#thank you violet for all your service

[polin-erospsyche]

I will jump onto the train of “in this house we thank Violet Bridgerton” because that woman has so much patience and strength. I love the scene where we get Colin completely lost and confused asking her whether friendship is a strong foundation for great love while unable to look away from Pen completely enamoured. Violet sees it immediately, she knows, she understands and there’s not an ounce of surprise on her face just pure happiness for her son because she knows he has found his home and it is just so evident. Yet despite nearly telling him to work up the courage to ask (which I will admit he tried very hard), she will have to see her son pace around, drive himself sick with love, before using reverse psychology on him because it might be the only thing that will get him out of his feelings and spur him into action. And for that I have so much admiration for Violet Bridgerton because if he had been my son I would have shook him, told him to quit moping and go get his girl.

[eufezco]

THE MUSE

Benedict needs to practice female form. Naked female form. And who better to help him than his lifelong friend?

Benedict x fem!reader (smut with plot, friends to lovers) + no use of y/n. english isn't my first language (!)

Benedict didn't know how to ask you.

You had been friends for a long time, your families were practically one. Always so united, your mamas took walks every afternoon, gossiping about the ton and your fathers had been friends since childhood. You and Benedict were bound to meet.

You and he grew up together. You were friends with his siblings, you had held sleepovers with his sisters and won cricket matches against his brothers. Lady Violet Bridgerton loved you like a daughter and your mother loved Benedict like a son.

But your friendship with him had always been special.

When you were twelve, you ran away together to camp on the riverbank, just because Benedict wanted to draw the moon reflecting in the water at night. The following year, despite the scolding you received for your river adventure, you and Benedict sneaked onto private land just to pluck a few petals from the summer sunflowers to get him the perfect shade of yellow.

You and Benedict were very close. Of course, there had always been rumors about what kind of relationship you two had and that Lady Whistledown had only added more fuel to the fire writing about you two in her pamphlets. You and him never cared about that, and neither your families but it was true that you two have had to face some uncomfortable conversations with them about it.

That's why Benedict didn't know how to ask you. You had a lot of trust in each other, you had always supported his artistic vocation but perhaps this was too much.

—Oh, thank God you've come. I am in need of a model —. It was the first thing Benedict said to you when you entered his studio. The maid closed the door behind you, leaving you alone with him. Thank goodness the Bridgertons' service was very discreet, if anyone found out that you and him were alone in a room it would cause quite a scandal.

—Good evening to you too, Benedict.

—My apologies. Good evening —. He leaned to kiss your cheek.— I need a model —. He let you know one more time.

—How have you been? Very stressed from what I can tell —. You tried to have a normal conversation with him before you paid attention to what he required.

—Indeed.

You sighed. —Well, what is it? I thought we were going for a walk.

He nodded. —We can go outside later. But I need to get this done by tomorrow and I feel like I'm losing my mind.

—And...?

—I need practice female form.

You slowly nodded. You were aware that Benedict had been recently attending this art academy, you were happy that he was finally able to pursue his passion and you couldn't deny that within the characteristic desperation of the artists, he looked very attractive. Benedict's hair was a mess, his white shirt was half-open, his sleeves were rolled up. He would never have allowed himself be seen in society like that and you were grateful because otherwise he would have all the girls after him.

—And you want me to...?

—Pose for me.

You weren't quite sure how to do it but it seemed easy and fun. All the times he had drawn you, he had done it when you were distracted, reading, having tea with his sisters... The pencil moved effortlessly across the paper when he saw you laughing with Daphne or playing with the cards that Colin had brought back from his trip to Spain. He was already too embarrassed to admit each time he drew you and Anthony teased him by saying that if he didn't propose to you, he would show you his drawings, and Benedict's heart skipped a beat because he knew that his older brother was not known for being a joker.

Benedict still didn't know how he was going to ask you, maybe it was better to just let it out.

—And what shall I do? Just stand here? Like this? —You laughed and made a dramatic pose like the ones you saw in the paintings in the gallery you visited together.

—I need you to ...

Benedict swallowed nervously. He looked down at your dress and then directly into your eyes. You raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to finish. You also looked at your dress to see if there was something wrong with it.

—Benedict I don't think I understand what you are trying to say—

—I need to practice naked female form.

Benedict immediately noticed your horrified face. He wanted to go back seconds ago when he hadn't even asked but if it wasn't you, who would it be? —I will not draw your face. No one will know it is you. It will be purely professional, I just need a few minutes.

You bit the inside of your cheeks and decided to trust him when he said that it would be for professional purposes only. The unfinished nude sketches that made your cheeks burn when you saw them as you entered his studio showed you that Benedict found no inspiration in the bodies of the academy models. After a nervous swallowing, you nodded and Benedict's face lit up. He hugged you but you didn't have time to hug him back because he quickly went to prepare the canvas.

—Is the door locked? —You asked him as you shed the little jacket that covered your shoulders along with your gloves. Benedict rushed off to lock it and before he returned to his position behind the canvas. You called his name and gulped, your hands failing in their attempts to unzip your own dress. —May I please get some help?

—Oh, yes, of course. My apologies.

Benedict stood behind you, his fingers brushing the skin on your back as he began to slowly unzip it until the dress slid down your body and fell at your feet. Benedict felt like he had to look away, as if in a few seconds you would not be completely exposed to his eyes. He offered you his hand to help you get up on a small pedestal that he had in his studio. Once you got rid of your underwear, you felt vulnerable but not as vulnerable as when Benedict ran his eyes over your body from his position and with the paintbrush already in his hand.

He let out all the air he had in his lungs, he couldn't take his eyes off you. Benedict could not deny that he had imagined it on many occasions, but reality far surpassed his imagination.

—What... What should I do, Benedict? —You hugged yourself.

—Put your arms down and stand like that. You look perfect, darling.

Your cheeks burned after that. You did as he said. His brow was slightly furrowed in concentration as his eyes went from the canvas to you and back to the canvas. Benedict asked you to turn around and he squeezed his eyes tightly after seeing your bare ass. Purely professional, this was purely professional, he had to remind himself.

Benedict grabbed a wooden chair and walked over to you. Your heart skipped a beat once he was so close to your naked body and he felt the exact same. He placed the chair next to you and invited you to sit on it. He nodded slowly when you did, focusing on the new position of your body. Benedict went back behind the canvas and made a few sketches.

He cleared his throat. —Would it be possible if you... Could you spread your legs?

Your cheeks grew hot and you squeezed your thighs together.

The knot you had in your stomach got tighter and you felt your chest rise and fall slowly thanks to your deep breathing. You straightened your back in the chair and you did as Benedict asked. You felt the air of the room caressing you in that warm and wet area and he held his breath, his chest puffing out as your legs slowly opened for him.

—You are beautiful, darling. Do not be ashamed —. Every new inch he discovered of your body made you look more perfect in his eyes. It was as nice to see you as it was to paint you.

Your cheeks grew even hotter but this time it wasn't just your cheeks, your whole body was in flames starting with the area between your legs that was so exposed to his eyes.

—Could we try another position?

You nodded, relieved, you were sure it was painfully obvious the way you had gotten wet and you just hoped he was busy enough to not notice.

He dropped the paintbrush and got up from the stool on which he was sitting. Benedict felt the knot in his stomach grow tighter with each step he took closer to your naked body. You moved in the chair out of nervousness. Benedict leaned slightly over you. —May I? —He asked before touching your leg. His voice made you shiver, he was so close, you felt his hand brush against the skin of your thigh. You nodded and looked up at him while he repositioned your leg. Benedict's eyes meet yours, so helpless, his lifelong friend, was that innocence in your eyes, or was that...?

Lust.

Your hand grabbed the back of Benedict's head and pressed his lips against yours. His eyes widened in surprise but immediately after, his hands went to cup your cheeks as he fell to his knees in front of you. You opened your legs so he could place himself between them and be closer to you. The shameless hands of your friend traveled down your neck until they reached your breasts. You moaned against his mouth once he gave them a gentle squeeze, the soft palm of his hand brushing against your nipples.

Benedict left a trail of soft kisses from your cheeks to your collarbones and your breasts. He took one in his mouth as his hand played with the other, his tongue moving in circles around your nipple and sucking on it at the same time. Your breathing quickened and your lips parted to let out soft moans when Benedict's teeth brushed your sensitive nipple.

He let go with a pop sound and watched you gasp for air. Benedict placed his hands on the inside of your thighs and caressed your skin there before he slowly pushed them to open even further. His hands prepared you for him, his eyes asked for your permission. You nodded and Benedict flashed you a smile, that was all he needed. He peppered your thighs with kisses, taking small bites and kissing your sore skin afterwards. Your breathing deepened as his mouth got closer to where you needed him the most. He was so close he could smell you and oh Lord, his dick got hard as a rock at that moment.

You took a sharp breath when he licked from your entrance to your clit and savored your juices in his mouth. The image was completely sinful, his blue eyes were locked on you while his lips sucked on your bundle of nerves, his hands forced your legs to stay open for him. Your head was thrown back, your mouth was open in a perfect "O" form, your fingers digging into his scalp. Once he noticed the desperation in the way your hips rolled against his mouth, two of his fingers entered you easily. You stifled a loud moan, throwing a hand over your mouth.

Benedict hummed, sending vibrations to your clit.

—Talk to me. How does this feel? —He required.

—So good. It feels... —You bit down your lower lip, his fingers sank deeper. —It feels like heaven.

He was satisfied with your answer.

Benedict fucked you with his fingers until you had to grab his wrist to get him to stop, it was too much. Your legs closed around his head but his lips were still attached to your clit and he didn't stop until he heard how your moans turned into whines and cries, not until he noticed how your back arched off the chair and your chest rose and fell uncontrolled thanks to your panting. Benedict didn't stop, not until he felt how your pussy was clenching so hard that almost pushed his fingers out of you and he heard you moan his name one last time as your grip on his hair tightened.

He gave you all the time you needed to catch your breath, kissing your legs and intertwining his fingers with yours while you came down from your high. Benedict's blue eyes were locked on you making every effort to later recall every single part of you.

—How are you feeling, darling? —Benedict stood on his feet and held your hands so that you would stand up as well. Before you could answer his question, you both realized how your legs were shaking and laughed. At the same time, you felt Benedict's grip on your hands grow stronger to keep you from falling.

Benedict leaned in and kissed your lips in the sweetest possible way. The tickling sensation in your body that you felt when you were naked in front of him had turned into a different kind of tickling, now focused on your stomach. It was so familiar, you had felt it so many times when you looked at him but now, with his lips on yours and his hands treating you with so much affection and care, it was different.

You could confirm that it was not only lust but also love.

You hummed against his lips. —Wait, did you finish your drawing?

Benedict shook his head. —But, please, do not worry about that. I will help you get dressed —. You frowned confused and he gave a quick kiss to your lips so, as he had told you, you would not worry. —I can finish later. There's no way I'm forgetting your body, my dear.

[504py]

A day in a life with Ivan. [ONESHOT]

Warnings below the cut 。。。

⚠️ NSFW, yandere content, alcoholism, reader got tradwifed, stockholm syndrome, domestic violence, Ivan is very blatantly sadistic, size difference, dacryphilia, vague breeding kink, no use of Y/N, forced feminization(?), gender neutral reader.

hey yawll!! i drew this since i wanted to play more with the painting style and color palette i did in my last post, but since i hit 800 followers recently, i decided to write something to go along with it too!

thank you guys so so much for putting up with my bs and enjoying the slop i create LOL. hopefully this will be enough to thank you all and to satiate you guys till i come back from hibernation again 🩵🙏

also!! while this is a gender neutral reader, ivan still refers to you as a housewife. this is pretty much an extension of the headcanon post i did on him.

MAN I NEED TO RECONNECT WITH NATURE AFTER THIS 😭😭😭

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

The average heart rate of a rabbit is a hundred and eighty beats per minute. Much, much faster than a human's at only a hundred, the little hearts of rabbits pump virile blood into their vulnerable bodies in order to outrun the cursed life of a prey animal they have no choice but to live.

Living with Ivan feels the exact same way. You, a human, were reduced to nothing but a prey animal whose only line of defense was either freeze or flight. Ivan prefers the freeze response. Tries to squeeze it out of you as much as he can.

The morning begins normally. You wake up next to his large, minimally clothed body, while you're bundled up as much as physically possible. You don't understand how he's so comfortable in the cold, but you've learned not to liken him to humans. You gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. It takes a while for Ivan to wake up, he's a heavy sleeper, but when his violet eyes finally open and dilate at the sight of you, the first thing he does is smile and pull you in to trap you in a strong bear hug. Don't struggle, he'll just tighten his grip. Then he kisses your cheek, and just holds you there without saying anything. He'll grumble a little when you tell him you have to leave bed to make breakfast, but he eventually will let you go.

It's a little sick how your current living situation makes chores the best part of your day, given how it allows the most proximity between you and Ivan. Cooking in the early morning is your favorite, since it takes Ivan a long time to recover from his hibernation. Thinking about what to cook is a bit of a meditative process as well, allows you to think thoroughly about anything other than your way of life and the man keeping you here.

Today, you decided to make something simple and similar to something you ate growing up. Luckily, Ivan is not a picky eater, even though he rather obviously prefers Slavic food. He'll eat whatever you make happily, but he'll be in even better spirits if you make something familiar to him.

You do not cook in silence. Silence has quickly become one of your biggest pet peeves since your captivity, and you do anything to drown it out. This damn empty mansion, the way Ivan is so terrible with his words and chooses instead to crush you with his actions, the bleak snowy landscape that greets you if you dare try and find any solace outside of this cage and your captor– It's enough to drive anyone insane. So, you pass the days by drowning out your thoughts with music and movies.

Ivan doesn't allow you a cellphone, or anything remotely modern at all. His home has a terrifying dedication to being so analog, you'd think you'd been transported to the 90's if not for the TV with a few streaming services on it, the only modern piece of technology he allows. He likes to collect cameras, radios, and old phones. Ivan's menagerie of antique goods is so expansive that it earned itself its own room. It's almost like a small museum, and you're very glad he allows you to look at and touch them as you pleased– with care, of course. He can actually be rather charming when he acts as your "museum guide" in this room. One of the few times you find yourself thinking anything remotely positive about him.

Ivan's voice is soft, it always is, but when he talks about these things he's so passionate about and so engrossed in, it takes on a bit more of a stern, confident tone that is easier for you to listen to. And when he's looking at the objects he's explaining, you can admire his side profile more openly. He's caught you multiple times (he has surprisingly sharp senses), and you're met with a flustered smile instead of the usual so-sweet-to-the-point-it-looks-fake type of smile.

"What are you looking at?" He'd ask, his voice quieting back down to that syrupy tone.

"Just you." You'd reply, which makes him pause in surprise for a second, before it earns a soft giggle from the towering man.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Vanya." The nickname makes him melt. "You just looked pretty."

The smile falls from his face, and his cheeks redden even more than you thought possible, before his grin returns tenfold. He laughs and looks away.

The memory of such interactions make you feel like buttering up to the man instead of rejecting him so much, then you realize you're just describing stockholm syndrome. As crazy as it is, it feels like, at this point, it'd be better to let it happen than to be aware and hateful every day you live here.

As if your thoughts had alerted him, you hear Ivan's deceptively soft footsteps descend the stairs. He doesn't say anything, and just makes his way to the kitchen to watch you.

He's dressed in more clothing now, a dark blue sweater and gray sweatpants. His neck is left bare around you. When you first met him, his clothing that purposefully covers his neck always went unnoticed by you, because such clothes fit him so well, like they were always meant to be there. It was only after your capture, when he took off his scarf and you saw the bandages around his pale neck did you start to question it.

You've never outright asked him, you worry the subject is too volatile. He just... decided to stop hiding it one day. It was after a shower when you first saw it, the ligature marks around his neck and a few faded pink scars on the front of his adam's apple. Ivan noticed you staring, and you've never seen him look so small and insecure before.

"Is it bad?"

"No." You shake your head. "Does it hurt?"

"Not anymore."

And that was that.

You finish plating up two dishes, one with a significantly heftier portion than yours considering how much he eats. You quickly place the chopping board and all the pans you used in the sink to wash later, and you bring the dishes to the table.

Ivan yawns, rubs at his eyes, and without much event, just picks up a knife and a fork and starts eating. You do the same only after fetching some tea from the samovar.

Breakfast is always quiet besides the background noise of whatever media you chose to play.

"Mm. Ёжик в тумaне?"

"Yeah. I like this one."

"A little somber, isn't it?"

"The hedgehog is cute. I relate to it a little bit."

Ivan takes his eyes off of the television to look at you, and ponders what you said a little more. He doesn't say anything, and continues eating.

"What will you be doing today?" You ask, in case you needed to iron some clothing or prepare extra food for guests.

He hums in thought for a moment. "I'll be going out in the evening to drink with the other nations."

"What will you be wearing?"

"What I usually do."

You nod, "I'll have it ready soon."

"What about you?" He asks.

"Hmm... I'll wash the dishes, then iron and press your clothing. After that, I'll think of what to cook for lunch while cleaning the house, and I'll prepare a meal for you before you leave. Then while you're away, I'll clean up some more and prepare dinner. And if I have some time, I'll sit and watch some more movies."

Ivan hums in satisfaction. He enjoys how strict to routine your lives were. Familiarity and stability are what he desires most, and he believes you're the only one who can grant him that wish.

"Perfect." He smiles, petting the crown of your head with a large, broad hand.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You adjust the dusty pink scarf around his thick neck after finishing wrapping the scars on his throat with bandages. You do it neatly and comfortably, as opposed to how Ivan does, quickly and efficiently, learned from decades of routine, yet it's still so much more uncomfortable compared to when you do it.

"How is it?" You ask. Ivan replies by taking your smaller hands in his and leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You do it perfectly, любовь моя." He sighs, before pouting slightly. "I wish I could just stay home."

