#sympathetic to the reader and that the reader can see themselves in‚

[kyouka-supremacy]

Again the sickness speaking but here's something that has been going through my mind since forever:

I feel like a good way to mitigate a lot of discontent with the doa arc ending and in general the whole Dazai-being-flawless issue bsd has going on is by comparing bsd to Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle. Please bear with me for two minutes.

When Sherlock Holmes was being published, people were intrigued and enamoured by Holmes' brilliant and charming, crimes-solving figure. People read the stories for the pure joy of being left gaping at his superhuman wits again and again; they didn't want to see him fail, they wanted to be shocked and amazed by his genius. When Holmes died and then came back, nobody lamented it being unrealistic, because realism was not what people were reading the books for! They were reading to be impressed, to cheer for the hero and then take satisfaction in seeing him turn out victorious. That's the author-reader deal that was made there: to impress and to enjoy being impressed.

As of recently I feel like we've been asking from bsd something it never promised us in the first place. Maybe it's just not that kind of series! Maybe it's more about surprising the reader with how the hero is going to make it and less about highlighting his flaws and insecurities. And like, that's okay! That's why Dazai getting away with it isn't it him getting away with it “again”, it's just how bsd is; in a way, it's what makes bsd bsd.

I think it really clicked with me like it never did before when I watched the last episode of season 5; because the arc ending felt so shocking and unpredictable, very deus-ex-machina trope, a little underwhelming in its lowering the stakes that were there the whole time, and yet so extremely on brand with bsd, I didn't even have it in me to be disappointed. It was so similar to the Guild's arc ending and even more to the Cannibalism arc ending, and maybe it really is just a pattern, maybe it really is what bsd aspires to be, and that's okay too.

Also, I can't stretch this enough: if it's not your cup of tea, that's fine. I can't say it's mine either. But I feel like criticizing bsd now for how it's always been falls quite short, because it really feels like demanding from it what it never promised to deliver in the first place. That's just as far as my current perception of the series goes, though, so feel free to disagree with me on this.

[dukeofthomas]

"Jason just needs to see things from his family's perspective and understand how much they love him (despite them never actually communicating or showing him through their actions)" is out. "The batfamily putting a single bit of effort into understanding Jason and reconciling with him on his own terms" is in.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility, murder of unnamed characters, mentions of potentially killing reader

♡ FEM reader

♡ P2: Staying

Just thinking about the apocalypse, the two army men who’ve long survived it in their shelter with barely any trouble, and then you, a poor girl trying hard to outrun your last captives only to run into them.  

You didn’t realize back then that it was like trading piranhas for sharks, too caught up in begging for their aid to think better of it. You should have just kept running, but your ankle was sprained badly, maybe even broken, and you were wearing so little you would most likely have died from the cold during the night if they hadn’t taken you in.

It seems unfair of them to have kept the giant bunker all to themselves, only the two of them, but you don’t judge. You would likely have kept it all to yourself as well.

This new world has bred new humans, and they’re all monsters. It’s honestly quite surprising they’d even let you in, given this is what they’re protecting, this sanctuary from the past, a comfort most people would kill their closest friend in exchange for.

Trust is all but dead, and so is honor or any other morality—you would know, you’ve lived out there for it all, only having survived by spreading your legs at the right moments. It’s a shameful tactic, and many times, you’ve wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to spare yourself and just die. What was the purpose?

This—you think. This must be it. They have showers and working hot water.

You don’t know how it’s possible—the original owners of the shelter must have been some type of millionaire. You haven’t had a warm shower since the world went to shit—years ago. It’s been a choice of waiting for rain or finding a lake, hoping it wasn’t rancid. Meanwhile, they have soap—scented soap, the lush kind you’d forgotten existed. It feels so nice you have to cry—rejoice—sobbing while lathering yourself, watching all the filth go down the drain, leaving you smooth-skinned once again for the first time in forever. You can’t remember having ever been so clean before, feeling reborn.

They have fresh clothes for you too—new socks and underwear, all clean fabrics, so much more than what you wore—pants, a shirt, and a sweater to keep warm. You didn’t know there still existed people who lived like the old days—you’d thought it was long gone, a bittersweet dream you sometimes have the pleasure of at night instead of the usual nightmares. Never had you thought you’d experience anything even remotely similar, but here you are—looking yourself in the mirror after so long, surprised to see a human looking back at you.

And they feed you. Not scraps, not leftovers, not rot, or days-old flesh from the last successful hunt—but freshly baked bread, vegetables, fruit—for fuck’s sake, they even have juice. You cry again while eating, and then you find yourself begging them again, “Please, let me stay—please, I’ll do anything. I can cook, clean, work—anything at all, I can do it, just please let me stay…”

You’re on your knees, forehead pressed to the heated metal floors—toasty and comforting, you think you could sleep better than ever right there.

“We’ll think about it,” one of them mutters as he gathers the plates. His voice was so harsh he might as well have said, not a chance. It’s clear by his frown that he’d rather send you right out again, leave you to the monsters.

“We’ll at least let you stay until your ankle heals, so don’t worry.” The other is more sympathetic, helping you up. “For now, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind that they’d have beds—actual real soft downy mattresses and duvets and pillows. The two of you help make it together. It feels so foreign that you wonder if you might have died earlier. Some years back, you wouldn’t have thought heaven would resemble a prison cell, but now it only made sense—safe metal walls and a bed. What more could one possibly want in the world?

“I’ll wrap your leg for you if you sit.” He holds out a bandage roll, gesturing to your ankle.

Blinking, you can’t even register what he’d just offered until he’s getting down on his knees before you.

You panic, then. Bandages are hard to come by—it hardly seems worth it. “There’s no blood, you shouldn’t waste it—”

“It’ll heal better and faster this way,” he adds reassuringly. His voice is so soft and compelling that you find yourself sitting down without further quarrel, even when it makes you feel spoiled.

He’s gentle with you—holding you steady while wrapping it just tightly enough to be supportive. There hasn’t been a man who’s touched you like it.

“Does that feel okay?”

You can barely tell he’s talking to you. It’s all so lost on you that you can only wordlessly nod your head.

He fastens it just as carefully before standing. “Is there anything else you might need?”

You shake your head just as wordlessly. You can’t believe how nice he’s being. It makes no sense at all. Not in this world. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to lock the door,” he apologizes with a sheepish look once standing on the threshold.

You’d been stuck thinking about how warm the room was, trying to remember a single time you hadn’t been freezing during the night. “That’s okay, I understand,” you say. After all, what’s a locked door in comparison?

“Good,” he smiles—it’s likely the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. “Alright then, good night.”

Once again, you’re left stunned. The last time you’d heard those words spoken must have been from a loved one long since dead. It makes your lip wobble again as you say it back, “Good night.”

It's strange—they could have left you for dead but didn’t. They don’t seem gullible—they can’t be if they’ve managed to protect this place for so long—but you suppose there still exist men who have a soft spot in their hearts for helpless damsels in distress.

As you sink into the comfort, draping your duvet atop your battered body, you don’t even care about the camera in the ceiling—blinking red while watching you.

“Did you have to bandage her up?” he grumbles as the other walks into the bedroom after having said his goodnights to you. 

He’s already in bed, observing through the cameras on a tablet—you were currently curling into the duvet, wrapping it around you close for comfort. You’d likely not slept on anything so soft in a while—it wouldn’t surprise him if you preferred the floor. But no, you drift asleep quite quickly.

“You know how badly things can heal without proper support,” the other answers, regarding it as no big deal. “And besides, it’s not like we often need it—we have plenty to spare.”

He removes his clothes and crawls onto the bed as well, lifting the covers to slot himself right next to the other man, who still has a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on…” he drawls. “She’s exactly what we’ve been talking about, isn’t she?”

The grump doesn’t answer, still with keen eyes watching you, even as you’ve fallen asleep—as if waiting for you to do something befitting a wild animal in a cage. The other’s eyes fall to the screen as well, but he only awes in delight.

“Look at her, already fast asleep,” he purrs while zooming in on your face. “I mean, did you see how she was begging earlier, what she said? I’d do anything,” he continues, almost whining. “So cute, I could have fucked her right then and there.”

The other man sets the tablet aside with a disagreeing sigh. “We’ll wait at least a week for her system to detoxify from the wasteland,” he says strictly. “I’m not touching her before then, and neither are you unless you want to sleep alone.”

The other groans then, flopping down on his back. “Yeah, yeah, you and your safety protocols,” he dismisses before a smirk creeps up his face, glee twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at his grouchy counterpart. “But then we keep her, right?”

“Tch—we don’t even know if she’s fertile. The wasteland could have made her barren as long as she’s been out there,” the other shuffles down into the sheets as well, turning to look at his partner and the awfully keen look on his face.

“So we test her. Give her a medical check,” he says, again as if it’s not a problem, even when it very well could turn out to be.

They’ve already broken quarantine rules by letting you in here—and who knows what your real objectives truly are.

“I don’t trust her,” he states.

The other pouts. “I don’t see what one little lady can do—she’s hardly a threat. And we already purged the group that was following her. I doubt any of them made it out alive.”

True, he had gone out and sent several gas grenades into the settlement. Surely, none of them managed to escape, but then again—

“Pest control only works when you kill them all, and we’ve just let one inside our own house,” he grumbles.

The other one sighs. “Okay, so if it turns out she isn’t as cute as she looks, we’ll deal with her like the rest. But if I’m right, and she really is just a harmless little thing, we keep her, and I get to have the first go.”

Suppose there isn’t anything better to do aside from killing you straight away, which would only have been a waste of food, water, clothes, and bandages. 

“Fine.”

The other grins at the agreeance, humming, “I guess until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other—I've been hard since we watched her shower.” He leans forward for contact but is shut down as his bedmate rolls around with his back turned to him.

“Tch—take care of it yourself.” Tonight has been too stressful to tug each other’s dicks. 

He can hear him whine behind him, but he settles down soon enough.

Suppose it would be nice fucking a woman again. It’s been so many years he figured he wouldn’t need it anymore. They’ve made do with each other so far. But even he can’t deny, once you’d washed all the blood and muck off, once he saw the dewy hue of your soft skin and the silk of your hair, all those plush curves, and not to mention that awfully sweet look on your face—he felt the tug in his pants too.

He'll do a medical check on you tomorrow. He hopes you’re fertile. But even if you’re not, he might give in to the other’s wishes and keep you anyway. After all, they might have many luxuries, but the comfort of pussy is one they haven’t had in a long, long, long time.

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta, ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace.��

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[wafflefries13]

Dream a Little Dream of Me (Twisted Wonderland Cast X Reader)

Summary: A look into the future with the Twisted Wonderland cast, guest staring our favorite magicless prefect.

AN: Can you tell which of these were really hard for me to come up with? Overall I'm pretty happy with them. A few of these I feel like I could come up with full-length fics later. But, man, did I not realize exactly how big the cast was until I started writing it all. I thought I would keep them all to around 500 words but I quickly abandoned that.

Warnings: None that I can think of. AFAB reader with she/her pronouns.

“You can see the future?” 

(Y/N) stood with Ace and Deuce, Grim clinging on to the side of the cauldron, watching the swirling purples, blues, and greens of their latest alchemy assignment come together. 

“Sort of?” Deuce said, looking into his own cauldron, one he hadn’t summoned out of thin air this time. “It’s more like what might happen in the future. Like, if you continue doing what you’re doing you’re more likely to get this result sort of thing.” 

“It's not really specific either,” Ace added. “This is kind of a standard potion for midterms. I think every year is doing it.” 

“The oracleum mycoculous mushroom,” Professor Crewel said, giving a stern eye to the chatting group. “Is said to give premonitions, depending on how it is treated. The method we are using today should give vivid dreams on future outcomes. I recommend when you go to bed tonight, focus on a certain aspect of the future you want more information about. Health, career, wealth, marriage. Something nebulous will work better with this specific concoction. It’s important to note that you will be aware that you’re dreaming, but unable to have any agency or action. Remember you’re not controlling the vision, just let it happen and see what information you can gather.”   

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this magic stuff,” (Y/N) said, ladling their potion into a thick mug. She screwed her face up. “Or the smell.” 

“More for me then!” Grim cheered, snatching the mug out of her hands and downing the entire thing before (Y/N) could protest. As soon as he had drained the last drop, he turned a strange shade of green, despite his gray fur. 

(Y/N) pet his head sympathetically as Grim made gagging noises. “That’s what you get for being impatient.” 

As soon as the rest of the class had drunk their potion, with similar reactions to Grim, they were dismissed. The rest of the day went on as normal, or as normal as it could be at Night Raven College. 

As the sun set and students settled into their beds, some eagerly awaited the possible visions that they hoped would come to them as they slept. Others dreaded the uncertain future. Still others ignored the possibilities all together, not putting stock into an uncertain chance of a glimpse of the future, determined to make their fortune themselves. 

And so, NRC slept and dreamed. 

Ace

Ace vaulted over the overturned trash can, dashing after the culprit. His feet pounded the pavement, heart thundering in his ears with every step. The culprit looked over his shoulder to see Ace still in hot pursuit and he dashing out into the street. Cars swerved and braked hard, trying to avoid hitting him, one overcorrecting and swiping into another car. Ace ignored the angry shouts, sliding across the hood of a crashed car with single determination. 

“Ace!” Deuce’s voice crackled from the walky-talky fixed to his tactical vest. “Where are you?” 

Ace quickly flicked his eyes up to check the street signs. “Heading south down Dodgson street!” South? Was that right? It sounded like the right thing to say, and it’s not like he had time to check the position of the sun. 

“On it!” Deuce called back. 

Ace’s muscles burned, but he refused to break stride. The culprit cut through an open air market, shoving and throwing people behind him to try and slow Ace down. Ace tried to catch them while still keeping the culprit in his line of sight. Just when he felt like his lungs were about to give out, an arm shot out from the corner, clotheslining the culprit. The culprit fell back hard, his own momentum bringing him down. Deuce stepped out from the corner, cracking his knuckles. Ace slid to a stop next to them, quickly kneeling down to flip the culprit on his stomach, handcuffing his hands behind him. Stolen mage stones spilled from the culprit’s pockets. 

Later, back at the Arcane Special Defense Unit headquarters in the Queendom of Roses, everyone was celebrating. Senior officers gave hearty congratulations to the two rookies for their final take down of a mage stone thief ring that had been a thorn in their side for almost a decade. Deuce took the praise with a little more grace, demurely waving off attention, while Ace preened and basked in it. 

“Hey, Trappola!” One of the senior officers called over the din. “You got a visitor!” 

(Y/N) poked her head out from behind the officer, giving a little wave. Several of the other officers whistled and whooped, Deuce elbowing him with a smile. Ace flipped them off and jogged over to (Y/N) pulling her out of the main room to a slightly quieter hallway. 

“Hey, hero,” (Y/N) said, kissing his cheek. 

“Hero, huh?” Ace said with a crooked smile. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Don’t get a big head, now.” 

“Hey, you’re talking to a soon to be detective. That deserves some respect, right?” 

“Sure, sure.” (Y/N) flicked his chest. “You’ve always had a big head anyway.” 

“Alright, that’s it!” Smirking, Ace leaned down, slinging his arms around (Y/N)’s midsection and sweeping her up to toss over his shoulder. (Y/N) shrieked in delight as he spun around. Getting dizzy, Ace tripped over his feet, causing them both to tumble down. Ace pivoted at the last second so he landed first, softening the blow, (Y/N) landing on top of him. They both looked at each other for a moment before bursting out in a fit of giggles. 

Catching her breath, (Y/N) rested her chin on Ace’s chest, gazing up at him. He held her close, brushing a hand through her hair. 

“Marry me,” He mumbled. They both seemed shocked that he had said it, Ace immediately blushing with wide eyes. “I - I mean,” He stuttered. “I didn’t mean - I mean, I did, but I didn’t mean to say it now - Not that I wouldn’t want to or anything but -” 

(Y/N) silenced him with a kiss. “It’s okay,” She said when she pulled away, leaving Ace dazed. “I’ll wait for you.” 

Ace pulled her close, burying his face in her shoulder, purposefully ignoring the cheers from the officers who had stuck their heads out the door. He started thinking about jewelry stores nearby. 

Deuce

Deuce fiddled with the clasp on his cape. He looked in the full-length mirror in his room. His private room - some of the perks of being Heartslabyul’s House Warden. He’d been fitted for the uniform at the end of last school year, when Riddle had announced Deuce as his successor. And now, here he was, finally wearing it. It felt awkward. He looked awkward. Not for the first time, he couldn’t believe he was here, wearing it. It didn’t look right. Or, rather, he didn’t look right in it. 

There was a soft knock at his door. Deuce flinched away from fiddling with the uniform like it had burned him. “Come in!” He called. Why did his voice sound so weird? Was that what a House Warden should sound like? 

(Y/N) popped her head in, wearing the formal entrance ceremony robes. “Just me. Whoa.” She stepped inside, staring at Deuce. She looked at him in awe, a smile spreading across her face. She clasped her hands together. “Deuce! You look amazing!” 

He spread his arms wide, trying to find whatever (Y/N) saw in him. “You think so? I don’t look, I don’t know, out of place or anything?” 

She hummed, walking forward and straightening Deuce’s cape. “I think you look like a fine and respectable House Warden, one that all the new first-years are going to love. Although,” She winked at him and Deuce felt himself blush vigorously. “You’re a pretty easy guy to love.” 

“Yeah?” He said, hoping she would ignore the way his voice cracked. 

“Yeah.” She gripped his lapels and pulled him down for a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her. Couldn’t they just stay like this? Did he really have what it took to go out there and give a welcome speech to all those new students?  Not to mention all the returning students who already knew him, all his mess ups and faults and imperfections. 

“Hey.” (Y/N)’s voice snapped him out of it. “You’re getting in your own head again. Everyone’s going to be able to see you just like I do.” She brushed a lock of hair away from his face. “Strong, kind, brave, the world’s best boyfriend. That part is just for me, though.” 

He sighed, dropping his head so their foreheads touched. “I’m glad you’re with me.” 

“I always will be.” 

“Maybe I can get one more kiss?” Deuce said shyly, feeling himself blush again. “For good luck.” 

She smiled up at him. “Sure, for luck.” 

Just as their lips were about to brush, the door slammed open. “What’s the hold up, Juice?” Ace said, storming in. “The first-years are getting antsy out there and - oh, I see.” He grinned wickedly and cocked an eyebrow. “Nevermind, this is much more important.” 

Deuce grabbed the scepter that came with the House Warden uniform. He pointed it at Ace, shouting, “Off with your head!” 

Ace cringed back, arms coming up to shield himself. When nothing happened, he looked up, annoyed.“Hey, that’s not your spell!” 

“No,” Deuce said, grinning. “But I can still whack you with this thing!” 

Deuce chased Ace out of the room, waving the scepter. As Ace dashed down the hall, Deuce felt (Y/N) slip her hand into his. She kissed his cheek. “Come on, House Warden,” She said. “There’s a whole school year waiting for us.” 

Cater

“We on in three, Cater,” The producer said. Cater gave a thumbs up, occupied by the makeup team readjusting his cover so his face didn’t shine under the lights on camera. Behind them, the Shaftland’s Glass Slipper Gala was starting up, celebrities of all ilk stepping out of limos to walk the red carpet and show off the cutting edge of fashion. 

Cater took one more swig of water, brushing invisible dust from his blazer jacket, and fixed his most dazzling smile. “Alright, ready when you are!” 

“Okay, get ready everyone!” The producer said, readjusting her earpiece. “We’re a go in 5, 4, 3…” She mouthed the last two numbers, pointing to Cater as a blinking red light turned on on the camera. 

“Welcome, Shaftlands!” Cater said into his handheld microphone, winking to the camera. “It’s your favorite pop culture and social media consultant, Cater! We’re here at the Glass Slipper Gala, the annual exhibition for all things gorgeous, over the top, and innovative! Let’s see who we can find on the red carpet.” 

Cater waved over a few celebrities, getting quotes that, the next day, would be plastered on the front cover of numerous magazines and social websites. People found it hard not to match his energy, smiling and laughing along. 

Cater had just waved off a rising movie star when he saw someone familiar from the corner of his eye. Weaving their way through the throngs of media, cameras, and various fans hoping to get a glimpse of their bias, (Y/N) gave Cater a little wave. She held up a tray with three cardboard to-go cups, the symbol of his favorite coffee shop emblazoned on the front. Cater cried with delight and beelined it for her. The producer started waving frantically as the cameraman followed his movement with a questioning look. 

“We have a super special treat for you, viewers!” Cater said. (Y/N) blinked in surprise as Cater slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling into a sideways hug. “My wonderful, adorable girlfriend is here! Say hi, sweetie!” 

“Umm, hi?” She held up the tray. “I thought you guys might need a break so I brought you a pick-me-up. A blond roast with three shots of vanilla and milk, green tea with half-and-half, and,” She picked up the last cup and handed it to Cater. “An iced chai latte, size medium but put into a large size so there’s room to mix in extra cinnamon, using oat milk instead of dairy, two pumps brown sugar syrup, one pump mocha syrup, two pumps cinnamon dolce syrup, three shots espresso, cinnamon dusting, and vanilla sweet cream foam.” 

“She even knows my order!” Cater swooned, putting the back of his hand to his forehead. “Viewers, have you ever seen a more perfect person in the whole wide world?”  

“Uh, Cater?” 

“Pretty, smart, and super sweet. What more could you ask for? Well, you all know I like things a little more spicy than sweet, but my girl has that in spades, too, just between us.”

“Should you really be saying this on air?” 

Cater shrugged. “They can edit it all out in post.” “Cater,” The producer said, deadpan. “We’re live right now.” 

(Y/N) gasped as Cater blinked, staring into the single black eye of the camera. The cameraman smiled and shrugged. 

“Oh, well then,” Cater said. In a second, his sparkling smile returned. “Then we should give them a show, right?” 

“Cater, wha-” 

Before she could say anything else, Cater plucked the coffee from (Y/N)’s hands, setting it gently on the ground with his microphone. He jumped back up, taking her into his arms in a low dip, kissing her amid a flurry of flashing lights. 

Trey

The bell above the door had been ringing constantly all day. The small storefront was full to bursting, children pressing their faces against the glass display case to point at every confection they wanted their parents to buy. Shop assistants in crisp mint green and white uniforms handed white boxes over the counter to eager hands. Two others maneuvered extra seating outside under an awning to help combat the surplus customers. 

A teen with emerald green hair escaped into the attached kitchen, taking a deep breath of relief. “Well, big brother,” He said. “I think it’s safe to say the grand re-opening is a success.” 

Trey chuckled from the counter, squeezing buttercream to swirl atop enough cupcakes to feed an army. After a fire halfway destroyed this family’s bakery several months ago, there had been talks of shutting down the business entirely and joining up with some of the bigger corporate shops in town. Trey had scrimped and saved and planned to recreate the shop to his own specifics, making sure to blend years upon years of Clover secret family recipes with his new creations. They were still constructing a new upper level for a specialty dining experience. Patrons would pay a flat sum for a pre-arranged dessert tasting menu set up like a full 6-course dinner, using cutting edge technology, foams and gelatin beads and liquid nitrogen ice cream and all the works. There was already a waiting list for reservations. 

“Uh, Chef?” Another worker poked their head through the door. “You have some people out here asking for you.” 

Trey smiled, whipping his hands on his apron. He quickly directed the other pastry chefs in the kitchen then headed out. The group of Heartslabyul graduates, plus Chenya, Grim, and (Y/N), had taken over one of the outside tables. Ace, Deuce, and Grim were competing to see who could fit more cupcakes into their mouth at once while Riddle chided them. Cater was rearranging his plate of mini-tarts, eclairs, and macarons to take the best pictures. Chenya was sneaking  treats off everyone’s plate while they were preoccupied. (Y/N) noticed Trey first, smiling wide and standing to meet him. 

“There’s the man of the hour,” She said, meeting him in a hug. 

“So, Trey,” Ace asked with a sly look. “How many free samples are we getting today?” 

“Didn’t you get enough when Trey was practicing his new recipes?” Riddle scoffed. 

“You can never get enough of Trey’s baking!” Grim cheered, taking a large bite of another cream puff as creme anglaise bursted all over his furry face. 

