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souliebird · 3 months

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[[and then I met you || ch. 23]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 3.2k

ao3 link

Matt’s eyes flutter shut as you smooth your thumbs over his forehead. The urge to press forward into your touch is nearly overwhelming, but he controls himself. Your fingers run down his temple and to the apples of his cheeks, oh so gently rubbing sunblock into his skin. He doesn’t remember the last time he used the product, but his sweet Minnie demanded he wear it, and who is he to deny his daughter on her birthday?

You are in complete Mom mode - focused on making sure all his exposed skin is covered - so you don’t realize how intimate you are being with him. He wants so badly to reach out and touch you back - to hold your waist and rub your arms and feel you against him. It is far from the first time he’s felt this and mentally repeating the Lord’s Prayer helps him keep his thoughts from straying.

Especially when your fingers dance down to his neck.

He may or may not have fantasies about you pressing your hand into his windpipe while riding him. He may or may not have finally given into his mother’s pressures about talking to the new priest because he was beginning to feel guilty about how often he may or may not have touched himself to those fantasies.

Matt wants so badly to show you how much he loves you, but you aren’t ready for it yet, and he understands. You’ve accepted him for who he is and what he does. You want to know more and aren’t accusatory when you ask questions. You’ve been snatched up into his whirlwind of a life and are adjusting in a way he didn’t think was possible, but you are still adjusting and he’s not going to push more onto you.

You’ve been slow to accept physical gestures and as much as it pains him, he’s happy to go at your pace. He cherishes each moment you let him hold you and his heart soars when you are the one to initiate it. You don’t flinch or pull back when he rests a hand on your hip or back. Slow and steady wins the race and if you want to stroll, he’ll stroll right along with you.

“All done,” you say, breaking him from his thoughts as you step away. “We shouldn’t be out here long enough that we will need to reapply.”

“Thank you,” he replies. He puts his glasses back on and he follows your movements as you put the sunscreen back in your purse. “Do you need help with anything?”

The second phase of Minnie’s Birthday Bash Weekend - after her princess breakfast and makeover - is the Park Party. Multiple blankets have been laid out for everyone to sit on and the wagon is filled to the brim with supplies - there’s a drink cooler, a snack cooler, a series of toys Minnie insisted they add so no one gets bored, and tucked in the corner, unopened presents they picked up from Sister Maggie. Foggy showed up early so he could enjoy the walk to the park with the birthday girl and Karen and Frank should be arriving soon.

Matt knows you are going to fuss over the details and try to play Good Host, and he wants you to relax and have a good time instead.

But sometimes, he thinks fussing is your idea of fun. You make a shooing motion at him and there is a bit of a laugh in your voice when you tell him, “Go play with your daughter.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Foggy and Minnie are on the sidewalk, setting up her newest toy. Fog got Mouse some sort of pogo stick for toddlers and from her excited explanation to him, it is pink and princess themed. Matt has no idea how a pogo stick for toddlers could possibly work - Minnie can barely balance on one leg - but you seemed to have no issue with the device, so he chalks it up to having missed something in the explanation that would be obvious to a sighted person.

“Okay, squirt. Go ahead and step on,” Foggy tells Minnie. Matt can sense some sort of small platform that his little one steps onto, then she is being handed something that reminds him of a bike handle. “Okay. Try jumping.”

Mouse jumps straight up, and to his surprise, the little platform bounces when it hits the ground again, sending her back up about half an inch. That seems like more than enough height for her, as she lets out an absolutely delighted scream and quickly starts to repeat the motion.

She bounces four times before she loses her balance and falls off the platform, but Matt doesn’t even get the chance to step forward to help her. She’s right back on and jumping in place - beaming ear to ear.

“Look at you go!” Foggy cooes and Matt can’t help but grin. “You are a little hopping machine!”

“Hop! Hop! Hop!” Mouse cheers as she does just that. “Hop! Hop! Hop!”

“Hop! Hop! Hop!” Both he and Fog echo, and they are on the same wavelength, because they both mimic her by bouncing on the balls of their feet.

Matt can sense you aiming your phone at Mouse, most likely taking a picture or filming them, so he quickly prompts her, hoping for a cute moment. “Sweetie, what do you say to Foggy?”

“Thank you, Froggy, you are the bestest!”

“You are very welcome, birthday girl!” Fog, of course, quickly turns to Matt to jokingly rub in, “Hear that, Murdock? I’m the bestest.”

Minnie stumbles again and Matt realizes she will not need help unless she trips and falls to the ground. She’s back to bouncing within a second and defending his honor.

“You’re the bestest, but Daddy’s Super Bestest and Mommy is Super-Duper Bestest.”

Foggy must pull a face, because both you and Minnie laugh before he gives in, “Okay, I will allow this because it is your birthday. But no take backsies. I’m the bestest.”

“No take backsies!” Mouse quickly parrots before turning her attention back to her toy. She dissolves into giggles as she jumps up and down and he can only imagine how big her smile must be.

He takes a moment to focus in on one of the gifts he got her. He didn’t get called Bestest for it, but Matt hopes it will be something she grows to cherish. He spent a pretty penny to get it custom made as he was incredibly particular about the quality, but it was more than worth it - a gold heart necklace with ‘I love you’ in Braille on one side, and on the other, the date he found out she existed.

He knows she can’t always wear it - it is a choking hazard until she’s older - but right now it is bumping against her manubrium and he can’t help but smile and reach to fiddle with the bracelet hanging on his wrist.

It has become almost like a rosary to him. When he’s thinking, he finds himself pulling the beads up to go around his hand and he will thumb at them, tracing over the hearts his sweet Minnie gave him. The only time he doesn’t wear it is when he’s out on Patrol - and that is only because he’s scared he’ll end up breaking it. Otherwise, he has it on - asleep, in the shower, in court - Matt proudly wears his friendship bracelet.

Of course, no one is none the wiser to his private moment. Foggy continues to encourage Mouse to bounce and enjoy her gift. Matt is pretty sure this is one of the toys she is going to run into the ground because she uses it so much.

“Hey, Fog, where did you get this thing?”

“Online,” his friend quickly replies. “I’ll send you the link. One of the Littles got one for their birthday and loved it, so I went with a peer-reviewed product instead of trying my luck on something unknown.”

“I didn’t even know this existed,” you say from your spot on the blankets. “This is amazing.”

“Thank you,” Foggy says with an uptick in his voice, indicating he is smiling. “But I’ll warn you, some of them come with a squeaker in them. I hunted for the one without one. I wanted to take pity on the bat-ears.”

Matt throws back his head as he laughs and concedes, “Okay, maybe you are the Bestest.”

“I knew it!”

“Froggy is the bestest! Froggy is the bestest! Froggy is the bestest!” Minnie starts to chant as she plays. Foggy joins her and Matt claps along for a moment.

You laugh at them, and it is one of the most beautiful sounds he’s ever heard - it is you actually being truly happy.

The joy is cut short, and it morphs into panic when Minnie very suddenly drops her pogo stick and takes off running towards the other side of the park. Her movements are so quick and erratic that Matt doesn’t react right away, having not anticipated them. You scramble up to chase her just as he begins to move to do the same.

“Minnie! Come back here!” You shout as you hurry after your daughter.

Matt opens up his senses, needing to know what has Minnie so excited that it overrode her being the shy little angel he’s used to. He zeroes in on it instantly.

Karen, Frank, and Frank’s dog Max have just arrived, parking on the street outside the green space. Minnie is making a beeline right towards them, but luckily, her little legs are no match for Matt and he scoops her up before she can get too far from their picnic. She instantly begins to struggle against him, flailing and kicking and trying her best to fight his hold, but he turns her around and forces her onto his hip.

“Minnie, you cannot run off!” he chastises as you catch up to them. “You know better than that. You know you need to stay with us.”

“It’s Mister Frank and he has a doggie!” She tries to explain, clearly excited and overly enthusiastic, but Matt won’t be swayed. “I gotta go say hi to him! And asks if I can play with his doggie! I’ve never played with a doggie! I wanna play with the doggie!”

“It’s dangerous to just run off. You have to ask Mommy or me first.” Matt tells her. He’s trying to remain calm, but the fear from her just running away is still in his system. He knows he can’t yell or scold her - it’s her special day and she just got too excited, but he needs her to know that isn’t okay.

Luckily, you seem to know how to handle this.

“No running off,” you emphasize, putting your hand on her back and almost crowding her into Matt, which he is more than okay with. “Part of being a Big Girl is knowing the rules. If you can’t follow the rules, what happens?”

Minnie deflates against him, all her jubilation evaporating, and guilt pools in his chest as his precious little baby mumbles out, “We go home.”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t wanna go home. I wanna play with Froggy more and Mister Frank and his doggie.”

You reach up to push some of her hair out of her face and gently comfort her, “we’re not going to go home. But you gotta be good, okay? Mister Frank and Karen are coming to us. You don’t have to run to them, okay?”

“Okay.”

It seems like Minnie will not bolt if Matt sets her down, so he takes that chance. She fusses with smoothing out her princess dress for a moment and patting it free of any dust before looking up at you, “When he gets close can I go say hi? Please? Please? Please?”

She asks so sweetly it is a miracle you don’t cave immediately. You put your hands on your hips as you pretend to think over your answer. After a few moments, you reply, “When he gets as close to us as we are to Froggy, you can go say hi.”

Minnie whips around to judge the distance - she had only gotten about thirty or forty feet before Matt caught her - before turning back. She literally bounces from foot to foot as she waits for Frank and Karen to get close enough that she can run to them and that helps to dissipate the lingering guilt he has. He defaults to you to give the ‘okay’ signal, and when you do, Minnie takes off again at a speed he didn’t think toddlers could achieve.

“Mister Frank! Mister Frank! It’s my birthday!” she yells as she streaks towards him.

Matt isn’t exactly keen on Minnie’s excitement for Frank, but he accepts the man is entering his circle more now that he and Karen are in a relationship. When they aren’t butting heads about the morality of killing, he thinks he and Frank get along well enough. They take jabs at each other and even if it can be scathing, neither of them takes it personally. Danger follows Frank and Matt is acutely aware of that, but he also has some je ne sai quoi with kids and Minnie is not immune to it.

You and Matt follow after your daughter while Frank passes off Max’s leash to Karen so he can catch the toddler rocket coming right at him. The Devil in Matt’s chest growls with jealousy and possessiveness when Frank picks Mouse up to hold her without any shyness from his little one and she’s tossed slightly up into the air.

“It’s your birthday? Well, it’s a good thing we got all those presents in the truck, then, ain’t it, Karen?”

“I wonder who they could be for,” Karen teases and Minnie turns into a giggling mess, hiding her hands in her face.

“Are they for me?” She asks, so sweet and genuine and not at all greedy. Matt’s heart glows with how pure his daughter is, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over it.

“It is your birthday,” Frank tells her and that just makes her more delighted.

“I’m getting so many presents! Mommy gave me presents and Daddy gave me presents and Froggy gave me presents and Froggy’s Mommy gave me presents AND…and Daddy’s Mommy gave me presents. That’s like…” She pauses and lifts up her hands in front of her face and Matt thinks she must be trying to count. Finally, she decides on a number, “That’s like twelve presents!”

She certainly received more than twelve presents from you alone - there were so many components to her new kitchen set - but he knows everyone understands what she means. Minnie is being absolutely spoiled for her birthday.

“That is a lot of presents!” Karen cooes, “You aren’t tired from opening them all?”

“Not uh! I’m a Big Girl!”

“We can have a second round of opening presents after the park,” you inform Minnie and even without his enhanced hearing, he can tell you are smiling - you sound so happy. “We can have cake at home, and you can show everyone what you got.”

“That sounds like a good plan to me,” Frank says, bouncing Mouse in his arms a little. “What do you say, Princess?”

She nods eagerly, “A good plan!”

You all begin to walk back towards the picnic - and Foggy, who has relocated the pogo stick to the blankets - and Minnie gets to the next order of business.

“Can I pet your doggie?”

Max seems to know he’s being talked about, as he starts making little noises and adding a wiggle to his walk. Matt has met the dog a few times now and even he admits the animal is a sweet one, especially for an ex-fighting dog. He knows that Frank didn’t keep Max initially, but when he resettled in New York a few months ago, the dog also reappeared. Matt doesn’t question it - he thinks caring for the dog is good for Frank and Karen absolutely adores him.

“Do you know how to pet a dog?” Frank asks, amusement clear in his voice.

Minnie shakes her head, but as always, has a solution, “No, but I can learns! Mommy says…Mommy says when we don’t know something, we can learn it by askings! I can asks my tablet!” She pauses, then dramatically slaps her hands to her cheeks. “I don’t have my tablet, its at home.”

They all laugh at her antics and as they approach their picnic, Frank sets Minnie down, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I can teach you. And I can show you how to play fetch, too.”

Karen goes to hug Foggy a hello, while you and she start to strike up a conversation catching up. Matt decides to allow you the time to have an adult moment, and he keeps his attention on Minnie, Frank, and Max.

“Before you can pet him, you need to introduce yourself,” Frank starts, moving to sit down on the blankets as he does. Minnie plops down beside him and Matt takes a seat beside her. “You need to hold out your hand so he can sniff it. He can’t talk, so he gets to know you through smell.”

He demonstrates by holding out his hand to Max. The dog snuffles at it, then begins to lick at Frank, his tail starting to wag. Matt can practically feel Minnie analyzing what is happening, then after a moment, she sticks her little hand out towards Max. The dog clearly gets excited by this and turns his big head towards his daughter. He could so very easily bite off her whole arm - Minnie is small for her age and Max is a big dog - but instead he oh so gently presses his nose to her skin before giving it a tiny lick.

“He likes me!” Minnie says in a whisper-gasp and Matt tries his best to not laugh.

“He does, he wants to be your friend,” Frank tells her.

“I wanna be his friend, too!” She declares before mimicking Max by leaning in and sniffing at him loudly. He can’t hold back his amusement when she sticks out her tongue with a, “He’s stinky!”

“He’s a dog, all dogs stink,” Frank laughs, “but he’s still a good dog.”

“How do I pets him?” Mouse asks, obviously so very excited and wanting to learn how to pet Max correctly.

Matt leans back and observes as Frank gently guides his daughter’s hands, showing her where to pet the sweet dog. He hopes this doesn’t lead to her wanting her own puppy - though she will probably spend a fair amount of time pretending Scooby is a real dog instead of her companion in trouble.

Matt has never wanted a dog before - mostly because it has always been pitched as a guide dog and he doesn’t need one - but he wonders if his mind would change if you wanted a dog. He knows it isn’t possible in your current apartment, but what if you moved to somewhere bigger? Where Minnie could have her own bedroom and maybe you could have your own yard.

Where, maybe, he could move in with you, and you could be a proper, traditional family. He could be with you - provide for you like he should have always been doing. He could sleep in your bed at night and tell you he loves you in the morning. Where he could tuck Minnie in before he goes on Patrol and he could learn all her Quiet Games.

Where he could protect his family.

Where he could have something he’s always wanted.

Where maybe, just maybe, Matt Murdock could finally have a home.

a/n:

Every one say Happy Birthday to the Birthday girl!

part one of the birthday weekend. Sorry it is a little short We have another birthday day chapter after this then Minnie gets her Zoo Trip!

tags:

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath

@allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @ astridstark13

@lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

#soulie writes #fanfiction #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #and then i met you #birthday chapter!!!

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cherryclxud · 4 months

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Catch me if you can Lord Holmes pt2

(ENOLA HOLMES)!Sherlock x BRIDGERTON! reader

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Description: a writer by the name of Marcus Bradford has taken the Ton by storm with his weekly edition chapter of a crime story, Sherlock is tasked with finding Marcus Bradford and solving the case of the abominable bride. but what if meeting a certain Bridgerton girl distracts him from the case?

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: none

Taglist <3 : @frost-queen @siannaplmn @annesunlight @jolixtreesunn @probabydeadbynow @chloepluto1306 @gayandfairycore @queenfairyfangirl @viylikescats @hipsternerd9 @delusional-4-fake-people

read below for credits.

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SLEEPING AT 221B BAKER STREET USUALLY came easy to Enola. Seeing as there was quite literally very little for her to do, however, for the past 2 nights it has become increasingly difficult for her not to get out of bed and shout at her brother to put the violin down.

Sherlock was stuck, and Enola could tell by his incessant playing of the violin, the notes he was playing were all gloomy grey. With a sigh, she put her head under the pillow and slammed her hand over it to cover her ears in the hope of respite from the sound. Of course, for the first 4 hours he was playing Enola felt sympathy, but when his playing started to get in the way of her sleep that's when her sympathy towards Sherlock turned to contempt towards the violin.

She had reached the point where she imagined scenarios of her grabbing scissors and cutting the strings, or of her taking the violin and throwing it out the window.

Somehow the music playing seemed to penetrate through the pillow, making the girl move the pillow, turn to her back and glare at the ceiling. She got up and stomped the the drawing room where her brother sat there playing the insipid instrument.

“SHERLOCK” she shouted over the music causing her brother to play a wrong note before stopping and turning to her. “Enola? Shouldn't you be asleep by now?” he looked out the window and saw the moon still high in the sky.

Enola crossed her arms while rolling her eyes, “geez Sherlock that's a great idea, i was getting quite tired and had no idea how to remedy it, you have truly opened my eyes” Her voice was full of sarcasm yet Sherlock paid no mind to it as he was distracted.

“Hmm yes well I suppose you should get to it”.

Enola scoffed as she saw her brother pick up the violin about to resume his playing once more “Sherlock! I can't if you insist on playing at this time.” she pointed to the instrument as the older Holmes looked down at it with a sigh.

“Ah, I see, my apologies sister I seemed to have gotten carried away” he places the instrument on its stand before slamming it down on the settee with a sigh and closes his eyes as he continues to think.

Enola turns around, happy that the peace and quiet has finally infiltrated the home, she goes on her way to her room and just as she was about to go in she stops. She turns to look to her brother, she really felt pity for him at this point, losing sleep over looking for this man who could quite literally be anywhere in England.

“Sherlock, what's wrong?”

Sherlock opens his eyes and lifts his head to look at his sister. “Nothing Enola you should go to bed, I promise I won't play anymore”

He watches as his sister walks across the room only stopping at the coffee table to pick up his tobacco pipe and hold it in between her lips in thought. “Oh look at me I'm Sherlock and I must find out everything about everyone yet never let anyone find out anything about me” she spoke in a mock deep voice as she sat next to him.

HE leaned forward and snatched the pipe from her mouth before wiping the mouthpiece with his shirt. Enola watched as he lit the pipe with a match and smoked in silence, a frown etched on his face. She decided to change the subject hoping it would get her brother to open up more about what was bothering him.

“Y/n and i have been writing to each other”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow “y/n Bridgerton? The viscount's sister?” Enola nodded

“Yes we have been speaking since we met Nonestop, she is actually quite amusing.” Enola smiled recounting the letters they both shared. Sherlock rolled his eyes but deep inside was happy that his sister had found someone to be friends with. He was worried that his taking care of her had caused his disinterest in forging real connections with people had spread to her. He didn't want her to lean on him and not connect with anyone else.

He found himself grateful for y/n's sudden but effective presence in his sister's life.

“She's quite like you, you know?” Enola spoke looking nowhere in particular. This caught Sherlock's attention as he looked back to his sister, “How so?”

“Well for starters she's smart…well not as smart as you, no one as smart as you” Enola rolled her eyes before grabbing a small rubber ball she found lying on the floor and bounced it up and down a few times, “She reads a lot, she told me when her brother would return from oxford for the summer she would take the books he'd read and read and study his essays and annotations”

Sherlock, who was staring at the floor where the ball was bouncing, chuckled quietly remembering one year at Oxford when Anthony had returned from his stay with his family missing the book he was meant to be studying for the semester and sheets of essays he had worked on during the time off, and how frazzled he was trying to rewrite what he could from memory, only to have it delivered to him with a letter of apology from his sister later that night.

“You know she even read that boring book you wrote on like the two hundred and forty types of tobacco” she offhandedly spoke not noticing her brother's smile dropped “Two hundred and forty-three”

“I believe that that was the only copy sold brother mine,” she smirked

“I'll have you know I sold three copies” he grumbled looking away.

Enola laughed “That's because Mycroft and I each bought a copy in support of you”

Sherlock scoffed and stood up walking to the window and looked outside pretending to be angry at his sister.

“Oh don't sulk brother you know that doesn't work on me, the print shop refused to print any more copies of your books in advance, that's how bad it did.�� She leaned back in her seat with a smirk, “She invited me to breakfast at Bridgerton house tomorrow, can you take me there?”

Sherlock turned with a nod “I can drop you off and th-” he stopped mid-sentence as an idea struck him, “what did you just say?”

Enola looked at her brother worried that he was too busy to take her “She invited me for breakfast tomorrow and I wish for you to take me there. If you are busy I can take a carriage so no worri-”

“No no before that”

Enola tried to replay the conversation “I told you not to sulk, then that the book you wrote won't get printed in advance any longer”

Sherlock then turned to face away and walked to his desk that was placed in the drawing room and picked up one of the many newspapers that were turned to page 4, turned to the back of the paper and read down the page till he reached what he was looking for.

‘Tibalt's Printing Press

5th Northumberland street

London’

Sherlock smiled looking down at the paper, “Of course, Minnie always ends up in the kitchen when she's hungry.”

Enolas eyes turn the the left as she racks her brain trying to think what in the world her brother is going on about, “pardon?”

She watched as her brother scribbled some writing on a piece of paper before marching to his pin board on the wall and sticking a pin through the newspaper set on the last page. He stepped back with a smile, Enola stood up from her seat and walked to her brother's side.

“Sherlock, is everything alright?”

The brother looked at her and nodded “It's perfect, all back on track thanks to your friend,” Enola raised an eyebrow.

“Y/n? How did she help? Wait where are you going this late?” She watched as her brother picked up his coat and the paper he scribbled on. He walked up to her and gave her a kiss on the top of her head.

“Don't worry dear sister, assuming all goes to plan I'll be back in time to take you to break your fast with the Bridgertons, sleep well!” And with that, he walked out of the flat door closing it behind him leaving Enola alone in the drawing room.

With a sigh she blew out the remaining candle that illuminated the room, her eyes stopped at the violin that stood defenceless in the room. A smirk found its way on her face as she looked back at the door making sure her brother wouldn't be back.

………….

THE CANDLE BURNED LIGHTING ONE corner of y/n's bed-chamber, her eyes fled over words on the page of the book she was reading, a new author writing under the title ‘A Lady’ had written a book named ‘Pride and Prejudice��, y/n was completely infatuated with the idea that the author had so boldly revealed that whoever she was, she was a woman.

Unlike Lady Whistledown, this writer resorted to writing harmless fiction that was incredible to read, and unlike y/n she was courageous enough to reveal she was a female, and yet it was a complete shame in y/n's eyes to see that the books didn't do as well as she thought it deserved.

She pulled her knees to her chest as she relaxed against the window, sitting on the window seat to be able to look outside easily. It had become her routine to sit at the window every night, therefore to anyone else seeing her wouldn't warrant any suspicion, but y/n wouldn't sleep until something in the scenery outside her window changed.

She just about turns to a new page when from the corner of her eye she sees a light flickering outside her window facing the garden, turning to look outside, she sees the figure of the personal valet of Anthony walking in the garden with a candlelit lantern, stopping mid-walk he turns to her window direction and then blows out his candle.

Y/n gave a smile and blew out her own candle, drowning out the last shred of light in her room, and stood up from her seat, shutting the book and placed it on her dresser. And with that, the valet walked back into the house leaving the girl to go to sleep peacefully.

…….

THE CARRIAGE WHEELS STOPPED IN FRONT OF THE printing shop letting Sherlock step out before paying the driver. The windows were illuminated by the candles inside the print shop, he watched as two men worked on the printing of the weekly newspaper.

Sherlock walked over to the door of the print shop and tried to push it open only to find it was locked closed, however, the attempt to open it had gained him the attention of the two men who looked at each other before turning to Sherlock.

The older one of the two motioned to the younger man to go deal with him as he went back to work. The younger man rolled his eye as he walked to the door and unlocked it before stepping out to stand face to face with the detective, “You know we don't get many people coming here that don't know how to read, this being a print shop and all”

Sherlock stared blankly, the man then pointed at the sign hanging in the window “It says closed, there I read it for you, come back in the morning” he then walked back inside but as he went to shut the door Sherlock stopped it with his foot causing the man to turn back to him.

“I'm here to find out about Marcus Bradford!”

The man tried to push Sherlock back “If you're a fan then you have no luck here, we only print what we get given.” managing to push Sherlock's foot out he went to slam the door only to once again get stopped but this time by his hand. Once the door was open again then holmes pulled his hand back in pain, shaking it to relieve the soreness.

“I'm a detective, I just have a few questions regarding Mr Bradford and I'll be on my way.”

The printshop employee scratched his chin before motioning for Holmes to follow him inside, he took him to the older man who had previously sent him to deal with the problem.

“Theo? I thought I told you to deal with it” the old man spoke, Theo, however, sighed “yeah well he's a detective, won't leave”

The old man's hands stopped working on the press as he turned to meet Sherlock Holmes’ eye, “Aye, yes I recognise you, you're that Holmes guy, to what do I owe the honour?”

Theo spoke up before Sherlock could “he says he's looking for Bradford, Mr Tibalt.”

“You a fan Mr. Holmes?” Tibalt spoke, prompting Sherlock to glare in his direction.

“I assure you quite the contrary, I have been just tasked with looking into him and his background” Sherlock made sure to walk up to the elder man and stand about a foot away from him, standing taller than him he was trying to add an intimidation factor “I would appreciate your cooperation”

Tibalt stood staring at Sherlock for a good 10 seconds before speaking “I'm not sure if I can actually be of help, I haven't met the man, and neither has Theo, he doesn't deliver the stories himself”

“Then who does?”

“It really depends.”

“On?”

“4 men rotate in delivering the story every week, each one wears a mask so I don't see their faces. They don't say a word, all I get is the story and a letter with instructions on what to do along with the payment.”

Dead end.

“And when was the last time one of the men?” Sherlock asked.

“About an hour before you graced us with your own presence. He'd be long gone. All I can tell you is I have never met mr Bradford or had any personal contact with him.”

Sherlock nodded in thought, his only chance of unveiling Mr. Bradford had quite literally beat him to the chase. Tibalt turned and faced away from Sherlock grabbing a freshly printed newspaper copy, “I can't help you much about Bradford but I can tell you this” he handed Sherlock the new concept that was due for release in the morning, “Something has changed, he's introducing new characters in the midst of the story, and it's clear that this chapter has shifted it all to focus on this character. I assumed it would interest you seeing as for the past couple of copies he had been facing what I assume is a dry spell of ideas”

Sherlock looked at Tibalt before opening the paper to page 4, his eyes skimmed over the paper and suddenly stopped in his tracks, “Detective Sherrinford?” He looked up to the print shopkeeper who shrugged his shoulders and turned to get back to printing the rest of the papers.

Understanding that he most likely wouldn't be able to get more information, he left his address and told them to let him know if there were any updates, then thanked them and left to go home.

……..

LONDON WAS BUSTLING THAT MORNING, the weekly paper distribution brought by an onslaught of arguments and opinions about the new chapter in the story. The introduction of the character Detective Sherrinford had brought about mixed feelings.

Some believed that Bradford was losing his touch and was doing what he could to keep the story going, others believed that this was just a long-winded way of Marcus telling them that the real story was about to begin, especially with the way he ended off this week's chapter.

“The game is afoot?” Enola put down the newspaper against her lap, she looked towards Sherlock who sat across from her in the carriage on the way to the Bridgertons. He shrugged his shoulders as he moved the curtains to gauge how far along they were until the house, “A change I presume, seems Marcus Bradford has decided to take the story in a different direction” he replied, there was a tinge of frustration in his voice.

The carriage stopped in front of the Bridgerton house and Sherlock stepped out before helping Enola out next, the footman took them into the house where they were allowed into the drawing room where Anthony, Benedict, Eloise, Gregory and Violet sat.

Anthony being the first to see them stood up in surprise when he saw the Holmes sibling there, “Lord Holmes what a pleasant surprise this morning” he stood up and walked to them and shook their hands before inviting them further into the drawing room in the direction of his family, “this is my mother.” Violet stood from her seat with a smile, as Sherlock took her hand and placed a light kiss on it, then Anthony introduced the rest of his siblings in the room before turning to Sherlock “To what do I owe this fine visit to Holmes?”

“I invited Enola for breakfast brother” y/n who had just walked into the room spoke as she approached the group. Sherlock watched as she and Enola hugged, then as she turned to him and shook his hand, “Good morning Lord Holmes, it's very nice to see you again”

“Likewise Miss Bridgerton” he nodded to her. “I presume you have read the new chapter out today lord holmes, He added a new character what was his name” y/n put her hand the her chin as she pretended to have forgotten the name which Sherlock could of course detect however decided not to call her out on her actions and played along “detective Sherrinford i presume is the name you are trying to remember miss Bridgerton”

“Ahh yes, you are quite right lord holmes, I'm quite forgetful when it comes to these things” she lied jokingly as she spoke, making a small smile play on Sherlock's own lips.