"You'll be alright, Vanya. Alcohol is like water to you anyways."

He snickers and rolls his eyes. "That just means it'll be boring for me, then."

"Just try to have fun and relax. I'll be safe and quiet here."

A mousy smile appears on his pink lips. You've said exactly what he wants to hear. "Alright. I'll just get it over with." He presses one last kiss to the top of your hair before leaving.

"Don't cause any trouble!" Ivan sings, before exiting the living room and closing the door behind him. You get a glimpse of the blindingly white outside world, and a gust of stinging cold air brushes against your skin like a warning.

You let out a taut breath, finally feeling like you're able to breathe without his crushing presence. You dust off your hands, from nothing in particular, before going off to do just as you said to him earlier. It bothers you how much he still affects you without even being around.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The sky is dark, and all that is heard is the droning of soft music and the burbling of something boiling on the stove. Its tranquility is broken by the door opening with more aggression than usual.

"Vanya?" You call out, hoping the sweet usage of his nickname would quell whatever spawned this roughness within him.

All you hear is something vaguely resembling a groan and a sigh, and his heavy, thudding footsteps. Your heart starts to race a little.

"Is something wrong, Vanya?" You ask meekly, approaching him with caution. He reeks of alcohol, and his movements seem all sluggish. Jesus, how much did Russia of all people need to drink in order to get this wasted?

"I'm alright." He huffs, taking off his gloves and his coat with slight difficulty. You step in closer to help him undress, taking off his scarf. You don't miss how he tenses up, so you freeze and meet his constantly intense stare to gauge his expression. His eyelids are low, pupils contracted, eyes darker than usual, and cheeks flushed like they always are. He seems to be pouting a bit. He doesn't do much else, so you continue, stripping him of his large overcoat. All he's left in now is a black sweater and thick brown slacks.

"I've made dinner. You can just sit wherever you want and I'll bring it to you–"

Ivan leans in so quickly, you couldn't even register it in order to dodge or deflect his kiss in time. This time, it lands on your lips. He doesn't do this usually at all, unless he was planning something. The blood drains from your face when his large hand finds the back of your neck, and holds it stiff, preventing any chance of backing out.

His skin and the inside of his mouth are impossibly warm, and the bitter, sterile taste of vodka is the only damn thing invading your senses. You grip the fabric of his knitted sweater, it makes him part from your lips to pant like a dog and take said piece of clothing off, now left in a dark gray shirt.

"V-Va– You taste like alcohol–"

"Get drunk off of me." He whispers, before grabbing the sides of your arms and kissing you tongue first, lapping at your lips, and at this point, you learned better than to deny him. With all the mental fortitude you could muster, you rigidly part your lips. Despite all your efforts to be as pliant as possible to try and guarantee your safety, you can't help the shiver of revulsion when his tongue invades your mouth like a parasite and rubs against yours.

It feels like time slows down, you can feel the milliseconds before your instincts kick in, and each millisecond feels like a year of dread. Unable to stop raw instinct, you bite down.

Your heart stops when you hear him grunt, and feel his grip around your arms tighten before he shoves you away. He gasps, cursing under his breath in his mother tongue before setting his sights back on you.

Doe-eyed and trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, you begin to plead.

"N-No, no, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Vanya, please–"

He approaches, kicks the back of your knees, before you are grabbed by the scruff of your shirt. The collar of your blouse is yanked back and presses the fabric tightly against your throat as he drags you to the front door. You're coughing and struggling to regain your footing, and the moment you can breathe, you beg.

"Please! Nonono– Vanya please don't do this I'll be good–" The words tumble out like unorganized clutter using the one short breath you were able to catch.

With one more harsh tug, you fall to your knees again, and the door opens. The sight of the snow immediately triggers something within you, and you begin sobbing.

Ivan takes a peak at you, seemingly taking pity.

"Only for a few minutes."

You shake your head in a frenzy, not believing a word he says. Even if he was saying the truth, you'd much rather continue to humiliate yourself over being outside for even a few seconds. What if he forgets about you? What if that door never opens again? What if you die a miserable death, separated from your survival by just a few inches of wood?

That's why, the moment he throws you out, you scramble to your feet and shove that damned door open before he can fully close it. You know you're in deeper shit when you hear the door slam against him, and the deep yelp that follows it. You run for your life into the confines of his house.

You quickly make way to one of the bathrooms, the only rooms in the house you're still able to lock from the inside. You knew even that meant nothing, since you're sure Ivan could and would break them down without a second thought. Yet, it was still your best shot.

You lock the bathroom door and sit on the flooring right next to it. You try to calm down your heartrate and your heaving so you could try and listen in on whatever was going on outside this room.

Eerie silence is what greets you. You hate it, hate it so much. Shuddering, you hold your breath and strain your ears just a little more.

And that's when you hear it.

Soft footsteps.

You have to bite back a scream from how much raw fear that little sound sends shooting through your nervous system. Makes your skin crawl so bad that it almost hurts.

Ivan's clearly not in any rush, but FUCK did you wish he'd just get it over with and sprint right at you. You're sure he knows where you are, he just likes to freak you out, you can tell. That sweet smile he always puts on is nothing short of sadistic, constantly has this look in his eyes, some kinda weird sparkle that tells you he enjoys watching you struggle beneath him. Knowing you'll be face to face with those very eyes shortly makes your ribs squeeze around your quaking lungs and heart.

The footsteps approach. You brace yourself for a rough kick to the door or a pipe slamming through it.

Instead, he knocks. This was wrong, what was happening? Oh, god, this was so much worse.

"I won't ask again."

Scrambling to the door, not even sparing any time to actually stand up, you open it. You wince when you strain your neck to look up and see the damage done to him by your outburst. A nasty, bloody bruise on the bridge of his tall nose and that same crimson liquid streaming down his nostril. Your chest shakes like a dying sparrow's.

"I-I'm sorry. Please."

And he smiles.

Ivan is actually, genuinely, extremely pleased right now. He's wanted this all along, for you to fear the outside world so much you'd do anything in the world to stay here, right by his side. He doesn't give a single shit about the injuries you've caused him now and in the past, he's strong, he can take it, and he'll always forgive you over and over again. Of course, it makes him annoyed, because what good housewife would beat their husband like that? But he understands that your circumstances aren't exactly normal, so he'll endure it with irritation. At the rate he's breaking you in, though, you'll soon be as pliant and obedient as he expects you to be. Perhaps you'll even start to love him back. Just the thought of it raises goosebumps on his porcelain skin and makes his hands tremble in excitement.

You don't understand why he's giggling right now.

He sighs your name, and crouches down to meet your stare. You flinch as a droplet of blood hits the tiles. Ivan's grin only widens when your shaking hands reach for his face and try to wipe the blood away.

"O-Oh, Ivan," You whine uselessly, getting up on boneless legs to grab the first-aid kit. He watches with bright, amused eyes. He knows you won't try anything anymore. He's confident in your compliance to him.

As carefully as you can, you wipe off the blood with paper towels, crying harder when it smears instead of going away completely like you'd hoped. It felt like your mistakes were going to be impossible to fix.

Ivan's cheery gaze never falters. Maybe this is the happiest you've ever seen him, despite the blood streaming into the gaps of his teeth and forming a grotesque image. Dusty eyelashes frame his smiley crescent moon eyes, cheeks ruddy as little alcohol-stained puffs of air pollute the cold atmosphere. You jolt when he chuckles throatily.

"What's wrong?" His voice is as sickly sweet as it always is.

"Y-You're mad– I made you mad. I'm sorry." You choke on your own words, trying your best not to drop the bottle of disinfectant in your weak hand.

"What did you do?"

"I–" You hiccup, "I d-didn't– I didn't listen to you. I wasn't good."

Unable to hide his pleasure, he laughs and leans in to give you a chaste, bloody kiss.

"It will be okay. I love you."

You're glad your crying masks the gag reflex that almost makes itself apparent when you know what you have to say next. You steel your nerves and dryly swallow the taste of Ivan's blood.

"I love– I love you too."

He gives you a pleased, closed-mouth smile, and presses a kiss to the top of your head before taking the bottle of disinfectant from you. He begins to tend to his own wounds.

"This does not mean I forgive you, though."

Just as you felt your whole world crashing down around you, Ivan saves you.

He breathes out a laugh, "No, I won't throw you outside again. It's much better staying inside with me, yes?"

You nod in a frenzy. "Yes! Y-Yes, much better. Please don't."

"Well," Ivan prefaces, disinfecting the cut on his nose before placing a bandaid on it. He turns his head to the side and spits out the blood left in his mouth. "You will have to tend to this wound. Kiss it better." And before you could even wonder what he meant by that, his tongue lolls out, brandishing the red bite mark from earlier.

Disgust registers for only a second.

Like an automaton made solely to serve, you lean forward, grasp onto his biceps, and press a needy, desperate kiss to his drooling tongue. He laughs while you lap at his tongue like a wounded dog, warm, alcoholic breaths brushing against your face.

After relishing in the feeling of your worship for a little longer, he gently pushes you to the ground and crawls over your jittery body, placing a hand against the small of your back to hold you up and closer to him, with the other gripping the outside of your thigh.

"You will not bite me this time?"

Nodding fearfully, praying the conviction in your eyes will be enough to warrant his forgiveness, you wrap your arms around his neck.

Sighing happily, he presses his cold lips against yours, taking the lead happily as he moans into the kiss. The sound was more out of the satisfaction of establishing his dominance rather than the actual physical pleasure.

Ivan doesn't usually indulge in sexual fantasies or acts, which surprises you considering how touchy the man is. His mind usually favors daydreams of a stable, domestic life with you. Ivan prioritizes establishing your relationship over anything else, so he doesn't really find the time to lull over menial things like sex. Marriage is one thing, but your total submission is another.

Then again, this doesn't mean that he fully doesn't have any carnal desires when it comes to you. It's you, for christ's sake. When his fantasies of dominance come into play, it seems only obvious that sometimes his thoughts wander into the bedroom.

Ivan fantasizes a lot about having you desire him as much as he does you. He wants you to need him like air. Wants to have you mewling his name and clinging to him like your life depended on it, which would quite literally be the case right now. Wants to see your pretty, pretty tears reserved only for him. Wants to see you fall apart in his arms over and over again while comforting you so meanly and kissing your crying face.

Ivan tries his best to not let these thoughts make themselves apparent, but fuck, do you make it so hard sometimes. How could any man not be affected by the sight of their adorable little housewife in an apron? Takes so much for him to not just grab you by your hair and bend you over the counter. Whenever you cry for whatever reason, he almost feels guilty over how instantly horny it makes him. Almost feels guilty when all he can think about is licking those tears off of your face and making himself the cause of them. God, he wants to play the role of a nice doting husband so bad, but he can't help but feel you up and breathe down your neck when you try on the dresses and lingerie he buys for you. He can't help grabbing your waist and pressing his erection against your ass– not on purpose, he just wanted to be close to you.

While aggressive in his approach, Ivan never forces any sexual acts that you refuse. Even if he's left high and breathing heavy, he still wants to be someone you don't completely hate. Be a good husband, be a good husband. He always chants to himself. All his prayers proved fruitful when he quite literally cried tears of joy during your first time together.

Ivan doesn't know what was different that day, he didn't expect anything, just to make out and have you reject him after a bit, but you just... kept going, until he was ramming into you, hands tight around your sweaty waist and fucking into you like you were just a fleshlight. He's never seen himself like this, moaning and gasping like a girl and feeling so fucking good that all that he wanted– all that he could think of was breeding you like a bull and how beautiful your family would be. God, the memory of you struggling, doing your best to take his thick cock and crying so cutely just trying to bottom out is engraved into the grooves of his brain. It makes his stomach feel all warm whenever he thinks of it. He wants to carve it under his eyelids so he can see it every time he blinks.

Ivan laughs a lot during sex, call him creepy, it's genuinely because he is just so damn happy that he can't hide it. Why should he hide it from you? He wants to show you just how much he loves you and how good you make him feel. You make him feel so damn happy and complete that all he could do was chant IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou– while whimpering, giggling, his tears dripping onto your face.

Maybe he'll get lucky again.

Without parting, Ivan carefully lowers your back to the tiled floor, straddling your body and snaking his long fingers under your blouse, resting them against your heated abdomen. He smiles into the kiss when you jolt away, tickled by how frigid they are.

The ends of his feathered gray hair tickles your wet face, your body shivering at all the different sensations attacking you simultaneously. The cold tiles, his freezing hands, his hot tongue, the faint taste of blood, the warm drool seeping out the side of your mouth, his arid breathing, the smell of alcohol–

Your hands, still by the back of his neck, reach up to ever-so-slightly tug at his hair to signal you needed a breather. Ivan makes a small noise of surprise, before pulling away.

He looks absolutely dazed, lips shiny with remnants of a spit trail, and lavender eyes heavy and glazed over with a feral lust. His breathing is labored, muscular chest rising and falling as he intently watches every minute expression your face makes. Despite the blatant lack of nudity, this might be the most erotic sight you've ever seen. Fuck, why does he have to look so good when you're supposed to hate him?

Right now, you were so exhausted you couldn't even remember what reason you'd have to hate him, despite there being enough that you could spend the rest of your life listing all of them down.

And just when you try to refuse by backing up, your thigh brushes against his boner and he lets out the most heated, breathy, shivery moan you've ever heard. The vocalization sounded like it was tailor-made to tantalize you, to tempt you into biting the fruit. And you know what? You were a sinner anyways.

"Bed– B-Bedroom."

A toothy grin appears on Ivan's face, and he exhales a breathy laugh. He looks absolutely delighted, and starved.

Without a second thought, he picks you up, and carries you to the closest one.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The next morning begins normally. Your body is sore, and covered in bite marks. That was one of the best sleeps you've had in recent memory. Ivan seems to think so, too, with his arms cradling your torso and a hand resting over your lower abdomen. The ache reminds you about what happened yesterday, you can still feel him in there somehow.

You woke up a little later in the morning compared to usual. Since you're still a little too exhausted to get up and begin cooking, you lay there for a while, listening to the quiet howling of the wind outside. You wonder when was the last time you heard any birds chirping.

Thinking of the outside world brings you a bit of dread, don't really like doing it. But when your life is so isolated and so alone, misery can become a form of entertainment.

The more and more days go by, the more and more do you forget what your life was like before meeting the Russian. The longer you live with Ivan, the more does it feel that he was just always there, and that your life before meeting him was a falsified memory. You're not even sure how much time has passed since, it's always snowing outside, every day feels the same.

That's the one thing you remember from before this life, the feeling of warmth. You're not sure you remember the feeling of it, really, but you're well aware of the absence it leaves behind. Maybe when spring finally comes around, you can open that door, and...

Eyebrows furrowing as a migraine starts to set in, you shake your head weakly. You didn't like thinking about the outside.

Turning over to face Ivan, you gently wake him up before you leave the bed– you learned that he doesn't like waking up to an empty bed without any prior notice. He eventually stirs from his sleep, hugs you, and you do not struggle.

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

[yeagerfate]

their love languages.

characters: miles morales (earth-1610), gwen stacy, hobie brown, pavitr prabhakar, miguel o’hara

warnings: none! just fluff <3

notes: thank you guys so much for all the love on my previous posts! i have so much fun when i write these so i will definitely be posting some more soon. enjoy ur food lol

MILES MORALES

Miles’ love language is QUALITY TIME. He always wants to spend time with you and is definitely an “experience” rather than “materialistic gift” type of person. He gets very shy when expressing his love for you verbally, so he does it through quality time. He’ll draw you during study sessions (Unbeknownst to you, he always finishes before you. He just never says anything because he still wants an excuse to hang out with you.), will ask you to play video games with him, and is constantly going skateboarding with you, even if you’re bad at it. He just wants to see you, and is afraid to ask you to just “hang out” because he doesn’t want you to think he’s weird. In return, Miles would like ACTS OF SERVICE. A lot of people have betrayed him and hurt him, so he would really like someone who goes out of their way to help him. To him, it proves how much you care for him, and that’s really important to Miles.

GWEN STACY

Although Gwen can be cold to those she doesn’t trust, once you get to know her, she’s always going out of her way to support you. Her love language is ACTS OF SERVICE. She plays songs for you whenever you want, is always taking care of you when you’re sick, and somehow always knows when you’re upset. Before she comes over, she always gets you your favorite snacks and drinks. Gwen tries her best to look out for you the way she couldn’t for her late friend Peter. She just wants you to be safe, and she asks for nothing in return once you gain her trust. However, Gwen’s face would turn 50 shades of red with a significant other whose love language is WORDS OF AFFIRMATION. She loves it when you tell her how proud of her you are, when you tell her you’ll always be there for her… she’s immediately enamored with you. Oh, and when you tell her how pretty you think she is? She’s on cloud 9.

HOBIE BROWN

Hobie loves GIFT GIVING. Sometimes, when he returns from another mission, he’ll come back with some strange trinkets. They’re always fun to look at, to wonder what other people from other universes think of them. Hobie always makes sure to pick out the ones that you’ll like; it’s the one time he makes an effort to be consistent. A small smirk always appears on his face when he sees you wearing the earrings that he stole from another universe. When you’re going out of your way to make things easier for him, though, he’s a goner. Hobie would really be smitten for someone whose love language is ACTS OF SERVICE. He never blushes, but you’ll see a light shade of violet emerge on his cheeks when he sees that you ran errands for him while he was gone, or when you help him with his hair on wash day. It’s all very sweet.

PAVITR PRABHAKAR

Pav’s favorite way to express his adoration for you is PHYSICAL TOUCH. He loves to hold your hand, cuddle with you (he’s a little spoon), and kiss you on the cheek. Your warmth is one of his favorite sensations. He just likes to know that you’re there. It’s really scary for him to imagine a world where you’re not by his side, so he likes to give you as much affection as possible. He always wants you to know that he loves you. Oh, and if he has a mission soon? You won’t be seen walking around with him not right behind you. He gets super clingy right before he has to leave. On another note, Pav loves receiving homemade GIFTS. He’ll always wear anything that you make him, especially if it’s something for his hair. He’ll definitely brag about it when he travels to the Spider Society.

