#then returning to give himself to the land and make it whole?? being truly at peace??

[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

[rapplesart]

Random fic idea

Tim drake but instead of loosing his spleen he lost part of his leg.

Tim thought it was obvious he was missing his right leg from the knee down. It was a whole leg that was missing after all. Sure he was wearing a prosthetic made by Ra's' best people.

One he painfully earned after that crazy fucker made him fight a bunch of his assassins one legged in order to "proof himself as the true heir of the bat he saw in him" or something. So sure, the leg might be more advanced than most, and it imitated natural steps a lot easier and even made it possible to easily run without switching to a different leg. Truly it was a perfect leg be vigilante with. But he never even bothered to give it human like appearances.

But apparently the Fam didn't notice. When he returned with Bruce everyone was too reliefed to give Tim a closer look and it just never came up afterwards.

Tim thought they just didn't want to ask about it in a weird attempt of being polite or even caring. Bruce surely did enough research on how it happened on his own. The man spend the whole travel back to Gotham with Tim after all. Tim truly believed the world's greatest detective would have noticed his missing leg.

Except he didn't. Not if he interpreted the way they looked so incredibly disturbed by is nonchalant way of handlinh the boiling hot chemicals that landed on his metal leg. He just brushed it off, the battle continued and since nothing seemed to be injured no one pressed him when he said "Must've missed me after all"

Now, how do you deal with a family that didn't notice you're missing a leg? That's right you fuck with them.

First thing he did was buy himself a few more realistic looking prosthetic leg. It had to be custom made to fit his stump so it took a whole but it was a worthwhile investment.

The first one was Jason. Call it a twisted revenge for trying to kill him but Tim just really wanted him to be messed with the most. So one day when he knew it was only Jason and him on patrol he strategically set himself down to fall. Crunching some spaghettis to ass in a sickening way only to stand up and walk away as if nothing ever happened.... With his foot toned the wrong way around. Insisting on nothing being wrong and Jason being delusional whenever the older boy tried to get him to get medical treatment. He switched it up the whole evening, whenever he was out of sight he turned the fool right and wrong. Driving the guy insane.

Jason did not sleep well that night. He was also top weirded out and unsure if what he saw was real to talk about it with anyone else.

Then, he challenged dick to a flexibility contest seeing how far they han bend their knees and feet. Even Mr bones are a social construct gymnast Richard Grayson looked horrified as Tim stood there, food bend almost in half, knee twisted to the impossible and what looked lihe a bend in the middle of his leg. Dick claimed cheating except the thing that greeted him when he demanded Tim to puch up his pant leg to expose his trick was a normal looking leg. The first Robin did lots of stretches in the following weeks. His pride was hurt after all.

Finding a way to mess with Damian was a bit more difficult. The brat still made a bunch of harsh comments again and again and he really wasn't close enough with Tim to be easily gaslit. The kid was a trained assassin and was probably used to a bunch of weird shit considering everything Ra's. So Tim decided he could go a bit more gory on Robin than the others. So one night he sat in front of Damians room, in the dark hallway and waited till one of his pets passed him. Once Alfred the Cat came along he made some louder coping noise that would Definetly make the kid look out to check on his animals. It worked just as planned, Damian peeked out his door to see Tim, crosslegged and barefoot on the floor, seemingly cutting off his toe to feed the cat. In reality it was nothing more than a cat treat and carefully picked, animal safe food coloring.

The kid scremed at him, threatened to stab him, punched him real good for harming his cat and took off with said cat to find Alfred so the older man could check on the poor kitten. Of course not beforeaking sure Tim was in an adequate amount of pain on the floor, with his 'injured' food secured to the floor with another knife. Only to return with a worried Alfred on tow to see Tim, standing two whole bare feet with a confused expression and a bag of cat treats in the hall.

Tim got a broken nose for it but it surely was worth it. Especially once he quietly whispered a 'no one will ever belief you' to the kid in passing. He might have traumatised the boy a little but Tim fought it justified for all the attempted murder he suffered.

[aklaustaleteller]

Could you make an imagine where Klaus Mikaelson is the father figure to the reader despite not being her real dad? And her birth father came back trying to take her but Klaus wouldn’t stand for it and wouldn’t let him take the reader?

Home

Klaus had just been taking a stroll through the woods when he finds himself walking towards the sounds of a beta's broken sobs. Seeing the little abandoned wolf, Klaus takes her home with him, hoping that he'd be able to become her safe place -- which he very successfully does. But what happens when Y/n's biological father returns after ages in hopes of getting her back?

Warnings - None really, other than the fact that it's quite sad (but with happy outcomes I promise <3) Word Count - 4.0k

I'm so so so sorry for my absence the past whole week but hey, this is quite literally a 4k worded fic! So hopefully that makes up for it? (Also, thank you for the request, lovely anon. Please do tell me if you like it!!)

Also! I took the idea of Y/n's wolf being a little out of control from this very very amazing fic written by the truly talented @klausysworld Please do give the fic a read, if you haven't already that is, hahah <3

Klaus had been taking a stroll through the woods, his feet carrying him just about anywhere while his mind sped through thoughts a million miles an hour. He made plans, then backed them up with another one, and then made another one, just in case. And he'd just lifted his leg to cross over a fallen tree when his body came to an unnatural halt.

He was never caught off guard, but right now, as he heard hushed sobs and a heart that was beating in a painfully broken rhythm, he couldn't help but gently continue his stroll – in a particular direction with an aim, this time.

His head tilted as he neared the source of the sound, his nose picking up on a beta scent. It had been way too long since he had come across a beta, his major interactions occurring with either other Alphas or Omegas, or Vampires. As well as some other species that rather got on his nerves, such as the witches. It intrigued him.

From quite afar, his eyes finally caught sight of a rather small frame crouched against the rough bark of a tree, a jerk shaking their body every time their back accidently met with it, followed by another painful but gritted howl.

But what made Klaus' frown deepen even further, was the sight of wolf ears growing from the person's head. He felt as though his eyes were deceiving him; he had never come across something like this and if he wasn't mistaken, he was pretty sure that this was just an untrained little wolf -- or perhaps it was the strangeness making him think that there couldn't possibly be another mythical creature that was actually all too real.

So, he walked closer, his head a little ducked and shoulders bunched up on either side of his neck as he tried not to make any sound as that would surely startle the ...child, he realised.

The little frame, sobbing into their hands with their knees bunched up against their torso, belonged to a child. A werewolf child who was beginning to lose control of their wolf, and just then Klaus noticed a tail curling up against the little one's back in order to provide comfort.

He flinched when some wood broke unde his step, alerting the little girl and his heart cracked like a drought-stricken land when she jerked and looked up at him with eyes so big, full of fear swarming them and so much sadness that he could drown in it and not be found.

She immediately backed up into the tree, hissing sharply when her back met the unruly surface but not once did her eyes move away from him. Her lips trembled, a fat tear rolling down her cheek against her will and Klaus noted that the girl could not be older than a decade.

Taking another step towards her, Klaus froze when her wolf ears went back in, and a sob broke out of her mouth.

"Please, sir! I will do whatever you ask of me, but please don't hurt me," she shouted at him, fully breaking down into heart wrenching sobs as she tried to get up on wobbly legs but fell to the ground right away due to the tremor coursing through her body.

Tears blurred his vision for a second before he took the final step toward her which brought him close enough to sit on his knees beside her and rest his hand on her head.

"It's alright, little wolf. I'm not here to harm you," Klaus whispered, feeling her body falling into shambles under his touch. But when she looked up at him with uncertainty in her eyes, he couldn't help but pass her a reassuring smile.

"You are safe with me, sweetheart," he said, now weaving his hand across her forehead to brush away the hair that stuck to it. "Yes?" He asked her with a soft nod, bringing her closer to his chest when she too, nodded. Her eyes were still uncertain but he could tell that it won't take long for her to let go.

This was a child, full of enough naivety to trust a stranger and Klaus was more than glad that he’d found her before someone else could’ve. And maybe his Alpha scent provided her with the extra comfort that she most likely needed, but Klaus wasn’t complaining.

So he rested his back against the tree this time and let her sit in his lap, his arms around her in a way that cocooned her away from whatever that had pained her so terribly, and ready to protect her from anything that came her way with poisonous intentions.

His heart clenched inside his chest when the little girl curled up against him, finally letting the sobs rake through her body and for all the sadness to cause havoc inside her little heart before it left her alone for good.

And for some reason, Klaus just knew to avoid her back. It was clear that she was hurt over there somehow, making him rub his hand up and down her arm instead, and rock the two of them side to side for a little bit. Slowly and slowly, her wails turned into softer sobs and then finally, Klaus heard her heartbeat go back to a normal pace again.

He looked down to see if she'd cried it all out, wanting her to tell him about the culprit who had hurt her like this but when he found that she had slipped into a deep, peaceful slumber, he didn't even think once before carrying her home with him, covering her up under his duvet while he sat on the sofa across the bed, looking at her and telling himself that there was no way he was going to be able to let her go.

He just felt something between them, something that brought them closer in a way he had never experienced before. He felt like he was supposed to love her, care for her, teach her all about the world and show her the wonders. He felt like taking her responsibility, giving her his last name and raising her protected from the world.

Perhaps it was because he, somewhere, saw his inner child in her. The child that so helplessly begged for just some love from his father and got the horrifying abuse instead. 

Klaus wanted to take her under his wing and be there for her while she grew up. He wanted this very clearly abandoned little wolf to call him her father, and his brothers her uncles and his sisters her aunts.

He couldn't sleep all night, fearing that she'd wake up and ask for her actual parents. And he knew he'd take her back in an instant if she wanted to, but it would tear him apart into uncountable and unrecognisable shreds.

And so, he waited all night for her to wake up and hopefully deny him when he'd ask her if she wanted to go back home. And Klaus would go to hell and back to build her a home; to become her home.  

But despite his stubborn decision to stay up and look after her, Klaus awoke to something soft and comforting touching his whatever exposed skin. And as he cracked open his eyes, the sunlight was already pouring inside his room and one of his blankets was draped over him. And he knew it hadn’t been on him for long as he had felt it sliding across his frame, and yet he couldn’t catch sight of the carer. 

That was, until he began getting up and he looked down to find the little girl, sitting beside his feet and looking up at him with doe eyes full of ...joy. He noted that the girl was happy to see that he was finally awake, her heartbeat picking up just a little as a smile slid on her mouth. 

“Thank you, Alpha,” the girl mumbled shyly, placing her hands on his knees while she began standing up. And Klaus’ arms instantly went ahead in order to prevent her from falling but she didn’t stumble once, reminding him that she probably had werewolf healing powers that performed with a slight delay due to her young age. 

Klaus opened his mouth to say something but when the girl warily wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on the very tip of her toes to do so, he found himself caught off guard, once again. But regardless, he hugged her back rather tightly, lifting her off the ground and bringing her on the sofa. 

“Are you okay now, little wolf? Does it still hurt?” Klaus asked her, one of his hands cupping her face while the other cradled her. And his heart swooned when she curled up on him just like the night prior, but this time only soft breaths passed through her mouth. 

“The wounds have healed, Alpha,” she mumbled, almost hiding her face by tucking it away in his chest. “But my heart still hurts, I think,” her voice wavered as she confessed, now clenching his henley in her fist due to the unease it brought to her.

“Oh, little wolf,” Klaus sighed, his eyebrows turned into an upside down frown as he looked upon her with pity. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” He whispered, cautious so she wouldn’t shut him off, even though she was too young to know of such a thing.

“My father, he – he kicked me out of the pack yesterday,” she told him with a quivering voice, tears beginning to pool in her eyes once again. “He told me – he said that he doesn’t love me… that – that he never has!” She cried out, a sob aching her throat and wrapping itself around it so tightly that it was almost beginning to choke her. 

“He said he doesn’t love me,” she repeated, her body now shaking in Klaus arms as his heart crumpled inside his chest as he noted just how much she cared and felt, and that she was having to relive it again right now. 

“Why did he kick you out, darling?” Klaus asked, wanting to end her misery and just a one line answer would be enough for him to go over and slaughter the entire pack.

“He wanted me to learn how to handle the pack once he wouldn’t be there anymore, how – how to be an Alpha,” she told him, tears flowing out of her eyes that had now grown bloodshot red. 

And just then, her ears popped out of her head once again, and Klaus couldn’t help but pet the welted ears in order to help her calm down. 

“But I didn’t want to! I – I don’t want to take charge after him!” She told Klaus, this time her voice changed its tone to be more convincing and desperate. She sat upright, trying to show Klaus just how much she’d rather work behind the scenes than take the lead officially.

“It’s okay, little wolf – you won’t have to anymore,” Klaus reassured the girl, weaving his fingers through her hair and pressing a kiss on her forehead. “You’ll be here with me, safe and sound, and I will love you, sweetheart,” he whispered, looking into her eys with the purest sincerity.

“I truly love you, little wolf,” Klaus said softly at recieving a questioning look from her, asking if he honestly meant what he was saying. “And I will always show you love.”

She brightened up at that, the shine of a couple stars returning to her eyes as she got up, but then saddened again. “But what about home?” She asked, her tears beginning to dry up on her cheeks as she wiped them away. 

“Do you wish to go home?”

“No,” she trailed off, looking away from his eyes as if guilty, causing Klasu to cup her cheeks and turn her back to face him. 

“Then I’ll be your home, little wolf,” he smiled at her. “Yes?” 

The girl nodded, quickly leaning in to press a kiss on his dimpled cheek. 

“What’s your name, darling?” 

“Y/n, Alpha,” she answered him, and Klaus wanted more than anything for her to call him her father or dad, but knew that he should give her some time. 

“Lovely,” he grinned, taking her in his arms and getting up to let her in the shower and then introduce her to the rest of the Mikaelsons. 

And it wasn’t long before Klaus found himself officially adopting Y/n, making her  a Mikaelson and his heart had swollen inside his ribs when she’d so shyly asked him if she could finally call him her father. 

Over the first couple months only Klaus noticed that her gentle and empathetic nature valued deep and personal connections with people over power and attention. He also learned that the reason she hid her high intelligence and outstandingness in whatever field she chose, was because that was simply ingrained in her beta personality. 

So, gradually, books all about betas began to fill shelves in their library quarter of the house. 

“Father!” Came in a shrieking voice, followed by his ears picking up on a rapid heartbeat and he was out of the bed in an instant, checking her over to see if she was hurt and he only shook his head when he found that Kol had just been chasing her around the house, early in the morning to keep her interest while Freya made breakfast for her. 

“Good morning, little wolf,” Klaus grinned, picking her up off the ground and spinning with her in his hold, pressing as many kisses as he could all over her face as she pressed her palm against his face to keep his stubble away.

Loud giggles and squeaks echoed throughout the mansion as Klaus brought her back to bed with him, letting her lay on top of him.

It quite hurt him that she was too tall to curl up on him now, but it still felt good when her heart pressed up against his despite the many layers of bones and skin and clothing keeping them apart. 

“Uncle Kol was chasing me with his vampire speed! Tell him that that’s not fair!” She whined, looking pointedly at Kol who was shaking his head at the door. 

“You’re a wolf, little one,” Klaus began, pulling her attention back on him. “You can outrun anyone,” he smiled. 

Y/n contemplated that for a second before she moved to sit upright beside him with a pout on her mouth. “Anyone but you, father.”

Klaus laughed at that, tackling her back into bed. “You do not wish to outrun me, now do you, little wolf?” He asked her, getting out of bed and letting her cling to him on his chest as he went downstairs. He knew that as a wolf, she preferred to nuzzle anywhere she found warmth, and that his chest was one of her favourite places. 

Sitting her down on the chair next to him, Klaus let her eat her food by herself. Sure, the honey did drizzle down her chin once but he didn’t mind, instantly cleaning it up with his thumb before it could’ve slipped down any further. 

Elijah asked her questions about the storybook he had bought her a couple days prior, Rebekah asked her if the girl wanted to help her aunt pick out a dress, Kol warned her against it by threatening to chase her and Freya smacked all of them on the back of their heads, telling them off to let you eat.

