#love that the old man at the garden thought i would be able to grow these i'll try my best

[hightaled]

i got two horseradish plants, an orach mountain spinach thats grown to seed, and an amaranth for FREE

[fayes-fics]

The Secrets We Keep: Pt I

Part II >>

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t mean they can’t surprise you…

Warnings: none yet… fluff and angst. Childhood friends, yearning, arranged marriage, kissing. Pt II will contain a warning/rating change.

Word Count: 5.1k (this part)

Authors Note: Part 1 of 2. My longest gestating WIP! It’s been more than 18 months since I received a request for this secret diary fic. Tulip Anon, I have no idea if you still follow me, but I hope you think I did your detailed request justice. I won't post your ask yet, as it contains spoilers for the second half. Betaed by the awesome @colettebronte, who I can’t thank enough. I’m in the process of writing Pt II, so there will be a gap between instalments. Enjoy! 🫶

-i-

For as long as you can remember, you have loved one man secretly. To the point that you cannot imagine your life without a deep, burning affection simmering in your very core, as fundamental to your existence as drawing air into your lungs.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Your families have been neighbours in Mayfair and Kent for many generations—two aristocratic dynasties that, despite enduring friendships, have never seen intermarriage. There have been attempted matches down the years, according to family lore, but nothing came to fruition. 

So when you were brought to Aubrey Hall as a mere babe in arms, the eldest daughter, there were many good-natured jokes that Anthony’s future wife had been born. But the Viscount, wonderful as he is, was not the man who stole your heart just a few short years later. A bright sunny day in June that you suspect Benedict may not even be able to recall, but you can with perfect clarity, even now, some fifteen years later. 

He picked you as the first person to join his team for a round of garden games. Paying you heed and ensuring you were included, patiently showing you the ropes and applauding your achievements, ignoring the ridicule from the other twelve-year-old boys for letting a girl - and a little five-year-old at that - join in their games. 

Ever since that day, all you have ever seen is his enormous heart and steadfast empathy: always the one to reach out to those excluded, to be supportive, and to love harder and more expansively than his siblings. Thus, unsurprisingly, he became the focus of your singular devotion—a childish adoration transmuting into something more profound and complicated as you matured.

On your fourteenth birthday, your mother gifted you a thick notebook. And it became your refuge, the private canvas on which you outlet your innermost secrets and thoughts. The beautiful but now slightly battered, silk-covered tome is still your most treasured possession even now, more than six years later, so close to filled now, with only a couple of blank pages left. Never long from your hands, but when it must be, carefully stashed under the floorboards of your bedroom. Its pages the reflection of a naive, growing heart. There is one person who features frequently on its crammed, jumbled pages. Sketches of his handsome face, mostly from memory, interspersed with ardent notes and poems that, while they may not mention his name, are written for him. Adoration writ large in every pen and pencil stroke.

Little were you to know that the secrets you keep within its hallowed pages would one day alter the course of your life…

-ii-

It's the evening of the Bridgerton Ball, and usually, you would be brimming with anticipation for such an occasion, a chance to see the man who holds your most ardent admiration. Instead, you find yourself glum, mechanically stepping into the dress your ladies' maid Rachel assists you with, staring blankly into the vanity mirror as she adorns your hair with jewels. Still reeling from your father's shocking announcement the previous day.

The inheritance of a European title had seen him spend eighteen months abroad. In his absence last spring, you were able to persuade your more indulgent mother to delay your societal debut—a yearning to be free in the ways you know no woman really can be for long. A compounding factor was spending the summer in the Highlands with her sister, your Aunt Eliza, a spirited, independent woman who taught you many things and encouraged your artistic whims. And when you were back in London, your mother’s somewhat inattentive running of the house meant you were often able to slip away in the evenings, spending your time deepening your passion for art. Frequenting galleries and conversing with artists led to you being drawn into the bohemian, artsy underbelly of Bloomsbury, a beguiling, exotic contrast to Mayfair. Another secret you keep.

Upon his return to England, your father was not best pleased to learn that not only had you been allowed to skip the previous Season, but Eliza had also taught you to fish, fence and hunt—most unladylike pursuits in his opinion. He, therefore, made it his mission to ensure not only would you debut this year but also a swift match should be made, lest you “get other fanciful, dangerous ideas”.

Perhaps that is why, yesterday, nary two weeks into your first season, he abruptly announced over afternoon tea that he had secured a match for you and the man in question would be dining with you all that evening. A deal no doubt brokered in a private gentleman’s club as if you were merely chattel to be traded.

Revulsion filled your every fibre as you were introduced to Lord Farringdon a few hours later. A wiry man twenty years your senior with a hawk-like countenance and a disdainful disposition. Apparently, a brilliant intellectual mind but accompanied by a mercurial, malevolent reputation. You had read in Whistledown rumours about his mistreatment of his household staff and his previous wife. A forlorn figure who became a recluse long before she died of consumption tragically young. The idea of being betrothed to this cold, abusive man turned your stomach—a seemingly outsized punishment for your rebellion. Once the man left, you had begged and pleaded with your father to reconsider the arrangement, but sadly, your appeal fell on deaf ears. 

And so here you are. Going to a ball at which your father plans to announce your engagement. The stately beauty of Bridgerton House is not as heartening of a sight as it typically is. Tonight, it feels more akin to a gallows.

As soon as you arrive, you are scanning the crowds for the only friend you know will understand just how ghastly your predicament is—Eloise Bridgerton. A kindred spirit whose interest in marriage is as scant as your own. Bonding over your similar yearnings for freedom, you have been good friends since you were little, many a day spent together as children running through the Kentish fields, escaping expectation and flouting convention.

Acutely aware of time running out until your father speaks up, you fiddle distractedly with your fan, impatiently awaiting her entrance.

“For heaven's sake, y/n, please cease your fidgeting!” your mother chastises under her breath, snatching away the item. “I do not see why you are so agitated. Tonight is to be a wonderful occasion for you!”

A myriad of caustic comments are on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down. The last thing you want is to draw attention, and you certainly don't want to be gossip fodder; these ballrooms are a veritable hotbed of eavesdropping if Whistledown is anything to go by. 

When the collective Bridgerton family finally enter their ballroom as hosts, however, your eyes can't help but drift to Benedict instead. A reflex from years of longing, even though it is his sister,  arm looped into his, whose counsel you seek tonight. You excuse yourself to fetch a lemonade as soon as you spy a window of opportunity—Eloise standing alone, looking excessively bored. Abandoning your glass, you hurry over to her.

“I have news…”  You try to keep your voice neutral but grab her arm and practically drag her away from anyone within earshot.

“Well, it cannot be good if you are willing to rip my arm off to impart it,” she remarks dryly as you lead her down a hallway.

“It is not,” you pull a face that you know will convey to her the gravity of what you need to divulge.

With a nod of understanding and a look to a nearby footman, she leads you beyond him into an area of the house off-limits for guests. 

“Tell me…” her tone is sincere as she ushers you into the library and closes the door.

“My father has seen fit to arrange a marriage for me. He is planning to announce it tonight, right here at your family ball!”

She says nothing, only a sympathetic noise as she pulls you into a consoling hug. The emotions you have been tamping down for hours escape as a couple of bitter tears, her arms banding tight around you. You are not sure how long, but you stand in a hug, just grateful for her steadfast support.

“What am I to do?” you whisper.

“I do not know,” she confesses. “Have you tried to reason with your father?”

“A hopeless cause…”  

Her mouth twists in understanding, knowing you will have put up a spirited defence as much as she would have. She detangles from you and goes to a nearby brandy decanter.

“It's the very least you deserve, frankly,” she points out, handing you a glass and pulling you into a loveseat with her, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, clinking her glass against yours in a silent but bittersweet toast about your seemingly futile situation.

-iii-

Half an hour later, your parents are distracted across the far side of the room with friends when a large hand grabs yours out of the blue. You startle when you realise it is Benedict, your heart suddenly in your mouth. Before you know it, you are wordlessly being pulled out of the French doors behind you and into the night air.

“Where are we going!?” you demand when you recover from the initial surprise, his gloved hand tugging yours along through the darkened gardens. 

“Shh, make haste, we must not be seen,” he hushes you but keeps moving, furtive and fast, your feet having to take extra steps to keep up with his long stride over the lush, dewy grass.

“Benedict…” you try again once you round a thick hedge into the rose garden.  “What is going on?”

He slows a little but does not relinquish his tight hold. Gravel path now crunching under his boots as the honeyed scent of damask hangs heavy in the air. 

“Eloise told me,” is all he offers. “So we are escaping.”

“W-we are?” you stutter, frowning, a claggy tumult behind your ribs at his use of ‘we’. 

“Yes! Or at least we would be if you would keep quiet… please…” he amends, sounding a touch contrite about his initial brusqueness, but speeding up again, headed straight for a small wooden door in a high stone wall, almost hidden behind long, draping ropes of ivy, glowing silver in the moonlight.

When you reach it, he releases his grip on your hand and shoulders the door open with considerable force. The weathered wood creaks loudly, almost splintering under the duress. He signals to the inky blackness of the deserted mews behind Bridgerton House.

“It is now or never, y/n,” he warns as you look back at the house, lit up with the life of the ball inside. “So what is your choice?”

He may be presenting it as an option, but really, you know there would only ever be one answer. You would accompany him to the ends of the earth if he so much as asked. And so wordlessly, you step through the doorway and into the narrow street beyond.

“Good choice,” he compliments as he follows suit and closes the door behind him. “You may stay at my friend Granville’s tonight,” he offers sagely, “I have not seen him in a while, but I will explain when we arrive; I am certain he can provide shelter.”

“Benedict, I already know Henry… Quite well, in fact.”

He looks taken aback as if it had not occurred to him that you may move in the same clandestine circles as he does. To be fair, you have always been discreet in your outings, and it’s not something you have divulged to anyone, including Eloise. Still, what confounds you more is why he is suddenly so seemingly invested in seeing you escape from your predicament. It doesn't entirely make sense.

“Well, then,” he cuts into your brief reverie, “you know Henry is a generous host and discreet about the affairs of others. Your father will not come looking for you there. It will buy some time to figure out what to do next. To ensure your freedom.”

“Freedom?” You scoff. “Benedict, as much as I may wish it, there is no other path open to me. Tonight is merely a delay tactic at best. The only way to stop my father’s pursuit of this union is if I marry another….”

The admittance of this truth out loud makes you restless, belatedly realising that it truly is your only way out. You stalk towards the main road, the faint glow of the street lamp guiding your way over the cobbles. You soon hear Benedict’s footsteps behind.

“That is ridiculous!” he exclaims as he attempts to catch up with you. “There are other options available to you…”

“Such as?” you whip around, raising your hands, countering his assertion. When he falters, you return to walking, throwing a tart addition over your shoulder: “Unlike you, a man, I do not have the freedom of choice.” 

“You should always have a choice…” he counters earnestly, still catching up to your furious pace.

“Should and do are different things, Benedict. You do not even know how lucky you are!” You add bitterly, rounding onto the main street.

A gust of wind causes you to pause and a shiver to run down your arms, your gauzy dress not enough to ward off the unseasonable chill in the air tonight. Ever the observant gentleman, Benedict shucks his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. Uncharitably, your ire makes you attempt to shake it off, even while knowing it is intended purely as a chivalrous gesture. You are surprised when he seems to grasp your shoulders tighter, holding the heavy velvet in place. It is cloaked in his woodsy, citrus scent, your vexed state turning into an entirely different type of flush as he crowds closer to you.

“My birth has allowed me certain privileges, I concede,” he replies, his stare seemingly far away as you are unable to look anywhere but the dampness of his bottom lip, shimmering slightly in the lamplight. Then he tilts his head down to meet your eyes. “But that does not mean I am able to have everything I wish for in life, y/n…”

Your tongue burns to ask what it is that he wants but cannot have, yet you do not allow yourself to pry. But seeing the wistfulness in his gaze deflates your irritation, your long-held adoration for this man taking over, making you sigh.

‘You deserve the world, Benedict….’

His face morphs into one of breathtaking intensity, and you realise, horrified, you spoke those thoughts aloud. 

“As do you, y/n,” he murmurs, eyes sincere, your heart beating wildly as his chest vibrates against your own. 

The upheaval of the last day, the man you secretly adore abetting a somewhat daring escape, your heated exchange of words, the lateness of the hour, and the feel of his tall, lithe body pressed against yours…. It's all a dangerous cocktail that culminates in you being utterly impetuous, pushing up onto your tiptoes and mashing your mouth against his with no thought.

His lips are plush and warm, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. It's like a cannon firing in your chest as his warm mouth opens yours. Suddenly, you are urgently taking from each other. A sweeping tidal wave through you obliterates any kissing experiences you have ever had before. It’s a desperate slide of tongues, a passionate continuation of your sparring. His hands are like a hot brand through your thin dress as they sweep around to your back, tugging you into him, his heat, scent and taste overwhelming.

But all too soon you are pulling apart, a need for air in your lungs overriding the spontaneous, reckless moment. For a few seconds, you stare at each other, breathing each other's panted air, hands still grasping onto each other, almost confused by what just occurred… until the whinny of a passing horse carriage has you springing apart as if burned. 

Realisation engulfs his entire being. “Oh god! Please, please forgive me!” he stutters, backing away, holding his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, almost tripping in his haste to put space between you, even though it was you who kissed him. “Please, just go to Granville,” he counsels rapidly before turning heel and disappearing into the night, leaving you standing alone, unmoored and breathless, utterly turned upside down.

-iv-

You drift home in a daze, your family’s London residence only a few hundred yards away. Your escape plans are forgotten in the haze of tumbling thoughts about that blistering kiss. How fervently and immediately Benedict had kissed you back, how wonderful it felt to be caged in his arms….  Climbing into bed and passing out, still bewildered. In fact, it’s only the rude awakening of your bedroom door slamming open the following morning that brings you crashing back to your senses.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Your father roars, holding aloft what looks like the latest copy of Whistledown. “You have brought shame upon our family and likely ruination to your prospects!!”

Utterly alarmed, you sit bolt upright, blinking, taking a few moments before you can find your voice. “What are you referring to, father?”.

He glares at you, then throws the paper onto your bed and stalks out of the room without another word, puce with outrage. You know there will be crossed words at the breakfast table. The sight of your name on the crisp ivory page immediately draws your eye, and your stomach plunges as you read the paragraph:

The annual Bridgerton Ball last night was, once again, resplendent. A triumph that the dowager Countess can be rightfully proud of. Although less contentment could likely be gleaned from the behaviour of her offspring. The second eldest of whom was allegedly seen escaping into the unlit gardens hand in hand with none other than the most reluctant of this season's debutantes, the spirited Miss Y/n Y/l/n. Perhaps the rebellious Miss will not have to endure many more of society’s events that she so patently abhors, should a proposal from the most wayward of Bridgerton sons be forthcoming? I, for one, however, Dear Reader, am not holding my breath…

Hiding in your room as long as you can, hunger drives you to join the frosty lunch table, apologising for inadvertently ruining your father’s plans to announce your betrothal and meekly explaining the incident with Benedict as a complete misunderstanding. It was merely an old friend helping you to gather some air before the big news was to be proclaimed. His taking your hand was out of benevolent concern, nothing more, and when you suddenly felt unwell, he chivalrously saw you the few hundred yards home. The lies feel odd on your tongue, your thoughts only of Benedict’s mouth and body moulded hotly to yours as your father lectures about appropriate behaviour for a young lady and your family’s long-standing friendship with the Bridgertons not being an excuse for a lackadaisical attitude to impropriety.

“There is nothing else to be done now—I must secure you a special licence to be wed tomorrow before Lord Farringdon hears about this,” he decrees with finality, his tone brokering no argument.

You slump silently into your chair, dread creeping through every cell, silently chastising yourself for not following Benedict’s advice and running away. If only you hadn't been impetuous and kissed him, you might have been in your right mind to do so. It feels cruel that the one moment you chose to throw caution to the wind is the one moment that sealed a worse fate.

-v-

That afternoon, your mother ushers you to the Modiste, paying handsomely for a very rushed wedding dress. Something simple that can be finished at such a late hour. It will only be your family in attendance anyway; so much else seems unnecessary. As you stand forlornly upon the raised dias, ivory silk tacked up around you with pins; your mother announces she needs to depart to secure other last-minute arrangements, leaving your trusty ladies' maid to accompany you home once alterations are complete.

