#tagging that too since it's kinda in the same vein

[nereidprinc3ss]

just like heaven

in which flirty!reader finally confesses her feelings to a pining spencer reid after a night out. she's slightly buzzed. it's complicated.

fluff (some angst) warnings/tags: fem!reader, reader drinks alcohol, dirty jokes, so much flirting and banter, some arguing kinda, but spencer is such a gentleman, everyone gets flustered at least once, they really wanna kiss, happy ending a/n: gif :D I hope u like this! not bandages reader but like same vibes. like an AU for my AU

“Emily!”

You drawl the ee sound long, the same way you reach across the table and wiggle your fingers at her half-empty glass. Thin dark brows dart up beneath that glossy sweep of reddish-black hair. 

“Oh, wow. That’s unsettling. What?”

It’s been at least an hour since you had a drink of your own, but enough alcohol is still flowing through your veins so as to render her offensive comment inoffensive. You love Emily. You love the Tequila Sunrise sweating onto the sticky table in front of her which she’s not going to finish. 

“I think she wants your drink,” JJ assists, cheek balanced tipsily on a propped up fist. 

“Uh…”

Emily’s doe-sweet eyes flash uncertainly behind you. 

“I’m basically sober,” you insist, laying your head on your outstretched arm and letting your hair cascade as you bat your lashes, offering her your sweetest smile. “Please, Em?”

It does not go according to plan. She scoffs. 

“Are you flirting with me right now?”

“... Would that work?”

“Oh my god, just… cool it with the fuck-me eyes,” she laughs. “You can have the drink.”

You sit up, turning just barely over your shoulder to address Spencer. 

“See? Emily buys me drinks. Basically.”

She slides the drink toward you, with a subtle roll of her eyes that you choose to interpret as affectionate under the dim canned lighting. As you sit back, content and free drink in hand, her eyes slide to Reid in the seat next to you, brows arching. 

“Are you sure you can handle her all on your own?”

“Handle me?” You frown deeply as Emily gathers her purse and slides out of the booth, followed shortly thereafter by JJ. “I don’t need handling.”

“Then why do you have a handler?” JJ teases.

You slump against the worn vinyl, stirring what is mostly orange juice. 

“He most definitely is not my handler. He’s my science project.”

“I got it,” Spencer assures your friends, with his trademark flattened smile. You can’t help but watch him with a grin of your own, flipping the straw in the drink and nibbling on the end until it’s stained sparkly pink. Goodbyes are issued, and soon it’s just the two of you. Perhaps it’s a tipsy delusion, but you think he seems to relax slightly when you’re alone. His eyes are easy on you. “You know, you’re not actually decreasing the amount of germ transmission by using the other end of the straw.”

“Mm… pretty sure alcohol kills germs, Doctor.”

At that, you giggle. 

Doctor. 

Soon you’re covering your face and having a full-fledged laugh attack. 

“What?” Spencer asks. From between your fingers you can see that he’s smiling guardedly, brows furrowed in a way that reminds you he’s often worried about being the butt of a joke and not knowing it. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you assure him quickly, gathering yourself. “I just… can’t believe you’re a doctor.”

“Why not? What’s so unbelievable about that?”

“You’re so young.”

And handsome. 

“I’m not that young. I’m older than you,” he defends. Only by a handful of years, but you know he’s defensive about his age after a lifetime of being told he looks young for—well, everything. 

“You’re… 32?”

That’s not right—you know as soon as you say it.

“Thirty three.” He very politely captures a hand—your hand—that had at some point ended up a little too close to his eye. You’re not sure what you planned to do once it got there—you don’t recall moving it at all. 

“Sorry.” You take your hand back, choosing to instead fiddle with a button on his coat ponderously. “33 is a good age.”

“Yeah?” Spencer laughs, angling his head as if to regard you from a new angle. It warms you all over. Burns in some places, like a shot of liquor down your throat. Makes you just as dizzy, too. “You have a lot of experience being thirty three?”

“No, I just…” your cheeks heat and you wrestle with a timid smile, averting your gaze and dropping your hand for fear his grin this close up might actually kill you. “I like 33 year old you.”

“So… you didn’t like me when I was thirty two?”

“Stop,” you beg, a self-effacing laugh into the cup of your palm. “I can’t banter. I’m not at peak performance.”

The truth of it hits you, and you sigh, folding your arms on the table and resting your cloudy head. Only then, from this new perspective, do you allow yourself to fully admire Spencer Reid. He is smiling at you, and your heart does skip a beat like you’ve got some school girl crush. These days he wears his hair falling over his face, messy on purpose, and always smells so nice. You wonder when he started caring about that stuff. You want to see what products are in his shower, and learn why he chose that cologne, or how he decides to pair his socks. He probably has some sort of algorithm. 

“Spencer,” you begin, the serious quality of your voice diminished by the smush of your cheek against your arm. Still, he tries to respect your tone, zipping the smile and answering with a playfully twitching brow. 

“Hm?”

You want to push the hair out of his face. Why is he looking down at you like that? Like he likes you?

“You’re a very good handler.”

His eyes narrow as he considers this, but the glimmer in them could still spark a forest fire. You’re probably grinning like an idiot. 

“Oh, I couldn’t handle you. You know this.”

You hum thoughtfully. 

“I bet you could. Wanna try?”

Spencer shakes his head, huffing a laugh through his nose. To his credit, your bold-face innuendos don’t always send him into a tailspin these days. 

Just sometimes. 

“You need a ride home, don’t you?”

You sit back up, stretching your arms out. 

“You don’t have to. I could get a cab.”

“I know,” he assures you, still a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. Why. Is. He. Looking. At. You. Like. That?

“Will you let me drive?”

“I would. But, you know, my affairs aren’t in order.”

You roll your eyes as he gets out of the booth and offers you a hand. 

“I’m not that drunk.”

Spencer just wiggles his fingers. 

“If you can recite the alphabet in reverse you can drive my car.”

You roll your eyes again. Obviously he’s fucking with you, because 1. He’d never let you drive even the slightest bit inebriated, and 2. He knows you can’t say your ABC’s backward when you’re dead sober. 

The truth is you’re more buzzed than anything. You could get up and walk fine without any assistance, but he’s offering you his hand, so you take it. After you’re standing, you wonder how many excuses could you possibly dream up to get it back in yours. Should you pretend to fall?

No. Not quite worth your self respect. 

“You know…” you muse, reveling in the brief brush of him against your back as he holds open the door for you, “it’s a good thing you didn’t become, like… a medical doctor.”

Now walking side by side on the street, he glances over at you, a poorly veiled smile on his perfect face. Like a trap door brushed over with a few leaves. He wants you to see it.

“Why’s that?”

A breeze ruffles your hair. The brisk cold and the walk seem to be making things crisper already. You shrug, bunching your sleeves in your hands against the increasingly frigid night. The skirt and tights you’d chosen were perfect for a stuffy dive bar. Not so much for an early DC spring. 

“Nobody wants a hot doctor.”

He looks down at the sidewalk, hands pocketed, but the curve of his lips doesn’t lessen.  

“Hm. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“What? No! I’m—barely!” Again he laughs at you, and again you flush, looking down and counting the cracks in the pavement as you journey slowly under the bath of yellow street lights. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you called me hot.” He sounds almost delighted as he grins sheepishly around the final word. 

You snort. You’ve said worse things, more graphic things within the past few hours alone—but you suppose they’ve all been more like dirty jokes than compliments. 

“Yeah. You think you aren’t?”

Sandy locks fall side to side as he carefully measures a response. His cologne is warm—sort of smoky. It’s very nice. He doesn’t seem like he’d wear cologne. Have you already thought about his cologne tonight? Once was probably enough. 

“I just think sober you wouldn’t have said that.”

“But don’t you prefer it when I’m aggressively flirting with you? I mean, I know I do it sober too, but it's not as good, right?”

A silent stretch begins and shortly ends, and you don’t mind it. Right now, everything is a winding path through the woods. You’re willing to follow any fork off the trail if it means spending more time with him. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware that was what you were doing.”

“Oh, bullshit,” you laugh, and it echoes through the canyon of a nearby alley, “I’m not subtle, Reid.”

“I don’t know! You—for all I know that’s just how you are! I mean, what did Emily call them earlier, your—your fuck-me eyes?”

Like he does when he’s flustered, he gets shrill and stuttery. It’s nice to be reminded that he’s still a complete dork on the inside—and the outside, too, as pink stains his cheeks like watercolor. You smirk at him in your periphery, watching him against the darkened city backdrop. 

“You noticed those, huh?”

“No,” he denies forcefully, but his brow is pinched like he doesn’t quite believe himself, “I mean, yes, I notice when you look at other people like that, but that’s not what I would call them—I wouldn’t call them anything, I’d just call them your eyes, you know? Not that you always look like you’re soliciting… the implication isn’t there, it’s just—I notice when you flirt with other people! With Emily, and Derek, like, not even half an hour ago. You’re lucky Hotch wasn’t there. You’d probably have given him a heart attack.”

“I’m more concerned with yours, to be honest.”

“My heart is fine,” he laughs. “Worry about my dignity.”

“Hm. I was going for both. Guess I’d better try harder.”

You don’t notice you’ve come to a stop until you’re face to face in front of his vintage Volvo. Spencer is standing closer than usual, hands perpetually stuck in that nice wool coat. He’s all windswept and pretty, smiling crookedly and eyes sparkly with humor. A strand of hair sticks to your lip gloss, and you brush it away, tucking it behind your ear and squinting up at him against the chilly breeze. The flush is either from the nip in the air or your brazen flirting. 

“Or, you could go easy on me. I’m frail. Like a… sickly Victorian child.”

Again his brow knits and he smiles like he knows what he’s said is ridiculous. But his tone is gentler now. Softer. Invites you to fall in deeper and see what you might find. 

“And ruin all my fun? Toughen up, Reid.”

For a long moment, you don’t get a response—only his eyes, soft and thoughtful on you, before you’re distracted by the sweet bow of his lips. If he notices you’re staring, it doesn’t seem to bother him. 

But something evidently does, as when he next speaks, it’s troubled. Curiosity straining against a rope that says maybe it’s better if I don’t ask. 

“Do… do you actually flirt with me? When you’re sober, I mean.”

He expects to be ridiculed. In his most vulnerable moments, he’s still bracing for rejection—turning his cheek slightly so he’s ready for the stinging blow. It opens a fissure in your chest. You frown, and speak gently. 

“Yeah, Spence. More than anyone else. You really don’t notice?”

Sometimes his face is so expressive, in the pull of his brow and tightening of his eyes and the way he wets his lips. But he probably doesn’t know that. And he can’t seem to meet your eyes, instead choosing to study the leather of your heeled boots. Sounds of late-night traffic, of tires on wet asphalt buffer the pauses between sentences. 

“I notice… when you talk to Derek and Emily and JJ and Penelope the exact same way you talk to me. I didn’t think…”

Another gap in conversation, filled with the chatter of some group pouring out of a bar somewhere. You realize he’ll need some gentle prompting to bridge it. 

“You didn’t think what?”

When his eyes flash back up to meet yours, you have a feeling like he’s shutting the pipes off. 

“It’s—uh—” he clears his throat— “it’s not important, we can—we’ll talk about it a different time. We should—”

“Wait.”

He’d been turning away but snaps right back to look at you as if on command, wearing a brand new face that tells you he’d like to wipe the past minute or so completely away. 

“Yeah?”

“Spencer. I wanna know what you were going to say.”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“You didn’t tell me. You mumbled evasively and walked away. We were in the middle of something and I want to know what you were going to say. Please?”

“Well, you’re drunk,” he finally sighs, and it’s a bit sharp. Stinging. 

“I am not drunk,” you defend, and it feels true, with a bitter cold lashing at your cheek and blood heightened from the walk. “You know I’m not too drunk to have a coherent conversation. Why are you being weird?”

“Because I asked you to drop it! We can’t have this conversation right now, all right? I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Your stomach flips, and your breath comes a little heavier. Spencer is clearly frustrated with you. Maybe being on the wrong end of this mild vexation, and so suddenly, should make you feel guilty, or some kind of bad—but all you feel is a sort of buzz in the tips of your fingers and the thrum of your heart, something deeper than excitement pooling in your veins at having inspired this sort of passion. It means he feels something. Something for you. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries halfheartedly, unable or more likely unwilling to stay angry at you for very long, “you didn’t—”

“What conversation?”

It’s jarring how quickly this has spun on its head. The very air you’re breathing seems to have changed. The metropolitan soundscape is a rife undercurrent of tension and louder from all the words unsaid. 

Finally he swallows. 

“There’s no conversation. I’m—it was a poor choice of wording. I just meant we should get you home.”

Before he can make it to the driver’s side door, you’re calling out. 

“You think I don’t like you. And I just flirt with you ‘cause I flirt with everyone.”

Spencer stops, and turns to face you once more, sighing and head dropped to one side like you’re doing something incredibly inconsiderate. He’s never looked at you like that before, but you don’t let it shake you. 

“That’s what this is about, right?”

He says your name, but you don’t let him get further than that. 

“No, I think there is a conversation here, and saying I’m not sober enough to have it isn’t fair and you should have said something before and I think you should just say it now.”

You’re pushing his buttons with a heavy hand, though your own voice shakes. He’s feeling it too—you’ve never been so short with each other. His voice is raised. 

“What am I supposed to say?” 

It boils over. 

“That you like me!”

It rings. 

Then it’s silent. 

His face is mostly blank. A little sorrowful around his eyes. 

It’s cold, jumping into the deep end like this. 

“We can’t talk about this right now,” he finally says, glancing to the side as if to suggest a situation the size of the whole city. 

“Spencer, I—”

“It’s impossible to have a meaningful discussion until your judgement isn’t impaired, otherwise it’s—”

“I am telling you that I flirt with you because I really like you.”

“I—”

It appears you’ve truly thrown him for a loop.  For a moment his jaw works at nothing, a soliloquy of words go unspoken, and then he’s stuttering and fumbling for the right thing to say, looking everywhere but at you. 

“I can’t—that’s—regardless of whether or not it’s even true—”

“It is true.”

“Could you—stop?” He pleads. “You can’t tell me that. I mean, the power imbalance when you’ve been drinking and I haven’t—it’s—I mean, it's coercive. Because I brought it up, I asked an inappropriate question—or at least started to ask it, and you—not that it was your fault, I’m the responsible party in this instance, but if tomorrow you realize you never wanted to tell me—so I have to take that with a grain of salt. I’m just—I have to pretend I didn’t hear that, alright? And you can’t say it again.”

He’s ridiculous. You shift your weight onto one foot casually. 

“That’s not very nice. I just confessed to having a huge crush on you and you’re gonna leave me hanging?”

There is an undeniable sort of pleasure in the bright of his eyes, and you phrased it that way on purpose, just to see him preen and glow—also to see if you could make him trip all over himself some more. Right now, despite the liminal space your relationship may or may not be occupying, you’re teasing him like you always do. Like he’s a friend, because he is. Before anything else. 

He tries to glower, barely. 

“Were you listening to me at all?”

“It was hard with all the stammering. I thought you might pass out.”

“I might,” he grumbles, and the admission pleases you greatly. Your lips tug as you admire him for a moment—watch his defenses go down and his features ease into something more inviting. 

God, maybe you really had been too hard on him. Maybe he really didn’t expect that you would like him back. 

You’re struck with the need to reassure. 

A dampened clack emits from your shoe where the heel hits the ground as you step down off the curb. 

“You know… I do like you. A lot. I mean it. And I’m glad I told you, because... you like me too, right?”

He raises his brows, like don’t do anything stupid, as you approach unhurriedly. It’s good to see that you haven’t broken his spirit completely. 

Less than a foot away, you stop. Close enough to be in his space. Too far for him to have the grounds to step back. 

His eyes are careful on you, analytical as always, constantly predicting an infinite number of outcomes to any given scenario. That’s how he keeps his footing in the world. But he’s never very good at predicting you. And it helps that his razor sharp intellect is dulled, some, with affection. Attraction. 

It shows in his eyes. He’ll let you push boundaries he knows he shouldn’t. More so if you keep speaking to him this softly. Almost whispering.

“Tell me you like me, Spencer.”

Because he hasn’t yet. All the heavy lifting has been done for him, and that just won’t do. 

First, he opens his mouth, and you watch the internal debate, a million things he could say, spinning round in his eyes like pinwheels. Rules, and buts, and caveats.

In the end, he just clears his throat. Speaks in the same secretive tone. Low enough to be intimate.

“I like you.”

Such a simple thing has never made you feel so airy before in your life. You steal another glance at his lips.

“So it’s really not that complicated. We could probably just kiss.”

He tinges pink.

“We definitely can’t.”

“You also said we couldn’t talk about it, and yet…”

“Talking is different. As far as I’m concerned, nothing you say to me tonight is binding. Whatever just transpired happened completely off the record. We can… talk about it tomorrow, but right now, you and I are friends.”

You shrug.

“Friends can kiss.”

“No, they can’t,” he says definitively, though not without a healthy dose of sardonic self-awareness and a dark smile. His hand finds your waist, and it’s glancing, if anything a light push, but you’re delighted nonetheless. Almost as pleased as if he really had kissed you. “It’s cold. I’m ready to leave.”

You’ve pushed him enough for one night. And it is cold. So you shuffle around the car with quick steps to the passenger side door, hooking your fingers under the biting metal handle and waiting for him to unlock the vehicle. 

You’re shivering as your thighs press against leather upholstery, only the thinnest layer of synthetic material protecting your legs. Spencer is already starting the car, but the engine is too cold to bother turning the heat on yet. 

“I think it’s colder in here than outside. Look at my hand.” You hold it up for him, and it is discolored, waxy, as he mindlessly takes it between his own much warmer ones. “I thought alcohol was supposed to keep you warm. Didn’t that chef on the Titanic survive hours in the ocean because he was hammered?”

“That’s a myth. Not the chef—he did survive, but it was a complete anomaly. Alcohol causes vasodilation in the dermis layer of the skin, so you feel warmer, but it draws blood flow away from your internal organs and significantly raises your likelihood of developing hypothermia.”

Does he notice how he’s holding your hand? Carefully pressing his thumbs to the center of your palm and pushing up through your love and life lines, cupping the fingers, before sandwiching them between his own and generating friction the way a child furiously rolls a play-doh worm?

“I guess I’m really not that drunk, then.”

He’s not expecting it, and maybe he doesn’t know what to make of your exceptionally gentle tone at first. It was a mistake, you think, as he relinquishes his hold on your hand, and you curl it to retain the memory of his warmth. But then he tucks hair behind your ear, like he’s done once or twice before, and smiles in a way you don’t quite understand. 

“I know.”

You won’t push him. You won’t ask for anything else, and you won’t demand an explanation. Spencer is special. It can all wait, because you have something good with him already. Something important. Something like holding hands. 

It comes as a surprise when he leans across the console, and you lean in a trance to meet him, and another surprise when he gently redirects, pressing his lips to your cheek, close enough to match the corners of your mouths and nothing more. 

You’d let him do it a hundred times over, but he draws back after a fraction of a lingering second, and finds your hand to stroke the back of it, forgotten in your lap. 

“You said no kissing,” you murmur, as if in a dream. If you had the wherewithal to be embarrassed maybe you wouldn’t be ogling so much. 

“Compromise.”

If anything, you should be the cheek-kisser. But there will be time to feel slighted about that later. Time to amend. For now, you look ahead robotically. 

“Is there a rule against friendly hand-holding?”

“Probably,” he says.

But he lets you hold his hand in your lap the whole drive to your apartment, anyway. 

[elflutter]

— twin flames

kinktober 02 → claw play + pain kink

logan x mutant!f!reader

synopsis

Logan wasn't shy about his thing for pain. He should have known you would like it too. When pain is your only companion, when it can’t even give you the mercy of death, you learn to master it. To love it.

wordcount: 1.6k

tags/warnings: smut 18+ mdni, reader can heal, pain kink, clawplay, blood, kinda angsty, brief mention of past violence against women, past torture, reader was experimented on, reader is dealing with trauma (similar to logan's), brief description of canon typical violence, established relationship, porn with feelings, unprotected p i v, marking, reader has hair, no use of y/n

You've been alive a long time. Maybe even longer than Logan. You’re not sure anymore. The years blur together after so long. Decade after decade of horrors, of witnessing horrors.

You harbor so much rage. Like fire burning through your veins. Not just for mutants, but for women. For everybody else that the world pushed down, bones upon which they built an empire. If you were able to fucking die, your bones would be in the foundation, too. You’re sure of it.

But you can’t die. So you protected them— everybody that couldn’t protect themselves. Put yourself through pain so they wouldn't have to. Killed the creeps preying on girls, lecherous old men stalking them home through damp streets at night, even if it meant you got punched or stabbed or shot. As you got older, less women needed your protection. But there were always some. And the rage never dulled. You were happy to do the work. You didn't mind the pain.

Eventually, they caught you. Made you a lab rat. Experiments, secret government shit. Months or years of pain and pain and pain. You lost track of the days. Once you got out, you were better than before. Reflexes like lightning. Muscles like steel. Wounds that healed so fast, you could barely even tell they were there. At least it worked, whatever they did. It backfired, though. You finally escaped. Those researchers who tortured you? They're not around anymore.

When you found the school, weeks later, Logan saw so much of himself reflected back when he looked at you. Like looking in a mirror. Hair a mess of tangles, eyes almost feral. More animal than woman, after trekking through the woods or the city streets. He wasn’t sure. Didn’t think it mattered. Both were a jungle, with predators lurking in the underbrush.

As Logan got to know you, the mirror warped. He saw the kind of person he wished he was. Using your strength for the right reasons. Not just a weapon. A weapon of justice.

That’s what led you to seek out the X-men— the promise of making a difference. Continuing your work, with more resources, more protection.

It didn't take long before you were in his bed. After so long with nothing but pain, you needed pleasure. Needed it carnally. For a while you both pretended it was just physical. That charade was doomed to fail. Your souls were twin. You knew everything about each other, because you were the same.

Logan wasn't shy about his thing for pain. He should have known you would like it too. When pain is your only companion, when it can’t even give you the mercy of death, you learn to master it. To love it.

You hadn't felt pain on your terms since you escaped the lab— not real pain. A scratch here and there, as you dragged yourself step by step to Xavier’s School; healed quickly and fast forgotten. The dull ache in your muscles after beating up a punching bag all night. A bloody nose after sparring, once or twice. The hot liquid dripping just a moment before your body could heal itself. Most of the team couldn’t even get a hit on you in hand to hand, reactions quick like the winter wind. Not super-speed, but preternatural all the same.

Charles hadn’t sent you on a mission yet. Knew your flesh healed much faster than your mind. He helped you, as much as he could— always ready to lend an ear. Even if he already knew what was in your head.

One night, lit by dewy pearls of moonlight, Logan fucks you hard into his bed; balls slapping with a loud smack against you. Your face is buried in the sheets, ass up— plump curves on display as he stretches you out on his cock. Your mind is hazy with the pleasure as his velvety length drags along your walls, painting stars across your vision where your eyes are shut tight against the covers.

When you hear Logan’s claws pierce the mattress, your heartbeat kicks up a step. You feel it, then. How you miss it. The sensation of a blade piercing skin; the warmth from pooled red proof you still have a heart.

You want to feel the adamantium on you. You want to control your pain, take it back for yourself. Like how it was before the lab, the experiments.

Logan wouldn't even sleep next to you for fear of his claws. Fucking illogical, but you were working on it.

So you beg for his claws while he drives his hips into you. He likes to fuck you rough, but he’s always careful; holding the wildest part of himself back. It’s so ingrained in him, that kind of control. Knuckles always point away from you, just in case. Everyone around him is so damn fragile. Except for you. He always seems to forget that last part.

A whine tears itself from your throat as he pounds deep, tip brushing your favorite spot. "I'm not made of tissue paper, come on, Lo."

He knows what you’re asking for. He’s just not quite ready to give it to you yet. Maybe won’t be ready, ever. So he does what he can, all his tattered heart can take, as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder. He bites hard enough to bruise, even if you both know the mark will disappear by the time his mouth finds another spot to claim.

“Harder.” It’s grit out through a clenched jaw, an order and a plea.

His fear starts to melt away, when you use that voice. Talk to him like that. So he bites down again, until iron pools on his tongue. He hates that he loves tasting you, even like this. But the sweet little keen you let out more than makes up for it, as you urge him on.

Cries of "fuck, Lo! Fuck—" as he tightens his grip on your hips enough to border on pain. Like he knows you want.

The sting of skin knitting itself together where his teeth had been mingles with the sweet warmth where he ruts into you. He’s getting you so close, reaching around to play with your swollen clit. He isn't giving you exactly what you need. But he will.

Logan knows what’s coming, before you ask. He knows what it is to need the pain. He knows he would be a damn hypocrite if he refuses. You'd been through so much pain; more than him, even. He knows you’re still healing, knows that this is a step along the way. It had been the same for him.

And deep down, he knows you can take whatever he has to give. Can’t help but marvel at the sheer strength of you—  all of you. The resilience of your body, yes. But also the resilience of your psyche. Your soul, if that shit even exists.

So as you beg, voice dripping with need, he knows that he’ll give in. Maybe that makes him a bad man.

“Fuckin’— N-need you claws on me baby, please.”

You want him to let go. To feel safe letting go. Logan needs that as much as you need the pain.

He just grunts in response, as he keeps splitting you open on his cock. Fingers still tracing little patterns on your nub. Logan is impressed you’re still coherent enough to string together a sentence.

“Mark me, Lo,” the words come out through pants, breathless. “Fuck! Like you can’t— W-with anybody else.”

The rest of your plea goes unsaid— even if it will only last a moment.

Logan had long ago resigned himself to being a bad man. So maybe it doesn’t matter, if this makes him even worse. Your soft walls pulling him closer to the edge while you beg for him to tear your open.

His hesitation finally disappears beneath the haze of desire as he pulls his claws out of the mattress. Their adamantium reflects the gentle light of the moon. Logan’s hand shakes before he slowly, so softly that it breaks your heart, drags the claws down your back. A lover’s caress. The same thing you’ve done for him countless times, with blunted fingernails instead of sharpened claws. His breath stutters as blood paints your skin beneath his claws, three thin lines of red down your back. You moan.

