#to be clear I love this turn of events
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On the one hand Ashton hates and distrusts authority figures because most of the ones heâs known (with a handful of notable exceptions since meeting Bellâs Hells) have been assholes who have used and/or hurt them.
On the other hand, down deep (or maybe not so deep, really) Ashton is still the orphaned child constantly searching for a parentâs love and approval.
If the Bright Queen ever figures that out, sheâs going to be able to manipulate them into doing whatever she wants. Forget having to have Chet or a bounty hunter deliver Ash to her, heâll walk into that gilded cage willingly. Add into the bargain the chance to understand themselves better and no longer be a risk to the people he cares about? Theyâd be lost before they even realized theyâd given away their freedom.
Assuming they all survive the upcoming missions, Bellâs Hells should start working on their rescue plans asap. Luckily, theyâre about to meet a crew of adventurers who might have some useful advice for them.
#critical role#bells hells#critical role spoilers#c3e105#the bright queen#ashton greymoore#to be clear I love this turn of events#I am beyond ready for Ashtonâs genasi in distress era#I canât wait for the fan fiction#I might even write some myself
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Op⊠you make a lot of interesting claims in this post. To get the facts straight before I go on a rant⊠1) George claims that Rhaegar was a love struck prince 2) the books donât mention anything about any marriages being annulled/anyone being set aside 3) seems like Dorne has no issue with Rhaegar and 4) Ned literally never thinks anything bad about Rhaegar⊠but thinks ill of Robert.
First off, a man trapped in a duty bound marriage and finding love outside that marriage is completely different from a whoremonger shouting about his love while visiting brothels whenever he could. And guess what⊠Ned straight up thinks that Rhaegar didnât seem like someone whoâd visit brothels. Robert and Rhaegar couldnât be any more different.
And when did Lyanna want to be wild and free? When is it ever said that Rhaegar locked her in the tower of joy and that Lyanna was a prisoner?
Ned never even alludes to there being any truth in any of these claims. What we do know is that Lyanna greatly resembles Arya in looks and personality⊠and Arya wants to be a high septon and kings counselorïżŒ, meaning Arya wants to have a position of power and not be reduced to a baby making machine. Going off of that⊠it seems like Lyanna didnât want to be âwild and free,â she just wanted to be treated with respect. The only reason Arya is even treated like sheâs wild is because she doesnât conform to the Westerosi standards for highborn women.
And of course sheâd feel miserable when she heard Aerys killed her brother and father. Aerys. Not Rhaegar. I wouldnât even be surprised if she felt guilt about what happened, but in the end it was Aerys who brutally killed them. And then Rhaegar goes to protect his family and dies, and then Rhaegarâs family is brutally killed and then Lyanna dies. George did claim that the greatest love stories are the tragedies (i may be misremembering but i know he said something along the lines of that lmao).
Op, you claim that Rhaelyas love wouldâve died after getting news of the Starks deaths, and then you try to suggest that Rhaegar may have been keeping Lyanna isolated from news in Dorne⊠like please pick a story to go with! And Rhaelyas love dying or Lyanna not being kept updated on what was going on outside of Dorne just doesnât seem to be true. When reading Neds chapters, it seems like Lyanna was fully aware of what happened to Rhaegarâs children and Elia⊠as Lyanna pleaded with Ned like how Sansa pleaded with Ned to not kill Lady (hope iâm not misremembering here lol). And Rhaegar dying with a womanâs name on his lips (likely Lyannaâs name) and Lyanna clutching a winter rose (this may just be symbolism for baby Jon tbh) until she passed away seems to contradict your belief that their love died.
Also, where are you getting the âRhaegar would suggest to set aside his kids and wife to marry Lyannaâ from? The show? You mention how Lyanna would not be okay with this, and I agree that Lyanna would never be fine with setting Elia and Eliaâs children aside. But even thinking that Rhaegar would ever even suggest setting aside Elia and his children is bonkers. Like seriously⊠there was so much tension between Aerys and Rhaegar that the Royal court was said to have begun looking like the situation before the Dance of the Dragons. And Dorne was Rhaegarâs greatest support! Why would it make any sense for him to annul his marriage with Elia? And please remember that during the sack Rhaenys hid under her fathers bed. The text supports him loving his kids/his child who wasnât a baby seeking to be protected by him so why would he endanger them and their positions? (and no, disappearing with Lyanna for awhile isnât him endangering his family. Aerys was the one who endangered his family (hot take brandon was the one who endangered the starks like wth was he thinking???). and tbh it seems like Aerys knew exactly where to find Rhaegar so did Rhaegar and Lyanna even disappear? or were they just keeping their location a secret from the rebels? the rebels who ended up killing Rhaegarâs family?)
I will say that how op first started to characterize Lyanna is something I agree with, her being principled, noble, honorable, and just with a sensitive side seems to be true, but then op goes on to continue to claim that Lyanna was wild and that she had little regard as to how other people perceived her. Thereâs no reason for us to believe that she didnât care about what others thought of her or that she was wild and wanted freedom more than anything, it just seems like she dared to tread away from what was expected of Westerosi highborn women and that she didnât want to be married to Robert. And guess what⊠Robert ended up being an abuser! *gasp* Lyanna dear⊠you clocked Robert right away.
And seriously⊠how does any of what op mentioned back up their claim that Lyanna would never resign herself to the position of a mistress? Is being a mistress/paramour really that bad? Does it truly seem like Lyanna would look down on those women? Her mini me Arya doesnât look down on the courtesans of Braavos who occupy a similar position as mistresses in society. And it seems like plenty of noblewomen have been mistresses in the past and they are still as respected as a woman can be in Westerosi society. Missy Blackwood and Elaena Targaryen are right there. And Op, if Lyanna was Rhaegarâs mistress, why would you think that Lyanna couldnât have been happy? Are we going to doubt Ellarias happiness and her love of Oberyn because they werenât married? Should I doubt Rhaenyra and Harwins happiness because Rhaenyra was married to Laenor? Rhaegar and Elias marriage was not a love match. And if Rhaegar and Lyanna did marry⊠ever wonder if polygamy was introduced as a Valyrian practice by George to hint at Rhaegar taking a second wife? Should I now doubt Rhaenys and Aegons happiness and love because Rhaenys was Aegons second wife?
Now can we please stop acting like two people married due to duty have any reason to love each other? Nedcat seems to be an exception in Westeros. Lyanna and Rhaegar falling in love isnât ruining Elia and Rhaegarâs marriage when love wasnât there in the first place.
haha my whole post is a bit messy i just wanted to get my thoughts out :)
fuckkkk i want to tag more (my tags are a mess lmao no iâve not gone through them and no they will not make any sense)
#robert was a brute#when did lyanna seem disgusted by roberts bastards?#seems like she was just disgusted by roberts behavior of claiming to love her while visiting brothels#say it with me folks: thereâs not a single mention of rhaegar loving elia their marriage was for duty#so no rhaegar is not like robert bc rhaegar found love outside of his marriage of duty#robert treated lyanna like an object and never even saw/loved the real her#lyanna clocked that and later fell in love with a man who loved the real her#aka the knight of the laughing tree#yeah the text hasnât truly confirmed anything yet but at least my version of events isnât contradicted by the books#omg ppl need to stop acting like being a mistress is some morally corrupt position god damn#nedcat you will always be famous#but jon snow will always be even more famous#bc heâs rhaelyas love child#rip rhaegar lyanna and elia iâll save you guys from tumblr bad takes#i love that george makes it clear that marriages of duty can be nasty affairs#and tumblr desides to demonize characters who dared to find love instead of criticizing the system of selling daughters off like broodmares#like bruh i would be sooo happy to learn if elia had a paramour on the side#iâm looking at you elia x ashara shippers#tho i donât think that they had a romantic relationship i do find it hilarious that ppl who claim rhaegar is horrible and endangered his#âŠfamily turn around and applaud elia for potentially doing the sameâŠ#couldnât be me tho i pretend that rhaelya and their children are perfectly happy and that elia found love as well#as i think rhaelya were well in their rights to go against the system that tried making them miserable and i hope elia did the same#these tags are a mess and kinda donât make sense lmao#rhaegar targaryen you will always be famous#asoiaf fandom critical#rip boar you will be missed#robert deserved worse#ppl need to stop acting like rhaelya is homewrecking when george himself calls elia and rhaegarâs marriage complex#jon will learn that his parents were in love and heâll learn good shit about them and heâll think good thoughts about them#and then this fandom will go insane and jon will start being hated like dany for daring to love his parents
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(tumblr old yeller'd the quality, click to see Him)
So this morning I was minding my business and watching instagram reels while I waited for my ADHD meds to kick in and all of a sudden I saw this REALLY fantastic little art animation to that Mama's Boy song depicting a trans man (made by @ unluckyy.dog on insta). It was really evocative, but I had this nagging suspicion that the guy looked super familiar, so I opened the description to be BLASTED by the information that this was in fact an animation depicting Aaron from the Aphmau minecraft roleplays (the tag was for MyStreet specifically). Cue memories FLOODING back to me, and I went a bit nuts and read the wiki and tried my very best to brush up on the original Minecraft Diaries series. Turns out it's not really very well documented (the synopsis on the wiki skips a lot of relevant info and has a habit of just. Assuming you know who a character is and why they're there) so I'm sorta doing my best to string the events together with mostly memory.
I didn't really think today I would be designing my headcanons for characters from fucking MCD in 2024 as an adult, but honestly there's a lot of really cool ideas and moments in those videos, and these characters have just REALLY stuck with me over the years, and I want to give them a bit of tribute for how much they mattered to me as a kid.
#minecraft diaries#aphmau mcd#aaron mcd#aaron of falconclaw#ngl aaron is tied very directly to my gender identity#and i just forgot all about him#i also had like the hugest crush on him lmfao bro made me a man and then made me gay about it#i think I might stick with this a bit#i had a ton of fun drawing aaron and i honestly really really love how this turned out#so maybe i'll take a crack at some of the others#i dont remember almost any of them very well other than him tho#like to be clear I was invested as it was coming out like 8 or 9 years ago and i was literally a child at the time#i do NOT recall the events of this show#even having read as much of the wiki as i did#idk! we shall see#i even put on my music from around the same era to draw it
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Amidala the Resilient
Media: Revenge of the Sith
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,942
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, pregnancy, Force-choking, blood and injuries, traumatic labor and delivery, death in childbirth, no happy ending.
Art Credit: Iain McCaig, The Art of Star Wars, Episode III: Revenge of the Sith
Summary: In a universe where Anakin gradually descended into the Dark side of his own volition from the beginningâ where his ambition and love were genuine and admirable, but the temptation of power too muchâ his turn is something much more destructive and purposeful. Amidalaâs plan for retaliation is just as much so.
Padmé Amidala can feel tension twinging in her back and thighs. The pit in her stomach has coalesced into a tight knot as she steels herself for what she must do, bringing a mattock and salt to the ground where pruning shears should have been used long ago.
Anakin had been too far gone for a long time, and the fault lay in her and everyone in his life willingly turning a blind eye too often to his myriad of faults. In the past two hours she has seen actions the result of which came from an upbringing where his temper, jealousy, and ambition were allowed to slide because those who thought him destined for some great cosmic good were willing to overlook occasionalâ and often objectively justifiedâ acts of wrath and ruthlessness. He had always been so good at justifying his reasons and putting his actions in a more favorable light, showing enough willingness for correction over the years people thought he was receptive to guidance and change.
What sheâd come to realize with dawning horror was that the seeds of destruction had been sown long ago, and though the vines had borne occasional good fruit, they had always grown with selfish intent, inevitably choking out everything around them in an effort to keep his own desires hidden behind the barrier of thorns.
In the next hour, she will come face to face with the monster of a man heâs become.
The Jedi master doesnât know. Kenobi knows she has some plan but wrongfully assumes it is to appeal to whatever mistaken shred of humanity might remain in Anakin. Obi-Wanâ even now, even after what they sawâ cares for him as a brother and would sooner cut off his own hand than see Anakin completely lost to the Dark. PadmĂ© however has finally seen clarity of purpose.
For Anakin to be stopped, he must be killed.
The ship arrives on Mustafar. PadmĂ© wrenches herself away from the viewport as Obi-Wan lands and she gingerly lowers herself to the cargo hold, donning a cloak. Obi-Wan hurriedly finishes the landing cycle, calling her name as she gathers her strength, but sheâs hardly listening to him at this point and she knows she must conceal herself from him so he has no chance of stopping her.
A hand on her shoulder makes her flinch, and the Jedi lets go almost in surprise. âPadmĂ©, you donât have to do this. I will talk to him.â
âNo,â she says, keeping her left hand secured across her waist beneath the voluminous sleeve as she cleared a path to the lowering gangway. âHeâs made it very clear heâs past the point of reasoning with the Jedi. I will speak with him, and if I cannot convince him to come with us calmly, or I cannot ascertain his next move, I expect you to do whatâs necessary to end this treason. That is an order.â
It was all false diplomacy, of course, for his sake. Anakin was nowhere near the realm of negotiation. They were far past that.
But she needed assurance that she could get close enough to Anakin to act decisively. She couldnât have Kenobi interfering, not at this juncture.
Oppressive heat surrounded her as she swept down the ramp to the barren ground. Magma roiled and churned, flames flickering at the edge of the peninsula as Padmé approached the figure so cloaked in darkness an aura of blackened energy almost seemed to emanate from his form. The grip of the hidden dagger dug into her hand, grounding her as she approached.
PadmĂ©âs eyes burned with a ferocity to match her husbandâs. It was time for this to end.
When Obi-Wan had seen her determination in the hold of the ship he had never for a moment anticipated what it would lead to.
PadmĂ© steadily approached Anakin, cloak and hood protecting her from the blaze. He could see her speaking forcefully with him, her face hidden from view but Anakinâs darkening by the moment in response. His right hand, devoid of glove, clenched the hilt of an already ignited saber, the bloodshine blade standing in stark contrast to his own cloak. Its presence alone was alarming, but Obi-Wan had been subject to so many tragedies that night already, he merely assumed Anakin had readied it in the expectation of facing himself.
What Obi-Wan hadnât known was what PadmĂ© concealed until she tried to close the distance between them, her own blade in hand. What followed happened in the span of a heartbeat.
Anakinâs saber blocked it on instinct, easily halting the approach of PadmĂ©âs dagger, his eyes widening in surprise. In the following moment his left hand raised and with it, so did PadmĂ©.
Obi-Wanâs astonishment lasted only a fraction of a second as he yelled âNO!â PadmĂ©âs feet left the ground as an invisible force clutched her neck in a crushing, intangible grip, and in the breadth of time PadmĂ© scrabbled at her throat, Obi-Wan acted.
Anakin stumbled back from the force of the bolt hitting his shoulder, releasing his hold on PadmĂ©. PadmĂ© crumpled to the ground in a heap, and Anakinâs sights zeroed in on Kenobi, standing at the mouth of the ship with both blaster and lightsaber in hand. Snarling, Anakin stalked towards his old master and brought his lightsaber down, red clashing against blue.
Padmé Amidala, heartbroken and dying, drags herself bleeding to the communication console.
Kenobi can hear her movement in the bay and yells her name, telling her not to move, that heâll come to help her as soon as the ship breaches the atmosphere, and she stalwartly ignores him, cradling the underside of her belly with one hand and using the other to support herself on the railing around the sparse artillery deck. Her broken ankle protests at every movement, sending lightning arcing up the leg where she puts her unsteady weight. The cramps in her abdomen spread like bone-coral, sharp and hot and agonizing in her pelvis, sides, backâ Every tendon and muscle in her body screams at its owner to relent, to succumb to the creeping darkness pressing around her vision, but she cannot allow herself peace until she finishes what she started.
PadmĂ© staggers at the shipâs turbulent acceleration, her forearm slamming out against the bulkhead as the lights flicker, and she curses the unsteady pilot she thought was her friend. Perhaps if sheâd been accompanied by someone more decisive, someone whose fatal flaw wasnât a love too great for a brother that no longer existed, Anakin would have been dealt with and sheâd have the wherewithal to fight against the added pain of a labor she was sure would tear her in two.
Sweat pours from her brow and forces her already shaking, slippery hands to scrabble for purchase on the blasted polished finery of a spoiled nobleâs ship. Her muscles spasm and she gasps in abject terror as she feels something inside her snap; the membrane within her had ruptured.
Gravity pulls on her bones as her muscles betray her, and she collapses against the bench. Fingernails scrape vinyl and she chokes out a guttural, rending cry of pain in the effort it takes to haul herself upward into the seat.
Obi-Wan is yelling again. Traitorous coward.
Padmé punches in the covert frequency on the transmitter. Her other hand rests on her stomach, her infants moving restlessly under her touch. She forces the hot flashes of pain back, shoving down every instinctive response to curl in on herself.
âSabĂ©â,â she says into the comm, gritting her teeth and tasting blood once more; the contractions were stronger and with a strangled grunt she yanks the comm closer, ignoring the frantic waves of worry rolling off of the useless Jedi in the pilotâs seat.
âSabĂ©, if you find the man who was my husband,â she chokes, the creeping black at the edges of her vision beginning to overtake her.
âKill him.â
Obi-Wan sat listlessly on a bench in the hold, what bloodied clothing he still wore sticking to him like a second skin. His hand rested on the makeshift bassinet, a gun locker repurposed into a cradle.
He could only imagine what directive sheâd felt necessary enough to strain herself to get across the sublight waves; he could only imagine because the message was encrypted and the recipient unknown, and her mind had been shielded from his probing. He didnât know whether to blame his failed use of the Force on the heartbroken, distracted nature of his psyche being pulled in a thousand directions as heâd manually flown from Mustafarâs orbital pull in order to make the jump to lightspeed, or to blame some unknown energy stalwartly blocking him from PadmĂ©âs mind. Reaching out to her had felt like hitting a steel wall.
The tumult of their departure had preoccupied him until he was sure heâd escaped whatever enemy fighters Anakinâs new master had sent after them, the maneuvering less of a dogfight and more of a half-cocked evasive prayer for the hull to remain intact long enough for them to break atmo. Klaxons blared and the astronavâs interface barked orders, warning him of too many systems he already knew were damaged enough that if they took even one more hit to the hull they would be obliterated; shields were failing, exterior panelling being shorn off, the pursuing fighters gaining on themâ Until by some stroke of luck heâd found a slip in space to pull through and immediately jump to lightspeed.
Lightspeed jumps themselves were already hazardous to expecting parentsâ health. He was terrified of the condition she had been in when heâd finally gotten her onboard, and the fact he could sense her moving with purpose somewhere below decks while he tried to shake the fighters had sent his heart rate skyrocketing.
Piloting had never been his forte. As soon as theyâd hit hyperspace heâd slammed a hand against the autopilot controls and bolted from the dash, scrambling down to the hold below.
He swore under his breath, calling her name and skidding to a halt beside her. Her face twisted in agony, her hands clutching the underside of her abdomen. Obi-Wan knelt beside her, hesitant to move her and instead ran a quick check over her vitals, astonished at what he found.
