#a secret moment that both of them are going to carry within their hearts... forever...

[pipitwrites]

go see a star war, piarles for @hourcat

“You know the Prince?” There was a shade of skepticism in Yuki’s voice, like he couldn’t believe that Pierre had ever rubbed elbows with royalty, although it was a fairly well-known story amongst the younger recruits how Pierre entered the Academy—and then crashed out on his first major mission.

“I’ve met Prince Leclerc before,” Pierre said, mildly.

Yuki gave an impatient hum, disappointed by the unusual lack of drama in Pierre’s answer. “So what is he like?”

“Beautiful.” The word popped forth, unbidden, before Pierre could stop it. “I mean,” he hastened to correct himself. “He is the prized jewel of Maranello. Their people, the tifosi, they love him.”

🌠

The first time they had met, Charles had been dressed completely in red, a dot of rouge pressed onto each of his cheeks. Pierre had only seen them when Charles had spread open the fan-like headdress shielding the top of his face.

“We cannot accept that,” the prince elect said. It was the first time Pierre had been so close to Maranello’s new prince outside of blurry holo messages and news dispatches, close enough to see the branching veins of gold in his irises. “The trade federation already extends itself too far into our borders, violating our treaties.”

Lewis inclined his head in respect and Pierre belatedly followed his lead. “The council is only thinking of your safety, your highness,” said Lewis, the picture of diplomacy.

“And who is thinking of the safety of our people?” The many long gold tassels hanging from his robes shook violently as he gestured out the window, past the Senate seat to the distant twinkling stars. Pierre wondered if the prince had ever been to the northern farming planets and seen a blood red sun rise over the fields of yellow wheat and green cypress trees. Pierre had grown up on such a planet, had almost resigned himself to waking up to his mother’s chattering chickens to toil in the fields, day after day, for the rest of his life. Then the Academy had discovered him.

Lewis straightened, radiating the full strength of his powers in his calm intent. “I will conduct an investigation myself into the federation’s dealings,” he promised. “But the council needs you safe here in the embassy. You are far from home.”

The prince appeared somewhat mollified by Lewis’s personal reassurances. He was less pleased when Lewis instructed Pierre to stay behind to guard him, casting a long sideways glance at Pierre. Once Lewis left, the prince retreated into his private inner chambers, snapping his ornate headdress closed over his face as he left. Pierre was content to let the prince sulk as it made the task of guarding him easier. It had been a silly thought to consider the prince, in his perfumed veils and golden tassels, close to the dirt of a field or a chicken farm

As it drew closer to evening though and he could no longer distract himself by running through basic combat exercises, he felt a twinge of guilt. It was close to suppertime and even royals had to eat, just like the mere mortals around them.

There was no answer when Pierre knocked on the door to the inner suite.

“Your highness?”

Silence resounded. Pierre swore under his breath, fear creeping up his spine. Bracing his shoulder against the door, he broke through, blaster in hand. There were no immediate signs of struggle but there was also no prince. Swearing again, Pierre edged past the bed, which looked untouched, to one of the side doors.

Inside what appeared to be a large closet, the prince had stripped down to nothing but a sheer white undershirt and tapered trousers. In his hands was a plain tunic in the dark red color that his attendants wore to mark their rank.

“What are you doing?” Pierre raced forward, too alarmed to remember to address the prince properly by his title.

“We cannot sit here idly. While the council argues over petty details in the name of diplomacy, it is our people who will suffer the most.” The prince’s face was bare now, mouth faintly stained pink with the remnants of his rouge. He looked achingly young, a smattering of freckles dotted over his nose. “We came to the senate for justice. Our people have trusted us to protect them.”

“So you’re going to risk your life on a fool’s errand?”

The prince set his mouth stubbornly. “If my people are to die from the Council’s inaction, I will die with them.”

Against his will and all good sense, Pierre lowered his guard. It was the first time the prince had referred to himself in the singular, without the royal formalities. “Your highness is serious?” he asked, although he knew the answer.

“Please, Sir Knight.” The prince’s eyes were wide and pleading, the golden veins at the edges shining brighter than before.

Pierre coughed. “It is just Pierre.”

“Then I am just Charles.” The prince pulled the tunic over his head and secured the matching belt, cinching it tight around his waist. He certainly looked the part of a serving boy now, hair mussed and mouth sullen.

Sighing, Pierre tucked his blaster away in its holster. “I cannot be calling you that if we are to be sneaking about in secret.”

The prince let out a soft noise of surprise. “So you will help me?”

“It is a terrible idea but I see I cannot stop you. Anyway, a name,” Pierre prompted before the prince could start thanking him.

“Oh!” The prince’s brow furrowed as he considered. “Perhaps Arthur?”

Pierre snorted. Even Pierre, as far removed from senatorial politics as he was, knew the name of the prince’s beloved younger brother—the names of all his close family, really. “No. And not Lorenzo either.” He finished checking over his weapons, making sure they were firmly strapped to his person. When he looked up again it was to find the prince staring. “So what is the plan, ma poule?”

[the-winter-spider]

Ocean | B.Barnes

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: Angst

A/N: I wrote this forever ago, i had it posted here but i just accidentally deleted it as i was revising everything so im posting it again.

Inspired by the song Ocean by Lady A

Your relationship with Bucky was like an ocean; when the water was still, it was breathtaking. The way both the sun and the moon glistened off of it mirrored the light in his eyes when he looked at you, a reflection of the unspoken bond that tethered you both in deep waters.

But then, the waves would build, the calm shattering into a tempest. You'd fight against the growing swells, struggling to reach him as the riptides pulled him further away. Each wave that crashed over you was a reminder of the distance growing between you, but you weren't afraid to battle the currents, even if it meant drowning in the attempt to reach him.

Eventually, the storm would pass, and you'd find yourself washed ashore, alone, watching as he drifted further and further away. Every time you thought he was lost to the horizon, a flicker of hope would rise in your chest—maybe this time, he would turn back, maybe this time, he would swim to you. But he never did. He always let the ocean take him, surrendering to its cold, unforgiving embrace.

You were left with the sand beneath your feet and the ache of love that felt more like a wound than a comfort. Yet, even as the salt stung your eyes and the wind chilled your skin, you stayed by the shore, waiting for the day when the waves would bring him back to you.

And so, you remained—caught between the pull of the ocean and the longing for the man who seemed to be as unreachable as the horizon.

The waves

He was seated at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. You were in the armchair to his right, close enough to touch, but he felt like he was worlds away.

"Bucky, please talk to me," you pleaded softly, your voice a fragile thread of hope.

He huffed, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. When his ocean-blue eyes met yours, your heart stuttered at the sight of them—their beauty, their depth, and the sorrow that lingered within them. His eyes were always more telling than his words ever could be, a window to the sadness he carried so deeply.

He had so much to say, always did. A whirlwind of thoughts and broken sentences stormed through his mind, a cacophony of unspoken words. Some were secrets he was glad to keep, others were truths he longed to scream, but all of them were trapped in the chaos that never seemed to settle.

His lips parted slightly, as if he were searching for the right words to say. You deserved the world, the stars, the moon—but he feared you didn't deserve the darkness that came with him. Every time he looked at you, he saw the light at the end of his tunnel, but the weight of his past, the shadows that clung to him, made it feel impossible to reach that light.

He shook his head, defeated, as the words that could never express the depth of his turmoil died on his lips. Silence wrapped around the two of you, thick and suffocating.

You sighed, the sound heavy with worry and weariness, and pushed yourself up from the chair. Moving to sit beside him, you placed a gentle hand on his cheek, turning his face toward you. "Please, don't push me away, Buck. Please."

His breath hitched at your touch, his resolve crumbling under the weight of your plea. "I don't deserve you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it any louder would make it more real.

You felt your heart break a little more at his words, but you refused to let go. "That's not for you to decide," you whispered back, your voice firm despite the tears welling in your eyes. "I’m here because I want to be, but you have to let me in."

His eyes searched yours, desperate and uncertain, as if looking for an answer to a question he didn't know how to ask. For a moment, he just stared at you, his breath shallow, the war within him evident.

Finally, with a shaky exhale, he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and you could almost feel the walls he had built start to crack.

"I'm scared," he admitted, his voice breaking, the vulnerability in his confession laying bare the depth of his struggle.

"I know," you replied, wrapping your other arm around him, pulling him into an embrace. "But you don't have to face it alone, Bucky. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

He clung to you then, like a man lost at sea, finally finding a lifeline. The waves might have pulled him under before, but in this moment, he found solace in your arms, the storm within him calming, if only just a little.

You held him tightly, feeling the tension slowly melt away as he rested his head against your shoulder. His breath was warm against your neck, shaky at first, but gradually, it began to steady. The weight of everything he'd been carrying felt palpable in the way he leaned into you, as if he was finally allowing himself to let go, even if just for a moment.

You gently stroked the back of his head, your fingers weaving through his hair, offering him comfort in the only way you knew how. His grip on you tightened as if he feared you'd slip away like the countless dreams that turned to nightmares. But you remained, solid and unwavering.

"I’m so tired," he whispered, the words heavy with exhaustion, both physical and emotional. It was more than just fatigue—it was the weight of a century's worth of pain, regret, and memories that haunted him.

"I know, Buck," you whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "You don’t have to carry it all by yourself anymore."

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His eyes, once turbulent like stormy seas, were now calm but still clouded with doubt. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words seemed to get caught in his throat.

So, you spoke for him. "You don't have to be perfect, or strong all the time. It's okay to be vulnerable, to let someone else shoulder some of the burden."

His expression softened, and a glimmer of something that had been long buried—hope—began to surface. But then, just as quickly, it was shadowed by a flicker of fear.

“What if… what if I hurt you?” His voice trembled, betraying the deep-seated fear he’d never fully voiced. "What if the darkness takes over, and I lose control?"

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "You won’t," you said with conviction, even though you knew the risk.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and this time, he didn’t fight them. He let them fall, a silent acknowledgment of the fears and doubts that had plagued him for so long. And in that moment, something shifted—something fragile and beautiful began to grow between you, a bond strengthened by the shared pain and the promise of healing.

He wrapped his arms around you again, holding you like you were his anchor in the storm. And perhaps you were, but you also knew that he was stronger than he realized—that together, you could weather whatever storms came your way.

As the night wore on, you stayed there, holding him close, not saying anything more. Words weren’t needed. The silence was filled with a quiet understanding, a shared resilience that would carry you both through the darkest of times.

Finally, when the first light of dawn began to peek through the curtains, he spoke again, his voice soft but resolute. "Thank you," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "For not giving up on me."

You smiled, your heart swelling with love and determination. "Never," you replied, your voice steady. "i love you so much Bucky”

And that's what scared him the most.

The Riptide

“No, we're not doing this again, Bucky. Please,” you begged, your voice cracking as tears streamed down your face, a cascade of salt water that mirrored the storm brewing inside you. “Let me in.”

“Doll, I think it's best if you—"

“No!” The word ripped from your throat, louder than you intended, filled with desperation. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, your voice trembling as you continued, “Bucky, I love you so much it hurts. Why won’t you just let me in?”

“That’s just it, Y/N, it shouldn’t hurt.” His voice was soft, almost broken, as he reached out, taking your hands in his. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil churning between you.

“You know that’s not what I meant, Bucky… I can handle all of this, if it means I get this.” You pulled your right hand from his grasp, pressing it against his chest, right over his heart. You could feel the steady, somber beat beneath your palm, a rhythm that should have brought you comfort but instead felt like a countdown.

“You already have it. You’re the only light I’ve ever known,” he murmured, his voice full of a kind of hopeless admiration that twisted the knife in your heart even deeper. “But I feel like I’m drowning” He paused, placing his hand over yours, trapping it against his chest, where his heart ached beneath the surface. “But I can’t—I won’t take you down with me. You deserve to be away from this, from me, where it’s safe.”

Your bottom lip trembled, your voice barely a whisper. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I just need time.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, your hands slipping from his as disbelief and hurt twisted your expression. “You’re pushing me away… again?”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even lift his head to meet your eyes. The silence was deafening, filled with everything he wasn’t saying, everything he was too afraid to admit.

You scoffed, the sound bitter and full of pain, as you turned away from him, your footsteps heavy as you made your way to the door. Your hand gripped the handle so tightly your knuckles turned white, but you paused, wiping away a tear with your sleeve, your voice breaking as you whispered, “I’m not afraid to drown.”

But when you glanced back at him, hoping—praying—that he would say something, anything to stop you, he remained silent, his head still bowed, as if he were already mourning the loss he’d caused.

The door clicked shut behind you, and with it, the weight of your love felt like it was sinking you, dragging you down into the depths of despair. You weren’t afraid to drown, but you were terrified of what it would feel like to swim in these dark waters alone, with only the ghost of his love as a fading light in the distance.

And as you walked away, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were the one who had been pushed out to sea, leaving him safe on the shore, unwilling to follow you into the deep.

The Shore

It had been seven weeks.

The longest he'd ever pushed you away before, and you were getting scared. Not scared that he didn’t love you anymore, or that he didn’t want you—those were the only things you were ever truly sure of. But you were scared that you were getting used to being alone, that you were learning to live with the emptiness he left behind. And you didn’t want to know how much loneliness you could take before it consumed you entirely, before he truly lost you to it.

“You gonna stand here all day?”

You spun around, your eyes meeting those familiar green ones. Steve stood beside you, resting his arms on the railing. “I think I just might.”

“It’s not hard to get lost in,” he said, his voice gentle, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace you had found in staring out at the waves.

“It’s a nice escape.”

“And what are you escaping from?” he asked, turning to face you, but your gaze remained fixed on the horizon. He studied you, noting the subtle changes—the way your shoulders slumped slightly, the way your eyes had lost some of their sparkle. You were still beautiful, but there was a heaviness about you that hadn’t been there before. Steve had known you since Natasha brought you into their lives, her unbiological sister. He remembered the fierce, resilient woman who had fought her way out of the Red Room, who had faced every battle with an unwavering spirit. But now, standing beside you, he could see that spirit was fading.

Natasha had tried for so long to set you up with Steve, always teasing him about it. And he had thought about it, more than once. But there was always something in the way—a mission, a battle, or the nagging feeling that you were meant for someone else. And he was right. You were meant for Bucky.

Steve knew what Bucky had been through, and he knew you did too. When things started getting serious between you and Bucky, Steve had sat you down, told you the truth—that Bucky would push you away, again and again, and if you really wanted to be with him, you needed to be ready for that. You had promised Steve that no matter what, you would stand by Bucky, even if it meant enduring the heartache that came with it. You told him that Bucky and he were stuck with you.

But Steve hadn’t expected Bucky to push you away so often, to shut you out so completely. And now, he could see the toll it was taking on you. Each time Bucky pushed you away, another piece of you seemed to disappear, leaving behind someone Steve barely recognized.

Bucky thought he was protecting you, saving you from the darkness that consumed him. Steve had once thought the same—that it was better for you to be kept at a distance than to be dragged down with Bucky. But now, Steve could see that the distance was doing more damage than anything Bucky’s darkness could throw at you. The light in you, the light that had once burned so brightly, was slowly dimming.

“What don’t I have to escape from?” you chuckled bitterly. “There’s always something to need an escape from these days.”

Steve offered you a soft, sad smile. “Well, Y/N, what are you escaping from today?”

He watched as you sighed, your gaze drifting from the water to the shore. “I feel like I’m not only losing him, but I’m losing myself, Steve.”

“He’s doing what he thinks is best for you. He’s doing it because he loves you, Y/N.” He doesn’t know who he was truly trying to convince, him or you.

You finally turned to face him, and Steve felt a pang of guilt as he saw the tear roll down your cheek. You looked so different from the person he had known. Your eyes, once so vibrant, were now dull and tired. Dark circles shadowed them, and your face was gaunt, the result of too many sleepless nights and too many days spent wondering when—or if—Bucky would come back to you. Your hair was longer, unkempt, and you looked frail—like a ghost of the woman you once were.

“I wish that was enough—the whole ‘it’s because he loves you’ line. God, I wish it was, Steve,” you whispered, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. “But it’s not enough anymore. Not when every time he pushes me away, I feel like I’m losing another piece of myself. And I don’t know how many pieces I have left before there’s nothing left of me to give.”

Steve’s heart ached for you, knowing that no matter what he said, it wouldn’t change the reality of what you were going through. He knew Bucky was breaking your heart, even if he didn’t mean to, even if he thought he was doing it for your own good. And the worst part was, Steve couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t make Bucky see what he was doing to you, couldn’t make you stop loving him enough to protect yourself.

“You deserve so much more, Y/N,” Steve said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Your lips trembled, and you shook your head. “But I don’t want more, Steve. I just want him.”

Steve swallowed hard, the words he wanted to say caught in his throat. He wanted to tell you that you deserved better, that you deserved someone who would fight to stay with you, not someone who kept pushing you away. But he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. You loved Bucky, and no matter how much it hurt, that wasn’t something you could just walk away from.

Instead, he reached out, pulling you into a gentle embrace. You let out a shuddering breath as you rested your head against his chest, and he held you tightly, wishing he could take away your pain, even if just for a moment.

“I’m here for you, Y/N. Always,” Steve whispered, his voice barely audible. “And I’ll keep fighting for him to come back to you. But if you ever need to talk, or just… be, you know where to find me.”

You nodded against him, your tears soaking into his shirt, and he held you until the sun dipped below the horizon, until the darkness settled over the shore and the only sound was the distant crash of the waves. And in that moment, Steve made a silent promise—to be the friend you needed, even if it meant watching you hold onto someone who was slowly slipping away from you.

Because he knew that loving Bucky wasn’t something you could stop, no matter how much it hurt. And as much as Steve wanted to protect you from the heartache, he knew that this was something you had to face on your own. The only thing he could do was stand by your side, hoping that one day, Bucky would realize just how much he was losing before it was too late.

The lighthouse

Bucky was a runner. He would run when he needed to clear his head, to stay in shape, but more than anything, he would run when things got tough.

