the duke says.

“I see,” she says and nods.

“Mel-“ Viktor sighs and she holds her hand up before walking closer.

“Was I anyone else I would yell scandal, however” she smiles a bit.

“Councilwoman Mel Medarda” she holds her hand out to you and you freeze momentarily before holding her hand and introducing yourself.

“You two were quite the sight on the dance floor” She gives you a wink and you feel your cheeks warm.

“Mel” Viktor says in warning but she chuckles.

“Off with you Duke Viktor us ladies have things to talk about” You watch as she easily shoos the man away, his jaw sets but he gives you a soft look and leaves.

“Now that we’re alone, you needn’t worry my dear I won’t tell a soul” she says and you feel relief.

“You danced beautifully on the floor” she says and you feel your heart warm up at the compliment.

“Thank you Councilwoman” you nod your head.

“Please call me Mel when we’re alone, Councilwoman makes me feel so, official” she says and you smile a bit.

“A lovely smile as well,” she says and you feel embarrassment rise.

“Are you alright?” She asks her tone turning to concern.

“Yes, I think so- I don’t know what came over me” you sigh a bit.

“I know that look you two shared like nobody else was there on the dance floor. Not even the music?” She asks and you stare at her.

“Yes, it was-“ you chuckle a bit as she smiles nodding.

“There are few who can master the solar eclipse dance and you and Viktor did so beautifully” she says.

“I don’t think-“ she raises a hand silencing you.

“Did you know the duke spent a whole week, day in and day out learning that dance?” You frown lightly at her words.

“Of course, he didn’t tell you, men never tell women the length they go sometimes” she huffs.

“My husband Jayce made him a brace so he could dance, however, he was indeed lacking in the skills to dance, he was determined though to dance with you, so I taught him to dance,” she says.

“You taught him-?” You ask.

“First Jayce offered too but watching two men such as them dance is like watching two stones move together” You can’t help but laugh at her description imagining the duke and the councilman stiff as rocks.

“He was determined to dance with you though no matter how much he stumbled” she smiled warmly. Something in your heart flutters at her words knowing the duke went through a lot of effort just to dance.

“How would you like to join me for lunch tomorrow?” She asks and you look at her with wide eyes.

“Really?” You say shocked and she smiles nodding.

“I’ll have a carriage come get you, save you some hassle from your mama” she winks and walks back to the ball. You smile a bit a different kind of nervous flutter in your stomach. You return to the party instantly swarmed by a lord Levi.

“Ah there you are my dear, you owe me a dance” he grins and you instantly grimace at his yellowed almost brown teeth.

“She owes you nothing” Your eyes flick to the Duke.

“Excuse you? If I don’t dance with her I won’t get-“ Viktor glares at the man it’s unlike anything you’ve seen, it’s dark and narrowed and makes a lord instantly shut up apparently.

“Go” The lord runs off thankfully and you finally take a breath.

“Are you alright?” Viktor’s eyes soften as he looks at you and you nod thanking him quietly.

“I hope the councilwoman wasn’t forthcoming on you” he says in hushed tones and you chuckle a bit.

“She asked me to lunch tomorrow,” you say and his eyebrows go up slightly.

“Really?” He asks and you nod.

“How are you feeling about it?” He asks tilting his head ever so slightly.

“Nervous, but excited I’ve never-“ you hesitate a bit clearing your throat and realising your being a little too comfortable with the duke.

“Apologies my duke” You bow your head slightly and he frowns.

“What for?” He asks softly leaning in slightly, the conversation is only meant for you both.

“For being familiar with my duke” you nod avoiding his eyes.

“I see” he mutters standing up straight as one of the lords call his name.

“You should probably go to that” you say and cut him off before he can speak.

“Excuse me my duke” You bow your head and walk off sighing to yourself.

Next part ->

[texas-writes]

Special Girl

Cw: pining, mentions of masturbation, piv sex, protected sex, oral (m&f receiving), fingering

The sound of your front door opening and closing was normal, someone was always on the move, but your interest was piqued when you heard your brother laughing, indicating he probably had a friend over, and you prayed it wasn’t who you thought it was

Your brother’s best friend growing up was Leon Kennedy. He was just a year older than you, and you’d always had a huge crush on him. Actually, crush was a weak word for this.

You were

hand-in-your-panties-like-your-life-depended-on-it obsessed with him.

You were a slut for him and he was none the wiser.

You sat and thought for a moment before making up your mind. Timing it perfectly, you crossed the hall to the bathroom as your brother came up the stairs with his friend, letting you see who it was.

Fuck, it was Leon.

He seemed much more handsome than he was the last time you had seen him. Maybe it was because it was summer, but his skin was tanner and his hair was more blond than usual. He was Adonis in the flesh, everything you could ever want.

You spend a few moments pretending to use the bathroom, flushing the toilet and washing your hands to make it convincing. Then you duck back across the hall and into your room.

It’s begun to get dark and you're laying on your bed wrapped in just a blanket reading National Geographic. You’d gotten accepted to Penn State for anthropology, and you wanted to spend your summer preparing for when school started up. Your walls were covered in clippings from previous issues, the city of Petra, the carved churches of Lalibela, ancient statues, any picture that interested you honestly. You loved to look around your room at them all while you thought.

You’re pondering what all you’re going to take to your dorm when you hear the garage door rumble open. Your father was home, which meant it was almost dinner time.

A groan escapes your lips as you roll off the bed and shuffle to your closet to find clothes. You clutch your blanket around your shoulders like a cloak as you dig around, pulling out an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of basketball shorts. Not exactly the best dinner outfit, but decent. You knew if you looked too nice your brother would pick on you for being a try-hard later.

When you go downstairs to help your mother set the table, you're more than surprised to see Leon doing it already.

“Oh Leon, you didn’t have to do that,” you say, reaching out a hand for the remaining silverware.

“Oh, hello,” he mumbles. “Your mom said I could stay for dinner, so it’s the least I can do.”

“Honey, you can get the plates. You know, Leon goes to Penn State too? Glad to know I’ll have someone to look out for you.”

Your cheeks turn pink at your mother’s words, and you're grateful that your back is turned. Look out for you.

“So uh, how do you like it?”

“S’alright, I guess. Better than being sent to Harvard, like my old man wanted. He wanted me to be a lawyer.”

“That’s good. Are you going for criminology like you wanted?”

“Yeah. I’m really glad to have done it. It was nice, standing up to him for once.”

“Yeah…”

After dinner’s been served and you’re just sitting there, poking at your plate, halfheartedly pretending to listen to your brother ramble about the upcoming soccer season, you can finally say you’re bored. Your father replies to whatever it was David had just said when you feel a foot brush against yours.

At first, you thought it was an accident, but when it happens again, you look up, meeting Leon’s eyes as he chews before looking back down at your plate. A few moments pass without another brush, so you cautiously stretch your leg out and bump your foot against his. Leon doesn't react to your touch, he just keeps eating.

Maybe it was an honest mistake. You mentally berate yourself for thinking he would touch you on purpose. You jump slightly when you feel his foot on your calf, gently stroking it.

“You alright, y/n,” Leon questions, looking as innocent as possible while he torments you, unbeknownst to your family.

“Yeah, just a chill, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay,” he shrugs, turning his attention back to David and your father.

Your cheeks burn and you take a couple more feeble bites before asking to be excused.

You laid awake that night, wondering what the fuck that was all about. God, you really needed to piss.

You rolled out of bed and pulled on your fluffy robe before heading to the bathroom.

When you step out of the bathroom, you bump into someone.

“Sorry David, didn’t see you.”

“And where are you going, pretty girl?”

Fuck. Nobody told you Leon was spending the night.

“J-just back to bed.”

“Why d’ya sound so nervous, hm,” he questions, backing you into the bathroom and closing the door.