“You do not look a happy bride…” Madam Delacroix mutters after the tinkle of the bell above the door signals her departure.

“Your observation skills are certainly not lacking,” you respond quietly, craning to double-check that Rachel, your maid, is out of earshot, sitting listlessly in the front of the store, staring out of the window.

“I do read Whistledown, my dear,” she remarks delicately, “and this does not appear to be a dress someone marrying a Bridgerton would wear.”

Your stomach vaults at the implication; the thought of marrying Benedict has your heart going haywire, even as you know it would never happen. The crestfallen look as your mind flits to the awful man you will be marrying instead is one you cannot hide as she meets your eyes in the reflection.

“It is not indeed,” you sigh, “but Whistledown has rather accelerated my unfortunate fate. Hence the rushed dress…” you gesture to your outfit.

“Mr Bridgerton is a friend?” she digs delicately.

“Lifelong,” you admit, “but Lady Whistledown could not have been more erroneous in her assertions…”

“That you and Mr Bridgerton are together? Or that he would marry you?” 

You look away from the mirror and down to where she is crouched by your hem on your left side, taken back not only at her astuteness but her drive for information. Almost as if she were Whistledown herself.

“I do not mean to pry,” she modifies, “merely to understand your predicament. Maybe I can be of assistance? I have privately counselled many a young lady on the eve of their wedding. Be it a happy occasion or not. And have kept many a secret of the Ton. ‘Tis the reason my business is so successful, Miss y/l/n. A good modiste can be a trusted confidante.”

“W-we are not together,” you stumble out without meaning to.

“But you wish to be? Or perhaps something has happened between you?”

Your eyes dart furtively, and your cheeks heat at the memory, but you say nothing. 

“You need say no more,” she chuckles and offers a knowing smile that appears as much reminiscent as sympathetic.

You rapidly attempt to deflect. “I do not wish to be married to anyone, really. I do find it so unfair a man is free to pursue his passions in life, but merely due to my sex, I am not.”

There is a nod of understanding, and she stands up with her hands on her hips. “I keep a certain array of refreshments for special clients such as yourself.” She nods to what looks like a liquor cabinet partially obscured behind a curtain at the back of her shop. “If you can dismiss your maid, I can assist you on your last night as an unmarried lady.”

The suggestion is too intriguing to refuse. And Rachel will greatly appreciate your pin money.

A few hours later, you are sat upon a circular conversation chair, Gen, as she insists you call her, pouring you another snifter of brandy.

“Tell me, what is your passion?” she inquires, her polished French accent slipping a little, sounding far more East End than Parisian. Something about that makes you like her more.

“Art,” you answer wistfully, “not that I have many opportunities to practice beyond a private notebook. But it is my most prized possession.” You gesture to your pelisse, hanging on a nearby hook. “I have it with me always. I have sewn a secret pocket into all of my coats myself.”

“Ingenious! ” She declares. “You shall have my job one day!”

You laugh, feeling light for the first time in what feels like days, as Gen leans in, raising an eyebrow. “I can also see well why you may have bonded with Mr Bridgerton…”

You giggle and lower your eyes, taking a fortifying sip.

“But it is not just that, is it?” Her tone is thoughtful, delicate even, as she continues: “A life outside the boundaries of so-called polite society can be so very beguiling, can it not? I have seen you, Miss y/l/n, at parties in Bloomsbury…”

A panicked bile rises as your head snaps up.

“As I said before, I am always discreet,” she reassures, “your secret is more than safe with me,” she winks before taking a generous sip from her glass.

Possibly, it's the alcohol, but her understanding of your predicament and the fact she has, unbeknownst to you, moved in similar circles brings an odd sense of relief. Having a confidante, someone to finally share your secrets with, albeit a somewhat stranger, lifts a burden from your shoulders. Wonderful as Eloise is, being the sister of the man who secretly holds your heart is not without complications in many ways.

“Another?” she chimes animatedly, holding aloft the bottle.

You cannot resist that offer.

-vi-

It’s close to midnight when Gen loops her arm in yours as she guides you, quite inebriated herself, away from the hackney cab to the familiar abode of one Henry Granville. Her declaration that a party is what you need on your last night of freedom is definitely not one you would dispute. A myriad of heightened emotions roil inside as you await the door being answered: contentment at your newly cemented friendship with Gen, bewildered every time you think of your kiss with Benedict and abhorrence for tomorrow. 

As you wander into the debauched tableau of a party in full swing: the air thick with smoke and merriment, the sounds of pleasure, people consorting together, a hedonistic swirl of self-expression unfurling all around you—it all consolidates into a yen to be reckless. Take part this time rather than just observe as you have before. Alcohol mutating the simmering rage about the injustice of your circumstance into a yearning to experience pleasure, especially physical. To get lost in sensation on your one last night of liberty.

So when you encounter Sir Simms - Matthew - friend to your older brother, renowned rake, but quite handsome, you throw caution to the wind. He seems delighted to see you, instantly flirtatious and familiar in a way you would rebuff any other night but this one. Whispering in your ear how very bold you are to be at such a bohemian event and pondering what other adventurous experiences you might be willing to indulge in. At one point Gen pulls you aside, her breath sweetened with fermented fruits, as she leans in and counsels you to be cautious. But you rebuff her concerns, swatting away her hold and returning to Matthew, allowing him to pull you into a kiss. 

It’s not the same as with Benedict; your mind screams at the altogether more jarring experience. A wet invasion of tongue that is less pleasant and certainly doesn’t fire anything inside you the way that he had. Merely kindling a defiant resolve to rage against the dying light of your freedom. And so when he slurs into your ear, you consent to his invitation upstairs, knowing fully the implications of what will transpire—feeling vaguely detached from yourself as he pulls you along by the hand towards the staircase. 

Suddenly, your field of vision is filled with dark blue velvet, a strong arm wrapping around you, caging you into a warm body mass, disconnecting your hand from Matthew’s—crossed words in two male voices. A momentarily confusing blur that only begins to make sense when you tilt your chin up… and the breath is quite stolen from your lungs.

Benedict.

At first, it feels like a cruel mirage, the man you most desire here to stymie your last gamble at impulsivity. His hold is strong as you sense Matthew shrink away, defeated by Benedict’s threat to expose some dalliance or other. But as he whisks you to an empty room within the house, all you feel bubbling up is anger.

“Stop trying to rescue me!” you rail, reeling out of his grip and stamping your foot to emphasise your point, uncaring that you may be behaving more akin to a petulant toddler.

“Stop making foolish decisions!” he lobbies back after a fleeting wounded look.

You glare at him momentarily before turning your back and staring out of the window into the inky blackness of Granville’s garden, frustration prickling a tear in the corner of your eye.

Behind you, there is a sigh; then his voice turns softer. “Why did you not follow my advice? I came here this morning only to be informed you never arrived…”

That he came to check on you weakens your bluster, although you still have no earthy idea why, once again, he is so invested in your actions. But you are not done saying your piece. 

“What does it matter now?” you bite bitterly before spinning around to face him. “Benedict, we are in Whistledown. My father would have arranged a special licence for tomorrow regardless of whether I had come here or not…”

“He did what?” he splutters, shock almost choking the words.

You square your shoulders and cross your arms defensively. “I am to be married in the morning. 11am at St George’s.” When all he offers is floored silence, you uncharitably dig the knife in. “No thanks to you...” 

Your words are like a body blow, a world of hurt in his quiet tone as he stares at the ground. “I was only trying to help.” 

Regret floods your every cell; why you would choose to lash out at him, even you don't know—so many conflicting feelings and strong liquor coursing through you.

“Please… let me return to the party,” you sigh wearily, after a beat, gesturing to his blocking your exit from the room.

“You would regret what you were about to do until your dying day,” he attests, lifting his head, a vein on his forehead pulsing as his jaw tenses.

“Perhaps,” you shrug. “But that is my burden to endure, not yours.”

“I am your friend,” he frowns, “I will always want to alleviate your burdens…”

“I do not want a friend, Benedict, not tonight. I want a beau.” If you aimed to shock him, you are successful; a cavalcade of expressions warring on his face as you plough on. “So please move so that I may continue with my most inadvisable plan….”

“No.” It's soft but unequivocal, resolute.

When you realise he is not going to budge, you throw your hands up in exasperation. “What do you want from me, Benedict?” 

There is a gruff noise in the back of his throat, and then, with two determined strides, he is pressed up against you, his breath hot on your face. Then he is kissing you, ferociously, wantonly, opening your mouth with his, his hands encircling your waist and pulling you roughly into him.

And you are lost.

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[hyp3rf1xat10ns]

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold But Knowing Lilia-

Lilia Vanrouge x Reader <3

TW: None! Tooth rotting fluff! :)

Ever since you were a kid you loved climbing trees. You would climb in them to read, to play but most importantly, you would use them to your advantage when it came to pranking others. Back in your world you were considered royalty among pranksters and class clowns alike...when you were like five. However...you had to give it up in favor of growing up as well as moving to an area with little to no trees. It saddened you to no longer be able to play pranks the way you used to. or so you thought. Until a certain Bat like Fae reignited the flame.

The morning you got back from the whole Scarabia debacle...You were exhausted. But the fact that you had a feast to look forward to was nice. Yet you'll never forget that little Fae, who looked no more then a boy, even though he had informed you of how old he was, swooped down

"Ah! You're back!"

You couldn't remember the last time you had been so scared from a harmless little prank. But...something about the boyish glee in his eyes as he saw you stumble backwards into the snow...it reminded you of how you felt when you would prank others when you were five. You brushed it off but...little did you know how close you'd become to the Fae.

A few weeks later, you decided there would be no more watching from the sidelines with pranks. You were gonna get back in the game. Whether it killed you. And who better to start with then the man who reminded you of your love of pranking. You had invited him over to Ramshackle of the guise that Malleus had dropped something one night during your constitutionals around the Ramshackle garden. Lilia responded that he would come to get it. You took that as your cue. You rush outside to the giant tree in the front of Ramshackle and when you hear footsteps, you swing down

"BOO!"

.... No one was there?....

"You'll have to try harder then that to get me Little one, Kehehe~"

Lilia had somehow made his way into the tree branch above you and swung down his face falling just eye level with yours. You screamed slightly and almost fell out of the tree, if you hadn't caught yourself in time. You safely hopped down from the tree, a slight disappointed look on your face. How rusty were you?? Lilia chuckled at you from the tree slowly floating down but not fully landing in order to be eye level with you.

"Well Well! I didn't know you had it in you to be a prankster! I would say you seem like a...noob....as you youngins call it but I see more potential then just cheap pranks. How about I take you under my wing and teach you some of my best pranks? Kehehe!~"

Lilia offering to teach you all his best pranks? You couldn't pass up the opportunity! You beamed with excitement as you nodded. Lilia chuckled at your enthusiasm. Yes he had gotten the better of you in the end, however, it wasn't too much of a big deal. Yes your revenge prank failed but...you made a friend. And maybe...that would blossom into more. But you would just have to wait and see. For now, you were just happy to have made another friend.

[screeching-bunny]

Love your stuff! Glad you’re back! Can I request what would happen if Yandere King met a specifically female reader who was thrilled to start a family with him, and give him loads of children? (I like babies…) BUT!!! Plot twist!!! Reader mostly fell in love with Yandere King first because he looked like her deceased lover (but overtime, she did love Yandere King as his own person and not as a replacement)

I think children from yandere relationships shouldn’t be punished from their parents messed up coupling. It’d be even cuter though if the children had a platonic/familial type of yandere love for mommy reader though ;)

Yandere! King x Female Reader Asks 2

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Yandere Thoughts, Bad Writing, Stalking, Reader is specifically going to be Female in this post!!!

Ask 1

You had always believed that love transcended time and space. It was a chilly autumn afternoon when you visited the local park, a place that had once been a sanctuary for you and your beloved partner who had tragically passed away three years ago. The fallen leaves crunched beneath your feet as you strolled along the familiar path, lost in the melancholy memories that this place held. As you approached the old oak tree, a place where you both had often sat, yourheart skipped a beat. There, under the dappling shade, sat a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to your former lover. His tousled glowing hair, the way he held his book, and even the way he smiled, it was as if your lover had been reincarnated.

With your breath caught in your throat. You hesitated, your emotions a whirlwind of hope and disbelief. Could it be him? You drew closer, unable to tear her gaze away from this stranger who looked so much like the love of your life. Your mind raced, trying to come to terms with the impossible. As you approached your heart bursted with disappointment the minute you heard him speak.

“What’s a beautiful woman like you doing here all alone?”

It wasn’t him, just an imposter that looked eerily similar to him. With a heavy heart you chose to engage into conversation with this man. As time went on you soon learn that he isn’t from this country but was on here for a business trip. He was a charming man and as time went on the both of you would often meet up to talk together and hang out around each other. Something that you noticed was that everytime the two of you met up his eyes would light up and he’d always stare at you with attentive eyes. You knew it was wrong to use a stranger to cope with the loss of your former lover but you couldn’t help it.

Some notable things about him was that he would get rather possessive of you when you were around other people and would often berate the people you were around but you turned a blind eye to all his red flags. Everytime you looked at him you were always reminded of your deceased partner. Whenever you saw this you would always secretly whisper in your heart that he was him. When his business trip in the country was finished he asked you to marry him and due to your grieving heart to nobody’s surprise you said yes. When it was later revealed that he was the king of a foreign land you held little to no reaction. You continued to delude yourself that he was your past lover. In summary this is probably how that conversation went:

“I know we only met a few months ago but let's get married. Also I'm the king of some faraway country.”

“K bet.”

As you and Yandere! King spent more time together, you found yourself growing fond of his personality and his affection for you. You found solace in being by his side and you were slowly able to let go of the pain caused by your ex lovers death. It wasn’t long until you got pregnant and gave birth to your first son. Currently he was around the age of eight years old and was always attached to you by the hip.

—

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the backyard. In the fading light you could see your son crouched by the edge of the garden, his small fingers carefully tending to a row of delicate, vibrant tulips. You watched him for a moment, your heart swelling with pride. At eight years old, your son had a deep connection with nature that fascinated you. He often spent hours in the garden, talking to the flowers as if they were his closest friends. His bright eyes sparkled with curiosity, and his hair danced in the breeze as he worked.

“Mom,” He called, looking up and flashing a toothy grin, “I think these tulips are just as pretty as you!”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Can you bring out your father? I’m sure he’d like to spend time with us too.”

“Sure.” His smile wavers slightly.

As he made his way inside, the once angelic demeanor he had quickly changed into something more sour. Something that almost everyone notices is that he is only kind when he is with you. His personality changes drastically whenever he is out of your vicinity. He’ll never let you know this though because he wants to maintain his good image in front of you. His face showed slight scowl as he made his way towards the office of his father. He enters the office of his father and initiates conversation.

(with a sneer) “Mother would like you to join us. Please don’t come.”

“I’ll be coming out right now to join you two.”

[sinsirellaxx]

Five times you broke the Rogue Prince’s heart

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Warning: Daemon, infidelity, miscarriage-scare, violence

Also: As always – not proofread.

The first time was shortly after you had caught him with his niece. He had followed you back to your chambers in a frenzy, his heart beating uncomfortably faster from being caught by you. He had thrown the doors open, his face softening when he saw you cry, clutching the front of your dress. He stepped closer to you, his hands in the air wanting to pull you into his chest – he felt horrible. His steps faltered when you suddenly clutched your stomach, moaning out in pain with the underlying sense of fear. Your unborn babe.

Daemon immediately called for help when you fell to your knees, rushing to your side to hold you.

In the midst of pain, you slapped his hands away, glaring at him with a fire in your eyes that he had never seen in you before. “Do not touch me! This is your fault, I hate you!” You screamed at him, interrupted by another wave of pain as you hugged your stomach protectively.

The maester and maids filled your room, your pained voice shouting at your husband to be removed. Stubborn as Daemon is he outright refused to leave your side but when the maester told him it would be better for your safety — with a trembling voice – scared of what the Rogue Prince might do – he finally left dejectedly.

The second time you broke his heart was shortly after the first. After hours of not being able to see you – of not knowing if you and his unborn child were healthy – the maester finally walked out of your room. Daemon immediately barked at the poor man, demanding to know about your wellbeing. The maester reassured him, told him that both you and the babe were alright. “But she needs rest, my lord.” When Daemon tried to enter the room, he quickly added, “I do not think she wishes to see you, my lord. If she is exposed to too much stress again, I fear the babe might not survive it this time.”