He ran from his feelings, from sharing those feelings with you. He ran when he felt himself sinking, spiraling into that familiar darkness that threatened to consume him.

But you weren’t a runner—not like him. You hated running, found other ways to stay in shape. You faced your feelings head-on, confronted them with the kind of courage Bucky admired but couldn’t quite understand. And most importantly, you never ran away from him. So instead, he pushed you away.

And when Bucky pulled back, retreating into himself, that was the only time you would run. Not away from him, but towards him, trying to close the distance he created. You would run into the storm, hoping to bring him back, to hold onto him just a little longer.

But anytime Bucky felt himself start to drown, he would hope, almost pray, that you’d be sent on a mission soon, that you’d be spared from witnessing the worst of him. Because even though he knew you could handle it—would handle it because you loved him—he couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing him at his lowest. He knew you loved him, even if he couldn’t fathom why. You’d do anything for him, even stand by his side when the darkness took hold. But that was the problem. He didn’t know how to let you in, how to share the burden he’d carried for so long.

So when there were no missions to send you on, when you were there, steadfast and unwavering, he asked for space. And you would nod, telling him you’d still be there for him, always. With time, he thought he’d get better, that he could rid himself of the darkness and the rough waters once and for all, and return to you as the man you deserved. But that wasn’t the case. The darkness lingered, and no matter how hard he fought, it remained, a shadow over his every thought.

You were the lighthouse guiding him through the high waters, and he was desperate to reach you. But with each passing day, he noticed your light growing dimmer and dimmer. He thought it was because he was being pulled further away by the current, drifting beyond the reach of your warmth.

It wasn’t until now that he realized the truth. He wasn’t being pulled away. He was anchored to the same spot, stuck in his own despair, and your light wasn’t fading because he was too far gone—it was burning out. He had drained you, piece by piece, until there was almost nothing left.

And that realization hit him like a tidal wave, crashing over him, leaving him breathless and choking on the truth he had refused to see. He wasn’t just lost in his darkness; he was dragging you down with him.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed, his heart heavy with the weight of his mistakes. He had pushed you away time and time again, thinking it was for your own good, thinking he was sparing you the pain of his brokenness. But all he had done was hurt you, dimming the light that had once been so bright, so full of life. The guilt was overwhelming, suffocating.

He could hear you moving around the apartment, your footsteps light but deliberate, as if you were trying to keep yourself busy, trying to stay afloat. He wanted to reach out, to pull you close and tell you how sorry he was, how much he loved you, how he didn’t want to lose you. But the words stuck in his throat, and all he could do was sit there, paralyzed by fear and regret.

The Current

You lay in your bed, tossing and turning, the sheets twisted around you like a suffocating net. Sleep was a distant memory, elusive and cruel. Without Bucky beside you, it felt impossible to find any peace. The first few weeks without him were always the easiest; his presence still lingered in the room, in the folds of the blankets, in the faint scent on the pillow. You could close your eyes and almost feel his arms around you, hear his steady breathing lulling you to sleep. But now, even that comfort was gone. The memory of his touch had faded, leaving nothing but a hollow ache in its place.

You wrapped your own arms around yourself, trying to mimic the warmth he used to provide, but it was hopeless. The emptiness gnawed at you, growing more unbearable with each passing day. With a heavy sigh, you slipped out of bed, pulled on your slippers, and grabbed a blanket. There was only one place left where you could find any semblance of comfort.

Outside, the night air was cool against your tear-stained cheeks. You settled into one of the lawn chairs, closing your eyes and listening to the sound of the crashing waves. Normally, the ocean soothed you, its rhythmic ebb and flow calming your restless mind. But tonight, the waves seemed to echo the storm inside you, stirring up all the pain and resentment you’d been trying so hard to bury. Before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face, each one a reflection of the tempest raging within.

You felt betrayed, hurt, and angry. The first time Bucky pushed you away, it was only for a couple of days. The second time, a week. And with each time, the distance grew longer, the silence more suffocating. You had been patient, understanding, loving. But you’d reached your breaking point. You couldn’t keep doing this—couldn’t keep losing yourself to the tides of his darkness.

With a frustrated cry, you tossed the blanket to the ground and pushed the chair back, your resolve hardening with every passing second.

“Friday, where’s Bucky?” you asked, your voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion.

“He’s in the gym with Captain Rogers,” the AI responded.

You didn’t care if you had a breakdown in front of Steve. At this point, you didn’t care about anything but confronting Bucky. His feelings had always mattered so much to you, but now you were drowning in the realization that yours didn’t seem to matter to him at all.

The gym door slammed open as you stormed inside. Steve was the first to notice you, concern etched across his features. “Y/N,” he called out, his voice filled with worry.

At the mention of your name, Bucky froze, dropping his arms to his sides. He spun around so fast Steve had to steady him. The last time Bucky saw you was weeks ago, before you left on that solo mission. He remembered waiting for you by the bay doors, pulling you into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to your lips, and promising that things would be better when you returned, that this time would be different. But you didn’t come to find him after you returned. You didn’t seek him out to tell him how it went, and now, as he looked at you, he realized just how much had changed.

You looked worn down, almost broken. Your hair was a mess, flyaway strands framing your face. You’d lost weight, your frame appearing almost fragile in the harsh light. Dark circles shadowed your eyes, which were bloodshot and filled with a pain that made Bucky’s heart clench. Scratches marred your skin, and a bandage with dried blood was wrapped around your forearm. But it was your eyes that struck him the hardest—they were dull, lifeless, so far from the vibrant light he had fallen in love with.

The Ocean

“What about me?” you whispered, your voice cracking as you spoke.

Bucky took a tentative step forward, his heart aching at the sight of you like this. Steve, sensing the intensity of the moment, stepped back, giving you the space you needed.

“What about me, Bucky?” you repeated, tears slipping down your cheeks. This time, you didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I’m so tired of this,” you continued, your voice trembling. “You say that I’m your light, but you’re mine too. And Bucky, it’s so dark now. I can’t do this anymore—it hurts too much.”

His eyes softened, filled with a whirlwind of emotions that he could never quite express. “Do what anymore, doll?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and if the room hadn’t been so silent, you might have missed the way it cracked at the end.

Steve held his breath, afraid to move, afraid that the wrong word or gesture might shatter what little remained of this fragile moment.

“The distance,” you choked out. “I can’t do it anymore. I’m drowning, Bucky.” Your sobs came harder now, shaking your entire body as you buried your face in your hands. “All I want to do is swim… swim back to you, but I’m so tired of doing it alone.”

Without hesitation, Bucky closed the distance between you, wrapping his strong arms around you and pulling you close. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you were floating, the waves calming as his embrace anchored you to something solid.

“I’m tired of doing this alone,” you whispered against his chest, your voice barely audible.

Bucky cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that continued to fall. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re right. I’ve been pushing you away, and it’s not fair. You’ve been there for me, through everything, and I should have let you in a long time ago.”

You stared up at him, your eyes searching his, looking for any sign that this time would be different. That this time, he wouldn’t retreat into his darkness, leaving you to navigate the storm on your own.

“Are you really going to let me in, Bucky? Because I can’t… I can’t keep holding on if you’re just going to push me away again.”

He nodded, his expression sincere, his blue eyes shimmering even under the harsh fluorescent lights. “I’m done running, doll. I want to swim with you… I want to face whatever comes, together. I need you, more than I ever realized.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the last of your defenses crumble. For so long, you had been the one reaching out, trying to pull him back from the edge. And now, finally, he was reaching back.

“You’re an ocean, beautiful and blue,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. “And I want to swim in you, Bucky. I want to dive deep and never come up for air.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “Then let’s swim together, doll. No more pushing away. No more running.”

And with that, you closed the distance, capturing his lips in a kiss that was long overdue. It was a kiss filled with all the love, all the pain, all the desperation you’d both been holding onto. A kiss that promised things would be different, that you would both fight for each other, for the light that still flickered between you.

The waves outside continued to crash against the shore, but inside, the storm had finally begun to calm.

[thecrayonindisguise]

Chapter 10 Rebinding of Hearts|| Bonds and Barrier

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Original Female Character

Masterpost || << prev || next >>

Word Count: 11.3k

Warnings: no particular warnings

Author's Note: Hey people, I'm back! I am so so sorry for the absence but I had a little of a lack of inspiration and also I failed my exams at the beginning of this month so I was a little down for a few days but here we go after Christmas! Merry Christmas <3 here is your new chapter! Enjoy :)

In the waning light of late afternoon, the world softened, painted in hues of amber and gold.

On the grassy bank of a secluded stream, a quiet intimacy unfolded.

Much younger than she was now, Caterina lay sprawled across the tender earth, her golden dress cascading around her.

Waves of hair framed her face, loose and untamed, catching the occasional glimmer as the dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves above.

The melodic trickle of water nearby mingled with birdsong, weaving a cocoon of tranquility around the pair.

Beside her, a young man reclined, his gaze steady and warm as it lingered on her.

His hand, strong yet tender, intertwined with hers.

Their fingers fit together effortlessly, the connection between them as natural as the breeze that rustled through the grass.

Here, hidden from the world, they seemed suspended in their own secret universe, both in place and in time.

Caterina tilted her head, the soft curve of a smile gracing her lips.

She turned onto her side, leaning on one elbow, her other hand still entwined with his.

Slowly, she reached out, her free fingers tracing the contours of his cheek with a feather-light touch.

The familiar planes of his face, the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips, ignited a quiet joy within her, unguarded and complete.

His eyes softened, their depth reflecting something unspoken but deeply felt.

The air seemed to still as she spoke, her voice a quiet murmur, carrying both the playfulness and vulnerability of youth.

“Will you love me forever?” she asked, tinged with a hesitancy that only deepened her sincerity.

A part of her already trusted the answer, though she longed to hear it aloud.

He smiled, his hand lifting to brush a stray curl from her face. His fingers lingered for a moment, caressing her cheek as if committing every detail of her to memory.

“Forever, my beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rich and steady, a promise etched into the golden air between them. “My love for you will never end.”

Laughter bubbled from Caterina, soft and unrestrained, a sound as light and natural as the breeze around them.

She tilted her head closer, her eyes sparkling with a joy so radiant it seemed to outshine the sun.

Her laughter danced in the air, weaving into the symphony of nature that surrounded them.

Then, as her laughter ebbed, she leaned down, her lips meeting his in a kiss, soft and unhurried.

His hand cradled her face, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along her cheek.

For a moment, the world melted away, the grass beneath them, the sky above, and the stream murmuring nearby, all fell silent.

There was only them.

─────────

Dearest readers, It seems this season has no shortage of delights, surprises, and intriguing visitors! The Medici family continues to dazzle the ton, with each member leaving their unique impression on our glittering society. While much attention has been directed toward the upcoming nuptials of the charming Miss Teresa Medici and the dashing Lord Ducker, another Medici has entered the fray to stir up even more excitement.

Yes, dear readers, the Duke of Lucca himself, Lorenzo Medici, has arrived in London with his enchanting wife and their two young children. Rumor has it the twins, Miss Teresa and Miss Caterina Medici, nearly toppled the household with their joy at their brother’s early arrival, a heartwarming scene that surely melted the hearts of even the most unflappable Londoners. To mark the occasion, the ever-hospitable Langstone family has announced a grand ball in the Duke’s honor, a soiree destined to be the talk of the season. With such a distinguished guest list and the Medici family’s growing influence in the social sphere, one can only imagine the connections and alliances that may be forged on this glittering evening.

But, my dear readers, do not let the splendor of the Langstone ball distract you from the whispers that swirl around one particular Medici sister. Miss Caterina Medici, known for her poise and charm, has been seen promenading with none other than His Grace, the Duke of Richmond. While their conversations appear the picture of propriety, one cannot help but wonder if a subtle courtship is blossoming amidst the preparations for her sister’s wedding.

And what of the ever-elusive Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, whose recent absences have left some speculating whether a certain young lady’s sharp words have cut deeper than she intended? Could there be more to this tale, or is it merely the folly of wishful observers? Time, as always, will reveal all.

Until then, my dearest readers, let us await the Langstone ball with bated breath and polished slippers. Who knows what revelations, romances, and rivalries the evening may bring?

Yours most faithfully, Lady Whistledown

─────────

The morning light filtered softly through the tall windows of Langstone House, bathing the drawing room in a golden glow.

The hum of activity echoed throughout the estate as the Medici family and their hosts began their day.

The spacious room, adorned with elegant furnishings and richly embroidered drapes, bore an air of refinement that perfectly matched its occupants.

Near the hearth, a cheerful scene unfolded as Teresa and Caterina entertained their young niece and nephew, Vittoria and Luca.

The siblings’ joyous laughter rang out as Teresa guided Vittoria through a game of pretend tea, carefully arranging tiny porcelain cups on a child-sized table.

Caterina, meanwhile, knelt on the floor beside Luca, who was determined to build the tallest block tower his little hands could manage.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Luca,” Caterina encouraged with a warm smile.

Luca’s tongue poked out in concentration as he placed a block at the precarious summit. “This one is the roof,” he declared with pride.

Vittoria looked up from her tea set with the superior air of an older sibling. “Luca, towers don’t need roofs. They’re not houses.”

“They do in my world!” Luca retorted, puffing out his chest.

Teresa and Caterina exchanged amused glances before laughter bubbled from them both.

Meanwhile, at the dining table across the room, Lorenzo Medici and his mother, Lady Medici, sat in conversation.

The Duke of Lucca exuded his usual commanding presence, his sharp features softened by the familial setting.

A half-filled cup of tea rested in his hand as he spoke, his deep voice low but firm.

“Madre,” Lorenzo began, leaning back slightly in his chair. “You have told me much about Tess intended, Lord Ducker, but I remain curious. What kind of man is he? Beyond the surface, I mean. Tess seems content, but I want to know if he will truly make her happy.”

Lady Medici’s blue eyes met her son’s with a calm, knowing gaze. “Lord Ducker is a gentleman of good repute, Lorenzo. He is steady and dependable, qualities that will serve your sister well. His affection for her is evident in his manner, and I believe he will honor and cherish her as a husband should.”

“Steady and dependable,” Lorenzo repeated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Worthy traits, certainly. But does he have the strength of character Tess will need? Marriage is not just a convenient arrangement, Madre, it is a union meant to endure through the years.”

A soft smile played on Lady Medici’s lips. “Your protective nature does you credit, my dear. Teresa’s happiness is my priority, as it is yours. You will have the opportunity to judge Lord Ducker’s character for yourself at tonight’s ball. But I trust my instincts about him.”

Lorenzo nodded, though his expression remained contemplative.

He took another sip of tea before voicing a new thought. “And what of Kitty?”

Lady Medici raised an elegant brow. “What of her?”

“I heard that a certain Duke is showing particular interest in her,” Lorenzo said, his tone casual but inquisitive. “Is there something I should know?”

Lady Medici’s smile grew wider, and she set her teacup down with deliberate care. “The Duke of Richmond has indeed expressed interest in your sister. He has called on her several times and shown himself to be most attentive.”

Lorenzo’s brows knit together in a mixture of curiosity and concern. “And what does Kitty think of him?”

Before Lady Medici could respond, the subject of their conversation entered the room, both sisters still laughing over some private jest.

The two young women approached the table, their steps light and their cheeks flushed from the morning’s play.

Lorenzo turned his piercing gaze on Caterina, his question hanging heavily in the air. “Kitty, I was just speaking with Madre about the Duke of Richmond. I heard he has taken quite an interest in you.”

Caterina froze mid-step, her composure faltering for the briefest moment.

The flush on her cheeks deepened, though this time it was not from laughter. “Oh,” she said, her voice unusually small. “I suppose he has.”

“You suppose?” Lorenzo pressed a note of teasing in his voice. “Either he has or he hasn’t. Which is it?”

Teresa, sensing her sister’s discomfort, intervened with a light laugh. “Lori, you sound like an inquisitor! Poor Kitty can’t even have a quiet morning without you interrogating her.”

Caterina shot her sister a grateful look before managing a composed reply. “The Duke has shown himself to be very kind and… attentive. But it is still early days, and I do not wish to rush to any conclusions.”

Lorenzo’s sharp gaze remained fixed on his sister as if trying to discern the truth behind her carefully chosen words. “Do you enjoy his presence?” he asked, his tone both curious and protective.

Caterina hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the lace edge of her sleeve. “I… I think he is a gentleman of good standing and character,” she said at last. “He is attentive and respectful.”

“But?” Lorenzo prompted.

“But,” Caterina faltered, “I do not know him well enough to say more.”

Lady Medici, sensing that her daughter needed reprieve, stepped in smoothly. “Caterina has always been thoughtful in matters of the heart, Lorenzo. She understands the importance of choosing wisely, and I trust her judgment. The Duke of Richmond is a patient man, and he respects her measured approach.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly, though his expression betrayed a lingering skepticism.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I might arrange an introduction to the gentleman this evening”

“of course,” Caterina assured him, her voice steady despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within her.

As the conversation shifted to the ball’s preparations, Caterina’s thoughts lingered on her brother’s probing questions.

Her gaze drifted to Teresa, who was now playfully helping Vittoria set up a new tea party.

Teresa’s laughter was light and carefree, a stark contrast to Caterina’s own brooding thoughts.

For a moment, Caterina envied her sister’s simplicity, wishing that her own heart could be as easily swayed by kind attentions and steadfast promises.

But deep down, she knew that her heart was anything but simple.

─────────

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the Medici sisters’ shared dressing room.

The Langstone estate buzzed with activity, the final touches of the evening’s grand ball being perfected by a flurry of servants.

Within the sanctuary of their room, however, the air was quieter, more personal, filled with the rustle of silk gowns and the faint floral fragrance of rosewater.

Caterina stood before the ornate mirror, adjusting the delicate pearl combs in her hair.

Teresa, on the other hand, sat by the window.

Her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

“Tess,” Caterina said gently, glancing at her sister’s reflection, “you’ve been fretting since the moment we returned from luncheon. What’s troubling you?”