“You scared me, that’s all.” Your robe was riding up and the counter was so, so cold against your bare ass.

“Just like you were chilly at dinner, right,” he questions, you can hear the grin in his voice as he lowers his head beside your ear, lifting your chin with his finger.

“Leon…”

“What, baby? Say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Please, don’t,” you whisper

He leans away and takes a step back.

“No, wait- that’s not what I meant, Leon please.”

“Ah, so you do want me then?”

You nod.

“That isn’t enough, sweetheart I want you to say it.”

“Leon, that’s not fair, please. Need you.”

He chuckles to himself and returns to his original position, lips brushing against your neck as he speaks.

“You need me, hm?”

You nod again, slightly aware of how pathetic you’re being, but too caught up in Leon’s affection to care.

“What does my pretty girl want, hm? How bad do you need me,” he whispers, brushing his fingers up your thigh and under your robe.

“Nothing on under there. Was that intentional or did I just catch you at a good time?”

“I never wear anything to bed,” you murmur, bringing your hand up to rest in his hair, giving it a slight tug as his lips abuse the tender flesh of your shoulder, teeth grazing against your collarbone as he groans.

“Go wait for me in your room. I’m gonna make sure we won’t be bothered.”

You nod softly and poke your head out of the bathroom, making sure no one's watching as you scurry across the hall into your room while Leon hangs back.

After what felt like eternity, Leon comes into your room, easing the door shut behind him and sliding the lock into place. Your nerves are absolutely shot, and you shiver as you watch Leon come towards you, the way his tight shirt hugged his broad shoulders and slim waist, accentuating his silhouette.

“Is everyone asleep,” you question, pushing yourself up in the bed, tugging your robe tighter around yourself.

“Yeah,” he hums, sliding into your bed beside you, taking a swatch of your pink satin sheets between his fingers and feeling it. “Nice sheets, I see why you sleep naked.”

You giggle and rest your head on his shoulder. You had been awkward around Leon for as long as you could remember, In middle school, watching him from across the cafeteria as he flipped through an X-Men comic and filled out the mail-in sheet on the back, or in high school when he shrugged at every girl that tried to ask him out and you had been so sure he’d give you the same answer, so you’d never bothered.

Despite being dismissive most of the time, he was there when it mattered, like your junior year, when you had snuck out and gone to a local college party and gotten absolutely smashed. Leon had been there too and followed you around all night, shielding you from grabbing hands and switching your drinks out for water as the night wore on before driving you home and helping you sneak back into your window. Or when he’d come hiking with your family and you’d gotten water intoxication and he’d carried you back to the car to cool you off and taken you to get some extra salty fries while your family finished their hike.

But things were different now, you were both adults, and you knew that he wanted you as he tilted your chin up and pressed his lips to yours softly while his free hand went up to caress your cheek. His hands were calloused from his frequent visits to the gym, but they felt so good as they roamed your features, tracing the curve of your lips. The bridge of your nose, the arch of your brow. You wanted nothing more than to feel his hands all over your body.

“Leon,” you whine, tugging at the hem of his shirt, trying to get him to take it off. He finally takes the hint and pulls his shirt off and drops it on the floor. You yelp as he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his lap.

“Shh, we still gotta be quiet, baby. Can’t get caught can we, then I can’t come visit anymore, hm?”

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting it,” you whisper, leaning in and kissing along his jaw.

“Mh, feels good,” he mumbles, exposing his neck to you as you trail kisses all across his throat, grazing your teeth along his Adam’s apple, making his breath hitch.

When you pull away your robe is barely covering enough of you to be considered decent. Leon looks up to meet your eyes, groaning when you untie your robe and let it slide down your shoulders, exposing your shoulders and the tops of your breasts. He allows his gaze to drop back to the soft plain of your tummy, the curve of your hips and the way the blanket wrapped around your hips pools between your legs just enough to cover the one thing he needs the most.

You can feel him, straining against his shorts as you cautiously lower yourself to brush your pussy along his sensitive bulge.

“You should take these off Lee,” you hum, tugging at the waistband of his shorts.

He nods and lifts his hips, allowing you to pull them down so he can kick them off. He groans as his cock springs free from the confines of his pants, standing at attention, so close to your entrance he can feel the warmth coming from you.

You shrug your robe the rest of the way off and drop it down with Leon’s clothes, moving from his lap, kneeling beside him and resting your head on his thigh and kissing it softly once before licking along the underside of his cock, making him grip at the sheets.

You tease him relentlessly, kissing and licking at the tip of his cock, your warm breath fanning against his skin. He lets out a deep groan when you finally take him in, tongue swirling around him as you take him deeper into your mouth. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as he tangles his fingers into your hair and guides you to take him into your throat.

“You’re such a good girl,” he whispers. “You’re taking me so well, fuck,” he moans bringing his other hand to caress your cheek.

Leon studies the way your body moves as you pleasure him, the arch of your back, the curve of your ass, the way you look up at him as you moan around him.

“M’gonna cum, fuck. You gonna let me cum in your mouth?”

You nod weakly as you take Leon deeper into your throat, pressing your nose against his tummy as he finishes. You lap at his tip, making sure you don't miss anything as you pull away, swallowing thickly and gasping softly as Leon pushes your hair out of your face and smoothing it down.

“You did so good for me,” he praises, stroking your cheek and motioning for you to lay back. “Let me return the favor, hm?”

“Please,” you whine, laying back on your bed, watching intently as Leon takes his place between your legs, right where you’ve always wanted him, tips of his fingers lazily trailing along your thigh while he looks up at you.

He teases your entrance before easing two of his fingers into you, making you whimper.

“I don’t normally do this, but you’re my special girl,” he whispers, ducking his head between your thighs and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. “But you have to be quiet, okay?”

“I’m your special girl,” you question, a warm blush spreading across your cheeks as he rests his head on your thigh, his hair tickling the tender flesh there.

“Always have been. Why do you think I look after you like I do? You promise you’re gonna be quiet?”

You nod and give him a gentle smile, laying back into the pillows and running your fingers through his silky hair. He curls his fingers into you, testing the honesty of your statement, pleased when you only let out a soft whimper and lock your ankles around his shoulders.

Leon takes your encouragement and buries his face between your thighs, tongue lathing against you as his fingers continue their steady rhythm inside you. Your soft moans and the way you tug at his hair are more than enough to drive him insane, urging him to focus his attention on your clit to draw more out of you, his fingers lazily curling into your sweet spot as he grinds his hips into the mattress, looking for a little relief of his own.

“Leon, ah- ‘m so close.”

You can feel him grin against you as he nudges his nose against your clit before taking it back between his lips, making you shove your fist in your mouth as he draws an orgasam out of you. He chuckles and just keeps eating you, not caring about the way your legs shake around him, or your heels digging into his back, or the way you’re dangerously close to ripping out a chunk of his sandy blond hair. No, all he cares about are those cute little noises you’re making, accented only by the occasional whine when he brushes his fingers against that spot inside you.

Finally he pulls away, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he crawls his way up to you, his fingers still buried to the hilt in your dripping cunt.

“How was that? Hm? Anyone ever done that for you before?”

You shake your head and he grins, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself and it’s one of the hottest things you think you’ve ever experienced.

“You think you’re ready for me, baby?”

“Yeah… I can take it.”

“We’ll see,” he teases, pulling his fingers out of you, making you whine at the sudden emptiness, and brings them to his mouth, sucking all of you off of them. “You know baby, you’re just so damn good, don’t want to waste it.”

You reach up and wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss, teasing your tongue against his lip, smiling against him when he allows the intrusion. He pulls away and you reach for him, but he doesn’t yield to your grabbing hands, reminding you that he’s just been a willing participant in your arms until now.

“You have a condom?”

“I’m on birth control.” That’s what guys really wanted to hear, right?

“Not good enough.” Oh. He actually wanted one.