Riddle huffed at the display of bad manners before turning to Trey with a smile. “Congratulations are definitely in order. Everything is looking even better than you described.” 

“It was a lot of hard work,” Trey said. “I didn’t think we were going to make it a few times.” 

(Y/N) shoved him. “Oh, stop. You had perfect control the whole time. No one ever doubted you. Especially me.” She pulled him down for a kiss. 

“Bleh!” Grim stuck out his tongue. “Not when I’m eating!” 

(Y/N) smiled wickedly and pulled Trey down to pepper kisses all over his face. Grim, Ace, and Deuce made mocking sounds of disgust before bursting into laughter. 

As everyone refocused on their pastries, (Y/N) leaned over to whisper to Trey. “Should we tell them?” (Y/N) asked.  

“Not yet,” Trey said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “I want to keep you to myself for a little while longer.” 

Behind their backs, the held hands, matching rings glinting in the light. 

Riddle

Riddle jerked awake at the feeling of hands on his shoulders. He heard an “Oh!” of surprise. A blanket slipped off his shoulders, pooling on the floor. He was sitting at a desk illuminated by a single lamp, the rest of the lights in the small bedroom turned off. Through the window blinds, he could see it was dark outside. He turned to the person behind him who had tried to drape the blanket over him. 

“Sorry,” (Y/N) said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” Riddle rubbed at his tired eyes, peeling off a loose leaf of notebook paper that was stuck to his cheek. He looked down at the mess of notes and textbooks littering his desk. “No, it’s a good thing,” He said. “I don’t have time for sleep right now. I need to study.” 

(Y/N) frowned at him. “You need sleep, Riddle. You won’t do yourself any good if you fall asleep in the middle of the bar exam.” 

Riddle turned back to his desk, rearranging various documents on magical law and court cases. “A good lawyer needs to be prepared for whatever is thrown at him.” “A good lawyer needs to be able to balance work and rest.” 

“I-” Riddle sighed. 

“At least let me make you some tea and take a break,” (Y/N) said, picking up the blanket and folding it over her arm.

Riddle yawned, blushing at how loud it was. “That’s… a good idea. Thank you.”  

(Y/N) smiled at him, leaning down to kiss his forehead before walking over to the tiny kitchen.

Riddle looked around. They were in a small studio apartment. Riddle’s desk was shoved to one side of the room, a bed on the opposite side, blankets thrown open as if someone had just gotten out. He saw his shoes next to the doorway, neatly arranged, next to (Y/N)’s. A slightly ajar closet door showed it was split between his formal attire and (Y/N)’s clothes. They had been living together for a while, it seemed. 

The bar exam was only a few days away. Five years of grueling school was all leading up to this moment. He’d heard too many stories about how it usually took two or three tries for most people to pass. He was determined to pass on the first try, to prove to himself, and maybe his mother, that he had made the right choice. In his career, in his life, in his partner… 

Riddle looked back at (Y/N) in the small connected kitchen, making sure she was busy with the tea. He opened the top drawer of his desk, just enough to peak inside. The box was still there, small black velvet, holding the ring inside. It was plain, just a simple silver band, polished to a shine by his own hand, but it was all he could afford. Originally, he had wanted to use his mother’s ring, the ring that had been passed down his family for generations, supposedly back to the time of the Queen of Hearts herself. But Riddle’s mother hardly approved of his chosen profession over going into the medical field, much less his partner. He remembered the screaming match they had had, how she was absolutely appalled Riddle would want to be associated with someone with no magic, no future as she put it, not to mention no family lineage to speak of. Riddle hadn’t spoken to her in quite some time. 

Riddle sighed, closing the drawer. (Y/N) had worked hard these past few years, supporting the two of them while Riddle focused on school. She’d always said it was no problem, that she was happy to work whatever odd job she could so Riddle could focus all his energy on his studies. The least he could do was make a name for himself as a lawyer, provide her with the life she deserved. 

She set a tea cup down in front of him. “Here,” She said. “With honey, not sugar.” Taking her own cup, she sat on the bed facing him. “And you’re not going to look at those notes again until you finish drinking it and talk to me.” 

Riddle picked up the cup, letting the warmth of the tea soak into his hands. He cast a glance at the drawer with its loaded secret within. 

“Actually,” He said. “There is something I’ve been wanting to ask you.” 

Leona

Leona ducked, sliding across the field as a Spelldrive disk hurdled over his head. Immediately, he was back on his feet, throwing up a magical shield as the disk crashed back towards him. 

The crowded stadium roared around him, stands packed to bursting. Fans wore team colors, red and gold for his Sunset Savannah team, the Lion Guard, and icy blue and white for the Shaftland’s team they were playing against, the Draugrs. 

“Captain!” A voice called behind him. Leona turned to see one of his teammates fly next to him on a broom. “You okay?” 

Leona brushed off the grass stain on his uniform. “I’m fine. We’re starting the new play, the one we practiced yesterday.”  

His teammate balked. “Are we ready for that? We’ve only practiced it a few times, and never in a game. There’s only a minute left on the clock!” 

“Then we’re running out of time!” Leona snarled. “We’re tied. This is our chance to take the game.”

The flying teammate saluted. “Sir, yes, sir!” He flew up, whistling a code to let the other players know to get in position. A few of them cast worried glances Leona’s way, but their trust in their team captain was obvious as they quickly fell into position. 

Leona fell back as the ground members of his team made an arrow shape ahead of the opposing player who currently held the disk. Suddenly, as the flier crossed the 20-yard line, they inverted. The two flanking the point of the arrow knelt in front of the player at the tip. He jumped to their waiting hands, being launched into the air. The player with the disk reared his broom back, not expecting a ground assault. The player who had been thrown in the air took the opportunistic distraction to claim the disk, hurdling it to a flier on the Sunset Savanna team. The flier took the disk, hovering it a foot from him with magic, and shot back to the opposing team’s goal. As the Draugr broom flying players closed in on him, he dropped the disk without warning, to the waiting hands of a ground player. The ground player dashed forward, dodging tackles from the opposing team. As they closed in on him, he tossed the disk back to a flier. This repeated twice more until the opposing team got used to the play. When another ground player got the disk, sprinting to the goal, all Shaftlands players were focused on the flier hovering above him. The ground player faked throwing the disk up and the opposing team jerked their focus upward. Instead, the ground player flung the disk to Leona’s waiting hands. In the seconds it took for the other team to recognize the play, Leona was already steps away from the goal. He flung the disk, boosted with his own magical energy, and it sailed cleanly through the opposing team’s hoop.

The crowd thundered around him as the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. Leona took a deep breath, throwing his head back in a victorious roar. The rest of his team joined in, supporting their captain, whooping and cheering to their heart's content. 

The team gathered together, slapping each other on the back and jumping in congratulatory victory. A few of them cast sly looks Leona’s way, and before he could question it, he was soaked with an overturned cooler of bright green sports drink. They all laughed as he flung excess droplets at them. 

As the championship cup was brought out, Leona’s ears twitched as a sound. He turned and heard them repeat themselves. “Leona!” (Y/N) ran onto the field, smiling wide. She was wearing an old jersey of his, the one he had when he first joined the pro Spelldrive leagues. She waved her hand high over her head, the light catching on a topaz and diamond ring on her finger. 

He surged forward to meet her, wrapping her in a tight embrace and lifting her up. Without either of them noticing, a camera focused on their reunion, projecting their image on the jumbotron as they embraced and shared a victory kiss.

Jack

Jack held up a hand, stopping the rest of the search and rescue team following behind him. They were trekking up the North Mountain, a popular peak in the backlands in a Shaftlands national park. The snow was more than seven feet deep, and even with their specialized snow shoes they were starting to sink down. They were on the far side of the mountain, bright sunlight blazing across the snow that had been churned up from a recent avalanche. 

“What’s up, chief?” One of the rescue workers asked, readjusting his EMT pack on his shoulders. 

Jack’s ears twitched, trying to pick up the sound he was sure he had just heard. He turned back to his team. “This is the last place the skiers were seen. Everybody fan out to your lanes and start searching.” 

The group spread out, each taking a 40 meter lane as they walked downhill. Each member of the search and rescue team held a thermal meter reader, strong enough to pierce through the snow cover up to 15 meters down. They also inspected the snow for any other sign of disturbance, trying to see if anyone was moving underneath. 

Jack’s ears twitched again, picking up on the minute noise underneath him. He checked his reader, seeing an orange mass that was quickly turning blue. 

“Spotted, 35 meters!” He called out. He unfurled a long thin pole from his pack, carefully jabbing down into the snow. When he met resistance, he slung his pack off and put together his collapsible shovel. He started scooping snow away, flakes swirling up to stick against his eyelashes. Finally about three feet down, he saw a splash of a red coat. He widened his digging circle. “Victim found!” 

The most important thing at the moment was getting the buried person an airway. Jack heaved snow away, using his hands now so he wouldn’t accidentally injure the victim. He heard another one of the rescuers repeat his cry further down, “Victim found!” 

Jack could see the victim breathing, their breath melting a small indent around their nose and mouth. Jack ripped off his glove with his teeth, feeling for a pulse on their neck. It was faint, but it was there. He couldn’t see any visible wounds. The next most important part was getting them out of the snow while moving them as little as possible in case there were any internal or spine related injuries. 

Another rescuer came over to him. “My lane’s clear, sir. Can I help?” 

Jack nodded. “Go get the sled and stabilizing bands.” He saluted, making his way back up. Their team worked with dogsleds for evacuation in these parts, since it was generally less heavy than a snowmobile, and much quieter to avoid any other disruptions. 

Soon, the three missing skiers were loaded up in the sleds. Jack ran through his paramedic training in his head, making sure he and his team weren’t missing anything before they would head back to their base at the foot of the mountain. 

Arriving down, the team moved the victims, two of whom were coming back to consciousness, into a more comfortable and much warmer infirmary. The hospital in the nearby town had already been notified and was sending an ambulance to bring them back for further care. 

After making sure everyone was stable and the victims were being treated for any signs of hypothermia, Jack stepped into the mudroom attached to their rescue station, shaking his head and stomping his boots free from snow. 

“The ambulance will be here in about half an hour,” He heard behind him. He turned, seeing (Y/N) in the doorway, holding a steaming mug of pear tea. She wore a uniform similar to his, indicating they were part park ranger, part emergency rescue team. She smiled softly and handed it to him. “They said they had to take a different route around due to the avalanche. I guess it went farther than we thought.” 

Jack sipped the tea, letting the warmth infuse into his muscles. “Once we get these guys taken care of we’ll have to head back out, then. Try to take stock of any damage.” 

“The other teams have reported back already. Everyone’s been accounted for. Looks like your lot was in the worst shape. It’s a good thing they have you looking out for them, huh?” 

Jack looked away, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, we have a big team. Everyone’s doing their part.” 

“And you're the one who trained them. You’re the one who set up this whole search and rescue station. All those people there,” she waved in the direction of the treatment beds, the people pulled out of the snow, slowly warming themselves by the fireplace and with warm drinks. “Owe it all to you. You’re allowed to brag about it sometimes, you know.” 

Jack felt his face growing hot, tail starting to wag despite himself under her praise. “Well, maybe I just have a really good team.” 

(Y/N) hummed, standing on her tiptoes and reaching a hand up, threading through his short hair to pull his face down to her level. “And I wouldn’t want to be on any one else’s,” She murmured against his lips as they kissed. 

Ruggie

Politics were messy. Ruggie always knew that, but being here in the middle of it all showed him the full web of underhandedness, plotting, and secrets. But, as the Sunset Savannah’s royal family’s, or more directly Leona’s, personal spy master, that’s exactly what he was there for. 

Now, during his days at NRC, when Ruggie first started working as Leona’s unofficial personal assistant, lurking around, being a little more than underhanded in his dealings, did he ever expect he would one day be sneaking around an embassy in the middle of a grand party, planning on swiping some important documents that could reveal plots against the crown? No, of course not. But, man, was it still fun. 

As he slunk along the corridors, Ruggie eyed the attendance, each dripping with enough jewelry and finery to feed a family of four for a year. He inwardly sneered, hand shooting out to discreetly pocket a diamond bracelet some ambassador's wife, or more likely his mistress, was wearing.  But ill gotten treasure wasn’t what he was here for, at least, not today. 

Ruggie cut through a servant’s entrance, turning his coat inside out, turning it from red velvet of party goers to the matte black of the help. He thought it was too easy sometimes. People always saw what they wanted to see. Heading up to the upper floors of the embassy, he spied some hired goons waltzing around the room he needed to enter. Ruggie stayed as far back in the shadows as he could while tracking the one guard who stood a little too close to the stairs. 

“Laugh with me,” Ruggie murmured, casting his signature spell. He jerked his body to the side, causing the goon to stumble and crash down the stairs. To anyone else, it would have looked like he had too much to drink on the job, or had simply slipped. As the other guards were busy checking with their companion, Ruggie darted behind them, slipping into the room unseen. He made quick work, sniffing out the hidden safe, and picked the lock so easily he was almost afraid he was being set up. Securing the documents in the hidden pocket inside his jacket, Ruggie effortlessly slipped out the window, down the drive, and off into the night. 

Later that night, Ruggie shook off the rain as he stepped inside the lobby of Granny Bucchi’s Memorial Home for Lost Children. It was dark, everyone fast asleep upstairs. In the morning, all the children the Home housed would wake up, eat a hearty breakfast, one Ruggie could have only ever dreamed about at their age, and go to school in the attached building. Ruggie didn’t know exactly what strings Leona pulled to get such high class teachers for the Home, but he had learned long ago not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

As Ruggie was about to head up the stairs to the caretaker's quarters, he noticed the lamp light coming from the side sitting room. Ruggie carefully stalked over to the other room, careful to avoid the floor boards that squeaked. He peered in, the warm light of a floor lamp illuminating (Y/N) on a rocking chair, a toddler hyena beastman fast asleep on her chest. Ruggie leaned against the doorframe, smiling gently at the domestic scene. 

(Y/N) stirred, af if sensing being watched. She blinked sleepily, smiling up at him. “Welcome home,” She whispered. “Everything go well?” 

(Y/N) knew just enough about Ruggie’s work, but never pried. They both knew well enough that Ruggie would immediately spill any secrets if she fluttered her eyelashes and gave him one of those sweet smiles. “Flawless, as usual.” He stepped forward, taking the small boy from her arms. His ears twitched as he was passed between them but stayed asleep. 

“He’s finally been sleeping through the night,” (Y/N) said. “But he had a nightmare earlier. He wanted to wait for you to get home.” 

“Aww, A for effort.” 

They walked upstairs to the children’s dormitory rooms, settling the small boy in his bed and tucking the blankets over him. 

“They’re having their field day tomorrow,” (Y/N) said as they entered their shared room. She sat on the bed as Ruggie kicked off his shoes. “Will you be here? The kids always love to see you.” 

He flopped down on the bed next to her with a sigh, arms behind his head.  “Wouldn’t miss it! It’s amazing how much energy those kiddos have. You think we were ever like that?” 

“Me? No, probably not. I can see you zipping around everywhere, though.” 

“Oh, yeah, I was fleet footed. You gotta be quick to pick pockets, you know.” She halfheartedly punched him as he snickered. 

“Do you ever think-?” She stared before cutting herself off. 

“Only sometimes,” He joked. “I hear it’s a dangerous habit.” He waited for a moment then asked, “Think about what?” 

(Y/N) looked back in the direction of the children’s dormitory, each level for a set of age groups from the babies all the way to the teenagers. “You know, about having our own.” 

Azul

Azul flitted around the room, jumping from conversation to conversion, getting just enough of a word in to be memorable, to make a good impression. So far, this, the grand opening of the Mostro Lounge, was a success. More than a success, it had drawn all ilk of upper crust society. Politicians, celebrities, heirs and heiresses with nothing better to do but try and get their picture in the next tabloid. Horderves were being passed, champagne was being popped, and, subtly, between it all, waiters were gathering secrets and snips of conversations from their patrons. 

The Monstro Lounge worked on two fronts, both carefully cultivated and maintained. The first was the face, the elegant restaurant and tea room that welcomed guests to treat them with all the luxury of the world. The second was more nefarious, the dagger hidden behind the back. Important clientele meant important discussions, important secrets, and important dealings. Whether or not these things were entirely legal didn’t much matter to Azul, just so long as he was in on them. 

It was important that at least most of their patrons didn’t notice the dagger. It was better for them to let their guard down, enjoy their night of revelry and relaxation. And Azul, with his charming smile, silver tongue, and perfectly business-like attitude, acted as the perfect cover. 

Azul was mingling with a group of bankers when he felt a gentle hand clasp his arm. “Excuse me,” (Y/N) said. “I’m afraid I need to steal my fiance for a moment.” The bankers held up their glasses in a cheers as she led him away. She glittered in a black sequin dress, pearls at her throat. On her hand was a delicate pearl and pink coral ring, the coral arranged like flower petals around the pearl. 

“Is anything wrong, angelfish?” Azul asked as they strolled through the lobby. 

(Y/N) hummed. “Maybe I just wanted some time with you. I’m allowed to be selfish like that every once and a while, aren't I?” 

“Of course. I think I like when you’re selfish.” 

An ignorant observer might have commented that (Y/N) made quite the trophy on Azul’s arm, but those in the know were quick to correct any misconceptions. (Y/N) was just in touch with both sides of the Monstro Lounge as Azul, just as involved. If any of Azul’s more unscrupulous dealings or shady past came up, it was easy for one to dismiss pressing concerns. After all, look at his soon-to-be wife! (Y/N) was more than capable of smoothing over any worries or uneasy feelings. And, possibly more importantly, keeping some of Azul’s more underhanded ambitions  in check. 

“Zuzu!” Azul nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard his mother’s voice. (Y/N) took a skilled step back to allow room for Mrs. Ashengrotto to envelope Azul in the kind of hug only a proud mother could give. Of course, the hug was missing a few limbs since Mrs. Ashengrotto was currently in human form, but it was still just as tight. She kissed both his cheeks and, while Azul was always happy to see his mother and show off his accomplishments, he couldn’t help but cringe at how the act tainted the elegant and stern reputation he was building for himself. Releasing him, she turned to her soon-to-be daughter-in-law. (Y/N) accepted her hug with a little more grace, the benefit of seeing an affectionate attack coming. 

Azul readjusted his glasses, greeting his mother and step-father. “I’m glad you both were able to make it.” 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” His step-father said, giving him a firm handshake and warm pat on the back. 

His mother had started to tear up, (Y/N) patting her hand sympathetically. “Oh, my. My little Azul, all grown up. I remember when you were just a little fry, darting in your octopot at anything. Look how big my boy has gotten! Have you been eating well, Zuzu? You look so thin!” 

“Why don’t we grab a table?” (Y/N) neatly interjected. Azul cast her a grateful look and quickly waved a waiter over who brought the small group to a VIP section. An aquarium that took up the entire back wall cast elegant blue light over the private section. 

After the waiter took their drink order, Mrs. Ashengrotto laid her hands flat on the table, looking seriously at Azul and (Y/N). “Now,” She said. “When can I expect grandchildren?” 

Jade

“Anglerfish,” (Y/N) said. 

Jade grinned, turning back to her as he held his lantern high. “What was that?” 

“Nothing, nothing at all.” 

Jade smiled, looked down at (Y/N) as she zipped their tent closed. The cool spring night air swirled around them, moon bright and sky clear. 

While Jade mostly lived in the Coral Sea, studying with his parents to prepare to take over the family business, part of his heart would always remain up in the mountains. He’d published a book last year, Roots of the Earth: Flora, Fauna, and Folklore of the Bald Mountains, which had become a bestseller almost overnight. In depth discussions and depictions of dry land environments were apparently pretty popular underwater. His publisher had been eager for a follow up. Which led him here, camping in the Mount Moln mountain range, ready to set off on an overnight exploration. 

He didn’t, however, expect certain company. Not that he minded (Y/N)’s presence. Quite the opposite in fact. 

While she hadn’t been an official member of the Mountain Lovers club back at NRC, she had participated in a few hiking trips, whenever her schedule, or Crowley, would allow. They hadn’t seen much of each other in person since Jade graduated, but they did exchange correspondence regularly. Jade knew that (Y/N) kept up with everyone from NRC in a similar fashion, but couldn’t help hoping that his particular letters were a little special. At least, the ones he sent back to her were. 

When Jade had arrived in Harveston the day before his expedition, he was surprised to see her with the lilac haired Felmier family. (Y/N) had cried in delight and thrown her arms around him, making his heart speed up in a not unpleasant way. Over tea, (Y/N) had told him that she had mostly been jumping around Twisted Wonderland, still trying to find a more permanent place in a land she wasn't native to. With the apple planting season coming up, Epel’s family had offered a position, one she had eagerly accepted. And, when he slyly implied that he would need assistance traversing the mountain and keeping track of his gear and research, she had enthusiastically agreed. They both decided to ignore the knowing glances from Grandma Felmier. 

They had risen before the sun that next morning, beginning their trek up Mount Moln. While the weather was defiantly warming, small clumps of snow still stubbornly clung on the higher they climbed. They’d made camp early, with the sun still up, digging into warm soup the Felmier’s had prepared for them, before turning in. They knew they would be getting up in the middle of the night, so they tried to get as much sleep as possible beforehand. 

Which brought them back to the present, Jade sweeping his lantern across the trail with (Y/N) staying close behind. 

“So,” (Y/N) said. “Remind me what we’re looking for?” 

“Panellus pusillus,” Jade said. “Otherwise known as the little ping-pong bat mushroom.” 

(Y/N) snorted a laugh. “That’s pretty cute.” 

“They are bioluminescent. During the day they look like normal white fan-like mushrooms. But at night they glow beautifully. They wrap around tree branches so they often look like string lights. I’ve been wanting to take back a few samples for my project back in the Coral Sea.” 

“For your next book?” 

“That, and something else. I’ve been working on an underwater biome meant to replicate various ecosystems from the mountains I’ve traversed here on land. It would allow sea-dwellers a chance to experience environments they normally wouldn’t be exposed to. I’m still gathering funds, but I think it will be a fascinating experiment when completed.” 

“Sounds like a big undertaking.” 

“Definitely.” Jade cast a glance over his shoulder, meeting (Y/N)’s eyes. He quickly looked away again, holding the lantern out a little farther so (Y/N) wouldn’t notice the red tint to his cheeks. He only ever had to worry about that in human form. “I’ve actually been gathering a team to help me set everything up. Having someone native to land would provide a unique perspective. If you would be interested, after your work in the orchards here. I wouldn’t want to impose on any previous commitments.” 

“I don’t think you could impose on me even if you wanted to.” Jade stopped, turning around to fully face her. He watched (Y/N) gulp, readying herself, before she took a step forward. They were just a breath apart from each other now. Her hand reached out, stopping between them. “I - I’ve really missed you. I didn’t expect to this much, but then you showed back up and it kind of punched me in the gut all at once. Sorry, I feel like I’m not saying this the right way. But… I really missed you.” 

Jade let the silence sink in as his thoughts turned in his head. Crickets, owls, and other night creatures filled the air with their songs. (Y/N) looked down, shuffling her feet. Jade transferred his lantern to his other hand, reaching forward and taking hers. 

“My,” He said with a teasing grin. “This is certainly unexpected. Not unwelcome, of course. What would you do if I said I harbored similar feelings?” 

Underneath the soft glow of mushrooms overhead, (Y/N) stood on her toes and kissed him. 

Floyd

Suffice to say, most people were pretty surprised when Floyd decided to take an engineering course for the first leg of his NRC 4th year internship. With his happy-go-lucky and action-first personality, it was easy to forget that he was surprisingly good with technical skills. Even still, most people assumed he would get bored soon, skipping off to a more physically exciting internship for the next quarter. However, he stayed for the entire year. It definitely helped that the particular engineers he had partnered with specialized in roller coasters. 

And now, here he was, standing in the middle of a brand new theme park just a few weeks away from opening. When he had first approached Kalim for funding for his dream project he hadn’t expected much resistance. After all, both boys could appreciate a good time, whether from an over-the-top party or an exhilarating thrill ride. 