“It's a shame seeing as the author has now added this character, who is a recluse detective who will possibly that forever to solve a case with already many plotholes, the only way the story can go is down.”

y/ns smile fell for a second but she made sure to replace it quickly enough to not be noticeable, “I don't know, I have come to take quite the liking to Detective Sherrinford, I think he will do great to solve this case, I think this story is getting better” she spoke with a smile.

As Sherlock and y/n spoke no one really paid any mind to them. Anthony and Benedict were busy talking, Enola had struck up a conversation with Eloise and Gregory was reading the story in the paper, and no one was paying them any mind…

But violet, she could see it.

Her daughter never took the time to talk to a man for this long about anything, not even about books or stories there was something there. And she was adamant about helping it grow.

“I don't know lord holmes, I would have thought you’d like the character, I think Sherrinford is exactly like you.” y/n’s words caused Enola and Eloise to look towards them in shock, “y/n! You are completely right, how could I not make that connection earlier myself “Enola spoke as she walked to the pair quickly.

“What are you two on about, the man is nothing like me”

And there stood the three arguing about why Sherrinford is or isn't like Sherlock until inevitably, a maid walked into the drawing room and called out that breakfast was ready.

“I guess this means I should take my leave not, Enola ill pick you up in 3 hours” Just as Sherlock was speaking about leaving, Violet interrupted his farewells “Lord Holmes please do join us for breakfast”

Sherlock just about shook his head and was about to decline before Violet spoke again “I had the cook prepare extra just for you” and with that, he couldn't refuse, no matter how much he wanted to.

….

The family and the Holmes siblings filtered into the dining area, Enola and y/n sat next to each other, and just about when Gregory was about to sit next to y/n on her other side, his mother motioned for him to sit elsewhere leaving Sherlock no other seat but that one, not that it really bothered him.

The families started eating and exchanging conversation, the atmosphere was delightful, and Enola was aglow, it had been a long while since she sat down for breakfast with a family seeing as usually she and Sherlock wake up at different times and end up eating anything.

“Lord Sherlock, it really is a pleasure having you and your sister here, I must say I'm surprised I havent seen you in the ton more often, no soirees nor balls” Violet spoke as she cut another piece of the omelette in her plate. Sherlock swallowed the food in his mouth before nodding to Violet “That is indeed true viscountess Bridgerton, I simply haven't found the time to integrate into society, there's too much work and research and clients. In fact it is my fault Enola has yet to debut, I had been meaning to help her this season however i got sidetracked.”

Violet nodded her face full of sympathy towards the two siblings, it was a known fact around the ton that the Holmes family had lost not one but both parents in the same year, their father had been taken ill for months before suffering through an unfortunately painful exit and their mother had been so in love with him and followed him mere months after due to a broken heart.

Since then little has been known about the Holmes family, they had become reclusive and barely interacted with the rest of the ton. Sherlock and Enola, who were 9 and 2 at the time, were put under the care and sanction of their older brother Viscount Mycroft who himself was 15. It was like the Holmeses ceased to exist any longer, that was until a few years ago when Viscount Mycroft got married and Sherlock moved out to a flat in Central London, it was widely believed that Sherlock found the Viscount Holmes’ new wife to be unappealing to share a mansion with, sooner or later in a visit back home he decided he would take his younger sister to live with him.

“Well better late than never I say” Violet spoke softly with a smile targeted at Sherlock. Her eyes flicker to y/n who was eating her food quietly while listening to the conversation then back to Sherlock. “you know, there is a soiree tomorrow night at the Dunphrees,”

Anthony stared at his mother in shock understanding what she was doing “Mother!”

Violet of course ignored him knowing Anthony really is only good for ruining her plans. “We shall be attending, I say you should come”

Enola looked up from her plate excited “Oh can we brother, it sounds like so much fun” y/n snorted quickly while holding back a laugh. Sherlock glanced at her before looking to his sister whose eyes was practically begging him, “ Enola you don't had a dress for the occasion and I doubt one can be made in time”

Y/n smirked as she looked at him, “That is no worry at all lord holmes i have 4 daughters surely I have a couple of dresses to spare that will be her size.” Violet interjected. y/n and Enola looked at each other excitedly, Sherlock's lips pressed together in a semi-frustrated smile before looking at his sister and y/n. Enola looked very excited as she shared a hug with y/n, and for a moment his eyes lingered on the Bridgerton girl, he was thankful for her existence in his sister's life, she was in fact a very interesting person to talk to, and maybe having her around would make him feel less guilty over not always being there for his sister. The said Bridgerton girl turned to face Sherlock awaiting his decision, only to be met with his own eyes looking at her, he quickly looked away while clearing his throat embarrassed at having been caught staring at her, but this action did not elude Violet’s eyee, she smiled softly at the bashfulness of sherlock.

With a sigh, he nodded albeit quite a bit reluctantly but part of him knew that Enola needed this, and in fact he needed a break, so maybe he needed this too. “I don't see why not, God knows we require a chance for respite.” Enola gleamed at the thought of attending her first soiree tomorrow.

The families continued their breakfast and their endless conversations, many topics including the breach of secrecy of Anthony and Sherlock Oxford days, they even told stories of the Duke of Hastings from their days living together. Enola revealed quite a bit of her childhood activities, and the two siblings shared their distaste for their sister in law, hyacinth chatted about how their elder sister Daphne would have almost been married to the prince of Prussia had it not been for her love for the duke, this conversation managed to segway into Eloise talking about Lady Whistledown and who she may be.

“Speaking of hidden writers,” y/n spoke as she turned to look at Sherlock “How has your hunt for Mr Bradford lord homles, someone of your calibre must have reached some conclusion.”

Sherlock nearly choked on the tea he was drinking, everyone at the table went quiet actually quite curious about his findings. “Lord Sherlock you found Mr. Marcus Bradford?” Gregory exclaimed, having been quite a fan of the writer's weekly updates.

Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief the detective shook his head “I'm afraid I'm still looking, he has proven to be quite a difficult man to find. I went to the printing shop that prints and distributes the weekly paper, unfortunately, they have no clue who he is either, seems he doesn't deliver the chapters himself for all I know he is on the other side of England.”

y/n’s eyes moved to the side in thought as everyone sighed in frustration expressing their disappointment in the possibility of not knowing the writer behind the book.

“Well that would make no sense” y/n spoke up causing all eyes to move to her.

“It makes perfect sense miss Bridgerton, there are other places in England a man can live other than Mayfair” Sherlock spoke sarcastically, confused as to why y/n would find such a simple ordeal strange, his words caused both Anthony and Benedict to chuckle.

y/n glared at her brothers then directed her glare to Sherlock “Laugh all you want men, I have a point to make. Tell me Lord Holmes why would a man on the other side of England write a story only for it to be published in Mayfair only? Surely he wants to see the fruits of his labour in person, even if he doesn't take the credit for it.”

“What makes you so sure that the man only has it published in Mayfair and not all over England?” Sherlock spoke, now completely serious, of course, he was quite upset that a point like this could have fled his mind. He had been too busy looking for the man himself when the actual paper held most of the clues he would need anyway. He thought it would be best to listen to y/n seeing as it was her words that triggered him to find the first clue in the first place.

Something told him that she knew much more than she let on about this case.

“Simple. We receive two different newspapers per week, one is the English paper, and the other is the Mayfair weekly paper, and yet the story only appears in the Mayfair weekly. That means your elusive writer is either an idiot-” Violet scolded her daughter for her use of an insult, however y/n brushed it off with an apologetic look aimed at her, before facing Sherlock again “-and is sending a copy of his writing to every separate town and city in England rather than just placing it in the English paper that goes all over England, or he is walking among us here in Mayfair”

The two stared eye to eye for a good 10 seconds in silence that even Colin had to clear his throat to almost ease the tension. Sherlock was the first to speak, “Well deduced Miss Bridgerton, you seemed to have caught on to a point I seemed to have missed” he smirked, “This is the second time, one more time and I may just have to engage you.” y/n’s smile dropped at his words and her face heated up as violet and Enola let out a quiet gasp. Sherlock cleared up his throat and quickly went to fix his wording.

“Engage you in other cases i mean, sometimes I could use an outsider's eye on the matter” he spoke while avoiding y/n’s eyes, his fingers tracing the rim of the teacup in his hands. y/n was in a similar situation but had a small smile that danced on her lips.

“Holmes doesn't jest” y/ns smiled as her eyes shot up to look at Anthony who had made a habit of ruining the moment “Y/n is a young lady and shouldn’t really be exposed to some of the cases you deal with, don't you agree” she glared at him. “And what of it brother? What does my being a lady have to do with a case? It’s not like crime stops when I walk in the room just because I'm a lady.” she spoke while rolling her eyes, she knew her brother meant well but sometimes he was overbearing.

“y/n-”

“Actually viscount Bridgerton, I completely understand your argument” Sherlock's words caused y/n to look at him disappointed “However as Miss Bridgerton has worded it wonderfully, crime doesn't stop because the fairer sex exists. I truly believe there is no such thing as protecting them from the truth, only hiding the truth. I think Miss Bridgerton would benefit from being challenged by a few questions, no need to see a crime scene herself. I do this with Enola all the time, and she doesn't seem to mind at all.”

Enola quickly nodded at her brother's words in agreement “It's true Lord Bridgerton, it’s quite fun, like solving puzzles, it keeps me occupied and gives me the ability to spend time with Sherlock.”

Violet interjected before Anthony could speak again,” These are quite bold ideas you share lord holmes, not many men would agree with you.”

“And not many women too” Eloise muttered with an eye roll.

But Sherlock kept his resolve and looked to y/n and his sister before looking back to Violet, “Well viscountess Bridgeton, I am quite a fanatic of what many may call strange ideals. I believe that a day will come, when a war will break out,” the whole table gasped in shock at his words, “one half of the human race against the other, the invisible army always standing by the men's shoulder, there has to come a day where us men stand back and view women as equals who deserve respect and demand to be heard”

“I think it's a wonderful idea lord holmes, you letting y/n help out in your cases that is.” Violet broke the silence as she clasped her two hands together, she met eyes with y/n who smiled at her, she smiled back and gave her daughter a wink.

If he were to be the man her daughter would love, then she would rather back her up than be against her and cause her daughter to abstain from the thought of love or marriage in general.

Gregory sat up excitedly “Lord Holmes! When you do find Mr. Bradford do you think you can get him to sign a copy of his books for me?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow with a smile at the excitement in his voice “Thats IF, but I don't see why not”

“No, it’s WHEN, Lord Holmes, I’m sure you are much closer to the man than you think” y/n spoke while motioning to Anthony valet to fetch her more tea with a smile. Sherlock looked at the teacup in y/n’s hands in confusion “I’m not sure im any closer to finding him, no one in the ton knows him”

The valet held the teacup as he poured tea for y/n as she spoke “Who says Marcus Bradford is the writer's real name?” it was like clockwork, Sherlock looked at y/n as she spoke, and the teacup slipped out of the valet's hands dropping some of the contents of the cup straight into y/ns lap. Sherlock quickly grabbed a tablecloth from in front of him and started dabbing the tea on her lap, them action caused her eyes to widen and for her to stand up quickly and move away, Anthony and Benedict stood up, both rushing to their sister, countless apologies were spewed from the valet's mouth. It was actually quite chaotic.

“It’s fine, I'm fine” y/n spoke with a nervous smile. “ one of the downsides of being a girl is wearing many layers, though I suppose in this case it is an upside” she let out a giggle while looking at everyone, her eyes moved to the valet who was still apologising “no harm no foul Hudson, I'm fine”

“I may have to get changed though, Enola,” she turned to face her friend, “Why don't you join me, we can look for a dress for you to wear for tomorrow's soiree”

The younger Holmes got up with a smile and joined her as the two rushed off to y/n’s room.

Everyone returned to their seats and slowly continued on with their conversation, however, Sherlock felt uneasy now in his seat, looking up in front of him his eyes met with Anthony’s eyes, who almost seemed to be glaring back at him. The eldest Bridgerton brother hadn't missed how Sherlock reacted to the tea dropped on his sister, he wanted to diminish any feelings that may be growing from y/n towards Holmes as fast as possible, to him Sherlock wasn't right for his sister.

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

AN: First of all I am absolutely blown away by the number of likes and requests for tags I have gotten, I love you all, literally thought this story was going to flop. I'm sorry it took a while for the second chapter to come out hopefully next chapter won't take as long. TRULY LIKE WOW.

This chapter has so many easter eggs feel free to let me know which ones you found out through my ask box or comments, and if there is smth you would like me to add in any upcoming chapters let me know too<3

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

I do not own Bridgerton

I do not own Sherlock or Enola Holmes

and I most certainly don't own the abominable bride story

I do not own Sherrinford

they belong to their rightful owners

I only own the fic idea.

#bridgerton #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #enola holmes #enola and sherlock #bridgerton reader #bridgerton x reader #sherlock holmes fanfiction #crossover #fanfic #sherlock holmes x y/n #sherlock #imagine #bridgerton x enola holmes #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x female reader

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rarepears · 16 days

Note

Oh! MBJ "bridenapping" SQH, it sparked an ~idea~

What if instead of MBJ bringing his husband to rest, it's an INJURED MBJ, looking for his Qinghua because he always heals and protects him. But since he's injured, he doesn't really have the cognitive thought process to realize SQH's aura isn't in a safe spot in his internal GPS and doesn't think to go to SQH's house. Just straight to SQH. In the middle of a meeting with most of the Peak Lords, excluding LQG because I agree, nothing would be able to happen if he was there since he'd kill an injured MBJ in an instant.

SQH has a split second to think.

Save MBJ or himself?

SQH tears a reserve teleport talisman he had MBJ make for him so writers choice if anyone knows if SQH did it himself or if the injured Demon Lord did.

Anyways, MBJ tears open a portal, covered in blood and SQH doesn't have much time to think and catches his husband King and has a split second to choose.

EITHER WAY THE GOSSIP!! The An Ding Peak Lord was kidnapped out of a meeting with the Sect Leader and multiple Peak Lords present by a demon.

That'd be terrifying just at first thought. A demon made it past Cang Qiong's wards and Qiong Ding's, all the extra wards in that meeting room alone, faster than all present Peak Lords could react.

Then we have the 2 main gossip chains. Why was SQH taken? Logistics and Love

Logistics for all the info the An Ding Peak Lord has access to since he maintains it all. Prime target for a surefire way to do a lot of damage. If SQH talks, the Demon Lord can get past all the wards and kill, pillage and raze anything in a high profile area.

Love because if they hear he did this super injured, just to collapse onto SQH and spirit him away? The screams from the BL lovers. I bet LMY could belt out a few chapters pretty quick about it lol.

She writes the next love epic, countering HHP's propaganda by accident lol.

Prominently, both SQH and MBJ now know that SQH would save MBJ even when he might/is declared a traitor.

MBJ would feel so much more secure knowing that. Maybe even becomes forward enough that SQH can't mistake the interest.

And SQH just cut off his own path to safety by not letting his sect kill his King.

So now they both get to live with this neat bit of trivia.

Don't really have any other thoughts besides HHPM ends up dead and SQH is Queen in the North by the end. Maybe TLJ gets let out and hears a whisper about a child on the Luo River.

Would be hilarious if Cang Qiong found out that there's a loophole in the Cang Qiong wards to allow in demons that meet very specific conditions... like being a peak lord's spouse, so they don't even realize that Shang Qinghua modified the wards to let in Mobei Jun (and Shang Qinghua doesn't even realize that he could had hacked the wards by getting married instead of spending 6 months painstakingly learning the wards and then learning how to crack the wards.)

Somehow it doesn't even require the peak lord to know that they have a demonic spouse.

#svsss ideas #svsss #svsss au #mxtx #scum villain's self saving system #shang qinghua #mobei jun #Somehow Shang Qinghua is the last Cang Qiong peak lord to find out that he's married to a demon AU

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sixosix · 9 months

Text

ALL EYES ON YOU, MY MAGICIAN | LYNEY

please note that lyney and mc are 20+ in this series !! genshin hasn’t explicitly stated lyney’s age but there are a couple scenes where lyney talks about drinking— and i’m stating this now because lyney and mc drink alcohol for this chapter.

warnings drinking, kissing (kinda), hopeless pining, dialogue heavy orz, wc 3.8k

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

You and Aether once again find yourselves in an inconspicuous meeting spot, which was just a shadowy corner of Cafe Lutece, your exchanges veiled by the guise of three friends casually eating dinner. Paimon is, of course, stuffing her mouth with the array of desserts; Aether is sipping on a drink she ordered for him, brows furrowed in deep thought, and you’re still wondering why Lyney lied to your face.

After your spar with Lyney, you realized a few things. 1) He knows more than he lets on. 2) He knows that you’re onto him. 3) He could have easily called you out on it, but he didn’t. What was his goal here? Is he playing along?

Or is he hiding something bigger than what you’re trying to go after? Magicians tend to play little tricks to hide a grander one.

Aether hums thoughtfully. “Do you believe him?”

“Definitely not,” you reply swiftly—bitterly, too, because you don’t know what you’re looking for. “I feel like I’m walking straight into a trap.”

You’re a hypocrite, but you’re essentially doing this for them, so you’re better than a hypocrite, at least.

Aether frowns, contemplating. Paimon speaks up on his behalf, fork in hand, “That's strange. Paimon thought you were close! With what it looked like when we found you talking to him.”

“Why?” you demand. It was Lyney who was getting close—literally. “What does it look like to you? I mean, to me, it's as if saying the wrong thing would prompt him to kill me himself. If he wanted to."

Aether suggests, "You should check your eyes."

You huff, stubbornly taking a huge sip of your Fonta. These things taste great. Their sweetness always left you craving it even when you don’t like drinking. Paimon, because she’s an expert, sensed your newly acquired favorite and insisted that Aether buy you one.

“I feel kind of bad now. It seems that my blackmail is just getting in the way of your drama with Lyney,” Aether admits.

“We don't have drama,” you dismiss, which is instinctual by this point, “We just hated each other. He used to get on my nerves a lot—and turns out he doesn’t plan on stopping.”

Under the muted glow of the street lamps, your words trail off. Your gaze lingers on your palms. It is not obvious—you’d have to look closely, but there were scars on your palms. Most of them were from tending to plants and sharp tools, while the others were marks of burns. You wonder how Lyney noticed.

Aether calls for your name. You’re dragged back to reality when Paimon waves her tiny hands in front of your face.

“Right, sorry,” you laugh humorlessly, turning your hands back around. “Um, what should we do about Lord Tartaglia?"

Aether and Paimon share a confused glance. “Childe? What's up with Childe?”

“I told them that I'm under his faction as a cover.”

“Oh, that's no problem,” Aether assures, snorting dismissively. “Childe still owes me a lot—I'll tell him to keep his mouth shut.”

You glance around the area. There were only a few customers. A Melusine kicks her feet by the entrance as she digs in on her cake, a young man whose face is buried in his palms, and a little girl and her mother share a plate of Conch Madeleine. How sweet.

“Will that work?” you whisper, “I am trying to extract Fatui information. People usually get killed over this.”

Aether, with a sly grin, says, “Again, Childe owes me a lot. My magic word is Teucer.”

Feeling a little hopeful, you decide to look on the brighter side of things. A Harbinger and an Outlander by your side against Lyney and The Knave sounds more promising than years' worth of memorizing Fontaine Flowers’ textbook definitions and a rusty polearm.

“Is there anything you want to find out in particular?” you ask.

"Anything about my sister, really,” Aether says dejectedly. “I've traveled from Mondstadt to Fontaine, and only one Archon gave me a sliver of info. If you find anything, that’s all I ask for.”

Getting blackmailed by such an earnest brother is possibly the most troublesome way of getting blackmailed. Seeing such a longing expression on his face— archons, these idiot brothers caring too much and using it against your family-oriented soft spot.

“And you’ll leave Rosalie alone, right?”

“That’s our deal,” Aether says. “Though, I think Rosalie loves Paimon. You wouldn’t be able to get rid of us that easily.”

You separate ways after Paimon finishes her food. She politely and sweetly asks you to question Rosalie when she will make her next batch of dinner so they can come over. You tell her sure, but you hope not because Paimon, as cute as she is, would end up spilling a secret or two when her stomach is happy and satisfied.

Rosalie is probably waiting for you to get home. You hurry your steps.

Before you can reach the door, a tall, hooded figure swings it open and shoulders past you, not allowing you even a glimpse of the stranger’s face. When you turn, the figure has stopped and looked at you over their shoulder. You can't tell if you've made eye contact; the shadows dancing on their face make it too dark to discern their features.

Feeling uncomfortable, you turn back and shoulder the door open. You feel uneasy knowing that they had been inside Rosalie’s shop. Rosalie has a lot of lovesick admirers, ones that you didn’t hesitate presenting lousy customer service to to scare them away.

Rosalie is humming happily as you enter, moving pots of plants around to display by the window. She brightens when you wave at her. “Y/N! Just in time—would you mind helping me replace these with the newer batch?”

She doesn’t seem to be creeped out.

You can’t help but ask, “Was that a customer earlier?”

“Mhm,” Rosalie says absentmindedly, fixing the pot in a perfect angle that would show the blooming flowers to the streets. “Bought one of our imports from Snezhnaya—you know the ones that would have died in the next two weeks or so? Our rain is no match for Snezhnaya’s snow, but they were beautiful petals. I’m glad they could be of use, somehow.”

You hum, heaving up a heavy pot of Calla Lilies onto a vacant space. “They were.”

“I didn’t make her pay because I felt terrible knowing it wouldn’t last long, but she insisted!” Rosalie wipes sweat off her brow.

You gesture at the little Lumidouce Bell by the counter, growing taller by the day. “Are we not going to display that, too?”

“We’re displaying it there—it is not for sale,” Rosalie says. “We can’t let them think I’m selling it.”

“It’s just a flower.”

Rosalie wipes off the dirt from her fingers on her apron and pokes at your nose with her pinky. “Yes, but it’s your flower.”

You feel your face warm, flattered, and endlessly endeared. “Right.”

Rosalie smiles knowingly, rising from her knees. “Before I forget—check behind the counter, will you? A package of yours arrived today.”

“A package?” You don’t remember ordering anything. You don’t think you’ve ordered anything at all your entire life.

Everything you owned was either hand-me-downs (courtesy of the House’s previous members and now Rosalie’s collection of dresses) or little things here and there with the money you earned from working in the flower shop. They were all bought and chosen, with Rosalie doing so on your behalf, with your unwillingness to step outside when unnecessary.

“It’s tall,” Rosalie says conspiratorially, “twice the size of a guitar case! Are you practicing the double bass in secret?”

“No…?” You walk behind the counter and find the package beside the door. Rosalie wasn’t exaggerating—it’s taller than you. “Does it say who’s it from?”

“I tried looking, but it only has a cute little cat drawn on it,” Rosalie says, walking past you in a flurry of ruffled skirts.

You frown at it. A cat? You inspect the bottom of the package; sure enough, it has a little cat drawn on it, winking up at you. What the hell?

“The cat is wearing a top hat, did you see?” Rosalie asks loudly to overpower the running water.

Nevermind. You know exactly who sent you this package. The double bass in question is a spear, hence its height. It’s here already? Lyney sure works fast. To think that you never escaped the ever-generous donations of the House—even now, when you aren’t an orphan there.

You sigh. You just told him you didn’t want to owe anything.

Still, you tear open the carton. It rips in a clean line, unraveling itself. You gasp at the sight of the most beautiful spear you’ve ever laid your eyes on. It’s far from elegant, the tip resembling the sharpened spine of a dragon, as if a hunter’s trophy. The shaft, fading from blood red to black on its tip as scales, feels sleek to the touch when you run your fingers through it.

A piece of paper is taped onto it, folded in half, and has the words READ ME printed in bold ink. You cast a glance at Rosalie, who’s still out of sight, then swiftly read the contents of the letter.

Come with me to the banquet tomorrow morning, with an address attached.

Your first thought is to rip it to shreds. Your second one—which happens to be the louder one—is curious about the event. Why invite you? Is this a trap? Did he want to show you something?

A banquet… You catch a reflection of yourself on the shop’s window, seeing a muddy apron, a loose blouse, and pants that most probably belonged to a man before you got your hands on it. A banquet invitation by the famous Great Magician Lyney is like a challenge to your wealth and fame, but Lyney’s not like that. Curiosity ends up winning.

“Rosalie?” you call out.

She emerges from the door. Her dress, even for gardening—unlike yours—is gorgeous and grand and definitely meant for banquets. She unties her apron. “Yes, darling?”

And that’s how you ended up getting all dolled up. Having learned your lesson from last time, you asked Rosalie to loosen your corset. This gown is larger than your previous one, fluffing around your waist and pooling by your feet in a graceful heap of velvet fabric.

You can’t help but notice the wine-red shade of Rosalie’s lips matched the skirt of the gown.

“Can I borrow the lip color you use?” you ask quietly, feeling like you’re already asking too much from her.

You cast your gaze to the floor, too nervous to behold Rosalie’s expression. You didn’t get to see how she smiles fondly or how her eyes crinkle as you fidget on your feet. When she returns from fetching her box of cosmetics, she holds your chin and grins.

“Thanks, maman,” you try to say, with your mouth wide open and all as she paints your lips.

The brush pauses. Rosalie’s face softens. “Of course, Mon bébé. Always.”

As you enter the main hall, a man in a suit greets you with a tray of glasses in hand. He waits patiently and doesn’t leave until you reluctantly take one with a muttered thanks.

Where is Lyney?

You scan the place. The chandelier twinkles with diamonds, raining on everyone’s heads with a colorful reflection that illuminated their jewelry. Although Rosalie’s gowns were far more expensive than anything you’ve ever worn, it almost seems like it’s nothing compared to the over-the-top dresses and suits excuse of a wealth showcase.

They’re all talking and laughing with each other, sipping idly on their half-empty champagne. Feeling out of place, you tip the glass back and swallow quietly.

Its acidity makes you wince, but the taste bursts with a rich flavor. The last time you consumed anything alcoholic, it was your 18th birthday, and Rosalie slid over a glass of wine. The day ended in you throwing up on the sidewalk, but the memory is sweet. It has you going for one more sip.

The banquet-goers pay you no mind as you walk further inside. They chatter, eat, and tip their heads back to drink, but they don’t spare you even a glance. Perhaps they can smell the money off of you—which was none.

Meow, you hear by your feet.

“Oh!” you say, pleasantly surprised. You bend down to offer your hand out. “Hello, kitty. That’s a dashing hat you have there.”

The cat purrs and rubs itself on the back of your palm. Its dark fur is soft, a telltale sign of a well-groomed cat.

“Are you here with someone?” you ask politely, expecting no response, but the cat starts moving its paws and saunters off with a destination.

With nothing else to do, you obediently follow.

The cat strolls off. It brushes past leather shoes and ruffles and layers of skirts. It walks like it knows exactly where it’s going in the grand room. Maybe the little guy actually does. Its hat bounces as it trots, which reminds you of a particular lilac-eyed individual.

But you stopped following, eventually, because your eyes caught on— speak of the devil.

Lyney grins as cards fly across from one hand to another in a smooth movement. There aren't any stage props or spotlights flashing down on him, yet everyone watches with rapt gazes. That's always been his real talent: a magnet for attention by simply waving his hands. By batting his eyes, he's got everyone enamored.

For all his talk about keeping a fair distance with his admirers, you can’t blame any of them for believing Lyney’s comfort in their presence, his ease in the way they crowd him. He’s a splendid actor.

For some reason, this brings out an unpleasant feeling in your chest. It makes you want to reach out and show them what he’s truly like without a mask—but that doesn’t sound right to you, either. They don’t have to know what Lyney’s like when he wraps his arms around your personal space.

Maybe the alcohol is getting to you.

Before you can turn away, fingers clasp around your forearm and pull you against a body.

Lyney’s smiling wide, a jarring contrast to the fake one seconds ago. “You’re here!”

You get flustered, aware of his audience directing their attention to both of you. “I told you I didn’t like owing anyone anything.”

Lyney laughs melodically, kissing the back of your palm. Is he aware of all these eyes? He has to be—that’s his life’s work. Perhaps he doesn’t care. Perhaps he wants to show off as much as you do.

The air was thick the moment you entered the banquet, scents of all perfumes and roasted meats clashing and clinging to your nose, but suddenly it felt a lot more charged. Like you could faintly register the hair on your arms standing up in attention as you hold Lyney’s gaze.

“Forgive me; I missed you and had to come up with an excuse, somehow,” he says, winking up at you.

“We just saw each other two days ago,” you say.

When the tray of wine passes by once more, you eagerly draw out another glass. The faint buzz in the back of your head is not strong enough to drown out your stupid thoughts about Lyney, of all people.

The man of the hour—Lyney, because he always is—does the same. He murmurs, “You look breathtaking.”

“You should’ve warned me that the banquet would be ten times fancier than what I had in mind,” you say in return.

“And yet, even unprepared, no soul can take their eyes off you.”

You hope Lyney’s just saying that as a compliment, and it’s not what’s actually happening. You crane your neck and notice a whispering crowd as they stare at you. It wasn’t the whole truth. Even when pressed against Lyney, all eyes are on him. You face Lyney, suddenly conscious.