He watches, mesmerized, as the wound begins to scab over. Maybe it heals his wretched soul, just a little bit, as your flesh knits itself together. Proof that he can’t break you.

"Fuck, Lo, why'd you stop?" your words are breathless. He hadn't even realized his hips stilled. So he starts again, fucking you deep, his leaking tip finding that perfect spot inside. Tender skin raised where he’d scratched, marks almost gone entirely. Soon, dried blood would be the only evidence.

He retracts his claws from where he rests them in the sheets. He can’t make himself do that again. Not now, not yet. Maybe because he likes it a little too much, watching you heal just like he does. So he opts for something that feels safer, using your hair as a handle while he drives into you. Keeps toying with your clit so he can feel you come on his cock.

Ragged moans fill the room, as you finish together. Your walls pulse around him, milking every drop of his release. Sated, with the knowledge that he’d marked you in more ways than one.

That night, for the first time, Logan falls asleep in your arms. You press a sleepy kiss to the top of his head, before you finally join him in dreamless slumber.

a/n: ahhh, i'm nervous about this one! i feel like i say that every time? i was jealous of wade getting all clawed up in dp&w and reader getting none of the fun :( i know this was pretty tame for a claw-centered fic, i'm a wimp. maybe i can explore this theme more in the future if people like it!

sorry for the angst it will happen again

dividers by saradika-graphics!

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the ball

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, nondescript mention of gagging (not related to self-image) in [III.iii], sexually charged 18+ interactions in middle to end of [III.iv]—minors dni, please stop at the end of the paragraph that begins "you repeat his words with sped up mockery"; you may resume at "you jut out your hip"

word count:  15.7k (of 38.8k)

story context:  everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons.  this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season. 

additional notes:  this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2!  she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits.  they have not yet watched queen charlotte.  the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note:  this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years.  :)  it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens.  additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years.  the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @stvrdustalexx @bedobeeeee @crazymar15 @kahhorri @mayalopes @benedictbridgertonss @athensflower @02wrldz @queerlavalier @merlslrem @pillsbury-doughgirl @lamourdure3ans and all who have read either/both sections one and two—thank you. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“you look like a princess, y/n!” hyacinth squeals in delight.

“i regret not being of age yet to attend balls,” gregory sighs.  “i would have been honored to ask you for your first dance.”

you beam at the youngest bridgertons with all the fondness in your heart.  judith, an elderly maid of number five, had attempted to dispel hyacinth and gregory from the room as your hair was done, but you had asked her to please allow them to stay.  the two kept you at ease throughout the foreign process, and their sweet sincerity kept you grounded amidst the anxiety that still floods your veins.

“you are both too kind.  and fear not; tomorrow morning we will have a ball all of our own,” you lean in for a whisper, them following suit to listen.  “and perhaps we will need the talents, and bravery, of a young sorceress and a young knight to save the guests from the intrusion of an unruly wyvern.”

“you promise?!” hyacinth and gregory yell at the same time.  you hold out your pinky finger, just as you used to do with your siblings, and the two young ones wrap their pinkies around yours.

“i promise.”

“you are all done, miss y/l/n,” says alice, placing the last pin into your hair.  she steps back and curtsies.  her formality towards you renders you uneasy; she treats you as above her but you are of the same world.  you school your facial features from showing your unease; you do not want to upset her or have her wrongly think that she has done something wrong.

“no need to call me ‘miss.’  i am simply y/n!”  you grin at alice.  “a friend.”

she smiles, albeit a bit sheepishly. 

“of course, y/n.  are you ready to see yourself?”

you shudder in a breath.  you had asked not to be prepared in front of a mirror.  to have seen your transformation so readily reflected at you at every point of this process—

you exhale frantically.  the maids and genevieve had graciously accommodated your wishes, both going so far as rearranging this room and her fitting room to avoid any lines of your sight with a potential reflection; you were, and are, utterly grateful.  

but i am unable to delay the inevitable any longer.

standing up and squaring your shoulders, you give alice a feeble nod.  she bows her head in response, a small, encouraging smile on her lips, and leads you to the mirror as hyacinth and gregory turn in their seats to watch you cross the room.  

it is just a dress.  it is just a tiara, and just some jewelry, and just some gloves, and just some shoes, and just a bit of makeup.  it is just you.  it is still you.  be the courageous person you are, y/n.

or—

just before you see even a miniscule bit of your reflection in that accursed mirror, you shut your eyes tight.

—be a coward.

you continue step by agonizing step, approximating where the mirror is, and shudder in another breath.

perhaps i am being too dramatic.  perhaps i can faint and feign illness.  perhaps i shall run away by way of the nearest window.  perhaps i—

“the mirror is to your left, y/n; whenever you are ready,” coaxes alice.

you exhale once more.

or perhaps, i should open my eyes.

and so you do.

oh.

“oh,” you say aloud.

the person you see in the gilded full-length mirror is, somehow, a complete stranger and entirely you.

the one time you’ve worn makeup before was for your elder sister’s wedding:  a bit of your mother’s rouge on your cheeks and lips to have some color to your otherwise dull face.  now, your cheekbones glow with a blush much more complimentary to your complexion than a mere red as your lips shine with a gossamer of a similar shade.  entirely new to you are the glimmering minerals on your eyelids that magically bring attention to your eyes and make them shine like starlight.

your eyebrows have been plucked (much to your initial pain but your current appreciation), maintaining their shape and fullness but now without strays.  

soft tendrils of curls frame your face, and your hair—normally worn down when not working—has been pulled back into a loose coiffure and styled with sprigs and small blooms, the crown of your head graced with a silver tiara.

“this,” violet smiled fondly when she first set the tiara on top of your head, “is the tiara i wore to my first ball after my presentation.  i had insisted on keeping it, thinking i could pass it on to my daughter when her first ball had come.  but daphne was resolute on having her own tiara, and eloise was resolute on not wearing any,” violet laughed, her eyes shining when they connected with yours, “i see now, though, perhaps it was always meant to be yours.”

“violet, i— i cannot wear this.  it is too— it’s too—”

sumptuous?  opulent?  regal?  

no.

well, yes, the tiara is all those things.  but those were not what had concerned you then.  it’s too—

“beautiful,” you admitted quietly.

something as beautiful as that surely does not belong on the head of someone like you.

“well,” violet smiled, “then you are merely proving my point, my dear.  it perfectly suits you.”

you hold out your hands, flare out your fingers, and stretch out your arms, examining the dark forest green of your long satin gloves, mesmerized that a muted color with such depth and richness could be achieved through dyes.

moving your hand, you touch one of the small rosewhite pearls adorning your earlobes and, with your other hand, touch the inky oblong pearl that shimmers violet, indigo, and green as it hangs from the thin, black velvet choker around your neck.

“my dear,” mama appeared in your doorway one evening as you wrote at your table, “do you require jewelry for your occasion?”

“oh.  i suppose i do?  i hadn’t given it much thought.”  jewelry had been the last thing on your mind of things that terrified you of the impending ball.

“well, if you have not been offered anything by the bridgerton family yet, i thought— i thought perhaps you might like these.”

she approached you, a small wooden box in her hand, and placed it on your table.  taking the box into your hands, you looked at it and then up at mama.  she smiled at you but something of her countenance seemed strained.  nervous.  you offered her a smile in an attempt to assuage whatever concerns preoccupied her mind and, turning back to the box, unclasped it open.

“these are the earrings and necklace i wore when i married your papa.  they were gifts from your grandmama that were gifts from her mama.  i had tried giving them to your sister when she was to be married, but she thought…  they are plain, nothing like what those fashionable people wear, i am certain; but if you have nothing else, i—”

you shot up from your seat, throwing your arms around your mama, feeling how she reeled from the ferocity of your sudden embrace, as you clutched onto the box of her wedding jewelry.

“they are beautiful, mama,” you said quietly but emphatically as the vehemence of your emotions tried to trap your words in your throat.  “they are the most beautiful things i have ever seen, and i am so— i am so honored to be bestowed with the blessing of wearing them, and of wearing them proudly.  thank you.”

you heard how mama sniffed her nose, and how she tried to hide it, as she gently rubbed your back, as she always had in your moments of vulnerability.

“i love you, my child.”

“i love you, mama.”

you then touch your exposed shoulders.  the neckline of your dress, nowhere near your neck, follows the curved peaks of your breasts to meet and form a small v-shape in the crevice of your bosom.  

“where is the chemise?” was the first thing you had said when you first tried on the gown at the modiste.

genevieve grinned.

“there is none.”

your jaw dropped.

“then what of a stay?  what sort of stay would be worn with this?”

turning slightly, and noting your rather bare upper arms in the process, you angle your exposed back towards the mirror.  another v-shape, its furthest point down a third of your bare spine.  

“my dear, both you and i know that you already know the answer to your inquiry.”

“oh, my good g—”

never, in your life, has the expanse of your upper body been so naked and on display than in this ball gown.

“i do not mean to doubt your artistry, genevieve; truly!, the dress is magnificent, but—” you turned to kathani, who had exclaimed and clapped with immense delight upon seeing you in the gown, “is this—— permissible?”

the viscountess had arched an eyebrow at you then.

“y/n y/l/n, concerned with the rules of society?  and of high society, at that?”

“no— no!” you yelled all too loudly as genevieve chortled and placed pins for final alterations into the dress.  “i just, i just do not want to embarrass you and your family, is all.”

you had not meant for your voice to come out so quiet and small.  the older women’s faces softened immediately.

“you could never embarrass us, y/n,” kathani stated with such tenderness.  then she smiled.  “you look beautiful.”

the off-white base layer of the dress feels luxurious against your skin, the fabric hugging your upper body, puffing out at the sleeves, and, from the underbust, flowing and falling into a cone silhouette for the skirt—but what truly awes you is the artistry of the outermost layer.  a cream translucent silk, the piña seda (you recall genevieve proudly naming it as) of the outermost layer glistens while you sway and turn your body, light shifting and transforming the ever beauty of the dress, the swish of the skirt moving like how waves are described in the passages of your books and in the reminiscing of your parents’ memories.  lined at the underbust begins the intricate thicket of embroidered foliage, painstakingly threaded with innumerable shades of greens and blues, a shimmering teal threaded throughout to gleam in tandem with the sheen of the fabric.  the embroidery of foliage then grows and thickens as it cascades down the middle of the dress and comes to an encircling end a few inches above and around the floor-length hem.  in the negative space of the piña seda are spread out, small ivory embroideries of floral motifs.  

it is a dress deserving of someone most beloved in titania’s garden court. 

“indeed,” genevieve affirmed, a smile on her lips akin to kathani’s.  “those in attendance will not be prepared.  you will look the most beautiful of all.”

and perhaps…

perhaps you should be unnerved by how different your dress will be from the others’ of the ton.  perhaps you should be unnerved by how easily you will stand out from the crowds.  perhaps you should be unnerved by the attention, the whispers, the stares you will inevitably receive with your dress, with your appearance, with your presence, with your very existence.  but, instead— 

“i do look like a princess,” you say finally.  quietly. 

you do look beautiful.

like you could belong amidst the ton.  

like you could belong with the bridgertons.  

like you could belong with him.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“are you anxious, y/n?”

you turn to gregory at your side and see the swell of worry in his eyes.

“what gives you that impression?”

“you are shaking terribly,” hyacinth comments from your other side, replacing her usual pluck and wit with a worry akin to her brother’s.  

the two had volunteered to escort you from the dressing room that you had been prepared in to the grand staircase of number five.  with their arms hooked around yours, gregory on your left and hyacinth on your right, the youngest bridgertons have been walking you down the corridor.  your heart aches with anguish:  you know you have failed when the children are the ones to care for the adult.

“i am sorry to have concerned you both.  yes, i— i am anxious.”

“it is reasonable to be anxious.  but there are a great many cakes at these balls, or so i’ve heard, so you can eat one, and then another, to help ease your nerves!”

“how is that of any help, gregory.”

“it is plenty of help!”

“to eat and eat when she is already uneasy?  the last time you were uneasy, you nearly—”

“do not recount that in front of y/n!”

“why not!”

“it is not— it is not proper!”  gregory’s voice jumps in pitch, causing a swift blush to form on the apples of his cheeks.  hyacinth snorts.

“why does your voice do that?”

“i do not know!  kate said it is natural for bo— for young men to experience such a thing!”

“aren’t young men meant to be tall?”

“i am an inch taller than you now!”

“you are not!”

“i am too!”

you laugh.  the youngest bridgertons halt their dispute and look at you. 

“i must say, your usual squabbling is keeping me much at ease,” and you offer a sympathetic smile to gregory.  “i am sorry that it seems to be at your expense, however.”

his eyes shine.

“you need not worry about me!  i am glad to see you smile.”

“i as well,” hyacinth adds.  you turn to her and see how her eyes shine too. 

“i am most grateful to you both for being at my side on such a night.”

“we are most grateful for you, y/n.”

“that is something, and probably the singular thing, hyacinth and i can agree upon.”

you plant soft kisses on the tops of their heads, just as mama and papa and your elder sister had done when you were their ages.  gregory and hyacinth nestle their heads into your upper arms and only part from you when the three of you reach the top of the first set of steps.  

“are you ready?” 

though you wish to say ‘no,’ you brace yourself with a deep inhale and nod.

your heart quickens with each step as time around you slows.  your mouth has gone dry, and your body feels entirely numb, sensation only returning to you when you feel hyacinth and gregory unhook their arms from yours.  turning your head, you see them stepping backwards, away from you, leaving you at the center of the landing to the rest of the grand staircase.  you face forward once more, and ahead, below, you see the gentlemen and ladies of bridgerton house, waiting for you, looking at you.  

you swallow. 

for the very first time, in your dress, by yourself, you take a step forward.

breathe, y/n.  shoulders back; tilt your chin up, but not too much; just as kathani had taught you.  and just, breathe.

but it is hard to breathe with all eyes on you.  with—

i must control myself.   i must not seek him out.  i must not seek out his face.  i must not seek out those o—

you step on the hem of your dress and feel yourself start to fall forward.  thankfully, god, for whatever reason, has blessed you with enough dexterity in this very moment, and you manage to catch yourself from tumbling down the steps as you hear gasps from above and below you.  you mumble an apology (you don’t know why; it is not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear) and offer everyone a smile.  upon seeing their relaxed shoulders and reassured expressions, you continue to descend the staircase.

stupid benedict.  distracting me in remembering how to walk, and how to breathe, and how to— 

oh.  

i am doing it again.

shit.

goddamnit, stupid benedict!

somehow, you reach the landing of number five’s entrance hall without any additional accidents and, approaching the bridgertons, immediately look to the viscountess.  as if knowing you seek her approval, kathani nods her head; a beam illuminates her countenance.  you feel yourself ease, your shoulders relaxing (that you promptly square again; you are, after all, pretending to be a lady for the night), your heart racing less, if only minutely, and manage a smile.  you feel someone take hold of your gloved hand and, turning to face the source, see violet gazing at you. 

“beautiful.”

it is all she says, but with such tenderness in her voice, it makes your heart swell.

“the importance of appearance,” rasps eloise, causing you to turn to her, “and the lengths gone to achieve so-called perfection of such, especially for those of feminine disposition, is an entirely antiquated, offensive concept that must be eradicated from our, and all, societies—— but you do, look, beautiful, y/n.”

you grin. 

“we’ll eradicate it together; and with help along the way, i am certain.”

when she responds in kind, you turn to the gentlemen, and, to your mortification, colin and anthony bow at you.  the high society etiquette directed towards you from your friends overwhelms you with an embarrassment that you cannot even begin to fathom; they haven’t performed such formalities towards you since your first meeting all those months ago.  but, in spite of your horror, the sincerity of their intentions, as well as their countenances, touches you deeply.

“madame delacroix and the maids have outdone themselves,” remarks anthony.  “as mother and eloise have said, you look beautiful, y/n.”

“indeed,” colin beams.  when he turns to benedict, however, his smile transforms into an expression befitting of a fairytale creature; one with mischievous intentions.  “what say you, brother?”

you follow his line of sight and connect with ocean eyes.  the flood of self-consciousness and the tempo of your heartbeats magnify hundredfold under his gaze, the butterflies within you fluttering the most violently they ever have, and you feel as though your entire body has been set ablaze.

anthony, with what looks like a smirk, nudges his brother with his elbow.  as if suddenly aware of where he is, benedict hastily bows at you and, returning his ocean eyes to yours, says,

“you look— well.”

you hear eloise snort.  turning your head towards her, you see she has completely sucked in her lips.  to her left, kathani smiles massively.  to kathani’s left, violet remains ever poised but with wide, sparkling eyes.  you still feel self-conscious but are infinitely amused by whatever is happening to the bridgertons and, with a playful smile on your lips, return your gaze to benedict.

“thank you, mr. bridgerton.  i had felt uneasy with an unnerved stomach earlier, but i am glad to know that my health appears to be in proper order.”

and you deeply curtsy at him. 

from above you hear the sweet giggles of the youngest bridgertons.  ahead, in your periphery, you see how anthony closes his eyes as he sucks in air through his nostrils and how colin, with an unabashed laugh, clasps his hand onto benedict’s shoulder.

“well!” anthony booms, attempting to control his smile on what ought to be an authoritative expression. “i believe we have a ball to commence.  shall you lead the way, viscountess?”

and with an expression both equal in authority and warmth, kathani declares,

“i shall.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you had grown ease of mind knowing that you would not be asked to dance.  not only were you a stranger to everyone in the ton aside from the bridgertons and penelope, you were also not handsome like the debutantes flitting about the room, swishing prettily in their gowns, strategically but delicately fluttering their eyes at a gentleman with which they wished to dance.  with anonymity and a plain face, you enjoyed the haven of people observing, snickering at the artifice and smiling at the sincerity.  kathani chatting with her guests.  anthony standing by her side.  penelope dancing with colin.  eloise hiding behind a plant.  violet beaming at her family.  (you tried to convince yourself that you had not noticed the absence of a particular person.)  your nerves have finally begun to calm, finding content in your station at the margins of the dance floor.

when colin bridgerton approaches you, hand outstretched in your direction, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“miss y/l/n, may you do me the honor?”

“i’m sorry, what?”

he laughs.

“will you dance with me?”

you gape at him.

“you’re mad.”

“my mind is perfectly intact.”

“this is unwise.”

“this is the best decision i have made this night.”

“i shall surely step on your toes.”

“i have worn my sturdiest shoes for the occasion.”

the corners of your mouth tug down into a moue at the third bridgerton’s stubborn charm.  his grin merely widens as your eyes narrow to slits at him.  penelope approaches from behind the beguiling imp and smiles warmly at you.

“it will be fun,” she encourages. “i promise.”

penelope!  no!

“et tu, brute?” you bemoan.

she shrugs.

“what is a ball without dancing?” penelope offers.  sweet innocence colors her voice, but the delighted glint in her eyes reveals her true duplicitous nature.  she knew exactly how to play the game of this conversation, no doubt a devious plot concocted between her and her beau.

you sigh.

“fine,” you huff, slapping your hand into colin’s palm.  “i would be honored, mr. bridgerton.”

the diabolical duo laughs at the sarcasm that drips from your words as colin leads you to the lineup on the dance floor.  

–

“how is the dance treating you, miss y/l/n?” 

“i hate you.” 

colin guffaws.  (you see in your periphery how heads shift towards him and how eyes narrow at you.  the partner you had just left looks at you with particular scrutiny.)

“if your hatred towards me is the cost of you enjoying the ball, then it is a burden i shall carry, and happily so.” 

“has anyone ever told you how infuriating you bridgertons are?” 

“no, but we very well know that we are,” he grins, “and we take immense pride in it.”

you groan, throwing your head back.  (you hear murmurs around you.  not ladylike.)

“are you truly not having fun?”  the gentleness in his voice makes you look back at him.  his expression is soft.  sad.  guilty.  “we can leave the lineup, if that is what you would like.” 

you consider his words and his offer.

“i am having fun,” you reply truthfully.  his eyes light up at that and your heart warms at the sight.  “it is just— being in a circumstance so wholly unfamiliar— it’s overwhelming, is all, i think.  but…” you feel a smile form on your lips, “knowing that you all—as infuriating as you bridgertons are—are here with me, by my side, wanting me to enjoy myself, wanting me to be happy, it makes all the overwhelming feeling worthwhile.  i am happy.  you all make me happy.”

colin doesn’t say anything.  he just stares at you as the two of you dance still.  you are about to inquire—

“i am grateful to call you my friend, y/n.  becoming your friend has been one of the greatest blessings to have been bestowed upon me and my family.”

you suck in a breath. 

as is becoming yours has been one of mine.

but another thought also lives in your mind.  so, on the exhale of your breath, you smirk.

“only second to falling in love with penelope, yes?”

he laughs, an uncharacteristic shy smile forming on his lips as he looks at his feet and then back at you, eyes shining incandescently.

“i hope you do not take offense to being second.”

“being second to penelope is truly, sincerely, still a victory in of itself.  you are very blessed, indeed, to be her premier.”

you did not think colin’s eyes could shine brighter than they had mere moments prior, but you suppose— no, you are certain that this is the effect that the love of penelope featherington has on the third eldest bridgerton:  the light in colin’s eyes is absolute radiance.

“‘very blessed’ is to put it very lightly.”

with unabashed grins, you and colin continue to dance.  you have to walk most of the steps, often keeping good on your promise and stepping on his toes, but your partner is deterred neither by your incompetence nor by his injuries.  the two of you laugh (drawing leers from the other guests, you notice but brush off) and end your dance with exaggerated flourishes of a curtsy and a bow to one another.

“you underestimate your dancing skills, miss y/l/n,” colin remarks with a beam.

“see if you feel the same after tending to your bruises, mr. bridgerton,” you beam back.

“colin bridgerton!”

you both whip your gazes to the call of colin’s name and see a man fastly, eagerly approaching.

“hastings!” 

hastings?  why does that sound familiar? 

colin and the absurdly handsome man embrace, smiles broad and sincere. 

“i was uncertain you would be joining us on this occasion.”

“we would have seen to arriving early, as we had intended, but augie is proving to be quite unpredictable with his tantrums as of late.”

“he must take after his uncles,” colin smirks with odd pride.  that makes the other man chuckle.

“unfortunately, it seems to be so.”

he then shifts his gaze onto you.  his expression is curious and— sweet?  kindly.  you feel yourself become rather self-conscious as you notice, in your periphery, colin assuming a posture of gentlemanliness.

“my apologies for my dreadful manners.  simon, this is miss y/n y/l/n.  y/n, this is simon basset.”

simon bows most graciously at you.

“good evening, miss y/l/n.  it is a true pleasure to finally meet you.  i am simon basset, daphne’s husband.”

daphne?  

as in daphne bridgerton?

you recall the day you and benedict toured the art gallery:  a portrait, a fairly recent one, it seemed, of a beautiful young woman and a beautiful young man—the duchess and the duke of hastings, the plaque read.

your jaw drops.

“you are the duke!”  you remember the etiquette kathani taught you.  “your grace!”  and you sloppily curtsy.

simon laughs.

“that is hardly necessary.  please, if you feel comfortable in doing so, call me simon.”

“yes— of course!, your— simon,” you compose yourself.  “and you may call me y/n; i would prefer it, actually.”

simon grins.

“then, y/n, may i have the honor of having your next dance?”

your jaw drops again, your composure completely falling away.  you look at simon, who is utterly amused by your reaction, and then to colin, who is utterly delighted by the turn of events, and back to simon.

“that is a mistake.”

that earns guffaws from both of the men.  (you feel stares falling upon them and, once again, scowls falling upon you.)  

“i am more than willing to make that discovery for myself, if you will allow it.”

you throw back your head (ignoring the additional glares shot your way) and, with a sigh, whip it back to look at simon with a fatigued, but earnest, smile.

“i shall allow it.”

colin bows his head at you, his grin having never left his countenance since the end of your dance together, and steps to the side as you place your hand into simon’s outstretched one and are led to the next lineup by the duke.

–

“has the duchess accompanied you to the ball this evening?”

“while it is poor courtesy to speak on behalf of my wife when she can speak for herself, i can say, with confidence, that she would much rather you call her daphne.”

“kathani had taught me your society’s etiquette in preparation for the ball, in the event it would be necessary,” you roll your eyes.  “while i find it all utterly ridiculous, and entirely unnecessary for me in particular, i want to honor the knowledge that my teacher has bestowed upon me as a way to honor her.”

simon grins.

“you are a dedicated student.  indeed, she is in attendance.  the last i had seen her, she was tending to benedict.”

your heart sinks.

oh no.

“tending to benedict?  is he unwell?  did something happen?  is he all right?”

you hear how your voice rises in pitch and grows louder and more frantic with each word.  (you try not to care for the stares that you feel on you.  they are not of importance right now——or ever.)

is that why i have not seen him all night?  because he is in poor condition?  shall i leave the ball?  shall i see where he is being tended to?  shall i—

“y/n?”

oh.  yes.  you were having a conversation with simon.

“sorry, what did you say?”

“i had said that i did not mean to worry you,” simon says sincerely, but there is something in his smile.  not suspicious, neither mocking nor teasing.  it is as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotion.  “i simply mean that she is speaking with him and— encouraging him, is all.”

you feel the entirety of your body, mind, heart, and soul ease; but now, you are perplexed.

“encouraging him?  whatever for?”

“i had not stayed with them long enough to hear the details of their conversation; i had sought you out rather immediately.”

“me!”

the dance had timed perfectly that upon receiving such information, you are forced to turn to another partner (who is unnerved to have you as a temporary companion).  when you reunite with simon, his chuckling has mostly subsided.

“indeed.  the viscount had encouraged me to ask you for a dance.  the viscountess then stated that you required the practice.”

“i—— am utterly lacking in words in how to respond to that.”

“if it is of any comfort to you, it was something i had already intended on doing.”

“that is, rather strange?”

he grins.

“i can see how that is so from your perspective, yes.  but from mine,” and it surprises you how suddenly simon’s countenance softens, “i had to find out for myself how wonderful this y/n y/l/n is to have so easily won the affections of all the bridgertons at number five.  daff and i, as well as francesca, were becoming quite jealous that we did not have the good fortune to spend time with you as the rest of the family has had.”