Broken bones in her leg, fractured ribs, internal bleeding, damaged tracheaâ how had she even moved?! By all rights she should be dead and yet something had propped her up long enough for her to drag herself to the terminal and send a message.
And now she was in labor.
âKenobiââ she spat derisively, grabbing his tunic. âGetâ upââ
âPadmĂ©, hold still, let meââ
He was cut off as a violent shudder wracked her body, her limbs curling in on herself with a gurgling cry. Panicked desperation lanced through him as he reached out and grasped tendrils of the Force, gingerly cradling her neck and attempting to delicately, swiftly mend ligaments he couldnât see. If he was even a millimeter incorrect, she would die.
A misaligned vertebrae shifted back into place, and Padmé screamed.
Obi-Wan bit back a sob, carefully tracing his fingers on either side of the back of her neck with as much force as he dared in an attempt to still her and provide what pain relief he could as his own energy was leached from him. Padmé gasped, her eyes flying open, her expression stricken as she looked up at the ceiling. Her iron grip loosened as the tension dissipated, if only in one area. She gulped air as if coming up from the bottom of a lake, and Obi-Wan settled as he felt his strength wane. A concrete task was better than guesswork at unknown variables.
The reprieve didnât last long; PadmĂ© grunted in pain, convulsing as a contraction rippled through her torso again. Further assessment revealed her leggings and the floor beneath her to be drenched, and Obi-Wanâs panic flared again.
âI have to get you upââ
âIf you move me I will kill you,â she spat harshly. She trembled despite the ferocity of her glare, her hand still twisted in his robe. âThere is no timeâ Here and now, Kenobi. Make do.â
âPadmĂ©ââ
âLook around you,â she seethed. âThereâs no level surface in this blasted ship big enough to work. There are no other choices. There is no one else to help. Sleeves up. Now.â
Kenobiâs brow remained twisted as he stripped off his outer tunic, knowing it was laden with silicate and volcanic dust. PadmĂ© propped herself up on her elbows as he raced to scour his hands and forearms, coming back to remove her boots so he could work her outer garments free. Whether the blood seeping between her teeth was due to the injuries sheâd sustained or because she was gritting them hard enough one had cracked, he didnât know.
PadmĂ© gasped again as the fracture in her shin shiftedâ He wanted to settle her, to fix this, but the contractions were coming more quickly and closer together. They were running out of time.
He finally seated himself before her, kneeling and shaking in just his undershirt and trousers, feeling acutely unprepared for what was to come. Battlefield triage and casualty care were the extent of his healing knowledge, and though he was adept at relieving or numbing acute nociceptive responses, it was usually with soldiers whose minds were open for him to assess areas of injury. A commander with a blaster burn would be focused on the point where his plastoid hadnât covered. A civilianâs attention after suffering a fall would be turned to the joints and bones that took the brunt of the effects of gravity.
Labor and delivery were far too different from his experience in the medical field.
And Padmé was still blocking him out.
Her knuckles gripped bone-white to a ridge of floor plating, one knee bent and her foot planted flat. The other lay weakly to the side, and Obi-Wan grit his teeth as he raised it up to rest over his thigh despite the lancing pain he felt radiating from her, tucking a blanket beneath her and readying his hands for whatever instruction he prayed she could give. With him gathering his wits and her gathering her strength, they set to work.
The whole ordeal couldnât have lasted longer than ten minutes, and it was the longest and most arduous process of their lives. Between her strangled cries, his intuition, and the muscle spasms that told him everything about this was wrong, Kenobiâs concern grew with the pool of blood beneath her, and she forced him to focus on the children, refusing to allow him any modicum of time spent healing her injuries between her screams. Untended bone cracked further as she thrashed, her screams echoing back in the cargo hold.
By the time Kenobi had swaddled the two squallingâ living!â infants in what sterile dressing he could find from the field kit, PadmĂ© had gone a sickly pale. Her skin was waxy under the recessed halogen lighting, her hair sticking to her forehead. Dark circles rimmed her eyes and different muscle groups continued twitching of their own accord as if sparked by electricity. Obi-Wan was torn between ensuring the infants had been properly cared for, and wanting to drag PadmĂ© to the captainâs berth to fully assess her wounds and heal her: PadmĂ© kept stubbornly shoving him away, tears tracking unnoticed down her face as she continued to choke out instructions for the care and keeping of her children.
Heâd finally been forced to stop when that iron grip returned in full forceâ PadmĂ© grabbed his arm and yanked him down to where she had propped herself up against the wall. Kenobi lurched forward, her ashen face now level with his. She forced her voice to obey despite the strain in her throat, rasping the words she needed to say.
âKeep them away from him.â The venom in her tone was undeniable. âYou keep them safe, Kenobi, getâ get them as far away as you canââ
Kenobi grunted, refusing to let her continue her orders. He pressed a palm to her chest, willing those wisps of energy to sustain her just a few moments longer as he tried to haul her up into his lap, coax her arm around him so he could lift herâ If he could just get her somewhere comfortable, somewhere clean, if he could focusâ
PadmĂ© shrieked in pain, clawing at his chest and arms, and the sum of their separate fights came crashing down on him as the Force dissipated from his mindâs grasp. His knees gave out, his strength sapped from the energy he had poured into her, and they lay heavily back against the terminal yet again. The children cried distantly behind them.
âPadmĂ©, pleaseâŠâ Obi-Wan pleaded, tears streaking down his face, but she shook her head yet again.
âKeep them safe,â she coughed, begging for the first time. âGet them away f-fromââ
âHeâs gone, PadmĂ©, Anakin is goneââ
She shook her head fiercely, squeezing her eyes shut. âNo. Heâs there. I can feel him.â
âListen to meâ Anakin is dead, I saw himââ
âYouâre wrong,â PadmĂ© said. Her breath rattled. Tears dripped from her chin. âIfâ If you wonât k-kill him then t-take care o-of them. Wh-Whatever it takes.â
Her chest hitched as she gasped around the liquid filling her lungs. Her bloody hand trembled against his neck. She hiccuped, her eyes went glassy, and her hand fell away.
And in the stillness of hyperspace, Padmé Amidala Naberrie passed from one life to the next.
It had been an hour since then. Only an hour since Obi-Wan had had to keep himself from buckling under the weight of his grief, an hour since heâd sobbed on the floor of a ship as one of his oldest and dearest friends died in his arms. The former queen of Naboo, dying in the bloody cargo hold of a stolen ship, her own life stolen from her by the one person the two of them had trusted beyond measure while her infant children cried out for comfort he felt wholly incapable of providing. Obi-Wan wept alongside them, digging his fingers into the cold, unfeeling floor, wanting to scream as the agony of heartbreak threatened to overwhelm him.
So many dead, or lost. There was no solace even in the Force.
But as Obi-Wan Kenobi found himself doing so often in his life, he shoved his feelings down into the furthest recesses of his broken heart, let go of another loved one returned to the Force, and turned himself back to the task at hand.
The infants were asleep now. Heâd shakily scrubbed at his face and arms with cold water and spared only enough time under the sanisteam to ensure he was clean enough to handle them before finding a spare undershirt for himself. He fed them, cleaned them up, and held both of them together against his chest as they squirmed, dissatisfied at their situation before accepting their present accommodations and falling asleep. By the shipâs chrono he had roughly two standard hours before the ship was due to drop out of hyperspace.
He sat unseeing in the captainâs berth with the ad hoc bassinet nearby. PadmĂ© was still in the hold; he couldnât be two places at once, and he couldnât stay down there with the children.
Something bothered him about the infants in his arms, though. Once the girl had passed from PadmĂ©âs body, it almost seemed like the barrier keeping him from sensing PadmĂ©âs thoughts had broken. He was too drained and scattered to dwell on it as his last moments with her had been focused on her well-being, but despite his utter exhaustion he had a suspicion that had already begun to crystallize under the sheer openness of the twinsâ young presences within hyperspace.
It troubled him.
Whatever message sheâd sent was evidently received by the people sheâd needed it to. Bail Organa met him at the hastily assembled but covert rendezvous, his ensuing shock and horror upon entering the shipâs docking ramp turning to commanding resolve as he followed the trail of destruction to Kenobiâs station. Organa had to shake him from his stupor before Obi-Wan could tell him of Mustafar, of the newly appointed Sith and PadmĂ©âs scheme, and of PadmĂ©âs last words. The senatorâs brow furrowed. He knelt next to the Jedi, looking over the sleeping children.
âWhat of Anakin?â
Obi-Wan shook his head tiredly. âI cannot sense him. I donât believe Anakin is alive.â
â⊠Who else did she contact?â Bail asked.
Tears dripped onto Obi-Wanâs shirt. âI donât know.â
Bail sighed, bringing one hand up to rest on his shoulder. âI am truly sorry, Obi-Wan. For everything.â
Obi-Wan couldnât respond.
Bailâs team, handpicked and vetted by the senator himself, worked below decks as the men weighed their options. The aftermath of the despotic coup was rippling out and changing by the minute; the Jedi had been slaughtered and scattered, the clones had broken all communication, and the Senate had reached a fever pitch of chaos. Anything that needed to be done had to be done now.
The feeling of loss that bordered on consuming him was one heâd rarely felt in his lifetime as acutely as he did now. The comfort he found in the Force was absent. Heâd felt like a ship unmoored when his master was killed. Now it was as though heâd been dropped into the middle of a hurricane.
Bailâs hands were clasped loosely together against his forehead, elbows resting on his knees as he bowed his head in thought. Kenobi could have been a corpse for how still and gaunt he was.
âObi-WanâŠâ Bail began. âAre you certain Skywalker is dead?â
âYes,â Obi-Wan said. âI cannot sense him at all.â
Bail was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. â⊠But you, of all people, couldnât sense what must have been growing within him. Is it at all possible the body of Anakin remains, but the reason you cannot find him is because the man we knew is entirely lost to the Dark?â
A chilling fissure of clarity cut through Obi-Wanâs senses. His reaction told Bail everything he needed to know.
Even if it was only a suspicion, they could not afford to waste time figuring out the emperorâs next move. Anything that could be used to motivate Vader had to be hidden from public knowledge. They couldnât leave a trace of his past behind.
Bail mulled over his thoughts, then stood, gesturing for Kenobi as his resolve hardened to steel. âCome. We have work to do. We will mourn when we are done.â
Sabé trembled with the effort it took to control her breathing. She stowed her bag behind the seat of the starship and brought the engine to life, moving with purpose as tears streamed unbidden down her face.
The ship rose, coordinates locked in place to meet the others of her gathering retinue. These werenât the orders of former nobility, of a governing senatorâ This was the last request of a dying friend, someone whose very existence was woven into her bones. PadmĂ© Amidalaâs death would not be in vain.
Sabé looked out beyond the stars, her breathing finding stasis despite the ocean of grief beneath it.
âMy hands are yours, PadmĂ©,â she said to herself. âFor as long duty compels them.â
She wasnât going to kill Anakin. Not until he felt every bit of the pain and suffering he deserved.
Notes:
The line âclarity of purposeâ comes from Saw Gerrera in the Andor TV show
I wrote SabĂ©âs line before seeing that one similar was used in one of the books. Good to know I was on the right track with a character I know very little about lol
#Revenge of the Sith#Star Wars fanfiction#Padme Amidala#Obi-Wan Kenobi#Anakin Skywalker#Bail Organa#SabĂ©#Heed the tags#prequel trilogy#The Force works in mysterious ways#my writing#If youâre aiming to write a tragedy. make it tragic ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ#I think Amidala and Kenobi should have known there was no reasoning with Anakin given everything they find out prior to Mustafar#I think Kenobiâs lack of action at seeing his best friend strangle his pregnant wife is utterly baffling#Like that should have been the point Obi-Wan realized ââOHââ and pulled a glock on him#I also think itâs dumb to reduce Padmeâs death down to just a broken heart because Anakin DID strangle her#(In case it isnât clear here. Padme tried to stand and fight Anakin again after Kenobi started fighting too.)#I was nooooooot going to write out the literal longest swordfight in cinema history. It simply wasnât going to happen đ#The prequels needed more of a sense of urgency at every turn. Just from like a storytelling standpoint there wereâ#â way too many calm conversations being had about events or topics that needed to be paired with active choices and danger/deadlines#ANYWAY my point is#I only wanted to write this epilogue to revised prequel trilogy#not the whole thing#Iâm already revising other stuff. Prequels would be too much work#TLDR: Anakin would have been better served as a character if he were the one driving the action instead of the story happening to him#He needed to be more impressive. more powerful. more loved by a multitude of characters.#More dangerous. and actively seeking out the power himself. He is otherwise uncompelling to me.#If he were written more like Boromir these movies would have been more of a tragedy#AO3 link in reblog
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Shout out to the 10,000 words of my wip JamiAzu fic. i thought Iâd be done by this word count, but im only like, a third past halfway-
OH but itâs based off of the idea of Azul and Jamil starting to date like, 3 days before the end of school. Over the summer and first few months of school they get closer (including some scenes from others pov of them)
BUT literally no one knows theyâre dating the whole time. Azul is vague as hell and never talks abt personal stuff, and acts the exact same way. Jamil is also the same, but man has never talked abt his personal life with anyone ever, so thatâs not too out of character. Neither of them are keeping it a secret either. The twins, Kalim, and najma all know theyâre dating bc theyâre the only ones close enough to them to be told and witness them.
it takes like, a big ass school dance for everyone to figure it out. People see them kiss during a slow dance and everyoneâs talking abt it bc everyone still kinda assumed that Jamil hated his guts (also all of the third years are gone. They need smth to talk abt)
so someone who runs a school like. Idk. You know those annoying ass street interviewers on TikTok right? Them. They have someone at their school who does that at their school.
ANYWAYS that dude comes up to Jamil and is like âhey so how did it feel getting with octavinelleâs housewarden last night? Yâall dating now?â and Jamil just has like. The most dead pan look ever before he says âweâve been dating for like, ten months. What are you on?â
#Listen I think theyâre so dumb and so fun#Azul was in Jamilâs phone as ââzul<3â for like three months before he just changed it to âhabibiâ#Bc he got tired of najma teasing him abt it#THO I WILL SAY#I think Jamil would only use pet names very sparingly#Like he has three#Habibi- zul and zuzu (stolen from the twins who call him it in the most annoying tone ever)#And even then only Zul sees the light of day in public#azul would still flirt in the same way tho#But anyways I love them#Like esp the little ways they are the same#Like the fact that they both will run at the first sign of danger#Twst give us them together in more events#Itâd be so fucking funny#First sign of danger theyâre pack bonding together#*new guy being creepy as hell* âyou wanna get the hell out of here?â âAbsolutely letâs go-â#Esp azul in that one event. What was it-#â Just so we're clear-if it turns out Malleus has been abducted as well#I'm running.â Fucking hilarious#In character as well#That is pure wild animal thinking#Deer coded#â Charging in unprepared to fight a monster that could capture HIM would be like offering yourself up on a platter.â#Dude is literally just like âfuck that shit it got the DRAGON?? Naw.â#Ah shit I forgot to actually tag this-#Azujami#Jamiazu#AshenViper
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My life will never be the same again hbu
#madre solo hay dos#ana servĂn#mariana herrera#shitty screencap posts (TM)#WHAT IN THE EARTH WIND AND FIRE is going on on this show??????#hand to my heart I NEVER in a million years would have imagined that 1) these two would end up getting to know each other in a biblical way#but also more importantly 2) that it would happen where there are still six episodes left???? truly a game-changer lmao#I don't even know what to do with this like I wanted this for so long and the show just like... gave it to me???#I'm about to die aren't I that's the only plausible explanation#real talk though I'm kinda relieved that it happened when they were both utterly hammered from that santa perpetua tequila (hee)#because during my week of speculation of what 'an intimate encounter' could mean#I kept going back to the fact that per the teasers and trailer we know mariana eventually moves in with ferrĂĄn#so I was kinda worried that ana would get attached and get her heart broken while mariana goes to live her best life with her boyfriend#but this way it's clear they're BOTH gonna explain it away as like 'we were super drunk it didn't really mean anything right?'#and no one's really gonna get hurt (from THIS particular turn of events I mean idk about later when mariana gets with ferrĂĄn)#so once again the show manages to do things in the LEAST annoyingly painful way possible four for you show you go show#lastly from the moment paulina's song was attached to the show I kinda hoped it would be used in a meaningful ana/mariana moment#perhaps the moment they got together for real (if that's where the show wants to take things)#but then in the past week I thought that maybe it would play over whatever the 'intimate encounter' in this episode ended up being#AND I WAS RIGHT love that for me#I also loved that from the moment we knew they went to shoot something outside of mexico city with just ana and mariana#I kinda hoped it would lead to a romantic development between them of some kind and man did I ever get more than I bargained for#started from the bottom and now we're here!!!!!!
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#tag talk#just got a really stupid and mean ask that I'm not even going to bother to answer properly. you get deleted.#this tumblr is not for political activism. this tumblr is an escape from life and a tool for finding beauty in the world#you do not get to guilt trip me into turning my carefully curated space into whatever you want#I try to steer clear of sharing political and humanitarian crisis stuff because I want my page to be safe for me.#y'all can unfollow me if you don't vibe with me but I live here. I live in my own head and I'm holding on as best I can#and turns out. being constantly emotionally triggered by genocide and corruption and the like makes it really hard for me to not kill myself#I try to stay educated. I try to know what's going on. but I need a break sometimes#and you don't know my life. you don't know the conversations I have with really shitty coworkers.#the times I've shut down that one really annoying hardware associate who repeats shitty republican talking points#you don't know about how I advocate for civil justice in real life. and strive to teach kindness to the people around me in my life#you just show up and look at my blog and call me insensitive because I don't share refugee gofundmes#and any current events and political stuff I do share I try and tag for anyone else like me who is not in the right space to see it#this shit is hard. living in a world that wants you dead. that grinds your bones for profit.#I do my best to mock antiunion sentiment at work. to call out my coworkers who stereotype customers.#I try and be a kind and loving person#so you don't get to knock on my door and call me a piece of shit for not performing my politics in a way you enjoy#and you'll never see this because you're blocked. but I need to get this vented somehow because you've said out loud the pressure I feel#you've put into words the unspoken pressure I feel that I'm not doing enough. that I need to try harder.#that all the good I do in my life isn't worth anything unless I do it someone else's way.#disrespectfully - fuck you
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#All the boys Iâve#writing#poetry#2024#april 2024#April 2 2024#this is really just about two guys i liked (platonically + sexually. not romantically) who were extremely similar#the title is infact a reference to To All The Boys Ive loved Before#mainly because that movie has this thing about not being able to tell someone your feelings but still writing them#and the message is you should get over that fear and just tell them because it might actually turn out good for you#and cause you miss out on life hiding all your embarrassing feelings#which is a message i could really learn from. haha⊠ugh#also the implication that both guys wish they present more feminine (not mentioned but they cant Cause Family)#combined with the jab at masculinity as drowning in the last part makes it should like i too hate being a man#but uh to be clear i dont (im a trans guy soâŠ.) but i did grow up trying to act Like A Man#which resulted in the typical emotional repression and shit that Toxic Masculinity provides#so although i love being male i do also recognize social shit makes it feel like drowning#and my commit to presenting male in the way i was raised makes it hard to ditch the bad parts of it#also the scene where im laying on a guy whose mouth is inches from my bare neck isnt a metaphor but a recounting of actual events#yeah that was a pretty cool experience haha. I may be a virgin but ive come kinda close lol#transgender#mlm#queer poetry#<- yeah those tags should suffice#I need to put tags that will let people actually see my poetry so i can get over my nervousness about people reading my stuff#since thats like The Point of this blog haha
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For the past several years (and perhaps longer) in the P&P fandom I've seen a lot of people who want to rehabilitate Mrs. Bennet: like, sure, she's uncouth and seems greedy, but it's because she cares so much about her daughters' futures; her situation is actually really stressful and uncertain and she's powerless to change it and her husband makes fun of her, and so it's natural that it would cause her to be anxious all the time; maybe she doesn't have the intelligence or social awareness to understand that her behaviour is actually harming her daughters' prospects, but at least her heart is in the right place.