“Father, are you free to paint with me after this?” Y/n asked, looking at him with eyes that had truly unintentionally turned similar to a little puppy’s. 

Klaus finished his food, noting another thing that her shyness had truly dissipated into thin air. And all that it had left behind was politeness and some convincing eyes that could get the devil to let go of a deal.

“Of course, Y/n,” he smiled, getting up and grinning when she trotted behind him happily with her own empty plate in her hand. He watched as she put it in the sink and washed her hands and mouth, letting her chug down her orange juice for once as he wiped his own mouth. 

Once again, she followed him back inside his studio like a lost puppy. Klaus came back out with the heavier and the majority of supplies in his hands while Y/n skipped behind him with the paints and the brushes in hers.

Walking into the front yard, Klaus set down all of their stuff and sat himself in front of her, chuckling when he noticed that she’d already begun twirling her brush around on her canvas, not a single thought in her mind as she let out anything that flashed in front of her eyes, onto the paper. 

Klaus on the other hand, decided to make a painting of colours chosen from her hair. Every colour he saw in the midst of her hair strands, he put it on his canvas, slowly and slowly morphing into a tree’s bark.

And when he checked upon her canvas to see where her painting was going, he felt his dimples dig inside his cheeks at the sight of every and any shade of green that she could find – perhaps in his eyes, Klaus realized when she raised her head to look into his eyes and went back to working. 

Almost all of his days went like this, waking up to her running into his room after having had a shower, holding her in his arms for a little then taking her down for breakfast, where she would convince him to paint with her for a little.

After that he’d let her go off with Eilajh to read and learn some other things by Freya that she probably needed to learn. He would be out of the mansion during that, out to mind his business and kill his own minions because of their brave stupidity. 

When he’d return to the mansion, Y/n would sleepily trod out of her bed and into his arms, let him pick her up and take her to bed where he’d just hold her and tell her how much he loved her, because someone had probably already read her a story or two. 

Some nights she would wake up crying from a nightmare about her biological father, and then she would find herself running into Klaus’ arms which were already open, having heard her rushed footsteps and broken sobs. 

Her wolf ears no longer popped out since Klaus had spent an insurmountable time helping her take her wolf under her control, but every once in a while, depending upon how bad the nightmare was, her tail would creep out of her shirt and curl itself either around Klaus’ arms or her own back, which Klaus didn’t object at seeing that she only did this when she was crying in his arms.

But once they’d finish painting, Y/n would run into the house with her and Klaus’ painting to show them off to her uncles and aunts, leaving Klaus behind to clean up the mess. But he didn’t mind it one bit, only laughing when she’d come back looking guilty and saying that she was sorry that she’d once again forgotten to help him clean up in her excitement. 

And that’s exactly what had happened just now. 

“It’s okay little wolf,” Klaus assured her. “You know I don’t mind it,” he said and let her hug him to show him just how bad she felt.

He rubbed her back, and got up with her hand in his, looking down at the back of her head and smiling as she led their way back inside. 

“Wait father!” She paused her walking. “Look, the weather has taken a turn,” she stated, pointing at the sky in which angry clouds had begun swirling, the fluffy white ones long gone. 

“Does that mean it’s reading time?” 

“Yes!” The girl shrieked, jumping up and down, making Klaus laugh as she ran off to meet up with Elijah. 

He caught himself grinning long after she had left his line of sight and shook his head, a smile still pasted on his mouth as he turned around to rule over the so-called supernatural adults whom even Y/n was smarter than. 

“I see you’ve taken a liking to playing her father, Niklaus,” a rough voice said from behind, and while it hadn’t caught Klaus off guard, what had was the fact that this man was brave and dumb enough to step a foot in such close proximity to him. 

Surely, he must have come with a death wish. 

“Roman,” Klaus said out loud the name of Y/n’s biological father, his voice full of venom and he could’ve spat at the man in front of him. “I see you’re feeling daring today, perhaps even like dying?” He proposed, taking a threatening step towards the man. 

Klaus had, the very next night of when he’d found Y/n, went on to slaughter Roman’s entire pack. He had let the man live since he wanted him to see and live through his own daughter's hatred towards him. So much hatred that she didn’t even look his way anymore, let alone call him her father.

“Let’s not get this messy, Niklaus,” Roman started but before he could’ve finished, Klaus had him pinned against the very door frame he was leaning so cockily on. 

“I’m not your friend, Roman,” he gritted through his teeth, knowing that he didn’t need to clarify any further as to what he meant by that. 

“Sir,” Roman started, stretching his neck. “I want my daughter back,” he said.

Red flashed in front of Klaus’ eyes as he sped towards Roman, tearing through his flesh and ribs to clench his heart in his fist. “I would’ve been a fan of such bravery had you not made the mistake of calling her your daughter when she fucking refuses to even recognise you,” Klaus finally spat at him, his grip on his heart so tight that it could burst due to the pressure. 

“I will rip your heart out and shove it down your throat if you dare once again to call my daughter, yours, or call your lame excuse of a self, her father,” he said, pulling on his heart lightly. “She is mine, and I love her and this is her home now.”

“I am her home,” he gritted his teeth so hard that they could’ve shattered. 

Roman’s frame was beginning to get blue, knocking the realisation into Klaus that his hold on his heart was so hard that it was struggling to beat. “Go to the opposite side of the world and never look back here again,” Klaus compelled him, finally taking his hand back out of his chest. 

“Now off you go,” he said, maybe shooed. “I am sure you know that a wolf bite can only be cured by my blood,” he hissed venomously, his eyes shining golden as vampire streaks drew themselves through his skin.

And once Roman had finally sped out, Klaus let out a breath and his heart to rest again, his hands trembling at the thought of what could’ve happened right now had he not been who he truly is. 

Rushing into his room to clean himself off, Klaus rushed back out to Y/n who was currently sitting in front of Elijah. 

“Little wolf!” Klaus called for her as he stood at the doorway of the room, his vision getting blurry when she came running to him with the biggest smile on her face. 

“Yes father? Missed me, didn’t you?” She giggled teasingly, wrapping her arms around him and Klaus couldn’t help but nuzzle in the nape of her neck, holding her tightly against him as he kneeled on the floor and felt a tear slip past the slit of his eyes. 

“I love you, my little wolf,” he said, whimpering. 

“Oh, I love you too, father,” she sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. “You should know that I’ll always be your little wolf.”

“Forever and always, my precious” Klaus breathed, pressing a chaste kiss on her cheek before resting his forehead against it for a moment, breathing in her scent and reminding himself that she’d also become his home now. 

[brittle-doughie]

I’ll Miss You (Divorcing the Ancient Cookies)

Angst really was overdue for a while! Sometimes, it’s for the best in these situations..

You noticed that Pure Vanilla was rather bright and friendly towards White Lily, even more-so then he was with you. You tried to ignore it and try to say it was just their friendship being nice to justify it, but it became harder to do so when you saw how nice he was her.

When Pure Vanilla came home to your castle’s chambers, he already knew by the atmosphere that something was wrong, he was worried as he asked what was wrong?

You announced separation.

He was already crying as he pleaded with you to reconsider, he didn’t mean to make you feel neglected, he was so sorry, you were way more important to him. He kept pleading as tears overwhelmed his eyes, voice shaky beyond belief.

Time would go by, you two would remain friends…but Pure Vanilla will forever be haunted with the guilt of losing you…you didn’t deserve to lose him…his heart couldn’t bear to see you with another cookie…

He will never love anyone else as much as you….

Hollyberry was always going out, traveling the lands and fighting ferocious monsters. They were only once in a while, but they started to get more and more frequent…leaving you alone at home more and more. You tried to stick it out, but it only ended up hurting more and more…until you made the painful decision to announce separation.

If she wanted to be free to venture the world with nothing tying her down…then you’ll set her free…

You had never seen someone go a complete 180 in personality. She ran straight towards you and enveloped in one of her crushing hugs. No…no! You two cannot separate…not now…not ever! She did want to travel the farthest reaches of Earthbread and fight the most terrible monsters…but she did not want to lose you…

You returned the hug as you tell her you’ll always love her. This only made her cry harder as she realized how much she’ll miss you too, it felt like agony. She whispers in your ear that she loves you too. She loves you so, so, so much…

Every cookie in the kingdom could tell Hollyberry wasn’t nearly as jolly and cheery as she used to be, her heart felt empty without you. She can never shake off this agonizing feeling of her broken heart.

She didn’t care nor want adventure and excitement from fighting monsters…what she truly wanted was you…

Dark Cacao was paranoid, he wanted that wall fortified by any means necessary, he dedicated all his time and effort to making sure the kingdom’s defenses were in top shape to fend off any siege. You were proud of him for being protective and considerate of his kingdom and the cookies within, but you felt like he was growing more and more distant with you.

It didn’t help that his advisor, Affogato Cookie, insisted that Dark Cacao focused on the castle, it had to be able to fend off a whole army! Cacao promised time and time again that tonight would be the night dedicated to the both of you. Cue him being too busy about the Wall again…another evening together…never fulfilled.

It was clear that his kingdom was his top priority and while you fine with it, it still hurt you to see that he won’t step away from a moment to show that he still loves you, nor keep to his promises of time together.

He’ll be the most collected of the ancients when came time to separate, but on the inside was his emotions go haywire. He’ll be insistent that THIS TIME, he’ll drop everything this evening to spend with you! Please give him this chance…

He struggled to keep himself together when around you, it made his heart ache when he saw you talk to cookies with the kindness and happy mood that you used to talk to him with. It made his regrets go through the roof.

He promises to get you back…in one way or another…

You were left wondering these days if Golden Cheese valued her gold and treasures more then she did valuing you. She says that she needed to keep up her reputation and alike, but when she showed more excitement for the gifts her subjects brought her then your homemade ones, it made you wonder if you were loving her enough…

You tried and tried to make gifts that were up to her standards, but…nothing seemed to work. The guilt of you believing that you were not enough to make her feel loved anymore grew worse and worse…until the thought of splitting came to you. Golden acheese deserved someone who was capable of making her happy, capable of making gifts that made her happy…

She flew into a fit of sorrow and rage, who was telling you that she didn’t love you enough?! They will pay for their rancid nonsense! She didn’t want to believe that she was the one to tank your relationship, hurting you is the last thing she wanted to do! It would take you and some of her subjects holding her close to calm her down.

It would finally dawn on her that she had no excuses, she under-appreciated you and your efforts. She allowed her desire to be spoiled in her riches to take over, she regretted this so much…your homemade presents have so much more value, she didn’t deserve them…

The castle felt empty with you gone, she didn’t have the energy to mercilessly rule over her subjects, she actually grew to detest the shiny gifts her subjects gave her, it was a constant reminder that amongst all these riches, she lost the one treasure that shined to her the most..

She’d even sell her whole kingdom just to have the chance to earn you and your trust again��.all these riches…they didn’t matter anymore….only you mattered

No.

White Lily is not even going to get it to that point, you’re her special cookie. She’s ready to drop her pursuit for the creation of a perfect cookie if she detects that it’s affecting you in any way and capacity.

But by the off chance that it does, she’ll already be all over you, crying and pleading that no magic was any more special then you. She’s completely willing to give it all up to keep you by her side! Walking away won’t do you any good, she’s already clung her arms around your legs.

She won’t let mere pieces of paper stand in her way, they didn’t matter to her in the slightest. She loves you too much to let you go that easily. She’s terrified that once she lets you go, she’ll never be able to hold onto you ever again…

Similar to Pure Vanilla but to even worse extent. She can never move on from you, the mere thought of giving her love to another or you doing so broke her heart…she wouldn’t want to move on anyway. You were hers as she belonged to you…

She was nothing without you…you…are her everything…

[impala-dreamer]

The Fragile Heart

A Stort Story

~ After returning home from filming a movie in Europe, Jensen fights to control himself and Y/N keep safe. Unfortunately, lust is hard to fight and hunger even more so…~ 

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader

5,002 Words

NSFW, Vampire!AU, Relationship Angst, Mentions of Past Infidelity, Smut, Blood, Dark Romance, Death

Written for @jacklesversebingo "Bad Things" by Jace Everett was the prompt and inspiration

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

He came back wrong.

She couldn't explain it, but he was different. Usually overly affectionate and sweet, her husband shied away from her touch, snapped at tiny offenses, and hid his thoughts away.

No matter what she did, she couldn't reach him.

No matter how tight her grip, she couldn't hold on.

He slept most of the day, complaining of a migraine that he couldn’t shake. She’d bring him meds and water, a snack now and then, but he’d wave her away with a grunt and push his head deeper beneath the pillow.

At night, he seemed better, but still off. He’d disappear into the home gym most of the night, refusing supper for protein shakes and lifting more weight than she thought was safe.

It seemed he could barely stay in the same room with her for long, and as the days ticked by, Y/N grew more worried.

When she tried to confront him and plead for an explanation, a placation, anything- he’d sigh and turn away, unable to give her what she needed.

She was losing him.

Jensen could barely stand it. The entire time he was away, all he wanted was to come home, but being there was painful. Seeing her was tearing him in half. The guilt of what had happened and the fear of what he could do was too much to handle.

He knew he shouldn’t hide, knew she’d listen and be by his side, but he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk losing control and taking away the one thing he truly loved, the only thing in the world that he needed: her.

Each day was worse than the last. Y/N looked at him with eyes filled with pain when once there was only love. She sat alone at the dining table, picking at food her stomach was too upset to take. The blanket wrapped tight around her while the television watched her was no comfort, the books she held lay in her lap ignored and unread.

After a while, she stopped trying to talk to him. She no longer reached for his hand when he walked by or met his gaze with adoring eyes.

He was losing her.

Just before sunset that night, Jensen was slumped in his favorite chair by the living room window. The curtain was drawn shut and he held his head in one hand as if the very act of being there was painful.

He looked up when she came in, green eyes glowing slightly in the lamplight. For a second, he forgot everything. For a blessed moment, they were happy and whole.

He smiled softly. “Hey, baby.”

She stared at him before answering, confused by the greeting after so much silence. “Hey.” She crossed her arms over her chest, putting up invisible defenses. “I’m not cooking tonight,” she said simply while looking down at her socked feet. “If you get hungry, there’s some yogurt in the fridge or that leftover chicken from the other night.”

Jensen pulled in a heavy breath. “You’re not hungry?”

“No.”

Y/N turned to leave but he stopped her.

“Wait…”

In a blur, he jumped up from the chair and touched her shoulder. She spun and found him closer than he’d been in weeks. Tears sparkled in her eyes and she held her breath, needing him to make a move.

He fell into her gaze. “Y/N, I-”

She looked so tired and lost that his chest ached. On instinct he lifted his right hand, ready to cradle her cheek like he’d done a thousand times before. When his touch landed, Y/N flinched and he watched a shiver work its way through her body.

“Jensen, you’re freezing.”

Immediately, he snapped his hand closed and pulled away, backing up a step. “Sorry, I’m… it’s cold in here.”

She moved to follow him, closing the space between them with a long step. “Baby-” Concern flooded her voice and Jensen’s jaw clenched tight. “Are you sick? Is- is that what’s been going on? I can call the doctor or we can go in the morning or-”

“No!”

Y/N gasped and backed up, more hurt than scared.

His shoulders fell. “I’m sorry. I’m not sick- I’m just-”

“What?”

He turned away, but she grabbed his wrist, keeping him there, refusing to let him storm off again. Her fingers burned into his skin. She was so warm, so soft. His breath quickened and his heart raced.

“Y/N, don’t do this.”

She held him tighter. “Me? I’m not doing anything but trying to get you to talk to me!”

He could feel her pulse through her grip, like tiny beats in the tip of each finger. He tried not to focus on it, but it was too hard to ignore.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” Her voice cracked as emotion took over. “Please. You’ve been home for almost a month and I have no idea what happened in Paris; no clue why you’re acting like this. Please. Talk to me!”

The more emotion she felt, the harder her blood flowed and Jensen closed his eyes, letting the sound permeate his being. He could almost see it pumping through her body; feel each tiny blood cell sweeping through her veins. He locked his jaw shut and took a breath to steady himself.

It was pointless.

He was close to breaking.

“Jensen!”