He doesn’t take his eyes off you, even once when his fingers reached out to fish out a champagne flute. Lyney still has that stupid smile on his face, the rim of his glass against his lips. You’re hit with the startling realization that you want to kiss him.

Fuck, what?

Your face burns, breath hitching in a way that has you choking on your drink. What the hell are you thinking? Are you out of your mind?

“I need another drink,” you say after downing your current one in half.

Lyney frowns, patting your back. His warmth sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. “I think what you need is water. How many glasses have you had already?”

You don’t want to be sober when you’re faced with Lyney. You don’t want to be sober when Lyney’s so close. “Not enough,” you say, because you don’t want to be sober right now.

The rest of the signs of intoxication start to settle as the laughter that rings somewhere from afar softens into an echo. The warm lights that showered the room seemed to glow when they rested on Lyney’s face. Though, you can’t quite tell if it’s intoxication or if it’s Lyney’s magic.

“What’s this banquet for?”

Lyney hums, taking one long sip. His lips press against the glass. “We’re celebrating father’s return.”

You think of The Knave instead, tall and intimidating when you stand across her, and wince. “She’s back?”

“Mhm,” Lyney says, his eyes tracing over your face, “has been for a while now, but the orphans decided to throw a little something for her. Can’t you tell? Half of the people in this room are Fatui.”

Oh.

You couldn’t tell, but you should’ve known. The Orphans were raised and trained to be masters of deception, blending seamlessly.

“But… why?” You’re starting to feel some weight on your tongue.

“We needed sponsors for a party this grand,” Lyney leans in to whisper, eyes gleaming, “and a party this grand would surely attract important people who know a lot.”

You want to ask why he’s telling you all of this freely, but you catch the flush dancing on his cheeks, and it faintly registers that Lyney must be a little drunk as well.

“Lyney, I—”

“Don't worry.” He’s still whispering. You have to draw closer to hear him. “I wouldn't have invited you if ‘Father’ personally came here. It’s just us, and no one will bother you if you’re with me.”

“Then why invite me here?”

Lyney smiles playfully, posture elegant with practice yet shoulders loose with the champagne. “I thought you would have been eager to learn more about the House’s current state.”

Was this a jab to his suspicions? Or was this him trying to reach out and employ a sense of nostalgia? You’re not drunk enough for this.

“Most of the ones we grew up with were sent off to other regions. But the one hosting—do you remember Cecilia?

You remember Cecilia. You have scars that remind you of Cecilia. “How has she been? Good, I hope? No grudges against me?”

“She never held any grudges,” Lyney laughs, and he tells you all about how they’ve all been since you left.

Without meaning to, you and Lyney end up recalling memories back in the House. And without thinking hard about it, you pluck another glass, then another, emboldened by the taste and fruits of alcohol—emboldened by how each sip has you feeling light. You don’t realize it, but you and Lyney end up pressed against each other, fondly remembering memories you thought you left behind. You could never run too far.

Maybe it’s your inhibitions dissipating along with the fizz of the champagne. Maybe it’s the atmosphere. Maybe it’s when Lyney’s tongue darted out to wet his lip, the words died in your mouth, and your head is heavy and very much feeling like it wants to be caught by Lyney. With his face.

“Hey,” Lyney says, his hand trailing across your jaw. As if he’s stopping you. “We’re pretty out of it right now. Don’t kiss me.”

You scowl. “Why? you hate me that much?”

Lyney’s eyes widen. “No. Don’t—don’t pout at me like that.” He covers your mouth. “That’s not fair.”

You haven’t even realized you were pouting. You wave his hand off and slump against him, curling against his comforting warmth. You like the view of the flush on Lyney’s neck crawling all the way up to his ears.

Lyney sighs, his back leaning against the wall as he holds you. You haven’t even noticed that you and Lyney were huddled together in a dark corner. “It would’ve been easier if we hated each other, huh?” He traces his thumb over your lip, looking forlorn. “I wouldn’t have hesitated to protect my status as a Fatuus the moment you came back out of thin air.”

You want to shut him up. “You’re talking too much. Just kiss me.”

“No,” Lyney says, but he doesn’t push you off of him either. “Let’s get you water.”

Ugh. The thought of water makes you sick. You resist the urge to vomit and nuzzle your nose on his collarbone, visibly relaxing when he steadies you with hands on both sides of your hips. This is better than water.

“Did you like my gift?” Lyney whispers to your ear.

You nod against his neck. “It was cool. I didn't know how to repay you, but now… now I regret coming here.”

“Why’s that?”

You run your fingers through his hair, messing up the braid on the side of his head. “Because I want to kiss you, and you’re being annoying. The nerve you have when you’re looking at me like that.”

Lyney slumps against the wall, defeated. “Don’t just say that, Y/N. You can’t go around saying that.”

“I’m not. Why else am I all over you instead of someone else?”

You watch in fascination as Lyney’s pupils dilate. Lyney’s skin feels so soft to the touch and inexplicably warm. Why is he denying you? Surely he feels it, too. Surely he wants it, too.

“Hey,” you whisper, and Lyney trembles. “What’s—what… What are you and Lynette up to? There has to be a reason you’re here, right? Tell me.”

Lyney frowns, pulling away to face you. “What?”

But then light rolls into view, stinging your eyes at the abrupt radiance. Someone has turned the lights on, possibly the culprit of this assault and rude interruption.

“Oh, shit,” a voice says.

Lyney stiffens, hands moving protectively around your torso, shielding you from the light that floods in when the door opens.

“M-Master Childe!” Lyney exclaims, looking torn between standing up and keeping you shielded, still. He has lipstick on his jaw; you want to point at it and laugh.

“Lord Tartaglia’s here?” you ask, stumbling over his name.

“Um,” Lord Tartaglia stands frozen by the doorway, “I’ll be leaving you two to it.”

ive never gotten drunk before so idk how off i am from the real deal, but i did consult my friend who has gotten drunk so hopefully i was at least not too inaccurate LMFAOO

NO WAY NEW CHAPTER. and theyre being stupid. now ay..... TYSM FOR READIN!!!!!! and sorry if this took a while i was being stupid too and decided to rewrite a big chunk last minute. LMK WHAT U THINK

TAGLIST.

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#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

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sailor-aviator · 3 months

Text

By Its Cover: Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader (Last Name: Sinclair)

Summary: The frivolity of high society has never much interested in you. You preferred to spend your time reading, something your sisters couldn't fathom as they spent their time shopping the latest dress styles. The youngest of five children and the fourth daughter, not much was expected of you. You knew you might be married one day, but you hoped beyond hope that it would be to someone that might understand your intellectual pursuits. You begin exchanging letters with a mysterious stranger, and what's more, your older brother's rakish best friend seems to find himself in your path more and more as the season goes on. What's a girl to do? (Regency!AU)

Content Warning: Historical inaccuracies probably, Promenading, Lingering looks, Stolen glances, Yearning, Gossip, Disregard for personal space, General anxiety, General self-esteem issues, Mean words. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 3.4k

Series Masterlist || Moodboard

Promenading was a terribly boring affair as far as you were concerned. Or at least, it was when spending the time with your overly zealous older sister. Georgie had insisted on sticking close to Lord Seresin, relegating you to the back with your mother and brother. The two of them conversed amongst themselves, leaving you to your thoughts, your hands itching to find a shaded spot where you could continue to read.

You found the book to be quite riveting so far, admiring the Elizabeth Bennet’s wit and bravery as she traversed the unknown landscape of the upper class. You had laughed at her sly remarks to Mr. Darcy, and envied her close relationship with her older sister. You imagined that Lydia and Theodosia were much like them, the way they were always giggling between each other. You had wanted something like that with Georgie, but you were quick to understand that your feelings were not reciprocated. No, Georgie preferred her gossip and shopping to your books and painting.

You caught Lord Seresin’s eye as he glanced back at you. His eyes twinkled as his lips curled into a smile before giving you a quick wink. Your cheeks heated, eyes growing wide at his boldness. He grinned at your reaction, lips pressing into a firm line as he tried to hold back a laugh, instead choosing to make it appear that he was laughing at one of Georgie’s—positively awful—jokes. You shook your head, ridding your mind of any lingering thoughts about the man in front of you. You glanced around the park, noting several newly presented ladies already chatting with suitors. The pairings thus far weren’t very interesting or gossip worthy as far as you were concerned.

Your eyes continued to flit about the garden until they met deep brown ones. Your mood perked up immediately upon sight of Natasha, an eager smile breaking out across your face as she hurried towards you.

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” she breathed as she saddled up to you, linking your arm with hers. “I was beginning to think I would die of boredom.”

“It would appear you and I share one mind,” you laughed, squeezing her arm as the two of you fell in to step just in front of William and your mother. Natasha’s eyes flickered back towards them, a coy gleam in them as she looked at your brother.

“I saw that,” you whispered, a knowing look on your face as she blushed, shushing you quickly before promptly looking forward.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Bug,” she stated, fighting the smile that threatened to break out across her face. You hummed, not believing her in the slightest when she peered over at you with a knowing look of her own.

“Although, I have heard some interesting tidbits about you and your sister this afternoon,” she teased, smirking as your eyes shot to hers.

“What on earth could they possibly be saying about us?” You scoffed. “The season has hardly even begun.”

“Well, what a beginning it’s been then,” she said. “The word around the Island is that a certain lady has her eye on the Duke of Austin.”

“That’s hardly newsworthy,” you sniffed, looking at your sister before shifting your gaze back to Natasha. Her eyes danced with amusement as her smirk grew bigger.

“Ah, but you haven’t heard the rest of it,” she grinned. “As it would turn out, the Duke of Austin appears to have his eyes pinned on another.”

You frowned, already not liking where this was going.

“No,” she continued. “He, in fact, has his eyes set on her sister if the whispers are to be believed.”

Your stomach did a flip, your skin suddenly feeling slightly clammy.

“That’s simply just not true,” you muttered, eyes cast toward the ground. It couldn’t be true. You weren’t nearly as good a prospect as Georgie. Sure, Georgie was prideful and snobbish at times, but she was beautiful, elegant, and sure to make a most wonderful bride to some eligible bachelor. You were none of those things. You were opinionated, stubborn, and much too quick to anger. You weren’t the type to be a graceful lady of an estate. No, you knew deep down in your heart that you would grow old in age living as a spinster on your family’s estate. Although, a secret part of you always hoped for more.

“Bug,” Natasha scowled, leaning in further as she lowered her voice so only you could hear. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Looks at me how?” you muttered.

“Like you’re the most divine creature he’s ever had the privilege of beholding,” she smirked. You frown, irritated that you were even entertaining the, quite frankly, foolish notion that a man such as Lord Seresin, a duke no less, would ever feel anything but muddled curiosity for someone like you.

“This is ridiculous,” you hissed, moving to pull back, but Natasha stopped you with a hand on your arm.

“Is it?” She questioned, eyes glancing in front of the both of you before looking back at you. “Because from where I’m standing, the man has hardly been able to stop looking at you. Perhaps the notorious rake of the Island is ready to settle down.”

You glanced over just as Lord Seresin’s head whipped back forward, a twinge of pink to his ears as he smiled at something your sister just said. You felt a pang in your chest, uncertain and unable to pin the emotion that suddenly filled you. You pressed your lips firmly together as you continued your walk in silence.

“Excuse me, Miss Sinclair.”

Your little party stopped as Mr. Darnstead came up to stand in front of your sister. You saw the way Georgiana’s lips curved coyly, the glance she cast to her right as she greeted the man in front of her.

“Hello, Mr. Darnstead,” she purred. “How are you enjoying the weather this fine day?”

Natasha squeezed your arm once more to get your attention. You turned your head to see her apologetic smile as she stepped back with a sigh.

“My mama is calling for me,” she frowned, gesturing to the woman in question who stood by the pond with a young man. Natasha’s mother had a look of eagerness as she waved for her daughter, and you gave your best friend a sympathetic nod.

“Good luck,” you whispered, squeezing her hand before watching her go. You startled as William stepped up beside you, a furrow to his brow as he watched Natasha’s retreating figure.

“Is that Lord Anson?” He asked, sparing you a glance. You scrunched your nose at him before shrugging.

“I have no idea,” you answered, a sly smile curling at your lips. “Why do you wish to know?”

William turned to you with an owlish blink that had you snickering into your hand. He scowled down at you, bumping your shoulder with his as he fought the smile that threatened to spread out across his face.

“That’s enough out of you,” he admonished playfully, earning a giggle from you.

It was quieter by the fountain that stood guarded by the giant hydrangea bushes and green hedges. You were the only one to venture to this part of the park, most everyone keeping closer to the main walkway where they were sure to be seen by all of society and any potential matches.

You enjoyed the quiet, truly you did. The chirping of birds and hum of insects complimenting the steady trickle of the water in the fountain. It was a nice, little corner that offered you some semblance of privacy while still being in full view of your ever watchful mother, though she seemed more preoccupied with Georgie and her many suitors that had come flooding out of the woodwork than her youngest daughter. You were grateful for the reprieve, sneaking away quietly to try and find some time to continue reading your book. You were making steady progress, admiring Elizabeth Bennet’s refusal of Mr. Collins when accepting would have been not only beneficial, but expected.

Your mother and brother seemed determined for you to marry, but you knew it was a lost cause. No respectable man of the Island would want to marry the strange, youngest daughter of the noble Sinclair family—especially when there seemed to be constant whispers about her ineptitude as a lady.

You sat perched on the edge of the fountain, feeling the mist from the water on your skin, a shiver running up your spine at the coolness of the water. You set your book down, standing to make your way towards the last remaining blossoms of the hydrangeas. You were happy to see them given how late in the year it was. Your family’s estate had a couple of bushes in its garden, but they were kept pruned short unlike the plants before you. The bush toward over you, making you feel small by comparison.

Your hand rose to cradle one of the last group of blossoms, smiling at the bright, blue petals. The ladies of the Island seemed to favor the bright pink and noble purple blossoms more, but you had always had a fondness for the blue. You leaned forward to sniff the sweet smell, humming with a smile.

“There you are.”

You jumped, whirling around to come face to face with Lord Seresin. He put his hands up, an amused smile on his lips as he looked at you.

“Woah,” he chuckled, letting his arms fall back to his sides. “Easy. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t,” you lied, frowning and looking away.

“Right,” he said quietly, shoving a hand into his pocket. “I thought I might find you over here.”

You hummed, fingers toying with the hydrangea blossoms once more. You weren’t sure how to talk to him. He was just a boy you had once known before last night, a friend of your brothers who used to carry you around on his back across the fields of your family’s estate. A boy who always indulged you, much to the annoyance of William. He always had a smile for you or a treat of some kind. You had been sad when he stopped coming around.

Now he was a handsome, young Duke of marrying age. You were not blind to the stares he received from the ladies of the Island—and even some of the men—as he had walked through the park with your family. He had become sturdier since his youth, and the very thought had heat rising to your cheeks.

As if he could read your mind, his lips curled into a smirk, and he took several steps towards you, bridging the gap that had kept your nerves at bay.

“You always did like the flowers,” he mused, his fingers coming up to rest against the same blossoms. He was so close, you could feel his body heat radiating off of him, the smell of his cologne competing with the sweet perfume of the flowers. You took a deep breath, lips parting as you took in his scent, eyelashes fluttering as it overwhelmed you.

“You used to bring them to me all the time,” he continued, eyes softening at the memories.

“Did I?” You asked, cursing how breathy your voice sounded.

“Oh, yes,” he grinned, plucking a blossom off the bush and handing it to you. “That and whatever creature you managed to dig up.”

You took the flower from his hands, cheeks becoming hotter at his teasing and the way his fingers brushed against yours.

“Your grace,” you started, but Lord Seresin frowned.

“Jake,” he corrected.

“Jake,” you sighed, grimacing. “Perhaps we should rejoin the others.”

“Why?” he asked with a frown. You pursed your lips, eyes flickering down to the flower in your hand. Anything to escape his intense green ones.

“I think it would be wise in order to avoid scandal,” you murmured, eyes darting towards the main pathway where several of high society’s elite strolled.

“I didn’t know you were so concerned with the thoughts of high society,” he smirked, leaning closer. You leaned away, eyes wide as his breath fanned over your face.

“Why would I not be?” You challenged, brow furrowing. “I am a lady of one of the noble families. To ruin my reputation is to ruin all of theirs as well.”

“You think I’m out to ruin your reputation?” He asked, smirk faltering. You stared at him for a second, mind reeling at his proximity and unsure of how to respond.

“What are your intentions with my sister?” You blurted out. Jake balked, confusion spreading out across his face.

“What?”

“Your intentions with my sister,” you continued, meeting his eyes with faux confidence. “You have quite the reputation, Lord Seresin. I would hate to see her caught up in it.”

All traces of mirth were gone from his face by the time you finished speaking. A dark glimmer in his eyes had you hesitating, but you stubbornly stood your ground, waiting for his answer.

“And what, pray tell, is my reputation, Miss Sinclair?” He challenged, a growl in his voice that most certainly did not make you feel flustered. Your mind raced back to the words Natasha and William had both spoken to you.

“They say you’re a rake,” you declared, lifting your chin. “Rumor has it that you’d rather spend your time with a different lady every night than settle down. That you spend your nights drinking and gambling until the sun rises. If you mean to court my sister, that will have to stop.”

Hurt flashed in his eyes. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced with a cold veneer, his jaw clenching.

“I’m surprised you of all people would listen to the wretched gossip that everyone seems so fond of,” he said coolly, standing up straight and taking a step back from you as he adjusted his jacket. “Given how you yourself are the subject of some. Just a silly little girl with her head in the clouds and no understanding of the world around her. You’ll be lucky to find a match at all is what they say about you.”

The hot sting of tears prickled at the back of your eyes. Of course you weren’t a stranger to the things people whispered about you, only a fool would be. But in that moment, the image of the sweet boy who entertained you all those years ago is shattered.

You felt your lower lip wobble, and the cold look in Jake’s eyes crumbles as it’s replaced with one of regret.

“Lady Bug, I-” He started, reaching a hand out to you, but you jerked back. You gave him one last look, schooling your features as you rushed past him.

“Excuse me,” you sniffled, cursing as your voice trembled. You didn’t look back, making a beeline towards where your mother stood.

“Mama,” you called, the older woman turning to face you. Concern pulled at her brow and lips as she looked at you.

“Whatever is the matter, dearest?” She asked, cupping your face in her hands as she looked you over. You cleared your throat as you glanced to the ground.

“I’m suddenly not feeling well,” you lied. “Might I take the coach home?”

Your mother hesitated, and you could feel his eyes on you as she glanced up at him.

“I suppose that’s alright,” she said slowly, her hands coming down to rest on your shoulders. “Just have the driver come straight back once you’re home.”

You gave her a tight-lipped smile, ducking your head as you scurried away towards the entrance to the park.

You heaved a sigh as you stared out your window. You hadn’t stopped thinking about your exchange with Lord Seresin. Why had he been so upset with you? You were protecting your sister from heartbreak, warning him that the opinions of him will affect her too should he choose her as his wife. Was he angry because they had come from the lips of a woman all considered to be strange? Or perhaps it was because they were spoken aloud at all.

A knock sounded on your door, and you turned at the sound.

“Come in,” you called, thoughts still swirling inside your head. Your maid, Nora, poked her head in, a small smile directed your way.

“Good afternoon, miss,” she greeted, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “I wanted to let you know that dinner will be served in about one hour.”

“Thank you, Nora,” you smiled, but the action seemed forced. She hesitated for a moment, flinching as you gave her a puzzled look.

“Your mother wanted me to remind you that the Duke of Austin will be joining your family this evening,” she twittered nervously.

Your heart sank, the thought of seeing him again so soon filling you with dread. Perhaps you could feign illness and stay in your room with your book-

You lurched to your feet, Nora giving a startled cry at your sudden movement. You scurried around the room, moving piles and throwing pillows in a bid to find it.

“What are you looking for, miss?” The maid asked, coming up behind you. You turned to look at her, despair coloring your features.

“My book!” You exclaimed. “The one Mr. Mitchell let me borrow! I must have left it at the park, oh no.”

“You might still have time to go back and get it,” Nora offered. “You could be back with just enough time to get ready for dinner.”

“I’d be cutting it close,” you murmured, chewing on your bottom lip. The sky was beginning to darken, and you huffed out a breath.

“We must go quickly,” you decided. Nora grabbed your cape as you hurried out of your room. She chased after you, wrapping the cape around you as you exited the house. The driver was blessedly still by the stagecoach, and you signaled to him that you were in need of his services.

“I need to get to the park,” you told him, clambering into the coach. “As quickly as you can.”

The ride was quick, but silent, the coach jostling every now and then. You thanked the driver once you had stopped, gathering your skirts and running towards the fountain. You were out of breath by the time you reached it, panting as you looked to the spot you had set it down at earlier. Your stomach did a flip as you looked, the book nowhere in sight. You did two laps around the fountain before letting out a groan.

“Blast it all,” you cursed, hiding your face in your hands. How were you going to explain this to Mr. Mitchell?

With a sigh of defeat, you trudged back to the coach, your driver giving you a sympathetic look as he helped you inside. The ride back felt slower despite using the same route as before. When the coach stopped in front of your home, you thanked the driver once more before trudging inside. You heard voices coming from the parlor, and you knew you’d have to move quickly unless you wanted to hear another lecture from your mother about minding the time of others.

The family butler, Mr. Stevens, approached you.

“Miss,” he greeted with a slight bow of his head. “A parcel was left for you earlier this evening.”

“A parcel?” You frowned, shrugging off your cape. “Whoever from?”

“I’m not sure, miss,” Mr. Stevens grimaced. “It was left at the door with a note on top of it.”

Mr. Stevens gestured toward the end table pressed up against the wall. You walked over to it, brow furrowed as you lifted the wrapped package, the note falling to the side. You tore at the paper, eyes lighting up once you saw what was underneath.

“My book!” You exclaimed, relief flooding you as you clutched it to your chest. Your eyes darted towards the note that lay on the table, your name in neat scrawl printed across the front. You set the book down, picking up the paper gingerly as you flipped it open. Your eyes darted across the writing, widening before you could fully process what you were reading.

What on earth?

A/N: A big shoutout to not only Ruthie, but @sorchathered for helping me make concrete decisions on this story! My works wouldn't be what they are without the help and ever present ears of my friends to help me through and bounce ideas off of.

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you would like to be notified on when I post updates, please follow my side blog (@sailoraviator-library) and turn on post notifications! My work is cross posted on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

#bic #by its cover #regency!au #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman #hangman top gun #top gun hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman fanfiction

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trulyumai · 3 months

Text

Starting the Jest

Pairing: Messmer the Impaler x Wife!Reader

Warnings: smoochinnn

Synopsis: Dirtied and tired; Messmer dragged his wife for a bath.

A/N: another chapter???? fuck yeah!!!

Enjoy everyone!

“Thou aren’t scheming, I hope?”

The man is sat, with knees spread as bubbles move vicariously through one another.

The bath was small, his chest lay on display as the younger woman coddles about the tub.

“Nay, dear husband,” she all but giggled out.

White foam is dusted across her delicate hands, she carefully but intently moves it across his form.

Messmer; the almighty

Messmer; the everliving flame…

Is currently being covered and buried in a vast amount of bubbles.

“It seemeth,” a sigh pushed its way past his lips.

With eyes trained onto the lady, big hands found their way across her waist.

“Thou is.”

The woman lightly shushed her husband, getting the foam to dance across both lips.

He grimaced and with brows knitted began his assault on the woman; to her ticklish sides.

“Mess— husband— please!” She managed to get out a couple words before pushing the large knight away. And although she backed up completely; the tub was too small to get any where far.

Messmer smiled, it pushed his cheeks up and dusted a light pink across his features.

And although it was from the ethereal woman he got to call his wife, he would never admit.

Instead, say how hot the chambers have gotten; blaming it on her need for incessant heat.

With a simple lift to the hand, he pulled the woman against him, shushing her moans with a kiss.

Fingernails dug into the man’s scalp, but ever used to such a pressure the man continued.

His tongue molded against hers, he noticed quickly, that she tasted like apples and fine aged wine.

The need for air was rising, her chest heaved as the man broke away hesitantly.

“My love, oh how it pains me to be pushed away so,”

Her arms sat on the maroon knights shoulders, lightly brushing the man’s hair back as her orbs rolled back with feign annoyance.

The room was indeed hot, steam rose from every crevice, and although the large window beside them lay open; it had little opportunity to help.

Light condensation could be seen on Messmer’s face, alighting his serene expression. Small hairs stuck to the sides of his temples like an invading mold. His wife brushed them away with a kiss.

From the two of them moving, water had splashed and soaked the golden tiles on display, which Messmer eyed carefully.

“Dear wife,” he began

His forehead touched hers, an action he was addicted to.

And could you blame him? He thought, carefully touching the woman before him.

To have such a goddess for a wife, why wouldn’t he want to be mere inches away?

“If thou is quite done, I would like to return to bed, hm?”

“Me? I’ve done nothing but bathe and dote on my husband!”

A noise left the man out of pure defiance and his fingers found the outline of her jaw.

“I shall engulf you; enjoy you slowly dear wife, for lying to your lord.”

Such a comment startled her out of rationalized thought.

Mouth agape she could only stare back at the man as her cheeks warmed with a light burn.

“Do not jest with me, Messmer,”

With an increase of strength, his palm closed around her cheeks, squeezing her puffy lips out for him.

He eyed them shamelessly, mesmerized by such complete and udder perfection.

“A—Are you done?”

With squished features her R’s began to sound like W’s, and such a simple thing garnished a laugh out of the flame.

Two hands came out to grab at his one, yet they stood powerless against such a strength.

“Say please, pretty wife.”

He stared once more

“Say it, and I’ll let you go, that you have my word.”

Water droplets drooped down her neck and dribbled past the expansion of her chest.

Messmer, ever distracted by such a feat, laid his other hand upon her breasts.

“Say it,” he begged.

The girls cheeks were sore, no longer did the silly antics seem so fun with all this teasing that came back at her.

“—please,”

“Please what?” The flame demanded as his head inched closer to hers, wanting to hear— to memorize the words that crawled out of her lips.

“Please, my husband,” she whispered, cheeks still aflame.

Instantly the hand left her features, and instead found home on her backside.

“That wasn’t so hard, hm?”

Stroking her spine it went down further, until the line of her buttocks was in his hold.

It gripped and squeezed the area, to which his wife begrudgingly allowed.

Her frame lay across his, with her neck crammed into his neck, too embarrassed to show her face.

“Let’s return, darling, my trip to the capital lay for the morning before us.”

Kissing her head he stood, with his wife atop his arms, ready for a warm bed and good nights rest.

For Messmer the Impaler could not begin his rein of terror without cuddling his wife prior.

#messmer elden ring #elden ring dlc #elden ring #Messmer x reader #Messmer the Impaler x reader #video game x reader #video game #fluff #domestic fluff #smoochin #Messmer is a total sap and I’m here for it #such a romantic #Spotify

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cherryslyce · 1 year

Text

Second Son (Epilogue) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Forbidden from contacting Harry over the summer, you opt to explore the eerie halls of Grimmauld Place where you stumble upon a lonely portrait of the House's second son.

— Chapter Synopsis: The new era. The end of one chapter, and the beginning of another.

Part XIX / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Thank you all so much.

You peer out of the fenestrated walls, eyes glazing over the faint swinging of wooden signs and veranda covers. The ambience around you swirls like a sheer veil as you lean back into your seat, sighing out blissfully as your cooling charm beats with fervor, shielding you from the blistering heat of the summer day.

Dragging your eyes away from the bright view, you run your finger along the thick cardstock in front of you. The blocky letters begin to fade into the background of snowy mountain caps and faded waterfalls as you continue to trace your eyes over it.

‘Greetings from OREGON’

You flip the postcard over and swipe a finger across the swirly letters.

‘Hope you’re well, kid. - A. Fiske’

A sudden thudding noise echoes across from you, and you slowly shift to sit straight as your eyes drag themselves away from the letters. You tilt your head with a coy smile as your companion leans back to get comfortable, evidently miffed by the unrelenting heat waves.

“Good to see you, B.” You smile saccharinely, fingers dancing along the chilled cup in front of you.

Blaise rolls his eyes and places his own drink down on the table—iced americano, simple, bitter, and everything that Blaise wasn’t. You would never understand his fascination with the drink. He huffs before smiling sarcastically at you, “Yes, how long has it been? Two days?”

“Don’t whine, it’s unbecoming.” You mutter playfully, twirling your straw around the rim of your cup.

“Merlin, you’re even starting to sound like her. Really, no wonder mother finds you so endearing.” He tuts as he throws his elbow back to rest on the back of his chair.

You chuckle and shake your head, “Okay, let’s digress then.” You lean forward and cross your legs, “How is Draco doing? Theo is irritatingly uninformed on the topic.”

“He’s alright, thanks to you and Potter anyway. His father might not be facing a long sentence, but many of the elected Wizengamot heads are shifty even with your statements. Lucius Malfoy has been a slippery eel for a few years too long.” He hums, face unflinching as he sips on his potent drink, “How the mighty have fallen so.”