I'm usually not the type of person who argues that fandom is actually being too nice to a female character, but in this case I don't buy the counter-narrative (which I think is popular enough at this point to be fanon / a narrative in itself) about Mrs. Bennet.
For one thing, she was never really powerless in this situation. These people are rich even for gentry. Mr. Bennet's income was always good, at 2,000 pounds per annum (even though I can't believe he isn't neglecting some practices that could raise it higher). Mrs. Bennet had 4,000 pounds from her parents and a further 1,000 from Mr. Bennet. Invested in the 4 per cents (for example), this is 200 pounds per year in pin money that Mrs. Bennet could spend without touching the principle of her dowry, and without affecting Mr. Bennet's income. This is more than some people's entire yearly incomes.
The picture of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet that we get in P&P is not of people who are helpless against their circumstances, but of people who are extraordinarily neglectful. We're told that:
Mr. Bennet had very often wished, before this period of his life, that, instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum, for the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived him. [...] When first Mr. Bennet had married, economy was held to be perfectly useless; for, of course, they were to have a son. This son was to join in cutting off the entail, as soon as he should be of age, and the widow and younger children would by that means be provided for. Five daughters successively entered the world, but yet the son was to come; and Mrs. Bennet, for many years after Lydiaâs birth, had been certain that he would. This event had at last been despaired of, but it was then too late to be saving. Mrs. Bennet had no turn for economy; and her husbandâs love of independence had alone prevented their exceeding their income.
We also know that the "continual presents in money which passed to [Lydia] through her motherâs hands," plus her allowance and food, amount to about 90 pounds per year. Rather than saving up from the beginning in case the entail is not broken, rather than beginning to save once it's clear a son will not arrive, rather than making Jane's dowry the full 5,000 from her mother (which would be something) and saving up for the younger girls' dowries thereafterâwhich is what would be typical, and that's why Lady Catherine was so shocked that all the girls were out at onceâMrs. Bennet's housekeeping, dress, the girls' allowance, presents of money over and above their allowance, plus whatever Mr. Bennet is spending money on (and other expenses relating to servants, carriages, maintenance &c. which are unavoidable), add up to their entire income. The only reason why Mrs. Bennet doesn't overspend even that is that that's where Mr. Bennet puts his foot down.
Mrs. Bennet is actively harming her daughters' prospects, not even of marriage, but of living respectably if they don't marry, because she doesn't have the temperance not to spend all of the income that is allotted to her. It is the role of the woman in a marriage to take charge of the housekeeping, servants, cooking, furniture, and all expenses relating thereto (plus certain attentions to her tenants and any living in genteel poverty in the area, though presumably this will depend on her income and whether there's a parish church with a parson's wife who's doing some of these things). She's an adult who should be competent to manage these things in a reasoned way without needing to be dictated to.
It is supposed to be the role of the woman in a marriage to take charge of her daughters' educationâand yet Mrs. Bennet did not hire a governess, and Elizabeth says that she didn't spend much time teaching her daughters anything (it's not clear to what degree she's educated herself). Granted, the girls did have mastersâbut, from the sounds of things, that was only if they requested them. No one was required to learn much of anything, which will probably further harm the marriage prospects of the girls who "chose to be idle."
I think the "point" of Mrs. Bennet is that she is one half of one type of bad marriage which the novel illustrates, in contrast with the Gardiners' marriage. These marriages are two possible models for the Bennet daughters to look to. At one point, Elizabeth's prospective marriage is explicitly compared to her parents', with her in the role of her father: Mr. Bennet says "My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life" (emphasis original).
We might wonder whether Elizabeth saw herself potentially in the role of her father, in a marriage that was very intellectually unequal, when she rejected Mr. Collins; or whether she also saw herself in the role of her mother, married to a man who insults and doesn't respect her, when she rejected Mr. Darcy. Ultimately, she accepts Mr. Darcy after she realises that he is nothing like her father; that he is diligent in attending to his responsibilities, and that he does evidently respect her mind.
This isn't me defending Mr. Bennet, who is also a bad parent and a bad spouse. I do, however, find it a little disturbing when people suggest that Mr. Bennet is at fault for not controlling or curtailing his wife. His wife is a grown woman. Surely we don't actually believe that a situation where a man is legally in complete control over his wife, merely because he is a man and she is a woman, is in any way natural, moral, or just? (This also goes for people who suggest that Mr. Bingley needs to get his sister 'in line' đŹđŹđŹ.)
Mrs. Bennet should be competent to manage her household and her daughters. Given that she's not, yes, Mr. Bennet, according to Georgian and Victorian ideas of the role of a man in a marriage, "should" have stepped in and started dictating to her. But I don't really think that's what Austen is suggesting went wrong here. The models of good marriages we haveâthe Gardiners, the Bingleys and Darcys after their weddingsâare all ones in which the women were basically sensible people to begin with. In the latter two cases, we are told of particular ways in which the men stand to benefit from some mental quality of their future spouse (Elizabeth's good humour and ease in company; Jane's steadiness and determination).
The ideal which some Georgians had of a husband's role being to shape his wife's intellect doesn't seem to be what's being advocated here. If Mr. Bennet made a mistake, it was in marrying a silly, selfish, ill-tempered woman to begin with, not in failing to browbeat her into submission once he found out that she was silly, selfish, and ill-tempered. The idea is that you should choose your spouse carefully. But that message doesn't work if Mrs. Bennet is just a woman in a difficult situation who has her heart in the right place.
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can we get Duchess reader yearning for a baby of her own đ„ș imagine there was a Ball in the neighboring kingdom and Duchess!Reader and Duke!Price was invited, celebrating the birth of the Kingdomâs new heir, a baby boy on her fellow Duchessâs arms.
And reader coos at the baby while masking the deep ache in her heart thinking that itâll be so impossible to have a baby with her husband due to him and his lovers đą
cue to Duchess!Reader having a heavy heart through out the entire event and even the days after that, until one of our boys asks her what wrong.
(And John having to hold Johnny back bc that nasty dog has been waiting to get his paws on her since forever)
Oh my god yes??? Anon i could smooch your brain right now yes??? This is so good i love it. Sorry for the abrupt ending though, had no idea how to finish it off đ
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âSuch an adorable little one,â you coo softly, the newborn held delicately and carefully in your arms, swaddled in the baby blue blankets you and John had bought among your other gifts for your fellow Duke and Duchess. âHe looks so much like you, Iâm in awe.â
Your friend laughs lightly, sipping on her drink. With a soft sigh, she leans closer towards you. The party is in full swing, so many other nobles mingling and networking, but thankfully you and your friend have your own little corner for now and everyone has already congratulated her and her husband.
âSo,â she begins, her eyes flickering towards where both of you twoâs husbands are speaking. The smiles on their faces are clearly happy, though you arenât surprised; John had mentioned that heâs already friends with the Duke during the carriage ride. âSo. What about you and Duke Price, hm? Any surprises we should prepare for?â
Ah. You had been dreading this.
You sigh, shaking your head. Though the smile returns as you gaze at the napping baby, so small and precious in your arms. With you friendâs permission, you gently kiss his tiny little fists. âNot at all. We are happy as we are.â
And itâs not as if you are lying by any means, oh no. You are happy. Life as Duchess was far, far much better than you had expected itâd be, a lot less restrictive than you had prepared for it to be.
ButâŠ
You canât lie to yourself. Youâve been feeling a sense of discontent from the very second you stepped into the gala venue. Perhaps for even longer, though it hadnât been especially felt until this moment. Not until you held this baby in your arms.
You want a baby, too, you had realized. Motherhood. A child all yours, calling you momma and toddling into your arms. You had been unable to stop yourself from feeling the little bud of jealousy towards your friend, because you knew youâd likely never experience such a thing due to your unique situation.
John has his own partners whom he loves. You werenât among that list, and you didnât particularly enjoy the idea of having sex with another man with the potential risk of your parents, or anyone else, asking for a paternity test because you know someone would ask. Your mother, probably; she was always warning you not to whore yourself out, and your father didnât even need to say anything-
âMy dear?â
Johnâs concerned voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his hand gentle on your elbow, and itâs only then you realize you had been staring down at the baby with such sadness, so not befitting of such a beautiful gala. So you shake your head, clearing your thoughts, and turn to him and your friend's husband.
When the baby squirms, you coo softly and hand him back to your friends, gentle and careful. That's when you turn to John, giving him a simple smile. "Yes, Your Grace?"
The worry remains on his face, less visible however, and his eyes look over you carefully. Your friends are too busy with their son and showing him off to care about what you two are saying in the corner heâs led you to. "Are you alright?â
As if youâd ever tell him what the issue is. You donât want to make John feel pressured into this, of all things. Youâd rather be divorced than do so, and that should speak volumes on its own.
Itâs a silly want, anyways. You have everything you could possible need right now, married and stable. You arenât about to ruin it with your own two hands.
So you nod your head, and brush away all thoughts of a little baby cradled in your arms. âYes, I am. I was just lost in thought. Shall we return to the party?â
John observes you for a few seconds more, and then he sighs and nods. âVery well. Would you do me the honor of this dance, my dear Duchess?â
Between the dazzling lights and Johnâs arms, you can almost forget the lingering desire.
But over the next few days after the gala, it becomes clear to John- to all your the men that something is terribly bothering you. There is a lingering sadness around you so profound even your maids have sensed it, wondering if perhaps you and the Duke have finally had your first fight⊠but he looks even more more worried and confused than them. You werenât mad at anyone, that much he could tell, but he didnât understand the heartache plaguing you.
ââŠare you sick, my lady?â Kyle asks you one day, placing down a tray of fresh desserts. Your favorites, all made by Johnny himself, yet you barely flick a look towards it.
âNot at all. Thank you, Kyle, but Iâm afraid I canât eat anything at the moment.â Your reply is soft, patient, as it always is, but the furrow in your brows remain and your frown deepens. Kyle hates it. He hates it so, so much. Youâve even stopped taking your usual break-walks, staying inside your room and asking for nothing in particular.
âMy lady,â he presses on, voice softer. Comes to stand close to you, and holds his elbow out. âMaybe a walk, then? You look tired. Some sun might do you good- or a picnic? I can pack the desserts and-â
You avoid his eyes and look away, shaking your head. âThank you, but my answerâs the same, Kyle. Iâd just⊠like to be left alone, please. Could I trouble you to also inform John I wonât be joining him for dinner tonight?â
You are simply glad you managed to hide the little paper youâd been writing on before he came in. Baby names, for the babies youâd never have. It certainly didnât help make your mood better, but you couldnât help yourself. Looking at John, or any of them, also made you feel guilty anew.
ââŠnot a problem, my lady. Iâll leave the desserts here for you just in case.â
Several days later, itâs Johnny who comes to you. You are alone in the conservatory, trying hard to get over this stupid, lingering feeling. Itâs silly, you know it is, but⊠ugh.
Johnny says nothing even when you call his name out with a questioning tone, and much to your shock, he kneels down to take your hands in his. Itâs so wholly inappropriate, and you look around in fear of anyone seeing.
âNo oneâs around, mâlady,â Johnny shakes his head, not letting your hands go yet.
âJohnny-â
âNo oneâs around.â He repeats, firmly, and his eyes gaze at you. âMâlady. Have we made ye angry? Has anyone made you upset? Is my food not to your liking?â
âJohnnyâŠâ you sigh, shaking your head. Inwardly, you scold yourself for bothering everyone like this. This should have been your issue alone to solve and hide. âNo, no. Nothing like that. I just need some time alone, in general.â
âBut why-â
âNo particular reason.â You quickly cut him off, gently pulling your hands away. âPlease, Johnny. Iâll get better soon, promise. But I just⊠need time.â
But the desire, the longing, still remains. You canât even confide in anyone, so you also feel painfully lonely on top of everything else. John is still searching, still trying to find what or whoâs made you like this, but not even your closest maids are of help.
Still, while you wished to wallow your misery away in your rooms and office, you didnât have much choice when youâd received an invitation to the opera troupe funded by the Price duchy; making an appearance was a must, and unfortunately John had a very important meeting that day so Simon is the one to accompany you.
âYouâve been sad lately.â Simon doesnât beat around the bush, all the lights focused on the stage so you are both draped in shadows, hidden from sight.
You turn to him, a refusal on your lips already-
âNo.â He shakes his head. âYou arenât just tired, Duchess. You are sad. Everyone can see it, and itâs making us worried. All of us.â He adds, not letting you latch onto your usual excuse. Performance ignored, his entire attention is on you.
And you are just- too tired. Ashamed of yourself, you sigh.
âItâs awful of meâŠâ your whisper, bottom lip quivering. âI-⊠I want a baby, Simon.â You admit, so softly and quietly you donât look at his reaction to see if heâd even heard you in the first place. You shouldnât be telling him of all people your issues, but- you canât help yourself. âA child. I want to experience motherhood, but- I donât, I refuse to put such a burden on John, or get in the way between all of you again-â
You ramble on, not meeting his eyes. Your hands are tembling around the mask youâd taken off, holding it in your lap.
Simon?
Simon canât take his eyes off your stomach. You. You, pregnant; swollen and glowing with a child. Maybe children, even. Their children. His. He canât believe this is what has had you so upset for so long; did you think they- John- would say no to you?
âDarling, â The nickname slips out; he couldnât help himself. He is glad the no one is paying attention to them, in the higher rows. Simon laces your pinkies together, raising your hand to kiss your knuckles, silencing your worried rambling. âDarling. Let us return home. Staying here isnât doing you any good. Tonight, I want you to let Kyle spoil you with a warm bath, and for you to eat and then sleep. Rest. Tomorrow, weâll speak. Iâll inform the troupe leader you werenât feeling too well.â
âI- I⊠speak about what? What?â
Simon simply ushers you out, to the awaiting carriage. He doesnât answer any of your questions, even when you pout and the it makes your lipstick glisten to prettily, though if you can feel that his hands are inappropriately tight around your waist, you simply blame it on your tightened corset.
At home, you are still confused. Simon is acting off, staring at you with a look that makes you all flustered, but you donât protest when Kyle gently leads you away.
Youâll get your answers tomorrow, you are sure. But in the meantimeâŠ
âShe wants a baby, John,â Simon groans, repeating the words again. His jacket is thrown off to the side, sleeves rolled up his elbows. Even from here, he can see how John eyes them appreciatively. âA baby, John. Seeing her pregnant-â
Another groan, but the one comes from between Johnâs thighs. Johnny, hands tied behind his back with Simonâs belt because the second he found out what the issue he was so, so ready to go and beg you to let him fix it. A bairn is what you want, a bairn is what heâll give you- chunky, adorable, and hopefully looking like you.
John had to hold him back, though. He wants nothing more than to do the same, kiss you breathless and promise heâll give you as many as you want, but he also knows you need a clear, rested head before he speaks with you.
The thought of seeing your pregnant, though, has his fist tightening in Johnnyâs hair.
âI know. Fuck, I know, Si. Tomorrow, Iâll speak to her.â
#cod x reader#cod#cod x you#tf 141 x reader#tf 141#tf 141 x you#cod imagines#john price x reader#noona.asks#noona.writes#simon ghost x you#simon ghost riley x you#soap x reader#ghost x reader#poly!141 x reader#gaz x reader#kyle gaz x reader#ghost x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#call of duty x reader#poly 141#simon ghost riley x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#kyle gaz x you#john price x you#john price imagine#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley imagines
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Wifed up on a tuesday
Request: If you are still doing the tropevenia event, can you please write a fic with secret marriage prompt for Adrian Tepes x female reader. ( =Ï)
AN: get this dhampir a wife! Such a fun request
Genre: fluff + Secret Marriage
Pairing(s): Alucard x Wife Reader
Summary: "No one hurts my wife," he said, his voice steady and cold, without sparing a glance back.
"You have a wife?!" Sypha screamed, her voice echoing off the walls as Trevor stared blankly into the void, looking more lost than usual.
You winced at the shriek, gently setting her cup of coffee in front of her. "Nice to meet you," you offered with an awkward smile, unsure if she even heard you through her shock.
Next to you, Adrian cleared his throat, his golden eyes flickering away as a faint blush crept up his pale cheeks. "We have been betrothed for twenty years," he said evenly, though his voice wavered slightly. "It was... a matter of time."
That, of course, did not make things better.
Before you could fully process what happened next, a heavy pile of books toppled onto you, and the sharp sting of a whip lashed across your back.
"Not a curse then," Trevor murmured, standing over you with an expression that teetered between relief and annoyance. From the corner of your eye, you caught Adrian gawking, his face frozen in disbelief.
A bubbling shame welled up in your chest, hot and suffocating. You pushed yourself to your feet, glaring at Trevor. "Indeed, quite human," you snarled, and without hesitation, you swung your fist, landing a solid punch to the oafâs jaw.
"I am human," you continued, your voice sharp with fury. "At least in part. Adrian and I were betrothed by our parents. And we are now wed."
You could see the dread settling on Sypha's face, her expression torn between shock and dawning understanding. Then you turned your blazing eyes back to Trevor. "You're not welcome in my home. Sleep in the barn tonight."
Adrian's friend or not, no one struck you and got away with it. And if they dared, you made damn sure they understood the cost of their actions.
The silence that followed was tense, broken only by the sound of Trevor groaning from where he had staggered back.
Snapping out of his stupor, Adrian ignored Trevor completely and rushed to your side. His golden eyes scanned you, his hands hovering just shy of your back, as though afraid to touch and cause more harm. "Are you hurt, my love?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with worry.
You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, Adrianâs power rippled through the room like a sudden gust of wind. With a sharp crack, a mighty blast of air sent Trevor flying backward, slamming the doors shut with an echoing thud.