“Top drawer of the nightstand, not sure they’ll fit though.”

“You flatter me. Ah, here.” He rifles through the drawer until he finds one, tearing the little foil packet open with his teeth, hissing softly as he rolls it on.

He’s back on top of you as soon as he’s got it in place, grinding his hips against yours and pulling your legs around his waist.

“See, now you can keep those pretty legs of yours around me as long as you want and we don’t have to worry.”

You giggle and reach between your bodies, taking him into your hand and giving him a couple of strokes before lining him up with your entrance. He eases himself into you until he bottoms out, using one hand to lace his fingers with yours while the other grips at your headboard.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good. Didn’t know what I was missing until now.”

He starts out with a slow pace, taking the time to pull almost completely out of you before sliding back in, relishing in the way you push your hips up to meet his. Taking it slow was almost unbearable, but you were his special girl after all, and he wanted you to know he’d look after you however you wanted, even if it meant torturing himself to get you used to him.

After a small eternity you tell him to speed up and he doesn't need to be told twice. His thrusts become short and deep, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the stuffy silence of your room as he keeps his lips on yours swallowing down the moans that tumble from your lips. He takes his hand from yours to knead at your breast, enjoying the way they bounce every time his hips slam into yours. He knows you’re close by the way you tighten around him, so he opts to lean back and grab your hips, digging his fingertips into the supple flesh there, setting a punishing pace as his own hips stutter and he lets out a whine as he cums, lazily thrusting to carry you through before pulling out and falling beside you, pulling the condom off and knotting it, dropping it into the trash can beside your bed.

“So,” he questions, propping himself up on his elbow. “How was that?”

You’re still laying there trying to catch your breath, so you just let out a choked sound of agreeance.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just-”

“Just what?”

“A lot of things. Good things. But-”

“Start small then.”

“None of my other boyfriends would kiss me after I sucked them off.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Sorry,” you laugh nervously, sure you’d already screwed it up.

“Don’t be. I’m not opposed to it. In fact I’d quite like to be your boyfriend, but what else.”

“And then you ate me out, and-”

“Go on.”

“I’ve never cum like that in my life.”

“Those other guys were missing out then,” he replies, wrapping his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the back of your head.

That’s what you always liked about Leon. No matter how much you could try to stroke his ego, he always took it humbly. You wiggle yourself around to face him and press a kiss to the tip of his freckled nose

“Hey, baby, I don’t want to just run out on you and ruin a good thing, but I gotta go back soon,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours before slipping out of your bed and getting dressed. You watch with a twinge in your chest as he makes his way towards the door.

“I understand. Are you gonna come see me again?”

“You know it baby,” he grins, opening the door and slipping out before easing it shut behind him.

[mysterialistic]

Random thoughts from Yingdu episode 4:

-Vein is so creepy toward Cheng Xiaoshi, but I have to admit I chuckled when Xia Fei pointed it out. Like, bro, of course they ran away—you totally freaked them out (literally in Lu Guang’s case lol).

-Extra points for using Vein’s official song during the small fight scene. It’s my favorite track from the trio!

-Lu Guang collapsing from stress makes perfect sense—someone please let this poor man rest. Honestly, I don’t think he’s had a single peaceful day since Cheng Xiaoshi died.

-The nightmare Lu Guang had was just cruel. Cheng Xiaoshi’s bloody ghost telling him he’s all alone, that they’re all dead… Does this mean Qiao Ling and Captain Xiao are definitely dead too?

-Cheng Xiaoshi taking care of Lu Guang was adorable. The fact that he’s so caring despite growing up lonely and lacking basic parental love is just beautiful.

-Xia Fei disliking Liu Xiao totally caught me off guard lol.

-Xia Fei telling Liu Xiao his “predictions were right” is so suspicious. Is it because he’s just waaay too smart, or does he have some hidden power that lets him see outcomes? Something about it feels sketchy.

-The photo snap sound effect when the blue-eyed cat appeared was such a great detail to symbolize Lu Guang observing Cheng Xiaoshi. That… or Lu Guang took an actual photo to keep track of him. This makes more sense lol.

-The way Xia Fei and the bar/restaurant)? owner reacted when Cheng Xiaoshi mentioned Cheng Weimin was WEIRD. I can’t tell if the owner was joking about not knowing him or lying, but their exaggerated reactions were creepy. What the hell did Cheng Weimin do?!

-It’s obvious the only student who survived the fire is the mysterious blonde woman (who I’m pretty sure we see younger in the Episode 5 PV). My guess is she’s around 14 or 15 in that photo, and since Yingdu happens 10 years later, she’d be around 25 now, which kinda fits with what little we’ve seen of her so far.

-Lu Guang pretending to be sick to get Cheng Xiaoshi back to the hotel, only to end up running back to the room himself, was hilarious. Also, shirtless Lu Guang—I bet some of you were happy with that back shot 👀

-Cheng Xiaoshi entering the photo by accident has me so confused. How did his powers suddenly activate like that? What triggered it? Was it purely coincidental that he was looking at a photo and clapped? I really hope they explain this.

-Related to the previous point: if Cheng Xiaoshi already knows he can enter photos on his own, then Yingdu is definitely not the timeline from seasons 1 and 2. He doesn’t learn this until season 1 (aka, approximately two years later) and we even get a small flashback on S1 where we see Lu Guang explaining how to activate his powers by clapping their hands together. That explanation didn’t happen in Yingdu.

-We got a glimpse of Cheng Weimin and a black-haired woman, tho I don’t know if she’s Cheng Xiaoshi’s mother or not)? I also couldn’t tell if she kicked him out of the photo when they made eye contact or if he was forced out by his own body because he was too stressed?? The man he was possessing didn’t die because in the episode 5 PV we catch a glimpse of how his photo changed, now it’s not only the building, but also his burned hand (the one he used to open the doors).

-Finally, Cheng Xiaoshi’s first dive being such a traumatic event? This donghua seriously has every character in desperate need of therapy 💀

[iamstillovingyou]

I've been seeing a lot of dicourse about Kang Dae ho lying about his being in the marines and I don't think that he is lying but rather he has a complicated story with it and, as his ptsd would imply, trauma Spoilers for Squid Games season 2 from now on!!

- First of all, the tattoo Why does he have one? If he's a marine, it makes sense. If he isn't, why get it? Does he lie about it on a daily basis? Does he brag about it? When he got into the games he had no way of knowing whether his status as a marine was something which would benefit him in some way, so he hasn't got the tattoo shortly before the games - he voluntarily shares that he is also a marine, in order to bond with Jungbae; Dae ho lights up and joins him with pride that he is also a marine -however, later we can see him evading the topic or reluctantly talking about it and his father - I'd say that he's not lying about having been in the marines and even if he were, as someone pointed out (bless you), Korean men are legally required to go through military training, so even if Dae ho isn't a marine, he must know how to use a gun/rifle because he's had the training - now why does he react like that, as if he didn't know how to handle a weapon - what if, as he says, he joined the marines because of his father (he didn't wanna go, he was forced to) and hated it so much and was traumatised by it; what if something happened while he was there, he couldn't obey an order because of fear/morality or lost his comrades/friends etc. *remember he didn't wanna be there in the first place* which leaves him with ptsd *which is activated later when the shooting starts* so he leaves the marines - maybe at this point, his father is mad at him and basically kicks him out of the house and he is left alone without his family and he's gotten into a bad situation and that's how he joins the games - now, I saw someone saying why he joined up the uprising at all, maybe to keep up his lie or maybe because he thought that this was the right thing to do, he doesn't want to let his friends down, but when it got to the shooting he couldn't do it - there is a lot more nuance to it and I really don't understand all the hate towards him, calling him weak and a coward, as if any one of us would act differently when faced with life or death - also keep in mind that they were outnumbered anyway, even if Dae ho came back with the ammo, they wouldn't have achieved anything because of the front man??? Like are we even watching the same show? Also he technically saved player 120 from dying, so there's that

Also you can see that he flinched when player 120 approaches him, as if waiting to be hit, which might imply previous abuse and trauma

[lullabyes22-blog]

hi <3

i am once again asking your thoughts on the latest act of arcane?