Nodding, your voice drops lower as you survey the rest of the cafe, “Azkaban will still do a number on him even with a lighter sentence. Narcissa is worried.”

“As she should be,” he replies curtly, “and speaking of Azkaban, how is Lord Black nowadays? He’s become quite the hermit. Is he faring well?”

You sigh and rub your chin, “Yeah, he’s just been busy with remodeling. He’s still quite miffed that Reggie and I decided to move out.”

“At least he has Potter with him.” Blaise supplies, eyes darkening in rumination at the mention of Regulus. He levels you with inquisitive eyes, “Before I forget, what should I send over?”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you hum, “How do you mean?”

“Your house warming gift, daft one.” He rolls his eyes lightly.

“Just bring your lovely self.” You huff out.

Blaise crosses an ankle over his knee, “A vase then.”

“If it clashes with the aesthetic then I’m tossing it into the basement.” You warn jokingly, smiling widely at your friend.

He shakes his head with a muffled chuckle, “No worries. Anyways, you still need to unpack, right? Need any help?”

“Oh? Work not keeping you busy enough?” You rest back against your chair, head bleeding with thoughts about how taxing work has been in the past few months with the Ministry trying to dial the reconstruction process to an inconceivable pace.

Blaise groans at the reminder, taking a long sip of his drink, “Merlin, they should rename the whole Department! Department of International Magical Cooperation? What a joke, all they do is sit in an oval and squabble.”

You throw your head back to laugh, a feathery light bubble of relief expanding in your chest. It was mind-boggling to think that not even a year ago you were all fighting for your lives, and now the same backdrop of fear that followed everyone around for so many years had disintegrated. People strided through halls and streets with lifted shoulders and bright eyes, war-hardened, but jovial as their burdens gave way.

Blaise had worked his way up the Department of International Magical Cooperation, often leaving meetings with a sharp migraine and dwindling hope in the frequency of common sense. Theodore was faring well, now a highly revered Unspeakable for the Time Branch, all made possible with his swift denouncement of his father. Draco was the more withdrawn one out of the three, but you held out hope for him, having corresponded with him over his budding fascination for Alchemy.

You found that your new friends were on your mind often, and you were endlessly grateful to them as they took Regulus’ reintegration into society with stride, often giving you advice on how to politely tell inquisitive reporters to bugger off. Meetings with them were slowly becoming a rarity as all of you became engrossed in work, but your friendships remained resolute as you all quickly became each other’s closest confidants.

Luna wrote to you often, and you sent her trinkets and snacks by the dozen, finding yourself constantly worried that others would mistreat the girl with the absence of your friend group. Luckily, the girl found a friend in Ginny, and you were looking forward to reuniting with her during her Summer Break.

Harry and Ron were inducted into the Auror ranks by Shacklebolt only a few weeks after the war. You had your reservations about their decision to jump into such a high-risk job, the stench of carnage and battle throbbing like an open wound, but they insisted that they would never be able to focus enough to finish school.

On the opposite side of that sentiment, there was Hermione. She had quickly delved back into Hogwarts’ curriculum amidst its reconstruction, and was now looking to you with hopeful words about beginning her own sabbatical.

You had published your research under both yours and Regulus’ name, omitting information about Regulus’ discovery of sentient portraits as a precaution for the future.

You both respected Anders’ wish to leave his name off the cover and the research, but he failed to warn you against leaving his name anywhere else, so simply on the first page of your book, you dedicated the findings to him and Asger with a simple ‘For A. & A. Fiske.’

The research was groundbreaking, to say the least. You wouldn’t be able to forget the swaths of letters and documents from the Ministry, and one very heated missive to you from Blaise about how he was even more swamped with work, many foreign countries reaching out to inquire about the findings.

It all paid off though, the royalties you and Regulus got would sustain you both for the rest of your humble lives, and the boost on your portfolio made getting a job in the Department of Mysteries a cakewalk.

Once the sun rolled across the cloudless sky, the singing blues morphing to hues of pinks and purples, you bid your friend goodbye, wishing him luck with work and promising to gather with the rest of your friends the following week.

You were certain that apparition was the most useful skill you had in your toolbelt, and you couldn’t fathom how you managed to survive the majority of your life without such a feat. As your shoes pad against the pavement, the bristling of leaves skidding around you, you let out a content sigh as you approach your destination.

It was the closest thing you had to home for so long, and it still felt like safety and comfort despite the sudden heaviness of your own house keys in your pocket. As you pop the door open, head peeking around the heavy wood, your face lights up as a figure comes into view.

“You’re home!” You exclaim excitedly, stepping inside with a wide grin.

Harry approaches you and gives you a fleeting hug, hand raising to adjust his glasses as he pulls back, “Yeah, Tonks let me off early. How was your meeting with Blaise?”

“Good,” you draw out suspiciously, eyes narrowing as you both pace through the dim walkway, “how’d you know about that?”

“Regulus.” He answers simply, eyebrows raising in tease as you huff.

You both cross into the threshold of the kitchen, stopping in your tracks as you see countless manuals splayed across the wide berth of the table. Regulus and Sirius are both hunched over in their seats, flipping furiously through the catalogues.

“Some light reading, Sirius?” Your voice rings out playfully, body already moving towards your squinting boyfriend. Both men shoot up from their positions and blink owlishly at you and Harry, the sea of papers long forgotten.

“Furniture shopping, pup!” Sirius replies with a tired grin as he stretches his arms over his head.

Regulus rises from his chair and meets you halfway, arms wrapping securely around your body as he burrows his face into the crook of your neck. A few more moments pass by before he cranes back and blinks slowly at you, “Birdie.”

You run a hand through his curls and smile lightly, “Love.”

Regulus keeps you secure to him as he moves to drop back down into his seat, leaning his head against your stomach as you remain standing. Your eyes drop down to look at the varying bleak images on the shining white pages.

Raising your eyebrows, your eyes drift around an image of a steep bookshelf with two glass doors, “Is this for us or Sirius?”

Sirius leans back in his seat and rubs the bridge of his nose, “Your place. Reggie helped me pick out a few pieces earlier.”

Your eyes wander around the aged cabinets and drabby wallpaper, trying to envision the space in a remodeled visual, one that would be Sirius-esque rather than screaming of cobwebs and medieval torture. You smile minutely before reaching a hand out across the table, bringing your other hand to card through Regulus’ hair as you mutter quietly to the tired man across from you, “I’m happy for you, Sirius.”

The man reciprocates your smile and clasps his hand in yours, “Thank you, pup. I’m happy for you too,” he huffs and glances at Regulus, who remained immobile against your stomach, “the both of you.”

The tender moment continues for a few more beats before Harry slowly leans on the seat next to Sirius’, eyes scrutinizing a forgotten pile of booklets off to the older man’s left, “Sirius, where are we going to put a lion table?”

You snort out a muffled laugh as the man swivels over to his godson with beaming eyes, knowing that Harry would be whining to you later about Sirius’ ineptitude at interior decorating.

“You should start cleaning up, Remus will be here soon for dinner.” You murmur with a pointed look at the trio.

As the final outlines of the sun slinks away in the horizon, you and Regulus bid farewell to the occupants of Grimmauld Place, intent on spending the rest of the night in your home. It was fortunate that Regulus had managed to set up the floo network to your home only a matter of days before, and the journey back left little room for complaints as the green flames dragged away from your vision.

You step out into the darkness of your study room, ears perking imperceptibly when the network flares again as Regulus joins you. The twilight sky filters into your home, dimly illuminating the barren room.

“We’re home.” You mutter with a content smile.

Regulus slowly pads towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he sways you both. Your eyes are drawn to the French casement windows behind the desk, getting lost in the sight of the dancing flower field.

“Shall we head to the cliff, birdie?” Regulus muses, eyes following your gaze as he drifts into rumination.

You nod and reluctantly step forward, pivoting on your heel and dropping a hand onto Regulus’ arm, “I’ll meet you at the front? I need to drop off a few things in the bedroom.”

“Of course, baby.” He leans over to capture your lips in a soft kiss, hands dropping to your hips as he lightly grips onto you.

Humming against his lips, you slowly pull back and rub a thumb across his cheek, “I’ll be quick, promise.”

He pecks your lips again and gives you one last squeeze before he slowly backs away, shooting you a warm smile as he makes his way to the entryway. You retreat from the study room soon after, making a sharp right turn as you pace towards your shared bedroom.

Regulus had been the one to bring up the idea of getting a beach house, assuring you that he was unsettled by still water and not turbulent waves. It was a quaint building, one that sprouted into the center of a lustrous flower garden, and you both knew it was the one when you toured it. Just a short walk away from the blooming fields, a precipitous cliffside broke away and loomed over a thick landing of sand, giving a small brief from the swaying waves

As you enter the lusterless room, you shed away your bag and walk towards your bedside table, propping the Oregon postcard against your lamp. Atop the same white bedside table sat Regulus’ old golden frame, now whole and without trace of ever having been shattered. Under the frame, the folded piece of paper that Regulus had given you the night after you bought the property peeked out.

You grasp both items in your hands, and smile lightly as an idea formulates in your head.

“Kreacher!” You call lightly.

The house-elf pops into the bedroom with a curious frown, teetering towards you as you extend the items out. You fish out your wand as Kreacher grabs the frame, muttering a faint engorgio at the rectangular object. The frame wobbles in the elf’s grasp before slowly stretching to nearly thrice its original size.

“Could you possibly frame this note for me? Maybe above the headboard?” You request with a small smile.

“Kreacher will do that.” The house elf nods and begins to fiddle with the frame.

Your eyes run across the note one more time before you hand the slip to the elf, making your way out to Regulus with a fleeting farewell. The boy has a jacket slung over his arm as he waits for you by the door, carding his hair back as a flicker of joy flashes through his eyes when you appear in his line of sight.

“All ready?” He murmurs once you reach him.

“More than ready.” You reply with a hum, leaning to peck his cheek.

The trek towards the cliffside passes by in the blink of an eye, and you’re left with butterflies in your stomach as Regulus picks several tulips for you along the way. By the time you’re close enough to the ocean to hear the crashing of waves, you are left to huddle close to Regulus for warmth.

The sky begins to darken above you, but you give no protest when Regulus drags you to sit down on the ground. He peers up at the sky above him, eyes tracing across the faint twinkles of the approaching stars.

You bring a hand to trace his chest as you do the same, cradling the flowers to your side as you begin to sift through the reel of memories in your head.

“I love you, birdie.” Regulus whispers into the air, his arm moving to rest on your waist.

You smile widely and press your face into the crook of his neck, “I love you.”

And as you both laid under the stitches of glowing stars, sharing tiny whispers and shielding each other from the brutal winds, back in your home, Kreacher makes the last adjustments to the new wall decor.

Kreacher mutely assesses the space as he backs out, the elf’s head full of future possibilities.

It was peaceful. After so many years, he felt at peace.

The door closes with a faint click just as the stars peek through the bedroom window, reflecting off the glowing frame. The swirls of inks encapsulated in the shining beams dance amongst the canvas of the wall.

‘29 October, 1979

I wonder what being in love feels like.

26 April, 1999

Love is like flying freely from the inhibitions of your burdens, where your person is your wings, your eyes, and your heart; you soar freely with the knowledge that they will carry you above the storms of doubt. I no longer wonder because now I know.’

Fin.

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delicatebarness · 3 months

Text

winters widow | chapter iii

Summary: During the month-long journey to your sister's wedding, you challenge Lord James' authority and gain a small glimpse of vulnerability. Settling under the full moon, you find quiet satisfaction.

Warning: Arranged Marriage. Emotional Distress. PTSD and War Trauma.

Word Count: 1468

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Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N: Oh Lady Romanoff. How we love you. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick

The warmth and the chatter of the kitchen staff provided a stark contrast to the crisp morning and icy atmosphere of the Reach. You smiled as you worked alongside them, determined to make yourself useful and lend a hand where you could. The staff initially hesitated about your presence in the kitchen, but they gradually accepted your help.

The head cook, a stout woman was instructing a young scullery maid, her voice gentle but firm as she explained how to chop vegetables, as you knead dough properly.

“You’re quite the natural in the kitchen, my lady,” the head cook remarked, offering a warm smile as her hands deftly worked.

“I’ve always found comfort in cooking,” you admitted, sparkling more flour into your dough. “It reminds me of my home.”

Sharing fleeting smiles, the other servants nodded in agreement. A comfortable, almost familial atmosphere began to cherish the cold, unyielding walls as activity hummed around you.

The kitchen door swung open with a loud creak, and the room instantly fell silent. Turning with your dough in hand, you saw Lord James standing in the doorway, a dark expression of displeasure. The blue in his eyes deepened as they locked onto you, and the room's tension almost suffocated.

“What are you doing in here?” he demanded, his voice cutting through the silence like the blade of his sword.

Wiping your flour-cover hands on your apron, you straightened your posture. “I’m helping with the preparations for dinner, my lord.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw, eye narrowing. “You are a lady, not a servant. This is not your place.”

“I wanted to be useful,” you refused to be intimidated as you met his gaze. “Contribute in any way I can.”

“You are the future Lady of Winter’s Reach,” he snapped. “This is not how you should be contributing. Your place is not among the servants.”

Uneasy glances were exchanged around you, as the staff retreated into the background. The head cook, who had been friendly toward you moments ago, now avoided your eyes, a worried expression clouded her features.

The lord stepped closer, his voice lowering yet it did not lose intensity. “You will leave the kitchen, immediately. We depart for the Prince’s wedding to your sister in three days and begin your preparation for our journey. It will be a month-long ride, and I expect you to be ready.”

The reality of his words sunk in as you swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord,” you replied quietly, offering him a small nod.

You felt the weight of the staff’s sympathetic gazes on your back as you turned on your heel and left the kitchen. The sense of belonging the kitchen brought had begun to slip away, replaced by the reminder of your status and the expectations that came with it.

As you made your way to your quarters to prepare, your mind raced with the thoughts of traveling with Lord James. A month of enduring his harsh demeanor, you were determined to use the journey as another opportunity to break through his defenses.

The courtyard was abuzz with activity, three mornings later. Preparations for the journey were finalizing as horses were being saddled and supplied were loaded. Dressed in travel attire, you approached Honeybreeze, a mixture of excitement and apprehension as you stroked her mane.

Standing by the Reach’s entrance, Lord James oversaw the final preparations. He watched as you approached your horse, his expression unreadable as his eyes flickered with a hint of something softer.

“You are to ride in the carriage,” he stated firmly, snapping your attention to him as his tone left little room for argument.

“I prefer to ride Honeybreeze,” your voice was calm but resolute as you replied.

His gaze hardened as his brow furrowed. “The journey will be long and treacherous. It would be safer for you in the carriage.”

“I appreciate your concern, my lord, but I’m more comfortable on my horse,” you insisted, with practiced ease, you mounted Honeybreeze.

Unaccustomed to having his orders challenged, his jaw tightened. “The terrain is unpredictable, there are other threats along the way. You do not understand the dangers.”

You met his gaze steadily, looking down at him from your horse. “I’ve ridden through difficult terrain, we can handle it.” You smiled as memories of riding Honeybreeze around Belova flooded your mind.

“This isn’t a leisurely ride, Lady Romanoff,” his frustration evident in his voice. “It’s a month-long journey, and I don’t need any additional complications.”

“I’m capable,” your voice firm as you countered. “I won’t be a complication.”

The tension between you both grew as he stared at you for a long moment. Finally, the rigidity in his posture softened and he sighed. “Very well,” he conceded reluctantly. “Stay close to the carriage and follow my lead.”

“I will,” you said, a smile tugged at your lips. “Thank you, my lord.”

As the procession moved along the roads, Lord James glanced at you with a mixture of irritation and resignation on his expression. You had positioned yourself alongside him, Honeybreeze keeping pace with Alpine, his snowy white horse.

“I told you to stay by the carriage,” he snapped with a sharp tone.

Undeterred, you met his gaze. “I believe it’s important for us to ride side by side, my lord. It will show a united front.”

“This isn’t about appearances,” his eyes narrowed. “It’s about your safety.”

“And, I feel safer riding Honeybreeze,” you calmly countered. “Besides, my lord, the people need to see us not together as just a lord and lady, but as partners.”

“You’re too stubborn for your own good.” He sighed, clearly frustrated.

“Maybe so,” you offered him a small, hopeful smile. “But, it’s because I believe in this union, despite it’s duty.”

Rolling his eyes, Lord James had a hint of a reluctant smile at the corner of his lips. “Stay close, and don’t wonder off.”

“Of course, my lord,” relief washed over you as you replied.

The rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the dirt road created a steady and comforting beat as you rode south, the landscape of Winter’s Reach slowly giving way to rolling hills and forests surrounding the countryside.

Silence marked the first few days of the journey, with only the sounds of nature and commands toward the Reach’s soldiers to break the quiet. You allowed yourself to bask in the beauty of the land, taking in the change of scenery.

Your nights were spent in makeshift camps, Lord James and his men stood watch as you retired to a tent.

The full moon cast as silver glow over the campsite, as the fire crackled one evening. Seated beside Lord James, you found yourself sharing a rare quiet moment with him. The moonlight bathed you in an ethereal light, a fitting ambiance. Your future husband was known throughout the realm as the White Wolf, and help anyone who dared to enrage him.

Staring into the flames, he was lost in thought, and you wondered what haunted his mind.

Breaking the silence, your voice asked softly. “Do you ever miss it?”

His gaze met yours, his eyes reflecting the firelight. “Miss what?”

You lost your train of though as you marveled at the newfound warmth within his eyes before you managed to find your voice again. “The life you had before the war,” you clarified. “Before all of this.”

Lord James’ expression hardened, a flicker of pain danced over the warmth. “There’s nothing to miss. The past is gone.”

“But, it’s shaped who you are,” you persisted gently. “Just as my past has me,”

He sighed, evident in the lines of his face, the weight of his past lay heavy. “The war took many things from me,” you noticed how his left, vibranium hand clenched as he spoke of loss. “It’s not something I like to dwell on.”

“I understand,” you said softly, placing your hand gently over the top of his fist. “But, I believe there’s still more to you than the soldier.”

He seemed to soften for a moment, the walls around his heart crumbling ever so slightly. “Maybe,” he conceded, his fist slackened under your touch. “If so, it’s buried deep.”

You offered him a small smile as you met his gaze once again.

His gaze lingered on you before he looked away, pulling his hand away from your touch, his mask of stoicism slipped back into place. “Get some rest,” he said quietly. “We have a long journey ahead in the morrow.”

Nodding, you obeyed his wishes. You understood that you had received as much as the Lord could give you, and you were satisfied with his openness. As you made your way to your tent, you looked up at the moon one last time, praying to the old gods for a safe journey.

---

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bosbas · 5 months

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Chapter 10: even my daddy just loves him

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.5k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, small part of the dialogue in French, period- and class-typical views about the economy, idiots in love being idiots in love, heavy on the idiots, heavy on the in love

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

A/N: the first TTPD chapter title :,) also no interaction between reader and colin in this one IM SORRY it'll come soon i promise

June 23, 1816 – In the wake of yesterday's lackluster ball, one can't help but lament the dreary fashion choices on display, particularly the Featheringtons' blinding ensembles in shades of yellow. Sadly, the absence of Lady Y/N Montclair was acutely felt, as her impeccable gowns and Parisian flair were sorely missed. However, tonight at the Ashbury ball proves a wonderful opportunity for her to dazzle us with her sense of style.

“Well, don't you look gorgeous tonight,” gushed Eloise upon seeing you, kissing your cheeks in greeting.

Your heart soared, delighted that your best friend had taken to your French customs so easily.

“I didn’t particularly have a choice after Whistledown’s column today,” you joked, smoothing out your skirts.

Of course, it was flattering to have the ton’s most trusted source speak about you in such a positive manner, but at times it did build a fair amount of undue pressure. Though you supposed you preferred feeling pressure to dress well over pressure to marry someone as you had with Lord Barlow.

“Either way, you look stunning. I’ve caught more than a few gentlemen staring at you already. You’d think they would have been able to pick up their jaws off the floor by now,” Eloise teased, linking arms with you, and leading you toward the far end of the ballroom.

You politely covered your laugh with your hand, shaking your head as you assessed who was present at the ball today. More accurately, you were assessing whether Colin Bridgerton was present.

It had been two weeks since you’d even seen him, and you were exerting more mental energy than you cared to admit pretending that you were unbothered. You supposed you couldn’t blame him. You were the one who had asked him not to speak with you anymore, and he’d listened to you better than you could have hoped.

Secretly, you’d been hoping he would still have shown up and tried to talk to you. It was an absurd desire, you knew, but you couldn’t help it. Apart from balls like these where all you did was speak with Eloise, you had to admit that arguing with Colin was the most fun you’d had in England, and perhaps everywhere else, too.

You hated him, you reminded yourself. And he hated you, too. Worse, actually. He had no respect for you. Or any woman in general. Which only brought you back to the shameful burning at the top of your ears every time you searched for him in a crowd.

But you were only human. And there were times when you couldn’t help but give in to your self-sabotaging. “Is the rest of your family in attendance tonight?” you asked Eloise, trying to seem casual and uninterested.

“Anthony and Kate are,” she responded brightly. “Benedict was able to weasel his way out of this one, I’m afraid. But it’s all for the better. He was being quite irritating at dinner last night.”

You turned to her, eyebrows raised. “I assumed you’d stay home if Benedict stayed home, too. I thought you hated these things.”

“Oh, not at all! Now that you aren’t being swarmed by suitors at every moment and I have you somewhat to myself, the balls are far more enjoyable.”

Shaking your head at her fondly, you laughed in disbelief. She was truly the only reason you hadn’t gone completely mad these past two weeks.

Lady Whistledown, whoever she was, had proven to be quite perceptive. As she had reported, you effectively had laid your parents’ dreams of marrying you off to an Englishman to rest. You’d only told Pen and Eloise about your disillusionment, but you supposed it was rather obvious to everyone else given that you barely danced with anyone anymore.

You looked through the crowd once again searching for the face you knew would not be there, and you felt your gut twist, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was in relief or disappointment.

“And what about Colin?” you asked, internally cringing at not being able to help yourself. “Has he left the country again?”

Eloise looked at you carefully, noting your barely hidden grimace and shifting eyes. She would’ve laughed at how obviously painful the question was for you if she didn’t completely understand what was happening. Eloise still had no idea why you hated Colin in the first place, but she could tell that it was tearing you up inside anyway.

“No, he’s still at home, believe it or not. He just doesn’t particularly enjoy these kinds of events anymore, I suppose. It must be the ambitious mamas wanting to auction him off to their daughters,” Eloise finally responded, trying to keep her tone light.

Although that wasn’t the whole truth, Eloise couldn’t just come out and tell you that her brother was completely in love with you and that you had broken his heart enough that he had no desire to come to ton events anymore. It would have been unusually cruel for her to do so.

Besides, she could tell you had been feeling the same way. The only difference was that your parents were not as forgiving as Violet Bridgerton, and you had to come to most balls whether you wanted to or not.

“Oh, that’s a shame, I guess,” you said, not particularly knowing how to respond. In a pathetic attempt to make it seem like you truly were unbothered, you added, “It’s rather nice when he isn’t here, though, isn’t it?”

Eloise stared at you suspiciously. Though she always thought it easier to stay away from your conflict with Colin, the curiosity was killing her. And she could only go so long before she went insane trying to figure it out.

“Why do the two of you hate each other so much, anyway?” she asked, hoping her disinterested tone would make you more likely to open up.

No one seemed to know why you hated Colin. You weren’t particularly forthcoming with the information, but Eloise could sense that it wasn’t something trivial. Having grown to know you fairly well over your time in England, Eloise was still perplexed by this specific detail.

Next to Eloise, you were tactfully avoiding eye contact and staring intently at the floor in front of you. You couldn’t tell her. You simply couldn’t. It wasn’t that you were worried about your reputation. You knew Eloise well enough to know that she wouldn’t spread rumors that would sully your image.

But if you told her the truth, she’d be heartbroken. If someone were to tell you that they hated one of your brothers for the same reason you hated Colin, you would crumble. You were incredibly close with them, and knowing that they thought of women that way would crush you. And you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same to Eloise.

Luckily, some man you’d never spoken to before asked you for a dance right at that moment. He had barely finished speaking before you placed your hand on his elbow and rushed him to the ballroom. Dancing with someone was far easier than having to figure out what you were going to say to Eloise.

Eloise stared silently as you were whisked away to dance. She let out a small laugh in disbelief, amazed that her question had been what finally propelled you to start dancing at balls again.

But her work tonight was not done. Shaking her head, Eloise looked around the ballroom, looking for your brother. Unsurprisingly, he was by the refreshments.

“Hello, Louis,” greeted the Bridgerton. “I believe you might have some information that would be of interest to me.”

“I do?” asked Louis, confused.

Eloise nodded over to where you were dancing and smiling politely and turned back to your brother with an expectant look.

“Oh,” said Louis, catching onto what your friend was saying. “I don’t, unfortunately.”

“Are you serious?” she responded, exasperated. “She would rather dance with that…man than tell me why she hates Colin!”

Louis shot her a sympathetic look. “She won’t tell me either. But she’s never been this upset over someone, so I wager it must have been something serious.”

“Colin doesn’t even know! And he only hates her because she hated him first! It’s terribly unreasonable.”

Having overheard the conversation about you and Colin from a few paces away, Carlos quickly joined Eloise and Louis with a knowing smile. He considered himself to be somewhat of an expert when it came to matters of the heart, having found a true love match after falling completely head over heels for your sister.

“Yes, but Colin is completely in love with Y/N,” he said. “So, I suppose he doesn’t hate her that much.”

“We know,” responded Eloise dejectedly. “That’s why I need to know why she hates him.”

“Excuse me, we? We know?” scoffed Louis. “I most certainly did not know this. What do you mean Colin loves Y/N? I should think that I would know if someone was in love with my little sister.”

Eloise looked at him, unimpressed. “I fear you only have yourself to blame, then. Colin came to every single event on the social calendar until your sister told him to stop talking to her, and he hasn’t come to another one since. Why exactly did you think that was?”

“I don’t know! I suppose I thought… I don’t know what I thought! But it doesn’t matter. He does not love her, Eloise. I know because Y/N is the exact same with Colin as he is with her.”

This time Carlos looked at Louis in disbelief. “Yes, Louis. Precisely,” he spoke slowly, nodding to make sure your brother understood.

Louis furrowed his eyebrows, eyes widening as he came to grips with the realization. “What do you mean? Does this mean that…”

“Yes,” confirmed Carlos. “Y/N loves him too.”

“What? How did I miss this?”

---

Colin was standing in Anthony’s study, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he glared at his eldest brother.

“I won’t go,” he said defiantly.

“You will, and you will be the perfect gentleman while you’re there.”

“Why do I even need to be there? It’s not like I know what I’m doing when I hunt, anyway,” Colin huffed, uncrossing his arms and fiddling with a quill on Anthony’s desk.

Watching his brother, Anthony sighed, exasperated. “Because it would be impossibly rude not to go. And the Bridgertons, especially Colin Bridgerton, if I recall correctly, are never impossibly rude.”

Colin groaned. “It’s one hunt without me! Please-”

“Y/N won’t be there if that’s what you’re worried about. She and Eloise went to the modiste and won’t be back until later.”

“But what if-”

“She won’t be there,” assured Anthony firmly. He had an inkling about why the Montclairs had suddenly invited the Bridgerton brothers on a hunting outing, and he was not about to let Colin ruin what were most likely some very well-laid-out plans.

Colin blinked and licked his lips, still considering whether being rude to your family was worth the risk of running into you. Resigned, he sighed and turned away from his brother.

“Very well. But this is the only time I’m doing it. I’m not particularly eager to have a run-in with the woman who wishes I didn’t even exist.”

Not seeing you for two weeks had proven to be an extraordinarily difficult challenge. But it was better than having to look at your face and know that he would never be in your good graces. You wanted nothing to do with him, and it was more than he could take.

Even though Colin had relatively successfully convinced himself that the only reason he was upset at your rejection was because he wanted to maintain his status as the best-liked member of the ton, he’d still barely been able to get out of bed since he’d last seen you. His heart ached too much when he thought of seeing you at any events. Yet it also ached when he thought of not seeing you. So he was confined to his chambers night after night, pacing as he thought of you laughing with someone else while he sat in agony at home.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. She can’t hate you that much,” said Anthony, rolling his eyes as he patted his brother on the back, leading him out of his study.

“You’d be surprised,” muttered Colin lowly.

---

“Frères, il nous faut causer,” announced Louis upon entering the mudroom (Brothers, we need to talk).

Seeing Edward preparing for the afternoon’s upcoming hunt alongside Philippe and Jacques, Louis cleared his throat and tried again.

“Brothers, we must have a chat. And Edward too, I suppose.”

Philippe and Jacques looked up at their younger brother in surprise.

“A chat about what, pray tell,” asked Jacques, fiddling with his hunting boots as he placed them on his feet.

“It has come to my attention that our dearest sister Y/N might be in love with Colin Bridgerton. I thought it best to discuss the matter between us before we go out and hunt with him.”