MIGUEL O’HARA

Miguel is very protective of you, so his love language is PHYSICAL TOUCH. Even if it’s subtle, he always is somehow close to you, whether it’s a hand on your back, a hand holding yours, or both. Miguel has lost almost everything, so he is always seeking out your warmth. However, he is not too fond of PDA unless it’s subtle, so he always keeps his affections elusive. It is also very important to him that his enemies do not find out about you, as his worst nightmare would be them coming after you. You are the very last thing Miguel has; he’d rather die than witness anything happen to you. Miguel would absolutely adore someone whose love language is ACTS OF SERVICE. When he comes back from a mission all banged up, and you volunteer to help him clean up? Suddenly his heart is beating 2x faster than usual and his pupils are dilated.

[jimblejamblewritings]

love letters and second sons | part 3.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

A/N: Sorry this part is so short

You stood in the drawing room of Kew, waiting for your mother and father to arrive in just a few minutes. Instead of a huge breakfast in the dining room, you opted for a light tea in a more casual setting. Honestly, you were mildly annoyed. The only thing you wanted to do after people returned from their church services, that they never attended weekly because no one cared about the priest admonishing them, was go to the Featherington house. You were shocked that Colin was calling Marina. But friends didn’t always fall in love.

It wasn’t like Penelope was upset about it. She didn’t even like Colin. But like your mother you wanted to matchmake someone and figured they would have been the easiest couple to form. But you wanted to spy on Colin and Marina under the guise of aiding in chaperoning with Penelope since Lady Featherington was running around between girls and their callers.  

Your thoughts about who to matchmake were interrupted by your parents arriving. You poured tea for them. Breakfast was a bit awkward in a way it had never been before. George and Charlotte were assessing you intently. You got in two bites of bread when the physician entered. Your parents continued their conversation while you were being checked over. The physician made little comments for the nurse to jot down. Overall, you were fine. That seemed to satisfy your mother and father. There was a glint in Charlotte’s eye. 

“The King an— Everyone, out.” 

The room, aside from Brimsley and Reynolds, cleared out. 

“George and I have decided that we’d like to give you an opportunity. There is an opera coming up. Agatha and her friend Violet will be attending. You may come with. You will meet them before the show starts and then we will stay to watch the entire performance. Afterwards, you must go home. No exceptions.” 

“Thank you! Thank you so much! I wo—” 

“Calm yourself. You know getting excited makes your condition worse.” 

You sat back down, trying not to bounce up and down. She was right after all. Being overly excited made you sweaty or a little hot for some reason and being too warm made you start to see things or think strange things. When your parents left, you ran to your wardrobe. 

The dresses needed to be fancy but not too fancy since it was a sit-down event. You picked a yellow dress with short puff sleeves. It ended just above the bottom of your ankle — very stylish for the times. Pairing it with light blue gloves that went past your elbows, you added a light blue skirt piece that made a small train. 

“You look beautiful, Your Highness,” Brimsley said. 

“I have to agree.” Both Pandora and Reynolds looked at each other, shocked they said the same thing at the same time. 

“Thank you. Shall we go? Reynolds, would you like to be dropped at home to see Father?” 

“That would be nice, Your Highness, thank you.” 

“Then let us leave now.” 

You rolled your eyes in the carriage, setting down your copy of Lady Whistledown’s society papers. 

“It is utterly ridiculous. She is a disgraceful woman. I tolerated the gossip but speculating death, wishing death on my father is something I cannot accept nor tolerate. How dare she?” 

Your confidantes agreed with you and shared their own opinions on society and gossip. 

Whispers started to spread throughout the opera house while people still rolled in and music still played. How could it not? The youngest royal child was actually outside. There was no opening for the mouth on this particular mask which meant this was not your introduction. You might speak to a lucky few but there would be no speeches or announcements tonight. People couldn’t hear you from far away with ceramic blocking your mouth. You stuck close to your mother while everyone tried to look at you or talk to you. 

“Lady Bridgerton!” Lady Danbury yelled from across the room. “Do join us.” 

Violet tried to conceal her wide eyes and smile as she grabbed Daphne’s arm before her daughter could walk away from whoever she was trying to avoid. She made eye contact with you. You watched as she rather frantically waved over someone else. 

Anthony — or should you call him the viscount for the evening — began walking towards you, bowing to the Queen before turning his full attention to you. You let him take your hand and give it a kiss. A kiss that you noted was considerably longer by a minimum of five seconds than when he kissed you as Miss Beckett. So it was definitely Violet trying to set up the princess with her son and not the valet with Colin.    

You let Anthony talk your ear off about his responsibilities as the eldest and his horseback riding hobby, notably leaving out the details of riding through the mud and staying out there for hours. He was considerably more boring when trying to impress a woman. Ignoring the whispers that permeated through the room, you tried to focus on your friend. 

You motioned for him to lean in so you could speak into his ear and actually let him hear you rather than sounding muffled, practically silencing the hall. Anthony laughed at the joke you told which caused both of your mothers to turn around. This was the Anthony you liked better. Violet gasped when you placed a hand on her son’s arm — your mother raised her eyebrows as she and Lady Danbury gave you a slight nod of approval. 

“Will you escort me to our box, Viscount Bridgerton?” 

“Please, call me Anthony.” 

“Lord Bridgerton, that is most forward when we don’t know each other.” 

“I was told royals didn’t obey our rules of upper society.” 

The two of you started up the stairs, away from prying eyes, that led up to the Queen’s box. 

“Anthony?” 

“Now we speak of first names.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I will allow you to call me by mine, just this single occasion. Anthony, where are the other Bridgerton siblings? If I remember correctly, you have seven of them? Miss Bridgerton is here but I do not see the others.” 

“Truthfully, they were very bored by the show being put on tonight. We’ve seen it before. I’m merely here to aid my mother and chaperone my sister. Have you seen this show before?” 

“If I have then it was when I was very little.” 

“Well, then please do not let my words discourage your enjoyment of the performance. Here is your stop.” He extended a hand to help you up the short steps into the box. “Y/N, thank you for the flowers from the other day. Truly, they are appreciated.” 

You studied his face for a moment. He really was handsome. His hair didn’t cover as much of his face this evening as it usually did whenever you visited. The stark colors of his black and white attire made his features stand out. 

“I am glad you liked them. Now is where I leave you for the evening, Lord Bridgerton. I shall hope to see you some more once I formally introduce myself to society.” 

“I will look forward to that day. Goodbye… Y/N.” 

“Goodbye, Anthony.” 

Taking your seat, you waited for your mother and her friends to come to the box. The smile on Charlotte’s face grew wider the closer she got to the box. She was going on about Anthony. Obviously, you were going to have many suitors to entertain but a viscount was certainly a very important suitor and only made your prospects have to be better in their courting. 

“Excuse me, I’m going to the privy,” you told your mother when you felt your throat start to tighten up. 

She just gave you a nod. The shadows of the opera house were closing in on you and you couldn’t calm your mind down. You needed to be in a place with more candlelight. You jumped at the sound of several dogs barking from the shadows. They were big creatures. You had never seen them but you could tell from their bark and — when you got too close — how their breath fanned across the top of your head. Hastening your steps to get away, you ran straight into Violet. 

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I decided to take a walk after going to the privy and wasn’t watching where I was going.” 

The woman in front of you smiled. “Your Highness, if I may be so bold to ask? Would you like to attend a dinner we are hosting? The Duke of Hastings will be there. I understand that you aren’t yet introduced but it woul—” 

“I shall love to come. Just tell me when.” 

“Saturday evening.” 

“Perfect.” 

Saturday evening couldn’t have come any sooner. You were tired of counting the floor titles in the bathroom and needed to leave. For the sake of your valets, you hadn’t snuck out at all that week.

You turned to your valets. “I will be back in a few hours.” 

“Please be careful,” Pandora said. 

“I always am.” 

“Not really.” You heard someone mutter inside the carriage. 

Marshall escorted you in. You had to stop yourself from smiling, remembering that he had no clue who you were. It was almost alarming when everyone — including the Duke of Hastings — stood when you entered the dining room. You weren’t sure why you didn't expect it. Perhaps you were already too used to your disguise as Miss Beckett. You gave a slight curtsey. 

“I apologize for being late.” 

“No. You aren’t late at all,” Anthony said as he started to gather his plate. 

You shook your head. “Oh, stay where you are.” 

“But, Your Highness.” 

“I can afford to not be the head of a table for a single night.” You looked around. “I shall sit across from Miss Daphne Bridgerton.” 

“She knows your name!” Hyacinth’s voice rose three octaves. You figured you could make her night by having the princess knowledgeable about the Bridgertons. 

Colin and Benedict scrambled to pull their chairs apart so you could sit in between them. You waved Marshall away, plating your own food. You could feel the silence of the dinner table as you did things the normal way you would at Kew or Buckingham House.

They also might have been preoccupied with your disguise rather than the way you dragged your own spoon through the mashed potatoes. It was natural. Your siblings had told you all about how people would scrutinize the different masks you would wear. They'd try their hardest to get a real glimpse of your face.

The eye holes had sheer coverings on them that made it hard to see your true eye color. And when it came to your mouth. Your maids had taken their painstakingly slow time making sure the makeup covered up an unique qualities around your mouth and changed the shape of your lips to a shape unrecognizable to you at all. Hungry mamas with daughters they'd want to be in your court or sons they'd want to court you are able to sniff out something like the tiniest wrinkle by the bottom of your lip and use that to scout the whole ton until they found you without the mask on.

It happened to Edward countless of times and was the reason for all the rules regarding the masks in the first place. You looked up after cutting your chicken. 

“What were you all talking about before I arrived?” 

“Lady Whistledown,” Eloise cut in before anyone could stop her. 

“Really? Tell me more.” 

“You want to know?” 

“Of course I do. I must know her identity. However I must say I will be having a private word with her about not publishing speculation of my father’s death.” 

“How is he?” 

“Oh, he’s perfectly fine. No matter, though, I need to know every thought you have on our mysterious Lady Whistledown?” 

You enjoyed the bickering between everyone. There wasn’t even a firm thought on what class Whistledown belonged to. In your opinion it had to have been an upper class woman. Only someone like that could have enough time on their hands and still survive day to day needs. You dipped your fork into the potatoes. 

“Viscount Bridgerton, I must say that any correspondence between the royals and the Bridgerton House should be sent to Kew. I stay there now.” 

“Correspondence?” Violet asked, trying to suppress the excitement in her voice. 

“Yes. I shall need to understand the ton more than what I have studied. Don’t bother putting them together. I much prefer to read individual letters. Now, I have engagements already arranged for tomorrow so I must be on my way. However, I would love to attend dinner again. Goodnight, Lady Bridgerton, Viscount, Bridgertons, Your Grace.” 

Anthony stood up from the table. “Let me escort you to your carriage.” 

“That would be much appreciated, Lord Bridgerton.” 

~~

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

I implore you all to remember that gossip, particularly baseless gossip, can be a dangerous thing. While we all are very entertained by Lady Whistledown, remember that you must discover the truth for yourself. I would hate to see lives ruined over entertainment. 

Yours Truly, 

Princess Y/N Hanover

Dear Viscount Bridgerton, 

The dinner at your house was very lovely. Your family seems to be a wonderful group of people. I am sorry for keeping my lady’s maid away for so long. She has been in Ireland, procuring plant seeds and fabrics for me. Please fret no more for she will be back soon. But I do have to say our correspondence might be limited to letters for a majority of our current time. Until I am introduced to society, it is not wise for me to constantly be out. I shall look forward to more times spent with the Bridgertons at a later date. 

Yours Truly, 

Princess Y/N Hanover 

You finished signing the letter, handing it to Pandora to take to the press for copies to be made. Moving an entire printing house from Buckingham to Kew wasn’t exactly quick and easy but your staff had managed to do it in no time at all. For the time being, Kew was entirely self-sufficient. 

“Please take the letters for the Bridgertons to their house after you have visited the press.”  

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Brimsley, what is on the schedule after the physician leaves?” 

“You wanted to ride horses and then prepare a bouquet for the ball tomorrow night to be delivered by one of us.” 

“Yes, thank you. And after that?” 

Reynolds looked at you and then his partner. You had just made the schedule no less than an hour ago. It didn’t seem normal for you to not know. Their eye contact didn’t waiver as they silently communicated to not say a word but just answer all your questions. You got up, moving to your wardrobe to get a petticoat for outside. 

“Ah, yes, Brimsley. Are we preparing the bouquet tonight before or after the physici…an…”

Tears started to well up in your eyes as you realized you had asked the question already. Brimsley and Reynolds were a tad too slow. You were already in the wardrobe, trying to calm yourself down. Every time a sob left your mouth or you begged them not to tell your parents caused some pain in their hearts. Reynolds stopped Pandora from leaving, handing the letters to a different lady-in-waiting. 

You looked up in the dark space when you heard the knocking. It was hard to ignore the dogs in the shadows just waiting to snap at you. But the dark stopped the heavens from coming in. It was always a compromise. And since the heavens confused your mind and blocked your memory, the dogs would have to wait. 

“You can open it.” 

Pandora stuck her head in, trying to prevent too much light from coming in. “You’re stronger than whatever you have, you know? It doesn’t matter. None of it does… Maybe you should show the planets and shadow dogs and other shadow creatures that they cannot control a princess. They do not control you.” 

Reynolds sighed as he said a quick prayer to not be fired. “Maybe going to the ball would show the shadows that they cannot control you.” 

You didn’t really have a choice. Pandora practically pulled you out of the closet and started making plans for tomorrow’s ball, including how to enjoy yourself but stay hidden.

(part 4)...

THIS FIC TAGLIST:

@fredsbetch @cherrylovers-world @chrystinaamanda @grassclippers @flyestvenustrap @spookystitchery @lovelyygirl8 @ben-has-arrived @tragically-hipp

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@venomsvl @peaches-n-sunscreen @summerellaz @supernaturallover2002 @sambucky8 @9daykrisr @thebitchinleo @23victoria @scarlets-widow @pagetpagetpagetpaget @lovexnatasha @awesomebooklover17 @1234-angelika @imatrisk @blackreaderatrisk @princess-jules47 @alexloveskili @a-marie-a @siriuslysirius1107​ @i-have-no-life-charlie

[an-idyllic-novelist]

Alastor with Violet Evergarden!reader headcanons: daily routine

warnings: tooth-rotting content, vibes of a semi-domestic life, OOC, established relationship.

Special thanks to @witch-of-the-writing desk and @vikkirosko for their help with this project. Enjoy! :)

Reblog to support content creators! ❤️

Alastor knows that he is a perfect gentleman with high expectations. 

He is one of the most feared overlords in Hell and thrives in the throes of chaos; those unfortunate souls who would dare to question him are torn apart, their screams broadcasted for all to hear and to remind them why he is here. Alastor knows he gets bored easily and doesn’t like to invest his time in short-lived entertainment, heavens no~! He’s here for the continuous, unpredictable acts on the stage of the Hazbin Hotel, that’s why he’s offered his services to Charlie as the gracious facility manager in the first place~!

Funnily enough, it was because of Lucifer’s delusional daughter that he met you. Through a colorful ad, you were given a room under the condition that you participated in all of the group activities unless you worked around the clock like the hotel’s other resident, Angel Dust. You admitted with a blank look that you did have a job in Cannibal Town, but your hours were flexible. 

 Oh~ho, someone new to entertain himself with, what a lovely day it is indeed~!

That had been his initial impression of you: never smiling, an excellent work ethic, and always dressed appropriately [unlike some people]. But as the months slowly trickled by, inching ever closer to the new extermination date and working with you on a near constant basis as facility manager and part-time groundskeeper respectively, you became…important to him. You opened to him about your services in both the Great War and as an Automemory Doll. 

You had done many terrible things that you were not proud of. Initially you had thought by writing letters for clients, helping them convey the words they wanted to say to a loved one, would wash away the blood you had spilt on the battlefield. In the end, it was a foolish endeavor. 

Your sins could not be so easily forgotten, and you had no doubt that some of the men you had killed were down here too, perhaps wanting to seek revenge for what you did. Your place is here in Hell, but that did not mean you could help sinners in your own way if they earnestly wished to redeem themselves.  

It had been a sudden, pesky thing. The moments his feelings for you had altered, whenever that was…irritating to say the least though manageable. Alastor had not even realized that something as trivial as his feelings had changed at all until the small affliction upon his heart festered and grew, bubbling up to the surface and overwhelming him with an emotion he hadn’t identified before. He tried to stifle this emotion, pushing it far back down into the chambers of his rotted heart and forgetting all about it. Prioritize his hunger for freedom, to free himself from the leash coiled tightly around his neck. But all of his efforts were all for naught. No matter how painful it was to admit the truth to himself, Alastor knew. He knew that this desire to call you his companion would not stop clawing through his ribcage until he was absolutely sure that you reciprocate his feelings. 

He tried to approach you with the intention of a proper courtship when romance was not his speciality; he helped you around the hotel excluding the greenhouse because of his special relationship with plants, his shadows secretly escorted you to and from work, and he used his magic to levitate heavy objects even when you had told him that you were quite strong physically. But you had somehow mistaken his intentions as a sign of self-improvement, much to his frustration. 

When all hope seemed lost, however, he found a letter underneath his door one dreary Monday morning. He immediately recognized the ruby-red wax seal as yours and wasted no time opening it. 