“the family has… spoken of me?”

“in these past months of knowing you, you have become their most beloved topic of conversation.  hyacinth and gregory idolize how resplendent of a storyteller you are.  eloise adores being challenged by your intellect.  colin aspires to your ferocity of quick wit.  kate cherishes every discussion you share together.  anthony reveres your unwavering resolve.  violet becomes overcome with delight at every recounting of a memory in which you are involved.  and benedict…”

you swallow.

“yes?” 

you hear how feeble and quiet your voice has become.  

“never stops speaking of you; so much so that it would be impossible to abridge what he loves in you.”

you shut your eyes closed at the words “he loves” and attempt to control the tears that threaten to flow at the word “you.”  

the love he has for you is not the love you have for him.

“i— i did not know that they held me in such high regard,” you whisper.

you flutter your eyes open, grateful that no tears have fallen, and are greeted by the gentlest of smiles from simon.  it assuages your soul.

“the highest of regards.  they care very deeply for you.”

“and i care very deeply for them,” you declare softly.  you then feel yourself break out into a smile.  “i cannot say the same for you, yet, but i can see it forthcoming.”

simon throws his head back with a loud laugh, your smile transforming into a large grin (as you ignore the scowls that fall upon you).  simon whips his head back to you, and he too wears a large grin.

“i am honored that you see the potential within me.”

with a final spin, you and simon release the other’s hand, ending the dance in a curtsy and a bow, both of your grins non-faltering.

“thank you for bestowing me the honor of dancing with you.”

you snort.  (you hear scoffs and other suppressed noises of disapproval.)

“i fail to see how much of an honor it is to have someone incessantly knock into you, but if such is your feeling,” you curtsy with much theatricality and, upon your rise, let out a sigh of relief.  “now, i shall retire to the margins once more.”

simon, once again, looks as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotions, but in it you detect— delight?  you narrow your eyes.

“what?”

“you are not meant for the margins, y/n; please forgive me,” and with that, simon bows, his smile still non-faltering, and turns to leave you in the middle of the dance floor.

you are about to call out his name, curious and agitated by his vagueness—

“y/n?”

you turn around to the familiar voice and are greeted by a smiling anthony.

“oh no.  are you going to ask me for the honor of having my next dance?”

the viscount looks as if he is about to howl with laughter and attempts to mask it, poorly, with his absurdly elated smile.

“is the idea of dancing with me truly so appalling?”

“the idea of dancing more is what i find so appalling.”

“i shan’t force you to do anything you do not want to do.”

“but how will your pride take it?”

this time anthony fully howls (earning looks of confusion at the host and their looks, predictably, turning to glares when they trace the impropriety back to you).

“i am always working on humbling myself,” he says, his expression softening.  “i assure you that i, as well as my pride, can manage your rejection if it means that you are happy.  you need not worry about my well-being.”

these damned bridgertons, and their damned charm, and their damned sincerity.

despite your internal accusations, you smile.  you offer your hand (hearing a gasp or a few around you), and beaming, anthony takes it.

–

“you look like a princess, y/n!”

the saccharine words of hyacinth echo in your mind.  with the transmutative magics of your fairy godmothers in mama, violet, kathani, genevieve, judith, alice, and the maids of bridgerton house, the impossible was made possible:  you look like a princess.  but it is not until this very moment, after descending a regal staircase, after entering this enchanting ball, after dancing with two dashing gentlemen and now a third, that you feel like a princess.  you recall how you and your siblings played imagination; how you often asked to be the princess; how you did it so often that mama sewed you a dress from scraps of fabric and papa crafted you a crown out of discarded branches and your elder sister announced you as princess y/n whenever you played and your younger sibling waltzed with you around the first floor of your home.  it makes you elated with childlike wonder how fortunate you are to be here and how lovely it is to be here, how strange and wonderful it is that imagination has become real life; as if it is all a wish for which you did not know you had wished, a wish that you did not know you had wanted to come true until it came true.

but—

“is there something on your mind, y/n?” you hear anthony ask, sometime after returning to him as your partner.  “you seem pensive.”

“ah, yes.  despite my gripes with you, and your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—”

“i gave you an option not to do so!”

“i am not finished speaking!”

he huffs out air through his nostrils, waiting with what seems to be a morsel of patience for you to continue.

“despite my gripes with you, your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—” anthony gives you a tired look that of an older sibling; you grin, “i am enjoying myself.  i just wish, i just wish my family could be here with me, to enjoy it too.”

anthony’s expression softens immediately, and it makes your heart tighten.  you know with what gravity, duty, and love he looks after the entirety of his family; you have witnessed it at every given second since becoming his friend.  if someone were to be with you as you navigate this pain, you are glad that it is anthony.

“we shall invite them to the next ball we host,” he declares.  your jaw drops.  “it was a lack of foresight on my part for not doing so for this occasion, and i shan’t make that error again.”

you try to do rough estimations of what costs that would entail for the bridgertons— dresses and coats and shoes and four to six sets of two abstained days of work at least.

“anthony, i cannot possibly ask you to—”

“you did not ask,” he grins.  “i offered.  and i do so wholeheartedly.  it shall not be a trouble for us, just strategic planning as kathani and i work the books.  and before you protest—” you frown, both disappointed and flattered that anthony could sense your retaliation, “it is something i—as well as the rest of the family, i am certain—wish to do.  if you won’t consider it for yourself and your family, then perhaps consider it as a gift to us selfish bridgertons.” 

that makes you laugh loudly as you feel tears form in your eyes (whispers of you be damned).  expression turning gentle once more, anthony continues,

“it would be an honor to finally meet your family.  if they are even an inkling like you, then they must be truly wonderful, indeed.”

with a small sniffle of your nose and all the gratitude in your heart, you smile.

“they are.  they are truly wonderful.  i love them so much.”

anthony smiles in return with a nod of his head.

“then it is settled.”

“you are a good brother, anthony.”

you have wondered often if that is something anthony knows.  while the bridgertons’ love for one another is apparent in all that they do and say and breathe, you haven’t heard them say very complimentary things to one another, particularly to the eldest.  it is typical of families to tease and to jest, you know that intimately, but you also know how important, then, it is to tell your family what you truly think of them, how you truly feel of them.  they ought to know just how much they are loved.

though his overall demeanor is composed and dignified, the softness in anthony’s eyes reveals his true emotion.

“and you are a good sibling, y/n.”

< their dance eventually comes to an end.  someone approaches them. >

“good evening, brother,” benedict turns his ocean eyes to you.  “good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.”

you vaguely hear something in your periphery.  you turn to it and see a brilliant grin lighting up the viscount’s countenance.

“huh?”

“i had said that the viscountess is calling me over to her.  i must pardon myself.”

“oh.  yes.  farewell, anthony.”

his grin broadens, dimples forming in his cheeks, and he bows.  you see how, as he brings himself upright, his eyes shift towards his brother, the delight in his grin never leaving but something in his eyes… softening?  before you can fully process it, he has turned and now walks towards kathani.

you turn back to benedict.

“i—— good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.  though, we have already greeted each other this night, just moments ago.”

“ah, yes— that—— that would be correct.  and— is… correct.”

he is anxious.  your heart aches at the sight, and you want to reach out and touch him, comfort him, ease whatever his concerns are—but you refrain.

benedict clears his throat.

“are you— are you enjoying yourself?”

while heavy by benedict’s current state, your heart cannot help but glow brighter at his question.

“yes, tremendously so.  the dancing has been plenty fun, despite how horrendous i am at it.”

that makes benedict laugh, and relief floods your body, mind, soul, and heart.  it is good to hear him laugh.  to see him smile.

“i do not think you are as horrendous as you think you are.  your form has been quite good.”

you cock your head, feeling the scrunch of your eyebrows and the smirk on your lips.

“you have been observing me?”

his jaw drops, his body stiffening again.  suddenly shy, he looks at his shoes and, with a cough, looks back up at you, and you attempt to hold in your gasp.

how.  

how is that, after all this time, he makes these butterflies within me flutter still.

“i— i do not have a clever diversion for that.  yes; yes, i have.  i suppose i have been building the— the courage within myself.”

“‘the courage’?  the courage for what?”

he swallows.

“to ask you to dance with me.”

oh.

“oh.”

he looks… he looks scared.  exposed.  vulnerable.

you feel them within yourself, too.

he offers his hand.

“may i dance with you, y/n?”

you place your hand in his.

“yes.  yes, you may, benedict.”

i am terrified of nothing else and would love nothing more than to dance with you.

benedict leads you to the floor, his ocean eyes never leaving yours, your eyes never leaving his.

the quartet starts up, and you detect how it is music for a waltz.  of all the dances you were taught, even you can admit that you were best at learning the waltz.  

…

you curtsy as he bows.  benedict places his hand on your waist, and you try not to elicit your gasp from feeling his touch.

< their dance commences.  they are silent.  a lot of staring and shit.

< notably, y/n is not cognizant of the ton’s perception of her while she dances with benedict as she had been with her previous partners.  it seems her sole focus in this moment is dancing with benedict, being with benedict.  her heart, mind, body, and soul is with him.

< y/n’s mind goes Rampant when benedict places his hand on her exposed shoulder. >

do not close your eyes, you reprimand yourself.  if you close your eyes, you will indulge.  you will indulge in this sensation.  in this touch.  in his touch.  in benedict’s bare hand on the expanse of your exposed skin.  in imagination.  in fantasies.  in thoughts.  in other thoughts on other parts of your body that you so, so very much want him to—

“i had not spoken properly.”

you try not to shudder a gasp upon hearing his voice.

“pardon?” you say, a bit breathless.  the dance calling for it, benedict twirls you, and you are now face to face again.

“earlier; when i had commented on your appearance, i had said you looked well.”

you snort, recalling the peculiar word choice, and that earns a smile from benedict.

“what i had meant to say is—“ he swallows, “you look beautiful, y/n.”

“i think,” you respond perhaps too swiftly, “that is testimony to genevieve’s skill and not to my appearance.”

“i think genevieve only enhances what is already there.”

you want to change, you don’t want to change— you do want to change the topic.  you cannot handle whatever— whatever benedict is insinuating.  the indecipherable, intense, attentive gaze of his ocean eyes on you.  it is so much; it is too much.

“she spoke of you.”

shit.  why did i say that?

his face immediately falls, ocean eyes transforming with it.

shit.

“genevieve spoke of me?  with you?  why?”

“kathani had accompanied me to the modiste, and i had shared with genevieve how i became acquainted with penelope and the bridgertons,” you half-truth.  “talking about the family, and then you, was a natural consequence.”

“what did she say?  about me?”

you try not to wince at the urgency in his voice.

“she shared how you and she had— an intimate and passionate acquaintance,” you divulge, using the words your friend had to describe the artists’ relationship.  perhaps you imagine the sensation, but you feel benedict wince as you dance.  “and that it was brief and no more.”

“she said that?  ‘brief and no more’?”

“indeed.”

he sighs.  you detect relief in the exhale, but perhaps you had, once again, imagined it.  you always had an active imagination; trying to bend what you perceive to what you wish was real.

“i see,” is all benedict says.

“do you care for her?” you inquire.  it is truly masochistic, what you are doing.  but you cannot help yourself.  it is something you often do when benedict is near.  when you and he are so close.

there is a small silence.

“i did.  at least, i think i did,” he shares. “i was hurt when our— acquaintance came to an end, but i was not heartbroken.  i had known nothing of heartbreak, not until—”

and he suddenly stops speaking, sucking in his lips.

“until?”

“nothing.  nevermind.  forget i had said anything,” he says all too quickly.  you laugh, and he scrunches his face in adorable disapproval at you.

“well, that only makes me the more curious, benedict!  the mystery of it, and your very clear blush, indicate it must have been quite the event.”

“i am not blushing!”

“you cannot lie about something i can literally see.”

“you are infuriating.”

“and what do you think you are?”

benedict just pouts at you, though you see the twinkle in his ocean eyes.  you want the twinkle to be of affection, but you will settle for amusement.  for friendship.  you take pride in how you can elicit this reaction out of him.  you take joy in how he can elicit this reaction out of you.  you love him, and you are grateful that is something you can say and know and feel.  even if he does not love you as you love him.

“the first time i felt heartbreak,” he begins, finally giving in.  you perk up in anticipation.  “was when— was when you had walked out of the house after i had crumpled the paper to the floor.”

you nearly stop in your tracks, halting your waltz with benedict entirely, until you find a way to recover and continue the steps with him.  he is looking intently at you, waiting for your response.  you inhale a breath and on the exhale say,

“oh.”

it is a pathetic response, but it is the only one you can muster at this moment.  breath has entirely left your lungs, your heart palpitates at a maddening rate, the lightning of benedict’s touch and proximity magnifying at every passing second.

“i had hurt you, this person whom i—” he swallows, “whom i care for, deeply and completely.  i was, and am, ashamed of my deed and the arrogant thoughts and beliefs that led me to do it.”

“i have long forgiven you for that, benedict.”

“it is something of which i am not deserving.”

“you cannot tell me what to think or do,” you challenge, arching an eyebrow at him to add levity to the conversation.  benedict smiles, despite himself, and it makes your body flood with relief and joy. 

“i would never dare.”

“as you shouldn’t,” you grin, then inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils.  “you need not flagellate yourself for what you did.  that accomplishes nothing, and guilt is entirely useless in the structures that be,” you say resolutely.  more softly, you continue.  “my forgiveness is something i gave you willingly because it is what i truly wanted.  because i knew, and know, how you wish to do better.  i see that in everything you do; in your art, in your character.  it is something i admire in you.”

benedict simply stares at you, his ocean eyes impossible to decipher again.  his gaze is overwhelming, but you refuse to break it.

“i was about to say how undeserving i am of your compassion,” he says, “but then swiftly realized you would have just admonished me.”

you laugh.

“you were correct in thinking so, yes.”

he looks at you still, his expression still impossible to decipher, but there is something soft about it.

“thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies within you flutter once more.

“and if you ever wish to discard your paper again,” you diverge from your feelings, “simply hand it to me.  i am always in need of more.”

he laughs fully, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight, and you feel the flutterings violently rage within.  perhaps diversion was not the wisest choice (or perhaps it was, if it meant that you were the one to make benedict laugh like that).

“i have gotten quite good at maximizing the amount of negative space on a sheet, but nothing would delight me more than to support your writing.”

“i am most grateful for your patronage, mr. bridgerton.”

benedict makes something of a gagging noise, and you snort loudly.

“you are making it strange with the master-servant relation, y/n.”

“ah, so you are learning,” you comment with a sagacious nod of approval.  it is now benedict’s turn to snort.

“what can i say?” he grins.  “i have the greatest of teachers.”

“they have done quite well; please give them my regards.”

“i shall.”

and with the music coming to an end, you turn to face one another, wide and wild smiles on your faces.  you curtsy as benedict bows.  

“may i fetch you a drink?” he inquires after you are both upright again.

“is alcohol served at these occasions?”

benedict laughs.

“champagne it is.”

he gives you one more bow, lingering a moment more with one more smile, before taking off to retrieve your drink.

you try to bite back your smile, but it’s entirely useless.  you twirl in your spot, feeling the swish of your dress in the spin, for you cannot help yourself.  you cannot help how much joy radiates off of you in this moment, how giddy you are.  it feels like a fairytale.  you look in the direction benedict took off and feel your smile widen.

it is dangerous what you are doing— indulging in this.  but you do not care.

this is undoubtedly the most wondrous night of your life.

“so you’re the pauper that the bridgertons have invited to their ball.”

you freeze.

“how else would you have been asked to dance by the host—the viscount and a bridgerton, nonetheless; his two brothers; and the elusive duke of hastings?  it is an endearing sight, really.”

her posse snickers.

“the bridgertons have always been so kind and thoughtful in that way, extending their hands to the less fortunate.  why they chose you, however, remains a mystery.  if it were a pretty face that appealed to them, i perhaps could have understood, but you are simple at best.”

“you are cressida cowper,” you state.

penelope and eloise had warned you about a cruel creature amongst the ton, and the young woman before you matches all of the criteria they had described:  icy platinum hair, draconian eyes, and a haughty disposition that ought to be reserved for the royals.

cressida daintily gasps and smiles at you with what seems to be all the mockery she can muster.  

“i see that my reputation precedes me!  though, only those of my standing can refer to me as such.  cannot have my name tainted by the mouths of the lowly.”

you feel the gazes of other guests on you.  you hear muffled sneers.

this is entertainment for them.

you should say something, stand up for yourself— against cressida, against her posse, against the ton— but you don’t.  you can’t.  your mouth has gone dry, your mind has gone silent, your body has gone numb.  you have never, ever felt more powerless.

“your dress— did the bridgertons pay for it?  of course they did.  pity, though, for their wealth to go to waste on such an offensive thing.  allow me to assist you—”

and she pours her drink onto you.

you try not to gasp at the chill of the liquid making contact with your skin.  looking down, you see a reddish purple stain seep into the cream fabric of your ball gown as it continues to travel downwards.

you hear cressida giggle.  you look up.

“better,” she simpers.  “beautiful at last.”

her posse sneers with delight.  the guests who had tried to suppress their laughs do nothing to hide their mirth now.  

this is entertainment for them.  my humiliation— it is entertainment for them.

you step into cressida’s space, eliciting a stunned gasp from her as the others follow suit, and shove your face as closely to hers as possible.

“if we were not in your domain, i would rip out your delicate hair and strike my hand across your pretty little face.  but i am a lady—not in blood nor in title, but in character.  and with your words and your deeds, you have shown just how utterly undeserving you are of such a title with your complete void of morals, compassion, and integrity.  i do not care what you think of me, cressida, or what drinks you pour on me because i can rest easy in my sleep and waking hours knowing with perfect certainty that i am nothing like you.  i bid you good night.”

and maintaining the ferocity of your glare on her horrified eyes, you muster up the most mocking, deep curtsy you can, turn, hitch up your skirt, and run away.  you cannot care for the booming silence from that creature and her posse, for the murmurs and glowers of the ton thrown your way.  you cannot take time to process what words a flutters-inducing voice snarls at cressida.  

no. 

you must simply run away, quickly and efficiently, because you refuse to give into these monsters’ satisfaction of seeing your tears.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

the cool air of the night whips your face as you run as far and as deep as you can into the gardens.  you curse your damned shoes, for they are slippery and nothing like your sturdy boots, and they make you realize even further how much you have fucked up in allowing yourself to get this far.  in allowing yourself to go to the ball, in allowing yourself to dance, in allowing yourself to fall in—

feeling your shoe catch on something, you fall forward and throw your hands out in front of you, your gloved palms digging into the bark of a tree trunk as you attempt to steady yourself.  you attempt to control the staggered rhythm of your breath, the sobs that choke out of your throat, the palpitations that threaten to collapse your heart.

why did i allow myself to get this far?

“y/n—”

you snap your gaze over to the call of your name as your stomach knots, somehow, even now, with flutterings upon hearing his voice.

“benedict, no— just— no,” you manage to croak out, stepping away from where he approaches.  you hold up your hand, as if it is a magical force that will push him away.  it does not.  “just go, please, just go.”

“i refuse to leave you, y/n, you are hurt—”

you cackle, sniffling the snot that tries to escape your nostrils.  you push your remaining hand off the tree and turn towards him.  

“hurt?  what gave you that impression?  is it the tears?  they are just water, benedict, they will dry.”

“this is not the time to jest!”

“then what do you want of me!”

“to allow me to help you!”

“why!  why do you care!  why do you care for some, some low status person like me!”

“that is not how i see you!”

“THAT IS WHAT I AM.”

he freezes.  you feel yourself clenching your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms through the satin of the gloves that were bought for you.

“you are the son of a viscountess, a brother to a viscount.  i wonder every day if my family will have enough food to eat at our one meal.  we—” you gesture between the two of you, “—are not of the same world.  and maybe, maybe it should have stayed that way.  to, to have stayed in our own worlds.  we should have stayed in our own worlds!”

“and is that what you want?” he shoots back.

“what?”  you snark.

“is that what you want?  for us to stay in our own worlds?”

you fall silent, words suddenly failing you, breath suddenly leaving you.  he huffs out a breath and continues.

“if that is what you want, i shall stay away from you.  i shall never bother you.  i shall never hurt you as i have.  we shall—” benedict swallows, “we shall forget each other.  if that is what you want, y/n, i shall give it to you.”

you do not respond to him.  you stare into him as he stares into you.

“is that what you want?”

you shake your head as you feel fresh tears rush to your eyes.

“then what do you want?” he softly asks.

you flutter your eyes closed and breathe in.  on your exhale, you open your eyes to the tear-blurry sight of benedict still looking at you with such tenderness in his ocean eyes.

“i want you,” you whisper.

you barely have time to process anything else when benedict surges forward and wraps his arms around you in a crushing embrace.  tears fall even harder than before as you cry into his chest and wrap your arms around him.

benedict pulls back from the embrace to look at you, to cup your cheek, to wipe away the tears that fall so quickly from your eyes.

“i want you, y/n.  i want to be yours.  i want to be in your world, i want our worlds to be one.  i want to go wherever you go.  i want to make you laugh and to make you smile every day and every night; i want to do everything with you.  i want to be with you, to share this life with you.  from the moment i met you, from the moment you intended to shake my hand, i have wanted nothing more than to share all the time i have on this earth with you.  i do not care for balls, i do not care for the ton, i care— i care for you, y/n.  these are not the circumstances in which i wanted to confess this, with you crying and us yelling at one another, but i must be true with you.  i—”

“benedict?”

“yes?”

“may i kiss you?”

benedict’s jaw drops and you laugh at his shock, sniffling your nose as you beam at him.  he quickly recovers, breaking out into the smile that has always made you flutter with butterflies, the smile that you always secretly hoped, dreamed, wished was reserved for you.  and you begin to think that, after all this time, perhaps it is.

“good god, please, yes—”

he barely completes his ‘yes’ when you jump forward to crash your lips into his.  benedict practically trips backwards with the force of your eager leap, the two of you laughing into your kiss at the messiness of it all, as he holds you both steady.

this is your first kiss.  you are so glad that it is benedict.  

and somewhere within you blooms the hope that he is your last first kiss.  

you have no idea what you’re doing, or what you should be doing, but you are far too much enjoying having benedict’s lips on yours, your hands on his cheeks, his hands on your waist, and your bodies pressing more and more into each other to give the slightest care.  and the smile you feel against yours makes you think that benedict doesn’t mind—at all.

you pull apart to breathe, but your lips do not move far from one another.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

“and i am sorry.”

“for loving me?”

you feel benedict jump back as he holds you, his face absolutely crestfallen, panic flooding his eyes, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when you giggle and peck his parted lips with yours.

“i’m teasing you, my love.”

benedict’s eyes soften but quickly glint with mischief.  you’re curious about the expression when you feel him tickling the sides of your waist.

“okay, okay!” you gasp with laughter as he tickles on. “i— i yield, i yield!”

benedict grins victoriously, his tickles fading into him softly rubbing circles on your waist.

“i am sorry for saying that is not how i see you, when you spoke of your social standing.  i had not meant it that way, but i understand now how it was understood, and i should not have said it as i did.  i know that i have lived a life of unfathomable ease with the wealth and circumstances into which i was born.  the privileges i hold are not things i had reflected on, really, until— until i met you.”

you soften at his earnestness, by the way he humbles himself before you.  but you cannot help the giddy mischief that bubbles from within.

“did you only reflect on your privileges as to win a femme’s favor?”

benedict’s jaw drops again, but you see how his ocean eyes shine with like-minded playfulness. 

“do you truly think so lowly of me?”

you grin.  

“perhaps.”

you feel benedict teasingly threaten his hands into tickling position onto your waist, and laughing, you shoo them away.  he grins and softens his gaze once more.

“what i wanted to say to you earlier is— i wish you did not speak of yourself so harshly.  as if you are unworthy of care from me because of your status.  i care for you, i love you, y/n,  as you are.  as you were, as you will be.  with all your circumstances, all your experiences, all your deeds, all your words, all your thoughts, all your feelings.  for your heart, for your mind, for your soul.  i love you because you are you, and i wish for you to see that, for you to see you as i see you.  as so many of us see you.”

“i— i do not know what to say.”

“you do not have to say anything; just to, if i may ask of you, seed my words into your heart and mind and soul and know them to be true, wholly and completely,” a playful smile forms on his lips.  “though, i must say, i am rather pleased with myself for rendering a writer with ferocious conviction speechless.”

you roll your eyes, but your voice is soft.

“you have had that effect on me for quite some time, benedict.”

benedict swallows and gently rubs circles onto your waist again.

“i love you, benedict.”

“i love you, too.”

< y/n and benedict, hand-in-hand, start to walk towards the house; they are taking their time. >

“are you certain you want to return the ball?” benedict inquires.  “we can stay here in the gardens and wait until the last of the guests have gone.”

you hum.

“i would like to dance.”

“ah, was there a gentleman or a lady who caught your eye, miss y/l/n?”

“oh, loads.  i hope it won’t make you terribly jealous, mr. bridgerton.”

“it will, but i shall simply stare at them maliciously if their hands are to roam.”

“yes, my form is reserved for your hands and your hands alone.”

you exchange grins.

“indeed.”

benedict nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, and you laugh.  he lifts his head and plants a soft kiss on your temple.

“are you certain?  i do not mean to doubt you or your wishes to dance.  we can dance out here, under the bright light of the moon.  i want you to feel content and safe.”

“i do feel content and safe.  with you.  with the family.  within myself.  i shan’t let the ton or cressida ruin my first ball.  though, the idea of dancing in the moonlight is quite enticing.  perhaps another night?”

“you have my word,”  and bringing your hand to his lips, he kisses your knuckles.  a serene silence falls between you two until benedict makes some sort of a noise in his throat, as if to clear his voice.

“i, uh, must say,” benedict begins, “your confrontation with cressida was, uh, quite— alluring.”

you stop, letting go of his hand, and stare at him.

“alluring?”

a delicious blush colors your love’s face.

“indeed.”

a newfound bravery blooms in you.

you step into his space, not breaking eye contact with his blown out pupils, the ocean of his eyes mere outlines.  you sneak your lips towards his ear and hear a soft whimper emit from his lips.