When he wouldn’t answer, Y/N stepped in front of him, forcing him to at least look at her. His mind was reeling, his flesh tingling with dangerous lust.

“Please talk to me…”

She dropped his wrist and placed her hand on his chest. Her fingers curled into the soft cotton of his gray t-shirt and his hands began to shake. He wanted to grab her, slam her up against the wall, and-

“No.”

Y/N’s lip trembled. “No?”

“No, it’s not- I didn’t mean-”

Slowly, her hand fell to her side. Y/N looked up, choking back a flood of tears. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she swallowed them down. “Why won’t you talk to me? I miss you.”

Her words wrapped around him, pushing caution away.

“I miss you too, Y/N.” Jensen reached for her cheek and this time she didn’t flinch. He slid his fingers behind her ear and back, bracing the nape of her neck in his big hand. “So fucking much…” He urged her chin upwards and pulled her body flush against his. “You have no idea…”

Shivering but desperate, she fell into him and let her lips gently part. “Please…”

Her breath washed over him like sunshine, warm and inviting. He bent to kiss her lips, instantly remembering their secret rhythm and how perfectly they fit together. Y/N exhaled into him and he sucked it down, kissing her deeper and wrapping his thick arms around her. She moaned as he ran his hand down her spine; shuddered when he sucked at her bottom lip.

“Fuck, baby… I need you.”

Jensen growled as her whisper echoed in his head. He needed her just as badly and wanted her even more. His tongue swept over hers and he heard her heart tick faster. Her breasts pressed firm against his chest; her fingers teased upwards to hook around his collar.

“Jensen…”

An ache spread through him and fire sparked deep in his gut. His fingers tensed on her flesh, dimpling her softness as he held on. His lips danced across her cheek and jaw as his knee pushed between her thighs.

Y/N tugged a hand through the long hair that curled around his ear and moaned as his kiss fell against her throat.

He shut his eyes, feeling the fire grow more intense. His mouth ran dry, his muscles tightened, his senses heightened. He could smell how wet she was as the arousal dripped from her cunt. He could feel her temperature rise half a degree as the blood rushed to the surface of her skin. Her heart beat loudly in his ears and Jensen felt his control slipping.

He sucked at her throat, licked hard at her thrumming pulse, each beat driving him farther away from safety and into the darkness that waited for them both.

His upper lip twitched as the monster struggled to break free and Jensen panicked. Immediately, he jumped back and turned away, covering his deformed mouth with his hand and closing his senses to her presence.

Y/N stumbled in place, her balance shattered when he released his hold. “Jensen?”

He cowered by the window with his back to the light. “I can’t.”

Her heart ached. He could hear it slowing.

“You can’t? You can’t what? Kiss me?”

He shook his head.

“Hold me?”

His chin dropped and he held his hands over his ears, desperate to block the sadness in her voice and the percussion of her heart.

“Listen to me? Look at me?” Tears fell. Her stomach churned. “Look at me!”

Afraid to move, he stood frozen like a coward. Silent, hurting, and terrified to lose her.

She wanted to beat her fists into the wall, slap him, scream in his face- anything to get him to talk, but she knew it wouldn’t matter.

She took her broken heart to bed and shut the door without another word.

He walked the city like he had every night since he’d been home. Keeping to the side streets, he hid himself away in the alleyways and the empty lots, all the places the light rarely touched. If anyone recognized him, they didn’t show it. This late at night he was just another lonely wayfarer in fancy boots and designer jeans. A mess of a man who had no place to go, nothing to do but linger in the dark.

With every step he thought about their kiss and how closely he’d skirted danger.

Each blink brought her face into view, with broken bones and bruised flesh, pale skin and lifeless eyes.

It was a warning he couldn’t ignore, but he was too in love to back down.

Y/N lay in the dark counting the minutes until morning. Twice, she’d dozed off, but a buzzing mind kept true sleep at bay. She tossed and turned, twisted the blanket around her body, cradled the pillow in her arms.

There was no comfort without him there.

The empty bed was a painful reminder of love slipping away.

When he came in, the air went out. Y/N jolted up from her pillow, gasping as if the oxygen was being sucked from the room. Every tiny hair stood on end and the electrical pulses shooting through her body told her to run.

“It’s just me.”

Jensen’s voice calmed her panic but did little to ease the hurt. He stood in the bedroom doorway, his face lit only by the faint stream of light peeking through the curtains. He looked ghostly, his face pale and gaunt.

“You scared me,” she told him, sitting up against the padded headboard. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere. Just out.” He shifted his stance and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Did I wake you?”

Y/N shook her head and hugged her arms across her chest. “Haven’t been sleeping lately.”

Jensen hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

She sighed and looked away. “Don’t-”

“No. I am.”

He took a step inside and reflex tightened her body. She flinched and he froze in place.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “About all of it. Everything. For tonight, for not… talking to you. For leaving you alone all this time.”

Drawing her knees up, Y/N hid her face in her hands. “You don’t have to, Jensen. I’m… I’m so tired.”

Hurt and worry knotted his gut. Another step pulled him closer to the bed, but he kept a safe distance.

“I need to tell you what happened, I want to. I just don’t know if-”

“If I’ll forgive you?”

He looked down at the carpet and found the faint outline of the red wine stain still stuck in the fibers from a night of drunken sex three years ago. He shouldn’t have been able to see it in the dark but it was clear, every strand of thread, every fleck of stain visible now.

“If you’ll… understand.”

Y/N exhaled a shaking breath and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to cry anymore. She didn’t want to fight.

“Was it another woman?” she asked, dreading the answer.

Another.

The feeling she put into that single word shook him deep.

Years ago, he’d fucked up. There had been another woman, a guest on set that he’d gotten too close to. It was only a week, but it had nearly shattered their marriage.

He swore he’d never go there again, and he wasn’t sure that he even had this time, but she needed to know. She deserved to know. Everything.

“It wasn’t like that,” he said softly, “but yes.”

He could almost hear the crack in her heart. The fragile heart that had forgiven him years ago. The heart that had stood by him through everything life had thrown his way. The heart that always welcomed him home. The heart he was forever breaking.

Jensen sat at the very foot of the bed and hunched over, resting his forearms on his knees. He clasped his hands and closed his eyes, trying to figure out where and how to start.

Y/N watched him struggle but turned away when he looked back. She refused to meet his gaze, afraid she’d crumble into more pieces than they could ever pick up.

“I’m listening.”

He took a deep breath.

“I can’t even explain what happened-”

“Try.”

He swallowed hard. “The shoot was… crazy. I’ve had rough gigs before but this took a lot out of me. This was…” He felt her eyes on him, heard her steady breath, smelled her trepidation. “Anyway. There was a lot of drinking. Too much.”

Y/N sighed. “Go on.”

“Couple of us found a bar- just a local place. There was nothing special about it. The booze was cheap and…”

“I get it,” she snapped. “You were drunk. And then?”

“I was just minding my own business and-” He pressed his nails into the palm of his left hand as memory washed over him. He could smell the stale beer, taste the bourbon, feel the cool air. “I don’t know where she came from, she just appeared at my side and… we started talking.”

Y/N held her breath and her tongue, giving him the time he needed to get it out. Anger swirled in her stomach but she did her best to keep it from boiling over.

“I can’t even remember about what, really. It was all a blur. Like, an actual blur. After a while I could barely see anything in the room but her, as if the background had gone out of focus. I felt stoned. Slow. Like… I was drugged.”

Concern pushed anger aside and Y/N leaned forward, kicking her knees down and to the side. “Drugged?”

“I just felt… strange.”

“Baby- what happened?”

He looked up with tears rimming his emerald eyes. “I honestly don’t know. I have gone over it a million times but I just… don’t… know. One minute we were talking and… I know she touched my face. I know we left the bar… and then-”

Y/N braced herself with a deep breath that steeled her soul.

Jensen looked away again, shamed and confused. “I woke up in bed. My bed.”

She clenched her jaw, waiting for the worst of it.

“Alone.”

“Alone?” Her breath released and she shook her head. “I thought-”

He laughed bitterly and stood up. “So did I. I thought- fuck, Jensen, you did it again. You fucked up- but… It was so much worse.”

“Worse? How could it be worse?”

Jensen turned away and rubbed his neck. He felt the marks she’d left behind, invisible yet there, haunting him eternally.

“You won’t understand.”

Y/N swung her feet off the side of the bed and gripped the sheets for strength. “Try me.”

He didn’t know how to say it. It made no sense. It all seemed like a crazy nightmare. How could she understand?

She grit her teeth. “Jensen!”

Startled, he turned back. “She drank from me.”

Y/N sat up straight and a confused smile tickled her lips. “What?”

“She drank from me,” he said again, his voice low and calm. “Drank my blood, Y/N. And… I drank hers. At least, I think I did. I don’t really remember.”

The tickle spread down into her chest and a laugh bubbled up. “What?”

“I said you wouldn’t understand.”

Y/N laughed louder, shocked at the audacity of his lie. “Wait. So… instead of just admitting you went off and fucked some stranger in Paris, you’re trying to tell me that a vampire picked you up at a bar?” She stood up as her attitude and anger swelled. “That’s what you’re going with? A vampire? What, did your buddy Kripke write this excuse for you?”

The rage in her voice made his skin prickle. He cringed and spun away. “Don’t.”

Again, she laughed. It stung him deep.

“Oh, I fucking will!” Enraged, she grabbed his upper arm and tried to spin him back to face her. “Are you seriously gonna stand there and tell me a fucking vampire story right now? After everything?”

He would not be moved, standing like a statue next to her.

“Y/N, please-”

“A vampire!” Another yank on his arm did nothing to appease her. “No. I want you to look at me in my face and tell me that you believe some French bitch sucked your fucking blood and turned you into a vampire.”

His head was spinning. The heat of her touch burned into his soul. His muscles ached; his bones felt like they were about to splinter. He held his breath, trying to stay calm, to fight the urge to snap back.

“Look at me!”

She was screaming and he was silently boiling inside.

“Fucking look at me! "Goddamnit, Jensen!”

Desperate, Y/N shoved him hard and the dam broke.

Jensen spun around and showed her the truth.

His eyes, once a comforting forest of green, were rimmed in crimson and seething with danger. His plump lips, so cracked yet soft, kissable and beautiful, were pulled tightly back, revealing a pair of dagger-like fangs and a hungry tongue.

Terror petrified her limbs and locked her in place, eyes wide and staring. Jensen’s body trembled there, his chest heaving with panting breaths; his hands balled into strong fists to keep from grabbing her.

Every second was agony for him. He could hear her blood coursing like a raging river, see her pupils contract and expand in such miniscule points no human eye could track. He wanted her to understand. He wanted her help, needed her comfort. He wanted to rip her chest open and devour everything inside.

Y/N took a deep breath and the panic subsided. She lifted a hand to his cheek without hesitation or fear.

“Jen…”

He closed his eyes and let her touch ground him. He felt the pain ease as he leaned into her palm.

“Baby…”

Her whisper broke through everything and the monster calmed. He opened his eyes and hot tears streamed down his face.

Y/N took him in her arms, holding him tight as he crumbled.

Silently, they moved back to the bed and she eased him onto the pillow, never lifting her touch from his skin.

“I do not understand this,” she said gently, leaning on an elbow to look down at him. “But we will figure this out. I’m not gonna give up on you, Jensen. Not ever.”

He shook his head. “What is there to figure out? I’m cursed. One night of drunken bullshit and I’m a fucking monster.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.” He sat up quickly, knocking her hand away. “I’ve done things.”

Y/N bit her lip, struggling to stay strong for him and contain her own tears.

“Every night while you’re in here alone- I’m… I’m out there…” He looked to the window across the room and the pale light illuminated his face. “Hurting people.”

Y/N cringed and hugged herself tight, trying not to let her imagination take off.

“I’m sure you can’t help it,” she whispered.

He looked back over his shoulder. “I can’t. I can’t fucking stop it from happening. I get this pain in my gut. This hunger… I can’t stop.”

Every story she’d read, movie she’d seen- the thought that it was all real was driving her mad, and yet- there he was, living it.

“Maybe there’s a cure or something. Like… well, I don’t know exactly but if-”

“No.”

Jensen dropped his head into his hands and his shoulders began to shake. He exhaled a trembling breath and Y/N shifted closer, laying her hands on him once more. She pulled him close and he melted into her, soothed by her warmth.

“I’m so sorry.”

She kissed his forehead, smoothed back his hair. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I am.”

She kissed him again and he lifted his chin, meeting her gaze.

“I am so fucking sorry.”

Y/N nodded and raked her hand through his hair, curled her fingers around his ear. “We’ll get through this. We will.”

He clung to her, praying she was right. “How?”

“Together.”

Jensen closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to her chest. Her heartbeat was so steady in his ear, her fingers felt like heaven running across his scalp. Slowly, he lifted his lips and she met him halfway.

The kiss was slow and familiar, like he was finally coming back home.

She pressed harder and his lust stirred. He licked at her lips and breathed her in, needing everything she could give.

Y/N fell back against the pillows and he followed, dropping down to cover her with his full weight. Her lungs emptied and he breathed life back into her as his hand slid down her side. Her lips parted for his tongue and she moaned when he lifted up an inch, just high enough to trace her hipbone with his cool fingertips.

She gripped his collar as his hand snuck into her thin panties, rocked her hips as his palm pressed up against her cunt.

“Fuck…”

He slipped his middle finger inside and she shivered at the cold.

“Sorry.”

She shook her head and licked into his mouth. “Don’t stop…”

Wetness trickled down onto his wrist and he lifted his thumb to stroke her clit, expertly winding her up the way only he knew how. Her breath quickened, her temperature rose. He could feel it like never before: every fiber of her body tightening as the pleasure increased.

Jensen stared at her face, marveling at the subtle changes. Blood pulsed in her cheeks, her lips fell slack, her eyes went blurry, all under his gaze.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed. It was like seeing her for the first time and truly knowing her. “I love you.”

A smile lit her face and she blinked up at him, worried but grateful he was back. “I love you…”

He felt the snap, the precise second her orgasm struck and he sat back to watch her body writhe with bliss. It was pure magic the way she moved, the way her body opened up even more for him.

“Need you,” she moaned, reaching out for him.

Jensen rushed to shed his clothing, kicking his boots off and rolling onto his back to yank his jeans away. Naked and pale, he returned to her, shifting his thighs between hers and spreading her knees wide.

He hesitated but she relieved his worry, setting her hands on his chest and nodding gently.

“Please…”

Falling forward, he set one hand by her head and eased his cock inside with the other. His jaw dropped as her body squeezed around him, warm and tight and absolutely made for him.

Y/N shivered but held on, snaking her hand up to rest at the nape of his neck. Moans filled the room and tight-lipped, loving curses passed between them.

Lost in her, Jensen sensed the hunger rising again. His muscles twitched with the need and he shook his head, refusing it to surface.

Sensing his struggle, Y/N dug her fingers gently into his neck and urged him down. She kissed him hard and then turned her head to the side, stretching her throat for him.

His entire being seemed to focus on the thick vein pulsing in her neck, calling to him, begging to be torn apart.

He held back.

“No.”

Y/N ached into him. “Do it. I want to feel it. Please.”

With a low growl, he kissed the crook of her neck and jerked his hips. She gasped and her heart rate soared. Another kiss, another hard snap of his hips. Y/N trembled beneath him and whimpered as his tongue swept over her pulse.

“Please…”

The desire was rampant, but love held him back. “What if… What if I can’t stop?”

Y/N squeezed his neck and ran her hand up to cradle the back of his head, pulling him closer.

“I trust you.”

The heat of her, the wetness, the soft flesh made his thirst peak, and Jensen sank his teeth into her throat.

The first splash of life against his tongue sent a jolt of pleasure through him so intense that he came, flooding her cunt as her blood filled his mouth.

“God…” Y/N’s consciousness wavered. She felt light, as if her body was floating in his arms, safe and loved forever. Every gentle pull of his lips drew more sense of self from her mind until she was a simple cloud of pleasure set to dissipate into the night sky. “Jensen…”

He felt her heart straining and her warmth fading as she shuddered with ecstasy. Intoxicated, he drank deeper, pulling her essence into himself and moaning with every drop he swallowed.