He read the contents, eyes growing larger and larger with each line and his heart hammering against his chest, suddenly feeling dizzy…dizzy with what? Shock? Joy? He wasn’t sure but those blasted shadows of his were dancing around the room, jazz music echoing from the swamp with besotted grins stretched across their inky faces. Love? Does he…love you as you love him? Well, your letter did not say it outright, you have confessed to him that you feel intense emotions whenever he is around you. You were bewildered and afraid and you do not blame him in any way. You just…needed help. His help in understanding these emotions before it drove you to the brink of madness and uncertainty. 

Understanding what love is, even the concept of it is just as surreal and foreign to him. But if words could reach you far better than his actions, then it would be an insult to his reputation as the Radio Demon to simply improvise on his courting methods. So he wrote a reply to your letter, carefully and meticulously penning one sentence after another until he was satisfied. His shadows had the honor of delivering his letter, and the silence in his room allowed Alastor to focus preparing for tonight’s broadcast. He couldn’t keep the audience waiting~!

Hours later, he had a script. He had energy and more importantly, he was eager to hear Vox’s outraged howling once the fool realized yet another sponsor had been snatched from right underneath his flat-screened chin~! Oh, Alastor the Radio Demon was ready to go on air until a sudden knock interrupted his little spiel. 

Confused, curious, and quite annoyed, he made a beeline towards the door, throwing it open and ready to skewer the miserable soul who would dare to intrude on his domain when he saw it was you, standing there with a silver tray in your hands. But what surprised him more than the sight of his favorite snacks and coffee was seeing a smile on your face. It wasn’t a forced one where you’d slap your cheeks and try to stretch them out, it was…a genuine smile. And it was directed towards him. 

“May I join you?” You asked.

Suffice to say, those four little words told him everything he needed to know as his own grin widened, bowing from the waist. “Of course, my dear~! Please, come in, come in~! The show is just about to start~!”

Once you stepped inside the radio station, still smiling, that's how it began. His romantic relationship with you, that is. 

Although you had told him more than once to go back to sleep after rising out of your shared bed at five o’clock in the morning, Alastor insisted on waking up with you. It is his choice as it is your habit to prepare for the day ahead much earlier than your colleagues. He will never say it out loud, but he does enjoy these quiet hours when it is just the two of you. 

Alastor is in charge of making breakfast in the hotel’s brand new kitchen, and that is final. He will appreciate your assistance with setting up the table; meticulously placing the silverware and napkins down, changing out the bouquet of shriveled flowers with fresh ones from the greenhouse, and preparing his coffee just how he likes it in his favorite mug. He gladly prepares your usual morning tea and adds just a little more sliced fruit on your already full plate of eggs, bacon, and toast. You needed all of the energy at the emporium today~! Although you did work here at the hotel, Rosie owned your soul and you were her assistant. You made sure everything in Cannibal Town was running smoothly, including the emporium, should its darling overlord be away from her territory for a myriad of reasons. 

Over breakfast, he would share ideas with you for his broadcast before deciding to put the words on paper. Goodness knows that he’s asked for assistance with typing or refining the scripts mere hours before he’s on the air, though at least he does it with more style than a clout-chasing, mediocre podcast who talks too fast and jumps from one fad to another in pursuit of allure. He hears your feedback with a thoughtful hum before asking if you would like another cup of tea.

After helping him clean up the kitchen, the two of you return to your room. He would read the morning newspapers in his comfy chair, sometimes out loud if the articles were interesting to hear over the click-clank-clank of your Remington typewriter as you wrote either scripts for his show or a daily report for Rosie. When the clock on the dresser struck seven, it was time for you to leave for Cannibal Town.

The two of you exchange words, wishing the other to have a good day and remember to smile because you are never fully dressed without one. Then you leave the hotel, suitcase in one hand and a tin lunchbox in the other. Alastor will also make your midday meals, so make sure to enjoy it to your heart's content. He will not be happy if you decide to forgo taking a proper break just so that you can be ahead of your workload. Granted it is a lovely surprise to see you return much earlier than normal, but Rosie shared his sentiments. Bottom line: take your lunch break when you are supposed to or you will face the disappointed wrath of two cannibals. 

He might have seen that you are more than capable of keeping yourself in the Pentagram, but that will not lessen his protective nature. A shadow will always be by your side when you leave the hotel’s premises, keeping him up to date on your movements while he is helping Charlie or Vaggie. 

Ironically, it is his position as the hotel’s facility manager that acts as his coping mechanism. He will keep himself busy for as long as possible, asking trivial questions here and there. He doesn’t want anyone to know that this…. habit developed because he does not like it when you are not home at exactly six o’clock. He knows Rosie would never keep you in Cannibal Town beyond working hours unless it was an emergency but have mercy on him! If you can't help working late, so be it but please come back to him as soon as you can. It would put his mind at ease just a little if you contacted him ahead of time. 

Once you are home, he will immediately sweep you into his arms and do a little dance before escorting you to the dining room, with a hot meal already prepared and waiting for you to enjoy. He will sit with you so that you won’t have to eat by yourself. Once you’ve had your fill of food and drink, it’s time to unwind for the night. He will play soft jazz over the radio as either you read in bed, or he reads, and you do a tiny bit of work on your typewriter before it’s time for sleep. He won’t fall asleep until you have drifted off first. 

Rosie will tease him about you being his support system over tea, but it’s true. You are the reason, the sanity, to his madness. 

Taglist: @alastor-simp @frompeach @imperfectbloodmoon @lanxianschoenheit @bones4thecats @22carolina08 @tired-of-life-86 @kanroji-san @oucx @navierkalani @anielly-2010 @victheauthor @the-cat-queen-peasants @solandis-does-stuff @ladydoe8 @nunezs-stuff @luthefriendlywitch @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @kameyo-kumo @yourdoorisunlocked @swallowtail-lotus

[zepskies]

Imagine soldier boy with dating a supe with siren powers 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

Oooh this is different! Thanks for the ask, hun. ❤️ In honor of The Little Mermaid live-action dropping on Disney+ last week...

(Here's one last Soldier Boy imagine before Part 1 of Smoke Eater!)

Pairing: Soldier Boy x F. Supe!Reader Word Count: 800

Imagine: Soldier Boy dating a supe with "siren" abilities. 🧜‍♀️

When you joined Payback, Ben was ambivalent about you.

You were hot as fuck, sure, but he didn't think the team needed another woman.

Crimson Countess was bitch enough to deal with.

But you were a bit mysterious. You kept to yourself, didn't go out of your way to socialize or train with the others. You were smart.

Though when he heard about your powers, he was skeptical at best. Stan Edgar assured him you were what the team needed right now, in terms of margins and demographics and what-fucking-ever...

Until he hears you singing in the break room, softly to yourself while you make some coffee. Gentle, beautiful dulcet tones that manage to draw his steps into the kitchen.

You eventually notice him with a smile. "Good morning."

He gives you a charming grin, blatantly eying you from head to toe.

"Hey there, sweetheart. Pour me a cup, would ya?" he asks, in a tone that demands.

You do so, and he admires the sweet sound of your voice as you continue to hum to yourself.

"You're a little crooner, aren't you?" he asks, taking the cup of coffee from you. But when your hand brushes his, he feels it. Your power. It threatens to overtake him and draw him into you, where he craves your warmth as well as your body.

He wants you to devour him, body and soul...

Your eyes glow violet along with your knowing smile.

Then you blink. The violet haze is gone, along with your hold on his mind. You go back to sipping your coffee as if nothing had just happened.

Ben visibly falters, having to catch his breath as his mind reels from the loss of connection.

Ben frowns in irritation. What the fuck just fucking happened?

He looks at you harder than before. Secretly, he's annoyed and intrigued at the same time.

He demands to know your name. You tell him with a smile that edges at flirtation. When you ask for his name, despite knowing full well who he is, he smirks.

"Call me Ben."

And from there, he's fucking hooked.

He pursues you relentlessly. You allow it with coyness and flirtation -- push and pull. Hot and cold. You toy with him, which both infuriates him and draws him in even more.

Until you finally allow him to "catch" you. He takes you out for dinner, one of the finest, most expensive restaurants in New York. Bottles of wine, premier service, excellent food and music. You realize then that he's really trying to impress you, and inside you're actually flattered that he's doing all this, when he can have his pick of anyone. (And has had his pick. Several of them.)

You've heard so many stories about him, most of them unpleasant. You see the disgusted looks Crimson Countess gives him when he's not looking.

And you know you haven't yet seen the darker sides of Ben. (You know he's trying his damndest to charm you, draw you in. But your abilities allow you to discern when men are trying to manipulate you. You are the master manipulator, spinning them along with your touch and your voice).

But you're also intrigued by this man. He's more than his bravado would suggest. When the cameras and the press and the rest of the team aren't around, he's not quite so insufferable. You find his arrogance, partnered with his charm, amusing. But it's also become somewhat endearing.

The truth is, he's actually...sort of grown on you. And that's probably the real reason you're here on a date with him.

You lean over and rest your hand over his, frowning when he seems a bit wary of your touch.

The first time you met him, you'd just been teasing him. You'd heard how he'd been talking shit about you to Stan, doubting if you were really powerful enough to be on the team. But now, he's stiff under your hand, prepared to fortify his mind against you.

"I won't compel you again, Ben. I promise," you tell him. Your hand travels up his arm, soothing along his neck, your palm finally resting against his cheek. His green eyes stare into yours.

Soon enough, his wariness bleeds away.

He hooks a foot around the leg of your chair and draws you closer, making you yelp in surprise.

He smirks, finally getting the jump on you for a change as he wraps an arm around your waist and brings you close.

You blink in surprise, looking up at his handsome face with wide eyes. A blush dusts your cheeks, warming your face. His smirk softens around the edges, just a little, and he takes his chance to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

And maybe, you're the one who's caught.

AN: Aww, this one was really fun! Thanks for the request. 😘

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SB Tag List:

@melancholictearz @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman

@iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore

@agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @emily-winchester @tearsfortheyouth @solo-pitstop-vibes @dope-trope-105 @liuope @beautyvaliant @xxlaynaxx @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @tmb510 @iamsapphine @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @lacilou

[acourtofclutter]

Nightlight (Part 2 of 4)

"All the laughter... waiting for ever after..."

Pairing: Rhysand / Night Court Emissary (Now Pixie!) Reader

Format(s) and Word Count: Headcanons and Drabbles, 885 words.

Summary: Amarantha was High Queen of Prythian now, and you had become her cronies' new plaything while Rhysand was somewhere out of sight, out of reach. You endured her ongoing torment, but at least Rhysand was safe and had not been harmed - right?

Tags: Heavy Angst, Hurt / Little To No Comfort, Depictions of Violence, Torment, and SA, Set During Under The Mountain, Things Get Worse Before They Get Better

Notes: A continuation of my previous post, thank you for reading!

Update: The third part can be read here!

You were tossed into an old silver lantern when Amarantha finished using you as an example for what other spells she could cast on the high lords and their courts. You could hardly make out what she said from within the lantern, her voice muffled, but you heard the words ‘new plaything’ before she passed you to the Attor.

And when the Attor had taken you away from Rhysand, from the party, you placed a hand on the lantern’s glass and tried to reach his mind, to tell him that he was not responsible for what was happening – but there was nothing but a few drops of magic left in your new body, and that was all that would remain.

The first thirty years of your imprisonment mostly consisted of the Attor and the other dark faeries drowning you in faerie wine and making you sing and dance for them when they were bored and had nothing else to do. You were nothing but a pretty songbird to them, and they would poke and prod at your body to hear the sounds of bells leave your mouth.

“Why’d you stop?” They hissed, their talons and claws gripping your head and shoulders to make you stand upright, but it was no use. They had emptied three bottles of faerie wine, the amount too much for you to handle as you collapsed on the table and threw everything up. But they wouldn’t stop, not now, not when the night was long.  Instead, they made you their little doll and forced your body into various poses and positions that would’ve had you screaming if you were sober. You could hear them laughing and sneering at you, but the room was spinning and you couldn’t do anything but close your eyes, waiting for it to end. By the time they were done, they had left you on the table in that puddle of wine, your hair and body stained red. You couldn’t wash off the stench, but you had crawled back into your lantern and made yourself small, your body trembling as you cried yourself to sleep.

You hadn’t seen or heard Rhysand during that time, and you had convinced yourself that Amarantha hadn’t done anything to him, that all she had done was kill half of his court and turn you into a pixie. But on the thirty-first year of your imprisonment, on the night of Starfall, she had your lantern moved to her bedroom.

“I thought you would like a change of scenery,” Amarantha purred. “It is Starfall, in case you had forgotten.” She placed your lantern on-top of her dresser and had it face her bed before the door opened and someone else entered the room. You couldn’t stop the broken chime that left your throat, the sound making those old violet eyes meet yours for a moment before she spoke again. “I thought I would give you a surprise, Rhysand,” she smiled. “For servicing me and my body all these years.” You didn’t recognise your High Lord, not when he was wearing those exposing sheer clothes and turned to Amarantha with a smile. You thought it was a trick, an illusion, that she had merely found some other high fae who resembled him well enough. Those thoughts faded when a familiar darkness surrounded you as she beckoned Rhysand to her bed, making it nearly impossible to see or hear what was happening, what he was doing. But you had known, and that was all it had taken for you to fall apart.

From that night onwards, you remained in Amarantha’s bedroom for ten more years, and Rhysand would continue to pull that darkness over your eyes and ears. It didn’t take long before you became unresponsive and stopped chiming, and eventually she asked Rhysand to move your lantern to another room.

You had thought he’d take you to a room with more dark faeries, but he placed your lantern on-top of a bed in a dark and unused room. You didn’t dare move, didn’t blink until he finally spoke your name, your eyes meeting his for a moment before they welled up with tears, the sound of cracked bells filling the room.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he murmured. “When she shoved you into the lantern and ordered the Attor to take you, I thought that was it.” Rhysand leaned down, his arm outstretched and his hand upward. When you walked to his palm, he slowly lifted you up until you were close to his star-speckled violet eyes. “Through the hardships, and to the stars,” he said, the words evoking a distant memory. It was something the two of you had told each other before you attended a meeting with the Illyrian lords or a conference with Keir. They reminded you that regardless of the long hours or the late nights, that you had been doing this for something important, something that involved a distant night sky with faces that you couldn’t remember, but loved nonetheless. He placed you back down on the bed before turning to leave, most likely being summoned by Amarantha, but he turned back to look at you one more time. “We’ll get through this, I promise.” And with those words, you slowly put yourself back together.

[orphan-account123653]

𝕴﹕𝕾𝖎 𝖛𝖎𝖘 𝖕𝖆𝖈𝖊𝖒, 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖆 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖚𝖒

if you want peace, prepare for war.

cw: fem! reader, fyodor's probably ooc, reader goes to church, religious themes (it’s just Jesus tho)

word count: 2.0k

a/n: can you tell i got grammarly premium? please tell me you can tell that I got grammarly premium.

Staring into the oval mirror, you see your face streaked with dried tears. (The makeup the servants had applied hadn't done the best job of covering them) Your hair is styled into a bun, and your wedding dress is hanging on a rack in the corner of the large room. It's off the shoulder and dyed a pure white with gold and ruby accents. You stare at the dress from the corner of your eye, glaring at it contemptuously. 

You didn't want to marry him.

You didn't even know him.

You cover your face with your hands and start to sob once again, the carefully applied makeup becoming ruined further by your crying. You uncover your face but continue to hold your head in your hands. Your mind is running with so many thoughts. However, the one that weighed the most on your conscience was how you got into this mess.

The first time you saw him, you were going to buy sewing supplies from the tailor to teach your younger sister how to sew so she could fix her old teddy bear by herself. The manager had brought you the tools, and you grabbed the needed money out of your pocket. You placed the coins on the counter as the owner started to count the amount.

"Uh, miss? This amount of money isn't enough." The tailor had told you.

"Oh? I really thought it was, and that's all I have…"

You were about to take the money back and apologize when a man with black hair placed more than enough coins on the counter for you.

"I'll pay for her." The man said.

"Huh? No, there's no need to pay for me!"

You pause your sentence when you finally recognize who it is.

"Mr. Dostoyevsky?? What are you—"

"Don't mind me. I'm just here to pick up my new suit," Fyodor said, nodding to a fancy black suit in the back of the store. He turned back to the tailor. "It should be enough for my suit and this lady's items. Now go get our things, please."

The worker nodded and ran into the back of the store to grab his newly tailored suit. When he returned, he handed the respective items to both of you and accepted the money.

"Thanks for buying the sewing tools for me." You thanked Fyodor before he could walk off.

He nodded in acknowledgment of your thanks before walking away. 

The second time you saw him was Sunday, and you were walking to church alone. You weren't particularly religious, if at all. But it couldn't hurt to at least try to pray for your little sisters' health, could it? Isabella was getting increasingly sick, and neither you nor your mother knew what was wrong. You were too poor to afford a doctor, so all you could do was sit and wait. 

As you walked towards the church alone on that quiet Sunday, your footsteps echoed against the sidewalk as you noticed a figure leaning against the fence bordering the front of the church.

His silhouette cast a shadow that had seemed to sway with the soft wind. As you walked closer, you finally recognized him.

Him again? Seriously?

He looked up as you approached, his violet eyes softening ever so slightly as a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The quiet moment between you was interrupted by the loud ringing of church bells, marking the start of another Sunday service. You hesitated, unsure whether to acknowledge him or walk inside the building without speaking to him.

"Hello," he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that did nothing to ease the uncertainty in your heart.

The last time you ran into him, you had just bought three loaves of bread and were walking back home when you bumped into Fyodor again. You had tumbled to the ground along with your bread. 

It was getting quite odd at how many times you two had met, almost like it was on purpose. 

Your eyes widened as you blabbered words that sounded like they were trying to be an apology, but it wasn't working well. 

Fyodor let out a small chuckle as he bent down slightly, lending his hand toward you to help you. You froze momentarily before graciously taking his hand as he pulled you up.

"We must stop meeting like this."

"Indeed," you replied nervously, the loaves of bread scattered around you. You looked around at the mess, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

"Would you like me to buy you some new bread? I don't think you would find eating dirty bread delightful."