Daemon wished to scream, his hand itching on top of the pommel of Dark Sister – desperately wanting to decapitate the maester for telling him what to do. But the old man was probably right.

Turning on his heel he stormed away.

The third time you broke his heart was moons after the second incident. You were in King’s Landing again, your relationship still rocky, as you wandered through the garden of the Red Keep, your hands under your belly to support the weight. You ran across Cregan Stark – an honorable and handsome man who had you long for a husband like him. He had joined you on a walk that day, telling you stories of the north and the dire wolves– promising to show you one even if it was the last thing he’d do. Daemon had seen the two of you from inside the keep, his eyes narrowed into slits as he watched you laugh without a worry. He had never seen you that happy before. You never let your guard down around him. Laughing suited you.

Your feet tripped over something, your body stumbling forward. You were lucky Cregan had been with you, for his arms immediately shot out to stabilize you, helping you stand upright before holding your shoulders in his hands. “Is everything alright, princess?”

You blinked as you stared into his warm, worried eyes, nodding dumbly as you didn’t trust yourself to form words.

Daemon seethed, his insides brimming with envy at the close proximity and the look in your eyes – the look he had never been at the receiving end of. How dare he touch you? How dare you look at him like that.

It should have been him, to assist you. But instead, you continued your stroll through the garden with the nasty wolf by your side and a beautiful blush on your cheeks.

The fourth time you broke Daemon’s heart was moons after giving birth to your child. Daemon had been smitten with his daughter, his love for you only growing stronger.

The arrival of your child seemed to have quenched the fire between the two of you – at least that is what he thought. But he would soon find out that it wasn’t forgiveness but apathy that had broken down the tension between the two of you: you didn’t care anymore. You had come to him with a proposal – an offering.

“I know your affections lie elsewhere, my prince. If I can take a lover as well, you are free to do whatever you want with whomever you want. The only thing I ask for is the same freedom.”

The room was heavy with silence, the tension thick enough to cut through. You flinched when Daemon pushed you against the wall, his fist colliding with the hard stone next to your head. He was hurt, disappointed and livid by your proposal and the only way of coping he knew was aggression. So, he started threatening you. Threatening to take away your child – to keep you from seeing your daughter if you dared to entertain such vile thoughts again. Instead of starting to cry, as he had expected you to do, you had pushed him away and stormed out of the room, leaving him to wreck the whole room in his anger.

He was pushing you further away from him.

The fifth time you broke Daemon’s heart was when he came home after a mission in King’s Landing with you nowhere to be found. You had left and taken your daughter with you during his absence. The only thing left was a letter written in a rush.

Dear Prince Daemon,

In the midst of your absence, I take up my quill with a heart devoid of warmth, yet heavy with the weight of decision. It is with an indifference born of betrayal and disillusionment that I convey to you the choice I have made.

No longer can I bear the burden of feigned civility, nor the hollow pretense of marital devotion.

In your absence, I have taken our daughter into my care, shielding her from the bitter realities of our fractured union. It is my solemn duty as a mother to spare her the anguish of witnessing the dissolution of our bond, to shelter her from the storm that rages within our home.

Know, my lord, that this decision is not borne of rash impulse, but of a calculated assessment of my own well-being and that of our child. It is a choice made with a mind unclouded by sentimentality, guided only by the imperative of self-preservation.

May the gods grant you the strength to bear the consequences of your actions, and may you find solace in the emptiness that now pervades our once-hallowed halls.

With a heart grown cold,

The girl, who you forcefully separated from her home and whose dreams you have shattered

[karugoround]

Nagizuru au creatures ~ probably their most normal drawings ever.

🩶

Today marks one year since I made my first Nagizuru post. I never thought I would love this beast so much. Thank you all so much for enjoying this au!

Here you have a small lighthearted fic written by @draconicsparkle as a gift. It's not connected to the original story, just them celebrating a regular birthday. They spoil them too much! ⬇️⬇️

How long had it been since then? So long. Both the creation date and their escapes. But in a strange way, Hajime was glad they had experienced all those hardships and difficult times. For without them, the two of them wouldn’t appreciate the bliss they were living in nearly as much.

Hajime thought this as his one working eye stared out the window in the small kitchen. The garden was visible from here, where all kinds of flowers and plants were growing. Gardening was one of Izuru’s many talents, after all. It would be odd if it wasn’t growing splendidly.

A small smile grew as he recalled the many hours they had spent sitting in the gazebo they had built in the middle of the garden, sandwiches and lemonade in hand while the butterflies and bees flew by.

But today wouldn’t be spent in the garden. No, Hajime had other plans. Hence why he was in the kitchen earlier in the morning. Izuru was still in their bedroom, sleeping away without sedatives. He wouldn’t dare wake him up, even now when they were far away from the Lighthouse’s rubble.

He bent down to check the oven’s window, pleased to see the cake sheets baking nicely. He grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the pans out, sliding them on the cooling rack. They were the perfect shade and smelled amazing. While they cooled, the brunette got busy preparing the whipped cream and cutting the strawberries he had picked yesterday. He focused hard on his task, not stopping until his creation was fully constructed. A beautiful and practically flawless strawberry shortcake. He almost felt bad for cutting into it and pulling a slice out to place on the plate. But he was far more eager to see the reaction, so he didn’t mourn the perfection.

After gathering a fork and a glass of milk, he placed everything on a tray and carefully picked it up. His months of practice came in handy, as the tray remained balanced the whole way to the bedroom. Using a shoulder, he bumped the door open so his hands didn’t leave the tray. Soon enough, he was placing the tray down on the nightstand. By this point, he knew the Ultimate Hope was awake now. “Good morning. Was your sleep restful?”

The red eyes gazed up at him, still mysterious and cryptic, though not nearly as hard anymore. Being free of pain and drugs was most likely the reason. “I can confirm that it was. The aroma of your creation coaxed me back to consciousness. Not that I mind this pleasant method of awakening.”

“I’m glad you think so, si-” Hajime paused, laughing in embarrassment. “I mean Izuru.”

The white-haired man smirked up at him. “Slip of the tongue?”

Hajime scratched his cheek, right under his silk eye cover. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“But they are getting to be fewer and less frequent,” Izuru observed. He sat up, the large shirt he was wearing slipping off a shoulder. “Can you hand me a hair tie, my dear caretaker?” he requested once he had risen into a comfortable position.

The brunette was quick to do so, though he did it with a grin. “That was on purpose. You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Izuru’s smirk didn’t diminish, even as he began gathering his long hair and weaving the hair tie around the locks. “Observant as always, my dear. Just one of the many traits I adore about you.”

Hajime felt his cheeks redden. He still wasn’t able to hide his reactions to Izuru’s words of affection. “I-I do my best.”

“That you do.” Izuru finished making his ponytail, letting it rest against his back. He then reached forward, tugging on Hajime’s arms. The strength of the tugs had been unexpectedly strong and Hajime found himself falling onto the bed alongside Izuru with a yelp.

“Much better,” Izuru stated as he hugged Hajime to his chest. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The brunette wiggled only slightly to get more comfortable. “But… don’t you want your cake?”

“In a few moments. Let me indulge myself on this first,” was the reply. A pleased hum followed, along with some shoulder rubs that felt amazing. “Another day of tranquility. One that we earned for our perseverance through the blood and pain. The torture those foolish scientists inflicted while playing God. But I suppose it would be best to not dwell upon such horrid memories. It is beneficial to move on and build oneself back up stronger than before.”

The caretaker chuckled. “That the Ultimate Therapist at work? Putting in overtime, for sure.”

“Perhaps. But I will utilize my abilities for our sakes and lives. And I’m sure you are well aware of this.” One of Izuru’s hands migrated up to his hair, scratching his scalp and conjuring happy noises from the receiver.

“What did I do to deserve this? So nice,” Hajime muttered, relaxing into the comforting touches.

“If you would like reasons, I can compile a list. But be aware that it is a long one. It would take some time to read them all,” Izuru replied with his eternal smile.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll decline. You know how I am with rapid fire compliments.” The brunette relaxed under the ministrations, enjoying every second.

“Oh, I do have something to retrieve. Remain here in bed, okay?” Izuru withdrew and extracted himself from the bed covers, standing up and walking over to his closet. Hajime watched in confusion, especially as the pale man pulled out a giant crocheted blanket with a mandala design. “You are always making things for me, so I figured I could return the favor. It was surprisingly easy to keep my work on this little project secret from you. Though, I am certainly not complaining,” Izuru commented as he brought the blanket over, laying it over Hajime and tucking him in. “The pattern is a representation of our spiritual and physical journey through our lives. That we found our fulfillment after our struggles. Quite fitting, wouldn’t you agree?”

Hajime’s eyes, both functional and broken, widened at the colorful blanket now around him. He ran a hand over the design, admiring the nice material and the quality of the gift. “I… I don’t know what to say… This is…”

Izuru sat next to him, sliding under the blanket next to him. “I already know, so don’t fret. Nothing needs to be expressed.” He leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed the plate and fork. “Now then, how about we try your splendid creation?” The full strawberry on top was speared with the fork and was raised to their faces. “I’ll give you the honor of taking the decoration. You won’t refuse, will you?”

Hajime’s breath was shaky as he nodded. “You know that I would never refuse anything from you. Neither back then, nor now.”

“Excellent. Though there is one condition to get this. You will have to take it from me.” Izuru placed the lower half of the strawberry into his mouth, the thicker half sticking out. And the mischievous look in those ruby red eyes implied exactly what Izuru was insinuating.

Hajime’s face turned as red as the berry. They were about to do this, weren’t they? But he couldn’t go back on his promise, so he swallowed his nerves. He leaned forward and locked lips with the other, the kiss tasting like the sweet fruit. It lasted for several moments, neither of them eager to break it. Eventually, they did separate, the strawberry now in Hajime’s mouth. He focused on chewing to buy himself time to calm down from the rush of emotions. Though this was easily seen by the Ultimate Analyst, if the smirk was anything to go off of.

“Now, I shall taste test your work. Though I don’t doubt it will be fantastic. Thank you for the treat,” the Ultimate Hope said as he cut into the cake and took a delicate bite. “A nice way to wake up and start the day. And here’s to many more in our future.”

Hajime snuggled under the beautiful blanket a little more, resting his head on Izuru’s shoulder. Finally comfortable with initiating close contact after all this time. “Yes. I hope and wish for that, too.”

[stxrvel]

the king (2)

series summary. y/n knew that her whole life was outside the Palace, but it was hard to resist when the Crown Prince had been chasing her for as long as she could remember. doomed to an end where everything she loves has to be abandoned, y/n is forced to restart her life far from her mother, her village that saw her grow up and the man she loves. who would've thought that loving would come at such a high price…

pairing. prince!jungkook x f!reader

content. english is not my first lenguage! violence. royal themes. be-heading is still spoken of in this kingdom, nothing that will materialize. yelling. a flashback.

a/n. hey guys! i forgot about this one hehe. i have some chapters already done, i'll try to post them soon. love yall <3

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

Jeon Jungkook had never thrown a tantrum since he was eight years old. His teaching was so strict being the heir to the throne that he had had to learn to tolerate many things and put up with others from an early age. Understanding the weight of what it entailed to be born with the title of “Crown Prince” had been one of the things that had taken him the least amount of time to grasp, but which he always questioned in the solitude of his room.

Jungkook had surprised his parents, understanding from a very young age the implications of his position and the responsibilities he was to assume in the future. That knowledge made him grow up lacking in many things, but with advantages in many others. By owning that awareness, Jungkook understood the weight on his parents' shoulders and knew that they must've had a difficult enough life for him to bother them with his childish mundanities. So that's how he grew up, for many years, trying to make life easy for his parents.

Usually, his mother used to use him as an example to his younger sisters on how to behave according to the title they held. His sisters never envied him, they really loved him, but Jungkook knew how much they hated not being able to live their childhood like all the other kids in town. And he hated that too, that they couldn't experience it, but he was relieved just to know that the big burden was on him and not on them. Expectations were always placed on him, the Crown Prince, the next King, and not on the princesses who only wanted to enjoy their life and childhood in the big castle. Still, Jungkook sometimes didn't understand why his mother demanded so much from his sisters when they hadn't grown up with the knowledge he was given. He hated the nights when Suni, the youngest of them all, would sneak into his room at night or search for him in the great Palace garden because eomma had forbidden her to keep stuffed animals in her room or because she got mad at her when she asked for more food at dinner.

Jungkook, for a long time, tried to make his parents' life a little easier.

But it infuriated him to think that they made his sisters' lives difficult in return.

So, for a change, Jungkook started throwing tantrums.

The first time he remembered it as lucidly as if it had been yesterday.

It was a sunny day in the square when he had gone out with his parents and two of his sisters. Their parents had dawned in a strangely good mood, so much so that they had decided to have a little family walk in the central point of town. Jungkook went with one of his sisters, Hari, making funny faces at his younger sister, Suni, behind his parents' backs, causing the little girl to laugh loudly. They were having such a peaceful and happy time that Jungkook couldn't believe it.

That is, until Suni saw one of the wooden toys they were selling in the square and began to pull her mother's hand. Hari and Jungkook stood silently, frozen, walking quietly behind their parents as they watched their little sister stir and pull harder and harder on the Queen's hand. They could barely go unnoticed… when Suni began to cry.

Jungkook bit his tongue, and had the urge to move forward to grab his sister and take her back to the Palace, but Hari's hand wrapped around his arm kept him sane. Jungkook hadn't been through a situation like that, precisely why his parents didn't often go out with their children, so he had no idea how his parents would react.

The Queen continued walking, almost dragging her little daughter who wouldn't let go of her hand. People passing by her were barely able to give them a glance, hurrying their pace when the Queen's eyes fell on them. The square had fallen into a dull silence that was perturbed only by Suni's sobs.

Hari squeezed Jungkook's arm tighter as the Queen turned her face away to look at Suni, and they both watched their mother's tense face, no longer welcoming and peaceful as they had seen her in the morning. She was now only the Queen and Suni, her own daughter, was trying her patience.

The King walked silently by her side, not even bothering to try to calm his daughter or show his wife patience. He lived in his own world.

Jungkook felt a hand clutch around his throat as the Queen began to tug on her little sister's arm, to get her to walk back to her side without crawling.

He didn't think twice as he began to speak, and Hari's hand tightened around his arm.

“Eommoni,” Jungkook elongated his voice, a hint of weariness and exhaustion ringing in the Queen's ears. The woman barely glanced over her shoulder at him, and Jungkook took it upon himself to keep his face irritated like his sister Hari did when she had to eat paprika. “Suni is making too much noise and my head hurts.”

His little sister turned to look at him, her eyes red and cheeks drenched in tears. Her little eyes rolled down his face and she had one of her hands almost inside her mouth, as many babies did when crying. Jungkook could never shake that habit that his mother hated, no matter how much he told her it was normal.

“Can't we go home already?” Jungkook continued, shuffling his feet. Hari was as want as a stone beside him.

“Jungkook,” the King's voice was heard, a silent warning.

A shiver ran through the two brothers walking arm in arm, but Jungkook didn't budge.

“It's getting too sunny, besides, and I'm dying of thirst. Let's go now.”

The King stopped and the whole family along with him. Suni was now sobbing quietly, she seemed to be calming down at the sound of her brother's voice, but tears still streamed down her face.

“Enough,” the King bellowed, turning around to stare at Jungkook. “You are demonstrating unacceptable behavior for the Crown Prince,” he spat, then turned his face to look at the Queen and Suni, “Let's go now.”

Suni let go of her mother's hand and stood in front of her father raising her arms towards him with a grimace that made one think she was nothing short of destroying the mountains with a scream. The King sighed, but took her in his arms. Snuggling into her father's neck, Suni finally closed her eyes.

“I hope you are satisfied, Jungkook,” his father spoke again. “You'll see what awaits you at home.”

The King's punishment had been harsh, as usual, but Jungkook was glad he had used his influence over his parents because, the next day, Suni was in the family dining room with the wooden toy in her hands.

Thus, Jungkook began a streak of manipulation against his parents to ease his sisters' lives. Since they were always more concerned about the Crown Prince's behavior, it was easier to divert his sisters' attention to him.

And to this day, Jungkook hadn't stopped doing so. Every day with more reasons, with different arguments, even if it cost him his life. He wouldn't stop. For them… and for him.