Honestly, my feelings on S2 so far are pretty mixed.

:')

On the one hand, visually, it's absolutely heartstopping. The cinematography is incredible, and it's the first time in a while where every episode felt like an experience I had to endure in a good way. Plus the score, the voice-acting, and the sound design is, as usual, top notch.

Buuuut when you have all these stellar spheres working on this show, it makes the areas where they drop the ball stand out.

For me, that's the plot.

Alot of folks have criticized the pacing and how there's too much piled into one season. Personally, at this point I've made peace with the breakneck speed and sort of taken it as a given in a series where 'War' is the overarching theme. I can even let go of the fact that certain plot beats don't feel earned, as there's so much subtlety and foreshadowing that you can easily make the case for them via long-drawn out analyses of every frame.

But the writing, ohhhh boy. The writing. It feels like there's a disconnect between the overall plot and the individual character moments.

It's really hard to articulate, but I'll do my best.

I love that we're getting so much characterization for the main cast. Every episode, it feels like there's a new layer peeled back, and each of our leads has an opportunity to shine.

And that's exactly the problem. They're all shining.

Separately.

When I think about it, the reason why S1 worked so well was because every episode gave us a glimpse into the mind of someone different. We got a taste of what it was like to be in the head of every major player in the cast, and through this, we grew to understand their motivations, their fears, their hopes. I've used the 'gem' analogy in previous reviews, and the way the show handled that concept was amazing. Every character was a facet of the gem that was Arcane, and each shift of PoV allowed us to see them from a new angle.

There was coherence. There was cohesion. And there was a sense of complexity told in a concise and well-planned format.

S2, for me, doesn't quite work the same way.

It's not that I don't understand the characters, or that I don't appreciate the way they're handled. It's just that their individual journeys are so self-contained. I'm not getting a sense of their interpersonal connections. More as if they're crashing into and out of each other's lives, without ever stopping to have a proper conversation.

It's a common complaint with ensemble casts, and I don't mind it for the most part, but the problem here is that Arcane has been very careful about establishing its characters as part of a cohesive whole. They're not just random individuals who happen to share a stage. They're siblings, lovers, colleagues, friends, enemies, etc. And the reason why we can relate to them is because, on some level, they mirror our own relationships. We've seen how they treat each other, and we've come to care about them.

But in this season, I feel like there's been a failure to communicate.

Scenes between characters feel like a series of disconnected vignettes, some of which are great and some of which are not so great. It's as if the writers are trying to force the characters to react to the plot rather than the other way around.

I don't want to be overly critical. So much love and effort has gone into making this show, and I'd never want to disparage the efforts of so many talented artists.

But, yeah. Coherence is a bit of an issue.

I will say, however, that re: the subject of grief, especially in Jinx's journey, this season has delivered some beautiful moments. It's a surprisingly nuanced treatment of a complicated and ugly emotion, and it's something I wish more shows would tackle. The problem with a lot of modern storytelling is that, because it's trying so hard to be edgy, complex and subversive, it doesn't really leave any room for just letting characters exist. And Jinx's arc in particular is a perfect example of this.

I was worried, going into the season, that they'd take the easy route and paint her as a pure monster, utterly deranged from her loss. That's what the fandom seems to want, anyway, and it's what you'd probably expect given the general climate.

But instead, the show has chosen for Jinx to be vulnerable, and to let her arc be honest. Granted, Isha, though she's adorable, still doesn't quite feel like a full-fleshed out person, but Jinx's bond with her has been written with such heartbreaking realism that I'm inclined to forgive the former for the sake of the latter. It's just refreshing to see the series not to take that insulting and reductive 'but Jinx is crazy' route, and instead allow her to grapple with the pain of losing her family and the horror of what she's done, but to also heal old wounds with brand-new connections.

'Crazy' does not mean 'irredeemable.'

And it's about time more mainstream media got this memo.

The series also continues to be stellar at showcasing so much with such restraint. A lot of the scenes don't last longer than a few minutes, and yet you can feel so much conveyed in that brief window. And the framing and composition is consistently masterful.

Overall, though, I'm a bit underwhelmed by this season so far. It feels like an incomplete masterpiece, and the sense that the narrative has lost control is starting to get overwhelming. We've still got Act 3 left, and I'm hoping the final stretch is able to tie things together a little more neatly.

Anyway, thank you for reading this mess! And feel free to share your thoughts as well. I'm curious to hear how other people are finding the series.

<3

[sincerelyrki]

MINI SKIRT

↳ fourteen : MAN FUCK SONG KANG!

warnings : sunwoo is kinda sad

wc : 1.4k (1431)

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Dread filled your body the second you opened your apartment door, eyes narrowing at the familiar pair of shoes situated right beside your designated spot. The shoes were your first hint.

In the center top row was a pair of low-rise Amiri sneakers, the pearly white hue standing out against your collection of darker shoes. 

Sunwoo was the only person you knew who wore Amiri, his devotion for the brand evident through his dozens of pairs sat along the walls of his closet. 

The second hint that Sunwoo actually came over was your mom's loud voice, her giggles a little too high-pitched to be directed toward anyone else. The tone was one she only used around two people, and he just happened to be one of them.

You tried to keep your presence a secret, light on your feet as you deftly tiptoed through the entrance, sock-clad feet almost gliding against the ground. 

You stopped as you reached the corner, fingers gently holding against the wall as you attempted to peak around the corner. 

Sunwoo stood with his back facing you, his lower body resting against the counter as he leaned over it and towards your mom.

His leather jacket was discarded on the seat behind him, hung in a specific way that allowed you to make out the design. In the center, there was a singular bear, the sunglasses standing out against its white fur. It was the exact bear you designed in high school, the same one that was stitched across all your older designs.

The jacket was the first piece of clothing that you’ve ever made for someone else, gifting it to Sunwoo as a graduation gift.

Since the day he received it, Sunwoo had claimed that it was his favourite thing he had ever owned, the proof of his words sitting bright under the overhead lights. 

Without any purpose you walked towards him, body gravitating towards the jacket Sunwoo had attached to his hip. It hurt to see it, it always did. 

It felt like a reminder of everything everyone’s been telling you for years, a reminder that Sunwoo was completely in love with you. As the seasons passed and the sunsets faded, Sunwoo changed. 

His eonion change would remain unending but his devotion to you was the only thing that he couldn’t seem to escape. He wasn’t naive, just foolishly wishful. 

But he stood no chance against kismet. He was destined to meet you, but never to be with you. His longing blurred between the lines of the story you began writing without him, his love getting caught in the seams of the pages that began to flip before he could finish the previous ones. 

The words eventually overwrote his vows, his desperation seeping out in waves of forced separation. The harder he pulled, the more you pushed. And in the moments where you feel further than ever, he did what he thought he had to do.

He knew it was dramatic to call your parents, but he also knew what their presence would bring. They pulled you together, red yarn weaving between your fingers as they attempted to tie the two of you together.

If calling your parents over the smallest things, over things he forced himself to worry about, brought you back into his arms then he would do it forever. He would call them every day, lips spilling nonsense as the red yarn on his finger turned to ash.

But he still wasn’t naive, he knew what he was doing. 

“Sunwoo?” It didn’t come as a shock when he stood unwavering at your voice, he knew exactly how this would play out. And so he tilted his head towards you, a small smirk on his face as your eyes connected.

Even with the anger so visually obvious, he couldn’t stop his heart from melting. It rushed down his veins, throbbing as it bloomed across his face in a sudden burst.