“is that something of interest to you, mr. bridgerton?” you murmur, your bottom lip barely grazing his earlobe.  you feel him shiver and inhale.  “when you see someone be put in their place?”

he exhales frantically.

“it is something of interest to me when— when you do it,” he admits, as if out of breath.  you smile, pressing your bottom lip softly into his earlobe.  he does nothing to hold back his moan as you do everything in your power to hold in yours.

“that is good to know,” and quickly rip away from him.  

in your step back, you take in benedict’s state—flustered, expectant, ruttish—and wink at him.  you turn and walk away at your leisure, putting on a performance of superiority as you hide your own arousal.

it is only a few moments later that you hear benedict follow you.

“you,” he says, voice still fraught with desire but full with love, “will be the death of me.”

you look back at him and grin.

“and what would you like me to put on your epitaph?”

“benedict bridgerton, he who, in life and in death, loves the best soul to have ever existed.”

you cannot help your giddy self and close the distance between the two of you once more, grabbing his face and pressing your smile into his.  benedict happily obliges as he places his hands at the low of your waist and pulls you closer into him.

< they get into it! 

< y/n takes off her gloves so that she can touch benedict; she is about to throw them on the ground. >

“wait—”

and he takes your gloves.

“hm?”

“your gloves.  they were costly to make,” benedict states as he stuffs them into the inside pockets of his jacket.  “i don’t want to be flippant in letting them be discarded to the ground.”

you gape at him.

“you concern yourself with the cost of my gloves?”

“why, yes, of course, it is something i—”

you clutch onto the lapels of benedict’s jacket and push him backward into a nearby hedge, his mouth now agape and his pupils dark with a desire you very much want to satisfy.

“i find your consideration quite alluring.”

in the midst of his apparent arousal, benedict giggles, and that makes you grin.

“what is it?”

“a hedge, y/n?  of all things to anchor me against?”

you roll your eyes.

“it was this, benedict, or the bark of a tree.”

“ah, so i should be grateful then.”

you repeat his words with sped up mockery, making him laugh and the corners of his eyes crinkle in the adorable way that is so very distinctly benedict, and you capture your love’s lips again to shut him up, smiling and laughing into the kiss.

…

“what do you want?”

“you.  whatever you want, benedict, i want it.  please.”

“are you certain?” he breathes into your ear.

“god, yes, benedict, please, yes.”

“then—”

benedict positions his head downward, burying his face into the crevice of your bosom, and before you can even begin to tease him for his absurdity, you feel the wetness of his tongue flat against the curvature of your right breast.  your gasp of surprise quickly transforms into an ungodly guttural wail, feeling yourself dig your fingernails into benedict’s back, arching into him to steady yourself, as he painstakingly drags the flat of his tongue from your right breast against the expanse of your exposed chest to the length of your right shoulder.  dazed and euphoric, you feel how benedict sneaks towards your ear, hovers it, panting ragged breaths,

“i’ve wanted to do that since you descended the stairs in that dress.  and—”

taking your left hand, benedict pushes your middle finger and forefinger fully into his mouth.  he methodically works his tongue against them as he guides your hand to pull and push in him, his blown out pupils never once leaving your intoxicated stare.  you feel the desperate urge to throw your head back at the incandescent eroticism that throbs from your fingertips to the rest of your body, but may god smite you if you willingly tear your eyes away from the divine sight of benedict’s almost oceanless eyes gaping into you as his gorgeous mouth sucks on your fingers.  just before you feel as though you are to fully blank out and ascend into the heavens, benedict rips your hand out of his mouth, the action creating an obscenely delicious ‘pop’ sound, and, wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulls you back into him, your face finding respite just below his shoulder.

“i’ve wanted to do that since first drawing your hand.”

you laugh-cry into his jacket.

“shit, benedict.”

your love laughs and nudges his head into yours and rests it there as he softly rubs circles on your back with his thumb.

“please—” good god, breathe, “please remind me to ask you more frequently what you want.”

“did you enjoy it?”

“no, benedict, i quite plainly hated it.”

“i’d be glad to accept your critiques.”

“i know you would,” you smile into his jacket and, lifting your head, are greeted by your favorite sight:  benedict, with his soft smile and his gentle ocean eyes.

“i have never felt like that before,” you admit in a whisper.

“nor have i,” he whispers back.  that shocks you, and you must have made your reaction visible because benedict emits a laugh through his nose, soft smile and gentle ocean eyes unfaltering.

“but you have been with others before; you’ve had similar experiences, yes?”  

you had assumed that your exhilaration must have been, apart from it being benedict, rooted in your lack of experience in such things.

benedict brushes a loose strand of your hair away from your eyes and tucks it behind your ear, his hand moving down to cup your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing it.

“yes, but those were different.” 

you cock your head in response.  he smiles, as if it is apparent.

“because they are not you.”

the sweetness of benedict’s ocean eyes are quickly replaced with shock then delight and then you don’t know what because he closes them as you crash your lips into his.  whatever you had just felt before, you want it again.  you want benedict.  all of him.  and you want all of him to feel what you just had.

you lick his teeth, and granting your wish, benedict opens his mouth more, groaning, bringing his hands to the curvatures of your ass, pushing your bodies even closer together though no space left exists between the two of you.  you move your hand to the back of his head and, gripping a tuft of his hair, pull it roughly just as you capture his tongue with your mouth and suck hard.  the sounds that benedict produce in reaction are entirely inhuman, but you vaguely deduce he is trying to say your name, and you’ve never attended a concert but, my god, nothing will ever sound as harmonious as the symphony that is your name gutturally trapped in benedict’s throat.

continuing with the work you’ve done to undo benedict thus far, you take your other hand and start to rake it against his body, starting at the base of his throat, taking time and leisure to explore, lowering and pressing into his chest, wondering wildly what beauty exists behind his damned shirt, lowering and feeling the firmness of his stomach and trying not to completely undo yourself with the sinful, transcendent thoughts of putting your tongue there, lowering and lowering and touching something curious and unfamiliar and hard and—

when he pushes you off of him.

“benedict, i— i am so sorry,” you panic, “please, what did i—”

“no, no,” he swallows, “you did— you have nothing to apologize for, my love, you were— uh— you were doing quite——” he clears his throat, “you were doing quite well; very well, actually…”

you continue to frown, still concerned.

“then why are you so tottery?”

“because— because if we were to continue, i do not think— i know i would not last for— um, for very much longer.”

you jut out your hip, putting the knuckles of your fist on it, and furrow your eyebrows at him.

“benedict bridgerton, i still do not understand what you are trying to convey.  speak plainly.”

“we should stop.”

your jaw drops, as does your hand from your hip.

“why?” you practically whine.  you should be embarrassed by your desperation, but to be entirely frank, you couldn't care less.  benedict huffs out a laugh, still breathless, and, stepping towards you, lays a tender kiss on your forehead.

“as much as i would love for us to continue, i think being in the family gardens with a ball being held a few meters away is hardly an ideal location for the more— involved aspects of such activities.  the aspects i’d like to explain to you,” he takes another step into your space, lowering his voice to an unfamiliar but enrapturing gravel, “the aspects i’d like to show you.”

you swallow your whimper.

“i—— i would very much like that,” you manage.  and then you grin, “though, exploring such aspects in the family gardens sounds like it would be quite the adventure.  a calculated risk, if you will.”

the alluring tone of benedict’s voice is completely replaced with a giggle, and your grin broadens as you press even closer into him and nudge your nose against his.  benedict rests his forehead against yours and flutters his eyes closed.

“what did i do to have you love me back?” 

you flutter your eyes closed.

“you were you.  you are you.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< ahead, y/n sees kathani.  she makes the connection that kathani must have accompanied benedict as a chaperone so that y/n wouldn’t be “disgraced” by having a man by himself chase after her.  

< as the two approach the viscountess, kathani recognizes how disheveled y/n and benedict look and promptly fixes them to look more presentable. she takes some hedge leaves out of benedict’s hair. >

“i see that you are well, y/n?” inquires kathani.

“never better, actually.”

she laughs, a smile falling on her lips.

“i am sincerely glad to hear that.”

< they walk closer to bridgerton house. >

“you are fortunate that it was not anthony who volunteered to chaperone.  he would have not reacted well to his loved one being dishonored, as he would say, particularly on family grounds.”

“oh dear,” you say, nervous and suddenly self-conscious.  you do not want to be the target of the eldest bridgerton’s wrath.  “what have i done to dishonor—“

kathani laughs.

“i wasn’t referring to you, chellam.  i was referring to him,” and she juts her chin out at benedict.

“me!”

“anthony will be furious when he finds out that you have been— private,” she says, gesturing to his newly tidied appearance, “with y/n in the gardens.  not very gentlemanly of you.”

“he won’t find out!” benedict pauses. “he won’t find out— right, kate?”

kathani just makes a face of feigned deep thought and you chortle.

“kate!”

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict.”

“but what if it’s for love?” he implores.  he says it facetiously, but you feel with what conviction he exudes his true feeling.

kathani’s expression softens as she looks between you and benedict.  you offer a small nod and a smile, confirming her thoughts.  she beams at you but then narrows her eyes at benedict.  there is no heat to her gaze; she is, however, having the most sublime time making her brother-in-law squirm.

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict,” kathani repeats.  benedict groans, throwing his head back like a disgruntled child, and you belly laugh at him.  

“i hope you are ready for gregory to be your second,” she continues.

you almost double over as benedict snaps his head forward to look at his sister-in-law.

“gregory!”

“indeed.  it is a shame as well— anthony’s accustomed second being the one he has to duel,” she sighs dramatically.  “oh well.  colin will make a fine replacement.”

“this family is ridiculous,” you declare, grinning like mad.  “gregory seems a tad young, though.  what about eloise?  i am sure she would be a more than suitable second for benedict.”

“oh, i have no doubt,” grins back kathani, “but i would not dare involve a woman in the idiocy of men and their ludicrous concepts of honor.”

you and kathani laugh loudly, delighted by how much you are enjoying yourselves, untroubled by benedict’s moping.

“it has been wonderful being in love with you, benedict,” you state simply.  “it’s a pity that it has to come to an end so soon."

kathani snorts.  benedict stops in his tracks and gapes at you.

“you think i would lose the duel!”

“anthony is more stubborn; he would let it fuel his will to live.”

“i think you underestimate how much i love you and how that fuels my will to live.” 

you smile.  in your periphery, kathani smiles. despite his current displeasure with you, your love smiles.

“i suppose i do.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< upon returning to the ball, y/n, benedict, and kathani see how anthony and violet are ensuring that the cowpers are leaving.  before the family leaves, y/n approaches cressida. >

“i do hope to see you at another one of these events.  if you find a way, of course, not to have yourself kicked out.” 

and you curtsy.  you turn to your love, his mouth in a wide smile and ocean eyes sparkling, and offer him a wink. you hear the quartet start up. 

“i believe it is time for another round of dancing.  care to be my partner?” 

“i would love nothing more.”

< they dance.  it is sweet, silly, romantic, and delightful.  both y/n and benedict touch each other beyond what is considered proper, like hands laying too low on the waist or eliminating the space between their bodies, but they truly do not care.  their unabashed joy is abundantly evident to everyone in the ballroom, but they are only focused on one another.  they are in their own world.  they giggle, they grin; it is the happiness they both deserve.  

< they dance the next set.

< after her and benedict’s third dance together, y/n makes eye contact with violet, who is at the margins of the dancefloor, eyes wide with joy. >

“as much as i love dancing with you, my love,” you beam, “i think i am in need of a new partner.”

< y/n approaches violet and with a bow asks her for the honor of being her next dance. though delighted, violet remarks how she is too old, and y/n says that the youngsters can learn a thing or two from her wisdom and skill. >

“we would need permission from the host,” offers violet.

“from anthony!  you birthed him!  you granted him permission to exist!”

that makes violet laugh.

< violet agrees, and they walk hand in hand to the dance floor.  in this dance, y/n and violet are partnered, benedict partnered with penelope, kathani partnered with anthony. >

…

“you’ve told each other."

“has anyone remarked how keenly insightful you are, violet bridgerton?"

“no,” the dowager replies with twinkling eyes, “but it is something of which i am well aware, and take great pride in.  i am happy for you both.”

“i am so glad to have your approval.”

“oh tosh!  as if a mother’s approval or disapproval can get in the way of real, true love.”

“perhaps so, but it is affirming to have the blessing from someone you so dearly love in a matter such as this.”

“you make it easy to love you, my dear.”

< the dance calls for a switch in partners.  y/n becomes partnered with penelope, and violet becomes partnered with benedict. >

“thank you, pen.”

“whatever for?”

“for bumping into me at the markets.”

penelope laughs.

“accidents are quite good, are they not?”

“i despise them, actually,” you declare with a grin.

< penelope reveals that benedict shared with her why he was not seen for the first three dances of the night. >

your jaw drops, and penelope merely titters in response.

“is that why i didn’t see him!  because he was lurking in the crowds to prevent men from approaching me?”

“it has been my discovery that the bridgerton brothers do not handle their jealousies well.”

“do you think gregory shall be the same?”

“oh, i am entirely certain.  he shall likely be the worst of all.”

the two of you snort as you are sent back to your partners, penelope with benedict and you with violet.

“and what has you and penelope in such giggles?”

“making barbs at your sons.”

violet laughs.

“they make it awfully easy to do so, do they not?”

< the dance comes to an end.  violet plants a soft kiss on y/n’s head.

< turning, y/n connects eyes with benedict who wears an incandescently happy expression. >

how could you not see it before?  how in love he is with you.

< tired but elated, y/n takes a break from dancing.  she reunites with the rest of the bridgertons at the ball.  y/n finally meets daphne, who remarks that she has heard so much about y/n.  eloise shares how the family wished to check in on y/n when she had returned to the ball to see that she was well; in a rare smile rather than a smirk, eloise shares that, upon seeing her dance and dance again with benedict, that she looked quite well indeed. at some point in the conversation with the bridgertons, y/n inquires when she can meet francesca.

< time passes, and joy is had amongst the bridgertons, penelope, simon, and y/n.  y/n cannot believe her happiness.

< the last dance is called.  benedict approaches y/n. >

“may i have the honor of being your final dance of the night?"

“you aren’t tired of me yet?”

“i shall never tire of you, y/n.”

upon taking your hand, benedict twirls you once then twice as he leads you towards the dance floor.  giggling and grinning, you decide to do the same to him, causing him to giggle and grin right along with you.

< they dance a fourth time. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the guests have made their leave from the bridgerton ball.  colin, eloise, and violet have gone to their respective bedchambers.  

< anthony, benedict, kathani, and y/n walk up the steps of the grand staircase. anthony has his hand clamped on benedict’s forearm and pulls him up the steps with particular determination and quiet fury. >

“i know where i sleep, brother!  i have slept there since we were children!”

“i am well aware of that, benedict, and i am also well aware of how you— roam when enticed.”

benedict looks at anthony, to you (you just shrug as you look on at the exchange with excitement), and back to anthony.

“do you people really think so little of me!”

“i do not think little of you, brother, i just know you.”

benedict’s shock deepens incredulously, though you see the smile underscoring it all.

“i am a man of honor!  i am a gentleman!”

“yes, as am i, as is colin, as was father; all bridgerton men are, and all bridgerton men are idiots around the persons for whom they have affections.  now, go into your bedchamber,” anthony finishes as he shoves his younger brother into the room.

“you are a nightmare!” you hear your love shout from within.

“and you are to stay here for the remainder of the night!” he shouts back, leaning forward to grab the knob to benedict’s bedchamber and pulling the door shut with a loud thud.  he turns to kathani, composure returning to his senses. 

“my dearest, may you call samuel and lawrence, please?  i shall have samuel stationed here and lawrence stationed outside benedict’s window.  they will be paid double their wage for these extemporary responsibilities.”

you laugh with your whole stomach and feel tears sting your eyes.  you have no concern in hiding your howls until you remember hyacinth and gregory are asleep and promptly clamp your hand over your mouth.  your hand succeeds in muffling your laughter, but marginally.

kathani rolls her eyes at her husband and deeply sighs.

“i shall,” she replies, smiling at her love’s antics.

pleased with her answer, anthony right about turns at benedict’s door, places his hands behind his back, and stands up tall, taking his temporary duty as guard with the utmost gravity.  something then eases in his posture, and he turns to you.

“i hope you have enjoyed your night, y/n.”

your heart swells.

“it was wondrous, anthony.  thank you.”

he beams, brilliant delight in his eyes.

“i wish you good rest.”

and with a bow of his head, anthony turns away from you and assumes his station once more, gravity and perfect posture and all.

the viscountess turns to you, her smile having softened, and says, “let me escort you back to your bedchamber.  i shall help you prepare for bed.”

–

“despite his many flaws,” kathani says with all amusement and fondness in her voice as she removes the pins from your hair, “anthony is, indeed, a man of honor and honesty.”

“i never had my doubts, but—” you snort, “that has certainly proved it.”

“it is because he thinks so highly of you,” she shares, looking at you in the mirror.  you turn around in your seat and connect with her eyes, eyes that are filled with so much warmth.  “he cares deeply for you, y/n.  anthony is only that overbearing and overly protective when it comes to his family, and he sees you as our family.  we all do.”

you suck in air through your nostrils, feeling the swell of your heart.  how did you get so fortunate as to be so loved by this family?  

though, you detect something in kathani.  her words are sincere, of that you are not doubtful, but they do not seem complete.  it is as if she wants to say more, if the blossoming twinkle in her eyes is indicative of anything.  but kathani does not elaborate.  

instead, she picks up the brush on the vanity and gently brushes your hair.  it reminds you of when your elder sister used to brush your hair before bedtime.  you close your eyes, humming.

“i see you all as my family, too.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the next morning, late morning.  the dining room. >

“you are infernal,” benedict deadpans to anthony, staring at his brother and taking his seat next to you.

“you are incorrigible; i was correct,” anthony responds, his eyes not leaving his paper.

“correct about what, brother?” hyacinth asks.

despite their current rivalry, benedict and anthony both freeze.  kate speaks on their behalf.

“your eldest had deemed it necessary to have lawrence stationed outside below benedict’s bedchamber window in the early morn and was proved correct in doing so; your second eldest had attempted to escape by way of that route.”

“stationed outside his window?  why would that be necessary?” gregory inquires.  he turns to benedict.  “and why were you trying to leave through your window?” 

in his periphery, benedict sees you whipping your head.  you seem to have suddenly found some interest in the painting on the wall faced away from the current scene.  he notices how you hide your smile behind your fist and how you attempt to suppress the convulsions of your laughter.  kate, on the other hand, unapologetically laughs.

“i am certain you will learn in due time, gregory.  it is something of a tradition, it seems.”

“will i get to participate in this tradition?” hyacinth enthuses.

“NO!” benedict and anthony shout in tandem.  they look at each other, and the elder gives a ‘see!’ face to the younger.  benedict just rolls his eyes.  

his eyes eventually land back on you:  you have now totally hidden your face in your hands with elbows perched on the table for support, any attempts at hiding your laughter now entirely gone.  your entire body vibrates as you somehow squeak and guffaw into the palms of your hands.

“ugh, why do adults always speak in such vague statements!” hyacinth grumbles as she slumps in her chair and crosses her arms.  she then suddenly shoots back up and looks at you.  “y/n, you only speak in riddles when we play!  may we play now?”

“yes!  may we play now?” gregory pipes up.

“please!” the two youngest plead in tandem.  benedict looks to you, and wiping away your hands to reveal your face red from laughter, you say,

“i would be— i would be delighted to do so,” you take sharp breaths in between attempts at controlling your laughter.  “perhaps—” you full on snort, and it makes benedict break out into a grin, “—perhaps, after the young sorceress and— and the young knight slay the wyvern, they— they will save the— the—” you laugh hard again, “the princess, captive and forlorn in her tower.”

gregory and hyacinth shout their joy and take off from the table.  

“you haven’t been excu!— oh, nevermind,” anthony grumbles in an uncanny, childlike resemblance to his youngest sibling.

benedict watches as you use your forefingers to swipe at the corners of your e/c eyes, fits of laughter still bubbling out of your mouth.

i love her, and she loves me, he thinks in awe.  it has been on repeat in his mind since you confessed to one another in the gardens just the night prior.  she is mine, and i am hers.

“your lordship,” you giggle still as you look at anthony, and benedict snickers, “may i be excused to play make-believe with your youngest siblings?”

anthony rolls his eyes with much theatricality, but his smile at you is sincere.

“you are not my sibling,” he states, but benedict catches how his elder brother quickly glances at him with eyes that say ‘yet,’ “you need not my permission, but yes, you may.”

you bow your head in dramatic gratitude, causing kate to titter and anthony to look to the ceiling, and you lift yourself up from your seat.

before you follow after his siblings, benedict reaches out and gently takes your hand.  you look at him, and he feels how his stomach flutters when his blue eyes makes contact with your e/c.  just as it did the first time, just as it did every time after.

benedict feels you softly rub three circles on his hand.  he softly rubs four circles on yours.

“good day, princess,” you say with a wink at your love, slowly slipping your hand away from his and then turning to walk out of the dining room.  benedict stares at you as you leave.

i love her, and she loves me.  she is mine, and i am hers.

“when do you intend on proposing, brother?” anthony smirks as he puts his teacup to his lips.

benedict smiles, looking off at where your laughter is heard. 

“later this afternoon.”  

anthony chokes on his tea, and kate, patting her coughing husband’s back, arches an eyebrow at her brother-in-law, amusement dancing in her eyes. 

“without a ring?” 

benedict turns to look at the couple and grins.  

“who said i don’t have a ring?”

“you are joking,” anthony says matter-of-factly.  “we all are excited at the prospects of y/n officially joining this family, but you just confessed your love for one another not even twelve hours ago.  we are still breaking fast!  there were guards at your door and your window!  how could you have already procured a ring?”

benedict smiles, digging into his pocket.

“i do not jest, brother.”

and, with pride, he holds up a thin band made of twisted paper.

“now, if you will excuse me,” benedict announces, lifting himself out of his seat, giving a kiss to the top of kate’s head, and ruffling anthony’s hair.  “i must be going.”

“and where are you off?” anthony demands as he straightens out his hair.

“do you think i am going to propose to y/n without asking her family’s permission first?  would not be very gentlemanly of me if i did.”

“how do you know where she lives!”

“that is what you were asking penelope last night,” kate answers.  anthony looks at his wife, incredulous and in awe.  benedict grins.

“exactly so, sister.  i’ve always known you held all the intelligence between you two.  i would have seen to it sooner, but—” 

an image of e/c eyes and ink-stained hands flashes in his mind, the flutterings in his stomach intensifying.  butterflies— that is what he will paint next, he decides.  

after he finishes his portrait of you.

“—i was held captive in my tower.”

[novaursa]

Omg!!! I saw that you're taking requests soo.. I'd like to ask for one since your writing is incredible🫶

Just before I start, if you're uncomfortable with the whole thing it's alright if you don't write anything at all...

Alright, getting started, my request would be Rhaenyra [and team black] x daughter Mc [all platonic, of course]

Rating would be 16+/18+ depending on how graphic you write it, I guess

Now the idea is that the Mc is Rhaes second child with laenor [Cough*Harwin*cough], and the whole scenario starts with her birth and childhood and how she's everyone's sweetheart. However, she has no dragon and is kind of the opposite of Aemond.

While he tries to claim a dragon every chance he gets and has a temperament (as we know him from the show), she is reserved, sweet and waits, being sure that her dragon WILL come to her.

Now the main plot is that at like 9-12 or something, she lets herself get pressured (maybe during the events of driftmark, idk) and tries to claim a dragon like aemond does. However, parallel to him claiming vhagar, she too tries to claim a dragon and legit, tragically dies.

(You can make up a dragon or use one of the unclaimed ones idk, you'll probably find a great solution)

Now, while she was patient and calm, the need for a dragon killed her, and while aemond was impatient and kinda bratty, he actually claimed one.

Nowwww I NEED rhaes [and the fams] reaction. Like, I love the fluff you write, but I just CRAVE GoT tragedy like give me some mothers rage where her daughters tragic, dramatic death is just another kick-start point for the dance.

Now like I said, if you're uncomfy I'm not mad it's a kinda dark(?) request

Hope you have a great day/night 🫶

Unclaimed

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Just like Aemond you didn't have a dragon. And the gods deemed you unworthy once you decided to claim one.

- Paring: daughter!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen (mother) - platonic

- Note: Let's pretend Vermithor is resting at Driftmark.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Your birth was greeted with joy, the sound of the sea crashing against the shores of Dragonstone mirroring the heartbeats of those who welcomed you into the world. Rhaenyra held you close, her second-born child, her daughter, and she whispered promises of love and protection. Laenor stood by her side, his hand resting on your small form, claiming you as his own with the same affection he showed to Jace. But those who looked closely could see the same strong features you shared with your brother, your true father’s blood running through your veins.

As you grew, it became clear that you were everyone's sweetheart. From the moment you could toddle through the halls of Dragonstone, you had a calming presence, your gentle smiles and soft words winning over even the hardest hearts. Rhaenyra would watch you with pride, her heart swelling as you blossomed into a child who was both loved and loving. You had a quietness about you, one that set you apart from the fiery temperament of others in your family.

But unlike your brothers and the other children of your family, there was one thing missing from your life: a dragon. Jace had claimed Vermax, and Luke had bonded with Arrax. Even Joffrey, still young, had a dragon. But you? You were without one, though it never seemed to bother you as it did others. While Aemond, your younger uncle, threw tantrums and chased after dragons at every chance, you simply waited. You were patient, certain that your dragon would come to you when the time was right.

Even in the presence of the mighty creatures, you remained composed, unafraid but unwilling to rush into something that did not feel natural. Aemond would mock you for it, the contrast between his fiery ambition and your quiet certainty driving him to scorn. "Dragonless, yet you call yourself a Velaryon?" he’d sneer, but his words never stung as he intended. You only smiled softly, your calm demeanor never wavering.

“Your dragon will find you when it’s time,” your mother would say, brushing your hair gently as you sat at her feet. Her voice was a balm, a reminder that there was no need for haste. “Just as did many of our blood.”