"Oh– It's alright, I'm sure I'll manage." You reassured him.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." You bent down to pick up the loaves of bread. You could just wash the dirt off, probably.

You immediately fled the scene after picking up your food. You quickly opened your house door and found your younger sister lying in bed. You genuinely wished you could get a doctor for her. But you can barely afford bread.

You bent down next to the bed, gently shaking your sister awake. After a while of shaking, her eyes finally opened.

"You're back?" She asked.

"Buying bread doesn't take much time."

"It feels like it does." She retorted, crossing her arms across her chest.

"I know," you sigh. Your little sister can be pretty impatient sometimes. "Where's mother?"

"I don't know. I was asleep when she left." 

You shrugged before returning to place the bread basket on the table.

"She'll come back soon, I know it." Your sister said.

Your conversation is interrupted by a loud knock at your door. You stand back up and head to open the door. Standing there is a mailman.

"I have a letter for [Name] [Last Name]. Is she here?"

"You're speaking to her."

"Oh, well then, here you are." The postman hands you a letter and walks off. 

You close the door and stare at the envelope. In the middle is the crest of the Dostoyevsky family.

You walk back towards your sister, who is sitting in bed. You sit at the foot of her bed.

"What does the letter say?" She asks curiously.

"I'm not sure. I haven't read it yet." You respond to her.

"Well, then read it!"

You ripped open the envelope and started to read the letter.

Dear Ms. [Last Name],

With the quill in my hand and the ink flowing from the depths of my heart, I must express how you have attracted me with your beauty despite your poverty. You have truly captivated me.

I was enchanted by the aura radiating from your soul when we met in the tailors' shop. 

Though fate has seen fit to place us on entirely separate paths—you, a child of the fields, and I, a child of noble birth—I am compelled to defy the standards society has set for us. Even though I had only met you three times before writing this letter, you are the one with whom I wish to share my life's journey.

Therefore, if you allow me, permit me to pledge myself to you in the blessed bond of marriage. Together, we shall travel the trials of life, hand in hand, as equals in love's timeless embrace.

My dear, I beg you to consider this proposal with an open heart and a willing spirit. For in your acceptance lies the promise of a future bright with the shine of my utter devotion to you.

With all the sincerity my soul can allow,

Fyodor Dostoyevsky

"Wow, a rich person wants to marry you?" Isabella clasped her hands together as she fixed her posture, becoming more interested by the second.

"This must be a joke– but if it has the official Dostoyevsky family crest, then it should be real."

"Will you accept?" Your sister asks.

"It'd be in my best interest, but I'll ask my mother and see what she thinks." You said as you stood up, "But until I can speak with her, you should go back to sleep. It's way too past your bedtime anyway." 

"Aw man, but I wanna stay up with you!" Isabella complains.

"Fine, but don't come complaining to me when you're all crabby in the morning."

"Fineee…"

"Thank you, Isabella." You thank her and sit up from her bed.

"Mhm."

After tucking Isabella into bed, you walked to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. While you were making it, your mother walked into the house.

"How was your visit to uncle's?" You asked her. She was always at his house. Your uncle had always been better off than your mother. So she always hung around his home, probably because it made her feel richer.

"It was fine. Is Isabella doing any better?" She eyed the dusty bread on the table as you poured the tea.

"She's doing just as fine as yesterday."

"Ah, well, I'll be heading straight for bed. I've had a long day." Your mother yawned and stretched her arms,

"Wait! There's something I need to ask you."

"Yes?" Your mother asked, "What is it?"

"Read this letter I've received. I need your opinion."

You hand your mother the letter you have gotten. She scanned it, and when she finished, she set it down and sighed.

"You're going to marry him. It's the best choice." She said bluntly.

"But– I don't love him. I've only met him three times?"

"I doubt he cares much if you love him. Besides, think about Isabella. You can get her a proper doctor if you marry him. The Dostoyevsky family has lots of money, you know." Your mother explained.

“Yeah… I know…”

"So you'll marry him?" She asked.

"Yes, mother." You looked at the ground solemnly as you confirmed her question

"That's good. I'll get you paper and a quill. I want your response by tomorrow morning."

"Alright."

You're brought back to the present when one of the servants knocks on your door. "Ms. [Last Name], are you ready for the wedding?"

Oh shit, while you were busy having flashbacks and a mini-mental breakdown, you had completely forgotten about the thing that had caused you such stress!

"Uhm– I'll be out in a minute!"

You hurriedly put on the dress and fixed your makeup to the best of your (limited) ability. Then you opened the door and stepped out.

"You look beautiful. Are you ready?"

"I guess…"

You put on the heels and walk out of the room. You try to distract yourself by looking at the glass windows as you walk down the long hall toward what you consider to be an execution. The stained glass depicts different imagery on each piece.

Jesus, with his lamb,

Jesus, with his sacred heart, 

Jesus, on the cross,

Yeah, there's definitely a pattern.

You open the wooden doors at the end of the hall and walk towards the carriage outside. Once inside, the carriage begins its way to the church.

Your mother is waiting in front of the doors leading into the venue. She's holding your veil and a little piece of paper containing the vows you wrote down at the last minute.

"Remember to smile and be polite," your mother says as she fits the veil onto your head.

"I will."

In the grand venue of the church, the air was thick with anticipation as guests dressed in their finest clothing gathered to watch firsthand the marriage between two mismatched souls. Fyodor Dostoyevsky, the eldest son of the respected Dostoyevsky family, stands at the altar, waiting for you to come down the aisle.  

The grand piano filled the luxurious room as the ceremony started, drowning out the guests' gossip. The marriage between you and Fyodor was initially unknown; most guests only knew you were getting married once the invite was sent to them. Everyone knew how proud Fyodor was of his heritage, so why would he marry someone lower class? 

As the vows were exchanged by the two of you, the weight of your future settled upon you like a suffocating cloud. Fyodor could feel your hands trembling as he slid the ring onto your finger. 

His voice was barely above a whisper as he pledged his forever undying loyalty to you. 

However, for you, this marriage was only an opportunity to secure a place amongst the elite despite your origins.

[riddles-fiddles]

hello asdfgsjdldkl this is a half fluffy half spicy request, how would you feel about writing a fem/gn mc who is autistic, but here’s the twist (lol)—their special interest is kink/bdsm? maybe they’re a bit shy about it at first since it’s not exactly something you just TALK about but one day they somehow end up infodumping? with Lilia, Idia, Vil, and Malleus, if that’s okay? (bonus points for mc being a sub ghjkslahsksl) (also if you’re not sure about how to write an autistic mc that’s totally fine, thank you for your service /gen ajshsjskdkl)

I tried to write this based on how my ADHD brain works with my special interests, so I hope this isn't as terrible lol also since you didn't say which kinks you'd like to see, I kept them a little bit more on the generalized side. If you'd like something more specific you can request again. Anyways thank you kindly for this lovely request, I had lots of fun writing it /gen <3

Synopsis: the boys are very intriguided to know about your secret special interest~ Characters: Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia, Lilia Vanrouge Tags: NSFW, smut with context, bondage play, master/servant, power play, spanking/impact play Notes: gender neutral reader (unspecified body parts), everyone is 18+, excuse any grammatical errors,,,

•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Vil looks down on you with an amused expression as you moan and buck your hips up, searching for the friction you so desesperately need from his hands. You were pressed against the couch with your wrists firmly tied up on your back and your legs held apart by the leather belts, your dripping arousal entirely exposed and unable to wiggle too much, keeping you on the edge of your climax as you relied on Vil's painfully slow and light touches. It all started from one of Vil's fashion jobs. Being one of Twisted Wonderland's most beloved supermodels, he was offered to take a catwalk under the name of a high-end brand trying to test a new niche of clothing and creative display: a mix of kinky props and everyday clothing, with emphasis on office attire.

Vil looks absolutely dazzling on his violet blue formal shirt, sleeves rolled up his elbows to expose the shoulder-lenght latex gloves. A black leather chest harness hugs his figure perfectly, highlighting his curves and accentuating his proportions, his clothing, paired with the sensual makeup, gave him a rather imposing, bossy feel - the perfect face of a dangerous temptation, especially for you.

So much you can't help but unload all the little details about harness fashion you know about, about how they can be used to better pick on certain body parts, how they can be used for bondage and how you would love to try some on-

"Hush now, my precious nightingale. I love it when you sing for me like that, but…" He coos softly, his breath tickling against the hot skin of your cheek as his fingers came to press against your lips, gently nudging them open; a taunt and a promise of something more to come. "…I would hate it if the agency's staff came into my dressing room to find you like this."

Your eyes widen, suddenly remebering that anybody could walk in on any second, curious about the amount of noise coming out of Vil's room. As you slowly part your lips to welcome his gloved fingers, you hear a low chuckle of satisfaction coming. "Good puppy," Vil's whisper melts on your ears like dripping honey as his fingers make their way between uour teeth, playing with your tongue. "You deserve a reward for being so well behaved."

"Y-you feel so g-good, darling…" Idia groans in contentment before slamming his cock deep inside you once more. A shaky, devilish laugh rolls off his tongue as he watches the way you struggle to keep you hand steady, trying your best to pour some tea without allowing even the tiniest drop to stain the sheets.

Idia was the one trying to suggest new things for you two to try out - on his own nerdy, embarrassed ways. He was too scared to openly admit his kinks, thinking that maybe you could find him a weirdo, so he would casually comment about something like he was just talking about the news, or even pointing out something unusual on a character from some anime.

However, Idia soon discovered about the hype of cat maid cafés, and as he 'innocently' showed you some of the recipes and how you could pick your maid's personality, he was surprised to see how it had sparked your interest, his face going alight as you passionately unravel about your love for cute maid outfits and how you do own one. Idia wasn't one to make bold moves, but that was just too good of an opportunity to let it slip away from his fingers, so he lightly suggests to see you with it…

And now you found yourself full-on roleplaying. Taking in the role of a humble, diligent maid to your master, you faced multiple challenges as Idia reveled on your misery, trying to keep yourself composed while serving him.

Idia's fingernails dig on your hips, pulling down on the black skirt as he bucks up against you, low gasps leaving his lips. You need to bite down on your lips to contain a curse, holding onto the teacup between your hands for dear life. "So cute and obedient…" You shiver at his praise, his voice laced with dark desire, pushing you down on his lap.

You are surprised by his hand possessively wrapping around your chin, forcing your face to turn to him. Before you can mouth any sound, he captures your lips, making your grip finally falter, droplets of tea splasing over Idia's legs.

"Oh no, seems like you've made a mess… better clean it up quick if you don't wanna be punished, huh?" He smirks with mischief, his pointy teeth grazing over your shoulder threateningly.

You shudder in antecipation under Malleus' firm grip around the back of your neck, pushing your face down into the sheets. His throaty growl lingers over your body, leaving goosebumps under your skin. "Mine," Malleus rasps, his teeth sinking down on your back, leaving behind a perfect mark. "And I'll make sure everyone knows who you belong to." Malleus is very curious regarding everything that involves human nature, entertained by even the simplest of things. It wasn't uncommon to find him nose deep inside books, drinking in the particularities of the ones so exquisite for his fae standards.

While spending the afternoon with you in Ramshackle Dorm, quietly fidgeting through your phones and simply enjoying each other's company, he accidentally looked over your smartphone right in time to catch you scrolling down on a Magicam post about 'power play'. His interest is immediately piqued, intrigued by whatever it meant; Malleus points it out, interested to know more about it, and as you eagerly explains what it means, Malleus nods and hums in understanding, his mind working out on this new discovery.

"That's a very exquisite concept. Tell me, Child of Man, would you be willing to give me a practical demonstration on the matter? I'm certain I could understand it better this way."

You tried to keep Malleus pinned down on the bed, your hands firmly wrapping around his wrists to keep him still. Your attempt in dominance only the Fae Prince, who effortlessly turned you to lay on your belly, restraining you by the arms. "Looks like I am the winner of this little dispute. Shall I indulge in my prize now?"

"Easy now, sugar bat. If you tense up too much, it will hurt even more." A low chuckle rolls off Lilia's tongue, mischief mixed with tenderness etched on his cherry-coloured eyes. The paddle on his hand slowly runs over your warmed thighs, the sensitive skin shivering and squirming under the rough leather feel, teasing and threatening to strike once more.

"Back in my day, those devices were used as torture tools to coax prisoners into talking about their secrets. Now, they are used in intimate rendezvous to give pleasure induced by pain." Lilia giggles, an innocent smile gracing his lips - a very fake one. The glint on his eyes suggesting some sly, hidden interest, like he wasn't just silently reading the fanfiction you were writing on your phone.

"So, you're interested on the complexities of pain and pleasure, huh? Would you like to indulge in a demonstration? I'll be more than happy to lead you into this forbidden experience, my dear." How could you deny such a confident, tantalizing suggestion? You knew a lot about the theoretical thing, having read a lot about fiction or even health-related articles about BDSM and impact play. Despite being shy about it, you knew you could trust Lilia.

"You're doing very well, sweetheart," Lilia's whisper is sweet and reassuring as his fingers gently thread between your locks, a soothing gesture in contrast to the dry impact of the paddle against your buttcheeks, marking the skin with a pinkish colour. The leather leaves a stinging sensation, making you gasp and squirm over Lilia's lap. He leans in to press a soft kiss on your forehead, a sly smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Only ten more to go."

[danikamariewrites]

Omg can I ask for Xaden Riorson x reader fluff you write him so well!

Xaden x reader Relationship hc

A/n: thank you anon! I thought I’d do a hc for him bc I haven’t done one yet

Warnings: none just fluff ☺️

I think Xaden would be stand offish at first

He would want to ignore his feelings to keep the tough guy facade up

But you broke through his walls and gained his trust

“Fuck y/n, you drive me crazy. I can’t stop thinking about you, when I’m not around you everything just feels wrong.” “Xaden, I feel the same way. I’m stupidly in love with you and want to be with you. Please say you want to be with me too.”

When Xaden finally gave in he grabbed your face and kissed you like he was going to die if his lips weren’t on yours

From then on you two were attached at the hip

His arm was always around you

Xaden is a total gentleman

He worships the ground you walk on, he thinks you’re the most badass woman he’s ever met, and he never hides you away or thinks you can’t stand your ground

Xaden let’s you bejeweled 🤗

While he’s tough in front of the other riders he’s actually a big teddy bear behind closed doors

If it’s just you two or with friends he’s not afraid to cling to your or show affection

You don’t mind the tough guy act, you two have talked about it and it’s best to protect you both that way

But let’s talk about what affection with Xaden looks like

I think the physical stuff is important to him

Knowing you’re always with him and when you lean into his touch Xaden’s heart skips a beat

Our boy is tall! So you have to get on your tiptoes to kiss him so he doesn’t have to lean down too much

Piggyback rides with Xaden are the best! You love hugging him super tight and resting your head on his back

I think he also likes acts of service are one of Xaden’s love languages (the violets in the jar next to Violet’s bed so she didn’t wake up alone like r u kidding me🥺)

Xaden loves zipping up your flight jacket and gives you a kiss on your forehead, “There you go, all warm and snug.”

He also helps you lace up your corset for parties and lacing up your boots

When he laces your boots in the morning he kisses up your shins to your knees, “those feel tight enough?” He asks while rubbing your thighs lightly and smiling at you. “Yup. Thanks babe.” You kiss his cheek and slide off the bed. Xaden’s hand envelops yours as you walk to breakfast together

Xaden sharpens/cleans your daggers for you when he notices they need it

Sleeping together you guys usual switch between your room and his

You both keep extra clothes in each others rooms. Xaden cleared a draw out in his armoire just for you after you got together

You’re a big cuddler

Xaden wasn’t at first, but the first night you spent together you laid your head on his chest and wrapped your arms around him falling right to sleep

Xaden was frozen at the fact that someone could be this close to him. That someone wasn’t afraid of him

The fact that he brought you comfort brought silent tears to his eyes. He let them fall as he smiled down at you, wrapping his arms around you holding you close to him all night

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 [𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘]

PAIRINGS — Violet Bridgerton x fem!Reader [Modern!AU]

SUMMARY — The Bridgertons take some time to do things they enjoy among the media circus caused by Landon's statement.

WORD COUNT — 3.5K

WARNINGS — none

NOTE — Another Friday, another chapter! Thank again to flock for taking care of the beta read and editing :)

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐀𝐎𝟑

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑽𝑰: 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑺 𝑰𝑵 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑳

The click of the camera shutters had become incessant since Landon’s statement broke the UK news. Unfortunately, it had not faded out, like they had hoped, after one cycle, due to the fact that it seemed like anyone who had ever had any qualms with the Bridgertons were now offering their opinions on the situation and keeping it in the front of everyone’s minds. 

Violet’s lawyers had managed to convince the authorities to do their interviews at the firm in exchange for full cooperation, which the firm was willing to give because Violet was innocent (at least her lawyer had said even an idiot could see that, and you had emphatically agreed with him). 

Stepping out from what felt like her thousandth interview, you followed closely behind with manila folders and a briefcase, the cameras were quick to come out and follow the two of you towards the car Violet had acquired the service of until things died down. 

She could hear her name called at her from all directions, and she tried to hold her head high on Pat’s advice, knowing that if she hunched away the media might take her simple body language as an admission of guilt. 

She was about to step into the car when she heard your voice behind her, but not addressing her. 

“Hey, watch it!” 

She turned around and saw you standing between her and someone who was trying to get a little too close. 

“You know, while I’m at it, why don’t you all listen up?” you said, the frustration on behalf of Violet evident in your tone. “Keep your bloody cameras away from the Bridgertons or else I’m sure we can find a way to press charges for harassment. And while you’re at it, stop calling her Violet, it’s Lady Bridgerton, show some respect.” 

Violet bit back a smile and finally opened the car door, stepping inside and sliding over the seats so you could place your things down and join her, closing the door, muffling the sounds of the press outside.