Teresa sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It’s Lord Ducker and Lori,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Caterina turned from the mirror, her brow furrowing with concern. “What about them?”

“I’m worried about the impression Lord Ducker will make on our brother,” Teresa confessed, her words tumbling out in a rush. “you know well how he could be, What if he doesn’t approve? What if he finds fault with Lord Ducker?”

Caterina moved to sit beside her sister, taking Teresa’s hands in her own. “Tess, you’re thinking too much about this,” she said softly. “Lori may be protective, but he adores you. And as for Lord Ducker, anyone with eyes can see how much he values you. He’ll see it too.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Teresa pressed, her voice trembling. “What if he thinks Lord Ducker is insincere or unworthy?”

Caterina squeezed her sister’s hands. “Do you truly believe that?”

“No,” Teresa admitted, shaking her head. “Edward is the most honorable man I’ve ever known. He’s kind, thoughtful… everything I could have wished for. But Lori is different. He values strength and forthrightness, and Edward can be so… so reserved.”

Caterina laughed lightly. “Tess, Lord Ducker isn’t shy. He’s measured. There’s a difference. And Lori will appreciate that once they speak. Trust me, our brother isn’t as difficult to win over as you think.”

Teresa looked at her sister with wide, anxious eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Caterina replied with confidence. “Besides, Lori has a sharp eye for character. If Lord Ducker loves you, and it’s clear that he does, Lori will respect that.”

A flicker of a smile touched Teresa’s lips, though doubt lingered in her gaze. “I hope you’re right. I couldn’t bear it if they didn’t get along.”

Caterina leaned closer, her tone playful. “Well, if our brother does find fault, we’ll simply remind him of his own less-than-perfect courtship skills. That should humble him.”

Teresa giggled, some of her tension easing. “He did have a rather dramatic proposal to Beatrice, didn’t he?”

“Absolutely,” Caterina teased. “And if memory serves, she made him wait three months before accepting. Lori may be an intimidating Duke, but even he’s had to grovel for love.”

The sisters shared a laugh, their bond easing Teresa’s worries.

After a moment, Teresa’s expression grew thoughtful. “And what about you, Kitty? Are you nervous about tonight?”

“Me?” Caterina asked, feigning ignorance. “Why would I be?”

Teresa arched a knowing brow. “Perhaps because a certain Duke will be in attendance? Or because Lorenzo might decide to interrogate him next?”

Caterina rolled her eyes, though her cheeks warmed. “Lori wouldn’t dare,” she said, a touch defensively.

“Wouldn’t he?” Teresa countered with a sly grin.

Caterina sighed, rising to retrieve her gloves from the vanity. “I’m not concerned about our brother’s opinions tonight. My focus is on ensuring you enjoy yourself without spiraling into a fit of nerves.”

“Nice deflection,” Teresa remarked, smirking.

Caterina shot her sister a playful glare before returning to her seat. “Tess, tonight is about you and Lord Ducker. Let me worry about my own affairs.”

Teresa’s teasing softened into a warm smile. “You’re always looking out for me, Kitty. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“And you’ll never have to find out,” Caterina promised, brushing a strand of hair from her sister’s face.

The door creaked open, and Teresa’s maid entered with a tray of sparkling jewelry. “Ladies, I thought these pieces might suit the young ladies this evening,” she announced, setting the tray on the vanity.

“Oh, how lovely,” Teresa said, her earlier worry melting away as she admired the shimmering gems.

Caterina selected a delicate sapphire necklace for her sister, fastening it around Teresa’s neck with care. “Perfect,” she declared, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

“And for you, Miss?” the maid asked.

Caterina chose a simple string of pearls, their understated elegance complementing her gown.

As the maid secured the clasp, Caterina glanced at her sister, whose eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

Teresa nodded her smile more confident now. “Much. Thank you, Kitty.”

“Good,” Caterina said, rising to her feet. “Now, let’s make our entrance”

Teresa laughed, taking her sister’s arm. “Lead the way, Lady of Confidence.”

─────────

The Langstone Ball was an affair of unparalleled elegance, a dazzling celebration of the arrival of the Duke of Lucca, and his family.

The Langstone estate, already known for its grandeur, had outdone itself for this particular evening.

Guests began to arrive at twilight, their carriages lining the long drive leading to the stately manor.

As they ascended the marble steps, a murmur of anticipation filled the crisp night air.

The ballroom itself was a masterpiece.

High, gilded ceilings soared above, their intricate designs shimmering in the glow of countless crystal chandeliers.

The walls were lined with tall, arched windows draped in rich velvet curtains of deep burgundy, their edges embroidered with gold thread.

Through the windows, the faint glimmer of lanterns from the garden added an ethereal quality to the scene.

Beneath the chandeliers, a polished parquet floor reflected the light, creating a sense of endless luminosity.

At the far end of the room, an elevated dais held the musicians.

They played a lively yet refined waltz, their melodies weaving seamlessly with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

The music set a tone of joviality and elegance, urging feet to tap and hearts to soar.

The decorations were a sight to behold.

Garlands of roses and greenery cascaded from the balustrades and twined around the golden sconces.

Ornate vases, placed strategically throughout the room, held arrangements of white lilies and crimson peonies, their fragrance mingling with the faint aroma of beeswax candles.

Tables along the periphery bore platters of delicacies, miniature tarts, sugared fruits, and crystal glasses brimming with champagne, attended by an army of footmen.

The guests themselves were a spectacle, a moving tableau of fashion and refinement.

Ladies floated across the floor in gowns of silk and satin, their skirts shimmering in shades of lavender, emerald, and rose.

Jewels glinted at their throats and ears, catching the candlelight with every graceful turn.

Gentlemen, in their impeccably tailored evening coats and cravats, moved with practiced ease, their polished boots clicking faintly against the floor.

The air was filled with the rustle of fabric, the clink of glasses, and the low hum of conversation.

Lady Langstone stood near the entrance, resplendent in a gown of deep blue adorned with silver embroidery.

She greeted each guest with poise, her warm smile a testament to her role as hostess.

Lord Langstone, standing beside her, exuded a quieter authority, his watchful eyes surveying the room with satisfaction.

At the center of attention, however, was Lorenzo Medici, the Duke of Lucca.

Dressed in a finely tailored ensemble of midnight black accented with gold, he cut an imposing figure.

His wife, Beatrice, was equally captivating in a gown of ivory and sapphire, her serene beauty complemented by her gracious demeanor.

Caterina and Teresa were not far behind their brother, each commanding attention in their own way.

Caterina, in a gown of soft green with gold, carried herself with a quiet elegance, her hair swept into an intricate chignon.

Teresa, by contrast, wore a gown of blush pink and radiated a vivacious charm that seemed to light up every corner she entered.

The sisters moved together at first, exchanging pleasantries with acquaintances and admirers.

The atmosphere was electric, charged with the unspoken currents of admiration, intrigue, and ambition.

Conversations ebbed and flowed, ranging from polite inquiries about the journey from Italy to subtle hints of potential matches being observed and judged.

Young ladies glanced demurely at potential suitors, while mothers watched keenly, their eyes flitting between their daughters and eligible gentlemen.

As the evening progressed, the dance floor became the heart of the event.

Couples glided across the floor in perfect harmony, their movements a blend of precision and passion.

The waltz gave way to a quadrille, then a lively reel, each dance a testament to the refined skill and grace of the participants.

Caterina found herself pulled into the festivities, though her thoughts occasionally drifted elsewhere.

She exchanged dances with a few gentlemen, each polite and charming, though none seemed to capture her attention fully.

As she moved across the floor, she caught sight of the Duke of Richmond, his commanding presence unmistakable.

He seemed to be scanning the room, his eyes narrowing slightly when they met hers.

Teresa, meanwhile, was in high spirits, dancing with Lord Ducker and drawing the attention of more than a few observers.

Their easy camaraderie and mutual affection were evident, their shared smiles and occasional laughter painting a picture of a couple deeply in love.

Lorenzo watched them from the sidelines, his expression softening as he saw his sister’s happiness.

─────────

While every corner of the room was alive, amidst the celebration, Caterina’s heart was heavy.

While her lips smiled and her hands gracefully accepted compliments on her gown, her mind was miles away, replaying a moment she wished desperately to undo.

She had decided early that evening, perhaps before she’d even descended the staircase, that she needed to speak with Benedict Bridgerton.

The guilt had gnawed at her since the day of his proposal, her harsh rejection playing on a loop in her mind.

She knew her words had been unnecessarily cruel, a reaction driven more by her own fears than anything he had done.

Tonight, she resolved to set things right.

As the evening unfolded, Caterina slipped away from the crowded ballroom, her heart pounding.

She’d seen Benedict earlier, a fleeting glimpse of his tall frame moving among the guests, his smile warm yet reserved.

Her eyes had followed him until he disappeared, and now, as she scanned the room, she realized he was no longer among the dancing couples or the chatting groups.

Her resolve grew as she moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries but always keeping an eye on the corners of the room, hoping for a glimpse of him.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she saw him slipping out to one of the balconies.

The cool night air kissed her cheeks as she stepped onto the balcony.

Moonlight bathed the stone railing, and the sounds of the ball softened to a distant hum.

Benedict stood with his back to her, the moonlight bathed him in silver, highlighting the sharp lines of his profile.

She hesitated for a moment, her courage faltering.

But then she took a deep breath and stepped forward. “A beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Benedict turned, his expression unreadable.

“Miss Medici,” he said, inclining his head politely, “Indeed, it is. Though I suspect it’s even more beautiful inside, where the company is livelier.”

Caterina smiled faintly, encouraged by his light tone. “I think you overestimate the charm of the company, Mr. Bridgerton. I’ve been among them all evening, and yet I find myself out here.”

He raised a brow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Am I to take that as a compliment? Or are you merely admitting to escaping boredom?”

“A bit of both, perhaps,” she replied, her smile growing.

But then her tone turned serious, “Mr. Bridgerton, I’ve been looking for you all evening to… to apologize personally for what happened between us.”

He studied her for a moment, his posture straightening. “You do not need to apologize, Miss Medici.”

“All the contrary,” she insisted, stepping closer, “I do need to. My reaction to your proposal was… disproportionate. Unladylike. Rude, if not even cruel. I cannot fathom what overcame me that day, but I humbly request your forgiveness.”

Benedict’s gaze softened, though there was a guardedness in his eyes, “Miss Medici, you don’t have to explain yourself. I knew the risk when I asked. You gave me your answer; that should be enough.”

“No,” she said firmly, her voice trembling with emotion. “There were a thousand ways I could have refused your kind offer, but I chose the worst. I said things… horrible things about you, about your family. Words I will never forgive myself for. I hurt you in a way I cannot undo, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

For a moment, the only sound was the faint music drifting from the ballroom.

Benedict’s face was unreadable, but then he let out a soft chuckle, surprising her, “You know,” he said, his tone laced with humor, “when we were children, Eloise and I had a game where we tried to outdo each other in saying the most ridiculous things about people. I think you might have won without even trying.”

Caterina blinked, startled, and then a laugh escaped her, soft and genuine. “Is this your way of sparing me from drowning in guilt, Mr. Bridgerton?”

“Not at all,” he replied with a grin. “I simply think it’s unfair that you’re the only one carrying this burden. I should share some of it. After all, I did propose to you in a rather ill-timed and dramatic fashion.”

She shook her head, her smile lingering. “No, the fault lies with me. You’ve been nothing but kind and patient, and I rewarded you with cruelty.”

She hesitated, her voice softening, “I truly value what we had, Mr Bridgerton. Not as it was, of course, but as friends. I know that the love you feel for me is… perhaps momentary, an infatuation that will pass.”

Benedict gave a soft, humorless laugh. “You’re remarkably confident in your ability to assess another’s heart, Miss Medici. Are you certain you’re not mistaken?”

A faint blush crept up her cheeks, but she met his gaze with quiet determination. “I am certain of very little, Mr. Bridgerton. But I do know that I value your presence in my life and would like to preserve it, even in a different form.”

His expression grew thoughtful. “Friendship,” he repeated, tasting the word. “It’s a peculiar thing to aspire to after a rejected proposal, don’t you think?”

“It is,” she admitted, her cheeks warming.

He studied her for a long moment, then smiled faintly. “You’re a rare creature, Miss Medici. Most ladies would simply avoid me. But here you are, seeking to salvage what you can.”

“I’ve never been one to take the easy path,” she replied, a hint of mischief in her voice.

Benedict chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “That much is clear. Very well, Miss Medici. Friendship it is. But I must warn you, I’m a terrible friend. I tell awful jokes.”

Caterina laughed, the sound genuine and free. “I think I’ll manage”

“Wise of you,” he said with a grin.

The moment stretched, their laughter fading into a comfortable silence.

Then Caterina glanced toward the ballroom, her expression turning wistful. “I should return inside. My family will be looking for me… I'm pleased that things have settled between us.”

Before she could step away, Benedict’s voice stopped her. “Miss Medici,” he said, his tone more serious now. “The Duke… is he courting you?”

She froze, the question catching her off guard.

Slowly, she turned to face him, her cheeks tinged with color. “I… yes, I believe he is ” she admitted quietly.

His expression remained neutral, though his gaze seemed to pierce through her. “And does that… please you?”

Caterina hesitated, the question throwing her into confusion. “I, yes. He is kind and attentive,” she said cautiously. “But I do not think it is proper to discuss such matters.”

Benedict nodded, his eyes lowering briefly before meeting hers again. “Of course. Forgive me for prying.”

She offered him a small, polite smile, her composure returning. “Goodnight, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Goodnight, Miss Medici,” he replied, his tone soft.

As she disappeared into the ballroom, Benedict leaned against the railing, his thoughts a tangle of emotions.

Her apology had been heartfelt, her laughter genuine.

And yet, as the night stretched on, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still more between them, something unspoken, lingering like a shadow beneath the moonlight.

─────────

Benedict remained on the balcony long after Caterina had disappeared into the ballroom, her delicate figure swallowed by the glow of chandeliers and the hum of the crowd.

He gripped the stone railing, its coolness grounding him as his thoughts churned.

The night air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of roses from the garden below, yet it did little to calm the storm within him.

Her words lingered like a haunting melody.

“I truly value what we had”

He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that her unexpected apology had unleashed.

She had sought him out, searched for him, she had said.

Not for polite conversation, not for obligation, but to apologize.

To make amends.

To heal a wound she had inflicted days ago.

Did it matter that she was sorry?

Benedict wasn’t sure.

The memory of her rejection, sharp and searing, was still vivid.

It wasn’t just the refusal, it was how she had done it.

Her words had been like a whip, tearing into him with precision and purpose.

She had dismissed his love, his sincerity, and him.

The memory still stung.

But tonight…

He opened his eyes and stared into the gardens below, their neatly trimmed hedges and sparkling fountains illuminated by moonlight.

Tonight, she had stood before him, vulnerable and earnest, her voice trembling just slightly as she spoke.

The Caterina Medici who had once cut him down with sharp words had shown a softness he hadn’t seen in her before.

And it unnerved him.

Benedict was no stranger to forgiveness.

In a household as large and lively as his, grudges rarely lasted long.

Eloise’s sharp tongue, Colin’s mischievous pranks, or Hyacinth’s relentless teasing, were daily occurrences, and apologies were often swift and sincere.

But this… this was different.

Caterina wasn’t family.

She wasn’t someone he was obligated to forgive or someone he could easily tease and banter with as if nothing had happened.

She was Caterina Medici.

Beautiful, intelligent, infuriating Caterina.

And she had apologized.

Her words echoed in his mind.

“There were a thousand ways I could have refused your kind offer, but I chose the worst.”

The way she had looked at him, her eyes wide and glistening, had made him believe her.

She had regretted her actions, not just for his sake but for hers too.

Yet, even as he replayed the conversation, he couldn’t ignore the other thing she had said.

The Duke.

Benedict’s jaw tightened as the thought of the man crept into his mind.

He had seen the way her cheeks flushed when he asked about him, the way she had hesitated before answering.

It wasn’t a bashful blush, not entirely, but it was enough to stir something unwelcome in Benedict’s chest.

Jealousy.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was jealous.

Not of the Duke’s title or wealth, but of the time he spent with her, the smiles he undoubtedly coaxed from her, the way she might be learning to trust him.

Benedict scoffed under his breath, the sound bitter and self-deprecating.

Of course, she would blush at the mention of the Duke.

He was everything a young woman like Caterina could hope for.

A title, a fortune, and no doubt a charming demeanor to match.

He likely didn’t paint sketches or dabble in pursuits society deemed unworthy of a gentleman.

But did the Duke know her?

Benedict frowned at the thought.

Did the Duke understand the way her voice softened when she recounted stories of her family, or how her eyes sparkled when she talked about art?

Did he know how fiercely loyal she was, or how her wit could both challenge and delight in equal measure?

And then there was her laugh.

He could still hear it, clear and genuine, from just moments ago.

It had caught him off guard, the way her guard had slipped and allowed her to laugh at his teasing.

It had been too easy, too natural as if no time had passed since they were friends.

Friends.

The word felt like both a gift and a curse.

She had offered it so sincerely, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes.

Friendship.

Benedict let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair.

Could he truly stand beside her as a friend, knowing he still loves her?

Knowing she was being courted by another man, a Duke, no less?

Could he watch her smile, hear her laugh, and not wonder what might have been?

Yet, her words had struck a chord in him.

“I truly value what we had”

what we had.

She had chosen that word carefully, and he couldn’t ignore the weight it carried.

Perhaps she did regret how things had ended between them.

But was that enough?

He thought back to the softness in her voice when she apologized.

There had been no falsehood in her words, no artifice.

Caterina Medici was not a woman who apologized lightly, and tonight, she had laid her pride bare before him.

And yet…

Benedict straightened, his grip tightening on the railing.

The Duke.

Benedict sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation settling over him.

He didn’t know the answer.

Caterina had made it clear she wanted to move forward as friends, and he had to respect that.

And perhaps it wasn’t his place to ask.