“Jensen…”

Her eyes refused to focus, rolling uncontrollably in her skull. Her lungs burned as the blood ceased to return. Her legs went numb, her hand fell limp onto the mattress.

“Jen-”

Wrapped in bliss, he bit down again, loving the way her flesh yielded to him. He licked at each wound, and savored every flavor. The salt on her skin, the faint remains of her night cream. The blood, so rich and full of love, pouring into every inch of him. He smiled against her throat. “Love you… Love you… Love you…”

He didn’t hear the moment her heart stopped, but he felt it like a strong force shoving him in the chest. He jolted back and blinked into the darkness. His body was tingling, alive and full of energy. For the first time in weeks he felt true warmth spread through him and he laughed.

“Fuck, baby, that was incredible.” He licked her taste from his lips and moaned. “So fucking good!” He stretched hard, moving his muscles and grinning. “You good, baby?”

A tiny breath fell from her lips and Jensen’s lightness faded.

“Y/N?”

Her cheek was frigid and pale, as if she’d siphoned the cold from his soul.

“Y/N.”

He shook her but she wouldn’t wake.

“Y/N!”

In a panic, Jensen dug his nails into his own neck, ripping a deep gash that sprayed across her face. The blood ran down and he took her weak body in his arms, pressed her cold lips to the wound.

“Come on, baby… Don’t leave me….”

The blood gushed down her chin, soaked into her skin, forever stained the mattress.

“Y/N, please…”

A stream found its way between her lips and a surge of electricity sparked on her tongue. Jensen felt the pull as she accepted his blood, sucking hard at his throat.

“That’s it, baby…” He smoothed the hair back from her face. “That’s it. Fuck…”

He sat by the window and watched her for hours. She lay as if dead, her body unresponsive and posed where he’d left her. There was no breath to lift her chest, no beating heart to echo in his ears.

The night slowly faded and Jensen closed the curtains against the light. He wiped the tears from his cheek and climbed into bed beside her, draping his arm across her middle. He rested his head on her chest and closed his eyes.

One last night together and then eternity without her.

“I love you, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

The day came and went with Jensen sleeping fitfully by her side. At sunset, he heard a gentle thump and then another. He opened his eyes and held his breath, listening for more.

“Come on, baby…”

A louder thud gave him hope. Jensen sat up and gripped her shoulders tight.

“Open your eyes, Y/N. Please.”

The sun finally hit the horizon and Y/N sucked in a full, gasping breath. Her eyes flew open and her body tensed, every cell filling with preternatural power as the cursed blood flowed through her.

Jensen backed away as she sat up, her eyes wide with wonder as she looked at her husband. The darkness was no match for her vision and she could see every detail in his face, every pale freckle, every line, every lash clear and vivid.

“Jensen?”

He rushed back to her side and took her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I thought- I mean- I killed you…”

Smiling gently, she pulled him close. She licked deep into his mouth and his head spun.

Y/N was as cold as he was now, but it wasn’t painful. It felt right; he felt complete.

“How do you feel?”

New life pulsed through her, tingling and alluring. Y/N took a deep breath and exhaled against his lips.

“Hungry…”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lunaroserites @lyarr24 @nancymcl @nix-rose @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @rosecentury @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05

[steviespanties]

what are your thoughts on omegaverse!harringrove in which alpha!steve gets bitched into an omega by alpha!billy?

HOW DID TUMBLR NOT SHOW ME THIS BEFORE?? I'm so sorry Anon😭

(cw for (oblivious) dubcon, insults in a sexy context, mentioned pregnancy kink, omegaverse gender fuckery)

Ah man, I kinda lovee it. Like a scenario where it happens on pure instinct: Billy and Steve wrestle all the time and compete with each other in the beginning, but Billy will always be the one who fights harder and dirtier and Steve inevitably gives in and goes slack in his grip or with Billy's teeth again his throat or the back of his neck.

It just feels right to Steve and he gets all warm and tingly when Billy gets soo satisfied and happy over just holding him down for a while.

They're pretty much attached to the hip already and everyone is confused how they could go from bloody knuckles and bared teeth rivalry to essentially two puppies rolling around in the dirt. No one quite makes the next logical step to "they're fucking" but obviously they are!

And Billy is a kinky fucker, so of course when he's on top he'll call Steve his little omega while he knots him, lube spilling everywhere, Steve moaning through the stretch and how much it turns him on.

But then they also start on these small things in everyday life. Billy ears one of Steve's jackets on a cool autumn day and then keeps it for a week until they go shopping for one for himself. When Steve gets the jacket back it's thoroughly drenched in Billy's pheromones and he doesn't even think of washing it.

Billy comes over a day or two after Steve has been wearing the jacket while running errands and his nose immediately lands in the crook of Steve's neck with a deep inhale. "Shit, you smell so fucking good like this."

It opens a whole new can of worms, because they've been casually scent marking each other before, sure, but not this deliberately. And it's specifically Billy marking Steve that drives them both a little wild. Suddenly there's pretty much always a worn shirt under Steve's pillow that smells of Billy. He hands over jackets and scarves and when they're returned wears them with that growing, tingly happiness in his belly.

And then Billy starts calling him his omega.

It's on top of all the other mean and sweet nicknames he has for Steve, his bitch, his princess, his little slut, bending Steve's legs up to his chest when he fucks him, noses almost touching, telling Steve to open his mouth so he can spit in it. Calling him the perfect little omega when he swallows. Fucking his face and coming all over his nose and chest, telling Steve that a good omega lets his alpha mark him properly.

And he's a good omega for Billy, right?

They're both a bit reckless and thoughtless about the whole thing. They've come to like each other, they move in with each other, they fight and make up quickly, they get a little domestic. Billy's rut comes around and Steve helps him through it as best as he can. It still doesn't prepare him for how exhausted he gets by day three, how his limbs get so heavy and his mind has fogged over with tiredness and pleasure-pain from how fucked out he is.

Billy notices it too and slows down as much as he can, coos into Steve's ear that he's such a good omega, turned himself into nothing but a fuckhole for his alpha. How he can't wait for Steve to get his heat so he can pump him full of pups.

And for a moment, everything swims together inside Steve's mind. The tender ache in his hole. Billy's scent all around him. The months of being called an omega, Billy's omega. The thought of having kids, not just a nebulous concept but a combination of him and Billy growing inside him. It's not just that he wants it- for that blissful moment as he's coming, he truly believes that's what will happen.

It kinda messes with his head afterwards. Makes him sad and confused, because even when the fog lifts and he knows that he's always been an alpha and always will be, he still wants that. So much. It's very hard to put into words though and so all that he manages to do is seek out Billy in less combative ways, staying in skin contact longer, dragging Billy's hands and mouth to his neck when they fuck, allowing Billy to scruff him when that's a line they didn't cross before.

Now, Billy isn't stupid. He notices the shift in behavior. Maybe even a slight shift in scent. But it's been so gradual that it doesn't fully hit home how much has changed until one day when Robin visits from college and comments on how much Steve's scent has mellowed out. It plants a small seed in his mind.

Not enough to fully reflect on everything that's changed, but it has him on alert even more to Steve's moods and condition. Like how he's been getting stomach aches more often, claiming it's probably just gas or indigestion only to get ravenously horny shortly after and begging Billy for his knot.

It's not quite on the level of "we should go see a doctor" until Steve starts getting exhausted more often, bundling up the moment he comes home and the usual time of his rut comes and passes without anything happening.

They both feel very stupid at the doctor's office when they're told they're pretty much fully on track of Steve becoming an omega.

[tiredfox64]

Hi! I love your work, especially your Bi-Han writings. Not sure if you're taking requests, but would you write something for Mavado x Reader? Honestly any prompt is fine, there's literally no Mavado/Reader content and we need some 😭

It Only Takes 7 Días

Yip notes: Everybody stfu and let me cook. Gotta make something sweet for the fuckin people. (PS I actually had this set up in my drafts before and this encouraged me to finish it seeing that others are desperate).

Pairing: Mavado x Afab reader

Warnings ‼️: Suggestive kinda?

Everyone knows Mavado dedicates himself to the Red Dragon clan. He’s a man who listens and obeys Daegon’s command. A man who will bring hellfire upon anyone who disturbs his clan such as Kabal and Kano. All he knows is his duty and his clan. He is uninterested in such things as dating.

Or so everyone thought.

Mavado isn’t dumb. He could never allow anyone to know about you. It’s for your own safety. Heaven forbid Daegon finds out about you, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you just to keep Mavado’s attention. Kano and Kabal would do so much worse. They would probably hold you hostage to force Mavado into giving up every piece of information about the Red Dragon clan. He would never forgive himself if he let the one person he truly loves get hurt. He had to be all hush hush, sometimes meaning he spent little time with you. He’ll make it up to you. He’s a man of his word. This whole week will be for you.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

You heard tapping on your balcony door. Little taps as if rocks were being flicked against the glass. You got up from your bed and slid open the balcony door. When you looked down below you saw Mavado holding a bouquet of flowers just for you. He had a smug grin on his face. He knows how to capture your heart.

“Trying to make up for lost time?” You asked.

“I think it’s obvious, mi reina.” Relax, papi chulo.

You smile as you begin to back away from the railing of the balcony. You knew Mavado wouldn’t come up the regular way. You saw his grappling hook wrap around the railing before he flung himself up. Of course, he landed perfectly since he had done this a thousand times. He handed you the bouquet before placing a kiss on your cheek.

El domingo empieza el juego de seducción

It’s never just one kiss. It’s always more. On your cheeks, on your forehead, on your lips, and on your neck. His stubble lightly scratches your skin, causing you to giggle. His arms wrapped around your waist so he could pull you in close. You jokingly told him to stop but you knew he never would. In fact, he started placing quick kisses on your neck before returning to your lips.

“We should get you back inside. I’ll help warm you up.” He whispered in your ear before picking you up.

Anyone with a somewhat developed frontal lobe knows what’s about to happen. Mavado was being truthful. He would help warm you up…without any clothes on. Body heat does count. It worked, didn’t it? You were sweating and panting by the end of the night. Knocked you out and left you curled up in his arms.

Monday night, una velada entre tú y yo

By the morning, Mavado was already gone. That’s not unusual. What was unusual was how early you got to see him again. He was back by the early evening. The sun hadn’t fully set yet.

The moment you walked through the door he came up behind you to give you a hug. You were spooked at first before you felt that familiar scratch when he kissed your cheek. You immediately relaxed from his touch and he chuckled about your tiny freakout.

“What? You didn’t expect me to come back?”

“Not really. You’re not really a man who stays for two nights in a row.”

Mavado acted like he was shocked but his face did not portray that. He still had that devilish smirk on his face which meant he had plans for you and him.

“I did want to make up for lost time.”

“Does that mean we are going for a second round?” You asked with a grin.

“If that’s what you want. But I was thinking of something more romantic. Whatever you want, mi reina.” Good heavens, Mavado. You’ll strike the hearts of many.

That evening was romantic, Mavado made sure of that. A nice dinner and great music. He literally swept you off your feet. If you didn’t know how to dance bachata before you surely did now. You can’t live your whole life without knowing how to dance bachata.

And as you requested, you both had a second round in bed. The Devil’s Tango.

Martes, te hago mi novia en París

You were surprised to see Mavado still in bed with you in the morning. He really was staying to make up for lost time. His hands traced up your body as your eyes adjusted to the morning light. You looked so majestic to him with the way you looked so relaxed and the only thing covering you were the sheets.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty. You ready for another day with your favorite man?” He asked with a cocky tone.

“You plan to spoil me like you usually do?”

“Of course. And what better place to do it but in Outworld. The culture is rich I can assure you.”

A trip to another realm? Fancy. He’s not wrong either. He has traveled around Outworld and knows the best spots to find goods. The finest pieces of jewelry and best-designed clothes will be yours. Just say the word and Mavado will give it to you, one way or another.

Get ready, put your best outfit on, and don’t leave your place without a smile. Mavado wants that smile to stay on all day long.

By Wednesday, you'll love me the way it should be

Y el jueves, el anillo down on my knees te propongo matrimonio, dices que sí

The first half of the week was amazing. You couldn’t remember a time when you weren’t smiling or giggling. You thought that this week couldn’t get any better. You are wrong and for once, that’s a good thing.

You were standing outside on your balcony, watching the sunset. The sky was painted with yellow, pink, and orange. The golden light illuminated you beautifully. You were like a shining star in Mavado’s eyes. He came up beside you and you immediately rested your head on his shoulder. His hand rested gently on top of yours. You thought this was another romantic moment before you felt him messing with your ring finger. He was trying to lift it slightly and you felt something cold against it. You turned to look at him before pulling your hand away.

“Heh, I thought I was better at being sneaky. Well, guess I should be upfront with you.” He said.

You were confused about what he meant till you saw him get down on one knee. In his hand was the ring of your dreams. The band was the metal you wanted, shining in the light. The gem was your favorite and cut in the shape you desired. The ring was beautiful. This moment was beautiful. What do you have to say about this?

“Yes!”

Friday, we'll marry wherever you want

You guys got married in secret. No paperwork or the pope’s approval. Your love was true and that’s all that mattered. You guys killed two birds with one stone by having a destination wedding. Wherever you wanted, you went. It could have meaning or it could be fun. The choice was yours. Mavado would make it happen and follow through. All for his lovely bride.

Luna de miel es el sábado, hermoso final

The day after your makeshift wedding you two spent your time enjoying a new destination together. It’s a dream come true. But you did have one question for Mavado.

“I’m surprised you’re not quick to return to the Red Dragon. I would have thought you’d return to them sooner.”

“I am still loyal to my clan of course. But I am also loyal to you. The clan could wait, I couldn’t make you wait any longer.” He brought your hand up and placed a kiss on it.

Your new husband is truly loyal to you.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

“Where is Mavado!” Daegon yelled in frustration.

This was unlike the cruel crime lord. He doubted Mavado got killed since he was always super careful. So where the heck was he?

“Maybe he’s got a girlfriend now.” Hsu Hao suggested.

Daegon snapped his neck to glare at the idiot. His eye might have started twitching as well.

“Hsu Hao, you’re a bigger idiot than my brother. You’re loyal, but an idiot. Never in a million years would Mavado waste his time by dating. Don’t say another word to me.”

Unfortunately for you, Daegon, Hsu Hao is right. There ain’t nothin you could do about it.

Yap notes: unfortunately we never had a chance 😭. I mean when his name is basically malvado (literally accidentally call him that all the time) could we really expect him to love?

This feels satisfying to do and finish. This may be very headcanony but what can you do when we haven’t seen him in a long time. I can’t even find much for him when it came to the 3D era so I can’t figure out his speech patterns. I did my best and I hope this makes some people happy. Adiós!

[velvetcloxds]

Looking for somebody =

+ could you pls make the reader chubby cus am chubby girl and it would be a comfort for me after today 😅❤ but only if you want to ofc anyways i hope you had a good day ♡♡<3

A FEW CENTURIES | C.C.

word count: 0.7k

warnings: chubby!reader, not specified anywhere but it's chubby-reader-friendly as always, I also have not read the vampire diaries books, just watched the show

summary: carlisle and edward find your obsession with the vampire diaries books a little ridiculous, especially when you've got your own house of vampires right there in the real world

It was a dangerous thing, reading around Edward, whatever you were reading was bound to count as entertainment for him as well, even if he was busing himself with his own thing which he always was. Lately, you'd been getting into a silly little series of books you'd been gifted as a joke at first, the writing wasn't really something to rave about but the characters had stolen your interest and you were deadset on finishing the whole series despite the mind reader's distain.

"Edward, I can't focus with all that ruckus," you noted with an overly dramatic sigh, expecting that very look to rest on his face as he caught you telling him off for doing something in his own home. He lifted his hands from the ivory keys of the piano with a sigh of his own. "Must you play while I'm reading?" you huffed and stuffed the faded receipt into your book to hold your place.

"Must you read while I'm playing?" he demanded in return and you heard the softest scoff from the kitchen where Carlisle was making you dinner, his favorite pastime as of late, making the most of his fancy kitchen on your behalf.