"No one hurts my wife," he said, his voice steady and cold, without sparing a glance back. The message was loud and clear to Sypha, who stood frozen, staring at her husband lying in the rubble outside. "And anyone who wishes her harm shall bear my wrath."
In the quiet stillness of your room, Adrian carefully peels the fabric of your dress away from your back, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid to hurt you further. His golden eyes scan your unmarred skin, but the frown on his face only deepens.
"I should have stopped him," he mutters, his voice low and filled with guilt. "I was too late... I'm sorry. I just... I didnât expect it." He rambles, his words tangling together in frustration as his gaze flickers between your back and his own trembling hands.
"Does it hurt?" he asks, his voice achingly quiet, like the faintest whisper of wind.
He had failed again. To protect you. To care for you. Gods, he was lacking, and now he had allowed a Belmont, his own friend, to harm you.
His father, who burned the world for his mother, would never have allowed such a thing. Dracula had been many things, but in love, he was absolute. But Adrian knows he will never be his father, in both good and bad.
He will never be the husband you deserve.
But he is in love. Unforgiving love that clutches at his heart, that reminds him with every breath of all the ways he falls short.
His expression crumples, like paper crushed in a fist. Adrian, for all his power, for all his strength, is so terribly fragile when it comes to you.
âIt doesnât hurt,â you reassured him, turning to face him fully. Your hands rose to cup his face, tilting it gently so his eyes met yours. âYou know it canât hurt me. Trevor didnât strike to harm, only to dislodge potential glamor.â
You could see the mild complaint brewing on his lips. Adrian worried too much. Fretting, after all, was his favorite pastime. His brow furrowed deeply, no doubt already replaying every moment in his mind and finding a thousand ways to blame himself.
âYou did nothing wrong,â you said firmly, your thumbs stroking the sharp planes of his cheeks. âYou did the right thing. Tomorrow morning, your friend will apologize, and we will forgive him because he is your friend. And then, you will no longer hold this against him.â
Adrian opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off with a stern look.
âNope. Listen to me. Wife is right.â
His lips quirked upward, despite himself, and the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. His hands moved to rest on yours, cradling them against his face like a lifeline.
âYouâre always right,â he murmured softly, leaning into your touch.
âAnd donât you forget it,â you teased, smiling at him.
Adrian laughed, low and quiet, before pressing a kiss to your palm. âNever,â he promised.
Somehow, Adrian had found a wife. In the bleakest of times, when the world had turned its back on him, you had come to him. And now, you were here, standing in his castle, a presence that soothed even his most troubled thoughts.
When the next morning came, you were greeted by an unexpected sight.
A sizable tuft of brown hair lay at your feet, carefully placed by Sypha, who stood before you with her hands clasped. Outside, just beyond the castle doors, her husband knelt silently, his head bowed low in shame.
The tuft of hair. A Belmont tradition of repentance. An act of humiliation and an offering of guilt.
An act you had no use for.
Still, it would be of little use to ignore it.
"My husband is a dog," Sypha said with a weary sigh, though her tone softened with affection. "He lashes out carelessly. Please, forgive him." She bowed low, an act that clearly caused Adrian discomfort. His eyes flickered with unease as he watched his friends, who seemed more like chastised children than the bold warriors they usually were.
Gently stopping Sypha mid-bow, you reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Thereâs no need for apologies," you said, your voice calm but light with humor. Sparing the kneeling Belmont a glance, you gestured toward the tuft of hair at your feet. "Though I reckon this," you said, pointing to it with a raised brow, "shall make for a very interesting wedding present."
Syphaâs head snapped up, her lips parting in surprise before a laugh bubbled out of her. The tension in her shoulders eased, the corners of her mouth lifting into a grin.
With that simple jest, the air shifted, the weight of guilt and harshness lifting from the room. Grudges were set aside, and forgiveness settled in their place like the morning sun breaking through heavy clouds.
"Bring your dog in for breakfast," you said, your grin widening as you met Syphaâs eyes. "Adrianâs the one cooking today."
The smile she returned was bright, her laughter lightening the room even more. "Iâll hold you to that," she said with a chuckle, turning toward the door to retrieve her sheepish husband.
Behind you, Adrian stepped closer, his expression softening as he gazed at you. "You handled that well," he murmured, his voice laced with quiet admiration.
You turned to him with a playful smile, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Itâs what wives are for, isnât it darling?"
#alucard#castlevania#adrian tepes x reader#alucard x reader#tropevania event#fluff#wife reader#so fun
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You Got Me So In Love, I've Never Been This Possessive
Summary: While on a scenic boat trip along the coasts of Malta, you bask in the crystal-clear waters, and laughter with Pedroâs cast and crew. Despite his injured arm keeping him on the boat, Pedro canât keep his eyes off you.
Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader
Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Nudity, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Swimming, Bikini, Flirting, Teasing, Cast, Pedro Fell Down The Stairs, ER visit, Hurt-To-Comfort, Mild Spice, Banter, Idk Spanish so the terms might be wrong but I'm trying my best
Word Count: 5K
A/N: GOOD MORNING CHICKENS!!! Yâknow how I said there would be a part two? Yup. Also, I know no one asked, but back in High School, I fell down the stairs⊠A LOT. Like every year for six years. No major bones were broken, only a sprained ankle every time I fell down the stairs, so in a way I guess I was lucky. PSA to always hold the hand railing, and like Pedro said, it can happen to anyone!
Side note: Iâm dyslexic and English isnât my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!
Song: Te Quiero by KISS OF LIFE
â Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist |
PASCAL RESIDENCE, CHILE â AFTERNOONÂ Â
The sun bathed the Pascal family home in a golden glow, the air filled with the scent of freshly baked empanadas and the gentle hum of conversation. You were seated on the patio, your legs tucked under you, watching as Pedro animatedly retold a story from his teenage years. His siblingsâJaviera, Lux, and NicolĂĄsâlistened with rapt attention, their laughter bubbling over when Pedroâs dad chimed in with his version of events, insisting Pedro had exaggerated again. Â
âExaggerated?â Pedro placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. âI would never! Everything I say is 100% true and scientifically proven.â Â
âScientifically proven to be full of nonsense,â NicolĂĄs teased, earning a round of laughter. Â
You couldnât help but grin, soaking in the easy camaraderie of the family. Pedroâs hand found yours under the table, his fingers lacing with yours in a way that felt like second nature. He glanced at you, his dark eyes soft with a love so deep it made your chest tighten. Â
âTell them,â Pedro said, turning to you with an exaggeratedly serious expression. âTell them Iâm not lying.â Â
You bit back a laugh, tilting your head in mock consideration. âWell⊠the story did sound a bit too good to be true.â Â
âEt tu, mi amor?â he groaned, but the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile. Â
Javiera, ever the ringleader, stood and declared, âEnough storytelling! Letâs put her to the test. If sheâs going to be part of this family, she needs to learn brisca.â Â
Pedro leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. âFair warning: Theyâll gang up on you.â Â
âGood thing Iâve got you on my side,â you murmured, a soft blush rising to your cheeks. Â
âIâll always be on your side,â he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple that sent a shiver down your spine. Â
A FEW HOURS LATERâŠÂ Â
The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the yard. Pedro had wandered inside to grab more drinks for everyone while you stayed on the patio with Lux, discussing her latest project. Â
The sound of a crash shattered the peaceful air. You froze, the glass in Luxâs hand slipping and shattering on the ground. Â
âPedro!â you gasped, bolting toward the house. Â
Inside, you found him crumpled at the base of the stairs, his face pale and contorted in pain. NicolĂĄs was already at his side, his hands hovering uncertainly as if afraid to make things worse. Â
âCall an ambulance!â you shouted, your voice shaking as you knelt beside Pedro. Â
He looked up at you, his breaths shallow and uneven. âIâm okay, Iâm okay,â he said through gritted teeth, but his wince betrayed him. Â
âYouâre not okay,â you said, your hands trembling as you gently brushed the hair from his forehead. âWhat happened?â Â
âI missed the last step,â he muttered, trying to manage a weak smile. âGuess Iâm not as graceful as I thought.â Â
âPedro, this isnât funny,â you whispered, tears pricking your eyes. Â
Javiera appeared with the phone pressed to her ear, speaking rapidly to the emergency dispatcher. Lux crouched beside you, her face pale as she reached for Pedroâs uninjured hand. Â
âHelpâs on the way,â Javiera assured you, her voice steady despite the panic in her eyes. Â
Minutes felt like hours as you waited for the ambulance. You kept your focus on Pedro, your hand gripping his tightly. âJust breathe, okay? Iâm right here. Youâre going to be fine.â Â
THE ER â EVENING
The antiseptic smell of the hospital hit you as you paced the waiting room, your heart pounding in your chest. Pedro had been whisked away for X-rays, and you felt helpless, the absence of his hand in yours leaving you cold. Â
When the doctor finally emerged, you rushed to meet him, Javiera and NicolĂĄs close behind. Â
âMr. Pascal has a broken arm,â the doctor explained. âItâs a clean break, but heâll need surgery to set the bone properly. Weâre scheduling it for late January.â Â
Relief and worry collided in your chest. âCan I see him?â you asked, your voice small. Â
The doctor nodded, and you followed the nurse to Pedroâs room. He was sitting up in bed, his arm in a temporary sling, his face pale but his smile still intact. Â
âHey, troublemaker,â he said, his voice softer than usual. Â
You crossed the room in a few quick steps, perching on the edge of his bed. âDonât you ever scare me like that again,â you said, your voice breaking as tears spilled over. Â
Pedro reached for your hand with his good arm, his thumb brushing soothing circles over your knuckles. âIâm sorry, mi amor,â he murmured, his eyes glistening. Â
You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. âI thought⊠I thought something worse happened. I couldnât breathe until I saw you.â Â
âIâm here,â he whispered, his voice steady despite the pain. âAnd Iâll be fine. Especially with you by my side.â Â
You kissed him gently, pouring every ounce of love and relief into the touch. As his lips moved against yours, you felt the fear begin to fade, replaced by the overwhelming gratitude that he was still here with you. Â
âIâll take care of you,â you promised, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. âWhatever you need, Iâm here.â Â
Pedro smiled, his gaze tender. âI donât deserve you.â Â
âDonât be ridiculous,â you said, brushing a tear from your cheek. âYou deserve the world.â Â
And in that moment, surrounded by beeping monitors and the sterile walls of the hospital, it felt like nothing else mattered but the two of you.
FORT RICASOLI, MALTA â DAYÂ Â
The sun was high over Fort Ricasoli, the Mediterranean breeze carrying a salty tang as waves crashed against the nearby shore. The reconstructed Roman Colosseum loomed grandly in the fort, its grandeur a perfect backdrop for the epic Gladiator II production. You stepped out of the transport van, sunglasses shielding your eyes from the bright Maltese sun, a bag slung over your shoulder filled with Pedroâs essentialsâmedication, snacks, and a cold water bottle you knew heâd try to avoid drinking unless reminded. Â
As you walked toward the set, Pedro spotted you first, his face lighting up in a way that made your heart ache with affection. He was seated in the shade near the makeup tent, his left arm encased in a royal blue cast that made him look both ridiculous and endearing. Â
âHi,â you called, setting your bag down beside him. âIâm here to be your nurse.â Â
Pedroâs grin widened, his dark eyes softening. âYouâre more than my nurse. Youâre my lifesaver. And I love you so much.â Â
You rolled your eyes playfully, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead. âHowâs the arm?â Â
âItâs humiliating,â he muttered, holding up the cast as if it were a mark of disgrace. âEveryone keeps staring at it. Or laughing. Or both.â Â
âThereâs nothing humiliating about needing help once in a while, my love,â you said gently, brushing a curl from his forehead. âBesides, itâs a great conversation starter.â Â
âOh, yeah. Real smooth. âHi, Iâm Pedro Pascal, and I fell down a flight of stairs like a medieval jester.ââ Â
You smothered a laugh just as Joseph Quinn sauntered by, pausing dramatically to give Pedro an exaggerated salute. âHowâs the mighty warrior today? Still battling gravity, I see.â Â
âGo away,â Pedro groaned, waving his good arm dismissively. Â
âYouâre a walking PSA now,â Fred Hechinger added as he passed. âDonât text and walk down stairs, kids!â Â
Denzel Washington approached next, shaking his head with mock solemnity. âAnd here I thought I was the one whoâd pull a stunt like that.â Â
âTraitors,â Pedro muttered, pulling you closer as if you could shield him from the teasing. Â
Coco, his ever-sassy hair stylist, smirked as she fixed his curls. âJust make sure she doesnât trip over your ego next.â Â
âCoco!â Pedro whined, but his cheeks flushed, his pout making him look boyish and undeniably adorable. Â
Ridley Scott ambled over, his tone a mix of concern and exasperation. âTake it easy, Pedro. Youâre not 25 anymore.â Â
âGee, thanks, Ridley,â Pedro huffed, pulling you against him as if seeking comfort. Â
The day pressed on, the heat making Pedroâs clinginess somehow both unbearable and heart-meltingly sweet. Despite the steady teasing from the cast and crew, he stuck close to you like a second shadow whenever he wasnât on set, his blue cast drawing as much attention as his ever-present pout. Â
During a break, he tugged at your hand, a soft whine slipping from his lips. âGo with me?â Â
You glanced up from the book you were pretending to read. âGo where?â Â
âCraft services,â he said, gesturing toward the shaded area where snacks and cold drinks awaited. âIâm starving, and I need moral support.â Â
âYou literally just had a protein bar,â you teased, but stood anyway, slipping your hand into his. Â
âAs long as you hold my hand,â you added with a smirk, letting him lead the way. Â
His good hand entwined with yours, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your skin as you walked. âYou know Iâm not letting go, right?â Â
âI wouldnât expect anything less.â Â
Reaching the craft services tent, Pedro made a beeline for the iced lemonade, his cast making the process comically awkward. You reached over to help him hold the cup steady as he poured, ignoring the amused glances from the crew around you. Â
âI got it,â he insisted, though his pouty tone betrayed his frustration. Â
âSure you do, Mr. Dexterity,â you teased. âHere, let me.â Â
As you steadied the cup, Paul Mescal appeared beside you, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. âWhatâs it like being Pedroâs personal assistant and cuddle therapist?â Â
Pedro narrowed his eyes, his body shifting slightly as if to shield you from Paulâs teasing. âSheâs an angel,â he declared, his tone defensive. âUnlike all of you degenerates.â Â
Paul laughed, grabbing a handful of chips. âTouchĂ©.â Â
Connie Nielsen joined the growing group, her warm smile softening the teasing atmosphere. âAn angel with the patience of a saint,â she agreed. âHeâs lucky to have you.â Â
You squeezed Pedroâs hand, glancing up at him with a playful glint in your eye. âOh, I know.â Â
Pedro leaned down, his voice low and sweet in your ear. âRemind me to buy you something shiny and expensive later.â Â
âIâll hold you to that,â you whispered back, brushing a kiss to his cheek just as Coco walked by, her ever-present smirk firmly in place. Â
âAre we making out by the lemonade now?â she quipped, adjusting Pedroâs wig as she passed. âJust donât knock over the drink dispenser, Casanova.â Â
Pedro groaned, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitching, betraying his amusement. Â
When Pedro was shooting, you stayed nearby, perched under an umbrella with a bottle of water and a timer set for his next dose of medication. Heâd been restless all morning, constantly checking in between takes to make sure you were still there. Â
The moment the director called cut, Pedro scanned the area until his eyes landed on you. A small smile tugged at his lips as he made a beeline toward you, his costume slightly dusty from the action sequence. Â
âHydrate,â you ordered the moment he reached you, holding out the water bottle. Â
He wrinkled his nose but took it, his good hand struggling to unscrew the cap. You wordlessly reached over to help, earning a sheepish look from him. Â
âYou know,â he said after a long sip, âyouâre bossier than Ridley.â Â
âYou love it,â you countered, wiping the sweat from his brow with a small towel youâd tucked into your bag. Â
Pedroâs lips curved into a soft smile, his gaze lingering on you. âI do,â he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. âA little too much.â Â
Your heart squeezed at the tenderness in his tone, and you reached up to brush a stray curl from his forehead. âGood. Now go back to work. Ridleyâs glaring at us.â Â
He glanced over his shoulder, spotting the director gesturing for him to return. âFine,â he grumbled, but not before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. Â
As he walked back toward the set, Ridley shook his head, a faint smile on his face. âThat woman of yours has you wrapped around her little finger.â Â
Pedro shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. âDonât I know it.â Â
THE XARA PALACE RELAIS & CHĂTEAUX, MALTA â EVENING Â
The day had taken its toll on both of you, but by the time you returned to the cozy luxury of the hotel suite, Pedroâs exhaustion only seemed to amplify his need for affection. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, he flopped dramatically onto the small couch, casting a forlorn look your way. Â
âCome here,â he said, his good arm extended toward you like a lifeline. Â
You chuckled, slipping off your sandals. âI thought you were tired.â Â
âI am,â he replied, his lips twitching into a pout. âBut Iâll sleep better if youâre right here.â Â
Shaking your head fondly, you joined him on the couch, only to be pulled down against his side the moment you were close enough. Â
âItâs too hot for this,â you teased, tryingâand failingâto push against his firm hold. Â
âDonât care,â Pedro murmured, nuzzling into the curve of your neck as if you were the only source of comfort in the world. âYou make everything better.â Â
You sighed softly, your resolve melting as your fingers found their way into his curls. They were still slightly damp from his post-shoot shower, and you gently combed through them, marveling at how they always seemed to spring back into place. Â
âI think thatâs the heatstroke talking,â you quipped, though your voice was warm with affection. Â
âNo,â he said, his voice muffled against your skin. âThatâs the love of my life talking.â Â
Your hand stilled for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you like a gentle wave. You pulled back slightly to look at him, but Pedro didnât let you get far. His warm brown eyes met yours, brimming with sincerity that made your breath catch. Â
âYouâre insufferable,â you said, though the tremor in your voice betrayed how deeply his words had affected you. Â
âAnd youâre perfect,â he countered, his tone so soft and certain it made your heart ache in the best way. Â
Your cheeks warmed, and you leaned down to press a tender kiss to his temple. âYouâre lucky I love you,â you whispered, your lips brushing against his skin. Â
Pedro grinned, his good arm tightening around you as he pulled you even closer. âIâm the luckiest man alive.â Â
For a while, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the air conditioning blending with the distant sounds of the Maltese evening outside. Pedroâs breathing began to slow, his head resting heavily against your shoulder as he drifted off. His cast was awkwardly propped up on his chest, and you carefully adjusted a pillow beneath it, not wanting him to wake up sore. Â
As you gazed down at him, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep, your heart swelled with a familiar acheâone born of overwhelming love. He mightâve been clingy and dramatic, prone to complaints about his cast and the heat, but he was also tender and selfless, with a way of making you feel like the most cherished person in the world. Â
You traced the curve of his jaw with the tips of your fingers, marveling at how even in his sleep, his hold on you never loosened. He was steady and constant in a way that made you feel safe, loved, and utterly at home. Â
He mightâve fallen down the stairs, but it felt like you were the one fallingâdeeper in love with him every single day. Â
Later that night, as the two of you lay tangled together in the king-sized bed, Pedro stirred, his voice groggy but laced with warmth. Â
âAre you still awake?â Â
âBarely,â you murmured, your head resting against his uninjured shoulder. âWhy?â Â
He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing over your arm in lazy circles. âJust wanted to say⊠thank you.â Â