But the flicker of hope that had ignited in his chest during their conversation refused to be snuffed out.

As he stared out at the moonlit gardens, Benedict allowed himself one brief, selfish thought: perhaps their story wasn’t over.

Not yet.

And as much as he tried to push the thought aside, he couldn’t help but wonder if Caterina felt the same.

─────────

Caterina stepped back into the ballroom, the vibrant swirl of colors and sound washing over her like a tide.

The chandeliers above cast their golden glow across the room, reflecting off jeweled gowns and polished buttons.

The hum of conversation mixed with the lively strains of the orchestra, and everywhere she looked, people were laughing, dancing, and enjoying the festivities.

Yet, she felt a strange detachment, as though she were merely observing from a distance.

Her thoughts were heavy with her conversation with Benedict.

His words, his tone, the way his expression had shifted, everything lingered in her mind like an unfinished melody.

She had meant every word of her apology and every sentiment about their friendship, but his question about the Duke still echoed in her head.

She shook herself lightly, smoothing her gown and taking a steadying breath.

Focus on the present, Caterina.

Scanning the room, her gaze fell upon a familiar figure.

His brother stood near the far corner of the ballroom, engaged in conversation.

Beside him, tall and impeccably poised, was the Duke of Richmond.

Caterina’s heart gave an involuntary flutter at the sight of them.

Her brother, always charismatic, was gesturing animatedly while the Duke nodded, his expression one of polite attentiveness.

Caterina hesitated only a moment before making her way across the room.

As she approached, the Duke’s head turned slightly, and their eyes met.

His lips curved into a warm smile, and Lorenzo, noticing her arrival, broke off mid-sentence to greet her.

“Caterina,” Lorenzo said, his voice warm. “I was just telling the Duke about your infamous talent for convincing me to get into trouble as children.”

Caterina raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Infamous, is it? I recall most of those plans being your idea.”

Lorenzo laughed, clapping the Duke on the shoulder. “Do not believe her, Your Grace. She’s always been far more clever than me.”

The Duke chuckled softly. “I find that entirely believable.”

Caterina felt her cheeks flush slightly under the weight of his gaze.

“The Duke is an excellent conversationalist, though I must say, he is remarkably reserved when it comes to tales of his own mischief,” Lorenzo said with a grin.

“I assure you, I have none worth recounting,” the Duke replied smoothly.

“None worth recounting or none you wish to admit?” Caterina teased gently, her tone playful.

The Duke’s smile widened a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. “A fair distinction, Miss Medici.”

Before Lorenzo could interject, the Duke turned to Caterina. “Miss Medici, would you honor me with a dance?”

The question caught her off guard, though she quickly masked her surprise with a polite smile. “I would be delighted, Your Grace.”

Lorenzo stepped aside, his grin unabashedly teasing. “Try not to step on his toes, sister.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately at her brother before taking the Duke’s offered arm.

He led her gracefully to the center of the ballroom, where couples were already moving in time to a waltz, the soft strains of the orchestra surrounding them in an almost dreamlike haze.

The flicker of candlelight cast a warm glow across the polished floors, and the laughter and chatter of the guests added a lively undercurrent to the atmosphere.

As they began to dance, Caterina found herself acutely aware of the Duke’s presence.

His touch was firm yet gentle, his hand steady at her waist, guiding her effortlessly through the intricate steps.

His posture was regal, as though he were born to lead, and Caterina, in contrast, felt herself falling into the rhythm of his command with a certain quiet ease.

Yet, despite the grace of their steps, her mind drifted, her attention slipping from the Duke for a mere moment as her gaze wandered across the room.

And there, in the far corner of the ballroom, she briefly spotted him.

Benedict.

His eyes caught hers from across the sea of swirling dancers, and in that instant, a wave of emotions rose in her chest, catching her off guard.

So caught up in the sight of him, Caterina’s foot caught on the hem of her gown, and she stumbled slightly, her body swaying dangerously off balance.

Her hand instinctively gripped the Duke’s shoulder for support, and she felt a sharp gasp escape her lips.

The Duke, ever the gentleman, steadied her instantly, his hand tightening reassuringly around her waist.

“Are you well, Miss Medici?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with concern.

Caterina’s heart raced, a flush creeping up her neck.

“I’m fine,” she quickly replied, her words a little too sharp, betraying the sudden flurry of thoughts in her mind. “It was nothing.”

She regained her composure and adjusted herself in the dance, forcing her attention back to the Duke.

The music resumed, and their feet began moving in tandem once more, but her thoughts lingered on the fleeting moment she had shared with Benedict.

His presence always had disrupted the careful mask of composure she had been wearing so tightly.

“You seem distracted, Miss Medici,” the Duke remarked softly after a moment, his tone light but observant.

Caterina blinked, offering him a faint smile. “Not distracted, precisely. There is simply much to think about these days.”

“A fair answer,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Planning a wedding must be quite an undertaking, even if it is not your own.”

She laughed softly. “That is an understatement. My sister has more opinions about flower arrangements than I ever thought possible.”

The Duke chuckled, his gaze warm. “And what of you? Are you fond of such events, or do you merely endure them for the sake of duty?”

Caterina hesitated for a fraction of a second, considering her answer. “I enjoy them, in truth. The music, the dancing, the chance to see familiar faces, it has its charm. But I must admit, there are moments when I long for something simpler.”

“A sentiment I understand all too well,” he replied, his tone thoughtful. “There is a certain appeal in escaping the grandness of it all, even if only for a little while.”

Their conversation ebbed and flowed as the dance continued, light and polite.

His questions were thoughtful, his attention undivided, and yet, despite his charm, Caterina’s thoughts kept drifting.

does that… please you?

Benedict’s question replayed in her mind, unbidden and persistent.

She felt her cheeks warm as she recalled how Benedict had looked at her when he asked it, not with bitterness or anger, but with something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name.

Did she like the Duke?

She couldn’t deny his many admirable qualities.

He was kind, intelligent, and undeniably handsome.

But did she feel for him the same way she felt for Benedict?

The comparison was impossible to ignore, and she chastised herself for even entertaining the thought.

“Miss Medici?” the Duke’s voice broke through her reverie, and she realized she had been silent for longer than was polite.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” she said quickly. “I fear I’ve been a poor conversational partner.”

“Not at all,” he said, his tone reassuring. “If anything, I’m grateful for the respite from questions about the latest political debates or hunting expeditions.”

She smiled, genuinely this time. “In that case, I’m glad to be of service.”

The waltz came to an end, and the Duke led her back toward the edge of the dance floor.

As they paused, he bowed slightly. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Medici. It has been a true pleasure.”

“The pleasure was mine, Your Grace,” she replied with a graceful curtsey.

As he stepped away to rejoin the crowd, Caterina found herself letting out a quiet breath.

She glanced around the ballroom, where she briefly spotted Benedict, and felt a pang of uncertainty.

What am I doing?

She couldn’t deny the Duke’s kindness or the potential of what he offered.

But something about tonight, about Benedict’s words, his presence, and even her apology, had stirred feelings she thought she had buried some time ago.

Taking a deep breath, Caterina turned back to the crowd, determined to face the rest of the evening with poise.

But in her heart, she knew that the questions swirling in her mind would not be so easily silenced.

─────────

The soft glow of the morning sun poured through the grand windows of Langstone’s drawing room, casting a warm, golden light that reflected off the ornate furniture and elegant décor.

It was a peaceful morning after the excitement of the ball the night before, the lingering energy of the evening still hanging in the air like the gentle notes of a sweet melody.

The laughter and chatter of women filled the space, accompanied by the soft sound of teacups clinking and the occasional delighted exclamation from the children playing at the hearth.

Lady Medici, regal as ever, sat poised in her favorite chair near the window, her fingers delicately holding a cup of tea as she gazed out at the well-manicured garden.

Beside her, Lady Langstone looked equally content, her eyes twinkling as she caught up with her cousin, discussing the success of the previous night’s event.

Beatrice, Lorenzo’s wife, sat near her, her calm demeanor almost a mirror image of Lady Medici’s, but with a gentler air.

She glanced occasionally at the two young children, Vittoria and Luca, who were playing near the fire with their toys, their laughter filling the room with lightness.

Vittoria was especially animated, weaving intricate stories with her dolls, while Luca tried to mimic her in the most endearing way possible.

Cynthia and Olympia, ever the lively pair, occupied a chaise lounge, their heads together in whispered conversation, their eyes twinkling with mischief.

The lively discussion of the ball was at its peak, each woman recounting a detail or a fleeting moment from the evening before.

They spoke of the grandeur of the event, the music, the dances, the gentlemen, everything that had made the night unforgettable.

“You know,” Lady Langstone said, her voice rich with excitement, “I think the ball was one of the finest we’ve had in weeks. The atmosphere was so lively, and the guests… well, they certainly kept things interesting, didn’t they?”

Lady Medici chuckled lightly, her voice low but full of warmth. “Indeed. It seemed as though everyone in town was eager to attend. I dare say the guest list alone could have kept some of the ladies up for weeks, debating who was invited and who wasn’t.”

Beatrice laughed, her eyes brightening with amusement. “And the dancing! I haven’t seen such energy on the floor in ages. I think even my feet are still aching from all the waltzes.”

The lighthearted conversation swirled around Caterina and Teresa, who sat quietly together on a loveseat by the window.

The two sisters, though not speaking, were very much in tune with one another.

They shared an almost telepathic bond, their silent communication enough to convey everything that words could not express.

Teresa looked radiant as always, the excitement of her engagement still fresh in her expression, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Despite the joy that filled the room, something lingered in the air around Caterina, a quiet restlessness, an unease that she couldn’t quite shake.

Her thoughts kept returning to the conversation she’d had with Benedict on the balcony. His words had stayed with her, even as she tried to convince herself that things were fine.

She had apologized for her rude refusal, for the sharp words she had said to him, and he had graciously accepted.

It was the right thing to do, but somehow, the weight of what had transpired between them remained, unresolved in her heart.

As the ladies continued their discussion, Caterina’s gaze wandered to the children again.

Vittoria had just dropped her doll and was now chasing Luca around the room, laughing as the boy, with his round face flushed with excitement, tried to escape her.

The scene brought a soft smile to Caterina’s lips, though her mind was far from the carefree playfulness of the children.

She turned her gaze back to her sister, who was watching her with quiet curiosity.

Teresa noticed immediately.

She always did.

With a gentle nudge of her elbow, she leaned toward her sister, her voice low enough for only Caterina to hear. “Kitty” she began softly, her tone carrying a quiet concern. “What’s bothering you? You’ve been distant all morning.”

Caterina hesitated, her fingers curling around her teacup as she looked at her sister. “It’s nothing, really. Just… the ball, I suppose. Everything feels like it’s moving so quickly. I’m not sure where I fit into all of it anymore.”

Teresa raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp and knowing. “Don’t be ridiculous. You fit just fine, as always. What’s really bothering you?”

Caterina sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she placed her teacup back on the table. “I spoke with Mr Bridgerton last night. After everything that happened, I felt I needed to apologize for the way I treated him.”

Teresa’s eyes widened in surprise. “You spoke to him? I thought you would never do such a thing, you told me”

Caterina looked down, her fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the cup. “I know. But I had to. It wasn’t fair to him. He didn’t deserve the things I said.”

She glanced at her sister, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I apologized, and we’ve agreed to be friends. But…” She faltered, not sure how to put it into words.

“But?” Teresa prompted, her voice gentle but insistent.

Caterina hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “But it feels strange, Tess. He’s like changed. There’s this distance between us now, something that wasn’t there before. And I don’t know how to bridge it.”

Teresa considered this for a moment before responding, her voice thoughtful. “You can’t expect everything to go back to how it was. But you did the right thing. You apologized. What more can you do?”

Caterina nodded, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. “I suppose. I just… I don’t want to lose that connection with him.”

Teresa smiled, her gaze softening. “It just takes time. Just don’t overthink it. Let it unfold naturally.” She paused, her tone lightening.

The conversation lulled as the two sisters exchanged quiet thoughts, their connection growing deeper with every shared word.

Soon enough, the conversation turned back to the lively chatter of the other ladies, and the children’s laughter again filled the room.

─────────

The Bridgerton dining room, with its high ceilings and wide windows, was bathed in the golden light of a late morning.

The polished mahogany table gleamed beneath a pristine white cloth, laden with a spread of fresh fruits, breads, and steaming pots of tea.

The sounds of laughter, clinking china, and the occasional rustle of paper echoed through the room, creating a symphony of domestic cheer.

At the head of the table sat Lady Bridgerton, her posture elegant as she sipped her tea with an indulgent smile, watching the lively chatter of her sons.

To her left was Anthony, already impeccably dressed despite the early hour, his dark brows furrowed slightly as he buttered a slice of toast.

Benedict, seated across from him, looked far more relaxed, his cravat slightly askew and a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Colin, perpetually the least serious of the lot, lounged in his chair, occasionally snatching a pastry from a passing tray.

Their cousin, Lord Edward Ducker, sat at the other end of the table, a picture of youthful enthusiasm.

Despite his attempts to appear composed, his animated gestures as he recounted the events of the Langstone ball betrayed his excitement.

Beside him sat his mother, Lady Ducker, who watched her son with amused indulgence.

Edward leaned forward, his eyes bright. “I must say, the Langstone ball was a rather splendid affair. Everything was so well-orchestrated, from the music to the decorations. And the Medici family, what a commanding presence they have.”

Colin raised an eyebrow as he bit into a scone. “Commanding, you say? Is that your polite way of saying they’re intimidating?”

Edward grinned, undeterred. “Not at all. Though I must admit, Miss Medici’s brother, the Duke of Lucca, does have a rather… formidable air.”

“Formidable?” Benedict repeated, his voice dripping with amusement. “Now that’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. The man looked as though he could cut someone down with a single glance.”

“Perhaps,” Edward conceded, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “But I found him to be perfectly civil. We had a long discussion about estate management and—”

Anthony interrupted, his tone dry. “You mean he interrogated you about your intentions toward his sister.”

Edward blinked, taken aback. “Not exactly. Though I do believe he wanted to gauge my character.”

“And did you pass the test?” Colin asked, leaning forward with mock seriousness.

Edward straightened his shoulders. “I’d like to think so. He even called me a ‘respectable gentleman.’”

The Bridgerton brothers exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.

“Respectable!” Benedict said, feigning astonishment. “Edward, you’ve truly outdone yourself. To earn such high praise from the Duke of Lucca is no small feat.”

Colin clapped his hands together. “We should have a plaque made: ‘Edward Ducker, Respectable Gentleman, Approved by the Duke of Lucca.’”

Even Anthony smirked, his usually stern expression softening. “I hope you realize that’s the equivalent of him saying he doesn’t actively despise you.”

Edward rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Laugh all you like, but I’m confident I made a good impression. And I’d like to see any of you fare better in his presence.”

“Oh, I’d fare just fine,” Benedict said, leaning back in his chair. “I’d compliment his fine taste in Italian architecture and steer clear of any mention of his sister.”

Lady Ducker, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “Edward, darling, if you spent half as much time focusing on Miss Medici as you do worrying about her brother, you’d be married by now.”

The room erupted into laughter, even Edward joining in despite his reddening cheeks.

“She’s right, you know,” Colin said, grinning. “You’re marrying his sister, not the Duke.”

Edward sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “You lot are impossible.”

“And you’re easy prey,” Benedict countered, his grin widening.

Lady Bridgerton, ever the voice of reason, tapped her teacup lightly with her spoon. “Boys, let your cousin have his moment. He’s navigating uncharted waters, after all. Engaging with the Medici family is no small task.”

Edward nodded, his expression softening. “Thank you, Aunt Violet. Though I must say, Miss Medici makes it all worthwhile.”

The sincerity in his voice brought a brief pause to the table, and even the teasing Bridgerton brothers couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s the spirit,” Anthony said, his tone unusually approving.

“Indeed,” Colin added, raising his teacup in a mock toast. “To Edward, the brave and respectable gentleman.”

As laughter filled the room once more, Edward glanced at his mother, who gave him a small, encouraging smile.

It was clear that, despite the jesting, the Bridgertons were firmly in his corner.

Just as the conversation began to shift, a footman entered the room, announcing that the carriages would soon be ready for their errands.

The brothers rose reluctantly, their morning banter drawing to a close as they prepared for the day ahead.

As the group dispersed, Lady Ducker turned to Edward, her tone teasing. “You handled that well, my dear. But next time, perhaps don’t give them quite so much ammunition.”

Edward chuckled, adjusting his cravat. “It’s a fine line, Mother. But I’d rather be teased by the Bridgertons than face another interrogation from the Duke”

Lady Ducker laughed softly, looping her arm through his as they left the room. “You’ll be fine, Edward. If you can survive this family, you can survive anything.”

In the sunlight-dappled halls of Bridgerton House, the warmth of family lingered, a comforting contrast to the grandeur of the balls and the weight of impending proposals.

─────────

The Langstone gardens bathed in the golden hues of a gentle afternoon sun, were alive with the laughter of children.

Caterina knelt on the soft grass, weaving yet another daisy crown for her niece, Vittoria.

The little girl sat cross-legged in front of her, her cheeks flushed with delight as she chattered about becoming the queen of the garden.

Luca, her younger brother, toddled nearby, clutching a stick he had declared his royal scepter.

Teresa, seated on a cushioned bench nearby, kept an amused eye on them all, her hands busy embroidering a handkerchief. “Careful, Luca,” she called her voice light with affection. “You might accidentally dethrone Queen Vittoria with that scepter of yours.”

Luca turned and gave her a gap-toothed grin. “I’m the king!” he declared proudly, waving his stick.

“And a fine king you’ll make,” Caterina said, tying off the last flower in the crown.

She reached forward, placing it gently on Vittoria’s head. “There. Now you look regal enough to rule the entire estate.”

Vittoria clapped her hands and twirled, her giggles ringing like bells. “Thank you, Aunt Cat! I shall knight Sir Luca as my royal knight!”