“You know, nobody calls me Lady Bridgerton,” she said while looking over at you.

“I know, but maybe they should,” you shrugged. “Maybe it will get them to remember all of the wonderful things your family has done with that title and that none of this is actually tied to you. Landon is just trying his last shot at bringing someone down with him.” 

“At least the police said this should be cleared up and sorted soon, but I know the cameras are going to linger,” Violet sighed. “Daphne was telling me she saw someone following her while she was taking the children to the park with Simon the other day. She almost called the police; I had to arrange to get her a security detail.” 

“Really?” you looked astonished and Violet nodded. 

“They wanted information about me,” she added. “And were willing to take away my daughter’s, my son-in-law’s, and my grandchildren’s privacy to do so.” 

You sighed and pressed your lips together. 

“And Eloise has people following her around campus, Benedict has had his home vandalized, thank God Colin and Penelope left on another work assignment. I can’t imagine what they might have run into.”

You reached out your hand to take Violet’s and offer some comfort. 

“I haven’t let Hyacinth or Gregory leave the house,” she looked over at you. “They’re going insane, but I can’t…” her voice trailed off. “They’re still so young, I can't have this happening to them as well.” 

“I’m sure they understand,” you assured her. “This is no small thing. At this point, we’re talking about safety. You don’t even leave the house without security by your side anymore, that’s a clear difference from your circumstances before.” 

“Yes, which is why I think we all need a break,” Violet sighed. “Benedict is coming to pick up Gregory and Hyacinth this afternoon and they’ll go to the country estate for a week or so, and Agatha and I have dinner planned at the house tonight.” 

“That should be good,” you nodded. “Everyone gets a little change of pace, Benedict can be the one to make sure Hyacinth and Gregory don’t kill each other,” you teased, and Violet chuckled. 

“When you put it that way, I might lose three children by the end of the week.” 

You scoffed at her words and looked outside the window for a moment, your hands still interlocked. 

“I know it’s hard, but we should focus on the positives. We still have the gala we need to think about. I know we were hoping for the fall, but with everything that is happening, I was wondering if it makes sense to do something over the holidays? It should add more time for us too, which frankly, we could use.” 

“I was thinking that as well,” Violet agreed. “We haven’t sent out invitations so it wouldn’t be hard to shift dates as long as the venue is available. We’d just have to do some coordinating with all the logistical things, but I think that’s better than rushing it.” 

“I’ll make sure the venue is available, you take a break and prepare for your dinner tonight. I hear Agatha is expecting you to cook.”

“She usually does, it’s a little deal we have,” Violet explained. “And she likes my cooking, so, I won’t turn down an opportunity to be complimented.” 

 “What’s your specialty?” you asked.

“Yorkshire pudding, but that’s not quite a meal on its own,” Violet chuckled. “I’ll figure something out to go with it.”

“I’m sure you will,” you squeezed her hand and let go, both of you feeling the immediate loss of warmth and comfort when the contact ceased. 

When you arrived back at the house, Benedict had come to pick up Hyacinth and Gregory, neither of whom were ready to leave, much to his dismay. 

“Mum, can you please get your children to bloody hurry up?” Benedict complained. 

“Lovely way to greet your mother after she’s just come home from being interviewed by the police,” Violet teased and Benedict sighed with a chuckle, pulling his mother into a hug and pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

“Hi Mum, how are you?” he changed his greeting, and Violet smiled. 

“As good as I’ll be, given the circumstances. Let me go see what I can do about your siblings, and oh-have you two met yet?” 

Violet looked between you and Benedict, and you nodded your head.

“Briefly, actually,” you said.

“Yes, you were at the gallery,” he noted and you confirmed with a nod. 

“Pure coincidence. I realized who you were a few moments after we stopped talking,” you chuckled and gave him your name again.

“So, you’re working as the new financial manager?” Benedict asked, while Violet left you both to go find Hyacinth and Gregory. 

“Yes, that would be me,” you nodded. 

“And what was a financial district woman such as yourself doing in a small independent art gallery? Or working for my family, for that matter?”

“One, financial district women can have hobbies,” you started. “Two, I was looking for a change of pace and this is certainly that.”

“Getting bossed around by my mother? God give you strength.”

“Oh, come on,” you rolled your eyes and laughed. “It’s not that bad, we make a good team, I think.”

“If you’re saying that? Clearly you do,” Benedict teased. “No, but in all seriousness she’s a hard worker. Her nagging is out of love.”

“Benedict, did you just say I nag you?” Violet asked, stopping by the front door after overhearing the comment. 

“No Mum, not at all,” he shook his head. “I said bagging, like when you pack us food to take places.”

Violet pressed her lips together. She seemed unconvinced and you laughed at Benedict’s terrible lie. 

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle Greg and Hyacinth for a week?” you asked him, and he shrugged his shoulders quite exaggeratedly. 

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“If they’re trying to kill each other, call me,” you told him. “I’ve learnt sibling crisis management 101 from those two.”

“Will do,” Benedict nodded and patted your back. 

You heard your name called from the door and saw Hyacinth running outside. 

“I thought I was going to miss you before we left,” she pulled you in for a hug which you accepted, one hand still occupied with full manila folders. “It’s going to be weird not seeing you every day.”

“Sure, but it’s only a week, and you have Benedict. You can make plans for the Beyoncé concert.”

“That is true,” Hyacinth nodded, still holding onto you. 

“Hyacinth, goodness, you’re going to suffocate her,” Violet chuckled as she came outside with Gregory, seeing the tight grip her daughter had on you. 

“I’m fine, I’m going to miss her hugs anyways,” you squeezed her back. “Okay, both of you should get your stuff in your brother’s car. He's been waiting patiently for you.”

The two youngest Bridgertons listened and threw their stuff in the trunk of Benedict’s car before saying their goodbyes and heading off with a final reminder from their mother not to kill each other. 

You and Violet entered the house shortly thereafter, and she went on to prepare dinner while you did some work in the office. 

After the day had ended, you were about halfway home when you realized you had forgotten your phone and had to turn back around to get it. 

Security let you inside without a fuss, and you could hear chatter and laughter coming from the dining room, presumably from Violet’s dinner. 

You tried to sneak in and out quietly, not wanting to interrupt, but Violet caught sight of you from afar and called out your name. 

“What are you doing back here, is something wrong?” she asked. 

“Just forgot my phone, I’ll be out of your hair in two minutes,” you assured her. 

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” another voice chimed in, which you assumed was Agatha’s. “Violet wouldn't be able to cook for only two people, even if a gun was put to her head. It’s ten or nothing, there’s plenty of food to share, come eat with us.”

“I shouldn’t stay,” you shook your head. 

“My dear, one does not turn down an invitation from Agatha,” Violet chuckled. “Just come sit with us.”

You pressed your lips together and began to walk towards the dining room, seeing the chair Violet had pulled out for you next to her and took a seat with them at the table. 

“Christ, you were right. Violet, this is enough food for a small dinner party,” you said while looking at the spread in front of you. 

“I, unfortunately, never unlearned how to portion for ten people,” she said while grabbing you a plate and some cutlery. “I will be sending you both home with leftovers.”

“And I will not be complaining,” Agatha smiled. “So,” she turned her attention to you. “Violet has been telling me how great of a help you’ve been the past few months.”

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” you shook your head. “Just doing my job.”

You knew as soon as you said it you didn’t believe it. Sure, a part of it was doing your job, but another part was always something a little extra. You had come to care very much for the family whose employ you were under and it meant a lot when you were able to help them through difficult situations. 

“Have you and Violet known each other for a long time?” 

You tried to divert the line of questioning from yourself.

���Since I was a teenager,” Violet answered. “Our families ran in the same circles, but we became more acquainted after my marriage, and even more so after Edmund’s passing.”

You could feel Agatha’s stare on you, and it made you a little nervous. It was almost as if she was very closely judging your character, but whether it was for your position with the family or something else, you were uncertain. 

Violet offered you some wine, realizing you didn’t have a glass, and you accepted, watching her go back to the kitchen to fetch it for you, so you quickly filled the silence with another question for Agatha. 

“What made you grow closer after Edmund’s passing?”

Agatha pressed her lips together and took a sip of her wine. 

“My husband had also passed away when I was young,” she said and you nodded your head in understanding. “But that is not why I could relate to her.”

You paused, looking up from your food and making eye contact with Agatha whose gaze had seemingly softened. 

“I had an arranged marriage,” she explained. “I did not love my husband. In fact, I loathed him, but due to my family, the only way out of that relationship was in death. My father passed shortly after he did and then, all of a sudden, I was free.”

You put your fork down, placing your hands in your lap, listening intently to her story. 

“For years, I had been…close with Violet’s aunt, Lily, her father’s sister, and over time, that friendship turned into something…more than,” she said. “When she passed away, I felt like my world had been ripped in two and I couldn’t quite publicly grieve her loss, in part because I wasn’t yet ready to admit to the world that I loved her.”

You pressed your lips together, a surge of hurt in your chest at the story she shared. 

“When Violet lost Edmund, I saw that same thing in her. She was still expecting and the world turned her grief into a spectacle.”

“I understand,” you nodded your head, it was implicit. Agatha was trying to protect Violet. 

“I hope you do,” Agatha sipped her wine again. “Our stories often tend to draw on more parallels than we initially realize.”

Violet returned to the room with a glass of wine for you, and a bottle for the table, a bright smile on her face while she tucked her hair behind her ears and sat back down. 

“Why the long faces, did something happen?” she asked, concerned.

“No, not at all,” Agatha shook her head. “We were just disappointed we can’t have your cooking every night, it really is quite exceptional.”

“Yes, I agree,” you said truthfully. “You were right when you said Yorkshire pudding is your specialty, I think this is the best one I’ve had in a long time.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Violet smiled. “So, have you two spoken about art yet?”

“No, I don’t think we have,” you shook your head. 

“A fellow appreciator of the finer things, I see,” Agatha smiled. 

“Agatha has quite the collection at her home. I think you would love it, actually.”

“Really?” You looked at Agatha. “What era?”

“Mostly early 19th century, some late 18th,” she said. “Do you have much art in your home?”

“Not a lot, I can’t quite afford the things I enjoy,” you admitted. “But I frequent museums and galleries quite often which helps fill that void. I love being in this house in particular, there’s always a new piece in some corner that I haven’t seen before.”

“A lot of those are Benedict’s,” Violet said. “He refuses to pay for a storage space so he ends up giving them to me on loan until they sell.”

“I seem to recall some of the paintings around the house are yours,” Agatha noted. 

“You didn’t tell me that,” you looked over at Violet. “Which ones?”

“Anything signed Ledger,” she admitted. “I did them all before I was married.”

You chuckled a little to yourself. There was one painting in Violet’s office, nothing too extravagant, just an assortment of plants in what looked like a wildflower bouquet resting on a table. If something was stumping you or your eyes needed a break from the many hours of staring at the computer, your default was to look at it. You had always meant to ask who the artist was; you just couldn’t seem to fathom that it was Violet. 

“You didn’t think to mention it?” you chuckled, sipping your wine. 

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” she shrugged innocently, and you laughed at the clearly coy comment. 

Agatha watched the interaction between you both closely. There was a certain familiarity, an ease and comfort she hadn’t seen in Violet in a long time. 

“So, I think we now know where Benedict gets his artistry from,” you said. “Does he know where he gets it from?”

“We’ve all made a point to make it very clear to him any talent he got was from me,” Violet teased, and you laughed again. 

“Seriously though, once things settle again and you have more time on your hands, you should consider taking it up again,” you suggested. “It’s good to have a hobby.”

“I agree,” Agatha nodded. “Hobbies are a wonderful way to pass the time.” 

“Agatha’s main hobby is hustling people in poker and pool,” Violet informed you. 

“All the money goes to charity,” she assured. 

“At the expense of the dignity of others,” Violet countered. 

“She lost to me in both,” Agatha filled in the blanks and you snorted while lifting your wine glass to your lips and Violet’s ears became tinged with a soft pink colour. “And made the mistake of chalking it up to beginner's luck.” 

“Oh, Violet,” you attempted to sound sympathetic, but it came off more like pity with the chuckle that was laced in your voice.

“No, I know I brought it on myself,” she nodded, picking up some vegetables with her fork. “I just don’t understand how I fell for it three times, and how you didn’t say anything,” she motioned to Agatha with her chin. 

“You just seemed so determined, I didn’t want to burst your bubble.” 

“Three times? Violet, that’s just…” 

“Embarrassing? Demoralizing? Absolutely humiliating?” she filled in the blanks. 

“No, I was going to say sweet,” you chuckled. “You didn’t give up, I mean, you never do. I admire that about you.” 

“Oh,” Violet was visibly surprised by your response and you were too focused on her to notice Agatha’s knowing expression from across the table. “I-Well, thank you.” 

“I would have gone with humiliating, too,” Agatha teased before eating another spoonful of food. 

“Hush, you,” Violet frowned and sent her friend a playful piercing stare. 

Dinner ended up being very enjoyable, but as soon as the dishes were cleared and you saw the time, you excused yourself from the group. 

“Are you sure you can’t join us for another glass of wine?” Violet asked.

“I shouldn’t,” you shook your head. “My family’s coming to visit tomorrow, and I still have a few things to arrange around the apartment so I should get back to that before it’s too late.” 

“Family? You didn’t mention your family was visiting. Do you need time off?” Violet asked. 

“No, we’d run ourselves mad if we were together non-stop,” you shook your head. “If something comes up, I’ll ask.” 

“Okay,” Violet smiled. “But before you go…” she slipped past Agatha and over to a pan that was by the stove, taking a container from one of the cupboards and placing what looked like a few slices of cake inside and grabbing some food she had packed away from dinner already. “For tonight. A cleaning pick-me-up,” she handed it to you. 

“Thank you, Violet, really both of you for including me tonight,” you said. “I know I was the reason you got pulled away from your tea together in the first place, so I’m happy for the chance at redemption.” 

“Consider yourself redeemed,” Agatha assured you. “I’m sure we will talk again soon.” 

“I hope so,” you smiled. “Goodnight.” 

Agatha and Violet returned your smile and wished you goodnight as you left the room, heading out the front door and going back to your car to head home. 

“So,” Agatha began a moment after hearing the front door close. “She’s quite…” 

She paused in hopes that Violet might fill in the blank, letting her in on what her feelings were towards you. 

“Lovely?” Violet looked up at Agatha with a smile. “She really is.” 

“You seem to have gotten closer over your time working together.” 

“I think we have,” Violet agreed. “It’s odd. It’s almost as though I hired a financial manager and a friend, but it doesn’t feel forced.” 

“It doesn't look forced,” Agatha agreed. “And she’s aware of your…long term financial plans?” 

Violet nodded her head, serving Agatha a piece of cake. 

“Yes, but we still have some time before that becomes a reality,” she said. 

“And do you think your friendship will last past that?” she asked. 

Violet paused for a moment, thinking about the question that was brought up before placing her hands flat on the counter in front of her, leaning on the support of her arms. 

“I really do hope so.” 

TAGLIST —

@paola-carter @madde11 @thesamesweetie @cherrysxuya @philocalistwrites @mako-mermaids2021 @oh-mydarling @courtneyteal @amethyst-bitch @etherynn @lilisdarling

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi! Hopre youre fine and all! Can you give me som military fics like Squared Away? Where no real countries are involve but they are fighting monsters or something? Thanks <3

Sure!

Squared Away by Suaine

(1/1 I 15,809 I Teen I Sterek)

Alpha LT Derek Hale gets a promotion, a pack, and a mission. Stiles is a complication.

***

We Fight Monsters Together by scarlettletterr

(1/1 I 11,555 I Explicit I Sterek)

Derek Hale doesn't trust humans anymore and is determined to pilot his family’s mecha alone. Too bad he doesn't get a choice when he's paired up with the brightest most sarcastic human mind to ever come out of Beacon Hills in the form of Stiles Stilinski.

Second Galaxy to the Right and Straight On Til Morning by spurklie

(1/1 I 16,679 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles is reading reports on his tablet and drinking from a bottle of water in the base mess hall when he realises there is someone standing at his table. Dragging his eyes up from the calculations, he chokes on his water and then spits some all over Derek, who barely flinches.

Ultra Violet by ElisAttack

(3/3 I 16,836 I Teen I Sterek)

"There's no way he's a quarian. Least of all the quarian prince we're supposed to be escorting." Erica whines, and Derek wonders why he named her his staff lieutenant, she has no tact whatsoever.

"I'm sorry, but you must be a level 4 friend to unlock my tragic back-story." The prince jokes. "And call me Stiles, even I can't pronounce my actual name."

Or the one where Derek and his crew are assigned to be the glorified babysitter of an alien prince, and everything is not as it seems.

Triton's Folly by Kaye_Fraser, S3anchaidh

(8/8 I 46,185 I Teen I Sterek)

As an officer in the United Earth Alliance, Major Derek Hale understands the order of things and his place in the world. Yet, a decade of war and a lifetime of dedicated service have taken its toll. The only thing that has kept him sane all these years is the video logs of a scientist he’d found years ago, buried in the rubble of a research station on Callisto. He knows that the man in the videos – Stiles – is long gone, lost to the vastness of space, but to Derek, he’s alive. In fact, he thinks he has fallen half in love with the boundless energy and bright-eyed optimism of the image he sees on his screen. Then, everything changes when a fateful mission strands him on the surface of a desolate moon … and brings him face-to-face with a man he had only ever dreamed of meeting.

Relationships That Start Under Intense Circumstances by seraphina_snape

(1/1 I 59,448 I Explicit I Sterek)

In a world where werewolves are a normal part of life and the Argents have turned from being hunters into leading one of the biggest pro-wolf organizations in the US, Stiles is the newly promoted assistant head of the Argent Weapons International R&D department. When he uncovers a conspiracy and finds evidence of an anti-werewolf movement that spreads into the highest positions at AWI, he knows he must do what he can to stop Kate and Gerard Argent from destroying what the rest of the Argents (and the rest of the world) have worked for so hard.