Floyd’s specific idea was for a theme park both land dwellers and merpeople could enjoy simultaneously. This led to the unique structure of Marine Canyon. The theme park was nestled perfectly in a natural canyon carved out thousands of years ago by glaciers. A slim river still ran through the canyon. Half the park was located in the canyon while the second half descended underneath the water of the sea the river emptied in. Guests would be able to easily traverse either side, either by assistance of underwater breathing potions, temporary form transformation potions, or a clever half-scuba half-submersible vehicle Floyd had designed when (Y/N) first met his parents.  

He stood with his hands on his hips, watching the cars roll along the track of one of the premier coasters in a test run. Everything was going perfectly. In a few days, Kalim would be coming out for the last run-through of testing and they would launch for a media day before officially opening the park. 

“Papa!” 

Floyd turned, wide smile getting even bigger. He crouched down, opening his arms, as one of his sons rushed to meet him. He swept Argonaut up in his arms, spinning him around as the boy cackled. He threw his arms around Floyd’s neck, waving at the two others approaching. (Y/N) waved back, walking over with their other son, Caspian. 

“Do we get to ride it now, Papa? Can we, can we?” Argo asked giddy, bouncing up and down. 

Cas cast a wary look up at the empty car plunging down the coaster track. “Can we go in the dark ride first? The pirate one?” 

Floyd ruffled his hair as (Y/N) answered, “We still have to wait for the safety checks to make sure everything is working properly.” 

“But,” Floyd told the twins. “The water park part is ready! And we need testers to make sure it’s fun for humans and mers. Do you know anyone who could help me with that?” 

“Me, me, me!” 

“We can do that! We’re human and mer!” 

The boys wiggled their ways out of their parents arms and dashed off, already kicking off their shoes in anticipation for changing from their dry land form to their eel-mer hybrid form. 

“Be careful running!” (Y/N) called after them. She sighed as Floyd came over, wrapping her in a backwards hug and resting his chin on the top of her head. “They really do like going between the land and sea. Do you think they have a favorite form?” 

Floyd hummed. “Don’t know. I like both of them. It’s just all different, you know? But they can use both their forms here. They can be with all their family and friends at the same time.” 

“Is that why you wanted to build it like this? You’re really kind, aren’t you?” 

Floyd grinned. “Only for Shrimpy and the guppies. Don’t let anyone else know, okay? I still have a reputation, you know.” 

(Y/N) poked his side. “Ooh, scary Floyd Leech, big bad family man. Don’t think I don’t remember you crying on the boys’ first day of school.” 

Floyd sniffed. “My guppies aren’t going to be guppies any more! What am I going to do when they get too big to carry, or when they go to NRC and we can’t see them everyday?” 

(Y/N) took his hand and started pulling him in the direction the boys had darted off in. “Then I guess we just need to make the most of the time we have with them now, right?” 

Floyd tightened his grip on her hand, smiling wickedly. “Or we could just make more guppies.”  

Kalim

“Mr. Al–Asim, I need your signature here, please.” 

“Mr. Al-Asim, when would you like to schedule our shareholder meeting?” 

“Mr. Al-Asim, I have those reports and next quarter’s budget for you to review.” 

Kalim was drained. While he was more than proud that he had managed to expand his family’s business to not only the sea but also the Briar Valley, he didn’t quite anticipate all the paperwork that would come with it. Now that Jamil was off leading his own life outside of the Asim influence, Kalim had taken on more responsibilities. Not that he wasn’t happy for Jamil, of course. He was thrilled when his friend told him of his plans after graduating NRC, even if those plans didn’t directly involve Kalim. Kalim was mostly just happy that Jamil seemed happy. But he did still miss Jamil’s presence, his guidance, how he always knew what to say. 

Kalim groaned, falling face first on his bed, not bothering to change clothes. Warm evening sun streamed in from the balcony windows, casting golden rays across the room. (Y/N) blinked at him from her side of the bed, sliding a bookmark in her book. She leaned over to him, gently petting his hair. 

“Rough day?” She asked. 

Kalim groaned again, twisting to catch (Y/N) in his arms so they crashed down together in a tangled hug. “There’s so much paperwork!” He lamented. “Why do we still even have so much paper? Isn’t it better for the environment if we use digital or something?” He sniffed, eyes watery. “Just think of all those birds whose trees we cut down.” 

“With great accomplishment comes great busy work,” (Y/N) nodded sagely. “It just shows how much so many people are relying on you.” 

“I guess,” Kamil muttered into her hair. He suddenly perked up. “Oh! I own the company, so maybe I can just tell everyone they have the day off tomorrow!” 

“Maybe, but then you and everyone else would just have a backlog of work when they come back.” 

Kalim face planted back onto the bed. (Y/N) regarded him for a moment before sliding out of bed. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Kalim gave a half-hearted thumbs up. 

As (Y/N) padded out of the room, Kalim kicked his shoes off, curling up on the bed. He grabbed her plush pillow, holding it to his chest. Hints of her fragrant shampoo still clung to it. 

Kalim didn’t think he could ever really express how grateful he was to have (Y/N) with him. Not only had she worked hard to repair his and Jamil’s relationship at NRC, but she gave him the in that helped him bring the Asim name to the Briar Valley in the first place. The land of night fairies was notoriously difficult to expand foreign trade to. But (Y/N) with her easy way of making friends and stubborn determination had given him the connections he needed to do something no other Asim had. He signed again, happily this time. It was just another reason he was so glad that she was going to marry him. 

(Y/N) nudged the door open with her hip. She carried a large silver tray holding a pot of spiced hot chocolate and several small plates with cake slices. “We still need to choose a wedding cake flavor,” She said. “Your mom has been asking me about finalizing details. We’re going to look at takchitas this weekend.” 

Kalim popped back up, a wave of fresh energy zipping through him. A party! This he could do. Not just any party, but possibly the most important party of his life! He and (Y/N) spent the next hour discussing wedding plans, colors and flowers and music. In between, they would eat bites of cake, chocolate, champagne strawberry, vanilla with raspberry filling, orange olive oil. At one point, Kalim smeared some frosting on his nose. At  her laughing, Kalim took a forkful of fluffy buttercream and painted it across her nose. They collapsed together in a giggling fit. 

“How about I come with you tomorrow?” (Y/N) asked. “I should start learning everything anyway. I want to be helpful to you.”

“You’re always helpful! Look, I'm feeling way better already!” 

“I think that might be the sugar rush.” 

As the sun set, the two of them lay together, crumbs of cake and the empty chocolate pot soon forgotten. As (Y/N) fell asleep in Kalim’s arms, he quietly said, “I can’t wait to be married to you, azizati.” 

Jamil

The air conditioning in the dance studio had gone out a few days ago and it quickly became sweltering with the aerobic activity. (Y/N) had drug in a large swiveling electric fan at some point that was working overtime to try and cool the room. Jamil whipped sweat off his forehead, watching the soon to debut idol group run through their routine again. Jamil had been working as the lead choreographer for Corona Talent for about a year now. While the agency was still relatively small, they were picking up preeminence, especially with their stylized music videos. 

“Figaro,” Jamil said to a cat beastman with black and white hair. “You need to work on controlling your tail. Having it flick around like that makes you look nervous. Sebastian, I know you’re still getting used to your land legs but remember to not lock up your knees, it makes you jerk and you’re more likely to fall. Let’s go back to just before the switch line and take it again.” 

While Jamil’s teaching style could easily be described as strict, no one could deny his results and the quick time in which he produced them. 

A little while later, and combating fears of overheating, Jamil called a water break. The group of boys formed a semicircle around the fan waiting for it to oscillate over their faces. Jamil watched them chat in benign amusement. They were about as old as he had been during the Song and Dance Championship at NRC. Jamil would never admit it, but he had recycled some of Vil’s methods during their training in the Ramshackle dorm. 

And speaking of NRC, his phone pinged. Jamil knew who it was before he even looked at the screen. 

Kalim: Jamil! I had an idea for the wedding! What if we have a grand entrance with you riding an elephant? 

Jamil: You know (Y/N) and I aren’t even engaged yet. 

Kalim: I’m planning ahead! It’s good to be ready. 

Jamil: No elephants. 

Kalim: What about peacocks? Or birds that warble on key? Or a tiger! 

Jamil: Do I even want to know where you’re getting these animals? 

Kalim: ~Secret~ 

Jamil laughed under his breath. Ever since he and (Y/N) had started dating during her last year at NRC, Kalim had basically been planning their wedding. When he had given Jamil two tickets on a week-long river cruise for his birthday last year he had called it a pre-honeymoon. 

And speaking of…

Jamil’s phone pinged again with a video attachment from (Y/N). The video showed (Y/N) next to a perch with a red and green macaw parrot. “Come on, Alfie,” (Y/N) prompted. “Show Dad your new trick.” 

The parrot tilted his head to think for a moment before tilting to the side and raising a claw in a wave. “Love Dad!” It croaked. He then started vocalizing to the tune of one of the first songs Jamil choreographed for, bobbing his head and side stepping. (Y/N) hummed along, nodding encouragingly. The macaw stretched his wings wide and gave a victorious cry. 

“Good job, Alfie!” (Y/N) praised, giving him a treat. Alfie shuffled onto her shoulder, nibbling the treat. “See you soon, Jamil. Love you.” (Y/N) blew a kiss to the screen, Alfie mimicking the sound. The video ended on a still frame of (Y/N)’s smiling face. Jamile smiled, content. Warmth, having nothing to do with the heat of the studio, filling his chest. 

“Ooh,” One of the idol’s said, wiggling his eyebrows in Jamil’s direction. “Was that your girlfriend, Coach?” The other boys cooed and whooping in good natured teasing. 

“Alright, Sven,” Jamil said, standing back up. “You just earned everyone another round of drills. Come on, on your marks.” 

The boys groaned, taking their places. As they began stretching and doing calf raises, Jamil texted Kalim. 

Jamil: Do you still have that jeweler’s number? 

Kalim: :D

Vil

Vil double checked his lipstick in a compact mirror from the backseat of the limo. His eyes cut across the back cab to (Y/N) fiddling with the hem of her dress. “Stop fidgeting,” He said. “You’ll wrinkle your dress.” 

(Y/N) jumped, smoothing her dress. “Sorry, just nervous, I guess.” 

“Nerves cause wrinkles, too. Besides, there’s nothing to fret over. Star Crossed is destined to be a hit.” 

Star Crossed was to be Vil’s first directorial debut, with (Y/N) taking a lead writing role for the script. The idea had come when the two had been discussing media back from (Y/N)’s world during one of Vil’s photoshoots. (Y/N) had been acting as somewhat of an unofficial assistant then. Although, and Vil would never admit this, he more just wanted an excuse to have her around. As they talked, (Y/N) made references to classic story ideas shared between both worlds, focusing on ideas of forbidden love. She gave a lyrical and poetic soliloquy, one that Vil immediately latched on to. She explained it was from a play called Romeo and Juliet, one of the most famous plays in her world and a story that had been retold countless times. She said it was standard school curriculum in her world and had memorized several passages for homework. Canceling the very hard to get dinner reservations the two had, they instead worked deep into the night, reworking the romantic tragedy between their two world’s cultural differences, writing the first draft of what would end up becoming Star Crossed. 

“What if they don’t like the ending?” (Y/N) worried. 

“Then they’re fools with no sense of depth.” 

“But won’t that look bad for you? I don’t want a box office bomb to affect your career.” 

“I assure you, nothing I’m associated with could bomb.” Although Vil wasn’t in the starring role for this film, instead preferring to focus on directing, he did keep a cameo as the rewritten Prince of Veronia, now the Prince of Fleur City. 

“We kept a lot of the traditional language,” (Y/N) continued as if she hadn’t heard Vil. She looked out the window, the tall buildings and bustling crowds as they got closer to the theater. “Not word for word of the monologue, but still. You don’t think it was too old-fashioned or metaphorical?”

“Sweet potato, we’re going to the premier, you know. It’s a little late to be thinking about rewrites.” 

(Y/N) sighed again, flattening her hands against her lap. “Yeah, you're right. The costumes were amazing, though.” 

“That’s thanks to you as well, you know. Professor Crewel wouldn’t be willing to design for just anyone.” 

(Y/N) smiled weakly. She fidgeted in her seat. She switched sides to sit next to Vil instead of across from him. He raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow but didn’t say anything. 

“Vil,” She said, choosing her words carefully. “I really liked working with you on this.” 

“Well, you’re not the worst person to collaborate with either, (Y/N).” 

“Would you want to, I mean, maybe later if you don’t have other projects already lined up, do you want to work together again? I mean, there’s a ton of Shakespeare plays. I don’t know all of them by heart or anything, but I know a good couple. Hamlet is dramatic with political intrigue, Much Ado About Nothing is a romantic comedy, A Midsummer Night’s Dream is another romantic comedy with magic and everyone falling in love with the wrong person, well, that one has fairies so I don’t want to offend anyone or anything, oh, and Macbeth is all dark about going mad with power - people said it was cursed back in my world even if we didn’t have real curses, it was just something people said, you know, but I was also thinking maybe we could do others like Pride and Prejudice or if you want to do something completely different there’s this series called Star Wars that-” 

Vil abruptly cut off (Y/N)’s ramblings with a kiss. There, in the back of the limo, it was just the two of them, alone in the world. No fans, no expectations, no competitions. Just them, and a warm growing feeling between them. 

Vil pulled back, taking a moment to appreciate (Y/N)’s dazed face and bewildered smile. “I would love to work with you again, (Y/N). I’m not sure I would ever want to work with anyone else. Come, we’re here.” 

An attendant opened the door of their limo, the roar of fans and flashing lights breaking the stillness on the cab. Vil stepped out in one graceful movement, lifting a hand in greeting. A red carpet stretched out before them, littered with other actors from the movie or celebrities there to give support. Vil leaned back, offering (Y/N) his hand. She stepped out of the cab, blinking at the sudden lights.

Vil tucked her arm through his, whispering, “Stick with me. I’m certain we can get through anything together.” 

Rook

Rook flicked on his flashlight, illuminating the cavernous chamber. His team of archaeologists and researchers followed behind him, sliding down a rope through a ventilation shaft into the long buried and forgotten temple underneath an old gnarled tree. 

“Is it what you thought it was, Hunt?” A fellow archaeologist asked him, shining her own light around the foreboding space. 

“I’m not sure yet,” He replied. “But I think… Ah ha!” Rook cheered, bounding over to the far wall. He took out his magical pen, casting a fire spell into a trough of dark liquid that ran the perimeter of the chamber. It caught alight, flooding the room to showcase the detailed carvings and relief work decorated on the walls. The team gasped, immediately taking detailed notes of the pictographs and images. Carvings of mermaids in a grotto, a pirate ship looming off the coast of a tropical island, and what appeared to be a flying boy with his arms outstretched were just a few of the designs that had been painted and carved on the walls millennium ago. 

“Magnifique!” Rook breathed in awe. “The Temple of the Second Star! Just as we thought!” 

“Just as you thought, sir,” A stoat beast-man researched said. “Your instincts were spot on again.” 

Rook preened but brushed off the comment. “Non, non, we’ve all put so much work into this discovery. You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished, n’est-ce pas? But, we’ve only begun our exploration. There’s something very important here I need to find.” 

“Is that safe, sir?” The archaeologist asked him. “We haven’t mapped anything out yet, who knows what it’s like down there?” She nodded her head to a dark doorway leading further into the temple. 

“Ah, but what is our profession without the allure of danger? Allons-y!” Leaving the others to their detail oriented inspection, Rook bound down the adjoining hall into the depths of the temple. 

Rook traveled down the halls, stopping only briefly to poke his head in adjoining rooms, none of which held what he was looking for. He paused every so often, checking a trap or pitfall that had been left how many hundreds of years ago. Finally, he came to a split in the corridors. 

“Hmm,” He muttered to himself. “I believe it was… Second star to the right.” He chose the right passage. 

The passage led him to a large stone door, once more inlaid with gem studded pictographs. “Ah,” he said. “A clever lock. Let’s see if I’m more clever.” He looked closely at the depictions. A group of four children flying over a cityscape, a towering clock with a large round face, a sun and moon arranged on either side, and, of course, the signature stars. He noticed several of the gem motifs could be moved. He suspected the right one would unlock the door, while the others might lead to disaster. And, as thrilled as he was to see what kind of disaster it could be, he was on a mission. “Second star to the right,” He said to himself again. “And straight on till morning!” He adjusted the hour hand on the clock face, changing it from pointing at the moon to the sun. A mechanism groaned and the door slowly fell open. 

He swished his flashlights around the chamber. It was littered with jars upon jars on a sparkling yellow dust. He tapped the glass on one of the jars, feeling lighter, his hair floating around him. And, while this was a fascinating discovery, and he would definitely have to report back to the Roi de Dragons that their study of ancient fairy lore had been a success, there was something more valuable than pixie dust he was after. There, in the center of the room, was exactly what he was looking for. An acorn and thimble dangling off a delicate chain - the ancient symbols of a pure kiss. 

As Rook turned to confront the mechanical crocodile that had emerged from its hiding place, a clock ticking in its chest, he tucked the treasure into his pocket. He shrugged his bow from his shoulder, knocking an arrow, thinking about how beautiful the necklace would look on (Y/N) when he proposed to her. 

Epel

Epel undid his tie for the third time. Nothing was looking right. Should he keep his hair up like this, in a high ponytail that cascaded down his back? Was his suit not fitting right, stretching over muscles he had worked so hard for so long for? 

That was one thing directors loved about him, how he could flip from appearing sweet and docile to ablaze with righteous fury in a second. It helped boost his popularity at the box office, his latest action movie breaking records. But that limelight also came with its drawbacks. Like how today, possibly one of the most important days of his entire life, Epel had been distracted with checking with security at every odd occurrence. They had already kicked out a couple of unscrupulous paparazzi the other day. Epel was glad he was back in Harveston for something so monumental, surrounded by his family, but he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty at the strain he was putting them all through. But they would always wave him off with smiles, saying that it was the least they could do for all the publicity he had brought to their farms. And besides, what was family for, if not to lend a hand on your wedding day? 

There was a knock and the door opened before Epel could reply. Vil stepped in, checking a clipboard with a meticulously maintained schedule. “The cake finally got here, thank the Seven,” he said. “Everyone’s taking their seat. I knew people would be late - that’s why you put the ceremony time on the invitation a half hour before you actually want it to start. Now we just need to-” He stopped, looking up, and glared at the cloth around Epel’s neck like he had glared at Epel himself so many times during their NRC days. Vil sighed, setting the clipboard down and pulling at Epel’s tie. “Honestly, have none of my lessons stuck with you?” 

Epel felt a momentary sense of pride against the scolding as Vil had to look up to speak with him. “Nothing looked right,” He said. “I wanted it to, you know, look right.” 

Vil hummed. “Are you sure that’s what this is about?” Epel didn’t reply. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you? I’ve never known you to be one who runs away from problems.” 

“No, never!” 

Vil gave a final tug on the eldredge knot. “Well, that’s the only thing that matters, isn’t  it?” He gave one of his rare sincere smiles. “And she chose you, Epel. Remember that.” 

Epel shrugged. “It’s a lot to live up to.” 

“And you’ll rush to meet those expectations with flying colors. Now hurry up, we have a schedule to keep.” 

They had set the ceremony space in the middle of the apple orchard. Soft pink apple blossom petals swirled around the air, beautiful organic confetti cascading over each guest as they took their seat in the circular audience. Epel looked around, smiling back at friends and family beaming at him. His mother hadn’t stopped crying happy tears since before breakfast that morning. His grandmother reached out and squeezed his hand as he walked past. 

A group of local boys had been recruited to play music for the wedding. As Epel took his spot under the flowery arch up front, they began playing. Epel felt his heart thundering in his chest, jumping like a jackrabbit. He felt more nervous now than he did at his first premier. 

Everyone stood, looking towards the back of the aisle as the bride started to walk down, billowing white dress, cascading flower bouquet, lace veil covering her face. It felt like forever, Epel transfixed. She stepped up to the alter and Epel gently lifted the veil away from her face. (Y/N) smiled up at him. 

“Dearly beloved,” The officiant started. Before he could get another word in, Epel surged forward, kissing his bride. (Y/N) started laughing, wrapping her arms around him to return the kiss. 

“Hey!” Vil called jovially from the crowd. “You’re ahead of schedule!”  

Idia

Idia was curled  up on the couch, the room dark, light from the three computer screens in front of him illuminating the space and searing his eyes. He chewed on his bottom lip, writing code only to immediately delete it. 

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Blinking away dark spots in his vision, he glanced over at the left computer screen where he had taped a photo of Ortho and their parents. Ortho was wearing a director’s coat, showing off for the camera. Idia smiled, straightening the photo. At the time, when Ortho had volunteered for the position of S.T.Y.X. junior director in Idia’s place, Idia didn’t expect the rush of relief that swept through him. It had been about a year so far and the two brothers talked almost every night, Ortho regaling him with stories of new advancements and studies they had made, his enthusiasm peaked in every word. 

But what Idia hadn’t expected was the sudden sense of helplessness, like he’d been cut free of some invisible tether. He’d just hang around for a while, working in this tech company, that cyber security industry, before he got bored. He was able to improve every company by leaps and bounds before deciding to drop it and head somewhere else whenever the mood took him. A few military weapons companies had tried to recruit him, but he’d swiftly rejected their offers. 

Eventually, a small group of eager indie video game developers had reached out in an email he had almost deleted without reading. He knew a few of the names from discussion boards on Star Rogue fan sites. They asked if he had wanted to join them for a new project and, having nothing else pressingly important going on, he’d agreed. Soon, however, he’d found himself absolutely engrossed with the game, bringing in more money and resources than any of the other teams members had ever seen for a similar project. 

And now, here he was. Stuck. The team couldn’t figure out their next steps, couldn’t solve problems with the set up and coding. They had hit a wall. Idia had hit a wall. 

He heard movement from the bed behind him, a sigh of someone waking up. “Idia?” A sleep addled voice called. He didn’t move, fingers clacking on the keyboard. He heard movement behind him, getting out of bed and dragging the blankets with them. 

(Y/N) tumbled onto the couch next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. “You said you were going to come to bed like,” She squinted at the clock. “Four hours ago. Idia! You need sleep!” 

“Want to get this done,” He mumbled back. 

“It’ll still be there in the morning.” 

“I have to work on it now or I’ll lose momentum.” 

“You’ll lose your eyes if you keep working in the dark like this. And I like your eyes. And your hair. And your smile. And your-” 

“This code is a total mess. It’s full of redundancies. There’s an explote here that would basically make you able to walk through any wall no problem. And they’re focused too much on feature creep, it’s like they want to add a cool new gimmick every day. Like, yeah, connecting to the microphone during the stealth section so if the player is loud the enemies can find them easier is cool, but it’s only in that one part of the game and it’s making a whole bunch of unnecessary complications. Or there’s this part with the poisoning spell basically breaks the game if you unlock it too early. Or this part with the character modeling where-” 

“Idia!” Idia startled, blinking at (Y/N). “Your girlfriend is asking you to come to bed with her.” 

Idia’s hair immediately burned bright pink. “Oh, yeah, okay.” 

Silver

Silver rolled his shoulders, adjusting the weight of his heavy armor. He was in a tent, getting ready for his bout of jousting for an annual tournament in the Briar Valley. This wasn’t the first tournament he’d participated in, of course, but there was always a nervousness that built up in his stomach, an eagerness to prove himself as worthy of being Malleus’s retainer, Lillia’s son, a loyal knight of the fae kingdom. 

“Knock, knock.” He turned to the front flaps of the tent. (Y/N) pulled aside one of the flaps, sticking her head inside. “Sorry, there’s not really a place to actually knock or ring a bell or anything…” She cleared her throat, stepping inside. She wore a traditional Briar Valley dress. “Wow,” She breathed, taking in Silver in his armor. “You look like a real knight! Not that you aren’t, usually, I mean. It’s just really formal now I guess. I’ve been able to see everything from up in the royal viewing box with Hornton and Lillia. It’s great watching you and Sebek, competing and everything. It’s like a whole Renaissance fair out there.” 

Silver set down his helmet. “Is that something from your world?”

She nodded. “I’ll have to tell you about it some time. They were always fun.” She looked away nervously, trying to find the right words to say. “There was this kind of tradition, at the Renaissance fairs, for knights. I think it went back to medieval history in my world. I was hoping you could help me with it.” 