It was a comfort you took to heart. While others saw dragonless children as lesser, as incomplete, you knew better. You had no desire to force a bond that wasn’t ready, no need to prove yourself by claiming a creature you had yet to meet. You loved watching the dragons, feeling the wind from their wings and the heat from their breaths, but you felt no jealousy, no desperation. Unlike Aemond, who scoured the skies and caverns of Dragonstone, you sat quietly, waiting.

And you waited with patience, with faith, a smile always ready for those around you. In the training yard, you were quick to offer encouragement to Jace and Luke as they sparred. At the dinner table, your laughter was a light melody amidst the clamor of your boisterous family. Even the staff of Dragonstone adored you, their eyes lighting up whenever you entered a room, as if your presence alone made their day brighter.

It was this sweetness, this reserved nature, that endeared you to everyone. Your mother loved you fiercely, for in you, she saw a reflection of her own strength, a quiet, gentle kind that did not need to roar to be heard. The whispers of your true parentage never seemed to matter; in their eyes, you were a Velaryon, a Targaryen, and above all, you were loved. And you knew that your dragon, like the love surrounding you, would come in its own time.

The night at Driftmark was supposed to be a time of mourning, but it was anything but. The loss of Laena weighed heavily on everyone, but for you, it was more than just grief. It was a reminder of what you did not have — a dragon. Your quiet confidence that one would come to you had not faltered, but the whispers had grown louder. You could feel eyes on you, not just from the adults, but from your peers. Aemond's sneers had become sharper, more frequent, and the pressure began to mount.

"You’re nothing without a dragon,” Aemond had spat that night, eyes gleaming with something cruel. His words sank deeper than you let on, a seed of doubt planted in your heart. Everyone else had a dragon — your brothers, your cousins, even Aemond would find one. Why didn’t you?

Perhaps the others didn’t mean to push you, but they did. "You could try for one," Luke had said softly, concern in his voice. "We know you’re waiting, but… what if you don’t have to anymore?"

The words buzzed in your head as you stood there in the shadows of Driftmark, watching Aemond disappear into the darkness, his own ambitions clear. He would go after Vhagar. He was ready to take the risk.

You felt the pull of expectation, the weight of their eyes, and before you knew it, your feet were moving. You headed for the caves. You would claim one of your own, just as Aemond would. The one that had been calling to you in your dreams: Vermithor. The mighty bronze beast, once ridden by Jaehaerys I, lay asleep, unclaimed and waiting, just as you had waited all this time. But now, something had changed in you. The doubt, the pressure, the need to prove yourself clouded your mind.

You found him nestled deep within the cavern, his enormous body rising and falling with each breath. His golden eyes cracked open as you approached, and a shiver ran down your spine. But you couldn’t turn back. Not now. Not with Aemond out there trying to claim Vhagar. You had to do this. You had to be brave.

"Dohaeras," you whispered, stepping closer, your heart pounding in your chest. The old words felt foreign on your tongue, but you spoke them with as much conviction as you could muster. "Serve me, Vermithor."

For a moment, the air was still. The dragon's eyes bore into yours, unblinking, unreadable. Then came the rumble. A deep, threatening growl that shook the ground beneath your feet. Vermithor reared up, his wings unfurling with a deafening roar. Panic seized you, but you held your ground, refusing to flee, desperate to show you were worthy. You didn’t notice how close you’d stepped. You didn’t see the flick of his tail until it was too late.

One strike. One single, powerful blow sent you crashing against the stone walls of the cavern. Pain exploded through your body as your vision blurred, the world spinning around you. You tried to breathe, but the breath wouldn’t come, your chest burning as you crumpled to the ground.

The last thing you heard was the roar of the dragon, echoing in your ears as darkness claimed you.

Rhaenyra found out the next morning. At first, she thought it was a mistake — a cruel misunderstanding. How could her sweet daughter, her gentle girl, be gone? How could this have happened? But then, when the truth set in, when Daemon came to her with the grim look in his eyes and told her it was Vermithor, her world shattered.

Her grief came first — a raw, guttural wail that echoed through the halls of Driftmark. She held your lifeless body in her arms, her heart breaking over and over again as she looked at your still face, the sweetness, the softness that had been taken from her forever. Her daughter, her child, gone.

But then, the grief turned to rage.

“Aemond,” she hissed through her tears, her voice trembling with fury. “Aemond did this. Alicent’s sons did this. They pushed her… they made her believe she had to prove herself.”

She rose, her blood boiling, her eyes flashing with fury. “I will make them pay. They will all pay.”

Daemon stood by her side, his own anger simmering just beneath the surface, but it was Rhaenyra who burned with the intensity of a mother’s grief. The loss of you, her beloved daughter, had broken something inside her, and there would be no going back. No more peace, no more attempts at reconciliation. Alicent’s children had taken something from her that could never be replaced, and for that, they would face the full wrath of the dragon.

"They killed her," Rhaenyra whispered, her voice filled with venom. "Aemond will pay with fire and blood."

[fairysluna]

NOT THE BEST IDEA. — Modern!AU

MASTERLIST | Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader.

Summary: You were certain that you would never have to deal with your ex-boyfriend now that he was living at the other side of the world, but when he enters at Helaena’s party with a new girl hanging from his arm, you knew you were fucked.

Tags/TW: angst, cursing, mentions of violence, kinda obsessive reader, mentions of murder, reader having too many intrusive thoughts, blood, aemond kinda being a little shit, alys and aemond.

Author's Note: Is this inspired by Kill Bill by Sza? obviously, I'm obsessed with this song sm and I had to do something to cope. In this story Aemond is older than Helaena.

Word Count: 3.2k

Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!!

When you saw him walking in the living room with a small gift bag on his right hand and a  pretty girl hanging from his arm, your heart stopped almost immediately and the heat burned through your veins making it impossible to breathe. Your jaw clenched without you even noticing it, the plate with cupcakes trembled on top of your shaky hands and your eyes widened with both, impression and rage. 

Alicent was hugging her son, in her face you could see that she was as surprised to see him as you were. She probably did not even know he was going to be here, and by the looks of it, no one was expecting it. Not even Helaena who cheerfully jumped to his arms too excited to see him after all this time. 

You felt trapped, you felt little. Like a mouse being cornered by a big one eyed cat that made your life miserable. You wanted to run, to hide, to be everywhere but there.

You glanced at Aegon who was ignoring his brother’s arrival because he was too busy chopping some lemons to do shots of tequila. You thought about joining him, but he was trying to get in your pants for many years, and you knew that he would take that action as an insinuation. The last thing you needed was to have another affair with another Targaryen. One was enough… one broke you enough. 

Instead of going back to the kitchen, you stood there, still and stiffened up. Your whole body tensed. Your mind was too busy thinking about ways to escape that it forgot to actually escape from that place. In consequence of that, Aemond inevitably saw your frame in the middle of the room, and the only thing that he was able to do was smile. A fucking devilish smile that made you want to punch his face. 

How dare he?

“Come on, y/n,” He said, spreading his arms for you to come and hug him, “you’re not gonna say hello?”

Everyone’s eyes fell on you, and you felt so belittled that the urge to cry was unbearable. They knew how close you both were, they knew that since you grew up with them you and Aemond had grown too close. But they did not know how you fell in love with him when you were fifteen, they did not know he gave you your first kiss, they did not know how he convinced you to have a secret relationship with him, and they certainly did not know that he is the one that took your virginity. They did not know anything at all, that is why everyone was expecting you to hug him. 

So you did it. 

You left the plate of cupcakes on the table before putting on the fakest smile on earth and walked towards his tall frame to hug him. His arms wrapped around your shoulders as yours were around his wait. Your face buried on his chest as his scent reached your nose and made you close your eyes. 

You never realized how much you had been craving for him until you had him this close to you. Your hormones seemed to be acting on their own at the same time that the butterflies, that once you thought were dead, were now flying around your belly, causing a slight blush on your cheeks. Your heart was beating fast, so contrary to his, that seemed to be beating with such calmness that it actually had you thinking; did he move on? doesn’t he love you anymore?

The fact that he was the one who pulled you away from the hug and gave you a side smile was enough for you to realize that he, in fact, had moved on. You have become just another story from his past. And if that was not enough proof of that, his next words certainly were.

“Mother,” he said to Alicent, “this is Alys Rivers, she is my girlfriend.” 

Alicent’s face quickly lightened up with delight and she greeted the black haired girl with an enormous smile as she hugged her tightly. You looked at Aemond with disbelief, as he had the nuts to say that right in front of you. Aemond looked back at you, his eye seeming expressionless, but then he shrugged. 

He shrugged as if he was saying ‘what else you thought I was going to do?’

You remembered the day you both broke up. It was when your parents were out for the weekend on some boring vacation with their group of friends that you had no interest in participating in. You called Aemond, told him you were going to be alone and in twenty minutes he was knocking on your door. 

You spend the entire night enjoying each other’s body, he made you feel better than he ever did before. He pleasured you to the extent that you were shaking the whole night and your limbs felt numb the next morning. But the soreness of your body was not the only thing he left behind. You woke up and Aemond was getting dressed, you immediately frown as you saw a piece of paper folded in half which you quickly grabbed before Aemond could realize you were already awake. 

“What the fuck?” You had said, completely mad and confused. Aemond turned around and his eye widened as he saw you holding the paper on your hand, a small ‘shit’ escaped from his lips, “What the fuck is this, Aemond? Are you seriously were going to break up with me with a fucking letter? What do you think this is, huh? A John Cusack movie?”

“No, listen… I-” He struggled to find the words, you could see the nervousness written all over his face, “I’m going to University, y/n… I can’t deal with a relationship now.”

“And instead of telling me this directly, you spend the entire night fucking me to then leave me over a fucking letter?” 

“I wasn’t supposed to be here when you woke up.” He clarified.

“As if that would make things any better!” You felt your nose itching, the air getting stuck inside your lungs. You were hurted, angry. The tears were starting to fall down your cheeks as you stood up and started to push him out of your room, and out of your house.”Get the fuck out! Now!”

“Love, let me-”

“Shut up!” You scream, sobbing and crying. “Leave me the fuck alone, you fucking piece of shit!” 

He had stopped you. He grabbed your hands and pulled you close to his body as you were still sobbing. There was a moment when you thought he was going to apologize, where he was going to regret it and come back to your room and cuddle you. You even thought he was going to start laughing and say it was all a bad prank. 

Instead, he said, “Please, let's keep this a secret. Helaena doesn’t need to find out.”

You slapped him so hard your hand was printed on his milky skin. You finally kicked him out of your house, and when you closed the door you broke down. Crying desperately as the pain in your chest was consuming you. Only a few minutes passed when you realized you were still wearing one of his shirts, the one he had given you a few months ago. 

Aemond Targaryen broke your heart, and you could not even be able to unbosom your feelings with your own best friend. You had to act as if everything was perfectly fine, even when you were shattered inside.

Now, the bastard was looking down at you, while now Helaena was hugging Alys. You had to force yourself to walk away before the tears started falling down. 

You ran to Helaena’s bathroom because you knew no one would bother you there. You locked the door behind you and soon your breathing started to fasten in an alarming rhythm. You didn’t even notice the tears until you were brave enough to look at the mirror in front of you. Your eyes were puffy and red, you were looking as red as a tomato. Partly because of the rage. 

You were mad, the ache in your heart was telling you that you were still in love with Aemond and that is what made you so angry. He had moved on, found another girl and seemed to be happy with her, yet here you were, still dreaming about receiving his phone call in which he would say he had made a mistake and that he needs you back. You were too mesmerized by him that you did not even realize that your story was now something from the past.

But for you this wasn’t the end. Between tears you came to realize that perhaps his sudden presence here was for the purpose of getting back together. You thought that the Gods had made you cross your paths once again for a reason, right?

You washed your face with cold water, trying to make your swollen eyes look normal again. You took a few deep breaths that helped you to stabilize your unsteady breathing and, once you felt brave enough to come out of your little safe place, you walked out of the bathroom, down the stairs, and towards the backyard where everyone was already eating and chatting.

Helaena immediately rushed to your side as soon as she saw you, and you smiled kindly at her, trying to hide that you actually felt like shit. 

“There you are!” She gently speaks, “Where were you? I was looking for you.”

You shook your head, “I went to the bathroom, that’s all.” 

“Are you feeling well? You look a bit… sad.” She points out, worried, “Do you need something?” Then her mouth drops, “Did your admission letter arrive?” 

“No, I’m fine, don’t worry. I just needed to pee.” 

“I know when you’re lying, y/n.” Helaena said, her voice soft as usual but a little more stern, “and I get that you may not feel ready to talk about it, but please, just know that you can tell me anything, okay?” 

Her words made your eyes soften and you quickly hugged her tightly. Her arms squeeze you tight against her and you close your eyes, feeling so safe in your best friend’s arms. 

“I love you so much.” You whispered, blinking so that the tears would go away. 

“I love you too.” She replied. 

The hug broke and you smiled at her, she grabbed your hand and squeezed it, as if she was trying to give you assurance. You kissed her cheek as you held her hand and took her to the table, where the rest of your friends were chatting. 

For a moment, the laughs of your friends made you forget about Aemond. That, and the fact that Aegon soon joined your group with two new bottles of tequila along with chopped lemons and salt. After four shots, you started to get dizzy. Helaena was the most sober, but Aegon was already without his shirt and hysterically laughing at the smallest things. 

As soon as you felt the alcohol starting to affect your senses, you stopped drinking. You knew Aemond was around, and you did not want him to see you drunk, or making a scene out of your own hidden rage. 

You decided to follow the advice that your older cousins, friends and relatives had given you, so you stood up from your chair and walked towards the kitchen to look for a glass with water in order to sober up a little. Of course that you did not expect to find Aemond and Alys in the middle of a making out session that was about to become something more by the looks of it. You stood there, until Alys realized you were making them company. 

She took a step back and covered her lips slightly. She blushed as she tried to look away from you. Aemond cleared his throat and looked at you with a regretful stare that made your blood boil. 

Is it possible to love and hate a person so much? You thought to yourself as your jaw clenched. The feeling that was running through your veins was indescribable, but it surely must have been seen on your face as Aemond frowned and tilted his head. You were blinded by the rage of a broken heart now, a heart that never got to heal in the first place. 

The illusion of being with Aemond again was still in the back of your mind as your nails were digging in the palm of your hand. The fact that he was so happy with this new girl and seemed to be doing so perfectly fine bothered you to an incomprehensible extent. 

“I’ll go to the bathroom.” Alys said shyly. 

Aemond let go of her waist and she walked through the kitchen until she stopped in front of you. Only then you realized that she looked older than you, and older than Aemond. You stepped aside, letting her walk out of the kitchen, and when she did that you could smell Aemond’s perfume impregnated in her. 

She left, and there was only you and him left in the big kitchen. You thought he would follow his girlfriend and leave, but he stood there as you walked towards the fridge to take a bottle of water. You didn’t want to say anything, but your mind was under the effects of the alcohol you had just consumed and the words slipped out of your mind before you could even think. 

“This is a kitchen not a porn set studio.”

You wanted to slap yourself after saying those words, feeling stupid and childish. You were too mature to go around saying dumb things like this, and yet the alcohol made you speak. 

“This is my house.” Aemond said, sternly, “I can do whatever I want.”

“Your family is here, your sister’s friends are here. Don’t you mind them seeing a show quite like that one?” 

Oh, Gods, shut your fucking mouth, you said to yourself. 

“We need to talk.” He suddenly said, making your whole body tense. “You’re acting like a child.”

“Excuse me?” You said offended, raising your eyebrow, “How so?”

“You’re making a jealous scene right now,” he pointed out.

“You were about to fuck your girlfriend in the kitchen.” 

“And what about it?” He quickly asked.

You sighed, not in the conditions to continue with this clownery. You were drunk, angry, and hurt. The three things that would usually lead to doing or saying stupid things.

“You know what? I don’t care.” 

“It seems like you care.” He muttered on the low.

“Aemond, it’s Helaena’s birthday.” You started, trying to keep yourself reasonable and calm, “I don’t want to spend the day discussing stupid things with you.”

“You started it.” He said, “Why are you acting so innocent?”

“Because you are acting like a fucking douchebag!” You raised your voice, “What- what the fuck was that hug thing? There was no necessity in doing that!”

“I was trying to be nice.” He defended himself, “How the hell would I have known that you were still bitter about what happened months ago?”

“You asshole…” You scoffed.

“Look, I’m sorry if you’re still pissed about what happened between us, but I moved on… You need to move on and stop being so obsessed with me.”

Silence.

You did not say anything at all. You did not even move. Aemond clenched his jaw knowing that he might have fucked up big time with his harsh comment. Your nose started to itch, announcing the tears that would soon fall down your cheeks. 

But there was no sadness in your eyes, there was pure rage. He broke your heart, took everything from you to then throw it away as if it was nothing. Your heart was still aching and longing for his love while he was fucking a new girl. You felt your face burn, your breath getting heavier and slower. 

You look in front of you at the table, where the knife holder was. You thought about it, actually. The anger in your body was too much that you actually thought about grabbing a knife and cutting his throat. First him, and then the entitled girlfriend he dared to bring with him. You would do it in a blink, fast and quietly. You would leave before anyone would realize about his absence. 

His words hit you so hard it almost made you scream. You cannot handle his presence anymore, it was too painful seeing him with another girl being as happy as he once was with you. You could not bear it. He was yours, right? He said it a thousand times in those endless nights when he would make you his, when he would touch your body and promise you that he would love you forever.

He was yours. And if you can have him, then no one will. 

Deep breaths, deep, shaky breaths. 

You were lost in your thoughts, your eyes lost but physically fixed in that knife holder. You barely were able to hear the apologies that his mouth was pronouncing, you could only perceive a small mumble as a whistle in your ear made you close your eyes. 

Deep breaths. 

“y/n!”

A sudden shout woke you up. Your eyes fell open as you felt your hand sticky and wet. You saw red on it. 

You look at the entrance of the kitchen where Helaena was looking at you with widened eyes, you swallowed hard. She slowly stepped closer to you and saw the knife in your hand as the red liquid ran down until reaching your elbow.

“What did you do…” She asked, looking at the mess you made.

“Helaena-”

“Why did you ruin the cake?” She interrupted you. 

She ran to grab some paper towels to help you clean your arm. You let the knife go as you look at the ruined cake in front of you, the strawberry jam dripping to the floor. Then you look at Aemond who was serious and looking a bit worried at you. 

“It took you so much time to make this cake, why would you do this?” She asked concerned as she was still cleaning you up.

“I’m- I’m sorry… I don’t know-” You mumbled, too shocked to even speak.

Helaena stopped for a second. Look at your face and then look at her older brother… Just like that it seemed as if something had clicked inside her head. She took your hand with a serious look on her face that you have never seen before.

“My room. Now.” She spoke demandingly. 

You only got to nod as she started to pull you out of the kitchen. You gave Aemond a last look before you felt your cheeks getting warm with embarrassment. He took a deep breath before breaking eye contact and started to clean the mess you left behind.

As you walked up the stairs behind Helaena, you felt so stupid and ashamed. Perhaps killing Aemond would not be the best idea.

[minkkumaz]

START YOUR ENGINES

after getting over a bad breakup, you thought going to a racing experience would be different. it was bound to get your mind off of things, right? however two boys in particular couldn't keep their eyes off of you; causing a chain of events that were sure to light fire in your stomach.

RACE TO YOUR HEART series

PAIRING kim woonhak x fem! reader x myung jaehyun WC 4.5k TAGS adults dni. racecar driver au. no poly relationship. mentions of toxic relationship. friendly arguing. mention of fire. jae is a fucking flirt. they both kinda are idk. kys jokes. TAGLIST @skullverse OMI NOTE to begin with, i may or may not be utterly obsessed with this series. i tried to make it as accurate as possible since i know close to nothing about cars in general, let alone racecars (can you tell i can't drive yet.) but i did my best.

adrenaline ran through every vein, every trigger in their bodies. fingers tightly wrapped around the steering wheel as they waited for that sweet start. and when the green flag initiated release, impatient feet slammed on the gas.

engines revving couldn’t mask the sound of each racers ego shooting out of their exhaust pipes. flashes of shiny colors sped by down the hot pavement, a crowd of people screaming the names of their respective favorites. pretty girls in uniform leaned over the the railing, checkered flags in their hands.

but that wasn’t the reason woonhak and jaehyun glanced back and forth from the road in front of them and their rear view mirror. something caught their eye, something much more sincere than any flag girl.

despite the large crowd, you stood out to them. and not because you were cheering louder than everyone, not because you were making a scene, but because you looked bored. that was far from the actual truth, but how could they let a cute girl leave unphased?

the expression on your face remained blank, completely opposite of your excited friend next to you. breakups were hard, and you were unsure if going to a racecar driving event would mend your broken heart. but you listened to her pleas to get you out of the house, knowing she only meant well.

everything was so distracting, but maybe that was a good thing after all. the last thing you wanted was to turn back to the boy you used to love the most, knowing all too well that he destroyed you. it had been months, so putting on a front was easiest part.

the race continued like normal, every man for themselves fighting to be the one that crosses the squared black and white line. both of the boys sped up impressively, shooting down the road to pass on their competitors, yet still neck and neck with one another. titanium skid blocks underneath the cars produced fiery sparks that trailed down the concrete.

tension emit from every corner of the stadium, fans on the edge of their seat. popcorn kernels were discarded on the floor and beer cans were crushed under seats, that being the integrity of events like these. people around you practically squatting, awaiting the cue to erupt into screams.

energy was at an all time high on the track, lap after lap inching closer to victory. racecars zero - six and zero - three were almost going at the same fast pace, leaving any other participant back in the dust. the final lap came around, the names woonhak and jaehyun ringing through the loud speakers.

it was about to happen, the audience holding back even a single blink to perfectly grasp who would touch the finish line first. seconds felt like they were increasingly slowing down, yet before you could count down any longer, a car drove by and the checkered flag was waved down. silence 

“put your hands together for your new first place medal holder, kim woonhak!” 

cheers erupted from the stands, your friend jumping up and down with joy and taking you with her. the boy who’s supposedly named woonhak took his helmet off and waved to the audience, putting hand hearts to the side of his face in a cutesy manner. another boy followed closely behind him and gave him a pat on the back.

people filed out almost immediately, in hopes to catch a glimpse at some of the racers. autographs were being signed in a safe spot away from the track. grabbing your hand, your friend took you down the stairs in an attempt to meet her idol, and the newest winner, woonhak.

you followed along with a sigh, letting her get excited so she wouldn’t worry for you any more. when you got towards the bottom, the catch fence towered above you with great height which caught you by surprise. the line got extremely long, giving you a sense of false hope for a supposed autograph.

“hey, i’m going to go to the bathroom okay? when you’re done i’ll be at the car if that’s okay.” you tell the jittery girl.

“awh alright, y/nnie. i’m sorry if you didn’t have any fun. hopefully this will be quick!” she smiled, waving you off as you left towards the bathroom.

in complete honesty, you didn’t have to use the bathroom at all. you just needed an excuse to get away from the chaos. there was a small closed off area that was open for anyone to stay by, yet it was completely empty. leaning against the wall, you let yourself slide down and plop on the floor.

considering the circumstance, it would take forever for her to get an autograph and a picture, so you busied yourself on your phone for a little while.

however, you failed to realize the cheerful second place winner from the track spotted you trotting away from the crowd, making him grow curiouser and curiouser. he snuck around a few large walls before he wasn’t too far from you, the sound of his helmet clanking against his suit was drowned out by whatever you were occupying yourself with.

“hi, are you lost?” the voice said, poking his head around the corner to look down at you sitting on the floor.

“oh– i’m sorry! am i not supposed to be here?” you jolt at his sudden presence.

“no, you’re totally allowed to be here. i was just curious is all.” he smiled, “i’m myung jaehyun, i don’t know if you remember me from the race but i kind of got second place. no rhyme intended.”

“right, i’m y/n! it’s nice to meet you, where are my manners? i do recognize you.” you try to stand up and shake his hand, but he’s already sitting himself down in front of you.

“don’t worry about it, it’s nice to meet you too! did you enjoy the race?” jaehyun quirked an eyebrow, curious of your reaction. 

“yes! it was great, especially when you guys.. raced?” you respond, though it almost seemed like you were asking a question.

“you don’t have to lie, it’s chill. i kind of saw you in the stands and you looked distracted?” he wondered.

“was it really that obvious? gosh i hope i didn’t throw you off your game by seeming uninterested.” you frown, “a lot has been on my mind recently and my friend offered to take me out of the house. she’s a huge fan of racecar driving, and kim woonhak.. but i’m not sure which one she likes more to be honest.”

“you’re funny, woonhak has that effect on people. but i swear i’m his biggest fan. hopefully you can come to a race whenever your head clears up?” he laughs casually like he’s known you his entire life.

“maybe i will. it did seem pretty tense right before they announced the winner. i was kind of curious myself.”

“then hopefully next time i’ll win, maybe give you a show worth watching.” he grinned at you, making a tint wash over your cheeks.

“right! do you know when you’re holding your next one?” you ask.

“our next one.. i believe at the end of the month? woonhak and i will be driving still, as well as the third place winner, but the rest will be all new drivers from around the world!” he answers you.

“i’ll see, thats not too long from now–” your words were interrupted by a cheerfully excited voice.

“jaehyun! where are you?!” he searched around, finally landing his gaze on you before his face contorted into a scowl, “jae, what are you doing?”

“woonhak, this is y/n. and y/n, you already know him. i invited her to our next race at the end of the month.” jaehyun told him.

“so she can see you lose again?” woonhak teased playfully.

“hey! you got youngest luck, all of your fangirls were screaming your name from the rooftops. the myungz fandom is lacking!” jaehyun defended.

“it’s not luck if it’s twice in a row you lame - o. y/n, you saw me shooting down there, right?” woonhak looked over at you for answers.

“not exactly..? i wasn’t paying the most attention and i’m so sorry.” you mumble in embarrassment.

“it’s no problem, that just means you have to come to the next one!” jaehyun smirks, patting your knee lightly.