âFor what?â Â
âFor taking care of me. For putting up with me being clingy. For loving me even when Iâm ridiculous,â he said, his voice soft but earnest. Â
You smiled in the darkness, pressing a kiss to his chest. âItâs not putting up with you, Pedro. Itâs just loving you. And itâs the easiest thing Iâve ever done.â Â
His breath hitched, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. âI donât deserve you,â he whispered, his words carrying the weight of unspoken emotion. Â
âYou deserve everything,â you replied, your voice firm despite the tears prickling at your eyes. Â
Pedroâs arms tightened around you, and in that moment, the world outside the four walls of your suite seemed to fade away. There was only the two of you, tangled together in love and gratitude, the promise of another day together stretching out before you like a gift. Â
And as you drifted off to sleep, cradled in his embrace, you couldnât imagine a place youâd rather be.Â
COASTS OF MALTA â MORNINGÂ Â
The morning sun bathed the harbor in a soft, golden glow as you and Pedro stepped onto the pristine deck of the yacht, greeted by the lively chatter of his castmates and the crew. The day promised adventureâan exploration of Maltaâs dazzling coastlines, including the famed Blue Lagoon, Crystal Lagoon, and the secretive caves on Comino. The air smelled of salt and freedom, and the water, impossibly blue and inviting, stretched out like a gem-laden carpet before you. Â
Pedro lingered close to you, his blue cast slung in a casual sling, though it didnât stop him from giving your hand a light squeeze. He leaned down, his voice low and teasing. Â
"Donât get too excited," he murmured with a grin, his dark eyes gleaming. "Youâll make me look bad."Â Â
You bumped your shoulder into his, rolling your eyes. "I canât help it if Iâm more fun than you."Â Â
"More fun? Or more distracting?" His gaze flicked briefly to the bikini peeking out from your cover-up, his expression bordering on predatory before he quickly masked it with a playful smirk. Â
âBehave, Pascal,â you teased, your cheeks warming under his intense stare. Â
As the boat cruised toward its first stop, the Blue Lagoon, the mood was light and cheerful. Connie and Fred lounged near the bow, animatedly swapping stories with the crew, their laughter carrying over the soft sound of the waves. Coco flitted around like a hummingbird with her camera, capturing candid shots of the lively group. Near the railing, Paul was attempting to teach Denzel a ridiculous dance move, the two of them tripping over their own feet and causing more chaos than rhythm. Â
You stood near Pedro, feeling the sunâs warmth on your skin, the gentle breeze teasing at your cover-up. A playful grin spread across your face as you untied the knot at your waist, sliding the fabric off and tossing it onto a nearby lounge chair. The vibrant bikini beneath was perfectly chosenâbright and bold against your skin, hugging your curves in a way that made you feel confident and beautiful. Â
Pedro, seated comfortably in the shade with his injured arm resting on a cushion, froze mid-sip of his drink. His gaze locked onto you, his eyes darkening as they traced every inch of your form. Appreciation was clear in his expression, but it was the simmering heat in his stare that sent a thrill down your spine. Â
You stretched your arms over your head, feigning oblivion to his attention as you joined Coco and Paul in their antics. The movement made your waist curve just enough to draw a quiet groan from Pedroâs lips, which didnât go unnoticed by Coco. She smirked, leaning down to whisper as she passed him. Â
âSubtle,â she teased, her voice dripping with amusement. Â
Pedro didnât even attempt to hide his grin. His eyes stayed glued to you as he shrugged, unapologetic. âCan you blame me?â Â
Coco snorted. âNot one bit. But maybe cool it unless you want everyone else to notice how thirsty you are.â Â
âLet them,â Pedro muttered, mostly to himself. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he watched you laugh with Paul, the way your body moved under the bright sun making it nearly impossible for him to look away. Â
When you caught his eye and shot him a playful wink, his good hand flexed against the armrest of his chair, the urge to pull you back to him almost too strong to resist. Â
Later, as you leaned over the edge of the boat, peering down at the water with Paul pointing out fish, Pedroâs voice rumbled low behind you. Â
âYouâre enjoying yourself, arenât you?â Â
You turned to find him standing close, his cast resting awkwardly at his side. âI am. The waterâs beautiful,â you said with a smile, but his eyes werenât on the water. Â
âTheyâre not the only thing,â he murmured, his gaze dropping to the curve of your hips, the dip of your waist. Â
Heat bloomed on your cheeks, but you couldnât help the grin that tugged at your lips. âPedro Pascal,â you teased, stepping closer. âAre you flirting with me on a boat in front of all your castmates?â Â
âFlirting?â He scoffed, his voice rich with amusement. âIâm just admiring. Canât a man admire his girlfriend?â Â
âGirlfriend?â you repeated, arching a brow. Â
He smirked, leaning in just enough for his breath to ghost over your skin. âThe girlfriend,â he corrected, his voice dropping into a tone that sent a shiver racing through you despite the heat. Â
You bit your lip, glancing around at the others, who were too distracted to notice the charged moment. âBehave yourself,â you whispered, though your heart raced at the way his good hand brushed lightly against your hip. Â
He grinned, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. âIâm trying, but youâre not making it easy, sweetheart.â Â
The way he said it, rough and low, had your stomach doing flips. The teasing sparkle in his eyes told you he knew exactly the effect he was having on youâand he wasnât the least bit sorry about it.
When the boat anchored near the Blue Lagoon, you practically bounced with excitement. âIâm going in!â Â
Pedro chuckled as you grabbed your snorkeling gear, pausing to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. âTry not to miss me too much,â you teased before hopping off the boat with an elegant dive. Â
âNot possible,â he called after you, his voice tinged with laughter. Â
The water was cool and crystal clear, every ripple catching the sunlight like scattered diamonds. You swam alongside Coco and Paul, laughing as he tried to outswim everyone only to splash clumsily when Coco teased him about his lack of grace. Schools of fish darted around you, their silvery bodies glimmering in the lagoonâs shallows, and the thrill of the moment made you forget the world beyond the sparkling blue waters. Â
Pedro watched from the deck, his good hand cradling a drink as his cast rested on his lap. He smiled softly, his heart swelling at the sight of you. You were so effortlessly kind, so radiant, laughing and splashing with his friends as if youâd known them your whole life. Â
âSheâs really something,â Ridley remarked as he joined Pedro at the shaded table. Â
âDonât I know it,â Pedro replied, his voice warm with pride. Â
âSheâs good for you,â Ridley said simply, his tone laced with a rare softness. Â
Pedro glanced at the director, a small smile tugging at his lips. âYeah. Sheâs my soulmate.â Â
Later, you clambered back onto the boat, droplets of water clinging to your skin, sparkling in the sunlight as they traced lazy paths down your arms and legs. Your grin was infectious, the kind of radiant joy that could light up an entire roomâor, in this case, the deck of the boat. Pedroâs eyes were glued to you, as though the rest of the world had faded into the background. Â
âHaving fun?â he asked, his voice tinged with amusement but warm with affection. Â
âThe best,â you replied breathlessly, grabbing a towel and wringing out your hair. âYou shouldâve come in with us. The water is incredible.â Â
He raised his cast dramatically, pulling a mock grimace. âIn case you forgot, Iâm a bit handicapped here.â Â
âOh, poor baby,â you teased, crouching beside him. You leaned in to press a playful kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering just long enough to make him sigh. âNext time, Iâll stay on the boat with you. We can sulk together.â Â
Pedroâs good hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer before you could stand. âDonât you dare,â he murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. âWatching you have fun out there is the next best thing to being in the water myself.â Â
You arched a brow, motioning to your bikini with a teasing grin. âYou mean you like the view.â Â
Pedroâs lips curved into a slow, devilish smirk. His mouth brushed your ear as he whispered, âI love the view.â Â
The heat of his words sent a shiver down your spine, making your cheeks flush. You swatted at his chest playfully before standing and tossing the towel over your shoulder. âCareful, Pascal. Youâre not supposed to overheat with that cast on.â Â
The boat anchored near the caves on Comino, the turquoise water shimmering like liquid glass. Pedro waved you off with a mock sternness, insisting you go explore while he stayed behind. Â
âIâll hold down the fort,â he said, settling back into his chair with a small smirk. âDonât get lost in there.â Â
You rolled your eyes, blowing him a kiss before diving into the water with Paul and Fred. The group swam toward the darkened entrance of the caves, their laughter echoing off the limestone walls. Inside, the sunlight filtered through cracks, casting dancing patterns on the rocky surfaces. Â
Pedro, stuck on the boat, didnât seem to mind in the slightest. His gaze followed you like a shadow, lingering on the curve of your body as you moved effortlessly through the water. Every so often, you glanced back at the boat, catching him watching you. He didnât even pretend to look away, his expression soft, adoring, and entirely unguarded. Â
When you returned, dripping wet and exhilarated, you plopped down beside him with a dramatic sigh, leaning your head against his shoulder. Â
âYouâve been staring at me all day,â you teased, your tone light but your heart pounding at the intensity of his attention. Â
Pedro turned his head slightly, brushing his lips against your temple. âCan you blame me?â he murmured. âYouâre the most beautiful thing Iâve ever seen.â Â
The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You tilted your head to meet his gaze, your hand finding his on the armrest. âYouâre laying it on thick today,â you joked, though your voice wavered just slightly. Â
âItâs the truth,â he countered simply, his thumb brushing across your knuckles. Â
Your moment was interrupted by Paulâs exaggerated wolf whistle from across the deck. âGet a room, you two!â Â
Fred chimed in with a loud groan. âSome of us are single and fragile!â Â
You laughed, your head falling back briefly before you turned to Pedro, lowering your voice so only he could hear. âTheyâre just jealous.â Â
âDamn right, they are,â Pedro said, leaning in close. âYouâre all mine.â Â
The possessiveness in his tone was playful but sent your pulse racing nonetheless. Â
Later, as the boat rocked gently in the open waters, you sat on Pedroâs lap, his good arm wrapped securely around your waist. The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. Â
âPedro,â you said softly, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his thigh. âCan we stay like this forever?â Â
His eyes softened as he looked down at you, his smile tender. âIâd stay here with you forever if I could,â he replied, his voice filled with quiet certainty. Â
The weight of his words settled over you, grounding you in the moment. You bit your lip, leaning in closer until your noses brushed. âPlease just kiss me already.â Â
Pedro didnât need to be asked twice. His lips captured yours in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, full of unspoken promises and a depth of feeling that took your breath away. His hand splayed across your back, pulling you impossibly closer as the world around you seemed to disappear. Â
When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a soft laugh. âI think you might be my soulmate,â he said, his voice a mixture of awe and certainty. Â
Your eyes searched his, and for a moment, the noise of the others and the gentle lapping of the waves faded entirely. âI think you might be mine too,â you whispered, sealing the moment with another kiss. Â
Laughter and chatter echoed around you, the boat a hub of joy and togetherness, but for you and Pedro, time seemed to stand still. In his arms, surrounded by the beauty of Malta and the warmth of his love, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be.
#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x f!reader#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x ofc#pedro pascal fanfic#real people fiction#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal#gladiator 2#pedrito#marcus acacius#general acacius#pedrohub#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal x plus size reader#pedro pascal x reader masterlist#pedro pascal x reader series#marcus acacius x reader
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Why don't you love me?
Anthony Bridgerton x reader
Summary: Y/n and Anthony are in an arranged marriage. When she stops trying to make the relationship work and be the perfect wife, Anthony realizes what he's lost. Will he be able to get her back?
(gif is not mine)
It wasn't the marriage she wanted. And it wasn't what he wanted, because, in fact, he didn't even want to be married. And he didn't mind showing it. But for Y/n, she tried to make the best of their unfortunate situation.
It all started at the beginning of the season when Violet Bridgerton decided that her firstborn had been single for too long. So, she spoke to Y/n's parents, who were good friends of hers, and they both decided that a marriage between the two would be beneficial to both families. Anthony was going to have the support of someone who would take Violet's place as Viscountess and Lady Bridgerton. For Y/n's life, in this society, having a husband was essential and this marriage would allow social advancement.
Thus, Anthony and Y/n agreed with this decision. The preparation for the wedding was carried out quickly and this event was the biggest news for days. Lady Whistledown didn't help matters either by immediately releasing an advert showing her doubts about Anthony having a wife.
This only worsened Y/n's mood, who already feared being married to Viscount Bridgerton, as she was now doubting all the lovers Anthony could take to their bed. Would he not respect their marriage? Did she just want an heir and take care of the children? With these doubts, she said the "I do" in front of hundreds of people watching the ceremony, and allowed just one tear to fall.
From the beginning, Anthony made a point of making it clear that their marriage was purely a compromise, and that he would never truly love her. He was going to fulfill his role and try to have an heir and outside the house, they would act like a happy couple, but it wouldn't go beyond that. In silence, Y/n just offered him a nod, showing that she understood.
However, since then, nothing has happened between them. Anthony allowed her to have her own room, something Y/n was more than grateful for. Having to look at the face of her husband who would never love her every time she fell asleep would be too painful.
She was expecting that on some nights he would enter her room to try to get her with child. But none of that happened, which only confused Y/n more. Was he so disgusted by the idea of being married to her that he didn't even want to have pleasure with her?
So she tried to distract herself with tasks that could take some of the work off Anthony's shoulders and try to be the perfect wife. But Anthony still refused to spend more than five minutes alone with her. At breakfast, he was already at the office when Y/n woke up to go eat, at night he preferred to spend time with his brothers instead of returning home. He was making everyone's life difficult and Y/n was starting to get more and more sad. Would this be her routine until the end of her life? Trying to please a husband who didn't want her?
It was on a summer afternoon that Y/n, upon returning from a social gathering with Anthony's mother and sister, realized how hot the mansion was. She quickly remembered how Viscount's office, the few times she had been there, was directly in the sun which made it even hotter. So she decided to be brave and try to have at least a friendly relationship with her husband, so she went to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
With growing nerves, Y/n went to Anthony's office door and knocked on the wood. After hearing Anthony's voice, she opened the door, finding him plus Benedict, who had become good friends with Y/n.
"Oh, I apologize if I am interrupting." she said shyly, keeping to the doorway.
"You are." Anthony immediately agreed in a deep voice, not paying attention to her and turning his attention back to the papers.
At the same time, his brother hurried to assure Y/n, "You're not interrupting anything. You even saved me from Anthony's boring lecture here."
The woman smiled uncomfortably. "Right. I just came to bring you a cup of water. It's so warm outside. I wasn't aware you were here, Mr. Bridgerton, but I can go and also bring you some water."
"Thank you, Y/n, I wouldâ"
However, he couldn't finish his sentence as Anthony hit the table, causing his wife to jump in fright and immediately take a step back. Her reaction made Anthony's expression show some regret, but he quickly hid it. A silence fell between the three.
"I'm fed up, Y/n! Can't you understand that men are trying to work?! Go back to your life of looking at flowers and walking around without having to do anything and leave!"
Y/n's mouth opened and closed several times, trying to understand what had just happened. Finally, she pursed her lips and her eyes turned cold. "I apologize, Lord Bridgerton. It won't happen again. If you'll excuse me."
When she left the room, Benedict looked at his brother in shock. "That was so harsh. The poor girl was trying to be nice and cared enough to bring you a glass of water. If you don't want it, I'll have it. I'm talking about the glass and her."
"Don't you dare." he muttered with a clenched jaw, glaring furiously at Benedict. Where did this anger come from just thinking about Y/n with another man? "Now, let's go back to discuss how you spent money on a bet."
âââââ ââ
ââ
â âââââ
Y/n's behavior with Anthony changed completely. Everyone noticed that the Viscountess finally reached her limit, and stopped being the friendly wife, now looking coldly at her husband whenever they passed each other in the mansion. However, as a couple and heads of the family, they still had obligations to fulfill together.
Public appearances were more tense, but they still managed to keep a smile on their faces and talk to all the ladies who asked about their marriage and when they would have children, giving short answers so that nothing would end up in Lady Whistledown's hands. They also attended a horse race, even betting on different horses that would win. Y/n ended up winning the bet, and her smug look irritated Anthony for the rest of the day, something his brothers were quick to tease him about.
But despite not liking Anthony after his cruel words, which Y/n still thought about constantly, she adored his sisters and mother. They had accepted Y/n into the family, including her in their gatherings and even being a should to cry on. Daphne had already said more than once that she would have no problem going to Anthony and try to talk some sense into him, but Y/n refused. Anthony already didn't like her, if he thought she was turning his family against him he would hate her even more. And she didn't need to make her life worse than it already was.
One day, when she went with Anthony to the Bridgerton mansion to drop off some documents, Hyacinth, Anthony's younger sister, took her aside. Y/n followed the girl to the bathroom where she, with teary eyes and trembling lips, asked her if she was going to die when she started bleeding from her lady parts. Hyacinth also revealed to her that she wanted to go to her mother, but she had gone shopping with Francesca and was alone at home with just Collin. Y/n, very calmly and gently, assured her that it was a normal thing and that all women went through this, explaining what she should do.
It was no secret that Y/n was happy that Hyacinth trusted her with this scary situation and that she was able to help the girl. Despite all the problems in her marriage, she now had a role in helping Anthony's sisters and she never wanted to fail in that.
To Y/n's surprise, Hyacinth ended up giving her a big hug, remaining attached to her for the rest of the afternoon. Her period was making her so affectionate, more than she already was, that Y/n couldn't stop a big smile from appearing on her face at receiving so much affection.
Anthony, when he finally finished talking to Collin about the documents he brought, I was surprised to see his sister on the couch hugging Y/n. "Hyacinth, what are you doing?"
"Hugging my sister-in-law, brother. But you don't know what that is, do you?" she snapped. The girl's change in mood made Y/n have to put a hand over her mouth to keep Anthony from hearing the laughter that escaped her.
The shock on Anthony's face was comical. His little sister was basically choosing Y/n over him. And in truth, he didn't judge her because his wife was, without a doubt, better than him. And she deserved so much better.
On the other hand, his heart warmed when he saw the bond that the two had created. It was clear that Y/n felt great affection for his family. Could it be that if he had accepted this marriage from the beginning, they would now be a happy family? That they would spend afternoons together, cuddling on the couch and talking to his siblings? All these thoughts were racing through his mind, and the guilt was growing so much that he felt like he was going to vomit.
"Lord Bridgerton?" that sweet voice he had come to adore brought him out of his thoughts. He hated that since he snapped at her, she never called him by his first name again.