“Of course,” Silver said. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them, gently reaching out to take her elbow and turn her back to him. They were so close their bodies nearly brushed each other. “Whatever you need.” 

She hesitated for another second before reaching up and pulling a ribbon out of her hair. He noticed it was (favorite color) instead of a matching shade to her outfit. “When knights would go for tournaments, they would wear a token or flag from their partner. It’s for good luck or something.” She twisted the ribbon around her fingers, not meeting his eyes. “I was hoping…” 

Silver untangled the ribbon from her hands, tying it around his forearm. He felt a swell of pride at how it stood out from his armor, gently waving in the breeze. “I’d be honored,” He said. “To wear your token.” 

(Y/N)’s eyes lit up, a smile blossoming on her face. “Okay, yeah, sure, of course! I’m glad you like it.” She pressed her lips together, considering something, before adding. “Would it be okay if I gave you another token? For good luck. Not that you need it or anything, you’re going to be great.” 

Silver smiled at her nervous deflection. “I’d love anything from you.” 

(Y/N) looked around nervously again, fiddling with her fingers. Just as Silver was about to speak, she reached up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and pulled him down for a kiss. 

Lilia

Lilia leaned against the railing of the barge, watching the glowing red lanterns float gently above the river, their reflections casting ruby ghosts against the dark water below. The Floating Lantern Festival in the Land of Red Dragons never failed to excite, but this year was especially memorable. 

“It’s even more beautiful that you describe it,” (Y/N) breathed in awe next to him, stretching out over the barge railing to take in every sight and sound around them. Her eyes trailed the parade along the banks of the river, party goers dressed in red hanfu carrying more lanterns and a long red paper dragon on tall sticks. 

“The best stories are the ones you experience in person,” He said. 

They’d been traveling together for a while now, by boat, by train, on foot, exploring the whole world. (Y/N) had always been bothered that she had no frame of reference for the world of Twisted Wonderland, no practical understanding of its cultures and countries. Lilia tried to alleviate some of her frustrations with stories about his numerous travels before finally deciding a more hands-on presentation would be a better fit. 

Lilia snuck up behind her as she marveled at the lanterns drifting into the night sky. He suddenly grabbed her shoulders, as if to push her off. She gasped and turned to give him a halfhearted glare as he laughed. 

“Well?” Lilia asked. “Do you feel more prepared to conquer the world now?” 

(Y/N) frowned. The Land of Red Dragons was meant to be the last stop on their tour. (Y/N) had said she had no real plan for after the journey. While the multitude of friends she had made during her years in school were more than happy to lend her a place to stay during their travels, (Y/N) had confided in Lilia that she felt like she was taking advantage of their good nature if she lingered to long, without finding work or direction in this strange world. Maybe she would return to NRC to see if Crowley had any work for her? (He always did.) 

“I mean, I suppose?” She said. “Everything has been so wonderful. It’s almost a shame to be stuck in one place after all this.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “I can see why you like moving around so much.” 

Lilia hummed, leaning back against the railing. He turned, considering (Y/N)’s profile, lit against the red glow of the lanterns. He felt himself pause, lost in the marvel of her eyes, full of delight and wonder at everything around them. There was a strange stirring in his chest, one he had experienced multiple times over their journey together, a feeling he hadn’t had in almost 500 years. 

Lilia shook his head, trying to reign his focus back in. “You know,” He said, casually. “I’ll be heading back out again soon. Malleus came up with the idea of sending out ambassadors from the Briar Valley, trying to strengthen relationships between fairies and the rest of the world.” 

(Y/N) nodded. “That seems like something he would do. You’re going to be the first one, then? It seems like a good job for you.” 

“Not necessarily the first.” (Y/N) turned to look at him and Lilia felt himself squirm under her direct gaze. Goodness, he would have thought he was a lovestruck teen of 200 years by the way he was acting. “I proposed that you should join me as an ambassador. I thought it might make things easier, having a fellow human to represent dual interests. And, I must admit,” He purposely looked away. “I’ve grown fond of our time together.” 

When (Y/N) didn’t reply he looked back at her. She was smiling up at him and he felt his heart stutter. “I’d like that a lot,” She finally said. Which part she didn’t specify. He didn’t need her to. 

As they watched the lantern festival continue around them, their hands slid together on the railing, fingers entwining.  

Sebek

Sebek’s heart was beating a mile a minute. He knelt in front of Malleus, in the grand throne room, crowds of nobles eagerly watching his knighting ceremony.  

Malleus, regal sword in hand, stood over him. “Sebek Zigvolt,” He said, voice echoing around the chamber. “Do you so solemnly swear to uphold the code of knightly honor, to defend the Briar Valley with all your might, your will, and your faithfulness?” “I do,” Sebek replied, trying to keep his voice to a reasonable volume, not letting his giddiness shine through. 

“Do you so solemnly swear to serve your king and country and never waver from your duty?” 

“I do.” 

“And do you so solemnly swear to be truthful to yourself, loyal to your loved ones, and show bravery in the face of doubt and fear?”

“I do!” 

Malleus smiled down at his friend, pride for his retainer crinkling the corners of his eyes.  “Then, as rightful king and ruler of the land of night fae and the Briar Valley, I hereby dub thee, Sebek Zigvolt, high knight and warrior to the crown.” Malleus lowered his sword against Sebek’s shoulders and the crown of his head. “Stand and receive your blessing.” 

Sebek stood, fist thumbing against his chest. Cheers started up from the assembly. Happy tears pricked the corners of Sebek’s eyes, his smile wide as he tried to keep a serious face for the occasion. 

After the ceremony, everyone congregated in one of the grand ballrooms of the palace. Sebek stood with his mother, father, and grandfather. His mother was flitting over him, brushing away an invisible speck of dust every other second. 

“My darling boy!” She cried. “Look how big you’ve gotten! Oh, you’re so official now! Dear, what happened to our little Sebek?” 

“You’ve done a lot of hard work, Sebek,” He father said, nodding proudly. “You should be proud of everything you’ve accomplished.” 

“Of course he’s proud,” His grandfather scoffed. “He’s a Zigvolt! Greatness and duty is embedded in our history!” 

His mother rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, Papa, so you’ve said many times.” Her eyes cut behind Sebek, smiling and taking hold of either of the two men’s arms. “Well, we wouldn’t want to monopolize your time, Sebek. There are many people who want to congratulate you, after all. Come along, dear, Papa!” Ignoring their protests, his mother dragged them away. 

As Sebek waved in a confused good-bye, he felt a thump on his back. “Look at you!” He heard a familiar voice say. “So do I have to call you Sir Zigvolt now or something?” Sebek turned to see (Y/N) beaming up at him. It was surprising enough to see her here, but Sebek’s breath caught in his throat as he saw her dress. Zigvolt colors. She was wearing Zigvolt house colors. 

“H-hum- Er, (Y/N)? What are you doing here?” 

“Horton invited me! Or, I guess I should say King Malleus here, shouldn’t I? Well, either way, he told me you were having your official knighting ceremony. And I got a letter from your mom, too! She thought it would be a fun surprise to have your friends from school show up to support you.” She indicated one of the banquet tables across the room. Sebek saw Grim, Ace, Deuce, Jack, Ortho, and Epel milling around, all dressed in their own formal wear, catching questioning glances from the various fae knights and nobles. 

But they weren’t wearing his house colors. So why was she? And why did it make his heart thrum like that? 

A band started up, couples taking their places along the dance floor. “Ah, would  you…?” Sebek felt like he could’t find the right words. He couldn’t understand why he was suddenly falling all over himself like this. 

(Y/N) clasped his hands in hers. “I’d love to dance! I might not know all the steps, since this seems pretty fancy and formal, but you’ll just have to show me, okay?” Sebek nodded stiffly as she pulled him to the dance floor. 

Sebek took one of her hands in his, his other settling on her waist. He felt it burn with the contact. As he swept her along the floor, he finally said, “Your dress…” But couldn’t manage to finish, his thoughts tumbling around. Had it really been so long since graduation? Since he had last seen her? Sure, they had written multiple times, he kept up correspondence with many NRC alumni, but how had she changed this much since then? Had her eyes always shined that way? Was her hair that beautiful? Was her smile that dazzling? 

“Oh, your mom lent it to me,” She said. “I didn’t have anything that would fit, so she lent me one of her old ones. Although with all the adjustments I think it might just be mine now. Do you like it?” 

“You look like a Zigvolt,” He said. 

“Oh.” She seemed surprised at that, heat rising to her face. They turned around the floor a few more times. “You know, you’ll be seeing a lot more of me soon.”

Sebek felt his heart flip. “I’ll have to put up with you more, you mean.” 

(Y/N) stifled a laugh and gently hit his chest. “Rude. I mean Horton offered me a position here. Ambassador for human and fairy relations. I’m not totally sure what it will be like next, but he’s given me a townhouse just next door. It’s near your parents, I think. So, you know, I’ll be around. If you ever want to see me or anything. Or I guess if I want to see you, I’ll know where to come to bug you.” She laughed awkwardly. 

Sebek unconsciously tightened his grip on her hand. “I think I wouldn’t mind that. It’s a knight’s duty to look after those he cares about, after all.” 

Malleus 

Malleus turned over in his bed, hands crumpling the sheets next to him. He was in his chambers back in the palace in the Briar Valley. The bed next to him was cold. Cool dawn light was just beginning to spill through his window behind the heavy velvet curtains. 

The dreaming Malleus, the one all too aware this was a premonition of a possible future, sighed. He had completed this potion many times, both at NRC and in his private education in the Briar Valley. And, no matter how many times he drunk the noctious concoction, his future always remained the same. A lonely bedchamber, government work, fawning lords and ladies vying for his favor. If he was lucky, he would get to interact with Lilia, Silver, or Sebek. Although he dreaded the times when he could clearly see age lining their faces while he remained the same. 

The door to his chamber creaked ever so slightly. Someone was entering. The dream Malleus, the one projected in this future vision, tensed in his bed. The dreaming Malleus, forced to watch everything unfurl, was confused. Was this some sort of half-baked assassination attempt? Had relations between the country of fae and the rest of the world degraded to such an extent under his reign? Was he destanted to watch his own death? 

The dream Malleus closed his eyes. There was a sound of soft padding feet, a giggle, then a sharp hush. The intruders were right next to him now. 

“Ready?” A voice whispered, familiar but changed with time. “One, two, three…” 

“Happy birthday, Papa!” 

The dream Malleus opened his eyes, a slow and easy smile crossing his face. The curtains were thrown open, revealing the three young boys standing at his bedside, rosy cheeked, green eyed, and horns curling up from their ebony locks. One of them held a plate stacked high with pancakes, dripping with strawberry syrup. Another held a party popper, which he pulled releasing a torrent of confetti and ribbons. The third held a paper card tightly in his hands, his grip causing it to crumple at the edges. 

“Did we wake you up, Papa?” The boy with the card asked in a concerned voice, pouting. 

Malleus smiled, sitting up in bed as the young boys climbed up to sit around him. “Not at all, Grimwald. What’s that you have there?” 

Grimwald shyly held the card out. Malleus gently pried it from his fingers. It was obviously homemade, colored pencil drawings of a family of five holding hands across the cover, four with Darconia horns crowning their heads. He opened the card. There was a large birthday cake drawing inside, with the words ‘Happy Birthday!’ in large blocky lettering above it. Around the cake, the artists had scribbled their names: Grimwald, Lilianos, and Malachite. 

“They wanted to surprise you,” A soft voice said. Malleus, both in and out of the dream, felt his heart skip a beat as (Y/N) came around the bed. She sat down at the edge, catching the plate of pancakes from Malachite so they wouldn’t splatter on the floor. She turned to him, carding her fingers through his hair, and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Good morning, Horton. Happy birthday.” 

“We made them ourselves!” Malachite proudly proclaimed. “Grandpa Lilia showed me how!” 

“Don’t worry,” (Y/N) whispered to him. “I supervised.” 

“Do you have to work today, Papa?” Lilianos asked. “You can’t ‘cause it’s your birthday, right? You have to stay and play with us today.” 

Malleus gathered his boys together so they all fit on the bed. “Birthdays are family days. I’d love nothing more than to spend the entire day hearing about  how you’ve been terrorizing the palace.” 

“Oh, oh!” Malachite called, hand shooting up. “I breathed fire and it burned up the curtains in the grand dining room!” 

(Y/N) looked at him sideways. “On accident, right?” 

Malachite blushed. “Yes, Mama.” 

“Can we go watch the knights train?” Lilianos asked. “Uncle Sebek and Uncle Silver said they would teach us to ride a horse!” 

“Why would you want to ride a horse when you can fly?” Malachite said, spreading his arms wide. 

“I want to go to the menagerie,” Grimwald added. They began to talk over each other, making plans for their father’s birthday without his input. 

Malleus smiled, watching his family. He turned back to (Y/N). She smiled at him, as glorious and warm as the sun after a year of frozen nights. He reached up, cupping her face, and brought her close. 

“I always knew my future would bring me to you.” 

[enzosbabyangel]

hi so I’ve had this idea for a while and I feel like you’d write it very very well- so like- Fred and George x shy reader. Like shy as in like kind but shy. Like Snow White kinda personality. also like THICK. like as in ass/tits. I FEEL LIKE THEYD FALL HARD. but anyway- reader is best friends with Harry Ron and hermione and basically has always been their bestie since first year. when Ron first introduced her to the twins she fell hard but was too shy to say anything. They asked her out in her second year , she said yes, but they kept the relationship with her secret Cus well…two guys and a girl. people will talk. Anyway- fast forward to order of the phoenix era. They’re ducking her down and RON WALKS IN- uh- everyone knows now.

I dunno I thought it’d be fun :P

☆｡° Ron walking in on you, Fred ‘n George

cw: 18+!, mdni, light smut, poly relationship, getting walked in on by Ron, Molly might be a bit ooc, i don’t really remember her personality since i started overthinking it 😅

a/n: i really liked this idea lmao, i love getting reqs for the weasleys, specially George ‘n Fred 🤭 i’d be their secret gf any day 🤍 hope you enjoy anon !! it was indeed fun to write :)

You met your best friends, Ron, Hermione and Harry in your first year. Having met them after you all got off the express when you bumped into Hermione. Stuttering out quick apologies, the two of you becoming best friends after that, which eventually included Ron and Harry after a couple weeks.

When Ron introduced you to his two, twin older brothers, Fred and George Weasley, you fell for them instantly. Especially with how they couldn’t help but tease you for your shy nature.

You’d be lying if you said the subtle differences in their personalities wasn’t what drew you in the most- asides from both of them being attractive. George was a hint more polite and empathetic. Fred more chaotic and more of the instigator, it was a nice blend.

They eventually asked you out in your second year, themselves having a ‘bit’ of an interest in you. You were unlike all of Ron’s friends, you were sometimes baffling kind, even to those such as Draco Malfoy, and you were shy- barely talking when you’d go over to the burrow. They also weren’t stupid, it was clear as day that you liked them. The way your cheeks would flush when they spoke to you and you’d constantly divert eye contact, the few times they’d catch you looking at them, told them all they needed to know. And most of all, you were pretty, and your beauty just got more and more evident as you guys grew up.

It was no surprise when you agreed. Though the twins both decided it would be best to keep the relationship secret. Not because they were embarrassed of you. Not just because you were one of their younger brother’s best friends, but also because they knew how unusual a relationship with two males and a singular girl is. It’s better to just avoid having unnecessary rumours and opinions circling around.

You guys managed to keep your relationship secret for years. Which perhaps got to the brother’s heads, as they got more and more reckless and comfortable every year.

“S’too much-“ You mewl, eyes scrunched shut and toes curling as George fucked your pretty cunt and Fred fucked your tight ass. Having previously cum twice. The brothers claiming that they wanted to see how long you could stay quiet, the three of you in Fred and George’s unlocked bedroom.

“Oh c’mon sweetheart, you can take it.” George reassured, lips trailing kisses along your neck. The more sympathetic sibling trying hard not to practically moan at the feeling of your plump tits rocking back and forth against his chest due to the other twins thrusts.

“You have a million times before.” Fred added with a chuckle. Slightly out of breath as he rocked into you at a faster pace than Fred. His larger hand coming up to grab both of your wrists and pull them back. His eyes hazy as he watched the way your ass bounced with his thrusts. “Yet your pretty lil ass always feels so tight.” He chuckled out again, placing a light slap to your ass just to watch the flesh jiggle.

A pathetic sounding whined escaped your throat, thighs clenching together more as you attempted to close your eyes even more. Feeling embarrassed at his inappropriate words. However just before you could respond, another, out of place voice replied for you.

“What the bloody hell?!” The all to familiar voice shrieked, causing the two men’s movements to halt and all of your guys’s eyes to widen.

“Ron?! have you heard of bloody knocking?!” Fred Finally let out after a couple seconds of shock. His typical smug confidence replaced with embarrassment as he grabbed his blanket and pulled it up to hide his and Freds bare bottoms and your own naked body sandwiched in between.

Rons mouth fell agape at his older brothers audacity, but quickly looked away, simply walking out while uttering one final, sarcastic and bewildered response. “Sorry i didn’t expect to walk in on my older brothers shagging one of my best friends!”

Once the sound of the door slamming close reverberated in the room you almost felt tears swelling in your eyes. Both in worry of your friendship with Ron and embarrassment. Which, of course, Fred immediately noticed.

“Hey hey, cut it out with the tears darling.” He quickly reassured despite his own embarrassment, reaching down to wipe the tears away before they could fall far.

George spoke next, pulling his now soft cock out of you as you he wrapped his arms around you in a form of a hug. They both knew you incredibly well, so they knew what you were worried about without you even voicing it.

And they also knew Ron, so they didn’t feel as worried as you, so now it was a matter of trying to get you to realize that. “Yeah pretty. You worried ‘bout Ron’s reaction? don’t be.” George said simply, running one hand in small up and down motions on your back.

“How do you know he won’t hate me?” You asked, swallowing shakily in as you spoke. Your mind immediately thinking up all of the worst case scenarios.

“Hmm let’s see.. he’s our brother and we know him?” Fred teased with a grin, though there was still a softness in his voice as he rubbed your cheek softly.

“He’ll be upset for a bit.. maybe ignore you a bit. It’ll be awkward at dinner tonight no doubt… maybe cause a bit of a scene. But trust me, he’ll get over it.” Fred reassured, confident in his words. Not bothering to lie and say that Ron will immediately be over it.

You let out a sound of thought, thinking about Fred’s words. You knew that sounded like Ron and was most likely what was going to happen, but you were an overthinker.

“Promise?” You let out after a couple seconds of living in your thoughts.

“Promise.” Fred and George both said in unison, the confidence and the solidity in their words helping you feel more at peace.

“Ok..” You let out with a soft smile, letting out a deep breath as you glanced at Fred then George.

You all were now sat at the dinner table. Molly talking away while you awkward looked downwards at your lap. You fork twirling in the pasta that Molly made for dinner tonight. Fred managed to act as if all was normal, though he still had an underlying hint of awkwardness. Evident in the way he’d avoid Ron’s eyes. George was much like you, cracking jokes like Fred but not really looking up from his food.

Ron on the other hand was taking times giving you all disgusted glares occasionally before looking back down at his own food. The tension in the air was palpable despite how everyone tried to ignore it. Harry awkwardly rubbing his hands on his pants as he observed the awkwardness in the room.

The only sounds in the room was Molly’s chatter as she attempted to ease the awkwardness in the room. Finally sitting down to enjoy her own food.

“So how is everyone?” Hermione eventually asks, her eyes roaming over the faces that she’s come to recognize and -usually- feel greatly comfortable with among the years.

Molly smiled as Hermione spoke, opening her mouth to speak before being cut off by Ron. “Bloody amazing… i bet Y/N, Fred ‘n George feel real amazing too.”

He spoke, his words dripping with sarcasm which added to the tension in the room. Everyone’s eyes going to the three of you as Ron gave you all his typical, bitter nasty look. Fred choking on his noodles while your cheeks heated up. George simply scrunching his eyes shut as if something abruptly dropped.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” Molly scolded among seeing the look Ron dared to give to you guys. Smacking his arm lightly with her napkin.

Ron’s attitude didn’t budge though, instead shifting his arm away from the napkin slightly as he spoke. Giving away enough but not too much. “Please, you’d be disgusted too if you saw them doing what i saw.” He emphasized the last words.

Everyone’s eye’s diverted back to the three of you’s shameful faces. Your fork stilling in between your fingers as you felt their gazes bore into your down-warded head.

“So.. what happened?” Harry muttered, voice laced with confusion and slight hesitance, unsure if he really wanted to know.

“Uh..” 

“Yeah guys ‘what happened?’”

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . written by enzosbabyangel, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

[minarisplaything]

Loyalty

hanni x male reader (ft. background Danielle, Minji, and Haerin) word count: 3,335 a/n: back from the grave with a topical one-shot. newjeans never die... disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does not represent any individuals, situations or real life. summary: After a shake-up at Ador the whole staff were let go. You were brought in as part of the new hires, specifically to be one of the managers for NewJeans. Weary from the last regime, the members want to make sure that they can trust you, inviting you to a private meeting to see where your loyalties lie.

The last thing you expected when you were hired by Ador to be part of the new management for the global sensation NewJeans was to be called in for a meeting by the members themselves. You had expected you'd introduce yourself at some point, after all, you'd be one of the core managers after the staff turnover, but what you hadn't expected was for it to feel so formal.  

You shifted in your seat, feeling slightly anxious as you waited for...whatever this was, to begin.  

"Oppa, you don't have to be nervous," Danielle said, her voice as sweet as her appearance. 

From the outside looking in, Danielle had always struck you as the sweetest of the bunch. The type of woman who would comfort anyone and brighten their day with kind words.  

"Yeah, we just want to make sure everyone is on the same page" Minji added, seated to Dani's left. Her voice was soft, but more firm than Danielle's. Where Dani offered you a sweet, reassuring smile, Minji looked far more serious in her expression. It was hard not to be nervous.  

"That's good to hear," you chuckled, trying to dispel the nerves. "When you four said you wanted to meet I was a little uneasy." 

To call it unusual was an understatement. Yet here you were, in a chair seated across from four of the five members: Danielle, Minji, Hanni, and Haerin. 

"It's been really hard to figure out who we can trust," Hanni chimed in. Her voice was sympathetic. As if she was finding the middle ground between the prior two. "With all this turnover, we just want to make sure the new staff has the right priorities."  

You swallowed thickly. Why did that feel like a threat?  

Your eyes turned towards Haerin, expecting her to chime in. But she merely continued to stay at you silently with her cat-like gaze. You shifted again in your seat slightly, trying to dismiss any feeling of discomfort and remain professional. You hadn't felt nearly this anxious during your initial interview for this position.     

"I-I see. Well, that is understandable. It's a big change after all," you said. "Whatever I can do to help ease any concerns you might have, I'll do it." 

"I knew you'd understand," Dani clasped her hands together, her smile beaming. 

Minji, however, seemed less convinced. "We'll see." 

Hanni folded her hands on the table that was situated between the four of them and you, her eyes compassionate. "The one thing we're most worried about is loyalty. The last staff was loyal to HYBE. We want to make sure that you are loyal to us. That you won't do anything to hurt us. That you'll listen to us." 

Her voice lowered an octave at the last part.  

"That sounds...reasonable."  

Honestly, it sounded complicated. You hadn't exactly signed up for being part of some corporate politics when you submitted your resume. But, you supposed you could understand where they were coming from. They had been hurt and wanted to make sure they could trust you. Fair enough. "How can I prove myself?" 

"Meow," Haerin spoke up.  

You blinked, confused. "Um, excuse me?"  

"She said she wants you to take off your pants," Minji provided.  

"My...pants...?" 

Had you heard her right? Surely you must have misheard. Yet you looked at each woman; the subtle glint in Minji's eyes, Hanni's lips curved in the hint of a smile, Dani's soft encouragement, and Haerin with her un-blinking feline gaze. There was no hint of this being a prank or a joke. They were serious. You felt your blood rush a bit quicker at that realization. 

“It’s just a little request. You said you'd prove yourself, right?” 

It was Dani's sweet voice that broke the tension. Her question leads you toward the answer she wanted to hear. 