His pink cheeks housed his now genuine smile, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a way that only you could create. “Hey, sweets” He ignored your mom’s audible swooning, his eyes never leaving yours as his entire body reacted to your presence.

“Why are you here?” His favourite song played in his head as you walked even closer to him, stopping as you reached the chair behind him. 

Your fingers gently traced along the prominent stitch around the shoulder area of his jacket, nails barely ghosting it. You looked up after a moment of silence, his words never leaving his pith as he stared at you with a familiar look.

“You shouldn’t be here” It was easy to read Sunwoo, but the way he reacted to your words was in a way that you’ve never seen before. 

You’ve never seen him freeze like that, seen the way his eyes widened to an unfamiliar extent. “What?” Sunwoo tried not to panic, hoping that your unforeseen dialogue wouldn’t change the entire interaction.

“I mean, we haven’t talked in like two or three days?” He had to bite his tongue to not scream out the exact time, the hours ticking in his mind as he watched the clock tick in his mind. 

“I needed to talk to you and I clearly couldn’t do it on text” He tried his best to keep up his front, ignoring the way his heart stopped beating the second you sheepishly scratched your cheek.

“Yeah…” You trailed off not knowing how to respond, lips curling into each other as you stared at a general spot on the wall behind him. 

“Yn, what did I tell you about blocking people?” Your mom's stern voice caused you to jump, the remembrance of her presence causing you to soften your exterior.

“It’s rude, imagine how Sunwoo feels after being blocked by you for like half the year” Your mom reached up towards the taller boy, her hands squishing his cheeks together as he pulled his head to rest on her shoulder.

Without auguring, Sunwoo allowed her to manhandle him, bending his body as she pulled him against her. 

As mad as you were at Sunwoo, you couldn’t stop the giggle from leaving your lips at the sight. Your mom was fairly short, reaching a height of barely over five feet. It was amusing to see her controlling a man much taller than her, her strong arms working in her favour.

“You feel hurt, don’t you?” She more stated than questioned, using her own hands to nod his head up and down. She gasped in fake shock, turning her glaring eyes towards you. 

“See? Apologize, right now!” Her glare transferred through you, reflecting in your mirrored eyes as you directed it toward Sunwoo this time.

“Mom, he was mean to me first?” 

You all went into a cycle of blaming each other before ultimately apologizing to each other, one more genuine than the other.

“Oh also, Who’s Jake? I remember Sunwoo mentioning his name to me a few days ago”

The betrayed look in your eyes was nothing compared to your response, Sunwoo’s throat clogging as the room stilled.

“He’s a friend, a real friend. Don’t worry too much about it, we just began talking a few days ago.”

a real friend. Sunwoo wasn’t sure if there was a double meaning behind your words, but after today's turn of events he wouldn’t trust his own judgment too much. 

“Is he cute?” Your mom squealed out loud as you nodded your heart, her body racing towards yours as she linked her arm around yours. “He’s really cute, you’d love him”

Your phone loudly vibrated in your back pocket, the sound unknown to your mom as she animatedly blabbered about your “unknown man”.

Sunwoo watched over your shoulder as you tapped the screen to life, an unfamiliar contact lighting up your screen. He wanted nothing more than to break down the second he saw the bright smile that overwhelmed your face as you read the text. 

Sunwoo has never hated someone more. But he’s also never wanted to be someone else as much as he did now. 

a/n : i’ve been so busy for the last like three days 😭 easter messed up my entire schedule. anywaysss, i’ve been addicted to song kang lately (hence his recent mentions) i just finished my demon a few days ago and omg…. ALSO THESE BOOPS ?? i’m obsessed they’re so cute

SYNOPSIS ⮕ You know Jake Sim and you love Prada, it was already a perfect combination. You just happened to always be in the same place as him, at the same time. And that place just happened to be the Prada store. It’s not your fault that your Prada collection expands as your interactions grow. Especially not considering that Jake couldn’t stop himself from fawning over you (and your mini skirts).

taglist is OPEN ! send an ask or comment to be added xoxo

taglist one (1) : @vousty @iheartjayke @kgneptun @woninluv @memooooca @rosas-in-the-garden @thea-herondale @letters2won @certified-ni-ki-lover @wonpoem @eunbiland @hae-luvr @t00miee @bbangricz @tytrackfebreze @cafeyuns @aerivrs @seunnimg @enhytan @enhaz1 @neocockthotology @jiawji @miumiuestmoi @sophi-ee @cha0thicpisces @manooffline @glassesyunjin @rinahch @jaklvbucb @rikizm @ilyjxdz @mnxnii @n1k1mura @hhoonsbaby @xiaoderrrr @artstaeh @nikisuar @who-tf-soddhi @jakeslvt @hohohobo @natsukee @fakeuwus @ramenoil @aeminju @lanapaz @seunghancore @heartswonn @jakeyverse @l1lyanah @sunpov @yoitsrach @jessicadacollest @h4918ymc @jeongintwt @oldjws @herebyaccident0 @kyrojackson @haechansbbg | bold = can’t tag

[ooooo-mcyt]

Do you guys ever think about how much the first season someone was in seems to impact them going forward?

Last Life is a season where teams were shaky, uncertain. Both because of the rule that red names were forced to leave their teams and the introduction of the boogeyman curse. This gave a unique sense of isolated individualism to the season. In Last Life, more than any other season, you couldn't rely on anyone except yourself. This season is also the one where we saw the introduction of Pearl, Lizzie, and Mumbo.

Pearl, I'd say, is the one who was least impacted by this. Her team was very stable throughout Last Life. They exchanged lives and stuck close together. Scott was only red for about half a session before Pearl was, so she never really felt the team instability aspect like the others did. This, unfortunately, set Pearl up to fall harder in the Double Life, given she was unused to the isolation that Last Life theoretically could have prepared her for.

You see the effects more clearly in Mumbo and Lizzie.

Lizzie's team was torn apart in Last Life. First one of her teammates betrayed the other due to the Boogeyman curse, leading to everything Lizzie had burning, and then Lizzie lost the rest of her team anyways when she turned red. So, in Secret Life she isolates a lot, and she struggles, with trusting people, with being part of a team, with seeing anything as permanent.

Mumbo is very similar. The Southlands were a mess, cracking and reforming and falling apart all over again throughout Last Life. Mumbo was surrounded by people, and yet friend turned into foe so easily with the boogeyman curse or a teammate turning red (and then they could come back and do it all again). Is it any wonder, then, that he's paranoid now? That he often feels like the ground is going to fall out beneath him at any moment?

Then we have Secret Life, the season that really introduced Gem. I'd argue that Secret Life was a season of uncertainty and luck. Skill and tactic mattered, of course, but one bad task or unfortunate bit of damage could leave even the best players unable to do anything to save themselves. In this season, you couldn't just use your skill to recover from a stroke of bad luck.

Gem knows this better than anyone. I've said it before, but I think the fight with Grian was the downfall of Gem and The Scott's. Gem was taken off guard once and she was never able to recover from it. This made worse by the fact that it ended with a 2v1- not a fair fight, but two people teaming up to kill her as quickly as they could. Going into Wild Life, Gem very naturally grew to resent and reject a lot of what the previous season was for her. She derides the idea of sacrificing yourself, she loathes the idea of an unfair fight, she insists on being in control, on letting luck dictate as little as possible.

It's just fascinating to me how people tend to engage with and react to the unique mechanics of the season they started with going forward.

[bosbas]

Chapter 12: did you wish you'd put up more of a fight?