Things get a little complicated when Kate and Gerard turn the tables on Stiles and accuse him of treason and espionage. On the run and with killers on his tail to shut him up, Stiles has to find a way to stop the release of a dangerous product, prove his innocence and find a way to implicate Kate and Gerard in the conspiracy. With his dad, Scott and Allison in danger from Kate and Gerard, Stiles is incredibly grateful when he meets Derek Hale who promptly saves his life. But it soon becomes clear that Derek is hiding something that could be the undoing of Stiles and everything he's trying to do.

Specialized Technical Intelligence and Logistics for Earth and Space (S.T.I.L.E.S) by Yiichi

(10/10 I 73,419 I Not Rated I Sterek)

“What the hell kind of a name is Stiles?” he asked.

“You know, a series of sounds spoken in a particular sequence that represent my identity, primarily, referring to me?“ the AI – Stiles – answered cheekily, crossing his own arms in front of his chest, mirroring Derek’s position.

“Ooh, this one’s feisty,” Peter smirked.

War Crimes by loserchic

(69/69 I 81,840 I Mature I Sterek)

In a fantastical military state, Stiles, an orphaned nobody, street smart omega was rescued as a child by war hero alpha, Commander Derek Hale. Six years later, Stiles still maintains an obsession with taking care of himself and a blatant mistrust of alphas. Stiles becomes the first omega to be accepted into elite training with the Black Wolves, the military's special operations force. Derek has always intended to mate with Stiles and is furious at the idea of him entering training. However, Stiles' guardians only agree to allow Derek to mate with Stiles if he allows Stiles to attempt Black Wolves' training. Derek becomes Stiles' commanding officer and the war between them begins. Also a lot of fraternization.

[fourthwingfan]

Madness - Chapter 5

Hello there readers. This is the new chapter, I hope you'll like it. It's a tiiny bit long though. I warned you.

Note: Violence, blood, injuries etc.

Ps: I won't be coming with a new chapter for a while because my best friend has a bachelorette party tomorrow, but I start writing the new chapter at Monday. Thanks for your patience.

Knowing I am in direct disagreement with General Melgren’s orders, I am officially objecting to the plan set forth in today’s briefing. It is not this general’s opinion that the children of the rebellion’s leaders should be forced to witness their parents’ executions. No child should watch their parent put to death.

– The Tyrrish Rebellion, an official brief for King Tauri by General Sorrengail

“Welcome to your first Battle Brief” Professor Devera says from the recessed floor of the enermous lecture hall later in the morning, a bright purple Flame Section patch on her shoulder matching her short hair perfectly. This is the only class held in the circular, tiered room that curves the entire end of the academic hall and one of only two rooms in the citadel capable of fitting every cadet. Every creaky wooden seat is full, and the senior third-years are standing against the walls behind us, but we all fit.

It’s a far cry from history last hour, where there were only three squads of first-years, but at least the first-years in our squad are all seated together. Now if I could only remember all their names.

Liam is easy to remember – he was the first who talked to me after Parapet. Somehow we became friends. But if I want to be honest, I don’t mind. He’s really kind and somehow I feel that I can trust him. It’s strange. My father always told me not to trust anyone. And despite my hatred for him, this sentence become one of the pillars which hold my life.

“In the past, riders have seldom been called into service before graduation” Professor Devera continues her mouth tensing as she paces slowly in front of a twenty-foot-high map of the Continent mounted to the back wall that’s intricately labeled with our defensive outposts along our borders. Dozens of mage lights illuminate the space, more than making up for the lack of windows and reflecting off the longsword she keeps strapped to her back.

“And if they were, they were always third-years who’d spent time shadowing forward wings, but we expect you to graduate with the full knowledge of what we’re up against. It’s not about just knowing where every wing is stationed, either.” She takes her time, making eye contact with every first-year she sees. The rank on her shoulder says captain, but I know she’ll be a major before she leaves her rotation teaching here, given the medals pinned on her chest. “You need to understand the politics of our enemies, the strategies of defending our outposts from constant attack, and have a thorough knowledge of both recent and current battles. If you cannot grasp these basic topics, then you have no business on the back of a dragon.” She arches a black brow a few shades darker than her deep-brown skin.

“No pressure” I mutter laughingly to Liam.

“The most powerful general in Navarre is your father. I think you can manage this class somehow.” He snorts.

“Hey. I’m not a genious, you know.” I whisper.

“And even humble.” He openly laughs at me. “You know all the answers in history. But I don’t think it counts if you only told me and not the teacher when he asked questions.”

“I don’t care what they think of me.” I say in a serious tone.

“This is the only class you will have every day, because it’s the only class that will matter if you’re called into service early.” Professor Devera’s gaze sweeps from left to the right and pauses on me. Her eyes flare wide for a heartbeat, but she gives an approving smile and nod before she do the same with Violet. “Because this class is taught every day and relies on the most current information, you will also answer to Professor Markham, who deserves nothing but your utmost respect.”

She waves the scribe forward, and he moves to stand next to her, the cream color of his uniform contrasting with her stark black one. He leans in when she whispers something to him, and his thick eyebrows fly high as he whips his head in my direction then he looks at Violet.

“Shit.” I mutter as I slide lower on the chair. “Why can’t I be invisible?

“You’re stand out a little bit to that.” Liam answer helpfully. “Maybe if you didn’t dye your hair, you didn’t stand out as much. I mean those silver stripes are a little bit flashy.”

“I didn’t dye my hair. It’s been like this since I was born” I answer while staring straight ahead of me. I don’t like to talk about my mother. I didn’t know her but it’s still painful beacuse of the many what ifs. What if I knew her? Would she loved me? If she were alive would I have a normal family? It’s painful.

“Oh, I see.” And he didn’t push the subject any further as if he sensed that I’m not comfortable with it.

“It is the duty of the scribes not only to study and master the past but to relay and record the present” Professor Markham says, rubbing the bridge of his bulbous nose. “Without accurate depictions of our front lines, reliable information with which to make strategic decisions, and - most importantly - veracious details to document our history for the good of future generations, we’re doomed, not only as a kingdom but as a society.”

“First topic of the day,” Professor Devera moves toward the map and flicks her hand, bringing a mage light directly over the eastern border with the Poromiel province of Braevick. “The Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near the village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and riders.”

Oh shit. A murmur rips through the hall.

“Naturally, some information is redacted for security purposes, but what we can tell you is that the wards faltered along the top of the Esben Mountains.” Professor Devera pulls her hands apart and the light expands, illuminating the mountains that form our border with Braevick. “Allowing the drift not only to enter Navarrian territory but for their riders to channel and wield sometime around midnight.”

My stomach sinks as a murmur rises from the cadets, especially the first-years. Dragons aren’t the only animals capable of channeling powers to their riders. Gryphons from Poromiel also share that ability, but dragons are the only ones capable of powering the wards that make all other magic but their own impossible within our borders. They’re the reason Navarre’s borders are somewhat circular - their power radiates from the Vale and can only extend so far, even with squads stationed at every outpost. Without those wards, we’re fucked. It would be open season on Navarrian villages when the raiding parties from Poromiel inevitably descend. Those greedy assholes are never content with the resources they have. They always want ours, too, and until they learn to be content with our trade agreements, we have no chance of ending conscription in Navarre. No chance of experiencing peace.

But if we’re not on high alert, then they must have gotten the wards rewoven, or at least stabilized.

“Thirty-seven civilians were killed in the attack in the hour before the squad from the Eastern Wing could arrive, but the riders and dragons managed to repel the drift.” Professor Devera finishes, folding her arms over her chest. “Based on that information, what questions would you ask?” She holds up a finger. “ I only want answers from first-years to start.”

My initial question would be why the hell the wards faltered, but it’s not like they’re going to answer a question like that in a room full of cadets with zero security clearance.

I study the map. The Esben Mountain Range is the highest along our eastern border with Braevick, making it the least likely place for an attack, especially since gryphons don’t tolerate altitude nearly as well as dragons, probably due to the fact they’re half-lion, half-eagle and can’t handle the thinner air at higher altitudes.

There’s a reason we’ve been able to fend off every major assault on our territory for the last six hundred years, and we’ve successfully defended our land in this never-ending four-hundred-year-long war. Our abilities, both lesser and signet, are superior because our dragons can channel more power than gryphons. So why attack in the mountain range?

“The only logical explanation is that they were looking for something.” I mutter to Liam.

“Are you not going to speak up in this class either?” He asks.

“Nope.”

“Come on, first-years, show me you have more than just good balance. Show me you have the critical-thinking skills to be here.” Professor Devera demands. “It’s more important than ever that you’re ready for what’s beyond our borders.”

“Is this the first time the wards have faltered?” a first-year a couple of rows ahead asks.

Professors Devera and Markham share a look before she turns toward the cadet. “No.”

The room falls pin-drop quiet.

It’s not the first time.

Which means they were looking for something for a while? Interesting.

The girl clears her throat. “And how… often are they faltering?”

Professor Markham’s shrewd eyes narrow on her. “That’s above your pay grade, cadet.” He turns his attention to our section. “Next relevant question to the attack we’re discussing?”

“How many casualties did the wing suffer?” A first-year down the row to my right asks.

“One injured dragon. One dead rider.”

Another murmur rises from the hall. Surviving graduation doesn’t mean we’ll survive service. Most riders die before retirement age, especially at the rate riders have been falling over the last two years.

“Why would you ask that particular question?” Professor Devera asks the cadet.

“To know how many reinforcements they’ll need” he answers.

Professor Devera nods, turning toward the meekest first-year in Violet’s squad, who has his hand up, but he lowers it quickly, scrunching his dark eyebrows. “Did you want to ask a question?”

“Yes.” He nods, sending a few locks of black hair into his eyes, then shakes his head. “No. Never mind.”

“So decisive” another first-year in that squad  mocks from next to him, tilting her head as cadets laugh around them. A corner of her mouth tilts up into a smirk, and she flips her long brown hair over her shoulder in a move that’s anything but casual.

“He’s in our squad. Show some loyalty.” A third woman chastises.

“What a friendly squad. They like a big family.” I whisper to Liam.

“You’re not friendlier then them, you know.” He smirks at me.

“Maybe.” I cross my arms and turn my attention back to the class.

“If Fourth Wing is done picking at one another?” Professor Devera asks, lifting a brow.

“What altitude is the village at?” Rhiannon asks. I’m sure it was Violet’s question. She doesn’t like the attention.

Professor Devera’s eyebrows rise as she turns to Rhiannon. “Markham?”

“A little less than ten thousand feet.” he answers. “Why?”

Rhiannon darts a dose of side-eye at Violet and clears her throat. “Just seems a little high for a planned attack with gryphons.”

“It is a little high for a planned attack” Devera says. “Why don’t you tell me why that’s bothersome, Cadet Sorrengail? And maybe you’d like to ask your own questions from here on out.” She levels a stare on her

Every head in the room turns to her direction. If anyone had an inkling of doubt about who is she, it’s long gone now.

Poor Violet.

“Gryphons aren’t as strong at that altitude, and neither is their ability to channel” She says. “ It’s an illogical place for them to attack unless they knew the wards would fail, especially since the village looks to be about what…an hour’s flight from the nearest outpost?” She glances at the map. “That is Chakir right there isn’t it?”

Scribe’s training for the win.

“It is.” A corner of Professor Devera’s mouth lifts into a smirk. “Keep going with that line of thought.”

“Didn’t you say it took an hour for the squad of riders to arrive?” Her gaze narrows.

“I did.”

“Then they were already on their way,” she blurts, immediately recognizing how silly that sounds. Her cheeks heat as a mumble of laughter sounds around her.

“Yeah, because that makes sense.” Jack turns around in his seat from the front row and openly laught at her. “General Melgren knows the outcome of a battle before it happens, but even he doesn’t now when it will happen, dumbass.”

I feel the chuckling of our classmates reverberate in my bones. I can feel my rage rising.

“Fuck off, Barlowe,” Rhiannon snaps.

“I’m not the one who thinks precognition is a thing,” he retorts with a sneer. “Gods help us if that one ever gets on the back of a dragon.” Another round of laughter has her face flaming more.

Enough!

“You’re so familiar with General Melgren that you know exactly what he’s able to do with his signet Barlowe?” I glare at him. “With you’re level of brain, be thankful if a dragon will choose you at Threshing, if you can make it there. It’s way above your skills to get to know the General.”

“Pff, the same goes for you girl.” Someone shouts behind me.

I glance behind me to look at that stupid man who said that. I found him. He wears a first-year emblem on his jacket, and looks like he’s in Violet’s squad.

“He’s my father, you jackass.” I glare at him.

“He doesn’t have a daughter, you liar.” He retorts.

That’s it. He’s even dumber than I thought. It’s a shame to argue with him.

“And they try to become riders. Without the knowledge what’s going around them. I pray that at least a handful of cadets be smarter than them or Navarre is lost.” I sigh in mock sympathy while I turn back. “Maybe General Melgren’s signet isn’t able to identify the when, but if you can’t understand what Cadet Sorrengail implies, then you won’t make it Threshing. I gurantee that.” I smile at Jack while my implied threat still in the air.

“That’s enough. You should know that listening to other cadet’s questions is just as important as asking.” Professor Devera says to Jack. “And Cadet Melgren you should work out that temper in the gym.”

“Oh I can’t wait the challenges Professor.” I answer while glaring daggers at Jack.

“Why do you think that way, Violet -“ Professor Markham winces. “Cadet Sorrengail?”

Nice distraction.

“Because there’s no logical way they get there within an hour of the attack unless they were already on their way” Go, Violet tell them. “It would take at least half that long to light the beacons in the range and call for help, and no full squad is sitting around just waiting to be needed. More than half those riders would have been asleep, which means they were already on their way.”

“And why would they already be on their way?” Professor Devera prods, and the light in her eyes tells me she’s right.

“Because they somehow knew the wards were breaking.” She lifts her chin

“That’s the most-“ Jack starts.

“She’s right” Professor Devera interrupts, and a hush falls over the room. “One of the dragons in the wing sensed the faltering ward, and the wing flew. Had they not, the casualties would have been far higher and the destruction of the village much worse.”

I snicker at Jack who looks completly baffled.

“Second- and third-years, take over” Professor Devera orders. “Let’s see if you can be a little more respectful to your fellow cadets.” She arches a brow at Jack as questions begin to fire off from the riders behind us.

How many riders were deployed to the site?

What killed the lone fatality?

How long did it take to clear the village of the gryphons?

Were any left alive for questioning?

I write down the important questions and answers, my mind memorizing the facts, organizing into logical sequences.

“How can you make notes when you don’t even look at the paper in front of you?” Liam wonders

“Years of practice.” I cut it short.

“What was the condition of the village?” A deep voice asks from the back of the lecture hall.

The hairs on my neck rise, my body recognizing the imminent threat behind me.

“Riorson?” Markham asks, shielding his eyes from the mage lights as he looks toward the top of the hall.

“The village.” Xaden restates. “Professor Devera said the damage would have been worse, but what was the actual condition? Was it burned? Destroyed? They wouldn’t demolish it if they were trying to establish a foothold, so the condition of the village matters when trying to determine a motive for the attack.”

Professor Devera smiles in approval. “The buildings they’d already gone through were burned, and the rest were being looted when the wing arrived.”

“They were looking for something,” Xaden says with complete conviction. “And it wasn’t riches. That’s not a gem mining district. Which begs the question, what do we have that they want so badly?”

„Wow. You said that they were searching for something too.” Liam stares at me with surprise.

„Yeah, so? It was obvious.” I blink at him.

„No. It was not. You really have a sense for it, haven’t you?” he whispers.

I just shrug, then turn back my attention to the class.

“Exactly. That’s the question.” Professor Devera glances around the room. “And that right there is why Riorson is a wingleader. You need more than strength and courage to be a good rider.”

“So what’s the answer?” a first-year to the left asks.

“We don’t know,” Professor Devera answers with a shrug. “It’s just another piece in the puzzle of why our constant bids for peace are rejected by the kingdom of Poromiel. What were they looking for? Why that village? Were they responsible for the collapse of the ward, or was it already faltering? Tomorrow, next week, next month, there will be another attack, and maybe we’ll get another clue. Go to history if you’re looking for answers. Those wars have already been dissected and examined. Battle Brief is for fluid situations. In this class, we want you to learn which questions to ask so all of you have a chance at coming home alive.” Something in her tone tells me it’s not just third-years who might be called into service this year.

After class the cadets started to flow out from the lecture hall. I packed up my things and when I turned to Liam, Professor Devera said my name.

„Cadet Melgren. For a word.”

„I think you’re in trouble.” Whispres Liam. „I’ll wait for you outside.”

I nod then turn toward the Professor.

„Yes?” I ask.

„General Melgren sent a message that he wants to speak to you after today’s classes are over.” She answers

„Understood. Where?” I ask tensly.

„In his office.”

„Then if there is nothing else, I would like to go. I have gym.”

„Yes, go ahead.” She dismisses me.

Outside of the hall I see Liam talking with Xaden at the corner of the courtyard.

That’s my luck. I have one somewhat of a friend and he’s just coincidentally a big buddy of Xaden it seems.

They must realised that I finished talking with Professor Devera beacuse they make their way to where I stand.

„Is everything all right?” Liam asks worriedly when they aprroached me.

„Yeah, she just wanted to pass on a message.” I shrug.

„A message? From who?” Xaden asks suspiciously.

„It’s not your business Riorson, but is seems that General Melgren wants to see me after classes are over.” I say with a forced smile.

„General Melgren?” He raise an eyebrow.

„You’ve got a problem with that?” I narrow my eyes at him.