You felt heat rising to your cheeks. This was insane. Unhinged even. And no doubt not covered under any HR guidelines. You could get up and walk out that door. You'd probably lose your job but at least you'd keep your clothes on. Then again, you'd also prove you weren't someone who could be trusted. And, quietly, the idea of standing before them with fewer clothes stirred something inside of you. 

Wordlessly you stood, your fingers moving to the button of your slacks as you undressed. It was hard not to feel a little self-conscious as you stripped down but you got on with it, eventually standing before them in just your boxers and shirt. 

You could feel their eyes devouring you.  

Hanni leaned over to Minji, whispering something in her ear. Dani continued to smile, while Haerin's expression remained unreadable. 

"Is this good enough?"  

"Meow." 

You looked over at Minji for a translation. 

"And your boxers." 

"What?"  

Your eyes widened. She was fucking with you, surely. You looked back to Haerin to see if that was a mistranslation. She, however, stared back at you, waiting for you to fulfill her request. Your cock twitched, another shiver running down your spine. 

"Not now, dammit," you muttered at your cock but to no avail. 

"Not now?" Hanni repeated, misunderstanding, "So, you don't want to work with us, oppa?" 

"No, that's not what I meant --"  

"I told you we couldn't trust him." 

"Guys, just give him a second!" 

You could only sit there as Minji, Danielle, and Hanni broke out into disagreement over your participation. Your gaze drifted towards the far end of the table where Haerin sat with her same stoic expression and feline gaze directed right at you. It was as if the chaos around her didn't matter, she was waiting for you to fulfill her request. It was hypnotizing and slowly you found your hands drifting towards the waistband of your boxers.

You swallowed thickly, hesitating for a moment. The bickering between the members was growing louder, but all of it seemed to fade into the background as Haerin's stoic gaze practically dared you to go just one step further. 

This is insane, you thought. There was no HR manual in existence that could prepare you for this situation. And yet, you felt a dangerous thrill coursing through your veins. You were here, in a room with four of the most influential idols in the industry, and they had made it clear: you were either with them or against them. 

"Oppa?" Dani's voice snapped you out of your trance. They had apparently caught on to your subtle movement and the discussion had briefly stalled. There was still a gentle sweetness to her voice but there was something else to her tone. Almost like a hopeful plea. 

Hanni leaned back in her chair, her expression shifting to one of disappointment. "I think Minji is right, he can't do it." 

You could feel the situation slipping through your fingers. If you didn’t act now, there’d be no recovery from this. You'd be out of a job and you'd have lost all their trust. For some reason, the latter felt more painful than the former. Without another word, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband and pushed your boxers down, stepping out of them with as much composure as you could muster. 

The room went silent. 

Dani's eyes flickered down, her mouth slightly agape in shock. Hanni let out a quiet giggle as she leaned forward onto her elbows, peering at your cock from over the table. Minji’s stoic facade cracked just a bit, a glint of approval in her eyes. But it was Haerin who captured your attention the most. Her gaze slowly roved over your exposed body, her expression unreadable. Then, she leaned back, finally breaking eye contact to glance at Minji. 

“Meow,” she said again, her voice low and even softer than before. 

“What’s she saying now?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly, betraying your nerves. 

Minji leaned forward with her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her intertwined fingers. “She says you’ve passed the first test.”

"I knew you could do it, oppa!" Danielle cheered clasping her hands together. 

“The...first test?” you repeated, your heart sinking as you realized what that implied. 

"Did you think this was it? You wanted to prove your loyalty, didn’t you?” 

You swallowed thickly, your eyes darting from Danielle's happy expression to Minji's business-like demeanor and Haerin's unreadable disposition. All the while Hanni's gaze seemed completely focused on your hard cock. 

"Alright," you nodded, steeling your nerves a bit. You had come this far, how much worse could it get? "If that's what it'll take. I'm ready for whatever you have to put me through."  

"Oh, can I do the next one? Please?"  

It was Hanni who spoke up with a newfound excitement, breaking from her trance.  

"We agreed it'd be Minji who handled it," Danielle whispered.  

"So?" 

Minji looked over at Hanni, one eyebrow raised, “Fine. Go ahead, Hanni. Just remember what we talked about.” 

Hanni's face lit up at being given the green light. She quickly pushed her chair back, practically bouncing on her feet as she made her way over to you. The rest of the members leaned back, watching her with varied expressions — Dani with her usual supportive smile, Minji with a calculating gaze, and Haerin, as always, unreadable, though you thought you detected a flicker of interest in her eyes. 

You tried to hold your ground, but it was hard not to feel a shiver of anticipation as Hanni stopped in front of you, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and something else you couldn’t quite place. The way she was looking at you made your skin tingle and your cock twitch. Despite the uncertainty of it all you still managed to be horny in the middle of it. It was a fact you tried to push aside lest your embarrassment get the best of you. 

“Oppa,” she said, her voice sing-song and dripping with excitement, “you said you’re ready for whatever we put you through, right?” 

You nodded, your throat dry. “That’s right.” 

Hanni’s smile widened, and she reached up, her fingers brushing along your jawline in a surprisingly gentle touch. She tilted her head, almost as if she were examining you. “You’re really cute when you’re nervous,” she teased, her voice a whisper meant only for you. 

She took a step back and, without breaking eye contact, dropped to her knees in front of you. Your breath hitched at the sight, the tingling anticipation intensifying tenfold. What was she planning? 

“I’ve got a little game for us to play,” Hanni continued, her fingers tracing down the side of your thigh. 

"A game?"  

"Mhmm." 

Dani giggled behind her hand, while Minji leaned forward slightly.  

Hanni leaned closer, her hands now resting on your hips. You could feel the warmth of her breath against your skin, and it took everything in you not to shiver. She looked up at you through her lashes, her sweet smile taking on a devilish edge. 

“You proved you can follow instructions already, but can you show self-restraint?" 

Your heart pounded in your chest as you nodded. “I -- yes. I can."  

“Let's find out,” she purred. Then, without breaking eye contact, she slowly dragged her nails down your thighs, the sensation sending a shiver through your entire body. “I want you to close your eyes and hold still. And no peeking!” 

You hesitated for a brief moment, but the way she was looking at you made it impossible to refuse. With a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter shut, trusting her completely, even though you knew you were stepping into uncharted territory. 

“Don’t move a muscle, oppa. Not unless I tell you to.” 

You opened your mouth to confirm that you understood her instruction when you felt Hanni's fingers wrap around your engorged cock. You hissed, breathing in sharply and resisting the urge to arch into her touch. Had she lost her mind?! Then again, as much as you might've wanted to morally grandstand at that moment, the thoughts were quickly washed away by her other hands beginning to fondle your balls.  

"You can do it!" Danielle said supportively. 

She's right, you thought. You just had to focus. A simple handjob was nothing you couldn't handle. Hell, with your eyes closed you could  just pretend it was no different than getting yourself off.  

Just when you were beginning to feel confident about your chances, you felt something soft press against the sensitive head of your cock followed by something warm and wet. No, not something. It was Hanni's lips and mouth enveloping your cock while her hand held your shaft steady. 

"Oh fuck..." 

You let out a moan, doing your best to remain still, your toes curling in on themselves as Hanni sunk lower and lower onto your cock until you were hitting the back of her throat and even then she continued. You resisted the urge to tangle your hands in her hair as her nose came flush against your groin, swallowing your cock whole and deep-throating you for a long moment. What you wouldn't give to be able to open your eyes and look down to see the sight kneeling in front of you. To see Hanni Pham with your cock buried down her throat as she looked up at you with those pretty eyes.  

"Go Pham Hanni!" Dani cheered on her group mate.  

After a second longer, Hanni began to slowly pull off your cock, letting out a slurping sound before finally coming off it with a pop.  

Unbeknownst to you she had a glazed-over look in her eyes, her gaze thick with lust.  

"So far so good..."  

She said, almost sounding distracted. You had a feeling she was enjoying this more than simply being a test but swallowed down the thought as you felt Hanni suck the tip into her mouth, her tongue grazing along the underside of your shaft. She licked down your shaft, taking your cock deeper into her mouth again as she started to move her head with short, quick bobs.  

She relaxed her throat, taking you deeper, faster, and all you could do was curl your fingers into your palms and force your eyes shut with considerable effort. The rest of the room was noticeably quiet outside of the sounds of Hanni mouth-fucking herself on your cock and the occasional encouragement from Dani. Whether they were enjoying the show or simply watching with studious gazes, you hadn't the slightest clue. What you did know was the thought of them watching as Hanni swallowed you down greedily again and again had you aching between her lips. 

Hanni came off your cock once more, her breathing ragged. "D-did he fail yet?" 

"Not yet."  

It was Minji who answered.  

"Good." 

Hanni gave a long lick over the thick vein on the underside of your cock, going from base to tip. You shivered but remained in place. Her tongue teased the slit at the tip of your cock, swirling around it before taking your length between her lips once again. Her hands braced herself against your thighs as she began bobbing her head in earnest.  

"It feels good doesn't it?" 

"You have no idea." 

"I can tell. I bet you want to grab her head and fuck her mouth, don't you? You want to thrust your cock between those pretty lips until you finish." 

You felt Hanni moan around your cock, sending reverberations along your shaft.  

Minji continued, her hands folded neatly with her elbows propped up. "This is why we need this test. Self-control is crucial. There will be people who try to sway you—bribery, favoritism, or worse. They might offer money, promise promotions, or even tempt you with something... a bit like what Hanni’s doing right now.” 

You felt Hanni's lips smile around your cock at that. 

"Meow." 

Danielle glanced at Haerin, then turned back to you with a reassuring smile. "Haerin's got a point. We just want to see if you can handle this. You get what we're asking, right, Manager-nim?" 

Some part of your brain was recognizing the importance behind their words. The logic behind. Unfortunately, whatever part of your brain wasn't overloaded with pleasure sensors as Hanni played with your balls while continuing to suck your cock was too busy doing your best not to blow your hot load right down the singer's throat.  

Your throat felt dry, and you're head was spinning. All you could do was nod quickly, forcing out the words, "Y-yes, I understand." 

All the while your entire body trembled as you stood there, eyes clamped shut, hands balled into fists at your sides. You felt your toes curling against the cold floor, desperately trying to ground yourself as you fought to maintain your composure as Hanni continued to suck your cock. It was almost too much, and you could feel yourself reaching the breaking point. 

“H-Hanni, please…” you managed to gasp out, your voice strained, but you bit your lip, trying to hold back a desperate plea. You knew better than to give in now. Not when you were this close. 

"Meow." 

Danielle's lips spread into a smile. "I think you're right, he's getting close. You've done so good holding back, manager-nim!"  

Dani's praise fell on deaf ears. Your mind was gone at that point, focused only on holding onto whatever shred of control you had left for as long as possible. Amidst the pleasure and internal struggle you were experiencing there was a shuffling of feet and then silence, only filled by the lewd sounds of Hanni's lips around your aching length. You waited, every nerve in your body on edge. Finally, Hanni pulled off your cock with a long slurp and a pop, her hand still stroking you as she spoke up.  

“Alright, oppa. You can open your eyes now.” 

You exhaled sharply, almost in relief, and slowly let your eyelids flutter open. The sight that greeted you made your breath hitch. 

Hanni was still there, her delicate fingers stroking your aching cock. Her lips were red and swollen with evidence of her efforts, a bit of saliva spilling at the side of her mouth. However, she was no longer alone. She was now joined by Danielle, Minji, and Haerin, all kneeling next to her on the floor, the four of them lined up in a row before you. It was a sight that felt like something out of a fever dream — four of the most sought-after idols in the world, on their knees before you, gazing up with expressions that ranged from sweet to stern. 

“Oppa, you did so well!” Danielle was the first to speak, her voice filled with genuine warmth and excitement. 

“You didn’t break. Even when we pushed you. You listened to us when it mattered the most,” Minji said.  

Her tone was even but there was a hint of approval in her soft eyes.  Haerin, as always, remained the most unreadable. But you took the fact that she was there kneeling next to the others as her approval. 

"T-thanks, ah, this would be a lot easier if..."   

"Oh!"  

As if remembering the obvious the four girls leaning in close, looking up at you as Hanni stroked your cock faster.  

"Manager-nim, you can cum right now." 

The sultry words left her lips and that was all it took. The pressure valve was released and your cock twitched in her grasp, painting the faces of all four members with your seed. From your balls to the tip of your cock you felt it washing over you. A feeling so intense that you nearly blacked out from the experience.  

As you regained your composure with deep breaths, you looked down at the sight before you. "Shit..." 

And what a sight it was. 

"Manager-nim, welcome to the family," Hanni said, wiping some of your cum off her face and licking it off her finger. "We'll be counting on you!" 

"Meow!" 

You could only chuckle, drained literally and metaphorically. "I look forward to working with you all." 

[anmwrites]

Beneath the Surface

Azriel x Reader

Hi All! So this isn't one of the Az requests unfortunately, but this is one of my private fics I already had written. I'm still working on the Az request that's in the queue, but I'm lowkey hating everything I've been writing so it'll probably take me a little longer to perfect it.

In the meantime, I wanted to get something put up for you all. Sticking to the fandom that was requested I decided to post this Az fic! Probably very stereotypical trope, but this was what I got. This one is a little heavier than my Xaden fic, so please read with caution. I hope you all enjoy!

Content Warning: Mentions of Suicide, self-sabotage, depression, & guilt

Again, I apologize if I missed any other warnings. Please read with caution.

Talk soon, and please enjoy!

“I’m getting her back,” a low growl cut through the tent. Y/N’s head whipped to the Shadowsinger. “I’m going with you,” her High Lady’s voice intervened. “Then you will both die,” her sister’s cold voice replied. 

Y/N’s head was reeling. In just hours after scrying for the Cauldron, the Inner Circle and then some were gathered around in the middle Archeron’s tent. She was stolen away. Lured by the promise of her human past. And…and Azriel was the first to throw himself into harm's way. 

Y/N was barely there as she watched Feyre shift into the dead priestess. Barely there as everyone began moving, readying themselves for their departure. Azriel hadn’t glanced once at her. His best friend. 

A silent brush of claws filled the Illyrian’s head. Y/N dropped her shields momentarily allowing Rhys’ voice to float into her mind. You are awfully quiet. Y/N snorted. He can do whatever he sees fit. A bemused feeling washed over her as Rhys carefully crafted his next words. I heard what happened. Quite a nasty little argument you had with him earlier. Y/N’s eyes shot to Rhys who was conveniently studying the daggers Cassian was equipping Feyre with. He started it. Trying to sideline me. I may not have wings but I know how to fight. 

Rhys finally met her gaze, You need to tell him. 

Tell him what exactly, brother? Y/N quirked her brow. 

You know. The fact that you are in love with him.

Feyre’s eyes darted back and forth between her mate and Y/N clearly noting they were having some form of silent conversation. He made his choice Rhys. Just as it’s always been for the past five centuries. There’s no point in telling him now. 

Truth be told, Y/N had known this story. Had lived through it with Mor. And now she had to live through it again with Elain. Her best friend, for centuries, after Rhys’ mother had taken her in regardless of her lack of wings, was hopelessly in love with another female…as usual. It was nothing new to Y/N. He only saw her as a friend. A sister perhaps. 

Y/N wasn’t really sure when her own feelings had shifted. Her and Azriel were always more than just siblings like she was with Rhys and Cassian. Everyone around knew there was something special between them. So much so that Y/N had even felt a spark of hope until Azriel met Mor, and then the whole incident with Cassian, Eris, and Mor’s father occurred. She slowly realized he would never see her as more than a friend, and Y/N began to be okay with that. And then she watched him do it again when Feyre’s sister entered the picture. It stung, but she was used to it. 

There is the point that we all may die or he may die. Rhys’ voice cut into her thoughts. Rhys. Stop. I can’t think about all of this right now or I will break. He’ll be fine. Rhys merely gave her a sympathetic feeling before she felt his presence exit her mind. He was right though. Azriel could very well die. She needed air. Or she would lose it. The initial shock of his announcement wearing off, nervousness settling in. 

Y/N quietly retreated outside of the stifling tent. The cool night air brushed over her clammy face as she took a deep breath. Something tickled at her ankles. She glanced down to see a single tendril of a shadow wrapped around it. She gave it a small smile. “I’m alright,” she whispered to it. “Go tell him I’m fine.” 

The little wisp of darkness hesitated before retreating back into the tent. Y/N grimaced, that old, familiar feeling of heartache seeping into her chest. She didn’t want him to go. Nesta and Rhys were right. They most likely would die. Everyone saw what the camp looked like. Elain could be anywhere. And selfishly, she did not want her High Lady and Shadowsinger to go in there. Especially her Shadowsinger.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and Y/N took a shaky breath. A quiet rustle behind her signaled someone had stepped out of the tent. She felt him before she saw him as she always did. Slowly, Y/N turned around and saw Azriel standing behind her. His face softened as he took her in. “Y/N I…” he started, approaching her. “I–I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” Y/N sighed before meeting him halfway. Her heart crumpled. He was still her best friend, and she still cared. “It’s okay, Az. I understand,” she said quietly, gazing up into his warm eyes. Eyes she was so, so familiar with. His warmth engulfed her, as they were standing maybe just a hair closer than any normal friends would stand. 

“No. It’s not. I just–you’re not incompetent. I know what you can do on a battlefield. It’s just–I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he signed, taking his hand in hers. Y/N watched as his gaze fell on their intertwined hands. He fiddled with her fingers as a nervous habit. 

“I know. I don’t want to see you get hurt either,” Y/N whispered, her unspoken selfish words hanging in the air. Azriel’s eyes flicked back to hers studying for a moment. Were they closer? Y/N thought to herself. “Say it,” he replied. “Say the words and I won’t do it. I won’t go.” 

Y/N’s heart picked up. She knew if she told him not to go after Elain he wouldn’t. He would drop it immediately. But Feyre’s face flashed in her head. Nesta’s moans of pain ripped through her. They were a part of their family now. Y/N shook her head, more tears slipping down her face. “I can’t do that,” she let out a shaky laugh, casting her head down. His other hand felt warm as he caressed her face, wiping the tears away with his thumb. 

“You’re the only one who has a chance to get in and out without being noticed. You have to get both of them out. They’re family now,” Y/N whispered. Azriel didn’t say anything, but when she met his intense gaze, those three little words felt heavy on her tongue. Looking into his eyes, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him so bad it was like her skin was on fire. Y/N couldn’t breathe. He could very well be walking right into his death. 

But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t drop the biggest bomb on their friendship when he needed his sole focus elsewhere. So, she stayed silent. She stayed silent even as he nodded and said, “I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll come back to you.” She stayed silent when he pulled her into his warm body and hugged her a little tighter. Y/N stayed quiet even when he led her back into the tent and she watched him disappear with their High Lady in the blink of an eye.

•••

Rhys let out a shaky breath after the departure of his mate and brother. As everyone dispersed, he noticed Y/N was still frozen in place, staring at the spot where the pair had just disappeared. He could see her visibly shaking. Cassian passed her and gave her a sympathetic look and pat on the shoulder before he exited. Rhys slowly approached her. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Y/N said without turning to him. Rhys could hear the tears in her voice. The uneven breaths she took. “He told me to tell him to stay and he would’ve in a heartbeat. I couldn’t do that to Feyre. To you. To our family,” she continued. Rhys opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure what to say. His heart was so full of emotions. Terror, absolute terror for his mate and his brother. Love–love for his unselfish sister. The baby he saw that day his mother brought her home. All in a frantic rush to warm up this little, tiny fragile thing she found in the snow, abandoned by her blood relatives because fate was cruel and did not give her wings. 

Y/N let out another shaky sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re also trying to keep it together. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.” 

This. This was why he felt he had to take it all on himself. Rhys’ heart was breaking for her. For his most kind and caring, living sister. This beautiful soul who has slowly fallen in love with Azriel for all of the centuries spent together. He didn’t understand why the Mother didn’t make them mates…his train of thought paused. It was as if he was hit with a brick. Sifting through all his memories and countless conversations with her, it finally clicked into place. 

“How long have you known?” Rhys asked quietly. Y/N slowly turned to face him. Pain and anguish, only that of which someone with a mate would know. The same pain and anguish he felt watching Feyre disappear. Y/N let out a bitter laugh, “Since Starfall five years ago. When you were…away.” Rhys was slightly shocked. He noticed the smallest shift in their relationship when he had returned. But after all it, he expected everything to be different. 

“Why didn’t you tell him? Me? Does Cassian know?” Rhys asked. Y/N shook her head, “I didn’t tell him because we were all dealing with the loss. I didn’t let myself find peace while you were gone. I couldn’t. I knew there were horrors you were enduring. Horrors I couldn’t even fathom, and I just couldn’t let myself be happy. And Az, well Az went to a dark place when you were gone. The only thing he clung to was his love for Mor, and I couldn’t disrupt his entire life. I wouldn’t. We didn’t speak for a few months after you were taken. We were all a mess,” tears flowed freely down her face as she spoke to him. 

Rhys could barely contain his. 

“So I buried it. I buried it so deep inside of myself no one would pick up on it. Or at least notice it without having to scrutinize me. I wanted to tell you. I really did, but I saw how you were when you returned Rhys. I couldn’t do that to you. You were trying so hard to pretend like you were okay and then your mate was with another. I just couldn’t do that to you, so I didn’t. I continued to bury it, but it just…just all got away from me.”

Y/N let out a choked sob that had Rhys moving. His arms wrapped around her engulfing her in a hug. “Oh you sweet, sweet thing,” he whispered, “My sweet sister,” he started, pulling back a bit to look at her. “You never need to hide anything from me. No matter what I am going through, you can always come to me. I am so, so happy for you. Although, I do need to kick Az around Velaris a bit since he cannot see what has always been right in front of him.” Y/N let out a garbled laugh before burying her head back in his chest. 

“We’ll figure it out, Y/N. Whatever is going on in Az’s head. We’ll figure it out together. When all of this is over. We’ll both get our happy ending. I promise you that,” Rhys concluded. Y/N only nodded, before stepping out of his arms and wiping her face. “Cassian suspected it and I’m sure Amren knows. She has never mentioned it to me but Cass has. I didn’t confirm anything with him and he hasn’t mentioned it to Az.” Rhys nodded, guiding her outside of the tent for some fresh air.  

•••

Y/N knew she should have told someone about the mating bond. It was something she could only suppress so much. But the guilt she and the rest of the inner circle felt when Rhys sacrificed himself ate at her too much. How could she let herself be happy when their High Lord and brother was subjecting himself to the horrors Under the Mountain, willingly, to protect them. 

There was no point dwelling on it now. Not as she paced in front of Rhys who was sitting tense in front of his war tent. The minutes ticked by all too slowly as they silently awaited Azriel and Feyre’s return. “Tell me about when it happened,” Rhys said quietly, interrupting Y/N’s nervous pacing. She stopped and looked at him. His eyes were glazed over like mind was somewhere else. He needed a distraction. For her brother, she would tell him everything. 

Y/N took a breath. “Starfall wasn’t the same without you. We knew how much the celebrations meant to you and so did Velaris. We never hosted a grand party anymore. The House was opened to those who wished to join, but it was almost as if the city was mourning the loss of our High Lord. Some came, but it was another quiet celebration.”

Rhys’ gaze flicked to hers. 

“I–I was upset that five years had already gone by and you weren’t able to see this and be there with us,” Y/N continued, “I was close to breaking by that point. My hope was running out. I was up on the private balcony where you and Feyre celebrated. Azriel of course found me. Sitting there, silently looking at the stars or spirits or whatever. Wishing on them so hard that they would return you to us.”

“He sat with me for I don’t even know how long. Let me cry on his shoulder and just be a comfort. Everyone held it together a lot better than I did, Rhys. You were my brother. My first family and the one who took care of me when I had nothing. When we lost your mother and our sister, you were the only thing I had left of them.” 

Y/N sniffed, more tears running down her face as she took herself back to that night. “I honestly debated pitching myself off that balcony that night,” she muttered bitterly. Rough hands immediately grabbed her face. Rhys’ anguish poured off of him as he seethed at her, “Do not ever think that. Even when I am gone. Never.” 