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pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 4.1k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, mutual pining, physical altercation (nothing serious but a few mentions of blood), mentions of sex if you squint, benedict being so so stupid

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: guys idk anything about physical fights sorry if this is super unrealistic LMAO

August 12, 1814 - But, dear reader, I cannot fail to mention the upcoming gathering hosted by the Bridgertons at Aubrey Hall. Those lucky enough to receive an invitation are surely busy preparing for the eventful trip ahead. Every year, the Bridgerton country party proves to be an excellent hunting ground for ambitious mamas with daughters of marriageable age. Will this year's party bring forth new proposals? Whispers around the ton indicate that a certain Bridgerton brother might propose to Miss Y/N Beaumont, and that would certainly be the news of the season. Fear not, for this author shall keep the ton abreast of any and all developments.

"I beg your pardon?" he spoke, tone low and venomous as he breathed heavily. "What the bloody hell did you just say?"

Benedict saw you exchange a nervous glance with his older brother and his blood boiled at the sight. It was him you should be exchanging glances with. Not Anthony, of all people. He could hardly believe it. In fact, he didn't believe it at all. This had to be some sick joke, some cruel prank that you and his brothers and perhaps even your brothers had all been in on to rag on him for disappearing to the countryside for a month and a half. He desperately wanted you to burst out laughing and start making fun of him for believing that you and Anthony were to get married. But as the seconds ticked by, it became more and more unlikely that this was the case.

Interrupting your prolonged eye contact with Anthony, you looked down at your hands anxiously. This was not how it was supposed to go. There was no nature walk, no time alone with Ben, just an angry Benedict standing at the door to Anthony's study, waves of fury rolling off of him. A small part of you had hoped he would be angry, yes, but now that you were seeing him, unmoving, you wanted nothing more than to disappear from the room. You wished Ben had come ten minutes earlier, where you would have greeted him with a hug instead, feeling his strong arms make themselves at home as they wrapped around you. Benedict was not often angry, especially not at you, but when he was, he usually voiced his displeasure quite loudly to anyone who would listen. However, knowing he was standing there, stock-still and seething, you weren't quite sure how he was going to react.

"How much of that did you hear, exactly?" you asked meekly, trying to gauge how much damage control you would have to do. You kept your gaze firmly on your hands, unable to meet his eyes and slightly fearful of his silent anger.

"Enough to know that my brother is the man you're marrying," Benedict responded, sounding angrier than he was when he first walked in, if that was possible. "I see it's been quite a productive season," he added in a clipped tone.

Your head snapped up at his last comment. You felt Anthony tense beside you as he felt your anger rising, but you didn't care. How dare Benedict blame you for finding a husband after he so unceremoniously walked away from you? Meeting Ben's intense gaze and flinching as you practically felt the daggers shooting from his eyes, you yelled back, "What did you expect, Benedict? You walked away from me and I did exactly what you wanted me to do. I found a husband. I don't know what more you want from me."

Try as you might to keep your voice strong, a wobble at the end had betrayed your true feelings. You had sounded more pleading than anything, but you were beyond caring. You were absolutely crushed, and you could see that Benedict was hurting as well. After years of looking into his eyes, you could recognize that he, too, was hiding sorrow behind his anger. Trying to remain composed, you bit the inside of your cheek as you felt Anthony reach over and place a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"I didn't–" started Benedict, unable to continue once he saw Anthony's hand on you. It was true, then. The courtship. Or the proposal. Or whatever else you two had been doing while he was in the countryside five seconds away from tearing his hair out in desperation because he loved you so much. Suddenly, it was difficult to remember why exactly he hadn't wanted to marry you. Marrying you couldn't have been worse than what he was feeling right now, the devastating realization of having truly lost you. Surely nothing could be worse than this.

Carrying the unspeakable grief that came with losing one's best friend and soulmate all in one evening, Benedict turned around to walk out of Anthony's office. He couldn't bear to be there any longer, watching the woman he loved be caressed by his brother. Without a second glance at the two of you, he closed the door behind him and made his way to his own room. He would have been better off going there in the first place, he thought. Then he could've had a few more moments of peace before he found out what you and Anthony had been up to in his absence.

Looking at the closed door, Anthony's hand dropped from your shoulder as he stood in shock at what had just happened. "Are you alright?" he asked you, knowing the answer but needing to reassure you anyway.

You shook your head, holding in tears that were threatening to spill. "Someone should go after him," you said pressing your fingers to the corner of your eyes. What you really meant was, you should go after him, Anthony, but you wanted to give him a chance to say no. To decide he wasn't going to clean up yet another mess you had made because of your stupid feelings for his brother.

But Anthony, ever the eldest child, nodded in agreement. "Just stay put for a bit while I get him into his room. I don't think it would be the best idea to have the two of you talk right now."

Aubrey Hall had already seen too much chaos today without what he expected was going to be a shouting match between you and Benedict. If only the shouting match could lead to the two of you realizing that you did, in fact, love each other very much and that you would, in fact, be very happily married. He gave you one last squeeze on the shoulder and took off determinedly to find his brother.

Benedict saw Anthony catching up to him out of the corner of his eye but didn't stop or slow down. He couldn't bear to stop now, he needed to get to his room. Or really anywhere that was stripped of every trace of you. Benedict could barely think, the moment when Anthony placed his hand on your shoulder replaying relentlessly through his mind and preventing him from thinking about anything else.

Feeling Anthony stop right behind him, Benedict turned around to face him. The two brothers stood, staring at each other, for several moments. Anthony trying to think of what to say and Benedict getting angrier by the second.

"If you had–" started Anthony, only to be cut off by Benedict immediately.

"How could you do this?" Ben shouted, voice raw from holding back the string of curses he wanted to direct at Anthony right now. Anthony bit his lip, grimacing. He knew Benedict would be mad, but he had been unprepared for the magnitude of his fury. In a way, he felt bad for Ben. Anthony could tell that you were the love of Benedict's life—it was ridiculously obvious—and it couldn't have been easy to see you with someone else. But enough was enough, and Anthony had seen you heartbroken for long enough to know that Ben had only brought this upon himself.

"Might I remind you that you left, Benedict? After she asked you to marry her, no less," shot back Anthony, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He could see Ben waver at his words, face blanching slightly at the realization that you had told Anthony about your quasi-proposal.

"And you think you're better than me? Anyone with half a brain knows you don't want to marry for love. Did that change in the last four weeks? Are you now suddenly unequivocally in love with her? Is that what happened?" asked Benedict, an unfathomable bitterness on his tongue. His words were mocking, but deep down he did want answers. Did you and Anthony really fall for each other while he was gone? Had he been that foolish, to ever imagine the possibility of having something beyond friendship with you when his older brother was right there?

Anthony rolled his eyes, "Come off it, Benedict. You can't play the victim every time. She's aware that I don't want to marry for love. After some very negative experiences with the men of the ton, you included, she's decided she is perfectly fine not marrying for love either." Seeing Benedict's brow furrow in protest, Anthony continued, "Honestly, I promise I didn't force her into anything, I only gave her the option. She decided all by herself that this was what she wanted. And if you'd stop being a prick for about two seconds you'd realize this is what's best for her, anyway. That I'm what's best for her." And sure, Anthony knew he had probably gone too far with his last comment, but Benedict was being incredibly frustrating at the minute that Anthony didn't care.

However, Benedict didn't want to stop being a prick for two seconds. Especially because you were about to get engaged to his brother, who was being a massive dick right now. So instead, he chose to give into his anger, pushing against Anthony's shoulders so he was knocked against the wall.

"That you're what's best for her?" he scoffed. "I've been best friends with her for two decades but suddenly you're the one who knows exactly what she needs? Seems quite logical," finished Ben, pure poison dripping from his voice.

Undeterred, Anthony pushed Benedict back. "What is so wrong about our courtship? You left her so she could find a husband and that's exactly. What. She. Did," he yelled, accentuating every word with a shove at Ben's shoulders, who responded by swatting his hands away.

"She was off limits, Anthony. You knew that! You never should've done that," cried Benedict, grabbing his brother by the collar, and growing more frustrated by the second. However, whether he was angrier at Anthony or himself was unclear.