Philippe shot his youngest brother an amused look. “Well, yes, Louis. That’s why we’re having this hunting trip.”

Louis’ face contorted into an expression that was a funny mixture of disbelief and annoyance. He most certainly did not like to be the only one out of his siblings who didn’t know something. “How does everyone know this except for me? Am I truly that clueless?”

Laughing, Jacques clapped his younger brother on the back. “I suppose it’s a certain sensibility that comes once you’re married, Louis. Don’t feel too badly about it.”

“A sensibility that comes from your wife telling you that the man is obviously in love with Y/N, is what you mean, Jacques,” Philippe quipped, looking even more amused.

“I would’ve been able to tell!” argued Jacques. “If Chiara hadn’t told me within five minutes, I could’ve figured it out. Probably. In a few days. Who cares! We still have an advantage over Louis because we’re married, and our wives are more attuned to those things than we are.”

“Carlos was the one who told me, actually,” commented Edward. “Charlotte would have been the one to do it, but she thought it was so obvious that it wasn’t worth mentioning. I doubt I would have been able to tell on my own, anyway.”

Louis laughed, not feeling so bad about how oblivious he was anymore. “I suppose you’re right. But I still want to be included in the scheming! How is our little hunting trip going to help Colin and Y/N come to their senses?”

Philippe sighed deeply, and Louis got the impression that he had aged about ten years in the making of this plan. “Y/N has been spectacularly miserable these past couple of weeks. That is certainly no secret. And as much as it is not in my nature to meddle in her affairs, I don’t take any joy in seeing her like this.”

Jacques nodded in agreement. “Especially after what Nigel Berbrooke said to her, we think it would be nice for her to get a love match. Something that has been made much easier by the fact that she is already in love, even if she doesn’t know it.”

Although it had been two weeks since you’d told the rest of your siblings what Mr. Berbooke had said, Louis still felt a surge of anger rise in him when he remembered his words. “He’s worse than Barlow, that one.”

“I was at Eton with Berbrooke, and I assure you it was torture,” agreed Edward, crinkling his nose as he recalled his younger years alongside Nigel.

Sending his brother-in-law a sympathetic look, Louis continued, “That still doesn’t solve the main problem. Even if Y/N does love Colin, she still absolutely hates him. Despises him, actually.”

“Actually, the main problem is that Father wants his daughters to marry a title and a fortune. No offense, Edward.”

But Edward, ever agreeable, waved Philippe’s apology away. “Not at all. It was an advantageous match for me, too. I’m just lucky we grew to love each other. But I do recall your father being quite insistent that she marry nobility.”

“Precisely,” agreed Jacques. “I’ll wager that Y/N will realize she loves Colin quicker than Father will come around to the idea of her marrying for love.”

Louis hummed thoughtfully. “But what if it goes wrong? What if Father hates Colin, and this hunting trip only makes it more difficult for him and Y/N?”

“Not a chance.”

“Absolutely not.”

“That won’t happen.”

Louis just stared at the three men in front of him, looking entirely unconvinced. “How can all three of you be so sure?”

“Because it’s Colin Bridgerton!” said Edward. “Everybody likes Colin. He’s the ton favorite.”

“Y/N doesn’t like him,” argued Louis, still unsure about how effective the plan would be.

“But she loves him, so that’s different,” said Philippe, smiling brightly. “Don’t worry, Louis. Father will surely like him and it’ll be a step in the right direction. Now, are you ready? I believe the Bridgertons should be arriving shortly.”

---

All in all, Colin was having a lovely time this afternoon. As Anthony had assured, you were at the modiste when he arrived at your home, and he was barely there long enough to spend time looking for any trace of you. It was just as well because he feared what would have happened if he did find anything that reminded you of him.

Hunting, and specifically shooting, was not Colin’s greatest strength. As a result, he’d been mostly hanging toward the back of the group, chatting pleasantly with Edward, who didn’t seem to be very enthusiastic about hunting either.

That is until your father started talking about his travels. Truly, Colin’s biggest weakness was the opportunity to talk about his time abroad. That and you, he thought longingly.

Colin jogged to catch up to your father, Anthony, and Jacques so he could join the conversation.

“You and Chiara are settled in Tuscany, then?” asked your father.

Jacques laughed. “More than settled, I think. Hello, Colin! Lovely afternoon out, isn’t it?”

“Quite,” Colin agreed. “You would think it would make me a better shot, but I think this just proves I’m completely hopeless.”

Lord Montclair laughed, and Jacques felt an internal sense of pride as he saw their plan progressing.

“My sons tell me you’ve traveled a lot,” said your father, turning his gaze to the younger Bridgerton. “Have your travels taken you to the Persian Gulf, perchance? I am contemplating investing in pearl diving there.”

“Indeed, I have,” confirmed Colin. “However, if you seek pearls, might I suggest Ceylon instead? I visited last year and witnessed firsthand the expanding pearl industry.”

“Really?” said Lord Montclair, immediately immersed in the conversation. “But wouldn’t the Persian Gulf offer the most promising returns?”

“It certainly would right now, but trust me, Ceylon holds vast untapped potential.” Colin was in his element. This was practically all he did, and he was glad it was proving useful, and interesting, for once. “The industry there is on the precipice of greatness. In five years' time, mark my words, it shall surpass all others. I've even noted down a particular lagoon in my journals that I think will be particularly successful, based on what the locals have said.”

Impressed, Lord Montclair arched an eyebrow in interest. “You have my attention, Colin. Shall we meet next week to explore this further? A partnership between us could prove quite lucrative.”

Colin’s eyes widened, momentarily taken aback by your father’s offer. “Absolutely, my Lord. It would be my pleasure.”

“Please, call me Philippe,” he replied, clapping Colin on the back.

Turning to Jacques, your father spoke softly, “Je suppose qu'un titre n'est pas tout” (I suppose a title isn’t everything).

—

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feyhunter78 · 5 months

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Chapter Three - Your father has taken notice of your blossoming interest in a certain dark-haired northerner.

Ch 4

“The boy is looking at you again.” Your father drawls, moving his elephant across the cyvasse board with disinterest.

You take a sip of your wine and hum in response, moving one of your trebuchets forward.

He clicks his tongue. “Bad move, little lion, that leaves me free to attack your king.”

You glance at the board and curse internally; you have been far too distracted by Jon’s barely subtle stares to properly play the game. “Perhaps I am simply letting you win, you are getting older, Father, it is only the kind thing to do.”

Your father raises an eyebrow and delivers his final move. “Ah yes, it is kindness that distracts you, not the strapping lad who seems he will burst into flames if he does not look at you every three seconds.”

You glance over at Jon, who swiftly turns his attention back to Arya, correcting her stance out in the training yard, the ground freshly cleared of snow.

You and your father have taken a seat on one of the benches within one of the entrances to the guest chambers that spills out into the yard. It’s the perfect mixture between the warmth inside and the crisp morning air outside.

“I have not the faintest idea what you speak of.” You say, popping a grape into your mouth and chewing slowly, trying to hide your smile from your father.

He sighs and shakes his head. “All those years spent teaching you to mask your emotions, to have the perfect expression that never reveals anything, gone with the simple presence of a dark-haired northern boy who does naught by train and brood.”

“He reads as well.” You say, unable to stop yourself from defending Jon.

“Oh, does he now? Someone send word to the Grand Maester, we have found his newest acolyte.” He snorts, taking a drink from his glass.

You wrinkle your nose in response. “You are quite humorous, Father, truly you could put the court fool out of a job.”

He sets his wine down and heaves a heavy sigh. “You know I only ever wish for your happiness.”

“Yes, it is why you are my favorite father in the whole continent.” You smile teasingly, pulling your cloak closer around you as the wind picks up.

“But he is a bastard—”

“You said all dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes, and yet you are still a man worth respect and titles.” You cut in, surprising even yourself with your outburst.

“Y/N.” Your father says sternly, laying his hands flat on the table.

You duck your head. “Sorry, Father.”

“He is a bastard, he cannot be your husband. A lover, or a guard, yes, but not a husband. If we were not Lannisters, if our house was not as it was, then perhaps it would be allowed. Gods know I do not wish to force you into a marriage you despise, but you are still a lady, still have the potential to win over great victories for our family.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, turning his words over in your mind. “Are you suggesting I proposition him, like Queen Rhaenyra did Ser Criston Cole?”

“I am not suggesting anything, I do not wish to think of my only daughter as a lady grown, but if you must follow Queen Rhaenyra’s footsteps…perhaps it is a Lord Harwin Strong you should seek instead.” His tone is careful, teetering the line between fatherly advice and the words of a Lannister.

You toy with the edges of your cloak. “Jon cares much for his honor, it would be shameful to even ask him such a thing.”

Your father’s hand covers your own. “That bleeding heart of yours, it comes straight from your mother.”

You smile. “And you, as well, do not downplay your kindness. An unkind father would have shipped me off to the richest man who asked for my hand the moment I first bled.”

He shivers in disgust at the thought.

Your eyes drift over to Jon and Arya, the latter who has been distracted by the appearance of Sansa and Joffrey.

“Perhaps a guard then, you could do worse than a guard you have grown alongside, it breeds loyalty.” Your father muses, watching how Jon shifts to put himself between Arya and Joffrey.

You cringe when Joffrey challenges Jon to a playful duel, ignoring your father’s words. “This will not go well.”

“Perhaps it will be good for your cousin’s ego to be beaten into the ground by someone he deems below him.”

You meet your father’s eyes and you both burst into laughter.

“Y/N, Uncle, stop laughing and come, all must witness this display of skill.” Joffrey calls, beckoning you both over.

“I cannot, Nephew, I must meet with your Uncle Jaime.” Your father calls back, hopping down from the bench.

“Father.” You hiss, silently begging him not to leave you with Joffrey.

He pats your hand. “You will be fine, stiff upper lip, little lion, remember?”

You groan and pout at him, but he shoos you forward.

Sansa crushes your hand as you watch Jon and Jeffrey spar, it’s clear Jon is holding back, you’ve seen him training, he puts more effort into hitting the dummies than he does attempt to hit Joffrey.

“Should you not cheer for your cousin?” Sansa asks.

The thought has never crossed your mind, and now it makes your stomach turn. “I would not want to break his concentration.” You say gracefully, trying to keep your eyes on the clashing swords and not Jon.

“Who cares?” Arya cheers, “Go Jon, knock him flat.”

Jon flashes her a smile, one born of confidence and the rush of near victory, and your heart skips a beat. For a moment, you can imagine him competing in a tourney. His polished armor flashing in the sun, ripping his helmet off and letting it fall to the ground, his curls set free as he directs that smile towards you, the crown of roses in his hand naming you his Queen of Love and Beauty.

“Good work, My Prince, hit him hard.” Sansa cheers in direct opposition of her sister.

Joffrey turns towards Sansa, basking in her praise. A fatal mistake, his distraction allows Jon to knock him to the ground.

The action rips a gasp from you, not many aside from your Uncle Jaime would dare to knock Joffrey off his feet.

Your cousin lies there stunned, then he darts up, sputtering, his face turning red as he hurls insults at Jon, before storming off, Sansa jumping up to follow after him.

You catch her arm. “Lady Sansa, I would leave him to his solitude, my cousin is not fond of sharing in his embarrassment.”

Sansa looks as if she wishes to argue, but relents and turns to scold Arya for her cheering.

Jon’s gaze falls upon you, he hasn’t even broken a sweat, his eyes the color of a winter storm in the sunlight.

Perhaps a guard then. Your father’s words echo in your mind. You didn’t need to follow in Queen Rhaenyra’s footsteps, you could follow in Queen Alicent’s. Your maester had spoken of the pure and courtly bond between her and Ser Criston Cole when you were young, and you had been enraptured by the devotion Ser Cole had to his queen.

“Well done, Lord Jon.” You say, giving him a smile and a slight nod of your head as you take a step forward, then another until you are standing before him. Then you lean in, “though I would not have protested if you bruised his jaw when you knocked him flat.”

A slight smile tugs at Jon’s lips, and your eyes dart down to them.

He sucks in a breath, then takes a step back, putting more space between you, an overly appropriate amount of space. “Thank you, Lady Lannister.”

“Y/N, or if we must use titles, Lady y/n.”

Jon swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his pale throat. He has a nice throat, well-formed, pale with a smattering of dark stubble where it meets his chin. He must be freshly shaved, there’s a slight nick near his right ear.

You must get a hold of yourself, a nice throat? Y/N, you are shameful. You chastise yourself internally, tearing your eyes from him.

“As you wish, Lady y/n.” He whispers, his voice nearly stolen by the wind.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss

#meg's writing #jon snow x you #jon snow x reader #jon snow x oc #jon snow imagines #jon snow imagine #jon snow #lannister!reader #tyrion lannister #tyrion is such a good dad #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #asoif fanfic

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acinnamongirlsdiary · 7 months

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𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓕𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓽𝔂 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓡𝓲𝓫𝓫𝓸𝓷𝓼-𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 1: 𝓢𝓪𝓭 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝓫𝔂 𝓛𝓓𝓡

Summary: Reader and Jacaerys are arranged to be wed. But reader doesn’t want that bc she hardly remembers him. Tension are rising with house Lannister so allies are more important then ever.

Cw: Slowburn, angst, this is genuinely just a fix-it fic, Rhaenicent, some mentions of s/a trauma but will be tagged in the chapters!!, mean dad, eventual smut but will tag in chapters, readers super apprehensive, VERY self indulgent

Pls be nice this is my first fic lol!! Feedback is very welcome tho! Banner creds to- @gwzzzly

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

You were sure your father would be the death of you. One of the most powerful and influential lords of Westeros forcing his youngest daughter to marry Queen Rhaenrya’s eldest son, Jacaerys Valeryon.

Knowing him since you were kids claimed your beating heart just a little. The thought still scared you. The idea of a loveless, political marriage was terrifying. Especially with a man you haven’t seen in 7 years.

“We’re almost to Kings landing, My Lady.” Your maid and friend, Abby, said. “Are you excited? I remember when we were younger you were so in love with him and the idea of becoming queen.”

She was right. The idea of Jacaerys and being queen was enticing, but your father’s words were causing a little apprehension to say the least.

“I don’t know.” You spoke softly, as though you were trying not to wake a bear, “I remember him being kind, but it’s been so long. What if he’s changed? What if he’s become as power hungry like most other men.”

“I choose to believe Rhaenrya would rather die then let that happen.” Abby said. She was amazing to have around. So kind an positive even when you would start to spiral.

“I’m hoping for my sake he’s understanding. I’m so nervous I don’t know how I’ll react when I see him.” You said poking out the window. The foliage and mountains were so beautiful, covered with fog ready to claim travelers.

It reminded you of simpler, softer times.

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Getting out of the carriage and up the steps to the throne room were grueling. Your father reminding you to speak kindly and be as open as possible was stressing you out and causing you to shut down even more. He could be kind, your father as you siblings loved to remind you, but he was nothing if not arrogant through and through.

The throne room was vast but smaller than you remember. Running through it and poking your finger on the swords of the iron throne (which was just as intimidating as before). Rhaenyra and Alicent smiled at you.

“Hello sweet girl” Alicent said, pulling you into a warm hug. “It’s been so long you’re so much older!” She smiled.

“Queen Alicent! I’ve missed you!” You exclaimed wrapping your arms around her. You didn’t expect to see Jacaerys right away asking the queens where he was.

“Oh Jace is on the beach with Luke training.” Rhaenyra stated. Her warm gaze on you felt nostalgic. “Heleana will show you your room and perhaps you two can take a walk to show you around.”

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

As you walked with Heleana, your anxiety started to lower. She spoke about how kind Jacaerys was, how much you’ll like it here and how excited he was to see you again.

“He’ll be at the feast tonight. It’s all he’s spoken to Rhaenrya about for the past couple of days!” She giggled.

“Really? I didn’t expect him to be so happy.” The thought of a man so happy to see you after so long felt you with warmth.

“Oh yes. He’s gotten bigger than he was before.” She giggled “I’m sure he’ll be able to twirl you around whilst you two dance the night away!” She let go of your hand and started to spin, while looking dreamily to the sky.

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Your nerves eased through the day, talking and having tea and picking out dresses with Abby and Heleana.

“That one will bring him to his knees.” Abby giggle, referring to a beautiful pink gown with shirt sleeves and little ruffles on the bodice. You twirl thinking of dancing with Jacaerys. His arms around you as if you were the only people in the world.

“Did you hear what Lady Carrie said?” Abby spoke as she massaged shampoo through your hair. “She was speaking to one of the Tyrell boys and how she planned to dance with him.” You gasp. The idea of Lady Carrie and him was odd. Especially with how rough he looked. “I don’t think he deserves her though.”

The night went on with gossip and preparing for the grand meal. You tried to pay attention but ever mention of Jacaerys made you both freeze up and go stiff but also become excited in ways you could hardly contain. The idea of him and you being bound together scared you. But you’re hair tied up and flowers woven through out, your makeup in light pink shades and in your beautiful pink dress, you knew you at least looked your best.

Walking into the dining room all eyes were on you. Especially Jacaerys’.

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

Sorry if this is so short! The future chapters will be longer but I just wanted to get this one out!

#jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #jacaerys strong #jacerys velaryon #jace velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #rhaenicent #heleana targaryen #hotd jacaerys #hotd fic #jacaerys velaryon smut #jacaerys x you #jacaerys fic

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madamechrissy · 2 months

Text

♡ Time after Time ♡

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ CEO! Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- More sexual tension, finally some kissing, fingering, dirty talk, nudity, mentions of drugs, Gojo still a dick

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 5,003

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ Gojo Satoru is your boss And you've been his head assistant for over two years now. You do everything for him, including and not limited to cleaning his messes, picking out his clothes, and writing his speeches. Sixteen hour days... night calls... You are tired of being overworked and at his beck and call. You decide you are going to put in your two weeks notice. He is shocked, and wants to try to keep you, because you're the best. But you know better. Right? . You really wanna fucking quit. You also wanna fuck him. Also, fuck him.

A/N (Kinda has 'two weeks notice' vibes a bit! No use of y/n.) Fully finished on Ao3 but I'm going to slowly get it all up here!

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Nope! No no no.” You grumble to yourself, snuggling your plushie close, throwing the blanket over your head as the hints of sunshine glare through the curtains, where just a hint was not closed. You sigh, snuggling back into your cocoon of warm fuzzy blankets. You would not work today. No fucking way.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

You scowl, putting it on silent, then bury back under the covers.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

“Fuck off!” You finally checked, because you did not know if it was your family with some emergency at this point. But no, it was all just calls and texts from fucking Gojo Satoru. As you contemplated blocking his ass, he called again. “Oh my God, what do you want?”

“Good morning to you too, sunshine.” His voice was like silk, fucking dick head. You groaned.

“No. I won’t do it.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet!”

“I don’t wanna know.”

“Listen… please.”

“Can’t see those baby blues, so puppy dog eyes don’t work.”

“Fuck…” He says your name, and it’s too soft, too sweet. You hate that it sounds that good on his lips. “I really got trashed last night and I have a meeting in an hour. And uh… no speech.”

“Oh god. Meeting with who?” You sit up, running a tired hand through your hair in frustration.

“With goddamn Sukuna. You know he…”

Sukuna… he was something all right. “He’s a bigger dick than you.”

“Mmhmm. I need you badly, you are the best with him. He is even moderately nice to you. Probably because he thinks you're hot.”

“Ugh!”

“Can you whip up a presentation with that genius brain, hmm?” Gojo was actually complimenting you. Maybe he had changed… “I can’t fuck around anymore, I have work and shit, Erica. Can you go get me a tie please? Thanks.”

You pause, blinking. “Erica?”

“Um… yeah…”

“Gojo you were just fucking partying and fucking some bitch named Erica all night, and me, on my day off, want me to cover for your ass?”

“Oooh, are you jealous?” Gojo laughed.

“You’re delusional. I have nothing to be jealous about. I won’t ever be in that bed. Lord knows the diseases on it.”

“I have my sheets professionally cleaned! Mind you, I also am a very clean man, you’re just a goody goody-”

“Bye!”

“Oh my god, I mean, angel that you are, my savior… the smartest, prettiest law student there ever was!”

You snorted. “I hate you.”

“I know. Listen, I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

“You certainly say that a lot.”

“The boat tonight, remember? It will be so fun. Also I didn’t fuck Erica, you can even ask her. Erica, come here.”

“I don’t want to talk to her, you idiot! I don’t care or want to know.”

“I really didn’t. Erica…”

“Jesus fuck.” You started to get dressed, putting the phone on speaker, viscerally cursing under your breath.

“It’s Gojo’s assistant, oh my gosh! Hi!” Came a feminine, high pitched voice. You grimace, smirking a bit.

“Hello, Erica.” You start to rake a brush through your messy hair.

“We actually did not have sex. Mr. Gojo just snorted coke off my ass…”

“Erica!” You hear his panicked voice in the background. You shake your head, struggling to find out how this is your life now, eyes rolling.

“Well, he did! We just partied. He seemed kinda stressed. He talked about you a lot, he even said you’re-”

“That’s enough!” Gojo snatched up the phone. You raised a brow, grinning now as you dabbed concealer under your eyes.

“No, put her back on the line, I like her.” You hear him sigh and then the bubbly girl is back on the phone. “Erica, you seem sweet. Find a guy who doesn’t act like a fifteen year old dick face and snort coke off your ass at age thirty. One that can find his own tie. A nice guy maybe. Someone who’d take you out on a date and kiss your hand or something cute. Okay?”

There was a pause.

“Hmm… you know, you’re right! You are smart. Mr. Gojo, I’m gone. Pick your own tie out!” You hear stomping and the door slam, and you laugh deviously.

“You’re such a damn bitch!” He mumbled.

“Oh, a bitch hmm, then let me not do this.”

“No! I’ll give you two days off!”

“Lies.”

“I didn’t even fuck her, though…”

“I didn’t care. I believe in Erica, she’s got this.”

“I hate you.”

“Same.” You two sighed, simultaneously, like two angry kids. “I’ll do it. But you owe me, Satoru.”

“That’s my girl! Anything you want! You’re a lifesaver. I’ll be riding with Kiyotaka and come get you.”

“I can drive.”

“Nah. Quicker this way. Be there in twenty. Wear something hot.”

“What? Why?”

“Sukuna will get distracted. Let me guess, you’re in some old fifties looking fucking business suit.” You scowl at your reflection in the mirror. He was spot the fuck on.“Oh! With shoulder pads I bet. And a tiny skinny belt.”

“What, are you spying?” He chuckled, and you yanked off the peach colored jacket, just a white dress blouse and the business skirt. You pop open a couple of buttons. “Okay… looking less like a nun I guess.”

“Perfect. See you soon.”

***

You stood there, makeshift presentation on the little whiteboard in Gojo’s lavish boardroom, Sukuna sitting there with his assistants, smirking up at you. Gojo had his sunglasses on, thank god, considering his eyes were bloodshot. He just grinned and nodded as you laid the proposal out.

Just sit there and look pretty.

You had literally told him that on the way.

You think I’m pretty? Aww!

Gojo was a fucking idiot.

“I absolutely love this idea, it’s perfect for our marketing campaign.” Sukuna peered up at you, a dangerous smirk on his tanned face. He was very handsome but so intimidating in a way. Shoulders so broad the man could scarcely fit in his suit. His little assistants had puppy eyes for him, nodding on every sentence.

“Thank you, Mr. Sukuna.” You smile, and he tilts his head, observing your cleavage, which wasn’t too much showing but enough that it got his attention. Shit, Gojo had been right about something.

“I know this is all you and not Satoru.” He shrugged, grinning at Gojo. His hair was falling over his forehead, long and silky today versus spiked. His full lips tensed as he leaned back in the gray office chair.

“Gojo and I went over ideas together, but I did put it all in a presentation, that’s kind of my kink.”

Sukuna burst out laughing, and Gojo was chuckling then. You realize you’re kind of losing it. You slam a hand over your mouth.

“Is it now?” Sukuna stood, laughing boldly, coming up to you, looking down. His eyes were more lewd than Gojo’s could have ever been.

“I’m so sorry. I have had a hell of a night. It was my birthday.” You sigh, fiddling with your hair nervously.

“Oh, I see. No worries I actually enjoy someone being real with me, not sucking up to me and shit. That's why I work with Satoru and Geto.” Sukuna took Gojo by the shoulder. “They don’t bullshit me. And fuck if Gojo doesn’t have good taste in assistants.”

“I do have good taste.” Gojo stood, coming close to you, shoulder to shoulder. You felt Sukuna and his energy. They seemed to constantly battle, who is better at this, who is better at that, at one meeting they’d literally had an arm wrestling match.

Men.

“Let’s have a drink and celebrate. Your office, Satoru?” Gojo nodded, leading the way. You gathered your materials, hoping to head home, wanting a nap desperately. Sukuna paused, watching you.

“Quit eye fucking my damn assistant, Sukuna.” Gojo said it quietly, but Sukuna grinned, laughing.

“She’s too good to work here. If you ever get tired of this asshole, you know I’ll hire you.”

Gojo stiffened, fists clenching at his side, sliding down his shades and scowling at Sukuna. You took a little breath, before smiling.

“I appreciate that, but I am very happy.” Lies. Maybe. But you sure wouldn’t let Sukuna make Gojo look bad.

“Too bad.” Sukuna sighed, leaning close, a hand on your own. He took it and placed a kiss on the back of your knuckles. Gojo scowled, then attempted to yank him off of you. “Always a pleasure.”

“Likewise.” You feign a smile as the two shove into the hallway. There was so much masculinity in there it had been hard to breathe. You just can’t wait to get a nap before this boat ride…

***

The boat rocked gently beneath you later that evening, the warm breeze rustling through your hair as you gazed out at the ocean, the setting sun painting the waves a brilliant shade of crimson and orange. Gojo Satoru stood nearby, his broad shoulders hunched over the steering wheel as he expertly navigated us through the choppy waters with ease, while he had a joint hanging from his lips.

He was quite the damn sight, you had to admit. You watched him as he talked to the captain. Gojo’s boat was simple but gorgeous, little white fairy lights illuminating every inch of it, comfy benches by the front, it even had a little room and bathroom, and captain’s quarters. Just the two of you and two men who helped Gojo with the mechanics of things, it was honestly peaceful.

The faint scent of salt and seaweed drifted through the air, mixing with the taste of the sweet, fruity drink you had been sipping from, and you could feel the alcohol, that delicious, buzzing warmth, spreading through your veins. It makes your head spin just a little, and heat shoots down to your tummy. The sight of Gojo driving a boat also just does things to you…

“Are you feeling good?” He was next to you in a flash. You nodded, leaning your arms back on the railing, leaning your head back and looking up at the pretty pink and white clouds.

“Very fucking good.” Your words slur just a bit, and the gentle swaying of the boat soothed your soul.

“Want a hit? Or too much of a prude.” He holds the joint, and you take a hit, much to his surprise, sucking it in and letting the smoke fill your lungs, before gently exhaling. His eyebrows shot up.

“What, do you think I’ve never smoked weed?” You cover a little cough with your hand, and it fills your brain with the drink.

“Honestly, no. You seem so…”

“Goody Goody.”

“Yeah that.” Gojo took another hit, leaning on the rails, flicking the little tip of the ashes out.

“I am not cool with coke, no, but weed is okay.” You shrug.

“You’ve surprised me a lot lately.”

“I’m just so full of surprises.” You grin, leaning back again, back half off the rail now, the cool spray of the ocean against your skin.

“Careful, now.” Gojo gently holds your waist as the boat rocks, jostling you just a bit. Your hands land on Gojo’s chest, clutching the open dress shirt, eyeing his bare chest, strong, lean, muscled…

“You’re stupidly hot.” You grumble the words, and Gojo laughs, chest moving against your skin. You sway a bit as you look up at him.

“How fucking buzzed are you, my little assistant?” Gojo teased you, errantly playing with a lock of your hair.

“Very buzzed. Buzz Buzz Buzz.” You start buzzing like a bee, leaning back against the railing again, hearing Gojo’s chuckle.

“I’ve never seen you drunk. This is hilarious. Thought you’d be too stiff.” He brought you back up to face him.

“I have a drink after work kind of frequently, but usually just one.” You hold up a finger, swaying again, steadied by Gojo’s big strong hands. “Then I just pass the fuck out like whoo!”

“I drive you to drink, do I?”

“Sure…. Sure fucking… do. Mmm. Buzz Buzz.” You giggle at some joke your buzzed brain tells you, humming and turning, shimmying against this tall gorgeous jerk of a man. Your ass is against him. He tenses.

“You… good baby girl?” He murmurs. You hate that the word sends signals straight to your pussy. Ugh.

“I’m not good in general, but I iss good now.” You lean forward, and your ass is against Gojo’s hardness, eliciting a hiss from him. You enjoy riling him up. He gripped your hips, hands hot against you.

“Why hide this nice ass in your baggy work suits? It’s a whole crime.” Gojo’s hand came to play with your ass, daringly.

You giggle. “Would you be able to focus, Sir?” You look over your shoulder, biting your lower lip as you feel him squeeze harder.