„No, it’s just interesting.” He says. „But I think you don’t have time to chat with me. If I remember correctly you have gym class soon, and Professor Emetterio doesn’t like latecomers.”

„Shit. Then we should go Liam. I really don’t want to be late because of Riorson.” I fake a horrified expresson.

„Ah, and I thought we could converse once without your insults.” He smirks.

„In your dream Riorson. If you don’t like my style then you would be doing a favor for the both of us if you would avoid me in the future.” I say while grabbing Liam’s arm and start pulling him in the direction where the gym class will be.

„Then we will definitely see each other later.” He stares at me with an unreadable expression. „I almost forget. Have fun in the gym, Sunshine.” I hear him laughing.

When I try to turn around, this time Liam grabs my arm and pulles away faster.

„We need to hurry if we don’t want to end up late.” He drags me with him.

---

„You seriosuly knew every answer in histroy and apparently every right question to ask in Battle Brief.” I hear Rhiannon says it to Violet. Coincidentally their squad are standing behind our sparring mat. „You’re not even going to have to study for tests, are you?”

There are already two first-years on the mat from our squad. They’re evenly matched in size. One of them is Ethan whom I have seen talking to Liam. He has a rebellion relic too. I don’t remember his opponent’s name but I’m sure he’s a little less irritating than the others in our squad.

„You seem pretty calm. Are you not worried about who your opponent will be?” Liam watches me with interest shining in his eyes.

„No. I’m sure that I can beat most first-years. Quite a few have developed muscles if you look them closely. You’re one of them so I’m curious how well you can fight.” I look over him.

„Maybe we will be paired up.” He winks at me.

„Yeah. Who knows?” I shrug, and the vest Mira made us shimmers slightly with the movement. Other than the times the scales catch the light under the camouflaging mesh, it fits right in with the tops we’d been given from central issue yesterday. All the women are dressed similarly now, though the cuts of their leathers are chosen by preference.

The guys are mostly shirtless because they think shirts give their opponent something to grab onto. Personally, I’m not arguing with their logic, just enjoying the view…respectfully, of course, which means keeping my eyes on my own squad’s mat and off the other twenty mats in the massive gym that consumes the first floor of the academic wing. One wall is made entirely of windows and doors, all left open to let in the breeze, but it’s still stiflingly hot. Sweat trickles down my spine under my vest.

There are three squads from each wing here this afternoon, and lucky me, First Wing has sent their third squads, which include Jack Barlowe, who’s been glaring at me from two mats over since I walked in.

„Stop circling each other like you’re dance partners and attack!” Professor Emetterio orders from across the mat, where Theo watches Ethan and the other guy’s match – maybe his name is Lucas? Or Luke? Something like that – with our squad executive leader, Zanaya.

Ethan launches toward Lucas – I think I will go with this name until someone tells me his name – but he ducks, sweeping out his leg and tripping Ethan. He staggers but doesn’t go down. He pivots quickly, palming a dagger in his hand.

„No blade today!” Professor Emetterio bellows from beside the mat. He’s only the fourth professor I’ve met, but he’s definitely the most intimidating. „We’re just assessing!”

Ethan grumbles and sheaths his knife just in time to deflect a right hook from Lucas.

„What about you? You don’t seem worried either.” I ask Liam as Ethan lands a jab to Lucas’s ribs.

„Shit!” He shakes his head and backs up a step. „I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lucas holds his ribs but lifts his chin. „Who said you hurt me?”

„Pulling your punches does him a disservice” Theo says, folding his arms. „The Cygnis on the northeast border aren’t going to give him any quarter if he falls from his dragon behind enemy lines, Ethan. They’ll kill him just the same.”

„Let’s go!” Lucas shouts, beckoning Ethan by curling his fingers. It’s obvious he had a proper trainig before entering the quadrant, when he slips a jab from Ethan and twists to land a quick jab to his stomach.

Ouch.

„I’m pretty good on the mat. My foster brother whom I grew up with taught me many things.” He answers while watching the match.

„You have a brother? I didn’t know.” I look at him.

„He’s not my brother by blood, we grew up together after the apostasy and that made us close friends. That’s why I said he’s my brother.” He shrugs. „Now watch the match.”

Apostasy is the Tyrrish term for rebellion. I rarely heard it mentioned this way.

That’s when Ethan charges Lucas taking him to the mat with enough force to make me observe him more. He’s surprisingly strong for his light build.

Lucas hooks his legs around Ethan and somehow leverages him over until he’s the one on top, landing punch after punch to the side of his face. Blood spatters the mat.

A tooth goes flying. Ouch.

„Enough!” Professor Emetterio shouts.

Lucas rolls off Ethan and stands, touching his fingers to his split lip and examining the blood, then offers his hand to help Ethan up.

He takes it.

„Zanaya, take Lucas to the healers. No reason to lose a tooth during assessment” Emetterio orders.

A couple of mats over, someone shrieks, and we all turn to look. Jack Barlowe has another first-year in a headlock. The other guy is smaller, thinner than Jack, but still has a good fifty pounds on me.

Jack yanks his arms, his hands still secure around the other man’s head.

„That guy is such an ass-„ Rhiannon starts behind us.

The sickening crack of bones breaking sounds across the gym, and the first-year goes limp in Jack’s hold.

“Sweet Malek,” I whisper as Jack drops the man to the ground. I’m starting to wonder if the god of death lives here for how often his name must be invoked.

“What did I say?” their instructor shouts as he charges onto the mat. “You broke his damned neck!”

“How was I supposed to know his neck was that weak?” Jack argues.

“Eyes forward,” Emetterio orders, but his tone is kinder than it has been as we all look away from the dead first-year. “You don’t have to get used to it,” he tells us. “But you do have to function through it. You and you.” He points to Liam and another first-year in our squad, a man with a stocky build, black hair, and angular features. Shit, I can’t remember his name. Trevor? Thomas, maybe? There are too many new people to remember who is who at this point.

Liam makes quick work of the first-year, stunning me every time he dodges a punch and lands one of his own. He’s fast, and his hits are powerful, the kind of lethal combination that will set him apart.

„Do you yield?” he asks the first-year guy when he takes him to his back, his hand stopped mid-hit just above his throat.

“No!” he shouts, hooking his legs around Liam’s and slamming him to his back. But he rolls and quickly gains his feet before putting the first-year in the same position again, this time with his boot to his neck.

“I don’t know, Thomas, you might want to yield,” Theo says with a grin. “He’s handing you your ass.”

Ah, that’s right. Thomas.

“Fuck off!” Thomas snaps, but Liam presses his boot into his throat, garbling the last word. He turns a mottled shade of red.

Yeah, Thomas has more ego than common sense.

“He yields,” Emetterio calls out, and Liam steps back, offering his hand.

Thomas takes it.

„You-” Emetterio points to one of the second-years with a rebellion relic. „And you.” His fingers swings to me.

He’s at least a head taller than me, and if the rest of his body is as toned as his arms, then I can’t let him to touch me. I need to be faster.

I nod and step onto the mat.

„You’ve got this.” Liam says, tapping my shoulder as he passes me.

„Melgren.” The man looks me over like I’m something he’s scraped off the side of his boot, narrowing his pale green eyes. „You really should dye your hair if you don’t want to stand out like this. Soon, everybody will know who is your father.”

„Never said I cared if everyone knows who my father is.” I circle the second-year on he mat.

I say while trying to distract him. General Melgren often says the minutes you let emotion enter a fight, you’ve already lost.

„You bitch” he sheethes. „Your father murdered my family.”

He lunges forward and swings wildly, and I quickly sidestep, spinning then landing a hard punch where his kidneys are located.

He grunts then turns around and we start it again. We do this for a few more rounds, and I land a few punches here and there. Always moving faster than him.

After another punch he stumbles and I kick his leg out from under him and I pin his legs down so he can’t move. That’s it when he manages to land a punch.

I can feel my head snapping to the side, my ears ringing, but I don’t move. I’ve endured worse. If I move now then he can use his legs and I will be in trouble.

I punch him in the face. When he raises his hands to protect it, he leaves defensless his neck. I hit the side of his neck causing him to be momentarily unable to breathe and he puts his hand to his neck, then I punch him in his face, and I can feel the bones breaking. I broke his nose. I hit again.

He starts coughing while his blood is dripping from his nose. He can’t do anything in this condition.

„He yields.” Emetterio calls out, and I back off from him. „Hey you” he points to another second-year „Escort him to the healers. We don’t need him bleeding all over the mat.”

I step next to Liam and a new match starts.

„Gods, Aelin. You were really scary on the mat.” Liam says looking at me. „And your face, are you all right? Want me to accompany you to the healers?”

„I won’t go the healers, Liam. I’m fine.” I look at him confused.

„What? No way. You’re bruse is already turning black. That must have hurt.” He looks at my face with concern.

„A little bit. It’s not that bad, really. I have much worse bruises when I started to train.” I try to calm him.

His eyes widen and opens his mouth to further question me when…

„Yield, Violet!” I hear Dain yells.

What? Violet? I turn around quickly and I see Violet and a pink-haired second-year on the mat. With a rebellion relic. Shit.

„She yields.” their instructor says. „That’s enough.” I hear it again – the macabre sound of snapping bone – but this time it’s hers.

[shiny-kaibernyte]

Yo thanks for doing the fluffy romance hcs they're so fricking cute!!!! May I request err something Arven x M!Reader? (Presumably Florian so we've got the whole Titans and area zero dynamics?) Where Arven gets jealous of Kieran and Carmine's crush on his boyfriend, not to mention hearing Drayton asked him on a date?😩 I'm just starved for gay content lol

I shall quench your gay cravings. Apologies this took so long to get to I love Arven and I'm kicking myself in the teeth for not giving him the spotlight sooner

Pokémon Scarlett and Violet DLC Spoilers ahead!

When you finally returned from the exchange program; Arven was excited to hear about your journey. Your new friends however were an unexpected arrival and a not so welcomed introduction.

Warnings: Fluff, Jealousy, slightly possessive behaviour

SPOILER WARNING: Mild Spoilers for the Main SV game and both DLC Stories and characters.

Pokémon Headcanons | Arven x M.Reader (Jealousy)

When you first told Arven about the exchange trip and how you’d been selected for it cuz Pokémon plot, he wasn’t too happy. Not because you got the place; he was overjoyed for you in that regard. What upset him was the fact he couldn’t go with you. 

You weren’t able to contact him very much during the trip, service in the terrarium is HORRIBLE. So that only made his longing for you even more demanding. And you felt exactly the same way, missing your boyfriend even more everyday.

But finally after what felt like forever, the two of you were finally reunited. He practically bear hugged you when he saw you, almost crushing your bones in excitement. All you could do was laugh as Arven clung to you like a squirrel to an acorn. 

If it wasn’t for your extra company, he would have held you all the way back to the academy. Carry you if you’d let him. Dude was craving your attention after all this time. But when he saw who was accompanying you, a switch clicked within him. You’d told Arven about Kieran and Carmen during your brief trip to Kitagami, but he’d never met them before. And to say he didn’t like them would be an understatement.

Carmen wasn’t too big on his nerves, he wasn't a huge fan with how often she dragged away your attention, always wanting your opinion on her battling techniques; what to improve on etcetera. She reminded him of Nemona in that sense. But Kieran, that was a different story.

The way he was always standing behind you, looking at your expressions to see how you felt. Arven could see the way Kieran was always wanting your validation and it drove him in the wall. But what really grinded Arven the wrong way, was how often Kieran would grab your hand to show you something he’d spotted.

Whenever Kieran would do this, Arven would grab you by the waist or shoulder and pull you to his side, glaring at Kieran with an almost murderous intent. Grated Arven can’t hurt a Cutiefly, but that isn’t going to stop him from making a point.

“Hands off my boyfriend purple.” or “Don’t try and steal him now” Were the most common phrases you’d hear from Arven when Kieran would drag you away. 

If Carmen was the one taking your attention away, Arven would simply stand there irritated, sending the odd glare towards Carmen till she took the hint, that Arven wasn’t keen on sharing his boyfriend with a stranger.

Don’t try to convince him to like them. Regardless of what you’ve told him about them, he won’t trust them for a while. Hell it took the entire trip to Area Zero to even remotely start to like Nemona, so Carmen and Kieran are going to take a lot of effort to like.

But when Arven finally DOES come around, his clinginess and possessiveness over you lessens dramatically, he is a lot more comfortable around them and even starts to hang out with Kieran away from you and Carmen. 

However, during one of those hangouts. Kieran accidently let slip that Drayton, a kid from his school, asked you out on a date, multiple times actually. Most were jokes and you always turned them down. And that made Arven’s blood boil. 

He trusts you fully and completely, you're his boyfriend and he loves you. But knowing someone was chasing after your heart, the same heart he holds the key for, it drove him crazy. You didn’t sleep alone that night, and you also made it clear to Arven that you love him and only him.

[camels-pen]

burning love

@sanusoweek Day 1 - Ice Skating / OT3

Summary:

Roses are red, Violets are nice, These guys are gay, Sanji falls through the ice.

Ao3 Link | sanuso week series | Day 2

Sanji skated a decently sized heart into the iced over lake, a tray of warm drinks in his hand as he called, “Usopp, my darling dearest beloved brightest—”

“We get it, Curly, what the fuck do you want?”

Sanji scowled. “I wasn’t talking to you, Mossy.” He looked around. “I’m looking for our angel of a boyfriend to deliver hot cocoa.”

“He’s busy.” Zoro jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. Sanji looked past him to Chopper in Horn Point, Luffy holding onto his antlers, and Usopp pulling Luffy backwards by his grip on Luffy’s waist. He had a big kissable grin on his face and oh, Sanji must’ve been struck by cupid’s arrow again because the wind blew just right through his curls and—

Zoro gripped his shoulder. “He’s busy.” 

Sanji rolled his eyes. If Luffy and Chopper couldn’t mess him up with all their loud laughter and squirming and Hurry up, Usopp! ‘s, then Sanji’s perfectly polite entrance wouldn’t do a thing.

“Thank you for your services, Mr. guard dog, but they’re no longer needed.”

“Don’t think you have the right to say that when you always look like you’re in fucking heat—”

Sanji slammed one skate into the ice, lifting the other into the air. “Be very careful with your next words.”

Zoro put a hand on his swords. “Or what? You’ll whimper?”

“DON’T YOU FUCKING—” Nami cut herself off with a shriek. “Robin, catch me! And stop them, please!”

Familiar hands grabbed his calf and thigh. He spotted two more gripping Zoro’s arms. “You’ll crack the ice if you fight,” Robin said somewhere behind Sanji. “And the shock of the cold water could make you involuntarily inhale and drown as you start to slowly lose feeling in your limbs.”

Sanji let the tension bleed from his body. “Sorry, Robin dear.” Zoro grunted his own acknowldgement and the hands disappeared.

“No, Diable either Sanji-bro,” Franky added as he skated around, Robin perched on one of his shoulders, a book between her gloved hands. “You’ll melt the ice and it’ll be a hell of a lot worse.”

He waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.” He quickly spun around and took off. “Usopp dear! I’ve made you hot cocoa filled to the brim with all my love for you!”

Usopp a noise between a squeak and a shout and he stumbled. His arms pinwheeled, abruptly letting go of Luffy and sending him flying.

“Oh no, Luffy!” Chopper yelled. “Usopp, you said you wouldn’t send him that far!”

“Blame Sanji, not me!” he said, still wobbling back and forth with a beautiful red undertone to his dark skin. “Quick, you and boss Jinbei get after him!”

“Right!” Chopper switched to Walk Point, picked up a confused looking Jinbei by the shore and took off after Luffy.

“Shit—!” Usopp fell with a loud smack and a groan. “Zoro, you were supposed to not let Sanji distract me,” he whined.

“My bad.”

Sanji wasted no time offering a hand and pulling Usopp up. He pressed a kiss to Usopp’s forehead and the bottom of his nose, where it had bent against the ice. “I should’ve listened too, I’m sorry, love.”

Usopp grumbled, then stumbled again. “Ugh, my balance sucks,” he said, accepting the affection—and hot cocoa—with a smile. “How did you pick this up so fast?”

“I can show you.” Sanji pulled him closer by the hand, his arm finding its place at the small of his back. “Let me teach you, give you some private lessons.”

A thick arm suddenly wrapped around Usopp’s shoulders. “Hey, I’m better at skating than you, I’ll teach him.”

“Fuck off, we both know you’d just let him fall flat on his face every time.”

Zoro raised a brow.  “Well yeah, how else is he gonna learn?” 

“Goddamn mossheaded brute,”—he tugged Usopp closer to him—“I’m going to teach Usopp.”

“No, you’re just gonna coddle him.” Zoro pulled Usopp back.

“There’s a difference between coddling and not letting him get hurt, moron,” Sanji growled.

“Not with this there isn’t.”

Sanji slammed his forehead to Zoro’s. “You wanna go, you shitty piece of algae?!”

“Anytime, shit cook,” Zoro said, pushing him back.

“Hey, hey—” Usopp wiggled his way out from between them. “You don’t have to fight!”

“Yes, we do,” they said in unison.

“God, you two.” Sanji couldn’t see what he was doing, but the next thing he knew there was a trail of soft kisses from his cheek to his jaw. He closed his eyes with a hum, a pleasant flush crawling up his neck. He heard another series of kisses and felt Zoro pull away.

Usopp huffed and Sanji blinked his eyes open to look at him. “Honestly, you can both teach me,” he said, arms on his hips and a smile on his face.

Zoro turned away, his ears dusting pink. “Yeah, alright.”

Usopp turned to Sanji. A grin split Sanji’s face.

“Oh, my dearest and most beloved boyfriend, how you bless me so! I, of course, will heed your wishes. Nothing compares to such a thoughtful gift upon my person.” He twirled around a few times. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, his burning love growing hotter and hotter all throughout his body. “In exchange let me regale you with a poem: roses are red, violets are nice—”

There was a crack.

Sanji fell through the ice.