He raised his head as the doors to the great hall opened and a familiar face peered between them. The King's Counselor was striding toward him, hands loosely at his sides, dark blue uniform neatly arranged and a calm expression on his face. Jungkook knew him better than he let on, though, and knew those eyes incited nothing but reproach.

“You're in deep trouble,” was what Kim Seokjin said as soon as he reached his side, his gaze hard but his eyes soft, concerned.

“I know.”

“The way you confronted the Queen…”

“I know.”

“She's never going to let you leave this palace.”

Jungkook twisted his lips and focused his gaze on anything else within the room. Since he had arrived at the Palace, walking shoulder to shoulder with his mother, with the Queen, the two of them split their path and Jungkook had wandered off to a quiet place in the Palace thinking that the argument would end there; that his mother would ignore him for days and make his life miserable while his father watched. But the King arrived within minutes and sent for them both to the meeting room.

Jungkook had been waiting there for about ten minutes, thinking about what they could talk about, what kind of punishment the King wanted to give him, what kinds of poisonous words his mother was going to spit out, when the counselor arrived.

“If I hadn't gone, she would've- she would've given the order and…”

He pressed his lips together in a line. The paltry thought that hovered in his head at the possibility chilled the blood throughout his body. The shiver that ran through him made him grateful he'd had the chance, but reminded him that from now on he had to tiptoe around his mother.

“Your mother wanted a show. She didn't want to kill her, she wanted to humiliate her. Destroy her honor, like she thought she had done to her, to the Jeon family name.”

“That's stupid,” Jungkook spat, anger rebirthing like flames inside his chest. “No one would've ever found out if it weren't for what she did. Now everyone will be talking about it. For weeks.”

“That's true. It was not a calculated move, the Queen acted through her anger. And the consequences will be severe.”

“And you'll hear her already, blaming me for everything. As always.”

Seokjin gave him a sympathetic look, his body leaning against the table in the center of the room. He had known Jungkook since the Prince had turned 15 and since then it had been very hard for him to keep his distance when Jungkook started seeing him and coming to him like a brother. Seokjin knew how hard life had been for the Prince, even if he didn't notice it, even if he had normalized living that way, even if he had become accustomed to the mistreatment. Seokjin saw through those eyes the longing of his inner child, the desire to be free to do whatever he wanted, whatever he couldn't do before.

The counselor had been a pimp, if he had to admit it. He couldn't give him or let him do many things without his parents, the King and Queen, finding out, and both of them being punished for it. Still, he tried to support him in every way he could, like excusing him when he wanted to leave the palace alone for a walk, or accompanying him to have his first beer at Fresh Air; it was almost a tradition in town for older brothers to take their younger siblings to try their first alcoholic drink at that bar, to share those moments together.

Just as he had been in so many stages of his life, he knew Jungkook had been taking too many chances the past few months. Years, even. Seokjin would allow himself to cut him a little slack whenever he could, help him with excuses to breathe easy, but he constantly wondered how long he could be walking quietly on a tightrope. How long it would be before the Queen's sharp actions would cut off that tiny thread of hope that Jungkook had been moving on for some time.

“Have you heard about Hari and Suni?” the voice of Jungkook boomed in the silence, a few seconds after he had uttered the last words. Seokjin raised his head to look at him.

“They were on their way, very close. They should arrive today in the afternoon or during the night.”

The Prince nodded, faint lines crossing his forehead.

“Good thing they weren't around to witness all this.”

“I don't think they can escape the days ahead,” Seokjin mused and Jungkook bowed his head in a nod, a grimace akin to helplessness crossing his expression. “And more so when the King sent for you two. He must be furious.”

“The calm he showed in the square was only the sheet of ice containing his anger. I doubt we'll make it out of this room alive,” Jungkook felt a shudder run through his body as he remembered the look his father gave the Queen when he ordered him back to the Palace with her. His mother was scary, yes, people were right to fear her, the anger was always evident and furrowed her expression without self-consciousness to the world. But his father was not, the King was better known for having an icy rage, for having a frightening calmness when anger coursed through his veins. His mother might be dangerous, but the King was lethal.

“Jimin and Yoongi tried to come as soon as they heard, but the royal guard barred their way. They were practically locked in the guest room,” Seokjin remarked as he remembered the looks of both men on the other side of the room. The door was open when Seokjin was crossing the hall and two royal guards were guarding it, as if they were some mercenaries who did not deserve any good treatment. He knew it had been the Queen's order.

Jungkook's beady eyes fell into disbelief when he heard the counselor's words. It must have been his mother's command, he thought rightly as he held back the urge to smash his palm against the walnut wood table.

Away from the fog of anger that had consumed his mind the past few hours, Jungkook took a moment to breathe. He hated what his mother had done, but he knew his friends were fine. But she…

“Did you hear anything on the way here?” Jungkook inquired, and Seokjin promptly knew what he meant.

“Nothing, everything was scattered when I arrived.”

A whiplash of fear and panic surged through Jungkook's chest. Not many times had he felt that kind of terror, the kind he thought he could only feel in his nightmares. And Seokjin knew the Prince must be dying of uncertainty inside, because he didn't bother in the least to disguise the emotions that traveled across his face.

“She should be fine,” the counselor assured him, though his words were an empty promise. “The King may turn out to be more merciful than you think.”

Seokjin didn't know if the King's mercy went that far, but he wanted to convince himself with his own words, for he wouldn't know how broken the already fractured family bond in that Palace would be if the opposite were true.

He didn't have much time to continue rambling when the sound of quickened footsteps began to echo from the hallway. Seokjin broke away from the table and approached the white wall, carved with lines on its columns, arches over the smooth walls, and undulating figures at the births of them.

The large oval doors of dark wood opened wide and the King entered without hesitation, the Queen walking behind him. At that moment, Jungkook didn't want to see them as father and mother. From the looks they were both giving him, the Prince almost felt that he would be the next to have a trial.

When the Queen was standing right in front of Jungkook across the table, the doors closed with a barely audible sound, and the room was taken over by thunderous silence.

“May I ask, what was on your mind?”

Jungkook didn't turn his gaze to the King. It was disrespectful not to look at him when he spoke, he knew it, every villager knew it, more so him being his son. But maybe he wasn't as prepared for that meeting as he thought he was. He didn't want to take the blame for something that wasn't a crime. Because he hadn't hurt anyone. Because…

“Are you talking to me?” the Queen's voice interrupted his train of thought, and he allowed himself at that moment to raise his head.

The King was watching his wife, who had a surprised grimace on her face in contrast to her father's impassive and cold look, the typical and familiar one.

“What were you thinking going out to do all this, Hyori?”

Seokjin didn't hide the astonishment that took over his face when he heard the King call the Queen by her proper name. It shouldn't be something to be missed, but he and Jungkook were used to formalities between the two supreme figures in front of them. That his father decided to set aside his formality to speak to the Queen in such a manner spoke too much of the anger he held in his heart.

“Why are you directing your anger against me? I wasn't the one who caused all this.”

Jungkook watched the Queen's frown, her face contracted in skepticism. She had adopted a defensive posture, truly offended at being the target of the King's anger.

“You were the one who caused all this,” the King nodded with anger rising in the glint in his eyes. “If you hadn't gone out and made all that fuss, we wouldn't be going through all this right now.”

“But what are you talking about?” the Queen exclaimed, and when she raised her voice Jungkook shrank back in his seat. He shot a glance at Seokjin, but it seemed that the counselor was just as confused as he was. “What don't you see that the reason for the fuss is sitting on the other side of the table?”

Jungkook didn't have to turn his head to know that his mother was pointing at him with a furious glare. But the King didn't even spare the Prince a glance when he responded:

“Stop pointing at your son like that,” he mumbled through his teeth, venom surrounding every word.

A sound of disbelief left the Queen, with a stupefied chuckle following her as she approached the King at a slow pace.

“Do you have any idea what your son did? What that woman wanted to do to our family?”

Jungkook gritted his teeth, his hands gathering on the wood of the table.

“And do you have any idea what that theatrics just cost our reputation? I had to meet with the high consorts immediately. They're not very happy with what you did.”

The Queen snorted not believing for a second that she was the one getting all the scolding and yelling and not Jungkook. Seokjin, secretly, wasn't too upset about it.

“Are you defending him?”

It was the King's turn to break through the icy mask, irritability seeping through his gut.

“What Jungkook did was minimal compared to what your show cost us. The high consorts are reconsidering their offers. They don't think it's very good for their public image to do business with a Queen who still does public executions.”

“They are not forbidden in our nation.”

“No,” the King nodded, “but they will be.”

Jungkook didn't disguise the gasp of surprise that left his mouth. Was he really hearing those words from his father…? The Queen spluttered, and the Prince turned to see her face contracted in astonishment… in betrayal.

“What your son and that woman did is unacceptable.”

“What Jungkook did or didn't do is what matters least,” the King mumbled, his glacial eyes roaming over his wife's face that would not leave her stupefaction.

“What are you saying? He was courting-!”

“I don't care,” the King repeated, his words stronger, more concise. “As long as it doesn't affect the Crown, what Jungkook does outside this Palace doesn't matter to me.”

Thunderous silence followed his words. Seokjin watched everyone present with utmost caution from his position. He might be a simple counselor, but he knew some self-defense tactics. Meanwhile, Jungkook was totally speechless. His gaze wandered over his father and then shifted to his mother's stunned look, an expression that hadn't left her since the King began speaking.

“You can't do that. You can't just not care…” the Queen was shaking her head in refusal, refusing to accept the words she heard from her husband's mouth. “You can't turn a blind eye to-”

“I already did,” the King spoke again and Jungkook did not miss the way his eyes averted for less than a second. The way he looked at him, the sad gleam in his eyes. Or well, sad was what he seemed to have seen, because the King's expression changed so quickly that Jungkook might have thought he had imagined it, if not for what he said next, “I already had.”

“What are you talking about?”

The Prince felt a hand squeeze his heart, trying to stifle it, to keep him conscious long enough to survive, but using just enough strength to feel death close. His lips parted as he watched the father who wouldn't look back at him, who was staring harshly at his mother as the only true culprit in this whole mess. No, the problem wasn't that Jungkook was trusting, not that he stopped paying attention, not that he had let his guard down…

“You knew,” Jungkook spoke for the first time. His voice came out slightly hoarse, his beady, disbelieving eyes glinting in the natural sunlight as his father gave him a neutral, dry, emotionless look.

“What?” the Queen's head turned sharply toward her husband, her eyes exaggeratedly wide.

Without looking away from his son, the King spoke, “Did you really think there was anything you could do in the Palace that I wouldn't know about?”

Almost out of sad inertia, with a whiplash of pain in his chest, Jungkook shook his head at the counselor. Seokjin half-opened his lips in surprise, but shook his head in a negative as he felt the deer eyes on him.

“Counselor Kim has nothing to do here,” the King spoke, his gaze still on the Prince.

“Your Majesty-” Seokjin tried to speak, but the King raised a hand in his direction.

“Not now,” his stern gaze was still on Jungkook, but he promptly turned back to stare at the Queen who seemed not to credit what she saw.

“You knew and… you allowed it?” the Queen's voice was barely a whisper, surprise taking all her breath away.

“I told you, she was never a threat to the Crown.”

“She wasn't a threat, she was a gold digger! She wanted all the riches Jungkook could give her!”

The Prince gnashed his teeth. His bite was so hard that it strained his jaw and a slight pain ran through his gums. He wanted his mother to stop talking that way, expressing herself that way, he wanted to say something to her, anything…

“That's what you made it sound like, making all this fuss. Now there's really no way of knowing,” the King replied impassively, though several muscles in his face were already beginning to retract.

“She was going to steal from us,” the Queen exclaimed in utter conviction.

“She was going to do no such thing,” Jungkook blurted out, his hand clenched on the table and the Queen's eyes exorbitant as she turned to see him as he answered her thus. It was an impulse, but he had done it, and though his instinct was to shrink from her gaze, he faced her and continued speaking. “She never tried to take advantage of me. She is a kind, loving, honest and a humble soul. All she wanted for me was happiness.”

The Queen snorted, interrupting him, and his assurance flanked. Jungkook didn't feel he was over, but the King took the floor again:

“You're going to have to apologize to his mother.”

“What?”

“I'm not going to bear such an embarrassment to someone who has provided us with her services.”

“I'm not going to do-”

“You will. And the next time you intend to bring a trial against someone, Counselor Kim will be only too pleased to give you a few lessons in law.”

And with that, the King left the room.

[elusivewildflower]

i would love to hear your domestic six thoughts (if you have any)

Oooo, yes I do have some domestic Six thoughts! Domestic Six and letting him be all soft is probably one of my favorite things to think about, and some of these will tie in heavily with The Other Fitzroy series. Shout out to @lloydsbitch for brainstorming with me for some non-smutty ideas 🤣

I think that after Six gets away from the CIA that he will teach himself how to become a handyman. He's not used to having so much free time, so he needs something that will keep his mind and body active. I feel his father probably taught him some things, since he was so determined to make his sons "macho," and that he's learned things as needed throughout his life -- but I'm talking about learning how to remodel a whole house just for you. You want to turn that spare room with a lovely view into a library? He'll build bookcases and a window seat by hand to transform it into the space you've dreamed of.

Whenever he's not busy keeping active, he's more than happy to sit on the couch and binge watch your favorite shows and movies. Six hasn't exactly had the time or internet access to watch everything that's came out in the last 20 years, so he has a lot to catch up on. Expect to spend several nights a week and potentially all weekend cuddled up on the couch, his arm wrapped around your waist and your head on his chest. But if you're watching an action movie, he won't be able to stop himself from calling out everything that's unrealistic.

Six clearly likes to be self-reliant after retiring, so he also has a garden in the backyard that he tends to on a daily basis. You certainly enjoy watching him tend to the crops from the covered porch. He's shirtless, dripping with sweat and covered in dirt by the time he comes up to you for a refreshing glass of lemonade. It's also fun to watch him chop firewood in the fall with a steaming cup of hot cocoa. He might be wearing more layers in the cold air, but the sound of his grunts carry across the yard and straight to your.....*ahem*

There was never much time for date nights while on the run, so Six makes quality time one of his big priorities after you've settled down. It still can be difficult to achieve with a child to take care of, but at least Claire is old enough to babysit for a few hours. Something easy that the two of you enjoy is taking a drive out to get ice cream (and maybe some fries to dip in it? I love salty & sweet, sue me.) and sitting together in the car. You'll find someplace to park and eat your dessert, happily chatting or snuggling up to each other. And if you can't manage to get away from the house, then Six will go out and get the treats for you after the kids are asleep. You'll cuddle up on the couch, or on the loveseat on the porch during the summer, and fall deeper in love with the sweet man by your side.

smutty thoughts are under the cut.......

For starters, I want to give credit to @hederasgarden for this because she's the one who said Six has a housewife kink and I fully agree with it. By no means is he a lazy partner, but he does love to watch you cook in the kitchen and clean around the house. Both of those things make him look at you with hearts in his eyes and a growing erection in his pants. Especially if you happen to be wearing a pretty sundress. If the two of you are home alone when he gets riled up, he'll take you anywhere. He'll fuck you on the countertop, bend you over the side of the couch, or even halfway up the stairs on the way to the bedroom.

I also believe that Six has a major breeding kink. It might take him a year or two of being safe & settled to fully give himself into the kink, but once he does, he wants to pump you full of his seed every night. Six wants to see you barefoot and pregnant, and better yet — in a pretty sundress — and he won't rest until he gets it. If you thought him being riled up with his housewife kink was bad, just wait until he has to have you morning, noon, and night while you're ovulating. 🫣

After having kids, it's a lot harder to get that alone time together, but Six will happily sneak you away for a quickie. He knows your body so well that he can get both of you off in under ten minutes. Laundry needs switched over? He'll follow you in to "help." As soon as the dryer is on, he's got you bent over it — the sound of clothes tumbling around helps cover the noise of him pounding into you. Your baby just went down for a nap? Six will take you into your shared bedroom for a quickie, giving you an orgasm that puts you right to sleep. After all, you should be sleeping when the baby is, right? You need your rest, and while two of the most important people in his life are napping, he'll go downstairs to clean up the house or prep for dinner.

[sleepyfireball]

I loved Season 3 so much (Violet Bridgerton Edition)

If you haven't guessed (God help you) Violet is my favourite character and I have a lot of thoughts about her storyline in Part 2.