"Carlisle, your son is being insufferable," you noted with a delicate smirk, tilting your head back to see a similar look on his face as he met your gaze. "His irritation with my book has turned to actual sabotage."

"You truly think I spend my days planning ways to disrupt your reading?" Edward played a few notes, it wasn't half as bad as you'd expect from your words but it was untimely. How were you to focus on the current villain taking his shot to kill Elena if you were distracted by Edward's rendition of Mozart? "Burning those books of yours would take up much less of my time, this-" he pushed down onto a lower key, humming at the sound and chuckling lightly at your frown. "This is merely to help me endure it."

"You know, you may look like a teenager, Edward, but you can't hide the fact that you're really just a bitter old man," you informed him, and when he chuckled you did too, wanting to get back to your book. Still, you weren't all that bothered that you couldn't when Carlisle sat down on the couch next to you, giving the two of you a familiar look before taking the book from your hands and scanning the page.

"Bitter old men, she says," he mused, very perfectly landed on a page where Elena was stuck right in the middle of some vampire crisis having to be saved by a vampire named Damon who by the looks of it seemed more popular for his appearance than his actions based on Elena's reaction which didn't at all match her description of him. "Seems you have a type," he concluded and was sure to take note of the page you were on before closing the book and chucking it onto the coffee table.

"You jealous, my love?" you teased and he was happy to play along if it meant you'd draw closer to him, leaning onto his chest and brushing a hand around his neck.

"Should I be?" he furrowed his brows in mock concern, shamelessly dragging a hand to cup your waist, the other lifting your palm to steal a kiss, at the ever-disgusted expense of Edward who had gone back to playing as loud as he could.

"Never," you replied earnestly, kissing the tip of his nose before brushing against it with your own. "You're the only dead man I have eyes for," he pinched your waist at that, leaning in for a kiss of his own satisfaction only pleased when you smiled against his lips to end it. "Plus," you hummed, tugging lightly at the hair settled in the nape of his neck to keep his focus. "He's far too young for my liking, you got a good two or three centuries on him."

"Watch it, trouble," he laughed, smacking lightly at your behind when you jumped off him to taste whatever he'd concocted for your dinner.

[glisteningreverie]

It’s been a while since Double Life ended and I know I’m pretty late to the train on this one but,

There’s just something MAGICAL about watching the different perspectives in just the right order.

It’s important to note I that the first four Episode Four’s I watched was in the following order: Jimmy, Scar, Grian, and finally, Scott.

Jimmy and Tango started the episode wanting Scar’s pandas dead, only to find themselves on Scar’s side when they “inconveniently” find themselves in the middle of the conflict between Grian, Joel, and Etho. There’s a sudden sense of Camaraderie between the Ranchers and the Desert Duo, and so Jimmy is horrified when the pandas are set aflame. And when Scar jumps off the Spiky Defense Platform? Abject TERROR in his voice, only for that shock to turn into amazement when Scar survives. The moment is killed, however, when Jimmy is shot off the platform. RIP.

Scar decides to go down to the Deep Dark even though he’s not supposed to. He spies something flying in the distance, realizes that it’s Grian, and assumes that he’s being reckless on purpose (But as we know from watching the Grian POV afterwards, his brief return to his career as a bird was completely against his will) Thus, Scar feels justified in heading down to the deep dark, kicking off a truly chaotic chain of events.

Because when Grian accidentally gets Etho and Joel killed and the reds (plus Scott, Cleo, and Martyn) roll up to their base, the assumption is that they’re after Scar and Grian. Scar does his truly incredible Water Bucket Landing and after a quick chase, the episode ends.

Grian is understandably stressed throughout this whole episode. Martyn, Etho, and Joel were playing with his life using fishing rods. Scar went to the Deep Dark and swiped the Enchanter. Grian used the same fishing rod trick at the Modern Chateau and the fallout was significant. He creates the spiky defense platform only to realize he made it out of wood, again. He can see a mob of people congregating in the distance, and when they show up, Scar throws himself off the platform to save the pandas, practically giving Grian a heart attack. He’s not used to being the victim of other people’s chaos. When Jimmy and Tango die, he manages to make his great escape and meet up with Scar in a secluded part of the map.

It all comes together in Scott’s episode, where it’s discovered that this whole thing was NEVER about Scar and Grian. He and Cleo ordered a hit on Tango and Jimmy. The Boat Boys mainly agreed because Tango and Jimmy happened to unlock the Enchanter achievement, and they’d been looking for it all episode. The story beats all come together as if they’d been intertwined by the gods of chaos and it was THE MOST insane watching experience I’ve ever had.

[thxjoon]

You’re the only good thing in my life pt 2

-genre/warnings: arranged marriage, mentions of cheating in the past, angst, smut, hurt/comfort, fighting

A/n very sorry for the long wait, I had written my part 2 but decided I didn’t like it and rewrote it…. This is still not finished btw, there will be one last part I also just realized i never titled this :o

Once namjoons mother had found out that namjoon had been unfaithful to minseo she was furious. She knew how much minseo cared for her son. She couldn’t believe he’d do something like that to her.

But of course namjoon was her son. she was disappointed but at the end of the day she understood that people make mistakes.

After work he decided to go down to seokjins house to talk. he decided to give up his land. It has already caused enough trouble in his life. He didn’t want it anymore.

Upon arriving he lets himself in, immediately stopping in his tracks seeing his brother, seokjin sitting with his wife, minseo.

“Minseo, what are you doing here?”

Minseo stood as she ignored his question

“Well then, I should be heading home now”

Pushing past namjoon out the front door as he followed her

“Minseo wait!” He say’s grabbing her arm

“Let go of me, please” she couldnt even look at him, not because she didn’t want to but because it hurt too much

“I asked you a question. what are you doing at my brothers house?”

“Does it matter?” She tried tugging her arm out of his hold

He responded holding her tighter

“Yes it does. You have no business being here, especially alone with him.” What was he insinuating?

“I wanted to know who she was” she finally looked him in the eyes

“Who?”

“Your lover” tears started to brim her eyes

“Minseo, he has no business in our marriage. If you wanted to know the truth of what happened you could’ve ask me”

“I couldn’t. You know why? Because it hurts much more coming from you. I do not wish to know all the details”

It was silent for a moment before namjoon spoke “when that night happened, we were nearly a month married, we were Still not fully familiar with eachother. It was before I had realized how much you meant to me, before I knew that I loved you. I could not tell you who it was because I truly do not know. I try hard to forget that regretful night. Ever since the night we confessed our love for each other I’ve been thinking of no one else except you. Please minseo, im sorry.”

Tears ran down her face as she struggled to speak “it doesn’t matter. You were still my husband. I’ve been nothing but faithful to you since I found out about this whole situation” she nearly ran when he loosened his grip on her arm. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

Namjoon stood there feeling defeated. Seeing jin staring out the window. When they locked eyes jin quickly hid behind the curtains. Namjoon left shaking his head.

Upon returning home, it was quiet. Namjoon had called off their weekly family dinner once again, saying it was because he wasn’t feeling well but everyone in the family already knew what was going on.

Heading to bed with a heavy heart, feeling absolutely horrible not having minseo there to comfort him.

Minseo spent most of her days avoiding him at all costs. She knew she couldn’t hide forever but every time she saw him she was reminded of everything that has been happening but at the same time she was missing her husband. She soon realized that she really didn’t have anyone else.

Namjoon had started working even later into the night just to keep his mind busy. Trying to get things done as he kept postponing them all week.

“Namjoon” he was broken out of his thoughts as he saw her, minseo.

“Yes? What happened?” He immediately stood up

“Your mother, she can’t get a hold of you. She’s been calling for a while now”

“Oh, yeah I was busy, I’ll call her in a minute-”

“I already talked to her, she said she’s having a gathering at her home tomorrow and you must attend, no exceptions”

He nodded “will you be going?”

“I might, Depending on how I’m feeling. Night.” She said walking out the door of his home office not giving him a second glance

“Goodnight!” He said before she shut the door. He slumped back into his chair not remembering what he was doing just a minute ago.

-

The next day namjoon waited practically the whole day for minseo. He thought they would drive there together but she never asked or even mentioned she was going. He decided to go before it got too late, he figured she probably didn’t want to go.

Namjoon arrived a little late but he knew he had to show up or else his mother would have given him an earful.

Walking in seeing everyone talking, laughing with each other. He immediately felt nervous. He shouldn’t be, this is his family.

“Namjoon!” His mother is the first to greet him “thank you for coming, dear” she kissed his cheek

“Well you said no exceptions so here I am” he sighed

“Everyone is here, go say hello” she encouraged with a smile on her face

“Mother, im really not-“

“Minseo is here too” his mother added

“Where?” He questioned immediately looking around for her

“I believe she’s out back”

Immediately going to see if she was actually here, going out the back door of his mothers house. He sees her. Sitting beautifully, legs crossed in her white floral dress talking with a family member. They both stop mid conversation as he spoke

“Hi- im sorry to interrupt” namjoon looked nervous

“That’s alright dear, I’ll be heading inside now. It was good seeing you sweetheart” his great aunt says as she said goodbye to minseo

“I thought you weren’t coming” namjoon sat down once they were alone

“I never said I wasn’t” taking a sip of her drink feeling nervous herself

“I waited for you, I thought maybe we’d drive down together” namjoon searched for her eyes but she wouldn’t look at his

“Seokjin brought me.”

“Oh” Namjoon was beginning to feel a sort of hatred towards his brother. He just couldn’t keep his nose out of his marriage

“You look beautiful as always”changing the subject he reached for her hands that were on the table

“I’m leaving” She finally looked at him as she pulled her hands away

“Leaving? What do you mean?”

“Back home, with my mother.”

“What, Why? My love you-“

“Because I need to. I feel lonely here, I need to get away for a while. It’s all too much”

“Everyone loves you here, my mother, our aunts everyone adores you- I can’t be without you, please” he didn’t realized tears had begun to form in his eyes

“You’ve lived without me before, you’ll be fine namjoon. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to entertain you”

“No. No I don’t want anyone else. Just you, Minseo. I can’t imagine my life without you. I-I love you so much. Please, please tell me what I should do so that you’ll stay” his heart felt like it was aching in his chest. He’d never thought that his worst nightmare would be to lose his wife.

she could see it in his eyes how sorry he was but her trust had been broken “How can I trust you anymore joon?”

“I promise you that I’ll never hurt you again my love. I truly never meant to hurt you. I honestly thought that this marriage wasn’t going to be a real marriage. But I-I fell for you so hard.” He himself would’ve never thought this would happen but it did. And he’s never been so happy to have found her.

She went to put one of her hands on top of his arm “I still love you namjoon. You can’t stop loving someone so quickly, but I need some time”

Looking at her with big glossy eyes he nodded “you will be back right?”

They were interrupted by namjoons mother as she stepped outside to find the two

“Kids! Come inside. I’ve made a ham” she waved her hand for them to come join the family

“We’re coming! Come on, can’t keep mom waiting” minseo was first to get up as he followed

Everyone was serving themselves. Minseo wasn’t feeling hungry but she didn’t want to be rude so she made herself a plate. Namjoon wasn’t sure if he should sit next to her or not. Minseo sat at the full table so he had no other choice but to sit somewhere else.

Namjoons mother noticed he wasn’t enjoying himself. She figured whatever the two we’re talking about outside caused this. She always taught her sons to fight for the people they love. She’s just hoping that namjoon will take her advice.

He certainly didn’t enjoy watching his wife laugh at all his brothers jokes from across the room. Didn’t those two hate each other? Minseo and jin were actually good friends before this whole marriage happened. Is it weird to say that this whole situation brought them closer? Minseo realized she didn’t really have anyone else to talk to but jin was there, like old times.

After it got later and people started leaving. Jin offered to drive minseo back home to which she accepted before she went to thank Mrs Kim

“Thank you for coming, dear” she held both of her hands

“Of course, your food is always delicious”

Namjoon now walking into the living room coming from the bathroom. seeing his mother and wife together always made him happy. But now it just made him nervous. Not knowing what his mother would say to her

“Hi” he said looking directly at minseo

“Hi, I’m going to be heading home now. Jins taking me”

“Okay. I’m going to stay here a bit long. Ill be there soon” he didn’t like that idea but he needed to stay to talk to his mother privately. Minseo nodded leaving.

Namjoon started helping his mother put the left overs away

“Do you want to take any of these home with you dear?” His mother asked as she was looking for Tupperware, immediately stopping as she heard a sob come from her son

“Joon? Whats the matter?” She pulled him into a hug as he continued to cry into her shoulder

“She’s leaving me”

“Oh no, honey I’m so sorry. What did she say?”

“She-she’ll be staying with her mother for a while but what if….what if she doesn’t come back, what if she stops loving me. And jin–“

“Honey, she’ll come back. she just needs time. I’ve seen how much you two love each other. And jin, don’t worry about jin. He’s your brother, he’s just trying to get under your skin. If you don’t want to lose her then you better go and show her how much she means to you”

Namjoon nodded not really able to get his words out now, wiping his tears “I should go and make sure she got home safe”

“Go, and when she leaves come visit me often so you won’t be so alone”

On the way home jin asked a lot of questions about her leaving as well, he was actually the one to suggested going away for a while

“Did your mother ask why you were coming home so suddenly?”

“Yes she did. I told her it was because I was home sick. I didn’t have the heart to tell her.” Minseo says looking out the passenger window feeling mostly tired

“You know you wouldn’t be going through all of this if you would’ve chosen me” jin spoke looking directly ahead on the road

Minseo slowly turning her head to him “what?” She said in disbelief. She didn’t know whether or not he was making another joke right now.

“All those years, and yet you chose him”

He in fact wasn’t joking

“I dont understand jin. You made it clear that we were just friends” minseo did have a crush on him back when they were in school but she was turned down countless of times

“You were just a kid! And by the time I thought maybe you were ready you had namjoon already courting you. I still believe he did it just to get back at me”

“Jin, why are you tell me this now-“

Jin pulled the car over quickly scaring minseo a bit, now facing her

“I’m saying nows our chance, I still want you…” jin moved his hand to her thigh feeling her soft legs, slowly moving up-

“Jin, what the hell!” She moved his hand off her thigh “I’m married. And im sorry but that was the past” her other hand searched for the door handle

“Oh come on, you’re still going to be faithful to him? even after everything he’s done to you-“

Finally finding the door handle she practically jumps out the car slamming the door, jin also jumps out as he sees her walking away

“What are you doing?” She ignores him still walking away ”Minseo, come on. Ok I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you angry”

“Just go, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not going leave you walking, just get in”

“I said no. Now leave before I start screaming”

“Fine, but it’s not my fault if you get lost.” Jin got into his car and sped away leaving minseo walking. She knew how to get home, it would just take her a while.

Namjoon arrived home before minseo. He went to check on her before he went to bed but he couldn’t find her. Of course this worried him. He checked every corner of the house. He even checked outside. Calling jins house because that was the last person she was with but he didn’t answer. He decided he was going to go look for her, taking the route he thinks jin would’ve taken but before he could get out the drive way minseo walks in the gate. exhausted and teary eyed.

“Minseo! I was worried sick about you. I was just about to-“ seeing her condition he could tell something did happen “are you alright? Where’s seokjin?”

“I decided to walk home”

“Walk? That’s quite the walk. Did something happen?”

She sighed “just jin being jin” she went to walk past him to go inside but he stopped her

“Did he do something to you?” He knew his brother, he wanted to take everything he had, even his own wife.

“Look I’m really tired right now I just-“

“Tell me, please. I swear if he touched you-“

“I stopped him before he went too far, And please don’t go cause a scene, He’s not been himself lately”

Namjoon was boiling. Take his job, Take his land, but not his wife. Namjoon didn’t want to upset minseo so he kept his cool, at least for right now.

“Let’s get inside, it’s cold.” She tried changing the subject. Minseo said good night before heading to her room. She couldn’t sleep so she spent practically the whole night packing her bags. Her mother was expecting her tomorrow.