“Fuck no. But now I know it’s there, and that will just make me mad.” You wiggle your ass then, and he tenses, yanking you up, standing you straight. “Are you teasing me?”

“Teasing Mr. Gojo Satoru. Notorious womanizer. Imagine! I’m a whole fucking femme fetale.” You turn, unbuttoning your blouse just a button. His blue eyes are there in an instant. “How could I? You’re so, so experienced! Me, a whole nun.”

“Maybe I think nuns are super hot.” Gojo’s hands tighten on your waist, and you pop another button.

“Is that your kink, Satoru? Nun fucking.” You pop one more, and your breasts spill out just enough, your hand trailing along your collarbone. You had no clue what you were doing, you had never seduced or really even flirted much. You did not care if you looked silly though. It was too fun, and the alcohol has stripped any of your inhibitions away.

Gojo stood there, holding his breath, licking his lower lip. “You’re playing with fire. You know that right.”

“You’re so edgy! Oooh, Daddy Gojo! Please punish me!” You chuckle, and Gojo holds you, bending over your body to plant a hot kiss on your exposed throat. You gasp against better judgment, crying out when he bites at your delicate skin, breaking it.

Gojo groans against your neck, making you shiver. You were consumed by him, feeling heady, senses on high alert. His scent, his lips, his touch… you had to wonder just how he tasted.

“Look at that, I found out how to shut you up.” He kissed down your chest, and your hands unwillingly intertwined in his silky white hair, sucking in a breath.

“You… you shut up.” You feel his laugh against you.

“I bet she’s wet already. .” His finger slid down your tummy, under your jeans, popping the little button there. “You’re way too easy for me, aren’t you?”

“It’s not wet. Nope. Sahara desert, Satoru.” He laughed, unzipping your jeans just a little, centimeter by centimeter, excruciating. You ached for him in ways you’ve never felt.

“A desert, hmm? I’m so terrified.” Gojo teasingly slid one of his fingers further, where your mound was, barely grazing your pussy lips, torturous.

“You should be. Snakes and shit in the sahara. Like- mmm…”

“Oh? Cat got your tongue again?” Gojo was a breath from your lips. How have you not kissed him yet? You lean forward, pulling him to you, lips parting as his fingertip grazes your aching clit, pressing up. He moaned, cheeks flushed, glittering eyes drinking you in.

“Yeah… Mojave desert. Like my mouth. So dry...” You needed him, needed to finally kiss him, fuck it all.

He did not even laugh at your joke, closing the distance until his lips were damn near on yours, your noses touching. Your heart began to quicken further, senses coming alive when he started to slide under your panties, anticipation absolutely killing you. He kisses the side of your mouth, each side, then your lower lip, as the rough pad of one of his finger tips finds you, swirling in your wetness.

“Fuck you’re pretty.” He murmured, eyes lidded. You whine rather pitifully in your opinion, but it made Gojo groan. “So wet already. Do you want me to kiss you, baby girl? Want me to get you off?”

“I…” You gulp. “Ugh… yes.”

“Yes, please.”

“Fuck that. Just kiss me, dickhead.” You try to yank him to you but he pulls back, grinning.

“Ask me nicely.”

“No.” You shake your head, knowing the power he was trying to take. He tutted his lips, yanking his hand away, he loomed over you menacingly.

“Say. Please. Stubborn. Fucking. Brat.” His lips brushed against yours as he spoke in a whisper.

He stayed there, so still. He was killing you. “Please.”

Gojo’s lips slammed into yours, and the sensation annihilated any willpower you had. You moaned against his soft lips, arching your back, his tongue sliding expertly against your own. His kiss made you ridiculously wet against your jeans, where his hand slid back down, trembling as it explored your wet lips up and down. You shiver as your desire courses through you.

Gojo consumes everything around you. Consumes you.

His hand swirls in aching little circles on your swollen bundle of nerves, and you cry out and tremble. His other hand slides up, dipping under your blouse, finding your breast with ease, cupping it. The peak of your breast pressed hard against his hot palm, his fingertips plucking it as the other played with your wetness. You were hot and sticky against your jeans.

You wanted him. So bad.

“Satoru…” You whispered against his lips, your hips grinding for more of his touches. Gojo looks at you with those beautiful blue eyes, shadows of his handsome face with the setting sun… “I want-”

The ship rocks, then, and you scream, as you’re thrown off the rails and fly into the water.

Well, shit.

Gojo Satoru is shouting out your name, and you sputter as the chilly water hits you, soaking your clothes, and the current starts to drag you down. You fight to doggie paddle, trying to tread water as best as you could, cursing yourself for not throwing on the life jacket.

In a flash Gojo dived off the boat, and you sputtered, going under once more, holding your breath. He holds you in his strong arms for a moment, and you cough, water burning your throat and nostrils. He starts swimming back, powerfully.

“Hang on to me, okay?” His voice was sharp, short. You nodded, clinging to his wet, hard body tightly, around the neck, legs wrapped around him. You all made it back and Gojo helped you climb the little pull out ladder, your limbs trembling. You collapsed on the deck of his boat, chest heaving.

“Th-thank you.” You whisper. He shushes you, helping you up.

“I have plenty of clothes. Let’s get you out of these.” You nod, looking at him then, soaked head to toe, every inch of his toned body on display, the clothes merely a second skin on him.

“Y-yes.” You let Gojo lead you under, to the little bedroom inside the boat, you noticed errantly how pretty and clean it was as you shiver, cold to the bone.

“When I said get wet for me, I didn’t mean this wet.” Gojo dodged your smack, grinning as he grabbed towels and clothes out of the slate gray dresser.

“You… ugh… screw it.” You burst out laughing, at the ridiculous situation, struggling with cold hands to unbutton your top. Gojo wrapped a towel around your shoulders quickly, and you saw he’d already gotten naked somehow. You avert your eyes with a blush.

“Let me.” He unbuttoned and unzipped you quickly, and you two pause, your breasts taut, nipples rock hard from the cold, breasts heaving up and down against the wet white blouse, now open. He gulped. You expect some ridiculous lewd comment, but instead he helps you slide it off, quickly wrapping you with the white fluffy towel.

“Thank you.” You whisper, pulling your jeans off, grimacing at the heavy soaking feeling as they stick around your ankles. You yank them off fully, then, noticing that Gojo had a towel on his waist now, bare aside from that. HIs body was chiseled within every inch of your life, long muscled legs, every bit of him toned.

“You’re… okay?” You nod, snuggling into the towel. Gojo wraps a blanket around you as well, pretty eyes drinking you in. “Can I say something?”

“Yes, of course you can. You kind of just saved my ass. Literally.” And he had, without hesitation. It made you think… “What is it, Satoru?”

“You’re…really beautiful.” His voice was husky, and you melted at it, warmth sliding back through your body until you were shivering for an entirely different reason, desire.

“You don’t have to say that.” He tucks some of your damp hair behind your face, clearing his throat, before catching your gaze again.

“I know. You are. Like some mermaid or something that I can’t even believe I’m thinking.” A thumb went down your lower lip, rough across the sensitive flesh, making you ache. You kiss the thumb, then, nibbling it, not putting much thought into the action, it just felt… good.

. “I-You’re beautiful.”

He smirked just a bit. “You’re drunk.”

“Not now… that water really sobered me up.” You sigh. “I am confused about literally everything though. I was so sure of shit. Even this morning, I was like yeah I’m done. Now you confuse me.”

You wanted his hand on you, the one caressing your jaw line. You wanted Gojo’s body on you… in the worst possible way. His lips. But did him being beautiful and charming really excuse all of the past couple years? Did it change anything?

“I’m confused too. I thought you were… I don’t know what I thought. When you fell… I…” Gojo broke off, gulping, as if that were something he did not want to delve into, sighing and looking away.

“Yes?” You urged him on a bit, but he just laughed, a little dark. It sent chills across your spine.

“These will be way too long since you’re a short little thing. But, here.” Gojo handed you some gym shorts and a black top. You took them, ever curious about what he had wanted to say, but instead you nodded.

“Thank you, they're perfect. Anything is better than that.” You look at your soaked clothes in disgust.

“Yeah… our clothes are hopeless. I’ll get dressed too. Wanna crash here or should I have Kiyotaka drive you?”

You turned, starting to slip on Gojo’s clothes, feeling his gaze on your back when your towel fell. The feeling of his eyes was thrilling, as if that gaze was caressing you. “I won’t make the poor man work more.”

The moonlight was glowing now, through the window, and Gojo watched as it made your luminous skin glow, tracing your supple curves with his eyes. You slid on his shorts, and the thought of you naked against his clothes made him hard all over again, nearly as hard as when he’d been pressed against you, feeling your wetness, kissing you…

You turn back to him, smiling, baggy shirt and shorts on now, tying the shorts into a little knot. “These are super comfy!”

He smiled a bit. “You look cute in them.”

You blush, though he’d just seen you naked, just touched you… but somehow this was so intimate. “So…”

“Hmm?”

“What… What's going on exactly? With us I mean.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking to the side, the other hand casually in one of the pockets of his gray sweats. Of course he’d wear those… ugh… you tried to not look, instead focusing on his face. His lips parted just a bit.

“I don’t know. I never looked at you like a woman before, really.”

“Oh jesus, just stop it there.”

“Yeah… like just saw you as a bitch? A bitch who gets things done. Really well, like you’re just a little powerhouse at things. A perfectionist. Now I see that… you’re like also really hot? And a good kisser.”

“Poetic.” You grimaced. What had you expected? Gojo sighed, coming up to you, tilting your chin up a bit.

“Words aren’t my strong suit.”

You pretend to gasp. “Gojo Satoru admits he has a weakness? I’m going to faint from the shock.”

“Shut that mouth.” He kissed you then, again, firm, more aggressive this time than before. You push at him a bit, and he pulls away to study you carefully. “This is more my lane.”

“I see.” You sighed, shaking your head. “What am I even doing?”

“Getting wet for me. In many ways tonight.” He winked, and you scowled.

“Oh god, don’t even start.”

“I… swept you off your feet! Literally! Haha! Ha! I’m amazing!” Gojo smacked his thighs, laughing loudly, and you scowled, until you couldn’t hold it in, snorting and joining his laughter.

“You’re an idiot!” You chuckled the words out, laughing against his hard chest, smelling the clean fresh scent he had, feeling the hard hot body.

“I had to! It was golden, baby, golden. I got Miss stuck up to laugh.”

“I am so not stuck up, you have to stop with that. You’re the conceited little shithead here.”

“Nah, you are. You’re loosening up some. I wonder… are you super tight there too?” Gojo yanked you by the waistband of his shorts, eyes ablaze.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You yanked back. He grinned.

“I’ll wait till you beg for that, too.” He patted you on the head, then, turning away and walking a bit.

“I so did not beg!” You protested, following him back up to the deck. He snatched up two bottles of water, handing you one.

“Sure did. Please!” You wanted to fall into a hole, turning bright red. “You know when you blush, it’s your tits too. I wonder if it’s all over.”

“Ugh!” You sip the water with shaky hands. “I didn’t beg. I was polite.” You stuck your chin in the air, and he grinned.

“Uh huh.”

“Yep.”

“Then I’ll wait for you to really beg for my touch. If that was only politeness.” He raised a brow. You knew you were in deep shit.

“I won’t beg, ever, so don’t hold your breath.”

“I don’t even get a kiss for saving you? You really are ungrateful.” He was back in front of you, popping up like some magician.

“You make no sound when you walk, the hell?”

“You don’t pay enough attention. Too wrapped up thinking about my dick.” He shot you a wink.

“You wish. And I already kissed you!”

“Uh uh. I kissed you. You kiss me, as a thank you.” He crossed his arms, leaning back against the little black round table where their waters sat. You shook your head, stepping to him, leaning up.

“Fair is fair.” You put your hands against his chest, sliding one against it softly, paying attention to the catch of his breath. Your eyes hit his, and you tiptoed, arms sliding up, around his neck, for as he was leaning you actually could. Your lips are just a breath away, and one of his hands is clutched to your waist. “Hmm… maybe you should beg for it.”

“Bitch.” He growled, but the word didn’t bother you. You pulled his own moves, a kiss on each corner of his lips, then one on the bottom, hovering.

“Say please, Mr. Boss man.” Your tongue slid against his lower lip, then, and his grip tightened painfully.

“No way.”

“Then, good night.” You spun quickly, and he gripped your wrist, angrily, especially when he saw your grin.

“You’re the worst, ugh.” He leaned down but you backed off. He grimaced in frustration. “I’m not begging, baby girl, I’m Gojo Satoru. You have it the wrong way, here.”

“Then no kiss for you, poor baby.” You tapped his lips with your finger, smirking at him. You too could play this game.

“Such a brat. You know you want it.” Gojo kissed down your neck, and you pulled away before he could go too far.

“I get the bed right?”

“We’ll share. I’m an expert cuddler.” He wiggled his brows, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“One of your strong suits hmm?”

“Absolutely it is.”

“Weird because usually the girls I get Ubers for don’t look like they get cuddled. Fucked maybe.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to cuddle anyone. You should be so honored, fucking brat that you are.”

“I am special huh?” You joke, but he looks a little serious as he studies your face, eyes narrowing a tad.

“You’re something that’s for sure. Fucking crazy.”

“Says you!”

“Mmhmm. Cuddles or no? Anyone ever cuddled you?”

“I…” You pause, frowning.

“That’s a no.”

“I have been! Um. Yeah totally cuddled. I think." Well shit.

“That’s another reason you’re a bitch, no cuddles. We add that to no orgasms and you finally make sense.” He tapped your nose, laughing when you tried to smack at him. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman. Promise.” He held up two of his long fingers, and you hate your own brain. It’s just pure horny. “Unless you don’t trust yourself! Would you take advantage of me?”

Demon bastard. His voice hit octaves they shouldn’t… “I won’t take advantage of you. In your dreams, maybe.”

“In my nightmares you just tape me down and make me go to your Ted Talks about law.” He fakes a shiver. “It’s scary!”

“Fuck off.” You cover your amusement with a yawn. “Okay, let’s crash, and if you get handsy you’ll be going for the next swim.”

Gojo gives you a salute. “Ay ay captain.”

You are going to cuddle with your boss…

Your boss you really wanna punch…

And sleep with.

Hmm.

Chapter 4

Ao3 chap

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55424137/chapters/140758876#workskin

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojou satoru x reader #satoru x reader #jjk satoru #jujutsu satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu gojo #ceo satoru gojo #satoru x you #gojo #gojo fic

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swiftholic-13 · 3 months

Text

The Season's Scandal Chapter 6

pairing → Eloise Bridgerton x Female Reader

summary → Y/N and Eloise are finally exploring their feelings for each other.

warnings → none

words → 1.7k

masterpost chapter 5

A few long minutes went by. My fingers still lost in her hair and her body pressed against mine. I never wanted this moment to end, but I knew it had to. I took a last look at her as I started to slip out of her grasp. I slipped away from under the covers and started dressing myself up as far as possible. My hair was a mess and I could not get into my corset and gown all by myself. I opened the door and peaked outside. Luckily, nobody was there and I was able to call upon one of the Bridgerton servants. She looked surprised as she observed the scene and I payed her a lot to keep her silence.

She helped me getting dressed and to get my hair and make-up back on track as much as possible. She left after fixing the last bits on my hair. Before leaving the room, I took a last look at Eloise. I sat down next to her sleeping form. She looked so peaceful and I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with her. I pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead “goodnight my love”.

I rushed through the hallway hoping nobody would see me leaving Eloise’s chambers. As I took another look around I bumped into somebody. I gasped and looked up in shook. Luckily, it was only Victor. He did not seem pleasantly surprised by bumping into me. “Where have you been?” he asked quietly, still looking around in fear. His eyes fixated on my hair and he noticed how different it was from when he last saw me. His questioning eyes caught mine and he let out a long breath “Do not tell me you were in Miss Bridgertons chambers” I did not answer his question and tried to flee from his gaze. “You need to be more careful, people could see you!” he hushed. “It was not what I had intended ” I assured him. We got interrupted by another pair of footsteps approaching, my mother. “What are you doing here?” She asked in an angry tone. “I-” “Miss Y/N was not feeling well and I sent for a carriage” before I could come up with an excuse Victor saved me, once again. My mother shook her head and came closer to me while inspecting my face “You cannot just disappear”. My mother shook her head once again. Her disappointment was quite obvious “Thank you Lord Abery” she nodded towards him as she took my arm and pulled me off. We found a less crowded way out and into our carriage. On our way back home she did not say anything, she did not even look at me.

————————

The next morning, I got ready to leave the house and pay a visit to Eloise. My mother was already awaiting me in the hall to prevent me from leaving the house. I did not pay any attention to her and put on my gloves. “Where do you think are you going?” she asked me with her arms crossed. “Visiting a friend” I replied, trying to move past her. She stopped me in my tracks “What did I say about friends?” she hissed at me. “Now that I am engaged I did not think you care” I said brushing past her as her eyes widened in shock. She walked after me as we arrived outside. “And you did not care to tell me this?” “You have not asked me” “Oh I do not have to ask you anything, I am your mother” I nodded and shook my head in disbelief as I entered the carriage prepared for me and drove off.

I could not help but smile as my carriage arrived at Bridgerton house. On the other hand I was a bit nervous. Maybe Eloise regretted what has happend, maybe she did not care for me like that or maybe she did not like it at all. I had to stop myself from overthinking and just go for it.

When I entered Benedict greeted me and sent me upstairs to Eloise’s chambers. I thanked him and went straight towards her room. I knocked softly and her voices answered “Come In”. She was sitting at her table writing something in her journal. She turned around and her eyes lit up as she saw me. She jumped up and wrapped her arms around me “Y/N” she nuzzled her face into my neck and I could feel her smile on my skin. All my worries washed away. feeling her in my arms was still magical. She slowly loosened her grip on me. Her right hand wandered down my arm and took my hand in hers. She intertwined our fingers as I whispered “I missed you”. She smiled again and closed the distance between us. Her lips gently moved against mine in a soft kiss. We parted and I could not stop myself from blushing. She turned around and closed her journal still laying on display. “What were you writing?” I asked her as I stepped closer and wrapped my free hand around her from behind, pulling her closer to me. “about you actually” she replied as she let go of my hand and spun around in my arms. I raised my eyebrows in interest “You shall not read it, just yet” she replied and pecked my lips once more. "Does it capture the moment you fell for me?" I asked, teasing her. She blushed and a smile escaped her lips "I fell for you the moment I met you" she replied, trying to flee my gaze. I pulled her closer to me "How romantic". She rolled her eyes and pushed herself off me. “Shall we go outside for a bit, the weather is splendid” she asked me and I nodded, unable to take my eyes of her gorgeous face. She took my hand once again and pulled me out of the room.

Benedict decided to accompany us on our stroll. It was uncomfortable at the beginning but Benedict was a delightful presence and It did not stay that way for long. Benedict was definitely my favorite of the bunch. He was funny and unserious and definitely different from every other man in the ton. Eloise also seemed to like him the most among her siblings. We walked close to one another and her arm was resting on mine. It was the only way I could show my affection for her out here. My eyes were set on her for the whole walk, which Benedict probably noticed after some time. Later Eloise excused herself for a moment and I was left alone with Benedict. Benedict cleared his throat and took a step closer towards me. “I must ask you about your intention with my sister” my eyes widened and I looked at him in shock “What do you mean?” ”Society may not tolerate such behavior but I see you two and cannot help but wonder what it is that you feel for her” I looked down thinking about what to answer. He already knew so it was to late to call it a lie. “Your sister is very dear to me” “Promise to never let harm come her way” He said in a sudden seriousness. He deeply cared for his sister. “I would never” I assured him. We shared a silent understanding and I was relieved that he asked no further questions about the nature of our relationship. Eloise returned and slid her arm back around mine “Everything alright?” she asked as she noticed the silence. “Yes my dear” I replied, smiling at her and we continued our walk.

After a long day with the rest of the Bridgerton family I decided it was time for me to go home. Eloise escorted me to my carriage. “Thank you for the wonderful day” I said and she smiled at me “Shall I come and visit you tomorrow? your mother seems on rather high spirits lately” she asked me. “I would like that” I answered smiling. Her hand found mine. I looked around, but it was too reckless to kiss her right here, right now. We said our goodbyes and I drove back home.

————————

The next day Eloise came to my house pretty early. I rushed downstairs as I saw Eloise talking to my mother. My fear of what she said to her grew fast and I decided to step up. “Eloise” I greeted her as I grabbed her hand and rushed with her to our library, leaving my mother behind. I closed the door behind us and released a long breath. “What did she say?” I asked, trying to cover my fear. “Nothing really, she just asked me about my name and when I am to be married” she said rolling her eyes “You were truly not exaggerating when you spoke of her”. We both laughed and I pulled her closer by the hands. “You look beautiful” I whispered. She chuckled and started stroking my hands. She leaned forward and kissed me lightly. After a comfortable moment of silence, she started to look around and took in the huge room. Eloise walked around and took a look at the many different books located in the various shelves. “Most of them have never been opened, my family does not care for literature” Eloise shaked her head in disbelief “How can one not enjoy reading?” “I do not know” I sat down on the long sofa located at the opposite side of the book shelves. I could watch Eloise´s graceful form wandering around, inspecting the books with accuracy.

eventually, she picked a book and returned to me. She sat down next to me with the book still in her hands. “Will you read it to me?” I asked her. She looked at me while studying my face. “Sure” she replied and made herself comfortable. She laid down beside me, resting her head on the back of the sofa. I took my place next to her and wrapped my arm around her waist. My head rested on her chest. I inhaled her scent as her left hand stroked my hair gently. “I need to speak with you about something.” I told her in a more serious tone, deciding it was now a good time for a talk. I still have not told her about Victor and my true reason for the engagement. “shh” she hushed me “We will discuss this later” She gently pressed her lips to my forehead. Soon she retrieved her hand from my hair and opened the book. As she started reading I could not help but to smile to myself. Her voice was calming and the sound of it sent goosebumps down my skin. I closed my eyes while I listened to her steady heartbeat. Everything was perfect and I would soon have dozen off to sleep in her calming presence.

If I am sticking to my plan we are about halfway through the story now There is still so much to come and I cannot wait for you guys to read It. I will try to post the next few chapters soon and as always I hope you enjoyed It

taglist:

(comment If you want to be added, also make sure to turn on mentions)

@mmmunson @kenzieisgone @morgannope @greattidalwavedinosaur

#female reader #wlw #wlw fanfic #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x y/n #eloise bridgerton #eloise bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton #sapphic #bridgerton family

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prophecyofwinter · 3 months

Text

Se Riña Qilōni Iprattan Se Jēdar | III

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary | Saera Targaryen daughter of Jaehaerys I ran away from Westeros to escape her fate. 45 years later her daughter Y/N Targaryen, with invitation from King Viserys wishes to go back.

Tags | Slowburn, TargCest, Smut, Standard ASOIAF content, Aemond and Reader are First Cousins Once Removed, tags to be added

Prologue | Chapter II | Chapter IV | Masterlist

Chapter III | High Lord , Low Lady

You were so unfathomably nervous, your palms were sweating and your head was full, all the advice you’d received back home flew out the window.

Normally you were so confident and headstrong, where did it all go??

How are you supposed to present yourself? Gods, what do you do with your hands? Do you hold them folded? Behind? Held to your chest?

Walking through the dock only made your heart race faster as you were nearing closer by the second. You straighten yourself up and mentally ask for R’hllor’s blessing as you are stopped in front of a carriage by guards.

You gaze at the carriage itself, made of dark wood with curved arches overhead and crisscrossed cutouts for windows.

“Prince Aemond of House Targaryen!”

You become stiff as wood as the doors of the carriage are opened by a guard. Ducking under the door frame is a man with long straight white hair wearing all black leather. When he stands straight you notice his sharp features, most distinguishably the eyepatch on his left eye. You try not to stare too much to not offend.

By the time you process him fully he is already in front of you, blocking the sun from your eyes.

“I-It is a great pleasure to finally meet you Prince Aemond.” You sputter out, your nerves taking over your vocal cords. He was honestly very handsome, it was unfortunate you hadn’t heard anyone speak much of his looks besides the lost eye.

Without replying he simply grabs one of your shaky hands and brings it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back. He comes back up to make eye contact, his purple eyes gazing into your own. You might pass away on the spot, the wrath of the sun burns on you tenfold in the moment.

“Your beauty truly precedes you Y/N. I wanted to personally welcome you to Kings Landing. As your soon-to-be betrothed I felt it was my duty to be the first person you met.” He speaks to you in a low tone, he is rather close to you so he does not need to talk loud. His way with words didn’t help at all, you could feel a slight wetness forming between your thighs.

He holds out his leather covered arm for you to grab onto. As you do, you could feel his toned muscles through the leather. You pray you haven’t made an absolute fool of yourself acting like a blushing virgin, which you were but.

“Thank you Prince Aemond, you’re too kind…”

“No need to thank me, it is simply what I must do.” He says with the same tone as before giving your arm a gentle caress. You can’t help but wonder if there’s multiple meanings to that.

He leads you to the carriage passing through the line of knights, they all look stiff and they stare forward. You thought they would look scarier, they just look like normal men. The soldiers and guards in Volantis look like beasts, scars so bad you couldn’t even tell there’s a face behind their helm, going through withdrawal if they have not killed an infant in a week. They reek of blood, booze and cum.

Westeros must be a very peaceful place if their army’s look like this.

When you approach the carriage, one baby faced guard opens the door for you both. Aemond loosens his hold on you, just holding you by your hand to guide you up the carriage steps.

“Ahem.”

Oh right.

Your brother steps forward, armor making a soft clang with every step. He must’ve polished his red armor today, the shine on it must be bright enough to blind a man. He stands tall and proud, a few paces away from you and Aemond.

“Oh, apologies. This is my half-brother Vaegon. My mother- Our mother sent him with me to make sure I settle in okay.” You looked to Aemond, gesturing to your brother slightly annoyed. You were trying to balance yourself properly on the steps, one foot on the first step and the other on the second step.

“Ah, that’s quite alright. Sending a young woman such as yourself across the sea shouldn’t be done alone.” Aemond states and rubs your hand with his thumb, still holding it. He gestures to you to enter the carriage, then turns to your brother with a tight lipped smile.

“Vaegon was it? You have my thanks for accompanying my betrothed to Kings Landing. You may walk with the rest of the guards to the Red Keep.” Aemond said as he stepped into the carriage himself, smile faltering only slightly.

Vaegon opened his mouth to protest but was met with the carriage doors shutting in his face.

Now it was just you and Aemond, alone…

You pinched at your dress while attempting to keep eye contact with him.

You feel a jolt of movement and you know the carriage has begun to make its journey up to the Red Keep.

“Apologies, my Prince for my state of dress. I haven’t brought any handmaidens with me. If I had known how much of a struggle clothes of this country were to get into I would’ve brought someone to help.” You say flipping your eyes between his eyes and the top of his head.

Aemond sits back into the plush seating crossing his arms and legs. His gaze burns into your skin, you can see his eye start at your collar bone and trail down to your open cleavage.

You hadn’t expected to be reduced to a mess just in his presence. Your plans of confidence dwindled and anxiety replaced the space it left.

“Apologizing this much is unbecoming if you wish to become a lady. No one here will treat you well if they see how nervous you are. As for your dress, it’s not that different from what some ladies wear during the hotter months, just less… openness. You’ll have proper clothes tailored to you soon enough.” His tone has become blunt, compared to what he was like moments before with his sweet gestures.

“Please forgive- I mean! I just have never been alone with a man like this before. Especially a man like yourself, my Prince. I’ve spent most of my life in the company of other women… I do not wish to embarrass myself further.” You attempt to compose yourself in a more becoming manner. Straightening your back and folding your shaky hands in front of you instead of picking at your skirt; eye contact is something you’ll have to work on.

Aemond lets out a hum of…? You can’t quite tell. Aemond makes no move to continue the conversation, instead opting to stare at you, as though he can read your life story just by a glance.

Will it always be this unsettling? Maybe your hopes were set too high? You two are strangers, surely he is just as nervous as you are.

Neither of you exchanged any more words for the rest of the carriage ride. The sound of the horses' hooves clopping on the stone floor and the sounds of common folk around the city being the only sounds you hear for the rest of the ride.

You let out a soft breath when the carriage rocked to a halt. You look out the window and the first thing you notice is a red haired woman dressed in a dress of green and gold, you knew with absolute certainty that this must be Queen Alicent.

Suddenly, Aemond grabs your arm, tugging you to him to grab your attention. His purple eye stone cold staring into your pair, you felt small and helpless like a beggar girl begging for bread.

“Pull yourself together and present yourself properly. This is my mother, the Queen. Do not make anyone regret allowing you here.”

————

🏷️: @toodlesxcuddles @blackgirlmagicforever @yourwonkywriter

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader

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bridgetotheskyyy · 6 months

Text

chapter five.

masterlist

Chapter summary: Your father arrives, the end of the month draws near, and you and Gaara hit some milestones . . .

Chapter warnings: 18+, smut (THATS RIGHT YOU GUYSS), lots of angst, physical sickness

Word count: 12k

A/N: full notes on ao3! Pls let me know if you find any errors tumblr hates me (and I hate tumblr <3333)

Read on ao3 here:

You knew it was him, though his back was to you. For you had been walking behind him all your life.