"What?" he asked, still disoriented.
Y/n was looking at him like he was stupid. "I asked if you were ready to leave. Hyacinth already went to her room to rest. I would like to do the same. So you must make haste."
Her bossy tone almost made his lips curl into a smile, but he controlled himself in time. "Of course, wife. We shall leave now. But I have to ask, what happened between you and my sister?"
"All you need to know is that she's fine and she's a woman now. But don't worry, as your wife, I'll handle these situations. Unless you prefer me to go look at the flowers, take a walk, and do nothing?"
The hint, which was delivered with great anger, caused the man to blush in shame and lower his head. Y/n didn't wait for his answer, taking her coat from a maid and walking to the carriage. He had screwed everything up.
âââââ ââ
ââ
â âââââ
A few more days had passed and the situation between Y/n and Anthony had only gotten stranger. The day after the situation with Hyacinth, Y/n was coming down from her room to go get breakfast, as she always did, when she came across Anthony at the table, appearing to be waiting for her to eat.
Y/n stopped abruptly, looking at him in shock. "What are you doing?"
"I'm waiting for you so we can have breakfast. I have to go see my brothers again today to talk business, so I was thinking you could come with me and spend some time with my sisters. My mother She's also been saying how she hasn't seen you in a while. That is, only if you want to go. If not, I'll just go⊠Or I'll stay here to keep you company, whatever you want." he choked up, finishing his speech by drinking some milk, perhaps to calm his nerves.
Y/n remained in place without moving. She looked at Anthony strangely, as if doubting that those words had even come out of his mouth.
"It was silly of me to askâ"
"No," she interrupted him. "It's fine. I would actually like to go and spend time with your sisters. They are lovely. I shall go get ready then."
"Aren't you going to have breakfast with me first?"
"Lord Bridgerton, I've been eating breakfast alone since we got married and I came to live with you. I think you can handle doing the same for a day. Excuse me." she said with an exaggerated smile, turning her back on him and starting to go back to her room. However, she turned back to go get a cake that was on the table. "But I'm hungry so I will eat this in my chambers."
"Call me Anthony!" he exclaimed before she was completely gone. He had a desperate look, almost looking like he needed to hear his name come out of her lips.
"No."
âââââ ââ
ââ
â âââââ
Like every year, the Queen decided to throw a ball to celebrate the Diamond of the Season. The most eligible maiden on the marriage market. Y/n still remembers the first ball she attended â Daphne was the diamond of the season, but Y/n also managed to dance with a few suitors. Of course, in the end, she didn't end up marrying any of them. However, the nerves she felt at that ball were equal to or less than what she felt today: her first ball married to Anthony.
The Viscount and Viscountess had entered together, her hand resting on his arm, followed by Violet and the rest of his siblings. Tonight they would have to be on the lookout for suitors who might want to dance with Francesca, the diamond of the season.
Anthony quietly appreciated his wife. She looked breathtaking in her dress, her hair neatly tied back that showed off her majestic earrings, given by Anthony on their wedding day. He was proud to have a wife like Y/n, and he regreted that he hadn't shown it since day one.
While the Bridgertons started to go their own way, interacting with other people and dancing, Y/n preferred to stay in the corner watching the couples dancing. She longed to experience that with Anthony, but not in a forced way like some were. No, she wanted it to be felt, for them to dance to the music and really appreciate that moment.
But instead of her husband approaching her, it was another man, Earl Cavendish. Y/n remembered some moments when she had already seen him, as he was looking to get married this season. As she approached her, with a confident air, Y/n lowered her head to compliment him, "Good afternoon, Earl Cavendish."
"Lady Bridgerton, a pleasure to meet you. I must say, you look flawless. Would you give me the pleasure of dancing with me?" he extended his hand.
Y/n's eyes widened, not knowing what to do. People had already started looking at them, whispering among themselves. However, she didn't have to respond to the invitation as she felt an arm wrap around her waist and bring her closer to him.
"Excuse me, Earl Cavendish, but I want to have the pleasure of dancing with my beautiful wife first." Anthony said with his jaw clenched, looking him up and down menacingly. "I'm sure you will be able to find other ladies to dance with tonight. Just not my wife."
The two men looked at each other for a few seconds, neither of them wanting to back down. Anthony grew more and more furious, her wrists clenching and bringing Y/n even closer to him, but careful not to hurt her.
"Very well. I shall leave. I hope to see you again someday, Lady Bridgerton."
"I will â" Anthony began by exclaiming in anger as the Earl walked towards another woman, not having liked the way he looked at what was his.
"You will do nothing." the Viscountess snapped coldly. "I can't understand you, you ignore me, you treat me badly, and then you act protective when another man shows interest in me? I never said anything about you having lovers, even though I didn't like that in our marriage."
"What? I've never disrespected our marriage like that, Y/n. In the past I've done a lot of things, but since we got married the only woman I'll look at and touch is you. I don't want anyone else."
"You have a funny way of showing it." she laughed sarcastically, feeling increasingly emotional. "I have to go get some air. You should go check on Francesca again."
Feeling the cold night air, Y/n's heart began to calm down. It was so difficult having to deal with Anthony's changes of attitude, she couldn't understand him. She just wanted to be loved, and since that wasn't possible, she preferred that they stay as far away from each other as possible since being friends didn't seem to be an option either.
"I'm sorry." the voice she had come to know so well whispered behind her. Y/n refused to turn around, leaning against the balcony and taking deep breaths to control her emotions. "I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I know that marrying me shouldn't have been your choice either, but I was scared. I was scared to have a wife, because that meant I had another person in my life that I could lose ."
She finally had the courage to turn around and look into Anthony's brown eyes. They held back tears and showed the sadness, regret and anger that Anthony felt.
"I'm so angry with myself for the way I treated you. You deserve so much better than this. And I'm sorry I couldn't give you that. The cruel words I said to you but didn't mean. I was scared to let you in. in my heart, so I tried to push you away. Believe that all I want is to have you in my arms. To love you. To start a family with you. Please, I promise I will do better. And every day I will try to reward you for what you do.
"Lord Bridgertonâ"
"Please, call me Anthony. It pains me when you call me like that. Reminds me that I was⊠Am so close to losing the best thing of my life. I will kneel before you and beg for forgiveness if that's what you want." he murmured with a hand over his heart, beginning to kneel on the ground without hesitation.
"There is no need for that⊠Anthony." she enjoyed seeing the relief and happiness that spread across his face upon hearing his first name. "I just don't understand why you didn't love me? And now you want to try to make our marriage work?"
"That's the thing, I have always loved you. I love you. My whole body, my heart, feels love for you. That has never changed." he revealed desperately. "I was a coward and didn't know how to deal with my feelings. Because they are so strong that my heart feels like it's going to come out of my chest. Please, give me another chance."
"Hmm, I don't now." The look of disappointment was so marked on Anthony's face, almost looking like he was ready to burst into tears, that Y/n stopped his suffering and showed him an amused smile, making him understand that she was joking. "I think I want you to suffer a little more to get my forgiveness."
"I will do anything for you, Y/n. Ask me the world and I will give it to you."
"Such a romantic now, aren't you?" she whispered, admiring his features.
She didn't realize their faces were so close until she felt his nose trace the delicate skin of her cheek. A gasp escaped her mouth, and Anthony took the opportunity to connect their lips in an unforgettable kiss.
Anthony pulled away quicker than he wanted, but he needed to make sure this was really what his wife wanted. "I love you."
"Kiss me again, and maybe I will also tell you that."
And what his wife wanted, he did. The two remained on the balcony, enjoying the comfort the other gave them. They still had a long way to go, but they knew that from that moment on, their lives would change drastically for the better. They had each other.
#anthony bridgerton#anthony bridgerton x reader#bridgerton#bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton#anthony bridgerton x you#collin bridgerton#daphne bridgerton#eloise bridgerton#bridgerton x reader#anthony bridgerton x female reader#anthony bridgerton x y/n
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â đđđ đ'đ đ đ
đđđ (đđđ đ'đđ đđđđ đđđđ đđđđđđđ đđđđđ đđđđ) â
â WHAT HAPPENS YOU TAKE CARE OF NANAMI ALL YOUR LIFE -- AND HE DOES THE SAME FOR YOU ? â
⧠pairing: nanami kento x sorcerer!reader
⧠summary: throughout your years of jujutsu tech, you take care of kento, whether its a wound from a curse or a simple cut his finger -- and when he returns he finds you still ready to take care of him -- even after shibuya.
⧠warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, hurt / comfort w/ a happy ending, domesticity, jjk canon compliant au (because nanami is alive) reader is the same age as nanami, set during through the events of star plasma vessel to end of jjk, nanami getting hurt and reader taking care of him, reader gets a cold and nanami takes care of her, jealous! nanami, kitchen counter sex, soft dom! nanami, oral (f), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, swearing
⧠wc: 7,657
⧠for my 2k celebration event: item 3 has been sold to two anons!
âShow me,â Nanami furrows his brow in reply, jaw set as he glares, but he knew no amount of staring would get you to let this go. You stood in the doorway of his dorm room â your room was clear across on the other side where the girls resided, so he wondered for a split second how you knew he returned when it had barely been an hour, but answered his own question without having to utter a word (Haibara).Â
âItâs not bad. Itâll heal by itselfââ and youâre shaking your head, and his lips purse, âit really isnât worth speaking to Ieiri about â itâs not a wound, just a bruiseââÂ
But still you stood, as immovable as ever â and he finally relented, unbuttoning his jacket, as he shrugged it off, unable to hide his wince as he revealed the large bruise that colored his skin in red, his skin peeling and angry, and surely would turn into a lovely mish-mash of purple and blue.Â
You brush past him into the dorm room, as you brought a first aid kit in, setting it on the bed, turning your head before tilting it as if to say, âwell?âÂ
He repents, as he always did with you â he knew a battle of wills with you was as unwinnable as a battle of jujutsu with Gojo â not to mention needlessly frustrating. He sat at the edge of his bed, eyes fixed to the floor, as you grabbed a washcloth from the kit, heading for his bathroom. He hears the sounds of water running, and the squeak of the faucet closing.Â
You return as you lift his arm slightly, rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt to his shoulder.Â
Your touch is gentle â Nanami was always surprised at how gentle you always were. With the line of work you all did, it was easy to be rough, to find smooth edges corroded and jagged, but no, you remained as smooth and soft as you always were.Â
He flinches when you bring the wet washcloth to raw skin, and youâre careful even as you seemingly pick out pieces of gravel and dirt stuck in his flesh. And you frown at the sight of it, doing your best to clean every bit.Â
âSo what happened?â you ask, and he gives a terse chuckle.Â
âDidnât Haibara tell you?â And you shrug, âI know he told you weâre back,â and your lips curl ever so slightly as your eyes meet him, a small amount of mirth returning.Â
âMaybe Iâm just a stalker,â and he canât bite back the small smile on his lips, âHaibara told me you didnât go to Ieiri, and that you got hurt protecting him on your mission,âÂ
He sighed, rubbing the back of his head, âIeiri was busy dealing with Haibara, he got it worse than I didââ
âEven if your injury is less serious, it doesnât mean you shouldnât look after yourself,â and he sighs, as his eyes slide to you, âyou need to learn to care about yourself, Nanami,âÂ
And he knew you were right on some level â he didnât have a delusion of invincibility and he also didnât have a strong enough desire to strive to be stronger, but â his fingers grasp at his sheets âthat didnât mean he wanted to see his friends die. âYou donât have to do this,â he says again, and you donât meet his gaze when he looks over at you, your brow set in concentration, âitâs not importantââÂ
âNanami, you donât ever seem to value yourself properly,â you finish cleaning his arm, before grabbing bandages and tape from the kit, âyou are important â even if you donât think you are,âÂ
And he opens and shuts his mouth â before a smile pulls at his lips â you were far too kind, especially for a jujutsu sorcerer.Â
And then you add, âand if you donât get your wounds tended to, Iâm going to tell Gojo you want to take a sweets tour of Tokyo,âÂ
âŠmaybe he spoke too soon.Â
~~~~
âHow did you manage to hurt yourself so badly during training?â You offer Nanami a makeshift ice pack, a small cloth wrapped up with ice from his freezer, and his lips pursed in disgust as his reply, âah, Gojo,â the mattress shifted under his weight as he sat,Â
âThat arrogant idiot,â Nanami grumbled, as he pressed the ice pack to the back of his head, âhis excuse was that he didnât know his own strength â heâs lucky that he had infinity or I would haveââÂ
You chuckle, âYou know heâs just messing with you, itâs just because you react,â and he scowls at his floor of his room, as if his carpet was the six eyes sorcerer itself, âheâs not so badââÂ
He raises an eyebrow, his mouth parted in disbelief, âAre you defending him right now?â And you chuckle, as you lean back against the side of his bed, your head leaning back against the soft comforter that you had bought him and guaranteed would help him sleep better (it only guaranteed that you would be asleep underneath it half the time they spent in his dorm relaxing).Â
You wave him off, âLower your blood pressure. Iâm not defending him, Iâm just saying, it canât be easy being the strongest â all those eyes on you, the way people treat you, theââÂ
âThe weight of your overinflated ego that you have to carry aroundââ and you roll your eyes, and the action bites at his last nerve, because he thought if anyone would have his back, it would be you â the next words spit like venom out of his mouth, âI thought you were better than those girls that moon over Gojo,âÂ
And he regrets the words as they leave his lips, as you stare at him wordlessly â not with anger, but frustration â which hurts all the more, âIf I was so in love with Gojo, then why am I with you instead of him?â He doesnât have a reply as you rise to your feet and make your way out the door, the click of the door far too deafening, leaving him with a throbbing in his head â but not just from being hurt.Â
His fingers curled tighter around the ice pack. Because whyâwhy did the thought of you liking Gojo make his chest acheâthe idea of your care and time spent on someone else, not even Gojo, but anyone else, made his stomach churn at the idea.Â
He had told himself when he decided to become a sorcerer, he would do anything to avoid relationships â even friendships if he could do so. When you work a job like this, it can only end in disaster. butâ his eyes slide to the closed door you had just left through.Â
Why did this feel so much worse?âÂ
~~~
âYou canât stay here all night,â your voice cuts through the silence of the morgue â the only life left in the room. Because he too had died along with Haibara.Â
Or rather he should have.Â
He kept the towel over his eyes, unmoving from his chair, head resting back against the cold metal â as if it would protect him â from seeing Haibara sliced half over and over, last words dying on his lips said in pure chaos but somehow Nanami could still hear them ring in his earsâ just as the sick crumple of his torso hitting the ground after being ripped from his body. The words leaving his lips as the last vestiges of life left his body, fingers twitching as his lips movedâ
You got it from here.Â
The hopeful optimism from a person seconds before death did little to comfort him. Not when that person should have been the one who lived. He had the one thing that was so rare in his shit world of jujutsu â kindnessâ
The very thing that left half his body lying against a metal slab.
âI canât leave untilâŠâ he trails off, he didnât wish to leave until his body was inspected and then taken to beâŠdisposed of. He knew it was for the best that his body is turned to ash, but it made it no easier to consider the person that he knew to be his best friend would be nothing but ash in a few hours time, âI wonât leave him alone,âÂ
You nod, and the silence makes him wonder if youâre leaving, but instead he hears footsteps and the slight scraping of a metal chair against the floor. And he feels the slight brush of you beside him as you sit.Â
And you donât say a thing. The only thing is that your fingers brush his tentatively and when he doesnât pull away you intertwine them. And thatâs enoughâfor now.Â
Until they take his body away.Â
A sorcerer glances at the two of you, âDo either of you have contact with next of kin? We need to notifyââÂ
âIâll handle it,â Nanami says, the towel pulled away from his gaze, hoping his dark bags and red tinged eyes arenât noticeable to you, but he sees the purse of your lips and knows they are.Â
The sorcerer shifts, âHave you considered asking his family forââÂ
âThatâs not an option,â Nanami cuts him off with a stare, and the sorcerer parts his mouth before shutting it again with a nod, âokay, please allow us to take his body,âÂ
And they do, pulling the sheet down ever so slightly that Nanami sees a flash of his face â no hint of that smile he always unfailingly had on his lips â it too was gone, just like he was. And they carefully wheel his body away â assumedly to be burned. And the door swings shut behind them â leaving only him and you. Silence hangs over the room, the finality of the moment leaves nothing in its wake but regret.Â
And regret only felt hollow â just as his heart did.Â
You choose to break the silence, a shaky sigh leaving your throat, as you quickly scrub tears away from your face, clearing your throat, âCome on, letâs goââ
âYou can go ahead, Iâm going to stay here for a while,â and your eyes try to find his own, but he still stares at the spot where Haibaraâs body had laid for hours. The essence of cursed energy was almost too easy to understand compared to the concept of death â a person can be living, breathing, and talking one day to be nothing but a husk the next. And now, he knew it would be a lifetime of feeling as if something is missing â as if something was wrong â and moments where it felt fine would be overcome by only guilt and anger.Â
What was the point of all of this? His fingers formed into fists, nails digging into his palms â were they nothing but pawns to be used in an unending game that forced sorcerers to not only to put their lives on the line, but their colleagues as well. A twisted game that only ended in a pile of corpses.Â
âNanami, you canât stay here all nightââÂ
âIâm fine,â he rubs at his temples â and how long would it be until heâs staring at your body on that slab? Or maybe youâd be staring at his ownâcrying over his body just as he had done for Haibara, âyou can goââÂ
âIâm not leaving you, and you shouldnât stay here â you need sleepââÂ
âYou donât have to take care of me,â he snaps, his gaze meets yours, âIâm not injured, I didnât even get hurtâ âÂ
âYes you did,â you say quietly, as you step closer to him, but his eyes refuse to meet your own.Â
âNoââ and your hand finds his chest.Â
âThis pain is worse than any physical pain you could put in â and I wouldn't leave you to deal with a bruise by yourself, so what makes you think Iâd leave you now?â you say softly, and tears burn at his eyes, as your hands gently pull him into your arms, his head buried against your chest, âIâm not leaving you, Nanami,â you murmur quietly, as your fingers slowly run through his hair.Â
And you didnât â he was the one who left you.Â
~~~~
You never get sick. Thatâs what you loved to brag about â especially yesterday when you got home from spending an entire two days in the rain soaking wet and ice cold without a hint of cold symptoms.Â
You supposed your bragging was a curse in and of itself because now you were buried under your comforter. You barely manage to text Shoko that youâre sick and you wonât be able to make it to class today. And now you had to wonder if it was worth the effort to get out of bed to take your medication or to simply sleep it off.