“like i said, i don’t know right now, but i’ll definitely consider it!” you brush off lightly, glancing over at your phone.

four new messages and two missed calls, all from your friend. getting caught in between these two boys made you completely forget. there wasn’t going to be an autographing line if the main racer wasn’t there, how could you not notice?

concern washes over your face, making them stop their bickering to look at you. sending her a quick text, you let her know you’ll be back at the car in second.

“i’m really sorry guys but i completely lost track of time. i have to get back to my friend.” woonhak holds out a hand for you to help yourself up, which you accept.

“that’s too bad, i wanted to get to know you a little better. you seem really cool.” jaehyun compliments you out of the blue.

“yeah, me too.” woonhak adds on, his hand still holding onto yours lightly.

“oh, wait! me and woon are going to free run the tracks tomorrow, you should totally stop by tomorrow and hang out!” jaehyun realizes, excitement washing over him like an energetic puppy.

“that’s a good idea, why didn’t i think of that? we won’t be out for very long, and we can show you our cars up close.” puppy number two says, giving jae a high five and a pat on the back.

“i mean, i’m not busy tomorrow?” you tell them, failing to think of a proper excuse.

“then that means..” they both say in unison.

“fuck it, what time do you want me to be here?”

twenty four hours ago, if you had told yourself you would be secretly coming back to a race track with no authorized permission to do so for two golden retriever boys, you wouldn’t believe yourself. whatever convinced you to go through with this must have brainwashed you until you didn’t even know your own name.

though you knew exactly what got through your head, because their pleading eyes never left your mind. your friend would be extremely confused if she found out you were sneaking around with her favorite racers after supposedly ‘not enjoying’ the event yesterday. 

but there you were, walking down by the wall closest to the track in search of familiar faces. it felt weird being in an empty place that’s usually lively and awfully loud. abandoned merchandise scattered along the floor where warm bodies used to stay. chills ran down your spine at this thought.

faint music played in the distance, alerting you that maybe they were closer than you thought they would be. you walked towards the noise to find out, seeing the two of them fixing up their cars. what they were doing exactly? you had no clue, cars were never really your thing, let alone race cars.

“um, hello!” you spoke up, catching their attention.

“y/n, hey!” jaehyun approached  you, catching you in a sudden hug.

“we’re happy that you could make it!” woonhak beamed brightly.

“of course, didn’t wanna go back on my word or anything.” you vowed.

“jae and i were just going to do a few laps, then we were thinking we could order lunch? we’ll give you the best spot to view, and we won’t take long!” woonhak hovered a hand on your shoulder, placing it down gently when you didn’t pull away.

“there’s a section that’s usually super empty, but we personally think it’s the greatest. everyone is missing out.” jaehyun shrugs, putting his arms through the sleeves of his uniform.

“oh, sure! thank you guys for showing me this, i’m very honored.” you nod politely.

“we’re not crazy celebrities yet, so don’t worry about being so formal with us.” woonhak reassured, holding his hand out, “let me take you over there right now!”

you blush slightly as woonhak leads you away, not processing the look of envy behind jaehyun’s eyes. the walk wasn’t very far, but the grip woonhak had on your hand was inescapable. he gave you fond glances every now and then that sent sparks to your heart. you tried your best to push this down.

they were right by giving this specific seating arrangement good rep, as it had an amazing view of the track. taking a seat on one of the benches that woonhak pointed to, he let out a breathy exhale.

“this is it, isn’t it pretty awesome?” he looks out into the distance, admiring the dark asphalt almost glittering in the sun.

“you guys were right, the view is really good. thank you.” you gave your thanks.

“seriously, y/n. it’s no problem! we’re glad to have you here to watch us.” he sits himself down next to you.

“i’m not used to this, is all. i was kind of taken aback when you guys invited me, i guess? aren’t i just some stranger?” you asked the boy curiously.

“stranger, sure. but jae and i think you’re too cute to look so bored.”

“huh?!”

“ah– i’m sorry that was kind of out of pocket!” he laughed nervously, “what i mean is that we’re pretty used to the energy from the crowd, and we didn’t want to leave a single person not excited. he told me you had a lot on your mind apparently, and thought it was a good idea for you to come hang out with us.”

“that’s actually.. very sweet. i’m not sure what to say.” you admit sheepishly.

“you don’t have to say anything, just enjoy yourself!” he stands up from his seat, “we’ll talk more when we get food, i’m gonna go grab my car and you can watch us do some laps.”

“okay, that sounds good!” 

woonhak left you by yourself, picking up a slight jog back to jae. the situation at hand was so random that it made you forget about everything for a moment. hopefully, you’d be able to put everything aside for now and try your best to move on. what they were doing was kind, and disappointing them feared you.

the sun's golden rays painted the pavement in warm hues, you felt a unique blend of curiosity and anticipation. before you, the track stretched out like a ribbon, a playground for speed and skill. your attention is suddenly drawn to two figures pulling up to the start with their cars.

they give you a wave, before the revving of their engines is all you could hear. with a burst of acceleration, they're off, racing side by side into the first turn. you follow their every move, eyes tracking the graceful dance of their cars as they navigate each curve and straightaway. it was a mesmerizing display of skill, the cars almost an extension of their bodies as they maneuver down the road. 

you began to grow glad that they invited you out, feeling much more positive emotion towards the sport than you did yesterday. yet as you focus more on their prowess on the track, you began to realize something else. every time they made contact with you, their desperateness to get you to hang out with them, a compliment slipping from woonhak’s lips not too long ago. were they flirting with you, and you’d been to dense to properly notice?

their couple laps continued as normal, but you find yourself between the exhilaration of their mini race and the growing awareness that maybe they didn’t intend to be exactly friends. unsure of what to think, you continued watching the race in an attempt to ignore the stutter of your heart beat.

once the two boys were finished, they immediately came back to you to see your opinions. beads of sweat dripped down their forehead as they approached you.

“how was it?” woonhak said, excited to hear your input.

“it was cool! i don’t know much about cars but it definitely kept me on my toes.” you reply honestly, watching the both of them smile brightly.

“that’s good you were more interested this time around! next time i’ll have to take you around with me.” jaehyun winks at you.

“sounds fun!” you try your best to ignore his very obvious and dramatic wink.

“we ordered pizza on the way back to you, it should be almost here.” woonhak interrupted, giving jae a light shove, “let’s go back?”

you nod, feeling the bubble of hunger forming in your stomach. the three of you walked back to where you originally started when you got to the track. it was almost like a garage, with various tools scattered everywhere and some bean - bags in the corner. 

arriving back, you settle yourself down on one of the seats while woonhak leaves to get the food from the delivery guy.

“hey, are you okay?” jaehyun asks randomly. 

“i’m fine, why wouldn’t i be?” you perk up your head.

“i was just wondering since you said you had a lot on your mind yesterday. i hope you weren’t forcing yourself to come here today.” his words sounded sincere.

“don’t worry about that, i’ve been trying to distract myself anyways so this was a good excuse.” you explain, “i don’t want to get into any specific details, but i went through a breakup about a month or two ago? it was kind of rough but i’m starting to get over it.”

“oh, shit. i’m sorry y/n.” he mumbles awkwardly.

“hey, if anything you’re doing me a favor. i know we don’t know each other very well, but i’m glad to have someone else to talk to.” 

“glad that i can be here, woon and i will keep you company! we kind of talk a lot? so you’ll know us like the back of your hand asap.” 

“you’re too sweet, i’m shocked you guys don’t have girlfriends yet.” you realize.

“girlfriends– oh, yeah! i do kind of have my eye on someone right now, but i don’t know if she’ll want to go out with me if i asked right now.” he mentioned, rubbing the back of his neck. you internally facepalmed, you should’ve known that he was just being nice.

“oh– if you like her, then you should just ask her. the worst thing she can do is say no.” you stammer, “but maybe my advice isn’t that good!”

“okay then, if you think that i should,” he didn’t argue, “y/n, would you like to hang out with me sometime? it doesn’t have to be a date or anything..”

“me..?” your eyes widened, heart skipping a beat or two, maybe three.

“is there another y/n in the room with us?” he jokes.

“this was probably the last thing i expected, you didn’t have to trick me like that!” you pout, making him smile.

“i just used your advice! but in all seriousness, you don’t have to say yes if you’re still hung over your breakup. you deserve someone good at the right time.”

“you know what? i’d love to go out with you sometime. it could be fun. i just don’t want you to think i’m trying to rebound or anything.”

“y/n, i could never think that of you. you seem very sincere, and i know you’re just trying to improve yourself.”

“that’s a relief then, was there anywhere in specific you were thinking?”

“here, put your number in my phone and i’ll text you when there’s something that pops up! i haven’t really planned that far ahead, but maybe we can do something the weekend before our big race?” he hands you his cell phone, open to the contacts page.

“then i’m in.” you smile at him, punching in your digits before handing it back to him.

“i hope you guys like pineapple on pizza!” woonhak announces, walking back into the room and placing the box in front of you two.

“dude? i don’t even like pineapple!” jaehyun whines.

“i know, that’s what makes it funny.” woonhak grins mischievously, falling back on one of the bean bags.

“bro?”

“i’m kidding, it’s half pineapple and half pepperoni.”

“i’ll eat anything, i’m just really hungry..” you mumble, placing a hand over your stomach.

jaehyun lifted the cardboard lid of the pizza box open, and each of you grabbed a slice to eat. in between rushed bites of the food you shared, you guys talked a lot. jae was right earlier when he said him and woonhak talked a lot, because you ended up learning a lot about them.

they were both still in school, but they did everything online since they were so busy with racing stuff. but besides racing, they enjoy singing and dancing a whole lot too. in all honesty, it caught you by surprise to hear the jump between their two completely different hobbies. they’re good friends with the other racers. as you heard the names sungho, riwoo, taesan, and leehan being juggled around a lot.

each of them were different in their own respective categories, but they were almost the same. both were extremely puppy - like, and had an immense amount of balled up energy. it was charming to you, and you found yourself laughing at everything they had to say. 

when you got the opportunity to talk about yourself, besides relating to the occasional comment they’d make, you were happy to give them a basic run down. explaining all of your little interests, whether you had a job or not, and that you were also still in school. talking to them became as easy as breathing.

night time came by quickly, as much as you were starting to feel like you didn’t want to leave. the pizza box was quickly discarded as you continued conversation with the two boys, but you knew they were starting to realize that you had to go too. the sunset spread orange and purple hues amongst the sky.

“i had a lot of fun hanging out with you guys, really. you don’t know how much i appreciate the invite!” you express your gratitude, slinging your bag around your body.

“we had fun too, you have to come hang out with us more before the race, yeah?” woonhak begged.

“i will!”

“you have my number, y/n. so you know who to call when you’re feeling bored.” jaehyun smirks, which made you remember of the date that you had planned.

“i’ll walk you out to your car since it’s getting dark soon.” woonhak recommended, as you only responded with a nod.

“bye, jaehyun, i’ll message you!” you wave goodbye, the youngest boy treading on your heels as you walked out.

“do you live close?” woonhak asked next to you as you lead him to your car, hands in his pockets.

“it’s just a fifteen minute drive, nothing crazy. what about you?” you return his question.

“i live just slightly closer, that’s sort of how i got into racecar driving. when i was younger me and jae have always passed by the track on our bikes.” he reminisced for a moment.

“you and jaehyun have known each other since you were kids?”

“pretty much, we’ve always been super close. and we live in the same neighborhood!” he exclaimed, happy to be talking about his closest friend.

“that’s super cute, i can tell you guys are stuck to each others hip. i can see some competition there though, but i’m assuming it’s all friendly?” you point out. 

“definitely, we have very similar motives so it’s bound to happen. but he’s like a big brother to me, even though he’s not that far off from me. don’t tell him i said that.” he mumbled, watching as you click the unlock button on your car keys.

“nothing wrong with a little friendly arguing.” you say, “thank you for walking me to my car, and again, for today.

“no problem, but actually i wanted to ask you something before you leave.” he leaned an arm on the top of your car, being tall enough to do so.

“what’s up?”

“would you maybe want to go out with me sometimes? date or not, you’re really pretty and um– i enjoyed talking to you a lot today!” he stammers, an unfamiliar timidness underlying his tone.

“woonhak i–” you were at a loss for words, “i’m so sorry but, jae asked me out earlier and i know you guys are friends so that would be really–”

“i know he did, he told me.”

“what?!”

“we both think you’re cool, y/n. that’s probably why you saw so much of us arguing? fighting i guess? but– we don’t want you to think you’re apart of a competition or anything! like of course it would be cool if me and you could go on a date but i wouldn’t be super pissed if you chose jaehyun or anything and–” he rambles.

“so let me get this straight, you and jaehyun want to go out with me,” you point at yourself, “but you actually like me and aren’t using me for a competition?”

“god it sounds so much worse when you say it like that.” he sighs, “i genuinely think you’re amazing, and if you would let me– i wouldn’t mind taking you out some time! i know you’ll be going with jaehyun too but there’s no hard feelings, trust me.”

“you two are.. very interesting. but honestly, i don’t see why not.” you gave in, watching the boys face light up.

“really?!”

“really. you seem genuine so i’ll take your word for it. granted that’s kind of what fucked me over last time but..”

“y/n i promise i won’t hurt you. we can always be friends, plus it doesn’t even have to be much of a date!” he covers up.

“i believe you, woonhak. i’ll see you around, okay?” you open your car door as he waves to you.

“bye, y/n!” he bids you goodbye eagerly, a large smile never failing to leave his face.

as soon as you shut yourself in the confines of your car, and the giddy boy is out of your vision, you let out the loudest groan imaginable. for once, you weren’t being completely delusional in the thought that both the boys took a liking to you. because now you sat, wallowing in your own self pity, with two dates lined up on your calender.

you were unsure if you were in a good mental position to go on dates, but the only thing that spending the day with woonhak and jaehyun taught you was that it would get better. it had been months, and you were realizing that maybe it was time to move on. you would never attempt to rebound with either of the boys, so on the bright side, you had the time up until these dates to grow.

this didn’t entail that you’d get in a relationship with one of them the second the date was over, but they would at least be in your consideration. with all of that, the big question still remained in your head. what exactly were you going to do?

© 2023 minkkumaz, all rights reserved support your writers by reblogging + giving feedback! it is greatly encouraged and appreciated. thank you! → why feedback + reblogging is so important. ~ (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ if you'd like, donate to minkkumaz !

RACE TO YOUR HEART series

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

fic writer interview!

totally stealing this from @definitelynotshouting because it looks really fun and I haven't had a chance to yap about my own work in a while!

---<0>---

How many works do you have on AO3?

32! used to be more but I totally deleted some of my old Umbrella Academy fics, sadly - could be around 35 or 36 if I hadn't.

What's your total AO3 word count?

334,360... uh, most of that is from two specific fics haha.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

You Say You Feel Hollow (and you know it's 'cause you are) (HC/Life Series | 775)

INCOMING MESSAGE - COMM RECORDS (HC | 725)

“Man is condemned to be free” (DreamSMP | 547)

I Still Feel Alive (when it's hopeless, I start to notice) (Lunch Club | 488)

Let's Call It An Arrangement (HC | 460)

if you remember my lunch club fics no you don't. also kinda surprised to see the range of fics here - some of my older stuff and then some of my newest too!

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes! the only time I maybe won't is when it's a second or third comment in a thread and I have nothing else to say. even a '<3' comment will get a response. I don't get many comments, so I take the time to respond to them all. also, I share details about the writing process and lore of fics if people ask. so 🔫😐 comment to get secret knowledge. (in the same vein, I always respond to asks here about my fics!)

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

oh, man... I don't tend to leave fics on completely horrific endings in any case, but I would say probably my boatem pirate fic, It's All Part of Being a Pirate (HC). definitely the fic with the least ambiguously horrible fate for just everyone involved.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

uh... it depends on your idea of 'happy', honestly. Trembling Jaws Can't Stop Stuttering (HC) is a gore/cannibalism convexian fic that doubles as polyamory negotiations. a lot of people say they feel quite comforted by it despite the violence, especially because of the hopeful ending, so I suppose that qualifies as happy. on the other hand, my alternate canon fic, “Man is condemned to be free” (DreamSMP) is ultimately hurt/comfort with a happy(ish) ending, but you have to get through a lot of literal torture and pain first. so... not exactly 'happy'.

Do you write crossovers?

no, but I do come up with ideas for them quite frequently. I'm just not really compelled to actually write them. my favourite universe to put my blorbos into at any given time is the hunger games. I also do get inspired by other media when coming up with my original ideas - there are definitely hints of shows and films I've watched in some of my fics.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

not traditionally, but since I write a lot of gore and cannibalism that is quite graphic (and I do properly tag it of course) sometimes I get people commenting that they weren't expecting such graphic violence, or that it disturbed them. which... idk man, read the tags? it doesn't really bother me to get those comments, I usually just remind them that I did tag it all and they chose to click, but I hope they enjoyed regardless.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

my insane AU *ideas* definitely have way more smut in them than my regular fics (which have none). alas, most of those ideas are sealed away in the DMs of my most trusted confidant (you know who you are) and I am way too asexual to actually write it seriously. those ideas also feature more noncon, dubcon, and general abuse trauma than I would be comfortable sharing on my actual account. they are mostly very cathartic ideas that wouldn't get developed into full fics. I do, however, have a post detailing my headcanons for convexian as a trio on the asexual-autistic-cannibalism spectrum. and yes, those three things are inherently linked. that post and the fics that go with it are as explicit as my works get, really. sometimes I will hint at sex / make innuendos in one-off lines, though.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

nope. I've had a few tumblr posts reposted on instagram, but to my knowledge nothing of mine has been outright stolen... sometimes I see people using very similar plots or styles to mine (particularly in the homoerotic cannibalism genre) and go 'haha it would be funny if they were inspired by my fic' but I'm not popular or egotistical enough to be mad about that.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope. that would be cool, but I'm in pretty english-centric fandoms right now. my aunt had one of her fics translated into five different languages, so I have a lot to live up to!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

nope, but sometimes I will get ideas from other people or they will get ideas from me. @angeart and I have co-written our Ari AU (HC), but that is more of a detailed summary than a fic. also go read it.

What's your all-time favorite ship?

I mean come on. did you think it wasn't going to be scarian? (but grumbo, convex, and all combinations of those four freaks, are also up there)

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

basically all of them. Kingdoms AU (HC) will haunt me forever though.

What are your writing strengths?

like others before me I'm just basing this on the comments I get - I am apparently very good at getting character voices right (which is something I do try particularly hard to do, but I honestly think sometimes I get it all wrong). one of my other strong points is writing both abstractly and very literally, especially with gore. I like weaving together metaphors and similes with more blunt descriptions of the physical senses. it seems to work.

What are your writing weaknesses?

oh baby I am terrible with action scenes. pure action really stumps me, and it's what I struggle with most in my professional writing too. that and consistent characterisation (I think in fic maybe it's a bit less of an issue, people don't *really* care if a character is slightly inconsistent, but I bug myself with it... 'he would NOT say that' is my internal motto) also sometimes I dive way too deep into the internal world and forget about the external - especially when a character has to do something simple like walk down the stairs or some other quite mundane action. then everything becomes quite confusing and loaded in too much metaphor and weirdness, something I noticed the most when re-reading the first chapter of Kingdoms AU.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I did it once. badly. I'm monolingual and stupid and my opinion on this is just sort of 'do whatever makes the story flow the best'.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

hamilton. i think. but I had ideas for my little pony and team crafted beforehand that I never wrote because i was, like, 10.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

honestly just wanna write more solo grub (grian x cub). hashtag grub violence.

What's your favorite fic you've written?

one of my least popular fics, and second most recent. Who can really tell? (Life Series) is one of the works that feels the most polished and creatively challenging. perhaps I love it so much because it's unpopular, but I genuinely think my characterisation of listener!bigb was some of my best. it remains amusing to me that its sister fic is my most popular fic by kudos. if you're reading this, perhaps go give it a chance ? 🥺 I also have a huge soft spot for COMMS AU (HC), of course. but it feels unfair to judge an unfinished fic against finished ones.

---<0>---

I don't usually tag people in these sorts of things, but if you wanna give it a go then definitely do! I totally stole the entire formatting and idea from shouting. I will tag @angeart a second time, but no pressure my partner in crime ;D

[unhappytimeleaper]

Word Count: 1,320+

Yes. This is self-indulgent because I already had half of it written on some Discord server from my 1 am ramblings, and I was thinking about it again. 

I left the server I was in that initially kinda took up all my focus from writing; I don’t know if that means I’ll post more or not cause really, I’m just back to feeling lonely and not motivated. It means now I just don’t have people to talk to about games or other media I love, but oh well. I’ll force all of you to listen to that I was replaying Our Life and XOXO Droplets, and I love the characters. All I wanna do now is play those games on repeat.

Also, so like, platonic yandere’s aren’t always my favorite to write, but I love platonic yan Ortho. There is something so fun and scary about it. It is kinda ironic, but Ortho and Kalim are some of my favorite yandere in TWST; not really my favorite characters, but I think they are so scary in a fun way in a non-traditional way, but both kind of align in the same vein. Regardless I do plan on focusing on Ortho in this post, but one day maybe I’ll get to Kalim.

Ortho Shroud; Unedited. Gender Neutral Reader.

Warnings; yandere content, light manipulation and guilting if you’re sensitive to that. Incase you can’t read and need to see it again this is platonic; think more babysitter-siblings dynamic.

This blog is 17+ please have your age in your bio or tagged; any ageless blog and below the age asked for will be blocked at the end of the week.

What makes Ortho stand out is that he is a kid. In every sense, as fancy as his technology is, as much as it's hard to perceive him as just a kid under all that gear, that's what he is. It's easy to forget since he can come off as ‘beyond his years’ at time. Even more than that, it's easy to forget how needy kids are. In every aspect of what it means to help others grow into essentially good adults, although there is the problem, Ortho will never reach that stage, and no matter what positive approach you take to his overbearing habits, they end up blending back too much with the childish sentience he's adopted.

Ortho probably has learned a handful of his more harmful traits from Idia, although we can't say the negative aspects from other students probably haven't also caused some damage. However, where certain things might differ is that Ortho's actions never come from a place of wanting to harm you or even anger, unlike some of the others whose yandere traits are brought forward more when experiencing an influx of negative emotions they wish to also make your experience. Ortho takes all of these emotions and processes them through a childish lens— one who becomes horribly clingy and desperate for attention/validation. As much as technology can help download guides about emotions, the "proper" way to handle jealousy/fears/loneliness, and worse, access the opposite files of what should be done for immense feelings, none of it can be put to practical use. Reading about it doesn't solve the problem; instead, Ortho can only verbatim read out information rather than put it to use from what is left of his little kid brain. Much like any young person, just hearing about how to handle situations regarding emotions doesn't actually mean they can use those tools until taught. Ortho just lacks someone to teach him how to process these feelings and the ability to innately comprehend them.

It's not like anyone has an issue with Ortho, they always play nice, but Ortho can tell it's not the same as how they treat each other. He feels it in his... gears... and hears it in their voices, he may be unable to verbalize the differences, but it's something he is at least cognisant over. He knows his brother loves him, and he loves him too, but Idia is locked away so often it gets lonely. And it's hard for him to connect with others on campus other than when trying to help; most don't want to play babysitter [even if everyone is well aware that’s not what Ortho needs or wants but how else are you gonna have a friendship with a kid], and even then, knowing how to interact with a dead child-robot AI is more than a little… off-putting at times. The world is at his fingertips, and no one really has worked with Ortho on what is left of his human side, making everything personal hard to connect with.

So if Idia needs his… space… Ortho comes clinging to the next best person. You! The newbie; the person who seems to not really have a preset concept of his creation and works to mainly treat him for what he is. A kid. And for the most part, he's great to have around— he's kind, easily fascinated [thus easily entertained], and genuinely seems to want to help those around him without expecting anything in return. It's an enjoyment to what, in your terms, would be similar to babysitting the lil robo boy, even to the point you might go to Idia asking if it's okay to take him off his hands to do something. What once was an occasional thing slowly started becoming routine. While it's easy to treat him like any other kid, there are some benefits you get to reap having him being some sort of "friend," like him helping you with the bit of school work you might have [his searching functions are so much better than trying to use some textbooks that probably are growing something].

Well, it's all great until his little brother tendencies get out of hand. Overtly clingy and easily jealous of anything that can take your attention away. Trying to read? Sorry, Ortho wants to play; you'll help him with this techno thing he found. Right? He reaalllly wants to do it together, please? Your other dorm friends come to hang out? But you said you'd spend the day with him [even though you're pretty sure you didn't], and he has a hard time fitting in when you all hang out… didn't you say you'd take him to the amusement park after Idia got too nervous about going?

The grip he has with his arms around yours is starting to hurt, bone-crushing and cutting off the circulation to your hand… it's hard to not give in to him just to get him to loosen up. The grin he has when you agree, noting you'll let the others know you can make it results in a fractured smile. You know he doesn't mean any harm, and you are genuine with that sentiment. He doesn't know how crushing his grip can't get or that you don't want to play babysitter 25/8. That as much as you like spending time with Ortho, it's the same as others— you can't really be "friends" in a traditional way and sometimes want to connect with others your own age. It gets to the point though Ortho doesn't see this as a friendship. No, you're more like another sibling to him, right. One who can do all the others sibling things, Idia cannot deal with his own issues-- you aren't replacing Idia in his life but adding onto the experience. And now you have a family here, which makes it much less isolating than when you just have friends. There isn't a reason to try to find a way home now; you have one with your new brother. Ortho likely doesn't even know his actions are manipulative or isolating; he's just a very needy kid who lacks motivation beyond wanting a connection with someone. Anyone. But it's hard to bring up these issues with someone so young, who, when you do, barely can understand and, when pushed as you've been warned, can do severe damage from facing these "big emotions" like rejection. Being robotic and so powerful doesn't mix well with the feelings of a small child; these fears only experienced with Idia being in what was considered danger before but have grown to include you. More than just danger now, too; it's jealousy, it's rejection, it's anxieties.