An entourage of personal guards surrounded your father. Cyclone. The strongest band of ninja from the Oasis village. All of them carried shields fashioned like scorpion pedipalps. Face masks covered all but their eyes. In the center was your father. The elders listened with rapt attention as he raconteured some epic story containing a dragon with arms outstretched and a stentorian voice. Baki sat among them, his eye shifting between you and Father. Neither Kankuro nor Temari were present yet.

“Ahh,” said Ebizo. “And here is Lord Kazekage now.”

Your father turned to see who had come, his eyes widening underneath the disk of his village head hat; they were devoid of the madness you were accustomed to seeing in them.

“(Y/n) …” Father ignored Gaara to marvel at you. He strolled, arms wide, to you. “My angel.”

He roped arms around you; you suppressed a flinch. He parted to caress your face. “I’ve been blind without the light of your smile,” he said.

“Father …” Your voice was high with hope. “I’ve … I’ve missed you.”

“Not nearly as much as I have missed you, my star.” His voice hadn’t been this gentle in addressing you since you were a child, lulled to sleep by the bounce of his knee. “How I managed in the dark, I will never know.”

Gaara bowed to him. “I have hoped to meet you for a very long time, Lord Boutoku.”

“Oh, son-in-law.” Your father strode toward Gaara, arms ready to embrace him. “You are the splitting image of the fourth Kazekage himself.”

He enveloped Gaara as everyone watched, not sure of what to say.

“Come,” Father urged. “There’s much to discuss.”

Your father’s Cyclone parted down the middle to admit the three of you. You followed Gaara to the table, but your father remained on his feet.

“It is a shame Lady Ikanago is absent,” Ebizo said. “She would have relished this the very most.”

“There will be more than enough time for me to become acquainted with the Sand’s dignitaries, surely,” your father said.

“Lord Boutoku was just telling us about the customs of your village,” Baki told you.

“Yes,” your father said. “Now —“

The door burst open. Temari and Kankuro came through.

“Don’t start without us —!”

“Kankuro, get off my foot —!”

“Ahh,” your father said, “and this must be Lord Kazekage’s eldest sister.”

Their eyes widened before they hastened to compose themselves, hands going behind their backs.

“Uh — yes.” Temari bowed. “A pleasure.”

“It’s very nice to see you again, Lord Boutoku,” Kankuro said.

“The feeling is mutual,” your father said. “Come, come. Now that we’re all here, we can discuss the wedding at last. But first.” Your father clapped his hands, and a servant knelt at his side, offering something in his hands. Your father took it to give to you. “Your mother made me promise to pass this on to you when the time came, and I infringe upon her memory if I withhold it from you a moment longer.”

A small velvet box. You opened it: a ring.

Your mother’s ring.

“It’s beautiful,” Gaara said.

You gawked at the miraculous rock for a few seconds longer before slowly raising your head to your father. He had loved no one in the world more than her. Hideo a close second (and you last, probably). Warmth blanketed over your entire being as Father squeezed your hand.

“I am sure Lord Kazekage had his own plans for securing a ring. I hope he does not mind,” he said, eyes soft on you.

“Not at all,” Gaara interjected. “The Oasis is very loyal to its traditions; I suspected something like this may happen.”

And he gently took the ring box from your hand as the members of the council watched, entranced by the sight of Gaara taking the ring from the box and sliding it over your finger.

You raised your hand to the light; the ring shone like a star he’d pricked from the sky just for your finger. You observed the scene, as if it had been plucked from one of your daydreams. Gaara before you, your father blessing it all, Kankuro, Temari, and Baki smiling.

“I’m … so happy,” You said, choked with emotion. “Thank you, Father, I — Thank you …!”

“What a blessed union,” Ebizo said. “Hopefully, Lord Boutoku will be open to answering a few of our questions?”

“Of course,” Father boomed. “Of course!”

Your father spoke of the traditions of your village. Dual colors were decided on, a mixture of the Sand’s beige with your village’s blue, along with the special foods that have become specialties in the Oasis. By the end, there was a layout for the reception, who would be coming and then seated where.

It was surprisingly fun for you. Temari had taken it upon herself to bring a binder to keep the information safe and at hand. You were waiting for your father to pause in the event of possible objections, but it obviously wasn’t necessary; the council was besotted with your father, hanging on his every word as he circled the council’s oval table as though lecturing them.

“Now,” Father sighed dramatically with a pat of his thigh, “if the council would oblige me, the trip here was excessive, and I am not as young as I used to be …”

“Of course,” Ryusa said. “A period of rest is warranted now.”

A Sand guard appeared by Gaara’s side to whisper, “It’s time, Lord Kazekage.”

Gaara nodded as you frowned, confused. It hit you: Matsuri.

“Gaara,” You murmured. “I want to come. I know this will be hard for you.”

“And I would like you to be with us.” Gaara lowered his head. “But perhaps it’s better for you to stay and reconnect with your father.”

A few seconds and you said, “Okay.”

“And,” Gaara smiled, “perhaps excise a few details?”

You chuckled. “Will do.”

You gave Gaara’s arm a reassuring squeeze before he raised from his seat, Kankuro and Temari following him.

“I’ll send one of them to tell you how things went,” Gaara said.

You nodded and watched the three of them leave. By the time you turned your attention back to the council, it was disbanding. Your father came to you.

“I finally have you to myself, my dove,” he said. “Lord Kazekage has fixed me with my own quarters. Come along. We have much to talk about.”

You didn’t know what to expect as you entered your father’s private room. Similar to yours, save for the luxuries yours didn’t possess (which, you were sure, was Temari’s doing in an effort to impress him). A fireplace crackled in the quiet space, dousing amber light on the sitting room floor as the curtains were drawn. Two plush loveseats faced each other, separated by a rug and a coffee table. A large bed sectioned off in the corner.

Your father followed you in, Chuuyou on his tail.

“These knees.” Your father sank into a couch with a pained sigh. “Never get old, (Y/n). Promise me that.”

“I promise,” You said simply to obey.

“Chuuyou.” Father turned to him. “I applaud you for protecting my daughter, as you have. You have made both your village and head proud.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Chuuyou bowed his head, both out of respect and, though he could not hide it from you, to conceal his guilty expression.

He’s still thinking about the beach.

Seconds passed in silence. You sat across from Father, feeling as though it was what he was waiting for, and remained stock still. Another sigh from him. He appeared aged in a way he never had to you before.

“Despite all my orders,” he said after a century, “you still have not tried to poison him.”

Oh no. You balled your fists in your lap. You shrank into yourself, desperate to make yourself smaller.

“I’m sorry.” You hung your head. “I’m sorry I disobeyed, I … I just couldn’t.”

“… Thank the gods.”

You looked up. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I have been rash.” Father ran a hand over his face. “There is more benefit to you marrying the Kazekage than there could ever be in disposing of him.”

“But …” Hope, once again, sat tentatively inside of you, unsure of its place in this conversation. “What about Hideo?”

There it was — the insane look common in your father’s eye rushed into his irises, all for it to disappear as quickly as it had come. Father lowered his gaze, his entire being depressed and deflated, and for a moment you felt the full weight of your father’s losses like it was yours. And in a way, it was.

“I have lost a great deal, by living in the past,” your father said. “I refuse to lose anything else … It was a mistake to send you here under such nefarious pretenses.”

“Father …” You were so quick to tears lately and now was no different. You couldn’t believe it. Relief and sympathy raised within you. The vice, wrapped around your heart always, fell away.

“Just tell me one thing,” he said, looking up at you finally. “Do you think you may come to love him?”

You thought, now, of Gaara, and the unobstructed path that now led to him.

“Yes.”

Matsuri was relocated to the Sunagakure prison later that day. Multiple accounts of her espousing her jealousy and displeasure of Gaara’s imminent marriage to you had reached a variety of ears, and, with all the evidence against her and no more cards to play, her guilt was obvious.

In the midst of all of this, all you wanted to do was go to Gaara — to be there for him and because, freed from your bond of violence, you ached for him — but you fought against it. Surely what he needed now was time to breathe. Despite knowing so little of her, you knew Matsuri had been his student, and to watch her fall into treason due to personal feelings had to be traumatic.

You just wanted to be out of the way. You couldn’t shake the feeling this was partially your fault to begin with. You kept to your room, unsure of what to do with all this free time and lack of anxiety. You couldn’t believe you were free. You admired the little piece of sky sparkling on your finger. You only had the slightest recollections of your mother wearing it as she held you, tending to your tiny body and needs.

You held your ring finger with a tenderness mirroring hers, sat at your windowsill as evening sighed into night, the soft whistling of the wind brushing past a village at peace, when a knock ripped you from your reverie.

You straightened. “Come in.”

You expected a maid who’d come to tell you dinner was ready, but —

“Are you all right?”

You startled. Gaara shut the door behind him, never taking his eyes off you, and let himself into your room. He was without his Kage robes, dressed in his trench coat.

“Gaara,” You said, astonished. A pause.

“I’ve not seen you all day.”

“I thought it best to stay away,” You said. “Are you all right?”

His eyes rounded with clarity. “You’ve heard.”

“Maids like to gossip.”

He was quiet for a second. He looked away. “It is done.”

“I am so sorry.” You removed yourself from the window seat and crossed the room to him. You folded your arms, having it awkward to have them simply dangle there, and you weren’t sure if Gaara would like to be touched.

Gaara’s head hung still. He looked so aggrieved, tiredness lining his face.

“What happened?” You asked carefully.

“There was an abundance of evidence,” Gaara began. “The elders were especially hard on her. Matsuri cried a great deal.” His hands clenched at his sides. “She kept saying it wasn’t her and that she’d been framed, yet there was nothing she could do or say to defend herself.”

You sat on your bed. “Sit with me,” You said, patting the space beside you.

When he did, he continued: “I forgive her.” Gaara turned to you. “Please do not let this taint your view of who she is. She is still a very talented and gifted shinobi.”

“I won’t.” You shook your head. Despite the anger you felt for Matsuri at the last meeting with the council, it had long since passed, and all you felt was a hollowness for the man beside you, his aggrieved bewilderment your own.

Gaara gazed into his lap, invisible brows furrowed by sorrow. “I … am still perplexed as to how this could have happened … Matsuri … But I also know love is a powerful force that can make people act contrary to themselves.” His hand inched toward yours, resting on your lap. “I know because … though I felt sympathy for Matsuri, I feel as though my heart wasn’t with her.” He looked up at you. “It was with you.”

“Gaara …” You held his hand. You were beyond flattered, and, with the new conditions you were under, you felt you could really lean into the reserved but true affection Gaara was giving you. You, now, lived in the serene turquoise of his eyes as the faintest of smiles crossed his face.

“I wanted to return to you to be by your side. All I could think about was you today, and the ring … Our future.” He rose from the bed, your hand still in his. “Come. There is something I’d like to show you.”

“Of course,” You said, curiosity lilting your voice.

Gaara led you down hallways. You realized you had never been to this area of the palace before. It was a more secluded part of the palace, quieter; nothing but a simple vase potting an enormous plant by the new, mysterious doorway you were led through.

He led you to a door, and all clicked into place for you.

His room. Gaara’s room.

At that moment, you realized you had never actually been to Gaara’s room. You couldn’t even tell anyone where it was in the palace. Sweat pressed against your palms. Warm light filled the room, but it was bare save for a simple wooden desk, a lamp, a bed, a carpet — but what caught your attention was the collection of cacti on the desk.

Definitely Gaara’s room.

He let you in first and you heard him close the door behind him as you took it in with a small smile.

You turned to him. “What do you want me for?”

“I invited you here because I wished to see you in private,” Gaara said. “I want to be alone with you. I’ve …missed having you by my side since the tent. I’ve never had anyone so close to me for so long.” Color came to Gaara’s cheeks. “As a couple,” he began, approaching you, “we should be sharing a room — and a bed.”

You turned to it, conspicuously wide enough for the two of you. You stared. Nothing was keeping you from Gaara now.

“Then perhaps we should make it truly ours.”

Gaara searched your face, your meaning lost on him, as you approached.

This time, you kissed him.

You cupped the back of his head, where crimson hair ran between your fingers. When Gaara reciprocated, your legs weakened, but he kept you steady with all the strength with which you’d been familiarized.

You had not realized your feet were moving backwards until the slight jab at the back of your knees.

With a whimper, you fell backward. Gaara quickly caught you. You sat on the bed, scooting away from him, which he took as a beckon to follow. You sighed when your head pressed into the pillows. Gaara blanketed your body with his, his lips possessing yours a second time.

You moaned, opened your mouth for his tongue to come play with yours. You welcomed the pressure of his body on top of you, your hands once again losing themselves in his hair as he flicked and nibbled against your lips.

“Show me,” Gaara moaned against your jawline, his tone raw and commanding as your hands scaled his back. “Show me everything from the books. I want to know everything.”

“That could take a while,” You hummed, your lips parting as he nibbled at your flushed skin. But we have time. We have all the time in the world.

“Then you should start now.” Gaara nibbled on your neck. Your heels dug into his calves as his wet tongue swept over the vulnerable skin.

You fumbled, pulling yourself out from under Gaara to work your shirt over your head, grappling with the deja vu you felt as you tossed it aside. You couldn’t wait. You couldn’t. Gaara awkwardly fumbled with the buttons of his trench coat until you assisted.

So many layers. You shed your pants away, now down to your underwear. You had never let another see you this naked before, let alone nude, besides your maids, and there were no secrets amongst women. But somehow, you were not nervous as you unhooked your bra. Gaara’s motions had stilled to a stop. Flutters went straight to your cunt with the way his eyes scanned you, hungry, as it slowly unfolded before him.

Your panties hung around one bare ankle when Gaara brushed a hand over your leg. He hooked fingers under your panties to pull them away himself and onto the floor.

“I want to touch you.” His tone was impossibly husky, low. His hand traveled from your leg to your inner thigh.

You laid back down for him. You were completely bare for him now, you realized, as his eyes roved hungrily over your naked flesh. Gaara’s head settled over your chest, pressing kisses against the valley of your breast, one hand preoccupied with your nipple —

“Mm …!” You arched into him. Gaara’s teeth grazed against another nipple. His curious tongue swirled against the rising bud. You heard the buckles of his uniform unfastening as your head sunk in the pillows, and you knew he was in the midst of shedding the remainder of his gear as he busied with your breasts. His naked skin pressed against your thighs. Your cunt throbbed, maddening you to be touched.

Thankfully, Gaara’s curiosity worked in your favor; his lips traveled down your skin, brushing over a nipple before sliding past the bones of your ribcage. His hands hooked over the fat of your thighs, the soft brush of your pubic hair grazing his chin.

“I remember, in the books …” Gaara’s thumb gently spread one lip, your juices surely leaking over. “The man tastes the woman. I want to taste you, too.”

Your heart skipped; Gaara’s hot breath hit your lips. “He licks up the valley of her lips …” .

You gasped. You realized what he was doing; he was quoting Icha Icha.

His lips flicked experimentally at your folds. You flinched, a knee knocking his head.

He paused to examine you. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes, Gaara …” You gripped one of Gaara’s shoulders to compel him forward, excitement causing you to flutter. “It feels so good …”

Not needing to be told twice, he sank down, gave your folds a series of licks. You could feel him pause to taste your juices before starting again.

“Good …” he murmured. “So good … If I’d known …”

“Keep going …!”

You lost a hand in his hair. Gaara was eating you. It was unreal. His hot breath on your lips, his open palms spreading your thighs open, was something right out of your wildest dreams. He ate you gently, experimenting with this new territory that was you. You were more than happy to oblige, spreading your legs wider to become more accessible to him in a way you have never been with any man before him. You gripped the sheets at his sudden kisses, the unsuspected swipes of his tongue. His fingers gently spread and kneaded at your labia, exploring you and overstimulating you in the process.

Gaara came up, accidentally brushing a nose against your clit —

You cried out. You pressed him into your cunt. A quick learner, he tested the tip of his tongue against the nub, coaxing another series of moans from you. Your eyes doubled back as he latched on to your clit, the suction of his lips driving you wild.

You writhed underneath him. Your hands rubbed over his hands as he lapped up your juices.

“Oh — use — Gaara, you have to use your — your fingers, oh!”

Gaara paused momentarily, as though something had occurred to him.

“She welcomed his fingers like old friends into her heat …”

You felt his thumb brush against your folds. It pressed farther in until it breached the entrance of your hole.

“Gaara …!” You pulled at his hair.

He grunted but did nothing to stop you, teasing your entrance with his thumb as his tongue swirled around your clit. Your legs trembled, your back arching off the bed and into his willing mouth. Your juices seeped past the fat of your behind, only for Gaara to reach down to collect it with his tongue.

His breath quickened as he replaced his thumb with a finger, pressing it in —

“Ahh! Ha—aha!” A familiar tightness was tormenting your abdomen. Close, close. You tried to think through your haze; if you could just get him to … “Another, please, and — and curl them up, oh —“

“I will …!”

He obeyed with a soft growl, adding another finger into your slippery heat. Your strangled breath coincided with his fingers sinking in. So full, but not enough. You ached for more, bucking your hips in desperation. As instructed, he brought his fingers up in beckoning —

“Aah!”

Gaara’s tongue returned to your clit, curling his fingers again and again, your juices seeping, slipping past his digits. You rocked into his fingers, finding a rhythm with him.

He sucked and kissed your clit, fingers beckoning one final time —

You cried out, clutching at him with both hands. You clenched over his fingers, the walls around them becoming rougher and tighter as your climax came. You shuddered, biting your lip. Gaara was not stopping, inciting wave after wave through you until you plateaued. Pleasure crashed back down around you, forcing you limp against the bed.

“Gaara!” You warned, pushing him away. “Stop, stop! I — I can’t —!”

Immediately, he pulled his mouth and fingers away. You fell to your side, squeezing your legs. You panted, face hot, and in your haze wondered, in the future, if he would do this to you: edge you without realizing — or maybe on purpose? Finger and fuck your poor insides to make you a fumbling mess, as long as it was what you liked. If you told him, he would do it …

A second or so more and Gaara’s hand brushed against your elbow. “Was that all right?”

You turned over your shoulder to look at him, stars in your eyes. “Incredible.” You twisted to face him, kissing his lips, tasting and smelling yourself on him.

It wasn’t long before you were throbbing again, desperate for more contact. Your overactive imagination made it so. He embraced you in the kiss, his warm cock poking at you. You broke the kiss, panting as you brushed him aside to admire him.

You salivated at the sight of him. Your dream to have him twitching and dripping his seed down your mouth was not gone, but … but you couldn’t wait any longer.

Besides, there would be more time for that.

“I need you inside of me,” You said.

He seemed to understand. You laid back down for him to topple you. Visions of the future — you topping him, bouncing atop his cock, swallowing his seed from under his table— filled your mind. Many fantasies that had already been revisited during your alone times. There would be so much time now. You just needed him.

You helped him position himself. Your excited cunt clenched around nothing in anticipation. You bit your lip as his cockhead brushed against your entrance.

“You will tell me,” Gaara began, both an assumption and an order, “if anything hurts.”

You nodded hastily, clinging to his arms. “Of course.”

“Good,” he said, “because I may not be able to stop.”

His cock slid into you, filling you in ways you couldn’t have imagined. You clung to him, nails digging into his forearms as he filled you to capacity.

You nestled in the crook of his neck. “Gaara …”

Pain gave way to pleasure as Gaara succumbed to a thrust. Your head whirled with the novel sensations. The pain was alien but not immense. You stifled stammers out of fear they might encourage him to stop.

Under no circumstances could he stop.

Another thrust —

“Mmfm!” You threw your head back. Gaara’s lips crashed into yours as he moved against you, slapping his hips into yours.

You bit into his neck this time, nibbling at the hickeyed skin soon to bruise there. Gaara’s hand found your clit by accident — and upon seeing your pleased reaction, fixed his hand there and circled it.

He grunted with pleasure as your legs involuntarily wrapped around his waist. His pants puffed into your skin as he pounded you. “Ti — tight …!”

The pain at your core mingled with the pleasure in a way that was strangely pleasant. Your lips part to emit a confused moan-whimper. You wanted more, demanded more. So enamored with Gaara’s plundering of your cunt and his sounds increasing in volume, you didn’t feel him flinch away until his cock had left you.

Gaara pulled away, a hand glued to his cock with eyes squeezed shut. White spent spilled over your inner thigh with a frustrated cry from Gaara. You watched, mesmerized, as ropes of come spilled from his slit and onto your beaded skin.

“Gaara …” You murmured, cunt squeezing around nothing.

He opened his eyes to mere darkened slits, panting as he observed his work.

“I’m — I’m sorry …” He began to come to his senses, realizing what he’d done. “I didn’t know …”

“It’s okay.” You swept his spent from your thigh with scoops of your finger, disposing of it on the fabric. “They’re just sheets.”

Gaara glanced up at you. “Yes, but you …?”

“It’s okay.” You inched toward him. “I can’t get you back up, don’t worry …”

You caressed his cock, now turning flaccid. Gaara took a sharp intake of breath as your grip grew firm. You ran your tongue over your bottom lip before pressing a soft kiss to his head. You tested the waters, taking him into your mouth slowly to see how he would react. Another kiss and swipe of your tongue —

“Nnrgh …” Gaara fisted the sheets.

You resisted a smirk as you drew back, eyes flickering up at him. “Good?”

“Yes …” His breathing had grown labored, no doubt due to the gentle strokes you spoiled his overstimulated shaft with.

You leaned forward to run your tongue over the ridge of his head, outlining the span of it with your tongue. Gaara’s short, nearly inaudible gasps spurred you on to trap his head between your lips and suck.

“Ah, hah-ah —“

You took in more of him, feeling the veins trailing his cock grow more prominent with each new inch into your mouth. You grazed your fingertips over his balls as you dared another inch, hollowing your cheeks to serve his twitching cock.

“All right.” Gaara’s hand laid on your shoulder. “Enough — enough.”

You obeyed and released him with a pop. He was near fully erect now, his cock level with your face. You dug nails into your thigh. It had been so hard for you to resist tweaking your clit with him buried in your mouth.

“If you go on, I won’t last,” he explained.

You nodded and followed the gesture of his gaze back into bed. He returned to his rightful place above you.

“One day soon, I’ll be on top,” You rambled, cheeks red and hot, as Gaara repositioned himself above you. “I can’t imagine how good you’d feel.”

“That day will be today. I only want to get this right now,” Gaara said, and with the tiniest bit of fanfare, placed his head at the tight ring of your cunt and slid inside.

“Aah — AHAA!”

“You seemed to like this before,” Gaara said, voice raised with teasing tilt as he rolled two finger pads into your neglected clit, accompanying his play with deep, slow thrusts.

“Mm …!” You arched into him, your leg spasmed in his hold as he tapped at your clit, Gaara’s fingers dangerously close to where his cock and your opening met. “Gaara!”

“That’s it,” he said. “That’s what I want to hear.” His thrusts quickened inchmeal, but a simple step felt like a mile. “I won’t be a novice for long, (Y/n). I’ll learn everything.”

He slapped a hard thrust into you and stayed there, your hips to his.

“I’ll make you feel everything,” he said as your head fell back into the disarrayed pillows.

You clenched him hard without meaning to. He had to stop talking, otherwise … The encouragement of your cunt was enough to make Gaara rock into you, lustful grunts sounding above you. You closed your and looped arms around his; his clit play would not stop; three fingers tweaked and circled your clit now, your pleasure mounting.

“She finds herself at the peak of climax, and he would be the one to deliver it to her …!”

With a loud moan, you clenched around him tighter and relished the startled moan he gave. His frown rested against your forehead. He seemed to be battling both with the pleasure he felt and the struggle to understand you, how this was possible. Your clit fixed between his two fingers, driving you mad as he filled you again and again with his cock.

Tightness gripped you again, and you knew were you were close. Gaara’s hand abandoned your calf to knead at your breast, eyes closed as he lost himself in you.

“I — I’m …” he panted. “Again …!”

Gaara’s cock twitched inside of you. Close. How could he not be? You knew this wouldn’t last long, even with the help of your mouth. Your mind blared white, bright with the idea of Gaara coming so deep inside of you —

“Ahah …” Your vision gave you another pleasured throb you didn’t need. “Gaara …!”

Stupid, stupid. You couldn’t let him, you couldn’t —

But you wanted it. Wanted him. You gripped on to him tighter. “Do it,” You ordered. “Do it, I want you — want —“

Yet as he slammed into you one final time and the warmth of his come filled you, you could do nothing but hold him closer and take it. His fingers tormented you, the stimulation sending you over the edge as well.

Gaara pulled out, and you felt the slick of his seed seep from your hole onto the sheets. You moaned, clenching around his spent.

So good …

“Amazing …” he remarked, eyes on your drooling cunt.

You tried to wade through the pleasure thrumming through you to understand your mistake, but couldn’t. The after-sex buzz proved too profound. You could hardly register it as a mistake at all, what with how good you felt, pleasurable aches simmering underneath your flushed skin. You dragged Gaara close for another kiss.

Once released, Gaara said, “I’ve never experienced this level of closeness with anyone …” He wrapped arms around you. He lowered his gaze to your beaded clavicle while you played with the damp ends of his rustled hair. “It is strange, but wonderful, too.”

“Neither have I.” You grinned. He’s so grateful. You admired the light smile that came to Gaara’s face. “Was I good?”

Gaara glanced up. “Is it possible for someone not be to be good?”

You couldn’t discern your blush from the natural post-coitus flush you had. “It’s possible.” You wished you hadn’t said it; Gaara’s brows knit together, his eyes wandering with thoughts. Apparently, you’d given him a new worry. “But you were amazing,” You hastened to add.

His expressions softened. “Good. I’m glad.” He watched you pepper his hand and arms with kisses. “I want to be as good as the men in the books.”

“I think you’ve already achieved that, my love.”

Gaara nestled closer to you in the sheets. His hand flexed — open, close — as you left a kiss on his green veins. “Do we need to stop?” Gaara asked.

You met his eye, your mind drunk with him.

“No,” You said and pulled him forward — for the two of you to be pulled under.

You had very little appetite at breakfast, your mind still enamored with the previous events that had come to pass.

Gaara was, of course, not at breakfast; tending to sensitive Kazekage duties was of the utmost importance. So instead, you choose to eat with Kankuro and Temari.

Gaara had quite the … stamina. You were sure you had looked like murder for the rest of the night; bed hair and wild eyes as you walked Gaara through all the things you had only read about and heard from other noble ladies. Aches you fought to keep discreet restricted a lot of your movements.

The sounds of Gaara’s soft pants and whispers of praise were still in your ear long after they had faded into time. Warmth spread through your cheeks as you stared idly at the water remaining in your glass, looking but not seeing.

“So close, (Y/n) —“

“You feel amazing —“

“Don’t make me stop —“

“(Y/n)? (Y/n)!”

Temari tore you from your reverie, the images of last night turning to watercolor in your mind.

“Watch the salt,” she said, pointing to your plate.

You looked down to see your hand pouring a hill of salt on your fish. You sighed, put it away and shoveled the hill from your plate.

“I’m going to give a speech at the wedding,” Kankuro said, mind made up.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Temari sipped her tea. “Just as long as you tell me what you’re going to say.”

“What?” Kankuro crossed his arms indignantly. “You don’t trust me?”

“Oh, I wonder why, Mr. psychoactive cactus man?”

Kankuro sighed in defeat as you giggled. “All right, fine,” he replied.

“Do you have anything written?” You asked, desperate for something to cling to so you might live in the present.

Kankuro shrugged. “Not yet. I’m not as good with words as Gaara.”

“Nonsense!” You playfully slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure whatever you say will be lovely. You’ve got to let me read.”

Kankuro held up his pinkie. “Promise.”

“I hope Lord Boutoku’s quarters are to his satisfaction,” Temari said as you wrapped your pinkie around Kankuro’s. “We wanted only the best to make him comfortable.”

So it was her. You smiled. “He’s doing well. Thank you, Temari.”

“No problem!”

Better than well, actually; your father had returned to a softer version of himself, ordering servants to and fro and requesting to be served all of his meals in bed. You resisted an eye-roll, thinking about the prima donna that he was. As long as he was happy, you supposed.

“All right, I’m outta here.” Temari set aside a napkin and rose from her seat. “Long day today.”

“With what, exactly?”

“Lady Ikanago has requested details about Lord Boutoku’s arrival, and I said I’d go fill her in,” Temari explained.

“Gonna grab her some painkillers for that hip, too?”

Temari threw a bun at Kankuro’s head, which he aptly caught and bit into.

“Or maybe some purple pandemonium.” Temari snickered as Kankuro blanched. She left her chair. “So long, you two.”

You waved goodbye to her and returned to your breakfast, humming quietly before taking a sip of your water —

“So,” Kankuro began. “You and my little brother sure had fun last night, didn’t you —?”

— You spit out your water.

“Wha — what?” You dabbed yourself frantically with a napkin.

Kankuro’s laughter shook his shoulders, the bun becoming clearly too heavy to hold under the weight of the mirth.