“Knight or not, I think Luca prefers wielding that scepter like a warrior,” Teresa quipped, nodding toward her nephew as he brandished the stick in a mock battle against an invisible foe.

Caterina laughed, brushing the grass from her skirts as she stood.

The scene was idyllic, yet beneath the laughter, her thoughts were far from peaceful.

She had spent much of the day trying to untangle the complexities of her heart, though no answers had come.

As if summoned by her unrest, Lorenzo appeared at the far end of the garden path, his tall figure framed by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

He paused, watching his sisters and his children with an expression that blended fondness and contemplation.

After a moment, he strode toward them, his boots crunching softly on the gravel.

“What a picturesque gathering,” Lorenzo called as he approached. “Queens, knights, and their devoted subjects. I almost feel underdressed.”

“Do you ever feel overdressed?” Teresa teased, setting her embroidery aside as she smiled up at her brother. “I believe your wardrobe consists solely of austere tailoring.”

“I’ll have you know, this jacket is quite fashionable,” Lorenzo replied, mock offense lacing his tone. “But I came here seeking the wisdom of my sisters. Kitty, would you walk with me?”

Caterina’s curiosity flickered as she handed Vittoria her scepter and took Lorenzo’s offered arm.

“Seeking wisdom from me? That sounds ominous, brother” she said with a teasing lilt. “Do you have a particularly challenging decision that only I can solve?”

“You’ll see,” Lorenzo replied, leading her down the shaded garden path.

Once they were out of earshot, his tone shifted, becoming more serious. “I wanted to ask your thoughts about Lord Ducker.”

Caterina raised a brow, taken aback by the question. “Lord Ducker?”

“Yes,” Lorenzo confirmed. “You’ve spent time observing them together. What do you think of him?”

Caterina considered her answer, a smile tugging at her lips. “I think Lord Ducker is… solid. Like a fine oak tree. Dependable, sturdy, and quite rooted.”

“An oak tree?” Lorenzo echoed, his lips twitching in amusement. “Is that your way of saying he lacks charisma?”

“Not at all,” Caterina replied, feigning indignation. “I’m saying he’s reliable, which is precisely what one would want in a husband. Tess adores him, and he clearly worships her. He’s respectful and kind”

Lorenzo chuckled, nodding. “You’re right. He does seem to care for her deeply. But as her brother, I still can’t help but worry.”

“That’s your job, isn’t it?” Caterina said, squeezing his arm. “To worry about all of us endlessly. But truly, Lori, Tess is happy. She’s chosen well.”

Lorenzo sighed, though a smile lingered on his lips. “I suppose I should trust her”

They walked in companionable silence for a moment before Lorenzo turned to her with a pointed look. “And what about you?”

Caterina blinked, suddenly wary. “What about me?”

“What are your thoughts on the Duke?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp with interest.

Caterina felt heat rise to her cheeks. “The Duke is… a gentleman,” she replied cautiously. “Polished, courteous, and every bit the image of nobility.”

“And yet,” Lorenzo pressed, “your tone suggests there’s more you’re not saying.”

Caterina hesitated, her gaze dropping to the gravel. “I suppose I haven’t spent enough time with him to form a complete opinion,” she admitted. “He is… impressive, but I, well, I find it difficult to know what to think.”

Lorenzo stopped walking, turning to face her.

His expression was both serious and curious. “There’s something you should know,” he said after a moment.

Caterina frowned.

Lorenzo exhaled, his voice lowering. “The Duke approached me last night. He asked for my permission to propose to you.”

Caterina froze, her eyes widening. “He… he asked for your permission?”

“He did,” Lorenzo confirmed. “I told him that while I wouldn’t oppose the idea, the decision ultimately rests with you. But I thought you should be aware.”

Shock rippled through Caterina, leaving her momentarily speechless.

The Duke of Richmond, thoughtful, polished, and enigmatic, wanted to propose.

The weight of it pressed on her chest, and she struggled to find her voice.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” Lorenzo said gently. “But I wanted you to know”

Before Caterina could gather her thoughts, Teresa’s voice rang out from the other end of the path. “Lori! Kitty! Vittoria insists her royal court requires your presence.”

Caterina exhaled a shaky breath, grateful for the interruption.

As Luca and Vittoria came racing toward them, Lorenzo stepped back, giving her a small, knowing smile.

Their conversation was left suspended, the implications of his words lingering like a shadow over the garden.

Caterina bent to scoop Luca into her arms, but her thoughts were miles away, tangled in questions without answers.

What did she truly feel about the Duke?

The main reason why she and Teresa are in London.

The Duke was everything a lady of her status should desire: handsome, noble, refined, a man of dignity and integrity.

His courtship had been respectful, methodical, and patient.

And his intentions were clear, he was not merely seeking her beauty or her fortune, but the prospect of a genuine partnership.

It was everything she had been taught to want, everything that made sense for her future.

Yet, even as she stood there, surrounded by the quiet comforts of Langstone House, the warmth of her family’s presence beside her, her mind drifted back to a moment that had stolen her breath and shaken her very foundation.

Benedict Bridgerton’s proposal.

The words echoed in her mind, louder than any conversation she had had with the Duke.

Why, did she find herself thinking of him now?

Why, when the Duke’s proposal was no longer just a possibility but an imminent reality, did her mind keep drifting back to Benedict and his words?

The truth was, that Caterina felt conflicted.

The Duke was everything she could want but Benedict…

Could she move forward with the Duke, allowing herself to be swept into a future of security and respectability, or would she always wonder how could have been if she had said yes to him that evening?

─────────

The fading light of the day poured softly into Caterina’s room, casting long golden beams across the lush rug and furniture.

The silk curtains, tied back with braided cords, fluttered gently in the evening breeze, adding a quiet rhythm to the stillness of the space.

In the corner, Vanessa carefully unpacked the accessories for the evening, a shimmering array of pearls, and a delicate gold necklace.

The gown, already laid out on the fainting couch, was a masterpiece of craftsmanship: soft ivory silk with gold embroidery tracing delicate vines along the bodice and hem.

It was perfect for dinner at the Bridgerton estate, a subtle statement of refinement and elegance.

Yet, amidst all this beauty and quiet preparation, Caterina sat at her dressing table, lost in thought.

Her hands rested idly in her lap, her gaze fixed not on her reflection in the ornate mirror, but on some invisible point beyond it.

Vanessa, ever watchful, paused in her task of untangling a pearl necklace. “My lady” she began gently, “if I may be so bold, you’ve been unusually quiet this evening. are you quite well? Is something troubling you?”

Caterina blinked, her gaze snapping back to the present.

She met Vanessa’s eyes in the mirror and forced a faint smile. “oh yes, I am perfectly fine. nothing troubling” she replied, though the lie was evident in her voice.

Vanessa arched a brow, her hands deftly fastening the necklace onto a padded stand. “Forgive me, but I’ve known you long enough to recognize when ‘nothing’ is quite the opposite.”

Caterina sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I suppose I cannot hide anything from you,” she admitted. “It’s just… tonight feels heavy as if there’s more at stake than there should be.”

Vanessa came to stand beside her, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Dinner with the Bridgertons? Surely it’s nothing to worry about. They seemed charming and kind people”

“It’s not the dinner itself,” Caterina murmured. “It’s what lingers beneath it all. The expectations, the undercurrents.” She hesitated, her fingers toying with the edge of the lace handkerchief on the table. “Vanessa, the Duke is courting me. And… I believe he intends to propose.”

The maid’s expression didn’t change, though her hand on Caterina’s shoulder stilled for a moment. “I suspected as much,” she said carefully. “And how does that sit with you, Miss?”

Caterina bit her lip, turning to face her maid directly. “I don’t know,” she confessed, her voice trembling slightly. “By all accounts, I should be elated. Becoming a duchess is everything a woman could hope for especially when her partner is kind, dignified, and undeniably handsome.”

Vanessa’s gaze softened. “But?”

“But when I think of a life with him,” Caterina continued, “I feel… hollow. Not because he’s lacking in any way, but because I don’t know if I belong there.”

Vanessa took a seat on the small upholstered stool beside her. “Miss Caterina, it sounds as though you’re trying to convince yourself of something you don’t feel. The heart doesn’t obey logic or societal rules.”

“I know that,” Caterina said, frustration creeping into her voice. “But it’s more than that.”

Vanessa studied her for a moment, then asked quietly, “Do you love him?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and for a long moment, Caterina couldn’t answer.

Instead, her mind drifted to another man.

Vanessa must have seen the flicker of something in Caterina’s expression because she leaned closer. “It’s not the Duke you’re thinking of, is it?”

Caterina’s cheeks flushed a deep rose, and she turned her gaze to the window, refusing to meet her maid’s perceptive eyes. “That’s irrelevant,” she said softly, though her voice carried a faint quiver. “I did not come here to fall in love, Vanessa. All the ton knows that.”

Vanessa tilted her head, her lips curving into a gentle smile. “Perhaps, Miss, but I’ve found that love rarely cares for plans or intentions. It tends to bloom in the most inconvenient of places.”

Caterina let out a faint, humorless laugh, her fingers nervously tracing the intricate embroidery on her gown. “You speak as though it’s a blessing. For me, it feels like a curse, a complication I cannot afford.”

Vanessa crossed her arms lightly, watching her mistress with a steady gaze. “And yet, you speak of love as though it’s already found you.”

“I never said—” Caterina started, but Vanessa held up a hand, silencing her with a knowing, almost sisterly look.

“You didn’t have to, Miss. Your eyes betray you,” Vanessa said gently, her tone neither prying nor judgmental. “If it’s not the Duke of Richmond who stirs this turmoil in you, then who?”

Caterina froze, her throat tightening as memories rushed forward unbidden.

She clenched her hands into fists, forcing herself to push the memory away.

She shook her head firmly, her jaw tightening as though to physically banish the thought. “Who it is does not matter,” she said with a strained calmness.

Vanessa’s brows lifted slightly, her expression softening with curiosity and quiet understanding. “Oh, but it does matter. It matters if it’s someone who holds your heart.”

Caterina turned abruptly to the vanity, her fingers brushing over the edge of a silver hairbrush as if grounding herself with the sensation. “No, it doesn’t,” she said, her voice sharper now. “Because my heart cannot afford to belong to anyone. Not him. Not the Duke. Not anyone.”

Vanessa approached slowly, her movements deliberate and gentle. “Forgive me, Miss, but you’re not the type to let fear dictate your choices. Why now? Why deny yourself this?”

Caterina let out a bitter laugh, one devoid of mirth. “Because it’s not about what I want. It’s about what I must do. My family needs me to make a wise match. I cannot…will not be a source of shame or disappointment again. I need to repair for what I did.”

Vanessa’s lips pressed into a line, her eyes filled with a blend of empathy and frustration. “My lady choosing love is neither reckless nor shameful. The events of the past now mean nothing, Don't let yourself become a victim of the past, you are still capable of love”

The words struck Caterina harder than she cared to admit.

Her grip on the hairbrush tightened her reflection in the mirror a portrait of poise cracking at the edges. “You make it sound so simple,” she said quietly.

Vanessa tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s never simple. But the right thing rarely is.”

Caterina’s gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers fiddling with the lace of her gown.

The weight of Vanessa’s words pressed against the walls she had so carefully constructed, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to feel the truth of them.

But the moment passed, and she straightened her shoulders, donning the mask of composure she had perfected over the years.

“Thank you, Vanessa,” she said softly, signaling the end of the conversation.

Vanessa hesitated, then nodded, stepping back to give her mistress the space she seemed to need. “Of course, Miss.”

As the maid returned to her duties, Caterina’s mind churned with thoughts and emotions she couldn’t quite name.

The mirror before her reflected not just her image but the storm brewing within, a storm she would have to hide before stepping into the Bridgertons’ dinner.

[hopelessromwriter]

Dancing In The Starlight

Azriel x reader

Warnings: none

The night was alive with a luminescent glow, the sky adorned with a tapestry of stars that seemed to dance and twinkle in celebration of an extraordinary meeting.

Among them, Azriel, the shadowy warrior from the Night Court, found himself drawn to a mysterious figure that had captured his attention like no other.

As the moonlight cast its ethereal glow upon the secluded glade, Azriel spotted a lone figure standing in the center, surrounded by an aura of mystique.

The figure seemed to emanate an enigmatic energy, and Azriel's curiosity piqued, drawing him closer with each step.

It was you, an unassuming mortal, caught in a reverie of stardust and moonbeams.

Azriel observed as you spun gracefully, your laughter ringing through the night like a sweet melody. Your soulful eyes sparkled like the stars above, and Azriel found himself entranced by your every move.

Unable to resist the allure of your presence, Azriel stepped forward, his wings of shadows casting a dark and protective embrace around you. His powerful, silent presence did not startle you, but rather, it seemed to intensify the magic of the moment.

"Who are you?" you whispered softly, a glimmer of recognition in your eyes as if you had been expecting him.

Azriel remained wordless, his gaze searching for the right response in the depths of your soul.

He found that your soul was unlike any he had encountered before, a kaleidoscope of emotions and experiences that stirred something deep within him.

Instead of answering, Azriel extended a hand, offering to share a dance under the celestial canopy.

Without hesitation, you placed your hand in his, and the two of you began to sway in harmony with the night breeze.

Time seemed to stand still as you danced, your heartbeats echoing in rhythm.

The barriers that separated your worlds dissolved, leaving only the connection between your souls.

Each step, each touch, felt like a revelation, as if the universe had conspired to bring you both together.

In the silence of the night, you dared to ask him about the secrets he held, the shadows that clung to him like a cloak.

And in return, Azriel shared fragments of his past, his pain, and the battles he had fought for the Night Court.

Despite the darkness he carried within, you sensed the glimmer of hope and compassion within Azriel, a side of him that few had ever glimpsed. It was a fragile vulnerability he entrusted you with, and you vowed to cherish it as a precious gift.

As the night wore on, the dance became a timeless expression of connection and understanding.

With each twirl and spin, you felt as though you were unraveling the complexities of your own heart, exposing your deepest desires and fears to this captivating fae warrior.

With the first light of dawn peeking over the horizon, the dance came to an end.

You gazed into Azriel's eyes, feeling a bittersweet ache that this enchanted moment would soon become a cherished memory.

"Will we meet again?" you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

Azriel smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "The stars have a way of guiding us to where we belong," he replied. "If it's meant to be, we'll find each other again."

With that, Azriel disappeared into the shadows, leaving you standing in the glade, your heart a swirling mix of emotions.

As you watched him go, you knew that this fleeting encounter had forever changed the trajectory of your life.

And so, you kept your gaze fixed on the stars, knowing that somewhere out there, a shadowy warrior named Azriel was doing the same.

The memory of your dance in the starlight remained imprinted in both your hearts, a reminder of the rare and extraordinary connection that could transcend the boundaries of worlds and time.

[iwriteasfotini]

The Heart of the Lion

Author Note

I'm doing things all sorts of backwards these days. The work is complete on AO3 as of on hour ago. So now I suppose I'd better publish an AN about it! I edited this work through three times before posting it in a few large chunks. Phew, this whole work posting for LONG fics is a lot of work. I mean, writing them is a lot of work in general. But reading 160K words 3x within a few weeks is a lot. I'm really looking forward to having installment six posted. Things get much shorter from there. And by things, I mean works. But alas, two works still need to be edited thrice and posted and both are sitting at 170K and 190K respectively at the moment. *Sigh*

What do I have to say about The Hear of the Lion. Um, I love it so much?!?! Every work I post is my new favorite. I mean it's Jegulus, and not angsty will they get together Jegulus, but actual Jegulus in a relationship (secret as it may be). I love them together so much. They were made for each other.

I'm going to talk about some spoilers now so if you don't want to read that skip down to the bold text after the cut.

I love Regulus in this work. He's so young, and in this secret relationship with his brother's best friend. He has a few normal insecurities, but honestly, the kid is confident and tough. He is carrying the burden of his family to keep Sirius out of the picture. He's got adults mentoring him, recruiting him, enticing him... he meets the Dark Lord and is rather fascinated. Dumbledore asks him to essentially be an undercover agent for him. It's ridiculous. But Regulus is a good person at heart. And his heart is positively bursting for James. They are beyond ridiculous.

They really get to know each other this year and spend lots of time flying together and even the entire Easter holiday together in James' dorm room. I mean they aren't stuck in the room, but they sleep there together at night. They have several sweet symbolic moments of teenage romance. Doing over the top things for each other, declaring they will love each other forever and intensely. They know they have hardship in their future, but they don't have to face it yet and thus get to sort of exist in this little fairytale.

At the same time, Regulus declares as a Dark wizard (super awesome) and becomes closer with the other teens who will all end up being future Death Eaters. He is secret best friends with Lily. They are mentored by Kingsley this year and experience things with their magic beyond anything they ever dreamed. But Lily and Dark magic prove to be a dangerous combination. Severus is obsessed with Remus all year, it gets really annoying and finally Sirius' dam bursts and he reveals how to get through the Willow at the end of the year. I set up for a lot of action at the beginning of the next work.

There is a lot to unpack in this work. And yet, Regulus is still years away from joining the Death Eaters. Crazy!!!

I wrote this installment months and months ago. I can't remember what my favorite parts of writing it were. But reading it back, I love the chapter during which Regulus does his three Dark rites. Really the entire second half of the work hits right where I wanted it to, the heart.

As far as posting goes... I'm not sure still how I feel about the way I'm posting. I'm thinking for the next work I might post it in chapter clusters of 4-5 at a time... This whole experience is rather odd for me. I didn't anticipate feeling positively buried in so much unpublished content. I haven't been able to write anything new in weeks because all my time and mental energy is going to editing. I've had to accept that. I think it will be okay. I still have a long term plan and I have several WIPS I was working on out of order until editing simply became too much. Once The Changing Times posts I am taking a bit of a break from posting so much and I would like to get back to writing more.