Before you know it, you're pretty much completely isolated. Ortho is so, so happy to have a new friend, and over time, you've gotta pretty close with Idia as Ortho loves dragging you to spend the day with him too. It's gotten to the point where updates and equipment for Ortho can only be done if he knows your nearby as well. It's comforting to have his… psudeosibling… best friend there when he's done. And as you sit there weeping at how much of a mess it's become, Ortho will be there to comfort you— he doesn't understand why you're upset, but it's his duty to make you feel better, and he'll go as far as he can't to bring back those happy days spent with him. This time Idia can really be involved… don't cry anymore. You have the two of them to make it all better. Right?

Also, things get really bad; Ortho tries to play matchmaker with you and Idia. Make the sibling thing official. That creates a whole different mess. This could go two ways depending on if Idia is also Yandere, but I also think it's funny to explore an Idia who has no interest in you romantically, but little yan Ortho just wants you to be officially connected to him. Not just some weird babysitter-friend but family! Official family, then you really wouldn't be able to shake him from your life. Of course, all of that is suited to a different post.

[satrs]

Can’t feel my face - bllk x fem!Reader N°3

"ARE YOU FREE TONIGHT?",

Shidou asked the woman on the other side of the phone, earning an unsure hum from her. "I don't know. I'm not really in the mood to stitch anyone up tonight", she stated, a soft laugh erupting from the man on the other end. "No, no. I clearly won't fight tonight. But I'm feeling better than yesterday. I went to the doc' and he said the wound was stitched up well. Thanks for that, Angel." She told him that it was no big deal, even though it kind of was.

"Sooo, I thought as a 'Thank you' I invite you to a 'kinda-date'. Whatcha think?" Y/N's face shifted into a grimace, not understanding what he meant by 'kinda-date'. "I mean, we go back to blue lock together, since I got some shit to deal with, but we could still have some fun, you know?", he explained, her now understanding what he was getting at. "Blue lock? Is that the name of the underground boxing stuff?", she questioned, Shidou giving her a 'yes' as an answer.

But was it really alright to go with that man? Half of her says no, since she just meet him recently, but the other half want to. Because if she was being honest, when was the last time she really enjoyed herself or had fun?  But going without Sae? He wouldn't be happy to hear that.

But why does she care about his opinion so much? It's not like he is her parent. She is a grown woman and can do whatever the hell she wants.

So, she decided to tag along with him. They agreed to meet at her place, since Shidou already knew where it was, he told her he would pick her up the same day at 11 o'clock.

20 minutes before 11, Shidou already waited in front of Y/N's apartment complex, leaning against his expensive Mercedes-Benz car, impatiently waiting for her to come out of her apartment. HE knew that he was there a bit too early, but he couldn't help himself. The man looked forward to seeing her again the entire day, longing to examine her features. Her beautiful plump lips, that tempted him to attack them with his own, while caressing her flawless body. His fingertips tingled, craving to trace over every single imperfect perfection of her body.

"Hey", he snapped out of his thoughts, eyes shooting up to look for the source of the voice, getting met with the young woman herself. Jumping out of joy in his head, he grinned at her, greeting her back and inspecting her beauty.

She looked lovely. Her hair looking flawless, and her outfit causing him to stare longer than he intended to. To stop himself to not look like a creep, he assisted her into the passenger seat before getting into the driver's seat himself.

Once he started to park out backwards, he placed his hand at the edge of Y/N's seat, turning his head to the back and also getting closer to the young woman, revealing a golden necklace around his neck in the process. His pink orbs carefully observing the area, so he could safely park out.

Y/N couldn't help herself to momentarily stare at the veins on his delicate neck, quickly averting her eyes back onto the road. Not long after driving, she noticed her phone ringing in her bag, pulling it out to inspect the caller ID.

Sae

Fuck. She can't possibly pick up now, fearing that the situation would be quite awkward. Declining his call, she quickly typed out a message to him.

Wsp? I'm busy rn.

Seeing the three dots appear at the bottom of her screen, she waited for his answer.

Nothing. Just wanted to check up on you.

She couldn't help but smile to herself at that, shoving her phone back into her bag, now trying to stir up a conversation with Shidou. "So, what do you need to do at 'Blue Lock'?"

"Since I can't fight tonight, I gotta come up with a replacement, or you lil' buddy Sae will end me", he truthfully answered, getting an understanding nod from the woman in return.

"It's still crazy that you got stabbed right there. Something worse could've happened", she stated, Shidou sparing her a cocky glance. "No need to worry about me, ma. We're all used to this. Pussy's like that guy always come up with some foul shit. But he didn't get off the hook easily anyway, I heard he's knocked out since yesterday."

"Damn." Y/N didn't know what else to say, so she tried to lead the conversation into another direction again. "And is it really alright for you to drive with that arm? I think you shouldn't overdo it."

"Already told you, it's alright, since I got myself a sexy nurse to fix it up." She giggled at his answer, gazing out the window again and seeing the now familiar strip club come into view. Still curious about the building choice, she questioned the handsome male about it, hoping he might know more.

He told her that the owner of the club, Mikage Reo, who owned various clubs, bars, and similar facilities around the country came up with the whole idea of a boxing establishment, but since the idea of boxing he was hoping to make reality wasn't exactly what would fall under the umbrella of legal - he made it as secluded and inconspicuous as possible, which led to it taking place under this club.

At the mention of the name Mikage, Y/N's ears peaked up. Mikage was a well known surname around the country - one of the richest - if not the richest person  in the country, swimming in an unbelievable amount of money. So it seemed that this name was not only well known at the 'normal' parts of town but also the underground.

"Mikage? Is he there too?" She was curious, if not excited. Meeting such a rich man was no common experience, maybe she could ask for an autograph - or some money?

"Depends, if 'the Treasure' is on the ring, like today then most likely yes, other than that, he barely shows himself down there. Maybe because he's creeping around upstairs, who knows?", Shidou snickered.

"'The Treasure'? What kind of corny nickname is that?", she asked. " 'The Treasure of Blue Lock', actually, he was the first in the ring, and a good fighter overall, I can't lie. Anytime he's on, the show is always hellaaaa' crazy. That guy's moves are somethin', he'd be a pain in the ass to fight against", Sae admitted, face covering in an unpleased expression.

Parking near the club, Shidou stepped out, aiding Y/N for help like he did before. His arm swung around her shoulder, "Don't go runnin' off anywhere, alright?", he told her, holding her close to himself in a protective manner.

                                                ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Entering the place of action again and Y/N basking in Shidou's safe hold, the atmosphere of the room was as cheerful as she had in memory, even spotting some faces she saw the other day, but also new ones.

"Thank God, he showed up", Shidou exhaled in a manner of relief, guiding the two of you to the man who would replace him for the night.

He was tall - well his hair at least, styled up even higher than Shidou's, making him stand out instantly, if not also because of his exaggerating designed jacket, which had a big lion imprinted on one side of it.

His crimson eyes offering anyone near him an intimidating stare, casting off his dominance to everyone around him.

Noticing someone approaching him, he shifted his attention to the two unknown figures. "Yo, King!", Shidou greeted him, earning an irritated grunt from the man. "Why did you take so damn long, antenna head?", his deep voice, straddling the young female.

"And fuck you taking a stripper with you for? You should-", "I'm not no damn stripper, you gorilla", she cut through his words, freeing herself from shidou's hold to stare at the man in front of them, causing him to raise a brow at her bold demeanor. Before he could spit an insult right back, Shidou cut through the tension. "Alllright. C'mon, let's see who you're up against, then get ready."

Barou gave Y/N a dissatisfied look, compiling to Shidou's words. "I already checked, since you took so damn long to get here", Barou said, nodding his chin somewhere into the room,  curiosity reflecting in Shidou's eyes.

"Alright Ladies and Gentlemen!", a loud voice and confident echoed through the room, causing everyone in it to turn their attention towards the source. A neatly dressed man with purple eyes and matching shoulder-length hair spoke into the microphone in his hand, a handsome smile plastered on his face. He screamed billionaire.

"I am pleased to announce today's first, and most exciting, match! Today's main actors will be Barou Shoei, the current 'King'! Versus Nagi seishiro, 'Blue Lock's Treasure!" the people cheered and screamed, apparently very pleased with the announced fighters. "You got one hour to place your bets right now at the very front of the entrance! Feel free to go all out!", the purple haired male exclaimed.

Y/N realized who this man was at the very moment she laid eyes on him, suspicions only being proved right by his mention of 'the Treasure' being here. "That's the guy I told you about. Mikage Reo", Shidou leaned near your ear, explaining. "Mr. Monopoly ass", Barou spat out, causing Y/N to let out a giggle.

"Well ain't I got luck!", Shidou exclaimed, clearly happy he doesn't have to deal with the man named Nagi Seishiro. Shidou let out a loud laugh, slapping Barou on the back. Barou's forehead showed visible veins, due to being pissed off from Shidou's action.

Shidou tried to calm down after his long laugh ordeal, speaking up to Barou,

"You're fucked, bro!"

                                                ════ ⋆★⋆ ════

[merp0515]

Healing Past Scars Ch.2 Falling inside a visible hole

Summary: After the dealing with so many traumatic incidents, our beloved meme guardain boys have to come into terms with both past and present scars. Will they be able to conquer them with an iron fist or will those same wounds destroy them both?

Tags: Suicidal Thoughts,PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Healing , Developing Relationship

TW: The following story contains dark themes such as PTSD, and disturbing imagery.

Link to chapter 1's Tumblr version is here , Ao3 link is here and Wattpad link is here!

How many times must I carry on this living nightmare? It's been almost a year since Peach's Castle disappeared into the creepy hole. So much has changed ever since then. From finding the showgrounds, to getting a new castle, and me finally getting my own home/coffee shop. Although with new positives from everything..... there's bound to be some negatives that came with it.

The fact that we all got kidnapped from our train ride to the wild West and be stuck in a simulation for weeks!

My notebook getting stolen thanks to a certain avatar of ours. Thankfully I was able to get it back. Gave my ass a heart attack!

My new home being at risk of shutting down for good. I kinda anticipated that having this shop would be a blessing and curse. 

And to think just THREE MONTHS ago, we had to deal with a C class clown looking ass excuse of a so-called “villain”. The TV head may of had a catchy villain song, and was intimidating at first….In the end, I'm just so done dealing with everything going on.I never would have thought that it'd get this bad to the point where I may have to go back to the Internet Graveyard and leave them all behind. 

Leaving the crew behind.

Leaving HIM behind.

I shook my head as I felt my face heat up a bit from that though as I stretched my body, put on my pajamas and got comfortable in my big bed.

I closed my eyes, trying to relax and ignoring the dreadful reality that was sinking into my mind faster than I anticipated.

Lights flickered as I woke up sitting in an empty room. I looked around, seeing a board that had lessons of some sort. Inspecting closer made me realize that I was in Evil therapy. I stood up quickly. All of my gut instincts are kicking in as I try to see who I'd end up fighting.

I heard footsteps creeping up behind me. I quickly turned to that direction and raised an eyebrow confused.

"Egg man?" I asked, clearly confused about everything. "What are you doing here?"

The egg shaped villain stared at me silently. A huge frown formed in his face as he approached me.

"I'm honestly disappointed in you." He spoke with disappointment in his eyes.

I was baffled at that statement. Who the hell do you think you are telling me I'm anything BUT a villain?!

"I'm not entirely sure if you heard me last time, but I thought I made it VERY clear that pain and suffering IS my way of being evil to others!" I angrily glared at him.

All of a sudden the room around me started to change. Panic started to invade my body, unsure of what to do as I watched the other villain standing next to me unfazed by everything.

I opened my eyes to see the old castle in its original state. I felt my stomach turn, remembering what happened during THAT incident. I turned around for a second to see that the egg face villain I talked to was gone. Only this time it was replaced with someone I'm ALL too familiar with.

It was MY original version. The dark blue Mario Reskin. He faced me with such coldness. His eyes weren't in the classic blue eyes but instead a more yellow looking color with some dark veins all over his body.

"How could you let us stoop to HIS level?" The other me said with such hatred.

"I…..I….I just wanted to change the way I do things. I have more on my plate now and I can't always come up with evil schemes to destroy people in the way I once was able to." I told him, glaring back at the reskin.

"Excuses." The other me said. "Do you not realize the golden opportunity we have now that we are closer to my idiot rival and his crew?"

"That's EX rival to you."I growled not liking how he used the term against my meme guardian partner. We both looked back at what it once was, seeing old memories of myself constantly trying to ruin SMG4's plans.

"Ever since finding out about the meme guardian powers we have changed." He crosses his arms rewatching the memories as if it was a lost tape that got recently found. "Do you not realize how much more powerful you can become with those said powers?"

The scenario changed once more and we were on the third floor of the old castle. I could feel my heart quicken as it sank remembering how I nearly got possessed by that creepy keyboard. From a distance, I saw a familiar face with his back turned and into that scary state. Looked like absolute shit, and pink like veins were all over his body. The echoes of the keyboard could be heard in the eldritch gope infested room.

"S-SMG4!" I shouted, immediately running to his side leaving my doppelganger behind. I swear I could feel his sinister grin creep up as I tried to get Four off the chair he was glued in.

My former rival couldn't hear me call out to him out of desperation to get him off that damn chair. As I was about to grab onto him, a strong force held me down. I looked around me for a moment to see that I was wrapped in that same gope that almost tried to kill Meggy, Mario and myself when we were trying to save Four from his possession.

"Fuck." I cursed under my breath trying to break free from its harsh grasp. I look up to see the old me next to my possessed guardian partner enjoying the view he was getting. I grit my teeth trying ever so desperately to get away from the disgusting gope currently wrapped around my body.

My former self was smiling wickedly at my misery. I was ready to shout at Four when I suddenly heard the keyboard sound stop suddenly and watched him get up from his seat. His back still turned as the gope pushed me towards him.

"Why were you so desperate to be saved that day?" SMG4 began. "When will you ever learn that saving me was a mistake?" Four spoke emotionlessly.

I felt a lump in my throat when he said that. "W-what do you mean? We're friends, remember?", I told him with a gleam of hope in my voice.

I heard Four laughing darkly at that thought. My heart sank hearing him laugh so darkly like that.

"Friends? So you want to talk about being FRIENDS with me huh?" He turns around still in that same state, his eyes filled with pure hatred.

"All you ever wanted to do was to see my downfall, steal my channel, steal my friends, and KILL ME!" His voice rises with each statement. I tried to back away from him only for SMG4 to grab my overall strap and pin me to the gope. I was trapped in between the two, fearing for my life. I was breathing heavily seeing how up close his lifeless eyes were staring into mine.

"You were always jealous of my work, how people PRAISED me more than you. Don't you even think that I had forgotten when we TRIED to save Melony during the god box incident all you ever wanted was the unlimited power the god box possessed!" His voice shakes with such anger and tightens the grip on my overalls.

"I-I know! But after hearing everything that happened with Zero and losing Terrence to save OUR world I-" my sentence was cut short as I heard Four growling at my explanation pushing me further into the gope.

"You? Save the world?! DON'T GIVE ME THAT CRAP SUPER MEME GUARDIAN THREE! THE ONLY THING YOU WERE READY FOR IS FOR IT DIE AND YOU BECOME THE NEXT RULER!" Four shouted at me and threw me away from the gope. I felt myself flying as if I was falling to my own death. That was until I felt someone grab my leg stopping me from going further.

I looked up to see that we were replaying that scene again. Four hanging on to that cliff as he was torn between the USB that we use to work on his ultimate video and me currently being on the edge of death.

"F-Four what are you thinking?" I nervously responded seeing the other male debating on what to say. I could hear his breath quicken the more USB was going to drop to its demise.

"We can make another! Remember what I-AHHHH!" I screamed in pain, feeling my leg getting its life squeezed out. I looked up horrified, seeing SMG4 in his current state but with anti meme energy inflicted on his entire body. His yellow eyes were staring at my very soul, sending a chill down my spine. A wicked sinister grin spreads across his face.

"Long……Live……The King." He coldly said as he let go of my leg. I saw him get the USB and jumped upwards to safety as I fell into my death with tears in my eyes as I screamed into the abyss.

I jolted up from my bed covered in sweat, accidentally falling to the floor. I held onto my chest trying very hard not to hyperventilate from what I just dreamt about. I feel something fluffy tickle my face. I looked to my left seeing my son eggdog, he whines worried about me. I sat myself up and let my little boy crawl to my lap. I could still feel myself on edge with everything and at this point I didn't care anymore. Hugging the only child I had left tightly, I let all my tears run wild as this dark rainy night haunts me from a memory I wished never existed. When I fully calm down from this meltdown I'll be sure to write this down in my journal. I….I just want to live a carefree life with my son. Is that too much to ask for?

[bidonica]

a good old get to know me meme

Tagged by @bigre-fichtre! thank you oomfie!

3 ships you like:

thee big one... Jaime x Brienne in asoiaf, I've been ride or die for them since like 2006 when I read Storm and AFfC back to back, they are two character I love individually but their chemistry, the way their storylines thematically intertwine, the dialogue they get to have? Unsurpassed. GRRM your mind

if you think I have Otasune brainrot lately just keep in mind that I'm editing myself down A LOT. Like I started playing the metal gears a little over a month ago and I've been obsessing ever since, which is remarkable because I have historically leaned towards het ships at least when it comes to getting really intense about them, I thought I lacked the fujo gene... they are THAT powerful... can love bloom even on a battlefield? Hell yeah it can and it WILL (this phrase applies so well to JB too btw)

grouping larycent and higgsfragile together because they are lowkey the same flavor of problematic: they are carried by the sour yet enticing flavor of devastating betrayal, of a good thing that got ruined, the scorpion and the frog etc.

First ship ever: nice question! I don't remember! I eased into shipping pretty gradually and fully embraced it pretty late (like late teens?) buut mayyybe Rogue and Gambit from the X-Men via the og cartoon

Last song you heard: Spotify tells me it's Entre Dos Tierras by Heroes del Silencio... I pulled it up because of Till Lindemann's cover which is on rotation on the rock radio I listen to and was rocking to it only for my brother to absolutely obliterate me saying "it sounds like a mashup of various songs by I Nomadi" iykyk

Currently reading: I am having the nastiest reader's block in 2024 I am even having trouble listening to audiobooks so yeah there are books I am "reading" but am I, really. But I just loaded the mgs4 novelization into my kindle........... in this vein I've probably been reading more words of fanfic in the past month than I did in the past couple of years cumulatively. Yes it's because of the metalgears leave me alone

Currently watching: Mary & George, also Fallout and Shogun but I'm following these two with other people so I'm taking it slower than most of you guys

Currently consuming: as in eating? nothing, it's too early for dinner and to be honest yesterday's night out was kinda wild I better leave my stomach alone (I won't)

Currently craving: that thing most mammals crave in spring

tagging (if you want) @cthaehbutwithafrog, @raiden-brannigan, @sanctaignorantia, @godtier1, anyone who has fun doing this kind of thing

[motionpicturedemise]

myth's game writeup of 2023

i waited until the new year to finish this in case i managed to beat a game during december. i did not. ANYWAY.

this will contain new games as well as games i only got around to in 2023. light on spoilers but be warned

Octopath Traveler II (2023)

as far as i remember, this was the first new game I played this year, and god did it deliver. I've been a fan of octopath since the first one came out on switch in 2018, counting it as my favorite game of all time, so to have a sequel after all this time was thrilling. it did almost everything octopath 1 did and better. new path actions, day/night system, branching stories, fucking boats?? incredible.

my biggest gripe has to be the new hidden classes. I started with throne so getting inventor 10 minutes after my chapter one did definitely fuck up the progression a little bit. I think I preferred ot1 hidden classes. while the dungeons were underwhelming, the boss battles really make you fight for these secret techniques, something absent in 3 out of the 4 hidden classes of octopath 2.

overall: 4/5 BP.

Xenoblade Chronicles 3: Future Redeemed (2023)

xenoblade 3 as the end of the klaus trilogy really didn't sit well with me, for reasons that don't belong on my review of its dlc, but future redeemed fixed nearly every problem i had with base xc3 — both story and gameplay wise. it ties every xenoblade game and even some of gears and saga into a neat little 40 hour bow, and is truly a love letter to the entire series. I can only think of one problem I still have with it. the fucking menu music.

where do i even fucking start with this one really. relatively speaking, I'm a new xenoblade fan, having started xc1 in march 2022 during a harrowing experience with adhd meds, and since then it had kinda consumed me. I finished it in about a week, went on to watch xenoblade 2 because I had heard the gameplay wasn't great, and got my hands on xenoblade 3 day of release.

overall: 5 dance apples.

Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom (2023)

as someone who was not immune to the hype surrounding botw, I had high hopes for the sequel. hopes that were painfully, slowly, fed into a trash compactor over my playthrough. this is another game I got on release day, lining up outside gamestop in the heat, and lets not forget that it's the only first-party switch game with a price tag of seventy bucks.

the game plays like a tech demo. I have a lot of love in my heart for it. the story was better that botw, the world was more expansive than botw, but the problem here is that everything it does is directly compared to breath of the wild. it doesn't get enough time to shine, because we're in the exact same world as 6 years ago, but instead of pinkish black malice we have blackish pink gloom. i much prefer the runes to the zonai abilities, and the sense of wonder that permeated breath of the wild is replaced by a sense of nostalgia that just doesn't appeal to me much.

all of this isn't to say it's a bad game. I think it's a great game, honestly, but a great game that wasn't meant for me. I've seen the insane shit people do with ultrahand, but it just... isn't my style.

overall: 441/1000 korok seeds

Pikmin 4 (2023)

it's pikmin. i dont have much to say about it. it was a lot of fun, loved that part where i bulborbed all over those guys. im not a gameplay reviewer, at heart i mostly talk about story, and a game like pikmin doesn't have much for me to comment on. good fun. lived up to expectations. probably wouldn't replay.

overall: 7500 sparklium

Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood (2017)

oh, stormblood... the rage you still fill my veins with. I'm not going to spend too long on this one because I have better things to do with my life than shit on an expansion everyone already hates, but let me make it clear I actually do have reasons for disliking it.

having ala mhigo built up since the very start of a realm reborn, only to have half of the ala mhigo expansion take place halfway across the star, was very disappointing. the monotony of the three areas in gyr abania compared to the three far east areas was very disappointing. the treatment of the people of the steppe and honestly that entire segment in the main story quest was very disappointing. hien, as a character, in his entirety, was very disappointing.

I will say it had strong parts. the 61-70 quests for several jobs were the strongest in their entire story (see: dark knight). the dungeons started to get more interesting. it gave us the quest Child Labor, which is hilarious and I'll never be finishing it because I want it there forever.

overall: 1/3 WHM Lillies.

Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers (2019)

ffxiv immediately got better the second 4.0 was over. even the patch quests instantly shot up in quality. it's not even funny. the lead up to shadowbringers was the most fun I had had with the game since a realm reborn, and all of the first was heartbreaking to go through even though I was spoiled on That Character's Identity.

the duty trust system (is that what it was called?) made dungeons much more fun. getting to go through hell with alphinaud alisaie and thancred made everything 10x better, even if it was a lot slower. the story, again, heartbreaking — ryne's arc in particular felt like being stabbed by thousands of little needles while trying to play. in the best way, of course. and amaurot... amaurot. getting to quote our favorite knight in there was my 8th umbral calamity.

shadowbringers also marks when a lot of your job's functionality is really unlocked, so doing the level 80 raid series was genuinely a ton of fun. and again the thousands of little needles. i cried at least 7 times during the main story.

overall: 85/100 kenki gauge.

Katana Zero (2019)

possibly my favorite game this year. the protagonist, zero (or as i like to call him, katana from zero,) ticked all the boxes for a character I'd be absolutely obsessed with. true enough, i fell in love. the fast-paced gameplay, the diegesis of gameplay elements which would typically go unquestioned, and the care that seeps through every dialogue choice all solidify katana zero as one of my favorite game experiences ever. I'll leave it at this, because I encourage everyone to at least give it a try.

overall: Yes, that should work.

Fire Emblem Engage (2023)

this is one of the few 2023 releases on this list that I didn't get on launch, because at the time I had relatively little interest in fire emblem as a series. then I made a lot of friends who enjoy it, and in october, bestie sen decided to buy it for me as an early birthday present. everyone say thank you sen.

considering this is my first fire emblem game, i have absolutely no deeper insight into how it matches up compared to the others, and plenty of people more eloquent than me have already talked about that. what I do know is that the gameplay was surprisingly fun as my first tactical rpg, and the story was passable. all the characters were appealing in one way or another, and I'm still mad I had to choose between marrying kagetsu or fogado. they're both my husbands at heart.

overall: I didn't internalize enough of this game to come up with a clever rating.

Fire Emblem Engage: Fell Xenologue (2023)

I was expecting the dlc to continue the main story, so I put it off until I had finished the base game. in hindsight, I regret it, because I'd love to have brought the winds and twins with me to fight their evil versions and alternate universe dad. the story was... alright. I really liked all the small battle interactions between fell characters and our party members which they would've known. I instantly recognized fogado in chapter 1 because I am in love with him by the way.

overall: i dont know. 1¾ dragonstones

with 2024 upon us, I'll probably be writing reviews for games as I play them. I'm trying to use tumblr more as a social platform instead of just reblogging. we'll see how that plays out. if you like any of these games (yes, even tears of the kingdom) please talk to me about them! that's all for now. look out for my mangled thoughts on SANABI and Nier: Automata next :)

[pleasurebuttonwrites]

Hung the Moon (Chapter 8)

Chapter 7 | Masterlist | Chapter 9

Summary: Time to be a superhero.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content: Language (cursing, misogyny). Violence. Not too gory, but mentions of blood.

Word count: 2.8K

A/N: It's been so long and I got so antsy about posting this I didn't proofread and revise quite as much as I usually do. If there are typos and such - I'm sorry!