First her storyline with John and Francesca. Something I really enjoy about Violet is that she is not perfect, and she actively learns from her past mistakes and tries to do better. That being said, she does still make mistakes. While she is significantly better this season at not pushing her children too hard in the marriage mart, she still does push Francesca a bit. I think she recognises that Francesca loves John, but she is not sure if she is in love with John. She is hesitant to speak to the Queen on their behalf, mostly because Agatha point blank tells her that the Queen will sniff out her doubts, even though Violet said her doubts do not matter in the face of Francesca's happiness. However, I do think Violet benefited from hearing that falling in love can look different, it does not always have to sudden and instantaneous and loud. Violet has a habit of expecting her children to experience love the way she did and it is important for her to recognise that her loved experience is not the only experience of true love. Also, Francesca forgave Violet, which I think was really important as well. An important part of growing up is realising that your parents are people too and as such, make mistakes. The scene of the two of them playing the piano together will live happily in my heart forever, as will John's acknowledgement of Violet's role in her children's lives.

I also found it quietly funny that Violet told Francesca she stumbled over her words the first time she met Edmund, then, not 5 minutes later, was stumbling over her words when speaking to Marcus. Not to mention that in part one, Violet had stumbled through her disastrous introduction to Marcus in the first place.

I love love loved seeing Violet and Marcus's story play out. Daniel Francis and Ruth Gemmell have amazing chemistry together and honestly were amazing in their scenes together. The way that he was constantly seeking her out at social events and he came to call on her was so sweet; even if Violet was so horny watching him eat that little dessert. I think Marcus should definitely be the one to tend her garden and I loved seeing them dance together. A romantic dance for the first time in 12 years for Violet. I enjoyed that she looked nervous but also excited to get to dance again. I also enjoyed that they put their relationship on the backburner to sort out their own issues. That's a really healthy outlook and I love that their communication is strong enough that they were comfortably able to talk about it. If I had my way, before season 4 we would get a prequel series about Young Violet and Edmund, paralleled with Violet and Marcus's proper courtship.

Marcus's scenes with Agatha were also top tier. Daniel Francis and Adjoa Andoh blew it out of the water, particularly in the scene where they both want to go after Violet when she's upset at the Mondrich ball. I feel like that scene hit really hard after watching QC:ABS and seeing just how miserable Agatha was in her arranged marriage. Also, seeing Agatha desperately trying to throw widows who are not Violet at her brother in the hopes that he would get distracted was hilarious, but I did appreciate that he did not waver in his feelings for Violet once. That is exactly what Violet deserves, not some wishy washy man who can't commit, like we were worried he would be, due to the rake comments from Part 1. I really appreciated that Marcus went and apologised, to resolve the matter almost as soon as he found out why Agatha was so angry at him. (her holding a grudge against a 10 year old is mildly hilarious, even if it leads to some pretty bad consequences) and that Agatha was willing to accept his apology and looked most pleased seeing him and Violet together after they had made up.

Now, Violet and Agatha's scenes. Oh my god, Ruth Gemmell and Adjoa Andoh give a master-class in acting because the two scenes they share, in Ep7 and Ep8 respectively are truly some of my favourite from across the whole show and spin off. This friendship between Violet and Agatha means so much and it is clear that neither of them want to jeopardise that friendship. The scene is Ep7 where Violet assures Agatha that their friendship is non-transactional is so important because all her life, Agatha has been told that in order to receive love, she has to provide something in return. Violet tells her, in no uncertain terms, that they will remain friends even after there are no more matches to make. For me as someone who struggled to make true friends for the longest time, seeing this relationship onscreen made me cry. And the scene in Ep8 where they finally actually talk about the discoveries made in QC:ABS is amazing as well. The cinematography in particular for this scene, I adored. The moment Agatha acknowledges that she loved Violet's dad, the camera hides away, behind the couch. When looking at Agatha, the camera is hidden away behind Violet's head. It feels like we are barely supposed to see that scene, because the two ladies are barely supposed to be talking about it. The filmography made the scene feel voyeuristic in a way, like the audience was not supposed to see it. This isn't even to mention the insane acting. I genuinely feel like I am just watching a conversation occur naturally between two people, not a scripted scene that is being acted out. The fact that they finally acknowledged everything from QC:ABS is also monumentsl as it means that Violet and Agatha are willing to move past that and continue their friendship, no matter what. Having Agatha say she will choose Violet over Marcus should he handle things wrong felt so wonderful as well, especially when you have the juxtaposition with Penelope and Eloise and Colin. And panning over to the hat at the end of that scene was wonderful. Not to mention the whole rest of that scene focused on Agatha reassuring Violet about Francesca and John as she had been doing all season.

If I could change anything about this I would add in two scenes. 1. Agatha consoling Violet after she runs out of the Mondrich Ball and 2. Getting Violet and Colin talking about the Whistledown reveal, because we were robbed of Ruth Gemmell's wonderful acting for that scene. I also want to know what was in that letter. I also would have liked to see Violet helping out a little more for Colin and Penelope, but I understand why she brought in Kate and Anthony to help him out.i would have loved more bonding scenes between Penelope and Violet and also Penelope and Agatha, but I was just glad we got the small crumbs of those relationships that we did. Three things I loved, when The Queen told everyone who was not a Bridgerton to leave, Agatha stayed right there and the Queen did not dare question her. And Anthony being overprotective over Violet and Kate telling him to chill. I do wanna see his reaction if we get Violet and Marcus seriously courting through. And the rest of her kids reactions to cluing onto Marcus was basically good for her, which I was very happy about and felt really healthy for their family dynamic.

I could talk about these three actors and these plot lines until the sun burns up, but that'll do for now

[idyllic-ghost]

Title: And We Meet Again

Pairing: immortal!Minghao x reincarnated!Reader

Warnings: discussions of death, mentions of medication, mentions of an anxiety attack, angst in general.

Genre: Soulmates, Romance, Fluff, Angst

Synopsis: There is something familiar about that house on the hill, even though you swear that you have never seen it before. But you’re drawn to the lavender fields and the ocean view - and the lonesome looking man you see sitting on the porch. When you approach him there is something in his eyes that you cannot understand - a knowing, a deep feeling. The question is, will you ever have enough time to figure out what that look means?

A/N: i want to thank @wondernus and @heartkyeom for helping me out with this one!! your comments helped me stay motivated and embellished the story a lot more <33

Word count: 6k

This is a collab with @svthub!

Click here to see the other fics in the collab!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽���☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Where do you want it, my love?” Minghao asked as he carried the shovel over to where you were standing, “Is here good?”

“It’s perfect.” You looked down at the tree sapling you were holding in your hand.

The wind was blowing around you. This really was the best place to build a home. A big field, up on a high cliff, with a view of the ocean. Your fiance was helping you plant a tree in what was supposed to become the garden. Minghao’s long hair was getting in his eyes while he shoveled up the dirt to plant the tree sapling, making you giggle. He looked up at you.

“You know we won’t be able to see the tree grow, right? Those take ages to get to their normal size,” he sighed.

“That means someone else can enjoy it in the future, darling,” you explained, “It is like we are leaving our mark on this place.”

“Anything you want, I suppose.” He smiled and kept digging. “Should this be deep enough?”

You hummed and placed the sapling in the hole, brushing your hands together to get rid of any dirt. Minghao shoveled the dirt in and patted on the ground. As soon as he put down the shovel and turned to you, you hugged him tightly. 

“Imagine our house here,” you sighed, “Just the way we want it.”

Minghao pressed his lips to your temple, pressing a warm kiss on your cold skin. The base of the tree was thin and frail - but you knew that, with the right amount of love and care, you’d get it to a grand and beautiful size.

“I will see to it that you get the exact home that you want, love,” Minghao murmured.

“Hm? Even with a patio with lots of plants? Or a garden filled with lavender?” you asked with a beaming smile.

“Anything you want, darling.”

“I’ll give you a list then.”

The tree stood proud in that spot in front of where the house was supposed to be. You couldn’t be happier with your now husband standing right beside you in front of the place that you were going to call home.

Five hundred years later, the tree was still standing. Much larger and with ridges that showed its old age. Minghao’s hand grazed the rough bark of the tree. A sad smile appeared on his lips as he thought back to when the two of you planted this tree. The tree was dying, it was dry and had a grayish brown color instead of its past lively green bark. Time was disappearing like sand through his fingers, but he didn’t feel it. Unlike the tree, no signs of age could be seen on Minghao’s skin. He put his forehead against the wood. It was warm from the sun’s rays. Spring had finally come, and the buds on the branches were about to bloom. At this moment, it felt like only yesterday that he had planted this tree with you. He stepped away from the tree, the feeling of the rough texture lingered on his skin. He wasn’t sure why he ended up by the tree. It might have been the thought of you that led his subconscious to move his legs for him. He missed you, there was no denying that. However, even if you weren’t here with him right now, you would return soon.

The train rolled past beautiful scenery, ocean views and lavender fields. Your train cabin was cramped, but at least you were the only one in there. The small luggage you had brought along was tucked under your seat, except for a smaller backpack laying on the seat beside you. It contained anything you could need; tissues, a book, a phone with the notifications turned off, and your pain meds. So far the ride had been peaceful. It was quiet, the only sound being the clashing of the train tracks against the wheels. Outside you saw the most calming view you had laid eyes on in a while. Color flooded your senses; purple, green, and blue hues spotting the landscape right in front of your finger tips. You could picture how fresh the air was. The clear skies and slight wind blowing through the trees, and the white spots of seasalt clinging to the window, made you want to go outside to take a deep breath. This was exactly what you needed for your final vacation, a quaint village by the seaside with an utmost harmonic atmosphere. Houses were sparsely built in this area, but a bit further away you could see the village where you were going to stay.

The moment you stepped foot in the village, you could tell it was a tight-knit community. Everyone seemed to know everyone and tourism didn’t seem to be very common. Still, you were given a warm welcome. The hostel you were staying at had a nice older man running it. He showed you to your room - a small but cozy room with a low ceiling. It was good enough for you especially since the bed was comfy enough for you to fall asleep right away. In the morning, you set off immediately after breakfast. Your feet took you to the big lavender field and you were hit with a huge wave of the wonderful scent. There was a small path paved for you between two big fields of purple flowers. On top of the hill was a house - a white villa with a black roof. Beside it stood a big oak tree.

From where you were standing, you could see the outline of a man sitting on the porch. Everything felt so awfully familiar, a huge wave of deja vu hit you. It felt wrong to just go to some stranger’s house, but you told yourself it would be right to ask for directions - you were out in the middle of nowhere after all. When you got closer, you could see that the man was looking back at you - and you swore you saw him smiling.

“Hi! Sorry for intruding,” you said as you approached the porch, “I’m just a little lost.”

The man was slender with dark hair - there was something mysterious about him, specifically in his deep brown eyes. But he was calm, you might even describe him as peaceful. 

“You’re not intruding.” His voice was smooth, and his emphasis on ‘you’ had you taken aback. 

He got up from his seat and approached you with a warm look on his face.

“I’m just here on vacation, I’m living in the town across the fields,” you explained. “And I was going to go to the sea, but these flowers got my attention.”

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” The man looked out across the fields.

“Lavender’s my favorite.” You nodded.

He gave you a knowing smile before silently inviting you to sit down with him. There were two cups on the table on the porch, and one pot of tea. You would never normally do this, but you accepted his kind gesture.

“My name’s Minghao,” he said and brought the cup to his lips.

“Y/N,” you answered and drank the lavender green tea.

“That’s a pretty name,” he said.

“Thank you.” You put down your cup and looked around you. “Do you live here by yourself?”

“Mostly.” He nodded, and you could tell that he wasn’t going to explain further.

You closed your eyes and took in the spring breeze. Everything was calm and peaceful. You thought about what a nice life you could live here. It was something you could see yourself doing something like this in another life. You felt Minghao’s eyes on you, and you turned your head to look at him.

“How long are you staying in town?” he asked.

“A few weeks.”

He nodded. Suddenly something sad appeared in his eyes, but it disappeared as fast as it got there. There was no doubt that there was a connection between you and this stranger - although it seemed insane. The two of you had only spoken a few words but it felt right. Just as right as it had been getting on the train over here, and just as right as it had been to walk down this path.

“Have you lived here for long?” you asked.

“Longer than you can imagine”

You gave him a weird look, which he responded with a soft chuckle. It felt restrained, his entire posture was restrained. There was more to this interaction than he let on, but you had no idea what it could mean.

“I think I should start heading back.” You stood up, “Thank you for the tea”

“Come by again sometime.”

“I will.” You nodded. “... is it alright if I pick some lavender?”

“It’s all yours,” he hummed.

Minghao gripped the armrests of the chair tightly as he watched you walk away. You bent down beside the path and picked up a few lavender flowers, turned back to the house, and waved before walking back. 

He took a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time you had walked away from him. 

Far from it. 

You were the same as you always were -  sweet, curious, and just as he remembered you. Every single time he got to see you again, you were perfect. You had been from the start.

The first time Minghao had met you was five hundred years ago. It was a different town than where he lived now. There, the two of you lived far apart but close at heart. You were the child of the duke of the land; Minghao, nothing more than a physician’s apprentice. Despite getting proposals from people of high standings across the lands, your eyes never wavered from him. Minghao was the one you had set out to marry no matter who disagreed. 

That’s exactly why you decided to run off together. Not much had been planned out, except that you’d try to steal two horses, or maybe even one, and that you’d do it during a night when the moon didn’t cast light upon your trail. The night when you followed through with your half-finished plan, it came to you unexpectedly. You ran off to Minghao’s cabin as soon as dusk came.

“Come on, get your things!” You shook Minghao awake.

“Your majesty-”

“We don’t have time for this, my love,” you interrupted. “No one’s around, this is our only chance. Get yourself ready, I’ll go get the horses.”

The two of you escaped into the night, planning on never stepping foot into the town again. You found a small village where you decided to stay. It was right by an open field, and close to the seashore. You immediately fell in love with this field, which is why the two of you decided to build a house there.

It was all you would work on, day in and day out you would sketch new ideas. You had picked a spot right in the middle of a big field. There was open ground, perfect to build upon, and a view over the sea. However, just a few years after getting married, you died. 

A weak heart, was the only explanation he ever got - but there people just weren’t as knowledgeable back then. Minghao, a few moments before you passed, made a promise that he’d see you again, that his life would never be complete without you. He finished building the house you wanted, following every instruction you had written down, and planted a tree right next to it. Since he had already planted your favorite tree, he began planting lavender patches around it, they were your favorite, and every year he’d plant more. 

Many years passed and Minghao never seemed to age, he didn’t feel it, and others noticed it. When his childhood friends started passing away while he still looked the same as all those years ago, he knew that something was wrong. 

Minghao couldn’t die. 

At first he didn’t understand, but then he saw you again. A visitor from a nearby town, who had no idea who he was. So he thought of it as a coincidence, maybe he was going mad. But then, a few decades later, it happened again. And again, and again, and again.

 Every time it was different, but it was you - it was definitely you. Minghao learned to live with it at first. He’d move away a few years, come back just in time for you to visit, and it would keep going in an infinite loop. 

Around the fifth time it had happened, he tried to tell you about all of your past lives. He somehow managed to convince you, but a week or so later you passed away suddenly. That’s how he found out he wasn’t allowed to tell you, but he also found out that his actions could change things - meaning that there had to be a way for you to stay. Finally, after all these years, he might know how. 

Once you were back in the village, you were looking for a place to eat lunch. Your eyes fell upon a cheerful looking house with a small restaurant at the bottom floor. The old lady working there sat you down at a corner table and gave you some bread and water, leaving you some time to look at the menu. When she came back, and you placed your order, she asked you where you were from. You answered and she nodded with a smile.

“We don’t get many tourists here nowadays,” she explained. “It’s hard to not spot an unfamiliar face.”

“Well, this place is absolutely wonderful.” You smiled. “I’m surprised more people don’t come here… I mean, just the lavender field out there is enough of an attraction.”

“Oh, so you’ve been wandering around this morning, then?”

“Yes, I talked to the man who lives out in the middle of the field - Minghao I think it was,” you said.

“Oh, you’ve talked to Mr. Xu?” She sounded surprised. “We rarely see anything of him… he comes to the market a few times, but that’s about it. I’m surprised he’d talk to a stranger.”

You watched as she went to give your order to the chef, shocked to hear about him in this way. Minghao had been so friendly and didn’t seem like what the lady described him to be. After lunch, you walked around the market - at first just looking, but soon enough you were interviewing. You began talking to the townsfolk, asking them about the lavender fields and the house right in the middle of it. Everyone told the same story; the fields had always been there, so had the house, and no one could seem to remember when Xu Minghao moved into it.