I might try some WIPS, either after The Changing Times or as side works still set in my universe. I REALLY miss writing new content. Just so you all know, I've been working on this project for almost a year. I began posting my works on October 31, 2024. And thus far my posted series is at 523,687 words, and is four long fics. I have about another 500K already written, and this does not include the war years and beyond.

When I edited this work I became very excited about cutting back my word count. I ended up cutting 10K words from my initial draft to the final published work. I was shooting for 20K, but 10K is still really good. That's about two chapters of content, though I didn't actually cut any chapters. What it means is hopefully less repetition, less meaningless dribble, and more high quality content. I'm going into editing The Wolf and The Star with the same mindset... but I'm going to keep my expectations more reasonable at cutting about 10K.

As the story is moving more into the later Hogwarts years, I hope I can get some more people onboard. The content goes more mature, at least I think it does. I know a lot of Marauders writers don't even start fics below fifth year, and my next work to post is fifth year. The ships intensify, the drama increases yet again, I think it's a wild ride myself. But I digress.

I'm so proud of all my works. I think my writing progression is becoming more apparent in this work. I looked at The Heir and The Spare the other day and was like, Holy Hornets this needs another edit! But I just can't. Not right now. Not when I have so much other content to edit and to write. Alright enough from me. Please go read the work. Tell me your thoughts. I love to hear them and I think this work is an intriguing one.

The Heart of the Lion on AO3

[hanniberries]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 (Part 1)

𝔨𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱!𝔰𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔥𝔴𝔞 𝔵 𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔢𝔫!𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 𓂅 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔰𝔱??

─────⠀𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒔, 𝒊𝒏𝒋𝒖𝒓𝒚, 𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉, 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅, 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 (𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒚 + 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒔) ^ 𝔀.𝓬 1015

The night air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth, a lingering chill whispering through the towering stone walls of the castle. Queen Y/N sat at the grand window of her chamber, staring at the moon that hung like a silver omen in the sky. Her thoughts were clouded, as they often were, by the presence of the one she was never meant to love.

Seonghwa stood in the shadows behind her, as he always did. Silent. Watchful. Bound to her by destiny, sworn to protect her until her final breath. The gods had ordained it so; Shadows were born with their Queens, their fates interwoven like the threads of an unbreakable tapestry.

But the gods had not foreseen this.

They had not foreseen the quiet glances exchanged in candlelit halls, the unspoken words carried in the space between them. They had not foreseen the aching yearning that filled the spaces in their hearts, growing with each passing moment. And now, standing just a breath away, Seonghwa could feel the weight of their unsaid confessions pressing against his chest.

Then the attack came.

It was swift, a blur of motion and steel as assassins infiltrated the castle under cover of night. Seonghwa moved without thought, his blade flashing as he cut down enemy after enemy, his only concern the safety of his Queen. But even a Shadow had his limits.

A blade found its way past his defenses, sinking deep into his side.

Pain erupted in white-hot agony, but he did not falter. He could not. He fought until the last assassin lay dead at his feet, and only then did he stumble. Blood stained the marble floors, pooling beneath him as his vision blurred. And through it all, he saw her—Y/N, rushing to his side, her hands pressing desperately against the wound, her eyes wide with fear.

“Seonghwa,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Stay with me.”

He lifted a bloodstained hand to touch her cheek, the warmth of her skin grounding him. He had never dared before, never allowed himself this indulgence. But now, with the cold fingers of death closing around him, he had nothing left to lose.

“I was always yours,” he murmured, voice weak, “even when I wasn’t supposed to be.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “You cannot leave me.”

He tried to smile. “I was born to.”

She did not accept that. She refused. He was hers, and she would not let him go.

Days passed. Seonghwa’s body healed, though not entirely. He was still weak, confined to his chambers by the castle’s healers. But Y/N could not rest, not after what she had learned.

She had stumbled upon the secret chamber by accident—a hidden passage within the walls of the castle, leading to the long-abandoned quarters of her late mother. There, amidst dust-covered tomes and forgotten relics, she found the book.

The Origin of Shadows.

Her breath had hitched as she read. The first Shadow had been a knight—a man who had loved his Queen with a passion so deep, so all-consuming, that he could not bear to live without her. And so, he had sought out a sorcerer and begged for a way to remain by her side forever. The curse was born that day, binding every Shadow to their Queen until death took them both.

She was shaking by the time she finished.

This was his fate. He would die with her.

She could not allow it.

Without a second thought, she grabbed the book and fled the castle. She needed to find a sorcerer, needed to break this wretched curse before it was too late. She would not let him die because of her.

But she did not know what lurked in the darkness beyond the castle walls.

Shadows moved in the night, unseen eyes watching, waiting. And as she ran, desperation in her every step, she did not notice the figures that slithered from the depths of the forest, closing in.

Her Shadow was not with her.

And danger was fast approaching.

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

A Christmas To Remember.

as the snowflakes dance delicately from the sky, (y/n) (y/l/n), a free-spirited waitress with a passion for baking, exercise and all thing love, finds herself drawn to the mysterious and captivating harry. with his soulful eyes and a guitar that seems to carry its own secrets, harry becomes the muse that ignites a fire within your heart.

your love blossoms amidst the twinkling lights and cozy warmth of the holiday season. together, you create melodies that echo through the frosty air, your harmonies weaving a tapestry of emotions that captivate anyone who listens.

but as your love grows deeper, a cruel twist of fate threatens to tear you both apart. a blast from harry’s past turns up out of the blue, begging for his attention and he's completely stuck in a bubble filled with all things you and music. you’re faced with a heart-wrenching choice - to let harry go and be with someone who he already has a connection with or to hold onto your love.

in your journey, people close to them witness the sacrifices, the tears, and the moments of pure vulnerability that define your love story. will you and harry find a way to navigate the treacherous path of separation, or will your love be lost in the swirling snowflakes?

prepare yourself for a rollercoaster of emotions as you embark on this poignant journey of love, loss, and the unbreakable bond that defies all odds.

get ready to immerse yourself in the world of two souls, where every word, every note, and every heartbeat carries the weight of their anguished love.

authors note - hi, everyone, whose ready for a little christmas fic?? i’ve had this planned for literally forever and (y/n) and harry are my literal babies, like i’m obsssed with them so bad:(

this story will take place in normal time, except our darling hazza will not be a three time grammy winner that we all know and love, instead a simple busker. he is 29, where as she is 27, so a slight age gap.

chapters will be realised every two days from december 1st, 2023 from english time of 7pm (19:00) and with the final chapter being realised on christmas day !

if you’d like to be added to a taglist, feel free to let me know;)

warnings - perhaps a bit of explicit language, major angst, slight innocent reader (but very slight.) mentions of alcohol,panic attacks and very badly written smut.

if you so notice any more warnings, please give me a shout and i’ll get to fixing this list!

chapter one. a serendipitous encounter.

in which, a cheerful and talented barista, finds herself captivated by the enchanting melodies of a busker as the first snowflakes gently fall, his soulful voice and heartfelt lyrics resonate with her, filling the cozy café with warmth and joy. unable to resist the allure of his music, she steps outside during her break and joins the small crowd that has gathered around him.

chapter two. a brewing connection.

in which, there paths keep crossing, and she can't resist visiting his spot whenever she can. as the holiday season unfolds, he surprises her by playing classic christmas songs, filling her heart with joy and nostalgia. their shared love for music and the magic of Christmas brings them closer, spending evenings sharing stories and dreams under the twinkling city lights.

chapter three. the ghost of christmas past.

in which, he finds himself in a predicament when his ex-girlfriend unexpectedly shows up, bringing back memories of past mistakes. as they spend time together, he starts to notice his other connection distancing herself. feeling confused about his feelings, he has to try and come up with a resolution.

chapter four. the whispers of love.

in which, she starts distancing herself from him, leaving him puzzled. determined to find out why, he visits her best friend’s house, where a few things are finally hashed out, where feelings finally come to the surface, as the snow is falling around them, and locals sing christmas carols.

chapter five. a christmas to remember.

in which, as they prepare for christmas eve , they visit a festive Christmas market. where she surprises him with the news of something big. on christmas day , they gather at his house, inviting their friends over. they exchange gifts and enjoy each other's company.

[7wbzui]

we could've been - jeong jaehyun

oc name: none

word count: 713

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N and Jaehyun had always been inseparable. From the moment they met, a deep bond formed between them—a connection that transcended time and circumstance. They navigated the ups and downs of life together, sharing dreams, secrets, and countless laughter-filled moments. But as fate would have it, their story took a tragic turn, leaving both of them scarred by an unyielding angst that would eventually lead to a heart-wrenching end.

It all began with a chance encounter on a rainy afternoon. Y/N, a vibrant and free-spirited artist, stumbled upon Jaehyun, a brooding musician lost in the melodies of his guitar. Their eyes met, and a spark ignited—an inexplicable chemistry that neither of them could deny. They became entangled in a whirlwind romance, their hearts entwined as they explored the depths of love together.

"I love you Y/N," Jaehyun expressed tenderly under the thunderclouds.

"I love you too Jae," Y/N replied with just as much love as he did.

Yet, the universe seemed determined to test their bond. Life's challenges began to chip away at their once unshakable foundation. Dreams collided, ambitions clashed, and the weight of their individual struggles began to weigh heavily upon them. Jaehyun wanted to tour around the world yet Y/N wanted to stay confined within her comfort zone. The angst that once ignited their passion gradually turned into a suffocating presence, pulling them apart.

The nights grew longer as silence replaced their once effortless conversations. The distance between them widened, filling the void with unspoken words and unshed tears. Each passing day was a painful reminder of the growing chasm in their relationship—a gap they desperately tried to bridge but to no avail.

Y/N's artistry suffered, her colours dulled by the ache in her heart. Jaehyun's music lost its soul, the melodies now a haunting reminder of what they had lost. Their shared dreams had transformed into painful reminders of what could have been.

In the final act of their tragedy, they found themselves standing on the precipice of goodbye under the thunderclouds, which once witnessed their confessions of love. The air thickened with unspoken apologies, regret clinging to their every word. 

With tear-filled eyes, Y/N whispered, "Jaehyun, I still love you. But perhaps it's time to let go."

Jaehyun's heart shattered, his voice choked with emotion. "I love you too, Y/N. I always will," he replied, his voice trembling with the weight of a thousand unfulfilled promises.

In that heartbreaking moment, they both knew that the anguished end they had arrived at was their only way forward. Their love, once a burning flame, had been reduced to fading embers, unable to withstand the storms they faced.

With heavy hearts, they embraced for the last time—a bittersweet farewell filled with memories and a love that could no longer thrive. Tears soaking their already soaked clothes. It was like the world still wanted them to be together — it seemed to stand still as they released each other from their grasp, their hearts forever marked by the scars of their failed love story.

---

In the years that followed, Y/N and Jaehyun pursued their separate paths, their souls forever marked by the profound loss they had endured. Jaehyun went on and toured the world, performing at different arenas - everything he ever wanted. Y/N continued painting, which eventually was hung up in a museum. They continued to pretend that they were okay but they would forever carry the ache of what could have been—a reminder of a love that had slipped through their fingers, lost to the unforgiving hands of time.

Sometimes, in the quiet corners of their hearts, they would wonder if their paths would ever cross again and if destiny would grant them a chance to rewrite their tragic tale. But life, ever unpredictable, kept them apart, leaving them with only the haunting echoes of a love that ended too soon.

And so, their story stands as a testament to the fragility of love, the anguish that can accompany it, and the lingering scars that remain even after the curtain falls on what could have been forever.

[mpregforlife]

Once upon a time, in the familiar town of Eddsworld, a man named Tom found himself caught in a whirlwind of emotions after an unexpected turn of events. Tom, a lovable and eccentric character, had always been a pivotal part of the community. He was known for his quirky sense of humor and his undying loyalty to his friends.

But as fate would have it, Tom's world was about to change forever. It all started when the infamous Tord returned to town after a lengthy absence. Tord and Tom had a complicated history, filled with both friendship and strife. Yet, as Tord reentered Tom's life, old feelings that had been buried deep within Tom's heart began to resurface.

One fateful night, Tom found himself drowning his sorrows in a sea of alcohol. The weight of his emotions had become too heavy to bear, and he sought solace at the bottom of a bottle. As the world spun around him, Tom's memories became hazy, and he ultimately succumbed to the comforting darkness of slumber.

The following morning, Tom awoke with a pounding headache and a sense of disorientation. Groggily, he opened his eyes, only to be greeted by a sight that left him breathless. He wasn't in his own bed; he was lying beside none other than Tord himself, who was still peacefully asleep.

A mix of confusion, fear, and undeniable attraction coursed through Tom's veins. He couldn't comprehend how he had found himself in this situation, or what it meant for him and his feelings towards Tord. Uncertain of where to go from here, Tom decided to keep this unexpected encounter a secret, at least for the time being.

Weeks passed, and Tom's state of mind began to deteriorate. His once energetic and vibrant self was now overshadowed by constant fatigue and waves of nausea. Concerned for her brother, Tom's twin sister Melissa convinced him to seek medical help.

Reluctantly, Tom confided in his closest friends, Ben and Bianca, who happened to be skilled doctors. They performed a thorough examination, hoping to find the cause of Tom's deteriorating health. What they discovered left them all stunned beyond belief.

"Tom," Ben's voice wavered with disbelief, "you're pregnant."

The room fell silent, the weight of the revelation hanging heavy in the air. Tom's mind raced, trying to comprehend the impossible. He was carrying not just one, but two precious lives within him.

Fear and uncertainty consumed Tom as he grappled with the overwhelming reality of his situation. How could this have happened? What would he do now? Thoughts of his blossoming feelings for Tord collided with the incredible responsibility that lay before him.

As the news spread to his friends and the community, they rallied around Tom, offering support and guidance. Despite their initial shock, they knew that love and acceptance were the only paths forward. Together, they created a haven of positivity amidst the storm that raged within Tom's heart.

Throughout his journey, Tom discovered newfound strength and resilience. He faced the challenges of pregnancy head-on, embracing each moment with both fear and anticipation. Alongside his unwavering support network, he prepared himself to become the best parent he could be.

And amidst the trials and tribulations, a remarkable love story emerged. Tord, once just a figure from Tom's past, proved himself to be a pillar of unwavering love and support. He stepped up, determined to be there for Tom and their growing family. Their bond deepened with each passing day, fueled by a shared understanding and a love that defied all odds.

In the end, as the final pages of this extraordinary adventure unfolded, Tom found himself surrounded by love, joy, and a newfound sense of purpose. The unexpected twists and turns of his life had led him to a place of undeniable happiness.

And so, dear reader, as you close the book on this remarkable journey, may you be reminded that life has a way of surprising us. It is within the depths of our struggles that we often find our greatest strength. And sometimes, the most unconventional paths can lead us to a happiness beyond our wildest dreams.

For Tom and his growing family, their adventure was just beginning, filled with endless love, laughter, and the magic that comes from embracing the unexpected.

[amigoua]

Lydia – The Beautiful and Fierce Wife of Albert Windborn

Lydia was more than just a housecarl—she was Albert Windborn’s devoted wife, battle companion, and closest confidante. Their bond, forged through war and struggle, became an unbreakable force, rooted in love, loyalty, and mutual respect.👍

A Love Forged in Battle

Their story began in Whiterun, when Jarl Balgruuf assigned Lydia as Albert’s housecarl after he became Thane. At first, she was purely his protector and follower, sworn to carry his burdens and fight by his side. However, as they traveled together across Skyrim—battling dragons, hunting vampires, and fighting the enemies of the Empire—their partnership deepened into something more.

Albert, a handsome😎, strong Imperial Legionnaire with a heart as fierce as his blade, found himself drawn to Lydia’s strength, unwavering loyalty, and beauty. She, in turn, admired his determination, courage, and deep sense of justice.

It wasn’t long before their partnership turned into a deep and passionate romance.

Their Wedding – A Warrior’s Union

Under the blessing of Mara in Riften, Albert and Lydia were married in a ceremony surrounded by their closest allies—fellow Legionnaires, The Companions, and trusted friends.

Lydia, dressed in a fine yet simple Nord gown, stood proudly beside Albert, knowing that she was not just marrying a warrior, but a man who fought for Skyrim’s future and protected those who could not protect themselves.

As they exchanged vows, Lydia looked into Albert’s eyes and whispered, "From the moment I swore to serve you, my fate was bound to yours. Wherever you go, I will follow. Whatever battle you face, I will stand beside you. Until Sovngarde takes us both."

With those words, their souls were bound forever.🥰

The Protector of Lakeview Manor

After their wedding, Albert and Lydia settled in Lakeview Manor, a beautiful home they built together in the forests of Falkreath. Here, they raised their adopted children, Lucia and Blaise, providing them with a life of warmth and safety despite the chaos of Skyrim.

But Lydia was never just a housewife—she remained a warrior at heart, training with Albert daily, keeping their home safe from bandits, vampires, and even Thalmor agents who sought to harm them.

She was fiercely protective of her family. When Thalmor Justiciars and Stormcloak extremists kidnapped Lucia, Blaise, and Albert’s entire family, Lydia did not wait for rescue—she fought to the last breath to protect their home, surviving only because Albert, the Blades, Legate Rikke, and the Companions arrived just in time.

The Love of a Werewolf and a Warrior

Lydia also knew Albert’s secret—his lycanthropy. Unlike others who feared werewolves, she accepted his beastly nature, understanding that it was part of who he was.🐺

When the moon was full and Albert transformed, she did not flee in fear. Instead, she stood beside him, saying, "Beast or man, you are mine, and I am yours."

Sometimes, she would even ride alongside him on his hunts, ensuring that he never lost himself entirely to the beast within.

A Love That Withstood War

Through the Civil War, the Dragonborn prophecy, and countless battles, Lydia and Albert remained unbreakable.

When Albert fought the Stormcloaks, she was beside him, proving that not all Nords supported Ulfric’s racist rebellion.

When he hunted vampires, she fought at his side, ensuring that no creature of the night could threaten their home.

When the Empire waged its hidden war against the Thalmor, she stood guard, watching the shadows, knowing that their greatest battle was yet to come.