Y/N gazed at him for a moment before slowly nodding, continuing her story, “But Az came up. His presence was like a lifeline. And when I finally stopped moping and looked at him he gave me one of his rare true smiles. Sad, but also his true smile. I felt it then when I looked at him. Like a beautiful golden thread tethering him to me. Pulling me out of that abyss. I don’t know if he knew it, but I knew.” 

“I’ve always loved him. From when we were kids. I can’t tell you when my feelings shifted, but I have always loved him and I always will,” Y/N concluded. Rhys looked at her with a mixture of sadness and pure joy. He was about to open his mouth when commotion snapped them both out of it. 

Y/N’s head whipped so fast to the outskirts of the camp. There they were. Covered in mud and dragging along two petite figures. Y/N let out a strangled cry before tearing away from Rhys. The latter hot on her heels. She smelled the blood before she saw it. 

As she approached the puddle of people, her blood ran cold and she stopped dead in her tracks as she watched Elain plant a gentle kiss on Azriel’s cheek. She heard a faint “Thank you” before Elain was being swept up by others. Feyre reached Rhys first, letting out a strangled, “I’m alright…Azriel’s wings.” That kicked Y/N back into motion. 

She flung herself at the Shadowsinger causing him to let out an oomph. Though her heart ached at what she just witnessed, she still needed to make sure he was okay. “You–your wings,” she cried after releasing him. She frantically began inspecting every inch of him. “Hey, hey…” he said, grabbing both of her wrists. Y/N was too much in a state of horror. “Y/N look at me,” Az said quietly. She finally snapped her gaze to him. “I’m okay. I’m right here. I’m alive,” he said, giving her a strained smile. His hand reached up, brushing a stray hair out of her face. Y/N merely nodded more to herself than anything as Rhys came around and helped lift him. “We need to get Madja before anything permanent sets,” Rhys grunted, hoisting him up. Azriel swayed a bit. Y/N let in a sharp intake, flinching a bit as she felt some of his pain. 

Az gave her a weird look but she just shook her head, burying that golden thread down and down once again. Rhys began moving as Cassian took up Azriel’s other side, leading them away from her. Y/N noticed Feyre and hurried to her. She looked as if she was still in a daze. Y/N gently took her hand and led her to her tent. “You’re okay,” Y/N whispered gently as she settled in to help clean her up. Feyre merely nodded. 

The minutes flew by and soon Feyre was curled in her bed, cocooned by her sisters as Rhys ushered everyone out. 

Y/N took a deep breath once she was away from the commotion. Her mind was reeling between the conversation she had had with Rhys to the state that her family was in. Alive. That thread hummed from deep within herself. She almost felt as if it was calling to her. Tugging her. Her head turned slowly, spying the tent from which that feeling was coming from. Y/N’s feet were moving before her brain. 

The tent was thankfully silent except for the soft crackle of faelights illuminating the space. Azriel’s large form was sprawled across the cot on his stomach. The glimmer of salve and magic lingering on his shredded wings. Y/N’s voice got stuck in her throat. His beautiful wings. 

His head lifted as she entered, a soft smile gracing his lips. “I’ve had worse. You’ve seen me have worse,” he said, trying to comfort her. She still could not speak. “Come here,” he urged, trying to sit up. His muffled groan of pain set Y/N moving. “Don’t–don’t try to move,” she said, shakily sitting on the floor near his head. His eyes softened as he took her in. “You were worried about me,” Az chuckled a bit, reaching his hand up to brush that stray hair out of her face again. His shadows pooled around her, rubbing and twining up across her body in a soothing matter. “Of course I was worried about you,” Y/N hissed.

“Why?” he asked, matter-of-factly. 

Y/N glared at him. “You are my best friend, Azriel! Why wouldn’t I worry about you!” She couldn’t comprehend why he was acting like a snarky bastard right now. “I mean look at you!” Y/N plowed ahead, “Your wings are shredded! You could have died!” She wasn’t really sure what came over her. Maybe from speaking with Rhys, that bond she had spent years shoving down, surfaced again and was not going down without a fight this time. “Imagine if you had!” she exclaimed, “What am I supposed to do if you die?”

Azriel just gave her a small smile before trying to sit up again. “No, no, no. Don’t try to sit up!” Y/N seethed. He started laughing, pushing himself up anyways. That bastard was laughing. “Azriel!” Y/N pleaded, clearly noting the grimace as he fully pushed himself up. Once he was sitting his laugh dimmed. Y/N pushed herself up to her knees so she could at least be near eye level with him. He would always tower over her no matter what. 

“Tell me the real reason you have worked yourself up,” Azriel murmured, taking both of her hands in his. Y/N froze. He couldn’t know. 

“Because you are my best friend,” she whispered, feeling more tears well up in her eyes. “And your mate?” he replied gently. She couldn’t find it in herself to respond or look at him. “Sweetheart, look at me,” he gently placed a finger under her chin and made her head tilt up to look at him. And for once in her life, Y/N saw the love shining so brightly in his eyes. One that mimicked how she would always admire him from afar. If she was being honest, maybe more emotion than he ever let on was swimming through his beautiful face. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Y/N muttered pathetically. The Shadowsinger let out a quiet chuckle. “I think you do,” he said. Y/N just nodded. “How–how long have you known,” she rasped. “Subconsciously…well probably awhile now. Consciously, I felt it snap into place as you were leaving the tent before we left. That’s why I followed you out there,” Azriel stated. Y/N said nothing. “That’s why I asked you to tell me to stay,” he admitted quietly. 

Y/N finally took all of him in. All of his beauty and intensity. So broken yet still somehow put together. She studied his intense gaze on her, those hazel eyes seemingly glowing in the soft light. His tattoos across his very bare torso, and those wings. Oh, those beautiful wings still shimmering with healing magic. 

“How long have you known?” he asked, breaking her out of her stare. “Starfall. Five years ago,” she whispered. Azriel studied her harder, more emotion filling his eyes. “That night. I felt your sadness that night. I think part of me knew then and was scared to admit it,” he confessed after a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me then?” 

“I–I just couldn’t,” her lip trembled before her story finally came tumbling out. 

After she explained, Az slid to his knees on the floor before her, gathering her in his arms, “Oh my sweet girl.” Sobs racked through Y/N as all of the feelings she had bottled up ran rampant through her. Relief, sorrow, love. All of her bleeding heart finally pouring out. 

When she finally calmed down enough to get a word in, she pulled back out of his embrace, “I just didn’t think you would ever see me as more than a friend. With everything you told me about Mor, and then I saw it shift to Elain, I figured you deserved to be happy. Even if it would break me. Your brothers have found two sisters–” Azriel raised a brow at that. Y/N let out a small laugh, “You can’t tell me there isn’t something between Cassian and Nesta.” “Fair enough,” Az joined in with her quiet laughter. 

Y/N sighed and continued, “But I just know you and I didn’t want to ruin anything we had with a mating bond. To me especially. An Illyrian without wings.”

“Y/N,” Azriel said sternly, “Just because you were born without wings doesn’t mean that I will never love you any less than I already have my entire life.” 

“I was an idiot and I was in denial. You have been my entire world since I don’t even know when. I have loved you for so long, but I just didn’t think you would ever see me as more than a friend. I-I thought to myself that you would never love me like that. I have done things, you know what I have done. And I just couldn’t imagine a beautiful soul like yours falling in love with me. A part of me did love Mor. I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t, but I was finally able to admit to myself that I was in love with you. Was finally able to see that my stupid crush on Mor was a way to suppress all of my feelings for you. Every piece of me is consumed by you and belongs to you,” Azriel pressed.

“And Elain?” Y/N could only see that moment when they first returned. When she placed a kiss on his cheek. It made her blood begin to boil. “The thought crossed my mind when we met. It was the only thing that made sense. Three brothers, three sisters. But, I still couldn’t shake what I was trying so hard to hide from myself. And seeing you tonight. Seeing you go through all of this hell has finally given me the courage to be honest with myself and you,” he said. 

Y/N was pretty sure she had gone into shock. This was the most honest the both of them had been to each other in years. He actually loved her. She hadn’t dared to let herself dream of this moment. Especially not in the circumstances they were in with the war and all. 

“Please say something,” Az nearly begged, shaking her out of her stupor. Y/N focused back on his face. There really wasn’t anything she could say except surging forward and pressing her lips gently on his. Az tensed in shock for a moment before processing what was happening. And soon he was fervently kissing her back. 

Her lips molded perfectly against his as he explored every inch of her mouth. They were just as soft as she had dared to let herself imagine. His hands quickly found her waist, roaming up and down savoring the feel of her pressed against him. Over 500 years of knowing each other and they hadn’t once kissed. Even when Cassian put them up to stupid games like spin the bottle. Azriel couldn’t get enough. 

Y/N let out a moan as his tongue found his way into her mouth, shooting a blast of heat through her spine. Az reciprocated the feeling, pulling her closer, leaning back on the edge of the cot. He stiffened, suppressing a groan of his own. But well, mostly of pain. Y/N froze before pulling away. Az tried to chase her with his mouth and whined when she moved out of reach. “Azriel!” she hissed. “I’m fine,” he shrugged, trying to lean in again. “Az,” Y/N said, sticking a hand on his chest. “You are in no condition.” Azriel scoffed, leaning forward and thoroughly attaching his lips to her neck. Y/N shuddered. “Azriel I am not having sex with you when you can’t even lay on your back,” Y/N huffed. He was leaving a sloppy trail of kisses up and down. 

“Don’t need to lay on my back,” he mumbled. “You can hardly sit up,” she responded. “Don’t care. You’re my mate. My newly found mate,” he said into her neck. “Been dreaming of this for a while now,” he sighed dreamily, sucking on the one spot that made Y/N melt. She could feel the bastard grin before he continued his assault. 

It took a lot to shove him off of her. An extreme amount. All sentimental feelings from their confession were out the window and replaced by need. Pure, lustful need. But he was in pain. And he was her mate, so she pushed him off her. He let out the most un-spymaster like whine. “Y/N why are you doing this to me love?” he groaned. “Because you are injured and like I said, I’m not fucking you until you are at one-hundred percent,” she quipped, standing with more clarity than she had in years. She went over to the little table littered with food. 

“And so I can give you this,” she turned, holding a little apple in her hand. Az’s face softened as she approached. A silent request as she held out her hand. “Are you sure?” he whispered. “Azriel, every piece of me has always belonged to you and it always will. I have never been more sure in my life,” she replied. 

He smiled, grabbing the apple gently from her hands taking a slow bite. Y/N smiled in return before ushering him back down on his cot. “Time to rest, Az,” she said, nestling in next to him. “But I’m perfectly fine for other activities now,” Azriel pouted. Y/N just laughed, running her hands through his soft locks. “I promise when you are fully healed we will partake in those said activities,” she smirked. Azriel grinned and pushed himself upwards, stealing another kiss. Y/N giggled, before placing his head back in her lap. “Sleep now,” she mumbled. Azriel hummed softly as she resumed running her hands through his hair. “I love you,” he whispered before his steady breath evened out. “I love you too.”

[jsooly]

if you were the sullys' human kid / jake sully & neytiri x daughter!reader

synopsis, a baby when the na'vi forced the sky people off their planet, jake bonds with you and tries to convince neytiri to raise you as their own. she doesn't agree, unless…

+ takes place during avatar 2009

(1 - ur here! ☆) / (2) / (3) / (4*)

+ chapters with an * beside it means that it’s following atwow plot line as opposed to disconnected scenarios

"hey—who's kid is this?!"

your mother was pregnant with you during her term as an RDA corporal. she often went on missions with you in tow, safe behind squads of personnel.

you were born on the battlefield, promptly transported back to base before the worst could happen

she died shortly after, before you were even a day old.

orphaned, they powers that were let you stay in her room and put you in the care of the scientists and doctors.

months passed. you learned to walk quickly, learned to yell for attention when you needed something... the RDA base was in no way suited for a child, and no one cared to accommodate you. not when they had na'vi to terrorize and a planet to pillage!

worming your way out of supervision yet again, you found yourself in the fields where the avatars' playing court and farm plants the height of two humans.

you scurried out of the cover the tall stalks provided as an avatar came flying up the path, its knee connecting with your side and sending you flying.

"shit—!"

"jake, i told you you weren't supposed to be running!"

your body must've tumbled 10ft. down the way before you came to a stop. and once you got over the shock, your cries were definitely heard all the way in the command center.

"that's a child!" jake held his head in his hands, relief flooding through him that you were responsive after that collision.

"woah, really?" norm said in a dumb voice before pushing past him and crouching beside you.

"how old is she?! how is she just allowed to walk around on her own?"

"she's turning two soon and her mom died recently in a spat with the na'vi. frankly we don't have the time or resources right now to keep an eye on her at all times." norm cradled you as he surveyed the damage. "thank goodness you just missed her and didn't bulldoze her like an animal."

it ended up fine. you were a tough kid.

poor jake didn't leave your side as you were taken to the med bay and treated, avatar and all.

he fretted as the nurses wrapped your arm with bandages.

"hey, kid." jake offered a sympathetic smile, dusting the dirt off your clothes. his thumb rubbed over your cheeks gently, wiping off the mud that had crusted. "no hard feelings?"

you gave him a wide-eyed look and wrapped your little hand around his thumb as if you were shaking his hand in agreement.

and that was the moment you had him hooked.

sure, his primary objective was bonding with the na'vi, but the times he was on base, his mind would wander back to you. what on earth pandora could a 2 year old be doing to entertain themselves in this weird environment?

curiosity would get the better of him and he'd use the little spare time he had to peek into your room.

seeing you play all alone with your blocks and cars and makeshift dolls made him so unimaginably sad he had to reconsider why he even felt that way.

you caught his figure in the doorway. he tried to retreat, but you'd already made your way towards him.

"jake!" you chirped, stumbling on chubby legs.

"yup." he eased back into view, a warm smile on his face. "that's me." how do you talk to kids? "whatcha up to?"

you mumbled something.

"hm?"

"playing." you shrugged, kicking the invisible dirt on the ground.

"i can see that." he hummed. "is norm gonna let you watch the avatars today?"

you held your chin in thought as you'd seen dr. grace do many times. jake's lips twitched upwards in amusement.

"yeah." you finally answered.

he glanced to the side, unsure what to make of your monotonous replies. "uh... you excited?"

you pointed at him. "you?"

"me?" he asked, pointing to himself also. "am i excited?"

you shook your head. "your... avatar?"

"ohhh." he nodded slowly in understanding. "no, you won't see me much today. i'm gonna be out on a mission."

you frowned and stepped back, shutting the door in his face.

"huh." the rejection stung just as bad as neytiri's.

somewhere down the line, he grew self-conscious, as if his self worth depended on the opinions of a toddler.

the bunch had to listen to him ramble not-so-subtlety and answer all his questions about you, so they caught on pretty quick.

"jake, she's attached to you." grace said with finality. "she's upset she can't spend more time with her favorite person. simple as that."

"favorite person?" jake echoed, distressed. "i almost killed her when we first met!"

grace scoffed. "that's an exaggeration."

"a warranted one." norm mumbled under his breath.

grace whacked him. "you're not helping."

"she slammed the door in my face the other day." jake folding his hands together, resting his forehead against his fists. "you... you think she's mad at me?"

the team groaned.

grace put a hand on jake's shoulder. "don't worry about y/n. you should be focusing on your other girl." she said, referring to neytiri.

the big battle came around, all the tensions and issues snowballing into one decisive moment where the na'vi had the chance to defend what had been taken from them.

jake was over the moon when he finally did what he knew in his heart was right. he embraced neytiri after the battle and he thought he had everything he ever wanted in his hands.

but... a part of his heart was running around the base barefoot.

"ma'jake." neytiri hissed. "no."

"she has nowhere to go." jake pleaded. by the grace of eywa, he was permanently connected with his avatar. his giant hands hooked under your armpits, dangling you in the air in front of his mate.

even neytiri couldn't deny how pitiful you looked. your eyes were sunken from not sleeping enough, frame small from lack of nutrition. what were your caretakers doing?

she shook her thoughts away, retorting, "leave her with her kind! she will be better suited there."

"they're too busy to take care of her properly." jake held you against his chest, stepping towards neytiri. "she needs a proper mother and father."

neytiri growled bluntly in frustration. "i cannot—will not—raise a human child."

jake frowned, unwilling to dismiss her feelings or leave you behind. he loved both his girls too much to deny either one of you. conflicted, he stood there frozen as he tried to think up a compromise.

neytiri studied her husband's face, his brows knit in torment and lips pulled between his teeth. her heart suddenly felt heavy.

“if she matters that much to you… she may stay with us. until those humans can figure out a way to care for her.”

jake lit up like pandora under the night sky. “thank you.” he pulled her in and hugged her right, pressing his lips to her forehead reverently. “thank you.”

within a month, you grew on neytiri. i’m not even joking it was that quick.

she marveled at how light your footsteps were. there were so many times you crept in her shadow unnoticed until she heard that sweet giggle of yours.

you were her fast learner. you were a much better student that your father. being so young, you were able to catch onto the language quickly.

humans were bad. human babies….. eh. this human baby in particular… oh, she could more that spare her prejudice. affection can take its place instead.

it wasn’t bad seeing jake in dad mode either. she didn’t have any doubts, but seeing jake interact so gently with you and entertain you even after a long day made her even more confident in her choice.

a comm came in. neytiri watched jake cross the space as he answered the ringing. as greetings were exchanged between norm, max, and jake, she continued to comb through your hair.

“nga lu… brushing? my nikre?” (you are… brushing? my hair?) you sounded out.

“close.” neytiri said. gently tugging your head back to look at your face, she smiled. “good job.”

you beamed up at her. “irayo nga, sa'nok.” (thank you, mother.)

she paused, peering down at you before tilting your head down and resuming her work on your hair.

in theory, neytiri would’ve corrected you. but that would’ve meant there was something wrong with what you said.

“hey, things have calmed down around here. we can take y/n.” norm said over the phone.

jake glanced at neytiri, who was already watching him.

“they lie. leave this child in their irresponsible hands?” neytiri scoffed and hissed under breath. “she is better suited here with us.”

the knot in jake’s stomach dissipated. “yeah.” he grinned. then, turning back to the phone, “yeah, don’t worry about y/n. she’s good with us.”

neytiri fought back her own smile.

fast forward two years or so, you had a baby brother on the way.

more parts?? idk

© jsooly ‘25.

[goldenroutledge]

if tomorrow never comes

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

word count: 2.0k

prompt: ❛ i didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, i just have a lot on my plate. ❜. based on this request.

summary: in which you and carlos drift apart and the tension boils over on your anniversary.

a/n: i’m having so much fun writing these requests! thank you to everyone requesting :)

masterlist || be my valentine blurb event 💌

“When do you think you can be here, Carlos?”

His voice is tight on the other end of the line, knowing that you won’t like the answer. “An hour. Ninety minutes tops.”

You want to scream out and repeat his answer back to him so loudly that he can hear from the balcony of your shared apartment. It’ll let all of Monaco know how ridiculous he sounds. The flight attendant’s presence at the other end of the cabin helps you keep your composure. “And you’re sure that’s it? One hour?”

“Yes cariño, I promise.”

“Don’t call me that when I’m annoyed with you.”

“Can’t help it.” Carlos smiles cheekily, you can hear it in his voice. You can’t help but roll your eyes, feeling that he’s not taking you seriously. Postponing time spent together, sometimes venturing into canceling dates altogether, was becoming too frequent for your liking. But patience had to be your strong suit dating Carlos. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah. See you soon.” You end the call abruptly, leaving him to a last minute business meeting while you’re sitting here, awaiting your boyfriend on the private jet he has abandoned. Then again it would only be considered abandoned had he shown up on time to begin with.

He’d returned home from training yesterday exhausted as ever, yet reassured you with the promise that you two would spend a few days on a quiet getaway for your anniversary. Just the two of you, alone together. A trip you’d been planning for weeks now, with the need to make it an anniversary you’d always remember. If getting away was what it took to get Carlos to relax again, to be with you free of any distractions from work, you’d do that.

Carlos regards his career with a dedicated spirit, diligently organizing his schedule to make sure nothing falls between the cracks. His training, his sponsorships, his future at Williams… As badly as he feels to leave you waiting, duty calls. A last minute Zoom meeting with a new sponsor held him back at the apartment for longer than he anticipated. While most people have already resigned themselves to the fact that they can’t have it all, Carlos Sainz is not most people. He’ll either have everything, or die trying. It’s one of the many traits you love about him. Your heart aches at the thought of it being what tears you apart.

“Champagne?” The flight attendant offers you the drink, one of two that was meant for your celebratory toast with Carlos to kick off your anniversary trip.

“Thank you, it’s been a long day.” The flight attendant gives you a sympathetic smile, watching you down the drink with no effort. If this keeps up, it’ll be a long weekend too.

–

Once Carlos finally joins you on the plane, his ask for forgiveness is difficult to deny. He brought you a bouquet of flowers so large they took up their own seat on the plane, and he hadn’t stopped showering you with love since he arrived. Something about making up for lost time, he’d mumbled into your ear when you questioned his overwhelming affection. The colors of the flowers tied in beautifully with your outfit; Carlos was sure to capture it with a few photographs.

His attention to detail was another thing that you loved about him, it drew you in everytime. When you’re together like this, free of the outside noise, you wish it could last forever. Always on the other end of the phone or outside the airplane window is something ready to whisk him away. Ideally, an anniversary spent with him would consist of a lazy morning making breakfast together, simply basking in each other’s company.

His company was hard to enjoy when you were barely experiencing it, now sitting alone at your anniversary dinner hours later. Your mood turned sour when Carlos excused himself to take a call, walking away from the table before you had a chance to express your distaste. The tension that had been simmering between you two was bound to bubble over once again as Carlos returned to your table with a guilty look, phone to his ear as he ended his call with his cousin/manager.

You didn’t bother to look up, taking your anger out on your meal instead, poking and prodding the food with your silverware. It was a delicious meal that did nothing to deserve a brutal assault by fork and knife, ruining its picturesque presentation.

“Mi amor, I’m sorry.”

“Did you know that the more you say those words, the more they lose their significance each time?”

He sighs, running a stressed hand through his dark hair. “You know the kind of pressure that I’m under right now, cariño. How much this year has worn on me in general. Please, I just need you to be a little more-”

“Understanding? Yeah, I’ve been doing a lot of that lately.” You cut him off harshly, and the look you give him across the table is worth flinching from.

“You have. And I feel terrible, but it won’t last forever.” He attempts to soothe your worries, reaching for your hand. You don’t accept or deny his touch, you’re just still. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“You’re right, Carlos. It won’t last forever. You’ll make sure of it.”

“What do you mean by that? You think we’re going to break up?”

“I’m saying that if you don’t make time to nurture our relationship, there won’t be a relationship left! I’ve been here, Carlos. For you, for us, while juggling my own life and career, so don’t tell me it’s impossible. There was a time when you balanced it all before, when you weren’t working yourself to the bone because you decided you have something more to prove to the world.”

“I’m trying to balance everything, but it’s not always going to be smooth sailing. You know it’s not easy.”

“I know it’s not. I don’t need it to be, but I miss the days when you felt like our relationship was worth making time for. When I wasn’t the last of your priorities.”

“Maybe I miss the days when you understood that I’m not always going to be available for you 24/7.” Carlos rants, feeling defensive at how this time, the gloves are off, you’re finally letting Carlos feel the weight of the burden you’ve been carrying– loving enough for the two of you. Your pounding heart reminds you that it’s impossible to carry on like this. Something has to give. “Do you realize how much time I’m spending away from training to be with you? Is that not making time for our relationship?”

Tears prick your eyes in frustration, the air suddenly feeling warmer than before. Your nervous system begs you to get out of there, to leave the conversation before either of you say something you’ll regret. If it hasn’t been said already. “You still don’t get it, do you? I don’t even need any of this! I just want you! I remember the days when that wasn’t too much to ask for.”

Your hand has long dropped his, and Carlos’ eyes widen in panic as he watches you move out of your chair. “Amor, stay. Please, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Confliction moves through you like a strike of lightning, torn between staying to talk it through or taking a moment of space, after pouring out the feelings you’d spent so much time locking away. The last straw is when your waiter approaches your table, holding a small cake in his hands. On the top of it is a picture of you and Carlos together on your first anniversary, more content and in love than ever. A candle burns on the cake and wax melts down the sides, resembling the tears that wish to fall. Carlos’ eyes plead with guilt, begging you to stay and forget. Smile and pretend that right now, you’re still that happy couple printed on the cake.