Minghao was in his kitchen when he saw you walking back over the field, just a few days after the first visit. He quickly dried off his hands from washing a few fruits. With rushed steps, he made his way toward the front door. This was important, the second visit always was. His hand lingered on the door handle, but the thoughts were pushed away as soon as he pushed open the door. Light flooded into the dusty hallway, but he quickly closed it behind him. The sound of the door closing caught your attention. You were looking up at the crown of the tree, but now your attention was turned to him.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” you answered, “Sorry for just dropping by.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He shrugged it off and approached you. “I enjoy a bit of company.”

You gave him a strange look, which he couldn’t decipher. However, it quickly faded and was replaced with a smile. You met him halfway, walking closer to the house. 

“I was about to go on my morning walk,” Minghao lied. “Do you want to come along?”

It was a steep way down the hill towards the shore, but the two of you took it slow. You walked close behind him, watching each step you took. But the closer you got to the beach, the smaller the rocks were under your shoes - making it harder to walk. As if he somehow knew, Minghao held his hand out for you to take just as you were about to fall. 

“It’s hard to walk here,” he hummed even though he was walking perfectly fine like he had walked there a million times before.

“Thank you,” you answered breathlessly, “I don’t have the right shoes for this.”

“You’re doing good,” he assured you with a smile.

His hand gripped yours a bit tighter, as he helped you over a more difficult part. Nevertheless, you weren’t doing so good. You thought back to your family and friends at home, to the letter you had left them. There had been no warning signs, from what you could imagine, and then you suddenly left them. 

Suddenly, it’s like you were back there. You had received the news of the state of your health. A few months left to live, is what the sum of it was. It wasn’t something that you expected would ever happen to you. From that moment, you moved on with your life as normal - but the second you started feeling symptoms, you knew it was time to leave. You couldn’t stand seeing the worried faces of your loved ones while you slowly decayed. So, you wrote them each a letter and left - they explained your condition, and that you wouldn’t be returning. It hurt, but it was for the best. After this trip, you had decided to go to the hospital and spend your last days there. It wasn’t what you wanted, but you didn’t want anyone to see you in such a fragile state. Perhaps it was selfish, but you saw no other way.

The air was salty and warm like in a daze, but the cold breeze and the few droplets occasionally escaping from the ocean brought you back from your thoughts. You looked over at the man beside you. He was still holding your hand, still leading you across the safest path. A part of you wanted to ask Minghao a billion questions, but something kept you quiet - a single thought that you were mulling over in your head. 

How was it possible that you seemed to know him? 

No, you didn’t know his favorite color, or what kind of music he liked, but you remember his face from somewhere - like a distant memory. Minghao stopped walking, seemingly tired of the silence between you.

“This is my favorite spot,” he said.

He let go of your hand, and you immediately missed the warmth of his touch. Minghao looked at you. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocky shore filled your ears, and the noise seemed to drown out all thoughts. Nothing else but the depths of his eyes existed in this moment. He smiled, a dimple appearing on one of his cheeks. 

“It’s beautiful,” you finally answered.

Your eyes never left his - it seemed impossible to do. His eyes had looked black before, but now, with the sun reflecting in them, they were a warm and inviting brown color. One of his hands reached out to your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek.

“Eyelash,” he murmured.

You smiled at him, silently thanking him. The sound of the waves echoed in your head, a slow rhythm building and merging with your heartbeat. Minghao’s hand lingered before he let it drop to his side again. 

“Are you enjoying your time here?” he asked softly.

“It’s been calming,” you answered, “I finally feel at peace.”

Minghao’s eyebrows furrowed, as if there was something about you that he wasn’t expecting. However, as soon as the sound of another wave hitting the shore echoed toward you, his face readjusted to its normal state with a flinch. He was an enigma to you, a mystery you were unable to solve - a paradox.

“There’s something about you…” You stopped, unable to find any words that could accurately describe what you were feeling.

“Perhaps it’s infatuation,” he joked.

You let out a flustered laugh and looked out over the ocean, just to avoid his sharp eyes. It was a more bold comment than what you had heard from him before. As you’re about to go back on your word, to try to find the words you were searching for, you feel a sudden pain in your chest. It was a frequent symptom that you had gotten to know all too well recently. It’s sharp, starting in the middle of your chest before it spreads and eventually dulls. There’s nothing to do about it; it happens at random, and leaves too quickly for any pain meds to take effect - constantly numbing yourself wasn’t an option either. No, you saved your medication for more dire situations.

“It’s nothing.” You shake your head and bring your hand to your chest. “Should we head back?”

“Are you alright?” Minghao held his hands out, hovering around your body but not daring to touch you.

You can’t help but to look at him. Minghao is looking right at you, but his mind is somewhere else. A distant memory rumbles within him. He’s right next to you, but he’s mentally in another place. Despite your pain, you give him a small smile. You take one of his hands in yours, and you place your free hand on his shoulder. Minghao’s breath quickens, his eyes drifting away from you. Your hand leaves his shoulder to cup his cheek. He looks at you, and you smile at him again.

“Should we head back?” you asked again.

Minghao nods.

He watches you walk in front of him, his hand still in yours. However, as much as he tried, he couldn’t shake the gnagging feeling away. Seeing you just now, clearly in pain, put everything in perspective for him once again. You were dying, much like every other time you were here. There was always the slightly unsettling inkling that you had shorter and shorter time on earth each time you got reincarnated. He thought back to the first time you had died - how you had reached for your chest just like before, and how you had the same scrunched up facial expression. That time, you had collapsed - right in front of the tree the two of you had planted together. He wished he never had do see you like that again. Mindlessly follow you back home was all he could do now.

When you find yourself in front of Minghao’s house again, you also find that the pain in your chest has faded. It never lasted for long. A hand landed on your shoulder, and you turned to look directly into his eyes.

“Do you want to come inside? Maybe you should rest?” he asks, worry dripped from his words.

You wouldn’t mind staying with him for longer, and you were curious about how he lived. Playing up your pain felt wrong, but it also seemed like Minghao wanted you to stay for other reasons than your wellbeing. Moreover, when he, just a few seconds later, offered you a cup of tea, it was hard to say no.

Minghao’s home was exactly what you thought it’d be. Old trinkets, plants everywhere, and large windows that let lots of light in. He showed you into his kitchen, where he let you sit down by a dinner table, and he situated himself by the counter. The arcitecture of the house was old, but he had clearly renovated it to add a few modern details. As if he was afraid to leave the past behind, but found himself needing to adapt.

“So, what do you do in order to afford to own a place like this?” you asked.

“I’m a doctor.” Minghao speaks with his back to you, as he started the tea kettle.

“A doctor?” You look around the house, trying to find some sort of proof of his profession. “You’re not very busy for a doctor.”

“... I work privately,” he said.

Minghao takes out two mugs from the cupboard and walks up to you. You watch as he puts one mug in front of you and one mug in front of the chair opposite of yours. He doesn’t look at you, and goes back to the counter quite quickly. It wasn’t time for questions, you could feel it in every way he moved. Minghao was tense, and his movements almost robotic. He had done this routine a thousand times before, you could tell from the way he didn’t even have to look when he reached for the many tea leaves. He never asked you what you wanted, but you weren’t questioning it.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened on the beach?” he asked.

You thought that you could ask him the same question, but you decided to not voice this hypocrisy. 

“Chronic pain,” you hummed, “It’s…”

You were going to say that it wasn’t serious, but it seemed as if Minghao could read your mind about these things. He hummed in response, setting down the tea kettle right in front of you before sitting down. 

“It’s an illness,” you admit, “I won’t bore you about it… but I don’t have long left.”

It’s silent - you can hear a pin drop. Minghao picks up the kettle, and pours the tea in your mug. The sound of the water pouring is calming to you, his act makes you think that he’s understanding. 

“There’s nothing you can do?” he asks.

“Nothing that I have heard of,” you said, “And I’ve gone through a lot of tests.”

“What about traditional methods?”

“Traditional?”

“I might have something for you,” he explained, “If it doesn’t cure you, it might just help your passing.”

You looked at him, skeptical at first but seeing his serious expression made you let go. At this point, you were willing to try anything.

“Come by tomorrow,” he said, “And I’ll have something prepared for you.”

You don’t know why, but you trust him without a doubt.

The very next day, you got worse. The pain in your chest was there when you woke up, but wouldn’t go away. You took your pain meds, which kept the pain at bay. However, you knew it was only temporary. You stayed in bed all day, only going out to the bathroom or to get food. The next day, you did the same. Then the day after that, and the day after that, until you had to ask the owner to bring your food to your room. Your body was betraying you, and you had no idea what to do. The thought of Minghao stays with you throughout this time. How you’ve failed him: you said you would be there, now you’ve left him alone for days. You wonder if he saw it coming, or if he was disappointed that you didn’t show.

By day five you decided you had to try to get to him. Your medication was running out, since you had taken more than you were recommended to, but it was enough to carry you through the journey. You left all of your things at the hostel, you couldn’t carry anything in this state, and snuck out without anyone seeing. The owner had grown attached to you, and had urged you to not go anywhere these past few days - so you didn’t want anyone to see you leave. 

Minghao sits on the porch, where you had first seen him, when you arrive at the villa. You’re out of breath and limping, but it doesn’t stop you. His eyes widened when he first spotted you, and he hesitates before running toward you. You collapse in his arms, finally feelingn safe enough to relax.

“I didn’t forget you, I promise,” you whisper hoarsely.

“I didn’t think you would,” he hummed and soothingly started stroking your back. “Let’s get you inside.”

He lifts you up, and lets you prop yourself against his shoulder. You steady yourself on him, and limp in through the house. Instead of stopping in the kitchen, like you thought he would, he carried you into a different room. The room was brightly lit, due to the large windows, and was different from the rest of the house. This room didn’t have any modern touches, it was seemingly completely original. And untouched. Dust flew around the room, although nothing was dirty. The room was well taken cared of, but not frequently visited.

“Rest in here,” Minghao said.

He sat you down on the bed, then proceeded to remove the linens that covered it just enough for you to settle down under the duvet. When he helped you into the bed, he made sure to handle you carefully. His touch was gentle, and you swore that he barely even breathed. 

“I’ll get your medicine.”

In the kitchen, Minghao hurried together his ingrediendts. Lemon, honey, jasmine flowers, sage, root of valeriana, and, most importantly, lavender grown from the fields outside. He got the potion from one of his old books - two different sleeping potions mixed together. Maybe, just maybe, with a little help of some of his other trinkets, he could save you. He ground the ingredients up together, making it into a paste before diluting it with water. Before bringing it to you, he needed to gather a few other things. An old locket, a branch from the tree outside, and a bouquet of lavender and other wild flowers he had found outside. Memories from your past lives. The tree and the lavender was vague enough for you to not question it, but the locket he had to act carefully with. Inside it was a picture of him and you, from your wedding ceremony. It had been a small affair, so no one could tell it was a wedding picture from just looking at it. But the picture alone was suspicious for you to see. Nevertheless, Minghao put everything on a tray and carried it in to your room. 

You had fallen asleep when Minghao walked back into the room. He put the tray on the bedside table. The bouquet went in a glass and golden vase, and then he sat down next to you. To wake you, he put a hand on your shoulder and gently shook you. As soon as you opened your eyes, your eyebrows furrowed in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he winced.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, “Do you have it?”

Minghao hummed and helped you sit up. Once you had done so, he put the cup in your hands but stopped you when you attempted to drink it. One of his hands covered the top of the cup, and he kept it there.

“I have to warn you. This is strong,” he said.

“I don’t care, I just want to get better,” you said in a cracked voice, “Any way possible.”

Minghao nodded, and reached for the locket. He looked at you, hesitating before putting it around your neck. You were about to ask, but he stopped you with one, serious look.

“You’ll be different when you wake up, Y/N.”

“Different is better than dead,” you said dryly.

You put the cup to your lips and turned it upside-down. Minghao took your cup when you finished and helped you lay back down. Pulling the covers up over your chest, he watched as sleep took over you and as you fell into your deep slumber.

Days passed and you hadn’t woken up. Minghao had put fresh flowers in the vase for you, and had put the tree branch in your hands, laying on your chest. You looked peaceful like this, not like you had when you came to him. Seeing you stumble towards the house, sweating and heaving, was more painful than having knowledge of all the times you had passed on - your suffering was forever carved into his memory.

The more time that passed, the more anxious he grew. Minghao stopped going into your room altogether. Maybe it was a mistake to try, maybe it wasn’t supposed to be this way - what if he was doomed for all eternity to watch you come and go, what if that was his destiny? Had he ruined it all? Would he never be able to see you smile again? His thoughts kept spiraling, and he didn’t know how to stop it. His routine was the only thing that kept him calm. Wake up, breakfast, morning walk, take care of the plants, eat, read, make tea, eat, sleep, repeat. Everything was done with the same robotic motions, it was the only thing to keep him from going completely insane with anxiety. Patience is a virtue, but it’s impossible to keep up when time had gone on for an eternity already. He was so close - if this could only work. 

Once half a year had passed, he decided to check up on you. Despite his fears, you looked exactly the same. Dust had settled on your figure, but you were the exact same as before - peaceful, with your hands across your chest, and the locket around your neck. It must have worked. If you had died, then you would’ve decomposed by now. Then it was only a matter of time. Another winter alone, but the love and hope for you was enough to warm him.

You took a deep breath. Everything smelled of lavender. The corners of your mouth turned up, and you finally opened your eyes. The sun was bright, but the curtains dulled it’s glow. You sat up, looking at the twig in your hand. The tree. Yes, you remember. You remember planting it, and seeing it each time your life was renewed. You remembered everything. The cold locket against your bare skin made you aware of it’s presence of it around your neck. When you opened it you found your fondest memory - your wedding day. You looked around. Everything was just as the room you had designed for you and Minghao, all those hundred years ago. Minghao. You took off the duvet and put your feet on the ground. It was cold, and when you got up to walk it felt unusual, like you hadn’t walked in ages. As you stumbled your way to the door, the only thought in your mind was the one of him. You would finally see him again, remember him again. 

When you got to the porch, you had to sit down. Everything was just the way you wanted it to be, the exact way you had planned it. Minghao had done well with your instructions. You sat down in one of the chairs on the porch. The tree had grown big - and he said you would never see it grow. Life found it’s way. What intrigued you the most was the lavender fields. Sure, you had asked Minghao for some lavender in your garden, it was your favorite flower after all, but you never imagined he would take it this far. As you looked over the fields, you saw someone coming towards the house in the distance. A tall man, with black hair, and a graceful walk. Though you couldn’t walk far, you stappled toward the railing and steadied yourself against it.

“Minghao!”, you shouted and waved one of your arms.

The man noticed you. At first he stopped walking, but then he began running. You stumbled down the stairs, and tried to close the distance between you even faster. The two of you collided, and he engufled you in his embrace. You lost your balance, and both of you fell to your knees. 

“My love, you’re alive.” Minghao’s voice was cracked with tears threatening to spill from his eyes. 

“I’m alive,” you sniffled, “I’m alive, and I remember it all - everything you have done for me. Thank you.”

Minghao released you slightly from his embrace, before bringing his lips to yours. Kissing you for the first time in ages felt like heaven on earth. He never wanted this moment to end, and neither did you. For the first time in over a centennial, you could fulfill a life together.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Seventeen taglist: @junhui-recs ✧ @enhacolor ✧ @shuabby1994 ✧ @dkakapizzaboy ✧ @just-here-to-read-01 ✧ @loviehan ✧

[strawberrystepmom]

f!reader is the goddess of love (aphrodite) and kakashi is a mortal. reader is obviously very old (godcore) and kakashi is in his canon age in naruto (27). im tagging @zorosdimples bc this is also partially another birthday present for her LMFAO. love u!!!!!!! wc 1.7k

divider thanks to @/saradika 🩷

You kneel near a red rose bush, delicate petals fluttering around on one of the last warm breezes of the summer and brushing over your exposed arms. It isn’t much longer that you’ll be able to visit the realm of the mortals in your lightest robes, the ones that hang off of your shoulders in a way that makes you most comfortable. 

The unencumbered feeling of the warmest time of the year still flows through you despite the fact that the sun dips earlier and earlier every single day and verdant green slowly turns to russet and yellow, leaves swaying overhead even in the garden you’re visiting. You glance up from the bush in front of you, red petals dancing and settling across your skirt, and witness them wave to you, as if they’re saying goodbye to you themselves. 