Namjoon also couldn’t sleep. he couldn’t believe his own brother would do that to him. Jin knew how desperate namjoon was to win back minseo. He wondered if maybe minseo secretly wished she had ended up with jin. He knew jin had a crush on her back in the day. But it was too late for jin. She was his.

The next morning minseo had started bringing her bags down stairs so that when it was time to go she’d be ready. All the noise caused namjoon to come out of his room. Seeing minseo struggling with her bags.

“Here, let me help” he immediately took the bags out of her hands carrying them for her

“Thank you” minseo slightly out of breath

“Are you… leaving already?” He didn’t know she’d be leaving so soon.

“Yes, my mother is sending a driver to take me. He’ll be here any minute” as if on cue the door bell rings. “Oh- that must be him” minseo going to open the door greeting the older man

“I’ll be taking your bags to the car now”

She had a lot, in total of five suitcases and two duffel bags. That kind of worried namjoon. This meant she was staying long right?

“Minseo, be safe. And call me if you need anything. Money or if you need help with yard work-“ he’d take any opportunity to see her

“I’ll be fine. thank you” how badly she wanted to say more, a hug goodbye even. But she couldn’t bring herself to do so

He watched her leave. Feeling as though a part of him was leaving as well. But he knew this wasn’t the end, It couldn’t be.

Going inside their home looking around felt empty. He didn’t like it, He doesn’t remember life without minseo.

He has a lot of things to get done. But first, seokjin.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He so badly wanted to confront Jin about what happened that night. And as soon as minseo left he went to Jins house

Upon arriving he was going to just walk in but the door was locked. He just about pounded on his door feeling all those emotions he had last night come back.

Jin had looked as if he had just woken up, opening the door confused and clearly hung over

Namjoon wasted no time barging in, pushing Jin causing him to stumble. Jin had no time to process what was going on as namjoon brought his fist to jins face

“What the fuck!” Jin groaned in pain clutching his face still on the floor

Namjoon crouching down to be face to face with Jin “who do you think you are? Putting your hands on my wife?”

Seokjin smiled slightly clearly not sorry “what, are you afraid? I bet when you’re inside her cunt she wishes it was me”

Namjoon threw another fist to his brothers face as jin was trying to block them with his hands “don’t- fucking- talk about her like that. what has gotten into you, jin? I don’t understand”

“You took her from me” Jin mumbled out, face throbbing

“I didn’t take shit from you. She was your friend, that’s all she ever was to you.”

“No, it was more than that-“

“You only wanted her when you saw that we started seeing eachother” namjoon was right, jin felt jealous. He was so used to having minseo do everything he had asked for and when she found someone new to follow around he had realized how much he missed her.

namjoons intentions weren’t pure either. He needed to be wed, and Fast. His father had just passed away and his mother wanted namjoon to claim the land but the agreement was that it went to whoever was to be married first. Namjoon wasn’t ready to be married, But if he really did need to be married he’d pick someone he already knew. Someone who he knew would be a good wife. Minseo. She had been a family friend for years and she was a nice girl. Why not right?

Of course as soon as this was brought up to her father he was already cashing the check. Minseo was young. And she’d do anything her father asked, besides she knew namjoon already. She just truly wanted to be loved

Namjoon was always sweet and respectful, and of course she fell for him almost instantly but after the marriage was made official it was like he wasn’t interested anymore. Almost as though he was only being nice to make sure she wouldn’t back out. She was disappointed but as we know this didn’t last very long. She fell first but he fell harder.

“Stay the hell out of my life” namjoon said leaving Jin alone on the floor.

Minseo had arrived to her mothers house excited. She had missed her. She didn’t live that far away, it was about two hours away but she never had time to visit that often. As soon as minseo pulled up she saw her mother waiting outside. She immediately jumped into her mothers arms

“Oh darling, you look so beautiful” minseos mother said kissing the side of her head

“I’ve missed you so much mom”

“I have too, so much.. where is namjoon?”

Minseo still has yet to tell her mother. Her mom loves namjoon so much, she knows this will break her. but she was mostly keeping this from her because the same had happened to her. Minseos father had cheated on her mother countless of times and she took him back every single time. She didn’t want to bring up those awful memories.

“He, um, he has work so he couldn’t come”

“Oh, when you said you needed to get away I thought you meant the both of you. But this is even better! It’ll be just us girls then” her mother was truly excited to spend some time with her.

Minseo slept in her old bedroom, it felt weird but it brought back a lot of good memories. She didn’t have any siblings growing up but she spent most of her childhood with namjoon and seokjin. Mostly just seokjin though. Maybe if this whole marriage hadn’t happened everything would still be perfect?…Except it wouldn’t because she wouldn’t have her love.

It was hard for her to fall asleep these days, and when she eventually did it wasn’t for very long.

After day two of staying with her mom she was so happy to be here with her but she felt the want to go back home constantly.

Her mother could tell something was going on but she didn’t want to say anything yet.

Minseo was out back sunbathing on the pool chairs but she heard her mother shouting, immediately she got up and went inside to see what was going on. Her heart dropped when she saw him, namjoon, hugging her mother.

“Joon, what are doing here?!” Minseo was confused and a bit annoyed.

“Oh- um I just wanted to check on you- and to see mom of course!” He smiled at her mother

“Oh joon you know you’re always welcome! I’m working on dinner so make yourself comfortable”

Minseo left walking to her room to change out of her bathing suit not knowing namjoon was following right behind her. It startled her a bit. She quickly put on her robe that was hanging on her door

“You shouldn’t be here namjoon” he could clearly see she was angry

“I know, I’m sorry but I was worried about you-”

“I’m perfectly fine. No need to worry”

“Your mom was so excited to see me. I was actually kind of nervous to come because I wasn’t sure if you told her about anything yet-“

“I haven’t…” she sighed “I don’t think I will. Just go down and help her, I’ll be there after I change” he nodded quickly exiting the room

Minseo had slipped into some comfortable clothes and went to join the two. Already hearing them cracking up from all the way across to house

“What’s so funny?” She smiled

“Oh darling come see this” her mom said barely able to contain her laughter “it’s from when you guys were just kids and used to walk to school every morning, Remember when that car drove by a puddle and it splashed you guys so bad you all ran home crying”

“You have a picture?!” minseo doesn’t remember this being so funny

“Of course! I knew some day we’d be able to laugh back at this”

Namjoon smiling while admiring the beautiful smiles on their faces as well

“One day when you guys have kids of your own you better take all the pictures you can, time flies by so fast” her mother adds walking back to the stove leaving the two in the dinning room

“You remember this day?” namjoon says picking up one of the many photos her mother had pulled out. It was a more recent photo. From last years birthday.

“Of course I do, it was one of the best days of my life” she smiled remembering how special she felt that day. Before she could do anything else her mother began serving them. Enjoying the nice hot meal catching up, everything felt almost normal. Almost.

“I’m stuffed” namjoon said rubbing his stomach

“Me too, every time I eat I get real sleepy. Minseos bed is a twin but I’m sure you’ll both fit” her mother added

“Oh no need, he’ll be heading home now-“

“What? No, it’s late honey. Don’t you want to stay namjoon?”

He felt pressure from both sides wanting to say yes but needing to say no, for minseo but… he couldn’t.

“Of course i do!” He smiled but minseo was mad, heading to her room. Namjoon joined her after he had helped clean up.

“Wow Your room is smaller than I remember” namjoon said looking around

“Yeah well everything’s bigger when you’re 13… you can take the bed tonight”

“No that’s ok, it’s your bed after all”

“Just take the bed joon, you’re our guest”

“Um actually we’re her guests”

She rolled her eyes “fine we both take the bed, but get your own blanket” he smiled at her

both of them were settled into the small twin bed facing back to back in silence trying to fall asleep but neither of them could

“Namjoon” minseo said quietly which caused namjoon to turn his body around or face her

“Yeah?”

“Why are you really here?” Still not facing him

“Because I was worried about you… and because I missed you”

It was silent again for a moment until he heard her sniffle immediately feeling his heart begin to race

“minseo” he whispered as she now turned around to finally face him

“I missed you so much joonie, so much but you- you hurt me so bad” she was trying to keep her voice down as best as she could

He immediately pulled her into his chest as if on instinct “I know it my love, and I’ll forever regret it. I’ll spend the rest of my life fighting to get you back if I have to. You’re the only person I truly need” he was trying to hold himself together as well

“I love you, even if you decide to not forgive me-” he was full on crying now. He couldn’t hold back

Seeing him like this just hurt her even more, looking at him she went to grab ahold of his face “I love you too joon, always” with both of them crying he immediately went in for a kiss.

it felt like they haven’t kissed in ages. He missed the way she’d grabbed his hair whenever they kissed like this. His hands searched her body missing having her like this.

Namjoon feeling himself began to grow hard, he couldn’t control it. He didn’t want to ruin the moment but In all honesty, they both needed it

As soon as she realized she paused

“I’m sorry- it just-“ he tried to explain but she didn’t care. Reaching down to feel him

“It’s okay” she pressed down feeling all of him causing him to groan, she went back into the kiss while her hand moved inside of his sweats grabbing ahold of his heavy cock, she started pumping him nice and slow. Namjoon very much enjoying this he started thrusting into her hand. His mouth agape as he was moaning quietly into her ear

“Feel good?” She asked still pumping him just how he liked it

“Yes, so good-” god she missed this

“You’re mine right?” She knew he was but she still wanted to hear it

“Yes, im all yours.. I promise” his hands began roaming her body. Missing how she felt in his arms. He grabbed the hem of her tank top asking for permission to take it off, she wasn’t wearing a bra so her chest was fully exposed now. He immediately went to her chest leaving the most gentle kisses to both of them. focusing on her nipples as she was tugging on his hair softly, feeling just as good as him. When He went to pull her pajama shorts down she stopped him

“Wait, we can’t” minseo said slightly out of breath “my mother might hear us”

Namjoon knew that was a possibility but he was so horny right now he truly didn’t care

“We’ll be quiet, I promise. I need to feel you so bad, love” he said slowly grinding against her. Minseo was just as needy and of course she gave in

“Hurry up then” she said and not even a second later namjoon was taking off the rest of his and her clothes.

Hovering over her He was teasing his tip in while he played with her clit because he knew once he was in, it wouldn’t be for very long. It feels like forever since he last had her like this. He wanted both of them to feel good.

Minseo was a whimpering mess as she tried to keep quiet. Namjoon the same, bitting his lip as he watched her

“I need you inside me, please” she whispered as namjoon started pushing himself inside

“Fuuck-“ pulling back feeling her squeeze him so good “I missed this pussy” he said into her neck as he found a good pace

They were both out of it, trying to keep quiet but feeling all too good. Minseos legs we slightly shaking as he started going faster. Namjoon couldn’t hold back his moans, trying to muffle them into the pillow

Minseo wrapped her legs around his waist just like she always did, letting him go deeper. Namjoon was close.

He began kissing her breasts, admiring how beautiful she looked under him. He’d do anything for her.

“My love, im close”

“Me too, kiss me joonie”

and he did, kissing her with urgency as he came inside her. He didn’t stop until she was finished. She wasn’t too far behind him as she was begging him to not stop

She came hard around him, feeling her pussy throbbing, namjoon still thrusting slowing letting her ride out her high

They both stayed in that position for a moment before he got up to wipe her clean, getting one of his shirts to clean the mess he made that was now spilling out of her. Being gentle because he knew she was still sensitive

“Thank you” she whispered once he was back in bed

“I should be the one thanking you” namjoon was smiling ear to ear

“For what silly” she knew what he meant but wanted to tease him

“For you know… being you”

“Oh stop” she laughed quietly “let’s go to bed now, im tired”

“Goodnight” he kissed her again before he snuggled onto her

“Night” minseo didnt know how she was able to live without him for so long but she did know that she hated it.

The two were finally able to have a good night sleep, the only thing that was missing was their bed at home.

But If only they knew what was waiting for them back at home….

[sweetkpopmusings]

stray kids as nephilim <3

a/n: my roommate and i discussed this briefly and they wanted me to write blurbs so here we are ! i won't lie; this got me in my feels, so i hope it brings you comfort <33 pics not mine~

content: nephilim!straykids, supernatural au | wc: 0.6k | warnings: none really! | pairing: stray kids x gn!reader | requests: open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

chan♡‧₊˚

the crackling of a bonfire, moss growing over forgotten rubble, a promise that’s kept

chan, though sometimes haunted by the turmoil of being an in-between being, loves nothing more than to use his powers to heal wounds. he sees beauty in once-broken things, and, when you meet him, you feel all your scars melt together into a beautiful masterpiece. when he looks at you, it’s as though you’ve stepped into fresh sunlight after being trapped in the cold.

minho♡‧₊˚

lightning in a summer storm, the smell of fresh tea leaves, finally getting what you need 

minho believes the best way to use his strength is to protect any and all creatures–humans included–from physical and emotional harm. when you meet him, your fear is replaced with only gratitude because the protector you once waited for is now by your side. when minho looks at you, the world seems renewed, like a forest after a fire.

changbin♡‧₊˚

flowers picked for someone special, handwritten notes, an “i love you” that warms your chest

changbin promised himself that his strength–physical and metaphysical–would only be used to uplift the world. in particular, he loved sending people signs that things were going to be okay. when you meet him, serenity cascades over you, everything falling into place. when changbin looks at you, you smile, knowing with certainty that joy is everlasting. 

hyunjin♡‧₊˚

the smell of the ocean, incense burning in a crystal shop, a gaze that reveals everything

hyunjin finds beauty everywhere, particularly in people. his heart aches knowing that everyone must hurt at one point or another, so he uses his powers to give art to those who are sad, lonely, and in pain. when you meet hyunjin, he hands you a watercolor, images flowing out of the page and enveloping your body in a comforting embrace. when he looks at you, you understand what it is like to be deeply and truly seen.

jisung♡‧₊˚

music playing in the distance, dewdrops in sunlight, hearing what you need to hear

jisung, as a writer by nature, is often up late into the night. he knows just how important safe escapism is, and he uses his abilities to ensure people have good, restorative dreams. when you first meet jisung, he promises to take away the stress of your day by returning you to a favorite imaginary land from childhood. when he looks at you, your shoulders relax because it finally all makes sense.  

felix♡‧₊˚

sunlight breaking through the trees, soft footsteps down familiar paths, a truth you can bear 

felix knows how much it hurts to be stranded and alone, so he channels in power into searching for lost animals and returning them to the warmth and belonging of their homes. when you meet him, he’s cradling a lost kitten in his arms, cooing so softly that your heart feels more soothed than you ever thought possible. when felix looks at you, it feels like a promise to find each other again and again and again. 

seungmin♡‧₊˚

laughter that lingers in your memory, autumn leaves falling, finding your safe space

seungmin finds the fun in every situation, and he thinks the best way to help others with his powers is to create pockets of joy in what can be such a dark world. when you meet seungmin, the sound of his laughter reverbing off your own makes the whole world fade away. when he looks at you, you know with certainty that happiness is around every corner, waiting for you.

jeongin♡‧₊˚

catching your breath after a long run, the comfort of a worn-in jacket, a heartfelt “thank you” 

jeongin spends his free time creating beautiful scenery to encourage people to slow down, breathe, and appreciate what life has to offer. when you meet him, you’re both wandering around a garden–his favorite–and you watch with wonder as a butterfly lands on his outstretched hand. when jeongin looks at you, your imagination runs wild, a swarm of butterflies filling your stomach with the endless possibilities he offers you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[nanabansama]

hiii! i only recently found your page, but i love your theories and analysis of the recent chapters. i share a lot of the same thoughts!

i also feel that tsukasa is still tsukasa. although i’m unsure about the whole timeline change since he’s still young, but it’s insinuated the clock keepers changed something in 1968 or when he was 12/13. maybe he never came back after he got “lost” since in this timeline nene and kou never went to the red house. he’s just been stuck being taken over by the entity in the red house.

but the idea the clock keepers change something in 1968 is where a long standing theory of mine clashes, or it seems to.

see i theorize that amane’s “moon” rock is what changed the timeline in the end. he says the rock landed right in front of him in his backyard while he was very young. it was the whole reason he wanted to stay alive at some point, until he gives it to tsuchi. once nene accidentally goes back in time the first time, i started to wonder if she threw the rock in front of him somehow.

this could be possible, but i just can’t quite put together how this could align properly with this new timeline. if he lived, did he ever have the rock? or did he have the rock, but no tsukasa? it’s got me very jumbled now, so i’m curious what you think.