Instead, you throw your napkin to your plate. “I need some air.”

–

Carlos watches you go, he doesn’t stop you. A timeout will do you both some good right now. He tries to tell himself that it’s not that bad. Couples fight. But he sits there, sullen, knowing that he’s fucked up this time. His heart burns as he stares at the picture of you two on the cake. It’s unbearable, and that little surprise he orchestrated now feels like a pointed joke at his expense. He blows out the candle and the light goes out. But closing his eyes won’t help his fear of the dark. Even he can’t run from this.

He finds you outside of the restaurant, sitting on a bench, staring down into the renewing waters of the fountain. It’s mesmerizing, the way you can drown in the sight and get lost in the calming sound. He slides his jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry, mi amor. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, I just have a lot on my plate. But that’s no excuse to put our relationship on the backburner. I’m so, so sorry.” Carlos presses a chaste kiss to your temple, and feels comforted by how you subtly lean into his space. It’s a step. “I love you, and I’m going to listen to you. I want to make this better because there’s not a life for me without you in it. I need you, cariño. I want to be with you, always.”

“I’ve felt so disconnected from you lately and being here on our anniversary, reminded of all the happier times we’ve shared, I just… that scares me. I’m scared we won’t get back there if there’s any more distance between us.”

“I should’ve seen it sooner. The truth is, I am able to do what I do because you’re always there. You support me when things are up, when they’re down. When I lost my seat, when I got sick with appendicitis, when I won races… you’re there for it all. I took you for granted thinking that I could give everything I have to my career, when it’s you who deserves it.”

“You do give it everything, but I think you’ve lost sight of things a little bit. Usually you give me everything you have too, I mean the little cake with us on it… I love that you did that for me, Carlos. I’m only so upset because I love you too.”

Those words haven’t stopped echoing in his mind. He swears he’ll engrave them into his brain forever, as long as you’re happy. “Maybe I have been overcompensating a little bit, feeling pressure to make things perfect in my career. The year has been difficult, but I couldn’t have gotten through without you.”

You kiss his cheek, warming up to his affectionate words. He’s sincere, he truly means them. “You’re more than enough, Carlos. Just the way you are. Weathering the storm isn’t always easy but there’s nobody else I’d rather be with either.”

“Can we start over?”

“I’d love nothing more.”

“I have an idea. Should I throw my phone into the fountain, cariño? You’ll have my undivided attention for days.”

“Tempting, but no. Keep your phone dry, my love. Would you be opposed to going back to the villa? Enjoying the rest of the night in?”

Carlos wiggles his brows, as he recognizes that familiar glint in your eyes. One that shimmers with hope and longing. “We do have a pretty sweet cake being boxed up as we speak.”

“Maybe we can light the candle again? I promise I won’t leave the room this time.” Your hearts soar at the thought of blowing out your candle together, hands held as you make a new promise to each other. The past years together have been bliss and the rainbows have always shined through the cloudy skies. The next years together, you will wish for the same and even more.

“Anything for you, cariño. Happy Anniversary.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving you with no choice but to cup his jaw and bring your lips to his. The cool breeze outside is no match for either of you– you’ve got your love to keep you warm.

“Happy Anniversary, Carlos.”

💌: thanks for reading! reblogs & comments are very much appreciated :)

taglist: @marjorieswrld (add yourself here!)

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! Welcome back, hope you had a great, well deserved break while requests were off 🫶 but I was wondering if I could request tasm!peter x fem or gn reader (whichever you’d like!), that’s kinda specific kinda not..

but maybe a fic where reader accidentally hurts themselves, not seriously but like, enough to bleed just a bit, but they do not enjoy the sight of blood at all, so Peter has to help them with the actual injury, whatever it is, but also them feeling lightheaded/dizzy or faint from the blood itself ?? but it’s overall a fluffy and sweet scene

Hope that isn’t too specific, thank youuu <3

-🪻

Thanks angel!

cw: blood mention, joking reference to war

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 574 words

You suck air in through your teeth. “Ow.” 

Your face tips toward the source of the hurt on instinct, but Peter’s nose bumps your chin gently, reminding you to keep it up. “Don’t look,” he says. 

“Are you almost done? It stings.” 

“That’s what happens when you try to make cats be friends, baby.” You can see Peter’s smirk in your periphery. At your pointed silence, he softens his tone. “Yeah, I’m almost done. Hang in there.”

You sigh. “I really thought they’d get along. Yzma gets so lonely.” 

You were sitting by the window with your cat, Yzma, when the neighbor’s tabby decided to hop across to your fire escape for a visit. Usually, he’s well received; you’ll stick your hand out the window to feed him a few treats while Yzma sits on the floor halfway across the room looking suspicious but intrigued. You’d thought the intrigue would win out, but when Yzma had seen him so close today—not seeming to realize there was still a window between them—she’d chosen fight and then flight, batting at the glass a few times before tearing off. And, of course, tearing up your lap in the process. Peter had followed the sounds of her panicked spitting to find you with thin scratches welling blood on your thighs and already beginning to slump in your chair from the sight of them.

Yzma was put in time-out. You do plan to make a case for her, as soon as you can see straight.

“She gets lonely for you,” Peter laughs. He squeezes your knee, the cool surface of your kitchen counter chilling the underside. “She’s got it made here, and she knows it. She doesn’t want some tomcat coming around to hog your attention.” 

“She only misses me because I’m the one who gives her treats.” 

“Bingo.” 

Peter laughs again when you tip your head down just enough to glare. He squeezes your knee again, ducking closer to kiss beneath your jaw, over the fluttering beat of your pulse. You hear the crackly ripping sound of adhesive being peeled from bandages. 

“You’re gonna look like you just came back from war.” 

“It feels like it.” 

“I’m gonna tell my great uncle Dave you said that. He was in World War II.” 

“Ask him if there are any support meetings I could go to, please?” 

Peter’s smile winds up tucked into your shoulder. You tilt your cheek into his hair, the sticky-uppy ends tickling your skin. 

“Too far,” you murmur. “Sorry.” 

Peter hums like he maybe agrees but he’s amused nonetheless. His thumb runs over the edge of a bandage, flattening it. “You’re all done.” 

You breathe out. “Thanks.” 

“Feeling any better?” He cups your face, straightening to look you in the eyes. “Still kind of floaty?” 

You give a small shrug and a smile. “A little. Not as much.” 

Peter’s thumb strokes down your cheek sympathetically. “You wanna stay here for a while?” he asks, cooing a little. 

Your smile grows. “Maybe. What will we do?” 

“I mean, distraction helps, right?” 

You hum, leaning down so you meet Peter in the middle. The tips of your noses brush. “Yeah. It does.” 

Peter tips his head up to catch the corner of your lips with his mouth. “You can’t pass out while I’m kissing you, you know. I’ll never live it down.” 

You close your eyes, settling in. “Just take it as a compliment if I do, m’kay?”

[sectumsempraaa]

Luck & Stardust

Pairing: they’re all in love with you 🤭 x fem!reader (not house-specific)

Featuring: Draco, Theo, Mattheo, Lorenzo

Word count: 2.4k

Based on this request! Thank you :)

TW: none lol welcome to fluff city

Summary: With February 14th quickly approaching, the Slytherin boys fight for your affection in pursuit of being crowned your valentine. Some attempts are better than others, but only one can be the best… and it’s one that you never saw coming.

“Don’t even think about it, Diggory.” Theo snaps, giving the Hufflepuff a look of utter doom.

With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, your favorite group of Slytherins have taken it upon themselves to act as your own personal Queen’s Guard.

Many of the Hogwarts boys are scrambling to make you their valentine, each attempt failing as miserably as the last, not unlike this one. The boys can’t fathom sharing you, and they won’t. It’s them, or no one. Cedric silently backs away with his hands raised in surrender.

Mattheo’s got his eyes buried in a book, keeping his stare down as the next suitor approaches you from behind. His voice is threatening enough, there’s no need for him to make eye contact.

“I wouldn’t, McLaggen, if you’d like to keep your neck straight.” Mattheo says, lethally monotone. Cormac scoffs and opens his mouth to retaliate, but not before Mattheo can interrupt him.

“Neck. Straight.” He spits, absent-mindedly making a fist with his right hand. It’s safe to say McLaggen got the message. Theo and Mattheo share a look, shaking their heads in annoyance.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Draco groans, standing from his position to size up one of the Weasley brothers headed your way. “Try and see how quick I’ll make Fred an only-twin.”

“I am Fred, you filthy snake.” He replies, an uncommon bitterness in his voice. His retort admittedly makes you laugh, no one is usually brave enough to fight back. Draco notices your reaction, a muscle flinching in his jaw.

“I care less about your identity than I do about the slugs you’ll be coughing up if you even entertain the idea of asking her.” Draco says, the tension reaching a high.

They stare at each other for a long moment, performing the standoff of a lifetime. You decide it’s time to interfere.

“Sorry, Fred. Maybe next year?” You say apologetically, giving the boy a sympathetic look.

“Over my dead body.” Draco mutters.

When Fred walks away, you glare at each of the boys, rolling your eyes in irritation. “You know, this is why we don’t get invited to things.”

“The missing out is worth knowing you won’t end up with a bloody Gryffindor.” Draco grunts, his eyebrows furrowed and mouth in a scowl. Theo chimes in, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Sorry, amore. This is what happens when you’re under our wing.” He laughs, placing a dramatic kiss on the top of your head. Lorenzo nearly spits out his tea, giving the boys a baffled expression.

“You lot are mental if you think we’re not the ones under her wing.” He exclaims, nudging your arm with his. Theo argues with him, listing off all the instances where they’ve protected you.

“I’m gonna stop you right there, mate. You’re literally wearing a bracelet, that you made because she asked you to, with her name on it.” Lorenzo gives Theo a smug smile and laughs to himself.

You shrug to Theo and stand up to leave, taking your bag with you. Mattheo grabs it from you, always being the one to carry your things. You don’t even think about it anymore, it’s just what he does.

Draco walks you to your next class, stopping you at the doorway and turning to you with a defeated look. You already know what’s bothering him.

“You’ll survive.”

“I can’t stop them when I’m in another room.” He grumbles, glaring at the handful of boys entering the classroom. You take his face in your hands, directing his gaze to yours.

“It will take a lot more than a couple of heart-eyes to be my valentine.” You assure him, pinching his cheek before pushing past him into the classroom.

“Oh, if you only knew what’s coming,” he starts, his words dragging on with satisfaction. You whip your head around in suspicion.

“What’d you say?” you ask.

“Oh nothing, love. Go on.” He sends you off with a small wave and a smirk that tells you trouble is coming.

—

The day has finally arrived and you have long since forgotten Draco’s little quip from that day before class.

You’re all dressed up, your hair styled your favorite way, a glow emitting from your face. You clasp a heart-shaped necklace around your neck, laying it gently on your chest.

Upon entering the Great Hall, you’re immediately swarmed with dozens of boys holding cards and candy, yelling and reaching out to you in desperation. Your eyes widen with panic, your feet staying frozen in place from shock, your books fall to the floor, mixing in with other lost belongings.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Mattheo shoving through the small crowd, pulling you into him when he finally gets to you. The rest of the boys go utterly silent at his intimidating presence.

“Go.” A single word, yet you’ve never heard him so threatening before, a look like hell in his stare. His arm snakes around your waist, your heart still coming down from the sudden attention.

Neville throws you a small smile and a subtle wave as he picks up his blue quill and his wand, before he disbands with the rest of the group.

Mattheo turns to you, the bitter glare melting into a nurturing gaze. “I’ll really do it.” he says, you have a feeling you know what he’s implying.

“I don’t doubt that.” You smile up at him, grabbing his hand and letting him lead you to the Slytherin table where Theo, Draco, and Lorenzo have taken place already. They give you your space, creating a seat for you between Draco and Theo.

You look down to the table to discover all your favorite breakfast foods laid out before you, a tiny gasp escaping your mouth. The surprise comes to you pleasantly after the overwhelming ambush. A blushing Theo presents you with a cup of steaming liquid.

“Your favorite meal, and your favorite drink.” He murmurs, carefully placing it in front of you.

“You’re kidding. The coffee we had in Rome?” You asked, your voice coated in disbelief, your eyes still running over every pastry and fruit before you.

“Had it delivered here just for you, bella. And maybe I bribed the house elves to make your breakfast extra special.” He brags. Before you take a bite of your danish, you plant a long, dramatic kiss on his cheek.

“Buon San Valentino, cara mia.” He whispers near your ear, taking in the grin of joy on your face. The other boys start scoffing, making disgusted faces and pretending to be sick as they dig into the treats.

“Let me get this straight- you’re asking our beloved and most precious Y/N to be your valentine by making her scrambled eggs?” Lorenzo jokes, shaking his head in disbelief. Draco’s laugh chimes in, earning a grimace from Theo in return.

“Grazie, love. You’re the best.” You hum, finishing your meal and getting up to leave, Mattheo once again carrying your belongings. You run a hand through Theo’s hair, bidding him a gracious goodbye.

—

“Who on Merlin’s sacred earth…” a student’s voice echoes behind you as you take in the spectacle.

“The only one who can afford it.” You respond, your voice full of knowing and awe. One minute you were in the hallway, sending Seamus Finnigan away with another valentine rejection.

The next, you were in your common room, every inch of which was adorned with white violets, yours and Draco’s mutual favorite flower.

You feel a presence behind you, a pair of arms wrap around your torso, pulling your back against him.

“Draco, how?” you turn your head up at him to ask, his grip on you tightening until you’re snug against his chest.

“I’d make anything happen for you. It doesn’t matter how. Happy Valentine’s, you perfect pretty thing.” He squeezes you extra hard, earning a bout of laughter from you. The satisfaction on his face is evident by a warm expression.

“I think they make me look rather ravishing,” Lorenzo appears, a handful of the white violets tucked into his hair. Draco sighs in frustration, the moment tarnished by his friend. “It’s too bad they’ll all be dead in two days.”

You release yourself from Draco’s hold, his eyes filled with anger and defeat. He takes an aggressive stride towards Lorenzo, teeth gritted.

“Good, I can bury them with you seeing as you’ll be sharing an expiration date.” Draco retorts.

“You think she’s gonna fall into your arms because of some bloody plants?” Lorenzo mocks.

You let the two boys fight it out, throwing empty threats and cheap insults at each other. In the meantime, you sit on the couch, braiding some flower crowns for you and your friends.

When you brought one to Professor Sprout after lunch, it made her entire day.

—

Later, your group is sitting in the courtyard enjoying a rare sunny winter day. The heat gives you chills, your skin basking in every second of sunlight.

The boys sit around you in a circle, facing you while sharing gossip on the day’s blossoming couples. Your ears pick up their conversation.

“Yeah, well not everyone wants a damn teddy bear, Theo. It’s not very original.” Mattheo snickers. You find it quite adorable, the sound of them arguing over what makes a sentimental gift.

“Original, hmm. You mean like this?” Lorenzo straightens up while handing you a gift-wrapped box. “Open it, baby.”

Lorenzo may be sweet, but he loves to cross the line, purely for the personal fulfillment of bothering the others. The nickname earns him an immediate smack on the back of his head from Draco, but he only laughs at the blow.

You open the gift wrap to reveal a moving picture frame, the first photo taken a couple summers ago when he was carrying you on his back into the lake by his family’s estate. The way your head is thrown back, and the way his cheeks are marked with sunburn takes you back to a happy time.

You hear an envious whisper come from behind you, no doubt belonging to Theo. “Fuck, that’s a good idea.”

Draco leans his head over your shoulder, giving him a better vantage point. Then, the photos begin to cycle through a gallery of… well, mostly just Lorenzo.

“How are you this thick, Enz? These are just pictures of your putrid face,” Draco jabs, causing Mattheo to grab hold of the frame. He literally falls over laughing, his hands covering his face.

You turn to Lorenzo, a slight embarrassment hinted in his eyes, but proud, nonetheless. “I will treasure this forever. It really screams… you.” You joke, brushing a thumb over his cheek and giving his arm a squeeze, appreciating the attempt.

He mumbles to himself, swatting at Mattheo. “Foul gits.”

The frame later finds a spot on your bookshelf. You meant what you said.

—

After dinner that evening, Mattheo leads the group out to the pitch bleachers and sits behind you, placing a leg on either side of you. He wraps his robe around you, keeping you warm in the February night, leaning your back on his chest.

A sudden gust of wind blows, knocking over your book bag. Draco scrambles for your stuff, stowing the items away.

A stray piece of crumpled parchment lands next to you, your hand grasping and smoothing it out before it can fly off.

Just as your eyes read the words, an eruption of light explodes in the sky, the colorful shards falling gracefully down. The next few are heart-shaped, reds and pinks illuminating the clouds.

“Are you a firework? Because you make my heart burst.” Mattheo says playfully, nudging his head into the crook of your neck. You scoff at the lame joke, shaking your head.

“You’re the worst and I love you for it.” You poke fun at him before planting a kiss on his temple. “This is really gorgeous, Mattheo. If only my valentine were here to see it.”

“Yeah. Wait, what?!” He exclaims, surprise etched on his every feature.

The others quickly look to you for direction as you beckon them closer. “Look,” you say.

You unfold the piece of paper you found before. “I think my books got mixed with someone else’s when I was flocked this morning.”

Lorenzo grabs the paper, then Draco. He stands up and reads it to himself, his face filled with jealousy and resentment. “It’s got her bloody initials on it.” He states before passing it around, each one reading the passage to themselves:

your heart is cosmic fire

wicked stardust

and I am but pieces of you

“It’s… poetry.” Theo remarks, earning a questioning look from the others, like they’ve never heard of it before. “Romantic poetry. From who?”

“Which one of you did this?!” Mattheo yells, giving each boy dagger eyes.

“It was me, Y/N.” Theo admits, followed by a brief and tense moment of silence.

“With no due respect Nott, you couldn’t even write your own name this nice.” Draco drags. “The handwriting is nearly better than my mum’s. Weird though, quill ink is usually black. This one is blue.”

And then it hits you. The Great Hall. The books on the floor. Everyone’s things getting mixed up from the crowd crush. Mattheo’s rescue, the blue quill, and that soft, endearing glance from…

“Longbottom.” You whisper. The name rolls off your lips, bringing you arguably the biggest smile you’ve worn today. The thing is, the boys know you’re right. Neville the sensitive, Neville the sweet.

“Well that’s just diabolical.” Lorenzo sneers, the group huffing and puffing in defeat.

You read the words again and again, every word imprinting in your memory. He probably didn’t mean for this to get in your hands. In fact, he’s probably off somewhere right now frantically worrying that you found it.

So you won’t tell him. Neville: the unwitting valentine.

You fold the paper up, storing it in your pocket. One by one, you pull each of the boy’s arms towards you, creating a huddle in the bitter cold. Their body heat keeps you warm, their heads all resting on your shoulders and lap.

“I love you guys.” You say, meaning each word as you all continue to watch the fireworks above you. Their collective bitterness was quickly replaced by the desire to be near you.

“And we are very lucky to be loved by you, Y/N.” Draco professes.

As you watch the colorful display, the best memories you have with the boys start to play like a film reel in your head.

All the brawls they’ve gotten in for you, all the times you rescued them from detention, all the pranks you’ve pulled on each other and the countless times they fought over who would marry you… and all the times they promised to keep you safe.

The glow of the fireworks reflects on their faces, unknowing of your loving gaze on each of them. You repeat the sentiment to yourself, the altered phrase hitting closer to home this time.

and I am but pieces of them.

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Defied (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which Celebrimbor manages, with his dying words, to unearth some truths which you and your husband are desperate to deny

Warnings: evil!reader, that Celebrimbor scene in 2x08, so torture and death (the description isn’t too graphic and reader doesn’t torture him directly but she plays good cop to Sauron’s bad cop) angst + comfort, biting, some manhandling, mention of reader killing people

Note: one more fic in the evil!reader collection. Works on its own too but reader’s backstory is more detailed than here in Old Wounds. I think I broke myself writing this.

Celebrimbor awakens to a damp cloth gently brushing the blood and sweat off his feverish brow. A touch kinder than he had imagined he would ever feel again. He groans weakly, awash with relief as he opens his eyes.

Any trace of comfort vanishes when he sees it is the wife of Sauron who is administering the merciful treatment.

“Shh,” you murmur as he tries to lift his head. The soft pillow on which it’s resting are your thighs, your legs folded beneath you as you sit sideways on the floor. It takes only the lightest push for you to hold him down by the shoulder, but it still sends pain shooting through his tormented body.

“We do not have long,” you whisper, throwing a slightly nervous glance towards the door. “He will return soon.”

Frowning and too weak to do anything but lie there, Celebrimbor searches the room with his eyes, finding that the two of you are, indeed, alone. He also finds that you have removed the arrows from his body while he had been unconscious, his wounds still painful but at least more bearable than before. To his surprise, they don’t seem to be bleeding as profusely as one would expect.

“I’ve done what I could,” you say regretfully, gently pressing the cloth to his temple. “I can do more.”

Your voice leads him to raise his gaze to yours. There’s a shaft of light pouring through the window at just the right angle so that it bathes your face in an ethereal glow. Looking at him from above, all beauty and light in the midst of his forge’s ruins, you seem like a gift from the Valar themselves. You could be his salvation, his way back to freedom, if only he would—

“If only I would give you the Nine.”

His voice is so weak and hoarse, he barely hears it himself. Your brow furrows, as sympathetic as the small smile you grace him with.

“There is no other way,” you whisper.

Despite it all, the weakest of chuckles escapes his parched throat.

“After he is done inflicting his torment,” he says, somehow finding enough strength within himself to pour into his voice, “you come to me with a kind word and soothing touch. Seeking to melt my will, rather than break it.” He shakes his head once, meeting your gaze unwaveringly, even from below. “I see through the illusions now. His... and yours.”

You breathe in. Slowly, deeply. As you exhale, the divine light dims and vanishes, leaving your expression as it truly is—cold and utterly frustrated as you give a sharp sigh.

“And how is that to your benefit?” you deadpan. You cast the bloodied cloth aside and remove your legs from under him. He groans in pain as you maneuver him so that he’s sitting up against a column, standing to your full height beside him. There’s nothing soothing whatsoever about the sight of you looking down at him now.

“Seriously, Celebrimbor,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re only delaying the inevitable. You’ve already sacrificed those poor guards of yours to do it. I mean,” you shake your head, chuckling with pity, “trying to have my husband arrested, like some common Elf? What did you imagine that would accomplish?”

“Does it not pain you,” he ignores your taunts, voice trembling as it grows in despair, “to see me tormented as the one you claim to love once was, at the hands of Morgoth? You said you were there. You said Morgoth had you mend him with your gifts, only so he could begin his tortures anew. Did you not weep as you told that story? Does it not pain you, then,” he cries out, “that your beloved husband would force you to relive that past by having you do the very same to another?!”

“It’s not him that is forcing me!” you scream out in return.

He had said that word—husband—which you use so often, and with such delight, as if it were the greatest poison known to Middle-Earth. That cracked something within you, tears of anger burning in your eyes as you begin to pace like an animal in a cage.

“Do you think this is what I would have chosen? Do you think this is what I’ve always wanted?”

Before you know what you are doing, you grab a piece of rubble and flung it against the pillar, above Celebrimbor. He gasps and flinches as pieces of shattered stone rain down dangerously close to him, though he’s lucky enough to only become covered in dust.

“There was a time,” you say, practically trembling with anger as you rush to Celebrimbor’s side, “after Morgoth was defeated, when he and I were perfectly content to simply... exist! That was enough. More than enough. We were finally free from Morgoth, finally free to be together.” You shake your head and close your eyes, breathing to regain your composure. After that, you are no longer shaking, and your voice is grim. “But we both had been free before. And we knew how easily that can be taken away. The only being who truly has freedom... is that who controls all else. And so that had to be us.”

“Perfectly sound logic.”

His words drip sarcasm. Your jaw clenches.