Shaking your head, you laugh and look back down, plucking one of the petals from your skirt and rubbing it between your thumb and index finger. It’s as velvety as you pictured it would be, soft as your skin, and it makes you wonder when the purveyor of these fine roses in tribute to you will arrive to make himself known.

Kakashi Hatake, a man whose likeness lingers in your psyche. You’ve been watching him for years, his offerings growing in both size and intimacy since he was a young man and it would be a struggle to remember the last time you wished to meet a mortal as badly as you find yourself wishing to meet him. You desire to see the man who cultivated such fine roses in the flesh, petting another petal between your fingertips. It’s the least you can grace him with, despite your true intentions being wanting to see this man who has won your affection through nothing more than devotion.

Affection, you think. You are the goddess of the very emotion and this is deeper than simple affection. 

You’re infatuated with him. When you lay with your husband, captor you’re more likely to call him, you think of him. When you wander through the veil of the mortals and gods, which you are, you think of him. His scarred eye that he believes makes him unworthy of worshiping you, the way his gray hair sticks up at all angles on top of his head. 

A sigh as gentle as the breeze escapes you as you sit back and think of the first time you remember seeing him.

It started years ago at the local temple erected in your honor, Kakashi paying tribute with prayer and apples daily after his hunts had finished. He’d leave his bloodied bow and boots at the entrance, propping them against pristine gray marble to stick out like the red of the very roses he now grows in your honor, and enter the temple to kneel at your feet. 

“Goddess,” he asked, his voice carrying the deep timbre of a man.  “I’ve come to request your blessing.”

You granted it without a second thought that day and have since, enamored with the young man asking for you. The man who, over the years, would visit your shrine to read poetry and love stories. The man covered in blood whose heart has always been deceptively tender beneath a scarred and hardened outside, years of hunting beneath the blistering sun for his family, his village, his friends.

It’s time to offer him yourself as tribute to him given all that he has offered to you.

“I was beginning to worry that you’d never arrive,” you finally speak over your shoulder, turning your head enough to watch him approaching where you sit. You hear his footsteps stop, standing in the grassy clearing with his mouth agape. He tilled, planted, and pruned this garden himself - his own devotional paradise to his favorite goddess and here you sit, sundrenched skin and hair and lips. 

Did he die? Is this the afterlife he always longed for, a chance to live without burdensome responsibilities? To be the man he has always been beneath the tarnish of his life?

“Come, don’t keep me waiting.”

You pat the grass next to you, still coyly gazing from above your shoulder blade, and his footsteps pick up once again though slowly. Taking a moment before speaking, he wiggles his hands and fingers to make sure he still has feeling in them. He wonders if he shouldn’t run and hurl himself against the trunk of the trees surrounding you just to ensure he is alive and this is not a dream.

“Was I gored?” He speaks aloud and you laugh, musical and dancing on the wind. Just as he always imagined he’d heard while he spent his time in your tribute. Immediately he notices his gaffe and his face reddens, still walking toward you with his nose pointed toward the ground. He doesn’t notice when you stand, turning to face him while the petals that accumulated in the folds of your robes flutter at your feet.

Oh he has to be dead, he’s just grateful that this is the paradise he has come to live his afterlife in.

“You are alive and well, Kakashi.”

He nods, ignorant of what else to do, and you giggle. Dropping your skirts out of one of your balled fists, you produce a small parchment that you’ve been holding onto for a very long time, the edges worn and bent with the weight of your fingers tracing around the edges. You offer it in his direction and he blanches, noticing the handwriting on the paper belongs to him.

“Do you remember this?” You ask knowing that he does, given the way his eyes drift from the paper in your hand to your face and back several times. It sends a chill through you to see the color of them in person - deep like a stormcloud yet light like the marble of that temple he used to frequent years ago. He’s beautiful and who knows beauty better than you, the goddess of the very concept itself?

“I do, goddess,” he nods and reaches for the parchment, fully unrolling it and letting his eyes rove over his own words. He wrote this 8 birthdays ago, a young man full of love so thick he lived in fear it would erupt out and ruin him like that of a volcano. Hot and searing, melting all left in its path. He sighs, scanning over the poem he knows is less impressive than any you’ve probably ever had written in your honor and wonders why this is the one you’ve kept.

Have you come to punish him for his tributes and their lack in comparison to the others that love you?

“How did you come into possession of this?”

You smile at his question, approaching him with soft footsteps. He’s a hunter, after all, trained to notice the footsteps of prey and predators alike. You want to present yourself as neither as you offer no threat to him. Even if he were to decline your affections, you’d let him live. It would sear through you and you’d imagine his face in place of that of your beastly husband daily for the rest of your days, but you’d understand. A dalliance between a mortal and a Goddess often leads to trouble and this is a man who has always tried very hard to stay out of such affairs.

“I plucked it from the temple myself all those years ago,” you explain, offering your hand to him. His eyes dart nervously again and you reach down to take his hand, rubbing your soft thumb across his calloused palms. 

“Surely this is an illusion,” he whispers, heart beating so rapidly he worries you’ll be able to see it through his worn linen shirt. This man is a hunter, a warrior, a teacher of the youth in his village in the same techniques that have kept them alive for decades and he has been rendered nothing more than an uncertain mess at the sight of you. “This…this cannot be happening.”

“And why do you say that, mortal?”

He straightens his back at the reminder of your place over his own, a goddess in the flesh, holding his hand and tenderly caressing the wound he received while teaching one of the village children to care for his spear.

“Because you are you and I am myself,” he mutters. “This cannot be.”

He watches your lips curve into a smile, hair swaying as you shake your head at his mortal sensibilities to believe he knows better than the goddess he has been paying tribute to for nearly his entire life.

“If you wish it not to be then it shall not be but please consider that I’ve been waiting for you as well before you turn me away.”

Kakashi raises his brow, curious as to what you mean. He says nothing and you take his silence as permission to continue speaking, still smoothing over the creases in his palm with your thumb.

“Consorting with mortals always has a potential cost but I’m willing to pay that to even speak to you,” you purport and his jaw drops again, brows knitting together in confusion.

“To…me?”

You nod, lacing your fingers between his. You do not bristle when he doesn’t immediately grasp you back, willing to allow him his comfort.

“You, who has left me poetry that makes all others pale in comparison. Who planted this rose bush and the dozens of others dotting this garden, felling the thorns as they bloom.”

For a moment he allows himself to embrace the fantasy you’re painting for him. The Goddess of Beauty and Love, pining for him just as he’s pined for you. He has spent many lonely nights in his life dreaming of a blessing from you but never imagined this would be the one.

Your delicate fingers wrapped around his knuckles, your sun warmed cheeks upturned in a smile.

“Come, let’s talk,” you offer, keeping your grip on his hand as the two of you walk toward the rose bush. 

You’re willing to do some convincing if you need it but given the red tips of his ears, you don’t believe it’ll take much.

[lucid-romances]

Neighborly

Sebastian x City! Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Mention of Death

Sebastian waits for the farmer in the morning.

The morning light was just teetering over the mountaintops of Stardew Valley.  In the early spring, dew clung to the grass, and a chill came in with the breeze. (Y/N) pulls her old duster tighter around herself as she fills a bucket of water to throw into her garden.  She counts the stocks of beans and tomatoes and sighs in relief when she finds no carnage from the birds.  She’d lived in a city her entire life, depending on the subway train to get her places and street-side food carts to keep her fed.  The only experience she had with plants was the small rooftop garden her mother preserved at their apartment building, and even that had managed to wither away in the months following her death. 

As (Y/N) places her empty bucket by the gate, she tries not to think of her mother or how she would have loved to grow old in Pelican Town.  She never seemed like the type to settle down, and every day, (Y/N) had watched her look out the window with longing.  At the very least, her grave is outside the city limits, with her father now put to rest beside her.  His grave was only three months old when (Y/N) decided to cash in on her portion of his Will.  Her father hadn’t been pleased- she was leaving her corporate job behind to take on a run-down farm, and he didn’t have much faith in her management potential. 

Some days, (Y/N) is inclined to agree with him, but on this day, she’d managed to get up early and finish her chores before the sunrose.  Her mailbox was empty, and her time was free, which meant she could pick up her rusty sword and travel into the mines. As dark and grim as the old shafts happened to be, she thought they were the most fascinating part of the Valley. She had a growing collection of crystals lining her flower bed, and Gunther treated her like an archaeological companion, given the many artifacts she’d been able to bring him. 

She’d always been better at hitting things than mending them, which is why she’d strap a small bag to her back and her sword to her belt before she began the walk up Mountain Road.  She expects the rest of town to be asleep, except for the few business owners who needed an early start, and she’d startle when passing by her neighbor’s home.  A whistle catches her off-guard, sharp and attentive, and her eyes snap towards Robin’s Carpenter business.  

Sebastian is leaning against the fence surrounding their patio, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he waves a coffee cup in front of him. 

“Are my eyes deceiving me, Seb, or are you awake this early?” 

“Maybe I’m just up really late. Here, this is for you.” 

(Y/N) takes a step closer, the bitter aroma of the coffee making her mouth water before she takes the mug into her hands. The warmth felt good against the chill, and she flashed Sebastian a toothy smile. “Don’t tell me you wait around every morning to give a cup of Joe to the first pretty person you see.” 

“You’re the only pretty person willing to get up this early.” Sebastian huffs back, propping his chin against his first as she takes a drink. “Unless you count Linus.” 

“‘Course I count Linus. Have you seen that man’s beard?”  

Sebastian laughs, and the cherry light of his cigarette drops some ashes at his feet. “It’s a good thing I already brought him breakfast, huh? I wouldn’t want him feeling underappreciated.” 

(Y/N) softens at this information before pointing to him with his mug. “Why are you up?” 

“You mentioned going into the mines when we played pool on Friday. I figured I’d catch you before you went in. Wish you luck.”

“That’s nice of you.” 

“Ah, I’m just being neighborly.” 

She wasn’t sure what to say, but she knew that he wouldn’t wake up before 9 AM just to talk to any of his other neighbors. Hell, the only thing that got him up most days was the fact that he had work.  She felt rather special, and under the scrutiny of his gaze, she couldn’t keep that telltale fluttering from starting in her chest. “Sebastian…”

 

“Yeah?”

“Go inside now. If you keep looking at me, I might die.” 

He grins and stands up straighter as if he’d got what he was waiting for that whole time. “Better to die by my flattery than to the monsters down there.  Why don’t you come inside? We can have a real breakfast.” 

“As special as the one you had with Linus?” 

“Well, no. You lack the beard necessary to have a five-star meal with me,  but close.” 

(Y/N) offers Sebastian the now empty mug, and he reaches out to hook it by the handle.  His hands are cold, and she realizes he must have been freezing too, only wearing his hoodie and shorts.  He’s still in his pajamas despite inviting her over, and she rolls her eyes. “I’ll have to rain check. I’m supposed to meet Gunther with something new, and I don’t want to disappoint him.” 

Sebastian nods before he bends down to pick up a small bag. It was hidden behind Maru’s telescope. “I assumed, so here’s a few extra supplies. Water, granola bars, first-aid. Please don’t die down there.” 

“I make no such promises, but thank you for caring.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Sebastian finally finishes his cigarette and stubs it out on the fence before stuffing it in his pocket. “I’m the only one who knows you’re going down there, so if you die, I’m the one who has to drag you back up.” 

“I’d love to see you try! Come to the mines next time, and I’ll show you a thing or two about slaying slimes.”

“I think the town would be better off if I left the ass-kicking to you, (Y/N). I’d hate to be on the other side of that sword.” 

“What, this old thing?” She turns about to give a view of the sword sheathed at her hip. “I could teach you a thing or two, swordsmanship is a dead art.” 

“Make it out of those mines in one piece, and then we’ll talk.”

 

(Y/N) smiles before she stuffs the small bag of supplies within her own to carry with her.  “Talk to you later then?” 

“Come by once you’re finished down there. We’d all love to see what you find.” 

She nods and then continues down the path with a softhearted goodbye left on the wind.

[bberetd]

▼ for Daisy, perhaps? 🤔

🙇‍♀️

▼ - childhood headcanon

let's see...

She absolutely loved playing outside and running around! She would collect any kid she saw roaming around the area and invite them to play with her, and they'd be quick friends.

She's got plenty of childhood bruises and scars from all the playing.

Squinkyyy!

When she was five, she found a stray orange baby Yoshi sleeping in the castle gardens. She immediately claimed him as her own, promising her mom and dad to feed him plenty of fruits and take him on nice walks.

and she actually held up this promise! They did everything together; they were best friends, partners in crime, ride-or-dies (literally) 🧡🧡

The Yoshi (named Squinky) became very strong faster than the average Yoshi and was able to carry Daisy around long distances by the time she was 8.

They would show Daisy's parents 'magic' tricks they learned or funny dances. Squinky also quickly became a part of Daisy's young circle of friends. Their favorite game to play with him was Duck Duck Goose, where the 'goose' would get to ride Squinky and chase who tagged them.

Family life

She's always been a daddy's girl. Her relationship with her mom has always been rather strained because she wanted her to grow up so fast and to be the 'perfect princess.'

^ about this!! I often think about Daisy's childhood/upbringing like the movie Brave (and totally not just cause they're both red-headed 😜). All she wanted (and wants) to do is have fun, be free, be independent, but she shall be constrained by the shackles of diplomacy, her mom's belief was.

The idea of suitors as a child scared her. She didn't want to get married to strangers that she'd have to force herself to love.

The future in general just scared Daisy. She thought that if she had gone far enough from Sarasaland, that time would have frozen and that she would be young forever. When night fell, she packed some fruits and belongings, called Squinky, and got moving.

Meeting Peach

This trip lasted for about three days. within that time, she explored different kingdoms, but the most sane (and safest) seemed to be the Mushroom Kingdom.

Upon entering the main village, Daisy saw an old-looking Toad showing a human girl around the shops. As she thought about it, that was the only other human she saw in the kingdom. Is the old guy the king, and the girl his... daughter? Her mama's got weird taste.

But this mysterious girl makes eye contact with Daisy and immediately runs up to hug her (to the mushroom man's dismay) and was blabbering on and on about meeting another human. She likes her.

But yeah Peach and Daisy meet!! Daisy introduces Peach to Squinky, and Peach introduces Daisy to Toadsworth.

Daisy, Peach, and Squinky spent a lot of time together over a couple of days, doing outdoor activities, dress-up, exploring, tea parties... but Toadsworth eventually decided that it was time to get Daisy back to Sarasaland.

Reunion

In those few days, her father held an intervention for her mother, with him and close-working advisors voicing their concerns about how she was raising their daughter. She used this moment to sit back and really think about how she had been treating her daughter. [insert more clever epiphany]

The family had an emotional reunion. Daisy's mother wanted to be better for her and everyone in Sarasaland so they wouldn't have to relive the worst three days of their lives.

Daisy loved this very much. She had two conditions: to let her visit the Mushroom Kingdom more, and to let Squinky become the official royal pet.

the rest is history, Squinky is still there present-day :')

[dottielovegood]

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Since yesterday was Summer Solstice and Midsummer is tomorrow, I thought that it would be fitting to write a little fic about human Elain during her first summer solstice/midsummer without Feyre. 

It is said that if you pick seven different flowers and put them under your pillow on midsummer, you will dream of the man you are going to marry. Who is the man visiting Elain’s dreams? 

Set during ACOTAR

Pairing: Elriel Words: 2581 Content warnings: none

Elain was standing in her garden, eyes closed and face turned toward the sky. Summer had finally reached their little village and she had almost forgotten how good the sun felt on her skin. Just like she had forgotten what it felt like not to worry about money and food. 

It had been months since she had seen her younger sister, Feyre. She had left so suddenly to go and take care of their old aunt Ripleigh who had fallen ill. In all honesty, Elain could barely even remember an aunt Ripleigh, and she could barely remember the night when Feyre left. Thinking back on it only made her head hurt and the memory was blurry - as if there was something wrong with it. It was like remembering a dream just after waking up and then forgetting it the very next second. It was there, yet it wasn’t. Elain couldn’t explain it, nor could she talk about it with Nesta. She would surely think her mad if she uttered a word about it, so she kept her mouth shut. It’s not like they didn’t have enough on their plate. 