Ahaaa! I can't believe I overlooked that Kou was the one to inspire Tsukasa to return to Amane in the first place. I highly doubt he did anything like that in this timeline. This whole time travel stuff is truly confusing...

Anyway, the moon rock... I agree it's important, but I want to mention that I subscribe to the theory the moon rock is a metaphor for Tsukasa. The moon rock came to him when he was 4, Tsukasa came back when he was 4; his mother doesn't think Tsukasa's real, nobody but Amane and Tsukasa believe the moon rock is real; they're both his greatest treasures...

Any discussion of the moon rock that doesn't mention Tsukasa simply feels lacking, to me!

But it's also a metaphor for Amane's hope and dreams like you say, and giving it away signifies how he's given up on ever achieving them. Truly a useful little narrative device, that rock!

That said...I don't think simply carrying a rock around was why he didn't become a teacher. He gave it away in the first place, after all. Because he wasn't going anywhere anymore.

So I think that might be the actual trigger: whatever made him decide so resolutely not to go anywhere anymore.

In any case, if I had to connect the moon rock to 1968, I'd like to call to attention how during that time Amane was trying to fix a clock that allows you to travel through time. Perhaps Kako helped Amane fix the clock, allowing Amane to go back in time and make some changes himself. (Remember, in the old world, Tsukasa stated Amane never managed to fix the clock. Ergo...?)

That opens up a whole new world of possibility. Perhaps Amane himself did something about Tsukasa, eh? Let's not forget, Kako told Amane to get rid of him...

Maybe he really did! And maybe he never gave away the moon rock, too. Or maybe he never found it at all, considering he found it with Tsukasa in the first place...and maybe that's why he became a teacher, and not an astronaut or a ghost. Or maybe not! I'm just trying to help you with your theory.

Anyway, thank you for the ask! You gave me a lot to think about. :)

[antianakin]

I know many people see Obi-Wan as Anakin's dad, but he's a bit more like Shmi, isn't he? Like they both tell him about the value of letting go and live by their teachings (Shmi giving him up so he could have a better life/ Obi-Wan's entire relationship with Satine) and seem to hold the title of parent in Anakin's mind. Which is why his reaction on Mustafar was so explosive; if Obi-Wan disapproved of his choices, that meant that Shmi would have too and that drives him insane

Idk really know if this is correct

I mean, I don't think seeing Obi-Wan as a father figure and Obi-Wan being similar to Shmi are mutually exclusive things. If you remove the gender from it, it just means both of them are parental figures in Anakin's life. I feel like I've seen people positing that a lack of a paternal or maternal figure in Anakin's life at different points is what fucked him up or something, but this feels like bullshit to me.

I think Anakin does see them as SEPARATE, but obviously Shmi and Obi-Wan do both hold a similar place in his life and they have similar values. I think Anakin is someone who clings pretty hard to the people he loves and he DESPERATELY needs their approval. I think in this case, Obi-Wan is separate from Shmi in this, so on Mustafar it's not really that Obi-Wan's disapproval automatically means Shmi would've disapproved and it's SHMI'S disapproval that hurts. I think Obi-Wan's disapproval hurts ON ITS OWN because he cares about Obi-Wan's opinion regardless of any connection it may or may not have to Shmi.

I also think that Obi-Wan's opinion connects to how good of a JEDI Anakin is. Obi-Wan is a consummate Jedi, and if we take his word for it, Anakin sees Obi-Wan as the wisest and most powerful of all the Jedi. If Obi-Wan disapproves of him and his choices, it means Anakin isn't a good Jedi. And if he's not a good Jedi, perhaps he's not a good PERSON. We see Anakin sort-of fall apart over thinking he's not a good Jedi once in AOTC after the Tusken massacre, and then once in ROTS over murdering Dooku, so we know that being "a good Jedi" matters to him to some degree. If he isn't a good Jedi, then what's left? He's wrapped his entire identity and self worth around being a Jedi in a lot of ways, it's part of why he can't just walk away from it in order to be with Padme instead. He HAS to have both.

And by Mustafar, Anakin is fully in delusion land and is just straight-up lying to himself because he's gone beyond a point of no return and he knows it but can't truly ACCEPT IT. Facing Obi-Wan means facing a particular truth about what he's done that he wasn't actually prepared to face (presumably he would've just thought Obi-Was would die along with everyone else and he'd never see Obi-Wan again). But now Obi-Wan is here, this person he'd loved and who had loved him and who he betrayed in the worst possible way, and he has to actually ANSWER FOR WHAT HE'S DONE. So facing Obi-Wan's disapproval also means facing his own guilt, something Anakin never ever wants to do.

So, yeah, I think Obi-Wan's disapproval means a lot all on its own and it doesn't NEED a connection to Shmi to make it mean something to Anakin. I think Obi-Wan's place in his life as a parental figure definitely adds some weight to his opinion, especially in the absence of Shmi herself and Anakin's desire to find a replacement for that relationship in his life, but I don't think that that's the whole or even the main reason why Anakin's reaction to him on Mustafar is the way it is.

[viric-dreams]

Trying to sleep whilst simultaneously letting some potential lore scenes for future writing/art run in the back of my mind produces some truly unsettling results.

Under no circumstances would Roberts be court martialed for treason. Officer Beverley seems to understand this, but his logic is entirely backwards. Framed by the glow of the fireplace, Beverley leans back against the sole chair in his spartan lodgings and explains what he’s so sure is going to happen. If Roberts does not comply he intends to go to the London admiralty, to let them in on his missing time, the new player making waves in Anarchist circles, the lies at the foundation of his very existence. He seems to think that the Dark-Spectacled Admiral has the power to land him in political scandal.

His letters will never reach the Admiral. Roberts knows this with the same certainty that he knows the Dawn Machine burns in the Southwest. Beverley’s contact is the Voracious Diplomat. He’s trying to be cagey about it, but Roberts has seen the letterhead, shoved quickly into a drawer whenever they need the space on the desk to work. And the Diplomat would never let such a tidbit go to the Admiral, not when it’s worth so much more on Grand Geode.

Roberts was there for the Luminous Plot of ‘69. In fact, he had been the one to ensure that its perpetrators would never find a way to return from the slow boat, no trial, sham or otherwise. As he and the Commodore stood against the gunwhale and watched their cement-laden bodies sink into the Zee, the Commodore turned to him.

“You wouldn’t betray me, would you, Elias?”

The expression on his face is clouded, as if already playing through and wounded by the possibility in his mind. It feels like being thrown into ice water.

“Of course not, sir!”

The very idea is appalling. Surely the Commodore doesn’t truly believe it’s in the realm of the possible—not when the very idea makes his skin prickle. He’s the Commodore’s man, through and through, dedicated to both him and the Work.

The Commodore smiles, his golden eyes suddenly kind.

“That's what I thought. You wouldn’t do such a thing,” his hand reaches out to pat his shoulder, “Not from my most loyal midshipman.”

He can’t help but flush at the praise. Hopefully, the deck’s dim lighting covers it. But it hardly matters, for the Commodore turns away, gazing into the waves where they’d thrown the traitors not minutes ago. Roberts thinks the conversation is at its end when the Commodore starts again, eyes never leaving that fixed point on the Zee’s surface.

“If you did betray me, of course, I wouldn’t kill and feed you to the dawn flukes. That would be too easy of an end. Instead, I’d weld you into our smallest zub and ship you to Anthe. Who knows,” he shrugs, “you might just even have enough supplies to make it.”

He can’t breathe, his lungs are frozen in his chest. The image is all too real—trapped in that metal coffin, hardly able to move. Through the icy panic, all he can feel is the frantic hammering of his heart and the sharp twinge of the muscle of his left thigh, where the scarred skin puckers above it. The Commodore wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. Right? He has to take a breath. He needs to respond. It’s been too long. His silence might be taken for suspicious.

“There’s no need for that, I assure you.” The words come out whole, though his voice is frailer than he’d like. The Commodore is studying him now. Roberts isn’t sure whether or not he can meet his gaze, what the Commodore might see on his face. After a moment the Commodore nods.

“I didn’t think so. But you never know.” With that, his mouth slides into a grin, demeanour changing like night and day. “We’d best get back soon. There’s work to be done back on base. I’ll alert the navigator.”

Roberts sees the hand coming soon enough to not flinch when it lands on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring shake, before the Commodore is off, already descending the ladder.

He takes a deep breath and steadies himself, chasing the claustrophobic phantasm from his mind. The Commodore is right—there’s work to be done.

Truth be told, he’s not entirely paying attention to the details of Beverley’s demands. He doesn’t have to, when he already knows he’ll agree to whatever he says. It’s clear as dawnlight what he must do. The Officer seems almost surprised by how easily Roberts acquiesces, but that surprise soon turns to barely-concealed delight as the scientific possibilities unfold before him. He’s already turned away from Roberts and back to the schematics, searching for a pen to record the newest thoughts.

It’s truly a shame, Roberts thinks, hand reaching behind him for the fireplace poker, to have to lose such a promising engineer. But treachery is something that the New Sequence cannot tolerate.

Beverley doesn’t even see it coming until the instant he brings the iron poker down across his skull.

[aneurinallday]

The Grey Man

Chapter 12: Blue Eyes, Green Eyes

After the warmth and glow of Doctor Holford’s presence, Tommy’s room was cold and dark in comparison. He stripped naked, and washed the old-fashioned way with tapwater and a coarse cloth. Luxury was for his guest; he himself was accustomed to frugality and discomfort. Accustomed to solitude.

Not so long ago, he’d retreated into the hills in his black wagon, preferring to face his tuberculoma alone rather than allow his loved ones to watch him deteriorate. The isolation had been a welcome relief. After a lifetime of chaos and noise, he’d finally found peace and quiet. A blessed reprieve from the madness of being Thomas Shelby.

So why was the thought of sleeping alone tonight so unappealing? Why did he already miss Holford’s company - the sound of his voice, the scent of his hair, the accidental brushes which inevitably arose from sharing a bunk? Perhaps during the weeks they’d spent cooped up together in the wagon, he’d grown more attached than he realised.

He wasn’t planning on returning to Holford’s side. But as he readied for bed, he suddenly remembered that the doctor would need fresh clothes for the morning. Pulling his trousers back on, he grabbed a few items from his wardrobe - shirt, trousers, socks - and carried them across the landing.

The few metres separating his bedroom from the guest room felt suddenly long, as if the universe were giving him a chance to turn back; but the prospect of Holford drew him onwards.

“Fuck’s sake, Tom,” he muttered to himself, “Have you ever made a good decision?”

He did the courtesy of knocking before entering, just in case Holford was exposed. He opened the door to find Holford in soft lamplight, perched on the edge of the bed. Naked apart from a pair of white linen shorts. He was fresh out of the bath, towelling his hair dry. Revelling in the simple pleasure of being clean.

“Brought you a change of clothes,” said Tommy, dumping the pile of folded clothing on the dresser. “Can’t send you out there indecent, eh.”

“Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Mister Shelby, will you sit with me for a while? I thought we might talk.”

“About what?”

“About anything.”

“There’s nothing to say.” Tommy sat down beside him. “This whole business is done. Soon you’ll go back to your home. Your routine. Your office. Your friends, if you can call them that.”

“They were never truly my friends. They were just…present. I just needed somebody. I had nobody else. Until now.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“But you are present.” Holford hesitated, then set his towel aside and turned to face Tommy. “Am I truly free to leave?” he asked.

“If you’re well enough to travel.”

“So I can walk out of that door any time I please?”

“If you choose to.”

“And if I choose to stay a little longer?”

“Why would you do that?” Tommy snorted. “You’ve no reason to stay.”

“Perhaps I feel safer here. With you.”

“With the man who held a gun to your head?”

“With the man who didn’t pull the trigger,” Holford corrected him. “And then saved my life, twice.”

“That means nothing. I was just…” Tommy hesitated, “I just didn’t want to see you die.”

“Are you glad that I’m alive?”

“Gladness isn’t a thing I’ve felt lately. But if I were to choose a word, I suppose that would be it.”

“Do you find me attractive?”

Tommy was genuinely taken aback by the forwardness of the question. Holford hadn’t seemed the type to make a direct advance.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Tommy, “It’ll spare you the awkwardness of retracting it.”

“I’ve no intention of retracting it,” said Holford. “Do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

“Why? Are you offering?”

Holford smiled. He took Tommy’s hand and kissed it, just as he had while pleading for mercy - but now it was an act of affection, not supplication. Then he kissed Tommy’s mouth.

“Allow me to do this,” he murmured between kisses. “I’ve been lonely for a long time.”

“You’re married,” Tommy reminded him softly.

“A marriage of convenience, nothing more. I signed my name on a piece of paper, but we’ve never shared a bed in a meaningful sense. She knows about my men, and I know about hers. She wanted a comfortable lifestyle which a doctor’s income could provide, and I wanted…well, I wanted a wife. I thought the speculation might stop if I had a woman at my side.”

“And did it?”

“No. But let’s not talk about it. Besides, you’ve no grounds to take issue with my adultery. Didn’t you spend a night with Diana Mitford?”

“…Fair enough.” Tommy shed his trousers, slinging them aside.

There was no rush - Holford took his time. He started at the top, kissing his way along Tommy’s handsome jaw, then down his vulnerable throat, his neck, his shoulders.

“Wait,” Tommy stopped him. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes. It’s alright,” the doctor whispered, and the assurance was all Tommy needed to surrender.

Tommy let his blue eyes close and his head fall back, exhaling - losing himself in the kisses, focusing all his attention on the little sensations, the impression of a man’s unfamiliar lips on his skin. It was different from Lizzie. Different from Grace. But that was alright.

“I’m a fool,” he sighed.

“We’re both fools.”

Holford kissed his collarbone, his tattooed chest, his belly - forging a trail of kisses that led ever down, further and further. Simultaneously, he eased himself backwards off the bed and onto his knees on the rug. The position was unkind to his aching joints, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the beat of Tommy’s pulse, the changing texture of Tommy’s skin as it began to prickle with goosebumps, the low sound of Tommy’s breathing as it quickened.

He rested his hands on Tommy’s thighs, and tenderly kissed the insides of them. And then his cock.

Reflexively, Tommy tensed, his fingers tightening to grip the blanket. He was half-expecting to feel teeth, but there was no bite, no pain - just the caress of Holford’s tongue as it traced a lazy design along his swelling shaft. Holford swirled his tongue around the sensitive tip, causing Tommy to curse.

Then he took it in his mouth.

Holford’s head began to move rhythmically - slow at first, then faster. A slight scrape of teeth elicited an involuntary groan from Tommy. Tommy opened his eyes, and the sight of Holford kneeling submissive at his feet - not for the first time - delivered a sudden thrill of exhilaration. A sense of power.

“Fuck,” he muttered through gritted teeth. The throbbing tightness of his cock was becoming unbearable.

Holford pushed his head forward, trying to draw in the full length, and almost choked as it hit the back of his throat. Tommy felt the delicate membranes of Holford’s throat tighten and spasm around his cock, delivering a jolt of ecstasy which elicited a wordless cry. He grabbed a fistful of Holford’s hair, fingers clenching with more force than he intended, and moaned. Both of them were struggling to breathe.

“Fuck,” Tommy repeated with a tone of wonder - but whether he was marvelling at his own foolishness or marvelling at the surrealness of being fellated by his traitorous doctor, he wasn’t sure.

With sudden boldness, Holford reached for Tommy’s testicles and began to massage them in his hand. Almost immediately, he choked on a gush of thick, viscous fluid which dribbled down his chin. He endeavoured to swallow it. A light squeeze of his fingers brought forth another spurt, then another, then another - each one smaller than the last - while Tommy cursed and swore above him. He continued to gulp and suck and rub until there was nothing left.