“How do you —“ Your mind went to wild places. “He didn’t tell you —?”

“Are you kidding?” Kankuro said. “Of course not. He’d never; he’s ever bit the gentleman he seems.”

“Then …” You looked around helplessly. “Then how …?”

Kankuro tapped a finger on his temple. “A brother knows these things; I got a good look at him earlier this morning.” He took another bite out of his now crescent moon of a bun and added with a mouth full, “plus, the two of you are such virgins — all dazed and bashful. If this is you trying to hide it, then the whole village will know.”

“Oh, gods.” You hid in your soup. You had passed out long before Gaara and had woken up in his bed without him in it, accompanied only by a simple note telling you Kazekage duties had pulled him away and to go back to sleep full of good dreams.

Kankuro chuckled. “Don’t sweat it. Nobody heard anything.”

“That’s not helping me to not sweat.”

“It’s okay!” Kankuro couldn’t stop grinning. “Really! I’m glad of it.” He shook his head, his smile not having died. “I was worried it’d never happen for him, my poor little brother.”

You groaned, elbow supporting your weight as you ran a hand over your face. “Does Temari know?”

“You’re still alive,” Kankuro said, “so no.”

That earned a little dry laugh from you, a spark of mirth, and it was gone. You looked up through a crack in your fingers. “He looked happy this morning when you saw him, right?”

Kankuro’s expression sobered a bit as he looked into your worried face. “Of course.”

You sighed, relieved.

Kankuro scooped another egg onto his plate. “You gonna go see if he’s still happy?”

“He’s busy.” Both your arms folded on the table. You looked out the window at the faraway blue sky. “I don’t want to bother him.”

In truth, you had no idea what you were supposed to do after sex. Icha Icha was coming up dry on that front; the couples usually lazed in bed or fell asleep together and the time skips gave you no idea what was meant to happen the day after.

“You’re too timid, sis.” Kankuro reached over and pinched your cheek as you grumbled. “Don’t worry about that; we bug him all day with little things. He always says he doesn’t mind. Breaks up the monotony of the day.”

You smiled to yourself. “I don’t know …”

“Both of you think too much,” Kankuro said. “Do you even think last night would have happened if my brother was so sensitive to everything you did? Stop worrying.”

You chuckled. “Okay, okay. I’ll go myself.”

“That a girl.”

You straightened your back as you neared Gaara’s office. Despite your nerves, you did want to see him again.

“Do I look all right, Chuuyou?” You asked.

He blinked, as though surprised you would expect a reasonable answer about fashion from a shinobi. “The skirt complements your legs very well, my lady.”

You nodded, assured. You had opted for your precious fishnets again, with wedged sandals and a skirt to soften their effect. Would everything be different post-coitus? For better or worse? You let yourself into his office.

“Gaara?” You sweetened your voice as the door creaked open.

Two other Sand ninjas flanked Gaara’s desk. Their heads raised when you entered. You met Gaara’s eye immediately, who stiffened upon seeing you.

“Hello, gentlemen,” You said. “I would like a minute alone with my fiancée.”

The ninja exchanged glances. You watched in mild amusement as they obeyed without a word from Gaara and exited.

“They are instructed to listen to you now as well,” Gaara said as the door closed, reading the question on your face. “I thought it appropriate, as you will be a part of my family from now on.”

Butterflies fluttered in your chest as you strode to his desk. You will be a part of my family. You admired your cactus gift now present atop it, now the parent of two tiny succulents flanking either sides of it.

“I apologize for leaving so abruptly,” Gaara said. “My responsibilities as Kazekage …”

“No!” You dismissed him with a nervous laugh. “Don’t apologize, it was nothing.”

“I never would have left you for anything less imperative,” Gaara said while shuffling papers.

Gaara’s fingers grazed yours as they ghosted the wood of the desk. And, upon instinct, you crossed the desk to him. He stared ahead. Rose-colored the pale in his face as he set aside a folder.

“Last night was … all right?”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.” You looped a finger around one of his. “Funny. I was going to ask you the same.”

“Nonsense.” Gaara’s grip grew firmer on your hand. “You were — are — everything a man could ask for.”

You lowered your gaze sheepishly, not knowing what to say to that.

Gaara gave an affirmative nod. “Good. At any rate, there is still much I wish for you to teach me.” He opened a drawer. You gawked at his collection of Icha Icha novels.

“You keep these in here?”

“They don’t interfere with work, I assure you.”

“I could’ve sworn I taught you enough last night!”

“Perhaps for one night,” Gaara said, “but not indefinitely.”

You giggled as he rose to admire you. A gentle smile narrowed his eyes. Gaara’s thumb brushed the side of your face. He left a kiss on your forehead.

Gaara …

“I intend to spend more time with you once my work is done,” Gaara said as he parted from you.

“I understand,” You said and, feigning tiredness, you added, “and in the meantime, I guess I’ll look to see what my father is up to.”

Gaara nodded wordlessly. You pet his hand, not quite through with the feel of his touch, before waving goodbye to him before leaving the office.

You might as well have been walking on pure air; there was nothing tethering you to the earth. Nothing at all.

The end of the month began to draw near. You, your father, and Gaara were in talks about how the two villages would intersect from now on. Father was willing to split his Cyclone down the middle and gift you some of the members, but you weren’t too sure. There were certain classified documents he promised you could now read and, if you deemed it wise, share with Gaara. Those you were more interested in; if you could assist in the coming together of your two villages in any way, that was how you wanted to occupy your time. The diplomacy enthralled you.

But it wasn’t because you didn’t appreciate the effort; Father hadn’t been this warm toward you since the days before your mother had died. It made you feel precious to see him grow incensed about the attack at the beach. You had to suppress laughter when he promised he would send his best to hang your attacker at a town square, slice him into pieces (whatever suited his mood that day) until you steered him on to a different subject. You often had your breakfasts with him now, where he either asked you about your days with Gaara’s family or reminisced about the good old days of being a shinobi (whenever those were, but you knew better than to interject).

And, of course, there was the ever-elusive oasis.

You asked Father if he had told Gaara anything about your village’s greatest secret, but his answers were always vague. Supposedly, he was saving the juiciest information for last.

“He’s told me nothing,” Gaara said during one breakfast Father hadn’t roped you into, “and I think it’s because I haven’t asked. I don’t wish to seem too eager.”

“Well, they can have it,” Temari had said, twirling her fork. “I’m not really that curious about some puddle of water in the middle of the desert — no offense,” she added to you with an apologetic flash of a smile. “I just care about how much of a precedent this will set for other villages we’ve rivaled with.”

“Temari’s right,” Baki said before turning to Gaara. “Excellent deduction skills, Lord Kazekage; we wouldn’t want to make Lord Boutoku uncomfortable with our inquiries. The council is doing more than enough of that on their own.”

Kankuro, you noticed, had been strangely silent on the matter.

You and Gaara were sharing a room now, which you were sure was some kind of symbolic metaphor. You had few possessions to move in besides things that were left in your closet; the clothes you had brought with you to Sunagakure, the clothes you’d bought with Temari, simple knick knacks. Gaara was more than liberal with his personal space and seemed to welcome the intrusion.

You woke one morning — ready to retch. You tore the sheets off of you and sprinted to the bathroom. You ducked your head in the toilet and vomited until you dry-heaved.

You collapsed to the side with a groan. You wiped your mouth and flushed it away.

“Are you all right, my lady?” one of the servants asked, her voice muffled through the closed door.

“I’m — I’m fine!” You rubbed your chest, stiff and aching from the retching.

What was this all about? You hadn’t eaten anything out of the ordinary? In fact, you’d barely eaten anything at all the past few days. Nothing beyond what was necessary to sustain you. Your mind had been on things far more urgent than food. How could you —

A sharp, cold chill ran over you.

No … it can’t be.

… It could.

Leaving out your first night with Gaara, the others had been … extensive. And sorely lacking in protection.

Oh. Oh —

“Damn you, Jiraiya-sensei!” You hissed as you scampered to your feet.

This wasn’t supposed to happen! His characters never used protection! What a fantasy!

But you should’ve known better, after all the stories noble women had shared with you about their accidental pregnancies. Some had even fallen pregnant on their cycle. All of these cautionary tales had impelled the younger ones to be more careful. You had not been careful.

You were pregnant.

Your head spun as you faced yourself in the mirror, ready to … you didn’t know. Laugh maniacally? Cry? Be … happy?

Happy?

You brushed a hand over your belly. Could it be possible you were growing life there at that very moment? Your child? Gaara’s child? You would be a mother? All of these casualties formed chaotic webs inside your mind, one string falling after the last. Your overactive brain flashed images of you and Gaara and children that looked like both of you. A family. A proper family …

Worry was replaced with rising elation, like a morning sun coming to bring clarity. What if you were pregnant? Wouldn’t it be a good thing? And the wedding … no one would ever know you had gotten pregnant before; in no way would you start showing before the time came.

Who would you tell? Who could you tell? Temari? Would she be upset with you?

You wished, more than anything, to have your mother.

She would know what to do. You felt a strange kinship with her suddenly; was this what it was like for her when she had discovered her pregnancy? Your mind went a mile a minute. You knew who you could tell.

Finally, you stepped out of the bathroom to see serving ladies and Chuuyou looking concerned.

“I’m fine, really!” You assured. Your mind was made up. “Chuuyou.”

“Yes, my lady?” his soothing voice hit your ear.

“I need to see my father.”

“Ahh, and if it isn’t my favorite daughter.”

Chuuyou stepped aside so you could enter your father’s room. The windows were drawn to let in the morning sun. Tendrils of steam curled into the air from his teacup. All of this was contradicted by him fanning himself on one of the couches.

“Hello, Father,” You greeted.

“Come, come.” He centered the tray on the table.”And to what do I owe this early meeting? I wasn’t expecting to see you for a few hours more.”

“Well, uh.” You watched your father’s hands dance around the tea. He poured you a cup and offered it to you. You accepted it with a tight smile. “I have something to tell you.”

Father sipped his tea. “I’m all ears.”

“Well …” You lowered your gaze to your mug, the steam heating your chin. “I woke up feeling sick this morning —“

“Oh, don’t tell me.” Father snapped his fan closed with a chuckle. “You inherited your weak stomach from your mother. Shame, shame. The woman was my entire world, but the poor thing could be so —“

“I think I may be pregnant.”

…

Breeze whipped the curtain hems with a howl. Chuuyou seemed to take in a sharp breath in the corner, unseen by you; You only had eyes for Father. He’d become a statue, facing you without seeing.

“Pregnant?” Father’s voice was hushed, low. “You’re sure?”

“We — well, I’m not entirely sure.” You twiddled your fingers. “I haven’t done any tests, but it’s a possibility …” You cleared your throat, lowering your gaze. “Highly possible. I was sick this morning, and I’ve never felt anything like that before. We can visit the infirmary together to be sure —“

“You stupid girl.”

You glanced up — hot tea seared your face.

You screamed, hands flying to your face as you doubled over to the sound of china shattering.

“Chuuyou!” Father roared, “close the curtains!”

You collapsed on the floor, still holding your face. Every part of your face burned, hot and horrible. You wailed. Curtains rustled. A hand seized the hem of your shirt to hoist you to your feet.

“Get up — GET UP — look at me!” Father snarled, shaking you.

You obeyed with a frightened whimper. Your blurred vision of Father struggled to focus in the darkness. “Father — father, please —!”

“What did I ever do for the gods to curse me with you?” he yanked you closer. “I’ve been as patient as possible, but this? I am so sick of your whorish ways!”

“Father, fath —!”

“Chuuyou told me everything about your filthy little tryst with the Kazekage in his greenhouse,” Father hissed, hot breath close to your face. “Why do you think I’m here —!?”

He tossed you. You were a fool to think the couch would meet you; your back collided with the hard ground. You stumbled, fumbling away on the wet floor on wobbling hands and feet as Father advanced.

“Did you think I would be overjoyed to see you married off to our greatest enemy? Stupid girl!” He picked up another tea cup and threw it at your head. You dodged with a shriek and it split apart at the wall.

You gasped, clutching at the wall. Something came to light in your head, wedged by the horror. The greenhouse … You glanced at Chuuyou. At the same moment, he met your eye.

You had been alone with Gaara in the greenhouse. But you were never alone, not really. And Baki had been assured by his own informants the two of you hadn’t been seen. But you had been seen. But not by Matsuri. By someone who was always watching, for you had your guardian, your supposed protector.

Your shadow.

“It was you …” You whispered. “You spread the word about the greenhouse …”

Chuuyou lowered his gaze. “Yes …”

“You told him!” You pointed to Father, a set of dominoes toppling in your mind. “You set up Matsuri!”

He closed his eyes.

“Yes,” he muttered. “Once I realized you were truly falling in love with the Kazekage, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I left your side at times I knew you wouldn’t notice or care, and assured there were two Matsuris when there should have been one. I had a clone of her visit a gossip columnist in the village. I knew it would cause a scandal.” He bowed his head. “And it did.”

You shook your head, the level of scheming overwhelming to wrap your head around. “How could you?”

And one of Gaara’s closest? His precious student, of all people? But, with a sickening feeling in your stomach unrelated to the fetus growing there, you began to understand: It would appear as though Gaara was a leader, a Kage, who did not have his house in order, who could not control those closest to him. An unstable house was one easy to topple. How he must have felt in the desert, when morning had come and Gaara was still alive.

“The Sand must be defeated, My Lady —“

“Do not call me that!” You shrieked. “You have no right to call me that!”

“This village is duplicitous, it is evil!” Chuuyou went on. “All the years of humiliation, of oppression ― it cannot be undone by something so cynical as a political marriage! They must pay for the pain they have caused us.”

“You helped to sully Gaara’s reputation to spread doubt in the council.” You felt you might retch again. “To strengthen the factions already against him.”

“His reputation has already been sullied. He is a monster — he was born on —“

“And my reputation, Chuuyou?” You murmured, your heart breaking even more than you thought it could, thought it capable. “What about mine?”

Chuuyou opened his eyes only to cast his gaze to the floor, shame keeping him from lifting his chin.

“You were supposed to protect me …” Rage and sorrow toiled inside you. And he failed both times.

You felt dirty and depraved, deprived. Chuuyou, the one person you felt you could always trust even if his shadowing had been bothersome at times. But then … What kind of fool were you? Chuuyou had been chosen by your father, after all. Anyone imposed by him should have raised your alarm, should have cast doubt within you.

“The opinion of those living in the Sand will cease to matter once I have instilled myself as their ruler,” Father said. You had not forgotten he was there. You could never forget. “I was really hoping you would surprise me,” Father’s voice was low as he glowered over you. “Everything I have taught you … I was hoping you had some sound reason for delaying your task. But instead you come to me, suspicious of carrying his child. You are so pathetically predictable.”

“So it was all lies,” You said. “All of it, from the moment you came.”

“My time here has been miserable,” Father hissed. “Having to watch you play house with that thing” — he threw his hand — “and his family. I am here for one reason and one only, and that is to take matters into my own hands.”

Your eyes widened at him. It was all beginning to make sense now. The letter — it had come after the greenhouse. Your father and his Cyclone. You had thought him simply paranoid, wanting his own protection.

That was not why.

You thought of the other Oasis ninja littered all over the palace — the entire village. Perfectly poised to act. All they needed was to be given word …

“So you’ve just been —“ You struggled to get words out. “Biding your time?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Father said. “It seems, despite my intentions, I have friends in this village.” His smile was cold. “Members of the council would like to see the Kazekage’s removal.”

A cold chill. Joseki. And only the gods knew who else. No. No …!

You weren’t quick enough — Father grabbed you again.

“I would hate to kill kin,” he said. “I am giving you not a mission, but a choice. Either you kill your beloved, or you can join your mother and brother in the afterlife.”

You stared at him. Tears ran down your face. “You wouldn’t,” You whispered hopelessly. “You wouldn’t.”

The madness had returned to your father’s eyes. Dread sank you; the madness had never left him.

“It would be a shame if I had to kill my unborn grandchild as well, a blight on our family that it is.”

He dropped you and you fell sloppily to the floor. You cradled your head as it throbbed. You cracked your eyes open, sobbing in the corner as Father left the room, and Chuuyou, his sorrowful gaze lingering on you, followed him.

You hated no one more than yourself.

You had no idea how long you laid on the floor, shattered dreams and china surrounding you. Darkness and quiet swallowed up the room. Spilled tea long cold wet the bottom of your sandals. Time blurred miserably, thick and colorless, and you inferred that it must’ve been hours. You had managed to pick yourself off the floor and skulk to the room that had once been yours. Chuuyou’s loss weighed your step where he would’ve trailed them. Locking the door behind you, you waited to collapse on the bed to collapse in every other way.

You screamed into a pillow, your tears wetting the fabric. You clenched fists into its plush, and you were sure you could rip it apart, powered by nothing but anguish.

Emotions had blinded you. You were so desperate to believe your father had changed his mind you had missed the truth: he only wanted to succeed where you had failed.

He was playing along. All this time … All the while working out sinister background details with Joseki and — horror rained down on you — others to take down Gaara. Had all those times at his bedside been a lie? You couldn’t quite believe it; Father’s joy had seemed so genuine, his laughter — when was the last time you’d heard him laugh? He’d been a different person, an echo of something long lost. The memories of all those mornings evoked a different ache in you, impelling you to touch a hand on your chest. I lost the father I never had. That’s why I feel the way I do.

Chuuyou (your shadow, what a joke) had, at some point, slipped away to frame Matsuri. What was her role in this? Beside your angst lay curiosity; a part of you wanted to go to her cell and ask her yourself.

But you couldn’t. There was no time. Angst. Curiosity. Alarm. You were possibly carrying Gaara’s child — and wouldn’t be for much longer, if you didn’t do something fast. You wiped your tears with the back of your arm, releasing a shuddering breath as you rose from bed.

There was only one card you had to play: you had to tell Gaara. Now.

You picked yourself up from your self-hate, composed yourself, and left the room for the one you shared with Gaara. He had to be there by now; it was late afternoon. The last time you had turned your head to the sky, it had been periwinkle. Your head had swelled with dreams. You hadn’t wanted to die.

You lugged yourself around, giving idle hellos to maids and servants who greeted you, working past hallways now familiar to you until you made it to the bedroom door and entered.

“Gaara …!” You were relieved.

Gaara sat at the bed’s edge, one leg swung over the other. Unharmed. He raised his head to smile at you. “(Y/n). Hello. I was just waiting for you.”

You brought him into a hug. “Thank the gods …” You whispered into his sleeve.

You felt his hand still at the small of your back. “(Y/n) … There have been some issues.”

You pulled back to stare inquisitively up at him. Carefully, you asked, “What do you mean? … What types of issues?”

Gaara cast his gaze low. “Would you be opposed to remaining only in the palace?”

“Gaara.” Your brows furrowed. “What’s going on?”

Gaara still averted your gaze. “I hate asking this of you — you’ve been so sequestered already — but … There are anti-Kazekage sentiments brewing across the village.”

“Anti-Kazekage …” You trailed. Did this have to do with the greenhouse? Or your father? Or both? “Gaara, oh no … I’m sorry …”

“Don’t be,” Gaara said. “It’s as I told you: not all have come to accept me. And as there has been a significant uptick in drama lately, it was to be expected. I highly doubt it will leak to the entire village. I’ll deal with it.” He glanced up at you at last. “But I fear for your safety, especially after what took place at the beach …” He stopped, invisible brows furrowed as he appraised you. “Is something the matter?”

“Yes.” There was no point sugarcoating. This was it. You couldn’t be a coward anymore. Do the right thing for once. For your husband. For the baby. “My —“

But your tongue refused to work; it lay limp in your mouth. Your lips parted, but only breath escaped. Sound, no words.

Gaara took your hand. “Take your time. That is what Temari would always tell me when I had trouble speaking as a child.” He paused. “As a young child.”

“I’m all right,” You said, creating some distance between the two of you. “I’m — okay, really! It’s just, my —“ Again, your tongue froze. Your lips closed against your will, refusing to help you impart speech. You tried to force words out — only to remain hopelessly tongue tied. You closed your eyes with a sinking realization.

Your heart ramped. Panic set in. Oh, no. Oh no oh no.

Father’s done something to me. I can’t say it! I can hardly think !

“Are you okay?”

“Gaara …” Fear shallowed your breath. It gripped you like a child hiding from the dark, and you wished you had a teddy to hug. I’m so scared. What should I do?

“(Y/n).” Gaara’s voice was firm now.

You closed your eyes, bringing Gaara close. “No.” You shook your head. “I — I just …” You fought tears. You couldn’t tell the truth, and now you truly couldn’t. I can’t tell him — I literally can’t tell him. “I just can’t stay inside anymore! I feel so claustrophobic, but — but I always seem to be causing trouble for you … That shouldn’t be the case for someone you love.”

“No.” Gaara caressed your cheek. “If anything, I cause trouble for you.” And with all the authority of a Kage, he said, “I will address this. I’m sorry, truly, but it will only be for a few more days. No longer.”

Like you cared about living or being anywhere besides the Sand palace. Like you wouldn’t want to burrow into it and stay forever. Wordlessly, you brought him into a hug. You wanted to burrow inside him, hide in your fiancée, the only place you felt safe. Even if he couldn’t save you.

“If anything, I cause trouble for you,” Gaara said. He stroked the nape of your neck, his voice as gentle as autumn rain. “Forgive me.”

You pinched at his sleeve, a cue for him to comfort you more, and, miraculously, Gaara obliged, running a hand over your arm.

“You … could never cause trouble for me.”

“Do you think (Y/n) has been acting strangely lately?” Gaara asked.

His siblings lounged around the sitting room, accompanied by Baki. Despite the demands of their respective duties, some days were slower than others. Gaara lived for these days where he could enjoy the company of his family and friends, and he enjoyed it now, even with his concern for you.

At his inquiry, Temari stopped fanning herself. “Hm?” “I haven’t noticed anything. Though … I haven’t seen much of Lord Boutoku lately. Oh.” She sighed and rested her chin on her palm. “I hope the council’s not crowding him too much. Did you hear Ryusa kept him out all day yesterday?”

“Serves him right,” Kankuro grumbled. “Geezers. All of them. He’s got some nerve, always retiring to his room because he’s tired — like he doesn’t have servants waiting on him hand and foot.”

“I’ve heard about people having …” Gaara fought the anxiety inside of him as he reached for the term, “cold feet …”

“Certainly not, Lord Kazekage,” Baki said. “You must understand: women are mysterious creatures. They need a great deal of time to themselves.”

“I second that,” Temari said. “It’s a surprise you’re not married, Baki.”

Baki gave her a flat look. “Oh, is it?”

“Gaara,” she said, ignoring Baki, “I’m sure she’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, I’ll go check on her for you,” Kankuro said.

Gaara frowned. “But …”

Kankuro placed a hand on Gaara’s shoulder on his way out. “Big brother will take care of it. Don’t worry.”

Gaara appreciated the levity, and after a second or two nodded.

“Thank you, Kankuro.”

Kankuro made it to Gaara’s quarters. He could hear the trickle of shower water. The bed was perfectly made, along with the rest of the room. Not a hair out of place — beside your necklace on the bedside table.

Kankuro sighed. Worried about nothing, as always, Gaara. The necklace’s disk caught in the lamplight. Curiosity tugged at him. He approached the necklace. He remembered the pomp-and-circumstance that came along with Lord Boutoku bestowing it on you. The whole thing was cheesy, but … sweet. He knew how much you loved the thing, were never seen without it. Maybe the old man wasn’t so bad. Crazy, but not bad.

Kankuro grazed the necklace’s face — he misjudged it, though, and it clanked to the floor.

“Woops.” He knelt down to retrieve it, only to see its disk had cracked open.

His eyes widened. “Oh no,” he hissed. “No!”

Kankuro, what the fuck did you —?

Glistening black caught his eye. The necklace had broken apart at its center like a metaphorical heart, allowing something to … seep from it.

Something was inside the necklace.

He leaned forward to further inspect it.

Your hands ran absentmindedly over your body. The hot water did nothing to change the corpse-cold temperature of your skin. With numb fingers, you shut the water off, your hair dripping over the valve.

You felt othered from your own body, trapped in it with no choices, no resolution. The clock ticked imminently to doomsday in your mind. When would Father attack? Would he make you watch it as punishment?

I hope he kills me first. I do not want to see what he does next.

You palmed your stomach and imagined the fetus occupying your womb. The only thing anchoring you from life, and you had even failed this life before it was even born.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Only a few days ago, you were reeling at the prospect of marrying Gaara, only sooner you were imagining starting a family. What a risible delusion. What a farce.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You left the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself. A new set of dry clothes lay folded for you, and after drying off, you dressed. Fresh clothes. Soft. Flowery-scented shampoo, soap. The warmth of the clothes failed to penetrate your skin, much like the shower water had. You felt carved, rounded out and empty, like a shell whose creature had long since slithered away.

You reached for your necklace — it was gone.

What? Your reverie cleared enough for you to ponder. Had you misplaced it? Remembering one moment from another had become a struggle. What had you done with it?

Unless it was taken?

Your eyes widened. Panic shattered the reverie completely. What if Father had taken it, or had someone do it?

You exited the room, head swinging either way. Where would you look? The only place that came to mind was the sitting room. You headed there, descended the stairs to the last floor —

“Has anyone seen my —?”

Gaara was there, waiting for you. And Temari and Kankuro. And Baki. And a dozen other sand ninja.

You froze on the stairs.

Kankuro, blank-faced, lifted his hand: your necklace chain roped around his fingers and hung there. “Looking for something?” He turned half of the necklace’s broken face and the poison dripped blood-black dots onto the floor.

Your body, flushed from running, ran corpse-cold again. “I …”

“(Y/n) …” Gaara said. “What is this?”

Your throat was too constricted to help form words. A thousand knives seemed to hold you in place.

“An incredibly powerful agent, I’d say,” Kankuro finished for him in a detached, clinical voice, though nothing could conceal the cold fury underneath. “Extracted from the Red Spine plant. Grows from her side of the desert. I’ve even read about it … You would’ve been dead in seconds, Gaara.”

You shook your head wildly. “No, Gaara, Kankuro — I can explain …!”

“So that’s why Boutoku’s here,” Temari said under her breath. You could see the whites of her knuckles from where you stood. Shadows shrouded her eyes before she fixed you with a murderous glare. “You planned to poison him.”

There was no air in your lungs. “No … no …. Wait, I — please —“

“This whole time …” Kankuro’s anger simmered under his breath, barely held back. “It’s all been a ruse. You were waiting for us to let our guards down —“

“No!”

“I knew something was off!” Temari roared, a hysterical edge to her voice now. “I knew something was wrong! This whole time — and when you woke up in the infirmary and flipped out about the necklace being gone! You thought we’d found out!”

Tears were streaming down your face now. You tried to move your mouth helplessly to reveal the truth, but no words were forthcoming. As Father designed, your tongue rolled and failed you.

It doesn’t matter. I knew. I agreed to all of this. All of it.

“There must be some explanation.” Gaara’s voice was measured, but even you could detect the hint of desperation in his tone. “A misunderstanding …?”

You kept moving your mouth, but you were sure you only appeared stammering and pathetic, grasping at straws to craft into lies. Your legs failed; you slumped to a step. You caught Baki’s eye, quietly pleading, but disappointment seemed to keep him silent.

“There isn’t, Gaara.” Kankuro took a step. You’d never seen him look so imposing; his face paint rendered him monstrous. “She’s been wearing that fucking thing since she got here, since I brought her to you —!”

Kankuro threw the necklace, emptied of its contents, into your face. You yelped, catching it with trembling hands. Temari’s

hands shook, aching, probably, for a weapon to strike you with.

“You snake!” Kankuro hissed. “After everything —!”

“Gaara …” You looked up — and your heart fell to pieces.

Gaara was a stone, but his eyes were lined with moisture. You had brought him to near tears.

You had done this.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Baki asked. “If you’ve anything at all to say.”

“Please, Gaara …” You were crawling away from the stairs now, toward them. “Please, please …”

Save me.

Gaara turned away from you. His expression was cold.

“Take her.”

“No!” You screamed as ninja advanced to grab you. You kicked as you were hoisted to your feet. “No, you can’t, Gaara!” You were being thrust through the threshold when your voice ripped from your throat: “I’M PREGNANT!”

The shinobi paused, turned to Gaara for guidance.

Gaara searched your eyes, his expression reserved in his desperation for this to be true.

“Please,” You sobbed. “It’s true … You can’t do this. You know it’s possible.”

He turned around, this time his back to you. “She’ll be given a test to confirm whether this is true. We can no longer take her on her word. We’re done here … Take her.”

You sobbed miserably as you were dragged away. Temari and Kankuro’s words filtered through your awareness, but nothing registered.

“Matsuri needs to be released, we need to go get her —“

“We have to deal with Boutoku now!”

“I can’t believe this —“

But it all fell away as you lolled your head to the side. Brutal daylight hit your face as you were dragged from the palace’s entrance, and through blurry eyes, you watched the place that had become your home grow farther away. Nothing but a dream.

#gaara x reader #gaara x you #gaara x y/n #gaara smut #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #naruto smut #my work

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