Tags: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ajeff855 @bnamta @unspokenmoon @milkymoon2483 @valkyrieace @theimpalasdoctorin221b @hopefulfangirl24 @bucksgoat @rmoonstoner @foreverinwanderlust @am-3-thyst @bullet-prooflove @trashboat-the-raccoon @daisies-yellow

~~~

The last remnants of dusk fade from the sky when you and Marc pull up to the fifth and final warehouse belonging to your boss that you know about. You and Marc had been running all over New York City since the moment you landed checking the other four. Each time you had shown up to one, finding no sign of your sister — no sign of anyone, half of them completely empty — your stomach had sunk just a little lower. As Marc puts the car in park outside the last one, with it’s windows pitch dark, the stillness tangible, your stomach falls through the ground.

You can’t look at Marc. If you do you’ll say something you’ll regret. He says something to you that you barely hear. Something about how he’ll find her. That he’s not giving up.

As you did for the others, you get out of the car and check it out. The feeling of dread rises in you, that you’re wasting time you don’t have. But you have to be sure she’s not here. That there’s nothing that might lead you to her.

The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you walk the perimeter. The warehouse is small in comparison to the ones you searched earlier. The few windows that are at ground level are blacked out. You can’t tell if anyone is in there or if it’s empty.

A gust of wind bites at your cheek, but it’s damn near warm compared to the ice in your veins.

Just as you turn the corner at the back of the warehouse, a door — not ten feet from you — bursts open. You pull yourself back and crash into Marc who was following behind you. He grips your hip to steady the both of you.

Before you have the chance to say anything to Marc, a man starts talking.

“Man, I need a drink,” he says. You peek around the corner and see two men walking away toward a truck parked on the opposite end of the parking lot. “You coming to the bar? Rusty says they’re all down there.”

“I can’t,” the other man says. “I have watch duty for that little bitch tonight.”

“I dunno what you’re complaining about. She’s fucking hot. Especially with that gag in her mouth.”

“'Cept we’re not allowed to touch her. At least for another 24 hours. Kinda hoping that cunt of a sister doesn’t come through so the boss’ll let us do what we want with her.”

Marc lunges forward and you have to restrain him with two hands on his chest. You shake your head at him and motion toward the way you came. You both quietly retreat and then run back to the car.

—

Marc follows expertly behind them. But even so, each time they make a turn and you lose sight of the truck for those few seconds, the panic rises in your throat.

By the time the truck pulls up to its destination: another warehouse farther outside of the city, the moon has made its ascent into the sky. Clouds partially obscure the glow, and the street lamp that surreptitiously flickers on and off lends hardly enough light to see by. The man in the passenger seat climbs down from the truck and is illuminated as he crosses the headlights. He has an ugly sneer to his mouth and you want to rip him apart with your bare hands.

The truck drives on and the man trots up a set of concrete steps up to a door near the loading dock. He raps his fist against the metal, and a minute later another man opens the door for him.

In perfect synchronization, you and Marc get out of the car at the same time.

“You’re staying here.” He says it casually, but it sounds like an order.

“The hell I am.” And you mean it, too. Nothing could stop you from going in there. Not even Marc Spector.

He fixes you with a stare. In it is his own special blend of exasperation and stubbornness.

You try to reason with him anyway. “I can get her out while you deal with the guards.”

He shoots a quick glance at the side mirror — you’d have missed it had you not been watching him so closely. He rolls his eyes at whatever he’s seen.

“Who was that?” you ask. “What did he say?”

He sighs. “He says to let you.”

You consider which “he” that could have been. “Was that Jake?” You cringe at the hopefulness in your voice.

Instead of answering, Marc says, “If something happens to you-”

“My sister’s in there, terrified. She needs to see a familiar face. And I can handle myself.”

“You’re going in there no matter what, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

He rolls his eyes heavenward, but relents. In a stern voice he says, “Alright, but you need to follow my lead, got that? Let’s find a way in.”

—

On the opposite side of the building from the loading dock, you and Marc sneak along the shadows. So far you’ve not encountered anyone guarding the outside, but you have no way of knowing what’s inside. There’s no guarantee that your sister is inside either. You don’t even want to think about what you’d do if she’s not. But neither do you want to think about what it’s going to be like to see her tied up and hurting.

You’re busy torturing yourself with these thoughts when Marc stops short. You realize why when you see the door, partially covered by overgrown weeds, next to you. Marc tries the handle. It’s locked but it’s nearly rusted through. He applies some force and it breaks off. The door swings inward with a soft squeak.

Inside is pitch dark. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. You can sort of make out a stairwell to your left, and another door to your right.

With light footsteps, Marc approaches the interior door and slowly pulls on it. It’s nearly off its hinges and it scrapes against the floor. He lifts it from the floor and sets it open enough for you both to slip through it.

The warehouse isn’t huge — it’s one large main room — but only half of it is being used. The overhead lights are off on your end, giving you a convenient cover of darkness. There are rows and rows of metal standalone shelves next to you, long left unused, gathering dust and trash. At the far end, four men sit around a folding game table playing a loud, drunken game of cards. But the center of the room is what captures your attention.

Two men — their backs to you — flank someone seated in a chair. You can’t see her face, but you know it’s her. You found her. You actually found her. Your whole body buzzes, and you almost feel relief if it weren’t for the six heavily armed men in your way. Distantly, you notice she’s dyed her hair since you’d last seen her.

“You stay here,” Marc whispers to you as he scans the room. His eyes flick to the offices on the second level that overlook the warehouse floor.

You almost argue with him when he amends, “Just wait here until I give the signal. Then you can go free her.”

“What’s the signal?”

“You’ll know it. Here.” He pulls out a hefty folding knife from his pocket and hands it over to you. “You’ll need this.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I can’t attack from this side. It’ll draw fire toward your sister. I have to find another angle.” Then he slips back through the door.

You duck down behind a shelf to wait. The men at the table are animated and loud, though you can’t make out what they’re saying with their voices echoing off the high ceilings. The men guarding your sister look bored, constantly shifting their feet and turning their heads to glance around the room. The man on her right finds something to do, however, when he turns toward your sister and leans against her shoulder, crotch first. You recognize him as the man that you followed here. It takes all of your willpower to stay put as Marc instructed and not run at him and sink the knife you’re holding into his neck.

You grit your teeth and wonder what’s taking Marc so long. Every second that ticks by makes you more nervous about Marc’s plan. A feeling that you shouldn’t have trusted him creeps over you. But that could be just your nerves talking.

One moment the card table is bursting with laughter, the next all is chaos as the glass windows from the offices nearly just above shatter and a man — dressed head to toe in a white costume, his cape flared into a crescent — soars down among the shards of glass. During his descent, he uses both hands to fling two blades towards your sister’s guards. They find their marks in the men’s faces just as they were raising their guns. Their bodies teeter for a moment and then fall to the floor.

You watch as Marc lands, one hand on the ground to steady him. When he rises, you get a better look at his costume, the criss-crossing wraps that resemble a mummy, the crescent in the center of his chest and the glowing eyes underneath his hood. It surprises you since you had expected a different costume - the one you’d seen Jake wear. Apparently there was more than one.

The men at the table seem to get over their shock at his arrival. They stand and open fire on Marc who doesn’t even seem to notice the bullets striking his suit as he stalks toward them.

You have to assume that this was the signal. In any case, there’s no one to stop you from approaching your sister. You run to her. She’s thrashing in the chair, her arms and legs tugging on the ropes binding her. As you get closer you faintly hear screams trying to break free from her throat in between blasts of gunfire.

You step around the body of the guard who just moments before you’d wanted to kill. The blade is still lodged into his face and you notice it’s in the shape of a crescent. It’s kind of disturbing - you hadn’t pegged Marc for the type to have coordinating accessories.

Your sister is thrashing so violently that she doesn’t even register when you step in front of her. When you reach out to steady her, she flinches under your touch and then she sees you. She narrows her eyes and as soon as you pull the gag free of her mouth she yells with a hoarse, raspy voice, “YOU BITCH!”

You nearly put the gag back in her mouth. Your hands even lift it about an inch before you discard it to the floor. When you consider what you might have expected her to say, you realize that each time you pictured rescuing her, she was unconscious during it. But you can’t say you’re surprised with her reaction.

You ignore her, since you don’t want to get into it with her. Not here, not now. You kneel and get started cutting the ropes around her ankles. But she’s not done.

“What the hell did you get me into?” Her voice is raw and you can barely hear her over the cacophony happening behind you. She continues ranting but you tune her out and focus on getting her free. Despite the sharpness of the knife, you still really have to saw to clear all the rope.

By the time you get to her wrists, she seems to have mostly tired herself out. She seems to finally become aware of her surroundings because she asks, “Who the fuck is that guy?”

You turn to follow her gaze. Moon Knight, now in the black and white costume you’d first seen, is fighting the one remaining thug — the other three lay lifeless on the ground. Just as Jake is about to strike him down, the costume changes again. It’s all white, except unlike before, this is an actual suit. Like a three piece suit.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” you hear him yell. “You can’t just kill everyone!”

It sounds like Steven to you.

The costume morphs into the mummy-looking one. “He’s right. We need to keep someone alive to give Foswell a message.”

The black and white costume resurfaces. “Shit. You’re right,” Jake says.

The costume switches briefly back to the three piece suit as Steven says, “That’s not what I meant.” And then it’s back to Jake.

You turn back to your sister and resume working on the rope. “He’s helping me rescue you,” you tell her. That doesn’t feel like it totally covers it, but it’s the best explanation you can give in the moment.

“God, Greg’s probably freaking. Worried sick about me.”

Your temper flares at the mention of her husband. In a distinctly unkind voice you say, “I love you, but you are the stupidest person I know.”

You cut the last of the rope free and reach to help her stand but she recoils from you. Her mouth is hanging open in indignation. “Excuse me?” she demands.

“Greg isn’t worried sick. He knows exactly where you are. He doesn’t give a fuck.”

“You’ve always been so jealous of me, you can’t stand it, can you? Why do you always say these bad things about Greg?”

“I’m not doing this with you right now. Do you want to get out of here, or should I leave you here?”

You’d never really leave her, but you need to get her moving. She scoffs and tries to stand up on her own, but her legs are weak and she grasps at your arms as she sinks back into the chair. You help her up and she leans heavily on you.

You check in with the boys to see Jake holding a knife to the neck of the lone survivor. In a chilling tone you’d never heard him use before he’s speaking to him. You catch the last part. “-never see you again. She’s done. You got that?”

Jake flings him to the floor and bends down to slash at one of his ankles, slicing through his Achilles tendon. The man screams, and Jake turns and sees you and your sister watching him. The mask over his face disappears and he looks as though he’s about to say something. But the man on the ground, holding his ankle as blood pours out of the gash, shouts at your sister. “It’s no great loss, you know. You were getting a little old for your husband anyway.”

Jake balls his hand into a fist. He’s mid-swing when you stop him. “Jake!” He freezes. “Let’s just go.”

He lingers for a moment, and then relents. He comes to you as you struggle to walk with your sister. He offers to carry her, but she responds with, “Who the fuck are you?”

You head to the door by the loading docks as it’s closer to where you parked. It’s slow going, and you curse her stubbornness, but you allow her this autonomy of body. You’ll help her with every step.

You emerge out into the cool night air. You struggle getting your sister down the steps but somehow you manage without accepting Jake’s offers of help.

As you’re walking to the car, Marc suddenly fronts and the costume changes to his. “Does this mean…?” He gestures at his outfit.

You’re confused until you realize he’s not talking to you.

Jake fronts again. “No, it’s just a temporary loan. I’m still the only one on the hook with Khonshu.”

Steven fronts. “We’re going to fix that though, right? Although,” he tugs on the sleeves of his jacket with gloved hands, “I still look fit, don’t I?” You run an appreciative eye up and down his form.

It’s as your eyes are coming back up that Jake fronts again and you get a good look at just how tight his costume is. You bump your shoulder against him. “I didn’t know you all came with outfits.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” he tells you, but he’s smiling.

“Too late.”

It’s a nice moment. You’ve really missed Jake, and you want nothing more than to talk with him about everything that’s happened. You want to believe that there’s still a chance for you two.

Then your sister opens her big mouth, cranes her neck to look at Jake, and says, “Are you fucking my sister?”

~~~

Chapter 7 | Masterlist | Chapter 9

[wedriftlikelonelyplanets]

📚: What are some of the favorite things you've learned while doing research?

HMM okay so admittedly a chunk of this is going to be for novels that I've been working on or abandoned, one long eternity ago, because clearly I'm writing fic now and have not put a single word into an actual novel since last winter

Learning about backcountry snowboarding is actually incredibly fascinating. Usually the locations are fly in, fly out, or snowmobile in and snowmobile out from certain base camps. You CAN get into some areas off resorts, but it's all kinda accepting your own risk and whatnot. Also, often times it's recommended you use either a shorter snowboard than you would on average, or there's something called a splitboard, which you can essentially turn into skis.

There are actually backcountry snowboarding competitions, and they're actually INCREDIBLY cool to watch. Something about watching someone do something crazy and wild in the straight wilderness on a snowboard, and then adding tricks to it is...fascinating.

In the same vein, for that same novel, I did have to investigate reasons you'd get kicked out of an olympic team, and because they do have codes of conduct, getting a DUI could, in fact, get you kicked out of an Olympic team.

For other interesting things I've learned

Venus would TECHNICALLY be a habitable planet (I DO ACTUALLY THINK I'VE TALKED ABOUT THIS IN AN ASK LIKE THIS BEFORE), however the temperature is too hot to like...appropriately support human life. I am NOT going to monologue about this because it's actually SUPER cool and if you have any interest in sci-fi it's like...the best wormhole ever. It's habitability also involves figuring out what to do about the cloud of toxic sulfur that surrounds it, but that can be handwaved away if you do enough research about it...

I've learned a handful of other things through my darling tumblr anons sending me asks about fic writing stuff and me subsequently doing research. BUT ALAS, that can stay buried in the depths of my tumblr with my disorganized tagging system because it's a secret.

[mysticstarlightduck]

Get to Know my OC Tag!

I was tagged by @doublegoblin for this! Thank you so much (:

I've done this, a long time ago, for Raelen - from my WIP, The Last Wrath. This time, I'll do this tag for Ahren Ellara - from my WIP, Tales of Wilted Flowers.

Ahren is Faellyn's stern but caring, cousin and adoptive brother (when their House - and their entire family legacy - fell they became the only family each other had to rely on, it had some effects on Ahren's psyche, making him incredibly paranoid)

(You see a tall, lanky young man with long, unruly silvery blond hair, walking towards you. His head is held high, proud, though he fidgets anxiously with his hands as he sits down in front of you. Posture immaculate, though the nervous fidgeting doesn't quite stop, he looks at you, wary and haughty at the same time.)

Are you named after anyone? 

No, I do not think so. Though my father was rather sentimental, I don't think I was named after anyone - at least, not after anyone whom I know or whose name is on our family records. If I was named after anyone else though, there's just no way I could know - and currently, it's too late to ask, wouldn't you say?

When was the last time you cried? 

Why do you ask?! (He blurts out, a bit louder than he'd intended, before sighing, though his eyes narrow, suspiciously) Oh for the love of Gods, fine...When those awful dreams started, a couple of weeks ago. I think - it's all rather blurry, really. (Leans forward, suddenly dangerously serious, showing a hidden dagger) No one else knows, and I am not above making sure it stays this way.

Do you use sarcasm? 

The answer is yes, I think so. I usually don't do it extremely on purpose, it mostly comes out naturally - especially when I'm dealing with annoying company or unexpected situations. Some people think my remarks are quite funny, but I still don't know why.

Do you have kids? 

If you count Faellyn... kinda? I mean, of course, I'm not her father, I'm her cousin, obviously, I'm not that much older than her - but I think I did raise her? I don't know if it really counts, as I was a teenager who didn't have many options and she was an insufferable kid (he chuckles), and later on we got a bodyguard. One could say we raised one another, but given the slight age difference and the assassins on our tracks, I think I did most of the work.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

If they're lying to me, or trying to deceive me or use me in any way. Because most people are, especially when you've got royal blood in your veins and a bounty on your head. I also notice whether or not they're an immediate threat. If not, I mostly notice their quirks, whether they have a sense of humor, if they're assassins working for the King - you know, the normal stuff.

What’s your eye color? 

Dark Greyish Blue, but it does seem to have a slight green hue. I like my eyes.

Scary or Happy Endings? 

(With a mischievous smile, leans forward). Why not both? There's nothing wrong with the right amount of terror and fun!

Any special talents? 

I've been trained in sword fighting and archery, and I would say I am pretty good at it. I also like to write poetry I never let anyone read and I can embroider/sew somewhat adequately.

Where were you born? 

I was a child/ward of House Ellara, whose castles were hidden in the Far Reaches of Ravaryn, so I'm pretty sure I was born in one of the royal chambers of one of those castles. I don't quite remember which one though, it's been a while since I was there.

What are your hobbies? 

Uh, I draw and write random stuff in my journal, sometimes? I guess poetry like I mentioned before, but I'm in no way that good at it. Those are the only things I could honestly think of - I've never quite had a routine or hobbies, that is, and certainly never quite had the time to actively pursue interests like that.

Do you have any pets? 

No. Though, when I was a young kid, I distinctly remember that my elder brothers had a hunting hound named Sundew. She was quite adorable, but I never quite knew what came of her, after everything happened.

What sports do you play/have played? 

I'm not a huge fan of sports, but I guess sword fighting and archery do count as some form of that, don't they? So yeah, I think that's an acceptable answer.

Favorite subject in school? 

I was educated by the best tutors on the land, and my favorite subjects were philosophy and the art of politics. I was also quite good at chess and literature!

Dream job?

... Being a Lord again. Does that count? Oh, it doesn't matter. Does it though? I've done my fair share of working while traveling through these rather accursed lands, and for all I care, what I really want is to go back to what I was. But, honestly, as if that's ever going to happen.

Tagging: @lassiesandiego, @gummybugg, @forthesanityofstorytellers, @clairelsonao3, @unstablewifiaccess, @liv-is, @aziz-reads, @steh-lar-uh-nuhs and @anoelleart

[hhoneyglasss]

coke zero

notes: hello ! it's been a bit, but here's my first take on lovely ! i've nvr written for them before, so pls be patient w me lolol. i'm also trying out third person perspective, since i think that's what ppl tend to prefer in terms of listener characters (plus i've nvr written it before). i actually kinda like it, so i'll def be writing it more.

also, i actually began writing this awhile ago (like two or three weeks now) before i knew abt vincent and lovely's new BA, so i added a different ending to this so it would go a bit better with it (said ending had me adding 700 words to this fic, but that's oki !) also, ig this would take place before said new audio, although i'm not sure it matters. figure i'd mention it anyways tho.

and no, i am not sponsored by coke zero !! i just thought it would be smth lovely would like (don't ask, bcuz idk either)

hope u enjoy !!!

pov: lovely — third person limited

pairings: lovely/vincent, lovely/coke zero (jkjk)

word count: 1.7k

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46691254

!! TWs {these begin under the cut} !! slight angst, but nothing too severe. lovely gets a little emo in this one, basically.

reblogs r v much appreciated !! thank u !! <33

It’s a nice night tonight–the moon is round and full, a pale, milky glow overlaying everything in view. The stars seem to glitter even though they’re lightyears and lightyears away, almost as if they’re calling to Lovely, who's sitting on the railing of their balcony. 

Vincent’s out tonight–some business to attend to with William about a new property they’re buying. He asked if they wanted to tag along, but they declined, so a chaste kiss was left on their cheek before he hurried out the door, only the scent of peppermint and diesel left behind. 

A Coke Zero’s in their left hand, though they don’t know why. They didn’t even realize they were buying it until they felt the weight of an 8-pack in their hands, the store receipt crumpled in their back pocket. 

They can’t remember the last time they drank it, but they do know one thing–it doesn’t taste the same as it used to. 

Gone is the taste of humid summer nights and anxious all-nighters before an exam. Gone is the taste of embarrassment because they blew out yet another lightbulb. Gone is the taste of seawater underneath the warmth of the day’s sun. 

Each time they take a sip, it’s sweet, sour, then bitter, yet they keep drinking–and they know they’ll keep drinking until the entire bottle’s gone, until the entire pack is gone. They’ll keep going until nothing’s left but eight empty glass bottles and memories still so vivid they’re painful. 

How do you manage when you’re stuck between two worlds yet forever bound to one? You could say it’s funny, but Lovely thinks it’s sad–although there’s a part of them that can appreciate the humor and irony of it. 

How can one claim to still be human when their heart doesn’t even beat? How can they call themselves ‘human’ when their blood is forever frozen? How can they still feel human when they run so fast that death can’t even catch up? 

When they look around them and can see the smallest fibers of dust floating through the night air, they know they couldn’t before. When they pick up the scent of squirrels asleep in their nest half a mile away, they know any other human can’t. 

But isn’t this what they chose? Isn’t this what they wanted? 

It’s been over a year, yet they’ve still got one foot in the human door and a hand in the vampires’. They look in the mirror and see silver and red eyes staring back, yet they swear they can still feel the pulse of electricity in their veins. Their core is nothing but a solid sphere of marble, yet they can still feel their face heat up whenever Vincent kisses them. 

What’s the point of being able to run faster than wind if they can’t outrun this? They seem to have escaped everything else, outran everything else, but somehow the human part of them is able to stay up to speed? Why? 

These are the answers they’re searching for as they stare up at the moon, a celestial oculus penetrating the black of the night. They think about how this is the same moon they’ll see for the rest of eternity.

Eternity. The thought of being alive that long makes them laugh so hard some of the Coke Zero spills over the side of the bottle, and it slides down their hand. They laugh and laugh and laugh until it turns to tears, and the tears mix with the Coke Zero and the sound of it fizzing makes them wish they could go back to who they were before. 

They watch as it drips down their hand and onto the wood of the railing before it soaks into the cracks of the splinters, and it‘s gone. 

Earlier today, they had cut their palm on the edge of a paper they were cleaning from off the kitchen counter. One drop of blood had dripped before magic flowed to their hand, and the cut was gone. They felt the tears worsen when the expected burn of soda in a half-healed paper cut never came, and they tilt their head back. 

Isn’t it backwards to wish for the delicate vulnerability that comes with being human? They miss the cheap latex bandaids, the pain of isopropyl alcohol, the countless bruises that appeared on their skin even though they hadn’t a clue where they came from. They miss being reckless—they miss doing stupid shit and having to face the consequences of it. 

And maybe this was why they fell off that mountain. Maybe it wasn’t just an accident—maybe it was their attempt to feel that human fragility again that they took for granted. They got so close, too—until they fed and the wounds healed and not a scar was left in the wake. 

Maybe that’s why they gun it 80 down 45 mile an hour roads. Pedal pressed down to the ground as far as it will go, wheels squealing against the asphalt as they chase that mortal thrill of being careless and impulsive. Yet each time the crash is incoming, they catch themself, and the danger of it all disappears. The high remains out of reach, forever a forbidden finish line. 

It seems they’re too fast and too slow at the same time, how sad is that? A dichotomy that lives and breathes inside Lovely, someone who’s torn between two halves of themself. 

Will these feelings change? Will they ever not feel like a stain on the Solaire name? Will there be a time where they look in the mirror and see those silver eyes and come to accept them? Will they ever feel like themself again? 

Lovely takes another swig of Coke Zero and looks up at the sky. They can’t answer their own questions, so why should the stars be able to? All they do is twinkle millions of miles away–Lovely supposes they’re chasing their own questions too. 

They hear Vincent at the front door, but before they’re able to react, the whoosh of the balcony doors can be heard behind them. They turn to see him standing there, his hands still holding onto the knobs. He catches the reflection of the moonlight on their tear stained cheeks, and he’s holding them before they even had the chance to set down their bottle. 

He asks them what’s wrong, but they don’t answer. Sobs hold back their voice, and they stay quiet as they lean into him. He doesn’t press his questions, but instead continues holding them, his hands running up and down their back as they rest their head in the crook of his shoulder. 

The minutes continue to tick by until Lovely pulls away, the heel of their palm wiping away the new tears they had shed. They look up at him, a shy smile tugging at their features when they ask if they can go on a run together. Vincent nods, smiles back, and holds their hand anyway as he leads them down to the ground floor of the house. 

Before he can ask them where they’d like to go, they’ve broken into a sprint through the underbrush, and he’s quick to follow soon behind them. Their laughter up ahead fades into the sound of cracking twigs and crunching leaves, and he can’t help but to laugh too. The brambles catching and tugging into their jacket have yet to faze Lovely as they keep running, the wind warm on their face as it dries the rest of their tears. They don’t know where they’re going, but they don’t quite care either, so they just keep running until they find out. 

They finally see a break in the forest’s artillery of trees and they emerge through it, a welcomed burn pulsing through their legs and their breath heavy as they walk onto new ground. Vincent’s close behind them, and Lovely giggles as he combs the gumballs and twigs out of his hair. 

They turn away from him and look around. They’re at a cliff–or more specifically, a waterfall, as they can hear the sloshing and rushing of water to their right. The ground is soft and doughy beneath them, the marsh plush as they walk towards the edge of the cliff. They sit down on it, their legs dangling over the black, jagged rock as they gaze down at the pool of black water down below. They run their fingertips along the edges of the cliff’s precipice, the texture rough and gritty, but cool from the waterfall’s mist.

Lovely stands up again and begins to take off their shirt and shorts, to which Vincent chuckles and asks what they’re doing. They point down at the pool, a sly smirk pulling at the corners of their lips. Vincent sighs before pulling off his own shirt and pants, and he moves to stand beside them. 

Lovely grabs his hand and smiles at him, and he swears the sight coaxes the air out of his lungs. He’s breathless as he looks away, and Lovely counts down from three before they finally jump off, their hands still intertwined. 

On the way down, Lovely yells, a wondrous sound filled with so much joy it has Vincent yelling too. It turns into loud laughter as the intense rush of wind grows cooler and the water comes closer. They finally splash down and Lovely relishes in the feeling of water wrapping around their skin and Vincent’s hand still in theirs. 

When they finally reach the surface and their eyes meet his, they swear they’ve never felt more free. 

They both cliff dive for hours, jump after jump yet the excitement of it never fades away. The night passes before they finally shrug back on their clothes and sit on the cliff again, the black sky fading as the dawn begins. The sun still has yet to rise when Vincent hands Lovely a bottle of Coke Zero–they smile and let out a small chuckle. He’s got a bottle for himself too and he pops it open with his teeth before wrapping his arm around their shoulder. They lean into him, and a sigh leaves them as they take that first drink. They both sit there as they watch the sunrise, the only sounds that can be heard being the rushing of water beneath them and the swishing of Coke Zero in glass bottles.