“Bastard,” Tommy grunted, and let go of Holford’s hair, indicating that he was done.

Holford released the cock from his mouth and sucked in a deep breath, wiping his mouth with one hand, while his other hand eked out the last few pale, translucent drops of ejaculate. He looked up at Tommy.

“You’ve twice been married,” Holford said, “And I hear you’ve had a lot of mistresses.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘a lot’.”

Holford started to straighten up, but then winced. He’d been kneeling for too long - pins and needles stung his lower legs as the blood began to circulate again. He leaned against Tommy’s leg for support, then laughed at the absurdity of the situation, and rested his head against it too. The simple joy of laughter, after several weeks of misery, made him chuckle more, like water starting to leak from a cracked dam.

He smiled up at Tommy rather sheepishly. It was a genuine smile, bright and surprisingly sweet.

“Have you had a man do that to you before?” he asked.

“That’s not your business.”

“But you don’t deny it,” Holford teased.

Tommy tutted. He put his hand on Holford’s head - gently this time - running his fingers through tousled curls. With his thumb he stroked Holford’s cheek.

“Don’t be fucking cheeky,” he warned, but it was a perfunctory warning, bereft of menace.

“Sorry.”

Still smiling, Holford ran his hand up Tommy’s calf - against the grain of the little hairs - until the hair ended at Tommy’s knee. He kissed Tommy’s smooth kneecap. Then the smile faded, and the light left his green eyes. Suddenly he looked tired and sad again.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. And Tommy knew he wasn’t just apologising for teasing him, but for everything. For all the unhappy circumstances that had led them to this moment.

“Get up,” said Tommy. The mood was gone - Holford had ruined it. “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Can I wash up first?”

“Fine.”

Holford kissed his knee again, and said so faintly it was almost inaudible: “Forgive me.”

Tommy said nothing. He hadn’t acknowledged the apology, but he hadn’t rejected it either.

He rose to his feet with some difficulty, and walked slowly to the en-suite, his eyes downcast. Tommy slumped back on the bed, and sighed. He heard running water, soft splashes as Holford washed his face and hands. He glanced over to see Holford standing in his underwear by the wash-basin, patting his face dry with a small towel. The doctor’s expression looked sad and subdued.

Tommy thought for a minute, then sat back up.

“Come here,” he said. “Come here. Sit down.”

Holford obeyed, and they sat side-by-side on the bed. Tommy gestured to Holford’s underwear.

“Take it off.”

“Why?” Holford hesitated, a little doubt entering his eyes.

“Because it’s your turn.”

“For what?”

“You gave me a diversion. I’ll give you the same.”

“…Oh.”

Holford wasn’t sure how to respond. The shadow of Mosley still hung over him.

His hand rose. He reached out hesitantly and touched Tommy’s face. The uncertain touch landed on the hinge of Tommy’s jaw, between his ear and his pulse. Realising he may have crossed a line, Holford quickly lowered his hand and averted his eyes. But Tommy caught his retreating hand, and pulled it firmly back to its position on his jaw. His other hand went to the doctor’s crotch, and gently massaged him through the warm cloth.

“Take it off,” he repeated, but it was a request, not a command.

After a pregnant pause, Holford made his decision. He slipped off his shorts and tossed them on the floor. Tommy shifted position so that he was sitting cross-legged. He placed his hands on the doctor’s hips, and turned him so that they were facing each other on the bed, naked. Holford’s eyes were filled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

“Should I lie down?” he said.

“No. Face me,” Tommy said, and Holford obeyed.

Tommy’s blue eyes held no threat. He placed his hands on either side of the doctor’s head - dark curls, damp from the bath - and drew him closer. They kissed deeply.

With his right hand, Tommy began to excite him. He trailed his fingers up and down Holford’s cock, from the tip to the testicles and back again. Holford’s breath hitched; Tommy could sense his mounting anticipation. Keeping his grasp light, he began stroking up and down. Holford moaned into Tommy’s mouth.

Tommy broke off the kiss to glance down and check his own hardness. He was already erect again. Holford made a small noise of disappointment when the stroking stopped, but didn’t complain.

Tommy grasped Holford under the thighs and lifted him up a little, pulling him closer until he was straddling Tommy’s lap. Tommy guided himself inside. He entered as slowly as he could, giving Holford’s sensitive muscles time to adjust. The doctor winced and tensed, but then relaxed again.

Once Holford was comfortable, Tommy began to thrust - carefully at first, searching for a rhythm. He put his arms around the doctor to support him.

Face to face, and slightly above Tommy, Holford wasn’t sure where to look. It felt strange to be looking down at another man. Mosley had always bent him over and taken him roughly, not caring if it hurt - not caring about Holford himself, but about the thrill that came from taking what he wanted, when he wanted it. It was an act of dominance, not attraction.

But there was nothing domineering about Tommy’s touch. He held the power, yes, but Holford felt safe in his hands.

“Forget everything else,” Tommy murmured, “Think only of me. Of us.”

Holford rested his head on Tommy’s shoulder, and shut his eyes. Entrusting himself to him completely. Tommy met his trust with tenderness.

“Think only of us,” he repeated.

Holford let out a fervent whimper. His breath was warm puffs against the side of Tommy’s neck.

“Tommy,” he uttered, as if the name were a prayer.

Tommy adjusted his angle slightly. He found an area of smooth texture that felt different from the surrounding tissue. As soon as he hit it, Holford gasped and groaned. Now they were moving in unison. It wasn’t just Tommy any more - Holford was reciprocating. Keeping one hand on the doctor’s back to support him, Tommy moved his other hand downwards to Holford’s cock. He stroked vigorously.

Holford lifted his face off Tommy’s shoulder, leaving behind a small patch of dampness where his mouth had been. He struggled to speak.

“I can - I can - ”

Tommy knew what he was going to say. I can turn around for your convenience.

“No,” Tommy panted, “Face me. Face me. I want to see you.”

He hugged the doctor close, thrusting with increased urgency. Holford kissed him again - this time desperate kisses, frantic kisses. Tommy savoured them.

Holford shuddered, letting out a wordless cry, and Tommy felt a sudden wetness blossom between them. Within moments, his own climax followed. Holford was rapturous in his embrace.

Done, Tommy pulled out slowly. Holford collapsed back on the bed, breathing heavily. He was exhausted, but it was the glad exhaustion that followed a joyous exertion, not the aching fatigue of hardship. Tommy wiped himself clean with the towel, then lay down beside him. Through a euphoric daze, the doctor smiled at him.

“Thank you,” he said, and kissed him. For the first time in their entire acquaintance, he looked completely serene and unguarded.

“For what?”

“For everything. For letting me live. For giving me a chance. For the hot bath and the bed. For making me forget.”

Their breathing was returning to normal, their pulses slowing down, muscles relaxing. The kisses gradually ceased, until they lay together in satisfied repose. In a few hours, they would have to awaken and face the day, and the cold reality that came with it. But that didn’t matter yet.

“For a while, it was all gone,” Holford said. “Mosley. The lies. Your gun. All of it. All I could see was you. Your eyes. I felt as if you could see me too. I wish it could stay that way.”

“You’re tired. Sleep,” Tommy bade him.

“I’ve always liked your eyes,” Holford carried on. “From the first moment I saw you, I liked your eyes.”

“Sleep,” Tommy repeated.

Holford was struggling to keep his eyes open. Smiling, he let them close.

Too comfortable to move, Tommy lay and gazed at the doctor’s resting profile. Beautiful. Tommy reached out one hand, and with the back of his finger traced the elegant contour of his lips, his chin, the softness underneath.

“You were almost right,” Tommy said.

Holford made a questioning sound, only half-awake, already half-dreaming.

“I’m not sick with guilt. I’m at peace with who I used to be. So you were wrong about that. But I have been on a journey, and I can’t go back.”

Holford’s eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. He was fast asleep.

Tommy withdrew his hand, closed his eyes, and lay listening to the doctor’s steady breathing.

Peace at last, he thought to himself as he drifted to sleep, Peace at last.

[countrymusiclover]

11 - Loyalties Can Change

Part 12

The Last Velaryon

Tag list - @kmc1989 @cdragons @rise-my-angel

Comments really appreciated ❤️

I had hope that Robb would have calmed down after two days and we could have an actual conversation. Chezney and I were scrolling through the campgrounds just chatting like we normally did. After the miscommunication that was shared between us I had immediately filled her in on the whole situation and she was siding with me thankfully. “I've heard rumors from people in this camp that Northerners are stubborn, especially Starks.”

“It doesn’t matter how stubborn he is. I want him to know what he saw the other night was taken the wrong way.” I responded looking at my friend while she walked beside me.

She linked her arm through mine raising a brow. “And what will you do if he still doesn’t believe you? We could be thrown out of here so easily and half the Stark men wouldn't care about us.”

“Then I’ll find a way to get Jaime out of here.”

Chezney covers my mouth with her hands frantically looking around to make sure no one had heard the words that I had just uttered so easily from my mouth. “Have you lost your bloody mind!” She shouted in a muttered tone, dragging me into the nearest empty tent.

“No I haven’t. I mean what I just said. I won’t give my support to someone who clearly no longer trusts me.” I told my friend feeling some tears welling in my eyes.

She sent me a weak look, putting her hands on my shoulders squeezing them gently. “Hael, you are my best friend for life. But are you sure the Kingslayer has good intentions for you?”

“I have to keep the memory of my house alive. He may never love, he’s told me himself. At the very least my house shall remain in Westeros because I’m now married to his family.” I sighed, slumping my shoulders under her touch.

Chezney dropped her hands to her sides questioning. “What about finding love?”

“We don’t choose who we love," he said. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to choose him and Jaime will choose me.” I did my best impression of the golden lion recalling his declaration of love so clearly that night we spoke in his prison cell.

Chezney remained hopeful though of course. “Or better yet it could be Robb who chooses you and you choose him back.”

“I’m not so certain that shall happen for me, Chez.” I mumbled back to her not feeling like that would happen. I would have to start realizing that duty is the death of love.

Perched up on one of the large rocks big enough to sit down on by the ship port I watched the heavy waves crash against the rock of Kings Landing. The wind was blowing my hair completely behind my back and I could smell the fresh water flowing up into my nostrils, almost feeling like I was back at home at Driftmark. “What in the Seven kingdoms are you doing out here, Little Velaryon?”

“Well I’m not avoiding you if that’s what you’re worried about, Ser Jaime.” I called, never taking my attention away from the water's movement. I had seen many different kinds of cargo ships pass through either picking up or dropping off supplies for the city. Wishing so dearly I could sail on one just for a few hours like I used to when I was younger.

The sound of his boots moving ended once he was standing beside the rock I was sitting on, eyeing me up there. “I was worried when I returned to our chambers and not even your friend knew where you had gone.”

“Chezney, her name is Chezney for your information.”

Jaime bent his head in understanding, beginning to climb up the rock so that he could sit beside her and he hoped she would not mind. “So why are you truly out here. Trying to escape our marriage by boat eh?”

“No, I'm not trying to run. I just - this city doesn't feel like home to me. I'm used to being surrounded by the vast sea and swimming in the waters below.” Closing my eyes I could picture the last day Chezney and I had done so before I had spoken with my father about this arrangement. “Here in Kings Landing I feel so alone even if I have my best friend by my side. I'm missing that other part of me.”

Jaime had been staring at me the entire time, finally saying something back. “You're missing the sea. You're missing the part that connects you to your house.”

“Yes!” I nearly squealed like a child until I realized I wasn't talking with an old friend but my husband in fact. Chezney’s mother had taught me that you shouldn't make outbursts around your husband unless he allows you so. Lowering my gaze to my feet I quickly apologized. “I'm sorry Lord husband, I shouldn’t have spoken of my former house now that I am a Lannister.”

To my shock and awe he didn't seem to mind. Jaime reaches over with his right hand touching my cheek and making me look into his deep green eyes. “Don’t apologize, my lady. It's okay if you speak about your old House to me?”

“It is. But I thought you'd be upset.”

He shakes his head no. “If you married my father he'd be furious. You are a Lannister now, yes. Except my sister became a Baratheon and to this day she still represents that she was born a Lannister first.”

“Jaime, are you saying I can be both?” I questioned him with a curious tone.

Jaime cleared his throat running his freehand through his hair stumbling on his words for a few minutes. “My brother is better with words than I am. Um - what I’m trying to say is - seven hells.”

“Jaime, I think I get what you’re trying to say.”

His green eyes focused on my gaze. “No, you need to head this - Your house will live on through you, through me, through us.”

“Through us? You’ll embrace that I’m a Velaryon.” A smile appears on my lips, feeling less alone in this city than I first believed.

He nodded still cradling the side of my face in his sword fighting hand. “It’s you and I against the world, Haelesa.”

The sun had finally set over the war camp. We had heard that Lady Stark was returning with information from Walder Frey. I bolted into the tent figuring I could get a quick apology to him before the others had arrived inside the tent. “Robb, can I talk with you quickly in private?”

“I’m not in the mood of talking with you, my lady.” He grumbled, eyeing the war table.

He rarely ever calls me, my lady.

Parting my lips I knew that was the first tell that he wasn’t happy with me. He would address me by my first name and barely anything else, unlike Jaime. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m just asking that you listen to my explanation of what really happened that night when you came to his cell.”

“Stop spitting lies to me. I know you’re just doing whatever you have to defend your house - your new household anyway.” Robb slightly lifted his gaze up to my face.

Hitting my palms down on the table it made a loud sound seconds before my best friend came walking in with Theon Greyjoy behind her. “Seven hells, Robb. I am not lying to you. I never have. What can I do for you to believe me?”

“There’s nothing for you to do except stand there and be quiet until my mother gets back with her news.” He responded watching his banner men lords entering the tent all gathering around the large table.

Backing up into the corner beside my best friend I had never felt so isolated since we had been staying in this camp. Of course I was aware that some of the men here only saw me as the Kingslayer’s wife. It wasn’t easy but I knew that was bound to happen. I just never imagined Robb would show so much coldness to me. I would never simply be Haelesa Velaryon ever again.

“Robb, I never meant to sour our relationship. I did kiss Jaime, but I don’t-“ The tent flap opens and Catilyn enters with her guard. She went off to negotiate with Frey - he creeped me out. He has a lot of daughters and I think only two sons from having many different wives over the years. He's a very stubborn old man, way more stubborn than me.

Catilyn steps up to the table as Robb asks frantically. "Well - what did he say?" I step up to his side eager to hear.

She quotes. "Lord Walder has granted your crossing, his men are yours." The banner men are all shocked as am I. My hand takes Robb's but he yanks his palm away from my reach as he never stops making eye contact with his mother.

He questioned. "And what does he want in return?"

"You'll take on his son Oliver as your personal squire, he expects a knight hood shortly after-" she starts putting her hands together in front of her dress and straightening her back.

My breathing slows a little seeing him give his mother a questionative look. "Fine, fine, and?"

Catilyn signs. "Arya will marry his son Waldren, when they come of age..."

A laugh escapes my lips. That girl will hate that. Robb admits. "She won't be happy about that." Caitlyn eyes the ground for a moment before looking to us again. Her eyes I see tears for some reason. Worry spreads over me once Robb asks. "And?" In his voice I can hear the worry.

"And--- when the fighting is done. You will marry one of his daughters. Whichever you prefer. He has a number he thinks will be --- suitable."

I nearly gag at her words. That old man can't decide what Robb likes. Robb can't marry a Frey girl.

"I see, I see. Did you get a look at his daughter's?" Robb quizzes out to which Theon snickers. I on the other hand want to slap him upside his head.

"I did." Caitlyn states.

Once again trying to break my heart Robb asks. "And?"

"One was..." she trails off.

Robb's eyes from the corner of his eye. "Can I refuse?"

Caitlyn's heart breaking eyes pour into mine and Robb's at the same time as she delivers. "Not if you want to cross."

"Then I consent," Robb declared as he left the tent quickly. The banned men and her stare at me.

Chezney elbows me in my rib. “Go after him.” Rather than go after him I remained standing there briefly before slowly leaving the war tent without uttering a word. I was beginning to think that he might not forgive me and that I should put my loyalty towards someone else from now on.