“Mock me all you want,” you say, crouching to his level and forcing him to look straight your merciless gaze with a firm knuckle beneath his chin. “Which one of us has their freedom now?”

Celebrimbor meets your ire with a sympathetic smile.

“Neither, my false friend,” he murmurs. “Neither.”

A mirthless chuckle escapes you. You have truly underestimated his willpower. But he has done the same with your ruthlessness.

“We’ll see,” you hiss. “Love,” you call out, the word fierce but ragged on your tongue as you release Celebrimbor’s face and stand up. He hasn’t noticed your husband walk into the room, or come to stand no longer than an arm’s length away from you. Most likely he had been lingering in the shadows, waiting for a sign from you to reveal himself. Even as you turn to him, you’re still glaring daggers meant for Celebrimbor.

“I think he likes you better,” you say.

Sauron looks at you, impassive. “Perhaps you’ve lost your touch.”

What might have otherwise been simply another tease cuts into your chest. He is a particular kind of distant now, has been since you have lost the Nine. The setback angered you as well, but your husband seems wholly consumed with the need to have them in his grasp again. Perhaps because he had poured part of himself into the making of those Rings. Not like that is any consolation. There’s a strain between you now, and nothing playful about it—only a sense of dread sinking its claws into your heart.

At an uncharacteristic loss for a snide reply, you clench your mouth shut and step aside to let him do the work.

But Celebrimbor does not relent. No matter how many arrows your husband plants in him, how much pain he endures, his lips remain sealed and the location of the Nine firmly withheld. Your husband speaks of the Orcs ravaging his city, and Celebrimbor speaks of the birds that used to fly to the river who are now silenced. Your husband pleads with him to let him share the wonders of the Rings with the world, and Celebrimbor speaks of the peace he is soon to find in death.

“There are ways to keep you alive,” is Sauron’s grim reply. “My wife’s skill being the most efficient of them.”

“Is it?” you question quietly. “I thought I’d... ‘lost my touch’.”

You don’t bother to look at him as you speak the bitter words. For a while now, you’ve been leaning against the wall near the window, staring out at the darkened horizon. You don’t need to see your husband to picture the piercing gaze he turns towards you, or the tick in his jaw as he grouses, “Now is not the time—”

“It’s never the time.” Your head whips to look at him, and you flinch when you find him closer already than you had expected, staring you down. But you’re long past being intimidated by such gestures. You only meet your husband’s gaze defiantly. “I no longer wish to do this.”

There is the smallest furrow of his brow, equal parts surprised and disturbed. You hardly ever refuse each other. Especially in moments as critical as this. Glancing at Celebrimbor, you see his bloody brow is knitted in confusion, as if he hadn’t truly expected you to give heed to his words. And it is not for him that you are doing this—but your husband follows your line of sight, and his gaze has gone from displeased to wrathful as it returns to yours.

“I’ve never known you to shy away from a little blood,” he says, voice low and menacing as he steps closer, crowding you into the wall. “Or perhaps it is not the torment, but the Elf on whom it is being inflicted that stays your hand?” He takes hold of your wrist as he speaks, lifting it between your chests as he closes his fingers over yours with misleading delicacy. “Is that it, my love? Has our dear Celebrimbor grown on you at last?”

“Don’t be absurd,” you huff out, making to walk past him—but he slams your hand into the wall and presses the full length of his body against yours, trapping you as you gasp and glare. Your free hand pushes against his chest to no avail, while his cups your cheek to make you look him in the eye.

“Is this why you tell him of our past so freely?” he growls, his breath hot and heavy on your lips. “Why you justify yourself, hoping to find forgiveness, perhaps? Compassion?” He trembles with rage as he presses his thumb to your bottom lip. “...desire?”

Rage blinds you, raw and animalistic—and like an animal, you bite onto his finger, shoving him in the chest at the same time. He stumbles back, glaring down at his hand. Your teeth have drawn black blood, and you furiously wipe it off your lips with the back of your hand.

“How dare you?” You charge for him and hit his chest again, putting enough of your powers behind it that he almost doesn’t catch himself and tumbles to the ground. “How dare you accuse me of such treachery?” you scream. Tears of rage gather in your eyes, while his are a mix of disbelief and anger. “After all I have done for you. All the ways I have proven my devotion, the oaths we swore, the centuries we have lived for nothing but each other—”

“You speak as though I were a stranger to your jealous anger,” he retorts. “As if you did not pierce me with your rageful glare each time as I so much as looked Mirdania’s way—”

“I did not mean it as you do!” you cry out. “It was a game, it’s what we do! You know that.”

For a moment, only your heavy breathing fills the room. Yours and your husband’s as you stare each other down, neither willing to yield. But there is also the faint sound of Celebrimbor’s, who lies nearly forgotten in the rubble. It reminds you what it was that had been gnawing at you in the first place. You shut your eyes briefly, willing your voice to be calm and composed as you speak.

“I’ve done my fair share of dark deeds, most in the name of our love,” you say, this time heading towards your husband in a peaceful manner. “I shall do more, if needed. Worse. But this—what is happening here...” You nod your head, infuriatingly helpless as you admit, “He’s right. It means something to me. To us. This is exactly what Morgoth put us through. You are asking me to do what he made me to do you.” Your voice begins to tremble with long-suppressed grief. “And you, in your greed for those Rings, could not care less what it does to me to think of that time, let alone reenact it.”

Your husband stares as though you’ve said something incomprehensible.

“All depends upon the Rings,” he all but whispers, willing you to understand. This time when he takes one of your hands in his, the gesture is somehow both tender and desperate, as if you’ll slip away. “All of this... is for us,” he vows.

That sliver of doubt in your chest is enough to break you.

“Is it?” you breathe out shakily, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Because it is your blood you have poured into the Nine. Not ours.”

You pull away from him—to his devastation, written plainly on his face. Your hand shakes as you wipe away your tears. A deep, aching desire burns in you to be away from this place, to start anew. You feel it is the only way to fix what has been broken, even if you can’t even tell where the divide between you lies or where it has begun.

“We shall soon have an army,” you try to reason. “Power beyond imagining, even without the Nine. No doubt, with time the Rings will find their way to you—”

“And you would have me wait for them even one moment more?” he says in disbelief. You give him a sorrowful smile.

“I have awaited your return for an eternity,” you say. “Perhaps it is your turn to wait for my sake.”

His voice is so faint you barely hear as he asks, “Or what?”

A terrible pause follows. There’s a threat in your eyes, which you don’t dare to speak out loud. You are not even sure you would be capable of doing such a thing—if, even just as another game between you, as an attempt to rile him up, even just for a brief time, you might truly find the strength or the will to turn and walk away—

It’s as if he senses the shape of those words in your mind, and they clip his breath. In an instant, he takes your face in his hands, his hold on you desperate and his eyes feral.

“If you betray me... if you forsake me...” he breathes out the word like it’s poison, planting daggers in his throat as he speaks it, “I shall forget all thoughts of healing, and raze Middle-Earth to the ground so that I am all that is left in the world for you to return to.”

“Even the Rings?” you ask, gripping his wrists to keep him close, every inch of you weak at the tortured yearning in his declaration. “Would you vanquish them as well, if it meant I would return to you?”

For a moment, his eyes widen as though you have stabbed him. Then they darken with determination.

“I shall have you... and the Rings,” he swears. “Nothing less.” His lips meet yours roughly, briefly, like he wants to prove they are still his to kiss. “Nothing...” He does it again. “...less.”

And this time, you believe him. You are desperate to, and mad with longing, ready to lose yourself to your husband’s touch and let it purge this new fear that has crept inside your heart, whispering insidiously that peril for the love you share lies on the path ahead of you. But your embrace is cut short by Celebrimbor’s voice.

“Shadow of Morgoth!” he calls out. You and your husband break away and turn to him, and the sheer defiance in his gaze chills you to the bone. “You shall have neither,” he says fiercely. “The Rings of Power shall destroy you. This twisted... mockery of love shall be snuffed out like a candle in the wind. And in the end,” his voice grows to a guttural cry, “I foresee it is the very fruit of it that shall be your utter ruin!”

You gasp in horror. It’s as though the dread within you has spoken from his mouth. Your husband is equally affected, though he is moved to rage rather than fear. In an instant, he has picked up a spear, reached Celebrimbor and impaled him in the stomach, lifting him up against the pillar.

“You’re wrong!” he growls up at the Elf moaning in pain. “We shall rule together,” he declares, almost in a craze, “and be masters of our own creations.”

Even now, even like this, Celebrimbor smiles defiantly. “No,” he says. “You shall be slaves to them. And to each other. Sauron... the Abhorred... and his Accursed Bride. Lord and Lady of the Rings.”

And so, Celebrimbor gives his last breath.

You’ve seen beings die before. You’ve been responsible for it. You can’t remember the last time it’s left you as hollow as it does now, Celebrimbor’s final words still lingering in the air around you.

“It’s only words,” you murmur in the silence, to convince the both of you. “They mean nothing.”

Your husband drives the end of the spear into the ground, leaving the body propped up against the pillar.

“I wanted to do worse,” he says blankly, staring at the ground. “But you wished for this to be over. So I did as you asked.” He lifts his gaze to yours. “How could his words be true... when there is nothing I would not do to keep you?”

His words steal your breath—but what truly claws at your heart, leaving it raw and trembling within your chest, is the fact that a lone tear has swelled in his eye, and slipped down his cheek.

“You are weeping,” you whisper, awe-stricken. “I have not seen your tears since...”

Your throat closes around the words.

“Do you doubt me, my love?” he murmurs. “Do you doubt us?”

His voice, weak and pained, undoes you.

“No,” you breathe out. “No, no, no!”

You all but run to him and throw your arms around his neck, whimpering as he wraps you in a desperate embrace. He releases a ragged breath, his heartbeat rampant against your chest, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder that makes you shiver. “We will have all that we have been striving for,” you promise against his neck, then pull back to look into his eyes. “Soon. Together.”

“My love,” is all he whispers in return. You cup his face with the most gentle touch, fingers brushing his fair hair before you press your lips to his cheek, cherishing each drop of his tears that you are kissing away.

“My love,” you repeat as if in prayer. You rest your hand on the back of his head, fingers gently nudging at the bow made of his hair as you simply stand there, holding him with his cheek to yours.

Celebrimbor was wrong. You were wrong to fear. No feeling so soul-consuming in its might could ever be shattered. Not by powers of flesh, not by those over flesh. You are sure of it now.

It’s like this that the Orcs find you as they barge into the forge room with bloody weapons in their hands. One gestures for the others to halt while you and your husband face them, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Are you him?” he asks, some semblance of hope in his gruff voice. “Are you Sauron?”

“I have many names,” your husband says, as always. “But her...” he wraps his arm around your waist as you hold your chin high, “you shall call ‘my Queen’.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Kill and make up

Next fic with same reader -> The Two

[hysteria-things]

OMG OMG I HAVE ANOTHER IDEA !!

So like what if the reader is one of the ghosts that lived in the hotel and they take an interest in matt(im convinced that all of the ghosts there were matt girls) and the ghost liked how he talks and they show themselves to him and like y'kkow y'knownsmut and thid and that

so like reader reveals ehat she looks like to him and they get all freaky

GHOST (part one)

read part two here

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: soft dom!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: matt runs into a girl at the driskill hotel. he can’t explain it, but he feels immediately attracted to her somehow.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, making out, p in v

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 943

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i changed it up a smidge!

for @skadltmf :)

the long-awaited sam and colby x sturniolo triplets collab is in full swing at the driskill hotel in austin, texas.

the five of them were in the vault for a while and then walked around, but now they’re on a break from filming for an hour or two because they wanted to get something to eat.

“shit, i’m so sorry!” you apologize when you run into a boy who’s throwing something out.

he smiles down at you, shaking his head. “it’s all good.”

matt furrows his eyebrows when he sees you. he can’t explain it, but it feels like he’s being pushed toward you somehow. like a gravitational pull, despite never seeing you before.

“what’re you doing at the haunted driskill hotel?” you ask, wanting to spark up a conversation. you must admit, he’s a cutie, and you love the way he talks.

he crosses his arms. “i should ask you the same thing.”

you sigh. “touché. i’ve heard a lot about this place and wanted to see it with my own eyes. research, if you will.”

“ah.” he nods, still smiling. “i’m a youtuber. doing a collab right now.” he points behind him where the others are.

matt’s still freaked out. he’s just so attracted to you. there’s something about your presence that has him not wanting to leave your side.

he feels sympathetic to you. he feels like he wants to keep you safe at all times. he’s never one to start talking to a stranger, but for some reason, he has no problem mingling with you.

“what’s your name?”

“y/n l/n.” you bite your lip, caressing his shoulder flirtatiously. “you’re handsome, you know that?”

bold. he thinks.

“i-i’m matt.” he stammers, cheeks flushing at each movement you make.

your hand trails up to his hair right above his ear, and you play with it while looking deep into his eyes. he leans into your hand. “there’s a janitor’s closet over there.” you tilt your head. “will i see you in there?”

you wink, walking off in the opposite direction. he glances at you and then the group, taking out his phone to text chris.

i forgot something in the room, i’ll be back in a few.

waiting patiently in the small closet, the door opens minutes later. you smile widely, admiring the boy in front of you.

“for some reason, i need to kiss you.” he says abruptly out of breath. “can i kiss you?”

you exhale, snaking your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss that soon turns into a make-out.

his hands roam your body, lastly going to your pants before he pulls away. “um… is this okay?”

“more than okay,” you say, pulling him in so his lips are on yours again.

matt pulls down your pants, lips still intact as he lifts you.

he removes his pants as well, pushing your panties to the side. you both know there’s not much time, so you guys must be quick.

pecking your shoulder, you moan when he slowly fills you.

his thrusts start soft, but he notices your discomfort. he can’t tell if it’s because you’re trying to adjust or if you’re not enjoying it. “you okay?”

your face turns red from embarrassment. “i haven’t done this in a really long time, and um… it’s hard for me to feel pleasurable unless you rub my… y’know.”

“you mean like this?” he smirks, thrusting faster and deeper while his thumb rubs circles on your clit.

you throw your head back and nod. “mhm! fuck.”

whenever he thrusts in, he applies more pressure with his finger and it sends you into a state of bliss. “you f-feel so good, matt.” you whine, squirming in his grip.

it makes it hard for him to move by how tight you’re squeezing around him, but you’re close.

he grunts, closing his eyes to take it all in. in his opinion, this is the best he’s ever had. he wants to keep in mind that he doesn’t even know you, but you’re so much different.

“i’m gonna cum.” you whisper, jolting slightly when he rubs your clit harder.

“cum all over me, baby,” he replies, making sure you cum first.

your release oozes around his dick, and that’s his queue to pull out to finish on your stomach.

the two of you stay there, engulfing each other to catch your breath. “how come i feel so connected to you somehow?” he says lowly, resting his forehead on yours.

you shrug. “you’ll find out soon.”

he’s a little confused by what you mean but doesn’t ask about it. instead, he holds you close until his cellphone ringing disrupts you.

sam, colby, and the triplets walk down a hallway, passing some portraits of the ghosts along the way. you had to take your separate ways when nick called matt complaining that he was taking too long.

“isn’t that the freaky one?” colby asks smugly, pointing to a specific picture.

“that is the freaky one!” sam exclaims, the triplets giggling along with them.

“who’s the freaky one?” chris asks, squinting to get a better look.

“she was nineteen when she died.” colby starts. “she was known to seduce men with her ‘looks of manipulation’, some might say.”

matt scoots in front of the group to have a look, and he could’ve sworn his blood ran cold. a girl is pictured sitting on a stool with a gorgeous smile and old victorian clothes.

the girl in question is you, and he has to blink multiple times to make sure he’s seeing right.

the gold plaque underneath confirms who he’s looking at:

y/n l/n.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @r4iyaa @sturniolotriplettoplover @mattybswife @freshsturns @loverrsposts @saturncanyon @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut

[bigfan-fanfic]

The Science of a Good Outfit (Male!Reader x Jayce Talis)

An assistant.

Jayce has never had one of those before. Not for something so... unscientific.

But Mel had offered to put him in touch with someone, and he had been loathe to refuse such a kind gesture.

So now you are assistant to the Man of Progress, organizing his social engagements and business meetings.

He frowns softly as he sees you waiting outside the lab.

"Oh, no."

You chuckle sympathetically. "You need to make an appearance at House Tariost's gala."

"Didn't they just have one?" he asks weakly.

"That was two months ago. You've been in the lab a LOT lately." you inform him, smirking at the poor man's excuses.

He sighs. "You'll be there?"

"Of course, Jayce." you say softly, getting another little thrill from how he seeks your stability, wants to depend on you.

He gives a little sigh of relief, and you almost find it cute how he doesn't even take you for granted.

If Councilor Medarda can't attend, you act as attache for Jayce, helping him remember names, charm and make deals, and maintain alliances.

But he's become close enough to you that he shares his genuine toothy smiles and stupid jokes with you that would look too unprofessional in front of the Councilors or even Mel.

You smile and wave at Viktor as the door closes. Like usual, he barely notices, still engrossed in their project, the next wave of Hextech.

You lead him to the apartments he's secured for himself - no more relying on the Kirramans to house him in some swanky top-floor of some street-level building, he's now in the towers themselves, near his lab.

"I've already got your clothes together." you mention offhandedly, and he chuckles.

"What, Mel thinks I can't pick out my own outfit?" he jokes, a little weariness creeping into his voice.

You chuckle and help him out of the overcoat he wears. "I think Councilor Medarda has a high amount of faith in you."

"Just not enough to let me wear something normal?"

You laugh. "Normal? Like your lab clothes?"

"Yeah. Imagine me, rubbing sooty elbows with the upper crust."

"That would be a sight. Hoskel would probably have some kind of attack."

You laugh, but it dies as Jayce removes his shirt and walks into the bathroom. His own chuckles disguise the silence.

You clear your throat and hand him the silky black shirt you had set out for him, trying not to stare at his well-formed muscles.

He sighs at the suit you have laundered and pressed. "Tell me, why does it matter this much which suit I wear?"

"Clothes make the man, Jayce." you respond softly. "In each thread are a hundred little details that can mean the difference between Hextech's success or failure. The success or failure of everyone involved."

He raises an eyebrow skeptically, and you help tie the vibrant red tie while he buttons the shirt. "Color, style - these indicate allegiances. Too similar, if you copy someone, it's a subtle attack. Complement, don't copy."

Next comes the vest and jacket, crisp and white. "Clothes, cut the right way, obscure anything out of the norm - it helps you depersonalize yourself. Others stop viewing you as what you are and start to see what you represent."

You help him apply the decorative red leather pauldrons. "Ornamentation can intimidate, add broadness and strength, exaggerate your silhouette. When dealing with these people, it's suggestion and innuendo that matter, a game where theoretically anyone can make a move at any time, but the implication is more effective."

He still doesn't seem convinced, and you turn him in the mirror. The vest corrects the slight slouch in his posture, making him stand tall. The pauldrons broaden and sharpen his stature, making him appear perfectly muscular rather than bulky. The suit jacket enhances the effect with its cut, making his waist appear more narrow.

"Wow. You've really got this down to a science, huh?"

You chuckle and pat his shoulder. "It helps having such a good baseline. You'd look good in anything."

"Ah, so it doesn't matter what I wear!" he teases.

You laugh. "I got you a present."

He suddenly clams up. "You... you did?"

You nod and grab a small lacquered box from your satchel. He opens it, revealing the T-shaped hammer crest of House Talis.

"This is..."

"A tie pin." You explain, helping him put it on. "It may not have been recommended by Councilor Medarda, but... I thought you'd like it."

He grins his toothy grin at you and wraps his arms around you.

You balk for just a moment, afraid to rumple his clothes, but you sink into the warmth and comfort, leaning into the hug.

"I love it. I... thank you, Y/N."

"Anytime, Jayce."

[isak-dot-gov]

But baby, I'm yours

Summary: Working through a bit of jealousy while at a party

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x reader

Word count: 957

My masterlist :)

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Your heart thudded in your chest as you watched Paige laughing with a classmate of hers across the room. It wasn't the first time you'd felt the prick of jealousy when it came to Paige, but tonight, it was sharper than ever. UCONN had one a game and secured their spot in the Final Fours a few nights ago and were throwing a house party to celebrate their win after arriving in Storrs, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Except for you.

Paige's laughter floated through the air like a melody, drawing your eyes to her. She was radiant, her blonde hair reflecting the coloured lights in the room as she moved, her eyes sparkling with a joy that made your stomach twist in knots. Paige had always been the life of the party, effortlessly charming everyone around her, and with a new sense of confidence after the team's most recent win, she was a magnet to everyone's attention. It was one of the many things you loved about her, but tonight, it was torture.

Her classmate, Chloe, leaned in closer to Paige, whispering something that made her laugh even harder. Your grip tightened around your cup, your knuckles turning to a drastically lighter shade. Her classmate was beautiful, confident, and utterly captivating. It was no wonder Paige seemed so drawn to her, but knowing that didn't make it any easier to watch.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to look away. You wandered to the kitchen, trying to distract yourself by refilling your cup with another drink. Your eyes, however, kept falling back on Paige, each glance only deepening the ache in your chest. You couldn't take it. You couldn't take feeling so helpless, so insecure.

"Hey, hun," a familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts. It was Mia, your best friend and confidante. "You look like you're about to crush that cup."

You manage a weak smile. "Is it that obvious?"

Mia nodded, her expression sympathetic. "You've been staring daggers at that girl all night. What's up?"

You sighed, setting your cup down. "It's Paige. I know it's stupid, but I can't help feeling... jealous. Her and Chloe look so happy together, and it makes me wonder if I'm Just... I don't know, boring in comparison."

Mia frowned, "Hey, you're not boring. You're amazing. And Paige knows that. She cares about you. Just because she's having a good time with her doesn't mean she feels any less for you."

"But what if she does?" your voice was barely a whisper. "What if she realises she'd rather be with someone like her?"

Mia shook her head. "You need to talk to her. Tell her how you're feeling. Paige isn't a mind reader, babes. She can't know what's going on in your head unless you let her in."

You nodded, knowing Mia was right. You needed to talk to Paige, but the thought of it made your stomach churn. What if it only made things worse? What if Paige didn't get it? Or worse, what if she did understand and decided to be with her instead?

Gathering your courage, you made your way across the room. As you approached, you could feel your heart beating harder with every step. Paige turned, her smile lighting up when she saw you.

"Hey, you," Paige said with a cheeky smile as she reached out for your hand. "I was wondering where you were. Where have you been hiding?"

You forced a smile. "Just...around. Can we talk? Privately?"

Paige's smile faltered slightly, concern evident in her eyes. "Of course. Let's go outside."

The two of you stepped out to a street curb, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth inside. You took a deep breath trying to steady yourself.

“What’s going on?” Paige asked gently. “You seem upset.”

You looked down, unable to meet Paige's eyes. “It’s Chloe. I can’t help feeling…jealous when I see you with her. You two look so happy together, and it makes me feel like I’m not enough. Like maybe you’d rather be with her.”

Paige's eyes widened in surprise. “Baby, no. I care about Chloe, but not the way I care about you. You mean everything to me. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you’re not enough. That was never my intention.”

You finally looked up, tears shining in your eyes. “I just don’t want to lose you.”

Paige stepped closer, cupping your face in her hands. “ But baby, I'm yours. You’re not going to lose me. I love you, baby. Only you. Chloe is a friend, and nothing more. I’m sorry if I’ve been giving you mixed signals. I’ll be more mindful of that in the future.”

Relief washed over you, and you leaned into Paige’s touch. “I love you too. I’m sorry for doubting you.”

Paige smiled, brushing a tear from your cheek. “It’s okay. We all have our insecurities. What matters is that we talk about them, like we’re doing now.”

You nodded, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. You pulled Paige into a tight embrace, holding on as if your life depended on it. The two of you stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the world around you fading away.

As you pulled back, Paige pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “Let’s go back inside. Together.”

You smiled, taking Paige’s hand. “Together.”

With Paige by your side, you felt your jealousy melt away. You knew there would be challenges ahead, but as long as you faced them together, you had no doubt you could overcome anything. And with that thought, you walked back into the party, your heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

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Isak speaks: I hope you liked reading! I'm going to try making it a habit to release more of these more often :)