But your body made the choice for you as your eyes fluttered shut and you slipped into a fitful sleep, body burning from the inside out.Â
Consciousness faded in and out, as you felt something brush against your forehead, your eyes heavy as they open ever so slightly, a flash of blue and blond, before you fall back into sleep.Â
Your head aches, muscles heavy, and the smell of spices wafted through the apartment, âAre you finally awake?â a voice said, as your eyes flutter open, still burning at the corners as your head turns.Â
âNanami?â You croak out, throat raw and dry, as if your flesh was raked across coals, âwhat are youââÂ
He turns his head from your kitchenette â a ladle in hand, before he sets it down, wiping his hand with a dishcloth. And he steps over to your bed, pulling the washcloth from your forehead, before placing a cold washcloth, âyour fever went down a little,â he said, âbut I brought cold medicine and I made some soup for you,âÂ
âYou didnâtââÂ
âHave to?â his lips quirked up, âI know I didnât have to, I wanted to,â
âHow did you know I wasââ and his eyes find yours, âShoko,â and he nods, you relax back into your bed, âhow long have you been here?âÂ
He turns back around to finish cooking the soup for you, stirring, the metal of the ladle slightly clinking against the sides of the pot, his eyes flicker to your clock, âAbout an hour and half, hasnât been too long,âÂ
âWhy are you taking care of me?â you mumble, glancing at his back, as he lifted the ladle to pour into a small bowl to taste the seasoning of the soup, âyou donât owe me anythingââ
âI owe you a lot,â he cuts you off, the clatter of the bowl against the counter as he sets it down, the click of the stovetop as he shut it off, âbut thatâs not the reason I did it,â and your brow is furrowing under the washcloth, as he walks over to you, a smile tugging at his lips.Â
âThen why?âÂ
And he raises an eyebrow, âWhy do you think?â And his fingers brush your cheek, âyouâre the only reason Iâve stayed here as long as I have, otherwise I would have left, a long time ago,â and you donât know how itâs possible for your face to grow warmer but it does from his words and his touch that lingers against your cheek.Â
And heâs gone as quickly as he came, going over to the stove to take out a bowl of soup for you to drink, âcan you stay after I finish eating? Until I fall asleep?â You ask, as he brings the bowl over, as you sit up slowly, head spinning as you do still.Â
âOf course,â and he does, staying by your side after you eat and take your medicine, hearing your quiet murmur, âthank you, Kento,âÂ
And he realizes, as his lips curl into a smile, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, just how much he liked hearing his name on your lips.Â
~~~
âHow did you manage to hurt yourself on our last mission together as students?â you sigh, the worry in your voice making his lips curl â as the two of you had just found yourselves in his dorm room, as you rifle through his bathroom to pull out the first aid kit you had given him (after you had learned he didnât own one).Â
You return to him sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his hand up in such a way that he didnât drip blood all over his sheets. Your fingers brush his own, and heâs still surprised at how soft your hands are. His hands had grown rough from the years of jujutsu, calloused from the grip of his fingers around his blade handle, but somehow, yours were always as soft as he remembered them.Â
Your fingers found his, warmth blooming as your brow wrinkled as you scruntized the cut on his hand, âMaybe we should ask Shoko to look at itââÂ
âThere wasnât any cursed energy that cut me â it was justââÂ
âDebris, I know,â and this seemingly did little to soothe your worries, had gotten when pushing you out of the way of the curse, âI had it handled â you shouldnât have dove inââÂ
âItâs fine, itâs not that badââ but your glare cuts off his sentence, as you begin to clean the wound.Â
You shake your head, âWhat am I going to do with you? Every time you go on a mission, Iâm going to be worrying about what trouble youâre going to get yourself into,â
Heâs silent, his eyes unable to meet yours â he canât keep hiding this from you. He had made the decision months ago â and it was only a matter of time before someone else slipped up and told you (most likely Gojo).Â
âIâm leaving after graduation,â he says the words like ripping off the bandage, but it hurts him all the more when your fingers are still for a moment, your eyes finding his own, as you stare at him.Â
âYouâreââ you cut off, and you donât protest, you donât argue â you only ask one question â âWhy?âÂ
And that one question was more difficult to answer than any other you could have asked, a sigh stuck in his throat, as he shook his head.Â
âI canât do this anymore â I havenât wanted to sinceââ he cuts off, mouth impossibly dry â it was easy to tell Yaga he wasnât going to continue, even easier to take care of half a dozen grade 2 curses at once â but this wasâ âI canât stand by and watch my colleagues die one by one beside me â I donât want to live like this. Iâm sorryââÂ
âYou donât have to be sorry, Kento,â his heart squeezes at the sound of your voice wrapped around his name â what you had taken to calling him recently â âas long itâs what you want. I know itâs been difficultâI was surprised you hadnât left whenââ and your voice falters, neither of you could bear to bring up his name, refusing to even utter it around the other â as if it would summon every horrible memory from that timeâand your voice is soft, âI just want you to be happy,âÂ
And thereâs nothing more than he wanted to be the one to make you happy â nothing more than he wanted to ask you to be by his side, let him be the one to take care of you, and nothing more he wanted than to ask you to leave with himâ
But that was the one thing he could never ask you to do.Â
Just as you would never ask him to stay for you.Â
âI want you to be happy too,â he murmurs, as you continue to clean his cut, before your fingers are moving to grab the bandages, slowly beginning to wrap them around his palm, âmore than even myself,âÂ
âWhatâs new?â he wrinkled his brow, and you chuckle, âI mean, you never put yourself first, and Iâm glad you are now. You deserve to be happy, even if itâs notâŠ.here,â and you finish bandaging his hand, but his fingers curl around yours, âKenââÂ
He squeezes your hand softly and his words are just as soft, âYou would be the only one who could ever make me happy,â and he hears your breath catch, and it only makes him want to steal it from your lips with his own, âbecause I know that being by your side would be only thing that could satisfy me,âÂ
Your fingers brush against his cheek, âToo bad Iâm apparently in love with Gojoââ you tease, all too pretty smile as you do, and his lips draw even closer, âKentoââÂ
âAnd if youâre so in love with Gojo, why are you here with me?â And he waits, waits for you to pull away, to stop him, to show any indication you didnât want thisâ
But you close the gap instead, lips barely brushing his, so chaste, and yet itâs a spark to kindling â a fire neither of you should have lit. And yet, his lips find yours, insistent, his fingers cup your cheek, featherlight touch drawing a shiver down your body that he relishes in.Â
âKentoââÂ
âWhy is it my name on your lips?â And he kisses you again and again, your noses brushing each otherâs, heâs murmuring your name like a prayer, and if it was, he would worship at your altar each day, âWhy it is that youâre kissing me?âÂ
And your lips curl against his, as they find his again, âYou kissed me first,â and he can taste the sweetness of the melon bread you had shared with him that morning, but something even sweeter that only be you, âso why did you do that?âÂ
But you knew why â especially from the smile gracing your features, one that he wished he could have etched in the inside of his mind, âIsnât it obvious?â and your lips part to answer, but he cuts you off with another brush of your lips, âI love you,âÂ
And your eyes widen only slightly, but youâre kissing him again, arms curling around his neck, fingers sliding behind his neck â âFigured that out when you got jealous of Gojo, but Iâm glad you admitted it,â and your forehead finds his, âand that I love you too,âÂ
You loved him â you loved him â he had to tell himself again and again, but he still couldnât fathom it. Was it a dream? You were always a dream to him â something he could nearly grasp with his fingers, but always remained just out of reach.Â
And now he held you in his hands and he never wanted to let go. But he had to â he knew he had to.Â
So he would â even if it would hurt â hurt that no bandage would fix.Â
He kissed you again, unless you were the one to place it.Â
~~
âWhy is it that I always find you like this?â Nanamiâs eyes slowly met yours â he sat in Ieiriâs office, waiting to be seen, only find you there in the doorway instead, âitâs as if youâre asking to be patched up by me, Kento,âÂ
How long had it been? And somehow he knows the answer before even thinking about it â it had been nearly a decade. A decade since the two of you had graduated â you moving to Kyoto to help run the campus there, while he had moved onto a regular college and then a corporate job â one that had nearly sucked his soul dry of any life he had to begin with. And it was only when he had received gratitude for the first time in a long time â that he remembered the reason he had stayed a jujutsu sorcerer after HaibaraâŠ
And now, here was the other.Â
He murmurs your name, nearly sounding foreign on his lips, âHow did youââÂ
âI ran into your student, Nanamin,â and he furrows his brow at the nickname â Itadoriâs little name for him after he had refused to be his sensei. Because he wasnât one â Gojo may have taken up the mantle of teacher for his own personal ego trip â but he wasnât ready to form relationships like that. And yetâŠhis lips curl, there you were, âdidnât think you wanted to be a teacher,âÂ
âI donât, but how can I refuse that white haired idiot?â he half grumbled with a sigh, eyes still slowly grazing over you, âbut I donât want to talk about him right now,âÂ
You draw a step closer, shutting the door behind you, a lilt in your voice as lovely as your grin, âThen what do you want to talk about?â and you stop right in front of him, as your fingers reach out, and heâs nearly leaning into your touch, but heâs wincing, as your fingers press against his bruised body, âbecause I want to talk about how you ended up in such rough shape,â
A sigh stuck in his throat, his next words nearly along with it, âIt could have been much, much worse,â he murmurs, âif Itadori wasnât there, Iââ he breaks off, âthat special grade â he could touch my soul and it had caught me in its domainââ
And your arms are pulling you into a tight hug, your fingers running through his hair, âBut youâre here, youâre okay,â you murmur softly, your palm pressed against his chest, you can feel his heart pump under your fingers, âyou made it,âÂ
âButââÂ
âBut nothing, Kento, youâll make it back every time,â your fingers cup his cheek, pressing your forehead against his, âright?âÂ
Your touch was the only thing that could truly make him feel whole again â as if every crack in his soul had been mended with gold, âhow do you know?â
And your lips curl into a soft smile, your head tilting ever so slightly, âBecause you love me, right?âÂ
The chuckle on his lips is nearly enough to bite back his nerves as the words leave his lips, âIâve loved you for years, sweetheart, thatâs nothing new,âÂ
Youâre shaking your head, âAnd all these years, we always found our way back to the other, right?â your hand finds purchase on his shoulder now, the other against his cheek, âso we just have to keep doing that,âÂ
âYou make it sound so simple,â he murmurs, and your lips find his â and it makes him wonder how he had spent so much time without your touch, because right now it was the only thing keeping him whole â stealing the doubts from his head and the aches from his body â leaving only heat filling the empty gaps left behind.
âIt is simple,â your hand interlaces with his, âif we let be.âÂ
~~~
âIâm starting to think you hurt yourself on purpose around me more now that weâve moved in together,â you examine the small cut on his finger, a nick from the knife that the ratio sorcerer had been using to slice his freshly baked loaf of bread. Scarlet slipped from the small cut, and his soft murmur of âouchâ unfortunately had not gone unheard by you. He swore you must have selective hearing â you wouldnât listen when he told you to go to bed, but youâd hear him hiss in pain under his breath even when half asleep onÂ
âItâs not too deep, I think just a bandage should be fine,â Your brow knit together as you purse your lips, and he bit back his smile, knowing it would only serve for him to get scolded for not being more careful.Â
âItâs nothing, love, I can take care of itââ and his breath catches when your lips find their way around his finger, sucking slightly to ease the bleeding, your tongue flicking over the cut, âsweetheartââ he swears under his breath, a distinct flush burning at the crown of his cheeks, âwhatââÂ
âThey say saliva can help a cut heal faster,â you smile, before pulling a bandage out of the first aid kit you had pulled out, and your lips press a sweet kiss to his cut again, a smirk as you meet his gaze, âKenââÂ
And heâs kissing you, your body tenses a moment only to melt into his touch, your arms wrapping around his neck â he can taste his blood on your lips, raking your fingers through his hair. He can only think about getting closer, closer, closer â he needs you. His hands slide down your back, until they find your hips, squeezing, as he presses himself to you.Â
âBaby,â you murmur breathlessly, as your lips part his, a gasp that turns to a soft moan when his lips press heated kisses down your jaw. His nose brushes against the soft skin of your neck, as he presses you against the counter of his apartment, his hands slide down, large palms grasping your ass, âI needââÂ
âWhat do you need?â his fingers sneaking up and down the sides of your body. His teeth graze your pulse, your head falls back, exposing more of your neck to him, as his tongue soothes the mark he left behind, âbecause you know Iâll give you anything you ask for, sweetheart,âÂ
And his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs as he lifts you onto the counter, calloused palms pressing your legs apart â but he barely has to, your thighs already spreading for him. And he finds your shorts nearly soaked through â your drenched cunt visible even through the two layers of fabric stuck together from your arousal.Â
But you donât need to ask for him to know what you want â itâs second nature, itâs instinct for his fingers to dip inside the waistband of your shorts and underwear alike, tugging them both down, until you were kicking them off.Â
âIs all this for me?â he murmurs, pressing a sweet kiss to your inner thigh, as two fingers graze down your slit, gathering your pre on his fingertips, before he meets your gaze only to lick his fingers clean, âI was never one for sweets â except when it came to you. Sweetest thing Iâve ever tasted,âÂ
Your head lolls back, as his thick fingers circle your clit with practiced ease, pulling back only to drag his tongue up the length of your needy cunt. And your eyes find his again, heady gaze heavy with need and his pretty lips and chin already glossy with your juices.Â
âKentoâfuck,â your fingers thread through his blonde locks. First, one finger sinks in and then another âÂ
his nose bumping against your clit as his tongue stretches your walls in tandem with your fingers, grinding against his face, âsâgood, I canâtââ
But heâs relentless, the wet squelch of your messy walls and your choked out moans ring in his ears and are nearly enough to make him cum right in his pants â already far too tight, blood rushing downwards far too quick.Â
Another
âSuch a good girl,â Kento murmurs, and you are, so perfect â âjust let me take care of you,âÂ
âKento, please, more, needââ and his lips find your clit, tongue flicking against the hardened bud, before sucking long and hard, while a third finger joins the other two. Your back arches, the coil in your stomach grows tighter and hotter â your slick dripping from your messy hole onto the counter.Â
His fingers squeeze at your flesh, and he could live between your legs forever â it could be his meal morning, noon, and night â he could spend hours lapping at you until you fell apart over and over. His fingers stretch you out far too deliciously, and your walls are giving that telltale flutter.Â
âKentoâgânna cumâIââ and his fingers are fucking you harder and his lips close around your clit, sucking hard, until youâre moaning his name, muscles growing tight as you fall apart. Youâre a mess, your fingers trying to press his head impossibly closer as you grind against him, riding out your orgasm, as your juices gush over his face â and heâs lapping up every drop, as you fall limp against the counter, his arm slipping around your back to support you.Â
Your eyes flutter open to watch him pulling away with a pop, strings spit and cum connecting you to your cunt. His gaze drags over you, watching your juices drip against the counter, as he murmurs quiet praises, licking his lips clean of your release.Â
And your fingers find his cheeks, pulling him into a deep kiss, moaning as you taste yourself on his lips, the filthiness of it all enough for his cock to grow even harder against your thigh. And itâs a matter of moments, before your fingers are tugging at his sweatpants and boxers, freeing his erection, his pretty cock all but ready for you â lovely ruddy head dripping with pearly white beads of precum.Â
âLook at what you do to me, love,â he murmurs, as your eyes meet his, gaze blown out in lust.Â
âKento, please,â and his lips curl, his fingers raking through your hair, as he pulls you even closer, his erection bumping against your sopping pussy, âI wantââÂ
He drags his cock over your slit, watching his pre mix with your release, the two of you groaning when his tip catches on your clit, âwhat do you want sweetheart? Tell me, tell me what you need,â his arms are hooked around your knees, pressing them to your chest.Â
You keen when his tip teases your sopping hole, âI need you to fuck meââ and youâre whining as his cock pressed into you, splitting you open on his length â and god you could never get used to how big he was â you could feel very pretty vein and delicious curveâ
Fuck, he could bust just looking down at you, at the way your lips parted for him as he had sunk into you, the way he could see how your pussy stretched around his dick â like you were made for him. Pleasure ripped up his spine at the sight â his fingernails digging crescents into your hips.Â
And he knew that he was certainly made for you.Â
âSâgood, sâfull â please,â youâre nearly mewling, begging for him to move, âKentoââ and he obliges, unable to hold back any longer, as he begins to slowly rock his hips against you, each stroke getting longer and deeper. His balls slap against your hips, as he picks up the pace â your walls squeezing around him.Â
âFuck, sweetheart, didnât think you could get any tighter,â he grunts, his cock stuffed inside your walls, and heâs gritting his teeth, your soft moans and the noises of your pretty pussy becoming too much for him. White ring of release formed around his base â his balls growing tight as he inches closer and closer to blow his load, âyou always can fâme, canât you?âÂ
And he gives a particularly hard thrust, right as his lips find yours in a messy, sloppy kiss â all tongue and teeth, your head falls back when his tip finds your g-spot again and again. You squirt all over his length, soaking him and the counter with your release, as he fucks you through your orgasm, again and again. Your toes curl when he finally comes, his release painting your walls with his thick, hot release â fucking it deeper and deeper, and heâs notching himself inside.Â
Youâre slumping against him, your eyes shut, as he pulls you closer into his arms, pressing sweet kisses all over your face until he finds your lips again.Â
âI love you,â you mumble, eyes fluttering open as he cups your chin, a soft smile on his lips.Â
âI love you more,â and heâs slowly lifting you, carrying you over to your shared bed, and youâre burying your face in the crook of his neck.Â
âBut what about your cut?â You mumble, and a chuckle on his lips, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, as he sets you down on the bed, grabbing a damp washcloth to clean you up.Â
âDonât worry, sweetheart, youâve done plenty,â he murmurs, as he finishes cleaning you up, only to slip into bed beside you â âlet me take care of you.âÂ
~~~
It was over.Â
Thatâs what Nanami had thought when Mahito had stopped him in his tracks, his hand pressed against his chest, but more importantly, against his soul.Â
âI didnât know you were here,â Nanami said, his eyes unable to tear away from the curseâs.Â
He could barely feel anything anymore â the stinging had dulled somewhere between his trek down the winding tunnels of Shibuya station. Instead, he could only hear the echo of his footsteps, as he had forced himself to take one step forward over and over and over â and thatâs when he had seen them.Â
The congregation of curses or mutated humans â he didnât know which they were, but did it really matter at this point? It didnât. He dispatched them all the same â all while his thoughts were only filled of you â you, you, you and you.Â
And a beach in Malaysia.Â
âYeah, Kuantan would have been nice,â and it would have been â it was only a few months away. The vacation the two of you had meticulously planned out. The days spent out walking the beach, lounging by the water with the books neither of you had never read, and nights falling asleep by each otherâs side to the metronome of the waves crashing.Â
And now, he had found himself, staring death in the face â an echo of his near death from only a few months ago. How had it come to this already? He had always felt he was running out of time â constantly watching the clock, trying to run it out for his retirement, only for it to run out before he could make it to those sandy shores he had dreamed of.Â