She was his sword and shield, his love and his strength—and in return, Albert protected her with everything he had.

And when their time came, they would enter Sovngarde together, side by side, as warriors, lovers, and legends of Skyrim.

[sheisjustoutofreach]

The Allure of Petunia Black Velvet

In the hushed hours of dusk, when the veil between worlds things and shadows deepen, I find myself drawn to a garden that breathes secrets. There lies the Petunia Black Velvet, a creature of dark beauty, her petals cloaked in obsidian velvet, whispering ancient tongues of longing and loss.

As I step closer, a chill wraps around me, stealing my short desperate gasps of due, thick as a fog, curling around my limbs like a ghostly embrace, whether to swallow me whole or tear me to pieces. The air is heavy with a fragrance that is both intoxicating and foreboding, a sweet, tongue tingling, decay that lingers like the crumbs of a sugar cube. It beckons me, suspending me into a realm where light falters and only shadows dare to dance.

Each bloom pulses with a haunting rhythm, as if alive with the souls of those who have wandered too far into the night. They sway gently, their movements fluid and sinuous, like dark specters gliding through the gloom. I can almost hear their whispers, the echoes of forgotten lovers and lost dreams, swirling around me in a mournful symphony.

The petals glisten with dew, dripping like tears, each droplet a testament to sorrow concealed beneath their elegant exterior. In their darkness, I see reflections of my own fears, unspoken wishes, hidden regrets. The garden feels like a mirror, revealing the shadows I carry within, drawing them to the surface. A breeze stirs, chilling the air, and I sense a presence. The fairies here are not the playful spirits of folklore, they are wraiths, ethereal beings wrapped in shadows, flitting among the blooms, gathering not nectar, but the essence of despair, relishing in tears of the fearful. Their laughter is a haunting melody, echoing in the stillness, a reminder of the fleeting nature of beauty.

Kneeling before her, I am both entranced and terrified. She embodies the duality of existence, the allure of beauty intertwined with the inevitability of decay. In her velvety depths, I see a promise of transformation, but also the lurking specter of loss. It is a reminder that all things beautiful are tinged with sorrow, that even in the darkest moments, there is a haunting peace. As night envelopes the garden, I rise, leaving a piece of my heart behind among the blooms. She watches me go, her shadows whispering secrets that will haunt my dreams. I will forever carry her with me, a chilling reminder that beauty can be a shroud, that sometimes the most enchanting things are cloaked in darkness.

[mkmarlene]

Tragedy struck and nothing was ever the same, changed forever she knew she’d lost more than just her family— she’d lost herself along the way. Locked away in her own tiny cage of suffering, she’d pushed away each and every single one of her friends, fearful that her eternal grief would end up consuming them. She remembered in fragments, sensations more than moments: a heart wrenching scream, cold hands, erratic heartbeat, scraped knees. Then came the desperate need for an escape, finding solace in a bottle of firewhisky or more. Anger followed, the kind that burns deep within and never really leaves you. A rollercoaster of emotions, grasping at a sanity that didn’t even seem certain anymore. The witch decided to shut off, distance herself from feeling, or at the very least refrain from showing she had any. That was when the faking began, an act she now carried out quite flawlessly, pretending she didn’t feel anything.

Running away from it all lead straight into his arms, unbeknownst to her that avoiding her feelings would be impossible in his presence. The connection between them, raw and pure as it was took over as she found a safe haven in the late nights shared together. His touch soothing, his gaze inviting. Marlene had no choice but to let him in, let herself feel. Too much could go wrong, too much was already wrong. Their paths following complete opposite directions yet intertwined over and over again.

Grieving hurt, but somehow it didn’t hurt as much as knowing that the morning always came to be. Secrets to remain in the dark, a choice at last. She’d come back every single time. There was something so intimate in their touch, feeling his breath alongside hers as he pulled her even closer— his scent reaching her nostrils, awakening something inside of her, nails digging lightly on the back of his neck. He could’ve said anything but Gael knew just how powerful words could be, his muggle poetry had taught them both. “Friend…” The witch repeated in a hush, her voice cracking slightly as she went on. “Is friend the right word for someone who steals your breath and stops the pain?” Marlene asked as her eyes flickered up to meet his, risking it all for the reply. “Is friend the right word for us, when I can’t seem to think straight anymore?” the brunette confessed, leaning in, standing on her toes and whispering in his ear. “All I can think about is you.” A pause, tilting her head back the slightest bit to look into his eyes, her own darkened by dilated pupils as she gave in and lost herself into him— slowly, hurriedly, all at once, lips find his and it feels like she can finally, finally breathe.

there was a time when all he knew was anger. a time of lashing out privately, a time of bloodied knuckles meeting mirrors, a time of spitting vicious taunts at no one but his own reflection. and in that time, he didn't believe that he'd ever have the opportunity or the want to be kind or tender or sweet again. sweetness had gone from his life the moment his mother had left it, leaving behind a man who wouldn't claim gael as his own in the ways that mattered. leaving behind a fracture in gael, a bleeding wound that only seemed to fester and putrefy the more time passed... and then he'd met marlene - really met her, not just in passing. they had began to speak more regularly, pulling gael from his loneliness in the shared moments spent together, even if it was picking at the thin layers of gael's shield for a moment or two in passing. the connection, even whilst they were young, had been true, genuine, and right from the very beginning. but gael had never told her how he'd learned to love himself again in her shared company, how having an outlet for the memories of his mother had been influential in him getting better.

gael knew loss well but... he could never imagine it to the level that marlene sustained, and still very recently. he tried to reconcile his own loss with her feelings, but the depth of it... surely, it wasn't really the same. yes, he had lost his mother, but marlene had lost her family in total. the amount of grief she carried was immense, gael could see it in her eyes. and he'd made himself available to be a shoulder, honored to have the opportunity but hating that they even had to contend with this to begin with. he'd made himself into her own little shield, casting away the memories that she would never be able to escape from, to listen, to arm her with small smiles that might shine through the darkness, to help. not because he pitied her but... simply because she had done the same for him not so long ago.

they shared breaths now, and gael couldn't stop looking at her, hadn't taken his eyes off of her since she arrived. his hands stayed patient on her hips even as her own wound round his neck, pulling him ever closer. his eyes clenched shut, and he squeezed as her words physically pained him a bit. his chest ached because he knew, inevitably, she would have to leave... but they still had tonight. opening his eyes once more, he pulled her by the hips until he could rest his chin on her head, trailing down to press a kiss to her forehead as if he did it all the time. "never," he said, his voice a cast away, full of emotion, true right to the very end. "you've been my only friend for such a long time." a hushed laugh fell from his lips, and his nose rested in her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, familiar and full in his chest. "you brought me back when i thought i'd slip away forever, thrown out to the cosmos, never to return."

[lokiskitten]

hello i love ur works omg idk if ur still accepting reqs or suggestions regarding ur stepdad! tom imagines but what abt an imagine in which tom attempts to end the secret affair between him and the reader and then the reader is heartbroken so she gets herself a boyfriend which makes tom jealous then smut ?? idk HAHAHA tyyy

Tom Hiddleston | forbidden behavior

Stepdad!Tom Hiddleston x fem!reader

plot : around a week after your stepfather called it off regarding the bond you two had developed, you are caught hanging out with a couple of friends in a café. Noticing his presence outside of the building, you decide to join him only to receive the most peculiar lecture of your life.

warnings : stepdad!trope, stepdad x stepdaughter intercourse, jealousy, slight physical abuse, kissing, crotch groping, handjob.

A week had passed since your stepfather had decided to end the relationship the two of you had progressively developed behind your mother’s back. You obviously took this as betrayal, an unnecessary decision which easily led you to develop hatred for the older man- especially after he had managed to convince you that the moments you spent together filled him with as much bliss as it did for you. But these times were now over, and your first mission easily became to avoid him as soon as you penetrated inside of your own home. Before your mother, both you and Tom were obviously forced to make an effort in order to keep your secret on the low- scared that any suspicious behavior would lead your past to come flashing under the lights of the projectors.

On a warm Friday evening, you had decided to stop by a café with a couple of your friends in order to celebrate the end of the week. Within this group stood Trystan, a boy you had finally agreed on offering a chance after breaking up with Thomas. He was nice and well educated, a mass of long black hair covering the top of his head as well as his neck. The young man also brought home plenty of nice grades, which could only be a green flag to your high expectations holding self- adding up to how he had offered to help with your mathematics homework after school. Now this was a proposition you jumped on immediately, but which you knew wouldn’t be able to take place within the walls of your house- and that due to your dragon of a stepfather.

Being too busy laughing with your classmate, you hadn’t noticed Tom’s presence outside of the café, his body leant against his car as he watched you fall for someone else. In fact, he had been following you on your way back home from college nearly every day of the week- satisfying the weird obsession he held for your younger self and easing his crippling anxiety and possessive behaviors. Seeing you with another man couldn’t have driven him more upset, his fists clenching out of pure anger within the pockets of the suit he wore for work. Minutes passed by, and the older man remained leant against his car whilst growing more and more impatient regarding the sweet words and touches you appeared to offer the black haired boy. These touches he knew so well were meant to be his, and this overall sight easily led the adult to regret ever breaking it off with you.

When your head finally looked up in order to divert through the open doors of the café, your heart tightened upon witnessing the stern silhouette of your stepfather waiting against his car. Embrassement and fear progressively started to fill your organism, face decomposing whilst your friends continued to laugh with one another. Thankfully, it didn’t take long until Trystan noticed the way your mood had unexpectedly yet drastically changed. “Hey, Y/n?? You’re okay?” He asked on a concerned tone, his empathy leading your stomach to grow a couple of more knots at the thought of your stepdad witnessing such a scene. “Yeah..I’m fine. I think I’ll be going home now.” you responded politely, catching all of your mates off guard though none of them did a thing to hold you back. They could tell you appeared sick and pale.

“Take care.” Lizzie purred out as you swung your bag over your shoulder, the group’s curious eyes following your silhouette which exited through the door of the café only to end up joining an older man who stood nowhere far from here. Swallowing your saliva, you attempted your best to keep a rather proud expression on your face in order to push Tom a bit closer to the edge. You were aware that he absolutely despised it whenever you held an attitude. “Hi.” Your briefly said, not fighting the situation as your feet immediately started to lead you towards the other side of the car. “Who’s that guy you were with?” Tom immediately asked as he got into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind him. You mimicked his gestures, and the two of you were now sat in the front of his vehicle.

“Just a friend. Why is it important anyway?” You answered harshly, leading your stepdad’s anger to rise above the edge. “Right.” He responded coldly, both of his hands firmly holding onto the steering wheel as he began to drive away from the café. Silently, you watched the way his veins popped out of his skin due to the pressure applied onto his palm- the way his jaw clenched easily matching with his overall tensed and aggressive behavior. Without showing any form of weakness, you simply decided to behave as if you were indifferent face to this situation. You couldn’t exactly tell where Tom was taking the two of you, but even after your breakup you still trusted him well enough not to bring any harm to your fragile mind and body.

You felt surprised and confused to watch him park his car in a nearly empty parking lot, the upset male obviously seeking intimacy for the peculiar lecture he was about to give you. But again, he remained unexpectedly silent, his jaw and chest being the only parts of his body which remained in action. He couldn’t appear to find proper words, though was he truly seeking any? Gathering your courage to take the first step, your lips parted shyly, a single word barely getting enough time to come out of your mouth before you were violently cut off by your stepfather. “Tom-“ you began, body jumping due to the man’s unexpected and quite violent reaction. His palm had collided with the steering wheel, as if the only sound of your voice made him remember about what he had seen back at the café. It was the first time you ever saw him behave in such a way. Usually, he was always calm, friendly. Anger wasn’t an emotion he often felt the need to summon.

“What were you thinking?!” He blamed, the accusations penetrating your ears and leaving your poor mind clueless regarding what he was referring to. All you could tell was that his tone carried hatred, and that therefore his overall body was probably full of this exact same wrath. “Tell me, what were you thinking?” He repeated, this time on a slightly softer tone though this unwelcome touch of dominance remained. Pressing his head back against the seat as air escaped his lips, you finally found the strength to step forward and explain yourself. “He’s just a friend from college. He doesn’t stand up next to you.” You promised, the words escaping your lips as if you two had never put an end to your inappropriate relationship in the first place. “I think about you every day. I think of us.” You added, growing hopeful face to how your words appeared to progressively calm him down.

Tom’s head turned towards yours, ocean blue eyes locking with your unique orbs as the empty parking lot made it feel as if the world around you had stopped. The way his chest moved up and down as he breathed led something to rise within your soul- a sensation you hadn’t felt for over a week... ever since he had decided to put an end to your affair. His veiny hand moved up to your cheek, fingers brushing against your cheekbone before he took the initiative to delicately push a bit of your hair behind your ear. “I don’t want you to see this boy again... ever. You’re mine. My property.” He spoke gently though asserted dominance, allowing you to loose yourself in his soothing tone. However, his head was soon to tilt to the left, his upper body moving closer to yours in order to steal a kiss.

You understood the signals and moved forward as well, his hand still on your cheek as your lips collided against one another’s. His jaw roamed air as Tom took the initiative to intensify the kiss, enjoying this moment after he had been craving the taste of your flesh ever since he took the stupid decision that was ending it all between the two of you. Within a matter of weeks, you had managed to make your own stepfather crazy about you and your aura, your body, flaws and qualities. And whilst Tom continued to enjoy the taste of your lips, your nostrils were filled with bliss as they were finally allowed to breath in his cologne again, a smell you had terribly missed. No scent could’ve potentially replaced the infamous perfume that was your stepfather’s and which you had grown used and attached to through your multiple intercourses.

Growing more and more heated, you took the initiative to slide your hand down until his crotch, fingers tightening against the thick material of his suit which allowed you to feel his prominent bulge through his pants. Tom groaned out of satisfaction as you began to massage his flaccid length which had yet to harden through his trousers, hips buckling upwards just so slightly as if his crotch desired to remain stuck to your palm forever- and that through the help of a denser contact. The warmth which emitted from his groin felt delightful under your bare fingers, a sensation which could only make you crave for more. And so did he. Keeping his lips against yours, your stepfather proceeded to slide both his hands down between his thick thighs, digits unbuttoning and unzipping his pants in a rush which finally allowed you to penetrate within his intimacy.

Sliding past the elastic of his briefs, your hand was soon to come in contact with the slightly hardened member which resided down Tom’s pants. This once he moaned, the vibrations penetrating inside of your moist cavity before his tongue slid inside of your mouth. You were soon to hold up a rather satisfying pace, rubbing up and down his shaft and stopping only when you felt the need to offer him some extra pleasure by giving attention to his testicles. The male broke the buccal contact to collide against his seat, eyelids shutting close as you carried on leading his cock towards orgasm. His member had now hardened properly, revealing his true and generous length which had recently been pulled out of his pants. Just like before, Tom found pleasure in thrusting his hips upwards and participating to the intercourse a bit more than he already was.

“That little boy of yours.. is his cock this big?” Your stepdad asked through seethed teeth, having trouble finding his words due to his clenched abdomen and twitching nutsack. “No...” you responded, being slightly out of breath due to the heated kiss you shared earlier. Hearing these satisfying words coming out of your mouth, the older man couldn’t help but raise his shirt in a hurry before white semen began to sprint out of his overly sensitive urethra, his shaft twitching and contracting in order to propel the sperm out of his crotch. You bit down onto your lower lip face to such a delightful sight, hand moving down to his testicles in order to praise them one last time. This move made your stepfather shiver. You two had finally found yourselves, and it wasn’t any time soon that the older man would ever agree to let go of you again.

“And as you can see... I’m not dead”- all jokes but yes, I am alive and giving the people what it wants😭 I’m sorry if it isn’t very good tho🥺 I hope y’all are taking care!

taglist : @theaudacitytowrite @devilsuga @bucky-soldat @winteralpine @fa-me @ineffablefanic @delightfulheartdream @rosie-posie08 @marygut1407 @wildxwidow @tabea3 @lokistoriesreblog @arzennn

[dakarimainink]

Babybump

WARNING: Fluff, a hint of angst, cute

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x You (Reader)

Wordcount: 1.4K

Note: Not betad, all mistakes are my own.

"Hey, I love you writing and I was wondering if you can do a Pedro imagine where the reader is pregnant and like they didn’t announce it or anything and no one knew about it till they were seen in public. You can change it up if you want! Xx✨"

Okay, I am a slut, not even gonna try and hide it. As this was a request, I wasn't sure if you wanted smut or not, so that's why it is in two parts. Part one is pure fluff and no smut. Part two however is a smutty scene for those of you who wants to read about how they conceived the baby.

Enjoy! 💛

Part 2

Masterlist

You are nervous. It is obvious by the way you cling to Pedro in the backseat on your way to the gala. Your fingers intertwined into his big hand as you fiddle with the hem of his suit jacket.

He is nervous too, not because people will probably speculate, but he worries about you. The news is big, but neither of you like it when the media tries to poke into your private life before you are both ready to reveal it. It will come out eventually, but you want it to be from you and not rumours and pictures roaming about.

Your family and closest friends know. You chose to break the news three weeks ago. You remember the tears in your mother’s eyes and the warmest hug from Pedro’s father. But what truly stuck with you, was the moment you confirmed it to Pedro.

You knew for about five days without telling anyone. Pedro was away filming but had managed to squeeze in a night with you on a rainy Saturday. You had planned to go out for dinner, but in the last minute, chose to have a pizza and movie night. Cleaning the dishes from the pizza and preparing some snacks in the kitchen, you decide it was time.

You turned to him, biting your lower lip and he knew there was something immediately. At first, worry painted his face and he had walked over to you and wrapped you in his arms, kissing your forehead softly and asking what was wrong.

Tears were prickling in your eyes and as you looked up at him, more worry grew and you couldn’t help but feel happiness fill your chest, knowing this man was the father to your child.

A smile stretched across your face as tears escaped the corners of your eyes and you told him.