Exasperated, the elder Bridgerton reached over to slap the side of Benedict's head. "Off limits? Why would she be off limits? She seemed pretty on limits when you said you couldn't marry her and fucked off to the countryside for half the season," came his response.

"Because she is my best friend," Benedict roared back. Hearing Anthony's mocking laugh brought out a level of anger Ben did not know existed within himself, and he found his fist flying to make contact with Anthony's mouth. Ignoring the metallic taste on his tongue, Anthony responded by kneeing Benedict in the groin until he doubled over and slammed the fist that had just hit him into the wall.

Ben cradled his hand against his side, wincing as he saw his grazed knuckles, but he was unrelenting. It was like all of the pent-up emotions of frustration and uselessness he had been feeling in the countryside were finally bubbling over now that he had someone to direct his anger toward. "Because she is my best friend and you know that I'm in love with her. I know you know, Anthony, you cannot pretend otherwise," he said, desperation evident in his voice.

Fairly done with the conversation and itching to go sort out his busted lip, Anthony tried to straighten out his collar as he spoke to Benedict, "Well, even if you are, it doesn't do her much good if you have no intention of marrying her, does it?"

Benedict was stunned to silence. Anthony was right, of course, but Ben couldn't find it in himself to concede to the man who was going to take away Benedict's best friend and the love of his life all in one go. So he just stared at his brother, breathing heavily and searching for words that would not give away just how destroyed he truly felt.

"I am proposing to her in a week. You have until then to fix this, otherwise, you will truly have lost her forever." And with that, Anthony walked off without a second glance, leaving Benedict to grapple with his thoughts.

Walking upstairs in search of something to stop the bleeding at his lip, Anthony couldn't believe that Benedict had admitted his feelings for you. The intensity of the argument between the two brothers had most likely been the catalyst for the confession, but Anthony hoped that this might be what allowed Ben to finally see right by you and love you the way he so obviously wanted to. Regardless, Anthony couldn't help the protective instinct that surged within him. He cared about you, and he was acutely aware of the heartbreak that awaited you if his brother didn't come to his senses.

Too caught up in his thoughts, Anthony missed your presence entirely as he made his way past your room. "Anthony, your lip!" you exclaimed as you closed your bedroom door behind you, bringing him out of his musings. He touched his hand to his injury, hissing in pain slightly as he was reminded of the blood coming out of his cut lip.

He waved his hand dismissively, "It's alright, just a scrape," he assured you.

You seemed doubtful but nodded anyway. "I was going to ask how your talk with him went but I think I have a very clear idea," you said, earning you a short laugh from Anthony.

He cleared his throat, looking at you up and down with a mix of concern and determination. The atmosphere in the room was heavy, charged with the aftermath of the confrontation with Benedict.

"Look, I gave you my word, and a gentleman's word is his bond. I fully intend to honor our agreement," Anthony began, his tone steady and resolute. "But, I also think it's crucial for both you and Benedict to have a conversation, to sort out feelings on both sides."

You looked at him nervously, not ready to confront your feelings for Benedict, let alone any that Benedict might have for you.

He gave you an encouraging smile. "If you decide you still want to marry me afterward, that's perfectly alright, and I'd be delighted to do so. But I think it's only fair that you both have a chance to speak your minds before we move forward." He met your eyes, sincerity evident in his gaze. "Talk to Benedict. I think he went to his studio. I'll give you both the time you need."

You knew he was right, unfortunately. So you nodded, giving him a grateful hug before he excused himself to go clean up his injury and you headed down the stairs to go look for Benedict.

---

In the solitude of his studio, Benedict wrestled with a storm of emotions he was feeling as he paced the room. He couldn't believe that he was going to lose you to his brother. Even if you and Anthony were not in love with each other now, it was only a matter of time, he reasoned. You were, at the very least, the most extraordinary woman he had ever encountered, and surely Anthony would see it that way eventually. Especially if the two of you had children. His heart dropped at the thought of you and Anthony in bed together, but he pushed the image away once he heard a knock on his studio door.

Seeing your face poke into the room, he couldn't help the butterflies that erupted in his stomach, even despite his tumultuous thoughts. "Well, hello," he greeted you curtly, lifting his hand to run his fingers through his hair nervously, knowing a difficult conversation awaited him.

But you gasped before you could respond, immediately distracted by his bloodied knuckles. "Benedict, what on earth...?" you trailed off as you rushed to grab his injured hand in both of yours.

Benedict's breath caught in his throat as he felt your hands on his. The tenderness with which you turned over his hand made a previously dormant warmth rise in his chest, and he bit his lip to keep from shivering. You looked so beautiful, face pinched in focus as you ran your finger over his injury, and he inhaled sharply as your finger traced over his open wound.

"So this is what you and Anthony were doing instead of talking, then?" you scolded, looking into his eyes but not letting go of his hand. It didn't matter that you were still furious with him, it felt too good to have the heavy weight of his fingers half-intertwined with yours after so long of having him away.

"It's nothing," Benedict responded, shaking his head. Then, remembering why his knuckles were grazed in the first place, he added bitterly, "Why don't you go check on Anthony instead?"

Your face fell immediately and you dropped his hand. He hadn't meant to upset you, and he certainly hadn't meant to make you let go of his hand, but it seemed like his anger and jealousy had taken the reins today. But even when you were angry with him and looked about three seconds away from hitting his other hand, he couldn't help but marvel at you. He was completely enamored, looking from your furrowed brow to your narrowed eyes to your full lips. And his eyes stayed on your lips because it seemed that no matter how angry you were he couldn't ignore the ever-growing urge to kiss you right then and there, consequences be damned.

You rolled your eyes, anger bubbling up inside of you once again. "Benedict, I simply don't understand why you're so upset. If anything, marrying Anthony is a better option than marrying anyone else. Our families will remain close and you and I can still see each other fairly often. And once you're married–"

"I'll never marry," he interrupted, voice clipped. He was appalled that you would even suggest that, although he reasoned that you had no reason to believe that he wouldn't marry.

You look at him, confusion written all over your face. "I– What? What do you mean you will never marry? Benedict–"

"I love you," Ben blurted out. "I love you in a way that even words cannot express. I would rather remain unmarried than be with someone who isn't you," he added, needing to make sure that you understood that he loved you beyond what the boundaries of your friendship allowed. He had thought that you might fall in love with some other man, and he would be fated to watch you be besotted with someone else. However, now that he knew that you intended to marry Anthony, who you were most definitely not in love with, he needed you to know that he was the one who had loved you for years now. And he hoped that you might love him, too.

But you did not swoon like he expected. And you did not rush into his arms to kiss him or confess your undying love for him. You didn't even smile. "Are you joking?" you said angrily.

Benedict's eyes widened, shocked by your response. "I'm not– Why would I be joking?" he stumbled over his words.

"First you tell me you won't marry me, which is fine by the way, and then you leave so I can find a husband, which is also fine. Except," you let out a disbelieving laugh, "once you find out that your older brother is the man I'm going to marry, you are suddenly in love with me." You're still staring at him, daring him to challenge you. "It's a little too convenient, don't you think?"

He was panicking, horrified that you thought his confession was merely a way to get back at you for going after his brother. Guilt was coursing through his stomach in an entirely unpleasant manner, and he was struggling to find the words to convey his love for you in a way that you deserved to hear.

"It's not like that! I do love you. I want you and I don't want anyone else," he said desperately, reaching for your hand so he could reassure you.

But you were having none of it. After all this time, you couldn't believe he had the nerve to show up at Aubrey Hall, get into a fight with your future husband, and then confess his supposedly undying love for you. Feeling his hand clutching yours, a feeling so familiar, brought tears to your eyes. You ripped your hand away from his, not able to parse the gentleness with which he held your hand with his careless words.