A few weeks after Feyre’s departure, another peculiar thing happened. Somehow, their father, who had been nothing but a broken shell of the man he once was, had been able to get enough money to pay their debts, and then some. Elain didn’t think about this too much, either, because every time she did, she realized how incredulous it was. Things didn’t add up, and she was wary of things being too good, too fast. Shortly thereafter, they moved into a chateau of white marble with emerald roofs. She wrote to Feyre about their new house, about the servants they now employed, about the garden she wanted to grow, yet she received no reply. Her father’s spirit had lifted and Elain did everything in her power to seem happy even though there was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something was wrong. She didn’t want to be a bother, so she put on a brave face. Sometimes, she envied Nesta. Nesta, who had turned inwards even more since Feyre left them. Nesta, who ground her teeth every time Elain talked about balls and suitors. Maybe she found Elain trite for caring about such things, but she didn’t understand that Elain had to care. She had to keep up appearances. Yes, they had gotten their old lives back in a way, but Elain knew how fragile it all was. She still remembered how it all had been taken away once, which meant that it could happen again. Elain vowed to herself that she would never let that happen. So she put on a smile and did whatever she could in order to secure a good future for herself and her family. She went to the balls, she accepted suitors into their home during the socialite season, she listened to the gossips that gathered in the town square every day just to find out who the most eligible bachelor was. And then she made up a plan on how to get him to ask for her hand. 

She pretended as if it didn’t bother her that the people who had turned their backs on their family for years now welcomed her with open arms. She pretended to actually care about the mindless conversations she was forced to endure while drinking tea with the other ladies in town. She needed everyone to like her. Her mother had once said that she would marry for beauty and love, but Elain wasn’t sure that was true anymore. Now, she thought that she might marry for security. If something were to happen to their father, she needed to be able to take care of her sisters. She was not going to let Feyre do it all by herself again. When Feyre returned, she was going to make sure that she knew that Elain wasn’t taking her for granted anymore. And with Nesta refusing to meet any suitors, Elain knew that she was their only hope. As a woman, there was only one way to secure a good future - by finding a good husband, and Elain was going to do just that. Just a few days ago, she had received a letter from the son of Lord Nolan, asking her to join him for tea in a week's time. Elain had almost started jumping with glee when she read the note. This was what she had been striving for. Graysen Nolan was one of the wealthiest bachelors in the village and he would surely make a good match. If she could charm him, she would never have to worry about going hungry again, nor would her sisters. They would be taken care of. So she accepted his offer and prayed to the gods that he would find her charming. From the way he had looked at her during the latest ball she attended, she knew that he already found her attractive. Knew that there was something that drew him to her. Now she just needed him to see beyond her exterior. Beauty was a short-lived currency, this she knew, so she needed to show him that she would be a good wife, mother and homemaker if he was going to choose her. 

It might not sound like much work, but Elain was exhausted. Always keeping up appearances and pretending as if the last few years never happened was tiresome, and she needed a rest. From her garden, she could hear music and laughter from where the townsfolk had gathered in the square. It was midsummer eve, the longest day of the year, and they were all celebrating the arrival of summer. Elain could almost imagine them all dancing around the maypole, singing silly songs and drinking a bit too much wine. The children would make flower crowns and eat too many sweets, just like every other year. It was a lovely tradition, but she couldn’t muster up the energy to attend. She had already gotten what she needed - the invite from Graysen Nolan. She could afford to not be social, if only for a day. 

Elain dug her toes into the soft grass underneath her bare feet and took a deep breath. She had given the servants the day off so they could all attend the midsummer celebrations, and so that she could enjoy some peace and quiet. Their father was away on business which meant that she and Nesta had the house to themselves - a rare occurrence these days. Although, she might have been here all on her own since Nesta was nowhere to be seen. She often kept to her room when she was home. Elain wondered why Nesta seemed even angrier now than when they were living in the cottage. They had gotten it all back - a beautiful house, more money than they needed and a good reputation. Elain couldn’t understand why Nesta seemed to hate everything they had been given. Sure, Elain didn’t understand their sudden fortune, but she was thankful nonetheless. She knew that she should talk to her sister, but every time she brought it up, Nesta just sighed and muttered something about Elain not being able to understand. Elan wanted to understand, and she hoped that Nesta would come around eventually. 

Elain let out a breath and opened her eyes, squinting from the bright sunshine. In her hand, she held a small bouquet of six flowers. She bent down to pick one last flower, a bluebell. Midsummer was said to be a magical day. There were all kinds of mystical stories and fairytales surrounding midsummer, and even though Elain hadn’t believed in those stories since she was a child, there was still one tradition that she enjoyed. It was probably silly, but it was said that if you picked seven different kinds of flowers and put them under your pillow, you would dream of the man you would someday marry. When they lived in the cottage, Elain had kept up this tradition even though Nesta laughed at her and told her that no one would want them now. They were destitute, fated to become spinsters, if they didn’t die first. Elain couldn’t let Nesta’s words into her heart. Hope was all she had back then, so she picked the flowers and prayed that she would see the man of her dreams. But every year, she awoke from a dreamless sleep. She was certain that this year wouldn’t be any different, but she was not going to lose hope. Hope is, after all, the last thing that abandons you. If you lose hope, you have nothing left to fight for. For years, she had lived on hope alone. And if this year had shown her anything, it was that dreams could come true. She thought that if she just hoped a little bit more, then maybe she would have everything she could ever dream of. 

So Elain held the flowers tight in her hand and returned to her bedroom. Maybe, just maybe, fate would be on her side this year. 

Later that night, she fell asleep with hope in her heart and seven flowers hidden under her pillow. 

Jasmine flowers grew out of dark shadows. They shone like small beacons of light in the darkness. Like stars in the night sky. Elain could hear her own heartbeat, or maybe it wasn’t hers? Something told her that she should be afraid, yet she found comfort in the darkness. Found comfort in the shadows that wound themselves around her body like ivy. She stretched out her hand to touch one of the white flowers. The soft petals tickled her fingertips before her hand was enveloped in darkness. A moment later, the world was bathed in a dim blue light. It seemed to be pulsing, following the same rhythm as her heartbeat. In the distance, she could see the shape of a man among the shadows. She couldn’t make out much in the darkness, but she knew that the light was coming from him. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she knew she should go to him. Knew that all the answers to her questions could be found there, with him. Whoever he was, wherever he had come from. He was the answer. 

She stepped closer, careful not to scare him away. Her nightgown clung to her legs and she could almost feel his eyes on her - assessing her. Silently asking her questions she didn’t know the answers to. She tried to speak, yet no words would leave her mouth. As she got closer, she could make out his dark messy hair. Could see that he was wearing black leather, an obsidian blade strapped to his thigh. He looked strong, stronger than any man she had ever seen before. Lethal, even. Dangerous. But she was not afraid. She lifted her gaze to his face and found two hazel eyes staring back at her through the darkness. 

“Who are you?” Elain managed to ask, her voice steadier than she felt. 

There was no answer. His eyes swept down over her body and Elain felt herself shiver. She could almost feel those eyes as if they were hands running down her body. She wanted his hands running down her body. Wanted so many things she shouldn’t want. She didn’t understand. Why was she here? 

She was close to him now - not close enough to touch, but close enough to finally make out all his features. Elain searched her brain for words to describe him, yet the only word that seemed fitting was ‘beautiful’. She had never seen such a beautiful man. His skin was dark, though it seemed to glow in a magical sort of way. His eyes were warm, and maybe she only imagined it, but she thought that she could see small flecks of gold there. He seemed like something out of this world. Surely, something so beautiful couldn’t be human. 

“Hello, little fawn,” he drawled, his voice smooth like velvet and shadows. He was darkness incarnate, yet the bright blue light emanating from him never seemed to dim. The shadows surrounding him seemed to be a part of him - an extension of his very being. As if he was wearing his soul outside his body. 

She didn’t understand the nickname and she was just about to ask him why he called her such a thing when she saw them. The wings. What she had thought was a cluster of shadows above him was actually two taloned wings. They had no feathers, no. The smooth surface reminded Elain of the bats that lived in her garden - creatures of the night, just like him. She stopped breathing for just a moment - from fear or shock or something else entirely, she didn’t know. She only knew that she had been right - this man was not human. She wasn’t even sure he was a man. He was something otherworldly, something dangerous, something to be afraid of. She knew that she should be afraid - yet, there was no fear to be found. She searched within herself but found nothing but curiosity and awe. He had come for her, though she didn’t understand why. 

“Who are you?” she asked again, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“You’ll find out when you need to know.”

Elain felt her heart race, her breathing quicken. She knew that she didn’t have much time, though she couldn’t remember why. Why was time running out? Why was he here? Where was here? Was she supposed to know? 

There were so many questions on the tip of her tongue, though the only words her mouth would form were, “You came for me.” 

The creature's face relaxed and he looked at her with such warmth that Elain had to suck in a breath. He looked at her as if she was something precious, something to take care of and treasure. No one had ever looked at her like that before. A small smile formed on his lips, and Elain thought that she had never seen something so beautiful in her entire life. “I will always come for you,” he said, and Elain knew that he was telling the truth. She didn’t know him, didn’t even know what he was, but she somehow knew that he could be trusted. She wanted to go to him, but her feet seemed rooted to the ground. She looked down just to see that her feet were covered in ivy, and when she looked up again, he seemed far away once more. She opened her mouth to call for him but yet again, no words came. She could feel herself panic. She didn’t want him to leave. She needed to know who he was. She needed to know his name. Needed the answer to her question, though she had forgotten what she needed to ask. 

She blinked, just once, and the world became blurry, something bright breaking through the darkness. Elain reached out a hand, hoping that he would grab it and hold onto her but she was met with nothing but smoke and shadows. She blinked again, and he was gone, replaced by something too bright, too…wrong. 

“Please,” she whispered as the last of his shadow disappeared only to be replaced by a blinding light. A heady scent of night-chilled mist and cedar lingered as she slowly returned to reality. 

[ghostchems]

How about kisses with a height difference - one leaning down while the other is on their tiptoes from kissing prompts? *wink wink*

Mwah 💋

Primo has not been able to find you all morning. You had promised him you would help him with apple picking but you are nowhere to be found. He checked your quarters much to the shock of your roommate but you were already gone. Primo couldn’t help but take in your space though. He has always been sensitive to scents and he took a moment to sit on your bed and take yours in. The messy sheets and comforter, the scattered pillows, all smelled of you. Primo sees you frequently and he wasn’t expecting to be hit with such emotion from your scent. It made him want to find you and see you as soon as possible.

The next place he checked was the cafeteria. The room went silent as Primo walked from table to table, his eyes scanning every face to try to find you. Primo didn’t typically make appearances like this anymore, ever since being retired. He usually keeps to himself for meals, sometimes staying in his garden and having whatever he had freshly picked. But to make an appearance while the majority of the church is having their breakfast? It put everyone on edge, even though there wasn’t any trouble. The entire cafeteria let out a sigh of relief once Primo had left, off to find you somewhere else.

He checked the library, the chapel, and more before he eventually gave up and decided to head to the orchard on his own for apple picking. Primo is an old man and has had many lovers in his lifetime, but something about you made his heart swell. It is definitely aching at the moment because he wants nothing more than to see you. The two of you have had busy schedules as of late and the idea for apple picking came about so that you could spend some time together and have it already planned out.

Primo wanders to the orchard, unable to begin apple picking because he wishes he is with you. He lets out a deep sigh as he walks down one of the rows of trees, his eyes focusing on the bright red and yellow apples that are growing from them. Until, a basket full of apples drops to the ground in front of him. He stops and looks up to find you in the tree itself, perched on a branch as you look down at him.

“I was wondering when you were going to get here! I thought we had a date planned, Primo.” You quip as you maneuver yourself on the strong branch to hover over him.  

“A-ah, amore, I thought we were meeting at my office. I’ve been looking all over the place for you.” His lips are stretched into a wide small as he gazes up at you. A silly miscommunication. You are here after all and it warms his heart all over again. 

You love seeing him like this, happy and radiant in the morning sun. The branch rustles as you lean down even more from the branch, trying to reach him. Primo stands on his tippy toes and kisses you on the lips, a soft, tender one that brings a blush to your cheeks.

“Well, are you going to help me down or not?” You giggle as his nose brushes against yours.

[saruman-the-silly]

hi hi hi! i see your requests are open💕

would you be able to do some headcanons for the papas with an s/o whose love language is acts of service and sometimes won't even let them do a thing because they feel as if they aren't showing much love? eh, i don't know. then again, just a request and totally okay if you don't want to write it! much love <3

hellloooo yes absolutely :D and thank you for the request!! <3 - I added some abandonment issues for the reader whoops (it just seemed to fit well this whole thing and yall know me, I love me some fluff with a sprinkle of hurt/comfort)

Headcanons: Papas with a s/o whose love language is acts of service

Primo:

He's a big sweetheart. Of course he will appreciate it when you bring him a calming cup of tea when his back pain is flaring up.

Primo would most definitely start to question it, when you all you seemed to do was kind things for him, and not accepting the same treatment for you.

One day, when you were in the garden with him, picking some raspberries while he was tending to some roses, he decided to ask you about it.

"Amore, I appreciate all the nice things you do for me, but why don't you let me return the favour?" You mumbled something quietly, so Primo gently asked you to repeat it.

"Well.. I guess I just want to prove my love to you so you'll stay with me. I really do like doing things for you, seeing you smile makes my day a lot better." The poor man was baffled by this, why would you need to prove your love to him?

Primo would assure you gently but firmly that there is no need to prove your love to him, you being there is enough. He would reprimand you for thinking he would leave you for anyone else, Primo is old and has loved you for a long time, that ain't happening.

Secondo:

Secondo's very confused.

Like, baffled. He isn't used to anyone doing nice things for him. (Which of course makes you wanna beat Nihil's ass because fuck him and his shitty parenting)

You do so much for him, and while yes, he grows to appreciate it you two are probably gonna argue about why you aren't letting him return the favour.

"OKAY- okay.. I want to do nice things for you to prove to you how much I love you. And because I like doing nice stuff." Secondo's mask of seriousness and no-bullshit drops right then and there.

He wraps his arms tightly around you, squeezing you while whispering something in Italian to himself. You're not sure if it's a prayer or a curse, or maybe both.

"Dolcezza, you do not need to prove yourself to me." He struggles to say anything else, so he kisses you. Secondo pours all the love and appreciation into the kiss, making you realise how much this man truly loves you.

Terzo:

Any of the Emeritus brothers are not really used to nice things being done for them, but especially Terzo. (Nihil was always the hardest on him, which makes you have violent thoughts whenever you see his miserable, pasty ass wandering around the ministry)

Terzo puts on a charismatic playboy persona to hide away the insecurities, so you doing kind things to him makes him fall in love instantly.

He, at heart, is a romantic so he drops the playboy persona and begins to do kind things for you as well.

You object, but Terzo is very, very persistent. It kind of turns into a funny competition of who can do the most kind things for one another.

In all seriousness, after having fun for a while he sits you down and asks about it.

"I feel like I need to prove my love to you because I'm afraid you will find someone better." Terzo tears up at that, and envelopes you in a hug.

"I am sorry I made you feel like this, you are more than enough for me amore," he sobs in your arms.

The two of you would just cry together, getting it out, and then you would have an honest, good conversation about your relationship.

You would do something fun after all that serious talk, like a movie marathon or prank Secondo.

Copia:

Like Secondo, Copia would be very confused at first. No-one has been as kind to him as you were (after hearing that you replaced Nihil's hearing aids with m&m's - he's old as shit and now he can't bother anyone but himself)

Copia loves you. Like, not just because you were kind to him but once he gets to know you? He adores you.

All the kind things you do for him? He appreciates you so much, because as we all know, Copia is drowning in his work because he's a sweetheart who can't say no if someone asks him to do something.

All the coffee you brought into him late in the evening, the little notes of encouragement you left on his desk, he loves and appreciates you so much for it.

That's why he was so confused when you confessed to him that you're afraid of him finding someone better than you.

Copia drops to his knees in front of you, tenderly holding your hand in his.

"Il mio amore, la mia vita, do you have any idea of how much you truly mean to me? You are my treasure, treasure I shall hold with gentle hands and dear to my heart, because I cannot imagine a world without you in it."

You cry (oh come on when he drops to his knees in front of you and gives a speech like that?? I'd cry as well lmao) and Copia wipes gently your tears away, smiling and then kissing you gently.

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

Hope you enjoy <3 and again, thank you for the request, it was really fun to write!