He was frozen, scanning your face and he went through all kinds of emotions before his eyes crinkled up into a bright beam. He pulled you in, holding you tight to him while murmuring all kinds of sweet words. Kneeling, he snuck his hand under your t-shirt and spread his hand across your belly, warmth filling you up. “Our baby.” He had whispered before looking up at you with tear-filled eyes.

You had made sweet and passionate love that night, his focus on purely satisfying you over and over and over again.

Pedro catches your chin and tilts it up to meet your eyes. He notices the worry in your eyes and gives you a gentle smile. Carefully sliding his hand further up, he graces your cheek with his thumb before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look perfect.” He smiles.

You smile back at him, feeling a lump of worry surge in your belly. You know you could leave whenever you want to, Pedro had even offered to not go at all. A part of you wants everyone to know, but another wants to keep it a secret for as long as you can.

The car stops and your heart skips a beat as our stomach feels with dread. Your fingers grasp onto his hand, you almost missed the worried look on his face, his eyes scanning your features.

“We don’t have to, my love.” He whispers, gently stroking the back of your hand.

You shake your head. “I know, but I can’t avoid it forever.” You gulp, staring into his eyes. They crinkle at the gentle smile. He leans forward gently peck your lips, leaving a lingering touch on you.

As you give him a nod, he opens the door and gracefully climbs out before holding out his hand to assist you out. You place your hand in his and plant your feet on the ground before he pulls you gently out.

As soon as you were both outside, flashes and yells from the paparazzi filled your ears. Trusting Pedro to lead the way, he guides you onto the carpet and pulls you close to him, his hand resting on your side as you both face the paparazzi. From all the comments, none of them mention the tiny bump on your belly.

You sigh out in relief and feel more confident in your posture, straightening your back.

Pedro immediately notices and glances down at you with nothing but love in his eyes. His fingers twitch into your flesh before his thumb strokes up and down, bringing you more comfort.

~~~~~

You lay peacefully in Pedro’s arms, the morning sun peeking in between the curtains and a stripe of warmth licks your leg as it rests over Pedro’s hip. You listen to each other’s slow and steady breathing.

He had apologised for waking you up when he pulled you to him that morning, but you didn’t mind at all. It is where you belong, close to him. He left a few soft kisses on your forehead while you lay there resting, enjoying the calm morning. But the calm is interrupted as both of your phones won’t stop buzzing.

Pedro sighs, knowing exactly what all the texts are about. He had peeked at his phone before pulling you in, several messages commenting on today’s news. He had hoped it wouldn’t turn into something, but here you both lay, you – wondering what it all is about, him – wanting to shield you from the storm.

“Pedro?” You breathe, your eyes looking up at him from behind your eyelashes. “What is going on?” You have a feeling this is about last night’s appearance, but you wait for him to confirm it.

He looks down at you, a calm smile painting his lips. “Nothing we have to care about for now, my love.” He presses his lips to your forehead and nuzzles you closer to him.

You sigh out and drift off in his protective arms, knowing whatever is going on right now, didn’t need your attention.

~~~~~

He looks handsome, his calmness and confidence match great with his casual outfit. His hair slightly tussled from dragging his fingers through it again and again. You like his natural curls mixed with his grey peppered beard.

His eyes are resting on the woman sitting in front of him, but every time he glances at you, it fills you with butterflies. It’s not too obvious he is looking at you, as you’re standing a few strides behind the woman, listening to the ongoing interview of his newest movie.

“So, for some other big news, which I hope you can confirm for us, Pedro. A month ago, the internet went crazy over some new photos and headlines of you and your fiancé. Speculations of a potential new family member surged through several social medias. Could you perhaps talk a bit about that? Is it true?”

You knew the question would be asked, Pedro’s agent had agreed upon it before the interview took place. Pedro had asked you several times, if you wanted to go out with the news. You were a bit hesitant at first, but then again, might as well get it over with.

He gives the woman a smile before his eyes immediately seeks out yours, nothing but love is filled within his gaze. “It is with great pride and joy I can confirm my beautiful fiancé is carrying our future child. She is doing an amazing job and I can’t wait to become a father and see her be the mother of our baby.”

Your heart beats faster, tears brimming in your eyes as he speaks warmly of your future family. You know he is looking forward to it, but to see him like this, confirming the news and not leaving your sight, makes you warm from head to toe. You want to rush over to him, hold him close to you, but knowing interrupting the interview is not a good idea.

You wait patiently until the woman thanks Pedro for the interview. He immediately gets up from his chair and walks up to you, wrapping his arms around you. He kisses the top of your head several times and you wrap your arms around him.

“I will forever mean it, my love. I can’t wait to see you be the mother of our child, to carry them, to feed them, to help them grow up. I know you’ll be the best at it and every obstacle we face, we will face them together.”

You pull him tighter to you, a tear escaping the corner of your eye. “I love you.” You mumble into his chest.

He buries his nose in your hair. “I love you too.” He whispers.

(Wanna be added to my tag list for Pedro Pascal and his characters? Let me know and I will happily add you)

@cynic-spirit, @lililolli, @notabotiswear, @sara-alonso, @blankmooon, @xoxo-callie, @mamacitapascal, @thewaythisis, @greeneyedblondie44, @stevie75, @mswarriorbabe80, @anaaaispunk

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC is Half-Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar Part 2!

Part 1 Lessons 1-5 Lessons 5-6 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

Okay, They’re Your Cousins but You’re Not Sure How They’re Related to You...

(Barbatos, Simeon, Solomon, and Luke)

(It’s mostly Luke)

Barbs likes smol Lucifer. Smol Lucifer likes Barbs. They bake together with Luke. MC nearly set the kitchen on fire. MC needed to learn to cook.

MC is forever delegated to mixing duty because they refuse to admit that they don’t know how to work the oven.

Simeon is the one telling MC embarrassing stories about Lucifer and the rest of the Student Council from when they were all angels. Lucifer never hated Simeon more than when he found out that Simeon told MC about how hard Lucifer cried when he got to hold baby Mammon for the first time. MC was sworn to secrecy.

Well... sworn to secrecy, but if Uncle Mammon just happened to find out through a series of coincidences it wouldn’t be MC’s fault, right?

Simeon also tried to help teach MC to fly... but he kept distracting them with stories about Lucifer and Michael learning to fly.

“So my father was even WORSE than he told me he was?!”

“Yes, he actually challenged Michael and Raphael to a race at one point. Lucifer ended up slamming directly into a wall because he didn’t know how to stop.”

“SIMEON!”

Solomon was absolutely fascinated with MC. How did their half demon half human nature affect their reaction to certain spells and potions? Do half demons have more or less magical strength than normal demons? Can half demons make pacts with humans? Wait- Lucifer why are you taking MC away they were talking- Lucifer!

Immortal troll needs to troll. MC is the unwitting victim of many of Solomon’s shenanigans.

“Why must I speak in rhymes?! This is the end of times!”

“MC, just stop talking.”

“Father, I don’t mean to be a bother but-”

“So the rhyming spell works the same on half demons... interesting...”

“Solomon...”

“I’m leaving, Lucifer. I’m leaving!”

Aw! Two kids in the Devildom! They were fast friends. Sure, Luke was a little annoying and MC was a bit of a dick, but their mutual smallness and desire to impress their parental figures brought them together.

“Michael’s just so cool and amazing! The way he flies, the way he commands everyone... I want to be just like him someday!”

“Is that why you’re making a cake?”

“Michael has a sweet tooth, and I want to impress him.”

“I wonder if Lucifer likes sweets...”

“Why would you want to give HIM sweets?”

MC just gave Luke a toothy grin and started making the dough for the cake.

Remember back in Lucifer’s section where I said MC would keep their lineage a secret to freak people out? Yeah... they kept it from Luke. At first it was a joke! They were going to tell him! They just uh... it got really awkward. They planned on revealing it to Luke right after they learned how to properly fly so they could swoop in, pick their angel buddy up and zip the two of them to school. It’d freak Luke out at first, but it was meant to be funny! MC would have even sung the song from Aladdin! It um... didn’t turn out that way.

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” MC growled at the lesser demons that were crowding Luke.

“O-oh... uh... nuh-nothing...” a few of the demons backed off, mumbling a few harried apologies to MC as they scurried away. The remaining demons seemed a tad more... hmm... they say there’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity.

“M-MC! You can’t fight demons! I’m an angel I-I c-can...” Luke sniffled, but tried his best to step in front of MC.

“Oh please, the little half-breed and the lowest ranked angel are going to put up a fight?” One of the demons jeered, a few of the remaining demons joined in.

MC’s eyes narrowed, their glare as cold as the worst winter storm. “I’m going to tell you once, and once only,”

Their wings sprouted from their back, horns now fully grown and on display, teeth sharper and glistening in the light. Hm, it seemed half demons could make their eyes glow too, how delightful.

MC gave the other demons a sweet smile, it would have been comforting if it weren’t for the amount of teeth they were showing off. They lazily placed their hand on Luke’s head and lightly moved him out of the way.

“Leave, or I will make you regret ever crossing us exchange students.” MC’s carefree smile couldn’t mask the malice that coated every single word that left their lips. “Run along now, you’re not needed here.”

The demon that had started the taunts stiffened, he looked from MC, to Luke, to the other demons, before scoffing and shaking his head. “Whatever, the two of them aren’t worth it anyway...”

When the offending demons weren’t leaving fast enough for MC’s liking, they snapped their fingers and shot a fireball right behind the fleeing demons’ feet. They cleared out pretty quickly after that.

“Luke?” MC turned to look at their friend. “Are you...”

Luke was backing away. That look in his eyes, he was... scared. Scared of MC...

“Y-you’re a d-demon?” He whimpered, taking another step back.

“Half demon, actually.” MC let their demonic elements disappear. “I meant to tell you, I really did! It just was never the right time-”

“You lied to me! You said you were human! But you’re a demon like the rest of them!” Luke shouted, he wiped at his eye with his sleeve and sniffled. “I tried to help you, but you just..! I thought you were my friend!”

“Luke- hang on!” MC took a few steps forward, but Luke was already running away. MC felt something twist in their gut, something awful. That ball of innate pride twisted and practically screamed, filling MC’s head.

“He’s not worth it!”

“You’re above him anyway...”

“If he can’t understand how perfect you are, he doesn’t deserve your kindness.”

“Don’t grovel for his forgiveness. He’s beneath you.”

“Your help was rejected. Let him hate you. You’re the child of one of the most powerful demons in the Devildom, who is he to make you upset?”

The thoughts filled MC’s head as they desperately tried to shut them up. They were their father’s child, their pride wouldn’t be easily combated.

“Just be quiet!” MC clawed at their head.

“You’re better than this. You’re better than this. You’re better than this-”

“Luke!” MC called out again. “I’m sorry!”

It truly was a shame that their friend didn’t understand how much an apology from MC really meant.

They guessed Luke was right, wasn’t he? Demons were nasty awful liars. MC was no different...

That hurt.

Lucifer noticed his kid was moping around, not even Detective Toe Beans could cheer them up. Mammon even came home covered in mud from a failed money-making scheme and it didn’t even make MC crack a smile! He needed to get to the bottom of this.

Upon hearing the reason for his child’s woes, he was fully ready to break down the door of Purgatory Hall and throttle the little chihuahua, but Lucifer came to his senses and realized that MC probably didn’t want that.

He teamed up with Simeon and Solomon the things he did for MC... And managed to get both Luke and MC to the Demon Lord’s Castle to hang out with Barbatos.

It didn’t take a genius to realize that Luke missed his friend too. Sure they called him a chihuahua sometimes, but they were still the bestest friend he had made during his time in the exchange program... maybe ever...

Maybe... just maybe... he overreacted. MC did protect him after all, and they never tried to hurt him...

Barbatos was fully ready to fulfill his role as Luke’s second dad and help his angel-son make up with his friend.

It may have been awkward at first, but the two had to join forces to stop Solomon from getting within a hundred metres of the kitchen. Nothing brings two people back together more than fear for your tastebuds.

Mission success. Lucifer could relax knowing that his kid and the chihuahua were back to being friends. Maybe MC could convince Luke to quiet his infernal yapping... Lucifer was trying to work here!

For some extra fluff, after many days of asking and asking, Lucifer and Simeon agree to take Luke and MC up to the human world for Halloween. They got to go trick or treating, and everyone complimented MC and Luke on their ‘costumes’.

*insert sitcom laugh track here*

Sure, it may have been a little immoral for MC to use their powers to manipulate the humans into giving Luke and MC more candy but... candy...

Oh shit would you look at the time- they had to get back to the Devildom for Diavolo’s birthday party- MC STOP WITH THE CHOCOLATE! THE SIGN SAYS TAKE ONE! DON’T BE LIKE MAMMON.

The exchange year had been a success. Well... sort of. MC wasn’t exactly the average Joe human the Student Council expected, which is why after a lengthy break where MC went back to the human world to visit their other parent and human friends, the seven rulers of Hell (+MC) were sitting and waiting for the new exchange students to arrive.

Unlike the previous year, the entire student council was present. That included Levi who they had to physically drag there, Belphie who was carried there and had to be placed in his seat because he was completely passed out, and finally Mammon, he just had to be threatened.

“Father,” MC pouted from their seat next to Lucifer. “Why isn’t my chair as big as yours?”

Lucifer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Because you’re much shorter than me. You can have a bigger chair when you grow a few more inches.”

“Mmm...” MC murmured, crossing their arms. “Are the students going to get here, or what?”

“Can you be patient?” Lucifer asked. “They’ll be here any moment now. I can trust that you’ll behave, right?”

MC looked scandalized, placing a hand over their heart and gasping. “Father! Of course! I’ll be the most polite person these humans have ever met!”

Not so deep down, Lucifer severely doubted that.

“Come now, Lucifer and MC!” Diavolo said from his elevated seat. “It’s almost eight am!”

Right on schedule the portal opened, two sets of screams followed.

“The next big priority should be making the trip more comfortable.” MC huffed. “It’s demeaning getting dropped straight down like that and just slamming into the floor.”

“Hm.” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Perhaps instead we can just teleport them up to the Celestial Realm, start a war, and have them crash through not one, not two, but all three barriers between the realms with no portal.”

“Father...” MC matched Lucifer’s eye roll. “That has the same energy as ‘when I was your age I walked to school 100 miles through a blizzard!’ The polite thing to do for the exchange students is to not let them hit the floor at 100 mph and possibly give them a concussion.”

And slam straight onto the floor the two other exchange students did. Well, one of them slammed right into the marble, the other had tried in vain to use their wings to slow their decent or fly back up.

Wait...

WINGS?!

WAIT THE OTHER HAD HORNS?!

THEY BOTH HAD-

Oh and would you look at that... one looked like... and the other looked like-

Shitballs.

Lucifer had to keep himself from actually shouting in frustration. One normal day... one day of no exchange student issues was all he asked for...

“Out of over ten million candidates out of over eight billion humans...” Lucifer grumbled. “How in my father’s name did this happen again?”

(OOOOOOOOOO SEQUEL BAIT!)

[monkocaguai]

Running from the past, welcoming the future.

Ciri and Avallac'h spend a night together, both are separated and months later the elf discovers the truth, now he only has to go after her, even more so knowing that intolerant group wants to give Ciri and her son the same fate they once had Lara.

Ciri stumbled through the dense forest, her breath ragged and her body weakened. The mob that pursued her for the impurity she carried within her had driven her to the edge of exhaustion. She clutched her swollen belly protectively, her unborn child a precious life she would fight to preserve.

The winter night wrapped its icy tendrils around Ciri, gnawing at her resolve. The forest, once a place of solace, now seemed ominous and foreboding. Her steps faltered, and she collapsed onto the cold ground, pain searing through her body. Tears mingled with the snowflakes that gently caressed her face.

In her darkest hour, a figure emerged from the shadows. Avallac'h, a being of ancient lineage, approached Ciri with a mixture of trepidation and determination. He had long harbored unresolved feelings for Lara, Ciri's ancestor, and now he saw a reflection of that love in Ciri herself. He couldn't bear to see her suffer.

Avallac'hknelt beside Ciri, his touch gentle yet hesitant. He murmured ancient incantations, his hands emitting a faint glow as he attempted to mend her wounds. Ciri's body trembled with pain, her breaths shallow and labored, but a glimmer of hope flickered within her weary eyes.

The snowfall intensified, creating a cocoon of silence around them as Ciri's contractions intensified. The child within her fought for life, a testament to her resilience and strength. Fear mingled with anticipation as Ciri grappled with the overwhelming realization that she was about to become a mother.

Avallach's expression softened, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and concern. He whispered words of reassurance, vowing to protect both Ciri and the child she carried. In that fragile moment, he knew that his love for Lara had transformed into an unwavering devotion to Ciri and their unborn daughter.

As the pain surged through Ciri's body, she clung to Avallach's hand, their connection a lifeline amidst the turmoil. She grappled with her own doubts, her trust in Avallac'h wavering. Would his resentment towards humans overshadow his love for her and their child?

But as the first cries of her newborn daughter echoed through the wintry air, Ciri's doubts began to dissipate. In that tiny bundle of life, she saw a glimpse of the future, a beacon of hope that defied the prejudices of both elves and humans. Love, she realized, could conquer even the deepest divides.

Avallac'h cradled the newborn child in his arms, his touch delicate and reverent. A rush of emotions surged through him, mingling with the weight of his past regrets. He made a silent promise to be a father worthy of this precious girl, to embrace her human heritage and protect her from the shadows of prejudice.

As the first light of dawn cast its gentle glow upon the forest, Ciri held her daughter close, her heart bursting with a love she never thought possible. In that moment, she knew that together with Avallach, they would forge a path for their family, one that would defy the expectations of both elves and humans alike.

Their journey had just begun, fraught with challenges and uncertainties, but in their united love, they found the strength to face whatever lay ahead. And as the winter forest whispered its secrets, it bore witness to the birth of a new legacy, one that would forever bind the threads of elf and human, past and present, in a tapestry of hope and resilience.