"Stop it! Having you leave after I asked you to marry me was painful, but this might be the cruelest thing you've ever done, Benedict," you said, tears blurring your vision. "You can't just march in here after weeks of being away and demand that I stop my plans so that you can get back at your brother."

Benedict's eyes welled with tears, reflecting the pain that echoed in your own. He couldn't believe you still wanted to marry Anthony after all this. You were his one big love. There was no one else. And it was all too much to think that you didn't feel the same way.

So he pressed, "Is my love not enough? I have been falling apart on my own from the magnitude of my love for you. Should that not be enough? To know that I love you with every fiber of my being, more fiercely than I've ever done anything in my entire life?"

Tears were running unobstructed down your face now and you choked back a sob. If Benedict had told you this about six weeks ago, you would have dropped everything to be with him. But it was too late now.

"It's not enough when I had been feeling the exact same way and you still walked away from me," you responded, clutching his hand for comfort even though he was the one who had caused you pain.

He pulled you in fully, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your back comfortingly. Benedict put his chin on your head as you buried your face in his shirt, breathing in his familiar scent that never failed to make you feel at home.

"I'm sorry, darling. I'm so sorry," he murmured, hugging you tighter when he heard you sob. "I suppose being in love with you feels so natural I didn't quite realize what it was until recently." He kept rubbing your back, tracing patterns on your skin.

"And– And I thought I was ruining our friendship. When I wanted you, I kept thinking I shouldn't have been," Ben added, cringing as he realized the gravity of his misunderstanding.

You were overwhelmed by his confession, barely believing that he actually reciprocated the feelings you had struggled to keep hidden for so long. You couldn't help the steady stream of tears running down your face, and you burrowed deeper into Benedict, needing to be closer still. You felt one of his hands lifting your face to look up at him and the other keeping you pressed firmly against him. Your tear-stained eyes met his as you sniffled, struggling to breathe normally.

You watched, almost in slow motion, as Benedict's eyes fluttered shut and leaned down, lips slightly parted as he leaned down toward you. This was everything you wanted, wasn't it? In the rose garden, you had wanted him to kiss you more than you had wanted to keep breathing. You had probably spent hours looking at his lips, wondering what it would be like to taste them. To have them on your lips and enjoy the feel of them as they moved against yours. To know what it felt like to have Benedict be truly yours.

But that was then, and you wanted different things now. So you broke free of his grasp and pushed him away, breathing heavily as he opened his eyes in shock and looked to you for an explanation.

"You can't just do that, Ben! We haven't resolved anything, and it certainly won't be resolved by you kissing me," you exclaimed, playing up your anger to hide your pain.

So you turned on your heel, exiting his studio as quietly as you had entered, and he was left, for the second time that day, speechless as someone walked away from him. 

—

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[astonmartingf]

YOU'VE BEEN ON MY MIND—

— co-parenting with alonso has been smooth sailing, until he starts dropping hints that he wants to be with you again

P9 ★ SEE YOU IN MY FUTURE

amgf probably 2k words? almost 3k? idk but it's hurt/comfort! i did cry, and yes so... i'm emotional because it's ending but also... it's ENDING 😀🫵 DKXJSKDJZJ one more chapter yay!!! shout out to day6, what would this chapter be without your songs... enjoy 👍

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You weren't sure what to expect— despite your severe reaction the past week, you're now mellowed down and calm, you think back on your conversation with Seb a few months ago before his retirement.

You definitely have not moved on, and the mention of the upcoming season definitely felt like a band-aid ripped off a bleeding wound. And all the pain and resentment you felt was now revealed beneath the familial memories you built with Ales and Fernando.

Driving up to his gate, you're instantly filled with the comfort of his private home. The place you spent most of your time outside work, and even more than your own house, with Ales and Fernando. You rub away the headache slowly building in your head, getting out of your car and meeting Fernando who greeted you out of his home.

"Are you feeling better?"

You wince away, as you take a seat on the chair opposite of him. It would be much easier if he resented you the way you did. That you'd rather he treat you unfairly in the last few years, but he's Fernando. He's the father of your son, and the man you tenderly love, even to this day.

Which only hurts more, knowing you can never fully let go of the past, despite both growing since your separation but seeing him with Ales sparked the burning hope in you. Maybe this would be the time for you and Fernando, that this might be the future you've been longing for all along.

"I'm sorry, how I reacted last week... I thought I was okay with it, but I guess I still feel the same way." You rub your arms, looking elsewhere but Fernando's eyes, knowing well he's staring right through you. You were scared and vulnerable, all throughout the years you noticed your apprehension in communicating your feelings for the sake of your relationship. And it wasn't going well for you, or for Fernando, but this time it'd be different.

"And before you say anything, I just want to say that I'm proud of you. I'm glad you still race, and for the upcoming season. I understand if you think it's too selfish of me not to come, but Ales will, I just think I'm not ready for it yet."

You gulp down your nerves, raising your head, staring head on at Alonso who is still smiling. It breaks your heart, seeing him like this— if only he'd get up and say something about how unfair it is to him.

"I understand it. You don't have to worry, I won't force you." Silence.

The room was met with silence, until you hear the sniffles coming from Fernando, leaving you frozen in your seat. As much as you hate being vulnerable in front of him, you never thought he'd cry in front of you first.

You hear his laughter, seconds after as he wipes the tears falling from him eyes.

"Please, don't worry this is not your fault... I guess you could say I'm overwhelmed. I only ever thought about this moment, I kept thinking about when we can have this talk, but you were so focused on Ales. Rightfully so, he's our son and our priority, so even though I wanted to fix what has been broken before, maybe it wasn't the time. And when we talked last night, I kept blaming myself for rushing you, because it was my fault.

And now, you're telling me yourself, I'm happy you're here. I'm happy that you told me yourself, and every day I will prove myself to be better, not just as Ales' father but as someone who is worthy to be with you. I'm sorry if I'm being emotional, I just didn't think I would come close to this again. And with you, if you resent me, I won't blame you. I resent myself every day, after you left me, and this... this is more than enough for me right now."

It wasn't long before the tears began to fall from your eyes, you only ever thought of your pain. Choosing to leave with Ales, away from Fernando— away from the years you've been together. Away from the only man you ever loved.

Your only concern was licking the wounds of what was left from Fernando, what you didn't think was how he felt all those years.

"I'm sorry... How lonely it must've felt for you all those years. Away from Ales— I promise you, this time it will be different. One day, we will be together— I know it, because I don't think I'd have it any other way than you. I love you Fernando! I still do, even after all these years—"

Closing you eyes, your hands instinctively wrap around Fernando's neck wanting him closer, pulling him from more. Hands grabbing his face, feeling the tears fall down your fingers. Wiping them away, you kiss him once more before pulling each other in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to kiss you without—"

"Shhh..." You hush Fernando's worries, resting your head on his shoulder, hands trailing over his back, resting them on top of his thick hair.

"I'm happy we had this conversation as well. Thank you Fernando. Thank you for still seeing me in your future. I had so many worries, and questions— all this time, I was just a coward. A selfish coward you decided for the both of us."

Fernando shakes his head, tutting his lips, "I won't let you day those things to yourself you hear me? You are brave and courageous, understand? And I love you, even though I feel undeserving of your feeling, I will work hard to be the man who deserves it. What happened, I don't blame you. But we'll figure these things out as the time goes by, don't be a stranger?"

With blurry eyes, you remove your head from Fernando's shoulders nodding your head. "I think I need to rest for a bit, can I take a nap here for a bit?"

"You want me to pick up Ales from Lance's while you sleep?"

The mention of your son immediately brought the sparkle in your eyes, which wasn't missed by Fernando who only smiled as he tucked you in his bed. "You can rest for a while, and when you wake up, we will be here. Sleep well Amor."

You feel your eyes getting heavier as Fernando's voice begins to thin out, you feel him leave a small kiss on your forehead causing you to smile before dosing off to your sleep.

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