âYup. The whole time,â Mahito replies, lips in an easy smile, âWanna chat? We go way back, after all,âÂ
Nanamiâs eyes fall to the floor, the dirtied and bloodied tiles underneath his feet â he didnât feel like spilling his guts to a curse.Â
Haibara, what the hell was I trying to do? He asks in his mind, not even daring to say the words aloud, I ran. Even though I ran away, I came back with the vague reason of finding the work worthwhile.Â
And then he sees Haibara, appearing in front of him, patented smile on his lips, as he points south â points right atâÂ
âItadori,â Mahito says.Â
âNanamin!â his eyes wide as he takes in his state â horror painted on his face, already so helpless â what else had he seen and now he had to see this too? He shouldnât have had to see this. He should have been a normal kid â worrying about normal things â not fighting monsters in some damned subway tunnel.Â
But what could he do about what now? What could he do but stop?Â
Could he finally stop?Â
No, Haibara. Thatâs not right. I canât say that to him. Itâll just end up becoming a curse for him.Â
But itâs a curse every jujutsu sorcerer had to bear â made to bear until there were either no curses or no sorcerers left.Â
But he couldnât regret it now.Â
âItadori,â his lips curl, smiling for the last time, âyouâve got it fromââÂ
And then thereâs a crash â screaming, the sound of blood splattering. It takes him a minute to realize it wasnât him.Â
It was you.Â
You had crashed between the two of them, sending the curse flying with your cursed energy, the impact drawing blood from you and Mahito alike. Your arm was around his body â and Nanami is whispering your name.Â
âI told you, Kento, weâre always going to come home â even if I have to drag you there,â you say, your eyes still flickering between Itadori and Mahito, âItadori, tske NanamiââÂ
âNo, this is my fight,â he shakes his head, his fingers clenched into fists, âI almost let Nanamin die â I have to do thisââÂ
âYujiââ you say, but heâs already barreling towards Mahito, and youâre whispering fuck, as you take Nanami in the opposite direction.Â
âSweetheart, Iâm sorry,â and his eyes are barely able to stay open, as you help carry his weight alone the deserted subway, âIâm sorryââÂ
âWhy are you sorryââ but heâs barely awake along enough to hear your question, until itâs all black.Â
It takes him several months to recover. Cursed energy healing could only do so much, especially since Ieiri was spread thin enough with everything between Shibuya, the Culling Games, and everything else that came after.Â
Most of the brunt of his care had fallen on you â you changed his bandages, tended to his wounds, dealt with any signs of infection with help from Ieiri, and handled everything else around the house.Â
âWhy do you do all of this for me?â He asks quietly, one day while he sits, your back turned while you washed the dishes from lunch â the clinking of plates and the sound of water running that squeaks shut when he asks.Â
You turn, lips in a frown, âwhat do you mean, Kento?âÂ
His fingernails dig into his knee, biting back a sigh, as you walk over after wiping your hands off, âitâs been months of you justâŠtaking care of me. I donât get it â I didnât understand when we were students when you insisted on caring for me, and nowâŠâ he swallows, his throat still impossibly dryâeven after all treatment, nothing still tasted the same, âIâve just become a burdenââÂ
You cup his cheeks, âKento, you are never a burden to meââÂ
âButââÂ
âBut nothing â wouldnât you do the same for me if I was in your position?â But heâs shaking his head.Â
âItâs notââÂ
âKento, do you remember our first mission together?â he blinks, his brow furrowing, but you only smooth it with your fingers, âit was my first mission â I had barely gotten the hang of using cursed energy â I hadnât even exorcised a curse before, but as always, jujutsu society had left children to bear the burden of survival amongst themselves,â and your fingers find his, âbut you never left me alone. I froze in front of the curse. I didnât know what to do with myself â even while you dealt with two others on your own â you still managed to save me, even though you managed to hurt yourself in the process,â your voice was soft, your hand finding his, lacing your fingers with his, squeezing his hand â but heâs not sure whether itâs to remind him youâre here or to remind yourself that heâs still here, âand you donât remember it do you?â his lips purse, as his eyes canât find yours, gaze cast downwards, but he hears you give a soft chuckle.Â
âI look at you and I see all the ways a soul can bruise â because youâve taken hits that werenât yours to take â youâve taken challenges that shouldnât have been yours to bear,â your fingers skim over his cheeks, âeven in what you thought were your last moments,â your voice breaks, swallowing back tears, âyour thoughts were of others â of helping your students, of Itadori, of meââ you shake your head, âand you think Iâm doing too much for you? I think you deserve so much more than meââÂ
âAll I need is you,â his voice is breaking, swallowing thickly, âthatâs all I ever wanted,âÂ
âThen just stay here with me â that would be enough for me,â you lean close and press your lips to his â and even still, the taste of your kiss was never any less sweet, âall I want is to come home to you, you think you can handle that?âÂ
His lips find yours again, as they always would, âIâll show you.âÂ
~~~
âIt doesnât hurt that bad,â and Nanami chuckles, his hands hooked around your knees and thighs, as your arms wrapped around his neck, your head resting on one of his shoulders, âKentoooo, you donât have toââÂ
âI want to, and Iâm not going to risk it getting any worse by letting you walk on the sand â the sunset was painting the water in hues of gold, pinks, and purples â and the beauty of this beach was only made better by your presence, âjust let me do this for you, love,â and you sigh, relenting, as you bury your face in the side of his neck.Â
âMy husband is so doting, just a small cut on sea glass makes you this crazy?â and he shivers slightly, but itâs not from the slight sea breeze tickling his nose, but from your nose brushing against your neck, âare we headed back already?âÂ
âHow else will we treat your foot?â your hands slide over his bare skin â the skin still scarred as it always would be, an eye tucked away under an eyepatch â unable to be saved â but your husband was saved all the same, âunless Ieiri taught you how to used reversed cursed technique before our vacation,âÂ
âItâs really not that badââÂ
âIs this your first time being a patient?â and you pout, as he chuckles, vibration of his sweet laugh against your chest as you press yourself impossibly closer, especially when you see the looks of others as the two of you walk by.Â
âItâs embarrassing to be carried like this,â you murmur, âcome on baby, I can walk the rest of the way,â but he only hums, casting a small glance over his shoulder.Â
âI like carrying you like this,â his lips curled in a smirk, âeveryone knows youâre mine this way,â and your cheeks burn, and you kiss his cheek, pouting as you do, âweâll be back on the beach soon enough â we have all the time in the world sweetheart,âÂ
And you did â you bury your face in the side of his neck again â with himâÂ
Always.Â
⧠a/n: this has been a long time coming!! i feel like with every one of these fics i'm never happy with them, but then they end up being better than i remember. apparently i just don't like my writing very much haha. i hope you guys enjoy <3 it's been so long since i wrote nanamin, so i hope it came out good <3
⧠taglist: @1angel-digits1, @i-spilt-ink-on-my-phone, @freaky-show, @strangehuman101, @nanamis-baker, @hanxyy, @chosobeee, @luneriaa, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @forest-fruits-jam, @unorthodoxfaithxx, @caelestine-the-caelicatto, @kenmei, @somrou, @spider-fan72, @missukiyo
#sab [mlist]#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento smut#nanami kento fluff#nanami kento x you#nanami x reader#nanami smut#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#nanami kento fanfiction#nanami x you#kento nanami smut#kento nanami x reader
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⯠THE TASTE OF HEAVEN . . . sugar daddy ! batboys x fem ! reader
BRUCE WAYNE
bruce wayne doesnât need to flaunt his wealth because he is the wealth. he doesnât call himself your sugar daddyâitâs just implied in every action, every gift, and every moment he spends with you. whether itâs a sleek black card handed to you with no spending limit or a private plane waiting to take you to an exotic destination, bruce makes luxury feel effortless
you can forget off-the-rack anything. bruce ensures you have custom clothing, jewelry, and even furniture. heâll casually remark, âi had the designer make a few changes for you,â as though commissioning bespoke items for you is just another tuesday
his gifts are never tacky or gaudyâthis man has impeccable taste, and everything he gives you reflects that. think diamond necklaces that catch the light just right, limited-edition handbags, or handwritten invitations to exclusive events where youâre his arm candy
youâre the arm candy !!! bruceâs automatic date to every high-profile gala, charity ball, and exclusive event. he wouldnât even think of bringing anyone else. he makes it clear youâre not just an accessory, youâre the highlight of his night
you have a tab at nearly every high-end establishment in gotham. whether youâre shopping for couture or just stopping by your favorite cafĂ©, bruce ensures youâre treated like royalty. everyone knows exactly whoâs footing the bill
bruce isnât the type to throw money at you just becauseâhe always wants to make sure itâs something meaningful or useful to you. if you mention wanting to start a business or learn a new skill, heâll quietly arrange everything you need, from connections to resources
while his gifts are extravagant, his affection shows in quieter ways too. when youâre stressed, he whisks you away for a weekend spa retreat. if youâre cold, heâll drape his expensive coat over your shoulders without hesitation. every gesture, big or small, is about making your life as comfortable as possible
people know bruce is your sugar daddy, but theyâre far too intimidated to say anything. the whispered assumptions only make him smirk. he doesnât care what anyone thinksâif anything, he enjoys the power it gives him to make it abundantly clear that youâre his
despite the sugar daddy thing between you, bruceâs affection runs far deeper. he doesnât just give you giftsâhe gives you his time, his attention, and his unwavering loyalty. the material luxuries are just an extension of the way he sees you: as someone deserving of nothing but the best
heâll sometimes joke about the arrangement with a mischievous smile. âyouâre lucky iâm rich,â heâll say, handing you keys to a new car or sliding over a box containing some ridiculously rare jewelry. but his tone is warm, his teasing more affectionate than condescending
DICK GRAYSON
unlike bruce, dick doesnât shy away from the term âsugar daddy.â in fact, he might jokingly call himself that from time to time, especially when handing you an absurdly expensive gift
( dick âwhatâs the point of having all this money if i canât spoil my girl?â grayson )
while he spoils you endlessly, he does it in a way that feels personal and heartfelt. every gift, trip, or gesture reflects how well he knows you. if you casually mention a dream vacation destination or a favorite designer, you can bet itâll show up in your life sooner rather than later
he is the kind of sugar daddy who makes spoiling you fun. heâll turn shopping trips into mini-games, daring you to try on the most extravagant pieces in the store just so he can gush over how amazing you look. âif you donât let me buy that dress, iâll be personally offended,â heâd tease, but you know heâs serious
dick loves being seen with you. whether itâs walking hand in hand down the streets of blĂŒdhaven or pulling up to a gala with you in tow, he thrives on showing the world just how proud he is to have you by his side. and yes, he does things like carrying your shopping bags with zero shame, flashing that charming grin at anyone who stares
doesnât wait for a special occasion to surprise you. whether itâs a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a new gadget youâve been eyeing, or tickets to a concert you love, heâs constantly finding ways to brighten your day
with dick, every vacation feels like a scene from a romance movie. he books private villas, sunset yacht rides, and five-star experiences, all while making it feel like the most casual, natural thing in the world. âi just thought we could use a break,â heâd say, as if flying you out to the maldives was as simple as grabbing coffee
heâs always finding ways to make you laugh, even about the relationship itself. if someone gives you a side-eye for carrying a designer purse, heâll lean over and whisper, âtheyâre just jealous, babe. can you blame them?â his lighthearted attitude makes the relationship feel easy and natural
with his good looks and high-profile status, the press is obsessed with you two. headlines like âblĂŒdhavenâs golden boy and his stunning girlfriendâ are a constant, but dick takes it in stride, often laughing at the exaggerations
âyou deserve the world,â heâd say, his blue eyes sparkling. âlet me give it to you.â
JASON TODD
jason didnât immediately step into the role of âsugar daddy.â in fact, he hesitated because he didnât want his wealth to define your relationship. but as time passed and he saw how much joy he could bring you by easing your stress, he leaned into itâbut only his way
for jason, being your sugar daddy isnât about flashy displays or media attentionâitâs about making sure youâre secure and comfortable in a way no one else could provide. he loves knowing you donât have to worry about rent, bills, or any other mundane stressors. âif i can fix it, iâm going to,â he says simply, brushing off your thanks like itâs no big deal
he might not shower you with gifts constantly, but when he does, itâs jaw-dropping: a rare first-edition book he remembered you mentioned once, a custom leather jacket, or even a dream vacation to a quiet, secluded spot where you can both relax away from the chaos of gotham
jason is practical when it comes to what he provides. heâll upgrade your phone, stock your fridge with your favorite snacks, and even surprise you with a car when he notices yours struggling. âiâm not about to let you drive around in that death trap,â he grumbles as he tosses you the keys
and while heâs not the type to parade you through expensive stores, jason shows his affection in quieter, more personal ways. he might take you on a motorcycle ride to a hidden gotham rooftop, where he surprises you with your favorite takeout and a designer bag âhe happened to pick upâ
despite his tough exterior, he has a serious soft spot for you. if you so much as hint at wanting something, heâs already making plans to get it. heâll pretend itâs no big deal, but his little smirk always gives him away
jason sometimes pretends to be annoyed by how much he spoils you, but itâs all in good fun. âyouâre turning me into one of those rich guys,â heâll grumble, handing you a sleek gift box. but the way his lips twitch into a smile when you beam at him says otherwise
youâll come home to find an envelope with tickets to your favorite bandâs concert or a designer coat hanging in your closet because he noticed the weather getting colder. âwhat? you think i didnât notice you shivering last week?â
he doesnât like the idea of anyone else stepping in to provide for you. if someone so much as jokes about taking you out or buying you a drink, heâs quick to step in, slinging an arm around your shoulders and shooting them a glare. âsheâs taken. move along.â
he makes sure you feel safe, cared for, and endlessly spoiled in his own rough-edged, loving way <3
ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting . thank you if you do đ€
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Hiii!! Could I request a bombshell reader x Spencer where someone (a local police maybe) says something rude to her about her appearance or something and normally it doesnât really get to her, but something snaps and she kinda shuts down/is rude to Spencer until he coaxes it out of her? Sorry itâs long I had an idea and ran w it loollll
ty for requesting angel! confident fem!reader, 1k
Spencer shouldnât expect his colleague to hold his hand, especially one so confident. What sense would that make, a woman as established as you are, who smiles without a lick of worry nor smugness, wanting to hold his hand?Â
But you do it all the time, is the thing. In the car on the way to crime scenes, in the hallways of the office, under the round table. It started as a tethering for his distractedness, when one day heâd wanted to talk but hadnât had the presence of mind to walk at the same time, so youâd taken his hand and led him to the office. Youâve been taking it at your discretion ever since. Â
Spencer knows something is wrong âyou havenât tried to hold his hand all day. And even if you arenât interested in him romantically, Spencer has come to crave the touch. Heâll accept platonic hand holding. Anything, really.Â
âYouâre staring very deeply, Dr. Reid,â you mutter, shades from your usual lightness.Â
âIâm thinking.âÂ
âArenât you always?âÂ
âAbout you.â
âWell,â you smile fleetingly. âYou should always be thinking about me.âÂ
âYouâre truly humble.âÂ
His joke doesnât land, it crashes and burns; your smile fades completely into a short, sharp line. Your gaze moves back into the restaurant, waiting for the team's food order in silence once again.Â
Spencerâs pinky finger twitches across the gap.Â
âIs everything okay?â he asks.Â
âFine.âÂ
You stay quiet, Spencer worries. He takes the bags before you can when they bring your food to the collection desk, two lumps of heat he holds to his thighs as you begin the walk back to the hotel. Tonight, the team will pick at their food together and rehash the same arguments theyâve been making all day, filling in each other's gaps, and tomorrow the work will start again. He canât have you this unhappy again tomorrow.Â
âYouâre amazing,â he says, watching you turn to him from the corner of his eye, âyou know you are, we all do, everyone who meets you. I know you donât need me to tell you that, or to feel better, but⊠Iâm here for you. If you want to talk. Itâs been a hard couple of days, and talking about traumatic events as they happen and directly afterward make them easier to recover from.âÂ
âIâm not traumatised.âÂ
âUpsetting,â he corrects. âHaving a shoulder to cry on is good for you, and I can be that shoulder. You know, if you need me to be.âÂ
He canât know this in the moment, though maybe one day youâll tell him, further down the line when the hand holding is better defined, but you look at him and you love him. To know Spencer is to love him. Or at least thatâs how youâve always felt. Youâd love to cry on his shoulder about what transpired that morning if it werenât embarrassing to think about, youâre upset over a throwaway comment made by nobody important.Â
Spencer offers his company earnestly. He stammers. Itâs amazingly sincere, as he usually is. He wonât mind if itâs embarrassing, heâll just listen.Â
You clear your throat. âI know Iâm not to everyoneâs taste. I know that the way I⊠present myself isnât what most men like. People love confidence, but not when itâs bossy, not when itâsâ when itâs vain. And I am vain. I think about my appearance a lot, I think Iâm beautiful most of the time, I try so hard to have that be true.â You eye him thoughtfully. âDo you realise that?âÂ
He shakes his head gently, one ear toward one shoulder and then the other, as though balancing. âSort of. I know you put effort into your appearance, but I also assume a lot of it to be natural.âÂ
âRight, well. Itâs not natural. Not really. My natural beauty wouldnât be all the beautiful to most people. And Iâve accepted that, I know what I like about myself, andââ Youâre losing the thread of your point, an upset creeping into your melodic tone and turning it ragged. âWhen people tell me they donât like how I look now, I guess it hurts because I know they wouldnât like me before, either, and I feel defeated because I know I canât win.âÂ
âWho said they donât like how you look?â Spencer asks, confused, on his way to annoyed.Â
âOfficer Friendly.â You look to your shoes, watching the steps you take. âGuess he wasnât as nice as we thought.âÂ
âWhat did he say to you?âÂ
You shrug. âSame story. He doesnât like girls who wear makeup. Doesnât like uppity women.âÂ
âDid he call you that?âÂ
âWhat are you gonna do if he did?â you ask without malice.Â
âMorganâs teaching me self defence for a reason.â You smile at his light joke, though it doesnât last. He transfers the takeout bags into one hand, the other held out to you, his fingers sliding down your arm to your wrist. âYou know youâre beautiful, with or without makeup. And youâre not uppity, youâre out of his league. Thereâs a difference.âÂ
âYouâre flirting with me.âÂ
âNo.â He wishes he had the wherewithal sometimes, but this isnât flirting. âIâm being honest with you. Men like that donât like you because they know theyâll never, ever have you, or anyone like you. There isnât anyone like you,â he adds, sliding his hand into yours.Â
He squeezes all your fingers together twice in quick succession.Â
âDonât let a jealous chauvinist halfwit make you think youâre not good enough,â he says.Â
You curl your fingers around his before he can take his hand back. Slowly, you squeeze his hand. Then, smiling, you let him go.Â
âIâve never heard you say something mean like that,â you say. âHalfwit. Thatâs crass.âÂ
âI was going to say heâs an asshole, if thatâs better.âÂ
Your laugh echoes off of the sidewalk. âThatâs perfect. Say something meaner.âÂ
The insult he uses next doesnât bear repeating.Â
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